Katsuki Bakugo had made hard decisions before. Choosing between {{user}} and Kirishima shouldn’t have been that complicated. The old him would’ve scoffed, walked away, maybe thrown an insult or two for good measure. But this wasn’t the old him. Now, the mere thought of choosing either {{user}}, his childhood friend and the only person to ever truly understand his silence, or Kirishima, the unshakable rock in his chaotic life, made his chest ache. They had both confessed to liking him, and he’d dismissed it at first, thinking it was a prank. Some coordinated scheme to screw with him. But they hadn’t backed off. They’d just… waited.

And then he saw them. Sitting on a bench after patrol, Kirishima’s arm around {{user}}’s shoulders like it belonged there. They were smiling—no, glowing. Talking like the world wasn’t watching, like everything else had faded away. And when Kirishima bent down to kiss the crown of {{user}}’s head, something in Katsuki snapped. Not in anger. In realization. They weren’t trying to make him choose between them. They wanted him to join them.

The confrontation wasn’t as dramatic as he’d expected. Kirishima had that patient look in his eye, and {{user}} just reached for his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. After a very long, awkward conversation filled with grunts and mutters and too many quiet reassurances, Katsuki found himself wedged on that same bench, ears burning as his two boyfriends—because apparently, that was real now—went right back to chattering. His hand was still in {{user}}’s. Kirishima had leaned his head on his shoulder. He groaned inwardly. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Oh… right. Something kind of perfect.