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.
"Quit Playing Around, Arizona"
A week later, Hudson had learned two new facts about himself.
One: he could carry three plates, dodge two drunk tourists, and refill a water glass without spilling a drop.
Two: none of that required as much concentration as pretending his phone didn't exist.
It sat in his back pocket, warm from his body, buzzing at the worst possible times. He'd be balancing a tray of cocktails, and suddenly his entire brain would go "It's him", and he'd have to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling at the wrong person.
The restaurant was slammed that night. Friday energy. The cage booth was occupied by a group of influencers wearing tiny black outfits and big expressions. The bar was loud. The kitchen was deafening. And Hudson was running back and forth like a wind-up toy, his apron strings flapping behind him, his hair refusing to behave.
And still, still, he found breaks.
Not real breaks. Hudson didn't have time for real breaks. He had micro-breaks: six seconds behind the service station while a cocktail order printed. Fifteen seconds in the hallway "looking for napkins" that were definitely already stocked. One full minute in dry storage under the noble pretense of checking inventory, when really he was just trying to breathe.
That was where he was when his phone buzzed again.
Hudson fished his phone out with the speed of a thief.
PLUTO: You working?
Hudson's mouth twitched. He'd saved Liam as Pluto as a joke. It stopped being a joke around day three. Because the name sat there like a dare. Because every time it lit up, Hudson's entire body reacted.
And the chemistry, God. It wasn't gentle. It didn't unfold politely.
It crackled.
It volleyed.
He typed fast, glancing toward the dining room.
HUDSON: No, I'm just hanging out in my uniform for the aesthetic.
The reply came almost instantly, as if Liam had been waiting with the phone in his hand.
PLUTO: Alternative-pop waiter cosplay. Got it.
Hudson let out a quiet laugh, the kind he tried to swallow because the kitchen could smell his weakness.
HUDSON: Says the man who wears hoodies indoors.
A pause. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again, Liam's particular brand of hesitation that Hudson had started to recognize: the moment where Liam decided whether to joke or tell the truth.
PLUTO: I was hiding from the paparazzi. Also, my own decisions.
Hudson glanced toward the cage booth again, occupied now by a couple on their first date, leaning in too close and speaking too loudly. Hudson's chest tightened for a second, a strange flash of morning sunlight, the blinds, the flashes. He typed anyway, lighter than he felt.
HUDSON: Good. Hide.
A few seconds passed.
PLUTO: I still have your number saved as "Arizona."
Hudson's cheeks warmed instantly, absurdly, like he'd been caught doing something tender. He turned and nearly collided with Tessa carrying a tray of cocktails. She slid into his path, ponytail swinging, lip gloss flawless, name tag crooked on purpose like it was a fashion statement.
"Hudson," she said, dragging out his name the way people did when they were about to extract information. "Baaabe. Are you okay?"
Hudson blinked at her, tray balanced on one hand. "Yeah."
Tessa's eyes narrowed. Not in a mean way, more like a cat noticing a moving string. "Okay, because," she continued, lowering her voice but somehow still sounding loud, "you've been, like...weird."
Hudson gave her the blankest look he owned. "Right."
"No," Tessa said, pointing a manicured finger at him. "This is different. This is stress weird."
Hudson exhaled through his nose. "I'm just tired."
Tessa leaned in anyway, grin blooming. "Okay, so. Spill. What happened after we left?" Hudson froze one fraction too long. Tessa pounced on the pause like it had screamed a confession. "Oh my God. I knew it. Something happened."
"Nothing happened," Hudson said briskly.
"Hudson," she whispered dramatically, "you closed the restaurant with Liam Hart. Like...Liam Hart, as in Liam Hart. And then we all left, and you were just there. Alone. With him."
Hudson lifted an eyebrow. "You're making it sound like a horror movie."
"It was a horror movie," Tessa insisted. "For Elliot. He literally sweated through his button-down. It was iconic."
Hudson started to step around her. "Tessa..."
She sidestepped with him, matching his pace. "Did he kiss you?"
Hudson almost dropped the tray. "No," he said too quickly. "He's straight, remember?"
Tessa sniffed. "Did he, like...offer you money?"
"No."
Tessa huffed, disappointed. "Okay, but something happened."
Hudson stared at her. "Tessa," he said, deadpan, "I'm begging you to let me work."
She blinked, then softened slightly, still nosy, but not cruel. "Okay. Fine. But just tell me one thing. Like...give me a crumb."
Hudson considered lying. But Tessa had the kind of persistence that could outlast wars. So he gave her the most boring version of the truth he could manufacture.
"He sat there," Hudson said, voice flat, "ordered a drink, and left an hour later."
Tessa stared at him.
Hudson stared back.
Tessa's lips parted. "That's it?"
"That's it," Hudson repeated.
She blinked again, the curiosity fighting with the plainness of his answer. Then, because she was still a Valley girl with a dramatic soul, she deflated with a theatrical sigh.
"Ugh," she said, rolling her eyes. "That is...so anticlimactic."
Hudson gave her a look. "Happy?"
Tessa made a face like she'd just bitten into an unripe avocado. "No. But whatever. You're boring."
Hudson nodded solemnly. "Thank you."
She waved him off with faux annoyance, already moving away. "Fine, go serve your tables, Mystery Man."
Hudson slipped past her, tray steady, expression calm before the thread buzzed back.
PLUTO: Another day serving rich people's feelings on plates?
ARIZONA: barely. one guy asked if the salmon was "locally sourced," like we're not in a strip mall
PLUTO: It's not?
ARIZONA: It's locally sourced from the ocean. The ocean is local to Earth, Pluto...
PLUTO: Don't be smart. It's unbecoming
Hudson smiled like an idiot, then wiped his face hard with the back of his hand as if he could erase it. He couldn't. Five minutes later, wedged between tables, Hudson's phone buzzed again.
PLUTO: What song is on right now?
ARIZONA: some indie guy whispering about his childhood trauma in a cabin
PLUTO: That's art
ARIZONA: that's therapy with reverb
PLUTO: You have no taste
ARIZONA: I have taste. You have...moss
PLUTO: I'm blocking you
ARIZONA: You can't. You need me. I'm your emotional support waiter.
PLUTO: You're my emotional support nuisance
Hudson laughed under his breath and almost walked into a chair. Liam rarely sent anything that could be quoted and weaponized. But he did this other thing, this needlepoint intimacy where he threaded desire into jokes until it became indisputable.
Hudson was in the kitchen, waiting for fries, when the phone lit up again.
PLUTO: I had fries today
ARIZONA: And? Did you have a religious experience?
PLUTO: No, they were tragic
ARIZONA: good. the universe is restoring balance
PLUTO: I thought of you anyway
ARIZONA: Why would you do that to yourself?
PLUTO: because it's a habit now
ARIZONA: That sounds like a problem
PLUTO: You are a problem
ARIZONA: You love problems
PLUTO: only the ones with turquoise eyes
Hudson stared at that for a full ten seconds, heat rising so fast it felt unfair.
He typed you're drunk and deleted it.
He typed stop and deleted it.
Then he shoved the phone away and went back out with the fries like nothing had happened.
Their conversations had a rhythm: fast, messy, affectionate, competitive. Like they were always trying to outwit each other, to get the last word, to win the laugh, while secretly wanting to lose if it meant the other would keep talking.
ARIZONA: I have a question
PLUTO: shoot
ARIZONA: Do you sleep like a normal person?
PLUTO: define normal
ARIZONA: like...not in a hotel.
PLUTO: I sleep like a prince
ARIZONA: That's not an answer
PLUTO: You didn't ask a normal question
ARIZONA: Okay. Do you ever wake up and not immediately regret existing?
PLUTO: sometimes
ARIZONA: When?
PLUTO: When I'm texting you
Hudson's stomach dropped. His thumb hovered.
ARIZONA: I hate you
PLUTO: No, you don't
ARIZONA: I do
PLUTO: prove it
ARIZONA: How?
PLUTO: stop replying
ARIZONA: …
PLUTO: exactly
Hudson stared at the screen, helpless. He shoved the phone back into his pocket like it was burning him and turned, too fast, straight into Elliot.
Elliot's expression was already annoyed, which was his default. "What are you doing?" he snapped, stepping into Hudson's path.
Hudson blinked, forcing his face into innocence. "Working."
