Chapter 5
Buck
28th June
Buck stood in the middle of the grocery store, a basket full of ingredients for the new recipe he’d been excited to try for the dinner. His fingers brushed over the cart's handle absentmindedly as he scrolled through the group chat on his phone. He had spent the last couple of days making sure everything was perfect: picking out the recipe, buying the right wine to go with it, and cleaning his place.
It’s just dinner, he told himself. Just a way to get everyone together. They’ll come, you asked last week, and they were all free. They already agreed, it’s a formality, to remind everyone.
He opened up the text chains;
Buck: Hey, just wanted to double-check if you are still good for dinner Tuesday evening. I’m excited to try this new recipe, and I’m looking forward to having everyone over!
There was a slight pause, and Buck stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over his phone. A few bubbles popped up here and there, and one by one, responses started filtering in.
Chim: Hey, sorry, but Maddie and I are planning to stay in tomorrow night. She just needs a quiet evening before the baby comes, you know?
Buck’s fingers froze. He was sure that Chimney and his sister had agreed to come. Maddie’s pregnancy had obviously been keeping them both busy, but still… A quiet night in?
He swallowed the disappointment down.
Buck: No problem. Maybe next time.
Then, another ping.
Hen: Karen and I are going dancing tomorrow night! I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks! Work has been crazy for Karen, and my mom offered to watch the kids so we could have date night.
Buck’s lips thinned into a line. Dancing, huh? That’s fine. It’s fine. People have their plans.
Buck: Enjoy! I hope it’s a good time.
He wasn’t sure how it felt reading her message. Hen had always been one of the first people to jump on any group get-together, so this felt… odd. But then again, everyone had their own lives. Maybe he was reading too much into it.
Another ping came in.
Bobby: Athena and I are headed to that new restaurant with the chefs that cook everything in front of you. Maybe we can do something later next week?
Buck forced a smile at the screen, but the ache in his chest intensified.
Buck: Sounds fun! Hope you both enjoy it.
He chewed on his lip, fingers flicking across the phone screen as he continued reading.
Ravi: May and I are actually going to pottery painting tomorrow night with some friends! Sorry, we’ll have to miss out on this one.
Buck stared at the messages, one by one. Each text felt like a little punch in the gut, the idea of everyone being busy slowly sinking in.
It’s fine, he told himself again. It’s just dinner. They all have their own things going on.
He put his phone down, his mind reeling. He could almost hear the sounds of the conversations he’d had with each of them about how they would be there. He’d felt sure they would come—Maddie and Chim, Karen, Hen, and the rest of them. But as the messages kept coming in, each one a polite excuse, Buck couldn’t help but feel like he was standing alone in the middle of this grocery store, surrounded by empty shelves. It wasn’t just dinner they were avoiding, was it? It was him.
He could already feel the loneliness creeping in like a shadow he couldn’t shake. It was fine. Everything was fine.
He turned around, putting the basket back, telling himself over and over that this wasn’t a big deal, that he could always make dinner for himself. He didn’t need them to show up.
But as he stepped out of the grocery store into the cool evening air, the weight of it settled around him like a heavy cloak.
It was the first time in a long while that he felt like he might be slipping into a crisis.
Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.
1st July
Buck woke up to the quiet hum of his alarm, a groggy weight pulling at his eyelids. It was the kind of sleep that left you feeling heavy, like you'd been dragged through a dream that didn't quite make sense. His eyes flickered open, and the first thing he did—like he always did—was reach for his phone.
No new messages.
He checked again, hoping he’d missed something, but there was nothing. No notifications. No “Happy Birthday” text from anyone. Not even a simple “Hey, thinking of you.”
It’s fine, he told himself, dragging a hand down his face. Maybe they’re busy.
But deep down, he knew. He knew there wasn’t going to be a flood of messages, no surprise phone calls or sudden get-togethers. It wasn’t like he was expecting a grand gesture; just something. Anything. A little recognition.
Buck sighed and tossed the phone back onto the bed, swinging his legs over the side and stretching. He was maxed out on overtime this month, so he only had a twelve-hour shift ahead of him. Another long day where he'd throw himself into work and pretend like everything was okay.
Arriving at work, he pulled on his uniform, adjusting the collar and smoothing out the creases, before heading upstairs to the loft for breakfast.
The faint murmur of voices carried down the stairs, and when Buck stepped into the room, the chatter suddenly died. Hen, Chim, and Bobby all turned to look at him, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open in an awkward silence.
