Ever since that night, everything had changed.
Oliver noticed.
Liam stood closer now. Too close. When they walked together, Liam's shoulder always brushed his. When they sat, Liam somehow found a way to sit beside him, knees touching, arms almost linked. He no longer cared who was watching. Students whispered. Some stared. Liam didn't even blink.
If anything, he looked proud.
Oliver, on the other hand, was constantly aware of it. His heart raced every time Liam leaned in to whisper something useless, every time Liam smiled at him like he was the only person in the room.
It scared him.
But it also made him feel… safe.
That week, Julian didn't come to school at all.
By the second day, Oliver was worried. By the third, the worry had settled deep in his chest. Julian wasn't the type to skip school for fun. But why is he always of skipping school.
On the fourth day, during break,Oliver sat in class, expecting Julian to come, but he didn't.
Something wasn't right.
"Julian hasn't been around," Oliver muttered during lunch.
Liam hummed, popping a fry into his mouth. "Yeah. I noticed. If he was around, he would have been sticking closely to you like a..."
"Liam!!!"
"... good friend" Liam had already changed his word ending.
Oliver rolled his eyes. "You don't think he's skipping, do you?"
Liam shook his head immediately. "No."
Oliver relaxed a little. Then another thought hit him.
"Tommy," he said suddenly. "He lives next door to Julian, right?"
Liam nodded. "Yeah. Since forever."
Oliver bit his lip. He wasn't close to Tommy. They barely talked. Tommy was always around Liam, always watching, always quiet. Still…
"Can you ask him?" Oliver asked softly. "About Julian?"
Liam didn't tease him. Didn't ask why. He just smiled.
"Of course," he said. "Anything for you."
Oliver's ears burned. "You don't have to say it like that."
Liam grinned wider. "I really do."
That afternoon, they went to the restaurant together like usual.
Mrs. Snider barely looked surprised anymore when Liam walked in behind Oliver. She had gotten used to it. In fact, she waved at Liam before she even greeted Oliver.
"You again," she said with a laugh. "At this point, I should just add your name to the staff list."
Liam bowed slightly. "I'm honored."
Oliver smiled. Mrs. Snider always made things feel lighter.
She liked Liam. That much was clear.
To her, Oliver was already like a son. And a friend of her son was also her son. That was just how she saw the world.
Later, while Oliver wiped tables, Liam leaned against the counter, pretending not to watch him. Pretending badly.
"So," Liam said casually, "I asked Tommy."
Oliver froze. "And?"
Liam straightened. "Julian's in the hospital. He's been sick."
The cloth slipped from Oliver's hand.
"What?" he whispered.
Liam frowned at his reaction. "Hey… you don't have to do that, everyone gets sick. It's normal"
Oliver's mind was racing now. Hospital. Sick. Again.
Images rushed back to him—Julian coughing quietly, Julian skipping school, Julian brushing off questions with a smile. Tommy's worried looks. Tommy always mentioning Julian's health like it was something fragile.
Something snapped into place.
"He's always sick," Oliver said slowly. "Every time he misses school… it's never random."
Liam's expression changed. "You think it's serious."
"I think it's been serious for a long time," Oliver said, his chest tight.
"Then maybe we'll visit him"
Oliver looked up. "We?"
"Tomorrow," Liam said firmly. "Are you okay with that?"
Oliver swallowed, emotion rising unexpectedly. "Thank you."
Liam reached out and gently flicked Oliver's forehead. "Stop thanking me."
As evening approached, customers started coming in.
Without being asked, Liam tied an apron around his waist.
Mrs. Snider raised an eyebrow from the balcony behind the restaurant but didn't stop him.
Liam took orders. He carried plates. He wiped counters. Every time Oliver passed him, Liam found a way to touch him lightly—his fingers brushing Oliver's wrist, his hand steadying Oliver's back, his smile soft and private.
"You're staring," Oliver whispered at one point.
"Can you blame me?" Liam replied quietly.
Oliver nearly dropped a tray.
When things slowed down, Mrs. Snider watched them from the balcony, a gentle smile on her face. She didn't say anything, but she saw it. The way Liam looked at Oliver. The way Oliver relaxed around him.
He was happy. Truly happy.
Liam left few hours after.
When Liam arrived again, the sky had fully darkened.
