#jgts

The warm bath water is welcoming as you slowly step into the full tub. You wince a bit, shifting your torso a tad too much and stressing your cuts, but the water washes away the pain as you settle against the porcelain, letting yourself get lost in the subtle rocking of the bathwater.

It’s the first time you’ve really been allowed to breathe. Your home is ransacked and an absolute danger zone and you’ve still not addressed anything with Silco. Oh, but some part of your heart did sing when you woke up on his couch and saw him rush over. The concern in his eyes was enough to melt you, until you remembered suddenly why you were there, what all happened, your struggle to make it to the Drop.

You grimace, shaking your head as if the physical action will do away with the bad memories. Memories you would ultimately have to face when you explain to Silco all that happened.

You would like to wash, but your cuts feel too fresh and tender in all their abundance, so you settle for soaking in the warm water and taking in Silco’s bathroom. You had been in briefly to brush your teeth or quickly wash, but you never wanted to intrude too heavily. Now that you’re taking it all in, it’s relatively minimalist. Very nice for Zaun, but sparse. The color palette is appropriate, with blacks and dark reds, but there’s not much other than basics. Sink, mirror, toilet, bathtub. There’s an additional shower tucked into the corner and it looks relatively well-used. You can guess Silco isn’t too much of a bath guy.

Suddenly, an image comes to your mind, and you can’t find it in you to dismiss it so suddenly. The thought of Silco in the shower, the sharp, angular nature of him naked and soaked. You can’t imagine there’s much rippling muscle on him, but rather layers of thin cording and sinew on his shoulders and legs. He’s such a small man, his waist looks cinched enough with clothes on but you can clearly see his steamy, snatched silhouette. Water running down his front, trickling past a line of hair from his navel to the v-line at his hips. Lower and–

There’s a knock at the door, and it jolts you for a second, completely taking you away from your thoughts. The quick, shooting needles of panic make your body go rigid as you wait to hear a familiar voice, little ripplings of anxiety whispering the images of your assaulters.

“I have some clothes and water for you.” Silco’s muffled voice rings past the door and you immediately relax, sitting up and grabbing a towel.

“I’ll be there in a second,” you answer, stepping onto the bathmat and wrapping your towel around yourself. You feel warm, and you realize quickly that it’s the product of your imagination. You have to stop yourself from fitting Silco’s voice into any reappearing fantasies.

When you open the door, Silco isn’t there, but he’s neatly folded some bedwear for you next to a glass of ice water.

You smile and collect everything, changing into the loose-fitting pajamas provided and relishing your drink. You thought you might have to resort to bath water with your dehydration.

You drain the tub and hang up your towels, stepping out of the bathroom with your glass in hand. You’re drawn to Silco’s bed, tempted to sit but not sure if you should. You still haven’t discussed Silco kicking you out, his outburst at you. Everything before that was a mess too.

You’ve always felt like Silco could handle himself in any situation, but the state you’d seen him in that sparked you speaking up was beyond worrisome. In just a few days he looked entirely drained and ragged. Skin seeming grayer and paler than usual, the bags under his eyes weighing heavier. The fact that he wasn’t eating didn’t help.

Your fingers trace over the bedspread absently until your tired body wills you to sit down. It’s a relief to finally sit down and you’re soon flopping back onto the bed, spreading out and letting your eyes flutter closed.

You drift off, and your thoughts begin to fill with the image of Silco laying in bed with you. The smell of him surrounds you, the warmth of him holding you securely. You can feel his arms wrapped around you, keeping you close. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Silco’s voice makes you jump and you’re a little embarrassed that you didn’t hear him walk in. You quickly sit up, letting your hands fall into your lap as you try to appear as normal as possible. As normal as you can after just dreaming about the man in front of you.

“You look a little flushed,” he remarks as he tilts to see your face better.

“Y-yeah, I’m okay, considering everything.”

That’s true, the bath made things a little better, and as Silco sits down next to you on the bed, you start to feel a little better still. His presence brings an assurance you were desperately clinging too, not sure what terrors your mind would bring you in the isolated company of yourself.

When he sits, Silco seems to deflate, like the setting of his room allows him to truly unwind. The deep breath that leaves him exaggerates this as he slouches forward and settles his elbows on his knees.

“If there is anything I can do, just say the word” he says, turning head to look at you, that seaglass green eye brimming with a raw sincerity. “I am here for you.”

Your eyes sting with oncoming tears, the silent promise that Silco grants you making your heart ache.

“Can I have a hug?” You ask through the tears that begin to roll down your cheeks, your voice thickening as you hold back a sob. And all of it comes pouring out of you when Silco nods and pulls you into him

“Thank you,” you whisper, once again breaking down in Silco’s arms as you’re unable to stop the helpless sobs that seem to have come from nowhere. Silco shushes you, his gentle hands framing your tear-streaked face.

