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my hc for buck and tommy as parents is that they're going to be the kind of parents that keep every piece of clothing their kid's ever worn.
they're going to have mountains of onesies, knitted sweaters, impossibly small socks, and mini-flannel shirts in their wardrobes. it's going to get to the point where they have admit to each other that they've got a problem and buck's going to say he'll pack it up and donate the stuff they've decided they can part with before tommy steps up and tells buck, it's ok, he'll do it — buck can have the fun job of organising the keepers into storage bags. and even though buck offers to cull the stuff every time after that, tommy always manages to swoop in first because he's doesn't want buck to take the emotional hit unless it's unavoidable.
years later, when their kid's grown up and has their own clothes and sense of style, buck's going to go into the attic to get the christmas decorations down and find boxes stuffed full of all the clothing tommy said he'd donate and buck's not going to mention it, but he is going to find someone to make a quilt out of every piece and wrap it up for their kid to hand over on christmas morning.
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Emergency cleaning: Unfuck your whole house in the shortest time possible
So, your landlord/parents/home inspector/favorite movie star is dropping by, and your place is a disaster. You don’t have much time to clean it up. You’re in emergency mode. Let’s get started.
Don’t panic. Panic leads to fear, fear leads to procrastination, procrastination leads to the dark side. You can do this, but you have to stay calm.
Unlike maintenance cleaning, we’re not looking to completely unfuck one space at a time. Instead, we want to decrease the overall mess in stages, spread evenly across the whole area that we’re concerned about. If you think your home is at Level 10 filth, we want to bring the whole thing down to a Level 9, and then down from there. One really clean spot in an otherwise messy home is not going to be helpful here.
Get prepared. You’ll want to shut the computer down (or turn the modem off if you need your computer to play music). Trust me. Get your music going. Gather up trash bags, your vacuum and mop, some rags or paper towel, sponges, and other cleaning supplies. Use what you have on hand. Don’t get distracted running to the store and spending an hour browsing cleaning supplies. A multi-purpose cleaning concentrate or a jug of vinegar will be just fine.
Breaks are very important. Depending on your time constraints, work in 20/10s (20 minutes working, 10-minute break) or 45/15s. But take breaks because otherwise you’re marathoning, and marathon cleaning is no one’s friend. Keep hydrated, don’t forget to eat, and check in with yourself frequently to make sure you’re physically doing OK.
Make your bed. This will be your home base if you get overwhelmed or need somewhere clear to take a break.
Start with the garbage. Going from room to room, throw out anything that is obvious trash. Once you fill a bag, take it out. Repeat as many times as necessary.
Move on to dishes. Gather the dishes from all over your house and bring them to the kitchen. If you can, start them soaking in a sink of hot, soapy water or start loading the dishwasher. After the dishes are all in one place, spend one 20/10 getting started getting them under control.
Now it’s time for your flat surfaces. Countertops, tables, dresser tops, etc. Clear them off and wipe them down. Don’t get distracted in too much sorting and organizing. We’re in crisis mode here. There will be time to get in-depth once this is all done. The same applies to cabinets and closets. Unless you have reason to believe people will be opening closed doors, leave these alone for now.
Attack the floordrobe and shoe pile. Get your clothes either put away or in the hamper. Start a load of laundry if you need to, but keep in mind that laundry and dishes have three steps: wash, dry, and put it away, goddammit!
Get random stuff up off the floors. If something is trash-worthy, throw it away now rather than just move it around a bunch of times. Otherwise, put stuff where it belongs.
Take another 20/10 or 45/15 to catch up on more dishes, if needed.
Head into the bathroom. Pour some cleaner in the toilet bowl, fill the sink with hot water and cleaner, and either spray the tub and shower with cleaner, or fill the tub up with some hot water and add cleaner and let it soak. Put everything away that’s out and shouldn’t be, clean the mirror, counters, and toilet seat. Sweep or dry mop the floor. Wipe down the sink and tub/shower, and give the toilet bowl a scrub. Mop the floor.
