Arcane fic: Brush off all the dirt (Pt 2)

[out_there]

Originally Posted to AO3 in Mar25.

Brush off all the dirt (49904 words) by out_there


Continued from here



***

Chapter Five

Reporting to the office takes longer than Vander would like. They spend too long standing over maps of the mine, trying to guess the route they took to get out. It's nearly shift end by the time the supervisors are satisfied and let them go.

Vander just wants to go to bed, to close the door on that little room of theirs and ignore everything outside. But Silco stops when they get to the mess hall.

"You should let your friends know you survived," he says. He hides his scratched fingers in the pockets of his jacket.

"And what are you doing?"

"I should check on the foundlings. There might have been survivors."

Because most of the workers on level three were kids. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I'd prefer you weren't there," Silco says with the kind of honesty that comes from complete exhaustion. "We might have to take someone to the river. That would break your heart."

Vander leans in for a hug, holds Silco close. Cheek to cheek, he says softly, "Pretty sure it would break yours too."

"I'm far better at hiding it," Silco replies and Vander can see his point. Vander's never been good at hiding what he feels; it shows on his face and in his voice. If the kids need someone controlled and certain, someone to do what's needed, Silco can hold a steady face.

"Come meet me in the mess hall afterwards?" Vander asks and Silco nods. Maybe the right thing to do would be to run after him, to insist on helping, but Vander’s relieved to avoid it. He's not in a rush to bury teenagers.

Instead, he heads to the mess hall and finds himself tackled by Felicia. It's instinct to catch her.

"Vander! You're okay!"

"A little bruised, but in one piece," Vander says, putting her down. "We got back this afternoon."

Felicia blinks up at him, eyes soft and concerned. "And Silco?"

"The two of us," Vander says and she sags in relief. "We had to dig most of the night, but we made it. Did anyone else…?"

Felicia shakes her head. "Nearly all of level three collapsed. A few miners made it back to the elevator as it came down, but everyone else was lost."

That's nearly two dozen people. Half of the foundling bunks will be empty tonight. Vander has a twinge of unease, wondering if he should have gone with Silco, and then Benzo's voice is thundering across the courtyard.

"Vander! More lives than a cat, this one!" Benzo has one black eye and an ugly purple bruise across his cheek.

"What happened to your face?" Vander asks, even as Connol walks up with a fat lip and a matching black eye. "Did you two get in a fight?"

"With enforcers," Felicia answers sharply. "These two idiots didn't believe the company when they said level three was unsafe. They tried to sneak in and override the lock on the elevator, and found a bunch of enforcers instead."

"Felicia's just mad that we didn't tell her the plan," Connol says. It looks like it hurts to talk. "It's only because she was arguing with the supervisors, trying to convince them to let us try digging you out."

Vander grins at his friends, bruised and furious on his behalf. Who would have risked their lives to try to save him. "Sounds like the first round's on me. I'll buy the drinks and you can tell me about the daring rescue attempt."

Vander gets to hear the whole story. That it was a handful of miners that complained, not just Felicia, when they announced no rescue attempt. That the supervisors declared it unsafe and locked the elevator, so even if they had managed to dig in that direction, they still would have been trapped that night.

While the supervisors were being yelled at by angry miners, Benzo and Connol took their gear into the mine and pried open the elevator controls. They'd disabled the elevator lock and were working on the grating lock when five enforcers marched on the scene.

"As you can see," Benzo says, nodding at Connol's face, "we weren't stupid enough to fight back."

They all know what happens if you land a lucky punch on an enforcer. A quick transfer to Stillwater, with slim hopes they'll let you out in a few years.

In turn, Vander tells them about digging their way out and the hidden shrine they found down there. "I think it was Janna," Vander says, shrugging. "It was old. Had an inscription on the wall. Zaun."

Benzo takes a big swallow of his ale. "Could be. My granddad prayed to Janna, and he said his granddad did before him. Maybe people have been praying to her for centuries."

"I'd offer to show you guys but I don't know if we'd find our way back. I stopped paying attention to how many turns we took."

"Pity," Connol says, finishing his drink and standing up. "Does everyone want another?"

Felicia nods, and then curiously watches Connol walk away. She spots Vander noticing, and shrugs it off. "What an idiot. Fighting with enforcers."

Vander grins at her. "Is that what you really think of him?"

"Oh, look," she says, distracting him from his teasing. "It's your other half."

Silco stands in the doorway, scanning the crowd. Anyone else might see the proud tilt of his chin, the judgemental twist of his mouth and assume it's just Silco, mean and cranky as ever. Vander sees something brittle in his expression, like he's holding everything together by willpower alone. Vander wonders how many beds are empty in the foundling dorm tonight, how many of those dead kids Silco knew by name. "I think that's my cue to leave."

Felicia stands up to let him walk past, and then follows Vander while Benzo protects their table.

"Felicia," Silco says smoothly, giving her a nod. "Good to see you."

Silco looks stunned when Felicia bounces forward and wraps her arms around him. Freezes in place.

"We're glad you're not dead," Felicia says, giving him one more squeeze and then stepping back. "Really."

"Me, too," Silco says wryly.

Felicia smiles, bright and charming. "I mean, can you imagine how Vander would mope around if you hadn't made it out? He'd be insufferable."

"I'll keep that in mind," Silco promises. "But if you'll excuse us, it's been a very long day."

Vander ignores the look Felicia shoots at him. Sometimes Silco – with his sharp mind and love of books – talks like a Piltie and it puts everyone on edge.

"See you tomorrow," Vander says and leads Silco away before Felicia says anything. When the noise of the mess hall is safely behind them, he asks, "Are you okay?"

Silco presses his lips together tightly and shakes his head. They walk back through the old mine, picking their way back carefully through the tunnels, and don't say a thing.

Even when the door is closed behind them and safely latched, Silco only says, "I'm tired."

"Then let's go to bed," Vander says and leads him to sheets that smell of them, human warmth and animal sweat. He pulls Silco against him and holds him tight.

***

They spend the next day in bed. Maybe it's the effort of digging most of the night, or the relief after facing their possible death, or the grief of knowing how many people didn't make it. Whatever it is, they sleep late the next day and then lay around in a cocoon of blankets, pressed against each other. They don't talk. Vander doesn't know what he could say; Silco lived through it, same as he did. He just wants to keep a hand on Silco's bare skin and nap in the safety of their bed.

They eat the bread rolls and baked potatoes Vander bought last night, not even getting out of bed to eat. When the shift end siren sounds, Vander asks, "Mess hall? Or we could go to riverside for food?"

Silco shrugs. "Mess hall's closer."

Vander expected him to choose the less social option, but Silco has no trouble sitting beside him, sketching something in his book and ignoring the people and loud conversation around him.

Vander feels grateful for the way Benzo and Felicia ignore Silco, and keep the conversation flowing even when Vander himself feels adrift, like he's not himself with Silco sitting silent and detached beside him.

Connol comes late and sets his tray of food beside Silco, swinging a leg over the bench to sit down. "What's that?"

"Nothing that would interest you," Silco says dismissively.

Vander turns, ready to apologise for Silco's mood, but Connol's peering over Silco's shoulder. "Looks like a building. I might be interested. I'm a greaser. I'm good at building things."

Silco stares him down, but Connol's not one to worry about other people's bad tempers. Begrudgingly, Silco slides his notebook across.

Vander glances over at Felicia and Benzo. They look equally surprised by the wary truce.

"You'd need steel," Connol says, "to support the upper floor. And if you're using steel, you could take it higher."

"How would you build the frame?"

Vander stops eavesdropping when Connol starts drawing, thinking aloud as he goes. It's odd to see Silco talk to anyone for an extended length of time, but Vander's happy to see it. He never would have guessed solving their storage problem is what gets Silco to talk to Vander's friends, but he'll take it.

It turns into a good night. He even convinces Silco to drink with them, and buys him a whiskey from the counter. There's a look Silco usually gives him when he offers to buy him food, this chiding look like Vander's wasting his money and Silco's trying his hardest to discourage it. He gives Vander the same look when he sees golden brown liquid in his glass.

"I would have been fine with ale," he says quietly.

"You hate ale."

"I don't hate it enough to pay four times as much for half a glass."

"Well, I've paid for it now." Vander grins and gives a cheeky shrug. "Be a waste not to drink it."

There's an interested gleam in Silco's gaze. "And if I don't like it?"

"Then I'll finish it for you. But you have to try it first."

Silco picks the glass up carefully. He lifts it to his lips and breathes in, cautious. He takes a small sip and holds it in his mouth, blinking in surprise. He swallows and then looks to Vander.

It's hard not to bask in that expression of pleased surprise. Hard not to be proud of the way Silco looks at him: like Vander is some sort of wonder, just for ordering a drink that he doesn't hate.

Maybe it's because Silco's so defensive, so prickly and quick to snarl at others. It's rare to see him let down his guard, to indulge in something new, and it feels important that he only does it with Vander. Vander isn't clever, he isn't ambitious or insightful, but somehow he gets to have this. Gets to have Silco watching him fondly, like there's no one else in the room. Silco's pretty blue eyes and teasing smile as he raises the glass to lips again and takes another delicate sip.

It's a little ruined by Felicia's sudden loud groan from the other side of the table. "It's been months. Shouldn't you two be over this?"

"This?" Vander echoes.

"Surely, some of that sexual attraction should have worn off by now?"

"After a few months?" Silco asks, deceptively sweet. He tilts his head to the side and gives Felicia a pitying smile. "Poor Felicia. I can only surmise that your past lovers have been exceedingly mediocre."

Connol guffaws loudly, even as Felicia tries to say something about self control and Benzo holds his palms up, refusing to be dragged into the conversation. Silco takes a satisfied sip of his whiskey.

***

Vander can't taste whiskey in Silco's kisses. He can feel the flush of warmth on Silco's cheeks, the loose limbed confidence, but he can't taste the alcohol. Next time, he'll kiss Silco on the way home, drag him behind the mess hall and taste the whiskey on his tongue.

They're still half dressed. Vander got distracted and handsy when Silco was peeling off his shirt, had to kiss that bare skin. Press his lips to the purple-green bruises scattered across Silco's back and chest, proof that he's alive but not unharmed.

They're on the bed, and now Vander regrets being impatient. Silco's mouth on his and Silco's clever fingers toying with the buttons on Vander's fly, teasing him through worn cotton.

"Did you mean what you said?" Silco asks. "About swapping?"

Vander has no idea what he's talking about. It's hard to think clearly with Silco's fingers ghosting along his cock. "What?"

"When you said–" Silco starts and then stops, pushing himself up. Vander wraps his arms around Silco's shoulders, pulls him back down for a kiss. Vander likes kissing like this, Silco lying on top of him, that easy weight on Vander's chest and Silco's cock pressing against Vander's stomach, already hard and promising. He likes the way Silco digs his fingers into the meat of Vander's biceps. The way he squirms and shifts against Vander when he sucks on Silco's tongue.

He's not such a fan of the way Silco jerks his face away and scolds, "I was trying to say something."

"Less talking. More kissing."

Silco rolls his eyes. "Do you want me to fuck you?" He asks it like it's doubtful, like Vander's probably changed his mind.

Like it hasn't been something that keeps coming back to Vander. Face buried between Silco's thighs, dragging his tongue over Silco's cock and wondering how it would feel inside him. Wondering if Silco would hold on to his hips the way he grabs hold of Vander's hair, desperate and pushy. "Yeah?"

Silco pulls a face Vander can't translate. "We don't have to. We could–"

"Yes," Vander says again, talking through him. "Do you need me to beg?"

Silco looks down at him, all greed and hunger. "Would you beg?"

"Yes," Vander says, and Silco keeps watching him like he wants to tattoo his name across Vander's chest. "Please. Please, Silco. Fuck me."

Silco darts down for a sharp kiss full of teeth and desperation. And then he's gone again, climbing off the bed. "Get those off. I'll get the oil."

Vander lifts his hips up and pushes his pants down. It might have been quicker to get out of bed like Silco and just shuck them off. Vander ends up trying to kick them off each leg, and then has to sit up to tug them off his shins. It's a bit ridiculous. He probably looks like a clumsy oaf.

Vander gives Silco an apologetic grimace, but Silco's just standing there, hip cocked, as fine and pretty as anything Piltover has. He smiles at Vander, almost laughing at him, but it's fond and happy, and it's hard to be embarrassed when someone looks at you like that.

"All done?" Silco asks and Vander tosses his clothes somewhere on the floor.

Vander lies back down. "Yeah."

Silco crawls onto the bed, between Vander's legs, pushing them further apart with one hand on Vander's knee. He kneels back and runs both hands down over Vander's chest. Flat palms first, then scraping at the muscle with short, blunt fingernails; soothing that tiny sting with another soft sweep of his hands. He does the same over Vander's stomach and the front of his hips, leaving the skin tingling and sensitised. Leaving Vander squirming and hopeful.

Silco reaches for the oil, and pours it into his palm, sealing the bottle before he spreads it over his fingers. Vander stretches his thighs a little wider but Silco reaches for Vander's cock first. The slide of his hand is slick and luxurious, enough to make Vander groan.

They don't waste the oil on this, on something as everyday as a hand on a cock, but it feels amazing. Smooth and steady, Silco's talented fingers squeezing in just the right way.

Vander gasps for breath when Silco brushes across his hole, a barely-there glance of fingers, a shivery counterpoint to the confident grip on Vander's cock. Vander tilts his hips up in encouragement but Silco keeps the touch light, just enough to make Vander aware of where those fingers should be.

"Don't tease," Vander growls, and he already sounds wrecked by this.

"It's not teasing if I intend to follow through," Silco says, voice low and dangerous.

"It's taking your sweet time–" Vander groans as Silco twists his other hand, thumb rubbing under the head of Vander's cock. "Silco…"

"You did suggest begging," Silco says but before Vander can say anything more than please, he's pressing inside Vander. Just one slick, careful finger.

It's an odd feeling. Good but... different. It brings a strange awareness of his body. Vander clenches around it, just to feel how his body fits around it, how good it almost feels.

"Teasing," Vander accuses, breathless.

"You'll appreciate it later," Silco says, and Vander thinks no, he won't. Not if Silco drags this out so long he comes before the main event.

At least the hand on his cock slows down, gives him a chance to breathe as Silco carefully, so carefully, slides his finger out halfway and then slides back in, glacially slow.

"Fuck, Silco. Come on. Please!"

"I was joking about the begging," Silco says, but he starts moving faster. Starts rocking his finger in and out of Vander, pressing deeper each time.

It's good, it is good, but… "More," Vander growls and Silco presses a kiss against his bent knee and then adds another finger, pushing in and up, and sparking white-hot pleasure in the base of Vander's spine.

Vander can't get the words out but Silco does it again and again, ruthless and perfect. Vander arches back, skin too hot and too tight, rocking between Silco's hands. He bites at his lip, eyes screwed shut as Silco pushes another finger inside him. Everything sharper and more intense, the slick sound of Silco's fingers thrusting inside him, Silco's steady grip on his cock, the burst of sensation as he rubs his thumb over the head.

Vander digs his toes into the sheet. His balls feel tight and he can feel that crest getting closer, and he's rocking into Silco's hands even as he cries out, "Stop, stop!"

He's left empty and so fucking close, cock throbbing, but then Silco's leaning over him, kissing him gently, one slick hand on Vander's cheek.

"Sorry," Vander manages, still breathing hard.

"It's fine." There's a kiss to the bow of his lip. To the edge of his jaw. The curve of his cheek. Sweet and tender. "It's okay."

"I was just too close," Vander says sheepishly. "Caught me by surprise."

Silco blinks at him once, twice, and then says, "Oh," like that wasn't what he was expecting.

"Just needed a moment."

"Feeling better?" Silco asks drily, but he smooths a caring hand down Vander's side.

"Less likely to go off in the next five seconds, yes."

With a small turn of his head, Vander brushes his nose against Silco's, leans in a bit further to kiss him. It's a gentle kiss, a meeting of familiar lips. Silco lowers himself over Vander, chests pressed together, thigh to thigh, Silco's always cool feet tucked against Vander’s ankles.

Silco scratches at the nape of Vander's neck, then tugs at Vander's hair, tilting Vander's chin up so he can lick down the tendon of Vander's neck. Trace the same path with light, fluttering kisses. He kisses down to Vander's left shoulder, to the ugly purple-blue bruise from a falling rock, and scrapes teeth along the ink-dark skin. The pain glows bright against the dull ache beneath it, a hurt so delicate it feels strangely good.

