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.
"Will It Always Be Like This?"
"And the Oscar goes to…"
The room leaned forward.
The camera cut to Liam's table and found him instantly, like it always did: his face composed, his eyes bright but guarded, his hand already on Hudson's, except Hudson wasn't there. He never was, not in rooms like this. Liam had learned how to hold that absence, how to let their love be a private gravity now.
The envelope opened with a soft rip.
"…Liam Hart for What Remains."
For a heartbeat, the sound didn't register. Applause erupted, a sudden white noise of hands and voices and chairs scraping back. People rose. Some shouted his name. Others smiled as if they'd always believed in him. A few older, sharper faces looked surprised, as if talent were only allowed to return on certain terms.
Liam stood.
He didn't stagger. He didn't blink too fast. He didn't let the emotion spill. His training showed in the cleanness of his movements, the controlled gratitude of his smile as he embraced his director, shook hands, and accepted kisses from colleagues.
But there was something different in him now.
Not softer.
Definitely truer.
He made the walk to the stage with a calm that wasn't arrogance. It was ownership. The kind that came from having had everything taken and still choosing to build anyway.
When he reached the steps, he paused just long enough to steady his breath. The stage lights hit him. He could feel the audience as a living thing beyond the glare, ten thousand eyes, ten thousand expectations. A few judgements, he was sure of it.
He took the Oscar from the presenter with a polite smile and a quiet, "Thank you."
Then, he stepped to the microphone.
For a second, he just looked out at the room. He let the applause swell, crest, start to fade.
Then he spoke.
"Thank you," Liam said, voice low, unhurried. "I'm grateful. I'm...stunned. I'm also very aware that I've been up here before."
A small, curious ripple moved through the crowd. A few smiles tightened. The camera operators adjusted, hungry for a line they could play on loop.
Liam's fingers tightened gently around the statue.
"I want to thank Eli Sorrento," he continued, "for making a film that refused to look away. For insisting that tenderness and strength can live in the same frame. For believing we could make something honest in a business that sometimes rewards anything except honesty."
Eli's eyes shone at his table, one hand pressed to his mouth like he didn't trust himself.
Liam's gaze moved on.
"I want to thank the crew," Liam said, and his voice warmed here, becoming intimate. "The people who got up before dawn. Who held the lights. Who kept the set safe, moving, and... human. Most of the magic in this room is built by people who never get to stand here."
Applause rose again, quickly and approvingly.
Liam let it settle.
"But," he said, "I really want to take this moment to say something."
The air changed. A whisper of anticipation, the sense that he was veering off the well-lit road. Liam took a breath, and when he spoke next, it wasn't with anger. It was with clarity. With responsibility.
"This industry is very good at celebrating talent," he said. "We love it. So much we chase it, mine it, monetize it until it becomes a resource instead of a person."
The room held still. Somewhere, a laugh died in someone's throat.
"And we are...much less practiced," Liam continued, "at protecting it when it's young."
A hush spread outward like a slow wave.
"As most of you know, I started working when I was a kid," Liam said. "A lot of us did. There are children in this business who are brilliant...gifted, funny, luminous, who show up on sets with the kind of instinct adults spend their whole lives trying to harness."
His voice softened, almost reverent.
"And those kids deserve more," Liam said. "They deserve adults whose job is protection, not profit. They deserve advocates who are trained to say, 'No. That schedule is too much.' 'That note is inappropriate.' 'That child needs a break'.'"
He let the words settle like stones placed carefully on the table.
"And there are people who will say, 'It's always been like this,'" Liam said. "But 'always' is not a moral argument. It's really just an excuse."
A few scattered claps began, hesitant, then stronger as people recognized the courage it took to say it there, in front of the money.
Liam's gaze held the room, steady.
"We have systems to insure cameras," he said. "Sets. Completion bonds. Teams whose entire job is to protect investments."
He lifted the Oscar slightly.
"And yet...we still behave as if the most vulnerable are somehow optional to protect," he said. "As if their safety is...negotiable."
The room was silent now.
Liam's voice deepened, quiet but sharp.
"I mean...what are we rewarding?" he said. "Profit like it's proof of meaning? Spectacle like it's the same thing as art? Treating 'marketability' like a synonym for truth." He paused, then said plainly, "Well...it isn't."
A breath passed through the audience.
"Art is supposed to change us," Liam said. "Not sell us. It's supposed to make room for people who have been silenced. To complicate the easy answers. To demand we do better, not just as audiences, but as an industry."
His eyes glistened, but he didn't wipe them away. He let them be seen.
"I'm not saying this because I'm ungrateful," Liam said. "I'm saying it because I am grateful. I am grateful enough to want this place to be worthy of the talent we keep calling miraculous."
A tremor moved through him, controlled, honest.
"So tonight," Liam said, "I want to dedicate this to every kid who's ever been told to 'be professional' when...all they needed was to be protected. To every kid...who has ever sat alone in a studio hallway waiting for an adult who didn't come. To every child whose brilliance was treated like an asset instead of a soul."
His voice tightened for just a moment, then steadied again.
"And I want to ask everyone in this room, executives, producers, managers, agents, directors, actors," he said, "to stop pretending we can't afford to care."
He held the Oscar closer.
"Because the truth is," Liam said, "we can. We can afford anything we decide matters."
Silence.
Then, from somewhere in the back, someone stood. Then another. The applause began, first scattered, then rising, swelling into something that felt like recognition.
People were standing. Fully. A wave of bodies rising, faces shining, some crying without hiding it. The camera found celebrities clapping with fierce expressions, crew members at the edge of the aisle, hands over their mouths, older actors nodding as if they'd been waiting years to hear someone say it out loud.
A standing ovation.
Liam didn't smile for it the way he would have once. He just nodded once, small.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
He stepped back from the microphone.
He walked offstage with the Oscar in his hand, the applause still roaring behind him. A stagehand guided him through the narrow corridor of curtains and cables and hurried bodies.
And then, just beyond the edge of the light, Hudson was waiting. In the wings, tucked into shadow like a secret the world didn't deserve. Hudson's eyes were bright, turquoise even in the dark, catching stray stage light like water catching the moon. He wore Liam's black hoodie. No tuxedo. No public smile. Just himself.
Liam's breath hitched. The moment he saw Hudson, the bravado of the stage fell away like an old costume.
Hudson stepped forward and grabbed him by the lapel. Possessive in the most loving way.
"So, how does it feel?" Hudson whispered.
Liam's throat tightened. He tried to speak. Nothing came out.
Hudson's mouth curved. "Stop doing the humble thing," he murmured.
Liam's laugh broke out, breathless, disbelieving.
Hudson's gaze flicked to the Oscar, then back to Liam's face. His expression softened into something fierce and proud. "You finally won something on your own," Hudson said quietly.
The words hit Liam harder than all those applause ever could.
Liam blinked fast, eyes burning. "I didn't..."
Hudson cut him off with his hands. One at Liam's jaw, one at the back of his neck. "Yes, you did," he murmured. "And you looked fucking hot doing it."
Liam swallowed. "Oh, yeah...?" he started.
