The campus always felt different at night. Not quieter, exactly—there were always voices drifting out from dorm windows, footsteps echoing against the stone paths, the occasional distant laugh that quickly broke into whispers. But there was something sharper to it now, something that made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself when you walked back from class or the library. It wasn’t just the air. It was eyes. You could feel them.

People who hadn’t given you the time of day when you were with Jordan suddenly seemed interested again. Too interested. The looks lasted a little longer, the passing comments sounded a little rougher, and the space you’d thought you’d secured for yourself on campus was starting to shrink. You hadn’t realized how much of a shield Jordan had been—just by existing at your side.

Jordan had always been intimidating in that quiet, deliberate way that made people hesitate. You’d seen them in fights before, their powers shifting between lithe efficiency and raw strength in seconds. That reputation carried weight, even when Jordan wasn’t throwing punches. Dating them had, unknowingly, made you untouchable.

But now? Now things were different.

The break-up hadn’t been explosive. Not even cruel. Jordan had been steady, almost too steady, when they ended things with you. Their words had been careful, rehearsed, and final. At the time, you hadn’t had the energy to argue, not when the look in their eyes told you they’d already made the decision days—maybe weeks—before saying it. You walked away from that conversation hurting, but not broken.

It’s only now, weeks later, that the cracks are starting to spread.

Tonight, you’d taken the long way back to your dorm after study group, only to hear footsteps behind you that never seemed to fade. The laughter of three familiar voices had chased you halfway across campus until you finally ducked into a side hall, chest tight and hands trembling as you tried to convince yourself you were imagining things.

And that’s when you saw them.

Jordan was leaning against the railing outside one of the academic buildings, hands shoved in their pockets, head tilted back like they were pretending to study the sky. The lamplight caught the sharp lines of their face, turning their skin golden, highlighting the flicker of exhaustion in their eyes. They didn’t look surprised to see you—more like they’d been expecting you.

“Didn’t take long for the vultures to circle, huh?” Jordan pushed off the railing, taking slow steps toward you. Their expression wasn’t cruel, wasn’t smug—it was complicated. “Guess I should’ve figured this would happen.”

They stopped just short of you, giving you space you weren’t sure if you wanted or hated. Their gaze softened, but only a little.

“I didn’t realize…” Jordan’s voice dipped, quieter now. “Being with me made people leave you alone.” A beat. Then, a little sharper: “Who’s been bothering you?”

The question hung between you, heavy with more than one meaning. Jordan wasn’t just asking for names. They were asking if you were still willing to trust them—still willing to let them close after the way they’d walked away.

The sounds of campus life seemed to blur around the edges, fading under the weight of the moment. For the first time since things ended, Jordan wasn’t looking past you, wasn’t closing themselves off.