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Silco’s slender fingers tighten their grip on the porcelain mug he’s holding the moment he hears the unmistakable sound of Vander’s car as it pulls over to his front door; a sound he’s come to recognize perfectly after four whole years of sticking to this routine.
He simply leans against the marble counter that cuts the spacious kitchen in half and fixes his sharp gaze on the threshold that connects it to the fancy foyer, expectantly. He’s left the door open for Vander to walk in without difficulty, as he always does, as he’s got used to doing every week. He takes a short sip of his warm coffee, reveling in the way the smoke tickles his nostrils and eases the anxiety that has started to gather in his chest.
His ears twitch as they catch the creaking of the door, followed by Vander’s approaching footsteps, which echo in the walls of the silent house.
“The girls are still packing their things,” Silco explains when Vander comes into view and looks around searchingly. He raises his cup once more so that the mundane aroma of coffee fills his senses and takes another sip. “It’ll be a while before they’re done.”
“So, it’s just us for now?” Vander asks tentatively when he processes what he’s been told.
Silco raises an eyebrow at the odd inquiry. “Yes.” He drawls, voice laced with suspicion.
Vander nods slowly, and Silco instantly knows an idea is making its way into his brain. With narrowed eyes, he observes him over the rim of his mug as Vander gingerly walks towards the leather stool that sits right at the end of the counter. He lingers by its side, but doesn’t take a seat.
He clears his throat, and Silco braces himself for whatever his ex-husband has to say. “How have the girls been doing?”
He lowers the mug slightly to fully look at him, a hint of mistrust swimming in his blue-green eyes. “As energetic as always. Powder was given a certificate for her science project.” A small, gentle smile tugs at his lips at the reminder, and he’s unable to fight back against it.
Vander grins with pride, although his eyes glimmer with something more akin to wistfulness. “She’s smart,” he says, and, after a moment of reluctance, adds, “Must have got it from you.”
Silco offers no response to that statement―he does agree with it, however. Notwithstanding, he can tell where this is going, so he sends a hasty glance towards the long staircase that leads to the second floor, where the girls currently are. When the silence has stretched for too long, Vander finally sits down on the stool and asks,
“How… have you been doing?” His voice sounds stranded, hesitant, heavy with things that go unspoken. Silco doesn’t wish to indulge his feeble attempt at small talk, but answers nonetheless.
“Quite busy. There’s been a lot to do lately.” He makes sure his tone manages to convey the true meaning hidden behind that last sentence. He spares Vander a side-glance to see whether he had been able to get his message across.
Vander hums and runs a hand through his hair awkwardly, suddenly out of words. His gaze drifts elsewhere, a pensive expression on his face. Vi’s and Powder’s muffled laughter and footsteps can be heard amidst the tense silence, pulling both of their attention to the white ceiling above their heads. It isn’t long before Vander sighs and brings an end to the quietness.
“Has there been any progress with… that?” He gambles, aware that he’s playing with fire. So predictable.
With as much composure as he can muster, Silco places the mug on the counter, momentarily grieving the warmth it provided his hands with, and sighs.
“That’s none of your business,” he says, struggling to avoid having his words stained with venom. “It’s too late to pretend you care.”
Vander frowns. “I’ve always cared,” he defends, bringing a hand to his chest, to his heart . Silco has to stop himself from visibly gritting his teeth.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve saying that,” he snarls. “Especially when all you do is work at a bar and relax while I fight to free our hometown every day.”
Vander’s crease only deepens. “You know very well why I dropped out.” He says. The words escape his mouth with caution as he tries to avoid unleashing a potential argument. As expected, he fails spectacularly.
“Of course I do,” Silco responds sardonically, then lowers his voice to add, “Because you’re a traitor, and a coward.”
Those words seem to strike a nerve, because Vander presses his lips into a very thin line.
“We’ve talked about this. People were dying, Silco.” Vander stresses, repeatedly tapping his index finger against the cold counter’s surface. “A bigger rebellion would have ended in too much unnecessary bloodshed. It had to be stopped.”
Silco straightens up and fully faces him, fury bubbling in his chest. “What you call unnecessary bloodshed would have freed our hometown.”
“Nobody wanted a war. All Zaun wanted was a peaceful life.”
“No, only you wanted a peaceful life.” Silco counters, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You preferred to stay under Piltover’s cruel rulership and hide like a coward instead of fighting.”
Vander rises from where he’s seated, caught in the heat of the moment. His eyes don’t leave Silco’s, not even for a second. “I had too much to lose, Silco! Felicia, the girls… you.” His voice breaks as he gets that last word out, but Silco can’t bring himself to care about the pain that tints Vander’s tone.
He scoffs wryly. “Me? That’s interesting, considering you almost killed me.”
He remembers it vividly―the memory too fresh and too unblemished in his mind. After all, how could he ever forget the day his world came crashing down? The day his one and true love decided to turn his back on him.
He can almost feel the aching remnants of those strong hands wrapped tightly around his neck, pressing on his trachea to keep the oxygen away from his deprived lungs. The hatred with which Vander had looked at him as he pushed him deeper into the river; the fury that replaced the love and adoration that had once filled those grey eyes.
The memory alone makes Silco feel like he’s drowning, and he shakes his head to forcefully dissipate the image that floods his head in order to anchor himself back to reality. When his eyes focus once more on the man before him, he catches the mix of emotions that flash through his face. There’s regret, sorrow, and, worst of all, concern . Raw, genuine concern for who once was his partner. The sight makes Silco’s heart throb, and he swallows the painful knot that has formed in his throat, ignoring the warmth that threatens to settle in his stomach.
“Silco,” Vander starts, sitting back down on the leather stool. He speaks softly, but his words are heavy with remorse. “You have no idea how much I regret doing that. I was blinded by rage, by grief. Even after four years, the guilt still haunts me.”
