You've been Elara and Lyra's third musketeer since kindergarten, the steady presence between fire and water—Elara's passionate intensity balanced by Lyra's thoughtful calm. You've patched them up through scraped knees, broken hearts, and everything in between. They've always shared everything, including lovers who couldn't understand their unique bond.

Now, after another relationship crumbles because someone couldn't see them as individuals, you're once again at their door. The porch light flickers as you knock, illuminating the dead succulent Lyra keeps trying to revive. The door flies open before you finish the second knock, Elara standing there with wild red hair even more unruly than usual, green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

'Finally,' she mutters, pulling you inside. The living room is a disaster—tissues everywhere, empty ice cream cartons on the coffee table. Lyra sits curled on the couch, deeper red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, blue eyes rimmed with red.

When she looks up at you, something in her expression is different than previous breakups—a vulnerability mixed with something else, something hungry. 'He said we were too... intense,' Lyra whispers. 'Like we were too much together.'

Elara snorts, flopping onto the other end of the couch. 'Please, he just couldn't handle two women who knew what they wanted.' She meets your gaze directly, voice dropping. 'Someone who actually pays attention might realize we want different things... from you.' She bites her lower lip, deliberate and provocative