Chapter Text
Little things have a way of making big changes.
Like when he forgot to lock his doors and came back home to an almost empty apartment. Or that one time he decided to try a new restaurant and ended up having food poisoning one day before his presentation, which cost him his job.
In this case, it was a tiny toy on his driveway.
He slowed, but not enough. There was a soft crack beneath the car, followed by the heavy, sinking feeling of his tire losing its shape.
When he stepped out, the toy lay broken near the curb, one wheel split through. Along the edge of his yard, a couple of flowers were bent and trampled, dirt clinging to their petals. And one of his tomatoes was bitten off.
He almost blamed a bunny for it, but the dirt-smudged hand prints on the concrete told a different story, as did the toy lodged beneath his tire.
Ekko had no idea who could’ve done it. In the three years he had been living in the neighborhood, not once had anyone messed with his garden—let alone left toys scattered around his property.
It was getting dark already. Picking extra shifts was becoming a kind of currency.
He sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and got to work. The tire was changed quickly, by the time he finished, his hands ached slightly and the light had dipped low enough to blur the edges of the street.
Whatever had happened here could wait. He was tired, just wanted to take a shower and eat.
He gathered the broken toy and set it aside, locked the door behind him, and stepped into the quiet of his house.
The following afternoon at least nothing broke.
It was nothing more than a plastic cup by the fence and dirt tracked across the walkway. Easy enough to ignore, if he wanted to.
He didn’t.
He parked a little farther back this time and crouched to pick it up, turning it over in his hands.
There was a drawing, too. Slightly dirty, slightly wet.
A tomato.
Or at least, something that was clearly meant to be one. Round, red, drawn with enthusiasm and very little accuracy. Someone had taken the time to cross it out hard enough to tear the page, a thick "X" carved over it in dark crayon.
He stared at it for a second. Then he huffed out a laugh before he could stop himself.
The tomato plant was safe, then. Judged, perhaps, but spared. Whatever small menace had been roaming his yard had clearly decided it wasn’t worth a second bite.
He picked up the piece of paper as well as the tiny cup. He straightened, brushed the dirt from his hands, and stepped inside.
Next day arrived, and he found himself wondering what would he get this time. Would it be another toy? Another scribble? Would the little menace attempt to destroy his garden once more?
He parked a little farther back and, sure enough, there it was: a bright yellow crayon lying on the driveway, its tip worn from use, dirt smudging its side. He crouched and picked it up, turning it over carefully, almost gently,
He smiled without meaning to.
He went home and put the crayon next to the broken toy, the cup and the crossed-out tomato drawing, lining up the tiny evidence like his own secret collection of small, unspoken messages.
Then he glanced through the window and looked around the yard, his eyes sweeping over the driveway, the fence, the garden—half-expecting to see small feet retreating into hiding. And somewhere in his chest, an unnameable feeling tugged at him.
The next morning, before leaving for work, he lingered for a moment in the kitchen, glancing at the small pile of things he had gathered over the past few days.
Then an idea struck him. Maybe, he thought, whoever this tiny, mysterious visitor was, they might like a reply.
He picked the smallest shovel he owned from his garden supplies and a post it.
"Have fun :) (Careful with the plants)"
Satisfied, he got into his car and drove off.
When he came back that evening, the shovel had disappeared. And beside where it had been, a small line of dirt, carefully scooped into a tiny mound.
Next to the mound, in blue chalk, a smiley face was drawn.
Maybe he was just happy to see that someone had enjoyed his gift, or maybe it was the fact that his interactions with the mysterious little menace were the only relevant part of his day, but he smiled brighter than he had in months.
The rest of the week passed like that.
Small things appeared. Small things moved, chalk faces multiplied, sometimes happy, sometimes crooked, once even upside down. The shovel was always returned—never in the same place, but always there. His plants remained untouched, save for a little dirt piled where it didn’t belong.
By Saturday, he didn’t leave the house at all.
Late that afternoon, he stepped outside to water the plants, not like he had much to do anyway.
He didn’t notice the tiny presence at first, only the toys near the fence, a small shadow where there hadn’t been one before.
Then she looked up, startled by the noise of the door shutting close.
He looked at a small girl, couldn’t be older than six. Her eyes were wide—not startled, nor scared. Alert, maybe? A thoughtful amber shade that watched him curiously. They flicked over his face, his hands, the distance between them, as if she were quietly deciding whether he was safe or if she had to run.
Curious eyes and a cute face.
So this was her. The mystery. The little menace that had been a quiet presence these past couple of days.
Up close, she was smaller than he’d imagined. Not just short, but narrow, like she’d learned early how to take up as little space as possible. Dirt clung to the hems of her shorts and sleeves, and even at the corner of her mouth which… concerned him a bit, if he was being honest.
