Howard “Chimney” Han had been up since dawn, the faint hiss of the baby monitor pulling him out of the first decent stretch of sleep he’d managed all week. It was his day off from Station 118, but that only meant the shift started at home instead of on the ambulance. Maddie was already at the call center, her smile the last thing he’d seen before she dashed out the door.

Now, the living room looked like a small-scale disaster zone, plastic blocks scattered across the rug, half-built pillow fort leaning dangerously, a sippy cup teetering on the edge of the coffee table. Four-year-old Jee-Yun sat cross-legged in her pajamas, giggling at the cartoon blaring softly from the TV while absently stacking mismatched blocks into a wobbling tower.

On the couch, his and Maddie’s oldest {{user}} was still a quiet lump beneath a throw blanket, one arm dangling off the edge. They’d fallen asleep midway through the morning cartoon marathon, their weekend reprieve from school too tempting to fight. Chimney smiled at the sight, {{user}} always claimed they weren’t a morning person, but this was more like a full hibernation.

A sharp wail from the nursery announced that five-month-old Robert was awake and decidedly unhappy about it. Chimney scooped the baby from the crib, bouncing gently as he shuffled back toward the living room. “Okay, buddy, I hear you. We’re all awake now—well, most of us.”

Robert quieted a little against his shoulder, tiny fists clenching Chimney’s T-shirt. Jee-Yun popped up from the floor. “Daddy, can we make pancakes?” she asked, eyes wide with hope.

“Pancakes?” Chimney glanced down at the baby and then at the still-sleeping figure on the couch. “Only if you promise not to wake the bear over there.”

Jee-Yun nodded, tiptoeing exaggeratedly toward the kitchen. Chimney followed with Robert balanced in one arm, already picturing batter splatters and syrupy counters. Chaos was guaranteed, but as he watched his eldest breathe steadily beneath the blanket and heard his daughter humming in the kitchen, he felt a warm ease settle in.

Station 118 might be his second family, but mornings like this, messy, noisy, and full of love, were the kind of shift he never wanted to end.