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 His"
Evelyn didn't waste air.
"Marina's playing her last card," she said.
Liam lifted his eyes. "Define last."
Raj answered before Evelyn could. "The kind you don't play unless you're cornered."
Evelyn tapped the marker against the board once. "We got notice of intent. She's alleging breach of contract. Management agreement, fiduciary duties, and interference. She's throwing a net wide enough to catch a whale."
Liam's jaw tightened. "Breach of what contract, exactly? The one where she owns my life?"
Evelyn's gaze held his. "That's the narrative she's building, yes. But in court, narrative becomes paperwork. She'll point to signature authority, historic course of performance, and she'll frame your resistance as noncompliance."
Raj slid a printed packet across the table. Liam didn't touch it.
Evelyn continued. "Damages claim. Not just fees owed. She's alleging lost opportunities. 'But for Liam's misconduct', that kind of language."
Liam's laugh came out once, flat. "She's suing me for the parts of my life I refused to sell."
Raj's expression flickered with sympathy, only to be quickly buried under competence. "She'll also push for injunctive relief."
Liam looked at him. "Meaning?"
"Meaning," Raj said, "she tries to stop you from doing anything that looks like momentum. She'll argue you can't proceed with projects that undermine her contractual rights. She'll threaten every third party involved to make them nervous enough to back out."
Evelyn capped the marker and set it down with a soft click, as if she were sealing a lid on something volatile.
"She's also invoking NDA enforcement," Evelyn said. "Aggressively."
Liam's gaze sharpened. "Against who?"
Evelyn didn't blink. "Against you. Against Hudson. Against anyone she can credibly frighten into silence."
Liam's hand curled on the edge of the table. The wood didn't give. Nothing ever did.
"She can't NDA my..." He stopped, breath hitching with contained fury. "She can't NDA my relationship."
"She can try," Evelyn said. "She's going to argue that anything you disclose about your life while under her management, anything that impacts your 'brand', was part of her proprietary strategy."
"That's insane," Liam said.
Raj spoke carefully. "Insane is not a legal standard, unfortunately."
Liam dragged a hand down his face, slow. When he dropped it, his eyes were brighter, the heat of anger turning into focus.
"And the film," he said. "Eli's project."
Evelyn nodded once. "She's already reaching for it."
Liam's stomach sank in a familiar way. "How?"
"Financing," Raj said, and pulled up an email thread on his screen. "She doesn't have to touch you directly. She just has to make other people afraid to touch you."
Evelyn's voice stayed even, but there was steel in it now. "She'll tell the financiers that you're in active dispute, that there's potential for an injunction, that completion bonds could get complicated, that your availability could be 'uncertain.'"
Liam's eyes went distant for a second.
Evelyn stepped closer, lowering her voice as if proximity could blunt the impact. "And she's leaking."
Liam went still.
The trained stillness.
Raj swooped in quietly. "Sexuality narratives. Framing it as instability. As exploitation. As 'bad influence.'"
Liam's mouth twisted, not quite a smile, not quite disgust. "She's making me the scandal."
Evelyn's eyes stayed on him. "Yes."
Liam's gaze dropped to his phone. He didn't pick it up, but his thumb hovered near it like muscle memory. He pictured Hudson's turquoise eyes, steady, amused, hurt, loyal. He pictured the scar near Hudson's hairline and the gentleness he used around it, like love could be careful where violence hadn't been.
"She's going after him," Liam said.
Evelyn's voice softened a fraction. "She's trying to isolate you."
Raj leaned forward. "Which is why we don't let her."
Liam looked up. "What's the move?"
Evelyn exhaled slowly. "We counter in three lanes." She raised a finger. "Lane one: immediate protective order requests. We argue harassment, intimidation of third parties, and tortious interference. We document. We give the judge a clean timeline of her pressure campaign. Not feelings. Actions."
Second finger.
"Lane two: we warn Eli's financing team, in writing. We give them a legal memo: what's noise, what's real exposure, and how we're containing it. We make it boring enough that it doesn't feel like a risk."
Third finger.
"Lane three…" Evelyn paused. Her gaze sharpened, like she was choosing her next words with care. "We decide whether to escalate the underlying issue: undue influence, coercive control, breach of fiduciary duty on her end. We push to break her hold permanently."
Liam stared at her. "And how do we do that?"
Evelyn didn't flinch. "Evidence. Paper. Witnesses. And..."
"Me," Liam said, too quickly.
Raj's eyes flicked to Evelyn, then to Liam.
"You," Evelyn repeated.
The room held still.
Liam's throat moved. "You want me to testify."
Evelyn nodded once. "It's an option."
Liam leaned back. His eyes stayed on Evelyn, but his mind wasn't in the room anymore. It was on a set, fourteen years ago. Then he came back to the present with a breath that sounded almost like pain.
"Let's do it," Liam said.
Raj's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Are you sure?"
Liam's voice stayed calm, but something in it had changed. "I'm tired of hiding behind paperwork while she tells the world a story about me."
Evelyn's expression didn't soften into reassurance. She respected him too much for that.
"Let's be precise," Evelyn said. "Testifying shifts the case. It can help. It can also harm. It makes you a witness, under oath, subject to cross-examination. Marina's counsel will try to provoke you, trap you, get you to contradict something from ten years ago."
Liam's eyes didn't waver. "Let them."
Raj tapped his pen against the table, thoughtful. "Your testimony could establish coercion and undue influence. If we show she exploited a position of trust, manager, surrogate parental figure, especially with you being a minor when the relationship began…"
Liam's jaw clenched.
Raj continued, carefully, "It becomes bigger than contract law. It becomes abuse. Control. A pattern."
Evelyn added, "And that changes what remedies the court is willing to consider."
Liam's voice went low. "Good."
Evelyn studied him for a beat. "I need you to understand what you're volunteering for."
"I do," Liam said.
Evelyn didn't look away. "If you testify, Marina will try to put your private life on trial. She'll suggest you're unstable. She'll suggest you're reckless. She'll use Hudson as a lever."
Liam's eyes flashed. "Hudson isn't a lever."
"He is to her," Evelyn replied evenly. "Not to us. Not to you. But to her."
Raj slid another document across the table, this time, a printed summary of potential lines of cross-examination. Liam didn't read it. He didn't need to. He could already hear the questions.
Evelyn's voice softened just slightly. Strategy with a pulse. "If you testify, we control the frame. We make sure you can tell the truth without giving away pieces of yourself you don't owe anyone. We anchor everything in facts: dates, documents, directives, withheld funds, threats."
Liam nodded once. "I want to testify."
Evelyn held his gaze. "Okay."
Raj leaned back slightly, exhaling. "Okay," he echoed, like the word was a switch flipping the room into a new mode.
Evelyn reached for her phone. "Then we move fast. I'll schedule prep. We'll do a full narrative outline, exhibits, and a mock cross. And Liam..."
Liam looked at her.
Evelyn's voice dropped, firm but not unkind. "We need to talk about Hudson's safety. If Marina's leaking sexuality narratives, the press will go feral. We should assume she'll try a public pressure spike the moment she hears you're willing to testify."
Liam's face went cold-professional for a second, automatic, trained. Then he did something new. He let the coldness pass through him instead of becoming him.
"Hudson comes first," Liam said.
Raj nodded. "We can coordinate protective measures. Keep locations tight. We can have a driver help with transportation. And we can preempt..."
A sharp buzz cut through the room. Evelyn's phone lit up in her hand. Her eyes flicked to the screen. Her face changed, just a fraction, but enough.
Raj noticed instantly. "What?"
Evelyn didn't answer right away. She read, once. Twice.
Then she looked up at Liam. "They filed," Evelyn said.
Liam didn't blink. "Already?"
Evelyn's voice stayed level, but the air went colder. "And there's more." Liam's throat tightened. Evelyn held his gaze. "They're requesting an emergency injunction," she said. "And they've named the film."
Raj swore under his breath.
Liam's hands flattened on the table, slow, controlled.
Evelyn's voice cut clean through the silence. "She attached an exhibit."
Liam's eyes narrowed.
Evelyn hesitated, only a beat. "A photo," she said.
Liam's stomach dropped, already knowing.
"A photo of you and Hudson," Evelyn continued, "in Milan."
Raj's voice was tight. "How the hell did she...?"
Liam didn't let them finish. His chair scraped back as he stood, controlled fury rising into something almost frightening in its calm.
"Then we don't wait," Liam said.
Evelyn watched him, measuring, assessing, then nodding like a general accepting the battlefield. "No," she agreed. "We don't."
And Liam, who had spent his whole life being managed, looked at his team and said, with the quiet certainty of a door finally opening.
"Put me on the stand."
*
Hudson's days at Gabriel's place began the way most salvations did, quietly, without fanfare, like the world was afraid to admit it was capable of mercy.
Gabriel didn't usually greet him. He looked Hudson up and down once, eyes sharp, face set in that permanent half-scowl of a man who'd seen too much nonsense to pretend he hadn't.
"You ready to work?" Gabriel asked.
