T-Minus 21 Pt. 3

The day passed in a quiet, comfortable rhythm.

After your morning confession and kiss—your kiss—you had both thrown yourselves into your coursework. There was a lot to catch up on, assignments piling up over the past few days, and neither of you had an excuse to put it off any longer. So, naturally, you spent the majority of the afternoon in your shared bedroom, sitting at your desks, working in near silence.

But there were… moments.

Moments when you’d glance up from your laptop and catch Liam already looking at you. His eyes would linger—warm, soft, unreadable—and then, with a small smile, he’d look back at his screen. Moments when your legs would stretch out under the desk, accidentally brushing against his, and instead of pulling away, he’d just leave them there, barely touching, just enough to feel real.

It was the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled, where the weight of everything that had happened between you sat unspoken, but not ignored.

And now, hours later, the soft glow of the TV bathed the room in shifting colors as the two of you sat curled up on the couch, pizza boxes open between you, the warmth of Liam’s body pressed against your side.

You had woken up so late that breakfast had blurred into early afternoon, and with both of you hyper-focused on catching up on work, lunch had been entirely forgotten. So by the time dinner rolled around, you had both been starving. Liam had insisted on ordering pizza, stating very firmly that “we are not cooking anything that takes more than ten minutes, I am way too hungry to function,” and you had agreed.

Now, with full bellies and the mindless drone of some stupid TV show playing in the background, the two of you were lazily finishing off the last few bites, comfortably wrapped up in each other.

“Well, that’s definitely not how CPR works,” you snorted, watching as the show’s lead—a chiseled, too-handsome-for-his-own-good detective—dramatically pressed down on an **** man’s chest. “He’s gonna break his ribs before he actually does anything useful.”

Liam smirked, taking a sip of his drink. “Ah yes, Dr. Girlfriend, expert in all things life-saving.”

“I took a CPR course once,” you shot back. “I know just enough to tell when TV shows are bullshitting it.”

Liam grinned. “So if I ever drop dead, I can trust you to bring me back?”

You arched a brow, taking the last bite of your crust. “Only if you say ‘please’ before you die.”

He laughed, deep and warm, and the sound curled in your chest like a cat stretching in the sun. His arm, already loosely draped around your shoulders, tightened just slightly, pulling you in closer. It wasn’t deliberate, not really—at least, you thought it wasn’t—but you weren’t exactly complaining.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, breathing him in, the scent of him mixed with the lingering heat of pizza and soda. It was so easy, this thing between you, so natural.

Liam’s fingers idly traced circles against your arm, absentminded but affectionate, and your stomach did a little flip. You never used to get butterflies over things like this. Liam never used to give you butterflies. But now, every small touch, every stolen glance, every soft chuckle from him made you feel something.

You were in so much trouble.

“Alright, I gotta say,” Liam said, voice vibrating against the top of your head. “This show is actual garbage.”

You snorted. “Oh, now you notice?”

He gestured vaguely at the screen. “I mean, the writing is awful, the plot makes zero sense, and the characters are all walking clichés—”

“And yet we’ve been watching it for three hours.”

“Yeah, well.” He sighed, shaking his head. “The power of background noise, I guess.”

You smirked. “Admit it. You’re invested now.”

He scoffed. “I am not—”

“Oh really?” You sat up slightly, leveling him with a knowing look. “So if I turned the TV off right now, you wouldn’t be mad that we didn’t get to see what happens in the finale?”

Liam hesitated.

“…I mean, I would like to know if Detective Abs-for-Brains ever actually figures out that his partner is the real villain, but—”

You cackled. “You’re invested!”

“Shut up,” he groaned, flopping his head back against the couch dramatically.

You grinned, nudging him with your elbow. “It’s okay, babe. You can admit your love for trash TV.”

Liam’s eyes flickered to yours. And then—just as casually as breathing—he murmured, “You just called me ‘babe’.”

You stiffened.

Had you?

You replayed the last ten seconds in your head.

Oh, shit, you had.

Your face went warm, and you immediately scrambled for an excuse. “I— That was— I meant—”

Liam grinned, smug as hell.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, turning back to the TV, refusing to meet his gaze.

But then his arm tightened around you again, and instead of teasing you, instead of dragging out the moment, he just pulled you back against him, tucking you into his side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And your heart did another little flip.

The episode ended, the screen fading to black before the credits rolled, and you exhaled, staring at the shifting glow of the TV.

This… thing between you—whatever it was, whatever it was becoming—was dangerous. Because the more time you spent with him like this, the more you melted into it, the more you wanted it.

And now, curled up against him, your fingers toying idly with the hem of his sleeve, you knew—without a doubt—that you were comfortable. Happy.

You stretched your arms above your head, stifling a yawn as the TV droned on in the background. The show’s ridiculous plot had taken yet another absurd turn, but at this point, neither of you were really paying attention. The warmth of Liam’s body beside you, the comfortable lull of the evening, and the heavy feeling of a full stomach were making your eyelids droop.

“Alright,” you sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder dramatically. “I’m tapping out. Time for bed.”

Liam hummed, not looking away from his phone. “Yeah, yeah, you go ahead. I’m gonna stay up a bit longer—watch some more quality television, doomscroll for a bit.”

You scoffed, nudging him with your elbow. “You literally just called it garbage.”

