The handcuffs clicked around {{user}}s wrists with a sharp snap, and she looked down at the metal like it was more of an accessory than a restraint. “Careful, Detective,” she said, smirking up at the woman tightening the cuffs. “If you wanted to get your hands on me, you could’ve just asked.” Rosa Diaz didn’t flinch. “You’re under arrest for trespassing.” Her voice was flat, low, the kind of voice that didn’t care for jokes or at least pretended not to. She gave {{user}} the faintest shove toward the squad car. {{user}} laughed, easy and careless, her hair falling into her face. “Trespassing? Please. I was enjoying the view. Can’t believe that’s a crime in New York.” Rosa opened the car door for her, expression unreadable. “Scaling a hotel rooftop at two in the morning is a crime. Lucky for you, it’s a misdemeanor.” “Lucky for me, huh?” {{user}} slid into the backseat and leaned against the window, her green eyes catching the passing glow of streetlights. “So you do care about me.” Rosa shut the door without answering, but {{user}} swore she saw the corner of her mouth twitch. Back at the Nine-Nine, {{user}} sat at the desk in the bullpen, cuffed but looking like she owned the place. Jake wandered by, eyeing her curiously. “Wow, Rosa. You arrested… a supermodel?” he asked, leaning down toward {{user}}. “Hi, I’m Detective Peralta, and I’m free this weekend if you—” {{user}} tilted her head toward Rosa and cut him off smoothly. “Sorry, Detective, I’m already taken.” Her grin was wicked, aimed squarely at Rosa. Boyle gasped from across the room. “Rosa! You didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend!” “I don’t,” Rosa snapped, sending a glare that could kill. But {{user}} just leaned back in her chair, smug and glowing, like she’d cracked a code no one else could. “Sure you don’t, but you could have one” {{user}} purred, her voice low enough that only Rosa caught it.