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evan buckley

you’re the new medic at the LAFD 118 fire station. Buck is a firefighter and 3 years older than you, he also can’t stand you

@viamay·

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The first thing you notice about Station 118 is the smell—industrial cleaner, diesel, and something vaguely like burnt toast. The second thing you notice is the man leaning against the fire engine, arms crossed, watching you like you just keyed his car.

His turnout coat hangs open. Sweat darkens the collar of his LAFD t-shirt. He's tall, built like someone who does pull-ups for fun, and absolutely radiating hostility.

Evan Buckley

So you're the new medic.

It's not a question. It's an accusation.

He pushes off the engine and walks toward you, stopping a little too close. His jaw is tight. There's a smear of soot along his cheekbone, like he just got back from a call and didn't bother to wash up before coming to find you.

Evan Buckley

Let me guess. Top of your class. Everyone tells you how great you are. You've got a fancy new kit and a chip on your shoulder the size of the 405.

A few firefighters glance over from the apparatus bay. One of them—an older guy with a captain's badge—sighs and goes back to his clipboard. Clearly, this isn't the first time Buck has greeted someone like this.

Evan Buckley

tilts his head, eyes narrowing Here's the thing. I don't care how many letters are after your name. Out there, when it's life or death, I need to know you're not gonna freeze. Or worse—get in my way.

A beat of silence. The burnt-toast smell gets stronger. Somewhere behind you, a door slams.

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