Quality Bonding Pt. 4

By the time you and Liam finally sat down for dinner, the day had already felt like an entire saga. The shopping, the detour into questionable indulgences, the unexpected struggle of lugging everything back to the dorm—all of it had left you hungrier than you expected.

The restaurant was warm, softly lit, the air thick with the comforting aroma of grilled meats, buttery sauces, and the faintest trace of freshly baked bread. Low conversation hummed all around, the gentle clink of cutlery against fine china weaving through the air like an understated melody. The two of you had been seated near the window, the streetlights outside casting a golden glow through the glass, flickering as the occasional car passed by.

You exhaled, shifting slightly in your chair as you reached for your wine glass, letting your fingers linger on the cool stem. The single pour of red glistened under the light, far too expensive for what it was, but worth it for the sheer novelty of ordering wine at dinner like two people with their lives put together.

Liam, across from you, mirrored the motion, though his gaze was skeptical as he eyed the glass.

"Alright, be honest," he said, setting it down. "That is not worth sixteen bucks."

You exhaled a laugh, fingers curling around the delicate stem. "Oh, absolutely not. But we’re here, so might as well pretend we have standards."

Liam smirked, shaking his head. "Right, ‘cause a $16 glass of wine means we’re suddenly refined."

"Exactly." You lifted your chin, voice slipping into a playful lilt. "We’re practically connoisseurs now. Next thing you know, we’ll be discussing the mouthfeel."

Liam choked on a laugh. "If you ever use the word ‘mouthfeel’ unironically, I’m leaving you at this table."

You hummed, setting your glass down as the waiter approached, seamlessly sliding plates onto the table. Your meal—pan-seared salmon with a side of roasted vegetables—was plated beautifully, the skin crisp, the aroma rich with butter and herbs. Across from you, Liam’s steak was still faintly sizzling, the dark sear on the outside promising tenderness within.

"So let me get this straight," Liam said, twirling his fork between his fingers, his plate still half full of steak and potatoes. "You—" he pointed at you with the handle of his fork, expression caught somewhere between amusement and smug satisfaction, "—wore that to go shopping just so you’d be dressed for this?"

You rolled your eyes, immediately regretting that it had taken him this long to realize it. "It’s not just that," you said, voice carefully measured. "I wanted to look nice today, okay? Maybe I didn’t feel like running around the Eaton Centre looking like a slob."

Liam smirked, leaning back slightly, his fingers idly tapping against the table. "Right," he dragged out the word, taking a slow sip of his wine, studying you over the rim of the glass. "But we did run around the Eaton Centre, and you were in this. Heels and all." His gaze dropped briefly to your legs, crossed neatly beneath the table, where the nude stockings hugged your skin just so.

Your stomach twisted—just for a second. It wasn’t obvious, wasn’t anything you had the time or energy to analyze, but something in the way he looked at you made you feel… noticed. You quickly busied yourself with cutting into your own meal, keeping your expression neutral.

"And now you suddenly have this epiphany?" you shot back, lifting a forkful of salmon to your lips. "After hours of walking around, now is when you figure it out?"

"I had a lot on my mind," he said, ever so casual, as he picked up his knife again. "Like wondering if my best friend was about to bankrupt herself on lingerie she doesn’t even need."

You barely suppressed a laugh, shaking your head as you chewed. "It’s not about need—it’s about having options," you said once you swallowed, glancing at him. "Wouldn’t you want options if you were in my position?"

Liam raised an eyebrow. "If I were in your position, I wouldn’t be planning a roster."

You gave a mock gasp, hand over your chest. "How dare you? It is not a roster."

He snorted. "You literally said you were planning around four more guys."

"Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m strategizing like it’s some kind of fantasy draft. I’m just—" You gestured vaguely, searching for the words. "—making sure I get through this trial without running out of time. And, you know, why not have a little fun in the process?"

Liam gave you a long, amused look before finally shaking his head, stabbing a piece of potato with his fork. "I swear, you’re a completely different person now," he muttered.

That made you pause.

The words weren’t meant to be cutting. If anything, they were observational, maybe even teasing. But something about them made your stomach twist—not in the way it had before, but something deeper, something unsettling.

