The kitchen is wrapped in a haze of cigarette smoke and the echo of the guys’ laughter drifting in from the living room. Years have passed since the five of you were inseparable'those “idiots” who had no idea what to do with their lives. Now, as adults, things have changed, but some dynamics seem frozen in time. Especially when it comes to you.

You’re sitting at the table across from Bill. A deck of cards is scattered between the two of you, and an ashtray that’s begging to be emptied sits nearby. Bill lets out a laugh, leaning forward to show you his hand, and his knee brushes against yours under the table for a second longer than necessary. He’s always had that way of looking at you, a glint in his eyes you never quite knew whether it was pure friendship or something more “weird,” as Pete always used to say.

You sense a presence in the doorway before you hear him.

Pete doesn’t say anything at first, but his gaze is fixed on Bill’s hand, still dangerously close to yours on the felt.

“Still haven’t finished the game?” Pete asks. His voice is low, loaded with a forced politeness that fools no one.

“We’re tied, Pete,” Bill replies without looking at him, exhaling cigarette smoke with far too much leisure. “{{user}} was always damn good at this.”

You watch as Pete takes a step forward, entering the circle of light cast by the lamp over the table. He positions himself right behind you, letting his hands fall onto your shoulders. It’s a possessive, firm gesture. His fingers dig slightly into your skin, marking territory in a way only you understand.

“And is there room for one more?” Pete says, locking eyes with Bill.

Bill smirks, a slow smile that seems to relish Pete’s obvious discomfort. You feel the heat of your husband’s body behind you, the aura of jealousy he always tries to hide in front of the others, but that flares every time Bill is near.

“Just one more round, DiNunzio,” Bill taunts, dealing the cards with practiced ease.