𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧 -- 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐂𝐞𝐬𝐚𝐫
                𝟎𝟏𝟏: Closer to the Sun
    (𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙚, Stay Ready)

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 an Icarus he was.

Ekko, that is.

Drawn to her light, her warmth, despite the sharpness of her edges and the danger in getting too close. She wasn't the sun—not exactly—but she might as well have been. She burned, not with the golden glow of hope, but with something jagged, something that cut and cauterized in equal measure. And Ekko? He always reached for her anyway.

The undercity had long since settled into its restless hum by the time he made his way to her room. He wasn't sure why he was here, exactly. It wasn't like she'd called for him. Moon never asked for anything. But something about the way she'd looked earlier that day, her expression distant and her shoulders tight, had stuck with him.

So here he was, standing outside her door and debating if this was a terrible idea.

He knocked softly, a sound barely loud enough to hear. When there was no response, he opened the door anyway.

Moon was on the floor, leaning against her bed with a book in her lap. Her hair was a little messy, and her eyes flicked up from the pages with an expression that could only be described as mild annoyance.

"You're supposed to knock," she said, her voice even but sharp around the edges.

Ekko grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I did. You ignored me."

"Maybe that was your cue to leave."

"Maybe," he said, stepping into the room anyway. "But I didn't."

Moon sighed, marking her place in the book and closing it. "Powder send you in here?"

"Nah, Powder's out like a light," he said, plopping down on the floor beside her. "This is all me."

She looked at him for a moment, her gaze narrowing slightly, as if trying to figure out his angle. "So what's the reason this time?"

"No reason," he said, shrugging. "Just wanted to see you."

Her brow lifted, skeptical. "At this hour?"

Ekko tilted his head, his grin widening. "You're not exactly easy to catch during the day, Moon."

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. Almost. "That's because I'm busy."

"With what?"

"Things."

"Very specific," he said, rolling his eyes.

She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"And you're predictable," he shot back, leaning his head against the bedframe.

Moon's room was its usual paradox: orderly chaos. Her bed was neatly made, but her desk was a minefield of unfinished sketches, pencils, and the occasional crumpled page. The walls were adorned with her artwork—scenes of Zaun, abstract patterns, and faces.

So many faces.

Ekko always wondered how she could see people so clearly. Every piece captured something distinct—a raised eyebrow, a mischievous smirk, the distant gaze of someone lost in thought. Her drawings weren't just portraits; they were revelations.

He lingered near her desk as she flopped onto the bed, her head leaning back against the wall. Moon picked up her sketchbook, flipping through pages as if looking for something.

Ekko glanced down at the open pages scattered across the desk. His eyes skimmed the familiar figures. Powder. Vi. Claggor. Vander. Silco. Even Sevika had earned a place in her book. But as he turned his attention to the current page she was working on, a strange pang hit him.

None of them were him.

He wasn't a stranger to her sketchbooks—there had been a time when he'd seen himself reflected in them often. She'd always caught him in the moments he hadn't thought anyone noticed: tinkering with his Timewinder, laughing at a joke, leaning against the railing of her apartment while lost in thought.

But now? He was conspicuously absent.

His gaze lingered too long.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The quiet wasn't awkward, though; it was comfortable, familiar. Moon rarely felt the need to fill silence with words, and Ekko had learned to mirror her pace over the years.

But tonight, the quiet wasn't enough for him.

"You ever think about getting out of here?" he asked suddenly, his voice low.

Moon blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Out of Zaun?"

"Yeah."

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "You?"

He shrugged, but there was a weight to his movements. "Sometimes. Just to see what it's like, you know?"

Moon frowned, her fingers brushing absently against the edge of her book. "Zaun's all you've got."

"Yeah," he admitted softly. "It is. This place is in my bones, you know? Feels like leaving would mean losing a piece of myself."

She nodded faintly but didn't meet his eyes. "Zaun doesn't feel like that to me. It's like... like I'm trapped here. Like my body's trapped."

