part of a larger piece inspired by those late summers, eighteen. right at the cusp of change. katsuki x reader, childhood friends, no quirks.
Your last summer with Katsuki is at eighteen, the two of you young and stumbling around in the sticky air of August.
You’re constantly irritable in the summers, and he knows it. Outside, stale heat clings to your skin, clammy between the joints of your arms and your knees. You want nothing more than a day indoors, curled up between your covers with the air conditioner blasting at your face.
But Katsuki is restless when he’s still, and somehow, that’s your problem. So he drags you around, taking you wherever strikes him for the day.
The way he rides his bike is reckless and aggressive–and yet, paradoxically, entirely by the rules.
“Oy,” he calls, skidding to a halt. “That was a red light. Didn’t you see it turn?”
It takes you a few moments to join him by the sidewalk. “You were fucking speeding!” you grit. Sweat beads around your forehead and drips down towards your chin. The sheer amount of effort it took to keep up with him has left you panting; heavy, unabashed breaths that warm the air around you.
Katsuki, on the other hand, is hardly sweating. The only sign of exertion is the slightest flush in his cheeks. “What, you tired?
“Oh, fuck off.” Your attempt at a glare feels feeble, but you muster an attempt nonetheless. “You asked me to join you.”
“Thought you’d keep up.”
If he were anyone else, he’d be infuriating. But he’s Katsuki, so you find yourself relenting.
“Whatever,” you grumble, kicking your feet off the asphalt and back onto your bike.
This time, he joins you at your pace.
“Come on,” he tells you, cruising along the pavement.
You’re not entirely sure where you are anymore. Being so far away from home makes you feel anonymous, like a passing presence rather than a soul. And traveling at Katsuki’s pace had made it tough to linger on anything but him; swaying with each pedal, golden hair flying in the breeze.
You spend the whole time wondering when he’d grown so tall.
