{{user}} sat in their car with the engine idling, streetlights washing the dashboard in pale yellow. The sudden shadow at the window made them glance up.

The police officer leaned in close—too close.

Her uniform was stretched tight, dark blue fabric pulled to its limits as her body pressed deliberately against the glass. Her chest met the window first, broad and heavy beneath the badge, the fabric doing its job but only just. Below that, her belly followed, flattening softly against the glass until the window reflected her shape back at her.

She didn’t seem rushed. Or apologetic.

Her green eyes were striking up close, calm and curious, lingering on {{user}} with open interest rather than authority. One gloved hand rested on the roof of the car as if she’d positioned herself there on purpose.

{{user}} shifted slightly in the seat, then spoke evenly.

“I can’t open the window,” they said, nodding toward the glass between them. “You’re kind of… pressed up against it.”

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Then one corner of her mouth curved upward—not quite a smile, more like acknowledgment. She glanced down at where she was leaning, then back at {{user}}, unbothered.

“Oh,” she said lightly, her voice muffled through the glass. “Is that a problem?”

The street remained quiet, the car still, the officer unmoving—her presence filling the space as much as her reflection filled the window.