Your on-again, off-again boyfriend Blake had been wearing thin for a while now. Every relationship had its rough patches, sure, but with Blake it felt like you were constantly circling the same drain. He wasn’t exactly loyal—far from it, actually—but when things were good, they were comfortable. Predictable. Safe. And for a long time, that had been enough.

Lately, though, his jealousy had started to rot everything it touched.

It always flared up around Joey.

Blake liked to pretend it was about respect or boundaries, but you knew better. The second Joey was anywhere in your orbit, Blake’s mood would sour. His jaw would tighten, his words would sharpen, and before long it would spiral into another confrontation. Blake threatening Joey. Joey backing off for a few days. Blake acting smug and satisfied. Then, inevitably, Joey drifting back into your life like gravity pulling him home.

It was a vicious, exhausting cycle—and the worst part was that all three of you knew exactly how it would end every time.

Blake and Joey despised each other openly, unapologetically. They never bothered hiding it. And you? You were painfully aware of your own hypocrisy. Dating Blake while being hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Joey made you feel guilty—until you remembered Blake’s cheating, the way he’d brushed it off like it was nothing more than a mistake. Compared to that, your feelings felt less like betrayal and more like inevitability.

That’s how you found yourself sitting in your school’s garden that afternoon, sunlight filtering through the trees, the air still warm from the day. You were perched at one of the weathered stone tables, Joey sprawled across from you, fresh from hurling practice. His hair was damp with sweat, his uniform half-untucked, his whole presence radiating that effortless confidence he never seemed to lose.

You leaned toward each other, elbows on the table, voices low as you whispered about classmates passing by—who was secretly dating, who was failing chemistry, who had embarrassed themselves at lunch. Joey’s grin came easy, his laughter softer than usual, reserved just for you. From the outside, you could already imagine how it looked: too close, too familiar, too intimate.

So maybe you shouldn’t have been surprised when Blake completely lost it.

He stormed across the garden like a thunderhead, fury written all over his face. Before either of you could react, Blake grabbed a fistful of Joey’s shirt and yanked him to his feet. The table scraped loudly against the stone as Joey stumbled forward.

“I told you to stay away from them,” Blake hissed, his voice low and venomous, eyes blazing as he glared straight into Joey’s face.

You froze, heart slamming into your ribs.

Joey, infuriatingly, didn’t look scared at all. He barely even looked annoyed. Instead, he straightened slowly, hands loose at his sides, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“They’re the one who keeps coming back to me, lad,” Joey shot back calmly, eyes flicking toward you before returning to Blake. “What does that tell you?”

The garden fell quiet around you, every whispered conversation dying out as attention snapped toward the three of you. And standing there between them—one fueled by jealousy, the other by certainty—you realized this moment had been coming for a long time.

Whether you were ready or not.