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Katsuki carves across concrete and cobblestones, even the craggy red brick, with expert ease and precision and nearly nothing in his way. A careful weave between the occasional tourist, a deft glide around an old yellow taxi, Katsuki knows these streets better than he knows almost anything. And he knows a lot.
Waiting at a crosswalk (like a good little citizen), he watches the sun quietly dip below the horizon, blanketing the intersection and nearby alleyways in cool blue, leaving highlights of rich purple to dance across nearby shop windows just as they flip on their evening lights.
The little red man turns green, and Katsuki pushes off of the lamp post, propelling himself on eight wheels through the crosswalk without skipping a beat. The rhythmic bounce of his quads passing over the cracks in the concrete serve as the city’s heartbeat, grounding Katsuki as he rides, reminding him that this city is alive.
He swings by his favorite kombini, the one that doesn’t make him take off his skates—they know he’s only there for an energy drink and a single onigiri. He’s in and out in three minutes flat, and he slows his pace to something more leisurely, cracking open the can and attempting to unwrap the rice with just one hand and his teeth.
With hands and mouth full, Katsuki glides through intersection after intersection, free of traffic, free of any care or worry for the first time in a while—content to just be.
He tosses the can and wrapper in the bin near the entrance of the skatepark and a scowl quickly finds itself firmly fixed on his mouth—because he’s not fucking alone.
This is why he only laces up at night. When the sun is up and the people are out, Katsuki would sooner throw his skates in an active volcano, rather than share the concrete with a bunch of losers that don’t know what they’re doing.
So he always waits. Waits for the commuters and the tourists to go do whatever salarymen and Americans do at night, waits for daylight to dim, waits until it’s only the artificial glow of shop signs and street lamps to guide his path to his favorite place in this whole damn city.
But today, someone’s here, and it pisses him off more than he’s willing to admit.
They’re on the opposite side, nothing more than a dark speck in the early moonlight, but it’s still one person too many. However, as he steps closer, his scowl dissipates and his jaw drops.
Gliding backwards towards the edge of the ramp, the stranger glances over her shoulder—but she doesn’t seem to see him. Blunt, violet bangs brush against her forehead and as she gains speed, her hands stretch above her head. In a single fluid motion, she throws her arms back down toward the earth, two violet wheels hook over the edge of the rail, and the light from the streetlamp shines off of one of the silver buckles on her skates as she kicks the other leg into the air. Her crop top slides up her chest with the momentum, exposing an intricate black bra that might be leather, and Katsuki can’t take his eyes off of her. As the world stalls, she completes a perfect forward rotation, landing back on both feet effortlessly.
All in goddamn skinny jeans.
He needs to know her, needs to ask her a million questions, because how is someone going to come to his (not his) park and upstage him with a killer move like that?
He pushes closer to the center of the bowl, closer to her, where she’s standing with her toe stop cocked, hands on her hips, and heaving into the night air the same way Katsuki would be after nailing a trick like that.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” She says.
Katsuki reacts, completely rationally. “What are you doing in my fucking park?”
She laughs, “What, you mean to tell me you own this public skate park?”
“So what if I do?” He doesn’t.
She laughs again, but doesn’t respond, simply dragging the earbud hanging around her neck back to her ear. Katsuki sighs, annoyed that he has to behave himself, but he needs to know who she is.
“Okay, fine. Just never seen you here before.” He tips his chin up to the starless night sky and sighs, “You’re really fucking good.”
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“You’re bold, talking to strangers like that.”
“Katsuki.” He says. “See, not strangers anymore.”
She cocks an eyebrow, “Given names, huh? Really bold. You can just call me Jirou.”
“Who are you?” He asks, stunned that a girl that looks like this and skates like that, can also keep up with his sharp tongue. This kinda shit happens…never, and all of his usual confidence is cowering behind a fucking chain link fence, watching from the outside.
“I’m nobody, really.”
“Don’t look like nobody, from where I'm standing.”
She laughs, tugging up the waistband of her black jeans, “Honest, i’m mostly a street skater. I’m new to the tricks.”
Katsuki almost doesn’t believe her, but then he takes a look at her knee pads. In comparison to his own, hers look plucked directly off of the shelf, the few scuffs and scratches nearly invisible in the low light. They could be new, sure, but something about her energy makes him want to believe her.
“Huh. Well, you’re really fucking good. Kinda feel like a dick for that whole ‘my park’ thing.”
“It’s fine,” She smiles, “I think i’m going to go now, though. Have a goodnight, Katsuki.”
And man, does his name sound good in her mouth.
“You close? I was on my way home, if you—uh…” Fuck, he didn’t think this through. He didn’t mean to proposition a stranger like that, even if he knows their name—that isn’t how he operates. “You know what, never mind. See you around, maybe.”
“I’m only a few blocks that way,” she says, ignoring his retraction and pointing in the same direction as Katsuki’s home.
How have they not met before?
Katsuki nods, “Let’s go, then.”
