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By all accounts, by the laws of time and suffering, she should have rotted away with the memories that had clung to him like maggots in a corpse. But she was here—whole—a revenant of blood and sinew, a cruel mirage crafted from grief and madness, standing in the dim light like something pried from the jaws of the underworld. His mind had summoned her before, in the fevered delirium of nightmares and longing, but this was different. This was real. Too visceral. Too wrong.
“Ekko…” she breathed, his name escaping her lips like the last gasp of a dying thing, slipping through time’s cracked teeth, searching for him in the wreckage of their past.
His chest caved inward. His ribs turned to rusted iron.
He couldn’t speak.
He couldn’t breathe.
Jinx.
Powder.
The name curdled in his throat, thick with blood and betrayal. She had been the marrow of his bones once, the bright thing in the dark, the spark that made the world bearable. And then she had burned it all down. She had carved herself into him with jagged edges, her love a rusted blade twisting deeper, deeper, until the wound festered, bled, ruined him. And now, standing before him, she looked—
Alive.
No longer the wraith of his nightmares, no longer the hollowed-out creature he had last seen drenched in smoke and violence. The ghost of bruises no longer clung to her skin like war paint. Her bones, once brittle as burnt paper, had been stitched back together with something almost unnatural. Her skin, pale but pulsing with warmth, stretched smooth over muscle that hadn’t been there before.
Her hair, that wild electric blue, flickered in the dim light like something alive, like it might reach for him, coil around his throat and squeeze.
And her eyes—
Those violet eyes, so bright they could cut through bone, so sharp they could strip him raw like a carcass left to the elements—held something darker now.
Pain.
Survival.
Ekko’s mind spun in jagged, fractured pieces, time stretching out before him like tar, suffocating him with each tortured second as he tried to hold on to the remnants of himself.
Blue.
Blue had faded from his world, slipping through his fingers like water. Even the electric, vibrant blue he had etched into his memories had dulled, bled out by years of violence and loss. The blue he once had known was a ghost, an echo. A faded thing.
But now?
Now, standing before him, staring back with that savage intensity, all he could see was blue.
Bright blue.
Blue so vivid, so overwhelming it burned into his retinas, searing his vision until it swallowed the edges of everything else. It was a color that felt like it might crack open his skull and pour into his mind, spilling out all the things he had tried to bury. The things he had tried to forget.
But beneath the blue, there was something else. Something darker.
Red.
Red, creeping like a stain across the blue of her hands, tracing the contours of her fingers. Blood. Not fresh, not dripping, but something lingering—an aftertaste of violence and raw, seething emotion. The tips of her fingers, smeared with it, the faint marks where her nails had bitten into her own flesh. Her hands hung at her sides, fists clenched so tightly the bones of her knuckles stood out, white and sharp, As though she might shatter herself with the pressure.
But there it was. The evidence.
Small, crescent-shaped wounds where her nails had dug deep into the delicate, fragile skin of her palms, the blood oozing from them like the last remnants of a war she had fought alone. It stained her hands in a way that made it seem like she had been baptized in violence, each drop of crimson a mark of her survival, her unrelenting will to endure.
And her lips—
Split at the corners, raw and trembling, as if violence had kissed her too many times, leaving its scarred imprint on her very soul. The bruises around her mouth were half-faded, the skin just beginning to heal, but the pain still clung to her like a second skin. Every inch of her screamed of things unsaid, wounds that festered beneath the surface, held together by whatever fragile thread she had left to hold on to.
There was a wildness in her, thrumming just beneath that calm, that eerie composure she wore like armor. It was the kind of wildness that lived in the spaces between breaths, in the way her muscles twitched, coiled with restless energy. A fragility that felt as though it could shatter with one wrong word, one wrong move. And yet, there was a strength, too. A quiet, dangerous resolve in the way she held herself, a steeliness that had been forged in the flames of her pain. It coiled in her arms, in her jaw, ready to snap if provoked, ready to strike.
Ekko stood there, paralyzed, his body locked in a brutal stand-off with his emotions, each one warring for dominance. His mind reeled, a whirlwind of fury and something far softer, more insidious. The weight of everything—the loss, the time that had slipped away like blood from an open wound—pressed on him like the weight of a thousand tons of stone. Each new shard of understanding, each jagged piece of the puzzle, ground against his bones, leaving him raw, vulnerable. His fists curled tightly at his sides, a primal urge to lash out clawing at him, desperate to rip through the silence, to tear into the source of his torment.
Anger simmered in his veins, a furnace of rage fed by the months she had stolen from him, the cold, empty space she had left in her wake. His soul had bled out in that void—drowning in unanswered questions, in the desperate, gnawing ache of grief that had worn him to the bone, until even his own breath felt like a betrayal.
But the anger—it was nothing compared to what had crept beneath it.
Sorrow.
He saw it in the trembling of her hands, the uncertainty clouding her once razor-sharp eyes. This wasn’t the girl who had disappeared, the girl who had left him with nothing but silence and burning memory. This was the girl who had survived—who had clawed her way through the wreckage, fought for every breath when the world had tried to suffocate her. And as much as her absence still bled in his chest, as much as it left him raw and unfinished, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry. Not with her. Not when she looked at him like that—like she was still trying to piece herself together, still fighting for something more than just survival.
And yet, beneath all of that…
All he wanted to do was pull her close. To erase the distance between them, to wipe away the hurt and confusion that separated them. But how could he? How could he even begin to untangle the mess of emotions that coiled around them like a noose?
His body moved before his mind could catch up, a step forward, slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid she might shatter under the weight of his touch. His voice came, low and broken, a sound he didn’t recognize as his own—soft, like a whisper meant to soothe a wound that would never heal.
“Where the hell have you been?”
The words tore free, jagged and raw, more forceful than he intended. But they weren’t born of rage—they were born of confusion, of a hurt so deep it felt like it was carving out the very space inside his chest, leaving him hollow, broken. And beneath that hurt, there was something softer, something dangerous—something that squeezed his heart until he thought it might crack open and spill all the things he had been too terrified to say.
Jinx flinched. Just the slightest tremor of her body, as if the question had cut deeper than she was ready to admit. But her eyes? They never left his. She didn’t answer right away, her lips pressing together as if the words were caught somewhere in the depths of her throat, struggling to claw their way out.
He saw it then—saw the guilt that writhed beneath her skin, saw the uncertainty that danced in the flicker of her gaze. It made his own chest ache, a sharp, tender pain that echoed in the pit of his stomach. His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to reach for her, to pull her into the space between them and erase all the years of unanswered questions, of everything that had torn them apart. But he hesitated. He didn’t know if she would let him.
“You’re alive,” he said, quieter now, as if the words were more for him than for her, a fragile attempt at grounding himself. The words felt too thin, too fragile for the weight of the moment, but they were the only ones he could find. “You’re alive.”
Jinx nodded, her breath shallow and broken, the weight of his gaze pressing down on her, making her look away for a fraction of a second. In that brief moment, he saw the crack in her composure, the subtle shift in her walls that told him more than any words could.
Ekko’s breath hitched, his chest tightening like a vice around his lungs. His fingers curled into fists, the bones in his hands grinding together, his knuckles turning white, shaking with an emotion he wasn’t sure he could contain. Rage, grief, longing—they coiled in his chest like a suffocating knot, pressing against his ribs with a force that made him want to scream, to tear everything apart, to make sense of the mess she had left behind.
She was standing right there.
Alive.
Whole.
And all he could think about was the nights he’d spent picturing her body in the dirt. Imagining her bones picked clean by time, by war, by the ghosts that never stopped whispering her name in his ear.
Jinx.
She had left him. Torn herself from his world and taken every last piece of warmth with her. No body, no grave, just the gaping maw of emptiness where she used to be. He had mourned her in ways he never thought he would have to. Screamed her name into the wind, let it rip through his lungs until he had nothing left but silence.
And now she was here. Breathing.
Like she hadn’t destroyed him.
His voice, when it came, was rough. Sharp. A blade dulled only by the ache buried beneath it.
“You left.”
The words weren’t enough. Nothing would be enough. He wanted to say I lost my mind looking for you, I buried you in my heart and let you rot there, I hate you for making me hope again. But all that came out was that same, shaking whisper.
“You fucking left.”
Jinx flinched, just the smallest twitch in her fingers, the faintest tremor in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, recognition. It was enough to make the air between them feel impossibly heavy, like it was going to crush them both.
“I didn’t wanna hurt you,” she murmured, voice small, delicate—as if the very act of speaking might shatter her. The words were soft, barely there, like they were afraid to be too loud, too real, in this space between them.
Ekko’s exhale was sharp, angry, escaping through his nose as he fought to keep himself steady. His jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his neck rippling under the strain. The anger surged again, hot and searing in his veins, but it didn’t feel like it could go anywhere. He was burning alive with it, and yet, nothing came of it.
“That supposed to make it better?” His voice cracked on the last word, rough and broken, the sound scraping the inside of his throat. But he didn’t care. He didn’t want to care. His hand scraped across his face, a gesture so rough it almost hurt. His whole body hummed with restless, agonized energy, a desperate need to tear something apart—to make this all make sense.
“Do you have any idea what it was like? Thinking you were—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, the words dying in his throat before he could give them life. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t let the word leave his mouth. It was too raw, too final, too real to speak.
Dead.
The word had haunted him for months, the weight of it pressing down on his chest every time he closed his eyes. He couldn’t say it. It wasn’t real. Not anymore.
But it had been. For so long, she had been nothing but a ghost in his mind. A hollow echo of a girl who used to burn so brightly, now snuffed out in the dark.
Jinx swallowed, her gaze flickering down for a moment, like she was trying to swallow the distance between them. Something shifted in her expression. She looked older now. Softer. Healthier. Like time had wrapped itself around her, let her heal in ways that Ekko hadn’t been able to. He hated her for that, just a little. He wanted to be angry about it—wanted to lash out at the fact that she’d gotten to move on while he’d been left to rot in the past, stuck in a perpetual state of grief.
But he couldn’t. Not when she was standing here in front of him, not when she was looking at him like he was something delicate—like a single breath could break him apart and spill everything he’d buried so deep inside.
He couldn’t hate her for that.
He could never hate her.
His fingers trembled, reaching for her before he could even think about stopping himself. He brushed the edge of her sleeve, the touch light, hesitant—like a fragile thread connecting him to something he thought he'd lost. She didn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to explain,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and raw. Weary. The weight of everything he hadn’t been able to carry settled in the deep, aching hollows of his chest. “I don’t—I don’t know why you left. I mean, fuck, I do know why, but…” He stopped, trying to steady himself, but the words came too fast, breaking through the floodgates. “I missed you.”
It was too simple. Too raw. Too naked. But it was the only truth left in him. The one thing that had been there all along, buried beneath all the rage, the grief, the confusion.
Jinx’s lips parted—just slightly, as if she were about to speak, as if she were about to crack herself open and place something raw in his hands—but nothing came. Just silence. A nod. Small. Fragile. Heavy enough to crush them both.
And then, like a whisper against his skin, her fingers brushed his palm.
Ekko didn’t think. He couldn’t. The moment shattered whatever distance remained between them, his body moving before his mind could catch up. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in, closing the unbearable space that had stretched between them for so long.
Jinx tensed. A flicker of hesitation. A ghost of all the years lost between them. But then—then, she gave in. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight, desperate, like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go. Like she was afraid she might.
Ekko exhaled, a slow, shaking breath that felt like it had been held in his chest for lifetimes. His arms tightened around her, and she didn’t disappear. She was warm. Solid. Not a ghost. Not a cruel mirage conjured by grief.
His hand drifted up, fingers threading through her hair—instinctive, reverent, like touching something he had never thought he’d hold again. It was longer than before, the strands softer, spilling past her shoulders like ink bleeding across paper. He hadn’t noticed at first—not through the storm of shock and fury and aching, unbearable relief. But now, with her pressed against him, he let himself see her.
