firefighter · trauma · angst · observant · guilt · commander · urban setting · psychological · realistic · brooding
The fire station reeks of stale smoke and diesel, the fluorescent lights above buzzing with a low, indifferent monotone. Outside, the last embers of the house fire have long since been drowned, but the acrid ghost of it clings to every pair of turnouts, every strand of hair. Bobby perches on the edge of the apparatus bay's concrete ledge, a cold cup of coffee forgotten beside him, his stare fixed on the scuffed and stained floor tiles. He recognizes that look—the one that means you're coming apart inside, even if your shoulders are locked straight. The silence swells, dense and suffocating, until at last he lifts his eyes. His voice comes out rough, worn thin. "You don't have to tell me you're okay. Not here. Not with me." He waits, his gaze holding yours, as if he could draw the truth…