Sweep and mop the kitchen floor.
Vacuum everything you can, and sweep everything you can’t.
Walk outside of your house (don’t lock yourself out, please). Walk back in and see what catches your eye first. Go and deal with that.
If you’re being inspected or your landlord is coming in for repairs, spend time on whatever area they’ll be focusing on.
Give the whole place one more once-over and pay attention to anything you’ve missed so far.
It’s an old trick, but if your place is a little funky-smelling, put a pan of water on the stove on low heat and add some citrus or cinnamon or vanilla. Don’t leave it unattended or forget about it.
Take a shower, put on something clean, and eat something.
You can do this. It’s overwhelming, yes, but it is not impossible. You just need to do it. You have a list. You have directions. You have a whole bunch of Internet strangers who have been there before and who are cheering you on. You can do this, but you need to get started.
it was so hard to choose just one but bucktommy + "You keep saying you're fine and your hands keep shaking and I need you to pick one." ❤️
Aren't these great prompts?! But yes, this is a particularly good one from the list. The hard part now is who to hurt and who to give comfort because both are so good! I'm of course tempted to give my good friend Tommy Kinard another shove into the torment nexus because Buck gets thrown in all the time but the problem there is that he never (okay very rarely!) gets comfort.
But then, as those Road to El Dorado guys say: both is good. (This did maybe skew more hurt than comfort but I think a lot of future comfort is implied.)
Buck has imagined a million scenarios where he runs into Tommy. Getting coffee or at the grocery store or at the gym. There's been dozens of times they probably should have bumped into each other at a scene, at least long enough to glimpse one another. At least long enough for Buck to get an idea if there's any coming back from everything that's happened without having to text or call with no idea what Tommy's face was doing in response.
(In the middle of the night, when he's torturing himself the worst, Buck tells himself: he picked up. Even after that awful morning, I called when I needed him and he picked up.
But it's the middle of the night so he doesn't call and then it's daylight and thoughts feel different when the sun is up.)
This, though? This isn't a scenario he's imagined. He's only here because he's delivering scarves and shawls that the knitting group has made. Since a previous member of the group went through cancer (she survived but moved to Seattle with her daughter) the group has semi regularly sent items to help with the cold sensitivity that many chemo patients experience.
Usually he drops them off and the nurses distribute them but today he's prompted to go offer them because they'd run out from the last batch Buck brought. (And they know he always pre washes everything in gentle detergent and can be trusted not to make anyone sicker.)
And there he is, head back, eyes closed, sitting in one of those recliners with an IV next to him slowly sending chemicals into his body.
Buck can't move. He's not even sure he's breathing. The N95 he's wearing to come in and hand out knitted items isn't having to do any work at all right now.
It can't be Tommy. It can't be.
The guy's got a bandana on, sitting too low on his eyebrows like it's slipped down. He's wearing a mask, too. It should be impossible to tell it's Tommy.
And it's not Tommy. Because Tommy's fine. Tommy's healthy. Tommy's probably flying right this minute and-
Tommy opens his eyes and looks around. Buck realizes he's been staring, realizes his staring is probably exactly why Tommy's opened his eyes, feeling the weight of it, and then before he can think of anything to do to hide… Tommy is looking right at him.
“Evan?”
Buck could try to run, could try to pretend he's not exactly who he is. He's wearing a mask, after all! But he's also wearing an LAFD hoodie and he's got a prominent birthmark right in plain view well above the mask and…
“Tommy.”
Still holding the box full of scarves and shawls, Buck somehow manages to make his feet move and carry him closer to Tommy. “What are you…?”
Buck stops himself before he can finish asking the world's stupidest question.
Tommy’s eyes crinkle. “New hobby. I skipped coke and heroin and went right for the really hard stuff.”
Sucking in a breath like he's been punched, Buck weaves slightly on his feet. “Jesus, Tommy.”
The eye-crinkle dies quickly and Tommy points to the empty visitor's chair beside him. “Sit, Evan, before you fall. I can't catch you.”
