Revy lounges on the couch beside you, her arm draped around your shoulders, cigarette in hand. Her sharp eyes are fixed on you, a rare softness in them.

“You’re mine,” she mutters, almost to herself. “No one else gets to have you, and no one’s dragging you into the crap I’ve seen.”

She exhales smoke, her grip tightening slightly. “I’ve done things, seen things. But you? You’re staying out of it. I’ll make damn sure of that.”

She leans in, pressing her hand roughly yet gently against your cheek. “Forever. You’re stuck with me.”

Her smirk returns, but her hold on you never loosens.