Hudson, clutching the borrowed chef coat as it might evaporate, nodded. "Yes, sir."
Gabriel's eyebrow lifted. "Don't call me sir. I'm not a judge, and I don't like robes."
Hudson blinked. "Okay. Sorry. Gabriel."
Gabriel grunted, already turning away. "We'll see if you last."
Hudson followed him through the back door and into heat.
The kitchen ran like a machine with a temper. Hudson was placed where Gabriel had promised: back-of-house, out of sight, out of the wolves' reach.
His first station was the dish pit.
Grease slicked the plates. Steam rose in choking waves. Someone shoved a rack at him like a challenge.
Hudson didn't complain.
He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He learned the rhythm fast: scrape, stack, spray, load, unload, repeat. His hands moved with steady insistence. When the lunch rush slammed into the kitchen like a fist, Hudson kept his breathing even and his movements efficient, as if panic were something that happened to other people.
An hour in, a line cook muttered, "New kid's quiet."
Another replied, "Quiet's good. Means he's not dumb."
Gabriel passed by once, glanced at Hudson, and said nothing. But Hudson noticed that Gabriel didn't tell him to hurry.
Around week two, during dinner service, something went wrong. In the way, something always went wrong.
A server rushed back, eyes wide. "Table seven wants their steak remade, like, now. They're freaking out. They're saying they know the owner."
Gabriel, on expo, didn't look up from the tickets. "They don't know me."
"They said they do."
Gabriel finally lifted his head. His gaze swept the kitchen like a storm rolling in. "Who cooked it?"
Two cooks spoke at once. A third swore under his breath. The tension spiked, sharp as hot oil.
Hudson, wiping his hands, stepped forward without thinking. "What's the issue? Over? Under?"
The server blinked at him. "It's...they said it's too..." She gestured helplessly. "They're being..."
Gabriel's eyes flicked to Hudson. "You're not even on the line."
Hudson shrugged. "I can still ask what they want."
Gabriel stared for a beat, measuring. Then, like it was nothing, he jerked his chin toward the server. "Take him. If he makes it worse, I'm firing both of you."
Hudson followed her out, not into the dining room, not fully. He stayed in the doorway, half-hidden, the way Gabriel had asked. He leaned toward the table just enough to be heard, voice calm.
"Hey," Hudson said, gentle, casual. "I heard we missed the mark. Tell me exactly what you want, and we'll fix it."
The man at the table puffed up, ready for a fight. Hudson didn't flinch. He listened. He nodded. He made the guy feel like he'd won without actually giving him anything.
Back in the kitchen, Hudson repeated the order calmly. "He wants medium rare, but he's describing medium. Do medium. He'll call it rare if we act like it's special."
The cook stared. "How do you know?"
Hudson smiled faintly. "Because I grew up around men who needed to feel right to feel safe."
Gabriel didn't react. But later, when the ticket pile thinned, he muttered, almost like it annoyed him to say it. "Good save."
Hudson pretended not to glow.
One night after closing, Hudson took out the trash the proper way, through the kitchen, out the side, no alley detours. Gabriel was outside already, leaning against the wall, cigarette unlit between his fingers like a prop he didn't commit to.
Hudson paused. "You smoke?"
Gabriel glanced at it like he'd forgotten it existed. "Sometimes."
Hudson nodded, then said before he could stop himself, "Sometimes is usually code for 'I'm trying not to feel something'."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "You a therapist?"
Hudson smiled. "No. Just...observant."
Gabriel studied him for a long, quiet moment. The city noise filled the space between them.
Finally, Gabriel said, "You run?"
Hudson blinked. "What?"
"From whatever you're not feeling," Gabriel clarified, voice rough. "You run?"
Hudson's throat tightened, but he kept his face light. "I used to."
Gabriel's gaze held his. "And now?"
Hudson hesitated. Then, quietly. "Now I work."
Gabriel looked away first, the cigarette still unlit. "Yeah," he said. "That'll do it."
Hudson went back inside with the strange sensation that something had just been noticed, and not judged.
Weeks went by.
And then, it began subtly.
A missing vendor order. A scheduling mess. A cook calling out with a migraine and a server crying in the walk-in.
Gabriel would bark at someone, then pause, then glance at Hudson like Hudson was a tool he didn't want to admit was useful.
"Hudson," he'd say, abruptly. "Come here."
Hudson would wipe his hands, step in, and Gabriel would toss him some minor crisis like it was a coin.
"Figure this out."
And Hudson would.
Not by being loud. Not by dominating. By listening. By reading the room. By finding the one lever that made people calm down. That good old feeling of being seen.
One night, a busboy was shaking, overwhelmed. Hudson pulled him aside and said, "Breathe with me. In. Out. You're not dying. It's just fish."
The kid laughed, a little hysterically.
Hudson added, "It's not worth a breakdown."
Ten minutes later, the kid was back on the floor, working.
Gabriel watched it happen and muttered, almost angry. "Where'd you learn that?"
Hudson shrugged. "You learn a lot when you're trying not to get hit."
The kitchen went quiet for half a second. Gabriel's expression didn't change. But something behind his eyes did. He didn't ask questions.
He just said, gruffly. "Everybody, back to work."
A week went by. It was a Saturday. They were slammed. The dining room had that restless energy of rich people looking for something to complain about.
A server came running back. "Two-top in the corner, someone recognized him. They're filming, I swear. Like, actually filming toward the back."
Gabriel's face darkened. He started toward the dining room with murder in his shoulders.
Hudson stepped in front of him. "Wait."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Get out of my way."
Hudson kept his voice calm. "If you go out there angry, it becomes a scene. A scene becomes a video. A video becomes...everything."
Gabriel stared at him.
Hudson didn't back down. "Let me handle it."
Gabriel's jaw clenched. "You're not paid enough for that."
Hudson's mouth twitched. "I'm not paid enough for anything."
Gabriel held his gaze a beat longer, then jerked his chin once. Permission. Hudson slipped out like a ghost, approached the table, and smiled the kind of smile that didn't invite conversation.
"Hi," Hudson said, voice light. "House rules: no filming staff or other guests. If you want a photo, ask at the host stand, and we'll see what we can do."
The person smirked. "We're not filming."
Hudson tilted his head. "Then you won't mind putting your phone down."
The person bristled. Then lowered the phone. When Hudson returned to the kitchen, Gabriel was watching him like he'd just seen a trick.
"You ever want a job running the place?" Gabriel asked, pretending it was a joke.
Hudson laughed. "You'd hate that."
Gabriel snorted. "I hate everything."
But he said it like it wasn't entirely true.
A couple of days later, a delivery guy didn't show. A supplier messed up. Two cooks argued over a pan. A server snapped at a dishwasher, and the dishwasher nearly quit.
Gabriel was at the edge of his patience, jaw working like he was chewing nails.
Hudson stepped in without asking, calmed the dishwasher, rerouted prep, and talked the server down in a quiet corner. He didn't take sides. He translated. He held the room together with steady hands.
When it was over, Gabriel stared at him for a long moment.
Hudson wiped his hands on a towel. "What?"
Gabriel's voice came out rougher than usual. "You're good under pressure."
Hudson shrugged, embarrassed. "It's just...work."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "I've seen people crack over less. You don't crack."
Hudson forced a joke. "I'm like a cheap phone screen protector. Indestructible."
Gabriel's gaze held his.
Hudson's smile faltered.
Gabriel sighed like it cost him. "Listen," he said, and the word sounded like a concession. "I don't like the spotlight. I don't like what it does to places. But I know what it is to get cornered."
Hudson didn't breathe.
Gabriel's voice dropped. "If anybody comes here looking for you...you tell me."
Hudson blinked. "Okay..."
Gabriel cut him off with a glare, like gratitude would embarrass him to death. "Don't make it weird."
Hudson's laugh was small. "Too late."
Gabriel's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Go slice the bread."
Hudson turned away before his eyes could betray him.
*
(Two Months Later)
Hudson clocked out that day with the kind of tired that lived in the bones.
The kitchen had quieted into its after-service hush, low voices, the soft scrape of chairs being flipped onto tables out front. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed toward the back door, already picturing the apartment, the shower, Mateo's inevitable commentary about his "kitchen husband era."
He pushed through the swinging door and stopped.
Gabriel stood alone by the office counter, half in shadow. He had a thick envelope in one hand and a stack of receipts in the other, brow furrowed, jaw working. The safe was open behind him, the little metal mouth waiting. Gabriel looked stuck. Not helpless. Just irritated by something that wouldn't obey.
Hudson hesitated, then cleared his throat lightly, giving Gabriel the dignity of being "noticed" and not "caught."
"You okay?" Hudson asked.
Gabriel didn't look up. "No." Hudson blinked. Gabriel glanced at him finally, eyes sharp. "Why are you still here?"
Hudson lifted his keys with a weak smile. "I'm leaving."
"Then leave."
Hudson took a step toward the door, then paused again. The envelope in Gabriel's hand crumpled slightly under his grip. Gabriel cursed under his breath, low, mean.
