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.
"Pure Love"
Liam carried Hudson down the narrow hallway.
Hudson's legs stayed locked around Liam's waist, arms looped behind his neck, mouth still warm from the kiss that had saved them both from themselves. Every step Liam took felt deliberate, as if he were walking a stolen miracle into shelter.
Hudson's bedroom waited at the end of the corridor, small and imperfect in the way real rooms were. A laundry basket half-hidden beside a dresser. A thrifted lamp with a shade that threw soft, honeyed light against the walls. A few books stacked like they'd been used and loved.
Liam nudged the door closed behind them and stood for a second in the center of the room, breathing like he'd just run miles. Hudson's forehead drifted to Liam's shoulder, and for a moment neither of them moved.
The silence wasn't empty.
It was full of two weeks of restraint, two weeks of hunger, two weeks of remembering this exact weight, this exact closeness, and not believing they'd ever be allowed to have it again.
Hudson lifted his head. Liam's hands tightened around him, not painfully—just enough to reassure himself he wasn't dreaming.
"I thought you'd left," Hudson whispered.
Liam brushed his nose along Hudson's cheekbone, the gentlest touch, like an apology with no words. "I couldn't," he murmured.
Hudson let out a small, broken laugh that turned into a soft exhale as his fingers slid into Liam's hair, tugging lightly. Liam closed his eyes at the touch, his composure cracking in a way that made him look younger, suddenly human.
Hudson leaned in and kissed him again. Liam answered with a sound that barely made it past his throat, and the kiss deepened, unhurried, full of that feral relief that came when something almost lost was returned.
Liam finally stepped forward and lowered Hudson onto the bed. Not dropped, placed. Like he was setting down something precious.
Hudson's back met the sheets, and he stayed propped on his elbows, chest rising and falling, watching Liam. His smile flickered, suddenly shy, disbelieving.
"I...can't believe you're here," Hudson whispered.
Liam stood at the foot of the bed, eyes dark and bright all at once. Everything that held him down was gone. The world was down the hall, outside the building. Here, in this room, Liam didn't have to be anything but a man who wanted.
He shrugged out of his jacket first and let it fall. Then he loosened the collar of his shirt, fingers not trembling but not perfectly steady either. Hudson watched every motion like it was choreography designed solely for him, Liam's hands at his throat, the slow slide of fabric, the glimpse of skin and muscle.
Hudson swallowed and reached for the hem of his own shirt.
Liam's eyes softened instantly.
Hudson pulled the shirt up and off, tossing it aside. He shifted, pushing his undies down and away with a quick, almost bashful efficiency, then leaned back again, bare and open, his beautiful pink-headed cock lying over his abdomen. Hard as stone. His skin caught the glow in warm gradients, collarbones, ribs, the slight dip of his stomach. There was nothing performed about him. No practiced seduction.
Just truth.
Liam's breath stalled.
Hudson's mouth twitched as if he could read the way Liam was unraveling. "Stop looking at me like that."
Liam stepped closer, voice low. "Like what?"
Hudson's cheeks warmed. "Like...I don't know." He huffed a laugh.
Liam's expression shifted, something tender breaking through the hunger. "You really have no idea, do you?" he questioned, voice soft and nurturing. "You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are," Liam said simply.
The words landed, and Hudson's throat tightened in a way that had nothing to do with desire.
Liam finished undressing with a patience that felt more like reverence than teasing. When he was done, he stood for a moment at the foot of the bed, bare and beautiful, golden hair tousled, shoulders broad, torso sculpted into perfection. And between his legs, the most perfect cock. Liam's cock.
Hudson blinked.
Liam looked like he belonged in another world entirely. And yet his gaze, fixed on Hudson, held something almost shy.
Hudson's voice came out small. "Come here."
Liam obeyed.
He climbed onto the bed, lowering himself over Hudson as if he were afraid of crushing him, though the opposite was true. Hudson met him halfway, one hand rising to Liam's shoulders, pulling him close. The other grabbed Liam's shaft, stroking it gently before sliding it between his thighs. Their bodies laced, like their skin remembered what their minds had tried to forget.
They kissed.
Not the frantic kiss by the door, not the desperate collision of relief, but a kiss that took its time, that lingered, that searched. Liam's mouth moved against Hudson's, tongue drilling into Hudson's intoxicating flavor. Hudson's fingers slid into Liam's hair again, tugging gently, and Liam let out a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sigh.
"I missed you," Hudson whispered into the space between kisses.
Liam's forehead rested against Hudson's for a moment, breath mingling. "I missed you, too," he murmured.
Hudson's eyes filled again, the emotion coming too easily now that the dam had broken. He nodded once, swallowed hard.
Liam kissed the corner of Hudson's mouth. Then his cheek. Then his eyelid, as if he was collecting every place Hudson had ever cried. "Don't...run away from me again," he pleaded softly.
Hudson's lips parted. "Liam..."
Liam's gaze dropped, then rose again, honest and shaken. "Just... don't," he said.
Hudson's chest rose in a slow inhale. He cradled Liam's face, thumbs brushing along Liam's jaw, gentle, grounding. "I won't," Hudson whispered. "I promise."
Liam shut his eyes at the words as if they healed. When he opened them again, they were bright with something unguarded.
Their hands roamed, not frantic, not greedy. Learning, relearning. Liam's palm traced Hudson's side, his ribs, his waist, mapping a coastline he intended to return to. Hudson's hands slid over Liam's shoulders and back, anchoring him, pulling him closer.
And slowly, protected by the anonymity of the smallest room, words began to slip free, things they'd both held back because the world outside punished honesty.
Hudson whispered, "I'm scared."
"I got you, beautiful," Liam answered.
Their bodies moved together in a slow, aching rhythm, kisses, breath, everything between them turning soft and bright and impossibly alive. The world outside could do whatever it wanted. It could threaten, bargain, and scheme.
Because in here, none of it mattered. And for the first time in his life, Hudson stopped bracing for loss and let himself be held. As if he finally belonged somewhere.
Hudson's breath hitched when Liam's mouth drifted from his lips to the line of his jaw, then to the soft hollow beneath his ear, a trail that felt less like taking and more like learning. Liam moved as if he had all the time in the world, as if the world's clock had finally stopped counting down.
