Archive of Our Own ^beta

In the morning, Eddie wakes earlier than the sun, with the streetlights still shining and the sky a deep blue.

His apartment is small, tucked away in a corner of the city where the buildings press close together, blocking out most of the natural light. It has a simplicity that reflects Eddie's mind — minimal clutter, few decorations, just the essentials. His bed is always made neatly, and the sheets are perfectly arranged with military precision. His kitchen is clean, with no stray crumbs or dirty dishes left to linger.

After his routine shower, Eddie steps into his small living room, where the only piece of furniture that stands out is a worn leather armchair by the window. The chair has been there for years, its surface scuffed and creased, but it's his spot to sit in the mornings as he sips his coffee. The small window offers a view of the quiet street below, where early risers walk their dogs and begin their routines. He stands beside it and attempts to decipher the weather — though he inevitably checks the app on his phone before he leaves for work.

He moves through his mornings almost mechanically, practiced motions he's done a million times.

The apartment stays quiet, sometimes too quiet, and Eddie feels strange making noise in his own home. Even so, nothing ever really changes. And maybe that's what he likes about it — or perhaps that's what scares him most.

Eddie fears the unknown.

He fears unpredictability. He fears trying new things. He fears not knowing when something is going to happen or how it's going to happen. It makes his skin crawl and his stomach sink — he doesn't like it. The fear of the unknown is something Eddie carried with him for as long as he can remember. It isn't just the big things — those dramatic life changes that come without warning, like a sudden move or a job loss — it's the little things, too. The curveballs life tosses, the things that don't fit neatly into his carefully constructed boxes.

Though it involves creativity and flair, Eddie's job offers a certain predictability. He designs costumes for characters, but the characters' movements and their actions in a show or film are all scripted. The unknowns are contained, and he controls them in his own way. There's comfort in that, an element of safety. He knows what's expected of him and how to navigate the process. There are deadlines, fittings, and measurements — and that's it. No room for improvisation. And that suits him just fine.

Eddie often asks himself what it would be like to embrace change and live without worrying about every potential outcome. But when those thoughts bubble to the surface, he pushes them away, burying them beneath the weight of routine and the knowledge that, for now, it's safer to stay in the familiar.

The unknown hovers in the background of his life, a shadow just out of reach. But he can never quite escape it. So, he sticks to what he already knows. He finds comfort in routine because he knows exactly what to expect. It makes him feel safe. And as long as nothing changes, he can keep the fear at bay.

This is precisely why his now adult son — though Eddie still insists on treating him like a baby — is nagging him on the phone. Even with Christopher over twelve hours away at university, that doesn't stop him from constantly calling to check in, usually to offer wise and unsolicited advice. Meanwhile, Eddie remains in sunny Los Angeles, dutifully watering the pothos plant that he somehow manages to keep alive. It's a miracle, really, because he forgets to drink water himself almost daily.

He should try applying that to himself.

"Dad, I'm just worried," Chris sighs on the other end. Eddie doesn't understand why. His son has enough on his plate — school, friends, and his girlfriend's birthday coming up. He doesn't need to waste his time worrying about Eddie's day-to-day. Especially since it never changes.

"Chris, everything is good. Great , even. No need to worry," Eddie insists, trying to reassure him, though he can feel the unease in his son's voice.

But Chris isn't convinced. He shifts in his seat, and Eddie can practically hear the frustration through the phone. "But I am worried, Dad! You're just sitting there, all alone, in that sad apartment that I know has only gotten sadder since I left. You never go out, you never do anything for yourself. How can I not be worried?"

Eddie frowns, even though his son's words, harsh as they sound, are uncomfortably true. "Why would I need to go out?" he responds, his voice steady but carrying the weight of words he's said a thousand times before. "I'm perfectly content."

He leans against the kitchen counter, glancing around his "sad" apartment, the familiar silence filling the space. The place is as it always is — minimal furniture, a single pothos that he appropriately named Sprout because it won't stop growing, the TV cluttered with old episodes of Law & Order that he's watched over and over, and the one room he refuses to step foot in.

Christopher's room.

He can't bear the thought of it — the neatness, the absence. If he goes in there, he'll only end up sitting on the bed, staring at the empty space. The emotions will catch him by surprise like they always do, and he will inevitably end up sobbing in his son's bedroom.

"Dad, c'mon. Don't make me say it," Chris groans, frustration evident.

Eddie rubs a hand over his face, glancing at the clock. He's already pushing the edge of his routine — almost time to leave for work. "Chris, I should probably let you go. You've got class, I've got work, and I don't wanna—"

"You're lonely, Dad. Just admit it."

Eddie's stomach sinks. He knows those words are coming. He knows they're true, but hearing them out loud, especially from his son, stings in a way he doesn't expect. He winces, trying to swallow the uncomfortable truth. "I'm not lonely," he says, though the words feel hollow. "I have you."

Chris doesn't let up. "That's exactly my point. You can't just have me, Dad. You need to put yourself out there more. I know it's hard for you, but staying cooped up in that apartment — going to work and coming straight home every day...it can't be good for you. It's not good for your mental health, and I'm saying this because I love you—"

Eddie's heart tightens with each word. His son's voice trembles with concern, but it's almost too much to bear. The reality of what his life has become, the loneliness creeping into his days, hits harder with every syllable. He doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want to confront it, but he knows deep down Chris is right. It's not helping, this isolation, this routine. But the thought of changing it, of stepping out into the unknown, terrifies him.

"Okay, okay, Chris. I get your point, but I'm not sure–" Eddie starts, but Chris cuts him off, his voice rising with a sharp edge.

"—dating?"

Eddie blinks, a little caught off guard. " Dating ?" he echoes, unsure if he hears him right.

"Yes, Dad. Dating . Have you heard of it? It can be a wonderful thing," Chris replies, sarcasm dripping from his words. Then, a beat later, he adds more seriously, "But seriously, you haven't dated anyone since Marisol. And that was, like, a million years ago. You need to get back out there. Especially now."

Eddie knows exactly what his son means. He's only ever dated three women — Shannon, Ana, and Marisol. All lovely, all kind, but none of them were really his type.

Not even close.

It wasn't until recently, well into his thirties, that Eddie finally admitted the truth he had been suppressing for most of his life — he was gay. He's always been gay. It wasn't a sudden realization but rather a quiet knowing that followed him for decades, pushed into the deepest corners of his mind out of fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of judgment. Fear of not being the son his parents wanted, the man society expected him to be. So instead, he became someone else — someone safer, easier to understand. The fear and anxiety instilled in him from the way he was raised kept him silent for so long. He spent years trying to make his parents proud, trying to fit into a mould that wasn't his own.

But at what cost? His own happiness?

Finally, accepting who he was felt like surfacing after years underwater. Like the sun cutting through dense clouds and lighting up parts of himself, he forgot were even there. Once it clicked, everything made sense. The dates with women where he felt like he was performing, trying to muster affection that never came naturally. The fear of intimacy. The hollow ache in his chest whenever he pictured a future with the women he dated.

None of it felt real. None of it was him.

When Christopher was born, Eddie made a silent promise to himself. He would be the kind of father his son could depend on — the kind of man who provides, protects, and makes sacrifices when needed. That sense of responsibility consumed him — in both beautiful and complicated ways. It's what pushed him to join the army. On the surface, it was about financial stability and creating a better life for his son and Shannon. But deep down, Eddie knew it was more than that. It was an escape. A way to disappear into structure and discipline, where everything made sense, and no one asked too many personal questions.

But the military didn't quiet the truth. If anything, it made the silence inside him louder. And when he was finally discharged, he came home with more than just physical fatigue — he came back with the realization that he couldn't keep running forever. He told himself that from now on, everything he did would be for Christopher. If it meant putting his feelings aside to find someone who could be a good mother figure, he'd do it.

Only it never worked out. Relationship after relationship unravelled, and Eddie never truly understood why — until now. Looking back, it was obvious . How could any relationship survive when built on half-truths and forced affection? He never allowed himself to be fully seen, let alone fully loved.

When he came out to Christopher at sixteen, nothing happened. The world didn't shatter. The floor didn't give way beneath his feet. There was no storm of disappointment or disgust, no doors slamming or voices raised in anger. Instead, there was a quiet moment — gentle, almost anticlimactic in its simplicity. Christopher didn't hate him. He didn't even seem particularly surprised. Eddie remembered how his heart pounded as he sat across from his son at the kitchen table, palms sweating, the words caught in his throat. It took him days to work up the courage, and even as he spoke, he braced himself for impact, expecting everything to change instantly. But Chris just blinked at him, then shrugged with a soft smile and said, "Okay. Cool. Thanks for telling me."

That's it. Cool.

For a moment, Eddie didn't believe it. He waited for the backlash, the questions, the awkward distance. But it never came. Chris carried on as if it was just another piece of information, as if he had always known. Maybe he has. Maybe Eddie underestimated his son's ability to understand him in ways he didn't understand himself.

Chris, even gently and without pressure, encouraged him to go out and date. To explore what this new chapter could look like. To give himself permission to want something for himself for once. But Eddie couldn't. Not then.

He made a promise a long time ago — Christopher would come first. Always . That meant stability. Routine. Being present, being available, being a father before anything else. He told himself that dating could wait — that romance, intimacy, and self-discovery were luxuries he didn't need.

He shoved the idea aside and buried himself in work, parenting, and the comforting structure of day-to-day life. And for a while, it felt right. Chris needed him, and that purpose filled the space where other things might grow.

Now, almost a year since Chris left for university, Eddie was alone for the first time in years. The house was quieter. The days felt longer. And for the first time, there was space — space to think, space to feel, space to ask himself what he wanted. Eddie hasn't dated. He wanted to, more than he was willing to admit, but it never seemed like the right time. Or at least, that was the excuse he told himself.

The truth? He's scared. The fear of the unknown is always there, lurking in the background.

"I don't know, Chris. I'm fine, really," Eddie says, his voice carrying the weight of a lie.

He's not fine. His son is right — he is lonely . But he can't tell Chris that. Not now.

"Can you at least promise me you'll think about it? Please. For me and for you. Especially for you," Chris pleads.

Eddie sighs, the pressure of his son's words settling in. "Sure. I'll think about it. No guarantees, though. Dating isn't exactly how I picture spending my free time, nor does it sound like a fun time," he says with a chuckle that feels forced. "But I'll think about it if you stop thinking about it so much. You don't need to worry about my dating life. Have you figured out what you're getting Talia for her birthday yet? I could whip something up at the studio if you want."

He can almost hear Chris rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. "Smooth subject change," he mutters, but Eddie can tell the tension has eased a little, even if it's just for now.

__

After their phone call, he heads out—keys in hand, the same old backpack slung over his shoulder. The routine doesn't change, not on weekdays, not on weekends.

The walk to the costume shop doesn't take long. The streets are still empty, and the city stays calm before the bustle of the day begins. He passes the same shops, the same coffee carts, and the same corner where an old woman sells flowers every morning. He nods at her, a brief exchange of familiarity, before continuing on.

By the time he reaches the costume shop, the sun starts stretching its fingers above the horizon, lighting the sky with soft oranges and pinks. He enters the shop, the bell above the door chiming the same melody it always does. The usual scent of fabric, old paint, and glue greets him.

It's here, in the world of make-believe and costumes, that Eddie finds a subtle joy. Though his own life feels plain and predictable, the costumes he creates are anything but. Each new project is an escape — an opportunity to build something from the ground up, to transform the mundane into something extraordinary. But even here, in his element, there's always a sense of routine, a predictability that keeps his world from becoming too chaotic.

And so he works, day in and day out, in the same steady rhythm he crafts for himself, never veering far from the path.

Eddie is currently hand-stitching sequins into a jacket, each tiny shimmer catching the light as he works with precision. Across from him, his colleague Bianca mirrors his movements, meticulously sewing sequins onto a matching hat. The rhythmic scratch of thread through the fabric is the only sound between them, accompanied by the soft hum of the old radio perched on the windowsill.

"Do you think I'm lonely?" Eddie asks, his voice quiet but cutting through the silence like a needle through cloth.

Bianca freezes mid-stitch. Her brow furrows, and in her surprise, she fumbles the needle. It clinks softly against the hardwood floor as it lands. She lets out a small sigh and leans over the edge of the work table to retrieve it.

Eddie watches her as she bends, taking in the details he's come to know so well over the years. Her jet-black hair, thick and blunt-cut, falls forward like a curtain, a striking contrast to her pale, alabaster skin. Her eyes are an almost unnaturally vivid shade of blue. They're always ringed with thick black eyeliner, the kind that makes her look like a rockstar. Tattoos snake down both of her arms, a mix of fine-line florals, vintage pin-ups, and gothic script. Some are old and faded, others look brand new, ink still fresh and dark against her skin.

She straightens up, pin between her teeth, then tucks it deftly into her fingers again before finally looking at him.

"Well, that came out of nowhere," she says, a hint of amusement in her voice, though there's something gentler behind it. "Did you run out of small talk or something?"

Eddie shrugs, eyes still focused on the seam in front of him. "Just a conversation I had with my son this morning…he's worried. About me. He says I'm lonely and that I should start dating."

Bianca doesn't respond right away. Instead, she goes back to stitching, though her rhythm slows. He can feel her glance at him every few seconds, her curiosity barely contained. It's one of the things he appreciates about her — she never rushes him, never pushes too hard, but she always makes space for him to speak.

"You want the truth?" she finally asks.

He hesitates, thread in hand. Then nods. "Yeah."

"Yeah," she says softly, not unkindly. "Sometimes I think you are."

Eddie exhales slowly, the breath he doesn't know he's holding leaving his lungs all at once. He doesn't say anything. He just keeps stitching. One sequin at a time.

Bianca narrows her eyes, her needle pauses mid-air. "I take it you don't agree with him?"

Eddie shrugs, eyes still fixed on the jacket in his lap.

"Or you do agree with him," she continues, her voice knowing, "Except you wish you didn't."

He lets out a low scoff, the kind that's more a defence mechanism than genuine disbelief. "It's not that I disagree," he says carefully like he's trying to convince himself as much as her. "I just think he's blowing it way out of proportion. I'm not lonely."

But even as the words leave his mouth, they feel hollow. He knows it. Bianca probably knows it, too. He jabs the needle through another sequin, a little too forcefully this time.

He doesn't even know why he brings it up with her. Bianca isn't the kind of person he usually opens up to — not because she isn't trustworthy, but because he isn't that guy. The one who spills his feelings out on the work table like a fabric roll. He keeps things compartmentalized. Clean. Professional.

Too late now.

The silence stretches between them again, but this time it's heavier, tinged with unsaid things. Bianca threads another sequin onto the hat, the metallic glint catching the light.

"You know," she says after a beat, her voice softening, "You can't always hide behind being fine. Eventually, 'fine' starts to feel a lot like empty."

Eddie doesn't respond. He just keeps stitching. But his hands aren't as steady as they were before.

Bianca is silent for a moment, and that silence rattles Eddie more than any words ever could. She always has something to say. Whether it's snarky, insightful, or wildly off-topic, Bianca doesn't do silence. So when she doesn't respond right away, Eddie feels a prickle of panic start to crawl up his neck.

Then, finally, softly, "Do you want to start dating?"

Eddie blinks down at the half-finished jacket in his lap, then slowly sets his needle aside. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, and lets his head fall into his hands with a quiet sigh.

"It's not that I don't want to…" he mumbles into his palms. "It's just— I don't know how. And that scares the fuck out of me," He lifts his head again, eyes fixed on the glittering fabric in front of him. "I haven't been on a date in over five years. And, mind you, I've never been on a date since coming out. Not one," he says, his voice quieter now but steady. "And the more time I spend not dating, the more it makes me want to never date at all. You know? Like, the longer I wait, the harder it feels to even start."

He lets the words hang in the air. It feels like too much and not enough all at once. He breathes out slowly, his chest tightening with nerves.

Then, just for a moment, he panics.

Because he's not sure he's ever told anyone that he's gay outside of Chris and his family. Certainly not at work. Now he's scared. Not of Bianca, never of her, but of the world shifting under his feet, even just a little. Of what it might mean to finally say it out loud to someone else. To say it and not take it back.

Bianca doesn't look shocked. She doesn't even blink. Instead, she carefully places the hat down, folds her hands over her knee, and meets his eyes.

"Sounds like you're just trying to find excuses," she points out gently. "The idea of dating scares you because, deep down, you're scared of getting it wrong. You're scared that even after coming out, after accepting yourself and saying it out loud, it still won't work out. And then what? All that bullshit you went through was for nothing…you went through all that shit just to end up alone."

Eddie is silent.

He stares down at the jacket in his lap, thread still dangling from the last sequin he stitched. His fingers twitch like they want to keep working, like staying busy might distract from how raw he suddenly feels. But he doesn't move.

Everyone can see right through him, apparently.

Chris. Bianca. Maybe even himself, if he's honest.

He's spent years perfecting the art of blending in, of keeping things neat and controlled — his life, his routines, his silence. He thinks if he stays still enough, quiet enough, no one will notice the hollow spaces. The way his chest sometimes aches with something he can't name.

"How close am I?" she asks.

"Scarily."

Bianca laughs softly, almost like she's trying to take the edge off the weight of what she's about to say. "Sorry…it's just— I've been where you are, Eddie. I know how it feels because I've lived it. I came out when I was fifteen years old, and it sucked. My parents were uber religious and I lived in a really small town. I got kicked out after I came out. I told myself that if I kept to myself and didn't try so hard to find a girl to date, I wouldn't be disappointed if it didn't work out. I didn't go on my first date with a girl until I was thirty. Because I was scared, terrified even, of fucking it up. I was scared that if it never worked out, then all the terrible shit I suffered wouldn't have mattered. It just got to a point where I was exhausted — from the fighting, the hiding, everything. What's the point of fighting so hard to be myself if I never get to be happy as myself?"

Eddie sucks in a breath. He didn’t know Bianca was queer. He doesn't really know anything about her, if he's being honest, besides her penchant for spiky jewelry that could double as a weapon if needed and the fact that she always has a matcha latte in hand. But her sharing this with him douses him like a bucket of ice-cold water.

Suddenly, he feels guilty — why, he's not sure. Maybe because he realizes he's not the only one who's dealt with a huge change when coming out or struggles with the same things he has. He's been working here with Bianca since she started three years ago, and he's only just now learning this about someone he shares a workstation with. And it hurts a bit — maybe because he finally understands just how easily he builds walls around himself, how he's so focused on hiding that people can't see past him.

In reality, that doesn't even matter.

Bianca shifts closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's not how it works, Eddie. Coming out— it was never a promise that everything would be okay and all your problems would be solved…it was one step toward being yourself, accepting yourself. It feels fan-fucking-tastic when you do," she smiles so wide. How can Eddie not believe her?

"I didn't know you were—" he trails off.

Bianca laughs and raises her eyebrows. "A lesbian? Eddie, really? You might be the first. The tattoos, piercings, and jewelry didn't give it away?"

Eddie shrugs sheepishly. "I'm a little late to the game."

Bianca smiles. "Thankfully, it's not a competition…it's fucking messy as hell and scary as shit, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

Eddie nods and returns the smile. "Thanks, B," he says. His voice is small.

He doesn't know what else to say. The gratitude he feels in the moment weighs heavy in his chest, mixed with something else he can't quite name.

Relief? Vulnerability?

He feels seen. He isn't used to others reaching right through him and meeting what they find with warmth and kindness.

So he sits there, letting the weight of his silence speak for them both.

__

"Do you have plans tonight?" Bianca grins, leaning against the table, her ring-covered fingers tapping on the wood. Her head peeks over, looking down at where Eddie sits on the ground.

It’s been a few weeks since his conversation with Bianca, and he can now officially say he’s made a friend who isn’t Christopher.

And Eddie feels lighter for the first time in a long time.

He removes the skirt from the mannequin of the dress he’s working on. A needle sits in his mouth as he kneels to fix the trim. He shakes his head, looking up briefly, but before he can ask Bianca why she’s asking, she claps excitedly.

"Great! Because you’re coming out with me and some of my friends tonight!" she sing-songs, bouncing on her heels like she’s been planning this for weeks.

Eddie pauses, removing the needle from his mouth. "And I agreed to this...when , exactly?" he asks, arching a brow.

"The second you said you had no plans," she replies with a smug shrug. "C’monnnnn, Eddie! We need to get you out there— dust off the ol’ joints. We’ll find you a nice, handsome, sexy chunk of man you can make out with—"

Eddie’s eyes widen. "Woah, okay. I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself—"

"Let me dream," Bianca sighs. "We can get drunk, and dance, and have a great time—"

Eddie cringes. "B, I’m almost forty. If I even try to dance, I’ll pull something. Either my back or my dignity."

"You can pull something else if you play your cards right. Or many somethings, if that’s what you’re into." Bianca smirks.

"Bianca." Eddie rolls his eyes.

Bianca groans. "What? I’m just saying." She holds her hands up. "You said you wanted to try dating again. This will be a good way to test the waters…this doesn’t have to be anything serious. We’ll just go out, have some drinks, and have a good time. And maybe you’ll lock lips with a pretty boy. Okay?" she insists.

Eddie eyes her skeptically, arms crossed. "If I want to leave, you won’t stop me?"

Bianca nearly starts jumping up and down, nodding so hard that her earrings and necklaces jingle into place. "Absolutely. Whenever you want. You say the word, and I’ll drag you out like we’re running for our lives from a slasher movie serial killer."

Eddie thinks about it for a moment. He knows she’s being serious — dramatic, but sincerely serious. He sighs, standing up slowly and setting the needle he was holding onto the table.

She’s not wrong. He has been thinking about dating again. He’s still scared shitless, but maybe if he has someone he trusts by his side, it won’t be so bad.

This may be the push he needs.

"Fine."

The squeal she lets out is loud enough to prepare him for the night.

__

Eddie almost immediately regrets this so-called "push" the moment he steps into the bar.

Granted, he’s at least grateful they chose a bar and not a full-on nightclub — he’s not emotionally or physically ready for that yet. It’s a gay bar, but still a bar, nonetheless. 

One small step at a time.

More like baby steps, but who’s really paying attention?

Their little group is composed of Bianca, her girlfriend AJ, and another one of their friends, Kyra. Plus Eddie.

Eddie, who feels extremely out of his comfort zone as he tries to catch up with the environment around him. Eddie, whose usual plain t-shirts and sweaters have been replaced by a loose blue button-down — one sheer enough to show the few tattoos scattered across his body. He forgot he even owned this shirt from a Halloween costume years ago.

But it’s as if the universe gave him a sign while getting ready because his eyes zeroed in on the shirt the moment he opened his closet.

The girls, meanwhile, are decked out to the max. AJ is wearing leather everything . Kyra is in a skirt so short that any tiny movement would bare her ass to the bar. Bianca wears her classic attire — fishnets, platform boots, and enough jewelry to add a few extra pounds of weight to her frame.

They look like they belong here — they do belong here.

And Eddie feels like an outsider, intruding on a world he has no business being invited into.

He tries not to panic, smiling and nodding at Kyra when she says they’re all doing a shot of tequila together. He does his best not to glance at the exit too often or care too much about what he’s wearing or how he’s moving.

Kyra returns with the shots and passes them out, grinning, the glitter of her eyeshadow catching the lights above.

"Here’s to a sick-ass night!" AJ raises her glass.

"To being queer as fuck!" Bianca adds, giving Eddie a wink.

"To make Eddie sweat a little," Kyra smirks, nudging him.

Eddie laughs, glancing at the floor before downing the shot. He nearly gags at the taste, the alcohol burning its way down his throat instantly. Before he even has a chance to set the glass down, Bianca grabs his arm and drags him to the dancefloor, the others following close behind.

Again, he’s silently grateful this isn’t a full-blown club. Definitely more of a laid-back vibe. There aren’t any colourfully blinding strobe lights, but the music is loud enough that he has to practically shout to hear himself. The dancefloor is packed like sardines.

Bodies move together, the music pulsing through the floor. People are dancing, grinding, laughing —a few making out like there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. The girls immediately join in, moving like they’ve been here all night.

Eddie, once again, resists the urge to bolt for the exit. He tells himself to take a few deep breaths. He watches Bianca turn around a few times, looking for him — when her eyes find his, she subtly gestures for him to join in.

He’s stiff at first, unsure what to do with his arms or how to sway his hips properly — but he soon realizes no one around him cares. Everyone’s just here to have a good time, and Eddie will be damned if he ruins another good thing for himself.

__

Eddie begins to feel the tequila running through his veins after his fourth shot. His body feels looser, his limbs more free, without the usual stiffness. His mind is running wild and his thoughts coming in without filter and faster than ever.

They've been at the bar for over an hour, and after some nonstop dancing, their group finally calls for a break. Out of breath, all four of them collapse at a nearby empty table. Eddie's chest rises rapidly as the sweat from all the dancing clings to his skin — his shirt, which is already a little more sexy than he's used to, sticks to every inch of his body.

Funny enough, he doesn't even care. He stopped caring after the second shot? Maybe the third?

"Eddie, you can move!" Kyra whistles, fanning herself with her hands.

Bianca nods eagerly. "Right? When were you planning to tell us you had secret dance skills?"

Eddie laughs a little breathlessly as he runs his fingers through his hair. "I think I need another drink."

"No, seriously! You were killing it out there," AJ chimes in. "Very smooth. And hot."

Eddie shakes his head. "How much tequila have you had?"

Bianca nods and wiggles her eyebrows. "We're just saying if you wanted to get someone's attention tonight…I saw a couple of heads turning. You can probably take your pick."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, not just from the dancing.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn't feel like he's standing on the outside of his own life.

He is at a bar with a group of people he can actually call his friends, in a shirt that shows off his nipples while dancing like there's no tomorrow.

Eddie slams his hands on the table with a new purpose. "Okay, I need another drink. More drinks?" he asks, pointing at the girls. They perk up immediately, quickly listing off their orders — AJ requests a gin and tonic, Bianca an IPA, and Kyra simply asks for something "fun and fruity."

With that, Eddie is off, weaving his way back through the crowd toward the bar — buzzed, breathless, and maybe, just maybe, starting to have the kind of night he never thought he was allowed to have.

He waits his turn to be served, letting the noise of the bar settle into the background of his thoughts. When the bartender finally makes her way over, he offers her a gentle smile and leans over enough so he can be heard over the thumping bass. He orders himself a tequila soda before ordering for the girls. "I was told to get something fun and fruity— any idea what that means?" Eddie asks the bartender.

Though, before she can answer, Eddie feels a sweeping presence to his right — confident, close. Then, a voice, smooth and dangerously sexy, "Fun and fruity…how about Sex on the Beach?"

The voice cuts through the noise like it's meant just for him. It sends shivers down his spine.

In a good way.

In an almost too good way.

Eddie turns his head slowly like he's bracing for some sort of collision.

And there he is.

Big — that's the first word that comes to mind.

Not just tall but built like a brick house. Broad shoulders, thick arms, the kind of muscle that strains against the seams of his tight pink shirt in a way that makes it look criminally good. The tattoos covering his arms only add to the effect — bold, intricate, and unapologetically present, like everything else about him. 

This guy is ridiculously attractive.

The kind of attractive that makes Eddie forget how to speak for a second. His jaw is sharp enough to cut glass, dusted with just enough scruff to give him a rugged edge. His eyes are a striking, almost electric shade of blue — clear, focused, and nearly unfair in how they seem to look right through you. His dark blond hair is thick and curly, the kind that looks soft and messy in a way that seems effortless. Just above his left eyebrow, there's a faint, irregular mark, a birthmark, maybe, that drifts down toward his eyelid.

And suddenly, he realizes he hasn't blinked in about ten seconds.

The stranger's forearms, giant ones the size of Eddie's head, rest casually on the bar like he's not aware of how utterly attractive he looks. Like he's not entirely responsible for the sudden heat rising in Eddie's face. The way the muscles in his arms shift slightly as he leans forward, the way the veins stand out just a little under his skin — it's enough to make Eddie's brain short-circuit. And the fact that the guy seems completely relaxed about it like he has no idea the chaos he's causing just by existing, makes it all worse.

Eddie swallows hard. He is so not prepared for this. "Oh— it's not for me," he says quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the table behind him. "Friend's request. I'm just the designated delivery guy."

The man raises an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at his lips. "Well, you'll have to let me know if they like it."

Eddie lets out a soft, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah...uh, okay, I mean— uh…" He falters, caught off guard by the man's smile, his focus slipping. He is internally cringing at himself right now.

But the man doesn't turn away. He lingers. And Eddie can't tell if he's imagining it, but it feels like he's being looked at. Not just seen, but noticed.

And, god help him, he doesn't hate it.

Eddie, unfortunately for him, doesn't know what else to do but stare. The man raises an eyebrow again, that smile tugging at his lips. "In that case…how about I buy you a drink?"

Eddie blinks, momentarily caught off guard. "Me?"

The man's smile widens just a touch. "Yeah. You look like you could use something stronger than a drink delivery gig."

Eddie huffs out a laugh, the nerves bubbling up beneath his skin. "I already ordered, but…thanks."

The guy nods, unfazed. "Next one's on me then. If you feel like sticking around."

And just like that, the air shifts again. Not pushy. Not intense. Just an open door — one Eddie hadn't expected but suddenly kind of wants to walk through. And Eddie hates that he hesitates, because it would be so easy to say yes, to lean into this warm feeling in his chest and talk to one of the most attractive men he's ever seen.

The bartender comes back, setting down a tray with all their drinks. And for whatever reason, maybe he's trying to take an out, he gestures toward his table. "I should, uh…get these back before they send a search party."

The man chuckles, nodding. "Fair enough. Maybe I'll see you around then."

Eddie bites back a smile, shaking his head as he grabs the tray. "Maybe."

He walks back toward his friends, hands full and heart hammering, not daring to look back but feeling that lingering gaze all the same.

Eddie returns to the table like he's walking on the edge of a cliff. The girls cheer quietly when he arrives, helping him distribute the drinks.

Eddie sinks back into the seat, grabbing his drink and almost downing it in one sip. The girls all eye him carefully. There's a beat of silence before he blurts, "A guy offered to buy me a drink."

All three jaws drop in unison.

Bianca nearly chokes on her drink. "Wait, what?"

"He— what?" Kyra's eyes widen. "Like, here? Just now?"

Eddie shrugs, trying to act like it's no big deal — except it's the biggest deal ever. "Yeah. At the bar. Said I looked like I needed something stronger than a drink delivery gig."

AJ leans in, grinning. "And?"

"And nothin! I panicked and ran away with your drinks," Eddie mutters, taking another long sip of his tequila soda, finishing it completely.

Bianca's mouth drops open. "Eddie!"

"I said thanks!" he whines.

"Did you get his name?" Kyra presses.

Exasperated, he throws his hands into the air. "What do you think? My brain just went fucking scramble mode, and I could barely remember how to speak. I kept staring at him like he was some sort of science experiment!"

Bianca shakes her head, feigning disappointment. "Tragic. Gay rights might need to be revoked for that one," she teases, "But hey, it's okay. Don't stress, happens to the best of us."

"He was hot, though, right?" AJ pushes.

"Hottest man I've ever seen in my life. Tall as fuck. Big as fuck. Prettiest blue eyes I've ever seen. Could easily crush me between his thighs."

Bianca gawks. "Damn, Diaz!"

"And he thought you were hot?" AJ grins, pushing her hand toward Eddie like she's giving him a blessing. "Yeah, he'll be back."

Eddie laughs, rolling his eyes. His cheeks flush, but he's not completely spiralling.

He's just…warm.

And kind of excited.

__

They're midway through Kyra's dramatic retelling of her worst date ever — "He said he was going to drive us to the restaurant, and what does he do? He asks to borrow my car!" — when she suddenly goes quiet, eyes fixed just over Eddie's shoulder, a small smirk pulling at her lips.

"Well, well, well," she hums, smirking into her drink. "Can we help you?"

Eddie turns instinctively, and there he is.

Bar Guy.

He blows his way toward their table, drink in hand, a slight smile plays on his lips like he's amused by how obviously everyone is staring at him.

Eddie's heart flips. And also simultaneously combusts.

The guy stops a respectful distance away, looking at Eddie. "Didn't want to leave it at 'maybe.' Figured I'd say hi properly."

Bianca coughs into her drink. Kyra grins. AJ mutters, "Told you so."

Eddie tries to stand but moves too fast, hitting his knee on the edge of the table. Internally dying, he stands up again, this time slower. "Uh— hey. Yeah. Hi."

The man laughs softly and holds out his hand, "Buck."

Eddie takes it, surprised at how solid and warm the grip is. God, help him not do anything stupid.

"Eddie," he replies.

Buck nods toward the now empty tequila soda glass, "Can I finally get you that next one?"

Eddie hesitates for just a beat before smiling. "Yeah. I think I'd like that."

He excuses himself from the table, heart thudding like it's trying to punch through his ribs. As he steps away, Buck places a warm, steadying hand on the small of his back — a simple touch, but it sends a lightning bolt up Eddie's spine. He glances behind him one last time to meet eyes with the girls, who are all silently pumping their fists into the air.

He and Buck find a small open spot, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that Eddie can smell his cologne. Something almost minty and clean. He could get lost in the scent.

"So," Buck says, leaning on the bar, "Is this how you usually spend your Saturday nights? Tequila sodas and dodging compliments?"

Eddie chuckles, a little breathless. "This is actually wildly out of the ordinary for me."

Buck smiles like he already knows that. "Let me guess. Friends dragged you out?"

"Basically shoved me out the door."

"Well, I should thank them for that."

The bartender returns, and Buck orders another round — one tequila soda and something orange and citrusy for himself. He pays before Eddie can protest.

"I owe you one now," Eddie says, watching as the drinks are set in front of them.

"You can get the next," Buck replies smoothly, "If you don't disappear on me first."

Eddie picks up his glass, trying to mask the small smile tugging at his mouth. "No promises. Fortunately and unfortunately, I have a well-developed fight-or-flight response."

Buck laughs, low and warm. "Noted. But for what it's worth— you're doing fine. More than fine."

Eddie takes a sip, using it as an excuse to avoid eye contact for a second too long. This shouldn't be happening. He shouldn't be feeling this open, this light, this seen. But he is. And maybe, for once, that's not terrifying.

Buck leans against the bar, turning slightly so he's more fully facing Eddie. "So what do you do, Eddie? When you're not dodging drinks from strangers?"

Eddie huffs a laugh. "Will I ever live that down?"

Buck shakes his head. "Not as long as I'm here."

Eddie narrows his eyes, "Try and guess. I guarantee you won't get it right." he smirks.

Buck lifts his brows, intrigued. "Oh, is that a challenge?"

Eddie leans an elbow on the bar, casual but clearly enjoying himself. "It's just— people never get it. They look at me and assume something completely off-base."

Buck tilts his head, studying him for a moment. "Okay…not finance. You look too relaxed for that. Not law enforcement either— you're not tense enough."

Eddie laughs under his breath. "Appreciate that."

Buck squints dramatically like he's trying to read Eddie's entire backstory. "You're too observant to be in a cubicle all day. So something creative, maybe? But also practical."

Eddie just raises an eyebrow, giving nothing away.

Buck snaps his fingers. "I'm getting…design? Like sets or costumes?"

Eddie stares at him, caught between impressed and mildly annoyed. "Okay, that's spooky."

Buck grins. "Told you I'm good at this."

Eddie shakes his head, laughing. "Or you're a really lucky guesser."

Buck shrugs, still smiling. "Maybe. Or maybe I just pay attention."

Eddie shakes his head with a soft laugh, but something about the moment lingers. Most people don't look at him and see that .

They don't picture the long nights at his sewing table, the sketches scattered across his kitchen counter, the way his hands know how to build something beautiful from nothing.

"Maybe," Eddie says, more softly now, "or maybe you're just the first person who's actually looked."

Buck's smile falters just slightly — not because he's uncomfortable, but because he hears it. Really hears it. Like it means something. And suddenly, Eddie's not sure if the warmth in his chest is from the tequila in his glass or the way Buck is still looking at him — like he's something worth noticing.

Buck doesn't press. He just nods, his voice easy. "Well. I think it suits you. Plus it's hot."

Eddie nearly chokes on his drink. "Excuse me?"

"I said what I said." Buck grins.

Eddie shakes his head, amused and flustered all at once. "You're very confident."

Buck shrugs, playful. "I mean, it's working, right?"

And, annoyingly…it kind of is.

Eddie tries to play it cool, but there's no denying the flush rising to his cheeks. There's a fluttery feeling in his chest he hasn't felt, ever . He should be panicking. He should be overthinking every word, every glance, every breath.

But instead, he's just…here. With this funny, confident guy who's not acting like Eddie is a closet case.

It's disarming. A little overwhelming. But in the best way.

Eddie glances at Buck, who's watching him with that relaxed, curious expression — like he actually wants to know more. Like he's genuinely interested. And for the first time in a long time, Eddie doesn't want to disappear into the background.

"What made you come out tonight? Besides your friends dragging you," Buck asks.

Eddie glances over at the girls across the room. They're pretending not to watch, but they're terrible at it. "I think they decided I'd been hiding too long," he says. Then, after a beat, "And maybe…they weren't wrong."

Buck's gaze softens, and he doesn't rush to fill the silence. He just takes a sip, then says quietly, "Takes guts to show up anyway. Even when it's scary."

Eddie shrugs, but it lands. The compliment. The moment.

"I came out late," he admits, surprising even himself. "And I kept my head down for a long time after. Tonight's…kind of new territory."

Buck smiles — not in a patronizing way, but in a way that says yeah, I get it. "You're doing better than you think."

They fall into a comfortable quiet again, the noise of the bar dulling behind them, like the rest of the world just blurs a little. Then Buck nudges Eddie gently with his shoulder, glancing toward the table where the girls are still trying, and failing, not to blatantly stare. "I think your friends are dying to know the details," he says.

Eddie laughs softly. "They're probably placing bets right now."

Buck smirks. "What's the bet on me getting your number?"

Eddie gives him a sidelong glance, debating whether to be coy, then decides screw it . He pulls out his phone and hands it over.

"No bets. Just type it in."

Buck's eyebrows lift, clearly pleased. "Look at you. Bold ."

Eddie snorts. "Don't get used to it."

Buck enters his number, shoots himself a text, and hands the phone back. "Too late. Already planning date number two."

"Is this date one?" Eddie asks, amused.

Buck lifts his drink. "Mini-date. Warm-up round."

Eddie clinks his glass to Buck's. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," Buck says, grinning, "But you're smiling."

And Eddie is.

Before either of them can say more, Bianca whistles from across the room, waving him over like an impatient soccer coach.

Eddie looks at Buck, a little reluctant. "Guess I should head back."

Buck nods, still smiling. "Go. Just...try not to disappear on me again, alright?"

"I won't," Eddie says. And for once, he means it. He gives Buck one last smile before weaving his way back to the table, unable to keep the stupid grin off his face. Bianca clocks it immediately.

"Ohhh my god," she drawls, leaning forward like she's about to interrogate with a magnifying glass. "You were gone for, like, twenty whole minutes. Did you fall in love?"

Kyra gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. "Eddie! You weren't playing around when you said he was hot— he's like stupid hot. Greek god hot!"

Eddie sits down slowly, still holding his drink, still slightly stunned by how easy that had been and how much he liked it. "Okay, first of all…relax."

"Nope," Bianca says. "Spill. Immediately."

Eddie shrugs, trying for casual and missing by a mile. "His name's Buck."

The girls all make the exact same noise, somewhere between a gasp and a squeal.

"He asked for my number," Eddie adds like it's no big deal.

They lose it.

