Oliver lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
The room was quiet, too quiet, and his thoughts refused to slow down. No matter how hard he tried, his mind kept drifting back to the clinic. To Liam. To that kiss.
His lips still felt warm, like the moment had been pressed into his skin. His chest tightened as he remembered how his body had reacted, how his heart had raced instead of pulling away. He had never felt anything like that before. Never.
It scared him.
Oliver turned to his side and hugged his pillow tightly.
Why did I feel that way? he wondered.
He wasn't supposed to feel like that. But with Liam… it was different. Too different.
He swallowed hard.
He was scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of what people would say. Scared that if he took one wrong step, he might lose Liam completely.
And that thought hurt the most.
He finally understood it now. Back then, when Liam had started avoiding him, when Liam had walked past him like a stranger—that was when it had truly hurt. That was when he realized how important Liam was to him. More than a friend. More than he had ever admitted to himself.
Oliver sighed and covered his face with his arm.
Just then—
Knock. Knock.
His body stiffened.
It was almost midnight.
His heart skipped. Who could that be?
At first, fear crept into his chest. A burglar? His breathing grew shallow as he slowly sat up. He stayed still, listening.
Another knock came, softer this time.
Oliver slid off the bed quietly. He opened his bedroom door a little and stepped into the sitting room, his movements slow and careful. The floor felt cold under his feet. His heart pounded so loudly he was sure it could be heard.
Then the knock came again.
And this time, there was a voice.
Soft. Low.
Calling his name.
Oliver froze.
He knew that voice.
There was no mistaking it.
He walked to the door and gently unlocked it, his hand trembling. When he opened it—
There he was.
Liam stood at the doorstep, the porch light casting soft shadows on his face. His expression was unreadable. His eyes were dark, quiet, stormy.
Oliver stared at him, shocked.
"Liam…?" he whispered.
Earlier that night, after Liam had stormed out of his house, he had walked for a while with no direction in mind. The cold air did nothing to calm him. Going back home felt impossible. The walls there felt too tight, too loud.
So he stopped a cab.
"Take me here," he had said, giving Oliver's address.
And now he was here.
Oliver finally found his voice. "It's late," he said softly. "What… what do you want?"
Liam didn't answer.
Instead, he stepped forward.
In one smooth movement, he pulled Oliver closer by the waist and guided him inside, closing the door behind them. Oliver's back hit the door lightly, and his heart thumped wildly in his chest. He didn't know why he felt so shaken, but his whole body was tense.
Liam finally spoke. "I'm staying here tonight."
Oliver blinked. "What?"
"There's no one at my house," Liam said quietly. "And I didn't want to be alone."
The words were simple, but they hit Oliver deeply.
"Oh," Oliver said, smiling awkwardly. "That's… that's fine. You can take my bed. I'll sleep in the sitting room."
Liam raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming on his lips. "We've slept in the same room countless times," he said. "Why are you so nervous now?"
Oliver's face heated instantly.
"I—I'm not," he lied badly, looking away.
Liam chuckled softly.
Without waiting for Oliver to say anything else, Liam reached for his hand and started pulling him toward the stairs.
"Come on," he said.
"Liam—" Oliver began.
But Liam didn't stop.
He led him upstairs, straight to Oliver's room.
He knew the way.
He had been here before—on the night Oliver's father died, when the house was full of grief and silence, and Liam had stayed by his side.
Oliver swallowed as they reached the door.
Liam went straight to the bed and lay down on his back, one arm resting behind his head like he belonged there.
Oliver stayed by the door.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt smaller than before, the silence thick and heavy, pressing against Oliver's chest. His heart beat so loud he was sure Liam could hear it.
Liam turned his head slightly. "Are you planning to stand there all night?"
Oliver swallowed. Not wanting Liam to notice how nervous he was, he shrugged and walked over to the bed. He climbed onto the other side and lay down stiffly, his body straight, his hands folded on his chest like he didn't know what to do with them.
He thought about putting a pillow between them.
He didn't.
They were both men. And somehow, that thought made everything feel more dangerous… and more real.
The air grew tense.
After a while, Liam spoke softly. "About earlier today… at the clinic."
Oliver's body went still.
"The kiss," Liam continued. His voice was low, almost careful. "I haven't stopped thinking about it."
Heat rushed to Oliver's face. He turned to the other side, his back facing Liam. "Liam…"
Liam didn't stop talking. Sometimes his words were clear, sometimes they faded into murmurs, like thoughts he hadn't meant to say out loud. He spoke about how things had changed. About how being close to Oliver never felt like enough anymore. About how he kept wanting more, even when he tried to stop himself.
Oliver listened in silence, his chest tight.
After a long pause, he finally asked the question that had been haunting him for days.
"When did you start… feeling this way about me?"
Liam laughed quietly, not in humor, but in disbelief. He shifted closer. Oliver felt the bed dip behind him.
Then Liam's arm slid around Oliver's waist.
Before Oliver could react, Liam pulled him back until their bodies were pressed together. Oliver sucked in a sharp breath. Liam's palm rested flat against his stomach, warm and steady, as if it had always belonged there.
