Jess stirs awake, the sunlight creeping in through the cracks in the curtains, warming his skin. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, everything feels hazy, disoriented, like he's not quite awake, not quite asleep.
The unfamiliar room starts to come into focus, but it feels… wrong somehow. The warmth of the sheets against his skin is different, thicker, like something lingering from the night before. He exhales softly, rubbing his eyes, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep.
As memories flood back, Tanner, the mark, the heat between them, his heart flutters, but it's not just excitement. It's a tinge of something more... uncertain.
An instinctive smile tugs at his lips, but it's fleeting, barely there, swallowed up by the emptiness in the bed beside him.
He rolls over, expecting to find Tanner still next to him, but the spot beside him is cold, empty.
Jess frowns, brow furrowed in confusion. Tanner's side of the bed is still warm, the faint impression of his body still lingering in the sheets, but there's no sign of him.
His gaze flicks to the bathroom door. Maybe he's in there. Maybe he's just gone for something, left early. Jess tells himself it's nothing, just some pack business or work he didn't mention.
But then, as he raises a hand to rub his face, something catches him. His fingers brush through his hair, and freeze. The wig is gone.
A sharp pang hits him in the chest. Tanner must have taken it off.
His heart skips, then pounds in his chest, the realization slamming into him. Tanner knows. He knows who Jess really is.
The boy. The boy he once looked at with disgust and sentenced to death.
Jess's breath catches in his throat, a flutter of panic clawing at him. What had Tanner thought? What was he feeling? But then, another memory crashes through his mind: Tanner's touch, the way he marked him, how it felt like Jess was... something precious.
That must be what matters. That's all that matters, right?
He shifts sitting up, but suddenly, a strange sensation flickers in his stomach, like a hollow feeling that spreads deeper inside.
He presses a hand over his abdomen, and it's like something stirs beneath his skin.
It's not pain. Not exactly. But it feels... strange.
He shifts uncomfortably in the bed, trying to shake off the odd feeling, but it's still there, gnawing at him. It grows a little, like a slow wave of pressure building in the pit of his stomach.
A sour taste creeps up his throat, and he winces, swallowing hard to push it down. His hand moves to his mouth instinctively, and he feels the heat of his own breath as it catches in his chest.
Suddenly, the pressure tightens, sharper, and before he can stop himself, the world tilts. His stomach churns, and the taste becomes overwhelming, forcing him to stagger out of bed, one hand clutching his mouth.
He rushes to the bathroom, barely making it before he's kneeling, retching harshly into the toilet. It's sudden, the nausea rolling over him in waves.
When it finally subsides, Jess slumps against the cool porcelain, gasping for breath, his chest heavy.
The dizziness lingers but starts to fade immediately, leaving him feeling drained, confused.
He splashes water on his face, trying to shake off the disorientation, staring at his reflection as if it holds the answers.
What is happening to him?
With shaky legs and the taste of bile still clinging to his tongue, Jess steps out of the bathroom.
He doesn't go back to the bed, it feels too heavy with memories, too full of questions he has no answers for.
So instead, he walks out of the room, slow and unsteady, letting the silence of the house swallow him whole.
Each step is a quiet echo against the floor, but his mind refuses to be still.
It refuses to settle… even as he moves down the hallway. What is Tanner really thinking? After knowing the truth, and still marked him, what is he thinking?
What if he hates me more now?
What if he never comes back here again?
Jess chuckles, but there's no humor in it.
"How can he not come back here," he mutters, "when this is his house?"
In the living room his eyes catch the luring sunlight pouring through the glasses. It spills into the living room, soft and golden, brushing against the floor like an invitation.
Desperate for a distraction, he walks toward it, drawn to the brightness outside as if it might clear his head.
Maybe a breath of fresh air would help. Maybe the sun could burn away this thick, cloying fog of thoughts that won't stop chasing him.
But when he reaches the door and turns the handle, it doesn't budge. Locked.
A frown flickers across his face. He sees another door near the back, He moves toward it, one he hadn't noticed before.
But it is locked too.
His hand drops to his side. The house, quiet and unfamiliar, suddenly feels different. Not warm like it had last night, but hollow, like something has been taken from it.
Jess exhales slowly, his chest tightening as he steps back.
He doesn't want to admit it, but the longer he stands there, the more the silence presses in on him.
He didn't want to feel trapped and caged.
But now, he does.