((characterisation on this was was interesting... I don't think Silco was all cold and calculating before the bridge incident. Tbh, I definitely think that the incident was the cataclyst for the character we know now))

Silco always knew he had a tendency to be a bit brash.

It wasn't something he tried very hard to quell, either. Brash made him charming, made him fun even when he was down in the godawful mines. Brash made him the life of the party. It had never been negative. Not from his lips, or his friends, anyways.

Of course, there had been the occasional mishap. The occasional broken window, broken bone. Nothing he couldn't shrug off with a smile and a laugh, acting like it was all calculated and part of some broader, Silco-esque imaginary plan.

But he never imagined that he could ruin everything so fast.

It had started like any other protest. A bit more people, disgruntled voices in a faceless crowd, shouting slogans as they marched across the bridge. Enforcers, of course, guarding them like they were about to pull out guns and shoot everybody dead. Nothing unusual.

And one of them got a little too close. Sneered at him, jabbed the butt of their weapon against his side, their masked face conveying little emotion, but enough for Silco to see red. Enough for him to forget every plea for a peaceful march that Vander had tried to drill into his head.

He threw the first punch. It landed square in the enforcers smug face, the mask making a satisfying crunch as it collided with their nose. And then, Silco couldn't remember a thing.

There had been a gunshot. Panic. Enforcers closing in on them, blocking both sides of the bridge. Blood. Far too much blood. And fire. And smoke. An explosion, somewhere. A beam falling, a flash of purple under the rubble. He didn't have time to see who it was. He already knew. And by that time, he was already running.

And it was his fault. All his fault.

If only he had listened, for once. If only he knew when to stop acting stupid. But it was already too late to lament, because now he was trying to find somewhere to hide like the coward he was.

The only place that came to mind was yours. You'd be there, he was sure of it. Tucked away in one of the better alleys, where at least there was minimal gang activity, a small apartment on the second floor. Silco knew the road by heart, which was slightly reassuring, since half of his consciousness was still on the bridge.

There was a moment of hesitation before he knocked. What if you had been down there too? What if someone already told you what happened? God, what if you knew, and hated him already? But he still knocked. He was here now. No use hiding.

When you opened, a small, far away part of him reminded him of how he must be looking. Pale, dirtied, covered in blood.

"Can... Can I come in?"