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thehistoriangirl · 2 years ago

Note

Bonjour!! I actually wanted to tell you how your writing is always something I look forward to at the end my day, like a candle lighting the darkest corners of my room. Could you maybe write a hopeless romantic!reader that slowly turned pessimistic at the thought of love (psst slow burn). Then Viktor realises how much reader has adored him since forever and wanted to do so in return! Merci♡

Bonjour ! <33 SADFGHJDHSGDJHDHDG thank you so much 🥺🥺🥺 Before anything, I have to said, you just cracked my well-preserved secret! Legend says if you ask me for a slow burn I will get overboard and make a multichapter fic :D and I guess it's true so here we are 🤡 [Brain why you have to be like thissss I hate you] Anyway, I hope you like this first part ;3 Passe une bonne journée, petalthea ! <3

The Oblivious Game I Want to Lose (Without Losing You) [Chapter One]

> M A S T E R L I S T <

Viktor x Fem! (Hopeless Romantic!)Reader-------2.1K------SFW

Synopsis: Your father wants you to forget about pursuing your dream of being an opera singer as your mother was. Instead, he's determined to make you a great business person to fit into his wealthy family—his solution? Hiring one of the smartest students of the Academy as your personal tutor, no other than Heimerdinger's assistant himself. But when you two grow closer, the plan gets tricky as you get your confidence back to fight for your re-discovered dreams just as Viktor starts to achieve his own.

Viktor saw you four times before he was obliged to talk to you.

Inside the Music Faculty, the chandelier sent golden hues against the gold and silver accessories of the guests filling the auditorium. A line of teenagers was waiting, removing awkwardly on their feet as the people organizing the admission test formed them into order.

He was in charge of the lightning, tucked next to the half-open curtain that separated the scenario and the backstage, sitting on a stool with uneven legs. Viktor was careful to balance himself up the wobbling seat, growing less interested in the auditions as time went on. While managing the levers, he considered what his final project for his Mechanic class could be.

Until a wailing interrupted his line of thoughts, almost tripping his body off the stool.

Looking backstage, he saw a teenager being dragged away from the queue by two men in twin outfits, a woman looking at you some feet away with a stern expression. You were thrashing and screaming—begging should be a better word—, Viktor thought when he heard what you were saying in a river of blabbering, like a plea.

Please just let me try. Father doesn’t have to know—

But they ignored you and the tears that shone clear against the dimmed light inside the backstage.

He didn't recollect the moment his body decided to move on its own, but the click of his wooden cane snap him back to the present.

One of the organizers looked at him from the corner of her eyes, shaking her head slightly as if saying don’t even think about it.

Viktor frowned because he wasn't thinking about doing anything. They were full-grown adults working for an important house, if your tailored clothes were correct signal enough of your upbringing.

Though that didn’t stop the bad-hidden laughs behind some participants’ hands.

But even as the sound of the cacophony grew fainter, the heaviness of his chest remained while remembering your broken voice, hands frantic trying to pull away, and he thought, brows pinched in confusion, that if that would have been him if Professor Heimerdinger hadn’t helped him enrolling into the Academy.

He saw you try three more times, with the same outcome. Only that each failed audition your pleads became weaker, and you didn’t fight back as much.

People kept mocking you, you fought and lost, and he watched you every time.

What a particular case, because Viktor couldn't understand why a rich family wouldn't let their child enter the Music Faculty and become an artist for the Opera House. And why you didn't give up?

The last time, just a touch on the shoulder was enough to take you away from the stage. Without the sound of your voice echoing in the room, you heard the quiet laughs, and for the first time, you looked back at them, eyelids heavy—Viktor couldn't know if it was anger or just fatigue.

The competitors cleared their throats and looked away, removing in their place as you scanned their clothes, eyes lingering in familiar crests.

"Good luck in the audition, then," you said, walking away without looking at him, even though Viktor felt as if his gaze was so heavy at least you should have felt it.

But no. You didn’t look back, and Viktor forgot about you soon after; when he became Heimerdinger’s assistant, leaving behind the myriad of little jobs he took at the Academy for extra income, the Music Faculty lightning technician included.