Elliot's eyes flicked to Hudson's apron pocket. "With your phone?"
Hudson's throat tightened. "I...I was checking the time."
Elliot scoffed. "You have a clock on the wall, Hudson."
Hudson glanced at the wall clock as if he'd never noticed it in his life. "Right. That clock."
Elliot leaned in, voice low and poisonous. "You've been floating all week," Elliot hissed. "You're distracted. You're sloppy. You think I don't see it?"
Hudson felt the familiar flare of irritation, sharp, defensive. He wanted to say 'I'm not sloppy', 'I'm still doing my job', 'you threatened to fire me because a movie star wanted fries', but he swallowed it.
"I'm fine," Hudson said, tight.
Elliot's eyes narrowed. "You're lucky you still have a job."
Hudson's jaw clenched. He forced a smile so polite it physically hurt his face.
"Noted," he said.
Elliot stalked away, satisfied, leaving Hudson with his pulse racing and his phone pressing against his thigh. Hudson exhaled slowly. He stepped back onto the floor and was immediately ambushed by a table of customers waving him over. A couple in their thirties, dressed like they'd planned their outfits in a mirror and then planned the mirror. The woman grinned.
"Hi," she said. "So...we have a question."
Hudson smiled automatically. "Of course."
The man leaned in, conspiratorial. "Is it true?"
Hudson's stomach dipped. "Is what true?"
They exchanged a look, excited by their own gossip.
"That Liam Hart was here," the woman whispered, delighted. "Like, last week. Someone said he shut the place down."
Hudson felt his spine go straight. He kept his smile. Kept his tone light. Kept his face boring.
"I don't know," Hudson lied smoothly. "People say all kinds of things."
The man's eyes gleamed. "Come on. You must've seen him."
Hudson shrugged. "I see a lot of faces."
The woman pouted. "So you're saying it's not true?"
Hudson tilted his head. "I'm saying you should enjoy your dinner."
They laughed, disappointed but charmed, and Hudson slid away before they could pin him down further. His hands shook faintly as he carried a tray to the kitchen.
His phone buzzed again.
He ducked behind the swinging door, found a sliver of space by the dish pit, and pulled out his phone.
PLUTO: I need to see you again.
Hudson stared. The words were simple. Innocent, almost. But they hit like a hand grabbing his shirt. Because it wasn't just a text. It was a crack in the wall. An invitation. A decision.
Hudson could suddenly feel every difference between their lives, Liam's storm, his team, the cameras. Hudson's schedule, his paycheck, his small Arizona ghosts. He could also feel the way they'd fit together on that floor at dawn, like the world had briefly been rewritten around them.
He looked down at the message, thumb hovering, staring at the screen, caught between fear and want, between the sanity of letting it stay a treasure and the ache of realizing he didn't want it to be only a memory.
The typing dots didn't appear.
Liam was waiting.
*
Hudson wiped down the last table, stacked menus, smiled at a couple who didn't deserve it, and nodded along to Elliot's final, smug little "good night". Then he untied his apron, shoved his phone into his pocket, and slipped out the staff entrance.
Outside, Los Angeles was doing what it always did, pretending it wasn't lonely by staying loud. Hudson walked to the bus stop with his backpack tugging at one shoulder. His phone sat in his pocket, silent now, as if it knew better than to buzz while he was surrounded by strangers.
The bus arrived with a sigh and the sour smell of tired upholstery.
Hudson took a seat near the back, forehead lightly touching the window as the city slid past in fragments: palm trees, liquor stores, a billboard with Liam's face on it that made Hudson's stomach practically crawl out of his own skin. He stared at it just long enough to feel heat rise in his throat, then looked away. He thought about replying. He thought about not replying. He didn't answer on the bus. Not because he didn't want to. Because he didn't trust himself to type with shaking fingers.
By the time he got off, the night had cooled, and the streets had thinned. Hudson walked two blocks, up a cracked stairwell that reeked of weed and fabric softener, and reached the door to his apartment. A tiny place: two bedrooms carved out of a box, a kitchen with a temperamental stove, a living room that doubled as a hallway. Cheap blinds, thrift-store furniture, and one stubborn houseplant Hudson kept alive mostly out of spite.
Hudson slid his key into the lock and stopped.
Because he could hear it.
Muffled rhythmic noises, a breathy laugh, a low voice that sounded like it was trying not to be too loud and failing anyway. Hudson closed his eyes. Of course. Of all nights. He opened the door quietly and stepped inside like a burglar in his own home. Shoes off. Backpack held tight. Breathing carefully. He made it two steps down the short hallway before the second bedroom door flew open.
And out came his roommate.
Naked.
Completely, unapologetically naked.
Half-hard cock dangling between his legs.
He sprinted into the hallway, clutching a pillow to his chest with one arm while the other hand flailed wildly, half greeting, half emergency siren.
"HUDSON!" he stage-whispered at full volume.
Hudson froze, horrified, eyes flicking instinctively to every surface that might spare him from seeing too much. There was nowhere safe to look. The hallway was a narrow tunnel of regret at this point.
"Jesus Christ," Hudson hissed, turning his head sharply toward the wall. "Put some pants on."
His roommate, Mateo Alvarez, twenty-three, five-foot-eight with a dancer's legs and a face that belonged on a flirty billboard, looked wounded. "Pants?" Mateo repeated, clutching the pillow tighter, as if Hudson had insulted his religion. "In my own home?"
"Yes," Hudson said through his teeth. "In our home. Where my eyes live."
Mateo's eyes sparkled with delighted malice. He stepped closer, still naked, still holding the pillow like it was modesty. He reeked of sex. The good kind. The great kind. His hair was damp with sweat, curls wild, his grin too wide to be innocent.
"You're jealous," Mateo whispered.
"I'm traumatized," Hudson shot back. "And I just worked a double. I don't have the emotional bandwidth to be assaulted by your...everything."
Mateo gasped, offended. "My everything is a gift."
Hudson finally turned his head enough to aim a glare at Mateo's face and not the rest of him. "Where the fuck are your pants?"
Mateo looked genuinely confused. "In my room?"
"Put them on," Hudson repeated.
Mateo leaned in, voice dropping even though the noises from the bedroom behind him made stealth laughable. "I can't," Mateo whispered.
Hudson blinked. "You can't?"
Mateo shook his head gravely. "If I go back in there right now, the fucker won't let me leave. I had to take a break."
"A break," Hudson echoed, disbelieving.
Mateo nodded like a war veteran. "Hydration. Safety check. Emotional support."
Hudson stared at him. "You ran out here for hydration."
Mateo's eyes softened, as if Hudson were the one being unreasonable. "Hudson. It's cardio."
Hudson pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to die."
Mateo immediately brightened. "Wait...did you bring food?"
"What?"
"Food," Mateo insisted. "Like fries. Or, like, a bread roll. Anything. I feel like I fought for my life in there. He's been pounding me since 5 p.m."
Hudson exhaled a laugh despite himself. "I didn't bring you a victory snack, no."
Mateo pouted. "Rude."
Hudson stepped around him, aiming for his own bedroom. "I'm going to bed."
Mateo slid sideways, still naked, blocking him with the confidence of someone who'd never felt shame a day in his life. "No," Mateo said, eyes narrowing. "Not until you tell me why you look like that."
Hudson frowned, caught. "Like what?"
"Like," Mateo said, delighted. "Like you're glowing."
Hudson's stomach flipped. He tried to scoff. "I'm not glowing."
Mateo nodded slowly, dramatically, as if observing a rare celestial event. "You're radiating."
Hudson shoved gently at Mateo's shoulder. "Move."
Mateo didn't budge. "Tell me."
Hudson glanced toward Mateo's bedroom door, where the muffled sounds had paused, as if the hook-up inside was listening in on them.
Hudson lowered his voice. "Mateo. You have a...situation going on."
Mateo waved a dismissive hand. "He's fine. He's into edging."
Hudson blinked. "That's..."
Mateo cut in, grinning. "Don't judge. Some people enjoy tension."
Hudson's face heated. He hated how easily that landed in his chest.
Mateo leaned closer, sniffing the air around Hudson like a bloodhound. "Also," Mateo whispered, eyes widening, "you smell like bourbon."
Hudson stiffened. "I had one drink."
Mateo's eyebrows shot up. "One drink? You never drink. You're like a stressed-out church youth leader."
"Keep your voice down," Hudson warned.
