Copyright © 2026 Nuno R.F.C.R. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles, reviews, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by applicable copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), actual events, or real locales is entirely coincidental.
"La Dolce Vita"
Hudson lay on the bed with one arm flung over his head, staring out the tall window at a slice of Milan, trying to let his mind be quiet.
It wasn't.
Hudson turned his head slightly.
The apartment was all clean lines and emptiness, luxury that didn't need to prove itself. Pale stone. Dark wood. Art on the walls that looked expensive and vaguely intimidating, like it would judge you for eating pizza in bed. There were no stacks of mail, no clutter. A place designed to be returned to, not occupied.
And yet, Liam had been in it for three days with him. Naked. Laughing. Stealing bites off Hudson's plate like a teenager. Pressing his forehead to Hudson's when he fucked him, whispering "I love you" into his mouth as he came inside him.
Hudson swallowed.
That word still did strange things to him.
Love.
He'd always been good at the beginning of things. The flirtation. The rush. The safety of not being seen too clearly. Commitment, though, commitment meant letting someone touch the parts of you that didn't heal cleanly. It meant allowing joy to become a habit instead of a one-night miracle. It meant waking up and not immediately planning an escape.
Hudson exhaled slowly, feeling the air move through his lungs.
His phone buzzed on the duvet near his hip. He glanced down, half expecting another headline, another ghost of LA trying to crawl into their temporary sanctuary.
Instead, it was Mateo.
A meme screenshot filled the screen, some dramatic soap opera still of a woman clutching her pearls, with text slapped over it: WHEN YOUR ROOMMATE RUNS OFF WITH A MOVIE STAR AND YOU'RE LEFT WITH THE FAME PLAGUE.
Under it, Mateo had typed.
MATEO: Rent is paid. Wolves are still on the street. Also, I miss your dumb face.
Hudson's mouth tugged into a smile before he could stop it.
Another message came immediately.
MATEO: PS - If you die in Italy, I'm taking your clothes.
Hudson let out a soft laugh. He typed back with his thumb.
HUDSON: If I die in Italy, bury me in a fluffy robe. Tell the world I was happy.
Three dots appeared, vanished, appeared again. Mateo responded.
MATEO: I hate that that was cute. Also, tell Liam he owes us a new sidewalk because the paparazzi sat on ours for two days like it was a bench at the zoo.
Hudson's smile lingered as he set the phone down.
The shower shut off.
Hudson could hear Liam moving behind the bathroom door, the squeak of something being opened, the sound of a towel dragged across skin. Hudson pictured him without trying, because his mind had become dangerously comfortable with the image of Liam naked, existing close by.
He sat up slowly and reached for the robe folded at the edge of the bed. Precisely the kind Hudson loved: white, thick, absurdly plush, the collar like a cloud. He slid his arms into it, cinched it at the waist, and padded across the floor barefoot. At the balcony door, he paused. The lock clicked softly as he opened the door.
Air rolled in, fresh, different.
Milan spread out in front of him like a painting that moved. Rooftops in warm terracotta, pale façades with shuttered windows, narrow streets threading between buildings like veins. A church dome in the distance. Somewhere below, scooters whispered by in quick bursts, and voices drifted upward, Italian consonants slicing the air with effortless confidence.
The morning light wasn't harsh like LA. It was softer, gilding the edges of everything. It turned glass into molten gold and made the city look as if it had been brushed with honey.
Hudson leaned his forearms on the balcony rail and stared.
He let the view sink into him.
Then, warmth touched him from behind.
Liam.
He came barefoot, fresh from the shower, naked and unbothered. He slid into Hudson's space like he'd always lived there, like he belonged against Hudson's spine. His arms wrapped around Hudson's waist, forearms settling low and firm, and he tucked his chin near Hudson's shoulder.
"Morning, beautiful," Liam murmured, rough with sleep and something softer.
Hudson's smile came easy now. He tilted his head just enough that Liam's lips brushed the curve where his neck met his shoulder.
"Morning," Hudson said, and then, because he couldn't help himself, "You know normal people put on pants before they walk into balconies."
Liam hummed against his skin. "I'm not normal."
"That's...an understatement," Hudson said, though he leaned back into him anyway, letting Liam's heat soak through the robe.
Liam's hands tightened briefly, possessive in a gentle way. "It's a lifestyle."
Hudson snorted. "You're going to get arrested for indecent exposure."
Liam's mouth curved against Hudson's shoulder. "In Europe?"
Hudson glanced back at him, eyes bright. "Yes, Liam, in Europe. They have laws here, too."
Liam kissed the edge of Hudson's jaw, slow and unhurried. "They also have romance," he replied, nudging his morning woody into Hudson's ass.
Hudson's breath hitched despite himself, and he hated that Liam always noticed.
Liam's lips brushed his ear. "What are you thinking about?"
Hudson pretended to consider. "I'm thinking that you're going to make me turn into one of those annoying people who post pictures of croissants."
Liam's laugh was low and quiet, vibrating through Hudson's back. "Didn't you take a picture of your espresso yesterday?"
"That was for Mateo," Hudson protested.
