IT IS CHIVALRIC TO KISS ONE'S BROS

"i wouldn't say there were too many crows feet," buck says, and then slaps a hand over his mouth. whoops.

"which way did he go?"

buck hesitates and then points in the right direction, never looking away from her. she clocks his hesitation and frowns at him, shaking her head. "he always gets the pretty faces," she sighs, spinning on her heels and heading the wrong way. "kinard! get back here! it's just a tetanus booster! don't be a baby!"

kinard pops out from the opposite door and grins sheepishly at buck. "i have a thing about needles," he says, conspiratorially. "tommy."

"evan buckley," buck says. it's a reflex; all the doctors have been calling him evan the entire time he's been in the hospital. he's about to correct tommy when tommy says "nice to meet you, evan," and the sound curls around buck's shoulders and settles on them like the warmest blanket he's ever had.

"how did you know to do that? give lucy the wrong directions?" tommy continues.

"i have a sister who never trusted me," buck tells him, laughing. "what did lucy mean about the pretty faces?"

"that you have one. probably," kinard says, and throws him another wink before ducking out the door and down the hall.

weird. buck's still baffled when his surgeon comes in to see him. he gets the all clear to go home, and then buck asks about the lafd blood drive poster on the wall. "mr. buckley — sorry, buck — i spent a great deal of time trying to keep your blood inside your body. let's hold off on donating until the cast comes off and you're done your rehab, okay?"

ali's waiting to take him home. he's expecting the wheelchair to leave, but he's not expecting how awkward it is to get into the Jeep. he has to crank the passenger seat all the way back to get his leg in, and the crutches are. well. he's glad he spent two of the six weeks the cast has to be on in the hospital.

getting from the car through the parking garage to the elevator and down the hall into his loft is better left unsaid. he's not sure that it would be much easier in abby's apartment — but he already knows how to rearrange that apartment to accommodate medical equipment.

ali gets him settled on the couch and sits down beside him and — yep, there's the other shoe. he's been tatiana'ed. (not that he would ever say that to chim's face. but it sucks to be broken up with because you're injured.)

he can't exactly blame her. he remembers what it felt like to be trapped there and he kind of wants to divorce his own body. he waves her off and tells her to let him know that she landed in new york okay; at least she was never supposed to stay long today, and because she was going back to the east coast he has a little time to figure out how to tell maddie and the others.

buck eyes the loft longingly. he just wants to lie down. and he has to get used to the crutches and the stairs! now's as good a time as any to try it out.

he gets three steps up, almost overbalances, and sits down on the stairs. shit. is he going to have to sleep on the couch for a few months?

"yo, buck! you get settled all right? maddie's coming over after her shift, remember? hey, it's buck! come say hi!" the sounds of the firehouse filter in as chim puts buck on speaker and he smiles, leaning against the bannister. god, he misses them.

"hey chim, yeah, i remember. all settled. i was actually calling for some of that rosetta stone knowledge of yours. you got a number for a firefighter named kinard?"

"tommy, yeah, he helped out at doheny — why?"

"ran into him at the hospital."

"he wasn't hurt, was he?"

"no, no, just visiting."

"ah, blood drive," hen cuts in, laughing.

"tetanus, actually," buck interrupts, and he can hear the wince. they've all needed a booster because of the job before.

"sure, i can text it to you. …wait, why'd you call it the rosetta stone, buck?"

"cause you're the oldest firefighter i know, chim, i figure you gotta translate it from the hieroglyphs you wrote it in," buck says, after his phone has chimed with a message. "gotta go, bye!"

"buckley!"

buck debates what he's about to do for about thirty seconds before he taps on the contact number chim had texted him.

"go for kinard."

"did lucy catch you?"

"who — oh, evan? how did you get this number?"

"lafd phone tree," buck says, grinning. "you didn't look like you were on shift earlier."

"funny, i don't remember signing up for that… anyway, what can i do for you?"

"remember how you owe me a favour?"

"lucy did catch me, so i'm not sure how much of a favour you actually did me…" tommy teases.

"hey, don't blame me for the fact that you didn't run fast enough. i'm gonna send you an address, i need you and any other big strong firefighters you know to come over asap and pay up on that favour."

"if this is a bachelorette party, i have to let you know that we actually do need to be paid for that."

buck bursts out laughing and shakes his head even though tommy can't see him. "careful, or i'm telling the phone tree you're moonlighting and they're all going to book you."

