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Summary
Buck smiles as he stands up straight. His mouth shapes itself like a smirk, though it’s never as never as cruel as one. It’s habitually sloped for him to keep his damn toothpick in place even when he doesn’t have one, and John is struck again with the reality that Buck is here. Buck is alive, right in front of him, almost close enough to touch.
The phantom throb of grief at his core is overlapped by the feeling of balance that always comes when Buck is by his side.
He finally unsticks his legs from the ground and closes the distance between them, pulling Buck into a hug that would be embarrassingly emotional if Buck wasn’t squeezing him just as tight. His ribs burn under the force of it, but he doesn’t care. He won’t let go until he’s good and ready.