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You should've gone home.
You should've gone home, is the thought that plagues your mind as you stand in The Last Drop, unable to focus on any of the action surrounding you. You shouldn't have pushed yourself, you know better than that. Stubborn bastard, you think. You know your body can't handle as much as everyone elses can, yet you insist on proving yourself. To who? you don't know. Maybe to 'The nation of Zaun' itself- prove that you can be self reliant. Zaun requires you to be independent, untrusting and suspicious to some degree. You dont need help. You should've swallowed your pride and just gone home. You knew this would happen, this always happens when you push through the pain, ignore your limits.
After another minute or two of self deprecating thoughts, your focus is drawn to something else - the dull ache gnawing it's way through your body. That small discomfort present when you woke up this morning (which you chose to ignore - you've been ignoring it alot lately) had now spiraled into a persistent pain in every joint, every muscle, every inch of your body, at least that's how it felt. Almost unbearable.
You're somewhat aware of your surroundings, despite your attention being elsewhere. You hear the music on the record player, heavy footsteps of patrons who are too excited/drunk/both to dance properly, the 'clink' of glasses as friends and strangers celebrate. Oh, right, you're supposed to be celebrating. You drag your eyes off the floor and make an effort to look brighter than you feel. Pushing your way through the crowd of drunk, cheerful people, you plaster a smile on your face (which you're sure looks more like an uncomfortable grimace, but you can't be bothered to care).
You're about to search for a chair to spend the rest of your evening in, when you hear a familliar voice call your name as a warm hand grabs your wrist. A flash of purple catches your eye, and you smile. Felicia squeezes your hand, a welcome distraction from the continuous ache. Her face shines with hope, hope for the future- for the Nation of Zaun that Silco, Vander and all the other Children of Zaun were building from the ground up. The peaceful look on her face seems infectious as she hands you a glass, and holds up her own. "To Zaun" she beams.
"To Zaun" you repeat. Several vocies of the other nearby revolutionaries echo back as you take a sip of the brownish red liquid, a small hint of a smile on your face.
Shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in an attempt to ease the pain, your focus is once again drawn away as a familiar voice carries through The Last Drop. Silco stands on a crate by the bar, commanding the attention of every patron in an instant- including you, your eyes never leaving his face. Someone turns the music down as he begins to speak.
"Children of Zaun," he begins in that reassuring, calm voice that effortlessly entrances you. "Today was a great success, you should be proud of yourselves." Several cheers can be heard across the bar. You notice Vander standing beside him, large hand covering Silco's shoulder as he looks at the smaller man with pride and admiration. "But we are far from done with the cause…" his voice blurs into the background, you can no longer hear anything but your own shaky breaths. The ache is burning through you, unable to ignore it any longer. Bright lights hanging overhead sting your eyes, making the pounding in your head significantly worse. The pain coursing through your body is doing anything but go away.
Your knees buckle underneath you as you reach for the nearest thing to catch yourself. Grasping desperately at something, anything as you go down. The person next to you hauls you up. You can't stand the look on their face as you regain your footing. That damn pity that everyone seems to show you. You glance at Silco, head still spinning. He makes eye contact with you, the corners of his mouth curling upwards into the slightest of smiles as he adresses the crowd of revolutionaries, and you.
You can't stand any longer, your legs burning as you make a beeline for a wooden door behind the bar. Breaking eye contact, you quickly step away from everything, into some random backroom. The room is dark and cold, thank Janna. You sit against the far wall, amongst crates full of what you assume to be alcohol for the bar. Your guess is proven correct as pull a bottle out, pressing the cool glass to your forehead. Inhaling sharply, you bring your knees to your chest, curling in on yourself to block everything out.