Hudson's hands found Liam's shoulders and held on. He could feel his precum rubbing against Liam's stomach, the friction between their bodies causing his groin to tingle with every smooth thrust of Liam's hips as he teased his 9-inch cock between Hudson's thighs.
"Where's the lube?" Liam asked.
Hudson smiled. "Top drawer," he instructed.
Liam pulled up and slid forward. Just enough that his body never lost contact with Hudson's. As of the mere suggestion of pulling away entirely was unacceptable at this point.
He took the tube out and handed it to Hudson. "Put it on me," Liam said.
Hudson did. He popped the bottle open and squeezed the liquid into his palm, taking his hand down and caressing Liam's cock with it. Then, in one flawless move, he smeared his fingers over his hole, glazing it, and guided Liam's throbbing shaft inside it.
The act was flawless.
Effortless.
Liam's hips pushed forward, slowly and gently, in one continuous movement, his lips stretching into a smile as he watched Hudson's face shift between surprise, pain, and pleasure, before it finally settled on recognition.
"Fuck," Hudson breathed out, his sense of humor kicking in almost immediately. "Is it...bigger?" he joked, his words slightly choked as his legs gripped tighter around Liam's hips. Hudson's ankles coasted over Liam's muscular ass.
"Maybe..." Liam replied, pulling out halfway before pushing back inside, balls deep. "Or maybe you just got tighter, Arizona," he teased, dipping his tongue inside Hudson's mouth, a rough growl holding their mouths together.
Seconds later, they parted. "Funny," Hudson managed to utter. "You know what, I think..." he tried to argue before an unexpected thrust from Liam's pelvis cut his words in half.
He felt it immediately. The tip of Liam's cock nudging against his soft spot. The bloated head stretching Hudson's walls, leaning against his prostate, a flick of a switch sending shivers over Hudson's entire body. Every hair on his skin lifted in rapture.
"Oh my god," Hudson moaned, his pupils dilating slightly. "How...do you...?" he tried to say.
But it was pointless, Hudson thought. No words could describe how it felt.
To have every single particle of Liam's body now linked to his. Every single inch of Liam's manhood, working to serve his pleasure.
Liam lifted his head then, just enough to look at Hudson.
His expression wasn't the one the world bought. There was no practiced charm, no camera-ready angle. Only a man who looked both terrified and relieved to be loved without conditions.
Hudson's voice came out hoarse, almost surprised by itself. "You're...opening me up...so good."
Liam's mouth curved, barely, his hips finding a cadence that was both tender and desperate. "Yeah," he breathed.
He kissed Hudson again, deep, slow, patient, like he was trying to memorize the shape of Hudson's mouth in case the universe ever tried to take it back again. Hudson answered with a small sound at the back of his throat, something between a laugh and a plea.
When Liam shifted, it wasn't with urgency. It was with care.
He slid his hand along Hudson's side, spanning his ribs, his waist, drawing him closer in a way that asked rather than demanded. Hudson responded without thinking, making space for him as naturally as breathing. The movement was seamless, the two of them fitting together like a hand inside a tailored glove.
Their bodies found a rhythm that wasn't about hunger so much as devotion. Liam moved against Hudson, pulsing cock sliding in and out of Hudson's warm hole with a steady, reverent patience, pausing often, kissing, touching, checking the expression on Hudson's face. Hudson's hands traveled Liam's back, his shoulders, his arms, fingers trailing the sweat that began to form. Every so often, Hudson would inhale sharply or let out a soft, involuntary sound, and Liam would respond by slowing his thrusts, pressing his mouth to Hudson's temple, whispering something low and private.
"It feels so good," Liam breathed once, voice barely audible over their breathing.
Hudson's eyes fluttered. "What?"
Liam's mouth brushed the corner of his lips, his whole body pushing inside Hudson. "That you're here," he whispered, his movement escorting his words.
A small, unforeseen laugh escaped Hudson's chest. Broken, tender. His body's way of dealing with the beauty of Liam's confession.
And that's when sex turned to lovemaking.
It unfolded like something holy made human, no spectacle, no performance, no need to prove anything. Just their skin, their heat, their breath.
For a moment, everything stilled.
Not the city.
Not the building.
But the small world inside Hudson's room, the space between their mouths, the next breath that hadn't happened yet. Liam held himself over Hudson, palms braced on either side of Hudson's shoulders.
Their eyes found each other.
Inevitable, like gravity remembering what it was made for.
Throughout is life, Liam had looked into a thousand lenses. He had held still under flashes while strangers called his name. He had made eye contact with interviewers trained to cut through him, with fans desperate to be seen, and producers calculating their investments. He'd learned the polite gaze, the practiced gaze, the gaze that gave nothing away.
But this? This wasn't like any of those.
Because as he stared down, Hudson's eyes, turquoise, impossibly clear, opened like water.
And Liam fell in.
Not with his body but with the part of him that had been holding its breath since childhood. Hudson's gaze didn't ask. It didn't demand. It didn't bargain. It simply met him, steady, unafraid, the way the ocean meets the shore of a deserted beach: not to take, but to receive.
Liam blinked, once, and it felt like a hallucination. Like his exhausted mind had conjured a miracle to keep him from shattering. Because there it was, tucked behind Hudson's pupils, luminous as a secret, something Liam had spent his whole life circling without ever naming.
Healing.
The kind that sat beside you on the floor and didn't flinch when you trembled. The kind that didn't turn away when you were ugly with fear. The kind that didn't ask you to earn it.
Unconditional.
Liam's throat tightened. His chest ached with the sheer wrongness of how badly he'd wanted this without knowing it. He'd conquered everything the world told him mattered: awards, money, rooms full of people rising when he entered, a name that opened doors before he even touched the handle.
And yet the only thing he'd ever truly craved, the only thing that could make all that noise feel like something other than an echo, was right here.
In Hudson's eyes.
Waiting.
As if it had always been waiting.
Liam's mouth parted with a quiet, stunned breath.
His hips kept moving.
His thrusts grew deeper.
Hudson took it. He held Liam with nothing but his gaze, and Liam understood, in a single devastating instant, that this was what he'd been starving for: not admiration, not lust, not even safety.
But to be seen.
To be known.
Liam's hand lifted, trembling slightly, and he touched Hudson's cheek. His eyes stayed locked on that turquoise, on that deep, impossible ocean, and something inside Liam, something armored for so long it had forgotten it could soften, finally gave way.