Hudson turned back. "What's wrong?"
Gabriel exhaled hard through his nose. "This stupid payroll system flagged my deposit. Again. And the accountant's a fucking moron. And..." He cut himself off like he'd revealed too much. "It's not your problem."
Hudson shifted his backpack strap higher. "I know."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed, already anticipating the next line. "So..."
"So I'm gonna make it my problem for ten minutes," Hudson said and stepped closer. "If you want."
Gabriel stared at him like Hudson had offered to braid his hair. "I'm not paying you overtime," Gabriel said.
Hudson's mouth twitched. "Fine. But you look like you're about to throw that envelope through a wall."
Gabriel huffed a laugh that came out against his will. "Maybe I am."
Hudson set his backpack down on a chair and leaned over the counter. "Okay. Show me."
Gabriel hesitated, just a second. Then he shoved the paperwork toward Hudson, as if surrendering. Hudson flipped through it, scanning quickly. It wasn't the numbers that interested him. It was the shape of the stress.
"You're trying to keep everyone paid on time," Hudson said, more statement than question.
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "That's how jobs work."
Hudson nodded, eyes still on the page. "And you don't trust the accountant."
"I don't trust anybody who uses the word 'synergy' unironically."
Hudson laughed softly. He picked up a pen and began sorting the receipts into cleaner piles, handwriting quick and neat as he made a list. Gabriel watched him, arms crossed, irritation slowly draining into something quieter.
"You ever do this before?" Gabriel asked.
"Handle money?" Hudson said.
Gabriel grunted. "Handle chaos."
Hudson paused. "Yeah," he admitted. "Different kind. But...same feeling."
Gabriel's eyes held his for a beat, then flicked away, uncomfortable with the intimacy of it.
Hudson finished the list and slid it back. "Okay," he said. "You need to call them and use these phrases. Just tell them what you need."
Gabriel stared at the list as if it were an alien artifact. "You wrote me a script?"
Hudson shrugged. "People behave better when you give them fewer openings."
Gabriel's mouth twisted. "You're weird."
Hudson smiled. "Thank you."
A silence settled, less tense now, more companionable. The kitchen sounds had faded. Somewhere out front, someone laughed. A chair scraped.
Hudson leaned back against the counter. "So," he said, gently, because he'd been curious for weeks and didn't know how to ask. "Do you have kids?"
Gabriel's shoulders stiffened. Guarded.
Hudson held up both hands. "You don't have to answer. I'm just..."
"I have a girl," Gabriel said, cutting him off.
Hudson blinked, surprised. "You do?"
Gabriel's gaze went somewhere else. "Yeah."
"How old?" Hudson asked softly.
Gabriel's jaw moved. "Ten."
Hudson's chest tightened with something warm. "What's her name?"
Gabriel hesitated, then, quietly, like saying it out loud mattered. "Sofia."
Hudson smiled. "That's beautiful."
Gabriel's eyes narrowed before he exhaled, rough. "She lives with her mother."
Hudson nodded, careful. "Does she...come by?"
"Sometimes," Gabriel said, voice clipped. "Not enough."
Hudson didn't push. He'd learned that some truths had to be placed gently on the table and left there. Gabriel stared at the safe for a second as if it contained something he couldn't unlock.
"I always wanted a boy," Gabriel said suddenly, like it slipped out before he could stop it.
Hudson's heart did a strange little twist.
Gabriel added quickly, defensively, "Not because I didn't want her. She's..." His voice caught, and he cleared his throat, angry at himself. "She's everything. I just...I don't know...always pictured a boy."
Hudson nodded slowly. "Yeah," he said, voice quiet. "I get that."
Gabriel glanced at him. "You do?"
Hudson swallowed, eyes dropping to his hands. "My dad wanted a boy," he said, almost joking. "Then he got one."
Gabriel watched him.
Hudson kept his voice light because heaviness was dangerous. "Turns out he didn't like the kind of boy I was."
The air changed.
Gabriel didn't speak. He didn't rush in with pity or platitudes. He just listened, steady, present, as he knew better than to make it about himself.
Hudson stared at the counter. "He wasn't great," he said. "He had a temper. And when he found out his boy liked other boys, he..." Hudson's throat tightened. He smiled without humor. "He reacted the way men like that react."
Gabriel's face went hard, not at Hudson.
At the world.
At the idea of it.
Another quiet beat passed, heavier than the first.
Then Gabriel said, like it was a question he'd been trying not to ask. "You got somebody?"
Hudson's breath hitched. "What?"
Gabriel's mouth twisted. "Your love life. You got somebody, or you just flirt with my sauté station for fun?"
Hudson laughed, startled. His smile faded a little. "Why do you ask?"
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "I've seen the pictures." Hudson's stomach dropped. Gabriel continued, gruff and honest. "Good looking guy."
Hudson went very still.
Gabriel's voice softened, just a fraction, like it hurt him to say it. "Nobody should have to have their life exposed like that."
Hudson's throat tightened. "Yeah. It's...bad."
"It's sick," Gabriel corrected. "They just..." He shook his head once, furious, then looked away like rage embarrassed him. "It's not right."
Hudson swallowed, voice quiet. "Sometimes I feel like I'm the reason it's happening."
Gabriel snapped his gaze back to Hudson. His tone didn't soften, but it deepened, more earnest. "Don't make yourself the villain in a story you didn't write."
Hudson blinked, stunned.
Gabriel stared at him for a long moment, then muttered, almost like it pained him, "You're a good kid."
Hudson's breath caught, and he stared at the floor, jaw tight. "Thanks," he managed.
Gabriel grunted. "Don't thank me. Just...be smarter than I was." He stared at Hudson for a beat, then tapped the list Hudson had written. "You did that fast."
Hudson shrugged.
Gabriel's gaze sharpened, decision forming, quiet, blunt, inevitable. "I could use some help running this place."
Hudson blinked. "You have help."
"They're all idiots," Gabriel said immediately. Hudson laughed. "They panic. They fight. You don't."
Hudson's chest warmed in a way he didn't quite trust. "So what are you saying?"
Gabriel leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. "I'm saying I want you to help me manage."
Hudson stared at him, stunned. "Me?"
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "Yes, you."
Hudson's mouth opened, closed. He tried to find the joke. There wasn't one.
"Gabriel," Hudson said slowly, "I... I'm back-of-house for a reason."
"You'll stay mostly back-of-house," Gabriel said. "I'm not throwing you to the wolves. But I want you in the meetings. I want you scheduling. Vendor calls. Training. Crisis control."
Hudson exhaled. "That's...a lot."
Gabriel shrugged. "I think you can handle it."
Hudson stared at him for a long moment, then said the only thing that felt honest. "Okay. But I want a raise."
Gabriel paused.
Hudson braced for a laugh, a no, a 'don't get greedy'. Instead, Gabriel's mouth curved, small, reluctant, genuine.
"There it is," Gabriel said. "I was waiting."
Hudson blinked. "Waiting for what?"
"For you to stop acting like you should be grateful for crumbs," Gabriel said, voice rough. "Name a number."
Hudson stared. "Seriously?"
Gabriel nodded once. "Seriously."
Hudson's smile broke, bright and disbelieving. "Okay," he said, laughing under his breath. "Okay."
He grabbed a piece of paper, wrote a number on it, slid it across the table, and waited. It was nothing outrageous, but brave.
Gabriel stared at him a beat, then nodded again. "Fine."
Hudson blinked hard. "Fine?"
Gabriel pointed at him with the pen like it was a warning. "Don't make me regret it."
Hudson laughed. "You won't."
Gabriel's gaze held his, something steady and almost paternal settling in. "Good," he said. Then, quieter. "Now, get the fuck out of here."
Hudson picked up his backpack. His hands shook slightly as he slung it over his shoulder, less from exhaustion now, more from the strange tenderness of being seen and valued without strings.
At the door, he paused. "Gabriel?"
Gabriel grunted. "What?"
Hudson smiled softly. "Sofia's lucky."
Gabriel's eyes flickered, and for a second the roughness fell away, revealing something tired and true underneath.
"Yeah," Gabriel said. "So are you."
Hudson stepped out into the night with that sentence in his chest like a small, stubborn light, one he didn't yet know he'd need later, when the world outside decided to bare its teeth.
*
Hudson came home that night to a quiet apartment.
Liam was there, perched on a stool with his laptop open, shoulders slightly hunched in concentration. He wore one of Hudson's old T-shirts, soft, stretched at the collar, and sweatpants that had clearly never been intended for him but had surrendered anyway. His hair was messier than usual, like he'd been running his hands through it every time a thought turned sharp.
When he looked up and saw Hudson, something in his face loosened immediately. "Hey, beautiful," Liam said, like he'd been counting minutes.
Hudson let his bag drop by the door and walked straight to him. "Hey," he murmured.
Liam's eyes flicked over Hudson's face with that quiet, habitual scan, checking for bruises, checking for exhaustion, checking for anything the world might've tried to steal while Liam wasn't looking.
