First Double Date with HenRen requested by @kinardnatural hope you enjoy!
The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it still makes Buck feel like he is sitting under a spotlight. He keeps fiddling with his glass, rolling it between his palms like it might absorb his nerves.
Across the table, Hen watches him with that smirk that means she is already having fun. “Relax, Buck.”
Buck shoots her a look. “Hen, I am relaxed.”
Karen tilts her head, smiling. “Isn’t he always like this?”
Hen doesn’t miss a beat. “Not like this, it is definitely worse when he’s trying to impress someone. You should’ve seen him the first time he carried a victim down a ladder in front of Bobby—”
“Hen!” Buck cuts in, ears turning pink. “We’re not telling embarrassing Buck stories.”
“We’re absolutely telling embarrassing Buck stories. Eight years, I’ve been waiting for this. Watching you crash and burn your way through romance while I patiently reminded you there had to be a better option.” She spreads her arms dramatically. “And here it is.”
Tommy, sitting far too relaxed beside Buck, slides a hand onto his thigh and gives it a squeeze. “See? They like me.”
Hen’s smile turns sly. “We’ve always liked you, Tommy.” She leans closer, eyes warm. “We just like you more now because you’re the best boyfriend he’s ever had.”
Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s Tommy’s hand, steady and grounding. Maybe it’s Hen’s smirk that always pulls words out of him whether he wants them or not. But Buck blurts, far too loudly, “Well, he’s my first!”
Buck blinks. “I mean—my first boyfriend! Like, not—” His mouth moves faster than his brain, and before he can stop himself he adds, “Though he’s also the best sex I’ve ever had! And I’ve had a lot of sex.”
He freezes. So does everyone else.
“I DIDN’T MEAN TO SAY THAT OUT LOUD,” Buck says, horrified.
Hen drops her head onto the table, her laughter echoing across the restaurant. Karen covers her mouth with her napkin. Tommy just looks delighted.
“Oh my God,” Hen wheezes, slapping the table so hard the silverware jumps. “Oh my GOD. Chim is never going to believe this story.”
Buck buries his face in his hands. “Please tell me you’re going to forget I said that.”
“Forget it?” Hen gasps, wiping tears from her eyes. “Buck, I will never forget that gem.”
Tommy leans in close, voice pitched low but carrying. “Don’t worry, Evan. I appreciate the compliment.” He kisses the side of Buck’s head like it is the easiest thing in the world.
Buck squeaks, muffled through his palms. “Tommy!”
Karen reaches across the table to pat his arm. “Sweetheart, relax. You just confirmed what we already suspected.”
Hen smirks. “Yeah, the way you two look at each other says it all. Stars in the eyes…” She pauses for dramatic effect. “…fireworks everywhere else.”
“Hen!” Buck drops his hands, face blazing, but he is laughing now too—half mortified, half giddy.
And because Buck can’t stop himself when he’s flustered, he keeps talking. “Well, it’s true! He’s—he’s incredible. He kissed me first, and it was, like, one of the best kisses of my life. And, uh, did you know he wrote me this note once—”
Tommy tries, gently, “Evan—”
“—and I kept it and I put it in my wallet, because every time I see it, I—”
“Evan.” Tommy’s hand squeezes his thigh again, amused and fond.
Buck stops, realizing he’s just word-vomited a few too many details in front of two of the most merciless people he knows.
Hen is crying from laughing so hard. “This. Is. Amazing.”
Karen’s laughter is softer, but her eyes shine. “I think it’s beautiful,” she says, touching Buck’s arm as if to soften the blow of all the roasting. “You two are good together.”
Tommy kisses Buck’s birthmark this time, easy as breathing. “Told you it wouldn’t be that bad.”
Buck groans. “I’m never living this down.”
Hen smirks. “Nope. But for what it’s worth? This is the happiest I’ve ever seen you, Buck. Blurting and all.”
By the time dessert comes, Buck has resigned himself to a lifetime of roasting. But with Tommy’s hand warm in his, Hen still snickering into her wine, and Karen smiling across the table , Buck figures maybe embarrassment isn’t the worst thing in the world.
Maybe it is exactly what belonging looks like.