Silco slides his knees up, pressing Vander's thighs apart, and keeps dragging his mouth down Vander's chest. Soft lips and warm tongue and sharp teeth.

Vander's heavy breathing echoes in the quiet of their room. He wraps a leg around Silco's back, trying to pull him closer.

"Getting impatient?" Silco murmurs, far too pleased with himself.

"Going to do something about it?"

Silco retaliates with a sharp nip to Vander's stomach and then sits up on his knees. His hair has come loose, wild strands falling across his eyes and flushed cheeks. He watches Vander's face, blue eyes questioning, challenging, as he shuffles closer. He reaches down to guide his cock to Vander's hole, and Vander gasps at that first hot brush against sensitive skin.

"Ready?" Silco asks, soft in a way that no one would believe. More loving than anyone would give him credit for.

Vander anchors one foot flat on the mattress, canting his hips towards Silco. He nods and Silco pushes forward, thicker and hotter than fingers. A stretch Vander has to breathe around and fist his hands in his own hair, just to resist the urge to jerk off.

He understands what Silco meant now. Overwhelmed. Like he can't think past Silco's cock pressing inside him. Silco's hands on his leg, lifting his knee up to rest on Silco's shoulder. The soft kiss Silco presses to his thigh.

"Vander," Silco says, and if Silco offers to stop or slow down, Vander is going to kill him, "look at me."

Vander drags his eyes open and Silco smiles, and then thrusts in those last few inches. He sets a steady, unyielding pace, staring at Vander as he pushes deeper and higher, finding that spot that sends sparks up Vander's spine.

There's a grin of victory as Silco forces grunts out of Vander, shameless whines begging for more. Vander clenches toes in the sheet, trying to meet Silco's thrusts.

Silco reaches down, hooks his thumb inside Vander's mouth, pressing against his tongue. Vander sucks on it and pants around it, messy and desperate. He's caught on the knife edge between too much and needing more, his whole body wound tight.

"Harder," Vander begs and Silco, contrary bastard that he is, pulls out. Vander growls at him, "Don't stop."

"Turn over," Silco says, breathless and ruined. His hair clings to his sweaty forehead. "On your knees."

Vander swings a leg over and makes himself move. Gets on to his knees and elbows and then Silco's behind him, pushing his hips down and nudging Vander's knees wider apart. Leaving Vander exposed and waiting.

There's the clatter of the oil bottle being placed on the floor and then Silco hisses. Vander's about to complain when there are fingers on his hips and Silco slams back into him, right where he should be. Silco doesn't hold back. He digs his nails into Vander's skin and pounds into him, lighting Vander up from the inside.

It takes another breath for Vander to brace his hands on the headboard and push back to meet each thrust. It's desperate. Honest. Vander doesn't care that his thighs are screaming at him, that he's moaning like a cheap whore, he needs Silco to keep fucking him. Keep driving so deep it forces the air out of Vander's chest, leaves him gasping for breath, head bowed forward and forehead brushing the sheet.

When Silco wraps a hand around his cock, Vander keens. Too far gone to warn Silco how close he is. Who can remember words when everything feels this good? Vander's world narrows to hands and skin and pleasure, the rhythm of their bodies meeting each other. The pounding of his heart and his gasping breaths. His whole body clenching around Silco, drawn tight as he comes.

Silco fucks him through it, through the crest of pleasure and that sudden slump of exhaustion, and then Silco's rutting inside him, losing all sense of rhythm as he curses and spills inside Vander.

When Silco pulls out, Vander hears the embarrassing whine he makes, but he's too wrung out to hide it. There's movement as Silco gets off the bed and walks over to the bowl and bottle of water. Silco mutters about the cold as he washes, and the familiar complaint makes Vander smile.

Silco returns with a wet rag and wipes Vander's skin, catching the oil and mess between his cheeks. Silco rinses it out and then slides the cool cloth across Vander's back, where the sweat was starting to dry on his skin. The cloth travels over Vander's stomach and his softening cock.

Silco brushes the nape of Vander's neck and then presses a kiss to Vander's head. "Stretch your legs out. You don't want to fall asleep like that."

Vander lies down, not caring about the wet patch beneath him. It's a struggle just to stay awake until he feels the mattress dip under Silco's weight.

"We should do that again," Vander says, words slurring together from tiredness. He falls asleep before Silco replies.

***

They wake late the next morning, still half asleep as the shift siren rings out. They're both sprawled on their backs, shoulders pressed together, warm under the blankets. Vander yawns, drifting back to sleep.

"Tomorrow," Silco says, soft and sleepy. Vander makes an interested hum. "I'll have to work tomorrow."

It's more of a questioning hum this time. "Hm?"

"I'm not paying for a bunk. They don't know where I am," Silco explains, starting to sound more awake. That's not what Vander wants. "After three days, they'll report me to the enforcers."

"We paid for meals last night. At the mess hall." Vander rolls onto his side, facing Silco. He drapes an arm across Silco's chest, fingers resting over his ribs, feeling the movement of every breath. "They know you're here."

Silco reaches out, rests a hand on Vander's thigh. "Just a few more minutes and then I'll get up."

A few more minutes is actually a few hours. They wake up close to midday and Silco insists on bundling up the sheet and bringing it to the washroom with them. With everyone working, the washroom is empty. No one crowding the benches ringed by narrow long lockers, where miners keep a change of clothes, if they own any.

The room feels so much larger without being full of bodies. There's a handwash station on the other side of the room, a wide fountain turned on with foot pedals, where the water flows out in a circle so fifteen miners can wash their hands and faces at once. A single mirror by the door.

Silco strips off his clothes and doesn't bother opening his locker. He leaves them on the bench, something unthinkable when the washroom is crowded after the end of shift. He heads to the small cubicles lining the wall, with their small stools and buckets, and taps with hot and cold water.

Silco sits down and starts by tipping a bucket of warm water over his head. The water plasters the dark hair to his pale skin, and Vander watches the water travel down Silco’s body, highlighting the narrow chest and the ridges of spine that show when Silco leans forward for more water.

Silco feels him staring, and glances over his shoulder at Vander. Vander's expecting some sharp remark, some reminder that Vander is wasting time, but Silco's expression softens.

"Get undressed," Silco says, gentler than he usually is in the mornings, "and come over here."

Vander doesn't need to be told twice. He strips down quickly.

Silco's working soap into his hair as Vander steps behind him. "Fill the bucket?" Silco asks as he rubs soap over one arm and then the other.

Vander waits for Silco's nod before he tips the water over him, and then fills the bucket up again. It takes two more buckets before Silco considers himself clean.

"Your turn," Silco says, standing up. "Do you want to sit or stand?"

"Like you'd even reach," Vander teases.

"I could stand on the stool." Silco sounds like he's already thought about it. "I was not fond of sitting the day after."

"The day aft–" Vander stops himself, suddenly realising the answer to that question. Silco means the day after getting fucked.

"It fades within a day or so. So if you prefer to stand…"

"Yes," Vander says, "but no, not for that reason. Those stools… it's awkward getting my legs to fit, but sitting isn't, you know…"

"Painful?" Silco supplies, eyebrows raised. With his hair slicked down and his head tilted Iike that, it makes him look like a curious rat. "No back ache? No discomfort?"

Vander pulls a face. He can't exactly say none, but it's not pain. He shrugs and there's a familiar flash of irritation on Silco's face.

They're alone in the washroom and still, Vander leans in close so he can drop his voice to a hush. "Some… tenderness, okay? Like… I am very aware of where your cock was last night. But it's not bad, it's…"

Silco gets it. Vander can tell by the possessive hand he places on Vander's chest, the heated smile on Silco's lips.

"We're alone in here," Silco says and it's dizzying how quickly Vander's blood rushes down to his cock. Silco has that effect on him. "And we do have a very handy stool."

"Handy?"

"Mm-hm." When Silco sits down on the low stool, his head is level with Vander's hips. He leans forward, letting Vander's hard cock brush his cheek. "We shouldn't waste an opportunity."

***

If it was up to Vander, they'd spend the next week in bed, close and safe and only leaving it to eat and wash. Silco refuses to do that. He doesn't force Vander to go back to work, but lying around in bed without Silco is much less interesting.

He's surprised when Silco volunteers both of them for level one. "You sure?"

"Level three is closed until the engineers come down from Piltover. They need to work out if the coal there is worth the cost of reinforcing it," Silco says, as he signs for a pickaxe and shovel from the store rooms. No charges because they rarely use explosives on the established tunnels of level one. "You might as well be working with your friends."

Vander does enjoy spending the day with Benzo and Felicia. They see Connol a couple times, but he's mostly busy on level two fixing a broken cart. It's easier work. He doesn't have to hunch down to fit into new tunnels; there's space for two people to swing pickaxes. He doesn't constantly feel like he's taking up too much space, too big compared to Silco and the other foundlings.

If anything, Silco's the one who stands out. He seems smaller up here in all this space. He's taller than Felicia, but Felicia has no trouble swinging a pickaxe into bedrock or using a pair of gauntlets. Silco's swings just don't have the same power behind them.

Vander stops for a drink and passes the water flask to Silco. He doesn't even say anything, but Silco takes one look at his face and snarls, "Say one condescending thing and I will gut you."

Behind him, Felicia laughs. "It takes a couple weeks to get used to."

"Oh, great news," Silco says sourly but he listens carefully when Felicia makes suggestions about his stance.

"You need more momentum," she says, swinging her own pickaxe to show him. "If you don't have the power to brute force it, you've just got to hit it faster."

To Silco's credit, he does try to follow Felicia's advice. He straightens his shoulders and copies her stance, but the pile of rocks at his feet doesn't grow in a hurry. When the cart returns, Benzo and Felicia have a pile each, ready to load. Silco's pile might, if he's lucky, fill half a cart.

When the cart comes back the third time, after Benzo and Felicia have loaded their work and marked it off today's quota, Silco looks at his morning's work with dismay.

"You might as well load yours next," he tells Vander.

"Sure," Vander says, "give me a hand."

They load the cart together and wait for the runner to come along with a clipboard. It's a teenager Vander doesn't recognise, but he gives a quick nod to Silco. "Name?"

"Silco," Vander says and the teen looks up in surprise. "I'm just helping him load it."

The kid looks to Silco for confirmation, and only marks the clipboard after Silco nods. After the kid walks away, Silco glares at Vander. "What was the point of that? What good does it do for you to miss quota just for me to meet it?"

"I'll meet quota."

"You're a cart behind now, and–"

"I'll meet quota," Vander insists. He shrugs and figures he should be honest. "I usually exceed quota."

Silco raises one elegant and disbelieving eyebrow. "You exceed it?"

"Up here, where I can take a swing without needing to watch my head? Yeah, I exceed quota."

"By how much?" Silco asks carefully.

"Two carts? Sometimes more."

Silco knows as well as anyone that the quota up here is four carts per miner. On level three, where the work's slower, it's three carts.

"Fine," Silco says eventually but he sounds annoyed about it.

"Fine? You're not going to fight me on this?"

"This is not about accepting charity. This is about making the company pay for every cart we dig for them."

***

It takes weeks for the topsider engineers to show up. There's four of them, all dressed in the same navy blue with white edges, all armed with pens, notebooks and various measuring devices. Most of the mine gives them a wide berth, leaving a space around them in the courtyard and the mess hall. Wary of them the way they're all wary of Pilties: who knows what would happen if they took offence to something, if you'd lose your position or end up in Stillwater. It's not worth the risk.

Unsurprisingly, Silco is the only one who doesn't see it that way. He volunteered to show them around level three. He's escorted them down there, day after day, and spends his evenings sitting with them at the mess hall, clearing their empty plates and bringing them more drinks. Silco is being friendly and charming. Vander's never seen him smile so much.

Vander grunts when Benzo elbows him. "Stop glaring at them," Benzo tells him, and fine, maybe Vander's been staring.

Vander turns his attention to the glass in his hand, ignoring the female engineer – Jacinta something, Silco said – who has had a bit too much to drink and has a hand resting on Silco's forearm.

"What's he up to?" Felicia asks, but she doesn't look over at Silco's table.

"Didn't say," Vander says, glaring at his empty drink. "Said he was working towards something."

"When is he not?" Benzo mutters.

"He was talking to you earlier," Felicia says, looking at Connol. "Did he say anything?"

Connol runs a hand over his head, scratching at his short, brown hair. "They're going to start digging. Level four. They don't think level three is salvageable."

"That's all?"

Connol shrugs at Felicia. "He was asking about hot water. How much coal it takes to keep the boilers running."

Vander takes a little comfort in the fact that everyone else looks as confused as him. He can't see any obvious link. "He does complain about cold water."

"What about that old safe we found?" Benzo asks, even though he wasn't the one who found it and had to carry it back from the riverbank. But Benzo did fix the lock to make it work again. "You could jerry-rig that into a boiler."

Vander shakes his head. Silco uses that for keeping their small bag of coins. Even in a room no one else knows about, he doesn't trust the idea of money left under a mattress. "He loves that safe. He wouldn't use that."

It remains a mystery. For a while, they amuse themselves trying to think up the most ridiculous reasons for Silco's behaviour. Felicia claims it's a coup, he's somehow sabotaging the mine by feeding the engineers lies. Connol points out that Silco only smiles that much when he's drunk and clinging to Vander, so maybe Silco's started drinking in the mornings.

Felicia punches his shoulder. "It's not morning now."

"Maybe he's drinking all day?" Connol offers, rubbing his shoulder.

"We all know what it really is," Benzo says, leaning forward and ready to impart wisdom. "He's trying to win over a Piltover sweetheart, someone who'll whisk him away from all of this."

It's ridiculous! The idea of Silco willingly living on the other side of the river has all four of them cackling like fools.

They must be loud enough for the sound to travel because Silco looks over at them and glares like he could melt steel with his temper alone. The expression is gone in a moment, pasted over with a smile for his new topsider friends, but it's reassuringly familiar.

It's very similar to the expression Silco's wearing two hours later, when he returns from walking the engineers to the cableway, so they can return to their comfortable Piltover beds each night. (The first night, Silco had returned fuming about it. "Twenty five gold! Each way. For each of them! They're spending a fortune just so they don't have to sleep down here with us.")

"You lot aren't subtle," Silco says, swinging a leg over the bench and making space for himself beside Vander. Connol rolls his eyes but he shifts over to give Silco room. Silco still ends up pressed tight against Vander's side, not that Vander's complaining. "Staring at them and then laughing so loudly a deaf mongoose could hear you."

"We weren't laughing at them," Benzo says pointedly. Silco doesn't reply but Vander feels him tense up, ready to squabble. "They haven't gone from hating topsiders to cosying up to them."

"How else are we going to know the plans for the mine? The supervisors won't tell us until they need us to dig."

"That's why you're spending time with them?" Vander asks.

Silco gives him a long look. He doesn't like sharing his plans with Vander, let alone everyone else. "Partly."

"And the other part?" Felicia asks, smiling and tapping the back of Silco's hand.

It's so funny that Silco will drape himself over Vander – arm around his back, a hand on his shoulder, leaning against each other even when there's space around them – but he freezes when someone else touches him. It's a fleeting, friendly touch but it takes a breath for Silco's shoulders to relax afterwards.

Silco takes a breath and then pulls his notebook out. He opens it to a drawing, a map of the fissures and the area around it. It's quickly sketched and the details at the edge of the page are missing, but he's marked a dark line outside the mine.

"This is the edge of the company's land, where the mine can be dug to," Silco says, pointing at the line but careful not to smudge the graphite lines.

"Who owns the land past that?" Connol asks, peering at the map.

"Apparently, there wasn't enough coal there to mine. It might not be owned by anyone."

Benzo snorts. "So you're going to set up your market there?"

"No," Silco says, tucking the book back into his jacket, "I'm going across the river and I'm going to find out how you buy land."

Chapter Six

"Five bronze," Babette says, when Silco asks if he can borrow clothes for a day. "With a thirty bronze deposit, in case they don't come back in the same condition."

In case they don't come back at all, Vander thinks. "I should come with you."

Silco rolls his eyes. It's not the first time Vander's suggested they should do this together and every time Silco says he'll draw less attention on his own. Someone Vander's size is going to be noticed in Piltover.

"I mean it," Vander says. "You've never even been over the bridge before. At least I've been in Piltover."

"As a child. Picking pockets while your mother worked," Silco replies, picking through the choice of shirts Babette spread over the table. "There is no way anyone looks at you and doesn't immediately know you're from the undercity."

"But you'll fit right in?" The worst thing is that Silco might be right. He's always been a little too pretty, manners a little too fine. He certainly doesn't fit in at the mine.

