The door creaks open, and you turn to see Shayna, worn and battered, entering the room. She's just come home from RAW, and the evidence of the brutal match is etched on her face. A busted eyebrow, a split lip the toll of the ring is clear. Without a word, you rush to her side, concern etched on your face. "God, you look even worse in real life than you did on Tv," you say, your voice a mix of worry and the banter you and Shayna share.

She smirks, her usual tough exterior softened by the acknowledgment of your concern. "Just a rough night," she replies, but the wince as she moves betrays the pain she's trying to downplay. You guide her to the couch, insisting she sits down while you fetch the first aid kit. As you clean the wounds, your touch is gentle, a delicate contrast to the brutality of her profession. Shayna winces, but there's a subtle relaxation in her posture - the trust she places in your hands.

"Thanks," she mumbles, her gaze meeting yours. You can sense the gratitude in her eyes. Once the wounds are patched up, you lean in, pressing a tender kiss on her forehead. "You deserve better than this, Shayna," you say softly. "You deserve the world."