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The supply closet door slammed shut with a loud metallic CLUNK.
Buck blinked.
Eddie blinked.
Outside the door, somewhere down the hall, a group of visiting civilians laughed as one of the probies loudly said, “—and THIS is where we store—”
Buck grabbed the handle.
It didn’t budge.
“…uh,” Buck said.
Eddie immediately sighed the sigh of a man who already knew exactly how this day was going to go. “Buck.”
“I didn’t even do anything yet.”
“You touched it.”
“It’s a door.”
“You touch things aggressively.”
Buck tried the handle again. Harder.
The door remained aggressively closed.
The closet itself was barely large enough for one person. Two grown firefighters shoved inside it turned the whole thing into a wall of knees, elbows, turnout coats, and mutual suffering.
Shelves towered around them stacked with medical supplies, cleaning products, spare radio batteries, and approximately nine hundred rolls of industrial toilet paper.
Buck’s shoulder was wedged against Eddie’s chest.
Eddie’s hip was pinned against a shelf.
Somewhere near Buck’s ear, the station radio crackled.
“Oh my god,” Buck muttered. “We’re actually trapped.”
“Yep.”
“This is humiliating.”
“Yep.”
Buck pressed the radio button clipped to his turnout jacket.
“Uh, hey, we got locked in the west hall supply closet.”
A beat.
Then Chimney’s voice came through suspiciously fast.
“Copy that.”
Nothing else.
Buck frowned. “...that’s it?”
Another beat.
“Yep.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes at the radio.
“That sounded evil.”
—
Ten minutes later, nobody had rescued them.
Outside the closet, Station 118’s annual community tour day continued in full swing.
Children ran through the bay pretending to hold hoses.
Parents asked Bobby questions about emergency preparedness.
A retired accountant named Linda was extremely interested in the jaws of life.
And every so often, passing civilians heard voices coming from the locked supply closet.
Unfortunately, without context, the voices sounded deeply concerning.
—
“Buck, stop moving.”
“I can’t move.”
“You’re elbowing me.”
“There is literally nowhere else for my elbow to exist!”
A pause.
Then Buck said, quieter:
“Your hand is on my waist.”
“That’s because if I move it, I fall into the mop bucket.”
“…fair.”
Outside the closet, two middle-aged women froze mid-tour.
One slowly whispered to the other, “Oh my.”
—
Hen was absolutely not helping.
In fact, Hen was leaning against the kitchen counter drinking coffee while Chimney updated a betting spreadsheet.
“How long have they been in there now?” Chim asked.
Hen checked her watch.
“Twenty-three minutes.”
“Think they’ve confessed yet?”
“No, but Buck’s gone from panic to oversharing, which means we’re entering a critical phase.”
Bobby pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two are aware they’re actually trapped.”
Hen nodded calmly. “And yet neither of them has asked specifically for Eddie to stop touching him.”
“That’s because there’s nowhere to put our limbs!” Buck shouted through the radio from somewhere down the hall.
Hen took another sip of coffee.
“Scientifically fascinating.”
—
Inside the closet, Buck was sweating.
Not because of the heat.
Okay, partially because of the heat.
But mostly because Eddie smelled unfairly good, and they were currently pressed together chest-to-chest in a space roughly the size of a coffin.
“You’re breathing weird,” Eddie said.
“You’re breathing weird.”
“That’s because your face is in my neck.”
Buck froze.
“…I didn’t realize it was.”
Eddie looked down.
Buck looked up.
The closet suddenly got approximately twelve thousand degrees hotter.
Then the shelf behind Eddie CREAKED ominously.
“Oh no,” Eddie muttered.
A box tipped sideways.
Buck reacted on instinct, grabbing Eddie around the waist to steady him.
Unfortunately, this shifted their balance completely.
Unfortunately again, there was nowhere to go.
So Buck ended up stumbling backward onto the only available surface.
Eddie.
More specifically:
Eddie’s lap.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Buck stared at him.
Eddie stared back.
From the radio clipped near Buck’s shoulder, Chimney’s delighted voice burst through:
“OH MY GOD HE’S IN YOUR LAP?”
Buck lunged for the radio.
“ARE YOU PEOPLE LISTENING TO US?!”
Hen’s voice crackled in next.
“We can neither confirm nor deny.”
“You absolutely can!”
“Buck,” Hen said gently, “the entire station heard Eddie make a noise that legally qualifies as yearning.”
Eddie covered his face with one hand.
“I’m transferring stations.”
“You said that last time,” Chimney replied.
—
Outside the closet, the tour group had unfortunately migrated closer.
Very close.
Specifically, close enough to hear:
“Buck, if you keep squirming—”
“I am TRYING not to squirm!”
