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After a long, tedious day of paying his civic duty, Councillor Silco pushed open the old, chipped door to the Last Drop and let all his troubles melt through the cracks in the floorboards at the sight of his beloved husband behind the bar. His shoes, new, not yet worn in, clicked quietly against the floor with each step towards the counter.
Vander’s back was turned. Silco could only guess what he was doing, taking stock or cleaning glasses or some other mundane activity. It had been a long time since Silco had worked on the shop floor; he was always more of an ideas man.
He rapped his knuckles on the wood.
Vander spared an acknowledging tilt of his head, though he didn’t turn enough to see Silco lounging. “What’s your poison? Give me a second, I’ll pour your something.”
“Three decades and you still haven’t memorised my order?” Vander’s head perked up. “Hardly the mark of an experienced bartender. Perhaps I should take my patronage elsewhere.”
Like a flower unfurling carefully into bloom, Vander’s face split into a smile as fond and as easy as Silco had come to expect from him. “Oh no, precious,” he turned fully around, taking Silco’s hand into his and lifting Silco’s fingers to his lips, “your order I know.”
“Flatterer,” Silco admonished, with no intention of making Vander stop.
“’Charmer’, surely?” Elbows on the counter, Vander clasped the hand he’d kissed between both of his own. Whatever he’d been doing before, it was forgotten.
“Flatters himself, too,” Silco countered.
Vander leaned over the bar and kissed him.
“Hi,” he spoke low into the space between them as they parted.
“Hello,” Silco replied. “Now, don’t go getting a big head over this.”
He stepped back just enough that Vander could get an unobstructed view of the flowers he pulled from behind his back. It was a bouquet of blue and white, sprays of delicate petals in configurations that an artist or mathematician could spend hours studying.
He pointed to one of the larger flowers, powder blue head of fine petals condensed together and rippling outwards. “This is a chrysanthemum. It means ‘beloved by the community’. It reminded me of you. And this,” elsewhere in the bouquet he pointed out a small smattering of white curling petals that protruded in pairs from a thick green stem, “is a snapdragon. I thought it was more me. ‘Innovation and progress’.”
Vander’s eyes sparkled as he took it all in, before flicking up to Silco in awe.
Silco held his serious façade for a moment longer. “I’m taking the piss, obviously.”
Vander rolled his eyes. “Sil…”
“Seriously, Vander, what do I know about flowers? They look nice so I bought them.”
“Is that even a chrysanthemum?” Vander accused.
“How should I know!” He pushed the bouquet into Vander’s chest. “Take them before I fabricate something else.”
Vander brought them to his nose. Blue reflected against his face, casting him in an otherworldly glow for a second. He was beautiful, Silco thought, just like the flowers. Silco may have trouble understanding beautiful things sometimes, but he knew them. He knew their worth.
“We’re going to need another vase,” Vander remarked, as he reached below the counter and produced from it a bouquet of his own.
This second bunch of flowers were yellow and uniform, with perfectly coifed petals and vibrant down to the stems, swaddled in parchment paper that Silco recognised from their garnish preserves. These flowers he could name. In fact, he’d go as far as to say that he could trace them right back to their origin.
“Claggor’s project…”
Vander’s mouth crooked up. “He’s naming them ‘Sky of Zaun’. Says the experiments are showing better results every day. Soon enough they’ll be planted on every street corner.”
“A sky planted in the ground,” Silco mused. He took them from Vander, brushing his fingers over the parts that curled, marvelling at how something so delicate could provide a service so strong. “A fitting fate for the Undercity’s flora.”
So lost in his assessment of the buds, he didn’t notice Vander reaching to cup his cheek until a palm was already pressed into the skin there. He looked up to find Vander gazing back with the kind of love reserved for weddings and long-awaited first kisses.
“He named them after you.”
A beautiful thing, so easily underestimated by Piltie and Zaunite alike. Taken in by a misfit family, supported in its endeavours, given the chance to prove itself. Its petals were asymmetrical and prone to bruising. Its stem long, thin, and breakable. But its chemical building blocks promised a future for all. Its very soul demanded peace.
A little part of Silco on every street corner in Zaun.
Though his throat felt thick with emotion, he swallowed it down and spoke. “Why me?”
Vander stroked his cheek, like he was pre-empting the tears he’d have to wipe away.
“He said you inspired him. He’s been reading your journals cover-to-cover for years.”
Silco huffed a wet laugh. “He’s a fanatic,” he remarked.
Vander shrugged. “He takes after his dad.”
Another choked-up huff, though this bordered more on a sob. It’s remarkable the way that happiness sneaks up on a person when they’re least expecting it. The workday had been tough, a series of longwinded excuses masquerading as policy meetings, each more inane than the last. Through tirades and ledgers and “let’s review the previous minutes”, Silco had steeled himself with several small promises of what was to come. The first, the look of bliss on Vander’s face when Silco gave him a bouquet he’d been eyeing up during his commute. The second, a long discussion with Claggor and Mylo about the progress of their project to purify the air in Zaun and reverse the damage caused by Piltover’s greed. Third, a game of poker with Sevika, one that he was sure to lose yet enjoy every second of. Fourth, clothes shopping with Powder ahead of her two-year anniversary dinner with Ekko. And all of this without ever really noticing that he had the perfect family.
He kissed the palm of Vander’s hand with reverence.
“Let’s change this subject,” he pled, “before I have to do something drastic, like give us all a surname.”
“A surname?” Vander pursed his lips in thought. “These Pilties you work with are changing you.”
Silco scoffed. “Hardly.”
“First it’s a surname, then we’re a house. What’s next? Do I have to start going to those fancy parties you’re always getting dragged off to?”
“Be careful,” Silco warned. “Perhaps I will make you come with me. Then you’ll see why I drink myself into a stupor.”
“Invite those co-workers of yours down here, we’ll show them a real party,” Vander chuckled.
Silco hummed. Though it would be funny to watch Councillor Salo trip over himself in an attempt to be the most liked person in the room, or Councillor Hoskel’s nose scrunch in distaste at the thumping bass of a DJ set, and as much as he would love to have something new to gossip with Councillor Medarda and Heimerdinger’s assistant about…
He looked around the empty bar, marked all over by the fingerprints of their lives, and said, “Let’s not. This is perfect.”