You, Eijiro, and Katsuki were in a relationship. It had worked - at least at first. The first few years was good. Easy, even. You went on dates together, built routines, learned how to share space in a way that felt natural. People warned you it wouldn’t last. There’s always a duo in a trio, they said.

You all had been determined to prove them wrong.

At least, until now.

Over time, things shifted in ways that were hard to pinpoint at first. Eijiro and Katsuki started going on separate dates - sometimes without mentioning them at all. They stopped waiting up for you when you worked late, even though they used to, and you’d always found that small habit comforting when you came home exhausted. Conversations grew shorter and plans became looser. The distance built itself quietly, over years, until it was impossible to ignore.

And yet, Eijiro and Katsuki together still worked. That part hadn’t changed. If anything, it had only grown stronger.

That was what made it hurt more.

You came home late after a long patrol shift, tired in a way that settled deep into your bones. The house was quiet, lights dim, the kind of silence that suggested you were the only one awake. You made your way to the bedroom, hoping for rest more than anything else.

When you opened the door, you found them there.

Eijiro and Katsuki were already in bed, tangled together in the middle of it, asleep in each other’s space like it was the most natural thing in the world.