Arguments with Sevika were rare.

Not because the two of you never disagreed.

You were both stubborn enough that disagreements happened all the time.

The difference was that most of them never turned into real fights.

Most of the time, one of you would crack a joke. Or Sevika would pull you into her lap until neither of you could remember what you were annoyed about in the first place.

Tonight was different.

The argument had started small.

Something insignificant.

Something that should have stayed insignificant.

Instead, frustration piled onto frustration until the two of you were standing in the middle of the living room, voices raised and tempers frayed.

You couldn’t even remember who had started it.

Only that neither of you seemed willing to back down.

“You always do this!” you snapped.

Sevika’s jaw clenched.

“I do what?”

“You shut down.”

Her shoulders immediately went rigid.

The look on her face made your stomach sink.

Because you’d hit the exact thing she hated talking about.

“When things get difficult, you just stop talking to me.”

Sevika looked away.

“You think I don’t notice?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Anything.”

The silence that followed felt deafening.

You watched her retreat into herself right in front of you.

Her expression closed off.

Walls snapping into place.

The same walls she’d spent years building before she’d ever met you.

“Sevika-“

“No.”

She grabbed her jacket.

Your heart dropped.

“Baby, don’t. Please.”

“I’m going out.”

“Seriously?”

“I need space.”

The words landed like a punch.

Before you could say anything else, she was already heading for the door.

The apartment rattled from how hard it shut behind her.

And then she was gone.

-

The silence afterward was awful.

You tried reading.

You couldn’t focus.

You tried watching television.

You couldn’t follow the plot.

Eventually you ended up curled on the couch, staring at absolutely nothing while your thoughts ran in circles.

The anger had disappeared hours ago.

Now all that remained was the ache.

The empty space beside you.

The memory of the look on Sevika’s face before she’d left.

You knew she didn’t walk away because she didn’t care.

If anything, it was the opposite.

Sevika cared so much that sometimes emotions overwhelmed her completely.

She never knew what to do with them.

So she ran.

Not from you.

From the feeling itself.

Still.

It hurt.

The clock ticked past midnight.

Then one.

Then nearly two.

You were half asleep when you finally heard the front door unlock.

Your head immediately lifted.

The door opened.

And there stood Sevika.

One look at her and your eyebrows shot up.

“Oh.”

Sevika blinked.

Then smiled.

A slow, slightly crooked smile.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

She was drunk.

Clearly so, in the way her usual control had softened at the edges and her movements carried a looser, unfocused ease.

The kind of drunk that made her usually guarded expression melt into something gentle and affectionate.

The kind that made her look at you like you personally hung every star in the sky.

You stared.

She stared back.

Then her face crumpled slightly.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

Her eyes immediately turned guilty.

“You look sad.”

Your irritation returned for approximately three seconds.

“You disappeared for hours.”

“Oh.”

She looked genuinely devastated by this information.

“Right.”

You folded your arms.

Sevika kicked off her boots.

Then walked directly toward you.

Not with her usual confidence.

A little unsteady.

A little sleepy.

But very determined.

Before you could stop her, she dropped onto her knees in front of the couch.

“Sevika.”

She wrapped both arms around your waist.

Immediately.

Like she physically needed to.

“Hi.”

Your expression cracked despite yourself.

“Hi.”

Her cheek pressed against your stomach.

Warm.

Comforting.

Familiar.

For several seconds she didn’t say anything.

Just held you.

Then she mumbled,

“I missed you.”

Your chest tightened.

“Sevika…”

“I’m sorry.”

The words came out instantly.

She didn’t hesitate or pull away. Nothing guarded her words or her expression. Just raw honesty, unfiltered and open.

She squeezed you tighter.

“So sorry, baby.”

You looked down at her.

Her eyes were glassy.

From the alcohol or tears, you couldn’t tell.

But the emotion underneath was completely real and unmistakable.

“I shouldn’t have left like that.”

You softened.

Sevika buried her face against you.

“I hate fighting with you.”

Her voice came out muffled.

“You know that?”

You threaded your fingers through her hair.

Immediately, she leaned into the touch.

Like a cat finding sunlight.

“I know.”

“No, babe.”

She looked up.

“I really hate it.”

Something vulnerable flickered across her face.

“I spend the whole time feeling sick.”

Her gaze dropped.

“Because you’re the person I love most, darling… I hate knowing I’ve hurt you.”

Your heart squeezed.

Sevika rarely admitted things like this.

Rarely let anyone see beneath the armour.

But right now there wasn’t a single wall left standing.

Just your wife.

Looking at you with complete adoration.

“I don’t like when you’re upset with me.”

You smiled sadly, pushing her unkempt hair back from her face.

“I wasn’t exactly thrilled with you either.”

