A storm of thoughts swirled in Jordan’s mind as she stood outside Tim’s apartment. Her hand hovered over the doorbell. It had been eight months since anyone had seen him—ever since he started seeing that new girl, Helen. Then, just yesterday, an invitation appeared out of nowhere: a dinner at Tim’s place. No explanations. Just… dinner. She’d been so happy to see it. She really missed him. Missed the whole group. Lately, her anxiety had been getting worse.

She pressed the button. Tim opened the door almost immediately, as if he’d been standing just behind it. He looked sharp in a dark suit—but pale, unnervingly so. His skin had a waxy sheen under the porch light. “Punctual as always,” he said with a brittle smile. “Come in, make yourself comfortable. Most of the others are already here.”

“Hi, Tim,” she said, smiling as she stepped inside. The apartment felt different. Dimmer. The curtains were drawn tight, and the air held a faint, stale chill tinged with something metallic. As she took off her coat, Tim slipped it from her shoulders and hung it up with mechanical precision. He motioned her forward, and from deeper within the apartment, she heard voices—low, overlapping chatter from the living room. They were all there. Almost.

“Hi, gang,” she said, stepping into the living room.

“Yo, Big J,” Brian called from the couch. The room went still, and she froze. That nickname—that awful nickname. She knew what he meant by it now, and ever since, it scraped at her like rusted wire.

“I’ve told you before, Brian,” she said, voice tight. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whoa, easy,” he replied with a crooked grin. “Didn’t know it was a federal offense to say hi.”

Always poking. Always prodding.

Tim appeared in the doorway, voice calm but edged. “Brian. She asked you not to. Show some respect.”

Brian shrugged, unbothered. “Alright, alright. Didn’t mean to launch a smear campaign.”

“Enough,” Tim said—sharper this time. His voice had a weight to it. Too heavy. Like it didn’t belong in a room full of friends. Then he continued, in a softer tone:”Let’s not waste the evening bickering. We’re here to enjoy ourselves. This night should be… memorable.”

Jordan offered a forced smile. “Right. I’m sorry. That nickname just… it really gets to me, that’s all.”

Steve appeared beside her with a familiar grin. “Jordan! You look absolutely ravishing tonight. If I were straight, I’d be on you like a lion on a gazelle.”

She laughed. “Oh, please. You’re more of a gazelle than half the savannah. It’s always good to see you, Steve—and you look great, as always.”

They embraced briefly before she sat down. Around them, the low hum of conversation picked up again, old stories knitting the room together like threads in a worn, familiar quilt.

She turned to him. “So… how have you been? It’s been forever since we all got together like this.”

He smiled, softer now. “It really has. I actually quit that old job—you remember, the one with the supervisor who kept cracking those awful gay jokes? It got worse. Meaner. I just couldn’t take it anymore. So I left.”

Jordan’s eyes widened. “Oh, Steve… I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, but there was ease in the motion. “It’s okay. I landed at a clothing store closer to my place. The staff’s great—friendly, respectful. It’s… peaceful. I’m doing a lot better.”

He paused, then tilted his head. “What about you?”

Jordan tensed slightly before replying, her voice low and sheepish. “Oh, same same. Still can’t work. My back’s been acting up again. I’m hoping it gets better soon.”

She had missed Steve—his lightness, his good mood. They always had real conversations, the kind she didn’t have with anyone else. Seeing him doing better warmed her in a way she hadn’t expected. She remembered how down he used to be at his old job.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Steve said gently. “Are you still seeing that chiropractor?”

Jordan shook her head. “Oh no. He was a bit… weird. Made me uncomfortable. I’ve been trying to find a new one, but… I don’t know. I’ve tried a couple others, but none of them felt right either. I really hate living like this.”

Steve nodded, his face softening. He understood what she meant. Jordan was introverted, anxious—social situations wore her down fast, especially around strangers. The first chiropractor had been particularly awful—a creepy old man who wouldn’t stop commenting on her breasts. Just thinking about it made her skin crawl. That was part of why she’d pulled away when Tim vanished. He had always been the glue, the one who brought the group together. Without him, everything had unraveled. And she couldn’t be the one to hold it all up—didn’t want to be. She preferred familiar faces. Safe spaces. So when Tim’s invitation came, she’d felt something stir. Hope, maybe. Excitement, even. A chance to feel normal for a night. She leaned closer to Steve and whispered, “I think my anxiety’s getting worse.”

