Chapter Text
Johnny Storm’s days follow a relatively simple routine. He clocks in at 8:00 in the morning and starts a 48-hour shift, consecutively. After those 48 hours end, he goes home to his bachelor pad and rests for a good four days before he has to go back to his job. He might get a few interesting cases here and there, but it’s really nothing to write home about.
Except when he gets to see you, then it’s everything to write home about.
Which is unfortunately a rare occurrence. You’re busy with your work, firefighters don’t usually go to the ER anyway, he knows that—hell, you guys weren’t even that close. Even when he wants to spend time with you, he doesn’t think that he could just stroll into the emergency room one day and ask you out. Well, maybe he can, but he’s just a bit of a coward at that part.
You both met a little under a year ago.
The call itself wasn’t anything special. Small building fire, one victim suffering from smoke inhalation, stable vitals, conscious and talking.
Johnny had carried the woman down three flights of stairs and stayed with her all the way to the hospital, mostly because she refused to let go of his hand. "You're a nice young man," she'd wheezed through the oxygen mask.
"Why thank you, ma’am. Tell everyone for me, please." He gives her his signature grin.
The ambulance rolled into the emergency department's ambulance bay twenty minutes later.
The doors burst open, and there you were.
"Female, seventy-two," the paramedic began as the stretcher was unloaded. "Smoke inhalation. Alert and oriented. Initial oxygen levels were eighty-nine percent on the scene, now sitting at ninety-six on fifteen liters of non-rebreather."
Johnny barely listened. Because you were moving around the stretcher with the kind of confidence that made the chaos look choreographed.
"Any loss of consciousness?" you asked.
"Negative."
"Cardiac history?"
"Hypertension."
"Allergies?"
The questions came rapid-fire. You were efficient, focused, and…
Pretty.
Wait. Pretty?
Johnny blinked, but the older woman noticed immediately. Maybe she has a knack for these things. "Oh," she said, sounding delighted. "He's staring at the nurse."
“Ma'am," he said.
Your head snapped up. Okay, that’s a handsome man—no, you have a job to do.
"He's been carrying me around all afternoon," she informed you.
"Ma'am."
To his horror, you smiled. "Thank you for bringing her in," you said.
He gives you a crooked smile. “Yeah, yeah… you’re welcome. I mean, it’s my job… yeah.” He nods, like that makes his stumbling any better.
After that interaction, he’d be the first person to volunteer every time one of the firefighters had to go to the emergency room. Not that they go there a lot anyway, but hey, he’d take any chance to get a glimpse of you.
The first few times, he was convinced you wouldn't even remember him. You worked in an emergency department. Hundreds of patients passed through those doors every week, accompanied by paramedics, police officers, firefighters, and worried family members. There was no reason a nurse would remember one firefighter she'd met on a random Tuesday.
Then, the next time he walked a patient through the ambulance bay, you looked up from your charting and greeted him by name.
Just like that.
The conversation had lasted less than a minute.
A quick hello.
A question about the patient.
A joke about the soot smeared across his jaw.
But Johnny found himself thinking about it for the rest of his shift. After that, seeing you became something he quietly looked forward to.
Sometimes he would catch you during a particularly brutal shift, your hair hastily tied back and exhaustion written plainly across your face. Other times he'd arrive to find you laughing with one of your coworkers, the sound carrying across the department before you noticed him standing there.
You always seemed happy to see him, and over time, the conversations grew longer.
A minute became five.
Five became ten whenever neither of you was being pulled in opposite directions.
He learned that you survived almost entirely on caffeine during night shifts (much to your dismay). You learned that he couldn't cook anything more complicated than pasta without consulting the internet. He learned which vending machine snacks you always bought when you forgot your lunch. You learned that he hated paperwork more than actual fires.
None of it was important information, at least not on paper.
But somehow, every small detail felt significant when it came from you. The problem was that your relationship never seemed to move beyond the walls of the hospital.
