The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of fiery orange and deep purple. As the brilliant colors faded, they were replaced by the groans of a dozen rumbling stomachs. The vote for dinner was a near-unanimous, roaring cry for "Opporto!" that made Katsuki scowl in profound disgust.

"Fucking disgusting," he grumbled, kicking at the sand. "Greasy, mass-produced garbage. We could've had real ramen."

But he was outvoted, and the herd began the migration from the beach to the garishly lit fast-food chain just off the boardwalk. The second the restaurant was in sight, Mina shrieked, "LAST ONE TO THE KIOSK BUYS MY FRIES!" and took off in a sprint.

It sparked a chaotic stampede. Sero used his tape to swing ahead, Denki zipped forward in a burst of speed, and even Shoto put a bit of ice under his feet to slide. But it was Izuku, with a burst of Full Cowling that was barely perceptible but just enough, who blurred past all of them, skidding to a perfect stop in front of the first outdoor ordering kiosk.

He turned, a little breathless, his green mullet ruffled by the run, and grinned triumphantly at Katsuki, who was strolling up at a deliberately slow pace, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Saved you a spot, Kacchan!" Izuku announced, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Katsuki just grunted, coming to stand beside him. He watched as Izuku tapped decisively on the screen. He didn't hem and haw over the menu. He didn't calculate calories or second-guess. He selected a Double Bondi Burger with extra cheese, a large chips with chicken salt, and a large Solo can.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Katsuki's face. It was a small thing, an everyday order, but it was a monument. This was the boy who, months ago, would have pushed a single, plain salad around his plate until it was cold. Now, he was ordering a meal with the confident gusto of a growing hero, eating to his heart's content, fueling the powerful body he had fought so hard to build and accept.

When their order number was called, Izuku carried the laden tray to a table the others had commandeered, already buzzing with the energy of reliving the day's events. He slid into the seat next to Katsuki, immediately unwrapping his burger with a look of pure, unadulterated joy.

He took a massive bite, sauce smearing at the corner of his pierced lip, and moaned in satisfaction. "So good," he mumbled around the mouthful, his eyes closing for a second in bliss.

Katsuki watched him, his own chicken tenders forgotten for a moment. He watched the easy way Izuku interacted with their friends, laughing at Denki's story of nearly being swept out to sea, debating hero stats with Iida, his bare, scarred arms resting comfortably on the sticky tabletop without a hint of self-consciousness.

The garish lights of Opporto, the cacophony of their friends, the greasy smell of fried food—it was all a far cry from the quiet, sterile terror of a dorm room reeking of antiseptic and blood. This was loud, and messy, and alive. And Izuku was at the very heart of it, not just existing, but thriving.

As Izuku reached for a chip, Katsuki’s hand shot out, covering his. Izuku looked at him, a question in his green eyes.

Katsuki didn't say anything. He just leaned over, his thumb gently wiping away the spot of sauce from Izuku's lip, his finger brushing against the cool metal of the labret piercing. The gesture was tender, possessive, and full of a pride too deep for words.

Izuku’s answering smile was brighter than the Opporto sign, and in that moment, Katsuki knew that every single battle, every moment of fear and anger, had been worth it. For this. For him.