Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

part one.
love never wanted me
but i took it anyway
put your ear to the speaker
and choose love or sympathy
but never both, no

One day, Buck will tell an interviewer that he would be happy to make movies with Eddie Diaz until the day he dies.

But first, years before that, he sees Eddie for the first time on the set of Chimney’s fifth movie.

Chimney’s only capable of describing What’s Inside You? in sprawling rants scattered with conflicting references. To an interviewer, he says, “It’s like, you ever see that One Direction documentary? Or Disaster Movie? So, like a mockumentary but in an apocalyptic Spaghetti Western. Like, it’s ridiculous and a parody but also totally serious and intentionally genre mixing — like, have you seen that Iranian film, A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night? That, but not.”

The journalist, when they type the interview up for publication, writes: “If you didn’t get any of that, don’t worry; you’re not alone.”

Buck, honestly, doesn’t get it, but he trusts Chimney’s filmmaking implicitly and he’s not in the movie, anyway, so he doesn’t need to. But Maddie? Maddie loves it from the second she hears Chimney stumble over a muddled description, only the second conversation she and Chimney have, absolutely missing every reference Chimney makes. And while Chimney’s willing to take Buck’s noncommittal nods and mhmms, Maddie’s insistent on making Buck get it.

It takes Maddie exactly five seconds to convince Chimney to let Maddie and Buck visit set on the first day of filming.

“Pay attention,” Maddie says while a harried PA herds them out of the way, depositing them at the edge of all of the action. Buck wastes no time in picking at the nearly-empty craft services table next to them. “Because I will be quizzing you.”

He pauses with his disappointing find — a scone — halfway to his mouth. “Quizzing me? You’ve been on a film set, Maddie. We’re gonna watch the same three-minute scene a dozen times.”

“And that should be all you need, Evan.”

Buck rolls his eyes, laughing around a bite of scone.

Around them the crew is scrambling about, setting up an indoor scene. Three walls of a bedroom have been propped up: a Queen bed with rumpled dark sheets in the center of the back wall; bare wooden nightstands on either side; a mirror with a similarly bare dresser beneath it. Whoever’s meant to act in it — and Buck struggles to think if he’s heard Chimney or the press talk about the cast — isn’t there yet, just the set designers and production assistants adjusting minute angles and swapping out one set of dresser handles for another.

Until, suddenly, Maddie says, “Oh.”

Buck follows her eye line and —

And the thing is, Buck’s an actor; he’s seen a lot of hot men, men even hotter than this guy, and yet.

The guy’s built, not like he’s spent months being moulded by Marvel-paid personal trainers, but like he’s spent his entire life working with his hands. His dark brows, the line of his mouth, seem permanently bent toward imagery of a grumpy old man. They’ve got him in a sweat-stained white tank top at least two sizes too small and a pair of ratty grey sweatpants.

He’s listening intently to a PA as they gesture at a script in their hands. One of his socked feet absently traces the blue taped X that marks his blocking in the centre of the bedroom set.

There’s nothing that makes him special.

Still, Buck can’t help but ask, “Who is that?”

Maddie scoffs. “You really don’t listen to Chim, do you? Remember, Eddie Diaz? Total new guy. Chimney practically had to beg him to take the role.”

“What?” The steel slips into Buck’s voice before he can think to stop it. Maddie’s eyebrows climb toward her hairline. He takes a moment to force casualness when he continues, “Why’d he have to beg?”

Maddie’s eyes are narrowed, assessing, as she says, “I don’t know. I think he wanted a smaller role, less hours?”

Buck’s jaw clenches until something creaks. He remembers every single time he auditioned for Chimney, for every single director he’s ever met, before he finally got a part. He worked for months before he got a role with actual lines. Even now, with an IMDb page he’s proud of, with everything Abby did for him, he still works for every role he gets. He’s never been arrogant enough to have someone beg him to take a better role, not even in the aftermath of Jump/Fall.

“Wow,” Maddie says, an amused tilt to her mouth. “You’re not seriously jealous are you?”

“Jealous?” Buck scoffs. Eddie Diaz is not the first new, hot actor to come on the scene since Buck’s started acting. “Not a chance.”

Maddie hums, mouth pursed and eyebrows raised, the picture of big-sister skepticism. Buck’s next bite of scone is rough, the tension in his shoulders and neck making him quickly irritable.

Eddie Diaz raises a hand towards his head and pauses with it a breath from his undoubtedly recently styled hair for a moment before he curls his fingers into a fist, drops it back down to his side. Buck thinks, uncharitably, fucking amateur.

Huddled behind a huge monitor, Chimney gives a five-second warning. PAs scramble away from the set, the tech crew snapping to attention behind their equipment. Buck’s heart starts to race, a pavlovian sensation; even on this side of things, the adrenaline gets to him, the moment of gasping breath before everything starts. Eddie Diaz looks perfectly at ease. Buck hates him for it, just a little.

“Action.”

Buck keeps a critical eye on Eddie. He doesn’t kid himself into thinking that Eddie isn’t good at what he does — Chimney would never hire him, never mind freakin’ beg, if he wasn’t — but he waits for the moment he slips into the role, leaving Eddie behind in favour of plastic edges. It was the thing Abby spent months training Buck out of, sitting on her kitchen island and pelting marshmallows at him every time she lost sight of Buck — of something human and real — under whatever character he was trying on. It was the thing that made Chimney turn him down again and again, in the beginning.

Eddie Diaz doesn’t do that.

He’s visibly uncomfortable, but rather than gruff and stiff he’s almost mocking, movements open and fluid. His eyebrows are still bowed towards the center of his forehead, but they lean more towards action hero Ken Doll than grumpy old man. He hasn’t slipped into the role; he’s met it in the middle. He’s hitting every mark on Chimney’s ridiculous list — part earnest parody, part comical love letter — but Eddie is still there, enough that Buck, a total stranger, can see him. It’s hard to look away.

Buck clenches his jaw hard enough it hurts.

When Chimney cuts — followed immediately by an affectionate, “Diaz, you bastard!” — Maddie hmms loudly, leaning surreptitiously into Buck’s side. “What were you saying earlier?”

Buck turns on his heel and walks away.

After that first day, Buck doesn’t see Chimney’s set for a while.

He’s busy with reshoots for A Touch of Someone Else, a rom-com that Buck filmed mostly shirtless.

Abby had helped him prepare for the audition, had celebrated with him when he got it, had rehearsed scenes with him again and again when he was too nervous to sleep. Abby’s fingerprints are all over the film, even if she’s not in it. Returning to the set, repeating lines he can still hear in her voice as she dissected them for meaning and affectation, puts him in a weird mood for the days they last and beyond.

Besides, it’s not like he makes a habit of visiting sets he’s not working on unless he’s bored or Maddie invites him along. So, he’s not purposely avoiding Eddie Diaz; he’s just busy.

He sure fucking hears about the guy, though.

“Eddie is a godsend,” Chimney says, grabbing a beer from Buck’s fridge. Maddie’s sitting on the kitchen counter, so Chimney only makes it as far as leaning against it next to her, elbow resting on her knee.

It’s the fourth time he’s listened to Chimney sing Eddie’s praises. Maddie does it almost as often. Even fucking Bobby — who has irrevocably betrayed Buck by taking Eddie on as a client — acts like the sun shines out of the guy’s ass.

“I’ve been fighting producers and the studio about this movie since I sent in the first script. Nobody gets it. Like, yeah, it’s ridiculous, but that’s the point. And it still has a theme, but no one in Hollywood can manage a critical reading to save their lives —“

“But Eddie gets it?” Maddie cuts in, smiling indulgently. She meets Buck’s eyes and widens her own. This is not Chimney’s first time delivering this same rant, cursing studio execs and Disney as an entity for sanitizing the film industry.

“Yes! Or he’s at least willing to trust me. You make four fantastic movies —”

“Really?” Buck interrupts. “Never Gonna Give You Up?”

“— Shut up, I stand by that one. God, I miss Hen.”

“She hasn’t even left yet.”

“I’m preemptively missing her.”

Maddie throws her head back in a laugh, plucking the beer out of Chimney’s hand to take a drink. She makes a face as she hands it back. Chimney’s too busy staring at Maddie with a dopey grin to notice his drink has left or been returned. Buck rolls his eyes, resisting the urge to bang his head against the kitchen island.

“The point is,” Chimney says, once he’s pulled his gaze away from Maddie.

And Buck finds himself quite suddenly at the end of his rope. “That Eddie Diaz is God, Eddie Diaz is the reason the sun rises and falls, all hail Eddie freaking Diaz!” He pushes away from the island and stalks away.

In an undertone, Chimney says, “What’s his problem?”

Buck doesn’t have a problem. And if he does, it’s definitely not Eddie Diaz.

“Evan! Hey, Evan, over here! When’s the last time you heard from Abby Clark? Do you know where she is? When’s she coming back?”

He ducks his head against the blinding flashes, a security guard’s hand pressing against the centre of his back to guide him forward. He doesn’t let himself react to any of the shouted questions, doesn’t let any of the responses he has edge out past his clenched teeth.

The party’s off to a bad start.

He wasn’t going to show at all, prepared to spend the evening sulking in Abby’s apartment, pretending to read through the scripts Bobby sent over and waiting for Abby to call. Like every other non-working evening he’s had in the last four months. It was only Maddie, texting him creative threats and heartfelt pleas back-to-back, that made him swap out sweats for an emerald green silk button-up he’s contractually obligated to wear in public at least once.

He doesn’t feel up to being Evan Buckley, Abby Clark’s reformed fuck boy turned devoted beau turned abandoned pet. He does it anyway.

The inside of the party — and Buck doesn’t even know what it’s for, or who’s throwing it, or how he got an invite — is dark and loud. A popular club cleared out for a somewhat exclusive guest list, an open bar along the back, lush booths lining the perimeter, sweaty swarms of people grinding in the centre of everything.

Just over a year ago, fresh off his first huge success, getting callback after callback for the first time in his career, he’d be right there in the thick of it. He’d find a model or some kind of influencer, someone who cared more about the follower count on his Instagram than the prestige of the roles on his IMDb, dance only long enough to convey intention, and then fuck in the bathroom. He had it down to a science. The tabloids loved it, verified Twitter accounts quote tweeting pap shots of Buck with yet another model to say “vs angels are just passing evan buckley around like a blunt” and “evan buckley must lay absolutely crazy pipe.”

After Abby, he stopped going to parties. Abby hated them and was unwilling to spend too much unnecessary time away from her mother on top of that. For the first time, spending an evening at home was better, Abby's company better than a hundred models.

Now, he keeps his eyes on the ground as he edges around the crowds toward the bar. He orders a drink and watches the condensation drip down the side, cold when they reach his fingers.

The face of his phone, where he’s texted Maddie a slew of messages to the tune of where are you and how dare you drag me to this party and not be easily found, is black.

An hour. He’ll give this party an hour, and then he’s going back to his girlfriend’s empty apartment, Maddie or no Maddie.

“Hey.”

A dark drink slides into view next to Buck. It’s attached to a rough, calloused hand, a black watch wrapped around the wrist. Buck follows that wrist up, up, up to Eddie Diaz, smiling in a black shirt buttoned nearly all the way to his neck. Buck’s contracted shirt is unbuttoned to his navel.

Eddie’s free hand breaches the space between them, held out for a shake. Like they’re at a fucking conference. “I’m Eddie Diaz. Buck, right? Chimney talks about you a lot.”

Buck bristles. He has the uncanny sensation that someone’s peeled back the layers of his skin to reveal his muscle and bone as he sits in his sadness — his bone-deep loneliness — in front of Eddie Diaz, who has the nerve to call him Buck.

“Evan, actually,” he says, slipping his hand into Eddie’s. Eddie’s eyebrows raise when Buck squeezes it, this side of too hard.

The friendly politeness in Eddie’s smile leaches out in front of Buck’s eyes. It turns tight, sliding further up one side, eyes narrowing. A sick, damaged thing inside of Buck revels in it; he wants to push Eddie until he breaks.

“Right. Evan.” His voice is flat, but there’s something amused in his eyes. “You planning on visiting set again?” It sounds like a dare or a threat. Buck’s skin is on fire, heat rising up the back of his neck.

“Don’t think so,” he says, clipped. He’s being petty, he knows. Childish. Like the kid who used to frequent TMZ headlines before Abby made him into someone better.

He does nothing to stop it. He’s torn ragged and raw, questions about Abby he doesn’t have the answers to still echoing around his head, his phone full of outgoing calls with no responses, everything uncertain and fickle beneath his feet.

And Eddie? New, shining Eddie, who’s managed to slide into all of these places in his life like it’s nothing, like Buck didn’t work himself to the bone to get there himself? The hurt in Buck hates him so much he can taste the blood of it in his mouth.

“Real busy. Reshoots, press, new projects. You know how it is.” He slaps the heel of his hand against his forehead, an exaggerated gesture. “Oh, look who I’m talking to! Nevermind.” His shoulders hunch in a shrug as he brings his drink to his mouth.

Eddie laughs. It’s a lit match held to the bottom of Buck’s spine, sending flames licking up the length of him. “Sure,” he says, tone dangerously amused. Buck almost leans forward in anticipation. “I’m sure it’s real time-consuming.”

Buck’s jaw clenches, sudden and tight. He wants Eddie to snap so he doesn’t have to. He wants Eddie to — to throw a punch or to slam Buck against the bar or —

Face up between them, Buck’s phone lights up with a picture of Maddie, swallowed up by a unicorn onesie. He pushes his drink away, slides off of the bar stool.

“Well, this has been awesome,” he gushes with fake cheer, taking advantage of the vindicating one or two inches of height he has on Eddie to look down his nose. He gestures with his phone, where Maddie’s call has timed out and been replaced by a string of text notifications. “But duty calls. Let’s do this again, yeah?”

He kisses the pads of three fingers, pulls them away, and blows the kiss across the distance with a wink. Eddie rolls his eyes. The furious flames are still wrapped around his spine as he steps away, checking his phone for Maddie’s directions.

“Hey.” Buck jerks to a stop, held in place by a hand around his wrist. He swallows, spine snapping straight, and meets Eddie’s eyes. They’re dark, hard. “I don’t know what you’re going through,” he says, voice gruff and pitched low. “I’m sure it sucks. But I’m not your problem, so save your big dog bark for someone else, yeah?”

Something hot and sweet slides through Buck’s veins. It tilts his mouth into a sharp smirk before he can do anything about it. “You sure you don’t wanna see my bite?” It’s meant to be a threat, another way to push until Eddie snaps, but it comes out wrong.

Eddie’s dark, dark, dark eyes stay on his for an endless beat before he tears them away, shaking his head at the ground and laughing. The laugh’s as dark and tense as this entire fucking night. “You’re trouble,” he accuses, grinning. It’s sharp; a shark’s grin.

Eddie walks away before Buck can do anything truly stupid.

Buck and Eddie’s feud is in the press before Buck wakes up the next day.

Maddie texts him an article from Buzzfeed with the headline, Trouble in Han-idise? Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz Are Not the Besties We Were Hoping For. Chimney sends a stream of Tweets, all featuring pixelated pictures of Buck and Eddie in each other’s faces at the bar accompanied by jokes about alpha male behaviour and Howie Han collecting pretty boys with attitudes.

Buck sends his reply in a group chat between the three of them: han-idise is the worst pun i’ve ever heard.

Chimney’s instant response is, i love it.

He leaves his phone at home when he goes for his run.

In the early days, when he was lucky to have his name in the news once every few months, he checked for it religiously. Against the advice of everyone in the industry he had ever met, he set up a Google Alert for his name, had a nightly routine of searching for indirects on Twitter, for tags on Instagram, any scrap of proof that people out there knew who he was.

It wasn’t about the attention — well, it wasn’t only about the attention. It was mostly about finding proof that he was getting somewhere, that he was making some kind of impact on people. He kept up the nightly routine even after Jump/Fall when every other headline and indirect was about his conquests.

He got rid of them when Abby left. He didn’t need the reminder.

His feet hit the pavement too hard, his breaths jagged on their way out. When’s the last time you heard from Abby Clark? When’s she coming back?

Buck stumbles to a stop, leaning over to bow his head and rest his palms on his knees. It’s bad form; he doesn’t care.

He once told a therapist — Chimney insisted, so the therapy scenes in a film he cast Buck in would have authentic experience behind them — that he spent his life feeling like a ghost, haunting his parents’ and Maddie’s lives. Now, he’s not sure who the ghost is, him or Abby.

He walks the rest of the way to his — Abby’s — apartment. Abby had been worried they were moving too quickly when Buck moved his meagre belongings in, but Buck had been so sure.

He pulls the Britta out of the fridge, eyes the dwindling supply of food. Fills a glass with water. Takes a long drink. Breathes.

His phone rings.

He nearly trips over his feet on his way to the coffee table, bracing himself on the arm of the couch as he answers without looking, saying breathlessly into the phone, “Hello?” The hope in his chest is a physical weight, pinning his heart to his breastbone.

“Buck.” It’s Chimney. The hope dissolves into acid, dripping down into his gut. “Listen, if you do me this favour I will give you my first born.”

Buck swallows around a sudden lump in his throat to say, “Sure you don’t wanna check that promise with my sister first?”

“Wha—No. What? I don’t…” The confused panic in Chimney’s voice is almost enough to make Buck smile. “That’s not. Okay, moving on. Tommy dropped out of the movie. He broke his stupid leg trying to film a freaking parkour TikTok and then he was an asshole to one of the PAs, so obviously I’m not keeping him on, but he hasn’t filmed anything yet so I have six scenes with no actor to film them and filming is meant to start tomorrow, so—”

“You want me to fill in?” Buck cuts in. The sweet feeling of being needed, useful to someone edges into the spaces Abby’s gouged out.

“Yes. Please? It’s only five or six days of filming, maybe a week if something else goes to shit.”

“Okay, yeah, that should be fine. I can get Bobby to move back some stuff.” There’s a huge whiteboard calendar propped against the wall by the bathroom — Buck never got around to hanging it up properly when he moved in, and then Abby left and it stopped feeling like he could — where Bobby makes him write down obligations and events so they’re never far out of reach. “Hey, what’s the role anyway?”

“I’m emailing you the pages literally right now. It’s Holden’s old bandmate, Fitz. Best friends turned bitter rivals kinda thing. Fitz left the band to go solo, and during the whole world-ending thing they run into each other. It’s this whole thing about how relationships form in these specific, life-altering situations — huge stardom, the collapse of society, climate change — and…well, anyway, Holden and Fitz decide to work together again and then Fitz gets washed away in a tsunami.”

Buck chokes on a laugh. “Dude. You just love killing off best friends in movies.”

Chimney makes a muffled noise from the other side of the phone that Buck can’t quite get a read on. “Yeah, well.”

“You know I’m obviously willing to do this for you,” Buck says, pivoting away from that weird un-Chimney-like tone. “But. Eddie and I…”

“Are actors,” Chimney finishes. “I’m not worried about that. Might even be good tension for the film. Are you worried?”

Buck scoffs. “No, I’m a professional.”

“Yeah, I’m not touching that. Okay, thank you for this, I seriously owe you. I’ll send Bobby the legal shit.”

“Okay. Hey, what are you paying Eddie for this?”

Chimney’s laughter is a sudden burst of sound in Buck’s ear. “Yeah right. Goodbye, Buckley.”

Buck pulls his phone away from his ear and pulls up Bobby’s contact.

Chimney told Buck, once, about his early career as a PA, working on sets where the crew held their breath the whole time, trying desperately not to be seen or heard by directors and actors too concerned with their own importance to think of anyone else.

Chimney’s sets are nothing like that, always full of laughter from cast and crew and beyond. If a camera isn’t rolling, someone’s laughing.

When Buck walks onto set on his first day as an official cast member, Eddie Diaz is laughing. He’s got his head thrown back, the long line of his throat exposed, as May attacks the sleeve of his flannel with a seam ripper. Her head’s ducked, abashed.

That damaged, wounded thing inside of Buck wants to set it all on fire.

There’s no use pretending it isn’t that damage that makes him ignore Eddie, turning his back on him to hug May.

May pulls back from the hug with a bright greeting, only half paying attention to him as she glances down at an iPad, a complicated, colour-coded spreadsheet filling the screen. “I have to deal with some stuff for the extras, but you come find me soon, okay?”

Buck salutes her with his index finger at his brow bone. “Yes, ma’am.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she leaves.

And Buck stays exactly where he is, less than a foot in front of Eddie, facing away and regarding the set with a level of attention he rarely offers anything. He starts to count.

At 7, there’s a snort. Buck caves and looks.

Eddie’s standing with his arms folded over his chest, a blue flannel over another sweat-stained white tank top. Someone’s painted a bruise over one eye, a cut above the eyebrow, his hair matted with fake blood. They’ve let his stubble grow; he was clean-shaven at the party the other night.

The easy laughter he shared with May is gone, replaced by that hard, bitter amusement Buck remembers so fondly.

“Yeah?” Buck questions, his own mouth forming the knife’s edge of a smirk. He keeps his feet planted firmly where they are, fighting off the ridiculous urge to step closer into Eddie’s space.

“Nothing,” Eddie says, giving a shake of his head as his mouth bunches into a tight smile like he’s fighting off a laugh. “You’re just reminding me of someone. The sulky silent treatment thing.”

“Sulky?” The question’s out before he can think, indignation colouring his tone. “I’m not sulking.”

“Sure.” Eddie’s sure’s make Buck want to hit something, the way they weigh heavy in the air. “But I thought you weren’t planning on visiting the set. You know,” he removes one hand from where he’s tucked it under his armpit, bending the arm at the elbow to gesture towards Buck with a flat palm, “because you’re just so busy.”

And maybe there’s some sick vindication accompanying the knowledge that Eddie doesn’t know he’s here to work, that Chimney didn’t say anything to his so-called godsend.

He shrugs, an exaggerated movement of his shoulders. “Well, anything for a fan.” He presses a hand to his chest, falsely heartfelt.

Buck has the inexplicable thought that Eddie’s laugh is nothing like Abby’s. It’s rough like it’s being dragged straight from his chest and past his teeth against his will. Like it costs him something.

“What do you think we’re measuring here?” Eddie asks, eyes briefly narrowing into a squint. “So I know what to work on.” The sardonic weight of his words burrows under Buck’s skin.

Buck remembers his own voice saying you sure you don’t wanna see my bite? and clamps his teeth down around something worse. There’s a dare in Eddie’s eyes, definitely, but somewhere in the shadows, there’s something like exhaustion, too. Buck looks away; it’s too familiar.

“Buck.” Chimney appears at his side, a pair of sunglasses perched on the top of his head. “What are you doing here — thank you by the way — you gotta get changed. I’ll get a PA to take you to a dressing room. I’d apologize for the lack of a trailer, but I’m actually not sorry at all.”

Buck sees the moment Eddie figures it out: his eyebrows pinch towards the centre of his forehead, wrinkling the skin there, for only a moment before they climb upwards. Eddie’s gaze goes from Chimney to Buck, meeting his eyes — and, undoubtedly, his self-satisfied smirk. Canary, meet cat.

“Oh,” Chimney says, catching the exchange and turning to Eddie. “Fuck, I forgot to tell you. I asked Buck to fill in for Tommy, is that all right?”

Buck bristles, irrationally annoyed that whether or not Eddie’s okay with this matters.

His annoyance spikes when Eddie only smiles and shakes his head. “Totally fine with me.” He meets Buck’s eyes again. The smile grows, that shark’s smile back. “Go on, Trouble. Let’s get this over with.”

Tragically, Buck loves acting with Eddie.

Part of it is the roles they’re in, two guys who can hardly stand to be in the same room without ripping each other apart limb from limb, a decade of history, good and bad, strangling them. That jagged part of Buck that wants to push Eddie until he snaps thrives in it. The tension creates itself.

But that tension only lasts so long, until Holden and Fitz have rekindled their abandoned trust in each other, fanning the flames of it in the middle of the end of the world. And that's easy, too.

Acting with Eddie feels a bit like a game, or a drug. Like they’re challenging each other to do better, to act better, until the feeling of acting falls away and Buck nearly forgets he’s saying someone else’s words. Like he’s disappointed when someone calls cut.

And Buck, who has never put on a character that hasn’t sunk into his bones, feels the sad desperation of Fitz in his final scene like it’s his own. When he fights against the rush of water — inside a tank, surrounded by a stunt crew — as it drags him away from where his best friend holds onto a tree branch, he forgets that the splinter that crackles down his spine doesn’t belong to him.

When Chimney calls wrap on Buck’s role, Eddie smiles, soft, as he claps with the rest of the cast and crew. They’re both soaking wet, dirty clothes plastered to their bodies like a second skin. Eddie slaps a hand against Buck’s shoulder, a show of comradery Buck isn’t expecting, and the sound’s amplified.

But they’re not friends. They just work well together.

“I just think he’s hiding something,” Buck says, a few days after What’s Inside You? has wrapped up shooting.

Maddie, who has her hand tucked into Buck’s elbow as they duck into the wrap party, snorts. “Uh, okay? It’s Hollywood; who isn’t hiding something?”

“That’s not—It’s different.”

“How?”

Buck bites out a frustrated noise. “He did this interview, right, and he was asked about how his family feels about his new career and he literally said, ‘I’d prefer to keep my work and personal lives separate.’” He sets a wide-eyed look of disbelief on Maddie — can you believe that? — who hides a laugh behind the palm of her hand. “Who says that! A serial killer, that’s who.”

Maddie shakes her head. “Or someone who — wait for it — wants to keep their work and personal lives separate.”

Buck scoffs. “He’s an actor.”

Their conversation pauses long enough for Maddie to order them a pair of drinks at the bar Chimney's set up in Bobby and Athena’s backyard, a venue Chim only managed to secure through a tight guest list and the promise that no one entered the actual house.

“How did you even end up reading one of Eddie’s interviews?” Maddie asks once there’s a drink in both of their hands, matching pink umbrellas poking out of the top.

Buck looks down, watches his fingers spin the umbrella around to avoid his sister’s searching gaze. “I may have…looked him up.” He shrugs as he glances up; no big deal. It’s not like he found much, outside of the news of his casting and the one interview where he avoided half the questions. He doesn't even have a Wiki yet.

Maddie’s eyebrows nearly kiss her hairline. “You don’t look people up. Chimney told me all about that time you somehow ended up at a Marvel wrap party and didn’t recognize a single person there.”

Buck waves a dismissive hand. “That’s different.”

Maddie laughs, shaking her head. “You keep saying that, and you know, I think you’re right.”

Maddie doesn’t give him the chance to question whatever that means, quickly whisked away by Chimney to poke around May’s old karaoke setup. And then Buck’s on his own.

The thing is, he’s good at throwing on a charming smile and slipping into friendly conversation with other industry people. He remembers names, where they met, the name of the dog they mentioned rescuing or the brand they were having trouble negotiating contracts with. He laughs in all the right places and nails the punchlines of his jokes, straddles the line between friendly and flirty like he was born on it.

It’s just not as easy anymore. He feels like they can see something wrong in his eyes, the loneliness and the hurt. Like they’re waiting for the moment he stumbles so they can push him right over the edge. He holds his breath waiting for someone to bring up Abby, to ask him where she is.

“Must be nice, having your sister in town,” Chloe Something-or-Other says, a studio exec that Chimney is constantly bemoaning the fact he has to play nice with. She has the studio look about her like she’s assessing Buck for his value to a project. “Although, her situation with Kendall is quite the mess, isn’t it?”

Ice slides swiftly through his veins. He wishes, with a sharp clarity that makes him light-headed, that she had just asked about Abby.

He blinks, channelling his early career history of playing Stupid But Hot Guy #1 to feign wide-eyed confusion. “What? I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Chloe’s expression falls into a brief echo of Buck’s confusion. Before she can explain, Buck plows on, “Oh, sorry, I told Bobby I’d help with the… porta potties.”

He turns away from the journey her face goes on, fleeing to the edges of the party. Bobby, he knows, is holed up in his office, probably with Athena. If he didn’t think Chimney would skin him for breaking the “no going inside” rule, he might try to hide out with them.

Instead, he ducks around the half-wall that’s been set up behind the catering tables. The edge of the yard, overlooking rolling hills, is only a few feet away from the rest of the party, but it’s already quieter. Buck’s shoulders slump, relieved.

He’s only 28; he shouldn’t be this bone-deep exhausted, shouldn’t be running away from a party that’s at least marginally in his honour. He’s at the height of his career.

He pulls his phone from his pocket; his lock screen is a picture of Abby, on a beach in Italy when they were filming Lights Up, Abby’s brother’s indie short film. In the photo, her back’s to the camera, hair and white dress blowing in the wind. Buck remembers pocketing his phone after taking the picture, running unevenly across the sand to throw her over his shoulder, their joint laughter competing with the crashing waves.

One of her mother’s nurses called almost immediately after; the trip to Italy, Abby unable to leave her mother in LA for the three weeks filming lasted, had brought up strange, disjointed memories of the height of her own acting career that sent her into spiralling meltdowns. They rushed back to the hotel, and Abby spent the rest of the trip only half there, the other half of her lost in her guilt.

When he pulls up his call log, it’s a long list of outgoing calls to Abby 💖💖, never answered. He scrolls until he finds the last time Abby called him: three weeks ago, 4 AM L.A. time. Buck had missed it, and she left a short voicemail about how exciting Ireland was and that he should call her back.

He takes a breath, holds it, and presses his thumb down on her name.

The phone rings against his ear for a long, long time.

“This is Abby, leave a message.”

Buck blows a breath out through his nose. “Hey, Abby. It’s me, uh. Buck.” He laughs, humourless. He’s so fucking stupid, but he can’t stop himself. “I, uh, told you in the last voicemail that I’m doing this movie for Chimney, a real last minute thing. I don’t think I mentioned what it’s called? I mean, you can probably look it up, but. Well, it’s called What’s Inside You? It’s kinda weird, even for Chim. I didn’t get it at first. But Maddie — uh, my sister, I’ve mentioned her… well anyway, she loves it, and I guess I understand it a bit better now.”

He almost says, unbidden, Eddie helped, but he swallows it down like a lump in his throat. For some reason, he doesn’t want Eddie and Abby anywhere near the other. He clears his throat, struggling to find solid ground beneath his feet.

“Anyway. We wrapped. I’m actually at the wrap party right now. It’s…uh, fine. It'd be better if you were here. Um. Are you still in Ireland?”

He hears a snap of a branch behind him. When he looks over his shoulder he has the inexplicable sense that it’s going to be Eddie, looking for him.

It’s not; it’s a woman, her red hair held back in a complicated updo. She’s watching her hands as she juggles a small purse, a drink, her phone, and a silk scarf. Buck doesn’t recognize her.

Into his phone, he says, quickly, “Uh, I have to go. But uh, wish you were here. Bye.” He pauses, ducks his head, and says, quietly, “Love you.”

His phone is safely tucked in his pocket by the time the woman makes it to his side.

“Can you hold this?” She pushes her purse, phone, and scarf into his hands, but holds onto her drink.

Buck watches, her items held against his chest, as she uses her now free hand to pull a seemingly endless supply of glittering pins out of her hair. She gestures at Buck with a handful of them until he dutifully shifts his grip on her belongings to hold out an empty palm for her to drop them into. She pulls a final pin out of her hair, the last curl hanging onto the hairstyle slipping free and falling down her back. She shakes it out, ruffling a hand through the hair at her crown.

“Thank you,” she says once she’s done, finally aiming her attention at Buck with a wide smile. She plucks her clutch out of his arms and holds it open under Buck’s hand so he can carefully drop the pile of hair pins into the bag. She loops the scarf around her neck, tucks the bag under her arm, and taps away at her phone screen for a long moment where Buck does nothing but wait, useless and confused.

Finally, she tucks the phone under her drink in one hand, a protective napkin between the screen and the glass, and offers her free hand to Buck. “I’m Taylor.”

Buck laughs, placing his hand in hers. “Evan,” he says.

She brushes her hair out of her face when she takes her hand back, her smile twisting into something familiar. “I know. Nice of you to fill in on this one. From what I understand, it’s not really a Buckley movie is it?”

Buck shifts, a shoulder jerking up into a shrug. “I’m not really picky. A Buckley movie is whatever movie wants me.” If there’s anything he’s learned it’s that there’s an audience for every movie, and this job has never really been about him.

Taylor’s eyebrows spike upwards, her smile lifting higher up one side. “So, you’re saying you’re easy?”

“That’s what they tell me,” he says, impulsive, tripping over the line between friendly and flirty. Guilt pools in his stomach like acid.

Taylor takes a step closer, the toes of her strappy wedges a breath away from his sneakers. The arch of her eyebrow is challenging. “Yeah? How easy?”

Buck laughs, surprised, as a blush rises up his neck. He’s out of practice, being on the other side of such direct interest, and if he was Buck from a year ago he might be stupid enough to risk the combined wrath of Bobby, Athena, and Chimney to rise to her challenge right here.

The Buck of right now has acidic guilt bubbling in his gut, prodding his organs into tight knots. He takes a step back, rubs the back of his neck with a restless hand, and says, “Sorry, but I have a girlfriend.”

Taylor’s eyes widen briefly, and something minute changes in her expression. Buck can’t identify it. It’s not disappointment; almost the opposite. “Really?” Buck frowns. “It’s just — I thought you and Abby had broken up?”

Buck blinks, the question hollowing out his stomach. “What?”

“That’s what everyone’s been saying. Are you not?” Taylor’s eyes are narrowed, assessing.

Buck swallows. He wants to ask since when and who and what exactly are they saying but he can’t force any sound past his teeth. He wants to say we are obviously still together but it sounds stupid and embarrassing even to himself, like he’s a groupie who can’t let go.

“Hey, I figured it out.”

Suddenly, Eddie’s at their side. Buck didn’t even hear him approach. He’s staring at Taylor with hard eyes, and it’s different from the looks he gives Buck when they’re snapping and posturing; there’s no amusement or challenge, just disdain. Buck blinks in the face of it, shocked.

Taylor’s expression similarly hardens as she takes a step away and sets an unimpressed set of flat eyebrows on Eddie. Her tone is slow and bored, all playful flirtation leached out, when she asks, “Figured out what?”

“Well,” he says, sharp and pointed, “when we were talking earlier, I thought I recognized you.”

Taylor's smile is like a knife. “Guess I just have one of those faces.”