“You let it grow out,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath against her temple, quiet, like speaking too loud might shatter the moment.
Jinx made a sound—half a laugh, half something more fragile. “Yeah… Guess I did.”
Ekko’s fingers traced absently through the strands, slow, deliberate. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Some proof that this was real, maybe. That she wasn’t going to disappear the second he let go.
Jinx shifted, her breath warm against his collarbone, then—so softly he almost didn’t notice—she buried her face against his shoulder.
And just like that, something in him cracked wide open.
He had spent so long standing at the edge of an abyss, teetering, waiting for the inevitable fall. But here, in this moment, with her weight against him, her scent curling into his lungs like something familiar, something missed—for the first time in years, he felt like the ground beneath him wasn’t crumbling.
Like maybe—just maybe—the world hadn’t taken everything from him after all.
○
Ekko followed her through the dimly lit streets, his pulse still unsteady, the weight of everything unsaid pressing against his ribs. Jinx walked ahead of him, her steps light but purposeful, as if she wasn’t quite ready to slow down, to sit in the silence of what had just happened. He understood.
She glanced back at him, her fingers twitching at her sides like she wanted to reach for him but didn’t know how. “Chuck’s probably waiting,” she muttered, almost absently. “He gets pissy if I’m out too long.”
Ekko stiffened mid-step. “Chuck?” His voice came out flatter than he intended, like a blade pressed too hard against a whetstone.
Jinx hummed, distracted, already turning onto the next street. “Yeah, he’s probably sleeping, but—”
Something hot and sharp coiled low in his gut, an ugly thing with teeth, curling its fingers around his spine. He hadn’t let himself ask before—where she had been, who she had been with—but now, with some Chuck waiting for her, the question dug its claws in deep.
“You, uh… got someone waiting on you?” He tried to keep his voice even, but it came out tight, like it had been dragged through clenched teeth.
Jinx blinked at him over her shoulder. “Yeah.”
Ekko clenched his jaw. His fists curled at his sides before he forced them to relax, fingers flexing against the sick burn creeping through him. He didn’t have a right to be mad. He didn’t. But that didn’t stop the image from forming—some guy sitting in her apartment, knowing the things Ekko didn’t, knowing her in ways he had lost the right to.
“Chuck,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue like poison. “Right.”
Jinx shot him a look, lips twitching. “Yeah, you’ll like him. He’s kind of an asshole.”
Ekko exhaled sharply through his nose, gaze darkening. Oh, I bet he is.
Jinx didn’t elaborate. Just kept walking, her steps light, unhurried, like she had no idea what she’d just lodged in his chest. And Ekko followed, the weight inside him growing heavier with every step, dragging him down into something slow and smoldering, a dull heat coiling behind his ribs.
His mind twisted the name into a shape he could hate. Chuck—some smug, lazy bastard draped over her couch, taking up space like it belonged to him. A man sprawled out in the quiet parts of her life, legs kicked up, hands resting on things he had no right to touch. He could see it too clearly—clothes left where they didn’t belong, the scent of someone else clinging to her space, the soft echoes of laughter that weren’t meant for him.
His jaw locked. His stomach twisted. He had no right to feel like this—no claim, no reason to care who she let into her world, who she laughed with, who she whispered to in the quiet hours of the night.
But the thought still burned, a slow, sick thing slithering between his ribs, sinking its teeth into the raw, bloody places inside him.
Jinx, oblivious—or pretending to be—led him up a rusted staircase, fingers ghosting along the rail like she was tracing something only she could see. She moved like she’d done this a thousand times, like the path had been etched into her bones, like muscle memory alone carried her forward.
At the landing, she fished a key from her pocket, shoved it into the lock, and twisted. The door groaned open, a slow, aching sound that rattled against the silence.
Ekko hesitated. The threshold felt like a line he wasn’t sure he was meant to cross.
He wasn’t sure what he expected—some shape stretched out on her couch, a stranger’s scent in the air, the low murmur of someone waiting for her in the dark. But the apartment was still. Dim.
Jinx stepped inside first, arms stretching above her head, spine arching with a lazy, careless sigh. “Alright, I’m back,” she called, her voice light, easy, like she had done this a thousand times before. She tossed her keys onto the counter. They hit with a sharp clink, shattering the hush that had settled over the room.
She exhaled, her head tilting slightly. A pause, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression.
Then, softer—almost amused—she added, “Don’t be mad.”
Ekko stood frozen in the doorway, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. His eyes dragged over the dim-lit space, searching for evidence of Chuck—a jacket thrown carelessly over a chair, a half-empty glass on the counter, a man waiting in the dark.
But the room was empty.
Then—movement. A whisper of sound against the floor. Low to the ground. Watching.
Ekko’s body tensed, the air growing thick, suffocating. His pulse slammed against his ribs. Something slunk forward from the shadows, slow and deliberate, eyes gleaming like twin embers in the dark—one the color of dying flames, the other a ghostly blue, unnatural, wrong. It was small. Too small. And yet, the weight of its presence filled the room, stretching into the spaces between them.
A cat.
A fucking cat.
The tension in his chest didn’t ease. Not fully. Not when he watched the creature move toward Jinx with the eerie certainty of something that knew her, something that had always known her. It wove around her legs, tail curling, body pressing into her as if tethering itself to her presence—like it had been waiting for her. Like it always would.
Ekko’s stomach twisted. He’d seen something like this before.
He’d heard it in Jinx’s voice when she spoke of Isha—the girl whose name still lingered in the corners of her mind like a half-forgotten prayer. The way she described her, the way her fingers twitched, grasping at ghosts that would never reach back. “I would’ve done anything for her,” she had told him, her voice thick with something raw, something ruined.
And now, here she was, sinking to her knees before this creature like she had found some echo of what she had lost. Her voice, soft and fragile, barely a whisper, “Hey, Chuck,” slipped from her lips, as if saying the name could stitch up wounds Ekko had only just begun to recognize.
The cat pressed into her palm, its purring a constant, throbbing rhythm that filled the space between them. The sound vibrated through the walls, through the floor, through Ekko’s chest, settling deep in his bones. And Jinx—she softened. She shifted, her face unguarded in a way he hadn’t seen in years. It was like watching the wreckage of her soul pull back, piece by piece, only to reveal something tender and raw beneath it. Something alive.
She bent forward, her fingers disappearing into the thick, orange fur of the cat. And Ekko—he felt a strange pull. Something tugging in the hollow of his chest. Without thinking, he crouched down beside her, the weight of the moment heavy between them. His hand moved toward the cat, hesitant at first, as though uncertain of what kind of damage might be done by crossing this delicate line.
His fingers brushed against Chuck’s fur, the softness of it more real than anything he'd felt in months. The cat leaned into the touch, purring louder, a comforting, soothing vibration. Ekko’s hand moved again, slower this time, sinking into the warmth of the animal. And Jinx, still lost in the moment, looked up at him—her eyes softened, the flicker of something tender dancing there.
For a fleeting moment, the chaos, the noise of the world, faded. There was only the pulse of Chuck’s purring, the warmth of the space, and the strange, delicate connection between them—torn and frayed, yet still holding on.
Ekko’s breath slowed, his heart beating out of sync with the weight in his chest, a quiet ache that had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface. He let the moment stretch, longer than he expected, feeling the ground shift beneath him. It wasn’t peace, not quite. But it was something close to it. Something they both needed.
○
The soft hum of the shower ran through the apartment, a steady sound that filled the silence between them. Ekko lay back against Jinx’s bed, his head resting against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The sheets were a little too warm, the air a little too thick with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for—her to finish, or for the world to somehow make more sense. Either way, he found himself tangled in the quiet moments that stretched between the low trickle of water and the faint buzz of a streetlight outside her window.
His gaze drifted down to the bed beneath him—Jinx’s bed. The sheets were a chaotic patchwork of mismatched fabric, a strange medley of patterns that clashed more than they complimented. Bright florals fought against geometric shapes, some faded and fraying at the edges, others still holding their color with a stubbornness that mirrored Jinx herself. It was ugly, undeniably so, but in a way that felt almost… endearing. Like it was too perfect in its imperfection, an abstract reflection of the girl who had picked them out, one reckless choice at a time.
Jinx had let him stay, had asked him to, though she hadn’t said much about it. It was just a soft kind of invitation—the way she looked at him when he asked where he would sleep, like it was obvious. Here. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a hesitation. Just a fact.
Ekko glanced at the bathroom door, listening to the water splashing against tile, the sound of her humming faint through the thin walls. The apartment smelled like soap and something sweet—maybe her shampoo, maybe just the weight of being in her space. It felt strange, like he was invading something personal, but at the same time, it felt like a weird kind of normalcy. It was domestic in a way that didn’t quite match the chaos of his own world.
He shifted in bed, stretching his legs out, his mind wandering as it so often did. They weren’t talking about what was heavy. Not yet. They were just existing in these mundane moments—sharing space, sharing breath. And part of him hated how easy it was to fall into the routine of it. Normalcy, he thought again. And then he hated it even more because normalcy felt like a memory of something neither of them could ever have again.
The sound of water stopped abruptly, followed by the soft squeak of the shower door. He glanced over just as Jinx stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her hair clinging to her shoulders, droplets of water still tracing down her skin. She was still wet, still glistening, like she had just stepped out of the world and into this quiet moment between them.
Ekko shifted, sitting up a little more, the bed creaking beneath him. His pulse quickened, a low hum in his veins, though he didn't know if it was from the sight of her or the proximity of it. She was so close now, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the tension in the air, the quiet heat that had slowly started to build between them. He couldn’t quite place it—was it something physical? Or was it just the intimacy of being here, in this soft moment, where words didn’t matter and the world outside didn’t exist?
His gaze flickered to her face, catching the way her wet hair clung to her cheek, the way her towel barely hung on, wrapped tightly but threatening to slip. There was nothing rushed about it. Nothing urgent. Just... her. Just them. And it felt tender, in a way that was almost too much, a subtle pull in his chest that made him ache.
Jinx caught his gaze and held it for a beat longer than was comfortable, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She was half-expecting something, or maybe nothing at all, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she stepped closer to him, her bare feet silent against the floor, and for a moment, she just stood there. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Her presence alone was enough, heavy and soft, like the air before a storm.
Ekko’s heart skipped a beat, the space between them charged now with something that felt dangerous but comforting at the same time. He swallowed, trying to find words, but his throat had gone dry. She was too close. He was too close.
Her hand moved then, slow, deliberate, as if she were still unsure of how to approach him, but it was a touch he welcomed all the same. Her fingers brushed against his arm—soft, hesitant—and in that touch, there was a promise of something more, a quiet acknowledgment of everything that they had never said out loud.
He leaned into it, closing the space between them, his breath shallow, as though drawing too much air might make it all vanish. Jinx’s face was inches from his, her eyes searching his in a way that made everything else blur. She didn’t pull away, didn’t retreat. She just—waited.
The bed creaked again as he moved closer, his fingers gently brushing her damp hair away from her face, a whisper of contact that felt almost like a question. Her lips parted, but the words didn’t come. They didn’t need to. It was enough, the moment stretching between them like silk, fragile and tangible.
Ekko’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last, as he closed the space between them. There was a tremble in his hands, a hesitation that hung between them like a delicate thread. Jinx was still—still enough to make his breath catch—and for a long moment, neither of them moved. The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken, something too raw to define but too heavy to ignore.
Her lips parted slightly, and the world outside seemed to blur, the noise of the city fading away, leaving just the two of them in the silence of this fragile moment. Ekko’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes, searching for something. Maybe an answer. Maybe a reassurance. But all he found was the same quiet trust, the same tension that had been building between them all this time.
Ekko shifted, pushing himself up from the bed in one fluid motion, standing before her.. His lips brushed against hers, hesitant at first, as though testing the waters. But the moment their skin touched, everything shifted. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a question, an apology, a confession. It was the weight of everything they had never said, everything they had never dared to admit. The softest of touches, but it felt like everything.
