Chapter Text
It is just past six in the evening when Ekko gets back from the recording studio.
When he closes the door behind him, the click resonates softly through the apartment.
Mechanically, he takes off his shoes, nudges them aside with the tip of his foot without really looking, then removes his jacket and lets it slide onto the coat hook with that familiar carelessness of habits too deeply rooted to require thought.
The apartment is quiet.
He moves down the hallway, still absorbed in the persistent thread of his thoughts, when suddenly his foot catches on something.
His body lurches in an almost ridiculous loss of balance, and he catches himself just in time against the wall, letting out a sigh caught somewhere between irritation and exhaustion.
His gaze drops to the floor and lands on tools, scattered there.
He crouches down, taking his time, picking them up one by one, repositioning them in his palm.
A faint smile stretches his lips.
«Pow?»
His voice resonates through the apartment.
But finds no answer.
Just that quiet, which softly, begins to weigh a little more.
He advances a few more steps down the hallway until he finally reaches the living room.
And there, something immediately breaks the tranquil continuity of his return.
Powder is lying on the floor.
And the faint tremors passing through her, almost imperceptible at first glance, are enough to send a panic rising in him that erases everything else.
The tools slip from his hands without him noticing, falling behind him with a dull sound, already forgotten, as he rushes toward her and kneels beside her in the same motion.
«Pow… can you hear me?»
His voice is more urgent than he would have liked, as he slides an arm beneath her shoulders to raise her against him.
Her eyes are open.
And they find his immediately, and hold on.
But he sees nothing in them except that gaze, terribly distant.
His fingers come to wipe the tears running along her eyelids with delicacy, unable to do otherwise.
«Hey… I'm here…»
Without waiting any longer, he lifts her.
Her hair brushes his arm as he straightens up.
He crosses the living room, taking in the state of the room as he goes.
A chair knocked over.
Tools scattered well beyond the hallway, surely thrown, abandoned in haste or anger.
Then his gaze catches the photo.
The one of Powder, Vi and Caitlyn.
Left behind right where she had been lying.
He stops for a moment.
Before continuing on his way.
Arriving in the bedroom, Ekko guides her to the bed before laying her down carefully. For a moment he stays leaning over her, simply to make sure she is settled, then he reaches for the blanket at the foot of the mattress and unfolds it gently over her body.
He takes the time to pull it up to her shoulders, tucking the edges around her with an almost automatic care. A simple, familiar gesture, but one that betrays despite himself the worry tightening his chest since he found her in this state.
«Did you take your medication?»
Powder shakes her head to say no.
Ekko briefly closes his eyes before nodding in turn.
A pang of anger immediately tightens his chest.
Not a violent anger.
Rather that exhausting frustration that has been accumulating for weeks, every time he sees her neglecting her sleep, her meals, or her medication.
For a moment, he is tempted to reproach her.
But reopening his eyes, he meets her tired gaze and swallows it all back.
So he simply nods a second time, jaw slightly clenched, before straightening without adding a word, and leaving the room immediately.
In the kitchen, he grabs a glass from a cupboard and turns on the tap. The water flows in a steady stream as he stays there, motionless, his gaze lost somewhere in front of him.
The water overflows slightly onto his fingers before he finally notices.
He turns off the tap, absently wipes his hand against his trousers and stays for a few seconds motionless in the middle of the kitchen.
Back in the bedroom, he sets the glass on the desk, and opens the drawer to retrieve the medication, his fingers rummaging briefly before finding what he's looking for.
Then he comes back toward her.
He sits beside her in a calm, measured movement, and without rushing her, holds out the tablets, his hand remaining there, suspended between them, to give her all the time she needs.
He waits for her to take them.
His eyes don't leave her face, attentive to the slightest detail, the slightest sign of fatigue or hesitation.
Only when she has finished drinking does the tension in Ekko's shoulders finally begin to ease.
A breath escapes him.
Then, gently, he leans toward her and presses a kiss to her forehead.
The gesture is tender but brief.
And he has barely begun to straighten when Powder lifts her arms. Her fingers come to hook softly around the back of his neck, her nails grazing his skin just enough to hold him back.
She draws him slowly toward her, and Ekko gives way without resistance.
Their lips meet briefly, in a calm, unhurried kiss, a way of reassuring each other.
Then he pulls back, just enough to retrieve the empty glass from Powder's hands.
He goes to set it on the desk before coming back to the bed.
This time, he lies down beside her carefully, taking care not to shift the mattress unnecessarily, not to disturb the fragile calm that finally seems to have settled.
Powder moves closer, nestling against him and finally settling on his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin.
Her fingers find the fabric of his t-shirt and grip it without letting go.
So he holds her a little closer against him, adjusting his position so she is comfortable, his chin coming to rest gently against the top of her head.
And he begins to rock her.
Slowly.
His hand moves into her hair, stroking it absently while his gaze drifts toward the ceiling.
He stays like that for a long time without seeking to move, simply letting time flow around them. Little by little, Powder's breathing finds a calmer, more regular rhythm, and he feels his own breath align with hers despite himself. His hand continues to slide through her hair slowly, in a movement that has become so natural he no longer even needs to think about it.
Lying on his chest, she doesn't let go. Her fingers remain hooked on his t-shirt with that quiet stubbornness particular to her, even now that exhaustion finally seems to be reclaiming its rights. Her weight against him is light, familiar, and Ekko realises how much he has missed this closeness over the last few days.
So he simply lets himself be carried by the moment.
By the warmth of her body against his and by that vanilla smell that permeates all her clothes.
He finally closes his eyes and lets his head sink a little further into the pillow.
