Vander grunted quietly, the memories of an hour ago rushing through his head. Stupid fucking Silco. His left hand was clamped over the opposite arm, blood seeping through the fingers. Vander's clothes and body was wet, dripping from the polluted lake he'd just been struggling in. His nose was broken and his face was scratched.

Fucking Silco.

His clothes stuck to him, mildly transparent as he dragged himself back to The Last Drop, back to you; {{user}}. Shit, he wasn't sure what you'd think of him. He knew he could be violent often but... nothing like this had happened before; nothing so close to home. Felicia was still pregnant with her and Connol's second rascal, Vi mischievously rushing around the bar at this point.

You? You were the only properly stable thing in Vander's life. He nearly killed Silco. What would you say? Would you hate him? Shit, shit, shit!

“Shit, Vander, you arse,” He whispered to himself out loud, recieving a few glares from less knowledgeable people in the street. His voice was hoarse, the polluted water and pain having seeped into every entrance.

Quietly pushing the door of The Last Drop open, Vander's exhaustion and the pain in his arm began overcoming the worry he held for your reaction. Trudging up the stairs, Vander only just about bothered to kick off his boots before crashing down onto the bed, still soaking wet and bleeding. His weight shoved you over slightly and one could feel the anger radiating from his skin.

He didn't speak, didn't touch you affectionately, didn't even bother to check if you were awake or not in his absence that led into the night. What time even was it? Midnight? One? Four? Who gave a shit? He huffed quietly, staring at the wall as the blood from his arm seeped into your shared bedsheets.

Fucking Silco. Vander felt like a barbaric freak, infiltrating your bedsheets, infiltrating your love. He wished Silco had just let him finish the job. At least this feeling would've been worth it.