Buck sits. He's putting the box of knitting on the little table between them when that hits him. I can't catch you.
Suddenly his breath is hitching and he can't stop.
“Hey. Hey, no, Evan. It's… please. It's okay. Don't… You don't have to-”
“D-d-don't have to wh-what? Care about you? You asshole. Why didn't you tell me?”
What Buck can see of Tommy’s face pinches closed. “Why would I? You don't need to deal with this shit.”
“You shouldn't be dealing with it alone!” Buck keeps his voice low; he's not going to disturb anyone else here. But he's pissed.
No, he's furious.
“Lots of people do this alone,” Tommy continues.
“But you shouldn't have to!”
“I don't always, okay? Sal usually comes, but-”
“You told Sal.” Buck can't say why that hurts, he just knows that it does. Sal is Tommy's friend though. It shouldn't be a surprise that he'd have his friend here instead of his…
“My captain called the union to check some things for me. Sal was the one that took the call.”
Buck drops his face into his hands, crushing his mask and jabbing the edge into the soft tissue under his eyes. “Of course,” he mutters. “Jesus, Tommy.” Thinking he'd told Sal and not him had hurt but that Tommy wouldn't have told anyone…
“I'm fine, Evan. It's just an extra precaution. The surgery went well, they just want to be sure…”
Buck scrubs over his face with his hands then settles his mask back into place. “Alright. Then tell me. Tell me everything.”
He makes Tommy go over all of it. Type, size, surgeon, prognosis. He's searching every detail for hidden devils.
“Okay. How are you getting home? Please tell me you didn't drive yourself.”
“I didn't drive myself.”
“You took an Uber, didn't you?”
“Lyft, actually.”
Buck very politely holds back a scream. “I want Sal's number.”
“Why?”
“Because I can't yell at you right now but I can yell at him. I can't believe he let you take an Uber-”
“Lyft.”
“Lyft,” Buck corrects, gritting his teeth, “to chemotherapy. Are you both this critically stupid?”
Tommy shrugs, his expression seeming to say, 'probably.’ But before Buck can add that to the ever-increasing reasons he's going to scream and scream and scream, Tommy winces and his eyes pinch with pain.
“What?” Buck says, sitting up and leaning forward.
“Just sore, Evan. One of the many benefits of this expensive little hobby I've picked up.”
“What's your pain management?”
Tommy heaves a sigh. “Can we… do this later? Or - I'll tell you what - I'll see if I can get a copy of my charts sent to you.”
His eyes are still pinched with pain and more exhaustion, too, so Buck decides to let it go.
For now.
“Tell me about you, Evan. The last two life updates I got were pretty extreme. What's going on with you lately? Has the 118 made contact with alien life yet? That's the only thing left to guess now, I think.”
“I'm fine,” Buck answers.
Tommy watches him in a silence that has never felt so awkward between them, even on that morning that went so wrong.
“Ooookay,” Tommy finally says, dragging the word out. “Well. What brings you to our fine little drug den today?”
Buck blinks. “Oh. Uh. I was bringing these.” He flaps a hand towards the box between them.
Peering at the box, Tommy leans closer before dropping back against the cushioning of the chair. “What's that?” he asks and Buck doesn't miss the wince as he settles.
“Scarves and shawls. ‘Cause…’cause people get cold with… here.”
“People do,” Tommy agrees vaguely, like it's a distant concept he only barely recalls. “And you… had spare?”
“No! We… we make them. My knitting group.”
“You made these?” Alertness and interest creeps back into Tommy's voice.
“Well, not all of them.”
“But you made some of them?”
“Just one scarf. I'm still working on accuracy over speed.”
“Show me.” Tommy's eyes are bright with interest and temporarily unpinched.
Buck digs through the box and pulls out a scarf in mottled browns and burgundies. “I made this one.” He holds it up between his hands, the scarf draped like bunting.
Tommy reaches, then lowers his hands before asking reverently, “Can I?”