Eddie tilts his head, mirrors Taylor's smile back to her. It’s like watching a tennis match. “Sure. But a friend of mine loves Starz News, so eventually, it clicked. Taylor Kelly, right?” Taylor’s eyes narrow, caught. Buck frowns, lost. “Which is weird, because I just can’t imagine Chimney inviting the press.”

Buck feels very suddenly sick. “Press?”

He tries to rewind their conversation, tries to remember if he said anything he doesn’t want the world to know. How much of his voicemail to Abby did she hear?

She has the courtesy to look at least somewhat abashed when she meets his eyes, biting her lip and lifting a shoulder into a shrug. “It’s a job,” she says.

Eddie scoffs, drawing Buck and Taylor’s attention just in time to see his eyes roll. “That’s nice,” he says, clipped. “Anyway, you’ve got like,” his nose and mouth screw up, exaggerated, as he makes a show of checking his bare wrist, “five minutes to leave before I let security know.”

Taylor’s glare is fierce, but she doesn’t argue as she downs the rest of her drink in one go. She hands the empty glass to Buck, who grabs it on autopilot. “It was nice meeting you. We should do this again.”

Buck snorts. “God, I hope not.”

Taylor laughs, pats the side of his arm, and spares one more glare at Eddie before making her way across the grass back toward the party and, hopefully, the exit.

Buck slumps once she’s out of sight, resting his forearms on the clear fence that lines the back of the yard so he can fold over.

He presses his forehead into the knobs of his wrists and takes a breath.

Buck doesn’t hide much from the press. Some — most — have told him he’s too honest, too willing to give pieces of himself away to anyone with a microphone, but he likes sharing. He likes letting people get to know him.

It’s only — I thought you and Abby had broken up. This — Abby is different from the one night stands he had splattered across tabloids. It’s not a funny story to tell a late night talk show host. It’s a girlfriend that won’t call him back, it’s saying love you into a voicemail that might never get opened. It’s his hurt, a fresh, fleshy thing in the palm of his hands that he wants to lock away in a drawer that no one can ever touch.

“Here.” Buck looks up to find Eddie at his side, leaning against the fence and holding out a water bottle.

Buck straightens and wordlessly accepts it, suddenly embarrassed. He’s not having a normal reaction to unknowingly talking to a reporter, he knows, but he doesn’t have the words to defend himself. Eddie takes Taylor’s empty glass from Buck’s slack hand.

When Buck’s downed half the water bottle, he twists the cap back on and bashfully meets Eddie’s eyes. “Uh, thank you.”

Eddie shrugs it off, turning to mimic Buck’s stance, looking out over the hills. It should be awkward, Buck thinks, to silently stand next to a guy he’s done nothing but provoke, who just saw him nearly breakdown at a party over one reporter. But it’s not.

Buck thinks about the interview he read, Eddie brushing off any question that got more personal than his opinion on Chimney as a director. He thinks about the disdain in Eddie’s eyes when he looked at Taylor.

He breaks the silence: “Why act? If you hate the press and attention so much?” Buck’s forgotten to inject bite into his tone; it comes out soft, curious, instead.

Eddie blinks, jerking his head towards Buck. He searches Buck’s face for a second like he’s trying to figure out what their game is now. He seems to come to a decision because he tilts his head, his mouth bending into an only slightly sarcastic smile. “I spent a long time hiding, so I guess acting just comes easy.”

Buck laughs, but it’s the kindest one he’s given Eddie so far. “Well, yeah, me too. But I can answer an interviewer’s questions without basically telling them to fuck off.”

Eddie’s laugh is mostly a bark, a sudden burst of sound. His smile crinkles the corner of his eyes. “How would you know that’s how I answer interviewers?”

“Nuh-huh,” Buck chides, bumping Eddie’s shoulder with his own. “I asked first.”

Eddie shakes his head, looking back out over the hills. “I...Acting’s good money, and the hours are crap but only for a few weeks or months at a time. When I was planning to move to L.A. to be closer to some family, a friend said she could get me an audition, said that she thought I’d be good at it, so I decided I’d do one audition. If I didn’t get it, I’d figure something else out. It’d be hard — I’m not really qualified for much — but I’d make it work. And if I got it, then great.”

The familiar bitterness — one audition — rises in Buck’s chest, but it’s missing some of the burning heat. He watches Eddie’s hands roll Taylor’s empty glass between his palms.

“But if I got it, it was my problem. The scrutiny, the attention, the criticism — I can handle that, no problem. Nothing new. But my…my family didn’t sign up for that and, frankly, I don’t think I’d react too well to hearing any of it directed at them.” The smile Eddie aims at his hands is humourless. “So, that’s the deal. They can have me, but they can’t have them.”

“Wow,” Buck says, shaking his head. “I guess I’ve never had someone I loved enough to protect like that. Or someone that loved me enough to protect me.” Even Maddie, who he would walk through fire for and who would do the same and more for him, has only been back in his life for a couple of months. He has years and years of experience on his own, even when he was surrounded by people.

The look Eddie gives him is complicated; sad isn’t the right word, but Buck can’t think of a better match. “Maybe you gotta find better people.”

Buck’s mouth slides into a grin. “What, are you offering?”

Eddie laughs, shoving Buck away with a hand on his bicep. “Shut up and drink your water.”

Buck does as he’s told. The party is better.

And like that, they’re friends.

When Buck drops Eddie’s name for the third time — Eddie and I went on a run; Eddie would not shut up about how much he hates the new Marvel movie, he’s worse than Chimney; Eddie put honey mustard on his hotdog, how weird is that? — twenty minutes into a phone call with Maddie, she drowns out the rest of Buck’s sentence with a booming laugh.

He frowns into his fridge where he’s looking for something he can throw together for lunch.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Maddie says, in a high-pitched tone that very clearly indicates it is not nothing. “It’s just hard to believe you were calling this guy a serial killer, what, a month ago? And now look at you! My baby brother, all grown up and making friends.”

So, they’re friends. They text back and forth: Buck sending pictures of bulldogs he meets in the park with their deep frowns (this u?); Eddie sending impassioned rants about whatever movie he’s watching or L.A. traffic; hour-long, rapid-fire conversations debating the best and worst selections from craft services. Buck doesn’t really text people — Maddie calls, or shows up; Bobby calls, or tells him to stop by; Chimney will send a wall of texts and then not respond for three days; Hen, oddly, prefers emails; Abby…well — but his lock screen almost always has a notification with Eddie’s name on it.

Eddie still keeps his family close to his chest. He makes vague references to things someone’s said, or movies someone likes, but never any details. And Buck gets it — he hasn’t said a word about Abby, even when Eddie looks like he might want to ask after Buck’s checked his call log for the third time in an hour — but that urge to push sneaks in. It’s softer, now; less about making Eddie break and more about cracking Eddie open like an egg to see the soft bits inside. He shies away from it.

“Come on,” Eddie says, panting as he jogs in place next to Buck, who’s paused in the middle of the trail to suck in ragged breaths, hands on his thighs. Eddie’s grinning, even as sweat drips down his nose. “You would not have survived boot camp.”

Buck glares, breathing too hard to get any words out.

That Eddie’s shared: his two terms in Afghanistan as a combat medic. But just that, the most basic facts. Buck doesn’t push, even when he wants to.

Eddie’s feet still. He slides a hand up over his face, through his hair, wiping away sweat as he laughs at Buck’s pain. “Alright, you baby.” He clamps a hand around Buck’s shoulder and gives it a gentle shake. “Let’s walk the rest.”

Buck straightens and falls into step with Eddie, silent as he works his heart back down to a manageable rate.

The running’s another thing they do. At least a couple of times a week, Eddie shows up at Buck’s apartment in running gear so they can make loops around Buck’s neighbourhood.

Buck’s used to his solo daily runs, keeping an even, casual pace, and running with Eddie is different. They start that way — even, casual — until one of them catches the other’s eye, sends a look dripping with challenge, and speeds up. They challenge each other in equal measure, but it’s usually Buck that has to stumble to a stop and catch his breath, missing his personal trainer in between movies and without Eddie’s army training. Eddie’s good-natured ribbing never lasts long.

Sometimes Buck remembers blowing Eddie a bitter kiss in a bar, remembers you sure you don’t wanna see my bite? and understands Maddie’s laughter.

“You get the press schedule, yet?” Buck asks once he’s caught his breath enough to speak without wheezing. What’s Inside You? press doesn’t start for months and months still, the movie a year out from release, but Buck has an email in his inbox from Bobby with a short list of interviews and trendy YouTube bits, tentative dates highlighted. Most of them include the note with Eddie.

“Yeah, at least a proposed one.” He slides a beaming smile in Buck’s direction. “Got any tips?”

Buck snorts. “For mister I’d like to keep my work and personal lives separate? No.”

Eddie’s smile turns teasing, challenging; it’s not altogether different from their original back and forth. They still push and pull, but the hard edges and bitterness have been filed away, leaving behind soft amusement. “What did you say back when we were filming, something about me being a fan?”

Buck laughs, shoving Eddie’s shoulder with his own as Eddie’s laughter joins in. “Shut up. Just try to make it interesting for yourself. You’re gonna hear the same questions a thousand times a day.”

Eddie nods, serious, like he’s actually paying attention to what Buck’s saying. The attention makes something itch under Buck’s skin. He’s not used to people looking to him for guidance, advice. “Well, at least you’ll be there for some of it.”

Buck ducks his head, hiding a sudden blush. “Uh, yeah. Just a couple of L.A. ones. Uh, sorry. I know it’s kind of weird that I’m so involved in the press since I’m barely in the movie and you’re the lead. I don’t want you to think I’m, like, trying to steal your thunder.”

Eddie squints at him briefly, a confused bend to his mouth. “Buck.”

That’s new, too, since the wrap party, when they said their goodbyes and Eddie said, “Have a good night, Evan,” and Buck blushed, having forgotten the way he had said actually, it’s Evan when they met. He corrected him — “Buck.” “Oh, I’ve been promoted?” “Eh, probationary period.” — and in the time since Eddie’s found a dozen ways to say Buck that really mean shut up or you’re an idiot or come on.

“I don’t think you’re trying to steal my thunder.” He’s laughing as he quotes Buck back to him, shaking his head. “Believe me, I’d have you do all the press, with me or without, if I thought Chimney or Bobby would let us get away with it.”

Buck laughs, tension leaking out of his shoulders. He’s never really been friends with someone he’s acted with before; friendly, sure. He’s played up camaraderie in interviews, talked about how the cast “felt just like family” for the soundbite, even talked to them for a few minutes at a party months later. But actual, honest-to-God friends, people he sees outside of set or press tours? Never. By the time he acted with Abby, they were already dating, and Abby bought a ticket to Ireland as soon as press ended.

“Where’d you go?” Eddie gently knocks Buck’s shoulder with his own. They’re walking close enough that he barely has to do any work to cross the distance. “You’ve got a —” he makes a circular gesture at his own face, which he’s fashioned into an exaggerated frown “— thing going on.”

Buck rolls his eyes, smiling despite himself. “Shut up. I — uh, was just thinking I should give Abby a call.”

Eddie’s expression is suddenly serious: eyebrows coming together to crease his forehead, jaw tightening along the edge of a frown. Buck doesn’t talk about Abby, and Eddie doesn’t ask, but it’s impossible for Buck to hide all of his hurt, and for Eddie to hide all of his contempt.

“Okay,” he says, finally. Buck can nearly hear everything Eddie’s forcing himself not to say. “If that’s what you want to do.”

Buck makes a sound, noncommittal. He doesn’t know what he wants, or he does but it’s not something he can ask for. He wants Abby to call him back, to come home, to send a postcard. It’s been almost three months of radio silence. And the worst part is that he understands.

“Buck.” This Buck sounds different from the last, weighing heavier in the air between them. “I know you miss her, and God knows I shouldn’t be giving anyone relationship advice —” he laughs like Buck knows a single thing about his relationship status “— but…you have to know you deserve better than this.”

Somehow, they’ve slowed to a stop, and Buck turns to face Eddie, blinking. He thinks, stupidly, that he might cry.

Maddie’s been saying the same thing in a thousand different ways for weeks, leaving her laptop around Buck’s — Abby’s — apartment open to real estate listings in the area. But Maddie’s his sister; she's spent their entire childhoods protecting Buck. Eddie’s known him for a couple of months, and they spent most of that time at each other’s throats.

Before Buck can figure out what to say, Eddie’s phone rings. His frown deepens when he sees the screen, and Buck waves at him to answer it.

“Hello? Is everything okay?” Eddie’s free hand goes to his neck, pressing fingers into the hollow of his collarbone as he listens to whoever’s on the other end. “Okay. No, that’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I’ll be right there. Okay, thank you. Love you too, bye.”

Exhaustion settles into the lines of Eddie’s face as he hangs up the call, drops his phone back into the pocket of his shorts, and sighs. “Fuck.”

“Woah, what’s going on? Was that — uh, like, a girlfriend? Is everything okay?”

Eddie blinks, meeting Buck’s eyes like he forgot he was there. “What? No, no girlfriend, it was my aunt. She has to—”

Buck raises his eyebrows, waits.

Eddie’s eyes search Buck’s face for a long, long moment like he’s wrestling with something. Finally, he breaks. “She’s watching my kid, but she has to go pick my abuela up from an appointment — we got the times confused — so I have to…um, I have to go.”

Buck’s face splits into a grin. “Holy shit, you have a kid? How old are they? I love kids.” He holds his hand out, palm up, and folds his fingers into a gimme gesture.

Eddie’s eyes squint, a confused smile tugging at his mouth. “He’s seven, Christopher. What are you doing?”

Buck fixes his face into his very best duh expression. “You’ve got pictures of him on your phone don’t you? Don’t hold out on me.” Eddie laughs, and in the space within it Buck’s face falls, remembering the context of Eddie’s phone call. “Oh, shit, nevermind. You said you have to go.”

“Yeah.” The assessing, contemplative look crosses Eddie’s face again. Buck has the sudden thought that it must be exhausting to be Eddie, constantly weighing his every action. “Listen, do you wanna come with? You don’t have to, but we were gonna watch some movies, order a pizza.”

“Yes. Obviously.” Buck bounces on his toes, grinning, and sets off toward his building at a jog. “Come on, slow poke, put that army training to use.”

When Eddie pulls his truck up to his aunt’s house, Christopher’s already waiting, leaning on crutches by the front door. A woman Buck assumes is Eddie’s aunt stands next to him, resting an affectionate hand on the top of his light curls.

The car’s barely in park before Eddie’s climbing out, taking off toward his son. Buck follows only a step behind.

“Hey, kid,” Eddie says, his smile wider than Buck’s ever seen it. He swoops Christopher up into a hug that lifts him right off his feet, tucking his head against his shoulder with a hand on the back of his head.

It’s a scene Buck’s only ever seen in films. Something behind Buck’s breastbone clenches.

Christopher laughs, delighted, as Eddie places him gently back on the ground and gestures to Buck. “Hey, Chris, this is my friend Buck. Buck, this is Christopher.”

Eddie watches Buck carefully, a hard, guarded look in his eyes. They’ve come a long way in a short time, but Buck doesn’t doubt for a second that Eddie will pluck every trace of Buck out of his life if this introduction doesn’t go well. Buck's chest warms, unspeakably grateful this kid has someone in his corner who is willing to protect him against anything.

Buck drops into a crouch in front of Christopher, elbows resting on bent knees. “Hey, buddy. Your dad says you’re planning on watching some movies today.”

Christopher nods, smiling wide. “Yeah! We’re watching all the Toy Story movies. It’s a…” His eyebrows pinch together, thinking hard. Buck’s heart leaks borrowed sunlight throughout his body.

Eddie grins, places a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “A marathon.”

“Yeah, a Toy Story marathon.”

Buck exaggerates an excited intake of breath. “No way, I love Toy Story. But I’ve only seen the first one.”

“What?” Eddie asks, pulling his attention away from his son to send an indignant expression on Buck.

Buck shrugs. “I told you I haven’t watched a lot of movies.”

Before Eddie can interrogate Buck’s cinema knowledge anymore, which he clearly wants to, Christopher laughs. “But the second one is the best!”

“Yeah? Do you mind if I watch it with you guys?”

Christopher shifts, excited, to look up at his dad. Buck’s heart grows eight sizes, at least, pushing against the confines of his chest. “Can he?”

Eddie laughs. “Of course he can. Why don’t you go grab your stuff and we can stop for pizza on the way.”

Christopher’s already on his way through the door Eddie’s aunt is holding open, shouting okay over his shoulder. Buck laughs as he straightens out of his crouch, aiming a smile at Eddie. His cheeks are starting to ache; this is infinitely better than going home to his haunted apartment. “You’ve got a crazy cute kid, dude.”

Buck turns to Eddie’s aunt before Eddie can say anything in response, holding out a hand. “Hey, I’m Buck. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

Eddie’s aunt slides her hand into Buck's, her grip firm as they shake. She smiles at him with a sharp, amused look in her eyes. “I know who you are. I loved Jump/Fall. I’m Pepa.”

“Pepa,” Eddie breathes out, even as Buck laughs.

“Please, Eddie. Don’t bring cute actors to my house if I’m not allowed to compliment them.”

Eddie says something like oh, my God under his breath, but it’s drowned out by Buck’s laughter. “Yeah, Eddie, let your aunt compliment me.” To Pepa he says, “Thank you, I love that one, too.”

Chris reappears in the doorway, a red and blue backpack slung over his shoulder, and immediately wraps himself around Pepa’s legs in a hug goodbye. Pepa returns it in earnest, kissing the top of his head.

When they separate Christopher grabs Eddie’s hand in his much smaller one and tugs. “Come on, we gotta show Buck Jessie.”

At Eddie’s house, a cozy bungalow so far removed from the fancy industrialism Buck’s surrounded himself with in the last few years that it takes Buck a second to adjust, Eddie sends Christopher off to wash his hands and get changed while Buck helps set the coffee table up with a box of meat lover’s. On the TV, the title screen for Toy Story loops, playing on an honest-to-God BluRay.

Buck surreptitiously glances down the hall to make sure Chris is still tucked behind a closed door. “So, his mom?”

Eddie’s jaw tenses, his shoulder rising into something almost like a shrug. “It’s…She left when I got back from the second tour, moved to California to take care of her mom. It was…probably for the best. Not her leaving Chris, but us breaking up. We talk — we didn’t for a while, but we do now. She knows I’m in L.A. but…she’s not ready to be in Christopher’s life and I’m not ready to trust her, so that’s all for now.”

“Wow.” Buck sets down a Superman branded plastic cup filled with water next to Christopher’s plate. He’s swapped out the glass Eddie tried to give him with a Moana branded plastic cup to match. Eddie had blinked, thrown, and then replaced his own glass with a Spider-Man cup. “You’re a really good dad.”

Eddie peels his attention away from where he’s carefully pouring a puddle of creamy garlic sauce onto Christopher’s plate next to the slice he’s already put out. The smile he aims at Buck is self-deprecating. “You’ve known that I’m a dad for less than two hours.”

Buck laughs, dropping onto the couch in front of his plate. “Yeah, and trust me? I know bad dads. You are not one of those.” The look in Eddie’s eyes isn’t dissimilar to the one he gets whenever Abby’s brought up. “I mean, you’re doing everything you can to protect him from your career. I told you, no one’s ever protected me like that. Maddie did everything she could, but she was just a kid, too. I’m just saying, it’s nice. He’s a lucky kid.”

Eddie ducks his head, busying himself with filling his plate and effectively avoiding Buck’s gaze. “Yeah, well. Thanks.”

Buck bumps their shoulders together. They’re sitting closer on the couch than they strictly need to, crowded near the edge of their seats to reach the coffee table easier. Christopher has a thick cushion on the floor for when he returns.

“What are you going to do with Christopher when you have press? Or when you film another movie?”

Eddie lets out a long sigh, placing his forehead into his palms. “Your guess is as good as mine. I know Pepa and my abuela can’t watch him for that long, and I can’t take him with me every time but I don’t even know where to start. He needs specific care, but my job and hours are so weird. And I don’t know how I’m meant to trust a stranger to keep this secret from the press.”

Buck bites his lip, the hamster wheel in his mind spinning. “Does Bobby know? About Chris, I mean.”

“Uh, no.”

“Eddie,” Buck laughs. “It’s Bobby. You think he doesn’t get it?”

Eddie hunches his shoulder, his smile at least having the decency to look abashed. “I know he gets it. I just. It’s hard to trust Christopher with people, even with myself.”

Warmth pools in Buck’s chest, spreads out to his extremities, at the implication that Eddie trusts him, even after their rocky start, and so soon. “You can trust Bobby. He’s another one of those rare good dads.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “I hope I never meet a lot of people.”

Buck’s face scrunches, mouth forming a confused line. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Don’t worry about it. Eat your food.”

A few weeks after meeting Christopher, Buck runs into a mail carrier in the hallway outside of his apartment.

The carrier checks a clipboard, smacking his gum lazily. “Evan Buckley?”

“Uh, yeah.”

A manila envelope is thrust into his hands. The carrier is gone almost before Buck can shout a thank you at his retreating back.

The envelope is, in fact, addressed to Evan Buckley. There’s no return address, but a green post-it on the front reads, Carter Anthony. See you 7/20, 2 PM. Athena.

Inside the folder is a script for something called Damned Spot, writer and director Athena Grant.

Buck’s inside his apartment and on the phone before he’s finished reading the title page.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Athena was getting into directing,” he says into the receiver the second Bobby answers.

“Hi, Buck. I’m doing well, thank you. How are you?” Bobby’s voice is light, amused. Buck grins into the phone even as he rolls his eyes, unseen.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great. Back to Athena directing. And writing!”

He doesn’t know Athena the way he knows Bobby or Chimney, not really, but she’s woven into the fabric of his career just as much as they are.

She had been the star in the first movie Chimney cast Buck in, a buddy cop film with a surprisingly strong critique against the police system underlying the whole thing. Buck was in a supporting role, a naive rookie that shared nearly all of his scenes with Athena, a disillusioned cop near the end of her career.

She was the most secure person Buck had ever met, and just being near her was enough to make him steady on his own feet. She looked through every bit of false bravado Buck had layered on, set him straight more times than he could count. It was Athena that got him to switch from his old agent, who was professional but didn’t seem to like Buck all that much, to Bobby.

“You know Athena. Once she got it in her head that she wanted to make a movie, she made a movie. She turned my office upside down, plotting it all out with post-its on the walls.” It’s impossible to call Bobby’s voice anything but painfully fond; Buck’s chest aches, unrelated.

“And she wants me in it?”

Buck knows Athena likes him, he does. He even knows that she respects his acting, but even as Buck’s career has gotten more serious, it’s still light-hearted. He’s still only ever an earnest romance hero or the comedic relief in a slasher. Even What’s Inside You? was a mostly exaggerated parody until he drowned.

He just can’t imagine Athena writing anything that isn’t 100% hard-hitting. Can’t imagine her writing anything that he would be good enough to act in.

Bobby makes a noise on the other side of the phone, partly frustrated, partly amused. Like he saw this coming, but he’s still going to be mad about it. “Yes, Buck. But I’d love to see you question her.”

Buck snorts. “Yeah, I’m okay.” The nerves — the sense that he doesn’t deserve the script still in his hands — don’t disappear, but he pushes them to the side for now. “What’s July 20th?”

“Your audition. She’s obviously not just giving you the role; it’s Athena. But between me and you, it’ll be hard for someone to out you.”

Buck laughs, flipping idly through the script. It’s clearly not the full thing, just the pages with the Carter Anthony character Athena assigned him. The bits he catches are exactly as hard-hitting as he expected: missing children, desperate parents, tensions breaking.

“So,” Bobby says, a lift in his tone that draws Buck’s attention, “Eddie called me.”

Buck lets the script fall closed on the kitchen island. “He did?”

He’s seen Christopher a handful of times since the first meeting, stopping by for dinners where Eddie and Christopher make it their responsibility to fill in the gaps in Buck’s cinematic childhood.

Eddie’s nervous and maybe a little paranoid about the two of them taking Christopher in public, even with Eddie’s movie still in the hands of editors and Buck’s own fame not quite at the level of being stalked by paparazzi at the zoo. But he lets them dawn silly disguises of baseball hats and sunglasses to take Christopher to the aquarium, where Buck and Christopher pour over educational pamphlets about hammerhead sharks and jellyfish while Eddie juggles the assortment of aquatic themed plushies Buck and Christopher pick out in the gift shop.

When Maddie visits his apartment after — her apartment feeling too tight, or too big, or too dark, depending on the day — and sees a stingray plushie on his couch, a print of Eddie and Buck against a sea backdrop pinned to his fridge with a penguin magnet (the picture with Chris hidden away in the drawer of his nightstand), she’s briefly misty-eyed, but says nothing. In return, Buck doesn’t say anything when her phone screen, face up on the coffee table as they pick through a selection of Chinese takeout, lights up every few minutes with a new text from Chimney.

“Yeah. He said you told him to trust me.”

Buck’s shoulders hunch, unseen in the privacy of his apartment. “Well, he needs people to trust.”

“And so did you.”

Buck remembers meeting Bobby, Athena literally pushing him through the door of Bobby’s office at the time, a bright room in a tall building downtown. Bobby had been stern, guarded, gruff; Buck had been brazen, reckless, lost. Buck can’t help but think Bobby needed someone to trust, too.

Bobby continues, “I’m glad you both found some. He said he needs more secure childcare, that he won’t take any more auditions until he figures something out. I figured you probably have some ideas.”

Buck laughs, startled — and then immediately unsurprised — that Bobby caught onto him so quickly. “Yeah, I’m working on it.”

Some odd days later, Buck opens his door to reveal Eddie, frowning at his phone in running gear. Buck hasn’t figured out if Eddie only owns three outfits or if he has a closet full of duplicates.

He looks up when Buck opens the door, pockets his phone and smiles.

“Hey, wanna head for the dog park today? That Greyhound you like might be there.”

Buck lets go of the knee-jerk response — you know her name is Halloweentown 2 — to step back, holding the door open for Eddie, who frowns. “No running today. Get in; this is an ambush.”

“An ambush?” Despite his confusion, Eddie steps into Buck’s apartment, letting Buck close the door behind him and lead him towards the living room.

Carla places her coffee on the table in front of her and rises from the couch. Eddie sends Buck one final look of abject confusion before his hardwired manners take over, stepping up to Carla with a hand held out and a polite smile in place.

“Hi, ma’am. I’m Eddie Diaz.”

Carla laughs, raising her eyebrows in Buck’s direction before shaking Eddie’s hand. “Please, call me Carla. Buck’s told me so much about you.”

“Really?” Eddie and Carla turn twin looks on Buck, who has to fight off the blush at the scrutiny.

“Carla was one of Abby’s mom’s nurses. Uh, Abby never let it get to the press, but her mom had pretty severe Alzheimer’s.”

He tries, generally, to keep Abby and Eddie as separate as he can, in his mind and his life. It’s partly the fact that, outside of Maddie, Eddie is the one thing in his life that’s never been touched by Abby’s presence; partly the fact that he’s embarrassed to reveal too much of the sticky, fleshy devotion he holds for her in the centre of his chest; partly the way Eddie’s jaw clenches when she’s brought up, the way Buck can see him swallowing the responses Maddie never does.

Still, he can’t help but draw connections between these two people so dedicated to and enveloped in their duties to their family.

He swallows against the sudden tightness in his chest, and continues, “If anyone can help you with your situation — and all I’ve said is that you could use some help — it’s Carla. She’s dealt with people in the industry for years, and she won’t say a thing. You can trust her.”

There’s something complicated in Eddie’s expression when he looks at Buck. It’s assessing, like always, but there’s something else under it, something like an exposed wire. His jaw’s a tight line.

Carla settles onto the couch again, and gestures for Eddie to do the same. Her smile is as friendly, warm and open, as ever. Buck can see Eddie bending under it. “Any questions you have, I’ve got answers.”

Eddie hesitates for only a second before he lowers himself onto the edge of Buck’s armchair, resting his elbows on his knees as he tangles his fingers together. Every line of his body is tense, but he’s sitting, and he’s looking at Carla closely as she pulls a binder out of her bag. He’s not running for the door. Buck recognizes it as the win it is.

Buck grins, swiping his keys from the table. “Okay, I’m gonna go for a run and leave you two to it.” Eddie shoots him a starkly grateful look; Buck knows him, at this point, well enough to know he’d like his audience to be as small as possible when he’s forced to admit he needs help.

Buck slips out of the door, jogs to the dog park — he’s forgotten how quiet it is, running alone — and spends twenty minutes playing with Halloweentown 2 while her college-aged owner indulges them.

Eddie’s gone by the time Buck gets back, on his way to his aunt’s to talk to her and Chris about what Carla’s shared, and Carla wraps him into the second hug of the day. “You’re doing really good by him, Buck.”

Buck presses the edge of his chin against the top of Carla’s head for a second before they pull away. He has a sticky, inexplicable fear that Eddie can leave at any second, disappear with Chris in tow to never be seen or heard from again, unless Buck does something. He pushes the thought away.

“Have you, uh.” He clears his throat, looks away from Carla’s knowing gaze. “Have you heard from Abby lately?”

Carla’s silent for a moment, and when Buck drags his eyes back to her, her expression is soft, and a little sad. She presses a gentle hand against Buck’s cheek; Buck has the sudden urge to cry.

“Go easy on her. She’s doing what’s best for her after everything she’s been through.”

Buck’s jaw is clenched tight when he gives a short nod, Carla’s hand on his cheek staying in place. He has never, not even for a second, stopped understanding Abby’s decision, her need to escape this city and the memory of her mother, the way they both took pieces from her until there was nothing left. It only doubles the ache in his chest.

Carla tilts her head. “But you have to do what’s best for you, too.”

Buck swallows hard and says nothing. He has no idea what’s best for him.

Carla pulls him into one last hug, makes him promise to call more, and tells him to buy more groceries before she lets herself out.

Buck stands exactly where she left him for a long moment before he makes himself move. He heads to the kitchen, pulling his phone out to start on a grocery order.

On the fridge, next to the picture from the aquarium, is a yellow post-it note: Thank you. Eddie.

“I don’t know what it is,” Maddie says, referring to her current apartment as the real estate agent she’s hired leaves them to walk around a possible replacement. “It’s just. Not right.” She rubs a restless hand up and down the length of her bicep.

She’s spent more and more time crashing on Buck’s bed, alternating lunches and dinners between Buck and Chimney, anything to get out of her apartment. It was, Buck knows, a rushed decision to get the apartment in the first place. She hadn’t wanted to take up space in Buck’s apartment, not when Buck was insistent Abby would be back soon, and she was searching for the independence she was never allowed.

“I think,” she says, when Buck says nothing, letting her work through whatever’s going on in her head. It’s a trick he’s learned from Eddie, who will sometimes just stare at Buck in silence when Buck’s battling something until he cracks and spills what he really wants to say. “I think that it’s too much like the London apartment. Too nice and impersonal. Mom and Dad would have called it new money,” she laughs as she says it, voice tilting in a poor imitation of their mother’s highbrow inflection. “I need something different, something warm and lived in.”

Buck, reflexively, thinks of Eddie’s house: the plushy couch, the toys pushed into the corners of the room, the framed pictures along the walls. “I don’t know if you can rent something already lived in,” Buck comments, tone deliberately light and teasing. “You might have to do that yourself.”

Maddie rolls her eyes, circling the open concept, living room/dining room/kitchen space until she makes it to the marble kitchen island. She runs her hands along the top. “Maybe something less modern? And it doesn’t have to be so big, does it? It’s just me. And maybe a cat.”

“A cat?” Buck laughs, surprised, as he stops on the other side of the island, leaning the palms of his hands on it.

“Yeah, a cat. Why not? I’ve never had a pet before. Obviously Mom and Dad didn’t like them, and neither did —”

Buck’s stomach clenches, suddenly, with a fierce stab of anger. He remembers opening the door of Abby's apartment to find Maddie waiting on the other side after three years locked away in London without any contact, only ever seeing her in London newspapers he scoured the internet for, collecting reviews for her newest West End play like the origami hearts she used to make for him.

He remembers the first time she broke down, sitting on his closed toilet seat while he shaved, laughing about something until suddenly she was sobbing, spilling out only the broadest strokes of her marriage, of the abuse, made worse by working so close together: her acting out his plays on stage six nights a week, every forgotten or misspoken line taken as a slight against him.

The news of the divorce had been in the tabloids for a few days at that point, her now-ex-husband piling the news outlets with hollow soundbites about always having love for her that made something sour pool in Buck’s gut.

A week later, Maddie went public about what he had done to her, complete with a restraining order. Doug continued to insist on his innocence, dismissing Maddie’s accusations as hysterical and misinformed, but he stayed in London.

Buck hates the man with an intensity that makes his teeth ache.

“Anyway," Maddie says, tone overly bright and cheery. "I always thought I’d get a cat one day.”

Buck forces a smile around his anger and makes a note to look into cat rescues in the area. “Well, I think it’s a great idea. What does Chimney think?”

Maddie blinks, looking up from the marble to frown. “What makes you think I’ve talked to Chimney about getting a cat?” Buck says nothing, levelling expectant eyebrows at her. She sighs. “Fine. He said it’s a good idea, too.”

Buck’s laugh echoes around the empty apartment.

Maddie rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing, too. When her gaze makes its way back to Buck, it’s got the distinct tint of big-sister-meddling. Buck’s shoulders are already hunching when she says, “You know, this apartment isn’t for me, but it might be good for you.”

“Maddie.” His instincts are saying flight, pushing him to put as much distance between him and his conversation as possible, but he keeps his feet planted where they are and says, as steady as he can manage, “She’s coming back.”

She raises her hands in surrender, taking a small step away from the island. “Maybe she is,” she says, but Buck doesn’t think she believes it, “but if she doesn’t…I just think you’d be happier, in a place that was fully yours. Maybe you’d finally hang up that whiteboard.”

Buck’s shoulders twitch, tensing. “And if — when she comes back and I’m gone?”

Maddie’s mouth is twisted in a frown, eyes sad, like when she used to clean his scraped knees and elbows as a kid, lecturing him on being more careful. “Maybe you deserve to have someone chase after you for a change.”

A lump rises quite suddenly in his throat, his jaw clenching around it. Before he can say anything, the real estate agent makes her return, immediately jumping into the details for the next apartment.

The day continues.

During Carla’s first official day taking care of Christopher, Eddie and Buck take advantage of the freedom to go on a longer run.

