Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s really a lovely neighborhood,” the realtor says, “lots of greenery, and there are a lot of great schools to pick from.”

Eddie’s politely nodding along and Buck steals the tablet again, frowning at the numbers on the screen. “Way too expensive,” Buck says definitively, and Eddie pinches his eyes shut and sighs. Buck is right, but it’s the fourth house she’s shown them pictures of, and Eddie feels antsier with every new showcase. He pulls the tablet out of Buck’s hands with a testy look.

“It’s lovely,” Eddie says pointedly. “But four bedrooms is excessive for us.” He means-- himself and Christopher, but his mind flashes to the conversation earlier. We? he’d mimed, eyebrows raised at Buck’s self-imposed involvement.

He’d kind of expected-- well, he wasn’t sure. Thought maybe Buck would wander out the door with a weak excuse. Thought maybe he’d yell at Eddie for being an idiot.

“Just two is plenty,” Buck adds, tilting the tablet again so that he pops in frame of the video call. “Although, maybe a guest room would be nice,” he contemplates.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at Buck.

“Up-- up to you, obviously,” Buck stutters, throwing one hand back defensively, letting Eddie pull the tablet back.

Eddie really just wants this to be over, almost doesn’t care about the house as long as it has a fridge and a toilet. His skin feels tight and wrong under the dress shirt he’s wearing, and he cracks the knuckles on his right hand to avoid popping the buttons open on his collar.

“I liked the third one,” Eddie says. “Think Christopher would like that there’s a pool nearby.”

“Absolutely,” the realtor chirps. “And you know, El Paso is a very blue county, so I think it will be a great fit for the family.”

It takes Eddie’s brain a moment to load, flushing at the implication of her words. She thinks that he and Buck are--

He shakes his head. “We’re n--”

“Well, who doesn’t love blue skies?” Buck asks seriously. Eddie sighs. The realtor laughs, thinking Buck is making a joke. Buck chuckles uncomfortably, like he’s been left out of one.

“I’m actually from El Paso,” Eddie clarifies. “Grew up there.”

“Oh, fantastic! So you’ll actually be coming home,” she says cheerfully.

Buck clicks his tongue beside him, almost imperceptible if not for the way they’re smushed together on Eddie’s sofa. He takes a long drag of his coffee. 

Eddie nods solemnly. “Yeah,” he confirms, but it feels like a lie.

“I will say the market is very tight right now in El Paso, so these things move pretty fast,” she says. “I’m sure someone will snatch up the LA home very quickly.”

“So, in other words, start packing,” Eddie says.

The realtor shrugs her shoulders in amusement, her pink-painted mouth quirked at the edge, barely visible in the corner of the tablet. “Can’t hurt to be prepared.”

Buck is uncharacteristically quiet next to him, and Eddie can’t see his face without looking away from the video call, but he can see the way Buck is rubbing his thumb against the rim of his mug where it's resting on his thigh. It’s got misshapen tropical fish painted on it, Chris age 5 in blocky red letters along the bottom. It’s Eddie’s favorite mug, one he would never offer anyone else, but. He knows Buck will treat it with care. 

Maybe it’s an apology. Dark roast, hot as you can stand it, extra french vanilla creamer. Yellow and blue and green fish, shaped like the crackers. Little blue bubbles that Shannon had added, a precise touch required. I’m sorry I have to leave, but can’t you see what I’m missing?

The realtor clears her throat. “So, about your credit score--”

His first session with Frank after Christopher left, Eddie had let his body sink heavily onto the couch, opened his mouth to start speaking, and sobbed. He’d sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, harder than he had the night Chris walked out the door, alone and devastated and twisted up in the cold sheets of his bed. It’d felt almost alarming, how hard his gut had lurched, forcing out the grief. It’d been the middle of the afternoon, and the midday sun that’d come in through the slats in the window had been like a spotlight on him, like a candid reminder that a cry that hard should only be saved for the safety of nighttime. Eddie tried to get the words out, but his voice had wavered too much, throat thick with mucus, and when Frank shushed him he’d felt like a little kid. 

He’d thought then about Buck’s words, years ago, two dinners with my parents, and I’m twelve years old , and he’d thought about his father shushing his tears after Eddie had broken his arm at a baseball game. His tone was harsh, then, shuffling an agonized Eddie off the field, saying, oh hush, Edmundo, you’re practically a teenager.

Frank’s words were soft, non-judgmental, and he’d handed Eddie a box of tissues with a subdued, comforting smile. The design on the box was playful, beach themed, out of place with the rest of Frank’s decor. It was a soft ocean blue, and the color had reminded Eddie of a pair of Christopher’s pajamas he’d had when he was little. They were ocean blue, too, with dinosaurs, and he’d remembered when he’d dropped them off at Goodwill when they no longer fit. Eddie had wished he still had those pajamas more than anything, and the tears had cropped up again, fresh and wet and blubbering, and how could he just give them away? How could he let go of them like they didn’t even matter?

The tears had fallen faster than he could wipe them away, and his mind had flashed to Shannon, eighteen years old in his childhood bedroom, telling him she was pregnant and wiping at her face, tearfully joking, at least my skin will look amazing after all this crying. He’d laughed, then, his own voice thick with emotion, and she’d laughed, too, and even though he’d felt terrified and nervous and alone, he’d known that she did, too. 

It all felt like a lifetime ago. 

But there he’d sat, and he’d openly wept on Frank’s couch, and he’d felt that same crater in his chest, but there was no Shannon there to say, I’m scared, too, baby.

They’ve got a 24-hour shift on Monday, and Eddie’s leg is bouncing with nervous energy under the table where everyone’s awaiting Cap’s cooking. He’s been thinking about how to break the news to everybody all weekend, and he’s almost embarrassed at the prospect, thinks about how happy they’d all been when he came back after his stint at dispatch.

Buck is quiet where he sits across from him at the table, has been quiet all morning, frowning down at his phone, and Eddie doesn’t even dare to ask him what’s wrong. He doesn’t want to push Buck out of this fragile bubble they find themselves in, the conversation around them muffled, one plastered-on smile away from popping.

His eyes snap away from his best friend at the dull thud of Bobby’s mac and cheese landing on the trivet in the center of the table. World famous, if only in their own world, ooey gooey and indulgent, and just the smell of crispy cheese lifts Eddie’s spirits. Everyone groans in delight, sitting up straighter in their chairs.

“Cap, I could kiss you,” Chimney grins wickedly, reaching for the serving spoon. Bobby settles into his seat at the head of the table with an exasperated smile.

“Sorry, Chim, I’m still married,” Bobby laments. He grins wickedly. “Plus, someone’s got to set a good example around here.”

The table whoops, Buck holding a hand to his chest in fake agony like he’d been struck. Hen’s mouth gapes incredulously. “Say it with your chest, Cap,” she scoffs amusedly.

Bobby holds his hands up in surrender, a grin still plastered firmly on his face. He’s not even wrong, is the thing, as Eddie goes down his mental checklist of their collective infidelities. It pulls him out of the moment, his train of thought speeding from Marisol to Kim to Christopher in the blink of an eye, and he swallows down the lump in his throat.

“Guys,” he croaks, clearing his throat before trying again. “I wanted to, uh, mention something.”

Four pairs of eyes shift to him, one blue pair still stubbornly locked to the plate of food in front of him, twirling his fork. Buck looks almost-- small, which is a ludicrous thought, because he’s really gotten so-- ahem.

“I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think I’m moving back to El Paso,” Eddie finally gets out, eyes scanning their faces as the news hits. Chim reels back, mouth dropping open in surprise. Ravi blinks at him, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Hen’s eyebrows pinch together in sympathy, mouth twitching into a frown. Bobby’s face is impassive, like he’d seen this coming, and Buck--

Buck’s still not looking at him.

“Oh, Eddie,” Hen says, reaching across the table to lay one hand over his, and he hadn’t even realized it was clenched into a fist until he feels her warm skin. “Is this because of Christopher?”

Eddie nods, unclenching his hand and tangling his fingers with hers. Her thumb rubs soothing circles over his knuckles. “I’m just tired of missing the big moments,” he says solemnly. “Even if he’s not ready to live with me yet, I want to be there to-- give him a ride to doctor’s appointments, y’know, and chaperone his field trips. Go to his--” baseball games, “chess tournaments.”

Chess tournaments? Ravi mouths to Chimney, who shrugs in response.

“I just want to be there for him, which is impossible to do when I’m a thousand miles away,” Eddie sighs.

“Have you talked to Christopher about this?” Bobby asks, hands unmoving where they’re resting on the table framing his empty plate. Chimney’s scoop of noodles have remained untouched, as have Hen and Ravi’s. Buck picks at his serving, the only person at the table actively eating.

Eddie’s tooth digs into his cheek. “We haven’t exactly been unpacking things over Facetime. And he rarely responds to my texts as it is.”

Ravi hums. “Can’t you just… bring him home? I mean, you’re still his legal guardian, right?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’m not gonna push him,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to boss him around and have him resent me.”

“Eddie, you’re his father, not his friend,” Bobby reminds him. “He’s still a kid.”

“I know. I know that,” Eddie whispers harshly. He closes his eyes in frustration. “I’m trying to give him the space and independence that I never got as a kid. He has feelings and he’s allowed to feel them without me pushing him.”

Chimney pats him on the back, and his hand is warm where it rests on Eddie’s spine. He offers Eddie a small smile when their eyes connect.

“I get it, man,” Chimney says. “When Maddie left, I was so desperate to get her back, and it took someone else to point out to me that I wasn’t respecting her space or needs. I stayed in Boston because I wanted to be near her, but I didn’t want to push her. I waited until she was ready to come home.”

Eddie nods, returning the smile. “I want Chris to be the one to come to me. I just… can’t miss out on the rest in the meantime.”

“So, is this move temporary, then?” Bobby asks.

Eddie shrugs, drags at his lip with his teeth and feels the cracks where the skin is dry. “Dunno yet. But I think to be safe I should apply for an official transfer. If you’re willing,” he adds.

Bobby smiles solemnly. “Of course, Eddie. And know that you’re always welcome to come back.”

Eddie exhales, feels the tension leaving his body when Chim and Hen give him one last squeeze. Everyone starts serving themselves again, the mac and cheese now lukewarm, and Eddie’s eyes dart to Buck again. He catches those blue eyes already watching him, his expression unreadable, and Bobby says, “Buck, you’ve been awfully quiet.”

Buck shrugs, his eyes darting away, licking his lips nervously. He opens his mouth to speak but Chim interrupts before he can get a word out.

“Buck was probably at ground zero for Eddie’s big Texas verdict,” he ribs.

“Wouldn’t every Texas verdict be big? It’s Texas,” Hen chimes in.

Eddie shakes his head and laughs, reaching for the serving spoon. He grabs himself a small portion, then thinks about the priest's words, and piles on another scoop. It smells heavenly. “You’ll have to write down this recipe for me, Cap. I bet Christopher’s been missing it like crazy.”

Bobby’s still looking at Buck, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Eddie’s not sure what it means, but he forgets it a moment later when Bobby directs a smile at Eddie and says, “sure thing.”

The rest of the shift seems fine, the only oddity being Buck’s uncharacteristic silence in the engine. He talks to Eddie when they’re on calls, passes Eddie whatever tools he calls out, bumps fists with him whenever they get the job done, but the distance between them feels monumental, even with their knees pressed against each other in the truck. He’s unusually contemplative, but Buck doesn’t do much more than grin and shrug when Chim and Hen call him out for it. Eddie feels it all slipping through his fingers like sand, and he presses two fingers to his breast pocket where his St. Christopher medal rests against his chest.

In-between calls, it’s like Buck is avoiding him without actually leaving the room. He joins Eddie on the couch, but they’re on opposite ends. They lift weights together, but Buck keeps his ear buds in the entire time, and doesn't offer to spot Eddie when he swaps to the barbell. They hit the bunkroom together, but Buck picks the cot on the opposite side of the room. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose so he can feign ignorance if anyone noticed. Eddie doesn’t even know what he’d say if he brought up Buck’s behavior-- hey, scooch closer, you’re being weird. Hey, why don’t you want to watch me hit this punching bag. Hey, pick a closer bed so we can whisper before we fall asleep.

Their last call is a morning rush hour accident. There’s only a few minor injuries, thankfully, and Bobby’s yelling out, Buck, Eddie, jaws and saws, and Eddie wonders how many of these they have left. He’s taping up a teenage girl’s broken fingers when Buck slumps against the ambulance next to him, looking more tired than Eddie’s seen him in a while.

“What’s up,” Eddie says without looking, fingers moving as delicately as he can around her swollen digits.

“I’m so beat,” Buck complains, muffled around his gloves where he’s pulling them off with his teeth. “I take back wanting super speed. I want to teleport directly into my bed.”

Eddie grins, carefully placing the splint over the tape. “But would it really be you?” he says dramatically, his voice conspiratorial. “Or just a recreation? Do all the atoms perfectly realign?”

“Don’t ‘Ship of Theseus’ me, man, the sun is barely up,” Buck complains. Eddie grins and pats the girl on the thigh when he’s done, knee cracking when he gets up. The sun is high enough in the sky now that Eddie needs sunglasses, which he flips back down onto his face where they were resting on his head.

“Yeah, I really regret not going on a Starbucks run when I couldn’t fall back asleep,” Eddie laments. His hands rest on his hips while he rolls out his neck from side to side.

“I also regret you not doing that. Top ten regrets of my life,” Buck says, grinning when Eddie levels him with an unamused look.

“So sorry. I forgot baby needs his 6 a.m. milkshake,” Eddie croons, pinching Buck’s cheek like a child.

Buck laughs and smacks his hand away. “Dickhead,” he says fondly, and just like that it’s like the last twenty four hours haven’t happened. Like maybe it was all just in Eddie’s head. 

They sit in companionable silence as Hen and Chim load the family into the back of the ambulance, closing the doors and knocking the back window to signal the all-clear. When the tow trucks pull up, Bobby calls out, “Buck, Eddie, we’re leaving!”

They walk back to the engine, shoulders gently bumping into each other where they’re almost loopy from lack of sleep. Eddie thinks, I’m doing this for my family, but it doesn’t ease the ache in his gut.

A-shift cheers half-heartedly when B-shift arrives, all groans of relief as they trudge to the locker room. Eddie’s boots feel like they’re filled with lead, and he halfway considers driving home in his uniform.

“So, what’s everybody up to on their forty-eight?” Chim says, already changed and packed and leaning against the doorway.

“Sleep,” Buck groans, struggling to fit his head through the neck of his t-shirt.

Hen chuckles. “Mom’s taking the kids to the pool after school so that Karen and I have the house to ourselves.”

Chimney whistles. “So, what, a Michelin star restaurant? Gondola ride down the river?”

Hen hums thoughtfully. “Toss up between that and watching old Seinfeld reruns on the couch. It’s honestly fifty-fifty.”

Ravi snickers. “I’ve got trivia night later with some friends, where I will be consuming an unreasonable amount of tequila after that call with the week old dead guy and his fucking cats.”

Everyone grimaces and nods. It had not been for the faint of heart. Eddie definitely crosses cats off his list of future pets.

Chimney jerks his chin at Eddie. “How about you, Diaz? Any big plans?”

Eddie shakes his head from his spot on the bench, his fingers fumbling with his shoelaces, tired and uncoordinated. “Packing,” is all he says.

“Packing?” Chim says, at the same time that Hen adds, “Already?”

Eddie drops the laces and rests his elbows on his knees. “The realtor says these things move fast. Lot of places get bought up within a week of being up for sale.”

“A week? ” Buck says loudly, and everyone holds their breath. A jolt of anxiety runs through Eddie’s body at his tone, like a shot of acid in his veins, searing his nerves. “That’s not moving fast, that’s-- supersonic.”

Eddie’s mouth scrunches up. “Yeah, well. Why drag it out, I guess?”

Buck scoffs. There’s a beat of silence. He slams his locker door shut, and it makes Ravi flinch. “Yeah, why spend another second here? Nothing in LA worth sticking around for.”

Eddie shoots him an unimpressed look. Hen puts her hands in her pants pockets. “Buck, he never said that,” she says placatingly.

Buck throws his arms out wide. “He might as well have though, right? If he’s in such a rush to leave.” His voice is pitching up, like he can’t help it.

“Buck, if you want me to pick you and my job over my son , you’re gonna be holding your breath for a very long time,” Eddie bites, annoyed at the sudden tantrum. He’s been waiting for this all weekend-- waiting for Buck to finally give up the facade and push at Eddie. He knows it’s landed when Buck’s head rears back, just a little bit, the hurt evident on his face. Eddie hates himself for saying it, and he hates Buck for making him spell it out.

Buck scoffs, tearing his eyes away and shaking his head in disbelief. The locker room is silent, Chim and Hen and Ravi barely breathing, and Eddie fights the urge to push the heels of his hands over his eyes. Buck heads for the door, Chim and Hen moving automatically to get out of his path, but he pauses in the doorway.

“You’re the only one who thinks he has to choose one or the other,” Buck says definitively, before storming away to his Jeep. Eddie misses the way Chim and Ravi and Hen shoot each other looks, communicating silently, because he’s too busy pressing both thumbs into the pressure points between his brows.

Eddie’s mind is blank on the drive home. He almost startles when he realizes he’s pulling onto South Bedford, his body driving on autopilot, and he thinks, that’s probably not great, but he’s so exhausted he can’t find it in him to care. He unlocks his front door, barely remembering to twist the lock behind him, and he stumbles to his bedroom, heaving his body on top of the covers. Eddie tells himself he just needs a minute, that he’ll take his shoes off and put on sweats and set an alarm, but he’s out like a light.

When he startles awake later, eyes crusty and shoulder aching from the weird position he’d landed in, he still feels tired. His hand paws clumsily for the pocket of his jeans to find his phone, and he’s got a few missed texts from Chim and Hen and one call from Bobby. It’s already almost 2:00, and Eddie groans, knows he needs to start packing things other than books and DVDs. He told himself he’d get a lot done today, thinks about the more involved stuff, bedsheets and pots and lamps. Eddie selfishly wishes Buck was still pretending to be fine, so he could have some help, and then immediately chastises himself for the thought. 

His phone is void of any Buck notifications, and Eddie pulls up their text thread. His thumb hovers over the call button, hemming and hawing, but then he pictures Buck sending him straight to voicemail, and really, he doesn’t know what he’d say even if Buck answered. 

He locks his phone and goes to grab an empty box, instead.

Eddie starts with the kitchen, since he’s barely cooking these days, anyway, and the idea of starting with the most unused room in the house-- Christopher’s room-- makes him nauseous. He hasn’t touched it since Chris left, aside from the day he’d put clean sheets on the bed and curled into a pathetic ball on the floor. 

He curses every single useless gadget he’s acquired over the years. Why are popcorn makers so stupidly huge? Why on earth does he own it at all when microwaved popcorn exists?

Buck, is the answer to that. Buck, who’d shamelessly shown Christopher the wonders of kettle corn, and had given them his own popcorn maker after Chris started begging for it every movie night. Buck, who had to come over every time to make the damn stuff anyway, Eddie too useless to not burn the sugar. 

Eddie wonders if he should give it back. If he should give back everything Buck gave them-- the coffee maker, the throw blanket over the back of the couch, the Ikea shelf Buck had put together for Christopher’s video game collection. The photos stuck to the fridge.

He stuffs the popcorn maker into a box.

Eddie’s one minor inconvenience away from hemorrhaging after he runs out of bubble wrap, but then the front door opens, and he hears Buck call out his name.

“In here,” he calls back, gingerly putting the glass plate down lest he smash it against the cupboards in frustration.

When Buck doesn’t come into the kitchen, Eddie cranes his neck through the doorway. He can hear Buck rummaging around, stomping his boots against the hardwood floor. Eddie follows the sounds down the hall.

“If you’re here to rob me-- actually, you know what, go ahead. I have way too much shit,” Eddie calls, stopping in front of the doorway to his bedroom. Buck is standing in front of Eddie’s dresser, holding a duffel in one hand and stuffing clothes into it. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches silently as Buck moves through the room, throwing in his phone charger, his deodorant, the book on his nightstand. Buck pushes past him and into the hall, to the bathroom, and when he starts to unplug Eddie’s electric toothbrush, Eddie finally cracks.

“Okay, what are you doing,” he asks. Buck throws in his electric razor.

“Packing an overnight bag,” Buck replies coldly. “Where are your headphones?”

Eddie sighs. “Gym bag in the coat closet.”

He follows Buck silently to the closet, impressed at the way Buck doesn’t falter when the waft of sweaty gym clothes hits his nose. He throws the headphones in the bag, grabbing a jacket and Eddie’s wallet off the bench by the door. Buck zips it all up, shoving it into Eddie’s hands, and his expression is--

He looks fragile.

Eddie cradles the duffel to his chest. “Tell me what’s going on, Buck,” he begs. 

Buck’s eyes dart to the floor, hands wringing nervously in front of him. He’s licking his lips, blinking rapidly in thought, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and it sets Eddie’s nerves alight. The room is quiet, Buck’s heavy breathing drowning out the blood rushing in Eddie’s ears.

“...I’m not gonna ask you to stay,” Buck finally says, and even though Eddie could never stay just for Buck, the words feel like an ice pick in his chest. You shouldn’t, Eddie thinks, but he nods instead, waiting for Buck to continue.

Buck nods in return, takes a deep breath like he’s steeling himself, eyes still not quite able to meet his own. “...But I am asking you to be selfish, just this once.”

Eddie blinks. His tongue feels swollen, like his mouth is stuffed with cotton. He raises his eyebrows at Buck, waiting for an explanation.

Buck sighs. “Check your email.”

Eddie fumbles for the phone in his back pocket, balancing the bag against his chest, and his brows furrow together at the most recent forwarded email from Buck.

It’s a plane ticket. One way to El Paso, Texas. No layovers.

“Buck, this ticket is for tonight,” Eddie croaks. He glances up and catches Buck’s gaze. “I-- I can’t go to Texas tonight.”

“Eddie--” Buck starts before cutting himself off. He rubs his hands together and presses them over his face before using both of them to gesture at Eddie. “You’re a good dad. You know that, right?”

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat.

Buck nods to himself. “Before you sell your house, I’m telling you to just-- go talk to him, first.”

Eddie breaks eye contact, mouth corkscrewing with his simmering emotions. “I’ve tried talking to him,” he says quietly, suddenly fascinated with the chipped splinter on the doorway behind Buck’s shoulder.

“Not face-to-face,” Buck replies. “Look, just-- he lashed out at you. For good reason. But you’re still his dad. He still loves you,” Buck breathes. “And I really need you to-- to tell him that it’s okay to feel-- guilty, and angry, and ashamed. But that you… you love each other anyway.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “Of course he knows that I love him,” he bites out, the words thick with emotion. “I’m trying not to--” Eddie cuts himself off, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath. “We are not going to end up like me and my dad.”

Buck shakes his head incredulously. “Would your dad ever openly talk about feelings like that?”

“No, my dad would have told me to mind my own business and to be a man and suck it up. He never would have given me the space I gave Christopher.”

“So, you admit that you’re a better father,” Buck points out. 

Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut in frustration. “Buck,” he warns.

Buck scoffs. “If you-- if you seriously would rather quit your job and move than have an uncomfortable conversation with your son, then you’re--” he cuts himself off.

“Say it,” Eddie dares.

Buck’s mouth twists. He brings a hand up to rub at the side of his face, shaking whatever thought he had away. His eyes rove over Eddie’s face, his own jaw clenching, and his shoulders sag in defeat. “I’m sorry I’ve been so-- caught up in my own drama,” he says quietly. “I know Christopher being gone is killing you, Eddie, and I-- I just figured you would come to me about it. But the two of you are so-- so stubborn about your feelings, and I don’t know what else to…”

Buck swallows his words, standing up straighter. “Look, use the ticket or don’t, but I already paid for it and it’s nonrefundable.” He walks around Eddie to the front door, but Eddie’s eyes remain stubbornly forward, and before Buck closes the door shut behind him, he says, “see you at work, I guess.”

Eddie stares at the spot that Buck had been standing, swallowing the flood of saliva that always preceded tears. He’s angry-- angry at Buck’s audacity, at Buck’s obvious projection with his own parents, angry that Buck thinks everything could be fixed with one goddamn conversation. Angry that-- that Buck keeps fighting for his son, when Eddie feels like all hope is lost. That Buck just keeps slathering spackle and plaster over the cracks in Eddie’s heart with a smile on his face, like it’s easy to do. 

Like it’s all so simple, like they lived in a fairytale world filled with puppies and rainbows and mac and cheese and juice, where Eddie didn’t have to choose between dancing and his son.

He stares down at the phone in his hand, still open to the email. Two hours nonstop to El Paso, arriving at 9 p.m. He could probably make it to his parents’ house before Christopher’s bedtime.

It’s insane. It’s a horrible idea, especially when he’s so raw and sleep deprived. He should talk about it with Frank, first.

He thinks about choosing the juice.

Eddie slips his shoes on before he loses his nerve. He grabs the keys to his truck, locks the front door behind him, and then he notices Buck’s Jeep is still in the driveway. 

He’s-- just sitting in the front seat, forehead pressed against the wheel, and he doesn’t even notice Eddie until he’s rapping his knuckles against the passenger side window. Buck startles, wiping at his face, and Eddie opens the door to get in.

He tosses the duffel Buck packed him into the backseat.

Buck stares.

“You better take the five, or I’m gonna miss my flight,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck puts the car in reverse.

It’s silent on the drive to LAX. Eddie props his head in his hand, looking out at the sun setting on the horizon. It’s really nice, today, the lights glowing purple and pink where they meet the skyline, like watercolors.

Buck pulls the Jeep up to the departure area for Eddie’s terminal. He gets out of the car before Eddie says anything, grabbing the duffel from the backseat.

Eddie gets out slowly. He takes a few steps towards the glass doors, nodding to himself and breathing deeply. He turns back to face Buck.

Buck, who is holding the duffel he’d packed for Eddie. Buck, who’d bought him a ticket, who’d driven him to the airport, who’d begged him to tell Chris that he loves him, who’d said, I’m not gonna ask you to stay.

Eddie takes the duffel when Buck offers it to him.

“Go on,” Buck says reassuringly. “You got this, okay?”

Eddie nods, taking in Buck’s face, staining it into his memory like an old CRT.

He turns and walks through the doors, taking in the chaos of the airport, but he’s not even off the entryway’s mat before something compels him to turn around.

Buck’s still standing there, watching Eddie walk away with an earnest expression. Eddie’s breath hitches.

He turns and walks back outside, stopping in front of him. His eyes dart back and forth between Buck’s.

Eddie pulls him into a hug. “I promise you, I am going to come back. Okay?”

Buck’s breath hitches. His arms pull up to reciprocate the embrace.

“Okay,” Buck breathes.

It’s weird knocking on his childhood home’s front door. It feels like an entire lifetime ago that Eddie had felt comfortable enough to come and go as he pleased, like he had been an entirely different person. The porch lights are still on, at least, which tells him his parents are still awake, and he knocks again, more urgently.

His mother swings the door open, brows furrowing at the sight of her son. “Edmundo?” she says, opening the door further. She’s already in her robe and nightgown. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call us?”

Eddie cranes his neck to look behind her. “Can I talk to Christopher?”

“Ramon,” she calls, still looking at Eddie incredulously, and his dad comes around the corner with an equally bewildered expression. Eddie feels stupid, standing on the porch, being stared at by his parents.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” His dad asks, coming to put an arm around Eddie’s mom, one united front.

“Everything’s fine, I just came here to talk to my son,” Eddie says, pushing past them and into the house. He hasn’t been home in years, but it looks the same as he left it. Old, plush furniture, cabinets creaking when he steps past them. He glances in the kitchen and sees Christopher’s favorite cereal on the counter, a report card hung up on the fridge. 

“He is asleep, it’s late,” his mom hisses, pulling the robe tighter around her body. “You can’t just barge in here, Edmundo.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Trust me, I won’t be staying long. But it’s important.”

“So important you couldn’t give us a heads up?” Ramon says harshly. He steps forward, away from Eddie’s mom, and it feels like he’s towering over Eddie despite the distance between them. “This is exactly the kind of drama and disruptive behavior we wanted to avoid.”

Eddie grits his teeth. “This isn’t about you.”

His dad’s eyes are so much harsher without his lenses. “And yet, it is my house you are standing in.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, his molars grinding together, and he doesn’t dare blink where his dad is staring him down. Every muscle in his body feels like a livewire, like he could convulse at any moment.

But the fight leaves his body the second he hears a quiet, “Dad?” behind him.

Eddie whips his head around. “Christopher,” he breathes, taking in his son. It’s only been a few months, but he already looks so much older somehow, and he thinks about that beautiful newborn in his arms, pink and wrinkly and crying.

His mom runs over to Chris immediately, smoothing the top of his head with one motherly hand, moving to tuck his head into her chest, but Christopher pushes her away. Her expression is one of hurt.

“What are you doing here?” Christopher says harshly. “I don’t want to see you.”

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat at his words, eyes hot and wet at the rim. “I know, buddy, but I’m not leaving until we talk.”

Christopher groans, turning and moving back down the hall to his room. “Why do you have to ruin everything?” he says loudly. Eddie follows him, ignoring the pleas from his mother, moving to block Christopher’s attempt to slam the door shut. Eddie feels bad, knows he could only accomplish this because he’s so much faster than his son, but he can’t say what he needs to say through a closed door.

“Go away,” Chris says quietly, moving to sit on his bed. Eddie closes the door behind him, certain his parents are eavesdropping on the other side.

He puts his hands on his hips, before remembering the way his dad used to yell with that same posture, and he lowers his hands to lay uselessly at his sides. “I’m not going to go away, buddy. We’ve been avoiding this conversation for too long.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Christopher pouts.

Eddie sighs. He pulls out the chair at Christopher’s desk, rolling it to sit in front of his son’s bed so they can be face-to-face. Christopher stares at the carpet.

“No, you didn’t,” Eddie concedes. He hunches forward, elbows resting against his knees, hands wringing together nervously. “I’m the one that made the mistake. And you were allowed to get upset at me. It’s always okay to take some space. But I never should have avoided talking about it for this long.”

Christopher swallows thickly, fingers picking at the comforter on his bed. Eddie recognizes it as the one he’d used for years, navy blue and heavy with down, and he can picture Shannon picking at those same loose threads when she told him she was pregnant.

Eddie smiles wanly at the memory. He looks around the room, how it’s changed since he was a teenager. His old baseball posters and band covers are long gone, replaced with his mother’s paintings and framed photos instead. The carpet is the same, a faded red, and Eddie bets if he checks under the windowsill he could find the burnt clump where he’d tried his first clove and the ash had fallen. 

His mom had been so angry that day.

Eddie gently bumps two knuckles into Christopher’s leg. “Hey, you know, I think you’re sitting in the exact spot I was when your mom told me she was pregnant.”

That gets Christopher to pick his head up. “Really?”

Eddie nods solemnly. “I was scared shitless,” he admits, grinning when his harsh language gets a small smile out of Chris, gone as soon as it came. “I was honestly just along for the ride. Your mother, she was the brains of the operation.”

Christopher hums, one unimpressed syllable, leaning back and resting his head against the wall.

“I miss her so much,” Eddie says, swallowing the emotion that crawls up his throat. “Believe it or not, there’s no manual for being a parent. And as much as she taught me, I still feel like I’m driving around in the dark with no headlights.”

Christopher says nothing.

Eddie continues. “But I’m trying to do better, kid. And that means we both need to put in the effort to be honest.”

Christopher huffs. “Well, I honestly feel like I want to scream,” he deadpans.

Eddie exhales in amusement. “Good. Let it out.”

His son grumbles. “Grandpa and Grandma always yell at me when I raise my voice.”

Eddie’s eyes squint a fraction, trying to carefully still his expression. “They do, do they? What do they say to you?”

Christopher shrugs. “Grandpa always just says it’s not respectful to yell at your elders.”

Eddie hums. “And what do you think?”

“That it’s bullshit,” Christopher says obstinately. “Being older than me shouldn’t give someone a pass to say whatever they want.”

Eddie’s heart blooms in his chest. God, he’s missed him so much. “Attaboy,” he says. He licks his lips in thought. “But I’m guessing you don’t tell Grandpa that.”

“No,” his son grumbles.

Eddie ducks his head to try and catch his son’s eyes. “You know, Grandpa is my dad.”

“Obviously,” Christopher sighs.

Eddie shakes his head in amusement. “I never felt like I could tell him what I was really thinking, either. He was a strict man.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods, his voice small.

Eddie takes a deep breath. “And when we had you, I told myself that I would never be the kind of dad whose kid was afraid of speaking his mind. So if you-- if you want to yell, and scream, and cry, I want to hear it.”

“I think the neighbors would be mad,” Christopher replies, which makes Eddie laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” Eddie says. He reaches for Christopher’s hand, gently, like he was a spooked animal, and his heart pumps warm blood into his chest when his son lets him. “And it doesn’t even need to be in Texas.”

Chris doesn’t take his hand, but he doesn’t move it away, either. “Where else would I yell at you?”

He squeezes his son’s hand. “In LA,” he whispers. “I want you to come home.”

Christopher remains silent. Eddie takes another deep breath, steeling himself.

“Texas will always be here,” Eddie says. “We can talk about you coming back for summer or Christmas break. But I want you to come back home to be with me.” He swallows thickly. “Where you belong.”

Christopher turns his head away. Eddie nods to himself.

“I miss you all the time,” Eddie says. 

Christopher pulls his hand out, and his chest starts to crack, raw and aching, but then his son is laying it on top of Eddie’s hand and squeezing back.

“I miss you, too, Dad,” he admits.

Eddie’s falling back onto his hotel bed, the exhaustion and emotion of the day catching up to him, when he remembers to check his phone.

[Buck 8:15] Txt me when ur plane lands 👍

Eddie had seen it briefly, hours ago in the airport, but he’d been in such a rush to pull up Uber that he’d forgotten to reply.

[Eddie 12:08] mb, completely spaced

Buck’s reply is almost instant, like he’d been waiting for Eddie’s reply.

[Buck 12:09] How’d it go????

[Eddie 12:10] the pilot did a sick wheelie on the landing strip

[Buck 12:10] Ohhhh did you live?

[Eddie 12:11] sadly no

[Buck 12:13] RIP 🙏

[Buck 12:13] Ok but really how did it go

Eddie’s head falls back to the pillow, his phone lying face up in his palm. He’d left Christopher with a promise to talk more tomorrow, letting his exhausted son lie back in his bed. He’d muttered embarrassedly when Eddie tried to pull the comforter over him, but he had let Eddie press a kiss to his temple, so.

[Buck 12:16] Tell me u didn’t hack ur dad to death w a machete

[Eddie 12:17] this is texas baby I can just buy a gun at walmart

[Buck 12:17] 😱

[Buck 12:17] Wait can u actually

Eddie chuckles to himself. It’s quiet in his hotel room, save for the clicks of Eddie’s phone and the air conditioning by the window. It’s chilly, goosebumps running up Eddie’s arms where his skin is still wet from the shower, but he makes no move to cover himself with the blankets. He feels alive.