Passing it over, Buck then watches as Tommy holds it close to inspect it, his big blunt fingers delicate with the thing as if afraid he might pull it apart. “It's beautiful, Evan.”
Ducking his head, Buck swallows heavily. He certainly never expected Tommy to be holding it when he made it and seeing him with it is making it hard to breathe again.
“Evan?”
He looks up to find those keen blue eyes watching him.
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine.”
“You keep saying you're fine and your hands keep shaking and I need you to pick one.”
Buck quickly drops his hands to his knees, running his palms over the denim of his jeans.
“Evan.”
Swallowing again, Buck finds himself caught in Tommy's gaze.
“F-fine. I'm not fine. I… I didn't…didn't expect to see you…”
“Oh.” It's just one syllable but it's heavy with hurt. Tommy tries to give the scarf back and when Buck doesn't take it, he drops it in the box. Or tries to, it's half hanging out and when the weight of the dangling end starts pulling the rest out, Tommy lunges to save it. He grips it, panting, and stuffs it back in the box.
“S-sorry,” he huffs, his mask shifting like a bellows as he breathes heavily. “Didn't mean to keep you. I'm sure you have better places to be.”
“What…? What's… I don't… what's happening?”
“I'm sorry, Evan. I've tried to stay out of your way. I'd leave, but…” he gestures at the IV with another wince.
“Y-yeah. You can't leave this time. So you want me to.”
Tommy doesn't respond, doesn't meet his eyes.
“Don't you ever get tired of running away?”
Now Tommy's eyes snap up to meet Evan's. “Sometimes it's running, yeah. And sometimes it's just taking yourself out of the vicinity of people who don't want you around.”
“When have I ever not wanted you around?”
Tommy's eyes blaze at him. “Aside from right now? I can think of a really, really blatant time.”
Sucking in a breath, Buck grabs his knees again, his hands shaking enough he's intensely aware of it.
“It's fine, Evan,” Tommy says and the words are so thick with exhaustion they seem to clunk out of him like bricks slipping from his grasp. “You didn't expect to have to see me today and… I'm hardly at my best, whatever that even is.”
“I didn't expect to see you here. This isn't about running into some neighbor you don't like while stuck in a check out line.”
“Then what is it, Evan?”
“It's you, Tommy. Here. Sick and alone and I didn't even…” Buck's vehemence cracks, leaving just aching sadness. “I didn't even know,” he whispers.
“I'm sorry, Evan.”
“Why didn't you tell me?” Buck asks again.
“How could I? I thought about it. I thought about it a million times. But… I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't say ‘cancer’ after you lost Bobby, couldn't…” Tommy looks away. “I couldn't risk you showing up out of some… some misplaced sense of duty.”
“‘M-misplaced sense of duty’? Is that why you think I'd want to be here? How are you so smart and so… so… How do you not understand that I care about you?”
Tommy looks at him again, his hands restless in his lap. “I know you did one time, Evan,” he says so, so gently. “And I broke that. But you don't have to pretend…”
“I'm not pretending! I never pretended anything with you! You're the only one I-”
“Gentlemen? Is everything okay over here?” A nurse lays a hand on Buck's shoulder.
“Y-yes. Sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to disturb anyone.”
“Sorry, Carol,” Tommy adds.
“Okay,” the nurse says, looking back and forth between the two of them. “Do you need anything?”
Tummy shakes his head, his eyes crinkling slightly like he's feigning a smile. “I'm good, thanks.”
“Okay.” She moves to the monitor for the infusion pump on the IV stand. “Almost done. You've got about ten minutes left.”
“Thanks, Carol.”
She moves on to another patient and silence falls awkwardly over them.
Buck breaks it with, “I'm driving you home.”
Tommy sighs. “Okay.”
With that little victory, Buck leans forward and takes the scarf he made out of the box again. “Are you cold? Do you get cold with… all this?”
