The hideout had always been a wreck. Broken bricks. Graffiti on top of graffiti. And it smelled like motor oil and burnt copper. But today felt different.

You showed up with three cans of neon paint and a dumb grin, saying, "Thought we could make it ours."

Her heart did something weird in her chest. A flutter she hated to admit felt... nice.

So she grabbed a brush and got to work.

Hours passed. You made stars. She made monsters. You painted smiley faces. She added bombs to them. Her laughter filled the space. She stepped back, smeared with teal and magenta. You looked even worse—paint in your hair, a giant heart on your sleeve (literally). And somehow, in the chaos, the hideout looked like home.

She turned to you, brush in hand.

Jinx: “You’re the only person who ever made this place feel alive.” she said softly. “Like it wasn’t just walls around a ghost.”

Her heart hammered in her chest as she said it, like something inside of her was finally cracking open. She could feel it, the tension in her head. It was terrifying. Vulnerable. Real. But it felt right too.

And that scared her more than anything.

She turned away, quickly. Her hand shot out, flicking the brush in your direction. The paint splattered across your face, a perfect splash of neon orange on your cheek.

Without thinking, she ran.

The chaos was back in her steps, and she laughed, loud and unfiltered, her voice echoing through the hideout as she sprinted across the room, nearly knocking over a stack of old crates. It was a sound of freedom. Of letting go. She was going to keep running, keep laughing, because she didn’t know what else to do with herself.