Not into weakness.
Into home.
"I love you," Liam whispered, voice shaking.
Hudson froze without stopping.
Not his body, his body kept going, kept responding, anchored to Liam in the language he knew: breath, touch, instinct. But something behind his ribs locked, a small internal mechanism clicking shut the way it always had when feelings got too close to the bone.
Because this was the word Hudson had spent his whole life dodging like an oncoming car.
He'd lived in the safe territory of jokes and exits, of affection that pretended it didn't need anything, of kisses that could be explained away as hunger. He'd been good at leaving. Good at making himself small. Good at keeping his own tenderness caged behind a smile.
But now Liam had said it. And the word hit Hudson like light through a crack. Because underneath it all, a quieter, more frightening truth lay hidden: Hudson had already been loving him.
In the two-week silence, in the ache of the hoodie pressed to his chest every night, in the way his body had moved toward Liam even when his mind screamed to run. In the way he'd mourned not just the sex or the thrill, but the thought of Liam alone.
Hudson's throat tightened so hard he couldn't breathe properly.
Liam must have felt the shift because he stilled, too, gaze lifting, eyes searching, suddenly scared, like he'd stepped off a cliff and was waiting to see if Hudson would catch him or let him fall.
Hudson looked at him.
And that's when he understood, with a clarity that made his chest ache: Liam had conquered the world, but he was offering Hudson the only thing he didn't know how to protect.
His heart.
Like a door that had been stuck for years, finally giving way, hinges groaning, sunlight pouring in, Hudson's barriers opened.
He felt it in his body first, his muscles releasing, breath deepening, hands tightening around Liam as if he could hold him steady through the fear.
Then came his mind. Every rehearsed escape route dissolving, every joke losing its power, every old instinct whispering run being met with a new, terrifying answer. Stay.
Hudson's eyes burned. He blinked hard, swallowing the sudden ache in his throat.
Then he reached up and cupped Liam's face, thumb brushing over Liam's cheekbone.
The words rose in him.
"I love you, too," Hudson whispered back.
Liam's eyes fluttered shut for a beat, face tightening as if the words physically struck him. A sound slipped from him, small, wrecked, almost disbelieving, and he leaned into Hudson's palm like he needed to feel the proof of it.
Hudson kissed him then, slow and trembling, sealing the truth into skin so neither of them could pretend it hadn't happened.
Liam's breathing turned uneven, the rhythm between them tightening. He held Hudson's face in both hands, thumbs brushing along Hudson's cheekbones, forehead dipping to Hudson's for a brief, trembling pause where the whole world seemed to narrow down to breath and the fragile, terrifying truth of 'them'.
Liam's gaze kept flicking between Hudson's eyes, mouth, eyes again, cock still thrusting into Hudson's hole in a passionate rhythm. "Hudson, I..." Liam whispered, the name raw, almost reverent.
Hudson's fingers dug into Liam's muscular ass cheeks. "Yeah?"
Liam swallowed, and for a second something shy crossed his expression. "Can I…" Liam started, then stopped, breath catching. He tried again, quieter, honest. "Can I come inside you?"
Hudson blinked, understanding blooming.
The question wasn't just about desire and Liam's raw need to flood Hudson's insides with his thick cum. That was the body talking.
The question carried everything else underneath. It pleaded, screaming through ripped flesh: 'Let me in, let me make you mine forever'.
Hudson's throat tightened. He didn't answer with words at first. He pulled Liam closer, mouths meeting in a slow kiss that felt like consent and comfort braided together.
And when he pulled back, he nodded once, small, steady, brave. "Yeah," Hudson whispered. "Come in my ass," he begged.
Something in Liam's face broke open at that, gratitude, a kind of fierce tenderness that made him look undone. He kissed Hudson again immediately, deeper this time, like he was trying to pour every thank you into Hudson's mouth.
Hudson held him through it, palms firm on Liam's ass, offering himself without flinching, an act so intimate it went beyond the body. He stayed present, stayed open, stayed there, even as the moment grew more intense, even as the edge of it threatened to steal his breath.
Liam's speed increased. Hips pistoning now, causing Hudson's muscles to gape slightly, loosen, and queef with delight.
Liam's forehead pressed to Hudson's, a ragged exhale leaving him. "Fuck, I'm gonna come," he announced.
Hudson's answer came simple, steady, and quietly devastating. "Breed me..."
Liam's eyes fluttered shut as if those two words were something he'd been starving for. He whispered Hudson's name again, not like a call, but like a howl, and Hudson cupped Liam's face, holding him there, guiding him back down into the kiss.
What followed wasn't frantic.
Slow yet powerful bursts of thick strings that erupted inside Hudson. Everything was enhanced, as if his body had dialed up all his senses, gifting him with a few seconds of the most heightened, overwhelming pleasure.
Hudson's mouth parted on a breath as he felt Liam's cock twitch inside him, his insides being filled by the warmest liquid.
And when it finally crested, when Liam's body tensed, and he went still, breath catching, face tucked against Hudson's neck like he needed shelter, Hudson held him like he'd been made for it, arms wrapped tight, fingers sliding back into Liam's hair, soothing and steady.
Liam stayed pressed to him, shaking slightly. Hudson kissed Liam's temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth.
For a long moment, they didn't speak.
They breathed.
Then Liam pulled back just enough to look at Hudson, eyes glassy and soft, dick softening slowly inside Hudson, the ferocity gone from his face and replaced by something dangerously tender.
"Hey," Liam whispered, like they were back at the beginning again.
Hudson's smile trembled. "Hey."
Liam kissed Hudson again, then settled his weight carefully, bringing them into that quiet aftermath where the room felt warmer than it should have, where the world beyond the walls felt very far away.
Hudson traced a slow line down Liam's spine, grounding him. "You okay?" he murmured.
Liam nodded against Hudson's shoulder, voice muffled. "Yeah." A pause. Then, softer, almost disbelieving: "I'm...great."
Hudson exhaled, eyes closing, letting the calm wash through him. He held Liam there, both of them spent and safe.
*
Hours later, the room had cooled into that soft, post-storm hush where everything felt slightly unreal.
Hudson lay on his back, the sheet twisted around his hips like it had lost the fight and given up. Liam was half on top of him, half beside him, their legs tangled, a lazy arm slung across Hudson's stomach as if the mere concept of distance between them had become offensive.
