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.
"I'm Awake"
(Five Years Later)
The second time they sat him down, there were fewer bodies behind the camera. Less frantic whispering.
Liam noticed.
He noticed everything.
"Okay," the interviewer said, voice low, friendly. "We're rolling. Whenever you're ready."
Liam nodded once. He didn't ask for the slate. He didn't ask what camera. He didn't ask where to look. He had stopped trying to control the mechanics.
That was new.
The interviewer glanced down at their notes, then back up. "Before we jump in...how are you feeling today?"
Liam's mouth lifted in a small, cautious curve. "You ask that every time like you're going to get a different answer."
"And do I?" the interviewer asked.
Liam exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. "Sometimes."
"That counts."
Liam rolled his shoulders back subtly, as if easing into his own skin. "I'm...alright," he said. He paused, then corrected himself with a quieter truth. "Better."
The interviewer held that gently. "Better than two years ago?"
Liam's eyes flicked toward the floor for a second. When he looked up again, he was composed, but there was less ice in it. Less performance.
"Yes," he said.
The interviewer nodded. "It's been...a lot."
Liam's mouth tightened faintly. "That's a diplomatic way of putting it."
"I'm practicing," the interviewer said, and Liam's smile came easier this time. Then the interviewer's tone shifted, subtle, respectful. "You know, people talk about this project like it was a door."
Liam blinked. "A door?"
"Yes," the interviewer clarified. "Not just for you. For...other people."
Liam didn't react immediately. He didn't accept praise as well as he used to. It always seemed to make him suspicious, like it came with fine print. His hands folded together in his lap, fingers interlaced with neatness.
The interviewer continued, careful not to turn it into a victory speech. "After the release, there were hearings. Committees. The guilds got loud. Child labor advocates got loud. Banking institutions got..." they smiled faintly. "...nervous."
Liam's gaze held steady. "Good."
"And there were changes," the interviewer went on. "Rules around trust administration. Requirements about independent oversight. How money is disbursed. Who gets signatory access. Things people used to call 'industry standard' suddenly became...unacceptable."
Liam's jaw tightened at that phrase, industry standard. He nodded once, slow. "If you say something is standard long enough, people stop asking who it benefits."
The interviewer's eyes stayed on him. "And yet you made them ask."
Liam's throat worked. He looked away for the briefest moment, as if the weight of it sat strangely on his shoulders.
"I didn't do it to be...a poster," Liam said quietly. "I did it because I was angry."
The interviewer nodded. "Anger can be useful."
Liam's expression flickered, something like recognition, something like fatigue. "It was all I had that didn't...belong to someone else."
A beat.
The interviewer let that sit, then guided them gently toward the next thing. "A lot of people, especially the ones who grew up watching you, have asked the same question since the documentary came out."
Liam's eyes narrowed slightly. "Which question?"
The interviewer didn't pounce. They didn't dramatize it. They simply asked.
"Where was your mother?"
Silence stretched, not awkward, not empty. Full. Liam's face didn't crumble. It didn't harden either. It was still, in a way, suggesting this wasn't new pain but rather old pain that had been rearranged.
He inhaled slowly. "People always assume there's a story," Liam said at last. "Like there's one big reason. Something cinematic."
The interviewer waited.
Liam's gaze moved past the camera, somewhere behind it, somewhere years ago. "Truth is...there were a thousand small absences." He swallowed, the movement minimal but visible. "She wasn't...cruel," Liam continued, choosing the word like he was testing it. "She didn't hit me. She didn't scream." A pause, then a faint, almost bitter humor. "She just... didn't show up."
The interviewer's voice was soft. "And that felt like cruelty."
Liam's eyes flickered once, surprised by the accuracy. He nodded. "I suppose it did, yes." His hands tightened together, then loosened again. "She liked the idea of me," Liam said, voice even. "The idea of being someone's mother. The idea of telling people her kid was talented. But the actual work of...being a parent..." He shook his head slightly. "She wasn't built for it. Or she didn't want it. I don't know. I've spent a lot of years trying to figure out which one hurts less."
The interviewer didn't interrupt.
Liam exhaled. "When I was a kid, I used to tell myself she was late because she was coming. That's the kind of optimism children have. It's not hope, exactly. More like...survival."
He paused, and when he spoke again there was an edge to it, a man speaking carefully around the fact that he had once been a boy with no choice.
"I waited," he said. "A lot."
The interviewer's tone stayed gentle. "And when she didn't come?"
Liam's mouth tightened. His eyes stayed dry, but there was a sheen to them.
"When she didn't come," Liam said, "someone else always did."
A beat.
He added, quieter, "That's how it started."
The interviewer leaned forward slightly, careful. "You mean her."
Liam's face didn't change, but something dark passed through it like a shadow crossing a window.
"I mean...anyone who showed up," Liam said. "When you're twelve and alone on a studio lot, you don't know the difference between kindness and recruitment. You don't know the difference between help and ownership."
He let out a slow breath, as if he were calming himself, not the room. Rebuilding himself. Brick by brick.
The interviewer asked softly, "Do you hate her? Your mother."
Liam blinked. The question seemed to land somewhere complicated.
"No," he said, and the honesty of it surprised him enough that his voice caught on the word. He cleared his throat gently, regaining control. "No. I... don't."
He looked down at his hands, then back up. "I think hating her would mean she mattered in a way she never proved."
The interviewer's eyes softened. "So what do you feel?"
Liam took a long breath, then answered with the kind of restraint that made the truth feel keener. "I feel..." he said. "I feel like I learned very early that love was something you chased. That if you were good enough, talented enough, useful enough...someone would stay." His mouth curved faintly, almost self-deprecating. "And then I grew up and built a career out of being useful."
The interviewer nodded slowly. "And now?"
Liam's gaze held steady, still reserved, still guarded. But less defended. Like the harsher period had passed through him and left something clearer behind. "Now I'm learning," Liam said. He hesitated, then allowed himself a small, genuine softness. "That being loved isn't supposed to feel like a job."
A quiet pause.
The interviewer gave him space, then asked. "Do you remember the last time you saw her?"