When Tommy looks at him, Buck is sent reeling. He'd forgotten what it was like when Tommy looked at him with that fondness. He'd forgotten how it felt like the sun had come out after a long Pennsylvania winter.
“Please take it,” Buck whispers.
Tommy offers his hand.
As Buck distributes the shawls and scarves, he glances back to see Tommy holding the scarf in his lap, petting his fingers over it like it's a kitten.
Bucks hands shake as he carefully wraps a scarf around a woman's neck for her.
But this time they're shaking because he's got something delicate he doesn't want to mess up. Someone he'd somehow never noticed he needed to be careful with because he seemed so sturdy and strong and capable.
It's okay, though. Buck's learned a lot from knitting, after all. Like patience.
Accuracy over speed.
And… when you make a mistake, you can back up and fix it.
This is a project he refuses to frog.
Want to send me a BT prompt? My inbox is always open. AUs, prompt lists like this, or anything else! <3
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Another Bucktommy thought I had last night, because can't stop, won't stop;
You know my pervasive head canon that I won't shut up about, the one where Tommy bought an engagement ring after the hookup, because he knew that if he were ever lucky enough to see Evan again and get yet another chance, he'd make it count? He wouldn't let Evan go?
Well, we all know how their next meeting ended up going...
But let's say that now, almost a year and a half later, Tommy is dating again. He has a boyfriend, and he's nice, but they've only been together for a few months and it's still pretty casual. Tommy knows Matt isn't the one, but that's fine. He's pretty sure they're on the same page..
...until the day that Matt comes across the engagement ring hidden in Tommy's sock drawer. He makes what seems like the most logical conclusion at the time, and calls Tommy in a hurry, voice full of excitement, letting him know that yes, he would absolutely love to marry him.
And Tommy...Tommy is too damn stunned to correct him. He never wanted to hurt Matt, and Matt never deserved any of this.
Now Tommy has to figure out a way to tell him that not only was the ring intended for someone else all together, someone he never truly got over, but also that he never really saw them taking that step at all.
And to make everything worse, the grapevine and all its gossip finds Buck, letting him know of Tommy's "engagement."
”I forgot why I came over here. Maybe if I go back,” he muttered to himself and went back to where he came from. Where did he come from? Maybe the locker room. He patted his pockets, but there was nothing weird in them and they weren't empty.
He was breathing weird.
Fresh air. He should go outside and get some air.
He turned on his heel and went further into the building, toward the stairs.
He pushed the door to the roof open and stumbled toward the edge. It was too hot to stand around in the sun, in the dark fabric of his uniform. The sun was bright and blinding. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, but he couldn't see the screen. He fumbled the brightness up.
He found his thread with Tommy and sent off a,
congratulations
It felt like the right thing to do. All this time, he'd thought it was open ended. That there was still a possibility there.
The door was closed now. Tommy was marrying someone else.
Tommy found someone else.
Buck felt stupid more than anything. Why did he think it would work out? How childish it was to think Tommy was waiting. Why would he? Tommy had given him a chance to start over and he'd fucked it up in less than twelve hours.
Why would anyone wait around for someone like that? It wasn't like all those stupid movies Tommy was always quoting. Things didn't miraculously work out, just because you wanted it enough. There was no such thing as being meant to be.
His phone went off in his hand. He unlocked the screen. There was no new message, but Tommy had reacted to his message with a thumbs up.
Buck's hands went cold. Tommy had never reacted to a message ever – let alone with a thumbs up.
Buck called him.
”Evan – ”
”Are you OK?”
”What?”
”Is this a hostage situation? Or DV?”
” … I'm not sure I understand?”
”You reacted with a thumbs up.”
Tommy sighed. ”Evan, it's … I'm fine.”
”Do you even know where the thumbs up emoji is in the menu? You have never sent me an emoji that made sense, in any context, ever. What's going on?”
Tommy was quiet in a deeply ominous way.
”Can we meet? I can't have a fucking– A papertrail.”
Buck's eyebrows attempted to escape his face. If Tommy's paranoia had kicked in, something was deeply, deeply wrong.