[Eddie 12:18] I think it went really well

[Eddie 12:19] no patricide and he admitted that he missed me

[Buck 12:20] EDDIE!!!! 😭

[Buck 12:20] That makes me so effing happy

[Buck 12:21] God I miss that kid so much

[Eddie 12:22] you can swear I won’t tell the cops

[Buck 12:22] FUCK yeah ‼️

[Eddie 12:23] i’m going back over there tmrw after lunch

[Eddie 12:23] then hopping back to LA ig since I gotta work thurs

[Buck 12:24] Oh I already told cap you might be gone 👍 take ur time

Eddie’s chest fills with warmth at the thought of Buck freeing up Eddie’s schedule for this. Buck and his big, selfless heart.

Eddie starts to type, I don’t deserve u, and then erases it and types, ur so good to me, when another text from Buck comes through.

[Buck 12:27] Well you must be plum tired after today

It’s plumb, Eddie thinks, and he erases his original message for something more lighthearted.

[Eddie 12:28] rlly more kiwi exhausted

[Buck 12:29] ?

[Eddie 12:29] but yeah i’m gonna pass out now

[Buck 12:29] Kiwi Exhausted.

[Eddie 12:30] gn

[Buck 12:31] Dude

Buck reacts to his own text with a question mark, which makes Eddie laugh, and then he’s turning on do not disturb and clicking the light off by his bedside, pulling the comforter up to his chin before exhaustion takes him.

He sleeps better than he has in weeks, sprawled out in his pile of pillows.

When he wakes up in the morning, he has two more texts from Buck.

[Buck 1:15] OHHH so sorry your majesty PLUMB*

[Buck 1:15] Sass

Eddie’s not sure what to do with himself until lunch, anxiously scrolling his phone while he flips between channels on his TV. The hotel’s not fantastic, the continental breakfast mediocre and lukewarm at best, but he had noticed a small gym just off the lobby, so he figures, why not. The clothes Buck had haphazardly thrown into the duffel bag didn’t include workout clothes, but he did have his grey sweats, and he throws them on along with the t-shirt he’d slept in last night. 

It’s nice to lose himself in the workout, that blank space his mind wanders to when he’s doing reps or running on a treadmill. The hotel gym is even smaller than the one at the station, four grey walls and no windows, and Eddie feels a bit like a hamster running on its wheel, stuck in rodent purgatory. Find the cheese, Eddie, Buck would say, and it startles a laugh out of him, embarrassing him when the only other human in there whips her head around at the noise.

Eddie clears his throat. “Funny podcast,” he croaks, gesturing to his left ear bud, but it’s actually Megan Thee Stallion in his ear.

The woman nods in acknowledgment, eyes giving him an appreciative once-over where he’s still running in place, lingering on his sweats. She gives him a flirty smile, turning back to her rowing machine, and Eddie’s face screws up self-consciously.

She’s not-- unattractive, and Eddie finds the only people who actually use hotel gyms are the ones who put a lot of effort into their body, which she clearly does. It’s just that lately, any attention from women kicks up anxiety into his gut. He wishes there were a more succinct way to say, sorry, you’re lovely, but I’m dealing with a lot of shame right now, and I would honestly rather pull out my fingernails than let a woman I barely know touch me. I’ve only been with two since my wife died, isn’t that funny? They can’t stand me.

Instead, Eddie turns the machine off and attempts to nonchalantly run for the door. Much simpler.

He doesn’t knock this time when he shows up to his parents’ house, just opens the door and yells out, “hello?”

“In here,” his mom yells back from the kitchen, where she’s putting away the remnants of their lunch. Egg salad, based on the smell. Eddie leans against the counter, hands crossed over his chest, while he watches his mom buzz around the kitchen. The catholic schoolboy in him tells him he should offer to help with the dishes, and the resentful father in him reminds him of all the pictures they haven’t sent. Or maybe that last voice is Frank?

“How’s he doing today?” Eddie asks. A quick glance out the window tells him Christopher’s not on the back porch, so he’s at least out of earshot.

His mother sighs. “He did not sleep very well last night. He was up too late.”

Eddie matches her sigh. “You could’ve let him sleep in, at least.”

Helena laughs humorlessly. “And then his sleep schedule is ruined, and he’s exhausted at school.” Her hands are buried in the sink, scrubbing over the salad bowl, the pristine white plastic stained yellow with yolk.

Eddie fights not to roll his eyes. He did not come over here to argue pettily with his mother. “Did he talk about our conversation last night?”

She puts the bowl down, foamy soap dragging up her forearms and dripping onto the lip of the sink. She stares impassively out the window. “Yes.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, as if to say, and? When he doesn’t get a reply, he purses his lips in annoyance. “He in his room?”

“Yes.”

“Dad around?”

She shakes her head.

“Good,” he says, pushing off the counter and walking down the hall towards his former bedroom. There’s framed photos all along the wall; his grandparents, his aunts and uncles, black and white photos of long dead relatives he doesn’t even remember the names of. Adriana and Sophia’s school pictures, his parents’ wedding, a ten-year-old Eddie cradling his newborn sister. Decades of memories, there and gone in just a dozen feet. The door to Christopher’s room is closed, and Eddie hesitates before knocking on the flat wood with his knuckles. 

“Chris, it’s me,” Eddie calls out. He licks his lips, swallowing nervously. “Can I come in?”

He hears movement, knows Christopher could’ve heard his voice even through headphones, the walls thin and the house quiet. He waits with bated breath for a response, but he’s surprised when Christopher opens the door himself.

“Hey, mijo,” Eddie breathes, smiles at the sight of his son, even if he looks grumpy and sleep deprived.

“Hey,” Christopher says flatly. He turns and goes back to his desk, leaving the door open in silent invitation. Eddie doesn’t have to be told twice.

He perches himself on the edge of Christopher’s bed, crossing his arms over his chest. They sit in silence while Eddie collects his thoughts, feeling out where to start the conversation, but Christopher beats him to it.

“Are you mad at Grandma and Grandpa?”

Eddie’s mouth falls a fraction in surprise. He blinks and closes it. His gut instinct is to say that things are fine, but he remembers the vow of honesty he’d promised just last night. “A little, yeah.”

“Why?”

Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth. “Well, that’s a complicated answer,” he says truthfully. “I’m a little upset at the way they’ve handled all of this.”

“They were just being nice to me,” Christopher says defensively. “You weren’t being very nice to me.”

Eddie’s mouth twists. “I was selfish. That doesn’t mean they had to-- hide you away for so long.”

Christopher’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I wasn’t hiding. You knew where I was.”

He nods solemnly. “I know,” he says. “But it’s the small things. I wanted more updates about you other than the fact that you were still breathing.”

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. It’s as good a segue as any. “That’s why I… if you don’t want to come back to LA, I’m moving back here.”

Christopher’s head whips up. “Dad,” he says indignantly.

“I’m sorry, Christopher, it’s non-negotiable. You don’t have to live with me, but I’m still going to be a part of your life.”

His son grumbles unhappily. “Why do you even care?” he says harshly.

Eddie’s heart pounds in his chest. He kneels down on the carpet in front of Christopher’s chair, resting one hand on his leg. “Because I love you more than anything in this entire world,” he breathes. His voice is choked with emotion, his eyes getting wet at the corner, and his chest nearly concaves at the way Christopher’s breathing picks up. “I’m so sorry I hurt you, Chris. I’m so sorry. I never meant for it to happen.”

“But you still did,” his son says, voice pitching louder. His cheeks get redder the more upset he gets, and he’s the spitting image of his mother.

“I know,” Eddie chokes out. “I know.”

He pulls Christopher down into an embrace, resting his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck. His hand smooths down his son’s back, and Chris is limp in his arms, but he doesn’t push Eddie away.

“I’m gonna try to make up for it every day for the rest of our lives,” he promises. “But I won’t do it a thousand miles away.”

Christopher sighs, and his breath fans out over Eddie’s skin. “What about your job?”

Eddie laughs wetly. “They have fires in Texas.”

Christopher squirms, digging his forehead deeper into Eddie’s neck. His arms remain squished in his lap. “I’m still mad at you.”

Eddie nods, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over his son’s shoulder. He soaks in every single second that Chris tolerates the hug. “I know. You can be mad at me. We’re still a family.”

Christopher pushes him away, finally, but it’s gentle, every inch of his small body exhausted. “I don’t want you to move here,” he says.

Eddie darts his eyes away, nodding. “I know you don’t.”

The wind chimes on the porch ring out with the breeze, quiet and delicate and twinkling where they can hear it through the open window. The air feels thin and fragile between them-- Eddie literally on his knees, figuratively holding out his bleeding heart in the palm of his hand. Trying to stitch together the gap between them, before the stuffing and beads and blood and guts come spilling out, too late to put back together. 

His son sighs heavily, too world-weary for a kid his age, rolling his head to one shoulder. “If I come home, no more lying. And no more weird stuff.”

Eddie’s gut leaps, a veritable kaleidoscope of relief and love blossoming in his chest at the words. “Just you and me, pal, I promise,” he says reverently.

“And Buck,” Christopher adds.

Eddie laughs warmly. “And Buck.”

His mother is unhappy, but unsurprised, which explains the mood he’d arrived home to earlier. He spends the afternoon helping Christopher pack, eyes widening at the amount of stuff he’s acquired in the months he’s lived here. It seems like his mother has bought him a whole new wardrobe, and his own chessboard, and an entire library of books for school. Eddie’s mentally calculating how much extra money he’s going to have to spend to check his luggage.

He goes up to the attic to find an extra suitcase, assuring his mother he’ll ship it back, but she waves him away, eyebrows pinched where she’s folding Christopher’s laundry. She’s almost mute, which is a first for her, but Eddie knows he’ll get the third degree as soon as his father comes home.

It’s grimy in the attic, a fine layer of soot and dust covering every inch of the floorboard. Eddie’s overwhelmed by the smell of must and mold, and he’s scanning the boxes as quickly as possible when he spots their old record player.

It’s broken, been broken for decades, but it used to live in their den, next to a black milk crate full of vinyl records. He would flip through them as a child, picking out the one with the brightest colors, and he’d beg his mom to play it for him.

Eddie thumbs over the wood now, the once bright mahogany faded, and remembers how he would dance along to Queen songs, belting out the lyrics to “Radio Ga Ga” into his sister’s hairbrush, a performance for one. Turn down that racket, his dad would complain on the rare evening he was home in time for dinner, and if he’d catch Eddie dancing, he’d say, it’s about time we signed you up for some sports.

He wonders if Christopher would like something like this in his room.

The price for a day-of flight is astronomical, but Eddie is happy to shell out the extra cash, unwilling to let his parents have more time to talk them out of it. They’re sitting on the front porch of his parents’ house, watching the sun set in the distance, the clouds illuminated like flames, while they wait for their ride.

Eddie feels a little guilty, like maybe he should’ve given Chris more time to say goodbye to his friends and Eddie’s abuela. Truthfully, he’s afraid his son might change his mind at any moment, and Eddie wants to strike while the iron is hot, so to speak. He’d declined his parents’ offer to drive them to the airport, despite the devastated look on his mother’s face. This is not what’s best for Christopher, his father had hissed at him when his son was out of earshot. At least I’ll actually be there for him, Eddie had not replied.

Their Uber pulls into the driveway, and Eddie stands to start loading Christopher’s luggage into the trunk. His mother pulls his son into a tight hug, shaky hands petting over his head, and when she sighs after pressing a kiss into his curls it’s wobbly. “We’re just a phone call away,” she says to him, her smile pinched and watery, and despite everything, Eddie still hates making his mother cry.

“I know,” Chris says, pulling her in for one last hug, before he’s being pulled into another one by Eddie’s father. Eddie looks away under the guise of making sure the suitcases are zipped shut.

Eddie opens the back door for Christopher, his parents following his son to the car, and gently closes it shut behind him.

“There won’t be a third chance,” his father says quietly.

“No, there won’t be,” Eddie agrees harshly, and he ducks back to move to the other car door, squeezing in the backseat next to Christopher. The driver starts backing up, and every inch away from that house is like a drop of rain on a hot summer day, misting and cooling his skin until he can finally breathe. He eyes the side mirrors as his parents get smaller, and smaller, and then they’re gone, and it’s just him and Chris and that brilliant orange sky.

“Just need to make one quick call,” Eddie says to his son, fumbling for his phone. He pulls up Buck’s number, pressing the phone to his ear.

“Hello? ” Buck answers after the first ring.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. “I need a favor.”

“Anything, ” he says quickly. “You know that.”

Eddie glances at Chris, grins from ear to ear. “I need a lift from the airport. Think you could pick us up around seven?”

“...Us? ” Buck says quietly, his voice small and fragile and oh so hopeful.

“Us.” Eddie confirms.

Buck doesn’t even wait until they’re through the glass doors, jogging over to them with his ridiculously long legs and sweeping Christopher into his arms, his face pink and happy and breathless. He’s swinging his son around in circles, burying his smile into Christopher’s arm.

“Buck,” Christopher complains, but he’s grinning, too, arms and crutches looping around Buck’s shoulders to return the hug. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Let me have this, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” Buck says. His eyes are squeezed shut, and when he opens them again he meets Eddie’s eyes, and they’re wet and red-rimmed but so, so ecstatic. Eddie’s cheeks hurt.

“I missed you too, Buck,” Chris says when Buck finally puts him back down. “Did you see the new Mad Max?”

“Did I? Dude,” Buck breathes, and then they’re off in their own world, Buck leading Christopher towards his Jeep out front, gesturing wildly as Eddie catches words like motorcycle chariot and bullet farm and peach tree, and he’s left to shake his head fondly.

“No, don’t worry about the luggage, I’ve got it,” Eddie indignantly says to himself, throwing his hands up.

He does have it-- barely-- and he loads up the back of Buck’s Jeep with all their things while they continue blabbing through the entire drive back to Eddie’s house, changing topics at lightning speed as they catch up on their summers. Mad Max to Fortnite to Minecraft to TikTok to chess club to pool club to biology class to the San Antonio zoo; Eddie has whiplash at their collective non-stop chatter, but he also feels more at ease than he has in months. More informed than he has in months.

“Can we get burgers,” Chris asks when they drive past a fast food joint a few minutes from home, and Eddie’s compliant to the idea, thinking of the empty fridge waiting for them, but Buck speaks first.

“No way, I’ll cook! I bet you’ve missed Bobby’s recipes.”

Christopher hums in thought. “Lasagna sounds pretty good. Grandma never makes it.”

Buck nods in self-satisfaction. “One lasagna with extra ricotta, coming up.”

They pull into the driveway, and Eddie’s heart aches just a bit. He feels the enormity of the moment. He quietly says, “welcome home.”

Christopher yawns when they get out of the Jeep. “Is my bed made?”

Eddie laughs, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, buddy, let me get the door open and you can go take a nap before dinner.”

Christopher mumbles m’kay and follows him to the front door, making a beeline for his bedroom. He ambles down the hall, and Eddie watches him until he’s completely out of sight. Buck comes up behind him with the luggage, dropping it at their feet. He pumps his fist into his open palm. “Okay, I need to go to the store, gotta get lasagna stuff-- you think he’d like it with ground turkey? ‘Cause I saw this recipe on TikTok that looks really--”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts. Buck blinks, mouth open wide where he’d been stopped mid-stream, and Eddie pulls him into a tight hug. Tighter than he can ever remember giving him, even after he’d been shot, even after the lightning. He tucks his head into Buck’s neck, one hand around his shoulder, the other around his waist, and he squeezes his best friend desperately.

“Thank you,” Eddie breathes into his skin, his words shaky. Buck’s sweatshirt is soft where it smooths over Eddie’s cheek.

Buck raises his arms to hold him back. “For making dinner?” he chuckles, an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

For loving us, Eddie thinks, swallowing the words. “For loving my son.”

Buck squeezes Eddie back before separating their bodies, moving to rest one big hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Well, he makes it really easy.”

Eddie laughs wetly, nodding and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Yes, he does.”

Buck looks pleased, ducking his head and dragging his white, white teeth over his red lips, and Eddie is struck by how good happiness looks on him. He likes making Buck smile.

His hand is still on Buck’s waist, and he squeezes it once before patting it lightly. “Okay, go to the store before we cave and order pizza.”

Buck spins and heads for the door, a literal skip in his step. “Not on my watch!” he sings.

Buck posts a photo of Chris and Eddie to his Instagram that night, half of Buck’s grinning face in the foreground. They’re at the dining room table, a half-eaten tray of lasagna in front of them, and Chris is sticking his tongue out to the camera.

@eb191: My favorite person is back in LA 🙌 (and his dad is ok too I guess)

Eddie gives it a heart.

Eddie emails the realtor on Monday with an apology.

No problem whatsoever, Mr. Diaz! her response says. I know too well how plans can change at a moment’s notice. I wish you and your partner the best, and please feel free to reach out if you ever require our services.

It would be too awkward to correct her now, and not worth the effort, so Eddie just replies, thank you, we will.

He walks into his next appointment with Frank with a grin stretched across his face, and Frank, bless his soul, lets him gush about Christopher for the first thirty minutes. He knows he’s going full stream of consciousness here, but Eddie can’t help himself-- he talks about taking Chris clothes shopping (he’d grown at least a full inch and one shoe size), cooking dinner together again, movie nights. Things aren’t a hundred percent-- Chris still a bit frosty, especially when it’s just the two of them-- but the normality they have shared lifts a heavy burden that’d been weighing him down, like sandbags crushing his ribcage. Like a damn fire engine on his chest.

“I’m really thrilled for you, Eddie. It must be such a relief having him home.”

Eddie nods bashfully, smooths his hair back just to give his hands something to do after gesturing so animatedly. “I feel better than I have in years,” he admits. “Like I can do anything.”

Frank gives him a wry smile. “Like what?”

Eddie opens his mouth to answer, the train leaving the station before it knew its destination. He gapes for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows. “I-- what do you mean?”

Frank gestures with his right hand, as if to say, look around. “If you could do anything, what would you do?”

Eddie’s only mildly embarrassed when Frank tries to change the subject, always feels a little self-conscious whenever it happens. He blinks. “I don’t--” He runs his tongue over his lips nervously. “Just speaking metaphorically, doc.”

Frank tilts his head in amusement. “I know, but just work with me here for a second. You’ve reclaimed some of the happiness you’ve lost by getting Christopher home. What’s the next step? What else do you want?”

Eddie’s frown deepens. His eyes dart back and forth along the wall behind Frank’s head, the oil paintings suddenly very interesting. The Girl with a Pearl Earring catches his eye, almost melancholy.

“Nothing,” Eddie says.

Frank levels him with a look of disappointment, not as harsh as his father’s, but close enough that Eddie feels goosebumps on the back of his neck.

“You mentioned a while back that a priest gave you some life advice,” Frank says, folding his fingers together over his lap, “about prioritizing your own joy. Do you think you’ve made any significant steps towards doing so?”

He shrugs. His finger and thumb move automatically to smooth down his mustache, skin rubbing against skin when he remembers it’s no longer there. “Small stuff, I guess,” Eddie says quietly.

“Such as?” Frank encourages.

Eddie rolls his eyes to the far wall, his eyes drawn to any detail in the room that isn’t Frank’s gaze. The edge of the carpet that’s curled up near the wall, the threads frayed. The silhouette of a dead fly on the lampshade, the bulb casting a soft orange glow over that corner of the room.

“Milk,” he finally lands on, scoffing at his own words. “Bought whole milk instead of skim.”

Frank nods. Go on, he says with his eyes.

“Muffins, too,” he adds. “Not those cardboard protein banana ones, either, I’m talkin’ the chocolate ones from Costco the size of your fist.”

Frank grins at that, the skin around his eyes crinkling in mirth. “What else?”

Eddie thinks, laughs at himself self-consciously. “Dancing when I’m home alone. Singing along to the radio when I’m driving to work.”

He pauses, stares at the floor while he wracks his brain, Frank sitting quietly while he contemplates. The room is almost hushed, Frank’s soft breaths and the ticking of the clock on the wall, the muffled splashing as cars in the street below drive over rainwater.

“Started reading again-- like actual, physical books. Just trashy stuff, fiction,” he waves his hand.

“What makes it trashy?” Frank asks.

“Y’know, like, telenovela shit. Drama and romance. Espionage. A good mystery.”

“Romance?” Frank asks carefully, and Eddie rolls his eyes in exasperation. He’s annoyed at how Frank immediately zeroed in on it.

“I knew you would-- look, don’t try to make that about me trying to, you know, fill a void or whatever. I borrowed one from Hen during a slow work night and didn’t hate it, that’s all. It’s low quality crap.”

“With high entertainment value, evidently.”

“Evidently,” Eddie pantomimes, his mouth twisting in annoyance.

Frank says nothing, and Eddie hates when he does this, lets Eddie stew in his own rotten thoughts on the couch. He used to try to wait him out, but Frank has the mental strength of a Hindu monk, and Eddie always squirms and caves first.

“Sometimes it’s nice to get lost in a story that’s just-- you know, literary junk food,” Eddie finally says, breaking their vow of silence. “Drama’s more fun when you know there’s light at the end of the tunnel,” and he really wishes he’d think before he speaks, and he bristles when Frank sits up a little straighter.

“Unlike in real life?” Frank offers.

Eddie sighs. “Yeah, unlike in real life, where people just-- get hit by drunk drivers and never come home. Or paralyze themselves by breaking their neck falling off the roof. No cheesy ending where they get to kiss the pretty girl next door and drive off into the sunset.”

Frank hums. “Does a sunset feel out of reach to you, Eddie?”

Eddie scoffs and shakes his head in amusement, and he’s horrified when he feels his throat get heavier. “No sunsets for me anytime soon,” he says, aiming for sarcastic derision but not quite sticking the landing, and he prays the quiver he feels in his voice doesn’t come through.

“You don’t think you deserve a sunset?” Frank asks, like the way he sees right through Eddie’s words doesn’t puncture a hole in his chest.

“Hell no, are you kidding?” he scoffs, voice pitching manically. “After the shit I’ve put Christopher through, I’m putting an official moratorium on dating. Until he’s at least in college. Maybe even fully independent.”

And Eddie-- well, he hates that he doesn’t fully hate the idea. Has never really enjoyed putting on his ‘boyfriend’ mask.

Frank hums again, and Eddie wants to go stand outside in the rain until he doesn’t feel like peeling his skin off anymore.

“And we’re back to romance,” he notes. Frank peels the glasses off his aging face, tucking them into the collar of his sweater. “Are you feeling lonely?”

“Lonely,” he huffs exasperatedly, shaking his head. His fingernails scratch nervously along the rough fabric of the couch where his arm lays across the back of it. “I just got my family back,” he points out.

“Thanks to Buck,” Frank says. “Your other family.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “I-- no.”

“No?” Frank asks.

He shakes his head. “Buck’s not-- I mean, the 118 is my other family. But Buck is-- separate.”

“He’s your best friend.”

Eddie chews at the corner of his lip, a habit he’s stubbornly held onto since childhood, grasping for the right words. “Yeah. He’s also my son’s friend, and his legal guardian,” he says. “Buck’s never just gonna be, y’know, someone I only see at Thanksgiving or Christmas or whatever.”

“You haven’t really mentioned Buck in a while,” Frank says.

Eddie’s fingers twitch against the couch, pulling up to rub at his earlobe. “He’s been busy, I dunno. Nothing to really talk about.”

“Busy with what?”

Eddie blows out a breath, cheeks puffed out. “He was dating someone for a while, and they were kinda wrapped up in each other, I guess.”

“You guess?” Frank asks.

He shrugs, suddenly self-conscious. “We didn’t really-- talk much about it.”

Frank hums. “That seems uncharacteristic for you two. In the past it seemed like you confided in each other quite a bit about relationships.”

“Yeah, well, this one was… different,” Eddie gestures vaguely. When Frank raises an eyebrow, Eddie sighs and says, “he was dating a guy.”

The clock tick, tick, ticks on the wall behind him.

“Did that bother you? That Buck was dating a man?”

Eddie stares at the floor, the wall, the lamp and the paintings and the clipboard Frank abandoned on the table. His mouth gapes around an answer. “I don’t-- I’m not a bigot, come on.”

“That’s not what I asked, Eddie. I asked if it bothered you that Buck was dating a man.”

“It--” he pauses, steeling himself to give an honest answer. “It was a little weird, yeah. Because his boyfriend was-- my friend.”

“Was, as in, past tense?”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, as in, stopped hanging out one on one and made me a third wheel. As in, hasn’t reached out to me at all since they broke up.”

Frank purses his lips just a fraction. “That must’ve been very hurtful. Why do you think that is?”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “I dunno, I’m not the fuckin’-- Tommy whisperer. Sorry,” he amends at the way Frank’s brows furrow at his language. “But yeah, it kinda sucked. We weren’t friends for all that long, but we got along great. Played pickup games together. He even took me to Vegas for an MMA fight.”

Frank’s eyebrows lift. “Wow. That’s quite the friend. Are we sure he wasn’t interested in you, first?”

A laugh bursts forth from Eddie’s lips. “No way. He wasn’t-- I mean, he knows I’m not…” he trails off. Pokes at that line of thought for just a moment, overthinks every interaction he’s had with the guy in the split second they flood his brain, before physically shaking the idea away. “No.”

“Okay,” Frank says unconvincingly. “So, for lack of better phrasing; Buck steals this man’s attention away from you, in a decidedly non-platonic manner, and it bothers you.”

Eddie scoffs in amusement. “Sure,” he says sardonically. “But not because they’re gay or-- whatever,” he stumbles, although he’s fairly certain Buck still likes girls, but he’s never given himself a specific label. “Just sucks to be left out in the cold like that. Metaphorically,” he adds.

“Metaphorically,” Frank nods. “So, you didn’t know many details about their relationship?”

“Not really,” Eddie says. “I mean, we all hung out together sometimes, but, y’know. Not like I wanted any of the gritty details.”

“Unlike when Buck had previously dated a woman.”

Eddie laughs. “Frank, you make it sound like I was a pervert.”

Frank chuckles and waves the notion away. “Not what I meant. Just that he shared more details with you. Sex, yes, but also their problems, where they went on dates.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, it was just easier.”

“What made it easier?”

Eddie rocks his head to his shoulder, twists his mouth up in annoyance. “C’mon, man, you know.”

“Tell me anyway,” Frank encourages.

He sighs. “It’s just-- not what I’m used to, okay? I wouldn’t even know what to ask. Plus, like I said, the guy was my friend.”

Frank bobs his head in thought, lifting the hand that’s holding his pen. “I imagine you’d ask the same questions as if Buck were dating a woman.” He pauses contemplatively, twirling the pen between his fingers. “Is it the idea of it that makes you uncomfortable? Vulnerability, even intimacy between two men?”

Eddie swallows thickly. “I--I got no problem with that. Like, guys being vulnerable with each other, and stuff. I’m trying to teach Christopher that it’s normal.”

Frank nods. “And you’ve set a great example for him. It sounds like you’re a very nurturing father and friend.”

“Thanks,” Eddie grumbles, rolling his eyes. He misses the ‘stache right now, if only so he had something to chew on. He settles for the hangnail on his left pinky.

Frank’s mouth purses imperceptibly. “Perhaps this is a Buck-specific problem, then.”

Eddie blinks. “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice small.

Frank shrugs. “Someone else filled a role you previously occupied alone. Close male confidant. Maybe that dynamic shifted a bit once Buck came out to you?”

“No way,” Eddie says confidently. “That doesn’t bother me, he knows that.”

Frank hums. “Maybe that dynamic changed just when he was dating this Tommy, then?”

Eddie’s mouth falls open in thought. Tries to seriously consider the question. “Maybe? Sorry, I don’t know.”

“Don’t apologize,” Frank assures. The older man pauses for a moment, as if to carefully consider his words. “It’s interesting that this relationship coincided with your… escapades with Kim.”

He levels Frank with a flat look. “What, I had a meltdown because Buck wanted to try dick?” he says, aiming for funny. His voice trips over the words. “Kim was-- entirely my own fault. That was fueled by my unpacked grief. Completely separate issues.”

“Maybe,” he says. “Maybe you felt like you couldn’t confide in your best friend at the time. Perhaps some mistakes could have been avoided. Hard to rely on someone when their attention lies elsewhere.”

Eddie picks at the hangnail, bloody and raw. He doesn’t meet Frank’s gaze. “So, what, you think I acted out ‘cause I wanted attention? Like I was jealous or something?”

“I’m not trying to insinuate anything, Eddie,” Frank reassures. “Just something to consider.” He checks his wristwatch. “Well, we’re just about out of time today, anyway.”

Eddie groans, leaning back against the couch cushions and rubbing both hands over his face. “Always gotta leave me with a zinger, Frank,” he complains.

Frank laughs. “Need to get your money’s worth somehow.”

Eddie stews in traffic on the way home. The idea of it was ridiculous. Eddie wasn’t jealous-- he didn’t have a monopoly on Buck’s attention. It was normal to want attention from your best friend, especially if they suddenly stopped being around all the time. Besides, Eddie being jealous of Buck dating a man makes it sound like Eddie was gay, or something, and that’s-- ridiculous. He loves women, even if their attention right now made him nauseous. That was just residual trauma he hadn’t worked through yet.

He’d know by now, anyway. He was in his mid-thirties.

He thinks about Buck not knowing until this year, and yeah, bad example, but Hen and Karen, they’ve known forever, right? It’s just something intrinsic to your person. He remembers Michael talking about it at his and David’s engagement-slash-going away party, how he’d always known deep down, and it had been a truly wild revelation to Eddie, the idea of a gay man having a wife and children.

Yeah. Ridiculous.

The thing is, Eddie’s never talked about stuff like this with Hen. It was just one irrefutable trait about her-- she’s a paramedic, she’s a mother, she’s married, she’s a lesbian. There’s nothing to ask or clarify, because she is who she is.

But his brain tickles now, the voice in his head filling any lull in conversation they have during his next shift. Ask her, but be cool about it, it insists, but then Buck or Chimney will slump in the armchair next to them, and Eddie’s nerves will make him sweat and he’ll get up to rummage the fridge for one of Buck’s gatorades, instead. (‘Not the blue ones, Eddie, c’mon.’)

Their shift is pretty quiet (yes, quiet, jinxes be damned), but he’s wide awake on his cot. He’s been tossing and turning for at least an hour, and he knows it's from that coffee he’d choked down earlier with the apple pie Cap made. He never learns.

Eddie gets up as quietly as he can, past the soft snuffles of his coworkers sleeping, and heads to the lounge. He’s surprised to see Hen awake up there, reading by the soft glow of the lamp, a mug of tea steaming the air in front of her book.

Eddie slumps against the couch next to her. The station is eerily quiet this time of night, the only sounds coming from whatever residual 2 a.m. traffic drives past the open bay.

Hen hums in acknowledgment, turning the page in her book. They sit in comfortable silence while Eddie tilts his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes and listening to the noises around him: Hen’s soft breathing. The flip of the page in her hand, the tip of her finger running along the length of the paper. The dishwasher, normally drowned out by the hustle and bustle of TV and lively conversation and sizzling oil on the stove. He opens his eyes and tilts his head towards her.

“Good book?” he asks quietly, watching the quirk of her mouth as she smiles bashfully.

“Good’s a strong word,” she replies. “But it’s sexy.”

Eddie chuckles, more just a smile and an exhale from his nose, and he lets his knee bump into her boot where she’s got it crossed over her leg. “Does it even have a plot?”

“Oh, sure,” Hen says cheekily. “Beautiful college dropout runs away to a remote farm in Australia to find herself. And she finds that she simply must get fucked six ways from Sunday by the farmer’s daughter. ‘G’day, Skipper,’” she mimes a bad Australian accent. “‘Better sleep in my bed tonight, lest the dingos getcha.’”

Eddie’s chin falls to his chest while his shoulders shake with silent laughter. “They didn’t say that,” he wheezes lightly.

Hen snorts, her voice pitching upwards as she tries to hide her tittering. “No, but I’m pretty sure about twenty pages back that she said her cunt was ripe and ready for harvest.”

Eddie’s leg kicks out and he smothers his laughter into his hand, Hen slapping his back while she cackles as quietly as possible. 

“Salacious literature is so beautiful,” Eddie says in amazement. Hen is wiping tears from the corner of her eyelid.

“Oh, gays eat this shit up, Eddie, don’t ever doubt that,” she says. “Karen’s the one who dragged me down with her.”

The voice in his head screams at him.

He bites the bullet. “Hey, can I ask a serious but potentially problematic question?”

“Of course, but I retain my rights to beat your ass if it’s bad,” she says warmly.

Eddie scoffs good-naturedly and shakes his head. “So, like, the g-- the lesbian stuff,” he corrects.

She squints at him suspiciously and raises one eyebrow at him. “I’m not giving you tips.”

“No,” he laughs. “When did you, like, know. Y’know? I mean, you told us about your first kiss with a boy, but before that. Did you just, like, always know?”

Hen rolls her eyes. “And here I was worried you were about to start quoting some made up statistics,” she scoffs. “I didn’t admit it to myself until I was about twelve, but yeah, I kinda always knew. In hindsight I was very obviously different from the other girls.”

Eddie gulps and hopes she doesn’t notice, tries to keep his tone casual. “How so?”

Hen closes her book, resting the short novel against her chest where she’s slumped back, matching Eddie’s pose. She shrugs. “It’s hard to explain. Kinda just in every way, though. I didn’t feel right in skirts or with long hair. Boys annoyed me, like, ‘got into shoving matches at recess’ annoyed me. And when all the other girls started going boy crazy, I just remember thinking, ‘why?! These guys suck and they’re boring.’ I always got so mad when my friends would trip over themselves to get boys' attention when it was cutting into our valuable weird little girl time.”

Eddie shakes his head in amusement. “No tea parties, huh?”

Hen quirks her mouth. “More like putting our dolls in hostage situations and Saw traps. This was pre-Saw, though, of course.”

“Of course,” Eddie says. Outside, a car blasting music whips by the bay, and Eddie catches approximately half a second of Radiohead.

Hen’s eyes dart away to the middle distance, like she’s lost in a memory, and she shakes her head and snorts softly. “A big one for me? Thought it was completely normal to feel flustered walking past Victoria’s Secret. Like I had to avert my eyes or else everyone would know, somehow. Like my mom was gonna clock me at the mall.”

Eddie thinks about going to the mall with his friends in high school, and calculating how long a casual glance was at an Abercrombie & Fitch poster. Look away too quickly, or linger for too long, and his teammates would razz him.

He doesn’t dare nod, says, “wow,” instead. “Must’ve been hard, knowing that young that you’re different.”

Hen shrugs one shoulder casually, her mouth quirking with the movement. She moves to open her book again. “Everyone’s different, Eddie. It would be way harder being the age I am now and still not knowing who I am.”

Eddie’s gut lurches, and he casually says, “yeah, truth,” before pulling out his phone to scroll through his feeds.

So there’s his answer-- he would know. He would remember not clamoring for girls’ attention in elementary school. He would remember being thirteen years old and thinking that the new kid was really interesting looking, thinking about how many girls the guy would get. He would remember getting antsy at baseball practice, counting the seconds until he could go home and jerk off in the shower. He would remember the look of relief on his parents’ face when he finally brought home his first girlfriend at age seventeen.

If he was different back then, he would’ve known.

Eddie’s saved from any further introspection by the alarm going off, literally saved by the bell, and he’s thankful for the distraction. He and Hen beat everyone down to the engine, and they watch in amusement while everyone stumbles into their turnouts.