Hudson didn't give him time to build a speech. He pulled Liam into the darkest corner of the wing, a pocket of shadow where the world blurred into muffled sound. The ovation still thundered somewhere, but back here it was just breath and cloth and the heat of bodies close.
Hudson kissed him.
Not a careful peck. A real kiss, deep, hungry with pride, tender with relief. A kiss filled with four years of profound adoration. Liam made a soft sound into Hudson's mouth and clutched at him, Oscar forgotten for a second, the statue pressed awkwardly against Hudson's side as if even gold trophies had to make room for their love.
Hudson pulled back just enough to breathe, forehead still touching Liam's. His voice was smiling. "Congratulations, Pluto," Hudson whispered.
Liam's eyes shone. "You're not supposed to be here."
"I'm not," Hudson said, deadpan. "I'm a hallucination. A gay mirage."
Liam let out a broken laugh.
Hudson's thumbs brushed Liam's cheekbones, wiping away nothing and everything. "I'm so proud of you," he said again, softer.
Liam's throat worked. He leaned forward and kissed Hudson's forehead, a reverent, shaking gesture.
"Thank you," Liam whispered.
Hudson's smile was small, fierce. "Now go," he murmured.
Hudson kissed Liam one more time, quick, secret, theirs, then stepped back into the shadows like a man vanishing on purpose. Liam squared his shoulders, Oscar in hand, heart full.
And when he walked back toward the noise, the applause, the cameras, he carried something no one could photograph.
The truth of who he belonged to.
And the quiet certainty that the world didn't get to take it this time.
*
(One Year Later)
"Beautiful," someone said off-camera. "That's a wrap on Liam."
There was a small chorus of relieved motion, headsets shifting, cords being gathered. The interviewer closed their notebook with the reverence of someone who understood they'd just been allowed to touch something rare.
Liam stayed seated, hands resting loosely on his knees, eyes still pointed somewhere past the lens. Then he stood, and the spell broke. He smiled, but it wasn't the performance smile he'd worn so many times before. It was simply him, acknowledging another human being who'd done a job without trying to take pieces of him home as souvenirs.
The interviewer stepped closer, lowering their voice in that professional-soft way.
"Thank you," they said. "For keeping it honest."
Liam's mouth curved faintly. "You're welcome," he replied.
The interviewer hesitated, then added, almost quietly, "You seem...well."
Liam's gaze flicked, instinctively, toward the back of the room.
He didn't answer right away. Then, softly. "I am."
The interviewer followed his glance for half a second, but Liam stepped back, and that simple movement was the boundary.
Kind.
Absolute.
"Teo will handle anything you need," Liam said, nodding toward the side.
Mateo appeared as if summoned by the sound of responsibility. He stepped between Liam and the last remnants of production logistics with a phone already lit, looking annoyingly competent.
"I've got it," Teo said brightly, then looked at the interviewer with a smile that suggested 'You will not be touching my client's soul again today'. "We're all set. Releases, pick-ups, and any follow-up requests go through me. Liam is now officially off-limits. He's delicate."
Liam muttered, "I'm not delicate."
Teo didn't look at him. "He's delicate," Teo repeated, to the room at large, as if issuing a weather report. "A rare tropical flower."
The interviewer laughed, genuinely. "Understood."
Liam shook his head, fond despite himself, and slipped out. He walked past the camera rig, the soft boxes, the sound cart, and the tangle of cables. The farther he got from the set, the quieter his body became. Less alert. Less braced. He moved like someone heading toward home.
In the back, just beyond the bustle, Hudson stood half-turned away, phone to his ear, finishing a call in a low murmur. He wore dark jeans and a simple jacket. His hair was a little longer now.
His voice carried soft and amused. "No, Gabe, I'm not asking you to do anything illegal," he said into the phone. "Yes. I know it's last-minute. Just...thank you."
Liam stopped a few feet away and watched him.
Hudson turned as he hung up, and the change in his face was instant, his whole expression warming, softening.
"Hey," Hudson said.
Liam exhaled, like he'd been holding his breath all day without noticing. "Hey, beautiful."
Hudson stepped into him without hesitation, and Liam met him halfway. Hudson's hand landed at the back of Liam's neck, grounding, and Liam's fingers found Hudson's waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They kissed.
A simple kiss.
A full-stop kiss.
"You okay?" Hudson asked quietly.
Liam's answer came just as quietly. "Yeah."
Hudson's mouth curved. "You sure?"
Liam nodded once, the movement small but certain. "I'm sure."
Hudson studied him for a beat longer, then his gaze softened into something playful, like he couldn't resist. "I was thinking..." he began.
Liam lifted a brow. "Oh, boy..."
Hudson smiled wider. "... I'd take you to lunch."
Liam's eyes warmed. "Lunch."
"Yeah," Hudson said. "Like a normal person."
Liam laughed softly, incredulous. "Like on a date?"
Hudson's eyes glittered. "Yes," he said, deadpan. "I'm asking you on a date. Try to contain yourself."
Liam's smile turned tender. "Okay," he said. "Cool."
Hudson nodded, satisfied, as if he'd expected nothing less. Then he raised his phone again and hit a contact.
He put it to his ear. "Daniel? It's Hudson. He's done. Can you bring the car around?"
Liam blinked, warmth blooming. "You're getting me hard," he teased.
Hudson smiled.
They could both feel it, how their relationship had shifted over the years into something whole. Not perfect. Not untouched. But balanced. Built. Centered. Hudson wasn't an accessory hidden behind curtains anymore.
He was the axis Liam revolved around.
Quietly.
Surely.
Without surrendering himself.
A voice cut through the back area like a trumpet blast.
"Okay, good...because I spoke to Maria and she sent the food over..."
Teo came barreling in from the corridor, phone in one hand, shirt slightly askew like he'd been wrestling the entire building into submission. He stopped mid-sentence. Not because he'd seen Liam. Because he'd seen Hudson.
Hudson turned slowly.
He looked at Teo with a flat and lethal expression. Teo's mouth opened, then shut. His eyes widened in immediate self-preservation. "…Nevermind," Teo said, suddenly cheerful. "I spoke to...no one. No one exists. I have never spoken to Maria in my life. Who is she?"
Hudson didn't blink.
Teo nodded quickly, as if agreeing with an invisible presence. "Okay. Great. Love you. Bye."
And then Teo turned around and walked away at a speed that suggested flight, dignity abandoned.
Liam stared after him, suspicion blooming, then looked back at Hudson, whose expression was far too innocent now.
"What?" Liam said.
Hudson blinked. "What what?"
Liam narrowed his eyes. "Why was Teo talking about Maria sending food over?"
Hudson shrugged, a little too smoothly. "Maybe he's...I don't know."
Liam leaned closer, voice low. "Hudson."
Hudson's mouth twitched. "Liam."
Liam studied him, this man who could be soft as sea-glass one moment and terrifying the next, this man who had learned to survive and then learned to live.
"I swear to God," Liam said, half amused, half pleading, "if you planned anything..."
Hudson's eyebrows lifted. "Why would I plan anything?"
