Fan Behavior

Despite loving sleep and perpetually never getting enough of it, Ekko couldn't seem to find any tonight. He found himself wide awake, staring at the ceiling as the hours crept by. The clock on his nightstand blinked 3:47 AM, mocking him with its unrelenting glow. Sure, every teenager's sleep schedule went to hell during vacations—nocturnal habits and lazy mornings became the norm, but this was beyond saving. This was ridiculous. It was a bad joke from the universe, one that had him tossing and turning like a ship caught in a restless storm.

He tried everything. Flipping his pillow to the cool side, untangling and re-tangling his legs in the blanket, searching for that elusive perfect position, even counting the flickering lights of the city outside his window. He also turned to music, the songs that always worked like a lullaby to calm his overactive mind. But tonight, none of it worked. His thoughts were too loud, drowning out the melodies.

His thoughts, traitorous and relentless, dragged him back to earlier that evening. He could still picture the hangout vividly—her laughter, the playful banter, the way her voice stood out even amidst the noise of his thoughts. He'd caught himself staring more times than he cared to admit, his gaze lingering on her bright smile, her unassuming charm. She was like sunlight breaking through clouds, effortlessly warming everything around her, including the parts of him he wished could stay hidden.

The memory of how he'd bolted from the hangout resurfaced, sharp and vivid. He'd muttered some half-baked excuse about walking her home, his voice barely masking the tumult inside him. She hadn't questioned it, of course. Powder never did. She'd simply smiled that sweet, oblivious smile of hers, the one that held more power over him than she'd ever realize. He'd made sure she got home safe, like he always did. It was second nature by now, almost automatic. But tonight was harder than usual. The weight in his chest had grown unbearable, pressing down on him with every step he took away from her house.

No, he didn't cry when he got home. He wouldn't let himself. Crying wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't make her see him the way he saw her. Instead, he'd climbed into bed, burying himself in the familiar tangle of sheets, hollow and aching. Still, he'd managed to send her a good-night text, keeping his tone light and playful, the way she expected. He made sure there were no cracks in his façade, no hints of the storm raging inside him. Powder didn't owe him anything, he reminded himself. Feelings didn't work that way. She wasn't obligated to return his affection, and he'd never let her feel guilty for something she couldn't control. His love was his burden, not hers.

But that didn't make it any easier. He loved her—of course he did. It wasn't the kind of love that demanded reciprocation, though. It was quieter, steadier, the kind of love that made him willing to stay in the background, even if it hurt. Even if she never noticed the way his breath caught when she laughed or how his heart ached at the smallest brush of her hand against his. She didn't see him that way, and maybe she never would. But that didn't change the fact that he'd always love her. Unconditionally, selflessly.

Eventually, exhaustion crept over him like a heavy fog, dragging him into a fitful sleep. His dreams were fragmented and fleeting, leaving him more drained than rested when his eyes fluttered open a few hours later. The room was quiet, the faint glow of the early morning sun slipping through the cracks in the blinds. Despite the weight pressing down on him, staying in bed wasn't an option. He had things to do—things that revolved around her.

Ekko groaned softly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor biting at the soles of his feet. His body protested, reluctant to move, but his mind had already kicked into gear. The remnants of sleep still clung to him, a thick fog that made every movement feel heavier than it should. He rubbed his eyes with a huff, squinting at the dim light creeping through the blinds, and pushed himself up with a slow, reluctant stretch. The first few steps toward the kitchen were sluggish, like his feet didn't quite remember how to walk.

His hair stuck up in every direction, a chaotic mess that he barely even tried to tame. Normally, he'd take a few seconds to fix it, but for now, it didn't matter. His thoughts were already elsewhere, swirling around like the hazy remnants of a dream he couldn't quite shake. The smell of coffee wafted faintly from the living room, but he didn't bother with that. He could function without caffeine, for now.

The kitchen was as still as the rest of the house, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant rush of water from the bathroom. He hadn't planned on this, but here he was, moving automatically through the motions of the morning. It wasn't anything new. His hands reached for the bread without needing to think about it, his fingers pulling out the ingredients, slicing, spreading, assembling with an ease that came from routine.

Packing lunch. It had become a ritual of sorts. One that didn't feel like a chore—at least, not when it came to her.

Powder. Always Powder.

He didn't mind it, not really. If anything, he had come to expect it. She was never prepared for the day. She never remembered to pack anything, even though she swore she would. She was always too caught up in something else—whether it was her latest obsession or the thought of getting to school on time. Most mornings, she'd wake up with barely enough time to throw something together, usually a haphazard collection of random snacks that never quite made sense. 

And yet, it never bothered him. Because, without fail, when she saw what he had, she'd act as though she hadn't eaten in days. She'd reach over, her fingers swiping the first thing she could get her hands on with that mischievous grin of hers.

She'd pretend she wasn't planning it, like the theft was an afterthought, but he knew better. She always planned it. But what he didn't expect, and what he never could get enough of, was how she never asked. She just did it. And that was what made it perfect. The fact that she took without hesitation. It wasn't annoying. It was… endearing, in a way.

