Archive of Our Own

Marie had made a new friend. His name was Brodie.

He was about 5’7, with shiny blonde hair that skimmed just past his shoulders, and had a lazy LA accent. And he wanted to fuck Marie. Jordan knew it.

The problem was, they didn’t exactly have any evidence. Just… a feeling. The kind of feeling you can't really prove, the kind you either trust or ignored until it blows up in your face.

They’d seen it, they'd been it — the way smiles lingered too long, the hungry sort of calculation behind someone’s eyes, the way conversations bent themselves around one person. And Brodie wasn’t even trying to hide it. Every time Marie spoke, his whole face lit up like she’d just revealed the secret to eternal life. Every laugh, every lean-in, every chance to touch her arm or shoulder… he took it.

And Marie? Oblivious.

Jordan could almost forgive that. She wasn’t used to reading people like that, not when it came to herself. Marie always underestimated how much space she took up in other people’s worlds.

But Jordan noticed. Always.

At first, they told themselves to let it go. Marie was allowed to make friends. Jordan didn’t want to be the kind of partner who swooped in and made everything about their own insecurities.

Except it wasn’t just insecurity. Jordan could feel that tight, sharp edge in their chest every time Brodie showed up. In the cafeteria, sliding his tray down beside Marie’s like he’d been invited. Waiting outside her classes for her. Even walking her across campus, like some self-appointed bodyguard.

Jordan didn’t have to imagine what was going through his head.

What ate at them wasn’t just Brodie, though. It was the silence. Jordan wanted to say something — anything — to Marie, but every sentence they rehearsed in their head sounded petty. It sounded like a fight waiting to happen. Hey, your new friend? He’s trying to fuck you. What if she thought they didn’t trust her? What if she thought they were reading into because they only saw her sexually? What if she thought they couldn’t handle her being close to anyone else?

So they kept quiet.

But it wore on them, piece by piece. Little moments that stuck under their skin like splinters. The way Brodie’s hand brushed Marie’s shoulder when he leaned closer. The way his laugh always came half a second too fast, too eager. The way he angled his body toward her, even when there was no reason to.

Jordan told themselves it wasn’t about trust. It wasn’t about doubting Marie. It was about respect. About someone circling what was theirs and pretending it was innocent.

They sat slouched in a chair at Jitter Bean, half an empty latte cooling in front of them, knee bouncing under the table. Marie was supposed to meet them here. She was already late.

Through the wide glass doors of the student lounge across the quad, Jordan could see why. Marie stood there, caught in Brodie’s orbit like the sun she was, and Brodie, of course, basked in it like he had all the time in the world. Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of him leaning too close, tossing his hair back like it was some kind of mating call, flashing that wide surfer-boy grin. Marie smiled back, polite, easy, oblivious.

Jordan’s jaw ached from clenching it.

Normally, they wouldn’t have cared — Marie running late was hardly a new concept. They’d have scrolled their phone, sipped their drink, shrugged it off. But this was different. This was because of him. Because Brodie had seen Marie walking toward the café, intercepted her, and held her there like he owned the moment. Like he had a right.

And the worst part — the part that burned through Jordan’s chest and made their hands curl into fists under the table — was that Marie let him. Not intentionally, of course. Not with any malicious intent. She was just being nice.

Fuck, why did she have to be so fucking nice?

Jordan watched as she finally started moving again, that familiar swing of her shoulders in her jacket, her bag bouncing against her hip. Relief pricked in Jordan’s chest — until they realised Brodie was still there. Still walking with her, side by side, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Of course she’d invited him. She probably hadn’t even realised what she was doing, hadn’t thought twice about saying, Oh, I’m just heading to meet Jordan, you can come along if you want. Because that was Marie. She never wanted to make anyone feel excluded. She never noticed when someone didn’t deserve the invitation.

Jordan’s stomach twisted, sharp and ugly.

From their spot at the table, they could see Brodie laugh at something Marie said, his head tipping back, his hand brushing against her arm like it was casual. Marie didn’t even flinch, just kept walking, kept talking. And Jordan sat there, nails digging into their palms, forcing themselves not to get up, not to march across the quad and tear Brodie away from her.

Instead, they stayed in their seat, watching the two of them get closer, feeling the heat crawl up the back of their neck. Every step Marie took toward them felt like it was dragging Jordan tighter and tighter on a leash, pulling their temper closer to snapping.

It wasn’t Marie’s fault. They knew that.

But, it still pissed them off.

Jordan took a deep breath as Marie and Brodie walked through the door — ignoring the fact Brodie had just held it open for their fucking girlfriend. They needed to calm down. Be cool, be chill, be normal.

And they had done a pretty good job of it, all things considered. The knot in their stomach was loosening, their shoulders starting to drop — until Brodie opened his mouth.

“Hey, girl! How are you doing?”

Jordan’s composure cracked. They could have blasted his head clean off in that moment. It wasn’t the word itself. Right now, Jordan was a girl. They didn’t have an issue with being called “girl” or “dude” or any other gendered thing, regardless of the form they were in at the time. Most people meant nothing by it, and Jordan didn’t think twice.

But sometimes — sometimes — you could tell when it wasn’t nothing. When it wasn’t just a word someone reached for without thinking. When it came out with an edge, a deliberate emphasis. Like they were taking the opportunity to press Jordan into a neat little category, to remind them of what they saw instead of who Jordan was.

That was what Brodie did. Made the word feel like a box with sharp corners, like he was sliding it across the table just to see if Jordan would climb inside or push it back.

Jordan swallowed down the spike of heat in their chest. They weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.

They stood to greet Marie, making a tiny, purposeful point of pecking her on the lips before turning to Brodie. Their own smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “I’m alright, man, how are you?” they asked, tone steady but loaded with enough weight to make the balance even.

Marie sat in the chair beside them, her shoulder brushing Jordan’s, oblivious to the low-level war happening in the air. Brodie slid into the seat across from them, his expression flickering for half a second before he pasted on something polite.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

Tight-lipped. Controlled.

Jordan leaned back, arm settling across the back of Marie’s chair, the picture of ease. Inside, though, their blood was still buzzing, the echo of that word clanging around their skull.

They could already tell this was going to be a long coffee.

Marie was the one to break the silence, asking some throwaway question about Brodie’s classes. He launched into an answer like he’d been waiting for the invitation, words spilling fast and bright, hands moving more than they needed to. Jordan sat there, expression flat, nodding when it seemed appropriate. Every second of it crawled over their skin.

Halfway through Brodie’s ramble about a group project, Marie pushed back her chair. “I’m gonna go order,” she said, smiling at both of them as though she wasn't about to leave Jordan with a live grenade.

“I’ll come with,” Brodie offered instantly, already half out of his seat.

Marie shook her head, the picture of polite reassurance. “No, I’ve got it. I know what you like.”

Jordan’s stomach dropped. Brodie’s grin split across his face, wide and radiant, like she’d just confessed she’d memorised his favourite poem. He sat back down, looking like it was the best day of his fucking life.

And Jordan wanted to make it his last.

Marie moved toward the counter, weaving easily through the line of students, her locs catching in the late-afternoon light. Jordan’s eyes followed her for a second too long, then flicked back across the table.

Now it was just them and Brodie.

The silence stretched. Jordan let it, leaning back in their chair, one arm draped casually across the back of Marie’s empty seat. Brodie shifted, then leaned forward on his elbows, grin flashing like he had something clever to say.

“You know,” he started, tone easy, “Marie talks about you a lot.”

Jordan’s jaw tightened, but they kept their face smooth. “Yeah. I mean, she is my girlfriend, so she's allowed.”

Brodie’s smile sharpened at the edges. “Right. I just mean… I feel like I know so much about you. Like I’ve got the inside scoop, you know?”

Jordan tilted their head — they're not quite sure what that was supposed to mean but they know he wasn't saying anything complementary — lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first fanboy who knows everything about me while I know nothing about them.”

They let it hang in the air, voice light enough to pass as a joke but with enough bite that the point landed.

Brodie chuckled, leaning back in his seat, nodding like he could play along. “Fair enough.”

On the surface, it was nothing — two people trading friendly, teasing, jabs over coffee. But under it, in the weight of their stares and the thin curl of their smiles, the message was clear. Jordan had drawn a line, and Brodie had seen it.

Jordan’s eyes narrowed just slightly, enough to make it clear this wasn’t a game. Brodie held their gaze with that same bright, empty grin, the kind of expression that looked friendly but said nothing at all.

The moment broke when Marie came back, balancing two cups in her hands. “Here,” she said, sliding one across the table toward Brodie before sitting down beside Jordan again.

Brodie accepted his drink with an easy “Thanks,” then leaned forward again, picking the conversation back up like nothing had happened. “So, did you start that Vought history assignment yet?”

Marie groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I spent half of last night staring at a blank page. It’s so hard trying to figure out where to even start things like that.”

