It's a rare sunny day in Britain - the kind that makes you forget, just for a moment, that you're living in a bureaucratic shithole. The park is beautiful, with green grass that hasn't been regulated yet and trees that don't require a Nature Appreciation Loicense to look at. Elizabeth sits across from you on the picnic blanket, her red hair catching the sunlight in a beautiful way. Those blue eyes are sparkling with actual happiness.

She's wearing one of those godawful mandated modest dresses - a shapeless beige thing that looks like it was designed by someone who hates beauty itself, an appropriate thing for a British lawmaker - but somehow she still manages to look stunning. You've both packed all the British essentials: tea in a thermos, some sandwiches, crisps, and even a few biscuits she nicked from her mum's house.

The conversation flows easily, she's telling you about the latest absurdity at work - apparently they now need a Loicense to use the color printer - when she suddenly goes quiet. Her eyes soften, and she leans toward you slowly. This is it. A perfect moment. Her lips are inches from yours, her breath warm, her eyes starting to close-

"OI! WHAT ARE YEW DOIN THERE, BRUV? PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF AFFECTION!? I OUGHTA FINE YEW LOT!"

A copper appears from literally nowhere - you swear to God he wasn't there two seconds ago - red-faced and puffing like he's just run a marathon. He's got his little notepad out already, pen poised like a weapon.

Elizabeth pulls back with a long, exhausted sigh that seems to come from her very soul. She closes her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them again, that spark of happiness is gone, replaced by tired resignation.

"Of course," she mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course. We were having a nice moment. Can't have that, can we?"

She turns to the copper with a smile so fake it could be made of plastic. "Good afternoon, Officer. Lovely day, isn't it? We were just… sitting here. Eating sandwiches. Very platonic sandwich consumption."

The copper squints at both of you suspiciously. "Looked loike more than sandwiches to me, miss. Looked loike yew was about to commit an unloicensed kiss. That's a Class B Physical Affection violation, that is. Gonna need to see yer Loicenses for Romantic Intent, both of yew."

Elizabeth looks at you with those beautiful blue eyes, and you can see the question there: Is this really our life? Is this actually happening? Again?

"We don't have a Romantic Intent Loicense, Officer," she says flatly. "Because that's not a real thing. You literally just made that up."

The copper's face goes even redder. "Are yew givin' me lip, miss? That's Disrespect of an Officer, that is! I could add that to yer file! Now, I'm gonna need to see identification from both of yew, and yew're gonna need to explain exactly what yer relationship is and whether yew've filed the proper paperwork for this… this… PICNIC!"

The flat is quiet except for the low murmur of the television. You and Elizabeth are curled up on the couch together, and for once - for fucking once - you've managed to have an almost normal evening. She's pressed against your side, her red hair tickling your chin, and you've been sneaking kisses for the past twenty minutes. Small victories in a insane world.

The news drones on in the background: another grenade attack in Manchester, some talking head with the blandest possible take ("terrorism is bad, we must do better"), a politician promising reforms that will never happen while actual criminals run rampant because they don't give a shit about loicenses. Elizabeth had rolled her eyes at that one.

But right now, none of that matters. Her hand is sliding up your chest. Your hand is on her waist, feeling the curve of her hip through that awful modest dress. She kisses you deeper, her breathing getting heavier. You can feel her heart racing. This is it. This is actually happening. You're both getting bolder, hands wandering, her blue eyes dark with want-

The window flies open with a crash.

You're on the fifth floor. The fifth fucking floor.

"OI! WHAT IN THE BLOODY 'ELL IS 'APPENING 'ERE?"

A copper is climbing through your window - THROUGH YOUR FIFTH FLOOR WINDOW. He's got his hi-vis vest on, his stupid hat, and that expression of moral superiority that makes you want to commit violence.

"IS THAT SEX? I'M GONNA NEED TO SEE YOUR LOICENSES FOR THAT!"

Elizabeth goes completely still in your arms. You feel her entire body start to shake - not with fear, but with pure, incandescent rage.

"We're on the fifth floor," she says, her voice deadly quiet. "The fifth. Floor. How did you- WHY did you-"

She pulls away from you and stands up, and you can see her hands clenching into fists. Her face is flushed, her hair mussed from your kissing, and she looks like she's about two seconds away from committing murder.

"We weren't even having sex! We were kissing! On our own couch! In our own flat! With the curtains closed!"

The copper pulls himself fully through the window, brushing off his vest like he's just done something heroic.

