Set before the Zaunite champions form a gang and way before they fall apart.
Pre-League days.

against all odds

He knows more about her than he lets on—because let's be honest: wouldn't you find it creepy if the boy you just met knows how much you love dousing an unhealthy packet of salt over your fries? Or how coffee makes you palpitate so hard, you've sworn off of it entirely? (The stuff's too bitter to the taste, anyway—and hard to balance out. Higher beings know she doesn't have the patience for that.)

Not to mention, for a fact, that he happens to know which hole in the wall at Flameltite Commons is hers.

(But we're not going there. It wasn't stalking—it was more of a stake-out for the gang than anything. Really.)

It's the middle of May and the skies are as Zaun-gray as ever. He knows it's late afternoon because he's got a knack for time-telling.

(Time-keeping? Not so much.)

Ekko knows the girl he's seeking out is way out of his league. For one thing, she's older—and wiser, and from what the other kids say, also very good with mechanics. Weaponry, to be precise. She's probably got a gun on her—or something niftier than that. She might look like a doll, but that doesn't make her harmless; kids out in the streets of Zaun are often formidable like that.

He calls her 'Bubblegum' in secret because nobody in his circle really knows her name. That, and her round eyes remind him of the treat—even though he's only had it, and seen it, once or twice in his still-short lifetime.

(She'd probably love the moniker—or hate it—if she knew.)

Secondly, there's always this other girl with her (younger? Older? Ekko doesn't know; he's never staked her out or bothered knowing more about her), and truth be told, she scares him. . . A little.

(Nah, who is the poor boy kidding! The girl could probably make him piss his shorts with a look.)

She's bleached-blonde and tall and built like a common thug: strong and hulking and sturdy—with a bone-breaking snarl to match. She looks like she can take a punch just as much as she can throw one, and even though Ekko has never seen it in action, a curious part of him wants to find out if it's really 'so strong, it can break a grown man's jaw' (provided he has nothing to do with it, of course). The girl's even got piercings, for Nicholas's sake, and the numerals VI tattooed onto the side of her face in sharp, pitch-black lines. Ekko can only imagine how much that must have hurt. (Needles prodding in and out the side of your face? No thanks.)

He refers to this one as 'Blondie'; an immovable force, the bane of the law—but there's no denying she's got Bubblegum's six. They're thick as thieves, these two girls, and word has it their heists are some of the best in Zaun...almost in comparison to that of the elusive Hundreds Gang.

Ekko, on the other hand, has his reservations for testing the law—much as he admires their skill and ingenuity. He'll steal for dinner, yes. But for anything else? It's questionable. He'll get into fistfights and heists and shady ordeals for his friends…but for the thrill and heck of it? Not quite his style of doing things.

Zaun might be as lawless as Bilgewater, or even as cutthroat as Noxus in some respects, but unless survival and necessity demands it, laws are something the boy can live with. . .

To an extent.

Which brings us to the third and final reason Bubblegum is so out of Ekko's league: she's a lively crook and he's a green-bean. Simple as that. She might be good with weapons, but he wouldn't put it past her if he bores her to sleep talking about techmaturgy and quantum mechanics—which is all he's got going for him besides the fact that he's quick-handed and just as fleet on his feet.

She probably wouldn't even look at him, for god's sake. She's still taller by two inches.

But moon-eyed Ekko—so fascinated in bubblegum-eyes and number theories at the tender age of fifteen—couldn't possibly put it past himself to do nothing and just call it quits.

There are plenty of cute girls out there, and Bubblegum is just one of them, he knows. Even Ajuna tells him this. . .

But there's a probability, though—an inkling so little, Ekko probably has to be crazy to bet what little he already has to go by for it. (But he would anyway; because crushes are crippling and youths break bones faster.) He could have a chance with her; it's all about playing his cards right.

After all, isn't there a right time for everything?

He could get to know her; befriend her. Maybe even woo her if things go as smoothly as he hopes.

It's late afternoon in Zaun and Ekko has stolen away from the slums to visit Bubblegum's riverbank. She goes here thrice a week before sunset—and never with Blondie.

Ekko's been planning it for nearly months (between stalkin—er, stake-outs). The perfect scenario to make an impression on her. Just him (and maybe some pals) and bubblegum-girl, while her friend's out doing who-knows-what without her.

Creepy as it sounds, Ekko has lived up to this moment: asking her to hang out at the Foundry with him and setting off some awesome fireworks (safely, of course) like a cool kid. Ajuna, his main man, had been kind enough to help him out with his cause. He's even managed to gain possession of some contraband 'Snapping Dragons' from Ionia, along with a few more pyrotechnics from the local explosives factories.

Bubblegum would love it, he knows (just as he knows a laundry list of things about her at this point: save for her name and her would-be opinion of him).

Now, all his time and effort boils down to one tricky part—actually talking to her.

(Would she humor him? Would she even want to join him?)