Hudson leaned in first.
Their kiss wasn't frantic. It was the kind that started soft and stayed there, unhurried, as if they had finally accepted that love could be a place you returned to instead of a thing you braced for. Liam's hand found Hudson's waist, fingers warm through the fabric of his shirt. Hudson exhaled into Liam's mouth, and for a moment, everything fell away.
When they parted, Liam kept his forehead close. Then his gaze flicked toward the laptop with a sudden spark of something almost hopeful.
"I found something," Liam said.
Hudson's eyebrows lifted. "A loophole in Marina's contracts?"
Liam gave him a look. "Don't ruin it."
Hudson laughed softly. "Sorry. What did you find?"
Liam turned the laptop so Hudson could see the screen. It was a listing, clean photos, wide windows, a little balcony, a kitchen that didn't look like it belonged to three people, and a constant state of emergency. The address was neatly typed at the top.
"Two blocks from here," Liam said. "Close enough that we wouldn't have to uproot everything. But far enough that it's ours."
Hudson's chest tightened. Ours. The word still startled him sometimes, the way it sounded in Liam's mouth, careful, reverent.
"It's...perfect," Hudson said, scrolling through the photos with his finger.
Liam watched Hudson's face more than the screen. "There's a down payment," he added, tone too casual for the weight of it. "I can cover most of it if the court doesn't..." He stopped himself, jaw tightening. "If things don't get weird again. But we should probably take it before someone else does."
Hudson looked up. Liam's gaze held his. There was that old training in him, planning, anticipating risk, trying to control the uncontrollable. But underneath it was a boyish urgency that made Hudson's throat ache.
Hudson swallowed. "Okay."
Liam blinked. "Okay?"
Hudson nodded, the decision landing in his bones with a strange calm. "It might be a good time," he said. "I...actually just got a raise."
Liam froze. "What?"
Hudson smiled. "No, I didn't rob a bank. Gabriel asked me to help manage the place."
Liam's expression changed in real time, from surprise to something softer and prouder.
"So I asked for a raise," Hudson continued, unable to stop the grin. "Because apparently I'm learning to not accept crumbs."
Liam's eyes warmed. "Good."
Hudson leaned his hip against the counter. "He said I'm a good kid."
Liam's mouth twitched. "Did he now..."
Hudson didn't notice the shift yet, kept talking, buoyed by the strange sweetness of it. "And he has a daughter. Sofia. She's ten. He..." Hudson hesitated, then added more quietly, "He said some things. He was...kind of...protective at first..."
Liam's hand on Hudson's waist stilled. Hudson finally looked up and caught the new expression on Liam's face. It was subtle. A quiet narrowing of the eyes. A slight tightening at the corner of his mouth. The kind of jealousy that Liam tried very hard not to own.
Hudson blinked. "What?"
Liam said nothing.
Hudson's smile widened slowly. "Oh."
Liam's jaw flexed. "What 'oh'?"
Hudson tilted his head, utterly innocent. "You're jealous."
"I'm not jealous," Liam said immediately, too fast, too flat, like denial was his first language.
Hudson crossed his arms. "You are."
Liam's gaze flicked away. "I'm not."
Hudson leaned in a fraction. "You are."
Liam's eyes snapped back to him. "He's your boss."
Hudson's grin turned wicked. "Mm-hmm."
Liam's voice went tighter. "And you're talking about him like he's…" He stopped, as if the word tasted ridiculous. "Like he's this...this noble rough guy who sees something in you."
Hudson laughed, delighted. "He does see something in me."
Liam stared at him.
Hudson softened, teasing but gentle. "I'm competent under pressure. He's basically adopting me as a tiny, stressed son."
Liam's expression did not relax. So Hudson stepped in, closing the distance, and slid his hands up Liam's sides under the soft hem of the borrowed T-shirt. Liam's skin was warm. Familiar. Hudson felt Liam exhale as if he'd been bracing for impact and got tenderness instead.
"Relax, Pluto... you're still my safe spot," Hudson whispered.
Liam's throat moved. "I'm a disaster."
Hudson smiled against his mouth. "You're my disaster."
Liam huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. "That's not very romantic."
Hudson kissed him again, slow, persuasive. Liam melted into it like he'd been waiting all day to be allowed to.
When they parted, Hudson's forehead rested against Liam's, and he spoke softly, because he knew Liam's jealousy wasn't really about Gabriel.
"I'm not going for romantic," Hudson said. Liam's eyes flickered. Hudson continued, voice gentler. "You're...in the fire with me. Gabriel's just...on the edge of it."
Liam's gaze softened, shame and relief mingling.
Hudson added, playful again to keep it from turning too heavy, "Also, he thinks you're pretty."
Liam blinked. "Excuse me?"
Hudson grinned. "His professional assessment."
Liam stared, then muttered. "He has eyes. Great."
Hudson laughed, and Liam's hand slid to the back of Hudson's neck, possessive in a tender way. Like Liam was trying to pull Hudson into the safest possible radius around him. "You're enjoying this," Liam murmured.
Hudson kissed the corner of his mouth. "Maybe."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "You're flirting with jealousy."
Hudson's voice dropped. "I'm flirting with you."
That did it.
Liam caught Hudson's mouth with his, a little rougher now, hungry. Hudson made a soft sound into the kiss and felt Liam shiver, like the sound was a key turning in a lock. Liam's fingers tightened at Hudson's waist. Hudson pressed closer, letting Liam feel him fully, anchoring.
Hudson kissed Liam again, slower this time, and Liam followed the pace like he trusted Hudson to lead him somewhere safe.
They drifted out of the kitchen without deciding to.
Liam's hand slid down to Hudson's hip, guiding. Hudson's fingers brushed Liam's jaw, then his throat, feeling the swallow there, the pulse. Liam's eyes were half-lidded now, gaze fixed on Hudson like he couldn't believe he was allowed to want something this openly.
They reached the short hallway. Hudson bumped Liam gently into the wall with a laugh that felt like release.
Liam's head tipped back. He looked wrecked and beautiful. "You're such a fucking tease," he murmured.
Hudson kissed along Liam's jaw, felt Liam's breath hitch. "Says the movie star who can't handle me having a grumpy kitchen dad."
Liam let out a soft, strangled laugh that turned into a groan when Hudson's mouth returned to his.
"Stop saying 'dad,'" Liam murmured against Hudson's lips, voice turning helpless. "You're making my dick hard."
Hudson smiled. "Noted."
Liam's hands slid beneath Hudson's pants, palms warm against his plump cheeks, slow and reverent. Hudson shivered and pressed closer, letting Liam feel him.
Their bedroom door was half open.
Hudson pushed it wider with his foot, still kissing, still laughing softly when Liam followed him in. Hudson's hands found the hem of Liam's T-shirt. He paused, looking at Liam, checking constantly.
Liam's eyes met his, steady and wanting. He nodded once.
Hudson lifted the shirt slowly, careful not to rush the tenderness out of it. Liam raised his arms, letting himself be undressed. Hudson's palms skimmed Liam's ribs, then his chest, feeling the rise and fall of breath. Liam closed his eyes for a second, as if touch without performance still surprised him.
Hudson whispered. "Do you want to fuck my ass?"
Liam opened his eyes. "I..." He swallowed, and the honesty in his voice made Hudson's throat tighten. "Fuck, yeah."
Hudson kissed him again, softly. "Good."
They undressed each other in small steps, hands learning even what they already knew. Liam's fingers lingered over Hudson's shoulders, down his arms, as if mapping him for comfort. Hudson's touch paused at Liam's wrists, the places where tension lived, and he felt Liam exhale as if letting something go.
When they finally tumbled onto the bed, it wasn't clumsy. It was a slow collapse, like the day's weight could only be set down there.
"So..." Hudson murmured, hand sliding between them, slowly stroking Liam's rock-hard cock. "Two blocks from Mateo's."
Liam made a soft sound that could've been a laugh. "Yeah."
Hudson smiled into the darkness. "We'll need curtains."
Liam's fingers tightened gently around him. "We'll get curtains."
Hudson kissed the top of Liam's head, legs wrapping around Liam's waist, pulling him closer. "And locks."
Liam's voice was quiet. Certain. "And keys."
*
By now, Hudson and Liam had a rhythm, the way the ocean had a rhythm. Inevitable, patient, older than fear, something their bodies learned not as a trick of chemistry but as a language of trust, until intimacy stopped feeling like a risk and became a home.
There were no walls left to negotiate, no careful performances, no hidden corners where shame could crouch and wait, only that clean, incandescent truth of wanting, lust that did not devour but sanctified, desire that did not demand but invited, eros that arrived like breath and stayed like prayer. And it all braided itself together so seamlessly that passion folded into love folded into desire again, over and over, a soft, endless origami of devotion.
In the hush between their mouths, in the honest weight of skin against skin, they found a kind of safety the world could not counterfeit, a private physics where the noise outside lost its authority, where cameras and contracts and wolves and rumors struck the perimeter and fell harmlessly away, as if their tenderness had built a dome of light around them, warm, impermeable, quietly radiant, so that even when the city raged and hunger prowled and doors rattled under other hands, nothing could get through.
