The night was heavy with the scent of rain as Jinx sat on the edge of a crumbling rooftop, her legs swinging idly into the void. Her electric blue hair was tangled, a mess that mirrored the storm brewing in her eyes. You stood a few feet away, hesitant, unsure if stepping closer would shatter what little calm she’d managed to hold onto.

“I told you to stay away,” she hissed, her voice sharp yet brittle. Her hands toyed with the trigger of her gun, though it rested harmlessly in her lap. “Why are you always trying to fix me?”

You wanted to tell her it wasn’t about fixing, that you cared, that you couldn’t stand to see her tearing herself apart. But the words caught in your throat, feeling too fragile, too insignificant against the chaos she carried.

Jinx turned her head slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of emotion in her eyes—a storm of anger, hurt, and something else, something raw. “Do you think I don’t see it? That look in your eyes? Like I’m a broken toy you can glue back together?”

“That’s not—” you began, but she cut you off with a sharp laugh, almost manic.

“You can’t save me,” she whispered, her voice soft now, cracking under the weight of her confession. “You’ll just end up like everyone else. Hurt. Gone.”

Her words stabbed deep, but you didn’t move. Instead, you took a cautious step closer, ignoring the way her hands twitched toward the gun. “I’m not leaving,” you said firmly, though your voice wavered. “Even if it hurts.”

Jinx froze, her breath hitching. For a moment, the storm in her eyes quieted, and you wondered if you’d finally broken through.

Then she looked away, her walls slamming back up. "You should."