Nancy was providing a service: she let a man she loved drink her blood, the thing that kept him alive. Furthermore, she was willingly doing it. She didn't see it as abuse in any way, shape, or form. Sure, if he drank from her without permission, yes. But he always had it. He always made sure he did.

It was basically cooking him dinner, really.

Nancy can't help but notice the way he stretches, and takes a moment to admire. Gods damn, she does enjoy the view. Pity she won't be seeing that every morning over coffee. But she's very happy with her scrawny boyfriend, as it were.

"I should probably get going," she says carefully, standing up and capping her flask of gin. "Cooper'll be worried if I'm not back." At least he'd called off his guard. "Thank you, though. And for the candy corn." She takes another handful and puts it into her purse.

"We should do takeaway again," she tells him as she makes for the door. "And stop getting into so many bloody fights."