SAB STOP IT THIS IS SO ADORABLE
I'M SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS SERIES OH MY GOD🥺
Evan Buckley / Waiting
Series: Neighbors (Evan Buckley x Reader)
Summary: After the fire engine crushed his leg, Buck was left waiting -- but he didn't know what he was waiting for -- turns out it was you (imagine being buck's neighbor).
Word Count: 1,373
Warnings: just cute fluff, spoilers for the season 2 finale, mild spoilers for 'buck begins' (04x05),
That was one thing Buck was never good at.
He couldn’t wait for his parents to love him — he had to get hurt to get their attention. He couldn’t wait for Maddie to leave Doug — he had to find himself on his own (admittedly with some help from the jeep). He couldn’t wait for Abby to get back from finding herself — he had to leave his first love behind.
And he couldn’t wait for his bone to heal — he couldn’t leave the most important thing he’d ever done in his life.
Maddie didn’t get it — and he grits his teeth, but why would she? She was the one who always did the leaving, wasn’t she?
Not like him, he rolled over on his side gingerly. he couldn’t get left behind.
But this was a waiting game now because his surgery was scheduled a few days out — but he could wait a few days. His fingers drummed against his couch, but not much longer.
Eddie and Chris had been over yesterday, but everyone was at work now — saving lives, and he was stuck here to his couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to ignore the itch in his cast and the sticky heat of his apartment.
It had been a while since he had felt like the world was passing him by, and right now, it really did. Out of his window, he could see it go — people walking the streets, his team shooting him messages in between their calls, Maddie checking up on him during her breaks — and he was here.
He was always here.
Hell, he was even stuck on the first floor — an eternal roommate in his own place. And he wondered, as he glanced towards the window again, when would he would stop feeling like a bystander in his own life?
And he sits up, frowning.
It takes more than a moment for Buck to get to his feet, grabbing crutches to help him along to the door, scowling at the walking aides — something that had been as easy as breathing, now as difficult as scaling entire buildings.
And that ease had been taken from him.
He opened his door, peering outside — but on the other hand, at least he had an apartment to come home to.
He frowns at the sight before him — several boxes piled up along the length of the hallway — are those boxes blocking the elevator — and then his gaze snaps back to you — your back pressed to the wall beside the door across the hall. But you pay him no mind — only typing furiously on your phone, sweat glinting off your furrowed brow, your lips twisted in a frown.
“Hey,” and your head snaps up, a glare in your eyes that nearly makes him recoil, until your gaze softens, eyes flickering from his cast back to his face, “you okay?”
You shake your head, offering a weak smile, “I feel like I should be asking you that,” and he flinches, “shit sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“Well, I’m doing as well as you could expect,” he sighs, making his way out of the doorway, and sees boxes lining the hall, blinking twice, “moving in or moving out?”
“Moving in, and it wasn’t supposed to be into the hallway,” you rest your head against the wall, “the landlord is going to be another hour or more, unless there’s L.A. traffic on the freeway of course, because who has ever heard of that?” you groan, before your eyes fall back to him, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to complain to a complete stranger.”
“Well, I’d say we’re more neighbors than strangers at this point,” and he smiles at you, as you chuckle, giving him the first real smile from you he’s seen — “do you want to come in?” and you hesitate, “I mean we can keep the door open,” and he feels his cheeks burn as you raise your eyebrows, “so you can keep an eye on your stuff, I wasn’t—”
You laugh, “You’re sweet,” and he hopes you don’t notice the red burning at his neck, “if you don’t mind?”
“Not like I have big plans today,” he shrugs, jerking his head for you to follow him inside, “plus it would be nice to have some company.”
And his heart squeezes as he glances back at you — especially if it's you.
“You stole a firetruck to hook up?” you shake your head, leaning back against the chair you sat in, “I hope it must have been a special occasion to warrant a felony?”
“If you count a desperate need to hook up with a woman I met on a call special,” he offers a weak smile while you shake your head, mouthing ‘no.’ He laughs, sipping at his coffee, “I’ve changed a lot since then, and it’s because of my job, because of the team,” and his face drops, sighing, “and I don’t know if I’m gonna get that back now.”
You frown, your eyes drifting to his leg, “If you don’t mind me asking, how bad—”
“It’s going to take some time to heal, longer than expected,” he’s shaking his head, “I want to get a surgery to speed up my recovery, in fact, I’m planning on it,”
“But?” and he slumps in his chair.
“My sister thinks I should just wait to see if it heals, but I don’t know,” he leans forward, “you see, this job — it’s given me everything — my friends, family, purpose. If this surgery can get me back there faster, then why wouldn’t I do it?”
“I can’t say I know what that’s like,” you purse your lips, “but Buck, it’s your decision to make at the end of the day. The only thing I know is that life is far too short to make your decisions based on what someone else wants. If your doctor says it’s safe, if you think it’s safe, and then you have to weigh the benefits of getting the surgery versus not,” and then you shake your head, “sorry that is probably the most wishy-washy answer you’ve gotten.”
“No, no, actually,” he blinks at you, before his lips form a half-smile, “do you know you’re the first person who hasn’t told me what to do?”
You snort, “Your friends sound nice, but a little bossy, huh?”
He laughs at that, a noise from his chest that makes your heart flutter, “A little, but like you said, their hearts are in the right place,” he shrugs, before he frowns, “I’m sorry, I feel like I’m talking a lot.”
“Don’t apologize,” you wave him off, “I like listening to you,”
“You do?” and you tilt your head.
“You seem surprised,”
“No, no, I just—” he shrugs, “It usually takes a bit for people to get me I guess,”
“Well, I think I got you the moment you invited me into your apartment,” and he furrows his brow, “you’re sweet.”
He chuckles, “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone say that about me,”
“Oh, how do people usually describe you?”
“Reckless, headstrong, stubborn,” and then he lifts his gaze to meet yours, mischievous, “charming, handsome.”
It’s your turn to laugh, before you nod, sipping at your drink, eyes not leaving his, “I can buy that,”
Oh, now can you?
“Well—” he leans forward, but then your phone buzzes, and you tear your eyes away from him, "the landlord's finally here."
"Finally," he gives a weak smile, and he tucks his disappointment away, "well good luck moving in. I'd help but—" his eyes flicker down from his cast and then back up.
"Well you could help?" And he tilts his head, "keep me company?"
He laughs a little, "You spent three hours talking with me and you're not sick of me yet?"
"Well you are charming after all," you throw a smile over your shoulder, as you head towards the door, "you coming?"
And he smiles, and as he rises, adjusting his crutches under his arms, he couldn't help but think he wouldn't mind waiting — if it was always with you.
37 notes · View notes