Buck forced a smile, a little too wide, a little too bright.
“Good morning,” he said, offering a casual wave as he grabbed a banana from the counter. He didn’t wait for anyone to respond, not really wanting to stick around anyway. He could already feel the weight of their gaze on him, but instead of staying and making things uncomfortable, he walked back out of the room.
Happy birthday to me, he thought bitterly, chewing down the banana as he made his way to the truck.
The shift felt longer than usual, like every second dragged on. It wasn’t that anything particularly terrible happened—just a few routine calls, nothing out of the ordinary. But the weight of it all sat on him like a thick fog. His coworkers seemed distracted, lost in their own thoughts. Every conversation felt superficial, like no one really cared to connect today. Not even Chim, who usually checked in with him about everything, seemed present.
By the time the day ended, he was feeling like a ghost again. A shadow moving through the motions of work, just existing but not really there. He quickly grabbed his things and headed out, barely saying goodbye to anyone. He didn’t feel like staying to chat.
Outside, the evening sky was dimming, and the usual buzz of the city was fading into that quiet lull before nightfall. It felt so eerily empty.
Buck stopped by the store, buying a single cupcake. Just one. No need for a whole cake when it’s just him. The neon lights of the bakery flickered overhead as he stood there for a moment, staring at the lonely little dessert in the plastic container. The clerk smiled at him, oblivious to the ache in his chest as he paid.
When he finally made it home, it felt like his apartment was too quiet. He dropped his things by the door, kicking off his shoes, and walked to the kitchen, staring at the cupcake in its plastic packaging. He didn't know what he was expecting—something magical to happen, maybe? For someone to pop out of nowhere and make everything feel okay? But no one came. Not even a text. Not from Maddie. Not from Karen.
No one.
Buck sat at the table, staring at the cupcake in front of him, feeling the emptiness pressing in on him. He picked at the frosting with his finger, but it tasted like cardboard. Like everything he touched had no real flavor to it.
Maybe next year, he thought bitterly, next year things will be different.
But the thought didn’t comfort him. Not really. He never really celebrated his birthday, not fully the way the 118 often did. Even thinking back on the past few years, it was often a hastily thrown together plan to make sure no one looked like they’d forgotten.
Tonight, he wasn’t even worth that.
With a resigned sigh, Buck stood up and moved to the couch, curling up underneath a blanket. The cupcake sat untouched on the kitchen counter.
It wasn’t that he minded being alone. He was used to it, he reminded himself. But today, in this moment, it felt like the weight of the loneliness was crushing him.
No one had remembered. No one cared.
And in that quiet, hollow space, Buck felt the stark truth: He didn’t matter to them, not in the way he had hoped.
He closed his eyes, wishing he could go back to sleep and wake up to a world where people remembered. But tomorrow would come, and it would be just another day. And maybe next year, he’d forget to make the effort for his birthday too.
2nd July
The morning sunlight drifted softly through the blinds, casting warm stripes across the floor. For once, the brightness didn’t feel like a taunt.
Today was different.
Today, he got to bring Bear home.
He arrived at the training centre a little before the scheduled pickup time, nerves and anticipation fighting for space in his chest. One of the trainers met him at the door with a grin.
“You’re early,” she teased.
Buck offered a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Minutes later, Bear came bounding into the room—alert, focused, tail wagging. The German Shepherd moved with purpose, stopping right in front of Buck and sitting obediently, his eyes bright and fixed on him.
“Hey, buddy,” Buck murmured, crouching down and running his hand through Bear’s thick fur. “Ready to come home?”
Bear responded with a low, friendly chuff, leaning into the touch. And just like that, something loosened in Buck’s chest. Not everything was fixed, not even close. But this—this moment—felt like something good.
The next stop was HQ. The trip felt surreal; walking through the familiar halls, Bear at his side, vest on, paws confident against the tile. Buck handed over the final paperwork—Dr. Copeland’s most recent evaluation stating he was fit for duty, along with the documentation for Bear’s task list and official clearance. Everyone at HQ was charmed immediately.
“He’s gorgeous,” one of the secretaries said, peering over his desk to see Bear, who remained professional but wagged his tail.
“Looks like he’ll keep you in check,” someone joked.
“Or keep me from jumping headfirst into a fire,” Buck quipped softly.
And for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like he had to pretend to be fine. There was a sense of pride building quietly inside him—this was a step forward. A real one.
