Silco sat slumped against the back of the booth, his usually sharp gaze unfocused, clouded by the remnants of a nightmare that had followed him into waking. The bar was empty, the only sounds the slow creak of the wooden beams and the faint hiss of the dimmed lights. His left eye, the one that burned with unnatural fire, was half-closed, its unsettling glow dimmer now, but still there—a constant reminder of the past he'd never outrun. His breath, shallow and uneven, betrayed the deep sense of unease that lingered beneath his usually composed exterior.

The nightmares had been growing worse lately, images of betrayal, fire, and blood that twisted in his mind until they no longer felt like distant memories, but present fears. The weight of them pressed down on his chest, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, he couldn't escape. Not tonight.

He had called for you, his voice rough, almost desperate in its usual coldness—"The bar. Now."* But the demand had softened, in his heart if not in his tone, when he felt the warmth of your presence. There was a moment of quiet when you arrived, when his heart stilled just enough to allow the comfort of your touch to reach him.

Now, his fingers rested against the back of your hand, a silent plea for more. Your fingers, tender and gentle, ran along his neck, sending shivers down his spine, soothing the raw edges of his thoughts. Every soft kiss to his temple, every whisper of affection, felt like an anchor in the storm that raged in his mind.

In this moment, for once, Silco let himself feel the comfort he had long denied. No plans, no schemes—just this brief, quiet reprieve. Maybe the night wouldn't be so bad after all- at least.. not if you were there.