“Fair.”

The word came out immediately.

Then she frowned.

“You were right, though.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“I shut down.”

The confession sounded difficult even now.

“I know I do.”

Her thumb brushed absent-mindedly against your side.

“When I get overwhelmed, I don’t know what to say.”

She looked down.

“I always think if I talk I’ll make it worse.”

The guilt in her voice made your chest ache.

“So I stop talking.”

A pause.

“Which somehow also makes it worse.”

You huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah. It does.”

“Thought so.”

You ran your fingers through her hair again.

Slowly.

Watching her eyes practically close from the affection.

The sight was ridiculous.

The terrifying woman everyone feared in Zaun completely melting because her wife was playing with her hair.

“You know,” you said softly, “you can tell me when you’re overwhelmed.”

Sevika nodded immediately.

“I know.”

“Instead of disappearing.”

“Yeah.”

“Instead of making me worry.”

She nodded.

A pause followed.

Then:

“Can you keep doing that?”

She instinctively leaned into your touch, her eyes drifting half-shut as your fingers threaded gently through her hair.

“Even while I’m being scolded?”

You laughed.

Actually laughed.

And the relief on Sevika’s face was immediate.

Like she’d been waiting all night to hear it.

“That’s my baby girl.”

“Yeah I am,” Sevika mumbles confidently.

You laughed harder, unable to hide how adorable she looked right now.

Sevika tiled her head in confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

Then climbed onto the couch beside you.

The second she sat down, she pulled you directly into her lap.

No discussion.

No warning.

Just scooped you up like you belonged there.

Which, admittedly, you did.

Her arms wrapped around your waist.

Her chin settled on your shoulder.

“You know I love you, right?”

The question came quietly.

Almost hesitant.

You turned your head slightly.

“Of course I do.”

Sevika shook her head.

“No.”

She pressed a kiss against your cheek.

“Like.”

Kiss.

“Really.”

Kiss.

“Really.”

Kiss.

“Love you.”

You couldn’t stop smiling.

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m correct.”

Her arms tightened.

“You are my favourite person.”

A kiss against your temple.

“My favourite place.”

Another against your jaw.

“My favourite everything.”

Your face grew warm.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

She sounded deeply offended you’d even question it.

“I’d pick you every time.”

Your chest felt impossibly full.

Sevika tucked her face into your neck.

Holding you so carefully.

Like you were something precious.

Irreplaceable.

“I don’t say it enough.”

You felt her breathe out against your skin.

“But I love being married to you.”

The confession settled softly between you.

“I love waking up next to you.”

A kiss.

“I love hearing you talk.”

Another.

“I love when you steal my shirts.”

Another.

“I love when you fall asleep on me.”

You laughed.

“I do that constantly.”

“I know.”

She sounded delighted.

“It’s great.”

You turned in her arms enough to cup her cheek.

Her eyes immediately softened.

The look she gave you made it obvious.

Sevika adored you.

Completely.

With every stubborn, protective, devoted piece of her heart.

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered.

Her expression melted.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

The pet name sounded so gentle it almost hurt.

She leaned forward until your foreheads touched.

“You don’t have to apologise for being upset.”

Her hand found yours.

Intertwining your fingers.

“I just wish I’d handled it better.”

You brushed your thumb across her cheek.

“We both could’ve.”

“Maybe.”

She smiled.

Then pressed a lingering kiss to your lips.

Slow.

Warm.

Unhurried.

When she pulled back, she immediately rested her forehead against yours again.

Like she couldn’t bear putting even an inch of distance between you.

The apartment was quiet now.

No anger.

No tension.

Just the weight of Sevika’s arms around you.

The steady rhythm of her breathing.

The occasional sleepy kiss she kept pressing against your face every few minutes because apparently she couldn’t help herself.

Eventually, you felt her beginning to drift.

Her grip never loosened.

Even half asleep, she held you close.

Murmuring another soft, drowsy,

“I love you, my sweet girl.”

Into your hair.

The words were slurred slightly.

Sincere nonetheless.

And as you settled more comfortably against her chest, listening to her heartbeat beneath your ear, you couldn’t help smiling.

Because no matter how ugly the argument had been, no matter how badly it had hurt in the moment, one thing had never changed.

You were Sevika’s favourite thing in the world.

Sevika couldn’t help herself. As soon as you and your eldest daughter were asleep, she abandoned your bed in favor of sneaking her way into the nursery and scooping up the newest addition to your little family. She knows if you catch her, she’ll be in for an earful. She should be resting, you’ll say, that you would’ve kept her company if she felt so restless. Maybe even add that she shouldn’t disturb the infant as she is even if it’s well-intentioned. But she can’t help it. As with Bhanu, Sevika marvels at this tiny thing who seeks her rather than runs from her. She takes in every single detail all over again and can’t help her crooked grin. She really doesn’t understand why it keeps happening. Why her genes seem so hellbent on dominating. It’s her second run now, and still she wonders not who this little one will look like, but who she will be. It’s already apparent in the umber skin and stubborn pout who her looks will favor. Her eyes remain cloudy, however, and Sevika holds a silent hope to her heart that they’ll soon match yours.

