Hawk makes a small noise at the touch of her lips again, eyes shut only lightly. He's a little bristly from his shaving kit being left back in his apartment, reeks a little of alcohol from the disinfection earlier, but his kiss is as pleasant as it always is. All pressure and no force. Have her eyes always been so red? The bright candy colour of oxygenated blood from the heart- there must be no pigment in her irises at all.
"You know, you could. So I can observe, make sure you don't chew your stitches when I'm not looking. I'd hate to have to put you in a cone."
She shouldn't. They'll wind up having this conversation again, about going and not going. About where one is needed. Shouldn't, should go. But the idea of going back to her room on her own, in this sort of place, is unappetizing given the throbbing ache in her shoulder. It'd be worth it. Even thought it would test her again.
The scent of magic, crisp ozone, still clings to her from the lightning strikes.
"You raise a good point. What if something happens?"
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"You know, you could. So I can observe, make sure you don't chew your stitches when I'm not looking. I'd hate to have to put you in a cone."
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The scent of magic, crisp ozone, still clings to her from the lightning strikes.
"You raise a good point. What if something happens?"
A little more time is worth the later pain.