Buck’s still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he swings his body up into the truck, taking his usual seat across from Eddie. His cheeks are pink from sleep. Buck bumps his knee affectionately against Eddie’s. “You guys are quick,” he yawns.

Eddie blinks and waves away the waft of stale breath. “We’re just too elite,” he boasts. “Operating on a level you couldn’t even fathom.”

Chim reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his pack of gum, offering one to Buck, too, when he holds out his hand sheepishly. “Which I would totally believe,” Chim says, voice dripping with sarcasm, “if I hadn’t overheard you two giggling earlier when I got up to take a leak.”

“I do not giggle,” Eddie says defensively, spreading his hands in indignance. The engine pulls out of the bay, but the siren’s not running, which tells Eddie that whatever the call is, it's not urgent. 

Bobby turns around from where he’s seated up front. “You two gossipping about us?” he says cheekily. 

Ravi smirks. “Busted,” he sings.

“Y’all are so nosy, my goodness,” Hen sighs exasperatedly. They speed down the road, the traffic light this late at night.

“That’s not a no,” Buck points out, turning his grin to Eddie. His nostrils flare just a hint at the smell of spicy cinnamon gum. “C’mon, share with the class.”

Eddie squints his eyes at Buck. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disrupt the teacher. Cap, where are we going?”

Bobby twists his mouth, his smile constipated. “Marijuana overdose,” he says, voice one degree off from irritation. Everyone groans.

“When is dispatch going to start telling these people to just go to sleep?” Chimney loudly complains. “At this point, they’re just wasting tax dollars.”

Bobby shrugs his shoulders and turns to face forward. “Panic attacks and tachycardia are still very real. Better to be safe than sorry.”

Chim sighs. “Yeah, yeah. You guys aren’t the ones who have to sit there and talk down the person who thought too hard about the size of the universe and got scared.”

“I mean, it is pretty huge,” Buck points out. “Plus, snack duty is a sacred obligation.” He turns and points at Eddie, tilting his head playfully. “Funyuns?”

Eddie sighs. “Jerky,” he concedes.

“Oh, like I’m made of money.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it, Buck,” Hen teases. “And I wouldn’t say no to some iced tea,” she adds sweetly.

They pull up to the address, some off-campus student housing, and Buck and Ravi cross the street to the gas station with a smug wave.

A panicked girl lets them into the building, and Eddie trudges up three flights of stairs with Chim and Hen, pinching down their smiles at the massive bong in the middle of the floor. It’s neon green and at least three feet tall, full of filthy looking water. The patient they’re here for is also on the floor, leaning back against a cheap looking Ikea couch with her head in her hands.

Chim and Eddie crouch down on either side of her, Eddie checking her blood pressure while Chimney asks her name. 

“...Maria,” she hesitates, blocking Chimney’s flashlight with her hand when he goes to check her pupils. “Jesus, there’s so many of you. Am I gonna die?” Her words are slightly slurred. 

“You’re not gonna die,” Eddie says. “But I would probably change out the water in that thing,” he points to the bong.

“Oh, we didn’t use that,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and resting it against the couch. “Are you sure I’m not dying? Feel really weird.”

“And could you please describe the symptoms of your… weirdness?” Chimney asks, shaking his head in amusement when he makes eye contact with Hen.

Maria hums. She rolls her wrists. “Um, like… my hands feel weird. Like my thumbs have souls.”

Eddie snickers while he takes the cuff off her arm. Her BP is elevated but within normal range. “Souls, eh?”

She nods, completely serious. Her eyes are still closed. “Like I’m not aligned right. You know when you’d have to like… re-calibrate your DS cause the touch screen got all fucked?”

“I assure you, none of us do,” Hen says.

Maria sighs. “Fuck, I’m gonna lose my scholarship cause you turned me into a busted DS,” she says to her friend.

“Dude, I told you to start small,” her friend scoffs.

Chimney holds his hands up. “Okay, if she didn’t use Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber, what did she smoke out of?” he asks the group.

Her friend points sheepishly to the coffee table. “We sorta… made a gravity bong.”

Eddie presses one gloved hand to his mouth to smother the laughter.

Chim nods, lips pressing together. “Because why use the two hundred dollar glass, when an empty two-liter bottle of Coke works just as well?”

“It was Dr. Pepper,” Maria says solemnly. Her head rolls against the couch, and she starts laughing out loud to herself. “Holy shit, this is so embarrassing. You guys are so nice. Do you guys have, like, Yelp or something? Does that exist?”

“Now there’s a genius pitch,” Chimney says, tilting his head at Eddie. “We have the manners and the sex appeal, I think the 118 gets five stars no problem.”

“You guys are insanely sexy,” Maria’s friend agrees.

Hen snorts. “Then we’d start getting 911 calls from middle-aged women in Brentwood McMansions who refuse to get a four-star ambulance. No thank you.”

Maria laughs loudly. “McMansion,” she sighs in amusement. “Hey, you think McDonalds is still open?”

At that, Eddie and Chim start packing up their equipment. At least she wasn’t asking them to drive her there. “Are you even coordinated enough to eat food?” her friend asks.

Maria exhales. “You can just feed me like a baby bird.”

“Mmm. Twice-chewed french fries,” Eddie swoons, rubbing his belly.

“Get some sleep, girls,” Hen points to them with a serious expression. “And use the gravity bong responsibly.”

“Love you, too,” Maria sighs as they close the door behind them. In the hallway, they hear her muffled voice say, “holy fuck, they were hot. Did I blow it?”

They trudge back down the three flights of stairs, cackling about the last ‘overdose’ they’d been called to. “At least this girl was wearing clothing,” Chim says, voice echoing in the stairwell. “I’m still haunted by the image of that man’s sack.”

Downstairs, Buck and Ravi are back in the engine with their hoard of treasures. Chim cheers at the bag of salt and vinegar chips that’s handed to him while Hen sips her drink. Buck has already opened the bag of jerky, and he holds out a piece for Eddie with a smug expression.

Eddie leans his head down, taking a bite of the jerky straight from Buck’s fingers instead of grabbing it. It takes him a couple tries to rip off a piece successfully, and his lips brush over the skin of Buck’s knuckle in the process. He leaves a smear of his saliva behind, and Buck--

Well, Buck looks at Eddie with awe, a small amused smile on his face, and he shoves the rest of the piece he’s holding in his mouth, wiping up the crumbs and spit with his tongue.

“Can you guys please be normal,” Ravi begs, cracking the tab on his soda.

Eddie’s dead on his feet by the time their shift ends, and he dreams about his bed the whole drive home. He sends a prayer out to the universe thanking it for Carla’s existence, since Chris is already packed up and heading out the door by the time he walks in. He ruffles the top of his son’s head as he follows Carla out to her car, and Christopher groans but tolerates it. 

“Have a good day at school,” Eddie says, leaning one hand on the frame of the doorway.

“I won’t,” Chris calls back. “Bye, Dad.”

Eddie stays and waves as the car drives off, grinning until it's a speck in the distance. Eddie is so lucky.

He ditches his clothes, flopping back onto his bed in his boxers and a tank top. He’s exhausted, his eyelids almost burning with how tired he is, but he’s weirdly wired. It happens sometimes after a shift, especially if there was a bad emergency, but they didn’t have any calls today that usually set him on edge like this. He tosses and turns for what feels like hours, getting tangled in his comforter, too hot and then too cold. Eddie groans in frustration, rubbing his hands over heavy lids.

He tries to do his army meditation, lying flat on his back and scanning his body from head to toe, but he still feels restless. Eddie even tries his panic attack jell-o method, trying every flavor he can think of. His mind keeps wandering to his conversation with Hen, and he feels weirdly anxious about the idea of her telling anybody, even if he had innocent intentions. He can picture it clearly in his mind, Hen crawling into bed with her wife, saying, guess what Eddie asked me about today, matching Karen’s cackles.

Eddie rubs at his forehead in frustration. That was-- unfair of him, she’d never say it meanly like that. He didn’t even mean anything by it, he was just… curious to get a different perspective. Eddie might’ve been a late bloomer, but he’d always been drawn to women, their smell and their eyes and their legs. Shannon had always loved perfume, but not the cloying, sickly sweet floral kind. She’d liked muskier woodsy smells, amber and cedar and lavender. Eddie had always loved to nuzzle into the spot on her neck where she spritzed herself, especially when he’d been fucking her.

And that’s-- his legs shift restlessly against the sheets. That was certainly another way he could try to get to sleep. 

Eddie’s resigned himself to being single for a while, which… is fine, his libido isn’t anything crazy. It never has been, only brief periods where he’s had that fidgety itching under his skin, hard up for any available wet hole.

He feels a warm tingling sensation in his gut, his body warming up. He’s been pretty mechanical about his needs lately, quick and efficient in the shower, like it was a checklist: shampoo, then face wash, then spill his come down the drain, then body wash. Eddie usually doesn’t have time for much else, or his body is too exhausted by the time his head hits the pillow.

But-- he has time, now. 

He runs a hand down his neck, fingers trailing over his carotid. The sensation is dull, not at all like another person’s touch, but it still warms his skin. He’s been so methodical about it that anything extra beyond a tight fist on his cock makes his skin break out in goosebumps.

Eddie’s hand drags down his abdomen, skin ticklish by the waistband of his boxers, his tank top riding up. He’s not hard yet, but he’s getting there, blood rushing warm and thick beneath tight skin. Usually he just uses his imagination, closes his eyes to lose himself in the sensations he inflicts on his own body. Eddie might not have the biggest catalogue of memories and partners to choose from, but he can still remember the feelings, can still remember how good a tight hand or a wet mouth feels, and most of the time it’s enough.

Porn isn’t something he defaults to, usually hates the fake moans and the impersonal sawing thrusts, but the voyeuristic thrill he feels when he thinks about getting himself off to it today sends a small shudder down his spine. His cock kicks in his boxers, and suddenly he wants it more than anything. Wants to see skin on skin, wants to see a wet cock fill up somebody’s hole.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes to himself, face red and pulling up his phone. He closes every open application and puts his browser in incognito, ever paranoid, like somehow if his email is open in the background it’ll send a link to his entire contact list. He pulls up his favorite site-- or, well, the only one whose name he actually remembers-- and his eye wanders down the popular and suggested videos. It’s all crap, honestly, step-sibling shit and cam show ads in emotionless studios. He opens up the list of categories and his thumb hovers over the amateur tab, but his eye catches something different-- popular with women.

Well-- Eddie is nothing if not curious. The female friends he does have aren’t the type to talk about porn habits, at least not with Eddie. He beats back the cop in his head (latent catholic guilt, begone) and clicks the link.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting. It’s mostly girl-on-girl, a lot of it still impassive professional stuff, and his eyes sort of blur over until one thumbnail catches his eye. 

It’s-- a cock, front and center, obviously a POV video. It’s big and wet, clearly slathered with lube, and the faceless girl in front of it is grinning, sultry and teasing. She’s got a fleshlight in hand, and the preview that plays when he pauses shows her slipping it over the head of the guy’s dick.

Eddie palms himself where he’s getting hard. He’s not sure why this type of video would be popular with women, but his breathing starts to pick up the more he watches the preview, and he clicks on it before he can chicken out. Am I driving you crazy? The title teases.

Yes, Eddie thinks to himself, slipping his hand under his waistband. I might just be fully crazy.

The video starts. The girl is-- she’s fine, she’s cute, at least of what Eddie can see. The camera cuts off the top half of her face, in what he can only assume was some misguided attempt at anonymity, but her smile is nice, teeth straight and white, and she’s practically bursting out of her low-cut tank top. She’s pulling her boyfriend out of his shorts, and Eddie’s drawn to the way his cock bobs up, already fully hard. It’s-- it’s a nice cock. Long and thick and red at the tip. It’s basically perfect. For-- porn, obviously.

The girl laughs teasingly, taking him in hand. Her nails are perfectly manicured, red to match her lips, and Eddie squeezes his own cock breathlessly when she flicks the tip meanly with her index finger. The guy groans softly, and she laughs again, making a pitying noise, like, oh, poor you.

There isn’t any dialogue whatsoever, Eddie realizes, just soft moans and mocking giggles, the soft wet squelch of her hand where she’s spreading lube on him. The cock on-screen is getting redder, flushing down the shaft, and Eddie pulls his own fully out of his boxers when the girl lets go to grab the fleshlight. She’s squeezing lube into it, fucking into it with wet fingers to spread the mess around, and Eddie shakily brings his hand up to spit into it. Jesus, he feels like an open nerve, lathering his cock up with his own spit while he directs glossy eyes to his phone.

She’s finally lowering the toy to the tip of the guy’s cock, and she starts fucking him with it, just one teasing inch at a time. She pulls off completely with every stroke, and Eddie can see in real time how much more red and wet the guy’s dick is getting.

And the guy is-- he loves it. He’s loud, moaning and grunting the more his girlfriend teases him. His thigh muscles bunch up every time the toy comes off. Eddie’s thighs flex in sympathy, fucking up into the wet clutch of his hand, and he’s never found a sex toy so appealing before. It looks like just-- wet silicone, but the way the guy is moaning, whining almost, as his girlfriend buries his cock in it over and over--

God. Eddie lets out a harsh breath, licking over his lips where they’ve gone dry at his gaping. His own cock is leaking, now, and he digs his thumb into the weeping slit, smearing the head with wetness. He’s trying to go slow, to match the pace on his screen, but the hot throb in his gut tells him he’s not going to pull that off. His eyes bug out when he sees there’s almost six more minutes of this torture left. He fast forwards the video a bit, squirming against the sheets at the ache in his dick.

She’s really fucking him with it now, and the guy is groaning nonstop, thighs jumping and hips flexing into the wet plastic sleeve. “Fuck,” Eddie pants thickly, and his own hand is flying over his cock, and he wants to come so desperately, but he-- he needs to see this guy come first. Eddie normally could care less about timing his orgasms, especially with fake porn orgasms, but it’s like he’s hypnotized, overwhelmed with the need to see this guy make a big mess.

He is crazy, he thinks, spiralling mentally while he fucks his hips up. He’s crazy because he wants this guy to come so badly, and then he wants to slide his dick into the same toy, frothing his cock up with--

Jesus Christ--

The guy finally groans on-screen, loud and devastating like he’s been punched right in the gut, and Eddie cries out softly as he pulls the come out of his own dick. It lands in strips over his tank top, one stray shot hitting the warm skin of his navel. It feels incredible, the hardest he’s come in months, like his brain has been sapped dry, too.

He drops the phone and lies there panting, staring up at the ceiling with his dick still in his hand. Eddie drops the back of his clean hand to his forehead, arm stretched out on the pillows beside him, while he catches his breath. His mind is blissfully clear, for once.

Popular with women. Eddie closes his eyes and laughs wetly, panting hot breath into the air above him. He clicked on the category for answers, but he feels like he’s leaving with more questions. He heaves his dirty tank top off, wiping himself clean with the already ruined clothing, and rolls over to plant face-first into his pillows. He’s out like a light before he can truly answer that voice in his head-- the one that wonders which one he was more envious of.

The next time he’s on Frank’s couch, he firmly says, “I’m not jealous.”

Frank frowns and purses his lips. “I think you’ll recall that I never actually said that,” he points out. “I merely wanted to draw a connection to the fact that the change in your dynamic with Buck caused a major upset in your life.”

Eddie sighs. “Okay, Frank, but you can see the implications of your words, right? You think I blew up my relationship--relationships -- because of Buck?”

Frank shrugs. “It may only be a piece of the puzzle, but would that be so crazy?”

Eddie rubs a hand over his forehead. “You-- you do hear it, though, right?”

Frank settles in his chair, crossing his fingers over his clipboard. “Explain which part of this is making you so upset.”

Eddie laughs, near hysteric. “Okay. I meet a woman who’s a dead ringer for my late wife. And I don’t tell my best friend because he’s too busy with his new boyfriend and his new-- uh. Newness. So I continue to see this woman with some subconscious desire to ruin things with my girlfriend. So that my newly-- whatever he is-- best friend will pay attention to me?”

Frank blinks at him, raising his eyebrows.

“Frank,” he laughs humorlessly. He’s out of breath. “That makes me sound so…”

The room is quiet, save for the sound of Eddie’s harsh breaths. He can’t say it. He can’t possibly. Frank will kick him out of the room.

“Makes you sound so what, Eddie?” Frank says gently.

Eddie’s lips twist just a fraction. His mouth feels stuffed with cotton. “So… gay,” he croaks.

Frank exhales softly. “Would it be so bad if you were?” he asks, devastating Eddie.

He thinks about being five years old, being babysat by their neighbor’s teenage daughter from down the road. How she’d painted her toenails a bright green color while they watched cartoons, how Eddie had watched, riveted, as she delicately applied the wet paint. How he’d lit up when she offered to do his toes, putting the small foam separators on his feet. How disgusted his father had been when they got home. How he’d spit at Eddie to “go wash that off, Edmundo, you look like a queer.” How Eddie had scrubbed and scrubbed and clawed at the dry paint, chipping off into the bathtub, watching it swirl down the drain. How his dad had never allowed Grace to babysit again. 

“Yes,” Eddie says to Frank, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Because I’m not.”

He gets a Messenger notification one afternoon from one of his army buddies. He hasn’t used Facebook in years, not since he moved to LA, but he keeps his page up in case someone unfamiliar wants to contact him. He only really uses Insta these days, and mostly to post the usual pictures a few times a year-- weddings, birthdays, a group selfie if they’re all out at the bar. Buck and Chimney send him borderline incomprehensible memes, which Eddie usually reacts to with a ‘?’, but then he shows them to Christopher and it usually earns him a grin.

[Mitchell 3:24]: Diaz-- I’m heading to LA in a couple weeks for a wedding. Would love to grab a couple beers if ur free.

He hasn’t talked to Mitch in years-- had gone through basic combat training with the guy, both of them wide eyed rookies, enamored with the boys’ club camaraderie before they really knew what they were getting into. They hadn’t been assigned the same unit, and Eddie had kept up with him, briefly, after he was discharged. But Mitch had stayed in Afghanistan, and then he was dealing with Shannon leaving, and it was easy to fall out of touch. They’d bonded over superficial shit, football and growing up in the South and tex-mex cuisine. Mitch had been a decent friend, a nice distraction during their limited downtime who was always ready to play cards and work out together. He was a chill guy, so it’s easy to reply, yeah, man, absolutely. cool if I bring my buddy? you’ll like him.

A-shift has a 12-hour the Friday that Mitch is in town, and Eddie’s been restless all day. He’s weirdly nervous about it-- hasn’t really spoken to Mitch in almost six years, hasn’t seen him in person in at least twelve-- and he really hopes he and Buck get along. Mitch is kind of… a classic southern guy, crude and macho and cocky, and Buck is, well. Buck.

He desperately needs a distraction, so Eddie’s at the dining table, bent over a notebook and frowning at his propped up phone, when Bobby pulls up a chair beside him.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Bobby teases, settling back in his chair at the head of the table.

Eddie huffs a laugh. They’re in between calls, everyone in their respective corners after Cap’s homemade chili. It’s a blessing whenever they get to finish a meal, nevermind have time to digest it. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite work meals-- although his inner Texan still side-eyes the inclusion of beans-- but it’s comforting without being too high-brow. He doesn’t mind the fancier meals, the beef bourguignon and the braised short ribs and the stuffed brioche french toast, but there’s just something magical about good old-fashioned midwestern chili that warms Eddie’s soul.

“I’m learning how to play chess,” Eddie explains sheepishly, gesturing to the diagrams he’s drawing on the paper in front of him. “Christopher’s joining the chess club at school, and I want to be able to practice with him at home.”

Bobby tilts his head. “Never learned how to play?”

Eddie knocks his head from side to side in contemplation. “I mean, I think I might’ve learned from my dad when I was a single-digit age, but that’s probably also the last time I played. I’m more of a checkers man.” He smiles and chews the corner of his lip self-consciously. “My dad’s the one who taught Chris,” he realizes, murmuring quietly.

Bobby hums in thought. “Wait here,” he says, getting up and hustling to the stairs. Eddie leans back in his chair, glancing over at the couches. Buck is out cold in one of the armchairs, arms crossed over his chest and giraffe legs stretched out in front of him. It’s the classic dad pose, and Eddie would snap a picture if he didn’t know Buck would jerk awake at his weird ‘I’m-being-photographed’ sixth sense. Ravi and Hen are playing GTA, taking turns and swapping whenever one of them dies. He’s surprised Buck can sleep through Ravi’s panicked yelling every time he enters the airport and immediately gets a five star police chase. Chim is doing a video call further off, and he’s got that starry-eyed ‘talking-to-a-small-human’ smile. Jee-Yun is getting to the age where she can hold an actual conversation, which was Eddie’s favorite phase with Chris, question after question about the way the world works. It’s great improv practice.

Bobby returns, and he’s setting down a sturdy rectangular box with a checkered pattern. He unlocks the latch, and it opens to reveal a set of tiny chess pieces nesting in green billiard cloth. Bobby pulls out the pieces, delicately laying them on the table, before flipping the whole box over and pulling it flat to reveal the full chess board.

Eddie purses his lips, fighting a smile. “I wish the idea of a travel sized chess set had occurred to me before I packed an entire suitcase with bubble wrap.”

Bobby shrugs and smiles, gesturing with his hand to the board. “Wanna learn?”

Eddie nods graciously. He’s been re-reading this wikihow page for--too long, frankly, and he was starting to worry he’d lost too many brain cells inhaling god-knows-what from burning buildings over the years. Bobby is giving him a kind, patient smile, though, that classic Minnesota charm. Eddie feels his cheek dimple in return.

Bobby clears his throat. “So, the first rule is that white always moves first.”

They’re off by eight, and when he and Buck go to meet Mitchell out in the station’s parking lot the low-level anxiety Eddie's been cultivating all day spikes. He doesn’t even know why he’s so nervous, as if just seeing someone he used to know from the army would trigger a breakdown. He feels like these days, he can’t be too careful about what might or might not set him off. But he feels a little better when Buck bumps his fist into Eddie’s shoulder with a reassuring grin.

“Diaz,” Mitchell cheers, his voice deep and booming, holding his hand up for Eddie to clasp, and they thump each other on the back with their fists. He looks different, but the same; his hair has grown out past the military grade shave, down to almost his shoulders, and he’s got a slightly greying beard.

“Mitch, this is my buddy Buck,” he introduces, and he’s relieved when Mitchell clasps hands with Buck, too. Two worlds colliding, old and new, but the world keeps spinning anyway. It eases the tension in Eddie’s shoulders.

“My hotel does not have a bar and I’ve been craving a brew all day,” Mitchell complains. “Now, which one of these prissy cars is yours?”

Eddie scoffs. “Excuse me, I drive that beauty over there,” he complains, gesturing to his truck.

Mitchell whistles appreciatively. “Now that is a ride. If I see one more Subaru or Camry, I’m gonna hurl.”

Eddie and Mitch slap each other on the chest before he leads him towards the pickup, and he glances over his shoulder to make sure Buck is following. He wonders if he imagines the glimpse he catches of Buck’s frown before his face corrects itself. Eddie changes the radio station the second he turns the key in the ignition, off the pop channel, and knows that Mitch will like preset four-- classic rock.

Mitchell is already gesturing to the bartender for beer number two before Eddie and Buck have had half of their first pint. Eddie’s nursing his today-- he hasn’t had much to eat since lunch, and he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of his old friend by chugging beer on an empty stomach. As if Buck can sense this, he pushes the bowl of mixed nuts on the counter towards Eddie’s arm, and Eddie’s eyes light up at the inclusion of wasabi balls in the mix. 

“Can’t believe you really live in LA now, man,” Mitchell laughs disbelievingly. Eddie shrugs and smiles.

“What’s wrong with LA?” Buck says, defensive but still lighthearted. “You hate white sand and blue skies? West coast best coast.”

Mitchell throws back another hefty gulp. “You are just so not the type. Diaz is a Texas boy at heart.”

“And yet, I own zero cowboy hats,” Eddie laments. The Dodgers game is on the TV behind the bar, and his eyes keep getting drawn to the action.

Mitchell exhales in amusement. “Cowboy hat around here’d be a little more Brokeback than Billy the Kid, that’s for sure,” and laughs at his own joke. Eddie smiles and shakes his head in amusement, but he’s hyper aware of the way Buck’s shoulders tensed briefly beside him.

“You’d be surprised,” Eddie says. “Lotta bull riding joints around here.” He fondly recalls the time they’d had to cut a drunk bridesmaid out of one, her foot caught in the piston underneath the bull’s chassis. Can they make my cast burnt sienna to match the dress? she’d hiccuped as they wheeled her to the ambulance.

“Now that is a sight I want to see. LA party girls on the mechanical bull,” Mitchell whistles lowly.

Buck hums indecisively. “More like drunk, middle-aged English teachers,” he points out. “But those ladies do know how to party.”

Mitchell laughs, loud and open, and his breath reeks like the cigarette he’d smoked in Eddie’s truck. His teeth are immaculately white, though, and Eddie wonders if they’re veneers. “You guys must have some crazy stories.”

Buck lights up beside him. “Oh, we do,” he grins. “Yo, did Eddie ever tell you about the 7.1 'quake we got a few years back? This building was literally sideways, and we--”

“No, man, I meant chicks,” Mitchell interrupts, shaking his head at Eddie as if to say, can you believe this guy? “Please tell me the rumors about LA girls are true.”

Eddie huffs in amusement, shaking his head in exasperation. “Same ol’ Mitch. Still a dog.” He sips his beer, and it tastes especially bitter against the heat of the lingering wasabi on his tongue.

“It’s called being a human male with a pulse, Diaz,” Mitchell says playfully. “Come on. Don’t tell me you save people every day and you’ve never gotten any numbers.”

Eddie laughs. “Don’t want ‘em,” he says truthfully. He’s not exactly clamoring for numbers from the type of people who call about a strange odor, only for Eddie to find rotting fruit on the kitchen counter.

Mitchell scoffs like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “They really got to you, eh, Diaz? California made you soft.”

“He’s not soft,” Buck defends. “Man, you know what kinda crazy shit we have to handle in this city?”

“Pfft,” Mitchell rolls his eyes. “Yeah, foaming down kitchen fires is really the same as getting missiles launched at your bird.”

Eddie’s mouth twists distastefully at the memory.

Mitchell drowns the rest of beer number two. “Whatever, sorry,” he placates. “But you gotta start livin’ a little, man, seriously. Either of you guys even have girlfriends, or whatever?”

“Or whatever,” Buck mumbles, finger swiping the spot of foam from his upper lip.

“Buck,” Eddie warns softly, and Mitchell’s eyebrows fly up to his hairline. Eddie’s eyes dart away from his face, drawn to the bowl of nuts on the sticky countertop. He steels his expression as best he can. One cashew has fallen out, tucked under the napkin his beer is sweating through.

“You’re kidding,” Mitchell scoffs. “LA really make you gay, Diaz?” he teases.

“What? No,” Eddie says sharply, a little too fast for his liking. He’s flustered, caught off guard, and his traitorous mind flashes to the porn he’d watched-- the one he’d re-watched, if he’s being honest. The way he’d liked it just a little too much. How he just had to see if it was a fluke. 

It wasn’t.

“I’m not-- no,” Eddie finishes, stumbling over his words.

Mitchell squints at him, then cranes his neck to look at Buck, jerking his chin at him. “You, then?”

Eddie feels his pulse spike dangerously, but Buck just scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. Buck blinks, like he’s looking for the right words, before saying, “...yeah, man. You got a problem with that?”

A mean laugh titters behind Mitchell’s teeth, too white and too big in his mouth, and Eddie feels bile crawl up his throat.

“Mitch,” Eddie warns severely, his eyes shooting daggers. Mitchell throws his hands up in surrender.

“Shoulda guessed,” is all Mitchell says, and Eddie feels his jaw clench, too tight, molars squeaking painfully against each other. Buck laughs humorlessly beside him, draining the rest of his glass.

“I’m outta here,” Buck says quietly, standing from the barstool quickly. He bumps Eddie’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Text me later when you’re home.”

“Buck,” Eddie calls, but he’s already storming out of the bar, squeezing past incoming patrons to escape.

“‘Text me later’? Dude,” Mitchell scoffs. “I can’t believe you gotta work with guys like him.”

Eddie’s face flushes with anger, and he remembers how good it felt to punch that asshole in the park, but he just spits, “fuck you, man,” instead. He drops a 20 on the counter while Mitchell sputters his indignation, rushing to the door to catch up with Buck.

“Buck,” he calls out, his best friend’s tall figure easy to pull out of a crowd, half a block away, and he breaks into a jog. Buck stops and turns, waiting for Eddie.

Eddie stands in front of him, overwhelmingly glad Buck’s eyes are clear. His face isn’t even angry, or sad, he just looks… bored. Tired.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, hands on his hips. “I didn’t know he would-- I mean, I should’ve guessed he’d be…” he trails off. Buck just stares at him. They’re kind of making a roadblock in the middle of the sidewalk, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Buck’s face, even when passersby knock into his elbow. 

“...That guy is a total dick,” Buck finally settles on, and Eddie’s grin is one of relief.

“Yeah, he is. Fuck him,” he says sincerely. Eddie claps one hand on Buck’s shoulder, and it finds the familiar place it always lands. His thumb rubs over Buck’s clavicle, warm and reassuring. He feels the weight in his chest lighten up when Buck ducks his head with a shy smile. “Let’s go have a beer at home.”

Buck nods and follows him to the truck. When the engine starts, and Eddie shifts the gear to reverse, he doesn’t miss the way Buck puts the radio back to preset one.

Christopher is happy to see Buck, as always, and Buck is happy to see Chris, and Eddie is happy to not spend eight dollars on one beer, so it all ends up working out in the end. Eddie’s secretly relieved to come home, still itchy whenever he leaves Chris home alone at night. He knows his son is old enough, but there’s a part of Eddie that will always consider Chris his baby, no matter how tall he gets. He keeps this to himself out of fear of incurring teenage wrath.

Buck ducks his head into Christopher’s room when they get there, but he’s sulking back down the hallway just minutes later, slumping onto Eddie’s sofa and accepting the beer he’s handed.

“When did Christopher become too cool for us?” he says forlornly, tipping his head back to take a swig.

Eddie smirks. “It comes and goes in waves. I honestly almost cried when he said he was too old for trick or treating.”

“Don’t even say that to me right now, or I’m gonna throw up,” Buck sighs. Eddie’s eyes are drawn to the way Buck’s tongue runs over the neck of the bottle, cleaning up the foam that spilled over. “He still likes the zoo, right? Tell me your parents didn’t run an anti-zoo psyop on him while he was gone.”

Eddie’s eyes tear away when he processes Buck’s words, startling a laugh out of him. “I think we’re good there. He’s always going on about the one in San Antonio.”

Buck closes his eyes and nods in relief. “We’re safe. For now,” he says hauntingly. He picks up Eddie’s remote and flicks the TV on, helping himself as he scrolls through the TV guide.

Eddie buries his smile in his beer. He thinks about his tía, how she’d worried about him being lonely. The longer you’re alone, the easier it is, she’d said. I don’t want that for you.

Eddie might be alone, but sitting here, now, with Buck’s knee knocking into his, with his son safe and sound just down the hall, he doesn’t feel even a pang of loneliness.

“Oh, yes,” Buck cheers, scrolling over to Mission: Impossible -- Fallout. “This is the best one, hands down. This is the one where he breaks his ankle on-screen.” The movie’s already started, but it’s early on enough that Eddie knows he’ll be too tipsy to care about whatever setup they’ve missed.

Eddie snorts. “A hobbling Tom Cruise is a highlight?”

“Well, yeah,” Buck scoffs, like, duh. “Plus, Henry Cavill and that hot mustache.”

Buck turns beet red when Eddie smirks and raises one eyebrow at him. “Shut up,” Buck mumbles into the neck of his bottle.

@eb191: All hail the pancake god 🥞 🥞

[Image 1: A sepia-toned photo of Christopher, a mountain of blueberry pancakes stacked on his plate. He’s squinting at the camera in determination.]

[Image 2: A black and white photo of a now empty plate, Christopher’s head slumped over to touch his forehead to the table. A hungover Eddie in his pajamas, leaning against the counter in the background, failing to hide his grin into his favorite mug.]

@eddiebodywantssome: hallowed be thy name

“Bobby taught me how to play chess,” Eddie brags a few days later. “If you want to practice at home some time.”

Christopher raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously, Dad?”

“As a heart attack,” Eddie challenges, squinting.

Christopher grins and shakes his head, like he’s saying, rookie mistake, pops. Eddie follows him to the chess board where they’ve set it up in the living room, sitting on the white side.

He studies the board in front of him, desperately trying to recall everything he’s learned. Moving a pawn is a safe opening move, right? He moves it up to G4.

Christopher moves a pawn too, up to E5, and Eddie sighs in relief internally. They’d done basically the same thing, right? So far so good. He moves another pawn up to F4 to challenge Christopher’s pawn for the center of the board.

Christopher moves his queen to H4. “Checkmate,” he says smugly.

Eddie’s jaw drops. “You-- wait, what? No. No, no, no. What just happened?”

Christopher grins. “I win. One-nothing.”

Eddie blinks and scoffs, his mouth still wide open. Well, shit.

Eddie’s packing up his bag in the locker room after a shift, and he nudges his shoulder into Buck’s arm. “You still comin’ over for movie night? I warn you now, Christopher will get on another soapbox about getting you to try Lord of the Rings.”

“Buck Middlename Buckley,” Chim gasps, loud and affronted. “You’ve never seen Lord of the Rings? For shame.”

Buck holds his hands up defensively. “I’m sorry, okay! It’s just so long. Eleven and a half hours for three movies is crazy.”

Chimney shakes his head in disgust. “What are they even teaching in schools nowadays? After everything Aragorn did for this great nation.” They laugh at Buck’s misery when he raises his eyebrows in confusion.

“I can’t come over tonight,” he directs towards Eddie apologetically. “Tell Chris I owe him a raincheck.”

Eddie shrugs and smiles, as if to say, no big deal, but he’s kind of disappointed. “Big plans?”

Buck freezes, licking his lips nervously. “I’ve, uh, I’ve actually got a date,” Buck says sheepishly, and Eddie busies himself with his shoelaces, even though they’re done up perfectly.

Hen’s jaw drops giddily. “Buck, I didn’t know you were dating! Man or woman?”

“Man,” Buck answers, ducking his head shyly. He sounds pleased at his own answer.

Chimney leans against the locker next to Buck, crossing one ankle over the other. “And what’s prince charming’s name?” Chim asks playfully, snapping his gum. 

Buck pauses and clears his throat. “Uh… Big John?”

The locker room is silent for a beat. Hen covers her mouth to hide the glee, eyebrows pushed together like she can barely contain it. Eddie coughs to cover a snort.

“You’re dating a man named… ‘Big John’?” Ravi says slowly, finger gesturing in confusion.

The back of Buck’s neck flushes. “Uh-huh,” he stutters.

Chim nods quickly, lips mushed together over his teeth. “And is that his… biblical name?” He asks, voice wavering as he holds in his laughter.

“You guys are the worst,” Buck grumbles, slamming his locker shut to the chorus of cackles. He storms out of the doorway to head to his Jeep, mumbling all the while.

