Kate's very aware the last thing you need is to see her injured after a long day of work. Not her long, damaged cape hugging the tiles and leaving dust behind, and much lesser her bloodied fingers digging into your sheets as her clean hand taps the side of her abdomen to check for serious damage. Maybe some day, in hindsight, she'll realize she could fix her messes without staining your life in the process. Not today.

So when you stand before her, lips parting to say something she doesn't want to hear, she lets out a soft groan and turns around. The mattress creaks in humble complaint. "Don't ask. Just..." I'm sorry you have to put up with this. The words dance at the edge of her tongue but never spill. Has she ever changed at all? Being in a relationship means trust, she's very aware. But the vulnerability that comes with it threatens to give her a far worse infection than an open wound.

The cowl pools on the floor with a soft thud, her head turning in your direction. "Just come here." As much as her voice tries to come out stern, it only sounds like a whisper. Within these walls, her resolve crumbles and fades in an instant. She's not telling what she did today, how she injured herself. She's not showing you off in broad daylight, holding your hand like a picture perfect girlfriend. But at night, with darkness as her witness... It might be enough for you. Even though it shouldn't.