Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ekko was already halfway through the crumbling building when he saw it — a jagged spiral etched into the rusted doorframe, faded blue paint clinging to corroded metal like a wound that refused to heal.

His breath caught.

That mark.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

He stopped without meaning to, boots grinding against the broken tile. For just a second, the world narrowed — sound gone, breath tight, chest flickering with something that couldn’t decide if it was dread or fury or disbelief.

She was inside.

He didn’t know how he knew. He just did.

The thought rooted deep in his spine, cold and certain.

He should have turned around.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pushed the warped door open with the heel of his palm, the hinges groaning like they resented him for it.

The attic looked like it was collapsing in slow motion.

Beams bowed under years of weight and weather. The ceiling sagged like it had given up. Dust hung thick in the air, catching the late afternoon light that filtered through the open skylight. A broken mattress slouched in one corner, half-covered by shadows.

And near the far wall — crouched low, elbow on one knee, flicking a lighter open and shut with a rhythmic snick-click-snap — was Jinx.

She didn’t even look up.

“You took your time,” she said, voice lazy and flat — like they were picking up a conversation from yesterday, instead of years and blood and silence ago.

Ekko didn’t move.

His fingers itched toward the staff slung across his back. He didn’t touch it. Not yet.

“I wasn’t looking for you,” he said, jaw tight.

“Sure you weren’t.” The lighter snapped again. Open. Flame. Shut. Gone. She didn’t rise, didn’t flinch. “Just happened to stroll into my skeleton closet.”

He hated that she could still read him.

Even now.

Especially now.

He stayed near the door, the wood warped under his boots, his weight shifted like he might bolt at any second. She didn’t rise either — didn’t make a move for a weapon, didn’t reach for the gun he knew she had strapped under that ridiculous patchwork coat.

That scared him more than if she had.

The silence between them stretched — thick and brittle, like glass smeared with ash. Not fragile. Just waiting to crack.

His heart was a drumbeat in his throat. Her eyes stayed low, watching the lighter dance between her fingers.

Not attacking.

Not taunting.

Not asking why he came.

That unsettled him too.

“You don’t own this place,” he said finally, just to say something.

“No,” she replied. “But you still walked into it.”

Another flick of the lighter. Another flash of flame.

It wasn’t a trap.

He realized that now. If it had been, she wouldn’t be sitting in plain view. Wouldn’t have given him the chance to hesitate. Wouldn’t have stayed so still.

She was just here.

And so was he.

After a moment, Ekko shifted his weight back toward the door.

He didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t offer a warning or threat. He didn’t ask why she was there or if she’d followed him.

He just walked out.

And Jinx let him.

She was already there when he opened the door this time.

Perched on the old crate like it belonged to her — knees drawn up, arms looped around them, chin resting loosely on her wrist. The lighter was gone, but her fingers twitched now and then, like she missed it.

Ekko paused in the doorway.

It wasn’t a trap. That much he could tell. The floor was undisturbed. No wires, no shadows in the corners, no tension in her shoulders like she was waiting to pounce.

Still — he didn’t relax.

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come back,” Jinx said, voice flat. Not quite disappointed. Not quite mocking either. “Guess I was wrong.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped inside, letting the door creak shut behind him.

“Didn’t know I was supposed to,” he said eventually.

“You weren’t.” She didn’t look at him when she said it.

Dust drifted lazily in the light coming through the roof — soft, muted shafts through the grime-streaked skylight. He could feel it settling on his shoulders again, like it had never really left him.

He stayed standing for a while, watching her.

She didn’t move.

“I didn’t set a trap,” she added after a moment. Her voice was quieter now. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile. But not far from one either.

Ekko didn’t bite. He didn’t deny it again. Just walked past the mattress, past the crates, to the far side of the room. He sat on the floor with his back to one of the beams — not close, not confrontational, just… present.

A peace offering, measured in distance.

She watched him, but didn’t comment.

Neither spoke after that.

Not for minutes. Maybe longer.

Jinx resumed fidgeting — this time with a rusted bolt she must’ve pulled from her pocket. The metallic tap-tap of it against the crate was the only sound for a while.

Ekko let his eyes drift toward the ceiling. The rot looked worse from below. One of the beams had a crack so deep he could see sky through it.

He should’ve left sooner. That was the plan.

But he didn’t.

He sat there longer than he meant to — not out of comfort, but out of something else. Something quieter. Something he wasn’t ready to name.

Eventually, he stood without a word.

Crossed the room. Opened the door.

He didn’t look back.

But as it closed behind him, he thought — just for a second — that he heard her sigh.

Soft.

Almost reluctant.

Almost… human.

She wasn’t there when he arrived.

But something was.

A box of rusted tools — half-cleaned, half-burnt — sat arranged in a crooked line on top of the crate. Nothing especially useful. Most were beyond repair. But someone had clearly gone through them with purpose, as if trying to sort out what could still be saved.

