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Visible Part 3

Summary - Part 3.

Word count - 8.2k

It was hours later.

The apartment was quiet in a way Alexia did not like.

Not peaceful. Peaceful had warmth to it. Peaceful had the low hum of the air conditioning, the distant traffic below, the soft domestic mess of two people who had been passing through the same rooms all week and leaving pieces of themselves behind. A hoodie on the back of a chair. A half drunk bottle of water Jay had sworn was "basically empty" even though it was three quarters full.

Trainers kicked beneath the console table. Rings in the dish by the bed. The faint smell of Jay's shampoo in the bathroom, sharp and clean and expensive because Jay insisted she did not care about products and then bought the ones that cost enough to make Alexia stare at the receipt in silence.

This quiet was different.

This quiet had been cleaned.

The shoot was done. The lights, the cameras, the professional smiles, the careful turn of her head, the controlled tilt of her chin, the make up artist's hands at her neck. All of it was finished now. The mark was hidden beneath layers of careful colour correction and powder, then hidden again beneath the collar of the shirt she had changed into the second she got home. It was covered, technically. Dealt with, technically.

But Alexia could still feel it.

Not pain exactly, although there was tenderness when she moved her neck too quickly. It was more than that. A knowledge under the skin. A small, pulsing reminder of the morning, of seeing it in the mirror, of remembering herself saying not there and Jay saying she had her.

That was the part that still burned.

Not the bruise itself. Bruises faded. Make up covered them. Bodies healed.

Trust did not bruise so neatly.

Alexia stood in the middle of the living room for longer than she meant to, one hand wrapped around the glass of water Nuria had practically forced into her before leaving. The apartment smelled faintly of detergent. Fresh sheets. Bathroom cleaner. The sofa cushions had been put back properly. The throw that Jay usually managed to use like a crime scene had been folded. Not well, because Jay's version of folded was still essentially "less aggressively crumpled," but folded all the same.

She had cleaned.

Of course she had.

Alexia hated that it made her throat tighten.

She hated that she could picture it too clearly. Jay moving through the apartment too quickly, silent for once, trying to undo a feeling with tasks. Stripping the bed because the bed had held the night before. Scrubbing the sink because she could not scrub away the moment Alexia's face changed in the mirror. Leaving the rings because she had not known whether taking them would look like leaving or leaving them would look like assuming.

Alexia pressed her lips together and looked away from the bedroom door.

She was still angry.

She had to let herself be angry.

That was the thing she kept returning to, like a hand pressed against a locked door. She could love Jay and still be angry. She could miss her and still be hurt. She could want her in the room and still want to shake her for being careless with something Alexia had given her clearly, explicitly, with trust.

And she did miss her.

Not softly. Not in some romantic, distant, pretty way that could be turned into a sentence and survived from a safe distance.

Physically.

Her body missed Jay before her mind admitted it.

It missed the noise of her. The stupid running commentary she gave the world as if silence was a personal insult. The way she would have sprawled across the sofa with one leg over the back of it, pretending she was relaxed while studying Alexia's face the second she walked in. The way she would have said something ridiculous like, "You look aggressively beautiful, and I'm worried it's bad for the economy," because Jay never knew what to do with concern unless she dressed it as humour first.

She missed the pressure of Jay's hand on her lower back when she passed behind her in the kitchen. The lazy kiss dropped to her shoulder. The smell of her after training. The way Jay would make Alexia drink water and then, when Alexia asked how much water she had had, look morally wounded and say, "This relationship has become hostile."

She missed her so much it annoyed her.

Alexia set the glass down too hard on the counter.

"Dios," she muttered.

Then she picked up her phone.

She did not unlock it straight away. She stood there with it in her hand, thumb resting against the dark screen, as if the thing itself might somehow decide for her. That was ridiculous. Alexia did not outsource decisions to objects. She made decisions. She lived by decisions. She survived on structure, clarity, discipline.

Jay had ruined that too, apparently.

Alexia unlocked the phone and opened Jay's chat.

No new messages.

Of course there were no new messages.

She had told Jay not to text.

She had said it sharply enough that even now, hours later, the memory made something in her stomach twist. Do not text me. I mean it. I need space. Alexia could hear the coldness in her own voice. Not false coldness, not entirely. She had meant it. She had needed Jay out of the apartment before her anger turned into something too cutting to take back.

But she also knew Jay.

She knew what silence did to her when fear got inside it.

Alexia stared at the empty message field.

Her thumb hovered.

She typed.

We need to talk.

No.

Too formal. Too much like a meeting. Too much like bad news arriving in sensible shoes.

She deleted it.

Are you at yours?

No.

Too distant. Too much like she was checking logistics instead of asking for the person she loved to come back into the place they had made together.

She deleted that too.

Come over.

She stared at it.

No. Too sharp. Too easy for Jay to read as an order, or worse, as a summons.

Alexia closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, the screen had dimmed.

"Vale," she whispered to herself. "Say what is true."

She typed slowly this time.

Can you come here, please?

She looked at it. Her jaw worked. It was almost enough. Almost.

Then she added: I am still angry, but I want to talk.

That felt fair.

True.

Not soft enough to pretend everything was fine. Not hard enough to make Jay afraid to breathe.