He put together the sandwich with extra care, making sure the crusts were neatly cut off—because he knew she liked it that way. The little details mattered to him more than he'd care to admit. He chose the ripest apple from the fruit bowl, giving it a quick polish before slipping it into the bag. His fingers lingered on the cookies, the last of his stash. They weren't anything special—just some homemade chocolate chip cookies, soft and slightly chewy from days of being left out too long—but he'd been hoarding them for a few days, debating whether to eat them himself. In the end, though, he knew Powder would appreciate them more than he would. She had that effect on him, making even the smallest things feel important.

The thought of her, the way her eyes would light up when she saw the lunch he'd packed, was enough to push him to be extra careful with the details. He wasn't going to win any awards for his cooking, but for her, it was always about the little things.

He finished packing the lunch with a soft exhale, his hands hovering over the final item. There was no grand gesture here. No big dramatic declarations or sweeping actions. Just a lunch, just a small gesture, one of the countless little things he did for her without even thinking. But it mattered. He couldn't really explain it, not in a way that would make sense to anyone else, but for him, making sure she had something decent to eat felt like something important. It wasn't just about the food—it was about showing her that someone cared, even when she didn't ask for it. Even when she didn't notice.

Ekko sighed, leaning against the counter for a moment. He still had his own lunch to throw together, but the hardest part was already done. After all, taking care of Powder came first.

His heart ached, yes, but it still beat for her. Always for her.

The idea of skipping the first lesson tugged at his thoughts as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, droplets of cold water trailing down his face. He had splashed it on in a desperate attempt to shake off the lingering haze of sleep, but the dark circles under his eyes told a different story. He was still exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that seeped deep into his bones, lingering no matter how much sleep he tried to catch. Staring at his reflection, he let out a sigh, his breath fogging up the mirror briefly. It wouldn't be too dramatic to skip the first lesson after vacation, would it?

Surely, it'd just be the usual post-break chatter – the teacher droning on about how this final year was the most important of their lives, as though everyone didn't already know. Besides, he reasoned, hardly anyone ever stuck to those idealistic resolutions. Most of them would lose momentum after a week, tops. A few extra minutes in bed wouldn't ruin his entire future. His grades were solid, flawless even, and skipping one lesson wouldn't change that. But then he thought of Powder, who sometimes waited outside his house so they could walk together. She'd understand if he told her, wouldn't she?

Convincing Benzo, though? That was a different kind of challenge. His guardian, while generally laid-back and understanding, had a tendency to be annoyingly firm when it came to school. "Education matters," he always said, as though that simple statement could somehow make everything else fall into place. And he wasn't wrong. Ekko knew that. After all, he had dreams. Big ones. The kind of dreams that kept him awake at night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he'd ever get the chance to make them real. There was an elite art school out there, just a bit beyond his grasp, its reputation hanging in the air like a distant star. It felt close enough to touch, yet impossibly far away, and every decision he made seemed to lead him closer—or further away. Missing one class, one small lesson in the grand scheme of things, wouldn't shatter everything he worked for, would it? Still, it felt easier to just avoid the argument altogether.

His thoughts circled back to the clock. Time was slipping through his fingers. He'd been standing there for too long, lost in the haze of indecision, the moments ticking down faster than he could catch them. A sense of urgency crept up on him. He had wasted too much time already, thinking about skipping, thinking about the consequences, and now it was almost too late to even make it to class. 

With a groan, he forced himself out of the mental fog, snapping into action. His toothbrush felt heavy in his hand as he brushed his teeth with quick, half-hearted strokes, the bristles scraping across his teeth in an almost mechanical motion. His hair, as always, was a wild mess of curls, a rebellion against any attempt to tame it. He ran his fingers through it, trying and failing to make it look presentable. It was like it had its own plans for the day. At least it didn't look too bad, he reasoned, before settling on the usual. Something casual. Something that was barely acceptable by school standards—loose jeans, a hoodie with a graphic he couldn't even remember buying, and sneakers that were starting to show signs of age. It was fine. It would have to be.

As he reached for his shoes, his phone buzzed on the counter. Ekko glanced at it, the screen lighting up with a message from Powder: “I’m outside. Don’t keep me waiting, slowpoke ;)"

The moment his eyes landed on her name, something stirred in his chest. It wasn't quite guilt, though that was part of it. It wasn't quite longing, either, though that lingered in the back of his mind, haunting every thought of her. It was a strange ache, a tightness he didn't want to acknowledge, a feeling that had been there for weeks, growing every time he saw her, every time he spent time with her. Acting like nothing had changed between them was easier. Safer. But it didn't stop the hurt. It was easier to pretend the old dynamic still existed, to bury the fact that things had shifted, that there was more between them now, even if it was unspoken.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket, shaking the thoughts away. He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and headed out the door, trying to ignore the sense of heaviness that had settled over him.

The crisp morning air hit him like a splash of cold water, the remnants of dawn painting the sky in soft shades of pink and orange. It was still early, too early for most people to be out, but there she was. Powder stood a few feet away from his doorstep, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her jeans. Her hair, as usual, was a tangled mess, a chaotic contrast to the stillness of the morning. But even in her sleepy, disheveled state, there was something comforting about her presence.

She glanced up when she heard the door shut, a small smile curling at the corner of her lips. It was sleepy, soft, but somehow it always made his heart skip a beat.

"You look like death," she teased, her voice low and light, a playful edge to it that softened the words.