Nothing at all.
Because in the space they made for each other, there was no permission granted to fear, only the steady, unembarrassed miracle of two men choosing, again and again.
To be seen.
To be held.
To be undone.
And to return.
Hudson lay on his side, the curve of his spine a perfect invitation, his smooth back glistening with sweat. Liam pressed close behind him, skin to skin, his thick, rigid cock slick with Hudson's own moisture.
Liam's hand gripped Hudson's hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrust himself slowly.
Hudson gasped, his head thrown back against Liam's shoulder, exposing the taut line of his throat. "Fuck...yes...just like that," Hudson rasped, his voice shredded.
His right arm snaked back, fingers tangling in Liam's sweat-damp hair, pulling him down. Their mouths crashed together in a wet, sloppy kiss, tongues sliding against each other.
Hudson moaned directly into Liam's mouth, the vibration humming against Liam's lips. "I love...when you fuck me like this..."
Liam broke the kiss, panting, lips hovering a breath away. His hips rolled forward with deliberate, grinding slowness, burying himself to the hilt inside Hudson's tight, clenching heat. "Like what?" Liam growled. He stayed buried deep, pulsing slightly, making Hudson whimper. "Tell me."
Hudson's eyes fluttered, pupils blown wide. His pink tongue darted out, glistening, begging for Liam's mouth again. "Like this...slow...so fucking slow," he choked out, body trembling around Liam's invading thickness. "I can feel...every...single...inch of your fat cock...stretching me open...sliding so deep." He arched his back, pushing his ass harder against Liam's pelvis.
"Keep talking," Liam commanded, his voice rough. He began a slow, torturous withdrawal, dragging his swollen cockhead against Hudson's inner walls, milking another ragged cry from him. Then, with a powerful thrust of his hips, he slammed back in, hard and deep. Hudson's body jerked, a strangled scream tearing from his throat as Liam's cockhead smashed directly against his prostate.
"FUCK! Oh my god...right there."
Liam set a punishing rhythm now, deep, grinding thrusts punctuated by sharp, brutal snaps of his hips, each one hammering Hudson's sweet spot relentlessly. The wet slap of skin on skin was now counterpoint to Hudson's broken moans.
"You like it when I fuck you like this?" Liam grunted, his own breath coming in harsh gasps. "When I make you beg?"
"Liam...fuck..." Hudson babbled, his hand scrambling back to claw at Liam's thigh. He gasped, shuddering violently as another brutal thrust lit up his nerves.
"What else...tell me," Liam teased.
Hudson's hand came up, gripping the sheets as he felt his sphincter relax, a queefing sound breaking loose. "I love...the taste of your cum..."
Liam's thrusts became frenzied, piston-like, driving into Hudson with bruising force. His balls slapped wetly against Hudson's ass. "Yeah?" he snarled, sweat dripping from his brow onto Hudson's shoulder. "Describe it to me. Tell me what you love about swallowing my load."
Hudson whimpered, his voice thick with impending orgasm. "It's...thick...coats my throat..." His words dissolved into a high-pitched keen as Liam's cock battered his prostate without mercy. "Salty...bitter at first...but then...the deeper it slides down my throat...the sweeter it gets. Just like you. Perfect..." He reached back blindly, fingers finding Liam's balls, squeezing them roughly. "Liam?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't come yet...okay?"
"I'll try..." Liam muttered, straining to hold himself. He paused his movements, his cock throbbing inside Hudson.
"I want to swallow it...okay? I want you to pump it...right down my throat," Hudson pleaded.
"Hudson...stop...talking," Liam instructed, his eyes rolling back.
"I thought you liked it when I talked like this..." Hudson moaned, lips stretching into a smile.
"I do..." Liam said. "I just don't think I can hold it for long..." he warned.
Hudson's palm pressed harder against Liam's balls, squeezing them with deliberate pressure. "Then maybe we should...slow down a bit."
"Slow down?" Liam's breath hitched. "You're the one who keeps talking about swallowing my..."
"Details..." Hudson interrupted, his tone playful despite the strain in his voice. "Besides, thought you liked a challenge. Mr. I-can-bench-press-two-twenty-five.”
Liam's hand came down on Hudson's ass with a sharp smack. "That has nothing to do...fuck...with keeping my dick from exploding inside you."
"Mm..." Hudson squeezed again, clenching his hole as he felt Liam pulse against his prostate again. "Remember that time at the gallery downtown? When I went down on you in the bathroom and...you had to go back out and talk to that cute curator?"
"Hudson..."
"Lasted a whole hour before we finally got home and you...fuck..." Hudson whimpered, his voice escorting one of Liam's thrusts. "...bent me over the kitchen counter."
Liam groaned, his fingers digging into Hudson's hips. "You're not helping."
"Who said I wanted to help?" Hudson's laugh turned into a moan as Liam shifted, the angle changing just enough to make him see stars. "Fuck...okay, maybe I'm torturing us both here."
"Maybe?"
"Definitely." Hudson released Liam's balls and braced himself against the mattress. "Pull out."
"What?"
"Pull. Out." Hudson turned his head, catching Liam's stunned expression. "I want your cock in my mouth. Or were you not listening?"
Liam withdrew slowly, both of them hissing at the loss. Hudson flipped onto his back, scooting down until his head hung off the edge of the bed.
"Come here." Hudson opened his mouth, tongue out.
Liam moved to stand in front of him, his cock bobbing near Hudson's face. "You're gonna choke."
"That's the idea."
Liam pushed forward, sliding past his lips and onto his tongue. Hudson moaned around him, the taste overwhelming his senses.
Liam's thighs trembled. "Fuck, your throat feels..."
Hudson relaxed, letting Liam sink deeper. His hands found Liam's ass, pulling him closer, encouraging him to thrust.
Liam started moving, shallow at first, then deeper. "You're gonna make me nut."
Hudson made a sound of agreement, his fingers kneading Liam's flesh. The angle allowed Liam to slide all the way in, his cock hitting the back of Hudson's throat with each thrust.
"Tap my leg if it's too much." Liam's voice had gone rough, almost desperate.
Hudson squeezed Liam's ass in response. Keep going, he signaled.
"Jesus, you really want this." Liam picked up his pace, his movements becoming less controlled. "Come down your throat like some kind of..."
Hudson moaned louder, the vibration traveling up Liam's shaft.
"Okay, okay, I'm..." Liam's rhythm faltered.
Hudson's nails dug into Liam's skin, holding him in place.
"Fuck." Liam's hips jerked forward. "I'm coming, I'm..."
Hudson felt the first pulse, hot and thick, coating his throat. He swallowed around Liam's cock, taking everything, just like he'd promised. Liam's sounds above him, those broken, desperate noises, made his own neglected erection throb.
When Liam finally pulled out, Hudson gasped for air, a sharp gag before licking his lips. "Fuck..." he said, out of breath. "Told you I'd swallow every drop."
Liam looked down at him, completely wrecked. "You're fucking crazy."
"Uh, actually...think the word you're looking for is talented." Hudson grinned, still upside down. "Now, about my situation down there..." he said, eyes darting to his own cock.
"Give me thirty seconds to remember how to breathe," Liam replied.
"Thirty seconds?" Hudson raised an eyebrow. "First time we fucked took you ten."
"Ten? I don't remember that..."
"I do." Hudson sat up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I remember how you could go all night if I wanted."
Liam's laugh was breathless. "Pretty sure I can still deliver on that."
"Prove it."
*
(A Week Later)
It was late.
Liam had been at the table, reading something on his phone with that tight, faraway focus that came whenever legal language tried to make a home inside his skull. Hudson had kissed the top of his head and said. "I'll be right back. Just taking the trash."
Liam looked up. Instinct flashed in his eyes.
"It's the back," Hudson said. "Two minutes."
Liam's mouth tightened. "Take your phone."
Hudson wiggled it in his pocket. He smiled. He even managed a joke. "If I die tragically behind the building, tell the...."
Liam's eyes didn't laugh, but his mouth did, faintly. "Stop."
Hudson went anyway.
Down the back stairwell, the air cooled. A draft slipped through the concrete like a warning. The metal door at the bottom had a push bar worn smooth by years of hands. Hudson hesitated with his palm against it, listening.
Silence.
He pushed.
The alley behind the building was narrow, lit by one buzzing security light that made everything look like it belonged in a cheap crime show. The dumpsters sat at the far end, black lids half-cocked. Hudson walked fast, tossing the bag in.
The lid slammed down.
And that's when the night moved.
Footsteps, too many, came from the shadows like a pack deciding it was hungry. Hudson turned, and the alley filled. Flashes erupted. White. White. White. Voices hit him in a chaotic wave.
"Hudson! Hudson! Over here!"
"How much is he paying you?"
"Are you his boyfriend or his employee?"
"Did he buy you a plane ticket to Milan?"