Jinx’s breath hitched as she leaned into him, her body pressing closer, the towel still loosely clinging to her form as though it were a fragile barrier she was willing to let slip. Her hand found his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt, grounding them both in the reality of the moment. Ekko responded in kind, his hand gently cupping her face, as if she were something delicate, something fragile he wasn’t sure how to hold.
The kiss deepened, just a fraction, the connection between them intensifying with every passing second. It wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was slow. Intentional. Full of something deeper—something far more complicated than either of them were willing to acknowledge. It was the moment where everything and nothing existed at once, where the weight of their pasts, their fears, their desires—all of it—seemed to slip away, if only for a second.
Ekko’s heart thudded against his ribs, his breath shallow as he pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against hers. Neither of them spoke, but the silence felt heavy, full of meaning. He didn’t need to say anything. Neither did she. The quiet between them felt full, brimming with unspoken understanding.
Jinx’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and for a moment, she just stared at him, searching. Maybe for answers. Maybe for something more. And then, without a word, she let out a soft, quiet laugh—barely a sound, but enough to ease the tightness in his chest.
“God,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”
Ekko’s breath caught at the sound of her voice, soft and vulnerable, as if the walls between them were dissolving with every passing second. Her laugh, barely audible, was like a breath of relief in the thick air between them. It was a sound that carried all the weight of everything they had never said and everything they were finally allowing themselves to feel.
The warmth of her skin against his, the soft pressure of her hand on his chest, was a grounding sensation. He could feel the thrum of her pulse under his fingertips, and it mirrored the erratic beat of his own heart. It was all too much—too many emotions, too much closeness, too much of everything—but it was also exactly what he needed. What they both needed.
His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, tracing the curve of it, watching her inhale sharply as she leaned into his touch. The vulnerability in her eyes made him ache in a way that was unfamiliar, a tenderness that both terrified and excited him. Slowly, carefully, as though testing the waters, he kissed her again. This time, it was deeper, slower, the kind of kiss that felt as if it could stretch on forever.
Jinx responded without hesitation, her hands moving to his shoulders, pulling herself closer, her body pressing into his as though there was no space left between them that needed to be filled. His fingers slid through her damp hair, cupping the back of her neck, and she shuddered under the gentle pressure.
The kiss deepened, soft and slow, their breaths coming in tandem, filling the space between them with something both tender and intense. Jinx’s fingers slid beneath the fabric of his shirt, her touch delicate and deliberate as she traced the lines of his muscles, as if memorizing the feel of him, as if she needed to reassure herself that he was real. Ekko could feel the warmth of her skin seep into him, and for a moment, everything else faded away.
Her lips parted slightly against his, and the subtle shift of her body against his made his pulse quicken, but he didn’t rush. He couldn’t—this moment was too precious, too fragile, and he didn’t want to break it. Not yet. His hands slid lower, one resting on the small of her back, pulling her closer as though the space between them wasn’t enough.
Jinx’s breath hitched, her chest pressing into his, and he felt the soft swell of her body against him, the intimate weight of her presence wrapping around him like a warm, comforting embrace. He could hear the soft sound of her heart, feel the way it raced in sync with his. There was no need for words, no need for anything more than the way their bodies fit together, the quiet connection that throbbed between them.
She tilted her head back slightly, just enough to break the kiss for a breath, her eyes half-lidded as she looked at him. There was something in her gaze—something raw, something real—that made him ache even more. She was looking at him like she needed him, like she wanted him, but more than that, she was looking at him like she trusted him with everything she was.
Ekko’s hand slid up to her cheek, cupping her face gently, his thumb brushing against her soft skin. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, but at the same time, it felt like exactly where he was supposed to be. With her.
“I…” He started, his voice rough.
Jinx’s fingers curled slightly against his chest, her brows drawing together just the faintest bit, as if searching for something—something beyond the way he touched her, beyond the silent weight of their connection. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Ekko could see it in her eyes, the way they wavered, the way she hesitated.
She needed words.
He swallowed, his throat tight, pulse hammering as he tried to find the right ones. The weight of it all settled deep in his chest, but it wasn’t heavy in a way that hurt—it was heavy in a way that meant something.
His fingers traced the side of her face, gentle, reverent, as he held her there, making sure she saw him. Really saw him.
“I want this,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “I want you.”
Jinx’s breath caught. He felt it, the way her body went still against him for just a second, before a quiet exhale left her lips.
His thumb brushed against her cheek, soft, reassuring. “It’s not just this moment,” he said, his voice firm, like he needed her to understand. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”
Jinx blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. For a second, she just stared, like she was trying to decide if she believed him. And then—slowly—her expression softened, something fragile melting into something certain.
She let out a quiet, shaky breath, her fingers tightening against his shirt. “…Okay.”
Ekko smiled, just a little, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips barely brushing her damp skin. “Okay,” he echoed. And this time, when she kissed him again, it felt different. It felt whole.
Jinx’s lips found his again, softer this time, slower—like she was savoring the way he felt, the way he tasted. Ekko melted into it, letting himself get lost in the warmth of her, in the weight of her body pressed close, in the way her fingers tangled in his shirt like she didn’t want to let go.
His hands slid down, following the curve of her back, tracing the damp skin still kissed by the heat of her shower. The towel was still there, still separating them, a fragile barrier between something inevitable. He could feel the way it clung to her, barely hanging on, teasing him with the promise of what lay beneath.
His fingers found the edge of it, brushing lightly, testing. He wasn’t in a rush—this wasn’t about desperation or hunger, though both simmered beneath the surface. It was about her. About them. About this moment and how he wanted to remember every second of it.
Jinx didn’t pull away. She only pressed closer, her breath hot against his lips as she tilted her head, deepening the kiss. Her hands moved too, slipping under his shirt, tracing the lines of his stomach, his ribs, her touch featherlight but intentional.
Ekko’s breath hitched. His grip on her tightened just a fraction, fingers flexing against the soft fabric of her towel. He wanted it gone. Wanted to feel her, all of her, without anything in the way.
His lips moved down, trailing along her jaw, the damp strands of her hair brushing against his face as he kissed a slow path to her neck. “Jinx,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low, rough with something he wasn’t sure he could name.
Her hands fisted in his shirt at the sound of her name on his lips, and then—finally—she shifted, just enough for his fingers to slip under the knot of the towel. He felt the tension there, the way it barely clung to her, and his breath stilled for a second, waiting for her reaction.
She didn’t stop him. If anything, she seemed to welcome it, her body arching just slightly, an invitation as her lips brushed against his ear.
“Take it off,” she whispered.
Ekko swallowed hard, his pulse a frantic rhythm in his throat. His fingers flexed against the soft fabric of her towel, hesitating for only a breath before he slowly, carefully, pulled at the knot. The towel loosened, the damp weight of it slipping against her skin, and for a moment, he paused—eyes flickering up to meet hers, silently asking for permission one last time.
Jinx didn’t look away. If anything, she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his cheek, her fingers still tangled in his shirt as she whispered, “It’s okay.”
And that was all he needed.
The towel fell away, sliding from her body to pool at their feet, leaving nothing between them. Ekko’s breath caught as his gaze raked over her, taking her in like he’d never seen anything so stunning in his entire life. She was all soft curves and pale skin still kissed with droplets of water, her hair damp and wild against her shoulders. But it wasn’t just her body—it was the way she stood there, bare before him in every sense, with that quiet trust in her eyes that made his chest ache.
His hands skimmed up her sides, slow, reverent, his fingertips tracing the delicate lines of her waist, her ribs, committing every inch of her to memory. He could feel the way she shivered under his touch—not from cold, but from something else entirely. Something shared. Something burning between them, unspoken but undeniable.
Jinx sighed against him, her body pressing closer, her bare skin brushing against his clothes in a way that sent a shiver racing down his spine. Her hands tugged at his shirt now, insistent, her fingers curling into the fabric as she pulled. “You’re overdressed,” she murmured against his lips, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was something breathless beneath it, something real.
Ekko let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers for a brief second before he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, Jinx’s hands were on him, fingers tracing the lines of his chest, his stomach, exploring with a quiet curiosity that made his breath hitch.
He kissed her again, deep and slow, his hands roaming, memorizing, guiding her backward, his hands steady but gentle, until the backs of her knees met the edge of the bed. Jinx didn’t resist—if anything, she let herself be led, her trust evident in the way she clung to him, her fingers splayed against his skin as if anchoring herself to him.
His hands skimmed down her arms, over her sides, mapping every inch of her before he slowly, carefully, eased her down onto the mattress. She sank into it with a soft sigh, her damp hair fanning out around her, and for a moment, Ekko just stared.
She was beautiful. Not just in the way her body lay beneath him, bathed in the dim light, but in the way she looked at him—open, trusting, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t sure she ever let herself be.
Her skin was warm and smooth, glowing softly in the low light, and the way her body shifted beneath him made his breath catch. The curve of her waist, her slender hips, the gentle swell of her chest—everything about her was so soft and natural, drawing him in. Her body was delicate yet strong, like she could hold her own but was offering him a piece of herself he wasn’t sure she often gave away.
Her breasts, small and perfect in their natural shape, moved with the rhythm of her breath, the soft skin there inviting him closer. Her legs, long and smooth, seemed endless, the muscles in her thighs soft but defined, a perfect contrast to the vulnerability of her expression. She wasn’t hiding anything—no barriers, no walls—just this raw, undeniable truth that felt as intimate as the touch of his fingers on her skin.
Ekko followed the curve of her body down, moving with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every inch of the moment, every breath shared between them. He braced himself above her, his weight balanced on his forearm, allowing his free hand to drift over the soft, warm expanse of her bare thigh. The touch was tender—almost reverent—as though her skin itself held the answers to the questions he had never dared to ask.
He kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that felt like it was unraveling time itself. His lips met hers with a quiet urgency, a soft plea for more, as his body pressed flush against hers. Skin to skin, heat to heat, the rhythm of their breath blending together, each exhale more fragile, more intimate than the last.
Trembling slightly, traced the path of the blue smoke that coiled over her limbs, its delicate tendrils winding like a living thing—alive, but fading. The once-vibrant hue, so full of life, had dimmed in the wake of the explosion, the colors now muted and fragile, like a dying dream.
"Do they hurt?" he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a quiet concern that only made his words feel heavier. "The scars, I mean."
“Not anymore,” she replied with a shrug, her voice light but distant, like she was trying to push the weight of it all away. "They did for a bit, you know? Like, I'd reach for some tea or something and it’d feel like this little ow, like a jolt, and Chuck would just stare at me like I’m fucking crazy. Which, let’s face it, maybe I am…”
Before she could say more, before she could spiral further into her own tangled thoughts, his lips met hers, gentle but firm—a kiss that cut through her rambling like a sudden storm. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her closer, the warmth of his skin grounding her, silencing the whirl of words she didn’t want to say.
Her legs instinctively parted as she felt the weight and warmth of him above her, a slow, steady pressure that seeped into her skin, spreading through her like fire.
Slowly, his fingertips traced higher, barely brushing her skin, a teasing promise that never fully materialized. It was maddening—how her body responded to every soft stroke, how her breath hitched with the anticipation of something that lingered just out of reach. And Janna—she was drenched. Slick and warm, the glistening evidence of her desire visible in the soft, dim light.
“Ekko,” she breathed, barely more than a whisper, tender, almost bashful.
“You okay?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her hair as his fingers lingered on her heat, his breath warm and steady. “I can stop.”
She didn’t speak right away. Just breathed him in, the steady beat of his heart thudding beneath her cheek, her lashes fluttering against his skin. Her fingers curled against his back, not pulling, just there—clinging in that quiet, tentative way.
And then, barely audible, she whispered, “Don’t.”