“I did,” he admitted, scrolling idly through whatever nonsense he was reading. “But it’s entertaining garbage.”

You pouted, shifting to rest your chin on his shoulder, practically draping yourself over him in an exaggerated show of neediness. “Come onnn, come to bed.”

Liam smirked. “You don’t need me to go to sleep.”

“…I kinda do,” you admitted quietly.

That made him pause. His eyes flicked away from his phone, glancing at you curiously. “Oh?”

You hesitated, feeling your face warm slightly. “I mean… it’s not like I need you need you, just that…” You exhaled, suddenly feeling shy. “I was gonna, um. Sleep in your bed tonight. With you.”

Liam blinked.

“Oh,” he said, setting his phone down. His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “Damn. Really?”

You nodded, playing with the hem of your tank top. “Yeah. I mean… we’ve kinda skipped the first couple stages of being a couple since we’ve been best friends for years—like, we already know everything about each other, we’re already comfortable, and we already live together—so, really, we’re just skipping to the part where we share a bed.”

Liam considered that. Then, with an amused shrug, he muttered, “Alright, yeah, that tracks.”

You grinned, immediately latching onto his arm and tugging him off the couch. “Great. Let’s go.”

He let you drag him to the bedroom, laughing under his breath as you all but shoved him inside. “God, you’re pushy.”

“You love it,” you teased, sauntering over to your side of the room.

Liam was already dressed for bed—his usual T-shirt and sweatpants—so he simply sat on the edge of his bed, watching. You used your makeup wipes to clear off what you had put on today—and then, without much thought, you started stripping.

Shirt first.

Shorts next.

You bent over slightly, slipping them down your thighs before kicking them aside, standing there in just your undergarments.

Liam made a noise.

You turned your head just enough to see him, brows raised. His gaze was locked on you, his jaw slightly clenched, something dark and unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Damn,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I could definitely get used to this.”

You smirked, turning toward him fully. “You like what you see?”

He huffed out a short laugh. “Do you really need me to answer that?”

You grinned. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts. You only get this view for three weeks.”

His lips curled, eyes dragging over your body. “Then I’m soaking up every second.”

Your stomach did a little flip at that, but you ignored it, climbing onto the bed beside him. You slid under the covers, turning to face him, your body settling naturally into the space beside him.

Liam watched you for a moment before shifting, laying on his side to face you.

You swallowed.

He was so close.

Your eyes traced over his face—the slight scruff along his jaw, the way his messy hair fell slightly over his forehead, the warmth in his gaze as he looked at you.

Yeah. You could definitely get used to this too.

Lying beside Liam like this, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, felt both completely natural and incredibly surreal. He was on his side, propped up slightly on one elbow, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Fondness? Something deeper?

You swallowed, shifting slightly beneath the covers. “You’re staring.”

Liam smirked. “Yeah. You’re the one who decided to sleep in my bed, so get used to it.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m already regretting this.”

Liam let out a soft chuckle, his fingers ghosting along the side of your arm. “No, you’re not.”

Your breath hitched at the contact, at the way he was looking at you—like you were something precious. It made your stomach do weird, fluttery things you weren’t entirely prepared to deal with.

So, naturally, you decided to distract yourself by kissing him.

You leaned in, pressing your lips softly against his, and Liam hummed against your mouth, tilting his head to deepen it. It was slow, unhurried, like the two of you had all the time in the world. His hand slid up, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you impossibly closer.

God. You could get addicted to this.

When you pulled away, breathless, he was grinning. “Not that I’m complaining, but if we keep this up, I definitely won’t be getting any sleep tonight.”

You smirked. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

Liam let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “What have I gotten myself into?”

You grinned, your fingers brushing lightly over the curve of his jaw. “You agreed to this. You’re stuck with me now.”

“For three weeks,” he reminded you teasingly.

“For three weeks,” you echoed, but there was something strange in your chest when you said it—something you weren’t ready to acknowledge yet.

Liam watched you carefully, like he could see the exact moment the thought crossed your mind. Instead of commenting on it, he simply pulled you in for another kiss—soft, lingering.

And then another.

And another.

God, he kissed you everywhere—your lips, your jaw, the tip of your nose, your forehead. Each one was lazy, indulgent, like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

“Liam,” you whispered, biting your lip as you met his gaze.

“Hm?”

You hesitated. Then, in a quieter voice, you admitted, “I really, really like this.”

Liam smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah. Me too.”

For a moment, there was only silence—comfortable, warm, and filled with something unspoken.

Then, in true Liam fashion, he smirked and said, “Man, the gods better be able to erase this after, because otherwise, I’m gonna want you to keep dressing up and kissing me even when you’re a dude again.”

Your face went hot. “Liam!”

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “What? I’m just saying, you’re kind of ridiculously pretty like this.”

You groaned, shoving him lightly, but he just pulled you right back in, pressing another kiss to your lips to silence your flustered protests.

You melted into it. Into him.

Somewhere along the way, his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you pressed up against him, and your fingers slid into his hair, tugging just slightly.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—kissing, whispering dumb things, laughing softly into each other’s mouths.

But when you finally rested your forehead against his, breathing in the same air, you felt it in your bones.

This was right.

It might only be for three weeks.

But right now?

You were his.