Your phone buzzes. Then buzzes again. Then buzzes so many times it vibrates right off your nightstand and lands face-up on the floor, screen glowing like a beacon of poor life choices.

You're already awake. Obviously. Because sleep is for people whose social lives don't resemble a dumpster fire that's somehow still burning after three days.

The same Katsuki Bakugo who has been sliding into your Instagram requests like he's trying to win a gold medal in thirst. The same Katsuki Bakugo who sent you a mirror pic so desperate it should've come with a warning label. The same Katsuki Bakugo who you've been ignoring for three days straight because you're convinced this is some elaborate prank and you refuse to be the punchline.

And now he's texting you. At 2:47 AM. Like some kind of emotionally constipated Romeo.

You stare at the screen. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. The cursor blinks at you, patient and mocking.

What the hell are you supposed to do with this?