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Coën was very happy. He really, really was. The life he had now was the best he ever had. A job he didn’t mind and could enjoy. Friends he cared for and cared for him. And as of recently, a relationship with not just one loving partner, but two.
Lambert had been his best friend and secret crush since they were children. Lambert had met Aiden and they fell together like twin whirlibird seeds destined for each other’s side. Shockingly, they had both started courting him after a few years. It may have taken a year’s worth of flirting and Lambert flat out saying they were trying to date him before he knew about it, but still.
The three of them had gone on some dates, gone out together not as a couple and their third wheel but as a whole relationship, and Coën was thrilled. The normal movie nights they had found all three of them squished together on a loveseat barely meant for two instead of Lambert and Aiden there alone with Coën in a chair to the side. Eventually, at his pace no less, kisses and touches included him and there was nothing better.
Coën was overjoyed with this arrangement, truly. The only problem was how extraneous he kept finding himself. He could stay a night or two with his partners but eventually he had to head back to his own, quiet, lonely apartment. Special pricing for date activities only included two tickets. His and His mugs might exist, but there were only pairs. Even referring to their relationship was more difficult than he’d imagined.
When they were taking a romantic stroll together at Aiden’s request, every feeling of being unnecessary came to the forefront. The path they were on narrowed in places, and since it could be walked from either direction, it was only polite to make room for others. Coën broke his hold with Aiden, not wanting to twist his arm uncomfortably as he let a couple pass them. A loose branch or small rock or some other insignificant piece of debris caused him to stumble, tripping to his knees as he overbalanced.
Looking up to see Aiden and Lambert walking on was too much. They didn’t need him, he was extra, trying to slot himself into a filled space. What was he doing, taking advantage of their kindness, their patience? Even if they had asked, he was a hanger-on.
Unneeded.
“Hey, Coën, babe, are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?”
He could deny anything was wrong, shrug it off, like he always did. Not latch on to how these two men he loved so desperately had found each other first. How he would always be second to that initial flame. An interloper invited too hastily.
Coën struggled to stand, hastily trying to reassure and deflect, apologizing for worrying them. It would’ve gone a lot smoother if his knee had cooperated and not caused him to fall again, crumpling from the physical pain, yes, but also from the thought of now actively ruining things. A nice walk together was now overshadowed by his own failings.
“It - it’s fine my loves. Please, continue on. Enjoy the wonderful evening together, I’ll manage myself.”
“Coën, we aren’t going to leave you here, what are you talking about?”
“Yeah, fuck, we’re not going to go on our bullshit merry way while you’re on the fucking ground. Here, Aid, help me pull him up, there’s a bench over there we can sit at.”
“Really, please,” Coën begged, his desperation to salvage a problem he was causing reaching new heights. “Please don’t let me be the reason for a bad outing. Please.”
They all but dragged him along, seating him between themselves. A place he felt unable to accept, unworthy of the implication of belonging. Hysteria gripped him, the need to rectify everything bubbling up as he tried to struggle out of their hold, to show how fine everything was, how he didn’t need the attention. Coën could be an extra piece but taking center stage away from the main roles was unconscionable.
“Coën! Coën!! Melitele, just sit for fuck’s sake!”
Lambert’s strong hands gripped his shoulders, pushing him down. Aiden, quiet and focused, was wrapped around his torso from the side, clinging like the last leaf in autumn. The exhaustion from his hidden emotions, the pain of both body and heart, caught up with him in a surge of agonized sobs. All the will to fight left him, swept away by tears of the truly heartbroken.
After a moment, Aiden squeezed him just a little bit tighter, pulled him a little bit closer, and spoke up.
“I think, this bench here would be the perfect place for a picnic. Ooh, a midnight picnic with candles. We can come sit here, have a pretty meal, pile together and just scare the piss out of any children sneaking around at night to get freaky. Or we could also get freaky. But the picnic first, definitely.”
“Aiden, and I say this with all the love in my dead, shriveled heart, what in the hell are you talking about.”
“A picnic, Lam. You, Coën, me, with good food and potentially someone’s bare ass to the moon. Can we have food and candles delivered to the park? We could get started right now setting up my extremely good idea.”
Coën was in no position to stare at Aiden, close as he was, and instead looked up at Lambert. Trying to ask without words if Aiden’s response had cleared anything up for him or if they both were as confused as he felt. Why now? What had brought on such an idea?
And why did they both seem to insist on his inclusion.
His tears had stopped in his confusion but the ache of knowing he didn’t belong couldn’t stop his shoulders from drooping, or his head from falling. He could play the charade for as long as he could, but there would always be one end and he wasn’t lucky enough to be a winner.
“Hey, hey, now. Don’t start up again, I just distracted you, think of the fun we’ll have. We can use Lambert’s lily-white ass as a beacon to signal aliens even.”
Lambert was trying to grimace at the idea when Coën looked up, but he’d known the man too long and could tell a smile was trying to break across his face. Truly he’d keep them both forever. Silly and kind, and just what he needed and he was selfish enough to lean back against Aiden, grab Lambert’s strong hand in his. It was unfair as many things in life are.
“Coën, seriously, what’s going on in that head of yours man, I can hear the thoughts jangling around but I can’t read your mind. And Aiden may be bewitching but I’m damn sure he’s no witch, checked, promise.”
“What? What does that mean? Checked?? Was it in question? Hello??”
“Aiden, babe, missing the point.”
“Right, pin in that for godsdamn later though. Coën? Share with the extremely hot not-a-witch and the apparently huge fucking dork we’re both crazy for?”