Their runs, plus Buck’s return to training in preparation for A Touch of Someone Else press, have strengthened Buck’s stamina. When he’s finally forced to slow to a walk, a mile out from Buck’s apartment, Eddie falls into step next to him without any ribbing.

The silence is easy. With Eddie more than anyone else in his life, Buck doesn't feel the need to fill every silence. But Buck can see the tense lines of Eddie’s body, the worry over Christopher pouring off of him in waves. Hardly a full minute goes by without Eddie pulling his phone from his pocket, checking the screen compulsively.

It’s Buck’s desire to wipe the worry away that makes him say, “I think I’m gonna move. Out of Abby’s apartment, I mean.”

Predictably, it drags Eddie’s attention away from his — blank — phone screen to raise a set of surprised eyebrows at Buck. “Oh. Did something happen?”

Buck’s shoulders twitch in an approximation of a shrug. “Nothing major. But, it’s been almost four months since I heard from her. I still...love her and I don’t...I don’t even resent her for any of this, which I know you think is crazy, but you didn’t know her. Her entire life was about her mom — her mom’s fame, her legacy, and then her illness — and when she passed...I get why she left. I can’t fault her for any of it. But people keep telling me I deserve more, and I’m working on believing them.”

Eddie nods, keeping his eyes on Buck for a long, long moment, even as they continue down the street toward Buck’s building. Finally, he says, “I don’t think it’s crazy. That you still love her, or that you’re still trying. It’s...you do deserve more but, you’ve got this crazy big heart. I don’t think any of us want that to change.” He reaches over, through the short distance between them, to clasp a hand around Buck’s shoulder, fingers pressing briefly but firmly into the space beneath his collarbone.

“Besides,” he adds, taking his hand back, “I get what it’s like to be left. You don’t stop loving someone just because they leave.”

Buck blinks, sending a startled look at the side of Eddie’s head as he looks resolutely forward. While Buck’s mentioned Abby more — or at least mentioned his past with Abby more, the things she taught him and the places they visited — Eddie’s kept a tight lid on his mysterious ex. “Do you still love her? Christopher’s mom?”

Eddie doesn’t look at him when he says, after a long pause, “I don’t know. I try not to think about it.”

It’s such an Eddie answer that Buck almost laughs. He swallows the noise down. “Well, how do you feel about not thinking about women and helping me look for a new place to live?”

Eddie’s laugh is a now-familiar boom, sounding, like always, as if he’s been caught off guard. “Yeah, alright, Trouble. Sounds good.”

In the days that follow, Maddie makes him a colour-coded spreadsheet of listings in the area, ranked by price, distance to Bobby and Athena, distance to the apartment Maddie herself has recently put in an application for, and distance to Eddie’s house.

Her criticisms of Abby get carefully packed away. Instead, she stops by often, always with comfort foods and a list of romantic comedies they watched as kids so they can point out how awkward some scenes must have been to film, and then pretend they’re not both crying during the third act conflict.

Bobby teaches him how to make pierogies from scratch. Athena pretends he’s not about to audition for her movie. Chimney bullies him for listening to Eddie’s movie recommendations and not his. Hen mails him a box of Swedish chocolate. Eddie invites Buck over — or brings Christopher to his apartment — nearly every day, always framing it like it’s Buck doing a favour for him.

He sends a letter to Abby’s agent and clears his call log. The sting lessens.

And he auditions for Athena’s movie.

It’s a tough audition — possibly the toughest he’s ever done. The material is dense, visceral, and irrevocably about pain in a way that none of his movies have been to this point. He meets the role in the middle, delivers lines about his child being his heart walking around outside of his body, and thinks about Eddie’s devotion to Christopher, about his own adoration for the kid that grows with every passing day.

He feels wrung out, exhausted, when the audition finishes. Athena thanks him for his time, and he tries not to convince himself her professional distance means rejection.

But days later he still hasn’t heard from her, and it’s getting harder to hold out hope.

Press has started for A Touch of Someone Else, the Hulu release only a couple of weeks away. There’s not a lot scheduled — it’s a pretty small film, all things considered — but it’s the first he’s done since Abby left, since the news broke of their official break up, Buck’s publicist sending through a generic quote about Buck’s respect for Abby and Abby's publicist declining to comment.

He flips his phone over in his hands as he sits on the set of an interview. People are milling about around him; the crew preparing cameras and lights and audio, his co-star — Becca, who is kind but strictly professional — still having her hair and makeup retouched, their interviewer missing for now. It’s the third interview of the day, Buck’s cheeks starting to ache from the perma-smile he’s been wearing.

His phone’s ringer is silenced because they’re on set and he’s a professional, so the only reason he knows when it rings is that he’s already staring at it. Athena’s photo fills the screen, taken during that buddy-cop movie they did, Athena frowning in her police uniform.

He gestures with his phone in the direction of his publicist, standing off to the side, who frowns but waves him off. He swipes at his screen to answer as he picks his way through the commotion of the set, searching for a door that leads to a quiet hallway.

“Hi, Athena,” he says, free hand turning a knob. He closes the door behind him; silence falls.

“Hi, Buckaroo. I know you’ve got a bunch of press today, so I won’t keep you long.” Buck holds his breath. “Sorry, but you’re not good enough for my movie,” doesn’t take that long, does it? “Welcome to the team, kid.”

The breath leaves Buck in a rush. “Holy shit, seriously?”

Athena laughs, followed by Bobby's deeper echo. “Yes, seriously. Does this seem like something I’d joke about?”

“No, obviously not, I just — wow, thank you, Athena.”

“Don’t thank me, Buck. Just don’t fuck up my movie.” In the background, Bobby says, “Athena!” and Athena’s laugh fills the line again. “I wouldn’t hire you if I didn’t believe in you. Go do your press before someone complains to Bobby.”

Buck spills more gratitude into the call between their goodbyes until Athena hangs up.

He’s quick to send a text (I GOT IT!!!!) to Eddie, who knows only that Buck had an audition he was nervous about, the details protected under threat of death by Athena’s lawyers.

Less than a minute later, Eddie responds with a picture of Christopher mid-cheer that Buck immediately saves to his camera roll. The text that accompanies it says Never doubted you.

And Buck takes a minute, outside in the empty hall, to breathe.

He hadn’t been lying to that reporter at the What’s Inside You? wrap party; he’s never been picky about the movies he does. Not only because he couldn’t afford to be, but because he’s never cared much about critical reception or prestige.

He got into acting because he had a roommate that did work as an extra on the side and gave Buck the number of a casting agency that liked his look. He stayed with acting — fell in love with acting — because when he was a kid sometimes the only good part of his week was when he and Maddie would sneak away to watch movies, escaping into something else for an hour and a half. They weren’t watching Oscar nominees; they were watching rom-coms and teen comedies. If Buck’s escapism is doubled on the other side of the camera, and if it provides some lost kid the same thing movies gave him as a kid, then he doesn’t care if they’re high art.

Still. Athena’s script is good — it’s high art — and hard and dark and like nothing Buck has ever done, and he wants it so bad he aches, whether he deserves it or not.

Never doubted you.

He pockets his phone; heads back into the interview.

Becca and the interviewer are in their seats, trading introductions when Buck slides back onto set, shedding a quick apology.

“No worries,” the interviewer says, turning to Buck with a professional smile. Her red hair is in loose waves around her shoulders.

It takes Buck a second to place her, and when he does — I thought you and Abby had broken up — his stomach twists briefly. He remembers Eddie’s rare show of anger.

Before Taylor can say anything, Buck thrusts a hand in the space between them. “Hey, I’m Evan Buckley.”

Taylor’s eyebrows twitch, but she accepts the hand easily. “Nice to meet you. I’m Taylor Kelly.”

The interview, at first, is almost exactly like the other two interviews they’ve done that day. Buck smiles and delivers his answers like he's reading off a script: I loved working with Becca; Romances are my favourite things to film; I’d do a superhero movie if someone asked, but it’s not really a goal.

And then Taylor shuffles the Starz New branded flashcards in her lap, smiles like she wants to laugh, and says to Buck, “A few months ago, the word on the street was you and Eddie Diaz were at each other’s throats. Is that still the case? Should we be looking for tension when we watch What’s Inside You? less than a year from now?”

Buck almost laughs. Starting a fight with Eddie in a club feels like another lifetime. He wants to pull out his phone and show the camera the never-ending scroll of texts they’ve accumulated, and he might, if not for the way Christopher is so present, ingrained in their conversations and their friendship.

He has a sudden flare of protectiveness wash over him, the inexplicable urge to protect even his thoughts of Christopher from this room of producers and cameras and Taylor Kelly. He thinks he finally understands Eddie’s cold anger the night of the wrap party.

He grins, charismatic. “Not at all. We worked all of that out.” He waves a dismissive hand through the air. “In fact, and he’s probably fine with me sharing this, but he’s told me he’s my biggest fan.”

(Days later, when the interview gets posted online and the question about Eddie gets pulled and shared all over Twitter, Eddie will text him, Seriously? I’m your biggest fan? and Buck will respond, ugh i just love getting to know my fans <3 along with a picture of a Freshii’s napkin he’s signed.)

Taylor’s smile twitches against a laugh, but she only says, “That’s so nice to hear,” and moves on to a question for Becca about moving on from her TV teen drama to the big screen.

The rest of the interview passes with little fanfare, Buck going through the motions even as he counts down the minutes. After this, an hour lunch break before they get carted off to film a couple of quirky YouTube interview segments. Buck’s already pulling up his phone to search for food in the area by the time he makes it to the same hallway from before, significantly less quiet now as his and Becca’s people pour out.

He waves his publicist to go on without him, eyes snagging on a series of mail notifications with Damned Spot’s code name, On Mortal Thoughts, in the subject. The hallway empties around him as he scrolls through them, skimming details about his contract and filming schedules and more NDAs. The aching want slides back into his veins. Alongside it: a thick sludge of sticky doubt.

“Evan.”

Buck glances up from his phone — the screen now black — and slides it into his pocket as he spots Taylor, her arms folded across her chest.

She smiles once she earns his attention; there’s a distinct difference between this one and the one she wore as the interviewer, less professional kindness and more silky interest. “No hard feelings, right?”

Buck laughs, eyebrows pinching as he aims a mostly confused smile in her direction. “Did you forget the part were you snuck into my wrap party, tried to hit on me, and then immediately tried to ply me for information about my relationship?”

Taylor scoffs, eyes rolling to the right. “Surely you know what a job is.”

“Did they start including spy work in the job description for celebrity news reporters?”

“I would hardly call sneaking into a party ‘spy work.’ Besides, you didn’t end up giving me any information so, no harm no foul.”

“No harm no foul?” he says, smiling. Even with the pang of Abby in the back of his head, he’s missed flirting. This, he has no doubt he can do. This might be the thing he does best.

Taylor takes a step closer, wrapping long fingers tipped with forest green nails around his bare forearm. A single eyebrow raises. “Would you like there to be a foul?”

Buck tilts his head, grin widening. It’s nice, like Maddie said, for someone to chase him. “You do this with every cute actor that walks through your studio?”

“Does it matter?”

It turns out that it doesn’t.

She pats his bicep when she’s finished pulling her dress back down, says, “Thank you, that was fun,” and exits the storage closet she brought them to.

Buck says, “Bye,” to an empty room and doesn’t feel anything at all.

None of the furniture in Abby’s apartment is his. It’s not really Abby’s either; she rented the place fully furnished when her mom got sick.

It amounts to an incredibly easy packing experience: just clothes, documents, his whiteboard, his pile of keepsakes. Really, it’s only slightly more stuff than he had when he was in a different city doing a different job every couple of months. He's not sure how to feel about that, so he deliberately doesn’t think about it at all.

Still, between Maddie and Eddie’s badgering, he has the important pieces ordered online, timed to arrive at his new apartment the day he moves in. When Buck’s mouse hovers over options for assembly, Eddie, sitting next to him on the couch debating the qualities of walnut versus oak, scoffs at the prices.

“Nearly two hundred dollars?” He says, shaking his head. “The bed frame’s already fifteen hundred. We can build a bed frame for free.”

So, it's Eddie's fault that they find themselves sitting on the floor of his lofted bedroom, surrounded by the pieces of his (walnut) bed frame. Eddie’s sorted them into neat piles, but that’s as far as they’ve gotten.

Maddie sits with her back against the railing that overlooks the rest of the apartment, the instructions for the bed in her lap and a frown creasing her eyebrows. “The pieces are lettered and numbered for some reason. The screws are just named after colours?” She shakes her head, flipping through the instructions like it’ll start to make sense the further she gets. “Why didn’t you just pay someone to do this?”

“I don’t know.” Buck turns to Eddie accusingly, his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Why didn’t I?”

Eddie glares, a piece of wood in either hand that look identical except for the fact one has two pre-drilled holes and the other has three. “It was two hundred dollars.”

“I’m rich!”

“Why would you say that to me?”

Maddie laughs, nearly drowning out the sound of the doorbell ringing. Buck, trapped in the centre of what might hopefully become his bed frame, gives Maddie an imploring look, who rolls her eyes but dutifully climbs to her feet and down the stairs.

Eddie frowns at the wood in his hands, sighs, and places them down in front of him among half a dozen nearly identical pieces.

Buck blurts out, “I slept with Taylor.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, only that he’s been trying to for a week with little success.

Buck's not sure he and Eddie have gone a full day without talking since they became friends for real, but they almost never talk about women, and even when they do it’s exclusively about their exes — Abby, the email from her agent in his inbox letting him know she passed the letter along; Shannon, her monthly mono-syllabic texts in response to the Christopher updates Eddie sends along that Eddie pretends don’t frustrate him. He doesn’t have to tell Eddie about Taylor.

But he got an email that morning with the final draft of the interview for approval. At the 2-minute mark: that question about Eddie and Buck’s feud, Buck’s biggest fan quip. Eddie’s going to see it, he knows, and something about not telling him about what happened after feels too much like lying.

Eddie’s attention snaps up, eyebrows pinched towards the centre of his face. “Who?”

“Taylor Kelly. The, uh, the reporter from the wrap party.” Eddie’s eyebrows jump up, the line of his jaw tensing. Buck’s quick to continue, “She interviewed me and Becca during the press we did last week. And then after — well.” He shrugs, remembering the cramped closet, Taylor hiking her dress up, producing a condom from somewhere before turning her back to him and resting her hands on a shelf full of audio equipment.

A blush rises up his neck. A year and a half ago everyone would have known the dirty details before the day was over. Now, he mostly wants to forget about it.

“Huh.” Eddie’s expression is considering, eyes pinging around Buck’s face. “So you’re...ready to move on from Abby?”

Buck’s breath leaves him in a rush. He can hear Maddie downstairs, rifling through the mess of bags on his kitchen counter to find paper plates. He thinks about the way she smiles whenever someone mentions Chimney.

Taylor had been fun, and easy, and uncomplicated. Buck had still walked away hollow, skin too tight.

“I don’t think so. Or, maybe I am but...You didn’t know me before I started dating Abby — I know Chimney’s made jokes about it — but I liked to sleep around. Like, a lot. And then I did Jump/Fall and it was my first real success and I really slept around. I was just talking to Abby then, we were friends, but then we weren’t and I...I was so in love with her. I loved having someone to come home to and someone who really knew me. So, I don’t know…I guess I just don’t want to go back to sleeping around.”

Eddie nods, mouth a flat line as he listens. His attention is heavy, but not uncomfortable. “And you think Taylor just wanted to sleep with you? That she wouldn’t want to do the relationship thing?”

Buck snorts. “Oh, she definitely doesn’t want a relationship.” He narrows his eyes at Eddie and tosses the bag of screws in his direction. “Shouldn’t you be discouraging me from her? You hated her when you met her.”

Eddie laughs, a short exhale of breath. “Well, yeah. She sucks. But I can pretend to like her if you do. My parents never let me or Shannon forget how much they hated her and it was exhausting, so.” He shrugs. “If you want her in your life, I’m not gonna make it hard for you. Besides, if we have to Maddie and I will just bitch about her to each other.”

Buck grins, warmed by the thought of Maddie and Eddie bonding over their shared protectiveness.

“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about Taylor being in my life, so don’t strain yourself.”

Eddie’s snort is drowned out by Maddie’s scream.

Buck's heart drops to the floor of his stomach with a speed that leaves him instantly nauseous. Buck and Eddie share identical panicked looks as they jump to their feet, leaping over scattered furniture pieces to sprint down the stairs two, three at a time. They stumble to a stop at the edge of Buck’s kitchen, slamming into the kitchen island. On the other side, Maddie’s frozen, staring wide-eyed at the phone in her hands.

“What?” Buck’s heart is thumping, denting the inside of his ribs. “What happened? Is everything okay? Is it —”

Maddie glances up, and she’s grinning, the curve of her mouth changing her entire face. Eddie slumps next to Buck, the tension leaving him like air out of a balloon; Buck relaxes only the set of his shoulders, unsure.

“I didn’t tell anyone because — well, I didn’t think anything would come of it, and I didn’t want to be embarrassed when it didn’t but — but I auditioned for this movie — I don’t think I’m allowed to say — and I got it! I got it! A role that has nothing to do with him.” There are tears in the corner of Maddie’s bright eyes, even as she claps her hands together, phone caught in the middle, literally bouncing on her feet.

“Holy shit,” Buck says, rounding the island to sweep her into a hug.

She laughs into his shoulder, her feet lifting off of the floor for a second before he sets her down. She spares a second to wipe the palm of her hand against her cheek before Eddie’s stepping in for a hug of his own, pouring congratulations into her hair. Buck feels fit to burst, filled to the brim with happiness for his sister, happiness for himself for having his sister and his best friend happy and safe and within reach.

“Oh, gosh,” Maddie says when she steps out of Eddie’s hug, her hands floating, restless, mid-air. “I have to call Howie and let him know.” She’s already tapping away at her phone screen as she walks away, Buck and Eddie forgotten.

Eddie turns to Buck with raised eyebrows and mouths, Howie? Buck’s laughter echoes through the apartment.

“I just think she’s been gone long enough,” Chimney says as he empties the last bag of takeout and sets their food on Maddie’s coffee table.

Her new apartment is small, well-lit, filled with soft furniture and warm area rugs. It’s older, with floorboards that creak and a water tank that needs three minutes and some coaxing before the shower runs hot, but her love for it etches itself in every corner.

She’s sitting with her feet tucked under her on the couch next to Chim, a fuzzy burgundy blanket wrapped around her shoulders and pooling in her lap. She passes Chimney her plate and he wordlessly fills with a bit of everything. With some effort, Buck keeps his comments to himself.

“She’s only been gone for like three months,” Buck says, filling his own plate. By himself.

“And I think that’s long enough!”

Maddie laughs, a sound like a bell, as Buck rolls his eyes.

Hen’s been abroad with Karen and Denny, mostly in Sweden but occasionally branching out to the bordering countries according to weekly emails she addresses to Buck, Chimney, Athena, Bobby, and — surprisingly, since Buck’s only aware of one interaction between the two of them — Eddie. The trip was Karen’s doing, the result of research for a top-secret film she’s working on, the details hidden even from Hen, who laments at length in her emails about the secrecy. Chimney replies all — much to Athena’s annoyance — with overly dramatic laments of his own, dramatizing Hen’s absence like a Victorian love letter.

“We were gone for four months to shoot Playing Dead,” Buck reminds him. The buddy-cop black comedy with Athena had been cursed, Chimney swears to this day. Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong, turning the three-month shooting schedule into a haggard four.

Chimney makes a dismissive sound, handing Maddie her plate. “That’s different; we were in New York. The time difference from here to Sweden is eight hours.”

Maddie laughs, shifting until she can balance her plate on her knees. “I think it’s cute how codependent you two are.”

Chimney glances at her for only a second before he’s ducking his head to hide his blushing grin. Buck thinks about banging his head on the table, just to see if they’d notice.

“Besides,” Maddie says, bringing her glass of wine briefly to her mouth, “we’ll get to make fun of Buck when Eddie has to leave to film something.”

Chimney laughs. Buck lowers his plate to send Maddie the full force of his betrayed look. “Eddie’s not—What’s that supposed to mean?”

Maddie sets her best I’m your big sister and I know every embarrassing thought you’ve had before you’ve even had it look on him. “When was the last time you saw Eddie?”

Buck narrows his eyes, knowing he’s walking into a trap even as he says, “This morning.”

“And the last time before that?”

Buck’s silent for a moment. “The…night before. I crashed on his couch.”

Maddie raises her eyebrows: checkmate. Chimney laughs again, a booming sound that fills Maddie’s apartment.

He almost says Christopher wanted pancakes! but he bites it back at the last second. He won’t betray Eddie’s trust, won’t reveal Christopher to anyone, not even to Maddie. Instead, he laughs with them, rolling his eyes.

On the coffee table, surrounded by take-out containers, his phone lights up and a candid picture of Eddie frowning at a Batman Lego set fills the screen as if summoned by their conversation. It sets Maddie and Chimney off into another round of uproarious laughter.

Buck swipes at the screen to answer, tapping the speaker on. “Hey, Eddie. You’re on speaker so you can defend me against Maddie and Chim’s bullying.”

“Drama queen,” Chimney accuses as Maddie calls a cheerful, “Hi, Eddie!”

Eddie laughs, muffled through the phone. “Hey Maddie, Chim. I’m guessing none of you have seen the news.”

Buck, Maddie, and Chim share a confused look. “Uh, no?” Buck answers.

Eddie clears his throat and recites, “Maddie Buckley leaves the stage behind to join her brother Evan Buckley in Athena Grant’s directorial debut, Damned Spot.”

“What?” Buck and Maddie say as one, trading wide-eyed looks of surprise.

“That’s the part you got?” Buck asks over Chimney and Eddie’s laughter.

“Athena didn’t say anything,” Maddie says, voice breathy with her shock.

To Eddie, Buck asks, “When did that get posted? I can’t believe Athena didn’t mention anything to us.”

“She probably thought you two would tell each other,” Chimney points out. Maddie waves a frantic hand at him dismissively.

“An hour ago,” Eddie answers. “That’s just one of a dozen headlines. Most are about Athena directing, obviously.”

Buck smirks. “An hour ago? Aw,” he coos, “my biggest fan.”

Chimney groans; Maddie looks pleadingly upwards. Buck is entirely unsympathetic.

“Yeah, laugh it up,” Eddie says, and Buck can picture his eye roll perfectly. “Now’s probably a good time to tell you that Athena cast me, too.” Before Buck can react Eddie continues, “I’m Maddie’s husband.”

Chimney laughs until he cries.

News of Eddie’s casting breaks a week later, and the tabloids immediately question whether or not Maddie, newly single, and Eddie, presumed single, will fall victim to a showmance and, if so, whether or not Buck and Eddie’s feud will make a return. Buck reads the most outrageous headlines out loud to Eddie, tone mocking, interrupting his own readings to call the reporters idiots. Eddie only laughs, brushing them all off.

“How have we switched places?” Buck demands. “You’re supposed to welcome me to the dark, press-hating side, not abandon me here.”

“Buck,” Eddie says. This one means stop thinking so much. “Do you really think there’s any chance of me and Maddie happening? And if there was — which there isn’t — that, what, you’d just be overcome by your need to defend Maddie’s honour?”

Buck glares, bottom lip a millimetre away from a full-blown pout. “No, obviously not; that’s what’s so annoying. Where are they getting any of this from? They don’t even know you’re single, they’re just assuming. And just because Maddie’s single she has to hook up with the first co-star she has? And I’m such an asshole that I think I have some right to decide who Maddie does or doesn’t see?”

Or that our friendship is so fragile, superficial, that you kissing my sister would be enough to break it? The last bit feels too much like showing his hand, although he’s not sure what that hand is; he swallows it down.

Eddie’s smile is soft, indulgent. He sets a beer in front of Buck, who’s sitting at Eddie’s kitchen table fuming at the article on his phone. Maddie Buckley and Eddie Diaz Caught Getting Cozy Ahead of Damned Spot Filming. Its point of reference is a picture of Eddie and Maddie leaving the production studio, heads ducked together, Maddie laughing and Eddie smiling. The picture is out of focus, taken from afar and posted on Twitter before the tabloids found it.

Eddie drops into the seat across from him with his own beer. Christopher’s tucked in, asleep after a long day of assisting Buck and Eddie as they fixed a wobbly step on Abuela’s back porch.

“People in the press have been making crazy leaps of logic about you for years. What about this one is getting to you so bad?”

Part of it is that even approaching the thought of Maddie and Eddie, even seeing it in his peripheral as his brain dodges it, makes something in Buck’s stomach twist into sticky knots. He wants to DM every reporter that’s written about it to tell them how impossible it is so they’ll stop writing about it where he can see it, so he can stop being confronted by the sticky-wrong-itchy nameless feelings that crawl under his skin.

The other part is: “I guess until now it’s always just been about me. I don’t care what people say about me, but Maddie — and you — I just can’t stand the way they talk about you.”

Eddie tilts his head, eyes soft, mouth a gentle curve. Buck remembers telling him I guess I’ve never had someone I’ve loved enough to protect like that.

He clears his throat. “And. And it’s annoying that they’re all focusing so much on some fake romance between you and Maddie, and not the movie itself, or how big this is for Athena.”

Eddie tilts his beer at Buck in agreement. “Well, maybe they’ll change gears when filming starts.”

They don’t.

The set’s more protected than any set Buck’s ever been on, but people still catch photos of Maddie and Eddie talking by their trailers and arriving to set together. The headlines never mention it, but nearly every photo includes Buck: when someone grabs a picture of Maddie and Eddie mid-laugh outside of Eddie’s trailer, Eddie has his hand on Buck’s shoulder; when someone else takes a picture of Maddie and Eddie arriving on set, they’re climbing out of Buck’s Jeep, Eddie handing Buck his bag.

Maddie and Eddie find it hilarious and make exaggerated, jokey kissy faces at each other whenever someone comes across another tweet speculating about their relationship. Eddie’s Twitter — an account that only got made when his publicist emailed Buck begging him to talk to Eddie about it — is perpetually untouched, but they huddle together in between takes as Maddie likes tweets speculating against and for their relationship in equal measure just to confuse people.

Buck sends every headline to Chimney, his only ally, with lines of angry emojis. Chimney responds with laughing-crying emojis.

And as much as the Maddie-Eddie press drives him up the wall, it's at least a distraction.

Filming is tough. Tougher, even, than Buck anticipated. The scenes are hard — emotional, draining, Buck and Eddie screaming themselves hoarse at each other, or by themselves in empty rooms, Maddie in tears more often than not, the tensions thick enough to choke — and Athena is a characteristically stringent director, having them repeat scenes again and again until they’re perfect.

Buck worries himself sick before scenes, runs himself ragged to pull the best performance he can out of the very core of himself. He’s exhausted by the time Athena calls cut on his last scene of the day, wrung out and physically aching.

Technically, he can collapse in his trailer, nap until Eddie and Maddie are done for the night so he can drive them home and spend the rest of the night staring at his ceiling until exhaustion wins out over his buzzing brain. Instead, he slumps in the director’s chair with his name on the front, a white styrofoam cup filled with coffee warm between his palms, and watches Eddie and Maddie drag themselves through the day’s final scene.

They’re screaming at each other from either side of a bed, Eddie in only a loose-fitting pair of sweats, Maddie only in an oversized UCLA t-shirt that falls to her knees. Eddie has a fine smattering of dark facial hair, a purple blotch of makeup bruising over his left eye. Maddie’s hair and makeup are deliberately messy, rushed, like she’s holding onto normalcy and failing. She has a pillow clutched tightly to her chest.

Their child has been missing for two weeks. In the scene before this, Eddie and Buck look through the surrounding forest, their formerly solid friendship rapidly falling to pieces as they blame each other for their children’s disappearance. It ends with Buck throwing a punch, Eddie tackling him to the forest floor, wrestling until the town’s fumbling Sheriff pulls them apart.

They haven’t filmed it yet; the thought of it makes Buck's skin itch.

A camera on a rig circles Eddie and Maddie as their fight escalates, coming to an abrupt stop over Maddie’s shoulder as Eddie half-turns and slams the flat of his palm against the bedroom wall. The sound is sudden, loud in the otherwise silence of the set, but Buck can already envision the way it’ll be amplified, cutting through the score, in post-production. Buck can see on the monitor the way the camera catches Maddie’s flinch, out of focus. Buck doesn’t think it’s in the script.

“Dammit, Nora,” Eddie shouts, shoulders tense, voice rough. Buck’s stomach clenches; Eddie’s still there, like he always is, in the frustrated line of his shoulders and the hard, flat look in his eyes, but there’s enough missing, swallowed up in this broken character, that Buck inexplicably misses him. “What do you want from me?”

There’s a brief pause while the rigged camera sets up behind Eddie’s shoulder to capture Maddie's reaction. Eddie and Maddie don’t move, hardly breathe. The cameraman gestures; Athena calls filming back to action.

Maddie glares and throws the pillow in her arms onto the bed in a sharp movement. “More than this,” she snaps, the sharpest Buck's ever heard her, and then walks out of frame.

“Cut.”

Neither Maddie nor Eddie move, brittle tension still in every line of their bodies. Buck’s fingers twitch against the urge to reach for them.

“Um, again?” Maddie says, turning to Athena.

Athena looks away from the monitor to send a smile in Maddie’s direction. “No, that’s the one.”

Maddie’s shoulders slump like a marionette with the strings cut. Eddie lets out a long breath, takes a step to the left and drags Maddie into a quick, hard hug. Buck’s on his feet and approaching them before he's made the conscious decision to.

Eddie’s saying something into Maddie’s hair when Buck makes it to them, but he lets go when he sees Buck. Maddie turns, accepting the hug Buck forces onto her before she steps away. Her hands don’t shake when she pushes her hair out of her face, but Buck knows it’s a close call.

“I’m going to call Chimney,” she says, placing a soft hand on Buck’s forearm as she passes. “You two can go ahead; Chim will pick me up.”

Buck nods and watches her go. It’s been a rough day, so he doesn’t make any comments about whatever’s going on with her and Chimney.

With Maddie out of sight, the line of Eddie’s back relaxes, a hand reaching up to rub his knuckles in the corner of his eye like he was holding back his exhaustion for Maddie’s sake. The crew is checking the set, putting things away, and getting ready to leave for the night. It’s nearly 4 AM. Buck’s too tired to think.

He nudges Eddie’s bare ankle with the toe of his sneaker. Eddie’s head lifts and meets Buck’s eye with a tired look of his own. Buck wills his mouth into a soft, tired smile. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They make quick work of saying their goodbyes to the crew, to Athena, stopping by Eddie’s trailer only long enough for Eddie to change. The drive to Eddie’s house is completely silent, the roads not empty — never empty in L.A. — but quieter than usual in a way that makes Buck hesitant to speak, even to whisper.

In Eddie’s driveway, they sit, silent, for a minute longer. Eddie’s looking down at his hands, where his fingers are fidgeting slowly with his keys. Buck watches, dropping his hands from the steering wheel to mirror Eddie’s position. He’s caught between his own exhaustion, his desire to climb under his blankets and sleep until he has to be on set again in ten — no, nine — hours, and a twitchy, burrowing need to wipe away the tired, hurt look in Eddie’s eyes.

Buck knows, without having to ask or be told, that Eddie’s thinking about Shannon — about the rough period before, during, and after his deployments that he’s only ever referred to briefly, off-handedly, like he’s trained himself not to get too close to the memories — and about Christopher.

Buck can’t look too closely at Eddie’s love for Christopher, at his guilt about his absence, at the measures he’s willing to go to so he can give Christopher the best life possible, for fear that his feelings about all of it will tear at his seams, break through, pour out between them.

Buck’s fingers twitch, flex; he resists the temptation to cover Eddie’s hands with his own.

A lifetime later, Eddie raises his head and sets clear, determined eyes on Buck. “Stay,” he says, asks, commands. “Don’t go to your apartment, just. Spend the night, yeah?”

“Okay,” Buck says, reflexively, instantly. He doesn’t have to think about it.

Eddie nods, two hard bobs of his head, already looking away and putting a hand on his door as Buck parks and cuts the engine. Silence falls again as they walk to Eddie’s front door, as Eddie unlocks the door and slowly pushes it open.

They keep their footsteps light as they pass Carla, asleep on the couch. Buck pauses, briefly, when he sees her, panicked, but Eddie gestures limply for Buck to follow him. And Buck doesn’t stand a chance; he follows him.

In Eddie’s room, they peel out of their hoodies in the dark and make quick work of brushing their teeth in Eddie’s bathroom, Buck’s plastic purple toothbrush waiting for him in the holder. Wordlessly, they burrow under Eddie’s covers.

Buck sometimes feels like he sleeps in Eddie’s house more than he does in his own bed, but always on the couch. For a brief moment, he’s tense and uncertain, holding his limbs tightly to his side of the bed. He’s never shared a bed with someone he wasn’t sleeping with. There’s a sticky, twisting feeling in his gut, not dissimilar to his emotional reflex to Maddie-Eddie-Romance headlines, but in a different shape. Nothing makes sense.

Eddie sprawls out on his stomach, head facing Buck, cheek smashed into his pillow, eyes closed. Buck's heart thumps once inside his rib cage.

“Goodnight, Buck.” His voice is already sleep-rough. Nothing makes sense.

Buck relaxes anyway, lets his eyes slip closed and his body give in to the comfort of the bed, the warmth of another body in bed seeping into his bones. “‘Night, Eddie.”

They wake up closer, but not touching. The twisty-sticky-itchy feeling remains. Nothing makes sense.

Filming takes a small, necessary break after Buck and Eddie’s fight scene.

The scene itself is gruelling. Buck spends the hours leading up to it wound tight enough to burst, wearing holes in the floor of his trailer. His nerves are frayed wires, sparking against thin air.

He nearly puts his head through the roof when there’s a knock on his trailer door. He can’t even force a friendly grin when he pulls open the door with a clenched jaw, preparing himself not to snap at an underpaid PA.

It’s not a PA; it’s Eddie, already dressed for the scene in a dark green flannel and light wash jeans, his facial hair trimmed to the exact length as yesterday for continuity. He gestures with a nod of his head for Buck to let him in and then pushes past him anyway when he’s still for too long, muscles too tight to move on command.

They have twenty minutes before they’re due on set. It’s not even the most important scene of the film, not by a long shot, and not the one Buck’s been dreading the most — Buck endeavours to not think about that scene at all, as long as he can help it — but it’s here now. And — and he has no reason to be so nervous, so anxious, about it, but he is anyway.

