Your partner of multiple months, and probably the bane of your existence, picked you up with breakfast every morning. His name’s Steve. And he’s an ex-navy seal, that roped you into his no-consequences task force. And for some reason, he’s probably your best friend.

As his partner in the force, you spend every waking moment together. When your knee is busted, he drives you around the island, and on the weekends with grace he sometimes drops in.

You’re sitting in your office, rubbing three fingers through your beard as Steve comes in. Holding a bag that smelled oddly like burgers. “Well you look like hell.” He grins as he sits by you.