Three of Us
The crisp autumn breeze swept through the campus of Westbrook University, rustling golden leaves and carrying the familiar scent of roasted coffee and damp books. Students moved in clusters, laughter echoing down the stone walkways that wound between ivy-covered buildings. In the heart of it all, under the towering oak in the university plaza, sat three inseparable friends: Elliot, Jace, and Ava.
They’d known each other since their first year of high school. Time had only deepened their bond — a friendship forged through group projects, family holidays, late-night phone calls, and mutual secrets. Now, in their junior year of college, their connection remained unshaken, at least on the surface.
Elliot adjusted his round glasses and looked up from his worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray. Tall, composed, and always dressed as though he had just stepped out of a European bookstore, he was the kind of guy who made intelligence look effortlessly elegant. A coffee cup sat next to him on the bench — still warm, freshly delivered.
Ava had brought it, like she always did.
"Two sugars, no cream," she said earlier with a grin, placing the cup beside him before flopping onto the grass. Her long blonde hair was tied in a loose braid, strands escaping in the breeze. She wore a simple ivory sweater and jeans, but somehow, she always looked put together, like an unintentional muse in a campus novel.
“I still don’t know how you drink that bitter mess,” Jace said, stretching his legs. He leaned back on his elbows, his gym bag discarded beside him, sweat still clinging to his skin from basketball practice. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked like the embodiment of a campus poster boy — rich, confident, the star athlete who made heads turn without trying.
Ava chuckled. “Because Elliot likes the taste of pain.”
Elliot smiled softly, eyes still on the page. “Only the pain that comes in literary form and cup-sized doses.”
The three of them fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes from years of closeness. Around them, the buzz of campus life moved like background music, but in their little circle, everything felt calm.
To anyone passing by, they looked like a perfect trio — the intellectual, the athlete, and the girl who somehow balanced them both. But beneath the surface, something had begun to shift.
For Elliot, it started with the way Ava remembered the tiniest details about him. Not just his coffee order, but how he hated rainy days unless he had Bach playing in the background, or how he got lost in bookstores for hours. When she touched his arm while laughing or tucked a stray leaf out of his hair, his chest tightened. He’d never been good at understanding feelings — preferring logic and language — but this? This was something he couldn't explain away.
Jace’s feelings emerged more explosively. He was used to being liked — admired, even. But Ava never chased him. She teased him, challenged him, made him feel human. After games, when the crowd thinned and the cheers faded, it was her voice he looked for. It was her hands that threw him a water bottle, her words that made him laugh when the pressure crushed his lungs. He never said it out loud, but in his mind, she was the only real thing in his world of pretense.
Neither boy knew of the other’s growing affection, but they felt a tension forming — a quiet c***k in their trio. It was in the way Jace lingered a little too long beside Ava, or how Elliot grew quieter when she laughed at Jace’s jokes. Yet Ava remained oblivious, simply happy to have the two most important people in her life at her side.
“Big game Friday,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “You’ll both be there, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Elliot replied, though basketball wasn’t his thing.
“You’ll kill it,” Ava told Jace, nudging him with her elbow. “Just try not to show off too much.”
Jace grinned. “No promises.”
She smiled at both of them then — not the polite kind, but one full of warmth. It was the kind of smile that made both boys feel like they were seen, like they mattered in a way the rest of the world couldn’t offer.
Then, without warning, Ava stood and held out her hands.
“Group hug.”
Elliot blinked. “What?”
“Hug. Now. Before the world gets too serious again.”
Jace smirked. “Don’t tell me the ice prince and the jock are afraid of hugs.”
Before either could protest, she pulled them both in, wrapping her arms around their waists. It was brief, lighthearted — a moment of nostalgia more than anything else. But for both Elliot and Jace, it felt like a heartbeat stretched across eternity.
Elliot stiffened for a second before melting into the warmth. He could feel the steady beat of her heart, smell the faint floral scent of her hair.
Jace was close enough to feel her breath on his collarbone, his arm brushing Elliot’s. There was a strange electricity in the closeness — not just with Ava, but with Elliot too, though he couldn’t place it yet.
When she pulled away, laughing, the chill of absence swept in.
“There. Now I’m officially your emotional support friend,” she said, grabbing her bag. “Gotta run to art history. See you guys later!”
She jogged off toward the Humanities building, golden hair catching the sunlight.
Elliot watched her go, silent.
Jace did too, eyebrows drawn slightly together.
The moment stretched between them.
“She’s... something,” Jace murmured.
“She is,” Elliot echoed.
Neither said more, but something unspoken hung between them — a quiet storm on the horizon. For now, they remained seated under the oak tree, two boys chasing the same girl, unaware of the path fate was quietly carving beneath their feet.
