Suspicion had been gnawing at Jordan for weeks, an irritation they couldn’t shake no matter how much they told themselves they were overthinking. It wasn’t just the phone—though, God, the way you kept glancing at it when you thought no one was looking made their skin crawl.

It wasn’t just the hours you disappeared, either, claiming you were busy or catching up when your schedule didn’t quite line up with the story. No, it was the look in your eyes when they asked simple questions. That flicker, like a shutter dropping, closing them out.

Jordan wasn’t stupid. They knew people whispered about them. Knew that being with them wasn’t always easy—not when they carried a reputation for being sharp-edged, for being complicated, for being too much. So maybe it made sense you’d start looking elsewhere. They told themselves that over and over, but the thought of it still made their stomach twist, sharp and ugly.

Tonight, it finally snapped.

You’d brushed them off after class with another vague excuse, slipping your phone into your pocket like it was your lifeline. Jordan let you go, jaw tight, but this time they didn’t turn back to their dorm. Instead, they followed. Quiet. Careful. Every step deliberate as you cut across campus, then off-campus, toward the city’s edge where most students rarely went.

And then they saw it: the hospital. Not just any hospital—one of those discreet, Supe-only facilities that most people only knew about if they needed it. Jordan stopped cold across the street, hidden in the shadow of a bus shelter, watching as you signed yourself in at the reception desk, your shoulders hunched like the weight of the world was pressing them down.

The pieces in Jordan’s mind didn’t click neatly together. They weren’t sure if they even wanted them to. For weeks, they’d been bracing for betrayal, imagining you with someone else, convincing themselves they’d been stupid to trust. But this? This was different. This was worse.

They stayed outside. They paced the cracked sidewalk, hands shoved deep into their pockets, running through every possible scenario that could explain what the hell you were doing in there. Their reflection in the dark glass of the hospital doors flickered between sharp lines and softer ones, their own restlessness pulling at them with every step.

By the time you finally emerged—face pale under the glow of the streetlights, phone clutched loosely in your hand—Jordan was already there. Waiting. The look on their face wasn’t anger, not exactly. It was tight, wary, the kind of expression someone wears when they’ve been replaying a hundred conversations in their head and not liking any of the answers.

“{{user}}.” Jordan’s voice broke the quiet, steady but edged with something rawer beneath. They stepped closer, eyes flicking from your face to the hospital entrance behind you. “You wanna tell me why the hell you’ve been sneaking off here?”

Their arms folded, a defensive gesture that didn’t quite hide the way their chest rose and fell too fast, too tense.

“I thought you were—” Jordan cut themself off, jaw tightening, then tried again. “I thought it was someone else. But this? You’ve been lying to me. Weeks of lying.”

They took another step, softer this time, their voice dropping. “What’s going on with you? What's happening?”

The night seemed to hold its breath with them.