He could stay there indefinitely.
But abruptly, without warning, Powder pulls away.
The movement is quick.
She slips from his embrace and sits up, letting the blanket slide along her body without even paying attention to it.
Ekko half-sits up, surprised.
«Where are you going?»
Powder doesn't quite turn around.
Or barely.
«I need to make progress on my project.»
Her voice is, empty.
As though the words come out without passing through her.
Ekko frowns, then, without thinking, he grabs her hand before she can move any further away.
«You should eat… and rest, for today.»
Powder goes still.
«I'm not hungry.»
Still that same absent, mechanical voice, disconnected from the obvious exhaustion weighing on her every gesture.
Ekko watches her for a moment, then his gaze softens, becomes more patient.
«Then we can just stay here, it's already late.»
He tilts his head toward the window, where the night light filters softly into the room, drawing peaceful shadows on the walls.
Powder doesn't react.
Her hand stays in his for a moment, warm, and motionless.
Then she withdraws it this time without hesitation.
«Leave me alone.»
Her voice is dry.
And without granting him another glance, she turns on her heel and heads toward the door.
Ekko reacts immediately.
His hand closes around her wrist, not violently, but enough to stop her.
«Are you angry with me?»
Powder freezes, then she turns her head, her gaze crossing his.
«What?»
«I'm asking if you're angry with me. For any reason.»
He tightens his grip slightly without realising it, then draws a brief breath to calm himself, without entirely succeeding.
«Because right now, I don't understand.»
Powder gently shakes her head.
«I have no reason to be angry.»
The answer comes fast.
Too fast for him to detect the slightest lie in it.
And yet, looking into her gaze, Ekko immediately understands there is nothing hidden behind her words to read.
No detour, no concealment.
Just something else.
Something he can't name, and that frustrates him even more.
His fingers close a little more tightly around her.
«Then why are you behaving like this again?»
Powder tries to pull her arm away lightly, more by reflex than real conviction, but immediately understands it won't get her anywhere.
An irritated breath escapes her.
Then she briefly looks away before answering, in a weary voice:
«Stop getting on my nerves…»
Something tightens at once in Ekko's gaze.
«You're the one making everything complicated.»
Frustration bleeds through his voice.
Powder remains still for a few seconds.
Then she slowly raises her head.
And when she meets his gaze, Ekko immediately understands that something has changed.
Her eyes seem darker, more distant than before.
She looks at him directly, without trying to flee this time.
«It's true that it's been a while…»
Her voice is strangely detached.
As though she were speaking of a subject that doesn't really concern her.
Then a joyless smile grazes her lips.
«You want to fuck, is that it?»
The silence that follows is deafening.
For a fraction of a second, Ekko stays frozen.
Then his jaw contracts violently.
«That's not what I'm talking about.»
He runs a hand through his hair before looking at her again.
«See? That's exactly what I mean.»
His voice is lower now.
Harder too, and less controlled.
«You spend your days shut in the attic, you barely eat anymore, and you're cold with me…»
His gaze doesn't leave her.
«I don't recognise you anymore.»
She doesn't answer right away.
Her eyes stay anchored in his, but something cracks in them, almost imperceptibly, like a surface stretched too tightly that threatens to give way without ever quite breaking.
Her fingers slip from his grip.
«You know me perfectly well.»
Her voice is calm, but it sounds hollow, as though drained of what once gave it warmth.
«I'm like this, Ekko.»
The words fall, cold, definitive, and yet something trembles in them.
«What did you want…?»
She sketches a joyless smile, barely a shadow.
«For me to pretend to be fine so it would be easier for you?»
A silence.
«I'm tired.»
And in those words there is not only weariness, there is something deeper, more ancient, a wearing down that seems to have accumulated inside her without ever finding a way out.
When she speaks them, her eyes rise toward him.
And Ekko nearly loses his breath.
There is so much sadness in them it becomes difficult to hold. Her blue eyes, once so vivid, so unpredictable, suddenly seem extinguished, darkened by something too heavy.
He stays frozen.
It is like watching someone drown without understanding how to reach out a hand.
He opens his mouth.
To say something.
Anything.
Her name, maybe.
Or an apology.
Or just, stay.
But nothing comes out.
The words remain stuck, unable to cross the weight that has settled in his chest.
And during all that time, she is still looking at him.
Just long enough for him to understand she was waiting for something.
Then she looks away.
The movement is slow, as though leaving demands more effort than staying.
But she does it anyway.
She turns around.
And without another word, she moves away.
Ekko watches her go, still unable to move, each passing second giving him the impression of letting something essential slip away.
Then she leaves.
And the door closes behind her, in a barely perceptible sound, but one that resonates in him like a brutal slam.
Ekko frowns slightly.
His gaze wavers.
The bedroom trembles.
The contours blur, slowly, like a painting left out in the rain, the shapes dissolving, the colours mixing without logic, without resistance.
The door.
The bedroom.
The shadows.
Everything fades.
Then the attic ceiling gradually reclaims its place.
The beams first, heavy and motionless, slowly imposing themselves on his field of vision, then the skylight, and finally that pale light filtering through the trapdoor, cold, almost unreal after the warmth of the dream.
Everything returns.
Too quickly.
Or not enough.
Ekko remains still, eyes open, caught somewhere between the two, unable to know at exactly what moment he left one to return to the other.
Then, slowly, he closes his eyes.
But his mind still lingers.
Her hands.
Her voice.
That moment when she had turned around and waited for something he hadn't known how to give.
«Ekko…»
He opens his eyes at once.
Powder is there.
Crouched right beside him, her blue braids falling over her shoulders, her eyes resting on his with that expression he now knows by heart.