Liam's eyes flicked away again, and this time the nervousness returned, subtle, controlled. He swallowed. "I remember the last time I waited for her," he said.
The interviewer's voice lowered. "Tell me."
*
(Present Time)
Evelyn entered the office with a thick binder and the expression she wore when she'd found something rotten.
Raj followed with a laptop and a second binder, this one tabbed so aggressively it looked like it could cut skin.
Martin came last, tablet in hand, eyes tired. "We pulled what we could from the institutions," he said. "Some are cooperating. Some are...stalling."
"Stalling is a way to put it," Evelyn murmured, and set the binder down with a soft thud.
Liam's gaze tracked it.
Evelyn didn't sit. She stood at the head of the table, hands braced on the binder like she was about to perform an autopsy. "We found it," she said.
Liam's throat worked.
Evelyn opened the binder. The first page was a copy, not the original, black-and-white, stamped and initialed in a dozen places.
DURABLE POWER OF ATTORNEY
Liam stared.
Hudson felt Liam's whole body go tight. Not outwardly. Liam didn't usually panic like that. He didn't explode. But he stiffened, as if an old memory had reached up through the floor and grabbed his ankle.
Evelyn spoke with clean clarity. "This is a durable POA executed when you were" she glanced at the metadata "...seventeen."
Raj slid another page across the table, a highlighted clause. "Durable means it survives incapacity," he said. "It gives the agent authority to act on your behalf even if you can't. That's what it's designed for...medical emergencies, long-term planning. In the wrong hands, it becomes a master key."
Liam's eyes didn't leave the page.
Evelyn tapped the signature line with a finger.
Marina Velluto.
Under that, a second agent listed, another name Liam barely registered, some lawyer from years ago. A witness signature. A notary stamp.
Liam's jaw flexed once, then stilled.
Hudson felt his own anger rise like heat. It was one thing to be manipulated in the abstract. It was another to see it in ink.
"I don't remember signing that," Liam said quietly.
Raj's voice was gentle but not comforting. "That's the point."
Evelyn flipped the page. "There's more."
The next document: MANAGEMENT ADMINISTRATION AGREEMENT.
Hudson read the title and didn't understand what it meant until Evelyn began to explain it. "This," Evelyn said, "is how she inserted her company into your money."
She pointed to a diagram Raj had printed, simple, brutal arrows.
Studio. Arrow. Loan-Out LLC. Arrow. Marina's Admin Company. Arrow. Your Trust/Accounts.
"Loan-out companies are normal," Evelyn continued. "But this agreement made Marina's company the administrator. Meaning: even if studios paid your loan-out on time, Marina controlled when, and if, funds moved downstream."
Hudson's voice came out hoarse. "So she could...starve him."
Evelyn nodded. "Yes."
Liam's eyes stayed fixed on the paper, pupils small, as if he were watching his own life being reduced to plumbing.
Raj scrolled on the laptop, then rotated it toward Liam. "This is the language," he said. "See the section on 'sole discretion' and 'reasonable expenses'?"
Liam read, lips parting slightly.
The phrase jumped out even to Hudson, who hated legalese and didn't trust it. "…administrator may withhold disbursements as deemed necessary in its sole discretion…" Hudson felt sick.
"That's..." Liam started, then stopped. His voice had gone thin.
Evelyn's gaze sharpened. "That's control dressed as accounting."
She flipped again. A new tab.
TRUST INSTRUMENT | AMENDED
Martin spoke now, voice tired. "Your trust language gives the trustee broad discretion over distributions. That's not unusual in theory, especially for asset protection."
Evelyn cut in. "But here's what's unusual: the trustee was effectively reliant on Marina's reporting to determine whether distributions were 'prudent.'"
Liam looked up, eyes narrowing. "So she fed them the narrative."
Raj nodded once. "And if the trustee believed her, they could restrict distributions without technically violating the trust terms."
Liam's mouth tightened. "And they did."
Martin swiped his tablet, then slid it across the table. "We obtained recent trustee communications," he said. "Redacted. But the gist is..." He paused, as if choosing the least enraging phrasing. "They were 'concerned' about your behavior and requested 'stabilization assurances' before authorizing large disbursements."
Hudson's skin went cold. "Concerned," he whispered, remembering the bank's tone. The same clean cruelty. A chorus of institutions singing the same lie because Marina had written the sheet music.
Liam stared at the tablet and didn't blink. His breathing became so shallow that Hudson could hear it, as if Liam were trying not to inhale too deeply in case the truth flooded him.
Evelyn turned one more page.
This one was older, yellowed around the edges. A scanned document with handwritten annotations. Liam's signature was there again, smaller, less confident, written by a boy pretending to be a man.
Evelyn's voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "This was executed when you were eighteen."
Liam's throat worked. "I was legal."
"You were young," Evelyn replied. "And surrounded."
Raj leaned forward, careful. "Do you remember the meeting where you signed these?"
Liam blinked once.
He blinked again.
And Hudson watched memory tug at him in fragments: a boardroom, coffee breath, Marina's hand on his shoulder, words like 'standard' and 'protect' and 'you don't have to worry'. Liam's chest rose on a sharp inhale.
"I remember," Liam murmured. "I remember her saying it was boring. That I shouldn't waste my brain on it. That I should focus on work."
Hudson's stomach clenched.
Evelyn nodded, not surprised. "That's how these things happen. Not with one document. With a thousand 'small' ones. Each one framed as protection."
Liam's gaze dropped to his signature again.
He swallowed.
And when he spoke, his voice sounded different, less angry, more hollow.
"So it wasn't..." he said, almost to himself, words trailing off. "It was...an accumulation."
"Yes," Raj said. "It was a gradual ceding of autonomy."
Liam's hands curled into fists on the table, then loosened. He looked up at Evelyn, eyes dark. "So you're telling me I did it to myself?"
Evelyn's stare held him. "No, Liam," she said, firm. "I'm telling you it was done to you."
Liam froze. The sentence didn't comfort him. It didn't absolve him. It simply reframed something he'd carried like a private shame.
