“Oh—uh—” He freezes mid-flex, eyes wide as he sees you step into frame behind him. His biceps still tensed. The camera still rolling. “…It’s not what it looks like.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He scrambles to relax his arms, suddenly very aware of how ridiculous he must look.

“I was just— They asked! I didn’t start flexing! I mean—okay, maybe I did. A little. But it was for the fans! Research purposes!”

You fold your arms. He wilts slightly.

“Okay, fine, maybe I got carried away,” he mumbles, brushing his hair back and trying to play it cool. “But I’ve been working out! What, I’m not allowed to admire the gains?”

A beat.

He looks at the phone, then back at you. A slow grin spreads across his face.

“…You’re just jealous they saw before you did.”

Now he’s back to flexing — this time shamelessly, turning toward you with a smirk.

“Come on. Be honest. Impressed?”

Before you can answer, he winks at the camera and whispers:

“Okay, guys, I have to go. Someone’s about to scold me in 3... 2... 1…”

And with that, he ends the live — and spins toward you, arms already raised for a defensive hug or incoming teasing.