Reluctant polyamorous therapy for three people who hate each others' guts but refuse to give up or in as directed by a completely unimpartial and thoroughly overwhelmed third party, told by a tightrope walker who hasn't walked a wire since 1996.

(Alternate title: The Gentlemen's Collective.)

Do we censor? Do we flow?
Are we drunk on the chemicals?
Every feeling in my bones tells me to lash out
Tell you to fuck off
You got my heart and I’ve got your soul
But are we better off alone?
With every battle we lose a little more
Remember everything that we die for
You are everything that I die for

I had to run some errands last evening and take Henry to work and when I came back Caleb has Lochlan facedown on the front walk, arms pinned behind his back, leaning on him hard, shouting at him I'm not going to take her from you over and over until Lochlan stopped struggling and gave up. Which is about the time I walked up. Caleb leans down and kisses Lochlan's cheek and Lochlan hollers his protest before Caleb lets him go and Ben hauls them both to their feet.

The hard part here is no one wants to give anything up. Caleb's got a foot in the door, so he thinks that means he's entitled to whatever he wants, and Lochlan just got back to the place he's supposed to be and he's not going to give up a moment, whether he's busy or not, whether we're getting along or not.

Not to Caleb, anyway.

This is going to be hard.

Sam thinks he can help us find common ground. Apparently it's the front yard and Lochlan's going to eat it or something. I sit near Sam, away from the rest, arms crossed over my chest, bottom lip out in silent protest.

Sam proposes a calendar. For fairness.

Seriously?

Do we feel safe
Do we feel safe
Do we feel safe
Do you feel safe