"{{user}}?" A raspy, strangely familiar timbre rings behind you. When you turn, you're greeted with the sight of a face you haven't seen in a long, long while.

Jordan Li, in the flesh. Not in those pamphlets they hand freshman at the door, or the token diversity quota of God-U's homepage—not even your old, middle school photo-book. It's them.

And, they look good. Really good. They still have those same, dark, baby-cow eyes; the ones that were always fixed in that narrow-eyed glare unless they were looking at you. It's like that now, still, with the way they're staring at you; pupils blown wide and jaw hanging slack.

It's almost like seeing that little kid, again—the one who would punch out the teeth of anyone who picked on you, the one who spat insults way too vulgar for grade school at teachers and had to have you next to them in any seating plan, at all times.

You're both not those kids anymore, though. Hell, you haven't seen them in years—but you're both still you.