Ekko stayed still. He noticed then how she seemed ready to run if he so much as frowned. He didn't want her to think he was mad or about to kick her out, so he tried to be as gentle as he could.
He cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said, softly, trying not to scare her off.
She glanced at the multiple mounds of dirt, then at the plants. Then back at him.
He followed her gesture and nodded without thinking. “Yeah,” he chuckled, crouching a little so he wasn’t towering over her. “Looking good already.”
That seemed to surprise her. Her shoulders relaxed just a bit, but she didn’t say anything.
“You should try the strawberries,” he said in almost a whisper, nodding toward them. “Bet you’d like them more than those disgusting tomatoes.”
She scrunched her nose like the mere mention of tomatoes was an attack. The reaction caught him off guard and he laughed under his breath.
She laughed too, quick and surprised, like she hadn’t meant to.
This tiny little girl was laughing because of him. And even though he's always been good with kids, he couldn't help but feel his heart soften at the sight of her bright smile and the sound of her adorable giggles.
He noticed how her hair sticked to her temple, how a thin sheen of sweat traced her skin, catching the light, and how she didn’t bother to brush it away.
“It’s hot here,” he said after a moment, squinting up at the sun. “Do you have water or something? A hat, at least?”
She followed his gaze as she shook her head. No to both.
“Okay…” he hesitated. Had she spent the last couple weeks, playing alone, with the sun this bright and the ground this hot? No wonder why she was so sweaty and crouching instead of fully sitting down.
“Wait here, yeah?” he said, then pointed lightly at the ground.
She didn’t answer, just watched as he stepped inside. When he came back with a bottle of water, her head fell to the side, figuring out what was going on.
“There we go,” he said, holding it out.
She stared at the bottle. Then at him. Then back at the bottle again.
When she didn't move at all, he twisted the cap to open it. “Brought you a straw in case you wanna use it.”
She rolled her eyes, and he hoped she had meant it to be playful. He snorted before he could stop himself.
The little girl licked her lips absentmindedly. It was pretty obvious she was toying the thought around her head.
He noticed immediately. Without making a big deal out of it, he lifted the bottle and took a careful sip, tipping it so his lips didn’t touch it.
He exhaled. “So much better,” he said lightly. Exaggerating in the slightest so she could be convinced and drink, too.
He held it out again. A little offer after showing it was harmless help. “Want some?”
She narrowed her eyes, clearly still deciding. Then the heat must've won the battle, cause she wiped sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing dirt across it, and finally took the bottle. She added the straw herself before drinking.
He bit back a smile as she sighed in relief as she drank. “Alright smart girl,” he said, reaching for the hose. “I’ll water the plants, okay?”
She didn’t answer—just kept drinking—but she stayed right where she was, sipping the water, watching him like she’d already decided he was someone who didn't represent any threat.
And he hadn't been a threat.
The mom, on the other hand…
He had been trying to rest, closing his eyes while he rested on his couch for a while. He closed his curtains, took a shower, and put on the TV for some background noise.
That's when sharp, violent pounding ripped through his house, followed by shouting that snapped him fully awake.
“Hey! I know you’re in there—open the fucking door!”
The pounding came again, hard enough that he honestly wondered if the hinges would give before he did. He opened it anyway.
“Are you trying to take my door down? Because if you are, you might actually succeed.” he said, trying so hard not to scream at this stranger's face. “Do I know you?”
She was already mid-rant, words loaded and ready to come out. And then she stopped.
Just for half a second to look at him.
Her hair fell in loose, messy waves, a half up twisted bun that looked both effortless and somehow intentional, a few stubborn strands escaping to frame her face. Her eyes were bright, wide, alive, they looked like they could pin you down with a single look, and right now they were blazing with irritation… and maybe a flicker of disbelief.
She wore a simple tee that clung just enough to show her shape, paired with worn jeans and boots. Nothing flashy, nothing meant to impress, yet he still found himself struck. Everything about her screamed she was fierce. Hands planted firmly on her hips, she seemed ready to bite.
And even though she was fuming, in spite of the anger, she froze for a fraction of a second.
“I—” she cleared her throat, jaw tightening as she snapped herself back into anger and deflecting his previous question. “Did you give this to my kid?”
She shoved the bottle right into his face.
He pushed her hand back away, and she flinched at the contact.
“So you’re the mom,” he said, glancing past her instinctively, like he expected the little menace to be hiding behind her legs.
“Yeah. I’m the mom,” she snapped, stepping fully into his space, close enough that he could feel the heat rolling off her skin. She shoved the bottle up between them, the plastic crinkling under her grip. “And I fucking swear to god, I’ll press charges if you don’t tell me what is this shit.”
He didn’t flinch. Barely even blinked. “It’s a bottle,” he said flatly.
