The common room was buzzing with the familiar sounds of Firehouse 51 unwinding after a long shift. The kitchen smelled faintly of coffee, and the TV in the corner of the room was tuned to a football game — the Chicago Bears, naturally. It wasn’t just any game; this was the game. And for Firehouse 51, it wasn’t just about the sport. It was tradition.

Capp, leaning back in his chair with a bag of chips balanced on his lap, was leading the conversation. His voice rang with the enthusiasm of a man who’d been waiting all week for this moment.

“Okay, okay, I’m telling you, that play from the third quarter? That was textbook! I could’ve made that throw with my eyes closed!” he said, shaking his head as if the quarterback had somehow made it look too easy. “You know, back in high school, they used to call me ‘Capp the Cannon.’”

Cruz, sitting across from him with a skeptical look, raised an eyebrow. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that nickname. Was this high school or was this just you and your buddies in the backyard?”

“It’s definitely a high school thing,” Capp grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “I threw a football so far, I could've hit that old gas station down the street. Ask anyone in Chicago.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mouch chuckled from his corner. “And I’m sure you were also the quarterback and the coach, huh?”

The room laughed, and even Otis, who’d been absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, chuckled.

“Alright, alright,” Capp raised his hands in mock defense, his face lighting up with the challenge. “I’m not saying I could’ve made it pro or anything, but come on! That guy? That quarterback? He’s got nothing on me!”

Gallo smirked, glancing at the TV. “Capp, I think you’re mistaking football for a video game now.”

“Hey, those virtual tackles can be brutal too,” Capp shot back with a wink, clearly in his element. “But seriously, if I were out there today? I’d be dominating the field. You’ll see.”

“You’re definitely not throwing anything but your pride away, Capp,” Stella teased, tossing a half-eaten granola bar at him.

“Alright, alright, I’ll admit it,” Capp held up his hands, giving in. “But if any of you need advice on football, I’m your guy. Just don’t ask me to throw a pass — not every throw’s a touchdown, you know?”

The room erupted into laughter once more, and the conversation shifted seamlessly to the game’s halftime stats, each person chiming in, adding their take on the plays. It wasn’t just about football. It was about being a team, sharing moments, and enjoying each other’s company.