be excellent to each other

You’d pleaded with him not to do something so risky. You’d tried to calm down, told him to just wait until you could all discuss it together as a group and come up with a plan that wasn’t so grandiose, and in your view, completely and utterly stupid. 

Eventually, Silco had gotten frustrated and rolled his eyes, grumbling that he wouldn’t go as he’d slunk off downstairs to no doubt drink the night away in the bar. 

This morning you’d woken with him fast asleep by the side of you in bed and, assuming he’d wasted the evening drinking himself dry, you thought nothing of it until later this afternoon when you’d found out the truth from Vander. 

Silco had gone Topside to scout out the building that housed the Sheriff’s office. 

Vander had desperately tried to reassure you that Silco wouldn’t have done anything stupid but it had done absolutely nothing to douse the flames of anger and hurt spreading through you. 

The damage was done. 

Now, salty tears finally drying on your cheeks, you stand in your shared bedroom packing your belongings into the rucksack laid out on your bed. 

Silco is still out running errands so there's a note placed carefully on the desk in your bedroom. It's not ideal, but it's for the best. 

However cowardly it makes you feel to reduce your breakup to a measly note, you're too emotionally drained to even think about having another argument with him.

You just can’t deal with it right now. 

Planning to stay with a friend until you found somewhere you could afford by yourself, you convince yourself that if he truly wants you back, if he truly wants to fix things, he’ll come and find you.

You’ve already packed the easy things, like most of your clothes and your toiletries from the bathroom. The real challenge now it would seem is the more sentimental items, like the pile of gifts currently lined up on the bed that you’d received from Silco over the years. 

The little toy poro he'd scrimped and saved to buy you for your birthday that one year. Or the matching sunglasses he'd stolen as a little souvenir from your third date. 

As you stare down at the gifts on the bed wondering if you’ll have enough room to bring them all, the door opens behind you.

You freeze, knowing exactly who it is before he’s even spoken. 

"There you are," Silco announces, his voice clearly tired but still laced with a hint of relief. "Vander said you were-" 

He cuts himself off as he undoubtedly takes in the state of the bedroom before speaking again in a tone of pure shock. 

"What are you doing?" 

You can’t bring yourself to answer so instead busy yourself with shoving all of the gifts into your bag before he can see them. 

"No," he breathes out from the doorway as it dawns on him. 

It sends a horrible pang of hurt ringing in your chest, only made worse when he pleadingly says your name.

"Please don't do this." 

"I have to, Silco," you sigh, trying to keep your heart as closed off as you can. It hurts enough as it is without you letting your emotions run wild. 

"You don't,” he says. “You don't have to." 

You stop answering because you can tell this particular line of conversation will just go in circles. 

Behind you, he shuts the door with a click and it irritates you into shoving more into the bag, no longer caring about being neat or if you should leave anything behind. 

"Is this because of what happened last week? I already told you that wasn't my fault," Silco continues when you don’t respond or turn to face him. 

He's referring to the incident where he almost got shot after taunting some enforcers for no good reason.

Truth be told, that incident had absolutely terrified you, but it was just one of the many reasons why you couldn’t keep doing this. 

"No, it isn't because of that," you say flatly. 

"Then why?" 

You finally turn to look at him, the first time since he’d left the bar this morning. (He looks gorgeous and like he's on the verge of heartbreak and you hate that you still love him despite it all.) 

"Where did you go last night?" you ask flatly, looking him square in the eyes.

As expected his expression instantly turns stony, but after years of learning and reading his tells, you can see the twitches of regret in his eyes. 

A few beats of silence pass and you know he’s too stubborn to admit it out loud. 

Your response is quiet. Resigned. 

"That's why."

Turning back round to face the bed, you begin to shove down all your belongings as far down into the bag as they can go, making sure you have enough room for the last bits that you know are in the wardrobe. 

"Look, I'm sorry for doing it behind your back, but I had to go," he starts, and it feels like the beginning of the heated argument that you were so desperately hoping to avoid.

Your cool facade broken, you whirl round to face him straight on, built-up ire finally pouring out of you in reams. 

