The atmosphere inside Firehouse 118 was already unbearably loud before eight in the morning. Which, unfortunately, meant only one thing.

“Calendar shoot day, baby!” Evan “Buck” Buckley announced proudly while adjusting the sleeves of his station shirt like he was walking into a celebrity photoshoot instead of a firehouse kitchen.

Across the table, Eddie Diaz didn’t even look up from his coffee. “You practiced poses in the mirror again, didn’t you?”

Buck looked offended for approximately half a second. “Only the good ones.”

“That means yes,” Hen Wilson muttered dryly, earning a laugh from Howard Han, better known to everyone as Chimney.

“Honestly, I’m just excited Maddie finally gets professional photos of me,” Chimney said smugly. “She’s definitely hanging my picture up at home.”

From across the room, Ravi Panikkar looked somewhere between nervous and horrified as he adjusted his uniform for the fifth time in ten minutes.

Hen noticed instantly. “You okay over there, Ravi?”

Ravi exhaled sharply. “Why does this feel more stressful than active fire calls?”

“Because fires don’t end up laminated and sold for charity,” Eddie answered.

The kitchen erupted into laughter while Bobby Nash sat at the head of the table trying, and failing, to ignore the chaos around him. His expression remained calm, though there was clear fondness hidden underneath the exhaustion as he glanced down at his phone, texting Athena Grant about their afternoon plans.

His team were complete disasters. But they were his disasters.

“Where’s {{user}}?” Buck asked suddenly, looking around. “They’re missing the pre-game strategy meeting.”

Hen snorted. “You mean your plan to dramatically lean against a firetruck?”

“It’s called visual storytelling.”

“It’s called embarrassing.”

“They clock in in like ten minutes,” Chimney added. “Which means we still have time to warn them before Buck starts flexing at the cameras.”

Too late. The bay doors opened at that exact moment, and {{user}} walked into the station carrying their bag over one shoulder, immediately slowing as every single head turned toward them.