"You know why," Liam said, already knowing he was losing. "I was kinda hoping to forget I'm turning thirty."
Hudson's gaze softened instantly, the humor dropping away like a coat. He stepped closer and touched Liam's chest lightly, two fingers, a gentle claim.
"Why would you want to forget?" Hudson said.
Liam's throat tightened. "Hudson..."
"Okay," Hudson said, quiet but firm. "Listen to me."
Liam stilled. He always did when Hudson used that tone.
Hudson's eyes held his with a kind of tenderness that was almost stern. "It's an important date," Hudson said. "You know why?"
Liam's breath caught.
Hudson's voice softened further. "Because you're still fucking here," he murmured. "You have work that matters and people who love you. And you have...me. Us."
Liam's eyes burned. He looked away for a second, trying to pretend he wasn't undone by something as simple as being celebrated without being consumed.
Hudson tipped his chin back gently, bringing him home again. "So no," Hudson said, mouth curving faintly. "You don't get to forget."
Liam swallowed. "You're bossy as fuck."
Hudson smiled, pure mischief returning, just enough to keep it light. "You bet my ass," he said.
Liam exhaled, half laugh, half surrender. "I'll gladly lose, then."
Hudson kissed him again and then stepped back as if nothing in the world could shake him.
Hudson offered Liam his hand. "Come on," Hudson said.
Liam took his hand.
Minutes later, they sat in the back of the car with Daniel driving they way Daniel always did everything: smoothly.
"You're awfully quiet today, sir," Daniel observed, eyes on the road. His voice was low, respectful, familiar.
Liam smiled faintly. "It's a new hobby."
Daniel's mouth twitched. "Congratulations on the interview, Mr. Hart."
Hudson turned slightly in his seat, glancing at Liam. "He did good," he said.
Liam's gaze softened. "I had a good team."
They rode in a pocket of peace for several blocks, until Hudson cleared his throat in a way that tried to sound casual and failed.
"So," Hudson said, looking out the window. "I totally forgot something at the agency."
Liam's eyes narrowed immediately. "You forgot something?"
Hudson nodded. "Mm-hm."
Liam waited.
Hudson continued, still looking out the window. "We should swing by."
Liam's suspicion rose like a tide. "Why?"
Hudson's voice stayed light. "Because I need it."
Liam's voice went quieter. "What is it?"
Hudson's smile widened by one millimeter. "A thing..."
Liam stared at him. "Hudson."
Hudson finally glanced back, innocent as an angel in a crime scene. "Liam."
Daniel's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. He looked extremely neutral, which told Liam everything he needed to know.
"Daniel," Liam said slowly, "did you know about this?"
Daniel's voice remained calm. "Mr. Hart, I...was instructed to drive."
Liam leaned back, defeated. "I hate all of you."
Daniel turned onto a quieter street. The building that housed Liam's agency appeared ahead, modern, discreet, glass and matte stone, intentionally unflashy. The kind of place that didn't announce itself to the wolves.
The car pulled up. Daniel exited first, opening Liam's door with the same old-world gentleness that always felt like a refusal to let the world be crude. Hudson stepped out and came around to Liam's side.
"We're just grabbing my thing," Hudson said.
Liam smiled. "You're lying."
Hudson's grin didn't waver. "Lying is a strong word. I prefer 'curating your experience.'"
Liam tilted his head. "Curating. That's what we're calling it now."
Hudson shrugged one shoulder. "Sounds classier than ambush."
Liam stopped walking. "You just said ambush."
Hudson's jaw worked like he was replaying his own sentence. "Did I? Weird. Must be the, uh, interview adrenaline."
Liam turned to Daniel. "He said ambush."
Daniel adjusted his cuff. "I heard nothing, Mr. Hart."
Liam's mouth pressed into a line. "You heard nothing?"
Daniel stood perfectly still beside the open car door. "Selective auditory processing. It's a skill I've cultivated over the years."
Hudson reached for Liam's elbow, guiding him gently toward the entrance. "Come on. Five minutes. In and out."
Liam let himself be guided, but didn't soften. "The last time you said five minutes, we ended up..." he said, glancing at Daniel. "Nevermind," Liam added.
Hudson winced. "Okay, that one...fair. But this is different."
Liam walked through the door, then paused in the lobby. "Hudson. Whatever this is..."
Hudson stepped in behind him. "Whatever this is, you're gonna love it. Or at minimum, tolerate it with that specific brand of annoyed affection you do better than anyone on this planet."
Daniel followed them to the door, hands clasped behind his back. "For what it's worth, Mr. Hart, I believe tolerant affection is one of your more underrated qualities."
Liam shot him a look. "You're supposed to be on my side."
Daniel's chin lifted a fraction. "With respect, sir, I'm on the side of whoever signs the parking validation."
Hudson barked out a laugh. "Daniel. That was almost a joke," he teased.
Daniel's expression remained immaculate. "Almost. I wouldn't want to commit fully."
Liam rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Fine. We go upstairs. You grab your 'thing.' And then we leave."
Hudson nodded solemnly. "Absolutely."
Liam watched him. "You're nodding too fast."
Hudson slowed his nod to an exaggerated crawl. "Better?"
Liam pressed the elevator button. "Worse, actually."
The lobby was quiet, but not empty. There were subtle signs of life: a receptionist's smile, a few familiar staff faces hovering with purposeful energy that tried to look casual and absolutely wasn't. Someone offered Liam a "Happy birthday" too quickly and then pretended they hadn't.
Liam's suspicion quickly sharpened into certainty.
Hudson led him down the hall, fingers still laced with Liam's. As they approached the conference room, Liam heard voices. Not adult voices alone. Higher ones, bright ones, tentative ones.
He stopped short.
Hudson squeezed his hand once. "Come on," he murmured, and there was a warmth in his voice.
Hudson opened the conference room door.
The room was full.
With kids.
A dozen, maybe more, child actors sat around the long conference table and along the walls, all dressed in the best version of themselves: neat hair, pressed shirts, small hands folded or fidgeting, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and awe. Parents and guardians stood behind them, hands on shoulders, arms crossed, faces tender and watchful.
Liam's staff filled the rest of the room, people he'd hired personally. There were assistants and coordinators, a child welfare advocate, and a therapist consultant he kept on retainer for on-set check-ins. Evelyn stood near the back with Raj beside her, both of them looking uncharacteristically pleased with themselves. Mateo hovered near the coffee station, grinning so hard it looked painful, his phone raised as if he was recording but careful to keep the kids' faces out of frame.
The room erupted.
"Happy birthday!"
Applause broke out, messy, joyful, not polished. A few kids clapped too enthusiastically and then laughed at themselves. One parent wiped their eye quickly, pretending it was dust.
Liam stood in the doorway like someone had reached into his chest and gently rearranged his organs. He blinked once. Twice.
Hudson's smile was radiant and unapologetic. "Surprise," he said.
Liam stared at the children, at their faces, their nervous excitement, their careful hope. He felt the ground tilt under him. It was the strangest thing: he'd faced paparazzi, judges, studio heads, and award-show rooms full of power. None of that hit him the way this did.