Evelyn continued, voice steady. "You were trained to believe you didn't have time to understand the paperwork. You were trained to believe that if you asked too many questions, you were difficult. You were trained to believe that compliance was gratitude."
Liam's jaw bucked.
Evelyn tapped the binder. "That is predatory. The fact that it's common doesn't make it normal."
Hudson watched Liam's face, watched the way the shame tried to rise and was met, for once, by something else.
Rage, yes.
But also clarity.
Liam exhaled slowly, shoulders trembling just a fraction. "I feel...foolish."
Hudson opened his mouth to protest, but Evelyn spoke first, and her voice was unexpectedly sharp, protective in a way that surprised Hudson. "Don't," Evelyn said. "You were groomed by an adult who built a career on controlling you." Evelyn softened her tone slightly. "The legal system is full of mechanisms that assume informed consent. The entertainment industry is full of people who exploit the gap between 'legal' and 'informed.' That gap is where they live."
Liam stared at the documents like he was finally seeing the shape of the monster, not Marina's face, but the architecture around her.
He spoke quietly. "So how do we fix it?"
Raj's expression hardened with purpose. "We start unraveling the chain. We challenge the POA. We challenge the administration agreement. We pressure the trustee. We put institutions on notice that continued compliance with Marina's instructions exposes them."
Martin added, "We prepare for a settlement discussion, too...because even when you're right, litigation has costs."
Liam didn't look away from his signature. "I don't care about cost."
Evelyn's eyes narrowed slightly, measuring him. "Trust me. From now on, you will," she said.
Hudson's hand slid under the table and found Liam's knee, squeezing gently. Liam glanced at Hudson, just once, but it was enough. Then Liam looked back at the binder. A man studying a trap so he could dismantle it.
"Standard," Liam murmured, bitter. "They called it standard."
Evelyn nodded. "And now," she said, closing the binder with a clean snap, "we call it what it is."
Liam's eyes lifted, darker, steadier.
"Predatory," he said.
*
Two weeks in, Hudson and Mateo's apartment had started to smell like a life.
The curtains, thick, blackout, expensive, hung from a rod Liam had installed himself after the first night the "wolves" had returned. He'd insisted on doing the drilling, muttering under his breath like a man performing penance. Mateo had filmed exactly seven seconds of it before Hudson hissed at him to stop.
On the coffee table, a bowl of popcorn sat between them. It was slightly over-salted because Hudson had poured the entire shaker on it while talking and hadn't realized until Mateo licked his fingers and nearly ascended to heaven.
"This is how you keep gays in amber. Salt." Mateo had said solemnly.
Hudson had thrown a pillow at him.
Now the three of them were arranged on the couch in a way that would have looked accidental to anyone else, but Hudson knew it wasn't. Liam sat on the left, shoulders loose, socked feet tucked under him. Hudson sat in the middle, because somehow he always ended up in the middle, between worlds, between moods, between Liam's quiet storms and Mateo's loud weather. Mateo sprawled on the right with his legs across the armrest like he paid taxes on the furniture.
On the TV, an old movie flickered, one of Hudson's picks tonight. Something black-and-white, sharp and glamorous.
Mateo squinted at the screen. "So wait. You're telling me this was before color?"
Hudson didn't look away from the TV. "Color existed, Mateo."
Mateo's brow furrowed. "Then why is it...sad?"
"It's not sad," Hudson said.
Liam's mouth quirked. "It's melodramatic."
"It's iconic," Hudson corrected, offended on behalf of cinema itself.
Mateo made a face. "I'm just saying...everyone is talking like they're in an argument with God."
Hudson reached for popcorn, missed, and grabbed air. Liam silently pushed the bowl closer without looking at him. Hudson's fingers brushed Liam's for a second. Liam's hand stayed. Hudson's heart did the same stupid thing it had been doing for two weeks, dipping and rising like a buoy.
Onscreen, a woman said something devastating with a smile.
Mateo gasped theatrically. "Oh my God. She just read him to filth."
Hudson grinned. "See?"
Mateo turned to Liam. "Is this what you guys did back in the day? Like...acted in sepia?"
Liam's eyes crinkled. "I wasn't alive."
Mateo's expression went scandalized. "Well, you're giving me vintage realness."
Hudson snorted. Liam glanced at him, quick, checking, then relaxed again when Hudson's smile stayed.
A beat later, Mateo nudged Liam with his foot. "Okay, serious question."
Liam's eyes didn't leave the screen. "Oh, boy."
Mateo clasped his hands in mock prayer. "Do you ever watch a movie you're in and think, Wow. I'm fucking hot. Like...do you just sit there and admire yourself? Because if I looked like you..." he waved a hand. "Gurl."
Hudson watched Liam's profile, the flicker of the TV casting shadows across his face.
Liam shifted slightly. "No."
Mateo's mouth fell open. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"But..." Mateo gestured wildly at Liam's entire existence "...you have a face that could launch a thousand ships. And like, sank them. For fun."
Hudson grabbed a handful of popcorn, trying not to laugh. "That's not how that myth works."
Mateo waved him off. "Details. Point is, Liam, you're telling me you watch yourself getting stabbed or kissing someone or whatever and you're just...indifferent? To that?"
Liam's shoulder lifted in a half-shrug. "Mostly I'm thinking about what I should've done differently."
"Like what?" Hudson asked before he could stop himself.
"Line readings. Blocking. Whether my hair looked stupid."
Mateo pointed at him accusingly. "See, that's the problem with you humble types. You don't appreciate the gifts you've been given."
"Appreciate them for me, then," Liam said dryly.
Hudson nearly choked on his popcorn.
Mateo clutched his chest. "Oh, I do. Trust me. I have a whole PowerPoint."
Liam's brow lifted. "A PowerPoint."
"Forty-three slides. Categorized by year and aesthetic." Mateo grinned wickedly. "There's a whole section on the detective flick you did. The one where you wore that coat? Criminal. You should've been arrested for that coat."
Hudson snorted. "Pretty sure the coat was evidence."
"It was evidence of a crime against my sanity," Mateo shot back.