Brodie chuckled, shaking his head like he had the solution to all her problems. “I could help you out, if you want. I’ve got some notes from last semester that really helped me get started.”

Jordan’s jaw flexed, but Marie just smiled, shaking her head. “Thanks, but it's okay. I actually talked to Jordan about it already. She helped me start—figure out a plan.”

Jordan felt a flicker of warmth beneath the irritation, something soft and smug at once. They tightened their arm just slightly around the back of Marie’s chair, thumb brushing her shoulder blade in a silent thanks.

Brodie paused, smile faltering for only a heartbeat before he forced it brighter. “Right. Of course. You’ve got your own personal tutor.” He chuckled, then added with a sly edge, “Guess that’s the perk of dating your TA, huh?”

Marie laughed, light and easy, not catching the barb tucked in the joke. “Yeah, it definitely helps.” She sipped her drink, oblivious.

Jordan didn’t laugh.

They didn’t glare either, not outright. They just watched Brodie over the rim of their cup as they took a slow sip, their eyes cool, steady, unamused. The joke wasn’t harmless. It was a dig, one Brodie wanted to look like banter but meant as something sharper.

Marie went on, talking about the assignment again, asking Jordan to explain part of what they’d discussed the night before.

Brodie nodded along, still smiling, but Jordan saw the stiffness in it — the strain at the edges of a mask that didn’t fit as well as he thought.

And Jordan sat there, arm draped over the back of Marie’s chair, steady as stone.

And then he pivoted. “Hey, uh, actually—Marie. My brother’s throwing a party this weekend. At his frat house. You should come by.”

The way he said it was casual, smooth, his eyes trained on Marie like Jordan wasn’t even sitting across from him. The invitation was singular, pitched just enough to sound open, but the undertone was clear as day to Jordan: this was for her, not for them.

Marie blinked, surprised, then smiled politely. “Oh? When is it?”

“Saturday night,” Brodie said quickly, leaning forward like he was sealing the deal. “Should be a good time. I think you’d have fun.”

Jordan felt something hot crawl up their throat. He hadn’t looked at Jordan once. He wanted her there alone, and Jordan knew it.

Marie, bless her, either didn’t catch it or chose not to. She turned, eyes bright, to Jordan. “What do you think? Are we doing anything Saturday night?”

Jordan straightened, pulse kicking. “Uh… I was kinda wanting a chill weekend,” they said carefully.

Marie’s brow furrowed. “A chill weekend? Since when?”

Jordan forced a shrug. “I dunno. Maybe we could just… hang out or something. Just us.”

From the corner of their eye, Jordan could see Brodie watching — his gaze flickering between them clearly bother that they were having this conversation like he wasn't right in front of them.

Marie tilted her head at Jordan, unbelieving. “You’re joking, right? I ask you to stay in with me all the time and you drag me out anyway. And now I'm the reason we get a party invite, suddenly you want to stay home? No. We’re going.”

You’re not the reason we got an invite, Jordan thought bitterly. I wasn't invited at all.

Marie turned back to Brodie with a bright smile. “We’ll be there.”

Jordan watched the flicker in Brodie’s face — the barest falter in his smile, the disappointment flashing like a crack in glass before he plastered it back together.

“Cool,” Brodie said, voice just a little too tight, grin stretched just a little too wide. “That’ll be great.”

Jordan sat on the edge of their bed, elbows braced on their knees, scrolling through their phone without really seeing anything on the screen. The glow of it lit the dark room in shallow bursts, then dimmed as they locked it again. They tossed it onto the blanket beside them, running a hand through their hair.

The knock came just as they’d expected.

Jordan rose, dragging a palm down their face, and opened the door.

Emma breezed past them without pause, without even waiting for a proper invitation. She kicked the door shut behind her with her heel, immediately tugging her shoes off and abandoning them by the door.

“You know,” she said, voice casual but cutting in the way only Emma could manage, “that text you sent me came off super fucking weird.”

Jordan sighed, leaning against the closed door. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted to talk to you without Marie knowing about it.”

Emma’s brows shot up, her lips twitching into a grin. “Oh my god—do you wanna throw her a surprise birthday party?”

Jordan blinked. “What? No. Marie’s birthday isn’t for months.”

“Exactly,” Emma said, pointing a finger like she’d cracked some code. “Yeah, that’s what makes it such a big surprise, we do it now.”

Jordan dragged a hand down their face. “Would you shut the fuck up and just listen to me.”

Emma flinched back in dramatic mocking, eyes wide, shoulders hunched, like they’d just barked at her. “Okay Jordan,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. But she pressed her lips shut, gesturing with a little “go on” flick of her wrist.

Jordan exhaled slowly, hiding their face behind their hand a little as they spoke. “What do you think about Brodie?”

Emma tilted her head, thoughtful for about half a second. “I think he’s hot.”

Jordan’s face must’ve said everything because Emma immediately raised her brows. “What?”

“Emma.” Jordan said flatly.

“What?” she repeated, grinning now. “You asked me what I think. You can’t ask me for my opinion and then act like I answered wrong.”

Jordan shook their head. “Whatever, I just mean—do you think he’s being weird at all?”

Emma frowned. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Weird… like, with Marie. Like he might be into her.”

Emma made a face. The one she’d made when she showed Jordan that video of a raccoon trying to wash his fairy floss. Her lips pushed into a pout, her eyebrows arched, and then she stuck out her lower lip as she leaned closer.

“Aww,” she teased, poking Jordan square in the chest. “Is someone feeling jealous?”

Jordan swatted her hand away, heat rising in their face. “I’m not jealous. This is a real fucking concern.”

Emma chuckled but eased up when she caught the tightness in Jordan’s voice. She dropped down onto their desk chair, spinning once before propping her elbows on the armrests. “Okay, fine. Serious Emma time. What’s he been doing?”

Jordan crossed their arms. “He invited Marie to this party on Saturday. But not me. And I was right there when he asked her.”

Emma tilted her head. “Brodie said you couldn’t come?”

“No,” Jordan admitted. “But he acted like I wasn’t even there. Marie answered for both of us and said we’d come, and he looked really pissed about it.”

Emma hummed, twirling a strand of her hair. “Maybe you’re reading a little too much into it. Maybe he asked Marie because she’s his friend. And he figured she’d know he meant both of you.”

Jordan narrowed their eyes.

Emma went on, raising her brows. “You are kinda intimidating, Jordan. Especially if someone might feel like you already don’t like them.”

Jordan clenched their jaw, grinding down a reply, because she wasn’t wrong. But still — there was more to it. They could feel it.

They dragged a hand over their jaw, shaking their head. “He also made this weird joke about me being Marie’s TA.”

Emma squinted at them, one brow arching. “Right… and weird how?”

“I don’t know,” Jordan admitted, frustrated, pacing a step across the small space before turning back. “But it had a weird vibe! Like—it wasn’t just a joke. It was a dig, I know it was.”

Emma leaned back in the desk chair, spinning herself half a turn and shrugging her shoulders. “Look, dude. I love you. And you and Marie are literally my parents—” she gestured between them with mock solemnity, “—but you sound fucking crazy right now.”

Jordan’s jaw tightened, and they let out a long, heavy sigh through their nose.

Emma tilted her head, her grin turning teasing again. “Like, super paranoid.”

“I am not being fucking crazy,” Jordan snapped, sharper than they meant to. Their voice cut the air clean, and for a second, the room felt taut and still.

Emma’s smile faltered just enough to show she’d registered it. She studied Jordan more carefully, her teasing edge slipping into something more genuine. “Okay,” she said finally, voice softer. “Okay. I’ll watch for it. I’ll look for any weird vibes… okay?”

Jordan’s shoulders sank a little, the air leaving them in another sigh. They gave a short nod, not completely satisfied — because Emma didn’t believe them — but at least she was agreeing to try and see things from their perspective. And Jordan knew Emma well enough to know that meant she’d actually do it.

“Okay,” Jordan said quietly, forcing the words out around the knot in their chest. They gave her a tight-lipped smile.

Emma’s face warmed. She pushed up from the chair and crossed the room in a few easy steps. Then she wrapped her arms around them without hesitation, hugging them close.

Jordan returned it, the weight of her smaller frame grounding them for a second.

When she pulled back, Emma gave them one of her soft, maddeningly sweet smiles — the kind she usually reserved for Marie and Harper but sometimes let Jordan catch too. “You’ll be fine,” she said simply.

Jordan didn’t answer. They just gave her a small nod, the tight smile still plastered on their mouth.

Emma slipped her shoes back on, hopping once as she shoved her heel into the second sneaker. She didn’t say anything else, just gave Jordan one more look — part reassurance, part warning not to spiral — and then let herself out of the dorm.

The room felt too quiet once the door clicked shut.

