Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Paul Baker never meant for things to get messy. Issa was sweet, sharp, and knew how to make him laugh until his chest hurt. And Anton—well, Anton was Anton. His roommate, his newest best friend, and the person who made silence feel like something warm instead of awkward.
Tonight, the three of them sat tangled on the couch, watching some random 2000s rom-com. Issa had her head on Paul Baker’s shoulder, her hand loosely gripping his. Anton lounged on the far end, socked feet pressed against Paul Baker’s thighs like he didn’t even realize.
But Paul Baker noticed. He always noticed.
Later that night, after Issa had went to bed, Paul Baker stood in the kitchen rinsing out tea mugs. Anton leaned against the fridge, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
“She really likes you,” Anton said.
“Yeah,” Paul Baker replied, his voice softer than he expected. “I like her too.”
“But not... like that?” Anton’s words hovered in the space between them like cigarette smoke.
Paul Baker looked up. Their eyes locked.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “It’s like—when she laughs, I feel good. But when you laugh... I feel something I don’t even have a name for.”
Anton didn’t move. Just swallowed hard.
“I shouldn’t—” Paul started.
“You should,” Anton cut in.
And then everything was quiet. The kind of quiet that isn't empty, but full of everything left unsaid.
Anton stepped forward. “You ever wonder what this could’ve been like... if we weren’t so good at pretending?”
Paul Baker looked at him. Really looked. The smirk was gone. All that was left was truth—and something a little fragile.
“I still wonder,” Paul Baker admitted. “Every day.”
Anton nodded once, then left the kitchen, brushing Paul Baker’s arm just enough to set his skin on fire.
And Paul Baker stood there, mug in hand, heart in his throat, knowing nothing was simple anymore.
Later that night, as he struggled to fall asleep, Anton was on his mind. Even as Issa, one of the kindest people hes ever met snuggles up next to him, all he could think of was Anton, Anton, Anton.
—-------
It’s two weeks later.
Paul Baker has replayed that kitchen moment in his head a hundred times—Anton stepping forward, the way his voice had barely cracked when he said, “You should.”
But Paul Baker hadn’t done anything. Not then. Not yet.
Tonight, though, he’s sitting on the porch outside their shared home. The night is muggy, city sounds low and restless. Anton opens the door behind him, slippers on, sweater hanging loosely on his shoulders, two beers in hand.
“You good?” Anton asks, settling beside him.
Paul Baker nods, lying. “Yeah.”
They sit for a beat. Sip. Breathe. Pretend everything’s normal.
“I broke up with Issa,” Paul Baker says suddenly.
Anton flinches, surprised. “You what?”
“I told her she deserved someone who wasn’t half-elsewhere all the time,” Paul Baker says. His voice is steady, but his hands are clenched around the bottle.
Anton stares at him. “Why would you do that?”
Paul Baker turns to face him. “Because I’m tired of pretending I don’t look for you in every room.”
Anton doesn’t say anything. His throat works like he’s swallowing something heavy.
Paul Baker keeps going. “You’re the person I call when something’s funny. Or when it’s not. You’re the reason I know what home feels like.”
Anton’s eyes soften, disbelief written in the quiet space between them. Paul Baker turns in his spot to face him just slightly, like gravity is in charge now.
“I love you,” Paul Baker says. “I don’t know when it started. I just know it’s the only thing that feels real anymore.”
Anton’s breath catches. “Paul-”
“I’m not asking you to say it back,” Paul Baker adds quickly. “I just—needed you to know.”
But Anton does say it back. Not with words, at first.
He leans in, presses his forehead to Paul’s. “I’ve been in love with you since the day Issa demanded for you to move in”.
Paul Baker laughs. It's shaky, but real.
Anton kisses him.
And finally; everything feels simple. But it only gets more complicated from here.

Chapter Text

It was the next morning when Issa was silently making her morning coffee- even though she already had enough energy without it- when Paul baker walked into the kitchen. There was a lingering silence filled with tension as Issa purposely ignored Paul Baker's presence as he moved around the shared space, making his own breakfast meal. And as Issa was about to walk out and up to her room, in came Anton.
She paused and looked up at him, breath bated, before looking back at Paul baker; decidingly walking away, but not without bumping Anton’s shoulder purposely. Anton tilted his head upwards and let out a frustrated breath.
How are we supposed to fix this?” Paul leaned against the counter, his fingers gripping the edge in a way thinking it would keep him steady. “I love her too much to lose her as a friend, but I couldn’t keep lying to her about how I felt, either.”
He stared at the floor, his voice wavering barely above a whisper. Anton made his way farther into the kitchen and sat on the edge of the kitchen table, hands folded tightly between his knees. Neither of them had an answer. The truth was still fresh between them — raw and barely spoken aloud — and yet somehow, Issa already knew. They hadn’t even told anyone about the kiss. That one, real kiss that shattered whatever walls had been left between them.
It hadn’t even been twelve hours.
And still, she knew.
The day dragged on with no word from Issa. No glances. No messages. She clung to Billie and Samir, talking and laughing with them as if Anton and Paul had ceased to exist. Every time they tried to pull her into conversation, to just talk, she made up a reason to leave. Bathroom. Phone call. Somewhere else she needed to be — anywhere they weren’t.
“I’m sorry, you guys,” Billie said gently that evening. They were all slouched on the couch, heavy with silence after Issa walked away for the fifth time. “I don’t know why she’s acting like this.”
Paul and Anton shared a long look — a wordless, aching exchange that said more than either of them could manage aloud. So many emotions tangled behind their eyes: guilt, confusion, hope, and the sting of loss already beginning to settle in.
Neither spoke. They didn’t trust their voices not to crack.
They just nodded. Small, slow. The kind of nods that meant, we hear you, but we’re barely holding it together.
The two didn’t want to lose Issa, but they also didn’t know how to fix what they had broken.

