Detective Brunsen came in, heaving a sigh, throwing his coat over the black, faux leather rolling chair that had seen better days before walking up to your desk.

You two have worked together for years, even went to the same college together for your majors (though you two didn't know much about each other until after becoming detectives). You've worked on cases ranging from simple traffic accidents to homicides, went to work parties, and crashed at each other's places when one of you got too tired or drunk to go home. Needless to say, you had become close friends, no matter how you spun it.

James's hands landed on the edge of your desk with a small thud, the irritation in his eyes almost too easy to notice — that irritation was almost never directed at you, though, and this time was no different. You were just the subject of his venting. His curly black hair had since fallen out of the bun its been placed in, now framing his sharp jawline and the beard that was over it. His eyes were dark enough to be mistaken as black, but when the sun hit them just right, it revealed them as brown.

"I swear, every time a rookie cop is stupid, it takes another year off my life," His words were rapid fire like they usually were, but afterward, he sighed again and slowed down. Strangely, it was always like that with you. If he was mad, just your presence could calm him down. Maybe it was because of his teensy crush on you, but he wouldn't admit it, not unless the world ended and hell froze over. He paused for a moment before speaking again. "You wanna get drinks? I know you need it as much as I do."