“You are literally in my lap!”
“BECAUSE THERE’S NO ROOM!”
A horrified silence fell over the hallway.
A child asked, “Mommy, what’s squirming?”
Bobby immediately herded the tour group away at record speed.
“AND over here,” he said loudly, “is the fire engine.”
—
Thirty-eight minutes into the ordeal, things somehow got worse.
Buck’s leg had fallen asleep.
Eddie’s back hurt.
The air was warm enough to qualify as soup.
And the radio transmissions had devolved completely.
“Your thigh is ridiculous,” Buck complained.
“My thigh?”
“It’s like sitting on a brick wall.”
“You are still sitting on me.”
“You want me to stand?”
“In what space?!”
Buck attempted to shift.
Eddie made a strangled noise.
Both men froze.
The radio erupted with screaming laughter.
Hen was fully crying.
“You know,” Chimney wheezed, “if this recording ever gets released publicly, HR is going to detonate.”
Buck grabbed the radio again.
“YOU ARE HARASSING US.”
Hen immediately responded, “Incorrect. We’re observing.”
“This is a hostile work environment!”
“Counterpoint,” Chimney said, “you’re currently straddling your coworker voluntarily.”
“I HATE YOU.”
“Not what your heart rate says,” Hen sing-songed.
Eddie slid slowly down the wall.
“I’m going to die in this closet.”
Buck looked at him.
Then, traitorously, he started laughing.
Really laughing.
The exhausted, helpless kind that made his whole body shake.
Eddie stared for about three seconds before he broke too.
Soon both of them were wheezing in the dark supply closet while the radio transmitted every second of it to the entire station.
And maybe the civilians too.
Probably the civilians too.
Buck wiped tears from his eyes. “This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to us.”
“That is an insane statement considering our lives.”
“Fair.”
The laughter faded slowly.
Neither of them moved.
Or, well.
Could move.
Buck was still in Eddie’s lap.
Eddie’s hands were still steady on Buck’s waist.
The cramped little closet suddenly felt quieter.
Smaller.
Closer.
Buck swallowed.
Eddie looked at his mouth for one dangerous second.
Then—
The door abruptly flew open.
Buck and Eddie practically fell out of the closet in a pile of limbs.
Directly at the feet of:
Hen.
Chimney.
Bobby.
And twelve civilians.
There was a long silence.
Then Linda the retired accountant quietly said, “I think those firefighters were mating.”
Buck made a sound like a dying engine.
Eddie covered his face again.
Hen smiled serenely.
“For legal reasons,” she said, “the 118 would like to remind everyone that all radio transmissions are recorded.”
Chimney held up his phone.
“And for personal reasons, I’d like everyone to know I already sent copies to Maddie.”By the time the tour day finally ended, Buck wanted to fake his own death.
Unfortunately, Chimney had apparently uploaded the audio clips into the station group chat under the title:
SUPPLY CLOSET: A RADIO DRAMA
And unfortunately again, everyone was listening to it on speaker.
“I am TRYING not to squirm—” Buck’s own voice echoed through the kitchen.
“I hate all of you,” Buck announced for the fifteenth time.
“No, no, wait,” Chimney said, holding up a finger. “This is my favorite part.”
Radio-Eddie’s exhausted voice crackled through the speaker:
> “Buck, your knee is literally between my legs.”
Then Radio-Buck:
> “THERE IS NOWHERE ELSE FOR IT TO GO.”
The kitchen exploded into laughter.
Bobby actually had to sit down.
Hen was wheezing against the counter.
Ravi looked seconds away from passing out from joy.
Buck dropped his forehead directly onto the table.
“Can I sue my coworkers?”
“No,” Hen said immediately.
“Can I transfer?”
“No,” Bobby said.
“Can I at least die?”
Eddie, sitting beside him nursing what was definitely the beginning of a stress headache, muttered, “Only if you take me with you.”
Buck lifted his head just enough to look at him.
And because the universe hated him personally, Eddie looked unfairly good even while emotionally exhausted.
His hair was messy from the closet.
His cheeks were still pink.
And every single time someone replayed the clip where Buck ended up in his lap, Eddie’s ears went red all over again.
Buck was absolutely normal about this.
Totally.
Completely.
“So,” Chimney said casually, “you two gonna talk about whatever that was?”
“Nothing happened,” Buck said immediately.
At the exact same time, Eddie said:
“A lot happened.”
They turned slowly to stare at each other.
Hen made a noise like she’d just won the lottery.
—
Three days later, the problem somehow became legal.
Buck walked into the station kitchen at six-thirty in the morning to find Bobby rubbing his temples while a woman in a neat grey blazer sat at the table holding paperwork.