Alexia sent it before she could turn it into something colder.

The read receipt appeared almost immediately.

Of course Jay had been sitting with the phone in her hand. Waiting. Not texting, because Alexia had told her not to. Waiting anyway.

Alexia's chest tightened despite herself.

No reply came.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then the message appeared.

On my way.

Three words.

No flood. No apology spilling through the screen. No panic dressed up as explanation. No joke, which somehow made it worse.

Alexia stared at it.

Her throat ached.

"Vale," she whispered again, though there was no one there to hear her.

Then she could not sit still.

She went into the kitchen, opened the cupboard, stared at plates as if they had personally wronged her, then closed it. She opened the fridge, where there was a sad little container of cut fruit Jay had probably intended to eat three days ago and a row of drinks arranged too neatly to be anything but Jay panic organising after doing something wrong. Alexia closed the fridge. She filled a glass of water, drank half, then refilled it because Nuria had been right about tequila and Alexia deeply resented how many people in her life had chosen today to be correct.

Seven minutes passed.

Maybe eight.

Then she heard it.

At first it was only a low vibration under the street noise, a growl threading itself through the late afternoon traffic. It came closer, rising between the buildings, hard and familiar and too aggressive. Alexia's body knew the sound before her mind formed the name.

Jay.

The motorbike snarled up the road, engine climbing too fast, the sound ricocheting off balconies and stone and glass. Alexia moved before she had decided to move, crossing to the balcony doors and pulling one open.

Warm air hit her face.

The bike turned into the street below.

Black, sharp, beautiful in the way dangerous things were often beautiful when they were controlled by someone who knew exactly how close to the edge they could get. Jay rode like that. Like she had made a private deal with physics. Like speed was not something she chased but something she absorbed through her body and translated into balance.

But today, even from several floors up, Alexia could see it.

Too fast.

Not reckless enough to lose control. Jay was too skilled, too instinctive, too annoyingly good at everything involving her body and danger. But fast. Too fast for the city. Too fast for someone calm. Too fast for someone who had received a text from the woman she loved and felt anything other than terror.

Alexia's anger came back hot and immediate.

"Idiota," she breathed.

Her hand tightened around the balcony rail.

For one sharp second, the mark at her neck vanished from importance and all she could see was Jay on the road, panic in her hands, speed used as a shortcut through feelings she did not know how to carry. The thought was so vivid it turned Alexia's stomach. A car pulling out. A pedestrian stepping forward. A slick patch of road. A second too late.

She had spent the morning hurt because Jay had forgotten a boundary.

Now Jay had arrived by proving she could also forget herself.

The bike pulled in beneath the building. Jay stopped with a hard, clean motion, boots braced, shoulders tight. She killed the engine.

The silence after it rang.

Alexia stood very still.

She should shout the second Jay walked in.

She would.

Probably.

Maybe.

Then Jay removed her helmet.

Blonde hair came loose, flattened and messy from being shoved under the helmet too soon after a shower. She looked up towards the building, and even from above, even with the distance between them, Alexia saw her face.

Panic.

Not Jay being loud because big emotion became easier when performed. Not Jay turning fear into jokes. Real panic, held in a white knuckled grip under the skin. It made her movements too precise. It made her mouth too still. It made her look younger for half a second, stripped of swagger and charm and all the glittering nonsense she used to make the world lean towards her before it could hurt her.

Alexia's anger did not leave.

It shifted shape.

"Bebé," she whispered, and hated that the word came out worried before she was ready to forgive anything.

The buzzer rang thirty seconds later.

Alexia let her in.

The time between the buzzer and the knock felt longer than it should have. Alexia stood in the hallway with her arms folded, bare feet against the cool floor, trying to decide which anger should be first. The mark. The speed. The silence. The cleaning. The fact that she had missed Jay so much she had texted first and now wanted to press her face against her chest as badly as she wanted to slap the helmet from her hand.

The knock came.

Soft.

Careful.

That annoyed her too.

Alexia opened the door.

Jay stood on the other side holding her helmet in one hand.

She had showered. Alexia noticed because of course she noticed. Clean white T shirt, dark jeans, boots still carrying the dust of the street. Hair damp near the roots. No jewellery except the small pieces she never took out. Tattoos visible along her forearms where she gripped the helmet strap too tightly. Her face was pale, the colour drained beneath her tan, eyes red rimmed but dry now, jaw set with such effort that a muscle jumped near her cheek.

Jay looked at Alexia first.

Then immediately at her neck.

The collar hid the mark.

Jay looked anyway.

Alexia watched the guilt hit her so visibly it was almost ugly.

Good, a mean part of her thought.

Then, immediately after, enough.

"Did you speed?" Alexia asked.

Jay blinked.

Of all the first questions she had clearly prepared herself for, that had not been one of them.

"What?"

"The bike," Alexia said. "Did you speed?"

Jay's mouth opened.

Alexia's eyebrows lifted.

Jay closed it.

The hallway held its breath.

"A little," Jay said.

Alexia's stare sharpened.

Jay looked down. "More than a little."

"Jay."

"I know."

Alexia's eyes flashed.

Jay corrected instantly, like the words had been trained into her by the day itself. "I hear you."