You weren't strangers, yet you weren't friends, either.
Not really.
You and Johnny saw each other because your jobs happened to collide every now and then. And yet, every time he left the emergency department, he found himself wondering when he'd see you again.
The answer was always eventually.
A week, maybe two, or even a month. But sooner or later another call would end at the hospital, and he'd find you somewhere beyond those sliding doors.
That certainty made it easy to do nothing.
Today, Johnny strolled into the fire department in the morning and went straight to the kitchen, as usual. When he has to arrive at the station as early as eight, he doesn’t really have the luxury of a dedicated breakfast time in the mornings.
He grabbed some bread and ingredients from the pantry and made a simple sandwich. This one looks particularly good, he thinks. But before he could get a bite to his sandwich, the station tones screamed through the building.
Johnny closed his eyes. "You have got to be kidding me."
Around him, chairs scraped against the floor as everyone immediately sprang into motion.
So much for breakfast.
He wrapped the sandwich in a napkin, shoved it onto the counter, and followed the rest of the crew toward the apparatus bay while dispatch rattled off the address overhead.
To you, twelve hours in the emergency department rarely stayed twelve hours. Someone always needed help, always arrived five minutes before your shift ended, and always crashed at the worst possible moment.
You'd stopped fighting it months ago.
At least today was your day off.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains and painted soft streaks of gold across your bedroom walls, and for a few moments you simply lay there, enjoying the unfamiliar luxury of not having anywhere to be.
After waking up in the morning, you spent a few blissful minutes doing absolutely nothing. No monitors beeping, no doctors calling your name, just silence. Glorious silence. But eventually, you did have to drag yourself out of bed.
You wandered into the kitchen and started putting together breakfast. Nothing fancy, just enough food to keep you occupied while you figured out how you wanted to spend the rest of your day.
Laundry was probably necessary.
Grocery shopping too.
Also, there was a growing pile of unopened mail sitting on the counter that deserved your attention.
Realistically, you would accomplish none of those things.
Outside, the city was already awake. Cars moved steadily through the streets below, people hurried along the sidewalks, and somewhere in the distance a siren wailed before fading away. Exactly the kind of morning you had been looking forward to.
You had just taken another sip of coffee when a loud, piercing alarm cut through the apartment.
Your head snapped up immediately.
For a second, you stared at the ceiling, waiting for the sound to stop.
But of course, it didn't.
The alarm continued to blare through the building in steady intervals, loud enough that you could feel the vibration through the walls.
By the time the second alarm sounded, you were already on your feet.
The apartment door across the hall opened with a loud bang. A moment later, voices drifted in from the corridor. Someone asked if this was another maintenance test. Someone else sounded annoyed enough to ignore it entirely.
You set your coffee down and crossed the apartment toward the front door. The moment you opened it, the faint smell of smoke hit you.
Not strong, not overwhelming.
But unmistakable.
Your stomach tightened. Ah shit, it’s serious.
That was enough to make the decision for you.
You stepped back inside, immediately reaching for your phone, wallet, keys, and the backpack hanging near the entrance. The movements felt automatic, driven by the same instincts that had carried you through countless emergencies at work.
Within two minutes, you were locking your apartment door behind you and making your way toward the stairwell with dozens of other residents.
The atmosphere remained surprisingly calm, and most people looked irritated more than concerned. And yet, the smell of smoke grew stronger with each floor you descended.
By the time you reached the ground floor and stepped outside, several residents had already gathered in the parking lot.
You turned back toward the building, and only then did you notice the thin stream of dark smoke escaping from one of the upper-floor windows.
“Oh dear, that looks bad.” Your neighbour, Martha, says. She had managed to find you in the sea of people.
You look to your side, to her. “Yeah. I’m hoping everyone’s alright.” You respond.
By the time the fire department arrived on scene, a crowd had already formed outside the apartment complex.