Ekko shot her a half-hearted glare, rolling his eyes. "Thanks," he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "That's exactly what I needed to hear this morning."

"I slept like absolute garbage last night," he added, rubbing his eyes as they walked side by side. 

The weight of his bag pulled at his shoulder, but it didn't feel nearly as heavy as the exhaustion pressing down on him. "It'll be a miracle if I don't pass out in the middle of class."

Powder glanced over at him, her messy blue hair catching the faint sunlight that filtered through the trees lining the sidewalk. She stifled a laugh, though the amusement was clear in her voice. "Already? You're barely surviving, and it's not even the first bell. Don't forget you're already on thin ice with, like, half the teachers."

He snorted, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. "Like they care. Half of them probably don't wanna be there any more than we do."

"Or," she countered, grinning mischievously, "they'll be super overmotivated this year. You know, the 'New Year, New Goals' type of vibe. Those are the ones who really get on my nerves."

Ekko groaned, dragging out the sound for emphasis. "If that woman makes me play another one of her 'super fun math games' in the first lesson, I'm gonna throw myself out the nearest window."

Powder burst out laughing at his dramatics, almost tripping over her own feet as she did. "You never even try with those! It's not that bad. You're no fun."

He shot her a look, one brow raised. "Yeah, because I'm not like your overly competitive ass. It's not for a grade, so why bother? I've got better things to do with my brain cells."

She gasped, clutching her chest in mock offense. "Better things? Like what? Staring at your desk and trying not to fall asleep?"

"Precisely," he deadpanned, smirking when she swatted his arm lightly.

"For real, though," Powder pressed, her grin widening. "You don't get any satisfaction from absolutely demolishing the loser team? Watching them crumble as you pull off the win of the century?"

Ekko raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "You've got issues, you know that? Who gets that excited about beating a bunch of tired kids at some dumb game?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it," she shot back, playfully nudging him with her elbow. "I'll have you know that crushing people's hopes and dreams is an art . Plus, someone has to make it fun, and it's sure as hell not gonna be you."

He shook his head, though a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're crazy. And mean. But mostly crazy."

"And yet, you still hang out with me," she teased, sticking out her tongue before skipping a step ahead of him. "Wonder what that says about you , huh?"

It was moments like these—when her laughter filled the silence and her energy pulled him out of his tired haze—that he found it hardest to hide how much he cared. She had a way of making even the most boring mornings feel alive, like they were on some grand adventure instead of trudging toward another day of school.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, picking up his pace to match hers. "Don't let it go to your head."

The school was just a short walk from the neighborhood, which meant their little moments of peace, the quiet before the storm of another day, were never long enough. For Ekko, it always felt too brief, those ten minutes between his house and the looming school gates. They were his only time to breathe, to gather his thoughts before the chaos of the day descended upon him. But this morning, even the walk felt heavier than usual. He wasn't sure if it was the chill in the air or just the way the world always seemed to shift when vacation ended, but the weight of it pressed down on him, pulling his shoulders low as he walked beside Powder.

When they reached the gates, a familiar sense of dread washed over him. The school — he often referred to it as "figurative hell" in his head — stood like a concrete monolith in front of them, the rusting iron gates creaking slightly as if mocking the idea of freedom. It wasn't that Ekko hated school; He could appreciate learning when it wasn't bogged down by monotony or overbearing teachers. It was just the first day back, with its overwhelming crush of students all fighting to fill the space between their own doubts and hopes. The air buzzed with this strange blend of forced optimism and reluctant resignation, and it felt like the whole place was trying too hard to pretend that it wasn't a giant ticking clock, counting down the moments until everyone was too tired to care about anything anymore.

The yard was packed, as usual. The mass of students clumped together in pockets of groups that seemed to shift and blur together in a colorful, chaotic mess. Voices echoed off the brick walls, a hodgepodge of laughter, conversation, and the occasional shout. Ekko's eyes scanned the crowd absently, nodding at the occasional familiar face, but even as he did, his mind couldn't help but wander.

Over the summer, some people had clearly undergone changes — transformations that made Ekko do double-takes, like the kind of glow-ups you'd only see on social media. There were a few people who almost looked unrecognizable, walking with new confidence, faces sharper or more mature. It was like they were stepping into a new version of themselves, leaving the awkwardness of the past behind. Others, though, had somehow fallen in the opposite direction. Some had returned looking like complete disasters, a mess of exhaustion and regret or random buzz cuts that did absolutely nothing for their faces, which wasn't great, to begin with. 

Summer had been kinder to some than others, undoubtedly. Those who hadn't changed at all almost seemed to be suspended in time, still the same as they had been before the break, their presence like static snapshots of who they'd always been.

"I need to get to my locker," Powder said, nudging her way through a particularly tight cluster of students. Her voice carried just enough determination to part the crowd as she added, "I've got snacks and sodas on me, and I don't want to lug them around all day."

"Huh? Sure thing, chef," Ekko replied, falling into step behind her. "Didn't you say you'd chill with that stuff this year? You know you go full Tasmanian devil on sugar. I'm not mentally prepared for that today."

"Don't be so dramatic!" she shot back, a grin spreading across her face. "I'm not that bad anymore. Back in middle school? Sure, I was a little...uh, high-energy. But I've totally mellowed out since then."

