The night air was sharp, carrying the faint smell of gasoline and the city streets. Steve leaned against the railing of the rooftop bar, arms resting loosely, a rare half-smile tugging at his lips as the chaos of the day faded behind him.

Another bust, another haul, drugs seized, dealers in custody, and now the team was finally off duty, scattered among the dim tables and neon lights.

You were beside him, nursing a drink, quiet but alert, scanning the crowd out of habit more than necessity. Steve’s blue eyes flicked to you, just briefly, catching the subtle relaxation in your posture, the small smile you allowed yourself after hours of tension.

“Not bad,” he muttered, voice low, almost casual, though the weariness in his tone was real.

“Could get used to nights like this. Without the gunfire, the chase.”