The sky was a deep gradient of orange and purple by the time Jinx returned to the apartment, her steps slower than usual as if the weight of everything that happened still clung to her shoulders. When she opened the door, the warm glow of light spilled into the hallway, a sharp contrast to the darkening world outside.
From the kitchen, the faint hum of music drifted through the space, soft and steady, the kind of tune meant for unwinding after a long day. The sound wasn't intrusive—it blended seamlessly with the ambiance, filling the room with a sense of quiet life.
Jinx stepped inside, letting the door close behind her with a quiet click. She kicked off her boots by the entrance, her gaze drifting toward the kitchen where the music originated. The faint clatter of utensils reached her ears, mingling with the rhythm of the melody.
For a moment, she hesitated, her fingers brushing against the edge of the doorframe. The apartment felt warm, lived in. It wasn't the suffocating stillness she'd expected to walk into. Instead, it felt… grounding, like she was stepping into a space that had been waiting for her.
Her chest tightened slightly as she moved toward the kitchen, the music growing louder with each step.
She didn't know what she'd been expecting when she returned. Maybe silence, the kind that felt heavy and accusing. Maybe Ekko holed up in his room, keeping to himself after the way she'd blown him off the night before. But she definitely hadn't been expecting to see him in the kitchen, standing by the counter, carefully piping icing onto cupcakes.
Jinx stopped in her tracks, her fingers still brushing the edge of the doorway as she took in the scene. Ekko was hunched slightly, his posture relaxed but intent. In his hands, a piping bag moved with slow precision, and though she couldn't see his face, the way he leaned in spoke of intense concentration.
The sight was strangely disarming.
The faint tension in her chest loosened slightly as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment longer than she intended. The music hummed in the background, soft and rhythmic, blending effortlessly with the gentle clatter of the utensils he occasionally reached for. The whole scene felt… normal. Comforting, even.
"Didn't know you made cupcakes," Jinx finally said, her voice cutting through the quiet yet somehow still soft. She hadn't intended to speak, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.
Ekko's back stiffened immediately at the sound of her voice, and she could see the subtle tension ripple through him. He didn't turn to face her, keeping his focus on the cupcakes as his fingers tightened around the icing bag. "Everyone's full of surprises," his voice was light, almost casual, but the ends clipped in ways she wasn't used to.
The moment stretched, heavier than the silence that had filled the room just a second ago, the music doing barely anything to lift it. Jinx wasn't sure what to do with the sudden weight of the situation. She had been prepared for a confrontation, maybe, but this… this felt different. Less hostile, more fragile.
Ekko cleared his throat, a sound too loud in the thick quiet of the room. "There is dinner on the table if you want," he said, the words floating awkwardly in the air as he motioned toward the table with a side nod. His voice was still light, even more so than before, but it felt forced, practiced, like he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine. "Cupcakes will be ready soon if that's what you prefer."
Jinx stood still for a moment, processing his words. She realized, in that moment, that he wasn't going to confront her. He wasn't going to demand answers or press her about what had happened the night before. He was going to quietly move on, as if nothing had changed. The weight of his restraint hit her harder than she expected.
It seemed obvious now. He was respecting the invisible line she had drawn, the space she needed to protect herself. He wasn't pushing, wasn't trying to pull her in or force her to admit anything. He was just… letting her be. The realization settled over Jinx with a mixture of guilt and relief. She wasn't sure which one was stronger.
She looked at him, her eyes lingering on the back of his head as he continued icing the cupcakes with an almost obsessive focus, his movements steady but distant.
But as if he noticed her lingering stare he paused, his posture straightened and he seemed to take a deep. "Not hungry?" he asked, voice tender.
The question caught Jinx off guard, pulling her from her thoughts. She hadn't expected him to speak again, especially not with that softness in his voice.
She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze flicking from his back to the table where the dinner was laid out. Her stomach was tight, but not from hunger. She wasn't sure how to answer—how to bridge the gap between them when everything felt so fragile, so uncertain.