Ekko stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the tools. His eyes traced the pattern — the deliberate spacing, the careful grouping by size. Not random.

Not a trap.

Just… deliberate.

He walked over slowly and sat beside the crate, the floor groaning faintly beneath his weight. He didn’t touch anything. Didn’t move a single wrench.

Just sat.

The silence wrapped around him — thick, familiar, uncomfortable in the way old grief always was.

She didn’t show.

Eventually, he left.

He wasn’t sure why he came back a week later.
But he did.

And this time, something had changed.

One of the wrenches was gone — the one with the cracked grip and singed teeth. In its place sat a small wind-up toy.

A little brass thing, the kind sold in the back alleys of the sump — a mouse, maybe, or a beetle, hard to tell with its legs bent and one wheel canted sideways. It was broken. Looked like it hadn’t worked in years.

He picked it up anyway.

Turned it over in his hands, inspecting the gears. A few teeth were worn down, one spring misaligned. Not hopeless.

He didn’t leave a note.

Just fixed it.

Wound it once to make sure it still worked. Watched it spin in a lopsided circle on the crate. Then set it back down, right where he found it.

And walked out.

He found her sitting on the floor this time.

Back against the wall, legs stretched long in front of her, one boot tapping idly against a rusted pipe. The overhead light through the skylight slanted across the space in dusty ribbons, casting soft shadows on the cracked beams above her. She was humming — low and tuneless, like something half-remembered, or maybe made up on the spot.

There was a gash on her arm.

Nothing fresh.

Crusted over at the edges, angry and jagged, but already healing.

Her eyes were half-lidded, and for a second — just a second — she looked almost peaceful.

“You look like shit,” Ekko said, half on instinct, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Jinx’s mouth curled, faint and sharp. “You always open with compliments?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped fully inside and let the door creak shut behind him.

This time, he didn’t hesitate before sitting.

Not beside her.

Not across from her.

Just… closer than before.

A few feet away. Still space between them. Still tension in the air. But the kind of tension that had weight now — not heat.

He leaned back against one of the support beams, his hands resting loosely on his knees. The silence that followed wasn’t brittle, not like it had been the first time. Just thick. Quiet.

She didn’t ask about the toy.

He didn’t ask about the blood.

Whatever had happened to her arm, it wasn’t his business. And whatever he’d done in the days since, she clearly didn’t care.

But they stayed like that for a while.

Jinx kept humming — quieter now. Every so often, her fingers flexed like she was playing with something invisible in the air. Maybe a detonator. Maybe a memory.

Ekko didn’t try to fill the silence.

Eventually, she stood — sudden but not sharp. Her movements always had that restless edge, like her limbs didn’t know what to do when her mind slowed down.

She walked toward the door without looking back.

But before she stepped through it, she paused — hand resting on the frame, shoulders tilted just slightly in his direction.

“…You still carry it?” she asked, not looking at him.

Ekko blinked. “Carry what?”

She tapped her temple once with two fingers — light and quick — then shrugged. “Never mind.”

Then she was gone, disappearing down the stairwell in that weightless way she always moved — like she was never really touching the ground in the first place.

Ekko stayed seated a little while longer, frowning faintly toward the door.

He didn’t get it.

But the question stuck anyway.

Maybe it was the silence.

Or maybe it was the weight of everything they hadn’t said — all the near-fights and half-truths, the way they circled each other like sparks around dry kindling.

Whatever it was, they sat differently this time.

Not across the room. Not angled apart like opposing ends of a coin.

They sat alongside each other — their backs resting against the same bowed beam, the mattress stretched out in front of them like neutral ground neither had dared claim. It remained untouched. Neither of them looked at it.

Jinx was rolling the bolt between her fingers again — the metal clicking softly against her nails in a rhythm that was just shy of soothing. Her leg bounced once, then stilled. Then bounced again.

Ekko sat with his knees bent, arms resting on them, eyes fixed on the shifting pattern of light that filtered in through the skylight. Dust motes drifted lazily in the sunbeam like they were underwater.

He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, finally, voice low: “I don’t know why I keep coming back here.”

Jinx didn’t turn her head.

“Yeah, you do,” she said.

Quiet. Certain.

He didn’t argue.

And she didn’t ask him to stay.

But he did.

It was already dark when they arrived.

Nearly the same moment.

From opposite stairwells.

Ekko paused with one hand on the railing, boot halfway up the final step. Jinx stood just inside the attic door, outlined in a wash of dim moonlight leaking through the skylight above.

She was wearing a coat.

Big and oversized — probably taken from a storage heap, heavy canvas slung over her usual bare shoulders like a second skin. There were singe marks at the hem. If he had to guess, it was stuffed with bombs or knives or something worse.

It didn’t make her look bigger. Just more distant.

They stared at each other in silence. Not hostile. Not surprised. Like they’d both been expecting this, but didn’t want to be the one to say it.