His hand slowly moved upward, slipping beneath Oliver's shirt.
Oliver froze.
His breathing hitched, but he didn't pull away.
Liam leaned in close, his lips brushing the back of Oliver's ear. "I don't know the exact moment," he whispered. "Maybe it was when you saved me at Willows Valley. Or that night on the balcony at Mrs. Gracie's place. Or maybe it was even earlier or later than that."
His breath was hot. Unsteady.
"All I know," Liam continued, "is that somewhere along the way, you became the only thing I wanted."
Liam lowered his head and pressed slow, feather-light kisses along the curve of Oliver's neck.
Each one lingered, warm lips brushing skin like a quiet question.
Oliver shivered, the sensation rippling through him in soft waves.
He didn't pull away.
Instead—surprising even himself—he tilted his head back a little, offering more of his throat. An unspoken permission.
That small gesture undid something careful in Liam.
He paused for a heartbeat, breath catching, then shifted—rising just enough to hover above Oliver, arms braced gently on either side, not caging but cradling. Their eyes met in the dim light: wide, searching, mirroring the same nervous wonder and quiet want.
Liam leaned down and kissed him—deep but unhurried, pouring every held-back feeling into the slow slide of lips and tongues. Oliver's fingers curled into the front of Liam's shirt, clutching like it anchored him to the moment.
The room shrank to shared warmth, uneven breaths, hearts thudding against each other.
Liam's hands moved tentatively—fingertips grazing the hem of Oliver's shirt, hesitating until Oliver lifted his arms in silent answer. Liam tugged the fabric up and off slowly, reverent, like unwrapping something precious. Cool air kissed Oliver's bare skin, raising goosebumps; another shiver ran through him.
Liam paused, eyes tracing Oliver's chest, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the rapid rise and fall of his breathing—like he couldn't quite believe Oliver was here, choosing this with him.
As if one wrong move might make it all disappear.
The silence felt thick, charged, fragile.
"Liam," Oliver whispered, voice soft and trembling.
Liam froze. His name on Oliver's lips seemed to strike him deep—eyes fluttering shut for a second, throat working. When he opened them again, they searched Oliver's face, checking, making sure.
Slowly, Liam reached up and pulled his own shirt over his head. The fabric caught briefly on his shoulders before falling away. Pale skin glowed faintly in the low light, every line of tension visible in the way his chest rose and fell too fast.
Oliver's breath hitched. His gaze lingered—on the quick flutter of Liam's pulse at his throat, the slight tremble in his arms—marveling at how exposed Liam looked, how vulnerable they both were right then.
Liam took Oliver's hand, fingers threading together with careful tenderness. He lifted it, pressing Oliver's palm flat over his heart. Oliver felt it instantly: wild, unsteady, racing just as frantically as his own.
"We don't have to rush," Liam murmured, voice low and rough with emotion. "We can just… touch. Figure it out together. Whatever feels good."
Oliver nodded, throat too tight for words, but his thumb brushed small circles over Liam's skin in answer.
Liam leaned down until their foreheads touched, breaths mingling warm and close. Time stretched strange—slow and dizzying. The world outside the room faded completely.
Hands explored hesitantly at first. Oliver's fingers traced the line of Liam's collarbone, down his chest, pausing when he felt Liam shiver under the touch. Liam mirrored him—palm sliding along Oliver's side, thumb brushing the sensitive dip above his waistband.
Clothes came off piece by piece. Soon they were bare, pressed close under the sheets, legs tangling, chests rising and falling together.
Everything blurred into gentle sensation: the warmth of skin on skin, shaky breaths against necks, the way Liam's name sounded when Oliver whispered it again—raw, reverent.
Liam's hand drifted lower first—tentative, exploratory—brushing along Oliver's hip, then lower still, wrapping slowly around him. Oliver gasped softly, hips twitching at the first real touch. It felt strange and overwhelming and perfect all at once; his fingers tightened on Liam's shoulder.
"Okay?" Liam whispered against his temple, voice cracking a little.
"Yeah," Oliver breathed. "You too?"
Liam nodded, pressing a kiss to Oliver's cheek. "Show me… what you like."
They moved together then—hands finding each other, guiding, learning. Oliver reached down, fingers wrapping around Liam with the same careful hesitation. They stroked slowly at first—uncertain rhythms, adjusting when one winced or sighed, pausing to check with eyes and murmured words. "Like this?" "A little tighter?" Small nods, soft laughs when grips slipped, reassurances breathed like promises.
Foreheads stayed pressed together, breaths syncing as pleasure built quietly—trembling hands, hitched gasps, whispered names. The intimacy of it—the trust in letting the other see every reaction, every shudder—felt heavier than anything physical.
When release came, it swept over them in shared, shuddering waves—quiet moans muffled against shoulders, fingers clutching tight, bodies arching close.
Afterward they stayed tangled, breathing hard then slow, hearts steadying together. Liam pressed lazy kisses to Oliver's shoulder; Oliver's fingers carded gently through Liam's damp hair.
The night closed in around them, soft and safe.