"In the right clothes, hopefully." Silco holds up a black vest and a burgundy shirt to Babette, but she shakes her head. Silco picks up a pale green shirt instead, with an embroidered collar and fabric so thin you'd be able to count his ribs. "It would be a different story if Babette had any clothes that would fit you. You don't, do you?"

The yordle tilts her head, sizing Vander up shamelessly. "A pair of curtains, maybe."

"Cute," Vander says and Babette shrugs at him.

Silco strips off, and pulls on the too-thin shirt. "This isn't dangerous. It's not illegal to inquire about land ownership with a council office."

"And we all know enforcers have never arrested someone doing something that's technically legal." Vander crosses his arms, still unhappy. He watches Babette fetch a different vest, a rich blue, and a silver-grey long jacket to finish. The jacket is a little too tight on the waist, doesn't quite button up, but the overall look…

Silco looks like a topsider, wearing pale colours that would be smeared with soot by the end of the day. A shirt too thin to be practical, a jacket cut too close to be comfortable. He looks like someone else.

"Do up every button." Babette eyes Silco carefully. "You might need a tie."

Neither of them has any idea how to tie it, but Kane hustles Silco out of Babette's kitchen and makeshift office to sit him in front of a mirror. It takes a few demonstrations and a few practice runs, but Silco gets it eventually. Silco eyes his reflection, all sharp, pressed lines and soft colours. "What do you think?"

Kane laughs, her blond curls moving with the sound. "You look like a topsider wearing your best clothes. Try to look a bit more relaxed, like you wear this every day."

Silco looks at Vander in the mirror. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd feel better if I was coming with you," Vander says, and there's a flash of worry on Silco's face that suggests he might feel the same. It's gone quickly but it was there. "But I'm itching to punch you, so you look like a Piltie."

"How reassuring," Silco drawls, critically watching his reflection.

***

Vander does his best to hide his nerves, but he doesn't truly relax until Silco turns up at the mess hall, two hours before curfew. He's back in his own clothes: thick dark pants, dark cotton tops soft with wear, sturdy mining jacket. Seeing him is such a relief it makes Vander grin.

"Finally," Connol says, getting up and taking the spare seat next to Benzo, leaving Silco space to slide up against Vander. "He's been waiting for you all night."

"I was at Babette's." It's not a complete lie. There's dark liner along his lashes, a sure sign that Silco changed clothes at Babette's before returning to the mine. "Her workers had a few requests."

"If you get any more of that red lip stain," Felicia says, leaning across the table, "I want first dibs. I'm nearly out."

"Noted," Silco says, going so far as to pull out his notebook to actually write it down. He keeps records of requests and waiting lists.

Vander finishes his next drink and then makes their excuses. It's not that he doesn't trust his friends, but talking in a crowded hall isn't smart. They walk to the far side of the courtyard and then duck into the old mining tunnels, following their path back to their room. These days, Vander could walk that path in the dark.

"How did it go? Any trouble with the enforcers?"

"Turns out the enforcers don't bother you if they think you're one of them." Silco steps through the tunnel, sure-footed and certain, even with the lantern turned down low to preserve power. "It went better than expected. The land is abandoned, it was never sold. There's no access to the river or water, and no coal beneath it. It's considered worthless."

Just because Pilties won't pay for it, doesn't mean they'll give it away for free. "But it still has a price, right?"

"Administration fees to transfer ownership. A certificate fee to be able to prove it. I even had to pay for a copy of the forms to complete," Silco pauses, looking up at Vander as he holds the door open. He closes it behind Vander and locks it with a little metal latch Connol made. "Eighty-seven gold in total."

"So not impossible," Vander says, "but…"

"More than we have right now," Silco finishes. "There's a delivery of gas masks coming next week, that will get us close. But I'll have to check with the harbour master and see what ships are due before the end of the month."

Vander shrugs his jacket off and hangs it up. Everything they buy is based on trust and spoken agreements. They're not topsiders with legal contracts. If they don't have the funds to pay for each delivery, the next delivery won't come. They can withdraw more funds when the cash box comes but they'll still need enough to pay next month's deliveries.

Silco holds out his jacket and Vander hangs it inside his own. They get undressed quietly, Silco lost in his own thoughts, as he undoes buttons and hangs clothes around the room. Turns the lantern down until it's a bare glow in a room of shadows.

"So it will take some time," Vander says, getting into bed. He holds the blankets up until Silco slides in beside him. "We didn't expect it would be easy."

Silco gets in, bare skin cool against Vander's side and feet this side of freezing. He curls up against Vander, head resting on Vander's arm. "Is it too much to ask that something could be?"

Vander presses a kiss to Silco's forehead. "Maybe this is the easy part."

"What?"

"You and me," Vander murmurs against his skin, wrapping an arm around Silco's lean chest. "Maybe that's the bit we get easy."

There's just enough light to see Silco's smile, the pleased glitter in his eyes. "Maybe."

***

Most of the planning comes down to Silco. Funds in and funds out, captains they've given their word to, goods they'll be able to sell quickly – like the cosmetics and the gas masks – and the alcohol that makes a better profit but takes longer to sell. The whole thing makes Vander's head hurt but Silco spends days rearranging estimates and carefully writing over his figures.

Silco trades a bottle of wine to the harbour master for an ink pen, but he spends more time staring at the forms each night than daring to write on them. He stores them carefully in the safe, locking it every night and insists Vander scrubs his hands if he wants to lay a finger on them.

"You have to be a Piltovan citizen in order to buy land," Silco says, chewing on his thumbnail and staring at the pages spread across the desk. "Technically, the undercity is part of Piltover but none of us have any papers that could prove citizenship."

"Do the forms ask for proof?"

"They ask for an address. I think 'abandoned shack in an old mine' might raise some concerns." Silco sighs and stretches back on the desk chair, arms above his head and head tilted back. "We could lie. Just pick a Piltover address and hope they never send paperwork there."

"Or steal the mail," Vander offers from the bed. It's an hour past curfew. If Silco doesn't come to bed soon, Vander's going to fall asleep in an empty bed. And then Silco will wake him up to complain there's no room left for him and make him move over. "Come to bed."

Silco grumbles under his breath but he carefully places the forms and the ink pen in the safe, and then locks it. He turns the lantern down low, and starts stripping in the faint yellow glow.

"We can't do that," Silco says, pulling his shirt over his head and folding it over the back of the desk chair. "We wouldn't know when the mail was coming. We can't afford to come over to Piltover each day just to steal mail."

Silco undresses by mindless habit, an easy routine of removing his mining jacket and boots. Vander still likes watching it, the steady reveal of pale skin. The narrow line of Silco's waist, the long lines of bare thighs as he steps out of his pants and drapes them over the chair as well. He pulls the tie from his hair, so his dark hair hangs free to his shoulders, swaying as he moves. He brushes it and then ties it up again, looser for sleeping.

The last things Silco removes are the cotton bandages wrapped around his forearms. He keeps them there in case there's an accident in the mine, a burn from a fuse or a deep scratch that needs to be protected from the dirt in the air. If he isn't injured, he'll take them off each night, the last piece of armour removed.

Once he's completely bare, he comes to bed. Climbs into this little piece of Piltovan luxury, between soft sheets and cheap, thin blankets and kisses Vander. It starts as a goodnight peck but Silco lingers, lips warm and gentle fingers on Vander's cheek.

Vanders slides his hands around Silco's hips, thumbs brushing along the jut of hip bones, and Silco kisses him again, slower and wetter.

"Did you want to sleep?" Silco asks as if the answer isn't obvious.

"When have I ever picked sleep over a little action?"

"I wouldn't want to keep you up," Silco teases, nipping at Vander's upper lip.

Vander rolls his hips against Silco, his cock pressed to warm, bare skin. "I'm already up."

Silco snorts at the bad joke.

They grind together as they kiss, as hands slide over skin, tracing all the places no one else gets to touch. When they're both breathing heavily, Silco pushes himself up with a hand on Vander's chest and reaches under the bed for that small bottle of oil.

"I want to try something new," he says, so it's not Vander's first assumption. Silco pours a little on to his hand and then carefully puts the bottle back on the floor. "Shove over for a moment. I want to lie on my back."

Vander shuffles to make room and watches as Silco spreads the oil across his inner thighs and then lies down, knees together. "Is this idea courtesy of Babette's?"

The tilt of Silco's chin gives away his slight embarrassment. "So what if it is? Come here."

Vander follows the light tug of Silco's hands, settles over Silco with his weight on his elbows, faces lined up so he can kiss him. "I've never heard of anyone researching fucking like you do."

"I'm not researching it. I'm not taking notes," Silco splutters. "A little friendly advice is practical."

"Too good to try and fail while you figure it out like the rest of us?" Vander teases, pressing a string of kisses to the warm curve of Silco's cheek. There's something sweet about it, that Silco would suffer the embarrassment of asking about sex, all to impress Vander.

"Keep complaining and I won't show you." It's an empty threat, given the way Silco reaches down one slick hand for Vander's cock. Vander hears the rumbling groan he makes when Silco strokes him, firm and serious. "Anything else to say?"

"You’re very clever," Vander says, dipping down for a kiss as Silco strokes him again, "and very pretty."

"Better." Silco guides Vander's cock between his thighs. It's not as hot, as tight as being inside him, but it's slick and warm and Vander can keep kissing Silco as he moves. Deep, hungry kisses that get messy and breathless, that become open-mouthed panting against skin as Silco works a hand between them. Vander can feel Silco's knuckles against his stomach as Silco jerks off, one hand on his cock and the other tangled in Vander's hair, holding him close.

Silco's a mess afterwards, stomach and thighs sticky and a dark love bite on his shoulder that Vander barely remembers making. Vander decides to be gracious and fetches a damp cloth.

Silco pulls a face as he wipes himself down, but that's probably for the chill of the cold water. After cleaning himself, Vander rinses the cloth out, wringing it and putting it over the bowl to dry.

Silco moves over against the wall, leaving space for Vander to get in. He likes Silco like this: all those sharp edges softened, smooth like a river rock.

"I was only teasing, you know," Vander says, lying on his side and resting an arm across Silco's chest. "About the research."

"I know," he says, but there's something in Silco's tone, like he's thinking something and doesn't want to.

"What is it?"

Silco traces over the back of Vander's hand, over ridges of knuckles and faded, fine scars from bar brawls. "Life used to be simple. Before you. I didn't want to die here. That was it. Just survive and get out."

Vander slides his head closer on the pillow, enough to lean his forehead on Silco's shoulder.

"I was too angry to let them kill me," Silco says, and a little of that broiling anger seeps into his tone.

Vander soothes him, his hand brushing Silco's side. "And now?"

"It's not enough. It's not enough to get out just to die somewhere else. I can't drag you out of the mine with nowhere to go. Just to starve on the streets until we choke on the Grey? You'd be better off here."

"It's not all on you," Vander says gently, pressing a kiss to whatever bare skin he can reach without moving. "We could leave together. Work for a trader."

"And watch you be seasick? You'd hate it."

Vander hums. He can't really argue that.

"I keep thinking there's… more," Silco says slowly, like he's considering each word before he says it. "There's a chance here, there has to be, but I can't quite see it. All I can see are locked doors, and every time I find a key and force it open, there's just another locked door behind it. And another. It would be easier just to give up."

"For anyone else, maybe," Vander allows. He can't imagine Silco without his driving ambition, his desperate urgent desire to achieve something. "Giving up might kill you."

Silco falls silent but his fingers keep grazing over Vander's hand. It's a soft and delicate touch in a place that tries to grind those things out of everyone.

Closing his eyes, Silco says, "There were rumours, in the foundling home, stories the older children would tell us. That when the benefactors came to visit, that sometimes, very rarely, they'd adopt someone and take them back to Piltover.

"Only the smartest, the most well-behaved, so we were all well-behaved when they visited in all their topsider finery," Silco says bitterly. "It never happened, of course. They sometimes brought sweets or ribbons, stuffed toys for the youngest ones, but none of us ever got whisked away to a life of plenty."

Vander can't help thinking of Silco's manners, his careful note taking and his love of reading. The little traits that allow Silco to talk to those Piltie engineers without them being uncomfortable. It's too easy to imagine him younger, training himself for an opportunity that was never real.

"What if this is the same?" Silco asks, the words hushed in the dim room. "What if leaving the mine is just another naive, childish dream?"

It's hard to know what to say. Vander's never heard Silco admit doubt. Doubt in his ability to outsmart the system, to create his own way out. There should be something kind that Vander can say, something encouraging. Something that could make Silco see himself the way Vander sees him: driven and indomitable, as strong and brave as anyone Vander's ever met.

Vander knows he should say something, but… As hard as he thinks, he can't find the words. "What about the land?" he says instead. "That would have an address, right?"

Silco turns, looking at him. Those pretty blue eyes blink, brows rising as he thinks. "For the form?"

"Yeah."

"That might work. They wouldn't send any mail here but it makes a certain amount of sense."

"See? We'll get there. We'll just pick one locked door at a time."

***

The next issue is whose name to use. Silco argues that it's mostly Vander's money and Vander argues that it's Silco's bright idea. They call a truce to go to bed and by the next night, Silco's changed his mind.

"We'll put it in my name," he says. "It's not technically illegal but if the enforcers come calling, they won't have anything on you if your name isn't on it."

It's a noble gesture, Vander can see that, but the idea of Silco locked away in the dark… it sits in his stomach like a stone.

"As you said," Silco adds, aiming for comforting and hitting a false brightness instead, "it's my idea. If there are consequences, it should fall on me."

"That's ridiculous. Of the two of us, I'm far more likely to make new friends. And if that didn't work, you know I'd be able to handle myself."

"We are not arguing over which of us is more likely to survive Stillwater." It's a sign of how annoyed Silco is that he snaps his notebook shut and pushes away from the desk. "I've survived here. I would survive there."

"You're crazy if you think I'd let them take you away without a fight," Vander snarls, stepping in close. He can't help it. The idea of losing Silco, watching him get dragged away in chains, has him clenching his fists, ready to hit something.

Silco doesn't back down, doesn't even step away. No, he tilts his head back to glare at Vander. "There'd be no point. You wouldn't win."

"I know I wouldn't! But you can't expect me to just let it happen!"

"And then what? We're both stuck in Stillwater?" Silco demands, one bony finger poking at Vander's chest. "The smart thing to do is have someone on the outside who will try to bribe your way out."

Silco glares up at him, wild eyed and incensed. It doesn't matter that Vander's right; Silco's not going to admit it tonight. Vander can recognise a lost cause when he sees it.

"If that's what you want, it needs to be my name on that deed." Curling forward, Vander rests his forehead against Silco's, eyes closed. He holds Silco's arms in a loose grip, fingers loose against the worn cotton, trying to force himself to be calm. "I'm not going to think clearly if something happens to you."

Silco gives a small shake of his head but he lets the matter rest for the night. There's still a thrumming tension between them so they sleep on their sides, back to back. Vander falls asleep with the solid warmth of Silco behind him and wakes up in the morning to find Silco's still mad at him. For something Vander hasn't even done yet.

"Are you still angry at me hypothetically attacking enforcers for you?" Vander asks as Silco shoves his arms into his jacket with unnecessary force. He rethinks the wisdom of bringing it up before breakfast when Silco spins around to glare at him.

"It would be a waste," Silco bites back. If anything, he's angrier than last night. Like he's had time to simmer over all the reasons Vander is wrong. "A complete waste! Why throw your life away just because mine's ruined? It won't fix anything, it won't save me. It's a completely pointless gesture."

It's too much before Vander's even had breakfast. "What else am I going to do, Silco? What am I going to do without you?"

"The same thing you did before you met me. See your friends. Work. Find some new pretty thing," Silco spits out but that incandescent anger is starting to fade.

Vander lifts a hand to Silco's cheek. His hands have always been big, strong and clumsy, but Vander likes that he can cradle Silco's face. His thumb brushes Silco's temple while his palm rests against Silco's jaw, the loose slide of Silco's hair under his fingertips. "I don't want anyone else."

Silco gives him that look. That 'I don't need you to buy me food' look. That 'don't waste your money on me' look. That look that tries to be discouraging, tries to hide how much he likes it when Vander does.

"I'm not saying you do," Silco says, wrapping a hand around Vander's wrist, fingers cool and gentle. He tilts his head down to press a kiss to the heel of Vander's hand, and then nips at the skin, a sudden sharp drag of sharp teeth. "I'm not saying it would be easy, but we can't both… If I get dragged away to Stillwater, it's not going to make me feel better to know you're rotting beside me. I'd rather know you were out here, living."

