dark hopes

You and I and That Empty World

(Written by El (smokesatellite on AO3) and illustrated by vRyfMi)

The cold had teeth.

Sharp, white, biting. Everything felt wet in that way that snuck through the seams of Jinx’s coat and made a home in her bones. Her knee was ruined—too stiff, too swollen. Something pulled every time she took a step.

But there was no time to stop. Not now. Not when anything—anyone—could find her.

Branches cracked underfoot as she limped through the woods—tall, naked trees clawing at the sky like they were begging for spring. Her breath fogged the air in sharp, uneven bursts.

There was blood stiffening at the hem of her jeans—dried, mostly. She wasn’t in danger of dying, probably, but she was freezing, hurting, and about five minutes from screaming at the world just out of spite.

She didn’t expect to find anything, not really. But then there it was, tucked just above the valley; a crooked old farmhouse with frost hugging the glass and its porch warped under the weight of time. It looked haunted, maybe. Or just long forgotten.

She raised her gun, anyway, because nothing was ever truly abandoned.

⸻

The door creaked like it held a grudge. Warmth spilled out immediately, hitting her in the face like a slap. Real heat. Firelight. The kind of thing she didn’t take for granted anymore.

She stepped in slow, gun still raised. The wood groaned beneath her boots. Then, he was there.

He didn’t move much—just emerged from behind some half-rotted support beam, holding a blade low, but not low enough. His stare was unreadable. Careful. Jinx froze.

They didn’t say anything at first—just took each other in, like trying to place a half-remembered face from a dream. She held her gun up higher. Instinctive. Innate. Twitchy. She wanted to say something. To scream. Usually, that kind of thing came easy—the erratic words, the impulsive bite.

But with him, in the first warm place she’d found in days… nothing. “You sick?” he asked eventually, voice level.

His eyes scanned over her—dissecting. “No.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t shift. Then, finally, nodded once.

“One night,” he said. Not his name. Not his history. She didn’t lower the gun. She offered nothing back. But she didn’t leave either.

[id: a half-body drawings of Ekko and Jinx on either side of the spread as they are confronting each other, both looking hostile—Ekko stands with a hunting knife ready, but lowered; Jinx stands with a gun also lowered./end id]

⸻

When she awoke, she had no memory of falling asleep. Her leg throbbed like hell, but the bandages were new. Tighter. Cleaner. The pain was still there, but someone had tried to make it bearable.

She groaned, hauling herself upright. She wasn’t dead, which felt… inconvenient. Unfortunate. A curse. The house creaked as she hobbled into the hallway—floorboards shifting under her weight like they had opinions. The walls were lined with old photos, long since faded.

Someone’s life used to live here. She wondered if that boy—that ghost—even noticed them anymore. The kitchen was warm.

He stood at the stove, back to her, pan sizzling with something that smelled vaguely like eggs. He didn't look up. Jinx leaned against the doorway. Something in her wanted to bite—wanted to bare her teeth and pounce.

Instead, all she managed was a pointed joke. One she wished had come out meaner. Sharper. “You always feed your intruders?”

“No.”

“You got a name?”

A pause. The sound of sizzling pierced through nothing. Then, with a swallowed gulp; “Ekko.” He didn’t bother turning. “You got one, too?”

She should’ve lied. But with him, honesty came before she could snatch it back. “Jinx.”

Then, her leg gave out. She caught herself on the frame before she could eat shit.

He helped her to the couch without a word—just an arm hooked around her ribs. “Stop hovering.”

“Stop falling.”

She sank into the cushions. He stepped back but didn't go far. “No creeping around. No stealing.”

She squinted. “Don't touch my stuff.”

He huffed. “Should've predicted that.”

⸻

She was on her feet the next morning. Barely. The leg still burned, but she limped better—less roadkill, more stubborn mutt. Outside, Ekko was swearing at a warped plank on the fence. Nails bent. Wood splintered.

She leaned in the doorway. “You seducing it into staying put?”

He didn’t look up. “Got better ideas?”

“Yeah. Move.” She hobbled down, grabbed the hammer from him. They fixed it together—her bracing, him nailing straight. Ekko eyed her hands.

“Didn’t know you could still do that—in your state and all.”

She shrugged. “Didn't know you could still talk.” Later, when the wind cut through her bandage, he showed her how to wrap it tighter. She grumbled. He almost smiled.

⸻

The barn was colder than she expected. Dust clung to everything—blueprints, scrap bins, half-gutted drones. In the corner, the old generator rattled out a dying cough. Ekko crouched beside it, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess.

“Gonna lose our heat if this thing quits,” he muttered. Jinx didn't ask—just limped over, popped her knuckles. “You're wiring it backwards.”

His eyes flicked up, unimpressed. “You think you’re an expert now?”

“I know I am.” She shoved him aside with her hip. He huffed but held the flashlight steady while she stripped a wire, twisted two new ends together, sparked a connection. The hum steadied.

Ekko let out a low whistle. “You always fix dying things?”

“Not quite,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. Their eyes caught—familiar and new, all at once.

“Thanks,” he said, quiet. She shrugged. “Keep it running next time.”

[id: a drawing of a crudely-made generator with a green body that is covered in blue and pink graffities./end id]

⸻

The fire cracked low. Night settled over them in full, draped in frost and dark silence. They sat near each other. Not too close. But closer than before. Ekko peeled a potato with an old pocket knife. Jinx watched the blade glide in slow, practiced circles. Her leg throbbed faintly, but she didn't complain.

After a while, she muttered it. “Vi.”

