Chapter Text
They meet again on a Tuesday.
There’s nothing inherently significant about Tuesdays, except that this one is the day Buck runs out of flour.
He thought of Tommy today, and like most days when that happens, he finds himself in his kitchen, flipping through his rolodex of recipes before deciding on chocolate chip cookies because they’re easy, and thinking about Tommy is easy now. They come and go as gentle as a summer breeze, unless he chooses to marinate in them, which he does, often. But even still, the thoughts land softly in his mind.
He’s not sure why. His last memory of Tommy is at the funeral when they exchanged condolences but nothing close to comfort.
A lot happened that day. Buck doesn’t remember much. But in the early evening hours of dusk, when he’s off work and settling in for the night, he remembers the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder, there and gone so quickly it barely registered before they had to take their places next to the coffin.
Recipe chosen, Buck starts pulling out ingredients, only to stop short when he realizes he used up the flour last week on banana bread that Jee wanted. But it’s no matter — he and the corner store have become great friends lately. He grabs his keys and steps outside and gets hit with a wave of heat so warm it makes him shiver.
It’s summer again. They may have first begun in the spring, a time of new beginnings. But Tommy belonged to summer, and the stillness Buck often found in the long hot evenings back then, many months ago. He’s prone to overthinking but Tommy brought a steadiness to him. It’s one of the things he remembers most, how Tommy would sit next to him and listen as he went off on some random topic and listen to everything he had to say on it.
But as the days got hotter and they spent more and more time together, Buck was finding that he didn’t need to fill the space with words as much. They could just watch the sun set, and exist together. And when the sun dipped low beyond their reach, turning into each other was easy, lips connecting and exploring the rest of the night away.
They start again in the checkout line.
Buck, armed with his fresh pound of flour, would recognize the expanse of Tommy’s shoulders anywhere. The rest of the store is pretty empty, including checkout lines one and two, as well as the self-check out area.
“Hi,” Buck says, stepping in line behind him.
Tommy doesn’t startle, just turns around like he was expecting Buck to be there. “Hi,” Tommy says with a smile.
Buck smiles back. “You shop here?”
“Not usually,” Tommy says. Buck knows that, because this is where Buck shops, and Tommy’s place and his firehouse are clear across town. There’s no reason for Tommy to be in this grocery store. “But,” Tommy continues. “This store was the only one that had some supplies I needed. Doing some house work.”
Buck eyes the supplies in Tommy’s hand but can’t really make out what they are. House work makes sense, Buck supposes. Tommy was always going on about fixing up the backyard.
“Baking?” Tommy asks.
Buck nods. “Chocolate chip cookies,” he answers, easily. “Ran out of flour.”
“Mmm,” Tommy says, placing his items on the conveyor belt. “Chimney did mention you’ve been baking recently.”
“You’ve been talking to Chimney?” Chimney hadn’t mentioned that to him. He’s not sure if he should be mad about that or not.
But Tommy’s shaking his head, and then grimaces a bit. “At the funeral, he mentioned something. It was mostly in passing.”
“Ah.”
The cashier scans all of Tommy’s items and Tommy swipes his card.
It’s funny. It’s only been a few weeks since Buck saw Tommy, but looking at his profile in the stark bright light of the grocery store, he swears there’s even more gray at his temples than before. And the harshness of the store lights make his face look sharper. More tired. Quite different from the soft morning light of the kitchen before he ruined things.
Tommy grabs his items and moves away and for a moment Buck panics. But Tommy stops at the end of the check-out line and turns around. He quirks his eyebrow at him, and Buck lets out a breath of relief, handing over his flour to the cashier who’s clearly been watching them. The kid, whose name tag says “Tim,” rolls his eyes while scanning the flour.
And then, with hardly any words, Buck and Tommy exit the store together.
The air is hot and the black of the parking lot pavement makes it worse but a breeze passes through the curls of Tommy’s hair when they stop walking. Out here, Tommy looks softer, less tired. And there’s a hesitancy in his stance that Buck knows what to do with.
“Do you want to come over?”
And as the sun slowly dips below the horizon, it still reflects in the shine of Tommy’s eyes when he smiles, and accepts the invitation.
tbc