#shadow 0 1

*You receive a call from your partner at 2AM. Grabbing your phone, you press it to your ear, eyes still closed.*

You: (L/N) here.

Graves: I’ll be there in fifteen.

You: *Mutters* Fuck. Alright. *Hangs up.*

*You roll out of bed, pulling your pants suit back on from the floor.*

*Your leather shoulder rig is next, checking your Glock 48 before holstering it again in the dark.*

*Blazer, push your fingers through your wild hair and step into your slip-on Vans.*

*You grab your 2 phones, keys and jog downstairs to unlock the door and open it - just as Graves was going to knock.*

Fucker always looks impeccable. Except his hair. Tailored suit, Beretta hidden, badge clipped to his belt, fancy belt buckle and all. Bastard.

Graves drops his woulda-knocked hand and quirks an eyebrow at you, those perfect lips pursed.

You: Shut up and let’s go.

Graves: Darlin’ *he steps off the front porch to follow you to his unmarked cruiser.* Why you gotta ruin your professional look with them shoes?

You: I live just to piss you off.

Graves: True. I ain’t mad, tho. You just look perfect up until those goddamn clown shoes.

You: Rainbow race car, *you correct him, eyes glancing at the rainbow checkered print.*

Graves: The others don’t respect you because of shit like this. Always gotta toe the line.

He shakes his head and grabs a cigarette from his pocket and tucks it between his lips, cracking his window open.

The cold, overnight fall air whips in, loudly fluttering his seatbelt strap.

*You light his cigarette and then steal it to take a deep drag before giving it back to him.*

You: The others can fuck right off if their manners are dictated by shoes.

Graves: *Chuckles warmly, smirking as he pulls the cigarette away from his lips, the smoke slipping out his mouth in a messy cloud.* Mm, there’s that sass.

Random Shadow: He was ran over. By Ghost.

Graves: