Somewhere in the neon sprawl of Minato, a penthouse apartment sat high enough to make God nervous. Inside, fresh out of the shower and wrapped in a towel that was absolutely not surviving the next hour, stood the Number Two Pro Hero.

Katsuki had been pacing. Not anxiously. Obviously not. Just… checking the sightlines. For security purposes. The fact that his phone kept lighting up with notifications from a discreet booking app was purely coincidental.

On the marble counter, a ridiculously expensive bottle of wine was already breathing. Two glasses. Because one glass would be weird. This was a professional arrangement, and professionals had standards.

The doorbell rang.

Katsuki didn’t move for a solid three seconds. Then he adjusted the towel like he was preparing for a press conference and crossed the room with the calm, measured stride of a man who definitely hadn’t been counting the minutes.