"Sure," Liam said, unimpressed. His hands slid up, resting over Hudson's ribs, thumbs stroking small circles that made Hudson's concentration wobble.
Hudson swallowed and forced his voice back into steady territory. "I want to walk around today."
Liam paused, as if he'd been asked something deeply unreasonable. "We already walked around yesterday," he said, nudging his pulsing cock against Hudson's fluffy robe.
Hudson made an offended noise. "We walked around for, like...thirty minutes."
"I'm pretty sure it was two hours," Liam corrected gently.
Hudson turned in Liam's arms enough to look at him, eyebrows raised. "We barely saw anything. You kept taking side streets like you were avoiding an ambush."
Liam's expression went faintly guilty, which only made Hudson more annoyed.
But it was short-lived.
Liam leaned in and kissed him, one slow press of mouths that stole the argument right out of Hudson's lungs. When he pulled back, Hudson blinked, dazed for a second, then scowled on principle.
"You can't kiss your way out of everything," Hudson said.
Liam's smile sharpened. "Watch me."
Before Hudson could react, Liam tightened his hold and pivoted them away from the railing. Hudson yelped, startled more by the suddenness than the intent, the robe swaying around his legs.
"Liam," Hudson laughed, digging his heels in playfully. "No..."
"Yes," Liam said, voice warm and certain.
Hudson tried to twist away, but Liam's grip was firm and skilled, guiding him backward through the open balcony doors like a dance. Hudson shoved at Liam's chest, half-heartedly, mostly for show, and Liam caught Hudson's wrists easily, pinning them for a heartbeat with a grin.
"Stop," Hudson warned, breathless.
"Make me," Liam said.
Hudson attempted one last, dramatic struggle, the kind that made his robe slip slightly off one shoulder.
Liam's gaze dropped to the exposed skin, darkening. "That's...foul play."
Hudson's mouth opened for a comeback.
He didn't get one.
Liam lifted him, just enough to throw off Hudson's balance, and Hudson let out a surprised laugh as they toppled together onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and sheets. The mattress caught them with a soft bounce. Hudson landed on his back, robe falling open.
Liam hovered over him, breath steady, eyes bright.
Hudson's laugh faded into something quieter, a faked annoyance. "Jesus Christ, what's wrong with you?" Hudson said, lips stretching into a smile, as he felt Liam's dick brush his taint. "I literally still have two of your loads in me," he added, the cutest giggle fleeing his throat.
Liam dipped his head and kissed the corner of Hudson's mouth. "Still room for a third."
Hudson tried to roll his eyes, but Liam shifted closer, sliding between Hudson's legs with a smooth inevitability that made Hudson's body respond before his pride could. Liam's hands guided Hudson's knees apart, making room for himself.
Hudson stared up at the ceiling as if it might provide advice.
It did not.
Liam's mouth found Hudson's neck.
Not a hungry bite, not the sharp edge of needing. Something slower. A kiss that lingered, followed by a soft nibble that made Hudson's toes curl. Liam breathed him in like a bad habit. The best kind of habit.
Hudson's voice came out a little too casual, which was always his tell. "You know," he said, blinking hard, "I was trying to have a wholesome morning."
Hudson could feel Liam's tip coasting near his sphincter, pushing softly against the soft skin.
Liam hummed against his skin, lips moving along the line of Hudson's throat. "This is wholesome," he groaned, pushing his hips forward.
"That is...mm..." Hudson's breath hitched as Liam's teeth grazed him again, gentler this time, teasing. "...not what wholesome means..."
Liam lifted his head just enough to speak, his mouth still close to Hudson's pulse. "In Milan, it does."
Hudson let out a shaky laugh. "You can't just make up cultural rules."
Liam was leaking precum now. Enough to glaze Hudson's entrance, the moisture gliding down his skin.
Liam kissed him again, right under the jaw, where it made Hudson's thoughts scatter. "Sure, I can. I'm an actor."
Hudson stared at the ceiling as if it had personally betrayed him. Liam's hand slid up Hudson's side beneath the robe, palm warm, thumb stroking lazily. Hudson's breath deepened, his body softening into Liam's body.
That's when Liam's hips made the slightest twitch, pushing forward with a slow, steady movement. Like a new, well-oiled machine, Liam's nine inches slid right in.
In one flawless motion.
"Oh, fuck..." Hudson moaned, teeth biting into Liam's skin.
Hudson kept talking anyway, because it was Hudson, because he always tried to narrate himself out of vulnerability. "I just...fuck...wanted to see the city," Hudson said, voice strained by the effort of sounding normal when his hole was being stretched by Liam's cock for the third time that morning. "Like, you know...an actual tourist. I want gelato. I want..."
Liam's lips brushed Hudson's throat again, and the word caught. Hudson swallowed and tried again, stubborn. "I want to be one of those people who pretend they know about art."
Liam chuckled against Hudson's skin, not pulling out on purpose. "You already pretend you know film."
Hudson gasped a laugh as he felt Liam's cock pulse inside him. "That's rude."
"It's true," Liam murmured, kissing him softer now, slower, the affection in it unmistakable. "You're terrible at lying."
