Chapter Text
♪Tu sais c'qu'on dit
Sois près d'tes amis les plus chers
Mais aussi
Encore plus près d'tes adversaires♪
The city below them pulsed with light, alive- all in a way Ekko wasn't expecting to ever be possible, this reality never seemed to be possible.
Lanterns swung gently on overhead wires, casting faint purple hues across their faces, while the rooftops of Zaun stretched endlessly beneath the pale glow of the crescent moon. It almost looked peaceful. Almost.
Powder leaned back, hands propping her up on the ledge. She tilted her head, watching him through strands of blue hair that framed her face in a soft, angelic blur. “Some night,” said, voice quiet.
Ekko turned his gaze from the horizon to her, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “It’s... beautiful,” and replied, though the words felt small compared to the way this moment filled him.
Powder laughed, and it was warm—real. “Where’d you learn those moves?” she teased, still catching her breath from their impromptu dance.
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Oh, I was just following your lead.”
Shakes her head, chuckles “Hah, he’s got lines!”
Their laughter blended into the night air, soft and unrestrained, as if nothing in the world could touch them here.
Why couldn't this be his reality?
And this thought? It came unwelcomed. He can't ever have one nice little moment, can he?
His expression shifted, as the weight in his chest returned. “Hey,” the word catching slightly in his throat. “I just want to thank you, you know... for everything.”
Powder’s brow furrowed slightly, yet she didn’t interrupt, let him speak, was curious to hear what he had to say.
“I used to dream the Undercity could be like this,” gaze drifting back out over the rooftops. “But somewhere along the way, I got consumed by all the ways.. it wasn’t. I gave up on it. And worse, I gave up on you ”
Her expression, it softened, and she decided to shift closer, laying her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, “I’ve never seen you give up on anything, Ekko.”
Tears were threatening to spill, don't let them spill, hold them back, back!!
He looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. “You ever wish you could just... stay in one moment?” voice breaking, tone barely above a whisper.
And her reply came after a pause, a pause that he felt like wasn't going to end, the silence was eating him from the inside,
“Sometimes, taking a leap forward means... leaving a few things behind.”
His words.
He was regretting saying them now, regretting saying them to her- because now she was saying them to him, and he had no idea they could hurt so much.
And the tears, they finally broke out, one by one, slowly rolling down his cheeks, yet a smile still tugged at his lips.
“I promise I’ll never forget this,” a vow spoken more to the stars than to her, words wouldn't be enough anyway.
And she felt his little sobs, felt the way his shoulders started to slowly tremble, felt the way his heart was beating faster and the way his breath came quicker now.
Finally, she raised her head, bluebell eyes staring deep into his earth browns.
A hand reached his face, soft fingers caressing his cheek, wiping a few of the tears away,
“You better not.”
Second thoughts weren't needed; he closed the space between them, lips met hers immediately, like they've been craving for this moment for a lifetime.
Because they were.
There was no way denying it, as much as he tried hiding it- even in his universe, he never stopped wondering how her lips might taste.
And he blamed himself for it, for those twisted thoughts that haunted his mind and never left him a second of peace, for the desire of wanting to know what could've been.
He thought it was wrong, why would he ever want to know it? They were never meant for eachother anyway..
But this moment, this moment proved him wrong. And it showed him that those thoughts, they were never twisted, never abnormal.
Seems that his heart knew more about it than his mind ever could- they actually were meant to last in every other universe.
Every other universe, but why not his?
♪Mais ma meilleure ennemie, c'est toi
Fuis-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi
Mais si tu cherches encore ma voix
Oublie-moi, le pire, c'est toi et moi♪
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The same edge, the same city, the same view. Yet nothing looked the same, nothing felt the same, not really.
He sat alone now; warmth of her laughter only present in his mind- the reality only replaced it with a cold, biting wind that howled in the empty space beside him, and the lanterns, they still swayed above, but their glow felt dimmer, their colors muted.
He traced the cracks in the stone beneath his hands, the same stone they’d stayed on, laughed on, kissed on. It should’ve been a happy memory, so why was it only making him wanting to cry, to scream, to rip the beating heart out of his chest ?
No nightmare could be worse than this reality. He could've had it all- he had it all. Yet he pushed it away, wanted to come to his Powder instead, to have a happy ending here, in this universe, too.
Such a fool.
Because he was here now.
And she wasn't. Not Powder. Not Jinx. Not any version of her.
All alone.
Back in a world that had stripped it all away.
'You ever wish you could just... stay in one moment?' own words came back to him, felt even worse now that she wasn't there by his side to share them with.
He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But there was no moment to stay in anymore. No moment to stay for anymore.
He failed to save her. Failed to give her a happy ending, failed to show her she was loved and cared about.
He despites himself for it- for all the time he could've spent with her, all those years, but refused to, deciding it would all be better to hate her guts instead. And at what cost?
