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“Quick firehouse poll,” Buck says, and everyone collectively groans. “Tattoos, hot or not?”
“What is this, a sleepover? Are we gonna brain each other’s hair next?” Chim scoffs.
“I mean technically a 24-hour shift is just a big slumber party at the station,” Buck points out.
“You’re a dumbass.”
“I’m curating my dating profile,” Buck explains. “Do I choose pictures that emphasize my tattoos or not?”
“Hm, well, Maddie thinks they’re hot,” Chim says with a wicked grin.
“Really, man?” Buck makes a gagging noise. “Anyone else have an opinion?”
Hen shrugs, looking up from the medical textbook she’s attempting to study. “Personally, I could take ‘em or leave ‘em. Not a deal breaker, but certainly not a turn on.”
“Fair enough,” Buck turns to Eddie, who has remained suspiciously silent. “What about you?”
“Definitely hot,” he responds, maybe a little too quickly for his own good.
Chimney mumbles something that sounds like “shocker” in Hen’s ear, and she tries not to laugh.
“Someone’s got a thing for ink,” Buck teases. “How did I not know this about you?”
Eddie shrugs. “You never asked.”
“Hm.” Buck puts down his phone. “Well, I’m asking now, then.”
“Asking what, exactly?” Eddie’s voice sounds a bit strangled.
“What’s your type?” Buck asks, casually. “I mean, I can make a few assumptions based on your past partners, but still.”
Chim opens his mouth, but Buck cuts him off before he can get any words out.
“If you say something about your type and my sister, I’ll smack you.”
Chim huffs. “Fine.”
Eddie is still silent.
“C’mon man, just a few physical traits. Like, dark eyes or something.”
Eddie takes a deep breath. “Blue eyes.”
Hen closes her book, officially giving up on studying, and leans forward.
“Blue eyes,” Eddie says again, slowly. “Blonde. Curly hair. Tall. Dimples.”
“Really?” Buck furrows his brow. “But Shannon and Ana both had dark hair and brown eyes.”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie shifts nervously. “I wasn’t talking about them.”
Hen is almost falling out of her seat. Chim looks like he might spontaneously combust.
“Then who were you—" He’s cut off by the alarm.
Eddie is out of his seat and down the pole like a rocket, leaving Buck blinking in confusion. He turns to Hen and Chim. “Do you guys know who he’s talking about? Is he dating someone new?”
“Oh, Buckaroo,” Hen shakes her head. “You haven’t figured it out by now?”
Buck is mystified. “Figured what out?!”
The rest of shift is a blur of stupid calls and Buck barely has time to think about whatever the hell happened in the afternoon. It’s there in the back of his mind all day, gnawing at him, but he can’t focus on it long enough to make heads or tails of any of it. It’s not until nearly the end of shift that the realization comes crashing down on him.
He showers after a two alarm fire that left him smelling of smoke and coated with ash, just a quick one. He buttons up his shirt, runs a hand through his wet curls, and glances at his reflection, before reaching for his pomade. And then he stops, and looks back at the mirror.
At his blue eyes and blonde curls. At his tattoos. At the two inches he has over Eddie.
“He was talking about me?!” He exclaims to the empty locker room. He drops the pomade back down in his locker and makes a beeline for the couch, where he knows Eddie will be. He takes the stairs two at a time, his heart beating wildly in his chest, and stalks over to where Eddie is sitting, looking perfectly innocent.
“You bastard,” he breathes out accusingly, hair still dripping.
Chim and Hen look up from their card game.
“Wh-" Eddie blinks twice. “What did I do?”
“You were talking about me!” Buck nearly yells, tripping over himself and falling onto the couch beside Eddie. “Your type! You were describing me!”
Hen grabs Chim’s arm. “It’s happening,” she whispers excitedly. Buck ignores it.
Eddie simply nods, face red. “I—Yeah.”
“I cannot believe you,” Buck shakes his head, exasperated. “All day I’ve been wondering who you could be talking about, if you met someone new. And you were talking about me!”
“I—I’m sorry?” Eddie glances over to Hen and Chim, who both just shrug.
“You should be,” Buck says, curling his hands around Eddie’s collar and pulling him in. He kisses Eddie firmly, and Eddie melts immediately. It’s a short kiss—they’re at work, and Buck knows he never would’ve done this if it wasn’t hour 22 of a 24 hour shift—but it’s a promise of more, and Buck pulls back satisfied.
“I, uh,” Eddie clears his throat. “You—"
“We have a lot to talk about,” Buck says, hands on Eddie’s chest. “But we have a shift to finish first.”
“Right,” Eddie says, and it’s clear he’s still shell shocked.
Buck stops for a second. “You do—I mean, I didn’t totally misread this?”
Eddie manages a laugh. “What else could I have possibly meant by saying that you’re my type?”
“Good,” Buck grins and kisses Eddie on the nose.
Eddie blushes a lovely shade of firetruck red, and Buck just smiles, overwhelmed with affection and joy and a little bit of smugness at seeing the effect he clearly has on Eddie, and for the first time in long time, hope. He’s sure Chim and Hen are grinning like the cats who ate the canary. But he doesn’t care. It’s still perfect.