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“When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.”
— Billy, age 4
Buck’s digging around in his locker, sifting through stray pieces of clothing, food wrappers, and workout equipment—already dreading the task of tidying up his disheveled locker with a curl in his gut—when he hears a minor commotion outside the lockeroom.
Buck lifts his head and turns in the direction of the noise. Voices, he realizes. Raised voices, though—he thinks—not raised in anger. Excitement? Happiness? Giddiness?
He pushes himself out of his crouch, brush his hands off on his basketball shorts—even Buck can note the irony in his choice of clothing—and heads out to see what’s going on.
Chim and Hen are circled around someone, chatting animatedly, their hands flying in the air, voices rising.
“Hey guys, what’s—” Buck starts, then stops when Chim and Hen step to the side to reveal Tommy.
He hasn’t seen Tommy since he dropped Buck off at his loft after their date the other night. They’ve texted here and there, but they’ve both been super busy and hadn’t found time to schedule a follow-up yet. The date went well, though. Well enough, apparently, that Tommy’s popped up at the 118. Maybe to see Buck? He really hopes Tommy is here to see him. Buck schools his expression into something more neutral and slightly less—less eighth grade boy with new crush. He’s not sure if he’s succeeded.
“Tommy, hey.” Buck steps forward, grabs Tommy’s hand, and jerks him into a bro-handshake-backslap routine.
“Hey, Evan,” Tommy says, resting a hand in the middle of Buck’s back for just a flash of a second and then it’s gone, slipping away, and Buck already misses the warmth of Tommy’s palm on his back through his tank top. “You left this in my truck the other night.”
Buck glances down at Tommy’s hand and sees that he’s holding out Buck’s wallet.
“Oh,” he says, taking it and chuckling sheepishly as he slips it into his pocket. “I didn’t even realize it was gone.”
“Wouldn’t want you getting pulled over without your driver’s license,” Tommy says, quirking the corner of his mouth at Buck in a friendly—sexy, Buck thinks—smirk.
Buck’s neck flushes with heat. He resists the urge to reach up and rub at his neck or fuss with the damp hair curling at his nape.
Tommy reaches back out and squeezes Buck’s forearm gently, his fingers resting over the words inked into his skin. “I’ll see you around, Evan,” he says, smirk sliding effortlessly into a genuine smile before pulling back and slipping away.
“Yeah, I’ll, uh. I’ll call you when I’m off shift,” Buck calls out.
Tommy gives him a thumbs up in response, and then he’s gone.
“Evan, huh?”
Buck glances over at Eddie, who’s hobbled over to them, burrowed in a gray hoodie.
“That’s my name,” Buck says, mouth twitching into a smile. He doesn’t add don't wear it out because he’s not that much of a teenage boy.
It’s then that he realizes he actually likes his name. Or, at least, the way it sounds when someone says it the way Tommy says it—like it’s a prayer and not a curse.
“I didn’t think you much cared for it,” Eddie says, brow furrowing as he apparently turns this revelation over in his mind.
“I didn’t used to, I guess,” Buck says. He’s not quite sure why this feels almost as revelatory as that kiss he and Tommy shared in his kitchen a couple days ago, but it does. He adds, with a wry laugh, “But I guess I don’t mind it so much after all. I guess I’m still learning things about myself.”
Eddie hmms quietly in agreement, at Buck’s shoulder. He leans in, lightly, shoulder-to-shoulder, and Buck leans back into him. “You happy?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Buck says. “I—I really think I am.”
“Good,” Eddie says. He claps Buck on the back and steps aside.
Buck watches after Eddie’s retreating form, his head down, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie.
He remembers his name coming out of Eddie’s mouth in that hospital room, remembers actually liking the sound of his name for the first time. Eddie had made it sound important. He’d felt like he truly mattered to somebody who wasn’t obligated to care about him, maybe for the first time.
And he likes how Tommy says it too—really likes it, as it turns out. Evan, with the slightest tinge of fond exasperation. Evan, tone curling up at the edges. Evan on a low simmer. Evan with the hint of steel when Buck gets too wrapped up in his head and needs to be unwound.
Evan.
He’s still getting used to this new normal—to settling into his own skin, to being a guy that has an honest-to-God boyfriend—but he really thinks he’s going to like it here.