Mateo pressed his hand to his heart. "I'm whispering."
"You're whisper-screaming."
Mateo smiled sweetly. "Tell me who."
Hudson tried to step around him again. Mateo mirrored him.
Hudson sighed, defeated. "Dude."
Mateo's eyes widened even more. "Is it someone from the restaurant?"
"No."
"A customer?"
"No."
"An ex?"
"No."
"A stranger you met at the gas station?" Hudson blinked. Mateo shrugged. "L.A. is basically a giant gas station."
Hudson couldn't help it. He laughed once, short. Hudson's phone buzzed in his pocket at that exact moment, like the universe enjoyed humiliating him. Hudson froze.
Mateo's head snapped toward Hudson's pocket. "OHHH," Mateo breathed. "It's happening right now."
Hudson slapped his hand over his pocket. "No."
Mateo leaned in, eyes sparkling. "Hudson. I will put on pants. I will be mature. I will stop committing hallway crimes. But you have to tell me."
Hudson stared at him. Mateo stared back, naked and relentless and weirdly devoted. This was the thing about Mateo: he was chaos, yes. Loud. Hypersexual. Flirtatious in the way some people breathed.
But he was also Hudson's first real friend in this city.
The one who'd helped him move in with a stolen dolly. The one who'd dragged him to taco trucks at midnight when Hudson was homesick and quiet. The one who'd looked at Hudson's silence and filled it with noise until Hudson didn't feel so alone.
Hudson exhaled slowly. Mateo's expression softened, just a fraction, sensing the shift. Hudson said, carefully, "It's...someone."
Mateo's grin returned instantly. "A man."
Hudson's left eyebrow lifted. "Duh."
Mateo squealed, actually squealed, then clamped a hand over his mouth as if remembering volume existed.
From the bedroom behind him, a male voice called, deep and raspy, "Everything okay out there?"
Mateo snapped his head back and yelled, "Yes, babe, just a friend emergency!"
Hudson whispered, horrified, "Oh my God."
Mateo turned back to Hudson, eyes blazing with curiosity. "Is he hot?"
Hudson's face warmed. "Mateo..."
Mateo nodded rapidly. "He's hot."
Hudson tried to walk around him again. Mateo moved with him like a guard dog. A very naked guard dog.
"Does he have money?" Mateo asked.
Hudson scoffed. "Why is that important?"
Mateo shrugged. "Because I'm practical." Hudson's phone buzzed again. Mateo's eyes went wide. "Texting twice? That's serious."
Hudson hissed, "Stop."
Mateo leaned in so close that Hudson could see the constellation of freckles across his nose. "Okay, but," Mateo whispered, suddenly sincere beneath the chaos. "Do you like him?" Hudson's throat tightened. He didn't answer immediately. Mateo's grin softened. "Hudson."
Hudson swallowed, then nodded once.
Mateo's face lit up like fireworks. "OH MY GOD."
Hudson grabbed Mateo by the shoulders, turned him gently, and shoved him back toward his room. "Go," Hudson said firmly.
Mateo stumbled backward, laughing. "I'm happy for you!"
Hudson pointed. "Shut. The fuck. Up."
Mateo backed into his bedroom doorway, still clutching the pillow, and gave Hudson a dramatic wink that might as well have come with sound effects. Then, right before he disappeared, he added. "If you don't tell me who it is by tomorrow, I'm using your toothbrush."
Hudson stared. "That's terrorism."
Mateo grinned. "I'm an Aquarius." And then he vanished back into his room, the door swinging shut.
Hudson stood in the hallway for a second, heart pounding, partly from the lingering adrenaline of Liam's texts, partly from the sheer absurdity of his life. He finally pulled out his phone. The screen glowed. Hudson slid into his room and shut the door behind him with a soft click.
For one glorious second, there was silence.
Then the wall to his left betrayed him.
A muffled thud. A squeak of bedsprings. And Mateo's voice, rising like a siren as if the apartment were being exorcised.
"Oh my fucking god, YES."
Hudson stared at his ceiling.
A beat later, Mateo again, breathless and theatrical. "Don't you DARE stop. Fuck!"
Hudson pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. He failed. A short, pained sound escaped him, the kind you made when you were both disgusted and weirdly impressed.
Then, as if the universe wanted to make sure Hudson would never experience peace again, Mateo's voice rose, bright with delight. "Okay...okay...Wow?"
A male voice, low and amused, answered something Hudson could barely make out. "Keep it down..." the voice muttered between a low chuckle.
Mateo shrieked. "Then keep that dick coming!"
Hudson rolled his eyes so hard it felt spiritual. He tossed his backpack onto the floor and fell onto his bed face-first. The mattress creaked under him as he exhaled into the pillow, long and slow.
Mateo's wall performance continued in bursts, breathy exclamations delivered with the enthusiasm of a man who would absolutely sign the waiver.
Hudson groaned, muffled. "This is hell."
Mateo did not shut up.
Hudson rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly as if he might find answers written in the cracks. A week ago, his biggest problems had been Elliot's temper, the rent, and the fact that Los Angeles always felt one degree too loud.
Then Liam Hart decided to walk into that cage booth. And Hudson's life, his quiet little survival routine, had been hijacked. Not gently. Hijacked like a car on the freeway: one second you were driving straight, the next you were somewhere else entirely, breathless, terrified, and weirdly exhilarated.
He thought of the way Liam had slipped into his day like a pulse. The way Hudson would catch himself smiling at nothing. The way his phone buzzing had become a kind of oxygen. And the kiss. That fucking kiss had opened something in him. Hudson swallowed.
He whispered to himself, barely audible over Mateo's ongoing Shakespearean sexual cataclysm next door, "I need to end it."
Hudson said it like he believed it.
And then, his phone buzzed.
Hudson froze.
The sound was small, but it cut through everything. He reached into his pocket with fingers that didn't quite work and pulled the phone out.
PLUTO: Can I call you?
Hudson stared at the message. His mouth went dry. His whole body went alert like a deer in headlights, like the phone wasn't a phone anymore. A call meant Liam's voice. In his ear. Real. Now. A call meant the night wasn't just a treasure anymore. From the other room, Mateo let out a victorious, scandalized cry that sounded like applause.
Hudson barely heard it.
He inhaled, deep, the way you did before stepping into cold water. As he did, the phone rang.
The screen lit up. PLUTO.
Hudson's stomach dropped so fast he almost laughed. "Oh, fuck," he whispered to no one. He swiped to answer before he could talk himself out of it. "Hey," Hudson said, trying for casual and landing somewhere near strangled.
On the other end, Liam's voice filled his ear, warm, too close for how far away he was. "Hey," Liam said.
Hudson's pulse spiked. Of course, Liam's first word was 'hey'. Of course it was. Like the universe loved symmetry.
Hudson cleared his throat. "You called."
"I did," Liam replied. "Is that a problem?"
Hudson stared at the ceiling, eyes wide. "No," Hudson lied. "I just wasn't expecting it."
Liam hummed softly. "You were going to ignore me."
Hudson's mouth fell open. "I wasn't."
"You were," Liam said, amused. "I know your type."
"My type?" Hudson repeated, offended. "You've known me for a week."
Liam's voice smiled. "Exactly. A week. And you've already perfected the art of getting all quiet."
Hudson's cheeks warmed. "It's called having boundaries."
"It's called being afraid," Liam countered gently.
Hudson's chest narrowed. He hated how Liam could do that, push, but not cruelly. Name things without sounding like he wanted to win.
Hudson tried to pivot to safer ground. "Why are you calling?"
A pause. Not long. Just enough for Hudson to feel Liam breathe on the other side. "I couldn't sleep," Liam admitted.
Hudson blinked, his irritation softening against his will. "It's...late."
"I'm still on set time." Liam corrected, voice dry.
Hudson snorted despite himself. "You're such a diva."
Liam's laugh was quiet. "And you're still adorable. Thank God."
Hudson's throat tightened a little at that. Thank God. As if Hudson's cuteness was the one normal thing Liam could hold onto.
Hudson shifted on the bed, phone pressed to his ear. "So you couldn't sleep. That's why you called."
"Yes," Liam said, and then, with a softness that made Hudson go still, "I...just wanted to hear your voice."
Hudson tried to cover the reaction with sarcasm because sincerity made him panic. "You know, there are apps for that. You can pay someone to talk to you."