Until now.

*~*~*~*

The Ventos family manor was flooded with people as richly decorated as the house itself, and Viktor pretended to ignore the glances they stole as the guests looked at him following Heimerdinger’s steps.

Viktor knew the Ventos clan was horrifyingly wealthy, with around half of all the airships belonging to some member of the family, but reading about it and looking at the proofs were two different things.

The hall was bigger than Viktor's apartment, with arches supporting a tall, vaulted ceiling incrusted with mosaics. All inside was a spotless white and a pale blue, taking the nickname "owners of the sky" too seriously to be considered funny.

Professor Heimerdinger was greeting the few people that crossed his way into scanning the room, looking for the host of the party, even though Viktor was the one carrying the gift box.

A man Viktor recognized as part of the Chemistry Faculty of Teachers stopped his travel midway to the wine fountain when he spotted the yordle. He exchanged a polite and short greeting to Viktor before pouring his attention to the Dean of the Academy, asking him if he would like to see some experiments he’d been working on.

Heimerdinger raised a hand. "Excuse me for a moment—Viktor? Oh, there you are. Could you please give this to the birthday celebrant? I don't want them to run away from the party unexpectedly without the gift! Thank you, thank you."

The yordle turned his back on him, engaging again in the conversation while Viktor stood a couple of steps away, frozen, with an expensive gift tucked inside his arm.

He sighed, tapping his fingers over the box as his eyes scanned the room. How was he supposed to know who was the host of the party? All rich people looked the same, with expensive clothes and too many decorations with gold, all of them holding cups of wine while engaging in business deals.

Viktor walked toward some butlers and maids that were carrying away the empty platters from the dessert table and replacing them with new ones. He didn’t want to ask a rich Piltie about who was the birthday's celebrant—much less give any of them a gift—but it was part of his job, he supposed.

It didn’t make it easier.

One of the servants told him a name he hadn’t heard before. Frowning in confusion, the servant stopped what he was doing to give him a detailed description of the youngest Ventos heiress.

The young man shrugged. “I haven’t seen the Young Mistress in a while, though. I don’t know where the she could be.”

A maid interrupted. "Miss Ventos should be on the green balcony," she blinked and signaled the west corner of the room. "It's the balcony filled with plants. If they aren't there, then she probably withdraw to her bedroom already."

Viktor nodded, thanking them. After a short pause, the servants replied with a doubtful, “it’s nothing, Sir” and he left them to fulfill their job not wanting them to be punished because of his incompetence.

It wasn’t that late, perhaps 10 PM or something around that hour. If this person was already in bed—how old they were? Suddenly, his stomach twisted thinking about a spoiled child. What if she didn’t like the gift? What if she didn’t accept it because maybe she didn’t like him? Would he be in trouble?

The green balcony was obscured by thick potted flowers and little palms, only a narrow passage connected it to the marble rail that had a spectacular view of the city.

Viktor froze when he didn't see anyone in there. Should he return the gift with Heimerdinger? Or could he leave it with a servant?

His thoughts were interrupted by a rustling sound, his eyes darting toward the sound's source.

He recognized you right away, and Viktor felt a little embarrassed by it. You looked older—around four years had passed since the last audition you tried to join—but your clothes were very similar, contrasting with the pale blue and shining white in dark tones of purple and blue.

“Who are you?” you said, frowning. He felt your eyes sweeping his outfit—the Academy uniform—and your stiff posture, half-hidden behind a rosebush, seemed to relax.

Viktor blinked, and you blinked back, arching your brows.

“Ah! Right. I’m Heimerdinger— I mean, I’m Heimerdinger’s assistant.” He locked his cane’s handle in the crook of his elbow to take the box gift in his both hands, arms extended toward you. “He wanted me to deliver this gift. But I don’t, eh, I don’t know who the host is. By any chance… could you help me?”

You smiled then, a little tug of your lips as you took the gift box between your hands.

“Sure. Please tell Professor Heimerdinger my gratitude.”

“You’re the birthday celebrant?”

"That's right," you paused, shaking the box a little. It sounded metallic, and it was a little heavy. "Please sit down, I'm sure you must be tired from all that walking around."

