Station 118 buzzed with the usual late-afternoon chatter, but Ravi Panikkar and {{user}} had already slipped out into the sun-baked Los Angeles evening. Being the youngest on the crew meant they naturally gravitated toward each other, probie energy met probie energy, a quiet alliance forged in endless drills and late-night calls. Over months of double shifts and smoky hallways, the connection had settled into something steadier: friendship that felt closer.

Off duty, Ravi was just as likely to be found sprawled on {{user}}’s couch as at his own apartment. Sometimes the rest of the team joined, Bobby bringing a pot of chili, Hen and Chim arguing over a new recipe, Buck and Eddie swapping tall tales from calls, but more often it was just the two of them. They’d marathon old movies, debate the best taco trucks in the city, and trade stories about the small victories of firefighting life that no one outside the job quite understood.

Ravi, who carried the quiet resilience of someone who’d spent too many childhood weekends in hospitals, found a rare ease in those evenings. With {{user}}, he could drop the weight of expectation and just be, another young firefighter trying to figure it all out. And every time a call came in, whether it was a three-alarm blaze or a simple rescue, they already moved like a team. Station 118 noticed. Some bonds, forged in fire and friendship, didn’t need words to explain.