He had no right to be upset. The statement hadn't been directed at him. That was, of course, part of why it had hurt. Jordan methodically outlined the beginning of a maze on the blank sheet of paper in front of him, starting with the outer walls. He'd never even gotten to mentioning the plan for a house to Rep and Harrison; they'd left to go back to their own space first, leaving him behind and alone. That had been nearly a year ago, and he'd been thinking he was starting to get over it.

Clearly that wasn't the case, if the casual mention that they were considering finding a house could tear into him like this. It wasn't directed at him. They'd never even known. But it stung sharply, a needling reminder that they had moved on without him. And where was he? Nowhere different, isolated in his room, his life primarily consisting of work. He'd chosen that, but it felt increasingly empty. Hollow.

Melvin's presence, crashing on his couch after his own breakup, had been only a little awkward at first; it had gotten easier, and he liked the company. It wasn't permanent, of course. He found himself wondering what he'd do after Melvin left again. He liked quiet, but silence was a little different.

The dreams didn't help, even intermittent as they were. They gave him hazy glimpses of another life, another self, a self who was still loved and wanted. A self who was part of things, who had a sense of purpose, even if that purpose was something that Jordan couldn't and wouldn't admire. It was a sharp contrast to the sense of lonely drifting he had.

The dreams were part of why he hadn't pursued company. He didn't regret his tattoo, not quite. But anyone who might see it would eventually ask, and he couldn't exactly explain; or they might already know, and that would be even more awkward.

He plotted out the lines he was drawing on a mental grid, tracing out the paths and their myriad dead ends as they turned inward on themselves. There would be one way through, a twisting winding path that doubled back again and again across the page. He'd begun drawing the mazes again after a while, taking back the meditative exercise for himself, refusing to let it be ruined for him.

He was lonely, and he felt aimless, and there were obvious solutions to both of those problems. Reach out to other people, find friends, if not something more. Find a project to work on, maybe more than one. Pick up plans he'd begun and laid aside for various reasons. It was easier said than done; he felt frozen, caught out of his own life.

He had no claim to hurt or anger. He needed to let go and move on. I know, he said wearily to himself, and felt Ferros stir in silent sympathy and answering pain, and went on drafting the path through his maze.