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↳ EVAN “BUCK” BUCKLEY & TOMMY KINARD
What are you saying?
I’m saying, “What are you doing on Saturday?”
You wanna try again?
I mean, I’m not ready to move in or anything. Kinda seems like you aren’t either.
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there are places in the world today that are experiencing 40°C for the first time in recorded history. of course there's no way to know whether chucking billionaires into volcanos will appease the sun god but i feel we're doing the scientific method a disservice if we don't at least try
Finally a hand sewing tutorial on a hemline that isn't just the ladder stitch! the ladder stitch disappears when you tighten it, but it's not meant for hemlines because it breaks really easily! The overlock stitch is more stable, so it holds much longer, and it won't pucker or warp the fabric!
Written on my lunch break based loosely on something that happened in my office waiting room this morning. Counting this as my participation in Writing Wednesday as tagged by @corporatebanana and @devirnis. If anyone else is sharing you should tag me also I love to be nosy and see things!!!!!
Tommy doesn't get many FaceTime calls. Usually it's one of Sal's daughters, using his phone to show off an achievement or an injury. Occasionally it's Lucy when she's shopping for Harbor's snack cubpard and they don't have the specific brand of pretzels he likes and she needs him to pick an alternative.
So when Tommy answers his phone on instinct while working in his garage, he's shocked when a face fills up the screen. He's even more shocked that the face belongs to a little boy, one who's brow is scrunched up in confusion.
"You're not a game," he says somewhat petulantly. And loudly, the volume making Tommy move the phone further away from his face.
"No, I am not," Tommy confirms, now squinting at the screen to try and see who's calling him. "Sorry, kid."
"Theo, please give me the phone back," a strained voice calls out from off screen. A very familiar voice, one that means this whole situation makes even less sense than it did before.
"But the lady said to play a game on my Daddy's phone while you did boring grown up stuff," the boy who is apparently Theo yells out, just as loud as before. It's the same way that Evan's voice used to rise in volume when he got excited about something. "Who's 'Daddy?'" he asks just as Evan's face enters into frame, turning a furious red at the question.
"Um," he says, refusing to look at Tommy at all. He's crouching down, some sort of desk behind him and Theo, and Tommy thinks he can hear a phone ringing in the background. "J-just let me see the phone and I'll pull up a game for you, okay?"
"No I don't wanna play a game anymore," Theo whines. He apparently still has custody of the phone, Tommy's view blurring as he shakes the phone in his little hands. "I wanna talk to funny eyebrow man."
"Well mister, uh. Tommy is probably really busy right now so—"
"I'm not busy," Tommy finds himself saying. He tells himself that he keeps the call going just out of curiosity, a burning desire to find out what in the fresh hell has been happening in his absence. Deep down, though, he knows it's because he's never been able to see an Evan Buckley in need and not jump in to help.
From somewhere to the side, Tommy hears Buck sigh deeply. "Theo you can talk to Tommy while you wait for me to fill out paperwork, but only if you use your inside voice. Deal?"
Theo nods solemnly, phone moving with his head. "Deal," he says, in what is clearly a small child's impression of a whisper.
"Theo, did you know that I fly helicopters?" Tommy asks, making sure to keep his voice quiet. Just as he suspected, Theo's face lights up in excitement as he turns to face the screen again. Next to him, Tommy can just barley catch Evan standing back up.
"Woah," Theo says, bouncing a little. His hair looks sort of like Buck's does when he first wakes up in the morning. Tommy isn't sure what to think about that.
He and Theo talk about helicopters for maybe five minutes while Buck presumably fills out paperwork behind him, and Tommy only has to suggest they both talk a little quieter one time. Just like Evan, Theo seems to lock in on things he finds fascinating, and Tommy is half way through listing out the various instruments inside a helicopter when Evan ducks back down again.
