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Chapter Twenty

Nico

I woke up with Bradley in my arms and immediately knew this was it.

This was the happiest I’d ever been.

Not the kind of happiness you blast from a rooftop or write songs about. Nothing loud or cinematic. Just this gentle, steady hum in my chest. A warmth that radiated from where his back was pressed against my chest, like my body had found a puzzle piece it didn’t know was missing.

He was still asleep, breathing soft and slow, one of his hands curled beneath his chin like a kid hiding from a bad dream. And I didn’t move. Wouldn’t dare. Like if I so much as shifted, the moment would break.

I’m not used to this. Caring for someone else.

I’m the funny guy. The crowd-pleaser. The snarky bastard with punchlines for blood and sarcasm for skin. I don’t let people in. I don’t let them stay. My humor’s always been armor. Sharp, shiny, and loud enough to distract people from what hid underneath.

But with Bradley, the armor didn’t work.

He saw right through it. Hell, he walked right past it like it wasn’t even there. He cried in my arms last night like I was someone worth trusting. Worth leaning on. And instead of freezing or joking or making it weird, I just… held him. Because I wanted to.

God help me, I care about him.

I ran my thumb gently along his side, just under the hem of his shirt. His skin was soft there. Warm. He murmured something in his sleep and shifted, but didn’t pull away. Didn’t tense up. If anything, he relaxed more.

And I swear to God, that single tiny movement made something inside me come undone.

How the hell did this happen? How did I fall for the one guy in the world more broken than I am?

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the spell.

I winced, reached for it slowly so I wouldn’t wake him.

A text from Liam:

Is Bradley with you? We’ve been trying to get a hold of him but he’s not returning our texts.

Of course.

I sighed and glanced at the man asleep next to me. I didn’t want this moment to end. Didn’t want to share him. Not yet. Just a few more minutes of stillness. Of not thinking about rent or work or whatever fresh crisis was probably being cooked up at Boys On Film.

But I knew Bradley needed the money. Hell, he needed the hope of the money.

So I kissed the back of his head gently and whispered, “Hey, babe. Liam’s trying to get a hold of you.”

He stirred, groaned, and blinked up at me through a curtain of hair.

“Probably about work,” I added. “Where’s your phone?”

He blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe on your couch?”

I handed him my phone. “Just use mine.”

Bradley propped himself up on one elbow, clearly still in the thick of a sleep fog. He dialed, and Liam picked up on the first ring.

“Good morning,” Bradley mumbled, voice gravelly with sleep.

There was a beat. Then I heard Liam’s voice, amused: “Morning? It’s two in the afternoon, sweetheart.”

Bradley jerked upright like someone had slapped him with a calendar. “Wait—what?”

I laughed softly as he shot me a look like I’d betrayed him by not waking him sooner. But honestly? He’d needed the rest. Desperately. And if giving him a few more hours of peace made me the bad guy, then call me Satan in sweatpants.

From the phone, I could hear Liam again. His tone had shifted—lighter, but curious. “We kinda figured something was going on. You and Nico ghosted us after yesterday. Jack wants both of you at the studio to talk through a new couple’s series. Interested?”

Bradley rubbed his face. “Yeah, fine. We’ll be there in a little while.”

He hung up, dropped the phone to the mattress, and flopped back onto the pillow with a groan.

“They know,” he muttered.

I raised an eyebrow. “Know what?”

“That we’re… whatever this is.”

I smirked. “Is ‘whatever this is’ the technical term now?”

He turned his head to look at me, face still soft from sleep. “Apparently.”

I leaned over and kissed him.

He blinked, startled, then whispered, “I have horrific morning breath.”

“I don’t give a damn,” I said, and kissed him again, slower this time.

He didn’t pull away.

Bradley was always careful with touch. Wary.

Like he expected people to recoil the second they got close enough to see the cracks.

But this morning—afternoon, whatever—he didn’t flinch.

He leaned into it. Into me. And I didn’t know what to do with that except hold it like something fragile and precious and entirely undeserved.

We lay there for a while, face to face, the air thick with quiet. No awkwardness. Just… stillness.

Then Bradley whispered, “You don’t really want to do porn.”

I didn’t even try to deny it.

“You want to make people laugh,” he continued. “Entertain them.”