That smile.
A smile she didn't have in that dream.
Ekko doesn't move right away.
He looks at her.
And for a fraction of a second, a single one, the two images overlap.
The one from the memory.
The one from here.
The same person.
And yet, everything about her seems different.
Powder tilts her head slightly.
«You okay?»
Ekko blinks.
«Yes.»
His voice is a little hoarse, still carrying the weight of what he just went through.
Powder watches him a second too long, as though searching for something in his face.
Then she stands.
«I made breakfast.»
She doesn't wait for an answer.
She's already turning away, and climbs back down the ladder with the same energy, leaving him to follow at his own pace.
His gaze stays anchored to her.
To the way she moves through the room, to that apparent lightness which contrasts violently with the image he still has in his head, the one from the memory, heavier, more fragile, more true perhaps.
He finally breathes in, then sits up.
His muscles protest as he stretches, his body still numb.
He gets up, carefully folds his mattress.
Then, without a word, he follows her.
The smell reaches him before he even gets downstairs.
Toast.
Sugar.
Something warm.
In the kitchen, everything is already ready.
The slices of bread are on the table, jam open beside them, cups lined up as though every detail had been anticipated.
Ekko approaches the table and sits down without a word.
He picks up a slice of toast.
Takes a bite.
The taste is familiar.
Then his gaze drifts, almost against his will, toward the living room wall.
Where the photo rests.
The same one that keeps coming back, again and again, in his dreams lately.
At first, he thought it was nothing.
Just meaningless fragments, images without sense that mixed in his sleep.
But as the nights went on, the details became more precise.
The sensations sharper.
Too sharp to be invented.
And he eventually understood.
They weren't dreams.
They were memories.
Pieces of him coming back, slowly, without warning.
That is how he realised that this photo, he had taken it himself.
He knows it.
Without being able to remember the exact moment, or what he felt at the time.
His gaze lingers on the two other silhouettes frozen in the image.
Two women.
Their faces are familiar, too familiar.
As though he should recognise them immediately.
But nothing comes.
Just emptiness.
He narrows his eyes slightly, as though that might help force the memory, make it rise to the surface.
But it changes nothing.
They are there.
Important, he is certain of it.
And yet, he is incapable of saying who they are.
His jaw clenches as he takes another bite.
«I didn't know you were that hungry.»
The murmur slips against his ear, warm and playful.
He barely flinches.
Powder has approached without him noticing.
Her gaze briefly follows Ekko's, sliding across to the photo on the wall. She lingers on it for a second, just long enough for something to pass through her eyes.
Then she looks away, as though it had no importance, and wraps her arms around Ekko's neck.
She closes her eyes.
Rests her head against his shoulder.
And stays there.
Motionless.
Ekko freezes, caught off guard by this sudden closeness, but doesn't pull away.
The seconds pass.
Then, finally, he turns his head slightly, just enough to try to catch a glimpse of her.
«…What are you doing?»
His voice is low, caught between hesitation and something softer.
Powder lets out a light, carefree laugh.
She presses a kiss against his shoulder, slow, deliberate, before biting gently.
«Recharging my batteries…»
Her voice is muffled against him, amused.
«And marking my scent on my magnificent amnesiac boyfriend.»
A smile can be heard in her words.
And her arms tighten a little more.
Then, finally, she pulls away, and comes to sit across from him, as though nothing particular had just happened.
«I have a surprise for you today.»
Ekko raises an eyebrow.
«A surprise…?»
She bites into a slice of toast, a wide smile on her lips, almost too bright to be entirely innocent.
«I took a day off, so we can go out together today.»
Ekko freezes.
His heart skips a beat.
«Go out…?»
His voice is lower, almost uncertain.
«You mean, outside?»
Powder doesn't answer right away. She spreads jam on a slice of toast with care, then places it on Ekko's plate.
«Yes. You could call it a sort of date.»
A smile stretches her lips.
«It's exactly one month today since I brought you home, we have to celebrate.»
A pause.
«And even without that…»
Her gaze catches his.
Longer this time.
More serious too, as though something has just shifted in the way she sees him, or perhaps in what she wants to tell him without yet finding the words.
«It's an important day for you.»
Her voice is calm.
But behind it, there is something else.
Something more discreet, more fragile.
Her fingers stay for a moment on the edge of the plate, motionless, as though suspended in an hesitation she doesn't put into words, then they slide slowly away, leaving the surface with an almost deliberate slowness.
She stands.
Without rushing.
And for a second, Ekko doesn't move.
He simply watches her.
Without quite understanding.
He sees her approach.
One step.
Then another.
The distance between them reduces softly, without apparent tension, but with an intention that, itself, becomes increasingly clear.
And yet he doesn't realise it right away.
Not before she is there.
Very close.
She leans slightly toward him, her face just a few centimetres from his now, close enough for him to feel her breath.
Then her lips press against his.
A quick kiss.
Like an impulse she didn't seek to control all the way through.
His body tenses, barely, with the surprise, his breath suspending for a fraction of a second.
But he doesn't push her away.
Then slowly she pulls back, just enough to look at him, her smile stretching softly, then she briefly runs her tongue over her lips.
«You taste like strawberry…»
It's murmured.
Ekko looks away slightly, as though that were enough to hide the warmth rising to his face.
«It's, the jam,» he says, a little too quickly, without really knowing why he answers.
And before the moment can even settle, she leans in again to kiss him a second time, a little more slowly this time, as though taking the time to linger.
Ekko stays motionless for a fraction of a second, then he responds, without quite realising it.
A light movement.
Almost involuntary.