You signaled at one marble bench built on one side of the balcony, next to where you were sitting, a glass of wine half-empty that you shoved away.

"You know you're hard to find," Viktor said, feeling the cold rock against his legs. He shivered a little, trying to be subtle about it. Then, he realized the words that slipped out of his mouth. "I apologi—"

“No need. You’re right, anyway.” You opened the box, putting aside the protective cloth to reveal a music box. When you pressed the button, the little shell opened, showing a little doll dressed in a deep blueish-greenish dress going in circles around a wooden stage.

Behind her, the scenery moved, showing an Ionian forest. You chuckled, moving one of your feet at the rhythm of the melody repeating inside the toy. Fingers hovering in the air as if you wanted to touch the little doll but wouldn’t dare to.

For a moment, he thought you looked cute.

“I knew Professor Heimerdinger still makes the best music boxes,” you muttered, and Viktor heard it for he was listening carefully.

“Do you know Professor Heimerdinger?” Closely, he wanted to add, but you seemed to understand his inner meaning.

“Yes. He was friends with my mom. Well—he helped her to pursue her career as an opera singer.”

Viktor smiled a bit. He finally understood that you wanted to enroll in the Music Faculty.

You jumped when someone called your name—a male voice.

"Shit," you whispered, and Viktor got surprised to hear you curse. Hurriedly, you took the music box under the bench, where the bushes hide it well enough. Your hands tried to accommodate your hair that had been disturbed by some branches as you stood up. "Enjoy the party for me—oh! That's right. What's your name?"

“My name?” You nodded, smiling warmly. “I’m Viktor.”

You extended your hand toward him. “A pleasure to make you my acquaintance, Viktor. I hope you enjoy the night.”

He frowned. "Are you leaving? No, wait. Where you hiding here?”

You beamed. "You're smart. Yes, I was. You see, when you reach a certain age your parents just organize these kinds of parties to shove suitors at your face each half an hour or so. I needed a break."

“Oh. You don’t seem fond of the attention.”

"I'm not. People still can't get over the fact about my mixed upbringing." You took off the shawl that was covering your shoulders, and let it fall on his lap. Viktor was still shivering slightly, the air of the night getting colder as time passed.

He wanted to ask what you were referring to, but you interrupted him:

“If you’re going to stay here, wear it. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“But—” You shook your hands.

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks for the gift, Viktor. It’s the best I’ve been given in a long time. Thank Heimerdinger too, please.”

Viktor nodded and you said your farewell just as the same male voice entered the balcony.

You encountered him midway, dragging him away from Viktor.

“Yes, Father?”

The man sounded angry. Viktor could hear the disdain in Erik Ventos’ voice even from he was sitting, back hunched forward so he could hide better.

“Were you talking with someone?”

You laughed. “Oh, dear Father. Don’t tell me you have too much to drink again. Or it’s that you just like to nag at me?”

“Don’t try to act cocky. You left Yael from house Kiram all alone an hour ago!" Viktor heard your father whispering at you, a voice full of poison. "Is this how you pay for everything I've done for you? You're just an ungrateful brat."

Viktor closed his eyes while listening to that. His parents never talked to him that way, he couldn’t believe that some people would treat their own family in such manners.

“If you want me to marry him so badly, then go make the deal yourself,” you spitted out back, shoving him aside and walking away.

Erik Ventos followed you, stomping like a wild animal, the noise getting further away until all that was left was the crickets singing on the lonely balcony. His hands were tangled in your shawl, thinking that he was going to stay there a little longer, childishly hoping you would come back.

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alchemistc · 3 months ago

Text

i present my latest offering of an au first meeting: the poker game.

Big Blind

Tommy's been on plenty of bad dates in his time, but this one might actually take the cake for worst first date he's ever had. They're just -- not right for one another, and it's clear they can both feel it, but for some reason Jeff just -- keeps talking. About his border collie rescue, and his sixth fourteener (this year), and the his upcoming promotion and the Cybertruck he's thinking about getting wrapped in matte black --

"Jeff," Tommy cuts in, when he starts in on Tesla stock talk. "I'm gonna pay the check and head out. It's been..." he gestures. Considers calling Stout right here at the dinner table to tell him no more blind dates with his stock broker brother-in-laws friends, no matter how gay they are.

