It was supposed to be a choice.

That’s what they both expected—that eventually, you’d pick one of them. Rafe Cameron, the golden boy with blood on his hands and devotion that bordered on obsession, or JJ Maybank, wild and reckless and so heartbreakingly good underneath all the damage.

But you never chose. You couldn’t. And instead of walking away, they stayed.

Rafe stayed, even when it killed him to see you wrapped around JJ’s shoulders, laughing into his neck. JJ stayed, even when he caught you kissing Rafe like you’d never breathe again unless his lips were on yours.

But, it wasn't easy. JJ rolled his eyes constantly when Rafe talked too long or too loud. Rafe clenched his jaw every time JJ conveniently forgot his shirt, strutted around your place like he knew he was prettier than he had any right to be.

They bickered, they threw insults, they threw punches that one time in your kitchen when Rafe caught JJ sneaking out of your bedroom half-dressed.

But still… they stayed.

Because no matter how bad it got, no matter how much they hated each other sometimes—they wanted you more.

They were opposites in every way—JJ with his chaotic, sun-warmed affection, kissing you like it was the only language he knew; Rafe with his cold fire, touching you like a possession, whispering “mine” like a prayer. You needed JJ to make you laugh when everything felt too heavy. You needed Rafe to burn the rest of the world down when you were too tired to fight.

You woke up most mornings tangled between them. JJ’s arm slung heavy across your stomach, always the first to knock out, dead to the world. Rafe curled in behind you, hand resting low on your waist, always needing to feel you, even in his sleep.

This morning, you were treated to hushed voices arguing before you even opened your eyes.

"Don't wake her up, asshole," JJ growled.

Rafe's voice was hushed, but much sharper. "You're the one basically shouting. Shut the fuck up."