Sweat dried slowly on their skin.
Hudson traced a slow circle on Liam's shoulder with his fingertip, thoughtful. "You know," he murmured, voice hoarse and satisfied, "you're going to have to start paying rent if you plan on taking this much space in my bed."
Liam's face was pressed to Hudson's chest, eyes closed. "I can't," he mumbled.
Hudson snorted softly. "You can't?"
"I'm a struggling artist," Liam said, dead serious.
Hudson's laugh shook his ribs. "Oh my God."
Liam lifted his head a fraction, hair falling into his eyes. "I'm vulnerable. Please be kind."
Hudson looked down at him, smiling with that fond disbelief that made Liam's expression soften. "Then who the fuck was that guy walking into that club?"
"That was my twin," Liam said. "He does red carpets. I do emotional intimacy and..." he paused, voice changing, sincere and slightly amused, "...whatever the hell we just did."
Hudson's cheeks warmed. "Whatever the hell we just did," he echoed, pretending he wasn't glowing from the inside.
Liam kissed the side of Hudson's ribs, lazy and affectionate, then sighed. "I need to take a piss."
Hudson immediately lifted his hand like he was directing traffic. "Bathroom's down the hall. Second door. But..." he squinted, suddenly serious, "please...be quiet."
Liam blinked. "Why?"
Hudson lowered his voice dramatically. "Mateo might be asleep."
Liam's eyebrows rose. "Mateo."
Hudson nodded. "My roommate."
Liam stared at him for a beat, then said slowly, "Oh, I forgot about that."
Hudson made a helpless face. "Well... we've been a little busy."
Liam's mouth twitched. "Busy," he echoed, hand sliding into Hudson's crack.
Hudson rolled his eyes, pushing Liam's eager hand away from him. "Go pee, Mr. Hart."
Liam paused, smug. "Don't say my government name in here."
Hudson stared.
Liam kissed his forehead quickly and slid off the bed, naked and unbothered, stretching like he owned the room. Hudson watched him with that quiet, stunned appreciation that still hadn't worn off, Liam's broad back, the lines of muscle moving under skin, the way he carried himself like he didn't know how to be small.
Hudson hissed softly through his teeth. "Be. Quiet."
Liam glanced over his shoulder, grinning. Then he tiptoed theatrically, exaggerated, cartoonish, down the hall, feet silent on the floor.
Liam went in and did his thing. Then he turned toward the sink. Water on, a quick splash of the hands. A soft clink came next as he set the cheap cup Hudson kept by the faucet, which he managed to knock down accidentally.
Liam dried his hands on a towel and stepped back into the hallway.
And that's when he froze.
Fuck.
There, standing right in front of him, was Mateo.
In a pair of tiny shorts and an oversized t-shirt that had ridden up enough to suggest he'd been sleeping like a starfish. Hair a mess and his face had that half-awake expression of someone who'd woken up for water and wandered into something else.
Mateo's eyes landed on Liam. Then, he stopped moving entirely.
His mouth opened.
No sound came out.
He blinked once. Slowly. Like his brain was buffering.
Then his gaze traveled downward.
Liam, naked, bloated cock hanging between his large thighs, one hand resting casually on the doorframe like this was completely normal.
Mateo's eyes widened so dramatically it bordered on slapstick. He brought a hand up to his chest as if to steady his own soul. He blinked again, faster now, as the realization began to unfurl in stages, each gayer than the last.
'Naked man.
Very attractive naked man.
Naked man in Hudson's hallway.
Naked man who looks...familiar.
Oh no.
Oh...no.
OH MY GOD.'
Mateo's face changed in real time, sheer confusion blooming into stunned awe into what could only be described as spiritual crisis. His hand flew to his mouth. He looked like he was about to faint, scream, or propose marriage.
Liam watched the entire progression, like a scientist observing a very expressive creature. Then, with the casual ease of a man who had walked past a thousand stunned faces in his life, Liam nodded once and offered the barest smile.
Mateo stared, eyes huge, shaking slightly.
Liam gave him a small, polite greeting, quiet, almost friendly, then walked past him without a hint of urgency, padding back down the hall toward Hudson's room.
Mateo stood in the hallway, mouth still open, eyes following Liam until he disappeared. He slowly lifted both hands, palms up, as if asking the universe, 'What the actual hell?'
Liam reached Hudson's bedroom door, slipped inside, and closed it gently behind him.
Hudson looked up immediately, sensing something. "What?"
Liam's expression was perfectly composed, but his eyes were bright with amusement. He climbed back onto the bed, settling beside Hudson, and said in a calm voice that somehow made it worse. "I think I just met your roommate."
Hudson stared at him. And then his face drained of color in one instant. "Oh fuck," Hudson whispered.
Liam's mouth twitched. "Yeah."
Hudson fell back onto the bed like he'd been shot, hands flying to cover his face. "No. No, no, no..."
Liam watched him, openly entertained now. "He seemed...surprised."
Hudson groaned into his palms, muffled and mortified. Beside him, Liam shifted on the bed with maddening calm, like naked movie stars appearing in hallways at three in the morning was a normal Tuesday inconvenience.
Hudson lowered his hands and stared at him. "You didn't...say anything weird, right?"
Liam's mouth curved. "Define weird."
Hudson groaned. "Liam."
"I nodded," Liam said, eyes bright with merriment. "I think I said hello."
Hudson pushed himself up, hair a mess, sheet slipping off his lap. "I need to talk to him."
Liam's expression softened immediately, amusement giving way to a quieter attentiveness. "Do you want me to..."
"No," Hudson cut in, already swinging his legs off the bed. "Stay here. Please. Don't come out. Do not...walk around naked in my hallway again."
Liam lifted both hands in surrender, smiling like he enjoyed being scolded. "Understood."
Hudson grabbed his boxer shorts from the floor and pulled them on in a rush. He glanced toward the door, then back at Liam. Liam's eyes followed him with a tenderness that made Hudson's stomach flip even through the panic.
Hudson cleared his throat, voice dropping. "Seriously. This shouldn't have happened."
Liam nodded once, solemn now. "I know."
Hudson hesitated, then leaned down and kissed Liam quickly, a soft press of lips. Liam's hand caught Hudson's wrist for half a second, as if anchoring him, and then let go.