His hand stayed where it was for a moment longer, the heat of her pulsing against his fingers, slick and aching. Then, with a care that bordered on sacred, he dipped his fingers into her—just a little. Just enough to feel the way her body trembled around him, the way she clung to his touch like it meant something more than pleasure, like it was tethering her to the earth.
She gasped, the sound catching in her throat. Her hips twitched, unsure, and he stilled.
“You okay?”
Her nod was small, but real. Her breath came fast, uneven, but not from pain—more like awe. Like she didn’t know how to fit the feeling inside her chest.
And that’s when it struck him—not the nerves, not the careful way she moved, but the wide-eyed softness in the way she held him, the way she let him in.
She’d never done this before.
He blinked, heart thudding. Not in fear, not in pressure—but in wonder. She had chosen him, trusted him with this, with her.
His fingers moved again, slow and tender, curling slightly as he watched her face. The way her lashes fluttered, the way her mouth parted just so. It was a strange kind of beautiful—how new it was for her, how raw and unpolished the pleasure looked on her skin. She wasn’t trying to be perfect. She wasn’t trying to be anything but open.
And he loved her like this. Not because of what she gave him, but because of what she let him see. Her vulnerability, her trust, her quiet, aching want.
She whimpered softly, hips moving against his hand now, more certain, more trusting. Her fingers clung to his shoulder, and she buried her face in his neck again, breath hot against his skin.
“You’re doing perfect,” he murmured, not because she needed to hear it, but because he needed to say it—because she was. Every shiver, every sound she made, was perfect.
She clung to him like he was the only steady thing left in the world, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps against his throat. Every movement of his fingers was slow, mindful, like he was learning her by heart—committing each response, each sigh, each delicate tremor to memory.
Her walls fluttered around him, warm and tight, and he could feel how carefully her body reacted, every shift full of unspoken trust. It was quiet between them, save for her breath, the faint rustle of sheets, and the soft, slick sound of his fingers moving inside her—each one a wordless confession of how much he adored her.
He curled his fingers just slightly, and she gasped—really gasped—like the air had caught in her lungs and couldn’t quite make it out. Her legs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer in instinct, in need.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her hair, kissing the crown of her head like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m right here.”
And still, he moved gently—like he was trying to show her something sacred with every motion, every sweep of his palm. The heel of his hand brushed against her clit with the same quiet precision, a soft pressure, circular and slow, and she whimpered—half-buried against his shoulder, like the feeling was too much to hold all at once.
He couldn’t look away from her. The way her brows furrowed slightly with pleasure, how her lips stayed parted, as if in prayer. The way her whole body arched ever so subtly into his hand, chasing the sensation, learning how to want out loud.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, unable to stop himself.
She looked up at him through lidded eyes, dazed and shining, cheeks flushed and lips trembling. “You’re just saying that,”
He smiled against her cheek, fingers never stopping. “Because it’s true,” he said. “And because I don’t think you’ve ever really heard it before.”
A soft sound caught in her throat—something between a laugh and a sob—and she kissed him, clumsy and fierce. It was her way of saying thank you. Of saying stay. Of saying I’m yours.
So he stayed. He stayed through every tremor, every breathless moan, through the slow build of heat that made her body curl toward him, clutch at him. He kissed her through it, whispered to her, held her as if nothing in the world could take her from his arms.
And when she finally fell apart for him, it was quiet. Shattering. A wave that started deep and rose through her body like a hymn. Her legs shook. Her back arched. Her lips found his name and clung to it like it was a lifeline.
For a long moment, she didn’t move—just breathed, slow and uneven, her body wrapped in the afterglow and the warmth of his touch. His hand stayed against her, gentle still, like he didn’t want to let go of the connection they'd just forged. But then, she shifted beneath him—slowly, deliberately—her fingers finding the waistband of his pants.
She looked up at him, still breathless, her eyes glassy and sure. “I want them off,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. There was no shyness, not now. Just trust. Just want.
He froze for half a second, heart thudding against his ribs, caught off guard by how steady her voice was. How much weight it carried. And then he nodded, his breath catching as she tugged at the fabric again, more insistently this time.
“I want all of you,” she whispered, fingers tracing the line of his hipbone. “I want to feel you.”
His hand closed around her wrist, not to stop her—but to ground himself. His forehead dropped to hers, his breath hot between them. “Are you sure?” he murmured.
She kissed him—softly, fiercely. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
So he moved, slow and quiet, rising just enough to push his pants down, his boxers following, the fabric discarded somewhere off the edge of the bed.
Her eyes trailed over his body, the hard planes of muscle softened by the quiet glow of the room, no longer carved in motion or shadowed by tension—but bathed in stillness, in warmth. The sharp lines of his chest and shoulders, usually taut with energy, seemed gentler now beneath her gaze, like a sculpture left out in the rain, shaped not just by strength, but by tenderness, by time.
He shifted, slow and reverent, until he was hovering over her once again. His hands, steady and warm, settled at her hips—anchors in the soft tide of the moment. Then, with a gentleness that felt like worship, they moved lower, smoothing over her waist, gliding down the silken curve of her thighs.
He parted her legs with the lightest pressure, just enough to make space for him. One hand steadied her thigh while the other reached between them, fingers wrapping around himself as he guided the tip to her entrance.
He paused there, heart pounding, eyes flicking up to meet hers. She was watching him—wide-eyed, a little breathless, her lips parted like she was trying to speak but couldn’t find the words.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice quiet, the tension in it soft but unmistakable.
She gave a tiny nod, almost shy, and swallowed. “Yeah… I just—yeah. I want to.”
Her voice shook a little, and he caught it, leaned down to kiss her again—slow, steady, reassuring. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured against her lips, his thumb brushing over her hip. “Just tell me if anything feels off, alright?”
He felt her nod again, her legs tensing slightly around his waist as he began to push in—just barely, just enough to feel the first resistance. Her breath hitched, and his stopped altogether.
He paused, letting her adjust, every inch of him still and patient. His lips brushed over hers again, a gentle reminder that he was there, grounding her. He wanted this to be as soft as it could be, a moment where trust and tenderness were the only things that mattered.
Her breath shuddered, and he could feel her pulse racing against him, the way her body was learning to respond, unsure but eager. Slowly, so slowly, he began to move, a careful rhythm that let her feel each shift, each breath. His movements were hesitant at first, giving her space to breathe, to make sure everything felt right.
Her hands found his shoulders, her grip tightening a little, her fingers digging into his skin as she shifted beneath him, matching his rhythm. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and he kissed her again, swallowing the sound, wanting to protect her from any discomfort.
“Ekko…”
“Jinx…” he murmured in return, his voice raw, strained with the weight of the moment. He moved slowly, purposefully, his body sinking deeper into hers, a careful rhythm that matched the tender reverence in his words. Her name, whispered against her lips, held a quiet reverence—like a prayer or a confession, something sacred between them.
Jinx.
It wasn’t spat out in rage, or cried in terror, but whispered in pure reverence against her lips, like a tiny little secret just for the two of them.
Her breath caught, sharp and soft, as his movement deepened. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lashes brushing against her cheeks, her body trembling slightly as she adjusted to him, to the way he filled her.
“Oh…oh fuck.”
“Too much?”
“Not enough.”
The words hung in the air, soft and desperate, an invitation for him to give more. And so he did, pushing all of himself inside of her, deeper, filling her, not just physically, but filling her heart too.
He watched her closely, attuned to every shift, every flicker of emotion that passed over her features—the subtle flutter of her eyelids, the slight parting of her lips as she gasped for air.
“Does it hurt?” he whispered, his voice thick with concern as he leaned down to press his forehead against hers, his breath shallow.
She shook her head, a small, soft smile tugging at her lips, and tugged him closer, her nails scratching at his arms. “Feels good.”
Her words, soft and real, made him pause for a moment before he began moving again—slow, gentle, giving her time to adjust. Each thrust was careful, almost hesitant, wanting to make sure she was comfortable.
But as she tugged him closer, her nails digging into his skin, her body instinctively reacting, he could feel her need for more. She kissed him, her lips desperate, and whispered, “Please... more.”
That was all it took.
His thrusts stayed gentle but deepened, reaching places that made her gasp softly against his mouth. He moved with care, but no longer held back—not now, not when she was asking for more with every shift of her hips, every quiet sound she made.
Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, drawing him in closer, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs like she couldn't stand even an inch of distance between them. He buried his face in her neck, breath hot and uneven, murmuring her name like a prayer between each slow, steady movement.
“Jinx…”
There it was again, her name on his lips, a soft thing, wrapped in a bow and delivered with care. His voice trembled slightly as he whispered it, like saying it out loud made everything more real—more meaningful. The rhythm of his movements never wavered, each one measured, deliberate, as if he were savoring every inch of their connection. His fingers brushed against her skin, tracing the path of her spine, the curve of her waist, like he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of her, of this shared intimacy.
“Jinx,” he breathed again, the word a confession, an offering.
She pulled him in closer, her lips finding his in a kiss that was both urgent and tender, a silent plea for more. Her hands roamed across his chest, the feeling of his body beneath her fingers grounding her in the moment, reminding her of what they were sharing—something deep, something real. She could feel every inch of him, the way his body reacted to hers, the heat between them building like a slow-burning fire.
She met him, pushing her hips up to meet his in time with his movements, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “More,” she murmured against his lips, her voice thick with desire.
He gave her more. His hands slid beneath her back, lifting her slightly as he deepened his movements.
She felt it again, that heat coiling deep in her gut, an unfamiliar wave of pressure building with every movement, every shift of his body against hers. It was overwhelming, too much and yet not enough, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. She didn't know what to do with the intensity of it, how to breathe, how to make sense of the way her body seemed to demand more.
Her hands found his shoulders, gripping him as she tried to steady herself, but the feeling inside her was growing, swelling, pulling her deeper into him, deeper into this moment. Her breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her as she pulled him even closer, urging him to keep going, to keep pushing her toward something she couldn't name but knew she needed.
"Ekko, fuck, Ekko, I’m—"
It hit her like a freight train, the pleasure crashing through her, waves of it washing over her body, her spine taut like a bow pulled too tight. She couldn’t hold it back, the intensity, the need, the emotion that had been building for so long. Her fingers dug into his skin, her body arching up to meet him, and in that moment, with everything overwhelming her all at once, she breathed the words she hadn’t even realized she needed to say.
"I love you."
She wasn't sure if he heard her—if the words had pierced through the haze of heat and motion. His lip was caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration, his pace steady, unrelenting, chasing that final, dizzying high. He didn’t respond at first, just held her tighter, like letting go would break them both.
But then his breath caught.
A soft, broken sound escaped him, barely a whisper, as if his body could no longer hold back the weight of everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. He buried himself in her one final time, the ache of their connection reverberating through his limbs, making every breath a struggle. It was as if the world around them had collapsed into a singular, fragile thread, stretching taut between the two of them—this one sacred, fleeting moment where nothing else mattered but her. Nothing else existed but the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, the heat of her body against his, the sound of her breath mingling with his in the silence of the dream.
He clung to her as though she were the last piece of reality in a world that had become nothing more than echoes and shadows. His fingers dug into her skin, as if holding on would make her stay, make her real, make her always be this way.
“I love you,” he whispered, the words raw, shaking in the hollow of his throat. He had always felt it—always known it—but it had never been this clear, this desperate, this... necessary. The truth that had always lived inside him now spilled out, unbidden and aching.
“I love you.”
The words spilled from his lips once again like blood, leaving him vulnerable, open. They lingered in the air between them, heavy and alive. And somehow, in the depths of his shattered heart, he could feel her response—unspoken, yet more real than anything he’d ever known.
She did.
She really did.
○
The light was soft when Ekko stirred, a delicate gold spilling through the curtains like a lover's kiss, gentle and reassuring, whispering, You made it. His eyes fluttered open, hazy with the remnants of sleep, the world around him blurred like a dream he wasn’t ready to leave. For a heartbeat, he didn’t know where he was—his mind still tangled in the quiet depths of slumber—but then, slowly, he felt it. The warmth beside him, so familiar, so steady, a rhythm in perfect sync with his own pulse.