Hudson's hands slid into Liam's hair, fingers threading through it with a kind of ease that would've terrified him two weeks ago. Now it felt natural, like his body had learned Liam's shape, his weight, his rhythm.
The kisses turned tender, the strokes gentle, almost absentminded in their intimacy, like Liam wasn't trying to conquer anything, only savor it. Hudson felt it in the way Liam lingered, in the way he breathed out like he was relieved Hudson was still here.
Hudson's voice softened despite himself. "Okay. We can...walk later."
Liam stilled, lifting his head.
For a moment, their eyes met, Liam's expression open and warm, Hudson's flushed and honest.
Liam smiled like the sun had finally found him. "Later," he agreed quietly.
Then he ducked back down to Hudson's neck, kissing him, and Hudson let his head fall back into the pillows, laughter and softness mingling in his chest.
Liam bred Hudson again that morning.
Third load.
And counting.
*
Hudson woke to the sudden, undignified shock of being reminded he had an ass.
The sheets yanked down, air rushing over his legs, and then, smack, a sharp, playful slap landed right where Hudson least expected it. He jerked upright with a yelp that immediately died when he saw Liam standing at the foot of the bed, wearing that faintly smug expression of a man who'd decided the morning belonged to him.
"Get dressed, Arizona," Liam said, voice gravelly with sleep and mischief.
Hudson blinked hard, trying to reassemble himself into something coherent. "Fuck, Liam, that hurt..."
Liam's mouth twitched. "You seemed to enjoy it a couple of hours ago," he teased. "Come on. We're going for a walk."
Hudson stared at him for one more beat, then his grin split wide, boyish and absurd. He launched himself out of bed like an excited child and threw himself straight into Liam's arms. Liam caught him easily, almost laughing at the impact.
Hudson kissed him, quick, bright, joyful, then kissed him again, slower, as if sealing the plan into place. "Okay," Hudson breathed against his mouth.
Liam's hands tightened around Hudson's waist. "Shower," he ordered.
Hudson saluted, ridiculous. "Sir."
Liam arched an eyebrow.
Hudson bolted toward the bathroom before Liam could retaliate, laughing as he went. The shower started, water roaring, and Liam stood there for a second in the bedroom, smiling to himself, caught off guard by how easy joy could look on Hudson. How it simply arrived.
Three days in Milan, and Hudson had already started collecting the city the way he collected everything else: carefully, tenderly, like a person afraid a good thing might vanish if he grabbed it too hard.
They left the apartment with no plan that made sense on paper. Liam wore a cap, sunglasses, and a plain jacket. Hudson wore his hoodie like a familiar piece of himself, the backpack light and unnecessary on his shoulder because he still hadn't fully stopped believing they'd need to run at any moment. But the street greeted them like they were just two men.
Two men who walked.
Down narrow streets that opened into piazzas. Past storefronts with windows and mannequins. Past old men smoking with the confidence of people who had survived entire eras and still had opinions about them.
Hudson stopped at everything.
He stopped at a tiny grocery shop and insisted they go in "just to look." The kind of place Hudson would've walked past in Los Angeles without noticing, small, tucked between a leather goods store and a narrow doorway that looked like it led to someone's private courtyard.
A bell chimed when they entered.
Shelves climbed the walls, crowded with jars and tins and bottles, olive oils trapped behind glass, tomatoes packed in neat rows, pasta hanging in loops. A wooden counter ran along the back where a few cheeses sat under glass.
Hudson stopped just inside the doorway, eyes widening. "Oh," he breathed, almost reverent. "This is...this is perfect."
Liam lingered half a step behind him, hands in his pockets, cap low, sunglasses on. Hudson drifted forward as if pulled, fingertips brushing the neck of a bottle. He read a label slowly, mouthing the words.
Liam's mouth twitched. "You're romanticizing canned tomatoes?"
Hudson shot him a look over his shoulder. "Don't ruin this."
"I'm not," Liam said.
Hudson pointed at him. "You're going to bully me for wanting a nice olive oil."
Liam shrugged. "We have olive oil."
Hudson's eyes narrowed. "Do we?"
Liam didn't answer immediately.
Hudson took that silence and ran with it. He turned fully toward Liam, crossing his arms. "You have olive oil that was bought for you. There's a difference."
Liam leaned closer, voice low and teasing. "Is there?"
Hudson's grin turned wicked. "Your kitchen has never seen a real human meal."
Liam's smile softened, but he kept the banter. "I eat."
Hudson stared at him. "You eat food out of cardboard boxes."
Liam laughed quietly, like Hudson had struck something true. "I have...people."
Hudson stepped toward him, eyes bright with mischief. "You mean employees."
Liam lifted his hands, surrendering. "Okay. Fine. My kitchen is...underused."
Hudson's expression flickered with something tender beneath the joke. "No shit."
Before Liam could respond, a woman appeared from behind the counter, small, lively, hair pinned up, apron dusted with flour. She moved with the speed of someone who had no patience for hesitation.