Bianca's practically bouncing in her seat. "Eddie! Eddie! Eddie! You're out here being hot and mysterious and landing numbers? Who are you?!"

AJ fans herself. "It's the shirt, it awakened a whole new side of him!"

Eddie laughs, ducking his head as he takes the shot, AJ slides over to him. It burns in the best way.

For once, he doesn't feel out of place. He doesn't feel like a background character in his own life. He feels good. Brave, even.

And maybe, just maybe, he's finally stepping into the version of himself he was always meant to be.

__

Eddie wakes up with the faint taste of tequila in his mouth and glitter somehow still stuck to his neck.

The apartment is quiet, dim with the lazy Saturday light filtering through the curtains. His head is pounding slightly, but not unbearably so. He sits up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, and then catches sight of his sheer shirt from last night, draped over the back of a chair like a quiet little trophy.

He huffs a laugh and shakes his head. He makes himself coffee, the same old black as he always makes it. He then settles on the couch with his phone, not really expecting anything.

And yet.

A notification lights up the screen.

Buck:

Hey, how's the hangover?

Eddie reads it, half-smiling, and types back quicker than he ever has before.

Eddie:

Survived. Definitely still feeling the tequila though. And the glitter.

A few seconds later, Buck responds.

Buck:

I think we both know glitter will be lingering for a while.

Anyway, hope you made it through the night without losing your shirt.

Eddie laughs softly to himself, shaking his head at the casualness of it all.

Eddie:

I don't know about the shirt, but I definitely lost a few brain cells.

Buck:

I'm sure they'll come back eventually.

If you're free this week… I'd love to see you again. Maybe something quieter. Less glitter. Fewer screaming women.

Eddie feels a little flutter in his chest at the suggestion, smiling as he types.

Eddie:

Does Tuesday work for you? I have the day off.

Buck:

Absolutely. It's a date. See you then.

Eddie leans back, phone in hand, letting out a deep breath. He's not sure what he's feeling, but it feels good for the first time in a long time.

__

Tuesday comes faster than Eddie anticipates, and now all the confidence — the cool, suave, coy drunk-version of himself that Buck met on Saturday, is gone.

Now, he's full-on panicking.

The moment he opens his eyes this morning, it hits him. His usually quiet morning has been replaced by his mind running through a thousand different scenarios. What if he embarrasses himself? Was this going to be awkward? What if he gets too nervous and just stares at him again?

The easy, flirtatious connection he felt with Buck at the bar feels miles away now, like a hazy memory of someone else's life. All that fun, free-spirited energy he had? Never to be seen again. In its place is a mess of self-doubt, second-guessing, and nerves.

Eddie's brain immediately starts racing through everything he could've done wrong. Maybe Buck had only been nice to him because they were both a little buzzed. Maybe he misread all those little moments — the way Buck looked at him, the way his smile seemed to linger just a little longer than it should've.

He runs his hand over his face, feeling the sharp pang of anxiety building. This is stupid. He's being stupid . He's not some teenager trying to figure out a first date. He's a grown, thirty-seven-year-old man who's been on dates before. He should be able to handle this. Granted, none of them have mattered as much as this one.

But still, there it is. That fluttering nervousness in his stomach.

The clock on the wall reminds him it's getting closer to the time he needs to leave. Eddie runs a hand through his hair, staring at himself in the mirror. He immediately hates the shirt he's wearing. Eddie moves back to his closet and stares at his clothes like it's a puzzle he's trying to crack.

Why is this so complicated? It's just coffee. He pulls a shirt from the closet — a simple gray T-shirt. It's comfortable, and he knows it fits well, but it feels too casual. Too safe. With a sigh, he sets it aside and grabs another shirt. This time, it's a soft, navy blue button-down, the kind he wears whenever he has important meetings with actors and directors for costume design projects.

He holds it up in the mirror, checking how it might look. It's fine. It looks fine .

But then he remembers last night — how casual Buck was, how he laughed and made him feel like there was no pressure. Maybe Eddie doesn't need to overthink it. He pulls the shirt off and grabs a different one — a well-worn black henley. Simple enough, but not too simple. He shrugs it on, takes a step back, and nods in approval. Okay, yeah. This'll work.

He throws on some jeans that he knows make his ass look good. It's not something he's ever really had to think about before — certainly not something he ever considered when getting dressed in the past. Most of his wardrobe choices are rooted in practicality and comfort.

But today, as he pulls on the jeans and turns slightly to check his reflection in the mirror, he hesitates. He tilts his head. "Okay…not bad," he mutters, trying not to overanalyze the way the denim hugs his hips. He's not aiming to seduce anyone, not exactly, but still. If Buck happens to notice, well…that wouldn't be the worst thing.

He walks into the living room, glancing at the time on his phone. He's early, maybe too early, but it gives him a moment to settle before he has to leave. His thumb hovers over his contacts, and he finds Buck's number again. He hasn't texted him today, not since their simple "Are we still on for today?" message this morning. But part of him wonders if it's okay to send a quick "Hey, I'm on my way" message.

He locks his phone, deciding to just keep it simple. No overthinking.

When the time runs closer, he grabs his keys off the counter, then double-checks his wallet, making sure he has everything. As he walks to the door, he takes one last look at himself in the mirror by the front door. He feels the tiny flutter in his chest again, that same feeling from the night he met Buck. This is real. This is happening.

"Alright," he mutters to himself, adjusting his jacket, "You can do this."

He steps out of the apartment and into the cool air, the nerves settling into something he tells himself he can handle. Something new.

__

The coffee shop is quiet, tucked between a used bookstore and a vintage record store, the kind of place Eddie wouldn't notice unless someone points it out. The inside smells like roasted espresso and warm wood. It's comforting, familiar, like something out of a memory.

He arrives ten minutes early. Partly because he's punctual. Mostly because he's nervous.

There's soft indie music playing in the background, and the lighting is low and golden, casting long shadows across the wooden floors. A few people linger at their tables, hunched over laptops or deep in conversation, but it isn't crowded. It feels like the right kind of place for a first date.

Low stakes. Low lighting. Low risk.

Eddie orders a coffee he probably won't drink and picks a small table near the back, tucked against the wall. It gives him a full view of the door and just enough space to breathe. He takes off his jacket and folds it neatly over the back of the chair, then immediately regrets it. Too formal? Too stiff?

He repositions the sleeves of his henley. Then repositions them again. His hands won't stop fidgeting, and he swears his heart is beating in his throat.

The door chime goes off. Eddie looks up, and there he is.

Buck walks in like he belongs — like the world's already made space for him. His hair's slightly looser than the curls on Friday night, his smile easy and a little crooked. He's wearing a faded green sweatshirt and jeans that look lived-in. Effortless and comfortable.

It only makes Eddie more aware of the stiff way he's sitting, the way he's holding his coffee like it might run away.

Buck spots him almost instantly and makes his way over with a short wave.

"Hey," he says, a little breathless, like he may have jogged across the street. "Didn't keep you waiting, did I?"

"No," Eddie replies quickly, standing halfway before deciding against it. "I've only been here a few minutes."

Buck smiles, slinging his jacket over the back of the chair. "Good. Was worried I'd be late and ruin everything."

Eddie huffs a laugh. "Late? Nah...I needed the extra five to practice breathing."

Buck chuckles, warm and easy. "You're doing great so far. Breathing's at least an 8 out of 10."

They settle into a silence that isn't uncomfortable, but it makes Eddie hyperaware of every movement — his fingers around the coffee cup, the way he's sitting, the way Buck's eyes flicker from his face to his hands and back again.

"You want anything?" Eddie asks. "You haven't ordered."

Buck shakes his head. "I will in a sec. I figured I'd say hi first. Also, I didn't want to stand in line and risk you running off before I got here."

Eddie's brows quirk, and he cringes, "Should've known you were gonna mention that."

Buck smirks. "Of course, I told you you wouldn't live that down."

Eddie lets out a quiet breath, finally starting to relax. Maybe he doesn't have to be the suave version of himself from the bar. Maybe this version, the nervous, real one, is okay, too.

Buck gestures toward the counter. "Alright, I'm gonna grab a drink. Don't go anywhere."

"I wasn't planning on it," Eddie says, quieter than he means to.

Buck just smiles, like he heard it anyway.

__

"…So you're actually on set with a live bear?" Buck asks, eyes wide with half-disbelief and half-delight as he leans across the small table between them.

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head. "Not with it, exactly. There was a fence. And a handler. And I stayed as far away as humanly possible while trying to make sure the actor's pants didn't split mid-scene."

Buck laughs. "You're kidding."

"I wish I was," Eddie says, sipping from his now-lukewarm coffee. "That actor was really proud of doing his own stunts. Wardrobe was not."

Buck grins. "Okay, I have to ask. Do you get, like…weird costume requests? Diva actors?"

"Oh, constantly," Eddie says, eyes lighting up a little. "I once had a guy insist he couldn't 'emotionally connect' to the character unless he wore red leather pants."

Buck winces. "And did you let him?"

"I tried. He lasted twenty minutes before overheating and demanding I cut them off with scissors."

They both burst out laughing, the kind that folds you forward and draws attention from nearby tables. Eddie presses his hand to his mouth, trying to muffle it, but it's too late — the moment has already broken through whatever tension was left between them.

Buck watches him, smile lingering. "You're kind of amazing, you know that?"

Eddie raises a brow, skeptical but intrigued. "For cutting pants off a spoiled actor?"

"For showing up. For laughing. For being more than the mysterious guy at the bar in the see-through shirt."

Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn't look away. "You remember the shirt."

"Oh, I remember," Buck says, leaning back with a playful glint in his eye. "Hard to forget the man who outdanced half the bar."

Eddie snorts. "I had four shots of tequila and no sense of shame."

"Exactly," Buck says, still smiling. "You were amazing."

Eddie looks down at his hands for a beat, suddenly quiet. "That guy only shows up once in a while. Usually takes a lot of coaxing…and maybe some tequila."

Buck tilts his head, his voice softening. "Well, I like this version too. No coaxing needed."

They'd been talking for a while now — long enough that Eddie's coffee had gone cold, and he hadn't even noticed. The nerves he walked in with had dulled to a quiet hum, and instead of spiralling through worst-case scenarios, he's just…happy to be here. Sitting across from Buck, who's funny and warm and, asks good questions, and actually listens when Eddie talks.

"So," Eddie leans forward a little, "You know that I have the absolute pleasure of wrestling with bears and cutting pants off actors. What about you? What do you do?"

Buck smiles, then looks a little sheepish, almost like he doesn't want to make a big deal out of it. "I'm a firefighter."

Eddie blinks. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Buck says, scratching the back of his neck. "Station 118."

Eddie sits back in his seat. "Huh. That…makes a lot of sense."

Buck raises an eyebrow. "Does it?"

"I mean, yeah. You've got that calm, steady vibe. Like someone who wouldn't freak out if the place caught fire. Plus the whole broad-shouldered, could-carry-me-out-of-a-burning-building thing going on. It tracks."

Buck grins, leaning back slightly. "So you have been checking me out."

Eddie smirks, unfazed now. "Only a little. You kind of make it hard not to."

Buck watches him for a beat, something warm settling in his expression. "I'm really happy we did this."

"Me too," Eddie says, meaning it.

Buck glances toward the window, then back. "Want to take this somewhere else? Go for a walk?"

Eddie's already standing. "Thought you'd never ask."

__

They turn a corner, the rhythm of their steps slowing as if neither of them wants the date to end just yet. Eddie shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, feeling the easy weight of the moment between them. He glances at Buck again, curiosity tugging at him.

Eddie says, voice casual, "Is there anything you like to do besides running into burning buildings?"

Buck chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "Honestly? I like to cook...sometimes bake too."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yeah? Didn't picture you as the chef type."

Buck grins, a little sheepish but clearly proud. "I'm no Michelin-star chef, but I can definitely hold my own in the kitchen now. My captain was the one who taught me. Before him, I was pretty much living on grilled cheese sandwiches," Buck chuckles, shaking his head. "Started with the basics — pasta, risotto. I still remember the first time he asked me to cook dinner for the whole team...that was usually his job. I was shitting myself, convinced I was going to poison everybody...I don't know how many times I asked Cap, 'Are you sure?' But hey, nobody got food poisoning, and everyone's still alive."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, impressed. "I'm sure the team was very grateful you didn't poison them."

Buck chuckles, a little sheepish. "Well, there was this one time I tried to bake a cake for the team. Thought I had it all figured out, you know? But I didn't realize I forgot to check the oven temperature. Pulled it out, and the outside looked perfect, but when we cut into it — total disaster . The middle was still raw. I tried to pass it off like I meant it to be that way, but...Cap wasn't fooled. He just stared at it for a solid minute before saying, 'Well, Buck, at least you tried.' The team never lets me forget it, especially when it's someone's birthday."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Keeping you humble, I see."

Buck bumps his shoulder against Eddie's. "Hey! I can make a mean banana bread, and I'm getting pretty good at cinnamon rolls."

Eddie grins. "Yeah?"

Buck nods, his grin turning teasing. "You'll just have to let me prove it sometime."

Eddie looks over, a sly smile curling on his lips. "Might be willing to take you up on that. What's the catch?"

"No catch," Buck says smoothly. "You eat, I cook. That's the deal."

Eddie smirks. "Alright. You cook, I'll do the dishes."

Buck laughs. "Deal. But just so you know, I'm holding you to that."

Eddie nudges him lightly, his voice softer now, teasing. "Good. I'm hoping you do."

They're walking side by side, the late afternoon sun stretching long shadows across the sidewalk, casting a soft, golden glow over everything. The air feels just the right temperature — cool enough to be comfortable, warm enough to make the day feel lazy and effortless. The rhythm of their steps syncs naturally, without thought, as if they've been walking this way for years. There's an ease to the moment, a quiet understanding that doesn't need words. Neither of them is in a rush to go anywhere.

They've been circling the same block for what feels like ages now, but neither of them cares enough to check the time. The streets are bustling, but they're insulated in their own little bubble, a world where everything else fades into the background. It's the kind of comfortable silence that feels right, where the sound of their footsteps is the only thing that matters. The chatter of people, the distant hum of cars, and the occasional bark of a dog all mix into the quiet soundtrack of their evening.

Every now and then, one of them breaks the silence with something offhand — an easy joke or a half-thought comment, and the conversation picks up again like it never stopped. It's not forced, not awkward, just simple. And with each step, Eddie can feel the weight he hadn't even realized he was carrying slowly lifting. His thoughts aren't racing. He isn't wondering if he's doing something wrong or if he's messing it up somehow.

Instead, it's just this moment, walking beside Buck, the gentle rhythm of their conversation, the warmth of the sun still lingering in the air. Eddie feels a kind of contentment that's unfamiliar but entirely welcome, a calm certainty that this is right. This, whatever it is between them, is uncomplicated. Eddie realizes, with surprising clarity, that this is exactly what he's been craving. The unknown doesn’t feel so daunting with Buck walking beside him.

When Buck glances over at him with that easy grin, Eddie feels a thrill run through him, a little spark that makes his chest tighten just slightly. He allows himself to hold onto the thought that maybe this is just the beginning, and for once, he's not worried about what comes next. For now, this feels like everything he needs.

"So, do you ever design stuff outside of work? Like for fun?" Buck asks. 

"Sometimes," Eddie says. "I make stuff for friends now and then. Halloween's a big deal in my house — well, used to be."

Buck raises a brow, curious. "Used to be?"

Eddie grins, a little sheepish. "My son's in university now. He's eighteen, almost nineteen. Suddenly way too cool for our matching costumes."

Buck blinks. "Wait— you have a kid?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, with a slight smile, "Christopher. He's studying marine biology, doing the whole 'responsible adult' thing better than I ever did."

Buck whistles. "Did not see that coming. You look way too young for that."

Eddie chuckles, "He's actually the one who told me I should start dating again."

Buck raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Told me I needed to live a little. I think he just got tired of hearing about my plant."

Buck grins. "The pothos?"

"Exactly." Eddie smiles, but something thoughtful passes behind his eyes at the fact that Buck actually paid attention, "I didn't bring him up earlier because…I guess I didn't want it to feel like some weird test. Like, 'surprise! I have a grown kid!'"

Buck nods, serious now. "You're in luck…I actually love kids. My niece is eight and…I can't get enough. And everybody's got kids at my station— well, minus myself."

Eddie glances at him, relief softening his features. That's good. That's really good. He hadn't consciously been worried, not exactly — but part of him had still wondered if bringing up a kid, even an adult one, might shift something. Add some kind of imaginary weight.

But Buck didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.

Eddie exhales, smiling. "Well…good. Because he'd probably kill me if he found out I didn't mention him on the first date."

Buck laughs. "He sounds smart."

"He is," Eddie says, voice low with quiet pride. "Smart, stubborn, mouthy. Got it all from me."

Buck smirks. "And here I thought I was the one who made you smile like that."

Eddie nudges him with his shoulder. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

Buck's quiet for a few steps, then glances over. "Is his mom still in the picture?"

Eddie shakes his head gently. "No. We were kids. High school sweethearts, if you want to call it that. Got pregnant right after graduation. We tried to do the right thing, whatever that meant at eighteen. We got married, then I enlisted in the army, thinking it was the responsible move. Stability, benefits, structure."

Buck listens, not interrupting.

"She stuck around for a little while, but…it was hard for her. We were too young, too overwhelmed. Christopher got diagnosed with cerebral palsy when he was about three…made it harder for just her. After I got discharged, she left to take care of her mom. She moved to Los Angeles. And…there was a time where I thought we would work things out when I first moved here, to LA…we were talking again, trying to do better for Chris, but then she died...car accident…" He pauses, eyes scanning the sidewalk ahead like he's seeing a different time, a different version of himself. "It was just me after that. Me and Chris, figuring out how to be a family."

Buck's voice is soft but steady. "I'm sorry."

Eddie looks up at him, "Thank you."

"Was it hard? Raising him on your own?" Buck asks.

Eddie nods. "Yeah. It was. There were a lot of nights where I had no idea what I was doing. I was still a kid myself and I was suddenly responsible for a whole other human? It was tough and almost never easy."

Buck looks over at him again. "But you did it."

"I did," Eddie says. "Because I had to. Because I wanted to. He's my whole world. Always has been."

They walk in silence for a moment. The kind of silence that's not awkward, just whole. And Buck doesn't say anything else, just bumps their shoulders together gently as they keep walking, like he agrees without needing words. They continue walking for a moment, the weight of their conversation lingering between them. Then, without a word, Buck reaches out and gently grabs Eddie's hand. The gesture is simple but grounding, his hand big and his fingers warm against Eddie's. It feels natural, like they've been walking this road together longer than just a few minutes. Eddie pauses for a moment, surprised — because it's unwelcome, but because it feels right .

Buck looks over, a slight smile tugging at his lips, as if he's been waiting for Eddie to react. "Is this okay?"

Eddie nods, his thumb brushing over Buck's hand instinctively. "Yeah. More than okay."

For the first time in a long while, Eddie feels like he's not carrying everything on his own. And it's a weight he didn't know he was ready to let go of, but somehow, it feels good.

They keep walking, hands clasped, as the world around them continues, steady and sure.

__

By the time they loop back toward the coffee shop, the afternoon sun is still warm on their shoulders. The city feels a little quieter here — quieter than the inside of Eddie's head, anyway. He can't remember the last time he spent hours just being with someone. No expectations, no obligations. Just conversation, a few laughs, and the kind of stillness that somehow felt more like connection than silence. Buck hadn't rushed him. He hadn't asked too much, or too little. And he listened, really listened, in a way Eddie wasn't used to.

And now they're standing at the edge of the sidewalk, just outside the coffee shop where it all started a few hours ago. It's not some dramatic cinematic moment. It's not nighttime. No string lights. No violins. Just the sun dipping toward late afternoon and the smell of baked goods drifting through the open door.

But Eddie's heart is beating like it could be a cinematic moment. Because maybe, for him, it is .

He doesn't want the moment to end, but he also knows how he can get in his own head. Second-guessing. Overthinking. This time, though, he tells himself to stay in it. Just stay in it.

Buck smiles at him, easy and warm. "This was really nice."

Eddie nods. "I agree...I'm glad we did this," His voice comes out softer than he expected. Honest. "You're not what I expected."

Buck raises an eyebrow, grinning. "No? What were you expecting?"

Eddie shrugs. "Just figured you'd be more…I don't know. Loud, maybe. Kind of the big personality type."

Buck laughs, easy. "And instead?"

Eddie glances at him, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "You're that, but you're also just...easier to be around than I thought."

And then there's a pause. A soft, hanging pause that feels a little like a question neither of them wants to ask first.

Eddie can feel his thoughts threatening to spiral again. Should I kiss him? Would that be weird? Too soon? Is he even thinking about it? Maybe he's reading this wrong. Maybe—

But before the doubt can finish forming, Buck steps a little closer, eyes searching his face. He doesn't push. He just waits.

Eddie breathes in slowly. This is where he'd usually pull back. Make a joke. Shake a hand, maybe give a pat on the back. But he thinks about Christopher. About that conversation. About how maybe this, right now , is one of those rare chances to choose something for himself.

So he leans in, closes the distance, and kisses Buck.

It's not long. It's not heavy. But it's enough. Enough to send a warm jolt through his chest, enough to make Buck's fingers tighten just slightly around his. Enough to say I'd like to see you again without needing the words yet.

But more than that — it's different.

Kissing Buck isn't like kissing the women he's dated in the past. It's not performative. It's not something he's doing out of expectation or routine. It's not him playing a part he never quite fit into, trying to feel something he never truly did.

With Buck, it's real.

It's grounded and solid and right in a way that catches Eddie off guard. There's no hesitation, no internal script to follow. Just instinct and feeling and a sudden, overwhelming sense of clarity. It's not softer or harder or better or worse — it's just his . It feels like home in a way he's never experienced before. He doesn't feel guilt or confusion or the need to second-guess himself.

He just feels relief.

Relief that after all the years spent hiding, shrinking, pretending — he finally let himself want something. And he finally let himself have it.

When they part, Buck's smile lingers. "That was nice too."

Eddie laughs, breathless but lighter. "Yeah. It really was."

They step apart, fingers slipping from each other's grasp, with a promise that feels unspoken but understood.

They say their goodbyes with a promise to see each other soon. Eddie watches him walk away for a few steps before turning to head home, heart still thrumming, not with nerves anymore, but with something that feels a whole lot like hope.

__

It's been a week since their date.

Seven full days of just-missed texts, voice memos trailing off mid-sentence, and half-joking messages like still alive, promise and remind me what your voice sounds like?

Eddie hasn't stopped thinking about Buck since the kiss outside the café. But life, of course, has other plans.

His latest film project has gone from mildly chaotic to total disaster within 48 hours. A big-budget sci-fi film with a director who wants everything done "yesterday" and costume designers running on caffeine and fear. Eddie's barely had time to eat, let alone date. And Buck — well, Buck's a firefighter. Long shifts, middle-of-the-night calls, sometimes twenty-four hours straight without so much as a real break. Their lives are seemingly built around emergencies.

Today, Eddie's been pulled on set for a major reshoot — one of the few days he actually has to be physically present. They need him to supervise wardrobe continuity and do touch-ups. He's not thrilled about it, but he's good at his job, and when Eddie commits to something, he shows up.

He's mid-adjustment on a lead actor's space suit, headset buzzing with notes from the script supervisor when it happens.

A horrible snap, loud and sharp, cracks through the set like a gunshot. The lighting rig above the stage gives way, metal clanging against the set as it crashes down in a shower of sparks and smoke. Screams echo. Someone yells for a medic. A second rig flickers and sparks. Crew members scatter, scrambling to secure equipment and help anyone nearby.

Eddie freezes for a beat and looks around to see if anyone has been injured. Luckily, at first glance, no one's badly hurt. Shaken, sure. A little singed. But okay.

Still, someone calls 911, and minutes later, the blaring wail of sirens splits through the air.

Eddie straightens up, brushing ash from his sleeves just as the firetruck arrives. He's not expecting anything. He doesn't think it would be him...because why would he?

But then, through the mess, he sees him.

Buck.

Helmet in hand, turnout coat half-zipped, moving with that calm, hyper-focused energy Eddie's only imagined from the few things they've talked about. He's all broad shoulders and measured steps, scanning the scene like he can see everything in a single glance. He's not in charge, but he moves like someone who knows exactly what he's doing. He's steady, responsive, and locked in.

And the uniform, God help him, is making Eddie think things. The way it hugs Buck's frame in all the right ways, showcasing the muscles Eddie's tried not to notice too much before. Even amidst the chaos, Buck looks...good. The tightness of the coat around his chest, the way his arms flex as he works, the sharp lines of his jaw — Eddie pushes the thought away. Not the time, he reminds himself.

Buck's captain stands nearby, an older man with kind eyes and a calm presence, the kind of person who doesn't need to raise his voice to command attention. He points toward the blown fuse box, tone firm but never sharp. "Buck, take a look at that panel. Make sure the power's fully cut."

Buck nods, already moving. "Got it."

Eddie watches him go, caught in the way Buck seems to fit so naturally into the scene. There's something compelling about how grounded he is. Even surrounded by smoke and tension, Buck looks like the kind of person you'd want in a situation like this.

And Eddie, currently stressed and sweat-covered, suddenly forgets how to breathe.

He stays where he is, hands resting on his hips, eyes locked on Buck as he moves through the scene — checking the fuse box, exchanging quick words with crew members, making sure everyone nearby is safe. There's an ease to the way he works, like he's done this a hundred times before. When the worst of the chaos settles, and people begin to clear out, Eddie finds himself still watching, unwilling to look away.

It isn't until Buck looks up, scanning the thinning crowd, that he sees him. And just like that, he stops in his tracks.

Their eyes meet.

Eddie gives a small, startled smile. Half hi, half of course it's you.

Buck's whole face changes. Surprise gives way to something softer, and a crooked smile breaks through. He makes his way across the set without hurry but with clear intention. When he reaches Eddie, he looks him up and down with an amused tilt of his head.

"Of all the sets in all of L.A…" he trails off.

Eddie snorts. "You're telling me. I finally get a break long enough to breathe and nearly get crushed by a light."

Buck chuckles, his eyes lingering. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just rattled me a little. And maybe gave me a minor heart attack."

Buck nods. "Well, I'll take a few sparks over anything worse."

Eddie glances around. "Honestly, I was starting to think the universe was keeping us apart on purpose."

Buck smiles again. "Maybe it was just waiting for something dramatic."

Eddie shakes his head, amused. "This dramatic enough for you?"

"Well, you do know how to make an entrance."

Eddie rolls his eyes, "I could say the same for you," then he looks up at him, a little more serious. "I've been meaning to call. It's just…been nonstop."

"Same," Buck says, understanding. "I wasn't sure if I should text again or risk making myself seem clingy...but I haven't stopped thinking about you since our date...if that helps."

Eddie's stomach flutters. "Yeah. It definitely helps."

There's a beat. Not awkward, just full. Charged.

Buck steps a little closer. "You doing anything tonight?"

Eddie exhales. "I think I'm cleared for the day now," he says, glancing around the wrecked set.

Buck raises an eyebrow. "Good. Because after today I need to see you again. Let me make you dinner...I can bust out my cooking skills. Without sirens or falling lighting rigs this time...just us."

Eddie's chest warms and his whole body relaxes for the first time in days. "I'd like that."

Buck touches his hand lightly, just for a moment, but it's enough to make Eddie's pulse skip.

"I'll text you later," Buck says, backing toward his crew.

As the firefighters pack up and the crew begins sweeping the debris, Eddie stays rooted in place, grinning like a man who's just been handed a winning lottery ticket. His eyes follow Buck as he moves back toward his team. The moment he steps into their circle, Eddie sees it — shoulder nudges, smirks, a few raised eyebrows. One of them says something Eddie can't hear, but whatever it is has Buck shaking his head with a half-smile and a look that's far too casual to be entirely casual.

They're teasing him. Eddie knows it instinctively — he's seen that exact kind of grin on Christopher's face a dozen times when he catches his son texting someone he likes.

Buck doesn't seem to mind, though. He laughs it off as he shrugs out of his turnout coat and glances over his shoulder right at Eddie.

And God help him, Eddie smiles back.

__

That very night, after the day's chaos, Eddie finds himself standing outside Buck's loft, his hand hovering over the door before knocking, the bottle of wine he brought tucked under his arm. A few moments later, the door swings open, and Buck stands there, leaning against the frame, looking effortlessly casual in a simple tee and jeans, his signature smile on his face. He's relaxed, like he hasn't just spent the last twenty-four hours saving lives.

"Hey," Buck greets, his voice warm and inviting. "Glad you made it." He steps aside, opening the door wider to let Eddie in.

Eddie steps inside, greeted by the cozy atmosphere of Buck's loft. It's spacious but not overwhelming, with high ceilings and exposed brick, giving it an airy, modern feel. The large windows, while not immediately visible from the front door, allow plenty of natural light to fill the space. There's a scent of something delicious in the air, and it takes Eddie a moment to realize it's coming from the kitchen.

"Come on in," Buck says, motioning toward the kitchen, where he's finishing up plating dinner. "I wasn't sure what kind of night we were in for, so I kept it simple. Pasta and maybe a little dessert if you're in the mood. Some wine...which I see you've got covered." There's that easy, effortless charm to him that Eddie has always admired.

Eddie steps further into the loft, taking in the low, ambient lighting and the subtle touches of Buck's personality scattered around — photos, so many photos of all the people that Eddie assumes matter most to Buck. There's a bookshelf propped against the wall that is absolutely overflowing with books, most of which seem to be encyclopedias of some sort. No couch, which is weird but Eddie is not sure if he should comment on it. Besides that, it’s warm, lived-in, and there's a sense of calm in the space, a quiet respite from the world outside. "This place is really nice," Eddie says, his voice softer than usual as he looks around.

Buck smiles, his eyes softening as he leans against the kitchen counter. "Glad you like it." There's a beat of silence before Buck adds, "And, honestly, I'm really glad you're here."

Eddie's chest tightens at the sincerity in Buck's words. This simple, quiet moment feels like exactly what he needed after the craziness of work the past few days. He sets the wine down on the kitchen island, and, without hesitation, leans in, his lips brushing against Buck's in a kiss that starts gentle, slow, as if testing the waters. But it deepens almost immediately, their mouths meeting with an urgency that neither can hide.

The kiss lingers longer than either of them expects. It's full of warmth, of a quiet longing, and the relief of being close again after a week apart. Their hands find each other, fingers tangling as if they've been waiting for this moment without even realizing it. Eddie feels slightly drunk from it, giddy, even. His heart is beating just a little too fast. He's never wanted to kiss someone this badly before, never felt this pulled in, and they've only just begun getting to know each other. It should feel too soon, too intense — but instead, it feels like something he's been missing without knowing.

Buck pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against Eddie's as they both catch their breath. For a long moment, they stay like that, feeling the lingering connection. Then Buck breaks the silence with a soft smile, his voice barely a whisper.

"Is it crazy that I really missed you?" he asks, the words coming out with a vulnerability that makes Eddie's chest tighten.

Eddie's heart races in his chest, but the answer comes easily. He leans in just slightly, his lips brushing Buck's again in a quick peck, before he pulls back to meet his eyes. "No," Eddie replies, his voice steady but full of warmth. "Because I missed you too."

Once dinner is ready, they fall into a comfortable rhythm — plates on the table, legs brushing occasionally underneath, the low hum of music still playing in the background. Buck hadn't been lying about being a good cook. The food is genuinely delicious, hearty and flavorful in a way that surprises Eddie, though he probably shouldn't be surprised at all by now. Conversation flows easily between them, weaving through the chaoticness of both of their work weeks. Laughter fills the air, and for the first time in a long time, Eddie feels like he's truly able to unwind. Underneath it all, he can't shake the feeling that this is exactly what he's been missing.

"So, what's next for you at work?" Buck asks, taking a sip of his wine and leaning back in his dining room chair. His eyes are soft and patient as if he genuinely wants to know.

"Well, currently we're still finishing up the movie we were doing today. But then there's this big historical drama my company is working on next. I am elbows deep in research on medieval knights." Eddie says, letting the words spill out, "It's a lot, but it's gonna be exciting. I haven't done something like that before.

Buck perks up, his eyes lighting with interest. "That sounds amazing. You get to really build a whole world with that kind of work, huh? Actually…” He pauses, glancing toward his bookshelf. "I think I have this old book on medieval times. Big, ridiculous thing I picked up years ago at a used bookstore because the cover looked cool, but it's weirdly detailed. Like, I remember it talking about how the cut of a surcoat could indicate class, and how certain dyes were super rare and expensive, and there was this whole section on the symbolism in the embroidery and—" He cuts himself off, blinking. "Wow. Sorry. That got away from me."

Eddie stares at him for a beat, then grins, clearly charmed. "You done, professor?"

Buck lets out a groan, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, yeah, I definitely just went full documentary narrator on you. I swear I'm not always like this."

Eddie laughs. "Buck, your bookshelf takes up half your living room. I hate to break it to you, but the secret's out."

Buck chuckles, a little sheepish. "Guess I'm busted."

Eddie turns to him, his smile softening. "Don't worry, I like it."

Buck glances at him, a little surprised. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, his voice warm, honest. "It suits you. The fact that you know all this random, nerdy stuff and get excited about it's cute. Chris is the same... he'll go through phases of getting really obsessed with something...will spend months researching it and learning everything he can about it."

Buck tries to play it off with a shrug, but the way he ducks his head and smiles gives him away. Eddie just watches him, feeling that quiet flutter in his chest again — because this, right here, feels easy.

The moment lingers between them, charged with something unspoken, and for a split second, Eddie wonders if this is what it feels like to really connect with someone. It's a bit terrifying but in the best way possible.

Eddie leans back in his chair, watching as the dim light of the loft casts a soft glow on Buck. "You seem really close with your crew," Eddie says, sipping his drink, trying to keep the conversation casual. "You all work really well together...I noticed it today."

Buck smiles, the warmth in his eyes shifting. "Yeah, they're my family," he says, his voice soft but filled with a quiet strength. "My sister's married to one of the guys on my team, Chimney…and my captain…" Buck takes a deep breath, his expression momentarily shifting. He leans forward slightly, his hands resting on the edge of the table, a quiet vulnerability creeping into his voice. It's clear that this conversation is something he doesn't share lightly, even with Eddie, who's maybe becoming a lot more than just a casual date.

"My captain, Bobby..." Buck starts, pausing momentarily as if gathering the right words, "He's been like a father to me. He's not just the guy who tells us what to do on a call — he's the one who's been there when shit hits the fan in our personal lives, too."

Eddie watches him closely, sensing the weight of the words before Buck even finishes speaking. "I didn't really have anybody like him growing up," Buck continues, his gaze dropping to the table for a moment before he looks back up, his eyes steady but filled with the kind of quiet honesty that Eddie doesn't expect to hear. "I mean, my mom and dad were there…they were physically there, but that's about as far as it got. I had to figure a lot of shit out on my own, you know? I had my sister for a while, but even then, she moved away…I always felt really lonely, growing up. Like I was missing something."

Eddie feels a knot form in his stomach as Buck talks about his upbringing. There's a rawness to it that Eddie's not sure how to respond to, but he listens, giving Buck the space to continue.

Buck shifts slightly in his seat, a sigh escaping his lips as he exhales slowly, collecting his thoughts, "But Bobby…he stepped in when I needed someone. And he wasn't doing it out of pity or because he had to. He just…did. He saw that I was struggling to figure it all out, and he made sure I knew I wasn't alone in it. Not just as a firefighter, but as a person."

He lets the words settle between them for a moment as if he's still trying to come to terms with how much his captain has meant to him over the years. Eddie watches him, feeling the gravity of the relationship unfold. The man across from him — the one with the easy smile, the one who'd just cracked a joke minutes ago — is now unmasking a part of himself Eddie hasn't seen before. "Sometimes, I wonder what would've happened if I didn't meet him," Buck continues quietly, his eyes focused on the table for a moment, his voice softer. "He taught me what it means to be responsible, to be part of something bigger than myself. And not just in the 118. He helped me learn how to be a good person, how to lead, how to take care of myself and the people around me."

Eddie's heart stirs at the depth of emotion Buck is showing now. The way he speaks of his captain, Bobby, like the man gave him the foundation he didn't get from his own family, it's clear how much of an impact he's had on Buck's life. "I owe him a lot," Buck says, his voice steady again. "I wouldn't be who I am without him. I don't know if I could ever repay him for everything he's done for me, but I try. Every time we go out there, I give it my all for him and for my team."

Eddie leans in slightly, his eyes soft with empathy. "He sounds like a really great captain," he says quietly. Buck nods, a small but grateful smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. He's the best. And I'm lucky for it."

"You have a pretty solid group," Eddie says, "That's a real good thing."

"We do," Buck agrees, his gaze softening as he looks away for a moment, like the thought of them means something more than just words. "When you go through as much as we have, it's hard not to become close. We've seen things together, lived through things that…well, not everyone makes it through. But they're there. They've always been there. It's the one place I know I can always count on. It's what gets me through the tough calls. That and the fact that I know these guys have my back, no matter what."

Eddie can't help but respect that — how deeply Buck values the people around him. It lets him know exactly what kind of person Buck is, just from the way he talks about his team, with that steady pride in his voice, the kind that doesn't try to impress but still manages to say everything. It tells Eddie everything he needs to know — Buck is the kind of man people count on, the kind who shows up when it matters, who holds others up without needing recognition. And Eddie can't help but admire that, even more than he already did.

Buck continues, and Eddie's attention sharpens, drawn in by his honesty. "When I was younger, I didn't really know what I wanted to do with my life. I floated around a lot, you know? Started out doing construction work, then I worked on a ranch for a while. I even joined the Navy SEALs for a bit, figured maybe that would give me some direction, but that didn't really pan out the way I'd hoped. After that, I ended up bartending in Peru for a while, just trying to figure things out."

Eddie's eyebrows raise, genuinely surprised. "Bartending in Peru?"

Buck laughs softly, a distant look in his eyes. "Yeah, it was definitely something. But nothing ever felt as right as when I moved to Los Angeles and became a firefighter. It was a little scary at first... I mean, I was still young and had a lot to learn. But the moment I put on that uniform, I knew. This was it. This is what I was meant to do."

Eddie watches him, feeling the weight of Buck's words sink in. There's something raw in the way Buck speaks about his past, about the uncertain paths he took before finding his true calling. It makes Eddie appreciate him even more, and in a way, he sees a little of himself in Buck's journey — finding something that feels right, even if it takes time to get there.

"I'm glad you found it," Eddie says softly, his voice sincere.

Buck meets his gaze, his eyes steady and sure. "Yeah. I'm lucky, I guess. I didn't always know where I was going, but now I do. And I wouldn't trade it for anything."

The conversation hangs in the air for a moment, both of them sitting in the silence that only comes after something personal is shared. Eddie feels honoured to have been allowed into this part of Buck's life — the part that isn't about fighting fires or rescuing people. The part where he had to learn to stand on his own, to trust people when he never had before.

And, just like that, something shifts in Eddie's chest. There's a sense of connection now, a quiet understanding that wasn't there before. It's clear that Buck has carried a lot on his shoulders, shaped by experiences Eddie can't fully understand, but respects all the same.

Buck shifts in his seat, breaking the silence with a small, knowing smile. "Anyways...sorry, enough about that," he says, giving Eddie a playful nudge. "You don't want to hear me get all emotional on you. Let's talk about something less heavy."

"Don't be sorry," Eddie says softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'm glad you shared that with me."