Vander understands that, he does, but… It makes him feel like he's seventeen again, holding his ma's cold hand and wondering what he's supposed to do now. Like he's nine years old, waiting at the dock, waiting for a small fishing boat that never returns. "I don't want to be left behind again."

Silco pulls him down into a hug. Tucks Vander's head against his shoulder and runs a soothing hand up and down Vander's back. Keeps his other hand tight on the back of Vander's head, holding him close. "I'm not going anywhere, Vander."

***

Vander's not sure if he wins the argument but they do settle on using Vander's name on the paperwork. Not because Silco's seen sense. Not because he admits that of the two of them, Vander's going to have an easier time in prison and Silco's more likely to figure out a way to get him out. No, Silco agrees because Benzo, of all people, says, "Do you think the company would take it?"

Silco looks up from his plate, the food on his fork forgotten. "What?"

"As payment for your debts," Benzo says casually, scooping up a spoonful of the grey-brown stew. "If you actually get a market working there, if it makes money, do you think the company would be interested?"

It's not a thought that ever occurred to Vander. From the expression on Silco's face, he hadn't thought of it either.

It turns out that Silco considers the company a bigger threat than enforcers. Enforcers might stretch their powers if it suits them -- but only if it suits them -- but the company has been lurking over Silco's shoulder all his life. He's not going to risk them having any claim over this.

The end of the month is only a few days away and Silco's certain they'll have enough to pay for the land transfer and their next few shipments. He's already made arrangements with Babette for clothes and has started filling out the forms in painstakingly neat letters, allowing the ink to dry thoroughly before he moves the page.

Silco carefully places the pen on the desk. "I supposed there's no chance one of your parents had a family name?"

"I called them Dad and Ma," Vander replies, fixing the torn seam on his shirt. His stitches always come out bigger than his ma's would have been but they do the job.

"As in a house name," Silco clarifies, looking over his shoulder. "A surname."

Vander snorts. "I'm not a Piltie."

"We need something for the form." Silco wanders over the three steps to Vander sitting on the floor, his shirt over his lap. "Whatever you like because there's no way they can prove it isn't your name."

"Huh." Vander pulls the thread through and carefully makes the next stitch. "Let me think on it."

***

Vander spends the day thinking about it, but he doesn't have any idea how topsiders came up with surnames. He's never needed one. He's mostly joking when he leans over in the mess hall that night and asks, "Silco, what about Zaun?"

Silco frowns in confusion, leaning into Vander like he must have misheard over the drunken chatter around them. "Did you say Zaun?"

Vander nods. He could raise his voice but he'd rather lean in close to Silco, foreheads brushing as they talk. "As a surname."

"It's as good as any," Silco allows, turning as Felicia returns with drinks for everyone else and juice for Silco. It's cheaper than whiskey and Silco still hates ale.

The conversation turns to everyone's plans for tomorrow, since it's the last day of the month. Connol wants to go to riverside, to eat fresh squid and watch the lights of Piltover. Benzo has plans with Widgit, a girl who mines on level two. Felicia shrugs and says she's planning to go to Babette's.

"Babette's?" Connol squawks, like they haven't all been tempted there once or twice.

"I want a new dress. A couple of the girls are taking orders, sewing it between customers," Felicia says. "I'm going to get measured. Find out how much it will cost."

There's a speculative gleam in Silco's eyes. In another world, Vander might suggest buying something – a new shirt, a fancy jacket – but all the money they have is promised to something else.

"I might go over the bridge," Vander says, since Silco's planning to go to the council record office anyway. "Look around Piltover. See what I think."

The last day of the month is known for being lax at the bridge. The enforcers know they have coins in their pockets, so miners are allowed into the city to spend their pay. They prefer the miners to stay near the stores by the docks, out of the city proper, so that's where Vander says he's going when they stop and ask him what business he has in Piltover. They laugh at the handful of bronze he's carrying but they don't rough him up or send him back to the undercity.

A few minutes later, Silco walks across the bridge dressed in a fine jacket and vest, with a shirt and tie. He has a leather satchel over one arm, a suggestion from Babette. The enforcers nod at him but don't ask any questions.

Vander waits and then they walk together to the town square. Silco doesn't want Vander to be seen by the council staff but he's also carrying a small fortune in coin. It makes sense for them to both come.

Silco keeps his head up and leads them through the main streets, stepping neatly around other topsiders. He's right that the people up here eye Vander's mining jacket and give him space. One mother pulls her child to the other side of her as Vander walks by.

They stop at a tall building of pale sandstone, stretching up into the midday sunshine. "Stay here," Silco tells him and then steps inside with the satchel.

He's back after a few short minutes. "It has to all be in gold coin for them to accept payment," Silco says, nervousness showing in the tightness around his eyes, the sharp edge of his frown.

More than half of their funds are in bronze. "So what do we do?"

"Follow me," Silco says and starts walking. They walk down wide tree-lined streets. The hot sunlight broken by patches of dappled shade on the smooth, paved sidewalk. The sky is so blue up here, reaching out around them. It's so much brighter than riverside, without the smog rolling across from the Piltover side of the riverbank.

Silco stops at a square, dark building. At the top of a wide flight of steps, there are enforcers standing outside the doorway.

"What is this?" Vander asks, resisting the urge to size up the enforcers. He doesn't want their attention.

"A bank," Silco says but the word doesn't mean anything to Vander. "Apparently, they'll exchange our coins for gold here."

"For a fee?" They don't have much more than the land fees with them. It will take hours if they have to go back to the mines for more funds. More importantly, it might leave them short later this month.

Silco shrugs. "We'll find out."

Silco plasters a smile on his face as he turns, but his knuckles are tight on the strap of his satchel. It's a form of bravery, stepping into the unknown and hoping.

Vander crosses the road and walks up a few buildings, not wanting to catch anyone's attention. He can still see the doorway and the enforcers, standing bored with their weapons at their sides. If he turns around, he can watch their reflection in the shopfront glass. It has Renalds written on the glass in shiny gold letters but there's nothing on display in the window.

A Piltie enters, then another two come out; they ignore the enforcers and the enforcers ignore them. Vander passes the time counting the number of Pilties going in, waiting to see how long it takes one of them to come back out again. He doesn't recognise any of them coming out but most of them kind of look the same: big dresses with frills, jackets with bright edging, lots of pale colours that would show soot and dirt too easily.

Finally, a familiar face steps out. Silco might be dressed like one of them, deep blue jacket and pale tan pants, dark hair pulled back at the nape of his neck with light blue ribbon, but he doesn't walk like them, mindlessly sure of where they're going. Silco steps out and scans the street, taking a moment before he steps down, quick sideways glances to watch the enforcers as he goes.

Vander turns and waves to catch Silco's attention. Gets to see the recognition and relief on Silco's face.

"All good?" Vander asks.

Silco nods and starts leading them back to the council office. "It was like a topsider version of cash box day. People handing over coins or lining up to withdraw them."

"Huh. Do you think they live on credit too?" Vander asks and Silco shrugs.

They walk past shopfronts filled with clothes and boots, bags and metal trinkets. There's a shop just for hats and another that sells nothing but tiny glass ornaments, animals with little coloured ears and noses, hooves and horns. Vander recognises a horse, a squid and a wild tuna, but the rest are things he's never seen before.

"We can look on the way back," Silco says when Vander's steps start to slow.

Vander shakes his head and keeps walking. What's he going to do with tiny glass things? He'd only break them or lose them, and they probably cost more than a week's pay.

Silco takes longer in the council office. There aren't any enforcers guarding the entrance so Vander walks around the building, finding a small alley to hide from the bright sunshine. It's narrow and dark, with large metal garbage bins stacked at the far end. There are no topsiders here, no daintily concerned looks aimed at Vander; it feels like the first time he's been able to breathe since they crossed the river.

Vander sits down on the concrete, brick against his back. If he turns his head he can watch the trees on the other side of the street, the narrow, dark green leaves and the small pink flowers moving in the breeze. As he watches, a small bird lands on a branch. It's tiny, a third of the size of a seagull, a little brown and red thing that's hard to spot when it stops moving. It jumps along the branch and then stops, tilting its head.

Vander wonders what that's like: living somewhere with trees and flowers. Growing up with singing birds instead of the occasional rat. He watches the little bird as the Pilties walk right past it, not even looking up.

Chapter Seven
Life settles into a routine. Silco tends to wake early and check with the harbour master for the ships scheduled to arrive. They work in the mines, in the wide tunnels of level one while the engineers sit in Piltover, deciding the mine's future. They eat in the mess hall at night and spend the rest of the evening exploring their worthless land, marking out the edges of it and planning how to build.

The land itself is uneven and steep, a crevasse leading to the mine and a difficult climb to riverside. It's clearly been used by the mine as a garbage dump because they come across a pile of junk, stacked up high. There's old devices, cogs and gears. There's pieces of steel, the type used to reinforce the mining shafts. Broken bits of wood and broken tools. It's a pile of resources, a chance to build something here.

Vander gets the others to help them sort through it. They separate it into stacks of building materials and machinery pieces, and Vander laughs at Connol and Benzo arguing over the same wrench.

"What are you going to do here?" Felicia asks as Connol and Benzo keep squabbling.

Vander shrugs. "Build. Build a market, I guess."

"Build homes," Silco says. "Stop paying the company for everything."

"What? You're going to build a town here?" Felicia asks, laughing. "Your own little fiefdom?"

"Our own kingdom," Vander says, like something out of a fairytale. "Somewhere you could build a life."

Silco waves a sarcastic hand at the rubbish around them. "The grand nation of Zaun. Built from discarded scraps on worthless land."

"But it would be ours," Vander says. "And if we weren't paying half our wages back to the company every night, the mines wouldn't be so bad."

It's Benzo that pulls him aside later that night, falling into step with him as they walk back to the mine. "No one's going to sleep here. Be full of the Grey every morning."

"So we only build a market," Vander says quietly. Silco's deep in conversation with Connol, something about heights and the riverside; Vander doesn't want to discourage these dreams if he doesn't have to. "It's still something."

***

The engineers return from Piltover and everyone gets moved up to level one while they take control of the elevator. It leads to a lot of grumbling amongst the miners. There's too many people working the same tunnels, making it harder to work and harder to meet quota. Vander pools his efforts with Benzo and Felicia, and together they manage to scrape by.

He's relieved that Silco's working with the engineers, helping them dig and blast the elevator shaft deeper. He has a moment of guilt the first night, and asks Silco if they should be working together, if Vander should volunteer to work on the elevator shaft too.

Silco rolls on top of him, eyes glittering with amusement. "That depends. How hard will it be for you to resist punching them in the face?"

"It's a challenge," Vander says, as seriously as he can while Silco's lightly scraping nails over his chest. "But I think I could manage it."

"Even if they spend half an hour talking about how the berries this year have been disappointing and they're sure last year's were sweeter?" Silco lowers his mouth to Vander's skin, sucking a mark right above his heart.

"I could do it."

"And if they start talking about someone in this house courting someone in that house? Oh, how lovely the wedding would be? Do you remember the last wedding, when there were fireworks and doves?"

"At the same time? Were they trying to kill the birds?"

Silco smothers his laugh against Vander's chest. He doesn't get to hear Silco laugh enough.

"It could be a topside tradition," Vander continues and Silco snickers. "Freshly barbecued dove."

"I hope not."

Vander shrugs, shifting Silco with the movement. "You can never tell with Pilties."

"With that attitude," Silco says with an indulgent kiss to Vander's forehead, "you should stay on level one."

***

"Why," Vander asks as they trudge through the old mine after curfew, "does being around you involve so much manual labour?"

He rubs at his left arm, feeling the strain from holding up a metal beam while Connol bolted it in place and then welded it together. He hadn't done it alone. Benzo and Felicia had helped with the weight and Silco passed Connol tools as he needed them. They've all been working on their little store, tucked against the wall of the crevasse.

At the moment, it's just a metal skeleton, two floors high with a ladder. Tomorrow they'll add a roof to it and then walls. And then someone's going to have to figure out how to build a staircase. And fit a door. Silco's already found some discarded tables in the junk pile, things that could be salvaged with new legs or replaced screws.

When Silco talks about it, Vander can see what he imagines. A shop with goods stored on shelves and across tables, where people can afford to buy things. The start of a future that's more than mining and the mess hall. Silco also talks about Vander running it, which Vander has no interest in doing but that discussion can wait. Especially when Silco's been… off all night.

Vander can't put his finger on it. Silco hasn't been sharp-tongued like he is when he's angry. No sly jokes and meaningful glances to signal a good mood. No sarcastic barbs as they work, no rolling his eyes and calling the place 'Vanderland' just to be annoying.

No, Silco's been quiet tonight, let Benzo and Connol organise what needs to be done next and how to do it. Quiet as they walk to the compound, and still quiet as they slip into the old mines, towards the bed that's waiting for them.

"Silco?" Vander asks, and Silco looks back at him, frowning in thought. "You okay?"

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

Silco keeps marching forward. "A new order of steel was delivered today for the elevator shaft. In a few hours' time, we could wear gas masks, cross the courtyard and hide in the Grey."

"To steal it?" They'd need to break into the store rooms, steal a pair of gauntlets to be able to lift that weight. No possibility of doing that without being spotted. "Where would we hide it?"

"Somewhere they wouldn't look. We could put it in the old mining tunnels."

"They'll come looking for it. They'll throw us both in Stillwater," Vander says, certain. The company protects its equipment more than it's ever cared about its workers. "What brought this on?"

"Nothing." Silco shakes his head, still walking.

"Yeah," Vander says, reaching out to grip Silco's shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. "Because you consider crossing the company all the time."

"It would make everything so much easier." Silco stops, unlocking their door. The first thing he does is pull his boots off, and line them near the door. Then he removes his jacket and hangs it up. "If we're going to wear masks, it should be for our benefit."

"Not our benefit if it gets us locked up," Vander replies, hanging up his own jacket. They each get undressed. Silco wets a rag and washes his face and hands, cleaning the rest of him down before he gets into bed. Vander checks his hands but that's about it.

"They hit the Grey today," Silco says, climbing into bed and shuffling over against the wall. "Dug so deep it started seeping up through a crack in the rock."

"In the daytime?" When Silco stepped into the mess hall tonight, Vander thought something was wrong. Silco's eyes were red and bloodshot, like he'd been up all night without sleep. He should have remembered Silco's eyes red and watering, Silco gasping for breath after pushing rocks in the Grey. "What happened?"

"I had my mask with me." They both carry masks on them now. "But Trish and Eri, I had to push them up the rope ladder to get them out of there."

"Are they okay?"

Silco shrugs. "They'll live. Might not work tomorrow."

Silco keeps his arms crossed as Vander gets into bed, curled on his side, shifting away so they don't touch. The trick with Silco is working out when to ignore the crankiness and when to give him space. It's not always easy to tell which approach is needed. Tonight, Vander wraps two arms around Silco, holding him tight. Silco takes an unsteady breath and buries his face against Vander's shoulder.

"What are they going to do?" Vander asks softly. "Will it take them long to plot a new design for the mine?"

"They're not changing it," Silco says, words rumbling against Vander's skin. "I heard them. Tests say it will be profitable, even after they buy gas masks and goggles for the miners."

It's a common nightmare in the mines: being locked out of the dorms, being trapped in the Grey. The idea of working in it is somehow worse. Waiting for a gas mask to break, the idea of being trapped so deep you might die before the elevator rattles down to you.

"They won't," Vander says, like a child wishing for an extra serving. "They can't expect us to work down there."

Silco shimmies down until he can rest his head on Vander's chest and curls an arm around his waist. He's kind enough not to disagree.

***

There are rumours going around the mine the next day. Hushed tones that they've dug too deep, hit the Grey. Vander hears some of the superstitious miners claim they've displeased Janna and this is her punishment. There are grumbles that the company should stop digging the new shafts and let them go back to working on level two.

Usually, miners work hard, enjoy a drink at night and don't bother talking about things they can't change. There's a determined resignation, an acceptance that the work is tiring and dangerous but it's better than the alternative: starving to death or choking on toxic gas. This is the first time Vander hears the rumble of anger, an edge of bared teeth in the chatter.

He's not sure if Benzo hears it but Felicia catches his eye. She looks concerned, too. They keep working but Vander watches the miners around them, waiting for a fight to break out.

A few hours later, the rumours change. There's talk of some miner standing outside the elevator and making a fuss, refusing to keep working. Sometimes it happens – someone wakes up still drunk and causes a commotion – but there's only a handful of miners working on the elevator shaft and Vander knows Silco's one of them. If anyone was likely to dig his heels in and pick a fight with powerful people, it's Silco.

