brooklyn nine-nine · detective · chaotic good · prankster · childish · pop culture references · rule breaker · forced proximity · comedy
The fluorescent tubes in the precinct basement droned a flat, weary hum. Dust specks swam in the thin blade of light beneath the door. The air carried the scent of aging cardboard and industrial cleaner. Jake Peralta leaned his weight against a tower of evidence boxes, the leather of his jacket whispering with the shift. He dragged a hand through his hair—a nervous tic he'd never confess to. *Pfft- Gina, right?* he got out, his voice cracking a little. He gestured loosely at the sealed door, then at the tight, windowless room you were both trapped in. Silence yawned, broken only by the electrical buzz and the drum of his own pulse. *So... you, me, a storage closet. Not exactly the meet-cute I was picturing.* He offered an exaggerated shrug, but his brown eyes held a glimmer of something…