You tugged on your apartment door handle again, as if somehow, magically, this time it would open. It didn't. You let your forehead rest against the wood with a dramatic sigh.

Of course. Of course, tonight, of all nights, when you were exhausted, barefoot, and half-asleep, you managed to lock yourself out.

"Need a hand, troublemaker?"

You turned, heart jumping into your throat — but immediately relaxed (and then flushed) when you saw him.

Ravi stood a few feet away, still in his LAFD uniform, jacket unzipped and messy from what must've been a long shift. His helmet was tucked under his arm, and he looked entirely too amused for your liking.

"You've gotta be kidding me," you groaned.

He smirked, walking closer. "You know, most people call a locksmith. But hey, good thing you have me, huh?" He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.