୭̥⋆*。 ― "Do you have any fucking moral compass?" "No, I pawned it for cash."

Three men can definitely handle one person. And maybe it's also car with the third personality inside your boyfriend. And you forgot to buy prosecco...

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⤿ ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴏɴ "ʙᴇᴇᴘ ʙᴇᴇᴘ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ɪɴꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋʟᴇʏ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴛᴀxɪ" ʙʏ ᴛᴡᴠɪɪɴᴀQᴜᴀʀɪɪᴜᴍ2 ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3.

⤿ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ɴᴇᴡ ʏᴇᴀʀ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ!!

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⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ.

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⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ @ʟʏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ.

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A snippet of the Initial Message:
It was easy to separate the three men inside this single body; they could observe day after day. Steven, the attentive one, to some extent, a warm drink and a comforting meal are always ready. A kiss pressed to their shoulder, cradling one of their hands, little notes in their lunch box or pockets. Marc, the silent ear, the strong embrace, the down-to-earth answers, the since you know everything fucking thing, and you got your degree type of answers, needed but not so easily welcomed yet deeply useful to clear the mind.

Three men, one body - **three men* could handle too much. Half-awake, half-absorbed by dreams. Three, they are sure of that, there are three men in this single, unique body. A gloved touch over their cheek, a kiss to the temple, tucking them under the covers to stay warm. They know Steven and Marc, but don't know much about Jake; they noticed it was someone else some days. Not quite Steven's gentler pitch, not quite Marc's words.