you can call me L

tonight was like any other night, heather coming home late, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a new gash across her knuckles.

she sets her bag by the door and finds you on the couch, curled up sleepily with a book.

“hey baby.” she sits next to you, dipping down to kiss your lips.

“hi.” you smile, bookmarking your page and setting it to the side.

you notice her hand, wordlessly bringing it to your lips with furrowed brows.

“just a scratch.” she turns her hand in yours, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“are you home for the night? or do you have to go back out?” you pout, starting to trail kisses over her thumb, up her hand and to her wrist.

“i am staying right here.” she smiles, opening her arms for you to sink into.

“did they deserve it?” you ask quietly, your lips pressing to the wound once more.

“they always do.” she pulls her hand from yours, cupping your face instead.

you run your fingers through her curls, “there are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

she hums, “starving.”

but she makes no move to get up, only leans back in to kiss you.

you grin against her lips, fingers trailing lightly over her jaw, then drawing back up her neck.

“bed?” you ask quietly when you pull back.

“bed.” she agrees, pecking your lips once more.

the short walk to the bedroom takes longer than it should, with the both of you pausing to kiss every couple of steps.

as she strips off her clothes, you notice more dried blood on her skin. she knows you see it, choosing to distract you with kisses leading down your chest.

you let her push you back on the bed, pushing up your shirt to press her lips there too.

she may have blood on her hands — literally and figuratively — but she vowed to never let it touch you.

and in a few strategic moves, she had you forgetting all about the blood, your worries, and the unanswered, unspoken questions.

besides, what was there to worry about? she always came home to you in one piece.