“Well, I really hope tonight helps a bit,” Steve said, smiling softly. “You deserve some good things. We both know that.”

Jordan blushed and looked down. “Thank you,” she muttered.

Compliments always unsettled her—even from people she trusted. The warmth behind his words pressed into her like a spotlight, and the low murmur of voices around them suddenly felt too loud, too close. Then the doorbell rang—sharp, sudden. Tim’s voice cut through the room. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, already moving toward the front door. “I believe the last of our guests have arrived. And in about an hour or so, dinner will be served.”

As he slipped away, Steve turned back to her. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just… it’s been so long. I’ve missed you. We all have. And I wanted you to know—you matter. To me. To all of us. It’s important that you know that.”

Jordan felt her face burn. She started fidgeting with her fingers, twisting them in her lap.

“I… I know you mean well,” she murmured. “I just don’t do well with this kind of attention. Can we maybe talk about something else?”

“Of course,” Steve said quickly. “Anything in particular?”

She stood, brushing her hands on her jeans, her eyes damp. “Look, I’m sorry. I just need a few minutes. I’m gonna go outside. Clear my head a bit.”

Before he could respond, she slipped away—stepping into the night air, her chest tight, her pulse fluttering beneath her skin. The cold hit her flushed cheeks, grounding her. After a few minutes of breathing, just breathing, she felt steady enough to return. Her chest was still tight, but less so. The air had helped. As she stepped back into the living room, Tim’s voice boomed from across the space—too loud, too sudden. “At last, we are all gathered,” he declared, arms spread in theatrical welcome. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see each and every one of you. In about an hour or so, dinner will be served. Until then—please, mingle, catch up, enjoy yourselves.”

He paused, a thin smile curling at his mouth. “I’ll be in and out. Still need a little more time for the stew. I promise it will be… quite the surprise.”

And with that, he disappeared down the hall toward the kitchen. Jordan scanned the room. Patric and Alice had arrived—quietly, sometime while she’d been outside. She walked over and gave them a small nod. Truthfully, she hadn’t missed them all that much. Alice always struck her as a little too polished, like she was rehearsing for something no one else was invited to. And Patric—he’d changed after they got together. He used to be the life of the party, the guy dragging everyone out for drinks or late-night chaos. Now he mostly hovered beside Alice, like a puppet to his master, strings pulled tight behind a polite smile. They talked for a while. Or rather—Alice talked, recounting some gala or gallery opening she’d attended, name-dropping artists Jordan had never heard of and didn’t care to remember. Patric stood beside her, nodding along like the loyal boyfriend he’d trained himself to be. Jordan nodded, smiled, made the right sounds. She was trying. Really trying. But she could feel herself slipping—retreating inward, like her mind was stepping back from her body to observe everything through thick glass. Muffled. Blurred. She wanted to care. She wanted to connect. But all of it—the chatter, the room, the soft drone of overlapping voices—felt distant. Like she was underwater, watching the surface ripple far above her. Was she the problem? She needed—or maybe just wanted—Steve to save her. A hand touched her shoulder—light, but grounding. She blinked and looked up.

Steve.

His brows lifted, eyes scanning her face. “You look like you’re about three minutes away from crawling into the potted plant and hoping no one notices,” he said as he smiled at her.

Jordan gave a weak laugh, grateful for the lifeline. He leaned in slightly, eyes flicking toward Alice and Patric, who were still chattering away as if they were on a runway. “I leave you alone for ten minutes and come back to find you trapped in an unsolicited TED Talk about overpriced cheese and postmodern brushstrokes,” he said. “Honestly, you deserve hazard pay.”

Jordan smiled, the tension in her jaw easing just a little. “Come on,” Steve added, holding out a hand. “Let’s get out of this gallery of fragile egos for a few minutes.”

She didn’t hesitate. She let him help her to her feet, and together they slipped quietly out onto the porch. The night air wrapped around them—cool, crisp, still. A soft hush compared to the hum inside. Steve leaned against the railing, gesturing for her to sit on the wooden bench just beside the door. “There,” he said with a sigh, like he had just come home from a long day of work and had just put on his slippers. “Fresh air, no gallery talk, and no one trying to curate your emotional journey.”