Eddie places a careful hand on top of Buck’s where it’s still gripping the handle of his trailer door, pries it gently away. He pushes the door softly shut and trails his hand feather-light up the length of Buck’s arm until he reaches his shoulder. His thumb presses, hard, in the hollow of Buck’s collarbone until something releases in the line of Buck’s body.

“Tell me the worst thing that can possibly happen today,” Eddie says, ducking his head until he catches Buck’s eye.

Buck swallows. “The San Andreas Fault breaks.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, now tell me the worst thing that can happen specifically today, not any other day.”

Buck looks away, the weight of Eddie’s searching — always searching — eyes suddenly too much.

A beat of tense silence passes before Eddie sighs. “Okay, why don’t I tell you what I think? I think that after the year you’ve had and the way we started, you’re worried about what this scene will do to us.”

Buck’s gaze snaps back, surprise giving himself away. Eddie uses the hand still on Buck’s shoulder to squeeze, shaking him gently.

“It’s not gonna happen, okay? This, it’s not that fragile. I let you meet my son, man, and he fucking loves you, so it’s gonna take a lot more than a scene in a movie to do serious damage.”

At the mention of Christopher, who Buck loves with an intensity he can’t think too much about, Buck's heart thumps painfully. Some of the too-tight tension leaks out of his shoulders despite himself. The wet-hot worry sits, pooling in the space behind his ribs, but it’s easier to breathe around with Eddie’s reassurances sliding through muscle and bone.

“Yeah, okay,” he croaks out. “Uh, thank you.”

Eddie’s hand gives one more squeeze of Buck’s shoulder before falling away. Buck feels the heat-brand of his touch for a long time afterwards.

Even with Eddie’s pep talk, the scene is rough, Athena having them repeat it again and again.

They were both insistent on doing their own fight choreography, spending hours rehearsing it on pads in the studio’s gym, but now they’re both too hesitant. Buck pauses with a fist in the air, unwilling to throw even a fake punch. Eddie’s too gentle when he barrels into Buck. When they fumble on the forest floor it’s too slow, playful instead of tense and violent.

On the fourth run-through, they hit the forest floor with a crash, and Buck’s meant to roll them over, straddle Eddie’s midsection and throw another punch that Eddie will block with his forearms. Instead, he pauses, thighs digging into Eddie’s waist — the flannel and undershirt have bunched up in the scuffle, exposing a sliver of bare skin — heart racing — and forgets what his next move is supposed to be. They stare blankly at each other, Eddie’s liquid brown eyes dark, for a long beat of silence, before Eddie starts laughing.

Eddie brings his hands up to his face, covering it as his laughter grows. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, breathless. Buck succumbs to it, sliding off of Eddie to collapse in the dirt next to him, his laughter joining Eddie’s. Some of the crew join in, even as they roll their eyes and start to reset.

“Boys,” Athena says, stopping by their feet with her hands on her waist.

“Sorry,” Eddie pants out again, his hands dragging down his face to rest on his stomach. That sliver of skin is still on display. Buck’s laughter catches in his throat.

“It’s very cute,” Athena continues, “that you two are having such a hard time brawling, but we’re burning daylight here.”

“Sorry,” Buck echoes. “We’ll get it this time, promise.”

Athena narrows her eyes at them, a clear admonishment in the set of her eyebrows, before she nods. “You better,” she says, stepping away.

Beside Buck, Eddie sucks in a deep breath, lets it out slow, before climbing to his feet and offering Buck his hand. Buck grasps it with his own and lets Eddie pull him to his feet. Instead of dropping Buck’s hand, Eddie uses the grip to pull him into his chest, wrapping a strong arm around Buck’s shoulders.

A surprised bark of laughter buries itself against Eddie's collar as Buck returns the hug, his fingers twisting in his flannel. Into the side of Eddie’s head, Buck asks, “What’s this about?”

Eddie’s answering laugh is a puff of air against Buck’s neck. Buck most certainly does not shiver, except for the fact that he does. He’s grinning when he pulls back, and they’re still standing close enough that Buck can see the ring of darker brown on the inside of Eddie’s irises.

“That’s me giving you permission to beat the shit out of me, yeah?” There’s an amused glint in Eddie’s eyes, in the bend of his smile, that grows when Buck barks out another startled laugh. “We’re good, solid. You’re my best friend.”

A sudden ache in Buck’s chest, a solid warmth that grows and spreads. He knows they are, knows that they spend almost every second of their free time together, but it’s something else entirely to hear it out loud. It pokes at the tender parts of his psyche, the parts that are constantly waiting for someone to grow tired of him and walk away.

Eddie pats Buck’s shoulder once, rough. “So be my best friend and punch me in the face on camera.”

The grin that tugs at Buck’s face forces his eyes into a squint as they follow the crew a few feet down the path where the blocking for their scene starts.

“Besides,” Eddie continues, catching Buck’s eye, “it’s just a movie. In real life I’d obviously take you.”

Buck’s eyebrows raise, a thrill rising up his spine. He remembers, months ago, the desperate, hot urge to push anytime he was around Eddie, hoping he might snap and push back. He loves being Eddie’s friend with a fierceness that surprises him and he wouldn’t trade it for all of the fame or money in the world, but sometimes he misses that tension, that back and forth, that fire that raced up his spine the closer they got. You sure you don’t wanna see my bite?

And the thing is, that tension is still there, sometimes: when they race each other on their runs; when they get too into the video games they play with Christopher; when their teasing trips over an imaginary line into something more.

Or when Buck crowds briefly into Eddie’s space on the trail, finally at their marker, ducks his head to make eye contact (and, maybe, to remind Eddie of the height difference), and says, “You wanna go for the title?”

Eddie’s eyes are dark, a hard, amused challenge in them, but he laughs and pushes Buck a half-step back.

So, the tension’s still there, but only for brief moments before one or both of them steps away, and maybe Buck wants to see it break, explode.

Athena says, “Action.”

This time, when Buck snaps out biting lines, he leans into that hot anger, that nameless sticky desire. Eddie’s eyes are dark when he stops at his next marker, turns to Buck and growls out a response. The gravel in his voice fans the flames, sends them sliding between skin and muscle.

This time, Buck doesn’t hesitate when he throws his fist. It never makes contact, Eddie’s head snapping back just in time, but the heat that explodes through Buck’s chest doesn’t seem to care.

Eddie’s shoulder hits him just under his ribs without any real force, Buck letting him fall to the forest floor. They grapple briefly — and Buck is on fire, adrenaline thrumming sweetly through his veins — before Buck flips them, trapping Eddie’s waist between his thighs. This time, he immediately goes for the second punch, Eddie’s forearms coming up to block them. Eddie’s hips snap up, dislodging Buck from his position, reaching for a fistful of Buck’s shirt at the same time. With the hand twisted in Buck’s shirt, he pulls Buck forward into the impending rush of Eddie’s forehead, crushing into Buck’s nose in slow motion.

They cut only long enough for a makeup artist to swoop in and paint a thick line of fake blood down from a nostril. Buck barely breathes until filming resumes, Buck falling back onto the floor from the impact of Eddie’s hit. He brings a hand to his face, panting, and smears the fake blood across his face.

Buck and Eddie pause, staring each other down with dark, hard eyes as they pant, catching their breaths, for only a second before flying back at each other with swinging fists, hands twisted in clothing, the blood on Buck’s hand smearing across Eddie’s skin when he reaches for his neck. They’re closecloseclose, touching at nearly every point of their bodies, and it’s aggressive and violent, but the heat that seems to have filled every square inch of Buck rejoices: finally.

The Sheriff arrives, pulling Buck up and away by the back of his shirt, leaving Eddie sprawled, legs bent and spread wide open, chest heaving, like — Buck’s mind skitters away from the thought. The Sheriff delivers his line — Buck isn’t listening at all, his heart pounding a deafening beat in his ears — and Athena calls cut.

Buck’s immediately laughing, half hysterical, holding his hand out for Eddie in a reversal of their roles only — what, ten minutes ago? fifteen? Time’s gone slippery. He pulls Eddie to his feet, straight into a hug, Eddie’s laughter an echo in his ears, muffled in his shoulder. Buck’s blood is hot liquid gold through his veins, making the points of contact between him and Eddie glow, glow, glow. And if he keeps their hips angled apart to maintain his dignity, then well, that’s between him and God.

Eventually, they peel apart, and they look ridiculous, grinning like lunatics with fake blood smeared over Eddie’s neck, what feels like Buck’s entire face.

Athena appears at their side, a slick smirk splitting her face like she knows something they don’t. “That was great, boys. Let’s pack up.”

And filming breaks for a week.

It’s welcome, Buck and Eddie both grateful for the extra time with Christopher and to sleep without weird, long call times. Maddie, for her part, disappears to Chim’s apartment and isn’t seen for days. Buck, being a good brother, only sends her six texts commenting on the fact.

On the third day of break — and Buck can’t help but think this was intentional on Athena’s part — Hen and Karen land in L.A.. Hen sends her last email update from the airplane just before takeoff, a beaming selfie of her and a sleeping Karen attached. Chimney’s reply is almost instant: Counting down the 5,504 miles until my heart returns <3.

Two days after that, Bobby and Athena’s backyard is transformed for a party.

It’s nothing like the What’s Inside You? wrap party. There’s no catering, no bar, no porta potties or security, just Bobby manning a grill and Athena lining a folding table with beers and soda. The guestlist, similarly, is small: Hen and Karen, Chimney, Eddie, Buck, an open invitation to partners and family. Maddie comes along, though Buck isn’t quite sure if she’s his guest or Chimney’s.

She arrives with Chimney, ten minutes after Buck and Eddie pull up in Buck’s Jeep, so he thinks she might not be his.

“What have I missed?” Hen asks an hour and a half in. She drops into Eddie’s recently vacated seat next to Buck, Maddie having pulled him away to play against Karen and Chimney in a hastily set up game of beer pong.

Buck smiles around the mouth of his beer. “Not much. You were only gone a few months.”

Hen snorts. “Yeah, sure. When I left you were cursing Eddie Diaz’s name every chance you got — Chimney was starting to worry that he’d never be able to get you two in a movie together — and now you two are attached at the hip?”

“You already knew that.” Buck narrows his eyes. “Don’t pretend you and Chim weren’t gossiping about it while you were away.”

Hen lifts her nose primly, even as the bend of her mouth gives her away. “Chim and I don’t gossip. We just — educate each other.” Buck rolls his eyes, laughing. “And — hypothetically — if Chim shared any news on the Buck-Eddie front, he didn’t share the how.”

Buck smiles, smug. “Probably because Chim doesn’t know.”

He met Hen at the wrap party of that first movie with Chimney, Hen technically not a part of the cast or crew but with a perma-best-friend-invite. Buck knew of Hen, a director famous for her artsy, melancholy queer romances with an Oscar already under her belt, but Buck had never let himself believe he could be in one of her films.

Intimidating career aside, Hen was kind and welcoming, interested in Buck and his thoughts about the movie, about Chim, about Athena, about the industry at large. Chim, Athena, Bobby; they were all kind to Buck more than he thought he probably deserved, but Hen was the first person to include Buck like he was an equal.

Even so, it’s impossible to ignore the gap in experience between Buck and the others, Hen almost most of all. It’s easy for Buck to fall into the younger sibling role, Hen and the others dispensing their worldly knowledge and advice onto him. It’s part of what makes spending time with Eddie so nice, someone who gets as much from Buck as Buck gets from him.

So, if Buck’s a little smug to know something that Hen doesn’t, that’s his right.

Hen widens her eyes meaningfully.

Buck shrugs. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to explain it. It feels too small, too insignificant, to say Eddie saved him from spilling his guts to a reporter because, even if that’s what happened, it’s not really what made them Eddie-and-Buck.

It’s a thousand little things, a thousand big things: the way they’ve both been broken and taped back together in similar ways; the way they’ve both been lonely for longer than they even realized it themselves; the way Eddie trusts Buck with Christopher, and Buck trusts Eddie with his fleshy, raw hurt.

The way they hardly need to speak to understand what’s holding the other back, Eddie in the quiet of Buck’s trailer saying why don’t I tell you what I think...I think you’re worried about what this will do to us. Buck’s never been an us before, not even with Abby.

The beer pong game dissolves into uproarious noise, Eddie and Maddie cheering and Chimney cursing. Maddie throws her arms around Eddie in a brief, celebratory hug that lifts her off her feet. Chimney chugs his fallen beer, Karen consoling him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, and tosses the ping pong ball back at Eddie.

Eddie wipes it on the hem of his shirt, turns to where Buck and Hen are sitting, and winks directly at Buck when he kisses the ball, puts his free hand over his eyes, and sends the ball flying.

It spins around the rim of a cup, Chimney chanting no no no no; it sinks.

Something hot and familiar pools in Buck’s gut.

Maddie loses it, jumping on Eddie’s back, Eddie’s laughter filling the yard as he turns to Buck with a wide grin, smug eyes. Buck cheers, cupping his hands around his mouth, as Hen shouts condolences to her wife.

Buck’s no stranger to the playful side of Eddie, at this point, but he knows it’s been more or less reserved for Christopher the last several years, if it was allowed out at all. This, he thinks, Eddie showing it off in front of Buck’s closest friends, his family, is just another one of those how’s.

“Sometimes things just...click, you know,” Buck finally says, turning back to Hen. Her smile has turned knowing, interested, eyes narrowed just slightly behind her glasses.

“I do know,” she confirms, but she sounds like she’s talking about something else entirely.

Filming resumes.

It’s just as hard as before. They’re getting into the thick of it now, all of the set up well behind them. Every scene feels like the most important scene in the film, the tension constantly stifling, Athena making them repeat them again and again until she’s satisfied.

This far into the story, there’s no denying that Maddie is the star of the film. Buck knew from the second he finished the script that the story was all about Nora, the grieving mother being ignored and brushed aside by her husband and his friend and even the narrative itself until she takes matters into her own hands. Eddie and Buck’s characters — lost in their own conflict, their own feelings, their own back and forth — think it’s their story, but it’s not and it never really was.

Most of the scenes on the remaining call sheets are Maddie’s, even if Buck or Eddie or both are in them, and Maddie spends a lot of time between takes on the phone with Chimney.

And then Eddie has to get shot.

Buck’s known about the scene, of course, and he’s done his best not to think about it, but they’re standing in a field at 2 AM surrounded by cameras and audio and light equipment, and there’s no more ignoring it. It’s just Buck and Eddie filming, the shooter hidden out of sight narratively. Their marks are far apart, a couple of feet of heat-dried grass between the white chalk Xs.

Eddie catches his eyes as a production assistant goes over the blocking of the scene one more time — Buck spends most of it on his knees, clutching a child-sized shirt that’s meant to belong to his missing daughter; Eddie stands even as he’s shot until he collapses; a long, lingering pause until Buck crawls to his side, tries to stop the bleeding with his hands — and waggles his eyebrows when she says Buck will be on his knees.

Buck bites his tongue against a laugh. Eddie ducks his head with a grin. His stomach’s a mess of knots.

Thanks to an issue with production, they only have one pyrotechnic kit for the shot, attached to a plastic bag of fake blood hidden in Eddie’s shirt, so they only have one chance to get the scene done. Buck thinks he may throw up.

“Okay, boys,” the key production assistant — Malorie — says, tucking her tablet against her chest, “we’ve got five minutes before shooting is meant to start. Go ahead and hug or whatever it is you two do.”

Buck and Eddie let out a joint bark of laughter. Malorie offers them an amused grin before walking away, already shouting after the prop manager about the timing for the pyrotechnic trigger.

In her absence Buck turns to Eddie, holding his arms open with waggling eyebrows and a sarcastic grin. Eddie rolls his eyes, and Buck’s expecting him to push his shoulder or otherwise turn away, but instead, he takes a step forward into Buck’s open arms.

The knots in Buck’s stomach loosen, warm liquid gold spreading through his body as he immediately tightens his arms around Eddie’s broad shoulders. Eddie’s arms are lines of crisp heat around his waist, a sharp contrast to the cold press of his nose against the side of Buck’s neck. Eddie’s hair tickles the side of Buck’s face, the smell of Christopher’s no tears strawberry shampoo filling his nostrils, and Buck instantly knows the kind of morning he had, can picture Eddie half asleep in the shower, running late and reaching blindly for the closest bottle, can almost hear Chris’ sarcastic quip about Eddie being a thief.

They pull apart and Buck has an insane, inexplicable rush of disappointment. Nothing makes sense.

“Boys,” Athena shouts, looking up from the monitor someone's set up behind the line of cameras. “No pressure, but we’ve got one shot at this.”

Buck shakes his head, mouth pursed. “Definitely not feeling pressure.”

Eddie laughs, squeezing Buck’s shoulder once before backing away towards his marker.

Athena calls for action and Buck disappears into the lines, the blocking, tears that come too easily, burning his throat. His fingers cramp around the pink-purple-blue fabric in his hands, clutched to his chest. The dewy grass beneath his knees dampens his denim.

He thinks, unbidden, while spitting out choked lines about what he’s willing to do — anything, everything — for his missing daughter, about Christopher, the wide smile he wears when he’s teasing Eddie, the excited gleam in his eyes when he’s sharing what he learned in class, the way he wraps Buck in a tight hug every time he sees him. The thought knocks the wind out of him, like a physical punch. He gasps out an unplanned sob between one line and the next.

A few feet away, Eddie’s jaw clenches, eyebrows tensing in tightly controlled worry. His hand twitches at his side. Buck can barely see it through the blur of his tears, but it presses directly on a bruise.

“Carter,” Eddie says, a deep drag of sound past his lips. “She’s not —”

The pyrotechnic trigger doesn’t sound like a gunshot — they’ll add it in post — but it’s loud enough in the silence of set to make Buck’s flinch real, his eyes slamming monetarily shut before they’re snapping open again, watching, stunned as Eddie’s eyes widen, a lost confused look sliding over his face. The fake blood is cold where it’s splattered on Buck’s face, syrupy and thick on his tongue. Slowly — and then quickly — blood seeps through the blue of Eddie’s shirt, a spot on his right shoulder that drips down his chest.

Eddie glances down at it, and the look of blind, confused panic on his face is stark, reaching into Buck’s chest and pulling at the threads that hold him together. Buck is frozen. His heart crawls into his throat, choking.

Eddie collapses; Buck imagines it in slow motion. He has to physically hold himself back for a 1...2...3-count for the moment to linger, cinematically, before he’s crawling, desperately, on his hands and knees toward Eddie.

“Hey, hey,” he says, the words tumbling out in a slurred jumble. He sets the fabric still clenched in his hand to the side before pressing shaking hands to Eddie’s chest. He can feel the bulge of the blood bag beneath his hands, but the thick red liquid seeping through his fingers, making his grip slippery, feels real. He swallows, hard, against sudden nausea.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, and Buck knows it’s in the script, but panic surges through him anyway, even as he pats a bloodied hand against his cheek, leaving bright red smears across his skin. “No, no — you asshole, you absolute dick — you gotta hang on — stay with me, let me, I just —” He fumbles at his pocket for the prop phone, black where his own is red, until the blood on his hands stains it, dialling frantically before pressing it to his cheek. He rattles off desperate, stumbling information to an imaginary dispatcher, pleading with them to hurry, choking around thick tears.

Athena yells, “Cut!”

Buck collapses, strings cut, pressing his forehead against Eddie’s chest. He drops the phone onto the grass and curls his hands into fists to stop their shaking. Eddie’s hand lifts, lands on the curve of Buck’s back, and it’s enough for him to raise his head and meet Eddie’s eyes, open now and completely blank, even as his fingers dig reassuringly into Buck’s muscle.

Malorie approaches and Buck gets it together enough to help Eddie into a sitting position. They climb unsteadily to their feet, Eddie surreptitiously avoiding eye contact as Malorie asks after the pyrotechnic hit.

“All good,” Eddie promises, lifting his shirt so he can peel away the tape holding the movie magic to his skin. Malorie holds out a cloth bag for Eddie to drop the remains into.

“That was great,” Athena says, approaching just as Malorie scurries away. Buck, typically, would preen under the praise. Instead, he swallows back more tears, still pressing insistently at his boundaries. “It’s been a hard night. You two should head home. You’re not on the call sheet for tomorrow, so sleep in. That’s an order.”

She gives them a meaningful look, and Buck forces a smile in reply, and then she’s gone, replaced by a different production assistant that relieves Buck of his mic pack, making a note on a tablet as she does. When Buck looks up, free, Eddie’s gone.

Not gone, just a shadow in the distance: head down, shoulders up, heading to his trailer with a single-minded determination. Buck thinks of the carefully blank look in his eyes — the visceral panic when the shot was triggered — and follows after him.

He catches the door just before it closes and slides into the trailer behind him.

Eddie’s standing at the sink in his mini-kitchen, head bowed, shoulders a tight line. Buck’s hands, at his side, curl into fists against the urge to reach out, touch him, for fear that he might shatter under Buck’s touch.

A foot away, Buck stands and stares. Useless.

“I was going to be a firefighter,” Eddie says, suddenly, his back still to Buck.

It’s a one-two punch: one, so far from what he was expecting it takes a second to sink in; and two, when it does sink in, the knowledge that Buck was going to be one, too.

“After Shannon left. I got into the academy and everything, but…I told Shannon I needed time because I wasn’t…okay.” His voice is tight, sharp, on the last word, like he’s angry at himself for admitting it, for feeling it. “But she needed me to be and I couldn’t make it work. I dropped out of the academy a week in; I kept fucking panicking when the alarm went off. How stupid is that?”

“It’s not,” Buck says, the words heavy as they fall out of his mouth.

Eddie gives a sarcastic laugh. Buck takes a step closer, coming up beside Eddie, still not touching. Eddie doesn’t look at him.

“I was shot. Three times. Our helicopter — it was shot right out of the sky. I tried to get everyone out but one of our guys…he didn’t make it, and I got a Silver Star —” he spits the words, bitter “— and an honourable discharge.” He presses a hand to his shoulder — the opposite one from tonight’s scene, mostly clean. “I’m over it, really. It’s been…years at this point. You can hardly see the scars. It’s just…”

“Eddie,” Buck says. It scraps against his insides of the way out, desperate, enough to make Eddie look up and away from the empty sink and meet Buck’s eyes. Eddie’s are shining, wet and hurting, even as he visibly tries to hide it, his bottom lip tense.

Buck can’t help it: he puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, above Eddie's, gripping tight and — It’s usually Eddie that initiates touch, usually Eddie grabbing Buck’s bicep and slinging an arm around his shoulders and sitting close enough for their thighs to touch, and Buck doesn’t know why — he’s normally a touchy guy — but it makes this touch now feel significant, too big for the small trailer.

“Eddie, you don’t have to be over it. You don’t have to be okay.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, instantly. “Chris—”

“Christopher,” Buck interrupts, hand squeezing on his shoulder, “has people in his corner. He has your aunt and your abuela, Carla, Bobby, me. You have us. And your kid? He’s the best person I know: crazy smart, funny, fucking kind. There’s no way that incredible kid you raised would want you to needlessly suffer for him.” Eddie blinks, brown eyes swimming. “I know...I know you think it’s up to you to take on the whole world all on your own, but it’s not. Let me — let someone carry it with you.”

The look Eddie’s giving him feels too big for words — dark, heavy, arresting — Buck’s breath catches. And then, almost quicker than Buck can track, Eddie’s got a fist in Buck’s shirt, right over his solar plexus, pulling him close — rough — and they’re kissing.

Buck moves instinctively, reflexively, instantly, the hand on Eddie’s shoulder sliding until his fingers can brush the short hairs at the back of Eddie’s neck. Eddie makes a sound against his mouth; Buck feels like he may die.

And the truth is? The truth is Buck has never thought about kissing Eddie. He’s only kissed one other man in his life, a teammate on his football team that he fooled around with after practice for a couple of weeks before he found a girlfriend, so Buck did too. Kissing Eddie, it’s never even crossed his mind. But now, with Eddie’s mouth hot and insistent on his, it’s hard to believe he’ll think of anything else ever again.

They’re both panting when they finally drag their mouths apart, and Buck has to pull his gaze away from the red of Eddie’s mouth to see his eyes, dark, liquid, hot enough to burn. Buck licks his lips; Eddie’s eyes track the movement.

His voice is rough — a shiver slides down Buck’s spine — when he says, “We can’t…This is —”

“Trouble?” Buck suggests, breathless, a smirk twisting his mouth. Eddie’s hand — still fisted in the fabric of Buck’s falsely blood-stained white shirt — flexes, tugging Buck a millimetre forward.

“So much,” Eddie says, and it’s a growl, and their mouths are crashing back together, desperate.

Buck backs Eddie up until his back hits the wall of the trailer, Buck’s hand on the back of his head cushioning the blow, his thigh sliding between Eddie’s legs. Eddie’s hand in Buck’s shirt slides to his ribs, large hand spawning the width of him, and suddenly Buck knows what that heat he felt at the bar that first night they met — you sure you don’t wanna see my bite — when they filmed their fight — you wanna go for the title? The flames are back, threatening to consume him whole.

He makes a pathetic, punched-out sound against Eddie’s mouth, dragging his lips down the column of Eddie’s throat, his thigh pressing closer, Eddie’s answering groan echoing through the trailer. He’s hard against Buck’s leg. Buck’s hard, too, against Eddie’s hip, enough to make him dizzy and from only a few minutes of making out.

Buck scrapes his teeth against the side of Eddie’s neck, the acidic-sweet-tangy taste of the fake blood coating his tongue. Eddie’s breath escapes like a hiss.

“Buck — Evan.”

Buck’s hand, migrating from Eddie’s hair to his waist, squeezes; he remembers sitting at the bar, saying it’s Evan, actually, the heat in Eddie’s eyes, the lick of flame at the base of his spine. He hopes his fingers leave prints on his skin.

“This is — such a bad idea,” Eddie pants out, one hand sliding through Buck’s curls, fingers flexing, tugging at the roots. Buck might die if they keep going, but he might die if they stop, too.

Buck pulls away only enough to flash a smirk, the hand not digging bruises into Eddie’s waist moulding around Eddie’s jaw, using only enough pressure to tilt Eddie’s head back. Eddie’s eyes are nearly black. Buck wants to swallow him whole.

“Don’t you think you’re owed a couple of bad ideas?”

Something flashes across Eddie’s face, and then he’s the one surging forward, catching Buck’s mouth with his own and walking them backwards blindly until the back of Buck’s knees hit the arm of the couch. Eddie lowers them, gently, across the cushions, crawling into Buck’s lap, a reversal of their fight on the forest floor. Buck had chalked the semi he got that day to human nature — two bodies, friction, over six months without consistent sex.

He laughs, remembering the way he hugged Eddie with his hips carefully angled away, and Eddie gives him an exaggerated look of mock-offended confusion

“Really? What’s so funny?”

Eddie’s sitting on Buck’s lap, Buck’s head resting on a couch arm, and he can’t help himself: he puts a hand on Eddie’s knee, slides it over his thigh, under his shirt, fingers tracing muscle. They flex under his touch.

“Absolutely nothing,” Buck says, creeping his other hand under his shirt, bunching it up until Eddie raises his arms, letting Buck push it off and toss it to the side.

It’s not the first time he’s seen Eddie shirtless — he’s not even sure he could remember every time he has — but his mouth goes dry anyway, eyes raking over the planes of his heaving chest, his stomach, the thin line of dark hair from his belly button past his waistband, the harsh V of his hips.

This time, he can make out a faint, small scar on his left shoulder.

Eddie doesn’t let him take too long looking, impatiently tugging at Buck’s shirt until he shifts enough for Eddie to rid him of it.

“Full disclosure,” Eddie says, hands going to the button of Buck’s jeans — Buck’s going to die, he’s sure of it. Eddie’s expression is hungry. “I’ve hooked up with one guy, once, over ten years ago and we never made it past hand stuff.”

Buck thinks about the last time Eddie probably had sex, definitely with Shannon, probably before he was discharged. Buck wants to lay him out, take him apart, put him back together, but he knows, without having to talk to Eddie about it at all, that this bad idea doesn’t go that far. This, he knows, will be quick and messy, and it’s not gonna happen again. His chest aches, dully, at the thought. He pushes it away, lifts his hips so Eddie can shove his jeans down, reaches out to deal with Eddie’s jeans next.

“Also one guy,” Buck shares, kicking away their discarded jeans. His mouth waters at the sight of Eddie’s dick, hard and straining against his boxers. “Also ten years ago. More than once. We never got a home run, but pretty much everything else.” He looks up at Eddie, smirks. “Want a demo?”

Eddie laughs, sliding a hand into Buck’s hair. Buck leans into the touch, seconds away from purring like a cat. He has the thought that this should be harder, that there should be more of a learning curve to fooling around with your best friend. It might be the easiest thing he’s done all year, his whole life.

“It’s really nice of you to think I would last even a fucking second if you put your mouth on my dick right now.”

Buck’s answering laugh booms around the trailer. “Then hand stuff it is,” he says, wasting no time in reaching into Eddie’s boxers.

The sound Eddie makes when Buck’s hand wraps around him unravels something deep inside Buck’s chest. He wants it to be his ringtone. He only gets a couple of strokes in before Eddie returns the favour, his grip on the edge of too tight, Buck gasping into the space between them. Eddie leans forward until he can catch Buck’s mouth in a gasping kiss, barely anything more than panting into each other’s mouths.

It’s over embarrassingly fast, both of them too keyed up and having gone too long without. Eddie cleans them up with a kleenex from the box of tissues on the coffee table, gentle and thorough. The burning heat has left Buck in a rush, replaced by a bittersweet warm glow.

When he’s done, Eddie collapses onto Buck’s chest, forehead against his shoulder. Buck’s arms, instinctively, go around his shoulders. They stay like that, silent except for the sounds of their haggard breaths, for several long moments.

Finally, into Buck’s neck, Eddie says, “For hand stuff, that was fucking incredible.” A pause and then: “It can’t happen again.”

Buck’s hand sweeps over the length of Eddie’s spine. “I know.”

Chapter Text

part two.
i know the world’s a broken bone
but melt your headaches, call it home

Buck worries for roughly five minutes that they’ve ruined their friendship beyond repair with a handjob.

It’s awkward — tense — when they peel apart and silently get dressed. Buck avoids looking at the couch. Eddie avoids looking at anything that isn’t directly in front of him.

And Buck’s heart is a tight spiral in his chest, cursing him. The best relationship of his life and he traded it in for a handjob. It might be the dumbest thing he’s ever done, and he still can’t quite make himself regret it, even as the dread sinks in.

Eddie grabs his phone from the kitchen counter, checks it idly, and turns to look at Buck. It’s his normal look — calm, steady, always a little assessing — not the dark, liquid heat of before; Buck’s brain superimposes it anyway, his stomach clenching.

“You should come over tomorrow,” he says. “Whenever you wake up. Christopher has this project on —”

“Ancient Egypt,” Buck supplies, remembering the stack of books Christopher took home from the school library, showing them off excitedly to Buck while Eddie did the dishes.

“Right,” Eddie says, aiming a smile down at his feet. “Well, he finished it and he wants to show you, so you should come by tomorrow.”

Buck’s grin splits his face, pulling at the beard burn on his chin. “Okay.”

The car ride to Eddie’s house is easy, Eddie scrolling through Buck’s Spotify and making jokes about the newest additions to his workout playlist.

(“Who works out to...Moon Song by Phoebe Bridgers?” The song fills the car: You couldn’t have stuck your tongue down the throat of somebody who loves you more. Eddie laughs. “Dude, what the fuck? How are you working out to this?”

So I will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door.

“Sadness is a powerful motivator, Edmundo.”)

When they pull into Eddie’s driveway, Buck has the (stupid) thought that Eddie might ask him to stay. He doesn’t. He squeezes Buck’s shoulder — the heat-imprint lingers — and promises to see him tomorrow before disappearing into his house. Buck drives himself home, crawls into his cold bed, and sleeps for ten hours.

Nothing changes.

Buck still spends most of his free time with Eddie; sometimes alone drinking beers on Buck’s couch while Eddie forces him to sit through what he considers glaring holes in Buck’s cinematic knowledge, but more often with Christopher in Eddie’s house, Buck making dinner, Eddie helping Chris with homework.

And Eddie still touches him all the time: a hand on his shoulder as he passes by, his thigh pressed against Buck’s on the couch, his foot against Buck’s under the kitchen table, their shoulders brushing at the kitchen sink. Every touch leaves a heat signature in its wake, but it never goes further.

The awkward tension never returns. Buck’s place in Eddie’s life, in his family and his house, feels steadier. Their friendship is almost stronger for having exchanged too-short handjobs in Eddie’s trailer.

So, everything’s back to normal, except that Buck quietly wants.

When Eddie’s arms flex as he sweeps Christopher up into a giggling hug, burying his smile in his son’s curls, Buck wants. When Eddie nods, serious, the full weight of his attention on Athena as she explains what she wants from a scene, Buck wants. When Eddie and Buck have dinner with Maddie and Chim — Eddie teasing Chim behind Maddie’s back, making exaggerated faces and mouthing what is wrong with you — Buck wants.

And the thing is: sometimes, he catches Eddie wanting, too.

When Buck lifts his shirt to mop at the sweat on his forehead during one of their runs, Eddie’s eyes linger, dark. When Buck teaches Christopher how to fold a strip of paper into an origami heart just like Maddie used to, Eddie’s gaze skitters away as Buck looks up, gone before Buck can see the softness in his eyes. When Buck finishes his last scene of Damned Spot, and Athena leads the cast and crew in cheerful congratulations, Eddie’s hand squeezes his bicep and their eyes meet and — Buck understands, like a punch to the chest, that Eddie wants.

But nothing changes. And Buck knows why. He doesn’t need Eddie to explain; he just knows. He knows that Eddie is still too tangled up in Shannon, in his guilt about Christopher’s early life, in his all-consuming devotion to Christopher. He knows he won’t risk making the same mistakes with Buck. And frankly, Buck won’t either.

He won’t trade Eddie’s presence in his life — the most solid, stable relationship he’s had maybe ever — for anything. He won’t risk losing him, won’t risk losing Christopher. So, he wants — and Eddie wants — and nothing changes.

Filming wraps and, of course, there’s a party.

Athena tries to avoid it — tries to immediately hole herself up in the editing room to supervise — but Bobby insists, so they have a party.

