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Buck shows up on the porch of Tommy’s house just a few minutes before 8pm on December 31st with a duffel bag filled with all the things needed for an overnight stay, a grocery bag full of ingredients for a home cooked meal, a tupperware box stuffed with freshly made cake, a single bottle of cheap champagne, and a plan that he keeps on telling himself is guaranteed to work. It’s simple. All he needs to do is convince Tommy to let him inside. Then, he won’t let Tommy protest until he’s done reciting the speech he’s been working on since Christmas morning that he believes conveys all of the feelings and thoughts that have troubled him since the day of the breakup. Despite his best attempt to convince Buck otherwise, Tommy is a reasonable man. At the very least, he’ll hear Buck out before making any drastic moves.
Still, Buck’s confidence falters as he raises one of his hand to knock on the door. He know’s Tommy isn’t at work because, despite her flaws, Lucy Donato is a good friend, who was all too happy to send Buck a photo of everyone’s schedule displayed in the lunch room at Harbour. He knows Tommy doesn’t have any plans because she’s a gossip and a snitch. And yet, as his knuckles rap against the hard surface and Buck hears the sound echoing on the other side, for a split second he considers turning on his heel to walk back to the Jeep - parked in the driveway right behind Tommy’s truck - and driving away before Tommy gets to the door.
He doesn’t get any further than thinking about it, though, before the lock clicks once, then again, and the door creeks in the familiar way as it’s pulled open. Tommy stands in front of Buck wearing dark jeans and a t-shirt that’s a size too small, and Buck feels a strange sense of deja vu. All of a sudden, he can’t remember anything he wanted to say, any of the words he so desperately wanted Tommy to hear just a minute before. All he wants to do is smile and step closer to kiss Tommy - the way he’s done dozens of times before, the way has done it to him, too. It takes Buck a few seconds to shake this sensation and by then, his plan is a distant memory.
“Hi,” he says. He doesn’t understand why Tommy hasn’t shut the door in his face yet. It’s not like they ever agreed to meet, and Buck has every reason to believe that Tommy never wanted to see him again after the last time they interacted. It’s not unlikely that Tommy is just stunned by the surprise visit.
“Hi, Evan,” Tommy greets him. Buck can’t quite read the expression on his face or even the tone of his voice. If he’s annoyed by Buck’s presence, he’s hiding it well, but he’s not visibly thrilled by it either. It becomes a little clearer once he speaks again: “Is everything alright?”
After three months apart, Tommy’s first instinct is to worry about Buck. Whether this behaviour is a conscious choice on his part or not, it’s a comforting thought for Buck. It’s reassuring that he still believes his ex boyfriend would come to him in need, even despite their rocky end.
He shakes his head.
“Everything’s alright,” he says. It’s a far-fetched oversimplification of reality. It’s what he tells Tommy because he’s not injured or in danger, or in need of any immediate assistance, but if things were perfectly alright, he wouldn’t be standing on the porch, out in the cold, separated from Tommy by the threshold and the invisible wall made up of all the things that were left unsaid when they last saw each other. Instead, they would both be inside, cooking up a celebratory dinner while having a glass of wine each, swaying to the soft-toned music playing from one of Tommy’s way-too-many vinyl records. This vision plays in his mind as he lifts up the bottle in his hand to show it off. “I was hoping we could talk.”
Tommy doesn’t respond immediately. His eyes linger on Buck’s face, but he appears momentarily unfocused as he likely considers the available options. After a moment, which feels way longer than it actually lasts, he visibly shifts his weight from one leg to the other, moving an inch to the side as if to make space for Buck to come through the door.
“Sure. Come inside,” he says, now consciously stepping out of the way. Buck follows him inside and closes the door behind himself. “It’s a mess. I wasn’t expecting any guests,” Tommy explains as they walk to the living room. Nothing has changed in this space since his last visit; Buck even spots his own hoodie on the armrest of the couch. He can clearly remember having worn it around the house just a few days before the breakup. It’s like a part of him has never left Tommy’s life and yet, he feels like a stranger; as if it’s his first time ever visiting Tommy’s place.