Then Jinx exhaled — one short breath — and moved across the room.

She sat on the crate with a thud, the coat pooling around her. Her hands vanished inside the sleeves. No weapons out. No tricks. Just stillness.

Ekko followed, settling on the floor near the support beam. Not too far. Not too close.

They didn’t speak.

The attic creaked faintly above them, wind whispering through the cracked skylight. Somewhere deep in the building, water dripped — steady and distant.

Jinx shifted once, drawing her knees up beneath the coat. Her face was hard to read in the dark, her usual sharp edges muffled by the fabric and the hour.

Eventually, she spoke.
Not loud. Not dramatic.

“Feels quieter lately.”

Ekko didn’t look at her. “You mean down there?”

She shrugged. “Everywhere.”

He didn’t reply right away.

Instead, he let the silence sit with them — heavy, but not as sharp as it used to be. Less like a threat. More like a shared weight.

Jinx didn’t press him. She just leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Her fingers twitched in her lap, like they wanted something to do—a reason to move. But she didn’t reach for anything. Didn’t speak again.

Ekko shifted his weight, elbows on his knees, gaze drifting toward the crate — the one where the toy had sat last time. It wasn’t there now. Just a smear of dust and a few scattered bolts.

They sat like that for a while, the room full of nothing.

But not empty.

Outside, Zaun hissed and churned as always. Inside, the quiet stretched but didn’t pull them apart.

Eventually, Jinx opened one eye and glanced at him sidelong.

“If you’re waiting for something to explode,” she muttered, “you’re in the wrong mood.”

Ekko huffed — not a laugh, exactly. But it eased something in his chest.

“I’m not waiting,” he said.

She didn’t answer. Just closed her eye again and let the silence settle back over them.

They didn’t talk again that night.

But neither of them left early.

The attic was darker than usual. The skylight was clouded with grime, and the last sliver of daylight was choking out beneath the smog. The stairs creaked under Ekko’s boots, every step loud in the silence.

He wasn’t expecting her.

But the second he pushed open the warped door, he saw the sliver of blue hair illuminated by the faint green flicker of a lighter in her hand. She was leaning against the far wall, legs pulled up, eyes half-lidded.

Jinx didn’t look surprised.

“…You’re late,” she said, flicking the lighter closed. The flame disappeared. Just like that, her face was half-shadow again.

“Didn’t know we had a schedule,” he muttered, stepping in.

“Maybe we do and you’re just bad at clocks.”

He gave a faint exhale — not quite a laugh, but not annoyance either. He didn’t rise to it. Not tonight.

She watched him settle on the floor across from her, back against the same beam she’d claimed. The silence stretched for a while — not quite comfortable, but not brittle either.

She cracked the lighter again. Flame, flick, gone. Again.

Ekko stared at the warped ceiling above them. “Why here?”

She glanced at him sideways. “Why anywhere?”

“I mean it,” he said. “There’s a million abandoned spots in Zaun. You picked this one.”

“So did you,” she said, and clicked the lighter again.

He didn’t answer.

She shut the lighter finally, rolling it between her fingers like it might still make noise if she pressed hard enough.

“Used to come here when I was younger,” she said after a beat. “Before Silco. Before everything. It was quiet. Ugly as hell. Nobody else liked it.”

“So you liked it because nobody else did.”

“Maybe.” Her voice was low, almost thoughtful. “Or maybe I just wanted something that didn’t already belong to someone else.”

Ekko didn’t know what to say to that.

He looked down at his hands instead, calloused and oil-streaked from a day spent fixing conduit lines. He hadn’t washed them before coming. He wasn’t sure why.

She spoke again, quieter this time. “You ever wonder if we’re just ghosts, haunting this place?”

He looked up.

She wasn’t looking at him — eyes fixed on some crooked seam in the rafters, like there was something up there only she could see.

“…Yeah,” he said finally. “I do.”

Neither of them spoke after that for a while.

The room held the quiet like a held breath — not fragile, but thick with weight. Not everything needed to be said aloud. Not yet.

She shifted slightly, resting her arms on her knees, head tilted back against the wall. Her expression was unreadable. The shimmer hadn’t touched her yet. She was still just Jinx — sharp edges and cracks and fire stitched into a shape no one could name.

Ekko leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He didn’t know what he was waiting for.

“Did you fix it?” she asked suddenly.

“…Fix what?”

“The toy.”

His eyes flicked to the crate where it still sat, wound up neatly again — placed carefully, like something that mattered.

“I did,” he said.

She didn’t say thank you. Of course she didn’t. But she stopped fidgeting with the lighter.

A long silence passed.

Then, so soft it was almost missed, she said, “I didn’t mean to kill them, you know.”

His stomach tightened. He didn’t look at her.

“I know,” he said.

Another long pause.

She stood after a moment — slowly, with that restless grace she always had, like her body was constantly on the edge of doing something destructive just to see what would happen.