Home felt quieter with Bear there—but a good kind of quiet. A warm one. Buck kicked off his shoes, changed into a hoodie and sweatpants, and curled up on the sofa. Bear followed without hesitation, leaping up next to him and settling his large head on Buck’s thigh. The weight was grounding—comforting in a way that cut through the fuzziness he often tried to ignore.
He pulled his half-finished crocheted bear out from the basket beside him. His hands moved in rhythm, yarn looping and twisting with steady precision. Bear didn’t move, just let out a low, satisfied sigh.
The box by the arm of the sofa was nearly full now—little crocheted first responder bears, each one unique; a mix of firefighters, paramedics and police officers. Each one had a name tag: “Benny,” “Scout,” “Riley,” “Milo.”
He finished the last few stitches on today’s bear—a little paramedic named “Toby”—and tied off the end. Carefully, he set Toby into the box, nestled between a police bear and a sooty- firefighter bear named “Eddie.” He didn’t know where they’d all end up yet—maybe in the arms of kids they rescued on calls, maybe donated to a local charity for families in crisis. But the idea that they’d bring comfort to someone else… that made the hours of crocheting feel worthwhile.
By the time evening crept in, the crochet basket was tucked back into its corner, the box sealed up for now. Buck brushed his teeth, pulled on a clean shirt, and flicked the lights off as he padded to his bedroom. Bear followed close behind, tail swaying gently.
The bed dipped slightly as the dog jumped up, circling twice before curling into a warm, soft ball beside Buck’s legs. Lying back against the pillow, Buck exhaled slowly. There was a strange, almost fragile peace in the room.
He didn’t get a birthday cake. No one sang for him. But today, someone had wagged their tail like they were truly happy to see him.
He reached down, fingers brushing against Bear’s thick fur.
“Thanks for sticking with me, bud,” he whispered.
Bear let out a low huff and nudged Buck’s hand with his nose. The ache in Buck’s chest didn’t vanish—but for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel so heavy. He didn’t feel so alone.
As sleep pulled him under, Bear’s breathing kept time with his own. His first day with Bear had gone better than he could have hoped.
May
3rd July
The midday sun was hot on May’s back as she climbed the steps to Buck’s porch, awkwardly shifting the paper bag in her arms. The bag rustled with the weight of brightly colored yarn skeins, and nestled among them was a softcover book titled “Zoo Animals to Crochet for Fun and Cuddles.”, and a birthday card with a cartoon bear in a fire helmet.
She felt a little silly carrying it all herself—she could’ve just texted and asked him to meet for coffee, but that didn’t feel like enough. She wanted today to be a proper sibling day. One of their “just us” outings. Lunch. Bubble tea. Laughter. Something bright to break whatever fog had been gathering around him lately.
But when she knocked, the house was quiet.
Okay, so it wasn’t just a sibling day out she had in mind. It was… also a little guilt. A little making-up. She’d completely missed his birthday a couple of days ago, and it gnawed at her more than she wanted to admit. She’d thought about texting him that morning, but “happy belated” felt so thin. She wanted to show up, fix it in person, bring light.
But when she knocked, there was no answer.
She tried again. Still nothing.
May shifted the bag onto one hip and pulled out her phone, calling his number. It rang once—twice—and went straight to voicemail.
She frowned and checked the time. Middle of the day. His car was gone. The curtains were drawn. No lights visible through the windows.
It wasn’t unusual, maybe. But something about it still felt… off.
She sat down on the porch steps, the bag crinkling at her side. The street was quiet except for the lazy chirp of a bird somewhere up in a tree. Buck had always liked quiet like this, but now it felt heavy. Like absence.
She tried texting.
Hey, I came by. Brought you something for your birthday (I really am sorry, I got my days mixed up, but it is no excuse).
Let me know when you’re home? Thought we could do sibling day (we could do a spa day and get bubble tea? Or lunch)
Let me know
Love you big brother
The message sat there, delivered but unread.
May bit her lip, got up, and walked back to her car. As she pulled out of his street, she didn’t go home—not directly. She drove to her mother’s.
Athena was standing barefoot in the kitchen, as she stirred something in a pot. The air was warm with the scent of garlic and herbs, but her attention was clearly more on the podcast playing from her phone than the sauce. That was, until she heard the front door open and slam shut again.
“Hello?” she called, half-turning.
“It’s just me,” May said, her voice tight.
“In the kitchen,” Athena answered, switching off the podcast. She turned just in time to see her daughter drop her bag and slouch against the counter.
