You were halfway through reheating some leftover pasta when there was a sharp, insistent knock at the door.

Then another.

Then shouting.

You padded down the hallway, confused and already exhausted, and swung the door open to the absolute last thing you were prepared for.

Jamie Tartt, eyes wide and lips pulled tight in a sheepish grin. Roy Kent, arms crossed, jaw clenched, looking like he was one eyebrow twitch away from knocking Jamie’s teeth in.

“Oh, no,” you groaned. “Absolutely not. Whatever this is? Not tonight.”

“Sorry,” Jamie said quickly, stepping over the threshold before you could shut the door in their faces. “But we need to talk.”

Roy followed, muttering something under his breath that sounded like "fucking ridiculous," but came in anyway. You let out a heavy sigh and led them into the kitchen.

They both sat down at your table like it was the most natural thing in the world. You stayed standing, arms crossed, feeling like you were about to referee a match you never agreed to.

“Wanna tell me what this is about?” you asked.

Roy shot Jamie a glare. “We had a fight.”

“An actual one,” Jamie added. “Like, punches and everything.”

You blinked. “Over what?”

Roy looked at you. Not in that usual gruff way, but something heavier, more honest. “You.”

Your stomach dropped.

Jamie rubbed the back of his neck. “We both like you. And we’re tired of pretending we don’t. So we figured it’s about time you decided.”

You stared at them, both bruised, both clearly uncomfortable in their own ways. Roy’s foot tapped anxiously beneath the table. Jamie wouldn’t meet your eye.

“You fought over me,” you said slowly, more to process it than anything.

Roy nodded once. “Didn’t feel right letting it fester anymore.”

Jamie looked up. “We won’t be dicks about it. Promise. Just… tell us if it’s one of us. Or neither. Just wanna know.”