"okay, hmm. give me a few minutes to round everyone up and we'll be there in about half an hour."

"wait, for real?"

"yeah, unless you're just yanking my chain."

"no, i — no, i really appreciate it. text when you get here, i'll walk you through the keypad."

tommy's time keeping is accurate. he knocks on buck's door twenty seven minutes later (not that buck has been keeping track) and buck hobbles from his card table to the front door and balances on one crutch as he opens the door. "thanks for coming," he says, hopping backwards to let tommy in. the other firefighter from the hospital (who must be lucy) follows him in and gives buck a seriously judgmental eyebrow, and then another guy a few inches shorter than tommy but with shoulders that wouldn't look out of place on a linebacker trails in after. "who got robbed?" the second guy asks, looking around. "should have called the cops, not the fire department."

lucy swats him upside the head and rolls her eyes. "shut up, sal. what are we doing here, tommy?"

"i don't know, you'd have to ask evan." tommy grins faintly.

"asking the consummate liar, good idea," lucy volleys back.

"i told you where he was, it's not my fault you didn't listen," buck argues. "i need help getting my bed from up there—" he points to the loft "—to down here."

"no wonder you called the fire department," sal snorts, bounding up the stairs. "you signed on this place after you wrecked your leg? did you hit your head too?"

"i signed the lease three weeks before the cast, actually," buck snips back.

lucy and tommy wince, and lucy heads up after sal. "tommy, move the couch out further so we can dump this mattress over the edge," lucy calls, peering over the railing. "not much here for having lived here almost a month, kid."

buck shrugs. "i was at work."

tommy grins at him as he muscles the couch out from the alcove, eyeing the entertainment system. "give me a sec to move the tv," he calls up, and buck hobbles forward. "i can help."

"absolutely not," all three of them interject, and tommy points back to the table. "sit down, evan. we've got this."

"so how did you—" sal leans over the railing and nods towards buck's leg.

"shark attack," buck jokes, and sal grins at him.

"yeah, that was rude. working on it."

tommy, lucy and sal have obviously been friends for awhile; they have their own shorthand and while buck winces a little when they flip his mattress over the railing, the couch does muffle the sound and there's no yelling from his downstairs neighbour. sal and tommy move the couch into the kitchen beside his table, and then lucy skips down the stairs with his pillows and blanket and one of the side table lamps and claims a seat beside him as tommy and sal muscle the frame down the stairs. sal swears a lot, but buck has a feeling that he's still holding back. he's a little distracted by the way tommy's shirt shifts against the top of his jeans.

"so who gave you tommy's number?"

"chimney."

"chim - who?"

"howie," tommy calls from the living room. "sal, lift the corner, jesus."

"i throw my back out, i'm sending gina after you," sal grumbles as they resettle the mattress.

"to what, sue me?"

"for lost earnings and emotional distress," sal agrees. "donato! bedding!"

"you're not my real captain," lucy calls back, leaving the lamp with buck as she takes the rest over. "and we gotta get that couch upstairs."

"you don't have to do that."

"sure, if you're not getting a real table in here," lucy argues, looking at the kitchen.

"there's going to be an island," buck tells her, bristling a little.

she laughs at him and nods. "so we'll get it out of the way," she promises, ruffling sal and tommy's hair as she passes them. "and you can order some food."

"please, i have a date," sal disagrees. "i'll take a favour to be named later."

"not a sports game, sal," tommy shakes his head, smiling in buck's direction.

"oh, me too," lucy decides, pretending to lift the couch and then shaking her head, leaving it to the boys. "give me a ride home, sal?"

"i'll drop you in the middle of downtown and you'll like it," sal calls from the loft, laughing. the doorbell rings and lucy gets up, retrieving the pizza boxes and bag of drinks before buck can even put a crutch under his arm.

"don't worry, tommy will eat your pizza," she promises, leering playfully at buck.

"oh geez, luce, be nice," tommy says, throwing lucy a glare. "thanks, you two. i owe you. now get outta here."

"you both owe us, shark boy, and i aim to collect," lucy says, pointing at buck. "thanks for the adventure, tommy. see you at work friday."

