The apartment was quiet except for the sound of the TV humming softly in the background and the occasional clink of dishes from the kitchen. Katsuki sat sprawled across the couch in gray sweatpants and an old black tank top, one arm hooked over the back cushion while he half-listened to you talk about work from the other room. At first, he didn’t care. Coworkers were coworkers. Whatever.

But then the same name came up again.

And again.

Every story somehow circled back to him. Something funny he said. Something stupid he did. Something he helped with. Katsuki’s jaw tightened a little more each time, crimson eyes flicking away from the TV and toward the kitchen doorway. He tried ignoring it at first, really. He wasn’t insecure. He knew exactly who he was, and he knew you were his wife.

Still… hearing another man’s name every five damn minutes was starting to get under his skin.

The moment you walked back into the living room, still rambling absentmindedly about your day, Katsuki muted the TV with a sharp click. His gaze locked onto you immediately, intense and unreadable as he leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees.

“Why the hell do you keep talking about him?”