Her breath was a melody, soft and steady, a sweet lullaby that curled around him, pulling him from the edge of his dreams. And then, the scent. It lingered in the air—floral, like spring rain, but touched with the sharpness of gunmetal, a reminder of who she was. A contradiction. Wild and tender. Danger and softness, all wrapped into one. It clung to the sheets, to the air, to him, as though she had left pieces of herself behind, woven into the very fabric of the morning.
Jinx.
She lay there, curled into the fragile cocoon of sleep, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting lightly over his chest, as if the contact was a tether—something to ground her even in the most dream-wrought corners of her mind. The quiet rhythm of her breathing filled the stillness, each rise and fall a silent echo in the room, a reminder that she was still here, still with him.
Ekko watched her with a tenderness that bordered on reverence, his gaze tracing the delicate curve of her features. He smiled faintly, a slow, quiet thing that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts, as if the world outside had ceased to exist in the face of this moment. He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t want to shatter the fragile illusion that this—she—was real. But the ache in his chest, the desperate longing that had been clawing at him for so long, pulled him forward, made it impossible to stay silent.
He shifted slightly, barely daring to move, as though the slightest wrong gesture might cause her to vanish like smoke, dissipating into the morning light. His fingers hovered over her jaw, trembling ever so slightly, before he traced the edge of her cheek with the faintest touch, like he was afraid she might break beneath the weight of his hand. “Jinx…” he murmured, a breath so soft it was almost a prayer. “Hey…”
“Powder–” he tried again, leaning in closer, voice soft but persistent.
Her eyelids fluttered, but she stayed nestled against the pillow, the warmth of her body melting into his. Ekko’s smile deepened as he watched her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest still the only sound in the room.
"Pow…" he murmured again, his voice soft and coaxing, a lullaby whispered into the stillness of the room. His lips brushed her skin, sending a shiver down her spine as he lingered just close enough to feel the warmth of her breath against his own. "You gotta wake up sometime."
Her fingers twitched, tentative, as if the world was pulling her between the realms of dreams and waking, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she might slip back into the quiet depths of sleep. But then, her eyes fluttered open, slow and heavy, the violet of them still clouded with the remnants of dreams, like a mist that refused to lift.
“Morning,” he whispered, his voice low and tender, like a secret meant only for her. The warmth of his breath brushed against her skin as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple, the lingering silence between them filled with a rare kind of peace. It was as though the world had paused for just this moment, and nothing could disturb it.
She squinted up at him, her gaze unfocused at first, before a slow, sleepy smile curved on her lips. Her fingers, delicate and almost hesitant, found his hand, curling around it with a quiet need, like she had to confirm that he was real, that he was still here.
“Morning…” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep, caught somewhere between dreams and waking. Her words were a faint echo, a whisper caught in the fog of her slumber. She nuzzled into him, her body instinctively drawing closer, seeking the comfort of his warmth like a fragile thing clinging to the only solid ground left in a shifting world.
Ekko's breath hitched softly at the feeling, his heart aching with a tenderness he didn’t quite know how to handle. He chuckled, the sound a quiet, bittersweet thing, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Sleepy head,” he teased, his fingers lingering on her skin as he tightened his hold, pulling her closer, as though afraid she might slip away.
The first light of the morning spilled through the windows, soft and golden, wrapping around them like a secret, a fragile promise that things might still be okay. The room was quiet, the air heavy with a peace that felt almost too delicate to be real. Time stretched, and for just a heartbeat, everything was still—untouched, unsullied by the world outside.
○
To some, peace was a stillness—an undisturbed surface, the hush between heartbeats. To others, it was chaos tamed just enough to breathe through. The troubled often found peace in violence, in grit, in the bite of something real. But Ekko… Ekko found his peace in softness.
Peace was blue.
Peace was waking up to her hair tangled across the pillow, wild strands draped like silk across faded floral sheets, the scent of her skin still warm in the cotton. Peace was the sound of her laughter muffled by morning, her voice scratchy with sleep as she teased him from the bathroom, water running, steam curling like smoke under the door.
Peace was watching her in the haze of that steam, bare and glowing like something sacred, before she looked over her shoulder—eyes bright with mischief—and beckoned him with just a tilt of her chin.
Peace wasn’t the absence of pain.
It was her.
Still breathing.
Still wild.
Still his.
Always his.
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authors note: hiiii, i genuinely have had half of this sitting in my drafts and finally managed to finish it (cried while writing this) <3
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Despite Ekko’s initial excitement about the project, there had been a significant downside to it. The class had also been required to assist with the building of the new center, which, of course, had seemed great in theory. But in reality, a bunch of college kids on a construction site hadn’t exactly been the ideal situation.
At first, the construction crew had tolerated the students’ enthusiasm, but as the days had dragged on and the work had grown more grueling, their patience had worn thin. The students, fresh-faced and eager, had quickly discovered that the practicalities of construction were far from glamorous. The dust, the noise, the heavy lifting—it hadn’t been what they had imagined when they’d dreamed about creating something meaningful.
But all of that had been pushed to the back of their minds when the kids from the group home had arrived for the first time. It had been an early morning, and Ekko had stood with his classmates, watching as the bus had pulled up to the unfinished building site. The kids, ranging in age from toddlers to teenagers, had spilled out onto the pavement, their eyes wide with curiosity. They hadn’t seen the new center yet—this had been their first time stepping into the future home that would be a safe space for them.
Ekko had felt his chest tighten as he had watched them. They had been the reason this project had been so important. The messy, sweaty days on-site, the long hours spent sanding wood and mixing concrete—it had all been for them.
A few of the younger kids had immediately run toward the half-constructed building, their faces lighting up as they had explored the space. Their excitement had been palpable, their laughter filling the air as they had darted between the steel beams and half-constructed walls, imagining what their new home would look like.
The older kids had been more reserved, their eyes taking in the raw, unfinished state of the building with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. Ekko could see the walls they had built around themselves—years of uncertainty, foster homes, and feeling out of place. They had looked at the new building not as something exciting but as a potential reminder of how much they would have to adapt to.
But amidst them all, there had been one girl. She looked about nine, her light brown hair a halo around her face, catching the light with every subtle movement. She had stood at the edge of the group, her small frame barely noticeable against the towering figures around her. Her head had been slightly tilted, a quiet intensity in her gaze as she had observed the construction site.
There had been something different about her. While the others had seemed guarded, their expressions veiled in uncertainty or skepticism, she had held herself with an unspoken calm. She hadn’t seemed to feel the same wariness toward the building. Instead, there had been a curiosity—an open, almost reverential curiosity. Her eyes had flicked from one spot to another, taking in the rawness of the space with a kind of gentle focus. She had seemed to understand that this place, unfinished as it had been, was a symbol of something new, something that could offer a future. Her expression was not one of hesitation, but of quiet acceptance, as if she could already see the possibilities, even if the others couldn’t yet.
Ekko noticed her right away.
She reminded him of a certain someone: Powder.
A staff member stepped forward, giving Ekko a polite nod before gesturing toward the girl. “This is Isha,” she informed him. “She’s one of the kids who’ll be living here. Isha’s mute, but she communicates through sign language. You can try speaking to her, but she may need some time to respond.”
Ekko smiled softly, his gaze gentle as he nodded in acknowledgment. He crouched down to Isha’s level, mindful of the space between them, careful not to encroach on her world. He offered a small, open-handed wave, hoping the simplicity of the gesture would speak louder than words. Isha’s eyes, wide and observant, met his, holding him in quiet scrutiny. For a long moment, she signed nothing, her silence heavy and filled with unspoken understanding. Then, as if some hidden thread of connection had been gently tugged between them, a small smile tugged at her lips—a fleeting, subtle curve, but one that had reached the quiet depths of her eyes, telling him more than any words ever could.
Ekko straightened, his smile soft but genuine, still lingering as Isha’s eyes had never left him. There was something about the way she watched, her gaze steady and unblinking, as if she was trying to decode a language only she understood.
For a moment, he stood still, feeling an odd warmth settle in his chest, a quiet connection sparking between them. His eyes flickered around the room, noting how the other kids were more caught up in the chaos of the site, the unfinished walls, the exposed beams. But Isha remained—calm, focused, like a quiet observer at the edge of something larger unfolding.
He began to move again, returning to his tools and sketches. His hands moved almost automatically, the rhythm of it comforting. But then, he felt a shift, a presence—her small form trailing behind him like a shadow, quietly mimicking his every step.
Each time Ekko turned around, she was there, as though she couldn’t resist following him. It hadn’t been intrusive; in fact, it had felt... natural. Her small footsteps were light, hesitant, yet there had been something about it that had felt like she was tethered to him in a way that had needed no words.
“Hey there,” Ekko murmured softly, pausing to look at her. There was no response at first, just her wide eyes studying him with a quiet intensity. For a moment, he had thought she might walk away, but then she took a small, tentative step closer, still observing, still present.
He sighed softly, unsure what to make of this gentle attention. “Want to help?” he asked, gesturing to the scattered materials around them. His voice was low, more out of curiosity than anything else.
Isha’s fingers twitched, a hesitant gesture, like a question in itself. She didn't sign, but her eyes looked almost as if she were unsure of what role she should play.
Ekko crouched down to her level, carefully opening his sketchbook and showing her the pages filled with lines, angles, and half-formed ideas. “This is what we’re building,” he said, his finger tracing the drawn-out walls and rooms, “A home. For all of you.”
Isha looked at the page with interest, her eyes following each line as if trying to pull meaning from the space between the sketches. She gently touched the page, her fingers tracing the ink as though mapping the future in her own way. There was a quiet understanding in her, one that transcended words—something deeper than what he could express with a pencil.
Ekko glanced up at her, watching as she continued her silent exploration. “You’re part of this too,” he added, his voice soft but steady. “You’ll help shape this place. It’s for you.”
Isha’s eyes lifted from the sketch, meeting his with a silent weight, her expression soft, open, yet so knowing in its simplicity. Then, after a beat, she gave the faintest nod, a gesture so subtle, so quiet, that it felt like the weight of the world had shifted in that one small motion.
A smile tugged at Ekko’s lips, his chest swelling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. He reached over, gently closing the sketchbook, but still keeping his eyes on Isha. “I think you get it,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret that only the two of them could have known. “You’re going to make this place something real.”
They stood in the quiet hum of the construction site, surrounded by the sounds of hammering and shifting concrete. But with Isha beside him, there was an almost serene stillness in the air, a gentle understanding that hadn’t needed words to exist. In that moment, Ekko knew that what they had been building wasn’t just a shelter—it had been a place for them all to exist without the weight of the world pressing too hard on their shoulders. It was something to be shared, something to grow into. And in Isha’s quiet, watchful presence, he could almost see it taking shape, in all its imperfect, beautiful complexity.
⛧
The apartment pulsed with the kind of restless energy that only existed between mismatched souls—one humming, one still. The fairy lights, strung without care, draped the walls in pools of uneven gold, their soft glow flickering like distant fireflies caught in the sway of an unseen breeze. Shadows stretched long and lazy across the cluttered floor, bending over discarded sketches, coffee rings, and the forgotten remnants of old ideas.
Jinx was a tangle of limbs on the couch, an effortless sprawl of defiance and comfort. One leg draped over the backrest, the other swung idly, the rhythm slow and thoughtless, a pendulum ticking to a beat only she could hear. Her sketchbook rested against her stomach, the edges curling slightly from overuse, and her fingers—smudged in charcoal and ink—moved with a kind of deliberate chaos, breathing life into whatever world lived beneath the drag of her pencil. A half-empty mug of coffee balanced on the armrest beside her, abandoned mid-sip, its steam long since vanished.