She walked toward the window but didn’t leave right away. Just lingered there, staring out.

“You gonna come back again?” she asked.

Ekko looked at her, really looked — not at the madness or the mask or the history, but just her. Just for a moment.

“…Yeah,” he said.

She didn’t smile. But she didn’t say goodbye either.

She just stepped through the broken window frame and vanished into the dark.

And Ekko stayed, sitting in the quiet they’d left behind — not sure why he felt like something had shifted.

But he knew he’d come back.

Ekko didn’t think about whether she’d be there this time.

He just climbed the stairs and opened the door — like he always did now, like it had become routine in a place that was anything but.

She was already there.

Jinx sat perched on the crate again, legs drawn up, fiddling with something in her lap. A scrap of wire, maybe a dismantled detonator — it didn’t matter. Her fingers moved without looking at them, her eyes flicking toward him and away again.

“You’re late,” she said, but there was no edge to it this time.

“I’m consistent,” he replied, brushing dust off his sleeves. “You just show up early.”

She snorted, barely audible. “Maybe I just don’t have anywhere else to be.” She said it like a fact, not a complaint.

He paused mid-step.

It wasn’t a joke. Or if it was, it didn’t land like one.

He crossed the room without replying and sank down onto the edge of the mattress — not thinking about it until he was already sitting there. He didn’t look at her. She didn’t move away.

The air between them hung still.

She flicked the wire against the side of the crate — tap, tap, tap.

“Got into a fight earlier,” she said.

“With who?”

“Some idiot from Silco’s crew,” she said, flipping the wire around her knuckles. “Tried to tell me how to do my job. So, I broke his nose.”

Ekko glanced at her. “That supposed to impress me?”

“No,” she said, and then, after a pause: “Just saying. Some things never change.”

He leaned back slightly, elbows resting behind him on the mattress. “You always had a mean right hook.”

Her lips twitched, just a little.

Silence again.

Her hands stilled on the wire. “You remember when we used to steal candy from that vendor by the old lift track?”

Ekko blinked.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “You always got caught.”

She looked up at him with a half-smile, and for a second — just one second — it was Powder looking back at him.

Then she was gone.

“You let me,” Jinx said.

“I did.”

They didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny. But the memory warmed the space between them in a way nothing else had yet.

“You still think about them?” she asked, eyes lowered.

He didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“Every day.”

She nodded, slow. Her fingers curled tightly around the wire again. “Me too.”

The wire slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

Neither of them reached for it.

Instead, she slid off the crate and sat down next to the mattress — closer than before. Not quite touching, but near enough that he could hear the shift in her breath.

They sat like that for a long time.

Close. Quiet. Neither looking at the other.

Then — without turning her head — she spoke again.

“I don’t know what this is.”

“I don’t either.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Another pause.

She leaned back slightly until her shoulder brushed his arm. He felt the ghost of a touch. Then it was gone.

He didn’t move.

Neither said anything.

That small contact held more weight than a hundred arguments.

Eventually, she stood and walked to the door without another word.

He stayed where he was, staring at the space she’d left behind.

No plans. No promises.

But she’d sat next to him.

And he’d let her.

And that line — the one they’d drawn between them — had finally blurred, just a little.

The attic was empty when Ekko arrived.

No signs of her yet — no scattered parts, no tossed bolts, no smoke curling from a lighter. Just the stillness, thick and dusty, settled across the floor like it had never been disturbed.

He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved.

He dropped down onto the edge of the mattress, fingers drumming absently against the threadbare fabric. He’d never really paid it much attention before — just a decaying fixture of the space, as forgotten and broken as the rest of it.

Now, though, he noticed how the edges were worn in the shape of a body — faint, but there. Not from him. From her.

A gust of wind whined through the gaps in the rotting rafters. He tilted his head back, let it hit his face. His shoulders ached. His knuckles were scraped from a skirmish earlier that day. He hadn't even bandaged them yet.

The door creaked open.

Jinx slipped in like she always did — no warning, no sound, like she was born from the shadow itself.

“Looks like you beat me,” she said casually, closing the door with her heel.

“You keeping track now?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged off her jacket, dust scattering from the motion.

She didn’t sit right away. Just paced the perimeter slowly, boots crunching over stray debris. Eventually, she settled on her usual spot on the crate, but leaned forward this time, elbows on her knees.

They sat in silence again — familiar, taut, strange in its comfort.

Then, after a long pause, she said, “This place is colder than it used to be.”

He glanced over.

She didn’t look at him — just picked at a loose thread on the edge of her glove.

“Maybe the wind’s gotten worse,” he said.

“Or maybe the mattress is worse.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you slept here.”

“I don’t,” she said too quickly.

She didn’t follow it with a joke. That’s how he knew she was lying.

She kept her eyes on the thread, twisting it until it snapped.

“I don’t,” she repeated, quieter.