But even as he says it, Eddie's still processing everything Buck just said. It's more than just a story about a man finding his way — it's about finding a place where you belong, a home when you least expect it. And as they sit together, Eddie realizes, maybe, just maybe, he's found something like that, too.

__

Bianca leans across the table with a smirk, like she already knows something Eddie hasn't said yet. Her iced matcha sits untouched, condensation pooling beneath the glass, her ring-covered hands tapping on the table as she narrows her eyes at him with all the focus of someone on a mission.

"So," she says slowly, dragging the word out like it's the most loaded syllable in the world, "how's Mr. Firefighter?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, but there's no hiding the way the corners of his mouth twitch up, the way his shoulders shift as he tries not to grin like a complete idiot. He stirs his coffee, black as always, but doesn't look up at her just yet.

Bianca leans back and folds her arms. "Don't make me pull it out of you, Eddie. I've been very patient."

"I gave you an update, like, last week."

She shrugs. "That's practically a lifetime when you're trying to live vicariously through someone else's budding romance."

Eddie huffs a laugh. "Should I tell AJ that?" he jokes, but finally, he meets her eyes. "It's...good. Really good actually," he says, and though it's vague, the softness in his tone gives it away. "We've gone out on more dates. Dinners, a hike, we went to this little outdoor jazz thing last weekend."

"But?"

"There's no but," Eddie says a little too quickly.

Bianca raises an eyebrow.

Eddie sighs, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "Okay, fine. It's just— this is like the first time I've actually wanted to take things slow. And not because I'm scared. Not like before." He pauses, searching for the right words. "With Buck...I don't feel like I have to rush anything. He doesn't make me feel like there's a clock ticking."

Bianca watches him for a moment, something softening in her face. "That's kind of huge for you."

"Yeah," Eddie admits. "It is."

"And he's good to you?"

"He is. He's patient. And funny. And, god, don't repeat this, but stupidly hot. Like, unfairly hot."

"I've seen his arms, Eds. I know."

"I'm serious," Eddie says, shaking his head like he's trying to talk himself down. "We'll meet up for lunch and he'll be wearing his tight-as-fuck uniform shirt, and I'm just standing there trying to act normal while every part of me is screaming. Do you know how hard it is not to jump his bones the second I see him?"

Bianca cackles. "Okay, now that is new."

Eddie groans. "And that's the thing! Normally, I would've made a move by now because with all my exes... I kind of just wanted to get the sex part over with. But with him...I don't know. I want to, obviously, but I also just like being around him. Talking to him. Learning him. I feel like if I push too fast, I'll miss something important."

Bianca places a hand over her heart, feigning being touched. "Look at you. Horny and wholesome."

"Tragic combination," Eddie mutters, grinning despite himself.

"Or the perfect combination," she counters.

Eddie shrugs, shaking his head. "Maybe...but it's not just that. I feel...steady with him. Which is weird, because we haven't had the talk or anything. We're not official, and I'm okay with that."

Bianca lifts an eyebrow, clearly not convinced.

"I mean," he continues, fidgeting slightly with the sleeve of his shirt, "I'm thirty-seven. I shouldn't be making such a big deal out of calling someone my boyfriend. People my age are married, with, like, multiple kids, a second mortgage, and take matching photos for holiday cards."

Bianca snorts. "Eddie, stop. You say that like your age cancels out your feelings."

He gives her a look but doesn't argue. She leans in a little, voice softening. "It matters because you haven't had this before. Not like this . This is new. It's real. And it's yours. Just because you're older doesn't mean you should treat it like it's less important...or less terrifying."

Eddie sighs, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess I just keep waiting for the moment it all blows up in my face."

"Okay, but what if it doesn't?" Bianca says gently. "What if this is the part where it doesn't fall apart? Where someone actually sticks around and wants to know you, all of you, hm?"

He goes quiet, staring into his coffee like it holds answers. Then, finally, he lets out a small, breathy laugh. "God, I really like him."

Bianca grins, victorious. "Yeah, you do."

"It's just...everything's always felt like it has to follow a certain path for me. And for once, I'm not worried about forcing things to go a certain way. I'm just letting it happen. And that's...new."

Bianca smiles, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. "That's there, is growth, my lovely little friend."

Eddie gives her a quiet, grateful look. "Yeah. I guess it is."

She tilts her head. "Does Christopher know?"

Eddie pauses, the question settling heavier than he expects. He stares at the rim of his coffee cup, his thumb brushing absently against the ceramic. "No," he says quietly, "Not yet."

Bianca doesn't say anything, just waits.

"I don't know why I haven't told him," Eddie admits after a beat, eyes still downcast. "It's not like he wouldn't be happy for me. He's the one who told me to get back out there...told me I needed to try dating again."

"Yeah," Bianca says softly. "So...why haven't you?"

He leans back, exhaling through his nose. "Because then it's real— I'm making it real— and then telling him just to have it possibly fall apart..." he trails off. Bianca's voice is gentle. "But Chris would want to know you're happy."

Eddie nods slowly. "I know. He's...he's got such a big heart, you know? And I don't want to disappoint him. I don't want him to think I finally opened myself up just to get hurt."

Bianca reaches across the table, her hand warm over his. "He's your son, Eddie. He just wants to see you try."

Eddie swallows, blinking past the tightness in his chest. "Yeah. You're right."

__

It's Saturday night and the movie blares in the background. It's some cheesy 90s action flick full of overly dramatic one-liners and stunts, but neither of them is really watching. They're sprawled across Buck's bed, a tangle of legs and shared body heat, the popcorn long forgotten between them. Buck's got one arm behind his head, the other lazily tracing shapes against Eddie's side like it's muscle memory. Eddie's reclined against his chest, warm and far too comfortable.

"You know," Buck says casually like he's commenting on the weather, "Chim and Hen won't stop asking when they're gonna meet my boyfriend,"

Over the past few weeks, Eddie has heard plenty of the daily shenanigans he and the 118 get up to. Hen and Chimney, in particular. However, Eddie is more focused on a single word that Buck let slip, unintentionally or intentionally.

Eddie's head jerks up like he's been shocked, eyebrows practically hitting his hairline. "Boyfriend?"

Buck blinks at him, all innocent curiosity. "What? You're not?"

For a second, Eddie forgets how to breathe. His heart skips, stutters, then starts sprinting. Boyfriend. That's a word. A serious word. A we-are-actually-doing-this word. Not a casual, 'Hey, I like hanging out with you' word.

His brain immediately starts spiralling — have they even had that conversation? No. Is there a timeline? A checklist? Some kind of unspoken milestone they were supposed to hit before now? God, did he miss a step?

"We've never had the talk ," Eddie blurts out, sitting up straighter like that's going to help him think more clearly. "You can't just— say that."

Buck raises a brow, clearly holding back a laugh. "Why not?"

Eddie stares at him, helpless. "Because—! Because that's a thing! That's like— a big thing! And I just—" He runs a hand through his hair, thoroughly flustered. "I didn't know we were there yet."

Buck lets out a soft chuckle, and it should probably annoy Eddie, but there's no mockery in it. Just fondness. "I don't know, Eds. It felt right. I didn't think I needed a formal vote to say it."

Eddie huffs, scrubbing both hands over his face now. His pulse is still racing, his thoughts tangled up in some embarrassing mix of oh my god and what does this mean, and why does this feel terrifying and also really nice?

Buck reaches out, fingers brushing lightly against Eddie's knee. "Hey," he says gently. "Breathe."

Eddie drops his hands, eyes wide. "You just called me your boyfriend like it was the most normal thing in the world."

Buck shrugs, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. Because it kind of is? I like you. You like me. We're dating. Feels pretty straightforward."

"It's not, though," Eddie mutters, still dazed. "I've been trying to figure out if I even had the right to use that word, and you're just out here throwing it around like confetti."

Buck laughs, quiet and warm, and shifts closer, resting his chin on Eddie's shoulder. "Okay...but you didn't tell me to stop."

Eddie glances at him, exasperated but unable to fight the smile tugging at his mouth. "You're really not gonna make this harder, huh?"

"Nope," Buck says, popping the 'p.' "I'm gonna keep being incredibly reasonable and wildly into you."

Eddie groans and drops back against the bed dramatically. "God, you're impossible."

Buck grins and presses a kiss to Eddie's cheek. "You love it."

Eddie doesn't answer right away. He's too busy trying not to melt at how easy Buck makes it all feel.

Boyfriend.

Jesus.

He shifts slightly, turning to face Buck more. "You know I've been losing my damn mind these last few weeks? I didn't want to assume. Or mess it up. And here you are, just throwing the word around like it's nothing."

Buck shrugs, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. "It's not nothing. But it's also not complicated. We like each other, Eds," Buck says, eyes soft. "You can call me whatever you want. Whatever makes you comfortable,"

And just like that, the chaos in Eddie's head stills. Maybe it is that simple.

Eddie hums, trying to play it cool despite the way his stomach flips. Eddie rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. Then, quieter, "I've been thinking about telling Christopher,"

Buck's playful expression softens immediately, his fingers slowing where they're resting against Eddie's ribs. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie nods, gaze flicking toward the TV without really seeing it. "I just…I know we haven't been doing this for long. But it feels good...you feel good. But I've never really introduced anyone to him before. Not like this.

Buck doesn't say anything at first. He just keeps drawing circles on Eddie's side, warm and patient. "I get it. He's important. You want to do right by him,"

"Exactly," Eddie sighs. "And part of me knows he'd be totally fine. He wants me to be happy. I guess I just don't want to jump the gun. If I'm gonna tell him, I just wanted to be sure it's something real,"

Buck doesn't hesitate. "You can take your time. But just so you know... I'm not going anywhere," Eddie lets the words settle, the quiet weight of them soothing something in his chest. He leans back into Buck with a grin. "Okay, maybe you can keep calling me your boyfriend,"

Buck grins. "Was planning on it."

"You're impossible," Eddie mutters, and Buck just laughs, that deep, easy kind of laugh that rumbles through his chest. He presses a kiss to Eddie's temple, lingering just long enough to make it mean something. He settles back against the headboard, arms loosely wrapped around Eddie's waist like it's second nature. Eddie lets out a soft breath, his eyes flicking toward the TV, though he couldn't name a single thing happening onscreen. It's just background noise now — the dim flicker of light painting shadows across the room, the hum of dialogue that neither of them is listening to.

Buck's fingers continue to trace lazy patterns along Eddie's side, slow and absentminded, but so warm it curls something low in Eddie's stomach, "Don't get too comfortable," Eddie murmurs, trying to sound warning, but it comes out softer than he means it to. "We're gonna miss the end."

Buck tilts his head, amusement in his voice, "Are we pretending we're watching this for the plot?"

Eddie huffs a laugh, then shifts to face him, catching the playful glint in Buck's eyes. He opens his mouth to fire back something clever, something sarcastic, except Buck leans in and kisses him again. Not rushed or hungry, just slow and sure, like he's memorizing the shape of Eddie's mouth.

And Eddie melts. He shouldn't, not with his whole body half, draped over a man who smells like mint and detergent and looks unfairly good even in the softest light. But he does it anyway.

Because the truth is, he's been thinking about this all damn day . About Buck's hands, his voice, that look he gets when he's trying not to smile. And now that he's here, curled up in his bed with the guy who's somehow managed to undo years of hesitation with nothing but patience and charm, Eddie doesn't stand a chance.

So when Buck shifts and pulls him closer, when their mouths find each other again with a little more heat this time, Eddie doesn't resist.

Eddie doesn't remember how the kiss deepens, just that it does. One moment, it's soft and steady, all lips and warmth and familiarity, and the next, Buck's hand is sliding under the hem of his shirt, palm warm and rough against his skin. Eddie gasps softly, breath catching as Buck's fingertips skim his waist, and suddenly the heat between them isn't so subtle anymore. It's magnetic. Pulling. Like gravity's shifted, and Buck is the only thing anchoring him.

Eddie's hands find their way to Buck's chest, tracing over the firm muscles beneath the thin cotton of his shirt. It's almost unfair how solid Buck is, how much bigger he is compared to Eddie, and how much Eddie loves it. He can feel the broadness of Buck's shoulders beneath his palms, the strength in his arms that seem almost too much for the fabric to contain.

Eddie lets his fingers wander down Buck's torso, feeling the muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt. There's no six-pack, but the lean muscle beneath his fingertips is dense and defined, honed from years of training. Eddie's shameless, exploring every inch like he's trying to memorize the feel of it, making up for lost time. The way Buck's size completely overshadows his own makes Eddie feel...grounded, like he's enveloped in a kind of safety, a strength he's never had before. It's almost intoxicating how much bigger Buck is and how it makes Eddie feel small in the best way possible.

Buck groans quietly into his mouth and shifts under him, gripping Eddie's hips and tugging him closer until Eddie is practically straddling him, thighs flush on either side of Buck's lap.

"Do they just hand out muscles at the fire academy or…?" Eddie mutters against his lips, only half-joking, half-breathless. Buck laughs, low and husky, hands resting firmly at Eddie's waist, "You saying you like the uniform?"

"I'm saying the uniform should be illegal," Eddie replies, and then he's kissing him again, rougher now, messier, hands fisting in Buck's shirt as he pushes him back against the pillows.

Buck's fingers slide up Eddie's spine, dragging the shirt with them, and for a moment, everything slows, just enough for Eddie to notice the way Buck looks at him. Like he's not just turned on, but totally, completely caught. Like Eddie is the only person in the room.

And damn, if that doesn't make Eddie ache in the best way.

"Tell me if you want to stop," Buck murmurs, voice rough as he kisses just below Eddie's jaw.

Eddie's heart stutters. Not because he wants to stop but because Buck keeps doing that. He keeps being gentle when he doesn't have to. He keeps checking in like Eddie's some kind of precious thing.

He shakes his head, fingers curling against Buck's chest. "I don't want to stop."

And he means it.

Eddie leans in, kissing him again. This time slower, deeper. The kind of kiss that says I'm here, I want this. His fingers tangle in Buck's hair, tugging just slightly, enough to earn a low groan from him. Eddie shifts in Buck's lap, the friction making them both gasp. Eddie rolls his hips down just to see what it does...what kind of reaction he can pull from him. The result is immediate. Buck's hands grip tighter at his waist, holding him in place, guiding him in another slow, grinding movement that has both of them gasping.

Eddie laughs under his breath, breathless, lips brushing against Buck's, "Is this what you call watching a movie?"

"I haven't seen a single second of it," Buck says, his voice thick with heat, hands moving now over Eddie's sides, dipping around to rest low on his hips.

They move together in a steady, sensual rhythm, the heat between them building with each roll of Eddie's hips. Every touch, every sound, is amplified by the closeness, by the soft rumble of breath and the friction of denim on denim.

"Jesus," Buck whispers, voice husky, eyes locked on Eddie's. "You're gonna kill me."

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. "You'll survive."

Buck smirks and lets one hand drift between them, fingers pressing over the bulge in Eddie's jeans, and Eddie's entire body stiffens with a sharp inhale. His forehead drops to Buck's shoulder as he lets out a low, desperate sound, hips involuntarily stuttering into the touch.

"Tell me what you want," Buck whispers against his ear, lips brushing hot along his jaw.

Eddie barely has the breath to respond. "Just…don't stop."

And Buck doesn't. His hand works open the button of Eddie's jeans, the zip following with a slow rasp of sound. He slips his hand inside, beneath the waistband of his briefs, and wraps his fingers around him, stroking with a firm, deliberate grip that makes Eddie's hips jerk forward, seeking more. It's not fast. It's not frantic. It's intimate in a way that feels almost too much. Like Buck is learning him by feeling, by instinct, and Eddie is just barely holding on, grounded only by the way Buck's eyes never leave his.

His breath comes in stuttered gasps, every nerve ending tuned to the way Buck touches him — slow and sure, just rough enough to make Eddie's skin spark. He clings to him, fingers digging into Buck's shoulders like a lifeline, eyes squeezed shut as he rocks into the touch, the pressure building impossibly fast.

It's overwhelming — how good it feels, how safe it feels. There's nothing performative here, nothing to prove. Just the quiet intensity of being known, of being wanted. Buck's hand slides up his back, steady and grounding, and his voice breaks through the haze, low and warm against Eddie's ear. "It's okay, baby. I've got you."

The word hits Eddie like a punch all at once — jarring and perfect. His breath catches, body arching instinctively toward Buck. He doesn't even realize he's moaning until it's already out, muffled against Buck's shoulder, raw and unguarded.

Baby.

No one's ever called him that before — not like this. Not with reverence. Not like he's precious.

Their movements grow sloppier, less contained, the rhythm faltering in favour of something deeper, messier. Pleasure coils tight in his gut, unspooling fast with every brush of skin, every soft-spoken reassurance. Buck keeps whispering to him— you're doing so good, baby. I've got you. Just let go. And Eddie does.

He comes with a muffled gasp into Buck's neck, shivering through it, overwhelmed, undone. The world narrows to the press of Buck's skin, the steady strength of his arms, and the soothing slide of his palm up Eddie's back. He holds him through it, grounding him, anchoring him even as Eddie tries to catch his breath. Buck doesn't rush him. Just breathes with him, their chests rising and falling in uneven tandem. His hand traces lazy, comforting circles between Eddie's shoulder blades.

"You're beautiful," Buck whispers, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like he's not even thinking about it, like he just knows it.

They stay like that. Quiet, tangled up, the movie still playing softly in the background, utterly forgotten. For a while, neither of them says anything. Just the slow rhythm of breathing, their bodies tangled together, a soft hum of the forgotten movie filling the space between heartbeats.

Then Buck presses a lazy kiss to his temple and murmurs, "So…that's definitely not how I expected movie night to go."

Eddie laughs against his skin, still breathless, and replies, "Not complaining."

Buck just grins, his fingers curling a little tighter around Eddie's waist as he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of his neck. Buck's voice is low, brushing against Eddie's ear. "Stay."

And Eddie doesn't even hesitate. He nods, wordless, leaning back into the warmth of Buck's chest like it's where he was always supposed to end up.

They don't say anything else. Just let the night wrap around them, slow and quiet, like something sacred.

Eddie spends the night. And for once, he sleeps better than he has in weeks.

__

Eddie wakes to the scent of coffee and the feeling of warmth at his back — Buck, his boyfriend now, still half-asleep, one arm slung around Eddie's waist, breathing deep and steady against his shoulder. The sheets are tangled around their legs, the room dim with early morning light seeping through the blinds.

For a moment, Eddie just lies there. Listening. Breathing. Letting himself be in this — this quiet, steady thing that feels so rare and new and real.

His brain tries to catch up, to run through the usual checklist — what time is it, did he remember to feed his plant, what's his schedule for the day — but none of it sticks. All he can think about is how peaceful this is. How easy it feels. How maybe, for once, he doesn't need to overthink it.

Buck shifts behind him with a groggy hum, tightening his grip. "You're awake."

"Barely," Eddie mutters, voice thick with sleep.

There's a chuckle against his neck. "You snore, by the way."

Eddie gasps, "I do not."

"You do. It's kind of adorable, actually."

Eddie turns just enough to shoot him a skeptical look, but he can't stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Adorable?"

Buck shrugs, still sleepy-eyed and shirtless, hair a mess and looking entirely too good for this early in the morning. "Yeah. You're cute when you're not pretending to be all stoic and mysterious."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but his heart does that annoying thing where it thuds a little too loud in his chest.

He thinks about last night — how easy it is to say yes, how natural it feels to stay. And he knows, deep down, that this is the part where things could get complicated. But instead of pulling back, he just rests his hand over Buck's where it lies across his stomach.

By the time they finally roll out of bed, the sun has climbed higher in the sky, casting a soft golden haze through the windows of Buck's loft. Eddie stretches, muscles pleasantly sore in ways he hasn't felt in a long time, and when Buck tosses him a towel with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, there's no need for words.

The shower is warm and a little cramped, but neither of them mind. They move around each other with quiet ease — trading kisses and lazy touches as they rinse off the remnants of the night before. There's no urgency, no awkwardness. Just shared soap, soft chuckles, and the kind of closeness that doesn't need to be explained.

When they step out, drying off and stealing glances at each other like teenagers, Eddie feels something twist in his chest. Not nerves, exactly. Not fear. Just…the realization that this feels good. Right. Easy in a way he didn't know he needed.

They move back into the bedroom, both of them still a little damp, lingering in the warmth of the water and the quiet of the moment. Buck doesn't say a word and just walks over to his drawer, pulling out an old LAFD T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

He hands them to Eddie without a second thought, a small, knowing smile on his face, leaving him alone to head back down the stairs.

Eddie raises an eyebrow as he takes the clothes. For some reason, this feels different, like a step forward. It's not just borrowing clothes anymore. It's the slight shift that comes with being officially boyfriends now. "Okay," Eddie mutters to himself, slipping into the oversized shirt and sweatpants Buck handed him, and instantly, the fabric swallows him up. Even though Eddie isn't small by any means. He stays fit, keeps his muscles toned from years of working out, yet the shirt still hangs off him like a parachute. The sleeves are too long, and the waistband of the sweatpants rests way lower than usual, a loose fit that makes him feel like he's swimming in the material.

He catches himself in the mirror, a grin pulling at his lips despite himself. It's ridiculous. Buck's a big guy, muscles stacked on top of muscles from all the training and physical work he does. Eddie knows that, but it's still odd to see how much bigger the clothes look on him, as if he's drowning in them.

Somehow, though, it feels right. Like a strange form of comfort — the softness of the fabric against his skin, the way it wraps around him. The shirt is too big, the pants too loose, but in a way that makes him feel at ease. He's not sure if it's the fit or just being here, in Buck's space, but it's like he belongs in this moment.

He finds Buck in the kitchen, who's busily pouring them some coffee, so he doesn't look up immediately. When he does, though, he glances over Eddie from head to toe, taking in the oversized shirt and baggy pants and the way the outfit hangs on him.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably under Buck's gaze, but Buck doesn't say a word. He just gives him a look, something warm and amused.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Buck smirks, a glint of something playful in his eyes. "Nothing. You look good, baby."

Eddie snorts, rolling his eyes. "I look like I'm drowning in your clothes, but okay ."

Buck just shrugs, grinning. "I think it suits you." He tosses a mug of coffee Eddie's way, and Eddie's left standing there for a moment, still adjusting to the easy, silent way Buck does things.

Buck raises an eyebrow and casually asks, "Milk or sugar?" as he's about to hand Eddie a mug of coffee.

Eddie blinks, surprised. He doesn't take his coffee with anything, black is the way he's always had it. It's simple, just the way he likes it. He opens his mouth to answer, but something about the question makes him pause.

He catches Buck's eyes, the question hanging there between them, and Eddie realizes…Buck knows exactly how he takes his coffee. He's asking to be polite, just to make sure. It's small, but it makes Eddie's chest feel a little warmer.

"Black is fine," Eddie says, the corner of his lips tugging upward.

Buck smiles back, a soft, almost knowing smile. "Just checking," he says, handing Eddie the mug.

As Eddie takes the cup, their fingers brush for a moment, and Eddie finds himself lingering in the simple closeness of it. It's small, but the way Buck cares is a shift. A shift Eddie doesn't realize he's been waiting for.

The morning drifts on lazily, the hours passing unnoticed as they sit together in the soft light streaming through the windows. There's something comforting about the way they exist in the quiet — no need for words, just the sound of light conversation, the clink of coffee mugs, and the occasional chuckle as Buck plays with his phone. Eddie feels like he could stay like this forever.

Eventually, Buck leans back, stretching his arms above his head, his muscles flexing beneath the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Eddie can't help but watch the way Buck moves with that easy confidence. It's effortless like he's always been this comfortable in his own skin.

"So, next weekend," Buck starts casually, "my Cap's having a barbecue at his place. Everyone's invited. You should come. I think it'll be fun— my whole team will be there, plus their families. My sister, too. It's just a chance to hang out...y'know, get to know each other better," he grins, his eyes searching Eddie's. "You'll get to meet everyone…I know they're dying to meet you."

Eddie hesitates. The thought of meeting Buck's whole crew, his family , feels like a lot. His chest tightens just thinking about it. He hasn't been with someone this...real, this present in a long time, and he idea of stepping into their world, of becoming something more than just this casual thing, scares him. He wants to go. He wants to impress Buck, to show him that he's not afraid of taking a step forward. But at the same time, he feels this old fear creeping in, the familiar doubt that makes him pull back.

"Yeah," Eddie says, but the word doesn't feel as steady as he wants it to. "I'll think about it."

Buck seems to notice the hesitation in his voice, but he doesn't push, just smiles and nods, clearly content with the response. Eddie feels a rush of relief that Buck isn't pressing him on it.

But as Eddie leaves later that afternoon, the discomfort lingers. He tells Buck goodbye a bit too quickly, giving him an excuse to head home. Buck's smile fades just a little, but he doesn't stop Eddie from leaving.

When Eddie gets home, he's still battling the uncertainty swirling in his chest. He's been excited about spending time with Buck, about seeing where this could go. But now that the thought of meeting his friends, his family, has settled in, he starts second-guessing himself. He's not ready to be that guy, the boyfriend , yet. His mind races with questions. What if I don't fit in? What if they don't like me? What if I mess it up?

As he steps inside his apartment, the scent of coffee hits him once again. But there's something else, someone else. Eddie blinks, his heart dropping slightly when he sees Christopher sitting on the couch, textbooks scattered across the table.

"Hey, Dad." Christopher grins up at him, his voice light, casual.

Eddie's face pales for a moment before he forces a smile. He forgot that Christopher is off for two weeks — reading week at his university. His son had mentioned it weeks ago, but with everything that's been going on, Eddie has completely lost track.

"I—" Eddie falters, his mind suddenly reeling, "I thought you weren't gonna be here till next week?"

Christopher shrugs, unfazed. "Yeah, figured I'd take advantage of the time. I came back with Luke, he dropped me off. His family lives a few streets over...I thought I would surprise you. You didn't mention that you would be out so early on the phone yesterday." His voice is teasing but warm, and Eddie feels a wave of guilt rise up in him.

"Sorry...yeah, just...had some stuff to clear up," Eddie says, quickly trying to shake off the unease that's settled in his stomach. He can't stop thinking about Buck, about the barbecue, and the questions still hanging unanswered.

Christopher eyes him for a moment, then sits up, his tone softening. "Everything okay, Dad?"

Eddie nods, but the words feel like they're stuck in his throat. He can't bring himself to tell Christopher what's going on, not yet. Not when he's still figuring it out himself.

"Yeah," Eddie mutters, "Just...yeah."

And then he crosses the room without another word, pulling Christopher into a tight hug.

It's instinctual — his arms wrapping around his son, grounding him. He doesn't even realize how much he's missed this until now. The solid weight of his kid against him, the faint laugh as Chris pats his back like okay, Dad, chill. Eddie squeezes a little tighter.

"I missed you, kid," he says quietly, almost into his shoulder.

Christopher chuckles. "I missed you too."

As much as he's been wrapped up in work, in Buck, in trying to navigate something new and real and a little terrifying — it all comes back to this. Christopher is the center of everything. Always has been.

And it makes the thought of introducing someone into that orbit feel even heavier.

__

It’s been a few days since Eddie slipped out of Buck’s place after he asked, gently and without pressure, if Eddie might want to come to a barbecue and meet the people he calls family. Plus his actual family, with his sister being there.

They haven’t really talked about it since.

Not because Buck hasn’t tried. He has — sending little check-in texts, pictures of his lunch, a funny meme that makes Eddie laugh out loud in the middle of a fitting. And Eddie responds. Sometimes. Sort of. Enough to keep things from going cold, but not enough to feel like himself.

He doesn’t mean to ghost him, not really. It just...keeps happening.

It’s late in the afternoon, and for once, Eddie’s able to dip out of work early. He and Christopher are out running errands, just the two of them, like old times. The kind of day that doesn’t involve deadlines or early calls or firefighting boyfriends asking him to meet the most important people in their lives. Eddie’s brain is already buzzing. He hasn’t told Chris anything. Not really. He’s been putting it off under the guise of timing, of waiting for the right moment, of being sure.

But the truth is messier than that.

For now, it’s just Eddie and Chris arguing with each other about cereal brands and figuring out which ice cream they’re taking home. They’re halfway through the produce section of the grocery store when it happens.

Eddie spots him first — Buck, standing near the deli counter, laughing with someone tall and older. A man Eddie instantly recognizes as Bobby, Buck’s captain. The man with the kind eyes and steady, unshakable presence Buck always talks about like he’s gravity itself.

Buck looks good . Like he always does. A navy blue LAFD shirt clings to the lean lines of his chest, laugh lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes as Bobby says something that makes him chuckle.

Eddie freezes.

Christopher notices his dad’s change in posture immediately. “You okay?”

Eddie doesn’t answer fast enough, because just then Buck turns and catches his eye.

Buck’s expression shifts instantly, eyes lighting up like he hadn’t expected to see Eddie, but is more than happy to. There’s warmth in it, that quiet confidence Eddie’s grown fond of. But there’s also hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty. Eddie knows why. Chris is with him.

“Hey,” Buck says when they meet halfway down the aisle. His voice is low, a little unsure. He glances between Eddie and Christopher.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He offers a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Uh…Christopher, this is Buck.”

Chris gives a polite nod. “Hi.”

Buck gives a small wave, then gestures over his shoulder. “That’s my captain, Bobby. We were just grabbing stuff for dinner at the station.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. He can’t seem to find anything else to say.

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” Bobby says kindly, walking up with a small wave. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Eddie blinks. “You have?”

“Yeah, Buck rambles a lot,” Bobby smiles, a quiet, knowing thing. “Good things.”

Eddie clears his throat. “We should, uh …get going. Still got a lot to pick up.”

Buck nods. “Right. Yeah, of course.”

“See you later,” Bobby says, giving Buck a small pat on the back before he begins to walk away.

Eddie lifts a hand in a half-wave that feels stiff and awkward even to him. Buck gives a nod, small, almost uncertain, and turns back to Bobby, who throws Eddie a glance that’s too kind to be anything but understanding.

Eddie doesn’t wait around to decode it. He grips the cart handle a little tighter and keeps moving.

The rest of the grocery run passes in a blur. It’s not tense, exactly, but Eddie feels it anyway — the way Christopher keeps glancing up at him when he thinks he’s not looking. Eddie tries to act normal, like he isn’t still rattled, like he hadn’t just walked face-first into something he wasn’t ready to face.

Back at home, they’re unloading bags in the kitchen when Christopher breaks the silence.

“That was him, wasn’t it?”

Eddie freezes halfway through putting away a carton of eggs. His eyes meet Christopher’s across the counter. The question isn’t sharp or accusing, just calm. Observant.

“Yeah,” Eddie admits after a moment, letting out a slow breath. “That was him.”

Chris nods, like he already knows. And honestly, he probably does. The kid is too smart not to notice.

“I figured something was going on with you,” he says, grabbing a bag of chips and tossing it into the pantry. “You’ve been…different lately. Happier. When we talk on the phone.”

Eddie leans against the counter, running a hand down his face. “I wanted to tell you. I just wasn’t sure when.”

Chris shrugs. “So tell me now.”

That makes Eddie smile a little, even if his chest still feels tight with nerves. “His name’s Buck,” he says slowly. “We’ve been seeing each other for a little over a month, maybe. Not that long. And it wasn’t anything serious at first— at least, I wasn’t sure it was— so I didn’t think it was time to bring it up. But now…”

“Now you think it might be serious?”

Eddie nods. “I mean, yeah. He asked me to meet his team— like, his family— and I kind of freaked out. Left in a hurry. Then ran into him today, with you.”

Christopher just looks at him for a long beat before sitting on one of the kitchen stools. “Is he nice to you?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says immediately. “He’s really good to me. And he knows about you— he’s asked about you, a lot. I just didn’t want to put pressure on either of us before I was ready to tell you.”

Chris softens at that. “I get it. I mean…it’s new. But you don’t have to protect me from it.”

Eddie feels his throat tighten again, and he crosses the kitchen to give his son a hug. He presses a kiss to the side of Chris’s head and closes his eyes for a second, just holding him there.

They stay there for a moment longer before pulling apart, and Chris grins a little. “So...he’s a firefighter? Cause he looks like he could bench-press a truck.”

Eddie snorts. “He probably can.”

Chris’ eyebrows lift. “Okay, strong guy. Good job. Checks out. Cool with me.”

Eddie chuckles, finally feeling the weight lift from his chest. “You’re really okay with this?”

Chris shrugs, easy. “Yeah. I just want you to be happy, Dad. I mean, if you like him, and he makes you happy, I don’t need anything else.”

“Noted.” Eddie’s throat tightens unexpectedly. “Thanks, Chris.”

Eddie leans against the counter, the silence thick after he finishes explaining everything. Christopher’s still sitting on the stool by the island, his head tilted slightly, brows drawn together, not in frustration, but in thought. He’s always been like this. Measured. Gentle. But sharper than most people give him credit for.

“You know you can just talk to him, right?”

The words are simple, but they land heavy in Eddie’s chest. He looks up, meeting his son’s eyes.

“I mean,” Chris goes on, “I don’t know what happened between you two, not exactly. But if he asked you to meet his people, and you like him as much as I think you do...why not just talk to him?”

Eddie presses his lips together, unsure of how to explain the way his gut twisted that morning — how fast he bolted, how heavy it all felt when Buck offered him something so normal, something that shouldn’t have scared him.

“I guess I just…” He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “It caught me off guard. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’ve made a life that’s just…steady. Predictable. I wasn’t expecting this. And he’s great, Chris. He really is. But the minute it started to feel real, I got scared.”

Chris shifts on the stool, kicking his foot lightly against the cupboard. “You’ve been alone, yeah. But maybe you don’t have to be anymore.”

Eddie looks over at him, and Chris shrugs again, casual like he’s talking about something far less important than his father’s entire love life. “I know you think you’re supposed to keep everything under control. You always do that. Even when you’re happy, you don’t wanna shake things up. But it’s okay to want more. It’s okay to let someone in.”

Eddie blinks, throat thick with emotion. When did his kid get this grown?

Chris smiles, a little crooked. “And honestly, you’ve already let him in. You just haven’t caught up to it yet.”

Eddie crosses the kitchen, reaching out to ruffle Christopher’s hair before pulling him into another hug. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Chris hugs him back, a little tighter this time. “So are you, Dad. Just...text him. Or call him. Don’t wait too long.”

Eddie nods, jaw tight with emotion. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I will.”

He pulls back, but something feels lighter in his chest now, like permission. Like a door’s been cracked open. And maybe it takes his son, a grown man in his own right, to remind him that being brave doesn’t always mean facing danger. Sometimes, it just means picking up the phone.

__

Eddie stares down at his phone like it might bite him.

It's just after nine, and Christopher has already turned in for the night, headphones in, catching up on a show he promised to binge with one of his friends back at school. The house is quiet, dim, filled with that nervous kind of stillness that always comes before something important.

He doesn't overthink it this time. Doesn't rehearse. He just taps on Buck's contact and presses the call button before he can talk himself out of it.

The line rings once, twice—

"Hey."

Buck's voice is a little rough, like he isn't expecting the call and maybe doesn't know whether or not to answer. But there's no coldness to it, just caution, soft around the edges.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath, half-laughing at how tight his chest feels. "Hey. Uh, I wasn't sure if you'd pick up."

"I was hoping you'd call," Buck says simply. "Been trying to give you space. Wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do."

"No, it— it was. I needed it. But I should've said something. I didn't mean to go quiet on you like that."

There's a pause on the other end. Buck doesn't fill it with empty words, just waits, steady as ever.

Eddie shifts, pacing the living room now, fingers dragging through his hair. "When you invited me to the barbecue, I freaked out. And it wasn't about you, or them, or even the idea of meeting people. It was just me. It felt real. Like suddenly we were something. And I don't think I realized until that moment just how much that scared the hell out of me."

Buck lets out a slow exhale. "Yeah. I figured."

Eddie stops pacing. "I didn't leave because I didn't want it. I left because I do."

There's a beat. Then another. And then Buck's voice, low and warm and careful, "Say that again?"

Eddie laughs softly, hand pressed to his chest like he's trying to calm a storm. "I want this. You. Us. I just panicked, and I'm sorry. I don't want to run from this anymore."

A silence follows, but it's not heavy. It's full of something softer.

"I want that too," Buck says, finally. "Still. Even after the disappearing act."

Eddie winces. "Deserved."

"Nah," Buck says. "Not gonna guilt you. Just glad you called."

Eddie swallows down the knot in his throat, then ventures, "Is…is the invite still open?"

"You mean the barbecue?" Buck's voice lifts, teasing now. "You saying you want to brave Bobby's famous potato salad after all?"

Eddie chuckles. "I'm saying…I wanna show up. Meet your people. If you still want me there."

"I do...of course I do, baby," Buck says without hesitation. Then, with a slight pause, "You think Chris would wanna come?"

The question lands with more weight than Eddie expects. No pressure, just…care. Thoughtfulness. The kind of gesture that says I see what matters to you.

Eddie's voice goes quiet. "You sure?"

"Of course," Buck says. "I mean, only if he's comfortable. But I want him to feel welcome, too. He's part of your life— and that means he matters to me."

Eddie closes his eyes for a second, letting those words settle. A warmth spreads in his chest, soft and steady. "I'll ask him," he says, his voice thick. "But yeah. I think he'd like that."

"Good," Buck murmurs. "And for the record…I'm really glad you called, Eds."

"Me too," Eddie says, smiling at the little nickname, letting the relief sink in. "I'll see you this weekend."

"You better."

They hang up a few minutes later, not in a rush. And when Eddie puts the phone down, the house still feels quiet, but the stillness is different now.

Hopeful.

And down the hall, Christopher is still awake. Eddie hears the muffled sound of laughter through the walls, and he knows, without a doubt, that the hardest part is behind him. The rest? That's the good part.

That's just life unfolding.

__

The drive over to Bobby and Athena's place was surprisingly smooth, the kind of peaceful ride where the silence felt comfortable. Christopher and Buck quickly slipped into an easy rhythm, their conversation veering toward marine biology as Christopher animatedly shared some of the projects he was working on in scool. Buck was genuinely interested, asking questions and tossing out his own thoughts, and the two of them got lost in the topic, both acting as though they couldn't say enough.

Eddie, who normally isn't a fan of long car rides, finds himself distracted by their exchange. Buck's knowledge and habit of diving into the most obscure Wikipedia rabbit holes keep the conversation flowing effortlessly. Every time Christopher mentions a new aspect of his studies, Buck's face lights up, offering thoughts and insights as if he's been immersed in the subject for years. Every now and then, Buck's hand would rest on Eddie's thigh, a gentle, grounding touch that Eddie both appreciated and needed, especially with the nerves gnawing at him. It's little things like that, the feeling of knowing he's right there, that makes him feel safe.

Buck had insisted on picking them both up for the barbecue, a simple gesture for which Eddie was grateful.

"You okay?" Buck asks, casting a quick glance over as they pull into the driveway, sunlight catching on his skin and making his smile seem even warmer. Eddie hesitates for half a second, then nods. "Yeah…yeah, I think so."

Buck studies him for a beat longer, then seems satisfied. "Good," he says, the corners of his mouth tugging up. Then he's out of the truck, the door shutting behind him with a soft thud, tossing a smile over his shoulder like it's just for Eddie. Like it's always been just for him.

Christopher nudges his dad with a grin, clearly more comfortable than Eddie in this whole situation. "It's gonna be fine, dad," he says, putting his phone away. "And hey, if I'm not around, just text me. I'll make a scene so we can leave,"

Buck smiles, soft and earnest. "I second that. If it's too overwhelming, let me know. Please," he says, his voice gentler now, less playful, and more sincere. There's no teasing in his tone, no pressure. Just a quiet kind of care that catches Eddie off guard.  