He's gonna get shit from Stout's wife the next time she stops by with a casserole, but honestly a half-hour tirade on politeness from Heather Alexandra Stout sounds better than learning how much of an Elon Musk fanboy Jeff really is. Jeff looks like he might be offended by the implication that he wouldn't have paid, but Tommy's already waving down his server and gesturing to the bar by the time Jeff even thinks to reach for his wallet.

"You have a good night."

Andrea slides his check under his elbow with a raised brow and doesn't say a word when he hands her his card immediately, but he can tell she's judging him. Third date in a month he's barely contained his disdain for long enough to pay up, although this is the first he's outright ditched before the bill was even paid.

Gary slides a beer across the bar to him and refuses the cash Tommy tries to give him for it. "Do I look that pathetic, Gary?"

Man of few words, Gary just taps his nose and tips his chin to his date, who is doing a terrible job of trying to sneak out the door.

"You're too good for him, anyway," says Andrea, back already with his card. He tucks an extra twenty into her folder and downs the beer in silence while they watch through the window as Jeff seems to get into an argument with the Uber pulling up in front of the restaurant.

"Maybe it's me," Tommy says, and Gary hums in commiseration. Or maybe he just has gas. "Maybe I'm the problem."

It's been a string of bad dates, and before that a relationship that'd gone up in metaphorical but nearly literal flames. Tommy's spent a lot of introspective time wishing he could kill Gerrard with lasers so that he doesn't have to blame himself for staying in the closet so long that blind dates and Grindr meetups were his real introduction to the dating scene.

"Someday, Tommy, you'll meet someone who can't get enough of your morbid humor and your pessimism and your obsession with haunted cars."

"One car," Tommy argues, although that's beside the point. "I think maybe I should give the search for love a break, Gary."

Gary hums, again.

Tommy drinks the rest of his beer in companionable silence and pulls up his phone to order an Uber himself. Jeff is, thankfully, long gone, and Tommy's halfway through confirming his home address when he remembers the invite he'd received last week that he'd hesitated scheduling a date around. He shoots off a text instead, and updates the address before he slides from the bar stool.

Gary shoots him a look. "Headed home?"

Tommy shifts on his feet. Shoots a look behind the bar. "Nah. Gonna try to hit up a work thing. Pour me a shot of Tullamore for the road?"

Gary accepts the twenty this time and doesn't make a comment about the way Tommy downs a sipping whiskey, which Tommy appreciates.

He's halfway to his destination, enjoying the chat with his driver, when the text comes in from Lucy.

Had to bail, but you should go if the date went that badly. Williams will enjoy slowly ruining the remainder of your night.

Tommy taps his phone once, twice, three times before he makes up his mind not to be the asshole who changes his destination halfway through the ride. Worst comes to worst, he'll tap out early and Venmo Mehta the rest of his stake.

Better than moping at home with the pint of freezer-burned Ben and Jerry's.

-----

He's fairly rushed down the stairs once he's in, because apparently Williams is on some sort of time crunch, or something, and he's fairly certain the drinks are catching up to him as he takes in the table. Mehta and Wilson are regulars, and he's seen Rosen around, but there are two new guys settling in across the table and Tommy has to take a long, long moment to remind himself this is technically a professional setting before he can look too closely at either one of them.

Yeah. Shit, he'd definitely drank most of that second pitcher by himself, listening to Jeff talk.

"Kinard. We weren't expecting you." Rosen's eyes glimmer with amusement. He'd caught maybe six months of her probationary year, but every time she sees him she likes to remind him of the first time she'd seen him post-transfer, at a gay bar in WeHo, and introduced him to the first guy he'd dated seriously in his entire life. Tommy returns the favor by reminding her exactly how terribly that had ended for all parties. "Poker night dress code usually includes more buttons than date night," she jabs, finger circling the olives in her martini glass, and Tommy contemplates tossing one of Mehta's chips at her. Her grin goes wide.

