Arcane headcanons | °• Sevika •°

You threw up

• Sevika stirs awake at the sound of retching, her brow furrowing as she realizes you’re not in bed.

• She sits up quickly, her instincts sharp, scanning the dimly lit room before hearing the muffled noise coming from the bathroom.

• Throwing the covers off, she rushes to the door, her heart pounding harder with each sound of you gagging.

• The sight of you hunched over the toilet, trembling and pale, freezes her for a moment. “Princess?” she calls softly, her voice laced with worry.

• Kneeling beside you, her hand hovers for a second before she gently pulls your hair back, her metal arm surprisingly careful as it keeps it away from your face.

• “Hey, sugar, talk to me,” she urges quietly, her free hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “What’s going on?”

• You shake your head, too ashamed and sick to respond, but the bitter, acrid smell and your weak, shivering form tell her more than enough.

• Her eyes flicker to the faint shimmer residue on your sleeve, the realization hitting her like a gut punch.

• “Is this because of that damn stuff?” she asks, her tone low but trembling with suppressed anger and worry.

• You don’t answer, which only confirms her suspicion. Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t lash out, focusing instead on steadying you as another wave hits.

• “Breathe, doll. I’ve got you,” she mutters, her voice softening despite the storm of emotions building inside her.

• She stays crouched beside you, her hand firm yet comforting on your back, grounding you as your body heaves again.

• When it finally subsides, she helps you sit back against the wall, her hand never leaving yours, her expression grim but tender.

• “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, her voice cracking slightly as her eyes bore into yours. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

• You try to stammer an excuse, but she stops you with a gentle shake of her head, her metal hand resting on your knee.

• “No more hiding, princess,” she says firmly, though her voice is thick with emotion. “I need you to trust me. I need you to let me help you.”

• She picks you up effortlessly, carrying you back to the bed despite your weak protests, her movements both protective and determined.

• Tucking you under the covers, she sits beside you, her metal arm resting on her knee as her free hand brushes damp strands of hair from your face.

• “You’re gonna get through this,” she says quietly, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her fear. “And I’m not letting you do it alone.”

• The rest of the night, she doesn’t leave your side, her watchful gaze on you as she keeps a bucket nearby, just in case.

• She whispers reassurances whenever you stir, her hand always there to steady you, her love and guilt evident in every gesture.

• By morning, she’s already plotting how to get you off the shimmer, her mind set on keeping you safe, no matter the cost to herself.