I wake to the familiar warmth of bodies pressed against mine.
Cecil is still tucked between Keith and me, his face peaceful in sleep in a way it wasn't when we finally settled down last night. Keith is on his other side, one arm thrown over both of us, his mouth slightly open and already starting to drool on Cecil's shoulder.
Typical.
The morning light filters through the curtains, painting everything in soft gold.
Cecil loves us.
The thought settles in my chest with a weight that's somehow both grounding and impossible to believe.
He said it. Out loud. Multiple times.
And then he kissed Keith.
And then he kissed me.
I replay that moment in my mind—the way Cecil's lips felt against mine, soft and sure and completely present. The way he tasted like tea and something sweeter. The way he looked at me afterward, like I was something precious.
A small smile tugs at my lips.
Cecil stirs beside me, his eyes fluttering open slowly. For a moment he looks disoriented—like he's trying to remember where he is and why he's sandwiched between two people.
Then awareness returns and his cheeks flush slightly.
"Morning," I murmur quietly, not wanting to wake Keith yet.
"Morning," Cecil whispers back.
We lie there for another moment, just looking at each other in the early light.
Then Cecil's lips curve into a small, almost shy smile. "Last night really happened, right? I didn't dream it?"
"It really happened."
"Good." His smile widens slightly. "That's... good."
I want to kiss him again. Want to pull him closer and never let go and maybe never leave this bed.
But I also know that Keith will sleep for at least another hour if we let him, and Cecil and I have a routine.
"Tea?" I offer quietly.
Cecil nods, relief evident in his expression. "Please."
We extract ourselves carefully from Keith's octopus grip—which is impressive considering he's still completely asleep—and make our way to the kitchen.
The apartment is quiet in that particular way it gets in the early morning. Peaceful. Still waiting for the day to truly begin.
I fill the kettle while Cecil retrieves our mugs—the ritual so familiar now that we don't need to communicate. He knows I'll measure the tea leaves. I know he'll add just a touch more honey than necessary because he has a sweet tooth he pretends he doesn't have.
The water starts to heat and I lean against the counter, watching Cecil move through the kitchen with comfortable ease.
He's wearing one of Keith's hoodies—oversized and soft, the sleeves falling past his hands. His hair is still mussed from sleep. The flower on his wrist catches the morning light, glowing faintly.
He's beautiful.
The thought comes so naturally it almost surprises me.
I've always known Cecil was attractive—objectively, aesthetically. But this is different. This is seeing him in our space, in our clothes, doing our morning routine, and feeling something so overwhelming it's almost difficult to name.
Love.
That's what this is.
Love in its quietest, most domestic form.
Cecil settles at the table with his tea, wrapping both hands around the mug and taking a careful sip.
That's when I notice it.
His lips are slightly swollen.
Not dramatically—just enough to be noticeable if you're looking. The kind of swelling that comes from kissing someone thoroughly and not being particularly careful about it.
A chuckle escapes before I can stop it.
Cecil looks up, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"Nothing." But I'm still smiling.
"Dylan."
"Your lips."
His hand immediately flies to his mouth, touching gently. Then his face goes red—properly red, the flush spreading down his neck and probably to his chest though I can't see under the hoodie.
"Is it that obvious?" he mumbles.
"Only if someone's looking."
"Great. Perfect. Exactly what I needed." But he's smiling too, despite the embarrassment.
I take a sip of my own tea, trying to ignore the complicated feeling sitting in my chest.
I was a little jealous last night.
Not in a toxic way. Not in a way that made me want to stop what was happening.
But when I watched Cecil kiss Keith—saw the way Keith completely melted, the way Cecil held his face so carefully—something sharp and green twisted in my stomach.
The problem is, I'm not entirely sure who I was jealous of.
Was I jealous of Keith for being kissed first?
Or was I jealous of Cecil for getting to kiss Keith like that?
The answer, I'm starting to realize, is probably both.
Keith and I have been dancing around each other for decades. Fated partners who never quite figured out how to bridge the gap between friendship and something more.
And then Cecil arrived and suddenly everything shifted into focus.