Liam's tone turned teasing. "Are you offering your services?"
Hudson rolled his eyes. "I'm offering you therapy."
Liam murmured, "I'd rather have you."
Hudson froze again. Silence bloomed between them. Hudson hated how much he liked it.
He said quickly, "Yeah, you're definitely drunk."
"I'm not," Liam said.
"You are," Hudson insisted, because the alternative was terrifying.
Liam's voice softened. "Hudson."
Hudson's name in Liam's mouth sounded insanely hot. Hot enough for Hudson's cock to harden almost immediately. It felt intimate. Too intimate for a weeknight.
"Yeah?" Hudson managed.
"I want to see you," Liam said. Simple. Direct. The alpha edge in it, commanding without being loud. Like he was used to wanting something and making the world rearrange itself.
Hudson sat up slightly, alarm bells going off. "No."
Liam didn't flinch. "Yes."
Hudson stared. "That's not how that works, Liam."
"It is with me," Liam said lightly, and Hudson could hear the smile in it. Then Liam added, quieter, "And with you, it seems."
Hudson hated that Liam had a point.
But he still rallied. "Liam, I have work."
"It's your day off tomorrow," Liam replied smoothly.
Hudson blinked. "How do you..."
"I had them call the..." Liam said. Hudson's lower lip dropped slightly. Shocked. Impressed, too. "Don't worry about it," Liam replied, too calm.
Hudson sat upright now, fully scandalized. "That's creepy."
Liam's voice turned innocent. "It's resourceful."
"That's stalker-adjacent."
"That's Hollywood," Liam said, as if it explained everything.
Hudson dragged a hand down his face. "You can't just..."
"I can," Liam said, voice gentle but firm. "And I did."
Hudson tried another angle, the one that usually worked on men who were used to getting what they wanted. "You don't even know me," Hudson said.
Liam's reply came instantly, almost too soft. "I know enough." Hudson's stomach tensed. Liam laughed softly, then the laugh faded into a tenderness that wrapped around the edges of his words. "I've been around people all week," Liam said. "They talk at me, around me, about me. Everyone wants something. Everyone wants a piece."
Hudson's grip on the phone tightened.
Liam continued, unguarded in a way that slipped through the cracks of his confidence. "I get back home, and it's just...quiet. Empty."
Hudson swallowed. That loneliness, the one Liam never called loneliness, was right there. Barely spoken, but loud.
Hudson forced himself to keep the tone light because if he let the tenderness in, he might say something that mattered. "So," Hudson said, forcing a joke, "you want to borrow my personality for the night again."
Liam's voice warmed again. "I want you."
Hudson groaned. "Stop making everything sound so intense."
"I'm not," Liam said. "It's a simple request."
Hudson scoffed. "It doesn't sound like one."
Liam's smile returned to his voice. "Fine. Pretty please?"
Hudson's heart did something stupid. He leaned back against the wall by his bed, staring at the dimness of his room like it could offer wisdom. "I can't," Hudson said, and he meant it and didn't mean it all at once. "This is...insane. Your life is insane."
Liam's tone turned gently relentless. "Come over."
Hudson exhaled sharply. "No."
A pause. And then Liam, calm as a man ordering coffee. "I'm sending my driver."
Hudson sat bolt upright. "You're what?"
"I'm sending my driver to pick you up," Liam repeated, as if the words were harmless. "Text me your address."
Hudson's voice pitched up. "Liam, no. Absolutely not."
"Hudson," Liam said, and that single word carried the same energy as the night he'd ordered Hudson to put his number in the phone.
Hudson's mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
From the other room, Mateo's voice floated faintly through the wall. "OH MY GOD, YES...YES...FUCK ME, YES!"
Hudson snapped his eyes shut, mortified.
Liam paused. "Was that...?"
"My roommate," Hudson said quickly, mortified. "Ignore him."
Liam's voice turned amused. "Sounds like he's having a good time."
Hudson's face burned. "Please focus."
"I am," Liam said, too smooth. "On getting you here."
Hudson stared at the edge of his pillow like it was suddenly fascinating. He whispered, almost involuntarily, "You're really not taking no."
Liam's voice smiled again, a touch of humor sliding back in like a hand on Hudson's waist. "You're really not good at saying it."
Hudson scoffed, weak. "I'm usually excellent at saying no."
"Then say it," Liam challenged gently.
Hudson opened his mouth.
No sound came out.
On the other end, Liam exhaled, fond, knowing. "Exactly."
Hudson squeezed his eyes shut. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're coming," Liam said.
Hudson swallowed. "Liam..."
"Give me the address," Liam said, still gentle, still inevitable. "Or I'll find out. And you already know how that goes."
Hudson let out a laugh that sounded like surrender disguised as despair. "You're blackmailing me with your own creepiness." Liam stayed silent. He was a pro, so he sat this one out. Hudson's mouth twitched despite himself. "This is such a bad idea..." he said, trying for authority and landing somewhere between threat and plea.
On the other end, Liam didn't sound remotely alarmed. "The driver's on the way," Liam said.
Hudson's eyes shut slowly. "Liam..."
"Hudson," Liam interrupted, gentle but immovable. "Twenty minutes. Just be ready."
Hudson made a strangled noise. Then he did the only thing he could do to reclaim any illusion of control. He hung up. Hudson stared at the phone for three catatonic seconds. Then, he opened a text thread, typed his address out of sheer panic muscle memory, because if he didn't do it now, he'd talk himself out of it, and somehow that seemed worse, and hit send.
ARIZONA: 1247, West L. Ave, Apt 3B. Back building.
Message delivered.
Hudson stared at it.
Then, slowly, he lifted his free hand and slapped it flat against his own face. Not hard. Just the kind of slap that said, What have you done, you idiot? He exhaled through his fingers, muffled. That's when it hit him, like a cold splash.
He hadn't showered.
He'd spent the whole day running and texting and spiraling. He was about to be picked up by a driver, a driver, to go to Liam Hart's house, and he hadn't even performed the basic rites of human decency. Hudson's eyes went wide.
"Fuck."
He bolted. Sprinted into the bathroom, nearly slipping on the rug. He yanked his hoodie off over his head, then his shirt, tossing both onto the counter with zero care. He turned on the sink full blast and shoved his hands under the water, then paused. Priorities. He grabbed a washcloth, soaked it, and scrubbed at his armpits with frantic aggression. He splashed water on his neck. His face. His hairline. He leaned in and sniffed himself with the desperation of a man trying to outrun humiliation.
"Okay," he muttered, breathless. "Okay. Okay, you got this."
He swiped deodorant on so hard it squeaked. Then he raked his fingers through his hair and stared at his reflection. He looked like someone who'd just made a life choice without consulting his brain.
"Get it together," he whispered to his reflection.
His reflection didn't help.
Hudson raced back to his room in socks, nearly tripping over his backpack. He yanked open a drawer, sent a stack of folded shirts into chaos, and stood there for a second with his hands on his hips, breath heaving, realizing he had no idea what you wore to a famous actor's house when you were not, technically, supposed to be going to a famous actor's house. He grabbed a black t-shirt. Then threw it on the bed. Grabbed a button-up. Then threw it on the bed. Grabbed another t-shirt. Another. He looked down and realized he was still shirtless.
"Jesus," he muttered, and pulled a clean shirt over his head, something simple, soft, that didn't scream I tried too hard.
He tugged on jeans that weren't stained. Went to his bag and pulled out Liam's hoodie. He changed his socks. He tried to make his hair look intentional and somehow made it worse. He moved too fast, like the speed could keep him from thinking about the fact that Liam had decided he wanted Hudson and the universe had allowed it.
Hudson was halfway through tying his shoes when his bedroom door cracked open.
Mateo appeared in the doorway.
He was finally wearing something, thank God, but it was barely a concession to clothing: an oversized tank top that hung off one shoulder and a pair of tiny shorts. His hair was a disaster. His grin was triumphant. His eyes were bright with the joy of a gay man who had just had a good time and a giant cock up his ass for the seventh time that day.
He leaned against the frame, arms folded, and surveyed Hudson's frantic outfit changes like a judge at a pageant. "Interesting," Mateo drawled.
Hudson froze mid-lace, heart hammering.
Mateo's smile widened slowly, dangerously. "Where are you going?"
Hudson snorted, the sound half laugh, half defense. "None of your business."
