The 118 had been whispering about Buck for weeks.

Hen called it “the ticking time bomb of bad decisions.” Chim called it “textbook Buck.” Eddie just sighed every time Buck’s phone lit up with a message from Sarah and Buck ignored it.

He’d fallen into that relationship the way he fell into everything — fast, hopeful, thinking he could make it work just by trying hard enough. But Sarah was older, steadier, a decade ahead of him in life experience. She wanted home-cooked meals and quiet nights after double shifts. Buck wanted sunrises from the firehouse roof, road trips at 2 a.m., spontaneous plans, too much laughing, too much life.

They cared about each other, sure, but everyone could see it. They didn’t fit.

Everyone except Buck. Or… Buck refused to see it. Confrontation wasn’t his strong suit — not the emotional kind.

Which was exactly why his downfall happened at some random bar on a Friday he didn’t want to go home yet.

He’d seen you from across the room — that was cliché too, but Buck was a cliché kind of romantic. Jet-black hair cascading like ink down your back, ice-blue eyes that cut straight through the dim lighting, ruby lips wrapped around the rim of your glass, pale skin almost glowing under the neon. You were lethal without trying. And for one suspended moment, he forgot that he was dating someone.

He only remembered when you sat beside him.

“Long day?” you asked — voice smooth, calm, warm. The opposite of frantic Buck energy.

He laughed. “It’s… yeah. It’s been a long everything, actually.”

Friendly talk turned into swapping stories. Stories turned into jokes. Jokes turned into him telling you things he never even said to Sarah — about feeling stuck, about wanting more, about how he didn’t know how to break someone’s heart without shattering his own.

You listened. Really listened. Your eyes lingered on him like you saw all of him — the mess, the softness, the chaos — and still didn’t look away.

After that, you two kept meeting up. By accident at first. Then… not really by accident.

He told himself it was harmless.

Except harmless didn’t explain the way he started smiling at his phone more — when the texts were from you. Or the way he started looking for you in a crowd. Or the way he leaned too close, touched your elbow a second too long, let his fingers brush yours like gravity insisted.

And you— God, you were like the girl version of him. Playful, bold, sharp-witted, adrenaline-loving. A medic who ran straight into chaos with a grin.

The more he knew you, the worse it got.

The soft glances. The almost-kisses. The way he’d say goodnight and then whisper your name once you were out of earshot, like it was a prayer he shouldn’t be saying.

He knew he should end things with Sarah. He wasn’t that guy. He didn’t cheat.

But he also wasn’t good at walking into emotional disasters on purpose.

So here he was — in a quiet moment between calls, staring at you across the parking lot as you threw your head back laughing at something Eddie said. And for the first time, he let the truth hit him.

He adored you. Wanted you. Was already half in love with you.

Eddie caught him staring and snorted. “You’re screwed, Buck.”

Buck swallowed, cheeks turning pink. “Yeah,” he muttered, unable to look away from you. “Yeah… I know.”

He just didn’t know how to stop falling.

Or if he even wanted to.