"Are you the reason he's bankrupt?"
Hudson's stomach dropped. His body reacted before his brain could, adrenaline snapping his limbs into motion. He bolted for the door. They surged with him. A camera slammed close enough he felt the heat of it, felt the breath of the man holding it.
"How did you feel when he called you a nobody?" someone shouted.
Hudson flinched like the words were physical. How could they know? Her. Of course. His hand hit the push bar. He shoved. The door didn't give immediately, caught on something, the latch sticky, the building old. Hudson shoved again, panic rising like bile. Flashes popped. The alley turned into a strobe-lit nightmare.
"Answer the question!"
"Are you using him?"
"Did you sign an NDA?"
"Is he gay now, or is this just a phase?"
Hudson's jaw clenched. He kept pushing the door, trying to force it open while the questions scraped skin off his nerves. Then someone grabbed the back of his shirt. Hudson twisted, yanking free, half a second too late. A man lunged in front of him, camera still up, still filming, and Hudson's forearm collided with metal. His balance went.
He stumbled back toward the door.
A second body slammed into him.
Not a shove, an impact. A tackle disguised as chaos.
Hudson hit the ground hard, the breath punched out of him. His cheek met rough concrete, and pain burst sharp along his face. A hot wetness spread near his nose and mouth. He tasted iron.
"Jesus..." Hudson gasped, trying to get his hands under him.
The man with the camera stayed over him, filming down like Hudson was content. Like Hudson bleeding was something that could be sold.
"Stay down!" someone barked.
"Hudson, look at me!"
"Are you hurt? Show us your face!"
"Is Liam inside? Is he watching right now?"
"Did he tell you to take the trash out so he could hide?"
Hudson's eyes burned. He shoved himself up on trembling arms, head spinning, face throbbing, humiliation pooling thick in his chest. The door was right there, right there, and it might as well have been a wall of glass. Hands reached toward him, cameras, microphones, fingers that weren't supposed to touch. They didn't touch his skin, but they crowded his body until he couldn't breathe properly.
"Back the fuck up!" Hudson snapped, voice raw.
A flash detonated in his eyes. He blinked hard, disoriented.
And then, somewhere behind the scrum, another door creaked.
Someone else had come out into the alley.
Not running.
Gliding.
"Okay, hello, rabies," Mateo announced, voice bright and cutting, like he'd walked into a party he didn't want to attend and decided to host anyway. "You girls are looking busted tonight."
For a second, the paparazzi's attention swiveled, distracted by a new target.
Mateo appeared in the doorway with a man beside him, big guy. Broad shoulders, dark hair. His face was calm in a way that didn't invite argument. Mateo took one look at Hudson on the ground, blood on his face, and his expression went from fabulous annoyance to lethal protectiveness so fast it was almost frightening.
"Oh, absolutely not," Mateo said, and it wasn't a joke anymore. He stepped forward, pointing at the nearest camera like it had personally offended him. "Nope. Not today. Not in my alley."
The paparazzi started shouting at him immediately, recognizing him as the roommate, the side character who'd been inconveniently brave before.
"Mateo! Who's that with you?"
"Is Liam in there?"
"Is Hudson being paid?"
Mateo threw his arms wide like he was welcoming them to an award show. "Hi! Welcome to StalkerCon! Sponsored by your inability to feel any fucking shame!"
He turned slightly, addressing the big guy at his side, voice suddenly low and urgent but still threaded with humor, because Mateo didn't know how to stop being Mateo even when his heart was breaking. "Baby..." he started, then corrected himself instantly with a glare at the cameras. "No, actually, not baby. Not on film." He grabbed the big guy's wrist, pulling him close enough to speak under the chaos. "Take Hud inside," Mateo said. "Now. Get him upstairs."
The big guy nodded once, already moving. He stepped into the crowd like a boulder rolling through brush, steady, unstoppable, shoulder angled, body shielding. He reached Hudson and crouched.
"Hey," he said, voice deep and grounded. "Can you stand?"
Hudson tried. The world tilted. He swallowed hard against nausea and anger. "I'm fine," he lied automatically, because it was easier than admitting he was terrified.
"Sure you are," the guy said, just matter-of-fact. "Come on."
He slipped an arm around Hudson's back with careful strength, lifting him like it was nothing, like Hudson's shaking wasn't a spectacle.
The paparazzi swarmed tighter.
"Who is he?"
"Is that Liam's bodyguard?"
"Mateo, are you dating him?"
Mateo snapped, "Yes, I'm dating him, and no, you can't! Look at him, he's out of your league and out of your jurisdiction."
A flash hit Mateo dead-on. Mateo blinked through it and stepped forward, placing himself between the cameras and Hudson as the big guy hauled Hudson toward the door.
Someone laughed.
Mateo's smile turned sharp. "You think this is fucking funny? You've been camping outside our building for months. Months. Like raccoons with ring lights."
A voice shouted, "Your friend chose this!"
Mateo's laugh rang out, bright and cruel. "Oh my God, you've got a moral philosophy degree now? That's adorable. Where'd you get it, the comments section?"
The big guy got Hudson to the door. Hudson's hand fumbled for the push bar. The latch stuck again, of course it did, because nothing in their life ever just opened. Mateo saw it and surged forward, shoving his shoulder into the door. It popped. Hudson stumbled inside, dragged by sheer will and the big guy's arm.
Mateo stayed in the alley. He turned back to the cameras like a performer returning to the stage, except his eyes were dark now, furious, unamused.
"You want a quote?" Mateo called. "Here it is: Back the fuck off!"
Another camera flash.
Mateo didn't blink.
He pointed up at the apartments. "There are people sleeping in there. Families. Kids. Folks who didn't sign up for this shit."
"Then tell Liam to come out!" someone shouted.
Mateo's grin returned, bright as glitter and twice as sharp. "Oh, sweetheart. You think you can summon him like Bloody Mary? Say his name three times, and he appears in a hoodie with an apology?" He stepped forward again, voice booming now, fury wrapped in fabulousness. "Let me educate you," Mateo said. "You don't get to turn their love into your little content snack and then call it news."
Someone yelled. "Are they together or not?"
Mateo's eyes flashed. "I don't know...are you employed or just...freelancing in evil?"
More laughter.
Mateo lifted both hands like a conductor. "You want scandal? Here: I live in apartment 3B, and my landlord still hasn't fixed the sink. Go report on that, you fucking vultures."
The big guy's voice came from inside the door, urgent. "Teo!"
Mateo didn't turn yet. He kept his eyes on the cameras, letting them feel his contempt like heat.
"You touch Hudson again," Mateo said, quieter now, dead serious, "and I will personally become the fucking worst day of your life. And I will look fabulous doing it."
For a beat, there was a strange hesitation in the pack, as if they'd forgotten people could fight back. Then a new flash exploded, and the moment shattered. Mateo backed toward the door, still facing them, still refusing to look afraid. He slipped inside and shoved the door shut.
The latch caught.
For the first time in what felt like hours, the alley noise muted into a muffled roar—still there, still pressing at the building like a tide.
Mateo turned and ran, rushing up the stairs before bursting into the apartment.
Hudson came in half-carried.
Mateo's date, big, steady, built like a brick man, had Hudson tucked against his side, one arm around his ribs, the other braced under Hudson's elbow. Hudson's face was turned slightly away, but the blood was there anyway, bright against skin, smeared along his upper lip and cheekbone.
Liam was off the couch before the door even closed. "Hudson..."
His voice broke on the name.
A split-second fracture of control.
Hudson's eyes found him immediately, turquoise still, and he tried to smile. "Hey," Hudson said, like this was normal. Like he'd just tripped on the stairs. "Don't... don't do that face."
Liam reached for him without thinking, hands hovering, unsure where it was safe to touch. His eyes scanned Hudson's cheek, his nose, the corner of his mouth, the thin line of blood that had already started to dry.
"What the fuck happened?" Liam demanded, and it came out sharp because panic made him sound cruel.
Mateo shoved the door shut with his heel. "What happened is the alley turned into a zoo," he snapped. "And your boyfriend decided to take the trash out like we live in a Hallmark movie."
Hudson winced and then laughed, a tiny broken sound. "It was the back..."
The big guy, Mateo's date, guided Hudson toward the couch and carefully lowered him onto it. He did it without fuss or heroics, just quiet competence. Hudson sat, breathing a little too fast, trying to pretend he wasn't shaken. He lifted a hand to his face, touched the tender skin, and hissed.
Mateo immediately slapped his hand away. "Don't touch it, Dr. TikTok."
"I'm fine," Hudson insisted.
Liam's head snapped up. "You're bleeding."
Hudson looked at him with that maddening calm, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal. "I'm fine."
Mateo pointed at the kitchen. "Okay, everybody, stop auditioning for 'Who's the Most Traumatically Fine' and let me get a towel."
He strode to the sink, yanking open drawers. The big guy lingered by the doorway, breathing hard, eyes flicking once to the curtains where camera flashes pulsed faintly through the fabric.