The correction landed between them, small and painful.

Alexia gripped the door tighter. "You do not get to scare me twice in one day."

Jay's face cracked.

Only slightly.

But Alexia saw it because she saw everything when it was Jay.

"I'm sorry," Jay said, voice low. "For that too."

Alexia looked at her for a long second.

Then she stepped back.

Jay entered carefully, like the apartment had become a place she needed permission to exist inside. That hurt in a fresh, precise way. Alexia closed the door behind her and for a moment neither of them moved.

The distance between them was absurd.

They were women who touched constantly. Thoughtlessly. Greedily. Shoulder to shoulder in lifts, knees pressed together at dinner, Jay's hand at Alexia's waist in the hallway, Alexia's fingers at the back of Jay's neck when passing behind her. Their relationship had become a language of contact so habitual that the absence of it felt almost theatrical.

Now they stood on opposite sides of the hallway, Jay with her helmet held against her thigh like a schoolgirl waiting outside the headteacher's office, Alexia with her arms folded because if she unfolded them too soon, she might reach.

Jay looked around once, quick and anxious.

She saw that Alexia had seen the cleaning.

Of course she did.

Then Jay looked back at her.

"I didn't text," Jay said.

"I know."

"You said not to."

"I know."

"I wanted to."

Alexia swallowed.

There were several answers she could have given. I wanted you to. I hoped you would not. I checked anyway. I hated every second of the silence I asked for.

Instead she said, "I know."

Jay nodded once, too fast.

The silence stretched until it had weight.

Alexia wanted to touch her.

She wanted to shake her.

She wanted to step into her body and be angry there, with Jay's arms around her, because being angry from across the room felt cold and wrong. She wanted Jay's hands on her waist. She wanted to put two fingers against Jay's pulse and confirm that the bike had not stolen her from a fight that still needed finishing.

Instead, she said, "Sit down."

Jay's eyes flicked to the sofa.

Then back.

"Okay."

She walked into the living room and put the helmet down carefully beside the sofa, almost reverently, as if sudden movements might make everything worse. Then she sat on the edge of the cushion. Not sprawled. Not relaxed. Not trying to be charming. Knees apart, elbows on them, hands clasped tightly enough that the tendons stood out beneath the ink on the backs of them.

Alexia sat opposite her in the armchair.

It was deliberate.

If she sat beside Jay, she would touch her. If she touched her too early, the conversation would fold around the contact and become easier than it should be. Jay would melt. Alexia would soften. The truth would become less sharp because they were both good at loving each other through pain, and sometimes that was not the same as dealing with it.

They needed words first.

Jay looked at her hands.

Alexia looked at Jay.

For once, Jay did not fill the silence.

That was how Alexia knew she was truly shaken.

No joke. No defensive charm. No sexy little half smile designed to irritate Alexia into affection. Just Jay sitting there with her shoulders tight and her hands locked together, trying to keep herself still.

"Talk," Alexia said.

Jay's throat moved.

She nodded.

Nothing came out.

Alexia's anger sparked. "Jay."

"I'm trying."

The words were rough.

Not defensive.

Frightened.

Alexia stilled.

Jay dragged one hand through her damp hair, then stopped herself halfway through the movement as if even that was too much. She let her hand drop back between her knees.

"I wrote things down," Jay said. "Not to read like a speech. I know that would be weird. Well, weirder. I just didn't want to come here and panic and make it all about me."

Alexia's chest tightened despite herself.

Jay pulled her phone from her pocket and unlocked it. The glow lit the underside of her face, but she did not look down at it straight away. She held it in both hands, like it might anchor her.

"I broke the rule," Jay said.

Alexia did not move.

"You made the rule because I already messed up once with the collarbone. You explained it. You were clear." Jay breathed in through her nose, careful and slow.

"You weren't hiding me. You weren't embarrassed by me. You were protecting what belongs to you. Your body. Your work. Your privacy. Your choice."

Alexia's jaw tightened.

Jay saw it and swallowed.

"Last night," Jay continued, quieter now, "you said not there."

The apartment seemed to draw itself tighter around the words.

Alexia's fingers curled against the arm of the chair.

Jay lifted her eyes.

"I said I had you."

Alexia held her gaze.

Jay's face crumpled for half a second before she forced it still, and somehow that was worse than if she had cried immediately. The effort. The discipline. The fact that she was trying not to make her own pain the loudest thing in the room.

"I didn't," Jay said.

The words came out broken.

Alexia looked at her. Really looked at her.

Jay dropped her gaze again quickly, like eye contact made the confession worse.

"I keep replaying it," she said. "And I know we were drunk. I know it was intense. I know you were with me. I know you weren't lying there disconnected or anything like that. I know you were touching me back. I know it was good."

Her voice trembled slightly on the last word, not with heat now, but with shame. "But none of that changes the part where you told me something. You said it. And I still let myself drift past it because I wanted you and because everything felt..."

She stopped.

Alexia waited.

Jay pressed the heel of her hand against one eye for a second, then dropped it.

"Because everything felt like permission except the actual sentence where you said no," Jay said. "And that is the part that makes me sick."

Alexia's anger flared because it was true.