She stares at him for a second, jaw slack, before breaking out in a smirk and bolting out of the park at near-top speed.
Competitive. Funny. Gorgeous.
Don’t fuck this up, Katsuki.
She takes the lead for a while, expertly weaving between pedestrians, taxis, and cyclists alike, and then they finally draw to a stop at that same damn crosswalk from earlier.
Katsuki rests his arms on the top of his head to help regain his breath, and Jirou leans against the light post to do the same.
“Hate. This damn. Intersection.” She heaves, and he smiles.
A knowing grin tugs at the corner of his lip and the little man remains red. He chances a glance, both hoping and dreading she’s already looking back at him, but instead finds her craning her head down a nearby alleyway .
“Whaddya see?” He asks.
“Feel like taking a shortcut?”
Katsuki checks right, left, but before he can say ‘let’s go’, she grabs his wrist and they take off.
He keeps his mouth shut, but he knows where they’re headed. He adds “smart” to the mental list of things about Jirou that make him insane.
As they pass by small fruit stands, tea shops, and one of his favorite noodle counters, he considers what it would be like skating through this alley under more familiar circumstances. Just the two of them.
Katsuki’s never wanted to go on a date with anyone before. He regrets not asking if she’s a witch, or a siren, maybe a fucking ghost. But no one has ever intrigued him quite like this.
She matches his stride, and despite not talking, he keeps learning more and more things about her. He sees the way her gaze lingers on certain shops, how she’s careful not to weave too closely between families and old people, and if he’s not completely delusional, the fact that she’s definitely—probably—into him.
Then, not far in the distance, he sees it.
“When we get to that tunnel, put on your favorite song.”
“What??” she shouts, wobbling slightly as she turns just a bit too quick.
“Yeah, I love this tunnel. Line up with the center line and take your headphones out. You’ll wanna hear it through the speaker.”
She looks back at him as if he has three heads.
Katsuki rolls his eyes, “Fine, if you don’t trust me, I'll go first.” He drags his phone out of his pocket and flips to one of his favorites—at least a song he thinks might better set the mood, with a slow pace, a driving melody, and embarrassingly apt lyrics—then he cranks up the volume.
She slows, just enough to let him lap her, and as he passes, whispers, “I know I have a great ass, but don’t get too distracted.”
Jirou snorts, “Oh, shut up, Katsuki.”
He smirks, lining his quads up with the center, and as he passes through the entry, he hits the play button. Katsuki times his steps to the slow drone of the kick drum, the evenly spaced wall lights flashing in sync with the lead guitar, and he hums the melody low in his chest.
Wanna be yours, I just wanna be yours, wanna be yours, wanna be yours.
Approaching the clear straightaway, his eyes dip close and he listens. He feels the scrape of her purple wheels not far away, her strained breathing that’s not too different from his, and a gentle hum matching the melody emanating from his back pocket. Of course she knows the song.
Katsuki straightens his torso as the song begins its final crescendo, a guitar solo he’s heard a million times, and, lifting his feet at just the right moment, he twists 180 degrees, perfectly returning to the same lines. But showing off seems to fall on deaf ears, because she’s not skating behind him anymore.
“My turn.” She says, speeding past his left side, just as the tunnel is filled with an extremely familiar synchronized drum and guitar intro.
Katsuki slowly turns back towards her, large strides—left and right and left again—to make up a bit of the distance, then she turns on her toestop to face him at the same moments the lyrics begin.
How did it feel, when it came alive and took you, out of the black?
It’s all so coordinated, so fluid, if Katsuki didn’t know any better, he’d assume she’d planned this.
He matches her pace for a moment, the slow, heavy build of the song doing everything he wanted it to and more. The bright crashes of lead guitar and cymbals bounce around the empty walls of this place, while the low, driving kick and earthy vocals seem to rumble through her skates and down through the concrete.
Jirou catches his gaze, but she doesn’t smile—they don’t speak. Her eyes are dense pools, she has two little red marks beneath them he isn’t sure are tattoos or makeup, but he is sure he wants to do this again. Wants to see her again. Wants to know everything about her. The gritty guitar lead wails between them from her front pocket and he grins, refusing to break eye contact even as they breach the exit into the late evening breeze.
The volume dissipates, enough of a change to seemingly shake both of them out of whatever trance they’d just been under, but not enough to offer complete silence.
Katsuki slows and she follows suit. “So?” He asks. “What’d you think?”
Jirou would be really good at poker. “It was alright.” She says, then she grins.
It’s almost as if the tunnel transported them, all of the early evening light now transformed into inky blues and waxing moonlight bathing the familiar street. They glide closer and closer to his front door, and just when he decides to say his goodbyes, she cuts through the comfortable silence.
“Well, this is me.”
“You’re fucking joking.” He gawks, as she nods and points in the direction of his building.
“You’re fucking joking,” Jirou mirrors, “how the hell have we never—how long have you lived here?”
“Eight years.”
“Three.”