“Baby’s first Grindr date, oh my god,” Hen howls, hunching over to slap her hand over her knee.

“Ten bucks says he gets catfished,” Chim dares, pointing an excited finger at her.

“Nuh-uh. Ten bucks says the guy is married to a woman,” Hen says.

Eddie’s brows pinch together. “Straight dudes use Grindr?” he says dumbly, which sets them off again.

It’s kind of annoying, the way Eddie can’t stop thinking about Buck’s date. They’d fallen into a comfortable dynamic, the both of them single and once again on the same page about how often they wanted each others’ company. There was always a learning curve whenever one of them started seeing somebody, awkward cancellations when their availability inevitably changes. Eddie’s made peace with the fact that he’s going to be single for the foreseeable future, but for some reason he hadn’t considered the Buck of it all.

Eddie might be tech-averse, but he knows what Grindr is. He knows the likelihood of this guy becoming Buck’s boyfriend is slim to none, but his gut churns at the idea of a stranger buying him drinks and taking him home. They don’t know how fragile his heart still is.

He wonders if they’re going back to the guy’s house or Buck’s loft, and he finds he doesn’t like either answer. Eddie’s mind races with extravagant serial killer scenarios, and he tries to remind himself that Buck is six foot two and built like a brick shithouse. 

Eddie’s scrolling his phone in bed, leaning back against a pile of pillows, and he decides to text Buck.

[Eddie 11:48] how was papa john

He sits and waits for a reply. Buck might be asleep already. He might still be out at a bar with his date.

He might be-- well.

Eddie’s phone buzzes twice in succession on the bed next to him.

[Buck 11:52] BIG John

[Buck 11:52] And aptly named 🔥

[Eddie 11:53] tmi

[Buck 11:53] You asked!!

Eddie grins and shakes his head at the screen. Well, he hadn’t been murdered, at least. His fingers fly across his phone screen.

[Eddie 11:55] so when’s the wedding

[Eddie 11:55] should we talk venues

[Buck 11:56] He wasn’t THAT good 😅

[Eddie 11:56] no? that’s embarrassing

[Eddie 11:57] coming from a man who calls himself big john

[Buck 11:57] Motion of the ocean and all that

And that’s-- that’s a mental image. Eddie blinks it away.

[Eddie 11:58] guessing there won’t be a 2nd date?

[Buck 11:58] 🤷

[Buck 11:58] Probably not

Good, Eddie thinks, and he doesn’t like the way that thought makes the hair on his arm stick straight up. He’s not jealous. He just doesn’t want the status quo to be disrupted.

[Eddie 12:00] might go hiking tmrw if ur down

[Eddie 12:00] chris is going to denny’s

[Buck 12:01] Oh heck yeah we should hit up switzer falls

[Buck 12:01] I’ll bring my camera so look pretty

[Eddie 12:02] sooo DON’T shave my eyebrows?

[Buck 12:02] I could prob ‘shop them back in

He jerks off that night, restless and irritated, and when he pulls up a video from his new favorite account he can’t help but associate it with Buck’s date. There’s a big, red cock on Eddie’s screen, the girl’s tongue lapping delicately at the tip, and he thinks about Huge Sam or Enormous Joe or whatever the fuck his name is, can’t help but briefly imagine Buck in the girl’s position, and--

No. Jesus Christ. Nope.

He comes when the guy does, spilling hot and wet over his knuckles.

When they make it to the waterfall, Buck calls out, “say cheese!”

Eddie turns and grimaces goofily to the camera. Buck grins as the shutter clicks noisily.

The water chugs below them, misting into the air and making the air shine with iridescent light. Buck slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulder and turns the camera around. Eddie gives the camera a real smile this time.

Buck pulls his hand back, squinting down at the screen to look at his pictures. “Insta worthy,” he confirms, swinging his backpack around to deposit the camera safely. He grabs the hem of his muscle shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and Eddie’s eyes are automatically drawn to the newly revealed skin. The trail of hair under his navel is dark and wet with sweat. Eddie’s eyes dart away, but the image is seared into his eyelids, and he’s thankful he’s wearing sunglasses so he can squeeze them shut in frustration.

“Let’s go sit up there for a bit,” Eddie suggests, pointing to a rocky landing. The view is fantastic, and the air is fresh up here, free from the LA smog. If Eddie’s neck breaks out in goosebumps every time Buck leans over to slurp obnoxiously from the straw on Eddie’s hydration pack, that’s between him and the waterfall.

@eb191: Quite the view ☀️ 🌈 😎

[Image 1: A black and white photo of Eddie, hands on his hips, his right foot propped up on the rock ledge beside him. He’s baring his teeth to the camera, but his scowl is playful. The sunlight behind him radiates the tips of his hair.]

[Image 2: A selfie of Buck and Eddie, their skin flushed with exertion. Eddie is smiling, mouth open, his canines poking past his top lip. Buck’s head is tilted towards Eddie, his teeth bared in a silly grin. The spray of the waterfall creates a faint rainbow shimmer behind them.]

@eddiebodywantssome: waterfalls hate to see us coming

On the drive over to Frank’s one day, stuck in the hot LA traffic, Eddie thinks to himself, what if I said I was gay, and then immediately banishes the thought.

He wasn’t, for one thing, and were you really allowed to just lie to your therapist? But he sits there, fingers drumming against the wheel, heart racing, and he wonders what would happen if he just said it out loud. Tried on the words, just to confirm that they don’t fit.

But if he opened that can of worms, there would be no closing it again, and he’d have to find a new therapist and start all over.

And he really doesn’t want to talk about his parents again.

His breathing picks up, and he tries to count backwards from a hundred while his truck crawls forward in traffic, wondering if the cars in the other lanes can tell that he’s thinking about a horrible world where the words don’t feel wrong. A world where Frank nods and says, that much is obvious.

How would he be able to laugh it off? Gotcha, Frank. I’m still straight. Just wanted to say it out loud, and Frank would squint at him from his chair and hum and he’d probably say, how long have you been wanting to say it out loud?

He’s made it all the way down to zero by the time he parks. When he sits down on that stupid couch, and Frank says, how was your week, Eddie? Is there anything specific you’d like to talk about? Eddie just shrugs and says, no.

“Check-mate!” Eddie sings, blocking in Christopher’s king. He stands up from the chair, whooping in victory, pumping his knee and fist. Okay, sue him, he was competitive, but it’s the first ever game he’s won against his son.

“You finally got me,” Chris says, like he’s proud. “Now do it twenty more times.”

Eddie ruffles his hair affectionately, and Chris tolerates it for approximately two seconds before ducking his head away. “Come on, it’s at least in the thirties by now,” he says.

“You’re still better than Charlie,” Christopher complains. The bane of his young son’s life-- the school’s unwillingness to discriminate based on skill level. “I always get stuck with Charlie as a partner for bughouse.”

Eddie hums and takes a sip of his soda. “Well, maybe it’s ‘cause you’re just too good. They’re trying to balance the competition.”

His son sighs. “Which would be fine if Charlie didn’t blame me for not protecting the whole board when we lose.”

Eddie nods solemnly. “I had a teammate like that in basketball. Always complained when we wouldn’t pass him the ball, but he’d honest to god fumble it every time. The solution is definitely the same: piss in his shampoo bottle,” he jokes.

“Dad,” Christopher laughs. Eddie grins in return. “Charlie is a girl.”

Eddie hums in contemplation. He swirls his can like it’s a glass of fine chardonnay. “A modern problem that requires a more modern solution. I might know a guy.” He pulls out his phone and opens his recent calls, Buck’s name at the very top. He hits the speaker button and drops it on the table.

“Go for Buck, ” Buck answers. His voice is echoing like he’s in the bathroom.

“Hey,” Eddie replies at the same time Christopher shouts, “Hey, Buck!”

“Christopher!” Buck shouts back, the grin obvious in his voice. “Have you watched that video I sent you about elephant toothpaste yet?”

Christopher’s eyes light up. “Yes. Dad, can I use your Amazon? I don’t think the hardware store’s gonna have what we need.”

“Yeah, Chris and I need to blow stuff up in your yard,” Buck says. “You guys have food coloring, right?”

Eddie squints suspiciously, first at Chris, and then at his phone. “This isn’t gonna be like the potato cannon, is it? You murdered that poor buckwheat shrub.”

“We’ll put a tarp down, promise,” Buck placates, which still tells Eddie nothing.

“We had a real question, I swear,” Eddie says, and Buck says hit me. When Eddie finishes explaining-- if Chris will let him, the way he constantly interjects-- Buck hums thoughtfully.

“Well, I think the easiest answer here is don’t bully girls,” he says.

“I don’t care that she’s a girl. I care that she sucks!” Christopher pouts.

“Chris,” Eddie admonishes.

“Sorry,” Christopher huffs, obviously not sorry. “I mean that she’s ‘rude’ and ‘not as proficient’ as my other teammates,” he rolls his eyes, crooking his fingers around the air quotes.

“Well, sometimes you don’t always get along with the other people on your team,” Buck says politely. “I mean, hey, even your dad and I didn’t get along at first.”

His son rears his head back in confusion. “Seriously? What’d you do, Dad?”

Eddie scoffs and throws his free hand up in astonishment. “Literally nothing.”

Buck laughs loudly on the other end of the phone, his tinny voice echoing in Eddie’s kitchen. “It was me being a jealous bonehead. But, hey, that’s my point, maybe Charlie is really cool! New best friend alert.”

Chris slumps, resting his elbows on the table. “Buck, I really doubt Charlie is going to be my new best friend.”

Buck hums thoughtfully. “Or maybe more than friends?”

“Buck,” Christopher complains, dropping his forehead to the wood. “Ugh.”

“There’s a thin line between love and hate, mijo,” Eddie teases his son. He grins around the lip of his soda can when Christopher groans loudly.

“Buck, are you coming over tonight to make dinner?” Christopher asks, eager to change the subject. 

Buck pauses on the other end. “I’m so sorry, buddy, I actually have plans tonight. I’m kinda running late already.”

Plans means another date, Eddie thinks, which explains why he’d been in the bathroom. He pictures Buck in his freshly ironed shirt, primping in the bathroom when he got their call. Leaning against his sink and eyeing the time on his watch while Chris airs his teenage woes.

“Okay,” Chris mutters, pushing away from the table. “Can we get Triple Beam, then, Dad?”

“Sure,” Eddie agrees, and Buck whines on the other end.

“No fair,” he cries. “You know I’ve been craving their mushroom and shallot pizza for, like, weeks.”

“You snooze, you lose,” Chris calls out, disappearing around the corner and down the hall to his room.

“Man,” Buck whines.

Eddie exhales in amusement. He picks his phone up to take Buck off speaker, pressing the phone to his ear. “Have fun on your date,” he says, hoping his tone is still managing sincerity.

“You guys suck. Now I’m gonna be distracted the whole time, thinking about--”

“A big, hot, sausage… pizza?” Eddie teases, finishing Buck’s sentence when his voice trails off. He can’t help but snicker at his own joke. 

Buck laughs, almost breathless, and the baritone of his voice vibrates against the shell of Eddie’s ear. “Yeah, normally I just think about taxes. Hey, if this guy’s a dud, I’m coming over. Save me a slice just in case.”

Eddie smiles and tries not to think about how warm that makes him feel.

He can’t hide his smugness when Buck is coming through the front door with a case of beer not thirty minutes after they’ve sat down with their pizza.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Buck sighs.

“I’ve been having intrusive thoughts,” he tells Frank at their next session, who tilts his head and blinks in surprise, probably the least composed Eddie will ever see him. “I want them to stop.”

“Okay,” Frank says, processing the words. He puts his mug down on the glass table beside him, and Eddie’s distracted by the lack of a coaster. He really doesn’t want Frank to ruin all that pretty glass with a ring stain. “How long have you been having them?”

Eddie shrugs. Picks at a fraying thread on his jeans. “Dunno. I mean… everyone gets them once in a while, right? And they don’t mean anything.”

Frank folds his hands together, watches him carefully. “Some people do, yes.”

Eddie nods to himself. “Mine have just-- they’ve been getting worse the last couple months.”

“Since Christopher came home?” Frank asks.

Eddie flips the mental calendar in his head. “Around then, yeah.” If he’s being honest, the voice has been around a lot longer. Twenty years, at least.

He feels dissected, like Frank is observing him under a microscope.

“What kind of thoughts? Or rather-- what’s the general theme?” Frank corrects himself.

Eddie shrugs, hunching forward, slaps his fist into his open palm lightly where they’re hanging between his spread knees. “Nothing violent or anything, ‘s not like I want to hurt myself,” he clarifies. “I’d never do that to Christopher.” He sighs, scratches the back of his head. He needs a haircut. “It’s more like, a little voice in my head that just-- tells lies about myself? And wants me to say them out loud, even though they’re not true.”

“Interesting,” Frank says quietly, leaning forward in his chair. “Would you be comfortable giving me an example?”

Eddie clenches his jaw. “No,” he says firmly.

Frank rests his hands under his chin. “These thoughts, they’re about what, exactly? Your character? The way you live your life?”

Eddie’s top right canine digs into his lip, nestles into its favorite spot. “My character,” he nods. “The voice is like, a childhood bully, almost. Taunting. Sometimes.”

Frank hums. “Only sometimes? How does it sound the rest of the time?”

Eddie shrugs one shoulder, darts his eyes away. “Sounds like…”

His throat gets heavy, swallowing against the sudden pressure in his windpipe. Sounds small, and scared, like a kid, he wants to say. Like a twelve year old boy who worries about being different.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he finishes lamely.

He doesn’t really notice that Buck has stopped going on dates until Hen brings it up a few weeks later.

Well-- that’s a lie. Eddie notices that Buck has stopped mentioning the dates, but it was always in the back of his mind on their days off. Anytime he went to text Buck, he’d think to himself-- was Buck out right now? Was he at a bar, sipping cocktails, leaning into someone’s space? Does he duck his head when he flirts with them?

But then Buck will text him back with a promise that he’s on his way, and Eddie forgets any negative thoughts.

“How’s your love life going, Buckaroo?” Hen asks now, her voice light and teasing. They’re in the engine, coming back from an overdose-- nothing a little Narcan and projectile vomiting can’t fix-- and Eddie’s been mostly tuning out the conversation until now. Chimney’s been going on and on about Maddie’s pregnancy. Eddie’s happy for them, truly, and he knows Chim missed a lot of the first one, but there’s only so many times he can hear about the weird craving du jour. Eating salsa straight out of the jar was nothing-- Shannon had once rummaged through the fridge before looking longingly at a sponge.

Buck clears his throat. “Think maybe I’m done with the casual dating,” he says. Eddie sits up a little straighter in his seat.

“How come?” Bobby asks.

Buck shrugs uncomfortably. “I dunno. I guess I thought I needed to, like-- e-explore? Since the whole, uh… awakening came pre-packaged with a boyfriend. But it just felt kinda fake, like a different flavor of Buck 1.0.”

“What Buck are we on now? I think you could give Fast & Furious a run for their money,” Eddie teases.

Buck laughs and holds his hands up defensively. “Okay, everyone have your laughs. Sorry I haven’t met my soulmate like the rest of you freaks.” His eyes cut to Eddie, only for a millisecond, and Eddie wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been staring.

Chimney claps him on the shoulder. “Rest assured, Buck, that your soulmate will not have an adjective ahead of his given name.”

“You guys are never going to let me live that down,” Buck sighs, hanging his head in shame. “I’m probably doing the LA dating scene a service.”

Hen gently nudges his foot with her boot. “Don’t say that. Your person is out there. Hell, now that you’ve stopped looking, I’d bet my life that they’re right around the corner.”

“If we’re even both ready for it,” Buck laments.

“The universe is pretty good at timing,” Bobby reassures. “Have a little faith.”

Their shift had been quiet and lowkey all day-- a car accident here, a cat stuck in a tree there. It seems unnaturally still, and he thinks the others can sense it too, the impending catastrophe. His gut feeling is proven right when the alarms go off in the station, and Bobby rushes out of his office with a harrowed expression.

“Four alarm fire at a high rise,” he instructs them as they get into their turnouts. “We’ll assess the situation at the scene and provide assistance to the 133 where we can. Chim, Hen, I want you ready for any emergency extractions.” 

They’re really booking it down the highway, lights and sirens blaring the whole way, and everyone is uncharacteristically quiet.

The first thing Eddie notices when the engine approaches the scene is that the smoke pouring out of the building looks like water. Like a thick, gray river, chugging and rushing out of the high rise’s window. It would be beautiful, if it weren’t a little terrifying.

The second thing he notices is the girl clinging to the window’s ledge by the tips of her fingers, ducking her head away from the smoke.

“Okay, guys,” Cap calls out, turning away from Captain Mehta, breaking everyone from their trance. “Eddie, Chim, I want you up to the roof for a rope rescue. We can’t risk a collapse by coming in from the floor above. Patient is likely gonna need immediate medical attention. Hen, I want you on the winch so you can get a look at her vitals ASAP. Buck, Ravi, I want you to head up to the site of the fire with the 133 and assist. We need to get more windows open to flow the smoke away from the victim. If she inhales much more, she’s gonna pass out before we can get to her.”

Everyone nods, rushing away to get their equipment. Eddie’s body and mind move quickly and efficiently, almost autopilot, and he’s right on Chimney’s toes as they hurry into the building, Ravi close behind.

Bobby rushes them into the elevator with Buck and Hen, flipping over the control panel to activate EFS with the retractable key attached to his belt. They’d normally hoof it on foot, but the fire is at least twenty stories up. Eddie thinks about the girl hanging from her window and his gut clenches. At that height, an air cushion is useless.

Buck, Ravi, and Bobby get off at the twenty third floor. Bobby gives them a steady nod as he exits, and Buck slaps Eddie’s shoulder, pivoting to the stairwell in a hurry.

He, Chim, and Hen ride the elevator all the way to the top, rushing up the last flight of stairs that separates them from the rooftop. Eddie’s suddenly very glad that he doesn’t have a fear of heights, but he can’t deny that it’s a long way down, goosebumps breaking out on his neck where the breeze kisses his skin.

But they don’t have time to freak out or vomit, not when someone’s life is, quite literally, hanging in the balance. They rush into their harnesses, Hen tugging on their straps and carabiners to make sure they’re safe before she hooks in their ropes.

“Beats paper pushing, eh Ed?” Chim winks, getting into position to start belaying down. The winch will get them down quickly, but those first few airborne steps always get Eddie’s heart pumping.

“Never a dull day,” Eddie agrees, leaning back and starting their descent.

There’s at least another fifteen stories between them and the victim, still somehow clinging to the building. The smoke isn’t in her face anymore, from what Eddie can see, and it’s starting to turn white, which means the 133 is doing their job. Eddie and Chim push against the building with their feet, jumping in bigger intervals the more slack they get. He’s matching Chim’s pace easily, until he’s suddenly not, the abrupt tension in his rope punishing his last jump and swinging him into the window face-first. 

He’s wearing a helmet, but the force of it will still leave a bruise, and Eddie sucks a harsh breath through his teeth.

“Wilson, this is Han. What’s going on up there? ” he hears Chim ask through the radio.

“I don’t know, Eddie’s winch is stuck, ” Hen says. “Hang on for a second while I--”

And then Eddie is falling.

One second he’s frowning at the dull throb in his forehead, and then the next the air is rushing beneath him, gut lurching violently up into his throat. His limbs flail automatically, but there’s nothing to grab, windows rushing past him at mach speed. He thinks he hears commotion over the radio, high-pitched voices yelling over each other, but he can’t make it out over the blood and wind rushing in his ears.

All of his muscles have seized up, and he’s screaming, he must be, because he can’t breathe.

This is it, he thinks, neither angry nor mournful, and he just briefly hopes that he doesn’t feel it when he finally makes impact with the ground. 

He doesn’t know how long he falls, every millisecond an eternity, and he’s almost glad he can’t see the ground rush up to him. It’s almost like a dream, like a nightmare where you fall off a ladder, but he knows he won’t be startling awake in bed, safe and sound under the comforter.

And then there’s tension on his rope, and Eddie halts violently, hands reaching out to cushion his impact with the building when the sudden jerk swings him forward. His middle and ring finger on his right hand crunch unnaturally, and he gets another knock on the head, but he’s-- alive.

He heaves, his lungs refusing to let him take in air. He feels really lightheaded, and he peeks down at his dangling feet, at the two hundred feet of air between him and the ground. 

Jesus.

Eddie tilts his head up, squinting up at the lights and stars, and he sees--

Buck. Buck’s face, grimy and sweaty and desperate, and Eddie’s rope clutched between his bare hands.

Eddie’s eyelids flutter, his vision dimming, and he passes out.

He comes to in the elevator, his spine flush to the backboard he’s laying on. The light on the ceiling is harsh on his eyes, and he lifts a hand to block it out.

“Easy, Diaz,” a male voice says. Eddie squints up at the guy, the 133 number printed on his helmet. “We’re almost to the ground.”

Eddie closes his eyes, licking his dry lips. “I-- the girl?” he asks.

“Han has the girl,” the guy confirms. “We’ve got a team ready to grab them on 23.”

The elevator opens, the team carrying Eddie out. “I’m fine,” he insists, making to sit up, but a firm hand pushes him back down.

“Let the paramedics decide that, first,” someone else says. He can’t see their faces, and he’s disoriented and strung-out, but he’s confident no one in the 118 is with him. When the cool night air hits his face, he suddenly remembers Buck’s expression.

“Buck?” Eddie says quietly, craning his neck. He’s looking around the sea of faces, but he can’t find one he recognizes.

“Already en route to the hospital,” someone confirms as they load him into the ambulance. They shine a flashlight in his eyes, checking his pupils.

“Hospital?” he croaks as someone else wraps the blood pressure cuff around his bicep. He feels like a lab rat, the way they prod at him, checking him for damage. “I’m fine,” he re-iterates. He moves his right hand up to remove the cuff and hisses in pain.

“Uh-huh,” one of them sneers. “No abnormal pupillary response, so I don’t think you’ve got a concussion, but you have a wicked bruise on your forehead. Plus the broken fingers.” She glances down at the monitor beside Eddie. “And I’m not loving your blood pressure,” she quips.

Eddie clicks his tongue in amusement.

“Let me at least wrap up that hand,” she says. “You’re not gonna die in the next hour.”

He sighs and concedes defeat, holding his good hand out when she passes him a cup with acetaminophen.

She’s putting the splint over his fingers when he sees Chimney and Ravi rush outside with the girl, loading her into the back of an ambulance. He pulls his hand away, mildly wincing at the pressure where she’d stubbornly held on, and ducks out onto the street.

“Chim,” he yells, and Chimney lifts his head and meets his eyes. “Is she…?”

Chim smiles. “She’s alive,” he yells back, shooting him a thumbs-up.

Eddie breathes a sigh of relief. His shoulders untense, and suddenly he feels unsteady on his feet, exhaustion flooding into every corner of his skin. He nods to himself, and his feet start moving on autopilot, stumbling over to the sidewalk and sitting heavily.

There’s still so much commotion around him, flashing emergency lights and first responders, and everyone walks past him without a second thought. It’s noisy, it must be, but his ears are ringing, high and whiny like bad tinnitus. Eddie dazedly glances up at the building behind him, and his stomach kicks up at the way he has to crane his neck. The river of smoke is gone, dissipated into the crisp evening air; just a pathetic trickle remaining, like a leaky faucet. 

He runs his good hand through his hair, glancing at the space on the sidewalk beside him. That’s where he would’ve landed, it occurs to him. That’s where he would’ve died, if Buck hadn’t caught him, and that thought pumps hot, panicky air into his lungs. He sucks a harsh breath in through his nose, and the back of his throat floods with saliva. His skin flushes and pales, like it always does before he’s going to throw up, and he brings one unsteady hand up to wipe the sweat from his upper lip.

“Are you okay?”

Eddie squints up where Ravi is standing over him, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

And Eddie-- Eddie just laughs, wet and panting where he’s been choking on air. He still feels like he can’t catch his breath. “Well, I’m not being scraped up off the sidewalk,” he says shakily.

Ravi squats to join him on the cold concrete, stretching his legs out next to Eddie’s. “That’s always a win,” he concedes. He pulls his legs up to prop his forearms on his knees. “Still. Always a bit of a bummer to be so violently reminded of your mortality.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Eddie says. He looks away from Ravi, his eyes glued to the flashing sirens on the truck closest to them. “How… how far did I fall?”

“Maybe two hundred feet,” Ravi says casually.

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes, running his hand over his brow out of habit and wincing at the tender skin. “What happened?”

Ravi takes a breath. “Your rope got caught in the winch and snapped. Must’ve been degraded, somehow.” He swallows thickly. “Buck and I were at one of the windows of the adjacent apartment helping redirect the smoke. Hen and Chim started yelling over the radio, and then you blurred past, and Buck just-- dove for the rope.”

Eddie’s chest clenches. “Oh my god,” he whispers.

Ravi nods solemnly. “I was literally holding onto him by the belt so he wouldn’t fall out. It was close.”

He can picture it perfectly, is the thing. Buck gaping at the open window, his hands diving for Eddie’s falling body. Ravi fumbling for a solid grip, Buck’s torso dangling precariously out of the window. Eddie blinks and frowns, turning his gaze back to Ravi. “So… then why the hospital…?” he fumbles.

“Third-degree burns,” Ravi says. He holds out his hands, spreading his fingers. “Messed his hands up pretty badly from the rope burn. He collapsed pretty much the second we pulled you up through the window.”

Eddie’s speechless. He’s tired and he’s shaking from the adrenaline and his fingers are throbbing, but the worst part is how he can’t even find his words.

“Don’t worry about Buck,” Ravi reassures. “I’m sure by now Hen’s given him enough ket to tranquilize an elephant.”

Eddie chuckles at that, shaky but sincere.

The wind blows past them, and it makes Eddie duck his head and shudder. It’s not even all that cold, but it feels like a taunt, a horrible reminder, and it makes his skin crawl uneasily. He leans into the touch when Ravi runs a comforting hand up and down his spine, his skin warm where they connect.

Ravi clears his throat. “Can I ask something?”

Eddie lifts his head and nods.

Ravi pulls his hand back, crossing his arms over his knees again. “How… long have you and Buck been together?”

Eddie’s brain halts, like a record scratch. He gapes at Ravi in confusion, the push of his eyebrows severe, even to him. “What are you talking about?”

Ravi puts out a hand, pacifying Eddie’s reaction. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m really happy for you guys. It makes perfect sense.”

Eddie shakes his head. “We’re not… dating. I’m not even…” he licks his dry lips. “Why would you think that?” he asks insistently. His ears are ringing.

Ravi’s brows furrow together, like he’s confused, and Eddie would laugh if he didn’t feel sick. “Oh. Huh. Sorry, then. Guess I misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood what?” Eddie pesters. He’s not just going to let it go. He can’t.

Ravi shrugs his shoulders. “Just-- something Buck said. I thought-- well, I was wrong.” He gives Eddie a half-sincere smile. “You’re lucky to have him as a friend. He really cares about you.”

“Ravi,” Eddie says sharply. “What did he say?”

He sighs. He looks like the words are being forced out of him. “Buck’s gonna kill me,” Ravi murmurs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When you-- when we were pulling you up, he said-- god, no, I can’t say it. It is none of my business.”

“Tell me,” Eddie pushes. His heart is racing.

Ravi’s mouth scrunches up. “He called you… baby.”

Eddie feels like he’s been sucker punched. Like he’s free falling without a rope, but he can feel the freezing sidewalk through the fabric of his pants, still solidly on the ground. “What?” he breathes.

Ravi nods, his expression pained. “When he lurched out of the window to grab the rope, he yelled your name, and then when we started to pull you up, he said-- he said something like, ‘hang on, baby, I’ve got you.’ Real quiet, but I was standing right there.”

His heart pounds in his chest cavity. A rapid thump, thump, thumping against his ribcage.

Oh.

Eddie swallows, and he chokes on the dryness of his throat. His mind-- races, but it’s also blank, one incoherent thought after another, white noise and panic and static. He doesn’t know how long they sit there, how long Ravi sits with him in silence, but Eddie finally breaks it with the first full sentence he can manage.

“I think I need to get down to the hospital,” he croaks. Ravi nods when they make eye contact, and he stands up first, offering a hand to Eddie.

He takes it.

Eddie grips the edges of the sink.

It’s a single bathroom, Eddie having ducked in to clean himself up with privacy. He has to make do with wet paper towels, but it’s better than nothing, the cold sweat tacky where it’s dried to his skin.

His reflection looks worse for wear. The harsh purple bruise on his forehead isn’t the only one, his right cheekbone swollen where his goggles had pressed forcefully into his skin, a cut on his eyebrow where the plastic had shattered, still bleeding sluggishly through the gauze. The bags under his eyes look more pronounced, and he looks pale and worn out.

He’s been stuck in the waiting room for what feels like centuries. Buck’s in postop, and Eddie knows too well how long it can take to check in a patient and get them to their room, but every second ticks endlessly. He’d only gotten up from his chair when Bobby arrived with a change of clothes, ushering Eddie to the nearest bathroom with a gentle suggestion to clean the grit from his face.

Eddie’s starting to hate hospitals. He’s glad they don’t usually have to go beyond the glass doors.

“He’s awake,” a nurse finally says, and Eddie shoots up from his chair first, disappearing around the corner she’d just come from. He ducks his head into every room before he finally spots Buck in room 414.

Buck’s head turns when Eddie walks in, his gait suddenly hesitant and unsure. “Eddie,” he grins, loose and easy where he’s still coming down from the anesthesia.

Eddie huffs a laugh, slowly approaching the bed. “Hey, Buck,” he greets back.

Buck’s hands are wrapped in thick bandages. They’d had to debride the skin where the burns were worst, but he hadn’t needed a skin graft, so. Small mercies. The worst Buck will probably be left with are some scars.

“Are you okay?” Buck asks, his words slurring. He can honestly barely keep his eyes open, but he’s clearly fighting the grogginess.

“Buck,” he breathes. “I’m--I’m fine. You’re the one in the hospital bed.”

“I’m good,” Buck mumbles. “Feel awesome, actually.”

Eddie shakes his head in amusement, pulling a chair up to Buck’s bedside. “That would be the Propofol, I’m guessing. And morphine.”

“Yeah, love morphine,” Buck sighs. He nuzzles his head into the pillow, his eyes completely closed. “Really glad you’re okay.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and his mouth twists, like he’s fighting a cry. He swallows thickly. Buck is so-- 

He’s just so Buck.

He called you baby, Ravi’s words echo, and they feel so heavy. They bring with them the realization that Buck cares about him-- like, really cares about him. Loves him and his son like a family. Likes Eddie’s favorite shows and knows his coffee order and where he keeps his razor. Knows his favorite radio station, knows where Eddie keeps the pancake mix, knows how to make him laugh.

It brings the realization that Buck-- caring, vulnerable, heart-on-his-sleeve Buck, Buck who loves his friends as easy as breathing, who loves Christopher and Jee like they’re his own, who bakes and cries and flirts and smiles at Eddie like he’s his favorite person in the world--

Eddie rests his left hand on Buck’s chest, moving his thumb softly over the fabric of his hospital gown, and Buck hums quietly, content. He’s asleep almost instantly, his breathing deep and heavy, his cheek tucked into the pillow beneath him.

And Eddie-- he’s drawn to the pink birthmark on Buck’s face, and for once he gives in to the voice in his head, leaning over to reverently press dry lips to it.

He doesn’t get home until half-past three in the morning, dropped off at the station’s parking lot to retrieve his truck by a pitying Bobby. He probably should’ve just let Cap drop him off at home and taken an Uber the next morning, but he’s desperate for the space it grants him, weaving down the highway. It’s almost liminal, this time of night, no sirens or car horns or junky mufflers. Eddie doesn’t even bother turning the radio on, just cracks the window open and lets the night air keep him alert enough to make it to South Bedford.

It’s almost peaceful, despite the lingering tension headache that’s accumulating behind his eyes. He can just-- be, here in the car, away from coworkers and nurses. Empty mind, and a full, grateful heart.

Chris is gone, whisked away to Pepa’s hours ago, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about tiptoeing to his bedroom. He dumps everything in the entryway, lets his keys and jacket fall to the floor with a satisfying crash, and then collapses in his bed in the same manner.

Eddie shudders when he takes a conscious breath. He sends out-- hell, he’s not sure. Gratitude, or maybe a prayer; to who or what, he doesn’t know. The air around him-- the Earth and the sun and stars. To every meaningless circumstance that brought Eddie to this very moment, safe and whole in his bed. 

For the first time in a while, he wishes there was someone beside him filling up the space. And for the first time in a while-- maybe ever -- the idea doesn’t paralyze him.

“Buck, sit still,” Eddie chastises. Buck hisses where he’d put weight on his hands, clutching them to his chest. “For fuck’s sake, maybe the nurses should’ve strapped you to the bed.”

“Seriously, quit squirming,” Maddie agrees. She fluffs the pillow underneath Buck’s recently re-dislocated shoulder.

“Ow,” Buck complains. He rests his useless hands on his lap. “How long does it take to fill a prescription?”

“Every time you ask, a pharmacist gets her concrete wings,” Eddie says wistfully. 

Buck is right to complain-- discharging him has been a several hour process-- but Eddie’s exhausted as it is, running on four hours of sleep and a dream. He’s been here all day, parked at Buck’s bedside and reading magazine articles to him out loud, holding a straw up to Buck’s chin when he pathetically cranes his neck towards his cranberry juice. 

Eddie’s got an encyclopedic knowledge of celebrity gossip now, at least. Wow, did you know celebrities go grocery shopping? he’d asked sarcastically, flipping the magazine to Buck with bugged out eyes, and Buck had gaped and said, you’re kidding me. In this economy? Eddie had propped his feet up on Buck’s bed, their legs pressing together through the layers of blankets.

He’s thankful that Chris had the wherewithal to pack his Switch and charger, holed up in the waiting room with Chim and Jee. Every time Eddie goes to check on him, Jee-Yun has drifted closer to the screen, watching with wide, enraptured brown eyes. (Chimney has, too.)

“Okay, Mr. Buckley,” his RN finally says, coming around the corner with discharge forms and a bottle of pills. She flips to the third page that explains all his follow-up care, explains how to alternate pain meds, as if Buck doesn’t know all of this by heart. Eddie’s mentally calculating how much extra-strength Tylenol he’s got left at home, when the RN turns to them and says, “does he have someone at home to help with recovery?”

“Yes,” Eddie and Maddie say at the same time, turning to squint suspiciously at each other.

“Great, then you’re all set,” she says, leaving the paperwork and the pills on the seat of the wheelchair she’d rolled in.

Buck groans with relief, kicking at his blankets impatiently and swinging his legs over the side of his hospital bed. Maddie grabs the items on the wheelchair, depositing them safely in her purse, while Eddie grabs the handles to keep it steady as Buck sinks heavily into the seat.

“Evan, do you want to swing by your apartment on the way home?” Maddie asks, holding the door open for Eddie. “I know you’re probably exhausted, so I could just have Chim pack a bag if that’s easier.”

“Whoa, wait, I thought he was staying with me,” Eddie says, steering Buck towards the waiting room. “You guys have your hands full with Jee, it’s no problem.”

