He pulls out his phone, tapping quickly before turning it toward me.
On the screen—bowls, cups, plates. Broken once. Rebuilt. Gold seams threading through every fracture, like lightning frozen in place. Not hiding the damage—honoring it.
They’re… beautiful.
“It’s this Japanese idea,” he says, softer now. “You don’t hide the breaks. You fill them with gold. Because the damage? It’s part of the story. It makes the thing more valuable, not less.”
My breath catches.
“When I first saw it, I thought…” He shrugs faintly. “Maybe being this fucked up didn’t mean I didn’t deserve peace.”
His eyes lift to mine again, and this time there’s nothing uncertain in them. Nothing wavering.
“But it’s more than that.” His voice lowers, rough with something real. “It means you don’t have to be afraid of me seeing you as you are.”
He moves closer.
“I fucking love you, Seraphina.”
His lips brush mine.
“Even if you think you’re shattered beyond repair…” His hand lifts, his knuckles brushing gently against my cheek. “I see you. I fucking see you. I’m not going anywhere. ”There’s nothing casual in the way he looks at me. Just depth. Endless, consuming depth. “You don’t have to be whole to be loved. I fell for you in the fractures.”
My hands lift on instinct, finding him, wrapping around his neck as my fingers slide into his hair, holding on as though he is the only thing keeping me here, the only thing stopping me from disappearing into the dark. I let him take my hand, allowing him to pull me from the bed and straight into his arms, the warmth of him wrapping around me in a way that feels both grounding and dangerously easy to depend on.
“Trey…” I struggle to form the words. “I love you.”
“I love you, too—” His phone buzzes, lighting up with a message from Chace.
“What fucking timing,” he groans, glancing at it before setting it back down.
“Chace wants everyone to meet here,” he says, his voice still rough with exhaustion, though there’s an alertness beneath it now, something sharp and aware. “He didn’t say why, but I don’t think it’s anything—”
A knock at the suite door cuts him off.
“Are you alright with them coming in, Dove?” I nod.
The sound slices through the moment, abrupt and unwelcome, and I feel his body tense slightly before he exhales and releases me, stepping away to move toward the closet.
He drags his t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it carelessly to the floor before pulling out a pair of grey sweatpants and stepping into them, his movements efficient, unbothered, a different person than from just a moment ago.
I watch him without meaning to.
Or maybe I do mean to.
My gaze traces over the golden expanse of his skin, over the ink that marks him, the lines and shadows of tattoos that tell stories I’m still learning, my eyes catching on the way his muscles shift and flex with every movement, the quiet strength in him that never seems to dim, not even when he’s running on nothing.
Even after the ugliness I showed him, he takes it on like it’s nothing… the weight in my chest hasn’t gone, but somehow, there’s space now… for more. To feel him.
He fills my lungs… my heart. My body.
Even like this—half-dressed, sleep-deprived, pulled too quickly into whatever comes next—Trey doesn’t just exist.
He thrives.
He turns, catching me staring, and his mouth curves instantly, those dimples appearing like they were waiting for the moment, like they belong to me as much as they do to him.
He runs a hand through his unruly hair, his tongue flicking against the metal of his lip ring before he reaches for a cap, flipping it backwards and settling it low over his head, taming the dark chaos just enough.