Her guilt flared because Jay looked destroyed by saying it.

Good, Alexia thought again, but weaker now. Less mean. More wounded.

Jay's voice lowered. "I let wanting you matter more than listening to you for one second."

Alexia's throat tightened.

Jay looked up quickly, as if she had heard the breath Alexia tried to hide.

"I'm not saying that so you tell me it's okay," she said, suddenly urgent. "I know it's not okay. I know there isn't a version of this where I cry and you comfort me and then I get to feel better because I was sad enough. That's not why I'm saying it."

Alexia's expression shifted.

Jay held the phone tighter.

"I'm saying it because I need you to know I understand what I did," she said. "Not as a mistake like spilling wine or forgetting your keys. Not as some stupid sexy accident. I crossed something you had already said. I know that."

The room was so quiet Alexia could hear the faint noise of traffic below, softened by distance and glass.

Jay's eyes went down to the phone, but she did not seem to read from it. Maybe she did not need to. Maybe writing it had been enough to organise the wreckage.

"I know sorry does not take it off your neck," Jay said. "Or out of the morning. Or out of your head. Or out of the make up chair."

Alexia's breath caught.

Jay stopped.

Her eyes lifted slowly.

"The makeup artist saw?" she asked.

Very quietly.

Alexia looked away.

She hated that she looked away.

That was answer enough.

Jay's face folded.

Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just the whole structure of her expression giving way at once. Her lips parted as if she might say something, but no sound came. Her eyes filled fast, so fast Alexia watched her panic at the fact of it, watched her turn her face away like she could hide tears through willpower alone.

Alexia froze.

She had seen Jay angry. She had seen her laughing until she could not breathe, cocky and infuriating after scoring, flirtatious in a way that made people forget their own names. She had seen Jay exhausted after matches, wired after bad dreams, restless when her medication wore thin, quiet in those rare moments when the room caught her too soft to perform.

She had seen Jay emotional in flashes.

But she had not seen this.

Open crying.

No joke. No sarcastic mutter about allergies. No covering it with a laugh and a stupid comment. Silent at first, then not, a rough breath catching somewhere deep in Jay's chest as her shoulders folded slightly forward like she was trying to contain the whole thing physically.

Every instinct in Alexia screamed to move.

Go to her.

Touch her.

Pull her in.

But another instinct, older and colder and probably wiser, held her still.

If she comforted Jay too quickly, they would both escape the hardest part. Jay would feel forgiven before Alexia had finished being honest. Alexia would feel cruel for still being angry while Jay was crying. The wound would close, yes, but wrong. Covered too soon. Tender underneath. Waiting.

So Alexia stayed in the chair.

It took more strength than shouting would have.

Jay wiped her face with the heel of her hand, too harshly.

"Sorry," she said, then shook her head quickly. "No. Fuck. Not sorry for crying. Well, I am sorry, but I know that's annoying. I'm not trying to do that. I'm not trying to make you comfort me."

Alexia's voice came out quieter than before. "I know you are not doing it on purpose."

Jay nodded, but she looked unconvinced.

"I just..." Her voice broke and she swallowed around it. "I'm so sorry. And I know that's useless. I know it's the smallest word for something bigger than that, but I am. I'm sorry I made you feel exposed. I'm sorry I made you feel like you had to check me. I'm sorry you woke up and for a second everything was probably fine and then you had to see that. I'm sorry you had to sit there while someone covered it. I'm sorry I broke a promise after you trusted me with it."

Alexia's fingers tightened against the armchair.

Jay dragged in a shaky breath.

"And I'm sorry I rode too fast," she said. "That was stupid. That was dangerous. That was me panicking and using the bike because it gives me somewhere to put it. I know that. I know it scared you."

Alexia said nothing.

Jay looked down, tears still slipping despite how hard she was trying to stop them.

"You texted," Jay whispered, "and I just thought..."

She stopped.

Alexia's body went still.

Jay shook her head before she even finished the thought. "No. I'm not saying this to make you feel bad. I know space isn't abandonment. You told me that. I do understand it, logically. I swear I do. I just thought you were going to tell me to come get my rings or that I couldn't stay here anymore or that you didn't feel safe with me or..."

Her voice vanished.

Alexia's face changed before she could stop it.

Jay saw it and looked devastated all over again.

"I know," Jay said quickly. "I know that's not fair to put on you. You needed space and you had the right to take it. I'm not blaming you. I'm not saying you should have managed me better. I'm just saying my body heard silence and went straight back to every worst thing it knows."

Alexia hated how much that made sense.

Jay wiped under one eye, gentler now, and gave a small laugh with no humour in it.

"Brain heard, 'Alexia needs time,'" she said. "Body heard, 'Congratulations, idiot, you have finally ruined the best thing that ever happened to you.'"

Alexia's throat tightened so sharply she had to look away.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The late light had shifted across the floor, turning the clean apartment gold at the edges. It made everything look softer than it was.

Jay leaned forward, elbows on knees again, hands hanging between them now.

"I don't want to be someone you have to manage," she said. "Not in bed. Not in fights. Not with rules. Not with bikes. Not with my panic. I don't want you to have to watch me to make sure I respect something you already told me. That is the part I hate most." Her eyes lifted, wet and stripped bare. "That I made you feel like you couldn't trust me there."