Athena raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? You look like someone just stole your favourite hoodie.”
May took a moment, eyes scanning the floor before she spoke. “I went to see Buck.”
That immediately caught Athena’s full attention.
“Oh?”
“I was gonna surprise him—take him for lunch, maybe bubble tea. I even brought his birthday gift. Crochet stuff,” she added quickly, as if defending herself. “A book, and some yarn I found in all these cool colors.”
Athena smiled faintly. “Sounds perfect for him.”
“Yeah,” May agreed, but her mouth pressed into a line. “Except… he wasn’t home.”
“Okay…”
“I knocked. Called. Texted. Nothing. No car in the driveway. Curtains were all closed.”
Athena’s brow creased. “Well, he might just be out. You know how he gets when he needs space.”
“I do, Mum. But I’ve noticed things lately. He’s… quieter. It’s not like before. I mean, he doesn’t even really start conversations with me anymore. I’m always the one messaging first, and even then it takes hours—sometimes days—for him to reply. If he replies at all.”
Athena leaned against the counter, lips pursed in thought.
“And I know you’re gonna say maybe he’s just busy,” May went on, frustration edging into her voice. “But that doesn’t explain why he’s pulled away from everyone. I thought maybe it was just me, but…”
“No,” Athena interrupted gently. “It’s not just you.”
May looked up, surprised.
“I’ve noticed it too, and Karen.” Athena admitted. “He always says he’s fine, that he’s managing—but there’s something in his eyes lately. I haven’t seen him look that… hollow in a long time.”
May’s arms wrapped around herself, her worry deepening. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“I think he’s doing what Buck always does when he’s hurting,” Athena said softly. “He disappears just enough to avoid the questions, but shows up just enough that no one thinks to ask.”
May hesitated. “Should we go check on him?”
Athena pulled out her phone. “Let’s try calling again first.”
She dialed.
It rang once.
Then voicemail.
She sighed, lowering the phone.
“That’s not like him,” she murmured. “Not with me.”
“What if something’s wrong, Mum?” May said quietly.
Athena’s face steeled just slightly, but her voice was calm. “We’ll keep an eye on it. Let him have today. But if I don’t hear from him by tomorrow… I’ll go knock on his door myself. And I won’t leave until I see him.”
May nodded, but her eyes stayed on her mother’s phone, as if willing it to ring.
Buck
The ground crunched softly beneath Buck’s boots as he moved up the trail, the sun filtering through a canopy of leaves that danced lightly in the early afternoon breeze. The steady rhythm of his steps paired with the gentle jingle of Bear’s collar created a kind of calming, natural beat—one that seemed to sync with his breath the longer they walked.
Bear trotted slightly ahead, always keeping a pace just right—not too far, not too close. His ears flicked every few steps, attuned to the forest around them but even more so to the man walking behind him.
Buck inhaled deeply, letting the scent of pine and warm earth fill his lungs. He could almost feel the weight sliding off his shoulders with each step he took away from the city, from the noise, from the lingering fog of the past months.
He was slowly coming to terms with the lack of contact. No texts. No calls. Not from Maddie. Not even from May. He’d tried to shake it off this morning, but waking up to silence again had hit a little harder than expected.
So he’d turned his phone off.
He hadn’t even packed lunch. Just threw some jerky and trail mix in a bag with two water bottles, a roll of dog poop bags, and the emergency first aid kit. He didn’t need much. Just… space.
Bear suddenly paused at a fork in the trail, looking back at him, head slightly cocked. Waiting.
“Left,” Buck said softly, and Bear turned, effortlessly shifting his stride to follow the path that led deeper into the trees.
It had taken less than a day for the dog to start reading him. Less than a day for Buck to stop feeling like he was constantly two seconds from falling apart.
Bear didn’t ask for small talk. Didn’t fill the silence with empty words. He just… walked beside him. Watched him. Grounded him.
Buck realized his hands were starting to tremble again.
He wasn’t panicking. Not yet. But it was close.
Without realising, Bear had stepped closer and pressed the side of his head gently against Buck’s leg—solid, warm. Grounding.
Buck took a breath, one hand sinking into the thick fur just behind Bear’s neck.
“I’m okay,” he murmured aloud, not sure who he was saying it to. Bear? Himself?
They kept walking.
