Mine??

The hotel suite was too quiet.

After the incident with Minwoo, Kole thought Jackson might cool off. Pretend it hadn't happened. Go back to stiff nods and corporate smiles. But Jackson had been... silent.

All day.

Not cold. Not rude. Just simmering. Controlled.

Which was worse.

Kole tossed his denim jacket onto the couch and flopped onto the massive bed, sprawled like he owned the place. "You're gonna have to talk to me eventually, you know."

No answer.

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked across the room.

Jackson stood by the minibar, sleeves rolled up, fingers slowly unscrewing the cap of a water bottle. His eyes were unreadable. He wasn't looking at Kole.

"Okay," Kole said, voice light, "so you got a little territorial. It happens. It was cute."

Jackson finally looked up.

"Cute?" he repeated, voice low.

Kole nodded. "Yeah. The whole 'wrap your hand around my waist in front of a camera and glare death at my guest' thing? Super romantic."

Jackson crossed the room in slow, even steps. Calm. Too calm.

Kole sat up straighter.

"I wasn't being territorial," Jackson said.

Kole smirked. "Then what would you call it?"

Jackson stopped at the edge of the bed. "Damage control."

"Ah," Kole said. "So my flirting with Minwoo is damaging?"

Jackson stared at him for a long, heavy moment. Then-

"I don't like people touching what's mine."

There it was again.

That word.

Kole's chest tightened, but his voice stayed steady. "Right. But I'm not actually yours."

Jackson's gaze dropped to Kole's mouth. Then lower. Silk shorts. Bare thighs. Kole had changed after the shoot and hadn't bothered with anything more than the hotel robe slung open at the sides.

"You keep testing me," Jackson said, voice rough.

"Maybe I like the way you snap."

Their eyes locked. Tension crackled-sharp and electric, drawn tight between them like a violin string pulled to the point of breaking.

Kole waited for Jackson to lean in.

But he didn't.

He just stepped back.

"Get some sleep," Jackson said. "We're on camera again at 9."

Kole exhaled, half in frustration, half in disbelief. "God, you're exhausting."

Jackson turned off the lamp without another word.

Darkness swallowed the room, thick and loaded.

They lay in silence-separate beds this time. Space between them. Miles of tension under the same ceiling.

Kole stared up at the ceiling fan, lips pressed into a thin line.

Jackson's voice came suddenly, soft and low:

"You were good today."

Kole turned his head toward the sound.

"That's new," he muttered.

A pause.

"I'm still mad," Jackson added.

"Yeah. I figured."

Another silence. Then Kole whispered, more to himself than anyone:

"Maybe you do want me."

The room stayed quiet.

But the tension didn't fade.

It curled into the dark, settled deep in the spaces between them, and pulsed like a secret waiting to come undone.