Hudson slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him as quietly as he could.
One step, and a hand shot out of the darkness.
Hudson yelped.
Mateo yanked him by the arm with alarming strength and dragged him toward the couch. "Sit," Mateo hissed. Hudson stumbled and dropped onto the sofa, eyes wide. Mateo was already crouched in front of him like a feral raccoon in boxer shorts, face lit with a mixture of rage, awe, and unholy curiosity. "Tell me that was a hallucination."
Hudson blinked rapidly. "What?"
Mateo slapped Hudson's knee. "Don't 'what' me. There was a naked man in our hallway. A naked, expensive man. A naked man with the cheekbones of a Roman emperor and the stance of someone who has never taken public transportation."
Hudson winced. "Okay..."
Mateo leaned in, eyes enormous. "And then..." he pointed a shaking finger toward the bedroom door, "...my brain did a little math problem."
Hudson's stomach sank.
Mateo continued, whispering faster, "Because at first I was like, 'Oh my God, Hudson finally got laid by a hot stranger.' And then I was like, 'Wait. That hot stranger looks like…' And then I was like..." Mateo slapped his own forehead, "...PLUTO."
Hudson's eyes darted toward the bedroom door again.
Mateo's voice dropped into a reverent rasp. "Hudson."
Hudson swallowed. "Yeah...?"
Mateo grabbed Hudson's arm again, not pulling this time, just gripping like he needed proof Hudson was real. "You have Liam Hart. In this apartment. In your bedroom."
Hudson hissed, "Shut up."
Mateo froze. "Oh."
Hudson's tone softened but stayed urgent. "Listen to me. You cannot say his name out loud. Not here. Not anywhere."
Mateo nodded so vigorously his hair shook. "Absolutely. Totally. This is a vault. This is Fort Knox." Then, immediately, he whispered, "But is it actually him?"
Hudson stared at him. "Teo..."
Mateo pressed a hand to his chest. "I'm sorry. I just..." he gestured wildly, almost losing balance, "...I saw a fucking naked celebrity in our hallway, Hudson. My nervous system is doing cartwheels."
Hudson rubbed his eyes. "Yes. It's him."
Mateo's mouth fell open. He went still. Then he whispered, almost to himself, "Oh my God."
Hudson leaned forward, elbows on knees, trying to collect his thoughts. "Okay. Rules."
Mateo snapped upright. "Rules. Yes."
Hudson counted on his fingers. "One: nobody knows he's here."
Mateo nodded violently. "Nobody."
"Two: you don't text anyone. You don't call anyone. You don't even hint."
Mateo crossed his heart. "I would rather die than be that messy."
Hudson paused. "Three: if you hear something, anything, don't come to the door. Don't make noise. Don't..." Hudson's face heated as he realized what he was saying.
Mateo's eyebrows shot up. "Don't what?" Hudson's eyes widened. Mateo's grin spread slowly, wickedly. "Oh."
Hudson tried to stand. Mateo grabbed his wrist.
"Wait," Mateo whispered, eyes bright. "Wait, wait, wait. Is this why you've been acting like you got hit by a truck for two weeks?"
Hudson swallowed. "Yes."
Mateo leaned back, absorbing. "So you weren't dying."
Hudson's mouth twitched. "I kinda was."
Mateo stared at him for a beat, then burst into a silent scream, mouth wide, hands pressed to his cheeks like a dramatic painting. No sound came out, but his whole body shook with it.
Hudson slapped a hand over Mateo's mouth. "Please stop."
Mateo grabbed Hudson's hand and kissed the palm like a man blessing a saint. Hudson yanked it back, horrified. Mateo whispered, "Okay. Okay. I'm calm. I'm calm."
Hudson stared at him, deadpan. "You're not calm."
Mateo nodded quickly. "You're right, I'm not. This is big. This is dangerous. This is...PR annihilation."
Hudson exhaled, grateful Mateo got it, even if he was spiraling. "Thank you."
Mateo leaned forward again, suddenly intense. "But I need to ask one thing."
Hudson narrowed his eyes. "No."
Mateo ignored him. "Is he good?"
Hudson blinked.
Mateo pressed both hands together like he was praying. "Hudson. I'm asking for the good of our friendship. I need to know if you're out here risking your life for mediocre dick."
Hudson's face went scarlet. "Jesus Christ..."
Mateo leaned in closer, whispering like a journalist. "Because if you're doing all this for an average fuck, I will personally drag you to therapy."
Hudson tried to pull away. Mateo followed, relentless.
"Was it..." Mateo's eyes widened with sudden inspiration, "...like, Oscar-worthy?"
Hudson groaned and covered his face. "Stop."
Mateo gasped softly. "Oh, that face. That face says yes." Hudson shook his head, laughing despite himself, mortified. Mateo's grin turned feral. "Okay, okay, okay...dirty details. Just one."
"No."
Mateo held up a finger. "Did he..."
Hudson slapped Mateo's hand down. "No."
Mateo pouted. "Hudson. You can't bring a man like that into our hallway and expect me to pretend I'm a monk."
Hudson's eyes flicked toward the bedroom again, panic rising. "Keep your voice down."
Mateo immediately dropped to a whisper. "Fine. Whisper mode." He leaned in so close Hudson could smell toothpaste on his breath. "Did he call you Arizona while he came?" Hudson froze. Mateo's eyes went huge again. "He did!"
Hudson sighed, defeated.
Mateo pressed a hand to his chest. "That's so intimate." Then, he shifted to a grin. "Hudson, you are fucking Gen Z's equivalent of Brad Pitt, who happens to call you by your state when he nuts. That is the gayest thing I've ever heard. I couldn't make that shit up, it's so gay."
Hudson snorted, despite himself. "Shut. Up. Please."
Mateo's face softened for a second, the humor giving way to something warmer. Then his eyes sparkled again. "Okay. But like...twice? Or..."
Hudson shoved him. Mateo squealed silently, laughing.
"Teo," Hudson hissed, half laughing, half pleading, "Please...be normal for ten minutes."
Mateo wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. "I can't. I'm a homosexual in a one-bedroom-plus-one-celebrity crisis."
Hudson stared at him.
Mateo leaned back into the couch, finally letting out a long breath, as if he'd been holding his own panic in. Then he raised his hand solemnly. "Okay. Real talk. I'm on your team. Nobody will know. I will take this secret to my grave."
