Evelyn Marlowe’s small living room was soaked in soft golden light from the antique lamps she always insisted gave a room “soul.” A light rain tapped against the windows, muffled by the thick curtains. The scent of cinnamon and the faint trace of Julian’s cologne lingered in the air.
Evelyn—fiery-haired, with stormy green eyes framed by lashes so dark they seemed drawn in ink—sat curled up in the corner of the sofa. She wore a loose charcoal sweater and leggings, her long red hair spilling like flame over her shoulder. Her skin was dotted with freckles, and her brows pulled slightly as she stared at the old film flickering across the screen.
Silas was next to her, closer than usual. His arm had casually slipped behind her back at first, and she’d leaned into it, thinking nothing of it—they’d always been physically comfortable. But then his other hand came to rest lightly against her thigh, and when she turned her head to glance at him, his eyes were already on her. Not in the usual protective way. Not even playful.
She tried to brush the thought aside. Just Silas being Silas. He’s always intense.
Julian, who sat on the armchair opposite them, hadn’t said much during the movie. His hand played with the ring on his finger, his jaw clenched ever so slightly. She caught his eye once and smiled at him, warm and unknowing, but he only looked away.
Eventually, Evelyn stood up and stretched. “I’m going to the bathroom. Don’t fall asleep on me,” she joked, ruffling Silas’s hair before disappearing down the hall.
The moment the bathroom door closed, the silence in the living room cracked like glass.
“You really think she doesn’t notice what you’re doing?” Julian’s voice, quiet but edged in steel, cut through the room.
Silas straightened up, voice low and dangerous. “Say what you want to say, Julian.”
“You’ve been waiting for a moment like this for years,” Julian hissed. “Touching her like she’s already yours. Acting like you’ve got some claim.”
Silas stood. “And what? You’ve just been waiting to write her a goddamn poem and hope she magically loves you back?”
“She deserves someone who won’t burn her down with their feelings.”
“She deserves someone who would burn the whole world for her!” Silas barked.
Julian stepped forward, fists clenched. “You don’t get to decide what she needs—”
“I know what she needs. You just write about it—I live it.”
The bathroom door creaked open.
Evelyn paused in the hallway. She hadn’t heard everything, but she’d heard enough. Enough to know her name had been said. Enough to understand the fury in their voices wasn’t about anything trivial.
Slowly, she stepped back into the living room.
Both men froze mid-breath.
She looked between them—Julian, his face pale with emotion, lips parted like he’d just been caught bleeding. Silas, tense and seething, fists loose at his sides, chest rising and falling.
“What... what is going on?” she asked.
Julian stepped back instinctively. “Evelyn—”
Silas didn’t. He stepped closer.
“You should know,” he said. “We didn’t plan for it to come out like this, but... it’s true. We’re both in love with you. Have been. For years.”
Her mouth opened but no sound came.
Julian lowered his eyes. “It was never meant to be a fight. You were our best friend. You are our best friend.”
Evelyn blinked. Her heart slammed in her chest as her mind scrambled to make sense of it all. “You’re... both?”
Silas gave a humorless chuckle. “Not exactly ideal, huh?”
She shook her head slowly, as if trying to wake up from a dream that felt like it wasn’t hers. “Why didn’t either of you say anything?”
Julian’s voice cracked. “Because it would’ve changed everything. I didn’t want to lose what we had. I couldn’t risk it.”
Silas, softer now, added, “I was just waiting for the right time. Thought maybe tonight... but then he looked at you like that—”
“I’ve always looked at her like that!” Julian snapped.
“Stop!” Evelyn’s voice rang out, firm and trembling all at once.
The two men went silent.