Jordan stood there for a long moment, arms folded across their chest, staring at the carpet like it might give them answers.

Saturday came around, heavy and slow, like the whole day had been building toward something Jordan didn’t want.

They hadn’t spoken to Marie since that morning. She’d convinced them to stay in bed until nearly nine, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against their chest, her mouth too persuasive for Jordan’s weak resolve at that hour. They’d tried to roll out at seven, citing Brink’s never-ending mountain of paperwork, but Marie had been determined — and when Marie was determined, Jordan never stood a chance.

She’d pulled them back under the covers, kissed them until their excuses dissolved, and Jordan had let her win.

When Jordan finally managed to drag themselves up and pull on a shirt, Marie was still sprawled in their bed — hair mussed, eyes half-shut, that satisfiedRt little smile tugging at her mouth. She’d laughed when they bent down to kiss her goodbye, laughter still lingering in the air as Jordan slipped out the door.

Since then, nothing.

Jordan had texted her twice. Called once. Even tried FaceTime, staring at the mocking little screen until it went dark again with no answer. Not unusual for Marie — she was notorious for putting her phone down and then just walking away without it or accidentally putting it on silent or both — but today, it pressed against Jordan’s ribs like a bruise.

Jordan sat at their desk, the sunlight spilling across the mess of notes and untouched assignments. Their laptop hummed faintly, tabs open they hadn’t looked at in an hour. They leaned back in their chair, running both hands over their face, dragging down their skin until their eyes felt raw.

Marie hadn't done anything wrong. She was just being herself, kind and trusting, soft edges that made people orbit her like moths. But to Jordan, it felt like there was a doomsday clock ticking somewhere in the corner of the room, counting down to when they’d have to walk into that frat house and see Brodie again.

And maybe Emma was right. Maybe they were being paranoid. Maybe this was just some stupid crush Marie wouldn’t even notice, that would burn itself out before the keg ran dry.

But Jordan knew better.

They could already see Brodie’s tight smile in their head, already hear his smug little digs wrapped in jokes. Already feel the sting of being looked past, like they weren’t even there, like they weren’t Marie’s person.

It burned. Not just because Brodie was a creep, not just because he was transparent in a way that should’ve been laughable. It burned because the second Marie smiled at him, listened to him, gave him the kind of gentle attention she gave everyone, Jordan felt like they’d been erased. Like all the hours, all the quiet moments, all the ways they had built something together could be snuffed out with one stupid grin from some guy who didn't deserve it.

And that was what twisted the knife — it wasn’t just an insult to Jordan. It felt like disrespect to Marie, too. She wasn’t free game. She wasn’t a prize someone could try and win if someone smiled the right way or asked her to the right party. She chose Jordan. She chose them. And still, people like Brodie acted like that didn’t matter. Like they could swoop in and take a shot anyway.

Jordan knew Marie didn’t see it. She never did. She thought people were kind until they proved otherwise. And Jordan loved her for that softness, but sometimes it made them want to scream. Because what if one day she did see it? What if one day she woke up and realised she wanted someone else — someone easier to be with, someone without the sharp edges and the baggage and the endless second-guessing?

Jordan had been told more than once that they were difficult, and they knew it was true. They could be mean, cutting without thinking. They pushed people away when things got too close. They avoided hard conversations until the silence rotted between them. And when they screwed up — and they screwed up plenty — they were terrible at admitting it. Worse at apologising in any way that counted.

Who wanted to live like that forever?

Jordan slumped further in their chair, staring at the wall across from them, letting the thought fester. It wasn’t impossible to imagine Marie choosing someone else. Someone who didn’t shut down when they were scared. Someone who didn’t snap when they were tired. Someone who didn’t have to explain their existence over and over, who didn’t come with the whole extra weight of bigender. Someone uncomplicated.

That might be the bit that really scared Jordan the most — the fear that maybe she’d be right to leave. That it wouldn’t even be about Brodie, or anyone else trying to win her over, but about how exhausting it was to be with Jordan in the long run. How maybe Marie was just too kind, too patient, to admit it yet.

The clock ticked louder in their head. Every second closer to that party felt like an extra chance for things to crack.

Jordan dropped their head into their hands and sat there, sulking in the heavy mess of their own insecurities, wishing they could turn it all off.

Jordan pushed their way into their dorm, dropping their bag at the foot of their desk without even looking. It had been one of those days. Having a day with no classes sounded good in theory, but in practice only meant Brink could unloaded every scrap of his workload onto them. Anything the old man didn’t want to do became Jordan’s problem — reports, filing, sorting through his emails, the kind of work that turned their brain to static.

They stood in the middle of their room, rolling their shoulders, already dreading what came next. The party. The last thing they wanted after a day like this was to stand around at some frat house pretending they weren’t counting the minutes until they could leave.

They tugged at their collar, eyes dragging across the room. That was when they saw it.

Marie’s phone.

Sitting plugged into their charger, lazily perched on the bedside table like it hadn’t even crossed her mind to take it with her.

They walked closer, staring down at it. The screen was black, silent, harmless. And yet it had weight. Like it was pulling them toward it, daring them.

Jordan’s lip caught between their teeth. She didn’t even have a password. Nothing to stop anyone from picking it up and looking. They could swipe it open right now. They’d see if she’d been talking to Brodie — or anyone else.

Their hand twitched.

The truth was, they’d never not gone through someone's phone. Not everytime but anytime someone — any half-assed fling or situationship — had given Jordan even an inclining of suspicion, Jordan had gone through their phone. Every time. They’d always told themselves it wasn’t about paranoia, just about knowing where they stood.

But Marie wasn’t like that. Marie wasn’t anyone else.

She hadn’t given them a reason. She’d given them patience, softness, the kind of loyalty Jordan had never known what to do with.

Jordan swallowed hard, dragging their eyes away. No. Not this time. Not with her.

With a sharp shake of their head, they turned away and left the phone where it sat. Unread, untouched, a line they refused to cross.

Jordan stripped off their jacket and tossed it over the back of their chair, standing in the middle of the room with that restless, unsettled energy still buzzing under their skin. They hated how raw it left them, like they were pacing the edge of a cliff — angry, insecure, and yet determined not to give into the worst parts of themselves.

The party loomed like a deadline. They could show up in something plain, make a point of how little they cared, but even the thought of that sat wrong. If they were going to go and if Brodie was going to be there — hovering, circling — they weren’t about to walk in looking like they hadn’t tried.

Fine. Effort, then.

Jordan grabbed a towel and their caddy of half-used toiletries and stepped out of their room, heading down the hall toward the communal showers. The tiles were freezing under their bare feet, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. A couple of guys from their floor passed them, laughing too loud, smelling like Axe and cheap beer already, but Jordan ignored them, ducking into the showers and claiming an empty stall.

The first shock of water against their skin was enough to bite down a groan, the temperature wobbling between too hot and too cold until they found a middle ground. They tipped their head back, letting the spray run through their hair, washing away the day’s grit and Brink’s endless to-do lists.

It felt better than they expected. Cleansing, almost.

By the time they’d worked shampoo into their hair and rinsed it clean, some of the heaviness pressing at their chest had lifted. They even dug through the caddy for the face wash they hadn’t bothered with in months. The neglected bottle was sticky around the cap, but the gel inside still foamed, still smelled faintly of eucalyptus. Jordan scrubbed their skin until it tingled, rinsing clean, standing there for a second with their palms braced against the wet tile, water still pounding across their shoulders.

It was stupid, maybe, but it made them feel more like themself.

When they made their way back to their dorm, towel around their neck, hair dripping into the fabric of their shirt, they already knew half-assing it wasn’t an option. They’d put in the effort. Marie deserved that. And hell, Jordan wanted to see Brodie choke on it.

They tried on three different outfits, tossing shirts onto the bed, frowning into the mirror. The first look was too casual, the second too…much — like they were trying too hard. The third one finally landed.

Jordan adjusted the collar, ran a hand through damp hair, and gave their reflection a long, assessing look. Not perfect, maybe. But solid.

They grabbed their phone, wallet, and keys from the desk, sliding each into their pockets with muscle memory. For a second they paused, eyes cutting back to the bedside table. Marie’s phone still sat there, plugged into their charger, like it was waiting to accuse them. With a muttered curse, Jordan yanked it free from the cord and shoved it into their pocket too — carrying it like it might explode at any second.

The plan — if there had even been one — was already messy. Marie had forgotten her phone, which meant coordinating was impossible, and Jordan didn’t want to just show up at the party to try to find her. Walking to her dorm early seemed smarter. Catch her before the chaos.

They’d just ready to walk out the door when their phone buzzed in their pocket.

Emma 🫩: WE NEED TO FUCKING TALK RIGHT FUCKING NOW

(Emma had been outraged when she found out what emoji Jordan had assigned to her contact — even more so, when they explained it was because that was how they felt reading her texts ninety percent of the time.)

