#bucktommy

[cjlouwho]

Death at the Farmer's Market

You guys all decided on this poll that Tommy should get stabbed at the farmer's market, so here you go! *no major character death, a murder/suicide plot is briefly discussed*

He supposed the farmer's market wasn't the worst place to die. He'd prefer to be elsewhere, but it could be worse than the farmer's market.

He hoped his dad never found out he died right by the fruitcake stand. He could hear the jokes now.

Actually, his dad probably wouldn't come to the funeral, but he'd have to tell his buddies at the bar at some point.

He'd either completely ignore the whole “he was right by the fruitcakes” part, or he's use it as a silly little anecdote to lighten the mood.

Either way, Tommy wished he would've been stabbed literally anywhere other than by the fruitcakes. The soap booth would've been nice. Or by the bracelet lady. Hell, even the woman trying to get rid of the clothes she purchased at the height of some MLM scheme would've been preferred.

In fact, the MLM woman was super helpful at the moment as she used one of her checkered shirts to apply pressure to one of his wounds.

Tommy had managed to get the man on the ground before the stabbing happened. He just wished he'd known the guy had two knives instead of one.

He hadn't been the target. Had seen this man storming toward a woman and her daughter. She must've known him; she shouted his name when Tommy tackled him to the ground.

Tommy didn't let go of the man- Charlie, he thinks- until he stopped moving. The pain didn't register until the little girl screamed, pointing at him. He looked down to see blood soaking his shirt, and a knife sticking out of his chest.

He collapsed to the ground soon after that.

Right by the damn fruitcakes.

Thankfully, someone had the brains to yell out and make sure no one removed the knife.

Miss MLM dropped down beside him and pressed her clothing onto the wound that was bleeding the worst.

In his slightly dazed state, he tried to reach into his back pocket for his wallet. Felt the need to pay this lady for destroying her product.

Beside him, some man took his hand. Reassured him over and over that it'd be okay, help was on the way.

Tommy had heard that line before. Hell, he'd told people that line before. Not that help was coming, because he was the help. But he'd often tell people they'd be okay. Especially when he knew they wouldn't be. It's easier to die when you think you won't.

Tommy coughed. Ignored the taste of copper in his mouth. “T- The wo... woman?”

“She's okay,” another woman said. Tommy couldn't see where that voice was coming from. “You saved her.”

Well, at least he had that.

Then, there was another voice. A very familiar voice.

“Maddie?” Tommy mumbled.

Someone had called 9-1-1. They'd put her on speaker.

“M- Maddie, no... no one- eight-” he was cut off by another coughing fit.

The phone must've been near his head, because he was fairly certain she heard him.

“Tommy?! Tommy, is that you?”

The man holding his hand patted it, getting his attention. “Tommy? Is- Is that your name?”

“Mmmhm,” Tommy managed to hum.

“Yeah, his name is Tommy.”

Tommy was sure he heard an, “Oh God,” on the other end of the line. If he wasn't in the middle of dying he'd tell her she needed to work on her subtleties. Then she was off the line. Whether it was brief, or for a while, he wasn't sure.

“Hey, hey!” Hand-man exclaimed, hitting Tommy's hand harder now. “Keep your eyes open, Tommy! Come on, hang in there!”

Tommy glared at the man. He didn't need to be told what to do. If he wanted to close his eyes, he'd close his damn eyes! What the hell did it matter anyway?

Suddenly, people were yelling, and sirens could be heard in the distance. A path was being cleared seconds later, and familiar people with actual names dropped beside Tommy.

“Well look at this,” Chimney said, and Tommy made a note that he hid his panic much better than his wife did, “here to save your ass, yet again.”

“I ha- have... I have s- saved your ass a- a bunch,” Tommy deadpanned.

“Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in.”

“He's not wrong though,” Hen agreed, cutting Tommy's shirt open.

Tommy was about to attempt a joke about how he wouldn't have skipped his workout had he known he'd be exposed like this, but he was stopped before he could start.

“Tommy! Tommy!”

Tommy's eyes drifted up as Chimney and Hen continued working on him. “Ev- Evan, I didn't-”

“Shh,” Buck soothed, running his fingers through Tommy's hair. “Don't try and talk, just- just relax, okay?”

And oh, it ran in the family, because Evan was not doing a good job at keeping his tears in his eyes.

“S'okay,” Tommy said. His arm flailed up limply beside him until Buck took it. “S'okay. I- I'm okay, E-” He was cut off by another round of coughing, followed by severe pain, and ten suddenly, everything went black.