"Buongiorno," she said brightly, then looked at Hudson with immediate warmth. Her eyes swept him, his hoodie, his curious face, then she smiled wider, delighted.
“Come posso aiutarti, belissimo?”
Hudson blinked.
He glanced at Liam like a child caught in class without the homework. "Uh..."
Liam stepped forward smoothly, speaking in Italian with the ease of someone who didn't need to think about it. His voice sounded different in the language, softer at the edges, more musical, like the consonants belonged in his mouth.
"Penso che abbia bisogno di un piccolo aiuto," Liam said with a wink.
The woman's eyebrows lifted, recognizing Liam's fluency, then her smile turned knowing.
Hudson watched the exchange, half amused, half stunned. The woman looked back at Hudson and began speaking slowly, gesturing to the shelves. Hudson nodded enthusiastically, even though he understood virtually nothing that she had just said.
He turned to Liam, whispering, "You're fluent?"
Liam glanced at him. "Yes."
Hudson's eyes widened further. "Since when?"
Liam shrugged with maddening casualness.
"That's not..." Hudson hissed, then stopped, realizing the woman was watching them with fond curiosity. Hudson attempted a smile in her direction, then leaned toward Liam again. "Why didn't you tell me you speak Italian?"
Liam's mouth twitched. "Because you looked cute struggling."
Hudson opened his mouth to argue, then caught himself and made a slight, helpless sound of frustration instead. He turned back to the woman, gestured vaguely at a shelf of oils, and said in his best attempt. “Questo...buono?”
The woman laughed, delighted by the effort, and launched into explanation anyway, hands moving, eyes shining. Liam translated with gentle patience, pointing out different bottles and describing flavor notes as if he had any business knowing them.
"Cold-pressed," Liam said, lifting one bottle. "From Liguria. Peppery."
Hudson took it from him and held it. "Peppery," he repeated, nodding solemnly.
Liam smirked. "You don't know what that means."
"Sure I do," Hudson said. "It means it tastes like...Italy."
Liam's laugh was quiet.
The woman led Hudson to a basket of produce, tomatoes, small zucchinis, bunches of basil so fragrant that Hudson felt it in the back of his throat.
Hudson picked up basil, inhaled, and closed his eyes. "Oh my God."
Liam leaned in, amused. "Don't. You're gonna get me hard again."
Hudson opened his eyes, dead serious. "You're disgusting."
The woman cackled at Hudson's expression, even if she didn't understand the words. Something about joy translated easily.
Hudson filled a small basket with pasta, basil, cherry tomatoes, garlic, a wedge of parmesan, and a small bottle of wine that the woman insisted on with the authority of an aunt who knew best. She handed him a jar of something dark and glossy.
Hudson frowned. "What is this?"
Liam listened to the woman's explanation, then translated. "Truffle paste."
Hudson's eyes widened. "Truffle?"
Liam nodded.
Hudson clutched it to his chest. "I'm buying this. For the plot."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "For the plot."
Hudson nodded fervently. "Yes. For the narrative," he said, turning to the woman, suddenly earnest. He pointed at the basket, then mimed stirring a pot, then pointed toward Liam, then pressed a hand to his heart and said slowly, carefully, in the few words he could summon. “Lo...cucinare...per lui...stasera.”
The woman's face lit up.
She responded in rapid Italian, delighted and teasing, then reached across the counter to pat Hudson's forearm as if blessing him.
Hudson looked at Liam with wide eyes. "Did I say that right?"
Liam's gaze was fixed on Hudson, something soft and astonished flickering behind his eyes. He nodded once.
The woman repeated something, smiling.
Liam's mouth curved. "She asked if we're married."
Hudson choked. "What?"
Liam's smile deepened, wicked. "She thinks you're very serious."
Hudson glanced at the woman, mortified and amused, then looked back at Liam. "Tell her...tell her I'm just hungry."
Liam said something to the woman, who laughed and waved a hand dismissively like yes, yes, sure, then pointed at Hudson's basket and added more advice.
Hudson watched, then leaned closer to Liam, voice low. "You know, it's kind of sweet that she thinks we're..."
Liam murmured, "Aren't we?"
Hudson's throat tightened. He recovered quickly with humor because he needed it. "Not legally."
Liam's eyes held his, the teasing fading into something warm. "We can talk about that later."
Hudson blinked, then groaned.
Liam leaned close, voice soft. "Are you actually buying truffle paste?"
Hudson pointed at Liam's chest. "Yes. I'm giving your kitchen a purpose."
Liam's smile returned. "My kitchen has a purpose."
"Name one time it was used," Hudson challenged.
Liam paused, then, very, very slowly, shrugged.
Hudson gasped dramatically, then turned to the woman, gesturing at Liam like he was presenting evidence. "Vedi? Non..." he stopped, frustrated. "He...no cook."
The woman laughed so hard she put a hand to her chest, then said something that made Liam's eyebrows rise.
"Posso dirlo," she replied.
"What?" Hudson asked immediately.
Liam's grin turned sly. "She said she can tell."
"I just," he said, the confession slipping out quietly, unexpectedly. He looked around the shop, at the jars, the produce, the woman's kindness, and his voice softened. "I don't know...I wanna do something special for you."
