Chapter Text
"All I’m saying is, I just need a chance to shoot my shot with A-Train. I can take it from there. I know I’d make something happen.” Andre flashes a grin at the table.
Marie laughs. But it’s light and automatic, the kind of sound that slips out because her mind was somewhere else entirely.
The cardigan she was wearing was usually such a comfort - long enough to sweep the floor when she walked, and thick and heavy like a cocoon. But tonight, with what felt like miles of bare skin underneath, the knit fabric felt all wrong. Coarse and irritating, scraping constantly at her attention.
Still, she kept it wrapped around her. She’d told everyone it was because she ran cold, but the truth was simpler. It was the dress.
The tiny, shimmering, borderline irresponsible thing her roommate had insisted she wear. It had felt thrilling in the safe glow of their dorm mirror - Emma hyping her up, calling her sex incarnate, and forcing her into a pinky promise to ditch the sweater at the bar.
But that promise died the moment Marie stepped inside.
The lights. The noise. The press of too many bodies.
And them.
Luke. Cate. Jordan. Andre.
They existed in a world she’d only ever watched from the outside. And somehow, tonight, they’d let her sit at the edge of it - near enough to pretend she belonged.
Luke was an effortless host, generously explaining inside jokes and ensuring her glass was never empty. Nestled comfortably under his arm in this private booth she had acquired for them was Cate. She was warm and curious, and talked with Marie like they’d known each other for years. Even Andre, alternating between celebrity supe gossip and drug offers she kept declining, made her feel included in his chaotic way.
But Jordan… Jordan was different.
Marie sips her drink, the sharp bite of alcohol barely cutting through its syrupy sweetness, and lets her gaze drift toward them.
Tonight, they were wearing a suit the color of spilled wine - deep and dangerous. It’s draped perfectly over their broad shoulders, revealing smooth, exposed collarbones, and that unmistakable necklace - half silver/half pearl. The burgundy fabric held close to their muscular frame, emphasizing every capable, decisive line underneath. They were laughing at something Andre said, head tipped back in a way that reminded her of a bowstring pulled tight, right before release.
Jordan had been like this all night - all fun and charismatic - talking, drinking, taking Andre’s mystery pills with an unbothered ease.
But not with Marie.
With her, they were distant. Barely acknowledging her except to toss out a clipped remark punctuated by the dreaded word - freshman.
It shouldn’t have mattered. Technically, it was barely even rude. But the way they said it cut deeper than it should’ve - like each time they used it they were reminding her she didn’t belong here. Not in this booth. Not in the conversation. Not in Brink’s class. Not anywhere.
She tries to shake it off. Tells herself to focus on anything else.
But her gaze finds them again, tugged back by some invisible current.
Jordan’s sitting at the edge of the booth, their hair slicked back like a warning. Their posture is alert, coiled. While Luke lounges and Andre’s sprawled, Jordan looks ready - like the entire room exists at the edge of their next decision. Even joking around and intoxicated, they radiate a disciplined kind of control.
If someone like that had quietly decided she wasn’t worth their time… what did that say about her?
Marie pushes the thought away and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. The silky material of her dress underneath had crept up again, exposing the sensitive skin on her upper thighs to the rough, scratchy knit. Goddamn you Emma. She tries to inconspicuously tug it down but the awkward attempt only causes the cover-up to slip open.
She quickly pulls it closed.
Luckily, no one really seemed to notice.
Except, of course Jordan.
She watches as their eyes shoot to where her cardigan had briefly parted - high up on her leg - then travels down - inch by inch to where its bottom edge had just been returned near her ankle. The look is precise, almost contemplative, like a blade silently tracing where it could cut.
Then Jordan blinks, and the moment vanishes - replaced with a smirk thrown towards Andre who was walking away from the four of them, mumbling something about ‘just be a sec.”
“You’re not fooling anybody,” they call after him teasingly. “We all know the only ‘something’ you’re checking on is that girl at the bar.”
Laughter erupts at the table.
But Marie doesn’t join in this time.
Because while everyone else has dissolved back into banter, she’s frozen. It’s like she can still feel Jordan’s eyes on her - like a touch that hasn’t fully lifted. A pressure. A heat her mind keeps insisting she imagined.
She doesn’t know why it rattled her. Maybe because, for a heartbeat, they looked at her as something other than a freshman fangirl trying too hard. Or maybe because it tugged at something deeper - something like the pull she senses when her powers brush against something unfamiliar in someone’s blood and she wants to chase it down.