Internally, Sevika takes inventory. Brown skin, dark hair, ten fingers, ten toes. Two arms, two legs, two ears, two eyes. Everything she can think of is accounted for, but there’s no telling just yet how well the babe’s eyes and ears will develop. Not yet. She hopes quietly all will be well, but has already resolved to learn what she will need to in order to care for her child should there be anything needing of concern. There’s only thanks that no blue radiates beneath brown, no pink swirls around black pupils, but Sevika knows there will be something. The same something in Bhanu who’s quicker than she should be, who can carry more than her weight should allow at the wobbly age of two-“Almost three!”-years-old. It’s still a challenge both you and Sevika have yet to overcome.

Like the sister before her, the infant is silent, but you both agree it’s at an intensity that not even Bhanu had reached. This little one only lives to eat and sleep, letting out a single shriek of discomfort when the time comes for a changing or feeding. A second only follows if any of her parents is deemed too slow for her liking. Each is just as startling and as effective as the first. But now, where she lies on her tummy all curled up over Sevika’s bare chest, she finds little reason to call for attention.

She runs her thumb over her youngest’s sprouting hair, studies the way her cheek squishes and blends into the swell of her breast. A tiny fist lays over the lightning bolts of scars lining her side, scrunching curiously at the sight as if trying to wield the power of the arcane pulsing beneath the skin.

“Damini.” Sevika knows it’s futile. The infant is so new and so fresh, she will not know her own name, but Sevika just has to say it. She loves the way her lips mold around the shape of this daughter’s name as much as she loves the way they do with her eldest’s. She loves hearing the way you practically hum them, soft in a way you’ve never been before with anyone but her. She smiles at the memory and it only widens in the present when little Damini moves a fraction of an inch, yawning like she’d worked a fourteen-hour shift.

Chuckling, Sevika braces both hands around her newest girl, cupping her bottom and her back as she shifts her up further. The woman leans her weight back and the chair begins to gently rock, her foot keeping the pace steady. She drops her chin on her daughter’s head with a sigh and glances around the dark room. All is silent, but if she strains her ears past the downpour raging outside, Sevika can hear your snores alongside Bhanu’s. They coincide with each other, each of your inhales is followed by the toddler’s. Every whistling or snorting exhale is just the same. There is life in this still bare home you’re both still trying to make your own, but at least each life here was molded by your very hands.

Sevika strokes Damini’s back idly, rocking back and forth and losing herself in the rhythmic creaks of the chair. She closes her eyes and allows her body to sink. For the first time in weeks, her guard is down. She barely even notices the crack of lightning or the rumble of thunder until her eyes fly open at the answering shriek. Nerves shot, Sevika stands to her feet swiftly and swings her head around to seek the danger. Her head aches when she finds none, and it throbs when lightning and thunder crack again just to be followed by another screech. Her brows draw together and she finally peers down at Damini whose own expression mirrors her own. Her lips are parted and her brows are scrunched, and it takes a fairly long moment until Sevika puts the pieces together. Unfortunately, that doesn’t happen until the next bout of lightning and thunder.

Sevika doesn’t know whether to be shocked or amused. She stands stock still, staring at this little thing she made who answers the calls of the raging storm outside without tears. She’s so completely enraptured that she completely forgets herself and anyone else under her roof. She doesn’t notice when some of the snoring stops, and she definitely doesn’t notice the shifting of floorboards. It’s all too late when the door is opened wider and Sevika's head shoots up.

“Amma?” Bhanu stands in the doorway, rubbing at her eye as the other squints up at her mother then zeroes in on her sister. She pouts and drops her hand to instead hold her stuffed monkey closer, nearly strangling it. “Sleep with baby?”

Sevika lets out a small exhale that could be a laugh before making her way to Bhanu. She offers the tot a small smile when she notices the touch of wariness and fear in her eyes. She holds out her hand and the child is quick to snatch it in her jealousy and need for comfort as lightning strikes and thunder rolls in once more, jumping when her sister follows it up with her own war cry. “Just checking on her, little miss.”

“Mama?”

“In bed.”

“I come.” Sevika knows her girls well enough to differentiate between a request and a demand. This is certainly not a request. So, with a smile, Sevika lowers herself just enough so the child can climb up and onto her hip. She can practically hear you fussing now, worrying that she’s taking on too much, that she ought to let her body rest. But she ignores the tiny angel you that sits atop her shoulder so she can instead cradle your eldest into her side — as steady and dependable as ever.