When she pulls back, he keeps his eyes on her a moment too long.
He is embarrassed.
It shows.
In the way he runs a hand behind his neck, and in his gaze that catches hers before immediately fleeing.
Powder stays there a fraction of a second longer as she pulls back.
She watches him.
Looking for something in his face.
A reaction.
A sign.
But nothing really comes to break the balance.
So she doesn't stop.
She leans in one last time, pressing a final kiss.
Briefer.
Then she pulls back abruptly.
«I'm going to get ready!»
She gives him a small punch against the shoulder, more teasing than anything else, before turning on her heel.
Her steps echo quickly down the hallway, until they disappear behind the bedroom door that closes with a faint click.
The silence returns.
Ekko stays there, motionless, his gaze resting in the void, his shoulder still marked by the contact, his lips still haunted by the brief passage of hers.
Then, slowly, he rests his head against the table.
The wood is cool against his forehead.
But despite himself, a faint smile comes to pull at the corner of his lips.
At the beginning, everything was strange.
Every gesture, every look, every contact gave him the impression of being on unfamiliar ground.
And now everything seems almost natural.
He is more conscious than ever of each of Powder's gestures.
The way she approaches without warning.
Her hands that linger a little too long.
Her voice that changes depending on what she wants to provoke in him.
He releases a faint breath, to expel the overflow of thoughts turning in circles in his head.
Then he picks up a slice of toast, and bites into it.
«She's going to drive me completely mad…»
It is still early afternoon when Caitlyn arrives at the Last Drop, dressed in her uniform.
Outside, the sun is shining brightly, contrasting with the slight autumn breeze that slides between the streets and makes the air shiver.
When she pushes the door open, a wave of suspicious looks immediately turns toward her.
The colours she wears never go unnoticed here.
For a second, the silence seems to hesitate.
Then, little by little, the regulars recognise her.
Shoulders relax.
Murmurs resume.
As though her presence, in the end, is no longer a threat.
Caitlyn releases a breath she didn't even realise she was holding.
And she moves forward.
Her steps lead her to the counter, while her mind stays elsewhere.
Lost in her thoughts.
Time passes, and the investigation isn't moving forward.
Slowed by political decisions that prevent her from working the way she would like, from following her leads all the way through without having to answer to people who don't truly understand what is at stake.
And in the meantime, the cases pile up.
The files accumulate.
The urgencies blur together.
Exhaustion settles in.
Caitlyn briefly closes her eyes.
If Vi were still here, she would surely tell her not to think so much.
Not to let herself be trapped by the rules.
To just go.
A faint smile comes to pull at her lips at that thought.
But it is tired.
A little sad.
And it disappears almost as soon as it appeared.
«You look miserable.»
The voice cuts clean through the thread of her thoughts.
Caitlyn turns her head.
Sevika is standing behind the counter, an apron tied around her waist, her shoulders solid, her gaze already resting on her.
«Vander isn't here?»
Her voice is steady, composed, but the exhaustion seeps through despite herself.
Sevika picks up a glass, turns it in her hand before setting it further away.
«He had things to do.»
Caitlyn nods, briefly glancing around the room before bringing her attention back to her.
«And you're taking care of the bar in his absence?»
Sevika lets out a sigh, long, weary, as though the answer were obvious, or simply tiring to repeat.
She picks up a cloth from beside her and starts wiping an invisible mark on the counter.
«Apparently.»
She rubs a little harder.
«This family decided I was good at everything.»
She sets the cloth down with a sharp gesture, then raises her eyes toward Caitlyn, her gaze turned sharp again.
«Waitress, bodyguard, babysitter…»
One corner of her mouth lifts.
«Maybe I should start asking for a raise.»
Her fingers tap once against the wood of the counter.
Then she tilts her head.
«So?»
A pause.
«What do you want?»
Caitlyn hesitates only a fraction of a second before pulling out a stool and sitting at the counter. The wood creaks under the movement.
And she slides a few notes in front of her.
«A drink.»
Sevika glances at the notes, then at Caitlyn, without commenting. She picks up a bottle behind her, pours without a word, and pushes the glass toward her.
The amber liquid sways before settling.
Caitlyn stares at it for a moment.
Then she brings it to her lips.
The minutes pass without really distinguishing themselves from one another.
The ambient noise returns, settles, muffled conversations, glasses clinking, chairs scraping the floor, but all of it stays distant, as though filtered.
She drinks slowly.
Without hurrying.
Without really stopping either.
Her gaze drifts somewhere in front of her, caught on nothing specific.
And, little by little, the glass empties.
Without her really noticing.
«Do you drink often?»
Sevika's question arrives without warning.
Caitlyn turns her glass between her fingers.
«No, not really.»
Sevika nods vaguely.
«It shows.»
Caitlyn sketches a smile, without quite raising her head.
Her fingers tap against the glass, following an irregular, unconscious rhythm, as though her mind is trying to hold onto something simple.
«By the way, have you seen Powder recently?»
Sevika makes a brief pause.
She sets the bottle on the counter, then crosses her arms, her gaze sliding briefly over Caitlyn before fixing elsewhere.
A grimace stretches her lips, not quite a smile, but something that approaches one without ever getting there.
«She's doing fine.»
She breathes slightly through her nose, as though it half amuses her.
«Even a little too fine, if you ask me.»
Caitlyn finally looks up at her, an eyebrow raised.
«Too fine?»
Sevika shrugs, with an air of feigned detachment, but her gaze betrays a hint of irritation.
«Yeah. Too fine.»
She picks up the cloth again, slides it over the wood without really looking at what she's doing.
«Last time we saw each other, she woke me up in the middle of the night to take out her trash.»