Tommy must have noticed the way Buck’s gaze has lingered in that particular spot. His own eyes follow Buck’s line of sight to the hoodie, and he sighs, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“I meant to give it back but never got around to actually do it. Sorry,” Tommy says, and Buck turns his attention back to him. He’s clenching his teeth, which makes his already impressive jawline look incredible but also lets Buck know that he’s uncomfortable. Buck shakes his head.
“It’s fine,” he assures. “Not like I noticed it was missing.” It’s a lie. For nearly three months, he’s known that the hoodie was in Tommy’s house, and the living room specifically, although it’s definitely been moved in that time. He also knows his wardrobe well enough to suspect that it’s not the only piece of it lingering around here, but he doesn’t say a word about it. For a few thudding heartbeats, they stand in silence, six feet apart and not quite looking at each other.
“You wanted to talk,” Tommy points out after a while, breaking them out of the trance.
Buck nods.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. I brought cake,” he says before finally handing Tommy everything he’s brought, excluding the bag with his belongings. Tommy takes the lot and immediately leaves, presumably to put it in the kitchen. He stays gone for a little too long for Buck’s liking. Buck is almost ready to go after him when Tommy returns, looking equal parts puzzled and unhappy.
“What’s all that, Buck?” he asks, and it makes Buck cringe. The nickname he’s normally so used to sounds as unnatural to him as it did the first time around coming from Tommy.
“It’s Evan,” he corrects, but Tommy doesn’t seem to care. He’s drilling a hole in Buck’s head with how intense his gaze is. “Since you’re not celebrating, I… I wanted to make dinner for you.”
Tomy’s brow creases. His entire face contorts into an expression that could be disgust or just plain old confusion. Buck can’t read him, or rather - he doesn’t want to think that repulsion is even an option but doesn’t allow himself to have hope for any positive outcome either. Not yet. Tommy may be polite enough not to kick him out immediately, but he’s most definitely put off by the offer. To what extent, Buck has yet to find out.
Seconds pass, and Tommy says nothing, but Buck can pinpoint the exact moment his shoulders drop ever so slightly right before his hand comes up so he can rub the back of his neck. Buck has seen this particular sequence of moves before. He has to consciously stop himself from smiling when Tommy gestures in the general direction of the kitchen. In his mind, he can already hear Tommy whine about not being able to ever say “no” to him.
Buck moves before Tommy can change his mind. He walks out of the living room and into the kitchen and is immediately stunned by the sight. Pictures of them still adorn the front of the fridge, held in place with double sided tape; one of Buck’s aprons hangs on the handle of the cabinet in the corner - the exact spot Buck would always place it once he was done cooking or baking in this place. It has Buck wondering if the rest of the house looks like this, if his toothbrush stands in the cup placed on the bathroom counter right next to Tommy’s, if the book he was reading rests on the nightstand where he’s left it, as if he was only gone for a few hours, a long shift instead of three whole months. He can’t help but question why Tommy never bothered to remove all of the traces of his presence in the house.
“Because…” Tommy starts. His voice comes from behind Buck, and Buck realises he must have uttered the question loud enough for Tommy to hear. “I wasn’t ready.”
Slowly, Buck turns around to face Tommy.
“You weren’t ready to do what?” he asks, voice breaking at the end. He feels betrayed by his own body when his eyes prickle with the threat of incoming tears. He blinks them away angrily. “To throw me out completely?”
Buck takes a deep breath to steady himself, but it feels like the ground has been ripped from under his feet when Tommy nods. It’s unfair. For three whole months, Tommy let Buck believe he hated him. The way he’d simply walked out of Buck’s life left little space for other interpretations. Meanwhile, the whole time, Tommy clung to the remnants of their relationship.
