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Buck lets himself into the house quietly, toeing off his shoes in the entryway. His heart sinks as he sees the shining floors, the lemon scented cleaner Eddie uses. There’s not a thing out of place, and even the keys look sorted and cleaned.
Fuck.
He shuts the door gently, not wanting to disturb the quiet of the house. Not the good kind, Buck realises, as he looks around and sees just how clean the house looks. The frames are dusted, all the pillows look fluffed and Eddie’s wiped and dusted every fucking surface as far as Buck can see.
He hovers under the archway to the living room, hesitating.
It’s been two weeks since Eddie came back from Texas. Two weeks since Buck moved out of the Diaz house, to Maddie’s guest room. Two weeks of unfamiliar territory, of wading in the dark.
Buck doesn’t know the rules here—what he is and isn’t allowed to do.
Eddie left for Texas, and Buck doesn’t blame him—God, of course he doesn’t, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he left . The one person Buck thought would never, ever leave him.
It’s the shattering of a foundation he’s come to rely on for the better part of a decade, the belief that so much of his life is built upon. Eddie’s got his back, except for three months he didn’t—he was in Texas.
Buck tried to take some of the weight off his shoulders, that’s what he does—but it was fucking hard. It was hard, moving into the house that was no longer a home, its inhabitants eight hundred miles away.
Hard, waking up alone in Eddie’s bed, cooking in Eddie’s kitchen, living in Eddie’s house. It’s not just mine anymore, Eddie had reminded him more than once before he left. It’s yours too.
Buck had moved in, and distantly he knew, he knew —that Eddie wasn’t coming back. This wasn’t like Abby, when Buck was stupid enough to hope that he might be worth coming back home to. He moved into the Diaz house, and the truth of it was carved all the way into his bones—Eddie left, and he wasn’t coming back.
And Christopher—God, Christopher.
He’s always been unsure of his place in Christopher’s life, the hazy space between friend and uncle and guardian. He felt responsible for him, sure, but there was this unspoken thing hovering like a dark cloud, lingering around the corner—Buck was just the backup, for the time that he prayed wouldn’t ever come.
Eddie dies, and Christopher goes to Buck.
Fuck.
He loves the kid like his own, but God, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do.
That’d been the brilliant reasoning for the series of stupid decisions that followed. Buck started avoiding Eddie—always coming up with an excuse when he asks to hang out. Pottery class, volunteering at the shelter, Maddie needs help with the baby, laundry—he’d run out of reasons.
And then.
Buck still thinks it's the worst fight they’ve ever had, Eddie screaming at him in the kitchen, hurt raw in his voice and Buck yelling right back, anger vicious in its intensity.
“I didn’t want to leave!” Eddie hisses, slamming his palms on the counter. “I left to go get my son back home, Buck, what the fuck are you punishing me for?”
“I’m not punishing you for anything!” Buck yells, frustrated. “I don’t even know why the fuck you’re pissed off at me!”
Eddie glares at him, jaw clenching. “You don’t know.”
“Of course I don’t,” Buck snaps. He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling sharply at his curls. The pain soothes him, a little.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Eddie accuses, voice wavering. “Me and Christopher. Fuck, it’s been two weeks since I came back I’ve seen you thrice. Thrice, Buck!”
Buck clenches his jaw. It only serves to increase Eddie’s ire.
“You’re always busy, now, and fuck, I get that, but you’re avoiding me, Buck. You didn’t come to pick us up at the airport, didn’t hug me hello when you eventually did see me, and fuck’s sake, you moved out!”
“Eddie,” Buck warns, because he’s getting dangerously close to the truth they’ve been dancing around for eight years.
“No, fuck you,” Eddie snarls, and fuck, he’s crying—
“Eddie,” Buck tries again because there’s no going back if Eddie tips over that line, that unspoken line that’s driven Buck to insanity more often than not—
“You’re punishing me,” Eddie chokes, angry and hurt and a million other things Buck can’t name. “You’re fucking angry with me and you won’t tell me why.”
Buck snaps. “I am angry with you,” Buck snarls. “But not for the reason you think, Eddie, fuck you, do you seriously think I’d ask you to choose between me and Christopher? Do you even know how much that hurt?”
Eddie glares at him. Buck sees red.
“I hate that you left, but you know what I hate even more? You coming back and acting like nothing’s fucking changed.”
“Nothing has changed!” Eddie interrupts, furious. “Everything’s still the same, but you’re the one—”
“Bullshit,” Buck snarls. “Fucking bullshit. You left, Eddie! You don’t get to come back here and pretend that you didn’t!”
