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Zaun’s version of winter was always a little strange. More grime than glitter, more soot than snow. And yet, when you woke that morning to the whispering sound of flakes drifting against your apartment windows it stirred something familiar. Cozy. Heavy. Like the weight of a blanket that had seen too many winters but still did its job.
You yawned, stretching as you shuffled into the kitchen. The lights buzzed softly above you, casting a warm glow over the cluttered countertops. A few tin cans, empty spice jars and some scraps of last night’s dinner which Sevika had insisted on cooking though you both knew she was too tired to finish it.
You glanced toward the couch.
There she was. Sprawled out in deep sleep with her arm draped across her chest and her prosthetic still resting loosely over the side. The sharp features of her face had softened, lost in dreams or maybe just exhaustion. You didn’t need to be told how hard she’d been working lately.
Silco had kept her out until well past midnight and when she finally returned home with her boots were soaked, her coat heavy with moisture and her eyes dulled from whatever dealings had drained her spirit.
You didn’t wake her. Couldn’t.
Instead, you tiptoed around her to the kitchen, only to be greeted by familiar sight: an almost entirely empty pantry.
“Damn it,” you murmured pulling open another cabinet only to find it as bare as the first.
The last of the tea was gone. No eggs, no fruit, barely a slice of bread in sight. Even Sevika’s favorite spice , the one she insisted belonged in every stew you made had run out two days ago. You’d both been too tired to deal with it until now.
You moved to the coat rack and reached for your usual jacket, but after a minute of digging through the pile of scarves and worn outerwear, it became clear.
It was missing.
You checked the hallway hooks. The back of the bathroom door. Even the laundry pile in the corner.
Nothing.
Groaning, you leaned against the wall and letting your eyes close for a second. The cold air pressing in through the poorly sealed windows made it clear you couldn’t go out like this. Not unless you wanted to end up with frostbite.
And that’s when your gaze landed on it, hanging on its usual hook by the door like it always was when Sevika was home.
Her cape.
You stared at it for a long moment, thinking. Remembering.
How many times had she thrown it over your shoulders without a word? On cold nights when you’d forget to dress warm enough, or when she just wanted to feel you close in her own quiet way. She’d never said it aloud, but every time she wrapped it around you, it felt like the loudest declaration of love.
You smiled faintly. “Guess it’s my turn now.”
Taking it down gently, you draped it over your shoulders and fastened the clasp. It was heavier than you remembered — a little too big, hanging past your hips and brushing the tops of your thighs. It even managed to cover both arms even though it’s meant to just cover her prosthetic. It smelled like her. Comforting. Rough and warm all at once. Smoke and oil. Metal and musk. Home.
You stole one last glance at her, still dead asleep on the couch.
Careful not to wake her, you scribbled a quick note on the corner of a receipt and folded it next to her mechanical hand:
‘Went to get food and supplies. You needed the rest. Didn’t want to wake you. I’ll be back soon. Love you :)
P.S-I’ve got your cape’
You pressed a kiss to her forehead and tucked the cape tighter around yourself.
———
The moment you stepped outside the chill swept through Zaun’s narrow streets like a creeping fog. It wasn’t the kind of cold that came with snowflakes and quiet , this was a biting, industrial cold which carried on wind that had passed through too many pipes and open exhaust vents.
Still, you pressed forward and your boots crunching against slush-dusted cobblestones as you headed for the heart of the market district.
Zaun’s central market was a patchwork of salvaged tents, makeshift stalls and open crates. People moved quickly here, not just from the cold but out of habit. Life in Zaun didn’t slow down even for snow. As you wandered past familiar vendors and flickering neon signs, something odd began to happen.
People noticed you.
At first it was just a glance here or there. Then longer looks. A few double-takes. Heads turning.
It took you a moment to realize why.
The cape.
Of course.
Even if someone didn’t know you by face, they sure as hell knew Sevika’s silhouette and her signature piece. Dark, worn Fabric with sharp cuts and a stitch along the edge that shimmered faintly when caught by the right light. An unspoken warning in clothing form.
Except today, you were wearing it.