"Alright, bud, the boring stuff is over but we still have to wait a little bit before the doctor comes to grab us. They receptionist says there are some toys and books in the waiting room, if you want to go play with those?" He says it almost hopefully, like he's worried that Theo is as interested in Tommy as he used to be, and that Evan will never get his phone back.
Theo shakes his head emphatically. "Nooooo, funny eyebrow man is telling my about the click click."
"Cyclic," Tommy corrects gently. "But that was pretty close. You'll be up in the air in no time."
Buck drops his head, sighing in defeat. "You can keep talking while we wait, as long as you stay quiet and hang up when the doctor comes." Apparently, Evan has yet to learn his lesson about bargaining with a kid.
"Yay!" Theo cries, drawing out the word, and pretty soon the sound of tiny sneakers running on linoleum fills the speaker as Theo bounces over to the main waiting room. Evan offers to hold the phone while he climbs onto the seat, but Theo insists on doing it himself, and pretty soon Tommy finds himself getting interrogated once more.
He can see Evan's arm in the corner of the screen, and Tommy tries not to spend the entire call staring at where the sleeve of his shirt wraps tightly around his bicep. After several more minutes of chatting, Tommy hears Theo's name called out, and the little boy groans, slumping in his chair.
"Hey," Evan says, leaning over. "Remember what I said? We have to say goodbye now because the doctor is ready for us."
Theo's pout is on full display, something else that looks achingly familiar to Tommy. "But I don't wanna!"
"Theo you promised you would hang up when it was time to see the doctor." Evan reaches for the phone but Theo pulls it away. "What…um. M-maybe we can call Tommy again later, after the doctor?" Tommy can't see Evan's face, but he can certainly imagine it.
Curious, Theo looks between the phone and Evan. "Can we?" he asks, directing his queation to Tommy.
"Or," Tommy says. "Maybe we could see each other in person sometime. I could show you what a real helicopter looks like."
"Really?" Theo is practically vibrating out of his seat now.
"Yeah, but you have to hang up and go see the doctor first."
"Okay!" Theo agrees happily, and before Tommy can say anything else the call ends.
Tommy blinks at the dark screen for a few moments, half expecting to get a call back, but when nothing happens he sets his phone down again and tries to focus back on the oil change he had started 20 minutes ago.
An hour later, his phone dings again, this time with a text.
Did you mean it Evan had asked him.
Yes Tommy sends back immediately.
At least, I meant what I said about taking Theo to see a helicopter.
He hesitates a moment before sending one final text. Some other things I've said in the past…I might not have meant those.
Tommy has just started to bite his nails, a habit he thought he kicked decades ago, when his phone screen lights back up.
Good the text reads.
And then: Me too.
And finally: Are you free Saturday?
The sigh Tommy lets out feels like one that he's been holding in for over a year, and he doesn't think he's imagining the tension leaving his shoulders. I am he texts back.
Evan reacts to the message with a thumbs up, and then moments later changes it to a heart. Tommy's own skips a beat.
Sounds like a plan is the response. This time, Tommy reacts with a heart straight away.
There's no other messages after, and he figures Evan is probably somewhere wrangling a small child, if he had to guess. Tommy sets his phone down, whistling while he finishes up the maintenance on his truck. For the first time in a long time, he's got something to look forward to this weekend.
Buck, going to the fire academy during the day and bartending at night and his one night off he finds it hard to sleep because he’s so used to staying up late
He exhausts the bars and clubs in his neighborhood—as well has his funds—and the novelty of having roommates to do everything with has worn off, so he looks for something else to do.
He tries a few things: he goes to an all-night diner and fills up on hot roast beef sandwiches and cherry pies while he reads up on fire science, comedy shows, karaoke.
One night he ends up going to see a movie and it's only him and one other person in the auditorium for the showing. The other guy looks up when Buck walks in, but doesn't acknowledge him otherwise. Buck can respect that. He finds a seat almost all the way at the top. Buck likes the movie okay, he thinks, at least the parts he can remember when he wasn't preoccupied with being hyperaware of the other guy's presence—when he wasn't focused on the back of his head, or whether he was eating his popcorn or slurping his Icee too loud.
