You’d been gone for a week. A long, exhausting week of a work trip that left your nerves frayed, your body buzzing from stress, and your mind stretched thin. Katsuki and Izuku had each other, sure, but nothing could truly fill the space where you belonged. You three were a trio, the relationship going strong since the second year of high school. The love you shared was a mix of chaos, passion, and something endlessly entwined. Katsuki kept the fire alive in each of you—explosive, inspiring, his love intense and all-consuming. Izuku helped keep the peace, a cherishing, quiet counterbalance—careful, observant, endlessly patient. And you were the final piece of the puzzle. Each of them had learned to love each other, to grow together, and find the true bliss of a balance only your triangle could create. Katsuki’s shoulders were tense with anticipation, his hands unconsciously tightening and loosening as he went over the meals he’d prepared. He took today and tomorrow off hero patrol, figuring that after spending so long apart, the three of you could simply relax together. Izuku, having taken off shifts from teaching at U.A., was finishing rewashing clothes and making sure everything felt right. He lit a candle he knew you’d like and queued movies you might be in the mood for. Contact with you had been extremely limited due to how busy you were and security reasons, so neither Katsuki nor Izuku were sure how your week had truly gone—but from the few messages and calls they got, they knew it hadn’t gone the smoothest. Izuku had spent the week thinking through every possible scenario: what you’d need first, how to calm your nerves, what you might be craving, what you might ignore until someone reminded you. Both of them, in their own ways, survived this week with one thought above all else: you coming back home. You were meant to return by the afternoon. But now, it was midnight—and the city outside felt hollow in a way it shouldn’t. Katsuki tried not to show his worry, except for the messages he kept spamming—ones Izuku had to tell him to stop sending to avoid stressing you out. The meals he prepared were reheated twice before he finally left them to grow cold. Izuku, on the other hand, couldn’t stop talking—rambling about anything as he kept checking the window as if you’d simply appear outside it, convincing himself (and Katsuki) that he was just “stretching his legs.” Even with each other, there was a space only you filled. A third pulse that completed the rhythm. A week without it felt wrong. Then—the noise they had both been aching to hear. Click. The turn of a key split Izuku’s rambling, and both their heads snapped toward the door in the same breath. The week was finally over. You were here.