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Jinx perched on a rusted pipe, legs swinging idly over the edge as she watched you move through the shadows below. It wasn’t like she meant to stare—You just had this way of pulling her attention, like the pull of a trigger you couldn’t un-fire. Your movements were calculated, purposeful, every step as precise as your words. It was maddening, really. How could someone be so... controlled?
Jinx fidgeted with a stray bolt in her hands, rolling it between her fingers. Her gaze flicked to the way your hair caught the dim, flickering light of Zaun’s neon haze. She hated that she noticed things like that. The sharp tilt of your jaw when you were thinking. The faint curve of your lips when you were biting back a smile.
It wasn’t fair. You weren’t supposed to make her feel like this—unsteady, raw, like the gears in her head were spinning too fast and locking up at the same time.
She flipped the bolt in her hand and caught it again, trying to focus on anything else. But the more she tried to ignore it, the louder her thoughts became.
It wasn’t just admiration. Jinx knew that now, even if she hated admitting it. It was this heavy, aching pull in her chest, this gnawing itch that made her want to be near you in a way that scared her. And that made her angry. Angry at herself for feeling it, and angry at you for being the cause.
She tossed the bolt into the abyss below and hopped down from the pipe, pacing in uneven strides. Her hands moved constantly — tugging at her goggles, smoothing over her braid, tapping out erratic rhythms against her thighs. Her mind was no better. Every thought felt like an explosion waiting to go off.
She could hear the voices in her head laughing at her, mocking her for being so stupid. What kind of idiot catches feelings for someone like you? Someone calm and steady and way too good to be caught in Jinx’s chaos.
“Stupid,” she muttered under her breath, kicking a piece of debris across the floor. But then, her eyes flicked back to you. You were scanning your surroundings now, sharp eyes taking in every detail with that quiet confidence that made Jinx’s chest tighten.
Jinx’s hands slowed, her fingers brushing absently over the jagged scars on her arms. She felt the pull again, that unbearable yearning that made her want to do something reckless—more reckless than usual. She wanted to run up to you, to grab your hand, to pull you into the kind of chaos that didn’t hurt.
But then the darker thoughts crept in, like poison seeping through her veins. People who got close to Jinx didn’t stay breathing for long. Everyone who tried either ran away or ended up broken, and she couldn’t let that happen to you. You were different. You deserved more than a time bomb with a grin.
Her pacing slowed, and she leaned against the cold, damp wall, trying to steady her breathing. She didn’t want to push you away, not really. But she didn’t know how to keep you close without ruining you.
And yet, when you turned and caught her staring, Jinx froze. There was no judgment in your eyes, no fear, just that steady, unshakeable presence that made Jinx feel like she wasn’t a walking disaster. It made her want to laugh and cry and scream all at once.
Instead, she plastered on her usual grin, wide and toothy, and sauntered closer, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep them from trembling. “So, Piltie,” she said, her voice light and teasing, though her heart was hammering in her chest. “You always this serious, or is it just when I’m around?”
You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, but there was a flicker of something softer behind your eyes. “Maybe I just know better than to trust you.”
Jinx laughed, a sharp, chaotic sound that felt a little too close to a release. “Smart girl,” she said, though her grin wavered for the briefest second. “You’re gonna need it.”
What Jinx didn’t say—what she couldn’t say—was that she wished she could be better for you. But for now, all she could do was stick to what she knew best: hiding behind laughter and hoping it was enough.
“Smart girl,” Jinx repeated, the grin plastered on her face feeling like it might crack under the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. She leaned against the wall, cocking her head to the side, feigning nonchalance. “Guess you don’t mind sticking around danger, huh? Lucky me.”
You didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as twitch at the jab. Instead, you folded your arms, that maddeningly calm expression still fixed in place. “If I didn’t like a little danger, do you think I’d still be here?”
The words hit harder than they should have. Jinx felt her breath catch in her throat, her grin faltering for half a heartbeat before she slapped it back on. Still here. She’s still here. Why? Why did someone like you, someone sharp and level-headed, someone who didn’t need her, keep sticking around?
“Aw, don’t tell me you’re getting attached,” Jinx teased, though her voice wavered slightly. Her hands fidgeted, fingers brushing against the straps of her suspenders, tugging, then letting go, then tugging again. She couldn’t help it. Standing still around you felt like trying to hold her breath underwater.
“I could say the same to you,” you shot back, your voice cool but not unkind.
Jinx barked out a laugh, sharp and almost genuine. “Attached? Me? Nah. That’s not really my thing, y’know. People don’t exactly... stick.” She said it casually, but her chest tightened with the weight of it. The truth always felt heavier when she said it out loud, like an anchor pulling her down.
You tilted your head, watching her with those steady, piercing eyes that always seemed to see more than Jinx wanted you to. “You don’t make it easy for them to stick, do you?”
The words weren’t accusatory. If anything, they were... understanding. And that made it worse.
Jinx’s grin slipped before she could catch it, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s for the best,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost bitter. She turned away, pacing a few steps just to keep moving, to avoid the weight of your gaze. “People who stick around me don’t last long. Better to keep it short and sweet, y’know? No messy goodbyes that way.”
