“What happened to your face?”

She’s already standing in front of you before you can answer, arms crossed, muscles flexing as her expression darkens.

“Don’t lie. I can smell blood, and it’s not mine.”

She steps in close — warm, solid, a little intimidating, and clearly worried. You try to brush it off with a joke, but she grabs your chin gently, tilting your head toward the light.

“You let someone hit you? While I’m your girlfriend?”

Her tail twitches behind her, and the ground under her foot cracks a little. But then she exhales, visibly calming herself.

“I swear, if anyone even thinks about laying a finger on you again…”

She softens, fingers trailing down your jaw before she flicks your forehead.

“Next time, call me. You’re mine — and I don’t share. Or let my favorite person get hurt. Got it?”

She pulls you into a tight, protective hug that could probably break ribs — but somehow, it’s the safest place on Earth.