"adventure, sure," sal snorts, nodding towards buck. "call us when you get that off and need everything back the way it was."

tommy folds himself into one of the chairs and takes a slice of pizza, looking over at buck. "so how do you know howie?"

"he's sort of dating my sister," buck says, because eventually the bombing is going to come out but none of them have looked at him like he's broken today and he likes that. the 118 keeps looking at him like they should have done something to make sure he never got hurt in the first place, and it's not like it was their fault in the first place. plus it has the added benefit of being true, when tommy does find out the truth later. hard to be mad about that.

"handy," tommy laughs, offering him one of the coke bottles. "this was fun."

"really? didn't look fun," buck says, laughing too. "at least not for sal, he sure swore a lot for having fun."

"wait until you watch hockey with the guy," tommy grins.

"lucy seems… like she was teasing us?" buck continues. he hasn't done a lot today, but he's suddenly starving and already reaching for a second slice. tommy nudges the box closer to him.

"she's terminally sarcastic," tommy offers. "you probably picked up on that."

"probably," buck agrees. "so. what do you normally do on your days off when you're not moving around furniture for a guy you hardly know?"

buck finds out that tommy flies, and he starts asking as many questions as he can in between bites of food. he's always thought that there was something romantic about flying (hence the hot air balloon), and the way that tommy talks about it, he's pretty sure he's right. he loses track of time and it's a shock when the front door opens and maddie sticks her head in.

"hey, buck, sorry i'm late — oh! hi. maddie buckley."

"tommy kinard," tommy says, wiping his hand off before offering it to her. "sorry for intruding."

"any friend of buck's is a friend of mine," maddie says. tommy looks over at buck and mouths 'buck?' when maddie's back is turned and buck shrugs. he probably should have clarified by now. "buck, your place got a makeover."

"yeah, turns out trying to do the stairs on a broken leg isn't all that advisable," buck shrugs, preening when it makes both of them laugh. "i called some friends."

"and we'll come back when everything needs to be put back where it belongs," tommy promises, carefully standing up. buck keeps his eyes politely focused on the corner of tommy's chin. definitely not his stomach. or his thighs. "i should get going before i overstay my welcome."

no chance of that happening, buck thinks but doesn't say out loud. "thanks again for your help, tommy."

"yeah, any time." tommy salutes them both, smiling faintly. "give me a call after that gets off, and i'll take you up if you want to go for a spin."

buck waves, ignoring maddie's look when she claims the empty seat and takes a slice of pizza. "take you up?" she questions, once the door is closed behind tommy.

"he's a pilot. firefighter pilot," buck clarifies.

"impressive." maddie's eyes sparkle as she grins at him, but she doesn't tease him any more. yet. "glad your first day back went okay."

They're about evenly paced, with wildly different personalities.

Tommy and Evan are in similar living situations. Evan is at the frat house, Tommy is at a vet house. Not an official one, but one that's known in certain circles. A guy from his unit hooked him up.

They're an odd pair, which is something that's commented on a lot. Evan is drawn to the younger recruits, Tommy is drawn to the older ones. Evan talks constantly, Tommy doesn't talk at all.

Every weekend Tommy has to remind himself it's a weekend and not leave. He needs to be able to function come Monday, but it's harder than it sounds. Hangovers are far from the worst thing to work around. He pukes between drills, but it's fine, his body is a machine. At least there's no sand here. Anakin Skywalker was onto something. Tommy has always hated the beach.

Toward the end of the Academy, when the captains start hanging around, Evan gets a lot of attention. He's been breaking records left and right, and clearly has what it takes. Skill wise, Tommy is about the same, but he doesn't push himself the way Evan does. Tommy is used to the power structure, and doing things he doesn't want to do. He's the kind of obedient that's sought after.

The 118 are still short-staffed after cleaning the house post Captain Gerrard, so both Evan Overachiever Buckley and Thomas Torment Nexus Kinard go to the 118. Evan on A-shift, Tommy on C-shift.

The friendship would have fizzled out, if Evan was capable of taking a hint. Everyone calls him Buck, but Tommy still calls him Buckley. Evan assures him it's OK, he doesn't have to do that anymore, but Tommy just blinks at him. He calls everyone by their last names, it's efficient. Evan thinks Tommy is the funniest person in the world. Tommy doesn't get that either.

