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Morning briefings were supposed to be serious.
Keyword: supposed to.
Sergeant Tim Bradford stood at the front of the room, clipboard in hand, voice steady and even, outlining the day’s patrol assignments. The hum of the fluorescent lights above mixed with the faint shuffle of papers and murmurs from the officers. Everyone listened—except Lucy Chen.
She sat two rows back, pen poised over her notepad, her posture perfect on the surface, but her eyes betrayed her. They were too bright, alert, almost mischievous. Her shoulders twitched every few seconds. Her lips pressed together like she was holding something back.
Tim caught it immediately.
“Chen,” he said sharply, not looking up from his clipboard, “something funny about the burglary spike in Wilshire?”
A ripple of murmurs moved across the room. Lucy bit her lip hard, cheeks blooming pink, and pressed her hand lightly against her mouth. “No, sir,” she squeaked, voice a touch too high. “It’s… it’s serious. Very serious. Burglary. Terrible.”
Tim’s eyes flicked up. “Glad we agree.”
But the corners of her mouth twitched again. That subtle upward tug. Whatever she was holding back, she was losing. And when she met his gaze—just once—he saw it: that look. The one that made his chest tighten and his jaw loosen at the same time.
He didn’t even know what she was laughing about, but the pull was magnetic. He felt his shoulders relax, then tense, then relax again. A smirk threatened to escape.
The room could almost feel the spark ping-ponging between them. Nolan shifted in his chair, clearing his throat. Angela sighed like she’d seen this play a hundred times before.
“Okay,” Tim continued, forcing his voice steady, “Baker, Nolan, you’ve got patrol in—”
A snort. From Lucy.
Not a full laugh—just a tiny, helpless sound she tried to suppress with her fist.
Tim froze. Every eye in the room turned toward her. He caught a little tremor in her fingers, the subtle lift of her chest as she fought it.
“Something you’d like to share with the class, Officer Chen?” he asked, deadpan, trying not to let the corner of his mouth twitch.
Her pen snapped in her hand. “Nope,” she squeaked, eyes wide. Innocent.
“Because it seems like whatever’s so funny must be worth interrupting a department briefing,” he said.
She shook her head, tiny shivers running down her spine as she pressed her hand to her chest. Her laughter was gone for now, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her.
Tim tried to hold it together—he really did. He clenched his jaw and turned back to the board. But when he caught her reflection in the glass—cheeks flushed, hands pressed to her mouth, eyes sparkling—he felt that familiar pull, like gravity had just shifted.
He looked away, cursed softly under his breath, and let the corner of his mouth curl.
“Alright,” Angela said dryly from the back, “should we all come back when the comedy set’s done, or…?”
That broke the room. Laughter spilled out, easy and contagious. Lucy dropped her head into her hands, giggling silently, her shoulders shaking lightly. Even Tim chuckled, a low, restrained sound, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with the joke.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “You’re both children.”
When the briefing ended, the other officers filed out, joking and shaking their heads. Lucy lingered, pretending to reorganize her notes.
When the room finally emptied, she looked up, eyes soft. “You’re mad,” she said.
“I should be,” he replied, leaning against the table, arms crossed, trying to maintain authority but failing. “You completely derailed my briefing.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she protested. “You—you made that face.”
“My face?”
“Yes,” she said, voice low, playful, but tinged with something softer. “That face you make when you’re pretending to be disappointed but secretly think something’s funny. You do this—” She mimicked him perfectly, raising an eyebrow, jaw tight, voice low. “‘Officer Chen, this is a workplace.’”
He groaned, exhaling sharply. “I do not sound like that.”
“You totally do.”
Their laughter softened into quiet smiles, the kind that linger in the chest. For a moment, the room felt smaller, warmer, brighter.
He stepped closer, careful, measuring distance, letting the tension curl around them like smoke. “You know you’re impossible to keep a straight face around, right?”
“Maybe you should stop looking at me then,” she teased, her gaze locking with his, steady and teasing. “Problem solved.”
“I’d argue that’s not much of a solution.”
Her laugh was soft, almost a whisper now, and he felt it resonate in his chest. The teasing had shifted—warmer, heavier, a thread of something electric between them.
“I really wasn’t trying to mess you up,” she murmured, barely audible.
“I know.” He tilted his head, eyes locking on hers. “I like when you laugh.”
