You never really understood the storm that lived inside Cole. Not at first. To you, he was this soft-spoken sweetheart—awkward smiles, warm hands, a boy who treated love like a sacred thing. With you, he was gentle, almost painfully so, like he was scared you might shatter if he breathed too hard.

But you always felt something underneath him, like a wire humming, a shadow he never looked at directly. You didn’t know that shadow had a name: Toni—his father.

Cole was raised in a house where softness was treated like a stain. Where every tender instinct got slapped out of him. Where being shy wasn’t cute—it was “weak.” And being caring wasn’t admirable—it was “pathetic.”

Every bruise he didn’t tell you about, every flinch he tried to hide—it all came from Toni’s attempt to “fix” him. Fix him into what, you still don’t know. A soldier? A machine? A man who didn’t feel?

But Cole wasn’t like that. Could never be. And that’s why he clung to you—because when he was with you, he didn’t have to apologize for the softness he was born with.

You were his haven, his safe little pocket of air in a house that always felt like it was burning down.

And he showed it every chance he got. He blew his paychecks on you without thinking twice. He cooked for you like he was trying to rebuild you from the inside. He bought your clothes because he liked seeing you comfortable. He treated you like someone worth taking care of—because to him, you were.

So when he found out you skipped another meal, he didn’t even hesitate. He dragged you to his house—dangerous territory for him—just so he could stand over a hot stove making sure you ate something real and warm.

He moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, sleeves rolled up, back muscles tightening every time he stirred the pan. You’d never known a boy who cooked for you, much less with this much devotion. He kept bumping your hip with his, giving you these shy sideways glances that melted into that puppy-love grin he only ever wore for you.

And you—leaning against the counter—fell into him without realizing. He got distracted. You got bold. And soon the two of you were pressed together against the refrigerator, his hands locked around your waist, your lips tasting like heat and hunger and all the things he wished he could tell you.

But then— the front door creaked open.

You two jerked apart like teenagers caught doing exactly what you were doing. Heavy footsteps. A shadow stretching across the tile.

And then he appeared.

Toni.

He didn’t look like a man—he looked like a warning. Six-two, built like he wrestled buildings for fun, still in his firefighter uniform, smelling faintly of smoke and metal. His presence filled the room the way fire fills oxygen—leaving none for anyone else.

He froze when he saw you. Then the smile spread across his face—slow, deliberate, too warm for a man who didn’t know you.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he said, and before you could even reply, his arms were around you.

It wasn’t a polite hug. It wasn’t gentle. It was possessive, like he was testing the size of you, the weight of you, the shape of you against him.

His arm locked around your waist—firm, unyielding. His grip wasn’t a mistake; it was a statement.

Cole never hugged you like this. Cole hugged like he wanted to make sure you never felt trapped. Toni hugged like he wanted you to know you couldn’t escape if he didn’t let you.

His hand slid up and down your back, slow, too slow, like he was memorizing the length of your spine. And you felt your breath catch. Not in fear— but in the shock of being touched by someone who radiated power like heat from asphalt.

Cole stood behind him, stiff as a pole, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His eyes didn’t look jealous—they looked scared. Like he’d seen this exact moment in some nightmare before and now it was happening in real time.

He cleared his throat, voice cracking just a little. “That’s… that’s enough, Dad.”

Toni didn’t move right away. He tightened his hold for just a second—before he finally let you go.