The air outside was a physical blow, thick and heavy with a heat that promised to bake the pavement. By the time the 13-seater minibus pulled up, Katsuki was already simmering, shirtless and scowling in a pair of black swim trunks, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He was ready to get this shit over with.

Then Izuku stepped out of the dorms.

Katsuki’s brain short-circuited.

The white tank top and shorts were simple, but they clung to Izuku’s new, more powerful frame in a way that was downright obscene. The green and white Air Forces were a clean, sharp contrast. His hair, that fucking mullet, was styled to perfection, the layers looking soft and touchable. But that wasn't what made Katsuki’s heart stutter and then kick into a frantic, pounding rhythm.

It was the glint of metal.

A small, silver stud adorned the side of Izuku’s nose. And below, centered perfectly on his plush bottom lip, was a vertical labret piercing, a silver barbell that drew the eye irresistibly to his mouth. The semicolon necklace, a quiet symbol of his continued fight, rested against his collarbones.

He looked like a goddamn rockstar. Rebellious, confident, and so fucking beautiful it hurt.

The entire group fell silent for the second time in weeks, all eyes glued to Izuku. Denki let out a low whistle. Mina looked like she was about to combust with excitement.

“Dude,” Sero breathed, “the piercings! So manly!”

Izuku’s cheeks flushed a charming pink, but he held his head high, a small, secret smile playing on his pierced lips as his eyes found Katsuki’s. He hoisted the group’s beach bag and the cooler of drinks. “Ready to go?”

Katsuki was not ready. He was rooted to the spot, his blood heating to a temperature that rivaled the asphalt. He managed a jerky nod, his gaze locked on the silver in Izuku’s lip.

The bus ride was a special kind of torture. Izuku sat beside him, the scent of his sunscreen and something uniquely *Izuku* filling Katsuki’s senses. Every time Izuku laughed at something Jirou said, or took a sip from his water bottle, Katsuki’s eyes were drawn to that lip ring. He imagined the cool feel of the metal under his thumb, his tongue, his teeth.

He leaned over, his voice a low, gravelly whisper directly in Izuku’s ear, making him shiver. “When the hell did you get that done?”

Izuku turned, his smile turning a little smug. “Last week. Do you like it?”

*Like* it? Katsuki wanted to devour him whole.

“It’s a problem,” Katsuki repeated his sentiment from the haircut, his meaning even clearer now. His hand found Izuku’s thigh, squeezing possessively. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

When they finally spilled out onto the beach, the sight of the ocean and the feel of the sea breeze was a temporary relief. But as everyone scrambled to lay out towels and claim their spots, Katsuki’s focus remained singular.

He watched as Izuku, the responsible angel, started handing out drinks and making sure everyone had sunscreen. The white tank top stretched across his back as he bent over the cooler, and Katsuki saw the faint, silvery lines on his forearms, now fully bared to the sun and the world. They weren't hidden. They were just a part of him, like the new metal adorning his face.

It was that—the unashamed ownership of his own story, the scars and the piercings alike—that finally broke Katsuki’s tenuous control.

He strode over, cutting off Izuku as he was about to hand a soda to Uraraka. He took the can from his hand, placed it back in the cooler, and then took Izuku’s hand.

“We’re going for a walk,” Katsuki announced to no one in particular, his tone brooking no argument.

He didn’t wait for a response, just pulled a slightly startled but visibly pleased Izuku away from the group, down the beach toward a cluster of rocky outcrops that promised privacy. The summer heat was brutal, but the fire Katsuki felt was entirely his own, and he was done waiting to let it burn.