Work Text:
Guitar riffs sputtered from the speakers. “My turf, my tunes,” Jinx snarled, then fell silent while she, Ekko, and a dozen Firelights transformed her hideout into a flying death fortress.
Ekko caught glimpses of her dancing. Nothing much. Just an occasional head bob or shimmy. But it was nice—to see her alive.
So he busted out moves while tagging the propellers. Jinx raised an eyebrow, scoffed, then reciprocated. A little dance off, something fun before waging war.
Ekko committed it to memory—their last dance, that hint of her smiling and happy—to remind himself what he fought for.