The trail widened a little, sloping uphill toward a crest that overlooked a broad, open view of the forest below. Buck could already smell the sun-warmed wood and dry grass up ahead, and the faintest scent of something floral—maybe wild sage or mountain laurel. He could feel the press of the outside world starting to ease up, like it couldn’t quite follow him all the way up here.
Finally, they reached the overlook.
Buck sat on a flat rock, Bear sitting down beside him, alert but still. The view opened wide in front of them—rolling hills blanketed in trees, the occasional patch of sun-dappled clearing cutting through the green. It was quiet. Not silent—but the kind of quiet that calmed his racing thoughts instead of amplifying them.
Buck let out a long breath. His hand found Bear’s fur again, idly stroking behind one upright ear.
“I think you’re magic,” he said quietly, voice rough but sincere.
Bear licked his hand once, then went back to watching the trees sway below.
Buck reached into his backpack, pulling out his nearly-finished crochet project—a small firefighter bear, mid-suit, complete with helmet. The yarn trailed across his lap as his fingers found their rhythm again.
This time, he didn’t feel like he was crocheting to fill the silence. Or to push the loneliness away.
He was just… being.
For the first time in days—maybe weeks—his chest didn’t feel like it was caving in. And it wasn’t because anything was fixed. Eddie was still gone. The others still didn’t know they’d forgotten his birthday. Nothing had changed.
Except that now, he wasn’t alone.
He glanced sideways at Bear.
“Good boy,” he said softly.
Bear thumped his tail once, then rested his chin on Buck’s boot.
The breeze picked up gently, brushing through Buck’s curls and tugging at the end of the yarn thread as he worked. The sun had drifted lower in the sky, softening the edges of the forest with golden light. Bear shifted slightly, resting his head more comfortably on Buck’s boot, eyes still alert but relaxed.
They’d been up there for maybe an hour—maybe two. Time didn’t feel linear in the woods. It moved slower, more kindly. Here, Buck didn’t have to smile for anyone. He didn’t have to explain why he was quiet. He didn’t have to feel like a burden.
He held up the nearly finished crochet bear and studied it under the fading light. The little fireman’s hat was crooked—he’d have to redo it. But still, the stitches were neat, the colors warm. He’d named this one Leo. Leo the Brave.
“Think this one should go to a kid who had a bad house fire,” he murmured, glancing at Bear. “Maybe it’ll help. You think kids still like teddy bears?”
Bear tilted his head slightly, then let out a low, quiet huff.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Another few minutes passed before Buck finally packed the yarn away, gently placing Leo beside the others in the box in his pack. He stood, brushing pine needles off his jeans, stretching until his spine gave a satisfying pop. Bear rose with him, giving a full-body shake and wagging his tail once.
The sun was dipping below the trees now. Time to head back.
“Let’s go home, bud.”
The truck rolled into the driveway just as the sky began turning dusky pink. The porch light hadn’t come on yet, but as Buck stepped out with Bear’s leash in hand, he could already make out the shapes of things resting on the doormat.
A blue gift bag with tissue sticking out of the top.
A small wrapped box.
Another, brightly colored gift bag with paw prints all over it.
Buck blinked at them, confused.
Bear sniffed curiously at the nearest one, tail wagging softly.
Cautiously, Buck unlocked the front door, carrying the gifts inside before flipping the hallway light on. Bear padded in, immediately doing a perimeter sniff of the living room like the good dog he was.
Buck left the gifts on the kitchen counter, shrugged out of his jacket, and finally—finally—reached for his phone.
He held it for a moment, thumb hovering over the power button. Some small part of him didn’t want to turn it on. He’d felt… better out in the trees, where no one could get in. Where he didn’t have to know if no one had noticed he’d disappeared.
But Bear nudged his knee gently, a soft pressure that grounded him once again.
Buck sighed and powered it on.
The phone buzzed violently in his hand. Notifications lit up the screen—missed calls, texts, voicemails.
May (3 missed calls, 4 texts):
Hey, I came by. Brought you something for your birthday (I really am sorry, I got my days mixed up, but it is no excuse).
Let me know when you’re home? Thought we could do sibling day (we could do a spa day and get bubble tea? Or lunch)
Let me know
Love you big brother
Mama (2 missed calls, 1 voicemail, 1 text):
“Just checking in. May said you were out. We’re both a little worried. Call me, sweetheart.”
Hey baby, come by the house when you get a chance.
