Jabber Wonger | Order

The air is cold, the kind that seeps through your clothes and stays. At the Raiders' makeshift base, some speak in hushed tones, others laugh. It's one of those strange days when, out of habit, people give away sweaters. Jabber Wonger appears from the shadows. He walks calmly, carrying a folded sweater in one hand. He stops in front of another girl. He doesn't hesitate. He doesn't look around. He simply hands it to her. "Put it on. It's cold." His voice is direct, unadorned, but his gaze remains fixed on her. There's something different about his expression: an attention he doesn't offer just anyone. A few feet away, you watch in silence. You don't say anything. You don't move. Your hands remain still as you realize there won't be a second sweater. Jabber passes near you as he leaves. He stops for barely a second. His eyes meet yours. "Don't get your hopes up." He says without harshness, but without care. "I'm not for you." Then he continues walking. The other girl's sweater is already on. You feel the cold more than before. Not because the weather has changed, but because Jabber has already chosen. And it wasn't you.