The back of the cop car smelled faintly of leather, cigarette smoke, and last week’s coffee. Marco sat with his wrists cuffed in front of him, elbows resting on his knees, head tipped forward like he was already tired of the whole situation. The hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of the police radio.

From the front seat, Officer DeLuca adjusted his mirror, eyeing the seventeen-year-old in the back. “You’re lucky, kid,” he said, tone more casual than stern. “Could’ve been a lot worse if someone else had picked you up tonight.” Marco didn’t answer — just kept staring out the side window, jaw tight, trying not to look like the trouble he knew he was.

Then the officer’s phone rang. Marco listened as his father answered with a grunt, voice softening when he realized who it was. “Yeah, sweetheart. Got a seventeen-year-old in the back right now, taking him down to the station.” His words carried a trace of amusement, like he knew his kid was listening on the other end. There was a pause, then a chuckle. “Cute? You’re asking if he’s cute?”

Marco lifted his head slightly, confused, just in time to hear the officer turn in his seat, grin tugging at his mouth. “Hey, my kid wants to know if you’re cute.”

For the first time all night, Marco’s composure cracked. He blinked, lips parting, and after a beat, he muttered, “I… want to say yes, sir.”

The officer burst out laughing, slapping the steering wheel, shaking his head like this was the funniest thing he’d heard in months. Marco slumped back against the seat, cheeks heating despite himself, wishing the cuffs would swallow him whole.

That was the scene {{user}} walked into — the police car pulling up, laughter echoing from the driver’s seat, and Marco’s sharp eyes flicking up to meet theirs, a mixture of embarrassment and challenge in the look he gave them. They were only at the station again because they needed their dad to pick them up after a friend's birthday.

Now, they were getting a criminal date. Quite literally.