With the momentary distraction, Tommy feels a little more prepared to face the two men now eyeing him curiously.

"Tommy," he says, leaning over the table, hand out to shake. Turtleneck raises a curious eyebrow when Mr. Red Velvet Smoking jacket practically leaps across his lap to shake back. "I'm over at 217."

"This is Eddie," Red Velvet introduces, and Tommy's gaze dances between them, curious. "I'm Evan. We're with the -- wait, 217 -- Chimney's Tommy?"

Tommy's brows dance up the same time as Eddie's do. He is still shaking hands with Evan. Or - holding is more accurate, he supposes, but for the sake of his sanity and the possible date Evan and Eddie are on, if he's reading the introduction or any of the vibes right (they're both stunning and Tommy is smarting from another shitty date, so who knows), Tommy keeps it to shake in his mind. "Well I don't think Howie can claim ownership of my person, but -."

"Sorry, no, I just meant..." Evan's gaze drops to their clasped hands, still now over the felt of the poker table. He gives one more firm pump and drops Tommy's hand. "We're both at the 118. Pretty sure you helped save this guy's ass once." He tips a thumb sideways to indicate the man he'd introduced as Eddie.

Tommy's eyes drift. He's had a few drinks, and up until about halfway through the date he'd been expecting a very different outcome for his night, so he's maybe not keeping a lid on things the way he normally would in a work setting. He's guessing the ass he's purported to have saved would look great, if it weren't firmly planted in his chair and out of view. The rest of the view ain't bad, either.

And.

Shit.

Williams is giving him a look, which means he's not being even a little subtle. "The gas main explosion," Tommy finally gathers from the cobwebs of his brain, and wouldn't it be his luck to transfer out of the 118 just in time for two annoyingly attractive men who may possibly be boning each other to take his place.

Evan grins. Beams, more like, and Tommy slides firmly into his own chair and tries not to be blinded by it. Or entranced by it. God he needs to get laid. Get this - whatever this is - out of his system.

Tommy's cool. Tommy's calm and collected and he hadn't even had that much to drink, actually, so why is he having such a hard time behaving like he's had forty years of experience dealing with attractive men?

Tommy sorts through the memories.

Eddie he can pinpoint fairly easily -- he'd shot off a message to Chim the moment they'd learned one of the 118 had been shot, and had been happy to break the news of his recovery to an anxious Harbor station in the tense days after it had all gone down. Evan, though - he doesn't have a clue who that could be. He's still got a few buddies from B Shift he talks to on occasion, but he doesn't remember any stories about an Evan from them, and Howie hasn't mentioned one, either.

Of course, it's not like either one of them does a great job of keeping in touch.

The mystery is solved a moment later when Williams tips her head at him. "Feels like we're being overrun by the 118 tonight," she says with a grin, but her gaze slides to Evan, rather than Tommy. "And we've got an honest-to-goodness legend tonight."

"You know I still can't believe you survived that, Buckley," Mehta says, and the puzzle piece slots itself into place. "Uh, although we're all glad that you did."

Buckley. Tommy shifts. Reassesses. Eyes the glance between Diaz and Buckley like he's gonna figure out their deal while he's already four and a half drinks deep into the night and hasn't already heard the larger than life tales of this duo from half-a-dozen gossipy paramedics. According to some, there's a secret torrid love affair going on behind the scenes of their codependent friendship. According to others, the ones he more or less trusts not to stretch the truth too far, they're friends -- closer than most, and maybe a little weird about each other, but friends all the same.

Buckley's a shark. Or, if Williams is to be believed, a bit of a cheat.

As the game goes on, and the conversation drifts from the morbid details of Buckley's three-minutes-seventeen-seconds of lifelessness, past the special skills near death experiences are rumored to cause, past the time out where they'd all admired the pictures of Buckley's Lichtenburg scars ("They faded pretty quickly," Evan says, with a soft little frown like he's a bit disappointed not to have any physical proof beyond a few shots of his naked brick shithouse of a chest.) Tommy can't help but admire the shift from bashful to smirking and smug as Evan keeps racking up monumentally improbable hands. He's a bit of a brat, actually, and Tommy can feel Rosen's eyes burning into the side of his head every time he ups the ante just to watch the flicker of triumph aimed in his direction every time Evan wins a hand Tommy raised.