*****

Tommy wasn't exactly sure how death worked, but he was fairly certain it didn't involve waking up in a hospital bed.

He groaned as he blinked his eyes open, his body feeling stiffer than it ever had in his life.

“Tommy?”

He looked over to see Evan sitting in the chair beside him, eyes wide and wet. Their hands were tangled together, Evan's knuckles white from the tight grip.

“M- Morning,” Tommy muttered, voice gravelly.

He managed to get a little smile out of Evan with that. “It's actually ten at night.”

“Oh. Sorry for, um, sleeping all day.”

Buck rolled his eyes, letting go of Tommy's hand to grab a cup of water off the tray table.

“Sip,” he instructed, and Tommy obeyed.

“So... not dead, then?” Tommy asked once he was finished with his drink.

Buck sat and took his hand again. “Nope,” he confirmed. “Couldn't let you die by the table of fruitcakes.”

Tommy laughed, wincing when a flash of pain came over him. “Thanks for understanding.”

“Of course.”

“What... What about the other guy?”

“He... He didn't make it,” Buck replied. “I guess you two were, um, st- stabbing each other at the same time?”

“Didn't know he had the second knife,” Tommy said. “I'm not upset h- he's dead though.”

“You shouldn't be. He had a note with him. He was there to kill his ex-wife. Daughter too, then himself.”

“They'll... They'll be okay, won't they?”

Buck smiled. “They've already contacted the hospital. They'd like to visit, when you're up for it.”

Tommy looked down at their hands, giving Buck's a squeeze. “A day or two.”

Buck nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment, Buck rubbing his thumb over Tommy's. “I have a question.”

Tommy shook his head. “Here we go.”

“Why were you at the farmer's market? Alone? On a work day?”

“Are you sure I'm not dead? Positive th- this isn't purgatory?”

“Tommy.”

“I may have told a little, tiny fib about whether or not I could get off work early.”

“Thomas Buckley-Kinard!”

“I wanted to get you some flowers!” Tommy defended. “And I- I was gonna get the house all ready. Make you a special dinner, dessert, th- the whole nine yards.”

“See, this is what happens when we lie.”

“We get stabbed on our second wedding anniversary?”

“Exactly.”

Tommy sighed, pouting out his bottom lip at Buck.

“Don't do that!” Buck whined. “I can't deny your pout!”

“It's because I rarely bring it out. Forgive me, Evan?”

“I can't not forgive you after you got stabbed.”

“It would be very unfair,” Tommy agreed.

Another eye roll and Buck stood, leaning over the bed to press a kiss to Tommy's lips. “I love you, Tommy.”

“I love you too.”

“Don't ever get stabbed again, okay?”

“I'll try,” Tommy promised. “Especially not by the damn fruitcakes.”

[jacki-daytona]

Ok BUT WHAT DID THEY PUT IN THESE TWO?? IM CRAZY??

[rimatsu]

alcoholic hallucinosis

bucktommy, m, 2k words. read on ao3 Alcohol has dulled his sense and alertness enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the camera tilts back to reveal a wider shot of Buck's wooden headboard. It's only when the video shakes and refocuses on a familiar head of chestnut curls that Eddie begins to regret every life decision that brought him to this particular moment. (In which Eddie receives an unsolicited, accidental sex tape.)

Eddie is 12 hours into a 48 off when his phone pings with a new text notification.

Outside, the blue haze of daylight has lifted to reveal the moon. He's been languishing on the couch with a drink and bad TV as his sole company for longer than initially planned. There's a tiny gulp of amber liquid left at the bottom of his Glencairn glass where grains of charred wood have started to sediment. It's the barrel-proof stuff, casket-aged and bold and explosively flavorful, pricy and usually reserved for special occasions.

Eddie isn't the type to indulge for no reason, but he figures he deserves a treat after dealing with Gerrard's machiavellian schemes at work and withering familial radio-silence courtesy of his son. The text he's sent this morning — three whole paragraphs detailing his week and asking about Christopher's new friends and the robotics club he's joined — had only garnered a thumb-up in response

So it's 9:48pm and Eddie is 2 fingers away from buzzed, and he's watching fictional characters make mistakes more disastrous than his own stupid blunders with a pleasant fog cushioning his thoughts, eyelids heavy and guards down, and naturally that’s when Buck decides to send a cryptic video his way.