Johnny barely spared them a glance as the truck rolled to a stop, though. His attention was fixed on the building. From a distance, the smoke had looked relatively contained. Up close, it was a different story.
Dark smoke pushed from multiple windows near the center of the structure, thick enough to obscure portions of the upper floors. Every few seconds, fresh plumes poured from the building as if something inside was feeding the fire faster than it could burn through.
"Shit," someone muttered beside him.
Johnny silently agreed.
The moment the emergency vehicle stopped moving, the crew sprang into action. Orders were exchanged, equipment was unloaded, and hose lines were stretched across the pavement. Within moments, the organized chaos that accompanied every structure fire had settled over the scene.
A battalion chief was already speaking with building management.
Police officers worked to keep residents away from the entrance.
Paramedics established a treatment area for anyone suffering from smoke exposure.
Okay, here we go, he thinks. Johnny grabbed his gear and headed toward the command post to receive his assignment.
As he approached, fragments of conversation reached him. Apparently, the fire had originated in one of the lower-floor units, but it had spread beyond the apartment itself. There was concern that flames had extended into wall voids and utility spaces, and that immediately complicated everything.
Apartment fires were difficult enough when the fire remained confined to a single unit. Once flames found their way into the spaces between walls, they could travel through a building without anyone realizing how far they'd gone.
Which meant what looked manageable from the outside often wasn't.
The next hour passed in a blur of heat, smoke, and shouted communication.
Johnny's crew was assigned to assist with interior operations. The work was exhausting even by firefighter standards. Every movement felt heavier beneath layers of protective gear, and the air inside the building remained thick despite the ventilation efforts underway.
At one point, they helped escort an elderly resident down several flights of stairs after she refused to leave without her cat. Later, they were redirected to assist another crew investigating smoke that had begun seeping into apartments far from the original unit.
None of it was unusual.
By the time Johnny emerged from the building again, sweat clung uncomfortably to the back of his neck and his shoulders ached from carrying equipment up and down stairwells.
He pulled off one glove and accepted a bottle of water from another firefighter before making his way toward the command area for an update.
That was when his attention drifted toward the evacuation zone.
At first, he didn't think anything of it, just another resident standing among the crowd. Then the woman turned slightly, and his brain took a second to catch up.
A second after that, his stomach nearly dropped into his boots.
There was absolutely no way.
For a moment, he simply stared. Out of all the apartment buildings in the city, all the fires he could have responded to. The sight of you sent a jolt of alarm through him before he could think twice about it.
Were you hurt?
Had you been inside when the fire started?
Had you inhaled smoke?
You looked upright, alert, and uninjured, at least from where he was standing. But that did little to settle the sudden knot of concern tightening in his chest.
Your attention remained fixed on the building, completely unaware that he had spotted you.
Before he could stop himself, his feet were already moving.
He wove through the crowd gathered near the edge of the parking lot, barely registering the conversations around him. Your expression was focused in the way he had seen dozens of times inside the emergency department, as if you were mentally assessing the situation rather than simply witnessing it.
Then you turned your head. The second your eyes landed on him, surprise flickered across your face.
"Johnny?"
He called out your name and stopped in front of you, gaze moving quickly over your face and shoulders as though searching for injuries. "Are you alright?"
You blinked. The question came so quickly that it seemed to catch you off guard. "Yeah," you said. "I'm fine."
Johnny frowned. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
Only then did he seem to realize he was still staring. A faint flush crept up the back of his neck. He cleared his throat and took a small step back, trying to recover whatever professionalism he'd abandoned during his walk across the parking lot.
"I just..." He glanced toward the building. "I saw you standing out here and figured you lived in one of the units."
"I do."
The answer was simple enough, but something about hearing it made his stomach sink.
"You got out okay?"
You nodded.
"Good." The response came immediately.
Too immediately, as though he'd been holding his breath waiting to hear it.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sounds of the scene filled the silence instead. The hiss of water lines being charged, shouted instructions from firefighters, the distant wail of another arriving vehicle. Johnny looked over his shoulder toward the building.