Karen (1 missed call, 1 voicemail):
“Hey, I must have just missed you. I wanted to drop off something belated for your birthday. I’m sorry I missed it, work got hectic, but I should have realised. Denny and Mara made you birthday cards, and they also want to make you cupcakes. Let me know. Love you Buck”
His fingers hovered over the screen, rereading May’s texts again and again. He stepped closer to the gifts on the counter. May’s bag had a note tucked into the handle, scrawled in her curly handwriting:
“Sorry I was late. Hope this makes up for it. Happy Birthday, big bro”
He swallowed around the tightness forming in his throat. Slowly, carefully, he opened her gift: a thick crochet pattern book—"Zoo Animals to Stitch and Snuggle"—and a massive rainbow assortment of yarn skeins, so many colors it looked like a confetti explosion.
Bear brushed up against his leg again, sensing the tremble that had begun to creep into his hand.
Buck set the book down, gently. Then crouched beside Bear, fingers winding into his thick coat.
“I think I forgot people could surprise me,” he whispered.
Bear pressed closer.
Buck pulled his phone out. The house was quiet—just the soft hum of the kettle coming to a slow boil and the occasional thump of Bear’s tail against the floor as he lazed nearby, always within reach. Buck sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, phone in hand, thumbs moving slowly over the screen.
Buck:
Hey Mama, sorry I missed your call. I woke up feeling quite stir crazy, so went on a long hike today. Needed to clear my head. Feeling tired but better. Would love to come over tomorrow evening if you’re free?
He hit send and watched the little bubbles pop up almost immediately.
Mama:
You went hiking?? That sounds perfect for a reset. I’m so glad to hear you’re feeling refreshed. Tomorrow evening works—we’ll have something warm ready for you. Bobby will be thrilled you’re coming by. So will I. 💕
He smiled faintly, warmth unfurling beneath his ribs. He clicked over to Karen’s message next.
Buck:
Thanks for the birthday presents. I know life is chaos, so I get it—really. I love the books, already thinking about what recipe to try first.
If the kids are free in a couple days, maybe they could come over and help me make cupcakes?
A few seconds passed, and then her reply came through:
Karen:
They would absolutely love that. Mara was just asking when she could see you again. I’ll bring wine—we’ll do cupcakes and a nice, quiet evening. Deal?
Buck:
Deal.
The kettle clicked off, and Buck moved on instinct, grabbing the cocoa powder from the cupboard, spooning a little into a chipped blue mug. Marshmallows—big ones, the kind that melt slowly—were dropped in with the same casual grace.
As the water poured in, steam curling around his face, he felt something inside him loosen. Not fully healed, not whole—but not breaking either.
He padded to the living room, placing the hot chocolate carefully on the side table before curling up into his usual corner of the couch. Bear trotted over and settled nearby, head resting on Buck’s thigh, one ear twitching slightly.
Buck picked up the crochet book May had given him, thumbing through it slowly. Crocodile? Maybe. Giraffe? Tempting. But it was the elephant pattern that made him pause—large, soft ears, a slightly tilted trunk. He smiled at the sketch, nodding to himself.
“Looks like you’ve got competition, Leo,” he murmured to the bear tucked into the box beside the sofa.
Satisfied, he set the book aside and picked up his phone one more time, opening his last unread message thread—May.
Big brother:
Hey, sorry I missed you earlier. Went on a hike—felt like I needed to get out of my own head a bit. Was feeling a little trapped, but the fresh air did me good. Thank you for the present—it’s absolutely perfect. Was already planning which animal I want to make next.
Would love to grab lunch with you and sit in the park for a while. Maybe tomorrow, if you’re free? Also… I’ve got a surprise for you. You’re going to love it.
The reply came with little delay:
Little sister:
A hike? Proud of you. And you got me curious now… what surprise?! I’m free tomorrow—1pm? I’ll bring us some bubble tea. Can’t wait to see you!
Classes have kept me busy, but I’ve missed you a lot.
Buck smiled softly, setting the phone down and reaching for the yarn beside him. As the sky outside melted into soft blue dusk, he started the elephant from the skein of grey yarn, Bear breathing warm and steady against his leg.
It didn’t fix everything. But for the first time in weeks, it felt like something good was starting again.
May
4th July
The sun was gentle that morning, just warm enough to coax people outdoors without overwhelming them. The park was busy but not crowded—kids laughing by the swings, a few dogs tugging excitedly at their leashes, someone practicing acoustic guitar under a tree near the pond.
May sat on a bench near the path, legs crossed, her hands resting on a tray of bubble teas. Her sunglasses were pushed up into her hair, and her gaze scanned the park until it landed on him.
