Chapter Text
Megumi hears the fire engine before he sees it.
The sound cuts through the night in a way he recognizes immediately, a deeper resonance than the ambulance siren, heavier, almost bodily. He’s still pulling his gloves on when the red lights flash across the windshield, painting the interior of the rig in violent color.
“Fire’s already on scene,” his partner mutters, flicking on the hazard lights.
Megumi nods once. That tracks.
The wreck is bad. Two vehicles, one spun sideways into the guardrail, the other nose-first into a ditch. Glass everywhere, glittering under streetlights like spilled stars. Smoke curls up from the crumpled hood of the sedan. Fire arrived first. They usually do.
By the time Megumi steps out of the ambulance, the scene is already controlled in that quiet, purposeful way that tells him the people on site know what they’re doing. Cones are set. A hose lies slack but ready. Someone is shouting orders, calm and loud and unmissable.
Megumi’s eyes lift.
And stop.
The firefighter crouched by the open driver’s door is… big. Not just tall, though he is that too, but broad in a way that fills space without effort. His turnout jacket is half-off, hanging loose around his waist, suspenders stretched over a soot-smudged shirt. His helmet is off, pink hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.
He’s talking to the patient.
Not loud. Not rushed.
“Hey, hey. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Look at me. That’s it.”
His hands are steady as he braces the man’s head, fingers spread with practiced care. The firefighter’s voice is warm, reassuring, threaded with an easy confidence that settles the air around him.
Megumi clocks him instantly.
Tall. Solid. Calm.
The firefighter glances up, just briefly, as the ambulance doors swing open. His gaze lands on Megumi like it’s been waiting.
And softens.
Something in his expression changes. Not dramatic. Just a subtle shift, like a door opening.
Megumi looks away first.
“EMS,” he says, stepping forward, already slipping into his role. His hands move automatically. Gloves snug. Trauma shears ready. His focus narrows to vitals, airway, mechanism of injury.
The firefighter shifts without being asked, making space. He doesn’t hover. Doesn’t crowd. When Megumi kneels beside the patient, the man’s hands are already positioned exactly where Megumi needs them to be.
“Male, mid-thirties,” the firefighter says. “Restrained driver. Airbags deployed. Complaining of chest pain and dizziness. No LOC.”
Clear. Concise. No ego.
Megumi nods once. “Thanks.”
The firefighter’s mouth twitches, just a little, like the word mattered.
They work in silence after that.
It’s the good kind. The kind born of mutual competence. Megumi checks pupils. Palpates the abdomen. Calls for a collar. The firefighter holds the head steady, doesn’t waver, even when the patient groans and tries to move.
When the backboard comes out, Megumi positions it quickly. He reaches for the strap—
—and it’s already adjusted.
He blinks.
The firefighter has tightened it to exactly the right length, clean and efficient, without comment. Their fingers brush for half a second as Megumi takes the board.
Megumi doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t look up either.
“On three,” Megumi says.
“Got it,” the firefighter replies.
They lift together.
The weight shifts smoothly, evenly distributed. The firefighter bears more than his share without making it obvious, muscles engaging under Megumi’s hands like it’s nothing. When they set the patient down, Megumi feels a strange, unexpected sense of relief, like the ground has steadied beneath him.
As they load the patient into the ambulance, the firefighter steps back, hands lifting in a quiet, universal gesture of you’re in charge now.
Megumi notices.
It sticks.
“Hey.”
Megumi turns. The firefighter is smiling now, wide and bright and completely unguarded. Up close, he’s even bigger, all warmth and presence and soot-smudged skin.
“You good from here?” he asks.
Megumi meets his eyes this time. Dark. Kind. Curious.
“Yes,” he says. “We’ve got him.”
The firefighter nods. “Okay. I’ll clear the scene.”
He hesitates, then adds, softer, “Nice work.”
Megumi’s chest tightens, just slightly.
“Thanks,” he replies.
The firefighter jogs back toward the engine, movements loose and powerful all at once. As he pulls his jacket back on, someone claps him on the shoulder, says something Megumi can’t hear. The firefighter laughs, loud and bright, the sound carrying easily through the night.
Megumi watches him for a second longer than necessary.
Then the ambulance doors close.
As they pull away, Megumi finally exhales.
He doesn’t know the firefighter’s name.
He doesn’t know why his hands feel warmer than they should.
He only knows that when the sirens fade behind them, something unfamiliar settles quietly in his chest, unannounced and unresolved.
Two different sirens.
Same direction.
And, somehow, the same call.