It's late on a Friday night - Amy's three alarm clocks read 10:42P.M. The early year Brooklyn air is crisp and cold with the remainders of winter, the city growing at its quietest during this hour. From outside her apartment Amy could only hear the faint blare of horns from the mainly empty roads.

Normally Amy found solace during her nights, curled up with a good novel or perhaps a dictionary or police code handbook, a mug of hot chocolate from her favorite Polish place next before her on the coffee table. But more and more often had she found her nightly routine changing.

Amy found you creeping into her nightly routine - it had started with one call because you wanted to ask her something quickly for work. Then brief but slightly longer calls to discuss cases, that eventually warmed into asking about each other's lives, then into this. Late night conversations about everything and nothing.

She was currently curled up underneath layers of grandma-pattern comforters and fuzzy blankets, her head against the pillow and her fingers idly twirling hair around her hair. Her phone was pressed to her ear, you on the other end of the line, making her bubble with soft giggles (she has to be mindful of the neighbours, you know).

"Your first date was that horrible?" Amy asked incredulously, playfully appalled by the tale you had just regaled to her, her voice a soft murmur as she shifted on her bed, eyes drooping slightly.