Liam led Oliver through the crowded room, weaving past laughing guests and flashing lights, until they reached a quiet corner near the window. Two seats had been placed there, slightly apart from the rest—as if someone had planned it that way.
Oliver noticed.
They sat down, the noise fading into the background. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Oliver relaxed a little, his shoulders lowering as he glanced back toward the center of the room.
"Lorette looks really beautiful tonight," Oliver said honestly. "She suits all this."
Liam didn't respond right away.
Instead, he reached for a cigarette, lit it slowly, and took a drag. The flame briefly illuminated his face, his eyes fixed on Oliver rather than the party. He exhaled, the smoke drifting between them.
"Yeah," he said finally, brushing the comment aside like it didn't matter.
Oliver frowned slightly but said nothing.
Liam kept staring at him, his gaze lingering—too long, too intense. His lips parted, as if words were right there, ready to spill out. For a heartbeat, Oliver thought Liam might say something important.
But Liam closed his mouth again.
He looked away, swallowing hard, another drag from the cigarette burning between his fingers.
Across the room, Lorette had been watching.
At first, she tried to ignore it. Then she tried to laugh it off with her friends. But the way Liam leaned toward Oliver, the way he hadn't looked back even once—it gnawed at her patience.
Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.
She walked straight toward them, heels sharp against the floor. Without a word, she grabbed Liam by the arm and pulled him up from his seat.
"Come with me," she said tightly.
Before Liam could protest, she dragged him toward the quiet hallway nearby, leaving Oliver sitting alone in the corner—watching them go, his chest tight with a feeling he couldn't name.
Lorette shoved Liam into the restroom, the door closing sharply behind them. The noise of the party outside faded instantly, leaving behind a tense, suffocating silence.
"Kiss me," she said flatly.
Liam froze. His heart skipped, not with excitement, but with shock. "What?" He stared at her, confused. "Lorette, what are you talking about?"
She crossed her arms, eyes flashing. "We're a couple," she snapped. "That's what couples do. Don't act like this is strange."
Liam took a step back, his shoulders stiff. His mind betrayed him instantly—Oliver's quiet smile, the way he had looked sitting alone in the corner. Guilt twisted in his chest.
"I don't think this is the time," Liam said uneasily.
"Do it," Lorette demanded again, her voice sharper now.
Something in Liam gave way—not desire, but exhaustion. He stopped resisting, his body going still, his thoughts far away.
Seeing his hesitation, Lorette stepped forward and pressed her lips to his possessively. Her tongue sliding into his mouth.
Liam didn't respond. He didn't push her away either. He just stood there, stiff and silent, eyes unfocused, allowing it to happen without returning it. His hands hung uselessly at his sides.
Lorette was sucking really hard that Liam suddenly started feeling repulsed.
Then the door creaked open softly.
Liam's body reacted before his mind did. He tried to pull back—but Lorette's hand tightened on his sleeve, holding him in place.
Whoever stood at the door had already seen enough.
Several minutes after Liam disappeared with Lorette, Oliver rose quietly from his seat. The noise of the party pressed against his head, making it hard to breathe. He told himself he just needed the restroom—nothing more.
A small sign on the hallway wall pointed the way. Restroom →
Oliver slipped away unnoticed.
The hallway was dimmer, quieter. As he reached the door and pushed it open gently, faint sounds reached his ears—broken breaths, hushed movement. His steps slowed.
Then he saw them.
Liam and Lorette.
Too close. Too intimate.
Oliver froze, his mind refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. His chest tightened painfully, a strange, sharp feeling slicing through him before he could understand it.
"I—sorry," he blurted instinctively, voice barely there.
He shut the door quickly, as if it could erase the image from his mind.
His legs felt heavy as he turned into the other restroom, each step dragging. He stood before the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink, staring at his own pale reflection.
Idiot, he thought bitterly. Of course he left you. He has a girlfriend.
Anger bubbled up—hot, confusing, unwanted. He didn't understand why it hurt this much. He didn't want to understand.
The door creaked open behind him.
Oliver stiffened.
"Oliver," Liam said softly. "It's not what..."
Oliver didn't turn. "You don't have to explain," he cut him off calmly, too calmly. "I'm sorry for interrupting. I didn't know."
He forced a smile when he finally faced Liam, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll go."
As he moved past, Liam caught his wrist and pulled him back, almost roughly, with undeniable strength—pinning him gently against the wall.
"Liam—"
Before Oliver could finish, Liam leaned in and pressed his lips to his. His hands pulling Oliver's head closer to his.
Time seemed to stop.
Oliver's eyes flew open, shock freezing him in place. Liam's face was close—too close—his breath warm, uneven, carrying everything he hadn't said all night. Liam held him there, the kiss desperate and hungry, as if pouring out every confused emotion he had been fighting.
Oliver's heart thundered wildly.
For a moment, nothing else existed.
Then reality crashed back in.
Oliver quickly shoved Liam away with both hands, breath uneven.
"Don't," he said sharply, stepping back as if burned.
Liam stumbled a little, then froze. For a second, he looked completely lost—like someone who had finally fallen apart after holding himself together for too long. His hands trembled.
"I didn't mean to—" Liam started, then stopped. His voice cracked. "No. I did mean to. I just… I couldn't stop anymore."
Oliver stared at him in disbelief. "What are you saying?" His chest rose and fell quickly. "We're both men, Liam. How could you do that?"
Liam dragged a hand through his hair, eyes red, breathing hard. "Because it doesn't matter," he said, almost desperately. "Because it's possible. Men can feel this way about each other. I—Oliver, I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't."
He took a step closer, pleading now. "Just listen to me. Please."
Oliver shook his head, backing away again. His thoughts were spinning too fast, fear and confusion crashing together. "No," he said, forcing himself to sound calm. "You're not thinking straight."
Liam opened his mouth, but Oliver cut him off.
"It's probably the cigarette," Oliver said quietly, avoiding Liam's eyes. "Or the party. You're not in your right mind."
That hurt landed visibly.
Before Liam could say anything else, Oliver turned and walked past him, his steps quick and unsteady. He didn't look back. He didn't trust himself to.
Liam remained there alone, staring at the closed door, realizing too late that he had said everything—and still lost him...