Ekko squinted at her, the skepticism clear in his eyes. "Yeah, no. It's just as bad. Maybe worse, actually."

Powder rolled her eyes, but she laughed. "Whatever, drama queen. Just come on."

As they navigated through the crowd, Ekko's eyes inadvertently landed on Mylo across the courtyard. His older friend gave him that knowing smirk, the one that screamed I know exactly how you feel about her. 

He resisted the urge to groan out loud. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, pretending like he wasn't getting that familiar, annoying rush of embarrassment creeping up on him. He lifted a hand in a lazy wave to acknowledge him, trying to act nonchalant about it. But Mylo was having none of that. His response came swiftly—two hands forming a heart shape over his chest, exaggeratedly slow, as if to make sure Ekko saw every little detail of the gesture. Subtle as ever, Ekko thought, feeling the heat in his face rise a little despite himself.

With a roll of his eyes, he shot Mylo a discreet middle finger—just enough to send a message but not so obvious that Powder would see. She was walking a little ahead, distracted by the noise of the crowd, blissfully unaware of the silent exchange happening behind her. Mylo's reaction was immediate—laughter, loud and unmistakable, ringing through the crowd. It was a taunt, pure and simple, and Ekko was left feeling like a deer in headlights, caught in the crossfire of his friend's relentless teasing.

Ekko's stomach churned, but not out of anger. More out of a strange, uncomfortable realization. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone. His feelings for Powder were painfully obvious—just about everyone, including Mylo, had figured it out long ago. But hearing the laughter and seeing the smirk on Mylo's face made it all feel too real, too exposed.

Mylo mouthed something from across the courtyard, his lips forming the words Good luck, lover boy , and Ekko could have sworn he saw him wink. It was too much. The teasing, the unspoken recognition, the way Mylo didn't even have to speak to make Ekko feel like the whole world knew. But the worst part was knowing that, as soon as they got a chance to be alone, Mylo would be all over him with questions, with comments, with that gleeful grin that he really didn't want to deal with.

As Mylo turned back to whatever conversation he'd been engaged in, probably making some stupid joke or showing off for whoever was nearby, Ekko exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. What a jerk. He could already picture it—later, when they were alone, Mylo would be relentless. The teasing would never stop. The endless jokes about Ekko's crush on Powder, and how obvious it was, would wear him down. Mylo would make it his personal mission to embarrass him at every turn, digging into every moment where Ekko might slip up, even if he wasn't saying anything out loud. It'd be like a game to Mylo— How much can I make Ekko squirm before he breaks?

He shook his head, trying to brush it off. Whatever, he thought. He had his own plans to get back at him. Revenge would be sweet. Mylo's crush on that girl in their year was hardly a secret either. Ekko knew all the details—every little quirk, every awkward moment, and the way Mylo's face turned into an open book whenever she walked by. Mylo thought he could embarrass him? Wait until he got his hands on that ammunition. He had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to bring it up, and when he did, it would be glorious.

By the time they reached the lockers, Powder was already rummaging through her bag. She flung her locker door open, and Ekko couldn't help but glance inside. While his own locker was a barren wasteland of notebooks and textbooks shoved in at awkward angles, hers was a riot of color and personality. Stickers of random characters and doodles lined the inside, with strings of fairy lights taped along the edges. A few photos were stuck to the back—one of her and Vi pulling goofy faces, another of the whole group during some summer hangout, and one of him and her, mid-laugh, their faces slightly blurred.

He didn't know why that last one made his stomach twist.

"You seriously haul all this around?" he asked, watching as she unloaded what could only be described as a month's supply of snacks and drinks into her already-crammed locker. "Feels like you're smuggling for the apocalypse."

"Oh, hush." Powder rolled her eyes, shoving the last can of soda onto a precarious stack of energy drinks. "At least I'm prepared."

Ekko leaned against the row of lockers, watching as Powder organized the chaos inside hers. She had a system, he knew, though it didn't look like one. Snack wrappers, random trinkets, and notebooks piled precariously on top of each other, like the world's messiest game of Tetris. He tilted his head, smirking as she stuffed a pack of chips into the only free corner left.

"Why didn't you just come with Mylo and Claggor?" he asked, his tone casual but curious. "Would've saved you a trip to my place."

She shrugged, brushing her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. "I don't mind. You pick me up all the time, so it's no big deal." She paused, her lips curving into a mischievous grin as she shut her locker with a satisfying clunk. "Besides, it was Mylo's idea. Said I should check on you, make sure you didn't oversleep again."

He groaned internally. Of course, Mylo had set this up. The guy loved to play matchmaker in his own, annoying way. While Ekko appreciated any time he got to spend with Powder, the effort it took not to stumble over his words or say something completely idiotic when they were alone was exhausting.

"Hey, it's not my fault!" he protested, trying to sound indignant. "You know alarms just don't work for me. I have no idea why, but none of them ever ring!"

"Uh-huh. None of them?" Powder slammed her locker shut, giving him an exasperated look. "You're probably turning them off in your sleep, genius. How else would they just not work?"

"Come on, Powder, I'm not that out of it," Ekko said, crossing his arms. "One alarm, maybe. But ten? Ten alarms, Powder. Ten."

She rolled her eyes, smirking. "I don't know what to tell you, dude. Maybe you're cursed or something."