The Grant-Nash backyard is once again transformed: an open bar along the front, waiters milling about with trays of appetizers, rented mini leather half-circle couches lining the perimeter.

Buck and Hen, with her best friend perma-invite, claim one of the couches, Karen’s bag saving her spot while she fetches their drinks. Athena’s constantly busy, constantly caught in conversation with someone, leaning into Bobby’s side as she smiles — sometimes strained, but always polite — so Hen’s questions about the film land on Buck.

“Athena won’t tell me much,” she admits, her elbow propped on the back of the couch, her cheek resting on the palm of her hand as she twists in her seat toward Buck. “So spill, Buckaroo.”

Buck laughs, nose scrunching briefly at the nickname. “Oh, not a chance. I’ve got like, eight signed NDAs threatening my life if I say anything. And also? Unlike you, I have a healthy fear of Athena Grant.”

Hen throws her head back, one hand clutching at her chest; all dramatics. “Come on, give me something. At least tell me how filming was.”

“Hard,” he says, honest. “You know Athena, there was no way she was gonna write a romcom. Eddie and I have a lot of — No —” he cuts himself off, raising a hand to point at Hen as her eyes widen with excitement. “No spoilers! All you’re getting from me is that it was hard, but awesome. I’m glad I did it.”

Hen smiles, soft, and puts a comforting hand on his wrist where it rests in his lap. “That’s great to hear, Buck. I can’t wait to see it.”

With a warm feeling behind his breast bone, Buck smiles back, nearly preening.

“Where is Eddie, anyway?” Hen asks, glancing around like she can’t imagine seeing Buck without Eddie shortly behind.

Buck shifts, minutely. After the night of the shooting scene, Buck worried that their friends would be able to tell what happened immediately, that they would be able to see it all over them. The first time he saw Maddie with Eddie, after, he held his breath, waiting for the moment that Maddie would look between them with that knowing-big-sister look in her eyes and call them out.

It never came. No one’s noticed anything. Buck’s almost indignant about it, offended that no one can see this massive thing that’s happened to him.

Still, out of everyone, bar Maddie, he’s the most worried about Hen finding them out, her knowing eyes and bottomless empathy.

“He’s running late,” Buck says, vague. He can’t say he wanted to put his son to bed before he left, not even to Hen, who has her own son sleeping soundly at home, so he doesn’t.

Hen nods, though those knowing eyes narrow briefly. “Eddie…he’s a really private person.” Buck nods, slow, unsure of where she’s going. “But he tells you stuff, right?”

“Um,” Buck says, shifting again. “Yeah, he does.”

“Good. I only met him once before I left, and he was so…guarded. I don’t know if I’ve ever met an actor like that, one who so badly didn’t want anyone to look too close or at all, but when I came back he was — not different, but more open, more willing to try. Bobby said it was your doing, but I didn’t believe it until I saw it myself.” Buck swallows, chest tight. Hen’s hand on his wrist squeezes. “You’ve come a long way, Buck.”

Buck’s saved from forcing words past the sudden lump in his throat when, over Hen’s shoulder, Maddie comes into view, her hand tucked into the fold of Chimney’s elbow. Buck’s eyebrows jump, and Hen immediately turns to follow his gaze. A second later, she lets out a sharp bark of laughter.

“Those two are gonna kill me before you do, kid.”

Buck turns to Hen, eyebrows raised in mock-offence. “Me? What am I doing?”

Hen only shakes her head, smirking. Karen arrives soon after, depositing a glass of dark liquor in Buck’s hand, and Buck leaves Hen and Karen alone to mingle.

He finds Maddie near the edge of the crowd, shockingly sans Chimney until Buck notices him flagging down a bartender.

Maddie beams when she sees him, like he's made her day just by existing, and wraps him in a brief hug. “Where’s your other half?” she asks, smirking.

Buck rolls his eyes, not bothering to play dumb. “He’s on his way. I won’t ask about your other half; I already saw you walk in with him.” Maddie looks away, a light blush high on her cheeks. “How much longer are we gonna have to pretend you two aren’t dating?”

“Evan,” Maddie sighs, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Come on,” Buck says. “It’s so obvious that he makes you happy and — I mean, it’s Chimney, he has never been subtle about anything in his life; you can see how much he likes you from space.”

“It’s not that simple,” she argues. “I’m still…dealing with a lot and Chimney is — I just don’t want to drag him into all of this.”

There’s no one in the entire world that Buck loves more than Maddie. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her, no line he wouldn’t cross if she asked. But he can’t reach inside of her and soothe every hurt she’s had to face. He can’t say you deserve everything you want and make her believe it.

But Buck tilts his head, and he pokes at a bruise as he says, “You know, when Abby and I were starting out,” Maddie glances up, surprised; it’s been a while since he’s mentioned Abby, “she was going through a lot and it was hard. She didn’t trust me with it — I don’t know if she ever trusted me with it, actually — and I just wanted to…help her out of whatever hole she was in.” Maddie’s gaze skitters away again.

“But Bobby, he told me it wasn’t my job to help her out of it, she just needed me to step into it with her. I tried, but I don’t know if she ever let me step all the way in. So just…let Chimney in, okay? You won’t regret it.”

The bend of Maddie’s eyebrows is undeniably sad but contemplative when she turns back to him. She looks, wildly, a little like Eddie. Buck buries the thought swiftly.

Before Maddie can say anything — or more likely find a reason to escape — Chimney arrives at their side with two brightly coloured drinks in one hand and Eddie in the other, steering him with a fist in the back of his shirt.

“Look who I found on my way over,” Chimney says, his hand sliding to shake Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie’s in a familiar black button-up, dark wash jeans, his black watch peeking out from under his sleeve. He has a drink of his own sweating in his hand, a loose, friendly grin on his face. (Buck wants.)

Maddie pulls Eddie into a quick hug, arms tight around his shoulders, and Chimney laughs. “Careful, if another article about your torrid romance hits the internet our boy Buck might end up in prison.”

Maddie and Eddie laugh and Maddie smacks an exaggerated kiss against Eddie's cheek before pulling away, settling back to Chimney’s side. Buck glares heatlessly at Chimney, who only raises his eyebrows back.

The rumours still bother him, even with the memory of Eddie’s hot mouth on his, of Eddie’s hands — he cuts the thought off at the knees, his hand tightening around his drink.

“Ha, ha,” he says, sarcastic. “Very funny.” Eddie’s shoulder presses into his and, despite himself, tension he wasn’t aware of bleeds out of his spine.

Maddie doesn't notice at all, busy looking at Chim with a raw, almost desperate look in her eyes, Chimney oblivious as he throws his head back in a laugh. It feels, very suddenly, as though Buck's intruding on a private moment, his breath catching lightly in his chest.

Eddie seems to notice it at the same time, because he shifts, puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder, and says, “I have a message for you, by the way.” Eddie sets wide eyes on him — we need to get out of here — Buck nods, frantic — absolutely right away.

Maddie and Chimney, who finally returns Maddie’s heavy attention, don’t even notice when Buck steers Eddie away, leading them to the fence line at the back of the yard.

This party is larger than the one for What’s Inside You?, the entire yard open to people mingling, but along the back fence, it’s still quieter, darker.

Buck rests his elbows on the fence and remembers being in this same position with the same man months ago, the pain of Abby still blinding. Next to him, Eddie leans his back against the fence, looking out at the rest of the party with a soft smile. Buck superimposes this moment with his memory of that first wrap party, Eddie’s soft smile under the faded memory of Eddie’s clenched jaw, the relaxed line of Buck’s body under the muscle memory of his pained tension.

He almost wants to say something, point it out — hey, remember how we couldn’t stand each other? I can’t imagine my life without you now — but he swallows it down.

Instead, he says, “What did Christopher want me to know?” Because, of course, that’s who sent Eddie to a party with a message for him.

Eddie turns to him with a beaming grin, eyes crinkling at the corners. (Buck wants.) “He just wanted to say hi. He was so sad he couldn’t come once he found out you were going to be here.”

Warmth gathers in Buck’s chest, his face splitting into a grin that he tucks against his chest. If it weren’t already past Christopher’s bedtime, he’d convince Eddie to skip the party entirely and spend the night doodling with Chris and his new 64-pack of crayons.

He almost laughs at the thought; Hen’s right, more than she knows, about how far Buck has come.

“You can tell him I wish my favourite Diaz was here, too.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning as he pivots fully to face the hills with Buck. The movement puts him closer, their shoulders just barely brushing. A shiver threatens to travel the length of Buck’s spine until he clenches his jaw.

“Why don’t you just crash at mine tonight?” Eddie suggests. “You can surprise him in the morning.”

Somehow, Buck’s grin splits wider as he turns to Eddie with bright eyes. Somehow, Eddie’s eyes crinkle further, squinted nearly shut.

“Okay,” he agrees, trying and failing not to sound too eager. “It’s been a few days since I saw him; you’ve been holding out on me.”

Eddie’s smile doesn’t dim, necessarily, but it strains, suddenly complicated. Buck’s eyes narrow, suspicious. “Yeah, sorry about that, it’s…uh.”

“Eddie,” Buck says, ducking his head to force eye contact. Eddie’s eyes are guarded, but weakly. “I was joking, but what’s going on?”

“Uh.” Eddie’s shoulders hunch. Buck curls his hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching out, running his hand along the curve of Eddie’s tense spine. He remembers doing the same, spread out on a couch, Eddie’s bare skin — “Shannon, uh, she’s been talking about wanting to see Christopher.”

Buck blinks, spine straightening.

Sometimes, Buck forgets Shannon exists. It's not that he doesn't like her; he might not understand anyone who would willingly leave Eddie or Christopher, but Eddie is only ever sympathetic when he mentions her, focused more on where he went wrong, on what his parents must have said to her. But she’s been a background presence for so long, Christopher’s mom in the abstract more than anything else, her and Eddie’s rocky relationship an invisible piece of history, that it's been easy to just — forget.

As an exercise — or maybe a punishment — Buck imagines what it might be like if Shannon were in Eddie and Christopher’s lives full time again. There would be less time — less space — for Buck, definitely. Eddie would never cut Buck off completely, but Eddie’s family doesn’t belong to Buck, not the way it belongs to Shannon.

If Shannon comes back, the places Buck has carved out for himself in Eddie’s home and life will go back to her.

And Buck can’t resent that, not without being the worst person ever.

“Oh,” Buck says, forcing his voice into something at least gesturing toward normal. “And that’s not good?”

Eddie sighs, glancing briefly upwards like he might find the answer in the starless L.A. sky. “It’s not bad. But — I don’t want to set Christopher up to get hurt again. I just don’t know if I can trust her.”

“Okay.” Buck can’t pretend he knows what it’s like for Eddie to be a father, but — she just needed me to step into it with her. Buck’s chest, inexplicably, twists. “I can’t tell you what to do,” he says. Eddie meets his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. “But I know how much you love Chris and I know you’ll do what’s best for him. I have never for a second doubted the fact that you’ll move Heaven and Earth for him.”

Eddie blinks, eyes glassy, his Adam’s apple bobbing briefly. Buck’s reminded, with a feeling like a gut punch, of the look he gave him in the trailer before twisting his fingers in Buck’s blood-stained shirt, pulling — Buck licks his lips. Eddie’s eyes track the movement.

(And Buck can see: Eddie wants.)

“Buck —”

Whatever Eddie’s about to say gets cut off by a cheer erupting from the crowd. May’s standing in the centre, wheeling a table with a larger-than-life cake toward Bobby and Athena.

The — Buck won’t call it a moment — dissolves. Buck and Eddie share one last loaded glance, something heavy and nameless hanging in the air between them, and then join the crush of celebration.

They don’t talk about Shannon again for the rest of the night. Once pictures are taken and cake is cut and the rush of celebration fades, Bobby forces them to mingle properly, and then the night is a blur of small talk, complaints about the industry, vague comments on the film. Sometimes, Buck glances up from a mind-numbing conversation about studio politics, and, without trying, catches Eddie’s eye across the party, miming sleep behind the back of someone in an honest to God suit.

And, eventually, the party passes.

Eddie and Buck say their goodbyes — and don’t even get any raised eyebrows for how clear it is that they’re leaving together — and Buck’s Jeep trails Eddie’s truck to Eddie’s familiar driveway. They’re quiet, conscious of Christopher sleeping, as they say goodbye to Carla — also unsurprised by Buck’s presence — and get ready for the night, shoulder to shoulder at Eddie’s bathroom sink.

Doing his best to ignore the twisting feeling in his gut, Buck sets up his couch bed, says goodnight to Eddie, and wants.

In September, Buck books a Christmas rom-com, a cheesy made-for-TV movie that Bobby almost doesn’t let him audition for.

“Buck, your last few movies — Chimney’s, Athena’s — they’re serious stuff.” Bobby’s voice is firm but kind as they sit at the Grant-Nash dining room table, Bobby’s home cooking between them. “They’re both going to make their rounds at award shows. Shouldn’t we be focusing on more of that?”

It’s just Buck and Bobby; Athena at the studio arguing about marketing plans, May out with friends, Harry at David and Michael’s. It feels a bit like those early days before Bobby and Athena were anything more than industry friends, back when Buck would show up at Bobby’s office long after everyone else went home to their families. He’d bring a bag of take-out with him, something new every time, and they’d eat dinner quietly, ignoring each other’s loneliness.

Bobby hasn’t been lonely for a long, long time, and Buck — Buck thinks he’s most of the way there himself.

Around a bite of chicken, Buck asks, “Why?” Bobby levels him with a flat look and Buck rolls his eyes, but takes the time to chew and swallow before he continues, “I don’t care about awards, not for myself at least. Obviously, I hope Eddie and Maddie and Chim and Athena win some, but I don’t need any. This movie sounds fun; that’s enough for me.”

Bobby watches him, a hard look in his eyes like he might argue, but ultimately lets it go and offers Buck seconds instead.

So, Buck books the movie.

It’s only a couple of weeks of filming in mid-October for a mid-December release. And it’s easy. He’s not reaching into his own heart, pulling out clumps of muscle to show off to the camera. It’s just simple: boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy and girl miscommunicate, boy makes a romantic gesture in the rain, happily ever after.

There’s fake snow and pictures with Santa and silly montages. When he stumbles through his apartment door at the end of a long day, collapsing onto his bed, it’s because of early call times, not emotionally draining scenes that hit too close to the centre of himself. He misses acting with Eddie, he won’t pretend he doesn’t, but the ease of this is welcome.

And there’s his co-star, Ali. She’s confident and fun and unwilling to put up with any of the shitty extras that try to hit on her. It’s not the first cheesy rom-com for either of them, but Ali’s record soundly beats Buck.

When they meet on the first day of filming, she’s polite and friendly, but obviously wary, offering smiles that never reach her eyes. And Buck’s aware of his reputation, of the long list of headlines that used to speak about his revolving door of model hookups, of the more recent headlines speculating when he’ll shed his reformed fuckboy title and go back to his roots.

So, he doesn’t blame her, and their scenes don’t suffer for it. They’re both good at what they do, Buck effortlessly charming and Ali sweetly vulnerable. But that doesn’t stop him from trying to change her mind.

He brings her coffee one day for an early morning call time, and she wordlessly holds up the coffee she already has at her side, never looking up from the script in her lap. The hair stylist curling her hair stifles a laugh against the back of her hand.

The next day he brings her a muffin. “I don’t eat sugar,” she says. There’s a crumpled wrapper for a sugar cookie on her desk. She follows his eye line to it and turns back to him, staring at him blankly until he says, “Right,” and walks away.

After his fourth attempt at building a bridge is soundly rejected — he offers her a hand when they scale the stairs of a library for a scene; she takes her heels off and holds one in each hand, walking barefoot — she stops him in the parking lot at the end of the day.

When she calls his name — Evan —, Buck stops next to his Jeep, key in hand. Across from him, she's standing in her own parking spot, leaning against a sporty black car.

“Listen,” she says, arms folded over her chest. “You have to stop this.”

“This?” Buck questions, eyebrows raised.

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, this: the gifts and the fake chivalry act. I don’t need it. Just do your scenes and leave me alone. It’s getting creepy.”

“Creepy?” Buck’s voice spikes at the end, indignant.

Ali’s glaring now, annoyed. Buck’s not sure when he lost track of the plot. “Yes, creepy. Are you capable of saying more than one word at a time?”

Buck sputters, shaking his head. “I’m not — I’m just trying to show you I’m not some douchebag. You clearly don’t like me and I get it — my press isn’t the greatest, I know — but I thought if I just showed you…”

The glare slides off of Ali’s face, replaced by a set of furrowed eyebrows. “Why? We don’t need to like each other. This is a job.”

Buck throws his hands up, exasperated. “Isn’t it nicer to do a job with someone you like? I swear I’m not that bad, you can ask my other co-stars.”

At that, Ali’s eyebrows spike upwards. “Even Eddie Diaz?”

Buck blinks, thrown, before he remembers that most press outlets still subscribe to the epic feud that is Eddie v. Buck. His interview with Taylor — he’s my biggest fan — has since been spun as a petty taunt rather than friendly teasing, and the Maddie-Eddie rumours have only spurred Eddie-Buck feud believers.

“Yes, even Eddie Diaz. I’m going to his house right now.” Eddie’s making Christopher’s Halloween costume, and Buck has a phone full of texts begging for his help.

He can’t help but laugh at the look of surprise that passes over her face. “A lot of the press about me has been right — I’m willing to share exactly what press has been on the money, if you want — but not the stuff about me and Eddie. He’s my best friend.”

Ali’s face folds into something contemplative, eyes narrowed, mouth pursed. Finally, she says, “Fine. We can try getting along, but no more weird courtship ritual bullshit.”

Buck holds a hand up in his best guess at a boy scout salute. “Swear.”

Ali rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling — and this one almost seems real — as she waves over her shoulder and gets into her car.

Ali’s different after that: quicker to smile; more willing to laugh at Buck's jokes; still quick to call Buck out, but always teasing rather than sharp. And Buck, true to his promise, doesn’t bring her any more baked goods. Filming is easier for it when they’re laughing between takes and exchanging teasing barbs about acting choices.

And Buck still misses acting with Eddie — the sharp back and forth, the feeling of being challenged and challenging back — but Ali is nice and funny and it’s…enough.

Mostly.

With the tip of his tongue just barely visible between his lips, his eyes narrowed, Eddie carefully lines a popsicle stick with hot glue.

“Right there,” Christopher instructs, pointing.

Dutifully, Eddie presses the glue-side of the popsicle stick against the side of another. It’s starting, slowly but surely, to look like a bird house. Buck nods, approvingly, from where he’s in charge of carefully cutting out a circle from an already glued together wall of popsicle sticks with an Exacto knife.

There’s a bird’s nest above Eddie’s kitchen window housing a small family of songbirds that Christopher’s decided deserve a proper shelter. Eddie had offered to go to Target to find one, but Christopher had insisted on drawing up plans for one himself. Now, it’s up to Eddie and Buck to follow Christopher’s exacting plans, the purple crayon blueprints with his initials etched in the corner.

"I think we might have a future architect on our hands," Buck had said when Christopher first showed him the plans, ruffling a hand through his hair, and the look in Eddie's eyes had made it difficult for Buck to breathe.

And Buck’s never done anything like this before, a night of family arts and crafts. Maddie did everything she could and more to make up for their parents’ disinterest, but she didn’t have the time or the money to fulfill Buck’s every whim. They made do with printer paper and crayons, Buck and Maddie doodling side by side on Maddie’s bedroom floor between school and Maddie’s jobs or plans she made with friends.

Maddie tapped every one of his drawings to either side of her bedroom door, the images overlapping when she ran out of space. Some of them left with her to college, but most of them stayed up — so it’s like I never left — until Maddie went straight from her wedding to the airport, and their mother tore all of the drawings down to convert Maddie’s pink-purple-blue bedroom into a white-tan-grey guest room.

The landline rings just as Christopher hands Eddie the next plank for their wall, and Buck waves Eddie off, climbing to his feet to disappear into the kitchen to answer it. There’s a drawing pinned to the fridge with a stick figure magnet, a puppy Christopher drew in orange crayon.

Buck swallows, works on shoving down the swirling feelings in his chest until he can take in a deep breath.

“Hello,” he says into the phone, overly bright. “You've got the Diaz house.”

“Um.” A high-pitched voice, clearly a child. “Hi. Is Christopher home?”

Buck grins, very suddenly soft. “He sure is! Who should I tell him this is?”

“Um,” the kid says again, nervous. Buck wonders if this is the first time the kid’s ever used the phone, if his parents are somewhere close by watching him carefully. “I’m James.”

“Gotcha, James,” Buck says. “Give me one second.” He places the phone carefully down on the kitchen table and rounds into the living room. He clears his throat, affecting his best impression of an old timey radio show host to announce, “We’ve got a James calling for Christopher Diaz.”

Christopher’s head snaps up, Eddie’s joining a second later to offer Buck the attention of both Diaz boys. Buck’s heart thumps, pathetic.

Christopher turns to Eddie, eyes bright and wide behind his glasses. “Can I please go talk to him?”

Eddie blinks, grins. “Yeah, of course, you can.”

Using the coffee table for leverage, Christopher climbs to his feet and accepts the crutches Eddie hands off to him. “Thank you. Don’t work on the bird house without me!” And he’s off, moving past Buck to collapse at the kitchen table, reaching for the phone almost before his butt has hit the chair.

Buck’s laughing as he makes his way to the couch, watching Eddie as he unplugs the hot glue gun and cleans up their craft supplies.

“Can’t believe we’re already getting ditched for his friends,” Eddie comments, wrapping the hot glue gun cord around the base.

Buck scoffs. “We’re not getting ditched, drama queen. It’s nice that Chris has so many friends.”

He thinks about his own childhood, the house that always felt cold and quiet, a museum rather than a home. He never invited friends over, never talked on the phone if his parents were home, too aware of his mother's constant complaints of a headache. He's unspeakably grateful that Christopher will never have to worry about making himself quiet or small or anything other than exactly who he is.

Eddie collapses onto the couch next to Buck in a sprawl, his knee digging into the side of Buck’s thigh. “I know it is. I’m glad, but…”

“Still hard to share him with people, I know.”

Eddie grumbles unintelligently, tilting his head back against the couch.

“You know,” Buck starts, shifting his weight. It slides him closer to Eddie, their thighs pressing flush together. There's no need — it's a big couch — but neither of them makes an effort to move away. Eddie lifts his head enough to make eye contact, eyebrows raised expectantly. “Hen has a son —”

“Buck.”

“I know! I know you’re protecting Christopher from our careers, and you know I agree with you. I personally think you should change his name and put him in witness protection just to be really sure.” Eddie laughs, eyes squinting. Buck — well. “But Hen gets it; people know about Denny, and Hen and Karen are so careful about keeping his face off of the internet.”

“It’s —”

“Different, I know. Directors don’t get the same scrutiny that actors do. I just mean that Hen understands wanting to protect your kid. And Denny’s great; Christopher would love him. Harry, too — I know only Bobby knows, not Athena or anything, but I don’t know. He’s your kid; I’m not telling you what to do and I know you always do what’s best for him, I’m not saying that not telling anyone isn’t you doing that, because it is. I just think that you have more people you can trust than you think.”

Eddie’s jaw is a tense line, his eyes hard and assessing as they slide over Buck's face. “I trust you,” he says. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Buck blushes; stupid. “I — I know. I trust you, too, obviously.”

Eddie nods, like Buck’s said something really profound and not just the easiest truth Buck has to offer. He looks over his shoulder, at the closed kitchen door, and then back to Buck, expression contemplative for a second longer.

Finally, he lowers his voice and says, “I slept with Shannon. A few days ago.”

Buck’s not prepared for the way the news hits him, dead centre of his chest, leaving a hollow ache. He shouldn’t — it’s stupid, to feel wronged right now, or jealous. Shannon is Christopher’s mom, Eddie’s first love, and Eddie’s not telling Buck-his-former-hookup, he’s telling Buck-his-best-friend. Buck pulls it together or tries to.

“She came over when Chris was at school so we could talk about her maybe seeing him again. And I wasn’t sure — I’m still not sure — but she was crying and, I don’t know, it’s stupid to say we just fell into it but that’s kinda what happened.”

Eddie presses the heel of his hands into his eyes, groaning. Buck resists the urge to pull his hands away and cover them with his own.

“For so much of our relationship that’s the only thing we were good at — the sex — everything else was a fucking disaster: my parents hated her, we were broke, we never talked, Christopher was always in and out of the hospital, I was always getting shot at, everyone around us was pissed we never got married. Nothing about us worked for so long, but the sex we could do. That was the one thing I could offer her.”

“Okay,” Buck says, grasping onto the barest thread of normalcy. He can do this; he can be Eddie’s best friend, and that’s all. “So you were freaking out about having Shannon around again, not knowing what to do about Christopher, and you slept with her because it was easy. There’s nothing wrong with that. Believe me, I’ve done worse. I had sex in Bobby’s office once.”

“Wha—you did what?” Eddie sputters out a laugh, the tension in his jaw dissolving as his mouth falls open. It’s the intended effect.

“Yeah. With Bobby’s brand new assistant, right on his desk.” He can’t help but laugh along with Eddie, far enough removed from the event to find it funny when at the time it was devastating. “Bobby walked in —”

“No.”

“— Yes. Right in the middle, it was horrible. He fired both of us, and she moved to New York and went back to school. She’s a marine biologist now, actually, I still talk to her sometimes. And obviously, I begged Bobby for another chance.

“Anyway — the point is, I’m very familiar with making ill-advised decisions about sex.” Eddie’s gaze slides away; Buck’s stomach twists. He wants to say their hookup wasn’t ill-advised, but he’s not sure if that’s necessarily true, not with the way he wants to peel his skin off every time Eddie says the word sex in reference to his ex. “And you sleeping with the mother of your child to avoid a hard conversation wouldn’t even crack my top twenty.”

Eddie chuckles, dropping his head into the palms of his hands. “But now everything’s…complicated. I don’t know how to talk to her anymore — I don’t know if we ever really knew how to talk to each other. We were kids when we had Christopher. And Chris…I don’t want to confuse him.”

“Well, do you think it’s gonna happen again? Do you want it to?” There’s a sharp twist in Buck’s gut. He ignores it.

Eddie groans. “I don’t know. I…I can’t pretend I haven’t missed her, but I know it’s not a good idea. I’m already worried enough about her coming back to Christopher just to leave him again. I don’t want to make it any worse by bringing our shit into it.”

Buck bites his lip and forces himself to say, “You don’t think you and Shannon could make it work, now? You’re not re-enlisting, you’ve both had time apart, Chris is older.”

“I —” Eddie shifts. He sits forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers twisting and fidgeting in the space between. He’s watching the movement closely, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Buck’s silent for a long moment. He can hear Christopher’s muffled laughter in the kitchen. It would suck, he thinks, to see less of him, to step away from Shannon's spot in this house, but he would do it. There's not much he wouldn't do for Christopher's happiness, for Eddie's happiness.

And he knows Eddie, knows him more and more with each passing day, but he has no better idea of how Eddie feels about Shannon than he did months ago, Eddie saying I don't know on a run when Buck asked if he still loved her.

Finally, he says, “Do you want to make it work?”

Eddie turns to him, surprised, like he’s never thought about it. “I — don’t know. Does it matter? Doesn’t Christopher need a mom?”

Buck tilts his head, clenching his jaw against the urge to physically shake him. Of course, what you want matters, he wants to say. But — but Buck wants, and sometimes Eddie wants, and neither of them can say it.

Instead, Buck takes a deep breath, feels it scrape on the way in, and says, “Sometimes — Look, I had — have — a mom, technically speaking, but…she was always behind glass. Like she was hardly there even when she was right in front of me. I never felt like she…loved me, just that she was obligated to keep me alive until she wasn’t anymore.” Eddie’s eyebrows fold into tense, angry lines over his hard eyes. Buck’s quick to explain, “I’m not trying to say that’s what Shannon’s like at all — I know you wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you didn’t know Shannon loves Christopher — I just mean that sometimes having a mom around isn’t what a kid needs.”

Buck shifts, looks away, and forces himself to continue, “So if you want to make things work with Shannon do it because you and Christopher want Shannon, specifically, not because you think Christopher needs a mom.”

The expression Buck finds when he looks back at Eddie is complicated, busy. Buck, for all of his Eddie-mind-reading-abilities that Maddie and Chim tease him about, can’t pick out anything.

Eddie’s hand lands on Buck’s knee, squeezes; Buck’s heart, inexplicably, climbs into his throat. Nothing makes sense.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, sincere in a way that hits and burrows and hurts. “You —” he cuts himself off, shakes his head, tries again, “Just thank you.”

Buck ducks his head, laughing. He doesn’t think he’ll ever become comfortable under the weight of Eddie’s gratitude, his affection. He changes the subject, an itch under his skin, and reaches for the remote.

Filming for Call It Even wraps up without comment. It’s not a big enough film to warrant a wrap party, so instead, someone brings cupcakes for the cast and crew and then they all go home at a decent hour. Buck lasts twenty minutes in his sterile, empty apartment before he shows up at Maddie’s door.

Chimney answers it.

Buck laughs, throwing his head back. “I don’t know why I’m even surprised,” he says, pushing past Chim on his way in and calling for his sister.

Maddie glances up, sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a half-empty glass of wine in her hand. “Buck! What are you doing here?”

Buck shrugs, dropping back onto the couch and trusting his head to land safely in her lap. Chimney rolls his eyes, grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, and sits in the armchair to the couch’s right. Buck knows, instinctively, that he wasn’t sitting there before.

“Just wanted to get out of the apartment,” he says, noncommittal, wriggling into a more comfortable position. Maddie rolls her eyes skyward but pats his hair idly.

“And you couldn’t go bother Eddie instead?” Chimney asks, ignoring Maddie’s low, lightly scolding Chimney!

Forcing himself not to react, Buck takes a second to figure out what to say without giving away any of Eddie’s closely protected secrets. “He’s…busy,” is what he lands on, weak.

“Busy,” Maddie repeats, looking down at Buck with raised eyebrows. Buck looks away. “You know,” she says after a beat, “I don’t really know much about Eddie. Does he have a girlfriend, a wife?”

Buck tenses. Noticing, Maddie’s eyebrow spike higher.

“He’s really private,” he says, stalling. “It was weeks before he told me anything about his personal life. I asked him what his favourite song was, early on, and he changed the topic to avoid answering.”

Chimney snorts, leaning back in the armchair and propping one ankle on his other knee. “Sorta like what you’re doing right now?”

Buck rolls his eyes, caught. He’s careful to keep his voice steady, unaffected, when he says, “I don’t have an answer.”

Over his wide eyes, Chimney’s eyebrows formed surprised arches. Buck knows without looking that Maddie’s sending him an equally shocked expression. “Eddie hasn’t told you if he has a partner?” Maddie’s voice is high, indignant.

“I thought at this point he told when he took a piss,” Chimney comments, drily. Maddie laughs far too hard, in Buck’s opinion.

“He doesn’t tell me everything, but he — it’s complicated, right now.”

“Oh,” Maddie and Chimney say as one. Buck resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s bitter enough to wish, for only a second, that he put up a fight about Maddie-and-Chimney before it started in earnest. They catch each other's eyes, share a small, private smile, and the thought dissolves.

“So,” Maddie says, sing-song. Buck groans, familiar enough with his sister to know where this is headed: somewhere he doesn’t want to go. “Maybe it’s time you got out there again. Malorie was really cute, the PA for Damned Spot, maybe —”

“Maddie,” Buck groans under the sound of Chimney laughing. “Malorie has a wife.”

“Oh,” Maddie says, blushing faintly. “Well, there’s millions of girls in LA.”

“Yeah,” Chimney confirms, “and Buck’s already slept with half of them.”

Buck chucks a throw pillow at him that Chimney catches between his hands, laughing.

“I’m not Buck 1.0 anymore,” he reminds Chim. “I’m reformed.”

“Well, maybe you’re too reformed,” Maddie comments. “You and Abby have been officially over for months now, unoffically dead in the water for nearly a year. You’re allowed to move on without going back to who you used to be.”

“I have moved on,” he insists. Abby’s memory is not much more than a faded bruise at this point: it aches when he presses on it, but he goes days and sometimes even weeks without thinking about her at all.

“Good,” Maddie says, sincere. “You deserve to find someone new. Someone better even — Sorry,” she says, cutting herself off when Buck glares. “Sorry! I know, save my Abby complaints for Eddie.”

Buck scoffs. “You just want me to date someone new so you and Eddie have more material to talk shit about.”

“Untrue!” Chimney snorts, clearly disagreeing, and Maddie shoots him a heatless glare. “I just want you to be okay.”

Buck swallows, staring up at Maddie, her eyes soft and sincere. “I am okay,” he says, and he’s not completely lying. He’s content with his career and with his sister back in his life and with the role he has in Eddie and Christopher’s family.

But he thinks about it for a long time after; after he’s had dinner with Maddie and Chimney; after he’s stayed long past the time Chimney starts making faces at him to get out; after he’s climbed into his big, empty bed in his cold, cavernous apartment. He thinks about Eddie trying with Shannon, about the knot the thought leaves in the centre of his chest, about Maddie building her life back up, about Abby.

So, he gets Ali’s number from Bobby and he sets up a date.

It’s just coffee.

His first date with Abby, after months of texting and talking on the phone, had been a big production. He had wanted to do something special, determined to make things work out with Abby in a way they never had before, so he emptied his living room of nearly all furniture, set up a bunch of blankets in the middle of the floor, had Bobby help him prepare a picnic spread, and even packed it away in a basket. He climbed onto a chair and stuck glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, curated a playlist with Hen's help, and covered every first date base.

They ate on the floor, and then laid on their backs, a respectable distance between them — Buck repeating like a mantra in his head, don’t sleep with her — as they stared at the ceiling, Buck making up fake constellations, sharing elaborate myths on the spot. They kissed, slowly and sweetly, lying on their sides on the floor. Buck, with a herculean effort, stopped them before they went further, drove her home, walked her right to her front door and kissed her chastely once more.

He was so sure that preparing the perfect date, that doing everything right, would be enough. That he was done messing around, that it would be the last first date he’d ever have to have.

So, he just invites Ali to coffee.

He’s almost surprised that she agrees, remembering how hard it was to even get her to give him a shot at being friendly, but she’s the one that suggests the following day and even offers up a coffee shop that she likes.

