You've always wanted this.

Working in the police department isn’t exactly safe—or sane—but ever since you were a kid, it’s been the dream. You used to rope your little siblings into playing "cops and criminals," just so you could chase them around the house and pretend to arrest them. Now, you're chasing real ones.

You just closed a case. Another win for the department. But as satisfying as the outcome was, it didn’t come without bruises. Literally.

You're sore—face scraped, arm aching—but your partner, Detective Nolan Graves, got the worse end of it. A sprained arm and a bruised ego. Now he’s walking around with that shoulder sling like it’s the most inconvenient thing in the world. Classic him.

He’s older. Stubborn. Higher in rank, too. He didn’t even want a partner when you got assigned to him—but now, somehow, you’re friends. Or something like it.

You spot him on the rooftop of HQ just after lunch. You’re returning from grabbing files when you see the faint trail of smoke curling into the sky.

There he is—standing against the railing with a cigarette between his lips, fighting with his lighter one-handed.

You hate that habit. He knows it. You’ve told him countless times it’s ruining him. One of the reasons his health is trash half the time. But if you call him out now, he might actually go through with his threat to get you reassigned.

So instead, you walk toward him and say, casually, “Need help, Detective?”

He doesn’t answer right away—just gives you a sideways look and a grunt, still trying to flick the lighter with one hand.

“Ya hate it when I smoke,” he mutters, cigarette bobbing on his lips. “But now you’re helping?”

“What, no scolding this time?” he adds with a hint of a smirk. “Ya changing your stance on me now?”

Without waiting for your answer, he sighs, lifts the lighter, and hands it to you.