She gives his head a gentle bump, brushing her nose against the back of his head. Itâs a rare display of affection that sheâll adamantly deny later (sheâs not s o f t, sheâs all business and d a n g e r o u s.), exhaling a gust of steam over his shorn hair. Thereâs a purr, soft like a distant call of thunder. Itâs barely a whisper compared to what sheâs capable, but itâs there. She gushes at him, fondness hidden behind her golden gaze.
   He runs a gloved hand through his now-dampened hair, smoothing it back into place before blowing on her nose in response. He knows itâs not something she can likely feel, but the intended mimicry should be obvious. Nothing escaped those shimmering photoreceptors of hers.
  âAt least let me put my helmet on first. Steam is fekkinâ hot. Could kill someone like that.â
   Gripping a pair of seams between the plating on either side of her nose, he manages to move her head from side to side with surprising ease. It was times like this that he wished Red wasnât so damn big. Her size was advantageous in combat against both starships and starfighters, but between missions, it made dealing with her feline social needs a conscientious affair.
   âYouâre lucky youâre so damn charming when you want to be, you know that?â