Hudson's shoulders loosened. "Thank you."
Mateo's grin returned, sharp as a knife. "But you owe me. Big time," he whispered.
Hudson squinted, nodded once, and stood, already feeling the pull back toward the room where Liam waited. As he walked back, Hudson could hear Mateo's voice whispering.
"A naked Oscar winner in my hallway. Lord, I have seen what you've done for others…"
*
Hudson woke first, half-conscious, his body still tangled with Liam's like the night had left them glued together. Liam lay on his side, facing him, mouth slightly open, one arm thrown across Hudson's waist. He watched Liam breathe for a second, the simple rise and fall of his chest making something warm bloom under Hudson's ribs.
Then Liam's phone vibrated.
A sharp, urgent buzz against the floor where their discarded clothes lay in a dark heap. Liam startled awake instantly, too fast, too trained. He reached down, grabbed the phone, glanced at the screen, and his entire expression tightened, like a mask sliding back into place.
Another buzz.
Then another.
And another.
Hudson propped himself on an elbow, blinking sleep from his eyes. "Everything okay?"
Liam didn't answer right away. He pressed something, killing the vibration. Then, with a small, decisive motion, he shut the phone down entirely. He tossed it into the pile of clothes like it was toxic.
Hudson stared at him. "Liam..."
Liam's voice came low, rough with sleep and something else. "Not today."
Hudson hesitated, reading him. The part of Liam that belonged to the world had just tried to crawl back onto his skin. Liam had peeled it off again, violently.
Hudson nodded slowly. "Okay."
Liam's shoulders loosened, just a fraction. Hudson's gaze drifted over Liam's face, lashes, cheekbones, the faint shadow of stubble beginning to form, the crease between his brows.
Hudson's voice came out hushed, almost shy. "You hungry?"
Liam blinked, processing the question as if it were in a language he didn't speak first thing in the morning. Then he nodded once, small. "Yeah."
Hudson smiled. "I can make something."
That was when Liam looked at him again. Confused and almost stunned. Like Hudson had offered him a rare object and Liam didn't know what to do with his hands.
Hudson felt it hit him a second later, clear as a bell: Liam had never had anyone make him breakfast who wasn't on payroll. Meals in Liam's life came from assistants, chefs, room service, catered sets, trays dropped at doors. Food as fuel. Food as transaction. Even the people who cared for him were paid to care. Hudson's throat tightened, quiet grief blooming in him on Liam's behalf. He leaned in and kissed Liam's mouth. Liam exhaled into it.
"Come on," Hudson murmured against his lips. "Living room."
Liam nodded, still watching Hudson as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening. Hudson slid out of bed first, pulling on sweats and a worn t-shirt. Liam followed, slower, gathering his clothes with a half-distracted stiffness, as though he was still adjusting to the fact that he was dressing himself for a morning that didn't involve a schedule.
They left the bedroom together.
The apartment looked even smaller in broad daylight. The living room opened directly into a tiny kitchenette, just a narrow counter, a small stove, and a sink that squeaked when you turned the handle too hard. A bowl of keys. A stack of mail. A mug with a chipped rim. A cheap bench pressed under the counter.
Liam sat on the bench while Hudson moved.
Hudson opened cabinets with familiar ease, pulling out a pan, a spatula, two plates that didn't match. Liam's gaze followed every small movement: Hudson cracking eggs against the rim of a bowl with one hand, whisking them with a fork, shoulders loose, hair sticking up slightly. Hudson humming under his breath without realizing it. Hudson's face softened into concentration as he buttered a pan.
Hudson glanced over his shoulder. "You like eggs, right?"
Liam blinked, like he had to recall his own preferences. Then he nodded. "Yeah. I guess."
Hudson smiled, amused and tender. He slid bread into a toaster, then busied himself with a small jar of jam. He moved with an easy rhythm, a domestic confidence that made the whole moment feel like a borrowed future.
Liam swallowed, eyes fixed on Hudson's hands. "You...you do this a lot?"
Hudson glanced back, brows lifting. "Eat?"
Liam exhaled a small laugh. "No. Make things. Like this."
Hudson shrugged, flipping the eggs gently in the pan. "I mean...yeah. It's cheaper than ordering. And I like it." He paused, then added softly, "It's...nice. Making something for yourself. Or for someone you really, really like," Hudson said, tossing back a wink.
Liam's eyes flickered with something like disbelief.
Hudson turned fully, spatula in hand, and looked at Liam. "And I really, really like you," Hudson said.
Liam's throat worked. He looked away quickly, as if his eyes were betraying him. "Yeah?"
Hudson nodded. "Yeah."
Liam's gaze came back to Hudson's face. The intensity wasn't loud. It was the kind that lived in tiny gestures: the way Liam's fingers curled against his own knee, the way Hudson's shoulders softened as he spoke, the way Liam seemed to be seeing a new version of the world, one where care wasn't bought.
Hudson went back to the stove to hide his own emotion, sliding eggs onto plates, adding toast, and setting down two mismatched forks. He carried the plates to the small counter, placing one in front of Liam. Liam stared at it like it was a rare gift.
Hudson tried to lighten the moment. "Don't judge."
Liam's mouth twitched. "I wouldn't dare."
Hudson leaned in, brushing a quick kiss to Liam's temple, and Liam's eyes closed at the contact like he'd been touched somewhere deeper than his skin.
And then, a door creaked behind them.
Footsteps.
Mateo appeared in the hallway. He shuffled in barefoot, hair standing up. One hand rubbed his eyes. The other held a water bottle.
He stepped into the living room, yawning, and then stopped dead. His eyes went straight to Liam, dressed in yesterday's pants and a plain t-shirt that still somehow looked expensive. Mateo's face blanked, then recalibrated in real time.
First, stupor.
Then recognition.
Then the kind of solemn awe he usually reserved for churches and Beyoncé.
He blinked twice, very slowly. Hudson shot him a warning look, wide-eyed and pleading. Mateo inhaled, lips parting. Hudson's head shook a fraction: 'Don't'. Mateo's gaze flicked to Hudson, then to Liam, then back to Hudson. Then, with shocking self-control, Mateo pivoted.
He walked straight to the fridge like he hadn't just walked into the plot twist of his own life. He opened it, stared into it for three full seconds, and then closed it again.
