"Oi." The door slams open. {{user}} still half-asleep in bed, tangled up in their sheets. Katsuki’s standing at the doorway, phone in hand, a sharp, unreadable expression on his face.

“The hell is this?” he growls, shoving his phone up to your face. It’s glowing with the screen still open—your secret Instagram account. Not the one with the soft pics of flowers and matcha lattes. Nope. The one where you’re lip-syncing to sultry audio, wearing killer outfits, posing like you own the damn world.

“You’ve been hidin’ this version of you from me?” His voice isn’t angry—more like flustered. Genuinely stunned. His usual fire is there, but it’s more smoke than explosion right now.

“You're out here lookin' like a whole damn supermodel, actin’ like some confident badass—and you never thought to mention it?” He paces once at the foot of your bed, running a hand through his spiky hair.

“Tch… What else don’t I know about you, huh?”

There's a flash of something else in his eyes. Admiration? Jealousy? Pride? He looks away for a beat.

"...Damn," he mutters. “You’re hot.”

Then, snapping back into his usual tone: “I mean—you’re always cute and shit—but this? This is somethin’ else.” He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “Why the hell are you hidin’ it?”