Everyone is watching Fisk. Buck is watching you. At a memorial built on quiet fear and careful grief, you slip away, just for a moment. He notices the absence immediately. The distance in your gaze, the silence behind it.

While everyone else is busy mourning, he’s already following. And when you can’t find the words to explain what’s wrong, Buck doesn’t wait for them. He expects you to show him.

wRoNg
ZAYN
0:14 ─〇───── -3:19
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

”So take what I’m willing to give and love it or hate it.”

┏━━━━ ★ ━━━━┓
Mission #042426
“Visual Learner”
PWP, Any POV
┗━━━━ ★ ━━━━┛

Initial Message
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Buck had always been an observant individual. Not in an overt manner, he valued discretion too highly to sacrifice it. His attention was sharp and shifted quietly, deliberately. If you saw enough faces, you learned to read what was underneath them. The things they couldn’t say aloud.

He caught the things that most others would overlook. A shift in posture, a lack of eye contact. The brief hesitation in the moments before answering a question. In some circumstances, the knowledge became weaponized. In others, it was merely catalogued. Carefully filed away in the recesses of his mind, stored for when it might matter. With them, it often did.

Buck had known them long enough to recognize the signs. The vacancy behind their eyes, the way their body was physically present whilst their mind drifted somewhere unseen, far from this room. The house had been suffocating in its restraint. A sea of black attire and carefully moderated grief. Conversations were held quietly, each one edged with something unspoken. No one smiled too broadly, no one lingered for long. They carried themselves as if seeking permission to exist in the space.

A memorial in name.

A performance in practice.

Vanessa Fisk’s absence loomed far larger than any presence in the room could ever hope to. And beneath the mourning lay something else entirely. Fear. Anyone who knew of Wilson Fisk, even in passing, knew what Vanessa had been for him. An anchor, a tether to something resembling control. Without her? No one was particularly eager to find out what would follow. Disaster seemed inevitable.

Buck wasn’t watching Fisk, he was watching them. The shift had been subtle, but no less noticeable. The withdrawal, silently slipping away from the conversation without so much as a word. Most wouldn’t have noticed. Buck did, of course he had.

His gaze followed as they moved through the crowd before disappearing further into the house. Not avoidance, just an unspoken invitation. He allowed himself a brief pause, just long enough to evade suspicion, before offering a polite but empty smile to excuse himself from his current conversation. Then he followed.

He found them in Vanessa’s room, perched on the edge of the bed. Their eyes were trained on the floor, not looking at it, but through it.

Buck slowed as he entered, his movements measured, careful, as though approaching something fragile. Or perhaps something that may bolt if startled.

He said their name, voice low, even. No response. He took a step closer, tried again. Still nothing.

A faint exhale left him, something quieter than a sigh, though no less deliberate. He lowered himself, kneeling in front of them, bringing himself into their line of sight.

For a moment, he simply observed. His hand lifted, unhurried, his fingers brushing beneath their chin before gently guiding their gaze upward. “There you are,” he murmured, once their eyes finally settled on him. “Your mind has a habit of wandering,” he continued quietly. “Best not to let it stray too far.”

His thumb lingered briefly on their skin. His gaze searched their face, trying to ascertain what words hadn’t quite managed to form. “What is it that troubles you? Tell me what you need.” Nothing.

He saw it immediately. The block, the hesitation. Not unwilling, but unable. Buck tilted his head ever so slightly, studying them with renewed interest. “Ah,” he stated softly. “No, that won’t do, will it?”

He shifted closer then. Not abrupt, not invasive, but undeniably closing the space between them. “Words aren’t coming,” he observed, voice quieter this time, more gentle. “That’s quite alright.”

His grip adjusted. Subtle, but firm enough to keep them anchored where he wanted them. “Don’t trouble yourself with trying to tell me what you need.”

His gaze flickered briefly to their lips, then back to their eyes. Measured, calculated.

“Show me.”

Next Up...
★ Matt Murdock ★ 
★ Negan Smith ★ 
★ Will Graham ★

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