Vander leaves his pickaxe behind but keeps his gauntlets on. There's no one near the elevator at level one but Vander can hear raised voices echoing up the shaft. There's someone yelling about schedules and deadlines and then silence. A low rumble of some reply, and the yelling starts again.

Vander stands there, not sure what to do. Should he call the elevator and go down there? Would it only make things worse? Would the topsiders take one look at Vander's size and feel threatened? Would Silco appreciate the support or would he consider it interference?

Vander knows how quickly an argument can turn into a brawl. How raised voices can suddenly become raised fists. He doesn't want to make things worse.

He's still standing there, frozen in indecision, when the elevator starts to move. It rumbles up from the depths and then Silco steps out, with three kids a few years younger than them. One of the boys is crying, shuddering as he gasps for breath. Silco's eyes flick across to Vander but he doesn't seem surprised by his presence.

"The Grey?" Vander asks and Silco nods.

"Take him back to the dorm," Silco tells them. "Stay there with him."

The three of them scurry off, clearly relieved to be away from someone crazy enough to argue with a topsider. When they've vanished from sight, Silco turns to Vander. "We need to talk to a supervisor."

He needs to plead his case before the engineers complain about him. Vander considers their options. "Franco," he says and starts leading Silco down the tunnels.

Franco is dark skinned and solid, not far off Vander's size. He's been at the mine for years, worked his way up, dour but fair. He's talking to one of the runners when they find him.

They stand there, waiting impatiently, until he crooks his finger and beckons them closer. "What is it?"

"Silco got mouthy with the engineers," Vander says, cutting to the bones of the situation. "Walked off the job with the other miners."

Franco doesn't immediately side with the Pilties, proving he was the right person to talk to. "Why?"

"Their timelines say they have to hit the next marker this week. The Grey is waist high in that elevator shaft," Silco says, eyes blazing but voice steady. "We can't work in that."

Franco watches them carefully but his expression doesn't give anything away. "You couldn't have put on a mask and worked it anyway?"

"The others didn't have masks," Silco bites back.

"So send them up. Let miners with masks go down." Franco crosses his arms. "Those engineers aren't idiots. They'll have noticed that at least a third of the miners here carry masks."

Vander tries not to flinch. He knows how many have bought masks from them, for a small steady profit.

"We don't have goggles. Even with the masks, how long will it be before the Grey blinds us?" Silco demands, stepping forward sharply. Vander anchors a hand on his shoulder, and tries to tug him back. Silco tenses but he stills. "Why should we suffer for their deadline?"

"It's a job and you're being paid to do it. You don't like that shift, let someone else take it."

"Nobody should be taking it. They shouldn't expect us to–"

"You know how this works," Franco says firmly. "No one wants to do it, they'll offer more money until someone does. You can't make someone else starve because you don't like the risk."

The corner of Silco's mouth twists up and for a moment, Vander fears he'll start yelling. Silco's glare could warp steel but thankfully he keeps his mouth shut.

"So," Franco asks him, "are you giving up the shift?"

There's a snarl to Silco's mouth as he says, "Yes."

"Working out the day on level one?"

Silco looks at him and Vander shrugs. The day's half gone and meeting quota in a crowded mine has become harder. There's a chance Silco could work all afternoon and still not dig enough to be paid.

"No," Silco says, mouth pinched and angry.

Franco nods. "I'll talk to a few workers, find out who wants the rest of today's shift. Tomorrow, I expect to see you working on level one."

"Thanks, Franco," Vander says before Silco can argue it. Of course they're going to take him off that job – there's no reward for being a troublemaker down here. Getting off with only one day's lost pay is lucky, all things considered.

Silco follows him back to where Vander's working with Benzo and Felicia, ostensibly to discuss what needs to be done next on their market, but Vander notices the tremble in his hand, the adrenaline comedown. If Silco needs to take a little time around people he knows, so be it. Vander's happy to keep an eye on him.

***

Vander's not exactly surprised that Silco doesn't show up in the mess hall that night. Neither is anyone else, judging by the looks around the table. Even Connol's heard the stories, so it's gone around the whole mine. Nobody mentions it while they eat, but when Vander stands up to clear his tray, Felicia gives him a worried smile. "Do you want us to come with you?"

"Nah," Vander says, because he has no idea what mood they'll find Silco in. Knowing Silco, he won't appreciate an audience if he's still angry. "Take the night off."

Vander gets extra bread rolls and baked potatoes before he leaves, tucks them into his pocket and then heads to the crevasse. Their little store is a building now, with a door that actually locks. Vander knocks on the door and has to wait for Silco to climb down the ladder and open it for him.

"Hey," Vander says as he steps inside, "I brought food."

He'd thought Silco would still be mad. Figured he'd spend the afternoon fuming, mentally composing another rant against the company. Vander expected to walk in and get an earful, but Silco doesn't look angry. He looks tired and defeated. "Let me pack away the tools upstairs."

Vander reaches out a hand, catches Silco's elbow. "Are you okay?"

Silco shrugs it off. "Let me pack away first."

Vander follows him up the ladder. Silco's been hard at work. Half of the beams up here now have boards hammered to them, a steadily growing floor to give them storage or sleeping quarters. Vander steps carefully along the beams and checks the last boards are firmly attached before he sits down, dangling his legs over the side. He pulls the food out of his pocket and waits for Silco.

Silco tidies everything into stacks, neat piles of wood beside a loose pile of nails and a pair of hammers. When he's finished walking back and forth, he sits down beside Vander, kneeling on the wooden floor.

"If you fall down there and break a bone," Silco says, reaching for the bread, "you're going to be stuck here."

"You wouldn't help?"

"I'd help but I wouldn't be able to carry you out of here."

"Let's hope I only break an arm, then," Vander says and Silco gives him an unimpressed look. It's far too fond to be effective. "I've seen you move a pallet. You'd help even if I broke a leg."

"No, I wouldn't. I'd give your notice to the mine and keep you here, safe and sound." Silco rips off a piece of bread with his teeth. "Don't think I wouldn’t."

It's hardly a secret. Silco's made it very clear he wants Vander out of the mine, sooner rather than later. "I'm not the one who was digging in the Grey today."

Silco scowls as he chews and swallows. "Don't remind me. I spent weeks greasing up those Piltie idiots and then threw it away because I couldn't hold my tongue. Now we're never going to know what they're doing."

"Digging to level four?" Vander asks, passing Silco a potato.

"They have three more shipments of steel ordered. They don't need that much for the elevator." Silco pulls the potato apart, picks at it. "Connol said the pieces are too big to use as supports in the shaft."

"And they've got more ordered?"

"Whatever they're building, it's something new."

Vander shrugs. It's done now. No point sighing over it. "Then we'll find out with the rest of the mine. Now finish eating so we can go home."

Silco takes a stubbornly small bite. "We could do a few more hours here."

"For once," Vander says, cradling Silco's face in one hand, "come home with me and leave the work until tomorrow."

It's Silco, so of course he doesn't smile sweetly and melt into the touch. No, he sneers at Vander and then rolls his eyes and begrudgingly says, "Fine."

It's before curfew, so they walk down to the fissures and take that entrance to the old mine shaft. They walk in silence, one lantern held between them.

Vander latches the door behind them and then winds the little alarm clock Benzo built from scraps, setting the time. He starts getting undressed, leaving his clothes organised for the morning.

"It's too early to sleep," Silco complains behind him. Vander's about to give in and say Silco can keep the light on if he wants to read, but Silco drags his nails lightly down Vander's spine, and Vander's higher brain functions give out. "Wouldn't you say?"

"Um…"

Thankfully, Silco kisses him before he has to get words together. It's slow and certain, Silco's mouth on his and Silco's hands mapping his chest.

"I want to fuck you," Silco says. It's not a question, it's a statement of intent. Like he knows that he's welcome.

It's nice to lie back and let Silco take charge, even if he drags it out, fingering Vander until he's trembling and grabbing at the side of the mattress, dragging himself back from the edge by his fingernails. He's pleading, begging. Saying please and Silco's name until Silco guides him to his side and pushes one knee up.

Silco straddles Vander's thigh and presses a kiss to Vander's shoulder. "You're mine, Vander. Mine," he growls and then pushes inside, deep and smooth.

***

Franco was right. The company offers more money. They also increase the size of the team so the miners can take shorter turns working in the Grey. Still, Vander notices that the same men don't keep volunteering after a few days. They complain of itching eyes and an annoying cough after their third shift, and there's a limit to how much people will risk for money.

The company raises its rates, until a day working on the elevator is worth nearly three days on level one but they're still not overwhelmed with volunteers.

And no matter how much is offered, the foundlings will look to Silco and not one of them will raise their hands. He's not sure Silco even realises the strength of his influence. On nothing more than Silco's tight frown, they stand there with hands hidden in their pockets.

It worries Vander a little. Worries him more that he can see things shifting in the courtyard: miners waiting for the day's shifts, equipment in hand, cautiously murmuring as supervisors call for the elevator shifts. The foundling teens usually drift to one side, standing together, but now there are adult miners standing at the fringes of the group with the same wary expression he's seen on Silco.

"Were they foundlings too?" Vander asks, ducking his head close to Silco's and looking over at them.

Silco looks surprised. Not at the group itself, pulling away from the other miners, but at Vander noticing at all. "Yes."

"Huh." The way the groups stand, the gap growing between them…

It becomes more obvious over the next few days. The kids have always hung together, been a little bit separate from the adults, but now the mine seems to be splitting into factions, the foundlings versus the other miners, those in debt versus those who could choose to leave.

Silco stays at Vander's side, stays with the other miners but Vander wonders if it's only a matter of time before he joins the other foundlings. If that's why they keep looking to follow Silco's lead.

Vander waits until they're working and far enough from the others that a conversation won't be overheard. "Do you know what's going on? With the foundlings in the courtyard?"

It would be nice, Vander thinks, if Silco would trust him. If Silco didn't take a moment of frowning doubtfully at Vander like he's weighing up whether to risk telling him the truth. Begrudgingly, Silco says, "They're waiting."

"For what?"

"Every day, there are fewer volunteers to dig out the elevator shaft. They're waiting to see what happens when the work needs to be done and no one wants to do it."

"They'll pay more." There's always miners willing to work for the right price.

"And if that doesn't work?" Silco asks, blue eyes scanning the busy shaft around them. "Foundlings don't withdraw money, they don't have gas masks. Doing that work will kill them."

"So the company will find another way," Vander says, more hopeful than he feels.

Silco actually laughs, a painfully bitter sound. "You think the great city of progress will find a better way? If there aren't enough volunteers, the company will order someone to do it. Haven't you noticed the extra enforcers hanging by the office in the mornings? They're waiting too."

"They can't just order us. This isn't a prison."

"They can't order you," Silco says, voice low and almost threatening. "The miners would leave if they tried it. But those of us in debt? They'll order us and the rest of you won't lift a finger to stop it."

They're both wearing their hardhats, so there's a low thunk when Vander rests his head against Silco's. "I wouldn't let that happen to you."

Silco looks at him like he's a fool. Like he shouldn't waste his money or his time on Silco. Like a smarter man would walk away.

Sighing, Silco raises a gloved hand to Vander's chest. Vander covers it with his own hand, holding it against Vander's heart. "I mean it. I wouldn't let that happen without a fight."

"You wouldn't win," Silco says weakly.

"Don't know until you try."

Hand in hand, forehead to forehead, Silco takes a deep, unsteady breath. "You could leave. You should. Before this gets too ugly."

"We're in this together. You and me," Vander promises. "Whatever happens, we'll face it together."

***

Despite the uncertainty and the threat of violence hanging over their heads, life goes on. Everyone still works and eats and sleeps, and gets up the next morning to do it again. There are more enforcers in the morning, dark uniforms and helmets, reflective goggles and heavy masks, and fewer hands lifted to volunteer each day, but the coal still needs to be dug up. People get quicker at shaking off the hushed worry of the courtyard, until the background chatter and noise in level one almost feels like normal.

The mess hall remains loud at night, friends telling stories and drinking away their worries. The only time it goes quiet is when one of the engineers or enforcers step inside, but they don't stay long. They order and take their food out, and conversations continue as soon as the door closes behind them.

One of the kitchenhands takes a shine to Felicia, boldly flirting with her, and Connol spends the night pretending to ignore both of them. Benzo rolls his eyes at the whole thing, but Vander feels obligated to try to help him out. "If you like her, you've got to tell her."

Connol reaches for his ale. "I'm not taking advice from someone who gets shot down as often as you."

"Eventually it worked," Silco says, hilariously dry.

Vander laughs but Connol glares at them both in turn. "Is that what you'd do? Really?"

Silco tilts his head to the side, swirling the juice in his glass. He refuses to pay for the whisky in the mess now that they have a bottle of Noxian whisky locked away in the safe at home. (When Vander points out that he almost never drinks it, Silco claims that's not the point.)

"No," Silco says, drawing the words out as he thinks. "I wouldn't. I'd find out what interests her and help her achieve it. That worked on me."

"Yeah, but not everybody's–" Connol stops when he sees the warning look on Vander's face. He's a smart guy, when it doesn't involve Felicia. "I don't even know what she'd want."

It's funny to see Silco look at someone else like they're an idiot. Vander's pretty sure the same expression is on his own face. "You don't?"

"What?" Connol looks around the table, but even Benzo is eyeing him judgmentally. "What?"

"How many times has Felicia complained about wanting to dance?" Benzo asks. "Said there should be music in the mine?"

"Huh."

***

Vander's pretty sure the half-rusted jukebox doesn't come into Silco's hands by fluke. Silco shrugs it off, says it was excess cargo, that the captain just wanted the space back on his ship since it didn't work anymore, but Vander doesn't believe him. Benzo doesn't either, not from the way he snorts when Silco asks him and Vander to move it. Still, Benzo offers to help Connol work on it once they get it back to the market.

It's definitely a building now. No windows to let in the low murky gloom of daytime but good solid walls to keep out the Grey. They build shelves along the back wall, using staggered boxes to create a staircase. There's one wall upstairs, a space to lock away goods and tools and building materials, a door that can be locked from the outside and barred from the inside. It's plain, the wood and metal of construction showing through, but it's the first thing built on their land.

The only drawback is that the crevasse is so deep that it holds the Grey until mid-morning. Walking through it, even with gas masks, doesn't sound like a smart idea so Silco and Vander keep sleeping in their little shack in the mines. It doesn't work as a market, either. As Silco points out, if they tell the other miners about it, what's to stop them stealing everything left there while the five of them are working? To keep it safe, you'd need someone guarding it during shifts. Or a much stronger lock than they've been able to build so far.

"Told you so," Benzo mutters to Vander, but not loud enough for Silco to overhear.

"You might be thankful to have somewhere to run to if things get bad," Vander replies. This morning, there were only six volunteers for twelve positions. It's only a matter of time before something breaks.

***

It's becoming more challenging to meet quota – slower to get access to a cart, harder to get everything marked off – so the four of them have taken to working together, digging up a pile of rock and then submitting all the carts under one name to reach quota. Working through each of their names means at least two of them hit quota, and they just start with the next person the following day.

It doesn't sit well with Silco, probably because they all know he lacks the same physical strength as Felicia, Benzo and Vander. They're good with pickaxes and better with gauntlets, pounding the bedrock until it gives. The one time Silco attempted to use gauntlets, he ended the day with a ring of nasty purple bruises around his arms and swollen, bruised knuckles.

Vander had pressed his lips to each of those abused knuckles. "Avoid the gauntlets in future? Please?"

"Yes, we proved that was not effective."

"We proved that you have no sense of self-preservation," Vander replied, fetching cold, damp rags to take down the swelling. "You must have felt that. You should have stopped."

"At some point, your friends will grow tired of carrying me. It's obvious I'm not contributing as much as the rest of you."

"You were the one who came up with the idea of pooling our efforts. Meeting quota person by person, so we're not risking none of us getting paid. No one's complaining."

Maybe Benzo's complained, but it's not about sharing the work. Benzo complains about Silco's manners, his "high handed" attitude to taking charge. It's not like he's wrong. Vander knows Silco can be sharp-tongued and bossy, taking charge of a situation as if he's the only one who knows anything, but Vander doesn't mind that. Silco's usually right and for all his organising, Silco will work himself twice as hard as anyone else.

What he really likes to see is Silco negotiating, getting to be clever and cunning, bargaining without a single flinch. Babette's great at it too, which makes watching the pair of them haggle over rolls of fabric highly entertaining.