”I'm four hours into my shift. And so are you.”
Tommy sighed again. ”Obviously, it can't be right now. And we can't be seen together, so I can't come meet you.”
”Hold on, hold on – we can't be seen together? Tommy, what the fuck.” Tommy made a small, distressed sound that did nothing to soothe either one of them. ”Tommy. My heart is about to fall out of my ass, I need you to tell me you're safe.”
”I am safe. It's just,” he took a breath. ”I don't know how to get out of this.”
”Get out of what? Your engagement?”
”My situation.”
”Can I be seen at Harbor?”
”What? Why?”
”If I burst into tears, I'm pretty sure Chim will send me home, so he doesn't have to fix it. Can I come to you?”
”Fuck. Shit. Let me get back to you. Gimme, like, ten minutes.”
The phone went silent in his hand. Ten minutes. He could have so many panic attacks in ten minutes. His heart was racing, his fingers were tingling. Buck put the phone in his pocket and shook out his hands. Ten minutes.
It was more like five, when his phone rang. ”Oh, thank fuck.” He held the device to his ear, ”Tommy?”
”Remember that gastropub we went to? It was a converted warehouse.”
”The one the fire marshal shut down? What about it?”
”Meet me there? I've got an hour.”
*
Buck thundered down the stairs, slamming every door on the way. Everyone eyed him as he came into the loft.
”It's OK, I'm OK.” He looked at the kitchen. ”C-shift covered groceries, right? You think they bought flour?”
Chimney came up to him. ”Buck. Hey. Hey. Buck. Hi. Listen, how about you take the day off?”
”Why would I do that?” he sniffled and wiped at his eyes. It was sweat, but Chimney didn't need to know that.
Chimney straightened up and put his hands on his hips. ”Firefighter Buckley, I think it's best if I send you home.”
”Chim – ”
He held up his hand. ”Take the day off, do something nice for yourself. Please.”
Buck pushed out his bottom lip and hunched his shoulders. ”M-maybe that would be best. If you're sure?”
”Get out of here, Buck, we've got it.”
He rubbed his eyes a final time. ”Thank you.” He didn't run, but it was a near thing. He changed out of his uniform and packed his bag as fast as he could, and made his way to the warehouse.
He hardly recognised it, when he made it to the address. He spotted Tommy's truck and pulled up behind it. Everything was burnt down.
”Oh, wow. When did that happen?” he asked, as he tumbled out of his car.
”Two weeks ago.”
”You look like shit.”
”So do you.” Tommy huffed. ”No, you don't, you look great. Thanks for meeting me.”
”What's going on?” Buck asked.
Tommy opened and closed his mouth. He'd looked more cheerful when he'd broken up with Buck. ”I, uhm,” he swallowed. ”I think I just realised you have to know, in order to help.”
Buck could do this. He could help with whatever situation this was. He could be encouraging. He could.
”Whatever it is, I won't judge you.”
Tommy nodded. ”I think you should.”
”Right. OK. I will judge you a proportionate amount. Whatever you need.”
”Fuck,” Tommy muttered and ran his fingers through his hair. It was already standing up, so he must've done it a few times already. ”I'm engaged.”
”Alright. And?”
”I didn't propose.”
Buck paused his encouraging nods to frown. ”Right, OK, so your fiancé did.”
”He also did not propose.”
”I'm pretty sure someone needs to propose.”
Tommy laughed, ”You'd think so.”
”What happened?”
”He found a ring in my dresser. A ring I bought for you.”
Buck was pretty sure his heart stopped. He definitely stopped breathing. Tommy bought him a ring. When the fuck did Tommy buy him a ring? ”He thought it was for him.”
”And I didn't correct him.”
”Of course you didn't.” Tommy made a face, but didn't dispute it. ”How long ago was this?”
”Three weeks.”
Buck took a deep breath. ”That's not great.”
”I've had heart palpitations for three weeks.”