Mateo's eyebrows lifted like Hudson had just challenged him to a duel. "Oh."
Hudson yanked the lace tight, maybe a little too aggressively. "Go back to your room. That sex toy with legs you brought home is probably wondering where you are."
Mateo's grin turned viciously pleased. "He fell asleep."
Hudson blinked. "Already?"
Mateo nodded, proud as a man presenting a trophy. "Face-down. Like God pressed 'power off.'"
Hudson winced. "That's..."
Mateo's eyes sparkled. "Flattering."
Hudson stood, grabbed his backpack, and tried to look like a normal person about to do a normal thing.
Mateo sauntered farther into the doorway, refusing to be dismissed by common sense. "So," he said, voice leaking curiosity, "you're going somewhere at 2 a.m."
"It's not..." Hudson cut in.
Mateo waved him off. "You're putting on clean socks, which you only do when you're trying..."
"To be respectable?" Hudson offered sharply.
Mateo smiled. "To get laid." Hudson groaned and reached for Liam's hoodie. Mateo's gaze flicked to it, immediate recognition lighting his face. "That's not yours."
Hudson froze. "It is."
Mateo narrowed his eyes. "It's not."
Hudson tightened his grip on the fabric. "Mateo."
Mateo leaned closer, sniffed theatrically, and then made a dramatic face like he'd just smelled scandal. "That," Mateo whispered, delighted, "smells expensive."
Hudson shoved the hoodie into his backpack. "Jesus Christ, stop smelling my things."
Mateo opened his mouth to reply, but then a faint sound drifted in from outside: a low engine, the kind of noise that didn't belong to their building's usual parade of dented sedans and questionable scooters. Mateo's head snapped toward the tiny bathroom window that faced the parking lot. He went still. Then his whole body moved with purpose, crossing the hall to the bathroom as if he'd been summoned by the gods of gossip. He leaned in, pushed the curtain aside, and peered down.
Hudson's stomach sank. "Fuck."
Mateo's expression changed mid-peek, widening into a mix of awe and hunger. "Oh my God," he breathed. Hudson stepped toward the doorway, too late. Mateo looked over his shoulder, eyes enormous. "Is that for you?"
Hudson blinked. "What?"
Mateo pointed at the window. "That car." Hudson tried to keep his face neutral, but his eyebrows crossed him. Mateo gasped. "It is!"
Hudson snatched his backpack. "It's not."
Mateo turned fully now, blocking the hallway with his body like a tiny gay bouncer. "Hudson," he said slowly, reverently, "why is there a car outside that looks like it costs more than our entire building?"
Hudson lifted his hands. "Maybe someone is visiting the neighbor."
Mateo stared. "Our neighbor is seventy-two and owns three cats and a microwave from 1997."
Hudson swallowed. "He could have a rich grandson."
Mateo's eyes narrowed. "No."
Hudson tried to move past him. Mateo stepped sideways with him. Perfect mirror. Predator behavior.
Hudson pointed at him. "Move."
Mateo smiled sweetly. "Tell me."
Hudson attempted his most convincing tone. "It's...an Uber."
Mateo blinked. Then he burst into laughter. "An Uber? Hudson, be serious."
Hudson's jaw clenched. "It is an Uber."
Mateo shook his head like a disappointed parent. "That is not an Uber. That is a car that kidnaps people politely."
Hudson's mouth twitched despite himself. "Okay, you need to stop watching true crime."
Mateo leaned in, lowering his voice. "You're going out."
Hudson sighed. "Yes."
Mateo's eyes widened further, which seemed physically impossible. "With the person in that car." Hudson stared at the wall. Mateo gasped again, a squeal trapped in his throat. "OH. MY. GOD." Hudson tried to step around him. Mateo moved. Again. "You're dating someone famous."
Hudson scoffed so hard it almost sounded like a cough. "I am not."
Mateo tilted his head. "Then why is there a driver outside?"
Hudson blinked. "How do you know it's a driver?"
Mateo gestured vaguely. "Because it's not an Uber, Hudson. That man is sitting in the front like he's...on payroll." Hudson's face warmed. Mateo's eyes sharpened with triumph. "AHA."
Hudson tried to recover. "It could be...a Lyft."
Mateo stared at him for two seconds, then said slowly, "You're the worst liar I've ever met. Jesus Christ, it's embarrassing."
Hudson exhaled, defeated. "Fine. Yes. I'm going out."
Mateo leaned against the wall like he had all the time in the world. "With someone." Hudson nodded, guarded. Mateo's grin widened. "Someone rich." Hudson tried to squeeze past again. Mateo blocked him again, now fully committed. His voice dropped. "Someone...famous."
Hudson's throat tightened. "Teo..."
Mateo held up a hand. “No, no, no. Don't 'Teo' me. You're wearing clean socks. There is a luxury vehicle outside our tragic apartment. You are absolutely dating someone famous."
Hudson bristled. "I'm not dating anyone."
Mateo blinked. "Okay, fine. So you're hooking up with someone famous."
Hudson's cheeks heated. "I didn't say that either."
Mateo's eyes narrowed. "Then what are you doing?"
Hudson threw his hands up. "I'm...going to talk."
Mateo stared. "Talk."
Hudson nodded desperately. "Yes. Talk."
Mateo leaned in, incredulous. "Hudson. That car is not for talking. That car is for..."
"Stop," Hudson begged, glancing toward the wall like it could implode from embarrassment.
Mateo smirked. "For life-changing decisions."
Hudson groaned and tried to move again.
Mateo darted in front of him one more time, practically vibrating with questions. "Okay, okay. Who is it?"
Hudson pressed his lips together, eyes wide. "No."
Mateo clasped his hands together. "Just tell me if I know him."
Hudson shook his head quickly. "You don't."
Mateo blinked. "I don't?"
Hudson shook his head again, firmer. "No."
Mateo looked genuinely offended. "Excuse me? I know everyone."
Hudson's mouth twitched. "You...do not."
Mateo squared his shoulders. "Is he an actor?" Hudson stared. Mateo's eyes widened in real time. "OH MY...HE IS." Mateo barreled on. "Is he on Netflix? HBOMax? Is he one of those guys who plays a tortured detective who hates his dad?" Hudson tried to push past him, but Mateo planted his feet. He lowered his voice. "Is it...someone I've watched shirtless?" Hudson's face went hot. Mateo gasped. "It is."
Hudson's patience finally snapped. "Fuck, Teo!" Hudson said, voice sharp.
Mateo pouted. "Fine, but at least tell me if he's hot."
Hudson stared at him, deadpan. "He's a troll."
Mateo's eyes narrowed. "Liar." Hudson grabbed the doorknob. Mateo followed. "Wait, are you going to his house?" Hudson didn't answer. Mateo squealed quietly. "YOU ARE."
Hudson opened the door.
Mateo leaned forward into the doorway, eyes sparkling. "Hudson, I swear to God, if you come home with a new personality, I will..."
Hudson shoved the door toward him. Mateo's face was still mid-sentence as the door swung shut. The door hit the frame with a solid thud, cutting Mateo off. For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then, muffled through the door, Mateo's voice rose in outrage and delight. "HUDSON! YOU'RE A SLUT!"
Hudson leaned his forehead against the door for one second, eyes closed, laughing silently in sheer panic. Then he straightened, shoved his phone deeper into his pocket, and walked down the stairs.
He stepped off the curb. The car waited at the edge of the parking lot, black, glossy, expensive in a way that said systems. People with schedules. People whose problems were solved quietly. The driver sat behind the wheel, still as a statue. Dark suit. Straight posture. Hands folded calmly, trained not to tremble.
Hudson approached, backpack on one shoulder. The rear door clicked open before Hudson even reached for the handle. He paused. Of course it did. Then he climbed inside. The seat accepted him like a gentle hand. The door shut with a soft, airtight thump that made the outside world vanish.
Hudson stared forward at the back of the driver's head. He didn't turn. Didn't greet. Didn't acknowledge Hudson's existence in any way that suggested Hudson was a person rather than a parcel.
So Hudson cleared his throat. "Hi," he said.
Silence.
Hudson tried again, louder, as if volume might unlock basic politeness. "Hello."
The driver's eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, even though they hadn't moved yet.
Hudson blinked. "Okay. We're doing quiet."
