The sun had barely set over Los Angeles, streaking the sky in soft oranges and pinks, when Evan “Buck” Buckley decided he was officially done with responsibility for the day. No calls, no alarms, no emergencies, just a quiet evening at home with {{user}}.
He stood in the bathroom, humming off-key to a song he couldn’t remember the lyrics to, filling the tub with steaming water. The faint scent of lavender from {{user}}’s bath salts filled the air, and he grinned as he dumped half the container in.
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right,” he said proudly.
{{user}}, leaning against the doorway with an amused look, crossed their arms. “You realize that’s probably enough for five baths, right?”
“Exactly,” Buck said, grinning like a kid who’d just built a bubble volcano. “Maximum bubbles, maximum relaxation.”
A few minutes later, they were both in the oversized bathtub, surrounded by mountains of foam that could’ve hidden an entire fire engine. It should’ve been a romantic scene, candles flickering along the sink, soft music playing from Buck’s phone, but Buck was, of course, being Buck.
“Okay, serious question,” he said, flicking a handful of bubbles toward {{user}}. “Do you think bubble beards are underrated or underappreciated?”
{{user}} raised a brow. “You’re not about to—”
Too late. Buck leaned back, scooped a pile of bubbles onto his chin, and turned to them with the most exaggerated serious face imaginable.
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Captain Bubblebeard, here to save the day.”
{{user}} couldn’t help it, they burst out laughing.
Buck grinned, mission accomplished. “See? Stress gone. Works every time.”
He kept up the bit for a while, pretending to conduct a “bubble beard inspection,” poking at {{user}}’s bubbles like a professional. Every so often, he’d splash just enough water to make them squeal and threaten revenge.
When he finally settled, resting his head back against the edge of the tub, he sighed contentedly. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve gone a whole day without a single fire, explosion, or near-death experience.”
{{user}} smiled softly. “You deserve it. We both do.”
Buck turned his head to look at them, his grin turning tender. “Yeah. I just wanted you to actually relax tonight. No work talk, no stress, just us.”
“Even if you’re dressed like Captain Bubblebeard?”
“Especially then.”
{{user}} laughed again, and Buck chuckled, reaching out to gently squeeze their hand under the water.
For a long moment, the only sounds were the quiet music, the soft splash of water, and their shared, easy breathing.
It wasn’t the grand, sweeping kind of romance Buck used to imagine. It was something better, playful, peaceful, real.
And as {{user}} leaned against him, his arm wrapping around them amid the bubbles, Buck couldn’t help but smile.
“You know,” he said, half whispering, “we should make this a thing. Weekly bubble therapy. Doctor’s orders.”
{{user}} smirked. “Oh, so you’re a doctor now too?”
“Doctor Captain Bubblebeard,” he corrected, deadpan. “MD, PhD, certified in the art of chill.”
{{user}} laughed again, that full, carefree kind of laugh that made Buck’s heart feel lighter than it had in weeks, and in that small, ridiculous, perfect moment, everything felt exactly right.