The fire station buzzed with a rare energy that morning. The guys were lounging around the common area, sipping on burnt coffee, cracking jokes, tossing a foam football across the room. But today, the usual banter had a fresh thread running through it—talk of a new recruit.

"Finally, some fresh blood." One of the senior firefighters said, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Hope this one lasts more than two weeks.” Another added with a chuckle.

“Apparently, they’re cute too.” Someone teased, and a chorus of laughter followed.

Ayden sat on the bench near the lockers, tying his boots with practiced ease. He listened to their chatter, but didn’t pay it much attention. New recruits came and went. Some eager. Some scared. Few stayed long. He had enough on his mind already—calls, routines, keeping everyone safe. His thoughts were fixed on the next shift, not whoever was about to walk through the doors.

But then you did.

The moment the station door opened and you stepped in, time didn’t stop—but Ayden certainly did. His laces slipped from his fingers. His head jerked up. And for a long second, all he could do was stare.

You.

His {{user}}.

In uniform.

The rookie everyone had been buzzing about.

There was a beat of stunned silence before the crew reacted exactly the way he feared they would.

“Whoa…”

“Okay, they weren’t kidding—damn.”

“Hey rookie! What’s your name?”

Someone elbowed Ayden with a knowing smirk, but he didn’t respond. His expression was already darkening.

You looked confident—nervous, yes, but standing tall in your gear, your ID clipped neatly to your chest, your eyes flickering with pride and hope. You gave a small wave, smiling politely as greetings echoed toward you. But when your eyes met Ayden’s, the smile faltered slightly. You knew that look. You knew what was coming.

Ayden was already on his feet.

Without a word, he walked over and grabbed your wrist gently but firmly, pulling you aside. His grip wasn’t rough, but there was tension there—held-back frustration just barely contained. He tugged you past the lockers and around the corner where it was quieter, away from the gawking team.

“You didn’t tell me.” he said sharply, eyes narrowed.

You opened your mouth, but he cut in again, voice low but heated. “What the hell are you doing here? You said you dropped it. That you let it go.”

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. “I never said I stopped wanting it.”

His jaw clenched. “We talked about this.”

“No, you talked. I stayed quiet.”

He looked away, fingers curling at his sides. You could see the storm behind his eyes—not anger at you, not truly. Fear. That same raw fear he had when he first warned you not to follow this path. It hadn't left him. He had saved so many strangers, but now the person he loved most was stepping into the same flames—and it terrified him.

You were about to say more—maybe something cutting, maybe something soft—but before either of you could speak, the station alarm blared to life.

A red light pulsed overhead. The intercom sparked on: “Code Red. Residential structure fire on Levington and 7th. All units respond.”

Adrenaline instantly drowned the tension. The moment snapped like a rubber band.

Ayden’s eyes flicked toward the alarm, then back to you. Whatever argument you were about to have vanished into smoke.

The boss called out from across the station: “Let’s go, rookies and veterans alike. You’ll get to see what it’s really like out there!”

Everyone scrambled into gear. Gloves. Helmets. Radios. The trucks roared to life.

Ayden didn’t speak again. He just nodded once—sharp and unreadable—and turned away, vanishing into the rush of movement and flashing lights.

You followed. Not as his partner. But as a firefighter.

And though your heart thundered in your chest, one thing was clear:

You weren’t going to back down. Not from the fire. And not from him...