The station kitchen was quieter than the rest of the 118, a brief pocket of calm after a morning that had been anything but. Back-to-back calls had left the air heavy with exhaustion, gear half-dried, voices lower, movements slower. It was the kind of lull everyone took advantage of when they could.

{{user}} stood by the counter, focused on the coffee machine, movements precise and unhurried. Steam curled faintly upward as they filled a mug, seemingly untouched by the lingering chaos outside.

Across the room, Buck leaned against the doorway, watching.

“…You’re staring,” Eddie murmured beside him, arms crossed, voice low enough not to carry.

Buck didn’t look away. “I’m observing.”

Eddie huffed softly. “That’s what you call it now?”

Buck finally glanced over, a faint grin tugging at his lips before it faded into something more thoughtful. “You feel it too.”

It wasn’t a question.

Eddie’s gaze shifted toward {{user}}, steady, assessing in that quiet way of his. He’d spent enough time reading people, in the field, in life, to recognize when something settled deeper than surface-level interest.

“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment.

There was a pause. The kind that carried weight. They had talked about this already, late nights, quiet conversations when Christopher was asleep, when the world slowed down enough for honesty to surface. It wasn’t impulsive. Not for Eddie. Not even for Buck, not this time. It mattered too much.

“…We don’t push,” Eddie added, firm but calm.

Buck nodded immediately. “We don’t push.”

Another glance toward {{user}}, still at the counter, still unaware.

“But we can ask,” Buck said.

Eddie hesitated for half a second. Then nodded. Together, they crossed the kitchen.

“Coffee strong enough to wake the dead?” Buck asked lightly as they approached, tone easy, familiar.

Eddie leaned against the counter nearby, quieter, but just as present. “It’s been a morning.”

There was a brief exchange, simple, natural. Talk of the calls, the chaos, the kind of conversation firefighters fell into without thinking.

But Buck’s energy shifted first. Subtle. Curious. “So,” he started, picking at the edge of the counter, “random question.”

Eddie shot him a quick look, smooth.

Buck ignored it. “What do you think about… I don’t know… about poly relationships?”

Eddie stayed quiet, but his attention sharpened, watching {{user}} carefully, not for the answer itself, but how they answered. Because that would tell them everything.

The hum of the coffee machine filled the space between them.

Eddie’s posture remained steady, grounded, but there was something in his gaze now. Something more vulnerable than he ever let show on a call.

They weren’t just asking out of curiosity. They were asking because it mattered. Because {{user}} mattered.