“Breathe.” His voice is gentle and slow, the sweetest tone you could imagine. Your throat burns with a bubbling cry but Silco’s smooth caresses ease the ache, his thumbs pressing gentle circles into your cheeks.

You take a long, slow breath and close your eyes. Words come rushing to your lips and you so badly want to let them spill forth, but part of you is still too scared.

“It’s okay,” Silco says, his gaze a cooling ember that lightens your heart, but at the same time makes it ache.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, hands dropping to hold yours, “what matters most to me right now is your comfort and safety.”

In that moment, your breath hitches, your heart flutters, and you finally relax. Your shoulders drop their tension, your hands ease their fitful clenching, and you really, truly, feel protected.

“It was, um…” You swallow your building anxiety, looking down at your fingers intertwined with Silco’s. “Two men–big men. They were at my apartment earlier in the week, when I had to stay somewhere else.”

Silco watches you intently, his face unreadable aside from some semblance of intrigue.

“l thought they would be gone, so I went to get some of my clothes and they weren’t gone.” Your breath catches in your throat, eyes stinging with oncoming tears. You clutch your aching chest and Silco puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering your name.

“You don’t have to–”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, collecting yourself enough to continue.

“They tore up my home, and when they found me, they attacked me. They had a knife, but I think they used it when I was unconscious. When I woke up they were gone but they had left me on the floor like this.”

You gesture to your injuries.

“I didn’t know where to go so I came here and I remember passing out less than a block away.”

You look back up at Silco, his two-toned gaze watching you so intently. When the silence makes it clear enough that you’re done recounting everything, Silco holds your hands tighter. He swallows and looks away, seeming to chew on his words, before finally speaking.

“Did they, in any way… rape or sexually assault you?”

“I-I don’t think so.”

Silco lets out a quick breath, like he had been holding one. That possibility of assault hadn’t even crossed your mind, despite the fact that it should have. You were so happy to be alive when you had woken up, but the rush of everything that happened overwhelmed you too quickly.

“Nothing down there feels sore so that’s a good sign.” You scoff, as if there’s any way to lighten the mood now.

You’re about to say something else, some words akin to “I’m okay” to comfort the stress out of Silco's face, but his hands leave yours and wrap around your torso. He holds you firmly–not tightly–and you hold him in return, relishing the warmth of a friendly body surrounding you.

He mumbles something, and you hum in confusion. When he speaks again, you hear, “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” You keep your cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his heart rate steadily increase.

“For sending you away, you would not have gotten hurt if it weren’t for me.” There's a slight quiver to his voice, the low nature of his speech bringing out a different timbre you haven’t heard from him before.

You pull away, looking into Silco’s eyes. Everything you saw the night you woke him up is there. Hints of fear, sorrow, the weight of his thoughts darkening the bright reds and blues that usually shine in his eyes.

“Don't say that.” Your hands come up to hold his face. “None of this is your fault.”

“If I–”

“No.” You cut him off firmly. “It’s not. What happened was on them, not you.”

Silence overwhelms you both and you’re stuck. You can’t take your eyes off the valleys and canyons of Silco’s scars, the tiny cowlick that his slightly disheveled hair has fallen into. One cheek is a deadened gray, but the other glows with a dusted tint of blush. His lips are parted, revealing a sliver of chipped–or maybe crooked–front teeth.

Without thinking, you lean forward and press your lips against his. Silco doesn’t move, seemingly frozen in place. His mouth is soft against yours, and you crave the feeling more as each second passes, warmth blossoming in your chest. But the awkwardness that overcomes you is too painful to resist.

“I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have done that,” you rush out, almost tripping over your own tongue as you stumble through apologies, “I don’t know what came over me.”

Silco looks the same as he did before you kissed him, only thinking over his words with caution as his tongue swishes against the insides of cheeks.

“You’re experiencing many feelings right now,” he says, gently, “I don’t think any of them are for me.”

Some part of your heart splinters for a moment at his words, but he might be right. It could be that you’re so unsure of things now that you want to do something voluntary and under your control. You could be entirely delusional, mistaking your gratitude for something else.

But why do I want him so badly?

It hurts to look at Silco but you do it anyway, feeling more and more ashamed of yourself with every passing second. His cheeks are flushed but he’s otherwise relatively composed, and your heart aches looking at his frown. He doesn’t look disappointed in you, more like he hates to say what he’s said, because your emotions must be written clear as day on your face.

You can’t say anything, so you simply nod, looking away as your entire body goes rigid with a wave of anxiety. Your palms are damp, your face hot, your breath shallow. Of course this isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to you, but it’s up there.

“Get some rest,” Silco says, standing up and heading for the office. The door shuts behind him, and although he closes it gently, the sound still makes you jump a little bit.