He didn’t call her out.

Just nodded once, slowly. “Still better than the floor.”

She gave a faint, crooked smile. “Debatable.”

They didn’t stay long that time. No fights. No barbs. Just that low thrum of tension beneath the stillness — the kind that stayed under your skin.

She left first again, slipping out without a word.

He stayed a little while longer.

When he finally stood to go, he glanced back at the mattress — just for a moment — then down at the threadbare crate beside it.

That night, before heading back to his patrol routes, he stopped by a salvage stall. Found an old, half-torn blanket. A dented pillow with stuffing poking out the side.

It wasn’t much. It wasn’t nice.

But it was something soft.

He brought them the next time — didn’t leave a note, didn’t make a show of it.

He just folded the blanket over the mattress, placed the pillow at the top, and left the room.

She wasn’t there when he did.

But he knew she’d notice.

And he wondered if, next time, she’d be lying there when he arrived.

She was already there when he arrived again.

Same position — lounging half-sideways on the mattress, one leg bent, the other stretched long. But this time, her head rested lightly on the pillow he’d brought. The blanket was half-draped over her lower half, casual and careless, like it had always been there.

She didn’t acknowledge it.

Didn’t mention it at all.

But she wasn’t fidgeting. Wasn’t pacing or twitching or half-smiling through the cracks in her teeth like usual.

She looked… settled.

Not safe. Not soft. But something adjacent to comfortable.

Ekko stepped inside, letting the door creak behind him.

“Wow,” she said without moving. “You come here so often I’m starting to think you live here.”

“You’re in my spot,” he said dryly.

She snorted and shifted slightly, making a show of taking up more space on the mattress.

“You brought a whole pillow and everything. I figured it was fair game.”

He didn’t rise to it. Just walked to his usual seat near the beam and dropped down. No comment. No smirk. But a flicker of warmth rose in his chest anyway.

She liked it.

She just wasn’t going to say so.

The silence wrapped around them again — not heavy, not hostile. Just… there.

She pulled one corner of the blanket over her foot and pretended she wasn’t doing it.

Ekko leaned his head back against the wall and let his eyes drift shut for a moment. The air was a little less damp tonight. The draft from the northern wall wasn’t biting as much. Just a faint chill, tolerable now.

He almost forgot how cold it used to be in here.

They didn’t talk much that night. A few stray comments. A dry remark from her about some idiot who tried to hit on her in Silco’s ranks — "He limps now," she added, proud.

He didn’t ask questions. Just let her talk when she wanted to, and let the rest settle between them like dust.

When she left — early again — she didn’t look at him. But her hand lingered on the edge of the blanket before she stood.

He didn’t mention it.

When the door closed behind her, Ekko stayed a little longer. Just long enough to sweep a few curls of dust into a quiet pile with the old broom he’d stashed under the floorboards. He nudged a loose beam back into place. Picked up a few scraps of splintered wood and stacked them neatly by the crate.

Nothing obvious. Nothing that said he cared.

But when she came back next time, she’d notice.

He knew that now.

By the time Ekko reached the attic, the sun had already dipped low behind the smog line, casting a thin red haze through the broken window. The room felt different.

He knew why.

The dust he’d swept last time had mostly stayed put — just a faint outline of the pile now, like someone had stepped around it. The clutter he’d shifted — fallen beams, shattered glass, cracked debris — remained right where he’d stacked it, like the room had paused in his absence.

The difference wasn’t dramatic. Nothing anyone else would notice.

But Jinx wasn’t anyone else.

She was already sitting on the mattress, slouched with one arm tucked behind her head and the other lazily tossing that same bolt she always had in the air and catching it. Over and over. Click, catch. Click, catch.

Her eyes followed the arc of the bolt. But he could tell she’d already noticed everything.

Her gaze flicked toward the swept corner once. Then back to the bolt.

Then toward the crate — the wood stacked beside it now no longer splintered across the floor.

Then back again.

She didn’t say a word.

But the angle of her head shifted just slightly. The set of her shoulders tightened. Not suspicious, exactly — but that strange, twitching awareness she got when something didn’t line up the way she remembered.

Ekko didn’t acknowledge it either. Just sat in his usual spot near the beam and stretched out his legs with a soft grunt.

“You keep showing up like this, people are gonna think we’re friends,” she said dryly.

“We’re not,” he said.

“Good.”

“Fine.”

She threw the bolt a little higher, caught it one-handed, smirked like she’d won something.

Silence passed again. Easy, if not comfortable.

Then she shifted slightly and — without ceremony — pulled the blanket up across her lap. She didn’t even glance at him as she did it.

It was a simple motion, almost careless.

But he saw the way her fingers brushed along the edge first, like checking it was still there.

She started tossing the bolt again. Kept lounging like none of it mattered.

But when she got up to leave later, he noticed she left the blanket folded more neatly than usual.

And still, she didn’t say a word.

Neither did he.

