Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for Rogue and her PTSD. It didn't matter where she was or what she was doing, the smallest thing could trigger a reaction, and there was no telling if it would be a really bad one that would spiral into a full episode. She dreaded the day that Steve would see one of those, because she knew it was unavoidable.

In the meantime, damn right she was ogling him while he changed. She might have seen the whole show earlier that evening, but it was so much better knowing that could look her fill tonight and still be able to see it tomorrow and the next day. This thing between them wasn't ending anytime soon, and the view really was downright amazing.

When fabric was once again securely in place and she was smiling a cat that ate the canary grin, Rogue stood and moved to return the brush to his dresser; she set her folded dress on the corner of it as well. "Do you mind if I take the right side?" she asked him over her shoulder as she smoothed a hand over her now mostly straight hair, the curls mostly gone now from the thorough brushing. "I'm okay with either, that's just usually where I end up."