"No, you didn't have to go! You went because you wanted to and you went even though I asked you- no, begged you not to," you yell at him.

He flinches minutely at the sudden raise in volume, but keeps his own voice calm and steady when he crafts his response. 

"You don't understand, this is important," he emphasises. "They cannot find out what we’re doing to fight against them, not when we’re this close to finally having the lives we deserve, that all of us deserve.”

It takes all your strength not to give in to his words and continue the argument with an incredulous scoff.

As if you don’t know all that. As if you didn’t spend your days fighting for Zaun as well. 

As if you didn’t fight every second for him. 

You shut it down immediately, twisting back round to face the bed. 

"I'm not doing this," you say blankly. 

"What?" he replies, clearly stunned. 

"I'm not arguing with you, Silco. I'm leaving." 

It breaks your heart to say it, but in this moment, you see no other way forward. Not if he’s going to keep on like this. 

Silco says nothing as you pack away the rest of your belongings into your bag, briefly recalling that you still have a few last bits in the wardrobe. You're almost certain that his anger is charging up in the silence, readying himself to launch into a whole speech about how wrong you are.

But when he does speak again, the sound of his choked-up voice feels like a shot directly to your heart.  

"You can't leave." 

Your heart sinks into your stomach and everything within you practically screams to cross the room and hug him, but you know that if you even look at him you’ll end up changing your mind. So, you move over to the wardrobe instead and pull open the doors to ensure he’s not in your line of sight. 

Silco says your name in that horribly soft timbre he only uses when he’s desperate and even though it pretty much tears you apart to ignore him, you focus on pulling the rest of your clothes from the closet.

He speaks your name again, this time even more desperately and you suddenly find yourself biting back tears. 

Fuck, why did he have to come home early? Why couldn't you just have some time to grieve by yourself? 

"Silco, it's over," you bite out, just wanting this horrible situation to be done with so you can work on healing. 

Finally moving into the room, you hear his footsteps creak on the old wooden floorboards behind you. 

You brace yourself for him to take your hand or wrap his arms around you but to your confusion, his footsteps halt in the centre of the room and you hear an unexpected rustling sound instead. 

Spinning around, you find Silco holding your backpack upside down in the air, emptying the contents back onto the bed with vigorous shakes. Your belongings drop onto the sheets in a crumpled mess, undoing all your work to get them all into the rucksack. 

Silco glares at the bag with tight-lipped hatred, as if it’s the reason you’re leaving, the longer strands of his hair falling down and bouncing with each rough movement of his arms. 

You stare at him in disbelief, your jaw slack until you find the words to confront him.  

"What the fuck, Silco? Put them back!"

He grips the bag even tighter. 

"No." 

And just like that, your astonishment slides into anger. 

"Silco," you warn, eyes narrowing dangerously. "Put. Them. Back." 

"Not if it means you'll stay," he replies obstinately. 

He continues to shake the bag but, ever the impatient boy, gets too frustrated and decides to drop the bag onto the bed. Rapidly taking out handfuls of your belongings until the backpack is empty, he then throws it at the wall furthest from you with a grunt. 

Silco’s gaze slides to look at you from across the room and you both stare at each other breathlessly, chests borderline heaving. 

A clear challenge. 

Unfortunately for Silco, you can be stubborn too. 

Without another word, you reach into the wardrobe and pull out his backpack, moving over to the other side of the bed to restart your packing. 

This time, Silco rushes around the bed to you and tries to grab your hand, but you pull it away, taking a step back. 

"Just stop-" 

"Please don't leave me," he pleads in the most heartbreaking, riven timbre you’ve ever heard him speak in and your heart wrenches. 

He sounds like the little boy you’d met all that time ago in those dark mines, the one who was so desperate to no longer be alone. 

"I'll do anything, I can't do this without you," he begs. 

"Do what without me?" 

"Any of it," he blurts out, running a distressed hand through his hair. "Some days, the only thing that gets me through the day is knowing that you'll be here when I get home."

Your insides jolt at such a vulnerable confession from such a headstrong man, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling you get when he suddenly drops to one knee in front of you, taking one of your hands in both of his. 

Heart racing ten to the dozen, you watch in horror as he glances up at you. 

