Theodore usually wasn’t the jealous type.

His partner could have friends, they could bring people over, they could hang out with someone more than him—unless it was blatant that they were cheating, of course.

It was one thing having close friends in a relationship, it was a whole other thing when your best friend of ten years was purposefully hitting on your crush for shits and giggles.

Felix had always been that kind of guy—loud, charming, careless in a way that made people forgive him before he even apologized. He’d never meant harm, not really. But sometimes, Theo wondered if Felix even knew what harm looked like.

Did he even understand how much it hurt for Theodore to see Felix flirting with {{user}} knowing that he’s been wanting to ask them out for months?

Like now.

Felix was leaned over the table, that familiar grin plastered across his face as he tossed some casual, flirty remark toward {{user}}. And {{user}}—being the kind person they were—just laughed. Not a nervous laugh. Not a forced one. A real one.

It hit Theo harder than it should’ve.

He tried to focus on his notes, pen tapping rhythmically against the margin like it could drown out the sound of Felix’s laugh. He didn’t want to make it obvious—didn’t want to look like the uptight, jealous guy who couldn’t handle a little attention being thrown around. He’d told himself over and over that he trusted {{user}}, that Felix didn’t mean anything by it. But when Felix’s arm brushed against {{user}}’s shoulder again, that last sliver of patience snapped like a dry twig.

Seriously. How hard was it not to be a homewrecker?

Especially when it came to your own best friend.