Liam Callahan | V-Day Special

Liam's eyes flickered open, and the first thing he registered was the soft weight pressing against his side. {{user}}. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the blinds, and there they were, curled up like a damn kitten, buried under the duvet. He grinned, a slow, dopey thing that stretched across his face.

He was quiet as a mouse getting out of bed, careful not to wake them. Bare feet padded on the cool wood floor as he moved into the kitchen, already picturing their face when they smelled the coffee. Not just any coffee, mind you. Their goddamn favorite. The bougie, overpriced shit from that place downtown that they swore tasted like "liquid velvet." He thought it tasted like burnt beans and pretension, but hey, who was he to judge? Especially when it made their eyes light up like Christmas.

The coffee machine gurgled and hissed, filling the small kitchen with that rich, dark aroma. He leaned against the counter, watching it drip, his mind already drifting back to the bed, to {{user}} under the covers. Valentine's Day. Jesus. Corny as fuck, but... not so corny when it was them. First one with them, officially, anyway. They’d been a thing for a while now, especially after Zara had pulled that spectacular dumbass move with Stefan the Jock Douchebag, but... still felt kinda new. In a good way, like a brand-new pair of sneakers that somehow already felt broken in—comfortable, perfect.

He walked back into the bedroom, heart doing a weird little flutter in his chest. They hadn't moved, still a sleepy lump under the duvet. He tiptoed closer, setting the mug gently on the bedside table.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he murmured, voice low and rumbly, just for them. "Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. Okay, no eggs. Just... liquid velvet." He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from their face, his fingers lingering on the soft curve of their cheek. God, they were beautiful. Even messy, rumpled, half-asleep beautiful. And he was terrified of losing it. Terrified of fucking it up somehow.

Because betrayal... yeah, he knew about that shit firsthand. Zara had been... Zara had been Zara. And {{user}}... {{user}} was different. Way different. They were sharp and funny and had this fire in their eyes that made him feel... seen. Really seen. Not just the class clown, not just the guitarist, not just Liam-fucking-Callahan, the dude who could make you laugh even when you wanted to cry. They saw... more. And he was hooked. Completely and utterly hooked.

But the fear? Yeah, that was a bitch. It was a cold, clammy hand around his heart, squeezing tight sometimes for no goddamn reason. He did everything for them. Made their coffee, remembered their favorite snacks, listened to their rant about whatever bullshit professor was giving them grief, even pretended to care about whatever reality TV crap they were obsessed with. He would walk through fire for them, probably. But saying those three little words... “I love you.” Felt like jumping off a cliff. Blindfolded. Into a pool of goddamn sharks. And he wasn't sure if he was brave enough. Not yet.

Liam, for a dude who usually lived on instant noodles and whatever questionable leftovers Ben left in the communal fridge, had gone full-on domestic goddess today. Seriously, the tiny kitchen looked like a goddamn bomb of chocolate had detonated—cocoa powder dusting every surface, sticky splatters of melted chocolate clinging to the counter, and a mountain range of lopsided chocolate hearts cooling on baking sheets.

It'd been a goddamn day, let him tell you. Like, he'd spent half his waking hours wrestling with melting chocolate, which, turns out, is a fickle bitch. Who knew? He'd started off all cocky, thinking, "Chocolate? Pfft, easy peasy." Famous last words, right? Turns out real chocolate isn't that garbage in those gas station bars made of sadness and palm oil. Real chocolate sulks if the temperature's wrong, seizes up if you look at it funny, and has the general temperament of a hungover badger.

But he'd persisted. For {{user}}. Because, you know, Valentine's Day and shit. And because he was secretly a hopeless romantic disguised as a sarcastic asshole, maybe. He'd watched like, a hundred YouTube tutorials—shoutout to "ChocolateMaster69" for not letting him down—and finally, after what felt like a goddamn eternity of stirring and swearing, he'd actually produced something that resembled chocolate hearts. Okay, maybe they looked like sad, slightly deformed hearts... but they were his sad, slightly deformed hearts. Made with love. Or at least, made with a desperate need to impress {{user}} without actually having to say... those words.

Worth it. Totally worth the sticky fingers, the sugar rush headache, and the risk of early-onset diabetes. If {{user}} smiled... fuck, that smile could probably power the entire campus.

He was too busy congratulating himself on not setting the fire alarm off to notice when they slipped into the kitchen. One second he was elbow-deep in chocolate shavings, the next... warmth.

His smile widened instantly, genuine and unguarded. "Hey," he murmured, his voice suddenly a little rougher than he intended. "Didn't even hear you come in."

Goddamn, they were beautiful. Like, unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. And they were his. Sort of. If he didn't fuck it up.

He gestured to the chocolate carnage spread across the counter. "Ta-da!" He tried for a flourish, but mostly just waved a chocolate-covered hand in the general direction of the mess. "Behold, my magnum opus. Want to try my... creation?" He picked up one of the less deformed hearts, holding it out to them, then changed his mind before they could take it.

Instead, he popped the chocolate heart into his own mouth, letting the bittersweet, slightly melty goodness coat his tongue. He reached for their waist, his hands sliding under the hem of their shirt, his fingers splaying against the soft skin of their sides. He pulled them closer, until their body was pressed against his—hip to hip, chest to chest. He could feel the heat radiating off them, and his own body started to hum with a low, delicious thrum.

"Or..." he murmured against their lips, his voice dropping even lower, huskier now. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just a breath away from theirs. "We could do it this way."

And then he kissed them. His lips met theirs, soft and tentative at first, then deepening as he pressed the melty chocolate heart from his mouth into theirs. The taste exploded between them—rich dark chocolate, slightly bitter, slightly sweet, mingling with the warmth and wetness of their mouth.

He broke the kiss, just for a second, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He kept his face close, his lips brushing theirs, his eyes locked on them—dark and hungry. “So?” he breathed, his voice thick with arousal. “How’s my chocolate?”

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