I exhaled slowly. “Yeah. You’re right. But if porn keeps me afloat, I can live with it.” I reached out and brushed my fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ear.

“What about you?” I asked. “What do you want?”

Bradley hesitated.

The way his face tightened, just a little. The way his lips pressed into a line.

“To survive,” he said at last, barely above a whisper. “That’s my sole goal now. Nothing else matters.”

I felt those words like a bruise under my ribs.

God, he meant it.

Not to thrive. Not to dream. Just to make it through.

I reached out and cupped his cheek. “Hey.”

He looked at me.

I leaned in and kissed him again. This time slow, soft, and full of everything I didn’t know how to say.

You’re worth more than just surviving.

You matter.

I see you.

He kissed me back. Not with heat or hunger, but with something deeper. Something that said, I’m scared, but I’m still here.

When we finally broke apart, I rested my forehead against his and smiled.

* * *

Bradley and I stepped into the lobby at Boys On Film, and Dimitri looked up from the front desk and gave us both a lazy smile. “Welcome back, lovers.”

What the hell? How does Dimitri or anyone else know what’s happening between me and Bradley?

Petyr popped out from behind a stack of paperwork like a startled meerkat. “Oh, thank God. Jack and Liam have been asking about you every five minutes. Where the hell have you been?” He gave Bradley a once-over, then a not-so-subtle wink. “You okay? You look…rested.”

I opened my mouth to tell him to knock it off, but he was already fluttering his hands toward the hallway.

“Just go,” he said. “They’re in the back office waiting for you.”

We made our way through the maze of hallways. Posters of past productions lined the walls: Buff Boi Beach Patrol, Hole Patrol 7, Dungeons & Daddies. All framed like they were Oscar winners. A crooked poster caught my eye, and I had to physically restrain myself from fixing it.

As we passed Studio A, I paused and blinked.

Inside, Laura stood in full nun regalia—veil, rosary, the works—but was also wielding a riding crop like it was holy scripture.

“Again,” she barked at the man tied to the Saint Andrew’s cross in front of her. “With more reverence! Jesus died for your sins, now you better cum like he meant it.”

Bradley made a small noise, like his soul was leaving his body.

Two studios down, we passed another open doorway. Inside, a very tan, very oiled-up man was jerking off on a bed while a camera operator circled around him, shooting a variety of angles.

“More longing in the eyes!” the cameraman shouted. “Pretend you’re Romeo, but horny.”

Bradley just kept walking like this was normal, which, in this building, it was.

Just another day at Boys On Film.

When we finally reached Jack and Liam’s shared office, the door was open and Nessa was already inside, seated like she owned the room—which, vibe-wise, she kind of did.

She wore oversized hoop earrings, a leopard print blazer, and the sort of expression that made me brace for either gossip or a business pitch. Possibly both.

Jack and Liam were behind their shared desk, laptops open, looking entirely too caffeinated.

“Ah, the boys of the hour,” Jack said, gesturing for us to sit. “Take a load off. You both look like you’ve survived war. And maybe got laid?”

“Jack,” Liam hissed.

“I’m just observing,” Jack replied innocently.

Bradley and I sat down next to each other on the little couch in front of the desk. Nessa gave me a long, theatrical once-over, then tilted her head, pouted, and said, “Aww. Look at your poor face. Did someone finally feel something?”

I blinked at her.

“We’re here for the meeting, Nessa,” I said flatly.

She smirked and leaned forward, clapping her hands together. “Okay, fine. Down to business. We’re launching a new series. It’s different from the usual dick-centric plotless pounding.”

Jack sighed. “Please don’t call it that.”

“It’s true,” she replied. “Most porn out there is made for men. Visual, aggressive, very… smash-and-dash. But this new series? We’re flipping the script. It’s going to be for women.”

Bradley raised his eyebrows. “Like… feminist porn?”

“Like erotic,” Liam clarified. “Sensual. Intimate. Still filthy, obviously. Just with… plot. Chemistry. Emotion.”

“Feels,” Nessa said dramatically, placing her hand over her heart like she’d just watched the end of The Notebook. “We’re talking candles. Eye contact. Beautiful lighting. Whispers. But also orgasms. Multiple orgasms. You get the idea.”