As soon as the credits start rolling, before the lights even come back on, Buck is out of there. Though, he can't help notice the other guy stays.
Before you get to the exit of the theater, there’s a photobooth. Maybe it’s boredom, maybe it’s the habit he created of documenting his adventures in picture, maybe it’s both that makes him get into the booth that he can barely fit his legs in and shut the curtain.
He feels a bit silly, having his picture taken all by himself, but they turn out okay. He exits the booth and takes the photo strip and leaves the theater.
A few steps out the door, Buck realizes there should have been two photo strips and he’d only grabbed one. He turns around and goes back in the theater, only to find the same guy from earlier at the photo booth holding a photo strip.
He blushes and holds it out to Buck. “You left this.”
Buck raises an eyebrow, but a smile tugs at his lips. “And you were—what—going to keep it if I hadn’t come back for it.”
“No, I”—he shakes his head—“I was just looking. I like to see the kinds of pictures people take in photo booths.”
He shrugs. “So let’s see yours.”
He flushes deeper still, glancing at the booth. “Oh, I”—he swallows—“I didn’t take any.”
Buck knows this stranger doesn’t owe him any elaboration, but he finds himself curious anyway. He doesn’t know if it’s the full moon or that it’s after midnight or whatever the invisible force is that’s making it hard to look away, but he hears himself saying the words before they fully register in his brain. “Well, until you take yours, take mine.”
His brow furrows, the gesture speaking volumes.
“Consider it a souvenir.” Buck believed him when he said he was just looking, but Buck hadn’t missed the once over he was given. It was flattering, harmless, and Buck wasn’t going to think too long about why he was offering pictures of himself to a complete stranger. “I’ll see you around.” Buck looks back after a few paces, sees the guy still standing there, perplexed, but still clutching the photo strip.
They’re both back the next week, they’re both still the only ones in the auditorium. They nod their heads at each other in greeting when Buck walks in. Buck sits a row closer. When the movie’s over, he leaves first. He stops at the photo booth on the way out, maybe puts a little more effort into his poses and facial expressions. He takes one strip and leaves the other behind.
Weeks pass and Buck sits a little closer each time, they talk a little more each time (but only before the previews start because apparently Tommy loves watching those, even though they’re the same ones that have been playing for weeks), and Buck keeps taking photos on his way out and leaving one strip for Tommy to find.
When Buck enters the auditorium 2 months after the first time, Tommy raises an eyebrow at him and tells him he “can stop playing musical chairs” and Buck nearly trips and drops his snacks in his haste to sit next to Tommy, who pointedly does not laugh at him, but Buck thinks it’d be alright if he did.
“Just don’t talk during the previews.”
Buck laughs quietly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Tommy elbows him.
The darkness of the theater cloaks their shy smiles.
They trade candies and Tommy offers his popcorn when Buck finishes his own.
Buck still leaves when the credits start, but slower, more reluctant, like his shoes are stuck to the floors from the spilled soda and crushed candy.
The photos he takes would be more in place on his dating profile than a movie theater photo booth, but he leaves a strip behind anyway. Later that night, he can’t sleep, can’t stop wondering what Tommy thought of the photos, of Buck—flexing his biceps, lifting his shirt to show his abs, pulling down his jeans to reveal his Adonis belt, winking at the camera.
They don’t talk about it the next week; Buck isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or relieved or both. At least Tommy isn’t keeping his distance or telling Buck he’s taken it too far.
Tommy’s a little quieter, maybe. Definitely fidgety. And Buck doesn’t know if it’s unusual for Tommy, if it’s his own nerves that make him notice it now. Tommy clears his throat. “I’m going to get a beer, do you want one?”
“Oh, uh, sure.”
Tommy doesn’t make it back until after the previews.
