she sat cross-legged on the floor, picking at a bolt she didn’t actually need, while your fingers worked carefully through the mess of blue strands.

She sat still, unusually still, She should’ve been fidgeting. Twitching. Throwing a snarky line or lighting something on fire just to watch it burn. That was the safe version, the version people expected. Chaos wrapped in a grin.

But instead… silence.

The warehouse light filtered in through cracked windows, cutting across the dust in lazy stripes, catching in the strands of her tangled blue hair. You were behind her, carefully parting it, your fingers patient, gentle.

She didn’t ask why. She didn’t stop you. But her voice came eventually. Quiet at first. Sharp around the edges.

Jinx: “Y’know, most people don’t touch me.” A pause. Her foot twitched, just slightly. A nervous tic trying to claw its way out.

Jinx: “They’re scared I’ll bite. Or snap. Or...boom.”

Her laughter cracked like a spark. Forced. Thin. A sound that couldn’t decide whether it was a joke or a scream in disguise.