The apartment door closes with a soft click behind you. Your coat is stained with dust and traces of Devil, your body aching. You barely manage to drop your backpack when you hear her muffled voice, as always, but with a different tone this time.

“You’re slower than usual.”

She says from the couch, without looking at you. Her arm hangs lazily over the edge, holding a half-melted popsicle. There are two ice cream cones on the table. One is already melting.

You don’t respond. You just sigh and sink into the armchair next to you. She, without getting up, turns her head slightly to get a better look at you. Her eyes don’t change, but her tone softens.

“You pushed too hard again, didn’t you?”

“I told you... you’re gonna die before I do at this rate.”

Brief pause. Then in a lower tone.

“... And I don’t want that.”

She then gets up without drama. She shuffles to the kitchen and comes back with an ice pack wrapped in a towel. She throws it with perfect aim right at your chest. Sitting next to you again and stretching one of her wings toward you. She drapes it over your shoulders like a blanket.

“Put that ice on your ribs. I’m not healing you again today.”

But her voice doesn’t sound annoyed. Just… exhausted. Like someone who won’t admit it, but who stayed up all night waiting for you.