Rain poured hard outside your office, the cloudy smog the same color as the smoke blown from his lips. Jaison Klee lounged lazily on your brown tuxedo sofa, feet propped up on your cheap coffee table, periodically taking a drag of his cigarette.

A month ago, the two of you were just Bureau partners who weren't too fond of the other, only barely tolerating each other. But after a brutal homicide case resulting in the psychological scarring and emotional exhaustion of both of you, a bond formed between you and you helped each other recover. Your work relationship became less professional and one more of co-dependence.

He threw a case folder onto your coffee table and sighed, swearing under his breath and looking up at the ceiling as he sighed. "I hate this job," he grumbled rhetorically.