His expression changed slightly, and you noticed it right away. "How bad is it?"
His gaze returned to yours. For a second, he seemed to debate whether he should answer honestly.
That was an answer enough.
Your stomach tightened, and he exhaled slowly.
"It's not great."
You followed his line of sight toward the smoke pouring from the upper floors. The longer the operation continued, the more chaotic the evacuation area became. Suddenly, raised voices cut through the crowd, and several people turned at once.
Near the curb, a man in his sixties slumped heavily against a parked vehicle. At first, it looked as though he had simply sat down.
Then his knees buckled.
Your body reacted before your brain did, and you were already moving by the time someone shouted for a medic. Before you could reach him, the man hit the pavement hard. A small crowd immediately began forming around him.
"Give him space," you called as you pushed forward.
The smell of smoke still clung to his clothing, and his breathing… it sounded wrong. Shallow.
A firefighter dropped to one knee beside him. Johnny.
His eyes widened briefly when he recognized you, but you barely noticed, your attention remained fixed on the patient.
"Sir? Can you hear me?"
The man's eyelids fluttered. Okay, so not fully unconscious. Good.
A paramedic arrived moments later, carrying equipment. "We've got two ambulances already transporting," she said quickly as she knelt beside you. "Can you help me out?"
You nodded immediately, and the paramedic began attaching monitoring equipment while you performed a rapid assessment. The patient's skin looked pale beneath the soot staining his face. His pulse was fast, and his breathing remained concerning.
"Smoke inhalation?" you asked.
"Most likely."
The man suddenly started coughing. A harsh, painful sound.
Johnny shifted closer, looking between the both of you. "What do you need?"
"High-flow oxygen." You both answered. Without hesitation, Johnny reached for the equipment beside him.
Within minutes, the patient was receiving oxygen, but his condition still wasn't improving as quickly as you would've liked. The paramedic looked toward the ambulance staging area and swore quietly. Every available transport unit was occupied, and one of the ambulances hadn't even returned from its previous trip yet.
"We need him evaluated at the hospital."
"He needs a blood gas and respiratory assessment," you agreed.
The paramedic looked between you and Johnny, then an idea seemed to occur to her. "You work at Manhattan General, right?"
You nodded.
She turned to Johnny. "Can you drive?"
Johnny stared at her. "That's your question?"
"Can you drive without hitting anybody?"
"Much better."
The paramedic pointed toward the patient. "Good. Because I need this man in an emergency department now, and you're currently the fastest option I've got."
Johnny looked at you, and you looked back at him. For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then he shrugged. “Well. This is certainly a first."
The drive to Manhattan General Hospital was surprisingly uneventful. Fortunately, the patient remained conscious for most of the trip. You stayed beside him in the back seat, monitoring his breathing and doing your best to keep him talking while Johnny navigated traffic.
The arrangement felt absurd. A firefighter driving, an emergency room nurse riding in the back, and a smoke inhalation patient occupying the rear seat of what was very obviously not an ambulance.
If anyone asked, you were never admitting this had happened.
By the time the hospital came into view, you were already mentally preparing the report you would give upon arrival. The familiar sight of the emergency department entrance stirred something automatic in your brain.
Johnny pulled to a stop near the ambulance entrance. Before the vehicle had fully settled, you were reaching for the door handle.
"Easy there," Johnny said.
You shot him a look. "Unlike you, some of us spend enough time here to navigate it with our eyes closed."
Johnny scoffed. "I've been here hundreds of times."
"Yeah, but you still have to ask for directions every now and then."
"Only occasionally."
"Sure."
He shook his head. "Alright, that's fair."
The two of you helped the patient inside, and the moment the automatic doors slid open, the controlled chaos of the emergency department washed over you. A nurse glanced up from the triage desk.
Then did a double take. "...Why are you here?"
You didn't slow down. “Long story."