Liam looked at Hudson, something soft playing at the corner of his mouth. "You saw that?"
Hudson felt heat creep up his neck. "Uh, maybe. Once. Or...twice."
"He made me watch it with him," Mateo continued, absolutely shameless. "Kept pausing to analyze your microexpressions."
Liam tilted his head toward Hudson. "Microexpressions?"
"He's making shit up," Hudson said quickly, which was only partially a lie.
"Mm-hmm." Liam's voice was low, amused. "Learn anything useful?"
Hudson's brain short-circuited. "Um. Yeah. That you're...good. At acting."
Mateo groaned. "Oh my God, this is painful."
"You're painful," Hudson muttered.
Mateo stretched his arms above his head, completely unbothered. "So what I'm hearing is that Liam doesn't admire himself, Hudson admires Liam enough for both of them, and I'm the only one with a healthy sense of narcissism."
"Sounds about right," Liam said.
Mateo grabbed another handful of popcorn, his fingers brushing the bottom of the bowl. "We need more popcorn."
Liam's gaze flickered to Hudson again, for grounding, like a compass checking north. Hudson met his eyes and lifted his brows slightly. Liam's shoulders eased.
Onscreen, the couple kissed, something restrained and old-fashioned, the kind of kiss that promised everything and showed nothing. Mateo made a noise of disgust. "God," he groaned. "If you're going to kiss, commit. Open mouth. Tongue. Violence."
Hudson glanced at him.
Mateo sighed wistfully. "I'm a romantic."
Liam's mouth twitched. "You are the human embodiment of a Grindr notification."
Mateo's jaw dropped. "Oh my God. He's learning. Hud, he's learning. He just insulted me in gay."
Hudson laughed, leaning forward, and Liam's hand found Hudson's waist as he shifted, just a steadying touch, barely pressure, but Hudson felt it like a sentence. 'Don't drift too far'. They watched in comfortable silence for a while. Hudson's head tipped slightly toward Liam. Liam's knee bumped Hudson's.
Then, just as the movie hit a particularly quiet scene, something flashed behind the curtains.
A quick strobe of white.
Then another.
Hudson's smile faded before he even realized it.
Mateo froze mid-chew. "You gotta be fucking kidding me."
Another flash.
It lit the seam of the curtain like lightning.
Hudson's throat tightened. "It's them."
Mateo exhaled. "Of course it's them."
Liam's eyes were on the curtain now, unreadable. Hudson watched his jaw tighten, watched the faint flinch he tried to hide. Two weeks of pretending they were safe and normal, and still the world sat outside like a hungry dog.
Mateo's voice turned sharp with irritation. "Who the hell has that much free time?"
Hudson didn't answer. He couldn't. He was counting the flashes, like a body counts punches.
Liam finally spoke, voice low. "They've been there all day."
Mateo gave a bitter laugh. "Baby, they've been there all day every day. They take shifts like it's a union job."
Hudson reached for Liam's hand. Liam didn't hesitate. His fingers laced with Hudson's immediately, too tight, too fast. Hudson squeezed back, trying to bleed warmth into him.
Mateo leaned forward, peering at the curtain like he could see through it by sheer hatred. "I think we should throw boiling water on them. Go all Game Of Thrones on the mother fuckers."
Liam's lips twitched, barely.
"Or glitter. Like, industrial glitter. They'll spend the rest of their miserable lives trying to wash it off," Mateo insisted.
Hudson snorted, a small laugh escaping despite the dread. "You want to commit a felony with arts and crafts."
Mateo sat back, offended. "It's not a felony if it's fabulous."
Liam's gaze flickered to Hudson, and Hudson saw it, the smallest return of softness, like a muscle unclenching. Hudson held his eyes, steady, calming him without words. "Hey," Hudson murmured. "It's okay."
Liam's mouth opened, then closed. His thumb rubbed over Hudson's knuckles as if that motion alone could keep him anchored to the couch instead of spiraling into the war outside.
Mateo watched them with something like awe, then cleared his throat loudly as if to break the intimacy before it made him cry.
"So," Mateo said, trying for casual and failing. "Do we finish the movie or...?"
Hudson opened his mouth to answer, but Mateo's phone started ringing before a single syllable could get out. The ringtone was obscene. Some hyper-pop remix that sounded like a robot having sex with a disco ball.
Mateo lunged for the phone. "Oh," he breathed, eyes widening as he saw the screen. "Oh my fucking God."
Hudson blinked. "What?"
Mateo held up one finger and answered with the kind of voice people used when they were pretending they hadn't been staring at their phone all day. "Hello?" he said, too smooth.
A beat. Mateo's entire face lit up. The glow was so bright Hudson almost expected it to cast shadows.
"No, shut up," Mateo whispered, already grinning. "You're lying. You're actually calling me?"
Hudson turned to Liam, eyebrows raised. Liam's expression remained controlled, but there was the faintest curiosity there, the same curiosity he used on set when he listened to a scene unfold. Hudson could practically hear him thinking.
Mateo rolled off the couch and started pacing the living room, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in a rapid, breathy cadence like his words were sprinting ahead of his brain. "Wait, wait, wait...so you want me to come over tonight?" he hissed, trying and failing to keep his voice down. "Like, now? Like..."
He covered the phone with his palm and mouthed at Hudson and Liam with unhinged joy: IT'S HIM.
Hudson mouthed back: WHO?
Mateo's eyes went feral with excitement. He mouthed, even more dramatically: THE ONE.
Liam's mouth twitched, amused against his will.
Mateo returned to the call. "Okay, don't make it sound casual like you just thought of me while stirring your little protein shake or whatever you do."
A pause.
Mateo's eyes widened. He stopped pacing and stood very still, as if the man on the other end had said something physically powerful.
"Oh," Mateo whispered, voice dropping into something husky and reverent. "Oh, you're being like that."
Hudson covered his face with a hand.
Liam leaned slightly toward Hudson, voice low. "Is this...normal?"
Hudson whispered back, deadpan, "Unfortunately."
