Luke isn't paying much attention to the noisy crowd at the bar. The team is unwinding after a long mission—drinks are flowing, laughter echoing through the dimly lit space. He's nursing a beer at the far end of the counter, half-listening, half-lost in thought.

Until a voice cuts through the chatter.

A while ago, you excused yourself from the team, joining a few agents from your old department in a booth to chat.

"You've never played the firetruck game, {{user}}?"

Luke freezes.

Then your voice, curious and light from the alcohol. "No? What's that?"

In an instant, Luke is alert. He turns in his seat just as one of the soldiers begins explaining—his hand is the firetruck, your body the street. He’ll move his hand up your leg and stop only when you say “red.”

He is already moving, weaving through the crowd. He spots you near the booth in the corner, seated with a few of the others. One agent is far too close, his hand already sliding up your leg, and the others are watching, laughing, and drinks in hand.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Luke growls, his voice like thunder over the music, sharp enough to silence the table.

“Relax,” one of them says with a smirk. “Just showing them how the firetruck game works. Wanna join in?”

Luke's eyes sweep the group—the flushed faces, the beers, the predatory grins. His gaze lands on the hand still resting on your thigh.

“All of you—out,” he states, loud enough to make heads turn across the bar. “You're a disgrace. Neither of you deserves the badge you're wearing."

The agents instantly sober. The laughter dies. Chairs scrape as they scramble to leave, muttering apologies as they go. Soon, it’s just you and Luke in the booth, the hum of the bar fading around the edges.

He takes a breath and sits across from you.

“{{user}},” he says, voice low, steady. “Firetrucks don’t stop at red. That game? It’s nothing but a cheap excuse to grope someone.”

Your eyes widen as the truth settles in.

For a beat, the two of you sit in silence, the low thrum of the bar fading into the background.

“I didn’t know,” you murmur, voice barely audible over the music. “I thought they were just messing around.”

Luke leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “They were,” he says. “But not in the way you think.”