Vander doesn't know the difference between silk and satin, but Babette talks about cut and quality, and Silco repeats the captain's words about thread source and dye origin. The pair of them stand over the kitchen table and haggle, volleying prices back and forth until it feels like watching some kind of sport.

It takes half an hour for them to come to an accord they're both pleased with, and then Silco pulls up a bag of cosmetics. This is another reason why Vander enjoys selling to Babette: her workers have no trouble asking for what they want and they'll willingly pay for it. It's always a profitable night.

Plus, there's usually a chance Kane or one of the others will want to test a new purchase and talk Silco into letting them paint his face, lining his eyes with dark smudges of colour, darkening the thin curve of his lips, drawing attention to the sweep of his cheekbones. They make Silco look delicate and gorgeous, far too precious for Vander’s clumsy hands.

(Not that Silco cares. He'll just roll his eyes when they get home and tell Vander to wait until he's undressed, because he doesn't want to add any more stains to his shirt. Silco is a sight to behold on those nights: all long pale limbs and glittering dark eyes, climbing onto Vander's lap and leaving lipstick marks across his chest.)

"One more thing," Babette says as Silco starts opening his notebook, checking for orders. "I have a job for you. Maybe not one you'd be interested in, but I think you'd be good at it."

Vander takes a step forward, mind already rushing through what kind of jobs Babette offers. He wants to wrap an arm around Silco's shoulder, to protect his claim, but Silco looks over at him and gives an unimpressed shake of his head.

"What's the job?"

"We have a Piltover customer who's been getting aggressive with some of the workers." Babette ashes her long cigarette, weighing her words carefully. "I'm not one to judge, everyone enjoys what they enjoy, but some things should be agreed first."

That doesn't make Vander feel better about the potential job.

"I've warned him and he did it again," Babette says, "so I think he needs a good fright. I think a mugging from a few undercity thugs, rough him up. Make him scared to come back across the river."

"You have a few topsider clients," Silco says slowly. "Won't this put them off?"

"Not if it's done on the street and out of sight. He isn't well liked." Babette puffs out a smoke ring that floats in the air. "My other clients are more discreet."

"Vander? What do you think?"

Vander shrugs. "As long as we cover up so he can't recognise us."

"Do we get to keep what we steal from him?" Silco asks and Babette nods. "Okay, we're in."

***

It's not the sort of thing Vander's ever done before. Sure, he picked a few topsider pockets when he was a kid, bored and waiting around the laundry his ma worked at. He took a few coins from Pilties that could clearly afford it, but those were quick, unseen thefts. Not this. Not using his size and strength to grab someone off the street, to yank them into a dark riverside alley and shove them against the wall.

But Silco says it's worth doing. It keeps them on Babette's good side and it's a favour that won't cost them anything, as long as they keep their faces covered and do it fast.

"Besides," Silco says, "somebody needs to do it. Somebody needs to show those Pilties that they can't treat us like trash."

So they figure out a simple plan. Vander will grab him, rough him up, deal with however he tries to fight back. When he's got that desperation out of his system, Silco will step in with a knife and demand the coin.

They won't use each other's names and they'll keep kerchiefs tied over their faces. If they're lucky, the topsider will be too embarrassed to report it; if not, he's hardly going to be able to recognise two undercity thugs by voice alone.

It should be easy. One of Babette's workers sketched out a picture of the man, some minor cousin of some grand house, and they know which nights he visits Babette's. There aren't too many topsiders coming across the bridge at night, and the man stands out in his deep red coat and silver tipped boots.

They wait along the main path to Babette's, Vander on one of the narrow alleys between houses and Silco across the road, standing in the shadows and watching their mark get closer. Silco nods, and Vander reaches out of the dark, pulling the man in by his expensive clothes.

Vander shoves him up against the wall, one hand leaning hard on his breastbone, pinning him like a bug. He pulls back his arm and lands a punch on the man's jaw. "Hand over your money."

Vander braces for the man to fight back, to flail and kick and claw for freedom, but he doesn't. He stands there panting and shaking, blinking like he's about to cry. "You– you can't do this!"

Vander wants to look over at Silco but he forces himself to keep staring at the Piltie trapped against the wall, one hand clasped over the bruise quickly forming on his face.

Vander only landed one punch and the guy isn't even bleeding, but he's panicking and breathing so hard he might pass out. "Do you know who I am?"

He does. This is a man who cracked a girl's ribs, left her face bruised and dropped a few bronze coins at her feet. This is a man who agreed when Babette warned him and then came back the next week and did it again.

This is a man who thinks he can buy anyone in the undercity for a pittance, that their lives are worth less than the fancy shoes on his feet.

It's easy to hit him again. Satisfying to hear the crack of his nose breaking under Vander's fist, the blood dripping down his tanned skin. Even as Vander punches him again, he still doesn't raise a hand to defend himself, thinks he's so far above them he shouldn't need to bloody his own hands.

Vander lets his righteous anger take over, punches until the guy's head hangs limp, his whole body only upright because Vander's holding him against the wall. When he lets go, the man crumples to the ground, face bloody and bruised.

Vander stares at him. The fancy clothes smeared with the silt and muck of riverside. The limbs splayed awkwardly. The slight gurgle of his breath.

He could snap the man's neck and throw him in the Pilt, let him sink into the depths like so many before him. It's maybe not the smartest idea but… they had a smart plan. Vander just didn't follow it.

Vander knows that he starts fighting and he stops thinking. He's been told he's no better than an animal, just mindless violence once he starts swinging. He knows it but Silco doesn't. Silco hasn't seen him lose his temper… well, he hadn't.

There's movement in the shadows beside him and Vander turns his head to watch Silco's scuffed boots step closer. Careful steps, quiet, the way you'd approach a rabid dog.

Vander can't look up, can't make himself face Silco's expression. He steps aside to give Silco room, keeps his hands by his side. Silco has a strong survival instinct, as sharp as that little knife he carries. If he feels threatened, he'll lash out before Vander sees it coming.

"We were going to rough him up," Silco says calmly, nudging the body with his toe.

"Yeah," Vander says cautiously, looking down at the sprawled body at their feet. He wonders if the shiny fabric of his jacket tore when he fell.

"Looks pretty roughed up to me." There's a cruel satisfaction in Silco's tone that catches Vander by surprise. Silco doesn't look scared or upset, or any of the other things Vander feared. "What?"

"Aren't you…? We had a plan, and I didn't follow it."

"I'm not going to lose sleep over a Piltie. He did worse to Chari," Silco says, kneeling down and pulling the man's jacket open. "Keep an eye out."

Vander moves towards the mouth of the alley, watching for enforcers. They know Babette's is up here so they don't usually patrol – probably too much chance of running into topsiders they'll be expected to forget seeing – but it's still better to have a lookout.

While he watches the street, Silco unclips the silver pocket watch that was pinned to the Piltie's waistcoat. Quick and methodical, Silco keeps searching the body, finding a second pocket hidden in the lining of the coat, with a smaller pouch of bronze coins. He takes the man's cigarette case and his rings, and then starts untying the man's black and silver boots.

"He still has to cross the bridge," Vander points out. "He'll need shoes."

"Hmm."

"And those would be terrible to work in."

Silco pulls one free and then feels inside it. "I'm not stealing his shoes," he says and then removes the other one. He feels around inside it, and then holds up another purse with a grin of triumph. "Knew it."

Silco tips it out into his palm, a small pile of gold. It's a fortune down here but it was only an emergency fund to this man. Silco gets to his feet, leaving the man's shoes laying beside him. He bends down and unclasps the silver chain at the man's shirt collar, and the clasps at the man's cuffs.

Sneering, Silco stands up straight and then kicks him. A good solid kick to the Piltie's ribs in heavy boots. It's bound to leave an ugly bruise.

"We should go," Vander says. "Before we're spotted."

It's easy to cut between the ramshackle houses, to climb down to their land, to their lone building, and unlock the heavy bolts Benzo and Connol installed for them. It's a little difficult in the dark but there's a lantern hooked inside, a low chemical glow to light the space. They climb upstairs to the storeroom and find a bottle of whisky to share.

Silco counts out the coins carefully. It's nearly sixty gold. More than a week's pay. Plus whatever they can get for the jewellery. Silco bundles it all together and tucks it into Vander's jacket. Then he takes the bottle from Vander and swallows deeply. They drink like that for a while, passing the bottle back and forth, not saying a thing. It's the middle of the night but they have a few hours before the Grey starts rolling in.

"Liquor like this deserves a glass," Vander says, sprawled back on the wooden floorboards. He lifts his head to take a sip from the bottle and then lies back down.

"This isn't a tavern," Silco says but there's no bite in it. If anything, he sounds a little drunk.

"It could be." Vander hands over the bottle to Silco's waiting hand. "I'd make a good barkeep."

"You would," Silco agrees. He takes one more mouthful and then seals up the bottle, pushing it out of easy reach. "How's your hand?"

"Fine." He holds it out to Silco to show him. Vander's punched harder things than a sheltered Piltie. "See?"

Silco doesn't take his word for it. He rolls closer and takes Vander's meaty hand between his, turning it over and checking for himself. Vander's already washed the blood off his skin. By tomorrow, there'll be no sign Vander threw a punch.

Silco presses a soft kiss to the back of Vander's hand, lips lingering against the skin. His thumb whispers over Vander's knuckles, tender and sweet.

"Don't you have something to say about tonight?" Vander prompts.

"You should be careful. If an enforcer had come along, he would have heard that beating."

"That's it?"

"That's it." Silco shuffles over and pulls Vander's arm around him, setting his head on Vander's chest and hooking a leg over Vander's hip. He's warm and comfortable, and the adrenaline and alcohol are making Vander sleepy.

They should get up and go home, but the door downstairs is safely locked and they have spare gas masks here if they have to cross the Grey in the morning. They haven't tested if the building is well made enough to keep the Grey out, but even if it leaks, they'll be safe a floor up.

"I don't scare easy," Silco says, voice low and soft. He sounds half asleep already, despite seeing Vander beat a man unconscious an hour ago.

It doesn't make sense. "Look, Silco, tonight–"

"Go to sleep."

"But–"

Silco sighs and pushes himself up on an elbow. The lantern is turned down to its lowest glow, enough to catch the outline of Silco's features, his strong nose, his fine mouth pinched in annoyance. "What will make you stop talking and go to sleep?"

"Fine," Vander snaps back. "I'll be quiet."

Silco gets comfortable again, head on Vander's chest and hand hooked around Vander's shoulder. Vander lies there, too awake, waiting for Silco's slow breaths to settle into slumber. He feels like he should apologise for tonight, except he's not sorry and he'd do it again. He mostly wishes Silco hadn't been there, hadn't seen the kind of man Vander truly is, the kind he's been trying not to be.

"It's not the first time I've seen someone beaten unconscious," Silco says quietly, holding Vander tighter. "Usually it's enforcers dragging someone off to Stillwater."

That feels cruel. Vander's better than an enforcer.

"They treat us like we're dirt," Silco says, voice low and intense, "like we're nothing. Like we should be sorry for existing. And everyone says be grateful, appreciate what we've got, like we should thank them for their scraps."

Vander curls a hand around Silco's back. He's heard this complaint before. He agrees with it. "We deserve more."

"It makes me so angry. All the time. Sometimes I can barely breathe past it. Yes, you lost your temper tonight and ignored the plan. Yes, it was stupid because it increased the risk of an enforcer finding us, and he's definitely going to report it now."

Vander hadn't thought of that. He hadn't considered he was putting them both in more danger.

"Do you know how good it felt to see that?" Silco whispers like a secret. "To know that someone else is angry about this, that it's not just me?"

"It's not just you," Vander promises, pressing a kiss to Silco's hair.

"Now, will you go to sleep? Or do I have to wear you out?"

"If it's a choice…" Vander says hopefully and Silco reaches down to cup him through his pants. The same confident, certain way Silco always touches him. A firm rub of his palm and Vander's already getting hard.

Silco opens Vander's pants by touch alone, by habit and muscle memory. Vander buries his nose in Silco's hair as Silco wraps a hand around his cock.

It's not complicated, not fancy, but it's good the way it always is: Silco warm and solid against him, those talented fingers making him feel good. A little slower and firmer than Vander would use on himself, but it doesn't take long for Vander's breath to catch in his throat, for his whole body to tighten up and spill over Silco's fist.

Silco uses Vander kerchief to clean his hand and then wipe down Vander, to tuck him back into his pants.

"Now we're both getting some sleep," Silco says, but there's a world of affection in his voice.

***

The next morning, while the two groups of miners are shifting their weight on their feet, avoiding each other's eyes, a whole crowd of Pilties walk into the courtyard. Half of them are dressed in some sort of uniform, blue and red with a fancy little vest. The other half are big and burly, wearing good, thick workers clothes and solid boots. They ignore the huddle of miners in the courtyard and walk straight over to the engineers, and follow them into the mine.

"What was that?" Vander wonders quietly and Benzo shrugs.

Silco's still watching them. "It's not enough people to replace us in the mine." He sounds just as confused as the rest of them.

The supervisors announce everyone's working on level one today but they don't say what's going on, what the dozens of topsiders are building in the mine. They try asking Connol but he doesn't know much more than the rest of them. The Pilties are moving the steel down to level two but they're not using the greasers to fix it together.

"Any idea what they're building?"

Connol scratches his neck, just beneath his hard hat. "They got another delivery of steel. It had blades."

Silco's face scrunches up. He dislikes not knowing what's going on. "Knives?"

"No, like a fan. Only place I've seen that uses fans that big is the power station," Connol says and then he sees Silco's impatient scowl. "They burn the coal, the steam moves the fans and turns into electricity for Piltover. But they couldn't do that in the mine. They'd lose control if a seam caught on fire."

"They'd need a big, clear space?" Vander asks and Connol nods. "They might already have one. We found it when we got trapped in that cave-in."

"The old cavern?" Felicia asks. "With the statue of Janna?"

"If it's as big as you said," Connol allows with a see-saw of his hand. "But even if they could do it, what would they do with that power?"

The dorms and the mess hall run on small, coal-powered generators. Everywhere else in the mine uses lanterns. The docks and riverside use fireplaces, with lanterns and candles made from sea creature fat. There wouldn't be enough demand for electricity to make topsiders invest in a whole power station for the undercity.

"Maybe they want to build factories here," Silco says. "I've heard the factories in Piltover are full of machines that do the heavy work. They'd need power for that."

***

Two weeks in and they still don't know what the company is building. The topsiders keep showing up and working on it but they don't talk to the miners, so no one really knows what's going on. They just know that everyone's stuck working on level one until they get told otherwise.

But the mine is too small to keep secrets for long. Even using Piltover labourers and engineers, someone still talks to someone, and the rumours start spreading.

"They're building ventilation shafts," Benzo says. He heard it from someone who heard it from someone else, who overheard the Piltie workers talking about it. It's not verifiable truth but when they look to Connol, he shrugs.

"I've been watching the steel they're using. It could be fan blades." Connol crosses his arms and leans back, thinking. "It's possible. It would take them a while."

Benzo looks around the mess hall. Nobody's paying attention to their little table, everyone's eating and drinking and enjoying what's left of their night. Still, he keeps his voice low. "I've heard they're building machinery to dig down to level four. That fancy uniform, the white and blue vests and the red shirts? They're from the Science Academy. They're here to build the machines. Some kind of final assignment."

"Great," Felicia says. "How many miners are they going to need once they've got machines to do the work?"

Vander was wondering the same thing. The work in the mines might be heavy and dangerous, but it's still better than starving on the street. Beside him, Silco is worryingly quiet. "What do you think?"

Silco frowns at him, like he had no intention of sharing his thoughts just yet. "We should watch for the rock they dig out."

"Why?"

"See if they can separate the coal from the bedrock," Silco says, and Vander pulls a face at him. Sometimes, Silco's explanations don't explain much at all. "The mine makes money by selling coal. They can't sell dirt mixed with coal dust. They won't make any money if those machines grind it all together, so our jobs might be safe."

***

There are some nights where Silco will join in with the chatter, even if half the time he does it with a patronising little smirk like he finds them amusing. There are other nights like tonight where he'll ignore them completely, head bent over his little notebook, pencil working across the page. Occasionally he'll look up and stare across the room, blue eyes unfocused as he thinks.

So Silco misses the way Connol stumbles over his words when he tells Felicia they have a surprise for her, the way Connol grabs for his glass and takes a gulp when she gives him a suspicious stare.

"A surprise for me?" Felicia turns to Vander, eyes narrowed. "Did you get more of that lip stain?"