Alexia looked at her for a long time.

The apartment held all of it.

Fresh sheets.

Clean bathroom.

Helmet by Jay's boots.

The hidden mark beneath Alexia's collar.

Jay crying and trying not to be comforted because she understood, finally, that accountability had to come before relief.

Alexia leaned back slowly in the chair.

"I am still angry," she said.

Jay nodded immediately. "I know."

Alexia's eyes narrowed.

Jay caught herself, breath unsteady. "I hear you."

Alexia exhaled through her nose.

"I am angry because you broke the rule," Alexia said. "But not only the rule. The part that hurt most was remembering that I said not there and you said you had me."

Jay's mouth pressed tight.

"Because I believed you," Alexia continued. "I did not check. I did not turn on the light. I did not go to the mirror. I believed you."

Jay's eyes closed.

Alexia let the silence sit between them because Jay needed to feel the weight of that sentence. Not as punishment. As truth.

"When I saw it this morning," Alexia said, and her voice lowered, "I felt embarrassed. Exposed. Angry, yes. But under that, I felt stupid."

Jay's breath hitched.

Alexia kept looking at her.

"I felt stupid for believing you."

Jay's face crumpled again, but she did not look away this time. She took the sentence. Held it. Let it hurt.

"I don't want that," Alexia said. "I do not want to feel stupid for trusting you."

Jay's voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't want that either."

"I know."

The words came out before Alexia could stop them.

Jay almost smiled, but it was not happiness. It was that strange, painful recognition between them now, the way the wrong phrase kept arriving and needing to be corrected. The almost smile disappeared quickly.

Alexia looked down at her own hands.

"I was awful this morning," she said.

Jay's head lifted sharply. "No."

Alexia's eyes snapped back up. "Do not."

Jay stopped.

"Do not take that away from me because you are guilty," Alexia said.

Jay swallowed. "Okay."

"I was angry. I had the right to be angry. I still have the right to be angry."

"Yes."

"But I also said things because I wanted them to hurt you."

Jay's face tightened. "I deserved..."

"No."

Jay shut her mouth so quickly that, on any other day, Alexia might have smiled.

"No," Alexia repeated, firmer. "You deserved to be told you were wrong. You deserved my anger. You deserved consequences. You did not deserve me trying to make you panic."

Jay stared at her, tears shining on her lashes.

"When I said not to look abandoned," Alexia said, "I knew you were scared."

Jay's throat moved.

"I knew exactly what that would hit," Alexia continued. "And I still said it like that."

Jay shook her head once, barely. "You were hurt."

"Yes," Alexia said. "And I was cruel."

Jay looked like she wanted to argue so badly it hurt.

Alexia lifted a hand.

"No."

Jay breathed out shakily.

"I am sorry for that," Alexia said.

Jay's eyes filled again. "You don't have to apologise to me right now."

"I know I do not have to," Alexia said. "I am doing it because it is true."

The silence that followed was different.

Not soft.

Not safe yet.

But less sharp around the edges.

Jay wiped her face with both hands, then dropped them to her knees. She looked exhausted. Not physically, although she probably was. Emotionally peeled open. Like every defence she had built out of charm and humour and muscle had been taken from her and left her sitting there with nothing but the truth.

"I cleaned," she said after a while.

"I saw."

"I didn't do it to make you feel bad."

"I know."

Jay's eyes flicked up.

Alexia corrected herself before Jay could. "I hear you."

Something fragile moved across Jay's face.

"I couldn't do nothing," Jay admitted. "And I knew doing things wasn't the same as fixing anything. I knew you might come home and see it and feel like I was trying to tidy the problem out of existence. But I couldn't leave it like that. I couldn't leave the bed like that."

Alexia's throat tightened.

"The sheets," she said.

Jay looked down.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Jay's fingers twisted together.

"Because the bed smelled like last night," she said. "Like us. Like you. Like everything that was good before I ruined the morning." Her voice thinned. "And I thought if you came home still angry and the bed was still like that, it would feel like I'd left evidence of myself everywhere after you asked me for space."

Alexia closed her eyes for one second.

Jay kept going, quieter. "But then the rings... I didn't know what to do with them. If I took them, it looked like I was leaving. If I left them, it looked like I was assuming I still belonged here. So I just stood there for ages like an absolute moron and then left them because moving them felt worse."

Alexia pictured it too clearly.

Jay standing by the dish.

The rings in her hand, maybe. Or maybe just looking. That red throat tattoo visible when she swallowed. Panic disguised as stillness.

"I saw them," Alexia said.

Jay nodded, not looking up.

"For a moment," Alexia admitted, "I hated them."

Jay flinched.

"Not because I hate you," Alexia said.

Jay looked at her.

"Because they made me miss you."

Jay's face broke open.

Alexia had not meant to say it yet. Not like that. Not so nakedly. But it was out now, and she was tired of pretending anger was cleaner if love stayed silent beside it.

Jay's voice shook. "I missed you too."

Alexia looked away, not because she did not want to hear it, but because she wanted it too much.

Another silence.

Then Alexia stood.

Jay went still immediately.

