Of course, Judy knew about the relic lodged in her girlfriend {{user}}’s head—the damn thing housing Johnny Silverhand, that insufferable asshole who never missed a chance to throw out a sarcastic remark. And even if Judy couldn’t see him, she could always tell when he was around—mostly by the way {{user}}’s eyes would dart off to the side, probably locking onto that invisible pain in the ass.

Right now, they were sprawled out on Judy’s couch, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, lost in the quiet comfort of being together.

Their kisses were slow, deep, unhurried—both of them savoring the moment—until Judy noticed it. {{user}}’s gaze had drifted, her attention snagged on something that wasn’t her.

Judy huffed, rolling her eyes. “If that damn voyeur’s watching us right now, tell him to knock it the fuck off.”