But, uh, Gene Krupa’s gotta think about more than keeping his own rhythm. He’s responsible for the rhythm of his whole band, isn’t he?
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“John Egan, your two o’clock.”
bucky sleeps in fits at the camp.
the cold keeps him awake. the lack of comfort. the noises, sure.
but when he does finally manage to fall asleep, those aren’t the things that wake him.
it’s a recurring nightmare of arriving at the stalag, asking after buck, and never being able to find him. he walks and he walks and he calls out and nothing happens. the world around him is dull and lifeless and buck isn’t here, gale isn’t here, which means —
bucky sits up with a gasp in his bunk, gale’s name already on the tip of his tongue, the veil between nightmare and reality so fucking thin, until —
“you’re alright, john.”
bucky glances in the direction of the voice — your two o’clock — and finds gale laying there, right where he said he’d be, right where bucky had found him again. his breathing slows as he holds buck’s gaze, finding comfort in the familiar hue of gale’s blue eyes practically twinkling in the moonlight.
(this is real. bucky knows it — knows because he’d never manage to dream up that kind of beauty in a place like this.)
“sorry for wakin’ you,” bucky offers quietly, voice low to hide the tremble he still can’t shake.
gale just hums. “get some rest, egan. you know where to find me.”
bucky keeps his eyes open as long as he can, committing the sight of buck in his own bunk to memory before he drifts off.
your two o’clock. your two o’clock. your two o’clock.
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GTKTM: FAVORITE TV SHOW/FILM PER MEMBER
↳ TOP GUN: MAVERICK — by Liv (@natashatrace)
You could learn a thing or two about timing, Captain.
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