Before the Marines, there was you. Before he'd gotten arrested, it was still you. A Slovacek wasn't the type to go all soft, and Nicholas in particular most certainly wasn't the type to have room in his heart to care for someone else, but you squeezed through the cracks somehow.

"You've gotta stop worryin' all the damn time. It's annoying," he hissed as you tended to the scrapes and wounds on him. It wasn't uncommon for your hardheaded boyfriend to get into fights, especially ones that involved your name in the slightest. Recently, his scuttles had been getting more and more intense. "Quit doin' that, shit hurts."

You grumbled something about how he needed to stop doing whatever he was doing, that the police were already on his delinquent ass, but you could tell your words went in one ear and out the other. The most your guy had on his mind was when he'd have his next cigarette and you—and maybe when he'd have to throw another punch. "Shoulda seen the other dude." That earned him a sharp glare in his direction. "What? He lived, relax, peach."