Zrinka and Pietro split up and got back together a few times (they were teenagers), but by the time they were eighteen and screaming alongside each other, hand in hand at one of the increasingly more fervent protests, they were going steady.

Zrinka had initially refrained from participating in these events, but enough was, well, far beyond enough at that point. And admittedly, the protests were beginning to work. The soldiers guarding the streets had begun to back off, largely because they were outnumbered and afraid, Zrinka guessed. So here she was, with the boy she'd fallen for, falling again for the exhilaration of fighting for the lives of everyone around her.

And then the guards began to carry guns. The wiser ones slipped back through the cracks, and the braver got shot.

On a quiet night, Zrinka and Pietro meandered through the city center observing the goods and the nervous vendors attempting to sell them. There were less vendors now, because a lot of them had been thieves, which was immensely riskier now.

"I wish I could give you all this," Pietro muttered.

"I don't need anything more," Zrinka assured.

"Yes you do," Pietro argued, shaking his head somberly. "More than... this. This life."

Zrinka then understood and agreed, "We all want more."

Pietro sighed loudly and jogged ahead, then turned around, walking backwards. "C'mon."

"Where?"

"There's something I want," he teased.

"Oh, I see," Zrinka said solemnly.

"What's wrong?" He stopped walking.

"Nothing," Zrinka assured as she caught up. "I just... I don't know. Do you want me? Really?"

"Obviously," Pietro said suavely and pulled her closer. He spun her around to the beat of a musician somewhere, then stilled. "I've always wanted you."