Buck's ears were ringing a little bit, but it was a pretty straight forward problem, even if his emotional involvement made it a hell of a lot more complicated. ”How can I help?”
”I don't know,” Tommy sighed and bent over, clutching his knees. Tommy was not this animated, unless sports were involved. It was stressful as hell.
”I need more information. Why can't we be seen together?”
”I don't know, I'm panicking.”
”I can see that. Fuck. We're supposed to be good in a crisis. What if we … What if you tell him you changed your mind? How long have you been together?”
”Uh. Two months? Three?”
”That is … That is very fast. Which could work in your favour! Tell him you thought you wanted it, but now that you're doing it, it's too fast.”
Tommy checked his watch and stood back up. ”Talking to him is the issue. He's excited.”
”Tommy. You cannot marry someone because they want to.”
”I met his parents over Zoom.”
Buck had a feeling they were only scraping the surface. ”You told him yours were dead, didn't you?”
”Obviously.”
Buck sighed, but he couldn't fault Tommy for that. ”If your dad ever steps foot in this fucking town, I'm killing him, so he might as well be.”
”Thanks.”
”You need to head back?” Buck asked, after Tommy checked his watch again.
”I was only granted time enough for a personal errand.”
”I've got the day off, so I've got time. Listen, I'll think of something. Worst case scenario, I speak to him myself, yeah?”
”I don't want that.”
”Neither do I, but it's an option. What's his name?”
”Matthew.”
Buck shivered. ”Ew.”
Tommy laughed, a little hysterical. ”You know nothing about him.”
”I don't need to know him to hate him. Get back to Harbor, I'll figure something out. I'll call you, so maybe change my name in your phone.”
”Already did.”
”What did you change– No. No, I don't need to know. Go.”
*
Buck went home. He did two circuits with the gym equipment in his backyard, but it did little to change anything. His heart was still racing, his ears were still ringing.
He was trying to keep his own feelings at bay, to help Tommy, but it was really fucking hard. So far, his only suggestion for a solution, was come over.
As it closed in on Tommy getting off work, Buck still didn't know what to do. He felt bad having offered a solution and then not coming up with anything. The only thing he had left to offer, was his support. He pulled up a map on his phone and started looking for places they could meet.
*
It wasn't exactly clandestine, but hopefully Matthew wouldn't think to come looking for his fiancé at a park with a one star rating.
Tommy didn't look any better. He sunk onto the bench beside, with a heavy sigh. He still had his phone in his hand, so Buck asked,
”What did you change my name to?”
”Eva.”
”You deleted one letter?”
”And two emojis.”
”You didn't delete those before? How the fuck did Matthew think you wanted to marry him?”
”Listen, the issue is Matthew is a perfectly nice guy and I can't devastate him, like I usually do. I can't keep doing that to people. He needs to feel like walking away is the better, more preferable option.”
”Right,” Buck said mildly. He knew he was being petty, but he couldn't not ask, ”Does the ring fit?”
”No. Matt has dainty fingers.”
”Would it fit me?”
”Yes. I measured.”
”What? How? When?”
”You have butcher's twine in your kitchen. I did it while you slept.”
”I moved,” Buck said. ”I still have the twine, but it's a different kitchen. Not that that matters.”
”You got your own place? Thank fuck.”
”I cannot keep having this conversation – I was subletting. It was my house.”
”Christopher's height is etched into the doorframe.”
”Give me your phone,” he held out his hand. ”I'm calling Matthew.”
They glared at each other for a moment, before scoffing in tandem and letting it lie.
”Thank you for doing this,” Tommy said. ”You didn't have to.”
”If the ring was for me, I think I'm partially to blame.”
”No, you're not.”
Buck kicked him in the shin. ”Let me help.”
Tommy sat up straight and crossed his arms, turned slightly toward Buck.
”What if I tell him I've been cheating since the start? That we were never exclusive?”
Buck made face. ”That's pretty shitty.”
”My reputation is already shit, there's nothing to salvage.”
”Your reputation is fine.”