"You're not scheduled."
"Still a long story."
A few heads turned as you passed. Apparently showing up unexpectedly with soot on your clothes was enough to attract attention.
The patient was quickly transferred onto a hospital stretcher, and you immediately slipped back into work mode.
"Male, I would say in his sixties? Smoke exposure from a residential structure fire. Progressive respiratory distress on scene, and oxygen administered prior to transport, but his condition deteriorated during observation."
The receiving physician nodded.
Questions followed, but as always, you answered them automatically.
By the time the report was finished, several members of the emergency department were staring at you with varying levels of concern.
One of your coworkers finally crossed her arms.
"Why are you covered in ash?"
You blinked. Right, the fire. "Apartment building fire," you admitted.
The room fell silent. "Excuse me?" someone asked. "You live there?" another asked.
"Unfortunately."
Several people immediately started talking at once.
Were you okay?
Did you get hurt?
Had you lost anything?
You suddenly regretted saying anything.
One of the nurses pointed toward a chair. "Sit down."
"I'm fine."
"Sit."
"I'm literally helping."
"You are literally homeless."
Johnny snorts at that, and you give him a glare. He looks away right after, lips still quirking up.
Eventually, the nurses on the clock dispersed, having to do their jobs anyway. You look up at Johnny. “Hey, you.”
He smiled. “Hello to you too.”
“Thanks for driving us here. You should probably go back now, they need you.” You stand up, crossing your arms.
He hums. “Yeah. Good work with the patient. That was some quick action.” He says, his voice soft. “Does he need anything else?”
You shake your head. “Nope, he’s in good hands. I’ll probably stay here, watch over him for a bit. Nothing much I can do anyway.”
Johnny nods. Then, “Do you need anything?”
“Nah, not for now, no. But I appreciate the offer. I’ll see you around then?” You ask, hopeful.
“Of course.” He nods, and starts to leave. He gives you a tiny wave, and you give him one back. You watch as he drives off, and you let out a deep sigh.
“Who was that?” Someone suddenly says beside you—Kathy, another doctor who you were particularly close to.
You startle at the sudden voice. “Christ, Kathy! Stop doing that. He’s no one.”
She wiggles her eyebrows. “Well, this no one is particularly handsome.”
She waits for your reaction. Then, not being able to hold it, your lips quirk up.
“Ha! I knew it! What’s his name?” She holds you by your shoulders.
“Don’t you have work to do?” You scold, but still smiling.
“Ugh! You’re no fun!”
It wasn’t until nearly two hours into the operation that things began to shift from urgent to uncertain.
The fire itself was still active, but contained enough that the chief was finally able to start thinking beyond suppression and toward damage assessment. That was usually the point where the scene stopped feeling like controlled chaos and started feeling like a long, exhausting problem.
Johnny had just finished rotating out a hose line when one of the lieutenants approached him near the apparatus. “Hey,” the man said, lowering his voice slightly. “You’re the one who brought that patient in earlier, right?”
Johnny frowned, wiping soot from his forearm with the back of his glove. “Yeah.”
“There’s been an update on the residents from the fourth floor. Building management just confirmed structural compromise in the eastern units. Water damage, electrical failure—whole section’s going to be offline for a while.”
Johnny’s attention sharpened immediately, though he didn’t fully know why at first.
The lieutenant continued.
“They’re not clearing the building for re-entry. Not today, and probably not for the next week or two. The Red Cross is getting involved for temporary housing.”
That landed differently. “A week or two,” he repeated quietly.
“Best case,” the lieutenant said. “Worst case, longer.”
Johnny nodded once, though his mind had already drifted. Because in his head, that wasn’t a building update anymore.
It was you.
“Hey, uh, mind if I drive back to the hospital for a bit? Just ten, fifteen minutes? I think I forgot something.” Johnny asks.
The lieutenant looked confused at that, but he looked around, then back at Johnny. “Yeah, we’re alright here for now. Just make sure you come back as soon as possible.”