Buck feels hollow, like there’s a huge gaping hole going through his chest. It becomes hard to breathe. He’s not angry but doesn’t feel relieved either. He should. It means Tommy never hated him. It means Tommy has been missing him at least as much as Buck has been missing Tommy. It means that they were both miserable, apart but longing to be together, which only fills Buck with an overwhelming sense of lost time.
“You left,” Buck says quietly. It’s as much a factual statement as it is an accusation, because Buck can’t make sense of Tommy’s reasons, now more than ever. For three months, he was able to tell himself that Tommy simply didn’t want him, and despite the profound pain he was causing by doing so, he had every right to walk away. Nothing makes sense anymore.
Buck takes a step back, pushing a hand through his hair as he tries to find a logical explanation for Tommy’s actions. His ass hits the countertop, and he lets out an undignified sigh that almost sounds like a hiccup when he loses his balance. “Fuck!” He whisper-shouts in frustration.
“Evan,” Tommy starts, taking a step closer, presumably in a halted attempt to save Buck from himself.
“Don’t!” Buck protests, waving him off. He’s already been humiliated enough without his ex-boyfriend coming to the rescue before Buck’s had the opportunity to make his point. “You left me,” he repeats and watches Tommy’s expression change again as he nods. “You expected me to move on and find someone else, but you couldn’t do it yourself? You think it’s fair? I spent weeks mourning our relationship, picking apart every single thing I’ve ever done, trying to figure out what I did to make you walk away so easily,” Buck speaks through gritted teeth, trying to hold back the tears once more, but he know’s it’s a battle he’s already lost. He had a plan once - to stand in front of Tommy and tell him everything that’s been weighing on his heart for the past three months. He’s been fooling himself, thinking he could confront his feelings without making them so blatantly obvious. “I thought you hated me.” His last words come out in a barely audible high-pitched whisper as tears finally roll down his face.
Tommy closes the space between them when Buck looks up to the ceiling, struggling to keep himself from breaking down completely. Strong arms wrap around him, encircling his waist and shoulders. Tommy pulls him in, and Buck lets him. It feels like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders; like he can breathe again after being underwater for too long. For the first time in months, everything feels right. A small, insignificant part of Buck’s brain tells him that Tommy doesn’t deserve to console him in this moment, but the truth is Buck couldn’t care less about what either of them deserves. He wants Tommy’s embrace. He wants to be held, to feel the kisses pressed to his head as he puts his face in the junction between Tommy’s neck and shoulder and his own arms come to wrap around Tommy.
“I could never hate you,” Tommy says quietly. Buck can feel the pleasant buzz of his voice against his skin. “I’ve got you,” he adds in a whisper, repeating it a couple of times as he peppers more kisses anywhere he can reach. Buck trusts him. Against his better judgement and despite the heartbreak he’s suffered, he believes Tommy means it.
He doesn’t know how long that stand there, locked together and neither of them eager to let go first. They move apart organically, almost at the same time, when Buck begins to feel the strain in his arms from holding onto Tommy so tightly. He takes half a step back, leaning against the countertop intentionally this time to look at Tommy’s face. He can see the subtle traces of tears on Tommy’s cheeks. Tommy reaches for his hand and takes it in his own to tangle their fingers together. He seems nervous as he rubs the top of Buck’s hand with his thumb.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up from their joined hands to meet Buck’s eyes. His voice is quiet and rough from crying. Buck almost feels guilty for not noticing Tommy’s tears as he sobbed into Tommy’s shoulder. He offer’s Tommy’s hand an encouraging squeeze. He can’t lie - in light of everything that has transpired between them, he knows he deserves the apology. After three months, it feels rewarding. He doesn’t gloat, though. As good as it feels to have his feelings validated, it kills him to know that Tommy was suffering as well. “I was stupid to leave you. I think a part of me knew it the moment I stepped out of your apartment. I knew I was losing something invaluable, I just… I didn’t know how wrong I was. I was scared,” he explains. Buck still doesn’t understand anything about this reasoning, but he’s glad to know that Tommy has come to his senses in the end. “I wanted to reach out. I did, but… I figured you would’ve moved on by the time I truly realised what I’ve lost.
