Morning After Rules

The sun filters in through gauzy curtains, golden and too damn bright. Kole stirs awake to a familiar ache in his limbs and something worse in his chest.

Reality creeps in slowly, like a storm rolling over glassy waves. He's alone in the bed. The sheets are still warm, but Jackson's gone.

Not a note. Not a word. Not even the sound of a door closing.

Kole presses his face into the pillow. Breathes in traces of cologne and skin. His stomach knots.

Last night felt... real. Too real. And maybe that was the problem.

He rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling.

What now?

-

Downstairs, Jackson is already dressed. Crisp black shirt, hair styled, sunglasses on.

He's laughing at something their manager says. Coffee in hand. Calm. Untouched.

Like nothing happened.

Kole watches from the edge of the hallway, still in yesterday's shirt, the hem falling over one bare thigh. His heart's doing that thing where it beats too fast for no good reason.

Their eyes meet.

Jackson's smile falters for half a second-just a flicker-and Kole catches it. The crack in the stone.

Then it's gone.

"Morning," Jackson says smoothly, turning toward him. "Slept okay?"

Kole wants to laugh. Or scream. Or both.

"Sure," he says. "Best night of my life."

It's sarcasm. It should be sarcasm.

But his voice breaks a little at the end, and Jackson catches that too.

They stare at each other.

No one says what they're thinking:

Why did you leave the bed before I woke up?

Did it mean anything to you?

Are we still pretending?

Their manager walks over with the day's itinerary. Jackson glances at it like it matters. Kole can't look away from his hands.

The same hands that touched him like he was breakable. Like he was real.

Now they're holding a schedule.

"Room change," their manager says. "We'll put you both in separate suites starting tonight. Fans are going nuts."

Kole scoffs, too sharp. "Of course they are."

Jackson doesn't react. Just gives a professional nod. Like this is just another media tour.

Kole swallows hard.

He tells himself not to care. That it was one night. That he's fine.

But his chest burns.

-

They travel to the next city that afternoon.

No hand-holding at the airport. No whispered teasing.

Not even an argument.

Just silence.

At the hotel, Jackson disappears into his new room without a glance back.

Kole stands in the hallway too long, the suite door heavy in his hand.

It echoes when it closes.

-

Dinner is awkward. A few staff, their PR lead, Jackson seated two chairs away.

Kole drinks too much wine.

Laughs too loud at someone's joke. Flirts shamelessly with the waiter.

Jackson's jaw ticks once.

He doesn't say a word.

-

Later that night, Kole gets a message.

Just two words.

From him.

"Goodnight, Kole."

Kole stares at the screen.

And doesn't reply.

Because if he does, he'll say something stupid.

Like why did you pretend nothing happened?Or why does my chest hurt when I look at you now?

Or worse: Come back.

He turns off his phone. Tosses it on the nightstand.

Then buries himself under the sheets, curls up small, and wishes he hadn't let Jackson touch him like that. Kiss him like that.

Hold him like he meant it.

Because pretending nothing happened?

Hurts more than the silence ever did.