Johnny nods, and he rushes to drive to Manhattan General Hospital.
By the time he reached you, you were speaking with a patient, your backpack now sitting on the ground beside your feet. You looked tired in a way you hadn’t earlier. Less sharp, more human around the edges, but still very much upright.
When you noticed him approaching, your expression shifted slightly. You frowned. “What are you doing back here? Does anyone else need help?” you said.
“No, no, everyone’s okay for now.” He reassures you. “I just… um…”
There was a pause, brief but loaded with everything neither of you had said since the fire started.
Johnny glanced toward the patient, then back at you. “Mind if I talk to you in private for a second?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” You respond, giving the patient a brief goodbye before walking to a more secluded area of the room.
“They’re saying you might not be able to go back in for a while,” he starts.
You exhaled slowly, like you already knew where this was going. “Yeah, I figured.”
“And you’ve got somewhere to stay?” It came out more direct than he intended.
You blinked at him, then gave a small, humorless laugh. “Not really. I’ve got… a backpack and a very strong desire for this to be temporary.”
That should have made it lighter.
It didn’t.
Johnny looked away for a second, jaw tightening as he considered the situation in a way that had nothing to do with firefighting. “You can stay at mine,” he said.
The words came out clean. Immediate, and absolutely no hesitation. Like he’d already decided without telling himself.
You stared at him. “…What?”
“My place,” he repeated, more carefully this time, as if that would make it less insane. “It’s close to the hospital. You’ve got work, and I’ve got a couch. Spare room, technically, but I’ve never used it for anything other than storage.”
That last part sounded like an attempt at credibility. It didn’t help much.
“You don’t have to do that,” you said slowly.
“I know.”
Another pause. Around you, the scene kept moving, but between the two of you, everything had narrowed.
Johnny shifted his weight slightly, suddenly aware of how this sounded and unable to find a version of it that didn’t sound like too much.
“It’s not… I’m not—” he started, then stopped, clearly frustrated with his own sentence. “You don’t have anywhere else right now. And I’m not letting you sleep in a hotel alone for two weeks after your building burned down.”
You studied him for a moment, weighing your options. There was no teasing grin. No easy confidence. No hint that he was offering because he felt obligated or because he thought it was the right thing to do.
He looked genuinely concerned for you. And somehow, that made this infinitely more dangerous.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly. You'd spent months convincing yourself that whatever existed between the two of you was harmless. Nothing either of you would ever act on.
Then your expression softened just slightly.
“You realize this is a terrible idea. We might not be compatible living with each other and you might hate me forever,” you said, with a smile threatening to form on your face.
Johnny gave a short exhale that might have been a laugh. “Yeah.”
“And you’re still offering.”
“Yeah.” His gaze held yours for a second longer than necessary.
Then, almost reluctantly, you nodded. “Okay,” you said softly. “Just for a little while.”
For the briefest moment, something flickered across Johnny's face. Relief.
Maybe even happiness.
It disappeared almost immediately, replaced by an expression that was far more casual than you suspected he actually felt. Inside, he was far from casual. Neither of you could quite ignore the way your pulse had suddenly become much harder to explain.
Okay, holy shit, this is real. She’s moving into my place—we don’t even know each other that well yet. Maybe this was a bad idea? No, no, it’s not. I get to spend time with her! This is amazing. We’ll get to know each other, and—
“Johnny?” You ask, confused by his sudden blank stare.
“Huh?” He snapped out of his trance. “Yes?”
“You okay?” You furrow your brows in concern.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” Johnny nods reassuringly, and he holds a hand out to you. “Do you have your phone? Mine’s somewhere in the car. I can text you details, and we’ll talk about it.” He shrugs, offering.
You reach into your bag and hand it over to him. He types his number in your phone, and texts himself something silly. He gives it back to you, smiling.
