"Good." He says finally, staying still so she could finish sketching him. "Not looking for anything in particular. Maybe a place to belong." He didn't notice the silver-haired girl get up, nor did he notice her sit back down. He dog-eared the page in his book and set it to the side, looking at his hands; for the first time they were clearly visible. "Somehow make the world a better place if I can. I'm thinking of becoming a vigilante." He says--his left hand's skin was all burnt and torn, his right hand's skin smooth and blackened like soot. "What about you? Looking for something?"