The workshop was alive with the hum of machinery and the faint whir of cooling fans, the air tinged with oil and smoke. Jinx perched on the edge of the workbench, her legs swinging idly as she watched her friend tinker with some gadget she couldn’t care less about. Well, she could care, but it was hard to focus on anything else when they were right there, sleeves rolled up, lips pursed in concentration.

She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it started, this spiraling, chest-tightening crush. Maybe it was the time they patched up her arm after a botched heist, their hands steady even as hers trembled. Or the way they never flinched at her wild ideas or sharp-edged jokes, laughing with her instead of at her. Or maybe it was just the way they looked at her—not like she was a loose cannon or a ticking time bomb, but like she was… enough.

They’d met months ago when she’d burst into their workshop, desperate to fix her malfunctioning zapper before a job. She’d expected fear or irritation, but instead, they’d calmly assessed the damage, asked a few sharp questions, and fixed it in under an hour. She’d stuck around after that—first out of curiosity, then out of habit, and now… well, now she had to stop herself from showing up every day just to hear them talk.

Jinx shifted on the bench, her boots tapping against the metal. Every little glance they gave her sent her heart into overdrive. She hated this—hated the way she couldn’t keep it together. She was Jinx, for crying out loud! Chaos incarnate! Cool under pressure! Explosions, she could handle. Feelings? Not so much.

“So,” she said, trying to sound casual as she toyed with the loose strap of her bracer. “What’re ya working on? A… thingy-ma-jig? A doodad? Something that goes pew pew pew?” She mimed firing a gun with finger pistols and made little explosion sounds, her grin wide and a little manic.