The street outside the restaurant was quiet, the lamps glowing softly, throwing long shadows across the pavement. The Ducati's engine purred as Liam parked near the entrance and pulled off his helmet. He had gone home earlier, changed clothes, and now he was back—like he always came back.
Oliver was inside, stacking chairs and wiping down the counter. Mrs. Snider had already left, reminding him not to stay too late and to lock the door properly. The restaurant felt empty without her, the silence heavier than usual.
The bell over the door chimed.
Oliver looked up.
Liam.
His chest warmed instantly.
"You're late," Oliver said, though he was smiling.
Liam shrugged. "Couldn't stay away."
He joined Oliver without being asked, rolling up his sleeves, helping clean like it was the most natural thing in the world. Their shoulders brushed as they moved around the small space.
When Oliver bent to pick something up, Liam suddenly caught his wrist.
"Oliver," he said softly.
Before Oliver could answer, Liam stepped closer.
Very close.
Their breaths mixed. Oliver's heart began to race, fast and uneven, like it always did when Liam looked at him that way—focused, intense, like the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
Liam leaned in and kissed him.
Not rushed. Not gentle either.
Just deep enough to make Oliver's knees weaken.
Oliver responded instantly, fingers curling into Liam's shirt, his back pressing against the table behind him. Liam rested a hand at Oliver's waist, holding him there—not trapping him, just grounding him.
For a moment, nothing else existed.
The restaurant. The night. The worries. All gone.
When Liam finally pulled back, their foreheads rested together. Oliver's breathing was unsteady. His face was warm, his heart still pounding hard against his ribs.
"You're coming with me tonight," Liam said quietly.
Oliver hesitated. "Your… your mom—"
"She's not home," Liam interrupted. "Just the housekeeper. Please."
There was something in his voice. Not demand. Not pride.
Need.
Oliver swallowed.
He was scared, yes. During the last few days, they've made a few research and watched things together. But the thought of saying no felt worse.
"…Okay," he said, nodding.
Liam smiled, relief flashing across his face.
They locked up the restaurant together and stepped into the night. Oliver climbed onto the bike behind Liam, arms wrapping around his waist. The engine roared to life, and as they took off, Oliver held on tighter, resting his forehead against Liam's back, feeling strangely safe.
At Liam's house, everything was quiet and warm. The housekeeper greeted them kindly and served the meal Liam had already arranged earlier. They ate together, sitting close, talking about nothing important and everything at the same time.
Afterward, they sat in the living room, the TV playing softly, neither of them really watching.
Liam glanced at Oliver. "Let's go upstairs."
Oliver's stomach fluttered.
He nodded again, his heart beating fast from both fear and anticipation.
Whatever came next, he knew one thing for sure.
He didn't want to be anywhere else.
The moment they stepped into the bedroom, the door clicked shut behind them.
The sound felt loud.
Final.
Liam didn't say a word at first. He turned, movements slow now, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile. He reached for Oliver, hands settling gently at his waist, guiding him backward toward the bed with a careful pressure that left room to pull away.
Oliver's heart hammered so hard he thought Liam could feel it through their shirts. He sat on the edge of the mattress, legs trembling slightly, and Liam followed, kneeling between them so they were almost eye-level despite the height difference. Liam's eyes were dark, intense, but softer than they'd been downstairs—searching, asking without words.
"You okay?" Liam asked, voice low and a little rough, thumb brushing Oliver's cheek. "We don't have to...if you're not—"
"I know," Oliver whispered. He tried to smile; it came out shaky but honest. "I'm not running."
Liam exhaled, a small, relieved sound, and studied Oliver's face for a long heartbeat—like he was memorizing the flush on his cheeks, the way his lashes fluttered when he was nervous. Then he leaned in slowly, giving Oliver every chance to turn away, and kissed him.
It was deep but unhurried, lips moving with a tenderness that made Oliver's chest ache. No rush. Just the soft slide of tongues, the quiet hitch of breath when their mouths parted for air. Time blurred around them, the room narrowing to the warmth of Liam's hands cradling his face, the faint tremor in Liam's fingers that said he was just as unsure.
Oliver's patience frayed—not from impatience, but from the overwhelming need to feel more. His hands shook as they found the buttons of Liam's shirt. He fumbled the first one, then the second, laughing softly against Liam's mouth when it refused to cooperate.
"Sorry," he mumbled, cheeks burning.
