writerangel
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Adriana doesn’t tell their parents that she’s going to LA. She doesn’t tell Eddie, either—or ask, for that matter.
She does ask Chris, and he thinks it’s a good idea—says as much, on the phone, and doesn’t say much else.
“Buck will probably be hovering,” is what Chris does volunteer.
It still surprises her when the man who opens the door is not Eddie. It’s—Captain America, is the thing that actually comes to mind—a man close to a foot taller than she is, if not more than that, with blond curls and broad shoulders, and he’s got a question in his very blue eyes that’s probably less friendly than the one he actually asks her.
“Uh,” he says. “Can I help you?”
—
Or: Adriana arrives in LA. Maddie has been here the whole time.
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Bookmarked by writerangel
13 Jan 2026
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“You were drunk. I know it didn’t mean anything. Everything’s alright.”
Buck visibly winces. “That’s not — Eddie.”
There’s a suspended moment where Buck looks torn, standing on the edge of something, eyes fixed on the horizon to avoid looking at the drop, the precipitous canyon below. But then Buck, who can’t lie, who would tear his own chest open to a complete stranger on the street because the truth of him spills so loudly out of every jagged edge, sighs out:
“It meant something.”
There’s a ringing sound somewhere in the distance, getting closer. “What are you…” Eddie trails off.
“I wasn’t — well, I was drunk. But that wasn’t what. Wasn’t why. Not entirely, or — god.” Buck shudders in a breath, steeling himself. “I have feelings for you.” He closes his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
~
Buck confesses his feelings. Eddie’s straight. If he spends all his time thinking about Buck and looking at Buck and wanting to be around Buck, well, that’s just being a good friend, isn’t it? He’s being so normal about this, actually.
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And let your best be for your friend.
If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
Seek him always with hours to live.
“On Friendship,” Kahlil Gibran (From “The Prophet)“Uhm, do you have a preferred side?” Eddie asks. His tongue is so dry in his mouth. He should have had more water at the bar.
Buck shrugs, glancing at the neat stack of pillows against the headboard. “This side is good.” He licks his lips. His broad frame somehow looks small, like he’s pulled himself inwards.“Do you -” Buck starts to say, then pauses, rubs his palms against his thighs. “Do you want to, like, build a pillow wall down the middle?”
Or: Buck and Eddie attend a Firefighter Convention in Indianapolis. And wouldn't you know it, there's only one bed. You know how this goes.
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ret·ro·grade ˈre-trə-ˌgrād
- being in motion in a direction contrary to that of the general motion of similar bodies
- affecting memories of a period prior to a precipitating event (such as brain injury or disease)
- to go back
After an accident leaves Eddie with amnesia, Buck takes him home to recover, and in the absence of his memories, Eddie reveals parts of himself he’s kept hidden for years.
Bookmarked by writerangel
22 Dec 2025
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Buck always assumed he knew everyone in US tennis.
Even before he played professionally, he was watching Maddie compete. He'd entered every single tournament that would take him since age 11. He’s been on the Tour since he was 17.
But he’s never met Edmundo Diaz.
//
professional tennis player au