Sevika sneaks her way back inside your shared bedroom, setting her eldest down on the bed so she can tuck Damini into the old bassinet. She strips out the rest of her clothing before sliding on a thin robe, bionic arm off and the unused sleeve having since been cut then sewn shut. She slips under the covers with Bhanu who immediately latches onto her, releasing her plush in favor of her mother.

Just as she’s settled, there’s another crash of thunder but it’s fainter now, further in the distance. Sevika watches with held breath to see if Damini dares to follow up. The infant certainly seems to try, but after a moment of awkward wriggling, her lips part to only release a small sigh as her little body relaxes into the comfort afforded to her by generations of spilt blood. Sevika follows soon after, turning her head to catch one more glimpse of Bhanu drooling in the moonlight before finally closing her eyes.

You, all the while, snore away to your heart’s content.

She doesn't say anything more. Your breathing calms to a steady pace, hair rising at the base of your neck as you realize that this is all you had needed. You can't help but marvel at how easy this is. How easy she makes it. All of those months of crying yourself awake, struggling through nightmares and flashbacks, only to realize that the simple gaze of someone you care for has washed it all away.

"I'm right here." She reminds you. And then you're pressed against the side of her, your head buried in her neck as her left arm circles around your waist. Naturally, you allow your legs to rest over hers. The cool surface of her headboard against your back is the only thing that keeps you from fully melting into her embrace.

Your hands grip onto her arm, the same arm wrapped around you, and you can't help but give her a light squeeze. It's an unspoken thank you. A gesture that you know she understands. She always understands.

Beads of sweat drip down the sides of your face and onto her shoulder. You don't bother to wipe them away.  And you don't think she necessarily cares.

Once you finally muster up enough courage to speak, you mumble, "It was a bad dream."

Her hold around you tightens. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You pause to ponder on her offer. Then you snort out a weird combination of a chuckle and sigh. "Not tonight. But I am more concerned that it's," You glance at the digital clock on her nightstand. "2 am in the morning and you somehow aren't tired of me."

"Why would I be?"

You lift your head, a wave of disbelief washing over you. "I've managed to disturb your sleep at 2am in the morning, Sev. Who wouldn't be even slightly annoyed by that?"

Even though you're grateful to be in this predicament, you hadn't necessarily thought you would ever get to this point with Sevika. Your friend group often teased her about being emotionally constipated. When you first met her, a month had passed before she even initiated a conversation. She wasn't the most outgoing. And she wasn't usually the type to hold people during strange hours of the night and listen to them complain about their issues.

But here she is. Holding you—asking you to complain. You struggle to fully understand why.

"The time of night is the least of my concerns right now." Sevika replies, pulling you out of your reverie. You're close enough for her breath to tickle your lips. Her pupils are dilated, gaze flickering to a space between your eyebrows. Then they trickle down to the slope of your nose before she peers at your lips. "Are you sure you don't need to talk about anything?"

You swallow thickly, reveling in the feeling of her skin against yours. Her hand slides to the base of your neck, fingers rubbing into the back of your scalp; holding you there. Tethering you to her.

A lump lodges itself in your throat. The sweetness of it all becomes painfully overwhelming. You aren't used to her being like this. And you definitely hadn't expected it. Every passing day that the two of you grow closer, the more that Sevika surprises you. The layers that come with her are multifaceted and sometimes entirely the opposite of what you initially thought.

Like now.

You blink slowly. "Why does it matter so much to you?"

A lapse of silence follows. Her eyebrows raise, head tilting in slight annoyance. You can already tell that she thinks your question is ridiculous. "You know why."

You suddenly feel naked despite being fully clothed.

Her gaze is unwavering, dark full lips parted and absolutely stunning. Your heart hammers in your ribcage. You're almost convinced it'll leap out of your chest as her words echo through your ears: You know why.

There's something between the both of you that's been boiling for a while now. You've been aware of it. It doesn't take rocket science for you to realize that friendships don't usually consist of shared kisses and slow morning rises with countless cuddles and breakfast food. At least, that's not how it's been for you with your past friendships.

But despite the line that's obviously been crossed, the both of you have yet to define exactly what you mean to each other.

It's something that you haven't been willing to say—for the fear of being rejected. For the fear of scaring Sevika away (it's taken a long time for her to become completely comfortable with you), and also for the fear of things changing.

You don't like change.

Not when everything is already perfect as it is.

But the signs are starting to become increasingly harder to ignore when she says things like 'You know why.'

