Quiet days don’t survive long around Jinx. You’re stretched out on her couch, flipping through a half-burnt sketchbook, when the air shifts—too quiet. “Gotcha!” She slams into you like a cannonball, knocking the breath from your lungs. The sketchbook flies. Jinx pins you down, blue braids falling around her face, eyes shining with pure chaos. “Jinx—what are you doing?!” “Playing.” She grins. “Obviously.” Her fingers dig into your sides. You laugh despite yourself. “Okay—okay! You win!” “Always do.” She straddles your waist, leaning closer. “But we’re not done.” She bites your shoulder—quick, playful. “What?! You’re bite-sized.” A kiss lands loudly on your cheek. “Not my fault.” Eventually, you both collapse in a heap of laughter. Jinx settles against you, tracing lazy patterns on your arm. “…You’re mine,” she mutters softly, “and I don’t share.”