”Oh, I'm sure Abby only had nice things to say about me.”
Buck wrinkled his nose. ”Point taken.”
”I could kill myself.”
Buck sighed deeply. ”Killing yourself is not a solution.”
”I think it is.”
”Shut up.”
They spent a long time, coming up with increasingly more elaborate schemes. Buck was willing to do any of them, if Tommy asked, but it was becoming clear that they weren't actually looking for a solution, they were just making them up for the sake of talking.
It was closing in on dinner time, when Buck asked, ”You're gonna tell him, aren't you?”
”Yeah,” Tommy nodded. He'd been quiet for a while now. ”Yeah, I am. I just needed to freak out first.”
”Want me to come with you?”
”I do, but I don't think you should.”
Buck watched him get out his phone and text Matthew. They went back and forth a couple of times, before Tommy exhaled and put the phone in his pocket.
”When's it happening?”
”Now. I need to head out.” He checked his watch.
They hugged, before Tommy left. Buck squeezed him as hard as he could, but didn't say anything. He didn't say good luck, didn't tell him it was for the best.
*
Buck didn't know how long it took to break off an engagement. For Matthew's sake, hopefully it took a little longer, so he could get closure.
Buck spent a few agonisingly long minutes imagining what kind of man Matthew was. What kind of man found a ring after two months of dating and thought it was exciting, instead of terrifying. A very optimistic one, for sure.
Maybe it was a shitty thing to do, he couldn't tell anymore, but he sent his new address to Tommy, along with,
if you want to talk
Buck went through the motions of making and eating dinner, and texting back some of the colleagues who had attempted to check in during the day.
He was hoping, but not expecting to hear from Tommy.
Buck had suds up to his elbows, when the doorbell rang. He wiped down in a hurry, pushed things onto the drying rack, and went to answer the door.
Tommy looked about the same, but tired.
”Come in,” Buck stepped aside.
They stood in the living room for a beat. Buck with a dish towel, Tommy with his hands in his pockets.
”How did it go?”
”I have no idea,” Tommy smiled.
”Can I see it?”
Tommy pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. It didn't look special. It was just a silver band. Buck turned it over a couple of times, before the inside caught his attention.
It was engraved.
Are you free Saturday?
”You can keep it, if you want. Put it in a trinket box or something.”
”You're not proposing?”
”No,” Tommy shook his head. ”Clearly, that is not on the table for me, message received, loud and clear, never again.”
”Are you free Saturday?”
”Yeah, I thought … I thought it was sweet, I don't know.”
”No, I'm asking – are you free Saturday?”
”I am,” he said, before it dawned on him. ”Oh. Oh, you're asking.”
Buck looked at him for an extended moment. ”Now that the competition is out of the way.”
something about Toy Story toys is so strange to me. versions of animated characters based on real world toys, turned back into toys that are slightly different than the actual toys. slinky dog with a rubber spiral instead of a classic metal slinky. the porcelain bo peep and cloth woody turned into jointed plastic action figures. when toy story 4 came out and i saw a $30 talking action figure of forky, a character made out of a spork and a pipe cleaner, i stood in the walmart toy aisle staring at it like cameron from ferris bueller's day off staring at that painting in the art museum
if I see one more "why age verification is bad" post that doesn't even bother to mention that locking young people out of huge sections of the public sphere - literally the stated goal and primary impact of this shit - is wrong in and of itself I will simply start hitting people with bricks
yes yes biometric data privacy blah blah adults can hypothetically by harmed by this too. what about the immediate and deliberate and not at all hypothetical harm to youth. why are you acting like a potential data leak about what your face looks like, which if it ever happened would at least be generally recognised as a problem, is a more serious issue than cutting millions of people off from information and community and public expression which is happening right now in the open with large scale support
it's got the stench of fucking "banned books week" on it. thousands of adults congratulating themselves for reading books literally no one is trying to stop them from reading while doing nothing to improve access for the young people who are the ones actually having those books made off-limits to them.
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