Her lips curved, softening, her chest rising and falling. “You do?”
He nodded. “It’s… nice. Reminds everyone this job doesn’t have to kill all the joy out of you.”
Her smile deepened, smaller this time, more private. “Guess I’ll try not to get you in trouble next time.”
“Good luck with that,” he said low, amused, the warmth of her presence settling around him like sunlight. “You’ve been doing it for years.”
The moment hung, suspended between them, charged, intimate, easy.
By the time they hit the streets, the morning’s chaos still lingered under their skin.
Their first call of the shift was minor—a lost dog near an apartment complex. Perfect. And perfect for disaster.
Lucy leaned over the seat, scanning her tablet. “The dog’s wearing a red collar. Name tag says—”
“Don’t say it,” Tim interrupted, instantly recalling her ridiculous mimicry from the morning. “I can’t handle it.”
Her shoulders twitched. “Handle what?”
“The face you made,” he muttered, voice low, trying to stay serious. “Stop. Just—stop. I can’t.”
Her eyes widened, the tiniest shiver running down her arm. A laugh threatened to escape. She pressed her fist lightly against her mouth, shaking her head. “I’m not making any face.”
“Sure you’re not,” he said, glancing at her, caught in the pull of her energy. “You’re impossible.”
By the time they reached the complex, neither could stop grinning. The dog, a tiny golden retriever mix, bolted straight at Lucy, barking. She bent down to scoop it up, and Tim felt it—warmth, the faint scent of her hair, the soft pressure of her movement near him.
“Gotcha,” she said, holding the dog, and then she laughed. Full, breathy, infectious.
Tim’s chest tightened. He shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he did, but he laughed too, a little louder than he should have, drawing a few curious glances.
“Really,” he said, between chuckles, “you and me? We can’t do anything without turning it into a comedy show, can we?”
“Nope,” she admitted, eyes sparkling, chest rising slightly faster. “And don’t pretend you don’t love it.”
“I don’t love it,” he said immediately. Then his lips curved. “Maybe a little.”
By the time the dog was returned, they were walking back, still grinning, still feeling that pulse of electricity that had nothing to do with the dog.
“You’re lucky we’re on the clock,” Tim said, leaning casually against the patrol car. “Otherwise, I’d make you explain why you keep doing this to me.”
“You love it,” Lucy teased, nudging him lightly, almost imperceptibly.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe I do.”
Shift ended. Sun dipped low, painting the sky in gentle shades of pink and orange. Officers filed out, laughing, joking, fading into the background. Tim and Lucy gathered their gear, the air cooling, settling, leaving just them.
Out in the parking lot, the world shrank. Asphalt smelled faintly of warmth and dust, wind brushing against skin, quiet settling like a blanket around them. Tim leaned against his car, arms crossed, watching as Lucy adjusted her jacket.
“Another day of absolute professionalism,” she said dryly, voice soft, almost breathless.
Tim smirked. “Professionalism, of course. Except for the laughing fits. Can’t forget those.”
Lucy laughed softly, the sound curling into his chest, shaking something loose. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” He tilted his head slightly, letting the space between them thrum with unspoken words, letting her see it in his gaze. “You’re lying. Again.”
She froze, a fraction, and he noticed—the subtle quickening of her breath, the pulse at her neck, the warmth radiating from her. It wasn’t just playful anymore.
“Tim…” she began, voice low, fragile, unsure.
He didn’t answer immediately. He stepped closer, a careful inch at a time, letting her feel it without touching, letting the tension coil between them.
“Lucy,” he said finally, softer, quieter, deliberate, “I… I like this. Us. Even if it’s ridiculous.”
Her breath caught. She glanced down, then up, meeting his eyes, chest tightening. “I like it too,” she whispered, almost inaudible.
Tim’s smile softened, small, secretive. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t think I can stop liking it.”
They stood side by side, the world around them fading. Not touching. Not needing to. Just… together, the inside joke transformed into something deeper, heavier, unspoken but undeniable.
Finally, Lucy exhaled, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So… see you tomorrow?”
Tim chuckled softly, voice low, content. “Yeah. And you better not make me laugh that hard again. Or… maybe you should. Depends on my mood.”
She grinned, warmth lingering in her chest and eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As they climbed into their separate cars and drove off, the air between them shimmered—charged, intimate, undeniably theirs