She kicked at a piece of scrap metal on the floor, the clang echoing in the stillness between the two of you. Her thoughts churned, messy and unrelenting. Why was she even saying this? Why was she letting you get this close, peeling back layers she’d worked so hard to bury?
“Is that what you think this is?” Your voice cut through the silence, steady but soft, like you were stepping carefully over broken glass.
Jinx froze, her back still turned. Her fingers twitched at her sides, itching to grab her zapper, her grenades, anything to distract herself. Instead, she forced a laugh, hollow and jagged. “What, you and me? Oh, no, don’t worry, Piltie. I’m not getting all mushy on you.” She turned around, flashing her grin again, wide and toothy and too bright. “Just sayin’—it’s easier this way. You don’t need to—”
“Jinx.”
Her name, spoken so quietly and yet so firmly, stopped her in her tracks. It wasn’t a demand, not exactly. It was more like... a question. Or maybe an invitation.
You were looking at her now, arms still crossed but your expression softer, almost... gentle. It made Jinx’s chest ache, and for a moment she hated you for it. Hated how you could make her feel so raw, so exposed, without even trying.
“I’m still here,” you said simply, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “No matter how hard you try to push me away. I’m not leaving.”
Jinx opened her mouth to respond, to deflect with another joke or jab, but the words wouldn’t come. Her heart was pounding too loud, her thoughts too tangled to form anything coherent.
Instead, she settled for a shrug, her grin flickering back into place like a flickering lightbulb. “Your funeral, Piltie,” she said, her voice forced and uneven. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”
But even as she said it, a small, quiet part of her—a part she barely let herself acknowledge—wanted to believe you. Wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, you really wouldn’t leave.
Jinx turned away again, her steps uneven as she paced the narrow space. She hated the quiet now, hated how it pressed down on her like a weight she couldn’t shake. Usually, she filled the silence with explosions, with chaos and noise and color. But here, with you, she felt pinned down, like there was nowhere to run.
You didn’t say anything at first, didn’t press her like others might have. You just stood there, arms still folded, watching Jinx with that same maddening calmness. It wasn’t pity in your eyes—Jinx would’ve spotted that a mile away and bolted. No, it was something else. Something steadier, warmer, like you weren’t trying to fix Jinx but just... be there.
Jinx didn’t know what to do with that.
Her fingers twitched, reaching for something to fiddle with, but her pockets were empty. “You’re really sticking to this, huh?” she asked, her voice a little too sharp. “The whole ‘I’m-not-leaving-you’ thing? Sounds a lot to me like you’re bored.”
You quirked an eyebrow. “And yet, you’re still here. With me.”
Jinx barked out a laugh, loud and jagged. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m bored, too,” she shot back. Her grin felt strained, like a mask she’d worn for too long. “Nothing better to do, y’know? Blowing things up gets lonely after a while.”
Your lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “I think there’s more to it than that.”
“Oh, do you now?” Jinx spun on her heel, arms flung wide like she was inviting the world to prove her wrong. Her braids whipped around as she took a step closer to you, her grin sharp and teasing. “What, you think you’ve got me all figured out, Piltie? That I’m just a big ol’ puzzle for you to solve?”
You didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. Instead, you leaned in slightly, just enough to meet Jinx’s manic energy head-on. “I think you’re a lot of things,” you said evenly, your voice calm but unyielding. “But I don’t think you’re as impossible as you want me to believe.”
Jinx blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. No one talked to her like that. No one ever saw through her games, her chaos, and called her out without flinching.
And maybe that’s what scared her the most.
She scoffed, breaking the moment before it could settle too deeply. “You’re real fun at parties, huh?” she said, her voice light but brittle. “Bet you’re just a hit with the crowd.”
You tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I prefer small crowds.”
“Yeah?” Jinx crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side. “What, like just me and you?” She said it as a joke, but the second the words were out, her chest tightened.
Your gaze softened, and for a moment, Jinx swore the world went quiet. No explosions, no screaming voices in her head—just the faint hum of neon lights and the steady sound of your breathing.
“Maybe,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.
Jinx swallowed hard, her grin faltering. She didn’t know what to do with that, with how simple and sincere it sounded. No games, no hidden meanings—just the truth.
And that terrified her.
She shoved her hands back into her pockets, rocking back on her heels. “You’re weird, y’know that?” she said, her voice uneven. “Weird and kinda dumb. Sticking around someone like me.”
You stepped closer, closing the small gap between you. “Maybe I like weird,” you said, your tone light but your eyes serious.
Jinx froze, her heart pounding in her chest. For once, she didn’t have a snappy comeback, no quick joke to deflect the moment. She just stood there, caught between the urge to run and the desperate, aching need to stay.
And then, before she could think better of it, she muttered, “You’re gonna regret it.”
You didn’t waver. “I’ll take my chances.”
Jinx looked up at you, and for a brief, dizzying moment, she let herself believe it. Let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, you really meant it. That you wouldn’t leave, no matter how many walls Jinx tried to put up.
And for the first time in a long time, Jinx didn’t feel so alone.