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Paul Baker wouldn’t consider himself a jealous person.
In fact, he took pride in being a secure person, especially in relationships. Issa and him had taken a relationship attachment quiz, and while Issa had gotten that she was 60% secure and 40% avoidant, Paul had been a whopping 91% secure.
He had never felt bothered when another guy, or girl, flirted with Issa. It seemed almost incredulous to him to be jealous.
“Anton, I’m not joking, you have to text him back. He is hot, and not kinda hot — I literally thought he was Jacob Elordi from afar.”
“Iss, please.”
“Do it or I’ll text him from my phone pretending to be you and that I got a new number.”
“Oh my god.”
Paul bit his tongue, and tried turning his attention to the TV. He would never say it, but he secretly thought it was annoying how much everyone cared about Anton’s dry spell.
Everyday it was like: ‘Anton, look at this cute guy,' ‘Anton, come out with us tonight, you might meet somebody,' ‘Anton, that guy is looking at you,' blah blah blah.
It was annoying as shit, and Paul felt like he was losing his mind because why was he the only one who literally could not care less who Anton fucked. He didn’t want to hear about it at all, actually. But if he said that, he would look weird.
His friends might think he was an asshole for not caring. Or maybe even jealous. A jealous asshole, he would be, because — he was with Issa!
He had no reason to be jealous.
Anton was his friend. His friend that was allowed to talk to any guy he wanted, and date whoever he wanted, and fuck whoever. Sure, he was also Paul’s husband, but that was more of a marriage of convenience. Paul wasn’t stupid. He understood that. But, really, this was all Anton’s fault.
That night when he and Issa had hung out with that random man they met outside the ATM, the guy said he had almost hooked up with Anton that night, but Anton had turned him down because he was ‘married to Paul Baker.’
Paul had laughed it off in front of the guy and Issa, but a part of him had been warmed by the words, which was so stupid because Anton had probably just said that as an excuse to reject the guy, but still, it was nice to hear. Anton was his.
Except he wasn’t really.
And maybe that was what was upsetting Paul so much. He never got jealous over Issa because he knew Issa was his girlfriend. But Anton was — what? his fake husband?
It was all so stupid.
So he kissed Anton after they got married, and it was really nice. And maybe he thought about it way too much. But that didn’t mean he wanted to be with Anton, did it? He loved Issa. And he was not about to ruin his friendship with the best people he’s ever met.
As long as he kept his thoughts to himself, it should be fine. The feeling will go away eventually, right?
͙͘͡★
Things were fine for a while. There was less talk of who Anton was fucking, and Paul felt like he could breathe again.
Until one night when the whole group went out for drinks, and Paul Baker made a fool of himself.
The bartop was incandescent, reflecting light off the liquid-filled glasses. Paul must have been on his tenth drink.
“Paul Baker, please, can we dance?” Issa clung to his side, tipsy herself.
His gaze flickered to the dance floor, where Anton was swaying with some guy he met around Paul’s second drink, right before he changed his mind about getting drunk tonight.
He could barely hear the music from his own heart pounding in his ears. “I don’t think so, Iss.”
Issa pouted at him. “You’re being such a buzz-kill right now, Paul Baker.”
Paul scratched at his chin. He knew he was being weird. He couldn’t stop looking at Anton, but when he saw him standing too close to some stranger, he thought he might be sick. He was sweating in a way that would be permissible if he were dancing. But not even that he could pretend to do right now.
“I’m gonna go find Billie, alright?” Issa shouted over the music.
Paul nodded, and then downed the rest of his drink. He glanced at Anton once more to find he was now sitting and laughing with the same man he had just been dancing with.
Without a thought, or anyone to question him, he walked right up to them.
“Paul Baker.” Anton said in acknowledgment.
Paul took a seat right next to him. Anton’s eyebrows raised in surprise before he scooted an inch away. Paul took some offense, and fought the urge to move closer.
“Who is this?” The random guy asked.
“My friend,” Anton said.
“And husband,” Paul added, grinning, and throwing an arm over Anton’s shoulders.
Anton let out an awkward laugh. “Uh, yeah. That too.”
The guy looked annoyed instantly. “What do you mean?”
“For legal purposes,” Anton waved his hand dismissively. “He has a girlfriend. Where is Issa, by the way?”
Paul shrugged, irritated that Anton so clearly wanted to get rid of him so he could talk to some stranger. Who wasn’t even that attractive, in Paul’s fluid opinion. He kept his arm around Anton out of spite.
“You sure he has a girlfriend?”
“Yes. Paul Baker, tell my friend you have a girlfriend even though we’re technically married. It’s like, not a real marriage,” Anton laughed, but it came out too forced. He was obviously just trying to appease the man.
Paul sighed, dropping his arm. “I have a girlfriend.”
“He doesn’t sound too happy about that,” the guy said, unconvinced.
“He is. They literally live together!” Anton was sounding more and more desperate.
“We also live together,” Paul said to Anton.