Ekko paused.

“She's—“ she swallowed. “Was. Is. My sister.”

Ekko's lip twitched. Something in him softened that made her nails curl into the palms of her hands.

“She's why I left,” Jinx added. “She went on a run—was leading the team. I waited for days. Weeks. But...”

“You think she's still alive?”

“Don't know.” She stared at the fire like it owed her an answer. “But I have to check.”

He didn't say anything right away. Just nodded, slow. Understanding without promising. “I wasn’t planning on finding anyone else,” he said. “I lost people, too.”

The quiet stretched. Comfortable, almost. But then she twitched. Jerked her leg. Her hand spasmed. She stood up too fast.

“Jinx—”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was sharp, splintered. “Don't look at me like that.” Then she disappeared down the hallway, and the firelight flickered like it was trying to follow her.

⸻

They hunted together. Ekko had the patience. Jinx had the noise. He moved quiet; she stomped like the forest owed her rent.

“You're loud,” he muttered.

“I'm effective.”

A Gray stumbled out. One clean shot—through the eye. Ekko stared.

“Useful,” he said.

They buried it later, out of habit. Humanity, too—though neither would call it that. She shot a turkey big enough to last all week.

⸻

She found herself watching him. Not just watching—studying. The way his eyes narrowed when he was thinking. How he tied his boots double-knotted like it was life or death. The quiet things. It pissed her off. So that night, she packed again. Didn’t say anything. Just zipped the bag. Reached for the door.

“You running?” he asked from the couch. His voice didn't rise. Just settled. She froze.

“I have to,” she said.

“No, you don't.”

“I do.”

She left anyway. Got as far as the edge of the trees. Then stood there for a long time, shivering, cursing herself for not being better at goodbyes she didn’t want to make.

When she turned back, Ekko was already waiting on the creaky porch with a chipped mug of too-hot tea. She took it from him without meeting his eyes. Still, she caught a hint of his smile.

⸻

The map was a mess. Drawn by hand, edges frayed, dirt ground into the creases. But it was detailed—routes inked in black, scrawled notes in the margins: danger zone, collapsed bridge, possible Gray nest.

Jinx stared at it, brow low, arms crossed like she needed to brace herself against the thought of hope. “She said she was heading south,” she muttered. “For the outpost. Might've veered off.”

Ekko didn't look up. “I've marked three paths that keep us off major roads. Less chance of exposure.”

She squinted at him. “You're helping me?”

He nodded. “Wasn't gonna let you limp off into a nest of Grays alone.”

“I wouldn't have limped,” she said, but it came out weak.

He looked at her, quiet. “You’re not alone, Jinx. Not anymore.” She didn't know what to say, so she didn't. Just nodded, throat tight, fingers twitching at her sleeves.

⸻

She tried it again one night at dawn—pack ready, hand on the knob.

“Jinx.”

Ekko leaned in the doorway, hair wild. “You don't have to go alone.”

“People die when they stick around.”

“I know.” He paused. “I don't want to lose anyone else.”

She stepped away from the door. Didn't say anything. Stayed.

⸻

The generator died mid-morning. Silence swallowed the house. Jinx found Ekko outside, boot against the metal, sparks spitting. “Stop kicking it,” she snapped.

“Help me, then.” He tossed her the wrench. They bent over the guts together—swapping wires, cursing under their breath. When it finally hummed back to life, they both laughed—relieved, exhausted.

They didn't see the goat slip through the gate until it bolted. By the time they dragged it back—soaked, shivering—Jinx dropped into the grass, gasping. Ekko hovered, half-grinning.

She snorted. “Next time, you fix it alone.”

⸻

The wound had scabbed over enough. She sat out back with a chipped knife and a rag between her teeth, the last of the stitches gleaming in the cold. Her fingers were trembling, but she was careful—angling the blade just so, breath low and steady.

One by one, she cut them loose. Blood welled up immediately, dark and wet and hot against the cold morning air.

Ekko found her like that—half-hunched, eyes glassy. He didn't yell. Didn't lecture. He just sat beside her, reached for the gauze in her bag, and pressed it to her skin. His touch was steady. Warm.

Her eyes flicked to him. His jaw was set—worried, but calm. She watched his hands move. Saw the way his lashes caught the sun. The scar under his eye she'd forgotten about.

“You always this gentle?” she asked, voice rough.

“Only when I want someone to stop bleeding.” A beat passed. He shifted. Hesitated. Then leaned in. Slow. Intentional. Stopped just short.

“Sorry,” he whispered, breath skating her cheek. “I shouldn't—” She cut him off. Grabbed the front of his jacket and kissed him. It wasn't smooth. Wasn't clean.

Her nose bumped his. The blood still ran warm down her thigh. The rag she'd used to muffle her pain was still clenched in one hand. But he kissed her back like he'd been waiting months. Years. It was soft, at first—almost reverent. Then messier. Hungrier. Like neither of them could believe they were still allowed to feel anything this warm. When she pulled back, their foreheads pressed together. Breathing the same air.

Her voice shook. “Don't make me regret that.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” he whispered.

Later, when he moved to kiss her again, neither of them wanted it to stop at all.

⸻

They packed light. Two rifles. A bag of wire and tools. Rations. A battered radio transmitter. Ekko had the map. Jinx had the compass. The sky was pale gray, clouds trailing like ghosts overhead. He walked ahead, steady and certain. Jinx followed, one hand resting on her pack, the other twitching near her sidearm.

She didn't look back. But she didn’t stop watching his back either.