Ekko, stationed in the kitchen, leaned against the counter, his weight shifting with the kind of weariness that only came from dealing with Jinx. A bowl of cereal sat in his palm, spoon held midair as he studied her with narrowed eyes. The exasperation was woven into him—etched into the furrow of his brows, the purse of his lips, the tension in his jaw.
“C’mon, Jinx, you have to come,” he groaned, dragging out the words like a man pleading for a final reprieve. “I can’t be stuck with just my class anymore. They’re killing me.”
Jinx barely looked up, her focus tethered to the lines forming beneath her fingertips. A face, a figure—some half-imagined thing only she could see. Her response came as easily as breathing, her voice low, teasing, almost bored.
“I’m not a construction worker, Space Boy. What do you even need me for? I don’t do bricks and beams.”
Ekko let out a sharp, frustrated exhale and set the bowl down with a deliberate clatter, the sound punctuating the quiet like a period at the end of a long, exhausting sentence.
“It’s not about that! It’s the kids, Jinx. I think they’d actually like you—need you, even. They need someone who’s not just a bunch of stressed-out college students who don’t know what they’re doing.”
Jinx made a show of tilting her head, exaggerating the motion like a cat stretching in the sun. A slow, lazy grin tugged at her lips, sharp and teasing.
“Aw, poor Ekko,” she crooned, resting her chin in her palm. “Finally realizing your classmates aren’t the geniuses you thought they were?”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, fingers momentarily covering his eyes as if shielding himself from the inevitability of this conversation.
“Jinx,” he tried again, his voice edged with exasperation, “I’m serious. There’s this girl—her name’s Isha. She’s... different. Quiet. I don’t know, she reminds me of you when you were a kid. She’s already latched onto me like a lost puppy, and I think you’d be good with her.”
For the first time, Jinx hesitated.
The charcoal-streaked tip of her pencil hovered over the page, caught mid-stroke. Her fingers, usually in constant motion—tapping, sketching, spinning the pencil between them—went still.
The only sound was the low, mechanical hum of the fridge, a whisper beneath the weight of the silence stretching between them.
Slowly, she sat up, folding her legs beneath her, her expression shifting—something unreadable flickering behind her sharp, blue gaze.
“Reminds you of me?”
Ekko nodded, his stance quiet but unwavering.
The words settled between them like dust in a beam of golden light, slow, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
“Yeah. She’s got this... way about her. Like she’s watching everything, taking it all in but not saying much. You know, that quiet-but-chaotic energy you used to have—still have.”
Jinx let out a short, amused snort, leaning back against the cushions. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows over her face, catching in the curve of her smirk, in the glint of her sharp, knowing eyes.
“I’m not exactly role model material, you know,” she drawled, stretching her arms behind her head, the picture of careless defiance.
Ekko didn’t flinch. “You’re exactly what those kids need,” he pressed, his voice steady, unwavering. “Someone who’s not afraid to be herself. Someone who’s been through some shit and come out the other side.”
Her fingers drummed idly against the worn surface of her sketchbook, a restless rhythm against the charcoal-stained paper. She studied him from beneath thick lashes, the smirk still playing at her lips, caught somewhere between amusement and skepticism. There was something in his face—in the weight behind his words—that made her pause.
“Fine.” She flipped absently through the pages, smearing black streaks across old sketches, like ghosts of past thoughts left behind. “I’ll come. But only because you’ve got that puppy-dog look on your face.”
A grin broke across Ekko’s features, small but genuine, the kind that softened the hard edges of exhaustion in his expression.
“Seriously, this shit is gonna mean a lot,” he said, his voice carrying something quiet and earnest. “The kids—they need someone like you. Not someone who just gives them a lecture or talks down to them. They need someone real.”
Real.
She let her head fall back against the couch, her gaze drifting upward, tracing the uneven flicker of the fairy lights overhead. Real. The word settled in her chest, unfamiliar and strange, like something she should understand but had long since forgotten the shape of.
But Ekko believed in it. In her.
Maybe that was enough.
“Alright, alright,” she sighed, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll show up. But don’t expect me to be Miss Sunshine or whatever. I’m not exactly the role model type.”
Ekko chuckled, the sound low and knowing. “You don’t need to be,” he said, shaking his head. “Just be you. That’s more than enough.”
⛧
She peered down, frowning as the steady drip, drip, drip of blue fell from her hair like ink bleeding through fragile paper. The strands clung damply to her shoulders, heavy with color, the vibrant pigment seeping free as if her very essence was unraveling.
Dark, twisting trails bloomed across the once-pristine white tiles beneath her feet, veins of blue spidering outward, staining everything in their path. The mess spread with an almost deliberate slowness, as if savoring its inevitable claim over the sterile perfection of the floor.
“Seriously?” she muttered, half to herself, half to the persistent mess that shadowed her every step.
She groaned, the sound low and drawn out, before crouching down to snatch the nearest towel. The fabric was soft against her fingers, pristine for only a second before the first smear of blue sank into it, blooming outward in uneven blotches. She scrubbed at the mess with quick, irritated strokes, but it only made things worse—diluted rivers of dye spread across the tiles, water-thin and stubborn, like veins branching under translucent skin.
“Why does this always happen?” she grumbled, tossing the towel aside. The weight of little annoyances like this one always hit harder when she was tired.
The water continued to run, a steady cascade of steam billowing up to meet the bathroom mirror, obscuring the reflection. She leaned against the shower wall, just for a moment, her chest rising and falling in slow, deliberate breaths. Her eyes lingered on her reflection, the blue streaks cutting through her damp hair like forgotten rivers, spilling down her shoulders in jagged lines. It clung to her like ink, stubborn and impossible to erase.
With a tired sigh, she reached for the bottle of conditioner, her fingers moving with the practiced precision of someone who had done this too many times before. The smooth, cold liquid slipped into her hands, and she worked it into her hair slowly, methodically, each motion deliberate in an attempt to wrestle back control. But the frustration lingered, quiet and insistent.
It was just dye. It could be fixed.
Yet, in the soft, hazy light of the bathroom, with the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her like an invisible hand, it felt like one more thing—one more mess that refused to stay neatly contained. One more thing she couldn't control, no matter how hard she tried to scrub it away.
Eventually, Jinx wrapped herself in a towel—thin, threadbare, and clinging to the edges of modesty, but little more. The damp fabric stuck to her skin as she stepped out of the bathroom, leaving faint, transient footprints across the floor, a reminder of the storm that had passed. Her hair, still dripping, caught the light as it fell in messy tendrils around her face, streaks of blue marking her shoulders and back in quiet defiance.
"Ekko!" Her voice sliced through the quiet hum of the apartment, sharp and unexpected, bouncing off the walls with a crackle of urgency.
Ekko, who had been lounging on the couch with his laptop—distracted by some half-formed thought or the endless scroll of a screen—sat up with a jolt. His bowl of cereal, second dinner by the looks of it, teetered dangerously on the edge of the coffee table, threatening to spill its contents onto the floor.
His eyes flickered down briefly, caught by the way the towel clung to Jinx’s frame. It wasn’t much—just a simple towel, barely hanging on by the thinnest of threads—but it seemed to have a weight of its own. His gaze lingered for the briefest moment, drawn to the curve of her silhouette, the soft tension of fabric against damp skin, before he quickly averted his eyes. An almost imperceptible warmth crept across his cheeks as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch.
“Jinx,” he managed to say, voice low and slow, like he was trying to process it all without letting himself get lost in the mess of emotions suddenly bubbling up. His brow quirked, his confusion laced with something unspoken, the awkward tension making the air feel thicker. “Uh, what’s... going on?”
She planted herself firmly in front of him, hands on her hips, the towel shifting ever so slightly with her movement. Ekko’s eyes flicked to it and quickly darted away, his throat catching as he coughed awkwardly, trying—and failing—not to notice the way the fabric clung to her.
"My hair dye is a disaster, Space Boy," she declared flatly, her voice as casual as if she were announcing the weather. She shook her head for emphasis, sending a flurry of tiny droplets of blue water scattering across the coffee table like errant sparks.
Ekko grimaced, leaning back on the couch as if trying to escape the very space between them. His eyes hovered over the table, where the dye had already begun to stain the surface, as if the mess would somehow spare him if he pretended hard enough.
"Okay, first of all," he said, voice edged with mild panic, "I’m not cleaning that up."
Jinx rolled her eyes, an exaggerated motion that only made the scene more absurd, but she didn’t miss a beat. “It’s your fault, anyway,” she shot back, her tone mischievous and light, like she was accusing him of something he couldn’t possibly argue against.
Ekko’s face twisted with disbelief, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes despite himself. "My fault? How is my fault that you—"
“Because you’re the genius who got me the off-brand of hair dye!” she exclaimed, her finger pointed directly at him like an accusation she couldn’t take back. The outrage in her voice was almost theatrical, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes that couldn’t be ignored.
He threw his hands up in mock surrender, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the tension in the air. “Off-brand? Are you kidding me? You literally said, and I quote, ‘Just grab the one with the cool font!’ That’s not exactly a scientific method for picking hair dye, Jinx.”
She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Well, you’re supposed to know better, Mr. I’m always right.” She crossed her arms with a snap, the motion pushing the towel slightly out of place. It shifted, the loose fabric now dangerously slipping as she held her ground.
Ekko immediately turned his head away, his face flooding with heat, his eyes darting in the opposite direction. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, the warmth creeping up his skin. “Can we have this argument when you’re not half-naked?” he muttered, his voice low and unsteady. His gaze remained firmly on the ceiling, as if trying to make himself invisible to the moment.
Their friendship had always been tactile—an unspoken comfort in close proximity. Jinx had never been one to respect personal space, always draping herself over his shoulders, hooking an arm through his, or leaning into him without a second thought. She was like gravity itself, pulling him closer even when he tried to resist. But even in their easy familiarity, there were limits. Or at least, Ekko had limits.
Jinx glanced down at herself, her gaze flicking to the towel she wore with a mild, almost absent expression. It had shifted again, the fabric hanging dangerously low now, barely clinging to decency. She shrugged, utterly unbothered by the state of her own half-dressed appearance. "Oh, please," she said with a roll of her eyes, her voice light as air. "We’ve known each other forever. It’s not like you’ve never seen a little leg."
Ekko’s groan was immediate and strained, a mix of frustration and something far more complicated bubbling beneath the surface. He dragged a hand down his face, his fingers pressing hard against his temples like he could force the chaos away with sheer will. “Legs aren’t the issue, Jinx.” His voice was a little too tight, a little too controlled. “The issue is you storming in here with blue hair dye dripping all over the floor, half-dressed, and then blaming me for your bad life choices.”
"First of all," She began, her voice full of unshakable confidence, "these are great life choices." She paused, glancing down at herself with a mischievous glint in her eyes, before continuing, "Second, the dye thing? Absolutely your fault. You're the one who cheaped out."
His eyes widened in disbelief, his exasperation mounting. "You said to pick the cool font!" he shot back, as though it should be painfully obvious. "You didn’t mention anything about quality, ingredients, or literally any of the things that would’ve helped me make a good choice!"
“You still should’ve known better. You’re the genius, remember?”
Ekko threw his hands up in frustration, his voice rising in defeat, the tension thickening around them. "I’m not a mind reader, Jinx! I didn’t know that ‘cool font’ meant ‘questionable product!’” He stared at her, as if hoping for some shred of reason to materialize in her expression.
She raised a brow, unimpressed. "Well, now you know for next time." The words were sweet, but the sarcasm dripped off them like honey—sticky, yet somehow still satisfying.
He blinked at her, incredulous. “There’s not going to be a next time.”
Jinx’s grin only widened. “That’s where you’re wrong, genius. You’re gonna fix this. You’re gonna go to the drug store and buy new hair dye—preferably a better one this time. Oh, and don’t forget the shampoo. And maybe some cleaner for the floor if you’re feeling generous.”
Ekko’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kicking me out?”