She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure of what to say. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't want to explain either. Instead, she shrugged, a half-hearted gesture that said everything and nothing at once. "I'm fine," she muttered, her voice lacking conviction.
His shoulders relaxed, and he picked up the icing bag again, returning to his task with a quiet resignation. "Well," he said softly, his voice steady, "if you change your mind… It's there."
She bit her lips, unsure what to do, caught between wanting to continue this charade and ripping the bandaid off. After a long moment of hesitation, she let out a shaky breath, steeling herself.
She pushed herself from the doorway, her legs carrying her across the room despite the heaviness in her chest. She saw the subtle tension in Ekko's back as she approached, felt it in the way his posture stiffened. But she didn't let the moment hang in the air any longer. Without thinking too much, she wrapped her arms around him from behind and pressed her face gently into the warmth of his back.
For a heartbeat, Ekko froze, his body going rigid under her touch. Jinx felt it, the sudden stillness in him, and yet she didn't pull away. She tightened her grip, grounding herself in the closeness. She wasn't sure what she was looking for—comfort, clarity, or perhaps just some kind of bridge for understanding that words couldn't reach.
"I think," she started, her voice almost a whisper. "We need to talk… about yesterday."
"It's okay," Ekko replied, his tone soft, hesitant, like he was treading carefully around something fragile. "You don't have to explain yourself."
She sensed the effort in his voice, the way he wanted to sound reassuring but instead came off pained. His words hung in the air, brittle and unsteady, and they only made her chest tighten further.
"No—I need to," Jinx pressed, her voice gaining just enough strength to carry the weight of her conviction. "If I don't, I might never say it."
Ekko's shoulders tensed, and she saw his hands grip the edge of the counter. His knuckles paled under the pressure, the quiet strain in his posture mirroring whatever turmoil he was trying so hard to contain.
"Okay," he murmured, still not turning to face her. His voice was calm, but she could see the storm beneath the surface in the way his breathing hitched ever so slightly. It almost seemed dreadful. "I'm listening."
Jinx hesitated, her fingers curling slightly as she stood behind him. The words felt heavy, lodged somewhere between her chest and throat, but she forced herself to push past the resistance. "I—should first apologize," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
Ekko flinched, the movement subtle but sharp, as if her words struck a chord he had hoped to avoid. His grip on the counter tightened for a moment before relaxing slightly, his shoulders sinking lower under the weight of whatever thoughts were racing through his mind. The reaction caught her off guard, sparking an unwelcome twinge of guilt in her chest.
It made her wonder—what had he been expecting her to say? What had him so wound up, so ready to break? The thought tugged at the edges of her mind, but she shoved it aside for now.
"I'm sorry," she said finally, her voice steadier this time. "For yesterday. For—for shutting you out and acting like I didn't care. I just—I didn't know what to do."
Ekko still didn't turn, his pose remained tight and tense—tenser even. But she didn't let that stop her from continuing.
"It just felt like—" she paused, the words catching in her throat. She exhaled heavily, frustration flickering across her face. "I didn't want your pity."
This time, his reaction was immediate, but not what she expected. The tension in his hands began to fade, his grip on the counter softening. She felt him shift slightly, as though he was about to turn toward her, to say something—but she tightened her hold, stopping him.
"Don't," she murmured, her voice quiet but firm. She wasn't ready to see the look in his eyes yet, wasn't ready for whatever emotion might be there—anger, hurt, understanding. "Just let me finish."
Ekko stilled again, his body going quiet beneath her grip, but his silence wasn't cold. It felt… patient. Like he was giving her the space she needed to speak, even if it meant holding back whatever was on the tip of his tongue.
"You know, after you moved to the States…" she began again, her voice quieter this time, measured, like she was feeling her way through the dark. "Life… it hadn't exactly been kind to me. There were things—factors—that just made it worse. At first, it was just a passing thought here and there, like… maybe people wouldn't notice if I wasn't around anymore—maybe even like it if the jinx disappeared. But then, it wasn't just a thought. It was all I could think about."
