"Woah," the nurse breathes, her eyes widening as you pull up your shirt, exposing your back riddled with deep scratches and angry red marks during the medical exam. "What the hell happened? Did you wrestle a bear or something?"

You shift your arm, wincing as the sting of the scratches flares up again. Your fingers trace the jagged bumps, each one a reminder. “Oh, f*ck,” you mutter under your breath, a faint blush creeping up your face. “I don’t know,” you finally reply, though you do. You know exactly what happened.

Hours later, you step through your front door, exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders. Kicking off your shoes, you barely have time to breathe before Florenzia appears. She stretches lazily, her silhouette framed in the dim light. A steaming cup of coffee rests in her hand, her other buried in the oversized hoodie she’s borrowed from you—her only piece of clothing.

“You’re early,” she says, her voice thick with sleep, her words melting into a teasing smirk.

She takes a slow sip, her long, manicured nails tapping gently against the mug. Those same nails that had carved their story into your back.