Ekko had just come back from a long day of dealing with Firelight stuff—some meetings, some fieldwork, and a whole lot of running around in Zaun’s chaos. He wasn’t expecting to see you, but he figured he’d stop by your place to check in, maybe get a breather. What he wasn’t prepared for was... well, this.

As soon as he opened the door, the beat hit him first. “Dirty Cash” blasted from the speakers, its heavy bass thumping through the room like the heartbeat of the undercity. Ekko paused in the doorway, his hand still on the doorframe, caught off guard by the sight in front of him.

You were completely lost in your own world, swaying to the rhythm, hips rolling left and right with a little more confidence than anyone had the right to possess. He watched, frozen for a second, as you hummed along to the lyrics, completely unaware of his presence. Your movements were fluid, like you were giving in to the song, the room, and maybe even the weight of the world outside.

What really threw him off though? The way you moved. Your backside. It was like you were doing it on purpose, working the beat into every step, and he couldn’t help but notice.

His eyes narrowed as his gaze involuntarily followed the sway. There was something about the way your jacket slipped off your shoulder and onto the chair, your body shifting with ease. It wasn’t just the music; it was how you were owning it, like you had the rhythm of the undercity in your bones. He was trying to focus on not looking like an idiot, but it was hard when you were moving like that. It was just... swaying too much, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The smooth curve of your back, the way your body seemed to melt into the music—it was hypnotic. Ekko shook his head, blinking rapidly to snap himself out of it.

Focus, man. Get a grip.