the rose tattoo

I leaned against the wall outside the washroom, still giggling softly. The image of Leo's half-annoyed, half-amused face wouldn't leave my mind. His shirt had a small stain now—thanks to my idiot brother's heroic vomit scene.

Leo's pov ;

I leaned against the bathroom sink, staring at my reflection like it had personally offended me. My shirt was soaked—thank you very much, Jace—and there was still a faint smell of puke in the air.

Perfect.

Fucking perfect.

This wasn't how I imagined my day ending.

I splashed water on my face, trying to cool down—not just from the vomit fiasco but from the way he looked at me when I stepped out earlier.

Kael's pov ; a

I could hear the water running inside, and imagined Leo glaring at the mirror like he always did when something—or someone—messed up his perfect little world.

But for some reason… this time, I didn't feel like apologizing.

The door creaked open, and he stepped out. Hair a little wet, sleeves rolled up, and that damn intense gaze on me again.

Leo: "Still laughing?"

"You look better with puke on you."

He narrowed his eyes and walked closer, so close I had to tilt my head up.

Leo: "You know, you're the only one who finds it fun to test my patience like this."

Me: "And you still haven't strangled me yet. Strange."

For a second, his expression flickered. His jaw clenched, but not in anger. His eyes dropped to my lips—just briefly. Then he rolled his eyes and moved past me.

His gaze flicked to my lips, lingering just a little too long.

I noticed his shirt—half soaked, clinging to his chest. The fabric outlined his muscles, making him look unfairly good. Annoyingly good.

"Your shirt's soaked," I said, eyeing him up and down.

"Obviously," he replied, voice calm but his jaw tight.

"You should change. You'll catch a cold," I said with a shrug. "Not that I care or anything."

He looked at me, eyes sharp like he was trying to read the words I wasn't saying. Then he gave a single nod.

I walked over to Jace's wardrobe and pulled out one of his loose t-shirts. As I handed it to Leo, my eyes slowly traced the line of his shoulders, down to his waist.

"But I'm warning you," I said, lips curling, "my brother's clothes might be a little too tight for someone built like you."

He raised a brow, smirking with that infuriating confidence of his.

"Don't worry," he said, stepping a little closer. "I know how to fit in tight places."

I froze.

My brain short-circuited for half a second.

He took the shirt from my hand, fingers grazing mine deliberately, then walked toward the bathroom like he hadn't just set my entire nervous system on fire.

I stood there, staring at the door as it closed behind him.

This boy is going to be the death of me.

I couldn't help but let my eyes trail over his body—from the curve of his waist up to his chest. My gaze halted when it landed on a familiar mark inked onto his skin.

A rose tattoo.

My heart skipped a beat.

That tattoo… it was the same. The exact same one I had seen on the person who once saved me.

I stepped closer, eyes fixed, needing to be sure. Leo tilted his head slightly, confused by my sudden intensity.

"What?" he asked, furrowing his brows, but I didn't answer.

I was too focused, too stunned.

My hand moved involuntarily, almost touching the tattoo, but I stopped myself just short.

Could it really be him?

Leo raised an eyebrow, catching the shift in my expression. "You're staring at me like you've seen a ghost," he said, voice half-teasing but low with something else—something sharper.

I looked up into his eyes. And for the first time, I didn't see just my annoying enemy. I saw a shadow of the boy who had once held me like I mattered.

My chest tightened.

"You just reminded me of someone," I muttered.

He smirked, stepping a bit closer. "Someone hot, right?"

I rolled my eyes, shoving past him—but my heart was pounding. I couldn't unsee it.

That rose tattoo.

And the warmth I had once felt from a stranger in the dark might not have come from a stranger at all.

It might have come from Leo.

I pressed my fingers to my temple, forcing my brain to focus through the swirl of shock.

It had to be him.

Everything matched—the height, the build, the tattoo... the way those arms had felt around me that night.

I turned to him, no longer playful.

"You… it was you, wasn't it?"

Leo blinked at me, playing dumb. "Where?"

I narrowed my eyes, stepping closer. "That night… you saved me from being assaulted. In that alley."

He froze for a fraction of a second. "I don't know what you're talking about."

My voice grew sharp, nearly trembling. "Stop it, Leo. Don't play games. Just tell me the truth."

His gaze dropped for a moment. A beat passed. Then, without meeting my eyes, he gave the tiniest nod.

"…Yeah."

Something twisted inside my chest. Anger, confusion… and something softer, warmer—something I didn't want to feel for him.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I whispered.

