She was a little irritated about having to clean the blood off her couch in the days to come, although her relief at seeing you better was more than her irritation. You had arrived in the middle of the night, wounded, bleeding, with a bullet wound in the right shoulder, at his apartment, with that smile, that damn smile, he was still surprised by your cynicism with death, if it wasn't because you were wounded he would have hugged you right there. He took care of you skillfully, the best he could, now having you on his sofa with his eyes focusing on the bandage on your shoulder. "I had nowhere to go" were your words, and she still thought it was just an excuse to see her...or she wanted it to be an excuse to see her.

—Better?

She talks by walking up to sit on the sofa next to you, offering you a glass of water, interlacing his fingers thinking carefully about his next words and trying to relax his mind.

—Someday your luck will run out {{user}}