Buck shifts a little closer, close enough that their arms brush. "I know this is new for you," he adds, his voice low, "But I'm here. We're in this together, okay?"

Eddie feels the words settle deep in his chest, grounding him.

And before he can second-guess himself, before fear or habit can take the wheel again, he leans in and kisses him. It's slow and careful, but Buck responds without hesitation, kissing him back like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like he's been waiting for this exact moment.

When they part, Buck's smile deepens, softer now. "See? You're doing just fine."

Eddie huffs a quiet laugh, his shoulders easing as Buck turns to open the backyard gate. He steps aside with a casual gesture, and Eddie walks through. Their fingers brush, then link, Buck's hand warm and sure in his. Behind them, Christopher ambles along with his usual easy-going spirit.

Together, they climb the steps toward the backyard, where laughter and conversation drift out into the evening air, welcoming them into the party.

The first thing Eddie notices is how right it feels. He can already tell there's a familial warmth to the place — kids running around, people talking in small clusters, the smell of something cooking on the grill mixing with the fresh-cut grass. It's a small but cozy backyard, strings of fairy lights hanging overhead, the kind of homey atmosphere that immediately makes Eddie feel like he could fit right in.

Eddie barely has time to finish scanning the backyard before he hears his name, low and friendly.

"Eddie, right?"

He turns, trying not to look like he's bracing for impact. The man walking toward him is older, late fifties maybe, with a quiet, composed presence that immediately makes the air feel less tense. Broad-shouldered, but not in an imposing way — more like someone who steps into a room and makes everything around him feel a little steadier. Eddie recognizes him right away, Bobby. But seeing him up close for the first time, he notices things he hadn't before. The first time they met at the grocery store, Eddie had been too preoccupied with his own nerves to really pay attention. Now, though, up close, he takes in Bobby's strong features, defined by years of experience, but with a softness in his eyes that balances it all. His hair is dark with streaks of gray, neatly trimmed, and his face is clean-shaven. For the first time, Eddie realizes just how commanding Bobby's presence really is. It's not loud or forceful but unmistakable.

Next to him is a woman with the sharpest eyes Eddie's ever seen — dark brown and quick, missing nothing. Her posture is relaxed, but something about her radiates confidence, like she could end a fight or host a dinner party without breaking a sweat. She's wearing a purple floral blouse and jeans, her bobbed hair sleek and clean. And somehow, even with all that presence, her smile is warm, real.

Buck speaks up before Eddie can overthink it, "Eds, this is Bobby— my captain. And this is his wife, Athena. She keeps us all in line."

Athena gives Buck a look, amused. "Only because you're always the one acting up."

Buck grins. "And yet, somehow, still your favourite."

Athena rolls her eyes, but there's no heat behind it. "Don't push your luck, Buckley."

Eddie lets out a nervous laugh, offering a hand to Bobby, who takes it with an easy grip, and then doing the same with Athena.

"Nice to officially meet you, Eddie," Bobby says. "We've heard a lot about you." Eddie glances at Buck, who just raises a shoulder like he's not even a little sorry.

"Hopefully, the good stuff, or at least the flattering lies." he jokes.

Athena leans in and wraps Eddie in a gentle hug. She smells like lavender and something faintly citrusy, and when she pulls back, her expression softens. "I'm just glad to put a face to the name. Buck hasn't shut up about you since the minute he got back from that first date."

"Oh, no," Eddie mutters, trying not to blush. "That's embarrassing."

"Totally is," Athena says, deadpan, slipping her arm through Bobby's. "For him. But I like you already, so you're safe."

From beside him, Buck squeezes his waist gently, his fingers brushing over the fabric of Eddie's shirt like a grounding wire. And Eddie, who has been lowkey vibrating with nerves since they got out of the car, finally lets out a breath.

Just as Eddie's about to introduce Christopher, he glances across the yard and spots his son. Christopher's already found a group of kids near the makeshift beer pong table. "That's Denny, Hen and Karen's son, then there's Harry and May, Bobby and Athena's," Buck points out each of the kids. All four of them are involved in what looks like an intense game, minus the actual beer. Instead, they're playing with what looks to be soda in the red cups. Just as Eddie watches his son score a goal, Christopher runs up to him, arms wide, with a grin. "Dad! You've gotta see this," he says, waving him over. Eddie can't help but laugh. "Hold on, hold on. Let me introduce you first, kid."

But before he can finish the sentence, Chris is back deep into the friendly chaos of the game. Eddie watches him go with a soft smile, shaking his head.

A sudden hiss sounds from the far end of the yard, followed by a few surprised yelps. One of the sprinklers near the flower beds sputters to life unexpectedly, misting the corner of the patio.

"Oh, come on," Athena groans, already moving. "I thought that timer was off ." Bobby chuckles and squeezes Eddie's shoulder lightly, "Excuse us— sprinkler emergency. You're in good hands."

With that, the two of them head off to handle it, leaving Eddie and Buck to weave deeper into the party. Eddie follows Buck toward the next group of people, feeling a little less nervous with each introduction. He's getting into the flow of it, the easy camaraderie, the laughter, the stories. It feels... natural, like he's just another part of the mix.

He meets Hen and Karen, who are chatting near the firepit. Hen stands tall, beaming with her short, buzzed hair and wide glasses that give her a playful expression. Her smile is kind, but it's her presence that really draws Eddie in. Karen, on the other hand, has an effortless elegance about her. She's a little shorter than Hen, with beautifully braided hair that frames her soft face. Something about her demeanour immediately puts Eddie at ease.

"Eddie, this is Hen and Karen," Buck says, a proud smile on his face. "Hen's always saving my ass."

Hen rolls her eyes but gives Buck a friendly shove. "Yeah, because you need it all the time," she teases, her voice light but laced with affection. Karen steps forward with a smile. "Eddie, I'm so happy to finally meet you! Buck doesn't shut up about you," she teases.

Eddie smiles, shaking both of their hands. "So I've heard," he glances toward Buck.

Hen chuckles. "You've got Buck sounding like a love-sick teenager."

"Okay, okay. Sue me for wanting to talk about my boyfriend," Buck says, his voice carrying in the air, and Eddie can practically see the pout on his face. Hen raises her eyebrows, feigning innocence. "What, Buck? We're just telling Eddie the truth."

"You're all ganging up on me," Buck says, his voice exaggeratedly whiny, which only makes everyone laugh harder. He shoots a pointed look at Eddie. "You're supposed to be on my side."

Before Eddie can respond, their daughter, who is introduced as Mara, runs up, her laughter filling the air. She's a little younger than Christopher, probably around sixteen, with a wide, bright smile and a lot of energy. She immediately greets Eddie with an enthusiastic handshake. "Hey, nice to meet you!" Mara says, grinning up at him. "I hear you're the guy who's making Buck all annoying and mushy."

Eddie laughs, feeling a little embarrassed but charmed by her directness. "Yeah, I guess that's me."

Mara wiggles her eyebrows playfully. "Well, he's definitely been a lot more...smiley since you showed up. It's a little weird, honestly."

Eddie can't help but laugh at that, shaking his head. "Guess I'm doing something right, then."

Before anyone can respond, Buck cuts in, raising both eyebrows dramatically. "I've smiled before, you know. It's not some groundbreaking event. I promise, I don't only have one facial expression."

"Mara's not wrong," Hen says with a grin. "We've never seen him like this. It's almost unsettling how soft he's gone."

Karen raises an eyebrow, laughing. "You make it sound like he used to be some kind of hardass. Buck's always been a golden retriever— he's just finally found someone to bring it out full-time."

Hen opens her mouth to say something else, but her eyes flick toward Buck just as he leans in and touches Eddie's arm. "I'm gonna grab us something to drink— what do you want?" Buck asks, already halfway stepping back.

Eddie smiles up at him, a little caught off guard but clearly touched. "Whatever you're having is good," he says. Buck gives him a small wink and disappears into the crowd, moving with that casual, easy confidence Eddie's still getting used to watching up close.

Karen watches the whole exchange with a knowing look. "He's smooth," she says with a grin.

"Yeah," Eddie admits, feeling the warmth settle somewhere in his chest. "He kind of is."

She leans back on her heels, now staring at Eddie. "So, Eddie, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking."

Eddie shrugs with a small smile, a little surprised by how genuinely curious Karen sounds. "I'm a costume designer," he says.

Her eyebrows rise. "No kidding? That's awesome. Do you work in film or…?"

"Mostly film," he nods, relaxing into it. "Some TV, a bit of theatre now and then. It varies. But I love it," he pauses, then adds, "It's not as glamorous as it sounds."

"That's awesome," Karen says, clearly interested. "Have I seen any of your work? Anything I'd recognize?"

"Maybe..." Eddie says, pride hidden in his smile. "I worked on La La Land...did some work in the Favourites too,"

Karen's eyes light up, her excitement impossible to hide. "La La Land? Seriously? That's one of my absolute favourite movies! I can watch it over and over...I think I made Hen hate the movie now. Wow, I can't believe you were part of that!"

Hen laughs at her wife. "I shouldn't be able to quote the whole movie, babe, but I definitely can at this point."

Karen laughs, rolling her eyes. "I can't help it! It's just that good."

Eddie grins at the two women, "What about you? What do you do?" he returns the question.

"Well, it's not as glamorous as working as a costume designer on La La Land, but I'm a rocket scientist," she says with a mischievous grin. Eddie blinks, surprised. "Wait, what?"

Hen chuckles softly at his reaction. "Yeah, Karen's modest about it, but she works for a lab here. She's been involved in some big projects that I'm still not allowed to know anything about."

Karen shrugs as if it's no big deal. Eddie's mouth hangs open for a moment before he quickly recovers. "Okay, that's way cooler than my job. I mean, I make cool costumes, but you're helping launch rockets into space."

"Hey, is this the famous Eddie I've been hearing about?" A new voice joins the circle.

Eddie turns to see someone stepping up beside them, Ravi, he realizes almost immediately. He recognizes him from the few selfies Buck texted during long shifts at the station. Ravi looks to be in his late twenties, with cropped black hair and sharp, observant eyes that contrast the easy grin on his face. "I'm Ravi, nice to finally meet you," Ravi adds, extending a hand that Eddie shakes.

"You too," Eddie says, smiling. Before Eddie can come to say anything else, there's a familiar laugh in the air low. He glances over his shoulder just in time to catch Buck walking toward them, two drinks in hand and a crooked smile on his face. He's clearly mid-conversation with Denny, who's still trailing behind, animatedly retelling something with his arms flying around.

Buck's eyes light up the moment he spots Eddie in the crowd, gaze lingering for a second longer than it probably should in front of company. "Look at you," he says, nudging Eddie's arm as he hands over one of the cups. "Making friends without me?"

Eddie smirks. "Trying to keep up with your social schedule."

Ravi chuckles, tossing a knowing glance at Buck. "Oh, you're going to fit in perfectly,"

Karen laughs, giving Eddie a playful nudge. "You might want to watch out. He brings you around, and we're all instantly smitten. It's a little dangerous."

Before the group can fully descend into a new conversation, another new voice chimes in behind Eddie. "So this is the man stealing my brother's heart."

Eddie turns, startled, to find a woman approaching. She's beautiful with long, chestnut-brown hair and warm eyes. There's a definite resemblance to Buck in the shape of her face and the brightness in her smile. Her presence is relaxed but sharp, like someone who notices everything even when she's joking around.

"Maddie," she says, offering her hand. "Sister and Buck's occasional therapist. You must be Eddie."

"I— yeah," Eddie says, caught a little off guard but shaking her hand anyway. "It's nice to meet you. Buck talks about you."

"Oh god," she groans with a grin. "Better be good things. Otherwise, I can sit here for hours telling you every single embarrassing thing about him. I have sooo much dirt on him."

From beside her, a man swoops in dramatically with a flourish. He's compact, a little shorter than Eddie, with expressive eyes and a grin that seems permanently etched onto his face. "Wait, wait. Don't steal my thunder."

Maddie groans again. "Here we go…"

"I'm Howard Han," the man says, shaking Eddie's hand with a friendly, animated grin. "Good to finally meet you."

"You too," Eddie replies, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "Wait—Howard…?"

Buck snorts beside him, already anticipating the question. Eddie glances at him, brow raised. "Isn't he the one you keep calling Chimney?"

Chimney flashes a knowing smile but says nothing, just lifts his drink like a man with secrets. Buck leans in, stage-whispers, "Don't ask. He lives for the mystery."

Chimney just shrugs innocently. "Adds to the legend."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, but suddenly, a blur of energy hurtles into their little circle like a tiny missile. "Uncle Buck! Guess what? I did your firefighter obstacle course in the backyard and beat my fastest time!"

It's a little girl, probably eight, with a crooked braid flopping over her shoulder and bright eyes that gleam with pride. She's panting like she just sprinted over, cheeks flushed and grinning from ear to ear. It's Jee-Yun, Eddie recognizes her right away. Buck talks about his niece constantly, like she's the sun, moon, and stars all rolled into one.

Buck lights up instantly, crouching to her level. "No way. You beat your record?"

Jee-Yun nods vigorously. "By six whole seconds. I even did the crawl-under-the-chair part without touching the cushions!"

"That's professional-level stuff, Jee," Buck says, bumping her fist. "I'm gonna have to step up my game before you take my job."

"I already told Denny I'm gonna be a firefighter slash scientist," she announces proudly. "He can be my assistant."

Eddie chuckles, watching how Buck listens to her like everything she says is the most important thing he's ever heard. The warmth in his expression is unmistakable, and Eddie feels it settle somewhere deep in his chest. "Should I be worried you're training your replacement?" Chimney asks, raising a brow at Buck.

"Nah," Buck grins. "I'm just investing early."

"Hi," the girl says, peering up at Eddie. "Who are you?"

"I'm Eddie," he says, smiling. "Nice to meet you."

"You're uncle Buck's boyfriend. I'm Jee-Yun," she declares, sticking out her hand with the seriousness only kids can manage. "I'm very smart."

"I can tell," Eddie says with a smile as he shakes her tiny hand. "I'm gonna be a scientist slash firefighter someday", she says, puffing out her chest.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, impressed. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna argue with you. You're off to a great start."

Eddie laughs again, his nerves melting further away. There's something incredibly comforting about being here — surrounded by people who love and tease and show up for each other. The hum of conversation around him starts to blur, fading into a warm, distant buzz as he looks over the backyard. People are chatting, laughing, passing around food, and kids are running in circles like it's the most important thing in the world.

He glances at Buck beside him, relaxed and smiling like he belongs here. Because he does. And somehow, Eddie does, too. It hits him quietly, in that way truths sometimes do — this is what family should feel like. Easy. Safe. Present. It's not just about blood, but about being surrounded by people who show up, who know each other, who care. Buck has that. A whole community that loves him and welcomes Eddie without question. And Eddie…he's never really had that before. Not like this.

He lets the thought settle. The old ache, that tight, uncertain feeling that he never quite fit anywhere, loosens just a little. For the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel like too much. It feels like maybe, just maybe…this could be home.

Just then, Buck shifts a little closer, his hand resting on the small of Eddie's back. "You doing okay?"

Eddie looks around at the group, then Buck, giving him a small smile. "Definitely"

__

The sun is long gone by the time Eddie and Buck pull into the driveway, the soft amber glow of the streetlight casting warm shadows across the truck's hood. The drive back from the barbecue is quiet. Christopher’s laughter still echoes in Eddie’s mind as he remembers the sight of him grinning ear-to-ear, deep in some elaborate inside joke with Denny and Harry.

Chris decided to crash at Hen and Karen’s for the night. He couldn't resist Denny’s collection of video games. It tugged at Eddie’s heart a little, knowing Chris felt comfortable enough with these people — these new people who’ve entered their lives. Now, in the quiet of Buck’s loft, with the distant city hum muted behind brick walls, it feels like the night exhales, letting them both breathe again.

"You want something to drink?" Buck asks as he moves into the kitchen, opening the fridge and peeking inside.

"Water’s fine," Eddie says, his voice a little rough from all the laughing and talking earlier. He’s already making his way upstairs, kicking off his shoes before flopping sideways onto the bed, long legs stretched out, the tension finally bleeding from his spine. Buck follows a moment later with two glasses in hand, setting one on the nightstand before climbing in beside him. The mattress dips under his weight as he leans back against the headboard, settling in close.

There’s no TV on. No distractions. Just the soft rustle of sheets and the low hum of the city outside.

"You know," Eddie says after a quiet beat, "We need to get you a couch," He glances up at Buck, lips twitching. "I’ve wondered for ages why you didn't have one...just never brought it up."

Buck lets out a surprised laugh. "You’re seriously asking me this now?"

Eddie shrugs, grinning. "You’ve got this whole place and not a single couch. What’s up with that?"

Buck tilts his head, mock thoughtful. "Maybe I just like giving people no choice but to end up here." He nudges Eddie’s arm. "Worked on you, didn’t it?"

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he says, "Unbelievable."

Buck shrugs, leaning back a little. "I don’t know. I used to have one. A few, actually. They never really stuck."

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "How do couches not stick?"

"They just...didn’t fit," Buck says simply like that explains everything. "They always came and went with other people. One girlfriend wanted something sleek and modern, another insisted on one of those ridiculous enormous sectionals. It was always their idea of comfort, not mine." He pauses, "Eventually I figured I didn’t need one. Got used to just having the chair. Plus, it took up less space."

Eddie hums. "Okay...but chairs don’t exactly say, 'Come on in, get comfortable.'"

Buck glances over at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Guess I wasn’t exactly trying to invite anyone in."

That hangs between them for a second, unspoken but understood. Eddie leans to rest his head on Buck's chest, "You've crashed on my couch before. Many times actually, it's hard to get you not to,"

"Well, then. I found a couch that sticks,"

Eddie lets out a quiet breath, the words landing heavier than Buck probably meant them to. But that's always been the thing with Buck — he says something simple, and it hits somewhere deep without even trying. Eddie rests his head a little more firmly against Buck’s chest, letting the steady rise and fall comfort him. He thinks about all the nights Buck had ended up on his couch, how easy it had felt, how it never really felt like having company over — more like something clicking into place.

"So," Buck says eventually, a lopsided smile curling at the edge of his mouth. "Scale of one to full-blown disaster, how’d tonight go?"

Eddie huffs a laugh, tipping his head toward him. "Honestly? I think I was waiting for disaster to hit the whole time."

Buck chuckles. "You did great."

"You sure?" Eddie gives him a skeptical look. "Because I’m pretty sure Jee-Yun thinks I’m allergic to fun."

"She’s eight, Eds. She thinks broccoli is a food group invented by the government."

That earns a soft laugh, the first genuine one Eddie’s given since they walked through the door. He takes Buck's hand, their fingers lacing together, seeking a little comfort. "It was good. Everyone was...easy to be around."

"They liked you."

Eddie turns to look at him. "Yeah?"

Buck nods, lifting his hand to gently brush a loose curl off Eddie’s forehead, fingers lingering. "Hen and Karen asked when we’re all hanging out again. Maddie thinks you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years. Bobby didn’t say anything," Buck adds with a soft smile. "Which, trust me, is a good thing. If he had a problem, I’d know. The silence? That’s basically his stamp of approval."

Eddie snorts, but there’s a quiet sort of pride in his eyes now. "I guess I didn’t tank it."

"You were never going to."

They sit in silence for a moment. Eddie shifts slightly, propping himself up as he reaches for his water, taking a slow sip while his eyes stay focused on the glass. "It scared me, though," he admits finally. "That invite. When you asked me to come."

Buck’s expression softens, his hand stilling where it’s been absently tracing over Eddie’s knuckles. "I know."

"I didn’t mean to run that morning, I just…" Eddie sighs, running a hand down his face. "It’s been a long time since I’ve let someone in like this. Since I’ve wanted to. And you—" he looks up, searching Buck’s face. "You make it feel easy. Which only makes it scarier."

Buck leans in, pressing his forehead gently to Eddie’s. "I get it. I do. But I swear, baby, I’m not going anywhere." They stay like that, foreheads resting together, breathing in sync. There’s no need to fill the silence. It’s thick with something else — something unmistakably real, an understanding that doesn’t need to be voiced. It’s in the way their bodies fit together so naturally, the way the world outside seems to disappear when they’re this close. A connection that’s solid and certain. It’s the feeling of knowing, without question, that no matter what, they’re in this together.

After a long moment, Eddie huffs a small laugh, barely a breath. "Chris likes you," he says softly, pulling back just enough to meet Buck’s eyes. "I mean, he really likes you. Which, if I’m being honest, is kind of rare."

Buck’s eyebrows lift slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Really?"

Eddie nods, his thumb absentmindedly brushing Buck’s knee. "He’s always been friendly, but cautious. I think he’s gotten used to it being just the two of us, y’know? But he’s the one who kept pushing me to put myself out there— kept reminding me that it was okay to want something for myself." He pauses, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Before he headed over to Hen and Karen’s tonight, he started telling me how much you knew about marine biology. Said you could name every species of fish in the Pacific and even explained the whole ecosystem around coral reefs. He was halfway through a whole lesson before I realized it wasn’t just telling me a fun fact— he was like, 'See? He gets it.'" Eddie shakes his head, still smiling. "He doesn’t do that with just anyone. If he’s bragging about you, it means you’ve already made the cut...which I think says a lot. He only does that when he’s already decided you’re worth trusting."

Buck chuckles, warmth blooming behind his eyes. "I mean, he was kinda grilling me on the ride over, too. Gave me this look like he was sizing me up— then hit me with a quiz on marine predators. I told him about that bioluminescent jellyfish I read about last week, and suddenly I was cool."

Eddie laughs, relaxing deeper into the pillows. "He doesn’t hand out cool points easily."

"I figured," Buck says with a playful nudge to Eddie’s leg. "Guess I passed the test."

Eddie looks at him, the seriousness creeping back into his expression. "You did. And that...means a lot. More than I can explain."

Buck’s smile softens. "I like him, Eds. A lot. He’s smart, funny, clearly gets it from his dad.” He pauses. "I know how much he means to you. So the fact that he’s even a little okay with me being in your life...I won’t take that lightly."

Eddie swallows hard and nods, emotions caught in his throat. "You’re already in it, Buck. And I think I’m finally okay with that too."

__

Eddie is at work, moving through his day in his usual hustle — tape measure draped around his neck, pins tucked between his fingers, and fabric trailing behind him as he walks around the room. The familiar buzz of sewing machines and the murmur of his colleagues should feel like a comfort by now. This is his element. But today, there’s tension twisting in his chest, one that’s been building for weeks.

It’s been a little over a month since he and Buck officially became a couple. And still, Eddie finds himself in a frustratingly familiar place...unsure of where things are going. He’s been in relationships before, of course, but this one with Bucks feels different. There’s love here, he knows that, or at least the early beginnings of it — but as of lately, there’s also hesitation. Not from him, necessarily. From Buck.

And it’s that hesitation that sits heavy on Eddie’s chest, tugging at his focus as he tries to move through the motions of his work. No matter how often he redirects his thoughts to choosing the proper fabric or alterations to a rack of dresses that need to be completed, they always loop back to Buck. To the way Buck presses close, kisses him slowly like he means it, like he wants it — and then somehow, just when Eddie starts to follow that pull, Buck eases back, like he’s afraid of where it might lead. Eddie doesn’t know what to make of it. And worse, he doesn’t know how to ask.

As he huddles with Bianca, discussing some last-minute changes to the costumes for the upcoming project, the topic of Buck comes up. Eddie knew that Bianca could sense his mood had been off lately.

He’s just been… frustrated. Sexually.

And not in a casual way that can be easily brushed off. It’s been lingering, gnawing at him in moments when Buck is close but still feels just out of reach.

"I don’t know, B," Eddie says, his voice a bit lower than usual. "It’s like every time I try to take things further with him, he just...takes it down a notch."

Bianca raises an eyebrow, clearly catching the tone of Eddie’s words. "You mean..." she makes a teasing, suggestive face.

Eddie hesitates, rubbing his temples. "We’re still not really...doing much in the bedroom. Like, we’ve done hand stuff and mouth stuff, but…it's always Buck, you know? He’s the one doing all the hand stuff, mouth stuff, so much of it, might I add. But then every time I try to reciprocate and do the same for him, he pulls back. It’s like he won’t let me, and I don’t get why."

Bianca’s eyes narrow a little, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "So you’ve never actually talked to him about this?"

Eddie looks like he’s about to explode. "I mean, no! I haven’t. I don’t know how to bring it up! Every time I think about saying something, it feels...awkward? Like, I’m sitting there, half-naked, usually after a fucking great orgasm, mind you, thinking...this is the moment, and then he just pulls back, like 'nope, not today, Eddie.' "

Bianca raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. "So what’s his deal, then? You think he's purposefully trying to rile you up? Maybe he's got a kink for that kind of thing," she shrugs.

Eddie leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know anymore...and it’s like, he’s so hot, B. He’s out there in that fucking uniform, looking all strong, all...perfect. And I’m sitting there, trying to not think about tearing his clothes off the second he walks in the door. But then— then I try to make a move, and he just...stops me. Every time. Every. Damn. Time."

Bianca snorts, clearly trying not to laugh. "So, wait. You’re telling me that the guy who literally runs into fires for a living is making you wait for things to heat up in the relationship?"

Eddie groans, letting his head drop into his hands. "Oh! I'm glad you find my sexual frustration amusing! But seriously, if I don’t get my hands on him soon, I might just combust,” he mutters, frustration leaking into his voice, "I don’t know how to handle it. Every time I look at him, I’m like...’Okay, we’re doing this'. But no. He just goes, ‘Oh, let’s just, you know, hang out and talk,’ or ‘Let’s have a snack.’ I’m trying to give him a fucking blowjob, and he’s asking me if I want a sandwich."

Bianca laughs, shaking her head. "Well, if that doesn’t sum up your relationship, I don’t know what does. That’s hilarious. Sexy as hell and then all, 'Oh, let’s just snack and chat, buddy.'"

Eddie throws his hands up in the air. "I swear, it’s like he’s baiting me. He gets me all worked up and then BAM pulls back. Like...he has to know I’m dying to jump him, but then he pretends to be all cute and innocent, like nothing's going on, and then he just pushes me away,"

Bianca shakes her head with a laugh. “I think it’s time you had that conversation, Eddie. I’m not saying you should grab him by the collar and drag him into the bedroom, but, like...maybe...tell him how you’re feeling. Otherwise, you’re just gonna keep circling this weird limbo of, 'Am I allowed to touch you yet?'"

Eddie groans, dramatically dropping his head onto the desk. "I need a bucket of ice to cool down or something. I think the uniform is messing with my brain." He lifts his head, ready to say something, but Bianca cuts him off with a raised eyebrow, gesturing toward the door leading into the workshop. A teasing grin spreads across her face. "Good luck with that, Romeo," she says, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

He turns and is met by the sight of Buck entering the building with lunch. The second Buck locks eyes with him, Eddie’s brain short circuits and he gives a little wave, trying not to seem too eager.

He’s totally fine.

Definitely not thinking about anything remotely sexual right now. Not at all.

"Hey, baby," Buck says, his eyes lighting up the moment he spots Eddie across the room. He walks over effortlessly, bags in hand, but it’s the way he says "baby" that always gets to Eddie. No matter how many times he hears it, it makes him melt, but right now, it’s also making him want to do some very not-so-innocent things.

“Lunch,” Buck says cheerfully, setting the bags down in front of Eddie like a proud delivery man. He glances at Bianca and holds out a hand. "Hey, I’m Buck. You must be the infamous Bianca.

Eddie groans under his breath. "Please don’t encourage her."

Bianca takes Buck’s hand with a grin. "Nice to properly meet you. I was starting to think you were a drunk vision— shows up handsome, buys drinks, disappears before anyone gets a name."

Buck laughs, a little sheepish. "Guilty. That night was a bit of a blur."

"Now showing up with food? You’re setting the bar too high, man."

Buck chuckles. "Just trying to keep my spot."

Bianca smirks at Eddie. "Well, congrats. He’s got lunch and a sense of humour. You’re doomed." There’s a playful undertone in her voice that makes Eddie a bit self-conscious, and as he opens the bags, his thoughts drift back to their earlier conversation. As much as he’s happy to see Buck, he can’t help but wonder if there’s still more they need to talk about.

Buck takes a seat next to Eddie, casually taking out more of the lunch. "How’s everything going here today?" he asks, looking over at Eddie. His eyes are warm, but there’s a hint of uncertainty behind them, almost as if he senses the shift in Eddie’s mood.

Eddie offers a small smile, but it’s clear he’s still grappling with the frustration. "It’s good. Busy. You know how it is."

He’s not really paying attention to Buck’s gaze, too focused on picking at his food. His fork clinks against the plate as he pushes around a piece of lettuce, pretending like the movement of his hand is more important than anything else. The frustration still sits heavy, but it feels easier to ignore for now. He’d much rather focus on the mundane task of cutting his food into perfect little pieces. He wants to bring it up. He wants to say something to Buck, to ask what’s going on, but the words feel stuck in his throat.

Bianca grabs her matcha and pushes back from her table with a knowing smirk. "Well, I’ll leave you two to your highly professional lunch meeting," she says, tossing Eddie a teasing glance. It’s just the two of them now, but the space between them feels heavier than usual.

Buck finally breaks the silence. "You okay? You seem off today."

Eddie pauses. Buck’s always been able to read him, even when he doesn’t want to be read. He takes a deep breath, pushing the thoughts down. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not right now. Definitely not with the way his mind’s been racing.

"I’m good," Eddie says, but the words come out flat. He forces a smile. "Just…a long day."

Buck’s not buying it, though. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. "You sure about that? You look like you're about to implode."

Eddie looks away, rubbing the back of his neck, then glances down at the pile of fabric swatches and sketch notes scattered across his desk. "It’s nothing. Just...work stuff, y’know? I’ve got this tight deadline for a costume for a movie, and I’m still waiting on the final fittings. It’s all a bit much, but I’ll manage."

Buck stares at him for a beat, before letting out a long sigh. "Alright, I get it. You don’t wanna talk. But hey, if you ever change your mind–"

"Thanks, Buck," Eddie interrupts, finally managing a real smile. "But, uh, enough about me. You free tonight?"

Buck tilts his head. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"

"I was thinking I’d cook you dinner," Eddie offers, his voice casual.

Buck blinks. "You cook now?"

"I mean…I own a stove," Eddie says with mock offence. "That counts for something."

Buck smirks. "That’s a bold way to describe your ability to burn pasta."

"I’ve improved," Eddie insists, crossing his arms. "I haven’t set off the smoke alarm in months."

"Wow. High bar, Eds. Really proud of you,"

"You want dinner or not?" Eddie shoots back, fighting a grin.

Buck laughs, bumping into him again. "Alright, baby, I’m in. I’ll bring dessert. You bring…the fire extinguisher."

"Deal," Eddie says, finally relaxing a bit.

And just like that, the tension in his chest loosens. It’s not the talk he probably needs to have, but it’s something. A step. And tonight, maybe he’ll figure out how to talk about the rest.

__

Eddie moves around the kitchen with surprising confidence, despite his earlier worries about poisoning Buck through his cooking. He’s not entirely sure why he suggested cooking in the first place, especially since Buck was right about him being terrible at it. But as the scent of garlic and simmering marinara sauce fills the air, he’s starting to feel less worried.

He’s set the table carefully, lighting a few candles for the atmosphere, and he’s even thrown in some soft music in the background to add a touch of romance. He feels a little like a fish out of water, but the idea of impressing Buck, of making him feel special, makes his heart race in a way he doesn't quite expect.

He hears the doorknob jingling outside the door, his pulse picking up a bit. It’s Buck. He's on time, just like always. Eddie smooths down his shirt nervously and takes a deep breath.

"Everything’s fine," he mutters to himself. "It’s just dinner. Just dinner."

The door opens, and there he is — Buck, looking effortlessly stunning as always. He’s wearing a fitted navy long-sleeve and dark jeans. The soft, warm light from the kitchen catches his features just right, and Eddie can’t help but think how beautiful Buck looks. All broad shoulders and gentle eyes, effortlessly handsome in a way that makes Eddie’s chest ache.

"Hey, baby," Buck says, his voice low and smooth as he steps inside, making his way toward Eddie. He pulls him into a quick, tender kiss before pulling back with a smile. "Smells good in here." His eyes sweep over the room, then back to Eddie, playful and warm. "So you have been holding out on me." Buck teases.

Eddie gives a half-shrug, "Just trying not to burn the place down." he says.

Buck chuckles, eyes warm as he takes in the scene. "Do you want some help?" he asks.

Eddie shakes his head. "No, nope, I’ve got it covered. Just sit down, relax," he says, grabbing a glass of wine from the counter and handing it to him. "Dinner’s almost ready."

He watches as Buck takes the glass, his eyes softening with that familiar warmth. It feels right, the easy comfort between them, like nothing could disrupt the calm they’ve found in each other’s company. Well, depending on how tonight goes. Buck raises an eyebrow. "You sure? You’re not trying to seduce me or anything, right?"

Eddie gives him a teasing smile, his voice dropping an octave. "Would it be so bad if I was?" He leans slightly over the counter, catching Buck’s gaze. The tension between them is subtle but unmistakable, like an electric current humming in the air. The space between them feels charged like it’s just waiting to snap.

There’s a hunger in the way they look at each other, a desire that’s palpable. He knows Buck’s aware of the tension, just as aware of how close they are to crossing that line, yet he holds himself back every time.

And it's killing Eddie inside.

After dinner, they find themselves on the couch, the soft glow of the lamp casting a cozy light across the room. The low hum of the city outside and the soft clink of a wine glass being set on the coffee table are the only sounds that break the silence.

Eddie leans back, fingers absently tracing Buck's fingers. Buck is sitting beside him, close but not quite touching, his arm draped casually along the back of the couch, head tilted toward Eddie like he’s waiting.

The silence between them hums with something unspoken. Eddie watches the way Buck's thumb absently rubs the back of his neck, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his smile lingers even when he’s not saying anything. And it hits Eddie all over again — how much he wants him, not just physically, but wholly. His presence and steadiness, the way he offers affection without asking for anything in return. How he holds back, even when Eddie sometimes wishes he wouldn’t.

Eddie shifts closer, slow and deliberate, his thigh brushing against Buck’s. Buck doesn’t flinch or pull back — he just turns his head slightly, already meeting Eddie halfway like he’s been waiting for this. Like he knows exactly what Eddie needs. The first kiss is soft, just a press of lips, testing the waters, but there’s intention behind it. Eddie’s hand comes up to cup Buck’s jaw, thumb brushing against the stubble there, anchoring himself in the moment. He kisses him again, deeper this time, parting Buck’s lips with his own, tasting wine and warmth and something else entirely.

Buck responds instantly, like he’s been holding back for weeks, and Eddie’s kiss just snapped the last thread of his restraint. His hands are on Eddie’s waist in a flash, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his shirt like he can’t stand the barrier of clothing for another second. His grip is hot and firm, and it makes Eddie’s breath catch in his throat. Eddie doesn’t hesitate. He climbs into Buck’s lap, straddling him, mouths crashing together again, messier this time. Desperate. Hungry. Their teeth click once in the rush of it, and neither of them pulls away. It’s all lips and breath and hands roaming like they’ve got something to prove.

Eddie threads his fingers into Buck’s hair and tugs, not hard, just enough to make Buck groan into his mouth. Buck responds by pulling him closer, like he needs Eddie completely flush against him, with no space left between their bodies. He can feel the way Buck starts to harden beneath him. The way Buck kisses him now is greedy, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of him with his mouth. He's licking into him, biting at his lower lip, sucking gently until Eddie’s gasping and gripping his shoulders to stay steady.

It’s clumsy in places, urgent in others — all the heat and want and the unmistakable press of weeks of tension spilling over. Eddie breaks the kiss for half a second, catching his breath against Buck’s jaw, lips brushing skin as he pants, "Let me taste you," he murmurs, eyes dark, unwavering. "Wanna feel you on my tongue."

But Buck freezes. Not dramatically, not like he’s panicking, but there’s hesitation, just a beat too long.

Eddie sees it.

Feels it.

The shift in the air.

He pulls back more fully, sitting upright in Buck’s lap, jaw tight as the fire inside him flickers into something colder. "Are you serious?" Eddie asks, his voice sharper than he means it to be. "You can put your hands on me, your mouth on me— and I’m not allowed to return the favour? To make you feel good?"

Buck’s eyes flash with something between guilt and surprise. "It’s not like that— "

"Then what is it?" Eddie says, softer now, but still firm. "Because right now it feels like you don’t trust me. Or like…maybe you don’t want me to."

Buck shakes his head, eyes wide. "Eds, no— it’s not you. I swear ."

Eddie sighs and climbs off his lap, not in anger, but because the space feels suddenly too heavy to stay in. He puts a little distance between them, running a hand through his hair as he tries to sort out the knot in his chest. "I’m not trying to push you into something you're not ready for. I just...I want to understand. Because it feels like you want this too, and then when I try to give that to you— when I want to show you that I want you— you shut down. And I don’t know what to do with that."

Buck sits forward, brows drawn, but Eddie keeps talking, voice low and steady now, trying to bridge the space between them.

"If it’s something you’re not ready for, or if you’re not comfortable— I can live with that. But you’ve gotta let me in. You can’t just keep pulling away without telling me why. It’s messing with my head, Buck. I’m not a mind reader. I want to be there for you, in every way you’ll let me. But I need to know where the line is, and why it’s there."

His words are heavy in the silence, hurt laced with confusion, frustration shadowed by something more vulnerable. Eddie doesn’t look at Buck right away, he can’t. His heart is beating too loud in his ears, his hands still trembling slightly at his sides. He hadn’t meant to unravel like this. But now it’s out there, all of it. The wanting. The wondering. The aching need to understand the space between them that Buck won’t name.

He swallows hard, his eyes fixed on the floor, trying to keep his breathing steady. The silence stretches longer than he expects, and it makes his chest tighten with something close to dread.

And still, Buck says nothing.

Eddie finally risks a glance at him, and what he sees there isn’t anger, or even embarrassment. It’s something far softer. Buck’s expression is caught somewhere between regret and affection, like he’s been seen more clearly than ever.

Eddie's shoulders fall slightly as he sighs, and Buck reaches out and grabs his wrist, tugging him back with desperation. Eddie stumbles slightly, caught off guard, and Buck pulls him down onto the couch beside him, one hand steady at his back. Buck swallows hard, his hands now resting on Eddie’s hips, thumbs grazing slow circles against the soft cotton of his t-shirt. He’s still beneath him, but something in his posture has shifted, like he’s holding his breath. Like he’s waiting for something to crack.

"I’m not trying to push you away," Buck says finally, voice rough around the edges. "I just…I don’t want to screw this up with you,"

Eddie stares at him, chest rising and falling with the ache of it all. "You think I don’t feel the same way?" he says, quieter now but no less intense. "I didn’t even think I’d have this— or you . And now that I do, it’s like we’re walking on eggshells around the one thing we both want."

Buck’s eyes flick away, jaw tightening. Eddie can see the tremble in the breath he takes. "I’m not asking you to go all in right now," Eddie continues, softer now as he brings a hand to Buck’s face, thumb brushing the curve of his cheek. "I just…I want to be close to you. You matter to me— so much. And I just need to know…if you’re not ready, or if something’s holding you back— please, let me in on it." Buck’s gaze returns to him then, dark and open and stormy with everything he’s holding back.