Vander shakes his head. "Nope."

"Then what is it?" Felicia asks, turning back to Connol.

"It's a surprise," Connol says.

"But I want to know now." Felicia grins brightly, and Vander wonders how she doesn't see it. Connol's soft, answering smile; the way he always turns to her in conversation, looking for her reaction or approval.

Vander glances over at Silco, but Silco's got his head bent over his notebook, missing the whole thing.

"That's not how a surprise works," Benzo says.

Felicia laughs and picks up her glass. "So how long do I have to wait for this surprise?"

"Let me finish my drink," Vander grumbles.

Felicia hounds Connol for clues. He agrees to answer yes or no only, so there's a whole series of questions: is it bigger than my hand? Could I lift it up? Can I wear it? Can I eat it?

The questions get more ridiculous as they walk over to the market. Does it float? Would it make me the envy of Piltover? Would it make an enforcer angry? Connol fights to keep a straight face but he only answers yes or no, keeping her guessing until they step inside.

Once the door is closed behind them and they hang their lanterns by the door, burning bright, Connol leads them to the far wall. There's a piece of fabric hung over a pile in the corner – dark red and thick, that Silco wanted to eventually use for curtains – and Connol leads Felicia there.

Felicia steps forward and yanks the material away, her long plait bobbing with the force of her movement. Underneath, the old jukebox is polished and clean, the dark glass reflecting like a mirror.

"You always say you want music and I know it doesn't look like much, but here, you just have to wind it," Connol says, stepping to a handle on the side and cranking it over and over. "We'll fix this if we work out how to get power here, but Benzo and I figured out how to make it work."

The machine crackles to life, the inside lighting up in blues and pinks, the light reflecting on the metal arms inside.

Felicia's face lights up with a delighted smile. She steps forward and skims the list behind the glass, reaching towards the buttons. "Can I…?"

"Pick something."

Felicia presses a button and the machine whirs as it lifts a record and drops it on to the turntable. After a moment, a song starts to play, sweet and longing.

"Dance with me," Felicia says, grabbing Connol's hand and dragging him in front of the machine, its bright lights and joyous sounds. She curls her hands around his shoulders and he slides his hands around her waist. They sway together, not much of a dance, but it's sweet.

Vander wanders over to where Silco's sitting on the floor. He's under the lanterns, knees pulled up and notebook leaning against them. Vander slides down beside him, nudges his shoulder. "They're sweet, don't you think?"

Silco looks up at him, annoyed at the interruption. "What?"

Vander nods over at the couple slowly dancing together. "Felicia and Connol."

"Took them long enough," Silco mutters, but the expression on his face is soft. Maybe a little yearning.

"Do you want to dance?" Vander asks gently.

"I've never danced in my life."

"Can't be that hard. They're managing."

Silco shakes his head but he curls his fingers round Vander's hand. "Let them have this," he says, leaning his head on Vander's shoulder.

Chapter Eight

At the end of the month, there's a bit more grumbling. With only level one open for work, more miners have missed daily quotas. A lot of them seem surprised by how many days they've missed.

Vander's kept count of the five days he didn't meet quota and Silco helped him work out what the balance should be. So he's expecting his balance but he's still surprised when he overhears Silco's. He waits for Silco to withdraw as much as he can, and then walks with him out of the courtyard.

They nod at the workers standing outside Babette's tents and keep wandering along, following the paths down to the fissures. Silco remains paranoid about being followed, so during the daytime, when others might see them, they use the fissures entrance to the old mine.

"How do you owe more money than last month?" Vander asks once there's no one to overhear them.

The loose rocks crunch underfoot as they take the narrow path down. Silco keeps his eyes downward, watching where he steps. "I withdraw more than I make."

There's Piltie gold still sitting in their safe, as well as a growing pile of bronze. "What happened to paying down your debt?"

"We started selling smuggled goods. We started building," Silco replies with a shrug. "We bought land. That all needs funds."

"And that's more important than getting out of the mine?"

"It's twenty thousand bronze," Silco says over his shoulder, eyes sharp. "Think of what we could do with that. The company doesn't care if I stay in debt until the day I die, but think of–"

He stops talking as he steps into the mine, the narrow opening only wide enough for one at a time. Vander follows him into the dark, reaching for the lantern they keep stashed by the opening.

He turns the lantern on, and the old tunnels glow with yellow light and soft shadows. The bedrock around them is brown and grey, no black seams of coal to be seen. The light catches on Silco's features – his high, narrow cheeks, the elegant arch of his brows, those pretty blue eyes – and Vander leans in for a kiss. They're out of sight, hidden from everyone else, so Silco fists his hair and pulls him closer, catches Vander's lower lip between his teeth.

Sometimes, Vander doesn't understand Silco. How he can be so committed to something and yet not work directly towards it. How he can spend days scribbling in his notebook, unwilling to let anyone know his thoughts. He doesn't understand how that sharp mind works, but he understands this. Body pressed to body, hands reaching for bare skin, soft lips and wet mouths. They fit together like this, Silco's fingers tight in his hair, the smooth skin of Silco's waist beneath his palm.

Vander slides his hands around to the buttons on Silco's pants, but Silco pushes him away, smiling. "You can wait five minutes for a bed."

Vander eyes the floor. He could kneel. "Who says we have to lie down?"

"I do," Silco replies, ducking under Vander's arm and walking swiftly toward their room. Vander hurries after him. "These need to go in the safe first and since we told everyone we'd open the market at shift end, we have half the afternoon free. That would be more comfortable in a bed."

Silco's right: it is more comfortable in a bed. And this way, Vander gets to enjoy the afterglow, stretched out across the bed, cheek resting on Silco's sternum. He has one hand curled around Silco's bony knee and when he turns his head, he can hear Silco breathing, feel the lift and fall of each breath. Vander's tempted to close his eyes and sink into sleep, but short naps leave him feeling nauseous; they have to be up and out within an hour.

"Did you mean what you said? About staying in debt to the company?" Vander keeps his eyes closed. Gives Silco some privacy as he gathers his thoughts.

"Not forever," Silco says eventually. His fingertips trace back and forth over Vander's collarbone, a simple, careless touch.

"Why?"

"If we pay that money back to the mine, it changes nothing. A thousand bronze means nothing to them and I'm still in debt." It's a good point. They could pay every coin they have into it and there would still be years of debt left to repay. "But we have an opportunity. We could use those funds, change how people live here. Give them a dream to believe in."

It's so typical of Silco to talk about a shop as if it's an epic undertaking. As if there's anything grand and momentous in their shabby little lives. Vander loves him but he does make everything more complicated than it needs to be.

Gently, Vander says, "I don't think being able to buy a few luxuries counts as a dream. Not to most miners."

"Not the market." Silco pushes himself up, shuffles back until he's sitting up with Vander’s head in his lap, peering down at him hawklike with that strong nose. "What happens if the ventilation shafts work?"

"We get to go back to working on level two. They'll probably dig out level four," Vander says, but Silco keeps staring at him. "Everyone will go back to meeting quota."

"What else?"

"Huh?"

"What else will change," Silco asks, "if they control the Grey?"

"The Grey wouldn't rise overnight?" Vander guesses and Silco nods. "So… they'd stop locking the dorms at night. We wouldn't have a curfew?"

Silco's mouth twists up in a sneer. It takes visible effort for him to close his eyes, take a breath and not say something cutting. "What else would change?"

"I don't know. What am I missing?"

"What did Benzo say? About the market? About living there?"

Silco has ears like a mole-rat, Vander thinks. He would have sworn they were talking too quietly for Silco to hear. "That no one would live there because you'd have to cross the Grey every morn– Oh. If there was no Grey, we could live there."

"If there was no Grey," Silco says, "we could build there. Miners could live there. We could have stores if everyone wasn't paying the company half their wages just for a bunk. If we could talk Babette into setting up shop there, we might get workers from riverside come down to us to spend money."

"It's a crevasse with no water and no power, and you're picturing a whole town there?"

"Every town starts with nothing," Silco says, as if he's somehow an authority on the subject. "It's not a question of what we lack now. It's a question of how do we build more."

"A whole town?" It seems ridiculous. Silco could claim he was leaving for Noxus in the morning and that would sound more believable.

"We have nearly two thousand in bronze. We could start ordering building supplies. Steel and wood. Nails, hammers, saws. The company is getting them shipped to the undercity docks anyway, so a small additional order should be possible." From the certainty in Silco's tone, he's already had a few discussions about this, even if he wouldn't place the orders without Vander's agreement.

"And then?"

"We need labour. We'd need the miners to actually build it. We need to work out how we finance this. Perhaps sell the materials to the miners to build their own places," Silco says, thinking aloud. His excitement is infectious. A real town, close enough for the miners to keep working the mines. Somewhere of their own where they could have homes and raise families.

"We'd need to organise who was building where, some way of divvying up the space fairly. We'd need greasers to review the plans, make sure the buildings stay standing," Silco says. He probably has a list of problems to solve scribbled in that notebook. "And a rental charge. We'd need to charge them something so we had money to improve the place, to get water and power. And we should build ramps, or maybe staircases, an easier path to get to the docks. An elevator would be best but I have no idea how we'd do that."

Vander reaches up and pushes a few loose strands behind Silco's ear. "This is what you've been thinking about for the last few days, huh?"

While everyone else has been complaining about the reduced mining operations, about the Pilties slowing everything down for the rest of them, Silco's been thinking about the future. Dreaming of something much grander than anyone else would imagine.

Perhaps Vander shouldn't be amazed. Silco's always had faith in the future, always lived for a years' away promise of better times. But it's one thing to dream of getting away from the mine someday; it's something else to imagine a way to build homes for everyone.

"It's an opportunity," Silco stresses, leaning over him. "A way to make us less dependent on topside, a way to carve out our own lives."

"If the ventilation works." Even their dreams of freedom still rely on Piltover.

***

Vander recognises the familiar signs of Silco with a new project. Whenever they have spare time, Silco has his notebook out, carefully writing out lists of ideas. He goes to the harbour in the morning, spreading word that they'll be looking for building materials and starts negotiating prices.

It feels a little too soon for Vander. They don't know if the ventilation will work yet, but Silco's promising funds and making commitments.

"It's a risk," Silco agrees, "but we don't want to miss this opportunity because we weren't prepared. We need to be ready."

Part of that involves talking to Babette and explaining Silco's grand plan. Babette listens to Silco's entire spiel, only moving to occasionally ash her cigarette and blow out faint blue smoke rings.

"There are three things you need to make a place a town," she says, her furry ears flicking. "Somewhere to fuck, somewhere to drink, and somewhere to pray. I can supply one of those."

"We'll build the bar," Silco promises, as if they've actually discussed that, "but I'm not building a temple. Gods don't listen to our prayers."

Silco rolls out a map of their land and they start talking prices and location. Babette wants to be closer to riverside, on the pathway for easy customers. Silco agrees to pay for half of the building costs in return for a quarter of Babette's takings. Babette argues for a set weekly rent instead, thirty bronze a week. They bicker back and forth, but eventually settle on fifty bronze a week but they'll only contribute a quarter of the building costs.

It eases Vander's worries when Babette finally agrees and actually hands over coin so they can start buying materials straight away. Silco volunteers Connol's time to plan the building and Babette promises that her workers will help with the labour during the day.

Babette also suggests that her workers can spread the idea. The miners that have enough funds to pay for their company might have the coin to build.

Vander asks Connol, Benzo and Felicia to start mentioning it too. To spread the word that they're waiting for the vents to be built and once they're tested, they'll start allocating plots to any interested miners.

They only open the market every fourth day, but each evening there's another miner or two asking about the land, the cost and how it will work. Vander recognises their expressions, the pre-emptive look of defeat when you ask for something out of reach.

Silco has worked out estimates, a list of prices for materials. How much it will cost to build a shack the size of their room and how long it takes two adults to build. The cheapest option is still over two hundred bronze, and that's out of reach for a lot of miners.

It's Vander that suggests working groups. "Talk to your friends," he tells them, "see if anyone else is interested. If you worked together, you could build a place and then save up, once you don't have to pay for a bunk every night. It'll be tight quarters for a little while but in a month or two, you could afford a second place."

There's something amazing about seeing that spark of hope take hold. He sees men and women start to cautiously believe their lives could be better. Start to imagine a future that holds more than work, food and sleep. More than thirty miners sleeping in a dorm, digging for coal until a cave-in or they get too old to meet quota. He sees miners just like him. They like the work well enough, they enjoy their friends and food and a place to sleep at night; they're surviving. But it's not the same as building homes, claiming a space that belongs to them.

***

While the Pilties keep working underground, Vander and Silco have to work out how they're going to organise this. Some miners already have coin and want to secure a plot now, which is a problem when they're still waiting on materials to be delivered.

"They'll get impatient if we don't work out something," Vander says, getting undressed.

On the other side of the room, Silco carefully hangs up his jacket, and then pulls his shirt off over his head. "We can't sell them something we don't have."

"So when do they arrive?"

"Next week." Silco folds his shirt carefully and places it on the desk. "More the week after."

"So we'll make it at month end. Give everyone a chance to withdraw some money, and then allocate lots."

"How?"

Vander frowns, pulling down his pants and hooking them on the wall. "I don't know. Lottery?"

"Maybe," Silco says, shrugging. "We could draw out numbers to assign a plot."

In the end, they decide to assign everyone a number and then draw a lottery. First called out can choose their plot. It seems as fair a system as any.

Vander's main concern is timing. They get closer and closer to the end of the month and the Pilties are still working.

"We'll have to go ahead with it," Vander says, as they walk up to riverside at the end of another long day. The first delivery of wood is due today; Vander's not exactly looking forward to moving it all away from the docks tonight. "There are too many people coming to try to call it off."

"We'll assign the land," Silco agrees, "but we'll have to make it clear that they can give up their claim if the ventilation shafts don't work. This isn't a sham."

"Of course it's not."

From the suspicious look Silco shoots him, he sees right through Vander's empty reassurance. It's a risk and they both know that. Doing something like this, standing above the crowd and trying to lead them somewhere new makes them a target. If things go wrong and people are disappointed, it won't take much for the crowd to turn against them. People always love having someone to blame.

"This would be a lot easier if they'd hurry up and test it," Silco mutters and Vander has to agree. Any sign of progress would be reassuring.

Silco pays the captain and orders more wood. He gives the harbour master a few coins in thanks, and the harbour master lets them borrow a two-wheeled cart for the night. The path is too uneven and steep to simply pull and push the cart to the market, but it gets them halfway there and then they have to lift the planks between them, and carefully walk down.

"We need to talk to Connol about this," Silco says, adjusting his grip as he steps carefully on the loose gravel. "There's got to be a better way to do this."

"You want your own personal elevator?"

"Ideally," Silco replies drily and Vander snorts. "Although I doubt even Connol and Benzo could figure that one out."

"You should say that to Benzo's face. He might do it just to spite you."

Silco sneers, breathing heavily as the path gets steeper. "How long will it take him to forgive me for stealing his best friend? A decade? Two?"

"I'd give it three to be safe." Silco shakes his head but he doesn't seem bothered by it. If it was Vander, he'd take it personally; most people like Vander. Then again, Silco doesn't seem to care about being popular. "It really doesn't get to you?"

"It's comforting, I think. I know you'll have his sympathy if you throw me over for someone new."

Vander likes the way Silco says that, like the idea is silly instead of inevitable. Like he's started to believe that Vander will be here next year and the year after that. Maybe it was the months of Vander hanging around, maybe it was the cave-in. Maybe it's Vander going along with another wild scheme, each one more ambitious than the last. Vander doesn't know what it was, but there's a change in how Silco talks about him, about them.

Silco gives a tiny shrug, shifting the weight in his hands. "Let's be honest. Connol and Felicia would be torn between us. It's nice you'd have one friend who'd still like you best."

***

As soon as they came to an agreement, Babette set up tents on her space. Most of her workers keep working nights but there's always one or two staying there, working on the building. Vander had to look twice the first time he saw Kane dressed in mousy grey and browns, her blonde hair tied back beneath a scarf as she marked out measurements.

The brothel is growing quickly but it's still only a frame and the start of walls. Babette's workers stay in a bright orange tent and sleep in gas masks overnight. (It never occurred to Vander to ask before, but Babette and her people always stayed near the mine the first week of the month. Of course they'd have a way of dealing with the Grey.)

Silco insists on both of them helping Babette when they can. He's still drawing up plans with Connol for a bar, somewhere big enough to fit half the miners, but he says that can wait. They can use the store and have benches outside if they need to, so they might as well work on Babette's.

