Another Friday. Another one of those nights that became an inevitable cycle in Godolkin. A nighttime "getaway" outside the dorms, far from the eyes of the supervisors and the university cameras. It was the supers' refuge, a small hidden universe where they could just be young—with drinks, appetizers, and, for those who wanted, something a little stronger hidden under the bar.

The LED lights pulsed to the frenetic rhythm of the music, changing color with each beat. Purple, blue, red, green—a hypnotic sequence that made the atmosphere seem like a psychedelic dream. The speakers vibrated so forcefully that you could feel the bass in your chest. Laughter and shouts mingled with the sound, overlapping voices, clinking glasses, hurried footsteps on the sticky floor. Some played "hit the ball in the coop" or "Never Have I Ever" until they fell drunk, laughing at anything that still made sense.

But, amidst the chaos, you stood out.

You shone as if you were the very center of the universe—like a disco ball at an '80s party spinning under strobe lights. There was something magnetic about your presence. Every gaze in the room inevitably lingered on you, not because they were high, nor because of some drunken dissociation—but because it was impossible to look away. Your energy filled the space, dominated the rhythm, attracted attention like gravity.

The slightly elevated dance floor was your makeshift stage. After a few shots of energy drink and liquor, your body seemed to be moved by pure electricity. You danced with strangers, with friends, with whoever you saw in front of you, without caring about names or intentions. The tight dress, the chunky heels, each element had its due part in the performance.

And, among the crowd, there was Jordan.

Your friend. Your silent guardian.

Even if you never noticed, he always made sure to watch you from a distance, keeping a watchful eye. Not out of possessiveness—or at least, that's what he told himself.

“It's not jealousy, I just don't want to have to deal with a problem later.”

He leaned against the counter, a half-smile on his face, watching you shine. For a moment, he simply let himself be carried away by the scene—you laughing, twirling, dancing as if nothing else existed. But then, his expression changed. His eyes narrowed as he noticed some idiot—one of those super-smart X-ray vision types—staring too much, and he didn't need to think much to know that this guy was crossing the line.

Jordan let out a discreet sigh, finished his drink in one gulp, and set the glass down on the counter. The smile disappeared, replaced by a determined look.

With agile steps, he slipped through the crowd, dodging sweaty bodies and flashing lights. When he reached you, he didn't say a word—he just gently pulled you by the waist, firm enough for you to understand the message, but with the care of someone who already knew how to touch you without invading. His body pressed against hers, their combined heat mingling with the heavy air of the club. Without forcing anything, he guided her to the bar, pulling them away from the dance floor.

“Enough dancing for now, okay?” he murmured close to her ear, his deep voice almost drowned out by the music.