“Paul Baker, I will literally — ”
“Look, man” — the guy started to stand — “you’re really cute and all, but I’m not really looking to homewreck anyone.”
“There is no home to wreck!” Anton shouted frantically.
“Later.” The guy walked off, and Anton fell back against his seat with a groan
“Were you really going to break your dry spell with that guy?”
“Paul Baker, if you do not leave me alone and go find Issa, I will make you wish you never married me and got deported instead.”
“Anton, come on,” Paul poked Anton’s side. “That guy wasn’t even that hot. You could do better.”
Anton gaped at him. “How drunk are you?”
“I’m not.” He threw his arm over Anton’s shoulders yet again. They were sitting very close now.
Anton stood up abruptly. “I’m taking you home, let’s go.”
“What.”
“You already had too much to drink. Let’s call it a night.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Paul protested.
“I’m your husband, right? You have to listen to me.”
They got an uber back to the house.
Paul didn’t really know if he was actually drunk enough that he needed to keep his arm around Anton to steady himself, or if he just wanted Anton close to him. Either way, they stumbled into the living room together, and dropped onto the couch in a united mess of limbs.
Anton let out a tired sigh, and Paul tried hard not to stare.
“Thanks for bringing me home even though I sorta cock-blocked you.”
“Sorta?” Anton teased. “If it wasn’t for you, me and that guy might’ve been on round two by now.”
A beat of silence. Paul didn’t laugh the way Anton probably expected him to.
“Uh, but, hey — you’re my husband. I have to take care of you. In sickness and in health, or whatever.”
A smile tugged at Paul’s lips. “You deserve husband of the year.”
Anton snorted. “We haven’t been married that long. You sure you want to give that title away so easily?”
“I’m sure. You deserve it for putting up with me.”
“Alright, then, Paul Baker.”
Paul’s heartbeat picked up, and blood rushed to his cheeks embarrassingly, but at least he could still blame the alcohol. He liked giving Anton compliments, he decided that a while ago. The way Anton would sit up straight and proud, and his eyes would shine as a smile took over his face. The feeling of making someone like Anton — so vibrant and clever — glow like that was addicting, to put it lightly.
“I seriously couldn’t have gotten a better husband.”
Anton laughed. “Okay.”
“No, really, Anton. You’re, like, awesome.”
“I know,” Anton laughed again, and Paul’s chest felt light. “You’re pretty cool, too,” Anton said.
Paul nudged him softly, knocking their arms together, then he left his there, pressed against Anton’s. With the way they were sitting, their thighs were touching despite the size of the couch. His gaze fell to the other couch, the smaller one, where their friends made them kiss the night they got ‘married.’
“How would you rate me?” Paul asked.
“What?” Anton chuckled.
“As a husband, like out of ten.”
Anton looked amused. “What’s the criteria?”
“You can make your own, I guess. How about I go first, ‘kay?”
“Sure.”
“I have to give you a star for marrying me in the first place. No wait, that should be worth three stars. Then one star for buying my favorite chips after we ran out — two? — two stars. Then, I think three stars for taking care of me tonight even though you could’ve taken that guy home instead. And my last two stars you get for being so great in general, and a fantastic kisser. Ten stars.”
By the time he was done rambling, Anton was gawking at him. “Paul Baker, how much did you drink?”
Paul chuckled despite himself. “I’m not drunk at all anymore, actually.”
“No, you’re definitely wasted. Plastered, even.”
“I’m not, Anton,” Paul said, but it came out too whiney. Maybe he was still a little drunk. But that didn’t mean everything he had just said wasn’t true either. Both things could be true at once.
“You should go to bed.”
“I don’t want to go to bed.”
Anton sighed. “Completely inebriated,” he muttered to himself.
“How am I wasted? I just gave you an extensive husband review without slurring. I'm speaking normally. Eloquently, some might say…”
“A ‘husband review’? Paul Baker, I’m not a film you rate on letterboxd.”
Paul laughed at that. “Okay, sorry. So you don’t want any stars.”
“I mean, I’ll take the compliments, sure. I love a compliment.”
Paul grinned. “Good. I know you do.”
“What was that about me being a fantastic kisser?”
Paul liked his lips subconsciously. “You’re a pretty good kisser.”
“Really? You think so? Just from our one kiss?”
Paul nodded. “I shouldn’t have been surprised, honestly. You’re good at everything.”
Anton blushed at that, and maybe if Paul was more sober he would’ve understood the tension he was creating more, let it build and build until it was desperate for relief, but sadly, he was drunk and reckless.
“Anton,” he whispered abruptly.
“Yeah?”
“We should go somewhere. For our honeymoon.”
“Where would you like to go, Paul Baker?”
“A beach.” Paul yawned, feeling his eyelids getting heavier, he rested his head on Anton’s shoulder. ”Maybe Mexico.”
“Let’s go.”
He could feel Anton’s chest contracting next to him as he breathed. He let it rock him to sleep.