A woman at a fruit stand stared a beat too long before her expression softened. She reached down and offered you a bundle of slightly bruised apples.
“On the house,” she said with a wink.
You blinked. “Are you sure?”
“Sevika’s wife deserves to eat too.”
You smiled, not knowing if your should be curious on how she knows your her wife. You could be a random that stole it honestly but you didn’t put your mind to it. Instead, you accepted the offering and thanked her and continued to walk deeper into the maze of stalls.
A few vendors offered you vegetables at discounted prices. One even gave you a cloth-wrapped loaf of bread without a word. Every time, the cape seemed to do the talking , commanding respect without you needing to say a thing.
It was strange feeling both powerful and out of place. You’d never wanted to be well known but having the most known person in Zaun be your wife…well it doesn’t really work out then.
By the time you’d crossed off most of the grocery list in your head, your bag was heavy and your hands were freezing but you weren’t done yet.
The last stop was important, a little spice vendor tucked behind an old exhaust duct, barely marked except for the faint smell that always clung to the air near it. Sevika’s favorite spice. A smoky, citrusy blend with a sharp kick at the end. She used it in everything: soup, stew, eggs, even noodles.
You remembered how smug she looked the first time she’d sprinkled it into your cooking. “Now it tastes like real food,” she’d said just to get under your skin.
You rounded the corner and found the small shop still open. The elderly vendor gave you a long measuring look before a grin tugged at her lips.
“Well now,” she said, “haven’t seen you wear that cape before.”
You smiled breath visible in the cold air. “Desperate times.”
She chuckled and reached beneath the counter, retrieving a small, corked jar. “She’ll be pleased.”
You nodded. “Yeah… I hope so.” You say and thank her, walking out with the precious spice.
———
With your shopping complete, you began the walk back but your feet took you in a different direction.
The Last Drop was only a few blocks out of the way. It wouldn’t hurt to stop by. Just for a few minutes? You could grab a bottle of Sevika’s favorite drink and maybe chat with Thieram. He always had something funny to say and today of all days, you needed that little spark of warmth.
As you approached the bar, familiar noises drifted from within, music, glasses clinking, voices raised in argument and laughter. The snow had picked up again, dusting your shoulders and the cape in thin white powder.
You stepped inside and paused to brush yourself off. The warmth was immediate, hitting you like a wave as the door shut behind you.
But then your eyes caught ht something . Someone.
Your heart skipped.
There she was.
Sevika.
Sitting in her usual spot and leaning back against the bar with that casual confidence only she could pull off. Her head was tilted slightly toward Thieram as if mid-conversation in but what caught your attention more than anything was the jacket.
Your gift.
The dark, faded canvas coat with reinforced elbows and a high collar she’d said looked “too damn clean.” You’d given it to her months ago, back when she kept coming home soaked and half-frozen, hoping she’d wear something better than a shoulder harness and sarcasm in the cold.
She never wore it. Not once.
Until now.
Your breath hitched.
And then she turned.
Her gaze found yours in an instant and her face broke into a soft, almost sleepy smile.
“Hey, look who it is,” she said, her voice carrying through the bar.
You approached slowly, eyes narrowing. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
Her smirk deepened. “You left in my cape.”
You slid into the stool beside her, still wearing said cape. “Because I couldn’t find a jacket. Yours was on the hook. I wasn’t about to wake you just to freeze. Plus now I’ve realised it fits my whole body and not just one arm”
“And yet here you are, stealing my style.”
You gave her a faux glare. “I was going to surprise you with your drink at home. Not have you beat me to the bar.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she said, shrugging. “And I figured if you were out in the cold with my cape, the least I could do was look good waiting for you.”
You glanced at the jacket. “Didn’t think you still had that.”
“Thought I lost it,” she admitted, fingers brushing the collar. “Found it this morning. Figured it was as good a time as any.”
You smirked. “Maybe I need my own cape. Something dramatic. Flowing. Makes me look just mysterious enough to match you.”
Sevika chuckled. “You already turn heads.”
You grinned and pulled her cape tighter around your shoulders. “Then I guess I’ll keep this one until I get my own.”