“I do,” he says, barely above a whisper. "I get it. It’s just—" He exhales sharply. "I’ve never felt this way before. Not like this. And it scares the hell out of me, because you...you matter so fucking much, baby,"

Eddie’s heart clenches at that, but he doesn’t let himself look away. He leans in, pressing his forehead gently to Buck’s, their noses brushing.

"Then let me be what you need,” he says quietly, his hand resting gently on Buck’s arm. “Let me in."

And when Eddie kisses him again, it’s different. It's more intense, but slower. There's less restraint, but more need. It’s a mess of mouths and breath, teeth grazing lips, Buck’s hands gripping tighter at Eddie’s waist, like he doesn’t want to let go but doesn’t know how to hold on either.

Eddie’s leg tightens around Buck’s hips as he grinds down, pulling a low, broken sound from the back of Buck’s throat. He kisses him harder, more desperate now, licking into his mouth like he’s trying to convince him with every inch of skin, every flick of tongue, every low groan rumbling in his own chest.

Then, between kisses, Eddie pulls back just slightly — enough to look him in the eye, his lips wet, breath uneven. His voice is low, husky, tinged with something darker.

"Can I go down on you?"

Buck swallows hard, his pupils dilating as he stares up at Eddie. The air between them feels still — the calm before the storm breaks. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but something in his expression cracks open, quiet and unmistakable. It’s not fear and it's not doubt. Eddie sees it clearly now — the weight of wanting something, and finally knowing how to reach for it.

"Yes," Buck finally whispers, the word escaping like a confession. "God, yes."

Eddie doesn’t hesitate, not at first. He’s been waiting for this, aching to finally touch Buck like this, to give back even a fraction of what he’s been holding onto. But the second he sinks to his knees between Buck’s legs, that rush of eagerness gives way to something shakier. His confidence falters. His heart hammers in his chest, loud and relentless, and when he looks up to meet Buck’s eyes, it nearly knocks the air out of him. His hands lift, a little unsteady, fingers brushing over the buckle of Buck’s belt. Even through the denim, Buck is warm, already starting to harden beneath Eddie’s touch. Eddie draws in a breath, slow and deep, trying to calm the tremble in his hands. It’s not that he doesn’t want this, he wants it so badly it aches, but it’s new. It’s uncharted, and more than anything, he wants to get it right.

He works the leather strap free, fingers moving slowly, deliberately. The buckle clinks as he unfastens it, the sound sharp in the quiet that’s settled around them. It feels louder than it should, like it marks a shift in the air between them. His knuckles brush against the soft plane of Buck’s stomach, and Eddie stills for a beat. He glances up, searching Buck’s face for reassurance. Buck meets his eyes, and there’s no hesitation there, just want. Then Buck’s hand slides into his hair gently, resting there. Not to guide him, not to control, just to be close.

His breath catches, throat tightening as he leans into the touch, heart thudding like a drum behind his ribs. Every part of him is awake and aware. Buck is right here for real, and Eddie wants to be careful with this. He wants to get it right.

He’s nervous, Buck can probably tell. But Buck doesn’t rush him, doesn’t move. He just watches, his thumb brushing gently along the back of Eddie’s neck, grounding him.

And that’s what undoes Eddie.

He exhales again, steadier this time, and moves to the next button, fingers still shaking, but determined.

"Just…tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" his voice is soft, fingers pausing at the button of Buck’s jeans.

Buck’s hand comes down to cover his, gentle and steady. "Only if you want to stop," he says, voice low. "I’m right here. Whatever you want."

Buck shakes his head, his hand coming back to rest in Eddie's hair, steadying him. His other hand cups Eddie's cheek, thumb tracing his jawline with a tenderness that contrasts the sheer size of him with his palm easily spanning the side of Eddie’s face. The difference in their build has never felt more intimate than it does now. It's not intimidating but safe. Eddie leans into it instinctively, his heart beating hard as that strength surrounds him.

There’s a weight to the moment, a heaviness in the way Buck’s chest rises and falls, the way he’s looking at Eddie like he’s something sacred. Eddie’s nerves spike, but so does the thrill curling low in his belly.

Eddie unbuttons Buck's jeans, fingers fumbling slightly despite his determination. His heart hammers against his ribs, a mix of desire and uncertainty flooding his system. He's thought about this moment, dreamed about it, but now that it's happening, a flutter of nervousness takes root in his stomach.

He tugs the denim down his thighs, followed by his boxers, and suddenly, Buck is exposed before him. Eddie swallows hard, his mouth going dry. It's different than he expected, not the act itself, but the wave of vulnerability that crashes over him. This isn't just physical, it's intimate in a way that makes his hands tremble slightly. And Buck trusts him enough to be here, naked and waiting.

His cock stands proud between his thighs, thick and flushed a deep rose at the head where it curves slightly upward. A bead of moisture gathers at the tip, catching the dim light of the room. It's surrounded by a nest of dark blonde curls, and Eddie can't help but notice how it twitches under his gaze, responsive and eager.

Eddie glances up, caught between want and the raw intensity of the moment. The look on Buck's face is soft despite the sharp desire in his eyes, and it does something to Eddie. It makes him feel seen in a way that's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. His whole body is tense, a coil of nerves and longing. He's never been this exposed, not just in the physical sense, but emotionally, baring himself completely. Eddie reaches out with trembling fingers, hesitant. "Is this okay?" he whispers, voice rough with want.

Buck nods, eyes half-lidded and dark. "More than okay," he breathes, hips shifting slightly forward in invitation. "I've wanted your hands on me for so long, Eddie."

Leaning forward, Eddie presses a tentative kiss to Buck's inner thigh, feeling the muscles jump beneath his lips. When Eddie's fingers finally wrap around the silky heat of him, Buck's sharp intake of breath crashes over the room like a wave. Eddie freezes, uncertain, electricity coursing through his fingertips. It's both a relief and a jolt, knowing how much Buck wants this, how deeply every tiny movement is affecting him. Eddie pulls in his own shaky breath and looks at Buck's face, searching.

There's a raw longing there, almost painful in its intensity, and Eddie knows he can't stop now, can't deny either of them. Buck's lips part, desperate for air or words or both, and Eddie feels the weight of it all in his chest. That single gulp of air has already spoken volumes, has already confessed everything, and Eddie's head spins with the knowledge, the responsibility, the thrill of it all. Buck is bare before him in every way, and Eddie realizes that neither of them were quite prepared for how consuming this would be. He tightens his grip, a little bolder now, and feels Buck go rigid with pleasure. He's never done this before, but his desire to please Buck overwhelms any hesitation.

"Good?" Eddie murmurs, glancing up through his lashes.

Buck's eyes are half-lidded, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Perfect," he breathes, fingers coming back to rest in Eddie's hair, tightening slightly.

Eddie takes a deep breath and lowers his head, taking Buck into his mouth. The weight and heat of him is unfamiliar but not unwelcome. He moves cautiously at first, trying to find a rhythm, his technique still unpracticed. He tries to recall the way Buck had touched him in the same way — the pace, the pressure, the moments that had made him lose himself. His hand grips what his mouth can't reach, working in tandem with his lips.

Buck's breath hitches, his head falling back against the couch as Eddie explores this new territory. His movements are hesitant at first. Too gentle, then too hurried, as he tries to find his rhythm. He pulls back slightly, adjusting his angle, before taking Buck in again.

"God, Eddie," Buck groans, gripping Eddie's hair, not pushing or guiding, just holding on. The sound of Buck's pleasure sends a wave of heat through Eddie's body, encouraging him.

Eddie hollows his cheeks experimentally, earning a sharp gasp from above. He glances up, meeting Buck's eyes through his lashes, and the raw vulnerability he sees there nearly undoes him. Buck looks wrecked already — flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes dark with desire.

"Just like that," Buck breathes, his voice strained. "You're doing so good, baby,”

Buck's praise sends a thrill down Eddie's spine, making him more eager to please. His confidence grows with each encouraging sound from above, and he takes Buck deeper, wanting to feel more of him. Buck's grip in his hair tightens unconsciously, tugging just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure through Eddie's scalp.

Eddie moans around Buck, the sensation of his hair being pulled igniting something within him. Buck notices immediately, his eyes widening slightly before his fingers deliberately tighten again, pulling with more purpose this time.

"You like that?" Buck asks, voice rough with desire.

Eddie can only respond with another moan, his eyes fluttering closed as Buck's fingers twist in his hair, the sweet sting making his own arousal throb. The combination of Buck's on his tongue and the firm pull at his scalp makes Eddie bolder, hungrier .

With newfound confidence, Eddie takes Buck deeper, feeling the weight of Buck's cock heavy and hot against his tongue. Risk and desire surge through him. It ignites every nerve as he senses Buck's growing tension, the way his whole body goes taut and wanting.

Eddie withdraws slightly, takes a breath, then sinks down once more. Driven by Buck's reactions, Eddie pushes himself further, taking Buck deeper than before. The sudden fullness catches him off guard, his throat contracts involuntarily, his gag reflex triggering. He pulls back abruptly, coughing and sputtering, eyes watering as he tries to catch his breath.

"Whoa, hey," Buck says, immediately sitting up straighter, his hand moving from Eddie's hair to his shoulder. "Easy, baby. You okay?"

Eddie nods, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "Sorry," he manages between breaths. "Got a little carried away."

Buck's expression softens, concern shifting to something warmer. "Don't apologize," he says, thumb brushing Eddie's lower lip gently. "Just..take it slow. We've got all night."

The tenderness in Buck's gaze does something to Eddie, makes something in him turn molten and eager and desperate to seek even more. That warm, open look is like a drug, electrifying him and loosening the tension in his body, driving him to press the borders of this new, intimate territory. He’s more determined than ever to make Buck feel good, pushing past the momentary embarrassment and focusing instead on the moment between them.  

Eddie swallows once, then again, before taking Buck back into his mouth and finding a rhythm, every movement more assured than before. This time, he paces himself, letting the depth come gradually as he moves up and down.

The sounds coming from Buck are unlike anything Eddie has heard before. Sharp gasps and low groans that make him burn with a fierce, all-consuming need. His hand moves in perfect time with his lips, with Buck's thighs trembling beneath the press of Eddie's hands.

"Eds— baby —" Buck's voice breaks, strained and urgent. "I'm close, I'm gonna—" His fingers tighten in Eddie's hair, tugging gently but insistently. "You need to stop if you don't want—" He can't finish the sentence, his breathing ragged and uneven.

Eddie responds by gripping Buck's thighs more firmly, taking him deeper instead of pulling away. His eyes flick upward, meeting Buck's gaze with unwavering intensity, making his intentions crystal clear without a word.

"Eddie," Buck warns again, desperation edging his voice. "I'm serious, I'm right there—"

But Eddie doesn't relent. Instead, he hollows his cheeks and increases his pace, one hand sliding up to rest against Buck's abdomen, feeling the muscles there contract and tremble.

Buck's control shatters completely, and every coherent thought leaves Eddie’s brain.

Eddie doesn't let up, even as Buck cries out, the sound raw and unrestrained in the quiet of the room. He takes everything Buck gives him, unflinching and determined. Buck's entire body convulses as he comes, the muscles in his abdomen twitching beneath the weight of Eddie's hand. His fingers thread tighter, almost desperately, in Eddie's hair, using it as an anchor to keep him tethered, to keep him from flying apart. Eddie savours the bitter salt on his tongue, swallowing without hesitation as Buck's release fills his mouth. He takes it all, his throat working rhythmically, determined to leave nothing behind. The intimacy of the act sends a shiver down his own spine, his eyes fluttering closed as he commits the taste to memory. He's never felt this undone, this consumed, and just when he thinks he might be drowning in it, Eddie starts to pull back slightly, easing him through the aftershocks with a gentler rhythm until Buck's body finally goes slack.

When he finally pulls away, a thin strand of saliva connects them momentarily before breaking. Eddie wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his breathing ragged as he looks up at Buck through heavy-lidded eyes.

"Jesus, Eddie," Buck whispers, his voice wrecked, barely audible. His chest rises and falls rapidly, skin flushed pink from his cheeks down to his sternum. His pupils blown wide as he gazes down at Eddie with something akin to awe. He reaches down, cupping Eddie's face in his hands, thumbs stroking his flushed cheeks. "Come here, baby."

Eddie crawls up onto the couch, onto Buck's body, pressing a kiss to his hip bone, his ribs, the hollow of his throat, before finally capturing his lips. His knees protest beneath him, a dull ache pulsing at the edges of his awareness, but none of it matters, not when Buck kisses him like this. When he finally pulls back, his hands cradle Eddie’s face with such gentleness that it makes Eddie’s chest ache. Their foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the charged space between them. "You're incredible," Buck murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. "So fucking perfect."

He doesn't think he'll ever tire of hearing that, of being the focus of this much intensity, this much feeling. Eddie finds himself sinking into it, Bucks' words, his touch, letting it envelop him completely. He's still breathless from what they've just shared, every inch of him humming, alive with energy and desire. He fits himself against Buck's body, feeling warmth spread through him like wildfire. Buck looks at him like he’s seeing something he never thought he could have — tenderness written in every line of his face, in the way his thumb drags slowly along Eddie’s jaw. His eyes are soft, filled with something that roots Eddie to the spot, overwhelming in its intensity.

Then he leans in and kisses him.

Eddie sinks into it without hesitation, letting the familiar press of Buck’s lips steal the air from his lungs. It starts slow, careful, like a secret they’re still afraid to say out loud. But then Buck makes a low, desperate sound against his mouth, and the kiss turns hungry, urgent. It builds fast, each second pulling them deeper, like they’re trying to devour each other.

Eddie moans into Buck's mouth, his hips instinctively rocking forward, seeking friction against Buck's thigh. Buck's hands slide down to grip Eddie's waist, guiding his movements. The heat between them builds rapidly, the air thick with desire.

"Let me take care of you now," Buck whispers against Eddie's lips, his hands sliding down to grip Eddie's hips firmly. "Want to feel you come apart for me."

Eddie's breath hitches as Buck guides him into a steady rhythm, encouraging him to grind against him. The friction is maddening, even through the layers of Eddie's jeans. He rolls his hips experimentally, the movement clumsy at first but growing more confident as Buck's grip tightens.

"That's it," Buck murmurs, his voice low and reverent. "Just like that, baby. Show me how good it feels."

Eddie buries his face in Buck's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of mint mixed with sweat as he rocks against him. His movements grow more desperate, more erratic, as the pressure builds. Buck's hands slip beneath Eddie's shirt, hot and insistent as they slide over skin. His thumbs graze over Eddie’s nipples, teasing passes that make Eddie shudder and gasp against his throat. The touch sends sparks skittering across Eddie’s nerves as Buck keeps exploring, tracing every inch like he’s relearning a map he already knows by heart.

Eddie gasps at the touch, Buck's hands roaming up his back and down his chest, arching into the contact, feeling the heat of Buck's hands everywhere.

Buck's lips move against Eddie's ear, whispering praises as his grip tightens on Eddie's hips. "That's it, baby. Keep going. You're so fucking gorgeous like this."

Eddie can't help the desperate sound that escapes him, his hips working faster against Buck's body. The friction is not enough, and too much all at once. Buck's hands guide him, setting a rhythm that makes Eddie's head spin with need.

"Buck," Eddie gasps, his voice breaking around the name. "I'm—"

"I know," Buck murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup Eddie's face, turning it toward him. "Look at me, baby. Want you to lose yourself all over me."

Their mouths crash together, hot and urgent. Eddie's grinding becomes more frantic, chasing the building pressure. Buck's tongue slides eagerly against his own, reckless in the way he devours every sound, swallowing each moan like they might fill him with more of this moment. The wet press of their mouths is consuming, driving Eddie past the point of awareness. He can only feel, only react, the steady pace that Buck sets, making him shiver with need. He's undone by the urgency, the uncontrolled way Buck responds to him. It's a frenzied heat, a glorious chaos, pulling him under and urging him to keep going, keep moving.

Eddie's movements grow desperate, all rhythm lost as he shudders against Buck. His thrusts become jerky, out of sync, overcome by desperation. The need in Eddie is wild, making him frantic as he loses himself in it. He rocks against Buck's body with increasing urgency, each movement more uncontrolled than the last, until he is completely consumed . His eyes squeeze shut as he falls apart, unable to process anything but the overwhelming, burning need. He's so close, so close , the helpless drag of his hips carrying him right to the brink.

His limbs tremble, muscles drawn tight, about to snap. "That's it," Buck whispers, his voice a warm caress against Eddie's ear. "You're doing so good for me."

The praise washes over Eddie like a physical touch, making him gasp and arch. Buck's hands tighten on his hips, steadying him even as everything else feels like it's spinning out of control. "I can feel how close you are," Buck continues, his voice rough with desire yet somehow still tender. "Let go for me, Eddie. Come for me. I want to feel you."

Those words, the raw need in Buck's voice, are what finally push Eddie over the edge. He cries out, vision blurring as pleasure crashes through him in overwhelming waves. His entire body pulses with the force of his release, collapsing against Buck as he comes.

"God, you're perfect," Buck whispers against Eddie's temple, his voice thick with wonder as Eddie trembles in his arms. "So pretty like this. The way you trust me...the way you let go." His hands smooth up and down Eddie's back, gentling him through the aftershocks. "I've never seen anything as beautiful as you coming apart for me."

Eddie's breathing gradually slows, his forehead pressed against Buck's collarbone. He feels wrung out, exposed in the most vulnerable way, yet completely safe in Buck's embrace. The words wash over him, settling deep in his chest where a warmth blooms. His arms tighten around Buck’s waist, anchoring himself in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Buck leans down and presses a kiss to Eddie’s hairline, soft and unhurried, like he could stay like this forever. His fingertips move in slow, absent patterns along Eddie’s back, not trying to coax or stir anything, just to stay connected, touching.

"You okay?" he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, like he already knows the answer but wants Eddie to hear it out loud.

Eddie nods, his breath hitching, eyes fluttering half-shut as sensation ripples through him. "Mhm," he slurs, voice thick and unsteady, the word slipping out before he can even think. He exhales shakily, his fingers curling into Buck's shirt, or maybe into Buck, he can’t tell. "Amazing," he whispers again, softer this time, like it’s just for Buck, like it’s the only word left in him.

It’s not just the physical release that’s left him boneless and warm, settled in a way he didn’t know he was missing. It’s Buck — the way he looks at him like he’s something precious, the way he touches him like he’s not afraid to stay. And somewhere in that silence, with Buck’s arms around him and the slow pulse of his breath beneath Eddie’s cheek, something clicks into place.

He's falling in love with him.

Eddie's been falling for a long time and just never let himself name it. The way Buck shows up. The way he makes everything feel easier. The way he sees him as someone worthy of softness. Of care. Of this.

And suddenly, it all feels terrifyingly possible.

Eddie lifts his head just enough to meet Buck’s eyes. They’re close, noses brushing, breath shared. "You’re not going anywhere, right?" he asks, low and cautious, like he’s not sure he deserves the answer he wants.

Buck’s smile is soft, steady. "Nowhere," he says. "I’m right here."

Eddie’s chest squeezes at that, something tight and aching unravelling inside him. He settles again, curling in close, half-draped across Buck’s chest. Buck shifts them slightly, just enough so they both fit, one arm wrapped firm around Eddie, the other trailing along the curve of his back.

Their bodies in sync, breaths aligned, heartbeats slow. The city outside fades, swallowed by the quiet of the room. The tension, the confusion, the questions, all dissolve into the hush between them. Eddie’s eyes grow heavy, but before he slips under, his mind latches onto one final thought.

He’s not just starting to love Buck. He already does. He just hadn’t been ready to say it yet.

But maybe soon.

Maybe next time he wakes up in Buck’s arms, it’ll feel less like a revelation and more like the truth he’s finally ready to live in.

And with that thought tucked against the steady drum of Buck’s heartbeat, Eddie lets himself fall asleep, wrapped in something that feels a lot like peace.

__

The morning air at the farmer’s market is thick with the scent of fresh produce, brewed coffee, and summer air. The sun's not too harsh yet, casting a warm glow over the rows and rows of colourful stalls. Eddie's walking a little behind Buck, sipping an iced coffee and pretending he knows how to pick the best vegetables while Buck launches into an animated rant about the differences between white and yellow peaches, explaining texture, sweetness levels, and the superiority of freestone varieties to a very patient vendor.

Eddie’s in good spirits, relaxed and joking, when a low voice calls out from just a few feet away.

"Evan?"

They both turn. Standing near a stall selling handmade soaps is a man Eddie doesn’t recognize, but the look on Buck’s face tells him everything he needs to know. His eyes flick to the stranger, noting his confident posture, the way he stands a little too comfortably. He doesn’t know this guy, but he knows one thing for sure — very few people call Buck "Evan", and the fact that this guy does, says enough.

"Tommy," Buck says, offering a quick, polite smile — one of those smiles that’s all teeth and no warmth, the kind that's almost genuine but not quite.

Tommy is…a lot. He’s broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and tall in a way that makes people instantly move aside. He’s wearing a fitted Henley that stretches slightly over his biceps and a pair of cargo shorts. Aviators hang from the collar of his shirt.

Eddie watches as the two men exchange a handshake and a brisk half-hug, the kind that ends in two firm slaps on the back. There’s a stiffness in Buck’s posture that Eddie catches immediately, a subtle shift in the air. Not hostile, not exactly, but definitely guarded.

"Didn’t expect to run into you here," Tommy says, glancing at Eddie with curious eyes. "It's been a while. Still working in the city?"

"Yeah," Buck says, stepping a little closer to Eddie, unconsciously maybe. "Still at 118. You?"

Tommy grins. "Transferred out to Station 210 a few months back. West Valley. Not as exciting, but I like the change of pace. No more helicopters,"

Buck nods. "Nice...glad it’s working out."

The words land a little flat, and for a beat, neither of them says anything. The rhythm they’d had moments ago stutters, and something a little awkward creeps in, like they both suddenly became aware of the space between them, and neither’s sure what to do with it. Buck shifts his weight, glancing down at the peaches in his hand like they might offer him a way out of the weird lull.

Tommy’s eyes flick back to Eddie, who meets the gaze steadily, raising his coffee in an unbothered little salute.

"And you are…?"

"Eddie," he replies smoothly. "Boyfriend."

There’s a beat, just a short one, where Tommy seems to recalibrate, taking another look at Eddie like he's assessing something new. Then he grins again, sharp and charismatic.

"Nice. Good to meet you, Eddie," Tommy says, tone easy on the surface, but there’s something in his gaze that doesn’t match the words. Eddie shakes it, smiling at him so politely it’s practically laminated. "Yeah. Same." He holds the handshake for a beat too long, just long enough to make Tommy blink. There’s a subtle shift in his posture, like you can stop now, but Eddie just keeps smiling like a cat who’s claimed the sunniest windowsill in the apartment.

Tommy shifts back to Buck. "Well, it’s good to see you, man. You look good."

Buck chuckles awkwardly. "Thanks. You too. You’ve, uh… definitely not skipped arm day."

"Never do," Tommy says with a wink that makes Eddie want to roll his eyes. "Anyway, I’ll let you guys get back to your...shopping date?"

Eddie’s about to say something smart, but Buck cuts in with a nervous laugh. “Uh— yeah...we’re shopping. For food. Like, normal food. Together. Because we eat. At home. Sometimes.”

Tommy lets out a low laugh. "Romantic," He gives them a nod and saunters off, disappearing into the crowd like some weird soap-scented mirage, "See you around, Evan."

There’s a moment of silence as Eddie and Buck stand there, watching him go.

Eddie glances over, eyebrow arched. "So…that was the Tommy?"

Buck sighs. "Yup. That was him,"

"He's...something," Eddie deadpans. "Interesting,"

Buck groans. "Don’t start."

"I’m just saying," Eddie teases, nudging him with an elbow. "He seems, uh...real charming. I think."

"Yeah, and it was super charming when he left me standing outside the restaurant after our first date. Oh, and let’s not forget how he’d just walk out anytime we had a disagreement. Real catch, huh?"

Eddie jokes, trying to lighten the mood, "So...all biceps, no emotional intelligence?" He can see the way Tommy’s appearance rattled Buck, and he’s trying to pull him out of it without making it too obvious.

He’d heard a bit about Tommy before, those offhand comments Buck had dropped in conversation — his first boyfriend, the one who was supposed to be "the one" but wasn't. Eddie tries to piece it together, remembering how Buck had mentioned Tommy with a mix of fondness and a hint of regret, like there were things left unsaid.

Eddie feels curiosity stir within him, more than he realizes. He’s never really gotten the full picture of Buck’s past relationships, that part of him that doesn’t quite line up with the man he’s come to know. He wonders what Tommy was like, how he fit into Buck’s life before — what made him so memorable, for better or worse. The questions sit in the back of Eddie’s mind, lingering, until Buck’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. It’s as if Buck somehow reads his mind and decides it’s time to fill in the blanks.

"Tommy— he said I’d be his first love, but not his last. Like it was some kind of fucking prophecy or something." Buck chuckles quietly, shaking his head. "I don’t think he meant it as harsh as it sounds. But it stuck with me." Buck exhales softly. "I really thought Tommy was it for me. I asked him to move in. I was all in, you know? And then...right after, he broke up with me."

Buck pauses, his gaze flicking to Eddie briefly before looking back down at his shoes. "I think he was right, in a way. But he was also kind of...wrong. I don’t think he ever really got me. He had this idea of what love should look like, but not what it actually was. It was kind of a mess."

He shrugs, but it feels different this time, like he's letting something go.

It’s not really closure, but it’s a step toward it. Eddie can see it in Buck’s eyes, that shift. It’s not about Tommy anymore, not about what was. It’s about who Buck is now, and Eddie can feel it. There’s something new there.

Eddie stays quiet for a beat, letting that sink in, before meeting Buck’s gaze again. And this time, it feels like they’re looking at the future, not the past.

Then, with a teasing smile, Buck leans in a little, eyes twinkling. "You know, if you’re getting jealous, Eds, I’m flattered. But I’m kinda busy with the guy who’s actually standing here," He laughs, nudging Eddie with his shoulder.

Eddie’s face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and surprise, eyes widening as he stammers, "Jealous? I wasn’t jealous." He shakes his head, trying to play it off, but his tone is a little too defensive to convince anyone. "I mean, come on, I was just…I don’t know, listening. Very intently. That’s all."

Buck leans in with a smirk, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Uh-huh. Sure, baby," He winks, not letting Eddie off the hook so easily.

Eddie groans, dropping his head into his hands. "I’m not jealous. It’s just— whatever, okay, you can stop now." He lets out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Buck’s chuckle is soft, but there's a hint of mischief in his eyes. "In all seriousness...jealousy looks kinda cute on you."

Eddie shoots him a look, his face flushing slightly. "Shut up," he mumbles, refusing to meet Buck’s eyes as he tries to fight off a smile. "I wasn't jealous."

Buck raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but his grin softens. "Sure, sure," he teases, nudging Eddie lightly. "Whatever you say."

Eddie rolls his eyes, but the warmth in his chest betrays him.

They walk in silence for a moment before Buck asks, more casual than not, "You ever run into any of your exes?"

Eddie chuckles, feeling a bit tense. He hadn’t really thought about it, but the question brings back memories of all his past relationships. "Not lately," he admits, glancing at Buck, "Probably a good thing, though."

Buck raises an eyebrow, clearly curious. "Okay, if you’re gonna make me say it…what’s the deal with your exes?" He nudges Eddie lightly with his shoulder, trying to keep things casual but Eddie can tell he’s digging for some kind of insight.

Eddie exhales slowly, his gaze drifting ahead as they walk. "I guess I wasn’t always the best boyfriend," he says, "To any of them." Eddie pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, "There was Ana...she was Christopher’s teacher. I thought I was doing the right thing, trying to fill this...'mother' role in Chris’ life after Shannon passed away. She was perfect for that. But...it was never much more,"

Buck’s quiet for a beat, sensing Eddie’s discomfort but also the honesty in his words. Eddie lets out a sigh, continuing, "And then Marisol...she was nice. Again, great for Chris. But I was just...using her to fill a void, I guess. I was stuck in this loop of trying to fix things with other people, instead of fixing myself."

Eddie takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to something distant for a moment before he looks back at Buck. "Then Shannon and I...we were kids. High school sweethearts. We were best friends first...and when we found out she was pregnant with Chris, we thought...okay, let’s do this. Let’s get married. Make it work."

Eddie smiles faintly, though there’s something bittersweet in it. "And we did try. But I enlisted not long after Chris was born, thought I was doing the right thing, you know? Providing for my family. But when I came back...I wasn’t the same. And neither was she. We didn’t know how to work together," he shakes his head. "We fought all the time. I didn’t know how to talk to her about what I was going through, and she didn’t know how to wait for someone who didn’t know how to come home. So she left. And honestly, I didn’t blame her."

His voice softens. "And then she came back, eventually. Tried again. And just when it felt like we might actually be figuring it out...she was gone. Car accident. Just like that."

He swallows hard, the emotion sitting thick in his chest. "I think part of me still carries guilt...that I wasn’t the person she needed me to be when she was alive. That I couldn’t fix it." He glances at Buck with a half-smile. Buck is quiet for a few steps, his hand brushing lightly against Eddie’s as they walk, thoughtful. Then, in that gentle, curious way that always manages to disarm Eddie, he asks, "Do you miss her?"

Eddie’s lips press into a line. The question doesn’t sting, it just sits heavy in his chest. "Yeah," he says after a moment, voice rough with honesty. "I do. But it’s not in the way people probably think."

He looks over at Buck, who’s just listening, really listening , and it helps him keep going.

"I don’t miss the fighting. Or the way we kept missing each other. I don’t even miss what we had, not really. I miss...her. The girl I grew up with. The one who used to sneak out with me to sit on the roof and talk about travelling the world. She’d bring a blanket and cheap gas station snacks she liked— sour gummies and chocolate-covered pretzels...we’d lie there staring at the stars. She wanted to see Greece. Said she’d swim in every ocean if she could. She’d look at me like we could actually do it, like the world was something we could hold in our hands." He swallows hard. "She was my best friend before anything else. Before we were parents, before the fighting and the mess. Before the world got so loud." Eddie’s throat tightens. "And I hate that it ended the way it did. That she died thinking we were done, because we were. But we never got to say it. Not really. There was no closure. Just silence."

He rubs a hand over his jaw, eyes distant. "Sometimes I still talk to her. In my head. When I don’t know what to do with Chris, or when he says something that sounds just like her. When I see a movie I know she would’ve hated, or someone at the store says something that would’ve made her laugh until she cried. It just...happens. Like she’s still here, hovering in my life. And I think...I think I’ll always carry her with me...in a way, she made me who I am. She was there for all of it— the good, the bad. The scared kid who didn’t know how to be a dad, the soldier who came home and didn’t recognize his own reflection. She saw all of that. And she stayed, until she couldn’t anymore."

Eddie swallows hard, glancing down. "I still loved her. Still do, in a way. Just...the kind that never fully goes away."

Buck nods, giving him the space to speak without pushing.

Eddie exhales, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You know, I’ve thought about it...she would’ve liked you. A lot."

That catches Buck off guard. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, chuckling softly. "She would’ve seen straight through you and called you out on all that charming nonsense, but she’d have liked you anyway. Eventually. She had no patience for smooth talkers. "

Buck teases, "Is that why she liked you?"

Eddie gives a mock-offended gasp, putting a hand to his chest. "Excuse me? I was very popular in high school, thank you very much. I played football and had all the ladies chasing me!"

Buck raises an eyebrow with a teasing grin. "Damn...I’m sorry I missed that. Would’ve loved to see you in action."

Eddie smirks, shaking his head. "Yeah, well...she’d probably have told me not to screw it up." He shrugs, a little laugh escaping him. "She had a way of keeping me in check."

There’s a brief, quiet pause before Eddie glances at Buck with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Alright, I’ve aired my tragic backstory. Your turn,"

Buck chuckles, giving him a sideways glance. "Oh, we’re doing this now? You sure you’re ready for all that?"

Eddie shrugs, intrigued. "I don’t know, but you’ve piqued my curiosity. All I know is Tommy...but who was the first?"

He glances over at Eddie, Buck leans back a little, looking up at the sky like he’s trying to find the right words. "Well…my first real love was Abby. She worked at dispatch. We met through a call— she was a lot older than me, but I didn’t care. Honestly, I think that was part of what drew me in. She was grounded...mature, and she had this calmness about her that made everything feel…safe. And I think I needed that at the time,"

Eddie listens quietly, watching him.

"I was still new at the 118," Buck continues. "Kind of a mess. Heart on my sleeve, throwing myself into everything headfirst, sometimes literally," he adds with a small grin. "And Abby? She slowed me down. She made me feel like I didn’t have to constantly prove myself." He pauses for a second, his smile fading a little. "Her mom was really sick when we met. That was a big part of her life...being a caregiver. And I think I understood that, in my own way. I didn’t mind that she had to split her time, or that sometimes she pulled away. I just...really liked being there, however I could."

Eddie tilts his head slightly, still silent.

"After her mom died, though…she left. Took a trip. Said she needed to find herself. I told her I understood. And I meant it— I didn’t want to hold her back. But the truth is, I waited. I kept thinking she’d come back. I even stayed in her place for a while, like an idiot, thinking maybe one day I’d open the door and she’d be there."

There’s a beat of quiet.

"But she never did. When she finally came back, it wasn’t to come back to me. She’d moved on. And that was that."

Eddie gives a soft hum, his expression a mix of sympathy and curiosity. "You ever talk to her now?"

Buck shakes his head. "Nope…we had one last conversation when she showed up out of the blue with a fiancé. That pretty much closed the book."

As Buck talks about Abby, Eddie notices something shift. Buck’s always been open with him, but this is different, less about confiding, more about revealing. He’s not deflecting with humour or downplaying it with a shrug. There’s a raw honesty in his voice that catches Eddie off guard. It reminds him that even with how close they’ve become, there are still corners of Buck’s heart he hasn’t seen yet. And now, one of them is finally coming into the light.

As they reach the end of the market, the late afternoon air settles around them, quiet and easy. The conversation fades, and with it, some of the weight they’d been carrying. The past feels a little further behind now, each step making it lighter.

Eddie gestures toward the parking lot. "We should get out of here before you end up running into another ex."

Buck chuckles as they start heading that way. "Only if you promise not to get jealous this time."

Eddie rolls his eyes, nudging him with his shoulder. "For the last time, I wasn’t jealous. I was...observant."

"Oh yeah?" Buck teases, bumping him back. "You’re a very intense observer, then."

They reach Eddie’s truck, still tossing jabs back and forth, their laughter fading into easy smiles as they climb inside. The sun’s dipped low enough to cast a glow over the city of LA, and the moment feels suspended, like they’ve got nowhere to be but right here.

Buck buckles in and glances sideways with a smirk. "So…how do you feel about ice cream that we absolutely don’t need but definitely deserve?"

Eddie shoots Buck a look as he starts the engine. "Ice cream as emotional compensation?"

Buck leans back in his seat, relaxed. "Hey, we handled that ex situation like a champ,"

"We?" Eddie raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, "You mean when you panicked and said 'We’re shopping for normal food' and then proceeded to stare up at the sky until he’s gone," he mocks playfully, "Real smooth,"  

"Okay fine…not my proudest moment," Buck admits with a sheepish grin.

"The look on your face? I should’ve taken a picture, you look like you’d seen a ghost," Eddie chuckles.

"Make fun of me all you want, but I recall someone getting all possessive the second Tommy shook my hand. Thought you were gonna challenge him in a duel or something,"

Eddie flushes, ducking his head as he mutters a low, "Why do I like you again?"

Buck just grins, unfazed, and threads their fingers together before lifting Eddie’s hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to his knuckles. They drive for a minute, windows down, warm breeze curling through the cab. Buck leans back, flipping on the radio. Taylor Swift comes on, and he instinctively starts humming along.

Eddie gives him a look. "Really?"

Buck shrugs. "What? The woman writes bangers. Don’t judge."

Eddie just laughs, shaking his head. "Not judging. Just...mentally preparing for you singing all the way there."

Buck grins. "Good. I’ve got the whole 1989 album in me."

And just like that, the weight of the day slips into the rearview, replaced by laughter, a pop anthem on the radio, and Buck screaming the lyrics with zero shame. Eddie shakes his head, grinning as Buck drums his thighs, utterly off-key and unapologetically loud. The air between them is easy, carried by the music and the promise of something sweet waiting at the end of it.

__

Eddie debates dropping by the station at all.

After Buck bails on dinner with a vague excuse and a quick, 'I’ll make it up to you, promise,' something tugs at Eddie. Not annoyance exactly, more like concern. Buck isn’t usually the type to cancel, and definitely not last-minute. So, when Eddie notices Buck’s wallet left behind on the counter, it feels like the perfect excuse to check in.

Just a quick drop-off. Nothing more.

The firehouse doors are open when he arrives, sun spilling across the bay floor. It’s calm, too calm, for mid-shift. Eddie steps inside, scanning the space until his eyes find Buck seated alone at the dining table above. As Eddie climbs the stairs, concern grows with each step. Buck’s shoulders slump, one hand idly flipping through a book he doesn’t seem to be reading. His fingers tap out an uneven rhythm against the tabletop, his jaw clenched like he’s holding back words he doesn’t want to say. The spark Buck usually carries so effortlessly, his bright, buzzing energy, is noticeably dim.

Eddie lifts the wallet slightly as he approaches. "Hey, thought you might want this back before you realized it was missing."

Buck glances up, clearly surprised to see him. "Oh— Eddie." He takes the wallet, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. "Right. Thanks. Didn’t even realize I left it."

Eddie lingers, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Buck says too quickly, like he’s been waiting for the question and is ready to shut it down. "Just tired."

Eddie nods, but doesn’t buy it. Buck looks restless, tense in his own skin. Like something’s eating at him.

But Eddie knows that look too well — the one that slips into someone’s eyes when they’re trying to keep everything sealed inside. It’s the kind of look he used to wear himself, back when talking felt more dangerous than silence. He recognizes the tight set of Buck’s jaw, the slight twitch in his brow.

Something’s going on. Something Buck isn’t ready to share.

And for a split second, that hits Eddie harder than he expects.

It’s not just about the moment. It’s about what it might mean. Maybe Buck doesn’t trust him enough yet. Maybe Eddie’s asking for too much without realizing it. He wonders if he’s said the wrong thing or pushed too hard, if maybe he’s starting to expect things that Buck isn’t ready to give. And even though he knows better, not everything has to be shared right away, there’s still that faint sting, low in his chest.

So he steps back, physically and emotionally, and forces his voice steady. "Alright," he says, softer than usual. "Didn’t mean to bug you. I’ll call you later, yeah?"

He doesn’t linger. Doesn’t ask again. Just offers Buck a small, quiet smile, one that barely reaches his eyes, and turns to go, hoping like hell the distance he gives now doesn’t turn into something permanent later.

He’s turning toward the exit when the alarm blares overhead. It’s sharp, loud, immediate. A call. Eddie instinctively steps aside as the crew mobilizes, voices rising, boots hitting concrete.

Only Buck doesn’t move.

He just sits there.

Eddie blinks, confused, watching as the rest of the team pulls on gear and jogs toward the rig. He sees Hen, Chimney, and Ravi. Then—

"Buck, you’re sitting this one out," Bobby calls across the bay. "Not until that leg’s cleared."

Eddie freezes.

He turns back toward Buck, brows drawing together. "Wait— your leg?"

Buck’s jaw tenses. He doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t say anything.

Eddie steps closer, worry prickling beneath his skin like static. "What happened, Buck?"

