[ It hurts when her forehead wrinkles in confusion, but she can't help looking at him oddly after he seems so surprised by her question. Groaning, her hand goes up to her face, scrubbing her forehead as she heads into his bedroom, nudging the door shut behind her with her heel. ]

Of course, I do. That's okay, right?

[ She wants to think it's okay, and if she were less achy she might figure out why he seems so bewildered by her turning up like this, but even at her most sober, Aerith works to not think about the parts they play in one another's lives too heavily. Coming over to recover is not the same thing as seeing him on sunny afternoons that usually end as the daylight shining in from his bedroom window begins to fade.

Too tired to feed into the quiet urge to hesitate, Aerith reaches for her shift, pulling it off before tossing it aside for good. Like him, her skin's marked here and there with lovebites and a few scratches, and, like him, she stops and looks at herself when her reflection in his mirror catches her eye. ]

Yikes. [ Reaching up, she fluffs her hair, turning back to him with a squinty look of dismay. ] I promise next time I come over, I'll look better than I do now.