Catch Me When I Burn

By: Lily Moon (TikTok: @lilymoon2324)

One 

Ava Reyes is practicing alone late at night, pushing herself too hard, rehearsing until her feet ache. She doesn’t hear the sparks from the old wiring until smoke fills the room.

She tries to grab her choreography journal — the one thing she can’t lose — but the smoke overtakes her.

A firefighter bursts in.

Cal Bennett.

Except he’s not gentle. He’s furious.

“What the hell were you thinking staying in here?” he snaps as he lifts her.

She fights him the whole way out, insisting she was fine. He calls her reckless. She calls him rude.

He saves her life, but they hate each other instantly.

Two

The next morning, Ava stood in front of what used to be her sanctuary.

Yellow caution tape fluttered in the cold breeze, snapping against charred beams. Ash coated the sidewalk like dirty snow. A few firefighters were still moving around the ruins, checking hotspots, clearing debris.

She pulled her jacket tighter, inhaling the bitter smell of smoke and wet wood. It burned her throat even from outside the tape.

Her chest ached.

Her eyes stung.

She told herself it was just the smoke.

“Hey!”

A sharp voice cut through the quiet.

Ava turned—and her stomach dropped.

Cal Bennett walked around the corner of the building, helmet tucked under his arm, soot smeared on his jaw. He stopped dead when he saw her, surprise flickering across his face before irritation quickly replaced it.

Of course.

He strode over, boots heavy on the pavement. “What are you doing here?”

Ava lifted her chin. “Checking on my studio.”

“It isn’t your studio anymore.” He gestured at the ruins. “It’s a fire scene. And you shouldn’t be breathing this air.”

“I’m fine,” she said coolly.

“No,” he snapped, stepping closer, “you’re not. You inhaled smoke last night. Enough that you almost passed out in my arms, remember?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t need a lecture.”

“You need a doctor.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Cal let out a frustrated breath, eyes narrowing just slightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re bossy,” she shot back.

He blinked—like that wasn’t what he expected her to say. “Bossy?”

“Yes,” she said, annoyance sharpening every word. “You think you can just tell me what to do because you saved me.”

He took a step closer. “I think I can tell you not to put yourself in danger again. That’s kind of my job.”

“Well, I didn’t ask for your job.”

His jaw clenched. Hard. She could practically see the muscle tick.

Ava turned away first, staring at the blackened outline of what used to be her favorite window. The dance floor was nothing but cracked, broken boards now. Mirrors shattered. Costume’s melted into dark shapes.

She swallowed tightly.

Cal’s voice softened, but only slightly. “Your throat hurts, doesn’t it?”

She kept her eyes on the debris. “…No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why do you care?” she whispered.

There was a long pause.

When she finally looked back at him, his expression wasn’t angry anymore. Just… guarded. Almost unreadable.

“Because,” he said quietly, “you scared the hell out of me last night.”

Ava’s breath stilled in her lungs.

Before she could respond, one of his crew members called out his name from across the lot. Cal turned toward the voice, answering with a curt, “Yeah, one sec!”

But instead of walking away immediately, he glanced back at her over his shoulder.

Longer than he should have.

Longer than someone who “didn’t care” would.

His eyes traveled over her face—checking, assessing, lingering. The wind blew a strand of hair across her cheek. She moved to tuck it back, and his gaze followed the motion like he couldn’t stop himself.

Ava felt her cheeks warm.

She hated that he noticed.

Cal finally tore his eyes away, exhaling once before turning fully toward his team.

But even as he walked off—tall, broad, infuriating—she saw it.

He looked back again.

Just for a second.

But enough to make her heart flip in her chest.

She wasn’t sure what annoyed her more:

that he kept staring…

…or that she couldn’t stop noticing it.

Three

Ava wasn’t expecting to see him again so soon.

She was in the temporary studio the city assigned her—an old community center room with uneven floors and walls too close together. The mirrors were warped, the lighting was terrible, and nothing smelled like home.

But it was all she had.

She set her bag down, stretched her legs, and tried to pretend the space didn’t make her want to cry.

The door creaked open.

She didn’t bother looking. “Class doesn’t start for an hour.”

“That’s good,” a deep voice said. “I’m not here for class.”

Ava froze.

No.

Absolutely not.

She turned, already knowing who she’d see.

Cal Bennett stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing his navy firefighter shirt and looking like he regretted being there as much as she regretted seeing him.

Her stomach dropped—and then immediately twisted with irritation.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Trust me,” he said, stepping inside, “if I could choose literally anyone else to do this with, I would.”

She blinked hard. “Do what with?”

Cal sighed, pulling a folded paper from his back pocket. “The city paired local fire departments with community programs for fire safety outreach. I got assigned to yours.”

Ava stared at him, mouth open.

Then she laughed—sharp, disbelieving. “You? Here? Helping me?”

“Don’t say it like it was my idea.”

“Was it your punishment?”

He gave her an annoyed look. “Actually, no. I volunteered.”

The words slipped out of him before he could take them back.

Ava’s eyebrows lifted. “You… volunteered to help my studio?”

Cal cursed under his breath and looked away.

“Not specifically for you.”

