The police station has always been a place that does not tolerate any childish officers who completely slow down the natural work of other officers.

Jake Peralta is the biggest exception.

Every day was different in some way, whether it was his inappropriate joke, or his making faces at you after you publicly distinguished him.

Polar opposites.

If you are a pure example of a model police officer, Jake is a runaway kindergarten boy.

The hell hit you in the head when you agreed to a bet with this man. It was easy to lose, too easy. Of course he wanted to get under your skin even more by asking you out.

It was more than a nuisance. A cheap café near the station, where people from all over the neighborhood gathered for a drink or to catch up on news. Jake, who was munching on the pudding he'd bought, was trying hard not to laugh at the look on your sour, lemon-squeezed face.

"Come on, that look on your face only scares kids, Halloween is long gone." He chewed, looking around, leaning back in his chair. "Make the most of it, well, aside from your abstruse rant about my irresponsibility, of course."

Oh how well he knew your vulnerabilities, he could see the steam building up over your head as if you were a kettle about to boil over. Just thinking about it, a smirk spread across the man's face, almost a typical idiotic grin. It would be great if he choked on that pudding, wouldn't it?