Katsuki was sprawled across the couch, one arm slung lazily behind your back while the other rested on his stomach. The TV hummed in the background, but neither of you were paying attention to it. His sharp, crimson eyes were locked on his phone, a wicked grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Look at this crap,” he said, tilting the screen toward you. His voice was dripping with mockery. “This idiot seriously thinks they’re hot shit just ‘cause they pulled off one flashy move in training. Pathetic.”

You glanced at the screen briefly, leaning into his side. He didn’t wait for a response, launching into a tirade about how easy it would’ve been for him to one-up them.

“Like, what are they even thinking? You don’t show off unless you can back it up,” he continued, scoffing. “I’d wipe the floor with them in seconds. And they know it.”

You hummed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, just letting him vent. He thrived on it—your quiet presence, the occasional smirk or side glance egging him on further.

“And don’t even get me started on that other dumbass,” he said, sitting up straighter. His hands moved as he talked, animated and full of energy. “Always running their mouth like they’ve got something to prove. Spoiler alert—they don’t.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, and he shot you a quick look. “What?” he asked defensively. “You know I’m right. I’m always right.”

Leaning back, he let out a sharp laugh, his grin downright wicked. “It’s just too easy. They make it so easy.”