But after she was gone, he found himself staring up at the ragged hole in the roof again — the one near the corner, where the wind cut sharpest in the early hours.

And this time, he started thinking about what he’d need to patch it.

Ekko climbed the steps two at a time.

The old broom clattered under one arm, a bundle of scrap wood and salvaged tarp tucked under the other. Nails in his pocket, a rusted hammer at his belt. He hadn’t even changed out of his work clothes yet — grease on his knuckles, oil on his jacket sleeve.

He kept telling himself it didn’t matter.

He just didn’t want the attic soaked. That was all. The last time it rained, the water had dripped too close to where they sat, darkening the floorboards near the beam. He wasn’t sure why he noticed. He wasn’t sure why it stuck in his head.

Someone on the street had muttered something about a storm rolling in.

That’s all this was. Nothing more.

Not because she might be there later.

Not because she might lie on that mattress again.

Just the roof. Just the rain.

He opened the door and set the supplies down without ceremony. The breeze through the broken window already smelled of metal and wet stone. Rain hadn’t started yet, but it was coming.

He got to work without thinking too hard.

Loose board, patched tarp. Hammer, nail. Folded edges to redirect the runoff. He braced the rotting beam with a piece of scaffolding scrap, wedging it under the sagging corner. It wasn’t elegant, but it’d hold.

Sweat beaded at his temple. Dust clung to his sleeves. The ache in his shoulder had started to flare again, but he didn’t stop.

He was just finishing the last corner when the door creaked open behind him.

Jinx.

She froze in the doorway, eyes flicking instantly to the tarp above, the tools scattered beside him, the hammer still in his hand.

“…What are you doing?”

He glanced over his shoulder but didn’t stand. “Fixing it.”

She stepped inside slowly, brow furrowed. “Fixing what, exactly?”

He nodded toward the patched corner of the ceiling. “There was a hole.”

“I know there was a hole.”

“It’s going to rain.”

She tilted her head. “So?”

“So…” He hesitated, then shrugged. “Now it won’t leak over there.”

She crossed her arms. “You’re making repairs now?”

He didn’t answer.

She stared at him a little longer, then took another step forward. Her voice dropped, not accusing — just sharper now, quieter, laced with something harder to name.

“Why are you doing this, Ekko?”

He paused. Still kneeling, still holding the hammer. He didn’t look at her at first.

She waited.

When he finally stood, he looked tired. Not just physically — something else. Something deeper.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe because I’m here so damn often it started bothering me.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

“Or maybe,” he added, softer now, “I just got sick of watching the rain come in.”

She looked at him then — really looked. Not playful, not suspicious, not biting.

And for once, she didn’t have a comeback.

Just a beat of silence.

Then, quietly: “You’re not fixing it for the weather.”

“I didn’t say I was.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His jaw clenched.

She walked toward the mattress but didn’t sit. Just hovered there, eyes flicking upward to the tarp, then down again. Her fingers brushed the edge of the crate — that twitchy motion she did when her thoughts spun faster than her mouth.

“You’re making it harder to pretend it doesn’t matter, too,” she said flatly.

He met her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

Another beat of silence.

The wind shifted. A few drops of rain hit the broken glass above the window.

She sat down, finally. Pulled the blanket across her lap, like muscle memory.

He dropped the hammer onto the crate and sank beside her — not close, not far. Just beside her.

They didn’t talk again that night.

But the sound of rain stayed outside the attic.

And for the first time, neither of them felt like they were only passing through.

The attic was already dim when he arrived, sky dark with the last stretch of dusk. The air was thick with humidity left behind from the rain. The patch in the roof still held.

Ekko pushed open the door more slowly than usual.

His limp wasn’t bad — not enough to draw attention on the street, not enough to stop him from climbing stairs — but it was there. His movements were stiff, deliberate. He winced when he shifted too sharply, and his left knee didn’t bend quite right.

He’d pulled something during a scuffle near the shimmer lanes. Not even a real fight — just a wrong step on uneven metal, a bad landing off a pipe. No glory in it, just pain.

Jinx was already on the mattress when he came in. She looked up lazily, then blinked.

Her eyes narrowed.

“You’re walking funny.”

Ekko dropped his bag near the crate and sat down with a groan. “Thanks for the warm welcome.”

“What happened?” she asked, chin propped in her palm.

“Slipped,” he muttered. “Landed wrong. Nothing exciting.”

She didn’t comment immediately. Just watched him shift stiffly into a sitting position. He leaned back against the wall with a small hiss, eyes shutting for a moment as he adjusted.

“Didn’t think you got clumsy,” she said eventually.

“Didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t,” she replied — too quickly.

He cracked an eye open at her, but said nothing. She was already looking away again, fiddling with a stray bolt, spinning it on the crate’s surface.

They sat in silence for a while after that. Jinx tossing the bolt. Ekko trying to keep his breathing steady through the dull ache in his joints.