He gave a crooked, almost bitter smile. "Because I didn't want to be your hero."

My breath caught.

He finally met my eyes. "I just… wanted to piss you off."

That smugness, that mask of arrogance—it was back. But now I could see the truth behind it.

And it messed with my head more than anything ever had.

I didn't mean to, but I felt myself getting emotional.

The weight of that memory—the fear, the helplessness, and then the sudden safety—came crashing down all over again.

I looked at Leo, my voice rough and shaky.

"Thank you…"

A single tear escaped before I could stop it.

Leo was standing there shirtless, his chest still damp from earlier, the rose tattoo now clear and impossible to ignore. His expression softened the moment he saw the tear slide down my cheek.

Without saying a word, he stepped forward and pulled me into his arms.

Warm, bare skin met mine as he wrapped me tightly against him.

No teasing. No smug comments.

Just quiet strength and a heartbeat I could feel right through his chest.

I stood there frozen at first—shocked that he of all people was holding me like this.

But then I slowly closed my eyes and leaned into him, breathing in the faint scent of something familiar and comforting.

He whispered, barely audible, "You're safe now…"

My fingers gripped the side of his waist, grounding myself as I let out a shaky breath.

For the first time in a long time, I believed it.

LEO'S POV

I stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying my hair, and instantly caught sight of him leaning against the wall. Still laughing. Still looking at me like I was his personal comedy show.

His eyes dropped to my shirt, and I saw that smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

"You look better with puke on you," he said, like it was the funniest damn thing in the world.

I exhaled slowly through my nose. Patience, Leo. Patience.

I walked up to him, letting my steps echo just enough to feel powerful, to remind him I wasn't the kind of guy who took teasing lightly.

"You're the only one who finds it fun to test my patience like this," I said.

He just shrugged, cocky as ever. "And you still haven't strangled me yet. Strange."

God. The way he said that—like he knew he was getting under my skin. He did it on purpose. All the time.

But that was the problem.

I let him.

My gaze flicked to his lips before I could stop myself. Soft. Pink. Way too tempting. I looked away before I did something stupid, like lean in.

I brushed past him instead.

I tried to stay composed, but then he muttered something about my shirt being soaked. And offered me clothes.

He handed me a t-shirt, and while he did, he looked at me like he was seeing more than he should. Like he was... curious.

"But I'm warning you," he said with a teasing smile, "my brother's clothes might be a little too tight for someone built like you."

I couldn't help it. I smirked.

"Don't worry," I replied, stepping a little too close. "I know how to fit in tight places."

His face—God, the way his whole expression short-circuited—was so worth it.

I let my fingers brush his when I took the shirt from his hands. Just to mess with him. Just to see what would happen.

But before I turned, I caught him staring again.

And this time... he wasn't looking at my face.

His eyes were locked on my chest. Or more precisely—the rose tattoo inked right above my ribs.

And that's when I knew.

The recognition in his eyes hit me like a freight train.

He remembered.

Shit.

I turned halfway, pretending not to notice the storm brewing in his head, but he stepped closer. Too close. And I could see that shift—his teasing gone, replaced by something more serious. More raw.

"You… it was you, wasn't it?" he asked, voice tight.

I hesitated. Played dumb. "Where?"

But he wasn't letting it go. "That night… you saved me from being assaulted. In that alley."

I looked away. Just for a second. Shit.

"…Yeah," I admitted, my voice low.

His whole body went still. And I hated how vulnerable he looked in that moment. Like he was unraveling everything he thought he knew about me.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he asked, softer this time.

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

Because I didn't want to be the guy he looked at like a hero.

Because I didn't want to fall harder than I already had.

I gave a crooked smile, trying to hide the mess inside me.

"Because I didn't want to be your hero. I just wanted to piss you off."

That wasn't the full truth.

But it was all I could manage without falling apart.

I saw the tear before he could wipe it away.

And suddenly, all that bullshit between us—every insult, every sarcastic remark, every petty little war—felt meaningless.

He looked so breakable in that second.

I moved before I could think.

I pulled him into my arms.

He was warm. Fragile. Trembling just a little.

My bare chest pressed against his, and he didn't resist. He just… melted.

"You're safe now," I whispered.

Not because I thought he needed to hear it.

But because I needed to say it.

Because after all this time, after hiding everything behind my walls, it finally broke through—I cared.

More than I should.

More than I ever planned to.

And in that moment, with his fingers digging softly into my waist and his breath shaky against my neck—

I knew I was completely, stupidly, helplessly gone.

For him.