Mateo spun around, phone still glued to his ear, practically vibrating with energy. "No, I'm just saying...if you wanted to see me, you could've texted like a normal person instead of doing this whole 'spontaneous call' thing."
Hudson grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to his chest, watching the trainwreck unfold.
Mateo's voice dropped an octave, all sultry confidence. "Oh, you miss my face? That's what we're calling it now?"
Liam shifted slightly, turning his attention fully to the spectacle.
"Yeah, no, I totally believe you." Mateo twirled a strand of his hair around one finger. "So this has nothing to do with the thirst trap I posted yesterday? The one at the gym?"
Hudson let out a quiet snort.
Mateo whipped around and pointed an accusatory finger at him while still listening to his phone. His mouth formed a silent "shut up" before he returned to his conversation. "What? No, that was my roommate being a judgmental little..." He paused, listening. "You saw the comments? Oh God, which ones did you...no, don't tell me. Actually, tell me. Wait, no."
Liam leaned back against the couch, arms crossed loosely. "How long do these usually last?"
Hudson checked an imaginary watch. "We're at three minutes. Could go either way. Sometimes he combusts around the five-minute mark."
Mateo paced toward the kitchen, then back toward the window, his free hand gesturing wildly even though the person on the other end couldn't see him. "Okay, but here's the thing, and I'm being totally chill about this...if I come over tonight, are we doing the thing where you pretend you want to watch a documentary and then we don't actually watch it? Because I need to mentally prepare."
A beat of silence.
Mateo froze mid-step. "Oh. Oh, we're skipping straight to...yeah, okay, wow, you're just putting it all out there."
Hudson buried his face in the pillow.
Liam's mouth curved slightly. "Is he always this...?"
"Theatrical? Yes. Disaster-coded? Also yes."
Mateo turned toward them, covering the phone's microphone with his palm. His expression was pure chaos. "He just said something about wanting to 'pick up where we left off'. Last time he fucked me, I could barely sit straight for three days."
Hudson whispered, "Then maybe don't go?"
"Are you insane? Of course I'm going."
Mateo returned to his call, voice smooth again. "Yeah, no, I'm still here." He listened for a moment, then laughed, breathy and genuine. "You're rotten. Absolutely rotten."
Another pause.
"Fine. Yeah. I'll be there in twenty. But if you're playing mind games, I'm stealing something from your apartment. Something important. Like your overpriced blender."
Mateo hung up and stood there for a second, staring at his phone like it had just revealed the secrets of the universe.
Hudson lowered the pillow. "So?"
"So..." Mateo turned slowly, face glowing with unhinged joy. "I'm going to his place. Right now. And I think...no, I know, this is either the best decision I've ever made or the worst."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Those are the only two options?"
"With him? Absolutely."
Hudson sighed, standing up from the couch. "Do we need to do the safety talk? The 'text us when you get there' speech?"
"Oh my God, Mom, I'm twenty-three."
"That doesn't answer the question."
Mateo waved him off, already heading toward his bedroom. "I'll text you a cryptic emoji at midnight. If it's the eggplant, I'm fine. If it's the skull, send help."
Liam blinked. "That system seems flawed."
"Welcome to his world." Hudson dropped back onto the couch. "Where logic goes to die."
Liam glanced at Mateo. "Congratulations, I guess?"
Mateo spun toward Liam like Liam had just given him an award. "Thank you," he said solemnly, then pointed at his own chest. "I would like to thank my libido, my resilience, and the universe for finally providing me with the dick I deserve."
Liam's shoulders loosened, and a real smile tugged at his mouth, brief but genuine.
Mateo's expression shifted into immediate urgency. He slapped his phone into his pocket and started speed-walking toward the bathroom. "I have to douche," he announced, as if they were discussing a business appointment.
Hudson wheezed. "Jesus Christ..."
Mateo turned mid-stride, eyes wide with sincerity. "This is not a drill," he said before pausing. "Well, hopefully it will be. Fingers crossed." Then he pointed at Hudson and Liam like a mother leaving teenagers alone for the first time. "You two...no fighting, no crying, no emotional breakthroughs while I'm gone. I'm busy."
Hudson laughed, helpless. "How long are you going to be..."
Mateo backed toward the hallway, already half vanished. "An hour," he said confidently. Then, as if remembering the laws of time and sex, he amended, "Two." Then, after a beat, with a grin that made Hudson want to throw something at him, "Maybe three. The mother fucker has stamina."
Hudson groaned, mortified. Liam let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. Mateo disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut. A moment later, the bidet tap turned on with a purposeful force.
The apartment settled again.
Outside, beyond the expensive curtains Liam had drilled into place, the paparazzi flashes still flickered like distant lightning. Hudson glanced toward the hallway where Mateo had vanished, then back to Liam.
Liam's gaze was already on him.
Quiet.
Steady.
An invite without words.
*
Fifteen minutes after Mateo left, after the front door had clicked shut and his footsteps had vanished down the hallway, the apartment had fallen into a different kind of quiet.
Hudson's knees dug into the mattress, his spine arching as Liam's thick cock speared him open from behind. The stretch was divine, a slow, burning glide, Hudson's fingers twisting into the sheets. Liam's hands, rough, possessive, gripped his hips, pulling him back onto every inch, burying himself to the hilt with a groan that vibrated through Hudson's skin.
Liam came down, mouth hot on the back of Hudson's neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before his tongue soothed the sting. Hudson shuddered, his cock heavy between his thighs, leaking against the sheets. Every thrust was deep, the kind of fucking that made his thighs tremble and his vision blur.
"Fuck...Liam..." Hudson gasped, voice breaking as Liam's hips snapped forward, driving into him with force. The bed creaked beneath them, the rhythm relentless, each stroke dragging against that sweet, swollen spot inside him until Hudson was panting, his body clenching around Liam's cock like it was trying to keep him there forever.
Liam's breath came ragged against his ear, his grip tightening, fingers digging bruises into Hudson's skin. "You feel so fucking good," he growled, his voice rough with want. "So tight...fuck, Hudson..."
