The te morning had been perfect. Soft golden light, zy kisses, coffee breath, tangled limbs, the occasional sleepy hand wandering somewhere it definitely wasn’t supposed to wander before noon on a Sunday. The three of them had been floating in that sweet, syrupy post-storm haze where nobody needs to speak in full sentences.

  And then the universe decided Sunday mornings were not allowed to stay peaceful.

  BANG. BANG. BANG BANG BANG.

  Violent, rhythmic, like someone was trying to knock the door off its hinges with a battering ram forged in hell.

  Marisol lifted her head from Bharath’s chest like a meerkat sensing danger. “Did you start a weekend breakfast club without telling us?”

  Bharath, eyes still half-shut, voice gravelly with sleep, muttered, “If it’s the FBI again, tell them I plead the fifth… and also that I’m very tired and they can arrest me tomorrow.”

  Marisol snorted, already sliding out of bed. “Feds sleep in on Sundays. This is civilian chaos.”

  Sarah, wrapped in Bharath’s discarded t-shirt that hit her mid-thigh, called after her, “If it’s Ravi, just tell him we’re all dead. He’ll believe it.”

  Marisol yanked the door open like she was ready to fight.

  A human avanche fell inside.

  “YO!” Ravi bellowed, squinting into the light like a vampire who’d forgotten sunscreen. “I told you he’d be here!”

  Tyrel stumbled in right behind him, yesterday’s jeans sagging, beanie crooked, one eye still glued shut. “Man… y’all got ibuprofen? Forgiveness? A time machine? I’m flexible.”

  Jorge followed, looking annoyingly fresh despite the obvious hangover, carrying a greasy paper bag that smelled like gas station breakfast sandwiches.

  Cami brought up the rear, her hair on point, lip gloss perfect, walk somehow still serving even though she was clearly also dying. She took one look at the three of them in various states of undress and half-dressed domesticity and raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “Oh. I see. You guys are slumming today. I expected better from you Mari.”

  Sarah appeared from the kitchen, spatu in one hand, apron tied around her waist like she’d been born to be a chaotic housewife. “Sit down, heathens. Pancakes are almost ready.”

  Ravi blinked so hard his beanie nearly fell off. “Wait. You cooked?”

  Bharath walked up behind Sarah, slid both arms around her waist, and kissed the side of her mouth - slow, casual, completely thoughtless.

  The room temperature changed.

  Ravi’s jaw dropped so fast it should have hit the floor and bounced.

  Tyrel pointed like he’d just seen Bigfoot.

  Jorge’s head tilted forty-five degrees like a confused golden retriever.

  Cami let out a single, delighted “Oop.”

  And Marisol... Marisol just casually stepped up on Sarah’s other side, draped one arm around her waist, and rested her chin on Sarah’s shoulder like this was the most normal thing in the world.

  Silence.

  Then Ravi, in the smallest, most traumatized voice imaginable: “…Wait.”

  Tyrel, slow-blinking: “Nah… Nah nah nah. No way dawg. Uh-uh.”

  Jorge finally broke first, eyes going huge. “Madre… de… dios.”

  Bharath looked around, genuinely baffled. “What? Why is everyone staring? Did I get syrup on my shirt?”

  Ravi sat down very slowly on the arm of the couch like his legs had betrayed him. “You three…”

  Tyrel finished the sentence with religious awe. “Y’all a throuple now?”

  Everyone was quiet for a beat.

  Then the room detonated.

  " BLACK JESUS. SAVE ME!" Tyrel yelled at no one in particur.

  Ravi screamed and fell backwards off the couch arm. Tyrel threw both hands up like he’d witnessed the Second Coming. Jorge started slow-cpping with genuine respect. Cami let out the most unhinged hyena ugh anyone had ever heard from her.

  Marisol just grinned, smug as hell. “Yep.”

  Sarah, cheeks pink but eyes sparkling, shrugged like it was no big deal. “Turns out monogamy is overrated when you have two very convincing friends.”

  Ravi crawled back up onto the couch like a man who had seen God and was now questioning every life choice. “Bharath. Bro. Legend. Absolute legend. You didn’t just pull one ten. You pulled two. At the same time. And they’re both cool with it. I need to speak to your manager.”

  Tyrel was shaking his head so hard his beanie finally fell off. “I have seen some things in my life. I have seen men lie, cheat, steal, fight, cry, beg. I have never seen a man accidentally become the final boss of pussy in real life.”

  Bharath blinked. “I… still don’t understand why you’re all acting like I committed a war crime.”

  Tyrel turned to him with the solemnity of a man delivering st rites. “Brah. You beat off two dudes in an alley by yourself. Took a literal knife wound for a stranger. Walked out of the hospital with stitches like it was Tuesday. And now you wake up every morning with two goddesses fighting over who gets to spoon you harder. You are not a man anymore. You are a myth. You are the OG of OGs. Thug life ain’t even in your weight css anymore.”

  Ravi clutched his chest. “I used to think I had game. I used to think I was the man. I used to think Savage Garden’s Truly Madly Deeply would seal the deal with Sarah. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

  Sarah snorted, flipping another pancake with perfect form. “You were going to sing Truly Madly Deeply to me? In public?”

  Ravi nodded solemnly. “I practiced in the shower. I had choreography.”

  Tyrel patted his shoulder like he was consoling a grieving widow. “Respectfully, bro… you never stood a chance.”

  Jorge raised his coffee mug like he was toasting at a funeral. “To Bharath. The most humble man to ever accidentally become a living legend.”

  Everyone raised whatever they were holding.

  Cami, smirking: “And to cinnamon pancakes. Because clearly that’s the real secret weapon.”

  Marisol leaned over and kissed Sarah’s cheek, loud and obnoxious. “Pancakes and pussy. The ultimate combo.”

  Sarah died ughing and nearly dropped the spatu.

  Bharath rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks fming. “I still don’t know what thug life means. I’ve never even been arrested.”

  The room lost it again.

  Tyrel wiped actual tears. “Don’t ever change, man. Don’t ever change.”

  Ravi, recovering, leaned forward with desperate hope. “Okay but real talk. You got any friends? Like… cool girls? Equal to Sarah? Maybe hotter than Sarah?”

  Marisol gave him the fttest look in human history. “There is no one hotter than Sarah.”

  Cami sipped her coffee. “Correct.”

  Tyrel groaned dramatically. “Then find us someone close. Please. We’ve evolved! We’re emotionally avaible now!”

  Sarah snorted. “You two are hopeless.”

  Ravi clutched his heart. “But hungry.”

  And just like that the tension broke into chaos again—ptes cttering, syrup wars, someone stealing bacon off someone else’s pte, Jorge trying to expin to Tyrel what “apsara” actually meant, Ravi attempting (and failing) to get Sarah to admit she’d ever thought he was hot, Cami filming the whole thing on her flip phone because “this is bckmail material for life.”

  Somewhere in the middle of it all Bharath just stood there, spatu in hand, watching the most ridiculous, loudest, most loving group of people he’d ever met lose their minds over him and the two women who had decided he belonged to them.

  And for once he didn’t feel like he had to expin anything.

  He just smiled.

  And flipped another pancake.

  And let the noise wash over him like sunlight.

  Because somehow, against every odd, against every doubt, against every single thing he’d ever been taught about how retionships were supposed to work—

  This ridiculous, beautiful, impossible thing…

  Was his.

  And theirs.

  And apparently now everybody else’s problem too.