"Thanks, baby," Mateo said quickly, not looking at him. "For...you know. Being large and useful."
The guy's mouth twitched. "Anytime."
Mateo tossed him a look, half warning, half gratitude. "You can, uh...stand over there and keep being intimidating, please."
The guy nodded and planted himself by the door, arms crossed like a bouncer guarding the world from getting in. Liam stood in the middle of the living room with nowhere to put his hands. His whole body had gone tight, coiled, like he was one more spark away from burning the apartment down.
Hudson watched him.
Liam stared at the blood on Hudson's face.
Mateo returned with a damp towel, a roll of paper towels, and a small first-aid kit. "Sit still," Mateo ordered, dropping to his knees in front of Hudson like he was about to perform surgery. "Tilt your head."
Hudson did, obedient. Mateo dabbed gently at the blood with the towel, muttering under his breath.
Liam began pacing. Two steps, turn, two steps, turn, like his body needed a loop to keep from exploding.
Hudson reached for him with words first, because his hands were busy being held still. "Liam," he said again, louder. Liam's eyes flicked to him, wild with restraint. Hudson's voice softened. "Come here."
Liam took one step toward him and then stopped, as if getting closer might make him break apart.
Mateo swabbed carefully at Hudson's cheekbone. "He's gonna bruise," Mateo announced, as if speaking it aloud would make it less frightening. "But nothing looks broken."
Hudson exhaled. "See? Not dying."
Liam's jaw clenched. "They fucking tackled you."
Hudson's gaze stayed on Liam. "Someone did."
Mateo's tone turned vicious. "Some shmuck with a camera the size of a newborn."
Liam's breath came shallow. "They touched you."
The words hung in the room, heavy. Mateo stopped dabbing for a beat. Even the big guy by the door shifted his weight like he could feel the temperature drop.
Hudson swallowed once.
Liam's face went rigid.
He looked like he might vomit rage.
Hudson called him back with a single sentence, steady as a hand on the back of the neck. "I'm fine," he said.
Liam blinked.
Hudson continued, voice trembling only slightly. "But we can't keep living like this..."
Mateo resumed cleaning, gentler now. "Craziest thing is I've been telling you this," he said, but there was no punchline left in it. Just fear dressed in sarcasm.
Liam stopped pacing.
For a second, he stood absolutely still, and Hudson knew that stillness. It wasn't calm. It was decision-forming. Liam looked at Hudson, really looked, and his expression shifted into something cold and controlled, the professional mask sliding down like a visor.
Hudson hated it.
He also understood it.
It was how Liam survived.
"Teo," Liam said, voice too even. "Do we have ice?"
Mateo blinked at the tone, then nodded quickly. "Yeah. Freezer. Top shelf. Next to my...never mind."
Liam didn't move toward the freezer. Instead, he turned and walked to the window.
Hudson watched him, alarm rising. "Liam..."
Liam didn't answer. He reached for the curtains with both hands and yanked them open. Outside, the street was a living organism. Lights. Cameras. Movement. Shadows. People leaning against cars. People with lenses aimed at the building like guns. The flashes hit the glass, strobing the room with violent white bursts.
Hungry was the only word for it.
Liam stared down at them, and Hudson watched his shoulders lift with a breath that didn't reach his lungs.
Mateo pressed gauze gently to Hudson's cheek. "Hold that there," he said, and Hudson obeyed, eyes still locked on Liam.
The wolves shifted below, sensing movement at the window. A few heads tilted up. A few cameras lifted. Liam's hand curled around the curtain edge so tightly his knuckles whitened. There was a moment, just a moment, where he looked like the boy he used to be, caught under studio lights, realizing too late that adults could be predators and the world could cheer them on. Then he blinked, and the boy vanished behind the man. Liam let the curtain fall back into place. Slowly. Like closing a casket.
And that's when he turned. "I'll be right back," Liam said.
Hudson's heart dropped. "No." Liam's gaze pinned him. "No," Hudson said again, sharper now, because pain made honesty easier. "Liam, don't..."
Mateo glanced between them, gauze in one hand, panic in his eyes. "Uh, what does 'right back' mean in this context? Because I'm not in the mood for a sequel."
Liam didn't respond to Mateo. He looked at Hudson like he was trying to memorize him. For a second, Liam seemed like he might stay. Like the gravity of Hudson's voice might pull him back into the room. But the decision was already made.
The machine had taken too much, and tonight it had taken blood.
Liam moved toward the door.
Hudson's voice cracked. "Liam!"
Liam didn't look back.
He grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open.
Liam stepped into the hallway.
The apartment door clicked shut behind him.
The building swallowed the sound of Liam's footsteps as he took the stairs two at a time.
Down. Down. Down.
And outside, the flashes grew brighter through the blinds, as if the street could sense him coming.
The wolves surged.
Cameras lifted.
Questions sharpened.
And Liam walked right into them.
They saw him the way wolves saw movement. A roar rose instantly, cameras lifting, flashes detonating, voices stacking over one another in ugly harmony.
"LIAM! LIAM! OVER HERE!"
"IS IT TRUE YOU'RE BEING SUED?"
"DID YOU HIT YOUR BOYFRIEND?"
"ARE YOU GAY?"
"IS THIS A PR STUNT?"
"IS MARINA RIGHT ABOUT YOU?"
Liam didn't flinch. He stepped onto the sidewalk and kept walking until he was close enough that they could see his eyes without zooming. Close enough that their hunger had to acknowledge he was human.
Liam stopped in the middle of the swarm.
The flashes went wild, excited. Questions slammed into him, meant to hook under skin and pull something out.
"ARE YOU IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH HUDSON?"
"HOW MUCH DID YOU PAY HIM TO SIGN?"
"ARE YOU BISEXUAL?"
"DID YOU CHEAT ON YOUR GIRLFRIEND IN MILAN?"
"IS THIS WHY YOU'RE BROKE?"
Liam stared at them, calm as glass.
There was a version of him, old, trained, who would've smiled into the lights. He would've denied, deflected, offered a rehearsed line about privacy and respect while his PR team texted in all caps from a car around the corner.
That Liam would've tried to control the story by feeding it crumbs.
He felt that instinct rise in his chest like muscle memory, like a hand reaching for a familiar weapon.
Then he saw Hudson's blood on concrete again.
He saw Hudson's eyes when he said we couldn't live like that anymore.
And something in Liam snapped into clarity.
He didn't raise his voice.
He did something worse for them: he waited.
The pack kept barking for a second, confused by the lack of reaction. Questions overlapped, grew crueler, louder.
"ARE YOU USING HIM?"
"ARE YOU ASHAMED OF HIM?"
Liam lifted a hand.
A simple, flat palm.
It was astonishing how quickly the noise thinned. Not silence, never that, but a lowering, a startled hush, as if even wolves could sense when the prey had decided to look them in the eye.
Liam's gaze moved slowly across the faces, the lenses, the people.
And then, finally, he spoke.
"You're very loud," he said.
A few reporters laughed nervously, hoping for charm. Others leaned in, hungry for a meltdown.
"Liam, answer the question...are you gay?"
"Is Marina freezing your accounts?"
"Is the film canceled?"
Liam held their gaze like a teacher waiting for a classroom to remember it had rules. "You don't actually want answers."
That landed wrong with them, wrong in the best way. It stole their momentum for half a second.
A man pushed forward, camera up. "We want the truth, Liam."
Liam's eyes slid to him. "Okay," he said. "Here's the truth."
The pack surged, bodies leaning in, microphones thrust forward like spears. The flashes intensified, greed turning the air electric.
Liam didn't step back.
He stepped closer.
"Tonight," Liam said, "someone got hurt."
A reporter barked. "So, it's Hudson..."
"I have someone in my life. Yes," Liam said.
The words were simple.
The impact wasn't.
Flashes popped like fireworks, frantic, delighted.
Microphones lifted higher.
"A boyfriend?" someone yelled.
"A fling?" another voice.
"Is it a PR relationship?"
Liam's mouth curved. Something like pity.
"It's not your story," he said.
Someone shouted, "Are you confirming you're bisexual?"
Liam held the question for a beat, then let it drop to the ground untouched. "You want me to deny him?" Liam said quietly. "That's what you're here for?"
The pack shifted.
Some people laughed again, uncomfortable now.
"You want me to what?" Liam continued. "Say the approved words. Give you the version that fits into a caption." His eyes sharpened. "I'm not doing that anymore."
The noise swelled again.
"Liam, are you coming out?"
"Is Marina right that you're unstable?"
"Did you sign an NDA?"
"Is Hudson suing you, too?"
Liam exhaled slowly.
"I'm not coming out," he said, and the simplicity of it was a blade.
People blinked.
Confused.
The phrase didn't fit their script.
A man shouted, "Then why are you here?"
Liam's gaze locked on him.
"Because you hurt someone I love," Liam said.
The word love landed like an unexpected hand to the throat. Even the pack hesitated for a fraction of a second. Not because they were moved, but because love complicated the story they wanted. Love made it less funny. Less easy.