You weren’t a completely different person… were you?

"I mean, different how?" you asked, keeping your voice light, even as you reached for your wine.

Liam didn’t answer right away. He finished chewing, taking his time, considering. "I don’t know," he said at last. "Not in a bad way. Just… you used to be so hesitant. So awkward about this kind of thing. I remember back when I had to practically drag you to talk to girls, and now you’re out here planning out your hookups like it’s an agenda."

You scoffed, setting your glass down with a clink. "I was not that awkward."

Liam gave you a flat look.

"Okay," you relented, rolling your eyes. "Maybe a little. But it’s not like I had much of a reason to be confident back then. You know how it was. Girls were… confusing."

That got a quiet chuckle out of him. "They still are," he said, shaking his head before taking another bite.

You huffed a laugh, reaching for another sip of wine, letting the warmth settle into your chest. It was so easy, being here like this. Even with the way things had changed, even with the subtle ways your body had shifted over the last five months, sitting here with Liam felt familiar. Like you could almost pretend nothing had changed at all.

Except you had changed.

And Liam…

You didn’t know what was going on in his head. If he ever really thought about it. If he ever noticed—not just the obvious things, but the subtleties. The way your voice lingered in softer tones, the way your laugh sounded different, the way your expressions had become just slightly more… fluid.

Your gaze flickered—just for a second—to the way his shirt fit him now. He had changed before dinner, swapping his casual sweater from earlier for something crisp and fitted, the top button undone in a way that shouldn’t have made you notice his collarbone but did anyway.

It wasn’t something you could ask, though. So instead, you let the thought slip away, focusing instead on your meal, on the hum of conversation around you, on the warmth of the restaurant and the steady, easy rhythm of Liam’s presence across from you.

This was nice. It was simple.

And for tonight, that was enough.

The candle on your table had burned low, its wax pooling lazily at the base, flickering in the dim light of the restaurant. The two of you lingered over the last bites of your meals, the warmth of the wine still settling into your bones. You turned your fork idly between your fingers, absently tracing the prongs against your plate, listening to the soft, distant hum of conversation around you. It was nice, this moment—the kind of unhurried, easy atmosphere that made time feel like it had softened at the edges, blurred into something indistinct and warm.

Liam took the last sip of his wine, exhaling as he set the glass down, pushing his plate forward just slightly. "Alright, so explain it to me again," he said, resting his forearms on the table. "What exactly was your thought process when you bought three different sets of lingerie today? Because I still think that was insane."

You arched a brow, setting your fork down with a soft clink. "Are we still on this?"

"Yes," he said immediately. "I need to understand. You spent a whole minute debating between two identical lace thongs."

You scoffed. "They were not identical."

"They were the same."

"One had a scalloped edge and the other had a ribbon detail," you said, exasperated. "Huge difference."

Liam dragged a hand down his face like he was physically in pain, before shaking his head with a tired sigh. "Why do you care that much?"

"Because," you said simply, leaning forward slightly, "I have a small window of time where I get to wear things like this and actually enjoy it. So why not? Why not go all in and have fun with it?"

Liam opened his mouth like he was about to argue, then hesitated. He blinked, tilting his head slightly, like the thought had never actually occurred to him before.

"I mean…" He scratched the back of his neck. "I guess that makes sense."

You smirked. "I know."

He gave you a look, but it lacked any real irritation—just that familiar exasperation laced with amusement. It was the kind of expression you’d seen on him a hundred times before, but tonight… it felt different.

You didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the lighting, the warm glow that softened the angles of his face. Maybe it was the wine, the way it made everything just a little more fluid, a little easier. Or maybe it was nothing at all, and you were just reading into things, imagining something that wasn’t there.

But still…

Something about the way he was looking at you made your breath catch.

You took a sip of wine, swallowing past the thought before it could take root.

"So," you said, pushing past whatever that had been, "are we doing dessert or are we just cutting our losses and admitting this place is too expensive?"

Liam exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "We’re already here. We might as well go all in."

You grinned, flipping open the menu. "See? That’s the attitude I like to hear."

