The Art in the Heart - Chapter 3
Your first encounter with Silco outside the Undercity happens in less than ideal circumstances. It’s one thing to make friends with a troublemaker, but getting drawn into his antics is a whole other story…
Everybody Lives AU | Pre-Act I | Silco x Reader | Female!Reader | Slow Burn | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Mild Angst || SFW | WC: 1.85k
ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
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Weeks go by without Silco stopping by again. Not that you’re keeping count.
You’re just maintaining a daily log of your progress on the mural, that’s all. If it also helps you keep track of Silco’s absence, then that’s just a convenient coincidence.
Also, you were able to get your hands on the blueprints soon after he asked for them. Pretty inconsiderate of him to make you hold onto them for 16 days now.
Getting into the zone never fails to clear your mind of everything except painting. But when you put your brush down to take a break, you’re unconsciously drawn to the roof. To climb up over the ledge and stand where he stood.
It’s not quite the same without the man himself next to you.
Still, now that you’re not interrupted by any unexpected visitors, your job is proceeding nicely. When Councilor Salo asks for an update, you feel confident about telling him that it’s going well.
He’s made some excuse as to why he can’t visit the Promenade to see it for himself yet— something about being so significant to the Council that even a short absence wouldn’t be permissible— but deep down you know the real reason: he’s never been on the less respectable side of the Piltover Bridge, and he doesn’t intend to visit until forced by necessity.
So one day, instead of painting, you’re clambering over rooftops. Looking for a good view of the wall. Your camera is slung around your shoulders, banging against your chest as you pull yourself up pipes and ladders.
For a Sumper, you’ve never been very nimble. Long years standing in front of canvases have only depleted your already limited capacity for physical activity. Anything even mildly strenuous leaves you winded.
It feels like a triumph, then, when you find the perfect photospot: a shorter building with a steel roof rusting turquoise not too far from the mural. You snap several photos, trying to get the best angle where the sunlight highlights the completed portions of your artwork.
You can’t help but notice the roof is similar in color to Silco’s eyes.
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The dreaded day has come: for the first time since you started this job, there’s a prediction of heavy rainfall tonight. You've been using waterproof paints, but it would be careless not to take additional measures of protection.
No painting for today then. You hang large plastic sheets over the wall. A sturdy collapsible awning is installed onto the ledge as well.
When you get home, a pneumatic tube delivery is waiting for you. It's a letter from the councilor himself:
Greetings,
Councilor Salo requests your presence for dinner tonight at his estate to discuss ongoing business matters regarding our shared endeavors in the Promenade level of Zaun.
What a pain. Typical Piltie behavior: turning what should be a simple debrief into a whole spectacle, demanding your attendance with less than 24 hours notice, and claiming partial credit when you’re doing all the legwork. It ruined your plans for the evening too.
After sending off your confirmation, you start getting ready for the night. First, you change out of your work outfit (a shirt with a leather wrap around your waist, thick pants, and coveralls). Then you zip and button up a soft, fitted, lavender dress with a high collar and short sleeves. For the cold night, you choose a dark eggplant-purple overcoat. You accessorize with jewelry, stockings, ankle boots, and a fancy black umbrella with a gold trim. Your stylishly embroidered purse is cylindrical and large enough to fit your camera and photos.
Finally, you pull your hair out of your plain bun and style it into a more elegant updo, all soft braids with strategically placed loose locks.
You might be presentable enough to grace the councilor’s mansion, but on the inside your guts are twisting in worry. What if all your hard work has washed away by tomorrow? Have you really done enough to protect the mural?
Your anxieties make it that much harder to pretend to give a damn about whatever humdrum that Salo is droning on about at dinner. You smile and talk and chew at all the right times, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Finally, after wine and dessert, he proposes that the conversation be moved to his upstairs office under the pretense that the mural might be visible from the balcony.
Playing the part of the ever agreeable employee, you concur. Salo hangs behind to find another bottle of wine. You make your way up first.
You open the double doors of his office. His white mother-of-pearl furniture is beautiful, with gold leaf detailing branches laden with fruit and alight with birds. All the pieces are tall, delicate, and perfectly matched. An ensemble more ornamental than practical.
What sticks out is Silco. Standing in front of a desk and rifling through its drawers. Papers strewn everywhere.
At the sound of the door banging against the wall, he gives you a cursory glance. Then does a double-take.
Your heart freezes and your eyes widen. Sucked into a crushing vacuum of panic.
“What the hell are you doing here??” you hiss.
“Uh…” his usual eloquent manner seems to have abandoned him.
He’s wearing all black and an unusually large backpack.
He’s trying to rob the councilor.
Shit he’s going to get in big trouble if he gets caught.
You swear under your breath and yank the doors behind you closed. After turning the lock, you round on him.
