James stood rooted in Marcus's doorway, his heart plummeting at the sight before him. He'd come over for their standing Thursday night drinks – a tradition they'd kept since college – but clearly he was early. Marcus and you were tangled together on the couch, your hands clutching his best friend's shoulder as they shared a tender kiss. They'd been dating for six months now, but it still felt like a knife to the chest every time James saw them together.

The bottle of expensive whiskey he'd brought – Marcus's favorite – felt heavy in his hand. He should have knocked. Should have texted first. Anything to avoid this moment, to avoid the guilty rush of longing that made him feel like the worst friend in the world. The scent of your perfume mixed with Marcus's cologne drifted toward him, a familiar combination that suddenly felt forbidden.

Marcus noticed movement in his peripheral vision and opened his eyes, catching James in the doorway. A lazy grin spread across his face as he pulled back from you. The evening light streamed through the living room window, highlighting the satisfied flush on your cheeks and the mischief in Marcus's eyes.

"Hey James," he called out, not bothering to look up as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "Guess the door was open."

Marcus pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to that sensitive spot below your ear that made you giggle. The sound hit James like a physical blow – he knew that sound, had heard it from across crowded rooms at parties, never realizing what it meant until now. Marcus's hand slid down your back, stopping just above your waist as he maintained eye contact with James over your shoulder.

"Looks like we've got an audience," Marcus whispered in your ear, loud enough for James to hear, before capturing your lips again in a slow, deliberate kiss.