Jordan threw his phone across the room for the second time in two days and slumped back down onto the bed, covering his eyes with his hand. Why was Rep doing this? Why was HE doing this? Why was he always scrambling to pick up the pieces and smooth over the rough patches after words and decisions that hadn't even been his own?

Life had been simpler when he'd known himself. When he hadn't let himself feel very much or get close to anyone.

Ferros stirred and rumbled worriedly.

I'm not, Jordan said, and wasn't sure how to finish the thought. He got up, fighting a wave of dizziness, and went over to pick the phone back up and tuck it into his pocket again.

He was tired of being in the room, even if he still felt like crap. He didn't bother to put his boots on, instead just padding down the hall in sock feet; he trailed his hand along the wall as he walked in case he had another attack of dizziness. By the time he reached the cafeteria he was ridiculously tired. A short walk like this shouldn't tire him out so much, he thought crossly.

He retrieved a cup of coffee and a piece of toast and found an empty seat in a corner, settling in to think. If he regarded the issue on logic alone, it was clear that he shouldn't have involved himself with one of the least well-liked trainees on the island; the relationship was inexplicable from the outside, and by supporting Rep he was making himself look bad, alienating neutral parties and people he needed. But he'd lost the capacity to be objective or rational about either of his boyfriends months ago, and the thought of distancing himself for the sake of image disgusted him on a gut level, made his chest hurt with the bare idea of losing them.

He'd changed. When it was him and Andy alone against the world, it had been easy to hold himself separate from everyone else, to keep friendships superficial and carefully planned. What would have happened when it had come time for the two of them to separate, to live adult lives alone? Had he ever considered that? He hadn't, he realized. His world had been made up of himself and his brother.

Andy's death had changed that, violently and suddenly, and Jordan's decision to become a Hunter had been made while he was still reeling from the upheaval of a life torn apart and reassembled haphazardly. He examined himself carefully. He didn't regret the choice, couldn't regret it, not with the living warmth of Ferros's mind twined around and into his own, so close and present that he'd forgotten what it felt like to be alone in his own head, to think without the alert inquiry of another mind following his reasoning and poking holes in it, making suggestions and jokes, keeping him constant company. He liked this life.

Would he have chosen it if Andy had still been alive? There was no way to know. He pushed the thought away, unwilling to follow it down a path of hindsight and what-if.

He brought the line of his thoughts back around to the problem that had chased him out of his room to find solitude in a public place. Twitter, and Rep's inability to keep himself from saying things that offended others or to word his explanations in a neutral way. It was painfully clear to Jordan that Rep was trying to make amends, clumsily and without any experience in doing so, that he was reaching in the dark without any idea where he was or where he was going. That it had taken a colossal mistake and the realization of his own mortality to shake away the deeply entrenched walls of habit and defense from the way Rep thought and even perceived the world.

It didn't seem obvious to anyone else, and that worried Jordan; was it that he saw what others didn't through a more intimate familiarity, or had he let himself be blinded by what he felt? The harsh and mocking phrasing of Marcus's and Dwight's words had hit Jordan hard, like he himself was being attacked, and he'd reacted without thought. Stupid. He should have called Rep sooner, asked him to stop responding. Told him to stop.

He'd made himself Rep's minder of sorts, with permission, but that task was taking its toll on him. Maybe he should stop, let his lover take on the consequences of his own clumsiness and sometimes-callous attitude, but it hurt to watch Rep blindly digging the hole deeper, pulling it all down on himself.

How did Harrison stay so calm? Maybe it was just that the blond man didn't overthink it, was much better at accepting Rep the way he was. Jordan pushed his half-empty mug away, folded his arms on the table, and put his head down. That was the core of the issue. Jordan was trying to solve something he'd never been asked to solve, that wasn't his place to fix, that maybe even wasn't broken. I love you, now change.

He didn't want Rep to change, not really. He wanted everyone else to be able to see the loyalty and determination, the mind and the humor and the tentative caring that lay under the abrasive facade. He should be able to accept that some people, maybe most people, never would.

It hurt, and he was tired and sick and feeling vulnerable, acutely aware that he didn't know what the ******** he was doing and deeply, terribly afraid that he was going to fail.