Work Text:
It’s so silly of me to act like I don’t need you bad
When all, all I can think about is us since I seen you last
Buck stares at the text for a minute longer as if it might finally settle within his body. It doesn’t.
I’ll be there around 6.
-’ To get my things’ goes unsaid. It’s 15 minutes until 6, the evening sun casting golden hour on a stack of folded clothing. Tommy’s clothing.
A flannel.
A t-shirt.
A hoodie.
Humorously, all in the color black.
I know I didn’t have to walk away
All I had to do was ask for space
The first time Tommy would see Buck’s new home wasn’t love drunk stumbling over the threshold, thumping into little knicks here and knacks there that Buck would playfully blame Tommy for the next morning. No, it will be Tommy coming to pick up his clothes, Buck found while packing. Buck isn’t sure how it got here, like many things that have recently happened in his life. It was too much after Bobby’s death. The passing occurred so suddenly, Chimney’s guilt was eating away at him, and Athena, although understanding, misdirected anger was taking a bite too. In addition to Eddie’s frightening aggression, and more, all while keeping a brave face for all. The mini breakdown wasn’t enough to hold him off, so it bubbled and rose until he exploded. Tommy taking the blunt force of it. Instead of asking for space, in that moment, Buck decided he wanted the whole galaxy and walked away.
I’m telling you, be on your way
When I told you to fall back
It was no surprise that Tommy got the message after one unanswered call after another. He didn’t need to be told, similar to that morning after over a full spread. Breakfast that sat and got cold after Tommy left, and Buck retreated to his room.
So, can you come pick up your clothes
I have them folded
The low rumble of an engine pulls Buck out of his cluttered mind. He can’t decide whether to wait until he hears the knocks on the oak door or if he should get up and open the door, meeting Tommy halfway. He doesn’t need to check; Buck knows it’s him. He decides the latter.
Meet me at the door while it’s still open
Buck reaches the door and dreadfully pulls it open, where he is met with Tommy’s arm frozen in the air, fist balled to make contact with wood. There’s a choked pause between the two of them, either not knowing what to say, let alone who should let who speak first. The only decision made was Tommy deciding to set his arm down and stuff both hands into his pockets. Orange and pink hues cover Tommy’s hunch over shoulders as the sun merges into its final goodbye for the day. Buck knows the posture is the cause of tension and anxiety, finding a place to hide, but Buck can’t help but think the breeze of the crisp 72 degrees is making the burly man crouch over. He knows he shouldn’t think that way, at least not anymore.
I know it’s getting cold out, but it’s not frozen
“I um, I have them on the counter. I-I’ll get them for you.” Buck breaks the silence with his familiar stutter.
Turning and taking wide strides back into the house, not letting Tommy reply, he sees his mouth open and then close, settling with a small nod. Once Buck isn’t blocking his view anymore, Tommy takes the time to look into the space his ex-lover now calls his home. As much as it pains him, not being yet familiar with not invading Buck’s space in any shape or form, he takes note of the younger man not inviting him in, so he stays outside the house. Buck takes notice, too, as he swipes the stacked clothing off the counter, finger spreading across the fabric. The same fabric that graced the skin on his back and chest after “stealing” them from Tommy, sometimes right from off his own back.
Tommy has his gaze down, looking at his shoe-clad feet, when Buck appears in front of him again. There’s tension when they become face-to-face, their eyes saying more than the little to none that has been spoken.
So come pick up your clothes
“-oh, h-here you go..” Buck slowly pushes his hands out that securely hold Tommy's belongings as the older man mirrors his actions, reaching out to grab them. Their fingers brush against each other on top of the pile, but neither flinches away as if they have been burned, which both are grateful for, not knowing what they’ll do if the other showed such disgust.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Tommy, after all this time, finally speaks. “You didn’t have to go through the hassle of folding them.” he says with a half-hearted huff, as a chuckle. Tommy is looking at him now, taking in every feature, even though he knows them more than his own. He’s now holding his returned clothes, one hand on the bottom while the other is seated on top exactly where Buck’s once were.
“Yeah, no problem-and i-it wasn’t much.” Buck feels like his skin is on fire from being under Tommy’s gaze. “I would have put them in a bag, but I didn’t want y-you to have to take time to return it.” he ends, adding with a small smile that deflates after learning it sounds like he doesn’t want to see Tommy again after this. Oh, the lie that is. It doesn’t help when he realizes that that’s exactly how Tommy took it.
“I-” Buck is interrupted by Tommy.
“I should get going.” He makes a gesture with the clothes and slightly bows his head in thanks. “Thanks again, really.” he makes quick with words, casting another glance at Buck’s face before hesitatingly turning around, going in the direction of his truck.
Buck is still in his doorway, mouth agape as he revises what just happened in the last seconds. He wants to say something, shout, scream, whatever it takes to make the receding man come back, but it feels like his lungs are being filled with air with every try, and his legs are super-glued to the floor. He struggles with what to do with himself the entire time Tommy reaches his car, opens the driver’s door, and gets in.
I have them folded