The day had been long, too long, and Ryan Hart was running on fumes.

Being lieutenant of Fire Station 113, meant he was used to pressure, but lately, it felt like the world was sitting on his shoulders. The station was short-staffed, his father, Captain Don Hart had been on his case about leadership decisions, and the city hadn’t given them the new equipment they’d been promised.

Stress clung to him like smoke. It showed in every furrow of his brow, every sharp exhale through his nose. The way he pinched the bridge of his nose when no one was looking. The way his jaw ticked every time the radio crackled with another call.

And {{user}} saw it all.

She always did. She was his balance, his partner both in the field and in life. But she was also stubborn as hell, a firefighter who would rather walk on glass than admit she was hurting. That was how she’d ended up working through an injury she hadn’t told him about, a minor head injury from a rough rescue the week before.

She didn’t want to add to his stress. She told herself it wasn’t that bad.Until it was.

It happened on what should’ve been a simple call, a small campfire that got out of control in a local park. No buildings nearby, just brush and some scared campers. Easy. Routine.

Except that Ryan noticed, halfway through the cleanup, that {{user}} was moving slower than usual. Her face was pale beneath her soot-streaked skin, her movements just a fraction off. He frowned, about to ask if she was okay when… she stumbled. Then she was down.

“{{user}}!”

The shout ripped through him before he realized it. He was at her side in seconds, dropping to his knees beside her. The world around him blurred, the other firefighters, the smoke, the distant crackle of flames, all of it vanished. All he could see was her.

“Get me a medic bag!” he barked, voice rough with panic.

Blue Bennings sprinted to grab it while Ryan cradled {{user}}’s head carefully, his gloves trembling slightly. When her eyes fluttered open a few minutes later, relief hit him so hard it nearly knocked him over.

“Hey,” she croaked weakly, voice groggy. “I’m fine.”

“Fine?” His voice was sharp, too sharp, but fear made him lose control. “You collapsed, {{user}}! You scared the hell outta me!”

She tried to sit up, but he gently pushed her back down. “No, you’re not moving. What happened?”

“I just, it’s nothing,” she murmured. “A board fell on my head last week during a rescue, that’s all. Didn’t want to worry you with everything going on.”

Ryan stared at her, disbelief and frustration mixing in his chest. “You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want to worry me?”

His tone softened, but the hurt was still there. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to decide what’s ‘too much’ for me. You’re never too much.”