This was the point.
This was what remained.
His staff began moving toward him, offering hugs, gentle touches, and words like "We're proud of you," "You did it," "This is yours," but it all blurred together. Liam's gaze snagged on a boy near the middle of the table.
Eleven, maybe. Blonde hair that fell into his eyes like he wasn't used to haircuts yet. A thin frame in a sweater that looked too warm for LA. His hands were folded around a piece of paper as if it were the most important thing in the world. The boy's mother stood behind him, palm resting lightly on his shoulder. Protective. Present.
Liam's throat tightened.
Evelyn stepped forward, calm, courtroom-clean but warm. "Liam," she said, and the name sounded less like distance and more like respect now. "We know how you love these public displays of affection," she teased, pulling a collective giggle. "We promise we won't keep you long. But the kids wanted to say something."
Raj added, dry as ever, "Also, we're legally obligated to inform you that Hudson is responsible for all emotional damages incurred today."
Hudson shot him a look. "I will countersue."
Liam tried to laugh. It came out like a breath that broke.
Mateo clapped his hands. "Okay, okay," he said, loud enough to corral the room. "We have one rule: nobody makes Liam cry before the letter."
Liam's eyes widened. "The...what?"
Hudson's smile sharpened.
The boy at the table, with golden eyes, lifted his hand slightly, as if asking permission to exist. Mateo's grin softened. He nodded toward him. The boy stood carefully, chair scraping. His mother adjusted the hem of his sweater without thinking, small, loving, automatic. He looked at Liam with a gaze that was too old for his face and too hopeful for the world he was in.
His voice shook at first.
Then steadied as he began to read.
"Hi, Mr. Hart,
My name is Luca. I'm eleven. I'm sorry if my handwriting is messy because my hands get sweaty when I'm nervous. My mom said I can take my time.
I wanted to write you a letter because you always say that kids on sets should be treated like kids, and I didn't know grown-ups could say that.
I started acting when I was nine. People tell me I'm 'mature.' They say it like it's a compliment, even though I don't really know what it means.
The first time I was on a big set, I didn't want to ask to go to the bathroom because I didn't want to mess up the timetable. I held it, and I got a stomachache, and then I cried in the trailer because I thought I was being stupid. I thought I was supposed to be brave.
When I met your agency, the first thing they asked me was if I had eaten breakfast. No one ever asked me that before. They asked my mom if she felt included. They asked me if I knew what a contract was, and when I said no, they didn't laugh. They explained why, like it mattered.
I watched your speech when you won the Oscar that night and my dad cried, which is embarrassing but also I liked it. He said, 'That man is telling the truth.' My mom said you were brave. I don't really know what brave is. I think brave is when you do the scary thing even if you don't get a prize for it.
I think you know what it feels like when everyone is looking at you, but nobody is really seeing you. Like you're a picture instead of a person.
I think you are trying to change that.
My mom and dad told me you helped make rules for kids on sets, and you made the agency pay for a teacher, a counselor, and breaks. I heard you tell people no. I didn't know actors could tell people no. I didn't know grown-ups would listen.
Sometimes I worry that if I say no, they won't want me anymore. Like I'm only good if I do everything right. But you said in one interview that kids don't owe anyone perfection. I wrote that down and put it in my backpack.
I want you to know that I feel safer because you exist.
When I grow up, I want to be an actor too, but I also want to be like you.
My mom says you started acting when you were a kid, and some people didn't take care of you the way they should have. I'm sorry that happened to you. I'm sorry you had to be brave when you were little. I wish someone had protected you. But I'm happy you're here now.
Thank you for making a place where I don't have to pretend I'm not scared.
Happy birthday.
Love,
Luca."
When the boy lowered the paper, the room had become very quiet.
Not awkward quiet.
Sacred quiet.
Liam stared at him as if he were looking at his own reflection through time. His eyes burned. He didn't wipe them quickly enough. He didn't care. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his heart from spilling out onto the carpet.
Luca shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous again. His mother's hand tightened gently at his shoulder.
And that's when Liam stepped forward.
The room watched him the way you watched someone approach a fragile thing. Liam stopped in front of Luca and crouched slightly, bringing them closer to eye level.
His voice came out thick. "Thank you...Luca. That was...very sweet," Liam said.
Luca blinked rapidly, brave in the way children were brave when they didn't have another option. "You're welcome," he whispered.
Liam's throat worked. He looked down for a second, trying to regain composure. When he looked up again, his gaze swept the room, over the kids, the parents, his staff, Evelyn and Raj, Mateo vibrating with pride.
Then his eyes found Hudson.
Hudson stood near the door, hands in his pockets, smiling softly like he'd known exactly what this would do to Liam and had chosen it anyway. Like he'd built this moment the way other people built walls: to protect.
Liam blinked at him through the blur of tears.
"You," Liam said, voice wrecked and accusing.
Hudson's eyebrows lifted. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
Liam shook his head, laughing through the ache. "You're evil," he said.
Hudson's eyes softened. Liam wiped at his face finally, still smiling, still undone. He looked back at Luca, then at all the children. His voice steadied, but it stayed honest.
"You're all allowed to be scared," Liam said quietly. "You're allowed to be kids. You're allowed to ask questions. And you're allowed to say no."
The room held him.
"And if anyone ever makes you feel like you're not safe," Liam continued, gaze sweeping the parents too, "you tell us. You tell me. Okay?"
Luca nodded hard, clutching his letter like it was a shield.
Liam's eyes shone. "Okay," he whispered back, like a promise.
Then he stood and turned once more to Hudson, still smiling, still blaming him, still feeling the fierce, dizzy gratitude of being loved by someone who didn't just comfort him in private but helped build a world where others wouldn't have to endure what he did.
Hudson met his gaze steadily.
Whole.
Centered.
Home.
And for the first time in a long time, Liam didn't feel like he was surviving a life.
He felt like he was finally living the one he'd chosen.
*
Hours later, they'd turned the conference room into a brunch.
Someone rolled in a long folding table draped in a linen cloth. Trays of food appeared in gentle waves: croissants still warm enough to leave butter-soft fingerprints, fruit cut into careful little moons, smoked salmon, scrambled eggs in a chafing dish. There were juices in glass pitchers, orange, grapefruit, coffee in big silver urns, and a plate of cookies someone had insisted were "technically breakfast if you believe in yourself."
The kids clustered near the fruit first, because kids always did. Their parents hovered at the edges with a protective watchfulness that wasn't fear anymore, more like habit, learning to soften. Liam's staff moved through the room: one assistant guiding a nervous boy toward a quieter corner, another checking in with a mom who looked overwhelmed, someone reminding a guardian about the tutoring schedule for next week.
Liam stood for a second just watching it.
A room full of children, laughing, eating, being allowed to be messy and loud and alive, inside a building that existed for them.
Hudson brushed his hip lightly as he passed. "Eat," Hudson murmured. "You'll start talking about art and mortality if you don't."
Liam picked up a croissant and tore off a corner. "You say that like it's happened before."
Hudson poured himself coffee without looking up. "Twice. Once at a fundraiser and once at a Whole Foods. The cashier still talks about it."