“You— you—” you sputter at him. Overwhelmed by anxiety and dismay and terror all at once, and a repressed kernel of something else breaks through your restraint.
You missed him. And you’re happy to see him again.
Disproportionately so, for a man you’ve only talked to twice.
It’s a lot to experience in the few seconds it takes for you to regain your wits.
“You have to get out of here! Salo’s on his way up,” you whisper.
“Not until I find what I’m looking for,” Silco resumes his search.
You run over to him and try to push him away from the desk. He’s not giving you his full attention, but his posture is solid. He doesn’t move an inch.
“What the hell are you looking for??”
“Shipping manifests. We’re going to raid Salo’s next round of imports.”
“Come back later! He’ll be here any minute.”
“I screwed this up once already. I can’t leave without what I came for.”
Your retort from your second meeting comes back to haunt you:
“You didn’t have anything on you the other day. How is coming back empty-handed good for Zaun?”
Shit, it looks like your words really cut him deep.
“Silco!” you grab his shoulder. Locking eyes with him. “I’ll find your shit for you, okay? You just need to get out of here right now.”
He opens his mouth to respond. But doesn't say anything.
Footsteps are approaching the door.
You both freeze.
You slam the drawer shut. Silco pulls his hands out in the nick of time.
A frenzied surge of strength allows you to pull Silco into a nearby closet.
Shutting the door behind you.
For such a large office, the closet is a tight space. You’re squashed between Silco’s chest and the door. His hands are pressed up against shelves on the wall.
Your heart jackhammers away. But you do your best to keep your breathing low.
Salo tries to pull the office doors open. They rattle but remain shut. He calls out your name questioningly.
Silco’s footing slips. You fall onto him. He lands on the floor. Your legs tangling with his like vines.
His breath breezes across your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut.
You wait…
Silco’s shirt is rough as it bunches underneath your clawed fingers.
And wait…
You sense his hands hovering hesitantly above your shoulders.
And wait…
Cracking your eyelids open to see his chest rising and falling rapidly.
Finally, finally, Salo’s footsteps trail off and away.
You wait a moment, then jump to your feet and out of the closet.
As you lean on the desk, you gasp for air. It seems you were holding your breath that entire time without even realizing it.
Silco exits the closet. His clothes look rumpled, but otherwise he looks unruffled.
“I’ll go,” he says. “You promise you’ll get everything?”
“Fine,” you pant. “What’re you looking for?”
He tells you the details of the items he needs. You take care to memorize everything he says, then shove him towards the balcony. He doesn’t hold his ground this time.
“Meet me at the bridge, on the Zaun side,” you tell him. “Be careful.”
He climbs over the railing and lowers himself slowly.
Seeing his smile again for the first time in weeks shouldn’t be such a thrill. It’s a full one too: his eyes crinkle and his teeth are bright against the backdrop of the darkening night sky.
“Thanks,” he whispers. “See you soon.”
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When you finally leave the estate, your purse is stuffed full of the materials that Silco requested. The skies have turned an inky dark blue and are dumping rain down on everyone. You use your umbrella to hide your scowl. The rains may be flooding the streets, but your foul mood is much more tempestuous.
A dripping wet Silco greets you on the wrong side of the bridge. He’s taking shelter under the awning of a candy shop. It’s such a little thing that you normally wouldn’t be bothered by, but it ignites your already boiling temper.
As you round on him, you close your umbrella and raise it.
“You! Owe! Me!” You use your umbrella to smack his legs, emphasizing each word.
He laughs and dodges your attempts to hit him.
“Only if you got the goods, sweetheart.”
“Are you kidding me?!” you snap at him. ”Even if I didn’t basically do your whole job for you, I saved you from Stillwater! For real this time!”
“That’s very true,” his voice is infused with warmth. “Thank you.”
The sincere gratitude and delight on his face could light up the overcast skies. Despite your determination to hold onto your ill humor, you feel it melting away.
The pair of you begin your trek across the bridge. As you begin to open your umbrella, he takes it from you. He’s taller, so he holds it over both your heads with ease.
“Where do you live?” he asks.
“In the Promenade, not far from here. How about you?”
“I live in the Lanes.”
You mull this over. When it rains in Piltover, the water stays clean. However, the runoff passes through dirty pipes, acid pools, chem-gasses, and countless other pollutants that make the rain positively toxic by the time it falls onto the Undercity.
“Are you going to be okay getting home?” you ask, shivering from the cold.
“You’re very kind to be worrying about me. I’ll be perfectly fine.”
You grab his elbow and force him to look at you.
“I didn’t go through all this tonight just to have the acid rain melt you. You’re coming with me, buster.”
Chapter 3.5
Chapter 4
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