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What's your damage?

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Grant Emerson flicked his eyes left. Judomaster was still sitting on the end of his bed watching him, too bad he wasn't enjoying the scrutiny as much as he had been lately.

Before Gog had taken back his gift.

Even her spur of the moment kiss hadn't made him feel better, it'd made things worse in his head as he tried to work out why she'd done it. It wasn't like they'd even communicated beyond simple words.

Swearing, he tossed the contents of his dresser drawers out. "Where the fuck is it..."

Judomaster tilted her head narrowly evading a pair of his boxers as they flew past but she didn't say anything, likely didn't even understand him.

He couldn't have thrown every single one in the trash. Picking up the small plastic lined bin, he upended it on the bathroom floor. The last thing to fall out was a discarded shred of dark cloth. Grant snatched it up and held it in his hands, hesitating as he looked up at the new mirror above the basin.

His fist flashed towards the reflection he despised but an open palm intercepted it with a meaty smack. She'd moved fast, the woman who couldn't be hit. He ducked his head, hiding behind lank hair until he could yank the mask down over the ruin of his face.

"Damage?" She lifted the edge of the mask, though he raised a hand to stop her revealing too much, and kissed him gently.

All the time he watched her eyes, looking for pity or sympathy, and saw none. Drawing back with a smile, she pulled the mask down and smoothed it into place, then kissed him again, her warm lips pressed against the fabric.