#idk what peppermint pineapple is btw

[louisferrignojr]

tommy's eyebrows rise to his hairline. “oh?”

buck opens his mouth and promptly closes it. his mind is racing, but the thoughts are jumbled up, every third word being tommy? and the longer he stands there, rooted in front of the door as if he's been frozen in a solid block of ice, the worse his anxiety gets. his heart rate has skyrocketed and his skin is prickling uncomfortably.

tommy is staring at him and the minutes are ticking by and buck is still utterly speechless.

the egg timer rings then, breaking through the silence, and it springs him into action. buck rushes to turn the oven off and grabs the snowflake-patterned oven mitts to pull the tray out, setting it on top of the stove. his stomach grumbles at the sight.

“that smells amazing.”

buck startles and spins on his heel to see that tommy has let himself in, closed the door behind him, and is now standing behind his kitchen island with his hands in his back pockets.

buck nods and wordlessly goes to grab a couple of plates and some cutlery.

“so, uh, is this a new habit?” tommy asks, his tone taking on a nervous edge, and buck looks over his shoulder to see him nodding towards the open packet of gummies on the counter.

“oh. uh, no, not really.” buck says finally and clears his throat, suddenly gone dry as the desert. “old habit, actually. remember when i told you we should buy some, over the summer? to celebrate that they finally legalised it?”

“oh, i thought you were joking.”

buck nods again as he starts plating. “i wasn't, but i — you laughed so — anyway. you can have one, if you want. they're not strong.”

tommy walks around the island and picks up the pack, eyes skimming over the product information written on the back. “i've never had any.”

“what?”

“edibles.” tommy pops one into his mouth, his face twisting into a grimace as he chews the gummy and swallows it. “what flavour is that?” he asks, picking up the packet again. “what the fuck is peppermint pineapple?”

buck snorts a laugh which quickly dissolves into hysterical giggling. he shakes his head and picks up one of the plates and pushes it towards tommy. “here, this should be better tasting. do you want a beer? or... i have white wine in the fridge. i don't like to drink—” he's on his way to fetch the drinks when tommy’s hand on his wrist stops him, and buck stops dead in his tracks. he looks up and meets tommy’s eyes and swallows the lump that's risen to his throat.

tommy looks down at the point of contact between them and quickly withdraws his hand. “water's fine, evan. i'm... i'm sorry for turning up here unannounced. you don't have to—”

buck sighs, deflating. he nods and moves away, grabs himself a glass and fills it at the sink then sits down to eat his meal, keeping his eyes on the food on his plate and very carefully not watching as tommy moves around his kitchen, with the same ease and comfort he used to.

it almost feels like any other evening, the two of them settling down for dinner at the end of a long day.

except he's still heartbroken, and he's still wondering what the hell happened, and he's still missing the man who is sitting across the table from him

and he's fucking stoned, too, on top of all of that.

buck is spending the first day of his 72 off doing absolutely nothing. he's been picking up extra shifts all of December, offering to work so someone else can have a day off and go see the play their kid is in or take their girlfriend to the Christmas markets. and when he's not working, he's working out, he's baking, sometimes he's babysitting, he's been keeping busy.

but he's exhausted in a way he hasn't been in a long time. so he put a tray bake in the oven and settled on his couch with his pillows and blankets and he's half an hour into die hard and he's a little bored, to be honest. he has no idea why tommy called it a Christmas movie, first of all, and a classic; and chimney agreed! he feels himself getting sleepy, and he's about to pause the movie and exit the Netflix app altogether when there's a knock on his door.

buck gets to his feet with a grunt that makes him sound older than he is, and wraps one of the blankets around his shoulders — a really plush wine red chenille — as he goes to answer. when he swings the door open and gets a look at the person standing behind it, he forgets how to breathe altogether.

“hey,” tommy says softly. “can we talk?”

buck’s eyes grow wide. “i think my edible just kicked in.”