Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
FINALE.
your POV.
"What am I wearing?" Ekko blurted out, dumbfounded, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and sarcasm as he looked down at himself. His expression twisted into something caught between amusement and confusion as he tugged at the hem of his cropped hoodie, as if making sure it was actually real. The hoodie itself had an edgy, thrown-together look—half crop top with a loose hood draping over his shoulders, fabric cut just high enough to reveal the toned definition of his stomach.
His pants, though? They were actually pretty cool, if I did say so myself. Loose but functional, with reinforced stitching and utility pockets, clearly designed for movement. But, of course, Jinx had to add her signature touch. The deep blues and purples of her palette bled into the fabric of his top, and right in the center of his chest, a bold, vibrant purple "X" was painted across the fabric like a defiant signature.
Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face before glancing up at her. "Style, huh?" he muttered, shaking his head.
"Style," Jinx echoed confidently, her usual grin stretching softly across her face as she effortlessly hopped onto her airship, she still wasn't her usual self as one wouldn't be after that whole situation but, she landed lightly with a bounce. "And I know you like it, so don't even try to deny it."
I glanced at Ekko, waiting for his reaction, but the moment he caught me looking, he just scoffed and rolled his eyes. And yet—despite his words, despite his feigned annoyance—there was no mistaking the way he subtly flexed his arms, testing the feel of the fabric, or how he ran a hand over the detailed stitching like he actually appreciated the craftsmanship.
He liked it.
I smirked, but before I could call him out on it, he smacked my shoulder lightly and muttered, "Let's just go," before boarding the airship behind her.
I glanced down at my own outfit, taking in the details. A tight, off-the-shoulder sweater, snug but flexible enough to move in, the dark fabric lined with subtle embroidery that hinted at a touch of personal flair. The pants? Almost identical in cut and function to Ekko's, though a bit more fitted. Our wardrobe wasn't exactly expansive—we wore what we had. But we always found ways to make it ours.
It wasn't just clothing.
It was a statement. A reflection of who we were, who we had become.
I had spent what felt like an eternity calming Isha down, holding her close as her small frame trembled against me. She had sobbed into my chest, her hands gripping my clothes as if letting go would make everything collapse around her. I whispered to her, ran my fingers through her hair, and promised that this wasn't the end—that we would see each other again. That was all I could give her. Empty words wrapped in hope. But she nodded against me, her tiny fingers finally loosening their grip, and I knew she was trying to be strong. Trying to believe in the promise I had no power to guarantee.
