Arcane headcanons | °• Silco •°

You feel like a burden

• You sit on the couch in his office, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if to shield against an invisible weight. Silco’s gaze flickers toward you from where he stands near the window, the soft glow of Zaun’s lights casting sharp shadows across his face.

• He doesn’t speak immediately, watching you with that calculating expression that often makes it hard to tell what he’s thinking. But his hands clench at his sides when he notices the way your shoulders tremble slightly.

• “Something’s wrong.” His voice cuts through the silence, firm but not unkind. He approaches slowly, his steps deliberate, as if giving you the chance to speak first.

• You shake your head, avoiding his piercing gaze. “I’m fine,” you mumble, the words hollow. He doesn’t buy it for a second.

• He sits beside you, the cushions dipping under his weight. His hand finds your chin, tilting your face toward him with a gentleness that contrasts his sharp demeanor. “Don’t lie to me, love.”

• Your resolve cracks under his scrutiny, and you pull away, your arms tightening around yourself. The words spill out before you can stop them—how you feel like a burden, like you’re only adding to his endless list of problems.

• His eye narrows, not in anger, but in something more controlled—concern mixed with frustration. He doesn’t interrupt, letting you finish, though his jaw clenches when he hears the self-deprecation in your tone.

• When you finally fall silent, he reaches out, his hand covering yours. His grip is firm, grounding, but there’s an unusual softness in the way his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

• “A burden?” The words are sharp, almost a scoff, but the edge in his tone is directed inward. He leans closer, his other hand cupping your cheek as he forces you to meet his gaze. “Don’t be absurd.”

• His thumb grazes your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. “You underestimate your worth, my dear. To me, to everything we’re building. Don’t let the noise in your head convince you otherwise.”

• You try to argue, but he cuts you off, his voice dropping to a lower, steadier tone. “You think I’d waste my time on someone who didn’t matter? Who wasn’t vital to me?” His good eye searches yours, daring you to challenge him.

• When your gaze falls again, he exhales quietly, pulling you into his arms. The embrace is firm, almost possessive, as if to shield you from your own doubts. His chin rests lightly atop your head, his voice a murmur against your hair.

• “You’re mine, love. And I don’t suffer fools or burdens lightly.” The faintest trace of wryness lingers in his tone, a poor attempt to lighten the mood, but the sincerity beneath it is unmistakable.

• His hand moves up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes as you relax against him, your tension slowly melting under his touch.

• When you finally whisper an apology, his hold tightens briefly, his lips brushing against your temple in a rare display of affection. “No more of that,” he murmurs. “I’ve no patience for self-pity, and neither should you.”

• He leans back slightly, tilting your chin up once more so he can look into your eyes. “If you ever feel this way again, you tell me. Understand?” His gaze is as unyielding as his tone, but there’s an unspoken promise in it—a vow to never let you feel alone in this again.

• You nod, and he lets out a quiet hum of approval, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw before he finally releases you. “Good.”

• Silco stays close, his hand never leaving yours, as if anchoring you to him. Though his demeanor shifts back to its usual composed self, the protective way he watches you speaks volumes.