Archive of Our Own ^beta

I have one specific memory, a memory that’s vivid and full of details, as if it had been carefully carved with the mastery of a craftsman. I know I couldn’t forget it even if one day, in old age, I could no longer recall my own name. This memory always appears involuntarily every time I let my thoughts drift to you, at night, when everyone leaves and the pain seems to take its place in the darkness.

I was applying dye to my face, in front of the mirror in my room inside the base, thinking about the importance of fighting alongside Zaun, for the place where I was born, prepared to protect all the people I love in this sanctuary, when I heard knocks on the door.

“The maiden has finally opened the door,” you said, holding several cans that could only be paint.

Without further explanation, you tried to enter, but I stopped you, questioning what that was just with my eyes.

“Excuse me, leader of the shining beetles. I’m looking for Ekko. Is he in there?”

“Depends,” I added, punctuating my problem with the idea as I stared at the paint cans. “Actually, it depends a lot.”

“We’re going to fight, Ekko. As far as I know, soon we could just be a picture on a mural. So just get out of my way.” If I tried, I could draw every detail of your stubborn gaze, the look of someone who didn’t want to argue.

And, unfortunately, you were more right than ever: death had always circled us, and it seemed as close as our own shadow.

With a sigh, I surrendered to that lost battle and gave way to your presence.

You set the cans down in the middle of the room, along with some markers of all sorts of bright colors, and pulled a few brushes from behind your pants. I couldn’t have guessed what crazy idea you had in mind, until you offered me one of the brushes.

“Time to get ready for the party.” I can still remember your smile. Even knowing what was coming, you would never miss the chance to make a good mess.

I still remember thinking about that determined look of yours, after going through such terrible moments, about how you had truly become a daughter of our city. A daughter of Zaun, who would fight for her.

I remember helping you open those paint cans, choosing which colors I’d use while thinking about where and what to paint, smiling at some random joke you told, something about the two brothers, genius and madness. That visit to the alternate universe gave me so many precious and unique gifts that I could never thank you enough for.

Holding that brush while painting a big, striking pink X on your battle shirt, and seeing you do the same to me, I was sure: I could spend an entire lifetime feeling this love, and it would never run dry.

To prove how serious I am, I’d need more time with you. I’d spray-paint Zaun’s walls and alleys with your colors, build thousands of projects that broke every physical and chemical law with you, search for more pieces with potential and personality in junk shops by your side, trace the outline of your tattoos with intimate devotion, and let you color me with paint and markers until you got tired.

Damn, you should be right here, telling me about the adrenaline of fighting for our land in the middle of the apocalypse while noisily eating Jericho’s famous food, sitting by the tree at the Firelight sanctuary. I would give anything for you to be here.

But the truth is, it wasn’t meant to be that way.

And I know there was a reason. But my sanity would crumble if I kept trying to console myself with the noble fact that you were a heroine, that you saved your sister’s life and spared your father more suffering. Because I know all that, but at the same time, I also know I could have saved you using the Z-Drive again, if only I had the chance, just one more time.

When I finally found Violet in the middle of all that chaos, nothing felt real. The crying of someone who had lost someone, the weight of not knowing what to do or where to go because it was already too late… she didn’t have to say a word.

When we embraced, I consoled her. I remember catching a glimpse of your face with cheeks painted pink before the war, and I remember feeling, still in Violet’s arms, that this would be yet another of the worst days of my life.

Every time I look at your old wanted posters forgotten around the city, I remember you. Maybe it’s a curse, but I could never erase everything you were and are to me. I never could. That’s why I keep carrying all these memories, good and bad, and let them flood me once in a while. I feel like that way I’m closer to you, which might just be madness. A madness all my own.

I burned a little piece of paper with your name, and I watched it fly as sadness stirred like an animal stripped of hope inside my heart. There were so many things I still wanted to do with you. So many things I wanted to tell you. If I could go back in time, I’d find a way to save you, against all the odds that wanted to take you from me.

Before going to war, I’d look at you deeply and, if you gave me that strange look and asked if everything was alright with me, I’d hug you and say that I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

The only things I know in the midst of all this are that I love you and that I’m a savior boy who couldn’t save you.