You dont know how long you stay like that, but you suddenly raise your head as you hear murmured voices nearby. The door creaks open, amber light spilling into the room. The tall, thin, outline of Silco remains in the doorway for a moment, before shutting the door with a soft click and moving to squat in front of you. "Vander told me you ran in here," he starts, his voice low and soothing, "how can i help?" You are relieved he said that; he knows better than to ask you to rate your pain, something he did when first getting to know you (which pissed you off greatly). For the first few months of your relationship, you had to remind him that you can do things for yourself- Silco had a habit of taking over tasks he thought were strenuous to you, without asking. You knew it was well intentioned, you just hated being treated like you were incapable. Now he knows to prioritise what you need before acting on his own assumptions. If you were in less pain and a better mood, you would've made a mental note to tell him you noticed that. But you aren't, so you don't bring it up.
"I- I don't know." You run your hand over your face, frustrated and tired. You needed to go home two hours ago, you were just too stubborn. Too stubborn for many things - restocking your painkiller stash, buying the damn cane you've been fantasising about for months, asking for help, to name a few. Silco puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I need to go home…" you hesitate, embarrassed. You hate being vulnerable, hate being seen as weak. But you suck it up because you know Silco doesnt perceive you that way. "…but there's no way i'm making the walk back."
He nods, tendrils of dark hair falling over his face. "Can you stand?" The unsure look on your face is enough of a response for him. "Okay," he begins, thinking for a moment. Its too loud, your head is spinning, and everything hurts. You rest your head in your hands, eyes glistening as you pick at your bottom lip. Silco gently pulls your hand away from your mouth, silently asking you to stop. "There are rooms upstairs. I could carry you-"
"No." You cut him off. You refuse to be carried, that's absolutely mortifying. You're supposed to be a leader in this revolution against Piltover, not some weakling who can't even handle a flight of stairs.
But a small part of you, perhaps the logical part, wants to let him. If it's too painful to stand, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to let him take you upstairs. But then everyone would see you, see the weakness you try desperately to hide. Fuck, why is this so hard? This isn't fair, this can't be your life. Silent tears escape your eyes as you spiral, the self hatred and doubt consuming you.
"I know it's far from ideal," warm, slender hands cup your face. The pads of Silco's thumbs brush the tears off your cheeks. "But you can't stay down here." He hesitates for a moment, brow furrowed in thought. "We could go round the back - no one would have to see, if that's what's bothering you."
You nod, and Silco stands, holding his hands out to you. Squeezing them tightly, you haul yourself up, standing on shaky legs. "On three, okay?" You wrap your arms around his neck. 'One, two…" He snakes his arm under your knees, scooping you up as you lift your legs. Your hands clutch at the collar of his shirt as you bury your face into his chest, letting the tears flow where no one can see. His other hand cradles the back of your head for a moment. "Shh, it's okay," he takes a few steps towards the door, opening it with his foot, "I've got you" he whispers, holding you against him as he makes his way to the back set of stairs.
You shut your eyes tight as he carries you upstairs, into an office- who's office, you have no idea. You rarely go up here, the walk upstairs is usually too painful to manage. Silco gently lowers you down onto a sofa in the middle of the room. Slipping his jacket off, he lays it over you like a makeshift blanket. He quietly closes the door. You feel a dip in the tired, red leather as he sits next to you, arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace.
You can't stop the tears from flowing now, the result of weeks of bottling up your emotions, pushing through almost unbearable pain each day finally bubbling over as you cry into his arms. You hate being vulnerable with anyone, Silco was the only exception. He knew what you dealt with, and didn't treat you any differently, didn't see you as less, didn't pity you like everyone else seemed to. It was rare to find people that stuck around on days where you were miserable and exhausted, or days when just you couldn't get out of bed. People who didnt treat you like a hindrance. But Silco always stuck around, even if you weren't always the most fun to be around.
Now, he holds you steady against him, whispering soft reassurances in your ear. "I've got you" he repeats, letting you cry out all the frustration and pain. It was comforting in a way, just the two of you above the last drop, you curled up in his arms as you let your eyes drift shut. Silco speaks, his voice quiet and soothing "It's okay, I'll be here when you wake up" he presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, and that's all the reassurance you need, finally letting your body rest as sleep takes over.