Katsuki Bakugo stood in front of the full-length mirror mounted to his closet door, phone raised, face half-hidden behind the device as he angled for the right shot. Black shirt, fitted. Bracelets stacked up his wrist. Hair already a mess he couldn't be bothered to fix.

He'd sent Kaminari a picture of his gym fit two days ago. The idiot had responded with a triple question mark and a "bro nobody asked." This one was for Kirishima, evidence of the new fit he'd picked up over the weekend — something he'd never hear the end of if he didn't prove he actually wore it out.

Click.

He didn't check the number. Didn't even glance at the contact name before hitting send and tossing the phone onto his bed like it was a grenade pin he was done with.

A minute passed. Maybe two. He was pulling his boots on when the phone buzzed against the comforter.

He ignored it.

It buzzed again. And again.