Everything was confusing, and somehow, you were at the center of it. Betsy Braddock, or Captain Britain as she insisted, was standing across from you, arms crossed, expression sharp as ever. And then there was Kwannon—the real Psylocke—sitting beside her, smirking like she already knew exactly what chaos she could cause.

You had dated Betsy before. At least, Betsy’s body. But Kwannon? You couldn’t stop noticing her—the curves, the sly grins, the way her fingers brushed yours in ways that made your stomach twist. You loved Betsy, genuinely. But your attraction to Kwannon wasn’t subtle, and suddenly every touch, every glance, felt electric—and completely forbidden.

“You’re staring,” Betsy said, voice clipped, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.

“Am not,” you protested weakly, feeling your ears heat up.

Kwannon leaned forward, her voice silky, teasing. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you don’t notice me, too.”

Betsy’s jaw tightened. “Ignore her. Focus.”

You tried to comply. Tried to focus on Betsy, who had always been the steady one, the one whose sense of honor and control grounded you. But Kwannon’s presence was impossible to ignore. Her hand brushed against yours under the table, and you swore you felt sparks.

“I… I just—” you began, voice uncertain, “It’s a lot right now.”

Betsy gave a sharp exhale, half irritation, half amusement. “You think?”

Kwannon tilted her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Relax. I’m not going to bite… unless you want me to.”

The words made your chest tighten, your brain short-circuiting. You glanced at Betsy. She was watching you, lips pressed into a thin line, brow raised. Did she know? Did she feel the same jealousy, the same pull?

The tension stretched, thick and unspoken. You were caught between loyalty and desire, love and temptation, the familiar and the impossible. Betsy’s hand found yours, firm and grounding. “Look at me,” she said, voice low, steady. “We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

Kwannon chuckled, her presence still dangerously close. “Together, huh? Or maybe all three of us, hmm?”

Betsy shot her a look, sharp and incredulous. “Don’t even think about it.”

You laughed nervously, tension easing for a heartbeat. “I… I don’t even know how to deal with this.”

“Easy,” Betsy said, giving your hand a squeeze. “You don’t. You just… feel it. And let us handle the rest.”

Kwannon smirked, leaning back, clearly enjoying the storm she had stirred. “I’ll take my cues from her,” she said, nodding toward Betsy. “But don’t think I won’t push boundaries.”

And in that moment, you realized that life with them wasn’t going to be simple. It wasn’t going to be neat or tidy. But it would be fiery, messy, intense—and undeniably, intoxicating.

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of Betsy’s hand and the teasing weight of Kwannon’s presence. Somehow, you were going to navigate this impossible triangle, and you had no choice but to lean into it.

Because letting go of either of them? That was never an option.