"Maybe," Ekko replied, shrugging with a practiced air of indifference. "Or maybe the universe just doesn't want my beauty sleep disturbed. You know, priorities. School comes second."

She snorted, the sound light and familiar. "Oh, surely. I'm jealous, though. Truly. I wish I could gain the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, like you do. The so-called 'beauty sleep's' just not in the cards for me, I guess."

He froze for half a second before he shot back, almost without thinking, "You don't need it anyway."

The words left his mouth faster than his brain could process them, and as soon as they hung in the air between them, he regretted every syllable. Powder tilted her head, a single eyebrow arching in mock confusion. It wasn't much, but that tiny shift in her expression was enough to make his stomach drop in panic.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone just teasing enough to make him squirm. "You know I have trouble sleeping. I look like a zombie every morning. And unless I slather on a ton of makeup, I look horrible."

"I mean, you don't need it. Like... you don't look like you don't sleep, you know? You don't need 'beauty sleep' because—uh—you're already... you look fine. Good, actually. Great." He stumbled through his explanation, each word more humiliating than the last. "I just meant you don't need makeup or anything like that. You're just... already good the way you are."

His words tumbled over each other like kids racing down a hill, awkward and clumsy, and by the time he finished, he couldn't even bear to look at her. His gaze dropped to his shoes, which suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. His cheeks burned, and his ears felt like they were on fire. Why was it so hard to just say what he meant without coming across like the biggest idiot on the planet? He wanted her to know she was enough—that she was beautiful, even on her worst days—but how was he supposed to say that without sounding completely weird?

Powder let out a soft, drawn-out "Aww," her voice warm and teasing, but there was an unmistakable tenderness in it that made his heart stumble in his chest. "That's sweet, Casanova. You can actually be nice when you want to be."

The nickname hit him like a slap and a hug all at once. She always called him that when he worked up the nerve to compliment her, like she thought he was just being silly. But he wasn't. He meant every single word he said about her, even if he could never quite get it out the right way.

"If I want to be?" he echoed, raising a brow and trying to sound offended, though his voice cracked just enough to ruin the effect. "You're acting like I'm some kind of villain. Meanwhile, you're out here constantly bullying me. Not cool, Pow. Not cool at all."

"Bullying you?" she shot back, feigning outrage as she nudged his shoulder with her own. The contact was light, playful, but it sent a jolt through him all the same. "Please. If I didn't tease you, how else would I keep you humble?"

He turned to look at her, a retort forming on his tongue, but the way she was looking back at him made his words falter. Her face, glowing with amusement and framed by her unruly hair, seemed brighter than anything around them. She had this laugh—loud, unapologetic, and so full of life—that was still echoing faintly in his ears. He couldn't help but smile, despite his best efforts to stay annoyed.

"Whatever," he muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets and staring ahead, pretending he wasn't absolutely wrecked by her attention. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," she teased, skipping a step ahead of him and spinning around to walk backward. The fabric of her shirt swayed with the motion, her grin wide and mischievous.

He stopped in his tracks, caught somewhere between laughing and sighing. "You're gonna trip if you keep walking like that."

"Please," she scoffed, rolling her eyes with dramatic flair. "I have the balance of a cat. Graceful, agile—"

"Yeah, no," Ekko interrupted. "That's not what I remember from when you face-planted into the bushes last month," he shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Powder gasped, clutching her chest like he'd mortally wounded her. "That was one time!" she protested, her voice filled with mock indignation. "And it wasn't even my fault. Vi pushed me!"

He chuckled softly, his laughter low and warm as he started walking again. "Yeah, sure. Blame Vi. That's original."

"It's the truth!" Powder insisted, throwing her hands up. 

"She barely touched you, Powder," he said, snickering. "You tripped over your own feet."

Powder gasped as if he'd committed the ultimate betrayal. "You take that back! It was sabotage, plain and simple."

Ekko just shook his head, his smile lingering as he caught up to her. Powder pivoted to walk beside him again, a dramatic pout replacing her earlier grin. "Speaking of Vi," she muttered, her voice dropping, "I miss that old woman. She's been, like, MIA since she got busy with her adult life or whatever."

He slowed his pace, his expression softening as he glanced at her. "Yeah, I miss her too. We all do. But she'll visit when she can. She promised, didn't she?"

She shrugged, her shoulders dipping beneath the weight of her frustration. "It's just… ever since she started seeing her, she's had even less time. It sucks. I'm so jealous."

He blinked, surprised by the honesty in her tone. "You mean Caitlyn?"

"Who else?" She huffed. "She's, like, always around now. Miss Perfectly Privileged with her stupid perfect hair and her annoying perfect voice. Ugh."

Ekko couldn't hold back a chuckle. "You really don't like her, huh?"

"She's so pretentious," she replied, spinning on her heel to face him as they walked. "Always talking like she's giving a speech or something. And I swear she thinks I'm dumb. The way she looks at me sometimes? It's like she's humoring me."

"You're not dumb, Powder. Don't let her—or anyone—make you feel that way. You're Vi's little sister. You're you . And she loves you. She always will, no matter who she's dating or how busy she gets."

Powder gave him a skeptical look, her lips twitching like she wanted to believe him but couldn't quite let herself. "Yeah, but still. I don't like her."