“Yup. You’re gonna fix this, and you’re gonna do it now.”
He groaned, rubbing his forehead. “You’re impossible.”
“Get going before I make you mop up the entire bathroom too,” she shot back with a wink.
⛧
Jinx had been dying her hair the same blue—or variants of it—since she was fourteen. It had become part of her new identity, the thing that made her feel like someone different, someone fierce. It wasn’t just about color. It was about a fresh start, a way to escape the old, the past that had clung to her for too long. The blue felt like a shield, like armor, and she wore it proudly.
The first time she’d shown up to school with it, the blue was patchy, definitely rushed. She had no idea what she was doing, but when she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. It was bold, it was new, and it felt right.
And Ekko? Ekko liked it too.
She remembered the way his eyes had lit up when he saw her, the playful grin creeping onto his face. "Well, that's definitely... something," he’d said, but there was something in his voice, a warmth that told her he thought it was perfect. He was the only one who didn’t ask questions, the only one who didn’t judge her for the chaos she’d put into that messy, imperfect transformation. He just saw her, and he liked it.
He’d started helping her perfect the process when they were sixteen—right around the time Silco had finally relented and allowed Ekko into Jinx’s room. Not that there was any real cause for concern; they were just friends, after all.
But Jinx could still remember the way Silco’s eyes had narrowed the first time Ekko walked through the apartment door, his posture stiff and scrutinizing as he evaluated the boy she’d grown up with.
It took weeks of careful negotiation, and Jinx’s relentless whining, before Silco stopped lurking in the hallway every time Ekko visited. He eventually accepted that the boy wasn’t going anywhere—and more importantly, that Ekko wasn’t a threat. If anything, he was the one person who could keep up with her manic energy, grounding her in the kind of way Silco knew she needed but couldn’t always provide himself.
By the time Silco finally gave the nod of approval, Ekko had already started becoming a fixture in her space, especially when it came to her hair. It started small—him passing her clips or gloves while she fumbled with the dye. But it quickly evolved into a ritual. Ekko was the one who meticulously sectioned her hair, smoothing out the strands before applying the dye with an artist’s precision.
And now, after his begrudging trip to the drug store, Ekko sat cross-legged on the tiled floor of Jinx’s ensuite bathroom. The new hair dye kit was spread out on the counter beside the sink, gloves, and tools laid out like surgical instruments. She sat on the closed toilet lid in front of him, wearing an oversized shirt that bore evidence of many past dye jobs—blue streaks and blotches staining the fabric like a chaotic artist’s canvas.
He couldn’t help but smirk as she adjusted her position, sitting up straighter to give him better access to her hair. “You know,” he started, picking up the gloves and snapping them on, “you could invest in a dedicated dye shirt. Something that doesn’t look like it’s been dragged through a paint factory.”
She glanced down at herself and shrugged, the motion careless. “It’s tradition now. Can’t break tradition, Space Boy.”
Ekko rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Tradition, she called it. He supposed that was fair. Over the years, these moments had become their thing—quiet evenings punctuated by her incessant chatter and his focused precision.
He parted her hair into sections, working methodically as he applied the dye. The bright blue paste coated her strands, and he made sure to cover every inch evenly, a skill honed over years of practice.
“You know,” she said, her voice teasing, “you could go into business doing this. ‘Ekko’s Dye and Style—precision guaranteed.’”
“Oh, absolutely,” he replied, his tone dry. “Forget architecture or anything remotely useful. Hair dye is my true calling.”
“Hey, don’t knock it. You’re basically my personal stylist at this point.”
He chuckled under his breath, focusing on smoothing the dye through a stubborn section near her crown. “Yeah, well, you don’t make it easy. You’re lucky I’ve got the patience of a saint.”
“Saint Ekko, patron of blue-haired disasters,”
He shook his head but didn’t stop working. This was Jinx at her core—chaotic, vibrant, and utterly unapologetic. And even though she drove him up the wall half the time, he wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.
As he finished the last section, he leaned back and surveyed his work. “All done. Now sit still and let it set. And don’t touch anything, Jinx, I swear—”
“Relax, Mom,” she interrupted, leaning back on her hands with a wide grin. “I’ll behave. Probably.”
Jinx sat unusually quiet as Ekko worked, the faint squelch of the dye applicator and the occasional rustle of gloves the only sounds breaking the silence. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror watched him with a rare stillness, her blue eyes tracing the precision of his movements.
The color was never guaranteed. Every box of dye was a gamble, a promise of blue that might manifest as vibrant cerulean one time and a muted indigo the next. It didn’t matter much to her. Each shade carried its own charm, its own iteration of the identity she’d carefully crafted over the years.
He glanced at her through the mirror, his brow furrowed slightly. “You okay? You’re... quiet.”
She blinked, pulled from her thoughts, and offered a small smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Dangerous,” he teased lightly, but his voice softened as he added, “Thinking about what?”
Her voice was almost meek as she whispered, “Do you think they’ll like me?”
Ekko paused, his hand hovering midair. “Who? The kids?”
She nodded, but he gently stilled her head with a gentle hand to avoid disrupting the dye. A soft laugh escaped him as he shook his head. “Oh, come on, Jinx. You’re like... confetti personified or something. They’ll love you.”
Jinx’s lips twitched into a small, uncertain smile, though she kept her gaze fixed on the bathroom tiles. “Confetti, huh?”
“Yeah,” Ekko said, dipping the brush back into the dye. “Bright, chaotic, impossible to ignore. You’re exactly the kind of person who shakes things up in a good way.”
She let out a short laugh, but it lacked her usual sharp edge. “Not sure chaos is what they need.”
“You’d be surprised,” he replied, carefully smoothing the dye over another section of her hair. “Sometimes a little chaos is what makes people feel alive. Besides, you’re not just chaos, Jinx. You’re... you.”
She tilted her head slightly, her expression softening as she risked meeting his eyes in the mirror. “That’s surprisingly sappy, Space Boy.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he shot back with a smirk. “But seriously, you’ll be great. Kids like real people, and you? You’re as real as it gets.”
For a moment, the bathroom fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft sound of the dye brush working through her hair. Jinx closed her eyes, leaning into the familiar rhythm of Ekko’s movements, letting his quiet reassurance sink in.
“You really think I’ll be good at this?” she asked softly.
He paused, meeting her gaze in the mirror, his expression unshakably steady. “I don’t just think it, Jinx. I know it.”
Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile as she murmured, “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he replied, returning to his task with a focus that masked his own small smile.
In that quiet moment, surrounded by the scent of hair dye and the faint hum of the bathroom fan, Jinx found a flicker of confidence she hadn’t realized she needed.
⛧
The color had come out more cerulean this time, a perfect shade of blue that seemed to capture the morning sky at its most vivid. It shimmered, alive with movement, and it perfectly complemented the pink ribbons Jinx had braided into her hair— adding a touch of warmth to the cool hue.
Ekko found her at the table, surrounded by a chaotic array of ribbons in every shade imaginable. Pink, green, purple, gold—some were shiny, some patterned, and others soft and simple. Jinx was nervously fiddling with a length of crimson fabric, her fingers twisting it into little bows that didn’t seem to meet her standards.
“You’ve been up all night?” He asked, stepping closer.
Jinx startled, nearly knocking over a pile of perfectly folded bows. “It’s nothing! I just—I thought the kids might like...you know, options. For their hair.” She gestured at the table, her voice pitched higher than usual.
Ekko raised an eyebrow, glancing between her and the mountain of ribbons. “Options? Jinx, this looks like a whole store.”
She huffed, her cheeks tinting pink as she avoided his gaze. “It’s not that much. Just enough, you know? Some of the kids like bright colors, some like patterns... and then there’s the little ones who like sparkly stuff.” She waved a hand dismissively, though her fingers still clutched the crimson ribbon a bit too tightly.
He smirked, sitting on the edge of the table. “And you needed to figure this out at...what? 5.am?”
She didn’t answer right away. She busied herself with untangling a gold ribbon from a stack, her movements sharp and restless. “I couldn’t sleep, okay?” she mumbled. “I just—I want it to be nice for them. Special.”
His smirk softened into something more thoughtful. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “It’s already special, Pow. You showing up, you being you—that’s what makes it special. The ribbons are just extra.”
Her fingers stilled, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, a small, tentative smile tugged at her lips. “Yeah... but extra’s kinda my thing.”
“Well, in that case, extra looks good on you.” Ekko crossed his arms, nodding toward the pile of ribbons. “Now, come on. You’ve got a big day ahead, and you’re gonna need some sleep if you’re planning to out-bow everyone.”
She hesitated, eyes flicking back to the mess of ribbons, fingers ghosting over the fabric as if debating one last addition. Finally, she let out a sigh. “Fine. But if they don’t like these, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal.” He held out his palm, and when she took it, he gave her hand a light squeeze before slowly guiding her toward the door.
“Sleep, okay? The kids will appreciate it more if you’re actually energized.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved him off, but before she could slip away, he pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to her forehead, his touch light as air. Then, with the gentlest push, he nudged her into her room.
⛧
Jinx had never been one for kids—not out of hatred, but more of a general unease. They were unpredictable, loud, and exhausting. Perhaps too similar to her to get along with. The chaos, the boundless energy—it all hit a little too close to home, like seeing a mirror she didn’t ask for.
But as she and Ekko stepped into the new group home—The Firelights, as it was called—she froze, a quiet gasp escaping her lips.
The room was alive with movement and sound, but not in the overwhelming, chaotic way she had always imagined. There had to be dozens of kids, maybe more, ranging from toddlers clutching stuffed animals to teenagers sprawled across beanbags in the corner. The air was filled with laughter, a warmth that seemed to seep into her chest despite herself.
Jinx couldn’t help but smile, a flicker of something indescribable tugging at her heart. It was so... joyous. Brightly painted walls were plastered with messy crayon drawings, fairy lights strung from the ceiling cast a soft glow, and every corner of the space seemed designed to foster creativity and comfort.
It was nothing like the dingy, broken-down group homes she had seen growing up. Back then, places like those felt like afterthoughts—crumbling walls, worn-out furniture, and a sense of hopelessness that hung heavy in the air. But here, it was different. Here, it felt alive.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Ekko said, his voice cutting through her reverie.
She turned to him, blinking as if waking from a dream. “Yeah,” she murmured, her lips curving into a softer smile. “It’s... really cool.”
The kids seemed to take to her instantly, like moths drawn to a flame. Especially the younger ones—wide-eyed and full of wonder. They reached out with tiny hands, fascinated by the cascade of blue that spilled down her back. Her hair, impossibly long and vibrant, seemed almost magical to them.
“It’s so pretty,” one little girl whispered, her fingers hesitantly brushing against the silken strands, as if afraid it might disappear if she touched it too much.
Another boy giggled, his sticky fingers tangled in a pink ribbon she hadn’t realized was still trailing from her braid. “You look like a princess,” he said, and though she opened her mouth to protest, the words caught in her throat.
There was something about their awe that felt... grounding. Like they saw something in her she couldn’t see in herself—something untarnished, unbroken.
And so she found herself sitting on the ground, hair trailing behind her like a shimmering river, with roughly ten kids braiding and styling it. Their hands worked quickly, fingers nimble as they wove ribbons into the strands, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. Some were serious, focused on creating perfect little patterns, while others couldn’t help but giggle at their own clumsy attempts.
But as she glanced around the room, something caught her eye.
There, in the corner, barely illuminated by the soft glow of the fairy lights, was a girl. She couldn’t have been older than nine, her small frame huddled close to the shadows. Her eyes watched Jinx intently, though she kept her distance, her hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt as if unsure whether she should approach.
Jinx’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, her curiosity piqued. The other kids hadn’t seemed to notice the girl hiding in the shadows, too busy with their tasks to care about anything beyond the bright colors of ribbons and hair ties.