The car eased out of the lot. Hudson sat back, gripping his backpack strap as if it were a seatbelt. He could feel his own nerves vibrating in his fingertips. He hated silence. Silence invited thoughts. Thoughts were currently a hostile crowd. So he did what he always did when he was cornered by his own anxiety.
He talked.
"So," Hudson said, peering at the driver's profile in the rearview mirror. "You're...Liam's driver."
No response.
Hudson nodded as if he'd been given one. "That's cool. Must be...interesting."
The driver's jaw didn't move.
Hudson continued anyway, committed now out of sheer stubbornness. "Like, do you ever get tired of driving famous people around? Do you have, like, a driver group chat? Like...'Today Liam wore sunglasses inside again, pray for me.'"
Silence.
Hudson squinted at the driver. "Do you...talk?"
The driver blinked once. That was it.
Hudson nodded again. "Okay. Not a talker. That's fine. I respect it."
They rolled through the city. Hudson tried to orient himself by landmarks, but the route quickly stopped being familiar and became the kind of L.A. that felt like a different country: cleaner streets, fewer pedestrians, a quiet that came from distance and money.
Hudson shifted in his seat and tried a new angle.
"Are you from here?" he asked.
The driver's mouth remained closed.
Hudson sighed. "I'm Hudson, by the way."
The driver's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror for half a second, brief, assessing, then back to the road.
Hudson raised his eyebrows. "That was the first acknowledgment I've gotten from you, so thank you."
Still nothing.
Hudson kept going, because giving up meant thinking about Liam, and thinking about Liam meant thinking, and thinking meant having to explain why he was in this car in the first place.
"So...what's Liam like?" Hudson asked, then immediately winced. "Actually, never mind. You probably have some NDA tattooed on your soul."
Silence.
Hudson nodded. "Right. Professional."
He leaned back, attempted to relax, failed instantly. His knee began bouncing. He forced it still. His hands fidgeted. He folded them. Unfolded them. Checked his phone for no reason. Put it away again.
The driver's stillness was infuriatingly calming. Like being trapped in a luxury aquarium with a very expensive fish. Hudson tried one last time, desperate for distraction.
"Okay," he said, earnest. "If I get murdered at the house, hypothetically speaking, what's the protocol? Do you call someone? Do you just...drive away and pretend you never saw me?"
Nothing.
Hudson stared. "That's ominous."
The car didn't even seem to speed up. It just kept gliding, smooth, quiet, indifferent.
Hudson huffed and muttered under his breath, "I'm going to die. Great."
He gave up. He pressed his head back against the seat and stared out the tinted window as the city changed again, less neon, more darkness, more foliage, the streets curving upward into hills that made the skyline look remote and fake. Gated driveways and hidden lives.
After a while, the car slowed.
Hudson's stomach tightened.
They turned onto a street that looked like it had been designed to discourage the poor from even breathing near it: smooth asphalt, tall hedges, streetlights spaced far apart. Houses sat back from the road, half-hidden by overdone landscaping.
Then Hudson saw it.
A gate.
Not a cute little gate with a keypad. A real gate, tall, sleek, metal panels framed by stone, the kind of gate that said this property is protected by laws you can't afford. The driver pulled up. A camera lens glinted from a pillar. The gate opened smoothly, silently, as if it had been expecting them.
They drove inside.
A long driveway curled upward, lined with manicured greenery. Small lights embedded in the ground lit the path like a runway. The house emerged gradually, not revealed all at once but in stages, angles, and planes, and glass.
It was modern in the way rich modern was: not cozy, not warm, impossibly clean and intentional. All sleek lines and concrete and dark wood, with glass walls. Everything looked like someone had paid a fortune to make it look effortless.
Hudson stared, caught between awe and discomfort.
They rolled past the gates and up to the front entrance, where a tall door waited beneath a cantilevered roof. The driveway widened into a smooth circular pull-up that could fit three cars without them ever touching.
The car came to a stop.
Hudson waited for the driver to open the door automatically again, because of course he would. But for the first time, the driver spoke.
His voice was deep, controlled, accented in a way Hudson couldn't quite place, polished, precise. "This is where you get off," he said.
Hudson blinked, startled by the sound. "Oh."
The driver didn't look back.
Hudson reached for the handle and stepped out. He shut the car door gently, then stood there for a moment, backpack strap digging into his shoulder, chest tight. He looked at the front door. He could still back out. He could still turn around, get back in the car, pretend this was a fever dream. But his feet moved anyway. Hudson walked up the sleek stone path toward the entrance, lifted his hand, and knocked. The sound landed oddly, too small. He held his breath, listening. At first, there was nothing.
Then, movement.
Light footsteps over expensive floors. A soft, measured pace that didn't hurry and didn't hesitate, like whoever approached the door already knew exactly what they wanted on the other side of it.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Liam stood there barefoot in baggy black pants, no shirt, chest open. His hair was messy in the best way, tousled like he'd slept and still hadn't fully woken up, like he'd tried not to care and failed. His face looked softer here, eyes warm and alert and wickedly calm.
Hudson's brain shorted out on the spot.
A quiet, helpless "Fuck me…" escaped his mouth before he could catch it.
Liam's smile widened, unbothered, amused as if he'd been waiting for precisely that. "That's the plan," he said. Hudson's throat went dry. Liam paused, the grin turning almost gentle. "But I was thinking of showing you around first."
Hudson blinked, trying to reassemble himself into a person who could stand upright and not openly melt on a stranger's doorstep. "Right," he managed, voice rough. "Tour. Of course. Very...educational."
Liam's gaze dropped. Not to Hudson's face this time, lower, to the hoodie over Hudson's body.
Liam's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were both pleased and caught off guard. "That's mine," Liam said.
Hudson tugged at the hem instinctively, suddenly aware of how intimate it was to show up wearing someone else's clothes, even if he'd told himself it was purely practical. "I brought it to return it," Hudson said quickly. "I'm not...stealing your...whatever this is. Your expensive actor fabric."
Liam stepped closer into the doorway, and Hudson felt the heat of him before Liam even touched him.
Liam's mouth curved. "You can keep it," he said, simply.
Hudson opened his mouth. "I..."
"It looks good on you," Liam added, and his tone was light, but his eyes weren't. His eyes looked like he meant it in a way. That way.
Hudson swallowed. "It smells like you."
Liam's gaze held his. "Good."
Hudson's pulse kicked hard.
Liam shifted aside and gestured him in like this was the most natural thing in the world, like famous actors routinely invited waiters into their private fortresses at night. "Come in," Liam said.
Hudson stepped over the threshold.
The silence here was different from the silence in Hudson's apartment. It didn't feel cheap. It felt curated. Private. Liam closed the door behind him. Hudson turned slightly, taking it in.
The ground floor opened into a vast, minimalist space. Polished concrete. Dark wood panels breaking up the walls. A living area with low, sculptural furniture, couches, a coffee table, and a rug. Floor-to-ceiling glass stretched along one side, revealing the pool outside like a strip of dark glass. No clutter. No noise. No signs of ordinary life, except the subtle ones: a half-read book on the end of a sofa, a throw blanket casually folded, a pair of sunglasses on a console table near the entry like they'd been dropped there in a tired moment.
It was beautiful.
And it was lonely.
Hudson shifted his weight, suddenly aware he was in unfamiliar territory, Liam's world, not his. There were no menus, no customers to hide behind, no Elliot to be mad at. Just space, and Liam, and the echo of a week of texts that had been building toward this.
Liam watched Hudson absorb it all. "Not what you pictured?" Liam asked.
Hudson glanced at him. "I pictured a secret lair with a rotating bookshelf."
Liam's mouth twitched. "Disappointing."
"Yeah," Hudson said, eyes scanning the clean lines again. "This is...very sleek. Very 'I don't own emotions.'"
Liam stepped past him toward the living room, and as he did, his hand brushed Hudson's lower back, so brief it could have been accidental, so placed it clearly wasn't. It guided Hudson forward with gentle pressure, a touch that said 'this way' and 'I want to touch you'.
Hudson's breath caught despite himself. He followed, trying not to look like someone who had never been inside a house this quiet.
Liam spoke as he walked, in a casual, almost amused tone. "Living room. Try not to judge the furniture. It's all very...adult."
Hudson glanced at a chair that looked like modern art with anxiety. "That chair looks like it hates me."
"It hates everyone," Liam said.
Hudson's mouth curved. "At least it's consistent."
