T-Minus 17 Pt. 2

By the time you make it back to the dorm, it’s well past midnight. The hallway is dim, the kind of dim where you have to squint a little to make sure you don’t step on anything that’ll make an embarrassing amount of noise. Your heels click against the floor—a little unevenly, because, well, your balance isn’t at its peak after the last few hours.

You reach up, running a hand through your hair, only to wince when your fingers catch in a few tangled strands. Well, that’s attractive. You’re sure your lipstick’s mostly gone by now, and the once-flawless outfit you left in is slightly less pristine. The top’s a little wrinkled, your skirt has ridden up just a little higher than it should be. But despite all that, you feel... good. Like you did what you had to do, and—bonus—you don’t feel like a complete mess about it.

You push open the door to your dorm as quietly as possible, but the moment you step inside, a groggy voice greets you.

“Welcome home, escort.”

You blink, looking over to find Liam sprawled on the couch in the living room, a blanket tangled around his legs. He’s in his usual lazy-at-home attire: an old, soft-looking t-shirt with some nerdy graphic on it and a pair of loose pajama pants that make you question whether he’s ever actually bought new clothes in the past five years. His hair is a little mussed, and there’s an imprint from the couch cushion on his cheek. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, but he’s smirking at you like he’s been waiting for this moment all night.

“Ha ha,” you say dryly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. “Great to know I’m dating the supportive type.”

Liam stretches, yawning as he sits up properly. “I am supportive. Just making sure my extremely professional, very dedicated girlfriend had a productive shift.” He pauses, looking you up and down with a slow, exaggerated nod. “Judging by the state of you, I’d say the client was... satisfied?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the amused smirk that creeps onto your lips. “Oh, shut up.”

He grins and reaches out, grabbing your wrist and tugging you toward him. “C’mere.”

You don’t resist—because, well, it’s Liam—and the moment you’re close enough, he pulls you right onto his lap. His arms wrap around you, warm and familiar, and just like that, any tension still lingering in your body fades.

“You smell nice,” he murmurs against your shoulder.

“You sure about that?” you tease, relaxing into him.

“Yeah, well, I like what I'm smelling.” He tilts his head up, his nose brushing against your cheek. “And also, I have to say something to distract myself from the very obvious fact that you just got dicked down by another guy.”

You groan, smacking his arm. “Liam!”

“I’m just saying!” He laughs, dodging another half-hearted hit. “It’s a little funny. You show up in this bombshell outfit looking like you walked out of a perfume commercial, and meanwhile, I look like I’ve spent the past four hours arguing with 12-year-olds in an online game.”

“You probably have spent the past four hours arguing with 12-year-olds in an online game.”

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Excuse you, I am an adult who plays against other adults in a very mature, sophisticated—”

“You play Minecraft.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, PvP is serious business.”

You shake your head, laughing, and your take the opportunity to pull him in for a kiss. It’s slow, lazy, the kind of kiss that says, Hey, I missed you, even if you won’t outright say it. His lips are soft, warm, and there’s no rush—just the easy, familiar rhythm of the two of you melting into each other.

His hands rest on your hips, fingers pressing gently into the fabric of your skirt as he deepens the kiss. You sigh against his mouth, letting yourself sink into the moment, the comfort, the him of it all.

It’s easy with Liam. It always is.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, and his voice is barely above a whisper. “You good?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just... yeah.”

His lips curve into a small smile, but then, because he can’t help himself—

“So, you offering a freebie tonight, or what?”

You groan, shoving him lightly. “You’re the worst.”

“I mean, I am your most loyal customer.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, but you’re laughing as he pulls you back in for another kiss.

And for a moment, you think about it. About how easy it would be to let this go further, to just let yourself forget everything else and lose yourself in him.

But the moment you start to shift, the moment your hands start to move, something tugs at the back of your mind.

Liam notices the hesitation immediately. He always does.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his hands steadying on your hips. “What’s wrong?”

You exhale slowly, biting your lip. “I just... I don’t know. It feels weird. Coming home from that and then just... doing this with you.”

His brows knit together slightly. “You don’t have to feel bad, you know. I told you—I don’t see it that way. It’s just the trial.”

“I know, but...” You sigh, shaking your head. “You deserve better.”

He gives you a look, like you just told him water isn’t wet. “Babe.”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “You’re my boyfriend. Temporarily, sure, but my boyfriend still. You should be the only one I—” You stop, because the words feel too heavy, too complicated.

Liam doesn’t push. He just leans back against the couch, tilting his head as he studies you. “Alright. Then we don’t do anything. No pressure. But just so you know...” His lips twitch. “I am definitely gonna be using this to guilt-trip you for extra kisses later.”

You snort. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you keep coming back.”

You roll your eyes but don’t fight it when he pulls you back into his arms.

For a while, you just sit there, curled up against him, listening to the steady sound of his breathing. It’s nice. Quiet.

Then, after a beat—

“You still smell nice.”

“Oh my god, let's go to sleep, Liam.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Fine, fine. Let’s go to bed.”

You nod, and as you both get up, you realize—maybe you don’t have all the answers. Maybe you’re still figuring this all out.

But at least, with Liam, you’re not figuring it out alone.