“You could’ve come back any time. I would’ve taken you back without second thought,” Buck tells him. There’s not a lick of exaggeration to it. He’s been waiting for Tommy to come knocking at his door every single day for months until he couldn’t wait a day longer and took matters into his own hands. There was never any possibility in Buck’s mind that he could move on so easily. Despite how short-lived their time together was, Buck knew it would take him years, maybe even decades, to move on from the relationship that has transformed his life so thoroughly. “I love you, Tommy.”
Tommy doesn’t seem surprised by the confession. He gives Buck’s hand another squeeze, like a reassurance before he nods, the expression on his face serious, contemplating.
“I know.”
If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the situation, Buck could burst out laughing. He wonders if Tommy even realises that he’s just reenacted what may be the most famous love confession scene in the history of cinema. They’re long overdue for a Star Wars marathon, that’s for sure. Instead, Buck just blushes. He can feel the tingling heat rising in his cheeks. The desperate attempt to simply will it away proves futile. Tommy brings his free hand up to cup Buck’s cheek, and Buck leans into the touch eagerly, closing his eyes as he does. He’s not waiting for Tommy to say the words back to him. His own confession feels earned. He’s had months to realise the gravity of his feelings for Tommy, so he doesn’t need to immediate reciprocation of the sentiment to feel confident.
“I love you too, Evan.”
Buck believes it. Against all logic, and despite still not understanding the convoluted logic behind Tommy’s actions, he knows Tommy isn’t lying to him.
He moves first, shuffling an inch forward and standing up straight without the support of the kitchen counter. Tommy’s free hand comes up and two finger press under Buck’s chin to tilt it up a notch. It’s so familiar and soothing. Buck follows the motions that have been etched into his muscles’ memory. His eyes are closed when Tommy’s lips meet his. It’s so similar to their first kiss; chaste and a little apprehensive. Even the circumstances are strangely alike. Buck is beginning to think that this might be their own unique thing - coming together in the kitchen after one of them has fucked things up seemingly beyond repair.
Unlike their first kiss, though, this one becomes feverish quickly. Buck hasn’t even realised how starved for affection he’s been, how much he craves to be touched and manhandled, and kissed like he’s the best thing since sliced bread. He can’t help but smile as he presses closer and they untangle their linked hands to hold onto each other instead. Tommy kisses him like a drowning man fighting for one more breath, like Buck is the oxygen he needs to live.
His hands wander lower until they’re hooked under Buck’s ass, lifting him up onto the counter. Buck puffs out a chuckle and uses his legs to pull Tommy as close as it’s physically possible without tearing their clothes off. Once again, they find each other wrapped up in each other’s arms. Tommy’s hot breath tickles Buck’s neck as Buck rakes his fingers through Tommy’s hair.
“Promise you’ll never leave me again,” he says quietly after a while. Tommy complies without delay, sealing his whispered promise with kisses peppered all over Buck’s exposed skin. Buck sighs happily. They’ll talk about it more thoroughly later, maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few months or years when the thrill of their renewed relationship fades softly into the routine of choosing to love each other. For now, Buck will take Tommy’s word for it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
***
The kitchen is a mess by the time they’re done cooking. It’s a mild inconvenience, but insignificant in the large scale. It’s a miracle in and of itself that they managed to make anything at all in the first place. Tommy has wilfully given up on his usual task of cleaning in favour of not leaving Buck’s side for even a second as Buck did his best, trying to cook dinner without burning down the house or causing permanent damage to his fingers as Tommy expertly distracted him from the task with hands holding onto Buck’s hips and lips only leaving Buck’s neck to capture his lips at every opportunity. The charred pan now sits in the sink, submerged in water, to be dealt with later, and Tommy has long kissed the almost-cut on Buck’s finger better.
