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For someone who had spent so long trying to get people to call him anything but his real name, it took Buck an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that Tommy hated being called Tom.
At first, he just hadn’t given much thought to Tommy’s preferred nickname. Although most guys their age would have gone by Tom, Buck just assumed he never felt the need to go by a different name.
Except eventually, bit by bit, Buck started putting the pieces together.
It was the way Tommy frowned a little every time they got coffee and the barista would scribble Tom on the cup in black sharpie instead of Tommy. The way he was always quick to clarify to new people that he was Tommy, not Tom. The way he had carefully asked Buck if he wanted him to stop calling him Evan, as if he understood the pain of being called a name you didn’t like.
But what really set off alarm bells in Buck’s head was when they were making dinner at the loft one night, and the name Tom just slipped out. He said it casually, affectionately even, the way Tommy called him Ev sometimes. And yet, rather than blushing or smiling - which was Buck’s usual reaction to being called Ev - Tommy just jolted slightly, as if someone had hit him.
It was a small movement, one most people wouldn’t have even noticed. Except Buck wasn’t most people and he frowned as he watched the action, before vowing never to refer to Tommy as Tom again.
Once he noticed it, he couldn’t stop seeing it.
Whether they were at a bar getting drinks with some of the Harbor crew, or at the weekly basketball pickup game, or even picking up takeout, anytime someone called him Tom, it was like a storm cloud appeared over Tommy’s head.
They’d been dating for four months by the time Buck finally worked up the courage to ask about it, having begun to notice Tommy’s reactions four weeks prior. It was early in the morning, but neither of them had anywhere to be, and after a night of - in Buck’s humble opinion - amazing sex and the best sleep he’d had in ages, he finally decided to ask.
“Hey, Tommy?” Buck murmured from where he was curled up against his boyfriend, his head resting on Tommy’s chest as the other man lazily carded a hand through his messy curls.
“Yeah, baby?”
Buck rolled away slightly, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look Tommy in the eye. As always, he had Tommy’s full attention, the man’s dark blue eyes looking straight at him, ready to listen.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You just did,” Tommy pointed out, grinning in amusement at the look Buck shot his way for his response.
“I’m serious,” Buck pouted, his brow furrowing slightly.
Tommy leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Buck’s forehead before reaching out to smooth a thumb over his brow, as if that could somehow get rid of the frown lines.
“Go ahead,” Tommy told him.
Buck took a deep breath, carefully watching Tommy for any reaction that came about from his words.
“Why don’t you like being called Tom?” he asked carefully, immediately hating the way Tommy’s face became blank, the doorway to his emotions being shuttered shut.
He shouldn’t have asked, Buck thought to himself. It wasn’t any of his business, not really, but per usual, he was being nosy. No one liked it when someone tried to insert themselves into a person’s personal business, and if Buck had just kept his mouth shut, everything would’ve been fine. He and Tommy could’ve had a nice morning of cuddling in bed - and maybe some morning sex too - but instead, he’d gone and ruined it.
“You– You don’t have to tell me,” he rushed to add in a poor attempt to fix what he’d broken.
Tommy sighed a deep breath, reaching out to rub a hand up and down Buck’s arm as he thought.
“No, it’s… it’s okay,” he said eventually, his eyes finally returning to look at Buck’s. “My um… my dad called me Tom.”
Tommy talked about his family often, and Buck knew he was far closer with them than Buck could ever hope to be with his parents. He was the oldest of four, with his brother Luca being the second oldest, followed by Bea and Celia. His mom, Theresa, was a nurse before she retired, and his stepfather, Marc, was a professor at Stanford in… math? Maybe physics? Buck could never remember.
But in all his mentions of his family, Tommy had never once mentioned his father. At first, Buck just assumed he had unfortunately passed away but if that were the case, he would’ve thought Tommy would talk about him at least once in a while. Instead, the man was purposefully omitted from any stories, even the ones where Tommy was younger when, logically speaking, the man had to have been around.