Liam's smile stilled.
He looked at Hudson like he was seeing him all over again, the person beneath it: someone offering care with both hands, unguarded. Liam's throat moved.
He reached out, slowly, and touched Hudson's wrist. "Okay," Liam said quietly, voice careful around emotion.
Outside again, the city kept unfolding in bright, ordinary miracles. They passed a bakery window, and Hudson nearly pressed his face to the glass, eyes widening at rows of pastries.
Liam murmured, "Again? Hudson, you're going to bankrupt me in croissants."
Hudson turned toward him, utterly serious. "And?"
Liam laughed, then seemed startled by the sound of his own laughter as if it had surprised him into existence.
They kept walking.
And then Hudson laughed loudly, really loudly, at something stupid, something Liam said under his breath. It echoed down the street, light and unashamed.
Liam flinched.
It was subtle, almost invisible, his shoulders tightening, his head turning instinctively, eyes scanning for cameras, for attention, for the punishment that always followed joy.
Liam's eyes flicked over the faces around them.
Nobody looked.
No one pointed.
No one lifted a phone.
A couple strolled past, arguing gently about directions. A woman on a bicycle weaved around them without even glancing. Two teenagers walked hand in hand, completely unconcerned that the world might be watching.
Liam's shoulders dropped, one millimeter at a time, as if his body were relearning how to exist.
Later, Hudson stopped at a café because he'd decided he wanted to try ordering "like a local," which was, objectively, a terrible idea.
It sat in a corner, with small tables outside, a narrow door, and warm light inside. Hudson stopped at the entrance like he was about to step onstage.
Liam stayed a few paces behind, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but alert in that way that never fully left him.
Hudson cleared his throat. "This is important," he whispered over his shoulder.
Liam tilted his head. "Coffee?"
Hudson nodded gravely. "My dignity."
Liam's mouth twitched. "You lost that the moment you bought truffle paste 'for the plot.'"
Hudson ignored him and approached the counter.
The barista looked up and smiled immediately, young, handsome in that effortless European way, hair dark and neat, a small hoop earring glinting when he turned his head. His smile widened the second he saw Hudson, as if Hudson's face had improved his shift.
"Ciao," the barista said, voice smooth. "Dimmi."
Hudson blinked. He'd rehearsed the first word. He had not rehearsed the second. "Ciao," Hudson said back, then smiled too wide, like an overenthusiastic exchange student. “Io...uh...”
The barista's grin turned amused, gentle. "English is okay."
Hudson shook his head quickly. "No, no. I..." He pressed a hand to his chest, earnest. “Io voglio...parlare...” He searched his brain, then added triumphantly, "...Italiano."
The barista laughed, soft and delighted. “Italiano, sì.”
Hudson nodded, encouraged by the laughter like it was applause. "Sì. Sì." He leaned forward and pointed at the espresso machine as if it might help him. “Io...vorrei...un...cappuccino.”
The barista's eyebrows lifted in charmed surprise. "Un cappuccino."
Hudson nodded quickly, then tried to add something more complex, because Hudson always went too far when he felt brave.
“And...io...” He paused, eyes flicking up to the menu board like it was written in ancient runes. "Io...also...want..."
Liam's mouth curved behind him, unseen, but his eyes narrowed in affection. He watched Hudson's shoulders square with determination, watched the way Hudson's turquoise eyes brightened when he tried again, as if language was a door he was determined to open with his bare hands.
Hudson pointed at a pastry under glass, then looked at the barista. “Questo...um...cornetto? Io...voglio...uno. Per...me." He gestured to himself, then, without thinking, gestured behind him toward Liam. “E...per lui. Lui è..." Hudson faltered, then offered the only word he was fully confident in. "...bello."
The barista's laugh came out louder this time. He leaned forward slightly, eyes shining, and answered in Italian too fast for Hudson to catch. But the tone was teasing, flirtatious.
"Sei la cosa più carina..." he muttered.
Hudson laughed back as if he understood.
The barista's gaze flicked past Hudson for the first time, toward Liam lingering behind. He lingered for a beat. Then his eyes returned to Hudson, and his smile sharpened, playful.
He said something again, shorter. "Lui è con te? O è tuo fratello?"
Hudson blinked and looked helplessly pleased anyway. "Uh...sì."
Liam watched the exchange. Almost amused. He could see the barista flirting, the small tilt of his head, the way his eyes stayed on Hudson's lips a fraction too long. He could see Hudson being completely oblivious, answering with luminous sincerity, smiling like a golden retriever who'd been praised for sitting.
And what made it even more endearing was the way Hudson's eyes kept darting back, quick, subconscious checks over his shoulder toward Liam.
To make sure Liam was there.
Every few seconds, those turquoise eyes would flick back, like a tether tightening. Like the whole moment only mattered because Liam was witnessing it.
The barista noticed it too, smile faltering just a hair, then returning brighter, like a challenge. Hudson, oblivious, kept going.
