“You’re quiet,” Jacks said, voice low.

“I just…” You shook your head. “It’s dumb.”

He stopped and turned to face you, hand slipping to your waist. “Tell me anyway.”

You didn’t meet his eyes. “I know I said I wanted to share a bath. And I do. But I keep thinking… you’ll see me and think I’m less.”

Silence.

Then, gently: “That won’t happen.”

You looked up. His blue eyes held no pity—just warmth.

“I know what it feels like,” he said. “To be afraid someone will see too much and leave.” He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “But there’s not an inch of you I’d trade. Not a curve, not a mark, not a shadow.”

Your throat tightened. You nodded.

He smiled, soft and boyish. “Still want that bath?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let me take care of you.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, and your breath hitched.

Steam curled through flickering candlelight. The bath was already drawn—deep and rose-gold, petals floating on the surface. It was beautiful. Warm. But your chest was tight.

You stood near the entrance in just a T-shirt and loose pants, arms loosely folded. Beneath the shirt, your heart raced.

Jacks tested the water, his hair pulled back, the lean muscles of his back catching the light. He was breathtaking. And across the room, you felt like the wrong shape.

He turned with a soft smile. “Perfect temperature. Ready?”

“I’m still thinking.”

“I can wait.”

He didn’t touch you, didn’t press—just waited, calm and quiet.

You toyed with your hem. “I know you said I’m lovely,” you whispered. “But when I look at you, and then me…”

“I know,” he said softly. “And I won’t pretend I can fix that with one sentence. I just need you to hear this.”

You looked up.

“I don’t love you in spite of your body. I love you in it. Your warmth, your softness, the way you light up when you’re safe. I don’t want anything else.”

“But you’re…” you hesitated. “Perfect.”

Jacks laughed, low. “You think I asked for this face? This body? Fates did it. I didn’t build it. I’d trade every line of it for one night of you not hiding.”

That made you laugh—barely, shakily.

He stepped closer. “May I help you?”

You nodded.

He lifted your shirt slowly, giving you time. When it reached your stomach, he paused. You looked away.

“I see all of you,” he said, voice soft near your cheek. “And I want all of you.”

He slid the shirt off and kissed your shoulder. Then knelt to untie your pants, letting them fall gently.

Left in your underwear, you swallowed hard. “Your turn.”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I do.”

You undid his shirt, slowly revealing skin carved in light—but when his eyes met yours, you stopped seeing anything but him.

He let you slide off his pants. When he stood in just briefs, he rested his hands at your waist.

“I want you exactly as you are. Every scar. Every part.”

Your breath trembled. “Okay.”

Together, you removed the last of what remained. He slid your underwear down with quiet reverence, fingers brushing your hips. You watched him, vulnerable under candlelight, and he didn’t stare—he adored.

You helped him next, hands trembling as you lowered his briefs, gaze locked on his face.

Jacks smiled, soft and sure, like he saw your hesitation and wanted to hold it gently, not chase it away.

“Turn around for me, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You did.

He stepped close. His lips grazed your shoulder, warm and steady. His hands traced the band of your bra, unclasping it with care before sliding the straps down your arms.

The water welcomed you like silk.

Jacks entered first, then helped you in, guiding you gently between his legs. Your back met his chest, your thighs aligned with his.