Jordan exhaled slowly. For the first time since she arrived, she felt like she could actually breathe, and she rested her head on his shoulder—and then, without warning, the tears came. Steve didn’t say anything right away. He just sat with her, letting the silence settle between them like a blanket of fresh snow—quiet, still, soft. Then, gently, he rested his chin against the top of her head, his hand brushing lightly along her arm. He made a soft shushing sound, more reflex than thought. He just wanted to help, to comfort, and this felt like the best way he knew how. Jordan wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“You don’t need a reason,” Steve murmured. “You’ve got a shoulder here whenever you need it. You’ve held a lot in—it was going to crack sometime.”

She gave a small, breathy laugh. “I didn’t even want to come tonight. I was terrified.”

He tilted his head slightly, his voice steady. “But you did come. That’s brave as hell, honestly.”

Jordan nodded, her eyes still damp. The chill from the porch pressed into her skin, but she didn’t mind it. It felt clean, honest. Like something she could stand in without pretending. “I just… I haven’t felt like myself in months,” she said quietly. “I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore. Without Tim. Without all of this feeling… normal.”

Steve let out a soft hum. “Yeah. I get it. Everything’s been weird since he disappeared. And now this? It’s like dropping back into a show after skipping a season. You recognize everyone, but something’s—off.”

Jordan looked up at him, blinking. “Yes,” she said. “Exactly that. I’ve been trying to find the words for it all evening.”

Eventually, the cold began to bite at the edges of their comfort. Jordan and Steve stood together, brushing off the last of the chill, and made their way back inside.

The living room had grown louder in their absence—more laughter, more voices overlapping like waves hitting stone. The warmth of the house wrapped around them, but Jordan felt a strange reluctance as she stepped through the threshold. Something about the light felt off. A little too dim. A little too warm. Still, they mingled. Steve drifted off to speak with Brian, and Jordan found herself nodding through a conversation with Alice again, who was now detailing her latest yoga retreat in the Alps. She smiled politely, but her focus frayed as a subtle shift passed through the room. Tim reappeared, clapping his hands together. “Alright, everyone—dinner is served!”

A gentle hush fell over the group. People began to file into the dining room, guided by Tim’s extended arm. The room was immaculate. The long table was already set with mismatched but elegant porcelain bowls, polished silverware, and cloth napkins folded into delicate triangles. At the center of the table sat a large, black ceramic pot, steam curling from its lid in slow, lazy spirals.

Jordan took her seat between Steve and Brian, her eyes fixed on the pot as Tim removed the lid with a practiced flourish. A rich, earthy aroma filled the room—savory and warm, with hints of garlic and thyme. He ladled portions into each bowl. The stew was thick, the sauce a deep reddish-brown. Carrots, beans, bits of root vegetable floated near the surface.

And meat.

Jordan stared into her bowl. The meat was dark, unevenly shaped—no perfect cubes or neat slices. Some pieces were stringy, others almost swollen, and one chunk at the edge of her bowl had a sliver of what looked like… skin? Her stomach fluttered with unease. She glanced around. No one else seemed to notice. Laughter resumed, spoons clinked. But something about the meat felt wrong.

Very wrong.

Tim continued to move with eerie calm, making his way around the table with the ladle, portioning stew into each waiting bowl. The clink of metal against ceramic echoed like a countdown. As he reached the final setting, Brian cleared his throat.

“Hey, Tim,” he said, peering around. “Where’s Helen, by the way? Thought this was the big debut.”

Tim straightened up and smiled—serene, pleased. “Oh, she’s here,” he said. “I’m sure she’ll make her appearance any time now.”

A cold shiver passed down Jordan’s spine. Her spoon hovered in the air, her eyes fixed on the steaming bowl in front of her. Something twisted in her gut.

She lowered the spoon slowly, began to stir.

Thick sauce. A tangle of beans and carrots. A thread of something fibrous. A chunk of something dark.

And then—

An eyeball.

It floated to the surface, lidless and bloated, staring back at her with a milky, frozen gaze.

Jordan screamed. The bowl clattered to the floor. She stumbled back from the table, chair crashing behind her. Gasps rippled through the room—cutlery paused mid-air. Someone whispered, “Oh my God.”

But then, the silence broke. Steve looked down at his bowl. Tilted his head. Reached for the salt shaker. “Needs more salt,” he said.

Laughter returned. Calm. Measured. Brian started eating. Alice adjusted her napkin and picked up her spoon. Patric leaned in for a second helping. Jordan stood frozen at the edge of the table, her eyes wide, tears brimming, hands shaking.

They were all eating.

They were all eating.