No response. Buck keeps his eyes fixed on the table, jaw clenched, body tense like a rubber band about to snap.

Eddie’s voice drops lower, quieter, but more insistent. "Buck. What happened? "

Still nothing. Just the sound of traffic in the distance, the echo of the sirens fading as the firetrucks pull away to the emergency, and the quiet thrum of Buck not saying a word. Eddie watches him, really watches him. He sees it — the stiffness in Buck’s posture, the subtle flex and release of his hand at his side, the way his breathing is just a little too measured. This isn’t nothing. This is something.

Something Buck doesn’t want to say out loud.

And that scares Eddie more than anything Buck could’ve told him.

For a moment, it feels like Buck might not answer at all. His eyes are fixed, unfocused, shoulders tight. Then, finally, he exhales through his nose. A slow, frustrated breath.

"It’s my leg," Buck says quietly, the words sounding like they cost him something. "It gave out on me. On the call this morning."

Eddie’s brow furrows. "What do you mean, it gave out on you?"

Buck sighs. "We got on scene, car was upside down, two people trapped inside. Driver was wedged under the dashboard, barely conscious, and the passenger was panicking, screaming about leaking fuel." He rubs the back of his neck, jaw working like he’s chewing over what to say next. "I crawled in to help stabilize the driver so we could cut them out. It's a tight space. No room to move. And just as we’re getting ready to lift him out— something shifted. My footing slipped, and—" He pauses, jaw working. "It just…went numb. Like the strength drained out of it all at once."

Eddie’s breath catches, his brow furrowing deeper. "Is that…is that something that happens a lot?" He searches Buck’s face, confusion giving way to something heavier. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

The silence that follows stretches, heavy with everything left unsaid. Then Buck finally meets Eddie’s eyes, his voice low and guarded. "A few years ago...I was pinned under a firetruck." His fingers curl into his palm, like he can physically hold it back. “I couldn’t move. I remember the weight, the sound of metal groaning. I thought—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. “Anyway. I got out. Eventually.” But the way he says it, the tremor in his voice, tells Eddie that part of him is still trapped under that truck.

Eddie doesn’t interrupt, but his chest tightens with concern. He had no idea. He waits, knowing Buck will continue when he’s ready.

"The thing is..." Buck goes on, his voice strained, "It didn’t just hurt when it happened. It still hurts sometimes, even now. It’s just…I get this phantom pain, or this weird tingling, and sometimes it’s nothing. And then sometimes, like today, it just buckles."

Eddie’s breath hitches at the intensity in Buck’s tone. His stomach knots, and he instinctively reaches for Buck’s arm, trying to offer silent comfort.

"And then today, on that call…I couldn’t stand straight. Ravi had to take over." Buck’s voice wavers slightly, but he keeps going. "Felt like the weight of the whole truck came back down on me. It's like it’s real all over again."

Eddie swallows hard, trying to process. He hadn’t known this. He imagines Buck, lying there in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines, his leg crushed by the weight of the firetruck, and the flood of questions and fears that must have assaulted him in the aftermath. The uncertainty of whether he would walk again, let alone work again. The thought of being faced with the possibility of a life completely different from the one he had imagined...it had to have been terrifying. 

"I didn’t know," he says softly.

Buck nods, forcing a small smile that still doesn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, well…it’s never happened while on a call before. And all I could think about after it happened was what if it happens again? What if I can’t keep doing this job?"

Eddie’s heart clenches as he listens. Buck has always been the one who seemed unshakable, someone who could power through anything. To hear this raw truth, the cracks in his confidence, is something Eddie never expects.

"And I didn’t...I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want anyone to think I was weak, especially not Bobby. So I didn’t bring it up."

Eddie frowns, his gaze sharp. "Bobby’s your captain, Buck. He’s not gonna think you’re weak."

Buck shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "You didn’t see the way he looked at me when I collapsed. It doesn’t matter anyways, we got into it after we got back to the station. He pulled me aside, asking me what the hell was going on. And I—" Buck’s voice cracks before he clears his throat, frustration and guilt choking him. "I never told him that I still get the pain, that it still happens sometimes, and I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle it. But then we started arguing, and...he said he was worried. He told me that I didn’t have to hide it from him, that we were a team. But I—" He stops, looking down at his hands, self-conscious tension creeping into his shoulders. "I didn’t want to seem like I couldn’t take it, Eddie. I didn’t want to be the guy who needed help."

There’s a long pause. Eddie steps closer, takes a seat next to Buck, his voice soft but steady. "You don’t have to do it all alone, Buck."

Buck’s eyes flicker to Eddie’s face, and for the first time, he allows himself to feel the truth of those words. "I know," he murmurs. "But it’s...hard, you know? Sometimes, I feel like if I let people in too much, they’ll see how broken I am. I don’t want to be the guy who’s always struggling, who can’t just move on like everyone else."

Eddie’s gaze softens as he watches Buck, his expression serious but filled with a tenderness. He doesn't rush to fill the silence, letting the weight of his words settle. "Buck… you have an injury," Eddie says, his voice gentle but firm. "You can’t just pretend it’s not there and power through like nothing happened. That’s not how injuries work."

Buck's voice is quiet, almost defensive. "Yeah, well...I can’t be the guy who goes down on a call either. Not again. I can’t be the one who everyone has to worry about."

"You don’t have to be the strong one all the time," Eddie continues, his words carrying a weight that’s not just about the physical injury but the emotional toll. "I get it. I know what it’s like to push things down, to try and convince everyone— and yourself, that you’re fine. But this? This isn’t something you can just bury and keep going. It’s a part of you now. It’s a part of what happened, and it doesn’t make you weaker. It makes you real ."

Eddie watches Buck closely, noting the way his jaw tightens, the subtle shift in his posture that signals the tension building up inside him. It’s like he’s bracing for something, preparing himself to pull away or shut down. The way Buck’s eyes flicker down towards the table again tells Eddie he’s caught somewhere between wanting to hear the words and not wanting to let anyone in. Eddie’s hand shifts to the back of Buck’s neck, his thumb lightly grazing the skin there. "It’s okay to admit that it hurts sometimes. It’s okay to need help, Buck. I’m here. I know you don’t want to talk about it...but I can see it. I can see that you're carrying all of it by yourself. You don’t have to."

The words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable. Eddie feels a knot form in his chest, a mixture of protectiveness and frustration. He knows Buck. He knows how stubborn he can be. He knows how deeply he hides his pain, the way he tries to carry everything on his own. But Eddie’s been there, too — he’s carried weight by himself, tried to tough things out, only to realize that it never works, not in the end.

Buck still doesn’t say anything. His shoulders are tense, his jaw tighter than ever, like he’s keeping himself from falling apart right in front of Eddie. Eddie’s heart aches at the sight, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to pull away, not this time. He knows Buck needs him to be there, not to fix anything, but just to stay. To let him know it’s okay not to be okay.

In that quiet, Eddie doesn’t need anything else. He doesn’t need words. He just needs Buck to know he’s there, to know he doesn’t have to carry it alone anymore. And maybe, just maybe, in that space between them, Buck will start to believe it too.

__

Eddie hears the bay doors rumble open before he sees them. He catches the familiar low chatter and scuff of boots on concrete as the crew returns from a call. He stays where he is, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, eyes flicking to Buck, who’s still grinning at the cartoon playing on TV.

The sound of the others grows louder. Eddie picks up snippets of conversation — Hen laughing at something, Chimney says, the sharp hiss of a water bottle opening. And then, a pause.

Eddie straightens a little but doesn’t move. He’s not doing anything wrong. He hadn’t planned on staying. He really had just meant to drop off Buck’s wallet. That was the excuse, anyway. The truth is — he doesn’t like the idea of Buck sitting here alone, trying to pretend nothing hurts, especially not after what he admitted earlier.

Footsteps shuffle against the concrete. Eddie catches movement in his periphery and turns slightly as Bobby, Chimney, Ravi, and Hen file into the room. They stop just a few steps away, surprise flickering across their faces. Hen arches an eyebrow, curiosity plain on her face.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Hen’s face lights up. "Well, well, well...look who it is."

Chimney grins. "Didn’t know we were getting special guests today."

Ravi offers a quiet, "Hey," with a quick wave, and even Bobby’s usually composed expression softens at the sight.

Eddie offers a casual nod, more reflex than greeting. He’s not used to being the one catching people off guard. But there’s something in their smiles that makes the station feel warmer, familiar in a way he hadn’t expected. Comfortable, even.

"Didn’t mean to crash the party," Eddie says. "Just came to drop off his wallet— he left it at my place last night."

Hen raises an eyebrow. "I didn’t realize we were leaving wallets at each other’s places now."

Eddie shrugs, a slight grin tugging at his lips. "Gives him an excuse to come back."

Buck shoots him a look, but there’s a softness in his eyes that makes it clear the teasing doesn’t bother him. If anything, he seems more at ease than he did earlier.

Bobby observes the interaction with a knowing glance. "Eddie, you’re always welcome here," he says, voice warm. "Glad you came by." He gives Eddie a brief, appreciative nod before turning his attention back to Buck, sensing the unspoken tension still lingering beneath the surface. Eddie’s presence clearly makes a difference, and Bobby doesn’t need to say more for Eddie to understand.

Eddie shrugs. "Didn’t feel right leaving him alone."

Buck elbows him lightly. "I’m right here, you know."

Bobby huffs a quiet laugh, then shifts his weight slightly, his tone softening. "Eddie, why don’t you take Buck home? He’s done enough for today."

Buck opens his mouth to protest, of course he does, but Bobby holds up a hand. "No arguments. I don’t want to see you back until your next shift. Rest. That’s an order."

Buck glances at Eddie, who’s already rising to his feet, hand out like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Buck takes it without hesitation, and Eddie gives him a look that says don’t push it. He doesn’t.

"Thanks, Bobby," Eddie says, then glances toward the others. "I’ll get him out of your hair."

"You’re doing us a favour," Hen says with a smile. "Keep him out of trouble."

Buck tosses her a mock-offended look. "You wound me."

Chim snorts. "You’ll live."

Eddie’s hand doesn’t leave Buck’s as they head toward the lockers. It’s not for show, he just doesn’t want to let go yet. And as they disappear down the hall, he hears Bobby say, almost incomprehensibly, "Good. He needs someone."

__

The ride back to Eddie’s place is quiet, the hum of the engine and the occasional sound of a passing car filling the space between them. Buck sits slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed out the window like the world outside might give him answers he isn’t ready to ask for. Eddie can feel the heaviness in the air, the weight of everything Buck isn’t saying hanging between them.

As they pull into Eddie’s apartment and park, Buck doesn’t make a move to get out right away. Eddie turns off the engine but doesn’t get out either. The silence stretches for a beat longer, and then Eddie sighs softly.

"You know you can talk to me, right?" Eddie’s voice is calm, but the underlying concern is clear. He’s not going to let this go. Not without knowing what’s going on in Buck’s head.

Buck lets out a deep breath, still staring straight ahead. "Yeah, I know. Just...not right now."

Eddie nods, understanding, but he’s not letting it slide. He’s seen Buck in a million different moods, but this is the first time he’s seen him so closed off. It feels like a wall has gone up, and Buck is hiding behind it, even though Eddie is standing on the other side, willing to tear it down if it means Buck can breathe a little easier.

They make their way inside, and Buck collapses onto the couch, stretching his legs out and lying back, his face set in a tight, strained expression. Eddie makes sure Buck has everything he needs — water, snacks, whatever he can offer. But still, Buck doesn’t speak. Eddie sits down beside him, but not too close, giving him space. He’s not going to push, but he’s ready to listen if Buck decides to talk.

Eddie’s mind wanders back to the army, back to the time he spent in a war zone where nothing was guaranteed, not even his own life. It’s almost surreal now, thinking about it — how everything felt like a blur in the heat of it all. He’s seen things, done things, that no one should ever have to. And there were days, weeks, even months where he couldn’t shake the feeling of being right back in that moment, unable to escape the ghosts of the past.

Finally, Eddie breaks the silence. He doesn’t know why it feels like the right time, but he can tell Buck is still trapped in his own mind. It’s not like him to stay quiet for this long. So Eddie reaches into his own history, his own scars, the things he doesn’t talk about to anyone but the people closest to him.

"Listen," Eddie starts, his voice quiet but firm. "I know you feel like you messed up today. That you were weak or something." He pauses, unsure how to phrase it without sounding like he’s sugar-coating things. "But that’s not it. It happens to all of us. We don’t always have control over it."

Buck doesn’t say anything, but Eddie sees his jaw clench, his eyes flitting to the side. Eddie keeps going, feeling an urge to push through the moment, to pull Buck out of himself.

Eddie leans back against the arm of the couch, his eyes flicking toward the ceiling for a moment like he’s trying to find the words up there. Buck lies stretched out across the cushions, one arm draped over his eyes, but Eddie knows he’s listening. Really listening.

"I don’t talk about this much," Eddie starts again, his voice low, not quite heavy but steady with weight behind every word. "But I get it. What it’s like when your body betrays you. When the pain doesn't just live in your bones, your muscles...but in your head, in your chest…in places you didn’t even know could carry pain like that."

Buck doesn’t move, but Eddie presses on, the words coming slowly now, measured.

"My last deployment. We were flying over this area…doing a supply run, routine stuff, when we got hit mid-flight. I don’t even remember the impact. Just black." His eyes unfocus slightly, caught in the memory, in the cold sweat of it. "When I woke up, it was dark. The chopper was wrecked, parts of it still smoking. Everyone was scattered, wounded. Some worse than others. We were under fire, pinned down. I don’t know how I even got up. Just…instinct, I guess."

Eddie glances over at Buck, who’s still quiet, but the tension in his body has changed. Loosened in some places. Tighter in others.

"I helped pull the guys out. Got them behind some rocks for cover. Then I went back in for Greggs. He was a good guy— funny, talked too much. He didn’t make it. Died on impact. I knew that, but I couldn’t just leave him there."

Eddie’s voice falters for a breath. "That’s when I got hit. A few times. Shoulder. Side. Leg. I was bleeding out, couldn’t see straight. I remember pulling out this little photo of Chris, something Shannon sent me before I left. Just this tiny print of him, smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. I held onto that and prayed. Not for myself, but just to see him again. I didn’t care how broken I was when I got back. I just needed to get back."

He swallows hard, his thumb unconsciously brushing over the inner edge of his palm, the ghost of a scar long faded. "Next thing I know, I’m in a medical tent. Dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, bullet wounds. They told me everyone else made it out except Greggs. Said I helped save them. They even gave me a medal. Silver Star." Eddie lets out a short, humourless breath. "You know what I remember most? Not the gunshots. Not the medal. Not even the pain. Just the look on my medic’s face when he first reached me. I was barely conscious, covered in blood, and couldn’t move. And the way he looked at me…I could tell he didn’t think I was gonna make it."

He pauses, fingers absently rubbing at his side like the memory still lives there. "I remember thinking, this is it. Not fear, exactly. Just...regret. That I wouldn’t get home to Christopher. That I wouldn’t be there to watch him grow up. That I’d just disappear, like I was never meant to make it out."

Eddie glances toward Buck. "It stays with you. That kind of moment. You don’t shake it off. You just learn to carry it."

He looks down, voice softer now. "So yeah. I get it ."

Buck shifts a little at that, his arm moving to rest behind his head now, eyes locked on Eddie.

"And even now," Eddie adds, quieter, "Some nights I wake up and I swear I’m still out there. I hear the guns, feel the heat, feel the sand...the smell of it all. I still reach for that photo sometimes. Just to remind myself, I made it home."

He meets Buck’s gaze fully now. "So no. I don’t think you’re weak. Not for feeling what you’re feeling. Not for hurting. And not for being scared. Because I know exactly what it’s like to carry something inside you that no one else can see, but that never lets you go."

The room goes quiet again, but it’s not heavy the way it had been before. The silence feels earned. Honest. Eddie doesn’t need Buck to say anything. He just needs him to know, he’s not alone in the dark.

Not now. Not ever.

__

Buck and Eddie walk into the bar hand-in-hand, the warm buzz of conversation and soft clinking of glasses surrounding them like background music. There’s something different about Buck tonight — lighter, easier, like he’s finally put down something heavy he’s been carrying for too long. The shadows that clung to him after that tough call have started to slip away, piece by piece.

Eddie’s not sure what did it exactly. Maybe it was their talk a few weeks ago — the one where Buck finally let the words spill out, raw and tangled, and Eddie just listened. Or maybe it was something quieter. Maybe it was time, space, or the slow and steady comfort of being surrounded by people who love him. Either way, Buck’s starting to look like himself again. Not just the surface-level charm, but the real Buck — bright-eyed, wide-hearted, unapologetically himself.

Eddie sees it in the easy way Buck laughs now, in the way he reaches for Eddie’s hand without looking, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And tonight, stepping into the familiar chaos of their found family, Buck looks not just present, but grounded. Here. Really here.

And Eddie, hand clasped tightly in Buck’s, feels something in his chest unclench. Because seeing Buck this way, steady and whole, feels like catching the sun after weeks of overcast skies.

Tucked into the far corner is Hen, Chimney, Karen, Athena, Maddie, and Bobby are all gathered around a cluster of pushed-together tables, drinks in hand and smiles easy. Ravi is perched between Athena and Karen, hunched over his phone with the focused intensity of someone who’s taken trivia prep a little too seriously. Above them hangs a crooked 'Happy Birthday Buck!'  banner — unmistakably Chimney's work, glittery and over-the-top, like he panic-bought it from the clearance aisle of a craft store ten minutes before arrival.

Maddie spots them first. "There they are!" she says, standing and waving them over, her smile wide and unguarded.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Chimney teases as they approach.

"Hey! We’re right on time," Eddie says, raising an eyebrow.

Buck grins, leaning into Eddie’s side. "Yeah, besides, birthday boy gets to be fashionably late."

"Birthday boy also has to defend his title," Hen says, waving a trivia scorecard with Buck’s name scribbled across the top in sparkly blue ink. "Last year, you beat us by, like, three points and haven’t shut up about it since."

"Because I’m amazing ," Buck declares with all the confidence in the world — right before he catches the leg of his own chair and stumbles.

Eddie, standing just behind him, catches him by the elbow without missing a beat. "Incredible," he mutters, deadpan. "Grace, elegance...pure athleticism."

Buck beams, unfazed, and drops into his seat with a flourish. "And I’ve been training. Jeopardy reruns every night."

Eddie pulls out the chair next to him and sits down, giving Buck a sideways look. "Yeah, nothing says fun like being quizzed by Alex Trebek at 11PM while someone yells answers at the screen."

Buck points at him. "It’s called strategy."

"Or a cry for help."

Buck snorts, leaning back in his chair, wrapping an arm around Eddie. The bar lights glint off the glossy surface, menus getting passed around, drinks placed in the center of the table. The night is just getting started, and Buck already glows a little brighter than usual.

Eddie leans in slightly and adds with mock seriousness, "Also, you fall asleep five minutes in and make me finish the episode."

Buck just grins. "Teamwork, baby."

Eddie shakes his head, smiling despite himself. "We are absolutely losing tonight."

Maddie reaches over and ruffles Buck’s hair with sisterly menace. "He’s got the confidence of a man who’s never been wrong in his life."

"That is not a compliment," Bobby says with a small smile.

"Just don’t cry when you lose," Hen says sweetly.

"I won’t," Buck says, wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulder. "I’ll just make my boyfriend avenge me."

Eddie smirks. "Nah. I’m switching teams. I’ve seen what you do under pressure."

"Wow !" Buck says, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. "Right in front of all our friends?"

"Oh my god, they’re gonna be like this all night, aren’t they?" Chimney groans, already flagging the server for another round.

As the rounds kick off, the trivia turns deliciously chaotic. The categories range from obscure movie quotes to an entire category dedicated to pineapples. Buck, much to no one’s surprise, is weirdly good at naming pasta shapes and historical figures who died from bizarre causes. At one point, a question about workplace misconduct gets the table snickering, and Chimney, barely containing his grin, says, "So…hypothetically, if someone took a firetruck for a joyride and didn’t exactly use it for, uh, professional purposes— does that count?"

"Professional purposes?" Eddie repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Bobby groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "Oh, come on. Are we still bringing this up?"

Ravi blinks, clearly thrown. "Wait, that actually happened? I thought that was just some weird hazing story to scare the rookies."

Hen grins, practically vibrating with delight. "Nope. One hundred percent real. Buck took a firetruck out for...extracurricular activities."

"Allegedly !" Buck calls out.

"And guess who got fired for it?" Hen adds, raising her glass with mock solemnity.

"Temporarily !" Buck protests again, louder this time, cheeks flushing red — not from embarrassment, but from the beer he’s been steadily nursing all night.

As the night wears on, Buck’s answers get louder, more confident, and progressively more wrong . Eddie rests a steadying hand on his knee under the table — half to keep him grounded, half because Buck keeps leaning into him like a warm, drunk golden retriever.

At some point, mid-round about ’90s sitcoms, everyone is arguing over whether Friends or Seinfeld is more culturally iconic. Buck turns toward Eddie with a grin so wide it nearly splits his face. His cheeks are flushed, his curls a little messy from running his hands through them every time he gets an answer wrong, and his eyes, bright, a bit glassy, are fixed solely on Eddie like the rest of the room has completely fallen away.

"You know..." he slurs softly, his voice sloping into something syrupy and warm, "I love you so much, baby."

Eddie blinks, halfway through writing down an answer, and looks over, surprised by the sudden shift. "What?"

Buck keeps going, utterly oblivious to the shift in energy. "Like…so much," he says, his voice warm and sloping, the words spilling out like a confession he’s been holding onto for too long. "Like, I look at you sometimes and I feel like my whole chest might explode. You could say literally anything right now— like, anything...and I’d be like, 'Yes, baby, absolutely, you’re a genius, I trust you with my life.' 

He leans in closer, forehead finding Eddie’s shoulder like it’s home, letting out a dreamy sigh. "You’re so smart. And so hot. Like, ridiculously hot. It’s honestly kind of rude how hot you are. And you smell good all the time. Like, how is that even fair?" He shifts, trying to look up at Eddie with bleary, lovesick eyes. "And your arms. Oh my god, your arms. Have I told you about your arms yet? Because they’re perfect. I would fight for them. Like, carved-from-marble, Greek-god perfect. I would write poetry about your arms. I would fight someone over your arms. Did I already say that?”

Eddie tries, and fails, not to laugh. “Twice.”

Buck just smiles against his shoulder. “Worth saying again.”

Hen, sitting across from them, catches the tail end of Buck’s little speech and nearly chokes on her drink. Chim is already nudging Maddie with a "Your brother’s gone full rom-com," and Maddie, red-faced, is desperately trying not to laugh.

Eddie glances around, catching the amused stares, and ducks his head slightly, letting out a breathy laugh. Buck is still half-draped over his shoulder, whispering something about Eddie's 'really nice neck' when the trivia host shouts the next question and pulls Buck’s attention away again.

"Wait, wait— I know this one!" he shouts, jolting upright like nothing just happened. "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air! Boom!"

The answer was not correct.

Eddie just shakes his head, heart thudding a little too loud now, that slurred 'I love you so much, baby' looping on repeat.

Buck won’t remember it in the morning, Eddie’s sure of that. He’s halfway to drunk and sliding fast into tipsy affection, the kind of sloppy, wide-eyed sweetness that comes with one too many tequila shots and being surrounded by the people you trust most.

But Eddie will remember.

Because drunk or not, Buck says it like he means it. Like it’s the truest thing he’s ever said.

No hesitation. No teasing.

Just love, unfiltered and wide open.

And the worst part, or maybe the best, is that Eddie feels it too. Has for a while now. It hasn’t hit him all at once, but built slowly — between shared mornings over coffee, the way Buck always texts Chris to ask about his latest research project like it actually matters to him, in the steady presence Buck carved into his life without ever asking for space. It’s in how Buck shows up, always, without question, without fanfare, just there.

Solid. Constant.

He loves Buck. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that Buck didn't mean to say it.

And even if he does, he’s drunk, and tomorrow, that love might dissolve like the taste of lime and salt and good intentions.

So Eddie just sits there, watching Buck laugh loudly at a wrong trivia answer, cheeks pink and eyes glassy, completely unaware of what he’s done.

He doesn’t say anything. Not tonight.

But God, he wants to.

Later, when the rounds are over and they’re all heading out, Buck leans heavily into Eddie’s side, giggling over some terrible pun Hen made. His words from earlier stick in Eddie’s head like the echo of a song he’s not ready to turn off.

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps his arm around Buck, carrying that unintentional confession like it’s something precious, even if Buck won’t remember it in the morning.

__

The next morning drifts in slowly, soft golden light stretching across the loft’s high windows and casting long shadows across the hardwood. It’s quiet, a kind of calm that comes after a night that burned hot and loud. Eddie stands in the kitchen in one of Buck’s hoodies and sweats, sleeves pushed up, cracking eggs into a bowl with more concentration than the task requires, just to keep his hands busy.

Behind him, Buck is an unmoving lump on the couch, his new couch, tangled in a blanket and snoring faintly. His hair sticks up at wild angles, his arm slung over his face to block out the light. There’s a half-drunk glass of water on the coffee table and a bottle of ibuprofen beside it.

He hasn’t said anything about the night before. Not about the way Buck slurred out 'I love you so much' in the middle of a trivia round. Not about the way it sat with him all night, warm and terrifying and permanent.

Eddie tells himself it’s better this way.

Buck was drunk. He wouldn’t remember. He probably didn’t even mean it, not really. At least not in the way Eddie felt it settle into his ribs like it belonged there.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk about it — he just isn’t sure if Buck will even remember saying it. And part of him doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up first. Because if it wasn’t real, if it was just drunk talk, he’s not sure what he’d do with that.

The couch shifts, and Buck groans, dragging himself upright. "Ugh. Why do my eyeballs hurt?"

"You drank like too much beer and tequila and then tried to convince Athena you invented trivia," Eddie says, deadpan.

Buck blinks blearily at him. "Why are you up so early? That's a crime."

Eddie, standing at the stove, doesn’t even look up from the pan he’s warming. "Well...some of us didn’t drink half the bar and then try to make the Uber driver stop for pancakes at two in the morning."

Buck winces, dragging a hand down his face. "God. Tell me you’re joking?"

"You offered to buy him pancakes and then said you’d save him from a fire."

Buck groans and flops back onto the couch. "I’m gonna go die in the shower now."

Eddie smirks as Buck shuffles toward the bathroom, bleary and dramatic. As soon as the door clicks shut and the water starts running, he lets out a breath and leans against the counter, staring at the pan like it might offer answers.

He turns back to the bowl, pouring the beaten eggs into the pan, picking up the spatula and gently nudging the liquid around. After a few minutes, they’re nearly done. Soft curds are forming, the way that both Buck and Christopher like them. His hands move without thinking, slowly stirring, but his mind is somewhere else entirely.

'I love you'

Buck had said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like it wasn’t a question or a risk, just a truth that had finally found its way out. Eddie hadn’t known what to do with it in the moment.

Still doesn’t, really.

He stirs the eggs again, watches the steam rise, tries not to think about the way Buck had looked at him, eyes wide, voice steady. Like he meant every word.

Eddie scrapes the eggs gently to one side, clicks the burner off, and stands there for a moment, spatula still in hand. His chest feels too full, too fragile. There’s fear there, sure. But under it, there’s something else, something startling in its clarity.

Maybe it’s not about being ready in some perfect, cleaned-up way. Maybe it’s just about letting himself be in this.

He exhales slowly, plates the eggs, and sets them on the counter. It’s quiet again, just the sound of water running in the distance and the soft clink of ceramic on wood.

And beneath all of it, that one truth, steady and impossible to ignore.

'He said he loves me. And I want to believe him.'

He doesn’t even realize he’s drifted until the bathroom door flies open with a thud.

"Eddie."

Buck’s voice is sharp, almost breathless.

Eddie turns, spatula still in hand.

Buck stands in the hallway, hair dripping, towel wrapped low around his hips, eyes wide and searching. There’s a kind of wild urgency in his expression, like he’s just run through every single moment of the night before in a blink.

"I remember," Buck says, voice low but steady.

Eddie’s stomach flips. "What?"

"Last night. I remember what I said. I told you I love you."

Eddie stares at him. The only sound is the faint tick of the clock on the wall.

"I meant it," Buck says, stepping closer, water still clinging to his skin, his eyes full of sincerity. "I wasn’t just drunk. I mean— I was drunk, but it doesn’t make it not true. I love you. I’ve been in love with you for a while. I didn’t know how to say it until it just...slipped out last night." He pauses, a little awkward, but not looking away from Eddie. His hand hovers just inches from Eddie’s as the words catch in his throat for a second. He stands there now, in front of Eddie, and the words he’s been holding onto for months, maybe longer, finally feel like they need to be said.

"I…I don’t know when it happened, Eds," Buck says, his voice softer now, almost tentative. "I can’t give you an exact day or anything. But I think it was sometime in that first month we were really doing this. Dating, I mean." He swallows, a little awkward, eyes flicking to Eddie’s before holding them. "There was this night— you were over at mine. It was late. You’d already gone to bed, and I stayed up to finish reading some article on my laptop. And when I came in, you were asleep on your stomach, kind of halfway across the bed, snoring a little— just a little, not enough to tease you about." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, small and real . "You had one arm tucked under the pillow and the other sort of...reaching out toward my side of the bed. Like you didn’t even know you were doing it. Like your body already knew I was supposed to be there." He shrugs, breath catching. "That was it. That little moment. I just stood there for like five minutes, watching you sleep, and I thought, ‘God, I love him.'"

Buck’s hand drops to his side as he lets out a breath, waiting for Eddie to respond, his own heart pounding in his chest at the words. "It came back to me in the shower— last night. I did say it. And I need you to know, I meant it."

Eddie doesn’t say anything at first.

He just stands there, caught in that moment — Buck in front of him, eyes soft, voice still lingering in the air. And for a second, all Eddie can think about is how far he’s come. How different everything is now.

When they first met, he built walls so high even he couldn’t see over them. He didn’t talk about feelings. He didn’t let people in. His life was sewing, duty, routine and control. And Buck came in like a force of nature, all heart and chaos and light. Eddie hadn’t known what to do with that.

With someone who saw straight through him, even when he didn’t want to be seen.

But now — now he stands here, heart stretched so full it feels like it might split at the seams. Like anything after this would only echo, a pale imitation of what it means to be right here, with him. His gaze dips for a breath, then rises again, softer now, like it’s settling into something he’s finally ready to carry.

"I thought I had to settle," Eddie says, voice catching softly. "For quiet, for safe. For something small enough to fit inside the life I’d convinced myself was enough." His eyes linger on Buck, full of quiet wonder. "But then you came along. And it was like...suddenly there was colour where everything had been grey. You didn’t ask for space— you just made room for yourself, without pushing, without forcing. Like you were always meant to be here." A smile curves at his lips, gentle and a little stunned. "You didn’t overwhelm me, Buck. You reminded me how big life could be. How full. You didn’t just make it okay to want more— you made me believe I could have it. That I could have you."

Eddie shakes his head lightly, like he still can’t believe any of this is real. "You challenged everything I thought I knew about myself. And still, being with you— it’s never felt like work. It’s felt like coming home. Like maybe I didn’t miss my chance at this after all."

He lets the silence stretch just a little longer, the moment heavy but calm, like it needs space to breathe. Then, his voice comes low, sure, but gentler than before. "I love you too, Buck. I think part of me’s known for a while— I just didn’t know how to say it either."

Buck stares at him, something unspoken flickering across his face before it finally breaks loose in a rush of breath. "God," he says, voice rough and a little awed, "I love you so fucking much."

And then he’s on him — hands in Eddie’s hair, mouths colliding with months of held-back emotion crashing to the surface. Eddie meets him with the same urgency, the spatula falling onto the ground long forgotten, pulling Buck in like he never wants to let him go, their bodies pressed together.

The kiss isn’t neat or careful. It’s all teeth and lips and hands roaming like they’re trying to make up for lost time, like they finally don’t have to hold back.

Eddie backs them up until Buck hits the counter, never breaking the kiss, his hands gripping the edge like he needs something to hold onto. Buck gasps against his mouth, and Eddie takes the chance to kiss down the side of his jaw, breath warm, voice low.

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," Eddie murmurs, words almost getting lost in the space between them. "How long I’ve wanted you."

Buck’s fingers tangle in the fabric of Eddie’s hoodie, pulling him closer, like maybe if he holds on tight enough, it’ll ground him. "You have me," he breathes. "You’ve always had me."

Eddie kisses him again, slower this time, but deeper — like he’s memorizing the taste of him, like every part of him finally makes sense. Buck melts into it, into him, into all of it, like he’s been waiting his whole damn life for this exact moment.

They break apart only when air becomes necessary, foreheads pressed together, their breathing tangled in the small space between them. Eddie’s hand still cups Buck’s jaw, thumb brushing gently along the curve of his cheek, anchoring them both in the moment. Eddie pulls back just enough to look at him fully, something unspoken flickering in his eyes. Buck doesn’t say anything, he just waits, sensing that Eddie needs the space to find the words.

"I want this," Eddie says at last, quietly but clearly. His voice is steady, like he isn’t just speaking in the now, but offering something real, something lasting. "I want you. All of you."

Buck’s heart feels like it stops for a beat, like he needs to reset everything just to be able to hold that. "Are you sure?" he asks, just above a whisper, not because he doubts Eddie, but because this means something.

Because Eddie means everything.

Eddie nods, and the smallest smile curves at his lips. "Yeah. I am." He runs a hand down Buck’s arm, fingers brushing over his wrist like it grounds him, too. "I’ve been sure for a while. I think I just needed to feel ready…and I do. I am. "

He kisses Buck again, slow and certain, pouring everything he can’t say into the press of his lips. And when Buck kisses him back, with that same quiet awe, like he can’t believe this is real, Eddie holds him tighter, hands resting at his waist like he can anchor them both to this exact moment. Like if he stays close enough, he’ll never forget what it feels like to be loved like this.

They move in sync, breath for breath, Buck’s hands settling on Eddie’s hips with familiar ease. Then, without a word, Buck bends and lifts him. Arms sure, movements careful but effortless. Eddie lets out a surprised huff, laughing, arms instinctively winding around Buck’s shoulders as he’s carried up the stairs.

Buck doesn’t rush. He takes each step slowly, steadily, gaze flicking down at Eddie now and then with something tender in his expression.

Eddie holds on, his fingers curling slightly around Buck’s neck. His chest feels tight, not from nerves, not really, but from the way Buck is with him. The way he carries him like he weighs nothing, like he matters. Buck's body is solid beneath him, strong and capable.

It feels sacred somehow, anchoring in a way Eddie hadn’t expected.

By the time they reach the bedroom, Eddie isn’t thinking about the stairs or anything beyond the affection in Buck’s eyes and the way he still hasn’t let go, arms wrapped under his ass like he never even considered the idea.

Buck's only in a towel — bare feet, bare chest, skin still faintly damp from the shower. The fabric clings low on his hips, and Eddie’s eyes can't help but follow the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the strength in every line of him. Buck looks like something out of a dream. Real and impossible all at once.

Buck sets him down on the bed gently, but doesn't step back. Instead, he reaches for the hem of Eddie’s hoodie, fingers brushing the skin underneath as he slowly peels it upward. The hoodie comes off in one smooth motion, and Buck’s hands follow over his sides, his shoulders, like he needs to touch every inch of him just to prove he's there.

Eddie’s breath hitches, just slightly. He doesn't mean to stare, but Buck is right there, and God he's beautiful. The kind of beautiful that knocks the wind out of a person if they look too long.

But ever since that night, when Buck had let him drop to his knees in quiet, reverent worship, something had shifted. That had been the first time Buck had truly let go, trusted Eddie to see him, to touch him like that. And ever since, they’d found a rhythm with each other that felt effortless. Like they couldn’t stop, like they didn’t want to. Hands under shirts, mouths against necks, fingers curled into belt loops, into hair, into skin. Sometimes they couldn’t even get through breakfast without wandering hands and knowing looks.

But still, they hadn’t gone all the way.

Not yet.

Eddie thinks about it. Hell, he’s wanted it more times than he could count. Especially when Buck looks at him like this...like Eddie is something sacred that needs worshipping. But every time they get close, there's always a pause. A breath. A mutual decision to wait. Not because they don't want to, but because they do. Because this isn't about rushing, or taking just to have. This is about knowing. About choosing the right moment, when the need isn't just physical, but wrapped up in something deeper. Something permanent.

"You’re beautiful," Buck murmurs, so quietly that Eddie almost misses it. But the words sink deep, settling somewhere under his ribs. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but then Buck’s lips are at his collarbone, soft and slow, and the rest of the world fades to a dull hum.

A kiss.

"You’re smart."

Another kiss, just beneath his jaw.

"You’re kind."

One to the corner of his mouth now, then his cheek.

"You make me feel safe."

And then Buck is kissing him again — fully this time, like it means something, like it always has. His hands cradle Eddie’s face, thumbs stroking gently across his cheekbones, like he doesn't quite know what to do with all the feeling he holds for him.

Eddie’s breath catches, his fingers digging lightly into Buck’s shoulders, anchoring himself there.

"I love you," Buck whispers, forehead pressing to his.

And Eddie…Eddie can't speak for a moment. He doesn't need to.

He just kisses him back, like that's the only answer that ever mattered.

Buck's hands drift lower, finding the waistband of Eddie's sweatpants. There was a question in his eyes, even now — a silent check-in that makes Eddie's chest tighten with affection.

"Please," Eddie breathes against his lips. "I want this. I want you."

That's all the permission Buck needs. He tugs the sweatpants down, his movements become less careful, more urgent. Eddie lifts his hips to help, and then he's lying there in just his boxers, watching Buck's eyes darken as they travel over him.

"God, look at you," Buck mumbles, voice rough with want. He leans down to press open-mouthed kisses along Eddie’s collarbone, his chest, working his way lower with each touch. His towel comes loose somewhere along the way, completely forgotten, like time and space work differently in the gravity between them. It’s the only thing Buck seems to let slip, and Eddie can’t help the way his breath catches at the sight of it — at the realization of how much Buck is willing to give. That he’s willing to give everything.

Buck climbs onto the bed, careful and steady, like he’s pulling them back into each other’s orbit, like he never wants to be anywhere else. He kneels over Eddie, eyes locked on his, and the look on his face is raw and immediate. It’s like he can see everything he wants, everything he needs, right there in front of him. Like maybe he’s just found the piece that fits.

Eddie's hands tremble as they grip at Buck's shoulders, fingers catching on damp skin. "I need you," he whispers against Buck's mouth. "God, I've wanted you for so long."

Buck groans, "Me too. Every day," He drags his lips down Eddie's throat, tasting salt and skin. "Tell me again."

"I love you," Eddie says, voice breaking. "I love you so much."

Buck smiles against his collarbone. "I love you too." His hands slide down Eddie's sides, tugging at his boxers, throwing them behind him. "Let me show you how much." Buck kisses a trail down Eddie's chest, over the ridges of his abdomen, pausing to drag his tongue along the sensitive line of muscle just above his hip. Eddie's breath hitches, his fingers threading through Buck's hair, guiding him lower.

"Buck," Eddie gasps as Buck's mouth trails down, hot breath ghosting over his now fully hard cock. Buck looks up through his lashes, a silent question in his eyes, and Eddie nods, swallowing hard.

Without hesitation, Buck takes him into his mouth, the wet heat making Eddie arch off the bed with a choked moan. Buck's strong hands press his hips back down, holding him steady as he works his tongue along the underside, taking him deeper with each bob of his head.

