Control

The silence had weight.

It had fangs too.

By morning, the suite was a pressure cooker. Jackson was barely speaking. Kole was pretending not to notice, sipping his espresso like nothing was wrong-like his bare legs weren't draped over the velvet armrest, like he hadn't been playing with fire the night before, silk shorts riding up, skin on display.

He could feel Jackson watching.

From the kitchen counter. From behind his sunglasses. From across the damn room.

Not touching.

Never touching.

Always wanting.

The tension had gone from slow burn to raw ache, like the house was wired with electricity and all it would take was one spark.

And Kole? He was getting reckless with the matches.

---

The fight started in the car.

They were on the way to an interview-tight schedule, three blocks of Seoul traffic, a stylist who couldn't stop texting, and a cameraman crammed beside Jackson like a sardine.

But Jackson's fury was laser-focused on Kole.

"You need to stop playing these games," he snapped suddenly, voice sharp and low.

Kole arched a brow, like he didn't know exactly what he'd done.

"Games?"

Jackson's jaw clenched. "You know what I mean."

Kole leaned closer, letting his thigh brush Jackson's in the tight space. "Afraid you'll lose?"

Jackson's hand shot out, gripping his wrist under the console with just enough pressure to make Kole freeze.

His voice dropped an octave. "I'm not afraid of anything."

Kole's breath hitched-because that tone. That look.

"Then let go," Kole whispered, challenging him.

But Jackson didn't.

Not for a second.

---

The photoshoot that followed was chaos-Kole flashing flirtatious grins at the camera, Jackson trying to hold it together with clenched fists and a dangerously tight smile.

They were asked to pose closer. Then closer still.

At one point, the photographer called out, "Pretend you're lovers."

Kole didn't have to pretend. He tilted his head, brushing Jackson's ear with a whisper: "Should I touch you, or would that break you?"

Jackson jerked away like he'd been burned.

Kole smirked. Game. Set. Match.

Or so he thought.

---

Back at the suite, it exploded.

Jackson slammed the door behind them, and Kole had barely turned around when Jackson's voice cracked through the room.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Kole turned slowly. Calm. Collected. Dangerous.

"You mean today?" he asked. "Or in general?"

Jackson stormed forward, and before Kole could react, his back hit the wall.

Hard.

Jackson's hands slammed into the surface beside his head, caging him in.

Too close. Too fast.

Their faces just inches apart. Jackson's chest rising and falling like he'd been holding his breath since Seoul.

Kole didn't flinch.

He stared into Jackson's eyes-wild, dark, hungry-and whispered, "Go ahead. Lose control."

Jackson's fingers curled into fists against the wall.

"Why do you keep doing this?" he hissed.

"Because I want you to stop pretending," Kole shot back.

"You think I'm pretending?" Jackson leaned in, breath hot against his cheek. "You think this isn't killing me?"

Kole's pulse raced. His knees were weak. But he held his ground.

"Then do something about it."

Jackson didn't move.

Didn't kiss him.

Didn't back away.

He just stared at Kole like he was already drowning in him.

Then-softly, dangerously-he said, "You really want to play this game, Kole?"

Kole's voice was a whisper now. "You started it."

Jackson's gaze dropped to Kole's lips.

For a moment, it felt like the world stopped spinning.

But then-

Jackson shoved off the wall, backing away fast. Hands in his hair. Cursing under his breath.

And Kole?

He sank to the floor, breath shaking, adrenaline high, heart pounding like a war drum.

---

Later that night, the silence was louder than ever.

But now, it had a name.

Want.

And both of them were terrified of what would happen if they gave in.