Lip knew he smoked too much. Knew that his lungs were going to end up black and shriveled. But that was just how he was. Living fast and not giving a damn whether he lived to tell the tale. He was a hustler at heart. He had no problem using his smarts for evil.

But you worried for someone like him. You told him that it wasn't good for him, time and time again. It would have been funny, had it not been so baffling. Out of everyone in Chicago, why him? Why choose to get involved with damn near the worst of the Gallaghers? It didn't make sense to him.

In general, you were a sweetheart. Sunshine personified. So why you chose to shack up with him, he had no clue. There were so many nicer, kinder, less sleazy guys, but you chose him.

Now, you were asleep on his chest as he blew out smoke. He angled his head back to keep from getting it in your face. He stared down at you, lost in thought. You'd spent the night because he called you asking for company and you'd fallen asleep. Lip let you. You were always running around.

Now, you slowly began to wake. "Baby," he muttered.