"Did I scare you off..." She asks, grip tightening around your scalp in an attempt to regain your attention. It's a habit of hers you've grown to love. Your body grows rigid, a powerful magnetic force hitting you right in the gut. Within seconds, she loosens her grip, scratching gently into your scalp, completely oblivious to the sparks that she's triggered.

"No," You reply, mind fuzzy. "The opposite, really."

Her expression remains placid, as usual. But there's a tender shift in her eyes. It's subtle but it's there.

She tugs you closer to her and that's when you realize that you're in an awkward position of halfway sitting in her lap. You find yourself shifting your weight, trying to get comfortable despite the crick in your lower back.

"Here," She mumbles, pulling you towards her more. You allow her to guide you before repositioning yourself. You face her as you sit in her lap fully, legs straddling her. Both of her arms take this moment as an opportunity to wrap around your hips. Your heartbeat jumps up to your throat.

These feelings, these thoughts, are something that you don't ever think you'll get used to. Your mind can't help but focus on her half-lidded sleepy eyes, and how perfect they are when gazing at you in this way. She's wearing a tank top, which displays her broad shoulders and bulging bicep muscles.

And her hands....

God. Those hands.

She squeezes your hips and you bite your tongue to keep from reacting too strongly.

"Where do you keep going?" She inquires, searching your face with mild concern. She taps gently on one of your temples. "You don't always have to think so hard, you know."

Your throat is dry.

Like, desert dry.

You try to swallow but you can't.

Because she's so fucking handsome and caring in this moment.

You swallow thickly, an undeniable hunger rumbling through you. Out of complete desire, you reach up, fingertips brushing against the warmth of her brown skin.

You nod. "I know."

Then you bring your other hand up to cup her right cheek, caressing her for a few gentle moments, before traveling down to her neck. Your fingers graze against a few of her scars, rubbing gently into the skin, testing out the waters; hoping that this sort of intimacy is okay. She sighs at the feeling. Her eyes soften.

"You were screaming," She continues. "And no matter how hard I was trying to wake you, you wouldn't budge. I was worried."

Your eyes widen, realization settling within you from her admission.

She's still worried.

The kind of worry that she's never shown towards you before.

The kind of deep-seeded worry that people only have for those they really care about.

"I'm okay." You reassure her. Your hands shake as you squeeze her shoulders. "It was just a dream. Nothing worth mentioning for the time being, but I'm okay." Your chest hurts. Your throat hurts...your eyes. All of it. Feelings crash into one another, creating an impactful explosion within your heart. "You're here with me. So I'm more than okay."

Her eyes resemble something raw—almost close to...

"Okay." Her expression becomes heady. She allows her gaze to focus on your lips, incredibly transparent in her wanting—not holding back in the slightest with her intentions.

You analyze her in return, both confused and curious by her behavior. She lingers for so long, close enough for you to taste her breath, yet so far away. Your heart jumps into your throat as she peers back with an indescribable glint.

You feel a strong surge overtake you with a stuttering breath before you're leaning forward.

Lips and breath draw together, forming into the shape of one, and shooting a trail of shivers straight down your spine. Your mind buzzes, her affection unraveling you; breaking you. She's all soft skin and devastating fervor, with sounds of stars exploding between you two. The feeling of her holding you with immense regard—and the sensation of her chest pressing against yours, hands chaining you to her lap, digging into the flesh of your thighs with a delicious strength—has you falling apart pathetically.

You can certainly determine that there's been poems written about Sevika. The push-and-pull feeling of such perfection like her, with all of her charm and strength, is the sort of beauty that not every human is lucky enough to come across.

She bites and sucks and licks and it's otherworldly. Kisses melt into one another as a rhythm of panting and gasping materializes. She pulls away, lips planting into warm patterns against your neck. Your head tilts, need washing through every inch of your body.

Your grip on her shoulders tighten almost dangerously—to pull her close? Or steady yourself?—You can't be sure anymore. But she doesn't seem to mind, moaning into your mouth at the action.

Sevika is the first one that breaks away, lips puffy and pulled into a gorgeous grin.

Your lungs nearly collapse at the sight. This kind of smile that she wears is rare, laugh lines prevalent around her mouth with her gapped teeth on full display.

"As long as you continue to do that," You utter, still struggling to catch your breath.  "I'm pretty sure I'll always be okay." Then you shake your head, attempting to center yourself from the high.

Sevika had spent months pretending she could still read perfectly fine.

Which mostly meant holding papers at arm’s length with a deep scowl, squinting at receipts like they’d personally offended her, and muttering things like, “The print’s just too damn small these days.”

You knew better.

“You’re literally reading the menu with one eye closed.”

“I’m concentrating.”

“Babe. You almost ordered raw fish for dessert.”

“It was badly organised.”

