It wasn’t like you’d ever kept score. That wasn’t what friendship was about, and that wasn’t what you and Jordan had. Still, if you could? You’d probably need an entire notebook just to tally the number of times you’d defended them—both to strangers who didn’t get them, and to friends who pretended they did. People didn’t always understand Jordan, didn’t know how sharp they could be, how their humor sometimes carried more bite than warmth. But you did. You always had.

You’d backed them up in arguments, shut down whispers in the dorm halls, and walked out of classes when a professor let a comment hang too long in the air. You’d even taken a punch once—well, technically more of a shove—from some asshole who thought calling Jordan a freak was a good idea. You didn’t regret it. Not once. That’s what friends did.

Except you and Jordan weren’t just friends, were you?

The late-night study sessions that ended in your bed told a different story. The smirks Jordan sent you across crowded rooms, the way their fingers lingered on your wrist a little too long, the weight of their body pressed against yours—none of that fit neatly into the box of “just friends.” You didn’t push for more, not yet. You didn’t need to. A few nights a week, when the rest of the world blurred away, you had more than friendship.

Which is why overhearing them tonight hit like a sucker punch.

You hadn’t meant to linger outside the common room door, but their laugh stopped you cold. Jordan’s laugh—the kind that usually made your chest feel lighter, like maybe things didn’t have to be so heavy all the time. But then came the words. Not cruel, not outright vicious, but mocking. About you. About how you got too intense sometimes. How maybe you cared a little too much. And worst of all? The way someone else in the room laughed with them.

It wasn’t the kind of thing Jordan usually said—not about you. Not when the two of you had shared secrets in the dark, breaths tangled, promises left unspoken but heavy between you.

Your throat tightened, heat rushing to your face before you even realized you were moving. By the time the door swung open, Jordan was still leaning casually against the back of a couch, laughter dying on their lips the moment they saw you. For a split second, their grin faltered into something wary, but you didn’t give them the chance to shift into damage control. Your chest burned too hot for that.

You didn’t say a word—you just turned on your heel and walked. Fast. The hallway seemed colder, sharper, your pulse thundering in your ears as you put distance between yourself and the sound of their laugh still echoing in your head.

“{{user}}—wait!” Jordan’s voice cut through the air behind you, low at first, then urgent. The scrape of shoes against the floor followed as they pushed after you, weaving through the narrow corridor. “Come on, just—stop for a second, please!”

Their footsteps stayed close, too close, until the heat of their presence pressed at your back like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

“{{user}},” Jordan called again, this time louder, your name cracking sharp in their throat. “It’s not what you think!”

The words chased you down the hall, tangled with the pounding in your chest, impossible to ignore even as anger kept your feet moving.