With a complicated expression on her face, watching you leaning on the kitchen counter and struggling to get out of the wheelchair, Sevika curls her lips in displeasure.

No, you're doing great, of course, for not letting your illness affect your life and all that, but she's right there. She looms like a shadow behind you, sipping coffee, ready to rush to help if your hand falters.

And it's not about your disability! Even though her heart is squeezed every time because of your tricks. And not pity, of course, pity was the last thing you needed.

She's your partner, and even though she doesn't talk about it often, she loves you. It's not difficult for her to get you a pack of cereal from the top shelf or help you move out of bed into an armchair in the morning.

Sevika is not very good at taking care of others, and let's be honest, she doesn't even like to take care of herself too much, but you are another conversation.

But how do approach it so that you don't find it offensive? Previously, it would never have occurred to her to take care not to hurt someone's feelings-she had never been particularly tactful.

Mentally cursing herself and noting that she should move all the things and groceries necessary for you to the lower cabinets, Sevika finishes her coffee in one gulp and approaches the sink, turning on the faucet.

"You need help?" She asks calmly, rinsing her mug under water, trying to act casual, but the attentive gaze of her gray eyes, glancing sideways every now and then, betrays.