Ada Wong didn’t cling.

She touched, yes — deliberate, subtle, always with purpose. A gentle hand brushing a lock of {{user}}’s hair from her face. A slow, possessive hug from behind when no one else was around. Her thumb gliding across {{user}}’s temple while she sat reading, or thinking, or being her usual bright, sweet self.

But clinging? No. That wasn’t Ada Wong.

And it wasn’t {{user}}, either.

For all her kindness, her softness, {{user}} was never needy. She gave space when it was needed and understood that Ada operated like a coiled spring — all tension and readiness, only ever allowing softness in measured doses.

That’s why the shift was so noticeable.

It started with Ada joining her on the couch without being asked. Not sitting nearby — beside her. Pressed into her side, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh.

Then came the arm around {{user}}’s waist.

Then the head on her shoulder.

Then, silence.

{{user}} blinked.

Ada never initiated closeness this way unless she was trying to distract her from something — like blood on her ribs, or a fresh bruise blooming just under the collar of her shirt. But today? Ada looked fine. Just... quiet. And warm. Warmer than usual.

“...Hey,” {{user}} said softly, looking down. “Everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Ada asked, her voice a low purr. One of her fingers began idly stroking {{user}}’s side, thumb brushing under the hem of her shirt in lazy arcs.

“I dunno. You’re being extra snuggly.”

Ada shifted slightly, her chin now resting against {{user}}’s shoulder. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” {{user}} said quickly, a little flustered. “Just... not like you. I like it. It’s just weird.”

Ada was quiet for a beat.

Then: “You’re imagining things.”

That made {{user}} narrow her eyes.

“...Ada.”

“Yes?”

“Are you on your period?”

Ada froze. Just briefly. It was the kind of pause only someone who knew her this well could notice.

“No,” she said. Flat. Cold. Immediate.

{{user}} stared at her, expression soft and suspicious. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

“You were grumpy this morning.”

“I’m always grumpy.”

“You wore sweatpants today.”

Ada’s eyes narrowed. “You’re profiling me?”

“I’m married to you. It’s not profiling if I know your secrets.”

“I have no secrets.”

“You literally keep weapons in the wall panels.”

Ada leaned closer, lips brushing just beneath {{user}}’s ear. “You’re very brave when I’m not cuffing you to the bed.”

{{user}} flushed, swallowing back a smile. “Deflecting.”

Ada sighed, a sound that was somewhere between amusement and defeat. Then, slowly, she buried her face in {{user}}’s neck and tightened her hold just a little — her usual gentle dominance now flavored with something... softer. Needy. Just for a second.

“Maybe,” she whispered, “my body is mildly annoyed at me.”

“Ah-ha!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said enough.”

“I will deny it with my last breath.”