“You have Chris,” Maddie points out. “And broken fingers, hello?”

“What, this?” Eddie asks, holding up his braced right hand. He shakes his head in disregard. “This is nothing.”

“You have stitches in your forehead, Eddie,” Maddie exasperates.

“I have one stitch, thank you.”

“Mom, Dad, quit fighting,” Chimney japes, standing up when the three of them enter the waiting room. Christopher picks his head up and gives Buck a smile, and Eddie’s heart melts at the way Jee-Yun has her head pressed against his shoulder, her eyes drooping.

“They’re playing custody tug-of-war,” Buck explains. “I’m happy either way, guys, seriously. Just pick.”

“It’ll be no problem to take some time off,” Maddie says, resting her hand in Buck’s curls. “I can take him.”

“I have to take some time off anyway,” Eddie reminds her, flashing his splinted fingers. “Bare minimum I’ll be on light duty.”

“I was a nurse for eight years,” Maddie shoots back, tilting her head like she’s challenging him.

“I have a bidet,” Eddie says confidently.

“Eddie wins,” Buck concedes. He tilts his head up to give his sister a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

Maddie sighs and rolls her eyes, but presses a fond kiss to Buck’s temple. “No, that would’ve gotten me, too.”

“Welcome home,” Eddie announces as they walk through his front door. He drops the duffel he’d packed full of Buck’s clothes and toiletries-- and he had very graciously not snooped in his bedside drawers, despite the overwhelming curiosity-- as Buck pitifully shuffles past him, making a beeline directly to the couch to collapse.

He sits too quickly, based on the wince, and lets his head flop against the back of the couch. “Think I’ve hit my lifetime quota on hospitals,” Buck laments.

“You’re telling me,” Christopher scoffs, disappearing down the hall to his room.

Eddie moves to slap a hand down on Buck’s shoulder and catches it at the last second, balling it into a fist and gently knocking him on the temple instead. “Hey, it could be worse. You could be in a horrible nightmarish dream where your niece is white.”

Buck snickers and then sucks in a harsh breath where his shoulder gets jostled by the movement. “Ow, don’t make me laugh,” he says between gritted teeth. He looks up at Eddie with a pathetic expression, and Eddie is mesmerized by clear, blue eyes. “I’m pretty wiped, I think I might take a nap if that’s cool.”

Eddie huffs in amusement. “Well, I was going to bring a marching band through, but I guess I can reschedule,” he says sarcastically, earning him an eye-roll. “C’mon, up, let’s get you set up,” Eddie encourages, holding out an arm for Buck.

Eddie puts a hand on his back to start leading him towards the bedroom, and Buck freezes in place. “Oh, no, I’m okay on the couch,” Buck insists.

“Buck,” Eddie sighs. “Just take the damn bed.”

“I’m not stealing your bed for-- for however many weeks,” Buck stammers. “Seriously, the couch is totally comfortable.”

“Then you can rest easy knowing how totally comfortable I will be,” Eddie says, physically pushing his good shoulder towards the bedroom. Buck grumbles but goes where he’s being led to, sitting on the sheets while Eddie piles pillows against the headboard. He doesn’t envy Buck having to sleep partially reclined, but he looks so drained, almost small where he’s hunched over, that Eddie doesn’t think it will be an issue.

Eddie pulls the comforter up over him when he lays back, resisting the temptation to physically tuck the blanket in, and looks down at him with a soft expression. “Give me a shout if you’re dying,” he says warmly.

“Thanks, Eds,” Buck replies softly, his eyes already closed and nestling into the pillows.

Eddie shuts the lights off, gently closing the door behind him. He can hear Christopher talking to his friends when he passes his closed door, probably playing games together on his laptop. He wanders into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, bare feet against the cold tile, and he’s struck by how warm the house is. How right it feels-- the space lived in, cared for. The fridge full, the calendar booked, the kitchen table messy with bills and homework and school newsletters.

And best of all, his two favorite people, just down the hallway.

Eddie goes to grab a mug, and he spots his favorite one, the one with the fish. He cradles it, rubbing one thumb delicately over the place where Christopher had signed his name. He traces the blocky letters reverently. He thinks of Shannon, and it still hurts, but not with the same intensity that it used to.

The beeping of the coffee maker breaks him out of his trance, and he knows what he needs to do, what he’s been putting off for too long. He ignores the fresh scent of hot coffee and walks down the hall, knocking lightly on Christopher’s door.

“Come in,” Chris says, turning away from his laptop and taking his headphones off when Eddie pokes his head in.

“Hey, mijo,” Eddie says. “I just need to go run a quick errand while Buck is asleep. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

Chris shoots him a thumbs up as he puts his headphones back on. Eddie nods to himself and closes the door again, grabbing his keys and rushing out the door before he can change his mind.

It’s nice out. Hot, but not LA hot, and the gentle breeze provides a nice relief to the warm sun, like a cooling salve to Eddie’s heated skin. That same breeze rustles the leaves of the tree nearby, towering and sturdy and old, definitely older than Eddie. He lays his jacket down on the grass to sit on top of, protecting his jeans from the dewy earth. His knees are propped up, and he wraps his arms around them, left hand locking around his right wrist.

“Hey, baby,” he says quietly. Shannon’s grave does not respond.

Not that he expects it to, but he always tells Christopher that she can hear their words, and he really needs to believe that right now.

“Sorry I didn’t bring Christopher,” he apologizes. “I promise I’ll bring him soon.”

He takes a deep breath. It’s different, coming here alone; it’s easy to push down the grief when Christopher is there, ready to regale his mother’s tombstone with stories about school and friends and the zoo. Eddie’s usually just there to provide a shoulder to lean on-- to tell her that they miss her so much and that they’ll be back another day.

When it’s just him, when their son isn’t there to provide a barricade, he feels raw, like an open, festering wound. Not unlike when she’d been alive.

“I think I might be mad at you,” he admits. He thinks about his last conversation with Kim, on that horrible fateful night, and he doesn’t need to repeat it, but the sentiment still lives in his heart: where was my letter?

“You left me. I needed you.” He swallows the lump in his throat. He’s not sure which time he means. “And I’m really angry. I’m angry that my dad made me grow up so fast, and I’m angry that my mom let him. I’m angry that we got pregnant so young, and that I--” his breath hitches dangerously. “I still don’t know who I really am.”

His eyes dart away, hot and wet at the rim, and his jaw clenches rhythmically where he’s swallowing down the tears. “You didn’t either, though, did you? That’s why you left. Why you stayed gone.”

It’s so monumental, the cognitive dissonance he feels whenever the Shannon lid in his mind twists off. He doesn’t know whether to love or hate her, and it just piles, the grief and the anger and the resentment stacking on top of each other endlessly, until the lid no longer fits. Until the sorrow spills out into every inch of his brain, dark and twisted and uneasy. He remembers her smile, her laughter, but he also remembers her anger and her tears. He remembers how she’d looked at him in the hospital, their newborn son cradled against her chest, and he remembers the one sentence letter she’d left on his bedside table.

He remembers that last dinner they’d had, how he’d practically begged for a reconciliation, fumbling over his chocolate metaphor about their life together. It drags you down, but it’s-- it’s warm, you know? It’s-- and it’s-- it’s sweet. And Shannon, she’d just given him that pitying look, and she’d asked for a divorce, and she’d never actually told him she loved him.

“Did you know?” he whispers, the words choked. “Did you know about me?”

It’s devastating to say it out loud, even just in the quiet air of the cemetery. The possibility of it cracks his chest wide open, but he’d also never shared himself with someone the way he did Shannon.

She was his best friend.

Shannon, fourteen years old, winking at him in the lunch line when she steals the last carton of fries. Shannon, seventeen years old, squeezing his hand supportively under the table when his dad says, we thought he might’ve been broken. Shannon, eighteen years old, criss-cross on his bedspread and tearfully telling him that she’s pregnant. Shannon, twenty-seven years old, gasping her last breaths in an ambulance and telling Eddie she’s sorry she’s leaving again. 

“I really did love you,” he promises. His eyebrows sink when a tear finally breaks loose. “You were the love of my life.”

But he’s not sure anymore if he’d ever been in love with her. If she’d ever made his heart race the way-- the way it’s supposed to. The way you read about. The way that Chim and Hen and Bobby and Buck talk about. Warm and safe and bright, all-consuming. He thinks, maybe, he’s starting to know what it really feels like.

His head drops to his knees, and he lets the tears fall into that safe, hidden place.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, his voice wavering. “I tried. I tried to love you the way I’m supposed to.”

A warm breeze blows across him, and it feels like a hug.

“Hey,” Buck says when Eddie gets home. He’s stretched out on the couch, propped up by a pillow from Eddie’s bedroom, and he still looks warm and drowsy. He takes in Eddie’s appearance-- and Eddie is sure he’s disheveled, that it’s obvious he’s been crying-- but he just smiles, gentle and kind. “Good errand?”

And Eddie-- he just returns the smile. “Yeah,” he says genuinely, moving to join him on the couch, scooping Buck’s feet into his lap when he lifts them to make room. “Good errand.”

“How you holdin’ up, kid?” Christopher asks when he settles at the dining table. Eddie smirks and shakes his head in amusement where he’s clumsily scrambling eggs. It’s been all of four days, but there’s only so much Always Sunny and Chopped they can binge before Buck starts to get antsy. ( “Oh, another clown who has never used the ice cream maker and decides now is the perfect time to learn. There’s only ten minutes left, you idiot!”)

“Bored and restless,” Buck replies, clearly frustrated. “I’m glad I have you guys, don’t get me wrong, but having this much free time is driving me nuts.” 

Eddie does feel a bit sorry for him. Buck helps Christopher with his homework, but he’s still gone during the weekdays, or disappearing into his room for hours at a time. Eddie’s tried switching things up-- reading books aloud is all well and good until one of them doesn’t recognize a word (“what the hell does nacreous mean? I swear to god you’re making this shit up,”) and they’re sent down a rabbit hole, the original task forgotten.

Chris nods solemnly. “Well, if you want to kill some time, I have the perfect solution.”

Buck visibly perks up. “Oh, yeah?”

Chris grins evilly. “Eleven and a half hours’ worth, actually.”

Buck deflates when Eddie laughs loudly.

The music swells as Frodo pulls a drowning Samwise out of the water. I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise. ‘Don’t you leave him, Samwise Gamgee.’ And I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to.

Oh, Sam, Frodo replies, and Eddie bites down a smile when he hears Buck audibly sniffle on the couch next to him as the two friends embrace on-screen.

He’s not quite as successful at hiding his amusement when Buck demands that Christopher queue up the next movie as soon as the credits roll.

“Told you,” Chris says smugly.

@eb191: FOR FRODO!!!! ⚔️

[Image 1: Buck and Christopher pretending to hold swords, charging with a blurry Aragorn on the TV.]

@madmaddie2: Is this post the reason why my husband yelled so loud he woke up Jee

@thebrotherschimm: FINALLY

Eddie goes for a run one morning after dropping Chris off at school, cautious of making too much noise on the machines at home when Buck is still asleep. He’s gone for a while, so when he comes home, he’s expecting the sound of the TV, but his ears hone in instantly on the unmistakable sound of the treadmill in the other room.

“Buck,” Eddie warns, calling out from the empty foyer. “What the hell are you doing?”

He comes around the corner to find a sheepish Buck jogging on the treadmill, two bandaged hands suspended awkwardly in the air. He honestly looks ridiculous, hands thrown up like that, and he reminds Eddie of how his abuela looks when something on the TV irritates her. He’s wearing a pair of Eddie’s basketball shorts, and they’re sagging a bit low where he clumsily tied the string. Eddie smacks the big red button that halts the machine.

Buck groans in defeat. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m going a little stir crazy sitting on the couch all day. At least when my leg was healing I had an excuse for not exercising.”

Eddie levels him with an unimpressed look. “Dude, if you want to go for a walk around the block together, you could’ve said so. What I don’t want is you tripping on my goddamn treadmill while you’re home alone and catching yourself on your hands.” He gives Buck a once over. “Plus, I’m the one who has to change your sweaty bandages. You know how that shit smells?”

Buck shakes his head and snorts. “‘You haven’t thought of the smell, you bitch,’” he quotes.

“I’m sayin’,” Eddie grins. He holds up a greasy bag with his good hand, tilting his head at his best friend. “I got us bagels.”

Buck’s eyes light up, the blue standing out against the pink flush of his face. “Poppyseed?” he asks hopefully.

“With extra scallion cream cheese,” Eddie confirms, pointing at him with his unbroken index finger. He rips the bag away when Buck goes to reach for it. “After a shower, you demon.”

Buck groans, following Eddie to the bathroom. They’ve worked out a good routine; Eddie helps remove Buck’s clothing, save for his boxers, piling the dirty stuff by the door to add to his own hamper. Then he runs the tub, letting the water warm up while he wraps Buck’s right hand with a plastic bag. The left hand isn’t as severe, which lets Buck gently operate a washcloth on his own, at least-- but he still kneels down by the edge of the tub to let Eddie run shampoo through his hair. Better safe than sorry, is what Eddie had said.

He ducks his head towards the water, his elbows propped against the lip of the tub, hands ducked down and away to keep them dry. Eddie tries to be professional about it, quick and perfunctory, but he can’t help himself, his nails scratching Buck’s scalp gently. It earns him a soft groan from the back of Buck’s throat, gentle and content. He pays extra attention to the short, soft hair at the back of his neck, his thumbs rubbing into the pressure points that Eddie knows feels good.

“‘s nice,” Buck mumbles, voice echoing lightly where it’s ducked into the bath. Eddie runs his thumbs over the back of Buck’s ears, pinching the lobes softly, telling himself he’s just being thorough.

When he’s done rinsing out all the soap, he flips the knob to redirect the water through the showerhead, gathering up Buck’s clothes and giving him privacy. Eddie leaves the door open just a crack, as he has every time, just so he can hear if Buck calls out for help.

When he’s in the safety of his own bedroom, he presses the sweaty shorts to his face, one dirty, indulgent whiff before he dumps them in the hamper.

Eddie very resolutely does not jerk off in his living room while he’s sleeping out there, even under the cover of night. There’s no door, for one thing, his son and his guest just down the hall, and Eddie has some decorum.

He waits like a gentleman until the shower is free, usually still damp from Buck’s shower, and he bites his knuckles until he’s spraying the wall with his come in thick, wet spurts.

“Hold still,” Eddie complains, not the first time he’s had to ask. He peels off the last bit of gauze, dumping it into the garbage.

Buck cranes his neck up where he’s sitting against the closed lid of the toilet. “How’s it looking, doc?”

Eddie gently cups Buck’s right hand between his own, taking in his injuries. “Pretty good, actually,” he says truthfully, thumb skirting the edge where the healing skin is worst. “But then again, your doctor is extremely thorough. And super smart, and witty, and a great dancer.”

“Super modest, too,” Buck nods. He’s clearly fighting a wince where Eddie is smoothing ointment over his burns, his face still but his body tensing with every delicate swipe of Eddie’s finger.

He’s careful, with this-- more careful than he is with anything. Even the hand that props up Buck’s hand is gentle, just a whisper of pressure as he smooths medication over pink, healing skin. Eddie’s touch remains light as he wraps new, clean gauze over Buck’s hand, and when he’s done he fights the urge to press his lips to the palm.

“All set,” he declares, lightly patting the back of Buck’s hand as he withdraws.

Buck sighs in relief. “Thanks,” he says sincerely, looking up and meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Thanks for always taking such good care of me.”

Eddie smiles, slow and sweet and sugary. “Back atcha,” he replies.

“How have things been going since your injury at work?” Frank asks. “I assume you won’t need the brace much longer.”

Eddie looks down at his hand. “Yeah, it’s, uh,” he frowns. Then he laughs, near hysteric, the smile big and loud where it stretches his cheeks. “Frank, I’m-- I’m gay.”

And there it was-- too late to put the toothpaste back in the tube. Eddie holds his breath, like he’s waiting for something. Like perhaps the Earth will stop rotating-- and maybe it has, based on how still Frank is. But the clock keeps ticking on the wall behind him, and the LA traffic outside doesn’t let up, and Eddie thinks he may even hear birds chirping.

“Yeah,” Eddie finally exhales, nodding to himself, and he can’t believe that he finally said the words out loud. He’s anxious, and he’s giddy, and he’s nauseous, and he knows he will go home and obsess about this all week. But in that moment, he’s just incredibly grateful for one thing:

The words fit perfectly.

He’s helping Buck carefully maneuver into the arms of his jacket when Christopher says, “you guys going for a walk?”

“Yes, sir,” Eddie replies, smoothing out the collar. “We won’t be gone long.”

“Okay,” Chris says quietly, unmoving from his chair in the living room. When he goes to pick up his phone, Eddie and Buck glance at each other, their communication silent.

“You want to come with?” Buck offers. “We can use your chair.” Eddie nods beside him. Christopher doesn’t usually like using his wheelchair, preferring to get around on his own with crutches, the chair often left abandoned in the hall closet for months at a time.

Chris picks his head up, darting his eyes around like he’s thinking. “Yeah?” he asks shyly.

“Fuck yeah,” Eddie says decisively, earning a sincere grin from his son. “Go get a sweatshirt, though, it’s chilly.”

“Alright, alright,” Christopher groans, making his way to his room. Eddie glances at Buck again, and the smile he’s met with is bright and gorgeous.

Eddie retrieves the chair, wiping away any dust that’s accumulated. He grins when Chris returns, flipping his body to sink into the chair, Eddie resisting the urge to pick him up and settle him in it like when he was smaller.

“Mush,” Christopher demands, pumping one fist towards the door.

Buck laughs, and Eddie scoffs indignantly. “What am I, a sled dog?” He opens the door and shuffles everybody outside, pushing the wheelchair down the front walk, the air chilled as the sun begins setting.

“An Ed dog,” Buck corrects.

“You couldn’t be a sled dog, Dad. You’d never survive the harsh winter,” Christopher says.

“Oh, like you could,” Eddie jabs lightheartedly.

“This is where I outrank you Southern boys,” Buck says confidently. “This is nothing compared to Pennsylvania winters.”

“Okay, Jack Frost, you lived near Philly, not Antarctica,” Eddie replies.

The sidewalk is blissfully clear of leaves and trash and debris, for once, but Eddie still dutifully keeps an eye out for tripping hazards, both because of the wheelchair and Buck, who bumps into his arm as they walk. They’re both wearing sleeves, but Eddie swears he can feel the warmth of Buck’s skin through the layers where they press together.

Buck sniffs the air obnoxiously, stretching his arms wide, blocking Eddie’s view momentarily. “Ahhh,” he exhales. “That fresh LA smog. It was getting so stale at home.”

Christopher pinches his nostrils. “That might just be you, Buck.”

Eddie laughs at Buck’s affronted expression. He lifts a pit to his face and says, “I’m not that bad.” He pushes it towards Eddie.

“Dude, I’m not smelling your pits,” Eddie grins, shoving him away. He thinks of the dirty t-shirts buried at the bottom of his hamper, how he had timidly pressed them over his mouth and nose, how he’d gone down an internet rabbit hole in a flurry of shame. Is attraction to body odor a thing? a Reddit user asked, and someone replied, I dig a good armpit. It’s the pheromones, baby. It had made Eddie laugh nervously, and ten more minutes of red-faced research had told him that yes, it was the pheromones, and yes, you can be attracted to someone’s stink if you’re genetically compatible.

Not that he needed a t-shirt to tell him that.

“Buck,” Christopher says, grabbing his attention and pointing to a rock just off the sidewalk. Buck pivots around Eddie to get a look at it, carefully grabbing it with his left hand and holding it up to the light.

“Oh, she’s a beaut,” he whistles, passing the rock to Chris. He attempts to wipe the dirt from his bandages on his jacket, but Eddie knows he’ll have to redo them before bed regardless. He doesn’t mind-- it’s not an inconvenience. Not when it’s Buck.

The neighborhood is peaceful this time of night. The freeway is noisy, but the houses themselves are quiet, the savory smell of dinner wafting from each home they pass. Hickory smoke and warm spices and fresh herbs. Eddie lets the smell wash over him like a warm, comfortable blanket.

“Can’t wait to cook again,” Buck laments, obviously inhaling that heavenly scent, too.

“You don’t like my world famous frozen dumplings?” Eddie grins.

“Oh, they’re Michelin star, especially when you use the microwave,” Buck replies. “Think I’d probably be going through withdrawal if Bobby didn’t keep dropping off food for us.”

“Well, god forbid he let his precious baby boy starve,” Eddie lilts, playfully chucking Buck’s chin with his fist. “Especially when someone keeps clearing out the fridge like it’s on fire,” he directs to his son.

“I’m a growing boy,” Chris defends, despite his shit-eating grin. “We’re out of cheese sticks, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Eddie asserts. “I’ll head to the store tomorrow, we’re out of juice, anyway.”

“Why is he so obsessed with juice?” Christopher stage-whispers to Buck.

“Maybe he has scurvy,” Buck loudly whispers back.

“Arr,” Eddie deadpans, which earns him a fit of giggles from Buck and his son.

They cross the street to come back the way they came once they hit a dead end. The sun has dipped below their eyesight, but the clouds in the sky still reflect the light, a soft yellow contrasting the gradient of blue.

It’s really nothing special, but Eddie thinks it’s one of his favorite sunsets yet.

The night before Eddie has to return to work, he stands in his bathroom to admire the beard he’s grown. It has to go, and Eddie almost mourns the loss of it, running one hand over the soft hair before grabbing his electric razor.

Buck stands in the bathroom doorway, propped against the frame, and he watches Eddie’s movements through the mirror. He crosses one long leg over the other, like he’s getting himself comfortable, and Eddie feels his gaze like a brand.

He’s not even really sure why he grew it-- Buck’s got some stubble of his own, but Eddie’s made sure to shave it every few days for his comfort. Eddie had ample time and opportunity to groom himself, but for some reason he’d chosen not to. It’s like a disguise, in a way, but it’s more… positive this time. More like trying on a new pair of sunglasses at the drugstore. A glimpse into who you could be; if you really were the type of person who could pull off round sunglasses, and then you put them back on the kiosk and forget them forever.

He turns the razor on and brings it to his face. “Getting one last good look?”

Eddie catches Buck’s grin in the mirror. “Like saying goodbye to an old friend,” Buck replies.

“Well, if you and the beard want to be alone with each other,” Eddie intones, the hair falling into the sink in front of him.

Buck exhales softly, shaking his head with delight.

Eddie pauses in his shaving, leaving himself with big, ridiculous mutton chops to make Buck laugh. He raises an eyebrow at him, making a silly expression, like what? What’s so funny?

“Think you-you missed a spot,” Buck snorts. He gestures to his own face with his bandaged hand. “Barely noticeable.”

Buck’s still healing when Eddie has to return to work, and he feels a crater in his chest when he drops him off at the Han household for the day. Eddie knows Buck is in good hands with his sister and his niece, but he can’t help but hover stubbornly in the doorway despite Chim trying to rush him out the door.

“The bandages have to be changed every time they get wet or dirty,” he says firmly.

“I know, Eddie,” Maddie says, gesturing him away.

“And there’s extra ointment in the bag.”

“I know,” she insists.

“Twice a day,” he reminds her.

“Diaz, we are going to be late for work,” Chimney affirms. “Maddie’s been changing Buck’s diaper his whole life, I think she’s got this.”

“I’m right here,” Buck complains from the floor, looking up from where Jee-Yun is showing him her dollhouse.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Eddie apologizes, but his feet remain planted in place. He absorbs the image of Buck’s smile when Jee shows Buck her toy phone, pressing the hard plastic to his ear so he can ‘answer’ it. “I’ll-- see you around nine, okay?”

“Goodbye, Eddie,” Maddie exasperates, but her expression is fond and-- knowing.

“Bye,” he says weakly to the closing door. He shakes himself out of his reverie and speedwalks to his truck, where an impatient Chim is waiting in the passenger seat.

“We need to get you a hobby, my good man,” Chim jabs playfully. He cranks the radio up as they pull out of the driveway. “Hey, actually, you should join us Thursday for a pickup game. You haven’t been in a while.”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just-- busy,” he lies, pulling his sunglasses onto his face when the sun hits his eyes. “Is, uh-- Tommy still go to those?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen him in a while,” Chim says. “Are you two still good?”

Eddie pulls the truck up to a red light. He looks over at Chimney. “Honestly, I have no idea. Haven’t talked to him since he and Buck ended things.”

“Are you defending Buckley’s honor, or is this an unrelated Tommy grievance?”

He laughs. “Man, who knows. I can’t really get a read on the guy sometimes.” The light turns green and he turns his head back to traffic, but he still catches a split second of Chim’s snide grin.

“Kinard’s definitely on the opposite end of the spectrum to Buck as far as communication and honesty goes,” Chim mutters.

“Okay, what does that mean?” Eddie laughs.

Chim scoffs and pops his gum. “‘Cause of the whole-- you know. The Abby thing,” he gestures vaguely with his hands.

“The what?” Eddie says. He quickly glances at Chim, and his own eyebrows knit together at Chim’s bewildered expression.

“You seriously don’t know?” Chim asks. “Damnit, the one time I thought it was safe to blab.”

Eddie takes one hand off the wheel to poke Chim in the ribs, grinning when he earns a yelp.

“Ow, shit, okay,” Chim complains. “Tommy was engaged to a woman. Abby.”

“Abby,” Eddie repeats. His eyes bug out. “Like Abby Abby? Buck’s Abby?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Chim laments.

“And he knew he was gay?” Eddie asks.

“Apparently.”

Eddie blinks. “Jesus. Wait, so that’s why they broke up? Not because of the whole moving in thing?”

“Well, sort of,” Chim sighs. “I’m getting this all secondhand from my wife. Uh, thirdhand,” he corrects. “I guess Tommy thought Buck was too-- inexperienced? In over his head. Which, c’mon, it’s Buck, he definitely was.”

“Still,” Eddie says.

“Still.” Chim agrees.

And that-- that explains a lot. Why Buck had tried casual dating, despite his obvious desire for--

For a home. For a family. Like he didn’t have a ready-made family in Eddie and Chris, waiting for him.

Eddie’s heart beats warmly in his chest. “What a dick,” he says surely, and Chimney replies, “amen.”

Eddie can admit-- work is boring without Buck. He loves Hen and Chim and Ravi to death, of course, but he feels his best friend’s absence like a missing tooth, poking at the gap with his tongue all day long. There’s a certain level of comfort that comes with knowing Buck is there, unconditionally watching his back. Eddie’s polishing the bumper on the engine when his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he wonders if Buck’s ears have been tingling.

[Buck 2:48] How is work

[Eddie 2:48] it’s fine

[Eddie 2:48] how are you texting me rn

[Buck 2:49] Text to speech

[Buck 2:49] Maddie put gee down for a nap but I think she passed out too

[Buck 2:49] Gee

[Buck 2:50] Jay EE

[Buck 2:50] Fuck you get the picture

Eddie snorts, whipping the dirty towel over his shoulder and leaning against the truck.

[Eddie 2:51] pretty slow so far

[Eddie 2:51] tho we did get a guy who refused an ambulance

[Eddie 2:51] he got a cockring stuck on his dick

[Buck 2:52] Been there shit no backspace no siri delete the text oh my god I hate technology when my fingers work again I’m going to drown you in the toilet Eddie help prayer emoji

Eddie smothers his laughs into his fist, and Bobby walks past with a raised eyebrow and a pointed look at the not-quite-yet shiny bumper.

[Eddie 2:53] this explains so much about your kitchen utensils

[Eddie 2:53] cap’s giving me the midwestern stink eye so I gtg

[Eddie 2:54] miss u out here

[Buck 2:55] heart emoji

[Buck 2:55] ♥️ asterisk

“Go Chim--” “Go Eddie!” Maddie and Buck yell over each other. They’re sitting in Eddie’s camp chairs on the grass next to the basketball court, Jee-Yun settled over Buck’s knees and waving with both hands gleefully.

Eddie and Chimney shoot them cocky grins, unmoving from their defensive positions.

“How sweet,” one of the Westside guys says teasingly. “Maybe next time we’ll all bring our girlfriends.”

“Excuse you,” Chimney says haughtily. “That’s my wife, you putz.”

The other guy grins. “So, I guess that makes the other one your wife, Diaz?”

“Not yet,” Eddie teases, catching the ball when Chimney tips it his way.

It’s a slaughter, Eddie and Chim’s team with almost double the score. Neither of them would admit it, but Eddie’s sure they’re playing twice as hard as they usually do, pointing or flexing to the Buckley’s on the sidelines whenever one of them gets a basket. Buck and Maddie cheer every time, their faces sporting matching smiles.

Eddie’s cheeks hurt where he’s been grinning. He’d be having more fun if Buck was able to play with them, but he feels almost boyish like this, young and cocky and showing off. He feels like a teenager again.

Chimney throws an arm over Eddie’s shoulder when the game gets called, his sleeves draped over Eddie’s sweaty neck. “Good hustle, man,” he says, clapping him on the shoulder with sportsmanlike enthusiasm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my pregnant wife appears to be in dire need.” Chim drops his hand, striding up to Maddie and tilting her head back for a soft kiss, scooping Jee up into his arms when she determinedly wiggles her way in between them. 

Eddie smiles softly, his eyes cutting to Buck’s face. Buck’s watching the exchange with a fond expression, and Eddie wants so fiercely. It doesn’t strike him suddenly, not like a bullet or a strike of lightning, but more like a wave; slowly cresting, water churning and rippling, until it’s crashing down over every inch of dry skin, but the breathlessness Eddie feels isn’t like drowning. It’s like having life breathed back into him.

He’s felt the wave for a while-- felt it before he even realized the tide was slipping away-- but watching Buck now, Eddie thinks to himself, frivolous joy. Yeah, I think we can manage that.

They’re puttering around in the kitchen-- or rather, Eddie is, while Buck hovers by the sink, offering Eddie help at every possible avenue.

“C’mon, at least let me dry,” Buck complains, watching helplessly as Eddie scrubs the pot he used for dinner.

“Sit your ass down,” Eddie says fondly.

“I get these things off tomorrow,” Buck reminds him, as if Eddie doesn’t know that, as if he doesn’t have Buck’s hospital appointment circled in red on his calendar. Like he hasn’t been counting every second he still has left with Buck’s undivided time and attention. “I think a little-- dishwater isn’t gonna set me back.”

“Eh, you know me, I like to be cautious,” Eddie shrugs, the both of them knowing full well he’d tossed his hand brace into his bathroom cabinet a full week before he should’ve taken it off.

Buck concedes his defeat, leaning heavily against Eddie’s kitchen counter, crossing his (now lightly) bandaged arms over his chest. Eddie sneaks a glance at the tight pull of his t-shirt when he reaches for the hand towel.

Buck’s sigh is audible over the clanging of soapy dishes. “It’s going to be so weird going back to the loft,” he says quietly, and the smile doesn’t quite reach his face.

Eddie hums. “Quiet,” he says.

Buck nods solemnly. “Yeah, super quiet.”

Eddie’s gut trembles, his heart burning and aching in his chest. He pauses his hands, the soap running up to his elbows, and the kitchen feels quiet and tense. Perhaps the tension is just on his end-- but he wants to be brave, brave in a way he hasn’t felt in years. Not since he was a kid.

Eddie is tired of not choosing joy. And Buck-- he wants Buck to finally feel chosen.

“Or you could stay,” he says quietly, eyes glued to the bubbles on his hands. He doesn’t dare lift his eyes.

Buck just huffs a laugh, and Eddie doesn’t have to pick up his gaze to know Buck is averting his eyes, too. “I wish.”

“No, seriously,” Eddie says, a catch in his voice at the tail end. He shakes the water from his hands, wiping them dry on his jeans. He finally looks up, where Buck is giving him a pitiable expression. Blue, blue eyes that Eddie wants to dive into. “You could stay. If you wanted.”

Buck blinks at him, his eyebrows furrowing further. “And-- and what, sleep on your couch forever?”

Eddie shrugs, nonchalant to the naked eye, but his hands are trembling lightly. His eyesight pivots to the collar of Buck’s sweatshirt, his eyes drawn to the pilling fabric. “If you wanted,” he repeats weakly.

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, laughing humorlessly, his voice wet and thick. “If we sat here and-- and went through the list of things I want…” his hands gesture aimlessly. “We’d-- be here all night.”

Eddie nods, catching Buck’s eyes again. “Maybe-- we start with mine, then.”

The kitchen is pin-drop quiet, the bulb above the stove washing them in soft yellow light. Buck’s breath hitches. “Eddie…”

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. “Evan,” he says quietly, and Buck’s eyelashes flutter. “Can I kiss you?”

Buck’s expression melts, and he looks like the air has been punched out of him. It’s only fitting; Eddie feels like he’s sucking all the air out of the room, himself. The space between them feels charged with static, like the second before the thunder finally rumbles.

Buck nods rapidly, a pink tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. “Mhm,” he hums quietly. He tilts his head towards Eddie, shy and unsure, and Eddie doesn’t wait another second.

He presses his lips to Buck’s.

It’s a simple kiss, wet lips nestled against wet lips, but Eddie’s body shudders in relief. It’s the most important first kiss he’s ever had, and he’s overwhelmed with the idea of it being his last first kiss, too. God, he wants so badly for Buck to be his last everything. Eddie can’t even fathom a universe where there could possibly be anyone other than Buck.

Buck exhales shakily, his breath fanning over Eddie’s face, and they pull apart slowly. He’s got Buck’s saliva smeared to his mouth, and he feels giddy, but perhaps most of all, he feels right .

“Eddie,” Buck sighs pathetically, and Eddie leans back in, his hands moving to Buck’s waist to pin him to the counter. He ducks his head to slot their mouths together again, and Buck melts in his embrace, tilting his head back to let Eddie curl their tongues together.

It’s fucking divine; the wet press of their tongues and the pressure of their hips and the small, hurt noises Buck lets out. He feels Buck lay his arms over his shoulders, pulling Eddie closer, closer, closer, like Eddie wouldn’t crawl into his skin if he could. Their lips break apart and pull together, again and again and again. His brain is drawn to that repetition, his thoughts a static mantra of more, more, Buck, Buck, Buck.

Eddie’s face heats up at the sucking draw of Buck’s lips, loud and damp and echoing in the quiet of his kitchen. He belatedly remembers his son’s presence in the other room, eagerly awaiting Buck and Eddie’s presence for their coveted movie night. He draws Buck in for one last kiss, squeezing his waist tightly. Buck pulls Eddie’s bottom lip gently between his teeth as he pulls away, pressing their foreheads together heavily.

They pant into the space between them.

“Hi,” Eddie says lamely.

Buck laughs, wet and twinkly and beautiful. Eddie wants to capture that smile on oil and canvas, hang it up on his wall forever.

“Hi,” he replies.

Eddie bites his lip sheepishly, and Buck looks just as shy, the pink of his face accentuating that beautiful birthmark. Eddie leans up to press his lips to it, and he’s rewarded with a shaky exhale against the side of his neck.

“We should go start the movie,” Eddie mutters, rubbing one soothing hand up Buck’s ribs, his own cheeks flushing hot when Buck jolts ticklishly.

“Yeah,” Buck croaks. He squirms when Eddie runs a hand down to his hip. “Might need a second.”