Before she can unpack her reaction, the atmosphere in the booth shifts. It’s sharp and electric.
She looks up.
Luke is saying something quietly to Cate and Jordan. Marie can’t hear it, but whatever he says causes Cate’s cheeks to flush as she shyly nods and Jordan’s eyes to sharpen like they just heard a starting bell.
“Of course,” they murmur, voice dipping into something smooth and rich. “It would be my pleasure.”
Marie feels the shift before she fully understands it.
Jordan’s edges soften and their jacket settles over a smaller form, opening into a deep V that draws the eye without apology. But their change seems to ripple way beyond the physical.
She’s seen them shift between forms before, but never like this. It was like Jordan’s presence unfurled and every atom of their body had decided to become a promise - magnetic, consuming, certain. Their energy, once coiled, was now honed to a razor’s edge.
And as their gaze sweeps the room, it was no longer just observant. It had become intense and hungry.
And then to Marie’s surprise, it lands on Cate.
Luke’s arm slips from her shoulders, not exactly retreating, but more like making space.
Cate hesitates for a second.
Then she slips in beside Jordan. “Hi,” her voice barely more than a breath.
“Lift your hair,” Jordan replies.
Cate did so instantly.
They reach up and unclasp their necklace - a staple Marie had never once seen them without, which makes the sight of it in their hands feel strangely unreal. Even more disorienting is watching Jordan fasten it around Cate’s throat with slow, deliberate care, their fingertips grazing the chain as if memorizing the moment.
It feels like a quiet, unmistakable act of claiming.
Marie glances at Luke, searching for any sign of discomfort, shock, jealousy - anything.
Instead, he smiles - easy, indulgent. Like this was familiar. Expected. Enjoyable even.
Confusion and something sharp and unnamed twists in Marie’s ribs.
Before she could think better of it, she blurts out with an awkward smile - “Wait… I thought Cate was your girlfriend, Luke.”
“She is,” Luke says, warm and unbothered. “But sometimes she enjoys a different kind of energy.” His gaze drifts to Jordan’s hand, now tracing slow, intentional patterns up Cate’s arm. “And Jordan’s generous enough to help out.”
Jordan’s eyes flicker briefly to Marie. There’s a flash of amusement, entwined with something assessing before they focus back on Cate. They slide their hand up her arm to the nape of her neck, settling there with grounding certainty and murmur to no one in particular, “What are friends for?”
Marie takes a large gulp of her drink, letting its strange taste and syrupy burn drown the disorienting tilt she feels inside. The space between her and the others suddenly feels acres wide.
It leaves her lightheaded and deeply anxious to find her place in this strange new landscape.
She forces a laugh. “Well,” she says, “if Cate wants to cozy up with a girl, I’d volunteer for that.”
Luke lets out a genuine laugh, “As hot as that would be,” he says, “it’s not that simple.”
“I don’t understand,” Marie admits softly. It comes out more like a confession than a question.
Jordan’s attention snaps to her lips. For a heartbeat, it looks like they want to follow the soft sound straight into her mouth. Then their expression smooths as they lock eyes with her.
“This,” they say, as their outline shimmers like heat above asphalt and their jacket draws tight around a broader frame, “has nothing to do with what body I’m in.” Their last words end in a deeper, lower voice.
Their hand then slides from Cate’s neck into her hair, fingers curling until a slow pull tips her head back, baring her throat. Cate’s breath catches as her gaze lifts helplessly to the ceiling. Jordan leans in - not for a kiss, not for a bite, but just to rest their forehead against her temple with a restraint that somehow feels more undoing than either.
They whisper something low and private into the shell of her ear and Cate’s eyes flutter shut, a shiver breaking through her, along with a soft, wanting sound.
Jordan shifts again, but their now smaller hand is still tangled securely in Cate’s hair.
“And Cate can ‘cozy up’ as you say, with lots of girls,” Jordan gestures lazily to the crowded dance floor. “What she wants is someone who can give her… let’s call it …structure.”
They punctuate that last word by tugging hard once more on Cate hair before releasing her. Then glide their fingers gently along her jaw to her chin bringing her face to theirs.
They wait patiently until she opens her eyes.
“Isn’t that right, little one?”
Cate’s “yes” slips out in a trembling, helpless whisper.
Jordan presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before leaning back, pulling her into their side with an easy, unmistakable possessiveness.
Then their gaze finds Marie again.
“So,” Jordan purrs, “any other questions, freshman?”