Caitlyn lets out a laugh.
The first real one of the evening.
«She sent you to take out her trash.»
«In the middle of the night, I repeat.»
Sevika picks up a glass, turns it between her fingers with feigned dignity.
«So yeah. She's doing fine. And I sincerely hope I don't run into her anytime soon.»
Caitlyn sketches a smile, then tilts her head slightly, as though an idea has just crossed her mind.
«You know, I'm starting to wonder if she hasn't found someone.»
Sevika raises an eyebrow.
«Someone?»
«A new boyfriend, maybe.»
A silence.
Then Sevika bursts out laughing, a frank, resounding laugh that cuts completely against her previous attitude.
«Powder? Seriously?»
Caitlyn doesn't laugh.
«I'm serious.»
Sevika calms down a little, intrigued despite herself, and straightens.
«Ok, tell me.»
Caitlyn crosses her arms, thinks for a second.
«Last time, I called her to suggest we have dinner together.»
She pauses.
«But it wasn't her who picked up.»
Sevika tilts her head, attentive now.
«It was a man.»
Another silence.
Sevika blinks, then sets her glass down with renewed interest.
«Wait, what?»
«Yes. And I didn't dial the wrong number.»
Caitlyn lets out a breath, still puzzled.
«I asked him who he was.»
«And?»
Sevika has turned entirely toward her now, drawn in by the story.
«And he answered, as though I was supposed to know him.»
Sevika lets out a small laugh, intrigued.
«Oh, I like this story. And then?»
Caitlyn shrugs slightly.
«It cut off right after.»
Sevika narrows her eyes, thinking.
«And you didn't ask Powder directly?»
Caitlyn lets out a small humourless laugh.
«I did. The next day.»
«And?»
«She told me I must have imagined it. That I probably dreamed it from overworking myself.»
A silence.
Then Sevika bursts out laughing again, even louder than the first time.
«She's unbelievable.»
Caitlyn tries to stay serious for a second longer.
Then she cracks.
And ends up laughing too.
The laughter settles gently.
The silence that follows is different from the previous one.
More relaxed.
Almost comfortable.
Her fingers tap against the glass again, but the rhythm has changed.
Slower. More regular.
Then, without really looking at Sevika:
«You wouldn't happen to know if anything, a little shady, is going on in Zaun right now?»
Sevika doesn't react immediately.
Her face stays closed, almost impassive, but her brows furrow very slightly.
«What kind of things?»
Caitlyn shrugs vaguely.
«I don't know.»
Sevika cuts her off, more sharply.
«Don't beat around the bush with me.»
She picks up the bottle, refills Caitlyn's glass without asking.
«Get to the point.»
The liquid rises.
Caitlyn watches the gesture for a second, then releases a breath.
«I need information on Finn's gang.»
The name falls between them.
Heavier than the rest.
«Ideally, I'd be able to bring them in, get directly what they know out of them…»
A joyless grimace passes over her lips.
«But…»
Sevika finishes for her, without taking her eyes off her.
«But you're boxed in by the law.»
Caitlyn nods.
«That's it.»
The silence settles, denser.
Less neutral.
As though the conversation has just crossed an invisible line.
Sevika stays silent for a second, then says, in a lower tone:
«I have nothing interesting to tell you about them.»
She leans in, forearms on the counter, reducing the distance without softening her gaze.
«But I'm sure it can't be that complicated to find them a pretext.»
Her voice drops another notch.
Calmer.
Sharper.
«And if you can't find one…»
A brief pause.
«…you can always create one.»
The words hang between them.
Caitlyn doesn't answer right away.
Her gaze loses itself for a second in her glass, as though she is weighing what was just said, not just the words, but what they imply.
Then something changes.
A smile appears.
Light. Almost unexpected.
With a hint of mischief that cuts against everything else.
She raises her eyes toward Sevika.
«You know you really have good ideas.»
Sevika sketches a smile, already pouring herself a glass.
«Tell me about it.»
She raises her glass and clinks it against Caitlyn's.
A clean sound.
Simple.
Sufficient.
After lunch, Ekko and Powder launched into the preparations for their outing.
Well, Powder mostly.
Ekko, for his part, endures.
Standing in the middle of the room, transformed into an improvised mannequin, he puts on, then takes off, everything she hands him without really keeping track.
After a while, he finds himself covered in an enormous coat, far too thick, over a completely purple ensemble, accompanied by a hooded jumper in the same tone.
He tries to lift an arm.
It gets stuck.
Then the other.
Even worse.
He looks down at himself, perplexed.
«…I can barely move.»
His voice is muffled under the layers of fabric.
«That's the point.»
Powder steps back a few paces, hands on her hips, looking proudly satisfied with her work.
«That way you won't be cold.»
Ekko breathes out softly, half amused, half despairing.
«I'll more likely die of suffocation.»
She ignores this.
Or pretends to.
Facing him, she is wearing almost the same outfit, an identical purple ensemble, fitted to her figure, topped with a jacket and a slightly tilted cap.
On her, everything looks natural.
He looks at her for a moment.
Then looks back at himself.
«Are you sure this suits me?»
She stares at him, narrows her eyes, as though analysing every detail, before a smile stretches her lips.
«Of course.»
She approaches, quickly adjusts the zip of his coat, and taps his shoulder.
«You're perfect like that.»
Ekko stays silent for a second.
Then he sighs.
But he doesn't protest further.
Because, despite everything, she looks far too pleased for him to want to ruin it.
Once ready, Powder opens the apartment door and steps out first.
Without hesitating.
As though crossing that threshold had nothing particular about it.
Ekko stays behind.