"Me neither," he admitted with a shrug. "She's… fine, I guess. But she's not easy to like; she drives me up the wall sometimes."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "Thank you! Finally, someone gets it. She's just so…ugh. I mean, I don't want Vi to be forever lonely and all, but couldn't she have picked someone less—less—"

"Rich?" he offered.

"Annoying, arrogant, pompous," she finished, grinning at him. "But yeah, that too."

Ekko laughed, shaking his head. "Well, differences attract each other, or whatever they say."

"Guess so," Powder mumbled, her voice tinged with resignation. "Still doesn't mean I have to like her."

"Of course you don't," Ekko admitted with a shrug. "But, hey, Vi seems genuinely happy, and that's what matters, right?"

She rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, sure. Happiness. Whatever. It still sucks."

Suddenly, the shrill blast of the school bell cut through the early morning quiet, loud and piercing as if the universe itself was mocking the idea of returning to routine. The sound ricocheted off the walls with a relentless echo, shattering any illusion of post-vacation serenity. Conversations dwindled into groans and muttered curses, the universal language of students everywhere.

Ekko cast a sidelong glance at Powder, who had stopped mid-step to fumble with her phone. Her fingers danced over the screen as she navigated their school's infamously clunky scheduling app, the chaotic interface a design crime no one had yet fixed. A furrow creased her brow, her expression shifting from mild irritation to something closer to despair.

"History," she groaned, drawing the word out like it physically hurt to say. Her head tilted back, and she let out a dramatic sigh that could've rivaled the bell in sheer volume. "Third floor. With her."

Ekko didn't need to ask who her was. The name alone was enough to send a shiver of dread down any student's spine. "The Tyrant," as she was unceremoniously nicknamed, wasn't just a stickler for rules—she enforced them with the precision of a military commander and the enthusiasm of someone who actually enjoyed it. Worse still, she had a special knack for making Ekko's life miserable. Whether it was calling on him when he clearly wasn't paying attention, catching him mid-whisper during her endless lectures, or simply existing in his general vicinity, she made her distaste for him blatantly obvious.

"It's like they want us to suffer first thing back," Ekko muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag as they headed toward the stairs. He climbed slowly, dragging his feet just enough to make a soft scuffing sound with every step. 

"Maybe she'll go easy today," Powder offered, though the lack of conviction in her voice made it clear she didn't believe it herself.

"Yeah, and maybe the cafeteria food will stop tasting like cardboard," he shot back.

They trudged up the staircase, the air growing warmer and staler with every floor they climbed. Ekko could already picture the third-floor hallway: the scuffed linoleum tiles, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and the line of tired faces filing into "The Tyrant's" domain. His stomach sank just thinking about it.

Powder slowed beside him, her gaze drifting to the row of lockers lining the second-floor hallway. "We could, you know… take our time getting there," she suggested, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.

Ekko hesitated, the idea tempting. Showing up late was risky, but the thought of shaving even five minutes off that class almost felt worth it. "And give her another reason to put me on her hit list? Pass."

Powder sighed, clearly disappointed in his lack of rebellion. "Suit yourself. You're no fun, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah." He waved her off, his lips twitching into a faint grin. "I'll let you know when being fun helps me pass history."

The climb was relentless, a brutal ritual that turned the school's three-story labyrinth of narrow stairs into something closer to an ancient punishment than a necessary route. Each step seemed steeper than the last, and the chipped, faded paint on the walls did little to distract from the agony of the ascent. Powder, of course, was playing up the drama as usual. She clung to Ekko's arm with the exaggerated theatrics of someone on their last breath, her other hand pressed dramatically to her chest.

"This is it," she wheezed between labored breaths. "This is how I go. Tell my dad I loved him, and that it was the stairs that did me in."

"You're ridiculous," Ekko said, though his voice carried more amusement than annoyance. He slowed his pace anyway, letting her lean into him. Her antics might've been exaggerated, but he could never quite bring himself to brush her off.

"You know what's ridiculous?" she shot back, trying to catch her breath. "This stairway. It's a death trap. Why don't they have an escalator or something? It's the twenty-first century!"

"You want an escalator for three floors?" he asked, his tone dry but his lips twitching with a smirk. "You're just lazy."

"No," she said, dragging the word out as if offended. "I'm practical. I'm also exhausted. Next time, you're carrying me up these stairs."

"You wish." He smirked, gently tugging his arm free from her grip. "I'm not hauling you up seventy-eight steps."

Her eyes narrowed, lips curving into a mischievous grin. "You counted? Nerd."

"Once," he admitted, shrugging. "I was bored."

Powder groaned, the sound long and exaggerated, and shoved his shoulder lightly before resuming the climb. She still clung to his arm, though, as if letting go might actually lead to her demise. Ekko didn't mind. Her grip was steadying in a way, a comforting reminder of their years of friendship—the kind of bond that made the weight of her lean against him feel as natural as breathing.

By the time they reached the top, Powder was panting like she'd just run a marathon. She slumped against the railing at the landing, hands on her knees, gasping loudly enough to draw a few amused glances from nearby students. Ekko raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his skepticism.

"Okay, you're definitely overdoing it now," he said, crossing his arms.

"I'm not," she shot back, standing upright with a dramatic flourish. "I'm genuinely on the verge of death. But go ahead and mock me. See how you feel when I haunt you for the rest of your life."