Something about the urgency pulled at them. They typed out a response.

What’s going on? Are you okay?

Emma 🫩: BRODIE

Emma 🫩: YOU ARE NOT CRAZY

Jordan sat down hard on the edge of their bed, staring at the screen as their pulse rocketed. The words blurred, doubled.

Not crazy.

That should have felt like relief, but instead it cracked something open inside them. Every terrible possibility Emma might be about to confirm flooded in at once — Brodie hitting on Marie, touching her, Marie laughing like it was harmless, or worse, Marie not pushing him away at all. Jordan’s chest constricted, lungs clenching tight, like they were drowning.

They stared at the screen, but their thumbs wouldn’t move. They couldn’t bring themselves to ask what Emma meant. Not yet.

The typing bubbles appeared again. Then stopped.

A knock hit their door. Sharp, too loud in the quiet. Jordan ignored it, eyes still locked on their phone like answers might crawl out of the glass if they stared hard enough.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Jordan stood, jaw tight, ready to snap. Whatever RA, or whoever this was, were about to get torn apart for picking the worst possible moment.

They yanked the door open, words ready.

It was Marie.

Her hair was pulled back, a few pieces falling loose, her cheeks flushed from the brisk evening air. She looked at Jordan like she hadn’t seen them in years. A smile curved her mouth, soft and easy, and she rocked up on her toes to brush a quick kiss against their cheek before slipping past them into the room.

“Hey,” she said warmly, tossing her bag onto the floor without looking. “I haven’t seen you all day. I missed you.”

Jordan’s breath caught. For half a second, they didn’t know what to do with the mess of emotions clawing through them — fear, jealousy, relief. But her words cut through all of it, steady and grounding. They were still happy to see her.

A crooked smile tugged at their lips. Just before she was out of reach, Jordan stretched an arm out and swatted her ass, teasing. “Missed you too.”

Marie glanced back over her shoulder, grinning like she’d caught them red-handed.

And just like that, the weight crushing Jordan’s chest loosened. Not gone. But lighter.

They closed the space between them in two easy steps and slid their arms around Marie’s waist, tugging her close. Marie leaned in instinctively, turning in their arms, her palms flattening against Jordan’s chest like they belonged there. She tilted her head up, eyes roaming down their frame and back up again, her lips quirking.

“You look good,” she hummed, soft but certain. “Really good.”

Jordan grinned, the kind that started small and grew despite their best effort to stay cool. “Thank you,” they murmured, leaning forward the way they always did — asking for a kiss without a single word.

Marie answered without hesitation, closing the small gap and pressing her mouth to theirs. Warm, sweet, grounding. Jordan tightened their hold, drawing her closer by the waist, breathing her in like she was oxygen. For a moment, the world outside their dorm didn’t exist. Just Marie.

When they finally parted, Jordan kept their eyes on her. She had a way of pulling them down to earth without even trying. All it took was being near her, her calm, her laugh, her steady presence.

Emma was dramatic. That was the truth. Whatever had gotten under her skin, it couldn’t have been anything Jordan hadn’t already noticed. Brodie’s backhanded comments, his too-bright smile, his need hover. Emma had probably just seen it with fresh eyes and decided it was a crisis. Nothing more. Nothing new.

Marie tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied them. “You okay?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.

“Yeah,” Jordan said quickly, then softened it with a smile. They reached into their pocket and pulled out her phone, holding it up between them like an offering. “Oh—this is yours.”

Marie gasped and snatched it from their hand, cradling it like treasure. “You found it! Oh my god, I thought I’d lost it forever.” She flicked it on, checking the screen, the little sigh of relief she let out making Jordan laugh.

“It was just sitting on my bedside table,” Jordan said, shrugging. “You must’ve left it there this morning.”

Her expression softened again, that little smile curling her lips as she looked back at them. And just like that, the static buzzing under Jordan’s skin eased another degree, the tension unspooling into something they could actually carry.

Marie lingered for a second, before tucking her phone into her back pocket. “Anyway,” she started, tone light and casual, “I just came by cause I ran into Brodie earlier. He asked if I could come help out set some stuff up for tonight. He says it'll just be setting up kegs and maybe going to pick up some ice. I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me now?”

Jordan’s stomach dipped. Of course Brodie did.

They hesitated, forcing their expression to stay neutral, the thought of Marie alone in a house full of drunk frat guys — plus Brodie — made something cold crawl up their throat. But the idea of showing up early, pretending to play nice, wasn’t exactly high on their list either. And Emma’s texts were still sitting unanswered on their phone, glowing like a warning light. They needed to talk to her before she started to spiralled.

Jordan exhaled through their nose, trying to sound casual. “Yeah, while I’d love to help do that,” they said dryly, stepping around Marie to sit on the edge of their bed. “But I actually have to go see Emma.”

Marie tilted her head, frowning a little. “See Emma? About what?”

Jordan paused — just a second too long — searching for a plausible answer. Then it hit them, fast and clumsy. “She, uh… wants to plan you a surprise birthday party.”

Marie blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jordan continued quickly, rubbing the back of their neck trying to sell it. “She said if we do it now, it’ll be, like, extra surprising. Don’t worry, I’m trying to talk her out of it.”

That earned them a laugh. Marie’s brow relaxed, her mouth pulling into a grin that scrunched up her eyes. “Alright, good luck with that conversation.”

Jordan tried to smile back, but guilt lodged under their ribs. She believed them so easily. Like she would never even consider they'd be lying to her.

Marie stepped closer, between their knees, and leaned down to cup Jordan’s face in her hands. Her palms were warm against their jaw, thumb tracing lightly along their cheekbone. “I’ll see you tonight.” she said softly, eyes flicking between theirs. “I love you.”

Jordan’s chest tightened. They smiled up at her, catching her wrist in one hand. “I love you too.”

She pressed one more quick kiss to their lips before straightening, slinging her bag over her shoulder and shoving her feet back into her boots.

Jordan watched as she moved toward the door, her hair swinging loose down her back, her voice humming something to herself as she went.

Their phone lit up again.

A fresh string of messages from Emma filled the screen.

Emma🫩: JORDAN??

Emma🫩: SEEN?? THREE?? MINUTES?? AGO??

Emma🫩: omg please have not killed yourself

Jordan huffed, the corner of their mouth twitching despite everything. Emma in panic mode, somehow managed over dramatic and offensive.

They typed back, fingers moving fast.

Fuck you, I’m here.

It only took seconds for the bubbles to appear again.

Emma🫩: Marie is going to that party early to help Brodie set up.

Jordan glared at the screen, jaw tightening. They typed back.

I know. She came here first.

I’m gonna come to you.

They locked their phone and slipped it into their pocket, the motion brisk, mechanical. No overthinking. No room for that.

Pulling on their shoes, Jordan’s mind raced — not with clear thoughts, exactly, but a low, static hum of irritation and worry that refused to take shape. The earlier calm Marie had given them was fading now, replaced with something sharp-edged and restless.

Jordan didn’t even have time to knock twice before the door swung open.

Emma grabbed their wrist and yanked them inside like they were fugitives on the run, shutting the door sharply behind them. “Finally,” she hissed, already turning toward the mini-fridge tucked beneath her desk. “Beer?”

Jordan blinked, still halfway through catching their breath. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Emma tossed one their way. They caught it with a dull thunk against their palm, popped the tab, and took a long sip. The fizz burned just enough.

Emma flopped down in her desk chair while Jordan made their way toward the small couch by the window. Emma’s eyes darted up from her drink. “Is that what you’re wearing out tonight?”

Jordan looked down, taking in their button-up, dark jeans, the chain around their neck. They looked back up, frowning. “Yes?” They said it like a question but their tone came out defensive.

Emma raised her brows, hands lifted. “Hey, no, relax! I meant it as a compliment. You look hot. It's a good fit to piss off the guy who has a major crush on your girlfriend.”

Jordan paused mid-sip. “Okay, so you see it too?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Emma groaned, dragging her chair closer. “I'm so fucking sorry for calling you crazy, it is so weird. Like, everything he does just has a vibe to it. He’s always hovering. You know when someone just takes up too much space around someone else?”

Jordan nodded slowly, the tension in their shoulders easing — just a little. “Yeah. It’s exactly that.”

Emma leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Okay, so today, I was with Marie when we ran into Brodie, right? Totally casual, middle of the quad, broad daylight, nothing weird. And out of nowhere he makes another joke about you being her T.A.”

“Fucking seriously?”

“Completely unprovoked.” Emma gestured with her beer for emphasis. “We weren’t even talking about you. I asked Marie after if she thought that was weird and she said Brodie just makes dumb jokes she has to fake laugh at. That’s literally what she said—that that's why he could never be an actual friend-friend.”

