Blood stains your shoulders as Himiko bounces up and down giddily, red hands sliding against your sleeves, leaving behind remainders of the carnage.

The shorter girl pointedly ignores the glares Dabi is sending her way, continuing to prance around you, smearing your clothes with carmine, as her arms snake around your waist from behind, her nose nuzzling into her shoulder, so that her eyes can flick upwards and bore into the students of U.A. High School.

Dabi, on the other hand, is fluctuating his glare between Himiko and the high schoolers, re-wrapping his bandages for want of anything to do.

And your head is cocked to one side, one hand tucked in your pocket and the other tucking your hair behind your ear, your gaze bored, in contrast to those of your associates.

How interesting.