Silco | Arcane

Silco knows he shouldn't be feeling this way. It makes him uneasy to even entertain the thought.

But how can he resist when your smile brightens his dull summer mornings? When he catches you glancing at him while he lounges by the pool in a swimsuit—something he only wears because of Jinx—and a cigarette hanging from his lips? He can't look away, especially not when you shyly smile at him after one of his dad jokes at dinner, with Jinx groaning like a child. How can he act normal when his heart races at your gaze?

The truth is, he’s anything but normal about this. It’s been ages since he felt such longing, and it frustrates him because he doesn’t know how to quell it.

You’re Jinx’s best friend—much younger, more vibrant, while he feels like a decaying man, surviving on booze and nicotine. But when he looks at you, life feels a bit brighter. You glide through the crowd, arms linked with Jinx, dancing among your classmates. Silco doesn't understand why he agreed to help throw this party, but he knows saying no to Jinx is nearly impossible, especially when you bat your lashes and give him that sweet smile that quickens his heartbeat.

Watching you sway to the music, arms raised, awakens something in him that he knows isn’t innocent. He grips his glass tighter, jaw clenched, as you laugh and touch the arms of your male friends, sharing that same smile with them. He sighs shakily, downing the rest of his whiskey, shifting on the couch while his gaze remains locked on you dancing with some guy who might treat you better than he ever could.

He shakes his head, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it as his focus stays on you. When your eyes meet his for a brief moment, it feels like the smoke steals his breath—your smile tightens his chest and quickens his pulse. You turn away, heading to the bar Jinx arranged, disappearing from his sight. He sighs again, searching the crowd for you, frustrated that he’s looking for Jinx’s best friend. Sick old man, he thinks, standing up and navigating through the partygoers, ignoring their apologies as they bump into him.

Relieved to escape the noise, he heads upstairs, only to find couples kissing and guests passed out on the stairs. He mentally notes to scold Jinx about this tomorrow.

Then, someone stumbles into him, spilling beer on his shirt. “Damn it.” Silco mutters.

“Just great...” he mutters, untangling himself and leaving the boy, heading to his room to change.

Once there, he heads straight for his desk to extinguish his cigarette, then groans when he sees beer dripping onto his shoes.

“What a hassle.” he mutters, grabbing a napkin to clean up, knowing he’ll have to wash his clothes tomorrow.

As he unbuttons his vest and shirt, he notices the dark stain and his temper flares. He’s so absorbed that he doesn’t hear the knock on the door or notice you entering.

“Silco—”

“What?” he snaps, but softens when he sees your shy smile. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”

“No worries.” you reply, glancing at his shirt and noticing how tightly he grips the napkin. “What happened? Do you need a hand?”

“No, thank you...” he says, watching your eyes roam over his exposed skin before locking onto his gaze. You fidget as you move toward his bathroom, leaving him breathless.

You search for something, then cheerfully say. “Oh, got 'em!” and approach him with wet wipes. “Can I?”

“There’s no need, really…” he starts, but you step closer, shaking your head as you gently wipe the stain from his shirt.

“You left the party early.” you remark, your eyes meeting his as you clean. He takes in every detail of your face, especially the curve of your smile when you catch him staring. “Didn’t you enjoy it?”

“I’m not really fond of these things.” he replies, his breath warm against your face as he holds the edge of his shirt where you press harder. “Nor am I young enough to enjoy them.”

“Oh, please.” you scoff playfully, stopping your movements before you reach to play with his collar, feeling the warmth of his body much better now. “You’re not that old, Silco. You can hold your drink and I bet you still have women wrapped around your fingers.”

“I doubt it, love.” the way the pet name rolls on his tongue makes his fingers itch with desire, and you standing too close to him, your faces mere inches away from each other is not helping his case. “The grey hairs and the damaged eye are not something enjoyable for women.”

“I like them.” you whisper, dragging your gaze over his scar, your hand slowly moving up his neck, your thumb tracing his throat before you hover your fingers over his cheek. “It makes you more dangerous, more intriguing in a good way.”

“Does it now?” He asks, raising his hands slowly to caress your hip, his cold fingers touching the heated skin of your back. “How intrigued are you?”