He tapped the counter gently, as if negotiating with the universe. "Io...um… also… water. Acqua. Per favore. And...eh..." He gestured at Liam again, earnest. "He...he wants..." Hudson turned to look at Liam fully now, brows raised. "What do you want?"
Liam stepped forward, slow and smooth. He leaned his forearm on the counter beside Hudson, close enough that Hudson could feel his heat. Liam's presence shifted the space immediately, that quiet gravity that made people pay attention without understanding why.
Liam smiled at the barista. Then he turned his head slightly and spoke to Hudson in a soft murmur. "He asked if I'm your brother." Liam translated under his breath, eyes glinting.
Hudson choked. "What? No!"
Liam's eyes danced. "He also suggested I could be your...jealous boyfriend."
Hudson stared at him, mortified and amused. "Did he?" Liam nodded. Hudson's laugh came out high and nervous. "Well...pardon my crappy Italian."
The barista cleared his throat lightly, still smiling, but his eyes were now more watchful, less playful, as if Liam's arrival had changed the rules.
Liam turned back to the barista and spoke in fluent Italian, voice calm, charming. "Due caffè, un dolce, una bottiglia d'acqua. Simple. Clean. No struggle.
Hudson watched him with annoyed awe. "Rub it in."
Liam didn't look at Hudson yet. He leaned closer, mouth near Hudson's ear, like he was saying something sweet.
Instead, he whispered, low and dangerous, "I plan to. Besides, I'm hard just watching you try."
Hudson froze for half a second, then giggled, a breathless little sound that made Liam's eyes soften, made his mouth twitch with satisfaction.
"You're gross," Hudson whispered back, laughing.
Liam murmured, "And you fucking love it."
Hudson tried to respond, but the barista was already setting down the cups with a little more force than necessary. Not enough to be rude. But definitely enough to be pointed.
He slid the espresso toward Hudson first, then the pastry, his smile still polite, but his gaze flicked to Liam, lingering a beat longer than it had to.
Slightly peeved.
Hudson didn't notice. He was still giggling, cheeks pink, eyes darting to Liam again like a habit he was learning to enjoy. Liam's hand brushed Hudson's lower back, casual and possessive, and Hudson leaned into it without thinking, entirely at ease.
The barista's eyes narrowed just a fraction. Then he looked back at Hudson, smile returning, professional, but cooler now. "Prego," he said.
Hudson beamed. "Grazie."
Liam's mouth curved as he picked up his own cup.
And the barista, glancing once more at Liam with faint annoyance, turned away to the machine.
By late afternoon, their wandering had turned into a language all its own. They stopped speaking as much, not because anything was wrong, but because the silence felt inhabited rather than empty. So the city filled in the gaps: footsteps on stone, distant bells, snippets of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from nearby people passing by.
At some point, so naturally Hudson almost didn't notice, Liam's hand drifted toward Hudson's. Not grabbing. Hudson glanced down at the space between them.
He didn't hesitate.
He laced their fingers together. They kept walking. Hand in hand. And nothing happened.
No heads turned.
No eyes lingered.
Hudson felt something in his chest loosen. A knot he'd carried so long he'd forgotten it was there. Liam's thumb brushed the skin along Hudson's knuckles, absent and intimate. The touch was small, almost unconscious.
They walked like that for a long time.
Then, the sun shifted. The light softened. The city turned honeyed at the edges, warm and patient. Hudson's breathing slowed. Liam's pace matched his. Their hands stayed locked. And in the hush of that shared stride, Liam finally spoke.
"I want to take you somewhere," Liam said.
Hudson turned his head slightly, looking at him. "Where?" Hudson whispered. Liam's thumb traced Hudson's knuckle once more.
"You'll see," he said.
They turned a corner, and the street grew quieter. The buildings here looked older, the façades worn in a way that felt lived-in rather than neglected, history pressed into stone, windows glowing from within.
Then Hudson saw it.
A modest marquee. A narrow entrance. A name in clean lettering that seemed too understated for what it promised.
Cinema Beltrade.
Hudson slowed without meaning to. Something in his chest shifted before his brain could label it.
"No fucking way…" he breathed.
Liam watched him from the side. He nudged him forward with his shoulder. "Come on."
The ticket booth was small, glass smudged with fingerprints, paper schedules pinned behind it. Inside, an older man sat reading a newspaper as if time moved differently in this building. He looked up, eyes bright, and spoke in Italian.
Hudson's face did the polite blank thing it did whenever the words slid right past him. Liam leaned in and spoke back. Hudson watched the exchange like it was a magic trick he still hadn't gotten used to.
"Due biglietti, per favore," Liam said, pointing at the popcorn behind the older man. "Medi. Salati."
The man smiled. His gaze flicked to Hudson, then to Liam, and his smile deepened, like he'd seen love enter this theater before, countless times, and it always arrived in different clothes.
Hudson's voice came out soft. "What are they playing?"
Liam's mouth curved. "You'll see."
The man slid two paper tickets under the glass. Hudson took one, staring down at it like it was an artifact.
And then he read the title printed in bold.
ALL ABOUT EVE.
Hudson froze.
His heart did something stupid and loud.