Liam bit into the croissant. "That was a genuinely moving conversation about Rothko, and she started it."
Hudson took a slow sip. "She just asked if you wanted a bag, Liam."
One of the kids, a girl, maybe nine, with braids held together by mismatched clips, tugged at Liam's sleeve. "Mr. Liam, are those cookies actually breakfast?"
Liam crouched down. "Here's what I know. Cookies have flour, eggs, butter. Pancakes have flour, eggs, butter. So, logically? You're just eating a flat cookie for breakfast anyway. Might as well cut out the middleman."
The girl considered this with devastating seriousness. "That's the smartest thing anyone's ever said to me."
Hudson leaned against the table. "And now you've radicalized a child against pancakes. This is why we can't have nice things."
Liam stood back up.
One of the moms, Daniela, who'd been with the agency since its second month, stepped closer, a plate balanced in one hand and her toddler on her hip. "Liam, I just wanted to say, um, my son hasn't missed a tutoring session in six weeks. First time in his life he's excited about math."
Liam touched her shoulder briefly. "That's all him. We just gave him the room."
Daniela shook her head. "No. Don't do that. My kid has a future because of this place."
Hudson watched Liam's jaw tighten the way it always did when someone said something true he wasn't ready to hold. "She's right, you know."
Liam exhaled. "Yeah, well. Accepting compliments gracefully is...a work in progress."
Hudson refilled his coffee. "Add it to the list. Right under 'stop giving TED Talks in grocery stores.'"
The girl with the braids came back, this time holding two cookies. "Mr. Liam, can I take one for my brother? He's too shy to come get one."
Liam reached for the plate and added a third. "Take him an extra. Shy people deserve bonus cookies. That's policy."
She grinned and disappeared into the cluster of kids near the window.
Daniela shifted her toddler higher on her hip. "You know what's funny? When I first came here, I thought it was gonna be one of those, um, charity things where they smile at you and hand you a pamphlet and then forget you exist." Daniela looked around the room. "Now my kid argues with his tutor about fractions like it's a sport."
One of the staff assistants, Marcus, a young, endlessly patient man, walked over with a clipboard. "Hey, Liam, quick thing. The after-school program next Thursday?"
Liam rubbed the back of his neck. "Overbooked is a good problem."
Marcus tapped his clipboard. "We don't have enough chairs."
Hudson raised his coffee cup slightly. "Buy more chairs."
Marcus blinked. "Just...buy more chairs?"
Hudson shrugged. "Revolutionary concept, I know."
Liam laughed, real, loose, the kind that started in his chest. "Order the chairs, Marcus. And add another snack rotation. These kids eat like gremlins after midnight."
Marcus scribbled a note and wandered back toward the food table, muttering about bulk pricing.
Daniela's toddler suddenly pointed at Hudson and announced, with the absolute conviction only a two-year-old could muster, "You're a triangle."
The room went quiet for exactly one beat.
Hudson looked down at himself, then back at the toddler. "Honestly? That's the most accurate thing anyone's said about me in years."
Liam pressed his lips together hard, trying not to lose it. "Don't... don't validate that."
Hudson straightened. "The child sees geometry where others see chaos. Respect the vision."
Daniela buried her laugh in her toddler's hair. "Sorry. He's, um, going through a shapes phase."
Hudson nodded solemnly. "Aren't we all."
Evelyn was at the end of the table, balancing a cup of coffee and a plate of fruit like a woman who could handle anything if it came with legal precedent. Raj stood beside her, already in conversation with a parent who looked like they'd been carrying a quiet dread for years and didn't know what to do now that someone was telling them they weren't alone.
When Raj saw Liam, he lifted a hand in greeting.
"Happy birthday," he said.
Liam's mouth curved faintly. "You already said that."
Raj's eyes held a deadpan. "Yes. And I will continue to say it until it becomes legally binding."
Evelyn's smile flickered, subtle but warm. "He's been waiting to use that line," she said.
Raj shrugged as if he hadn't rehearsed it in his head for three weeks. "Preparation is an ethical practice."
Liam laughed quietly, and the laugh still felt new coming out of him without a guard attached. He stepped closer, lowering his voice instinctively.
"How are we doing?" Liam asked.
Evelyn's face shifted into work. "Better," she said. "Real better."
Raj nodded. "The administrator's system is finally predictable. Disbursements are clean. The accounting reports are coming on schedule. Your internal compliance structure is...frankly, annoyingly competent."
Liam lifted his brows. "Annoyingly?"
Raj's mouth twitched. "You can afford the extra chairs, Liam."
Evelyn sipped her coffee. "We've been tightening everything. Guardian contracts, trust language, education provisions, mental health resources, confidentiality policies, access rules on set. What you're doing here is...unusually defensible."
Liam's gaze softened at the word. Defensible. It was the opposite of what his childhood had been.
"You've built something that can withstand scrutiny," Evelyn continued. "That's...rare. And it's why you're already being imitated."
Liam blinked. "Imitated?"
Raj nodded toward the far side of the room, where one of Liam's staff was showing a parent a binder labeled ON-SET PROTECTIONS / MINOR TALENT. "There are already three agencies in town suddenly developing 'ethics divisions,'" Raj said. "It's very inspiring."
Evelyn's tone was dry. "Also very convenient."
Liam's mouth curved. "Let them copy it."
Evelyn's eyes held his. "Oh, they will."
A warmth pulled at Liam's ribs. He glanced down at his plate.
Raj leaned slightly closer, voice quieter. "And the documentary?"
Liam's eyes lifted. "It's...everywhere," he said. He sounded almost bewildered by it, like success was now something that happened around him rather than something he chased. "It's still playing in weird places. It's like it refuses to die."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "That happens when something is honest."
Raj nodded. "That was a fitting title, too."
Liam exhaled a laugh. "Don't start."
"Finding Liam," Raj echoed.
Evelyn's gaze turned sharper with curiosity. "You're handling it well."
Liam's eyes flicked toward Hudson across the room, where Hudson was helping a kid open a juice bottle. "I have help," Liam said.
Evelyn followed the glance, didn't linger, didn't pry. She just nodded as if she understood exactly what that meant. They ate in a pocket of calm for a moment, Liam nibbling at the croissant, Evelyn picking at fruit with precise fingers, Raj drinking coffee like it was fuel for contempt.
Then, like all adult conversations, it drifted toward the shadow that still haunted the edges.
Evelyn set her cup down. "You should know," she said carefully, "it's gotten...quiet around her."
Liam's jaw tightened slightly. "Quiet how?"
Raj's tone was clinical. "In the way the industry punishes. No headlines. No dramatic downfall. Just...no access."
Evelyn nodded. "She's been shunned. Blacklisted. Not formally, of course. No one ever formalizes it. But..." she gave a small shrug, "...insurers won't touch her. Studios won't take calls. Banks get very...cautious when her name appears in an email thread."
Liam's throat tightened, not with triumph. With something more complicated, relief braided with grief.
Evelyn continued gently, "She did try to rebuild."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "How?"