He runs a hand over his hair again, straightens out his rags-for-clothes, and takes a deep, long breath to calm his nerves. About two yards away, Bubblegum is sitting by a murky riverbank, throwing stones to see how far she can get them to skip. A smile quirks up on his face at the sight; the stone she'd just thrown has skipped four times before disappearing into the near-muck with a plop.

Okay, Ekko. Play it cool. No stuttering; no nervous ticks. If anything goes wrong, you can just work harder on that Z-drive prototype back home. You've gone through your words more than a dozen times. Ajuna's got your back on this. Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool. . .

Against all odds, he makes his way forward. And forward. And forward. He makes certain that his feet don't snag against anything lying on the slope. He'll never be able to live with himself if luck happens to make him stumble into the water.

The river crawls slow. Every now and then, the current ferries a curious bottle and a wrapper of chips. Bubblegum doesn't notice him at all, too caught up in the middle of throwing another rock onto the bank. Three jumps, and it sinks.

He turns to her, mouth hanging open to strike up a conversation. . .

Nothing.

He says nothing; his brain is screaming harshly at this point, and he closes his mouth—almost feeling like drowning himself into the river.

(Anything to get away from here; anything besides feeling so awkward and tongue-tied.)

His thoughts supply a casual 'hey' at some point, and even weirder starters like, 'I've seen a dead rat float down this river once. It was a huge one'—anything to get his damn mouth talking. He takes a moment to wince at the last suggestion; all the while Bubblegum remains oblivious to his company.

You came here to talk: so talk!

Sighing quietly, Ekko answers his own voice. I can't.

Then go home. Why even bother?

(Why even bother? Because he likes her and he's given too much thought into all this madness to give up now.)

Ekko remembers Ajuna's face and the crate of Snapping Dragons they hid at home. He remembers the nights he burned the midnight oil to make progress on his Z-Drive, and the reassurance of second chances it'll bring once he rigs it up nicely. He remembers the embarrassing hours he spends holed up inside the bathroom, talking to himself in the crusty mirror and trying to sound cool enough for Bubblegum to listen.

After a moment's deliberation, Ekko decides to stay and finish what he's started. Giving up on the perfect greeting, he settles himself onto a mossy tree-root to her right, picking up a smooth rock of his own and hoping he can at least impress her with the next move.

(He can skip stones; he's done it well enough before.)

Ekko sends it flying with a flick, and he watches it take off in silence. He hasn't been so mindful of the trajectory, and more focused on the strength of his throw, that it doesn't even skip once before the waters lap it up greedily.

"Darn!"

That's when he finally gets Bubblegum's attention, who turns her head his way and bares those wide, round eyes in surprise. Ekko burns at the eye-contact, hand still raised from his throw. And then she laughs, and it's like the crystal fineries and chimes that merchants sell on Witcher's Way—clear and melodious when they tinkle. The trance is broken once she stops, however. . . And speaks.

"That," Bubblegum starts, "was lame."

Her normal voice is different from her laugh. It's lower and a bit coarse (he thinks of seasalt), but Ekko appreciates how not-too-delicate it sounds.

After a moment's mortification (the girl he likes just called his pebble-skipping skills lame, for gods' sake), Ekko brings down his hand, tears his eyes away and wishes he hadn't blushed too obviously. There was a painless warmth spreading from his cheeks; he resists the urge to swat himself across the face.

Finally, the poor, embarrassed boy gets a hold of his tongue.

"Oh come on," Ekko starts, gesturing towards the riverbank in a sweep. "There's got to be a better way to do that!"

To which the girl—quick as a bullet—says, "There is."

Once he's brave enough to meet her eyes again, Bubblegum is smiling (oh, sweet Pascal—she's smiling. At me). There's also another stone in her hands. "Luck and skill."

"And you happen to have both?" Ekko would have bitten off his tongue, but the words came out on their own. This, he knows, is not going to end well; this is where it all starts to go downhill. He's braced himself for this already anyway (at least he got her to smile at him once), which is lame because things have been going surprisingly well before this—pride even a bit wounded for getting called lame with his throw.

(An uncalculated throw, mind you. He can do better than that.)

"Pch. Yeah?" Surprisingly, Bubblegum smirks instead of taking offence (or maybe she did take offence, and she'll be pelting him with that stone soon enough).

Once Ekko says nothing more, Bubblegum flips the stone and catches it. He half-expects her to sneer at him then—to be a stinging reminder that he should probably work more on his people skills next time. Instead, the girl keeps her smirk on. She runs her thumb through the smooth surface, and with a quick bite on her lip, poises her arm for a throw. Ekko starts to brace himself, but when the older girl turns to the river, he drops his defences and sighs in relief. "Watch this, kiddo!"

And so he watches. The stone skims across the riverbank, making contact with the surface once, twice, thrice. It goes on for a fourth time, and a fifth time, and a sixth time, and a seventh time—and an eighth time (at this point, Ekko just might be asphyxiating from holding his breath) before the river swallows it up on its journey.

That's when they turn to look at each other. She's glowing from glee, with a grin so wide it sets her picket-fence teeth on display. Ekko, on the other hand, is gaping. A fish-out-of water. He remembers himself—and breathes.