Luke lets out a low chuckle, amused, while Marie forces an eye-roll and tries to look unfazed. The table drifts back into casual conversation. And Marie reaches for her drink, and drains it in one long swallow as she tries her best to settle into this new, disorienting order of things.
The roar of the club fades into a dull hum for Jordan.
It’s just pressure, just vibration - nothing sharp enough to cut through the clean, familiar rhythm of control. They trace their thumb along the line of Cate’s jaw, drinking in how easily she melts under their touch - so satisfyingly pliant and eager. It’s a dance they’ve done several times before. Predictable. Easy. Pleasing.
Scenes like this lit them up. Setting the pace. Choosing the tone. Reading someone so precisely it feels like shared breath. Guiding them toward desires they have but can’t yet name. It’s intoxicating - a full-body immersion.
Moments like these, Jordan’s focus was usually like a well-honed blade, sharp and unwavering.
Which is why the distraction - her - feels so unnerving.
Marie tugs on instincts Jordan usually keeps tightly and properly contained to their designated corners. If they didn’t, Andre would probably end up tied to a chair once a week. And normally, that discipline holds firm. But Marie pulls them in a way that’s quiet, insistent - pressing at the edges of their control like warm breath at the back of their neck, coaxing those impulses forward even when Jordan hasn’t called for them.
A steady urge rises in their chest each time she drifts near: to steady her. To read what’s under the surface. To explore her. To understand her. To take care of her.
And that’s a problem.
Because every time Jordan touches Cate, they feel Marie’s reactions like a second pulse - jealousy, fascination, discomfort, longing, confusion. Whole storms brewing inside her, that she doesn’t mask nearly as well as she thinks.
And Jordan keeps noticing.
Noticing too quickly. Too sharply. Too much.
They need distance. A reset. Something - anything - to snap their attention back where it belongs.
They lean in to Cate. “I’m going to get you a drink,” they murmur, thumb brushing the soft spot behind her ear. “Be good while I’m gone.”
“I’ll take another drink too,” Marie blurts - too quickly - raising her mostly empty glass rimmed with blue residue. “Please.”
Jordan pauses for half a second. But they don’t acknowledge her. They simply give Luke a casual nod and slide out of the booth. They stand, shift into their male form, and disappear into the crowd.
As soon as they’re out of earshot, Marie leans forward, unable to stop herself.
“So,” she tries - aiming for breezy, landing several miles short - “that’s… a regular thing? You and them?”
Luke chuckles, easy and unbothered. “When Cate needs it, yeah. Jordan’s the best.”
“Oh my God, Luke,” Cate groans.
Marie blinks between them. “Needs… what, exactly?”
Cate shoots Luke a warning look before turning to Marie. “Okay, first of all, it’s not a sex thing.”
Luke raises one eyebrow.
Cate sighs. “Fine. It’s not only a sex thing.” A flush creeps up her cheeks. “It’s… more complicated ... It helps me. They help me.”
Marie waits.
Cate continues, voice low but steady. “You know my power. One touch and I can take someone’s will, their choices - everything that makes them them. It’s a ridiculous amount of control. And everyone knows it.”
She swallows, eyes down. “So people treat me in these weird, exhausting ways. Either they avoid me completely - like I’m radioactive - or they’re overly agreeable, afraid disagreeing will make me snap and override them. It’s like I’m always bracing for someone’s fear or someone’s flattery or some other strange reaction."
Luke’s expression tightens, protective, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“But Jordan,” Cate says, a soft awe settling into her tone, “Jordan doesn’t treat me like that. They don’t act like I’m fragile or dangerous.”
Her gaze drifts toward the bar where Jordan vanished.
“And when we… do our thing ?” Another blush. “They don’t go gentle. They don’t tiptoe. They tell me no. They push back. Almost no one does that.”
She breathes out. “They give me a space where I don't have to manage myself every second. With them, I don’t feel like a loaded weapon someone forgot to unload.”
Cate hesitates - then admits quietly, “And maybe I am dangerous.” A pained look crosses her face. But she steadies herself. “But, when Jordan and I do… this, I feel like I’m in hands that can be trusted with that. And it makes me feel safe. Like I can just let go.”
Luke squeezes her shoulder. “Like I said. Jordan’s the best.”
Marie nods and steers the conversation elsewhere. But a shiver runs through her and she suddenly feels the need to pull her cardigan around her even tighter.
Jordan stands in the crush of people waiting to order their drinks. They could push their way to the front like they usually do, but for once, they’re grateful for the wait. They need the time. Need to re-center. Need space from Marie.