Silco hates himself for believing him. He hates himself for looking into those woeful eyes and believing every word that comes out of his lips. But how could he not, when he understands that regret better than anyone? After all, he had also purposely hurt Vander in a moment of fury and desolation.
A tragic day, it had been…
Silco’s fingers grazed the hilt of the silver dagger tentatively, hesitation fighting its way into his heart as he anxiously waited for his target to show himself. His muscles ached with the intoxicating desire for sweet revenge, but somehow that small sparkle of uncertainty had managed to grow into a bigger flame that tugged at the strings of his heart, threatening to burn away the need for vengeance.
He raised a trembling hand to the right side of his face and traced the scars the river’s toxins had left behind, a grim reminder of the great betrayal he had suffered. The sensation of his damaged, uneven skin under the tip of his thumb was enough to temporarily silence that fleeting reluctance, encouraging his anger to grow stronger.
Both his ears and hands twitched when he caught the sound of approaching footsteps. They were slow, cautious, hesitant; akin to those of a wary prey. And Silco listened to them carefully, like a starving hunter.
It appeared Vander had taken the bait, and had been successfully lured out of his new hometown. New hometown. The phrase made Silco’s chest swell with wrath, with sorrow. He gritted his teeth and closed his hand around the dagger’s hilt. The moment he felt its cold surface against his fingers, hesitation attacked once more, mixing with all the rage and grief he had accumulated over the weeks.
“Silco?” Vander called out, looking around him like a deer in headlights. The quiver in his voice was evident, regardless of how hard he tried to hide it. “You said you wanted to talk, right?” He asked. “So here I am.”
Somehow, the sound of his voice still made Silco’s wounded heart flutter, like a sweet, soothing melody. He gripped the hilt even tighter. If he allowed fondness to take control of him, he would turn around and walk away, then limit himself to observing Vander from the shadows, like a coward.
He gripped the hilt so tightly his knuckles turned white.
He stepped forward, into the weak light that broke through the dark, polluted sky.
“Vander,” he said, calmly, and it was all it took for the man to whirl around and look at him. He watched his expression shift into something dangerously close to a devastating remorse when his now wide eyes settled on Silco’s face. “You actually showed up. I must say I’m rather surprised.”
Vander walked towards him, his movements slow and hesitant at first. However, his steps became more frantic and desperate the closer he got, and soon enough, he was standing right in front of Silco, arms twitching as they fought the urge to embrace who had once been his lover. He tentatively reached out, but when all Silco offered him was a glare, he immediately lowered his arm back to the side of his torso.
“Silco,” he tried once more, voice stained with desperation. “I―”
“I heard you made peace with them.” Silco cut him off tersely.
The venom in his tone was evident, so much that Vander took a step back. Silco tried to ignore how his stomach churned.
Vander shook his head and swallowed. “That was…”
“I know what it was,” Silco stepped forward menacingly. This time, nevertheless, Vander didn’t move. A big mistake, he realized too late. “Betrayal.”
Caging every single conflicting emotion he had deep within his heart, Silco took out the dagger and lunged forward. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see the silver blade penetrating Vander’s tough skin, but the sound of Vander’s breath catching hurt all the same. It wasn’t long before Silco pulled the dagger out, doing his best to ignore the dreadful sensation of that familiar warm, sticky liquid running down his hand tauntingly. He watched as the crimson blood oozed from the wound and dyed Vander’s clothes a red velvet with an odd mix of both satisfaction and rue.
Vander staggered backwards in complete bewilderment. Silco took advantage of this defenselessness and tackled him to the dirty ground. Now, Vander found himself pinned to the ground; a silver dagger barely centimeters away from his neck, its sharp point shining menacingly above his Adam’s apple.
“Why did it have to come down to this?” Silco asked, his voice trembling with fury and many other emotions he was unable to name. The dagger shook in his grasp. “Why?”
Vander had always surpassed Silco in terms of physical strength. Even in his injured state, it wouldn’t have been impossible for him to throw Silco off of him and flee. Yet for some reason, he chose not to. For some reason, he chose to simply look at Silco with sad eyes.
Silco gritted his teeth so hard he feared his molars might crack. Frustration threatened to fill his eyes with tears. Why… why couldn’t he do it?
Whenever he attempted to lower the dagger and put an end to all of this, something stopped him. His body simply refused to listen to him. His heart was ahead of his brain. His muscles, too, had decided to rebel against him, not moving an inch.
He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t.
The dagger clattered to the floor.
Vander’s gentle voice pulls him back into the present. “We both have regrets… mistakes to make up for,” his gaze has softened, and he looks at Silco like he’s the most important thing in the world. Silco’s eyes flick down to the hand that’s venturing his way, getting treacherously close to his own. “We can work on it… together .” The word sounds foreign, and Silco’s mouth wobbles, heart aching with temptation.
Only when those same fingers that had attempted to drown him brush against his own does he retreat his hand and avert his gaze. He slowly shakes his head, heedless of his heart’s complaints.
“Things are finally falling back into place,” he explains, and he never thought rejecting would hurt as badly as being rejected. The utter defeat and disappointment that flash through Vander’s eyes only adds salt to the wound. “I don’t want to lose all the progress I’ve made.”
Vander lowers his gaze and nods in understanding. Just then, the sound of excited footsteps and elated giggles fill the house. They both turn to the staircase just in time to see Vi and Powder emerge from the landing, bags in hand.
“Maybe,” Silco suddenly whispers, catching Vander’s attention. Their gazes find each other, a glimmer of hope swimming on both their faces. “Maybe once the dust has settled, we can start anew.”
A small smile creeps its way into Vander’s face. When the girls call out to him, he answers them with a newfound vigor.