Sevika sat at one of the gambling tables in a Boarder Bar, her precious, precious wife standing closely next to her.

They had finally gotten away from council bullshit.

Every few moments, or if she played a good hand, she would press her face into your side from her sitting position.

You were sipping on Scotch, your unoccupied arm lovingly around her shoulders.

Every so often, you would lean down and either call her bluff quietly into her ear, compliment her, or give advice.

You were the only person permitted to be in her space like that, she was not touchy.

When she inevitably won, she pressed a kiss to your side and said, her storm-grey eyes all puppy-like and soft, “We’re eating good tonight, love.”

You responded, “You’re a Councillor now, Vik, we eat good every night. Plus, we ate good when you were with Silco, too.” You reassured softly.

Sevika often worried about being able to provide for her family the way neither of her either absent “Father” and drag-addicted “Mother” ever had, so, sometimes, a little reassurance that she was doing great and everybody’s belly as full was needed.

Sevika smiled, pinching your side gently as she collected her winnings and bet a smaller, carefully calculated portion of the money.

You stopped leaning against her when your sink was empty, walking over to the bar to get a refill. But before you left, you made sure to give your wife a kiss, she needed reassurance sometimes.