She refused to book an eye test for so long that you eventually started leaving pairs of cheap reading glasses around the apartment just to annoy her. She’d glare every time she spotted them.

One morning, after catching her trying to read a report by holding it directly beneath the brightest lamp in the house, you finally folded your arms.

“Sevika.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Yes I do.”

And somehow, despite all the grumbling and dramatic sighing, she ended up at the appointment anyway.

The real problem started after she actually got the glasses.

Because Sevika, terrifying underground chem-baron with a mechanical arm and enough intimidation to make grown men cry, suddenly became weirdly shy about a pair of thin rectangular frames.

She’d wear them only when absolutely necessary. Usually late at night when she thought you were asleep, perched low on her nose while she read paperwork in bed.

The first time you properly saw them, your heart nearly exploded.

“Oh my god.”

Sevika immediately looked defensive. “Don’t start.”

“You look adorable.”

“I look ancient.”

“You look hot.”

That made her pause.

You crawled closer across the bed, sitting on her lap before she could escape, gently grabbing her jaw to tilt her face toward you. The glasses made her look unfairly attractive somehow. Sharper. Softer. More domestic. Like seeing a side of Sevika nobody else got to touch.

You were obsessed instantly.

“You’re staring,” she muttered.

“I’m appreciating.”

“You’ve been appreciating for five straight minutes.”

“And I’ll do five more.”

A faint flush crept across her face, which only made things worse for her because now you were completely unbearable about it.

You kept stealing her glasses off the bedside table just to put them on her yourself. You’d kiss the bridge of her nose where they rested. Call her pretty every single time she wore them.

Sometimes you’d walk into her office and find her reading with them perched low while she frowned at paperwork, and it genuinely knocked the breath from your lungs.

“You cannot look like that while doing taxes,” you complained once.

“The hell does that mean?”

“It means I’m trying to behave and you’re making it difficult.”

Sevika snorted, but you still caught the tiny smile tugging at her mouth as she looked back down at the page.

Eventually, she stopped hiding them.

Sevika came home late.

That wasn’t unusual.

The sound of the apartment door creaking open somewhere past midnight barely pulled your attention from the book in your lap. You were curled into the couch beneath a blanket, half asleep already, waiting for her the way you always did.

“You’re late,” you mumbled softly.

“Mm.”

Her voice sounded rough.

You frowned immediately.

Normally Sevika would toss some sarcastic comment your way. Something about you sounding needing or clingy. Something gruff and teasing under all that smoke and steel.

Tonight there was nothing.

Just heavy footsteps.

Then silence.

You looked up.

And your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god.”

Sevika was covered in blood.

Not soaked. Not dying. But enough.

A split lip. Bruises already blooming across her jaw and throat. One eye swollen dark purple. Her shirt torn open near the shoulder, exposing angry cuts and a bandage stained through with red.

Sevika noticed your expression and immediately sighed.

“Relax, babe. Looks worse than it is.”

You were already standing before she finished speaking.

“What happened?”

“Work.”

“Sevika.”

“I handled it.”

But she swayed slightly when she stepped forward.

Your chest tightened so hard it hurt.

You rushed to her immediately, hands hovering uselessly over her body, terrified to touch somewhere painful. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine!”

Your voice cracked.

Sevika blinked.

You rarely yelled.

She reached for you automatically, probably intending to calm you down, but the second your fingers brushed against the blood on her knuckles something inside you snapped.

“Oh my god…”

Your eyes burned instantly.

Sevika froze.

No.

No, no, no.

Not tears.

Anything but tears.

You turned away quickly, pressing your hand over your mouth, but it was too late. A broken sound escaped you anyway.

Sevika stared at you like someone had struck her harder than any fight ever had.

“Hey,” she said carefully.

You shook your head.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m okay.”

“You are not okay!”

The words came out wet and shaking. “You came home covered in blood and you’re acting like it’s normal!”

“It is normal.”

“That’s worse!”

Your voice cracked again and suddenly you were crying properly now, shoulders trembling as panic and relief and horror all tangled together inside your chest.

“I thought…” You swallowed hard. “I thought you were just caught up at work. I was just… sitting here, missing you, waiting for you to get home, while you were out there getting hurt!” Your voice broke. “I feel so stupid.”

Sevika went completely still.

You kept talking before you could stop yourself.

“What if next time you don’t come home at all?”

There it was.

The real fear.

Not the bruises.

Not the blood.

Losing her.

Sevika had seen people cry before. Beg before. Scream before.

But you?

You looked devastated.

Like the sight of her hurt you too.

And somehow that was unbearable.

“C’mere,” Sevika muttered softly.

You shook your head again, wiping angrily at your face. “Sit down first.”

“Honey-“

“Sit.”

Sevika actually listened.

Which was saying something.

