Work Text:
May Grant steps into the 118 and immediately regrets wearing heels.
Not that they’re high—she’s not out here trying to impress anyone—but they click a little too loudly against the polished concrete floor, echoing through the eerily quiet firehouse like she’s some kind of intruder.
“Hello?” she calls out, glancing around. “Bobby?”
Nothing. Just the faint hum of the fridge and a mop leaning tragically against the wall, like someone abandoned their cleaning duties mid-crisis.
She sighs and adjusts the paper bag in her hand, the top slightly crumpled from the plane ride. Inside are cookies. Real ones. The kind with pralines and browned butter and enough sugar to make a dentist weep. She’d meant to surprise Bobby. A little thank-you. A little look-I-survived-college offering.
But the firehouse is empty.
Or—she thinks it is, right until a voice says, “Hey.”
She startles and spins around to find Ravi Pannikar standing in the doorway, halfway through a sip of coffee, looking just as surprised to see her as she is to see him.
“Oh,” she says. “It’s you.”
He blinks. “That’s… accurate.”
A beat.
“You weren’t who I was expecting,” she adds quickly, shifting the bag to her other hand.
“Well, I get that a lot,” Ravi says, deadpan, and takes another sip of his coffee like they’re just two old friends catching up in a sitcom kitchen. “If you’re looking for Bobby, he’s out with Athena. Everyone else is on a call. Just me and the ghosts.”
She arches a brow. “You get ghosts here often?”
He considers. “Only during full moons. And Wednesdays.”
“Perfect,” she deadpans back. “It is Wednesday.”
“That explains the cold spot by the lockers.”
She laughs before she can help it, and he gives her a tiny, pleased smile like he’s proud of himself.
May studies him. It’s been a while since she’s seen him outside of chaotic updates through Buck. He looks a little older, slightly more confident in the way he stands. Still dressed like he fell out of a catalog for “Hot Firefighter But Make It Soft.”
“I brought cookies,” she says, lifting the bag.
Ravi tilts his head. “For Bobby?”
“Technically. But he’s not here, and you’re… a person.”
“I am a person,” he agrees solemnly, walking over. “A person who is, coincidentally, always ready to eat his feelings.”
She hands him the bag. “College-graduation-praline-flavored-thanks-for-being-my-firehouse-dad cookies.”
He opens the bag, peeks inside. “These smell like diabetes.”
“And love,” she says.
They stand in silence for a moment as he pulls one out and takes a bite. His eyebrows shoot up in immediate betrayal.
“Okay, that’s not fair.”
“I know.”
“These are illegal in like seven states.”
“I graduated with honors,” she says, smug. “I deserve to be dangerous.”
He shoots her a glance, amused. “Sit? If you’ve got time?”
May hesitates—but only for a second—then shrugs and drops her bag near the couch.
“Sure,” she says. “I can spare twenty minutes for a Wednesday ghost and a cookie thief.”
“Flattered.”
They settle into the kitchen like it’s familiar, like it’s still part of who she is, even after all this time. The light through the windows turns warm and soft, and the silence between them starts to feel more companionable than awkward.
And neither of them notices that there's only one cookie left.
They sit across from each other at the kitchen table, the cookie bag between them like a peace offering—or a trap. Ravi nudges it with one finger.
“So,” he says, “what’s it like being an official LSU graduate? Did you immediately ascend into the sky? Were there fireworks? Marching bands?”
“There was sweat,” May says, wrinkling her nose. “And a lot of polyester. But yeah. Fireworks. Internally.”
Ravi grins. “Nice.”
She leans her chin on her palm. “Honestly? I’m still in that weird limbo. Everyone expects me to know what I’m doing next, and I’m just… here. Visiting old haunts. Delaying responsibility with cookies.”
He hums, quiet for a moment, then says, “Maybe ‘here’ is exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
She looks at him.
It’s such a simple thing. A casual thing. But his tone is gentle, certain, like he means it. Like he sees her in a way she wasn’t expecting today.
“Deep for a guy eating dessert with his breakfast,” she says lightly, because if she doesn’t, she might accidentally feel something.
Ravi shrugs. “I contain multitudes.”
“And sugar.”
“That too.”
They lapse into a silence that’s… comfortable. A little charged. Like maybe there’s something new under the surface that neither of them is brave enough to name yet.
May pulls the cookie bag toward her, peeking inside. “There’s only one left.”
He eyes it. “You brought them.”
“You opened them.”
“You’re the guest.”