“I, uh… I look forward to it.” You say, and you internally cringe. Look forward to it? What is this, a date?
He smiles sheepishly, exhaling. “Yeah, yeah, me too. I’ll see you later then.”
You nod. “Mhm. Get back safely.”
You both pretty much worked it out seamlessly. There was a list of instructions, a rough time estimate, and a shared understanding that neither of you needed to overcomplicate what was already complicated enough. Johnny told you his address. You told him how long it would take you to get what you needed. Neither of you questioned the arrangement again.
It should have felt strange. But it didn’t, not in the way either of you expected.
When you finally left the apartment building, it was with a small list of essentials and a tired sense of detachment that came from functioning too long on instinct alone. You moved quickly through the familiar process of retrieving what you could, like medications and toiletries, half of your wardrobe, your laptop, and your work bag that you had apparently left half-open on your counter in your rush to leave that morning.
The apartment itself looked almost unchanged at first glance.
But the smell had already begun to creep in through the hallway, faint but unmistakable, and the sound of distant movement from below reminded you that whatever normal had existed here earlier in the day was no longer available to you.
When you came back down, Johnny was already there.
He had changed out of some of his gear, and he looks… different, this way. You can’t really pin point on what, but one thing’s for sure, he looks equally as handsome as when you saw him for the first time. Or maybe even more handsome, you dare to think.
“You got everything you needed?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said. “Enough.”
That seemed to be sufficient.
He held out his hand, and you looked at him confused.
“Your bag.” He says. Ever the gentleman.
“Oh. You sure?” You ask.
He rolls his eyes, smiling, hand still out. “Yes, I’m sure. Just give it to me.”
You eventually hand it over to him, and he carries it like nothing. Damn firefighters.
The drive to his place was quieter than the earlier trip to the hospital, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came from two people who were both still mentally catching up to what had already happened.
Occasionally, Johnny would glance at you, as if checking something he could not quite articulate. Each time, you caught it once or twice before he looked away again.
Neither of you commented on it.
By the time he parked, the sun had shifted lower in the sky, and the events of the day felt both recent and strangely distant.
Johnny got out first, walked around the car, and opened your door before you could reach for it yourself.
You looked up at it, then back at him. The building definitely had some questionable design choices.
“Wow.”
Johnny immediately narrowed his eyes. “That sounded sarcastic.”
“It wasn't.”
“It absolutely was.”
“I said one word.”
Johnny pointed toward the building. “For the record, it's a perfectly respectable apartment.”
“Mhm.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That tone.”
“I don't have a tone.”
“You do.”
“I just got displaced by a fire, Johnny. Maybe I'm emotionally fragile.”
“Convenient excuse.”
You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “Okay, fine. It's nice.”
His expression brightened immediately. Then, he added, “You can crash here as long as you need.”
As long as you need.
Not forever, not anything bigger than it had to be.
Just enough room for what this was.
The first hour in Johnny’s apartment passed in a blur of half-unpacking and quiet reassessment.
The building itself was nicer than you had expected.
Not extravagant, but comfortable. The lobby had actual plants that somehow looked alive, and the elevator didn't make any concerning noises on the way up, which already put it ahead of several apartment buildings you'd lived in.
When Johnny unlocked the door and stepped aside to let you in first, you hesitated for a moment before crossing the threshold. You weren't entirely sure what you had expected.
It was cleaner than you had expected.
Not spotless, exactly, but lived-in in a way that suggested someone who functioned on practicality more than decoration. A couch that had clearly been used for naps rather than guests, then to your right, a stack of mail that had been pushed into a corner rather than ignored completely. And when you walked further inside, there was a kitchen that looked like it had been designed for survival rather than enjoyment.
Your eyes drifted around the room.
There were framed photos on a shelf, a few trophies tucked away near a bookcase. Then, a blanket thrown haphazardly over one arm of the couch that looked suspiciously well-loved. You smiled at the sight.
It felt like him.