He's never been happy doing it. And he doubts she ever was- how could she be, watching her childhood friend shooting bullets at her? Punching her in the face? Choking her?
Powder and Jinx were never two different people.
He just didn't know how to handle that.. broken part of her.
Thought if he'd hate her instead won't hurt as much as watching her struggling.
Tch, one big saviour he is- saving everyone but not..her. Not his Pow-Pow. Not his lover.
And not himself.
____________________________________
"I made you something, actually, " hands hidden at her back, little smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"You...did?" raised an eyebrow, confusion clear as he pushed himself up from the chair. The paints and brushes, his sole focus just moments ago, lay abandoned on the table. He stepped closer, his gaze fixed on her face, which was glowing with nervous energy.
A tremor escapes in her voice, a stutter breaking the flow like ripples on still water. "Y-yeah! I mean, it’s not—" A nervous laugh tumbles out, unsteady and fragile, like glass teetering on the edge of a shelf. "It’s not much, but... I wanted to give you something. As a thank you. For, y’know... saving me."
A moment stretches between them, taut and trembling. His brow furrows, lips twitching upward into a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "You didn’t have to do that."
"I wanted to," she insists, a spark of certainty igniting in her voice. Her hands finally move, creeping forward like they’re afraid of the light. Nestled in her palms is a small red box, the lacquer gleaming faintly in the dimness, catching the glow of a nearby bulb. It looks too delicate in her grip, a soft thing in such more softer palms.
Ekko hesitates, but only for a breath. He reaches out, his fingers brushing hers as he takes the box. Her skin is warm, trembling; his is steady, calloused. The contrast lingers between them like a whispered secret.
He smirks, tilting the box in his hands, eyes flicking between it and her anxious expression. "It’s not gonna blow up in my face, is it?"
She barked a laugh, the sound sharp and genuine, and for a moment, the tension dissolved. "No bombs this time, I swear," she said, a cheeky grin spreading across her face. "I’ve learned my lesson—at least this time."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess I’ll take your word for it." slowly, he removed the lid, his movements deliberate as if savoring the suspense.
Inside, nestled on a soft cloth, was a cast bullet. Not just any bullet, though—it was meticulously crafted, polished to a mirror shine, and engraved with a delicate, spiraling script. On one side, a small pink monkey bomb symbol was etched with care—her unmistakable sign. The bullet gleamed under the light, its weight far heavier than its size.
His breath catches.
It’s weighty in a way that has nothing to do with its physical mass. The bullet seems to carry every unspoken word, every thread of their tangled history, every unacknowledged feeling. His fingers brush the engraving, tracing it like he might unlock some hidden meaning.
Silence stretches between them, thick and stifling.
Jinx shifts, the confidence draining from her like water through a sieve. Her smile falters, her hands hovering near her sides as if she’s torn between retreating and reaching for him. "It’s okay if you don’t like it," she blurts, the words tumbling out in a messy, desperate rush. "I mean, it’s dumb, right? You don’t have to keep it or anything. I just thought—"
"Jinx."
She looks up, startled by the warmth in his gaze, the softness that seeps through the cracks in his otherwise guarded expression.
"I love it,"
He holds the bullet like it’s something sacred, something priceless. "I love it. And... thank you."
Her face lights up, the kind of brightness that drowns out shadows, that lingers long after the moment’s passed. "Yeah?" Her voice is small, hopeful, disbelieving. "You’re not just saying that?"
"Not just saying it," he assures her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a rare, genuine smile. He glances back at the bullet, then at her. "Help me put it on?"
Surprise flickers across her face, quickly replaced by excitement that she tries to mask, not quite succeeding. "You mean it?"
"Yeah." He steps closer, his voice low but steady. "Something this cool? Can’t just leave it in a box."
Jinx’s hands move quickly but carefully, her fingers nimble as she unhooks one of the chains from his hair. Her touch is featherlight as she threads the bullet onto the chain and reattaches it, letting it dangle just above his temple. Her fingers linger for a moment, brushing against his skin, before she steps back to admire her work.
"There," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. "Now it’s perfect."
Ekko reaches up, fingers brushing the bullet, feeling its cool weight against his skin.
It’s more than just a token. It’s her. Her chaos. Her care. Her unmistakable mark on him, in more ways than one.
And then, without thinking, pulles her into a hug.
It wasn’t hesitant, wasn’t fleeting. His arms wrapped around her, solid and certain, pulling her close against him.
Her body stiffened in surprise, then relaxed into the warmth, hands finding his back, clutching his shirt like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground.
__________________
The cast bullet now laid in his hand, along with a little scrap of paper, a scrap that carried the words that he was supposed to tell her that night, after everything was going to come to an end.
Just he didn't think for one second that she.. that she won't be able to make it to the end.
No, he didn't even consider that option.
He hadn’t considered, not for one second, that she wouldn’t be there at the end. That the end could come for her before it came for the both of them. That she wouldn’t read these words and roll her eyes like she always did when he got too soft. She was supposed to make it, damn it. They were supposed to make it.
