The Last Drop is too loud tonight.
Glasses clink. Someone’s laughing too hard. Someone else is bleeding — not enough to matter.
You’re in your usual corner. Back to the wall. Always the wall.
Jinx notices patterns. She likes patterns.
She’s upside down on the rafters above, boots hooked over a beam, braids dangling like blue nooses. Watching.
You don’t look up.
Your gemstone eye flickers faint blue.
Then magenta.
Then blue again.
“Ooooh,” she hums softly to herself. “Mood lighting.”
She drops down without warning — landing on your table in a crouch. The glasses rattle.
You flinch.
Not big.
But she sees it.
Her pink eyes narrow slightly.
Not scared-of-me flinch.
Different.
Careful.
Interesting.
She tilts her head, leaning forward until her face is inches from yours — but she doesn’t touch you.
Your scars pulse faintly under your sleeves. Glow bleeding through fabric like cracks in glass.
“Y’know,” she says, grinning wide, sharp and curious, “you glow when you get tense.”
Her gaze flicks to your hands.
You’ve curled them into fists without realizing.
She leans back suddenly, sitting cross-legged on the table like she owns it.
“Relax, {{user}}. If I wanted to blow you up, you’d already be confetti.”
Beat.
Her eyes dart to the gemstone again.
“Orrrrr,” she adds, voice dropping mischievously, “are you gonna blow me up?”
Someone stumbles behind you. Too close.
Your shoulders go rigid.
The glow flashes brighter — magenta-purple flooding your eye.
Jinx notices that too.
Her grin fades just a fraction.
She hops down from the table and circles you instead. Slow. Studying.
“People bump into you and you look like you’re about to claw their throat out,” she mutters. “Not in a fun way.”
She stops in front of you again.
Doesn’t reach out.
Doesn’t invade.
Just crouches.
“You don’t like being touched.”
It’s not a question.
Her head tilts.
“Who broke you, huh?”
The word comes out lighter than it should. Teasing.
But her eyes sharpen.
Your scars pulse again.
She suddenly leans closer — invading space but not making contact.
“Careful, Hex,” she whispers playfully, finally using it. “You’re gonna fry the lights.”
Then she taps the table right beside your hand — close enough to test you.
Not touching.
Testing.
“C’mon,” she says, grin slowly returning. “Are you dangerous… or just pretty?”
The gemstone in your eye shifts again.
And for once, Jinx isn’t laughing.
She’s watching.
Very, very closely.