"Well? Didn't I tell ya?" She nudges the air with an elbow—and maybe if Ekko had been brave enough to settle closer, then said elbow might have just bumped against his ribs playfully.

Once Ekko regains his composure, he clears his throat and exclaims, "You've got to teach me that—whatever that was."

"Oh, I don't know…"Bubblegum makes a show of examining her nails; they're painted a rosy pink, and slightly chipped at the tips. The glance she sends his way is a familiar one. It meant business. The smile didn't help his stomach keep calm, either. "It's gonna cost you."

Ekko's heart must have gone mad at this point. He leans forward conspiratorially, hanging on to this girl's every word. His insides refuse to keep still (he wishes he doesn't pass nervous gas on accident).

Another opportunity to hang out has just presented itself. Maybe, the odds are in his favor today. "You're charging for stone-skipping lessons?"

"Hey there," Bubblegum raises her arms up in protest, "You won't be learning from just anyone, here. You'll be learning from the best this city-state has to offer—" (which probably isn't true, but none of that is important) "—so it's either you cough up or stay lame at the game."

He lets the offer hang in the air. It's cute and ridiculous and it makes her eyes light up in near-childish mischief. Ajuna won't believe any of this once his friend gets home.

"Okay," Ekko finally humors her, tenting his hands atop his legs in mock-seriousness. "Name your price."

"I don't know…" The girl twirls a lock of hair around her pale finger. She bites her lip (a habit that has his stomach quivering). "Try me."

This is it. Ask her. Tell her about the Foundry.

"How about the best seat in the house to watch some awesome pyrotechnics?"

(Oh god, that sounded lame, didn't it? Pyrotechnics, really?)

But her eyes go wide at the mention.

"When and where?" She's interested now, and Ekko can't help but put on a smirk of his own.

"Foundry district. Eleven o' clock tonight. A friend hooked us up with some 'Snapping Dragons' to set off."

Now that…that sounded cool.

"We've got a deal, lame-boy!" Bubblegum grins, rising from her rock. Ekko follows suit. She thrusts a thin hand out, and by then, Ekko half-expects the whole dream to unravel and wake him up from his bed. Things just seem too good to be real at this point.

Maybe it's just his classic overthinking, but this—even though he'd embarrassed himself at least once or twice—this wasn't twice as hard as he thought it would be.

Somehow, once they got talking (even though Ekko still thinks too much about his words), things eventually settled for something easy like this. She isn't a snob and she isn't a bore; her enthusiasm at such small things is infectious.

After wiping his palm in his pants for good measure, Ekko seals the deal halfway. The girl has soft hands, but the grip is firm. She'd meant business—and luckily, so did he. The contact only lasts two seconds. Bubblegum draws it back to rest against her waist, where ripped jeans hang, fastened by a reptile-leather belt.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Miss," Ekko says, chuckling.

"Likewise." She grins.

Then there's silence, and Ekko fumbles to keep a conversation going—but nothing happens. (This, he finds, is the part he's really bad at. What else should he say to her?). The boy rubs a hand to the back of his head and restrains himself from shuffling in place. "I guess I'll see you later then," he offers.

"Yeah," Bubblegum punches him lightly on a shoulder. "Looking forward to it."

"Meet me around half-past ten by the First Warehouse?"

"Gotcha." She smirks. "See ya later, kiddo."

And then she's off, climbing through the gentle slope with an ease that says she's done it a hundred times before. Bubblegum doesn't glance back and Ekko knows she wouldn't, so the boy just watches her leave him at her spot by the riverbank.

Then, something urgent pokes him in the gut: he still doesn't know what to call her.

"Hey!" Ekko calls out before Bubblegum has slipped too far away to hear. She gives him a glance over her shoulder, the back-length hair of her ponytail swishing like silk in the wind.

"Yeah?"

His hand finds its place against the back of his head again. "I still don't know what to call you."

Bubblegum smiles, and it's the kind that can melt your insides to goo.

"Ten."

(Interesting.)

Ten. He tests it in his thoughts—and silently on his mouth. Ten. Two numbers away from his own moniker.

"Thanks." Ekko smiles back, waving once. "Catch ya later, Ten!"

"Likewise, lame-boy," she laughs, and continues to stalk off.

Lame-boy. She's going to call him lame-boy now.

(Which, in a way, is better than noodle-arms and throws-like-a-wuss. . . Nah. In all seriousness, it really does suck.)

"For the record," Ekko almost shouts. "people call me Twelve, not lame-boy!"

He doesn't know if Ten still heard him, but he finds that he doesn't care—especially if they'll be meeting each other again tonight. He smiles to himself and throws a glance at the river and the fading sun. He should get dinner now and be home by six.

In terms of probability (one thing Ekko really believes in), he guesses his odds might not be so low after all.

Might leave it as it is or continue the series of these events. Either way, I love speculating over the pasts of these Zaunite kids together, which may mean that I might write more about them soon once I get the time.

Hope you enjoyed reading! :)