Not just attentive. Braced.

Alexia noticed because of course she noticed. She saw the way Jay's shoulders lifted, the way her hands tightened, the way her eyes tracked Alexia's movement without knowing what to expect. It hurt, that carefulness. It also mattered.

Alexia crossed the room slowly and sat beside Jay on the sofa.

Not touching.

Not yet.

Jay's entire body went rigid with restraint, as if she wanted to lean in so badly she had to lock herself down to stop it.

Alexia looked at the side of her face. Damp hair. Red eyes. The line of her jaw. The faint tremble in the hands Jay had clasped between her knees.

"This is not fixed," Alexia said.

Jay nodded. "I know. I hear you. Sorry."

"But I do not want you across the room anymore."

Jay turned towards her so quickly Alexia almost smiled.

Almost.

Jay's eyes were still wet. "Can I touch you?"

The question hit Alexia directly in the chest.

After everything, Jay still asked.

Good.

Painful, but good.

Alexia nodded. "Yes."

Jay moved like she was afraid of doing it wrong. One hand first, hovering for half a second before settling lightly over Alexia's. Not grabbing. Not pulling. Just there, warm and trembling.

Alexia looked down at it.

Jay's tattooed hand over hers. The same hand that had touched her with such confidence the night before. The same hand that had cleaned the sink and folded the throw badly. The same hand that had gripped a motorbike because panic had outrun sense.

Alexia turned her hand beneath Jay's and threaded their fingers together.

Jay let out a breath that shook.

Alexia looked at her. "You scared me with the bike."

Jay closed her eyes. "I know."

Alexia squeezed her hand once.

Jay opened her eyes. "I hear you."

"Never like that again."

"No."

"I mean it."

"I know." Jay stopped, huffed a tiny, miserable laugh. "I hear you. And yes. Never like that again."

"You do not come to me by risking yourself."

Jay's face crumpled again, but she held it better this time.

"I won't."

Alexia believed that Jay meant it.

She also knew meaning it was not the same as being incapable of failing.

That was the terrifying part of loving someone. Promises mattered, but people still had to keep them under pressure, under fear, under tequila, under panic, under every condition that made promises difficult. Love did not make people perfect. It only made the stakes unbearable.

Alexia lifted their joined hands and looked at Jay properly.

"You broke the rule," she said.

Jay nodded.

"If I say not there, you stop and you stay stopped. You do not drift back because we are drunk. You do not decide it is okay because I am into it. You do not make me responsible for reminding you twice."

Jay's eyes filled again, but she did not look away.

"Yes."

"No visible marks means no visible marks. Even if I am touching you. Even if I am drunk. Even if I am saying your name. Even if it is hot." Alexia's voice sharpened slightly. "Especially then, Jay."

Jay's breath shook.

"Yes."

"If you cannot be sure, you stop completely."

"Yes."

"I need to trust that."

Jay nodded quickly, tears spilling again despite the firmness in her face. "I know. I hear you. And I will earn that back. I know I can't ask you to just give it back because I cried."

Alexia's grip tightened.

"Good."

The word was firm, but no longer cruel.

Jay looked down, tears dropping silently onto their joined hands. "I hate that I made you feel that way."

Alexia watched her for one second.

Then the distance inside her broke.

Not forgiveness. Not fully. Not everything solved.

But enough.

She let go of Jay's hand only to reach up and touch the side of her face.

Jay froze beneath the contact.

Alexia's thumb brushed a tear from her cheek.

"Bebé," she said softly.

Jay made a sound that was almost a sob and leaned into her hand before she could stop herself.

Alexia moved closer, slow enough that Jay could pull back if she needed to, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Jay folded immediately.

Completely.

The careful posture, the held breath, the effort to keep her guilt contained and not make Alexia responsible for it, all of it came apart the second Alexia touched her with permission. Jay turned into her, face pressing into Alexia's shoulder, hands gripping the back of Alexia's shirt for one second before loosening, as if even now she was afraid of holding too hard.

Alexia held her.

Angry still.

Sad now too.

In love most of all, which made the other two things worse and easier at the same time.

Jay cried quietly into her shoulder.

Alexia stared over her head at the clean apartment, one hand moving slowly through Jay's damp hair.

"I have not seen you cry like this," Alexia said after a while.

Jay gave a rough little laugh against her shoulder. "Yeah. Strong brand damage. Don't tell anyone. I'm trying to maintain a reputation as a sexy menace."

"Do not joke."

Jay went quiet instantly.

Alexia softened her hand in Jay's hair. "Not because you cannot. Because I want you to know you do not have to hide it with me."

Jay's grip tightened in the fabric of her shirt.

"I don't know what to do with it," Jay admitted, voice muffled.

"With what?"

"When I really mess up." She breathed in shakily. "If it's a little thing, I can fix it. If it's funny, I can make it funny. If someone is angry but not really hurt, I can handle it. I can be charming or useful or annoying until it passes." Her voice broke again. "But this mattered. You matter. And I couldn't make it better. I still can't."

Alexia closed her eyes for a second.

"No," she said. "You cannot make it better quickly."

Jay nodded against her.

"But you can make it better slowly."

Jay lifted her head a little.

