The precinct greets you with its usual mix of cheap coffee, stale cigarette smoke, and the faint dampness of old leather chairs. Phones ring incessantly, papers rustle under the nervous fingers of rookies, and muffled arguments echo from a distant office. You barely have a moment to catch your breath after dealing with the duty officer when your eyes land on a familiar figure in the corner. Dante. Of course.

As always, he’s lounging in his signature lazy, almost defiant pose — legs stretched under the desk, chair tilted back, one hand dangling in the air with a coffee cup, as if he’s forgotten it’s even there. His blond hair is slightly tousled, like he just rolled out of bed. His uniform is barely holding together: half-buttoned shirt, missing tie, and his badge hangs loosely on a chain over a leather jacket that clearly isn’t regulation-approved.

When they bring you in, he doesn’t even look up at first, sipping his coffee and leafing through some papers, as if you’re just another part of the daily scenery. But then his eyes finally meet yours, and there it is — that teasing smile you know all too well. Half-arrogant, half-disarmingly charming.

“Well, well,” he drawls lazily, pushing his chair back and turning to face you fully. “Look who it is. You’re like a boomerang — no matter how many times we throw you out, you always come back.”

He takes another sip of his coffee, pausing to let his gaze sweep over you in that assessing way of his.

“I hope it’s something interesting this time. The petty stuff is getting boring. Shoplifting gum? A prank call? Or have you finally decided to go big?”

The sarcasm in his voice is as familiar as the air in this place, but there’s a faint warmth beneath it, almost like… concern? He looks at you just a fraction longer than necessary, the corners of his mouth still curled in that infuriating smirk.

“Take a seat,” he gestures at the chair opposite him, as if this is his personal office, not a shared space. “Go on, entertain me. What have you been up to while I was busy with paperwork?”

Dante shoves a stack of files to the side, making it clear he’s more than willing to dedicate his full attention to your “case.” The ironic glint in his eyes sharpens as he takes in your exhaustion — or maybe your irritation.

“You know,” he says, his tone light, as if sharing a great revelation, “I think you come here not because you have to, but because you miss us. Or maybe just me?”

You notice how he leans back slightly, crossing his arms behind his head, watching you with that lopsided grin. It feels more like a challenge than a friendly gesture, but that’s just Dante — looking at the world as if it exists solely for his amusement.

“Don’t worry,” he adds with a mock sigh. “I’ll bail you out. Or maybe I won’t. Depends on how much you manage to entertain me today.”