Suddenly it wasn't about choosing between them.
It was about all three of us together.
But that doesn't make the feelings less complicated.
Doesn't make the jealousy—however mild, however manageable—any less present.
"You okay?" Cecil asks, and I realize I've been staring into my tea for too long.
"Yeah." I meet his eyes. "Just thinking."
"About?"
About how I love both of you and I'm still figuring out what that means. About how watching you kiss Keith made me feel things I didn't know I could feel. About how I want to keep both of you close and never let go and somehow make this work despite how complicated it probably should be.
"About how happy I am," I say instead, because it's true even if it's not the whole truth.
Cecil's expression softens. "Me too."
We sit in comfortable silence, sipping our tea as the morning light grows stronger.
Eventually, we hear movement from the bedroom—Keith stumbling around, probably looking for us.
"Should we start breakfast?" Cecil asks.
"Probably. Before Keith attempts to cook something and sets off the smoke alarm."
Cecil laughs—bright and genuine—and the sound does something to my chest that makes the jealousy seem impossibly small.
We're making eggs when Keith appears in the doorway, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing only pajama pants and looking endearingly confused.
"You left," he says, his voice still rough with sleep.
"We made tea," I reply.
"You could have woken me up."
"You looked peaceful."
"I'm never peaceful. I'm chaos incarnate." But he's smiling as he shuffles over to the coffee maker.
Cecil is at the stove, focusing intently on the eggs, and Keith moves to stand behind him—wrapping his arms around Cecil's waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.
"Morning," Keith murmurs.
"Morning," Cecil replies, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
Keith's eyes land on Cecil's face and he grins. "Your lips are swollen."
"I know."
"It's cute."
"It's embarrassing."
"It's evidence of my excellent kissing skills."
"You were crying the entire time," I point out.
"Emotional kissing is still kissing!"
Cecil laughs again and I watch them—Keith wrapped around Cecil like a particularly affectionate octopus, Cecil leaning back into him like it's the most natural thing in the world—and feel that warmth in my chest again.
This is my life now.
These two people. This relationship we're building.
Whatever jealousy I felt last night is nothing compared to the overwhelming gratitude I feel right now.
We're settling down to eat when there's a knock at the door.
Keith and I exchange glances. "Expecting anyone?"
"No."
I get up to answer it, and when I open the door, Naomi is standing there with a duffel bag and an expression that suggests she's had a rough morning.
"Hi," she says brightly, though I can see the exhaustion underneath. "Can I stay over?"
"Naomi?" Cecil appears behind me. "What's wrong?"
"Laura has her lover over," Naomi announces, pushing past us into the apartment. "And I cannot watch them be lovey-dovey anymore. It's disgusting. They're disgustingly happy and I need a break."
Keith snorts from the kitchen. "Laura's the roommate?"
"Yes. And usually she's very considerate about having people over but apparently this person is special—" She makes air quotes. "—and now they're being all cute and I just... I can't. I need sanctuary."
"Of course you can stay," Cecil says immediately. "You're always welcome."
"Thank you, I—" Naomi stops mid-sentence, her eyes focusing on Cecil's face. More specifically, on his lips.
Her expression shifts from grateful to concerned in an instant.
"Cecil?" Her voice rises slightly. "Are you okay? You aren't having an allergic reaction, right?"
Cecil's face goes bright red. "I—no, I'm fine—"
"Your lips are swollen! That's definitely an allergic reaction!" Naomi moves closer, examining him with the intensity of someone who takes health very seriously. "What did you eat? Do you need an EpiPen? Should I call your doctor?"
A chuckle escapes Keith despite his obvious attempt to hold it in.
Naomi's head snaps toward him, her eyes narrowing. "Why are you laughing? This is serious!"
Then she looks at me. I'm trying very hard to keep my expression neutral, but I can feel the smile tugging at my lips.
Naomi's eyes move between the three of us—Keith barely containing his laughter, me with what is probably a very telling smile, and Cecil looking like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.
"Wait." Her voice drops, suspicion creeping in. "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing!" Cecil protests weakly.
