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Summary
Buck forgot what he was looking for the moment his fingers closed around the velvety ring box he’d shoved in the back of his junk drawer all those months ago. When he’d first thrown it in there, he’d been positive that its presence would haunt him.
And at first it had. Every time he’d gone to get a rubber band or a takeout menu from the drawer or shoved an unopened package of compostable flatware in because he never knew when he might need then or hid another medical bill he never expected to live long enough to pay from himself as though hiding it could make it go away, he’d had to make a concerted effort not to look at the box.
And eventually he’d not-looked at it enough that he’d stopped seeing it. And then the detritus of his life had shoved the box further and further towards the back of the drawer until he couldn’t see it anymore.
But now it was in his hand.
The box Tommy had refused to take back when Buck had told Tommy he couldn’t get married. That he couldn’t force Tommy to tie himself to Buck in sickness and in health when they were staring down the barrel of far more sickness than health. The kind of sickness that was likely to part them with death
Series
- Part 3 of BuckTommy Angst Week