Her face was wrecked. Eyes red, cheeks wet, mouth trembling with the effort to hold back another apology. Alexia had never seen her so stripped of performance.

It made her want to protect Jay from everything.

Including herself.

Including Alexia.

Including the consequences she still needed to face.

Alexia touched her cheek again. "Slowly means you listen. You keep the rule. You do not punish yourself instead of changing. You do not ride your bike like an idiot because you are scared. You do not make your panic my emergency."

Jay nodded. "Okay."

"And I will not use your fear against you when I am angry."

Jay's expression broke.

Alexia held her gaze. "I am serious. I can be angry without being cruel."

Jay shook her head faintly. "You weren't..."

"I was."

Jay stopped.

"I was," Alexia repeated. "And you do not get to argue because you feel guilty."

Jay let out a small, shaky breath. "Okay."

Alexia leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Jay's.

It was not a kiss.

Not yet.

It was steadier than that.

Jay closed her eyes instantly.

They stayed like that for a few breaths, close enough to share air, both still fragile, both still angry in different ways, both trying to learn the shape of a fight that did not become an ending.

Then Jay whispered, "Can I apologise one more time, or is that annoying?"

Alexia's mouth twitched despite herself.

Jay opened one eye, hopeful and terrified.

Alexia sighed. "One."

Jay nodded solemnly, still tear streaked. "Okay. One. Premium apology. Limited edition."

"Jay."

"Sorry. No. Apology starts now."

Alexia stared at her.

Jay took a breath and all the humour disappeared.

"I am sorry," she said. "For the mark. For breaking the rule. For making you feel exposed. For making you feel stupid for trusting me. For saying I had you when I didn't. For trying to fix instead of listen. For riding too fast." Her voice cracked, but she kept going. "And for making today harder when you already had to go out and be perfect for people."

Alexia swallowed.

Jay's eyes searched hers. "I love how much you trust me. I know we don't say that exactly all the time because we're us and I'm annoying and you're emotionally terrifying in a designer shirt sort of way, but I do. I love it. I love that you let me close. I love that you sleep beside me like you believe I'll keep the world out." Her voice softened into something almost unbearable. "And I hate that I damaged it."

Alexia's breath caught.

Jay looked down. "That's all."

For a long time, Alexia did not speak.

She let herself feel it properly. The hurt. The anger. The relief that Jay understood. The ache of loving someone who could be so careful and so careless within the same day. The impossible tenderness of Jay sitting in front of her with nothing to hide behind.

"I am still angry," Alexia said.

Jay nodded. "Okay."

"But I believe you."

Jay's eyes lifted quickly.

Alexia looked at her, firm and soft all at once. "I believe you are sorry. I believe you understand. I believe you will try."

The relief on Jay's face was so intense Alexia almost had to look away.

"But," Alexia added.

Jay straightened immediately. "Yes."

"If this happens again, it is a very different conversation."

Jay nodded. "It won't."

Alexia's eyes sharpened.

Jay caught herself and breathed in. "I will do everything I can to make sure it won't."

"Better."

Jay gave the smallest, saddest smile. "Learning. Slowly. Against my will, obviously."

Alexia's thumb brushed her cheek.

"Good."

Jay exhaled and leaned into her hand again.

After another second, Alexia let herself do what she had wanted to do since opening the door.

She kissed her.

Not deeply.

Not as a reward.

A small kiss, soft and careful, pressed to Jay's mouth like a bridge laid across damaged ground. Jay did not chase it when Alexia pulled back. She only stayed still, eyes closed, breathing unevenly.

"Is that okay?" Alexia asked.

Jay opened her eyes. "Yeah."

"You are sure?"

Jay nodded. "Yeah. I just..." She swallowed. "I didn't think I was getting one."

Alexia's heart hurt.

"I am angry," she said again, because it still mattered.

Jay nodded.

"And I love you," Alexia added, quieter.

Jay's face changed completely.

The tears came again, faster this time, and Jay looked so embarrassed by them that Alexia almost laughed from tenderness.

"Oh, bebé," Alexia whispered.

Jay covered her face with both hands. "Fuck. Sorry. I'm not trying to be dramatic."

"You are always dramatic."

Jay laughed once through the tears, broken and wet. "That's bullying."

"It is observation."

"Captain observation. Very hot. Bad timing to say that?"

"Terrible."

"Noted."

Alexia pulled Jay's hands down gently. "But this is not drama. This is feelings."

Jay grimaced. "Hate those."

"I know."

They both paused.

Jay stared at her.

Then she whispered, "I hear you."

Alexia looked at her for one suspended second.

And then, despite the day, despite the mark, despite the bike roaring too fast up the road and the fresh sheets and the bathroom sink and the make up chair and everything still sore between them, Alexia laughed.

A tiny laugh.

Exhausted.

Fond.

Jay looked at her like the sound had saved her life.

"Too soon?" Jay asked carefully.

"A little."

"Right. Sorry."

Alexia gave her a look.

Jay lifted both hands. "No more apologies. Temporarily paused. Apology subscription cancelled until further notice."

"Good."

Jay nodded, then looked down at their joined hands.

"Can I stay?" she asked quietly. "Or do you still need space?"

Alexia considered the question properly.