Coën wanted to laugh, immerse himself in the joy his partners so easily brought him. The swirling thoughts of unneeded and unnecessary kept him ever so slightly away, trapped within a whirlpool of self-doubt and self-loathing. They deserved the truth, however, even if it sped up his own misery.
“I… I just, I want to keep you both, so deeply it shakes me. I want this, so dearly.”
Overwhelmed but unwilling to start the tears again, he brings his unoccupied hand to press into his eyes, wills his mouth not to tremble.
“Oookay, and? What’s stopping you? Is it Lam? Is it me? Some idiot? Fuck, Coën, is someone harassing you? I’ll hunt them down and beat the shit out of them, just tell me who it is, I’ll make them regret breathing a single word to you.”
“No! No, no one is harassing me, my loves. I just. I’m just well aware of how I don’t, can’t, fit. Not forever. You, my dearest loves, are so perfect together, lovely and complimentary, while I… I am a mere dalliance in comparison. A couple means two, not three, after all.”
“Yeah, and as much as the word is barf to me a throuple means three. What are you getting at? Do you think we’re going to wake up one day and go ‘Hey Aiden’ ‘Hey Lambert’ ‘Fuck Coën but not in the fun way am I right?’” Lambert snarled.
“Perhaps, ah, perhaps not quite that way, no.”
Aiden pulls away only slightly to grab at Lambert’s other hand, but he snatches it back sharply, turning away from them both.
“But you think that something like that will happen. That we’re just doing this as, what? Some game? Because we’re leading you on or something? How long have you known me Coën? Have you always thought so lowly of me? Sad little Lambert can’t actually care about others?”
Coën can see the way Lambert is trying to make himself smaller, can feel the way Aiden’s hold is wilting. He’s doing this wrong and they aren’t understanding. He, himself, is the broken piece slipped in as an extra, not his whole and complete loves.
“That’s not! That’s not… Please, I’m trying to make you understand, it’s me that doesn’t fit! I would never… I never want you, either of you, to feel that way. But surely I can’t keep intruding. What if you two want to marry someday, or have children? What do you say if you’re invited somewhere, a plus one is only one, not ‘one and oh my extra too.’ I just don’t need to be here, I don’t need to make things harder, to be an extra slot where I don’t belong.”
“Coën,” Aiden starts slowly, “have you considered that we want you here, with us? That things might take some shuffling but we love you as much as you love us? I can’t speak for Lambert, but I’ve never felt like you were extra, just a part that we didn't know was missing for a bit and then there you were. If you’re unhappy, I won’t stop you from leaving, hell I’ll even hold Lambert back I need to, but, if you remember, we worked hard to get you. You’re wanted, to hell with needed.”
“Listen to him Coën, he’s hot and always correct, it’s infuriating. Like a seer witch, if I might add.”
“Coën I change my mind, you are needed. Needed to balance the scales of normalcy against whatever the hell witch hunt has gripped our clearly ailing Lambert. Complimenting me only to say the most insane thing, a tragic affliction, we’ll have to kiss him better, only one boyfriend isn’t enough!”
Coën smiles, shy and small, but a smile nonetheless. Yes, they want him. He has doubts about being needed, but joyous wanting over only utilitarian need seems… Good. Workable. Perhaps space is flexible, less coldly rigid than he thought.
“Looks like the noggin is running overtime again, but less fucking horrible. Don’t think so hard Coën, we want you in our lives, for as long as you’ll stay. Fucks’ sake I need you, even before I wanted you this way, I needed you. We work together, all of us. Getting to have both of you is a miracle and I’ll take it to my grave before I admit that in front of witnesses, even if I mean it.
“Now I was promised kisses? Horrible infection or whatever Aiden said, fucking wasting away here.”
Lambert sits awkwardly around the tangle of limbs that’s formed on the bench and Coën can see his eyes are watery and red. Coën reaches out to pull him closer, wanting to make the hurt better, and be part of soothing Lambert’s every worry. Their kiss is clumsy and emotional, and Lambert nearly crushes him leaning over to get his kiss from Aiden, but it’s good. A tri-pointed star, crashing together in the middle, brightest together.
They sit squished like that for a long moment, just enjoying each other. Aiden fidgets slightly, Lambert tries to adjust accordingly, and accidentally kicks Coën in the knee, causing him to gasp in pain. Ah yes, the physical pain.
“Perhaps my loves, we can move somewhere a little more suitable. I apologize but I did fall much harder than expected. Also, I feel compelled to lay out my worries so we can address them together, if that’s acceptable. Shall we go to yours?”
“Y’know, Aiden and I were talking about it and–”
“It should be ours!! Your apartment is so far awaaay and not with us Coën, stay with us, together.”
Lambert huffs in annoyance, but Coën can see that grin sneaking out again as he nods. Far too overwhelmed mentally and feeling the radiating pain physically, what can he do besides accept? ‘Yours’ will become ‘ours’ and he won't have to go away anymore, be alone and unhappy for it. It would take adjusting, and as a man of his word he would neatly list out what troubled him most. But perhaps they would be easier to eradicate than imagined, thinnest shreds under his partners’ shining professions of love.
Once disentangled, Lambert hoists Coën on his back, and they start back the way they came. Aiden flitters about, once again planning their moonlit picnic and distracting himself with runaway thoughts of how best to combine Coën’s apartment into their shared home. Coën leans his forehead against Lambert’s gel-slicked hair and smiles once more. No extras, just three pieces fit together splendidly.