She watched as Ekko spotted the little girl in the shadows, his gaze sharp as always, but softening the moment he recognized her hesitation. Without a second thought, he began making his way toward her, his steps steady and sure.
As he neared, the girl’s wide eyes flickered with something Jinx hadn’t quite seen before—hope, maybe, or curiosity. And then, like the sun breaking through clouds, her face split into a beaming smile, a transformation so sudden and bright that it took Jinx off guard.
Ekko crouched down, his smile warm and open, the way he always did when he was around people who needed a little extra kindness. “Hey, you,” he said, his voice low and friendly, an invitation in his tone. “I see you’ve been watching my friend over there. You think you could give me a hand too?”
Isha’s hands moved, small and deliberate, as she signed a single word.
Friend?
Ekko wasn’t fluent—nowhere near it—but he didn’t need to be. The question was clear in the hopeful tilt of her head, the way her fingers lingered in the air as if waiting for permission to believe it.
His grin softened, and he nodded without hesitation. “Yeah,” he said, voice warm. “Friend.”
Isha beamed, her smile quiet but certain, and that was all she needed. She didn’t say a word—she didn’t have to. Slowly, almost tentatively, she made her way over to Jinx and the other kids, her small frame moving carefully through the group, as though testing the waters of this new space.
The other children didn’t seem to notice her hesitation. They were too absorbed in their giggling and playful chatter, their hands still twisting ribbons into Jinx’s hair. But as Isha approached, Jinx’s eyes fixated on her immediately.
So this was the kid Ekko talked about.
Jinx studied her quietly, noting the way Isha moved—careful, yet somehow determined. She didn’t look like someone who was used to being around crowds, but there was a quiet strength in her silence. It was different from the usual kind of nervousness Jinx had seen in others. Isha’s reticence wasn’t borne out of fear—it was something deeper, something more guarded.
Jinx tilted her head slightly, trying to catch her eye. “Hey, kid, you wanna help?” she asked, her voice light but inviting.
Isha glanced up at the sound of her voice, meeting Jinx’s gaze for a brief moment before dropping her eyes to the ribbons in her hands. She hesitated, fingers stilling, but then—almost imperceptibly—nodded.
A small, barely-there smile tugged at Jinx's lips. She could feel the tension in Isha’s posture, like she was still figuring out whether this was a safe place for her, but the fact that she’d nodded at all felt like a small victory.
Without another word, Jinx scooted over slightly, making a little more space beside her. “I’m sure we can make this even crazier.” She reached for a vibrant purple ribbon and handed it to Isha, her voice light, teasing. “Go wild.”
Isha hesitated for just a second, looking at the ribbon as though it were a puzzle, but then she took it, her fingers curling around the fabric with quiet purpose. Her movements were measured, deliberate, like she was choosing each thread carefully, crafting something meaningful even in the smallest of gestures.
Across the room, Ekko had noticed the two of them. He was helping a few kids with a mural now, his hands stained with paint, but his eyes still flickered over to them. He smiled softly, a quiet approval in his gaze, watching the bond forming between Jinx and Isha.
It was subtle, but Ekko could see it—the way Jinx’s posture had relaxed, the way Isha’s expression had softened. It was like they were creating something unspoken between them, a kind of silent understanding that didn’t need to be explained.
His smile widened a little. He was glad to see it, glad to see that Isha was starting to open up, just a bit. And Jinx, in her own way, had always known how to bring out the best in people, even if she didn’t always recognize it herself.
Jinx might have never fully understood the impact she had on people, but Ekko had seen it—he had always seen it. The way her quiet strength had pulled others toward her, the way she had made even the most guarded souls feel like they belonged. It wasn’t something she had ever actively tried to do, but somehow, without realizing it, she had always created a space for others to feel safe, to be themselves, even in their silence.
He glanced back at the mural, the vibrant colors now splashed across the wall, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel the usual weight of everything on his shoulders. There was something light in the air today, something hopeful.
And it was all because of that moment—that small, quiet exchange between Jinx and Isha, woven together like the ribbons in her hair.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵
authors note: hiii so this is chapter two, already on ao3 but they're honestly such cuties in this chapter :D
I heard someone say that all your hobbies can be traced back to a single moment which made me remember that when I was in elementary school, my sister and I would have "storytime" late at night after my parents went to sleep. And it would just be me rewriting the ending of shows we watched when we didn't like the endings. Chat I was literally writing fanfiction for wild Kratts.
After all the side eyes and exasperated bless you's I've received today I should honestly atp just give a PSA and the utmost apologies to everyone who must suffer in my presence these next months as my body attempts to exorcise the demons(pollen) in me.
people who don't experience hyperfixation don't know what it feels like to hyperfixate so much on something that it becomes not only your subject of obsession but also your source of happiness and literally the main reason why you still keep going; literal source of strength and life.
shoutout to my favorite fictional characters, favorite people, favorite ships, favorite movies, favorite tv shows, fanfics and archive of our own
When you're 12-14 and you first get obsessed with a ship, nobody warns you. Nobody warns you that that ship will form the blueprint for your taste in ships, fic, and tropes for the entire rest of your fandom life.
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How to help the non technical and less online people in your life navigate the latest techbro grift.
I've seen other people say stuff to this effect but it's worth reiterating. Today in class, my professor was talking about a news article where a celebrity's likeness was used in an ai image without their permission. Then she mentioned a guest lecture about how AI is going to help finance professionals. Then I pointed out, those two things aren't really related.
The term AI is being used to obfuscate details about multiple semi-related technologies.
Traditionally in sci-fi, AI means artificial general intelligence like Data from star trek, or the terminator. This, I shouldn't need to say, doesn't exist. Techbros use the term AI to trick investors into funding their projects. It's largely a grift.
What is the term AI being used to obfuscate?
If you want to help the less online and less tech literate people in your life navigate the hype around AI, the best way to do it is to encourage them to change their language around AI topics.
By calling these technologies what they really are, and encouraging the people around us to know the real names, we can help lift the veil, kill the hype, and keep people safe from scams. Here are some starting points, which I am just pulling from Wikipedia. I'd highly encourage you to do your own research.
Machine learning (ML): is an umbrella term for solving problems for which development of algorithms by human programmers would be cost-prohibitive, and instead the problems are solved by helping machines "discover" their "own" algorithms, without needing to be explicitly told what to do by any human-developed algorithms. (This is the basis of most technologically people call AI)
Language model: (LM or LLM) is a probabilistic model of a natural language that can generate probabilities of a series of words, based on text corpora in one or multiple languages it was trained on. (This would be your ChatGPT.)
Generative adversarial network (GAN): is a class of machine learning framework and a prominent framework for approaching generative AI. In a GAN, two neural networks contest with each other in the form of a zero-sum game, where one agent's gain is another agent's loss. (This is the source of some AI images and deepfakes.)
Diffusion Models: Models that generate the probability distribution of a given dataset. In image generation, a neural network is trained to denoise images with added gaussian noise by learning to remove the noise. After the training is complete, it can then be used for image generation by starting with a random noise image and denoise that. (This is the more common technology behind AI images, including Dall-E and Stable Diffusion. I added this one to the post after as it was brought to my attention it is now more common than GANs.)
I know these terms are more technical, but they are also more accurate, and they can easily be explained in a way non-technical people can understand. The grifters are using language to give this technology its power, so we can use language to take it's power away and let people see it for what it really is.
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Welcome to the masterlist for the 2024 Snowbaird Secret Santa event! Below, all gifts are listed with links by genre: fic, art or edit.
Enjoy perusing!
FANFICTION
The Things We Do to Survive by SunField_Antique
Synopsis: "Who's the third?" Coriolanus and Lucy Gray talk it out in the cabin... and make a plan to keep everyone safe.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 3, 292
Type: Multi-Chap [2 chapters]
The Songbird and her Brute by lucygraysmockingjays
Synopsis: She loved Coriolanus, she knew that to be true the moment she could have escaped the Hunger Games and instead rescued him. Her foolish love reinforced itself to her when she scrambled around with a peacekeeper in the arena’s rubble to try and keep that rose engraved compact from getting into the wrong hands. Unfortunately, she loved him. She accepted it. She just didn’t trust him. Despite the adrenaline and her instinct to run, she stayed.
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 4,964
Type: One-shot
Little paradise by MitsukiSirya
Synopsis: "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Lucy Gray," Coriolanus finally answered her, staring into her eyes and continuing to caress her "I don't know what my life would be like if I hadn't met you. I don't even want to think about it."
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 3,629
Type: One-shot
Here We Come A-Caroling by Carnival_Sleeper
Synopsis: Tigris convinces Coriolanus to go Christmas caroling with her on a blistery, winter night. He hates every minute of it until one of the carolers surprises him with her beautiful voice. A modern AU, cozy Christmas fic.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 8,328
Type: One-shot
Bloody Roses and Guitar Strings by Songbird_Love
Synopsis: This in an AU where Lucy Gray Baird is Coriolanus’s mentor. Coriolanus was a capital citizen before the war. However, his father was convicted of being apart of the rebel plan. As punishment, his whole family was banished to the lowest of the districts. Lucy Gray has to decide if she should do what’s right morally or if she should follow the rules, even if that meant letting the boy she’d married on the playground when they were kids fend for himself.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 3,853
Type: One-shot
To Glory At the End by FrostedGemstones22
Synopsis: The only reason Coriolanus would willingly spend time at Hogwarts is to win the Tri-Wizard Tournament as Durmstrang's rightful champion. He didn't think the competition would be anything to worry about. Enter Lucy Gray.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 11,785
Type: One-shot
so says the stars by TumblingBackpacks
Synopsis: coriolanus is so down bad for lucy gray and becomes a better person. also sejanus lives and everything is happy.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 2,409
Type: One-shot
like falling stars by lysanderwarrior
Synopsis: The red thread connecting the two of them — the one Coriolanus can't even see — ends up being the thing that saves him.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 2,470
Type: One-shot
The strings that bind by BooksandLighters
Synopsis: Lucy Gray Baird and Coriolanus Snow are soulmates who seem to only be destined to meet in their dreams. Or so they thought.
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 5,357
Type: Multi-Chap [3 chapters]
you're my wish list by little baird
Synopsis: Lucy Gray knows exactly what she's doing during a work Christmas party and Coriolanus can't resist.
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 4,959
Type: One-shot
Meet You On the Other Side by Prix
Synopsis: A little honesty and communication goes a long way.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 4,723
Type: One-shot
To Seduce a Pirate by backtothestart02
Synopsis: Coriolanus is a pirate taught mermaids are only out to kill anyone at sea. Lucy Gray is a mermaid who was taught no pirate ever deserved to live. What happens when they cross paths with murder and seduction in their wake?
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 12,914
Type: Multi-Chap [8 chapters]
But awake at night, I'll be singing to the birds by ACPaula
Synopsis: a moment shared between Lucy Gray and Coriolanus Snow in the roof garden.
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 2,488
Type: One-shot
Pure as the Driven Snow by TheStarlightForge
Synopsis: Still recovering from the trauma of the Games, his childhood in the Capitol and time in the Peacekeepers, Coriolanus Snow prepares for his wedding to Lucy Gray Baird—just shy of five years after the birth of their son, and their secret return to District Twelve.
Rating: Teen and Up
Word Count: 1,941
Type: One-shot(ish - part of a larger series)
Brewed Affections by starrrywrites
Synopsis: Part-time barista Lucy Gray sees cute Academy student Coriolanus Snow. Said cute boy asks for her phone number.
Rating: General
Word Count: 1,492
Type: One-shot
Baby Fever by backtothestart02
Synopsis: Capitol!AU - Lucy Gray wants her husband morning, noon and night, whether he has the energy or not.
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 1,440
Type: One-shot
ART
A Dance with the Victor by Jazzydemons666
Untitled by jeida-chi
Untitled Moodboards by meekxo
EDIT
Born to Die by stolentragedies
Untitled @sleepdeprivedfireant - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook
prguitarman
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
