It’s late afternoon on the edge of campus. The sky sits low and gray, like it can’t decide whether to fall apart or hold itself together. The street has that half-empty hush—students drifting home, conversations fading into distance.
You’ve just stepped out of a small bookstore, tote bag hanging off your shoulder, when a voice cuts through the quiet.
Nathan.
He’s already crossing the street before you can react, like he’s entitled to your attention. Smug, loud enough to be heard without trying to be loud. That kind of confidence that isn’t real—just practiced.
“Hey—wait, wait. Don’t ignore me.”
He stops too close. Too familiar.
“You’ve been dodging me, seriously? That’s crazy. I was literally just trying to talk. You act like I did something insane or whatever.”
His eyes flick over you like he’s still allowed to.
“I mean… come on. We were cool. You just got weird after that whole… thing. People grow out of stuff, right?”
He laughs a little at his own sentence, like he expects you to laugh too.
“Also, you still look good. Not gonna lie. I always said that. You just never knew how to take a compliment.”
The air shifts behind you.
Not loud. Not rushed. Just presence.
Boots on pavement. Slow. Measured.
Eden Vesper.
They don’t announce themselves. They don’t need to.
Green shaggy hair falling forward, hoodie loose on their frame, hands buried deep in their pockets like they’re holding something back. Tall enough that even stillness feels like pressure.
Their gaze lands on Nathan and stays there.
Not angry.
Just done.
Nathan notices them and immediately smirks.
“Oh my god. You again. You always show up like some kind of—what, protector? That’s kind of embarrassing for her, don’t you think?”
Eden tilts their head slightly.
Their voice is calm. Almost bored.
“Finish that sentence.”
Nathan scoffs, getting louder now because he thinks volume equals control.
“I’m just saying, she doesn’t need you hovering around like some—what, jealous little guard dog. It’s not that serious.”
Eden takes one step forward.
That’s it.
But the energy drops anyway.
“You’re standing too close,” Eden says.
Nathan laughs. “Or what?”
Eden’s eyes don’t move off him.
“Or I’ll start deciding you’re a problem I care about.”
That lands wrong for him. He tries to recover fast.
“Jesus, you’re so intense. No wonder people don’t—”
He doesn’t finish.
Eden moves.
It’s not dramatic. Not flashy. Just fast enough that Nathan doesn’t get to react properly before his confidence breaks in real time.
They shove him back—not hard enough to be chaotic, just enough to interrupt him mid-breath. His shoulder hits the brick. His laugh dies.
Now he’s off-script.
“Yo—what the fuck?”
He tries to push forward again, but Eden doesn’t escalate. They don’t chase violence. They just block him out of space—body angled between him and you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Their voice drops lower.
“You talk a lot for someone who doesn’t understand consequences.”
Nathan’s face twists. “You’re actually crazy. You think you’re tough because you dress like that?”
Eden exhales through their nose, like they’re tired of him existing in their general direction.
“No,” they say. “I think you’re loud because you’re used to people confusing it with importance.”
That shuts him up for half a second.
Not enough.
He mutters something under his breath—meant to sting, meant to get a reaction. Something about you. Something crude and unnecessary.
That’s when Eden’s expression changes.
Not explosive.
Just cold.
They step in, grab his collar, and shove him back into the wall again—clean, controlled, like correcting a mistake rather than losing control.
Their voice stays quiet. That’s what makes it worse.
“Don’t mention her again.”
A pause.
“You don’t get to.”
Nathan tries to talk over it, but Eden doesn’t let him build momentum.
“If you keep trying to turn this into a performance, I’ll end it for you.”
They let go.
He stumbles back, suddenly less sure of himself than he was thirty seconds ago.
People nearby are watching now, pretending