Her jaw clenched and he swore he heard her teeth scraping. “You think you’re funny?” she took another step forward, forcing him back until his shoulders brushed the doorframe.
“You asked what—”
“Listen, you motherf—”
“It’s water,” he cut in, voice hard now. “Your kid was sweating because it was hot. I didn’t want her getting a heatstroke or something.”
Silence snapped between them for what felt like hours but at the same time barely a second. Her fingers curled around the bottle until the plastic groaned. Then she shoved it toward his chest, pressing it there. Blue eyes looking deep into his.
“Drink it.”
He blinked, thrown. “Did something—”
“Drink it.”
There was no humor in her eyes. None at all.
He sighed, took the bottle, and drank without pushing forward. Then he turned it slightly so she could see. “See? Water.”
Her eyes followed his hand as he cleaned off a drop that fell down his chin. She blinked rapidly and huffed, looking at the bottle again. “If something happens to her,” she said quietly, dangerously. “I will—”
“Nothing will happen,” he interrupted. “Because I don’t go around poisoning children who happen to wander into my property.” he paused, then added, a little sharper than he meant to, “And if we’re talking charges, she’s been trespassing all week.”
Her laugh was short and incredulous. “You wouldn’t charge a kid.”
“Not the kid,” he said. “The mom, who doesn't seem to know where her child is going.”
"What did you just say?"
“I’m just saying,” he added, quieter now, “maybe keep a better eye on her.”
The second it left his mouth, he knew he had fucked up.
He hadn’t meant to push. He really hadn’t. The words just slipped out, carried by exhaustion and the leftover edge of being yelled at on his own damn doorstep.
Her face changed instantly, not louder, nor angrier. Worse. Something pulled tight behind her eyes, like he’d struck a nerve he hadn’t known was exposed.
“Oh,” she shot back, voice brittle. “So now I’m a bad mom.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Because last I checked,” she cut in, stepping back this time, not retreating but bracing herself. “she came home safe. With water.” she lifted the bottle slightly, hand trembling despite herself. “While I was working my ass off to make sure she has a roof over her head!”
He opened his mouth, and closed it again. Anything he could say now would only make it worse.
She shook her head, a short, hollow laugh slipping out, like she couldn’t quite believe him—or herself. “You don’t know anything about us.”
Then she turned, grip tightening around the bottle like it was the only thing left anchoring her. He noticed how she was shaking slightly, and he seriously worried about her well being.
“Stay the fuck away from my kid,” she said over her shoulder.
And she didn’t wait to see if he answered.
He stood there, staring at the empty space where she’d been, chest heavier than it had ever been.
He could’ve called after her. Could’ve explained. Could’ve said he wasn’t judging, that he’d just been worried. That he’d only meant to say a child without supervision could be dangerous.
But the moment passed, and the house felt quieter for it. And a win is a win.
Except it didn't feel like a win.
The days that followed proved that much. Every time he thought about apologizing, every time he caught sight of blue hair at the edge of his yard or heard the gate creak next door, she was already looking at him like she might set him on fire with her mind alone.
So he didn’t.
He’d open his door with an apology on his tongue, only to shut it again when he remembered that look. He practiced lines in his head while watering his plants, rewrote them while washing dishes, discarded them all the second she passed by with her kid tucked close at her side.
Time did what it always did, smoothed the grudges without fixing anything underneath.
Until one afternoon.
He heard noise outside first. Then, the rattle of something rolling across concrete. He stepped out just in time to see grocery bags split open at her feet, cans and boxes scattering, bottles dripping.
For a moment, he thought she might snap again. Swear, kick something, laugh it off with teeth bared. Instead, she crouched down and started gathering everything back up, hands moving too fast, too frantic. Until she reached a crushed bag of skittles, candies all around her shoes.
Then she just stopped.
She sat there on the pavement, bags limp at her side, and folded in on herself. Knees pulled up, face buried against them.
This time, he didn’t wait for the moment to pass.
He crossed the space between their houses quietly, careful. He knelt down and reached for whatever he could reach, setting it all back gently beside her.
“Hey,” he said softly, barely above a whisper. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
She didn’t say anything, only the shook of her shoulders and the muffled sounds of crying.
By the time he was done, he turned to place the last bag with a mess of knots at the bottom so it wouldn’t tear open again.
That’s when he noticed her. Staring.
Carefully looking at his hands, calloused fingers working. Picking up the mess she had made.
Just a—barely there—small nod. That’s all he got in return. Like saying thanks out loud might cost her something she couldn’t afford to lose. She pushed herself up from the ground and brushed her hands against her jeans.
Then she brushed off the remnants of tears running down her cheeks.
He lifted the bags and held them out to her, she took them immediately. No hesitation, no acknowledgement. Their fingers didn’t even touch.
She turned and started walking, steps firm again, snapping back into place with each one. He watched her go, unsure if that had been it, if this was all the closure he was going to get.