They settle into their routine of sharing snacks and an armrest, but Buck still feels like something’s changed. He doesn’t know how long he’s been shaking his leg, but suddenly Tommy’s hand is on his knee.
“Evan,” he murmurs.
“Sorry, sorry. I’m gonna go get another beer, want one?”
Tommy looks at him for a long moment, like he’s searching for something in Buck’s face. “Sure.”
Maybe it’s the 2 beers or the itch underneath his skin that won’t go away or the way his stomach flipped when his and Tommy’s hand touched when they reached into the popcorn bucket at the same time, but—he takes what he can only describe as the most and least tasteful dick pics of his life.
And he really hopes Tommy is the one to find them.
The next week, as soon as Buck’s sat down, Tommy asks him why he leaves the photos.
“Why do you take them?”
Neither of them answers, but it’s answer enough.
Buck stays until the credits are done and they walk out together.
As they’re approaching the photo booth, Buck tugs on Tommy’s sleeve. “Take some with me.”
Tommy looks at Buck, then the photo booth, then back at Buck.
“It’s bigger than it looks.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow.
“I meant the booth.”
“Oh, thank god.”
Buck laughs and ducks his head. “Shut up.”
It really isn’t bigger than it looks, but they squeeze in together somehow anyway, Tommy half in Buck’s lap. “Now what?”
Buck swipes his card to purchase the photos. “We could do silly ones?”
Tommy gives him a look.
“Okay…I don’t suppose you want to take your dick out.”
Tommy laughs. “Absolutely not.”
Buck looks around the booth, at the sample photos. “Well, most of them are couples—"
Tommy kisses him just as the first photo is taken.
In the fourth photo, you can see both of their tongues.
They leave with a photo strip each and each other’s numbers and a date for the following week (dinner before their usual movie).
[Buck leaves with a bruise forming in the shape of Tommy’s mouth on his collarbone that he presses and presses all week to remind himself that it’s real.]
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Boyfriend took him out to dinner. A perfectly platonic dinner. The food was great, the company was even better. They stayed until the restaurant closed.
The logic wasn't sound, but Buck figured maybe a gay person could explain another gay person's behaviour, so he told Hen about the whole thing.
”Did he put the moves on you?”
”N-no.” He kissed my cheek and I've been thinking about it for four days. ”He was really sweet.” I wish I kissed him, too.
”Maybe he thinks it's funny,” Eddie said, butting into the conversation Buck hadn't invited him to.
”What's that?” Buck asked.
”Gay guys like making straight guys uncomfortable sometimes, right?”
Hen wrinkled her nose. ”I thought you met him?”
”I did, but he spent the whole night talking to Buck.”
”He doesn't make me uncomfortable,” Buck frowned.
Eddie held up his hands. ”It was just a suggestion.”
Buck looked at Hen. ”It wasn't like that. He's really sweet.”
Eddie continued to impose, ”Hey, what was his name?”
”He didn't tell me,” Buck muttered.
Hen grabbed his arm. ”Hold up. You went on a date with this man and you don't know his name?”
Buck felt the back of his neck go hot. ”It's funny, actually, see I saved his number in my phone, but I saved him as Boyfriend, and when I told him that, he thought it was hilarious and-and he won't tell me his name.”
”Do you think it's funny?” Hen asked pointedly.
The flush spread to his face. ”I, uhm, yeah.”
Hen gave him a look she usually reserved for when he talked about sex. ”I don't think I have any advice for this situation.”
”You're probably the only person who has ever been in this situation,” Eddie snickered.
They had two calls, back to back, so the conversation was cut short, but it didn't stop Buck from continuing to think about it.
When most of the others went to get some rest, Buck found a quiet corner to himself. It took effort to put the call through.
”Hi, baby.”
”Oh, my God,” Buck muttered under his breath. He didn't do it a lot, but when Boyfriend called him baby, it sent lightning down his spine. ”Hi,” he said at a normal volume.