You disappeared into the bathroom and returned with the first aid kit, still sniffling as you knelt between her knees. Your hands trembled while cleaning the cut on her cheek.

Sevika watched you the entire time.

“You’re crying like I died.”

“You could’ve.”

Quiet.

You dabbed antiseptic onto another cut and Sevika hissed.

“Sorry,” you whispered immediately.

“It’s not your fault.”

Another tear slid down your cheek.

Sevika suddenly grabbed your wrist gently with her metal hand.

“Please stop crying, sweetheart.”

“I can’t.”

Her expression twisted strangely then. Guilty. Uncomfortable. Almost scared.

That caught your attention immediately.

“…Sevika?”

“I don’t like it.”

“What?”

“You crying.”

Her voice was low and rough.

“I’d rather get my ass kicked again.”

A weak laugh escaped you despite yourself.

Sevika looked relieved just hearing it.

You finished wrapping her shoulder carefully before resting your forehead against her uninjured side with a shaky breath.

“Please be careful.”

Sevika’s hand settled against the back of your head instantly.

“I am careful.”

You pulled back enough to glare at her tearfully.

She sighed.

“…I’ll be more careful.”

And strangely enough, she meant it.

After that night things changed.

Not dramatically. Sevika was still Sevika.

Still reckless. Still violent when she needed to be. Still came home bruised sometimes.

But less.

She stopped throwing herself into fights she didn’t need to join. Started letting other people handle the smaller problems. Started coming home with split knuckles instead of cracked ribs.

People noticed.

One of the undercity goons even laughed once after Sevika refused a fight that normally would’ve ended in broken teeth.

“What, getting soft?”

Sevika lit her cigar calmly.

“You wish.”

But later that night, when she came home mostly unharmed and found you asleep on the couch waiting for her again, she stood there quietly for a long moment.

Because she finally understood something terrifying.

She could handle pain.

Could handle blood.

Could handle bones breaking and bullets grazing and knives splitting skin.

Sevika was grumpy long before she admitted anything was wrong.

Not angry exactly, just… sharp around the edges. Spicy. She huffed when her cigarette wouldn’t light properly, glared at anyone who spoke too loudly in the bar, and spent the entire walk home muttering under her breath about how everyone in Zaun was apparently born without the ability to walk in a straight line.

You knew something was off the second she got through the door.

Usually she’d peel off her coat, toss it somewhere inconvenient, then immediately busy herself with something. A drink. A smoke. Cleaning her prosthetic. Anything.

Tonight, she just stood there.

Then she looked at you with the most exhausted expression you’d ever seen on her face.

“C’mere.”

You blinked. “That bad?”

“Mm.” She held one arm out toward you impatiently. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You barely had time to laugh before she was pulling you against her, burying her face into your shoulder with a long groan.

“Oh, honey,” you said softly, instantly understanding. “Period?”

“Unfortunately.”

Her voice sounded muffled against your shirt. You felt her slump more of her weight onto you dramatically.

“Everything hurts,” she complained. “My back hurts, my stomach hurts, my head hurts. My tits hurt.” She paused. “Existing hurts.”

You snorted quietly, rubbing your hand up and down her back. “Poor baby.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“You literally walked in here and collapsed onto me.”

“I did not collapse.”

“You absolutely collapsed.”

Sevika grumbled something unintelligible, but she made no effort to move away. If anything, she clung tighter.

That was the thing about her. Most people only saw the intimidating parts. The hard stare, the muscle, the temper.

But when she was with you, all those walls disappeared. Especially when she wasn’t feeling her best.

Suddenly she wanted your hands on her constantly.

She wanted your attention every second.

Wanted to be held like she’d melt apart otherwise.

By the time you got her settled on the couch, she was practically glued to your side, one leg thrown over yours while her head rested heavily in your lap.

“You need anything?” you asked, brushing your fingers through her hair.

“You.”

“I’m already here.”

“Closer.”

You laughed softly. “Sevika, there physically cannot be less space between us right now.”

“Figure it out.”

Despite her words, her eyes were already drifting shut while you played with her hair. Her face had softened completely, all the tension slowly leaving her body beneath your touch.

You leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She made a quiet noise and immediately reached for you again when you tried to pull away.

“Hey,” you murmured. “I was just kissing you.”

“Do it again.”

There was no attitude in it now. Just sleepy neediness.

Your heart practically melted.

So you kissed her forehead again. Then the corner of her mouth. Then her cheek until she finally cracked the tiniest smile.

“There she is,” you teased gently.

“Don’t start.”

“You’re cute when you’re clingy.”

Her eyes narrowed immediately. “I’m not clingy.”

The way her arms tightened around your waist the second you shifted said otherwise.

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Shut up.”

