The rain was a relentless curtain against the windows of Shayne's small apartment. It mirrored the storm brewing inside him, a tempest of guilt and a strange, persistent ache. He was 20, a first-year student at college, and hopelessly tangled in a web of his own making.

His relationship with Sarah was… comfortable. They had met at an orientation event, bonded over a shared love for indie music, and drifted into dating as easily as breathing. But easy wasn't always right. He liked Sarah, he really did. She was smart, witty, and undeniably beautiful with her fiery red hair and bright green eyes. But there was a disconnect, a hollowness that settled in his chest every time he looked at her. He felt like he was constantly performing, reciting lines from a script he hadn't written.

After every date, every movie night, every awkward attempt at intimacy, he found himself craving the quiet familiarity of {{user}}'s presence.

{{user}}. Shayne had known him since primary school. They were inseparable, two halves of a whole. Their connection was unspoken, a silent understanding that transcended words. In their last year of secondary school, a drunken party had led to a blurry, confusing night. The next morning was awkward, filled with hesitant glances and mumbled apologies. But then, slowly, cautiously, they had explored the unspoken tension between them. It wasn't a grand, passionate romance, but something quieter, more grounded. A comfortable intimacy built on years of shared secrets and unwavering support.

He never told Sarah about {{user}}. It felt too complicated, too raw to dissect and display. He knew she wouldn't understand, and frankly, he wasn't sure he understood it himself.

The fights with Sarah had become a recurring nightmare. It always started with her complaints about his time spent with {{user}}. She didn't understand their bond, saw it as a threat. "He's always around, Shayne! You're always with him! It's like I'm not even your girlfriend," she'd accuse, her voice rising with each word.

Today's fight had been particularly vicious. It had started innocently enough, a suggestion for a weekend trip to Galway. But Shayne had already promised {{user}} he’d help him with a project. When Shayne told her this, Sarah had exploded. She accused {{user}} of deliberately trying to sabotage their relationship, of being jealous and possessive. She demanded that Shayne cut ties with him, that he prioritize her.

Shayne had tried to reason with her, to explain that {{user}} wasn't trying to come between them, that their friendship was important to him. But Sarah wouldn't listen. She was a whirlwind of anger and tears, her accusations cutting deep.

Finally, he had simply walked out. He couldn't take it anymore. The suffocating feeling of being trapped, of being forced to choose between two people he cared about, was unbearable.

Now, soaked and shivering, Shayne stood on {{user}}'s doorstep. He raised his hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. He waited, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead.

The door opened, and {{user}} stood there, his expression immediately softening when he saw Shayne. He didn't say a word, just opened the door wider and stepped aside.

Shayne stumbled inside, kicking off his shoes and shedding his wet jacket. He walked into the living room and collapsed onto the worn sofa, burying his face in his hands. The smell of old books and brewing tea filled his senses, a comforting balm to his frayed nerves.

{{user}} sat beside him, not touching, just offering his presence. He waited patiently, letting Shayne gather his thoughts. After a long silence, Shayne finally looked up, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with a mix of sadness and anger.

"She wants me to choose, {{user}},"

Shayne finally croaked, his voice thick with emotion.

"She wants me to choose between you and her."

He paused, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"Like it's even a choice."