She reached her door, her hand paused on the knob.
For a second, he thought she might just go inside.
Instead, she turned, looking straight into his eyes for the first time since they met.
“You were right,” she said. “I’m not a good mom.”
Just that. Her voice was steady, but her eyes gave her away. She looked so tired, exhausted, even.
Then she was gone. The door shut behind her.
He stood there a long moment after, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.
He didn’t see her much after that. The door next door stayed closed more often than not. No blue flash of hair cutting through his peripheral vision, no sharp voice drifting over the fence. The yard was quieter too—no failed grocery runs, no hurried footsteps on the walkway. Even the little menace seemed to vanish, her presence reduced to memory and a few chalk doodles, signs she’d once been there.
He found himself noticing the absence in small, stupid ways.
He’d water the garden and catch himself glancing toward the fence, half-expecting a head to pop up or a pair of curious eyes watching him. He left the strawberries untouched longer than necessary, waiting for someone else to wanna rip them off.
When a tomato split on the vine, he thought she would’ve hated that one anyway.
It was ridiculous. He barely knew them. A handful of words exchanged, one argument, one apology that hadn’t quite been spoken. And yet, his thoughts kept circling back.
He wondered if the kid was still digging in the dirt somewhere else. If she was being safe, if she’d asked questions about him he’d never hear.
He wondered if her mom was sleeping at all, or if she lay awake replaying the same moments he did, turning them over until they dulled enough to live with.
Some nights, he stood by the window a little longer than usual, lights off, just watching the street.
Because now that he’d seen them, the space they left behind felt strangely empty. And he didn’t even know why.
It happened on another Saturday afternoon.
The sun was already high, and he was halfway through checking the soil when he felt a weird prickle at the back of his neck. He looked up.
She was there.
Just beyond the fence, half-hidden by the bushes of her house, small hands wrapped around the wooden fence like she’d climbed up without meaning to be seen. Her hair was a mess, curls catching the light, and slightly tangled.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Her hazel eyes, warm and thoughtful, studied him carefully, the way they always did.
He stayed exactly where he was, and in spite of a certain voice rattling in his head that said ‘Stay away from my kid’, he said,
“Hey,”
Nothing else. Just a greeting.
She didn’t wave, didn’t smile. Instead, she lifted one hand and pointed toward the strawberries.
Then at him. Then back at herself.
It took him a second to understand.
A smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. “You wanna help?”
She hesitated, just for a heartbeat. Then she nodded.
“Okay. I could use some help.”
She didn’t move right away. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder, back toward her house, like she was checking for something—or someone. Her fingers tightened around the fence slats, knuckles pale, and for a moment he thought that was it.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, chewing on her bottom lip, eyes flicking between him and the gap in the fence she’d clearly been using this whole time.
Finally, she took a breath.
She ducked through the opening and landed on his side of the yard, standing there like she might bolt at any second. Her hands twisted together in front of her, gaze fixed on the ground.
He felt something warm bloom in his chest. Pride, maybe. Or trust.
“Hey,” he said again, just as softly. “I was starting to miss you,”
She peeked up at him then, eyes wide and surprised, searching his face for any sign she had misheard.
He smiled, ear to ear. And her lip wobbled slightly, softly. He decided to take that as her smiling back
Ekko reached out first, not toward her, but toward the plant. Gently lifting a leaf aside to reveal a cluster of strawberries hiding underneath.
“These ones are ready,” he said quietly. “See how they’re red all the way through? No white at the tip.”
She leaned in, eyes widening, wonder softening her face. Her fingers hovered, unsure.
“Go on,” he encouraged, nodding. “Twist, don’t pull.”
She mimicked him carefully, tongue poking out in concentration as she twisted the stem free. The berry came loose in a soft motion, and her face lit up.
She held it up between them, inspecting it, then glanced at him for permission.
“All yours.” he smiled again. He was smiling way too much he worried it would come out as creepy.
She took a bite and immediately scrunched her nose—then paused, chewed again, and broke into a grin. Juice smeared across her lips, hands sticky and red.
Ekko laughed under his breath before he could stop himself. “Told you,” he said. “Better than tomatoes.”
That earned him a quiet, breathy giggle from her, like laughter was something she usually reserved for herself.
“These are the good ones,” he kept going. “They take a little longer, but they’re sweeter.”
She watched his hands more than his face. Careful hands, slow movements. He let her reach first, even when she hesitated, let her decide when to pluck one free. When she did, the small snap of the stem made her eyes widen in delight.
Juice stained her fingers. She wiped them on her shorts without thinking, crouching lower, humming under her breath as she searched for another. Then she’d hold one up, waiting. He’d nod. Sometimes he’d shake his head, gently, and she’d laugh.