Hand in hand, the two of you make your way to the bedroom. It’s a lazy walk, slow and easy, like neither of you are in any rush to actually sleep. Liam’s fingers are laced with yours, warm and firm, his thumb absentmindedly tracing over the back of your hand as he leads the way.

The dorm is quiet at this hour, the only sounds being the soft hum of the mini-fridge and the distant whoosh of a car passing by outside. It’s the kind of night that makes everything feel smaller, cozier—just the two of you in your own little world.

“You know,” Liam says as you step into the bedroom, releasing your hand to stretch his arms over his head. “Statistically speaking, I should have way better sleep hygiene than you.”

You snort, already knowing where this is going. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

“Because,” he says, flopping down onto his bed with all the grace of a ragdoll, “I have a strict, consistent bedtime routine. I log off my games at a responsible hour, I get into bed at a reasonable time—”

“You mean you pass out mid-game and wake up to a bunch of angry messages.”

Liam glares at you from his pillow. “That only happened once.”

“Twice.”

“Whatever.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Point is, you just rolled in at, what, one a.m.? After working a whole ass night shift? That’s, like, the opposite of good sleep habits.”

You hum thoughtfully, reaching behind your neck to unclasp your necklace before setting it on the nightstand. “Okay, sure. But I don’t drink five energy drinks a day like I’m trying to become one with the void.”

“That’s called biohacking.”

“That’s called an addiction, babe.”

Liam groans, burying his face in his pillow as you laugh.

You take your time undressing, pulling your black top up and over your head, tossing it onto the chair in the corner. Next comes your pencil skirt, which takes a little more effort—there’s something uniquely undignified about shimmying out of a tight skirt at the end of the night. Liam, to his credit, does not comment on it, which is honestly shocking.

You pause, raising an eyebrow at him. “No joke?”

Liam, still lying on his side, props himself up on one elbow. “What joke?”

“You always make a joke.” You gesture at yourself, standing there in just your burgundy bra and panties. “I’m literally giving you the perfect setup.”

He gives a lazy smile. “Yeah, well, I’m practicing restraint.”

“Wow,” you say, genuinely impressed. “Proud of you.”

“Thank you. It’s taking every ounce of my willpower.”

You roll your eyes fondly before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, tossing it onto the chair with your other clothes. Liam doesn’t react—at least, not in the obvious, over-the-top way you half-expected. His eyes stay on you, warm and familiar, but he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. It’s nice. It’s easy.

You grab your nightshirt—a soft, oversized thing that hangs off your shoulders—and slip it on before stepping into a pair of loose shorts. Then, with practiced ease, you grab a makeup wipe from your nightstand and start wiping off the remnants of your lipstick and eyeliner.

“Anyway,” you say between swipes, “you were saying something about your superior sleep hygiene?”

Liam groans dramatically, flopping onto his back. “I take it back. I’m never trying to be the responsible one again.”

“Good, because we both know that was never your role in this relationship.”

He sighs. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll stick to my lane.”

When you’re done, you toss the used wipe into the trash and turn back toward the bed. Liam lifts the blanket for you without a word, an unspoken invitation, and you slip beneath the covers, immediately drawn to his warmth.

The two of you settle face-to-face, bodies comfortably close, legs tangling together like it’s second nature. Liam’s hand rests against your waist, his touch light, absentminded.

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “You know, I just wanna say, I really had to fight the urge to make a joke when you were changing.”

You grin. “I could tell. You looked like you were in physical pain.”

“I was. You don’t understand how hard it was. I had so many good lines just—waiting.”

“I’m sure they were all very mature and sophisticated.”

“Oh, extremely. The pinnacle of highbrow humor.”

You roll your eyes but scoot closer, resting your forehead against his. “Well, I appreciate your sacrifice.”

“Anything for you, babe.”

His voice is softer now, lower, and the way he’s looking at you makes your chest feel warm. You reach up, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, like he’s savoring the touch.

Then, before you can say anything else, he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

It’s different from the playful kisses earlier—slower, deeper. His hand slides up your back, fingers splayed between your shoulder blades, and you sigh into him, melting a little further.

His lips move against yours with practiced ease, familiar but never boring. The kind of kiss that makes you forget how tired you are, how late it is, how much the rest of the world exists outside of this moment.

At some point, your fingers find their way into his hair, and he makes a quiet sound of approval, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The sheets rustle as you shift even closer, chests pressed together, heat passing between you in slow, steady waves.

After a while, Liam pulls back just enough to murmur, “I should probably stop kissing you before I completely lose my moral high ground.”

You laugh, breathless. “You had a moral high ground?”

“I did, for like, ten seconds.”

“Impressive.”

“I know.” He grins, pressing a quick, playful kiss to your nose. “But seriously. We should probably actually sleep before we just make out all night.”

You hum in agreement, though neither of you actually move apart. Your hands stay tangled in his hair, his arm stays wrapped around your waist, and for a while, you just stay there, breathing each other in.

Liam lets out a content sigh. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It is.”

He tightens his hold on you slightly, and just like that, everything feels right. No worries, no doubts—just warmth, and closeness, and the steady rhythm of his breathing against your own.

Slowly, your eyes grow heavy.

Liam’s voice is barely audible now, thick with sleep. “Night, babe.”

“Night, Liam.”

And just like that, you drift off together, wrapped up in each other like it’s the most natural thing in the world.