Hudson's head dropped forward, his back bowing as pleasure coiled tighter in his gut. He could feel every ridge, every pulse of Liam's cock inside him, the slick drag of skin on skin as Liam fucked him with slow, grungy rolls of his hips.
Then Liam's hands were sliding up his chest, palming his pecs, thumbs brushing over his nipples until Hudson whimpered, his cock twitching. "I love you..."
Liam moved at the words. One hand wrapped around Hudson's throat, not tight enough to choke, just enough to claim, to hold Hudson in place as his thrusts turned brutal, pushing into Hudson with need. Hudson's fingers scrabbled for purchase, nails digging into Liam's forearm as his body was rocked forward with every snap of Liam's hips. The slap of skin was racy, harsh breaths, bitten-off moans, the wet, slick noise of Liam's cock plunging into Hudson's hole over and over.
Liam's mouth found his shoulder, teeth sinking in just shy of breaking skin, and Hudson screamed, his cock jerking, untouched and desperate.
"Right there... that's the fucking spot," Liam panted, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, you're close, aren't you?"
Hudson couldn't even answer, his body strung tight, pleasure coiling. Liam's free hand slid down his stomach, fingers wrapping around Hudson's leaking cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
It was too much.
Hudson's vision whited out as he came, his body clamping down on Liam's cock, his release spilling over Liam's fingers in hot, sticky ropes. Liam fucked him through it, his rhythm stuttering as Hudson's hole fluttered around him, milking him until Liam groaned, his hips jerking, his cock pulsing deep inside Hudson as he loaded him up.
They collapsed together, sweat-slick and trembling, Liam's weight pressing Hudson into the mattress. His lips brushed Hudson's shoulder, his breath still uneven.
"Fuck," Liam murmured, voice thick with satisfaction. "Holy fuck."
Hudson could only moan in agreement, his body still thrumming with aftershocks, Liam's cock still buried inside him. His eyes fluttered open, meeting Liam's in the mirror of that moment, a strange reflection of feeling, the way Liam looked at him, as if Hudson were the only thing that made sense.
"Hey," Hudson whispered, breathless, dazed.
Liam's mouth curved, barely. "Hey, beautiful."
Hudson's laugh turned into a gasp when Liam pulled him closer again, and Hudson clung, arms reaching back, fingers finding Liam's forearm, his wrist, the strong line of him.
They didn't say anything after that.
They didn't need to.
They spoke in heat, in breath, in those small murmurs that were half plea and half prayer, their names traded back and forth like amulets. And somewhere in the middle of it, Hudson smiled.
This wasn't just sex anymore.
It was trust.
A quiet decision, made again and again with every touch.
*
Liam's phone buzzed like an insect trapped under glass.
Once.
Twice.
Liam's eyes opened instantly.
For a second he forgot where he was, forgot the soft, narrow bed, the warmth of Hudson's body curled beside him. Then Hudson shifted in his sleep, exhaling through parted lips, and Liam remembered everything at once.
The screen lit up the room. Liam stared until the vibration stopped. The silence that followed felt staged, like the pause before a line on set. The phone buzzed again. This time it wasn't a call. A message.
We should talk. Alone.
Liam didn't move for a moment, just lay there listening to Hudson breathe, watching the dim outline of Hudson's profile in the dark. Hudson's hand rested near Liam's hip, slack with sleep, trusting.
Liam slid his phone under the covers and typed with one thumb, the way you answered someone you couldn't afford to ignore.
Where?
A beat.
Then the reply came.
You know where.
Liam's gaze cut to Hudson, then to the curtains, thick blackout fabric.
Liam typed again.
30 minutes.
The phone went dark.
Liam lay still for another five seconds, counting Hudson's breaths. Then he slid out of bed with a care that bordered on reverence.
He dressed in the dark: sweatpants, a hoodie, shoes slipped on without tying properly. He didn't turn on a light. He didn't open a drawer. He moved like he was burglarizing his own life. Hudson murmured something in his sleep, nonsense, soft, and Liam froze, heart hammering. Hudson didn't wake. His face remained peaceful, mouth slightly open, lashes resting like shadows.
Liam stood at the doorway for a second too long.
His eyes traveled over Hudson as if he were trying to hold the sight inside his ribs. Hudson looked even younger in sleep, softer, his armor down. A person. A home. Liam's hand lifted slightly, as if he might touch Hudson's cheek.
He didn't.
Instead he turned and let himself out of the room, closing the door with a gentle click that felt like betrayal. Liam kept his head down as he slipped out, hood up, hands in pockets.
He called an Uber from the corner, standing beneath a streetlamp. The car arrived in minutes, generic, forgettable. The driver didn't recognize him. Or pretended not to.
Liam got in the back, said nothing, and watched the city pass like a fever dream.
Thirty minutes later they climbed into the hills.
The streets widened, empty and glossy. Liam's chest tightened the closer they got. He could have given the address blind. His body remembered it the way a scar remembered the blade that punctured it. The Uber slowed at an enormous gate.
The driver glanced in the mirror. "This you?"
Liam nodded. A camera mounted on a stone pillar turned, mechanical and precise. The gate remained closed. For a beat it felt like the house was refusing him. Then it opened. No keypad. No intercom. No guard. Just compliance. Liam got out, hoodie pulled tight, and walked up the drive alone while the Uber turned around and disappeared.
He climbed the steps and knocked.
The door opened on a seam of warm light.
And there she was.
Marina.
"Liam," she said softly.
No surprise. Not even triumph. Just the way a mother said a son's name when he finally came home. Liam didn't step inside. He stayed on the threshold, half in darkness, half in her light.
Marina's gaze swept over him, taking inventory: the cheap hoodie, the tension in his shoulders, the faint shadow under his eyes. A flicker of something, something that could easily be mistaken for concern, passed over her face.
"You look like shit," she said, voice gentle.
Liam gave a humorless huff. "Good evening to you too."
Marina's mouth curved in something like a smile, practiced and familiar. "Come." He didn't move. She stepped back slightly, making space as if to offer him safety. "I'd rather not do this outside," she added.
Liam's mouth twitched. "You worried about the neighbors?"