He looked up at Liam, eyes wide, shining. Hudson could feel the warmth behind them, almost shy in their intent.
"Seemed...fitting," Liam said quietly.
Hudson's throat tightened. "You remembered that?"
Liam shrugged, as if it was nothing. "I remember everything you say."
Hudson stared at him for a long second, emotion rising sharply in his chest. Then, because Hudson was Hudson, he covered it with humor. "This is unfair," Hudson whispered. "You've...weaponized romance."
Liam's smile flickered. "You'll survive."
Hudson nodded, breathless. "Barely."
They stepped inside.
Old velvet lobby, dust and popcorn, nostalgic, as if the building itself remembered every gasp and laugh that had ever been swallowed in the dark. The walls were lined with posters, corners worn, the colors slightly faded. A narrow hallway led to the theater.
Hudson peered inside the popcorn bucket, suspicious. "Is it salted?"
Liam's mouth twitched. "Yes."
Hudson's eyes widened, impressed. "Okay. Okay. Maybe you do know me."
Liam didn't answer. He just guided Hudson forward with a light touch to his back, fingers resting at the small of it, steering him down the aisle. A few couples sat scattered, two women holding hands, an older pair sharing a bag of candy, a man alone near the back with a notebook on his lap. No one turned when Hudson and Liam entered. No one cared.
They took seats in the middle.
Hudson sank into the chair. He looked around, taking in the red velvet, the high ceiling, the muted glow from the exit signs. His face softened into something boyish and reverent.
Liam, on the other hand, watched Hudson instead of the room.
Watched the way Hudson's excitement wasn't loud but contained, glowing, like a candle cupped in two hands.
The lights dimmed further.
The screen flickered.
That first wash of black-and-white light poured over their faces, turning Liam's cheekbones sharp, turning Hudson's eyes into a strange, luminous sea.
The film began.
Hudson leaned forward immediately, elbows on his knees, popcorn forgotten. His lips parted as if he might speak, then he caught himself and grinned, like a kid forced to behave in church.
On screen, voices cut through the theater like polished knives.
Margo: Bill, don't get stuck on some glamour-puss.
Bill: I'll try.
Margo: You're not much of a bargain, you know. You're conceited, and thoughtless and messy.
Bill: Well, everybody can't be Gregory Peck.
Margo: You're a set-up for some gorgeous, wide-eyed young bait.
Bill: How childish are you going to get before you stop it?
Margo: I don't want to be childish. I'll settle for a few years.
Bill: Then cut that out right now.
Margo: Am I going to lose you, Bill? Am I?
Bill: As of this moment, you're six years old.
Time moved differently in the dark. It always did. The world outside fell away. There was only the screen, the velvet, the faint rustle of paper wrappers and breath.
Hudson mouthed the lines without sound.
Margo: You bought the new girdles a size smaller. I can feel it.
Birdie: Somethin' maybe grew a size larger.
Margo: When we get home, you're going to get into one of those girdles and act for two and a half hours.
Birdie: I couldn't get into the girdle in two and a half hours. [Margo laughs]
Liam noticed.
But he didn't stare outright.
He watched in quiet fragments, catching Hudson in the act, Hudson's lips shaping familiar words, his eyes widening at moments he'd seen a hundred times, the muscle in his jaw tightening before a scene hit. The dialogue on screen marched forward, iconic as thunder.
De Witt: [about Eve] It wasn't a reading. It was a performance. Brilliant, vivid, something made of music and fire.
Margo: How nice.
De Witt: In time, she'll be what you are.
Margo: A mass of music and fire? That's me.
Hudson mouthed it with a silent, delighted emphasis, like he couldn't help it. His shoulders lifted slightly as if he could feel the line in his bones.
A soft smile pulled at Liam's mouth.
The film flowed. Scenes shifted. Time slipped by in bright, monochrome pulses.
Hudson's reactions kept coming, in small, unguarded waves, an incredulous shake of his head, a suppressed laugh, a hand coming to his mouth when emotion rose unexpectedly. He looked like someone remembering something beloved and discovering it still held.
Every few minutes, Hudson's turquoise eyes slid sideways.
Checking for Liam.
Hudson would find him in the dark, eyes searching, and Liam would already be looking, like he couldn't stop. Like the movie was playing on the screen, but the real thing was happening beside him.
Hudson's gaze would soften when he caught Liam watching. Then Hudson would look back at the screen, leaving Liam blinking in the dark, breath caught somewhere between longing and awe.
The movie went on.
A world of ambition, cruelty, and longing unfolded in black-and-white elegance.
Hudson mouthed entire lines of dialogue, quiet, almost prayerful.
Margo: All playwrights should be dead for three hundred years!
Lloyd: That would solve none of their problems, because actresses never die. The stars never die and never change.
Margo: You may change this star any time you want for a new and fresh and exciting one, fully equipped with fire and music. Anytime you want, starting with tonight's performance!
Max: This is for lawyers to talk about! This concerns a run-of-the-play contract that you cannot rewrite or ad-lib!
Margo: Are you threatening me with legal action, Mr. Fabian?
Max: Are you breaking the contract?
Margo: Answer my question.
