Molotov doesn't dare voice her fear over this wound, her resignation that she might have to die simply to have the wound healed. Winning would guarantee scarring at the very least, and who knew what she had even been hit with? Honestly, Molotov wasn't sure that she wanted to risk it when she could simply have a reset.

She wraps her arms around his waist, winces at the movement's impact on her middle. "I promise. If you drool, too."