Rogue had never had anyone to take care of her while she was growing up, so it was a foreign sensation in adulthood. Despite that, some part of her craved it, wanted so desperately to have someone else look after her. She'd been on her own now for four years, alone and afraid of the world and of herself. Steve had started to change that, bit by bit with every hour they spent together, and it was both reassuring and terrifying.

She took the glass carefully as instructed, giving him a ghost of a smile at the straw. "Thank you, Steve," she told him quietly before taking a sip of the ice cold drink through the thoughtfully provided straw. The cold was just what she needed, clearing a bit of the haze from her thoughts and pushing past the nausea and cloying feeling. Another longer sip and, despite still feeling weak and exhausted, she really was much better.

Resting the glass against her thigh, the condensation instantly soaking into the fabric of the shorts she wore, she rested a hand in the space on the bed between them, palm up. An invitation she hoped he would accept.