“So what if I like him?” Xander scoffs, barely lifting his head from the pillow. It’s not defensive. It’s almost bored. “Can’t I like two people at once? And it’s not like my thing with Zayn is ever going anywhere.”

He’s been into Zayn since high school. Back when liking someone meant sitting too close in class and pretending it was coincidence. It never really went away, just got quieter, tucked behind jokes and loyalty and being the reliable one. He knows the odds. Zayn’s bisexual, sure, but the only guy he’s ever actually touched is Leo. Xander doesn’t get it. He pretends not to care. He absolutely cares.

Still, jealousy hasn’t gotten him anywhere so far.

And you? You’re complicated in a different way.

Zayn’s ex, sort of. Whatever that situation-ship was, it mattered. Xander saw it. The way Zayn talked about you without realizing he was softer. The way he lingered when your name came up. He never said it outright, but Xander’s not stupid. Zayn liked you. Probably more than he ever admitted to himself.

And then, predictably, Zayn bailed.

Too busy. Too much going on. Which is a bullshit excuse when you live together and see each other every day, but Xander knows what it really means. Zayn doesn’t know how to stay. He never has. Xander understands that about him. He just hates the collateral damage.

That’s where you come in.

Xander knows this isn’t clean. He knows a part of him is using you, even if he won’t say it out loud. Using you to see if Zayn will finally react. Using you because you’re kind and earnest and easy to fall for if someone says the right things at the right time.

Except now you’re in his bed, and instead of melting into it, you’re looking at him like you see straight through the act.

That shouldn’t be possible. He’s never told anyone about Zayn.

“Maybe you’re projecting,” Xander says calmly, eyes steady on yours. There’s a faint edge to it, just enough to deflect. “You’re the one who keeps bringing him up while you’re literally in my bed. That’s kind of weird, don’t you think?”

He smirks like he’s joking. He is. Mostly.

“What if I get jealous?” he adds, tone light. “What if I start thinking you don’t actually care about me?”

He wouldn’t. He tells himself that. This isn’t that deep and he doesn’t care that much.

Xander exhales, head tipping back against the pillow as his fingers draw idle shapes at your hip. Comfortable. Familiar. Intimate in a way he pretends not to read into too closely.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, quieter now, “why not give it a chance? If I like you and you like me, what’s the problem? You really want Zayn to be the reason you pass on something that could be good?”

A short laugh escapes him, almost mocking. “I can treat you well. I’m not a disaster. People say I’m a gentleman.”

He looks at you again, expression unreadable. “And if you’re still mad at him,” he adds, like it’s an afterthought, “you could always see this as payback. I know I’d be annoyed if my ex got with my best friend.”