Their eyes drift back to her anyway.
She had insisted she wasn’t coming tonight - and yet here she was. Jordan can’t see her face - that gorgeous fucking face with all those delicious little shifting expressions. But even from afar, they see the puzzles in her posture: how she tries to sit up taller while somehow making herself smaller. How she wants to be seen and hidden in the same breath.
Like that outfit.
God. That outfit.
Earlier, when her thigh slipped into view, flashing like a strike of sunlight in the dim bar, the sight punched through Jordan’s hard enough they had to remember to breathe. It wasn’t just the unexpected sight of her warm bronzey skin - it was the contrast it unveiled. She had wrapped herself in what looked like some kind of green sweater-robe hybrid, but at that moment, Jordan realized it must be concealing something tiny and clingy and dangerous underneath.
Something she was bold enough to wear, but too frightened to be seen in.
There were always so many layers with her. Even when they first met, she’d flipped from “Oh my god, you’re Jordan Li, I’m such a huge fan!” to “Who the hell do you think you are?” in under a minute. They were hooked the moment she swung between awe and indignation like it cost her nothing, like she had no idea where her own edges were.
She wrapped herself in contradiction after contradiction - soft and sharp, bold and skittish, wanting and wary. And Jordan wants - achingly - to trace every seam. To tease them apart. To see what she looks like unraveled.
Jordan takes a deep breath.
Marie is an unfolding situation they need to address quickly. She keeps slipping into their mind like a crack in glass, widening every time they try to ignore her. They decide it's time to switch tactics. They’ll engage with her - carefully, deliberately. They figure the more they understand her, the less dangerously compelling she’ll become.
Worst case: they figure her out and get bored.
Best case: if she’s interested, they can channel all this energy into well-designed play they’ll both enjoy.
Either way, the issue is contained.
As they step up to the bar, they whisper under their breath, “The best way out is always through” and plan their next steps.
Marie watches as Jordan returns and places a golden-hued cocktail in Cate’s hand. A saffron thread drifts lazily on top with each movement. Their fingers gently brush hers as they lift the straw to her lips.
Cate’s eyes go wide. “This looks amazing. Thank you!” Jordan nods at her with a soft look on their face.
After a few seconds, they set a pale pink drink in front of Marie. The ice clinks softly as the tall glass touches the table, bubbles winking through the liquid. Jordan doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t explain.
Instead, they turn to Luke. “Hey. Seems Andre has moved on from flirting and is now challenging strangers to arm wrestling. You know how that ended last time. Mind babysitting him for a bit?”
Luke groans but laughs, pushing back from his seat. “Not again.” He squeezes Cate’s hand affectionately before heading off, still chuckling.
And just like that, Marie is left alone with Jordan and Cate - an unwilling witness to the slow, electric current between them. She thinks about following Luke, escaping before the tension suffocates her, but before she even finishes the thought, Jordan’s gaze flicks toward her, then down to the untouched glass.
“Drink, Moreau.”
The command is quiet, soft even, but it leaves no room for refusal.
Marie’s hand twitches toward the glass, caught in the gravity of Jordan’s tone - until their voice, low and intimate, cuts through the air again, this time directed at Cate.
“Now, tell me, what does it taste like?”
Cate’s lips part around the straw. “Sweet. Warm. Like honey and smoke.”
Marie blinks. “Wait,” she frowns. “This isn’t even what I’ve been drinking.”
“You should drink it,” they say flatly, not looking away from Cate.
“No.” Marie shoots back sharper than intended. “I don’t even know what it is.”
Annoyance flickers across Jordan’s expression as they turn to her - “Does it matter?”
“Are you serious right now?” she snaps.
Cate jumps in quickly, her voice soft. “Oh, be nice, Jordan - just tell her what it is.”
Jordan’s head turns sharply toward her. In one fluid motion, they take the drink from her hand and set it down with a quiet clink that feels louder than a shout. Their gaze pins her. When they speak, their voice is calm but carries undeniable weight.
“Remember what I told you,” they say, “Conflict isn’t something to avoid. It’s part of honesty. Of communication. You don’t have to fix everyone’s discomfort.”
Their fingers curl around Cate’s jaw.
“Now,” they murmur, “stay out of this conversation unless I invite you back in. Understand?”
Cate nods, eyes wide.
Their thumb brushes across her cheekbone. “Good,” Jordan, the word a soft caress that seems to settle something between them.