Raj's mouth flattened. "She tried managing a couple of younger actors. Mid-tier. Some prestige, some streaming work. She positioned herself as 'misunderstood.' As a victim of your 'public narrative.'"
"It didn't last," Evelyn added. "Within a few months, they let her go. Quietly. No drama. Just...terminated the relationship."
Liam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
Raj's voice was blunt. "She can't help herself."
Evelyn's eyes were sharper now. "She overreached," she said. "She tried to control who they spoke to, how they dressed, where they went. She pressured them into optics decisions. Pushed for NDAs around personal life."
Liam's fingers tightened around his cup. "So she's done."
Raj's shrug was minimal. "In the traditional sense? Probably. Not because people suddenly developed morals. But she's definitely a liability."
Evelyn's gaze softened slightly. "You didn't destroy her," she said quietly. "Her own methods did. The court just made them visible."
Liam stared at his plate, eyes stinging unexpectedly. He breathed through it. But before he could say anything, a bright, scandalized voice cut in from behind them.
"Oh, she got fired?" Mateo said, sliding into the space like glitter in a draft. He held a mimosa in one hand, as if it were part of his job. He looked both impeccably professional and deeply unserious, which was his entire brand. "Tragic. Heartbreaking. Devastating."
Raj didn't even look up. "Do you have mimosas as part of your contract now?"
Mateo smiled. "Yes. It's in my rider. 'One mimosa per emotional breakthrough.'"
Evelyn's mouth twitched. "That explains a lot."
Mateo leaned his elbows on the table, eyes gleaming with theatrical delight. "Let me guess," he said, voice dropping into mock seriousness. "She told those actors she loved them like a mother and then billed them for the privilege."
Liam let out a small, involuntary laugh, dark and surprised.
Mateo took a slow, deliberate sip of his mimosa. "Honestly, the audacity. You want to mother someone, at least pack snacks. That's baseline maternal behavior. Granola bars. Clementines. Something."
Raj finally looked up from his phone. "You've put a disturbing amount of thought into this."
Mateo pressed a hand to his chest. "Disturbing? Raj, I was raised by a woman who could guilt-trip you into a second helping of rice and beans from three rooms away. Motherhood without snacks is just emotional surveillance."
Raj set his coffee down. "Can we maybe circle back to the part where Liam looked like he was going to cry into his eggs?"
Liam stiffened. "Wasn't gonna cry."
Raj's expression stayed flat. "Sure. The seasonal allergies. In October. Inside a conference room."
Mateo leaned forward conspiratorially. "Raj, leave him alone. Some of us process things through our tear ducts. It's called being Italian."
Liam frowned. "Not Italian."
Mateo waved that away. "Honorary Italian. You've got the jaw for it. And you still, technically, own the house in Milan."
Evelyn folded her napkin precisely. "The point is, she's gone."
Liam exhaled slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."
It went quiet for a beat.
Mateo broke it first, his voice softer than usual but still unmistakably him. "That's the trick, though, isn't it? First person to believe in you gets to hold that over you forever. Like they own a percentage of your confidence."
Raj nodded once. "Emotional equity."
Mateo snapped his fingers. "Exactly. And the interest rate is insane."
Evelyn leaned back slightly. "Gratitude is fine. Loyalty is fine. But she stopped being useful to your career years ago, and you kept her on because you felt like you owed her something you'd already paid back ten times over."
Liam opened his mouth, then closed it.
Mateo grinned. "Oh, he's buffering. Love that for him."
Raj almost smiled. "Give him a second."
Liam let out a breath that was half laugh, half surrender.
Mateo raised his glass. "To firing people who love you wrong."
Raj stared at him. "That's your toast?"
Mateo shrugged elegantly. "Would you prefer something boring? 'To new beginnings'? Absolutely not. We're not a Hallmark card."
Raj picked up his water glass with the resignation of a man who'd lost this argument before it started. "Fine."
Liam picked up his coffee. "You know what, sure. To firing people who love you wrong."
Evelyn raised her water without ceremony.
Mateo clinked his mimosa against all three glasses in rapid succession. "And to me, who replaced her. May I always have the decency to bill you transparently and never once use the word 'family' in a professional context."
Liam snorted.
Mateo set down his glass with theatrical finality. "Let's just establish here that every agent in this city is a poet and a liar, and the only honest person in Hollywood is that one craft services guy who told me my shirt was ugly last Tuesday."
Liam laughed, real this time, loose and surprised. "Which shirt?"
Mateo looked momentarily offended. "The lavender one. And he was wrong, by the way. The nerve on him..."
The room didn't tilt toward grief anymore. It tilted toward breath.
*
By the time they left the agency, the day had thinned into evening.
Daniel drove, cutting through traffic. Streetlights blinked on. Storefronts began to glow. In the back seat, Liam watched the city pass in long, reflective streaks, his body finally letting go of the tightness it had held all day. He was tired in the best way, like something inside him had been used for its actual purpose.
Hudson sat beside him, quiet, fingers laced loosely with Liam's. His thumb stroked small circles against Liam's knuckles. Liam's mind kept returning to Luca's letter, the way the boy's words had landed like a hand on his younger self's shoulder. He was staring out the window, half-lost, when Hudson leaned forward slightly.
"Daniel," Hudson said, casually.
"Yes?" Daniel replied.
"Can you stop the car up ahead?"
Daniel didn't hesitate. "Of course."
Liam blinked, attention snapping back. "Why are we stopping?"
Hudson's mouth curved, a private little smile. He didn't answer. Daniel signaled and pulled over smoothly along the curb. The car idled. Outside, the street was quiet, still awake, but softer, as if the city had lowered its voice. Liam looked out the window, confused at first, just another block, another stretch of buildings.
Then his eyes caught it.
Across the street, half-lit under a flickering streetlamp, was a familiar shape of glass and shadow. The sign above the door was dimmer than he remembered, like it had aged with them. But the outline was unmistakable.
The restaurant.
The place where he'd hidden, where he'd been hunted, where he'd been lonely and sharp-edged and starving for something he didn't know how to ask for.
The place where Hudson had handed him a drink and a smile and a way out.
Liam's breath caught so quietly it almost didn't happen.
He turned slowly to Hudson. Hudson was watching him with that infuriating softness, like he'd been waiting for Liam's face to shift, like he'd wanted to see the memory strike.
"You gotta be fucking..." Liam started, voice rough.
Hudson's smile deepened. "Come on."
He opened the door and stepped out. He came around to Liam's side and held out his hand, patiently. Liam took it without thinking. Hudson pulled him out of the car gently but decisively, like he was guiding him into a room he deserved to enter.
Daniel stepped out, too, automatically, a professional reflex.
Hudson gave him a quick nod. "It's okay, Daniel. You can go," he said. "This may take a while."
Daniel nodded once. "Understood," he said.
Then he got back into the car and drove off, taillights disappearing into the dark.
Liam and Hudson stood on the sidewalk for a moment, hand in hand, the restaurant across the street like a ghost waiting to be touched.
Liam's throat tightened. "Is it...?"
Hudson tilted his head, pretending to consider. "It looks...closed."