“Jesus.”
Awkward confusion hangs in the air between them, sitting on the curb in front of their shared building as they unlace their colorful, worn skates. He’s got a million thoughts racing around up there, but now that they’re thigh to thigh, she’s too close for him to have coherent thoughts.
“How’ve I never seen you before, Katsuki?”
“Well, I work from home and only really go out late at night.”
“And I’m in bed by eleven,” Jiroul laughs. “It all makes sense now.”
“Like ships in the night, or some shit.”
She peers through her bangs, a soft smile spreads across her face. “Or some shit.”
They exchange numbers under the moon, and swear to let their schedules overlap a bit.
And they do.
For days, Katsuki keeps an ear out for the hallway, listens for the jingle of her keychain, her soft voice humming yet another song he recognizes, and they make time for each other. Coffee, lunch, she even has him texting again. He even learned her given name. Then, a few midnights later, they find themselves back at the park, with hours spent practicing drop-ins and trying to get Katsuki to do a front flip.
“I’m too old for this, Kyouka.”
“You’re not even 4 months older than me, gramps.”
“Oi!” He laughs, then halfway through his flip, he bails again. Maybe he is actually too old.
“You okay to wrap it up for tonight?” She asks.
Katsuki groans, then nods, and they soon find themselves skating back towards their homes, exiting the tunnel once more.
They peel out of their skates again, and as Kyouka steps through the threshold of their building, as they loiter aimlessly in the stairwell between their floors, Katsuki asks a question that’s stalled on his lips every time they’ve parted ways.
“So. You wanna keep hanging out? I can cook something if you’re hungry—”
“What if I’m not hungry?”
Katsuki scoffs, frustrated that his secondary instincts were right, kicking himself for ever putting himself out there, “Well damn, then don’t come over. Not like I wanted to-” but then she laughs, grabbing his wrist the same way she did the first night they met.
“Not what I meant.” She says, dragging him by his collar down to her lips.
Katsuki’s hands still midair, unsure how to react, but then she’s already pulling away. Flustered and yet so sure of herself, Kyouka stares back at him, an unspoken question resting on the lips that just kissed him.
Was that okay. Is this okay. Can I kiss you.
He answers with his hands, wrapping one gently around the back of her neck, the other, firm and bruising around her waist, as he drags her back to another eager press of lips. Whatever hesitation she’d been feeling seems to melt away and out the door, as she matches his strength and they both stumble back into the slightly hidden corner of the stairwell.
She drags her short nails across his scalp as she scrambles for purchase, unearthing a low, obscene groan from Katsuki’s chest that he’d probably be embarrassed about under normal circumstances. Unintentionally uninhibited, but she knows what she’s fucking doing, so he lets it escape.
Lets her know she’s doing good.
He silently begs the universe to let them have this, without interruption.
Katsuki’s fingers trail beneath the hem of her tank top, and her skin pebbles at the touch, but she does not flinch. His grip softens as he glides across the gentle curve of her hips, up the dip in her lower back, then back to the opposite side of her waist.
Her body is strong, but slender, and she slides between his thighs and into his arms so easily, he worries it's too easy. Their tongues are strangers, but hold a conversation of the highest regard, exploring and tasting every inch. Kyouka grabs his bottom lip between her teeth and he squeezes tighter around her waist. Another silent invitation.
One she seems to understand, because soon after, she’s tightening her grip on his neck, and pulls herself up to wrap strong, toned legs around his hips.
Then there’s a loud, grating, familiar buzz.
“Fuck,” He whispers, and they don’t move a muscle, trapped in a compromising position, but in the event it’s their one single ground floor neighbor, they don’t move. If they can stay quiet, she won’t know they’re being indecent in public. She’s a grump, she’s called the authorities for less.
Chest to chest, with Kyouka wrapped around him like a koala, not more than a few centimeters apart, they both stare down the edge of the stairwell in anticipation.
Bags rustle, keys rattle, and then a door slams shut.
They both deflate, noses almost brushing as they turn to face each other, before bursting out into unrestrained laughter.
“Thanks for the cockblock, Mrs. Whoever-the-fuck.” Katsuki says, releasing Kyouka from his hold and setting her back to the ground.
Kyouka laughs, “Hey, she didn’t fully ruin it.”
Katsuki’s eyes go wide and his jaw falls, “She didn’t?”
“Nah,” She shakes her head with a smile, “But, uh, maybe you wanna take this somewhere else? Thought you were gonna make me food.”
A vicious grin stretches across his face, and then he scoops her up by the knees, hauling her and all four of their skates up the stairs and towards his apartment. She slaps his butt with a giggle.
“You were right, Katsuki.”
“‘Course I was,” He says, “About what?”
“You do have a great ass.”
“Told ya’.”
He drags them both through the door and considers his luck. He considers how good it'll be to have someone to share the concrete with. Thanks the universe for sticking them in each others' paths, even if it took a few years. Because, to Katsuki, this girl might be everything.