"Pretty sure I'm already haunted," he said, smirking. "And your ghost would probably be less annoying."

Powder whined dramatically, rolling her eyes in that exaggerated way that somehow made it clear she wasn't truly annoyed. A grin tugged at her lips anyway, and she let out a soft, amused huff. Arguing further clearly wasn't worth the effort. Instead, she shifted her attention to the classroom chaos ahead, where a bottleneck of students had clogged the doorway like they'd all forgotten how to walk in a straight line over the break.

With a sharp determination in her gaze, she squeezed past the human traffic jam, ignoring the confused grumbles of those who had to make way. Her goal was simple: their unofficially claimed territory—the desk at the very back, tucked neatly against the wall. The spot wasn't special by any objective standard, but to her, it might as well have been a sacred refuge.

Ekko, trailing behind and only half-invested in her mission, sighed. He'd seen this routine a hundred times, and yet, somehow, she approached it with the same level of enthusiasm every single day. "Powder," he said, trying to sound exasperated but failing miserably as amusement crept into his tone. "You know we don't have to sprint. Nobody else is fighting us for that spot."

She didn't respond. Instead, she twisted around mid-stride and grabbed his wrist with the kind of urgency that suggested they were racing to save the world. Without giving him a chance to argue, she yanked him through the throng of backpacks and elbows, navigating the crowd with the practiced finesse of someone who could dodge a charging bull if necessary.

"Powder, seriously," Ekko muttered, though he made no effort to resist. "You act like we're sneaking into a sold-out concert or something."

"Shh," she hushed him, barely sparing a glance back. Her focus was laser-sharp as they reached the desk. She slid into the chair by the wall with all the flair of someone claiming victory in a long, arduous battle. With a triumphant grin, she patted the desk's scratched and slightly wobbly surface.

"Home sweet home," she declared, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

Ekko shook his head, letting out a quiet laugh as he settled into the chair beside her. His bag hit the floor with a soft thud, and he leaned back, arms crossed loosely over his chest. "You're unbelievable," he muttered, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed any annoyance he tried to fake.

"Ridiculously smart," she corrected without missing a beat, flashing him a grin so smug it was almost ridiculous. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "This is the best spot in the whole room. Admit it. No one pays attention to us back here."

She wasn't wrong, and they both knew it. Last year, they'd put the theory to the test, pulling small stunts like sneaking snacks or passing notes, and the results were consistent: no teacher ever bothered to glance their way. The back corner was a blind spot, a safe zone where they could do just about anything short of setting the place on fire without drawing attention. Powder had once joked about setting up a snack bar or starting to grill back here, and honestly, Ekko wouldn't have been surprised if she actually tried it one day.

She stretched out, her feet propped up on the desk's metal bar, and started rambling as if on cue. "I'm just saying, this spot is practically sacred. The acoustics are perfect for me to tell you all about this book I finished last night. Oh, and get this, the main character? Absolute heartthrob. I mean, flawed but so misunderstood . Like, the enemies-to-lovers trope done right —"

Ekko didn't even try to keep up. He leaned his elbow on the desk, resting his chin on his palm as her words blurred into background noise. Powder's energy had always been magnetic, her enthusiasm infectious. She could take the most mundane topics—like clothes, of all things—and turn them into some kind of high-stakes debate. It was distracting, sure, but not in a bad way. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but there was a part of him that looked forward to this—sitting back here with her, losing track of the lesson as she filled the space with her endless chatter.

The teacher eventually walked in, her entrance marked by the sharp click of heels against the linoleum floor. The dull hum of conversation began to fade, voices dipping into silence one by one, though a few stubborn whispers lingered. Powder, of course, was among the last to quiet down. She leaned over toward Ekko, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, her words threaded with mischief.

"Check out those shoes," she murmured, her eyes cutting toward the front of the room. "Once again, our beloved instructor demonstrates that fashion is her mortal enemy."

Ekko pressed his lips together, trying—and failing—to stifle a laugh. His shoulders shook with the effort, and he shot her a sidelong glance. "You're awful, you know that?" he whispered back, his tone somewhere between scolding and amused.

"Awfully honest," she corrected, her smirk growing wider. She leaned back in her chair, as if to make her point unshakable, and began twirling a pen lazily between her fingers. Her eyes flicked toward the teacher, who was busy arranging her papers at the desk.

Her voice dropped even lower, taking on a mock-serious tone. "I give it ten minutes before she starts droning on about 'applying ourselves' and how this year is 'life-defining' or whatever. I'll bet you my leftover chips from today's lunch."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, giving her a sideways glance. "Your leftover chips? That's a bold assumption that you're not gonna eat them all."

She shrugged, her grin widening. "I'm feeling generous today."

"Yeah, sure," he said, shaking his head. "But I'm not taking that bet. She's too predictable."

Powder rolled her eyes in exaggerated offense, though her grin only widened. "See? This is why we're a team—you're smart enough to recognize when I'm right." She tapped her temple for emphasis, then gestured vaguely toward the teacher with her pen. "I'm telling you, little man, some things in life are just guaranteed. Death, taxes, and her trying to guilt-trip us into caring about her classes."

