#migranes

They were apart for a whole year. 

Sure they kept in touch here and there, especially after he showed up— like he always does— to help with everything from the lab explosion. But nothing more than just casual. In that year Buck worried constantly— between every batch of cookies, and while he fed his sourdough starter— about Tommy’s migraines. 

Was he back to ruining his liver with Advil instead of the Tylenol Buck insisted he take in its place. Was he drinking enough water? Was he using a cold or hot compress to ease the pain? Was he using them correctly? 

His phone rings one night. It’s late. Late enough when he sees Tommy’s number he gets a sick feeling in his stomach as he answers it. “T- Tommy? What’s wrong? Are you—”

“I’m so sorry. I know it’s late,” Tommy says, and his voice sounds pained. Buck recognizes it immediately. 

“I’m on my way,” he says before Tommy can even ask. 

He finds the spare key under the decorative rock and lets himself in. He finds Tommy curled up on his bed. He finds it incredibly difficult to not climb onto the bed with him, to wrap his arms around Tommy’s body, to kiss across his forehead… 

So he doesn’t fight the urge, and Tommy doesn’t fight the gesture. The next morning Buck does fight the fear of finally just saying what he’s been meaning to say the past year. I miss you. I want you. I love you! Tommy in return fights the flight response— partially, Buck assumes, because they are in Tommy’s house… but he also has to believe Tommy is just as exhausted from this dance around each other and their feelings as he is— and tearfully reciprocates it all. 

They wind up back in Tommy’s bed. He’s still riding the dreaded last waves of the migraine, so he takes his Tylenol… and he drinks his water… and requests his forehead kisses before finally letting himself start to fall asleep. Buck holds him tightly, and he hates that Tommy has migraines… but in that moment— for just a moment— he is a little thankful for them too. 

~~~~~

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