Evan "Buck" Buckley stood on the rooftop of his apartment building, gazing at the sunset as the Los Angeles skyline burned in orange and pink hues. His mind wandered, as it often did these days, to Tommy Kinard. He could feel the weight of the unsaid things between them, and it made his chest tighten. As the cool evening breeze brushed against his skin, Buck replayed the lyrics of the song that had been haunting him lately: "Flames to dust, lovers to friends…" The words resonated with him, a cruel reminder that even the brightest flames can fade into embers.

It had all started so differently. Tommy had been a new firefighter transferred to the 118 after losing his former captain. He came with a guarded past and the kind of pain Buck recognized in himself. The two bonded quickly over long shifts, shared trauma, and late-night conversations where they could strip away the armor they wore for the world. What started as a friendship blossomed into something more—something Buck hadn't expected but craved with every fiber of his being.


"Why does it feel so damn right when we're together, but so impossible at the same time?" Tommy had asked one night, as they sat on Buck's couch after a rough day at work.

Buck had stared into Tommy's eyes, searching for an answer that wouldn't make things harder for them. "Because we both know we're broken in different ways," Buck had finally replied. "And maybe we were never supposed to fit together. Maybe we're too messed up to work, but…" He had reached out to grab Tommy's hand, holding on as though it could anchor them both. "But I want it. I want us."

Tommy had smiled then, a sad, knowing smile. "You always want to fix things, Buck. But what if some things aren't meant to be fixed?"


The months passed, and their relationship burned brightly. They were each other's escape from the chaotic world of firefighting, from the pressures of trying to save everyone around them while barely holding themselves together. They had stolen moments in the firehouse, late-night drives with no destination, and mornings where Buck would wake to find Tommy already gone but his scent lingering in the sheets.

But as with all things intense, the cracks began to show.


"I don't understand why you're pulling away," Buck had said one night, his voice filled with frustration as he watched Tommy pace the room. "Everything was going great."

Tommy had stopped, turning to face him with a tired expression. "Was it? Or were we just pretending it was? Buck, we never talk about the hard stuff—about the future, about what happens when this…" Tommy gestured between them, "…inevitably ends."

"Who says it has to end?" Buck shot back, hurt lacing his words. "Why are you always waiting for the other shoe to drop?"

Tommy sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Because I know how this story ends, Buck. I've been here before. People like us—we don't get happy endings. We self-destruct, or we get so caught up in trying to save everyone else that we forget to save ourselves."

Buck shook his head, stepping closer, desperate to close the distance between them. "That's not true. We can make this work. I know we can if we just—"

"Stop." Tommy's voice was firm, breaking through Buck's protests. "You don't get it. I can't do this anymore."

The room fell silent as the weight of Tommy's words sank in. Buck's chest tightened, and his throat felt like it was closing up. "What are you saying?"

Tommy looked at him with a mixture of regret and resignation. "I'm saying maybe we were only supposed to be for a little while. Maybe we were never meant to last."


Days turned into weeks, and Buck felt the growing distance like a chasm between them. Tommy became more distant, withdrawing into himself, while Buck tried to hold on tighter, afraid of losing the one person who seemed to understand him in a way no one else did. But it was clear that something had shifted. The flame between them had begun to dim, no matter how much Buck tried to keep it alive.

One night, after another emotionally charged argument, Tommy had walked out of Buck's apartment. As the door clicked shut, Buck had slumped onto the couch, staring at the empty space where Tommy had been just moments ago. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: Tommy wasn't coming back.


Weeks passed, and the world kept turning, but Buck felt like he was stuck in a loop, replaying their memories over and over in his mind. He would catch himself thinking about Tommy at random moments—during a call at the firehouse, while grabbing coffee, or even just walking down the street. He missed him in ways he hadn't thought possible.

One evening, Buck sat alone on his couch, scrolling through his phone aimlessly, when the familiar tune of Nelly Furtado's "All Good Things (Come to an End)" came on. The lyrics echoed through the empty apartment, each word hitting him harder than the last.


"Do you remember when we used to talk about getting out of the city?" Tommy had asked once, lying next to Buck in bed, their fingers intertwined.

"Yeah," Buck had replied, his voice soft. "You always wanted to disappear somewhere quiet, just the two of us."

Tommy had smiled, a faraway look in his eyes. "Maybe we could've had that. In another life."

Buck had leaned over, pressing a kiss to Tommy's temple. "This life is enough for me."


But now, sitting alone in the dark, Buck realized that maybe Tommy had been right all along. Some things weren't meant to last. Some stories were too tragic to have a happy ending. He stared at his phone, the lyrics swirling in his mind: "Why do all good things come to an end?"

He couldn't stop thinking about how they had been like two flames burning too bright, destined to burn out.


One day, Buck found himself standing outside Tommy's old apartment. He wasn't sure why he had come, maybe hoping for closure, maybe hoping to see him one last time. But when he knocked on the door, there was no answer. Tommy had moved on—both literally and figuratively.

As Buck turned to leave, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Chimney, asking if he wanted to grab a drink after their shift. Buck stared at the message for a moment, his thumb hovering over the screen before he typed out a quick reply: Sure, I'll be there.

As he walked away from Tommy's apartment, Buck couldn't help but wonder what might have been if they had both been a little less broken, a little more willing to fight for each other. But deep down, he knew that not all love stories were meant to last. Some were just meant to teach you how to love and let go.

Flames to dust, lovers to friends… Why do all good things come to an end?

Buck paused at the corner of the street, glancing back one last time before disappearing into the night, knowing that some memories were too beautiful and too painful to ever truly fade away.