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After spending months waking up next to each other, eating out, working out, lazing about, and simply being themselves together, Buck has learned to love these subtle cues about how to interpret Tommy's moods and incredible levels of wit and sarcasm. A slight pitch in his voice, a glint in his eye, or even the smallest hint of a grin indicates more than Buck ever expects. He knows it all, sees it all, hears it all. And today is no different.
“What are you doing?”
The way Tommy emphasizes the word tells Buck everything he needs to know about how impossibly amused Tommy must be feeling, despite the lack of expression to prove it. It only makes Buck wonder why he left the bathroom door open—he could have avoided the embarrassment. His use of hair gel is not a secret—hell, Tommy uses it sometimes too—but the process is long, chaotic and definitely unsexy.
“Don't judge. This happens all the freaking time.”
Tommy raises an eyebrow, and now he actually looks entertained. Buck doesn't blame him; some of the thick liquid has made its way onto his uniform. The wet spot on his leg looks like anything but hair gel.
“Evan, you've been using hair gel for years, and you still make this much of a mess?”
Buck snorts as he drops the container beside the sink, turning on the faucet to clean at least a bit of all the stickiness in his hands.
“As if you could do better,” he says, but then thinks better of it, “but if you do, don't say anything.”
Tommy stays silent.
Asshole, Buck thinks with such fondness his neck turns a light shade of crimson.
“Alright, alright,” he gives in. “Come over here and teach me how to do it correctly.”
Tommy's rumbling laugh travels all the way to Buck's core, tickling every inch of his skin until his vision blurs and his legs tremble. It's too early to be this enamored, but maybe things don't have to take an eternity to feel right.
“I got you one better, Evan,” Tommy says, and Buck snaps out of his temporary stupor—though he's only slightly ashamed to admit to himself it happens often. “Let the curls free.”
Buck smiles, but it's still his turn to raise an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yeah! Your hair will be able to breathe."
“But that's not my style anymore. I’ll look ridiculous.”
Tommy grins. “You always look adorable.”
Buck huffs and gazes down, attempting to hide the blush in his cheeks. It's funny how easily he decides to believe and trust, how he has to pinch his arm to ensure he's not dreaming. Tommy is smirking now, and Buck knows he's not the only one who’s learned to read the other.
“Come on, let me help you,” Tommy says, grabbing the shower head and turning on the water. Buck merely watches as Tommy adjusts the temperature until he deems it warm enough. Buck can bet his million-dollar lasagna that it'll probably be a tad colder than he likes—because Tommy is a troll.
Buck wouldn't change this for the world.
He doesn't need to be told to approach and put his head under the water, but he does need to be told to try stop moving when Tommy slides his fingers through his hair to wash away all traces of hair gel and Buck can't help but vibrate with excitement. He manages to sit still, but his smile is big, happy, and unending.
He feels like a man with the childhood he deserved.
“Just how much did you use?”
“Apparently too much,” Buck replies, trying to sniff out the drops of water that threaten to creep into his nose. Only Tommy's chuckle keeps his frustration at bay.
“That's an understatement. But luckily for you, I'm done,” Tommy says, turning off the water. Buck can finally move and stand up straight. He groans when his neck cracks after a few stretches; it's a reminder of his thirties with things that took no effort in his twenties.
“Thanks, Tommy,” he says, pulling a towel from the wooden cabinet below the sink. It only takes a few minutes to dry his hair due to its short length—it was a good idea to cut it last week—and he's ready to look at himself in the mirror. He looks great, actually, enough to make him shake his curls until they're almost exactly how he wants them.
“Am I right or am I right?” Tommy asks in his joking manner, and Buck huffs before turning around and giving Tommy a kiss on the cheek.
“You are right.”
“Good, because you look great. Don't let it go to your head, though.”
Buck gives Tommy a smirk and tilts his head to the side. “It certainly did to one of them.”
Tommy doesn't miss a beat: “It shouldn't surprise me. You're already wet.”
Buck snorts again. His prideful self inwardly boasts about every heroic thing he's ever done to deserve a man who matches his freak so easily. He's lucky and likes to be lucky.
“Come on, Evan,” Tommy sighs, shaking his head. His smile makes Buck melt like a puddle of goo. “We gotta go.”
Buck nods and hangs the towel on the towel rack before following Tommy out of the bathroom. “Right behind you. You sure you can take me to the 118 before you head to the harbor?”
“Of course, it just won't be cheap.”
“Damn, should have known my curls wouldn't buy me a way out,” Buck jokes, and Tommy actually laughs. Buck can't resist making a mental note to later gloat to Tommy about how successful his jokes seem to be. “But alright, name your price.”
“No money needed. Just don't forget about tonight.”
“I promise.” Buck smiles. He can't forget their plans, even if he tried. Re-doing their first date is not only romantic but also incredibly natural for them. One can't expect less from someone who loves the movie Love, Actually and the other person who has grown fond of it.
Tommy turns his head toward him. For Buck, the glint in Tommy's eye is unmistakable, clear as the blue of his irises.
“Good,” Tommy says.
Buck doesn't need more than that.