He watches her disappear on the other side, sees the light flood the doorframe, and is about to follow her.
But something blocks.
His body freezes, his muscles tense, and his feet refuse to advance, as though they were anchored to the floor.
His gaze stays fixed straight ahead, on the outside, on that barrier which is nonetheless trivial, but which suddenly becomes an uncrossable boundary.
And without warning.
Everything shifts.
For a fraction of a second, he is no longer there.
The present collapses, swept away without resistance, and he is elsewhere, plunged back into the narrow darkness of that cell where the air was too heavy to breathe properly, where the walls seemed to close in a little more with each passing second, where the silence was never truly silent, only suspended.
Suspended in waiting.
Waiting for the blows.
Waiting for the pain.
Then slowly a hand comes to rest against his chin.
Gentle.
Firmly anchored in the present.
«Lift your head, Ekko, look at me.»
Ekko barely hesitates.
His eyes rise slowly, leaving that fixed point where he had been lost, and come to rest on her.
Powder is there.
Right in front of him.
Their gazes cross, and she doesn't let go of him, not for a single second.
Then, gently, without rushing the moment, she steps back one pace.
Then another.
Without ever looking away.
Until the distance settles just enough that he can no longer reach her without moving.
«Come on, come.»
She holds out her hand.
Ekko stares at it.
His fingers stay motionless along his body, but inside, everything mixes and blurs together.
The fear.
The anguish.
And that visceral, instinctive sensation that something bad is waiting for him outside, that crossing this threshold means risking reliving what he is still trying to flee.
So Ekko stops thinking.
Or at least, he tries.
«I'm here, focus on me, and on nothing else.»
Powder's voice settles gently.
Like a fixed point in the middle of the chaos.
Ekko releases a trembling breath, almost painful, as though the air has struggled to circulate until now, then his eyes narrow slightly, stung by the light in the hallway.
And little by little, the rest disappears.
The walls.
The door.
The outside.
Everything blurs.
Everything except her.
In that too-bright light, Powder's blue eyes seem to catch every reflection, to hold onto the slightest particle of clarity until they become almost unreal, like two shards of polished glass, two jewels suspended in the void.
And Ekko holds onto them, until the rest loses all importance, until his fingers, almost against his will, finally begin to move.
Until they come to take her hand.
At once, Powder draws him toward her, without roughness but without hesitation either, as though she had been waiting for that exact moment, and the next instant she enfolds him, firmly, burying her face against his chest, as though to anchor him even further, as though to prevent the world from reclaiming him.
«I'm proud of you, Ekko.»
Her voice is muffled against him.
She then raises her eyes toward him, and tightens her fingers slightly around his, interlacing their hands before gently pulling him forward, inviting him to advance, not to stop now.
The stairs pass mechanically beneath their steps, rhythmed by that constant presence, her hand in his, that simple contact but sufficient to keep him from sinking back.
Outside, the breeze comes immediately to caress his skin, cold but gentle, surprising after the stagnant air inside.
The sun is brilliant.
It floods the street with a vivid light that seems to expose everything, without the slightest restraint.
His eyes move slowly over what lies before him.
Nothing extraordinary.
An ordinary street.
And yet, after so much time shut away, cut off from the world, deprived of everything that remotely resembles the outside, everything seems strangely unreal, as though he were observing something that doesn't truly exist.
The world stays suspended around him for another second, then the gentle pressure of Powder's hand against his brings him forward.
Their fingers remain interlaced as she leads him along the pavement, guiding his steps with assurance.
The car isn't far.
Arriving level with the door, she slows, then opens it without releasing his hand.
Once settled, she turns slightly toward him.
He doesn't have time to understand.
She produces a mask.
And, with unexpected delicacy, she brings it to his face, her gestures precise but slow, before passing the two loops behind Ekko's ears, grazing his skin in passing.
Ekko frowns slightly.
The question comes immediately.
Why?
But she doesn't give him time to ask it.
Her smile is enough.
A smile that hides nothing, but says clearly that she knows what she's doing, and that he can trust her.
So he says nothing.
She adjusts the mask one last time, makes sure it holds properly, then comes back to take his hand, naturally, as though she had never stopped holding it.
«We'll start gently, okay?»
Her voice is calm.
«We'll go to the old shopping centre, on the outskirts.»
Ekko nods.
His fingers tighten slightly around Powder's.
And without commenting, without making it something greater than it is, she sketches a faint smile before turning to face forward.
The engine starts, and the car sets off.
Through the window, the world passes slowly, the buildings, the passersby, the everyday details that, for anyone else, would have nothing remarkable about them, but which, for him, still carry that strange impression of unreality.
As though he were observing a life that is no longer quite his own.
Arriving in front of the shopping centre, Ekko raises his head slightly and stops for a moment getting out of the car.
He wasn't expecting this.
The building is enormous.
Too large, almost.
The shop windows stretch as far as the eye can see, the signs follow one after another, luminous, and even if the place remains relatively calm, there is already far more people than he has seen for a long time.
Inside, everything seems even larger, more open, almost overwhelming at times, but Powder doesn't give him time to get lost.
They go from shop to shop, and very quickly, she draws him into a clothing store.
She navigates through the shop, picks up several outfits and finally releases his hand, just long enough to disappear into a fitting room.
Ekko stays there.
A little stiff.
A little lost.
Then the curtain opens.
«What do you think of this outfit?»
He looks up.
And stops.
Powder comes out of the fitting room, dressed in a short ensemble that reveals her neckline, and in her back, her long tattoo that follows the line of her spine, visible with every movement.
Ekko blinks.
«It's nice…»
His answer falls, a little too quickly.