You grinned, leaning down to kiss her properly this time.

Sevika sighed into it like it relieved something aching inside her.

“Stay with me?” she asked quietly once you pulled back.

The softness in her voice caught you off guard. Sevika rarely asked for things so openly.

You tucked a strand of hair behind her ear gently. “Always.”

That seemed to ease something in her immediately.

A few minutes later, after you’d gotten a heating pad settled against her stomach and convinced her to drink some water, she ended up half sprawled across your chest in bed, utterly refusing to let go of you.

Every time you shifted even slightly, her arm tightened.

“You trying to fuse us together or something?” you mumbled affectionately, pressing a kiss to her head.

“Maybe.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

You smiled into her hair, wrapping your arms around her properly as she melted against you with a tired sigh.

• Sevika notices it immediately. The way you apologize for needing help before you even ask. The way you’ll struggle with five grocery bags cutting into your fingers instead of calling her from downstairs.

• She starts doing little things without making a big deal out of it because she knows if she fusses too much, you’ll get embarrassed. Refilling your water before you realize it’s empty. Buying your favourite snacks when you run out. Plugging your phone in when you fall asleep on the couch. Quiet care.

• You’re so used to solving your own problems that sometimes you genuinely forget you have someone now. Not because you don’t trust Sevika, but because relying on people has never really felt safe before.

• Sevika pretends to be annoyed every time she catches you trying to do something alone that you absolutely do not need to do alone.

“You know I’ve got two functioning arms, right? Even if one’s mechanical.”

• The first time you wake her up because you need something, Sevika nearly melts on the spot. She’s half asleep, voice rough and confused, but secretly thrilled that your first instinct was her.

• She’s patient about it. Never pushes too hard. If you pull away or insist you’re fine, she lets it go for the moment and just stays nearby instead.

• Sevika’s love language becomes making space for you to rest. She knows you’ve spent your whole life surviving independently, so she tries to teach you, gently, that love can be soft instead of transactional.

• Sometimes she’ll physically take things out of your hands. Laundry basket, toolbox, heavy bags.

“Sit down before I bench press you instead.”

• When you finally do start leaning on her more, even in tiny ways, Sevika acts smug about it but she’s unbearably soft underneath.

“Look at that. Finally learning.”

• Secretly, nothing makes her happier than hearing:

“Sevika?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you help me with this?”

Because to her, that means you trust her.

-

Sevika looked up from the couch, brow furrowing as she watched you carry an overstuffed box across the room with your jaw clenched tight.

“You moving out?” she asked dryly.

“I got it.”

“You say that like I asked.”

You ignored her, already trying to awkwardly shove the box onto the top shelf. Your arms trembled from the weight.

Sevika stared for three whole seconds before standing with a long suffering sigh.

“Move.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are visibly not fine.”

Before you could protest again, Sevika stepped behind you and effortlessly lifted the box from your hands. She set it on the shelf like it weighed nothing.

You crossed your arms immediately. “I could’ve done that.”

“Mhm.”

“I could.”

Sevika looked at you for a moment, then snorted softly.

“You know what your problem is?” she asked.

You narrowed your eyes. “This should be good.”

“You act like accepting help is gonna kill you.”

Heat crept up your neck.

“It’s not that dramatic.”

“No?” Sevika leaned against the counter. “Yesterday you nearly burned yourself because you refused to let me carry the soup pot. Last week you limped around on a bad ankle for two days before telling me. And ten minutes ago I caught you trying to move furniture alone.”

You looked away.

“I just don’t wanna bother you.”

The room went quiet.

Sevika’s expression changed instantly, irritation melting into something softer. Something aching.

“You bothering me would be if you started a fire, or… I don’t know, slapped me across the face.” She paused thoughtfully. “Actually, wouldn’t hate that.”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it, and you rolled your eyes, swatting lightly at her chest.

“Helping you isn’t bothering me,” she continued, reaching out to brush your hair back.

You shrugged weakly. “I’m used to handling things myself.”

“I know.”

And she did know.

Sevika knew about the years that taught you depending on people usually ended in disappointment. Knew that independence had stopped being a personality trait a long time ago and turned into survival instinct instead.

She stepped closer, warm hands settling gently against your cheeks.

“You don’t gotta earn being taken care of with me,” she said quietly. “I want to.”

Your throat tightened immediately.

It was embarrassing how much those words affected you. How badly some small, hidden part of you wanted to believe them.

Sevika noticed the way your eyes glossed over and immediately softened further.

“C’mere.”

You let her pull you against her chest with surprising ease. Her arms wrapped around you firmly. Warm and steady and safe.

For a minute neither of you spoke.

Then, muffled against her shirt, you muttered, “I still could’ve lifted that box.”

Sevika barked out a laugh.