Eddie grins devilishly, stepping away from Buck despite every fiber in his body begging him to stay and kiss Buck silly. “Don’t be gone too long,” he says as he retreats towards the door.

“Never,” Buck promises, his eyes shining.

Eddie strolls into the living room like he’s gliding on air, throwing his body heavily onto the couch next to Christopher. He can’t hide the smug smile that’s etched itself permanently onto his face. “Pick something good?” he asks.

Christopher hums where he’s looking down at his tablet. “Pirates of the Caribbean,” he says distractedly.

“Is that another scurvy jab?” Eddie pokes him lightly. He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch, spreading it out over their laps.

Christopher snorts. “I think we have some Flintstones gummy vitamins in the cabinet if you’re sick of juice.”

Buck comes around the corner, and Eddie can’t help but shoot him a grin. He feels his heart race when Buck ducks his head shyly and scoots past them, ushering Christopher towards Eddie so Buck can slide in on the opposite end.

Eddie lays his hand across the back of the couch, getting both his son and Buck against his arm.

“You guys are squishing me,” Christopher complains half-heartedly, but he leans against the arm anyway, lifting the blanket to cover Buck’s lap, too.

Buck stretches his legs out so he can lean his head against the back of the couch, and Eddie’s hand runs gently over his curls, scratching his scalp. “To be squished is to be loved,” Buck says sagely when Eddie reaches for the remote.

“Jesus said that,” Eddie nods affirmingly, and Buck and Chris laugh.

When the door to Christopher’s room clicks softly shut down the hall, Eddie and Buck turn to each other with sly grins.

“Hey,” Eddie says, scooching closer on the couch.

Buck laughs, leaning into Eddie’s arm. “Hey,” he says shyly. “Come here often?”

Eddie clicks his teeth, screwing his face up like he’s thinking hard. “Almost every day,” he smolders, his boyish grin breaking the goofy expression.

A laugh chitters behind Buck’s teeth, white and straight and perfect in his mouth, and Eddie’s breath hitches when Buck leans in to plant a soft kiss to his lips.

“You wanna head to bed?” Buck murmurs against his mouth.

Eddie scoffs and grins. “I’m not that kind of girl,” he drawls.

Buck exhales in amusement. “Not like that,” he says. “We have an early day tomorrow, and I’m pretty wiped.”

“Would you say you’re… kiwi exhausted?” Eddie offers cheekily.

Buck shoves him playfully. “I’m straight up peach tuckered out,” he shoots back.

Eddie helps Buck up off the couch, leading him down the hall with one hand gently cupping his elbow. Their bare feet pad against the hardwood, echoing softly through the quiet house. Eddie’s prepared to turn back and sleep on the couch, but Buck stops him with a soft, “stay.”

“Okay,” he breathes, closing the door behind them.

Buck crawls straight into bed as is, having spent the entire day lounging in his sweatpants and a t-shirt, and Eddie turns his back to peel off his belt and jeans. Buck’s seen him in less-- their locker room has glass walls, for crying out loud-- but never like this. Quiet and intimate.

He keeps his boxers on, keeps the tee he’s been wearing, too, despite his preference to forgo a shirt at night. It seems preternaturally designed, the way Buck is happy to sleep in sweatpants and socks and long-sleeved shirts, while Eddie prefers to be almost bare. Like equilibrium, or something.

Eddie pulls back the covers, crawling in carefully next to Buck, and he props his elbow up on the pillow, his head resting gently against his fist. “You wanna talk about boys?” he jokes.

Buck smirks, shifting under the covers and digging his head into the pillow. “Okay, you first,” he challenges, closing his eyes as he gets comfortable.

Eddie swallows thickly. “Alright. There’s this squatter in my house, and I’ve been thinking about keeping him.”

Buck hums in thought. “Tell me more.”

Eddie laughs softly. “He doesn’t pay rent, or do any chores, but he makes for good company. Plus, he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

“Is that all?” Buck says lightheartedly.

Eddie runs his other hand up Buck’s arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath the shirt. “My son loves him, which is a nice bonus. Pretty sure he loves my son, too.”

“Not just your son,” Buck says softly, one eye cracking open.

Eddie melts at that, leaning in to slot their lips together. Buck hums and kisses back, and Eddie fumbles for the bedside lamp, encasing them in darkness. He falls asleep that way-- between one drugging kiss and the next, warm and loved and whole.

Buck gets a hand-shaped cake on his first day back at work, and the banner dangling from the loft reads, Buck: Always Ready To Lend a Hand!

“Don’t look at me,” Eddie says, holding his hands up defensively. “I voted for ‘always taking a hands-on approach.’”

“It wouldn’t have fit,” Ravi says mournfully around a mouthful of cake.

It only seems fitting that Buck’s first day back is the busiest they’ve had in a while, his poor cake left abandoned for hours at a time between calls. They’ve already been called to three car accidents, a small brush fire, and a broken elevator that resulted in labor-- reported Braxton Hicks contractions be damned, Chimney pulled an entire baby out of that poor woman.

“It’s a girl,” Chim had said lovingly, handing the baby to mom, and she’d said, “oh, thank god, it’s not another stupid boy,” and Eddie’d had to excuse himself to cover his laughter.

Eddie’s rushing to the kitchen when they get back, and he’s just managed to shove a handful of almonds down his gullet when the alarm goes off again.

Everyone cries and rushes back to the engine.

“Glad to have you back, Buck, but I think you’ve c-worded us,” Chimney laments.

Buck’s eyebrows knit in a wicked expression. “I’ve… what?”

“Not-- no,” Chim says over Hen’s guffawing. “C-U-R-S-E.”

“I know we joke about Buck being a dog, but I’m pretty sure he can spell,” Ravi says.

“As if I would ever tempt the forces that be by saying that sacrilegious word out loud,” Chim scoffs.

“I have not c-worded us,” Buck says confidently.

“Holy Christ,” Buck shouts when they get to the call, whipping his head back in shock and nearly giving Bobby a black eye.

“Sir, were you shot?” Bobby asks firmly, while Hen and Eddie maneuver around the frankly obscene pool of blood spilling onto the kitchen floor. Eddie’s right shoe slides precariously, and he grips the counter for dear life.

“No,” the guy says calmly. He’s got a makeshift belt tourniquet high on his thigh, and his once beige pants are now a deep maroon.

“Varicose vein?” Eddie ventures a guess, taking in the slasher-esque Jackson Pollock sprays covering the wall and counters.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” the guy says. “Whacked it on the edge of the table.”

Ravi looks pale. Bobby hits his radio to call in to triage, then grabs Ravi by the shoulders to slowly back up. “I think you guys have this under control,” he says.

Chim ducks past their retreating forms with a pile of 4x4’s. “What’d I miss-- holy crap,” he exclaims. “Was this guy shot?”

“118, this is dispatch,” they overhear in the engine on the way back.

“Captain Nash speaking,” Bobby replies into his radio.

“Captain, we’ve got a rescue call not far from your location. Patient needs an extraction.”

“Copy that,” Bobby responds. “Extraction from what, exactly?”

“A toilet,” Eddie mutters to himself. “The one time I don’t join Hen and Chim in the rig,” he huffs, stretching latex gloves over his hands.

“At least it’s just number one,” Buck consoles, slapping Eddie’s shoulder.

“So he claims,” Eddie grumbles. The apartment building is a bit run down, the walls a sickly yellow color and reeking of stale smoke, and Eddie stands back while Buck and Ravi break the door down.

“LAFD,” Bobby announces when they step inside.

“In here,” the guy says miserably. Eddie blinks back the smell-- clearly, this guy’s been drinking nothing but battery acid-- and the guy’s face lights up red when Eddie moves to flush the toilet. “I-- wasn’t sure if I should touch anything,” he says.

“That was for my own sanity,” Eddie explains, squatting down next to the guy’s arm where it’s shoved up the pipes.

The guy’s watch is completely stuck up there, and they end up having to fully disassemble the toilet from the pipes. (Well, Buck and Ravi do-- Eddie’d had to stick his hand in a goddamn toilet, so he hangs back and watches.)

The toilet is completely unusable by the time they free his hand, and Eddie slaps the guy’s now soaked and broken watch into his (non-purple) hand.

“Next time, maybe call a plumber first,” Bobby spouts. He and Ravi turn to leave, and Buck hangs back while Eddie dumps his gloves into the trash, washing his hands in the guy’s sink.

“Am I sick and twisted if that was kinda doing it for me?” Buck flirts, leaning against the doorway with a cocky grin.

“Which part? The overwhelming stench of asparagus? Or the destruction of a porcelain throne?”

“The gloves,” Buck intones. “They’re-- kinda hot.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his hands over the sink, refusing to use the man’s decrepit-looking hand towel. It’s got Snoopy and Woodstock on it, dressed as pilgrims, which tells Eddie everything he needs to know about how long it’s been since it was washed. “Yeah?” he grins, leaning into Buck’s space. He presses a wet hand to the wall beside Buck’s head. “Putting them on, taking them off, what?”

“All of the above?” Buck says. He ducks his head. “Maybe you’re just kinda hot.”

“Only kinda?” Eddie says, leaning in a fraction, and the guy with the broken toilet clears his throat. Buck and Eddie startle apart.

“Uh, thanks again,” the guy says sheepishly. “You guys want-- like, a beer or something?”

“No,” they both declare, shuffling to the door with haste.

The thing is, they’d mutually agreed to take it slow and keep it a secret. Eddie’s not even out yet at work, much less with Christopher. His heart breaks at the idea of keeping Buck a secret, like he’s something to hide away, but-- Eddie knows he hasn’t exactly had the best track record with relationships.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie had said, holding Buck’s newly healed hand in his own. “This is all really new to me, and I-- I don’t know if I’m ready to be, y’know. Out.”

But Buck, sweet, patient, gorgeous Buck had just smiled at him and kissed the back of his hand. “Eddie, please, I’m-- I’m not gonna pressure you. I kinda wish that I’d-- had someone who was a little more, uh. Understanding. It’s a lot to process.”

And how else could Eddie have responded but with a kiss, sweet and wet and toe-curling?

So, they keep it casual at work. They drive over together, Buck’s hand resting warm and sure on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie curls his tongue into Buck’s mouth in the station parking lot, but as soon as they leave the car they keep their distance.

Well, as much as they can manage, anyway.

Eddie’s about to lift his barbell when Buck’s upside-down head ducks into his vision. “Need a spot?” he grins, his eyes raking over Eddie’s body appreciatively.

“If you can keep the eye-fucking to a minimum,” Eddie coolly responds, and good lord, his dick kicks in his shorts at the way Buck’s neck flushes.

“I can give it the ol’ college try,” Buck laughs. “But you should know, I flunked out of college.”

“Well, I never even attempted it, so you’ve got me beat,” Eddie says, lifting the weight to his chest and pushing it out.

Buck ‘oooh’s. “So the student becomes the master?”

Eddie huffs with exertion. “If I need to know how to not pass college-level algebra, sure.”

Buck hums. “Well, I’m sure there’s something I have more experience in,” he drawls, and Eddie catches the way he licks his lips after.

Eddie racks the weights. “Your turn,” is all he says, pretending he’s not insanely jealous at the idea of Buck getting experience from people other than him. From men other than him.

Buck waggles his eyebrows at Eddie, throwing fifty more pounds onto the barbell and ducking down onto the bench. Eddie’s eyesight is drawn to the peek he gets of Buck’s compression shorts under his normal basketball shorts, riding up on his thighs. He wants to bite them.

Scratch that, actually. Buck starts lifting the weight, grunting with exertion, and Eddie’s glued to the flex of his massive biceps. He’d rather bite those.

“You are so ridiculous,” Eddie says breathlessly, hands planted firmly on his hips, his tone embarrassing even to his own ears. “Do you even know how… you look?”

Buck raises one eyebrow at him, pumping the weight to his chest. “How I look?” he asks.

Eddie swallows the flood of saliva in his mouth. “You’re… fucking huge, man. I mean, god, what have they been feeding you?”

Buck grins, his wet, pink tongue caught between his teeth. So fucking pink. “Frozen dumplings,” he huffs, racking the barbell with one final grunt.

“Who’s making dumplings?” Chim says as he walks up, startling Eddie and Buck.

Eddie panics. “Buck is,” he blurts out, slapping Chimney on the shoulder as he moves past him towards the showers. “He wants to try that mandu recipe you keep going on about.”

He shoots Buck a thumbs up over Chim’s shoulder, and Buck throws his hands out in disbelief.

They’re halfway through a Fast & Furious movie-- the seventh one, maybe? They’ve all blended together in Eddie’s mind-- when Buck starts nuzzling at Eddie’s pulse. It jumps dangerously under the press of Buck’s tongue, and Eddie finds himself melting back against the cushions.

“Explosions getting you hot?” Eddie asks breathlessly where Buck’s hand is pressed flat against his abdomen through his shirt. “Or is it Jason Statham’s shiny bald head?”

“Pick your poison,” Buck laughs, pressing his lips onto Eddie’s matching grin.

Eddie lets himself be pushed fully back into a supine position, and Buck settles his weight atop him comfortably, one thigh pushing between Eddie’s legs. They’ve got at least an hour to kill before they have to pick Christopher up from chess club, and Eddie’s more than happy to let Buck chip away at his sanity, one hot kiss at a time.

The novelty of it still makes Eddie’s heart race dangerously, especially when they’re positioned like this, Buck strong and boyish and undeniably male as he pins Eddie to the couch. Buck licks into his mouth, soft and sweet and oh-so-tender, and Eddie’s hard as a rock at how big Buck feels on top of him. Eddie feels almost delicate in comparison, petite, which is so, so ridiculous, he’s a grown ass man. But then he sucks on Buck’s tongue, and the punched-out moan he gets makes him flush with something other than white-hot shame, his skin tight and blood warm in a way he’s never felt before from just kissing.

They haven’t even gone past kissing yet, despite the rapid-fire fantasies Eddie lets rise to the surface in the shower. It makes his cock harder than nails to think about-- about some real skin-on-skin contact, about Buck’s big hands finally wandering below his belt. Eddie’s too ashamed to admit it, but he’s sat in his locked bathroom before at night with the volume all the way down on his phone as he watches videos of two men. It makes his gut kick twofold; once for the look of ecstasy, hot and desperate, and once at the look of overwhelmed sensation. Eddie doesn’t know whether to jerk off or regurgitate his dinner, but it makes his breathing shaky, regardless.

It’s that stupid untapped well of repressed catholic guilt, that stern voice in his head that sounds so much like-- his father, probably, but that’s the last person Eddie wants to think of right now.

Buck’s hips hitch down, slow and smooth, and Eddie’s hands slide from Buck’s waist to his belt loops. He hooks his index fingers into loops and pulls Buck down harder, and Eddie could swear he can feel the swell of Buck’s cock against his hip through his jeans.

Buck pulls his mouth away from Eddie’s to breathe, trailing his wet mouth to Eddie’s ear. Buck’s got one hand in Eddie’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Eddie feels his eyes roll back when Buck nibbles at his earlobe.

God, but he wants Buck so badly, despite the hot panic at the idea of fucking him. Or-- or being--

Eddie’s hips jerk when Buck sucks the soft skin just below Eddie’s lobe, his cock swelling up in his boxers. “Fuck,” he breathes softly, moving one hand from Buck’s belt loops to delicately pet his hair. His curls are silky soft under Eddie’s fingers, and Eddie digs his thumb into Buck’s neck.

Buck exhales shakily and pulls his head out of Eddie’s neck, using his grip on Eddie’s hair to tilt his head back and feed him his tongue. Eddie’s head fogs up at the way Buck just-- takes what he wants from him. His face flushes hot at the obscene sucking pull of their lips every time they pull away and reconnect, and he pulls the hand still at Buck’s belt loop down to firmly cup his ass.

It flexes under Eddie’s grip, Buck’s hips burrowing down steadily now onto his own, and when Buck pulls away to moan a sticky string of saliva breaks between them.

“Eddie,” he groans, licking the moisture from his lips, bitten and beautiful and red as the birthmark above his eyebrow. “C-Can I… should we…”

Eddie swallows thickly. “Just say it,” he dares.

Buck shudders. “Can I… can I go down on you, Eds, please, ” he begs, his voice croaking at the plea. “I-I’ll-- make it so good.”

Eddie’s gut physically clenches, his abdomen flexing under the scratchy fabric of his shirt. “Fuck,” he whispers, yanking Buck’s hair to slot their lips together. Buck whines into his mouth, licking desperately, and Eddie gently sucks on his tongue when they pull apart again. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing the flood of saliva in his mouth, his and Buck’s. “Yeah, you’re good at it, huh?”

“Mhm,” Buck nods, pressing their lips together again, like he can’t stand to be away from him. “I like doing it,” he admits.

Eddie tilts his head against the couch cushions, laughing breathlessly. “Yeah, of course you do,” he shakes his head in amusement.

Buck grins at him, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s chin, before unceremoniously shuffling down the length of the couch. And fuck, is that a beautiful sight, Buck’s shoulders bullying their way between Eddie’s thighs. He’s only halfway on the couch, one leg on the floor propping him up, but he looks positively like the cat who got the cream.

He’s about to, Eddie snorts to himself, and Buck is so laser-focused that he doesn’t even ask Eddie what’s so funny, his surprisingly dexterous fingers ripping Eddie’s belt away, instead. God, but Buck’s not wasting any time, desperately pulling at the zipper to free Eddie’s cock. He’s never felt so wanted like this-- never had someone rip away his clothes like they’ll die if they don’t.

Buck presses his lips to the shape of Eddie’s cock through his boxers, and Eddie grunts when he feels a wet tongue through the fabric. He curls one hand through Buck’s hair, his thumb rubbing the soft cartilage of his ear while Buck slobbers over the length of him. Buck moans pitifully when he sucks the tip of him, like he’s the one with a mouth on his dick, and Eddie drags him away with a firm hand in his hair. Buck looks like he’s about to protest, but then Eddie uses his other hand to push his boxers down, just enough to expose him to the air.

Buck’s eyes are almost-- sparkling, and Eddie wants to laugh at the sight. Eddie feels so endeared to him.

But then Buck is tilting his head to run the flat of his tongue against Eddie’s slit, soft and wet, and Eddie’s thighs jerk, flexing violently at the contact.

“Buck, Jesus,” he breathes, and Buck grins, cocky and boyish, and then he’s sucking the head of him into that wet fucking mouth.

He is good at it-- which is the least surprising thing Eddie’s ever learned about Buck, given the guy’s propensity for people-pleasing. Eddie’s gut clenches when Buck’s head starts bobbing, taking him deeper with every pull, and Buck runs one hand up to lay flat against Eddie’s navel where he’s burning the hottest.

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath when Buck moans over the length of him, fighting the flex of his hips where he’s desperate to fuck up into that mouth. Buck’s face is-- he’s pink all over, his eyes closed in bliss, and Eddie groans when he notices the hitch of his hips, flat against the couch.

“Fuck, you really do like this,” Eddie whispers, gripping Buck’s scalp tighter. He traces the seam of Buck’s lips, his thumb running reverently over the soft, wet flesh.

Buck pulls off to breathe, sucking a mark into Eddie’s hip as he pants. “Been dreaming about it,” he admits breathlessly.

Eddie’s cock kicks up, and Buck starts laving his tongue at the base. “Yeah? When?” Eddie asks.

“At work,” Buck says. “The other day, when you were playing pool with Chim while we were making lunch, and you-- you leaned back against the table, spread your legs all wide,” Buck pants. He laps up the precum that drips out of Eddie’s wet slit. “Wanted you so bad.”

Eddie groans and clenches his eyes shut at the image. They’d never-- cross that line at work, never, but the thought of Buck chopping vegetables in that damn green apron while he’s thinking about Eddie’s cock--

He opens his eyes again, taking in Buck’s flushed face, the blue of his eyes evaporated by the black pool of his pupils. He tugs Buck’s hair again, pressing his face into his lap, and he pleads, “make me come, baby.”

Buck groans pathetically, and he follows his orders, ducking his head to suck Eddie back down. His mouth is so-- so wet and tight, his cheeks hollowing as he bobs his head, twisting the base of Eddie’s dick with his hand. It’s making Eddie feel dizzy, every wet stroke of Buck’s mouth making his head fuzzy and hot and light. He wants to sob and laugh and moan and cry, and the noise he lets out is some ugly amalgamation of all four.

Eddie’s throbbing in the wet clutch of Buck’s mouth, insistent little pulses as Buck curls his wet tongue around the shape of him. Fuck, but Buck is so gorgeous like this, moaning and writhing against Eddie’s couch, and Eddie’s body clenches up tight, tight, tight. He feels wild with how much he wants Buck right now-- wants to give him his reward for a job well done. It’s far from the first time Eddie’s ever had his cock sucked, but it’s never felt like this before-- overwhelming and intense and just good .

“Gonna come,” he grunts, managing to at least warn Buck if he wants to pull off, but Buck stubbornly stays put, even ducks his head down further to cram more of Eddie’s cock in his throat, and Eddie is helpless to do anything but tip over the edge into blissful oblivion.

His muscles tense, an almost painful cramp, and he comes, hot and wet and sticky in Buck’s mouth. It’s a lot, feels never-ending the way Buck keeps managing to coax more out. Like he’s starving for it.

Eddie collapses against the couch, boneless and gasping for air while Buck finally pulls off. He didn’t-- he didn’t miss a single drop, and Eddie pulls him closer, licking into his mouth to chase the sour taste and petting the flank of his body.

“So good,” Eddie whispers, pressing wet kisses to Buck’s face. Buck trembles in his arms, and when Eddie curls his palm around the shape of Buck’s cock through his pants, he collapses with a whine, fucking into Eddie’s sturdy hand as he comes just from that touch, too keyed up to even get his pants off.

“There you go,” Eddie says reverently, his voice shaking. Buck’s hips jerk unsteadily a few more times, panting hot and wet into the crook of Eddie’s neck. It’s really-- hot, how Buck completely falls apart, despite not even getting Eddie’s hand on his bare cock. Buck clings to him, his arms engulfing Eddie completely, and Eddie lets himself cling back.

“Needa-- change before we go,” Buck slurs, nuzzling in the space behind Eddie’s ear. He kisses the skin softly, like Eddie’s something to be cherished.

Eddie hums. “There’s clean laundry in the dryer,” he says.

Buck picks his head up to connect their lips again. “I know we agreed I should keep my lease ‘til it’s up for renewal in a few months, but maybe we should just-- bite the bullet and start moving my stuff over.”

“You don’t like wearing my clothes?” Eddie teases.

Buck grins. “Oh, I do. Uh-- people might start to notice, though.”

Eddie runs a hand up the back of Buck’s shirt, fingers trailing ticklishly over his spine. “Speaking of people noticing,” he says carefully. “Maybe… we should tell Chris.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks, his eyes darting back and forth between Eddie’s.

Eddie averts his gaze, digging his canine into his lower lip. “He-- should be the first to know anyway, right?”

Buck shrugs. “You can tell whoever you want,” he says. “Are you… nervous about telling him?”

Eddie nods, small and scared. “He knows that I… suck at this. I’m afraid that because it’s you he’s going to spiral a bit.”

Buck kisses him reassuringly. “Well, that’s not going to be a problem, because you guys are stuck with me forever.”

Eddie huffs a laugh. “You underestimate my ability to severely fuck up my own life.”

He hums, screwing up his face in thought, his nose scrunching playfully. “No, I’m, uh, pretty certain I’ve seen it all. There’s nothing you could do to scare me away at this point. You-- you totally know I’d help you hide a body, right?” They both laugh at that, but Buck adds, “seriously.”

“Not what I meant by watching my back, but I’ll take it.”

Buck grins like he’s pleased with himself, and Eddie drags his lips over Buck’s bottom lip, pinching the flesh between his teeth.

Eddie doesn’t tell Chris that day, or the next one, or the one after that, and Buck keeps shooting him covertly raised eyebrows, like he’s saying, did you do it yet?

Eddie’s terrified; it’s one thing for Buck or Frank to know, sworn to a solemn vow of silence by best-friend-slash-love-of-my-life pinky promises or HIPAA. It’s another for Christopher to know-- Eddie loves him more than life itself, but he hasn’t exactly had the best history when it comes to expressing his anger healthily. Pot, meet kettle.

He’s petrified mostly at the idea of Christopher being so upset that he calls his grandparents, and every implication that comes with it. So, sue him, he’s kind of avoiding the conversation.

Turns out he doesn’t have to-- Christopher is the one who brings it up first.

“Hey, Dad?” he says in the car one day. Eddie’s picking him up by himself, Buck having remembered mid-makeout that he’d forgotten to get cavatappi to make Bobby’s mac and cheese later.

“Yeah, bud?” he replies, peeking at his son’s head in the rearview mirror. It’s wild to think about how far he used to have to tilt the mirror to catch sight of his son, small and hidden in the backseat of Eddie’s truck.

“Buck’s all better, right?”

Eddie’s eyes cut back to the road when traffic starts moving again. “Yeah, bud, good as new.”

Christopher hums behind him. “So… why hasn’t he gone home?”

“You don’t like having an in-house chef?” Eddie deflects, and he’s grateful they’re not face-to-face. Easier to hide the panic.

“Trust me, everyone at school is jealous of those fancy bento boxes he packs me for lunch,” Christopher states. “But I kinda thought you’d kick him out once he had the bandages off.”

Eddie’s cheek twinges at the insinuation behind Christopher’s words-- like even he knows that Buck would stay forever if not for Eddie’s boundaries. “Well, you like having him around, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Chris says. “Minus his crazy long showers.”

“Well, I like having him around, too,” Eddie says, like it’s a simple explanation.

“Okay,” Chris says slowly. “So, he’s just going to… sleep on our couch forever?”

Eddie pulls onto their street. “There’s-- no timeline, per se,” he says, a half-truth. “His lease at the loft is up in a few months, and we’ll-- see where it goes from there.”

“Aw, I like the loft,” Chris mourns. “Buck and Tommy… broke up, right?” he adds carefully.

Eddie blinks in surprise. “They-- yeah. I didn’t know you knew that they were…”

“I have eyes,” Chris says.

Eddie laughs, parking the truck in his driveway. Buck’s Jeep is still missing. “I just wasn’t sure if you knew that Buck-- y’know.”

“Likes dudes?” Chris offers. “Again, eyes.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning to face his son. “In the spirit of full transparency and honesty… he’s… not the only one.”

Chris blinks, his mouth forming a small ‘o’. “Wait, seriously?”

Eddie nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing thickly in his throat. “Yeah. It’s kind of a new thing. I’ve been doing a lot of, um… introspection with Frank, and I realized why I’ve been… choosing the wrong relationships.”

“Like… Mom?” Christopher asks in a small voice.

“Hey, no, mijo,” Eddie breathes, reaching for his son’s hand. “Listen, I loved your mom so much. I don’t regret being with her or having you for one single second. I would choose you every time.”

Christopher looks away from him, but he squeezes his hand back.

Eddie gulps. “I’m still-- figuring things out. It’s new to me, too. But I promise you, nothing’s going to change.” He thinks of their conversation in El Paso, and he says, “You and me, pal, just like I promised.”

“And Buck,” Christopher recalls. “Our new leech.” He looks out the window and says, “speak of the devil.”

Buck’s Jeep pulls into the spot next to them and parks, and Eddie grins at the sight of Buck’s bright smile, waving to them through the window. He twists out of his car, walking over to Eddie’s truck and climbing into the backseat next to Chris.

Buck props his arm up on the back of Eddie’s seat. “The cone of silence,” he says with awe in his tone. “Are we planning a heist?”

“You just want to watch Inception again,” Christopher accuses with a cheeky grin.

“Because it’s the greatest heist movie ever created,” Buck points out with an incredulous frown.

“Name five other heist movies,” Eddie dares.

“Easy,” Buck scoffs. He holds up his fingers to count. “Uh, Ocean’s one through four, and, uh… National Treasure?”

“Shit,” Eddie curses, throwing his hands up in the air when his character on-screen goes flying out of the car, dying on impact with the pavement. “I was so close.”

“Let the master show you how it’s done,” Ravi says, taking the controller from him. “Obviously, the issue is that you’re playing as Michael, when you should be playing as Trevor in a monkey mask.”

“Oh, does the monkey mask help you evade cops?” Eddie says sarcastically, taking a big draw from his coffee.

“It’s a state of mind thing,” Ravi says zen-like, squinting and tapping his forehead with his index finger.

“Hey, will you guys taste this?” Buck interrupts, balancing a wooden spoon over his hand. “I’m trying out some new seasoning for the gravy.”

Ravi tries some, leaning back to smack his lips. “Needs more pepper,” he says.

Eddie leans in next, closing his mouth over the edge of the spoon. He miscalculates a bit, since Buck also leans forward to feed it to him, smudging the spoon over his chin.

“The molecule that actually got in my mouth was good,” Eddie laments, his eyes darting around for a tissue, but then Buck is cupping his chin with his non-spoon holding hand, running his thumb through the mess. Eddie thinks Buck is going to wipe it on his apron, but then he’s smearing the mess over Eddie’s bottom lip with a smirk. Eddie licks it away with a bemused expression.

“More pepper,” he agrees, and Buck nods and practically skips back to the kitchen. When he turns around, Ravi is raising his eyebrows at him.

Eddie clears his throat uncomfortably. “What?” he practically squeaks, lifting his mug to his lips again.

“Uh-huh,” Ravi deadpans. He mutters something under his breath, and Eddie thinks he catches the word chainsaw, and the first responder almighty grants him with a glorious gift: the alarm rings.

“Turnouts on,” Bobby shouts from downstairs. “We’ve got a three-alarm fire downtown, one residential building and one fitness center.”

Buck moves his pot of gravy, turning off all the burners. “Damn, hope it’s not my gym,” he jokes, smacking Eddie on the shoulder as their feet fly down the stairs.

“My gym,” Buck cries into his headset as they pull up to the scene. Eddie and Chim clasp him on his shoulders, one on either side.

“My condolences,” Chim says mournfully.

“I already paid for, like, four spin classes,” Buck laments, sagging back into his seat.

The engine pulls up as close as it can. Smoke’s pouring out of the building, making the blue sky hazy.

“Hey, look on the bright side, now you can join my gym,” Eddie points out as they pile out of the truck. “It’s closer, anyway.”

“Closer to what?” Hen asks. “Isn’t Buck’s apartment in the opposite direction?”

“Uh,” Eddie says dumbly.

“Closer to-- the arcade,” Buck fumbles, and Eddie fights not to smack his own fist into his forehead. “Yeah, I’ve, uh, been taking Christopher there every weekend since he got home.”

“You go to the arcade every weekend?” Chim asks, his expression dumbfounded.

“Uh-huh,” Buck says unconvincingly. “Yup, every weekend. He-- loves it.”

Hen and Chim look at each other, communicating silently, Hen’s left eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“118,” Bobby barks, like a frustrated coach, and they jump and disperse.

Eddie brings Buck to his gym with one of his day passes, and Buck’s eyes sparkle at the list of classes they offer on the pamphlet he’s reading. “Eddie, they offer a class called ‘Best Butt Ever.’ This place is incredible. And there’s an infrared sauna? I don’t even know what that is, but I want it.”

Eddie shakes his head in amusement. “I just like it here because there’s more than one janitor on duty at a time.”

“I want to live here, it’s like a cologne commercial,” Buck says with awe.

Eddie thinks it’ll be great-- who doesn’t love having a built-in gym buddy?-- but he realizes he’s made a grave miscalculation as soon as Buck gets on the rowing machine within Eddie’s line of sight. Eddie stumbles a bit on the treadmill where he’s staring at the flex of his arms and thighs, big and strong and-- fuck, but Eddie wants to devour him. It’s easier to tamp down the hot feeling he gets in his gut when they work out together at the station, knowing their friends-- and Bobby-- are never far. Here, there’s no voice in his head telling him to hide, no pseudo father figure to disappoint within spitting distance.

God, but Eddie is hopeless. Being with Buck is-- he’s never felt so smitten before. Never felt so out of control in his own body, desperate to glue his eyes to every inch of skin and muscle that Buck shows off. He feels like he’s been biohacked, the way his gaze is always drawn to Buck-- his eyes, his smile, his body. That fucking body.

He’s so zoned out he doesn’t even notice where someone’s trying to grab his attention until they’re tapping him on the shoulder. He startles and removes his ear buds, despite never having started any music in the first place.

“Lucia,” he breathes, giving her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I was spaced out.”

She gives him a wry grin. “I noticed,” she teases. She rakes her eyes down to his chest and gives him a cheeky smile. “Did you wear that tank top just for me?”

Eddie laughs. He likes Lucia; she’s bubbly and sarcastic, and one hell of a drill sergeant during her advanced Zumba classes. She’s flirty, which used to make Eddie nervous until he’d met her girlfriend, who reassured him she only teases the people she actually likes.

“Yeah, you know, I was at the mall all day yesterday picking out something I think you’d like,” he shoots back, slightly breathless from the treadmill where he’s still jogging.

“Mission accomplished,” she croons with a fake-sexy rasp, giving him an exaggerated once-over, and laughs loudly when Eddie rolls his eyes with amusement.

Eddie doesn’t notice Buck until he’s clearing his throat on Eddie’s other side. “Hey,” Buck pants, sweaty from his reps. “I don’t think we’ve met,” he adds sternly, looking at Lucia. He walks around the treadmill and holds out his hand. “I’m Buck.” Eddie bites down his grin at the ridiculous way Buck is posturing, his chest puffed out.

“Oh, the Buck?” she says with a shocked grin. She takes his hand with an almost demure grasp, and Buck blinks in confusion. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You… have?” Buck asks, deflating slightly.

“Well, Eddie neglected to mention that you’re so…” She looks him up and down, slow and savoring. “Well-built.”

“Well-built,” Buck croaks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Like a beautiful, sturdy brick house,” she nods, releasing his hand. Lucia shoots Eddie a shit-eating grin. “Eddie’s always leaving out the important details.”

“Uh-- I don’t--” Buck stammers.

Eddie hits the red button on his machine, sliding off with the belt. “Relax, Buck,” he reassures. “Lucia just wants fodder to bring home to her girlfriend Marcy.”

“Fiancée,” she corrects with a challenging head tilt. “And maybe I’m also trying to collect new clients, you don’t know,” she defends. “You like Zumba, kid?” she says to Buck.

“Uh-- I’ve never tried it,” Buck says truthfully.

“I’ve got a beginner’s class in the morning on Friday,” Lucia says. “We can find some rhythm in you, yet.” She turns to Eddie with a twinkle in her eye. “Better yet, drag Eddie with you and stand behind him. That’ll give you something to really look at.” She turns to walk away, giving them a wave over her shoulder as she disappears down the hall towards her studio.

Buck coughs like he’s embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. Eddie playfully puts his hands on his hips.

“Sorry,” Buck winces. “That-that was, uh, rude.”

Eddie grins. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re jealous.”

“Stop,” Buck begs. “I said I was sorry.”

“Like a big, protective Rottweiler,” Eddie teases. “Should I call you a good boy? You want to go for a walkies?”

“You are such a dickhead,” Buck complains, shoving him playfully. “I’m-- bye,” he says lamely, pivoting to the stationary bikes on the opposite side of the room.

