Distance Hurts Too

The hotel suite is cold without Jackson in it.

Kole notices it in the way the coffee machine hums too loudly in the mornings. In the way the second pillow on the bed remains untouched. In the way silence settles like dust on everything they didn't say.

Jackson is touring again-photo ops, fanmeets, back-to-back interviews. Kole didn't ask for the schedule, but he knows it anyway. He sees the clips online. The smiles that look too perfect. The scripted charm that once hooked him in.

It's been five days.

Five days since they slow-danced in the dark and said nothing at all.

Five days since Jackson whispered, "Because it would've ruined me."

Five days since Kole felt something shift in his chest-and start to ache.

He told himself not to text first.

Not to break.

Not to care more.

But on the sixth night, as the rain taps against the windows of the now-empty hotel room, Kole lies in bed and types:

Are you eating?

He stares at the message for a long time. Considers deleting it.

But he presses send.

The three dots appear almost instantly.

Jackson: Barely. You know the food on planes sucks.

Kole: I could send you something. I found this app where you can schedule delivery.

Jackson: Since when do you care?

Kole: Since you started looking like you could faint on live TV.

Jackson: ...Fair.

A pause.

Jackson: I miss coffee with you in the morning.

Kole blinks.

He stares at the words like they're too sharp. Too sincere.

Kole: Don't get soft on me, Idol.

Jackson: Too late. You ruined me.

Kole's heart thuds. His fingers hover over the keyboard. So many things he could say-I miss you too. Come back. I'm scared of what this is becoming.

Instead, he types:

Eat something. Or I'll hunt you down.

Jackson: Promise?

Kole laughs-just once, just quietly.

And for a brief moment, across cities and screens, the distance doesn't feel quite as wide.

But it still hurts.