He chuckled under his breath, slouching slightly in his seat. As much as he wanted to call her out for being dramatic, she wasn't wrong. Their teacher had a habit of delivering the same speech at the start of every term, as if it would magically inspire a room full of half-awake teenagers to suddenly fall in love with speeches and historical figures.

The teacher finally straightened, clearing her throat in a way that signaled the official start of the class. Powder mimicked the sound under her breath, earning herself another poorly hidden laugh from Ekko.

"Settle down, everyone," the woman began, her voice calm but commanding enough to pull the last few stragglers into silence. She adjusted her glasses and gave the room a once-over, as if taking mental attendance. "Welcome back. I hope you all had a restful break, because this is a crucial year for all of you."

Powder nudged Ekko lightly with her elbow, not even waiting for the teacher to finish. "Told you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He smirked, shaking his head again as he scribbled something in the corner of his notebook. He didn't have to look at Powder to know she was wearing that self-satisfied grin, the one that said she'd never let him forget she was right.

As the teacher launched into her familiar spiel about effort and determination, Powder's attention wandered almost immediately. She tilted her chair back on two legs, staring up at the ceiling with an exaggerated expression of boredom. Ekko watched her out of the corner of his eye, half expecting her to come up with some new distraction, and sure enough, a moment later, she started silently tapping out a rhythm on the edge of the desk with her pen.

"You know," Powder muttered, her voice low enough that only he could hear, "if they paid us for sitting through this, I'd be rich by now."

"Yeah," Ekko murmured back, his tone dry. "Because you'd be the poster child for perfect attendance."

"As if you're the perfect example. You always skip classes with me."

He shot her a dry look, the corner of his lips twitching. "What did you expect from me?" he replied, his voice laced with mock exasperation. "You think I'm gonna sit here, play the perfect student, and let you have all the fun by yourself? Please, don't—"

Before he could finish, a sudden cough interrupted him, sharp and unmistakable. He looked up, heart sinking as he met The Tyrant's glare. It was as if she had just caught him committing a crime so vile that even the laws of nature would shudder at its implications. The cold, piercing gaze felt like an insult to his very existence. How had he even managed to offend her so thoroughly with just a few words? Powder could talk endlessly, her voice a constant hum in the background, and no one ever seemed to notice. But one slip from him? One tiny remark, and she was already seething.

He couldn't help but sigh inwardly. She hated him, that much was certain. And the worst part? It wasn't even a surprise. He lowered his gaze, deciding it was easier to just play along. No words of protest, no defense—just silence.

To pass the time, and to escape the increasingly stifling atmosphere, he dug around in his bag for an old notebook from last year. A bit worn at the edges, it still had plenty of blank pages. He opened it up, but instead of the usual, expected notes, his pencil moved almost of its own accord, creating quick, half-formed lines and shapes. He wasn't really drawing anything in particular, not yet. The first few strokes were just instinct, filling the space with vague curves and lines that didn't belong to any one thing.

Then, of course, he settled into what always felt like a natural rhythm. Powder's face appeared under his pencil. He smiled faintly to himself, knowing full well that half the pages of this notebook were filled with nothing but her—her smile, her eyes, the little quirks of her expressions he'd memorized long ago. He'd never tell her, of course. She wouldn't understand the need to capture every single detail of her face, every moment he could steal for himself.

It was easier to keep it hidden, easier to pretend it wasn't a thing when it absolutely was.

She was distracted, thankfully, eyes glued to the small screen of her phone as she scrolled through one random video after another, her fingers flicking with casual speed. The phone was just low enough to be concealed by her pencil case, but the occasional chuckles and giggles that escaped her lips reminded him of how thoroughly she could lose herself in the madness of the internet.

That gave him the perfect opportunity. Every so often, when she wasn't looking, his gaze would shift back to her, studying the small details he knew so well. The way her hair curled at the ends, how the faint light caught her cheekbones just so, the way her lips parted when she laughed—each thing was etched into his mind with more precision than any of the equations or notes they were supposed to be learning in class.

It wasn't that he couldn't remember what she looked like. Of course he could. But there was something deeply satisfying about getting it exactly right—every shadow, every curve. Even after all this time, he wasn't sure he'd ever get tired of capturing the way she was, the way she existed in the world. There was always something new, something small and fleeting that he could add to the collection.

It had to be perfect. Every line, every curve—flawless. No room for mistakes. 

The line he'd just drawn felt wrong. Too jagged. It didn't capture the elegance he'd envisioned. So, with a sharp breath, he leaned down, and began rummaging through the cluttered mess inside. He could feel the familiar crumpled papers, the forgotten pens, the scattered sketches he'd shoved in there without a second thought. Everything had its place—or so he told himself. But in moments like this, when he was desperately searching for something as simple as an eraser, that so-called organization seemed more like chaos.

His fingers brushed over an old candy wrapper, a few stray papers, and then, finally, the small rectangular shape he was hoping for. The eraser. Relief flooded through him, but it was fleeting. His focus shifted back to the notebook, the one holding the drawing that was so close to being what he wanted. He wasn't going to let this slip away, not now.

But when his eyes scanned the desk, the notebook wasn't there. It wasn't on the desk, not in the space he'd carefully left for it. Panic simmered in his chest as he quickly surveyed the room. No sign of it.

Then, a flash of movement caught his attention, and his stomach dropped.

The notebook was in Powder's hands.