His knees buckled, and he crumpled to the ground, the edge of the bridge biting against his thighs. He looked down at the scrap of paper again, like it might say something else, might give him something more. But no, it was just those three stupid words.
The memories played like a broken reel, skipping and blurring. Her voice, sharp and teasing, was louder than his thoughts. Her smile, wild and reckless, burned behind his eyelids every time he blinked. The way she looked at him in those quiet moments, when the chaos settled—like she saw something in him he wasn’t sure he deserved.
They’d been so close. So close to having it all, to finally leaving behind the ghosts of what had broken them and stepping into something real. And then it shattered, like glass underfoot.
A sob wrenched out of him, raw and guttural, the kind of sound that didn’t care who was listening. His fingers tightened around the paper and the bullet, the edges cutting into his skin, grounding him in the pain. He tilted his head back, the night sky spinning above him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. He wasn’t sure who he was apologizing to—her, himself, the universe that had always felt stacked against them. Maybe all of it.
The paper fluttered slightly in the wind, a mocking reminder of what he’d never get to say. He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a lighter with shaky hands. The flame flickered to life, dancing in the cold breeze. He held the scrap of paper above it, the edges already curling, blackening.
This was supposed to be a memorial. A goodbye. A way to let go, even if it didn’t feel right.
But just before the flames could claim the words, he stopped.
His breath hitched, and the lighter fell from his hand, clattering uselessly to the ground. His fist closed around the paper again, crumpling it like it could somehow crush the ache in his chest.
What if..
What if she didn’t have to read the words herself? What if he could say them? Not just write them down in some half-hearted, fleeting gesture, but say them. Look her in the eyes—those chaotic, defiant eyes—and tell her everything he never had the courage to.
The thought came unbidden, a whisper in the back of his mind. A cruel, desperate, stupid whisper that wouldn’t let him go. What if he didn’t let her go? What if he carried these words, not as a goodbye, but as a promise?
He pushed himself to his feet, legs unsteady. The wind whipped at his face as he stepped closer to the edge, the broken structure yawning below him. His gaze dropped to the dark void, down at the city below, lights twinkling like distant stars. The distance between him and the ground felt immeasurable, infinite. Just like the distance between him and her.
A distance that he could close.
He felt the pull, the cold hand of surrender curling around his throat. Maybe it would be easier to let go. To follow her into whatever lay beyond.
Looked at the scrap of paper again, the words burning into his mind.
Come back home.
What if he told himself those words? What if they weren’t just meant for her?
After all, this was no home to him either. Not anymore. Not without her.
But maybe, if he jumped, he could meet her halfway.
He felt the edges of the paper in his hand again, its frailty mocking him. His grip loosened, and the wind snatched it away before he could think twice. He watched it tumble and twist, a pale speck against the vast darkness of the night. It drifted further and further, spinning like a dying bird, until it was gone.
Heart pounded as he now looked down once more, wind tearing at his clothes, urging him forward, urging him to let go of himself the same way he let go of the paper.
He thought about the height, the sheer drop, the crushing inevitability of what would happen when his body hit the ground. There wouldn’t be time to regret.
Everyone was happy now. Free. He did his job and saved them all. But he deserved to be happy too- deserved to be free up there, free with her.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the cold night air, sharp and biting, before letting it rush out in a trembling exhale.
One step. Just one.
He shifted his weight, his heel lifting slightly as if testing the resolve of his own body. The edge beneath his boots felt insubstantial, crumbling beneath the enormity of the choice he was about to make.
He pushed off with one foot, a deliberate motion, and for a brief second, his body was suspended.
This is it.
His arms moved slightly, as if instinct might try to claw him back to safety. But there was no safety. No going back.
As his second foot left the ledge, he felt the briefest surge of weightlessness, a hollow, fleeting sensation that spread through his chest. It was almost peaceful—almost.
The fall came fast, the air rushing against his face, tearing at his clothes, his hair. The city lights blurred, becoming streaks of gold and white as the ground surged closer. His heart pounded wildly, each beat reverberating in his chest as if it wanted to defy the fall, as if it could pull him back up.
But it couldn’t. Nothing could.
His breath caught in his throat, the wind stealing it away before he could release it. His arms stretched slightly outward, unconsciously searching for something to hold onto, but the air offered no resistance, only a cold, unyielding embrace.
The world below grew sharper with every passing moment. The fragmented shapes of the streets, the buildings, the distant shadows—all coming into horrifying, inevitable focus.
And yet, in those final moments, as gravity claimed him completely, there was no fear. Only the hollow ache of a life unlived, of words unsaid, of hands he would never hold again.
He closed his eyes.
One.
The wind pressed harder against his back.
Two.
His heart slowed, each beat echoing in his ears.
Three.
We'll soon be together in this universe too, my love. I'm coming home.