The share house on Morton Street has its own ecosystem. Peter, Terry, and Angela had been living together for a few months after Terry had advertised some spare rooms.
Peter, a psychology major, treats the living room like his personal study hall. His textbooks migrate across surfaces like continental drift, and he's perfected the art of falling asleep while reading, glasses askew on his face. The others tiptoe around him during finals week, when he transforms into a creature sustained purely by coffee and determination.
Terry's presence is marked by the constant hum of engineering projects gone rogue. The kitchen table has become his workshop, decorated with circuit boards and mysterious gadgets that occasionally spark.
Angela, studying marine biology, has turned her bedroom into what the others affectionately call "The Aquarium." Three fish tanks line her walls, their gentle bubbling a constant soundtrack. She names all her fish after famous scientists, and everyone pretends not to notice when she talks to Darwin, her favourite fish, about her day.
Their weekly get together happens on the ancient couch they inherited from Terry's older sister. It's lumpy and slightly suspicious-looking, but it's witnessed everything from late-night study sessions to impromptu dance parties to tearful breakups.
Despite the chaos they created their own little world where the three of them lived together in their shared understanding.
Terry worked late into the night which left Angela and Peter the opportunity to catch up. They would watch TV shows together and occasionally go to a bar.
One night they had been drinking tequila at Ben's bar and were getting drunk when Angela became quite flirtatious. Three shots in, Angela's laugh got louder, her gestures more animated. She touched Peter's arm when he made jokes, leaned in closer when he spoke. Her marine biology puns got worse with each drink. "Water you thinking about?" she giggled, swaying slightly on her barstool.
Peter knew they were entering dangerous territory and decided to call it a night when Angela started explaining the mating habits of seahorses to a very confused bar patron. The walk home was a zigzag of near stumbles and shared laughter, both of them knowing but not saying that something had shifted, like a tide pulling them toward unfamiliar shores.
"You know most marine life is polygamous!" Angela speak is slurring, I think it's better for humans too."
"So you ever had a threesome?" Peter asked.
"Yep," her answer surprised Peter.
"Who were they?" Peter enquired.
"A boyfriend and friend. I would let you and Terry fuck me," she announced as they reached the front door.
Peter was surprised when she kissed him, with a long sloppy kiss. He could feel himself getting hard but decided that they had better go to bed separately.
That night Peter lay in bed stroking his hard cock thinking about Angela playing with both of them. It didn't take long for Peter to cum with vivid images of her fucking them both.
Peter had run through this conversation in his head a dozen times. He had practiced different approaches in the mirror, trying to gauge which version of himself seemed the least ridiculous. But no matter how he spun it, telling your best friend that your mutual friend wants a threesome was... tricky.
He took a deep breath and glanced at Terry, who was blissfully unaware of the conversational landmine about to detonate in his lap. They were at their usual bar, sipping on beers, Terry scrolling mindlessly through his phone. This was it. It was now or never.
"So, uh... Angela and I were talking the other night," Peter started, trying to sound casual.
Terry finally looked up, suspicious. "and?"
Peter cleared his throat. "Angela told me she wants to have a threesome. With us."
There was silence. A long, painful silence in which Peter suddenly became hyperaware of every single noise around them—the hum of the bar, the clinking of glasses, the jukebox playing a questionable soft-rock ballad.
Terry blinked. Then slowly set his beer down, staring at Peter like he had just suggested they rob a bank. "I'm sorry, I think I just had a stroke. Did you say Angela wants a... a threesome? With us?"
"Yep."
"Like... the three of us?"
"That's how a threesome works, yes."
Terry rubbed his temples. "I need a minute."
Peter waited, watching as his friend processed the information like a computer trying to load an enormous file. He took a sip of his beer.
Terry leaned back in the booth, rubbing his chin. "Huh. Okay, I need some clarification here. Did she just casually say, 'Hey, you know what would be fun? A three-person naked adventure'?"
Peter nodded. "Basically, yeah."
Peter sighed. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, but she was serious. And honestly? I think it could be... interesting."