"I'm worried about you," Marina replied, and she sounded like she believed it.
Liam finally stepped inside.
The foyer alone was excessive. A vase of white flowers sat on a table like it had been placed there ten minutes ago. Everything in the house looked untouched by real living. It was spotless in the way hospitals were. Marina didn't invite him to sit. She didn't offer water. She walked deeper into the house like she expected him to follow.
He did.
They ended up in a sitting room with soft lamps and an unlit fireplace. Marina poured herself a drink without asking if Liam wanted one. She held the glass before finally turning. And her face, still composed, slowly shifted into something almost tender.
Liam didn't react. "Spit it out."
Marina's gaze softened again, mothering him with her eyes. "You need to stop this," she said.
Liam's mouth twitched. "Stop what?"
"All this," Marina replied, like the fight was a tantrum and not a war. "Dragging yourself through this ugly little...rebellion of yours."
The word 'rebellion' was said fondly, like she was humoring a child with a toy sword. Marina stepped closer, slow enough to feel safe. She didn't touch him. Marina knew better than to touch too soon. Touch was something you used when the prey was already softened.
"I can make this go away," she said.
Liam's eyes narrowed. "Make what go away?"
Marina lifted a shoulder in a mild shrug, as if it were obvious. "The camping. The headlines." She paused, then added softly. "The...boy."
Liam's fingers tightened in his pockets. "His name is Hudson."
Marina's smile held. "Right," she said, like the name didn't matter. Like Hudson was a detail in a larger problem.
Liam swallowed hard.
Marina watched him with that particular patience, predatory, maternal, intimate. "I know you," she whispered. "You're exhausted. You're acting on impulse."
Liam stared at her, not blinking.
Marina's eyes warmed as if pleased. "I'm offering you your life back."
Liam's throat tightened. Because part of him still wanted it. Part of him still believed she owned it.
Marina took a small step closer and lowered her voice. "I know what this is," she said.
Liam let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "You do?"
"Yes," Marina said, gaze steady. "We've been here before. You...trying to prove something to yourself. And I understand that. Trust me, I do." Her tone softened, syrupy. "But you're not built to live outside the structure, Liam. You never have been."
The words were so gently delivered that Liam almost missed the cruelty. Almost.
Marina reached out, not touching him yet, just letting her hand hover in the air between them, a gesture of comfort. Permission. Intimacy offered like a drug.
"You're obviously not well," she said, voice low, compassionate. "I can see it in your eyes. I can hear it in the way you're breathing."
Liam's jaw clenched. "I'm fine."
Marina nodded sympathetically, like he'd just proven her point. "Of course you'd say that," she murmured. "That's what you do. You pretend you're fine until you break something." A soft tilt of her head. "Or someone."
The implication hung there, small, poisonous.
Liam's gaze flickered, a crack. He caught it and sealed it quickly, but Marina had already seen it. She always saw the cracks. She built her power there.
Marina's voice turned even softer, almost affectionate. "Come back," she said. "Let me handle this."
Liam stared at her.
Marina continued, like she was laying a blanket over a shaking child. "We'll restore access," she said. "We'll calm the banks. We quiet the press. We'll get your house back. We'll reassign the staff, reopen accounts, lift the caps." She spoke the words like they were gifts. Like she wasn't describing the removal of a collar she'd tightened herself.
Liam's mouth opened slightly. "Oh, yeah?" he said. "And what do you need from me?" he asked.
Marina's smile turned gentle, almost indulgent. Negotiation. Her favorite language.
"Just a small...course correction," she said. "Nothing you haven't done before." She held up one finger, then a second, counting his life as if it were a grocery list. "One: we put you in a clean public relationship." Her voice stayed warm. "A woman. A safe gamble. Someone you can tolerate. You're charming when you're told where to stand."
Liam's eyes hardened.
Marina didn't pause. "Two: you commit to two projects." She smiled faintly. "I choose them. Prestige. Stability. Something the studios like. Something that reassures them you're...steady."
The word struck like a slap disguised as a kiss.
"And," Marina finished, stepping a little closer, "I make Hudson disappear from the narrative."
Liam's breath caught.
Marina's expression softened, as if she were being generous. "He goes back to his little life," she said. "Safe. Untouched. I don't have to be cruel, Liam. You know I don't like being cruel."
The lie was so perfectly delivered it almost sounded like truth.
Liam's eyes stayed on her face. His breathing slowed. His shoulders seemed to lower a fraction, exhaustion settling over him like weight. For a few seconds, he looked young. Not physically. Spiritually. Like a boy who had once waited for a mother and been answered by Marina instead.
Marina saw it.
She leaned into it.
"You can have your life back," she whispered. "Your dignity. Your home." Her gaze held him. "And you can still have...your private fun."
Liam's throat worked.
He didn't speak.
Marina's eyes gleamed with confidence now. "You're tired," Marina repeated, voice soothing. "You don't have to fight anymore."
There was silence.
Brief.
Before Liam finally nodded, slowly.
Marina's smile began to form, small at first, then fuller, like a victory she didn't even have to announce. "Good," she murmured. "Good. That's my..."
And that's when Liam lifted his gaze.
And something in his expression changed.
It shifted the way the temperature shifted right before lightning, quiet, sudden, undeniable.
His eyes sharpened.
The softness vanished.
The boy disappeared.
Liam's mouth curved into a smile that wasn't warm.
It wasn't even cruel.
It was awake.
He tipped his head slightly, almost gently. "So," he said, "that's your deal."
Marina's shoulders relaxed, relief blooming. "Yes."
Liam held her gaze and nodded once, slow. "Okay."
Marina's smile widened, triumphant now. "I knew you'd come to your senses."
Liam let a beat pass, one long breath, enough time for Marina to settle into her certainty. Then he spoke again.
"Now," he said, "let me tell you mine."
Marina's smile held for a fraction too long. It hovered on her mouth like a mask that hadn't been told the scene had changed. Liam stayed still, hands in his hoodie pocket, shoulders relaxed in a way that was almost unsettling, like someone who had finally stopped running inside his own skin.