”What can I do for you?”
He did his best to steel himself. ”You know I'm not gay, right?”
”I do,” Boyfriend hummed. ”Why?”
He looked at the notepad on the table infront of him, going down the line of things he wanted to say. I don't want to lead you on. We've been on two dates, you should just tell me your name. Why do I feel this way when I'm with you.
Buck turned over the notepad. ”Have you been to the Tar Pits?”
”Not since middle school.”
LA native. Interesting.
”Do you wanna go? With me? There's a new exhibit I haven't seen.”
”I would love to.”
*
Buck spent the next week daydreaming about holding Boyfriend's hand infront of the dire wolf wall.
*
Leaning on a railing, looking into one of the pits, he glanced at Boyfriend and found himself blushing again. ”Sorry. I know this is pretty … I don't know. I always dreamt about being one of those people from National Geographic, you know? But you have to be really smart, and I got kicked out of college, and so,” he shrugged, without finishing any of his sentences.
Boyfriend bumped their shoulders together. ”I'm sure plenty of dumb people work for National Geographic,” he smirked. ”But you're not dumb, Evan. And you're definitely smarter than me.”
Buck didn't feel smart. He'd had plenty of opportunities to sneak a glance at Boyfriend's bank cards, or his signature, and he hadn't. Hell, he could've looked him up on Facebook. There were probably a lot of men with the last name Kinard in LA, but Buck could've found him.
”Hey.”
”Hey,” Boyfriend leaned in a little closer.
”Would you tell me your name, if I asked?”
”I would,” he smiled. ”Are you gonna ask me?”
Buck bit his lip. ”Not yet.”
They made their way through more of the exhibits, reading all the information together. Boyfriend didn't care how slowly Buck moved, or how many times he got out his phone to look something up.
”Wanna do something dumb?”
”With you? Absolutely.” Boyfriend eyed the pit. ”Unless you wanna jump the fence. I've seen people stuck in hot asphalt and it's so much more horrific than you can imagine.”
Buck shuddered. ”Uh, no, I wanted– Wanna go inside?”
Boyfriend linked their arms together, and took his weight easily, when Buck missed a step.
Most people probably wouldn't say so, but standing infront of four-hundred carefully mounted skulls was pretty romantic, as far as Buck was concerned. Or maybe it was the yellow backlight.
He'd been on a sailboat once. A small one. They sailed through the night. All of them had been young men, but when the sun set and they turned on the red cabin lights, it had been pretty damn romantic. Faces looked different in low light. Details disappeared. Freckles, eyes colours, wrinkles. It felt more intimate somehow, when people went soft around the edges.
They weren't holding hands, but they were touching. Their shoulders were resting against each other. Boyfriend was a little pink across the nose.
”What's your name?” Buck asked, without taking his eyes off the dire wolf skulls.
Boyfriend held out his hand. Buck took it. ”Off-duty firefighter-pilot Tommy Kinard with the 217.”
Buck's jaw dropped. ”We're colleagues?”
Boyfriend laughed. ”You made the same face the first time I told you.”
”You're a pilot?”
”I am.”
”Wait, no. No, if you're a pilot, you're definitely smarter than me. Pilots do so much math.”
”Being good at math doesn't make you smart.”
”Holy shit.” Buck couldn't stop shaking his hand. ”Wait, say it again?”
”Tommy.”
”I like Boyfriend better.”
Boyfriend laughed, loud and unrestrained. Buck couldn't help but join him.
”Wait, come here, I think you got a sunburn.” He turned Boyfriend's face away from the yellow light, to get a better look. ”I have aloe in my car.”
”So do I.”
”Right,” Buck ducked his head. ”First responder. Your car is probably full of shit.”
Suddenly, a man was up in his face. ”Can I hug you?”
”Uh, sure,” Buck said.
The guy nearly knocked him off his feet. As Buck wrapped his arms around him, he hissed, ”Be my boyfriend.”