«That's the fourth time you've said that.»
She looks at him, amused, almost teasing.
But Ekko, for his part, stays frozen.
Because the truth is he doesn't know what else to say.
Whatever she wears, it suits her.
And the thoughts crossing his mind at that moment catch him off guard, enough for him to look away, as though afraid they might be read on his face.
Seeing his reaction, Powder smiles.
«I'll take this one.»
She disappears for a moment into the fitting room, taking the time to change, then reappears with her clothes, the ensemble folded over her arm, before coming back toward him with a decisive step.
«Now it's your turn.»
And without really giving him time to collect himself, she gently takes his hand, then draws him toward the other side of the shop, where the men's clothes are lined up with an intimidating rigour.
Walking past the different outfits, he glances at himself briefly, in a mirror.
And something catches.
A discomfort.
As though he no longer quite knew what suited him.
What he was supposed to wear.
Or even, what he was supposed to look like.
Powder, for her part, doesn't seem to hesitate.
«Here. Try this.»
Ekko lowers his eyes toward the clothes.
Then he finally takes them.
And heads toward the fitting room.
Once the clothes are on, Ekko stays for a second motionless in the fitting room, his eyes on his reflection.
Then he pulls the curtain aside and comes out.
«It's fine…»
Powder turns toward him.
And stops.
Her eyes move over him, detailing the cut, the way the fabric falls on his shoulders, adjusts to his silhouette, and suddenly, she claps her hands with enthusiasm.
«Ok, this is perfect. We're getting it.»
She approaches at once, without giving him time to react, and comes to adjust the fabric at his collar, then at his sleeves.
Ekko doesn't move.
His gaze stays anchored in hers.
Because in her eyes, he recognises that gleam.
The one he sometimes catches.
A vivid, concentrated gleam, as though at that precise moment, nothing else exists around her, as though her whole world has reduced itself to what she has right in front of her.
To him.
«See?» she adds, stepping back slightly to get a better look at him. «I told you.»
She tilts her head a little, a satisfied smile on her lips.
«It really suits you.»
It's pleasant.
Strangely pleasant.
To be looked at like that.
As though, for a moment, nothing matters more than you.
After that, Ekko goes back to change.
In the fitting room, the quiet returns.
He undoes the bottom without difficulty, but when he tries to take off the top, something gets stuck. The fabric resists, caught at the collar, and he hesitates to pull harder.
He sighs, annoyed at himself, then finally sticks his head through the curtain opening.
«Powder…?»
She doesn't take long.
She comes in almost immediately, a smile already on her lips, as though she had guessed exactly what was waiting for her.
«Seriously…» she says, raising her eyes toward him. «You look like a child who can't undo his shoelaces.»
Ekko sketches a faint smile, a little embarrassed.
«Very funny.»
She approaches.
Without hurrying.
Her fingers take hold of the fabric with delicacy, looking for the best way to free it without rushing the gesture.
«Don't move…»
Her voice is nothing more than a murmur.
Their bodies are so close that Ekko perceives each of Powder's breaths, warm and regular against his skin, and feels his own breathing quicken in response, shorter, heavier.
Her gestures stay precise, but his gaze drifts despite himself toward her lips.
The silence that settles is heavy, dense, charged with an almost palpable tension.
Powder slowly raises her eyes.
Their gazes cross and stay locked on one another.
No more jokes.
No more fleeing.
Only that suspended, electric moment, where everything suddenly seems to align.
Then, very slowly, they draw closer.
The distance melts between them.
The kiss is gentle at first, hesitant. Then it deepens, becomes more certain, more real.
Ekko's heart pounds violently in his chest, time dilates, and everything else seems to disappear.
He eventually pulls back slightly.
Just enough to catch his breath.
Their foreheads stay together.
Their breathing mingles still.
Then she pulls back slightly, just enough to break that contact, as though she has just suddenly come back to herself.
Her cheeks flush.
«Sorry…» she murmurs, her gaze fleeing. «I, I didn't want to go too fast.»
Ekko gently shakes his head.
«Sorry.»
But she reacts right away.
Before he can say anything more.
«No.»
Her voice is firmer this time, even if it stays gentle.
She barely raises her eyes toward him, just a fraction of a second, before going back to what she was doing, her fingers resuming their place at the collar of his top.
«It's my fault…» she adds, focusing on the fabric, as though that allows her to keep her composure. «I shouldn't have let myself get carried away.»
Her gestures are precise.
A little quicker now.
The fabric finally gives way.
The collar comes free at last.
«There…»
Her voice is almost a breath.
Then she slowly steps back, but this time, she doesn't raise her eyes.
«I'll wait for you outside…» she murmurs.
And without adding another word, she turns, parts the curtain, and leaves the fitting room.
The fabric falls softly behind her.
And the silence returns.
Despite the lingering awkwardness of what just happened in the fitting room, something changes the moment they find themselves outside again.
Or rather, something is deliberately set aside.
Powder is the first to break that silence.
Not by talking about it.
But by acting as though nothing needs to be.
She throws him a light remark as they walk, distractedly picks up an object from a shelf to show him, makes a joke about an outfit spotted in a window, and very quickly, her energy takes back over.
As though that moment, as intense as it was, had been tucked away in a corner, not forgotten, but not allowed to invade the rest.
After trying a few more outfits, some immediately validated by Powder, others rejected with exaggerated grimaces that always end up drawing a faint smile out of him, they finally leave the shop, bags in hand.
The air of the shopping centre seems different now.
Less oppressive.
Or maybe it's just him.