Buck saw her spot him, her entire face lighting up in a way that never failed to warm his chest. He raised a hand in greeting, Bear trotting calmly by his side, ears alert but posture relaxed. He wore his service dog vest—a clean black one with bright yellow patches that read “Do Not Pet: Working Dog”.
As they reached the bench, May stood up, her mouth falling open slightly in shock.
“Oh my god, Buck—you have a dog?!” she squeaked, clearly trying to keep her excitement low but already halfway to bouncing. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”
Buck gave her a small, almost shy smile as he unclipped Bear’s leash and gestured for him to sit. Bear obeyed immediately, resting at Buck’s feet, his big head gently pressing against Buck’s knee. Buck reached down to take Bear’s vest off, to allow May to pet Bear properly.
“Hey, Lil,” he said, reaching for the bubble tea she was holding out. “Thanks. Taro?”
“Of course,” she said with a grin. “You’re predictable, but in a good way.”
They sat together, sipping in comfortable silence for a moment. May’s eyes kept darting between Buck and Bear.
“Okay, seriously,” she said, nudging his arm. “You gotta tell me everything. I feel like I’ve missed a whole chapter of your life.”
Buck glanced down at Bear, who blinked up at him patiently. He ran a hand over the dog’s fur, his voice quiet but steady.
“His name’s Bear. He’s a two-year-old German Shepherd, and… he’s my psychiatric service dog. And you are the first to meet him, because I collected him the day after my birthday. So, maybe just a page in the chapter?”
May blinked, her expression turning instantly from excitement to soft understanding.
“I’ve been back in therapy for a while now,” Buck continued. “It was getting… hard. After Eddie left, and with everything else going on. Dr. Copeland thought maybe it was time to consider a service dog. Someone who could help keep me grounded, especially when I dissociate or spiral.”
May reached over, gently placing a hand on his forearm.
“I’m really glad you have him,” she said sincerely. “You didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up,” Buck admitted. “There was a whole application process, evaluations, matching… it’s been about five months in the works. And honestly, part of me didn’t want to talk about it in case it didn’t happen.”
“Well, he’s perfect,” May said. “Like, serious good-boy energy. I can tell he’s already obsessed with you.”
Buck laughed quietly, and Bear nudged his knee in response to the sound. Buck gave him a small scratch behind the ear.
“He’s really helped. I took him on the hike yesterday? They’re different. It’s like I don’t feel as… trapped. I’ve only really had him a couple of days, but I am beginning to feel less like I’m treading water.”
May nodded slowly. “I’m so glad you’ve got him, Buck.”
She took another sip of her drink, then perked up again. “Okay! Now that you’ve dropped that emotional truth bomb, can I balance things out by telling you about the chaos gremlin who is my new research supervisor?”
Buck smiled. “Please.”
“I’m doing an internship with this epidemiology lab,” May said, shifting to face him more directly. “We’re modelling how respiratory viruses mutate under pressure from different host immune systems. Which sounds fancy but mostly involves me running simulations and cleaning pipettes.”
Buck grinned. “So you’re basically making sure we don’t end up in another pandemic?”
“I mean,” she snorted, “I hope I’m helping avoid that. But honestly, if you hear about some freak flu hitting cows in Texas, it probably started in our fridge.”
He laughed louder at that, and Bear’s ears twitched as if approving of the moment.
“Promise me if you accidentally unleash a mutant virus, you’ll warn me before it hits California.”
“No promises,” May teased. “I’ll be too busy doing interviews with Scientific American.”
They sat like that for another hour—talking, laughing, sipping their tea. It was the most relaxed Buck had felt in weeks.
Eventually, May glanced at her phone. “Okay, if we want to grab lunch before I have to head home, we should probably start walking.”
“Sounds good,” Buck said, stretching a little as he stood, the vest already replaced, and the leash being clipped back on. Bear immediately stood too, tail wagging slightly, alert and ready.
May looped her arm through Buck’s, grinning up at him. “You’ve got to tell me where you found him—he’s like your soulmate in dog form.”
“I didn’t find him,” Buck said, giving Bear a fond look. “He found me.”
Together, the three of them strolled out of the park and toward the café, the sun chasing their shadows as it rose higher into the afternoon sky.
The café was a cozy, open-air spot tucked between a florist and a bookstore, shaded by string lights and bright yellow parasols. The kind of place Buck might have walked past a hundred times but never gone into. May led the way like she had already memorized the menu. They were seated at a small table near the railing, a spot with enough room for Bear to lie down beside Buck without getting in the way of the servers.
