When he hesitated, she followed his line of sight, she was nearly ready to guide one of his hands to one of her many scars. To one of the many that deformed her flesh. To remind him that they weren't all that different. That the marks and pains they both bore didn't matter.
The question threw her off. She rested back into the softness of his couch. "Right now? Not exactly. Do you need one?" Kytana wouldn't be offended if he did. She knew his scar plagued him quite a bit. Even if she tried to keep it from doing just that.