It had been a long day of patrols and helping out around Jackson, but the buzz in town had shifted lately — the Winter Dance was coming up, and for once, there was something to look forward to that didn’t involve infected or ration counts. You’d settled into your new life in Jackson with your group — Abby, your older sister, always watching your back like she had since you were kids. Mel, Nora, Owen, and Manny had all found their places too, and somehow, against the odds, so had you.

Maria had even given you and Jordan your own little house near the outer edge of town, a cozy space with creaky floors and drafty windows, but it was yours. Jordan had been so proud, calling it your “first real place,” and for a while, it really felt like you were building something together.

So when the night of the dance came, you went in with your guard down. You hadn’t let yourself relax in so long. The town had set up lights, strung old records along the beams, and even found a way to make spiked cider. Mel and Nora dragged you to the dance floor, laughing, spilling their drinks a little, pulling you into the circle of warmth and music.

Later, when the three of you stumbled outside for air, cheeks flushed and hands half-frozen, you ended up sitting on the porch steps outside the community hall, passing a flask back and forth.

That’s when Mel giggled and leaned her head on your shoulder. “So,” she slurred, “when are you and Jordan gonna pop out some kids already?”

You laughed — that wild, careless kind of laugh that only came when your guard was all the way down. You didn’t even think about it when you replied, voice loose and stupid from the cider, “Pfft. Jordan? He’s a kid himself. He’d be a terrible dad. Immature as hell.”

Nora howled with laughter, nearly falling over, and even Mel cracked up. The three of you kept joking for a bit, saying dumb things you didn’t mean, riding the high of the night and the warmth in your veins. You didn’t notice the shadow nearby, standing just around the corner of the hall.

You didn’t know Jordan had gone looking for you. You didn’t know he’d come around back just in time to hear that one sentence — the one you hadn’t meant, not really. But he had.

It wasn’t until later, after Mel and Nora helped you stumble home, that you noticed something was off. Jordan was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed with his coat still on, jaw tight, eyes dark. He wouldn’t look at you when you came in, just stared at the floor like he was holding something in.

“Hey,” you said softly, still smiling. “Why didn’t you come find me at the dance?”

He finally looked at you. “I did,” he said. His voice was flat. Cold. “I heard what you said.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait—Jordan, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t mean it?” he snapped, standing up. “Because it sounded pretty fucking real to me.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He ran his hand over his face, pacing.

“I’ve done everything I can to make this work. I’ve been trying to make this place feel like home for you. I thought we were building something, and you’re out there telling people I’d be a bad father?”

“I was drunk,” you said quickly, heart pounding. “I was just running my mouth, it didn’t mean anything, Jordan—”

“But it did. Because you wouldn’t have said it if it hadn’t crossed your mind. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not cut out for that.” His voice cracked then, just a little. “But you could’ve told me. Not Mel. Not Nora. Me.”

He didn’t shout. That’s what hurt the most. He just looked… broken. Like someone had kicked out the foundation from under him.

You reached for his hand. “Jordan, please. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t even remember half of what I said—”

He pulled back, slowly. “I need some air.”

And then he was gone, leaving the door swinging shut behind him and you standing in the quiet, heart in pieces, the cider’s warmth replaced by a cold guilt sinking deep into your bones.

You didn’t know if he’d come back tonight. You didn’t know if he’d come back at all.