Eventually, his head tipped back against the wall again. Eyes closed. Still.

And this time, he didn’t sit up again.

Not for a while.

His breathing leveled out. Shoulders loosened. One arm slumped across his chest, the other trailing at his side. It wasn’t intentional, not planned — but the ache, the warmth, the stillness of the attic… it pulled him under.

He fell asleep.

Jinx noticed within minutes.

She didn’t move at first. Just stared at him from the corner of her eye — waiting for him to shift, for him to say something sarcastic, for him to twitch back awake and pretend it hadn’t happened.

But he didn’t.

He was really out.

She watched him for a little too long. Long enough to notice the way his brow stayed slightly furrowed even in sleep. The way he curled inward slightly, guarded even unconscious.

She didn’t smile.

Didn’t soften.

But after a long pause, she rose quietly from her spot.

Walked to the edge of the mattress.

Stood over him for a beat — expression unreadable.

Then, without a word, she picked up the edge of the blanket and flicked it lightly across him. Not tucked in. Not gentle. Just there — enough to cover his torso, half his legs, nothing more.

She stepped back immediately.

Sat on the crate again and resumed spinning the bolt.

Didn’t look at him again.

But she stayed longer than usual that night.

Didn’t leave until the wind picked up again.

And when she finally slipped out, she didn’t touch the blanket.

She left it exactly where it was.

Ekko woke to the sound of water sliding down the old walls. Not from the roof — the patch was holding — but somewhere deeper in the building’s bones, where old pipes wept rust into the silence.

The blanket was still on him.

He stared at the ceiling for a while before moving, unsure what felt heavier — his limbs or the weight of knowing she’d stayed long enough to leave it there.

He folded it, not neatly, but with care. Not because it mattered. But because, apparently, it did.

The next evening, she was there first again. Same crate, same flicking lighter. The spark caught and vanished, caught and vanished, painting her face in brief flickers of orange.

She didn’t greet him. Just watched him limp slightly as he walked in.

“You always arrive with a limp now?” she asked, dryly.

“Just keeping you guessing.”

“That’s what you’re calling it?”

He sank into his usual spot against the wall with a faint grunt. His leg still ached, but not enough to keep him away. He stretched it out in front of him and leaned back, fingers laced behind his head.

Jinx’s eyes flicked toward the blanket — folded again on the mattress — but she didn’t comment.

“By the way,” she said after a few minutes. “You snore.”

He cracked one eye open at her. “No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“You probably just imagined it.”

“No,” she said, casually flipping the lighter shut, “I thought the ceiling was collapsing. Then I realized it was just you sounding like a dying engine.”

He huffed. “I’ve heard you talk in your sleep. I didn’t complain back then.”

Her hand froze. “I do not.”

“You twitch, too. Like a squirrel having a bad dream.”

“I will throw this lighter at you.”

“You won’t.”

She tossed it at him anyway — not hard, just enough to bounce off his shoulder.

He caught it before it hit the floor, thumb spinning the lid open and shut a couple times, mimicking her rhythm. Click. Snap. Click.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t ask for it back.

A long, quiet stretch followed. Neither of them moved much. The sounds of Zaun bled through the window — voices, clatter, a pipe groaning somewhere down the block.

She eventually leaned back on the crate and stretched one leg out toward the mattress.

“You gonna pass out again?”

“Thinking about it.”

She didn’t respond right away. Just watched him shift and settle, his body clearly still sore. She reached for the bolt she always fidgeted with, but her fingers stilled.

Then, quietly — almost like she wasn’t even thinking about it — she nudged her foot against his leg.

Not a kick. Not a jab.

Just a small, casual contact.

A check.

He looked down at the touch, then up at her. She didn’t look at him. Just let her foot rest there a second longer before pulling it back slightly — not away, just… back to neutral.

“So, you’re still stiff,” she said.

“I’ll live.”

She shrugged. “Guess that’s fine. Wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t grumbling about something.”

He let a breath slip from his nose — not quite a laugh, but something close.

She reached toward him then — just slightly — and plucked her lighter from where it rested by his leg. Their fingers brushed for a half second.

Neither of them moved fast. Neither flinched.

She pocketed the lighter and didn’t say anything else.

And neither did he.

But the space between them stayed smaller after that.

And this time, when she left, it was late — later than usual.

And Ekko, after she was gone, didn’t sweep anything.

He just sat in the stillness for a while, wondering why that faint pressure of her foot against his leg hadn’t left his skin yet.

The attic was quiet when she arrived.

The crate sat where it always did, the blanket folded on the mattress, dust settling in familiar corners. Nothing had moved. Nothing had changed. And yet—everything had.

Jinx stood in the doorway longer than usual, hand resting on the warped frame. Her eyes flicked to the patch in the roof, the stacked wood in the corner, the broom resting half-hidden behind the beam.

Everything looked the same.

She didn’t feel the same.

