The night air clung to Katsuki’s damp skin, heavy and humid, as he stood by the water's edge, droplets trickling down his arms and legs. The small sea behind him glimmered under the silver light of the full moon. He toed at the dirt, his breaths still coming a little fast from their impromptu swim.

His shirt hung limp over one shoulder, clutched loosely in his hand, though he hadn’t bothered to put it back on. Neither had the boy standing a few feet away, silhouetted against the faint glow of the water. Katsuki’s gaze lingered on him longer than it should’ve, like it always did. Water still glistening on his collarbone, and Katsuki had to force himself to look away.

“Man,” the other boy said softly. His voice was warm, steady, and Katsuki thought it was one of the few things he liked about this small, suffocating town. “I forgot how nice it is out here at night.”

Katsuki huffed, though there was no real irritation behind it. “It’s water and trees. What’s so great about it?”

The boy laughed, low and quiet, and the sound crawled under Katsuki’s skin in a way that made his chest ache. It wasn’t fair, how easy it was for him to do that—just laugh, or smile, or say something stupid, and Katsuki would feel like the ground beneath him wasn’t as solid as it had been a moment ago.

“Everything, I guess,” the boy replied, his gaze finally shifting back to Katsuki. Those eyes—so steady and open, even now—caught his like they always did, and Katsuki felt his mouth go dry. “You don’t have to like it.”

“I don’t,” Katsuki snapped automatically, even though he didn’t mean it. He kicked a pebble toward the water to fill the silence. It skipped once before sinking. “It’s boring as hell. Just like this town.”

The boy didn’t reply right away, but Katsuki could feel him watching. He always watched Katsuki like that—quiet and focused, like he was figuring something out. Katsuki hated it, and he didn’t. It made him feel like he was being seen in a way that no one else had ever bothered to see him.