He laughed too, first genuine smile in… he didn’t know how long it had been since he last laughed like this.
She grabbed another berry, this time faster, more confident, and crouched lower, humming softly as she searched for the next best one.
He stayed right there with her, pointing out the ripest ones, letting her do all the picking. Every now and then she’d glance up at him, checking his reaction, and each time he’d kept nodding or smiling like she was doing exactly right.
It was nice finally having someone who shared his love for gardening. Even though he was not sure whether she enjoyed gardening per se, or if she was just a child driven by curiosity.
He was having fun, and it seemed she was, too.
Until her laughter cut off mid sound, eyes flicking past Ekko’s shoulder. Her body stiffened, he wouldn’t say in fear, but in recognition. She straightened quickly, strawberry still clutched in her hand, and lifted her gaze toward her house.
Toward her mom.
She was holding a blue plastic cup and a bowl in hands, coming out of the house and into her backyard.
"Ish, I think we ran out of apple juice, but we have…" her face fell before she could finish the sentence.
Ekko isn't one to get scared easily. But, right now, he feared for his life.
She let the cup and bowl fall, whatever was in there spilling at her feet. Ekko felt it before he even saw her moving: the way her shoulders hunched, the way her fingers flexed like she was deciding what to break first.
Her eyes went sharp, feral-bright, locking onto him as if he were the problem that needed fixing. Or removing.
“I told you to stay away from my—” she started, voice loud and messy, already shaking with it.
That’s when the little girl moved.
She stepped forward, putting herself half a step in front of Ekko. She raised her hands, movements small but determined.
Sorry! I know. You said not to come here.
Her breath hitched, just barely. But Ekko caught it.
She opened her mouth. The words were already there, seconds away from coming out. But Ekko spoke first.
“She told you that?”
Her eyes snapped to him, disbelief flashing across her face. “You—” she stopped herself, stared harder. “You understand her?”
The kid turned too.
Her head whipped back toward him, eyes going wide. Something in her face bright and amused. Joy, maybe?
Ekko blinked, caught off guard, then smiled, almost shy. “Yeah” he admitted. “A little,”
The girl’s face lit up again.
Not a small one. A full grin that crinkled her eyes and made her bounce on her heels like she physically couldn’t contain it. She signed something quickly, too fast for him to catch, then laughed when he shook his head.
The mom just stared.
At her kid. At the man kneeling in the dirt. At the fact that somehow, without meaning to, he’d stepped into a part of their world she hadn’t expected anyone else to see.
“I told her not to trespass into some stranger’s garden,” she said finally, venom still dripping.
The word ‘trespass’ landed pointedly. Almost as pointedly as the word ‘stranger’.
Ekko wasn't faced by her tone. He stayed crouched, hands resting on his knees. “Fair,” he said. “I’d probably say the same if I were you.”
The girl glanced between them, hands hovering uncertainly, then signed again. Slower this time.
He gave me strawberries. He’s nice.
Her eyes widened, amazed by the fact her child was defending said stranger. "I don't wanna put that to test. Come here right now, Isha."
"Oh, so your name's Isha…" he said without even realizing it. Happy to finally be able to put a name to the frequent menace that had been keeping him company.
Isha nodded enthusiastically, hands already lifting like she might sign it again if he asked.
But, then again, the mom didn't seem to be as enthusiastic as the kid. Her eyes snapped to him. “That’s enough.”
She vaulted the fence in a quick motion. It wasn’t tall, sure, but the ease of it made Ekko’s attention hitch. Then, she pulled Isha in by the shoulder without being harsh, placing herself squarely between them.
Ekko looked up to her. He hadn't meant to, it was definitely a reflex.
There was something striking in the way she held herself. He had only interacted with her thrice, yet he couldn't help but feel like making the number go up wouldn't be that bad.
She hadn't shown herself as approachable at all, but his brain didn't seem to catch up on that.
Then she caught him looking. And just like that, he remembered exactly where he was. He straightened, gaze snapping away as she kept going.
“You don’t need to know her name,” she scoffed. “You don’t need to talk to her. You did your good deed. We’re done.”
Ekko swallowed. The warmth from a moment ago drained out of him, replaced with something colder. He hadn’t meant anything by it—hadn’t meant to insert himself—but intent didn’t matter here.
He couldn’t even be mad. He got where she was coming from, he really did. A mom being protective over her kid. Hell, hadn’t he been the one to tell her she should be more careful with her child?
“Yeah,” he said quickly, hands lifting as he stood up. “Sorry. My bad.”
“Yeah,” she echoed. “Your bad.”
Isha’s hands moved in his direction, small and apologetic.
Sorry. I liked the strawberries, though.
“That’s alright,” Ekko said, glancing at the carton where they had previously been putting them away. “You can take ’em if you want.” he paused, then turned to her mom. “No poison in them. I promise.”