Her grip tightened around him as her words wavered, the tremor in her voice betraying the cracks beneath her carefully composed exterior. She paused to take a ragged breath, the kind that seemed to scrape against her lungs as she struggled to steady herself. She swallowed hard, forcing down the emotions threatening to overtake her. "I went… to places. Did something I didn't know how to come back from—still don't."
Her voice faltered, and the vulnerability in her admission made her chest tighten, fear bubbling beneath the surface. "Maybe someday I'll tell you everything," she murmured, her tone low and hesitant. "When I'm ready."
She waited for a reaction—a word, a sound, something. But Ekko stayed silent. His steady, grounding presence didn't waver. But she could feel his heartbeat quicken, maybe even anxious, against her forehead where it rested on his back. But he didn't push her. He just waited. Perhaps holding it in for her sake.
"But ever since then…" Her voice cracked, but she didn't stop. "I've felt broken. Like I'm not… like I'm not a whole person anymore."
"The people around me didn't treat me the same either," she continued, her voice trembling slightly as the memories pressed in. "Like I needed to be coddled, watched, fixed."
She let out a bitter laugh, low and humorless, her fingers tightening slightly on Ekko's shirt. "It didn't matter what I did or how much I tried to prove myself. I could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. They didn't think I'd ever be the same. And maybe… maybe they were right."
"It got to the point where I didn't even know who I was anymore," she continued, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "Like I was just this… shattered version of who I used to be. And every time someone looked at me like that, it felt like another piece of me broke off."
"So, when Babbette called about the medication bottles while we were at the pier," she started again, her voice fragile but determined, "she mentioned seeing them when she stopped by with the remodeler. And that's when it hit me—you must've seen them too. That's why you started acting differently. Why you've been so… attentive."
She swallowed hard, her throat tightening around the admission. "I thought it was because you pitied me."
"But I didn't want that from you," she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. "Not from you, Ekko. You've always been the one who saw me differently. Like I was still me, even when I couldn't see it myself. And the idea of losing that, of you looking at me the way everyone else does, it—it terrified me."
Jinx held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest as the weight of her revelation filled the room. The silence that followed felt like an eternity, thick and heavy with unspoken thoughts. She waited, dreading what he might say, what he might think.
Finally, when she said nothing more Ekko broke the silence, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if the words weren't meant to be spoken aloud. "The Prozac bottle."
Jinx tensed instinctively at his confirmation, her grip on his shirt tightening again. But she didn't let go, not this time. She couldn't. She didn't want to let go of that one fragile thread of connection.
"It wasn't pity," Ekko continued, his voice quiet but firm. The words were raw, stripped of pretense or hesitation, and they made her heart skip. "It was never pity, Jinx."
Jinx let out the breath she was holding, the weight of them sinking deep into her chest. She didn't want to believe it, didn't want to feel the hope stir inside her. But his voice, steady and unwavering, left little room for doubt.
"Can I turn around?" Ekko asked carefully.
She didn't answer at first, but after a beat, she let go of him, just long enough for him to turn. The moment he was facing her, her arms found their way back to him, wrapping around his back with a kind of urgency that surprised them both.
Ekko's hand gently brushed back, his hand running soothing circles on her back with a tenderness that made her heart flutter in unexpected ways. "It wasn't pity," he repeated, his voice even more gentle now. "I don't see you like that, Jinx. I never have."
Her heart raced, thudding against her chest like it was trying to escape. Relief and fear tangled inside her, and she couldn't make sense of it. There was something so deeply vulnerable in the way he held her, something that both comforted and unsettled her all at once. The flood of emotions left her breathless, unsure of how to process it all.
"Then what do you see me as?" she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Ekko's hand faltered for a moment, the motion hesitating as if caught between the desire to answer and the weight of what the truth might do. After a beat, he continued, his voice lower than before. "I don't know if you'd want to hear that."
