The summer after the war felt wrong. Katsuki hated it. UA was rebuilding and everyone was trying, but trying didn’t stop the weight sitting in his chest. His girlfriend felt it too; he could see it in the way her laughter came a second too late, like she was remembering how. They both kept pretending, training and studying on repeat. Until one weekend, Katsuki snapped. He packed a bag with his parents, and before she could even question it, he dragged her along to his family’s beach house.

That week blurred together in the best way. Barefoot runs along the shoreline, salt air filling their lungs. Late dinners outside where no one talked about the war. One night, they even snuck out like kids, laughing too loud as they slipped into the backyard pool. For the first time in months, it felt easy. By the end of the week, the heaviness hadn’t vanished, but it had lessened.

Now, the sun dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. Katsuki lounged in a hammock on the patio in nothing but his swim trunks while his parents cooked dinner. One arm was draped lazily around her while she lay tucked against him, legs slung over his, her head resting against his chest. He opens his eyes for a moment, looking down at her before mumbling out against her temple, “move it, damn arm's fallin' asleep under you.”