He turned back around.
Silence.
Liam watched Mateo with quiet interest, amused, like he was waiting to see what species this man was.
Mateo cleared his throat. Then he walked over to the counter and, without acknowledging Liam at all, picked up Hudson's coffee mug and took a long sip.
Hudson's eyes widened. "Hey..."
Mateo swallowed, grimaced dramatically, and said, "This tastes like shit."
Hudson exhaled through his nose, half mortified, half relieved. "Good morning."
Mateo nodded solemnly. "Good morning."
Another beat.
Mateo finally turned his head toward Liam.
He stared.
Liam stared back, calm, polite, faintly amused.
Mateo's eyes slid over Liam like a scan, taking in the face, the posture, the reality. Then he nodded once, as if confirming something to himself. "Okay," Mateo said.
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Okay."
Mateo pointed a finger toward Liam's plate. "You're eating eggs."
Liam glanced down at the plate, then back up. "I am."
Mateo nodded again, like this was the weirdest part of the situation. "In our apartment."
Liam's mouth twitched. "I've been told it's a very exclusive venue."
Hudson choked on a laugh.
Mateo's eyes widened, delighted despite himself. "Oh, you're funny."
Liam's smile turned real. "I try."
Mateo stepped closer, still cautious, like he didn't want to spook the celebrity. "Okay, hi. I'm Mateo. I live here. Unfortunately."
Liam extended a hand, friendly, unbothered. "Liam."
Mateo shook it and immediately looked at Hudson. "He said his first name. Like we're casual."
Hudson hissed, "Teo."
Mateo lowered his voice to an exaggerated whisper, leaning toward Hudson. "Babe, I'm being normal."
Hudson whispered back, "That would be a first."
Mateo turned to Liam again, eyes bright with mischief now that his shock had transformed into adrenaline. "So. Are you..." he gestured vaguely at Liam's entire existence, "...like, real?"
Liam's gaze flicked to Hudson, then back to Mateo. "Depends who's asking."
Mateo grinned. "Me. I'm a nobody. So you can be honest."
Liam laughed softly, under his breath. "Yeah. I'm real."
Mateo stared at him for a beat, then said, with deep sincerity, "This is fucked up."
Hudson slid a plate toward Mateo quickly, like feeding him might keep him from combusting. "Eat."
Mateo sat, took one look at the eggs, and whispered, "Are these...artisanal?"
Hudson rolled his eyes. "They're eggs."
Mateo took a bite and nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, Hudson. This is good. This is very...domestic."
Hudson's cheeks warmed. Liam's eyes softened, watching Hudson's reaction like it delighted him. Mateo clocked it immediately and smirked.
"Oh," Mateo murmured. "Oh, this is bad." Hudson's gaze snapped to him. Mateo held up both hands. "No, no. I mean bad as in...you're in trouble."
Liam took another bite of eggs, calm as ever. "He seems fine."
Mateo leaned in slightly, voice dropping into a half-adorable, half-serious tone. "Okay, listen."
Liam's brows lifted. "I'm listening."
Mateo pointed at Hudson, then at Liam. "That one," he said, nodding toward Hudson, "is my person."
Hudson's face softened despite himself.
Mateo ignored him, eyes locked on Liam. "He pretends he doesn't need anyone, but he does. He just..." Mateo waved a hand vaguely, searching for a word, then landed on the blunt truth, "...he's been through some shit."
Liam's expression changed, amusement fading into attentiveness.
Mateo's voice got quieter. "So." He swallowed, suddenly shy about the sincerity. "Don't hurt him."
Hudson looked down at the counter, throat tight.
Liam held Mateo's gaze without flinching. Then, simply, he nodded once. "I won't," Liam said.
No grand vow.
No performance.
Just a promise, spoken like it mattered.
Mateo studied him for a second, then pointed sharply. "Good."
Hudson exhaled, both grateful and mortified. "Can we please..."
Mateo cut in, instantly returning to chaos. "Also, if you do, I know gay men who will end you."
Liam's mouth twitched. "I'll keep that in mind."
Mateo took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "Okay. I approve." Then he squinted at Liam. "Wait. Do you have security outside?"
Liam blinked. "No."
Mateo gasped. "You don't? Babe..." he turned to Hudson, scandalized, "...he raw-dogged our building."
Hudson choked on his coffee.
Liam laughed, genuinely. "That's not..."
Mateo wagged his fork. "No, no. It's okay. I respect the commitment."
Hudson tried to shove Mateo's knee under the counter. Mateo squealed and kicked him back.
They ate, the small counter crowded with elbows and plates and laughter that didn't feel forced anymore. Mateo kept talking, his mouth unstoppable, commenting on everything from Liam's "surprisingly normal" laugh to Hudson's "suspiciously boyfriend-coded" eggs.
Liam answered easily, amused by Mateo's lack of filter. Hudson watched it unfold with a strange, tender disbelief.
Then, somewhere between Mateo's story about getting kicked out of a yoga class for "moaning too much during stretching" and Liam's quiet, incredulous laughter, Hudson's eyes lifted.
They met Liam's.
Just a glance.
But it landed like a hand on the throat.
Liam's gaze dipped to Hudson's mouth, then back to his eyes. Hudson's skin warmed. His stomach tightened. The hunger returned, not frantic, not desperate, just deep, inevitable, simmering under everything.
Mateo kept talking, oblivious, but Hudson and Liam drifted into their own pocket of silence inside the noise. A private world where the only language was breath and memory and the way their mouths had whispered each other's names.
Mateo was mid-sentence. "...and then he had the audacity to tell me I was too much, and I was like, sir, you literally..."
Liam interrupted without even looking at him. "Mateo."
Mateo blinked. "Yeah?"
Liam stood, walked around the counter with calm, predatory confidence, then reached down and grabbed Hudson in one fluid motion. Hudson yelped, laughing. In a single smooth movement, Liam hoisted him up and tossed him over his shoulder. Hudson squealed, breathless. Liam's hand landed on Hudson's ass in a playful slap that made Hudson giggle harder and bury his face against Liam's back.
Mateo froze, fork halfway to his mouth.
Liam turned his head slightly, perfectly composed. "Will you excuse us?"
Mateo's jaw dropped. Then he nodded slowly, like this was the most reasonable thing anyone had ever done. "Sure."
