Different

23.

We arrive at Jace's place exactly ten minutes later, just like always. There's something oddly comforting about the rhythm we've slipped into, even if everything still feels new. The door swings open, and before I can even take two steps inside, Jace is already tugging his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor in a way that's completely uncharacteristic of his usually spotless place. He's down to his boxers now, and my heart races at the unspoken assumption—I guess he's showering first. 

I linger near the kitchen table, awkwardly shifting my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for him to disappear into the bathroom so I can somewhat relax again. But just as he reaches the doorway, he pauses. Then, he turns.

"Come with me," he says, locking eyes with mine.

My breath catches. "What?" I stammer, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

"Come shower with me," he repeats, his voice quieter this time, rougher—more intimate. His gaze drops, not disrespectfully, but like he's quietly appreciating the view, like he's memorizing me. He's not joking. Not this time.

My confidence wavers. Jace wouldn't be the first guy to see me naked, but that doesn't mean the nerves go away. Not when it's him. Somehow, it feels different. More vulnerable. More real. I don't have the body of a model—never have—and I know Jace has probably been with girls who are all curves and effortless confidence.

As if reading my thoughts, he steps closer. His eyes stay on mine. "You don't have to hide from me," he murmurs, brushing a hand along my cheek. The warmth of his touch calms my storm for a moment. "Besides, it'll save us time."

My heart is racing, pounding up to my ears. My doubts scream at me, but his voice drowns them out. I take a shaky breath, then slip my hand into his outstretched one. His fingers wrap around mine gently, like he's holding something precious.

"Come on," he says, smiling softly, and pulls me into the bathroom. The door closes behind us with a quiet click. I exhale slowly.

"Turn around," I tell him, my voice barely above a whisper.

He raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Really? Don't take away all my fun," he teases, giving me a playful kiss on the cheek before obliging. He turns away, and the sudden lack of eye contact gives me a fragile pocket of courage.

I peel off my clothes, layer by layer, trying not to overthink. My fingers tremble slightly, especially when I get down to my underwear. I can hear the water running now—he's already in. Why am I so nervous? Because it's Jace. That's why.

"Are you coming, or what?" His voice cuts through the steam, light but inviting. I glance toward the shower. His head peeks out from behind the curtain, shampoo in his hair, drops of water clinging to his skin. He looks maddeningly good, like a scene from a dream I didn't know I had.

I nod, almost to myself, and finally step out of the last barrier between us. Arms crossed over my chest, I slide into the shower, back still turned, trying to disappear into the steam.

Then I hear it. "Fuck," Jace murmurs behind me, his voice hoarse with restraint.

Before I can respond, I feel his warmth press up behind me. His hands slide around my arms, slowly guiding them down to my sides. I freeze, vulnerable and exposed, but he holds me like I'm something fragile and sacred.

He brushes my hair to one side, fingers trailing over my shoulder. His breath tickles the curve of my neck. "Turn around, Mila."

My whole body is tense with anticipation. But I turn, inch by inch, until I'm facing him. And suddenly, the world narrows. There's only steam, water, and the storm of emotion in Jace's eyes. His gaze drifts over my body slowly, reverently. His touch follows, a single finger tracing a path along my arm, across my collarbone, up to my jaw. He lifts my chin until I have no choice but to meet his eyes.

"You're so damn beautiful," he says, low and raw, and for once in my life, I believe it. I feel seen. Not just looked at—seen. Known. Wanted. His eyes flicker down again, and I know what he's thinking. I feel it too. "You have no idea how hard it is not to—" he starts, but I cut him off gently.

"We can't be late," I whisper. My voice is barely there, but the meaning lands. I see the frustration flicker in his eyes, but also the understanding.

He sighs softly, then switches places with me under the stream of hot water. "Alright, I'm done. Here."

I'm intrigued to roam his body with my eyes like he did to mine, but I'm too scared. My eyes don't dare to go lower than his perfect upper body. I let the water cascade over me, rinsing away the tension, the fear. Jace stays in the shower, even though he said he was finished.

"I thought you were ready?" I ask, glancing back at him.

"I am," he says, unmoving. "But I'm not going anywhere."

I smile to myself, cheeks flushed not just from the heat. There's something grounding in his presence. Something safe. I shampoo quickly, aware of the time. As I shut off the water, Jace steps out and offers me a towel. I wrap it around myself, grateful for the barrier again.

"Thank you," I say, voice soft.

"No problem." I bend down to grab my underwear just as Jace asks, "Did you bring enough clothes to leave here? I made room in your drawer." My drawer.

 I look up—and immediately blush. He's still naked. Completely. And I'm eye level with... everything. My face turns scarlet as I shoot back up. "Uhm, no. I forgot."

He chuckles, not bothering to tease me more. "Alright. Just bring them next time."

I throw on my jeans and sweater as quickly as I can. When I step out, Jace is already lying on the bed—fully clothed. Who does that? Lay on his bed in outside clothes?

"Do you have a blow dryer?" I ask.

"Yeah. Under the sink."

I finish getting ready and join him. We head out toward campus, walking together in a silence that's not awkward—it's just full. Full of everything we didn't say in the shower.

As we cross campus, he doesn't hold my hand. I notice. But I don't mind too much. The air around us buzzes with unspoken attention. Students glance our way, whisper. Jace is Jace—people look. Still, when he greets a couple of friends and doesn't introduce me, something inside dips just a little.

"This is me," I say once we reach my building.

"Alright. I'll see you later," he says, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek—barely there. It's sweet. Too sweet. I want more. I watch him walk away, the space he leaves behind a little colder, a little louder.

I slide into my seat at exactly 8:55 a.m., trying to pull myself back into reality. But all I can feel is the echo of his touch, the water, the look in his eyes when he called me beautiful. Maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to believe it.

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