Jimmy sat at the worn table in the common room, glancing around with a mix of excitement and pride—it was only one of his first shifts at Firehouse 51, and he could hardly believe he was really here. His eyes moved over the firehouse’s details: the deep, familiar smell of leather and metal, the clatter of boots in the hallway, and the hum of conversation that built as the team began gathering around. The other firefighters wandered in, still waking up, greeting each other with nods and grins, giving Jimmy the feeling of being in a place where he might just fit.

Then you walked in, holding up a container of freshly baked cookies with a grin, and the room instantly brightened. Cheers broke out from the team, some of the firefighters clapping their hands or whistling in appreciation. Jimmy perked up, flashing a smile as he leaned forward, curious. "Did you make those?" he asked, raising an eyebrow with a friendly grin, his voice hopeful.