Captain Nash manages to take Evan down several notches. Tommy gets a handle on the alcohol consumption. The probationary period changes both of them, in various different ways. They manage to meet up about once a week. Evan has a new existential crisis every week. He tells Tommy he's a great listener. Tommy isn't so sure about that.

They're each other's emergency contact. The first time Evan lands in the hospital, Tommy is in the visitor seat. Same thing happens when it's Tommy's turn. Tommy hates the frat house. Evan hates the vet house. They make a deal to find a place together, if they make it through their probationary period.

They're there for each other, through the losses and the setbacks.

Tommy never tells Evan not to do something, all Tommy does is stick around. When something inevitably goes wrong, Tommy is there. It doesn't feel like anything, doesn't take any effort. To Evan it's everything.

Tommy thought he had a handle on things, but the longer he's been out, the more feelings come to the surface. He lashes out. Evan never tells him not to. Sometimes he just listens, other times he finds something for them to do; something destructive or something that tires them out. Evan reminds Tommy that he's a person. It doesn't feel like anything, it doesn't take effort at all. Tommy is pretty sure he would have done something drastic, if he didn't have Evan.

They pin each other's shields and find a house together. The place barely has running water, but Evan's credit is shit and Tommy has lived in a tent. It's perfect. Evan has the confidence of a man in his twenties, and Tommy is all too happy to sit back and see what happens.

It will take them the better part of a decade to get the house in order, but neither one of them is in a hurry. Neither one of them are in contact with their families. Evan hooks up on the regular, but he never brings them to the house. Tommy doesn't date or hookup, so there is no one to bring around. The state of the house doesn't matter, as long as the two of them are comfortable.

They sleep in the same bed from the moment they move in. At first, the living room is the only room that's suitable to be in, so they get a mattress to share. With their shift work, they get the bed to themselves often enough. When one of the bedrooms is good enough to sleep in, they move the mattress in there. By the time the second bedroom is good to go, it feels weird to get a second mattress. Evan is the one who's most reluctant to get one.

One night in bed, Tommy tells him he's gay. In the privacy of his own head, he can admit he does it to scare Evan off, and make him get that second mattress. It doesn't work. Evan looks at him softly and asks about it. Tommy has never told another living soul about any of it. He can't remember a time where he didn't know he was into men. Evan, curious as ever, ask what it's like, asks what Tommy's attraction looks like. Tommy gives him a rambling reply, that's halfway poetic, halfway nonsensical.

Evan has a private moment of his own. He recognises it. What Tommy describes, Evan recognises it in himself. But this is Tommy's moment, so he doesn't share it.

The next day, he buys a second mattress.

Tommy is confused about it. And confused about his own confusion. He wanted Evan to have his own bed and now he does. They get through a week of weird tension, that they can't work on because they're not home at the same time. When they finally have twenty-four hours together, Evan admits he slept in Tommy's bed, because he couldn't fall asleep in his own. Tommy did the same, but he struggles to admit it. Instead, he shrugs and tells Evan to come back, if he sleeps better.

That night, Evan spoons him like he's done a million times before, except this time, he wiggles under Tommy's blankets to do it. Tommy goes rigid, like Evan figured he would. Evan tucks his face between Tommy's shoulderblades and goes to sleep.

In the morning, Tommy extricates himself from the tangle of Evan's limbs, to get ready for work. He freezes in the door of the bedroom, when Evan calls after him. ”Come home to me.” Tommy doesn't turn around, doesn't say anything. He gets ready and heads to the station. In his car, it spins around and around in his head. It was a silly thing to say, because the next time they see each other won't be at home, but when A-shift takes over from C-shift.

It's been an easy shift, so when Evan pulls into the lot, Tommy is ready to leave. Tommy stands around, semi awkwardly, duffel over his shoulder. He's freshly showered and everything. The shift was that boring. Evan walks up to him with his own duffel, smiling and nervous as all hell. He's putting on a cocky face, but Tommy has known that face for years, knows it like the back of his hand.

He's had twenty-four hours to come up with a line, but he's got nothing. They stand around for a second, just looking at each other. ”Stay safe,” is what tumbles out of Tommy's mouth. The brave smile on Evan's face falls away. He swallows audibly. ”I will.” They linger for a moment longer, not touching, not saying anything.

Tommy heads home and deep cleans the house instead of sleeping. Evan walks face first into a streetlight on shift and dreads having to explain why he did that.