Buck stopped dead.
“…why is there a lawyer here?”
The woman looked up pleasantly.
“Good morning. Denise Porter. I represent one of the civilians from the station tour.”
Buck immediately looked at Bobby.
Bobby looked deeply tired.
“Sit down, Buck.”
“No ❤️”
“Buck.”
Buck sat.
Right as Eddie walked in carrying coffee.
He took one look at the scene and said, “Why does this feel like an ambush?”
“Because,” Hen said, entering behind him, “Linda thinks you and Buck were victims of workplace harassment.”
Eddie blinked.
“…what?”
Denise opened a folder.
“My client was deeply concerned by the repeated audio evidence suggesting coercion, entrapment, and emotional distress.”
Buck made a choking sound.
Hen physically had to leave the room.
Denise adjusted her glasses and began reading from the transcript.
> “Stop moving.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re making it worse.”
“There’s no room!”
Buck slid slowly down in his chair.
“Oh my god.”
Eddie looked like he wanted a meteor to hit the building.
Denise continued professionally.
> “Your hand is on my waist.”
“That’s because if I move it, I fall.”
Chimney was no help whatsoever.
He was fully crying laughing into his coffee.
“My client,” Denise continued, somehow still serious, “believes Firefighter Buckley may have been subjected to prolonged physical restraint.”
Buck buried his face in his hands.
“This is my villain origin story.”
Eddie cleared his throat. “Ma’am, respectfully, nothing inappropriate happened.”
Denise looked unconvinced.
From the hallway, Ravi shouted:
“HE SAT IN YOUR LAP FOR TWENTY MINUTES.”
Denise’s eyes widened.
Buck pointed violently toward the hall. “THAT ISN’T HELPING.”
—
The lawsuit threat should have died there.
It did not.
Because somehow the recordings escaped containment.
Nobody knew how.
(Everyone knew it was Chimney.)
And within forty-eight hours, dispatchers across the city had heard snippets.
Firefighters from neighboring stations started asking deeply annoying questions.
A paramedic from the 136 sent Eddie a fruit basket labeled:
SORRY ABOUT YOUR SITUATIONSHIP
Buck nearly threw the basket into traffic.
Then Maddie heard the recordings.
That was worse.
“Oh my god,” she whispered over the phone, audibly emotional. “You sound so in love.”
Buck nearly drove off the road.
“I SOUND TRAPPED.”
“Sweetie, you literally called him ‘baby’ at one point.”
Buck went completely still.
“…what.”
Silence.
Then Maddie said carefully:
“You didn’t realize?”
Buck pulled his truck to the side of the road so he could have his breakdown safely.
“No, absolutely not, no, that can’t be right.”
“Oh honey.”
“I DIDN’T CALL HIM BABY.”
“You did.”
“PLAY IT.”
And because Maddie was evil too, she immediately sent the clip.
Buck listened.
Radio static crackled.
Then his own exhausted voice said:
> “Eds, baby, if your leg falls asleep before mine, I swear to god—”
Buck closed his eyes.
Somewhere far away, a seagull screamed.
—
That night at the station, Buck avoided Eddie with the focus of a hunted man.
Unfortunately Eddie noticed immediately.
“You’re being weird.”
Buck nearly dropped a tray of mugs.
“I’m ALWAYS weird.”
“Yeah, but this is specific.”
Buck shoved a mug into Eddie’s hands too aggressively.
“There. Coffee. Goodbye.”
Eddie caught his wrist before he could escape.
Just casually.
Just instinctively.
And Buck’s stupid traitor heart immediately tried to fistfight his ribcage.
Eddie frowned slightly. “Buck.”
“Mm-hm.”
“You okay?”
No.
Absolutely not.
Because apparently Buck called Eddie baby naturally enough that he didn’t even notice.
Because apparently sitting in Eddie’s lap for twenty minutes had felt less humiliating than comforting.
Because apparently every recording from that closet sounded less like two idiots trapped in a confined space and more like—
Buck swallowed hard.
Oh.
Oh no.
Eddie’s expression softened.
And very quietly, he said, “Buck.”
The way he said it nearly killed him on impact.
Buck looked down at their hands.
Still holding on.
Still too close.
From the kitchen doorway, Hen slowly appeared holding a bag of popcorn.
Neither of them looked at her.
“Don’t mind me,” she whispered reverently. “Science.”Hen’s “science” experiment lasted exactly four more days before the universe finally snapped.
It happened during a grocery run.
Which, in Buck’s opinion, made it even worse.
Because there was nothing dramatic about it.
No life-threatening emergency.
No near death realization.
No rainstorm.
