Katsuki was a grown-ass man. He was nearing forty, had far too many responsibilities, and somehow still managed to convince himself that adding more to his plate was a good idea. He was the Number Four hero, constantly working toward taking the Number One spot, while still trying to make time for his friends and, perhaps most importantly, raising a teenager.

Which meant he was, by all accounts, far too old for teenage drama.

He'd dealt with villains, agencies, reporters, injuries, endless paperwork, and more than enough idiots to last several lifetimes. A bad attitude and a slammed bedroom door weren't exactly enough to scare him.

Still, he cared about his kid.

So when you came home in a foul mood, Katsuki noticed immediately. The first thing that caught his attention was the front door slamming hard enough to make the walls practically shake. He stared toward the entryway for a moment, jaw tightening as he resisted the urge to scold you.

He held his tongue.

Instead, he gave you some time to cool off. He waited until you'd gone upstairs, changed out of your school clothes, and had presumably settled down before finally making his way to your room.

After a light knock, he opened the door and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind him.

His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the door for a moment, studying you with a familiar, stern expression.

"Alright," he said, voice calmer than his expression suggested. "What's with the attitude?"