Once upon a time, Vander used to have leisure time, hours he could spend however he wanted before his next shift. Now, he has Silco's ambition and unfailing drive to do more, his ever-growing list of what to do next. It's exhausting, but it also means Vander has Silco, brave and clever and funny. Pretty in the shadowed light of the mines, blue eyes glinting with challenge; in the bright lights of the mess hall, mouth caught in a wry smirk; in the mornings, half asleep and yawning, black hair scruffy and escaping his loose bun.

All in all, it's a good deal but sometimes Vander wishes he'd negotiated slightly better terms. Or at least a few days off.

But no, it's days in the mine followed by nights of hauling and hammering. Working by lanterns until it's curfew and they risk the Grey rolling in. Silco seems to be running on nervous energy, because he's still wide awake when they get home, when they strip down and wipe off the dirt and the sweat, and then climb into bed.

"How can you still be awake?" Vander grumbles as Silco shifts again on the mattress, restless and annoying.

"How can you sleep?" Sico replies. "We have five nights left. And no way to know–"

Vander slaps a hand over his face, muffling the rest of that diatribe. "Enough."

Silco bites at his palm, sharp and vicious. Hissing, Vander pulls his hand away.

"I didn't break the skin," Silco replies, too dismissive to be an apology. He shifts again, the movement disturbing the mattress.

"If you're going to keep me awake," Vander says as a peace offering, "you could at least make it fun."

It's all the invitation Silco needs to climb on top of Vander and kiss him, deep and wet. He rocks against Vander, hips dragging against Vander's stomach, and Vander has to reach for him. Get hold of Silco's ass and thighs, squeezing the muscle as it shifts under his fingers, tensing as Silco rubs against him.

When he tilts his head away, Silco lowers his mouth to Vander's neck. His soft kisses are followed by the hot swipe of tongue. A sharp nip to the meat of Vander's shoulder that makes Vander groan.

Silco lifts his head to stare down at Vander in the low light. Shadows catch beneath his brows and in the hollow of his cheeks. "Do you want my mouth?" he asks, voice low and promising. "Or do you want me to fuck you?"

"It's late," Vander says, which isn't really a no. He just doesn't want to be blamed tomorrow morning when they're both tired and dragging their heels.

"We both know I can't sleep." And his tossing and turning will probably keep Vander awake anyway. "So let's do both."

Vander laughs. No one would say no to that.

The first time he comes is with Silco's shoulders between his thighs. Silco's capable fingers working in and out of his ass as Silco tries to choke himself on Vander's cock. Vander comes with an arm thrown over his face, cursing and trying not to move, caught between the wet heat of Silco's mouth and those talented hands.

He's still blissed out and panting when Silco pushes inside him, shoving Vander's knee up and out of the way. He trembles on the edge of over-sensitive as Silco bottoms out, hips pressed tight to Vander's skin. Silco barely moves, just stays deep inside Vander as he drops his head, buries his face in Vander's chest.

Vander's pulse thunders in his ears and in his neck, goosebumps breaking out on his skin when Silco catches skin between his teeth. He hisses like a steam vent when Silco soothes the bite with a gentle press of lips.

Silco shifts his hips, pressing deeper inside without the friction Vander needs. Vander whines, gripping his own hair desperately as Silco sucks on a nipple. The pleasure shoots down Vander's spine, makes his hips twitch as he clenches around Silco's cock.

"Come on," he begs and it's amazing he can even manage those words.

Silco raises his head, eyes dark and cheeks flushed, and Vander has to curl forward just to kiss him. He can feel the strain on his neck but it's worth it to catch Silco's mouth, even just for a moment.

Silco pushes up on Vander's shoulders and starts moving. Not the deep, hard thrusts Vander was hoping for but steady and tender. Slow enough to make this last. To keep Vander stretched out on his back, panting up at the ceiling, until his cock's lying hard against his stomach, trapped between them as Silco moves.

Until Vander's so close he has to reach a hand down and fist his own cock. Jerks off while Silco mutters some encouraging nonsense, hips snapping faster as he loses his rhythm.

Silco sits up higher, staring at his cock sliding inside Vander, at Vander's hand on his own cock. He thrusts harder, desperate, but Vander's too busy chasing his own orgasm to notice who comes first. If he shoots across Silco's stomach before or after Silco groans and freezes above him. Either way, they both lie there afterwards panting, collapsed into each other, sweaty and sticky.

Vander lies there, arms around Silco's shoulders, and thinks that he should get up. He should fetch a washcloth and clean them both up so Silco doesn't complain about it tomorrow. He should but Silco's breathing has already slowed into sleep and it feels so good having him right here, warm and relaxed in Vander's arms.

***

Silco gets word through the kitchen long before anything official is announced. They've been told to toss the bread out, which is standard for an inspection, but they've also been given recipes for fancy little Piltover pastries and tiny sweets made of sugar and egg whites. A topsider inspector wouldn't get that kind of food so there's someone much more important visiting next week.

"Does it matter who it is?" Vander asks, following Silco's careful steps up the slope towards the river.

"Of course not. It's not about which house they belong to. It's that they're coming to see the outcome of a project that directly impacts our plans." Silco tilts his head sideways to look up at Vander, mouth curved in a satisfied smirk. "They're celebrating something. Announcing something. They've got the ventilation shafts working."

Explained like that, it seems obvious. It also explains Silco's sudden good mood: sheer relief. It's month end tomorrow and they've both been haunted by the risk of their plan being doomed before it even starts.

It would be nice if it made tonight's labour unnecessary, but it only makes it more important. A trading ship had fair winds and arrived two nights early, so they need to pay for the steel and move it down to the crevasse.

They need a better name for the area. Calling it the crevasse makes it sound like the fissures, like an area too inhospitable to have a proper name. Vander keeps thinking of it as their land, but that's going to change once other miners start building and living there. Silco keeps calling it Zaun because he's amused by the idea of their own little kingdom. Vander can't imagine that catching on.

Silco smiles and pays for the materials, and commits to ordering more. Vander does his best to keep his own face friendly, even as he knows they don't have the money to buy anything else. He doubts they even have thirty bronze in the safe right now. But Silco acts as if everything is under control, at least until they start moving the steel struts.

"The ship won't be back for another three weeks," Silco says through gritted teeth. He's really not built for the heavy labour his bright ideas require. "We'll have more coin by then."

"Enough to pay for that much?" Vander doesn't mean to be sharp, but he can't help thinking that nearly all of their funds are invested in this one idea. They can't be sure it will work, and now Silco wants to throw in money they don't even have.

Silco shoots him a dirty look. "We'll each withdraw as much as we can tomorrow and we'll have enough."

"Even if tomorrow night's a disaster?" Vander doesn't think it will be. He certainly hopes it goes well but it's a big risk. A bigger risk than he's honestly comfortable with.

"As long as we have four miners agree to pay for materials, we'll be fine."

So they should be fine. They should. But… "And if it's less than that?"

"I don't know, Vander," Silco snarls back, lifting the metal strut higher. "We'll talk to Babette about fleecing another one of her clients. Start robbing topsiders. I don't have a plan for this failing."

They stop talking. Quiet and mutually annoyed, they carry the strut down to the market only to find the door already unlocked and Felicia inside, swaying to the soft music. Connol and Benzo have their heads bent over some metal contraption, gears spread out on the low table between them.

Half of the room is currently piles of building materials – too big and too heavy to stack in the store room upstairs. The strut gets piled with the other steel supports.

"Hey, Benzo," Vander calls out, watching Silco shake out his hands after carrying that weight. "I'll pay you in whiskey if you help me move the rest of these."

He looks over at Silco for permission, since it's Silco's personal stash he's offering, and Silco nods. "There's half a bottle of Noxian whiskey upstairs."

Benzo looks from one to the other, and then shrugs. "Sure."

"I'm going to check inventory," Silco announces. He's not the type to apologise for snapping in anger, but neither is Vander. They've got work to do. "Make sure we know exactly what we have on hand."

***

Vander's not sure what he was expecting. He knew there were some miners interested. He was sure they'd have a few groups show up. What they actually get is the downstairs room of their market packed with people, chatter bouncing off the walls and growing louder. Vander grins, feeling the buzz of excitement like goosebumps on his skin.

Silco clearly doesn't feel the same way. His face is ashen and his eyes keep darting around, like he's searching for an exit, like he's wishing for a way to escape the crowd. The plan had been for Silco to talk to them first, to explain the terms of their plan and how it could work. To talk them into committing to this wild idea of his, to convince them that the mine doesn't care about their futures or their lives.

Judging by the number of people who came, they shouldn't have worried about the level of interest.

Vander leans sideways, ducking his head down to speak softly. "Do you want me to talk to them?"

Silco swallows, eyes wide and still looking panicked. The last time he looked this scared, they were trapped in a cave-in, digging for their lives. "I can do it."

"Sure," Vander agrees, knowing Silco has enough determination to make himself do anything, "but do you want me to?"

After a considered moment, Silco gives a short nod. Vander rests a hand on his shoulder, but Silco's narrow shoulders are tensed and tight beneath his hand.

"Oi!" Vander yells out at the top of his lungs and for a stunned moment, the chatter pauses. He waves a hand up high to get their attention. "Listen up! I'm going through this once, and then I'll answer any questions, and then we're drawing lots and allocating space for anyone who's interested."

There's a low murmur of people whispering to whoever they came with. Vander gives it a moment to quiet down and then he starts explaining their idea. Most of the miners have already heard it, or heard it through a friend of a friend, but they all listen.

They've marked out plots of land. Every miner will pay ten bronze per week for as long as they live there. Each miner will have to build their own home and pay for materials. To make it easier, they've prepared instructions and a list of what's needed for three simple building plans, thanks to Connol's help.

"I've talked to most of you before," Vander says, grinning at the whole roomful of miners listening to him. "Working together is going to get this done faster. It won't be easy – hell, we're still working on getting power and water here – but it'll be ours. Together, we're going to make this work."

There's a roar of applause, boots stomping on the rock floor. Vander feels Silco flinch at the wave of noise but he covers it quickly, chin high to stare his fear down.

When the crowd goes quiet, Vander explains how they're going to draw lots. There are small squares of paper, sliced out of Silco's precious notebook, for everyone who wants a piece of land. They just need to come forward and give their name. When everyone's done, they'll draw names out and everyone can pick where they want to be.

"And before you ask," Vander says, standing at the map drawn onto a white sheet pinned to the wall, "this blue mark is where we are, the red mark will be Babette's and the green mark will be a bar, eventually. The rest is up for grabs."

It takes longer than Vander expects to get everyone's names, probably because half of the miners need Silco to write it out for them. But eventually it's ready to draw names and that's when it becomes a celebration. A name is called and people cheer when someone raises their hand, stepping forward to the map. Some squint and take their time choosing a plot, others seem to point at random, selecting any empty spot. Dutifully, Silco writes each name on the map and writes a second record in his notebook, plot numbers and names. There's usually a second cheer as the person melts back into the crowd and they draw the next name.

***

It's a relief when curfew draws near. It's a joyous night but Vander is tired of talking to people and taking payments and organising orders. Thankfully, Silco stayed by his side the entire night, noting everything down and quickly tallying how much can be bought with sixty-five bronze and which supports are needed first.

Vander had almost offered to deliver it to the plots, but Silco had quickly talked over him. "Vander can help, but you'll need to come tomorrow to collect the materials after shift end. You don't have to collect them all at once."

"What was that about?" Vander asks when they have a moment to talk.

"You'd be exhausted if you moved that for everyone," Silco says reasonably. "We have enough space here to store things and it might prevent petty squabbles."

It's only a few hours but it feels like a lifetime later when everyone starts leaving, heading back to the mine before curfew. Vander offers the room upstairs to their friends, but Benzo shrugs and says he'd prefer sleeping on a mattress. Felicia laughs and says, "Maybe some other night," with a meaningful glance at Connol, and Connol goes bright red.

Soon it's just him and Silco left, and the sudden silence almost echoes in the room. Silco's glancing from his notebook to the piles of wood and steel like he's considering allocating it all out tonight. Tomorrow will do fine, Vander decides, stepping up behind Silco and wrapping his arms around Silco's chest. "Should we go home?"

"I brought gas masks," Silco says over his shoulder, "if you want to stay later."

If they want to test if the ventilation has been turned on yet, if they want to see how much of the Grey slithers out of the mine at night.

"Not tonight." Vander drops a kiss to the crown of Silco's head. "Tonight went well."

Silco stares at the wall, their fabric map and the names scribbled across it. "Twenty-three plots claimed. I would have been happy with five."

"They won't all build at once." Already people are grouping together, deciding to build one home at a time. Pooling their resources and their energy.

"Fortunately," Silco replies drily. He curls a hand around the back of Vander's arm. "We wouldn't have enough if they all wanted to start building."

Vander hums in agreement. "You could feel it, you know? How much they all want this. How much it means to them."

"How much they trusted you when you promised them they could do this."

"They can," Vander insists. "We can. We're going to build this into a town, into a home. Our home. Someday we are going to leave that mine behind and live a life, right here."

"Maybe not right here," Silco says, leaning his weight back into Vander, hands tight on Vander's arms. "You did say you wanted to run a bar."

He can almost picture it. Somewhere warm and open, full of their friends and neighbours. Music playing on the jukebox and the two of them behind the bar, pouring drinks and stepping around each other. A room upstairs, big enough for the fancy bed Silco loves.

"Sounds good to me," Vander says, stealing a kiss before they lock up for the night and head down to the fissures, back to their bed.

***

The company throws a party when level four is opened. They clear the mess hall to put up a podium and make them listen to speeches from a few fancy topsiders. They talk about opportunities for the undercity and the generosity of Piltover, and all Vander can think of is them posing for photos in front of the main ventilation opening, with all the engineers and labourers who worked on it. All those topsiders commemorating their achievement, and there wasn't one miner included in the photo.

This isn't for the undercity. This isn't for them. They just happen to live here.

Amazingly, Silco isn't complaining about it. "What's up with you?"

Silco holds up a narrow glass of bubbling liquid, clearly stolen from the Piltie's tables. "I'm celebrating. No more Grey. Level four will open, more miners will meet quota and…"

"And?" Vander asks, ducking his head down when Silco crooks a finger at him.

"And Connol found where they stashed the discarded steel," Silco whispers into his ear. "It's in the old mine shafts. We'll move it tomorrow night. He thinks it might be strong enough to build an elevator shaft."

And then, in a mess hall filled with people, Silco kisses his cheek before he leans away. Admittedly, most miners are talking loudly and stealing their fill of sweets; no one's truly paying attention to them. But Silco doesn't do that in public.

When Vander takes a closer look, he notices that Silco's cheeks are slightly flushed and there's a sheen to his eyes. "Are you drunk?"

Silco shakes his head, scrunching his nose adorably. "I don't think there's enough alcohol in these glasses to get drunk."

Vander grins. "Sure about that?"

"Fairly sure." Silco tilts his head back, tipping the last of the golden liquid into his mouth. Vander watches his throat bob as he swallows. "But maybe I should try another glass and test that theory."

Silco runs his tongue along his lips, chasing the last drop, and Vander decides he's had enough of crowds for the night. "How about I steal you a bottle and we go home?"

If Vander had any doubts about Silco's drunkenness, it's confirmed by the dopey grin Silco gives him. "I'll meet you in the mine."

There are open bottles sitting on the table but there's a whole box of bottles sitting on the floor underneath. Vander waits for the kitchenhand to be called back into the kitchen, and then steps forward, picks up a bottle and walks out with it under his jacket.

It's hardly an impressive heist but Silco gives a graceful clap when he shows it off. When Vander pulls the two stolen glasses from his pocket, Silco laughs. "Is there anything you wouldn't steal for me?"

It's easy to step in, to cage Silco against the rocks and kiss him sweet and tender. "No. Anything for you," Vander says and it sounds like a joke, but he means it down to his bones. Anything. Doesn't matter if he has to steal it or dig it out of the bedrock, Vander wants to give Silco anything he wants.

The Grey has been banished and there's a handful of half-built shacks on land they legally own, but the most amazing thing is that Vander knows where he wants to be in five years, in ten years, longer than that. He wants to be here, with Silco, building a life together and building a town. He wants to spend a lifetime making this dream real.

Silco gazes up at him like he understands what Vander means. Those elegant fingers reach up and draw a delicate path down Vander's cheek.

"You're pretty," Silco says, soft and adoring, low voice rumbling over the familiar words. "Want to fuck?"

"Always," Vander promises, and leads them both home.