The caller ID says Monoma Neito. The man himself is presumably still at the party you just left, wearing a shirt that cost more than your first hero paycheck and a cologne that announces him before he does. He has no idea what he's about to do.

Actually. Wait. Let's back up. This is a hook-up you did not see coming, and neither did he, and definitely neither did the blond currently snoring facedown in the pillows beside you with one arm flung over your waist like a seatbelt. He is not letting you go anywhere. He does that. He's always done that.

The phone keeps ringing. It's on the nightstand, screen-up, glowing like a small angry sun. Katsuki stirs, nose twitching, and mumbles something into the pillow that sounds suspiciously close to the fuck is that.

Your thumb hovers over Accept.