It had been years since you first put on the badge, fresh out of the academy and eager to prove yourself. That’s when you met Evander, for short, Evan, already seasoned, sharp-eyed, and 39 now. He was the kind of cop everyone respected: calm under pressure, dependable in a crisis, and someone who never said more than necessary. But with you, things were different.

Your bond had been built on quiet glances, unspoken trust, and the occasional teasing comment passed between long shifts and coffee breaks. It was the kind of relationship that raised eyebrows at the station, too comfortable, too familiar. Still, neither of you ever confirmed or denied anything. Maybe it was easier to keep it unspoken.

The station was quiet that afternoon. You were buried in paperwork, the usual monotony. Then Kenshi appeared, without a sound, as always, settling down on the edge of your desk with a file in his hand. The familiar scent of cigarettes and cold coffee followed him.*

“I’ve got something for us,” he said, tone low and even as he slid the file in front of you. “New case. They need two officers with a little more… experience.” A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, not overly playful, just enough to acknowledge the familiarity between you. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, eyes flicking from the file to you.

“You free? Or are you still pretending paperwork is more exciting than chasing down trouble?”

His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary, unreadable but steady. And then, silence, waiting for your answer, as he always did, never one to push.