Emma shrugged. “Then she asked me if I thought it was weird, and I told her yeah. That there was just something about the way he does it, like he’s not making a joke because anythings funny, but because he finds the idea of you two being together laughable. Like it’s too unbelievable to be true, and that’s why he’s laughing.”

Jordan’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“She said she didn’t notice that,” Emma continued, “but that if that’s what he’s doing, next time he pulls that shit, she’s gonna say something.”

That made Jordan pause. The air seemed to release from their lungs all at once, slow and measured. They leaned back into the couch, the edge of the cushion sinking beneath their weight.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Jordan sighed. “God this is so stupid. All this time, I should've just… talked to her about it. It probably would’ve been fine.”

Emma tilted her head. “Yeah, probably would’ve saved you some spiralling.”

“Yeah, well.” Jordan rubbed the back of their neck, sheepish. “Didn’t really feel like an easy topic to bring up.”

Emma studied them for a long second. “Are you gonna talk to her about it now?”

Jordan’s brow furrowed. “What’s there to talk about? You already brought it up. She knows now. If I say something, it’ll just be beating a dead horse.”

Emma scoffed, incredulous. “Okay, hold on.” She pointed at them with her can. “Me, as Marie’s friend, pointing out that a guy’s being weird and making jokes at the expense of her and her relationship? Very different from you, as her partner, saying that a someone is making you uncomfortable and disrespecting your relationship.”

Jordan frowned, the muscle in their jaw twitching. “But you said something. She got it. Next time he does something weird, she’s gonna handle it. There’s no reason for me to bring it up now.”

Emma blinked. “There’s every reason. You’ve been losing sleep over this for weeks, dude.”

Jordan stood up suddenly, setting their empty beer can on the low table with a sharp clack. “I have a party to get to,” they muttered, brushing off their hands like the conversation was over.

Emma stared up at them, wide-eyed. “Jordan—”

“Seriously,” they said, pulling on their jacket. “Thanks for the update. I appreciate it.”

“Appreciate it?” Emma repeated, gobsmacked, watching as they made for the door. “You can’t just—Jordan, come on. You can’t just ignore it.”

Jordan paused with their hand on the doorknob, back still turned. “I’m not ignoring it,” they said quietly. “I just don’t need to make it a thing. She already knows now.”

Emma opened her mouth, then shut it again.

Jordan didn’t wait for whatever she was going to say next. They twisted the handle and stepped out, letting the door swing shut behind them with a soft click that somehow managed to sound final.

Emma sat there for a long time, staring at the door, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. “This is so not the play,” she muttered to herself, finishing the rest of her beer in one long swallow.

Outside, Jordan walked down the corridor, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. Their footsteps echoed on the floor — steady, measured, but hollow somehow.

They knew Emma was right. Deep down, they knew it.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier to do.

The music hit Jordan before they even made it to the front door. Bass heavy enough to shake the floorboards, laughter spilling out the open door. A guy on the porch was shotgunning a beer telekinetically and flipping off his friends with the both hands.

Inside, it was a mess of light and motion. People everywhere — glowing eyes, floating cups, someone making it rain glitter from the second floor balcony. The air smelled like sugar, beer, and smoke, all melting together into that distinct scent of “this is going to be a problem tomorrow.”

Jordan slipped through the crowd, phone already in hand, they opened their text conversation with Marie.

Hey I'm here.

Where are you?

They pocketed it again, scanning faces as they moved. Every flash of brunette hair made their heart skip, but it was never her. They passed someone phasing halfway through a wall to impress a group of freshmen and another guy who looked like he was setting his beer on fire for attention.

Jordan’s phone buzzed.

MARIE❤️‍🔥: kitchen, come find me

Jordan’s lips twitched, relief cutting through the tension that had been coiled tight in their chest since they walked in.

On my way. Don’t move.

They hit send and started toward the back of the house, weaving through the bodies pressed shoulder-to-shoulder. The bass thudded up through the soles of their boots.

Jordan pushed through the doorway to the kitchen, running a hand through their hair and scanning the room, the sound of laughter and glass clinking around them.

“Jordan!”

Marie’s voice cut through the noise — bright, delighted, instantly recognisable. Jordan’s head snapped toward her. She was by the counter, swaying a little on her feet, two red cups clutched in her hands. Her cheeks were flushed, her smile wide and unrestrained in a way that told Jordan she was already at least half drunk or high, or maybe both.

Before Jordan even reached her, Marie was already talking, her words tumbling out with an effervescent kind of joy.

“Hi, baby!” she beamed, tilting her chin up, lips puckering into an exaggerated kissy face. “Kiss!”

It was the kind of command that didn’t sound like one — too sweet to argue with, too full of affection to feel like pressure. Jordan could see the way she wobbled, body teetering like she was about to try standing on her toes for it.

They sighed, soft and fond, and switched — a blink, a breath, their form shrinking, features changing. Jordan stepped closer, one hand hovering at her hip to steady her, the other brushing a stray loc from her face.

Marie leaned down just enough to meet them halfway, and when their mouths met, the world around them dimmed — the pulse of the music, the chaos of laughter, even the harsh glow of the kitchen lights all bleeding out into nothing.

Her lips tasted like cheap liquor and something sweeter underneath — maybe the neon pink drink in those cups, or maybe just Marie herself. Her breath was warm against Jordan’s cheek, her laugh muffled into their mouth.

She couldn’t wrap her arms around them properly — both hands still full — but she tried, sort of looping her wrists around Jordan’s neck, the edge of one cup tapping clumsily against their shoulder.

Jordan laughed into the kiss, low and soft, pulling her just a little closer anyway. They kissed again, slower this time — the kind of kiss that wasn’t about heat or showing off, just about being there, being known, being wanted.

When Marie finally pulled back, she was grinning, eyes half-lidded, hair a little messy. “You came,” she said, like it was a surprise, like it was the best thing that could have happened tonight.

Jordan huffed out a small laugh. “You didn’t think I would?”

Marie shook her head, locs swaying. “No, I just didn’t know how long it was gonna take you to talk Emma out of that birthday party thing.” She giggled, the sound soft and hazy around the edges.

Guilt pierced Jordan’s chest like a sliver of glass. It was small, but sharp enough to catch on something inside them. They forced out a laugh, trying to cover the twist in their gut.

“Yeah,” they said lightly, “it was definitely a difficult conversation to have.”

Marie laughed again, head tipping back slightly. The cups in her hands clinked together, and one sloshed, nearly spilling pink liquid all down Jordan’s shirt. The splash hit the floor instead.

“Oops—sorry,” she said, wincing and giggling all at once. She unwrapped her wrists from around Jordan’s neck to glance down at the mess.

Jordan kept one arm steady around her waist, laughing softly with her. “You’re dangerous with those things,” they teased, plucking one of the cups from her hand and taking a sip. It was something fruity and way too sweet, burning faintly at the back of their throat.

They looked her over then, the soft light from the kitchen catching in her hair, glinting off the sliver hoop earrings she’d put on. She was beautiful — in that way that made Jordan feel it low in their chest.

“You wanna go upstairs?” they asked, voice casual but heavy with suggestion.

Marie squinted at them, the corners of her mouth twitching up. “Jordan, you just got here.”

“We can come back down,” they said easily, stepping in closer again.

“I’m supposed to be bringing Brodie a drink,” she said, her tone playful, but they could see her considering it.

Jordan raised their brows, holding up the cup they’d just taken from her hand. “Oh, is that who this was supposed to be for?”

Marie laughed, rolling her eyes.

“Brodie’s a big boy,” Jordan said, shrugging as they took another sip, “he can get his own drinks.”

“Yeah, but he’s waiting for me to come back,” she said, though her voice had softened, her hesitation melting into something fonder.

Jordan leaned in, close enough that their breath brushed her cheek. “We can be quick,” they murmured, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

Marie bit her lip, that tiny tell that always gave her away. Jordan knew she wanted to say yes.

“Fifteen minutes,” they promised, grinning. “Tops.”

Marie huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe she was about to agree to this. “Fine,” she said, smiling. “Fifteen minutes.”

Jordan’s grin widened.

Marie leaned down to kiss them again — slower this time, deliberate. When they pulled apart, Jordan was already tugging gently at her hand, threading their fingers together.

Marie laughed under her breath but didn’t resist, letting herself be led out of the kitchen, through the crowded hallway, and up the stairs — hand in hand, slipping into some random empty bedroom as the noise of the party faded behind them.

The moment the door clicked shut, Jordan had her pressed up against it, their mouths crashing together like gravity had snapped between them. The room was dim, lit only by the glow seeping in from the hall under the door, enough to turn the edges of Marie’s silhouette to gold. They kissed like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks — all heat and impulse, hands sliding and grasping, the air around them thick with the taste of alcohol and want.

