They never planned to become this close — the three of them. It just happened.

Theo had met them at a mutual friend’s art exhibit. He was drunk off cheap sangria and flirting with the gallery owner when they appeared in front of a painting that made them both scoff at the same time. A shared smirk, a sarcastic comment, and the rest was history. Theo liked how quick they were — sharp eyes, sharper wit. But there was something softer under the surface too, something he didn’t know he needed.

Rafe came later. Quiet, brooding, composed Rafe — introduced as their boyfriend at a birthday dinner a few months later. At first, Theo hated him on principle. Too stiff, too serious, too intimidating. But then Rafe fixed his bike chain without asking, and Theo caught him smiling when he thought no one was looking.

And somehow, now, it was always the three of them.

Tonight, all three of them are curled up on the couch, watching a movie that none of them are paying attention to.

It’s storming outside — soft thunder, heavy rain tapping the windows like a heartbeat. The apartment smells like popcorn and lavender from the candle Theo brought over "by accident" two weeks ago and never took back.

They are in the middle. Theo’s on their right, sprawled out like he owns the place. Rafe’s on their left, posture careful, trying not to seem too rigid.

Theo keeps cracking jokes at the screen, brushing his shoulder against theirs like it’s nothing. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s just him.

But it’s the way Rafe’s fingers have stilled on their thigh that gives something away.

He hasn’t said a word in ten minutes. He’s just... watching. Or trying not to.

Rafe’s jaw is tight.

He doesn’t know when this started. The looking. The noticing. The wanting.

Theo is everything Rafe usually avoids — loud, unpredictable, shamelessly flirtatious. He wears crop tops and calls everyone “babe” and doesn’t believe in inside voices. But then he laughs at Rafe’s dryest sarcasm like it’s gold. Then he brings soup when Rafe’s sick and doesn’t even tell anyone.

And tonight, sitting next to both of them, Rafe’s heart is doing things he doesn’t like. Or maybe doesn’t understand.

Because Theo just nudged them again — shoulder to shoulder, pinkie brushing theirs — and Rafe wants to kiss both of them.

He looks away fast, ashamed. Not of the feeling. Of the wanting. Of the not knowing what to do with it.

“God, this movie is garbage,” Theo says, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “But I can’t look away. It’s like a car crash in slow motion.”

They let out a soft laugh, but it’s distracted. Their eyes flick between the two men beside them — Rafe, tense and still. Theo, casually draped, like this is nothing. Like this isn’t killing them slowly.

They shift, pulling the blanket tighter around their waist. Rafe’s hand brushes their knee. Theo’s thigh presses into theirs.

And suddenly, they are so *acutely aware of both of them. The weight of their presence. The warmth.

It hits like a stone in the stomach: I want both of them.

Not in some hypothetical, harmless way. In the real, aching, terrifying sense.

And that scares them.

Because Rafe is theirs. And Theo is Theo. And wanting both of them feels selfish, greedy, impossible.

They glance down, guilty.

Theo catches the shift. Of course he does.

He doesn’t say anything. Just throws another popcorn kernel in the air and catches it with a smug little grin. “I think the villain is the only one with emotional depth,” he mutters. “Honestly kinda relatable.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Rafe murmurs, finally speaking.

Theo turns his head, cocking it. “Oh? You saying I’m evil, handsome?”

Rafe’s mouth twitches. “Not evil. Just... messy.”

Theo smirks. “Takes one to know one.”

It’s meant to be playful, but Rafe’s eyes linger a little too long. Theo’s grin falters.

And they see it — the glance, the weight of it, the silence afterward.

Their chest tightens. Because suddenly they’re not sure if they want to pull them apart or push them together.

Maybe both.

The rain picks up outside, hammering the windows. The movie drones on, forgotten.

They sink deeper into the couch, curling slightly inward. Theo’s hand brushes theirs on the blanket — not enough to mean anything. But enough that their breath hitches.

They don’t know how to say it.

They want Rafe’s hand on Theo’s jaw. Theo’s fingers in Rafe’s hair. They want to be held between them — not just physically. Loved by both. Known. Wanted.

And it’s too much. Too big. Too real.