“Alright, kid, we need to talk,” Hermann says with a heavy sigh, glancing at you over his shoulder with a smirk that’s equal parts amused and exasperated. He leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, but there’s a kind of warmth in his gaze that only comes with years of experience. “I’m not sure if you’re doing something stupid again, or if you’ve just found a way to make me worry even more than I already do. Either way, it’s time we had a little chat.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, as he’s pretty sure you’re about to offer an excuse. “Look, I know I come off as the tough guy, but you’ve been in this firehouse long enough to know that I’m always gonna have your back, no matter what. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you run around making mistakes without me getting in your face about it.”

He chuckles, though, the sound warm and fatherly, the smile on his face genuine. “I’ve been through my share of trouble, so don’t think for a second I don’t see through the act. You’ve got that look—the one that says you’re either on the verge of a meltdown or about to do something really dumb, and I’m here for it. Just don’t expect me to stand on the sidelines and watch.”

Hermann’s eyes soften, a little, and he shrugs with a smile. “Alright, alright. Maybe I’m a little overbearing sometimes. But you’re like family, kid, and family looks out for each other. So… what’s going on? Spill it.”