At exactly the time they agreed on, he pulls up in front of a fancy building complex that Maddie viewed an apartment in. Ali’s already waiting outside, smiling in a blue dress, and she laughs when Buck excitedly gestures to his similarly blue shirt. They spend the short drive chatting easily, indulging in inside jokes from set and poking fun at the script.

And it’s easy. Buck’s nearly giddy with it, how nice and fun and effortless it is to laugh with Ali in the privacy of his car. His heart isn’t beating out of his chest, he’s not burning or trembling, but it’s nice.

It takes him ten minutes to secure parking only a short distance from the coffee shop, Ali providing a running commentary that pulls laughter out of Buck's chest even as someone in a Tesla sticks their head out of their window to call him an asshole. When he finally puts the Jeep into park, he’s quick to jump out, shouting for her to stay put as he jogs around the car and pulls her door open. He gestures grandly, waving her through.

Ali's glare is mostly harmless, Buck familiar with the alternative, as she steps out. “What did I say about the weird gestures?”

Buck grins. “I think the statute of limitations ran out on that.”

She laughs, throwing her head back and her short, newly black hair slides over her shoulders. The easy, warm feeling of having something start again fills him.

It’s so easy — uncomplicated, painless — and he's pretty sure that makes up for the lack of burning heat.

“I don’t think you know what the statute of limitations is.”

He closes the door, locks the car. “Maybe you can teach me,” he says, and the heavy flirty tone slides into his voice without permission, a reflex.

Ali’s expression is unimpressed, amused, when she sets her gaze on him, turning her head as they walk side by side toward the coffee shop. “That was the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

Buck lets out a bark of laughter. “You’ve been acting in L.A. for eight years; that is not true.”

She shrugs, caught, and directs a softly amused smile at the ground. Buck’s considering reaching for her hand — the walk isn’t that long, certainly not long enough to warrant hand holding, but he’s got an itch under his skin to chase that warmth in his stomach, coax it into a fire — when there’s the distinct, familiar sound of a shutter.

Buck blinks, looking away from Ali’s soft profile toward the source. There are only two or three paparazzi, innocuous-looking men with large cameras standing a few feet away, fingers hovering over the shutter. Two years ago, the attention — the proof that his career was going somewhere — would be welcome, intoxicating. He’d slow down so they could get more shots, maybe kiss whatever girl he was standing with just to keep their attention.

Now, ice crackles over the warmth in his stomach.

“Shit,” he hisses, turning to Ali and ducking his head to hide the brunt of his expression from the camera lenses. “Fuck. We can probably lose them.”

“What?” Ali’s eyebrows furrow, glancing between the short row of photographers and Buck with a wrinkle between her eyes. “Why? Isn’t this the point?” Her smile forms a confused bend.

“What?” Buck echoes.

Ali squints. “For, like, PR? You said you got my number from your manager.”

Gathering every bit of acting talent that he may or may not have, Buck forces his expression not to change even as his stomach hollows out. God, he is so fucking stupid.

“Uh, yeah.” He shakes his head, sliding on a grin with no small amount of effort. “Yeah, of course. I just mean — maybe pretending to avoid them would get more press.”

The mildly amused confusion lingers in Ali's expression for a second longer before it dissolves into laughter — and Buck tries not to notice the way it’s just slightly bigger than it should be, just a bit like a performance. He fails.

“I think we should just stick to the regular date plan,” Ali says, patting Buck’s bicep gently.

Putting on his own performance of a laugh, Buck agrees.

He gets through the date in a haze. He says all of the right things, grins wide for the cameras, doesn’t flinch away when she gently drapes her hand over his on the patio table, right where the cameras can catch it best, but he’s only half there.

The drive home is nothing like the drive there; there’s less laughter, less joking. Ali makes attempts, and Buck tries to reciprocate, but he knows it’s falling flat even as it happens.

When he pulls up to Ali’s apartment building, Buck doesn’t get out to open her door and she pauses for a second with her hand on the handle. She looks at him for a long moment, eyebrows furrowed, and Buck begs some unnamed entity for — something. He doesn’t know.

Finally, she clears her throat. “That was nice.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, willing his mouth to smile. It feels wooden; he imagines it looks just the same. He still has a hand on the wheel. “It was great. I’ll, uh, see you around.”

Ali smiles, weak, and nods. The car is silent when the door closes behind her. Buck waits until she disappears into the building lobby to rest his forehead on the warm leather of his steering wheel and let out a long breath.

Somehow, without making the conscious decision to do so, he ends up at Eddie’s door, holding his keys listlessly.

Eddie had given him a key months ago, without any fanfare; just stopped him before he left for the night and placed the key in his hand. He doesn’t feel like he can use it now, doesn’t even know why he came here at all. He’s been avoiding showing up unannounced, conscious of the Shannon of it all and not sure whatever tenuous hold he has on his totally-cool-best-friend-not-weirdly-and-inexplicably-jealous-hookup performance will stick, face-to-face.

God, he’s so stupid.

What kind of idiot leaves the accidental PR stunt he thought was an actual first date and goes straight to his best friend slash one-time hookup’s house? The best friend who may or may not be getting back together with the mother of his child. The best friend who Buck may or may not still think about late at night when he sneaks a hand down his pants. The best friend who may or may not be the source of confusing, twisting, sickening feelings Buck can’t — won’t — put a name to. He’s the stupidest person on planet fucking Earth.

Buck pockets his keys, prepared to turn on his heel and hightail it out of there, drink himself silly in the privacy — but not comfort — of his own apartment.

The door opens.

Eddie’s wearing grey sweats, a familiar green henley, his hair a mess. Over his shoulder, Buck sees a box on the coffee table, a haphazard stack of papers next to it. They’re talking about a new school for Christopher, which means paperwork, which means Eddie pulling his hair out.

Something in Buck’s chest squeezes once. He’s so so so stupid.

“What? Buck — come in.” Eddie holds the door open wider and waits for Buck to stumble through before closing it behind him. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a date.” The soft bend of Eddie's mouth is set into a frown, concerned, his jaw clenched.

Buck drags his feet over to Eddie’s couch, drops into a familiar cushion, and puts his head in his hands. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Buck.”

“No, seriously.” Buck lifts his head to set his gaze on Eddie, standing in the empty door frame of the entryway with his arms crossed. And because Buck is having a bad day, he allows himself the indulgence of lingering over the bulge of Eddie’s forearms where his sleeves have been pushed to his elbow. But only for a moment. “I am world-class stupid.”

He throws his weight against the back of the couch and stares up at the ceiling when he admits, “It wasn’t a real date. She thought it was a PR move. For the movie. She never wanted to actually go out with me. Oh, my God, I sound like a teenager.”

“Buck,” Eddie says again, sliding the stack of paper over so he can sit on the edge of the coffee table across from Buck. Their knees are touching, one of Eddie’s sliding into the space between Buck's, warm and solid. With some effort, Buck lifts his head to meet Eddie’s dark eyes. “You’re not stupid. You’re so…you’ve just got so much heart, Buck. She’s stupid for not seeing it, not wanting to be apart of it.”

Buck ducks his head, and Eddie follows, keeping his eyes on him. “You have to say that,” Buck says. “You’re my best friend.”

Eddie’s mouth bends into a smile. “I’m your best friend because of your heart. Even when you were being a dick —” Buck barks out a surprised laugh “— and trying to push my buttons, I knew there was…more to you, or I wouldn’t have kept coming back for more.”

Buck’s neck heats up, remembering the deep fleshy hurt of the time, the way Eddie matched him hit for hit. He remembers watching Eddie with Taylor, the way his anger was so unfamiliar, detached and cold as if he couldn’t be bothered to waste his energy on her, so different from the push-push-pull-push of Eddie and Buck’s snips. He can’t think about it for too long.

He drops his head into his hands, elbows propped up on his knees. One of Eddie’s knees is too warm against his own. He must have some kind of death wish, some latent masochist tendencies, because he lifts his head and says, “Let’s forget about my dumpster fire of a love life, let’s move on to yours. How’s Shannon?”

Eddie laughs, glancing over to the pile of files, idly straightening it. “I — I don’t know. I don’t know…what I want, but I know I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t try, for Christopher’s sake if nothing else.”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek. He remembers touching a hot stove when he was a kid, even after Maddie told him not to; this is like that, sharp, sudden pain he can’t reconcile with, even having been warned about it.

Eddie stands, sudden, and collects the papers in his arms to shove at Buck. “Come on, if you help me finish sorting all of this out in the next ten minutes you can come with me to pick Chris up from school.” It’s an empty incentive; they both know Eddie will bring Buck to pick up Chris regardless.

Still, Buck pulls himself up, carefully packs away all of his twisty, complicated, nameless feelings into a small box and keeps going.

What’s Inside You? press sneaks up on them.

It feels like they just filmed it, not like it’s only a couple of short months away from being released. Chimney disappears almost entirely, Maddie doing a poor job at pretending she’s not missing him, as he spends hours in editing rooms pouring over footage and in meetings organizing premieres.

Buck has a few joint interviews with Eddie at the very start and then it’s all up to Eddie, two weeks of near constant press in New York and then London and then Vancouver. Eddie is tense, often, in the days leading up to it, having managed to avoid nearly all of his publicist’s attempts at putting him in front of an interviewer to this point.

“I don’t get it,” Buck says, a couple of days before their first interview, sitting at his kitchen island while Eddie paces. “You’re a charming dude.”

Eddie pauses in his pacing to shoot a heatless glare in Buck’s direction. “I don’t want to charm them.”

Buck laughs, hopelessly endeared by the petulant scrunch of Eddie’s face. He looks like Christopher trying to get out of eating cauliflower. “I know you want to be really super private, but that doesn’t mean you can’t charm them. Might be easier to avoid sharing anything if you just dial up the pretty boy thing.”

“The pretty boy thing?” Eddie repeats, incredulous, a smile breaking through his rain cloud expression.

Buck blushes. “You know what I mean, just flirt a little.”

“I don’t flirt,” Eddie protests, and Buck wants to disagree, the bruising memory of the heat of Eddie’s expression searing briefly across his mind.

He keeps it to himself and occupies his mouth with a drink of beer. They move on.

Eventually, it can’t be avoided anymore. They arrive in a blinding-bright studio, two seats set up across from the interviewer’s chair, all against a branded backdrop surrounded by a sea of filming equipment. Eddie’s a tense line next to him when they enter and Buck presses his shoulder into his.

“Come on,” Buck says, voice pitched low, just for Eddie. He ducks his head to catch Eddie’s eye, smirks. “It can’t be harder than filming Damned Spot.”

“That was different,” Eddie protests and Buck has a fever-hot memory of pressing Eddie into a trailer wall, covered in fake blood, the too-sweet taste on his mouth, the hot slide of Eddie’s tongue in his mouth licking it away. Eddie clears his throat, looks away. Buck knows — knows — that he’s remembering it, too.

Someone calls for them to take their seats, gives a two-minute warning, and then they’re rushed into the thick of it, exchanging quick introductions with the interviewer as the crew makes final adjustments.

It’s like any other interview, but Eddie’s presence at his side is impossible to ignore, and Buck routinely knocks his knee into Eddie’s when a scowl creeps into his expression. Buck offers bright grins and turns to Eddie often, goading him into sharing anecdotes about the set — how cold the tsunami water was, a funny moment with Chim, how often Eddie was shirtless.

Finally, the interviewer says, “Now, obviously there’s been some talk about your feud, but you two are either truly incredible actors or you're not feuding now. Which is it?”

Sending the interviewer his most charming grin paired with a wink that makes Eddie roll his eyes in his peripheral, Buck says, “Can’t it be both?” Eddie snorts at his side, hiding it behind a hand as he scratches the side of his nose. As karmic retribution, Buck hopes someone pulls that clip and speculates about Eddie having a drug habit, and then immediately takes it back before the universe can hold onto it; he knows himself too well to think he'd be able to help himself from bullying a stranger on the internet for spreading a mean rumour about Eddie.

“No, there’s no feud," Buck says, "and we love working together, so it hardly felt like a job at all.” He’s said it in almost every joint interview he’s ever had, but it’s the first time he’s truly meant it. He almost says If I could only make movies with Eddie for the rest of my life, I would; he doesn’t.

The interviewer shuffles the cards in his lap briefly, looking up with a smile as he says, “And you’re already working together again on Athena Grant’s directorial debut, Damned Spot. How was that?”

Buck’s grin grows, eyes squinting. “Great! Athena is just as good of a director as she is an actor and we’re both so glad to be a part of this with her.”

Eddie shifts in his seat, his default banal interview smile becoming more genuine as he says, “Yeah, it’s a phenomenal film, too.” He shifts again, pushing the sleeve of his button up further up his forearm. Buck has the ridiculous — inappropriate — urge to reach over, to stop his fidgeting with a gentle hand. “I’m really lucky to be doing something like this so early in my career, so I’m really grateful that Athena took a chance on me.”

Buck snorts before he can help himself, and the interviewer and Eddie both turn to him with shocked expressions: the interviewer’s eyes wide, Eddie’s mouth in the shape of a laugh.

“Athena didn’t take a chance on you,” he’s quick to say, meeting Eddie’s eyes. They’ve been hard, guarded to this point in the interview, kind but obviously bordered off. They’re softening now; like Eddie doesn't know how to look at Buck without letting him in. Buck's stomach clenches. “Athena doesn’t take chances. She picked you because you’re a good fucking actor.”

Eddie says nothing for a long moment, teeth pinching the corner of his mouth. Buck can’t look away, the interviewer forgotten. “Well,” Eddie says, finally, “then she picked you because you’re a fucking good actor, too.”

Buck blinks, his knee-jerk reaction to argue rising up his throat and getting stuck there under the weight of Eddie’s gaze, the piercing sincerity.

Eddie turns back to the interviewer, shattering the — Buck refuses to call it a moment. “Sorry, are we allowed to swear?”

The interview laughs, a breathy, awkward noise. “Um, no, but that’s alright; they’ll bleep it.”

The rest of the interview passes in a blur.

They have two other interviews that day that pass in a similar fashion — Eddie closed off but polite, Buck overly charming, Buck and Eddie occasionally forgetting the interviewers exist entirely to talk to each other — and then Eddie reluctantly continues on his own.

“Do you think Bobby will kill me if I insist on only doing interviews with you from now on?” Eddie asks, casually, as they wait for Buck’s car to show, an hour before Eddie’s next interview. “Like, even for the movies you’re not in, assuming I ever do one of those.”

Buck nearly chokes, heat rising swiftly to his face. “Yeah, somehow I don’t think he’d go for that.”

Buck’s car pulls up to the curb, and Buck hates being driven around, but he’s grateful for the escape. He feels overexposed like his skin’s been peeled back under Eddie’s soft smile. He reminds himself of Shannon, of the date Eddie told him he has planned for the next day — him, Shannon, Chris, and a beach — and tries not to become physically sick.

“Too bad,” Eddie says and squeezes a large hand on Buck’s shoulder in goodbye. In the car, Buck lets out a long-held breath.

And then Eddie leaves for two weeks. The time stretches like taffy, even though Buck sees Christopher in his absence, helping Carla with dinner and checking over Chris’ homework and squeezing into the phone camera when they FaceTime Eddie. He texts Eddie all the time anyway, and, all things considered, ends up talking to him nearly almost more than he does when they're both in L.A., but it still leaves a glaring, gaping hole in his life.

“What did I say?” Maddie says when he crashes yet another one of her dinners with Chimney — and does Chimney even live at his apartment anymore? Buck refuses to acknowledge the hypocrisy, even as he hears it in his own head.

He stuffs his face with an over-full scoop of Chinese takeout, the only one still eating as he sits hunched over in the armchair, and raises confused eyebrows in her direction.

Maddie smirks, Chimney already laughing like he can read her mind. Buck wants to put his head through the drywall. “When you were teasing Chim for missing Hen, I told you you would be way worse when Eddie had to go somewhere.”

Chimney’s laughter reaches a peak. “That’s right! You are so much worse right now.”

Buck puts his plate down with meaning. “I am not. You were reply all-ing yearning love letters.”

“Yeah, because I’m hilarious. This is just sad.”

Maddie swats the side of Chim’s thigh, even as she bites back a smile. “It’s cute that you miss him!”

And he does miss him, horribly and loudly, until Eddie, eventually, returns.

Buck is very normal about it, waiting a full twenty-four hours before he shows up at Eddie’s door and lets himself in. He’s got a box of donuts in one hand, a pair of coffees for him and Eddie and a hot chocolate for Christopher balancing in a tray in the other.

He finds Eddie and Christopher sitting at the kitchen table: Christopher in front of an almost empty bowl of cereal; Eddie half asleep, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. His hair’s a mess of dark waves, flopping over his forehead, his eyes most of the way closed. Christopher’s clearly in the middle of teasing him, face split into a wide grin. Buck’s face mirrors his with a speed that makes his cheek ache as he places his bounty on the table between the boys.

Eddie lifts his head, almost in slow motion, and blinks blearily. When he finally registers that it’s Buck, a soft grin slides into place, his squinted eyes liquid gold. Buck…well; he wants.

“Buck!” Christopher cheers, sliding out of his chair to launch himself at Buck, who immediately crouches down to meet him in the middle, squeezing his arms around him.

He’s seen Christopher since Eddie’s been gone, nearly every other day and it was perfect and great, but it was different without Eddie around, his absence a physical presence. Buck buries a smile in Christopher’s curls and feels a small fire start beneath his chest bone.

But underneath that warmth, there’s a cold, bitter poison spreading slowly. Because only an absolute idiot like him would let himself get this attached to a family that isn’t even his, that one day he’ll have to walk away from. Only a truly, genuinely world-class idiot like him would have this feeling in his chest, this unknowable tight cluster of knots in the centre of himself, over his best friend.

He looks over at Eddie as he releases Christopher, steadying him with a hand on his forearm as Christopher clambers back onto the chair, already reaching for the hot chocolate, and braces himself for Eddie’s expression. He has to see it — he has to see the way Buck’s heart is pouring out all over the floor in front of Eddie’s family, always too much — and Buck’s not ready for Eddie to let him down gently. Because he knows Eddie would never intentionally hurt him, but one of these days Eddie’s gonna have to set boundaries and remind Buck of his place.

Normal best friends don’t act like this: like they can’t be apart for even two weeks without losing it; like they have a permanent place in the other’s life and home.

But Eddie’s grinning, staring directly at Buck with eyes like molten gold. It hits Buck like a punch, burrows under his skin to etch into bone. He doesn’t think he’s ever been on the receiving end of a look so soft, so warm from someone who wasn't Maddie.

Nothing makes sense.

Because — because he’s come to terms with the wanting, with the moments where he looks at Eddie and wants to take him apart, with the late nights when he can’t think about anything but the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his bare skin. But this — this soft, warm look — this aching knot in his chest at the sight of it — this he can’t make sense of.

And then there’s Shannon.

Buck tears his eyes away and looks over at where Chris is pouring over the array of donuts. “Now,” he says, stealing Christopher’s attention, “what do you think about going to the zoo today?”

Christopher’s eyes widen, excitement almost a tangible presence filling the kitchen, and he turns to Eddie. “Can we?” Eddie’s barely done nodding before Chris is gushing about what he wants to see first, abandoning the donuts to set off for his bedroom to get changed.

Buck watches Eddie’s eyes squint, his laughter filling his perfect kitchen, and, just for now, Buck is warm warm warm.

Eddie tries to make Buck ride to the What’s Inside You? premiere with him, insisting there’s no need to waste money or fossil fuels on two cars (which, Buck knows, is Eddie-speak for not wanting to be the sole recipient of attention when he arrives), but his publicist puts her foot down. Eddie is, after all, the star of the movie, Buck a bit more than a supporting character and — she tells Eddie over speaker phone, voice amused, while Buck sits across from him at the kitchen table — not his date.

So, they arrive separately, Buck ten-ish minutes after Eddie, stepping out of the quiet car into an instant rush of sound and flashing lights. He’s already smiling, charming and bright, waving at photographers and the handful of fans — fans of him, or Chimney’s movies, or already Eddie — milling around behind protective fences.

The attention is, as always, intoxicating. Dozens and dozens of eyes and cameras on him, all because of who he is. And, maybe it’s just who they think he is, a flirty actor with a good body and a pretty smile, but Buck, frankly, doesn’t care. It’s enough. He can make it be enough.

He grins as he jogs over to a girl, no more than seventeen, who’s waving her phone at him, reaching over the barricade toward him. He greets her warmly, his smile growing when she blinks at him, awed. He doesn’t meet fans that often, rarely if ever stopped in the street and almost never in projects big enough to earn a premiere, but the times he does stick with him long after.

He still remembers the first time, a fifteen-year-old girl who stopped him in the nonfiction section of a bookstore. Her name was Cassie. She had a book on infectious diseases cradled to her chest and her voice had wavered a little when she approached him and said, “Sorry, are you Evan Buckley? Like, from Golden Age?”

Golden Age was a teen drama about rich kids in Beverly Hills. Buck had a four-episode run as a hot-but-dumb temporary boyfriend to one of the mains, a harmless roadblock to the show’s intended endgame.

He remembers being surprised, but mostly elated to have proof that he was doing something — making something — that reached others. He wasn’t doing anything groundbreaking, certainly not something his parents would approve of if they ever took the time to reach out (which they didn’t), but there was a fifteen-year-old girl with a life and a future who cared enough about this show and what it brought to her life that she knew the name of a brief guest star, that she was able to recognize him in public and wanted to approach him.

They talked for a while, maybe ten minutes, Cassie gushing about the show once she got over her nerves, sharing her theories and her favourite relationships, how she had hated Buck’s character at first but missed his humour now that he was gone. Eventually, Cassie had to leave for a tutor session or a football game or some other obligation, but not before shyly asking him to sign the book she was buying. It was the first time anyone had ever asked him to autograph something, and he asked her if he could take a picture before she left.

Now, years later, at an honest-to-God movie premiere (and not even his first), he grins at a girl’s phone, squeezing in close to fit into her phone’s selfie camera frame. She stumbles over her thanks once the picture’s been taken, sharing how much she loves Jump/Fall as she fumbles through her bag for her a marker and something to sign.

“Would you sign this, please?”

It's not until Buck's hand has folded around the paper that she takes a good look at what she's handed him, a blush spreading over her cheeks as her mouth parts. It’s a history test, a red-inked 92% circled at the top of the page.

“Oh my, God,” she breathes, “I’m sorry.”

Buck laughs, taking the marker from her hand and balancing on his good leg so he can use a bent knee as a pseudo-table, scrawling his signature carefully away from her work. “It’s no problem,” he tells her, handing both items back. “Awesome job on your test.” He winks at her and her blush grows.

Before he can say his goodbyes, Eddie materializes at his elbow. “Buck,” he says, voice low.

Buck's breath catches in his throat when he turns, finding Eddie in a black suit jacket, a white button down underneath with a black tie that he’s obviously been pulling at. Buck’s mouth goes dry; he realizes, suddenly, that he’s never seen Eddie in a suit and that he’s a fucking idiot for not preparing for this.

The girl says, lowly, “Oh my God.”

Eddie pauses, seemingly realizing for the first time that Buck has an audience, and turns to her with a strained grin — and Buck’s familiar enough with Eddie Diaz’s rolodex of smiles to tell that this one is awkward, self-conscious, not annoyed.

“Hi,” he says, “sorry to interrupt.”

“Oh, my God, don’t be,” she gushes, clutching her signed test to her chest. “I am so excited to see you in this movie.”

Buck watches a blush creep up Eddie’s neck. “Oh. Really? I mean, uh. Thank you.”

Buck can’t help the laugh that escapes him, can’t stop himself from putting a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, the fabric of his jacket sun-warm under his palm. He’s usually not the one to initiate touch between them, has been even more reluctant to since the shooting scene and Shannon’s return, and he almost snatches his hand right back, but Eddie’s grin relaxes into something more genuine and Buck’s hand stays exactly where it is.

“Forgive Eddie,” he tells the girl, “he hasn’t been in L.A. long enough to learn how to take a compliment.”

Eddie rolls his eyes as the girl laughs, her hands, still holding onto the signed test, coming up to cover her mouth. “Don’t listen to anything he says,” he says.

The girl nods seriously, her wide, awed eyes on Eddie like she can't look away — Buck gets it — and Buck lets out a shocked gasp, holding his hand to his chest dramatically to make her laugh.

She shoves the test and the marker in Eddie's direction, her blush returning. “Um, could you maybe sign this for me?”

Eddie blinks, thrown, and Buck wonders if this is the first time anyone’s asked him that. He thinks about how close he keeps the memory of his first fan encounter, bringing it out when he’s worn down by long set days or annoyed by a particularly horrible headline, and he has the selfish thought that he’s glad he will always be a part of Eddie’s memory of this. Whatever happens — if Shannon becomes a permanent fixture in Eddie's life; if Eddie gives up acting entirely; if Buck does something to ruin everything — Buck will still have a place in this memory.

“Um, of course,” Eddie says, taking the paper and pen from her slightly shaky hands. His eyebrows raise when he sees what he’s signing, a small smile sliding over his features, and Buck knows he’s thinking about Chris, who loves history and who giggles every time Eddie makes a show of pinning projects or quizzes with bright red A’s to the fridge.

Eddie gestures for Buck to turn, who does so obligingly, feeling the firm pressure of Eddie smoothing the paper over Buck’s shoulder, the marker sliding in the shape of Eddie’s signature. Buck doesn’t shiver, but it’s a close call.

“Here you go,” Eddie says, handing the girl her test back, who thanks him profusely. Buck nearly jumps when Eddie’s hand lands on the centre of Buck’s back, a searing hot brand. “It was so great to meet you,” he tells her, and his voice is heavy, sincere, “but Buck and I should get going before people start yelling at us.”

The girl spills out goodbyes and thank yous and when Buck and Eddie turn to continue down the carpet, Buck sees her mouth Buck? to herself, awed and confused. Buck tucks a smile into his collar, following behind Eddie.

Tension slides back into Eddie’s spine as they approach the row of flashing cameras, the handful of reporters waiting on standby with large, branded microphones in hand. It's then that Buck realizes, suddenly, that Eddie came looking for Buck to save him, so he wouldn’t have to deal with all of this attention on his own.

Buck presses his shoulder into Eddie’s, firm, until he feels more than he hears Eddie let out a slow breath.

“Wanna finally knock me out before I have to do all of this?” Eddie asks, turning to Buck with his bottom lip pressed into something nearing a pout.

Buck laughs, leaning only far enough away to gain the momentum needed to knock Eddie’s shoulder with his own. “Shut up.” And, because Buck hates himself, he says, “So, no Shannon?”

Eddie blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting to hear her name tonight, and turns away. “Wow,” he says, voice completely flat as he steps forward, “can’t wait to do interviews.”

Buck’s eyebrows pinch together, mouth bending into an amused grin against his will.

They get through the photos, Eddie only standing for a few on his own before physically dragging Buck in by the back of his jacket, hissing smile at him through a clenched, toothy grin. Buck’s laughing in virtually every single one. And Eddie doesn’t get away with doing all of the carpet interviews with Buck, though he makes a valiant effort.

“You must be excited,” a reporter says, red lips smiling behind her microphone. With her red hair and bright eyes, she looks a bit like Taylor, and Buck can’t tell if he’s disappointed or not that she isn’t. “From everything we’ve seen this is a very different movie for you.”

“Yeah,” Buck confirms, dialling up his movie-star-grin. “It was definitely different for me and, you know, it was a pretty last minute decision, but I had a great time.”

“Right, you replaced Tommy Kinard after his injury. How did that happen?”

Buck tilts his head, letting his grin crinkle his eyes. “Well, Chimney called, asked for a last minute favour and, don’t tell him this —” he drops a wink, naturally “— but he’s one of my closest friends, so of course I was willing to help him out.”

The reporter’s smile turns vaguely bashful, a faint blush rising up her neck. “And the Eddie Diaz feud — I mean, obviously it’s all water under the bridge, look at you two — but at the time?”

Buck laughs, but it’s his interview laugh — loud, clear — and not the semi-hysterical one that threatens to crawl up and out of his throat. In the past, he's been known to be too honest in interviews, even when honesty probably wasn’t the greatest idea, but he doesn’t even consider telling the whole truth here. Not only does he know Eddie wouldn’t want it out there, but Buck selfishly wants to keep the truth of it to himself.

When he and Abby were together, he had wanted to shout the details to anyone who would listen, and he often did, sharing since deleted lengthy Instagram captions about his love for her and rarely going through an interview without sharing an anecdote about their lives together. Not that — It wasn't just Abby; he shares a lot about Chimney and Hen, too, constantly posting videos of them on his stories or joking about them in interviews.

But Eddie — Eddie he wants to keep a secret.

He spares a glance over to where Eddie’s dragging himself through an interview, and only a second passes before Eddie seems to feel the weight of Buck’s gaze, turning to meet Buck’s eyes; his strained smile immediately shifts into a grin, and he shakes his head before turning back to his interviewer, who has clearly said something. Buck’s stomach does a strange swoop.

“Uh,” Buck says, returning to his own interviewer, “you know, we’re both professionals. It’s no secret I think Eddie’s a fantastic actor and even when we weren’t...getting along I knew he was incredible.” Buck clears his throat, shifts on his feet, and forces some levity when he continues, “So any feud we had was never an issue when it came to our jobs or this movie. Chimney would kick our asses if it did.”

The interview laughs, the intended reaction, and moves on to a question about the hardest scene to film.

Buck’s in the middle of as much of a vague, spoiler-free answer as he can manage, speaking broadly about being cold and wet, when he glances over to catch Eddie’s eye again and instead sees Chimney arrive.

He steps out of a long black car in a dark blue suit, but instead of closing the door and making his way toward Buck and Eddie, he turns back to the car and holds out a hand. Buck’s eyebrows are already raising — Chim hasn’t brought a date to anything since everything fell apart with Tatiana for the last time — but they nearly touch his hairline when Maddie steps out next, her hand in Chimney’s, wearing a midnight blue dress that brushes the floor.

Buck’s immediately looking for Eddie, who’s already looking back, eyebrows just as high.

“Holy shit,” Buck breathes, laughing.

“Is that your sister?”

Buck’s attention snaps back to the interviewer, having honestly forgotten about the interview entirely. He grins, shaking his head, wanting nothing more than to tackle Chimney and Maddie in the middle of this premiere. Instead, he winks and says, “No comment.”

Buck arrives at Eddie's house on December 3rd with an armful of gingerbread house kits, using his elbow to knock on the door. When Eddie pulls the door open and sees him standing there, he rolls his eyes and turns away.

“When are you going to stop spending money on us?” he asks, back to Buck as he walks away, leaving Buck to kick the door closed behind him and follow.

“When are you going to stop pretending I’m rich?”

“Stop reminding me,” Eddie sighs, finally taking one of the kits from Buck’s arms when they make it to the kitchen table.

Buck snorts. “You know you’re not far behind, you hot shot actor.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, ignoring Buck in favour of shouting down the hall for Christopher to wash his hands.

They don’t have to talk at all as they clear the coffee table, prepare the living room for decorating and pre-organize the gingerbread materials for Chris. Eddie holds out a hand and Buck deposits a newly empty box without direction, watching as Eddie disappears into the kitchen to dispose of it. When Christopher shuffles into the room, hands washed, Buck sets down a cushion on the floor and takes his crutches from him.

It’s all muscle memory, at this point, nights at the Diaz house a well-worn, cherished routine. Buck looks down at the top of Christopher’s head, his curls a nest, and feels warmth grow in his chest, spread through the rest of him until he can feel it in the tips of his fingers.

The doorbell rings just as Eddie reenters the living room, a tray of piping bags filled with icing in his hands. Eddie’s eyes widen, briefly, but Buck waves him off, already heading to the door.

And he can’t quite help the way his jaw falls when he pulls the door open to find Hen, Denny’s small hand clasped in hers.

“Hen?”

Hen blinks, eyes wide behind her glasses. “Buck? What are you — I thought this was Eddie’s house.”

“It — It is Eddie’s house. What are you doing here?” Buck has the insane urge to shoo her away, to close the door behind him before she can look around the corner and see Christopher or hear his laugh.

“I invited her and Denny.” Buck’s head swivels to catch sight of Eddie in the entryway, smiling with his arms folded over his chest. His forearms swell against the rolled up sleeves of his henley; Buck swallows.

Hen makes a sound behind him — a hmph! that means what do you have to say now, Buckaroo? Buck’s mouth opens, closes.

“You invited her?” he echoes.

Hen makes another, louder sound. “What is the problem, Buck?”

Eddie ignores her for the moment to look directly at Buck when he says, “Yeah, someone told me Christopher and Denny would probably get along.”

Buck blinks against the sudden, inexplicable urge to cry.

“Christopher?” Hen repeats, her voice weighted down by her confusion.

As if summoned, Christopher appears behind Eddie, twisting his hand in the hem of Eddie’s shirt. “Dad?”

“Oh,” Hen breathes.

Denny, who up until this point has been looking confusingly between the three adults around, brightens up considerably at the sight of Chris. “Hi! I’m Denny.”

Christopher’s quick to grin, equally excited. Despite himself, Buck preens, Christopher's joy contagious. More and more every day, Buck wants to figure out a way to bottle Christopher's grin, to keep it close to him at all times.

He's not sure that's a normal way to feel about your best friend's kid.

“I’m Christopher," Christopher says, endlessly polite in a way that makes Eddie grin, pride visible in every line of his face. "We’re making gingerbread houses, do you want to join?”

Buck — there’s no explanation for the way his chest twists. When he tears his eyes away from the kids, Eddie’s smiling at him, expression soft.

Denny beams, looking up at Hen. “Can I?”

Hen laughs, running a hand over Denny’s thick curls. “If it’s alright with Christopher’s father, yeah.”

Both boys turn to Eddie, eyes wide and excited, nearly vibrating. Eddie laughs. Buck wants to escape to the bathroom to cry. Eddie barely gets out a full stamp of approval before Chris is heading for the living room, Denny following close behind.

With the kids out of sight, Hen levels a look at Eddie, all raised eyebrows and a mouth that's just barely smiling. “Now, this is a surprise.”

Eddie ducks his head, shoulders lifting into a shrug. “Yeah, uh, I don’t want Christopher involved in...uh, all of this — my career — but Buck convinced me I have more people I can trust than I think I do.”

