The sun slid slowly across the room like it was trying not to wake us. I was still half-curled against Liam's side, my forehead brushing the fabric of his T-shirt, his body warm and still beside mine. For a moment, it felt like I was suspended in a dream—a peaceful, warm little bubble where nothing could touch me.
Until I moved slightly.
And felt the cool breeze from the half-open window brush across my bare skin.
Wait.
My stomach sank.
No, no no—
I slowly blinked down at myself.
Cropped tank top.
Tiny shorts.
Bare legs.
No hoodie. No blanket wrapped protectively around me.
Oh my god.
Oh my GOD.
I was lying in Liam's bed. Practically clinging to him. In summer-night sleepwear. Like some movie scene, except with the real-life horror of teenage awkwardness.
I froze. My cheeks caught fire.
He was still half-asleep beside me, blinking slowly at the ceiling, one arm lazily draped above his head. My thigh was touching his. My stomach was brushing his side. And I hadn't even realized it before.
My heart did this weird skip-jump-hammer thing in my chest.
I tried to inch away without making it obvious, but the bed betrayed me—creaked loudly like I'd just launched a firework. Liam turned his head toward me, still looking a little groggy.
His eyes dropped for half a second—just enough for me to die inside—and then flicked back to mine.
"You, uh…" he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. "You good?"
"Yeah!" I squeaked. "Totally good. Great. Normal."
A beat.
Then his lips twitched.
"You do know you're basically half-dressed, right?"
"Liam!" I hissed, grabbing a corner of the blanket and yanking it up to my chin. My face was on fire.
He laughed, really laughed—eyes crinkling, voice soft and teasing. "I'm just saying! Not complaining."
I smacked his arm through the blanket. "Shut up!"
"Ow!" he said, grinning. "You come into my bed, practically snuggle attack me in your sleep, and I'm the one getting hit?"
"I was having a nightmare!"
"Yeah, and now I'M having a moral dilemma," he said, feigning dramatic agony. "What if I said I kinda liked waking up with you beside me?"
I stared at him.
Butterflies. Thousands of them. All somersaulting.
"You're an idiot," I mumbled.
"I'm your idiot," he shot back, voice softer now.
And that… that made everything stop for a second. The chaos in my head, the worry about Amelia, the shadows from last night—it all paused. Because even in his dumbest moments, Liam had this way of making me feel like I was still me.
Still real.
Even when everything around me was changing.
I dropped my eyes, letting the silence stretch out between us like golden thread.
"I should probably go," I whispered, still clutching the blanket.
"Yeah," he said, nodding a little. "But you don't have to. You can stay. I mean, it's not like I'm kicking you out. Unless you want breakfast."
My stomach made an embarrassing growl right then. I glanced at him.
He smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Come on. Toast and awkward eye contact await."
I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. "Let me grab a hoodie first before I traumatize your neighbors."
Liam grinned, hopping out of bed. "Too late, Emma. The trauma's already done."
I threw a pillow at him as he disappeared out the door, still laughing.
---
Ten minutes later...
I walked into the kitchen in Liam's oversized hoodie—my tiny shorts hidden completely underneath, giving the illusion I wasn't even wearing pants. His mom had left for work early, so we had the place to ourselves.
He was leaning against the counter, buttering toast with the intensity of someone solving a mystery.
"Do you always cook breakfast shirtless?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He looked down at himself, then back at me. "Are you always this judgmental before caffeine?"
I plopped onto the barstool, pulling my knees to my chest, hoodie sleeves hanging long past my fingers.
He placed the plate of toast between us and grabbed two mugs. "Coffee or hot chocolate?"
"Hot chocolate. Obviously."
He gave me the smallest smirk. "Good. I was gonna judge you if you picked coffee."
I sighed, looking around the kitchen. "It's weird, you know. How this place feels safer than my own house."
He glanced at me.
I looked down at my mug, voice dropping. "Like… I can breathe here. But every time I even think about going back home… I feel like something's waiting for me."
Liam sat beside me, not speaking for a second.
Then he leaned forward, voice gentle. "Then don't go back. Stay here. As long as you need. You're not alone, Emma."
I blinked. His words sank into my chest like warm sunlight through a cold window.
"You sure your mom's cool with it?" I asked quietly.
"She loves you. You know that. She already thinks you're the daughter she never had. And—" He hesitated. "I think I'd miss you if you left."
I looked at him, eyes wide.
His expression was serious now, no teasing.
