𝐄𝐤𝐤𝐨 | 𝐃𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕪 𝐋𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝐀𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕤

12. Little Man

I stayed where I was, teeth gritted against the frustration inside me. At myself. At him. At how pathetically transparent I must've seemed.

No way was I giving him the satisfaction of a response. I pressed my face further into the pillow, willing my emotions to still.
But his voice broke through again, teasing and light, as if he was thoroughly enjoying it.
"Why don't you look at me?"

I clenched my fists under the covers, heat rising in my chest.
"Why?" I finally muttered, my voice muffled.
"So you can make fun of me?"
His chuckle was low, warm and far too self-assured.
"Make fun of you? Nah," he said, dragging out the words.
"From what I know, I'm not that ugly. You can look at me."

I said nothing, refusing to play his little game.
My silence only seemed to amuse him more. Then, his tone shifted— still teasing, but with an edge of something deeper.
"Weren't you asking Babette about me the night Smeech hurt you? I didn't think you'd change your mind and not want to see me after all this time..."

I froze. Breath hitching. His words clawed at something buried deep in my memory, dragging it to the surface.
It must have been a game, a sick joke. It couldn't be right.

Slowly, my hand moved to pull the blanket down, and when my face emerged, my gaze locked on him. I couldn't understand if I was dreaming.
It was Ekko.
But not the boy I once knew. He was taller now, his frame strong and solid, his features sharp, confident. Yet, the smile he gave me was still his— still Little Man's.

"Hello, Shark," he said softly, that familiar warmth in his voice breaking through my disbelief. Tears blurred my vision as the reality of it hit me, and without a second thought, I scramble out of bed, practically crashing into him as I wrapped my arms tightly around his torso.

He didn't move, as if momentarily stunned. Then, his arms came around me, holding me just as tightly.
"You're here," I whispered, voice breaking as the tears finally spilled.
"You're really here."
My arms didn't loosen around him, and I buried my face against his chest, letting the tears fall.
He was warm, real.
My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt like I feared he'd disappear if I let go.
I pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, taking in the sharpness of his jaw, the way the white dreadlocks framed his face and fell over his forehead, and those eyes— brighter than I remembered, glowing with life and purpose.
He'd changed so much, yet he was still Ekko.
Still my Little Man.

"It's been a long time, huh?" He said softly, almost hesitant, maybe unsure of what to say to me. It struck me like a wave. The reason for my tears quickly changed, my emotions spiralled.
"A long time?" I repeated, a tremble in my voice.
"You disappeared, Ekko. You left! I thought you were dead! How could you just—"
My voice broke, anger bleeding into confusion.
But I faltered, realising how much he must have endured.
"You... survived all this time. I don't know how, but... were you alone? Who have you been with?"
My mind raced with questions, admiration flickering through the frustration.

Hie expression softened, but before he could answer, guilt hit me like a blow, drowning everything else.
"I'm sorry," I choked out.
"I'm so sorry, Ekko. I—" the words tumbled out in a flood of remorse.
"For everything. For what I did, for—"
"Shark," he interrupted gently, grabbing my arms and steadying me. His grip was firm but soothing, grounding me.
"Breathe."

I blinked up at him, my chest heaving.
That calm gaze of his cut through the chaos in me, forcing me to pause.
"It's okay," he said, steady and reassuring.
"It's alright now. It's going to get better. I promise."
I shook my head, in denial. Hands trembling as I gripped his wrists.
"Don't hate me," I whispered, barely audible.
"Please, Ekko. Don't hate me."
His brows furrowed, and he raised a hand to my face, gently wiping tears away with his thumb.
"Hate you?" He said, quite the disbelief in the question itself.
"I could never hate you."

Those words shattered the last of my composure, and I let out a broken sob as he pulled me into his arms again, tightly. His presence was overwhelming, comforting, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like maybe— just maybe— I wasn't as lost as I thought.

The adrenaline that made me rush to him suddenly vanished, searing pain surged through my body, starting at my bruised ribs and shooting down to my knees.
I felt dizzy, my knees buckled.
"Shark!" Ekko's grip tightened instantly, holding me upright before I hit the ground. There was a mix of concern and frustration in his actions, his words.
"You're not ready to be up! I should have made you go back to bed instantly."
I grit my teeth, the stubbornness in me like a reflex.
"I'm fine," I managed, even though my voice cracked under the strain. My body screamed otherwise, trembling under the weight of even standing. He raised an eyebrow, his tone bordering in disbelief.
"You can't even stand without falling over!"

I glared at him, willing my legs to steady themselves despite my every muscle shaking.
"I can stand. I'm not weak."
He sounded exasperated as he steadied me again, his arms bracing me like I was a wayward child refusing to listen.
"Shark, this isn't about weakness. Your body's been through hell. You need to rest."

I shook my head stubbornly, not willing to give up, ignoring the way my vision blurred at the edges and my breaths came shallow and quick.
"I don't care," I snapped, forcing my legs to lock even as they threatened to give way again.
"I won't just lay there like some helpless—"
"You're hurt," he cut me off, his voice rising slightly but never losing gentleness.
"You can barely stand, and you think you're going to what? Fight your way back to whatever chaos you're used to?"

I hated that he was right. I hated how weak I felt, how every second upright was agony.
But most of all, I hated how he saw through every single layer of my defiance.
Still, I couldn't bring myself to sit down. Not yet.
"I've survived worse," I was trying to convince him, maybe more to convince myself.
"Maybe you have," Ekko said, softening just enough to make me feel like I wasn't being entirely scolded.
"But you're not alone, now. You don't have to keep punishing yourself just to prove something."
I couldn't really say anything else to him, and before my brain could process a response, my knees trembled again. This time, even my stubbornness couldn't hold me up.

Little Man caught me, his arms sliding under mine as he eased me back toward the bed.
"Enough," he said firmly.
"You're sitting down, even if I have to make you."
I grumbled under my breath but didn't fight him as he helped me onto the soft covers of his bed, my body sagging in relief despite my pride protesting.

A knock sounded at the door.
It wasn't casual— it was frantic, followed by the sounds of hurried voices outside.
Ekko's head snapped toward the noise, his expression hardening, the easy warmth from moments ago replaced by this serious, guarded look. He turned back to me.
"Stay here. Don't move an inch until I get back."
Obviously left no room for debate.

Whatever was happening, it wasn't something I wanted to argue over.
The boy pulled away, his steps purposeful as he moved toward the door. My body instinctively leaning after him, a mix of curiosity and unease tugging at me. But just as I was thinking of standing, another wave of pain rippled through me, forcing me to stay put.
He slipped out, and I caught a glimpse of all those agitated Firelights.
The voices outside were hushed but urgent, indistinct but tense.

Ekko closed the door behind him, leaving me alone again in the silence of the room. My thoughts swirled as I stared at the door, wondering what the hell was going on out there— and why it suddenly felt like something was about to go terribly wrong.

As I sat there, pretty much paralysed in bed, I began taking in the room like before. Now I was seeing it with different eyes, finding my childhood best friend in every part of that space.
Ekko— my Ekko— was alive, stronger and more resilient than I could have imagined. Seeing him had unraveled every certainty I thought I had. Going back to Silco, to the cause I'd spilled so much blood for, now felt distant, even hollow.
I couldn't lose Ekko again. I wouldn't.

But the cause still burned within me.
Zaun's Independence wasn't just Silco's fight— it was mine too.
Could I fight for it from Ekko's side?
Did the Firelights want the same thing?
I didn't know.

All I knew was they didn't want me.