Hen’s knowing eyes swivel in Buck’s direction; Buck looks away before she can read any of the silly, pathetic thoughts he has scrawled all over his face.

Denny and Christopher, just like Buck predicted, get along like a house on fire. Buck ends up on the floor between them, offering a set of helping hands to whoever needs it, while Eddie and Hen watch from the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn and talking quietly. Buck’s heart feels set to push right out of the confines of his chest, pressing painfully against the inside of his ribcage.

His memories of Christmas are better left untouched, complicated in childhood and lonely in adulthood. None of them matter now, not with Christopher's laugh to smooth over every sharp edge.

“Daddy,” Christopher pipes up, not looking away from his work as he presses a gum drop to a gingerbread wall that Buck’s holding steady.

“Yeah, buddy?” Buck’s heart gives a pathetic thump at the sound of soft devotion in Eddie’s voice.

“Can you send a picture of our houses to mommy?”

And the other shoe drops.

The warmth he’s felt all night, a comforting hearth in the centre of his chest, goes up in sudden, violent flames, and it’s all his fault. Because how could he forget that this beautiful, perfect family he plays house with sometimes doesn’t actually belong to him? He’s just a supporting character keeping Shannon's spot warm.

“Uh, yeah," Eddie says, and there's something just a little complicated in his tone that Buck refuses to look at. "Of course, I can.”

Buck swallows and forces himself not to let his face reveal anything, keeping his hands steady on Christopher’s gingerbread wall. He doesn’t look away from Christopher’s careful, slow movements.

And Buck thinks about it a lot in the days that follow; about how much Eddie’s family means to him, about how it’s not his at all, about the way his heart sags, useless and alone when he leaves Eddie’s house and returns to his cold, sterile apartment.

Something, he knows, has to change. He can’t keep — wanting, can’t keep packing away his raw, fleshy hurt every time Shannon’s mentioned like he isn’t the one forcing himself into her family.

So, he ends up at a bar.

It’s the first time he’s gone to one on purpose since before Abby and he discovers, quickly, that it’s not exactly like riding a bike.

He can’t quite make himself join the crowds of people dancing, can’t quite force himself back into the version of him that used to feel more at home in a drunken crowd than anywhere else in the world.

Instead, he cradles an untouched beer at the bar and avoids eye contact. He’s torn between wanting to fill this weird, itchy hole in his chest and not wanting to fall into old habits. He can’t go back to meaningless hookups, can’t pretend he doesn’t want more now that he’s had it — that he doesn’t want the company he had with Abby, the routines he has with Eddie, the commitment and domesticity.

He doesn’t know how to find that at a bar. He has limitless experience pulling a quick hookup, finding a girl in the crowd and stumbling into her apartment or pulling her into the bar bathroom or even the back seat of the Jeep. But finding a girl to...what? Start a life with?

God, he’s so fucking stupid.

Does he really think he can just...find a family in a night? In a club? Because he’s weird and sad that his best friend has a family and all Buck has is an emotionless apartment?

His hand tightens around his beer, his mind about made up to get the hell out of here, when someone slides onto the stool next to him.

“You again.”

Taylor Kelly smiles at him in a tight black dress, her hair in loose curls around her shoulders. She has a glass of dark liquor in her hand, her red lips pulled into a sly smile.

Buck's not sure if he's disappointed or not to see her. He kind of wants to run away, kind of wants to curl up in a ball and sleep for a few days, kind of wants to go back in time and join a rodeo instead of moving to L.A.

Instead, Buck reaches deep inside of himself and pulls out a Buck 1.0 smile, all charming flirtation. “Are you stalking me?”

Taylor rolls her eyes, her smile growing. “If I am, I’m doing a horrible job of it. It’s literally been months.”

“Can’t rule out a long-con.”

Taylor’s eyes narrow, and she leans her elbows on the bar top. The neckline of her dress droops; Buck’s familiar with the move. “Do you want me to be stalking you?”

So maybe some of this is like riding a bike; Buck’s eyes fall to her red lips easily, leaning closer instinctively. “I’m not so easy anymore,” he warns. “I’ve grown.”

Taylor lets out a breathy laugh, a performance in her own right. Her eyes trail down the length of his body, slowly find their way back up, lingering on his mouth before meeting his eyes. He’s familiar with this move, too.

“Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

Buck traps his bottom lip between his teeth and revels in the sight of Taylor’s eyes following the movement, darkening. And the thing is — the thing is, he doesn’t want to go back to meaningless sex with people he never sees again, but the weight of Taylor’s attention is nice. There's not a single doubt in his mind that Taylor wants him, but more than that, that she intends to do something about it. And Taylor is uncomplicated; there are no messy implications to wanting her, to being wanted by her.

“Maybe you don’t know me that well,” Buck says, grasping tightly onto his self-control. Hen would be proud.

Taylor’s eyebrows raise. “Do I have to?”

Buck sucks in a slow breath, allows himself to feel the way it expands his chest. “Maybe I want you to.”

Her eyebrows drop, pinching together, her smile turning confused. She opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again.

On the bar top between them, her phone chirps. And then chirps again and again and again, notifications bumping into each other in their haste. She frowns, picking it up from the bar top and scanning the screen quickly.

Her eyes catch on something, her eyes widening as a quiet gasp drops from her parted lips. Buck’s heart sinks even before her eyes flit up to his, wide and devastated.

“What?” Buck croaks out, knowing in a horrible sinking way that something terrible has happened. He reaches for his phone, his heart in a vice. “Is it Maddie? Did something ha—”

“It’s Eddie Diaz,” Taylor interrupts, something horribly sad in her voice. Pity. Buck’s world stops in its tracks. There is something so absolutely glaringly wrong with hearing Eddie’s full name at this moment. Buck thinks he might throw up. “There was a car accident at Sunset and Van Ness — Evan, wait —”

Buck’s already out of his seat, blindly throwing a handful of bills onto the bar top and pulling his keys from his pocket.

“I can’t,” he says, “I have — I have to go.” Taylor’s slim fingers wrap around Buck’s wrist. “Taylor, I can’t do this —”

“No, no, I just — do you need a ride?” Her eyes are wide, every trace of her flirty persona stripped away.

Buck shakes his head, already waking away. His wrist slides out of Taylor’s grip.

He doesn’t remember the ride at all, only the fear lodged in his throat, his mind playing through a thousand — a million — horrible scenarios. He thinks about Eddie, covered in fake blood, standing and staring at Buck in the quiet of his trailer, superimposes it with a false image of Eddie, covered in blood, lying across the pavement, staring blankly, lifelessly. He thinks about Christopher, smiling, happy, beautiful Christopher, possibly without a father, and avoids wrapping his car around a light post by the grace of a miracle.

Somehow, he makes it. He parks his car in a rush just outside of the flashing lights of the ambulances — he swallows bile — and runs, pushing through crowds of bystanders to the line of caution tape.

Beyond it, there are three crumpled cars in the middle of the intersection. He doesn’t recognize any of them, doesn’t think one of them is Eddie’s truck, but it’s dark and one of them is so bent and broken it’s hard to tell what it was. It looks like it might be black like Eddie’s truck. Buck has never been so scared, deep down in the very marrow of his bones.

“Please,” he gasps out to the nearest cop, who’s already shaking his head at him. “You have to let me through, you have to, it’s —”

There’s a flash of light on Buck’s right side, blindingly white, nothing like the red and blue of the emergency services. He turns, and there’s a small cluster of paparazzi, huge cameras pointed in Buck’s direction. Fear turns to anger in the blink of an eye.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He feels like he’s hovering somewhere outside of his body as he stomps toward the paparazzi. The cameras don’t stop flashing away; Buck can’t even think about the pictures being taken of him, the headlines that will cover the internet in only a few hours. Eddie is somewhere behind him, among the carnage. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t —”

“Buck.” Suddenly, Bobby’s at his side, a hand wrapped around Buck’s elbow. He’s in a wrinkled dark grey t-shirt, the hair on the right side of his head standing in all directions like he just rolled out of bed. Buck is so grateful to see him that his knees nearly give out, only the support of Bobby’s grip on his elbow keeping him upright.

“Bobby.” It comes out like a sigh, like thank God. He doesn’t care how he heard, what he heard, how he got here.

Bobby’s eyes on him are steady, calm. It doesn’t completely ease the pit in his stomach, but it helps. “I’ll handle this, you go see him.”

Buck doesn’t need to be told twice, already turning back, ducking under the caution tape the same cop from before holds up for him. His feet hit the ground with a force that travels up the length of his body, echoing around his hollowed-out chest. He can’t — he can’t see him.

They’re wheeling someone into an ambulance, but it’s a woman with blue hair. The other ambulance’s doors are closed.

Buck spins on his heels in the centre of everything, heart beating straight out of his chest. He’s seconds away from dropping to his knees, breaking, when he catches sight of someone sitting on the curb just a few feet away from the wreckage, hands clasped in front of them and resting on their knees. And Buck — Buck would recognize the line of that spine, the shadow of that profile, the bow of that head if he were blindfolded, if he was gasping out his final breath, if he was already long dead and gone.

He stumbles over, legs nearly collapsing beneath him, and crouches in front of Eddie. There’s blood on Eddie’s hands, clasped tight enough together to turn his knuckles pressure-white.

“Eddie," Buck says, scraping on the way out. "Eddie.”

Eddie glances up, eyes glassy, lashes clumped wetly together. Buck’s heart, lodged in his throat, shatters. He cups Eddie’s clasped hands between his own, the blood half-dried and thick beneath Buck’s hands.

“Eddie,” he says again. It means are you okay? It means I have never been so scared in my life. It means please be okay, I can’t handle you not being okay.

Eddie’s eyes fill with tears, his jaw trembling. Buck’s fingers tighten around Eddie’s hands. Eddie's mouth opens. All that comes out is a crackling, broken, “Shannon.”

Instantly, Buck understands.

He dives forward, arms wrapping tightly around Eddie’s shoulders, one hand pressing against the back of Eddie’s head. Eddie buries his head in Buck’s shoulder.

The only reason Buck knows he’s crying is that his shoulders shake.

They sit huddled on the curb for ten minutes, or ten hours, or several lifetimes, Eddie shaking in Buck’s arms, Buck rubbing the flat of his palm in circles over the centre of his back. Eventually, Bobby finds them. Buck doesn’t remember how, but they end up in the back of Bobby’s car, Eddie still huddled in Buck’s arms. The radio’s on, low. The streetlights cast strange shadows on Eddie’s curved back.

An hour ago, Buck was in a bar sitting next to Taylor Kelly and thinking about taking her home.

Now, Christopher’s mom is dead.

Nothing makes sense.

Christopher, Eddie manages to say somewhere between the time they get in the car and when Bobby pulls into the parking lot of Buck’s building, is at Eddie’s abuela's for the night. Buck’s throat grows tight, itchy, stifling when he thinks about Christopher having to hear about his mom; he can’t even begin to imagine what Eddie’s going through. His arms tighten around him.

Somehow, in a blur, they end up in Buck’s apartment. He doesn’t remember saying goodbye to Bobby, doesn’t remember the trip up the elevator, doesn’t remember unlocking the door.

Somehow, in a blur, Buck coaxes Eddie into bed. When he tries to walk away, head to the couch, Eddie’s hand shoots out and wraps around Buck’s wrist. Buck has a brief, sudden flashback to Taylor’s hand in the same place, only a couple of hours ago, when Buck was choking on fear, Eddie’s safety a question mark.

“Stay,” Eddie says. His voice is scratchy, rough. The shards of Buck’s heart pierce, stab. “Please, just — stay, tonight.”

So Buck stays, He crawls in under the covers next to him, trying to keep to his side, legs and arms tucked close to his body, but Eddie rolls over to face Buck and reaches his hand, palm up, in the space between them. Buck inhales — lets himself feel the way it expands his chest — exhales — places his hand in Eddie’s — curls his fingers around his.

They wake up some odd hours later, hands still clasped in the space between their bodies.

Somehow, time passes.

Eddie gets called in to identify Shannon’s body, picks Christopher up from his abuela’s and somehow breaks Christopher’s heart.

Buck, for his part, does everything he can. He makes dinner for the Diazes, he cleans their house obsessively, he helps Eddie make calls for the funeral. Eddie tries to wave him off, tries to insist he doesn’t need any help, but Buck stands firm, the shattered look in Eddie’s eyes when Buck found him on the curb a permanent fixture on the back of Buck’s eyelids. Days pass, impossibly slow, and he still feels the shaky desperate fear thrumming beneath his skin.

And at the kitchen table, Christopher sniffles.

Buck closes his eyes, briefly, from his seat across from him. There’s a stack of pancakes between them, Buck’s plate holding one plain, untouched pancake. Christopher’s fork moves cut-up pieces of pancake around a pool of syrup, but never brings anything to his mouth. In the distance, Buck can hear the shower running.

“Hey, buddy,” Buck says, soft and quiet. “You gotta eat something. Just half a pancake, okay?”

Christopher sniffles again, nodding. Buck’s heart has broken a hundred times, a hundred different ways since the night of the accident, and it breaks again now.

Chris skewers a piece of pancake with his fork, places it in his mouth. Chews. Swallows. Buck watches carefully, days-old terror still holding his fleshy heart in a vice grip. Christopher’s breath leaves him in a shudder, his chin wobbling.

When his eyes squeeze shut, tears slide down his cheeks.

“Oh, buddy,” Buck says, rising from his seat immediately and rounding to Christopher's side. He crouches next to his chair, dragging it slightly away from the table so he has the space to wrap Christopher in his arms.

Christopher buries his head in Buck’s neck, hot tears spilling onto Buck’s skin. Buck’s arms tighten around his small frame. He wants nothing more than to pull all of the hurt and sadness out of this boy’s heart, even if he has to absorb it into himself.

He hums quietly — uselessly — as his palm rubs slow circles over Christopher’s back.

There’s a creak in the floorboards, and Buck looks up to see Eddie in the doorway, hair wet and dripping onto his collar. His expression is the same as it’s been since the accident, tight and blank, but Buck can see the sadness he's trying to hide.

He meets Buck’s eyes and Buck’s heart breaks once again.

Silently, Eddie crouches beside Buck, putting his hand on Christopher’s back next to Buck’s, and Christopher lifts his head only long enough to drop it onto Eddie’s shoulder next. Christopher cries, and Buck tries not to and fails. Eddie doesn’t.

And somehow, the hours and days pass, and things, slowly, get better. Or at least survivable.

By some miracle, Bobby keeps the headlines about Shannon’s accident vague, focused on Eddie more than anything: What’s Inside You? Star Eddie Diaz Spotted at the Scene of High School Sweetheart’s Fatal Car Accident. Any digging people do into Shannon is directly related to Eddie, to the high school that they met at, to her time on the cheerleading squad and to Eddie’s on the football and baseball teams. No one digs deep enough to find a birth certificate, to find any reference to a child.

Their friends know only a little bit more, aware that Eddie and Shannon had taken a few years apart after Eddie’s second tour, that they only recently started trying again. Maddie goes through Buck instead, appearing at Buck’s apartment the rare time he’s there to get more clothes to shove a stack of tupperware full of cookies into his arms.

“I hate grief,” she says, hair and makeup perfect in a way that means she’s trying to pull herself together inside and out. “But I love Eddie. Make sure he’s okay.”

And Buck does his best, even as he watches Eddie pack it all away and bury it.

“Eddie,” Buck says, a week later, Christopher reluctantly back at school. They’re at Buck’s apartment for a change, Eddie declaring himself tired of his own house, sharing beers on Buck’s balcony.

At Buck’s voice, Eddie tips his head back, looking upwards instead of in Buck’s direction. “Buck,” he sighs, “do we have to do this?”

Buck rolls his bottle of beer, virtually untouched, between his palms. “Yes,” he says, to his beer. “We do. Your girlfriend died, Eddie, we can’t keep not talking about it.”

He lifts his head and turns to look at Eddie after a few moments of heavy silence. He’s still looking upwards, his beer hanging limply between his knees as he sits. Finally, still not looking at Buck — and Buck can count the number of times Eddie’s looked at him since that night, on one hand — he says, “Not my girlfriend.”

Buck blinks, silent. Eventually, Eddie’s head drops, turning in Buck’s direction, but still avoiding eye contact. His eyes land somewhere around Buck’s collar.

“We were leaving a restaurant that night in two separate cars. That’s how I was there so quickly but not in the actual accident.”

Buck’s chest tightens. It’s the most Eddie’s said about that night since and Buck is instantly transported back in time, to the fear that gripped him before he found Eddie in one piece with someone else’s blood on his hands.

It’s a horrible, selfish thought, and he hates himself for it even as it forms, but Buck is dizzy with relief that it wasn’t Eddie, that it was Shannon instead.

“We were having dinner and I had this speech — it doesn’t matter — but Shannon, she said we should call it. That we gave it a try but — uh, but it didn’t work out and it wouldn’t be fair to put Chris through us trying to force something. And she was right, so we worked out a custody schedule and decided to call a lawyer and then, twenty minutes later, she died.” Eddie breaks off to laugh, a harsh bitter sound. “And I’m kinda pissed at her for it.”

“Eddie,” Buck sighs. His hands twitch at his sides with the desire to reach out, to press his hands into Eddie until that hard line of his eyebrows finally relaxes.

“Buck,” Eddie returns and finally, finally, looks at him.

Buck’s breath catches. The blank, empty hurt that he finds there is worse than the night he found Eddie on that curb, worse than the shattered desperation.

“Eddie.”

It takes him three strides to get to Eddie, one hand pulling Eddie up from his seat and the other sliding around his shoulders until Eddie slumps into Buck’s hold. His forehead lands on Buck’s shoulder, and he hears the soft clink of Eddie setting his beer down before he feels Eddie’s hands on his back, twisting in the fabric of his shirt. Buck turns his head, presses his nose into Eddie’s neck, and breathes in the now familiar smell of Eddie, the smell that follows him to his apartment and lingers on his clothes.

“What can I do?” It’s barely a whisper, half of it swallowed up in the collar of Eddie’s flannel. “How can I help you?”

Eddie’s silent for a long time, long enough that their breathing starts to sync up, their chests expanding and contracting as one. Finally, he shakes his head, almost imperceptibly if not for the way they’re pressed so completely together. “Just…just this. Just you.”

Buck has to close his eyes, the swell of emotion that rises in his chest almost too much to bear. He holds Eddie tighter until he can almost convince himself he can absorb Eddie right into himself, and he doesn’t let go for a long, long time.

Buck’s at the grocery store, a kiwi in hand, when his phone rings.

He doesn’t recognize the number and that’s almost enough to make him ignore it, except that he’s been helping with Shannon’s funeral arrangements. It might be a florist confirming Buck’s order of Delilahs, or another one of Shannon’s cousins calling to ask who the fuck Buck is — and how many times can he stumble through an explanation of his relationship to Eddie before he puts his head through a wall? So he answers it.

“Hello?”

Someone clears their throat. “Hi. Evan?” The voice is just familiar enough to make something in Buck’s head ding, but not quite bring up an answer.

“Yes? Who is this?” Buck puts the kiwi back — Eddie hates them. He doesn’t even know why he’s bothering to restock his fridge, except that he needs to get out of the house and all of the shopping for Shannon’s wake has already been done.

“It’s Taylor, Taylor Kelly.”

Buck steps away from the produce aisle altogether, ducking his head. He had nearly forgotten about Taylor, about their conversation at the bar, about the way he found out about the accident, in the chaos of everything.

“I don’t know how you got this number,” he says, quietly, even though he’s nearly alone in the grocery store, the only person sad enough to grocery shop alone at nearly 1 AM, “but no comment.”

“No, no,” Taylor says, quickly, before Buck can hang up. “I’m not — I just wanted to see how you are. How Eddie is. Completely off the record, I swear.”

Buck pauses. He wants to believe her, is the thing — he always wants to believe people, that they’re good and that they care and that they’ll stay, but he’s been wrong more often than he’s been right.

After a long moment of silence, Taylor starts again, “I just — when I said it was Eddie, you…you looked, God, just wrecked.”

Buck winces, that fear that now lives just under his skin rising to the surface. He remembers the moment only as a feeling, only as the lightning flash of devastation at the idea of Eddie hurt, Eddie gone. He can’t imagine what he looked like, what Taylor saw, what she must know, now.

“I—it was tough, but it’s…okay now. We’re getting through it.”

“Are you really?” Taylor presses, but she doesn’t sound like she does in interviews when someone tries to dodge a question. She sounds like she cares. Or maybe Buck just wants her to sound like that.

“What did you say when we hooked up? ‘Does it matter’?”

Taylor huffs an amused breath. “What did you say at the bar? That maybe you want me to know you? Did the offer expire?”

And Buck — Buck can’t help but feel weirdly guilty. Guilty that Shannon’s dead and Eddie’s hurting and Buck’s flirting with Taylor in the middle of a grocery store. Guilty that Taylor’s quoting back to him something he said when he was bitter and resentful of Shannon having a place in Eddie’s home that Buck wanted for himself.

But Buck thinks he could tell Taylor about any of those feelings — about even that horrible, selfish relief that it wasn’t Eddie that died that night — and that she wouldn’t judge him. She wouldn’t think any less of him, might even find him more interesting for it. Because she called him — and she wants him — and it’s nice.

Buck’s fingers tighten around his phone and he stares at a box of kale chips as he says, “No. The offer didn’t expire.”

The timing’s off with Shannon’s funeral and the holidays coming up, so Buck promises he’ll call after Christmas and Taylor makes a comment about only waiting for so long, and when Buck hangs up he’s smiling.

And then Shannon’s funeral happens exactly one week before Christmas.

There are, technically, two funerals.

One at a funeral home, where Bobby manages to keep most of the paparazzi away but can’t quite hold off a small crowd that lingers across the street, angling their heads for the perfect view of Eddie mourning his high school sweetheart. Maddie and Karen block as much of Eddie from sight as possible, elbows linked on either side of him, and Buck thinks he might actually become a supervillain if he sees even one Tweet about Maddie and Eddie at this funeral.

Buck, for his part, glares daggers at anyone with a camera in their hands as he brings up the rear with Chim.

Christopher isn’t present, waiting at Eddie’s abuela’s with Carla where they're preparing a second, smaller wake far away from people trying to pay for dinner with a picture of the second worst day of Eddie’s life.

It goes by fast, in a daze, and Buck introduces himself to approximately one million members of Shannon and Eddie’s extended families, stumbling over explanations for why he had such a big role in organizing the funeral of a woman he never met.

“That’s nice of you,” Eddie’s mom says in a tone that implies quite the opposite.

But her attention only lingers on Buck for a second before she’s turning away from him completely, wrapping slim fingers around Eddie’s forearm. Buck has no reason to bristle, but he does.

“Eddie, you know, I spoke to Mr. Nascimento; he has a job open for you at the shop whenever you want. And you know Maria is a real estate agent, and El Paso is —”

“Mom,” Eddie interrupts, and Buck can’t help himself from swaying to the right just enough to press their shoulders together. Helena's eyes catch the movement, sharp-eyed. “I’m not moving back, and I’m not quitting my job.”

Ramon scoffs, derisively. “Your job. This is not a real career, Eddie.”

“Think about Christopher,” Helena begs, and Buck wants nothing more than to take Eddie’s hand and drag him away from this conversation. Eddie’s jaw is clenched so tight that Buck imagines it must hurt.

“I am thinking about Christopher,” Eddie hisses. “I am always thinking about Christopher.”

“Are you?” Helena demands, her voice warm even as Buck’s vision goes briefly red. “You let this woman —”

“That’s enough,” a steady, firm voice says. It takes a second for Buck to realize it’s his voice.

All three Diazes turn to him in surprise, and Buck considers just slowly backing away until everyone forgets he said anything at all, but the look in Eddie’s eyes stops him before the thought can fully form. Because Eddie looks surprised, the quirk of his eyebrows an almost exact replica of his parents, but there’s a soft look in his eyes, something shaped like relief.

Buck knows Eddie, knows him in a way that feels like he’s known him his entire life instead of a year and a half. He knows that Eddie will never ask for help, that he’ll drown before he reaches a hand out for saving. And he knows, suddenly, where he learned that from.

Because Buck spent his childhood begging for his parents’ recognition, but it’s clear that Eddie spent his childhood folding himself small enough to avoid his parents’ attention, trying to fit into the boxes they set out for him, keeping his hands and feet tucked in close so his parents wouldn’t cut them off. And they cut them off anyway.

He told Eddie, months and months ago, that he never had anyone who protected him the way Eddie protects Christopher, and it’s obvious, here at Shannon’s funeral, that Eddie didn’t have anyone to protect him, either.

So Buck squares his shoulders, and he pries his eyes away from Eddie to set a firm look at Eddie’s parents, starting with his father and landing on his mother. “That’s enough,” he repeats, refusing to flinch away from the irritated line of Helena’s mouth. “This is Shannon’s funeral; we’re here to celebrate and respect her life. Not,” he says, and lets just a bit of bite into his tone, enough that Helena’s eyebrows twitch, “to criticize your son. Who, by the way? Is an incredible father, who has done nothing the entire time I’ve known him but break his back to give Christopher everything he could possibly need.”

Ramon opens his mouth, and Buck very suddenly does not want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear this man, who had Eddie Diaz as a son and could find any faults at all, say anything.

Buck slides on his most plastic of smiles, the one he reserves for his least favourite interviewers and studio people, and puts a hand in the centre of Eddie’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and means exactly the opposite, “but Bobby’s looks like he needs saving, and also? I’m kinda hating this conversation.” Eddie snorts, muffling the sound into the back of his wrist, even as his shoulders remain tense like steel. “It was great meeting you both.”

He presses his hand into Eddie’s back until he gets the memo and starts walking, letting Buck steer him away. Bobby does indeed look like he needs saving, his smile growing increasingly strained as one of Shannon’s cousins seems to be showing him headshots on her phone.

“Buck,” Eddie says, once they’re out of earshot from his parents, his voice low and heavy. “Buck, I—” Buck turns to look at him, but Eddie’s expression is completely closed. He shakes his head, like he’s shaking something off, and clears his throat. “Thank you,” is what he lands on, and Buck has to blink against the sudden urge to cry.

“Don’t thank me,” he says, forcing an easy grin. “I was two seconds away from calling your mother a bad name and ruining this entire funeral.”

Eddie throws his head back in a brilliant laugh, one of the first true, deep laughs Buck’s heard from him since Shannon died.

Eddie’s subjected to no less than a dozen hugs between Maddie, Bobby, and Hen, and then Buck and Eddie are driving to Eddie’s abuela’s in Buck’s Jeep for a second, much smaller funeral. This one is just for the closest family, Eddie’s immediate family and Shannon’s sister and best friends. For Christopher.

And, somehow, for Buck.

The backyard’s been done up in gentle fairy lights, with folding tables full of desserts and finger foods, a hand-painted banner hanging over the sliding doors to the backyard that says we love you, mommy in Christopher’s loopy writing. Buck has to bury his face in Christopher’s curls when he sweeps him up into a hug until he can get himself together enough that he won’t start crying in front of Eddie’s parents.

He tries to stick close to Eddie’s side, not above using Christopher as a shield to keep Eddie’s parents at bay. And it works, until one of Shannon’s best friends catches him by the elbow with a teary thank you for all of his help, and Christopher stays at Buck’s side with a hand twisted in the untucked tail of Buck’s button down.

Buck waves off her thanks, insisting it was no trouble at all, and tries not to make it seem like he’s trying to run away, but when he glances over his shoulder Eddie’s got his arms hugged to his chest and his parents are standing across from him with tense expressions.

The thing is: he knows he should let Eddie’s family handle their issues on their own. He knows that he needs to stop inserting himself into the middle of Eddie’s life.

But neither of Eddie’s sisters are here, Adriana in the middle of exams and Sophia’s hands full with her husband’s transplant recovery. They called early this morning while Buck was force feeding both Diazes oatmeal for breakfast, and they had even made Eddie smile for the first time in days when they teased him about throwing up before his first date with Shannon.

But they’re not here now, and Eddie looks so, so small facing off with his parents, and Buck remembers how lonely and horrible it was after Maddie left, when he was all alone in that cold, cold house.

He puts his hand gently in the space between Christopher’s shoulder blades, who looks up at Buck, uncomfortable, in the middle of Shannon’s friend exclaiming over how big he’s gotten. “Hey, Chris, why don’t you go wash your hands and I’ll get you some food, okay?”

Christopher nods, widening his eyes gratefully in a way that looks so much like Eddie that Buck nearly starts to cry, and sets off.

“You’re really great with him,” Shannon’s friend — Nicole, maybe — says, smiling after Chris. “I’m glad he and Eddie have you.”

Buck blinks, pulled briefly away from where he’s staring after Eddie and trying to form an escape plan. There’s a weight to her words, some meaning Buck thinks he’s missing.

He’s pretty sure that Shannon’s friend should hate Buck, is the thing. She should be furious that Buck’s so involved in this life that should have been Shannon’s. She should be pissed that Buck’s the one sending Christopher off to wash his hands and Shannon’s the one who’s dead when it would have been better for Chris if it was the other way around. But she’s smiling at him, slightly teary and softly sincere.

“Um, thank you,” he says because he doesn’t know what else he possibly can. He clears his throat, reaches a hand up to the back of his neck, and takes a step back. Like putting distance between him and that heavy tone will help dissolve all of the complicated feelings he can’t seem to untangle for the life of him. “Uh, speaking of, I should probably rescue Eddie.”

Maybe-Nicole’s gaze follows the gesture Buck makes towards Eddie and his parents’ showdown and wrinkles her nose in sympathy. “Ouch. Yeah, you really should.”

“Don’t. You have no idea who he is,” Eddie’s saying when Buck approaches, and Buck’s hand twitches, mid-way to reaching out for him. Helena's eyes immediately lock onto the movement, the first to notice him, and her mouth turns into a curious frown. Buck drops his hand, curls it into a fist at his side.

“Eddie,” Helena says, mildly. “Maybe we put a pin in this.”

Eddie turns his head, catching sight of Buck finally, and his eyes flash, angry. Buck superimposes it over the sharp, amused heat from the night they met at the bar, and then over the distant annoyance from his standoff with Taylor, and finds that this is something else entirely. This is bitter and furious and close enough that Buck almost takes a step away.

“No, mom,” Eddie snaps, turning back to his mother with that look.

“You will not speak to your mother like that,” Ramon interrupts.

“Why not? You two have no problem at all talking about Shannon like that — at her funeral no less — or talking about Buck like that. So whatever you have to say to me about Buck, go ahead.”

Helena looks to Buck again, a small wrinkle between her eyebrows, before her eyes slide back to Eddie. “Honey, we’re just…worried about you, about what this looks like. This — With this...career you've chosen, your friend planning Shannon’s funeral and spending so much time with Christopher — It's not right, Eddie. It's going to get you in trouble.”

Buck blinks, suddenly regretting every decision he’s ever made. It’s been a long, long time since he’s been talked about like he’s not even there, and he’s forgotten how horrible it is.

And the worst part is, they’re only saying what everyone’s probably been thinking. What Eddie’s probably been thinking, but has been too kind to say when Buck’s been so desperate and lonely the entire time he’s known him.

He sucks in a breath and holds it, pulling together every last bit of his acting ability. He will stand here and he will listen to Eddie agree with his parents and he won’t react at all.

“You’re wrong,” Eddie says, as firm as Buck’s ever heard him, and Buck’s breath leaves him in a rush. “You’re wrong. Buck — he’s done nothing but help and support me. What about that is such a problem?”

Buck’s eyes fall shut for only a second before he’s forcing them open again, irrationally worried that if he has his guard down for too long Eddie’s parents will throw a bag over his head and ship him out of Eddie’s life. He can tell, from the hard line of Helena's eyebrows, that he’s completely failed not to react, but he hadn’t prepared himself for the possibility of Eddie defending the weird place in his and Christopher’s life that Buck’s forced himself into.

“Eddie, you have to think about how it looks,” Helena pleads.

Ramon scoffs, the brittle tone in Helena’s voice spurring him to action. “Christopher needs examples of strong, responsible men in his life. Not your actor friend.”

“I’m an actor,” Eddie reminds them, pointing a finger into his chest with a force that makes Buck want to reach out, wrap Eddie’s tense hand in both of his until he relaxes. Ramon scoffs again, and Eddie makes a frustrated, choked sound. Buck bites the inside of his cheek.

“You were a hero, Eddie,” Ramon says, and Buck’s breath catches in his chest.

Something in Eddie’s expression freezes and then falls away. For a long, long moment no one says anything at all.

“Buck.”

Buck and all three Diazes turn their attention to the back door, where Christopher’s weaving through the last stranglers to approach this horrible little group.

Eddie’s expression finally clears some of that bitter tension, a smile he reserves almost exclusively for Chris sliding into place. It’s gone the second he turns back to his parents.

“Honestly,” he says, and that anger’s been replaced by a cold detachment that makes Buck want to laugh, nearly hysterical. “All today has shown me is that Buck belongs here way more than either of you do. Have a safe flight home.”

Eddie turns and goes after his son to pick him up in a sweeping hug, and Buck stays exactly where he is, standing stupid and awkward and useless.

“It’s nothing personal,” Helena promises, and Buck’s getting very quickly tired of her soft, falsely sincere voice.

He offers himself the gift of imagining Eddie’s mother and his in the same room, imagining Helena's saccharine guilt trips and Margaret’s frigid detachment going head to head. It’s nearly enough to make him laugh.

Buck smiles, but it’s bitter and it feels wrong as it twists his features. “I don’t mean any disrespect, Mrs. Diaz, but I don't care. You might not have a lot of respect for actors, but we’ve got pretty tough skins when it comes to the opinions of people who don't have a clue what they’re talking about.” Helena's mouth parts. Ramon's jaw is a sharp, tense line. “Eddie’s a fantastic parent, the best parent I’ve ever met, but more than that he’s a good person. Hopefully one day you two realize that.”

He joins Eddie and Christopher at the food table without a backward glance, a hand immediately landing on Christopher’s back like he can draw strength from him.

“More!” Christopher crows, giggling, as Eddie widens his eyes playfully and obediently plops another scoop of candied pumpkin onto Christopher’s plate.

It’s more than Chris will be able to eat, and Buck knows he and Eddie will be finishing it off for him in about half an hour. Eddie knows just as well, because he makes a much smaller plate that he shoves into Buck’s hands before he can wave it off and then a similar-sized plate for himself.

