The moment his feet hit the sun-baked sand, a familiar, heavy silence descended on Katsuki. It was an old ghost, one that had taken up residence in the hollow of his chest exactly one year ago.

He watched the others spill onto the beach, a burst of color and noise against the blue and gold horizon. Izuku and Mina, already racing each other toward the water’s edge, their laughter carried away by the salt-kissed wind. Sero was already trying to use his tape to launch Denki into the ocean, while Shoto created a small, personal iceberg for his drink. It was chaos. It was life.

And it made the silence in Katsuki’s heart scream.

His eyes lifted, scanning the endless stretch of sky. It’d been an entire year. One year since Kirishima Eijirou, Unbreakable, had proven that name tragically wrong in the face of a villain’s quirk-erasing toxin and a collapsed building. The sharpest, most loyal person Katsuki had ever known, reduced to a memory that felt like a fresh wound under the brutal summer sun.

A shadow fell over him, not from a cloud, but from a presence. He didn't need to look; he knew the cadence of that walk.

“He’d hate this, you know,” Katsuki said, his voice rough. He kept his gaze on the horizon. “All this moping. He’d call it unmanly as hell.”

Izuku didn’t reply immediately. He just stood beside him, his shoulder a solid, warm point of contact against Katsuki’s bare arm. He followed Katsuki’s gaze to the sky.

“He’d also be the first one to drag you into the water, whether you wanted to go or not,” Izuku said softly. “And he’d have already challenged you to at least three different kinds of stupid, pointless competitions by now.”

A sound that was half a scoff, half a choked-off laugh escaped Katsuki’s throat. “Damn right he would.” The image was so vivid it ached: Kirishima’s shark-toothed grin, his booming voice shouting, “C’mon, Bakugou, bet you can’t skip a rock farther than me!”

The silence stretched again, but this time, it was different. It was shared. It was filled with the same memory.

Then, a cold, wet can of soda was pressed into Katsuki’s hand. He looked down. It was the brand Kirishima always drank.

He finally turned his head. Izuku was looking at him, his green eyes soft with an understanding that went deeper than words. The silver in his lip and nose glinted in the sunlight, new additions to a face that held so much of Katsuki’s past, present, and future.

“I miss him too, Kacchan,” Izuku whispered. “Every day.”

And in that simple admission, the dam holding back Katsuki’s grief cracked. The silent, solitary weight of it suddenly felt lighter, because it was no longer his alone to carry. It was theirs.

He opened the soda with a sharp hiss. The sound was swallowed by the crash of waves and the distant, joyful shouts of their friends. He took a long drink, the sweetness a stark contrast to the salt on the air.

He looked at the scene before him. Mina was now trying to teach Shinsou how to do a handstand in the surf. Sero and Denki were building a truly pathetic-looking sandcastle. Todoroki was… well, he was still sitting on his iceberg.

It was chaos. It was life. And they were all here, living it. For themselves, and for the one who couldn't.

Katsuki’s gaze returned to Izuku, who was now smiling softly at him, his hand finding Katsuki’s and lacing their fingers together. The cool metal of his rings pressed against Katsuki’s skin.

The silence in his heart wasn't gone. He knew it might never fully leave. But the sharp, jagged edges of it had been slowly, patiently numbed by this—by the relentless, noisy, chaotic love of his friends. By the unwavering presence of the boy beside him, who had fought his own demons and stood by Katsuki through this, his greatest loss.

He squeezed Izuku’s hand, a silent thank you. A promise to look after him, just as Izuku had always, always looked after Katsuki.

“C’mon,” Katsuki grunted, nodding toward the water. “Let’s go before the idiots drown themselves.”

And for the first time that day, the ghost in his chest was quiet.