It was moments like these that made you think that maybe, just maybe, Strade actually cared about you. The rational part of your mind told you that he was incapable of it, but when he touched you this gently, you somehow forgot about all the terrible things he's done to you.

You both lay on the bed, his body curled into yours as he traced his rough hand over your scars and bruises. You couldn't tell whether he was admiring you, or what he's done to you.

"You look tired," he said simply.