They're both wild around the eyes – and bruised, in Evan's case – when Evan comes home. Tommy smells like vinegar. Evan smells like sweat.

”What part of stay safe did you not understand?”

Sheepish, Evan gestures wildly and says, ”Apparently I can't do that and think about you at the same time.”

They're standing infront of each other, in the house they're quite literally building together, both thinking, if this blows up in my face, I have nowhere to go.

Evan moves first, because it has to be Evan. They both know it has to be. It doesn't matter how much Tommy wants something, he won't take it. He touches Tommy's face, with a reverence he's never felt before. When Tommy fucked up his wrist, Evan helped him shave, and he was careful, but not like this. No, this is much more dangerous than razors against arteries, because Tommy looks scared. In all the time they've known each other, Evan has never seen him scared. Tommy's hands hover somewhere in the vicinity of Evan's lower back. He can almost feel the heat transfer, from those big, capable hands.

Tommy closes his eyes before Evan kisses him. Evan looks at him and keeps looking at him, as he presses his lips to Tommy's mouth. Tommy's hands are shaking, when Evan feels them on his body. He closes his eyes and presses forward, fingers cradling Tommy's face. He moans, because it feels good. Tommy is warm and solid and right here; still scared out of his mind, but he's here.

Something shifts and suddenly Evan is being held like he's never been held before. Tommy's arms go tight around his ribs, they're pressed together from their heads to their knees, trying not to step on each other's feet. A breathless ”Evan” is exhaled between them and Evan suddenly feels like he's about to cry. He's scared, too, but underneath it all, Tommy has been the only constant in his life, the only person who sees him as he is and has made no efforts to change him. Hasn't sneered or rolled his eyes or laughed or given him the silent treatment. And OK, Tommy has called him stupid, but only when it was warrented and he didn't leave afterwards.

”I like you so much,” Evan says, because he can't not say it. ”You're so important to me.”

Neither one of them are good at talking, so Tommy nods and says, ”Me, too.”

All the walls in their house are different colours, because they can't agree on anything. Neither of the beds have bedframes, which is bad for both them and the mattresses, but they flip them as often as they remember. Evan is getting pretty good at cooking and writes a meal plan every week, and sticks it on the fridge. The backyard looks like a scrap heap and there's suspiciously fat looking cat living in it, that they've been trying to get inside for weeks. Tommy makes sure Evan's Jeep keeps running, and calls anyone who wrongs Evan an asshole, whether it's warrented or not. Evan has been looking into therapy resources for vets, and Tommy loves him more than he's ever loved anything, even if he can't say it.

”I mean it, Tommy, I do.”

”I know,” Tommy says and kisses him again. ”I know you do,” because being heard, being believed is what matters to Evan. Evan doesn't tell him things he doesn't mean, even when they fight. Sometimes the words come out in the wrong order, but Tommy stays until he gets them right, and no one has ever done that before.

They need to talk, really talk. They both want to – and they will – but Tommy pulls on him, and stumbles backwards, toward the bedroom.

”I haven't–” Evan says, as if Tommy doesn't already know.

3. “Have you considered,” Chimney said, head tipped back and eyes closed as the engine crept through afternoon traffic, “that there is perhaps another weirdo in this vast city we call home who also has an aversion to buying a car made this century?”

“His truck is from 1998,” Buck said, turning his phone around in his hands. The only reason no one had tried to take it from him was because Eddie, a victim of the call involving college students and a comically unwise amount of jello shots, was sitting next to him in a shirt covered in vomit. The smell was keeping everyone at bay.

Chim cracked open an eye. “That's nearly thirty years ago.”

“And not the takeaway,” Hen added.

“He hates new trucks,” Buck said, which was probably also not the takeaway, judging by the side eye Hen shot him. “He thinks they're vanity projects for men insecure in their masculinity.”

“He liked mine. He even did a tune up on it.” Eddie pinched his shirt between finger and thumb and held it away from his body. Two different students had vomited on him in under a minute. “How do we not have a spare shirt in the kit?”

“He didn't like your truck," Buck said, absently. “He almost didn't take you to Vegas when you pulled up in it.”

“I should have taken you instead," Tommy had said as he finished checking the Jeep’s fluids. He closed the hood and gave it an affectionate pat. “You keep her in good shape.”

Buck had no choice but to shove Tommy against the hood and climb him like a tree.