———
Thieram leaned over the bar, wiping down a mug with a stained towel and raising an eyebrow at the two of you.
“Well damn,” he said with a lazy grin. “Didn’t expect both of you in here today. What’s the occasion? Domestic rebellion?”
You rolled your eyes. “She’s supposed to be resting.”
“And she’s supposed to be at home making stew,” Sevika added, nudging your arm with a slight smirk.
Thieram whistled. “Looks like I caught the drama in act two.”
You handed over the list of drinks and supplies you wanted to pick up, and Thieram began pulling bottles down from the shelves. “You know,” he said as he worked “seeing you in that cape is kind of surreal. Like seeing a wolf draped in another wolf’s fur.”
You laughed. “You saying I look dangerous now?”
“I’m saying you always did.” he said with a wink.
Sevika’s brow arched with a warning glare “Careful, Thieram.”
He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Just giving compliments where they’re due. Gotta appreciate someone bold enough to wear your cape out in public. Not many would.”
You shrugged, glancing sideways at Sevika. “Didn’t feel bold. Just felt… natural.”
Her eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary. Something warm and unspoken passed between you, like the bar noise faded for just a breath.
Thieram finished wrapping your bottle in cloth and slid it across the counter. “For when you get home. That one’s on the house.”
“Come on,” Sevika grumbled, reaching for her coin pouch.
“Nah,” he waved it off. “Consider it thanks for making sure she’s still alive after last week’s mess with the Steelblades.”
You frowned. “What mess?”
Sevika gave Therian a sharp look, but he just shrugged. “She didn’t tell you? Girl got jumped by three thugs in an alley off Shimmer Row and beat them to shit. Came back limping and cursing like an old sailor.”
On the other hand, Sevika sits there and looks like she is about to grab him by the neck to shut up.
You turned to Sevika wide-eyed. “Seriously!? You didn’t say anything!”
She shifted on the barstool. “Didn’t want you to worry. Wasn’t a big deal.”
Your lips parted, ready to argue but you stopped yourself. She wasn’t hiding it out of pride. It was her way of protecting you. You sighed and told yourself to calm down, you turn to her and tell her to look at you.
“Next time tell me okay? Or I will figure out a way to find out.”
She looked at you as her face softened seeing you with that look you always did whenever you found out she got hurt.
“You had shit going on-“
You cut her off with the warning look before she sighs
“Promise I’ll tell you” she say looking at you defeated.
“Good because what I said was true.” You say now grinning a bit feeling powerful, that’s was until she told you to lower your ego and dragged you out The Last Drop.
———
After getting dragged out by Sevika, you started to make your way home. The streets had quieted by the time you stepped out of the bar. Most of the market was shutting down and the falling snow had thickened into a steady curtain of white.
You both walked in silence at first. The only sounds were your footsteps and the occasional rumble of a far-off pipe discharging steam. Despite the weight of the groceries, your heart felt lighter.
Sevika kept her hand firm around your waist, the warmth of her palm pressing through the layers of fabric. Even though you were still wrapped in her cape, she stayed close. Like she didn’t fully trust the garment to keep you warm without her.
“People kept offering me free stuff today,” you said after a moment, voice muffled by the wind. “I think your cape has magical powers.”
She snorted. “Fear and intimidation. Works every time.”
You nudged her side with a grin. “Maybe I’ll start wearing it more often. Might make people finally listen to me.”
“They’d listen anyway,” she said, her tone quieter now. “You don’t need a cape for that.”
That stopped you for half a second. You looked at her, and half-expecting a smirk but she was serious. Honest. Her eyes fixed ahead like the words had slipped out before she could rein them in.
You let the moment sit between you like steam rising off a warm vent.
“Still,” you murmured, pulling the fabric tighter around yourself, “I like that it smells like you.”
She smiled ,soft and rare. She reached up to adjust the edge of the cape where it had begun to slip.
You passed a flickering lamp post, its light casting long shadows across the street. She guided you away from a puddle and kept her hand steady at your back, wordless but full of care.
By the time your apartment came into view, snow clung to your boots and lashes. Sevika reached the door first, unlocking it with the ease of muscle memory. You stepped inside and immediately sighed at the returning warmth, the familiar smell of home wrapping around you like a second cloak.