Bradley glanced at me like he was wondering if we’d just joined a cult.

And then Nessa turned to me, laser focused.

“And since you’re clearly determined to have the FEELS for this former jailbird,” she said, stabbing her acrylic nail in Bradley’s direction like she was naming a suspect in a murder mystery, “this series is perfect for both of you.”

I opened my mouth to object, but all that came out was a croaky “I—”

“Save it,” she said. “We’ve seen you two together. It’s like Call Me By Your Name meets Broke Boys in Love. And if we don’t put that on camera, we’re wasting a great story.”

Bradley coughed awkwardly, his cheeks pink.

I leaned back and muttered, “Oh god.”

“Oh god yes,” Nessa said, clearly delighted with herself.

“We’re gonna shoot a short pilot scene in a couple of days.

You two will be in bed, making out, talking softly about your dreams while massaging each other’s feet.

You know what I’m talking about. Then sex.

Tasteful, romantic sex. Maybe in a moonlit shower. ”

Jack cut in. “We’re still working out the exact format.”

“We’re workshopping,” Liam added.

I glanced at Bradley. He looked torn between panic and something dangerously close to amusement.

I gave his knee a quick squeeze.

Honestly?

We could do this.

If it meant money in his pocket and more time on comedy stages for me, why the hell not?

Also? If I got to kiss him under soft lighting in a studio that didn’t smell like sweat and other bodily fluids, that was a win too.

I turned back to Nessa.

“Do we get candles with actual wicks or battery-operated?”

She grinned. “Both. And a smoke machine.” Nessa was practically vibrating in her seat now, like she’d mainlined espresso.

“This is gonna be revolutionary,” she said, eyes gleaming.

“A new frontier of filthy feelings. Gay porn with soul! With tenderness! With backstory and slow burns and forehead kisses before blowjobs.”

Jack winced. “I… don’t know if we’re calling it that.”

“Oh, we are absolutely calling it that,” Nessa replied, pulling her phone from the inside of her blazer like it was a sacred relic.

“I’ve already started a Pinterest board.

Mood lighting, bed linen inspiration, titles like Hard Boys, Soft Moans and Lube & Lavender.

And the music? Don’t even get me started. ”

Bradley, bless him, raised his hand like a kid in class.

“Wait, hang on. I have a question.”

Nessa paused mid-scroll, looked at him.

“If this porn’s being made for women… does that mean it’s going to be, uh… straight porn?”

The room fell weirdly quiet for a beat.

And then Nessa howled.

“HA! Oh my God, no!” She slapped her thigh like this was the funniest thing she’d heard all week. “Absolutely not! Straight porn is the problem, baby!”

She jabbed at her phone again, then held it up like it was a glowing tablet of divine wisdom.

“Here. Look.”

She passed it to Jack, who blinked, then passed it to Liam, who blushed and passed it to me. I tilted the screen so Bradley could see too.

A Pornhub analytics chart. Title: What Women Actually Watch When No One’s Looking.

Top result? Gay male porn. Followed by lesbian porn. Straight porn didn’t even make the podium.

Bradley blinked. “Seriously?”

“Two dicks are better than one, baby,” Nessa said proudly.

“Women don’t want to see straight porn because it’s all jack hammering, crappy angles and some dude named Chad calling the girl a slut while he forgets she has a face.

But two guys in love? Moaning? Crying a little?

Taking their time?” She kissed her fingers. “Chef’s kiss.”

Liam nodded, clearly on board. “There’s a whole untapped audience of women out there who are so ready for something real. And hot. And emotionally resonant.”

Jack added, “It’s honestly kind of genius. And the two of you… have chemistry. Real chemistry. You’re not just hot on camera—you’re compelling.”

Bradley ducked his head, and I could tell he didn’t know what to do with that. Like the compliment hit a place in him that hadn’t been visited in a long time. Maybe ever.

I squeezed his hand beneath the desk. He squeezed back.

Just as Nessa opened her mouth to wax on more about women and gay porn, the desk intercom crackled to life.

Jack leaned forward, hit the button. “What is it?”

Petyr’s voice came through, nasal and chipper.

“There’s a woman claiming to be Nico’s mother in reception. Should I send her back to your office?”