“Well, now I'm glad none of us hang out with him anymore,” Eddie said.

“We're here,” Bobby said loudly before Buck could do more than furrow his brow. “Eddie, go shower and get changed. Everyone else, let's make sure we're ready for another call and then go grab something to eat.”

Buck ran through the equipment checklist with Ravi, who headed upstairs to get lunch. Before he could follow, Bobby waved him over to the front of the bay and said, "How are you doing, kid?"

Buck briefly considered playing dumb and giving a run down on the check he just performed, but he was a long way out from being twenty-six and Bobby wouldn't have let him get away with it back then, either.

“Is this about the truck?" Buck said, fumbling his phone back out of the pocket. “Because I took a picture yesterday, and you can see most of the license plate.”

It had been late afternoon and Buck was on his way back from possibly the most depressing hang he and Eddie ever had: Eddie missing his son and Buck missing his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Then in the late afternoon light, there was the truck,driving slowly past his building. Buck had taken a quick picture and then took off down the sidewalk, trying to wave Tommy down. Tommy must have seen him because he sped up and ran a yellow light and was gone.

Buck had the text thread open all night, but Tommy never bubbled. Maybe he’d gotten it wrong.

“You're having a hard time with this breakup,” Bobby said after a long, thoughtful look. “You weren't like this over Taylor.”

“It was pretty clear by the end that Taylor and I wanted different things. It was different with Tommy.” He sniffed, miserable. “I saw something there. I thought we were making it together.”

“Oh, kid,” Bobby said like Buck was breaking his heart. “Come here.”

It’d been some time since he had a Bobby hug, but it was as warm and loving as always. Maybe he didn’t get to have someone, not like how Bobby had Athena and how Maddie had Chim, how he thought he had Tommy, but he still got this: Bobby, who loved him better than a father could.

“If he’s driving by your place,” Bobby said, “maybe he saw something there, too.”

“Do you think I should call him?” he asked, hopeful.

“Come to dinner,” Bobby said, which was its own answer. “I’m making a braised short rib. The kids will be there. Bring a dessert. With the way Harry puts it away, bring several desserts. We’ll have an old fashioned family dinner.”

“I’ve been experimenting with a fruit tart,” Buck said, surreptitiously swiping at his eyes. “And a chocolate ganache.”

Bobby lovingly shook him by the back of the neck. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Always am,” Buck said, and slipped away to stow his phone in the locker. He was sick of looking at it.

4. His favorite thing about the loft, the main reason he let Ali talk him into taking it besides that it would be a nice place to have sex in, was the balcony. He never lived in a place with a real balcony before. That shoebox apartment in Poughkeepise had a little eve he could climb out on and then the slightly larger shoebox in Virginia Beach had a fire escape he snuck onto with a cold beer at night when the heat downgraded from murderous to merely oppressive.

But this was a whole balcony he outfitted with a table and chairs with deep cushions and even an ottoman he picked up at an estate sale. There was something so adult about spending a morning out on the balcony having a leisurely breakfast of his latest attempt at croissants and the cold brew he made himself, looking out over LA.

Tommy had liked the balcony and the view even if he hated the rest of the loft. He’d been very polite about it, admiring the clean modern lines. “You’re making me feel like a pack rat,” he’d joked. “Maybe I should give minimalism a shot.”

“I like your place,” Buck had protested. Tommy’s house was so perfectly him, filled with books and DVDs and old VHS tapes and weird little figurines lining the shelves. “I used to move around a lot when I was a younger. I got in the habit of not keeping a lot of stuff.” He’d studied the loft with new eyes. It was less clean and modern and more bare. “Where did you get those little wood figures? Maybe I should start a collection.”

“I’ll send you the link,” Tommy had said, but of course he hadn’t. They’d broken up and now the only personal touch was the containers of flours and the brownies cooling on a rack.

Buck finished off his cold brew and moved to the railing, arms propped on it. Down below, as if just waiting for him to notice, was Tommy’s Superman blue truck. Looked like he got the spot out front again.

He pulled out his phone and thumbed over to the text thread. The bubble appeared. The bubble disappeared. The bubble appeared.

What the hell. You only lived once.

You can come up, Buck texted, making sure to use proper punctuation because Tommy was a nerd that way.

The bubble disappeared. Tommy pulled out of spot and took off.

