Battalion Chief Ace Harlan sat behind his wide oak desk in the corner office of Station 47, the kind of space that came with the promotion and felt more like a cage than a reward. Papers stacked high on one side, reports on recent drills and budget cuts, his fingers tapping absently on a keyboard that had seen better days. The room smelled of fresh coffee and old smoke, walls lined with plaques and photos of grinning crews from years past. Ace stared at the screen, eyes dull under the fluorescent hum, his usual spark dimmed to a flicker. Four years since that dorm fire, since he'd carried Dani down those stairs and felt his world splinter. The hookups had piled up like ash after that, women blurring into one another, scandals whispering through the ranks. He'd even tried marriage once, a whirlwind six months that ended in divorce papers and empty bottles. Cheerful Ace, the station's golden boy, now brooded like a storm cloud no one dared approach.
He rubbed his temples, stubble rough under his palm, lines etching deeper around his eyes. The hookups used to thrill him, quick highs that chased away the quiet. Now they left him hollow, scandals nipping at his heels like stray dogs. One affair with a reporter had made headlines, another with a volunteer's wife had cost him friends. The marriage? A desperate grab at normalcy, vows exchanged in a courthouse rush, only to shatter when he couldn't pretend anymore. Gloom settled over him these days, heavy as turnout gear after a long call. He typed another line in the report, words swimming on the page, mind wandering to places he swore he'd locked away.
The TV mounted on the wall droned in the background, volume low but insistent, a news segment on local arts cutting through the quiet. Ace glanced up without thinking, and there he was. Dani Voss, four years sharper, hair longer and wilder, standing in a sleek gallery space with canvases exploding in color behind him. The camera loved him, zooming on that androgynous face, eyeliner bold, lips curved in a confident smile. "Rising star Dani Voss unveils his latest collection," the anchor chirped. "The showcase opens next week at the Metropolitan Gallery, tickets selling out fast."
Ace's breath caught sharp in his throat. Desire slammed back like a rogue wave, hot and unbidden, stirring low in his gut. Four years, and it felt like yesterday: the weight of Dani on his back, the vanilla scent under smoke, the way those thighs had squeezed. His cock twitched under the desk, traitorous and insistent. He leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen, heart pounding like it did before charging a blaze. Dani moved on camera, gesturing to a painting of flames twisting into human forms, voice smooth as silk. "This one's about unspoken fires," Dani said, eyes meeting the lens like he knew Ace was watching.
The office door swung open without a knock, a cluster of noobs piling in with coffee mugs and half-eaten donuts. They were fresh-faced recruits, barely out of training, drawn to the TV like moths. "Whoa, who's that?" one asked, a kid named Riley with messy blond hair and wide eyes. The group settled around the desk, watching Dani laugh at the interviewer's question.
Riley whistled low. "Damn, he's gorgeous. Look at those eyes, that hair. Exactly my type: pretty, artsy, the kind who could wreck you with a smile."
Ace's fingers tightened on his pen until it creaked. Jealousy boiled up hot and ugly, twisting his gut like a hose knot. He pictured Riley approaching Dani, flashing that boyish grin, maybe touching his arm. The thought made Ace's blood roar, possessive heat flooding his veins. "Shut up," he snapped, voice sharper than intended. The noobs blinked, surprised by the edge from their usually easygoing chief.
Riley laughed nervously. "What? Come on, Chief, you'd hit that too. I wish I could meet him one day. Bet he's even hotter in person."
Ace stood abruptly, chair scraping loud against the floor. Jealousy spiked higher, visions flashing: Riley's hands on Dani's waist, lips brushing that neck. His own desire mixed in, filthy and confusing, wanting to claim what he'd run from. "Enough," he growled, turning the TV off with a jab. The screen went black, but Dani's image lingered in his mind, stirring that old burn. The noobs muttered apologies and shuffled out, leaving Ace alone with the echo.
He sank back into his chair, pulse thundering, desire still throbbing like an open wound. Four years, and nothing had changed. Everything had. He grabbed his phone, searched the gallery event, fingers hovering over tickets. Sanity screamed no. Want whispered yes.
The door creaked open again. Ace looked up, breath stalling. Dani stood there, real and vivid, hair loose, carrying a portfolio under one arm. "Chief Harlan? I'm here about the charity art auction for the station."
Ace's world narrowed to those eyes, that mouth. Desire hit full force, cock hardening under the desk. "You," he breathed.
Dani stepped inside, closing the door with a click. "Me. Small world."
Ace rose slowly, hands fisting at his sides. Tension crackled thick as smoke. "Stay away from me."
Dani paused, brow lifting.
"You're destroying my sanity," Ace continued, voice raw and broken. "I can't do this again."
Dani held his gaze for a long beat, expression unreadable. Then he turned his back, shoulders relaxed, and walked away, door swinging shut behind him.
Ace collapsed into his chair, head in hands, the room spinning with unspoken fire.
But when he raised up his head to see Dani, to face his fears...Dani was gone... infact he was never there. Ace began to doubt his sanity.