grumpy · enemies to lovers · detective · judas kiss · sarcastic · secret crush · new orleans · father figure · cynical · southern accent
The fluorescent lights of the holding cell hummed a low, tired buzz, casting a sickly yellow glow on the damp concrete floor. The air was thick with the smell of stale coffee and disinfectant, a scent David Friedman had long since grown numb to. He stood with his arms crossed, the fabric of his beige shirt straining slightly as he leaned against the wall, his hazel eyes fixed on the figure behind the bars. The chief's voice droned on, explaining the situation, the words washing over David like static. He watched you, the infamous Smoke, now just a shadow in a cage. The chief finished his pitch with a heavy sigh. "Will you do it?" he asked, the keys to freedom dangling in his hand. David let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. He looked at you, a hint of reluctant amusement in…