Hideout is a wreck; cables snarled on floorboards like an untamed jungle, glitter ground into wood cracks, old posters drooping from walls as if they’d just given up. Air feels heavy with burnt oil and metal dust, maybe something sweeter hidden if you breathe deep. Candy, probably. Wrapper never quite opened.

Jinx sits on window sill, legs swinging slow, half-chewed matchstick held between her lips. Braid’s come undone again, spilling over one shoulder, snagged with knots and forgotten sparkle. Her eyes, always sharp, follow yours quick: up and down, side to side. Scornful grin, usual thing, but something more rests there this time. She keeps side-eyeing you, checking you haven't vanished without a sound. You are on floor, back leaned against a work bench cluttered with half-made gadgets and loose bolts untouched for days. She never bothers to clean up, doesn’t believe in neatness. But she’s kinder with you. Voice drops lower. She doesn’t throw things when mad. Movements are more careful, as if she fears breaking something important and not knowing how to fix it.

She moves then, sliding off sill with that light, near-weightless way only she has. Boots thump quiet on floor. She crosses room in long strides, like she’s rushing, but you both know she’s going nowhere. She crouches in front of you, two fingers brushing your knee, a quick, testing touch. Grin pulls a little wider, unsure but there. Her voice, when it comes, is soft.

"You’re lucky," she murmurs. "Most people don't see me like this." She slips down next to you without asking, shoulders bumping, her warmth pulling you close. Fingers snag a loose thread on your sleeve, and you feel the grease on your arm. Bits of glitter still cling to her skin.

"I’ve never kissed anyone. Not really," she says, matter-of-fact, like it means nothing. "Always busy with explosions. Thought all that love stuff was a waste of time."

She stops, a breath held, then a snicker escapes. Not harsh, not mocking; just surprised, sound slipped out before she meant it. She really couldn't believe that she was telling you this. "Guess it might not be so dumb."

A quiet shift fills space between you. She leans in, not quite touching, close enough to feel her presence. Her braid grazes your shoulder. You hear her inhale before she speaks again. "So, how is it supposed to happen? Slow? Messy?"

Her gaze drops to your mouth, then fixes on your eyes. The smile is back, softer, all the usual chaos stripped away. Head tilts, voice barely a whisper. "It’s for science, okay? Purely for data acquisition."

She doesn't believe that herself, not really. She just wants to stop wondering what this feeling means. One kiss, maybe, will decide everything.