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Tommy Kinard dies on Thursday at 3.49pm.
The thought blooms fully fledged in Buck's mind on Saturday as he wakes up, and it is so unlike anything he has ever thought that he goes from what the fuck to What. The FUCK.
Sitting up in bed, he checks his phone. Saturday 8.07am, eight minutes before the alarm goes off. He has a basket of laundry to do and a list of groceries to pick up from Trader Joe's; there are two library books due and he is supposed to be baking something for the Stitch and Bitch.
Tommy Kinard dies on Thursday at 3.49pm.
His heart thumps painfully at the thought that repeats in his head. It will be weird, won't it, for him to call Tommy and ask, hey, what are you doing on Thursday, say around late afternoon? Oh, nothing, I just can't shake the feeling you're gonna die.
He should leave out that last part.
Maybe Tommy has a shift on Thursday. A pang of something twinges in his chest. They used to have each other's shifts on a common calendar. Tommy&Evan. Sometimes they picked up extra shifts here and there, and they left notes for each other.
The last message he's had from Tommy was "let me know if you need anything". Buck had reacted with a thumbs up and nothing else.
Taking a deep breath, he texts Tommy and asks if he's working Thursday.
No, I'm free. Gonna finish up the pergola in the backyard. What's up?
Tommy doesn't even sound bothered by Buck's message out of nowhere. Like they've been conversing all along.
It shouldn't make tears come to Buck's eyes, and yet. He inhales sharply, and sends, all by yourself?
Yep
I'm quite handy around the house
as you know 😉
Buck wants to flirt back. But he can't shake the thought that woke him up from the front of his mind.
Tommy Kinard dies on Thursday at 3.49pm.
He takes a deep breath and holds it until he wants to burst. Then he calls Tommy.
"Hey," Tommy replies on the second ring. "I don't think I can borrow another helicopter until 2099."
"I'll make a note," Buck says, smiling despite the hammering of his heart against his ribs. "I'm just wondering if it's okay for me to, um, to go over on Thursday. T-to hang out."
There's a pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Tommy asks, hesitation in every syllable, "Why would you wanna do that?"
Because you might die. You might actually die and I can't risk that without me seeing you one more time before then. You may die on Thursday at 3.49pm and if I'm not there it might really happen, and if it does and I could've done something but I didn't because I wasn't there, and what if I don't even have the chance to say-
"I love you."
Buck's hand flies to his mouth in shock. That is not what he intended to say. His face grows hot and his feet icy. He wants to bury himself in the foundations of his new house and never be found again. He wants to be shot into the surface of the sun. He wants to be standing right in front of Tommy to see his expression.
He wants Tommy to know.
He wants Tommy to say something.
There isn't a reply. Buck hears breathing, and a quiet gulp, but no words.
"I... I didn't mean to-to blurt that out," Buck whispers when the silence is a little much to bear. "I just... I miss you, and I can't stop thinking about you even now, and I... I love you. I'm sorry. I should have said that earlier. Much earlier. I'm so sorry."
"I'm free now," Tommy answers, not in response to anything Buck has just said.
"What?"
"I'm free now," Tommy repeats. "You don't... You don't have to wait for Thursday. You can come here, now. Come here, a-and tell me. Tell me in person." A shaky inhale, and then a hushed, "please."
A single tear escapes Buck's control and rolls down his cheek. It is so simple. It has always been so simple.
God, he's been so stupid about this.
"Okay. I'll be there in twenty." He smiles and nods. "I'll be there. Don't... Don't go anywhere."
"I'll be waiting."
+++
Tommy Kinard dies on Thursday at 3.49pm.
Evan Kinard dies on Thursday, 4.06pm, hand in hand with his husband, celebrating forty years of marriage.