Liam barely heard the film. He heard Hudson's breath. Felt the warmth of Hudson's body beside him. Watched the way Hudson existed in this moment with complete devotion.
Hudson shifted gradually, enthusiasm easing into something quieter, as if the movie was soothing him, smoothing down the last sharp edges of his content. His posture softened. His shoulders dropped. And then, without a word, Hudson leaned sideways. His head came to rest on Liam's shoulder.
Liam went still.
He didn't move. He barely breathed. His heart banged once, hard, then settled into a slower rhythm.
Hudson sighed softly against him, content, peaceful.
Liam turned his head slightly, eyes lowering to Hudson's hair, the curve of Hudson's cheek, the faint rise and fall of his breath.
Liam felt something bloom in his chest, quiet, heavy, luminous.
Bill: For the last time, I'll tell it to you. You've got to stop hurting yourself and me and the two of us by these paranoiac tantrums.
Margo: Oh that word again, I don't even know what it means.
Bill: Well it's about time you found out. I love you.
Margo: Ha!
Bill: I love you! You're a beautiful and an intelligent woman ...
Margo: A body with a voice!
Bill: A beautiful and an intelligent woman and a great actress. A great actress at the peak of her career. You have every reason for happiness.
Margo: Except happiness!
Love, Liam realized, wasn't always a burst.
Sometimes it was this: a weight you welcomed. A warmth you didn't want to lose. A person trusting your shoulder like safe ground.
Liam's hand lifted, slow, careful not to break the spell.
He didn't reach for Hudson's face. He let his fingers rest lightly on Hudson's hand, which lay on his own thigh. Hudson's fingers curled instinctively, lacing with Liam's in the dark.
For Liam, that weight was unbearable in the sweetest way. Hudson was warm through the fabric, breathing slowly, the faintest movement of his cheek against Liam's shirt every time he swallowed or smiled at a line he'd heard a thousand times.
Margo: Encore du champagne.
Waiter: More champagne, Miss Channing?
Margo: That's what I said, bub.
The screen kept flickering, the dialogue on it sharp and perfect.
Liam had spent most of his life believing love was either a costume or a risk. Something you wore for a scene, or something you avoided because it could be used against you. He'd learned to accept loneliness. Pesky, inevitable, out of his control.
But Hudson was changing the rules simply by existing.
Liam felt it in the way his chest tightened when Hudson laughed, the way he could breathe easier when Hudson was near, the way the idea of Hudson leaving didn't feel like heartbreak so much as amputation. As if someone had finally sewn a missing piece into him and now the thought of losing it made his nerves flare with panic.
He watched Hudson mouth another line, barely moving his lips, and felt something inside him shift.
I love you, Liam thought.
He couldn't imagine his life without Hudson anymore, not the life he'd had, the machine-built schedule with its fittings and scripts and handlers. No. He meant the life ahead, the one he hadn't believed existed.
Hudson shifted slightly, exhaling, and Liam resisted the urge to tuck him closer, to wrap an arm around him and claim him in the quiet. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was learning that Hudson didn't need to be held in a fist. Hudson stayed when he felt safe.
Liam's eyes drifted to Hudson's hands, long fingers, knuckles faintly marked. He wondered, suddenly, with a tenderness that hurt, what those hands had held before him. Not just trays and bus rails and cheap takeout containers. What they'd held in the past that made Hudson so quick to joke when emotion got too close, so quick to run when something became real.
Hudson had talked about Arizona like an origin story. Like a punchline. But Liam could hear the missing chapters in the way Hudson went quiet at certain questions, in the way he never talked about home unless it was safely wrapped in humor. There was an absence there. A blank space that wasn't empty. But protected.
And Liam, trained by years of reading subtext for a living, could feel the shape of it.
Something had happened to Hudson. Something that made leaving feel like survival. Something that made Los Angeles, with all its cruelty and noise, seem like the safer choice than staying where he'd been made. Liam didn't know what it was, couldn't, wouldn't guess, but he felt the scar of it in Hudson's instincts. The way his smile sometimes arrived half a second late. The way he flinched at his own longing, as if desire itself might be a trap.
Liam's throat tightened with a sudden, fierce protectiveness. An urge to build Hudson a place where he didn't have to run anymore.
Hudson's fingers curled tighter around Liam's in his sleepier peace, as if he'd sensed the shift in Liam's heartbeat. Liam looked down at their joined hands and felt his eyes burn, not with sadness exactly, but with the shock of having something so simple and so holy at the same time.
He had conquered everything people called success. He'd stood under spotlights, held trophies, collected worship that was loud and empty.
But here, in a practically empty cinema in Milan, he realized the miracle had always been smaller than that.
A man's head on his shoulder.
A hand laced into his.
Liam didn't move. He said nothing. He just sat, perfectly still, and let the credits roll, Hudson's quiet presence slowly carving itself deeper into him until the truth became undeniable.
This wasn't a detour.
This wasn't a fling.
This was the beginning of the only life he actually wanted.
(To be continued...)
Hudson and Liam’s story doesn’t end here. If you’re reading along, I’d love to hear from you.
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