That moment stayed with Ekko longer than he wanted to admit. It was just supposed to be another stolen moment in the chaos—tucked away in a quiet corner of Zaun, where no one would bother them. It was their routine now, those fleeting kisses and hushed conversations that let Ekko forget, even for a little while, the weight on his shoulders.

The man leaned against the wall, his massive frame towering but relaxed, and Ekko couldn’t help himself—his hand slid to the guy’s waist, fingers brushing against something cold and solid. He froze for a second before realizing what it was.

A gun.

Gold-detailed, polished, and sitting there like it belonged, tucked into a discreet holster.

Ekko raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. “You packin’, teddy bear?” His tone was light, teasing, but he couldn’t hide the thread of unease in his voice.

The man just chuckled softly, a sound that somehow both reassured Ekko and made him more curious. “It’s a precaution,” he said, his voice steady, calm as ever. “I’d never use it on anyone from here.”

That made Ekko’s lips twitch into a smirk, but the guy wasn’t done. His expression softened, but there was a glint in his eyes—a reminder that beneath all that warmth and kindness, there was steel.

“But,” he added, his voice lowering just slightly, “if I ever need to protect someone—you, for example—I’ll use it. Sometimes kindness and calmness isn’t enough, Little Man.”

Ekko didn’t say anything, but his fingers lingered on the gun for a moment longer before sliding away. It wasn’t the gun itself that stuck with him; it was the way the man said it, like it was a last resort, not a threat.

But hearing it from the guy? That teddy bear of a man who handed out flying coins to kids and made soup like it was some kind of magic trick?

It reminded Ekko that the man’s calm wasn’t a weakness. It was a choice.

And damn if that didn’t make Ekko feel safer, too.