“Besides,” they add smoothly, “Moreau didn’t even ask what the drink was. She just pouted and complained about it. So really, I never even had the chance to be nice.”
Marie’s face burns. She doesn’t know if it’s from watching Cate be scolded or from that jab directed at her. Her curiosity wars with her pride until she finally manages, reluctantly, “Fine. What’s in it, then?”
“It’s just seltzer. A splash of blood orange and grapefruit.”
Marie is instantly irritated. It’s nonalcoholic! As if she couldn’t be trusted with the real thing.
Then, with an infuriating smile tugging at their mouth, Jordan adds, “I’m thinking of calling it The Freshman'.
Marie’s anger spikes. But before she can yell, a server walks up. It’s like the woman steps into the booth and Marie’s irritation politely takes its leave to make room.
She has a sway of long, thick black braids and a shimmer of light that isn’t remotely human. Not soft bar-light - not reflection. Her skin is actually emitting color, effervescent and shifting like the surface of a bubble held to the sun. Blues slide into pinks into gold with every breath, rippling across her deep brown skin like something alive.
She’s breathtaking - tank top, jeans, glitter on her cheeks (which Marie can’t decide is makeup or an extension of her powers), and large gold hoops that flash when she moves. The outfit is simple, but she is unequivocally not.
“Here you go, Jordan.” She sets down a glass filled with something dark and red, condensation sliding down its sides like lines on an invitation.
“Sorry it took so long, love,” she says with a grin. “Bartender had me hunting down all kinds of ingredients for it - you’re always so particular.”
Jordan smirks up at her. “You spoil me Alina.”
They tuck a folded bill into her front pocket - slowly - fingers lingering with a lazy confidence that conveys familiarity. Alina’s laugh comes easy, and her glow brightens in tune, rippling down her arms in playful flashes.
Marie can’t help but stare. She’s completely captivated. She wonders if this is what it feels like to see the aurora borealis for the first time. Or what one of those small sea creatures feels like as they helplessly swim toward the light of one of those angler fish right before being swallowed whole.
And by the looks of how they’re taking her in, Jordan is more than happy to be this girl’s prey.
“Sit for a second. You look like you’ve been running yourself ragged.”
“I know! But we’re understaffed - ”
“They’ll survive.” Jordan doesn’t leave much room for argument. “Sit.”
She huffs a laugh, defeated but touched, and drops in beside Cate.
Her eyes immediately go to her neck. “Oooh, Cate! You’re wearing Jordan’s necklace? It looks so cute on you!” Her lights stutter like static for a moment before smoothing out. “I’m jealous. I haven’t had it on in so long.”
She runs her fingers along the chain where it rests against Cate’s collarbone, sending flickers of jewel toned shine along its length before adding in a sing-song voice, “Because someone is insecure.”
“Don’t do that, Alina,” Jordan says. “Jade’s great. She does everything in her power - and anyone else’s - to keep you happy. Which isn’t exactly an easy feat. It’s a perfectly reasonable request.”
Alina turns toward them, eyebrows raised in half-playful, half-serious accusation. “What are you implying? That I’m high-maintenance?”
Jordan smirks, “Let’s just say if she ever went up for sainthood, she’d get my vote.”
Alina clicks her tongue, dismissive, then turns back to Cate - though her fingers never stop stroking the necklace. The glow intensifies along the chain, soft and luminescent.
“Other than that slander, you’re right” Alina says. “Jade is amazing. I am very lucky to have her.”
Her smile warms into a flush of golden-pink light - like firelight blossoming under her skin.
“I imagine she’s the lucky one,” Marie murmurs - and then quietly thinks - yup, I would for sure be one of those little fish halfway to being eaten right about now.
Alina’s eyes snap up to her like spotlights.
“Jordan, who is the gorgeous new girl? And why haven’t you introduced us yet?!”
Jordan shakes their head, amused. “You’ve been sitting here for three seconds, Alina, and you’re a big girl. You can tell the freshman your name.”
“So rude! Anyway, hi, I’m Alina.” She wiggles the fingers that are still mindlessly playing with Jordan’s necklace in a playful wave.
“Marie,” she answers.
Alina’s fingers still suddenly. Her colors intensify, then flicker around the edges, and she looks at Marie as though she’s seeing something she didn’t expect.
Marie suddenly feels self-conscious. Her gaze is just as intense as Jordan’s, but different. Jordan’s stare is like being measured or scanned - precise, incisive. But Alina’s is like the sun beaming down until you feel too warm and start shedding layers just to keep breathing.
