Two. One. Forever

In the attic of a lighthouse, I found an old photograph: a beautiful woman with red lipstick stands between two men. The caption under the picture reads: “We chose love, not rules.” That very night I ran into the two men.

— Choose. Tell one of us to leave.
— I… I can’t.
— Then don’t choose.
— This is madness. I can’t… it shouldn’t be…
— Who said it shouldn’t? You can have anything you want.

We spent the night in a tattoo studio. Their hands squeeze my wrists, their lips touch my neck. The red lipstick smears across their skin. But the lighthouse hides a secret capable of destroying us. Love doesn’t divide—it completely consumes.