Home at Last

Sophie lay half-draped over Liam’s chest, one leg tangled lazily with his, both of them sinking deep into the softness of his apartment couch. The TV flickered in front of them, casting restless blue light across their bare feet, the abandoned blanket, and the two empty mugs that had once held something sweet and warm. Between them, the remote balanced precariously on the armrest, a small prize in a quiet war of comfort.

“What are we watching?” Sophie mumbled into his shirt, as if the answer mattered less than the comfort of speaking into him.

“I’ve been trying to figure that out for ten minutes,” Liam said, voice low, warm. “But someone keeps stealing the remote.”

“It migrated,” she said, flatly accusing.

“It migrated… under your thigh.”

A slow grin curved her lips. “Coincidence.”

Liam reached for the remote with the seriousness of a man disarming a bomb, but she shifted her weight, trapping it completely. He groaned, half-laugh, half-protest.

“You’re impossible,” he said.

“And you’re dramatic.” She tapped his ribs lightly. “Try harder.”

He did. With an exaggerated, heroic lunge, he lunged for the remote. Sophie squeaked and twisted, and in seconds, they were wrestling across the couch like overtired kids fighting for the last cookie. The remote slid onto the rug with a soft thunk.

“Well done,” Sophie panted, pinned under him. “Now we get to watch nothing.”

“That’s fine,” Liam said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I wasn’t watching the screen anyway.”

She felt heat bloom across her cheeks. “Smooth.”

“Pathetically so,” he admitted.

Her ear rested over his heartbeat, steady and strong. They watched the TV anyway—some mindless cooking show full of aggressive garnish placements and flamboyant flambéing. Liam’s snarky commentary made her laugh until her ribs ached, and he chuckled every time she elbowed him in mock protest.

Later, curled together again, Sophie’s hand drifted to the small horse pendant resting against Liam’s collarbone. Her fingers grazed his skin as she caught it between them.

Liam stilled—not in discomfort, but as if she’d touched something sacred.

“This necklace…” Sophie murmured, turning the tiny charm. “I noticed it the first time I saw you.”

Liam let out a soft laugh. “Really?”

“Really. It suits you. And I always felt it meant something.”

He looked like he wanted to joke, but softened instead.

“I wear it all the time,” he said quietly. “Like a lucky charm.”

“Lucky for what?”

“For everything. Stage nerves, disastrous interviews, horse scenes where I was sure I’d end up in a bush. And…” His smile softened, almost shy. “For meeting the right people.”

Sophie nudged his nose with hers. “And now? Does it still protect you?”

He covered her hand with his own. “Considering where we ended up… yes. Better than any amulet.”

She kissed him quickly. “Then never take it off.”

“I won’t,” he murmured. “Unless… you want to wear it someday.”

“Liam…” she laughed. “If I start wearing your jewelry, Claire will file a full crisis report.”

“She probably will. And call me sentimental.”

“You are. Just with me.”

“Only with you.”

The pendant glimmered between their joined hands, a tiny, silent witness to everything they’d found in each other.

The cooking show shifted to commercials. Liam fished the remote from the rug, lifting it by the strap. Sophie scooted closer, stealing half the blanket, and leaned into him like she belonged there, like she had always belonged there.

“What now?” she asked, voice soft, curious.

“I’m trying to find something we won’t argue about.”

“That doesn’t exist,” she said. “You hate animal documentaries. I hate everything with explosions.”

“Correction. You hate everything with pointless explosions.”

“Is there another kind?”

Liam sighed theatrically. “Fine. Compromise.” He clicked through the channels until a cheerful home-renovation show appeared: couples swinging sledgehammers like therapy, demolishing walls with unnerving glee.

“This?” Sophie asked.

“Neutral zone,” Liam declared. “Safe, boring, no emotional manipulation. Perfect.”

She laughed, snuggling closer. Silence stretched, comfortable and easy, until Sophie finally broke it.

“Can I ask something?”

“Always.”

“When you said earlier… about meeting the right people… you meant me?”

His gaze softened. “Of course I meant you.”

Her throat tightened, emotion raw. “I didn’t expect any of this. I thought the film would just be work. I thought you’d be… untouchable.”

“Untouchable?” Liam laughed softly. “I almost tripped the first time we met at the production meeting.”

“That made you more untouchable.”

He groaned. “You’re impossible.”

She lifted her face to his. “But… I’m glad it was you.”

His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing slowly across her skin. “I’m glad it was you. Every day.”

He kissed her, deliberate and soft at first, then deeper, until she melted into him and the world narrowed to the warmth of his chest and the rhythm of his heartbeat.

The renovators on TV smashed through a wall, metal clanging.

“See?” Liam muttered. “Pointless explosions.”

“It’s demolition!” she shot back.

“Same chaotic energy.”

She shoved him lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He kissed her temple. “And you love it.”

She didn’t deny it.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

They froze.

“Maybe if we stay still, they’ll go away,” Liam whispered.

“Depends who’s at the door.”

Another knock, louder. Impatient.

Liam groaned, reluctantly disentangling himself. He opened the door to Max and Claire, standing with matching expressions of suspicion and mild judgment.

“We’re just checking in,” Claire said lightly. “Making sure the world hasn’t collapsed.”

“And making sure Liam hasn’t eaten Sophie,” Max added, deadpan.

“We survived,” Sophie called.

Claire stepped inside. “Good.” She nudged Max until he straightened.

“Anyway,” Claire continued, “since Riders of Destiny is pulling huge numbers… the director is thinking about a sequel.”

Sophie and Liam exchanged a look, excitement sparking amid calm.

“Think we’d do it?” Liam asked.

“Why not?” Sophie smiled.

“And the band?” Liam added.

“Scheduling wizard,” Max declared proudly. “Handled.”

Back on the couch, Liam wrapped an arm around Sophie like it was instinctual, natural.

“What if,” Liam murmured, “we just enjoy ourselves for now?”

“That sounds even better,” she whispered.

Claire crossed her arms. “The film?”

“It can wait,” Sophie said gently. “We need time for us.”

Max raised his hands dramatically. “Liam? Sophie? The film?”

Liam grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him; Max caught it without blinking.

“Not yet?” Max grinned.

“Not yet,” Liam said quietly, brushing Sophie’s hair back. “Maybe later.”

Later. Max and Claire understood; they exchanged a knowing look and left, closing the door. Silence settled—warm, intimate, unbroken.

Liam cupped Sophie’s face. “I’m not good with quiet feelings,” he whispered, voice shaking. “Everything I feel for you… is loud. Too loud. Too messy.”

Sophie swallowed, heart racing. “Then stop pretending you can live half a life.”

He exhaled, a tremor in his chest. “I’ve tried. But I’m done pretending. I need all of it… all of us.”

She leaned closer until their foreheads touched. “So don’t.”

For a heartbeat, they just existed, holding the tension like something sacred. Then Liam’s voice broke, raw and unfiltered:

“I’m in love with you. Messy, ridiculous, out-of-control in love with you. And if you walk away… I don’t know how I’d ever come back.”

Her chest cracked open. “I’m not walking away.”

That was enough.

He kissed her like a man drowning who had finally found air. She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing back every fear, every hope, every second they had hidden from themselves.

When they finally broke for breath, Liam pressed his forehead to hers, voice ragged. “You’re it for me. Always have been. Always will be.”

Sophie smiled through tears. “Then prove it.”

And he did. Arms tight around her, they melted into each other, letting the world fall away.

No scripts. No cameras.
Just the quiet, the warmth, the heartbeat.

Home.
They were finally home—in each other’s arms, unshakable, and real.