———
You toed off your boots near the doorway, wiggling your half-frozen fingers to get feeling back into them. Sevika closed the door behind you and locking it with a metallic click before brushing snow off her shoulders. The apartment was just as you’d left it , dim and a little cluttered but welcoming.
The cape slipped slightly from your shoulders as you moved into the kitchen, your arms full of groceries. Sevika followed behind and taking the heavier bags without needing to be asked, even though you could have easily carried them.
“You really didn’t have to come out,” you said, glancing at her over your shoulder. “You looked dead on the couch this morning.”
She grunted while unloading items onto the counter. “Didn’t like waking up alone.”
The simplicity of the statement, paired with how casually she said it made your chest tighten a little.
“You weren’t alone,” you murmured. “I left you a note.”
“Didn’t see it right away,” she admitted. “Heart nearly stopped before I found it.”
You walked over and leaned on the counter, softly smiling watching her unpack some stuff. “Well I’m here now. And I got everything. Including your weird spice.”
She looked over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s not weird.”
“It’s weird.”
“I like it.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately and stepped away to begin unpacking. The kitchen filled with soft rustling, the occasional clink of bottles or tin containers being set down. Sevika moved beside you in that effortless way she had. Like she didn’t need to be asked to help, she just did.
While putting away the last couple things you felt her staring at you. You glanced up to see if you were right, and you were. She was looking straight at you, looking as if she’s got something on her mind.
“What?”
She shook her head, voice low. “Nothing. Just… you look good in my cape.”
You smiled, gaze soft. “You look good in the jacket I gave you. Surprised it still fits.”
She scoffed. “You act like I’ve aged a decade.”
You reached out and tugged on the collar gently, smoothing it out. “You always say you don’t need things. Gifts. Comfort. But… I like seeing you let yourself have something. Even something small.”
Sevika was quiet for a moment, then looked away like it made her feel out of place. “Didn’t want to mess it up. Thought I’d ruin it.”
“You can’t ruin something that was always meant for you.”
She didn’t say anything but her hand reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It lingered a second longer than necessary, fingers calloused but careful.
You leaned into her touch, admiring how she looked right now.
———
The stove hissed softly as you turned it on and began to heat a pot of water. She pulled out vegetables to prep, rolling up her sleeves in that unconscious way that told you she was really home now. No longer Sevika the most powerful lady in Zaun, or Silco’s right hand but Sevika your wife, barefoot and chopping onions while still wearing your old gift.
Dinner became a rhythm. A shared process. A comfortable one.
By the time the stew began to simmer, the apartment smelled like spice and garlic and the windows were fogged from the heat. You both sat curled up on the couch under the thickest blanket you could find, bowls in hand. The cape hung up at its original spot on the hanger, still faintly damp from the snow.
Sevika rested her head against yours. Her body was warm and solid beside you, grounding you with her presence. Outside, the wind howled past the glass but it barely registered.
“You were right,” she said softly.
“About what?”
“The spice. You put just enough this time.”
You grinned. “That’s because I’m learning your language.”
She turned to look at you, something unguarded in her expression. “And what’s that?”
You leaned closer. “A little smoke. A little heat. All bark until I get past your walls. But underneath? Soft.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully. “You calling me soft now?”
You pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Only for me.”
She didn’t argue.
Eventually, Sevika set her empty bowl down and took yours too, placing them on the table without getting up. She leaned back, her hand finding yours again.
“I’ll get you your own cape,” she murmured.
You smiled. “I don’t need one.”
“Yeah?” Her voice was rough, teasing. “You looked pretty smug in mine.”
“I was,” you admitted. “Felt like I could punch someone and they’d apologize to me.”
She chuckled, eyes glinting. “That’s the spirit.”
———
That night, you fell asleep with her wrapped around you. No cape needed. Just her arms, strong and warm, and the quiet, unspoken promise that Zaun’s chaos would never touch the heart of your home.
Because in this twisted city of power plays and shadowed streets, you were her calm. And she despite her scars and metal, was your warmth.