Eddie is used to receiving pictures and random factoids and links to obscure forums whenever Buck descends into one of his manic research deep dives, but they usually come with some key context. The newest addition to their chat log is a lone clip, with no caption or introduction or explanatory details. It's about 12 minutes long and the preview thumbnail is mostly indecipherable: brown, blurry with motion and too close to the lens for identification.

Against his better judgement, Eddie shrugs, mutes the TV and taps play on the video file.

Alcohol has dulled his sense and alertness enough that alarm bells don't immediately go off when the camera tilts back to reveal a wider shot of Buck's wooden headboard. It's only when the video shakes and refocuses on a familiar head of chestnut curls that Eddie begins to regret every life decision that brought him to this particular moment. His eyes bug out as he tries to compute what he's seeing unfold in rapid increments, something like dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

On his screen and in his hand and in HD resolution, Buck’s right cheek is smashed into a pillow, face sweaty and so red his birthmark no longer stands out against the backdrop of his skin. His mouth is an open wound gasping for air, and there are thick-knuckled fingers twisted in his hair, keeping him down. His brows are furrowed like he's in agony, except that's not pain twisting his features; it's not the expression that haunts Eddie from a half-dozen near tragedies and hospital visits — no, that's a face crumpled in uncomplicated pleasure.

“Arch up, sweetheart,” comes out of the tiny speakers, and that's Tommy's voice, laced with something unrecognizable, low and warm and whiskey-soaked like the scotch Eddie has been sipping all evening; loud because he’s holding the phone this was filmed on, because that's his hand cradling the back of Buck’s skull, big and proprietary and unrelenting. “Give me something nice to look at.”

Eddie's entire central nervous system shuts down after hearing that request, and he’s left gaping at his screen, stunned stupid, staring unblinkingly and in morbid fascination the way passerbys might gawk at a car crash, awful but ultimately fascinating.

Distantly, Eddie wonders if he’s perhaps experiencing some acute form of alcoholic hallucinosis.

Now, he’s borne witness to his fair share of disturbing sights throughout the years — viscera and gore, absurd accidents and gruesome deaths. With two military tours under his belt, he’s developed quite the steel core; Eddie knows how to push past shock to go through necessary motions. Still, no amount of training and field experience could've prepared him for this, because in the next second the video frame shifts again, pans down Buck’s neck and the broad expense of his back and along the sine wave of his spine—

And yep. That's definitely a POV shot of Eddie’s best friend taking it up the ass.

When his synapses start firing again a heartbeat later, horror cuts through the petrified and intoxicated daze clouding Eddie’s brain like a punch to the sternum, sudden and sobering.

“Oh my God!” he screams, shrill and panicked and undignified, and then does the instinctual thing, which is to toss his phone across the room like it's contaminated by the bubonic plague.

It lands facedown near the TV console with a loud thud. Unfortunately, the distance does nothing to muffle the telltale, slick and rhythmic noises of skin-on-skin or the pornographic grunts of masculine pleasure coming out of the loudspeakers, resonating against the walls of his too quiet house.

Eddie stares at the mobile device like it’s radioactive, the tip of his ears burning hot in embarrassment and delayed indignation.

What kind of sick fucking joke is this?

Badly-lit, homemade, amateur porn. Of the gay variety. Starring Buck and his boyfriend — his two closest companions these days. That's what Buck shared with him tonight for some depraved, incomprehensible reason. Because he's apparently a lunatic with no understanding of the concept of privacy or boundaries or socially acceptable behavior. Either that or Buck is experiencing a stroke, or being hacked, or this is his way of letting Eddie know he’s been kidnapped, or maybe it’s all a huge mistake they’ll maybe laugh at ten years from now when Eddie can remember this moment without wanting to gouge his eyes out of their sockets.

Eddie presses the heels of his palms into his lids until stars replace the afterimage seared onto his retina, and then prays for deliverance from this wretched, godless existence.

"Daddy," he hears, rough and saliva-garbled and pleading, and nope.

No.

Absolutely not.

Eddie scrambles for his phone so he can put a stop to the auditory torture. Since his life is a joke, the jump over the coffee table he attempts in his haste proves to be too perilous for his tipsy, uncoordinated limbs. His toes get caught in the folds of his area rug and he ends up a screeching, scandalized heap on the floor.

"Ow!" Eddie yelps, a few feet from his phone that is still taunting him with moans.

Once he finally manages to press the side button, Eddie collapses back on the ground, hands shaking with residual adrenaline. His screen is cracked and his knees are throbbing from the force of his fall, but silence sounds so blissful Eddie can barely find it in himself to be irritated.

