Close Quarters

The villa was obscene. White-walled, glass-doored, edged by the kind of blue pool that only existed in music videos or summer dreams. Palm trees danced with the wind like they knew they were being watched.

Kole dropped his duffel bag on the king-sized bed and turned to face Jackson, who stood rigidly at the threshold. Their manager had conveniently booked one room. One bed. "Miscommunication," she'd said over the phone. Right.

Kole smirked. "You gonna stand there all day?"

Jackson stepped in, heavy boots thudding on the polished concrete floor. He didn't reply.

The tension between them had shifted lately-no longer hostile, not yet comfortable. Charged. Fragile. Like an overextended rubber band.

Kole walked past him toward the bathroom, brushing Jackson's arm as he went. "Gonna shower. Don't peek."

Jackson didn't answer. But his eyes followed him.

-

The bathroom was open-plan, minimalist. Too exposed. Kole peeled off his shirt and turned on the rain shower, steam blooming like a secret. He stepped under it, letting the water trace his spine. Every nerve was awake. He knew Jackson could probably hear everything-water hitting skin, the slick drag of soap.

He bit his lip and smiled.

Let him hear.

-

Jackson paced the room like a caged thing.

The soft sounds from the bathroom made something coil in his stomach. Kole was doing this on purpose. He had to be. The kid had a gift for walking the razor-thin line between teasing and torment.

Jackson sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He counted backward from ten. Then twenty. He got to forty-seven before Kole came out.

Still toweling his damp hair. Still wet.

Wearing-Jackson swallowed-tiny silk shorts, the kind no decent man would wear in public. Or private. They clung to his hips like sin. No shirt. Just smooth skin, a faint trail of water still sliding down his chest. Unbothered.

Jackson didn't look up.

Not really.

"Shower's all yours," Kole said casually, walking past to plug in his charger. "Though I should warn you, the mirror's all fogged up. Shame if you were hoping to catch a glimpse of yourself."

Jackson's jaw twitched. "You're not subtle."

Kole blinked, all faux innocence. "What, me?"

"I told you before," Jackson said, standing. His voice was low, firm. Dangerous. "Don't tease a man like me."

Kole tilted his head. "Why not?"

Jackson didn't answer.

He walked past Kole, deliberately close, the scent of shower steam and soap clinging to the air between them. He shut the bathroom door behind him with a heavy click.

-

Later that night, they lay side by side in the dark. Two pillows, same bed. Barely inches apart, but neither touched.

Jackson stared at the ceiling. Kole stared at him.

He didn't know why it felt like this-thick, suffocating, electric. Like the silence had grown a spine and teeth and could bite if provoked.

Kole turned slightly toward him. Whispered, "You nervous I'll crawl into your arms in the middle of the night?"

Jackson didn't move.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Jackson turned his head slowly. Their faces were shadowed, close enough to kiss. "Go to sleep, Kole."

Kole smiled faintly. "You're not denying it."

And Jackson?

He didn't.

Because tonight, he didn't trust himself to lie.