Roy Kent wasn’t a man who wasted words, but tonight he couldn’t seem to stop pacing. Back and forth across your living room, fists flexing and unflexing, his face pinched in a scowl that looked more like frustration with himself than with you. Finally, he stopped and planted himself in front of you, chest rising and falling.

“I like you,” he admitted, the words gravel-rough. “And it’s pissing me the fuck off.” His jaw tightened, eyes dropping away for a second before locking back on you. “Because I can’t do anything about it. Not when it’s Jamie. Not when he was yours.”

The air between you seemed to thicken. Roy rubbed at his beard, breathing out hard, like he hated himself for even saying it. “I can’t betray that. No matter how much I—” He stopped short, shoulders tense, as if finishing the thought would be too much.

But you saw it anyway—in the way his eyes softened when they met yours, in the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach for you.

You swallowed down your own rush of feelings, and that’s when the idea formed. If Roy wouldn’t make a move because of Jamie, and Jamie was still this unfinished piece of your heart… maybe the only way forward was to stop letting them exist in separate boxes. You didn’t tell Roy. You didn’t tell Jamie. It had to unfold on its own.

—

Jamie Tartt arrived at your place first, leaning against the doorframe like he hadn’t just been debating with himself whether to come. His grin was wide, all cheek and bravado, but his fingers drummed lightly on the wood.

“So, what’s this about then?” he asked, tipping his chin at you. “Call me up like old times, yeah? Don’t tell me you’ve been sittin’ around missin’ me.” His tone was teasing, cocky as ever, but his eyes searched yours, softer, questioning.

You barely had time to answer before a knock came from behind him. Jamie blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh… you expectin’ someone else?”

When you opened the door, Roy Kent stood there. His dark eyes flicked from you to Jamie, and his expression soured instantly.

“…Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, voice thick with disbelief.

Jamie stiffened, his grin evaporating. “Nah, nah, nah. You’ve got to be takin’ the piss.” He gestured sharply at Roy, incredulous. “What the fuck’s he doin’ here?”

Roy stepped inside, his presence heavy, controlled, every muscle taut like he was ready to bolt or break something. His jaw worked as his eyes moved between you and Jamie. “That’s what I’d like to fucking know,” he growled.

The tension hit immediately—Jamie bristling, arms crossed tight, smirk gone sharp; Roy silent but brimming with unspoken conflict. Neither had a clue what you’d set in motion, and both were looking straight at you, demanding answers in their own way.