He flips on his back and stares at the ceiling, suddenly exhausted.

Maybe Eddie is the problem. Maybe he’s an enabler who invited his own misfortune.

Buck has always been prone to over-sharing, but there had been a time early in his relationship with Tommy when he had acted unusually tight-lipped. In the spirit of unconditional support, Eddie had reiterated that nothing had to change between them — that Buck didn’t need to censor himself just because he was seeing a man.

(“So you want the details?” Buck had asked, eyebrows raised skeptically.

Eddie had made an unimpressed face in answer. “I never want the details, but it’s not like that ever stopped you before.”

“Your funeral,” Buck had said with a grin and a shrug, and then spent the next few minutes recounting the epic tale of his ‘tumultuous journey to rid himself of his gag reflex’. Eddie had listened in a mostly dissociative state, doing his best not to wince at the very descriptive portrait painted before his eyes until he’d realized Buck was messing with him by testing the limits of his tolerance.)

That had been only fair, since Buck is the type to readily lend an ear for ex-nun girlfriend troubles — and with minimal judgment to boot — but now Eddie is starting to regret the gesture. Maybe Buck had heard ‘you don’t have to keep it PG for my sake, I'm totally down with the queers’ and understood ‘if you ever need constructive criticism on the angles of your sextape, I’m your guy!’

Eddie briefly entertains the idea of sending Buck a vindictive voice message demanding he explains himself, maybe even relay the various ways he wants to throttle Buck for his crassness and his exhibitionist tendencies and his wild disregard for the sacred bonds of pseudo-brotherhood, but he still feels off-balance, and in the end Eddie chooses to resort to a less confrontational coping mechanism: drinking the trauma away.

He ignores the abandoned glass sitting on his side table to take long gulps of whiskey straight from the bottle instead. It's not the kind of liquor made to be chugged down, and the alcohol burns his throat all the way down his stomach, but he welcomes the flame, grateful for the physical distraction.

He’s working himself into an inebriated stupor when his phone starts vibrating like a hummingbird's wings, pinging madly with texts after texts.

When he unlocks the mobile with the apprehension of a soldier stepping into a minefield, it’s to find 42 new messages from Buck.

Eddie takes another fortifying swig of booze and opens iMessage.

The first ten text bubbles are strictly comprised of delirious keysmashing, confirming the inadvertent mistake hypothesis. That’s a relief: Buck hasn’t temporarily lost his mind to jealousy again and didn’t try to mark his territory because Tommy had taken Eddie to a WBC championship last week. Thank God for small mercies.

Eddie scrolls past them to read the more coherent ones.

OH FUCKKKKKK

ASFHJBCAVKJVCHK

NONONONONOOO

THIS CANT BE HAPPENING

THIS IS LIKE EVERYONES WORST NIGHTMARE

EDDIE

EDMUNDO MIDDLE NAME DIAZ

DO NOT

I REPEAT DO NOT WATCH THE BIDEO

IT WASNT MEANT GOR YOU

IT WAS A MISTAKE!!!!!!

NOT ON PURPOSE

SERIOUSLY DONT OPEN THE VIDEO

it will hurt your fragile relapsed catholic sensibilities and send you into cardiac arrest

IT WAS MEANT FOR TOMMY AND NOT FOR UR PRUDISH EYES

SERIOUSLY SCROLL PAST

SPARE US BOTH THE HUMILIATION I BEG OF YOU

you were the last contact i texted

my big fat thumb must've slipped

shittt the read receipt

welp it's so over...

ig that's done and over with

sorry

when you're done pouring bleach over your eyes

let me know you're still alive so i can sleep at night with a clear conscience knowing you didn't lobotomize yourself or something

again I'M SORRY

A HONEST MISTAKE that's surely mortifying for the both of us but mostly ME

please tell me i didn't irreparably damage our friendship

just so you know tommy’s been laughing for the past 10 minutes. i’m glad SOMEONE is enjoying this shitshow

You owe me an emergency therapy session with Frank

And a screen repair

did you freak out and break your phone

I threw it at the wall

ok drama queen 😂

No. There's nothing funny or dramatic about it

I'm not gonna be able to look you in the face for the foreseeable future

I'll have to ask Gerrard for a transfer

Ravi says the B-shift is very welcoming

Maybe I'll find a new buddy there. One that doesn't send me his nudes unprompted

Hell maybe I should move back to El Paso

This could be a sign from the universe to take matter into my own hands instead of waiting idly for Christopher's forgiveness

you don't believe in signs

Maybe I do now

Maybe your little fuck up was the catalyst needed for change

c'mon man

play it cool

if you get embarrassed then i'll get embarrassed

and if we're both embarrassed then who's flying the plane

Your apologies suck balls

just like me

What the hell Buck

WAY TOO SOON

sorry

shame is an emotion i refuse to feel so i’m just owning it now

ok can we just agree to forget this ever happened

and maybe delete the vid from your cloud

Yeah ok

Way ahead of you

My phone has already been scrubbed clean

Do me a favor and check twice the next time you send Tommy a dick pic

dw lesson learned

so.......

