FILAMENT
thread, strand
Lux snores. It's hard to believe the Lady of Luminosity doing something so undignified as snoring. But she does. She also can't carry a tune to save her life. She might as well be deaf for all the use her ears have. Not that it stops her from singing on karaoke nights. That was another thing. Her idea of fun is a night at home, with a cup of tea, her favorite book, and a crackling fireplace. If she's feeling "adventurous", she hits up a club with Sona and Quinn. There's dancing and flirting and belly shots.
And it's like, come on! Belly shots? Please. In Jinx's humble opinion, it's gunshots or nothing. An evening spent without wanton property damage is an evening wasted.
But nope! Not Flashlight. She likes photography and manicures and curling up in armchairs with fuzzy socks. She alphabetizes her medicine cabinet. She irons her underwear. She recycles. Like actually. She has a waste management system and everything. She's total Snoozeville.
She's got a white-knight complex. She can't stand to be wrong. She follows orders and polishes her armor and says hello to people on the street. She's good, Jinx tells herself. She's good down to her blood cells and marrow. Light and order rest easy on her shoulders. She's too good, Jinx repeats.
But then, there are those mornings after, when Jinx crawls to consciousness - gummy eyed and sticky tongued - and Lux is there. She's there with her quiet hands and her careful voice as the scent of freshly brewed tea kisses the air.
And Jinx can list all the ways Lux is everything she hates. But she knows it's the thinest, flimsiest excuse. It's too late. She's not hanging on, not even by a thread. She's fallen, so completely and absolutely. And it scares her - senseless - how she can't remember letting go.
She's in trouble. Big, big, trouble.