Ekko didn't react. He'd heard this before—countless times, in fact. Moon had always been this way, her thoughts drifting somewhere too vast for the walls of Zaun to hold.

"So, same story, huh?" he asked, his voice lighter now. "Your body's too small again?"

"It's not a story," she said, and there was no irritation in her tone, just quiet conviction.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a small smile. "Your soul wants to float off into the ether, shed this mortal coil, all that stuff."

She finally glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "It's not about dying, Ekko."

"I didn't say it was," he said gently. "But you talk about it like it's the same thing."

Moon shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "No. Dying is finite. What I want is... infinite. I don't know how to explain it."

"You've explained it a hundred times," Ekko said, leaning back against the bedframe. "You want to be free. You want to float out of your body and become some... cosmic dust or something."

"It's not cosmic dust," she muttered, her lips twitching into a faint smirk.

"Okay, fine," he said, grinning. "What is it, then? Enlighten me."

She hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the ceiling. "It's... peace. Solace. Like everything I am could finally expand without being crushed by this body, this life."

Ekko let her words hang in the air for a moment before responding. "That's heavy, Moon."

"It's the truth," she said simply.

"And Zaun?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "You don't feel connected to any of this?"

She shook her head, her expression softening. "No. Zaun feels like chains. You call it home because it's all you've ever had. I call it a cage."

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Damn, Moon. You really know how to kill the vibe."

She laughed, a sound that was sharper than it was warm. "You're the one who asked."

"Yeah, I guess I did," he said, glancing at her. "You ever think you'll find it? That peace you're talking about?"

Her eyes flicked to him, and for a moment, there was something raw and unguarded in her expression. "I don't know."

Ekko held her gaze, his chest tightening at the weight of her words. He wanted to tell her that she didn't need to look so far, that everything she needed was right here. But he knew better than to say it. Moon wasn't the type to be swayed by sentiment.

Instead, he leaned back beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. "Well, if you do find it, I hope you don't float off without telling me first."

She smirked faintly, her head tilting toward him. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask," he said, his grin returning.

And just like that, the weight of their conversation seemed to lift, though its echoes lingered in the silence that followed.

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 had spent months forcing herself to let go of her feelings for Ekko. It wasn't easy—he had a way of pulling people into his orbit, of making them feel seen in a way that was almost addicting. But she'd told herself it was for the best.

He was too bright, too full of possibility. And her? She was the weight that held people down.

So she'd let go. Or at least, she thought she had.

But now, sitting here with him, his presence warm and steady beside her, the silence of Powder's lair consuming them both, she wondered if she'd been lying to herself all along.

"Icarus was an idiot," she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Ekko blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Icarus," she repeated, glancing at him. "He flew too close to the sun. It's a stupid story."

He tilted his head, intrigued. "Why?"

"Because it's predictable," she said, leaning back against the bedframe. "Of course he was going to fall. The sun doesn't care about people. It burns them."

Ekko studied her, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe he knew that."

Moon frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe he knew he was going to fall," Ekko said, his voice soft. "But he thought it was worth it. Just for a moment, you know? To be that close to something that bright."

Her breath hitched, and she turned her head away, her fingers curling into the fabric of her pants. "That's a dumb reason."

"Maybe," Ekko said, leaning back beside her. "But I get it."

She didn't respond, her chest tight as his words settled over her.

Ekko didn't push her. He never did. But the weight of his gaze was enough to make her heart ache.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in the easy curve of his lips, the quiet strength in his posture. He didn't look like someone who was afraid of falling.

And maybe that was the problem.

Icarus should have waited for nightfall. The moon never would have let him go.

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒!

Um comment chapter ideas yall want to see if you can't tell by this chapter. I'm so stuck. Like if I get an idea on what to write I can write it but I can't come up with ideas myself. If you can't tell this chapter is a reference to Miles and Genesis from Love Letters.

Ekko is 17 and Moon is 15