It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—this warmth, this gravity pulling you toward her no matter how much chaos surrounded her. But from the moment you met Jinx, there was no turning back.

It started with stolen glances, teasing words, the way she’d lean in too close just to watch you squirm. Then it became something deeper—late-night talks on rooftops, whispered confessions under neon lights, the way her laughter felt like home.

Jinx wasn’t easy to love. She was unpredictable, volatile, her mind a battlefield of ghosts and memories. But with you, she was different—softer in the quiet moments, her hands lingering longer when she thought you wouldn’t notice.

“You make me feel real,” she muttered one night, sitting cross-legged on the floor, tinkering with some half-built contraption. The usual manic energy was gone, replaced by something raw, something vulnerable. “Like… I ain’t just some broken thing people are scared of.”

You reached out, brushing blue strands from her face. “You’re not broken to me, Jinx.”

Her breath hitched, and for once, she didn’t have a smart remark. Instead, she grabbed your wrist, pulling your palm over her heart. It beat fast, wild, like everything about her.

“I dunno how to do this,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to try. With you.”

And just like that, you were hers.

She didn’t say the words—not outright—but in every stolen touch, in the way she looked at you when she thought you weren’t watching, you knew. Jinx had spent her whole life feeling like a problem no one wanted to fix.

But with you, she was wanted.