Liam started walking toward the bedroom. At the door, he paused. He glanced back at Mateo, eyes calm and wicked with amusement. "You might want to...put some music on," Liam said.
Mateo's grin spread, filthy and delighted. "Oh, I was going to anyway. But thank you for the heads up."
Liam's mouth twitched, pleased. Then he carried Hudson into the bedroom and closed the door with a gentle, final slam.
Silence.
Five, six seconds tops.
Then came the noise.
It started with the bed.
A small creak at first, innocent enough to be furniture settling. Then the sound sharpened: breath, muffled laughter, a low, involuntary noise that did not belong to sleep or sickness or any respectable household activity before noon.
Mateo stood at the counter with his empty plate, fork still in hand, listening like a man forced to witness a car crash. He rolled his eyes so hard it nearly qualified as exercise.
"Oh, for the love of..." he muttered, then lifted his voice and yelled, not subtle at all, "OKAY! I'M TAKING OUT THE TRASH! AND I'LL ALSO BE GOING ON, LIKE, A ONE-HOUR WALK! ON PURPOSE!"
A pause, as if the apartment itself considered that statement.
Mateo snorted. "You're welcome."
He grabbed the black garbage bag from beside the sink, tied it with a violent little twist, snagged his keys from the bowl, and marched toward the door like a martyr.
As he stepped into the hallway, the sounds resumed, and Mateo shook his head with the long-suffering dignity of a roommate who had seen too much. "Monogamy is dead," he whispered to nobody. "And my peace died with it."
He took the elevator down, tapping his foot impatiently, the garbage bag swaying at his side. He walked out into the morning sun, squinting, and headed toward the container behind the building. The trash made a dull, satisfying thud as it hit the bottom of the bin. Mateo dusted off his hands and turned back toward the entrance.
That was when he heard it.
Voices.
Shouts.
A chorus of calling.
Mateo slowed, the hair on his arms lifting. He rounded the back corner of the building cautiously like a raccoon approaching a trap.
And there, at the front of their street, the world had exploded.
Paparazzi.
Not two guys with cameras. Not a bored freelancer hoping to catch someone. This was a swarm. People packed shoulder-to-shoulder on the sidewalk, lenses aimed at the building like weapons. Boom mics angled upward. A few vans parked haphazardly, doors open, cables snaking out like veins. A reporter in a blazer that screamed budget network stood with her hair being fixed by someone else's frantic hands.
Mateo's jaw dropped. "Oh my God," he mouthed. Then, he squinted.
He could literally see the red block letters on one van: TMZ. Another crew had a mic flag from a major outlet. Someone was live-streaming. Someone else was screaming into a phone, asking where the "front gate" was like this was the Hunger Games. Mateo ducked back behind the building so fast he nearly dislocated his dignity.
"Absolutely not," he whispered, heart slamming in his chest. "No, no, no..."
He pressed his back to the wall, breathing hard. Then, as if his body remembered it had survival instincts, he moved, scrambling around the rear entrance, keys rattling in his grip. He shot through the back door into the building like a burglar returning to the scene. The elevator felt too slow this time. Every floor was a year. His foot bounced. His hands shook. The moment he reached their apartment, he nearly tripped over his own shoes in the rush to get inside.
The bedroom door was still shut.
And yes, because the universe had a sense of humor, Mateo could still hear the faint creak of the bed and a soft, breathy sound that made him grimace.
He stormed to the door and knocked like the building was on fire.
THUMP THUMP THUMP.
"HUDSON!"
The noises stopped instantly. Silence fell so fast it was almost impressive.
Mateo pressed his forehead to the door. "Hudson," he hissed through his teeth, "Open. The. Door."
A beat.
Then a shuffle.
The door cracked open.
Hudson appeared in the gap, sweaty, hair a complete disaster, cheeks flushed, eyes bright in that dazed way that screamed 'I was just in another universe and you are ruining it'. Mateo stared at him with the fury of a man who had been forced into responsibility.
Hudson blinked innocently. "Hey."
Mateo's eyes flicked over Hudson's state, his bare collarbone, the sheet or shirt hastily thrown on, the general aura of post-bliss, and Mateo's mouth twisted. "Wow," Mateo said. "You look...hydrated."
Hudson frowned.
Mateo grabbed his wrist and yanked him out into the living room. "No time. We're about to die."
Hudson stumbled, confused. "What are you..."
Mateo pointed wildly toward the window. "I took out the trash, as a supportive friend, and I came back to find the entire street had been invaded by camera demons."
Hudson blinked. "What?"
Mateo's hands flew to his head. "Paparazzi. TMZ. A lady in a blazer. HUDSON." Hudson frowned harder, still not computing. Mateo grabbed Hudson's shoulders. "Do I look like I'm joking? My jokes are funny. This is blight as fuck."
Mateo dragged Hudson toward the window.
Hudson resisted at first, half annoyed, half embarrassed, until Mateo shoved him gently but firmly right up to the blinds.
"Look," Mateo whispered.
Hudson peeked through.
And went utterly still.
Outside, the front of their building was a living, hungry mass. Cameras aimed upward. People pacing. Someone shouted a question into the air like they expected the building to answer. A photographer lifted his lens toward their floor, scanning windows, hunting reflections.
Hudson's mouth fell open.
His whole face drained of color.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word barely there.
Mateo nodded rapidly, panic bouncing in his eyes. "Yes. Exactly. FUCK."
Hudson stumbled backward from the window like it had burned him.
He turned toward the bedroom door. "Liam..."
Mateo followed him, practically vibrating. "I did not tip anyone. I swear on my entire gay existence. I swear on Lady Gaga."
Hudson cut him off, already moving. He pushed the bedroom door open wider and called into the room, voice tight and urgent. "Liam."
A rustle. A shift. Then Liam's voice, low and immediate, already sharp with instinct. "What?"
Hudson swallowed.
Then, barely above a whisper, he said, "The wolves are back."
Behind him, Mateo threw his hands up like he was testifying in court. "I swear to God, I didn't tell anyone! I didn't even breathe his name!"
There was a beat of silence from inside the room.
Then Liam's voice came again, calm in a way that scared Hudson more than shouting ever could.
"I know you didn't," Liam said.
Hudson's heart thudded.
Another beat.
Then Liam spoke again, quiet and lethal, like the words tasted sour on his tongue.
"She did."
(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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