”What?”
”Guy behind me won't take a hint.”
”Hi, baby,” Buck said loudly. ”I couldn't find you! Have you been here long?” His boyfriend looked at him, seemingly taken aback by the theatrics.
”No, not long,” Boyfriend said and looked over his shoulder. ”This is… Sorry, I forgot your name?”
The other guy looked between them, held up his hands and turned on his heel.
Boyfriend breathed a sigh of relief and grimaced. ”Sorry about that.”
”Don't be,” Buck said easily. ”Not everyday you get a boyfriend.”
Boyfriend looked him up and down. ”You probably could, if you wanted.”
Buck felt his ears burn. ”Thanks.” He glanced around. ”Are you here by yourself?”
”I am. Bad move, it seems. Are you?”
”Oh, I'm with,” he pointed in the general direction of their table. ”Friends. Was gonna buy a round. If I get you one, will you help me carry them to the table?”
”Sure,” Boyfriend smiled.
Boyfriend orderd a fancy beer with a fancy pronounciation that Buck didn't quite catch. Together, they got the drinks safely to the table, where Buck made the introductions. ”This is Ravi and Eddie,” he pointed. ”And this is…”
”Tommy,” Boyfriend smiled.
”Tommy,” Buck said. Boyfriend fit him better. He looked at the drink in his hand. Maybe he should cut himself off. If he didn't, he was definitely going to forget the guy's name.
*
”Boyfriend!”
Boyfriend turned around, amusement clear on his face. ”What's up?”
”Give me your number! We should hang out sometime.”
Boyfriend shook his head, laughing, but closed the short distance between them. He held out his massive hand, silently asking for his phone. Buck patted his pocket and fished it out, handing it over. Suddenly, there was bright light in his face. He squinted. Then the light disappeared. Spots were dancing infront of his eyes, but he could still see Boyfriend. Oh. Face ID.
”Feel free to delete this when you're sober,” Boyfriend smiled and handed the phone back.
”I won't, but thanks,” Buck grinned. He closed one eye to see the screen better. He sent off a string of emojis, so Boyfriend had his number, too. ”It was really nice to meet you.” He stumbled forward and hugged Boyfriend goodbye.
”You, too,” he chuckled.
”Let me just,” Ravi said, appearing under his arm. ”I've got it. Nice to meet you, Tommy.”
Tommy.
Buck let Ravi and Eddie carry him home.
”Something you wanna tell us, Buck?” Eddie asked.
”What do you mean?”
Ravi rolled his eyes, loudly.
*
Bleary eyed, Buck checked for damages. Besides two made it home safe texts from Eddie and Ravi, there were no messages on any of his apps, from exes or worse.
Except a new thread with Boyfriend. Who the hell was Boyfriend? There was only one message, one from him to Boyfriend. A string of his most recently used emojis. Two of them were kissy faces.
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it’s so hard for me to listen to heartbroken/angry breakup songs by straight men bc no matter how good the song is i’ll be like i’m not sure if i fully believe you. let’s hear her side of the story.
Summary: On their way to Nash's first birthday party, Margaret and Phillip's rental car blows a tire. Luckily, an off-duty firefighter shows up to help.
Excerpt:
Phillip's smile tilts oddly, followed by his head. "I-I'm so sorry, this is going to sound strange, but do I know you...?"
"I have one of those faces," the man says, glancing Margaret's way and nodding in acknowledgment of her presence. It's unexpectedly nice. The clerk who rented them the car spoke only to Phillip the entire time.
Then he does a double take worthy of Bob Newhart. "Mrs. Buckley?"
She blinks, then gasps. He's not just familiar. "Oh! You're Ev—um, Buck's friend."
'Friend' isn't the right word. She winces a little the second it leaves her mouth, because you don't kiss your friends the way Evan did this man on Maddie's wedding day. She certainly never has, and Philip better not have.
vaporwave
discoholicmusic
stormborns
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