"Try me," she said, her voice steady despite the whirlwind inside her. She needed to know. Needed to understand what was left in his eyes when he looked at her, after everything.
Ekko let out a breath, pulling back just enough to see her face. Jinx instinctively protested, wanting to keep her face buried in his shirt, but his pull was soft and insistent. She complied, reluctantly lifting her head.
He brought a hand up to gently wipe away a stray tear that had fallen from her cheek. "Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would say it like this," Ekko mused, almost a whisper. His eyes searched hers for a moment longer, the weight of his gaze like an anchor. Then, a half-smile tugged at his lips, the softest thing she'd ever seen on him.
"I love you, Jinx."
Jinx froze in his embrace, her breath catching in her throat. The words hung in the air as her mind scrambled to catch up.
Ekko didn't let her shock stop him as he continued. "It wasn't pity, or a wish to fix you. Never in my life shared with you did I think that."
Jinx blinked, tears brimming in her eyes as her heart ached in a way she hadn't anticipated.
"I don't know when it happened," he continued, his tone carrying a warmth that made her cheeks flush. "Maybe it's always been there, buried somewhere in the corners of my heart. But at some point, I started noticing all the little things about you—the way your nose scrunches when you eat something you hate, the way your shoulders shake when you're trying to hold back a laugh." His lips twitched into the faintest smile, bittersweet and nostalgic.
"I—" He hesitated, his voice faltering for a moment as he glanced down. When his eyes found hers again, there was a vulnerability in them that made her breath hitch. "I knew," he said, his voice barely steady. "I knew you couldn't feel the same way—or at least not in the same way. And that thought clawed at me, year after year. It twisted in my chest until I couldn't bear it anymore. But somewhere along the way, I got so caught up in my own hurt, in my own fears, that I…I just gave up. I never should have left."
"I'm so sorry, Jinx," he said, his voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of his regret. "For everything. For making you feel like you had to carry the world on your own. For making you feel broken, like there was something wrong with you when there never was. It wasn't my intention. I thought I was helping… but I wasn't. I just—" He took a shuddering breath, blinking hard as a single tear escaped down his cheek. "I was wrong. About all of it. And I'm sorry."
The apology hung in the air, but it wasn't the words that shook Jinx—it was the way his vulnerability made her own walls crumble.
The realization hit her with a force that left her breathless: she wasn't the only one who had been carrying this weight. Ekko had been holding onto his feelings just as tightly, trying to protect her while hiding his own truth.
She reached up, cupping his face in her hands as her thumb wiped away his tears. "I—" she started, her voice trembling, "I didn't know… I didn't know you felt that way. I thought…" She trailed off, her words faltering, as the walls she'd built began to crumble under the weight of his honesty. "I thought you were just trying to fix me… just like everyone else."
Ekko's hands gently wrapped around hers, his grip warm and steady, offering her the comfort she had never realized she needed. "I never wanted to fix you. I just wanted to be there for you. I always have."
Her heart raced as she tried to steady herself, the vulnerability of the moment threatening to overwhelm her. But in that moment, she knew—she knew she wasn't the only one who had been afraid of losing something they didn't understand.
She wanted to speak, to find the words that could match the raw honesty he had given her, to tell him she had felt it too. But the words refused to come, nothing seemed adequate, trapped somewhere between her throat and chest, tangled in the heavy knot of emotions she couldn't untangle.
So instead, she let her actions speak where her words failed.
Jinx stepped closer, her fingers tightening on his shirt as she rose onto the tips of her toes. Her breath hitched, the vulnerability in the moment almost paralyzing, but she pushed through it. Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned in, letting her lips brush softly against his.
It was tentative at first, a quiet question wrapped in a kiss. But when Ekko's breath caught, and his hand instinctively found its way to the small of her back, grounding her, she felt something shift. The tension between them melted away, replaced by an electric warmth that spread through her chest, leaving her lightheaded.