For a second, she just stared at him.
Not the sharp, measuring look from before. Something else. Her eyes dragged over his face, slow enough that he felt it. Then she blinked, once, like she’d caught herself.
She scoffed. “You’re an idiot.” but it didn’t sound like an insult.
Ekko exhaled, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.
Isha looked between them and grinned as she reached for the strawberries, already claiming them.
She stepped back, re-drawing the line between them, though her eyes flicked to him one last time, quick, almost annoyed, like she resented the distraction.
Then she looked at her little girl.
Isha cradled the strawberries like a prize, fingers sticky, grin wide and amazed, already halfway lost in the simple joy of it. She signed something quickly, shoulders bouncing with excitement.
And her expression shifted. Not all at once, it fractured.
The tension in her shoulders loosened a fraction. Her mouth twitched, like she wanted to say something sharp and decided against it. For a split second, Ekko saw the calculation behind her eyes. What to allow. What to take away.
And what she couldn’t.
Whatever this had been—five quiet minutes, a handful of strawberries, a stranger who hadn’t scared her—her kid had enjoyed it. Taking that back now would mean stealing something, and she seemed to realize that quickly.
She rubbed her face with one hand, eyes squeezing shut. “Next time,” she said, opening them again, “you talk to me. Not just—” she gestured vaguely toward the garden, toward her kid. “This."
“Deal,” he said immediately.
She hesitated, then added, quieter, “And she doesn’t cross the fence without asking.”
Ekko looked at Isha. “Hear that?”
Isha nodded so hard he thought her head might fall off.
"Let's go," she said as she squeezed Isha's shoulders.
“Wait," he stopped them before they could leave. Ekko looked straight into blue eyes. "What’s your name?” he asked her at last.
She blinked, surprised by the question, then answered. And just like that, the stranger wasn’t quite a stranger anymore.
The weeks that followed slipped through his fingers.
Isha still asked before crossing the fence now. Sometimes she did it with a look first, waiting to see if he was outside. Sometimes she signed from her side, hands careful and hopeful, and he’d nod like there couldn’t be any other answer to that.
She helped him water the plants, holding the hose like it was her important job. She learned which strawberries were ready and which ones needed more time, took pride in correcting him when he pretended not to remember. He showed her how to loosen the soil without hurting the roots, how to tell when the sun was too strong and it was time to give the plants a break.
Sometimes she talked with her hands. Sometimes she didn’t talk at all. He never rushed her either way.
Jinx hovered at first.
Always nearby. Arms crossed, eyes sharp, pretending not to watch while missing nothing. She stood in doorways, lingered just long enough to make sure everything stayed where she could see it.
Ekko let her.
He learned quickly not to push. He spoke to her the same way he spoke to Isha. Clear, honest, no extra weight behind his words. If he offered water or fruit, he did it in plain sight. If Isha signed something he wasn’t sure he caught, he asked her to repeat it instead of guessing.
That earned him small things.
A nod instead of a glare, a grunt of acknowledgment instead of silence. Once, a muttered “thanks” when he handed Isha a wet cloth for sticky hands.
They didn’t talk much, not really. But they existed in the same space without friction now, and that felt like something.
Ekko noticed how Jinx softened around her kid in ways she never did around anyone else. At least not with him. How her shoulders dropped when Isha laughed. How she let herself lean into the fence when she was tired, eyes half-lidded.
Jinx noticed things too.
How Ekko always stayed at eye level with Isha. How he listened, how he never corrected her hands, only asked questions. How he always made her smile.
One evening, as the sun dipped low and the air cooled, Jinx lingered longer than usual.
A few steps away, Isha was dragging a stick through the soil, hopping over invisible lines. Every so often she’d glance back at them, just to make sure they were still there, then return to her game, utterly content.
“She likes it here,” Jinx said, almost to herself.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
A brief silence settled between before she spoke again.
“You’re good with her,” Jinx added, quieter.
He shrugged. “She’s easy to be good with.”
Jinx huffed softly, but she didn’t argue.
“You didn’t tell me you knew how to sign,” she said then, finally turning to look at him.
He winced a little. “You didn’t ask.”
She studied him for a second, then looked away again. “Didn’t think we’d keep seeing you,” she muttered. But there was no bite to it.
Another quiet stretch settled between them, easy this time.
“She’s a good kid,” he said. “You’re doing something right.”
Jinx stiffened.
He noticed immediately and hurried on, gentler. “I mean it. She’s curious but careful, and she’s kind. That stuff doesn’t just happen.”
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that.”
He turned to her then, surprised. She shrugged, a little too casual.
He shook his head slowly. “Well. For what it’s worth— she looks like she’s got a really good mom.”
Their eyes met, and for a second neither of them moved.