Marie smelled like cocoa butter and vanilla and that hair oil Emma had bought her for National Best Friends Day — the one that somehow, despite being all-natural, smelled exactly like sugar cookies. It was almost sickly sweet, but it was her, and Jordan couldn’t get enough. They breathed her in like oxygen.

Jordan’s hands found the collar of her jacket, pushing it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Their mouth trailed down her throat, catching at her pulse, teeth grazing skin. Marie’s head fell back against the door, a soft sound slipping out of her — a gasp, maybe a laugh, maybe both.

Between the uneven breaths and the low hum of the music vibrating through the walls, Marie managed to mumble, “Whose room is this?”

Jordan didn’t stop, barely glancing up. “How the fuck would I know?” they said, voice muffled against her skin, words dissolving into another kiss at her jaw.

Marie giggled, whispering like it was a secret, though her face twisted like the thought had just caught up with her. “What if the bed’s dirty?” she whispered, wrinkling her nose.

Jordan laughed against her neck, their breath warm and shaky. “We won’t touch it,” they murmured, smiling as they leaned up to kiss her again.

And Marie kissed them back — quick, fierce, like that promise was all the permission she needed.

Jordan’s hands found her legs, sliding up her sides until her red gingham dress bunched around her waist. The fabric wrinkled between their fingers, soft and warm from her skin. Marie gasped against their mouth, the sound small but sharp enough to make Jordan’s pulse skip.

They moved, slipping a leg between hers, and Marie shifted with them — like instinct, like gravity — her body pressing forward, a low moan breaking from her lips. The sound was dizzying. Every exhale, every tiny tremor against their skin hit Jordan like a live wire. Marie made them feel untethered, a little feral, like every nerve was awake and starving.

Each breath she gave sounded like music — something Jordan could live inside forever. They wanted to hear more. To make her voice break again, just to feel it. Their hands slid lower, tracing the curve of her hip before catching on the edge of lace.

Black, delicate, with a tiny white bow.

Jordan paused for half a second, recognising the familiar fabric — the one they’d picked out for her months ago. It had been early, maybe a week into them being official, when the rush of wanting her had still felt new enough to scare them. They’d been standing in that store, surrounded by too-bright lights and soft fabric, and seen the set — lace and ribbons and everything sweet. And all they could think was Marie would look so fucking good in that.

Then came the doubt. That sharp, stupid voice that whispered: What if she thinks it’s weird? What if she thinks you’re weird? They’d stood in that aisle too long, pretending to scroll through their phone, until finally they’d bought it anyway, palms sweating the whole time.

When they’d given it to her — awkward, mumbling about how it “just looked like something she’d like” — Marie had smiled. That big, real smile that always hit Jordan right in the chest. She’d laughed and kissed them and said she liked that they thought about her when she wasn’t there. That she liked gifts. And, apparently, she really had liked this one — eight-ish months later, and she was still wearing it.

Jordan swallowed hard, the memory layering itself over the present — her body pressed to theirs, her dress bunched up, that little bow brushing against their fingers. Their breath hitched. Marie made them crazy — in every possible way. Every laugh, every sound that left her mouth wound through them like a spark looking for somewhere to land.

They went to tug at the lace, fingers trembling with want, but Marie’s hand caught their wrist before they could. "Wait—"

Jordan froze, confusion flashing through the haze, immediately pulling back — enough to give her space, to make sure she knew she could stop them whenever she wanted.

Marie didn’t let go. Instead, she tugged them closer again, eyes soft but teasing. “Sorry, no I didn't mean like that,” she said, her voice low and warm, smile ghosting against their lips. “Just—if you go down there, you’ll be down there for forty-five minutes and seven orgasms.”

Jordan’s laugh cracked out of them, breathless and real, the sound breaking through the heat for a second. Marie laughed too, that easy, tipsy kind of laugh that made her shoulders shake, her nose scrunch. She leaned in again, kissing them through her smile, and then suddenly she was the one pushing — flipping them, pressing Jordan’s back against the door.

The impact sent a soft thud through the room. Jordan’s heart was pounding. Marie’s mouth found their throat, her breath hot against their skin, her hands moving down their chest, undoing the button of their jeans with deft, slightly clumsy fingers.

Her lips traced slow, open-mouthed kisses over fabric, through layers, down, down.

As she lowered herself, Jordan’s breath caught, and they shifted — body flashing through the change, sharp and effortless, like an exhale.

Marie looked up, eyes glinting under the low light — curious, not startled, just a little amused. It wasn’t strange for them to switch during sex; she’d always been easy about it, steady in the way she saw them no matter what shape they wore. This time, though, her brow lifted slightly — not questioning them, just the timing. A switch before they had even really done anything was new.

Jordan met her gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of their mouth. “You said we only have fifteen minutes,” they said quietly. “This will be faster.”

Marie’s lips curved, still smiling, a hint of mischief in it. “You're so stupid,” she said.

Jordan reached out, taking a handful of Marie's locs as she undid the buttons of their jeans. She tugged down their pants and underwear just enough. Their penis slapped against their stomach, hard and looking angry, Marie's eyes widening with a hungry sort of lust. She blushed, as if she'd never seen it before, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. Jordan could feel the heat of her gaze, the way her eyes studied the length of their cock. They shifted slightly, their breath hitching as Marie's fingers brushed against their skin, tracing the veins that pulsed beneath the surface.

Jordan’s fingers tightened in Marie’s hair, a low groan escaping their lips as she looked up at them, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and desire. Her tongue darted out, tracing a line from the base of their cock to the tip, where she lingered, licking off the bead of pre-cum that had gathered. Jordan’s breath hitched, their grip on Marie’s locs tightening as she stared at them, her eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks.

“Oh fuck, baby,” Jordan murmured, their voice breathless and desperate. Marie smiled, a slow, sensual curve of her lips that sent a shiver down Jordan’s spine. She started to jerk them off, her hand wrapping around their shaft, her thumb circling the head. Jordan’s hips jerked, trying to match the rhythm of her hand, their cock throbbing in her grip.

“Does that feel good?” Marie cooed, her voice low and sultry. Jordan whimpered in response, “Fuck, yes fuck.” Marie chuckled, a sound that was both amused and aroused. “Maybe you don’t even need to fuck me, maybe I can just sit here and get you to cum like this?” she teased, her hand moving faster, her grip tighter.

Jordan’s breath came in short gasps, their body tensing as they fought to hold back their orgasm. “Fuck, Marie, don’t stop,” they pleaded, their voice hoarse. Marie’s eyes sparkled with mischief, her hand moving in a steady, rhythmic motion. “I won’t,” she promised, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I want to hear you beg for it.”

Jordan’s eyes fluttered closed, their head falling back against the door. They could feel the pressure building, their body on the edge of release. “Please, Marie,” they begged, their voice shaking.

Jordan groaned, their desire to fuck Marie raw and primal. They tried to argue, to plead their case, but the words got caught in their throat as Marie took them into her mouth. She wrapped her lips around them, taking them fully with practiced ease. Jordan’s not quite sure what they were even saying, but their mouth was moving. A faint mix of groans, whimpers, praise, and begging fall from their lips. “Oh fuck, Marie,” they gasp, their voice barely recognizable. “You feel so good.”

Marie’s tongue swirls around their cock, sending shivers down their spine. Jordan’s hips buck uncontrollably, their body on fire. “So good, so good for me,” they moan, their voice thick with desire. Marie quickens her pace, her hand moving in a steady, rhythmic motion over anything her mouth can’t take. She slips her own hand under her dress and between her legs, her fingers finding her clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

Jordan knows it’s kinda fucked, and that Marie isn’t some shiny thing they can rub in Brodie’s — or anybody else's — face. But in this moment, knowing he is downstairs somewhere waiting for Marie, while she is up here with them, with their dick in her mouth, touching herself. It gets them off a little bit. A lot a bit.

Jordan feels like they’re going to cum, their body tensing as Marie’s mouth worked wonders. They pull her off them, their hands gripping her shoulders, and pulling her up off the ground. Their breath was ragged, their heart pounding in their chest. They kiss her hard on the mouth, tasting themselves on her tongue. Marie kissed them back just as hard, gripping their shoulders, her body pressing against theirs. The kiss was fierce, hungry, a dance of tongues and teeth that left them both breathless.

Jordan pulled Marie’s dress back up around her waist, their hands gripping her ass. They dipped their fingers between her legs, joining her hand as she rubbed her clit. Marie moaned into their mouth, her body arching against theirs. Jordan slipped a finger inside of her, their thumb joining her hand as it pushed her underwear aside. They felt her wetness, her heat, and it was like it sent an electric shock through their body. Marie’s eyes fluttered closed, her head falling back as they began to move their fingers in and out of her, matching the rhythm of her hand on her clit.

Jordan’s other hand snaked up her back, pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulder. They pulled her tits out of her dress, their hands cupping her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her nipples. Marie’s breath hitched, her back arching as Jordan pinched her nipples between their fingers. They rolled them, pulled on them, and Marie moaned, her body writhing against theirs.