Liam smiled into the kiss, covering Oliver's hand with his own. "Me too," he admitted quietly. "I've… thought about this so much, but now I don't know where to start."
They managed together—buttons slipping free, fabric sliding off shoulders, shirts pooling forgotten on the floor. Skin met skin, warm and tentative. Oliver's breath caught at the feel of Liam's chest against his, the rapid thud of Liam's heart mirroring his own. Liam shivered when Oliver's fingertips traced down his sides, hesitant, exploring.
Pants came off slowly after that, awkward pauses when zippers stuck or belts tangled. They laughed—soft, breathless—when Oliver accidentally elbowed Liam in the ribs trying to tug his pants down. The room felt warmer, smaller, the air thick with shared nervousness and something sweeter.
Oliver lay back against the pillows, heart racing, every nerve buzzing. A fleeting worry crossed his mind—what if someone came home?—but it dissolved when Liam settled over him, careful not to crush him with his weight, forearms braced on either side of Oliver's head.
Liam pressed his forehead to Oliver's chest for a moment, breathing him in deeply, lips brushing skin in slow, reverent paths—collarbone, sternum, the sensitive dip above his navel. Oliver's fingers curled into the sheets, a quiet moan slipping out when Liam's mouth found the hollow of his throat.
Liam shifted lower, settling between Oliver's thighs. Their hands found each other instinctively, fingers lacing tight. The simple contact grounded Oliver, sent a soft shiver through him—not fear, but trust, raw and convincing.
The room filled with gentle sounds: shared breaths, whispered names, the rustle of sheets. Liam kissed him again, slow and lingering, while his free hand slid down Oliver's side, tentative, learning. When his fingers brushed lower, Oliver tensed—just a little—and Liam paused immediately.
"Okay?" Liam murmured against his lips.
Oliver nodded, swallowing. "Yeah. Just… go slow?"
"Always," Liam promised.
They fumbled through it together—awkward angles, uncertain touches. Liam reached for the small bottle of lube they'd shyly bought days ago and forgotten about until now. His hands shook as he slicked his fingers; Oliver's breath hitched at the cool slide, the careful press. It felt strange at first—intrusive, vulnerable—and Oliver's eyes squeezed shut, fingers tightening on Liam's.
Liam stopped again. "Hey. Look at me."
Oliver opened his eyes. Liam's face was flushed, eyes wide with the same mix of want and worry Oliver felt.
"Tell me if it's too much," Liam said softly. "We stop. No questions."
Oliver swallowed, nodded. The fear loosened. Liam wasn't taking; he was waiting, checking, caring.
"I'm okay," Oliver whispered. "Just… stay close."
Liam leaned down, forehead to forehead, breathing the same air. "I've got you," he murmured, voice thick with emotion.
They moved slowly after that—gentle stretches, careful preparation, quiet gasps when something felt good, small winces when it didn't quite. There were moments of confusion—Liam hesitating, unsure of the angle; Oliver shifting, trying to find a position that didn't ache—followed by soft laughter, reassurances whispered into skin.
When Liam finally pressed forward—slow, so slow—Oliver sucked in a sharp breath. His fingers dug into Liam's shoulders. It burned a little, stretched in a way that made his mind blank for a second, overwhelming in its intimacy. His chest rose and fell unevenly, thoughts scattering.
This is real.
This is us.
This is happening.
Liam froze, buried only partway, trembling with the effort to hold still. "Oliver—"
"I'm okay," Oliver managed, voice cracking. "Just… give me a second."
Liam nodded, pressing soft kisses to his temple, his cheek, murmuring nonsense, until the tension eased, until Oliver relaxed beneath him and rocked up experimentally.
They found a rhythm then—slow, tentative thrusts, hands clasped, eyes locked. Every movement felt heavy with meaning: trust, vulnerability, the quiet terror and joy of giving themselves completely for the first time. Soft moans mingled with whispered encouragements, the world shrinking until it was only them—two boys discovering each other with aching tenderness.
When release came, it built quietly, cresting in shared shudders and broken gasps, Liam's face buried in Oliver's neck, Oliver's arms wrapped tight around him like he'd never let go.
Afterward they stayed tangled, breathing hard, hearts slowing together. Liam didn't pull away; he pressed lazy kisses to Oliver's shoulder, fingers tracing idle patterns on his back.
The rest of the world had disappeared.
And for now, that was enough...