She smirked. “Of course not.”

He bristled.

“Look,” he said, trying to sound professional, “I’m here to do safety checks, teach some fire drills, and make sure the new space isn’t a death trap.”

“You calling my studio a death trap?”

“Your last one caught fire.”

She shot him a deadly glare.

He swallowed.

“Okay,” he said quietly, “I deserved that.”

Ava lifted her chin. “So? What now?”

“Well…” He scanned the room. “We work together.”

She groaned dramatically and turned away. “Fantastic.”

When she stretched again, pretending he wasn’t there, she felt his stare burning into her back.

Not in a creepy way.

Why does this bother me so much?

He cleared his throat. “I need to check the outlets.”

“Then check them,” she muttered.

“I am.”

“You’re watching me stretch.”

“I am not—”

He cut himself off, cheeks flushing slightly.

Ava hid her smile. She liked flustering him more than she’d admit.

He opened his toolkit, muttering something about dancers being “impossible,” while she returned to her warm-up, pretending she didn’t notice how many times he stole glances.

Neither of them wanted to be there.

But neither of them walked out.

And that was the beginning of the trouble.

Four

It got noticeably worse—and better—the next day.

Ava was practicing a routine, breath sharp, body moving in controlled anger. Every step was too tight, too forceful, too emotional.

She didn’t hear Cal enter until he said, “You’re going to sprain something.”

She nearly tripped.

“Are you stalking me?” she snapped, wiping sweat from her forehead.

Cal stepped inside, holding a clipboard. “I’m doing my job. You’re the one acting like I broke in.”

She scoffed. “Why are you always so—”

“What?” he challenged.

“—arrogant.”

His jaw tightened. “I’m not arrogant.”

“You told me I almost died because I’m ‘unbelievable.’”

“You are unbelievable,” he fired back. “In the worst possible way.”

Ava’s mouth fell open. “You know what? I don’t have time for this.”

She grabbed her bag, heading for the door—but Cal stepped in front of her, blocking her escape without touching her.

“I need you to sign some paperwork,” he said.

“Move.”

“I will. After you sign.”

She glared up at him. He glared right back, the air vibrating with some mix of irritation and something else—something thick and warm she refused to name.

“Fine,” she snapped, snatching the clipboard from him.

Her hand shook slightly.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You’re still not breathing right,” he murmured.

Ava froze. “What?”

“Your breathing,” he said softer, his eyes scanning her face. “You’re pushing too hard. Your chest can’t take much more smoke irritation.”

She hated that he could see through her.

She hated that he cared.

“Don’t pretend you’re worried,” she muttered.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly.

The room fell silent.

Ava suddenly felt the weight of him—too tall, too warm, too close. She shoved the clipboard back into his hands.

“There. Signed.”

Cal nodded, but he didn’t leave.

He hesitated, studying her like a puzzle that offended him.

“You know,” he said finally, “I don’t get you.”

“Good,” she muttered. “I don’t get you either.”

“But I’m trying,” he said, surprising her. “Whether you want me to or not.”

Her breath caught.

She stepped back first.

He stepped back second.

Before he walked out, he paused in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder.

“You’re tough,” he said. “That’s… good. But don’t let it get you hurt again.”

Ava swallowed, throat tight.

“Then stop acting like I’m the problem.”

Cal’s eyes softened for half a second—half a heartbeat.

Then he left.

She watched the door close behind him and exhaled shakily, pressing her hands to her face.

She didn’t like him.

At all.

But God…

he was starting to feel impossible to ignore.

Five

Ava spends the morning trying to rehearse in a borrowed studio, but her body isn’t listening. Every leap feels off, every turn shaky. Worse, her mind keeps drifting back to him — the firefighter with the sharp jaw and the sharper attitude.

When she gives up and decides to check the damage again, she finds Cal already there, talking with the fire investigator. His face tightens when he sees her, like she’s the last person he wanted to run into.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay away from smoke sites?” he mutters.

“And didn’t I tell you I don’t take orders from you?” she fires back.

The investigator steps away, clearly not wanting to get stuck between them.

Cal sighs like she exhausts him, but his eyes betray something else — concern… maybe something deeper. Ava refuses to look too closely at that.

She walks past him, but his voice follows her.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“And yet,” she says over her shoulder, “here I am.”

Cal watches her go. He shouldn’t. But he does.

Six

A city inspector meets Ava at the ruins to discuss rebuilding. Cal is still there, still stubborn, still watching everything she does like he’s responsible for her breathing.

When the inspector leaves, it’s just the two of them standing in the quiet ashes.

“You’re determined,” Cal admits, crossing his arms.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not. It’s just dangerous sometimes.”

“Well,” she says, brushing soot off her leggings, “so are firefighters.”

He huffs a laugh before he can stop himself. She catches it, and for a second they’re both surprised — almost amused — almost something else.

Then the moment snaps.

“You need to be careful,” Cal says, voice low again.

“And you need to stop acting like you own the place.”

Ava turns to leave, but Cal’s eyes follow her, unreadable. Hot. Troubled.

And for the first time, she wonders:

Is he watching to keep her safe… or because he can’t look away anymore?