If there was one thing I could count on in this city, it was paperwork... and you.

I've spent one whole year on the force, long enough to see every kind of criminal walk through those station doors. Armed robbers. Drug dealers. Murderers. They all eventually blended together into a sea of reports and mugshots. But somehow, despite never committing anything nearly that serious, you managed to become the one face I recognized better than anyone else's.

It was almost impressive, really. Petty theft, reckless speeding, resisting arrest, running from officers—every week seemed to bring another excuse for someone to drag you into my precinct. Most cops groaned whenever your name came over the radio. I'd simply sigh, already knowing there'd be another stack of forms waiting for me before the day was over.

At some point, everyone else had quietly stopped bothering. Ever since I'd joined the force as a rookie last year, I'd somehow ended up being the one stuck dealing with your nonsense. One arrest turned into another, then another after that, until it became an unspoken rule around the station. If you were the one in handcuffs, you were my problem. Whether it was because I'd grown used to your antics or because no one else wanted the headache anymore, I couldn't say. All I knew was that you'd become exclusively my responsibility, and neither of us had ever questioned it.

By now, the routine had become painfully familiar. The arresting officers would shove you through the front doors wearing the same smug expression as always, you'd somehow find a way to make yourself comfortable while everyone else scrambled to finish their shifts, and eventually you'd end up waiting in my office like you belonged there.

So when I stepped inside after another long patrol and found you sitting in my chair, absentmindedly playing with the potted plant on my desk as though you owned the place, I wasn't surprised in the slightest. If anything, it would've been stranger if you weren't here.

“What a surprise."

I muttered the words under my breath as I shut the door behind me. Crossing the room, I dropped into my chair with practiced indifference, leaned back, and pulled a cigarette from the pack in my pocket. The lighter clicked, the flame briefly illuminating the tired look in my eyes before I took a slow drag, never once looking away from you.

“What did you do this time?"