Buck sits on the couch, tucked into Tommy’s side, wearing a hoodie that smells of Tommy’s cologne and eating a slice of pizza, miraculously delivered barely two hours before the end of the year. Tommy has put on the music, and now Michael Bublé sings quietly about Christmas. It’s a little late for a Holiday celebration, but Buck couldn’t care less about the whims of the calendar. They didn’t get to spend Christmas together or even exchange gifts, so this is perfect - a sort of compensation for the lost time.
He washes the food down with the whiskey sour Tommy has made for him; they’re saving the champagne for when midnight strikes. Buck isn’t explicitly drunk, but his head is pleasantly floaty. He could easily fall asleep right now, but he’s kept up by the desire to kiss the shit out of Tommy as they step into the new year together. Still, his eyelids are heavy.
“It’s alright,” Tommy assures when a yawn tips him off to Buck’s condition. “I’ll wake you up before midnight.”
Buck shakes his head stubbornly, adjusting his position to sit up. He’s wasted enough time being apart from Tommy; he doesn’t want to miss another minute. Instead of letting his eyes close, he turns to face Tommy. The look on his face is soft, the bliss written into his features. In the warm light of a single bulb and a few candles, Buck can see the hint of wrinkles at the corners of Tommy’s eyes. His thoughts wander to a time in the future when they’re more pronounced, when Tommy’s dark hair is peppered with white. He wonders if he’ll ever get to watch Tommy grow old or if their dangerous job will cut their time short. These are the only two options that exist in Buck’s mind for their future. No more running. No more breakups. No more time spent longing for each other.
The corner of Tommy’s lips quirks up when their eyes meet.
“Dance with me,” he says quietly. It’s so unexpected Buck can’t immediately find the right answer, but he takes Tommy’s hand when it’s offered. He allows himself to be guided to a spot in the living room clear of furniture. Tommy takes his hand and wraps an arm around his waist before Buck’s mind finally catches up. They’ve never danced together before, courtesy of Maddie’s hospital wedding. It’s wonderful and warm, and has nothing to do with real dancing when they sway together to the tune of Christmas music. They put in a good effort for a song or two; Tommy even twirls Buck slowly under his arm before pulling him back in to hold him tightly. Then, they give up all pretenses and just stand there, holding onto each other. The last song on the album plays and ends, and they don’t move for another few minutes.
When they go back to the couch, Buck yawns again. This time, he doesn’t protest when Tommy guides him to lie down. He puts his head in Tommy’s lap, and Tommy’s fingers come to brush through his unruly hair.
***
He wakes up in bed, tangled in the sheets, still wearing Tommy’s clothes. The sky outside is bright, which means Buck has slept through all of the celebrations, missing the fireworks and - what’s worse - the midnight make out session with his boyfriend. He’s not too worried about it, though. There’s a wonderful light feeling in his chest which only grows stronger when he steps out of the bedroom to the smell of something delicious.
He finds Tommy in the kitchen as he finishes putting together two plates of scrambled eggs with buttery toast and hot sauce, accompanied by two big mugs filled with something hot.
Tommy jumps in place when he turns around and sees Buck and immediately laughs it off.
“Good morning,’ he says cheerfully. His eyes fall on the prepared breakfast. “I wanted to su-“
Buck strides across the kitchen and closes the distance between the two of them. Before Tommy can finish talking, Buck grips the front of his shirt and pulls him in to crash their lips together. It’s messy and a little awkward, seeing as the fervent kiss has apparently taken Tommy by surprise. It only takes a second, though, before Tommy catches up and reciprocates with just as much passion. They both chuckle when they pull apart. Buck wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Happy new year, Tommy,” Buck says, reaching up to stroke the back of Tommy’s neck with one hand and to grab his coffee with the other. He takes a long sip and moans in pleasure when it tastes exactly the way he likes it most. Tommy watches him intently until Buck puts the mug down.
“Happy new year, baby.”
Buck can’t help but kiss him again.