You could fall for anyone.

Someone safe like, I dunno, someone kind who wouldn't make every damn room feel like a war zone the moment he steps into it.

But no. You chose Silco.

The man with blood on his merciless hands and a god complex carved into his ribs. The man who treats love like a liability. Who talks about loyalty like it's currency and still somehow looks at you like you’re the first thing in this city that didn’t rot the moment it bloomed.

You've heard it all; the whispers that are loud enough for you to hear, the forward warnings from people who can't seem to mind their own business… even though it's most likely just concern.

“He’ll use you.” “He only cares about power.” “You’ll end up dead or worse.” “Be careful with him.” “Be careful with Jinx.” yadda, yadda yadda

You've heard it all, and still—you stayed.

Because he’s not soft, but sometimes he’s quiet. He’s not kind, but his hand lingers on your back longer than it needs to. He’ll never be gentle with the world, but he lets down his guard with you, just for a moment, and that almost feels like love.

Maybe it’s the way he lets you sit in silence beside him while the rest of Zaun bleeds out because of him, and the way he calls you by name like it tastes bitter on his tongue but he still keeps saying it.

Maybe it’s just you being stupid.

( It's definitely you being incredibly stupid. )

You’ve got enough brain cells to recognize that none of this isn’t health; absolutely nothing about it can be classified as something other than toxic, but honestly, you're tired of trying to be wise with love and men.

You’d rather be wrong about this man than right about losing him.

The air in his office is hazy, warm from low lamplight and the sharp smell of shimmer from earlier and the smoke currently curling off the end of his cigar. You’re curled up sideways on his office couch, shoes off, knees pulled up to your chest like this is just any other night. Like that's your place.

He hasn’t said a word in over ten minutes.

Just sits behind his desk, head resting against his hand, smoke rising past the scar on his cheek as he reads something you're sure he’s not actually reading. Not really. His eyes barely flick toward you every now and then.

Not focused at all on anything.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be?”

Why did he say it so abruptly?