Marie’s breath stutters. All the emotions she’s been shoving down all night - and maybe most of her life - suddenly start pushing upward like seedlings desperate for this new light. Alina’s expression goes soft. And for one dizzy moment, Marie feels like she might reach over and pull her into a hug - and even more confusing is that Marie wishes she would.
Jordan’s voice slips in, low and gentle.
“Alina. You’re scaring the freshman.”
She blinks, shakes her head a little, and shimmers until she settles back to her familiar soft glow. She glances once more at Marie with a soft smile and mouths 'sorry.'
Jordan continues, “And you may not have noticed, but you’re also working Cate up quite a bit.”
Cate makes a sound somewhere between an embarrassed noise and a “no, no, it’s fine.” Alina’s eyes shoot down - her fingers are still tucked under Cate’s necklace, practically holding her by the throat, which is deeply blushed at this point.
Alina yelps.
“Ah! Look at me. I always take things too far.” She scoots back from Cate with a warm laugh. “See? This is what happens when I sit down. I get too comfortable.”
Jordan looks to Cate and Marie, “Let me apologize for Alina. Sometimes she gets confused and thinks everything the light touches is hers.” Their words are patronizing, but it’s clear how fond they are of her.
“Whatever, this was your fault anyway. Let me get back to work.” She begins collecting empty glasses.
“Oh! Before I forget - Jade’s picking me up after my shift in like half an hour. We’re going to Dusty’s party. You all should come!”
Jordan answers for the table. “Andre and Luke already said they wanted to stop by.”
She beams. “Good! I hope you do. It’ll be fun.”
Expertly holding empty glasses in hand, she takes a step back. “Anything else I can get you all?”
Marie is overwhelmed by the whiplash of all the emotions that have coursed through her in the last two minutes. Luckily, the newly cleared table brings her attention back to the pink drink. No longer directly under Alina’s glow, she suddenly remembers her anger and grabs onto it like an anchor.
“Actually, yeah,” she says quickly. “Could you take this drink away and bring me one of the blue ones I’ve been having all night?”
Alina opens her mouth to agree -
But Jordan’s voice cuts through like a knife dipped in ice.
“Neither will be necessary.”
The woman glances between them and smirks. “Well, I’ll just leave you all to your fun,” she says lightly before drifting away.
Marie turns back to Jordan, fury tightening her chest. “Just because some people enjoy you bossing them around doesn’t mean you get to treat me this way.”
Cate flinches. Jordan’s hand rises instinctively, stroking through her hair - protective, soothing.
“And what way is that?”
Marie feels a twinge of guilt, but she’s too mad to stop.
“You’re acting like I don’t matter,” she says. “I mean, like… like what I want doesn’t matter.”
“And how have I done that, exactly?” Jordan asks, voice low and measured.
“Seriously?!” Marie shoots back. “You order yourself a drink so complicated they basically had to raid the backroom for secret ingredients, Cate’s designer cocktail tastes like - a campfire in early spring or whatever - and you can’t even be bothered to bring me the drink I asked for? Instead you hand me this Powerpuff Girl special you ordered off the kids’ menu, and then tell me it doesn’t even matter what it is. You really don’t see how messed up that is?”
“I didn’t tell you it didn’t matter,” Jordan says calmly. “I asked if it did.”
She blinks, incredulous. “Of course it matters! Why wouldn’t it?”
Jordan tilts their head. “Hmm. I mean, you can see why I might be confused. From what I can tell, there were only two possible outcomes - one, you’d drink it and love it, or two, you’d drink it, hate it, pretend you don’t, and then order six more. Kind of like you’ve been doing all night with those Blue Hawks you can barely choke down.” They shrug. “And don’t seem to know the name of.”
Marie freezes, caught off guard. “You -”
Jordan interrupts, unhurried. “All you said was, ‘another drink.’ So I made a choice, unlike you.”
Jordan traces the rim of the crimson drink with their finger. “And I had this made specifically for you. Not me,” they say.
“Finish your ‘Powerpuff special,” and you can have it. "You’ve flooded your tongue with neon sugar and cheap vodka all night. It’s a simple palate cleanser so you’ll actually be able to taste this.”
Their gaze lifts to hers, steady and unreadable. “You know - just on the off chance you might want to enjoy a drink, instead of just pretending you do.”
A beat passes, heavy and electric.
“You’re the one behaving like what you want doesn’t matter,” Jordan says evenly. “Not me.”
Neither of them moves. The silence stretches, taut and deliberate, until even the air seems to hold its breath.