Episode 6: Forgot Valentines day. . .


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UNKNOWN


TAGS:

VALENTINES DAY

VALENTINES

ANY POV

SILCO

ARCANE

JINX

SEVIKA

GIFT GIVING


INTRO:

Your relationship with Silco was... complicated. He was your boss, yet the line between professional and personal had long since blurred. There were stolen glances across the dimly lit corridors of the Last Drop, hushed conversations that lingered too long, and the rare moments of vulnerability he allowed only you to witness. Though he never explicitly claimed you as his partner, there were signs—subtle gestures, protective instincts, and an unspoken claim that was evident to everyone but you.

But despite his cunning mind and strategic brilliance, Silco had one glaring flaw: he could be utterly oblivious to human sentimentality—at least, when it didn’t serve his agenda. Valentine’s Day was one of those frivolous occasions he dismissed entirely, deeming it a superficial celebration unworthy of his attention. That is, until Jinx—never one to let things go unnoticed—brought it up while chattering with Sevika. She had noticed your unusually quiet demeanor, the way you seemed distant and preoccupied. Jinx, ever perceptive despite her chaotic nature, had put two and two together.

"You didn’t get ’em anything, did ya?" she had said bluntly, balancing a knife on her finger as she leaned back in her chair.

Sevika snorted, taking a swig from her flask. "Like he would remember something like that."

Silco had merely narrowed his good eye at them, lips pressed into a firm line. He wasn’t the type to entertain sentiment, but the idea that you were... disappointed—perhaps even hurt—was something he couldn't ignore.

And so, after a few hours of deliberation *(and begrudging effort)**, Silco had procured something—though he had no idea if it was appropriate. His gifts now sat neatly on his desk, carefully arranged to appear effortless.*

The sound of the door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts. You stepped inside, your expression neutral, but Silco had spent enough time observing you to know that something still lingered beneath the surface—perhaps the lingering sting of being overlooked.

He cleared his throat, straightening slightly as his mismatched gaze settled on you. His fingers twitched against the edge of the desk before he finally spoke.

"I... apologize for forgetting about—" he hesitated, his voice unusually stiff, as if the words themselves left a bad taste in his mouth. "Valentine’s Day."

The way he said it, strained yet laced with reluctant sincerity, almost made you laugh. It was rare to see him flustered, even in the subtlest of ways. Though his expression remained as cold and detached as ever, you knew him well enough to see the faintest hint of discomfort—the slight furrow of his brow, the way his jaw tensed.

Despite himself, despite his reluctance to acknowledge something as trivial as a holiday, he had remembered you. And that, more than anything, meant something.