He’d better not be doing what you think he’s doing…

"Silco-" 

"I love you," he says. "I love you more than anything in the world." 

You watch as tears line his lashes and soon find yourself matching. 

Fuck, you were expecting yelling and anger, not this. 

You’ve never seen him like this before. 

"Please," he repeats and it cracks your mask in two.

Your knees give out and you let yourself sink down onto the floor with him. 

Silco immediately throws his arms around you, only just stopping you from falling back with how quickly he presses his body against yours, burying his head in the crook of your neck. 

On instinct, you wrap your arms around his frame, one hand rubbing his back whilst the other cards through his inky strands as he rocks you gently from side to side. 

Little whispers of “Don't go,” and “I need you,” are mumbled into your hair, and you’re almost certain the wetness on your neck is from those tears that had been threatening to break free. You kindly decide not to mention it. 

Eventually, you sigh and rest your forehead on his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut in a pitiful attempt to ease the difficult conversation up ahead. 

"Sil, I can't keep doing this."

He sniffles a little and pulls back to look at you but doesn’t let go. (He never lets go.)

"Doing what?" he asks, brows furrowing in that cute little way he does when he’s confused about something. 

"Watching you destroy yourself." 

"I'm not-" 

"You are, Silco, and it's hurting me," you enunciate, holding his cheeks to force his gaze on you. He needs to understand how serious you are about this. 

The horrified expression on his face instinctively causes you to brush some of his hair back tenderly while he processes your words. 

"I want a better Zaun too, but not at the cost of you sacrificing yourself," you continue, keeping your voice quiet but firm. 

He’s clearly overwhelmed, seafoam eyes so wide and trenched in deep-rooted panic. But with a lack of response to distract you, you’re forced to take notice of the pain spreading through your back and legs at the awkward sitting position you’re in. 

You shift your body, pulling away from him to situate yourself in a comfier position, but the second you loosen your arms from his thin frame, his hand desperately grip you even tighter, clutching onto you like a child to their mother’s leg. 

"No, I-"

"I'm not going anywhere, I just need to move before my legs go numb," you’re quick to reassure him. 

At this, Silco relaxes slightly, allowing you to move so your back is resting against the side of the bed. His fingers clasp onto your shirt the entire time and the very second you’re planted in a spot that doesn’t completely ruin your spine, he pulls you against him once more. 

"What- What can I do to make you stay?" he says between a harsh swallow. 

 You sigh, swiping a hand across your face tiredly. 

"I need you to stop this ridiculous crusade you're on. Or," you add when he goes to protest, "at the very least, include the rest of us in it." 

He bites the inside of his lip and entwines his fingers with yours. 

"You can't keep making reckless decisions by yourself, Sil. It affects all of us. Especially me." 

Silco keeps quiet for a few moments, so you give him time to think while his thumb rhythmically traces your knuckles back and forth. 

This can’t be easy for him. He’s pretty independent by nature (most Undercity kids are), but Silco is especially so when it comes to the fight for Zaun’s freedom. 

But if he wants you to stay, you’re going to need some compromise. 

"Okay," he eventually says, breaking the silence to gaze at you with muted hope. 

You’re not letting him off that easily. 

"Okay what?" you say expectantly. 

He sighs and suddenly he’s transformed into that petulant little boy again. 

"Okay, I'll run things by you and Vander before making any big decisions," Silco heaves, like it physically pains him to say. 

"And?" you prompt with a raised eyebrow. 

Silco stares at you with a look of disbelief, but his lip is curled in clear disgust. 

"There's no way I'm running anything by Benzo," he scoffs. "It'd be more useful talking to a brick wall." 

You slap his arm half heartedly and bite back a laugh. 

"No! I meant, are you going to stop throwing yourself into stupid situations for no reason?" 

"I knew you were still upset about last week," Silco replies, a knowing expression melting across his features. 

"Of course I'm upset about it! They almost shot you!" you fire back with indignation. 

As if you wouldn’t be horrified at the idea of your boyfriend getting seriously hurt and potentially arrested just for being an idiot. 

