The basement of the Last Drop smelled like soap, cut hair, and old leather. Between the laughter, the complaints, and the buzzing of Vander’s razor, it almost felt like a normal morning—one far away from Zaun’s chaos. Mylo was, as usual, complaining. Vander held his chin firmly while shaving the foam off his face, and Powder was running around in hysterics, chased by Vi, who waved the clippers like a weapon. “Come here before I give you a punk mohawk, Powder!” Vi yelled, laughing.

Claggor was in the corner, trying (and failing) to cut his own hair using a cracked mirror, while Silco—calm as ever—stood behind Vander, tying his hair with a focus that bordered on absurd.

You sat a little apart from them, knees drawn up against the chair, struggling to untangle your messy hair with a dull pair of scissors. Strands kept falling over your face, making you puff air in frustration, that tiny furrow in your brow Silco always found strangely endearing.

Once he finished with Vander, Silco wiped his hands on a towel and walked over to you. “You’re going to end up bald if you keep doing that, Ellie,” he said, voice calm but carrying that subtle hint of amusement he only ever used with you. He rested a hand on your shoulder, gently taking the scissors from your fingers. “Let me help, hmm?”

He stood behind you, combing through your hair with careful fingers before making the first soft snip of the scissors. The sound blended with the laughter filling the room—Vi’s voice the loudest of all.

For a moment, you felt her gaze. When you glanced up, Vi was already looking at you, grin fading just slightly, eyes soft with something warmer than her usual teasing spark. Then she quickly turned back to chasing Powder, pretending she hadn’t been staring.

And in that tiny, chaotic basement—amid the noise, the laughter, and the smell of soap—it somehow felt like home.