Eddie’s half-hard the entire drive home, his dick lurching in his shorts when Buck lays one hand, big and warm, over the meat of his thigh. His blood has been hot under his skin for his entire workout, eyes constantly drifting to Buck across the gym. His favorite parts had been when he’d crane his neck to catch a glimpse and see that Buck’d beaten him to the punch, blue eyes shamelessly dragging over Eddie’s body.

He’s tempted, now, to drag Buck’s hand up over the seat of his crotch, to let Buck feel the shape of him while he drives them home. Home, Eddie thinks, not Eddie’s house, but their home, and fuck if that doesn’t make him even antsier.

They’re silent when they park, silent as they walk up the driveway to Eddie’s backdoor, as Eddie smoothly pulls out his keys to unlock it. The tranquility is broken as soon as the door closes behind Buck, and Eddie’s pushing him against it, gasping into his mouth.

“Want you so fuckin’ bad,” he groans, pushing his tongue into Buck’s mouth, and Buck is whining and nodding like he’s been waiting to hear it. His hands feel enormous where they’re gripping Eddie’s waist, and Eddie dizzily hopes that they’ll leave a tender bruise. Wants to press into that skin tomorrow with his own hands and hiss and remember how closely Buck had held him.

Eddie startles out of the kiss when he feels Buck’s hands wander lower, over the soft flesh of his ass, and he lifts Eddie into the air. Eddie flails a bit, his knees locking around Buck’s hips as he holds onto Buck’s shoulders for dear life, but Buck looks steady and sure as he hitches Eddie’s hips closer.

He steps forward to deposit Eddie on the kitchen counter, stepping between his legs and pressing his knees obscenely wide. Eddie doesn’t even care when his head is knocked back into the cabinet with the force of Buck’s kiss, his tongue curling possessively around Eddie’s. Buck’s breath hitches when they press together through their shorts, groaning softly and rolling his hips into the space between Eddie’s thighs.

Fuck, but it makes Eddie’s head fog up, leaning the crown of his head back against the cabinet to let out a thick groan into the air above them. Buck’s hips are-- they’re rolling so smoothly, practiced little motions, like he’s-- like he’s really fucking Eddie, and it makes his heartbeat hitch dangerously.

Buck is laving his tongue over Eddie’s Adam’s apple, wet, hot strokes of his tongue. Eddie shivers, the flat caress of his pink tongue sending goosebumps down his neck and arms. “Want your mouth,” Eddie admits, squeezing his hands where they’re holding Buck’s waist. “Want to get my mouth on you, too.”

Buck moans, a pathetic little punched-out sound, and he lifts his head to cram his tongue back into Eddie’s mouth. It’s dizzying, Buck’s mouth and his body and his arms, surrounding every part of him, choking him and stealing his air and making his cock throb.

“Yeah,” Buck breathes when he finally pulls away. “You-- you first, though.”

Buck hooks his knuckles around Eddie’s shorts, tugging them down, and Eddie lifts up to help Buck pull them all the way off. He sets a mental reminder to wipe the counter down with bleach, but then Buck is ducking his head down to suck the tip of Eddie’s cock into his mouth.

His gut clenches, hips lurching towards the warmth of Buck’s mouth. No matter how many times Buck does this, he’s not used to it-- not used to the blissed out expression Buck gets, the eager way he bobs his head, like he can’t get enough of it down his throat. Like he really does fucking crave this, Eddie’s hand in his hair and his cock pressing into the velvet flesh of his cheek.

Eddie grunts. Buck can’t be comfortable like this, hunched over Eddie’s lap, his forearms caging in Eddie’s thighs. He’s so eager, though, whining and gagging on Eddie’s cock like there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

“Thought about this in the shower at the gym,” Eddie whispers. “Always thinking about your-- your wet fucking mouth.”

Buck moans, desperate and high-pitched, and he bobs faster over Eddie’s lap. His eyes are closed, his brows knitted together in concentration, and Eddie twitches like he’s been shocked. His toes curl in his sneakers-- his stupid sneakers are still on, his feet dangling from the counters, Christ. “Almost touched myself, but I-- I saved it for you,” he says.

Buck pulls off to breathe, pressing biting kisses into Eddie’s chest. “Give it to me,” he demands, his voice wild and shaky and raspy. His right hand is flying over Eddie’s cock while he nips at Eddie’s collarbone, fucking the ‘o’ of his fist over the tip, red and wet and aching to come.

Eddie’s hips flex up into his strokes. He feels shivery, his skin tight and hot. Buck is sucking his teeth into Eddie’s flesh, his pecs and his stomach and his biceps, and Eddie hopes he’ll be covered in little red marks tomorrow. Buck tilts his head down to spit directly onto Eddie’s cock, smearing the wetness with his thumb before resuming his punishing strokes.

Eddie’s gut lurches. “Fuck,” he whispers. He drags Buck’s face to his, licking into his mouth with no finesse. Buck’s stubble scratches his skin where their lips connect, wet and warm, and Eddie loves the bite of it on his cheeks.

His hips jump up when Buck’s other hand ducks lower, tenderly pressing his knuckles into the skin behind his balls. His left hand is almost merciful compared to the savage strokes of his right hand, like he’s trying to pull Eddie’s come directly out of him.

His skin pulls tight, his abdomen cramping with pleasure, and he heaves a sigh when he finally spills. Buck tilts the thick strings of it towards Eddie’s stomach, watching with sparkling eyes as Eddie makes a mess of himself. He feels like he’s being electrocuted, every pump of Buck’s hand making his muscles jump as another spurt of come escapes.

Eddie’s chest heaves for air, and just when he thinks he’s caught his breath, Buck ducks his head to clean the mess from Eddie’s stomach. He punches out hot air, curling his fingers harshly around Buck’s scalp as that hot, wet tongue scoops up his come, swallowing messily. “Buck,” he croaks weakly, and Buck moans hotly, savoring every stroke of his tongue through the mess until there’s naught left but drying spit.

Eddie pulls him up to lock their mouths together, the taste of Eddie still thick on Buck’s tongue, and Eddie’s dick twitches weakly at the thought of what Buck will taste like. He’s been dreaming about it, scared and flushed and anxious at the idea of Buck’s big cock in his mouth, down his throat.

Their lips pull apart, sticky and pink, and Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. “Your turn,” he murmurs. Buck nods hastily, crowding him back for one more kiss, and then another, and another. He’s addicted to Buck’s tongue, in his mouth and on his neck and licking up his shaft.

Eddie pushes him away, hopping off the counter ungracefully with his shorts stuck around his knees. He pulls them back up, tucking himself away, and he backs Buck up until his ass connects with Eddie’s kitchen table. Eddie crowds him against the table, one palm flat against the grain, the other palm moving to make out the shape of Buck through his shorts.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “I’ve never-- you’ll have to tell me how you like it.” He rubs his palm firmly up and down the shaft, like he’s jerking Buck off through his shorts, and it makes Buck tremble.

“God, Eddie, please, I’m not gonna last long,” he begs. He bites off a whine when Eddie drops to his knees.

Eddie licks his lips, his grin devious. “C’mon, big boy, pull yourself out for me.”

He feels kind of absurd, truth be told, but he knows Buck likes it when Eddie talks to him during sex-- especially when he’s telling him what to do. He whines and moans and gasps for air whenever Eddie caresses his cheek where it’s filled with Eddie’s cock, when he tells Buck that he’s making it so good for him. Eddie had never been the type of person who was-- loud, or talkative, before Buck. Then again, Eddie had never been with someone who begged him to let them suck his cock everyday. Sometimes twice a day.

Buck shudders now as he moves his hand to his waistband, pulling his shorts down just far enough to pull his cock out. It’s obscene, the way Buck gets wet, the precome pouring out of him. Like a girl , Eddie had once teased him, fingers dragging through the wet mess, and Buck had just rolled his eyes back into his head and come with a gasp.

He’s red, too, the flush reaching down almost the entire shaft, and Eddie’s delighted at the way his red tip matches the shade of his lips and birthmark. Buck’s pulling on his cock, now, short little pulls like he can’t help himself. Eddie feels his breathing kick up, mesmerized by the sight, and he moves both hands to grip the table as he leans in. He smells heady, like the gym’s body wash, fake coconut and vanilla; like clean sweat and musk.

“Eddie,” Buck whines when he licks across the tip. Eddie’s done this much before, at least, tasted Buck’s precome and swiped his tongue across the head. Buck’s still got one hand on himself, holding his cock upright for Eddie as he drags his tongue over the shaft, the other one desperately gripping the wood of the table he’s leaning on.

He really has no idea what he’s doing, working only off of what Buck’s done to him that’s felt good. Eddie must be doing something right, considering the panicky noises he’s pulling from Buck just with his tongue, and the way his abs clench every time Eddie dips into his wet slit.

Eddie swallows the excess saliva building in his mouth, licking his lips again for good measure. “Hold right there,” he murmurs, before opening his mouth over the head of Buck’s cock.

His mouth almost immediately feels too full-- how the fuck do people do this?-- and he knows Buck is big, but Eddie’s a little disheartened with himself. He’d been picturing-- well, shit, he doesn’t know. He thinks about the videos he’d watched, alone in his bathroom, of guys deepthroating and gagging. There’s a shameful part of him that wants Buck to treat him like one of those guys, pulling on his hair and fucking his mouth like it’s a cocksleeve.

Real Buck would never do that, though. Real, sweet, beautiful Buck in front of him just shakes with it, holding his cock while Eddie gags on two or three inches of it, and it’s almost hotter, this way. More real. Eddie’s dick twitches valiantly, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to get it up again, but his head still feels soft and fuzzy from his orgasm. He suckles at what he’s got in his mouth, the saliva overflowing and dripping down towards Buck’s knuckles where he’s keeping them steady.

Eddie bobs his head up and down, slow and sturdy, his lips pillowing over the tip every time he pulls back. His tongue feels heavy and swollen in his mouth where it’s pressed against Buck’s cock, and he lets out a shaky exhale when Buck grunts.

“Eddie, so good, oh my god, baby,” Buck babbles. His fingers start moving, almost on autopilot, jerking himself off into the wet heat of Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie has to dig his nails into the table at the shock of heat that shoots down his spine. He moans, garbled where his mouth is full, the noise vibrating over the head of Buck’s cock.

Buck sucks a breath through his teeth, harsh and wet. “I-I’m gonna,” his voice shakes. “Where do you want me to--?”

Eddie groans, pulling off of Buck’s cock completely. Buck’s fingers don’t stop, pulling on himself more harshly. “Wherever you want, sweetheart,” he promises, ducking his head to lick over the skin of Buck’s knuckles.

Buck groans, lifting his hand from the table to wrap his fingers through Eddie’s hair. Eddie thinks Buck is going to guide him back over his dick, but Buck just holds him in place, his other hand stroking himself faster. He’s building up a harsh tempo, moaning and grunting at his own ministrations, and Eddie pulls his head forward as far as Buck’s grip will allow him, the tip of his tongue brushing over Buck’s wet cock.

Buck whines, his thighs flexing harshly, and then the blur of his hand stops, come spurting out to land on Eddie’s cheek. He closes his eyes, losing the glorious sight of Buck lost in ecstasy, and he gasps at every strip of warmth that lands on his skin. Eddie can feel the tip of Buck’s cock as he drags it over his face, tucking it on the corner of his lip so that the final spurt lands on his tongue.

Eddie shudders, swallowing Buck’s come and licking his lips clean. He feels-- like a disgusting, hot mess, but he also feels lightheaded, and he laughs brightly from his spot on the tile floor where his knees are aching something fierce.

“Help me up, stud,” Eddie cajoles, holding both hands up, and Buck laughs breathlessly and heaves him up. He ignores the weird creaking of his joints in favor of looking into Buck’s eyes, grinning at the black hole of his pupils.

“Hi,” Buck says shyly, fumbling for a paper napkin to wipe Eddie’s face clean. He’s so careful, too careful, dabbing at Eddie’s skin delicately, and it reminds Eddie of the way he would apply Buck’s bandages. Cautious, steady hands.

“Hi,” Eddie says back, and he can’t help the boyish grin that spreads across his cheeks, his teeth poking through.

Eddie dips his head to press their lips together, and Buck sighs happily, holding Eddie’s cheeks with both hands. It’s surprisingly chaste, given Buck has just jerked himself off over Eddie’s face, and Eddie snorts into the kiss at that thought. It sets Buck off, too, their giggles bubbling over, pressing their grins together and biting playfully at each other’s lips. It’s just fun-- sex with Buck is fun in a way Eddie didn’t know it could be.

Buck hums thoughtfully and scratches Eddie’s scalp. He closes his eyes at the sensation, pressing his weight into Buck where he’s still leaning against the kitchen table. “So, we have forty-eight off this weekend.”

“Mhm,” Eddie hums, lightly petting Buck’s flank.

“And Chris has that overnight chess thing up in Yosemite,” Buck says, fingernails dragging at the sensitive spot right behind Eddie’s ears.

“Mhm,” he hums again.

“We should-- have a date night,” Buck suggests.

“Yeah?” Eddie mumbles, his thumbs moving down to rub circles in Buck’s hips where his shirt is riding up.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “We can-- uh. Maybe… dinner and a movie? Or we could go golfing or hiking or something.”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “That sounds nice.”

“Cool, cool,” Buck says, and Eddie can feel his head move where he nods to himself. “And then maybe-- um-- you could fuck me after,” he blurts out.

Eddie’s eyes shoot open.

Eddie can be normal about this. Definitely. He’s just gotta get through a couple more shifts, and Eddie is nothing if not a consummate professional. He’s been through worse things before and still had to clock in for work, so he knows with one hundred percent certainty he can maintain his decorum until Friday.

“What’s up, Eddie?” Hen asks him in the locker room. She’s straddling the bench sideways as she laces up her boots.

“Nothing,” Eddie says too quickly. “Nothing-- nothing is up.” He buttons up his uniform with clumsy, shaking hands.

“Okay,” she says suspiciously. “Any big plans this weekend?”

What, did Buck send out an e-mail or something? He coughs. “Plans? Uh-- well, Chris is out of town, so, quiet time at home. Down--downtime.”

Hen raises an eyebrow at him. “Okay,” she says slowly.

Eddie’s coming up the stairs for his post-workout smoothie when Chim yells from the couch to grab his attention.

“Eddie,” he yells over Buck’s groan of annoyance in the seat next to him. “Did you know Buck was a tight end?”

“He has a what?” Eddie croaks, pulling his head out of the refrigerator and narrowly avoiding cracking his skull open.

“Football,” Bobby provides helpfully from his spot in front of the stove.

Eddie blinks and shakes his head, shoving it back into the freezer to find his bag of frozen mangoes.

Eddie squints down at the entrance to the sewer, newly freed from the manhole cover. He internally curses Ravi for being out of town for a wedding, like the universe was laughing at him. It reeks, and Eddie so does not want to go down there, but a pathetic whine echoes up from the bottom where a trembling Havanese is trapped. He’s such a softie.

“Looks like a tight squeeze,” Hen laments as Eddie tightens the straps on his harness.

“He’ll fit,” Buck says proudly, slapping Eddie on the shoulder.

“Ay Dios,” Eddie curses as he’s lowered into the pit.

Eddie hadn’t even considered that it was a date date until Buck knocks on the bathroom door while Eddie’s fiddling with his hair.

“Come in,” he says.

Buck clears his throat. “You should, uh-- open the door,” Buck says quietly through the door.

Eddie furrows his brow and moves to turn the knob, opening the door to show a sheepish Buck holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I can’t exactly knock on the front door as I’m picking you up for the date,” Buck explains. “Uh-- here,” he says, shoving the flowers into Eddie’s hands.

Eddie hides his grin into the carnations. “Very prom-forward,” he nods. “I hope you know how to take care of these, though, I have a total black thumb.”

“Gun to my head, I’d say water,” Buck grins, leaning forward to press their lips together. “Ready to go?”

Eddie takes in Buck’s appearance. He looks-- shit, he’s dressed to the nines, wearing his nice cologne, and Eddie feels kind of schlubby in his hoodie.

“I feel kind of underdressed,” he admits. “I didn’t realize you meant, like, a real date.”

“Eddie, this is your first real date with a man,” Buck says, his voice indignant.

Eddie squints at him and scrunches his mouth playfully. “Is it, though?”

Buck scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorway. His arms are bursting out of that flimsy button-up, and Eddie catches himself where he’s swaying forward. He wants to gnaw on his biceps. “What other dates with men have you been on?” Buck says accusingly, and Eddie laughs loudly.

“You, dumbass,” he says fondly.

“Those-- those were not dates,” Buck stammers. “We were just… hanging out.”

Eddie purses his lips in thought, raising his eyebrow. “Is that not what a date is?”

“C’mon, Eds, I’m serious,” Buck grumbles, but he’s fighting a big grin. “I want this to be special for you.”

“I would actually really rather we didn’t make a big deal about it,” Eddie says truthfully. He thinks about the handful of first dates he’s been on in his lifetime, and he remembers the hot panic that arises at the spectacle-- putting on a show to perform for a stranger. When he thinks about having to perform with Buck, instead of just being themselves…

“And I promise, that’s not the catholic guilt talking,” Eddie continues. “Look, we already know everything about each other. Why can’t we just hang out like we normally do, but with… you know. Intentions.”

“Intentions,” Buck repeats.

Eddie grins salaciously. “I happen to recall some specific plans for the end of the evening,” he says lightly, like he hasn’t been obsessing about it all week. He hopes and prays that Buck has been just as pent-up and preoccupied as he has.

Buck wiggles his eyebrows at Eddie. “Well, yes.”

“So,” Eddie says, gesturing to Buck with his free hand. “Let’s go rummage up a vase for these flowers, and then let’s go watch our movie, and I’ll buy the candy. And we can go get a beer and a couple street tacos on the way home. And then I’ll…” he trails off, eyes dipping to the open button on Buck’s shirt. He hasn’t waxed his chest in a while, and Eddie can see where the blond hairs are starting to grow back in.

Buck bites his lip around his grin. “Yeah, you will,” he flirts, ducking around the flowers to kiss Eddie again. Eddie nips playfully at his lower lip.

“Should I change?” Eddie asks where their mouths are pressed together.

Buck hums. “Selfishly, I would love if you wore those grey stonewash jeans.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie says mischievously.

Buck nods seriously. “They-- they make your ass look, uh. Insane.”

That startles a laugh out of Eddie, his forehead knocking into Buck’s cheek. “Don’t laugh at me,” Buck bemoans, face pressed into Eddie’s hair.

He does wear the jeans, and he buys Buck not one but two boxes of Twizzlers, and they sit in the back row with their feet propped up like they always do. His lips brush Buck’s fingers when he holds out a piece of licorice for Eddie, and it makes his blood warm. Buck keeps leaning over to whisper funny cracks in his ear, and Eddie laughs, and he feels shivery whenever Buck’s lips accidentally (or maybe purposefully?) brush over the cartilage.

They’re at a picnic table outside their favorite tex-mex food truck, and Eddie has half of a shrimp taco stuffed in his mouth when Buck snaps a picture of him on his phone.

“Oh, that’s a keeper,” Buck snorts, turning his phone around to show Eddie.

“Cute,” Eddie says, his words muffled by shrimp and corn and cilantro. He swallows his hefty mouthful. “All that bad CGI made me ravenous.”

“Well, save room for dessert,” Buck says distractedly, frowning down at his phone. “Hey, uh-- would it be… weird if I posted this picture to Instagram?”

Eddie frowns, reaching for a napkin. “Why would it be weird? You post pictures of me all the time.”

“I know,” Buck says nervously. He cracks his knuckles on his left hand, a stubborn habit Eddie knows Buck has dealt with since middle school. “This outing is, um… different, though.”

Ah. Eddie wipes his face clean and puts his taco down carefully, the contents spilling out into his paper tray. He hadn’t considered this when they’d talked about keeping things hush-hush for the time being-- Buck’s digital trail. It’s not out of character for them to hang out, to see movies and get dinner and show the world. It might be out of character for those pictures to feature Eddie’s embarrassing heart-eyes-- but then again, maybe it wouldn’t be, and he’s not sure which scenario makes him more nervous.

What he is sure about is that he wants to erase that small, unsure look on Buck’s face, regardless of his own feelings.

“Post it,” he says warmly, and Buck’s shoulders sag in relief. “Actually, here, take one more,” he says, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his ticket stub. He stamps it to his forehead, and it sticks where his skin is slightly misty from the humidity.

Eddie’s gut flutters when Buck grins and picks up his phone, snapping a photo of Eddie’s goofy expression. He peels the ticket off and carefully stuffs it back into his pocket like he’s keeping it safe. Eddie finishes his food while Buck taps away at his keyboard, and when his phone dings on the table next to his hand he goes to open the notification.

@eb191: Where there’s smoke, there’s salmon 🐟

[Image 1: A black and white photo of Eddie, oblivious to the world, stuffing a taco into his mouth with unbridled confidence.]

[Image 2: Eddie, with a ticket stub stamped to his forehead, his mouth scrunched up in a silly expression. The sign from the food truck casts a green and yellow glow over him.]

@eddiebodywantssome: it’s actually the humble shrimp

@miami_firefox: I heard this movie was 🐕 💩

     @eb191: It killed my firstborn but I think we can turn the evening around!

          @itsgonab5may!: RIP christopher, always in our thoughts

@RobertNash1004890200: Looks great. Got a fantastic corn Tortilla recipe I can show you sometime. Have fun . Bobby

Buck is already pushing his hands up Eddie’s shirt as he fumbles with his keys to unlock the front door, and the nipping kisses at his neck aren’t helping.

“Buck,” he laughs. “You’re making this very hard.”

“I sure hope so,” Buck drawls, making Eddie laugh harder, and his hands are shaking but he manages to get the damn key in the lock before his head explodes.

“Get inside before my nosy neighbors start taking pictures,” he says sternly, ushering Buck into his house and slamming the door shut behind them. Buck’s pressing him into the wall before he can make it far, his head ducking to slot their lips together. It’s warm and wet and exactly what Eddie’s been craving all night, unsatisfied with the pecks they exchanged in the car and in the blanketing darkness of the theater. It’s staggering to him, how their thousandth kiss is just as good as their first. (Although, it’s not like Eddie had been counting-- but he’d bet his life that they’re at least in the high triple digits.)

“I like when you use your firm dad voice,” Buck mumbles against his lips, grinning when Eddie huffs in amusement.

Eddie’s head knocks against the wall when he backs it up to give Buck a once-over. “Oh, yeah? Mister ‘doesn’t-respond-well-to-authority’?”

Buck presses his forehead to the wall beside Eddie. “Maybe it just needs to be the right person,” he teases, running his tongue over the shell of Eddie’s ear.

Eddie bites down a soft moan, flexing his fingers where they’re digging into Buck’s hips. “I’m tempted to tell you to drop and give me twenty.”

“Twenty what?” Buck’s canines dig into his earlobe.

Eddie drags Buck’s face back to his own, biting at the flesh of his lower lip. “Let’s start with the twenty steps to the bedroom. Unless you want me to fuck you on the couch.”

Buck’s eyes dart to the couch, like he’s seriously considering it, but he just shakes away whatever thought he had. “Sir, yes, sir,” he says sarcastically, saluting Eddie with two fingers like the little shit he is. Eddie’s already half-hard.

Buck races down the hall, and Eddie takes the five seconds of reprieve he’s granted to suck in a deep breath. He’s excited, but he’s also so fucking nervous. This isn’t like using hands or mouths to wring out hushed orgasms from each other, sweaty palms covering harsh pants when it’s late and they need to be quiet. This is a whole other beast-- this is-- full naked contact, skin-on-skin, thrusting--

Eddie follows Buck down the hall. He selfishly hates that he wasn’t Buck’s first, that they weren’t exploring this together, but he’s also a little grateful that at least one of them knows what they’re doing. It makes him white-hot with envy when he remembers that other people have gotten this from Buck before-- Tommy, his Grindr dates. Even Taylor, Buck had admitted to him once when they were drunk, long before fucking men was even a blip on Buck’s radar.

Eddie’s dead set on carving out his place in Buck’s soul, like he could brand him from the inside out; he might not be Buck’s first, but he’s damn sure determined to be his last. It’s kind of a lot of pressure.

Buck pounces on him when he steps through the doorway, pushing him back onto the mattress, and oh, but Eddie hadn’t been expecting this, hadn’t expected Buck to lay him flat on his back and straddle him. His cock twitches when he runs his hands reverently over Buck’s thighs, still clothed, the seams pulling tight at his position.

Buck leans down to feed Eddie his tongue, one forearm resting gently on the bed next to his head. The other hand is cupping Eddie’s jaw, tilting his head the way Buck desires, and Eddie’s breathing kicks up in his chest. His heart is pumping overtime behind his ribcage, the goosebumps running down his neck warm and shivery as his own hands rub those big, perfect thighs he’s been dreaming about, crushed against his torso.

Buck feels so heavy on top of him, and Eddie feels guilty at the way it makes him feel. He’s always so-- hot, and big, and playful, whining and begging for whatever Eddie’s willing to give him. It’s like lightning down his spine every time, throbbing heat building in his gut. He loves that Buck can throw him around like it’s nothing, and that he wants to be thrown around in return. Equal, in a way none of his other relationships have felt.

Eddie breaks their kiss with a shudder, running his hands up to get two handfuls of sculpted ass while Buck sucks wet, squelching kisses into his neck. It’s been absolute torture this week-- Eddie’s never been so desperate to fuck someone in his life, and he wonders if this is how the rest of the world feels. How it’s supposed to feel.

Buck sits up straight to rip his shirt off, fingers hastily tearing the buttons out of their holes, and Eddie sits there like a gaping fish. He misses Buck’s warmth, but this position also puts more pressure over Eddie’s cock, and Buck moans softly when he fucks his hips up gently.

“I was thinking about this for, like, the entire movie,” Buck admits, throwing his shirt to the floor and tearing off the white t-shirt he wore underneath. “My Letterboxd review would just say: 2 stars, I was thinking about my boyfriend’s dick the whole time.”

Eddie grins at the shot of heat Buck’s words send through him. Boyfriend seems so childish a word to describe them, but Eddie doesn’t think there is a sufficient word for them. Buck is-- he’s Eddie’s best friend, and he’s also the love of his life, and he’s Christopher’s legal guardian, and he’s so fucking gorgeous that it hurts. There’s a seven letter word that might be good enough, but Eddie thinks he’ll save that conversation for another time, when Buck isn’t scratching at Eddie’s belt like it’s personally offended him.

“Well, I was thinking about this all week,” Eddie shoots back, lifting his hips when Buck pulls at the waistband of his jeans. “Had to act completely normal at work like you hadn’t just begged me to fuck you.”

Buck tosses the jeans to the floor, running his hands up Eddie’s thighs. He grips them harshly, thumb digging into the meat of his thigh, and Eddie’s cock throbs pathetically. “Like you weren’t gagging for it, too,” Buck breathes, nosing at the shape of him through his boxers.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers, dragging his fingers through Buck’s curls. He loves Buck’s mouth, aches for it constantly, but he’s not going to last long enough to actually get inside Buck if he gets that tongue on him. He pulls Buck’s head up and away from his crotch, silencing his whine of protest with a wet kiss. Eddie feels shaky while they curl their tongues together, that simmering heat lurking just under his skin.

Eddie’s addicted to kissing Buck. He’s never been a PDA guy, quick pecks or a hand around their shoulder, but with Buck he feels starving for it, even in public. Eddie can feel it like a brand on his skin, tattooed in block letters on his forehead: I really wish I was sucking Buck’s tongue right now!

And that’s foreign, too, kissing being something nice rather than a required precursor to sex. Hell, Eddie’s had plenty of sex that didn’t even require kissing, which is a sad thought when he thinks about how much he loves kissing Buck.

They kiss until Eddie’s lips feel swollen and sticky with spit, Buck writhing on top of him. Buck pants out a curse, hopping ungracefully off the bed to rip off his pants and boxers in one go, and Eddie’s eyes are glued to his flushed cock. He sits up in bed, pulling his hoodie and tee off while his eyes appreciatively drag over Buck’s skin.

Buck preens under his gaze, crawling back up Eddie’s body like a predator. Eddie has never wanted to be devoured more.

“Want you to fuck me,” Buck mumbles into his neck, pressing a sucking kiss into the skin.

Eddie runs his hands up Buck’s back, his spine, his ribs, and nods viciously. “I will, baby,” he promises, his skin tingling under Buck’s tongue. “How do you want to--?”

Buck gulps, nuzzling into the skin behind Eddie’s ear. “I--I like, um, lying on my front,” he says awkwardly, and Eddie’s face and chest flush at the mental image. He squeezes Buck’s body tighter to his own, pulling their hips together.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. His hips jerk up minutely. “Yeah, okay, let’s--” he pulls Buck’s face to his, passing damp, sucking kisses until they’re both breathless. “Lay down.”

Buck nods, his lips puffy and bitten a beautiful flushed pink. He rolls off of Eddie to the space on the mattress next to him, pulling a pillow closer to rest his folded arms on, tilting his head to the side to keep his gaze on Eddie.

Fuck, but he looks so good, so delectable, legs that go for miles and a muscular back and the softest ass Eddie’s ever seen. And he’s letting Eddie just look at him, running hands up and down his skin while he commits the sight to memory. He’s so used to fleeting glances, to looking away in shame. The fact that Buck is just lying there, letting Eddie admire him, arching his back and twitching when Eddie runs a thumb over the crease where ass meets thigh…

Eddie knows for a fact he’s never loved someone like this before.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, fumbling for the bedside table. The lube they bought just last weekend is already half gone, and Eddie blames Buck for that-- Buck who loves to tease him, squeezing the tube directly over Eddie’s cock until he’s a soaking wet mess and he can fuck his sloppy fist over it. He shivers at the memory of Buck’s big hands, clenched now in the pillow while he waits for Eddie’s move.

Eddie swallows the lump in his throat. “What should I do?” he asks sincerely. He’s done some research-- how could he not have, with Buck’s proposal rattling through his skull all week-- but he wants Buck’s preferences either way.

Buck shudders where Eddie is pressing his thumbs into the dimples on his back, massaging the skin tenderly. “Lots of lube. You can use your fingers, but I-- I don’t need a ton of prep. I kinda-- uh, like when it’s kind of a tight fit.”

Eddie exhales like he’s been sucker punched. “That’s-- yeah?” he says breathlessly, unable to help himself from squeezing the flesh of Buck’s ass harshly.

Buck hums, digging his forehead into the pillow. “Yeah,” he says, his words muffled. “Feels-- bigger.”

Bigger. Eddie’s head is swirling, fuzzy from a lack of oxygen where he’s sucking in air through his nose. Buck likes when it feels bigger. He likes minimal prep and wet sloppy lube and a big dick inside him. Eddie’s lungs feel like they’re going to collapse.

His hands are shaking when he uncaps the tube, pouring it over his middle and ring finger on his right hand. It’s not lost on him that these are the fingers that broke when Buck saved him, and it only feels right, using them now in this intimate moment, Buck warm and honest and completely vulnerable with Eddie. He reaches down to rub them over Buck’s hole, his muscles clenching up at the touch.

Eddie sinks a finger into him, mouth dropping at the heat clinging to the digit. Buck feels like he’s running a fever, he’s so hot, and he’s clenching around the push of Eddie’s finger. Buck’s hips push down into the mattress, and shit, maybe it’s Eddie who’s got the fever, his head warm and shivery. He pulls the finger back to sink both of them in, lube easing the way, and Buck’s voice cracks on a moan.

“God, Eddie, your hands,” he cries, the muscles of his back flexing hard. “Love your big hands, your-- your big fingers,” he babbles.

Eddie swallows thickly. He wants to be cheeky, wants to say something like, yeah, baby, wait ‘til I get my cock in you, but he’s shaking too badly. He wants so fiercely that he can’t fathom it, can’t help but gape at Buck dumbly while he fucks his fingers into him, no rhyme or reason or rhythm to be found. He feels like a fumbling virgin, awed at the prospect of finally fucking into something. Someone.

He pushes his fingers down a little harsher, pulling them back to smear wetness over his rim, and his heart could sing when Buck pants, “enough, enough, fuck me, please.”

Eddie would salute him if his mental faculties were online, but he feels like his animal instincts have taken over, just a nonstop mantra of Buck and wet and tight and fuck.

He rips his boxers off and douses his cock in lube, moving to straddle the back of Buck’s thighs. They’re not using a condom, which is also a first for Eddie-- minus that one time, of course. He lines himself up, one hand pressing into the bed beside Buck’s head, and sinks in slowly.

Fuck, but Eddie is not prepared for the noise that escapes from Buck’s mouth, pitchy and breathy and overwhelmed. Eddie is overwhelmed, too, but he’s helpless to chase that heat below him, fucking down into that tight hole. He’s panting like he’s just run a marathon, and he dips his weight down to press more firmly into Buck’s back, his other hand moving to grab the headboard for leverage.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck whines, moving one hand back to clutch at Eddie’s thigh. “Move, please, please.”

Eddie complies, fucked dumb already by the tight grip around his cock. He feels foggy and hazy, like he’s inhaled too much smoke, and he moves his hips down in a stutter, almost clumsy. He thought he knew what sex was supposed to be like, but every memory he has pales in comparison to this, to the vice-like grip of Buck’s hole, his punched-out moans filling the space in their bedroom.

Their bedroom. The words still make Eddie giddy, and he fucks down harder into Buck.

“Jesus, Buck,” Eddie croaks, finally finding his words. “You’re so fucking wet.”

Buck gasps, wet and loud, and he arches his back and grabs Eddie’s thigh harder. “‘s it good?” he slurs, his tongue swollen and pink where he’s biting it between his teeth.

Eddie muffles a groan into Buck’s back, gnawing at the skin with his teeth. He thrusts down shallowly, delirious with the tight heat. “So fucking good, Buck, you’re perfect,” he gasps. He fucks down harder, and Buck’s hole tightens when he gets deeper.

“Fuck, just like that,” Buck begs, and Eddie pumps his hips dutifully, keeping the tempo that has Buck scratching red lines into his thighs.

His nerves feel tingly as he thrusts, his gut clenching with every slap of their hips. He’s so, so glad they waited until the house was empty, Buck’s neverending cacophony of whimpers and grunts being barely muffled into the pillow, echoing on the walls of the bedroom when he lifts his head to breathe. Eddie has to grit his teeth to stop himself from dumping his load into Buck already, almost unable to help himself after the constant onslaught of slick and warmth and beautiful, ringing moans. He’s doing that, he thinks deliriously, as Buck writhes and fucks his hips back onto Eddie’s cock. He’s the one making Buck sing with pleasure.

The hand not on Eddie’s thigh joins his on the headboard, leveraging himself to push back onto Eddie’s cock harder. Eddie’s jaw drops at the sensation, pushing down into Buck harder, getting as deep as he can.

“You’re gonna make me come already,” Buck says shakily, eyebrows furrowing in bliss when Eddie’s hips roll down faster. “Fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie pants. He wants to relay the monologue in his head, wants to tell Buck how perfect he is, how tight he is, how he’s everything Eddie has dreamed of. His thoughts slip away like sand with every pump of his hips, fucking into him insistently, his eyesight unfocusing as he chases his own burning need to come. He’s mindless with it, that animal fucking instinct, and he wants to lick up the pile of drool Buck is spilling into his pillow.