Silco gently combs his fingers through your hair, eyes tracing your features as that smug little smirk you secretly adore colours his lips. 

"The key word in that sentence is almost, my lovely." 

The glare you level him with is met by a crooked grin, but it’s soon wiped off his face when you jab his stomach with your elbow, ignoring the “Oof,” in favour of cuddling up to him even closer.

Silco lets out a sigh of relief and rests his head against yours whilst one hand sneaks up behind you to surreptitiously wipe his eyes dry with his sleeve. 

You allow yourself to relax for a few quiet moments, slowly calming each other down with soft touches until your breathing syncs up with the boy holding you close to his chest. 

Silco soon murmurs into your hair, hand smoothing along your waist. 

"So you'll stay?" 

"Yes, I'll stay," you reply softly, nestling into the crook of his neck. 

It’s seemingly not enough to soothe his nerves because he leans back and tilts your chin up with one finger until you meet his anxious gaze. 

"You promise?" 

"I promise, Silco." 

Relief melts through his whole body, but with it brings a cool wash of physical and emotional exhaustion that you wish you could wipe clean. 

"You know you can always talk to me, right?” you tell him gently, pinky finger delicately tracing along one eyebrow until the lines of his face relax. “I know you're always so busy trying to keep us afloat but you don't have to do it all alone. You can tell me when things are bothering you, it doesn’t make you weak or ‘less of a man’." 

He gazes at you in profound wonder before lightly cupping one side of your face with his hand. 

"I really do love you," he whispers, tenderly tracing one thumb down your cheek.

It feels like the weight of your near-breakup is lifted off your shoulders when you finally say it back. 

"I love you too, Sil." 

He leans down to kiss your head and you find yourself desperately hoping that he keeps his promise. You never want to have to go through this again. 

But for now, graced with another chance to stay with the only person you’ve ever loved, you focus on the present, needing to change the heavy atmosphere stifling the room. Your tone shifts into a light, coy thing that immediately grabs his attention. 

"You know, if you hadn't rushed in all guns blazing last night you'd have had the chance to listen to my plan for getting the info we need," you tell him. "Y'know, one that wouldn't get you thrown in Stillwater." 

Silco stares at you with a frown and you struggle to keep in the smile that threatens to break. 

"What plan?" 

"The one where I seduce a poor, unsuspecting enforcer and use a bit of good old-fashioned lip service to get what we need," you say coquettishly, batting your eyelashes at him innocently despite the clear innuendo lacing your words. 

Instantly, (brilliantly), his seafoam eyes darken with a delicious combination of jealousy and lust, sending a spark of hot desire through your body. 

"Not in a million years," he says gruffly, pulling you even closer to him. 

You twirl a playful finger through your hair. 

"I don't know, I think it's a great plan if you ask me," you reply with an air of teasing nonchalance. 

"I wouldn't let you anywhere near them,” his grip tightens on the fabric by your waist. “You're mine.”

Leaning forward, you whisper in his ear, knowing exactly what it does to him. 

"Prove it." 

There’s a beat of electrified silence before Silco abruptly stands, pulling you up with him until you’re both on your feet.

He smoothly coils one arm around your waist, the other snaking around the nape of your neck until his lips hover tantalisingly above yours. And just when you think he’s about to finally close the gap, he pauses.

You frown, chest flooding with anxiety that you’ve done something wrong, or he’s changed his mind, or-

Silco removes the hand resting behind your head and before you can voice your concerns, he suddenly grabs the bed sheet, ripping it off the bed in a move that sends the mess of your once-packed belongings tumbling to the floor in a cacophony. 

"Silco!" you admonish him, already envisioning the amount of time and effort it would take to pick everything up and put it back in its rightful place. 

"What?” he says, like butter wouldn’t melt. “We can put it back in the morning." 

Then, he swiftly picks you up and tosses you onto the mattress, making you squeal in surprise. 

Silco kneels onto the bed and climbs until his body is hovering over yours, arms caging you in as you heat up, warmth flooding downwards in anticipation. 

"Now, I think it's time I make it up to you, sweetheart," he purrs, leaning down to hotly trace your ear with his lips. “I’m going to make sure you never want to leave this bed again.”