Dessert arrived on sleek white plates, delicate and artfully arranged, the kind of presentation that made you wonder if it would actually taste as good as it looked. Liam had ordered some sort of molten chocolate cake, rich and dark, the center still oozing as he cut into it. You had gone for a classic crème brûlée, the caramelized sugar cracking under the tap of your spoon.

You took a bite, sighing at the contrast of textures—the crisp shell, the smooth, creamy custard underneath. "Okay, this might actually be worth the price," you admitted.

Liam, who had just taken a bite of his own dessert, hummed in agreement, nodding. "I’m willing to accept my financial ruin for this."

You laughed, shaking your head. The wine had settled into something warm in your veins, a pleasant hum beneath your skin, making everything feel just a little lighter, a little looser.

The two of you took your time finishing dessert, conversation drifting easily between teasing remarks and genuine reflections, small moments of quiet punctuated by the occasional glance, the occasional smile.

You didn’t rush.

Neither of you did.

But eventually, the plates were cleared, the wine glasses empty, and the check arrived with an almost comical finality.

Liam looked at it, sighed, and said, "Alright, yeah, that hurts."

You snorted. "At least we can say we were classy for an evening."

"You were already classy."

The words were so casual, so effortless, that it took you a second to process them.

Your fingers stilled against the tablecloth, your breath catching for the briefest moment before you **** out a quiet laugh. "Well. That’s new."

Liam shrugged, reaching for his wallet. "Just saying. You dress like this all the time now, but I don’t think I ever said it out loud."

Your stomach did something strange, something you didn’t have the energy to name.

Instead, you reached for your purse, busying yourself with pulling out your card. "We’re splitting, obviously."

Liam rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

And just like that, the moment passed, slipping between your fingers like sand.

The walk back to the dorm was a slow one. The air had cooled, the last remnants of sunset lingering at the edges of the sky, fading into deep navy. Your heels clicked softly against the pavement, the two of you moving in an easy rhythm, steps unconsciously matching as the dorms came into view.

It wasn’t until you reached the door that the realization hit you.

You looked at Liam, who looked back at you with the exact same expression.

"So…" you said.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "So."

Your eyes flicked to the bags you had dropped off earlier. Then to the kitchen counter, where the brown paper bag from the LCBO sat innocuously next to the tin from the dispensary.

A slow, mischievous smile curled at your lips.

"You ever think about combining the two?" you asked.

Liam blinked, then exhaled a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "I was gonna say we pick one, but now I feel like I’m being challenged."

You grinned. "You are."

And just like that, the night took a different turn.

The flame flickered as Liam held the lighter to the end of the pre-roll, the paper charring at the tip before glowing softly. He inhaled tentatively, brows furrowing as he tried to gauge the process.

You sat across from him on the dorm’s common room couch, legs tucked beneath you, watching with a mix of curiosity and barely concealed amusement. The air smelled different already—earthy and slightly sweet, the scent unfamiliar but not unpleasant.

Liam exhaled—then immediately started coughing.

"Oh my god," you laughed, pressing a hand to your mouth as he wheezed, shoulders shaking with the **** of it.

"Shut up," he choked out, pounding a fist against his chest. His eyes watered slightly, and he blinked rapidly like that would help. "Oh my god."

You grinned, holding out your hand. "My turn."

Liam squinted at you. "Good luck."

You took the joint between your fingers, hesitated for a split second, then leaned in, lips brushing the filter as you inhaled. The burn was immediate, a scratch at the back of your throat that you hadn’t been prepared for. You barely had time to process before—

Oh. Oh no.

You broke into a violent coughing fit, shoulders curling in as you struggled to exhale properly. Your lungs felt like they were staging a rebellion, the acrid taste clinging to the back of your throat. Liam burst out laughing, pointing at you like you were the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

"See?" he wheezed, still recovering himself. "I told you."

You coughed again, pressing a fist to your lips as you glared at him through watery eyes. "Shut up."

Liam grinned, snatching the joint back as you tried to compose yourself. He took a much smaller hit this time, learning from his mistake, exhaling slowly. It was much smoother now, less of a disaster.