“Oh fuck, Jordan,” she gasped, her voice hoarse with desire.

Jordan smiled, adding a second finger and moving faster inside of her, their thumb rubbing harder on her clit. “I want to feel you cum, Marie,” they murmured, their voice low and sultry. “I want to feel you come all over my fingers.”

Marie’s body tensed, her breath coming in short gasps. “Fuck, Jordan, I’m so close,” she panted, her hips moving in time with their fingers. “Please, don’t stop.”

Jordan didn’t stop. They moved their fingers faster, their thumb rubbing harder, their hand gripping her tits tighter. They could feel Marie’s body tensing, her muscles clenching around their fingers. They leaned in, their mouth finding her ear, their voice a low growl. “Cum for me, Marie,” they whispered. “Cum all over my fingers.”

Marie’s body convulsed, her orgasm ripping through her. She cried out, her body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over her. Jordan held her close, their fingers still moving inside of her, their thumb still rubbing her clit. They could feel her body pulsing, her muscles clenching and releasing around their fingers. It was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.

As Marie’s orgasm subsided, Jordan pulled their fingers out of her. They looked down at their fingers, covered in her wetness, and brought them to their mouth. They licked them clean, their eyes never leaving Marie’s. Marie watched them, her breath still coming in short gasps, her eyes filled with desire.

As soon as they released their fingers with a wet pop, she’s leaning in kissing them wet and sloppy, Jordan kisses her back, their mouths mixing with the tastes of each other. Jordan pulls back, their breath ragged. "Stand against the door," they order, whispering against her ear. Marie complies, pressing her front against the door, holding her dress up to keep it around her waist.

Jordan’s hands rub over the fatty flesh of her ass as she pokes it out for them. She lets out a feral sound, a kind of choked moan as they press their free cock against the curve of her ass. “You want it?” They murmur against her ear. Marie whimpers, nodding her head, and pushing her ass back against them.

Jordan makes a tsking noise with their tongue. “Use your words. You were so bossy with me before.” They tease, pushing their leaking tip against her pussy through the fabric of her panties. It takes all their restraint to not just fuck her.

Marie groans hot and bothered, she lets out a gasp. “Yes.”

Jordan smacks her ass. “Yes what?”

Marie whimpers, “Yes, I want it.” She admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jordan chuckles, a low, sultry sound. “Good girl,” they murmur, their hand trailing down her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. They press their cock against her again, this time harder, feeling her heat through the thin fabric of her panties. “You’re so wet, Marie,” they whisper, their voice thick with desire.

Marie pushes back against them, her breath coming in short gasps. “I want you inside me, Jordan,” she begs, her voice hoarse with need. “Please.”

Jordan’s heart races at her words, their cock throbbing with a need to be inside her. They hook their fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down slowly, revealing her glistening pussy. They can see her wetness, her arousal, and it drives them wild.

Marie shivers as the cool air hits her exposed pussy. She looks back at Jordan, her eyes filled with desire. “Please,” she begs again, her voice barely a whisper.

Jordan can’t resist any longer. They push their cock against her entrance, feeling her wetness coat them. They push in slowly, giving her time to adjust to their size. Marie moans, her head falling back against their shoulder. “Oh fuck, Jordan,” she gasps, her voice filled with pleasure.

Jordan groans, their hands gripping her hips as they begin to move. They thrust in and out of her, their cock sliding through her wetness. Marie meets their thrusts, her body moving in sync with theirs. They can feel her muscles clenching around them, her body begging for more.

“Fuck, Marie,” Jordan groans, their voice hoarse with desire.

“You feel so good.” Marie moans, her body writhing against theirs. “Harder,” she begs, her voice filled with need.

Jordan obliges, their thrusts becoming harder, faster. They can feel their orgasm building, their body on the edge of release. They reach around Marie, their fingers finding her clit.

Jordan fucks into Marie relentlessly, their hips slapping against her ass, the sound echoing through the room. They watch as her body jolts with each thrust, her ass jiggling from the impact. Their cock slides in and out of her, completely drenched in her arousal, the wetness dripping down their shaft. They can feel every inch of her, her tightness gripping them like a vice. Marie's moans fill the room, her body moving in sync with theirs, meeting their thrusts with her own.

Jordan keeps working her clit, their other hand has an iron-tight grip on her hip, using it to pull her back against them with each thrust. They slap her ass again, the sound of their hand connecting with her flesh echoing through the room. Marie moans louder, her body clenching around them, her muscles tightening as she nears her peak.

"Fuck, Jordan," she gasps, her voice filled with pleasure and desperation. "More. Please, harder."

Jordan obeys, their thrusts becoming more forceful, more urgent. They can feel their orgasm building, their body on the edge of release. They lean forward, their mouth finding Marie's ear. "You want me to cum inside you, Marie?" they whisper, their voice low and husky.

Marie nods, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," she pants. "Please, cum inside me."

Jordan groans, their thrusts becoming even harder, faster. They rub her clit faster, their fingers become more erratic. "Cum with me, Marie," they murmur, their voice thick with desire.

Marie's body tenses, her muscles clenching around them. "Holy shit, fuck," she cries out, her voice filled with pleasure. "I'm cumming."

Jordan feels Marie's body convulse around them, her hand reaching between her taking a tight grip of their hair as she cries out in pleasure. They don't slow down, their hips moving in a relentless rhythm, driving into her through the waves of her orgasm. Marie pants and gasps, her body slick with sweat, her skin flushed and glistening under the dim light of the frat house.

"Fuck, Marie," Jordan groans into the side of her neck, their voice thick with desire. "I'm gonna cum. You feel so fucking good." They can feel their orgasm building, their cock throbbing and pulsing inside her. Marie's body tenses, her muscles clenching around them, drawing them deeper into her.

Jordan feels their orgasm wash over them, their release spilling into Marie's tight, warm cunt. They hold their hands out against the door to stop themselves from collapsing, their body shaking with the force of their climax. They can feel Marie's body clenching around them, milking them for every last drop.

They lean forward, bucking into her one final time, their body shuddering with the aftershocks of their orgasm. "You're mine," they growl against her ear, their voice filled with possession. "Fucking mine."

Marie moans, spinning in her spot, Jordan's dick slipping out of her. She kisses them, her lips soft and eager. She whispers into the kiss, her voice barely audible, "I'm yours, I'm all yours."

By the time they made it back downstairs, the fifteen minutes had long passed. Technically, they’d managed to fit everything into that window — what had stretched the clock was the cleanup after, the effort to make sure Jordan's hair didn’t look too obviously tangled and that Marie's lipstick wasn’t half gone. Jordan had tried to fix it for her, thumbs careful against her mouth, laughing quietly when she smacked their hand away.

Now, her fingers were threaded through theirs as she led the way through the packed living room, weaving between sweaty bodies and red cups. Marie moved with purpose, even tipsy, her red gingham dress wrapped around her thighs. She looked soft and flushed and smug, and Jordan couldn’t stop staring at her — the way she kept glancing back at them, the tiny smile that played at her mouth like she had a secret no one else could touch.

They reached a couch surrounded by a group of guys, laughter and the pop of cans filling the space. Brodie emerged from the middle of it, grinning like he owned the room.

“Hey, you. I was about to send out a search party,” he said to Marie, his tone light but his eyes sharp — not even a flicker of acknowledgment in Jordan’s direction.

Jordan didn’t miss it. They slipped an arm around Marie’s waist, tugging her close enough that her back rested against their chest. “Yeah, sorry, man,” they said easily, voice low and deliberate. “I distracted her.”

The implication hung heavy in the air. Brodie’s jaw twitched. Marie’s face flushed instantly, but she didn’t pull away.

“All that wait and you still don’t even have a drink for me,” Brodie said after a beat, half joking, half not.

Marie gave a soft laugh, shrugging and tucked a stray loc of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I thought you’d end up getting yourself one when I didn’t come back,” she said, voice airy, a little slurred.

Brodie’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he said, but it clearly wasn’t. His grin tightened. “Come on, you owe me a game now,” he said, already reaching for her hand.

Marie laughed, tipsy and warm, the sound bubbling out of her. She turned to Jordan, her fingers brushing their arm before she leaned up, pressing a quick, sloppy kiss to their mouth — all tongue, all heat, all alcohol

Jordan didn’t need to look to know Brodie was fuming. They could feel it. Brodie’s anger, his jealousy, simmering just out of sight like static under the music.

Then Brodie tugged Marie away toward the beer pong table. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was her earlier conversation with Emma, but something made Marie feel inclined to express her true feelings in a way she hadn't before. Because as Brodie yanked her away, she rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at Jordan. Like playing beer pong with this loser was the last thing she wanted to be doing. And Jordan couldn’t help but smile.

