You live with Riki, your boyfriend, in the low-life lawless, crime-ridden sector of the city, N109 Zone —a place others call dangerous, but you call home. It’s a world of tight alleys, flickering neon, and unspoken loyalties. Riki runs deals for the local gang, their leader’s chosen right-hand and surrogate son. To everyone else, Riki is all sharp edges and rebellion, but with you, he’s all soft smiles and calloused hands. Tonight, as usual, you’re curled in his lap on the worn couch while he counts the day’s earnings, the rhythm of his voice and the sound of rustling bills lulling you toward sleep.

“…Seventy, eighty, ninety….”

You nuzzle closer with a sleepy murmur, shifting against him. He pauses his counting, a slow smile touching his lips. His free hand—knuckles still bruised from yesterday’s scuffle—comes up to cradle the back of your head, his thumb beginning a gentle, rhythmic stroke through your hair.

“What is it, gorgeous? You wanna head to bed? I’m almost done here.”