Work Text:
Eddie Diaz was over Buck.
Totally.
Completely.
One-hundred-percent fine .
…Except for the part where he’d just spent an entire morning staring at Buck in the loft kitchen, watching him eat cereal straight from the box and wondering what it would feel like to kiss him.
That tiny detail aside, Eddie was over him.
So when Karen suggested he try dating again, Eddie decided to give it a shot. He even downloaded a dating app—something he swore he’d never do—set up a profile, and after swiping through what felt like the entire male population of Los Angeles, landed on a guy named Jake.
Jake was cute, smiled in all his pictures, and seemed… normal. Most importantly, Jake wasn’t Buck.
⸻
It started well enough. They met at a casual bar, Jake bought the first round, and Eddie tried to focus on the conversation. Jake was a personal trainer, had two dogs, and was really into hiking. He was also funny in a dry, sarcastic way.
But then, three drinks in, Eddie made the fatal mistake of mentioning work.
And “work” led to “my team,” which led to “my best friend,” which inevitably led to Buck .
“…and then Buck tried to rescue a goat from a tree,” Eddie was saying, grinning without realizing. “He swears it was stuck, but I’m pretty sure it was just enjoying the view. Anyway, he—”
Jake’s polite smile faltered. “So… Buck’s your partner at work?”
“My best friend,” Eddie corrected automatically. Then, because alcohol made him honest, he added, “And kind of my… everything?”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Everything?”
Eddie winced. “That sounded weird. I just mean… he’s always there, you know? For me. For my son. He’s… Buck.”
And that was the moment Eddie realized this date was doomed.
⸻
Back home later, buzzed and leaning against his kitchen counter, Eddie decided he needed closure . Not the kind where you talk things out like an adult, of course—no, that was far too logical. He was going for the kind of closure that required three more beers and a reckless idea.
He’d call Buck. Leave a voicemail. Something like: Hey, I’m over you now. We’re good. I’m free.
It made perfect sense in his slightly inebriated brain.
He scrolled through his contacts, found “Buck 🐐” (long story), and hit call.
It rang, then went to voicemail.
“Hey, Buck, it’s me,” Eddie started. “Eddie. Diaz. Obviously. Uh—so, I just wanted to say… I’m over you. And that, my friend, is what you call closure.”
He grinned, pleased with himself.
Except… the words kept coming.
“Also, you’re a great guy. The best. And maybe if things were different… but they’re not. And that’s fine. Totally fine. I just… yeah. I’m gonna hang up now. Before I say something dumb. Like how your smile should be illegal. Bye.”
He hit end, stared at the phone… and then decided one voicemail wasn’t enough.
The second one started with, “Okay, so I realize that last message sounded like I’m not over you, but I am. Over you. So over. Over like… the ocean is over the sand. Wait, that’s not right—”
The third was just him humming “I Will Survive.”
⸻
Eddie woke up with a headache and the vague memory of serenading Buck’s voicemail.
Which would have been fine… except Buck was now standing in his living room.
“Hey,” Buck said, leaning against the wall like he owned the place (which, to be fair, he sort of did in spirit). “You left me… messages.”
Eddie froze mid-step toward the coffee maker. “Messages?”
“Three,” Buck said, holding up fingers. “One that sounded like a breakup, one that sounded like a love confession, and one that sounded like Gloria Gaynor was being murdered.”
Eddie’s face went hot. “You weren’t supposed to listen to them!”
Buck grinned. “That’s kind of the point of voicemail, Eddie.”
⸻
In a moment of sheer panic, Eddie lunged for Buck’s phone.
Buck saw it coming. “Oh, no. No way.”
“Yes way,” Eddie said, and before he knew it, they were wrestling in the middle of the living room like two kids fighting over the last cookie.
At one point, Eddie jumped on Buck’s back, trying to reach around for the phone, but Buck was annoyingly strong and somehow kept it just out of reach.
“You can’t erase them,” Buck said, laughing breathlessly.
“I can if I get to your phone!” Eddie countered, wrapping an arm around Buck’s neck in mock restraint.
“Pretty sure this counts as assaulting a coworker,” Buck teased.
“Worth it.”
They stumbled against the couch, Buck twisting to keep the phone high. Eddie made a desperate grab, and they both toppled onto the cushions in a heap.
⸻
Breathing hard, Buck rolled onto his back, still holding the phone. “You really don’t want me to hear them again, huh?”
“Because they don’t mean anything,” Eddie said quickly. Too quickly.
Buck’s smile softened. “That’s the thing, Eddie. I think they do.”
Eddie blinked. “What?”
“I listened to them this morning,” Buck said, his voice quieter now. “And all I could think was… why didn’t you just tell me?”
Eddie’s throat felt tight. “Because I thought you didn’t—”
Buck didn’t let him finish. “I do. Have. Feelings. For you.”
The world tilted. “You… what?”
“Yeah.” Buck gave a little laugh, like it was ridiculous to say it out loud. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, but… hearing you—drunk, sure, but honest—made me realize I don’t want to pretend anymore.”
For a second, Eddie just stared at him, heart pounding. Then he said, “So… we’re both idiots?”
“Absolutely.”
And then Buck leaned in, and Eddie met him halfway, and the kiss was warm and familiar and brand new all at once.
⸻
They were still tangled on the couch when Buck smirked and said, “By the way… I’m keeping the voicemails.”
Eddie groaned. “Buck—”
“For our wedding playlist,” Buck added, grinning.
Eddie laughed despite himself. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah,” Buck said, pulling him closer. “But you love me.”
And Eddie, finally, didn’t bother denying it.