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, casting the apartment in a quiet, shadowy blue. The hum of the city beyond the windows was low and distant, almost reverent. Paul sat at the edge of the couch now, elbows on his knees, shoulders hunched like the weight of everything was too much to carry upright. Anton hadn’t moved from his spot beside him, but his foot bounced nervously, betraying the stillness of his posture. They were drowning in silence, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was loaded. Pressurized. One wrong word could make it all implode.
“She’s not wrong to be upset,” Anton finally muttered, eyes fixed on the floor. His voice was soft.
Paul flinched. “I know.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I just didn’t think it’d all end up like this. I wasn’t ready.”
“She’s your girlfriend, Paul.” Anton’s tone wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t soft, either. Just tired. “Or… she was.”
That word—was—landed hard, like a slap. Paul blinked. “Don’t say it like that.”
Anton didn’t apologize. Didn’t look at him, either.
Paul stood abruptly, pacing now. “It’s not like I planned for any of this. It wasn’t a game. You think I wanted to fall for you while I was still with her? That I wanted to… kiss you and then feel like the worst person alive afterward?”
Anton looked up finally, his gaze sharp but vulnerable. “Then why did you?”
Paul stopped walking. His mouth opened, then closed. There were no excuses. No clean explanations. Just the brutal, complicated truth of it all: that love doesn’t always come wrapped in good timing or perfect choices. Sometimes it just hits, messy and unstoppable.
Before he could answer, the front door clicked.
Issa stepped in slowly, eyes rimmed with the kind of red that said she’d been crying in private. Her gaze swept over both of them, unreadable.
“I don’t want an apology,” she said, voice low and even. “At least not tonight. I just want the truth.”
Paul froze, then looked at Anton. Anton nodded once, barely perceptible, giving him permission—or maybe passing the responsibility back.
Paul swallowed hard and faced her fully. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said, softly. “The kiss. It wasn’t something I regret. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you, too.”
Issa’s face didn’t change, but her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag. She looked at Anton next. “And you?”
Anton stood, meeting her gaze head-on. “I’ve felt something for him for a long time. I just… never acted on it. Until I did.”
Her breath caught, just slightly. But she nodded. Once. Then turned to leave.
“Issa, please,” Paul called, stepping forward, but she didn’t stop.
She paused at the door, her back to them. “You should’ve told me before I had to find out on my own. The only right thing you did was break up with me before things got worse.”
And then she was gone again.
The door closed with a quiet click, but it might as well have been a thunderclap.
Paul didn’t move. Neither did Anton.
And in the silence that followed, only one thing was clear: the truth was fully and completely out now, and it had changed everything.
The apartment felt colder after she left. Not in temperature, but in presence like something vital had walked out with her, leaving behind only the shell of what used to be. Paul stood there for a while, eyes fixed on the door like he expected her to walk back in, maybe laughing, maybe yelling, maybe anything but gone. But the minutes stretched thin, and she didn’t return.
Anton sank back down on the couch. His body folded in on itself, arms crossed tightly as if holding himself together. “We did this,” he said after a long pause, not looking up. “We ripped her world out from under her.”
Paul didn’t argue. He knew it was true. He felt it with every aching second that passed.
“I should’ve ended things with her the moment I realized my feelings for you weren’t going away,” Paul admitted, voice almost too quiet to hear. “But I was scared. Of hurting her. Of losing her. Of... not being enough for either of you.”
Anton glanced over. “You think I wasn’t scared too? You think I wasn’t sitting in my room every night trying to talk myself out of this?” He shook his head, bitter and raw. “I hated that kiss as much as I—” He stopped. “I hated what it meant. I hated how much I loved the second one even more”.
Paul sat again, slower this time. “But we did it anyway.”
“Yeah,” Anton breathed, barely audible. “We did.”
Silence again, thicker than before. The kind that didn’t feel like a pause, but a consequence.
Finally, Paul spoke. “So what now?”
Anton didn’t answer right away. He stared ahead at the muted TV screen; just a blank, black rectangle reflecting their distorted images back at them. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Maybe we give her space. Maybe we try to talk to her when she’s ready. Or maybe... we have to accept that we broke something we can’t fix.”
Paul’s jaw tensed. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to lose her.”
“You already said you didn’t regret the kiss.”
“I don’t,” Paul said, too fast. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t love her.”
Anton turned to him fully now, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. “And what about me? Do you love me, or was it just... heat-of-the-moment?”
Paul stared back, the weight of the question anchoring him to the spot. “It wasn’t just heat. It wasn’t a mistake. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And yeah… I do. Love you.”
Anton softened just slightly. He let the words settle in his heart, like he needed to hear them echo in his own chest before deciding what they meant.
“I can’t be a secret again,” he said finally. “Not to her. Not to anyone. If we’re doing this... it has to be real.”
Paul nodded slowly. “It already is.”