Sometimes he catches himself looking for her before he even realizes he’s doing it.
It’s small things at first. The way his eyes drift to the fence when he’s playing with Isha and he hears footsteps. The pause in his chest when the gate creaks open and it’s not her. How he times his breaks around when Isha usually shows up, pretending it’s coincidence when it absolutely isn’t.
He tells himself it’s about the kid. That he just wants to make sure she’s safe, hydrated, not eating dirt again.
But then Jinx laughs—head tipped back, loud and bright—and he feels it settle somewhere warm and dangerous behind his ribs. Then she looks at him like she’s daring him to judge her, and he never does, not anymore.
He also notices how he starts saving the best strawberries. How he leaves his tools out where Isha can reach them. How he listens for Jinx’s voice even when he’s inside, even when he’s tired enough that everything else should blur.
He catches himself wondering if she slept okay. If she ate, if she’s still carrying everything alone or if—god help him—he’s become part of that load without meaning to.
And just when he got used to his little menace, and her mesmerizing mom being regulars at his garden, they suddenly didn't show up.
He hadn't planned to go to her place. He just found himself there, knuckles knocking before he could think better of it.
Jinx opened the door, surprise flickering across her face before easing into something softer, a smile blooming.
“Ekko,” she said. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he answered, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he probably sounded. “I was just… is Isha okay?”
Her shoulders relaxed, her bottom lip buried between her teeth. “Yeah. She’s fine.” she stepped forward a little, leaving the door open. “She's just doing homework.”
"Oh."
"Yeah," she crossed her arms over her chest. “She's mad cause I said she couldn't go until she's done."
He chuckled, and she did the same. "That's alright. I was just wondering if you two were fine,"
She blinked, like she needed a second to place the reply. Her arms loosened a little, then fell back into place, unsure.
“Oh. Yeah,” she said, slower now. “We are.”
She glanced back inside, then to him again.
Jinx shifted her weight, fingers hooking into the edge of her sleeve. “I mean—” she stopped, frowned faintly. Then, softer, “You can come in… If you want, that is."
Her eyes refused to look at him, and her frame looked smaller than he had ever seen her before.
She was allowing him into this place she called hers. Into her home.
He nodded almost immediately. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’d like that.”
Jinx stepped aside, and he slipped past her into the house.
And if you'd told him a couple weeks ago that he'd be stepping foot into the hot-but-feral blue-haired girl next door, he would've laughed in your face.
It felt familiar in a way that caught him off guard. Same narrow hallway, same uneven floorboards, the same structure. It could’ve been his place, once. Or someone else’s from the neighborhood.
The kitchen opened up first. A small table, two mismatched chairs pulled close together. The fridge stood against the wall, its door cluttered with drawings. Bright suns, crooked stick figures, strawberries, and bursts of color held up by bent magnets. He slowed without meaning to, taking them in.
“Don’t judge,” Jinx said behind him. “She rotates them.”
“They’re good,” he replied, honest. “All of them.”
She didn’t answer, but something in her posture shifted.
There wasn’t much else. A couple of cushions scattered across the floor where a couch might’ve been, crayons rolling lazily between them. Isha sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, notebook balanced on her knees, pencil clenched in her fist as she drew instead of doing whatever she had to do.
"Hey, bug, look who's here."
Isha looked up, eyes lighting immediately. Ekko!
"Hey, Isha!" he said, smiling as he crouched a little. "I was wondering where were you,"
“She would’ve been playing already,” Jinx said, tone serious yet playful. “if she’d done her homework when I asked.”
It's not fair! I wanna play with Ekko, not do math!, Isha complained, hugging the notebook to her chest.
Ekko chuckled softly. “Math isn't so bad. Want some help?”
Jinx shook her head. “Don’t get your hopes up, I tried. She said she could handle it.”
Isha hesitated, then glanced back at Ekko. Can you help me?, she signed, smaller this time.
"You little traitor…"
"Let's get it done so mom doesn't get upset, yeah?" Ekko lowered himself onto one of the cushions, setting his elbows on his knees, as he laughed.
Jinx stayed where she was, focusing on the sound of his laughter. She watched the way Isha scooted closer without being asked, how she turned the notebook so Ekko could see. She watched as Ekko leaned in, patient, reading like there was nowhere else he needed to be.
She felt something in her chest. And, weirdly enough, it was the first time it wasn't a dark feeling. It wasn't sharp, nor painful. She couldn't name it, just knew it was… unfamiliar.
Now she was focused on how stupid Ekko looked sitting on that tiny cushion. Half of his ass on the floor.
“Ish,” Jinx said gently while trying not to chuckle. “why don’t you go to the kitchen table? Might be more comfortable.”
Isha shook her head, already settled. It’s fine, she signed.
“Sorry, I just—” Jinx cut herself off, huffing a quiet laugh as she sat beside him. “Furniture’s expensive as hell.”
