Arcane headcanons | °• Sevika •°

"What i think happened"

"Maybe in another universe"

• The apartment feels colder than usual, though the faint hum of Zaun’s chaos continues outside.

• Sevika stands at the door, her hand resting on the handle as if it’s her lifeline.

• You sit in the corner of the room, knees drawn to your chest, staring at her back.

• “Are you going to keep pretending this is fine?” you ask, your voice trembling but laced with anger.

• She doesn’t turn around, but you can see the tension in her shoulders. “You wouldn’t understand.”

• “Try me,” you snap, pushing yourself to your feet. “You owe me that much.”

• She exhales heavily, her hand dropping from the handle, but she still doesn’t face you.

• “I keep thinking,” she begins, her voice low and rough, “if we had met somewhere else, in another time…”

• “Sevika,” you cut her off, your tone sharp, your heart already sinking. “Don’t.”

• She finally turns to face you, and her expression is torn between love and despair. “Maybe in another universe, doll, this could’ve worked.”

• Her words hit you like a punch to the chest, and you feel your throat tighten. “You’re giving up?”

• She steps closer, towering over you, but there’s no comfort in her presence this time. “I’m trying to save you,” she says, almost like she’s trying to convince herself.

• “You’re not saving me,” you spit back, your voice cracking. “You’re breaking me.”

• Her metal arm twitches, her fist clenching as though she’s fighting every instinct to stay.

• “I can’t be what you need,” she mutters, her voice shaking. “I’m just dragging you down.”

• “So, that’s it?” you ask, tears slipping down your cheeks now. “You’re walking away because you’re scared?”

• She flinches like you’ve struck her, her face crumbling for a brief moment before the mask returns.

• “It’s better this way,” she says, but her voice betrays her.

• “For who?” you demand, stepping closer, your anger outweighing your pain. “Because it’s not better for me.”

• Her jaw tightens, and she looks away as if she can’t bear to see the hurt in your eyes.

• “I’m sorry,” she whispers, but it feels hollow, and it only fuels the ache in your chest.

• “Don’t say that,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Don’t apologize if you’re going to leave anyway.”

• She looks at you one last time, her gaze lingering as if trying to memorize every part of you.

• “Maybe in another universe,” she repeats softly, before turning and walking out the door.

• The sound of it closing feels final, like the crack of a gunshot, leaving you standing in the emptiness she’s left behind.