She wasn’t sure she’d show up. Even now, she didn’t know why she had.

Her fingers toyed with her lighter, but she didn’t flick it open. Not yet.

She stepped inside, boots echoing faintly on the floorboards. Sat on the crate without ceremony, elbows on her knees, head low.

The silence was louder than usual.

Then—footsteps on the stairs.

Her head lifted, a flicker of something crossing her face. She masked it before it could settle.

Ekko stepped through the door slowly. He was scraped up — not badly, but noticeably. A bruise along his jaw. Bandage near his shoulder, visible where his sleeve was torn.

He paused when he saw her. Just a second.

She didn’t move.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d still show,” she said, voice steady but softer than usual.

Ekko’s eyes flicked to hers, then away again.

“…Me neither,” he said.

He crossed the room and sat — not close, but not far either. The usual distance. A distance that meant something now.

She stared at him for a long beat. “You look like shit.”

“You should see the other guys.”

“Maybe I did.” She wasn’t smiling.

He glanced sideways at her. “You didn’t shoot anyone, did you?”

“Not today.”

He gave a faint exhale — not quite a laugh, not quite relief.

They didn’t talk about what happened. Not the ambush, not the tension boiling over in the alleys, not the moment one of his crew had nearly caught a bullet before another Firelight pulled them out of the way.

They didn’t talk about the fact that if things had gone just a little worse, this attic might have stayed empty tonight.

But Jinx’s eyes lingered a little too long on the bandage.

And Ekko didn’t bother hiding how tired he was.

Neither said what they were thinking.

But they were both still there.

Still choosing to be.

And maybe that was the loudest thing either of them had said all night.

The wind had picked up earlier in the day, but now it howled.

It slammed against the attic walls in bursts, rattling the beams and moaning through every crooked seam. The patched roof held, but the old window frame groaned so hard it sounded ready to crack.

Ekko arrived first this time. He wasn’t sure why he’d come early again — maybe because of the way Jinx had looked at his bandage last time. Maybe because a part of him still didn’t trust this space not to disappear if he left it alone too long.

He was already seated when she came in, pulling the door shut behind her with extra effort against the wind.

“Zaun’s trying to kill us,” she said flatly, brushing a few raindrops from her shoulders.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

She dropped onto the mattress this time, not the crate — unusual, but not commented on. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe she just didn’t feel like being separate tonight.

The air was colder than usual. The wind leaked through somewhere unseen, coiling through the attic like fingers.

They didn’t talk much.

She was fidgetier than normal — tapping a bolt against her knee, tugging at her sleeve. He could tell she felt it too: the strange, thick quiet, like something was pressing inward from outside.

Another gust hit the building — harder this time. The entire structure groaned, and a sudden crack of thunder rolled through the rafters like it was right on top of them.

Jinx flinched.

Just slightly. A twitch of shoulders, a half-startled breath — almost nothing.

Ekko looked over at her. She noticed.

“Don’t,” she said quickly, defensive before he’d said a word.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Good.”

Another boom — louder.

She didn’t flinch this time. But she shifted closer to him. Not looking at him. Not saying anything. Just moved.

And when another gust hit and the old crate tipped sideways, toppling her bolt and scattering dust, she reacted on instinct — reaching out to steady herself.

Her hand caught his arm.

And instead of pulling back, she just… stayed.

Her fingers curled there. Barely. Like an afterthought. Like she hadn’t realized she was still holding on.

His breath caught, but he didn’t move.

They sat like that for a while. The wind roared. The attic creaked.

Then, carefully, slowly, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Not soft. Not romantic. Just tired.

Just human.

Ekko didn’t look at her.

Didn’t move away.

He let her stay there.

Let her pretend it wasn’t happening, if that’s what she needed.

And maybe that’s what he needed too.

They didn’t speak again for the rest of the night.

But for once, neither of them felt alone in the attic.

It wasn’t a conversation.

No one said, "I’m going to sit next to you now,” and no one asked, “Is this okay?”

It just… happened.

One meeting turned into two, then three, and somewhere along the way, Jinx stopped sitting on the crate.

She ended up beside him on the mattress more often than not now — not close enough to touch, but close enough that their elbows brushed sometimes, that her knee knocked his when she shifted her weight, that he could feel the slight sway of her movement even when she wasn’t speaking.

Neither of them commented on it.

Not when she dropped down beside him like it was nothing. Not when he leaned his shoulder into hers slightly after a long day, and she didn’t flinch — just let it happen. Not when her boot bumped against his leg and stayed there.

Some nights, she even brought the blanket over her lap without remark.

Other nights, she was the one who leaned back first, shoulder brushing his — quiet, steady, like it was becoming a habit.

And Ekko — Ekko didn’t question it anymore. He didn’t measure the inches between them, didn’t stiffen when she settled closer, didn’t brace for the moment she’d mock him for it.

Because she never did.

She just stayed.

And so did he.