Tommy's no slob with cards, on a normal day, but he's too busy trying not to read anything into the way Evan's eyes keep drifting to the v of the shirt he hadn't buttoned back up just to spite Rosen, or the way he keeps licking his fucking lips every time Tommy takes a sip of the whiskey at his elbow to really care as his chips dwindle to nothing. Tommy can't be entirely sure, but it seems like maybe Evan pouts, a little, when Tommy pushes back from the table to join the rest of the losers crowded around to watch Williams, Mehta and Buckley battle it out.

He's trying to think of a subtle way to ask Howie if Evan Buckley is just like that with all the men in his life when Eddie slides in beside him with a refill on his whiskey. Tommy grimaces. "I shouldn't."

"Thought you were trying to drink away a bad date?"

Tommy shoots Rosen a glare over Eddie's shoulder, but she's too busy chasing her straw with her tongue to notice.

"He was a Tesla fanboy," Tommy intones, and the braces himself for the reaction. He's used to it, now -- the constant cycle of coming out and waiting to see which new acquaintances bow out of getting to know each other any better. This is... earlier, than he usually drops it, but he hasn't been in the mood to lie about it in years, and Eddie had asked. He gets a raised brow and a grimace.

"Don't tell me you didn't know ahead of time," Eddie says, and Tommy loosens the grip on his glass.

"Hazards of blind dating."

Eddie's look is commiserating. He tips his beer bottle against Tommy's rocks glass. "Yeah, my tia keeps finding reasons for me to run into the eligible daughters and granddaughters of all her friends." Which Tommy supposes is answer to half of the question that's been plaguing him since he sat down.

Buckley gets cocky a few times, but it's clear the night is going his way even before Jeshan Mehta's pot gets swept up in Evan's arms. Williams holds out as long as she can.

"Beginner's luck!" Buckley crows, when Williams' last chip is added to his pile. Eddie's been supplying him with a steady flow of drinks for the past thirty minutes, and his smile is crooked as he tilts backwards in his chair for a fist bump. His eyes flick to Tommy's once he's received his congratulations from Eddie, and Tommy pretends he's not a little bit fascinated by the pull of his jacket over his arms, or the way his closed hand lingers near Tommy's even after Tommy has smacked his knuckles against his as well.

Evan Buckley is frustratingly adorable. Tommy's had too many drinks for any kind of decent decision making. He bows out while Evan and Eddie are collecting his winnings.

-----

Tommy's eyes flick to the readout on his phone. He doesn't recognize the number, but it's a local area code, so he picks up on the forth ring. "Go for Kinard."

"Uh - hey, hi. Hey Tommy." The voice is familiar, sweet and low. "It's Buck - Evan. Evan Buckley. I uh -- I got your number from Chim, I hope that's alright?"

Tommy's got a solid fifteen minutes before he has to leave for work, a raging headache that has thus far refused to accept electrolytes or Advil as tribute to his overindulgence the previous evening, and a full understanding that he's going to spend his shift listening to Donato swear up and down she's the better option for finding him a man, but the voice on the other end of his phone might at least give the headache a run for it's money.

"Evan. Hi."

"Hey. So -- you dipped before I could ask -- which is fine, obviously, I'm not -- uh..." He pauses. Tommy can practically picture the way he wets his lower lip while he searches for the right words. "Anyway I was wondering -- would you maybe wanna grab a beer, sometime?"

Tommy spends about fifteen seconds rearranging his entire schedule in his mind. Says, cool, calm, collected: "Sure. When are you free?"

Evan's voice goes distant for a second -- he's putting Tommy on speaker. "I, uh -- I didn't expect you to say yes so quickly. Actually I didn't expect you to answer -- who answers unknown numbers, anymore?"

"Who calls expecting to get sent to voicemail?"

The brat rises up immediately. "Uh, literally everyone. The missed call is just an excuse to text. It's basic phone etiquette, Tommy."