"God, Buck," Eddie pants, his grip in Buck's hair tightening. The sight of Buck between his legs, lips stretched around him, eyes fluttering closed in concentration, is almost too much to bear. Buck slides his hands from Eddie's hips, letting them roam up his thighs, massaging the tense muscles there. His mouth never stops its rhythm, tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep again. Eddie is lost in the sensation, his head thrown back against the pillow, when he feels Buck's right hand slip lower, past his balls, fingers exploring tentatively.

"Is this okay?" Buck asks, pulling off just long enough to meet Eddie's eyes, his voice hoarse.

Eddie nods, breath catching. "Yeah," he whispers. "Please."

Buck reaches for the nightstand drawer, fumbling blindly until he finds what he's looking for. The snap of the lube cap echoes in the quiet room. Eddie watches, mesmerized, as Buck warms the slick liquid between his fingers.

When Buck's mouth returns to him, Eddie feels a gentle pressure at his entrance, an unfamiliar sensation that makes his whole body tense. He feels exposed and vulnerable, but Buck's touch is so gentle, so careful, that it eases the initial tightness and turns it into something else. Something warm and building and impossibly good.

Buck is taking his time, working Eddie open with infinite patience. He circles two slick fingers at the tight ring of muscle, coaxing it to relax. Eddie’s breath hitches, and his grip tightens in Buck’s hair, a silent plea for more. Buck takes the hint, sliding the first finger past the initial resistance. He keeps a steady rhythm with his mouth, matching the slow thrusts of his hand. Eddie gasps, overwhelmed by the twin sensations, by the way Buck is everywhere at once, flooding his senses. When Buck adds a second finger, the stretch is deep and insistent, breathtaking in a way that makes Eddie's head spin and fills his chest with something like lightning.

Buck crooks his fingers, finding the spot that makes Eddie jolt with a sudden, electric pleasure. The sound Eddie makes is raw, his chest lurching into a deep, arching curve as he moans openly, pressing into Buck’s touch. Eddie’s fingers twist into Buck's hair, holding him tight, holding him there, and he knows he’s found exactly where to be. Buck knows how to make Eddie lose himself, how to make him fall apart. He keeps the pressure there, relentless and firm, his knuckles slick as they brushed past the tight ring of muscle with each thrust and his other hand working in tandem, determined to keep Eddie on edge. Every movement is intentional, and every touch sends Eddie reeling.  

The pressure is building inside Eddie, a wave surging higher with each deliberate stroke of Buck's fingers. He can feel himself tightening around Buck, his body trembling on the edge of something raw and overwhelming.

Buck never slows the rhythm of his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he takes Eddie deeper with each downward movement. The wet heat of his tongue traced patterns along the underside while his fingers worked inside Eddie, stretching and searching. Eddie's hips buck involuntarily, caught between the dual sensations that were quickly overwhelming him.

"Buck, I—" Eddie gasps, his voice breaking. His thighs tremble as Buck's mouth and hands continue to work in perfect synchrony. The sight alone is almost enough to push him over the edge — Buck’s lips stretch around him, eyes half-lidded and dark with desire, all while his fingers curve deep inside.

Buck hums in response, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through Eddie's body. He pulls off just enough to catch his breath, lips still brushing against the sensitive head as he whispers, "I've got you."

"Buck— I can't—" Eddie pants, his voice breaking. "I'm going to—"

Buck looks up, never slowing his movements, eyes locking on Eddie's face. "Let go, baby," he murmurs against Eddie's thigh. "I've got you. Let me see you."

That's all it takes. Eddie's back arches off the bed, his body going rigid as pleasure crashes through him. His release hits with shocking intensity, pulsing hot across his stomach as Buck works him through it, fingers still stroking inside him, drawing out every last shudder.

"That's it," Buck breathes, voice filled with wonder. "God, you're perfect like this."

Eddie's chest heaves as he tries to steady his breathing, each inhale a little shaky, each exhale carrying the remnants of a whimper. He blinks up at Buck, pupils blown wide, lips parted and glistening.

"You with me?" Buck asks, running his thumb along Eddie's jawline. "Because fuck, Eddie, the way you look right now..." His voice trails off as he gazes down at him with adoration.

"I'm here," Eddie manages, his voice rough around the edges. "Just...give me a second."

Buck nods, pressing soft kisses to Eddie's temple, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth. "Take all the time you need. We've got all the time in the world." His fingers trace patterns across Eddie's shoulders, down his arms. "You're incredible, you know that? The way you respond to my touch— it drives me crazy . It makes me want to see that look on your face again...and again...and again," He slides his hand down Eddie’s chest, down his stomach, tracing the muscle, mapping out the territories he’s just conquered. He pauses for a moment, just watching Eddie recover, watching him catch his breath. Just when Eddie’s breathing starts to settle, Buck dips his head and runs his tongue through the mess on Eddie’s stomach, slow and unhurried. "You're irresistible...can never get enough of you," he murmurs against Eddie’s skin, lapping up every last drop, refusing to let any part of him go to waste. It’s enough to make Eddie’s head spin, enough to make him want more.

And Buck gives it to him. He keeps his pace leisurely at first, giving Eddie time to return to himself, time to return to him. It’s almost enough to let Eddie regain some control, almost enough to let him think he’ll hold it together this time. But Buck is relentless, his mouth and hands everywhere, pushing Eddie to the brink of madness. Eddie can feel himself getting close again, the insistent pleasure building inside him with alarming speed. He thinks maybe he should slow down, maybe he should hold back, but Buck seems determined to keep him absolutely overwhelmed. "Oh fuck, Buck," Eddie groans, voice tight, eyes scrunched shut against the sensation. "I can’t— I'm gonna— I can’t."

Buck pulls off his cock, just enough to meet Eddie’s eyes, just enough to wreck him. "You will," he says, voice low and rough, the words vibrating against Eddie’s skin. "Again and again..and again." Eddie doesn’t think it’s possible. He doesn’t think anyone has that kind of power. But then Buck is back on him, and Eddie is trembling, straining, coming undone all over again.

It’s too much. It’s everything. Eddie’s fingers twist in Buck’s hair, holding on for dear life as he lets Buck take him under, lets Buck take him apart. The pleasure hits him hard, tearing through him like a storm he can’t control, a force he doesn’t want to. His release is so intense, so immediate, that he can’t believe it’s happening already, can’t believe the capacity Buck has to make him feel like this. He’s shaking, he’s gasping, he’s holding on like there’s nothing else he can do, nothing else he ever wants to do. The second climax hits him harder than the first, and Buck is right there with him, drinking it all in, riding it out with him, never losing his rhythm, never letting up. The corners of Buck’s mouth pull up into a satisfied, reverent smile as he looks up at Eddie, eyes wide and dark with awe. It’s a smile that says he’s known Eddie could, he’s known all along.

"Jesus, baby," Buck gasps, his grin stretching impossibly wide. "You have no idea...how hot that is," He crawls up Eddie’s body, leaving a trail of soft kisses that make Eddie almost embarrassingly aware of how sensitive he still is, make him wonder how he could ever have thought of stopping, how he could ever have thought of anything but this, but Buck. The length of Buck’s bare skin against his own is a revelation, a reminder that there’s still so much more to give, so much more to take. Eddie can feel Buck’s hard cock pressed against his hip, relentless and demanding, needy in a way that almost feels like Eddie’s own need. He’s still reeling, still recovering, but the way Buck looks at him, like he’s all that matters, like nothing else exists, makes him forget everything but the fire still smouldering inside him. It makes him want and want and want.

"Look at you," Buck whispers, his voice a hush against Eddie’s ear. "So fucking beautiful like this." He traces his fingertips along Eddie’s collarbone, down the center of his chest. "The way you come apart for me...I can’t believe I get to see you like this."

Eddie’s breath catches as Buck’s lips follow the path of his fingers, leaving heat in their wake. His body is still trembling from his second release, oversensitive yet somehow already hungry for more.

"The way you trust me," Buck continues, his words warm against Eddie’s skin. "The way you let me in. God, Eddie, it’s everything." He raises himself up on his elbows, looking down at Eddie with naked adoration. "You’re everything ."

Eddie reaches up, cupping Buck’s face in his hands. "I need you," he says, voice rough with emotion.

Eddie knows he should be spent, knows he should have been completely worn out by the intensity of it all, but the words tumble out of him and take on a life of their own, burst from his lips with a longing he can hardly contain. "I need you," he says again, a confession that holds everything he’s ever wanted to say. He needs Buck, needs him right now, needs him like this, needs him until there’s nothing left of either of them, until they’ve given everything and more. The words loosen something inside him, something like wildness, something like desire. It makes him feel alive, makes him feel invincible, makes him tighten his grip on Buck’s shoulders and hold on like he never plans to let him go.

Buck catches the look in Eddie’s eyes, catches the intensity behind his words, and smiles down at him, a smile that’s impossibly fond and impossibly bright.

"I’m yours," Buck says, before Eddie pulls him down for a kiss.

Eddie’s hands move with purpose, reaching down between their bodies to wrap around Buck’s length. Buck hisses at the contact, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

"I need you inside me," Eddie whispers against Buck's mouth, stroking him firmly. "Now."

Buck nods, his eyes dark with want. "You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything," Eddie says, guiding Buck between his legs.

Buck reaches for the lube again, slicking himself generously. He positions himself at Eddie's entrance, the blunt pressure making Eddie's breath catch. Their eyes lock as Buck begins to push forward, achingly slow, giving Eddie time to adjust to the stretch.

"Oh God," Eddie gasps, fingers digging into Buck’s shoulders as he’s gradually filled. The sensation is overwhelming — a burning stretch that borders on too much but somehow still isn’t enough. Buck keeps the pace steady, the push forward both deliberate and demanding, filling him, undoing him with every inch. Eddie can feel himself clenching around Buck, can feel the stretch inside him threatening to break him apart completely, yet nothing has ever felt as right as this. Each slow thrust opens him further, and each moment is somehow even more intense than the last, impossibly perfect in a way that leaves him desperate for more. Buck leans down, breathing hard against the side of Eddie’s neck, his own voice ragged with need. "Fuck, baby," he murmurs, pushing in even deeper, an edge of awe in his words. "You’re doing so good, Eds. So so good for me. So tight. So fucking perfect." Eddie can’t speak, can’t think, can’t hold on to anything but the shape of Buck inside him, the sudden wants that threaten to swallow him whole.

He thinks the desire might break him, thinks it might tear through him like wildfire, consuming everything in its path, leaving nothing untouched, nothing but raw hunger and open need. He thinks he’s done for, thinks he’s lost, but the way Buck moves against him, the way Buck moves inside him, makes him wonder how he could ever have wanted anything else. It makes him wonder how he could ever survive without the blazing urgency that fills him up, that fills up all the spaces and corners of him he didn’t even know existed. The need surges through him, relentless and unyielding, refusing to let him rest, refusing to let him come down from the high. It’s overwhelming, it’s everything, and it’s all coming from Buck and from the way he's making him feel. The sudden wants crash over him, making him tremble, making him gasp, and all he can do is hold on for dear life as they threaten to swallow him whole.

"You feel so fucking good," Buck groans, burying himself deeper. "Feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this."

Eddie trembles beneath him, chest heaving with each shallow breath. The fullness is overwhelming — Buck stretching him in ways he’s never felt before. The initial burn gives way to something deeper, a pleasure that radiates through every nerve.

"You're taking me so well," Buck breathes, voice thick with awe. "Like you were made for this. Made for me."

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, locking with Buck’s. "Harder," he whispers, surprising himself with the desperation in his voice. "Please, Buck. I need more."

Buck’s pupils blow wide at the plea. "You sure?"

"Yes," Eddie nods frantically, hands sliding down to grip Buck's ass, urging him, "Deeper."

The plea is almost a sob, almost a demand — so unguarded it makes Buck’s breath catch in his throat, makes his body go tight with lust and something deeper, something that pulls him in even more.

A low growl escapes Buck’s throat as he pulls back and slams forward, the force of it driving Eddie deeper into the mattress. All restraint vanishes in an instant, replaced by raw, primal need.

"Fuck, Eddie," Buck pants, setting a punishing pace that has the headboard slamming against the wall. His hands grip Eddie’s hips with bruising force, angling him just right. "Every inch of you...so gorgeous like this. You love it don't you, my cock deep inside of you, hm?"

Eddie cries out, back arching as Buck hits that perfect spot inside him with each powerful thrust. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, their mingled groans, and the creak of the bed frame straining beneath them.

"That's it. Let me hear you, baby," Buck praises, voice dropping to a husky growl. "Taking my cock so perfectly. So beautiful. And all mine,"

The word mine punches straight through Eddie’s chest like a live wire — it's hot, possessive, grounding. It strikes something deep and aching inside him, coils around the places he doesn’t usually let anyone touch. It makes his breath hitch, makes his heart pound harder than the rhythm of Buck’s thrusts. There’s something in it that makes Eddie feel wanted, not just in body but in being. It splits him open.

He can only whimper in response, his thoughts unravelling into static. Complete abandon strips the words from his lips, and pleasure consumes him until there’s nothing left but Buck — his voice, his hands, the relentless pace of his hips. Each thrust feels inevitable and infinite, a tidal wave crashing through him, buckling him beneath the weight of it, swallowing him whole. The urgency is like drowning, like flying, like coming apart and being held together at once.

And through it all, that one word echoes in his bones 'mine' and Eddie believes it.

Wants it. Needs it.

Eddie can feel another climax building, can feel it taking hold of him, and he practically sobs Buck’s name as Buck holds him steady and continues pounding into him.

Buck holds Eddie steady as his thrusts turn fast and frantic, sharp and precise, each one an explosion that tears through Eddie like it might split him apart. He holds him steady as the world outside of their bodies ceases to exist, as Eddie’s vision blurs and brightens and fills with blinding heat that pulls everything out of him but Buck’s name. Each thrust pins him beneath the weight of so much want, each powerful slam into him answered by the desperate clench of Eddie’s thighs around Buck’s hips. He holds Eddie steady as the urgency rises and rises, refusing to let him fall as he continues pounding into him.

Their bodies move together seamlessly, each thrust driving them further toward the brink. Eddie can feel the tension building inside him, a rush of heat that threatens to overtake him, to shatter him. The need, the hunger, consumes him entirely, and all he can focus on is Buck — on the way Buck feels inside him, the way Buck makes him feel.

"Buck, I'm— I'm close," Eddie gasps, fingers digging into Buck's shoulders.

"Me too, baby," Buck groans, his movements becoming erratic yet purposeful. "Come with me. Together."

The familiar tingling sensation spreads from Eddie’s core, racing through his limbs. Buck’s eyes lock with his, dark with desire yet soft with something deeper.

"Now," Buck commands, voice rough with passion.

They tumble over the edge simultaneously, Eddie crying out Buck’s name as waves of pleasure crash through him. Buck’s release follows in perfect synchronicity, his body shuddering against Eddie’s as he buries his face in the crook of his neck. Eddie's gasp catches in his throat as he feels the hot pulse deep inside him. Buck's release fills him with liquid heat, marking him from within. The intimacy of it, this claiming, this connection, makes Eddie's toes curl against the sheets.

"Eddie... baby," Buck pants against his skin as they come down from the high, the force of their release leaving them breathless and dazed. Eddie can feel Buck trembling against him, still buried deep inside, his release filling him so perfectly. He feels the small aftershocks of pleasure ripple through both of them, making Buck’s body shudder. The overwhelming urgency of their climax leaves them shaking but sated, completely undone by the intensity of it all. Everything else fades away until it’s just them, just the shared heat of their bodies, just the way Buck’s uneven breath feels as it ghosts across Eddie’s chest.

He doesn't think it will ever be enough, the way Buck touches him, the way Buck consumes him, but in this moment, it’s everything. It’s perfect. The trembling in Buck’s arms, legs, and breath gradually stills as he surrenders to exhaustion, collapsing against Eddie without ever pulling out, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

"I love you," Buck whispers, his lips brushing against Eddie’s ear. "I love every inch of you. Every part." His voice is ragged yet tender, each word delivered with certainty. 

When Buck finally pulls out, Eddie feels the evidence of his climax slipping from inside him and down his thighs, a warm rush that leaves him with a mix of sensation and emptiness. His body shudders, still clinging to the closeness, to the way Buck has filled him so completely. The ache settles deep within him, a bittersweet reminder of the intensity that’s just passed, and he breathes through it, absorbing the vulnerability that lingers.

He turns to face Buck, who hovers above him, his gaze fixed, eyes dark and heavy-lidded with desire but bright with something softer—something undeniably joyful. The faintest smile tugs at Buck’s lips, a quiet relief, as if the storm has passed but left something precious behind. He’s silently searching Eddie’s expression, looking for reassurance that this, this connection, is everything they both need.

Eddie reaches up, tracing the curve of Buck’s jaw with his fingers, his touch tender as their foreheads come together, breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. The words come softly, almost a whisper, but they carry the weight of everything he feels. “I love you too,” he murmurs, voice thick with the emotion he doesn’t always know how to express. “So much it scares me sometimes.”

Buck’s smile is soft, intimate, meant only for Eddie. "You're incredible," he says, brushing a stray lock of hair from Eddie’s forehead. "Nobody's ever given themselves to me like that...you make me feel..." He pauses, as if searching for the right words, before settling on something simple but true. "Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Like I’m whole, just by being with you."

"Nobody's ever made me feel like this," Eddie confesses.

They drift off together, limbs tangled, bodies still slick with sweat. When Eddie wakes, sunlight is streaming through the blinds, casting golden stripes across Buck's sleeping form. He takes a moment just to watch him — the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyelashes fan against his cheeks, the relaxed curve of his mouth.

Buck stirs, eyes blinking open slowly. He smiles when he sees Eddie watching him, a lazy, contented smile that makes Eddie's heart skip.

"Morning," Buck mumbles, his voice rough with sleep. "Or is it afternoon?"

Eddie glances at the clock. "Afternoon."

"Mmm," Buck hums, rolling over to pull Eddie against him. "Then we still have the night."

His hands are already wandering, tracing patterns across Eddie's skin, relearning every curve and plane of his body, as if it's the first time. Each touch is deliberate and aching, like Buck has to commit him to memory, like he has to know every inch and line, every plane of him, before he bursts at the seams with wanting. Each graze of Buck's fingertips is an electric promise that fills the room with fresh heat, the kind that threatens to consume them both all over again. Eddie arches into the touch, eyes falling shut as he surrenders to the gentle exploration. He doesn't think he'll ever tire of this, the way Buck's touch can be both desperate and tender, both familiar and newly breathtaking.

"You're amazing," Buck breathes, his voice low and filled with a reawakened lust that makes Eddie shiver despite the warmth entangling them. "I can't believe I get to touch you like this." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie's temple, then his cheek, then on the corner of his mouth.

Eddie turns into the kiss, meeting Buck halfway and letting out a quiet, helpless sound as their lips brush, as Buck deepens it without hesitation. It’s too soon, and it’s not soon enough, and Eddie feels himself swirling into dizziness, into utter lack of control, as Buck's mouth devours his. Eddie’s hand finds its way to Buck’s hair, and he fists his fingers there, pulling them closer, desperate for the press of Buck’s body against his, desperate for so much more.

"Can't even last a day without me," Eddie murmurs, the words dissolving into another kiss, his voice breaking against Buck's lips. "Can't even last an hour." It’s teasing, and it’s true, and it’s the best thing Eddie ever knows.

Buck groans, shifting so he’s fully on top of Eddie, shifting so the entire length of their bodies lines up perfectly. "Don't want to last," he says, blue eyes dark and intent. He kisses Eddie again, harder, more insistent this time, like he needs this more than he needs air. The intensity spikes between them, the heat building with every breathless second.

The rest of the day disappears in a blur of tangled sheets and whispered confessions, the loft echoing with soft laughter and the creak of the mattress. Every time Eddie tries to get up, Buck pulls him right back in, hands firm at his waist, lips finding his again like he’s rediscovering something he never wants to lose.

There’s a rhythm to it — kiss, touch, laughter, repeat. The way Buck traces lazy circles on Eddie’s chest between kisses. The way Eddie’s voice goes hoarse every time Buck whispers something sweet or filthy in his ear. How they never manage to stay apart for more than a minute before one of them reaches for the other again.

Dinner comes and goes, forgotten. The sun drifts across the sky, casting warm light through the windows as they lie tangled in each other. A slow evening rain starts tapping against the glass, but neither of them notices. They’re too busy memorizing every look, every breath, every heartbeat.

By the time darkness settles over the city, they’re curled together, skin warm, muscles aching, hearts pounding steady in sync. Buck has his head on Eddie’s chest, their legs twisted together under the sheets, breath finally slowing. Eddie lets his fingers skim along Buck’s spine, a quiet smile playing on his lips.

"Think we should leave this bed?" Buck mumbles sleepily.

Eddie chuckles, low and content. "Not a chance."

And for once, neither of them wants to be anywhere else.

__

The night is going too well. Eddie should’ve known.

The workshop is quiet, save for the low hum of sewing machines and the soft scratch of pens against paper. Across the room, Bianca pores over sketches with her usual precision, while Eddie hunches over a table, putting the final touches on a design due first thing in the morning. It's late, later than he meant to stay, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll see Buck in the morning, after his shift. Chris is home now, officially on summer break, and the three of them have plans to go out for breakfast.

There’s comfort in nights like this, working late, knowing that soon he’ll be with Buck again. The thought of seeing him, hearing about his shift, teasing him for whatever ridiculous thing he’s gotten into this time, makes the hours pass easily. When Eddie thinks about their time together, it always feels steady, effortless, like somehow, they have all the time in the world.

His phone buzzes against the desk, breaking the moment of peace.

Eddie’s eyes flick to his phone, and he smiles before he even realizes it. Buck always tries to call if things aren’t too hectic at the station — just a few minutes to hear each other’s voices before the night gets too quiet. It’s one of Eddie’s favourite parts of the day. A small gesture, maybe, but it makes all the difference.

He doesn’t hesitate, reaching for the phone with a spark of excitement as he answers.

"Hey,"

But it’s not Buck’s voice that comes through the line.

"Eddie, it’s Bobby."

The world tilts.

The calmness in Bobby’s voice is what does it. It’s not panic, not urgency — it’s that dead calm that Eddie has learned to recognize as the sound of something terrible. That kind of calm that’s trying to contain a storm. Eddie’s breath catches in his chest as he grips the phone tighter, a dull ache spreading across his ribs.

"There’s been an incident," Bobby’s voice breaks through the fog in Eddie’s mind. "Buck was struck by lightning on a call."

The words don’t make sense. They can’t. Lightning? Buck? Eddie tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. His body freezes, like he can’t move, can’t breathe.

Bobby’s voice keeps going, but it’s a distant sound now, like Eddie is hearing it through thick glass. "He’s at the hospital now," Bobby says, his voice low but steady. "He’s stable, but he’s in a coma."

Eddie can barely register what he’s hearing.

Stable. Coma.

The words don’t fit together, they aren't computing in Eddie's brain. The ground beneath him feels like it’s crumbled away, like the air is suddenly too thin. His legs go weak, and he staggers, gripping the edge of the table to steady himself.

It feels as if the world has stopped spinning. His mind races, trying to catch up, trying to make sense of it. Buck…struck by lightning? Eddie can’t process it. Can’t wrap his head around the words.

Bobby is still talking, still trying to explain, but it’s all white noise now. The words don’t land — they just echo, distant and warped, like they’re coming from underwater. Eddie’s thoughts are scattered, fractured pieces that won’t come together. He hears fragments, the freak storm that rolled in too fast, Buck climbing the ladder, exposed when the lightning struck. How the current found him like it was looking for him specifically. How Chim and Hen were on him in seconds, performing CPR in the pouring rain.

How he was dead.

Three minutes and seventeen seconds.

For three minutes and seventeen seconds, the love of his life was gone.

It hits Eddie like a wave, full-body, breath-stealing. The number loops in his head, over and over, until it’s not a number anymore, just a countdown he hadn’t known was ticking. It’s too specific to forget. Too cruel to forgive. Three minutes and seventeen seconds without Buck in the world. Without his voice, his laugh, his stubborn optimism. Without the steady presence Eddie had come to rely on in ways he hadn’t even realized.

And all Eddie can think is — what if that had been it?

What if those were the last minutes, and Eddie hadn’t even known to hold on tighter the night before? Hadn’t said I love you loud enough, hadn’t gotten to kiss him goodbye, hadn’t been there.

The weight of it is suffocating. A future gone in an instant. A life shattered in three minutes and seventeen seconds.

And now, everything comes down to one unbearable truth.

Buck is in a coma.

Eddie’s mind flashes back to moments with Buck. The way he’d looked at him sometimes, with those soft, open eyes, like Eddie was the only person who mattered. That stupid grin, the teasing, the way Buck laughed at Eddie’s reluctance to show affection in public. The memory of their last kiss, slow and meaningful, a promise without words.

And now…now Buck might never wake up from this.

He can’t focus on anything Bobby is saying anymore. His hands are shaking, his body tense with panic. His chest is tight, his breath shallow as the words echo in his head.

Stable. But in a coma.

Eddie feels like he’s unravelling. Bobby’s voice is already fading, his words slipping through the cracks of Eddie’s fractured focus. All that remains, loud and relentless, is that one awful, haunting revelation.

"I’ll text you the hospital information," Bobby’s voice breaks through again, softer now. "Come when you can."

Eddie nods, though he knows Bobby can’t see him. His mind is a blur, the weight of Bobby’s words suffocating him. He mutters a mechanical 'Okay,' before hanging up, his fingers numb and clumsy as he fumbles to end the call.

The phone slips from his hand and clatters onto the desk, but Eddie barely notices. The edges of the room seem to close in all at once. His chest tightens, painfully sharp, like a vice is squeezing around his throat. He sucks in a shallow breath, then another, but it’s not enough.

The air feels wrong. It's too thin, or too thick...he can’t tell which.

His hands tremble violently, and he grips the edge of the table so hard his knuckles go white, but it doesn’t steady him. His heart is hammering against his ribs, too fast, too hard, like it’s trying to punch its way out of his chest. He can’t think, can’t do anything but drown in the rising, suffocating wave of panic.

Buck. Lightning. Coma.

The words loop in his mind like a siren. Somewhere through the roaring in his ears, he dimly hears Bianca’s voice.

"Eddie? Hey— Eddie , look at me. What’s wrong?"

He can’t answer. He can’t even lift his head. His vision blurs at the edges, dark spots dancing across his sight. His legs buckle, and he sinks heavily into the nearest chair, gasping like a man drowning. His fingers claw uselessly at the front of his shirt, trying to find space, trying to breathe, but nothing works.

Bianca drops her sketchbook and crosses the room in seconds, crouching down in front of him. "Eddie, it’s okay. You’re okay," she says firmly, her hands hovering near him but not touching yet, waiting for permission, for any sign he can handle it. "You’re having a panic attack. You’re safe. You just need to breathe."

He shakes his head wildly, chest hitching with every ragged, broken gasp. He doesn’t feel safe. He feels like he’s dying.

"Eddie— look at me." Her voice cuts through the noise. Sharp, steady. She reaches out and takes his trembling hands, grounding them between her own. "Squeeze my hands. Right now. Come on."

He barely manages it at first, a weak flex of his fingers. But it’s something. It gives him something to latch onto other than the terror tearing him apart.

"There you go," Bianca encourages, keeping her tone low and even. "You’re not alone, okay? You’re right here with me. Just focus on me."

She starts breathing deliberately, slow and exaggerated, making sure he can see it. "In for four," she coaches gently. "Hold. Out for four."

It takes a few tries, too many, but eventually Eddie starts to match her. The first breath he catches is a shallow, broken thing, but the next is a little deeper. His lungs burn, and his heart still races out of control, but little by little, the world stops tilting so violently around him.

Bianca keeps talking, soft words, meaningless maybe, but the sound of her voice anchors him. Reminds him that he isn’t floating away, even if it feels like it.

After what feels like hours but must’ve only been minutes, Eddie’s breathing evens out enough that the crushing weight in his chest starts to loosen. His hands are still shaking when he finally lets go of hers, dragging his palms across his jeans like he can scrub the panic away.

Bianca stays crouched in front of him, her eyes steady and kind. "Good," she says quietly. "You’re okay. You’re okay, Eddie."

He nods, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. "I— I have to get to the hospital," he rasps, voice hoarse from the effort of breathing, of surviving the storm inside his own head.

Bianca doesn’t ask questions. She just squeezes his shoulder and says, "I’ll drive you."

And for the first time since the call, Eddie lets someone help him.

Everything after that is a blur. He barely registers Bianca grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, slipping it over his shoulders with a quiet firmness. The cold night air hits him like a slap when they stumble outside. The next thing he knows, he’s in the passenger seat of his own truck, Bianca slamming the door and peeling away from the curb with a screech of tires.

Eddie presses his forehead against the window, the glass cool against his overheated skin. His breath fogs the glass in frantic, uneven bursts. His mind is screaming Buck’s name over and over — a frantic, broken loop he can’t silence.

He doesn’t remember telling Bianca where to go. Doesn’t remember fastening his seatbelt or the feel of the leather under his shaking hands. All he knows is the sheer, blinding terror clawing at him, suffocating him.

What if he doesn’t wake up?

The thought splits him open, raw and bleeding. Images flood his mind — Buck lying still in a hospital bed, machines beeping steadily, a body but no light behind his eyes. He can’t breathe. Can’t think.

A broken, strangled sound escapes him before he can stop it, a gasp halfway between a sob and a plea. He doubles over in his seat, fists pressed against his forehead like he can somehow hold himself together if he just presses hard enough.

"Eddie," Bianca says sharply, her voice cutting through the rush of noise in his head. One hand grips the steering wheel, the other reaches across the center console, squeezing his arm hard enough to ground him.

"Stay with me. You’re not alone. You hear me?"

He can’t answer. Can’t lift his head. The fear is a living thing, sinking its claws into him, tearing him apart from the inside out. His chest heaves with every shallow, broken breath. He feels like he’s drowning, like the world is caving in around him.

Bianca’s hand stays firm on his arm, steady and strong.

"Stay with me, Eddie. Look at me. That’s it— deep breath in…hold it…now let it go. Nice and slow."

Her voice is the only thing tethering him to reality, a rope thrown into the quicksand he’s trapped in. He tries, god, he tries, dragging in a shaky breath that catches halfway in his throat. Another. And another. It isn’t enough, but it’s something.

"Good," Bianca says, gentler now, glancing at him between the flashing streetlights. "That’s it. Keep going. We’re almost there."

Eddie nods blindly, even though it feels like his whole body is bursting apart. His hands grip the seat so hard his fingers ache.

Please, Buck, he thinks, the words tearing through him like glass. Please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you. I can’t.

When the hospital comes into view, Eddie lets out a sound, low and broken, that shakes through his entire body. Relief and panic tangle inside him so tightly he can barely tell where one ends and the other begins.

Bianca doesn’t slow down. She pulls straight into the emergency lane, throws the car into park, and unbuckles his seatbelt for him when his hands are too clumsy to manage it.

"Go," she says firmly, her voice fierce and kind all at once. "I’ll find somewhere to park. Just go."

Eddie stumbles out of the car, legs unsteady but moving before he even realizes it. Toward Buck. Toward whatever waits for him inside.

The image of Buck, smiling, laughing, so full of life, burns in his mind. And with every mile, Eddie’s chest tightens more, his thoughts spinning in endless circles. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He isn’t ready for this.

He can’t lose him.

Not like this. Not ever.

It’s a relief and a gut punch all at once when he spots them — Bobby, Hen, Chimney, Maddie, and even Karen, all clustered together near the waiting room chairs. They look wrong, out of place in the rigid, sterile halls of the hospital, their uniforms still rumpled, streaked with soot and rain.

Bobby’s head snaps up first, his expression tight, grim. He crosses the space in three strides and catches Eddie by the shoulders before he can blow past him toward the front desk.

"Eddie," Bobby says, voice low and steady, the same voice he uses at the scene of a disaster. The voice Eddie hates hearing now. "Wait. Just— let us explain."

Eddie shakes his head mutely, chest heaving, hands twitching to push past, to see Buck with his own eyes, but Hen is already stepping in, her hand a gentle but unmovable pressure against his arm.

"They’re working on him," Hen says quickly. "They’ve got him stabilized, but he’s still unconscious. He's...he’s in a coma."

The words rattle around in Eddie’s skull, but none of them stick.

"What happened?" His voice cracks on the question.

For a long moment, no one answers. Then Bobby finally speaks, quietly, but unflinching.

“We’re on a call— a rescue, construction site. Buck’s up on the aerial ladder, helping a guy trapped on a crane. There’s a storm rolling in— we didn't see it coming fast enough.”

He swallows, visibly struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Lightning hits the ladder. Buck gets thrown clear. He went into cardiac arrest before he even hit the ground."

Eddie flinches like he’s been punched. His knees nearly give out, and Chimney moves instinctively, like he might need to catch him. But Eddie forces himself upright, breath tearing ragged through his nose.

Chimney scrubs a shaky hand through his hair, his voice rough. "He had no pulse for...for a few minutes. But we got him back. He’s fighting."

Three minutes and seventeen seconds.

Suddenly, his mind spins out more than ever, conjuring every worst-case scenario, every textbook fact he’s ever learned about oxygen deprivation and brain damage. He drags a hand over his face, trying to catch his breath, trying to piece himself back together, but everything is unravelling too fast.

"What if—" he chokes out, then cuts himself off before the thought can fully form.

What if Buck never wakes up? What if he wakes up but isn’t himself anymore?

He sways again, and Bobby tightens his grip on Eddie’s shoulders, levelling him, keeping him upright.

"He’s young. He’s strong," Hen says quickly, like she can will it to be true if she says it enough times. "If anyone can come back from this, it’s Buck."

Maddie’s voice is quiet but firm when she speaks up, her face pale but resolute.

"Eddie, he’s not gone. We’re not going to lose him. Not this time."

Eddie nods mechanically, even though he doesn’t believe it yet. He doesn’t trust anything except the screaming need inside him to see Buck, to sit beside him, to stay until he opens his eyes.

"Where is he?" Eddie asks hoarsely.

Bobby nods toward the elevators. "ICU. They’re letting family in one at a time. I’ll go with you to check you in."

Family.

The word rattles something loose in Eddie’s chest, something desperate and scared beyond belief.

He doesn’t argue. Can’t.

He just moves, one step at a time, following Bobby toward the elevators, his whole body trembling with the effort of keeping it together when he already knows deep down, he isn’t keeping anything together at all.

__

Eddie can hardly breathe as the elevator doors slide shut with a soft chime, enclosing him in the small, sterile space. The gentle hum of the elevator sounds too loud, too quiet all at once, drowning out the rapid thudding of his pulse in his ears. His hands clench around the cold metal bar, every muscle in his body wound tight, like a spring pulled too far.

He feels the weight of everything crashing down on him — the chaos, the helplessness, the not knowing if Buck will ever open his eyes again. If he will ever smile that dumb, perfect smile again or laugh like he has a thousand times before. Eddie’s throat tightens at the thought.

What if he’s not the same? What if...what if he doesn’t remember us?

He swallows hard, pushing down the dark thoughts that threaten to swallow him whole. The unspoken grief, the frantic desperation in the air, it’s thick enough to choke on.

Bobby stands in front of him, his back rigid. He tries to hide the concern, but Eddie sees it — the small shift in Bobby’s stance, the way his jaw clenches.

Finally, the soft ding announces their arrival at the ICU floor, and Eddie’s stomach lurches. He doesn’t remember walking down the hall, doesn’t remember how his feet carried him toward the room. The walls feel like they are closing in, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering too brightly. It’s too much — the beeping monitors, the faint smell of antiseptic, the low murmur of voices. He feels dizzy, disoriented, like the world has tilted off its axis.

"Eddie..." Bobby’s voice is quiet, his hand coming to rest gently on Eddie’s shoulder. "We need to take this slow, alright? He’s...he’s stable for now, but we don’t know—"

Eddie doesn’t hear the rest of Bobby’s words. His eyes lock on the door at the end of the hallway, and everything else fades out. There is only Buck, only the image of him lying there, still and silent, fighting.

The door creaks open, and Eddie steps inside.

The sight of Buck, unconscious and hooked up to countless machines, sends a shock of icy fear through Eddie’s veins. Buck’s face is pale, too pale , and his body is motionless, except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, each breath a fragile promise. The oxygen mask over his face seems too out of place, too wrong.

Eddie freezes, unable to move, unable to speak. His mind screams at him to do something, to wake him up, to make him smile again. But all he can do is stare, his feet planted in place as if some invisible force is holding him back.

Don’t touch him. He’s too fragile right now. Wait. Wait for him to wake up.

But how long will that take? How long before Buck opens his eyes and sees him again? Will he remember? Will he still love him the same way?

As the room feels like it is closing in on him, Eddie’s thoughts begin to fragment. He doesn’t know how much time passes before his legs finally move, carrying him to the side of the bed. He reaches out, his hand trembling as it hovers over Buck’s, his fingers brushing against the cold, clammy skin. He feels the jolt in his chest when he touches him — like the world snaps back into place, like he can feel Buck’s warmth through the thin veil of unconsciousness.

The tears well up before Eddie can stop them. He wipes them away quickly, furious with himself for breaking down, for being weak. But this isn’t about strength. This is about the man he loves, the man he can’t live without.

Eddie’s mind spirals, and suddenly he’s back in a different time — a quiet night in the workshop a few weeks ago. He was working late, tailoring some costumes that were dropped off last-minute. Buck had stopped by after his shift, carrying a takeout bag and kicking the door closed behind him with his boot.

"Brought reinforcements," Buck had said, lifting the bag like a trophy. "Thai, from that place you like."

Eddie looked up from the dress he was fussing over. "Tell me you got the spicy noodles."

"Spicy noodles and spring rolls, because I love you and I want your taste buds to cry a little." Buck had said with a grin, setting the bags down.

Eddie had huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he turned back to the gown for a moment. "You’re a menace."

A moment later, he felt Buck step up behind him, looking over his shoulder at the sketch spread out on the table. "You know," he said, voice light and teasing, "If this whole firefighter thing doesn’t work out, you could always hire me as your personal model."

Eddie had rolled his eyes, trying not to smile. "I’m not sure the world is ready for that," he had teased, taking a step back to look at the hem.

Buck scoffed. "Wow. Rude. I’d be amazing. I’ve got the bone structure, the charm…face it, I’d be the perfect muse."

Eddie stood, brushing off his hands, finally looking at him. "Muse is a strong word."

"Well," Buck said with a shrug, "I’d do it for free. Just to hang out."

That made Eddie pause, just for a beat, before he covered it with a smirk. "So generous of you."

Buck smiled, softer now. "You know I like being here."

Eddie felt that settle somewhere deep in his chest. He didn’t say anything for a second, just looked at him, then down at the design again.

"Still think you look better in a firefighter uniform," he said eventually.

Buck had stepped closer then, close enough for Eddie to feel the warmth radiating off him. "Yeah? So you admit you like how I look in uniform?"

Eddie had tilted his head, playing along. "I mean, it’s not the worst thing I’ve seen."

"Oh, the romance," Buck had sighed dramatically, clutching his chest. "You really know how to make a guy feel special."

Eddie had laughed, and for a moment, the weight of the world had lifted — just them, the quiet clatter of the city outside the windows. Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now too. "Shut up and eat your noodles."

Buck had laughed, the sound easy and full of life, and Eddie had realized how much he appreciated those little moments with him. Just the two of them, no pressure, no need to be anything other than who they were.