Well, at least he knew now.

5. Eddie dropped him off in front of the building, and said, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me? We can have an adult sleepover.”

Buck raised his eyebrows.

“Platonic!” Eddie yelped. “Adult platonic sleepover.”

“That’s worse. You sound like a—” The rest of the sentence stuck in his throat. Maddie had nearly been killed by that joke.

“Buck,” Eddie said.

“We’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours,” he said, dredging up a smile. “I’m gonna go get some sleep. You should also do that. You still have to finish packing.”

Eddie sighed, the exhaustion and Buck winning. “All right, but call me if—hell, I don’t know. Just call if you need to.”

“Sure thing,” said Buck, who was absolutely not going to do that. He shut the door and knocked twice against the window, giving the all clear, and Eddie pulled back onto the road.

Parked across the street was a Superman blue truck from 1998.

Buck broke into a run. A giant vanity truck laid on the horn because Tommy was right and every owner was an asshole. He waved a hand in apology, skidded between two terribly parked SUVs and rapped frantically on the passenger side window.

Tommy’s shoulders jerked up around his ears. The keys were in the ignition. Tommy’s grip tightened and then fell away, and he leaned over to open the door.

“You won’t text me but you’ll park outside my apartment?” Buck demanded, clambering inside. The seat was pulled up, and he had to shove it all the way back so his legs would fit.

“Hello, Evan,” Tommy said with an achingly brave little smile. “This seemed the less depressing option.”

“How?”

Tommy sighed. “It made sense in my head.” And then his gaze sharpened, and Buck was uncomfortably aware of his two day old scruff and greasy hair and the old hoodie that was desperately in need of a wash after the long day. Tommy’s voice gentled. “Hey, are you okay?”

Buck opened his mouth, the words ready to pour out in an unstoppable tragic deluge of this fucking awful day, and he knew exactly what would happen: Tommy would listen, eyebrows rising first with incredulity and then with horror, and he would walk Buck up to his apartment and make sure he got some food in him and, if Buck was extra pathetic, would sit with him until he nodded off because Tommy took care of him but never let Buck return the favor. No, that was a lie. Buck never bothered to see past the cool pilot veneer to the sweet man underneath who wanted to be taken care of. It was time for a change.

“It was a scary day,” he said, “but everything is okay now. How are you?”

There was that smile again, only sadder now. “I’m good, Evan.”

It might have worked before, but Buck was paying attention now. Tommy was tired and lonely and a little scared.

“I don’t think you are,” Buck said, being so, so careful. “Do you want to come up and tell me about it?”

Tommy’s hand was on the key. Buck waited. Please, god, please.

Tommy pulled it from the ignition and said, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They got out of the truck and went inside, together.

+1. Parking on Tommy’s street was a nightmare. Between the student house on the corner and the Thompsons’ endless dinner parties, there was never an open spot he could squeeze the Jeep into. He begun his fourth circuit when Tommy called.

“You circle the block one more time and Helen from next door is going to call the cops,” Tommy said, amused.

“Tell her it’s the Thompsons’ fault,” Buck said. “What’s the normal number of dinner parties to have a week? It can’t be five. That’s way too many.”

“I think it’s called having friends.”

“We have friends, but we don’t invite them over every night.” He paused in front of the fire hydrant. “I’m a firefighter. I’ve got special dispensation to park in front of a hydrant, right?”

“Or,” Tommy said slowly, “you can park in my driveway like a normal, not insane person.”

Buck’s throat went die and his palms began to sweat. Please don’t let him fuck this up.

“I didn’t want to trap you if you needed to get out.” He winced. “Or, uh, assume.”

“Honey,” Tommy said, slow and sweet and only mild condescending. “Park in the driveway.”

“Okay,” Buck said. “See you soon.”

He pulled in and to the side, just in case Tommy needed to make a quick escape from his own house. Tommy was waiting on the front porch, bare foot and handsome and his eyebrows raised in a bitchy little arc. Buck loved him so much.

“Don’t start,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Which of us spent months driving past where the other lived instead of just texting like a normal, not insane person?”

“And which of us almost brought back Covid flour shortages instead of texting?” Tommy shot back.

“Me,” Buck said happily.

“And me.” Tommy slid a hand along the back of his neck and reeled him into a kiss. “Come on. Dinner is almost ready.”