“I am not trying to!” Eddie screams, voice hoarse. “Fuck, what did I do?”
Made me fall in love with you, Buck wants to scream.
He slams the door on the way out instead.
That was five hours ago.
He’s had some time to think about it—to really think about it, not push it to the depths of his subconscious like he’s been doing all this time.
He’s angry at you for the same reason you are, Maddie had said. You miss each other.
I don’t know how to forget that he left, Buck had admitted, ashamed and hurt and afraid.
Nobody is asking you to, Buck, Maddie said quietly. Talk to him.
And here Buck is, lingering in the doorway because he’s too afraid to look at the damage he’s caused.
It’s a little frightening, actually, how much power he has over Eddie. How much power Eddie has over him. They know exactly what to do and what to say so it cuts the deepest.
Buck wouldn’t have it any other way.
He finally musters enough courage to put one foot in front of the other, to make his way into the living room. He rounds the couch, heading towards the bedroom because that’s where he thinks Eddie is, but—
Oh.
He’s passed out on the couch.
Buck’s heart lurches, twisting painfully in the confines of his ribs.
He’s wearing one of Buck’s old sweatshirts—a ratty thing Buck’s had since high school, the sleeves pulled over his palms. He’s curled up tightly on the couch, baby blue blanket draped half-heartedly over himself.
The tears are still drying on his cheeks.
Eddie’s face is puffy and swollen, clear evidence that he’s been crying. Buck screws his eyes shut, ache rippling through his bones. Fuck, he made Eddie cry.
He’s sniffling in his sleep, breaths heavy and a little choked—he's been crying for a while, fuck—and Buck aches. He kneels down in front of Eddie, he carpet soft against his knees.
“Hey,” Buck says gently, curving a careful palm around Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie blearily blinks one eye open, still half asleep. A small smile curls on Buck’s lips, fond and lovesick.
“Hey,” Buck repeats gently. “I’m here.”
“You left,” Eddie says, soft and hurt. His eyes flutter shut, and pain’s written on every inch of his face. Buck wants to cry.
“I know,” Buck says softly. “I know, I’m sorry.”
His fingers tremble on Eddie’s shoulder, and Buck’s so, so tired of denying himself. He thinks Eddie might be too.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Buck whispers softly, threading his fingers through Eddie’s hair. It’s so fucking soft, the strands like silk between Buck’s fingers.
Eddie shudders, pressing into Buck’s touch. Buck’s overcome with so much love he’s helpless to do anything but lean forward, touching his forehead against Eddie’s. The two of them are shaking, trembling fingers and stuttering breaths.
“Texas was—hard, Buck,” Eddie admits, hurt woven deep into his voice. “It was so bad even Christopher picked up on it. And now, you won’t—you won’t even talk to me,” he says, choked up all over again from his tears. “I miss you.”
Buck starts crying. “I know,” he whispers, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to kiss away the tears falling down his cheeks. “I missed you so much.”
“I know you’re upset I left,” Eddie breathes, blinking up at Buck. “But, Buck—I came back. We came back. Why don’t you realise that?”
“I thought you weren’t ever going to come back,” Buck admits, the terrible truth finally out in the open. Eddie’s eyes widen in shock. “I thought that was it—that our time was up. I don’t know. I never thought you’d come back.”
“Buck,” Eddie says, devastated. “Buck, I—”
“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Buck says, and his voice cracks. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you or Christopher ever again.”
“Baby,” Eddie whispers, sitting up and pulling Buck with him. Buck ends up half sprawled on top of him. “Buck, of course I was coming back to you. Where else would I go?”
Buck hides his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, one hand fisted in his hair and the other clutching his waist. “I didn’t know,” Buck whispers, trying to get closer. “Say it again.”
Eddie smiles a little against his cheek. “I was always coming back home to you,” he repeats. “I love you.”
“Fuck,” Buck breathes and kisses him.
It’s like coming home. It feels like a fairytale, this kiss.
He pulls away, and he swears stars are shining in Eddie’s eyes. He looks beautiful like this.
“I love you,” Buck says, and feels the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. He doesn’t know when he started smiling. “Fuck, I love you so much.”
“Don’t shut me out again,” Eddie breathes, and the stark need in his voice has Buck aching to kiss him again. “Please.”
“Okay,” Buck agrees easily, so in love. “I love you.”
Eddie smiles, and pulls him down for another kiss.