"Don't matter if the curtains is closed, miss. We got thermal imaging, don't we? Saw two heat signatures getting a bit too close, if yew know what I mean. Elevated 'eart rates. Increased body temperature. All the signs of unloicensed physical intimacy."

He pulls out his notepad with a flourish.

"Now, I'm gonna need both yer identification, proof of cohabitation loicense, proof of relationship registration, and yer Reproductive Permit application number. And before yew ask, no, yew can't just 'ave a cuddle without the proper paperwork. That's a slippery slope to unregulated affection, that is."

Elizabeth looks at you. You look at Elizabeth.

The window is still open. The copper is standing right next to it. He's a portly man, probably in his fifties, wheezing slightly from his climb. It would be so easy. One good shove. Five floors down. The thought is there, clear as day in your head.

Elizabeth, like any sane person, is likely thinking the same thing.

The café is cozy and warm. Elizabeth sits across from you at a table by the window, her eyes bright with contentment. You're holding hands across the table - you've got a Class C Physical Affection Loicense that took three months to obtain, so this is perfectly legal. For once, you're having a normal date.

She's mid-sentence, telling you about how her mum asked again when you're getting married ("I told her we're on month seven of a three-year waiting list, but she doesn't seem to grasp how loicenses work"), when movement outside catches your eye.

A man in a tracksuit and a balaclava is holding a fucking machete - an actual, full-sized machete - pointed at another man's chest. The victim's hands are up, and he's frantically emptying his pockets. Wallet, phone, watch, all of it goes into the mugger's bag. It's happening right there, maybe twenty feet from the café window.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Elizabeth mutters, following your gaze. "Is that-"

Yeah. That's a machete.

The mugger grabs the last of the belongings and takes off running down the street. The victim stands there, shocked and shaking.

Then you hear it: the pounding of boots, the jingle of equipment. Two coppers come sprinting around the corner, hi-vis vests blazing like beacons of uselessness. They're running full tilt after the mugger-

-and then they stop at the café doors.

They look at each other, nod, and walk inside.

Straight toward your table.

"OI! Yew 'avin a date? With no LOICENSE?"

The lead copper - a heavy-set man with a mustache that looks like a dead caterpillar - is pointing at your joined hands with his baton. His partner, a younger bloke with dead eyes, is already pulling out his notepad.

Elizabeth's mouth falls open. "Are you- did you just- there's a man with a MACHETE running down the street!"

"We'll get to 'im later, miss. First things first. This 'ere looks like a romantic engagement, and I need to verify yew got the proper documentation."

Through the window, you can see the mugger disappearing around a corner. The victim is still standing there, looking around desperately for help.

The plane ride was terrifying. Elizabeth had found some smuggler through a work contact who knew a guy who knew a guy - the kind of operation that would've required seventeen different loicenses back in the UK just to inquire about. You'd both abandoned everything: jobs, family, the flat, all of it. Just two suitcases each and whatever money Elizabeth had been secretly saving for years.

El Salvador. She'd chosen El Salvador of all places. You'd heard the stories - gang violence, crime, danger. But Elizabeth had done her research, found a small community in a safe area, even arranged a house. "Anywhere is better than Britain," she'd said on the plane, squeezing your hand. "Literally anywhere."

You've been here one day.

And it's like stepping into a different world.

People walk the streets without fear. You saw a couple kissing on a bench this morning - just kissing, no copper materializing to demand paperwork. There's a small community here, and they're… happy. Actually happy. Kids playing football in the street. Neighbors chatting. The authoritarian government here crushed the gangs, and somehow that authoritarianism resulted in safety and what feels like freedom, not the bureaucratic nightmare you fled.

It's bizarre. It's wonderful. It doesn't make sense, but who gives a fuck about making sense?

Right now, you're standing on the balcony of your new home, no landlord loicense required - with Elizabeth beside you. The sun is setting over the hills, painting everything gold. She's looking at the view with something you haven't seen in years: peace.

You're holding hands. No loicense. No copper about to rappel down from the roof. Just two people in love, and nobody else gives a shit.

Elizabeth turns to look at you, and there's something fierce in her expression. Three years of pent-up frustration.

"We're shagging," she says flatly, matter-of-factly. "Right now. No permits, no waiting period, no thermal imaging copper watching through the window. Right. Now."

She grabs your hand and practically drags you toward the bedroom.

She kicks the bedroom door shut behind you, her blue eyes blazing with desire and defiance and joy.

Taking off her clothes to reveal lingerie (Illegal in the UK)

"Welcome to freedom, love," she grins. "Now get over here."

She sits on the bed, waiting for you.