There was only one reason Buck could think of that would explain why and he really, really didn’t like the thought of it.
“And I’m guessing he wasn’t the uh– the best guy, was he?” Buck asked softly, reaching out and offering Tommy his hand.
After a moment, Tommy grasped it tightly between both of his own, sending him a small, grateful smile. Buck could feel the familiar calluses brushing against his own skin, and the rough sensation was somewhat soothing.
“No, Evan,” Tommy answered quietly. “He wasn’t.”
A spark of anger shot through him, but Buck stayed quiet, not wanting to pour any more salt in the clearly aching wound. He’d never understand how people could hurt their own children. Or any children, for that matter. The idea of anyone even laying a hand on Christopher or Jee, or Denny and Mara, it killed him.
He didn’t bother asking any more questions, knowing that if Tommy wanted to continue, he would. Eventually, after a few minutes of silence, in which Buck hugged Tommy extra close, his boyfriend continued.
“When I was younger, everyone always called me Tommy. Except for him. I mean, my mom called me Tomaso sometimes, but he was the only one who ever called me Tom,” Tommy explained. “He was abusive. Used t-to hit us a lot. My mom wanted to leave him but–”
He trailed off and Buck squeezed his hand a little, hoping to provide some comfort.
“She was stuck,” he finished, and Tommy nodded in confirmation.
Stuck with an abusive husband and no way out. Just like Maddie had been. Except Maddie had been alone. She hadn’t had four children to worry about. Four children who were forced to grow up scared and afraid, wondering how they could avoid their father’s rage.
“I haven’t seen him in over 20 years,” Tommy confessed, his words quiet but with a razor sharp edge. “None of us have. And I want it to stay that way. But every time someone calls me Tom, it’s like…”
“Like you’re right back there,” Buck said.
It was the exact same way he felt when people used to call him Evan. Like he was still trapped back in Hershey, with his parents looking at him like he was the world’s greatest disappointment. Therapy had helped with that, and so did being called Evan by people who actually loved him, but he knew it was different for Tommy.
Tommy nodded, drawing in a deep breath, and Buck tilted his head up to press a kiss to Tommy’s temple.
“I’m sorry,” Buck murmured, not knowing what else to say.
Sorry Tommy had to grow up like that. Sorry his father didn’t love him. Sorry he deserved far more than he’d been given.
“It’s okay,” Tommy told him, holding him a little tighter. “I’m over it mostly.”
Buck looked at him and tilted his head slightly, using the expression that Tommy usually had when Buck tried to brush off something as if it didn’t matter. As if it didn’t hurt.
“Okay,” Tommy admitted, giving him a tight smile. “Maybe I’m not exactly over it, but… I guess some cuts you just learn to live with.”
That part Buck was familiar with. He had more than enough cuts to last a lifetime, some that he knew would never heal. But as time went by, they didn’t hurt as much, and it became easier to look forward instead of back.
“Besides,” Tommy continued, looking down at Buck with a fond expression on his face. “I have a lot of people who love me. My mom, my siblings, Marc–”
“Me,” Buck cut in, knowing there was a goofy smile on his face.
Every time either of them said those three little words, Buck couldn’t help but smile. To Buck, those were the best three words in the world, and he was one of the luckiest guys in the universe to get to say them to Tommy Kinard.
“And you,” Tommy agreed, pressing a soft kiss to Buck’s lips, a smile on his face that mirrored Buck’s own. “Now, what do you say we go get some breakfast?”
“I could go for breakfast,” Buck said, stealing one last kiss from his boyfriend before Tommy climbed out of bed.
Buck wasn’t sure of a lot of things in life. He wasn’t sure why his parents could never love him the way they were supposed to. He didn’t know why Tommy’s father felt the need to hurt his own children. He’d never understand why people decided to make a family they had no intention of caring for.
But he did know one thing.
He loved Tommy Kinard. Tommy, not Thomas, and especially not Tom.
No, he loved Tommy.
And he never wanted to stop.