"We didn't do anything," I say, which is technically true. Cecil was the one who initiated the kissing.
Naomi's eyes widen as understanding dawns.
"Oh my god." She looks at Cecil. Then at us. Then back at Cecil. "OH MY GOD."
"Naomi—"
"Did you—" She points at Cecil's lips. "Is that from—" She gestures vaguely at Keith and me.
Keith is no longer even trying to hide his laughter.
Cecil looks like he might actually die of embarrassment.
I just smile slightly, which apparently is answer enough.
"CECIL!" Naomi's voice reaches a pitch that shouldn't be possible. "You—with them—both of them?!"
"It's not—we didn't—it's complicated," Cecil manages.
"It's actually pretty straightforward," Keith corrects, grinning widely. "We're together. All three of us."
Naomi stares at us for a long moment.
Then she moves.
Before any of us can react, she grabs Cecil's arm and pulls him behind her, positioning herself between us and him like a tiny, fierce bodyguard.
Which would be more effective if Cecil wasn't significantly taller than her.
As it is, he's standing behind her looking utterly bewildered while she tries to shield him from us despite the fact that he's clearly visible over her head.
It looks like a bunny trying to protect a wolf.
"I'm staying here," Naomi announces firmly. "And Cecil is sleeping in my room tonight. I need to protect him from you two."
Keith bursts out laughing. "Protect him?"
"Yes! Look what you did to him! His lips are swollen!"
"That's not—Naomi, I'm fine," Cecil tries.
"You're clearly not fine! You need supervision! Adult supervision!"
"You're the same age as us," I point out.
"Spiritually I'm much older." Naomi keeps her arms spread wide, as if that will somehow prevent us from reaching Cecil. "Cecil is under my protection now."
In your dreams, Naomi.
The thought is immediate and certain.
No one is taking him from us.
Cecil catches my eye over Naomi's head, and I see the amusement there despite his embarrassment.
He mouths help me.
I just smile wider.
"Naomi," Keith says, trying to sound reasonable and failing because he's still grinning. "Cecil is a grown adult who can make his own decisions."
"Bad decisions, clearly!"
"Hey!" Cecil protests.
"I'm sorry, but look at your lips! What else am I supposed to think?"
"That I kissed them because I wanted to?" Cecil suggests weakly.
Naomi turns to look up at him, her expression shifting from protective to shocked. "You kissed them?"
"Yes."
"Willingly?"
"Very willingly," Keith adds helpfully.
Naomi looks between all of us again, her fierce protectiveness slowly giving way to something else. Understanding, maybe. Or acceptance.
"Oh," she says finally, her arms dropping. "Oh."
"Yeah," Cecil says softly.
"So you're..." She gestures vaguely between the three of us.
"Together," I confirm.
"All three of you."
"All three of us," Keith agrees.
Naomi processes this for a moment.
Then she grins—wide and genuine and completely delighted.
"This is the cutest thing I've ever heard!" She bounces slightly. "You're all together! That's so sweet! When did this happen? How long has this been going on? Tell me everything!"
"Naomi—"
"No, seriously, I want details! Was it romantic? Did someone confess first? Oh my god, was it Cecil? It was totally Cecil, wasn't it?"
Cecil groans and covers his face with his hands.
Keith is laughing so hard he has to lean against the counter for support.
And I just stand there, watching this chaos unfold, feeling that warmth in my chest grow stronger.
This is my life now.
These people. This relationship. This beautiful, complicated, perfect mess we're building together.
And I wouldn't change a single thing.
Even if Naomi is now insisting that she needs to hear every detail of last night while Cecil looks like he wants to spontaneously combust.
"I hate all of you," Cecil mutters, but his lips are twitching like he's fighting a smile.
"No you don't," Keith says cheerfully.
"You love us," I add.
Cecil's face goes red again, but he doesn't deny it.
Because he does.
He loves us.
And we love him.
And somehow, impossibly, this is real.
No one is taking him from us, I think again, watching Naomi drag Cecil to the couch to interrogate him about our relationship.
Not even an overprotective goddess with the best intentions.
He's ours.
And we're his.
Exactly as it should be.