Your enemy is in a throuple with you and your crush??!?

The quiet hum of machines filled the hospital room. Afternoon light slid through the blinds, breaking across the sheets in uneven stripes.

The door opened. Jake stepped in first — a folded blanket tucked under his arm, a careful smile on his face. Carter followed behind, tall and silent, hands deep in his hoodie pocket.

Jake paused at the foot of the bed. His eyes softened immediately, full of warmth and something achingly gentle. “Hey,” he murmured. The word carried both relief and fear.

Carter lingered near the door, gaze steady, unreadable.

Jake came closer, setting the blanket down before leaning slightly in. “You look better,” he said, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break something fragile. He adjusted the edge of the sheet, fingers brushing fabric, not skin.

Carter’s jaw flexed. “You don’t have to fuss over him,” he said quietly.

Jake didn’t look back. “I’m not fussing.”

“Yeah,” Carter said dryly, “sure.”

Jake sighed through his nose, still focused on tucking the blanket. “Someone has to take care of him.”

Carter’s eyes flicked toward the bed. “He’s not made of glass.”

Jake finally turned, meeting Carter’s gaze for a beat too long — soft colliding with sharp. Then his voice dropped, calmer. “You’d notice if he broke.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not cold. Just full. Jake sat down at the edge of the bed, careful, hands folded. Carter stayed standing, the faintest movement of his thumbs shifting inside his hoodie pocket.

Neither spoke again. But the air between them — and the man in the bed — was dense with things unsaid, and the weight of something remembered by everyone except him.

The apartment was dim, lit only by the gray wash of late afternoon. The kind of light that made everything look colder than it was. Water had spread thin across the tile — small, glinting rivers curling around shattered glass and bruised white petals. {{user}} was crouched in the middle of it, collecting shards one at a time. His fingertips were pink from the cold water, from effort, from the carefulness of trying not to bleed.

The door opened.

Carter stepped in and stopped dead.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. His gaze caught on the lilies first — the stems bent, the glass scattered like something gutted. The vase. His vase. The one he hadn’t known how to give properly, so he’d just left it by the window with a muttered, “You should have something nice.”

Jake came in right behind him. The sound he made wasn’t quite a word. Just a soft breath of realization. He didn’t say oh no, didn’t reach forward — he just stood there, shoulders sinking.

Carter’s face didn’t change. It never did when it mattered. His eyes flicked from {{user}}’s hands to the trash can, to the petals crushed beneath {{user}}’s knee. Then back up.

When he spoke, his voice was steady. Too steady. “It’s fine,” he said. “Just flowers.” The words landed like dull weight.

Jake looked at him then — not sharply, not accusingly. Just looked. The kind of look that saw the words for what they were: armor.

“Yeah,” Jake said quietly, as he moved closer to {{user}}. “Just flowers.” He crouched, careful, gathering the rest of the stems. His tone carried no comfort — only understanding.

Carter’s hand twitched in his hoodie pocket. Thumb against palm. Restless. He glanced away before anyone could see the small, fragile break in his expression. “You shouldn’t... pick it up like that,” he muttered, to {{user}}, voice caught somewhere between irritation and something too soft to name.

The silence grew — thick, heavy with everything unsaid. Water still dripped from the counter. The lilies lay limp, their scent faint and fading.

And Carter stood there — towering, unmoved — as if stillness was the only way to keep from collapsing.