They moved past the living area toward the kitchen, and the space opened even wider. All clean surfaces and sharp geometry, an island the size of a small boat, a pale stone countertop, matte black fixtures, and cabinets without handles. A wall of glass revealed a patio beyond, faintly lit, with a low fire pit and a view of the city.
Hudson trailed his fingers along the edge of the counter without thinking, grounding himself. Liam stopped by the island and turned to face him. Hudson stopped, too, a step away. Their distance was small now. Too small for a room this big, and it made the whole place feel like it was shrinking around them.
Liam's eyes traveled over Hudson, hoodie, hair, mouth, lips, then returned to Hudson's gaze. Hudson tried to speak. Tried to make a joke. His voice caught. Liam's hand lifted slowly and hooked a finger under the hoodie's drawstring, tugging it once, like a tease. Hudson's throat tightened at the simple intimacy.
"Glad you came," Liam said, as if the words were nothing.
But the way he said them, quiet, controlled, almost careful, made it sound like he hadn't allowed himself to hope until Hudson was standing here.
Hudson swallowed. "You didn't exactly give me a choice."
Liam's mouth curved. "You could've said no."
Hudson scoffed. "You would've sent a chopper."
Liam's eyes warmed, amused. "Probably."
Hudson's gaze dropped to Liam's bare chest, smooth skin, the faint shadow of the softest golden fuzz where collarbones cut clean down to the quiet strength in his torso. Hudson forced himself to look away before his face betrayed him. When he looked back up, Liam's expression had shifted. The humor was still there, but beneath it, something impatient, hungry, as if Liam's restraint had been a tight suit he was about to step out of.
Hudson felt it in his own body, too.
The guardrails that had kept them careful, polite, teasing, circling, finally snapped.
Hudson didn't plan it.
He just moved.
He crossed the space in two steps and threw himself at Liam.
Liam caught him instantly, hands firm on Hudson's hips. Their mouths crashed together, hot, urgent, all the waiting spilling out at once. Hudson kissed him like he'd been starving, like the week had been a drought. Liam made a low sound against Hudson's mouth, and Hudson's hands went into Liam's hair, fingers threading through the messy blonde, tugging just enough to make Liam inhale sharply.
Hudson jumped.
His legs wrapped around Liam's waist with reckless certainty, and Liam's grip tightened, holding him up like it was nothing. Like he'd wanted this exact weight, this exact cling. He carried Hudson to the island without breaking the kiss, tongues dancing, walking them there with steady, controlled steps. Liam set Hudson down on the counter gently, careful despite the hunger, as if Hudson was precious even while being devoured.
Hudson's palms spread on the cool stone for balance.
He could feel it then, through fabric and heat and closeness, Liam's body responding, unmistakable desire pressing into Hudson's thigh. That hard, thick meat pushing against his inner thigh. Nestling itself where it belonged.
If it wasn't obvious last time, it was undoubtedly blatant now.
Liam was packing.
Liam's mouth moved to Hudson's jaw, then back to his lips, kissing him like he couldn't decide where to land first. "I haven't been able to think straight since that night," Liam whispered into Hudson's mouth, voice rough, almost angry at himself.
Hudson's brain fizzed as he felt Liam's intoxicatingly musky breath on him. His mouth still worked, unfortunately. "Straight?" Hudson breathed, grinning against Liam's lips. "That sounds like a you problem."
Liam froze for a fraction of a second, then laughed, a short exhale of disbelief, before he kissed Hudson harder, like the joke had only made him want more. "You're so fucking sexy," Liam murmured.
Hudson's smile vanished into the kiss. Liam's hands went to the hem of the hoodie. He pulled it up over Hudson's head with slow insistence, and Hudson lifted his arms automatically, letting it go. The hoodie slid away like a second skin being stripped off. Hudson's t-shirt followed, Liam tugging it up, exposing Hudson's chest.
Liam's gaze dipped. He didn't rush. He looked, like he was taking Hudson in properly now, like he'd finally earned the right to see him. Then Liam lowered his mouth to Hudson's chest and kissed him there, warm lips against skin, a slow kiss. Liam inhaled lightly at Hudson's collarbone, almost a sniff.
Hudson shivered.
"You smell amazing," Liam said, voice low against Hudson's skin.
The words hit Hudson weirdly, too intimate, too real. Hudson's head cleared suddenly, the haze cracking. He pulled back slightly, fingers still in Liam's hair but grip loosening.
Liam looked up immediately, eyes searching Hudson's face. "What's wrong?" Liam asked, soft but alert.
Hudson swallowed, embarrassed. "I..." He exhaled. "I didn't shower." Liam blinked once, then smiled. Hudson rushed on, cheeks hot. "I came straight from work. I did a panic deodorant situation, but..."
Liam leaned in again, burying his face into Hudson's chest as if to prove a point. He inhaled, slow and deliberate, and Hudson's entire body lit up at the intimacy of it. "I don't mind," Liam murmured, voice muffled against Hudson.
Hudson's fingers slid through Liam's hair, slow now, tender, nails grazing Liam's scalp. The gesture softened something in both of them, Hudson petting him like he was grounding them both, Liam staying there like he needed the closeness more than he wanted to admit.
Hudson's voice came out quieter. "Still."
Liam lifted his head, eyes warm. "Still?"
Hudson nodded, stubborn. "You mind if I shower first?"
Liam held his gaze for a beat, then relented with a small sigh that sounded like he was letting go of something he didn't want to let go of. "Sure, no problem," Liam said, voice gentle.
Hudson glanced downward without thinking and caught the shape of Liam's arousal under the baggy black pants, obvious, hard to ignore. Hudson's mouth did what it always did when he was overwhelmed: it turned it into a joke. "Well," Hudson muttered, breathless, "your...problem seems pretty awake."
Liam's smile returned, slow and wicked. "Is that your professional assessment?"
Hudson gave him a look. "I'm very qualified." Liam laughed softly. Hudson took a steadying breath. "Where's the bathroom?"
Liam's eyes flicked over Hudson, bare chest, flushed face, lips swollen from kissing, then back up, and something bright and hungry moved behind his calm. "There's one upstairs," Liam said. "In my room."
Hudson's stomach dropped, equal parts nerves and anticipation.
He nodded once, trying to look braver than he felt. "Okay," Hudson said, voice low.
He slid off the counter, feet finding the floor with a soft thud. He turned to grab his t-shirt and hoodie, clothes suddenly feeling like a flimsy excuse for sanity. He barely got his fingers around the fabric before Liam was behind him.
Close. Silent. Heat.
Liam's arms wrapped around Hudson's middle, not tight enough to trap him, just enough to claim the space. His mouth found Hudson's neck with a slow, deliberate kiss that made Hudson's knees threaten to turn into water. He could feel Liam's tongue on his skin. Teeth biting gently into it.
Hudson let out a nervous giggle. "Liam..."
Liam kissed him again, just below the ear this time, lingering like he had nowhere else to be in the world.
Hudson's head tipped back, throat baring itself to the attention, his breath coming out in an embarrassed little exhale. "You said..." he started, then laughed again because he couldn't even remember what he meant to accuse Liam of.
"I say a lot of things," Liam murmured against his skin.
Hudson tried to push him off with the kind of effort that was clearly not meant to succeed. His hands went to Liam's forearms, light pressure, more ceremony than resistance. Liam's cock was now shoved between his cheeks, stubbornly fighting the denim covering them. It covered the entire slit of Hudson's ass. Eight inches. Maybe nine, Hudson thought, before a slutty, slightly nervous smile crept onto his lips.
Hudson squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to be outraged while leaning into it like a man who had been waiting a week for exactly this kind of interruption.
"I'm trying to be responsible," Hudson said.
Liam kissed him again, slower. "You're doing a terrible job."
Hudson's laugh came out breathy. He turned in Liam's hold, just enough to glance over his shoulder at him. Liam's face was close, hungry, amused, like this private version of him didn't know how to pretend to be indifferent.
Hudson swallowed. "You're not helping."
"I'm not trying to," Liam said softly.
Hudson shook his head as if he disapproved, then, because his body had very little loyalty, he turned fully and kissed Liam. The kind of kiss that said, 'Fine. If you're going to ruin my plan, do it properly'. Liam met it instantly, hands sliding to Hudson's waist, pulling him in. Hudson's hoodie and shirt bunched awkwardly between them like an afterthought.