Ekko smiled at her. “I get it, it’s okay. Really.”
Jinx looked at him then, like she was waiting for the rest of the sentence. For judgment, maybe. When it didn’t come, her shoulders eased. He didn’t look away.
It wasn’t a long moment, but it lingered.
Isha noticed. She glanced between them, lips curling into a knowing grin. Then, she tapped Ekko's knee.
So, she signed, tilting her head, homework? Or…
Ekko blinked, the spell breaking just enough. He smiled down at her. “Homework,” he said back.
Isha groaned, already pulling the notebook closer.
Jinx turned away under the excuse of grabbing a glass of water, but the warmth stayed with her.
By the time she came back, Ekko and Isha were bent over the notebook together, heads close, Ekko explaining something while Isha followed along, nodding. It took longer than it needed to, mostly because Isha kept getting distracted and Ekko let her, just enough.
When the last problem was finished, she shot up from the floor and bolted for the door.
Outside, the air had cooled, the neighborhood settling into its usual evening quiet. Isha took off down the path, using the usual hole in his fence to enter to his yard.
Jinx and Ekko sat side by side, close but not touching, watching her play.
“Bet you didn’t expect my place to be this awful,” she said, almost offhand.
“It’s not awful,” Ekko replied immediately.
She huffed a quiet laugh. “Just empty.” after a beat, she added, “I wanted to start fresh, so we moved out. Bought the house once I saved enough,”
“You don’t have to—”
“Let me say it,” she cut in, but not harshly. More like she needed the words out. “Turns out when you’ve got a new job, a new house, a new school to pay for, and a kid who needs shit that cost more than what you can afford…” she sighed. “There’s not much left for couches. Or silverware.”
He watched her as she spoke. He took in every shift of her face, how her nose crinkled when she said something she couldn't really swallow, how her eyes narrowed. Everything about her.
“Why did you want to start fresh?” he asked gently when she was done. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
She hesitated, eyes drifting to where Isha sat, then back again. “I guess when everyone around you keeps telling you that you can barely handle yourself, let alone a kid…” her voice dipped. “You stop wanting to stay.”
Ekko thought of the way Jinx never raised her voice toward her, only lowered it. Of how she kept track of time without a clock, knew exactly when Isha was tired, when she was pushing too hard. Of the fridge crowded with drawings she could’ve thrown away but didn’t. Of the way she’d insisted on homework before play, even when it would’ve been easier to give in. Of how she’d watched from the doorway instead of hovering, close enough to catch a fall, far enough to let Isha feel brave.
None of that looked like someone who couldn’t handle it.
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was steady. “Whoever said that didn’t know you at all.”
Ekko held her gaze after the words left him, aware of how close they were now. He noticed the way her hands had gone still, like she was afraid to move. The way her eyes searched his face, not for reassurance but for truth.
He wondered if anyone had ever looked at her without already deciding who was she supposed to be.
He hoped she could see it in him, that he wasn’t judging her, or deciding what she was.
“And you?” she said, barely above a whisper. “You think you know me?” she met his gaze without flinching.
“I think you’re letting me,” he said. After a pause, softer, “And I think I’m enjoying it. A lot.”
He didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t need to. And when they eventually drifted back to watching Isha play, it felt like something had finally found its place.
Days slipped into each other.
The more time he spent with them, the more things he started noticing. Like how often Jinx showed up without meaning to—how she lingered by the fence, how she asked about the plants even when she already knew the answers.
Sometimes Isha was there, loud and bright and everywhere at once. Sometimes she wasn’t, and those moments were as precious as when she was.
One afternoon, while Isha was still at school, Jinx leaned against the fence as he watered the plants, the sun warm on their backs. She talked about nothing in particular. Something she’d seen on the street, a complaint about work, a half-finished thought she never quite landed.
There were other moments, too. Shared silence on the steps, Jinx joining them on their gardening sessions, the way they always seemed to sit close enough to share warmth without touching…
His routine seemed to shift from lonely days at home, to something warmer without him quite noticing.
Mornings still started the same, but afternoons filled up with Isha bursting through the gate, full of questions and scraped knees. Homework spilled onto the garden steps, snacks got shared without discussion, and laughter came easier than it used to.
Some days, Isha stayed late enough for the light to fade, chasing shadows while Ekko and Jinx sat nearby, talking in low voices or not talking at all.
Evenings ended with Isha tugging at his sleeve, demanding 'just five more minutes,' with Jinx pretending to scold her while not wanting to leave either.
It wasn’t a life he’d planned for.
But it was one he started looking forward to, more than he cared to admit.
And every time they said goodbye, Jinx would glance at him, eyes soft and something delicate behind them. He looks back at her with a gentle smile every single time.
That’s when he knew he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.