His Drumming Heartbeat

Overseas

Somewhere, in another part of the world.

Kirishima slackens onto a chair at an outdoor bar in Long Beach, California, as he relishes in some of his little amount of time off from the tumultuous quantity of work, and all of the hours he has embedded while residing "somewhere" overseas. He assumes his open-ended work is paying off exceedingly, and living particularly half an hour away from such a spectacular location like the one he's currently at, nearly makes the crazed fourteen-hour plane ride here justifying. After only two weeks of visiting here, he senses a portion of his life is gradually coming together, causing him to be genuinely happy he left home to start a new chapter of his life pragmatically.

Notwithstanding the fact, he does have a permanent place where he belongs in Tokyo, and he almost doesn't want to revisit whenever the time comes. Of course, he misses his family, friends, and everyone else he cares about, but a shift in scenery is what he wanted for so long. Throwing everything he has worked for here away, almost appears to be a waste at this point.

Currently, he is sitting next to a woman with long, raven-black hair, her fair skin covered in tattoos on her arms, hands, and neck, wearing a pair of skinny jeans, and a casual (well, to her) gore-infested band tee. She is exceptionally well-built, toned and almost looks like the kind of girl who always picks a fight, but wins no matter what. Kirishima has seen this woman fight on numerous of times, sober or not; she is the type of woman no one wants to cross.

Better yet, she almost reminds him of a particular person back at home in Japan.

"The hell you staring at," the woman requested, letting out a chuckle the second she notices him looking at her.

Kirishima breaks out of his stare and apologizes to the woman. Noticing the small smile on her face while she says, "it's okay" makes him feel better for gawking so long. He sees she possesses an alcoholic drink from a clear, plastic cup, and with those thin black straws, bartenders always give out. He shakes his head as she takes another long sip from her cup, smelling the whiskey from where he is sitting. Even if only a foot away from him, the aroma is permeating his nostrils and almost inducing him to buy one himself.

"I get it," she smirks, "I remind you of someone back at home, Red?"

Both of them chuckle to each other at the raven-haired woman's joke. There has never been a time whenever this particular woman has made him think about someone he cares about, more than anything. It's almost alarming to him with the resemblance in personalities the two share, and even what they play in their bands.

"So," the tattooed woman urges Kirishima, "what's their name?"

Kirishima takes a deep breath, still laughing a bit before answering, "you almost remind me of my ex."

The woman looks at him for a second, but she smirks to herself when she remembers seeing a picture of him. She can understand the resemblance: carmine red eyes, even if hers are more of a wine red than a ruby red, both have explosive personalities, and both are drummers. The raven-haired woman was one of the first people Kirishima talked to about what happened when he and Bakugo split up. Only because she is overly-protective of the ones, deserving protection from all things terrible in the world, and Kirishima happens to be "one of the lucky few," according to her.

"I heard from Shorty things didn't go as planned," she tells him, "that's pretty fucked up, Red."

"Him blowing me off or?" Kirishima asked her.

"I'd say more of you not stickin' to your guns and not being a fucking man about it," she punches his arm playfully.

"Relax," he tells her, "there's no need to bring me down for being a coward. I already did that plenty of times on the plane ride here."