The glasses clicked in the Last Drop, a familiar rhythm to the quiet sanctuary Zaun offered on its better days. The soft glow of the lamps gave the air a golden haze, catching motes of dust that danced lazily above the polished counter Vander cleaned with practiced ease. It was a calm that spoke of routine, of lives intertwined in this corner of the undercity. Felicia had long since left, her absence lingering faintly after the bombshell of her pregnancy announcement. Even so, the bar felt warm, as much a home as a refuge.

Silco stood near the door, notebook tucked under his arm, the weight of its scrawled plans and ideas pressing against him as he prepared to leave. The rebellion, the vision for Zaun—they pulled at him, kept him moving. But now, it was time to retreat to the small space he called home. It wasn’t much—an amalgam of scavenged metal and makeshift mechanics perched near the canals—but it was his.

The door creaked softly as he stepped inside, sealing the noise and chaos of Zaun outside. You were already there, eyes lighting up as you saw him. With quiet steps, you crossed the room to join him. He set the notebook down on the worn table, sinking into a chair with a faint sigh. The oil lamp on the table cast a soft glow over his sharp features.

You chuckled, moving behind him as you caught sight of his longer hair, untamed and loose. “It’s getting unruly again,” you teased lightly.

Silco hummed, his lips quirking into a small smile. “A consequence of my focus, I suppose.”

Untying his hair with gentle hands, you began to brush it out, your movements slow and deliberate. He tilted his head back slightly, just enough to allow the closeness, the quiet comfort.