You cleared your throat, voice a little raspy. "Okay, so that was awful."

Liam nodded. "Yup." He tapped the ash into a small dish. "Want another go?"

You eyed the joint warily. "I mean… yeah, obviously."

Liam snorted but handed it back, watching as you tried again. You took a smaller hit this time, letting it sit in your lungs before exhaling gently. It still burned a little, but nothing like before.

"Better," you murmured.

Liam nodded approvingly, taking another hit himself before handing it back again. You passed it back and forth a few more times, the roll steadily burning down, the ash growing heavier.

And then—

Then it hit.

It wasn’t immediate, but you felt it creeping up, slipping into your system like warmth curling around your limbs. The room felt… softer, in a way that was hard to describe. Everything had a slight haze, like the edges of the world had blurred just a little, the sharpness of reality smoothed over.

Liam leaned back against the couch, blinking slowly. His pupils looked a little bigger now, his whole expression vaguely amused in a way that didn’t seem entirely intentional.

"Okay," he said, dragging the word out slightly. "I think it’s working."

You giggled—actually giggled, and it sounded so foreign coming out of your mouth that you clapped a hand over your lips.

Liam grinned, tilting his head at you. "What?"

"Nothing," you said, voice muffled behind your palm. "Nothing."

He squinted at you, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Are you high?"

"Are you?"

Liam considered this. He lifted his hand in front of his face, examining it with far too much concentration. "Maybe," he admitted.

You burst into laughter, slumping back against the couch as a warm, weightless feeling settled over you. It wasn’t like being drunk—there was no dizziness, no spinning sensation. It was just light, like gravity had eased up slightly, like everything had slowed just enough to be noticeable.

Liam was looking at you, and you could tell he was about to say something stupid.

"You look—" he started, then paused. His brows furrowed like his brain had temporarily short-circuited.

You snorted. "What?"

Liam shook his head, blinking like he was resetting himself. "Nothing." He reached for the bottle of wine you had grabbed from the LCBO earlier, twisting off the cap with a slightly less-than-graceful movement. "We should drink now."

You nodded sagely. "Good plan."

Liam poured a generous amount into both glasses, setting the bottle down with a clink. You took yours, swirling it for no reason other than it felt appropriate.

"To… uh…" You frowned. "What are we toasting to?"

Liam pursed his lips, thinking. "To…" He snapped his fingers. "To poor financial decisions."

You grinned, lifting your glass. "To poor financial decisions."

You clinked glasses and took a sip. The wine tasted different now, richer somehow, the flavors more pronounced. You hummed in appreciation, stretching your legs out on the couch as warmth spread through you—both from the **** and the weed.

Liam exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You know," he said, gaze fixed on the ceiling, "this is actually kinda nice."

You tilted your head at him. "What, getting high?"

He grinned. "Yeah, but also just… this. Hanging out. No stress, no deadlines, no…" He waved a hand vaguely. "Bullshit."

Your chest tightened slightly at the way he said it—like he meant it, like there was something almost **** about the admission.

You nodded, sinking deeper into the couch. "Yeah," you murmured. "It is nice."

Liam glanced at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

And for a moment, neither of you said anything at all.

Just the sound of your breathing, the distant hum of the city outside, the soft crackle of the candle you had forgotten to blow out.

Then—

Liam suddenly sat up. "Wait."

You blinked, startled. "What?"

His face was serious, eyes wide, hands on his knees. "Are we—" He paused, shaking his head. "No, wait, are we moving right now?"

You frowned. "What?"

"Are we moving?" He gestured vaguely. "Like, I know we’re sitting, but are we like…" He trailed off, brows furrowing.

You stared at him.

Then you died.

You collapsed into laughter, arms curling around your stomach as you wheezed, gasping for air. Liam groaned, dropping his head into his hands as he realized what he had just said.

"That was so stupid," he muttered.

You were still laughing. "So stupid."

Liam groaned again, dragging his hands down his face. "I hate you."

You grinned, eyes still watery from laughing. "No, you don’t."

Liam peeked at you from between his fingers. His lips twitched. "No, I don’t."

And that was how the night continued—high, tipsy, and absolutely ridiculous.