Chapter Text
The kitchen light hums faintly overhead.
Eddie notices it because he’s avoiding noticing anything else.
Buck had shown up fifteen minutes ago. No call first. Just the familiar knock, then his shoulder nudging the door open like he belongs here.
He does.
That’s part of the problem.
Christopher is at a friend’s house for the night. The house feels larger without him. Quieter. Less buffered.
Buck is leaning against the counter now, hands wrapped around a beer he hasn’t really touched.
“So,” he says lightly, “guess I survived.”
Eddie keeps his eyes on the cutting board. He isn’t cutting anything. He’s just… standing there.
“That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
Silence folds in.
Buck huffs out a breath. “It was nice.”
Eddie nods once. “Okay.”
Not sharp. Not clipped.
Just contained.
Buck shifts his weight.
“He’s… steady.”
That word lands somewhere under Eddie’s ribs.
“I figured.”
Buck studies him for a second. Waiting for something. Eddie doesn’t give it.
Another beat.
“Anyway,” Buck says, shrugging like this doesn’t matter, like he didn’t come here for a reason, “guess I’m just glad you didn’t have to compete.”
The air changes.
Eddie looks up.
“Don’t.”
Buck blinks. “Don’t what?”
“Turn it into a joke.”
Buck straightens slowly. “I’m not—”
“You are.”
The word isn’t harsh. It’s certain.
Silence stretches, fragile and electric.
Buck sets the bottle down on the counter.
“I just meant— it would’ve been weird. You bidding. In front of everyone.”
Eddie steps around the island.
Not closing the distance yet.
Just facing him fully.
“I didn’t bid,” he says, measured, “because I wasn’t going to compete for you.”
Buck stills.
“What?”
“I’m not raising a paddle for you like you’re something to win.”
The words are calm. Deliberate. Not heated.
Buck’s fingers curl slightly against the counter.
“You could’ve,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
A step closer now.
“I had the money. I had the chance.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
There it is.
Not accusation. Not anger.
Just something open and raw under Buck’s voice.
Eddie holds his gaze.
“Because I don’t want to win you.”
The space between them tightens.
Buck’s breath catches.
Eddie steps fully into it.
“I want to choose you.”
No flourish. No speech.
Just truth.
Buck goes very, very still.
Like the world has narrowed down to this kitchen tile, this light, this space between them.
“You didn’t have to,” he whispers.
Eddie’s hand settles at Buck’s waist. Firm. Certain.
“I know.”
That’s the point.
He didn’t have to.
He isn’t doing this because someone else raised a paddle.
He isn’t doing this because Julian was steady.
He’s doing it because he’s done hesitating.
Buck’s fingers fist in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt.
Foreheads nearly touch.
No rush. No crash.
Just shared breath.
"You don't get bought ,” Eddie murmurs, voice low and steady. “Not by them. Not by me.”
Buck exhales, shaky but relieved.
“I wasn’t going anywhere.”
“I know.”
And this time it doesn’t mean assumption.
It means trust.
Buck’s arm slides around Eddie’s waist. He folds in without hesitation now, head resting against Eddie’s shoulder like this is something he’s been holding back for months.
The kitchen is quiet.
No applause. No gavel. No audience.
Just choice.
Eddie hadn’t raised a paddle.
He’d made a decision.
And this time, he didn't hesitate.