"And pay attention because I'll only say this once," he said. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Every syllable landed with the weight of something that had been held in for years.
Marina's lips parted. For the first time that night, her softness faltered, just a crack, a glint of steel beneath the velvet.
Liam took a slow breath. "When you did what you did, my first thought was...how stupid could I have been?" he continued, voice steady. "To let you crawl into my life this way...into my work, my home, my body, my mind." He shook his head slightly, as if clearing the last of the fog. "But then I realized...I wasn't stupid. I was young. I was alone. And you just...happened to show up when no one else did."
Marina's eyes narrowed.
Liam's voice softened in clarity. "You made me believe you loved me," he said. "Not with the word. You'd never be that careless. You did it with your actions. With 'I'm doing this for you.' With 'trust me.' With 'you don't need to understand.'"
Marina's expression tightened. "Because you didn't. You needed to act. You needed to focus. You needed..."
"I needed a mother," Liam said, and the sentence came out like a bruise being pressed.
Marina froze.
Liam continued, and now his voice carried something. Anger, yes, but cleaner than anger. A kind of grief sharpened into purpose. "It's over. I'm done," he said. "I'm done with deals. I'm done being managed like a fucking machine you can just turn off when it stops toiling for you."
Marina's eyes hardened. "You think you're being brave?" she asked, voice still controlled but slipping toward cruelty. "You think because you're fucking some waiter you've become...what...enlightened?"
Liam's body went impossibly still, like every muscle in him recognized a threat before the words came. "Stop. Just...stop," Liam said, and this time there was something in the word, something that made even Marina blink.
But she didn't back down. Not without a fight.
She stepped forward, eyes bright with that familiar righteousness. "You think he's special because he makes you feel safe. He will drown you," she hissed. "People like him always do. They cling. They take. They want what you have and then they resent you for it."
Liam's lips parted, a sharp inhale.
Marina watched it, misreading it as fear.
Her tone shifted again, no longer mother, now queen, addressing a subject who had forgotten his place. "You ungrateful piece of shit," she vocifered. "Do you have no idea how many Liam Harts knock on my door every day?" she said, voice rising, controlled fury seeping through. "How many boys come to this city with their faces polished and their souls ready to be rented? They beg. They cry. They would cut their own fucking hands off for the chances I gave you."
Liam stared at her.
Marina's eyes flashed. "I could find a new face," she said. "Younger. Hungrier. Easier. Someone who doesn't question me. Someone who understands gratitude." Her voice sharpened with each word. "In this business there is always someone waiting. Always. There's a line, Liam. A long, eager line of people who would happily take your place. They'd take the deals. They'd smile for the pictures. They'd sleep with who I told them to sleep with. They'd show up. They'd be good." She leaned closer, voice low and lethal. "You're just another pretty face. Easily replaceable."
The sentence hung there, glossy and cruel.
Hudson's face flashed in Liam's mind. The Hudson only he knew. The one who'd looked at Liam with those turquoise eyes as if Liam was worth more than his usefulness. Liam's mouth twitched, not amusement. Something else. Something like understanding. And then, he nodded slowly.
"You're right," Liam said softly.
Marina's posture eased, triumphant.
Then Liam's eyes sharpened like a blade being unsheathed. "I am replaceable," he continued. "That's the whole problem."
Marina frowned. "What..."
"You trained me to believe I was the exception," Liam said, voice steady, intense. "The chosen one. The miracle. The investment worth protecting." He shook his head slowly. "But I'm not an exception. I'm a pattern. I'm the result of a system that takes kids, teaches them to perform adulthood, and then hands their real adulthood to leeches like you."
Marina's mouth tightened. "Don't lecture me about the system. I am the fucking system!"
"I know," Liam said, and there was no fear in it now.
Marina's eyes narrowed, calculating.
Liam's voice didn't rise, but it filled the room. He stepped closer, not aggressive, not towering. Just present. Impossible to move around. A man finally standing in his own shape.
"I'm done sacrificing myself to keep you comfortable," Liam said, and his voice softened on the last word, not for Marina but for what it cost him to say it. "I'm done treating love like a liability."
Marina scoffed, but it sounded strained. "Love," she sneered. "You think love is going to protect you when your career collapses?"
Liam held her gaze. "Maybe it won't," he said. "Maybe it will. Who knows..." He paused, voice dropping into something almost reverent. "But at least I'll be myself."
Marina's expression flickered: anger, fear, disbelief. "You're out of your fucking mind."
Liam shook his head once. "No," he said quietly. "I'm awake."
He turned then, and the movement was so simple it felt like a kind of violence. Like tearing a chain off his own throat.
Liam opened the door and stepped out.
Marina followed him onto the porch, her voice climbing into panic now. "Liam! Liam, I swear to God...if you do this, you will never work again!"
Liam kept walking.
"Do you fucking hear me?" Marina called, voice sharp. "I will call every studio. Every agent. Every bank. You will be blacklisted. You will be finished!"
He walked down the steps.
Marina hurried after him, suddenly less queen and more frantic mother chasing a runaway child. "You're throwing everything away for a nobody!"
Liam stopped at the bottom of the steps.
He turned just enough that she could see his face.
For the first time, he looked free.
"Then I'll be a nobody too," he said quietly before turning away.
Liam didn't look back.
He didn't speed up.
He just walked.
And behind him, Marina's voice turned shrill with rage, echoing off the gates she'd built to keep him inside. "You're nothing without me! You'll come crawling back...You always do!"
Liam stepped into the night.
He walked down the immaculate steps and felt, with every footfall, a strange, ferocious lightness, like he'd left a skin behind. He still tasted Hudson in the back of his throat, warm, real, waiting, and the thought almost undid him.
He wasn't fixed.
He wasn't safe.
He wasn't even sure what he'd just started.
But for the first time in Liam's life, the story wasn't being written around him. It was coming from him. He pulled his hood up and kept moving, heart pounding.
Not away from something this time, but toward himself.
Toward the man he'd been denied.
The man he'd chosen.
The man who could finally say no and mean it.
And still keep walking.
(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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