I write polyamory not triangles

He hauled himself out of bed and cringed a little bit. The bruises would heal over time, but they wouldn’t have existed if anyone on the team had listened to him on the shift before. His opinions didn’t seem to matter, and Chim didn’t listen to his plans with an open mind like Bobby had come to, even if they were sometimes rejected.

Buck shuffled into the bathroom, stepped into the shower, turned it on, glad the water was at least hot, and hoped it would shake some of the chill from his bones. It wasn’t even cold outside, but since the lab door had slammed shut, he’d felt cold.

Everything felt cold when he was depressed. He knew that from experience, from lonely roads and nights spent in the back of a Jeep too small for him, in Walmart parking lots or wherever he could find a place.

His kitchen was too bright when he walked in, the sun streaming through the windows, making his eyes water a little and his head pound as he shuffled to the coffee maker and turned it on. Pulling a mug out of the cupboard, he stared at it. The paint was chipped, but the outline of the helicopter on its side and the words, “LAFD’s link from the streets to the skies,” made him huff and shove it back into the cupboard, and he grabbed another one. A normal one.

He leaned on the counter and waited for the coffee to brew, head bowed as his phone dinged. He grabbed it and looked, but it was just a local news story about a fundraiser that had exceeded its goal. Good news, at least, but it hardly moved anything in him to read it.

God, he didn’t know what to do. He swiped at his cheeks when he realized he was crying again.

He’d been doing that a lot, crying without knowing it.

He hadn’t cried at the funeral.

He hadn’t cried in the days following it.

He’d cried when he got the house, knowing he had very little to fill it, and a housewarming party was out of the question. No one wanted to celebrate, least of all him.

Harry and May had gotten him a gift card from a home goods store, and Christopher had insisted he get a tomato plant because Buck had always told him fresh ingredients were best. That had almost made him smile. Almost.

Eddie, lurking in the background, had soured the moment, and he still hadn’t received an apology. He knew he wouldn’t.

Buck poured his coffee and sat down at the island, eyes fastened on the window as it began to rain, though the sun still shone through, making the water sparkle. He felt mesmerized as he watched the rain fall, creating puddles on the worn, slightly uneven railing of his back porch. He’d fix it at some point, but for now it was like his own private wishing well, too shallow to toss coins into.

And maybe he’d also run out of wishes. Maybe he was cursed.

Buck fiddled with his phone, flipping it over and over on the top of the island again and again before he opened a text thread.

‘Hey Chimney, bad leg pain today, can’t come in,’ it was something no one would refute, as he’d had to call out before, and he wasn’t exactly lying. The rain and yesterday’s call did send pain shooting from his shin upward.

His phone vibrated, his brother and interim Captain wishing him well and asking him if he needed Maddie to drop by with anything. Buck quickly declined and then turned his phone off entirely. Hopefully, the team would think he was resting if they even tried to text him.

He sat there until his coffee went cold and startled when someone knocked on the door.

Buck glanced at his reflection in the small mirror in the hallway before opening the door as the person knocked again.

“T-Tommy,” The other man’s name was a stutter that fell from his lips.

Tommy rocked on his heels and glanced up at Buck, mouth twisted into a frown, hands shoved into his pockets. “Evan,” he bobbed his head in a nod.

Evan He’d missed the sound of his name from someone who didn’t make it sound like a curse word. “Come in,” Buck stepped aside, leaving another room for Tommy to enter the house.

“Nice place, it feels like you,” Tommy commented as he took a look around.

“Thanks,” Buck wrapped his arms around himself as he watched Tommy survey the space and wondered if he found it lacking, as empty as it was. At least he’d unpacked the boxes this time. “I like that it’s smaller.”

Two small bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a pass-through kitchen. Manageable, cozy. He’d eventually work on making it more his. Maybe.

“It’s cozy,” Tommy echoed his thoughts and turned a small smile his way.

Buck resisted the urge to lean in, to reach for that small beam of sun. “Yeah, it’s…it’s easier, living somewhere new. Somewhere I haven’t been.”

“Want to show me around?” Tommy asked, then wrinkled his nose. “Not like last time, I would genuinely like to see the place.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Buck nodded quickly and gestured. “Living room, got a new couch. I wanted something plusher, better for watching TV,” he led the way through to the kitchen. “Kitchen, this will probably be what I change the most, but it’s a fair size.” He ignored that his stand mixer took up most of the counter space.

Not that it had been used lately.

“I can picture you in here,” Tommy commented softly, looking around but then back at Buck. His gaze never seemed to leave him for long, leaving Buck feeling raw, exposed.

“Yeah, well, this is me, in here,” Buck muttered, and led Tommy to the bathroom, which thankfully had a large tub/shower combo, complete with assist bars he probably wouldn’t get rid of. He stopped outside his room, hand on the doorknob.

“Is this your room?” Tommy gestured.

Buck nodded. “You don’t need to see that.”

No one needed to see it. The mess of clothes everywhere, the empty water bottles, the unmade bed, and the unclean sheets stacked in the corner. It would give him away.

Anyone who knew him knew how much he liked to keep things tidy, even his personal spaces.

“Evan,” Tommy seemed to hesitate, and then reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Evan fought with himself, even as he leaned into the touch and resisted the urge to lap up more of Tommy’s warmth, to dive into his arms and hold tight. He missed the strength and steadiness of Tommy, even though he now knew that his ex was not always steady, but then who was?

“Do you know that most of the houses in this neighbourhood were built in the 1920s?” His voice cracked, and his cheeks burned with humiliation.

Tommy reached out with his other hand, pressing both hands into Evan's shoulders before he pulled him in, wrapped himself around Evan, and held him tight. “It’s okay not to be okay.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Evan muttered, and he knew, even as the tremors threatened to overtake him, that he was crying again, and closed his eyes tight, gripping Tommy tight in return.