did you watch the full thing or

be honest

it’s okay if you did you can still be straight

Scratch that

Consider our friendship irreparably damaged NOW

I’m blocking you

EDDIE NO

I WAS JOKING TO DIFFUSE THE TENSION

EDDIE!!!!!

[josephinebaker213]

No longer 😩

But it's no longer you…

（drew this months ago forgot to post it）

[theredrenard]

Incorrect 9-1-1 + text posts (part 41/??) prev

[donovankinard]

the thing that gets me with the bucktommy breakup is the way tommy phrases it. "what you're feeling now is new" "i know how this ends" "not your last, i'm your first" "it usually isn't" "i knew that parking spot was too good to be true" just stab me.

he was so specifically loud about how he's been through this. he's felt this way before. he's lost a love like this before. he's made the mistake of moving too fast and loving too much before. maybe he's been on evan's side of it; or maybe he's fallen head over heels for someone the way he has with buck, and he let everything rush forward and then was forced to watch it all fall apart. either way, he knows how it goes. this wouldn't be his first heartbreak. he's so intentionally vocalising the fact that he's hurt like this before. that he's felt this specific pain before

BUT!!!! he's also really clear that taking this blow, having his heart broken by evan, of all people, would be too much. that he wouldn't be able to handle that despite the fact that he has handled heartbreak in a situation something akin to this before. evan is just that much more special to tommy, that much closer to holding his heart in their hands than anyone else has ever been, and thus so much more fatal to tommy.

he's essentially saying that other people have broken his heart, but none of them have ever hurt as much as it would if it were evan who did it. somebody sedate me

[josephinebaker213]

I think I so much adore this soul ❤️

Miguel piece I did for Enrapture!

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

Buck's at the grocery store buying his umpteenth bag of flour when he sees a very familiar silhouette waiting in line at the cash.

Tommy.

Three months apart and now they finally run into each other?

At two am at the closest twenty-four grocery store Buck could find? When he's dressed in a pair of holey sweatpants and a stained hoodie with dirty hair and a face full of scruff? No cart! Just him and his twenty-pound bag of flour that he's cradling to his chest like a powdery security blanket?

Amazing.

Awesome.

Fucking perfect.

Exactly how he's pictured it.

As Buck gets closer though, his eyes narrow at the sight before him.

Not at all like he's pictured it.

Tommy's shoulders curl inward as he hunches over his cart, head low. His threadbare shorts hang off of him in a way they never would have three months and one day earlier. His feet are shoved into his shoes without socks.

Tommy hates going without socks.

His curls have grown long and messy, lying limp against his scalp.

Buck carefully sidles up beside him, not quite in his field of vision yet, frowning at how pale Tommy's skin is. Practically grey.

He looks like shit.

For one whole moment, Buck wishes he could feel some kind of vindication—gloat, maybe—but he doesn't have the energy.

Or the heart for it.

And one glance into Tommy's cart has him refocused on being incandescently enraged over the bullshit currently sitting in there.

"What the hell, Tommy?" Buck bursts out, making the man jump and whirl around.

"Ev—Buck, what? What are you doing here? What's—what's happening right now?" Tommy stares at him, wide and unblinking, like he's afraid to take his eyes off him.

"What's happening is I'm saving you from this cartload of crap," Buck says, elbowing his way past him to gain possession of the cart.

He shifts the bag of flour to one arm and uses his free hand to pull out the package of bakery donuts that somehow manage to look cracked and soggy all at the same time.

Then the box of cookies that he knows for a fact taste like they're one step away from cardboard.

Then the cake that says 'Happy Birthday, Leo!' and has a seventy-five percent off sticker on it. He side-eyes Tommy for that one.

Tommy makes a face right back.

Buck keeps going, pulling out the lemon loaf that doesn't actually look too bad, but whatever—his is better.

Everything of Buck's is better than this crap.

...Tommy just doesn't know that yet.

