Work Text:
T.K. eyeballs the fruit basket warily, arms crossed over his chest as Carlos rips off the cellophane and digs into its spoils. “It could be from a serial killer.”
“It clearly says it’s from Buck,” his boyfriend shoots back, taking a bite out of an apple and waving the small piece of cardstock that came with the basket in the air. “As thanks. Thanks for what?”
“I don’t know.”
Carlos shoots him a look. “Then ask him?” Another crunching bite out of his apple, juice dripping down his chin. “It’s not like you guys haven’t been texting.”
To be honest, he has a point. He and Buck have been texting, here and there, ever since Buck got back to Los Angeles. What started out as a question about an assumption T.K. had made had quickly devolved into memes and shittalk about their day to day life. Talking to Buck was surprisingly easy despite— or maybe because of— the physical distance between them.
With a frown, T.K. swipes his phone off the counter and texts his new friend. Acquaintance? The lines are blurred, where Buck is concerned.
To: Buck: why did you send me a fruit basket
He doesn’t have to wait long for a reply, phone dinging with one almost instantly. Several states and hours behind, Buck must not be busy.
From: Buck: think of it as a thanks for my sexual awakening fruit basket
From: Buck: wait no i hit send before thinking that through that sounded better in my head
From: Buck: i mean i HAD a sexual awakening
From: Buck: and it WAS thanks to you
From: Buck: but NOT in that way
T.K. groans, still not used to the way Buck can somehow stick his foot in his mouth over text. It has to be some kind of skill. A useless, inapplicable in any situation kind of skill, but a skill nonetheless.
To: Buck: Buck????
To: Buck: shut the fuck up and let me eat my fruit before this gets weirder
“It’s safe,” T.K. announces, setting his phone back down on the counter. “It’s from Buck.”
Carlos looks at him as if he’s grown a particularly nasty zit in the last few seconds. “We’ve already established that?” he says, motioning to the card that came with the basket with the half-eaten apple in his hand. “But what is it for?”
T.K. doesn’t want to say the words out loud. Saying them out loud means acknowledging that Buck had sent them in the first place.
“His sexual awakening.” He mutters the sentence, hoping his boyfriend won’t hear him. He has no such luck.
Carlos half-chokes on his apple, covering his mouth to cover the cough that occurs as he tries to clear his airway. “His what.”
He takes a moment to assess the situation, ultimately deciding that his boyfriend does not need the Heimlich or any other life saving maneuver. Carlos is already back to breathing normally, if a little red in the face, apple discarded on the counter.
“He’s thanking me for helping him realize some things. About himself. Not that I did anything!” T.K. says quickly at the look he gets from Carlos, a darkening in his boyfriend’s brown eyes. “I did! Nothing! I just. He said something about me coming to LA, and I said I already had a boyfriend and it was pretty serious, and Buck— being Buck— took it from there. Apparently. And now we have a fruit basket.”
“So he’s thanking you,” Carlos says slowly, “for being his gay sherpa?”
T.K. lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, so glad his boyfriend gets it. Gets him. Understands him on a fundamental and molecular level that no one else really ever has. Glad that Carlos can joke about this, that he isn’t angry, or jealous, or a million other little things that could blow this all up. Glad that Carlos is so supportive of him in everything he does, be it his work or his relationships outside of this.
How did he get so lucky?
“Yeah,” he says, taking a package of nuts out of the fruit basket. “I guess you could say it like that.”
It’s shortly after Carlos has left for his shift that T.K.’s phone dings again with another message from Buck. He picks up his phone warily, keeping in mind how their last conversation had gone.
From: Buck: no wait i really did figure out how to phrase it this time
T.K. stares at his phone long enough for the screen to go black as he waits for the next text from Buck. The suspense is killing him.
Finally, after what seems like a lifetime, his phone dings again.
From: Buck: sorry my bad had to support chris as mufasa died again
From: Buck: anyway
From: Buck: you assuming i was gay made me realize i was Not Straight, and the drive from El Paso to LA is long enough to be considered illegal, and google was really not helpful, and by the time we got back to LA i realized i was in love with my best friend and had to tell him and now we’re very happy together
From: Buck: ergo, sexual awakening fruit basket
T.K. stops.
Rereads the texts, just to be sure he hasn’t missed anything. Then:
To: Buck: wait
To: Buck: you and eddie are TOGETHER now
He can’t wrap his head around it. It’s only been a month since the wildfire turned everything upside down; Buck couldn’t have possibly moved that fast. And there’s been no changes on his social media accounts, nothing to indicate that anything in his personal life has shifted; it’s still all pictures of him, and Eddie, and Eddie’s kid, Chris, and the weird shit he sees out on calls.
From: Buck: you really want me to post photos of me mackin on my hot boyfriend on instagram
From: Buck: i’ve tried so hard to keep it pg
From: Buck: and i thought it was obvious? the fruit basket was from both of us. the card says so
T.K. scrambles out of bed, downstairs and into the kitchen where the decimated fruit basket waits on the counter. The little piece of cardstock that came with the basket sits discarded next to it, name of the company it came from embossed on one side and the message Buck dictated to them on the other. He hadn’t read it earlier, hadn’t touched the basket at all beyond accepting it from the delivery woman until he knew for sure it was from Buck.
The dictated message reads simply: Thanks for everything — Buckandy
A pretty standard thank you message, all things considered. But it’s the misspelling of Buck’s name that catches T.K.’s eye immediately, enough for him to take a picture of the whole thing and send it off to Buck.
From: Buck: they were supposed to put Eddie’s name on the card too :(
From: Buck: how did they mess that up
From: Buck: buddie sounds better
He laughs, disbelief coloring the noise as it echoes off the walls of the kitchen.
Only Buck.