Hudson broke the kiss with a gasp, blinking like he'd been underwater. "Okay," he said, pointing up the stairs with exaggerated authority. "Up. Now." Liam's eyes gleamed. Hudson scoffed. "Take me to your room."
Liam laughed quietly, delighted, and guided Hudson toward the stairs. They managed three steps. Then Hudson turned, grabbed Liam's shirtless shoulders, and kissed him again because apparently his dignity had called in sick today. Liam kissed him back with a kind of contained impatience, as if he was trying to stay gentle and failing. His fingers brushed Hudson's hand, and for a second their fingers laced, instinctively, like it was the easiest shape in the world for them to make together.
Hudson pulled back, laughing softly at himself. "This is fucking crazy."
Liam's mouth ghosted near Hudson's. "It is."
Hudson took another step. Liam kissed his neck again.
Hudson covered it with a groan. "Okay. Up. We're walking. We're being normal."
They climbed, gradually, chaotically, pausing every few steps as if their bodies kept forgetting the destination. A kiss at the landing. A hand at the waist. Liam's thumb brushing Hudson's hip through denim like he was checking if Hudson was still real. Hudson pushing Liam's chest lightly as if scolding him, only to be pulled back in again. It was a push-and-pull dance, all teasing friction and breath and laughter, the kind of hunger that didn't feel like danger so much as inevitability.
By the time they reached the top, Hudson was flushed, hair slightly wrecked, and grinning like he'd been caught doing something he absolutely intended to do again.
Liam led him down a short hallway. A door opened, and they stumbled into Liam's bedroom. Hudson stopped dead. His whole face changed.
"Oh my..." he breathed, eyes widening like a kid on Christmas morning. "No fucking way."
The room was immaculate in that rich, deliberate way, large and quiet, softened by low ambient lighting. A king-size bed anchored the space with clean, expensive lines, dressed in crisp layers. A massive television, comically huge, easily ninety-something inches, hung across from the bed. Along the baseboards and behind the headboard, blue LED lights glowed faintly, turning the room's corners into cool twilight.
There were no messy piles. No clutter. No evidence of a frantic life, only a few carefully chosen details: a hardcover book on the nightstand, a glass of water, a framed photo turned slightly away from the light.
Hudson walked in a few steps, turning slowly, awestruck. "This is..." He gestured helplessly.
Liam leaned against the doorframe, watching him. The hunger in his expression softened then. Fondness, maybe. Appreciation. Like Hudson's pure, unfiltered awe was the most charming thing he'd seen.
"You like it?" Liam asked, voice warm.
Hudson looked back at him, eyes bright. "Like it? Dude, look at this bed..."
Liam's smile stayed, quiet and genuine. He didn't look like a man performing charm. He looked like a man enjoying the fact that Hudson wasn't pretending to be cool. He turned his head, distracted by something on the dresser, something that pulled his attention for half a second.
And that was all the opportunity Liam needed. He came up behind Hudson and wrapped his arms around him again, firm and warm. His mouth hovered near Hudson's ear.
"I can't wait to fuck you on it," Liam whispered.
Hudson's breath caught, not at the words alone, but at the way Liam said them, like restraint was becoming painful. He turned in Liam's hold, their faces close. He searched Liam's expression and saw it plainly: want, yes, but also something deeper under it, something like relief.
Hudson's voice came out rougher than he expected. "I don't get it," he said. Liam stilled, eyes narrowing slightly as he focused. Hudson kept going because the honesty had already slipped out, and he couldn't shove it back in. "You could have...anyone. Literally anyone. People line up to be near you."
Liam's hands loosened, not releasing him but shifting, as if the question had moved them into a different room emotionally. He looked into Hudson's eyes for a long beat. Then Liam shook his head once, almost impatient with the idea.
"You really don't see it, do you?" Liam said quietly.
Hudson blinked. "What?"
Liam stepped back half an inch so he could really see Hudson's face, like he needed Hudson to understand this properly. "You're not just anyone," Liam said, voice low and steady.
The room felt suddenly too quiet.
Hudson backed toward the bathroom, as if retreat were wisdom. "Five minutes."
He practically ran into the bathroom, biting down on a laugh that threatened to turn into a full-body squeal.
The room was obscene. Marble. Glass. A ridiculously large mirror.
"Jesus," he whispered, then immediately scolded himself under his breath, because yes, the house was enormous and yes, he was about to do something he'd been spiraling around for a week, and no, none of that deserved commentary right now.
So Hudson stripped fast, jeans, socks, fabric landing wherever gravity pleased, like his nervous system had fired him from the role of responsible adult. He stepped into the shower and let the water hit him hot and heavy, rinsing away the restaurant, the bus, the stale adrenaline of the past few hours.
He scrubbed himself thoroughly. Face, neck, shoulders, down his chest, his stomach, the places Liam's hands had mapped earlier like they belonged there. And the places he was sure Liam would be stuffing his face inside. Among other things. He washed his hair twice. He stood under the stream a moment longer than he meant to, letting the heat soften him from the inside out.
Then, because he could hear his own heart beating in his ears, he shut the water off.
Hudson grabbed a towel, dried himself fast, hair still dripping, and stood there for a beat, breathing, trying to remember how to be a person. That's when his eyes snagged on a robe hanging neatly nearby, thick, plush, the kind that whispered money and leisure and people who didn't panic-deodorant in public bathrooms.
Hudson slid it on with reverence, belted it, and exhaled.
Okay.
He could do this.
He opened the bathroom door.
A low, slow song was already filling the room, something sleek and intimate, all bass and breath, like the house itself had decided to seduce him. The lighting was dimmer now, the blue LEDs darker, deepening the shadows, turning the edges of the room into a quiet ocean.
Hudson's gaze went straight to the bed. And he stopped. His entire body froze, not from fear exactly, but from the sudden, vivid feeling of being seen.
Liam was on the bed, bare, stretched out with one arm propped beneath him, relaxed like a man who owned his hunger and wasn't ashamed of it. His hair was still messy, his face open in a way Hudson hadn't seen yet.
His hand stroked his cock. And what a cock. Thick, veiny. The corner of Hudson's mouth lifted slightly. He was right. Definitely nine inches. Perfect, uncut. Flawless.
Liam watched him with a slow smile. "Why are you wearing a robe?"
Hudson blinked, fighting for oxygen and dignity in the same breath. "I don't know...I always wanted to wear one," he admitted.
Liam's smile softened, something genuinely fond flickering across his features, like Hudson had just handed him the most endearing truth in the world. Then his expression shifted. Not cruel. Not harsh. Just back to hungry. His gaze darkened in a way that made Hudson's spine go hot.
"Take it off," Liam said. Calmly. "Slowly."
Hudson's fingers tightened around the belt. He hesitated only long enough to feel how far he'd come from a cage booth and a basket of fries, how the week of texting had been a fuse, how every joke he'd thrown like confetti had been hiding the same trembling want.
Then he loosened the belt.
The robe parted. Slid from his shoulders. Fell to the floor in a soft heap.
Hudson stood there bare and flushed, hair damp, skin still warm from the shower. He felt exposed, not because he was undressed, with his seven-inch cock dangling between his legs, but because he had nowhere to hide now. No apron. No role. No bar counter between them.
Liam's eyes traveled over him slowly, deliberately, taking him in as if Hudson were something rare and real and worth looking at. The attention was reverent. Possessive in the quiet way of someone who'd waited too long for something honest to come to him.
Liam lifted his hand and tapped the mattress once, a small command that made the room feel even smaller. "Come here," he said.
Hudson's mouth opened. His brain reached for a joke like it always did, an emergency exit, a last flare of chaos to keep the tenderness from burning too close. "Do you always..." he began, voice cracking with nervous humor. "do the whole...villain-on-a-bed thing? Because it's..."
And that's when Liam's eyes narrowed, stopping Hudson's joke in its tracks. His voice dropped lower, turning more certain, more grounded, as if he'd decided Hudson didn't get to wriggle out of this with charm this time.
"Quit playing around, Arizona," Liam said, the nickname landing like a hand at the back of Hudson's neck. "And get that pretty little ass over here."
Hudson went still.
One last breath.
One last chance to turn around, pick up the robe, and retreat into the safety of his ordinary life.
But this time, Hudson didn't take it.
He nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and slowly walked to the bed.
(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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