"Just stop! For one second." Tommy reaches out to grab Buck's wrist before he can grab the package of—gross—bran muffins. He takes a deep breath before he finally meets Buck's eyes.

"What is this?" he asks again quietly.

"Me, actually stopping you from making a mistake this time," Buck says, yanking his wrist back with a scowl. He falters for a second when his own words register in his brain, but he shakes it off and grabs the muffins out of the cart, dumping them beside the cookies. "This stuff is all terrible. You deserve better, Tommy."

"It's what they have," Tommy said tiredly.

"Yeah, well, I have better stuff at my place." Buck sets his flour down in front of the unimpressed-looking cashier. "Sorry about that," he says, digging out his wallet. "We'll just take this. And these."

"Oh, I'm allowed to keep the oranges?" Tommy rolls his eyes as Buck grabs the bag out of the cart and places them alongside his flour.

"For now," Buck snips back.

Maybe he'll make an orange loaf.

Right after he convinces Tommy to come back to his place and he feeds him edible baked goods and—and maybe they talk and...

Yeah.

This isn't a half bad plan.

He can work with this.

"Just the flour and the oranges," he says to the cashier, pulling his card free as he flashes a grin at Tommy. Feeling it spread wider when the corners of Tommy's mouth twitch reluctantly in return.

He can work with this.

[setmeatopthepyre]

buck was in ketosis while he was dating tommy (famed carb enjoyer), symbolizing that he was denying himself the ability to truly appreciate and/or level with tommy to the fullest extent. now they're broken up all he does is bake, symbolizing that only now that they're apart does he really know what he's missing and is trying desperately to understand the recipe that makes up tommy kinard. in this essay i will-

[iphyslitterator]

Flight

@118dailydrabble, day 59

“Actually,” Tommy interrupts, “I know I'm expected to make a full recovery, but I'm, uh. Thinking of becoming a flight instructor.”

Buck blinks. “O…kay? Um, why?”

Tommy visibly steels himself. “Because it's hard to raise kids with two first responder schedules.” Buck stops breathing. “I don't know if you want children–”

“I do.”

“Then, there's no rush, but maybe I go ahead and switch jobs now.”

“Tommy… you love being a firefighter.”

“No, you love being a firefighter. I love being a pilot. I love teaching.” He takes Buck’s hand. “I love you.”

Buck giggles hysterically. “When you said you're not running, you meant it, huh?”

“I really did.”

“Good,” Buck says, beaming. “Hey, will you marry me?”

[jacki-daytona]

HELP

CLOSEUPS

[weewoo911]

Tommy-rocker twins AU where Buck runs into Rocker like two weeks after the breakup in a supermarket or a coffee shop and they have an awkward interaction (Rocker is confused as hell)- and then Buck ends up crying in public because you broke my heart and now you’re pretending you don’t even know me what the hell Tommy. Rocker fumbling through his phone for a recent picture of him with his brother like wait. no. fuck.

Ending with Rocker asking what that self-sabotaging idiot has done now and making it his mission to get them back together

[xofemeraldstars]

— for @louvemeanyway

[moonydanny]

Little fic idea I had... Maybe if you guys like it I can expand it a bit?

After Eddie drops the bomb that he’s leaving, Buck holds it together.

Honestly, he’s kinda proud of himself for that. He does help with the video call with the realtor. Helps Eddie pick a house. They have a beer after. And he holds it together.

When he goes to leave, he gets into his Jeep and starts to feel himself losing it. But he knows he has to hold it a bit longer. He’ll let go when he gets to the loft. Only he doesn’t drive to the loft. Without realizing it, he ends up in front of Tommy’s house. And he sees Tommy’s truck in the driveway, so he knows he’s home.

He sits there for a minute, two, trying to find the strength to drive away, but his resolve is crumbling, and he needs Tommy. So he walks to the door and knocks before he can change his mind.

Tommy opens the door, and the surprise is clear on his face. And god, how Buck has missed his face. 

“Hey. What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

And that’s what does it, what breaks the dam. His eyes fill with tears, and through his blurry vision he sees Tommy’s expression morph into genuine worry.

“Eddie is leaving for Texas”, he says, voice barely above a whisper, the words only just going past the lump in his throat. Tommy’s eyebrows go up in disbelief and his eyes go all soft as he looks at Buck.

“I—Tommy.”

Next thing he knows, Tommy’s arms are around him, holding him tight as a sob finally tears from deep in his chest.

[mi1kc0ffee]

sillies <3 if you want it to be buddietommy pretend eddie is exasperated but secretly in love with them