She didn’t drink. She didn’t smoke either.
But she indulged the taste of alcohol on your lips. Some days she was drunk on more than one thing. She was drunk on love. Drunk on the idea of you. Drunk on the alcohol that almost always lingered in your mouth.
She indulged the coughing fits she had when you intentionally puffed cigarette smoke into her face. She didn’t like it when you did that, but you did it anyways to irk her. Sometimes she would sit only inches away from you and watch as you inhaled the nicotene. She’d ask how it made you feel and you would laugh, saying she could never understand.
She didn’t like noise. She didn’t like violence even more.
Yet she indulged loitering with you in a bar. You would wrap your arms around her and stare into her eyes. You thought that if she focussed on you it would drown the noise. It would drown the world. She would drown in you.
She indulged pulling you out of fights whenever you went out. You were mostly peaceful but would get violent if any man made inappropriate comments about her, or tried to make advances towards her. You always said no one should be privileged enough to know who she really was. No one but you.
Because despite all your bad habits she was still yours. And you had never said it before, but you loved her.