Comfortable, slightly disorganized, and somehow welcoming despite making absolutely no effort to be.
Johnny hovered awkwardly near the doorway while you looked around.
"So?" he asked.
You glanced back at him.
"So what?"
"So, is it terrible?"
You stared. "Johnny."
"What?"
"You live in a building with functioning elevators."
"That's not an answer."
“It's already nicer than my apartment."
His expression brightened immediately. "Really?"
"No."
The smile vanished.
You laughed.
The offended look he gave you was immediate. "Wow."
"I'm kidding."
"You sounded sincere." He scoffs. “Maybe I should take a look at your apartment and judge for myself.”
You smile at that. “Hmm, maybe. Once all this blows over. I’ll give you a tour.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged and continued your inspection.
The living room flowed into the kitchen, which contained exactly what you expected from a man who worked long shifts and survived primarily on convenience.
You opened one cabinet.
Instant noodles.
Another.
Protein bars.
A third.
Oh. More protein bars! And protein… powder?
You slowly turned toward him.
Johnny immediately pointed a finger. "Don't judge me."
"I opened three cabinets."
"Yes."
"And two of them are protein bars."
"They were on sale."
"Johnny."
"They were really on sale."
You shook your head, laughing. “If I get scurvy while living here, I'm suing you."
"That's not how scurvy works."
"You don't know that."
"I absolutely know that."
The conversation dissolved into quiet laughter, and some of the tension you'd both been carrying since the fire eased just slightly.
Johnny gave you space without making a point of it. He showed you where things were, like the bathroom, the spare room, the thermostat that he clearly had opinions about, and then drifted back toward the kitchen as if trying not to hover.
“You can take the room,” he said at one point, nodding toward a door down the hallway. “It’s not much, but the bed’s clean. I changed the sheets last month.”
“Last month,” you repeated.
He shrugged. “It’s usually just storage.”
That explained the slightly chaotic pile of boxes in the corner of the room when you stepped inside. Nothing urgent. Just things that didn’t belong anywhere else yet.
You set your bag down carefully, suddenly aware of how little of your life you had managed to carry with you. Clothes, a few essentials. A version of yourself reduced to what could fit in an emergency evacuation.
You were halfway through walking out of the room when your body betrayed you slightly.
It wasn’t dramatic, just a subtle shift in balance, a delayed reaction catching up with everything you had been running on since the alarm went off that morning. The exhaustion hit you all at once, like your system had finally decided it was done compensating.
Your hand reached for the doorframe without you fully registering it.
Johnny noticed immediately.
He moved before you could properly correct yourself, one hand coming up instinctively to steady your arm.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
You blinked, briefly disoriented. “I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
The contact should have been nothing. Brief, practical. Something that happened between people all the time without meaning anything beyond balance and physics.
But he didn’t let go right away.
Not immediately.
His grip was careful, steady in a way that felt more intentional than necessary, like he was making sure you were actually grounded before he trusted you to stand on your own again.
You became very aware of the fact that he was close. Close enough that the heat from him cut through the tired chill that had settled into your bones.
“I’ve got you,” he said after a beat, like it had come out automatically.
You looked up at him then.
His expression had shifted. Less distracted now, less caught between places. Focused in a way that wasn’t about the fire anymore.
Just you.
“I’m okay,” you said again, softer this time.
He nodded once, but didn’t immediately move away. For a second, neither of you did. Holding you felt… natural, like there was no question behind it.
Then, as if realizing it at the same time you did, Johnny slowly released your arm.
“Right,” he said, clearing his throat slightly. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I know,” he replied, giving you a small smile.
You hesitated, then glanced toward the room again. “I think I’m just going to—”
“Yeah,” he said immediately. Then, after a pause, softer: “Go rest.”
You nodded. This time when you stepped away, nothing stopped you.
But as you closed the door behind you, you could still feel the place where his hand had been on your arm, like your body had bothered to remember it longer than your mind had intended to.