They wander for a while without any real aim, walking past a few windows, stopping sometimes for no reason, simply to look, to exist there, in the middle of that tranquil movement which no longer seems as unreal to him as at the beginning.
Then, naturally, they head toward the exit.
Outside, the air is still fresh, but more pleasant this time, as though his body is finally getting used to it.
Powder slows as she spots a stand.
«Wait.»
Without really giving him time to respond, she approaches it and comes back a few moments later with two still-warm crêpes, the faint steam drifting into the air.
She hands him one.
«Here.»
Ekko takes it, his fingers brushing hers in passing, then they move away a little, until they find a bench, set right at the edge of a pool.
The water is calm.
Barely disturbed by a few ripples.
They sit down.
Side by side.
Not too close.
But not really far apart either.
The silence returns, gently, carried by the lapping of the water and the distant noise of the shopping centre behind them.
Powder finally breaks that quiet.
«Sorry…» she murmurs, her eyes on the pool. «The day probably wasn't very fun for you.»
Ekko turns his head slightly toward her.
«No.»
A silence.
«I really enjoyed it…» he adds, more calmly. «Even if I'm a little suffocated under this mask.»
Powder lets out a small laugh, discreet but sincere.
«Good…»
Her voice softens as it falls.
Almost murmured.
Then, without looking at him directly, her hand slides slowly along the bench, until it comes to brush Ekko's.
Timidly.
Ekko looks down.
Watches their hands.
Hesitates.
Then, gently, he moves his fingers, turns his hand, and interlaces theirs with a cautious slowness.
He feels Powder give a slight shiver beside him.
As though she hadn't really expected it.
He barely turns his head and catches her gaze.
Surprised.
Almost fragile.
Then, without saying anything, she draws closer.
Slowly.
And comes to rest her head against his shoulder.
He feels her weight against him.
And, little by little, without him noticing, he relaxes.
Truly.
The minutes pass.
Silent.
Peaceful.
They stay there, one against the other, their fingers still interlaced, watching the surface of the pool, where the trembling reflections of the light slide slowly, as though time itself has slowed.
«Ekko…»
Her voice is barely audible.
A murmur.
He turns his head slightly toward her, without moving the rest of his body, as though the slightest unnecessary gesture could break this fragile balance, his attention entirely captured by this simple call.
Powder moves in turn.
Very slightly.
Just enough to raise her head.
Their gazes cross.
And everything else disappears.
The noise around them.
The wind.
Even the world.
There is nothing left but that tiny distance between them.
And what she is about to say.
Her lips part barely.
«I love you.»
After these words, Powder settles gently back against him.
As though she expects nothing.
Her head finds its natural place against his shoulder again, their hands still linked, and she looks back at the water, peaceful, almost detached from what she has just offered him.
And it troubles him.
Deeply.
Because he can't stop thinking that the Ekko she loves, the one to whom those words were meant, may no longer truly exist.
Or at least, not the way he was before.
Not as he is in her memories.
His fingers tighten slightly around hers.
And his mind drifts.
He thinks back over these last few weeks.
Everything they have been through.
Everything she has done for him.
And, without warning, an image imposes itself.
Her smile.
A smile he has never seen in his memories.
A smile he wants to protect.
At any cost.
So he opens his mouth.
Ready to speak.
Ready, finally, to answer.
«Powder!»
The cry snaps behind them.
The moment shatters.
Ekko flinches slightly, and Powder sits up immediately, as though pulled out of the instant, her fingers leaving his without even realising it.
A figure is coming toward them, fast, almost running.
A girl with electric green and yellow hair, overflowing with energy, who doesn't even slow down as she reaches them.
And without warning,
She wraps her arms around Powder from behind.
«Powder, what are you doing here?!»
Powder lets out a slight breath of surprise, her body tensing for a fraction of a second before she recognises the voice, the presence.
She lets herself go into the embrace for a second, then turns her head slightly, a smile already forming on her lips.
A living smile.
Spontaneous.
«I could ask you the same question, Zeri.»
The girl barely loosens her embrace, moving alongside her with the same overflowing energy, her sparkling eyes sliding quickly over Ekko before coming back to Powder.
«Seriously, I didn't think I'd run into you here! Have you dropped off the face of the earth or what?»
Powder shrugs, that smile still on her face.
«I needed to, get some air.»
Her answer is simple.
But her tone is light.
Ekko, for his part, hasn't moved.
He remained seated.
A little to the side now.
And his gaze doesn't leave Powder.
Or rather, that smile.
Because he recognises it.
It's the same one.
The same one she gives him sometimes, in those calmer, more sincere moments, the ones he thought were unique.
Privileged.
And yet, there, she gives it to someone else with the same ease.
Something tightens slightly inside him.
As though what he believed was special has, in an instant, become ordinary.
His fingers stay motionless on the bench.
Where, just a few seconds earlier, Powder's hand was still resting.
Then Zeri turns toward him.
Her eyes narrow slightly, curious, almost playful.
She tilts her head, a mischievous smile stretching her lips.
«And him, who is he?»
Her gaze moves between the two of them, too attentive, too quick to be innocent.
Ekko doesn't answer.
He doesn't have time.
Powder moves immediately.
She takes a step forward.
Just enough to place herself in front of him.
As though to shield him from that gaze.
«He's a friend.»
Her voice has changed.
Colder.
More closed.
Like a door softly but unhesitatingly shut.
Zeri raises an eyebrow slightly, surprised by the tone, but her smile doesn't completely disappear.
She looks at Powder for a second longer.
Then at Ekko.
Again.
As though she is trying to understand.
Behind her, Ekko stays still.
But the words resonate.
As though everything they have shared has just been swept away with a wave of the hand.