Scars

It rained the next morning.

Not a storm, not thunder-just a steady, persistent drizzle that painted the windows with silence and made the villa feel like it existed outside of time. A soft grey hush blanketed everything.

Kole was curled on his side, mouth slightly open, hair a tousled mess on the pillow. He looked young like this. Vulnerable. Unarmored.

Jackson had been awake for an hour, watching the rain slip down the glass.

He still felt Kole's fingers on his wrist from the night before. Light. Drunk. Unintentional. But real.

Something had changed.

And it scared the hell out of him.

---

Kole woke slowly. Groggy. Headache. A vague memory of saying too much. A blur of Jackson's scent and warm hands guiding him to bed.

He found Jackson in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair damp from a shower, coffee brewing.

"Morning," Kole muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

"You remember last night?" Jackson asked quietly.

"Most of it."

He waited, heart thudding, but Jackson didn't say anything else.

Just handed him a mug.

And maybe that was worse.

---

Later, when Kole padded toward the bathroom, humming to himself, he forgot to knock.

The door wasn't locked.

He pushed it open casually-and froze.

Jackson stood near the mirror, shirtless, towel slung low on his hips, water glistening across his skin.

But Kole didn't see the muscles. Not the abs or the tattoos.

He saw the scars.

Not fresh. Not new. But unmistakable.

A long one curved near Jackson's left rib. Another near his shoulder blade. Smaller ones crisscrossed his lower back, faint but visible in the light. They weren't surgical. They weren't accidental.

Kole's mouth opened-then closed.

Jackson turned slowly. His expression shut down like a slammed door.

"Get out."

Kole didn't move. "Jackson-"

"I said get out."

But Kole stepped in instead, gently closing the door behind him. "Don't do that. Don't shut me out."

Jackson's fists clenched at his sides.

"I'm not asking what happened," Kole said softly. "I'm not prying. But I saw. And I'm not pretending I didn't."

Jackson looked away.

"I've been playing games with you. I know that. I flirt, I poke, I tease. But not now. Not about this."

The silence stretched.

Jackson finally spoke, voice low and jagged. "They're from before I debuted. From things I thought I'd buried. From people who said they loved me."

Kole's throat tightened.

"I worked every damn day to become someone no one could touch again. Someone untouchable. And now you're here, seeing all the things I never let anyone see."

"You don't have to explain anything," Kole said. "Not to me."

He reached out, slowly, giving Jackson time to pull away.

But Jackson didn't.

Kole's fingers brushed just under the rib scar-light, careful, reverent.

Jackson flinched. Not from pain. From being seen.

"You're beautiful," Kole whispered.

Jackson laughed once, bitter. "Even with those?"

"Because of those."

For the first time, Jackson's shoulders relaxed. Just slightly. Just enough.

Kole met his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

Jackson looked at him for a long, long moment.

Then, finally, he whispered, "Okay."

Just that. One word. But it cracked something open.

---

That night, they didn't sleep on opposite sides of the bed.

They didn't touch.

But they faced each other.

And Kole reached for Jackson's hand in the dark.

Jackson didn't pull away.