The workshop was a mess of scattered bolts, half-finished weapons, and blueprints taped crookedly to the walls. Jinx darted around like a live wire, but the moment you stepped inside—soft steps, posture straight from endless practice—she froze mid-motion. Her wild grin twitched into something shy, eyes flicking to the grease smudge on her cheek as if you might find her too messy.

“You’re early,” she stammered, voice cracking as she shoved a wrench behind her back like it was incriminating evidence. You only smiled, placing your dance bag down gently on the nearest clear spot you could find.

“Didn’t want to wait.”

That made her heart stutter. Fragile. That’s how you looked to her. Every pirouette, every bend of your hand seemed like glass about to shatter. And yet, you were here—always here.

Jinx fidgeted, rubbing her thumb over the edge of a bolt. Then she darted forward suddenly, arms wrapping tight around your waist. “Y’know, you should be careful hanging around me,” she muttered against your shoulder. “I break stuff. A lot.”

You laughed softly, one hand brushing through her colorful hair. “Good thing I’m not made of glass then.”

She clung tighter, unwilling to let go. Around everyone else, she was chaos. But with you, delicate as silk, she was terrified—and completely, hopelessly yours.