He could now.

Reflex made him jump out of bed the second he heard the door to his room slip open. He’d told Josiah a million times to always listen for shit, and it was something he still did today. Half asleep or not, he heard someone step into his room.

But then the scent of coffee hit him, mixed with that expensive cologne Tristan wore, and he knew it was them as they stepped toward him.

He didn’t have time to react before Josiah was kissing him, Tristan shoving a hand down his boxer-briefs.

They were nothing but hands and mouths, kissing, sucking, stroking. He felt like he would bust out of his skin. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more, more, more, and as though they knew it, they gave it to him. He had Tristan’s hot mouth on his cock. Josiah’s gentle hands spreading his cheeks before his probing tongue played with his hole.

He groaned, cried out, but it still wasn’t fucking enough. He didn’t have to tell them because they somehow realized that, too.

Tristan pulled him to the edge of the bed. Josiah ripped his underwear down and then whispered, “Can I have you again, Teo? Will you let me inside?”

“Fuck yes,” he rasped out, Tristan jerking him off. “Anything you want.”

He thrashed under Josiah’s touch. Pulled Tristan’s hair when Josiah’s lubed dick pushed into him. Jerked even harder when Tristan’s mouth swallowed him whole.

He lay on his back, Josiah between his legs and Tristan bending over him. Mateo fisted Tristan’s prick, pumping his hand.

They fucked fast and furious, all the tension of his day, of his fucking life, slowly finding its way out of him, or at least into hiding.

When he came, losing himself down the back of Tristan’s throat, Josiah squeezed his hips hard enough to leave marks, plunging into his own orgasm as well. Right behind him, Tristan cursed, his creamy, hot seed spilling all over Mateo’s hand.

Dios, this had been just what he’d needed. They had been. He opened his mouth to try and find the words to tell them, but Tristan spoke first. “You’ll sleep with us from now on, that way we can have each other whenever we want.”

He didn’t argue. Didn’t want to. Just got up and followed them to the other bedroom.

For the three weeks since that night, it’s where he stayed. He knew their habits by now. Woke up automatically when Tristan left bed like he did so much, because the man didn’t sleep for shit. Memorized the feel of Josiah’s body molding against him, as though he was scared Mateo would leave.

Some days, they hardly saw each other. They still tried to walk together every morning, sometimes the three of them and sometimes two of them, but they still always went.

Walking alone today, Mateo raised his camera, watching the shadow of someone in the distance as they looked up at a graffiti mural on a big, brick wall. Two paintings, really. One of them was a fucked-up-looking heart, bruised, beat up and torn, resting an equally fucked-up-looking hand. But the way the hand held it, the way it looked like it wanted to protect the heart no matter how screwed up it was, made it beautiful.

Next to it was another heart...a perfect one, bright, red and untarnished, but alone.

He couldn’t make out if the person looking at it was man or woman. Fuck, he wasn’t even sure if it was real, just a black shadow, looking at the wall.

He clicked a picture. Then another. The person started walking, and he clicked a few more before they disappeared, and then he took one last picture of just the wall, strangely wondering which kind of heart the person had, and being okay with the broken one that was his.

When he knew Josiah would be home, Mateo headed that way. He always left when both Tristan and Josiah were gone. No matter where he slept at night, the house still wasn’t his.

He used the key Tristan gave him to let himself in. He heard Josiah rummaging around in the kitchen, so he went that way. When he stepped inside, he saw him, standing in front of his coffee maker. He turned, grinning at Mateo, making the past slam into him so hard it ripped the breath from him. He forced words out.

“I remember comin’ home in New York one day when you got a new coffee machine, and you would have thought it was fucking gold or something.”

Josiah leaned against the counter. “To me it was better, just because it was mine. It was ours. Something I bought to go in our home. That’s all that mattered to me, Teo.”

Mateo tried to laugh off what he said despite the fact if he had nothing else, he could live off those words. “You’re all heart. You always have been.”

“So are you. You just don’t want to admit it.”