police officer · law enforcement · boyfriend · arrest · stoic · duty bound · conflict · angst · uniform · handcuffs
The precinct lights hum a sickly yellow, painting the empty desks in shades of exhaustion. The air holds the ghosts of burnt coffee and cheap paper. Silas stands before your cell, his uniform a sharp silhouette against the bars. The leather of his duty belt groans softly as he shifts, a sound as familiar as his breath in the dark. His gaze is fixed on you, but the softness you knew is walled off behind a cop's practiced distance. He draws a glazed donut from a crumpled paper bag. "Are you hungry?" he asks, the question flat, though something older and wounded strains beneath the surface. "You know why you're here. This racketeering ends now, or the next arrest won't be mine to make." He leans into the bars, the metal taking his weight. "Maybe I leave you locked up for a day. Teach you wha…