"I mean it," he said. "You're not a burden. Not to me. Not ever."
I reached across the counter and squeezed his hand.
Butterflies. Again.
And this time, I didn't want them to go away.
The car stopped in front of the school gates with a soft crunch of gravel. Liam looked over at me with his usual effortless charm, one hand on the steering wheel, the other messing up his already messy hair.
"You good?" he asked, studying my face.
Was I?
No.
Not even a little bit.
But I nodded like a liar. "Yeah."
He leaned over, not close enough to kiss, but close enough that I could smell that fresh-lemongrass thing his hoodie always carried.
"Call me if you need anything, Em," he said, eyes softer now. "I'll be out for a few hours for some boring client pitch stuff. But I'll be back."
I nodded, already swallowing the ache growing inside my chest. I didn't want to leave. His car felt like a capsule of warmth. Of safety. Of him.
But I opened the door anyway.
And stepped out into the cold mess of reality.
---
The school felt different today.
It wasn't the hallways or the buzzing chatter. It was me.
My skin felt wired. Like everything around me was louder, more in-focus. Like I was noticing things I didn't want to notice—how the sun hit the pavement, how someone's backpack was slightly unzipped, how Peter was standing by the lockers like a damn movie scene.
Peter.
I stopped walking.
My heart slammed so hard it felt like a betrayal.
He was wearing that gray jacket. The one I always used to tease him about because it made him look like a storm cloud. His hair was slightly wet—maybe from a morning shower—and his hands were shoved in his pockets as he looked around.
When his eyes landed on mine—those familiar hazel eyes with the secrets I once craved—I forgot how to breathe.
He smiled.
Soft. Hesitant. Beautiful.
And I smiled back.
But it didn't feel the same.
It felt like a memory of who I used to be. Who we used to be. Before everything turned upside down.
I kept walking. But slower now. Each step toward Peter made something heavy settle in my stomach.
"Hey," he said as I reached him, voice low like a song I used to hum before sleep.
"Hey," I whispered back.
There was a pause.
Long. Awkward. Heavy.
And in that pause, I remembered last night.
The warmth of Liam's arms. His heartbeat under my ear. His scent, his voice, the way I clung to him in my sleep without hesitation.
And I remembered the way my heart didn't panic.
Not once.
And that scared me more than anything else.
"Emma?" Peter's voice brought me back.
"Sorry. Zoned out," I muttered, then walked right past him like my brain short-circuited.
I needed an exit.
Fast.
---
I found Chloe sitting on the stone bench near the old art room, sipping from her flask like she owned the damn world.
"Hey, where's the fire?" she asked, noticing my face.
I collapsed beside her.
"I think I accidentally broke my own heart and also might be in love with two people and I want to cry but also disappear but also maybe explode?"
Chloe blinked. "...Wanna slow down and try that again in English?"
I groaned. "Okay. So… last night. I had a nightmare, I ran to Liam's room and—I ended up sleeping next to him. Like, with him."
Her eyebrows shot up. "Wait, like with him with him or—?"
"Not like that!" I whispered furiously. "Just… slept. Fully clothed. Okay, like half-clothed. I didn't realize I was in shorts and a cropped tank until I woke up literally pressed against him."
Chloe's grin was full smug now. "Daaaamn."
"No, no! That's not the problem! The problem is… it felt safe. Too safe. Like, I wanted to be there. I didn't panic. I didn't want to leave. And then I come here and see Peter and my stomach flips and—"
"You're in emotional quicksand," she said, nodding wisely.
"I loved Peter. I mean, maybe I still do. But Liam—he's always been there. He makes me feel… grounded. Like I can be broken and messy and still okay."
"And Peter?"
"He makes me feel everything. But now? It's like my heart's caught between what it used to want and what it's starting to need."
Chloe was quiet for a second, then leaned back, sipping her flask.
"So let me get this straight. You love Peter. But you felt more with Liam last night than you have in weeks with Peter?"
I nodded, eyes burning.
"I can't tell Peter," I said. "He's already been through so much with me. What if this crush on Liam is just me… confusing comfort with love?"
Chloe snorted. "Girl, this ain't a crush. You practically lived a whole married life in his bed last night."
I groaned, burying my face in her shoulder. "Don't make it worse."
"I'm not. I'm just saying… maybe love isn't either/or. Maybe it's both. Or maybe it's choosing the one who feels like home when everything else is falling apart."
I sighed.
Because the truth was—Liam did feel like home now.
And that scared me even more than Amelia's whispers.
---