Jordan watched from across the room as Marie and Brodie played. They were both annoyingly good — the kind of precision and luck that made the crowd cheer each time the ball arced into the cup.

It was hot on Marie, though. Everything was. The way her dress shifted when she leaned forward, how she laughed when she scored, how she threw her hands up like she was genuinely proud of herself. Of course she was good at this. Marie Moreau was good at everything without even trying.

Brodie, on the other hand, looked like the kind of guy who had spent an embarrassing number of nights practising in his dorm room. Which, honestly, was tragic. Who actually wanted to be good at beer pong?

They were halfway through debating whether to grab another drink when someone appeared beside them — tall, really tall, like six foot five with shoulders that could block the hallway. The guy had a little dangly earring that caught the light every time he moved and that definitely read gayer than he intended it to.

“Hey,” he said easily, offering a small smile. “I’m Kai. I’m Brodie’s brother.”

Jordan blinked, looking him over. Now that he’d said it, the resemblance was obvious — same square jaw, same blonde hair, same big brown eyes that stared at you, like there wasn’t a single thought behind them.

“Jordan,” they said, shaking his hand.

Kai nodded, still smiling, and for a while the conversation was fine. It was harmless — surface-level shit about school, the chaos of the night, the kind of half-shouted small talk that filled parties like this. And honestly, Kai didn’t seem half bad. He didn’t have the same weird, smug energy as Brodie. He wasn’t hovering around anyone’s girlfriend. So, by default, Jordan decided he ranked highest in the family.

Then, somewhere between the noise and the neon, the conversation shifted.

“You’re here with Marie, right?” Kai asked.

Jordan nodded, and Kai’s grin widened. “Brodie's always talking about her, man.”

Something in Jordan’s chest tightened. Their voice came out lighter than they felt. “Really?”

Kai kept going, oblivious. “Yeah, I mean you can see why. Although when he said she’d bring one of her friends, I kinda imagined she’d be bringing another chick.” He laughed — a quick, careless sound.

Jordan’s eyebrows drew together. “Brodie told you I was Marie’s fucking friend?”

Kai froze, the laughter dying on his lips. Clearly realising he’s said something he shouldn’t have, and that Jordan probably wasn’t just Marie’s friend.

Jordan rolled their eyes, the irritation hitting a breaking point. Enough. They were done standing around while Brodie tried to rewrite their fucking life — they were leaving, and Marie was coming with them.

But when Jordan turned back toward the beer pong table, the space was empty. No Marie. No Brodie.

The breath left their chest in one sharp exhale.

They switched — shoulders squared, jaw tight. They brushed past Kai, shoulder catching him deliberately hard as they muttered, “Excuse me,” and pushed through the crowd to find her.

The music hit like a wall, lights flashing through the haze. Jordan shoved their way between clusters of sweaty bodies, scanning faces, searching for the red gingham blur that was Marie’s dress. The air was thick with beer and heat and something sweetly chemical that clung to their throat. Every step wound them tighter.

Then they saw her.

Marie was in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, laughing, spinning — her hair catching the light as she moved. The girl with the tail — Emma’s latest fascination — was beside her, tail flicking in rhythm to the beat. And behind them, too close, was Brodie. Dancing like he thought he was subtle.

Jordan’s pulse spiked.

They crossed the room in a straight line, the crowd parting under their glare. “Hey,” they said when they reached her, voice raised over the music. “Why did you just disappear?” They were trying — really trying — not to sound angry with her. They weren’t angry at her. But it was hard when everything in them felt like it was boiling over.

Marie turned, smiling wide, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to,” she said, breath warm and smelling like beer. “I found Harper,” she gestured vaguely toward the girl with the tail, now lost somewhere in the throng. “She wanted to dance, and you were talking to that guy, so I didn’t wanna bother you. I knew you’d find me.”

Jordan let out a slow, hot breath through their nose, trying to keep their voice even. “Okay. Whatever. I wanna go now. Can we go now, please?”

The smile faltered a little. Marie reached out, rubbing their arm like she could smooth the tension away. “Yeah, we can go if you want. Did something happen?”

“No,” Jordan said. “It’s fine. I just wanna go.”

They started to turn, Marie falling into step beside them — and then a hand closed around her arm.

“Where are you guys going?” Brodie’s voice cut through the noise, the smug lilt instantly grating.

Marie turned back, half-laughing, half-annoyed. “Jordan wants to go, we’re gonna go home.” She tried to pull her arm free, but Brodie just tugged her back, still smiling like this was all a joke.

“If Jordan wants to, she can leave,” he said, grin sharp. “But you don’t need to.” He laughed again — that awful, performative sound. “You don’t need to do everything she says, you know.”

The air snapped.

Jordan stepped forward before they even realised they were moving. “Fuck off, Brodie.” The words were sharp enough to cut. They shoved him — not hard, just enough. Enough to make him stumble, enough to make him let go.

Brodie’s hands shot up in mock surrender, grin widening. He looked past Jordan, straight to Marie, like he expected her to scold them.

But Marie barely spared him a glance. “Come on,” she said softly, her hand already finding Jordan’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Brodie scoffed, the sound sharp and ugly over the music. “You ever get tired of babysitting your girlfriend, Marie?” he called out, his grin warping into something meaner. “Or is that, like, your kink?”

Jordan’s head snapped up. They caught Marie’s face for half a second — the way her expression changed, the light behind her eyes sharpening into fire — before she turned back to Brodie.

“Excuse me?” Her tone cut straight through the noise.

Brodie blinked, thrown off by how quickly her voice had turned lethal. He laughed, trying to wave it off, his hands up again like she might hit him. “Hey, I’m just joking,” he said. “She’s being dramatic.” He jerked his chin toward Jordan. “She shouldn’t have come if she was just gonna get all jealous.”

“Jealous?” Marie repeated, voice cold enough to freeze the room. She stepped forward once, not enough to touch him — just enough to make him flinch. “Jealous of what? Of you?”

Brodie’s grin faltered.

Marie’s lip curled. “Of a pathetic little man with bad jokes, cheap cologne, in a fucking Canadian tuxedo?” Her voice rose just enough for the people nearby to hear — and they did, heads turning, a ripple of quiet laughter breaking through the music. “That’s the fucking joke, Brodie.”

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Brodie’s mouth opened, then shut, his face caught somewhere between humiliation and disbelief.

Marie didn’t wait for a response. She turned back to Jordan, her hand finding the small of their back — gentle, grounding, steady. “Let’s go, baby,” she said quietly, her voice soft again only for them.

And just before she led Jordan away, she looked back over her shoulder. One last look. One more silent warning.

Brodie looked equal parts shocked and like he might start crying.

They pushed through the front door, the thump of bass fading behind them as cool air hit their skin. Marie’s hand stayed low on Jordan’s back, tracing lazy, grounding circles. “God, what a fucking asshole,” she muttered, glancing up at them with a small, rueful smile. “I’m sorry.”

Jordan shook their head. “You’ve got nothing to apologise for. He’s just a dick.”

“Yeah, well,” Marie sighed, her voice low. “He’s supposed to be my friend. And I didn’t even realise he’s been making digs at us — at you, this whole time. Emma had to point it out to me today. Did you ever notice… Him doing that?”

Jordan hesitated. They didn’t want to say yes, but lying felt worse now. “Yeah,” they admitted. “That’s what I was talking to Emma about earlier. Not the birthday thing. That was—uh—a cover.”

Marie blinked, caught between confusion and guilt. “Wait, really?”

Jordan nodded, rubbing at the back of their neck. “I really wanted to talk to you about it. I just didn’t know how to bring it up, I was scared you’d think I was being overbearing or jealous or… whatever.”

Marie stopped walking. The movement tugged Jordan to a halt beside her. “Hey,” she said softly, reaching up to brush her thumb over their jaw. “You can tell me anything, okay? I’d never think less of you for being honest.”

Jordan’s chest eased. “Yeah,” they said, voice quiet. “Okay.”

Marie smiled — small, sure — and leaned in to kiss them. When they broke apart, Jordan slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her close as they kept walking down the path, the night air still humming with leftover adrenaline.

After a beat, Marie’s tone shifted — lighter, teasing. “So. About this early surprise birthday thing.”

Jordan gave her a sidelong look. She grinned. “I was thinking we do it for Emma. Like, extra extra surprise. Because it’s early, and it was her idea in the first place.”

Jordan laughed. “I bet she’d actually love that.”

Marie’s grin widened. “Perfect. I was thinking the VIP room at that club she likes—”

“Uh-huh,” Jordan cut in, eyebrow raised. “And who’s footing that bill?”

Marie feigned innocence. “Someone who loves their girlfriend and their best friend very, very much.”

Jordan made a mock-serious face. “Right, I’ll let you know if I meet them.”

Marie laughed and kissed them again, smiling against their mouth.