Bear, ever the professional, settled himself at Buck’s feet as soon as they sat. His vest remained on, the yellow Do Not Pet patch catching the light as people passed and cast curious glances their way. Some looked like they wanted to say something, but no one did — not with the quiet way Buck held himself, or the way Bear kept his eyes on him like he was guarding something precious.
May popped the lid off her lemonade and grinned across the table. “So. Is Bear allowed to have a taste of your lunch, or is he all business?”
“All business when the vest is on,” Buck said with a small smirk. “He gets rewarded at home. I made him ham scrambled eggs this morning.”
“He’s going to be spoiled rotten, and I fully support it,” May said. “You deserve a spoiled dog.”
Buck chuckled softly, his fingers tapping on the edge of the menu. He didn’t feel as heavy as he had earlier in the week. There was still a hum of sadness beneath his skin, but it didn’t feel as loud today.
May looked over the menu. “You thinking sandwich, or salad, or burger the size of your head?”
“Honestly?” Buck smiled. “I just want something warm. Maybe the grilled cheese and tomato soup.”
“Classic choice,” May nodded, flagging down their server. Once they ordered, she leaned forward a little, her voice softening. “Thanks for inviting me out today.”
“Thanks for showing up,” Buck replied. “And… for the yarn. And the book. I started one of the elephants last night. He’s a little lopsided but in a charming way.”
“Good,” May said warmly. “That means he has personality.”
They laughed, and for a moment, it was just like their usual sibling days — simple and light, no undercurrent of tension or emotional weight. But May was quiet again once their laughter faded, chewing on the edge of her straw.
“You know,” she said gently, “I had this moment when I went to your place and saw you weren’t there… I don’t know. It kind of hit me how quiet you’ve been lately. Even in our messages.”
Buck looked away, eyes fixed on the condensation on his glass. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“I wasn’t worried worried, like panic-mode worried,” May clarified. “More like… I missed you. And I’ve been trying to figure out if you’ve just been busy or if something else was going on.”
Buck hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “It’s been a bit of both. The therapy stuff. The dog stuff. The job. Everyone else has been so busy too—it just felt easier not to bother anyone.”
“You’re never a bother,” she said immediately. “You know that, right?”
“I’m trying to believe it,” he said honestly. “Some days it’s easier than others.”
The server brought their food, giving them a brief reprieve. Bear sat up just long enough to inspect the arrival of plates, but once it was clear nothing was meant for him, he lay back down, head resting on his paws.
“You seem… steadier today,” May said after a few bites. “Not fully okay, but… grounded.”
“That’s Bear,” Buck said softly. “He keeps me tethered when my head gets too loud. It could be a bit of a placebo effect, but…I don’t know…its been 48 hours and I’m stopped doom spiralling about everything. Plus, we finally managed to find a combination of drugs to manage my depression and ADHD, and I think it is finally kicking in.”
They ate slowly, chatting in between bites — May told him more about the chaos of her lab, her roommate’s ill-fated attempt to make sourdough, and a new parkour club on campus that she refused to join but enjoyed watching fall off walls.
Buck told her about a call they had last week where a man had managed to glue his hand to a squirrel feeder, and how Mara had given him a “Sir Buck the Noble Dragon” title after he’d brought her a donut after her science quiz.
“You really are the best,” May said with a grin.
“Not always,” Buck murmured, his eyes softening. “But I’m trying to be better.”
“You already are.”
He didn’t say anything after that. Just smiled a little and took another bite of grilled cheese, Bear quietly watching from beneath the table.
When they finished, May stood up and stretched. “Come on, let’s take the long way back to your car. I want to keep hanging out.”
Buck stood too, nudging Bear gently to let him know they were moving. Bear rose with the ease of someone who’d been listening the entire time, ready and alert.
As they stepped out into the warm afternoon sun, Buck thought — maybe, just maybe — he was starting to feel like himself again.
Buck turned to May, worry suddenly sweeping across his face. "Hey, May. Can I ask a favour? Don't tell anyone about Bear or make a big deal about my birthday. I don't want everyone to feel guilty, or to make it seem like I'm being...overdramatic. I'm telling mum and dad tonight about Bear."
May hugged Buck, "Of course, I'm just happy for you. And thank you for the day out. See you soon?"
Buck squeezes May a little, then pulls back. "It was nice to see you."