He hasn’t even touched Buck’s cock, left forgotten where it’s pressed between the mattress and Buck’s body, but Eddie’s confident he’s staining the sheets with wet slick. He can’t move his hands, can’t possibly lose that perfect rhythm that’s making Buck writhe and cry, so he fucks down brainlessly instead.

“Need to come,” Buck gasps, finally moving his hand off Eddie’s thigh to stuff it under his body, his biceps bunching with a telltale cadence. Eddie knows he’ll have finger-shaped bruises on his leg come tomorrow morning, but he doesn’t care right now, his world narrowed down to the beautiful boy beneath him.

“Yeah, baby, you can come,” Eddie murmurs into his skin, tongue laving over the back of his neck. “Make yourself come while I’m fucking you.”

Buck nods frantically, his arm jerking faster, and Eddie almost whites out at the tight tight tight grip of Buck’s body as he spills all over the sheets. His cock is throbbing desperately, blood rushing hot and loud in his ears, muffling whatever pathetic noise Buck is letting loose. 

He chases that feeling building hot in his gut, digging his knees into the mattress and sobbing as the come is wrenched from the tip of his dick. He spurts thick, wet come into Buck’s body, fucking down into him and plugging him up, and it feels dirty and hot and so fucking good that Eddie could cry.

God. He gets it now. This is what it’s all supposed to feel like; sex and love and laughing and good food. Kisses in the morning and sleepy smiles at night. He laughs now into Buck’s skin, wet and breathless on the back of his neck, and Buck is grinning, too, trapped under Eddie’s weight where he’s still pinning him down.

“I love you,” Eddie breathes into his skin, and surely Buck knows that already, an unspoken fact, but neither of them have actually said it out loud before.

“That good, huh?” Buck jokes, and he practically giggles when Eddie pinches his ribs ticklishly.

“Yes, it was that good,” Eddie exasperates, his tone annoyed but fond. He cranes his neck to kiss the corner of Buck’s mouth, and Buck hums happily.

“I’m lying in a puddle of come,” Buck sighs, closing his eyes sleepily, unmoving. Eddie nuzzles into the back of his neck, pressing soft, sleepy kisses there. His dick slips out of Buck where he’s gone soft, but he keeps his weight pressed to him, sliding their legs together comfortably.

“Who’s fault is that?” Eddie says into Buck’s shoulder.

“Yours,” Buck says without hesitation. He sighs into the pillow when Eddie softly bites him.

“My bad,” Eddie says insincerely. “I’ll just fuck you worse next time.”

Buck hums. “Not possible,” he says dreamily. “But there is this newfangled technology called a towel we could make use of.”

“Sounds exotic,” Eddie says. He rubs Buck’s shoulder, as if Buck has any tension, as if he’s not melting into the bed.

Buck twists his head and peeks one eye open to look at Eddie. “Love you,” he mumbles into his bicep.

Eddie smiles at him, soft and sweet, and he knows his eyes have gone ooey-gooey. Perhaps permanently.

Eddie’s reading a book on the couch at the station when Buck wanders over. Eddie hasn’t flipped to a new page in several minutes, too distracted by Buck’s heated eyes burning a hole into the side of his head.

“Hey,” Buck drawls now, bending over the back of the couch, propping his elbows up on the cushions. “Whatcha readin’?”

Eddie flashes him the cover. It’s a romance novel, not one of Hen’s, but Eddie’s, thrown into the towering basket of books he’d impulse purchased just the other day. “Smutty literature,” he says.

Buck grins, his tongue peeking out between his teeth playfully. “Gathering some inspiration?”

Eddie smiles, fighting the urge to squish Buck’s cheeks between his fingers. “Hardly,” he scoffs. “Think we’ve been managing, uh, pretty well on our own.”

“I’ll say,” Buck flirts, ducking his head closer. “My thighs are killing me,” he says quietly, only audible to Eddie.

Eddie dips his hot gaze down to pink lips. He’s been thinking about it, too, the way Buck had straddled him this morning, bouncing on his cock while Eddie clamped his hand over Buck’s mouth. He shudders at the memory of cleaning Buck up in the shower, afterwards, his skin warm and wet and eager for every swipe of Eddie’s washcloth.

“Easy, tiger,” Eddie warns softly. His eyes dart behind Buck where he can see Hen and Chim playing pool across the room. “We’re only four hours into a twelve-hour shift.”

“Don’t remind me,” Buck groans. He cranes his neck around the room before turning back to Eddie. “We should grab some pad thai from that new food truck on the way home.”

Eddie hums. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Buck nods to himself. “Good, yeah. Need to exert as little energy as possible on food so you can fuck me again later,” he murmurs.

Eddie grins around his exhale. “You’re a demon,” he says fondly.

Buck’s eyes twinkle. “You like it.”

When Buck stands up to wander back over to the kitchen, Eddie catches Hen and Chim staring, giving each other a knowing glance. Eddie buries his face back into his book and hopes his face isn’t as flushed as it feels.

They’re coming off of a twenty-four hour shift a couple weeks later when Eddie’s phone buzzes insistently on the counter. He assumes it’s Buck, who’d disappeared hours ago to run some errands, but his brows furrow when the caller ID says it’s Karen.

“Hey, Karen, what’s up?” Eddie asks nervously. He likes Karen, loves chatting with her in the corner at Bobby and Athena’s barbecues and gossipping, but they’re not exactly close personal friends.

“Hey, Eddie, ” Karen sighs, and when she pauses Eddie can hear raised voices in the background. “Thing 1 and Thing 2 have had a little too much to drink--”

“No, we’re red fish, blue fish,” Buck whines in the background.

“Which is which?” Eddie can hear Hen say.

“I’m obviously red fish,” Buck says decisively.

“But your eyes are blue,” Hen points out.

“Your uniform is blue,” Buck retaliates.

“Both of your uniforms are blue, you have the same job,” Karen says, her tone incensed, her voice closer and louder. “They’re joking now, but they’ve reached the weepy depressed drunk stage, so I think Buck could use a ride home.”

Eddie’s grabbing his keys before she can finish. “Of course, yeah, I’m heading over now, be there soon.”

“Thanks,” Karen says, and before they hang up Eddie can hear her yell, “when the hell did you two buy tequila--”

He knocks out of courtesy, and Karen swings open the door with an unimpressed expression. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” she sighs, letting him inside the house. “Normally I’d let them wallow, but I have to go pick up the kids from school soon, and it smells like a frat house in here.”

Eddie wanders over to the dining table, where Buck is slumped miserably, his head pressing into Hen’s arm. He presses a gentle hand into Buck’s hair to rouse him, and Buck’s eyes light up drunkenly at the sight of Eddie’s face.

“Hey, buddy,” Eddie says softly.

Buck grins, his eyes squinting with mirth. “Hey, baby,” he croons, slurring his words.

Eddie tenses up, his eyes shooting to Hen and Karen, but both of them seem unfazed.

Buck laughs wetly. “‘s fine, Eddie, she knows,” Buck says, his head still firmly plastered to Hen’s arm on the table.

Eddie swallows the tremor in his voice. “You told her?”

“No, no, Eddie, she guessed,” Buck reassures, picking his head up in a panic, his head lilting dangerously.

“I did,” Hen nods sagely, her own words also slurred. “There is a way about you,” she says cryptically, and Eddie feels bile rise up in his throat.

“Henrietta,” Karen chastises. “Eddie, I’m so sorry. We’re both extremely happy for you and proud of you. What happens in the Wilson household stays in the Wilson household.”

Hen nods and mimes zipping her lips shut, throwing away the invisible key.

Buck hums and presses his head into Eddie’s stomach. “C’n we go home?” he mumbles into his shirt.

Eddie’s mouth corkscrews. “Yeah, let’s get you in the car,” he says softly, holding out both hands for Buck to pull himself up. They stumble their way out to his truck, Eddie supporting most of Buck’s weight, and he carefully buckles his seatbelt while his head lolls against the headrest.

Buck fumbles for the radio as Eddie pulls out of the driveway, his fingers big and clumsy, but Eddie shuts it off while he’s scanning through the stations.

“Hey,” Buck says indignantly, and Eddie grits his teeth.

“What’s going on, Buck?” he asks, eyes glued to the road. His hands feel stiff where they’re gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. “Why are you getting wasted in the middle of the afternoon?”

Buck sighs and presses his forehead to the window. “Called m’ parents,” he says forlornly. His breath fogs up the glass.

“Didn’t go well?” Eddie ventures a guess.

“Started out fine. We talked about work and Maddie’s pregnancy. Then they asked me about my love life. I told them I was-- I was seeing someone. A man,” Buck clarifies. “Told ‘em-- that I was stupidly in-- in love with you. That I was gonna marry you someday.”

Eddie’s throat bobs, tickly where he’s getting emotional. His body is driving on autopilot, his brain focused only on Buck’s slurred words. “And?” he encourages.

Buck’s breath hitches. “And-- and my mom just said, ‘well, what about kids?’ And I told them that-- that you had a kid, a kid I loved like my own, and she just said-- ‘well, that doesn’t count.’”

“Oh, Buck,” Eddie sighs. He glances over at Buck’s form, and he’s hunched over now, trembling, face red and fighting back tears. He puts a hand on Buck’s arm, dragging down the skin until their hands connect, fingers folding together intimately.

“She said that I was throwing away my chance for a family,” Buck croaks. “And she-- she said that-- that-- if you ever left, I would have-- nothing. No… no husband, and no children.” 

His breath hitches dangerously when a sob escapes, the tears starting to fall, and Eddie turns his blinkers on to whip into the closest parking lot, throwing the truck into park. He unbuckles his seatbelt to face Buck fully.

“She’s right,” Buck cries, burying his eyes into his free hand. Eddie squeezes his hand desperately. “If you and Chris l-left me, I would have nothing. I would be nothing.”

“Baby, that’s not true,” Eddie whispers, his heart cracking in two at the way Buck’s chest heaves with sobs. “Your mother is talking out of her ass, first of all, because she has no idea that I’m so-- so in love with you that even the thought of being without you makes me want to jump off a building with no rope.”

Buck laughs wetly at that, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “That’s dark.”

“Second of all,” Eddie continues. “There are so many people in this world who love you so, so deeply. You aren’t nothing. You’re-- you’re my person.”

Buck turns to him with red-rimmed eyes, the blue a wet shock against the bloodshot sclera. “Yeah?” he says, his voice scared and small like a child.

“Yes,” Eddie breathes confidently. “Buck, you have no idea how important you are to me. And to Christopher.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “Evan, you make me feel like… me.”

Buck’s eyes furrow harshly, his throat bobbing where his voice is wet with tears. “I guess there’s still a part of me that’s scared of how easy it was for you to think about moving. For you to just-- leave me in LA.”

Eddie’s other hand grabs the back of Buck’s neck, pulling him forward to rest their foreheads together. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to stay. How badly I wanted to ask you to come with me.”

Buck sniffles wetly. “Why didn’t you?”

Eddie closes his eyes. “I just-- I couldn’t. I couldn’t ask you to give up all those people who love you-- Bobby and Maddie and Jee and Hen and Chim-- for me. ”

“I would’ve,” Buck says. Eddie feels Buck’s sleeve as he wipes his nose again. “I would have,” he repeats.

“I know,” Eddie says. “I know that now.”

Buck ducks his head down to rest against Eddie’s neck, and Eddie holds him tightly, like he’s trying to pull Buck into his skin.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like that,” Eddie whispers into his skin. Buck squeezes his hand where they’re still connected. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re stuck with me forever.”

Buck laughs wetly, rubbing his cheek against the fabric of Eddie’s shirt. “You better mean that, because I might do something drastic otherwise. I’m kinda over being left behind.”

“I’m a nester,” Eddie murmurs into Buck’s curls, pressing a kiss into them. “If I ever move the nest, I’m taking you with me.”

“Good,” Buck mumbles. He presses a chaste kiss into Eddie’s neck. “‘m still pretty drunk, I need to lie down,” he says sheepishly.

Eddie laughs, pressing his lips to Buck’s birthmark reverently. “Let’s go home.”

Hen approaches him sheepishly at their next shift, her hands wringing together nervously. “Hey, can we talk?” she says quietly.

Eddie’s mouth scrunches up. “Yeah, c’mon, the bunkroom should be empty.”

Chim watches them go with a raised eyebrow, whispering something to Ravi next to him who shrugs in response. Eddie closes the door to the bunkroom behind them, blessedly empty after B-shift had cleared out. Eddie perches himself at the edge of a cot, and Hen grabs the one right next to it, facing him. Their knees knock together.

“I am so sorry, Eddie,” Hen says after a beat. “I am so embarrassed.”

Eddie shakes his head, waving his hands in front of him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Yes, I do,” Hen says seriously. “A journey like this is extremely personal and often painful, and I shouldn’t have made a joke about it.”

“You were drunk,” Eddie placates. “Seriously, it’s fine. Honestly, it’s kind of a relief.”

Hen’s eyebrows furrow. Eddie scratches his chin nervously. “Only-- a handful of people know,” he explains, gesturing with his hand. “About me, I mean.” His throat clicks when he gulps. “Although, I guess you obviously had your suspicions.”

She nods slowly. “It… makes a lot of sense,” she says hesitantly. “That must’ve been a hard conclusion to come to, though.”

“It was,” Eddie says sincerely. “It’s something that’s always been there, I just-- didn’t have the space or patience to unpack what it really was.”

Hen leans forward to squeeze his hand, and Eddie squeezes it back gratefully. “That takes a lot of courage,” she says, holding eye contact and nodding. “I really am so proud of you. Welcome to the club.”

Eddie ducks his head and laughs. “Thanks,” he says sarcastically. “It was like pulling fingernails, but I’m also… probably the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“With Buck?” Hen teases, knocking her boot into his.

“Yeah, with Buck,” Eddie says embarrassedly. “But also, just… happy with myself. Like I’m not dragging around lead in my shoes anymore.”

Hen’s cheeks dimple with her smile, patting his hand with a steady thump. “Well, it’s about time.”

Hen joins him when Eddie stands up, and she pulls him into a hug. He returns the warm embrace, tucking his cheek onto her head.

“Welcome to the rest of your life,” Hen says warmly.

Eddie clicks his tongue with a smile. “For once, I can’t wait.”

Eddie’s already in bed when Buck comes in from the bathroom, and he sighs when a minty kiss is pressed to his lips.

“Remind me to buy more mouthwash this weekend,” Buck mumbles against his mouth, his tongue swiping delicately over Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie hums and drags him closer, tossing his book to the floor blindly with a dull thud. He pins Buck to the bed, straddling him amongst the tangled mess of the covers, and he and Buck trade devilish grins when Buck moans softly.

They exchange luxurious kisses, the sucking sounds soft and wet as their lips break apart only to meet again. Eddie cups Buck’s jaw as he drags his lips over to Buck’s cheek, kissing the baby smooth skin with an obnoxious ‘mwah’ sound.

Buck suppresses a laugh, running his big hands down Eddie’s spine. “Everything go okay with Hen earlier?” he asks softly.

Eddie hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, we’re good. I wasn’t even mad at her, I was just…”

“Embarrassed?” Buck supplies.

“No,” Eddie says quickly. His eyes briefly dart away in thought. “Well, maybe. But not of you, of myself, for hiding who I am.”

Buck moves one hand up to rub at Eddie’s neck and shoulder. “I meant it when I said we can wait as long as you want. No hidden timer, I promise. Whenever you’re ready.”

Eddie’s eyes crinkle, and he leans down to slot their lips together gingerly. “I think I’m ready,” he mutters.

Buck’s grin is blinding. “Yeah?” he asks excitedly.

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms, and he groans when their mouths collide too quickly with the force of Buck’s kiss.

“Sorry, sorry,” Buck says sheepishly. He kisses Eddie’s chin.

They’re still pressing their mouths together softly when Christopher knocks on the door, and Eddie jolts upright in a panic.

“Dad, Buck, the router is out again,” Christopher complains through the door.

Eddie and Buck scramble to pull apart, fixing their hair and clothes before Eddie swings open the door a crack.

“Hey, mijo,” his voice cracks. “Buck was just, uh--”

“I was-- borrowing a book!” Buck chimes in. His hands are on his hips, and he gestures wildly to Eddie’s bookshelf. “Yep, just-- picking out some, uh, bedtime literature.”

Christopher tilts his head in a way that tells Eddie he’s annoyed. “Dad, come on, Buck hasn’t slept on the couch in, like, two months. I don’t care.”

Eddie feels his flush crawl down his neck. “How do you even--”

“I get hungry at night,” Chris shrugs.

Eddie bangs his forehead against the door. Buck chuckles nervously behind him.

“The router,” Christopher emphasizes. “I got disconnected in the middle of my game.”

“I’ll, uh--” Buck fumbles, slapping Eddie on the back as he shoulders past him to go fix it.

Eddie scrunches his mouth up awkwardly, averting his gaze from his son. He’s still got one hand on the door handle, and the other one rubs uneasily at the back of his neck. “I really was going to tell you soon,” he says.

Christopher screws his mouth to the side, nodding slowly. “You know you’re not allowed to mess this one up, right?”

Eddie titters nervously. “Trust me, I know.” He walks forward to press his hand to Christopher’s head, pulling him into his chest. “You know I love you so much, right?” he says into his son’s hair, pressing a kiss to his head.

“Love you, too, Dad,” Christopher mumbles. “We should get a new internet provider, though.”

Eddie laughs. “I’ll get right on it,” he swears.

Eddie’s leg is bouncing nervously under the table, and he feels a familiar sense of déjà vu, but this time Buck is sitting next to him, and his leg stills when Buck lays a comforting hand on it.

Bobby drops a pot of beef stew on the trivet in the middle of the table, and everyone inhales the warm, spiced smell wafting from it when he lifts the lid. It’s been simmering all morning, torturous and savory and smelling like home.

“I need to bring some of this home to Maddie, she has been begging for red meat lately,” Chim says, gratefully accepting the bowl Cap hands him.

“Bit of an overshare,” Ravi cheeks, dodging the crumpled up napkin Chimney throws at him.

“You may not be a probie anymore, Panikkar, but I will still smite you where you stand. Respect your elders,” Chim utters, wagging a disapproving finger at him.

“I think I’ve been smited enough for the rest of us,” Buck jokes, passing Eddie the bowl of stew he’s handed.

“It’s ‘smote’,” Bobby corrects.

Eddie grins at the interaction, and Buck squeezes his thigh when their eyes meet. Go on, he says wordlessly.

Eddie clears his throat. “Hey, guys,” he croaks. “I wanted to mention something.”

Five pairs of eyes turn to him, and Eddie lingers on blue ones. “You’re not moving again, are you?” Chim bemoans. “I think Buck might implode if you do.”

“Hey,” Buck scoffs weakly.

Eddie shakes his head, biting down his grin. He catches Hen’s eyes, and she gives him a small, knowing smile. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I, uh…” he trails off, and takes a deep breath, curling his hand around Buck’s where it’s resting on the table. His palms are clammy. Buck squeezes his hand, and he squeezes it back. “I’m gay,” he nods to himself, and he’s so relieved that his voice doesn’t shake. He scans the table for reactions.

Chim’s eyebrows are raised, darting his eyes to catch Hen’s. Ravi’s face is blank, like he’s unsurprised. Hen’s cheeks are dimpling where she’s giving him a big grin, and Bobby is beaming, nodding proudly. And Buck--

Buck’s eyes are locked to Eddie’s, and they’ve got love in them.

Eddie coughs awkwardly, running his thumbs over Buck’s knuckles. “So… yeah,” he mumbles, unsure of how to end his announcement.

Hen reaches across the table to rest her hands on Buck and Eddie’s. “We’re so proud of you, Eddie,” she says sincerely.

Chim gapes at her. “Oh my god, you totally knew,” he accuses her.

“Not my fault your gaydar is broken,” she replies, raising an eyebrow at him.

“It is not broken, ” he defends. “You know what they say about assuming.” He turns back to Eddie, clumsily adding his hand to the pile, like they’re hyping themselves up at a football game. “Happy for you, brother,” he grins.

Ravi slaps his hand over Chim’s. “I just want to say, I totally knew before any of you,” he brags quietly.

“What? How?” Buck demands. He knits his brows together in confusion and looks to Eddie for an explanation, who bites down a grin.

“My word is my bond,” Eddie says mysteriously, which makes Buck scoff, to the amusement of the rest of them.

Bobby doesn’t add his hand to the pile, but he does move to rest a warm hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He looks like a proud father, still grinning from ear to ear, and he gives Eddie an approving nod.

“You boys can come fill out the paperwork after lunch,” he says. “But everyone better eat up before the food gets cold, or I’ll be very unhappy,” he adds sternly.

Eddie gives him a grateful smile. “Sure thing.”

Eddie grins when Buck presses him against the Jeep in the parking lot after their shift, slipping his tongue past Eddie’s lips. They ignore Chimney and Hen’s wolf whistles, too busy soaking in each other’s kisses. “I’m so proud of you,” Buck grins, pressing short little smooches onto Eddie’s lips and cheeks. “We should celebrate tonight! You, me, and Chris.” Buck’s eyes light up and dart away, like a lightbulb is going off in his brain. “Oh, dude, we should go to that paintball place,” he whispers excitedly. “Unless you have another idea.”

Eddie’s eyes crinkle at Buck’s demeanor. “I maybe have an idea in mind,” he says flirtily.

Buck tilts his head with a saucy look. “Oh, yeah?”

Eddie licks his lips, brushing them against Buck’s jaw. “You should fuck me,” he utters quietly.

Eddie’s sure if he wasn’t already pressed against the car that Buck would’ve thrown him over his shoulders and sprinted home.

“There you go,” Buck murmurs into the crook of Eddie’s jaw. Eddie pants hot air into the space above the bed.

He’s lying on his back, digging his hands into the pillow underneath his head while Buck presses wet fingers into him. They probably should’ve just showered and gone to bed, exhausted from their long shift, but they’d both been too keyed up on the drive home to wait. Eddie’s never had anything inside him, and Buck’s fingers feel fucking huge. He’s lying on his side next to Eddie, one muscular thigh draped over his own, his wrist pumping slow and syrupy.

It’s intense, more intense than anything Eddie’s ever felt. It’s sloppy where Buck had gone overboard with the lube, the wet squelching sound making Eddie’s ears burn with the rush of blood to his face.

He can’t deny that he’s been curious, eyes always glued to the drop of Buck’s jaw whenever Eddie presses into him, the overwhelmed noises of pleasure that fall from his mouth. Buck’s always so eager for Eddie’s cock, demanding and almost bratty some days. It always makes Eddie’s head rush, makes his blood hot, makes his skin tight.

He understands it now when Buck’s big fingers find his prostate, and his body jolts like he’s been shocked. “Oh, fuck,” Eddie gasps, his brain starting to drip and melt where Buck is fucking his fingers steadily. He drags one hand off the pillow to grip his own hair, the pressure on his scalp keeping him tethered.

Buck hasn’t even touched Eddie’s cock, dripping where it’s resting against his hip. The way Buck’s knuckles drag against his rim has Eddie’s whole body tensing, and he blindly fumbles for Buck’s face, pulling their lips together insistently.

“You are insanely hot,” Buck mumbles against his lips, pulling at his lip with his white teeth.

Eddie laughs breathlessly. “Says you,” he replies, curling their tongues together. He reaches down to pump at Buck’s neglected cock, and he feels smug at the way Buck keens, his mouth open and panting against Eddie’s cheek and jaw.

Buck’s big cock in his palm makes him feel nervous. He loves it, loves how responsive Buck is, even loves the lovesick idiot attached to it, but his heart jackknifes in his chest at the mental image of Buck feeding it to him, one overwhelming inch at a time. He clenches around Buck’s fingers at the thought.

“Think I’m ready,” Eddie says. “You should-- you should fuck me now.”

Buck grunts and nods, pulling his fingers out. Eddie’s eyes are drawn to the wet sheen of his knuckles. “How do you want me?” Buck asks, ever eager to please.

Eddie grins salaciously. “Sit up against the headboard, cowboy.”

Buck returns his devilish grin, pecking Eddie’s lips. “I think you’re the cowboy in this scenario.” He props himself against the bed frame, sliding a pillow behind his lower back, and Eddie feels dizzy when he straddles his lap.

“You know, saving horses, et cetera,” Eddie breathes while he watches Buck slather lube on his cock. “That EMS code of ethics doesn’t just apply to humans.”

Buck laughs, fucking his hips up into his wet fist. Eddie leans down to press a sucking kiss over the tattoo on his chest. “We can do doggy style, next time, if we’re honoring animals,” Buck jokes. He fucks a tight circle over the head of his cock. “Although with that view, I’d probably come in, like, two seconds.”

Eddie hums, releasing the plush skin of his pecs. “Well, hey, that’s like, fourteen seconds in dog years.”

Buck snorts and releases his cock, pulling Eddie flush to him by the hips. “Giddy up, Texas,” he says with a drawl, tilting an invisible cowboy hat.

“Yeehaw,” Eddie deadpans, his thighs quaking when he lifts his hips. He sucks in a breath when Buck’s hands move to grab two handfuls of his ass, pulling him open, and Eddie’s lungs feel overinflated. He starts sinking down onto Buck’s cock, his body tensing at the intrusion.

But, god, what an intrusion it is. Eddie’s breath punches out of him as he slides down Buck’s wet cock, stiff and perfect where Buck is holding still like a good boy. Eddie is glued to the sight of Buck’s heaving chest and clenching abs, and he sinks down further, despite the dull ache.

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck breathes, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s back and pulling them impossibly closer. Eddie’s cock is trapped between their bodies, red and wet and grateful for the pressure. He sighs and rests his head in the crook of Buck’s neck. “So tight,” Buck whispers.

Eddie nods his head, pressing his hips down when Buck fucks up into him. “‘m not tight, you’re just huge,” he sighs, biting down a yelp when Buck starts pumping his hips more insistently.

“Yeah?” Buck says, his breath hot against Eddie’s ear. “You like it?”

Eddie ruts down onto him. “Yeah,” he exhales. Eddie laughs at that, shaking his head at himself-- he’s fucking himself down onto a big dick, and he likes it, he’s the happiest he’s ever been. He curls a hand around Buck’s ear and presses their mouths together, tilting Buck’s head back to feed him his tongue. Buck’s moaning into Eddie’s lips, and he’s constant with it, shaky little hurt noises as Eddie grinds down onto him.

Eddie breaks their kiss to disentangle himself from Buck, and Buck shoots him a confused look until Eddie starts leaning back onto his hands to get a better angle. Fuck, but that’s good, the heat licking at his spine as he starts fucking himself properly. Buck’s hands move to his hips, and he melts back against his pillow, stars twinkling in his eyes.

Eddie grunts. His hips and abs are going to be so sore later, but he can’t possibly stop now, fucking down onto Buck’s perfect cock. He loves the way Buck manhandles him, dragging Eddie by the hips and shoving up into him. The fog is growing thicker in Eddie’s mind with every echoing slap of their bodies, every desperate pull of their hips.

“Fuck, baby,” Buck moans, his voice high and thready. He pulls Eddie down harder, and Eddie groans at the collision. “So pretty. So goddamn handsome. You’re fucking me so-- so good.”

Eddie’s stomach churns, hot and roiling. Buck’s face is pink and overwhelmed, the furrowed line of pleasure on his forehead where his brows are pushed together. He looks wrecked, and it makes Eddie’s cock pulse, makes him rut down harder. He catches Buck’s eyes, the blue nearly eclipsed by wide pupils, and Eddie picks one hand up to slide down his chest. He bypasses his cock to press one hand to his navel, and Buck whines and fucks up faster.

“Harder,” Eddie demands, a broken gasp, and Buck’s breath hitches dangerously. He leans up and over, knocking Eddie flat against the bed. Eddie groans when Buck gets two big hands around his thighs, curving them over his hips as he starts pumping down steadily.

Fuck, but he’s almost brutal, the relentless way he pushes his cock into Eddie. He’s got a direct hit on his prostate now, and Eddie’s mind slips further and further away with every thrust. All he knows is the heat boiling in his gut, the dirty slap of their skin, the perfect primal tempo that Buck is fucking into him with. 

“You gonna come in me?” Eddie breathes, slipping a hand down to finally touch his cock. He thinks-- he’s heard about guys coming untouched, just from pressure on their prostate, and Eddie seriously thinks Buck might be able to get him there, but the idea is too overwhelming right now. Another time, maybe-- he’ll let Buck fuck him however he wants, let him bend Eddie over, drag him forcefully back onto his cock until Eddie is shaking and writhing and sobbing with it, his dick untouched.

Buck’s eyelids flutter shut as he rolls his eyes back into his head, fucking down and nailing Eddie’s prostate. “Yeah, yeah,” he whines, nodding his head desperately.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses between his teeth. His cock is throbbing now, and he wraps a damp hand around it, clammy from sweat. He briefly considers reaching for the lube, lost to the limbo of the bed sheets, but then Buck is craning his head back to spit directly on his cock.

Eddie keens, his toes curling where they’re suspended above Buck’s thighs. The room feels oppressively hot, despite the cool temperatures outside, as Eddie strips his cock vigorously, Buck’s saliva easing the pull of his own hand.

“Eddie,” Buck says desperately, the grip on his thighs bruising. Eddie can feel every hot breath that Buck pants onto his skin, his abdomen clenching with every thrust.

Eddie arches his back, his hand flying over his cock. “Do it,” he demands, his voice thick. “C’mon, baby, give it to me. It’s mine, isn’t it?” he pants.

“Fuck,” Buck cries, and his hand slams down onto the sheets next to Eddie’s head, rolling his hips in shaky little pumps as he dumps his come into Eddie. Eddie grunts at Buck’s weight as he collapses on top of him, his biceps still bunching with the furious way he’s beating his cock.

“So good,” Eddie whispers in Buck’s ear, and Buck pants and hums, tangling his fingers in Eddie’s hair. Eddie finally comes when Buck tugs on his scalp, his come spilling thick and wet between their bodies, smearing on their stomachs.

Eddie’s shoulders collapse, flat against the mattress, and he grunts when Buck pulls out of him. His mind feels like jelly-- lime, strawberry, who gives a shit. He rolls out his ankles, humming when Buck moves to lay them on their sides, their noses pressed together.

Eddie feels floaty as they lie there, Buck massaging life back into his sore thighs, his lips pressing delicate kisses into Eddie’s skin. He sighs heavily when Buck’s hands move down to his knees and calves, rubbing the muscles loose.

“You always take such good care of me,” Eddie mumbles into the mattress. He cracks one eye open to see Buck’s easy grin.

“Well, I love you,” Buck shrugs, like it’s an answer. Eddie pulls him down by the neck to drag him into a deep kiss, their breaths molding together in the space between them.

“Well, then thanks for loving me,” Eddie sighs when they pull apart for air. He presses his lips to that tantalizingly pink birthmark.

Buck pulls their bodies closer, their legs tangling together comfortably. “It’s the easiest job in the world,” he says mushily, his grin pressing onto Eddie’s.

Their lips meet again, tongues painting over each other, slow and sweet. Eddie’s tilting his head to deepen it when Buck pulls away, pressing his lips just under Eddie’s nose.

“I miss the ‘stache,” he admits, and Eddie bursts out laughing. Buck chuckles at his reaction. “What? I’m, like, legitimately a little sad I didn’t get to kiss you with it. It was really hot.”

“Sorry,” Eddie says with a smile. “I had to shave it. I was shedding my disguise.”

Buck draws his fingers up Eddie’s spine. “Like a Halloween costume?” he says, before his eyes light up. “Oh my god, Eddie, why weren’t you Freddie Mercury for Halloween? Holy shit.” His mouth drops. “Eddie Mercury,” he whispers.

Eddie snorts. “You know, I do belt out a pretty killer ‘Radio Ga Ga’,” he says with a smirk.

“Next year, promise me,” Buck says, holding out his pinky. “I’ll be Bruce Springsteen.”

Eddie shakes his head in amusement, hooking his pinky around Buck’s. “Okay, deal.”

They’re stuck in hot LA traffic in the Jeep later, on their way to pick Christopher up from school, when Buck says, “we should totally go on a road trip.”

Eddie shifts in the passenger seat, comfortably sore. “Huh?” he says dumbly, looking up from his phone.

“A road trip,” Buck repeats. “For Chris’ spring break.”

Eddie hums and locks his phone, laying it against his thigh. “If we took the whole week off, we’d probably have to work 4th of July and Thanksgiving and Christmas for, like, the next five years. Spring break in LA is brutal.”

Buck dismisses his words with a hand wave. “I’m sure there’s someone who wants some extra overtime,” he says. “Think about it! You, me, and Chris, on the road.” He tilts his head in thought. “Has Chris ever been to Disney World?”

“Hard no to Disney World,” Eddie says. “For my own sanity.”

Buck chuckles. “Okay, okay,” he concedes, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “How about the Grand Canyon? Or Niagara Falls, or something?” He squirms in his seat, like he’s trying to contain his excitement.

Eddie grins at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yeah, that would be nice,” he says. “If we can manage to convince Chris to leave his laptop behind for a whole week.”

“I’m on the case,” Buck nods solemnly, holding up two fingers to his head in a mock salute, and Eddie grabs that ridiculous hand to intertwine their fingers intimately.

“I have to pee,” Christopher complains from the backseat, dragging his oversized headphones off his head.

Eddie cranes his neck from the passenger seat, taking in the sight of his son, sprawled against his nest of pillows and snacks. “We’re only about an hour out from the hotel, if you can hold it.”

“Nope,” Chris says stubbornly, pulling his headphones back on and picking up his Switch.

Eddie smirks and turns to Buck. “You heard the man.”

Buck holds one hand up in defeat, pulling into the right lane when the next rest stop sign pops up. They passed over the Arizona state line a couple hours ago, and Eddie’s had his head propped up on his fist, taking in the flat mountains and rocky terrain. The sun is just dipping into the horizon, and Eddie’s thinking about dinner, soon, his stomach grumbling unhappily at the idea of any more jerky or energy drinks.

Buck pulls off the highway, pulling into a dinky rest stop, one of those small brown buildings with toilets and running water and vending machines. When Buck turns the ignition off, he turns and says, “want one of us to run in with you?”

“Nah, I got it,” Chris replies, brushing crumbs and trash off of him, wrestling with his crutches and hopping out of the truck. 

Eddie steps out of the car to stretch his legs, groaning when his shoulders pop. He keeps one eye on his son as he makes his way into the building, and he hums warmly when Buck joins him and wraps an arm around his neck.

Buck presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple, pressing their hips together when Eddie leans back against the car door.

“Your leg doing okay?” Eddie asks, pushing his sunglasses up to his head. He leans his weight into Buck.

Buck hums thoughtfully. “Might need a massage later,” he says cheekily, turning to face him. Buck’s smiling, squinting where the bright light of the sun gets in his eyes. 

“That can definitely be arranged,” Eddie murmurs, ducking to press their lips together in a brief kiss. Buck’s eyes are glittering when they pull apart, lovesick and warm, and Eddie’s sure his eyes are no better.

Buck turns his head and nods his chin to the horizon, where golden rays of light are poking through the treeline. “Beautiful sunset,” he says.

Eddie grins, wrapping his arm around Buck’s waist and squeezing him tightly. “It sure is.”