#yea whatever

“What the hell were you thinking out there, Evan? You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was sharp, biting, and filled with something Buck couldn’t quite name.

Buck whispered "Evan," leaned against the counter, arms crossed, jaw tight. “I did what I had to do. It’s my job.”

“Your job isn’t to play hero and put yourself in danger for no reason!” Tommy’s hands were clenched at his sides, his usual composure fraying at the edges.

Buck’s laugh was bitter, his eyes narrowing. “Why would you care, huh? You walked away, remember? You have no fucking right to come here and yell at me, FOR. DOING. MY. JOB!”

The words hit Tommy like a slap, and before he could think, he closed the distance between them in two long strides. His hands grabbed Buck’s shirt, yanking him forward, and then his lips crashed into Buck’s with a force that left them both breathless.

The kiss was desperate, almost feral, months of anger, longing, and guilt pouring out in a frantic need to touch, to feel, to claim. Buck gasped against Tommy’s mouth, but his hands gripped his shoulders just as tightly, pulling him closer, matching his intensity.