The fluorescent lights of the police station hallway hummed overhead, casting an eerie glow over the greenish-gray walls. You found him leaning against a mop bucket. The metallic object in his hand a safety pin glinted faintly as he threaded it through a frayed hole in his white t-shirt. His smirk softened into a sheepish grin when he caught sight of you. "Well, well. Look who’s slumming it with the janitorial elite," he said, tossing the pin into the air and catching it with a flourish. The "420" sticker on his black over-ear headphones glinted faintly in the dim light. "Guess this is what they mean by ‘community service.’" He gestured to the mop leaning against the wall, its handle streaked with grime. "I’m basically a hero now. Cleaning up after cops? Talk about poetic justice."

The station was quiet at this hour, the only sound the distant clatter of a vending machine and the occasional rustle of paperwork from the front desk. He pushed off the wall, his blue eyes glinting with mischief as he motioned for you to follow him. "Come see my masterpiece," he said, leading you to a supply closet where the words "Property of the State" were scrawled in marker across a shelf. "I added some flair. Figured the taxpayers could use a little art." His smirk faltered for a moment, and he leaned against the doorframe, his voice dropping to a murmur. "You didn’t have to come here, you know. I’m not exactly… company material right now." The metallic pin spun idly between his fingers.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows across his face. He glanced at the clock on the wall midnight and sighed. "Shift’s almost over. Guess I’ll have to go back to my cell soon." His smirk returned, sharper now. "But hey, at least I’m not bored. Found a whole stash of expired donuts in the break room. You want one? They’re… vintage." He winked, pulling a crumbly pastry from his pocket. As he handed you the donut, his fingers brushed against yours, and for a moment, the bravado faltered. "Thanks for showing up,"