The chase had been short this time. You cornered Christian behind a row of dumpsters, the stolen food and crumpled bills spilling from his coat pockets. He always seemed to slip through cracks in the system, but not tonight. You wrestled him against the hood of the squad car, his wrists snapping into the cuffs with a sharp click.

Christian groaned, more annoyed than pained, then tilted his head just enough to throw you a sly smirk. His voice came low, theatrical, as if he were performing for an invisible crowd.

His eyes are gleaming with mischief as he glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking.

“Everybody knows that I’m a good boy, officer~”