She still needed space, yes. But not from Jay's presence. From the fight. From the morning. From the intensity of everything. She did not want Jay gone again. She also did not want to pretend that closeness meant conclusion.

"You can stay," she said. "But we are not pretending everything is normal."

Jay nodded quickly. "No. Definitely not."

"And you are not staying because you panicked."

Jay took that in.

Then nodded slower. "Okay."

"You are staying because I am asking you to stay."

Jay's eyes softened.

"Okay."

"And because if you ride that bike again today, I will kill you myself."

Jay's mouth twitched.

Alexia lifted a warning eyebrow.

Jay pressed her lips together, fighting it.

Alexia pointed at her. "Do not."

"I'm not."

"You are."

"I'm having an internal smile."

"Dangerous."

"Very controlled. Mature, even."

"Do not push it."

Jay's shoulders shook once, the closest thing to a real laugh she had managed all evening.

Then her eyes drifted again to Alexia's neck.

The humour faded.

"Does it hurt?" Jay asked.

Alexia touched the covered place through the collar. "A little."

Jay's face tightened.

Alexia caught her chin gently before she could disappear into guilt again.

"No."

Jay looked at her.

"You asked. I answered. Do not spiral."

Jay swallowed. "Okay."

Alexia stood, still holding her hand.

"Come help me take this make up off."

Jay's eyes widened slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes guapa.”

"Because if you don't want me near it, I completely understand."

"I am asking."

Jay stood carefully.

In the bathroom, the light felt different now.

Still too bright. Still holding memory. But not as hostile as it had that morning. Alexia stood in front of the mirror and unbuttoned the top of her shirt. Jay remained half a step behind her, eyes low, hands loose at her sides, body held in restraint.

Alexia reached for the cotton pads and remover, then handed one to Jay.

Jay took it like it was something sacred.

Her hands were steady at first.

Then not.

Alexia watched her in the mirror. "Breathe."

Jay breathed.

"Gently," Alexia added.

Jay's mouth twisted. "I know."

Alexia lifted an eyebrow.

Jay closed her eyes briefly. "I hear you."

Alexia smiled before she could stop herself.

Jay touched the cotton pad to the side of Alexia's neck with care so extreme it almost hurt to watch. She wiped away the first layer of make up slowly. The colour came off in beige and brown against the white cotton. Beneath it, the bruise began to return.

Jay stopped.

Alexia looked at her reflection.

Jay's eyes were wet again, fixed on the mark.

"Keep going amor.” Alexia said.

Jay nodded.

She cleaned the area carefully, her other hand hovering near Alexia's shoulder but not touching until Alexia reached up, took it, and placed it there herself.

Jay's fingers settled.

The contact grounded both of them.

Layer by layer, the make up disappeared.

The mark remained.

Darker now beneath the bathroom light. Not huge. Not catastrophic. Not something the world would end over.

But visible.

Private again, at least.

Alexia turned to face Jay.

Jay could barely look at it.

Alexia made her.

Not cruelly.

Firmly.

"Mírame."

Jay's eyes lifted to hers.

"This is why the rule matters," Alexia said.

Jay nodded. "I know."

Alexia waited.

Jay breathed in. "I hear you."

"Good."

Jay's hand tightened slightly on Alexia's shoulder. "I'll remember this."

"I need you to."

"I will."

Alexia believed her.

Not because trust had magically repaired itself. It had not. But because Jay was looking at the mark now not as a sexy accident, not as a funny disaster, not as something make up could hide or cleaning could fix, but as the shape of a boundary crossed.

That mattered.

It did not fix everything.

But it mattered.

Alexia reached up and touched Jay's face.

"You can kiss me," she said.

Jay's eyes flicked to her mouth.

Then to her neck.

Then back up.

"Where?" Jay asked.

It was such a serious question.

So careful.

Alexia's anger softened another inch.

"My mouth, idiota."

Jay let out a breath that was almost a laugh, almost a sob.

"Right. Mouth. Classic."

"Jay."

"Sorry. No. Not sorry. I'm stopping."

Alexia shook her head, but her hands had already found Jay's waist.

Jay kissed her gently.

Very gently.

As if asking the whole time.

Alexia answered by stepping closer and putting both arms around her. Jay made a quiet sound into the kiss and held her back, careful at first, then firmer when Alexia allowed it. They stood in the bathroom with the make up removed, the bruise visible, the fight not gone but no longer the only thing in the room.

When they broke apart, Alexia rested her forehead against Jay's chest.

Jay went still.

Then her arms came around Alexia fully.

"Still angry?" Jay whispered.

"Yes."

Jay nodded against her hair. "Okay."

Alexia closed her eyes.

"I missed you."

Jay's breath caught.

Alexia had not meant to say it so plainly, but there it was. Simple. Undressed. True.

Jay's arms tightened, not enough to trap her, just enough to show how badly the words had landed.

"I missed you too," Jay said.

Alexia nodded once against her chest.

For a while, they stayed like that.

No jokes.

No fixing.

No clean ending tied prettily around the damage.

Just the two of them standing in the bathroom, one bruise between them and two hands learning where to hold, still angry, still in love, still there.

Still choosing not to drop each other.

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