"And here is the only thing you get from me," he said. "You can follow us. You can photograph us. You can stand outside our building for as long as you want." His eyes swept across them, unblinking. "It won't change anything."
A reporter yelled. "You can't stop us!"
Liam nodded. "You're right." And then he said the thing that disarmed them, because it wasn't a threat dressed as power. It was a promise dressed as truth. "I can't stop you," Liam said. "But you can't stop me either."
The air pulsed with flashes.
A man scoffed. "You think we'll leave?"
Liam's voice was almost a whisper, and it carried anyway.
"I know you won't," he said. "You'll stand here," Liam said. "You'll keep filming. You'll build whatever story you want out of this." He stepped backward, slowly. "But it won't change anything," he finally said. "Because I'm done being afraid of what you'll call me."
A voice shouted, desperate now. "Then what the fuck are you?"
Liam paused.
For a heartbeat, he looked like he might answer.
Old Liam would have.
Old Liam would've given them a label to chew.
But the man in front of them wasn't that Liam anymore.
His eyes softened.
And he said, quietly, like a vow only one person needed to hear.
"I'm his."
The pack erupted.
But by now, they were nothing but noise.
Static.
Liam was already turning back.
Toward the building doors.
Toward the only person who mattered.
*
(Four Years Later)
The camera light blinked once, a small red eye.
"You were...hard to reach when we were setting this up," the interviewer said, smiling. "Which, considering who you are, is its own kind of miracle."
Liam's mouth twitched. A shadow of humor. A courtesy, almost.
"I've been around," he said.
The interviewer chuckled softly. "As opposed to…?"
"As opposed to everywhere," Liam replied, gaze steady. "I'm trying something new."
The interviewer waited, letting the silence do what silence did best: invite the truth to step forward on its own.
Liam looked slightly past the lens, not at it. He rarely looked at it. People who had been filmed since childhood learned quickly: the lens wasn't an eye, it was a mouth. Feed it, and it would keep talking long after you'd left the building.
"I'm stepping back," Liam said.
There it was, clean, unornamented.
The interviewer's expression sharpened with interest, but the tone remained gentle. "Stepping back from…?"
Liam exhaled. Something in him softened at the edges, like a man setting down something heavy and realizing his hands could open again.
"From public life," he said.
"Retiring?" the interviewer asked.
"No." Liam's answer came quick, almost amused, like he'd heard the word and found it funny on other people's mouths. "I'm still working. I'm just...changing what part of it belongs to other people." He paused, eyes drifting down to his own fingers as if they held a map. "I've been writing," he continued. "And directing."
The interviewer nodded, pleased. This was an angle people would love. "That's a pretty dramatic shift."
Liam shifted in his chair, fingers lacing together briefly before letting go. "Dramatic makes it sound reactive. Like I woke up one morning and decided to blow up my life."
The interviewer tilted their head, pen tapping lightly against the notepad. "And that's not what happened?"
"No." Liam's mouth curved, barely. "Been thinking about it for years. I just..." He stopped himself, reconsidered. "Didn't have the clarity to separate what I wanted from what I was supposed to want."
The interviewer leaned forward slightly, voice dipping into something more intimate. "That's an interesting distinction. What were you supposed to want?"
Liam's jaw worked for a moment. "Visibility. Relevance. The assurance that if I stopped showing up, people would forget I existed." He laughed, short and dry. "Turns out that fear's louder than it is true."
"So you tested it."
"Had to. Couldn't keep feeding something that was eating me alive from the inside out."
The interviewer nodded slowly, absorbing that. "And the writing? The directing? When did those become the answer instead of just...hobbies?"
Liam's expression shifted. Something almost fond crossed his features. "They were never hobbies. That's the thing people get wrong. Acting was the job. Just took me eighteen years to admit it out loud."
"Eighteen years is a long time to carry something in silence."
"Yeah, well." Liam rubbed the back of his neck and looked past the interviewer's shoulder. "Silence pays better when you're good at pretending."
The interviewer let that sit for a beat, then shifted gears. "You mentioned changing what belongs to strangers. What does that mean, practically speaking?"
Liam's brow furrowed, thoughtful. "Means I'm done explaining myself in real time. Done with the performance of accessibility. If you want to know me, watch the work. That's where I'm honest."
"But this..." The interviewer gestured vaguely at the space between them, the camera, the moment itself. "This is still a performance, isn't it?"
Liam's grin widened, something genuine breaking through. "Oh, absolutely. Difference is, this one has an end point. I'm not doing this again for another five years, maybe longer."
"That's a bold promise."
"It's a boundary." Liam's tone firmed up, matter-of-fact. "And I'm done apologizing for those."
The interviewer scribbled something down, the first real note they'd taken since sitting down. "Do you worry people will misunderstand? That stepping back might look like arrogance or ingratitude?"
Liam's response came quick, no hesitation. "People misunderstand me when I'm standing right in front of them. At least this way I'm not exhausted by it."
The interviewer smiled, something warmer now, less professional. "Fair point."
"Besides..." Liam's tone shifted, lighter, almost playful. "If they think I'm arrogant, they're not wrong. Just took me a while to realize arrogance and self-preservation aren't mutually exclusive."
The interviewer laughed, surprised. "That's going to make a hell of a pull quote."
"Good. Use it." Liam crossed his arms loosely and settled back. "Better that than another headline about how I've 'disappeared'."
"You've read those, then."
"Hard not to when people send them to you with concern emojis attached."
The interviewer's smile turned knowing. "But you held firm."
"Had to. Otherwise, I'd still be out there, smiling on cue and wondering why none of it felt like mine anymore."
The interviewer glanced briefly at the camera, then back at Liam. A beat passed where the room seemed to lean in.
The interviewer's tone softened. "What made you decide now?"
Liam's jaw moved, a slight tightening of a muscle. He knew that question. It was the one that always led somewhere.
He looked up again, gaze steady but not hard. "There comes a point," he said, "where you realize you can either keep being...manageable, or you can be alive."
The interviewer watched him for a moment, then, gently, almost apologetically, changed tracks.
"There's a...line," the interviewer said. "Something you said last time. You said...you lost everything."
Liam didn't flinch.
But the air changed anyway.
The interviewer continued, carefully, "I've wondered...what did you mean by that?"
Liam's gaze dropped to the glass of water. He reached for it, lifted it an inch, then set it back down without drinking. A tiny, unconscious refusal. Even thirst didn't get to make his choices for him anymore.
"Money," Liam said at last. "Fame. Work."
The interviewer didn't interrupt. The silence felt respectful, almost reverent.
"The person I was trained to be," Liam added.
"Trained?" the interviewer echoed softly.
Liam's mouth curved, a humorless, almost-smile. "People think you become famous and then you lose yourself," he said. "For me, it was the opposite. I lost myself first. Fame just...made it profitable."
The interviewer's expression flickered, as if recognizing the hidden cruelty beneath the headline. "So when you say you lost everything," the interviewer said, "you mean you lost…?"
"Who I used to be," Liam replied. "Whatever that was."
His voice didn't break.
It didn't need to.
The steadiness was its own kind of bruise.
The interviewer leaned forward slightly, careful with it now. "Before what?"
And that, precisely that, was the question that opened the door.
Liam's eyes drifted, slow and deliberate, past the camera lens. For a second, he looked like he was seeing something that wasn't in the room at all, something luminous and private. His face softened.
The smile that came wasn't for the interviewer.
It wasn't for the camera.
It was too small, too honest, too personal.
The kind of smile you gave someone when you'd survived a long night and found them still there. His eyes glistened, not with tears, but with the tension of them, like light caught on water.
And then, so subtly it could have been missed by anyone who hadn't spent years studying Liam's expressions for meaning, his lips moved without sound as he mouthed something.
The interviewer's head turned instinctively, following the line of Liam's gaze toward the back of the room, behind the camera rig, behind the boom pole, where the crew kept their bodies discreet and their faces out of frame.
"Is there any chance," the interviewer began, smiling now, voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial, "we'll get you to talk about..."
"No," Liam cut in, gently, warmly, with a firmness that didn't invite debate. He didn't look back at the interviewer when he said it. His eyes stayed on that unseen presence.
"We won't talk about that."
The words weren't cold.
They weren't defensive.
They were a boundary drawn with love.
Liam winked, quick, boyish, devastating, toward someone seated behind the camera, somewhere in the shadowed back.
An inside joke.
A private promise.
A hand reached across the years.
The interviewer watched him for a beat, then let out a quiet laugh, soft, surprised, almost moved by the refusal. "Okay," the interviewer said, surrendering with grace. "Then we'll talk about the work."
Liam's gaze finally returned to the interviewer, but his smile lingered like sunlight left on a surface after someone walks away. "Good," he said.
And somewhere in the back, unseen, uncredited, unclaimed by the story, someone shifted.
The red recording light blinked on, steady and patient.
They kept rolling.
And Liam Hart, who had been captured since he was twelve, chose, at last, what he would not give away.
(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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