"It's definitely closed," Liam said, studying the darkened windows. The front sign barely glowed. No staff moving. No music leaking out.
Hudson's smile turned wickedly fond. "Mmh."
Liam narrowed his eyes. "Hudson."
Hudson squeezed his hand. They crossed the street together. The closer they got, the more Liam's body began to remember before his mind did, the exact slope of the sidewalk when he ran inside that first night, the angle of the door when he slid past it, the way the building's shadow fell across the entrance he used to hide from the wolves.
When they reached the front, Hudson stopped.
Liam stared through the glass. Inside, the restaurant was dark. Chairs were stacked. The bar's bottles sat like silent jewels. The space felt suspended, closed to the public, waiting. Hudson let go of Liam's hand only long enough to reach into his pocket.
A key flashed in his hand.
Liam's eyes widened.
Hudson's mouth twitched. "I know people."
He stepped forward and slid the key into the lock.
Hudson pushed the door inward.
Cool air spilled out. The restaurant breathed like a sleeping animal.
Hudson held the door for Liam. "After you," Hudson said softly.
Liam stepped inside.
The darkness folded around them, and memory came in flashes, not clean, not orderly, but sensory and sudden.
A crowded night. Liam's hoodie pulled low, his heart hammering with paranoia. His fingers tight around a glass. The feeling of wolves outside, waiting.
Then, Hudson.
Raven hair and turquoise eyes, bumping accidentally into his chair, looking at Liam like he was not a story but a person. Hudson saying something that made Liam laugh despite himself. Hudson's hands, steady, warm, passing him a drink. The banter. The charged air. The first time Liam had felt, in years, that he could breathe.
The memory cut to another flash: the restaurant closed, staff gone, the two of them alone in a bubble of music and quiet. Liam's loneliness peeling open. Hudson's voice softer. A dance that wasn't really a dance so much as surrender. A kiss that had tasted like relief and risk.
Liam stood very still, swallowed by the present and the past at once. Hudson closed the door behind them gently, the latch clicking shut. He walked a few steps in, pulling Liam with him.
Liam's voice came out quiet, disbelieving. "This is...where it started."
Hudson turned toward him, turquoise eyes shining in the dark. "Yeah," he said.
Liam stared at the space around them. Hudson's smile softened into something almost reverent. He lifted Liam's hand and kissed his knuckles.
"I wanted to bring you back to the beginning," Hudson said, voice low.
Liam's chest ached so hard it felt like love and grief were the same thing. He blinked, and in the dark, he could feel tears threatening again, ridiculous and relentless. He looked around at the empty tables, the silent chairs, the bar where Hudson had stood, the corner where Liam had tried to disappear and had instead been found.
The restaurant was closed.
But it wasn't empty.
It was full of memories.
Hudson led Liam past the empty host stand, past the stacked chairs. Liam's eyes kept snagging on details: the curve of the bar, the shape of the booths, the half-lit bottles behind glass. It was all the same and not the same, like returning to a childhood street and realizing the houses had shrunk because you'd grown.
Hudson stopped near the bar and turned.
In the streetlight seeping through the windows, his turquoise eyes looked almost unreal, ocean-colored in a room full of ghosts.
"I need to tell you something," Hudson said.
Liam's throat tightened. "Okay."
Hudson's mouth twitched, like he couldn't decide whether to smile or be serious first. He chose serious.
"I bought it," Hudson said.
Liam blinked. "Bought what?"
Hudson's gaze flicked to the space around them. "This," he said softly.
The words didn't land at first. They hovered, absurd and impossible.
"You..." Liam started.
Hudson's thumb traced Liam's knuckles. "It's going to be the second location," Hudson continued, voice steady now, as he'd practiced. "I mean, we're going to make some changes. We'll update the kitchen, rework the floor plan, and add a few things. But I didn't want anyone to touch it before you saw it."
Liam's mouth parted.
No sound came out.
For once, his training, his polished responses, his ability to pivot into charm, failed him completely. His eyes glistened in the dark like someone had cracked open a seam he'd sealed years ago. Hudson watched him. He didn't rush to fill the silence. He didn't try to soften it with humor.
He just held Liam's hand.
"That's..." Liam managed, voice rough. He stopped, shook his head as if the rest of the sentence had evaporated.
Hudson smiled faintly, fond. "Yeah."
Liam swallowed hard. "You bought the place we met."
Hudson nodded once. "Yeah."
Liam looked around, stunned. The restaurant suddenly felt like more than a room, it felt like a living artifact, a piece of their story, the best piece, that Hudson had reached back and saved.
Liam's eyes burned. "Hudson," he whispered, like the name contained everything he didn't have words for.
Hudson's smile softened. They walked hand in hand, reverently, toward the far corner of the dining room.
The Cage.
The booth tucked away like a secret. The spot where Liam had sat with his hood up and his heart in his throat, trying to disappear in plain sight, believing, truly believing, he didn't deserve to be found. Liam's steps slowed as they approached it. His fingers tightened around Hudson's, as if he were afraid the memory would bite.
He opened his mouth to speak.
Hudson stopped him with a gentle squeeze.
"Wait," Hudson said softly.
Liam blinked. "What..."
Hudson's voice was calm, warm, unarguable. "Sit."
Liam's breath hitched. He looked at Hudson, then at the booth. Something tender and humiliating rose in him, how small he'd been in this spot, how alone. Liam nodded and slid into the booth. The leather seat creaked softly beneath him, the exact sound his body remembered. He set his hands on the table, and for a second, he just stared at the wood grain.
Hudson stepped back. "Stay right there," he said, voice half-teasing now, half-reverent.
Liam gave a wet laugh. "Yes, sir."
Hudson turned and walked away toward the back.
Liam watched him go. Hudson disappeared behind the bar, shrugged off his coat, and for a second, Liam saw the outline of him, broad shoulders, easy confidence, that familiar grace of someone who had learned to move through stress like water. Then Hudson reached under the bar and pulled out an apron.
Liam's breath caught.
Hudson tied it around his waist, the knot quick, sure. The sight was almost cruel in its nostalgia, Hudson turning back into the boy he'd been, the waiter with the sharp mouth and the kind eyes, the man who'd served fries and somehow served salvation with them.
Hudson slipped into the kitchen.
The swinging door moved, then settled.
For a moment, the restaurant was silent again, just Liam in the booth. His fingers curled against the table edge. He felt like he was twelve years old again in a cafeteria, waiting for someone to come back. Only this time, he knew someone would.
Then, a sound.
A low sizzle from the kitchen.
Oil.
Heat.
The sizzle grew louder. Then the scent followed, salt and that warm, greasy comfort that had once been his favorite secret indulgence. Liam laughed under his breath, incredulous and undone. From the booth, he could hear Hudson moving in the kitchen. He wasn't rushing. He was performing, but not for cameras, not for the world, just for Liam, just for the part of Liam that had needed this night to become something safe.
A few minutes later, Hudson emerged.
But he didn't come straight to Liam.
He walked to the old jukebox tucked near the wall.