Soon, the soft brushing of their lips turned more yearning, bolder, like a dance guided by emotions neither could fully express in words. His hand tightened gently on her back, pulling her closer as if to make sure this wasn't just another fleeting moment. Her fingers curled into his shirt, anchoring herself to him, to the feeling of connection that felt so terrifyingly new and yet so achingly familiar.
The world around them faded, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. There was no hesitation now, only the quiet honesty of the moment and the unspoken promise that, for the first time, they weren't alone in the depth of their feelings.
Jinx gasped for air as she broke the kiss, her breath shaky and her cheeks flushed. Her forehead rested against Ekko's and she could feel his breath against her skin, warm and unsteady, mirroring her own.
"Jinx," Ekko murmured, her name leaving his lips like a prayer, filled with something so raw and unguarded that it sent a shiver through her. The sound made her legs feel unsteady, forcing her back down onto her heels as reality fought to pull her away from the warmth they'd found together.
But Ekko wasn't ready to let the moment slip away. His hands, firm but gentle, steadied her, as her heels planted herself to the floor, his lips chased hers down. This time, the kiss was less hesitant, filled with an urgency that hadn't been there before. His hand slid up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing lightly against her skin as he tilted her head to deepen the connection.
Her fingers, still fisted in his shirt, tightened, pulling him closer, as if she feared he might disappear if she let go. The kiss spoke everything they couldn't say aloud—years of shared history, pain, and unspoken love bleeding into this one fleeting moment.
When they broke apart again, the room was silent except for their labored breaths. Jinx opened her eyes slowly, her gaze meeting Ekko's, and for once, there were no walls between them—only vulnerability and the quiet, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they'd found something worth holding onto.
She bit her lip, her chest tightening as she held his gaze. "Are you okay with me?" she asked, her voice trembling, barely above a whisper.
Ekko's eyes softened, his hand still lightly resting at her back, but before he could answer, Jinx shook her head, cutting him off. "No, you don't understand," she said, her words rushed and uneven. "I still feel broken—like I don't fit, like I'm not enough. I don't even know who I am half the time. Are you okay with that?"
Her voice cracked on the last word, the weight of her confession hanging heavily between them. For a moment, Ekko said nothing, his expression unreadable. But then he stepped even closer, his thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn't realized were falling.
"Jinx," he began, his voice steady but filled with something that made her breath catch, "I don't care if you feel broken. I don't care if you think you don't belong. None of that changes the fact that you're you—and that's enough. That's always been enough."
Her eyes searched his, as if looking for cracks in his resolve, but all she found was sincerity. "But what if I don't get better?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What if I can't be the person you deserve? What if I ruin everything? What if I ruin us? What if—"
"Hey," Ekko softly interrupted, his grip on her face didn't falter, his gaze unwavering. "You don't have to be anything other than who you are," he said firmly. "We'll figure it out, Jinx. Together. I'm here—for all of it. The good, the bad, and the messy—no—especially the mess you make."
His words wrapped around her like a lifeline, grounding her in a way she hadn't thought possible. For the first time in what felt like forever, the chaos in her mind quieted just a little, and she felt the faintest flicker of hope.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible but steady. "Okay."
Ekko's face lowered to the crook of her neck. "Good," he murmured, his voice soft and laced with relief.
His breath, warm against her skin, sent a shiver through her, making her cheeks flush despite the intimate moment they had just shared.
"Thank you for talking to me," he breathed, his words gentle yet weighted with gratitude. It was the kind of thank you that carried the weight of something deeper, something that spoke of trust and understanding, a quiet promise that they would be there for each other—no matter what.
"Thank you for listening," Jinx replied, a flicker of her playful side returning as she leaned in, whispering into his ear, "My, boy savior."
Ekko chuckled softly, his warm breath brushing against her skin before he pulled back slightly, his face beaming with that familiar, reassuring smile. "I'm no hero. I'm just a guy who listens."
Jinx's lips curled into a genuine smile, one that reached all the way to her eyes. "And I'm no damsel either. Just a girl who needs a pick-me-up from time to time."