“You’re the one who didn’t offer me coffee.”
Ravi gasps. “You want coffee?”
“It’s too late now,” she says, mock-sulky.
“I will make you the best coffee this firehouse has ever produced.”
“Is that… a low bar?”
“Oh, incredibly low,” he says, standing. “But I’m still going to impress you.”
“You already did,” she says, without thinking, and then freezes as he pauses by the counter, glancing back.
He’s smiling. Slowly. Softly.
“Yeah?”
She looks down at the cookie bag. Her voice is quieter this time. “Yeah.”
A pause.
“You should take the last one,” he says.
“You earned it.”
“Nah.” He pushes it gently toward her. “I’m saving my appetite for impressing you with my extremely average coffee.”
May picks up the cookie and breaks it clean in two, holding one half out to him.
They meet halfway across the table. Fingers brush. Neither of them moves right away.
His eyes meet hers. And in the warm hush of the kitchen, something shifts.
“I, uh,” Ravi says, clearing his throat, “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
“Yeah,” May murmurs, “me neither.”
She smiles. And this time, he doesn’t look away.
---
Ravi walks her out to the parking lot, hands tucked into his pockets, trying not to fidget. He’s pretty sure he’s said more words to May in the past hour than in the entire time they’ve known each other—and somehow, none of them felt like a disaster.
May slows beside her car, hesitating at the door like she’s not quite ready to leave yet.
“So,” she says, with a soft smile, “thanks for keeping me company.”
“You brought the cookies,” he says. “I was just here. Like a raccoon. Benefiting.”
She laughs. “A very polite raccoon.”
They stand in that comfortable hush again, the kind that buzzes with maybe. The kind that feels like a hinge—like something might swing open if one of them just reaches for it.
“I, uh…” Ravi rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t have your number. I mean, I could probably ask Buck. But that might be weird? Possibly illegal?”
May tilts her head, pretending to consider. “Definitely creepy. Potential restraining order vibes.”
“I was kidding, obviously—”
“Relax, Ravi.” She grins, pulling her phone from her pocket and unlocking it. “Here.”
He blinks as she hands it to him, screen open to a new contact. “You’re trusting me with this?”
“Don’t make it weird.”
He types his number in—carefully, double-checked three times because his hands are a little sweaty—and hands it back. “Done.”
May shoots him a look. “No emoji?”
“I didn’t want to presume emoji privilege.”
She snorts and taps in a sun emoji anyway. “Fixed.”
And then—because she’s feeling bold, because he’s sweet in a way that sneaks up on you—she steps in and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. Soft. Barely there. Enough to make him short-circuit just a little.
He opens his mouth to say something—
“MAYDAY!”
May turns just in time to be tackled into a bear hug by Buck, who’s apparently been lurking for the perfect moment. She yelps, laughing as he lifts her off the ground for a second.
“Okay, ow,” she wheezes. “Ribs!”
Buck sets her down but doesn’t let go right away. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I wanted to see Bobby. He wasn’t here. Got stuck with this one instead.” She nods toward Ravi, who is still standing frozen like someone unplugged his brain mid-reboot.
Eddie walks up behind Buck, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “Did we interrupt something?”
“Absolutely not,” May says at the exact same time Ravi mumbles, “Kind of?”
Buck squints at them. “Was there… cheek kissing?”
Eddie leans closer to Ravi, mock-serious. “Do we need to have the talk?”
Ravi groans, pressing a hand over his face. “I literally hate all of you.”
“Aw, you’ll get over it,” Buck says, ruffling his hair like an annoying older brother. Then he turns back to May and squeezes her again, gentler this time. “Proud of you, college girl.”
“I brought cookies,” she says grabbing another bag from the car. “You can have one if you stop talking for thirty seconds.”
Eddie’s already reaching for the bag. “Deal.”
As Buck and Eddie begin bickering over who gets the biggest one, May gets into her car and glances at Ravi again.
“Text me,” she says, all soft confidence.
“I will,” he promises, with a smile that’s just slightly dazed.
And then she’s gone, pulling away down the street, sun streaking across her windshield like a blessing.
Buck sidles up next to Ravi and says, “She likes you.”
“Shut up.”
“Like, likes you."
Eddie’s still chewing on his cookie. “Hope your coffee game’s better than your flirting.”
Ravi turns and heads for the door without another word.
Behind him, Buck calls, “I can help you write a good text!”
Ravi doesn’t respond. But his grin?
Yeah. It's permanent.