Liam's heart slammed once, hard, as if his body recognized what Hudson was about to do before his mind did. Hudson fed the jukebox a coin with theatrical seriousness. He pressed a button.
The machine whirred.
And then the first notes spilled into the empty restaurant, soft and familiar, a thread pulled from the past.
"You
You must've been lookin' for me
Sendin' smoke signals
Pelicans circling
Burnin' trash out on the beach."
The song that had been playing when they first kissed, when the world had narrowed to breath and music and the shock of tenderness. Liam's eyes stung. He sat very still, letting the sound wash over him like warm water. Hudson turned toward him with a grin that was half mischief, half devotion.
Then he picked up a tray.
And in a move so perfectly stupid and perfect, he walked toward Liam's booth with the deliberate, exaggerated swagger of his younger self, shoulders loose, chin tilted, like he was about to collide with a mysterious man in the corner and accidentally change both their lives.
"One of your eyes is always half-shut
Somethin' happened when you were a kid
I didn't know you then, and I'll never understand
Why it feels like I did
"How Soon Is Now" in an eighties sedan
You slept inside of it because your dad
Lived in a campground in the back of a van
You said that song'll creep you out until you're dead."
He wasn't even two steps into the aisle when he shifted his weight and bumped the tray, just lightly, on purpose, like an echo. "Sorry," Hudson said, steadying the tray with both hands. "Your table jumped out at me."
Liam burst into laughter, bright and startled, the sound filling the room as if it had been waiting years to come back.
"It's fine," Liam said, laughing. "I...have a history of provoking objects."
Hudson's smile widened. "Are you haunted?"
Liam covered his mouth for a second, helpless. "Only by my choices."
Hudson's eyes softened. He reached Liam's booth and set the tray down with exaggerated care. On it sat a bucket of fries, hot, steaming, impossibly generous, salt glittering on top like tiny stars.
Liam stared. Hudson slid into the booth across from him, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, exactly like he did that first night. His eyes caught the light and held it.
Liam's throat tightened. "You're gonna make me cry into fries."
Hudson's mouth curved. "I hope you do."
Liam shook his head, trying to keep his voice light. "You're vicious."
Hudson's eyes glittered. "I'm romantic."
Liam reached into the bucket and grabbed a fry. It was too hot. He blew on it reflexively, and the simple gesture nearly broke him, how normal it was, how human. Hudson grabbed one too, mirroring him without thinking. They ate like teenagers sneaking comfort food in a corner booth. Like a couple no one was watching. Liam chewed and swallowed, then looked at Hudson with that bright, happy disbelief still on his face.
"So," Liam said, the beginnings of a grin tugging at his mouth, "do I still get to hide in the Cage, or do I have to be a patron now?"
Hudson leaned back, pretending to consider. "You can hide," he said. "But only if you tip well."
Liam scoffed. "I tip emotionally."
Hudson snorted. "That explains so much."
Liam's smile widened. "How is Gabe going to feel about you buying my trauma restaurant"?
Hudson gasped. "Excuse you...this is not your trauma restaurant."
Liam lifted a brow. "It's absolutely my trauma restaurant."
Hudson pointed at him across the table, mock stern. "No. This is our romance restaurant."
Liam laughed, cheeks aching. "Our romance restaurant."
Hudson nodded firmly. "Yes. This is where you met the love of your life."
Liam's eyes narrowed. "You."
Hudson smiled, pleased. "Obviously."
Liam shook his head, laughing again. "Jesus Christ, you're..."
"Hot," Hudson supplied without missing a beat.
Liam groaned. "Unbearably so..."
Hudson leaned in. Liam's smile softened. He looked down at the fries, then back up at Hudson, and there was so much in his eyes: memory, gratitude, the quiet ache of having survived and still being allowed to want. He reached across the table and took Hudson's hand. Hudson squeezed back, thumb brushing Liam's knuckles like a habit carved by years.
The song played on, filling the restaurant with a pulse that felt like destiny.
"I wanna live at the Holiday Inn
Where somebody else makes the bed
We'll watch TV while the lights on the street
Put all the stars to death
It's been on my mind since Bowie died
Just checking out to hide from life
And all of our problems, I'm gonna solve 'em
With you ridin' shotgun
Speeding 'cause fuck the cops."
The fries eventually disappeared the way comfort always did, too quickly, leaving salt on their fingertips, warmth in their bellies, and a quiet, silly satisfaction. Hudson wiped his hands on a napkin. Liam watched him do it, smiling.
Liam stood first.
Hudson looked up, brows lifting. "Where are you going?"
Liam didn't answer. He came around the booth and offered Hudson his hand instead, palm open, patient. Hudson stared at it for half a second as if he couldn't believe he still got to be asked this way. Then he took it. Liam pulled him gently out of the booth, guiding him into the open space between tables. Liam's hand slid to Hudson's waist. Hudson's arm circled Liam's shoulders. Their bodies found the distance that fit them best, close enough to feel each other breathe, far enough to sway without tripping over history.
They began to move.
Not a dance meant to be watched.
Just two men rocking slowly to a song that had once startled them into bravery.
Hudson's forehead tipped toward Liam's, and Liam met him there, their noses brushing, their breath mingling. Liam kissed him, soft at first, then deeper. Hudson kissed back with that quiet hunger that wasn't desperation anymore. It was devotion, matured and still feral.
They swayed through the room without speaking, the silence between them full of everything they'd survived. Liam's fingers spread across Hudson's back as if memorizing him again. Hudson's hand slid up Liam's neck, thumb resting under his jaw, gentle, always gentle.
"I buried a hatchet, it's comin' up lavender
The future's unwritten, the past is a corridor
I'm at the exit, lookin' back through the hall
You are anonymous, I am a concrete wall."
Here they were, improbably simple, swaying beneath the last glow of streetlight, mouth to mouth, breath to breath, two bodies rewriting their own mythology without erasing the scars that earned it.
Nothing about them should have worked on paper: the famous boy who hated being seen, the runaway who feared being left.
The machine and the desert.
The wolves and the quiet.
But love had found them anyway, by chance, by stubbornness, by the small mercies of a hand offered at the right moment and taken without flinching. In each other, they discovered what the world had tried to convince them did not exist: a refuge that didn't demand performance, a devotion that didn't come with terms, a home built not from perfection but from returning, again and again, to the same truth.
And as they danced, slow and unguarded, in the place where it had all begun, the story did not end with triumph or certainty, but with something rarer and more human: the bittersweet grace of two men, once lost and once bruised, choosing, quietly, fiercely, to remain.
"Will it always be like this?" Hudson asked.
Liam searched Hudson's face, the question hanging between them like smoke. Then Liam smiled. Small. Tender. Honest. He leaned in, brushing his lips to Hudson's once, as if sealing the truth gently rather than declaring it.
"I don't know…" Liam murmured. "But we've already done the hardest part," he continued. "Eight point three billion people in the world, and we managed to find each other. Now comes the easy part.
"Which is?" Hudson asked.
"Staying together, beautiful," Liam replied, smiling.
Hudson smiled back and gently let his head fall on Liam's chest.
"I love you, Pluto."
"I love you, Arizona."
THE END
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