Tommy likes the way he says his name. Soft, sweet and slow, rolling over his tongue like molasses. This feels incredibly like flirting, but he can't get a fucking read on this kid. "Clearly I've missed out on an important cultural shift. I can hang up and we can do this the right way, if you want."

"No!" It's sharp -- louder, like he's raising the phone back towards his mouth. Tommy can't hide the grin leaking across his face. "Uh -- no, it's fine. Too late, anyway, I already know you don't know phone rules."

"Hopefully that doesn't change your opinion of me too much."

"I could be convinced to ignore it, with the right incentive."

"I'll buy first round," Tommy says, and wonders if he's got any other shirts he can play off as fitting better with three buttons undone. The flirting should be enough, but -- Tommy's still not sure drinks isn't just drinks.

"Wednesday night," Evan says, voice further away again. Tommy has a sudden, desperate urge to see what his Google calendar looks like. For all that he'd cut loose at the poker game, Tommy bets it's color coded by type of activity. "If that works. Or Saturday, any time, really. I'm uh -- I'm free then."

If Tommy bows out of trivia on classic car week Cynthia will have a whole ass bitch fit. And it makes him seem a little less eager, to boot. "Saturday. I've got a shift early Sunday, though, so maybe something in the afternoon?"

"Yeah -- yes, th-that works." The stammering isn't something Tommy can get a read off of. He'd done it just as much with Eddie as he'd done with everyone else. "There's a new brewery just off Pico and Prosser -- Chim said you were a fan of craft beer?"

Sounding more date like by the minute, but -- some guys toe the line. Could be Evan Buckley just wants to know more about flight operations, for all Tommy knows. "Text me the details. Look, Evan, I'd love to stay on this rule-breaking phone call and chat but I've got to head in for a shift. Just -- let me know the plan." He's got five minutes to brush his teeth and rue the moment he'd asked Gary for his first whiskey of the night. He's also rolling back his last few sentences and cringing at how abrupt he'd been. "And yeah -- good to know Chim hasn't forgotten the three facts I ever told him about me."

Evan laughs, just a soft little huff but Tommy already knows the grin behind that sound is all sorts of knee-meltingly sweet. "Cool. So. Yeah, I'll text you."

"I'll talk to you later, Evan."

"Yep. Talk to you -- talk to you soon."

Tommy waits a moment in silence. The call doesn't end. "Goodbye, Evan."

Evan huffs out another awkward laugh. "Yeah. Bye, Tommy."

The call disconnects just in time for Tommy to press his forehead into the cool tile beside his bathroom mirror. He might be monumentally screwed if this isn't a date. He hasn't been this fucking charmed by a man since -- well, it's been a while.

Tommy's phone buzzes in his hand. It's a pinned address from a number he doesn't have saved. Tommy swipes into the contact and updates it before the next text makes it through. Saturday 3PM?

Tommy brushes his teeth, downs the rest of his preworkout in the hopes that it'll ease some of the nastier parts of his stupid decision to keep drinking liquor past midnight, and stares at the text all the way out to his truck.

See you then, Tommy sends back, and he has to toss his phone into his passenger seat when he gets a series of incomprehensible emoji's almost immediately in response.

He holds up a hand to Donato the moment she catches his gaze, halfway across the parking lot. The brow goes up, the hand slots to her hip, and she rolls her tongue over her teeth, clearly ready for her speech about how Stout doesn't have a clue how to find Tommy a proper date. Tommy has other problems.

"You worked with Evan Buckley, for a while, didn't you?"

Her head tilt rights itself. The second brow dances up to meet the first. Whatever she'd meant to say disperses behind her eyelids as she seems to work through something in her mind. "Oh, this is compelling," she says, and practically skips forward to loop her arm in his.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #listen idk shit about poker #i do know tommy would be absolutely smitten with evan buckley as he got cockier and cockier with every hand of that poker game #anyway after this tommy realizes the drinks aren't a date but they COULD be #and like an idiot he decides he's gonna befriend and then romance the shit out of the oblivious bi boy #tommy helps buck deliver kam and connors baby and buck maybe kisses him about it #bucktommy alternate meeting

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