#it was fun to write a little standalone not-worry-about-plot thing again!

[setmeatopthepyre]

Since you asked:

BT - Having their hair washed by the other 😘

okay so. I didn't actually get to the hair washing but. it is mentioned? oops. set post-8x15 in some nebulous near-future after Buck gets injured (how? who knows. who cares!) so heads up for spoilers and references to events in 8x11 and 8x15.

[bucktommy | 1043 words | spoilers for 8x11 and 8x15]

-

“My hair feels gross,” Evan groans, wincing as he runs the fingers of his left hand through his - definitely greasy - curls.

“Good morning to you, too,” Tommy deadpans, turning back to-- whatever he’d been doing when Evan had walked in, sleep-rumpled and scowling and fidgeting with his sling, his shirt, his hair.

Fruit. Right. He’d been cutting up fruit. He takes a deep, steadying breath, trying not to think of the last time they’d been here, in this kitchen, with Tommy making breakfast. Right after they’d hooked up. Right before Evan had told him he didn’t have feelings for him.

Evan is silent for a while. Tommy can’t help but glance up. Their eyes meet, and something open and vulnerable and complicated looks back at him. His voice is soft, still a little gravelly with sleep when he finally speaks. “Thank you.”

“Hm?”

Evan steps closer, hesitant. “For being here,” he clarifies. “For me.”

It isn’t a question, and there is no pretending he’s doing this it for someone else, for Howie, this time. Not like back in the helicopter, before he’d admitted to it anyway, before Bobby--

Tommy clears his throat. Nods. “Of course.” He puts down the knife, rinses and dries his hands. Immediately regrets not having something to do with his hands anymore.

“I could help,” he offers, and Evan blinks at him. “With your hair. I could--” he glances around the kitchen, “-- could move a chair in here, have you sit by the sink, wash your hair like that? Since, you know, your arm--”

Shit, was he overstepping? Had Evan mentioned it because he wanted help, or was he just making an observation? Maybe Evan was perfectly fine in the shower using just his left arm, maybe he wasn’t as full-body sore as he thought he would be, maybe--

“You’ve seen me naked before,” Evan says, head tipped to the side a little.

“That was different,” he replies.

“Was it?” The look in his eyes is a little daring, a little dangerous.

“Wasn’t it?” Tommy retorts, arms crossing across his chest.

“You’re here,” Evan says, like that should be answer enough.

“To help you.”

“You always do.”

Yes, Tommy wants to say, because I’m crazy about you, but that’s my problem, not yours. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I could leave, if you don’t want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” Evan says, and Tommy is distantly surprised to find his heart is still capable of cracking a little more. Evan’s eyes widen. “Uh--” he says. “Leave,” he adds.

Tommy uncrosses his arms, flexes his hands, pats his pockets for his keys-wallet-phone. “I don’t-- I don’t want you to leave.” Evan stumbles over his words, steps closer with sure steps, winces at the movement. “Tommy.”

He’s close now, big blue eyes searching, and Tommy feels his resolve crumble again. Jesus, he really is gone for this kid. It's going to be the death of him, one of these days. He's sure of it.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, tries to locate his spine somewhere in the meantime. When his eyes open again, Evan is still looking at him, eyes wide and pleading.

“Please,” Evan says.

“Ok,” Tommy’s mouth replies before his brain can catch up. “Ok, but, Evan--” he reaches out on auto-pilot, catches himself in time, drops his hand again, Evan’s eyes tracking his every movement. “I want to help you. But if this doesn’t mean anything to you--” he forces himself to say, “-- then I don’t think I-- I can’t--” his mouth is too dry all of a sudden, his eyes too wet.

He doesn’t realize he’s looked away until Evan lets out a pained hiss and plants one big, warm hand on Tommy’s elbow at the same time. “What-- What do you mean?” he asks.

Tommy feels like an idiot, feels like he’s ripping open his chest and painting a big red bullseye on his heart, but he’s started this and so he has to see it through. He thinks of Bobby. Thinks of Evan in that hallway. He breathes in, meets Evan’s gaze. Tries to feel brave. Doesn’t. Decides to act like it anyway.

“I love you,” he says, feeling like someone’s gripping his vocal chords and squeezing tight. “I know you don’t, uh, have feelings for everyone you sleep with, but I do. Have feelings for you. I love you, Evan. I want--” He forces air into his lungs and out again. “I want to help you, I want to be there for you, but if you don’t-- if you--”

Evan is staring at him, his mouth open just a little bit. It should look dumb. It does, kind of. But it’s Evan.

Tommy’s not sure what words he’s said and hasn’t said, feels like they’re all sticking to the roof of his mouth, desperately wants a glass of water but can’t look away. He tries for another breath instead. “You know I can’t say no to you,” he says, voice cracking a little pathetically. “So please don’t ask me to.”

Evan is still staring. His eyes sparkle like a galaxy has just blinked into existence inside of them. Tommy’s hands itch. Evan’s hand has fallen away from his elbow.

He should probably leave.

“You’re not running,” Evan says faintly.

Tommy doesn’t know what to say to that, feels caught.

“You’re still here,” Evan says, the corners of his mouth curling up. God, he’s beautiful. “Y-You said all that, and you’re still here.”

“I… am?” He’s not sure he means it as a question, can’t really think about it with how Evan is looking at him. Beaming at him. Something hopeful carefully unfurls in his chest. It should hurt more than it does.

“You’re here. A-and you love me. Me.”

Tommy searches Evan’s face, tries to find anything, any little hint that he’s about to get his heart dashed against the rocks again. He doesn’t find it. He nods. “I am.” His throat feels rough. “I do.”

Evan reaches out, suddenly, winces again but that wide, wide grin is right back on his face in a heartbeat as he takes Tommy’s hand in his uninjured one. “Tommy,” he says. “Help me wash my hair?”

Tommy swallows.

“Of course,” he says.

-

[now on ao3]