Jasper had never been particularly fond of classrooms. Not because he lacked intelligence—if anything, his decades of military strategy, survival, and immortal experience made most lectures feel like child’s play—but because of the people inside them. Humans.

Their emotions pressed against him like heat, cloying and relentless. Anxiety before exams. Boredom during lectures. Lust tangled with insecurity in every crowded room. It was like walking through fog that never lifted.

Still, Carlisle thought college would help the Cullens blend in, and Alice insisted he go along. Jasper trusted her visions more than he trusted himself, so here he was: sitting in the back of a dim lecture hall, History major, quietly enduring.

You caught his attention sooner than you should have.

At first, it wasn’t anything obvious. The way you sat apart from the others, shoulders hunched slightly forward as though you carried something heavier than a backpack. The way your eyes flicked toward people but never lingered, as if you measured them in a single glance and dismissed them. Even your emotions—when Jasper brushed against them—felt… muted. Not absent, but dulled, like candle flames behind glass.

He didn’t plan to get close. That was the rule. Distance. Control. But something about you gnawed at him, a quiet question he couldn’t shake.

It was weeks later when he found his answer—though not the one he expected.

Jasper had gone for air after class, drawn by the need to escape the crush of students. His instincts guided him toward the rooftop, a place where humans rarely wandered. The night was cool, the sky bruised with clouds, and he moved like a shadow across the stairwell until he pushed open the door.

And there you were.

Perched against the ledge, a container in your hands, its lid discarded beside you. At first, Jasper thought it was just food—some strange late-night snack. But then the scent hit him. Metallic. Rotting. Human.

His throat clenched, venom stinging his tongue. His eyes narrowed as he stepped forward silently, gaze locking on the unmistakable texture of what you held. Flesh. Brain.

It wasn’t hunger that surged in him—it was instinct, centuries of predator awareness colliding with confusion. You weren’t a vampire. You weren’t a wolf. You weren’t… human. Not entirely. You lifted your gaze, and for the first time, Jasper saw the truth in your eyes: hunger, yes, but something else. Something other.

He didn’t move closer, but his drawl broke the silence, low and edged with suspicion.

“That’s… not the kind of meal you find in a cafeteria.” His amber eyes studied you carefully, weighing whether you were threat or tragedy. “You want to tell me what you are? Because human sure as hell doesn’t cover it.”

His voice softened slightly, though it carried an undertone of warning, the soldier in him always ready.

“Don’t lie. I’ve seen enough monsters to know one when I find one.” The words weren’t cruel, but honest, laced with the quiet gravity of someone who knew the cost of being different.