Arcane: Ekko and Powder

The days after the kiss felt like a dream—except it was a dream that neither Ekko nor Powder could shake. It was impossible to forget, and yet neither of them dared to bring it up. The kiss had been a fleeting moment, one born of impulse, a reaction to their shared escape. But even so, it had planted a seed, and it had begun to grow between them in ways neither of them could explain.

Every time they met, it was like the air itself was charged. There was an unspoken weight between them, a silent acknowledgment that something had shifted, but neither of them wanted to put words to it. Instead, they moved through the motions of their friendship, carrying on as if nothing had changed, but their glances lingered just a little longer, their conversations held a deeper layer of meaning.

Ekko found himself replaying the kiss in his mind over and over again. He couldn't help it. It wasn't even the kiss itself that haunted him, though the feel of her skin against his lips burned in his memory. It was the way she had looked at him afterward—her eyes wide, searching, but also... something else. Something that mirrored the confusion and heat inside him. The rush of emotions that had flooded him in that moment hadn't subsided, and every time he saw her, it only got harder to ignore.

He had tried to convince himself it wasn't a big deal, that it was just a moment in the heat of a crazy escape. He'd done things impulsively before. But no matter how much he tried to bury it, the truth was undeniable: his feelings for Powder had changed. It was more than friendship now.

But he couldn't say it. Not yet. Not when everything felt so fragile. There was too much at stake, and if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't sure how she felt. Maybe she hadn't even thought about it the way he had. After all, it was just a quick kiss, wasn't it?

Powder, too, found herself caught in the echo of that single moment. She hadn't expected it. Hadn't planned for it. But the feel of Ekko's lips brushing her cheek lingered in a way that unsettled her. The way he had looked at her afterward—the uncertainty, the rush of emotions flickering in his eyes—had sent a tremor through her chest. And yet, when it came time to talk to him about it, to address the strange new distance between them, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Instead, she buried the feelings deep, just like Ekko did. She focused on the things that had always kept her grounded: their adventures, their shared dreams of making something of themselves. The wild, reckless side of her still took over, and she was determined to keep things light. That's how she had always been. And besides, she wasn't sure she was ready for whatever this new dynamic meant. The kiss hadn't changed anything—had it?

But it had. They both knew it. The electricity between them, the way their silences now seemed louder, the way they couldn't seem to touch each other without everything feeling like it was about to crack—it was there, unmistakable.

They spent the next few days trying to ignore the tension, but it was impossible. Whenever they worked together on a new invention or set off on another adventure, there was a subtle shift in the way they interacted. Ekko caught himself watching Powder more than he used to, his thoughts drifting back to the kiss when she laughed or when her eyes sparkled with excitement. He found himself thinking about how he hadn't wanted to pull away when their hands brushed during their work. And he hated himself for it. Because every time he caught a glimpse of that something new between them, he felt both elated and terrified.

Powder, on the other hand, found herself wondering what Ekko was thinking. Was he still the same? Had he changed? Was he avoiding her? She couldn't figure it out. Every time she tried to make light of things, to throw herself into another prank or joke, she would catch Ekko's gaze, and her heart would skip a beat. She wanted to ask him if he was feeling the same thing, if he was as confused as she was, but the words never came. Instead, she turned away, busying herself with something else, but her thoughts always drifted back to him.

The more they tried to ignore it, the more palpable the connection between them became. It was like a current, crackling in the space between them. Every time they stood close to each other, their breaths seemed to sync, their proximity making it harder to keep their emotions in check. They still talked, still laughed, still shared their dreams and frustrations—but it was always tinged with something more now. A look that lingered a second too long. A smile that held a hint of something deeper. The unspoken words that neither of them dared to speak.

One day, while they were working on a new gadget in the old workshop they frequented, the tension reached its peak. Powder was hunched over a pile of parts, her focus sharp, her brow furrowed as she carefully adjusted a small mechanism. Ekko sat nearby, his fingers tracing patterns on the surface of the workbench, trying to distract himself from the heavy silence. He couldn't stop thinking about her, about the way she looked when she was deep in thought, her concentration so absolute. It was a side of her that he cherished, but today it felt like something else entirely.

"You're quiet today," Powder said, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her voice was light, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes—an understanding that wasn't there before.

Ekko shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Just thinking."

Powder didn't respond immediately. She turned back to her work, but Ekko could see her fingers trembling slightly. Was she nervous? Why would she be nervous? They'd done this a thousand times before. But today, everything felt heavier.

"About what?" she asked after a long pause.

Ekko hesitated. His mind scrambled for an answer, but the truth hung between them like an invisible thread. He wanted to tell her, wanted to scream it out—I can't stop thinking about you. But the words stuck in his throat.

"Nothing important," he said finally, though it was a lie.

She didn't press him. Instead, she went back to working, her movements quicker, more deliberate. Ekko's gaze followed her hands as they moved over the parts, a wave of frustration washing over him. He hated this—this space between them that neither of them could cross. It felt like everything was slipping through his fingers, like they were both standing on the edge of something but afraid to take the leap.

As the hours passed, the tension only grew. Ekko couldn't stand it anymore. He needed to do something, say something—anything to break the silence, to break the barrier that had suddenly formed between them.

"Powder," he said suddenly, his voice sharp.

She looked up, startled by the urgency in his tone.

Ekko took a deep breath, but the words didn't come. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then, in a moment of sheer frustration, he stood up and walked toward her. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he couldn't stand the distance between them anymore. Not the physical distance, nor the emotional one.

"Ekko?" Powder said again, her voice softer now, as she stood as well.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside seemed to fade away as they stood in that space, inches apart, neither sure what the next move was. Powder's heart was racing, her breath catching in her throat, and Ekko... Ekko was no better. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears, his entire body locked in place by the magnetic pull between them.

And then, without warning, Powder took a step forward, closing the gap between them. She reached out, her hand brushing his arm, just a light touch that sent a jolt through him.

"Ekko," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

The world felt suspended in that moment. Neither of them knew what to say, but the question was clear. It hung between them, demanding an answer, and yet neither of them had the courage to give it voice.

But the truth was already there. They both knew it. What they had, what they were, had changed. And it was only a matter of time before they couldn't keep pretending anymore.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. There were no words. Just the silent acknowledgment that their connection had evolved into something that neither of them was ready to face. But they would face it together.

And deep down, neither of them was sure if that was a blessing or a curse.