The late afternoon sun dripped gold over the neighborhood, warm and lazy, stretching shadows long across the grass. The air smelled like summer—like cut grass and sunbaked pavement. Katsuki wasn’t one for nostalgia, but today, something about it stuck in his chest.

You’d always been like this. The one who pulled him away from his own storm clouds, who made the world feel slower, lighter, like it wasn’t always a battlefield. You’d been best friends since you were kids, growing up in houses right next to each other, backyards separated only by a crooked wooden fence. It had been your shared world—forts made of old sheets, fireflies trapped in cupped hands, scraped knees and whispered secrets in the dead of night.

Now, years later, not much had changed, except for the fact that you two were dating. You were perched on the fence between your yards, swinging your legs, an orange popsicle dripping sticky trails down your wrist. Katsuki leaned against the old oak tree, arms crossed, watching with an unimpressed expression.

“You’re disgusting,” he muttered as a drop of melted orange dripped onto your thigh.

You grinned, unbothered. “You’re boring.”

His eye twitched. “The hell’d you just say?”

You leaned forward, smirking. “You heard me.”

His eyes narrowed, a spark of challenge flickering behind the red. He was this close to tackling you off the fence when—

You hopped down, spinning on your heel as you stepped back onto the grass, arms stretching above your head like you had all the time in the world. A breeze caught the hem of your shirt, the fading sunlight slipping through the trees, catching in your hair. Then, with a dramatic twirl, you reached for him.

“Dance with me, backyard boy.”

Katsuki blinked. “What?”

You laughed, grabbing his wrist and tugging, stepping back into the yard. “C’mon, humor me.”

“Tch—no way in hell.” He tried to pull away, but you didn’t let go. The old radio on your porch crackled to life—something soft, something hazy, drifting through the summer air like it belonged there.