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By the time Liam finally escaped the VCARB factory, his cheeks ached and his patience was threadbare.
It had started innocently enough, always did. A quick video, they’d said. Just something fun for socials. He should’ve known better. He did know better. This was the third time this month.
They’d had him follow instructions again. Sit here. Look there. Hold still. Tilt your head like that, perfect. Someone had snapped their fingers when he hesitated, laughing when he reacted without thinking. The room had erupted when he did exactly what they wanted.
“Good boy!”
The words rang out, exaggerated and pleased, and Liam’s stomach had dropped even as he laughed along. Cameras loved that laugh, bright, easy, a little embarrassed. He played it off, shaking his head, waving them away while they showered him with mock praise like he’d just performed a trick instead of being the punchline.
He told himself it was harmless. He always did.
Still, as he walked to his car afterward, phone buzzing nonstop with notifications, the phrase clung to him. He didn’t even have to open the app to know what he’d see, comments already pouring in, clipped videos looping endlessly. VCARB’s good boy. Someone give him a treat. Dog emojis everywhere.
Liam exhaled slowly and started the engine.
By the time he reached the apartment, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving something dull and unsettled in its place. He unlocked the door, already picturing Isack sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, ready to tease him for whatever chaos the internet had cooked up this time.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
Liam paused, frowning as he flicked on the light. The living room sat untouched, no Isack, no TV noise, no familiar hum of comfort waiting for him.
“…Isack?” he called.
And for the first time all day, unease crept in where laughter had been.
The quiet didn’t lift.
Liam set his keys down more slowly than usual, listening, really listening for any sign of movement. No muffled laughter from the couch, no game menu music looping too loud, no familiar commentary drifting from the TV. The apartment felt hollow, like it was missing something essential.
“Isack?” he called again, softer this time.
Nothing.
A faint unease settled in his chest. He kicked his shoes off by the door and followed instinct down the hallway, fingers brushing the wall as he passed. The bedroom door was closed, unusual. Isack never bothered, not when it was just the two of them.
Liam stopped just short of it.
He leaned in, pressing his ear gently to the wood. At first, he heard nothing. Then, fabric shifting. A quiet, uneven breath.
“Isack, love?” He knocked lightly, careful not to startle him. “You in there?”
His hand hovered over the handle before turning it slowly, easing the door open inch by inch.
The room was dim, curtains drawn tight against the fading daylight. On the bed, tangled in sheets and blankets, was a small, tense shape curled in on itself. The blanket was pulled high, almost defensive, like armor.
Liam’s heart softened immediately.
“Isack?” he said again, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
A muffled voice answered from somewhere beneath the covers. “Go away.”
The words were weak, nearly swallowed by the pillow. Liam moved closer, sitting carefully on the far edge of the bed so the mattress barely dipped.
“What happened?” he asked gently. “Did something go wrong at Red Bull?”
The bundle shifted away from him, pressing closer to the wall. “I said go away,” Isack repeated, the faintest whine threading through his voice. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
Liam swallowed. “Are you mad at me?”
Silence.
He waited, then reached out, resting his hand lightly on the blanket. “Love,” he murmured, thumb tracing a small, steady circle. “You know nothing’s going to get better if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, right?”
There was a long pause. Then, so quietly Liam almost missed it—
“’M your good boy…”
Liam froze.
“What?” he asked, breath hitching.
The blankets shifted again, Isack turning until his body faced Liam, still curled, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I said…” He hesitated, voice trembling. “I’m your good boy.”
“What?” Liam breathed, eyes widening before he could stop himself.
Isack flinched at the sound of it. He rolled over quickly so his body faced Liam, but his gaze fixed stubbornly on the blankets instead of his boyfriend’s face, fingers worrying at the fabric like he might tear it apart if he held on too tight.
“I said…” He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I’m your good boy.”
The words landed softly, but the meaning behind them hit hard.
A short laugh slipped out of Liam before he could catch it, half surprise, half disbelief. It barely had time to exist before Isack curled in on himself completely, knees pulled to his chest, face buried between them as if folding inward might make him invisible.
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Isack muttered, voice muffled. “I knew you’d laugh.”
“Hey— no, baby.” Liam reached out immediately, stopping himself only long enough to steady his tone. “I’m not laughing at you.” He hesitated, honest to a fault. “Okay, maybe a little, but not because it’s funny. Just… unexpected.”
Isack shook his head, hair brushing against his knees. “It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.”
Liam scooted closer, careful, and rested his hand between Isack’s shoulder blades. He could feel how tense he was, how tightly he was holding himself together.
“Isack,” Liam said softly. “You know that stuff is just for the media, yeah? It doesn’t mean anything. Of course you’ll always be my good boy.”
At that, Isack’s shoulders sagged, but the hurt didn’t leave.
“I knoooow,” he said, dragging the word out miserably. He finally lifted his head just enough to speak into the space between them. “But I don’t like it when they call you that.” His voice wobbled. “Because you’re mine.”
Liam stilled.
“You don’t need it,” Isack continued, words spilling now that they’d started. “You don’t need the praise, or the clapping, or people telling you you did well for doing nothing. I do.” He blinked hard. “That’s… that’s what you call me. Those are my praises. My name.”
It clicked then, sharp and unmistakable.
“Oh,” Liam whispered.
Isack looked up at him at last, eyes bright and a little desperate. “When they say it to you, it feels like they’re taking something. Like they’re stepping into something that isn’t theirs. Something that belongs to us.”
Liam’s chest tightened painfully. He slid closer and pulled Isack into him, arms firm and sure around his back.
“Hey,” he murmured into his hair. “I didn’t realize it felt like that. I’m sorry.”
Isack relaxed just a fraction, leaning into the hold. “I just… don’t want anyone else having that,” he admitted quietly.
“Then they won’t,” Liam said without hesitation. He pulled back just enough to look at him. “Tell you what, if I get the team to stop with the ‘good boy’ pranks, will that help? Even a little?”
Isack hesitated, then nodded.
Liam tilted his head, thumb brushing gently under Isack’s chin. “Use your words, baby.”
Isack’s lips trembled before curving into the faintest smile. “Y-yes, please.”
Liam smiled fully then, soft, warm, unmistakably fond. “Good boy.”
Isack melted into him instantly, smiling as he buried his face in Liam’s shoulder, arms winding tight around his waist. Liam’s hand slipped into his hair, fingers combing through it in slow, familiar strokes, theirs, private and safe, exactly where it belonged.