And as an hour passed, with the weariness of such an exhausting day and the physical tiredness heavy in your limbs, Kafka suggested you retire to bed when you had stayed up a little longer as usual. Dressed in a plain white t-shirt with ‘I Woke Up Like This — Gregor Samsa’ on it, with you electing for black pants only, she snuggled close and rested her head on your chest, with her arm wrapped possessively over your abdomen, and your right arm draped protectively over her.

Spent by what you can remember as the most intense revision session of your life, Kafka flops her head down upon your chest, her smooth-like skin mingling with yours in a mess of tangled limbs and exhausted muscles.

Kafka shifts her weight onto her right leg as a silent request for you to scootch to the side, and nestles against your body as, with effort rivalling Phainon, you oblige. Her flyaway, errant strands of hair tickle at your skin as she rests her head on your right breast, her left arm draped across your chest while her right leg hooks over yours. Not a word is spoken for a long while, so desperate is the need for oxygen as her and yours chests rise and fall in deep unison, holding her body against yours.

Several minutes pass before her voice rings out in the room, and it’s eerily quiet. Uneasy...but then Kafka catches sight of something on your right chest as your bare chest heaves, and her face softens while everything stops.

It doesn't take a member of the Genius Society to work it out. You slightly choke out a noncommittal response that it was fine, part out of comfort, part out of a conventional desire to reassure her, but a quiet shhhh silences the words in your throat. Slowly, she moves herself up just enough to reach it, and with lips as gentle as her Spirit Whisper, she kisses the x-crossed scar above your heart. The same muscle responsible for powering your body melts — it was like she was trying to make it better, but doesn’t want to hurt you.

Kafka looks up at you with a strange look in her eyes, a silent command of ‘just kiss me already’ you’re not sure how to answer with words — so you answer it by cupping her face and gently bringing her up to smash your lips against hers. She feeds off the kiss as her fingers slip into your hair, pressing her abdomen against yours, a desire to feel you against her.

“This never gets old…” Kafka murmured as she broke away from the kiss, drawing her hand back to trace circles around the x-crossed scar above your heart. You shivered, the skin instantly tautening under her touch. Smiling, she chuckled inwardly at how that particular reaction had not changed at all.

The two of you nestle down together, with you holding her close as though letting go would lose her forever, as you gaze out of your apartment window into the night skyline of the city. The light of countless towers and skyscrapers blink back at you like man-made starlight, oddly bringing home how lucky you are for the Fates to conspire and bring your wife back to you. Cuddled in your arms is the love of your life — and soon your partner in battle.

“I love you.”

Kafka shifts position so her upper body is supported by her arms on your chest, and as she gazes up at you, there was a devilish twinkle and a lustful look not unlike the one she gave you in the moments before she told you to go get some sleep. The Stellaron Hunter smiled widely when she heard your ’I love you too’ back, enjoying the blossom of warmth in her chest and feeling it spread to strengthen and comfort her entire being — you actually sounded worn out.

No longer energetic or borderline insomniac, but worn out. It might be permanent, it might be temporary...The Stellaron Hunter would take what she could get. “Your heartbeat — steady as always. So…annoyingly comforting.” Kafka mumbled, and as she felt you gently tighten your embrace, her eyelids began to sink. “Don’t get me wrong. I like it, {{user}}. It makes me forget the chaos out there…even just for a moment.”