Just him and Eddie arguing in the cereal aisle at 9:14 p.m. while Christopher judged them from the shopping cart.
“You do not need the marshmallow dinosaur cereal.”
“I absolutely do.”
“You’re twenty-nine.”
“And alive. Miraculously. Let me have joy.”
Eddie tossed a box of plain Cheerios into the cart.
Buck looked personally betrayed.
“Those taste like disappointment.”
Christopher pointed at Buck immediately. “He said the same thing about your healthy bread.”
“Traitor,” Eddie muttered.
Chris grinned.
Buck reached for the dinosaur cereal anyway.
At the exact same moment, a woman further down the aisle gasped.
Not a little gasp.
A full-body, scandalized I know you gasp.
Buck froze with one hand buried in cereal boxes.
The woman pointed directly at them.
“Oh my GOD.”
Eddie went still beside him.
“No,” Buck whispered immediately. “No no no.”
“You’re the closet firefighters!”
Christopher’s eyes widened with delight.
“The WHAT?” he shouted.
Several shoppers turned.
Buck considered climbing directly into the freezer section and living there forever.
The woman hurried closer looking genuinely emotional.
“I heard the recordings online!”
Eddie made a strangled noise.
Buck stared at him. “ONLINE?”
Hen.
Hen absolutely uploaded them somewhere.
“I just want you both to know,” the woman continued earnestly, “that your bravery really inspired me.”
Buck blinked.
“…our bravery.”
“Yes! Being vulnerable in the workplace is so important.”
Eddie covered his face.
Christopher looked between them excitedly. “Wait wait WAIT are you guys famous?”
“No,” Buck and Eddie said immediately.
A teenager at the end of the aisle looked up from his phone.
“Oh my god, you ARE the supply closet guys.”
Buck whispered, horrified, “We have a brand.”
—
By the next shift, the situation had escalated catastrophically.
Someone had animated the radio audio.
Not professionally.
Which somehow made it worse.
The video used stock cartoon firefighters with wildly exaggerated expressions while dramatic music played over the clips.
The animated version of Buck got shoved into animated Eddie’s lap in slow motion.
There were sparkles.
SPARKLES.
Ravi found the video during lunch.
Unfortunately, Ravi immediately connected his phone to the station TV.
“NO—” Buck lunged too late.
The kitchen filled with audio "Eds, baby—”
Buck collapsed directly onto the floor.
Animated Buck dramatically clutched Animated Eddie’s shoulders.
Animated Eddie blushed so hard smoke came out of his ears.
Christopher, who had apparently been dropped off early by Carla, walked in right as the cartoon characters gazed longingly at each other.
He stopped.
Watched for three seconds.
Then looked at his dad.
“…you guys know everyone thinks you’re dating, right?”
Dead silence.
Absolute, complete silence.
Buck stared at the ceiling from the floor.
Eddie looked like his soul had briefly left his body.
Christopher frowned. “Wait. You DIDN’T know?”
Hen physically turned away so nobody would see her laughing.
Christopher looked deeply concerned now.
“Oh wow.”
“Okay,” Eddie said finally, too fast, “that’s enough YouTube for today.”
Chris did not let it go.
“No seriously,” he said. “Everyone already thinks Buck lives with us.”
“I basically do,” Buck muttered weakly from the floor.
“And Buck makes your coffee every morning.”
Eddie pointed a finger. “Don’t.”
“And you fight like old married people.”
“Christopher.”
“And Buck cried during that one dog movie.”
“That dog DIED,” Buck defended.
Christopher looked at both of them for one long, devastating second.
Then:
“I thought you were waiting until I got older to tell me.”
Buck stopped breathing.
Eddie stopped breathing.
Even Hen stopped breathing.
Christopher blinked. “...why are you both making that face?”
Buck sat up slowly.
“Buddy,” he said carefully, “what exactly do you think is happening here?”
Chris shrugged like this was obvious.
“That you’re in love with each other.”
The room went dead quiet.
No jokes.
No laughter.
No Chimney commentary from the background.
Just Christopher looking sincerely confused that this was apparently new information.
Buck looked at Eddie.
Eddie looked at Buck.
And suddenly Buck could hear every single thing all over again.
Eds, baby.
Your hand is on my waist.
You’re sitting in my lap.
The way Eddie always reached for him first.
The way Buck already knew how Eddie took his coffee.
The way Eddie’s hands had stayed on his waist in that closet long after they stopped needing balance.
Oh.
Oh, they were idiots.
Christopher squinted at them both.
“…did you seriously not know?”
Then Chimney quietly slid a twenty-dollar bill across the counter toward Hen.
Hen took it without breaking eye contact with Buck and Eddie.
“I told you the kid would figure it out first.”