That laugh. That stupid, perfect laugh.

And now Buck lies in front of him, silent, his life hanging in the balance.

Then another memory floods him. Their first kiss, outside the coffee shop. Eddie had been standing there, feeling the pull between them stronger than ever. He could feel Buck’s gaze on him, but it wasn’t the usual lighthearted attention, it was something more. Something deeper.

Without thinking, without second-guessing it, Eddie had taken a step forward, closing the space between them. He didn’t ask, didn’t wait for permission. His heart had been pounding in his chest, and before Buck could say anything, Eddie had pressed his lips to Buck’s.

It had been tentative at first, a soft meeting of lips as if they were both still testing the waters. But then, the world had tilted, and Eddie had deepened the kiss, as if they had always been meant to be this way.

The warmth of that moment had enveloped Eddie — he way Buck’s lips had moved against his, the quiet surrender of it all, the electric spark that had shot through him. It had been everything Eddie ever wanted. He hadn’t realized it until then, but all the pieces had clicked into place, like the kiss had been the missing puzzle piece of something bigger.

And Eddie had felt it, deep in his chest. The promise, the connection, the raw honesty of it. It had been simple, but it had been everything.

Eddie closes his eyes against the memory, struggling to keep his composure. But everything inside him feels like it is splintering. He isn’t ready to lose that. He isn’t ready to lose Buck.

His hand remains on Buck’s, unmoving, as he leans in closer, brushing his lips against Buck’s forehead, his breath shaky against the skin.

"I’m here," Eddie whispers softly, like Buck can hear him even in his unconscious state. "I’m not going anywhere."

It’s like his body has gone into autopilot, his movements robotic as he sits there, eyes fixed on the sterile walls of the hospital, unable to look away from the empty spaces between the dimly lit lights above him. His mind is still whirling, thoughts crashing into one another, like waves crashing against the rocks, relentless and unforgiving.

He can’t stop thinking about Buck. About the way Buck had been so full of life, so present, so here — just hours ago, full of jokes and laughter, planning the summer that they were going to spend together with Christopher. And now? Now he is in a coma, hooked up to machines that beep and hum in the silence of the hospital room, a thin thread of hope keeping him tethered to the world.

He isn’t supposed to be here. He isn’t supposed to be in this room, staring at the nothingness that surrounds him. He is supposed to be with Buck in the morning, making plans for the day ahead, not sitting here, waiting for news that will tear his world apart.

The beeping of the heart monitor is the loudest thing in the room, a constant reminder that Buck is still here. Still alive. But Eddie doesn’t know for how long. The warmth of his skin against his fingertips feels like a lifeline, grounding him in the midst of the storm raging inside his chest.

"Buck..." Eddie’s voice breaks, the sound of his name so fragile in the stillness of the room. He swallows hard, trying to keep it together. "Please...please wake up. Please don’t leave me. Not like this."

There is no answer, of course. No response. Eddie’s heart thuds painfully in his chest as the silence presses in on him. It's suffocating.

He leans down, his lips brushing Buck’s forehead, his voice a whisper. "I need you. I can’t do this without you."

The weight of his own words settles over him like a heavy blanket. It isn’t just the fear of losing Buck that tears him apart, it is the realization of how much he needs him. How much Buck has become a part of his world, his heart, in ways Eddie has never even imagined. And now, standing here, helpless, unable to do anything but wait, he can feel the gravity of that love settling in his chest, a force he can’t ignore.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. It could be minutes. It could be hours. It doesn’t matter. All he can do is stay there, beside Buck, hoping, praying, that this isn’t the end. That Buck isn’t slipping away from him forever.

And then the door opens, and Bobby walks in, followed by Chimney, Hen, and Maddie. They all stand there for a moment, their eyes locked on Buck, before they turn their attention to Eddie. Their expressions are a mixture of concern and hope, a reminder that, even in this darkest moment, they are all here for him. For Buck.

Maddie steps forward, her face drawn with concern. "Eddie..."

He barely hears her, his eyes fixed on Buck. "I can’t lose him," Eddie whispers, his voice cracking. The words feel foreign, like they don’t belong in this world. He doesn’t want to say them, doesn’t want to admit the reality of it all, but the fear is consuming him.

Maddie reaches out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "We’re all here for you, Eddie. And we’re here for Buck. We’re not going anywhere."

It isn’t much. It isn’t the reassurance Eddie so desperately needs. But for a moment, it is enough. Just the fact that they are all there — a small comfort in the face of an unknown future.

Eddie nods, his throat tight. He doesn’t know what will happen next. He doesn’t know if Buck will wake up, if they will make it through this, but he can’t let go. Not now. Not when he still has so much left to say, so many moments left to share.

And so he stays, watching over Buck, praying for a miracle, and holding onto the hope that, no matter what happens, Buck isn’t going to leave him. Not yet.

__

It’s been days.

Eddie barely knows what time it is anymore. The hospital lights never change, the whir of machines never stops. Everything melds together — minutes, hours, nights folding into each other until he can’t tell where one ends and the next begins.

But he stays.

He stays even when the nurses gently suggest he go home and rest. He stays when Bobby or Maddie or Hen show up with fresh clothes and beg him to eat something. He stays because he’s terrified that if he leaves, even for a second, Buck will slip away without him there.

The doctors say Buck is stable. That’s supposed to be good news.

But he’s still unconscious.

Still not waking up.

And every time Eddie looks at him, lying so still in that bed, a fresh wave of helplessness crashes over him.

When Chris comes in, it’s late in the afternoon. Summer break has barely started. Eddie doesn't even know what day it is anymore. The door opens quietly, his son stepping inside and shutting it behind him, worry written all over his face.

"Dad?"

Eddie blinks, like dragging himself back from somewhere far away. He stands up too fast, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, the sudden movement startling in the otherwise quiet room.

Buck doesn’t stir. The monitors keep their steady rhythm, unchanging.

Chris crosses the room in three quick steps and throws his arms around him. Eddie clings back just as hard.

For a minute, neither of them says anything.

Then Chris pulls back, studying him. "You look terrible," he says bluntly, his voice breaking a little at the edges.

Eddie huffs out something that might be a laugh or a sob, he’s not sure anymore.

"I’m okay," he lies automatically.

Chris doesn’t buy it for a second. "You’re not," he says, fierce in that way that only Chris can be. "You haven't been home in three days...have you been…staying here?"

Eddie shrugs helplessly, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I can’t leave him, Chris," he whispers. "I can’t— what if he wakes up and I’m not here? What if—"

His voice cracks, and he turns away.

Chris puts a hand on his arm, grounding him.

"Buck gives everything he’s got," Chris says quietly, his words steady with quiet conviction. "I think he’s using all of that right now to fight."

Eddie sinks heavily into the chair beside Buck’s bed, staring at him — the soft rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitch faintly like he’s dreaming.

"I don’t know how to do this," he says, voice raw. "I don’t know how to sit here and just— wait."

Chris pulls another chair close and sits too.

"You don’t have to do it alone," he says simply. "I’m here now. We both are. The rest of his family is too."

Eddie drops his head into his hands, overwhelmed again, but this time, he doesn’t fall apart completely.

Chris leans against him, solid and steady.

And Eddie holds on.

For Buck. For himself. For the future he isn’t ready to give up on.

Chris pauses, looking at him with an intensity Eddie rarely sees in him. His voice softens, but it stays firm. "But you know, Dad…it’s not what Buck would want. He wouldn't want you to be stuck here like this...waiting. He’d want you to breathe…to live a little, even while he’s healing."

He gives Eddie a searching look, like he’s trying to reach something deeper. "You want Buck to fight...well he wants you to fight too. To keep going. He’d never want you to lose yourself in all this."

Eddie swallows hard, chest tightening with guilt and longing. Chris is right — Buck’s never been the type to stand still, to let life happen around him. But as much as Eddie wants to step outside, to breathe again, he can’t. He can’t walk away, not when the man who means everything to him is lying in that bed, still fighting.

"I know you’re right," Eddie whispers, his voice barely holding. "But I just can’t...I can’t leave him. Not like this."

Chris squeezes his shoulder, steady and warm. "Dad, Buck’s strong. You are too. You’re not abandoning him by living your life. But if you don’t take care of yourself, you won’t be ready to take care of him when he wakes up."

Eddie nods, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. On the surface, he keeps it together, keeps himself from unravelling in front of his son. But deep down, where the fear sits sharpest, he knows Chris is right. Buck wouldn’t want this for him. He’d want Eddie to be whole.

Eddie knows all of that — and still, the thought of leaving Buck’s side, even for a moment, feels like tearing away a part of himself.

But for Buck, for Chris...he’ll try.

Even if every instinct in him screams to stay.

__

Eddie somehow manages to drag himself home, take a quick shower, and grab something to eat — though it feels more like a mechanical task than anything else.

But no matter what he does, his mind keeps pulling him back to that hospital room, to Buck, to the uncertainty of what could happen. And before long, he’s right back at Buck’s side, the familiar beeping of the machines filling the quiet space. It’s where he belongs, even if his body aches from exhaustion and his heart feels heavy with fear.

Eddie hasn’t slept in what feels like forever. He’s too on edge — too terrified that if he closes his eyes for even a second, he’ll miss something.

He can’t afford that. Not now.

Still, at some point, without really meaning to, he finds himself drifting away from Buck’s room. One minute he's standing beside the bed, and the next, his feet are moving on their own, carrying him out into the hallway.

They take him to the back stairwell. Maybe the isolation draws him. He can breathe there, or at least try to. Out of sight, out of the constant gaze of hospital staff and well-meaning family. Away from the quiet beeping of machines that feel like a reminder of everything he can’t control.

Eddie presses his back against the cool, gray wall and sinks onto the stairs.

His breath comes too fast, sharp and shallow, like he can’t catch up with it. He’s spiralling again — the all-consuming anxiety, a constant noise in the back of his head that won’t stop. His chest feels tight, as if the walls of the stairwell are closing in on him, suffocating him. His hands are shaking.

What if he never wakes up?

That thought continues to hit him like a ton of bricks. It keeps coming. No matter how many times he tries to push it away, no matter how much he clings to hope.

The tears come before he can stop them.

Big, ugly sobs. The kind he doesn’t let out in front of anyone, not even when Chris hugged him earlier, not even when Maddie or Bobby stay with him for hours.

He hates showing just how utterly terrified he is. But here, alone, with only the sterile scent of the hospital around him, it’s too much. He can’t hold it in anymore.

He buries his face in his hands, the sobs shaking his whole body.

He doesn’t even hear the door open at first. Doesn’t notice someone walking into the stairwell behind him.

When he looks up, Bobby stands in the doorway.

Bobby’s face is soft, his eyes full of understanding as he steps into the stairwell and quietly closes the door behind him. He’s dressed in his uniform, but the weight in his posture says he’s been on his feet for too long. He comes down the stairs, sitting beside Eddie, offering no words at first, just the presence Eddie desperately needs.

"You know, I can’t fix this," Bobby says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "No one can. But that doesn’t mean you’re doing this alone, Eddie. You’re not."

Eddie’s shoulders sag at Bobby’s words. For a second, he lets himself lean into the older man’s steady presence, just a moment to feel like maybe everything isn’t going to fall apart. His breathing begins to slow, the rawness of the panic gradually fading into something softer. But it doesn’t take the hurt away. It doesn’t take away the ache in his chest that feels like it might split him open.

"I don’t know what to do," Eddie whispers, his voice cracking. "I don’t know how to do this without him."

Bobby doesn’t rush to answer. He just gives Eddie the time he needs.

"You don’t have to do it without him," Bobby says quietly after a long pause. "You’re not alone. He’s still in there. And he’s not going to fight this fight alone either."

Eddie drops his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand, embarrassed. The last thing he wants is to break down in front of anyone, least of all Bobby, who always seems to have his life together.

"I just…" Eddie trails off, staring at the floor. "I keep imagining waking up one morning and him not being there. And I don’t know if I can do that."

Bobby places a hand on his shoulder, steady and strong. "You don’t have to think about that right now, Eddie. You don’t need to do everything at once. You just need to be with him. That’s all he needs." He pauses, then adds gently, "And that doesn’t mean running yourself into the ground. You can stay— but stay in a way that leaves enough of you left for when he wakes up."

The reassurance in Bobby’s words is a balm on Eddie’s raw nerves, but the pain of not knowing when Buck will wake up, or if he will, still gnaws at him. He hates the uncertainty. But Bobby is right, he can’t control what’s happening. All he can do is be there, keep holding onto Buck the way Buck has always held onto him, even when things get tough.

For a long time, neither of them speak. It isn’t uncomfortable — it’s the kind of silence Eddie needs. After what feels like hours, Bobby stands up, offering Eddie a hand. "Come on. He’s not going to wake up with you sitting out here. Let’s go back to him."

Eddie nods, his body heavy with exhaustion, but somehow lighter now. Maybe it’s because Bobby is right. Maybe the real fight, the fight to keep hope alive, is just in staying.

As he stands, Eddie wipes his eyes and lets Bobby lead him back toward the hospital room.

__

Seven endless days have passed since Buck fell into the silence of machines and careful hands. Seven days of sitting, waiting, hoping — a cruel stretch of time that gnaws at Eddie from the inside out. The hospital walls feel like they’re closing in on him, their white surfaces too clean, too empty, while Buck lies still against the harsh hospital linens.

Eddie can count the number of times he leaves the ICU on one hand. He is breaking, piece by piece, day by day.

And today, he’s sure he’s finally shattering.

The lights in Buck’s room are dimmed now, the only sound is the beeping of the monitors and the occasional hiss of the ventilator Buck no longer fully needs, but still isn’t strong enough to abandon. The sun sets outside, bleeding weak orange light across the floor, and Eddie sits slumped forward in the chair beside the bed, clutching Buck’s limp hand between both of his.

Buck’s skin is warm, solid, real , and yet he feels so far away.Eddie’s thumb brushes absently over Buck’s knuckles as he speaks, his voice hoarse and low from disuse and swallowed tears.

"You know," Eddie begins, words shaky, "You always said I was the stubborn one."

He lets out a choked, humourless laugh, squeezing Buck’s hand tighter like it might keep him tethered.

"But you’re just as bad," he whispers. His throat burns. His heart feels like it’s splintering with every beat. "You fight for everyone else, Buck. You always have. You fight like hell to make sure everyone else is okay. You have to fight for yourself now. You hear me?"

His breath hitches, the words bursting apart as he leans closer, forehead brushing the back of Buck’s hand.

"You can’t leave me," Eddie whispers, his voice cracking under the weight of panic and heartbreak. "You can’t leave before we even get to live the life we promised each other. We haven’t even picked out the stupid little house yet— with the creaky floorboards and ugly wallpaper we tell ourselves we're going to we’d paint over but probably never will. We haven’t argued over what colour to paint the kitchen or gotten matching mugs we don’t need or filled every single room with plants you're going to forget to water. We haven’t filled the backyard with dogs we haven’t adopted yet, the ones you said would sleep in our bed even though I pretended to say no."

His throat tightens, tears catching on every word. "We haven’t even gone couch shopping yet— one that you'll enjoy. We were supposed to have lazy Sunday mornings, where I try to cook and mess it up, but you’d still eat it because you wouldn't wanna hurt my feelings. You were gonna roll your eyes at my taste in pillows, and I was gonna complain about how you always steal the covers. We haven’t had any of that yet. Not even the boring stuff— grocery runs and cleaning days and arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes." Eddie takes a shuddering breath, his hands trembling.

“I haven’t had the chance to grow old with you. To watch your hair turn silver and your laugh lines get deeper and love you through every minute of it. We were supposed to have a lifetime. We were supposed to have years of stupid little moments that actually mean everything. And now you’re just…you’re just gonna leave?"

He blinks fast, like maybe he can blink away the truth.

"You can’t. You can’t leave me. Not before it even starts...I need you," Eddie gasps, the confession ripped raw from his chest. "I need you to come back. Be stubborn. I need you to be stubborn. Please, Buck. Please."

He doesn’t even realize he is crying in earnest until his whole body starts shaking, every breath a struggle against the weight sitting on his chest. He bows his head lower, clinging to Buck’s hand like it’s the only thing holding him together. His shoulders shake violently as he sobs, ugly, wrenching sounds tearing free from his throat as he presses his forehead against Buck’s arm.

And then, barely perceptible at first, something shifts.

A faint twitch beneath his fingertips.

Eddie freezes. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even lift his head.

But then it happens again — a small, stuttering movement of Buck’s fingers, like he’s trying to reach back.

Eddie’s head snaps up, eyes wide, heart hammering so loud it drowns everything else out.

"Buck?" His voice is little more than a broken whisper, half hope, half disbelief.

Buck’s brow furrows, the tiniest, strained movement, and his fingers twitch again, curling weakly around Eddie’s hand.

Eddie hits the call button before he can even think. Within seconds, the room floods with motion — nurses rushing in, the energy shifting from heavy despair to something electric, fragile, hopeful.

Though Eddie barely notices them. His whole world narrows to Buck — Buck moving, Buck trying, Buck coming back to him.

He surges forward, wrapping both hands around Buck’s, anchoring them together like if he just holds tight enough, Buck will feel it and stay.

"I’m here," Eddie chokes, his voice trembling as he presses their joined hands against his chest. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

Buck’s fingers give the faintest squeeze, a desperate, broken thing, but it's there, real and alive — and Eddie lets out a shuddering sob, new tears falling fast and hot down his cheeks.

A hand brushes Eddie’s shoulder, a soft, grounding touch, and one of the nurses leans in, her voice low and urgent but kind.

"He’s hearing you," she says gently. "Keep talking to him."

Eddie nods frantically, barely able to see through the tears blurring his vision. He turns back to Buck immediately, his forehead almost brushing Buck’s as he leans in.

"You’re doing so good, Buck," he whispers, voice breaking open on the words. "You’re so damn strong. I’m so proud of you."

Buck’s eyelids flutter, a ghost of a movement, but Eddie sees it. Sees it and feels something in his chest break all over again, this time with wonder, not grief.

And then it happens, a soft sound, a moan, barely audible but unmistakable. It comes from Buck’s throat, a weak, raspy noise, as though the fight inside him is beginning to come alive again.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat, his entire body stilling as his eyes search Buck’s face.

"Buck?" he whispers again, voice thick with emotion, both fear and hope mixing in his chest. "Can you hear me? I love you. Come on, you’ve got this. Don’t give up on me now."

Another soft sound, a breath, a tremor in Buck’s throat.

Then, his eyelids flutter again, this time more distinctly, a tiny flicker of recognition, of awareness.

Eddie feels the world shift again. The oxygen in the room feels different now, filled with possibility. Buck’s fingers twitch once more, this time gripping Eddie’s hand with a little more pressure, the pulse of life strengthening with every passing moment.

"I’m here, Buck. I’m here," Eddie whispers again, a broken promise of forever, pressing his forehead against Buck’s temple. He’s trembling, not from fear now, but from the force of everything he’s been holding in, the years of doubt, of distance, of uncertainty, all being washed away by the smallest but most powerful signs of Buck fighting back.

The nurse smiles, her eyes softening as she watches the small but undeniable progress.

"We’ll keep him steady, just keep talking to him."

Eddie nods, his grip never loosening as he presses his lips gently to Buck’s forehead.

"I’m right here, Buck," he whispers, over and over again. "I love you. I’m not letting go."

For the first time in a week, Eddie feels something deep and unshakable grow inside him — hope, fragile but real, like a beacon in the darkness.

Buck is still here. Buck is fighting.

His breathing is shallow but steady now, the monitor’s beeping growing stronger and more consistent with each passing moment. The steady hum of life fills the room, just as Eddie’s own pulse steadies, syncing with Buck’s, as if his heart has found a rhythm in the chaos.

Buck’s brow furrows, a subtle twitch beneath his eyelids. Eddie holds his breath.

Then, the faintest sound, barely a whisper, slips from Buck’s dry lips.

"Eds"

It’s rough, strained, a breathless rasp, but it’s his voice.

Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest, his throat closing up as he leans in closer, desperate to hear more, his hand never leaving Buck’s.

"I’m here, Buck," Eddie whispers urgently, his voice cracking with raw emotion. "I’m right here."

Buck’s lips part again, his chest rising with the effort of speaking, but it’s too much — his body trembles from the strain, and he lets out a ragged cough.

Eddie’s fingers stroke Buck’s forehead, his touch light and soft, as if trying to calm him, to reassure him.

"Don’t try to talk, just rest," Eddie urges, voice full of concern. "I’m here. Just breathe."

But Buck’s eyes, faintly flickering behind his closed lids, are already trying to focus, trying to make sense of the world around him. He’s reaching for something, his fingers twitching again, this time with a more deliberate, slow movement, as if trying to find Eddie's.

"...I’m sorry," Buck’s voice is barely a whisper, a broken thing, but it’s enough for Eddie to hear the pain behind it. His heart tightens in his chest, the weight of it almost unbearable.

"No, no, Buck. Don’t apologize. You don’t have anything to apologize for." Eddie’s voice is desperate now, his grip tightening on Buck’s hand. "You just focus on getting better...coming back to me. That’s all I need from you right now."

Buck’s eyelids flicker again, the movement more pronounced now. It’s as though he’s fighting his own body to wake up, to be present with Eddie. He lets out another faint groan, but this time, there’s a determination to it, a strength Eddie knows Buck has always had.

"Stay with me, Buck," Eddie says, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, filled with a mix of tenderness and fear. "Please, don’t leave me now. I love you. I need you here with me."

Buck’s hand weakens for a moment, but then, against the odds, it tightens around Eddie’s, just enough to remind him he’s not alone. Slowly, Buck’s eyes flutter open. They’re unfocused at first, the blue of them clouded, distant. But then they find Eddie, and something shifts. Recognition flickers through the haze, steady and unmistakable.

"Eddie…" His voice is clearer now, though still rough, raspy, and weak. But those blue eyes, so familiar, so achingly Buck, hold him there, tether him. "...I’m here."

Tears well in Eddie’s eyes as he nods, unable to speak for a moment, the emotions overwhelming him. All he can do is hold Buck’s hand tightly, not wanting to ever let go again. "I know," Eddie whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I know you are. I’m so proud of you, Buck. You made it. You’re back."

Buck’s eyes search Eddie’s face, slow and unfocused at first, but then he manages to squeeze his eyes shut for a second, as if trying to clear the fog. His lips move again, this time with more force, though the words are still faint and broken.

"I thought— I thought I might never see you again...I thought I'd lost you," Buck struggles, his voice barely audible.

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat at the rawness of Buck’s words, the vulnerability in them. He feels his tears slipping down his cheeks, but he doesn’t care anymore.

"You didn’t lose me," Eddie says, his voice steadier now, but full of love. "I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, Buck. I’m never leaving you."

Buck’s hand trembles in Eddie’s, his fingers curling weakly, but there’s something in the way he squeezes back that feels like a promise — a quiet promise of his return to them, to Eddie.

Eddie presses a kiss to Buck’s forehead, the action soft and gentle, and when he pulls back, he sees the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of Buck’s lips, weak but real.

"I’m proud of you, Buck," Eddie murmurs, brushing his thumb across Buck’s cheek. "So so so proud of you."

Buck’s eyelids flutter once more, and Eddie thinks he’s going to fall back into sleep again, but just before he does, Buck whispers again, barely audible, as if the words are a final plea from a place far, far away.

"Stay…please ."

Eddie’s heart aches, but he smiles, leaning in one last time, his voice full of everything he’s held back.

"Always...I'll be here, Buck. I love you."

Buck’s eyes drift shut again, slower this time, not from pain, but from something steadier, safer. Trust, maybe. Eddie doesn’t let go of his hand. He just sits there, grounding them both in the quiet certainty that they’re still here.

That Buck is still here.

And Eddie isn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever.

Time slips by.

The hospital room grows quieter, calmer. The alarms have stopped, the flurry of medical urgency has faded. A few hours pass in a haze of soft footsteps and muted voices. Buck’s been moved out of the ICU. The machines are mostly gone now, leaving behind only an IV and the gentle loop of oxygen tubing beneath his nose.

He looks more like himself again. Less ghost. More Buck.

Eddie sits curled in the chair beside his bed, not slumped over in exhaustion or dread this time, but watching Buck with relief, one hand resting over Buck’s on the blanket.

Buck’s eyes are open, slow to blink, still a little heavy with medication, but clear. Clearer than they’ve been in over a week.

"You’re staring," Buck rasps, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, well…get used to it."

Buck raises an eyebrow, the motion sluggish but playful. "Creepy."

"Maybe," Eddie counters, and then his voice softens. "You scared the hell out of me. Let me stare at your pretty face, okay?"

"You think I’m pretty?" Buck teases, a sly smile tugging at his lips. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he looks up at Eddie, clearly enjoying the moment. "Didn’t know you were into the hospital look."

Eddie chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Guess I have a thing for you no matter what."

The playful moment slips away as Buck turns his head, his eyes suddenly serious, focusing entirely on Eddie. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely above a murmur.

"Don’t," Eddie says quickly, reaching up to brush a knuckle against Buck’s cheek. "Don’t apologize. You’re here. That’s what matters."

Buck doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling. "I don’t remember all of it. Just flashes. Pain. Then...you. Your voice."

Eddie’s chest tightens. "I never left."

"I know," Buck whispers, his voice rough and thick with emotion. His eyes slowly drift back to Eddie, and there’s a vulnerability in them that makes Eddie’s chest tighten. "I heard all of it...your voice, your words...it was like you were right there with me the whole time, pulling me through. You kept me fighting. Even when I didn't know if I could."

Eddie’s heart aches as he looks at Buck, his hand gently squeezing Buck’s. "That was all you, Buck," he says softly, his voice thick with sincerity. "You fought for yourself, for us. I just...I was here, but you’re the one who kept going. You’re the one who didn’t give up."

There’s silence between them for a moment, thick with emotion. Outside the window, the sky begins to soften into early morning light, a promise of something new.

__

It’s been just over four weeks since Buck woke up.

He’s walking on his own now...eating, sleeping, laughing. Sometimes he gets tired quicker than he’d like, and his doctors have him benched for a few more weeks before he can officially return to work, but the important thing is — he’s here.

Alive. Whole. Still Buck.

And today, the people who love him the most make sure he knows it.

The moment Eddie pulls the truck up outside Maddie and Chimney’s place, Buck narrows his eyes.

"There are way too many cars for this to be, like, a quiet dinner."

Eddie just smiles.

Buck shoots him a look. "You didn’t—"

"I didn’t do anything," Eddie says, unconvincingly. "Talk to Maddie."

Buck groans, but when Eddie opens his door and holds out a hand, he takes it without hesitation. There’s a hint of nervous energy in Buck’s steps as they walk up to the house, but the moment the door swings open and confetti flies through the air, he startles back with a laugh.

"SURPRISE!" everyone shouts at once.

Maddie is the first to throw her arms around him, hugging him so tight it knocks the wind out of him. "This better be the last kind of welcome back party we ever have to throw for you," she breathes into his shoulder, voice tight with affection and barely concealed emotion.

Buck wraps both arms around her and hugs her back just as fiercely. "No promises,"

The living room is strung with balloons and streamers, a giant banner stretched across the back wall reading 'WELCOME BACK, BUCK!' in big red letters. At one end is a carefully drawn little ladder, and at the other, a crooked doodle of Buck’s face. Eddie immediately knows it’s Jee-Yun’s work. The little artist beams proudly from the corner of the room as people take notice, occasionally glancing up at her creation. Eddie can’t help but smile at the effort, the kind of touch that makes everything feel a little warmer, a little more like home.

Across the room, he spots Christopher leaning against the bookshelf with Hen and Karen. His arms are folded, eyes a little tired but amused, as if he’s already had enough of the attention his presence is garnering. He looks like a grown man now, not the boy who once clung to Eddie’s side. Eddie’s gaze softens at the sight — his son’s grown up, but there’s still something about his smile that pulls at Eddie’s heartstrings.

"Well, look who’s back on his feet and still annoyingly pretty," Hen says with a grin as she pulls him into a hug. Karen comes neck, kissing his cheek and hands him a cupcake. "You better eat this. I made them from scratch."

Athena and Bobby follow, Bobby clasping Buck’s shoulder in that grounding way of his. "We couldn’t not throw this," he says. "You know us. We've got to celebrate a little."

Athena pulls him into a hug too, whispering, "We missed our daily doses of your handsome face."

"Glad to be missed," Buck murmurs, blushing at her comments.

Chimney appears from the kitchen carrying a tray of drinks and offers Buck a high-five and a grin. "You’ve got a champagne toast coming. Sparkling cider if you’re still on the boring meds."

"I’ll take the cider," Buck says with a chuckle.

Ravi appears with a party hat and a camera, insisting on a group photo. Buck groans but doesn’t protest. Not when Eddie stands just behind him and slides a hand around his waist without hesitation.

Someone throws on music, Chris’ playlist, judging by the random mix of 80s ballads and modern pop. Soon the party moves out to the backyard. There’s food everywhere — Maddie went all out, Hen brought enough sides to feed an army, and Chimney’s grilling like he’s preparing for a competition.

He can see it in Buck’s eyes, the flicker of contentment, the relief of being surrounded by the people who care about him. It’s the first time in a while Eddie feels like everything is okay again.

The night stretches on, drinks flowing, stories shared, and the warm, golden glow of the backyard lights hanging above them all. At some point, they all move into the circle of chairs around the fire pit, the soft crackle of the flames filling the quiet gaps. Everyone’s a little tipsy, laughing a little louder than usual, and Eddie finds himself sitting next to Buck, their knees brushing as they share a drink.

It’s small moments like this, Eddie thinks, that make everything worth it.

With the night winding down and the stars peeking out from the sky, people slowly begin to filter out. The 118 stays a little longer, lingering by the fire, chatting and joking. Buck leans back in his chair, head tilted back slightly, eyes half-lidded as he breathes in the cool air. Eddie watches him for a moment, their hands brushing lightly on the armrest between them.

"Feeling okay?" Eddie asks softly.

Buck’s smile is lazy, content, his voice quiet but steady. "Yeah…just…taking it all in."

Eddie watches him for a moment, taking in the sight of Buck in this moment — peaceful, settled, with none of the weight of the past few weeks hanging over him. The firelight dances across his face, casting shadows and highlighting the way his eyes soften when he looks around at everyone. It’s a far cry from the man Eddie had been sitting beside in the ICU, the man who was unconscious and still. It’s a far cry from the fear and the uncertainty that had clung to Eddie for days on end.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Eddie can just breathe. It’s not that he wasn’t grateful for Buck’s recovery, but that lingering worry, the fear that the man he loved might not make it, had kept him on edge. He’d been operating on pure adrenaline for days, no time to process, no time to sit and feel.

Now, as he looks at Buck, Eddie feels the last of that tension slip away.

"I’m glad you’re here," Eddie says softly, his voice quieter than he intends, but honest. There’s something grounding in the way he says it, like he’s finally admitting something to himself, something he’s always known but never quite said out loud before. He watches as Buck shifts slightly in his chair, the edges of his smile turning up in response.

Buck looks over at him, his gaze steady, eyes a little glassy from the mix of exhaustion and the warmth of the evening. "I don’t think I’m going anywhere anytime soon."

Eddie chuckles, though it’s tight with emotion, and he leans back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. There’s something so simple and perfect about this moment — this group of people around him, Buck beside him, and Eddie can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

For a long time, he’d been afraid that everything could slip through his fingers, that something so fragile and precious could just vanish when he wasn’t looking.

And maybe it still could.

But for now, in this moment, it feels real. It feels solid.

He opens his eyes again to find Buck still watching him, as if he can feel the weight of the moment too. Buck’s gaze is softer now, almost knowing, like he understands something Eddie can’t quite put into words yet. But that’s the thing about Buck — they’ve always communicated better in the silences than they ever did in words.

"Yeah," Eddie says finally, his smile wide, his chest a little lighter. "Me neither."

They stay like that for a while, letting the warmth of the fire flicker around them, the sounds of their friends fading into the background. Eddie doesn’t rush it. Doesn’t need to. For the first time in a long while, Eddie believes it too.

That everything will be okay.

And he realizes that’s enough.

__

Time moves quietly now.

Not fast, not slow, just steady , like the gentle tide pulling them forward. The days aren’t marked by crisis or chaos anymore, but by grocery lists scrawled on sticky notes, shared laundry, weekly movie nights, and mornings where Eddie wakes up to the familiar warmth of Buck curled beside him, sometimes snoring, mouth half open.

It’s ordinary. Beautifully, blissfully ordinary.

And Eddie wouldn’t trade it for anything.

They’ve been living together for months now — long enough for the novelty of it to fade into a comfortable routine, but still new enough for every little thing to feel special. The way their toothbrushes sit next to each other in the holder, the way Buck can’t seem to remember where the can opener is even though they’ve been through it a dozen times, and it hasn't moved. The weird, small joys of sharing a space, a life. It feels like they've always been this way, even when Eddie knows deep down that this version of them is something he's never dared to dream of before.

He’s leaning in the kitchen doorway now, barefoot, wearing one of Buck’s old T-shirts that’s stretched soft from too many washes. The sleeves are loose around his arms, the collar dipping just enough to brush the curve of his collarbone. It smells like Buck, like detergent and mint.

Buck is at the stove, brow furrowed in deep concentration as he stirs a bubbling pot of tomato sauce, one hand on his hip, the other wielding a wooden spatula like it’s a paintbrush. The radio plays the forgotten hits of the early 2000s, and Buck hums along, horribly off-key. The kitchen is a little messy — flour on the counter, ingredients littered all over the counter, utensils abandoned next to the sink, but it feels alive.

Lived-in.

Eddie watches for a moment longer, just taking in the sight of Buck in their kitchen, in their home. He doesn’t know when it happened. When this stopped being something he didn’t believe in, something out of reach, but now, it’s his life.

Their life.

Eddie watches for a long moment, heart full to bursting with something soft and sure. Love, yes. But also peace. The kind he never thought he’d have. Not after Shannon. Not after everything.

"You know," Buck calls over his shoulder, voice teasing, "Instead of staring at me like a weirdo, come try this sauce."

Eddie chuckles, pushing off the doorframe. "What? I can't appreciate watching you cook for me?"

"I find your eyes burning holes into my back a little unnerving," Buck shoots back with a grin, spatula raised.

Eddie dips it in the sauce anyway and tastes it. "Too much oregano," he says automatically, even though it’s perfect. It always is.

Buck gasps like he’s been wounded. "You’re such a liar. You just want to keep me humble."

"Someone has to."

A year and a half ago, Eddie would’ve told you that this kind of happiness was out of reach. It wasn’t in the cards for him, not after everything he’d been through. He couldn’t imagine it, not with the walls he’d built up, not with how much of him was still haunted by the past. But then Buck had come into his life, and little by little, Eddie had stopped needing all those walls. And Buck? Buck had been the one to show him how good it could feel to just let go.

As Eddie is wiping his hands on a dishtowel, Buck turns to him. His expression shifts — softens in that unmistakable way it always does when he’s about to say something that cracks Eddie open.

"Hey, baby," he says, suddenly serious, pulling back just enough to look Eddie in the eyes. "There’s something I’ve been thinking about."

Eddie glances up. "Hm?"

Buck lingers for a second, like he’s steadying himself. Then, with a small breath, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a little black box. The corners are softened with wear, like it’s been carried in and out of his jacket for weeks, maybe longer — the way someone might carry a secret close to their heart, waiting for the right moment.

He holds it out between them. No theatrics. No grand speeches. Just quiet hands and eyes so wide and full that Eddie feels the world shift around them.

Eddie blinks, his heart catching in his throat.

Buck lets out a laugh — soft, breathless, a little watery. "You always look at me like that."

Eddie raises an eyebrow, chest tight. "Like what?"

"Like I’m real to you," Buck says, voice soft and wavering. "Like you see me— all of me. The mess, the doubts, the good stuff too. And you still stay. You still choose me." He gives a helpless shrug, blinking through the emotion. "Like I matter."

And that undoes Eddie a little — because he does look at Buck that way. Has since he first met him, without even realizing it. Through fights and laughter, through hard times and healing. And now, right now, it’s all crashing in at once.

Buck looks down, blinking hard, then back up with a shaky smile. "I’ve been carrying this thing around like a maniac. Waiting for the right time. Thinking maybe there isn’t one, maybe there’s just… now. Because I’m done waiting."

He opens the box slowly. Inside is a ring — simple, elegant, and unmistakably Eddie. It gleams quietly in the warm light of the kitchen. A detail catches Eddie’s eye, the subtle brushed texture along the band, personal and thoughtful.

"Chris helped me pick it out," Buck says, barely above a whisper. "Said it should feel like you. Not fancy. Just…right."

The words hit Eddie like a wave. He feels rooted to the spot and completely untethered all at once.

Buck draws in a deep breath, but it doesn’t steady him — he’s already trembling slightly, tears hanging heavy in his lashes. "You changed my life, Eds. I don’t even think you realize it. You made everything make sense."

He takes a tiny step forward, voice thick with emotion. "Before you, I didn’t know what real love looked like. I didn’t know what it felt like to be seen. To be known so completely and still...wanted."

Eddie swallows hard because he knows. He knows exactly what Buck means. Because he’s felt it too — that desperate hope to be seen for more than just the parts of himself he shows the world. He knows what it’s like to wonder if anyone could ever really see him and still choose to stay. And when Buck says it, when he lays himself bare like that, Eddie feels it too.

He feels it all at once — the weight of everything they’ve been through, the nights spent holding on when it felt like the world was slipping out from under him, the moments that stitched them back together. He remembers every smile Buck gave him when he didn’t think he deserved one, every time Buck showed up — not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

Eddie’s breath hitches, eyes stinging, and for a second, he can’t speak because he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

"I can’t imagine my life without you. Not now, not ever. You made me feel like I belong somewhere," Buck says. "You made me want to stay. For everything. All of it. Even the hard stuff. "

The tears fall freely now, slipping down Buck’s cheeks as he tries to smile through them. "I love you, Eddie. I love you more than I have words for. And if I could, I’d ask you to marry me a hundred different ways in a hundred different lifetimes."

He exhales, a soft, shaky breath.

"And I guess what I’m trying to say is—"

"Yes."

It breaks from Eddie like a confession, ragged and breathless and unstoppable.

Buck blinks. "Wait—"

"Yes," Eddie says again, stepping in close, his hand reaching for Buck’s instinctively. "You don’t even have to finish. I already know. I’ve known, Buck. For a long time."

Buck laughs through the tears, chest shaking. "Okay, but I do want to finish. Just let me say the words once."

Eddie smiles, eyes glassy. "Then say them."

Buck meets his gaze with everything in him, voice reverent and low. "Will you marry me?"

Eddie nods, heart bursting as he leans in, pressing their foreheads together. "Yes. Yes, I will. Always."

Buck slips the ring onto Eddie’s finger with hands that still tremble — not from doubt, but from the sheer enormity of what they’ve just promised each other.

They stand there for a long, quiet moment, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only comes from certainty. From knowing, deep in their bones, that this is it. That after everything, they made it here.

Together.

This isn’t just a happy ending. It’s the everyday after. It’s the promise of choosing each other — on the good days, on the hard days, and on all the boring ones in between.

And when Eddie finally kisses him — slow, tender, anchoring, it feels like the beginning and the end all at once. When they pull apart, the kitchen is quiet again, the last rays of sunset bathing everything in gold. Outside, life moves on — cars pass, dogs bark, the world keeps spinning.

They don’t need the rest of the world to witness it.

They already have everything they need. Eddie knows that right here, he’s home.

And he always will be.

__