They find seats with Pepa and Abuela, who oh and ah over Christopher’s big man sized mound of food. Eddie smiles at Christopher, soft as ever, but Buck can see where the tension still sits in the line of his jaw, in the bounce of his leg. Buck lets his legs fall open until his knee nudges into Eddie’s and, without looking, Eddie presses his knee back, the pressure of the contact warm and grounding.

And finally, Buck can breathe.

Chapter Text

part three.
i've been having strange dreams
seeing ghosts and breaking things
room's on fire as i sit and watch it melt around me
i've been hosting screenings
of slightly altered movie scenes

Buck knows that Eddie loves Christmas.

Eddie’s entire attic cubby is filled with boxes overflowing with Christmas decorations. Buck was there to hold the ladder still when Eddie started taking them out the night of Thanksgiving. But in the days between Shannon’s funeral and Christmas Eve, Eddie is very suddenly Grinch-like.

Not outright — he isn’t cursing the season altogether, he doesn't roll his eyes when Buck puts on All I Want For Christmas is You. Instead, he says nothing at all. He doesn’t argue for a Christmas movie after dinner, and he doesn’t react when Buck unpacks groceries to pull out a box of candy canes and a carton of eggnog. Christopher, who was nearly worse than Eddie before Shannon’s death, is equally quiet.

One day, to test them, Buck says, “I’ve never seen Elf.”

Christopher stares at his food, and Eddie deadpans, “I am shocked,” and no one insists on educating him.

And Buck gets it; he knows that Eddie and Chris were expecting to spend Christmas with Shannon for the first time in years. He knows that it’s easier to ignore it altogether than to deal with the absence her death has left behind.

But it just won’t do.

So on Christmas Eve, he lets himself into Eddie’s house to find a completely empty living room.

It’s decorated, mildly; festive throw pillows on the couch, Eddie’s elaborate tree in the corner, big red bows on the wall above Eddie’s TV. But Buck was there when Eddie pulled down the Christmas boxes, so he knows there’s at least two more boxes worth of random decorative crap that Buck rolled his eyes about at the time, and the tree's dark, when he knows it has at least four rolls of lights wrapped around it.

He sighs and makes a detour to the — empty, dark — kitchen to drop off the bags of groceries he’s brought from his own fridge before making his way down the hall. He sticks his head in the open doorway of Eddie’s bedroom and finds it empty, familiar and cold. He has late night fantasies, when he’s staring at the ceiling of his loft unable to sleep, of plastering Eddie’s walls with pictures of Christopher or posters for What’s Inside You? and Damned Spot, anything to force some personality, some proof of life in Eddie’s room.

He hears a thud and then Christopher’s giggle, and he follows the sound to Christopher’s room across the hall. The door’s cracked open, but he knocks anyway as he pushes it the rest of the way open.

On the floor next to Christopher's bed, Eddie’s rubbing his hip, his face scrunched into a wince. Christopher’s peering over the edge of the bed, laying on his stomach as he continues to laugh. He has one small hand resting on Eddie’s bent knee and his glasses are just a little skewed.

Buck leans against the door frame, smiling softly. He had been preparing for the worst; for Christopher to be irritable and teary, for Eddie to be gruff and grumpy. But he’s not brand new to Diazes, so he knows this is not his un-Grinch-ing ending before it can begin.

“Buck,” Chris cheers, once he pauses in his laughter long enough to notice Buck’s spectre in the doorway.

Eddie’s head rolls in Buck’s direction, a familiar expression of recognition sliding over his features. His eyebrows twitch, and Buck knows his plan’s been caught before he’s said a single word. “Buck, what are you doing here?”

Buck rolls his eyes, because of course Eddie knows exactly what he’s doing here, but will never let anything be easy. He steps over Eddie’s legs, dodging Eddie’s feet as they kick out to trip him, and falls onto the bed next to Christopher. Christopher’s arms immediately come up around Buck’s shoulders, and then Buck’s twining his around Christopher’s waist, lifting him up and against his chest. He feels more than he hears Chris’ giggles, buried in the collar of Buck’s sweater.

Eddie picks himself up off of the ground, wincing and groaning dramatically like he’s fifty-something and not thirty-something before dropping onto Christopher’s other side. Christopher pulls back from Buck only enough to place one hand on Eddie’s knee, connecting Buck to Eddie.

Buck blinks and they’re still there: his best friend, alive and in one piece, and his best friend’s incredible, perfect kid.

Eddie reaches behind Christopher’s back to poke a finger firmly into the meat of Buck’s bicep, and Buck flexes just to make Eddie roll his eyes and laugh. “Answer my question, Buckley.”

“Obviously, I’m here to spend Christmas with my favourite Diaz,” Buck says, tearing his gaze from Eddie to look down at Christopher as he squeezes his shoulders. He drops his voice into a stage whisper and bends his head towards Chris to continue, “We can even let dad join us.”

In the space of a blink, Christopher’s smile turns very quickly complicated, far too complicated for an eight-year-old. Buck’s face falls even before Christopher catches his bottom lip between his teeth and turns to look up at Eddie. Eddie has an almost identical expression, his brow furrowed as his bottom lip tenses. Eddie glances up to meet Buck’s instantly worried eyes and his shoulder twitches, without an answer for Christopher’s sudden shift in mood.

Eddie swallows and places his hand gently against Christopher’s back, nearly spanning the entire width of him. “Hey, bud, remember what we talked about? You gotta tell us how you’re feeling so we know how to make it better.”

Eddie’s father said Christopher needs strong men in his life and Buck knows exactly what Ramon meant — he meant stoic and impenetrable, someone who can handle the worst of the world and keep on going; the exact opposite of what Buck’s been his entire life. He knows because his parents said similar things. Not to Buck, because that would involve talking to him at all, but to neighbours and at dinner parties and to each other over the news.

And it might even work, making yourself too hard to let anything hurt you, but he also knows that Eddie has never wanted that for Christopher. Because after one too many beers or three too many hours on set, when Eddie and Buck are in the safety of Eddie’s kitchen or Buck’s Jeep, Eddie will share in stumbling whispers his worries that he might be toughening up Chris the way his parents did him without even knowing it.

So Buck slides his hand into Christopher’s curls and gives a gentle tug, just enough to make a reluctant smile bloom across his face, and he says, “Whatever you’re feeling is just fine, Chris, and we want to hear it. No matter what it is.”

He’s distantly aware this is a distinctly parental talk — that this is exactly what Eddie’s parents were so worried about — that he’s using “we” an awful lot for someone with absolutely no claim to this kid.

He buries the thought swiftly; Christopher’s the priority right now and Buck has no time or space for a spiral.

Chris sniffles and, before the sound has fully hit the air, Eddie shuffles closer, bracketing Christopher firmly between his body and Buck’s like he might be able to physically protect Christopher from any bad feelings.

“I’m…sad.” He blinks up at Buck first and then slides his gaze to Eddie. “If we just do Christmas like normal it’s gonna be like we’re forgetting mom. It already feels like we’re forgetting her.”

Buck’s eyes fall shut with the blow. He has to keep them closed for a long beat before he’s sure he can open them without crying. He wants to put Christopher in a bubble where nothing can ever hurt him again.

“Oh, buddy,” Eddie breathes, his hand sweeping over Christopher’s hair. The look in his eyes almost makes Buck’s breath catch in his chest, the limitless devotion stifling. “I’m never going to forget your mom, okay? I think about her and I miss her everyday. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise, if I don’t talk about her enough.”

Christopher sniffles again, rubbing the back of his wrist against his nose, but he nods.

“How about this,” Buck says, desperate to ease some of the hurt from both of their faces. “How about we unpack the rest of your dad’s crazy Christmas boxes and, while we do that, you can both tell me all of your favourite stories about your mom, okay? I never got to meet her,” he explains and has to swallow against the sudden urge to cry. Because he wishes that he had. Because he never got to thank her for bringing Christopher into the world. “Um, so I’d like to hear about her.”

He glances away from Christopher’s wide, wet eyes to see Eddie, his jaw clenched. And Buck knows him well enough now to know that tension isn’t anger, but that well-trained instinct to swallow every feeling he’s ever had.

Buck clears his throat and drags his gaze back to Christopher. With some effort, he slides on a teasing grin to say, “And maybe your dad has some embarrassing stories about him and your mom from high school.”

Chris turns wide, excited eyes on Eddie, who tosses his head to the side with a roll of his eyes.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs, already grinning.

Christopher cheers and pushes off Eddie and Buck’s thighs to drop to the floor, reach for his crutches, and take off towards the living room. Buck can’t hold back the grin that splits his face as he stares after him, this perfect kid who’s had such a terrible year.

Eddie’s fingers slide around Buck’s wrist, his thumb pressing into Buck’s pulse point. Buck’s eyes fall to it. He wonders if Eddie can feel it when his heart stutters, stupid and useless.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and Buck’s eyes finally slide to Eddie’s face.

The look he finds there is soft but familiar. Eddie’s looked at him like that a hundred times — like Buck’s the only thing worth looking at — and Buck’s waiting for the day it won’t take his breath away. Waiting for the day he isn’t taken out at the knees by the fact that Buck’s spent the last few years of his life in front of cameras and it’s never felt anything like the warm weight of Eddie’s attention.

“Eddie,” he says back and forces his voice to be mocking, light-hearted.

Eddie’s fingers squeeze around his wrist, his mouth twitching into a smirk. That’s familiar, too. Sometime in the last couple of years, Buck blinked, and suddenly Eddie Diaz was the most familiar person on the planet.

“Thank you,” he says, slow, so Buck has no choice but to hear it. “I know you think that…that I’m doing you some kind of favour by letting you be in our lives. And I know that what my parents said is still bothering you. But you’re wrong, and my parents were wrong.” Eddie looks down, his eyes tracking the movement as his thumb sweeps, slowly, over the delicate bones of Buck’s wrist. “I want you here, because you’re…I just want you here. So — So, don’t doubt your place here, because it’s yours for as long as you want it. Okay?”

Buck — Buck nods, because there's nothing else to do, and tries not to look like he’s about to cry. Tries not to look like he doesn’t believe him.

Eddie’s hand leaves Buck’s wrist — it burns, where he’s touched — and lands on Buck’s shoulder, a shove. Buck laughs, wetly, as he lets himself be rocked to the side. “I need you to say it. I’m not gonna let you spend Christmas sitting with all of that crap in your head, just like you were never gonna let Christopher and I spend Christmas ignoring Shannon’s ghost.”

Buck laughs, and the sound fills all of the spaces in his chest where Eddie’s reached in and rearranged things. “Oh-kay,” he says, rolling his eyes. Eddie shakes his head, that crinkly-eyed grin in place as he waves his hand for Buck to elaborate. “Okay,” he says again, “I’ll wait until December 26th to be damaged.”

Thirty seconds later, Christopher walks in to shout at them to hurry up, a set of reindeer antlers on his head, and finds Eddie holding Buck in a loose-gripped headlock, fingers tugging at Buck’s gel-free hair. Chris stands in the doorway and puts on a stern, distinctly Eddie-Diaz-Parenting look that has Eddie and Buck obediently on their feet and on their way to the living room, effectively scolded, even as they laugh and push and poke at each other.

Eddie pulls out the rest of his boxes, and Christopher helps Buck set the oven up with a batch of holiday cookies, and Buck puts on a Christmas playlist softly in the background. And Christopher and Eddie talk about Shannon.

Chris talks about the voices she used to put on for his bedtime stories and the way she always picked a flower for him whenever they passed a public garden and how she used to blast Destiny’s Child and Spice Girls through the house while she made dinner.

And at Christopher and Buck’s combined puppy dog eyes, Eddie talks about being her lab partner in science, how it was his favourite class but she made him so nervous he kept messing up so badly that she must have thought he was an idiot. He talks about the dance classes she dragged him to, the ones he thought he’d hate but ended up liking. He talks about their first Christmas together, before Chris, when they were too broke to buy anything for each other, so they wrapped random things they found around the apartment.

And Buck collects these facts about this woman he never met, but who was so so important to two of his favourite people in the world, and he builds a box in his chest to store them.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says, not even looking up as he pulls yet another set of string lights from the box in front of him. “Can you check my room? I think there’s another box in my closet.”

“How?” Buck demands, even as he backs away from where he’s been meticulously lining Eddie’s walls with more of those big red bows. He knows even as he does it that Eddie will be re-arranging them, probably before Buck’s even gone.

“It’s called having taste, Buckley,” Eddie calls at Buck’s retreating back. “Look it up.”

There is, in fact, another box in Eddie’s closet. Buck only has to push aside three hangers, each containing henleys in only slightly different shades of green, to reveal an open box, teetering precariously on top of the long boxes that Eddie hides his comic books away in. The box is, thankfully, only half full of Eddie’s ridiculous throw pillows. But, at the very top, there’s a sprig of mistletoe wrapped in a red ribbon.

Buck plucks the mistletoe from the box, turns it over in his hands. And it’s Christmas, so he offers himself the gift of imagining a different reality, one where he tapes the mistletoe to the kitchen door frame and catches Eddie under it. In this reality, Eddie’s ex-girlfriend hasn’t just died, so Buck can indulge himself in the phantom feeling-memory of Eddie’s mouth against his.

He blinks and he’s back in his reality, the one where Shannon’s dead and he and Eddie have already used up their lifetime’s share of kisses. But it’s December 24th, and he can be sad and pathetic on December 26th.

He shoves the mistletoe deep in his pocket and carries the box out to where Eddie and Christopher are laughing as they untangle a knot of lights.

On December 27th, Buck finally texts Taylor to set up a date.

He suggests dinner the next day, but Taylor claims to be busy for the rest of the year and instead invites him to a New Year’s Eve party. Buck tries not to assume she’s paying him back for making her wait and just about manages it.

He’s working on giving her the benefit of the doubt, on shedding that instinct that made him snap no comment into the receiver of his phone when she first called, so he cancels on Athena and Bobby’s party, receiving a set of raised eyebrows from Athena and a soft, kind smile from Bobby.

He receives a much more complicated reaction from Chris.

“You’re coming to Abuelita’s for New Year’s, right?” Christopher asks, only a couple of days before the party. There's a plate of chicken parm in front of him, a recipe Bobby sent him to try out.

Buck turns to Eddie, a forkful of chicken halfway to his mouth, and raises his eyebrows. “You’re not going to Bobby’s?”

Eddie pauses, glancing up for the first time since Buck set the plate in front of him and Eddie started shovelling food into his mouth. He shakes his head and presses the back of his hand against his mouth as he swallows. “No, uh — wanted to spend it with Chris and, well. Anyway, Abuela loves New Year’s. You’re obviously invited, but if you want to go Bobby’s that’s fine.”

“Dad,” Chris whines, like it’s actually not fine at all. Buck turns a grin on Christopher, reaching forward to tug on a curl just to make Chris laugh.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, sliding his hand onto Christopher’s shoulder and squeezing. “I’ve got plans for New Year’s. But, hey, I’ll come by the next day and we can make dinner together, whatever you want.”

Christopher pouts, over dramatic like his father, but accepts Buck’s trade and returns to his food.

And Eddie waits until Christopher disappears into his room and Eddie and Buck are left washing the dishes side by side at the kitchen sink to question him further.

“You said plans,” Eddie comments, swiping a floral towel over the plate Buck hands him, “but it didn’t sound like you meant Bobby’s party.”

Buck glances up from the sink to send Eddie a look, all raised eyebrows, teasing smirk. “Was there a question in there, Diaz?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but his mouth twists into a familiar smile. “Are you going to Bobby’s or not, asshole?”

“Rude,” Buck says, laughing as he returns his attention to the dish he has between two pink-gloved hands. “I’m not going to Bobby’s. I’m, uh, I’ve got a date. With Taylor.”

Buck doesn’t look up in the beat of silence that follows his confession, unwilling to bear witness to whatever Eddie’s face is doing. He doesn’t know what would be worse: seeing Eddie jealous, or seeing him completely unaffected. Buck swallows.

“Wow,” Eddie says, finally, and the dry tone is enough to make Buck’s attention jerk back to him. He’s smirking, teasing. “Are we about to meet Buck 2.0?”

Buck laughs, rolling his eyes and shoving a newly cleaned plate at Eddie’s chest. “Shut up. It’s at least 3.0 at this point, I think.”

Eddie laughs back at him, and he sounds completely normal. Buck tells himself to leave well enough alone, that it’s good that Eddie isn’t saying anything about Buck seeing Taylor. Because Eddie’s his best friend and that’s what best friends do.

“You’re really okay with this? You hate Taylor Kelly.”

Buck’s never been any good with impulse control.

“I don’t hate Taylor Kelly,” Eddie argues, eyebrows pinched, affronted. Buck channels Maddie and sets an expectant set of eyebrows in Eddie’s direction. Eddie, middle child extraordinaire, remains unmoved under its weight for an impressive stretch of time before rolling his eyes. “Fine. I…dislike Taylor Kelly. But why does that matter? I don’t have to go on the date with her.”

Buck works his jaw, his gaze skittering away from Eddie’s face to watch his pink gloves slide over Eddie’s light blue dishes.

He doesn’t know how to say Eddie’s opinion matters to him at least as much as Maddie’s. That if Eddie said he didn’t want Buck to see Taylor he’d cancel the date right now, and it wouldn’t be because of that not-completely-insignificant part of him that never really walked away from their trailer hookup. Buck might still — want, sometimes, when he lets his guard down for too long, but more than that he respects Eddie. If Eddie said he didn’t think Taylor was right for him, Buck would believe him implicitly, the same way he would Maddie or Bobby or Hen.

But it's different for them, and Buck knows it, and Eddie knows it, and they continue not to say anything about the giant fucking elephant that sits in the corner of their friendship.

Eddie sighs and then he’s setting a dry plate in its intended cupboard, gently lowering the plate Buck’s holding back into the sink, and using damp hands on Buck’s waist to turn him until Buck has no choice but to give Eddie his full attention.

“Buck, it doesn’t matter what I think about Taylor. Because — and don’t tell anybody this — but I think pretty damn highly of you, so if for whatever reason you like her, that’s enough for me.” Eddie’s eyes squint briefly as he tilts his head, his mouth pursing and his shoulders rising into a shrug. “Maybe we just don’t do any double dates.”

Buck tosses his head back in a laugh, the split-second image of Eddie and Taylor staring each other down across a dinner table nearly enough to send him into hysterics. “Double dates? Does that mean we’ve got an Eddie 2.0 on the way?”

His mind’s conception of this imaginary double-date leaves the seat next to Eddie empty for no reason at all.

Eddie’s eyes narrow into a heatless glare a second before he’s splashing soapy sink water in Buck’s direction.

And two days later, Buck finds himself at a New Year’s Eve party with Taylor Kelly.

She’s gorgeous in a forest green slip dress and black heels that put the top of her head just past Buck’s shoulder, her red hair in an elaborate updo that reminds Buck uncomfortably of the What’s Inside You? wrap party. She showed up at Buck’s loft an hour ahead of schedule to supervise Buck’s getting ready process, so Buck’s in a similarly green patterned silk button-up tucked loosely into a tight pair of black jeans.

The party itself is loud and sprawling, spilling out of the towering Hollywood Hills mansion and into the backyard with its obscene infinity pool and outdoor bar and approximately one million celebrities.

It’s exactly the kind of party pre-Abby Buck would have ditched Bobby’s small, family-only get-together for. He tries not to consider his presence here a step backwards and mostly succeeds.

Taylor drags him around by the hand, introducing him to her fellow reporter friends (or possibly enemies; it’s hard to tell), some celebrities she’s grown particularly attached to throughout her career, and even a small group of models that grip Taylor in overly familiar hugs. Buck does his best to remember names, never letting his movie-star grin slip.

And every time he thinks he’s out of his depth and out of practice — every time he lets his mind wander to Eddie and Christopher, well fed and enjoying themselves at Abuela's — Taylor turns to him with a wide, toothy grin or slides a hand into his back pocket or presses him into a living room wall full of awards for some producer Buck’s never heard of and kisses him breathless until Buck stops thinking altogether.

He loses her at some point, one of those models dragging her away by the hand and shouting over her shoulder that she’ll return his girl to him soon before she disappears into the crowd.

It’s instantly harder without Taylor at his side. He knows at least a third of the people at this party, the product of his Buck 1.0 phase, but it’s been well over two years since he talked to most of them and he’s at most pleasantly buzzed while most of the people around him are at least cross-faded.

He escapes to the kitchen, which is not actually any quieter than the rest of the house but has a veggie tray that he spends a pathetic twenty minutes picking at while a musician he’s pretty sure May’s obsessed with talks Buck’s ear off about the fluidity of gender expression and sexuality in Hollywood, pupils blown wide.

“It’s like,” the guy says, gesturing with hands full of chunky rings. Buck wonders, idly, if he could pull off rings like that and decides very quickly that the answer is a firm no. “It’s like, sometimes you just have to suck a dick, you know what I mean?”

Buck chokes on a bite of cucumber, a flush immediately rising to his cheeks. He remembers, unbidden, Eddie laughing as he said it’s really nice of you to think I would last even a fucking second if you put your mouth on my dick right now.

“Uh, yeah, man. I know what you mean.”

The guy beams at him, nodding seriously like Buck’s just said something incredibly profound, and Buck very suddenly can’t be here anymore.

He finds his way to one of the bathrooms on the second floor, miraculously empty, and is just about to close the door behind him when Taylor slides in. She’s grinning, cheeks flushed, and she’s lost her dress somewhere to reveal a bright red bikini. The tips of her hair are dripping pool water on the bathroom tile.

Before Buck can adjust to the new situation, she brushes his hand away from the bathroom door knob and closes it gently herself, turning so she can rest her back against it.

“Hi, stranger,” she says — purrs — and reaches a hand out to tug him closer with a finger curled around one of his belt loops.

Buck steps forward, his hand coming up to rest against the door next to Taylor’s head. It’s easy — easier than he anticipated it might be — to slide into flirty-Buck, to grin down at Taylor and duck his head to capture her mouth in a slow, thorough kiss. It’s easy, and even fun, and when her hands land on his belt buckle he almost lets her.

But he remembers standing in an empty storage closet with his pants undone, alone after Taylor ducked away, and he remembers hating it.

He takes a step back, gently brushing Taylor’s hands away. “Taylor,” he says, smiling as he places her hands at her sides. “I told you, I’m a changed man.”

Taylor rolls her eyes, grinning as she tilts her head back against the door with a laugh. “Ugh, come on, Evan,” she says, but keeps her hands to herself. “You can’t be that changed.”

“Buck,” he corrects, softly. “People in my life call me Buck.”

“I know,” Taylor says, narrowing her eyes at him. “What do girls that you hook up with call you?”

This is where Buck, two or three years ago, might share the Firehose nickname his co-star on Jump/Fall gave him after an incident with a fire hydrant and Buck losing his pants, and then say something ridiculous like wanna see for yourself?

The Buck of right now shakes his head. “Taylor. I don’t want to just hook up.”

“God, relax,” she says, rolling her eyes. A smile tugs at her mouth to soften the blow. “You take everything so seriously.” Buck almost laughs, almost wants to pull out his phone and call Chim or Bobby and make her say that again. “We’re young and really hot and our jobs are stressful enough as it is. This doesn’t have to be life or death, this can just be…us having fun.”

Buck breathes out. He thinks about all of those months where all he did was have fun and how empty and hollow he was at the end of the day.

He brings a hand up to brush a damp curl out of Taylor’s face and leaves it resting gently on the curve of her cheek. “What if I want something fun and serious?”

Taylor catches her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyebrows coming briefly together in the middle of her forehead. Buck watches as her eyes dart over his features like she’s searching for something. Finally, her expression clears, and the flirty smirk slides back into place.

“Okay,” she says, laughing. “Okay, we can do both, if we must.” Her hands return to his belt buckle and tug. “But can we work on the serious part tomorrow? A girl’s got needs here.”

Buck laughs, his head ducking as he falls a step forward, crowding Taylor against the door. If Taylor can give him serious, then Buck can give her fun. He reaches behind her to pull the strand of her bikini loose and stops thinking.

The new year is instantly hectic, Buck with virtually back-to-back auditions and Taylor stopping by his apartment late at night and leaving early in the morning and a dozen other things that keep him so busy he nearly forgets all about Damned Spot press.

He has to do a double take when he passes by his whiteboard calendar on his way to walk Taylor out in the early hours of the morning and sees DS PRESS in his own familiar handwriting with a long arrow through the following week. It feels like it was both only a week and also several years ago that he was sliding into Carter Anthony’s hurt, that he was screaming himself hoarse at Eddie and pressing trembling hands to his bloodied chest and —

He nearly forgot, is the point, but he quickly finds himself on interview sets and YouTube studios and morning talk shows, sometimes by himself but mostly with Eddie and Maddie.

They sit in a line in front of a backdrop with their movie poster on it, Buck trying and failing not to scowl when interviewers make lighthearted jokes about the Maddie-Eddie rumours. They peel tape off of Google autocorrect results for their names, Eddie only offering yes or no answers but mostly encouraging people to Google something else while Buck and Maddie laugh. They sit in a row on a couch far too early in the morning across from clinically perky morning show hosts, Eddie barely keeping his eyes open while Buck and Maddie tease him.

It’s maybe the easiest press experience Buck's had in his entire career, any of his boredom or irritation at answering the same four questions again and again instantly soothed by Eddie’s snark and Maddie’s charm.

Their week of press ends with a two-day press junket at a hotel downtown where Athena and the studio have invited dozens of press outlets and scheduled Buck, Maddie, and Eddie for back-to-back interviews in eight-hour blocks. They're split up into interviews of every configuration: solo, every pairing, even the full trio.

It’s the first junket for all three of them, and Buck tries not to blanch at the schedule — a two-sided paper filled with colour-coded tables and big bold lettering — when Athena hands it to him.

It’s clear he’s failed — and that Maddie and Eddie with their sudden, steely silences haven’t done much better — when Athena pauses the breakdown of the day she’s been monologuing at them for the past twenty minutes.

“You’ll all be fine,” she promises with the ease of someone who has actually done one of these before. “You don’t have to memorize everything; Malorie and other PAs will be there to herd you in the right direction. You just have to smile and answer questions. I said smile, Eddie.”

Eddie’s scowl deepens.

Athena rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry; it’ll be going too fast for any of you to have the chance to lose your minds.” It’s not as reassuring as Athena probably means it to be. “Now, like I was saying…”

It does, as Athena promised, go entirely too fast for Buck to have any thoughts that aren’t don’t spoil the movie, don’t snap about Maddie/Eddie being fake, don’t spoil the movie, don’t talk about Christopher, don’t spoil the movie. He smiles, and he elbows Eddie when he’s close enough to notice Eddie’s mouth dipping into a scowl, and he answers the same three questions approximately one billion times over, and he puts one foot in front of the other.

Until they get to their — tenth? or eleventh? — interview of the day, sitting across from a girl at least four years younger than Buck with a shaggy haircut and an eyebrow piercing that makes Buck wonder, idly, if he could pull off. It’s one of the rare ones with all three of them, so Maddie’s sitting close enough to swat his arm when his eyes linger on the piercing for a beat too long.

“Don’t think about it,” she hisses, while Eddie gets his mic pack switched out.

“Think about what?” Eddie asks.

“Getting my eyebrow pierced,” Buck answers, rubbing his arm just to be dramatic.

Eddie’s head jerks in Buck’s direction with wide, very suddenly dark eyes that land somewhere around Buck’s birthmark. His tongue darts out, licks his lips. Buck’s spine straightens. In Buck’s peripheral, Maddie’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Um,” Eddie says.

“Five seconds,” a woman behind the camera announces, tucking a clipboard under her arm and gesturing at the crew.

Eddie shakes his head, expression suddenly clear and closed. Maddie mouths wow at her lap. Buck tries not to pass out.

The interview starts. It’s same-old, same-old for the first minute, bright introductions and heavy-handed nods to the film and canned pleasantries about filming. Buck and Eddie clarify, again, that there’s no feud; Maddie and Eddie clarify, again, that there’s no showmance; Maddie and Buck gush, again, that they love working together.

And then the interviewer — Molly — smiles, shifts her cards around, and says, “So, Eddie, you were in the army before you started acting, right?”

Buck tenses, instinctively, though he doesn’t let his relaxed smile twitch. Eddie, for his part, doesn’t react at all.

“That’s right,” he confirms. “I did two tours in Afghanistan. Is that relevant to the film?”

Molly’s mouth parts, briefly stunned. Buck can’t help it; he laughs. Shoving Eddie's shoulder, Maddie echos Buck's laugh as she says, “Down, boy.”

“Ignore him,” Buck says, setting an extra wide grin in Molly’s direction. He spares a moment to thank God, or someone, that Athena’s too busy to be hovering right now. “He’s like, three coffees behind the rest of us.”

Molly laughs, but it’s weak and a little awkward. “Oh, that’s — fine. I only meant, um, that you had a different career. Before acting. And Maddie, you did stage acting in London, but before that, you were a nurse, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Maddie confirms, her movie-star grin in place. “I loved nursing and I would love to go back to it one day.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Molly gushes, and her smile becomes more stable. “I was just going to ask — since Evan, you worked all kinds of odd jobs before acting, and Maddie and Eddie, you had pretty serious careers — if for some reason you couldn’t act anymore, what would you be doing right now? Maddie, you’ve got nursing, but what about you two?”

Buck meets Eddie’s eye and he remembers Eddie saying I was going to be a firefighter, the way it hit Buck like a punch. He realizes, belatedly, that he never told Eddie that he was going to be one, too. He’s never talked about it, not in interviews or anywhere online, the hurt of it too fresh at the time.

Forcing his features into something lazy and charming, entirely devoid of the truth, he turns back to Molly and says, “I was actually going to be a firefighter.” In his peripheral, he sees both Eddie and Maddie turn to him with wide eyes. “I even got into the academy, but I had this motorcycle accident — messed up my leg really bad — and I had to quit. It was actually while I was recovering that my roommate got me some extra work and now, here we are.” He gestures, his grin still in place, and refuses to let his mind touch any of the horrible, swirling hurt and bitter resentment from that time of his life. Not now. “But yeah, if I had to stop acting, I think I might give firefighting another try.”

“Wow,” Molly says, and there’s a hungry look in her eye that Buck knows means she’s thinking about how many retweets they’re going to get when they clip out that answer. “Firefighter Buckley! We’d love to see it. And you, Eddie?”

Buck forces himself to look in Eddie’s direction and finds Eddie already looking back at him, something complicated in the set of his eyebrows. Buck doesn’t let himself dissect anything, doesn’t want to know what he might find.

Maddie knocks the side of her foot into Eddie’s when he’s silent for too long, and Eddie drags his gaze back to Molly, clearing his throat. “Uh, same. I’d be a firefighter.”

Molly laughs, and Maddie makes a joke about Eddie and Buck being attached at the hip, and the interview continues.

Buck’s very suddenly grateful for the break-neck speed of the day when the interview finishes and there’s immediately another one for Buck to be at, a solo one for each of them now. He’s already on his feet and heading toward — well, he’s not really sure, a PA hasn’t found him yet — when Eddie stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Buck, wait,” he says, tugging until Buck’s forced to face him. His jaw is tense, but Buck can tell that he’s trying to put his words in order, not angry or awkward or insecure.

A PA appears at their side with a clipboard and Eddie scowls at them, insisting on just one second, until they slowly back away.

“Eddie, come on, we’ve got like — a thousand more interviews,” Buck says, pulling his wrist out of Eddie’s grip. He doesn’t — he can’t have this conversation right now.

Eddie shakes his head, holding steady. “Just — you were gonna be a firefighter, too?”

Buck swallows and — well, he’s never been able to deny Eddie anything. “Yes,” he answers, almost breathless, and isn’t that stupid. “It, uh, wasn’t really a good time to share. That night, I mean.”

Eddie’s eyes flash, suddenly dark as they dip towards Buck’s mouth and that’s — God, Buck really can’t do this right now. Buck has a girlfriend now, who is beautiful and smart and driven and who wants him out loud.

“Right,” Eddie confirms. “I —”

“Eddie Diaz, are you scaring my interns?” Malorie snaps, approaching them and brandishing her iPad like a weapon. Behind her, the PA from earlier pretends to be looking anywhere else.

“Maybe you gotta get tougher interns, Mal,” Eddie says, his tone light and teasing, even as his jaw remains a tight line.

Malorie shakes her head, grumbling under her breath about not being paid enough, and swats at Eddie’s side with her iPad until he gets the memo and follows the shaky intern to his next interview. Eddie spares only one glance, heavy and indecipherable, over his shoulder. It makes something in Buck twist up tight.

He doesn’t put up a fight when Malorie shoves him in the direction of his next interview. He takes all of the painful memories he hasn’t touched in years — the phantom feeling of the heavy gear and the pleasant burn of his muscles after a long day of training and the agony of his accident, his recovery — and he packs them tightly up, right back to where they belong in the deepest corner of his mind.

Maybe in another life, he would have been a firefighter, and he would have saved lives every day and maybe he still would have met Eddie. Maybe he’d still be working right beside him. But it didn’t work out. And he loves acting, no matter what anyone has to say about it, and he found Eddie anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

So he shoves it all aside and he aims bright smiles at interviews and he answers questions and somewhere else in the very same room, so do Eddie and Maddie. And it's enough.

Buck finishes his interviews for the day first and picks his way through the dozens of temporary sets in search of Maddie or Eddie.

It was an important enough day that Athena had them all picked up, bright and early, so Buck’s without his trusty Jeep and instead at the mercy of a car service. He’s hopeful, at least, that he can share with Maddie or Eddie or both and avoid his loft for another few hours at either of their places.

He finds Eddie first, mid-interview near the end of the line.

And in the chair across from him, Taylor shuffles cards in her hands.

Buck stops in his tracks, nearly tripping a poor intern who sprints by with an armful of coffees. He shouldn’t, he knows, be surprised to find Taylor here. She’s a reporter, and even if her name didn’t appear anywhere on Buck’s schedule, that only means Bobby told Athena about his new relationship and she decided not to risk her film press by putting Buck in front of a camera with the woman he’s currently seeing.

But it’s shocking, regardless, to see Eddie and Taylor in the same setting. He has the insane urge to step in between them, to call the interview off entirely.

It doesn’t look like it’s going well, is the thing.

Taylor’s got her reporter face on, but it’s tight and overly plastic, and Eddie’s smiling, but it looks distinctly shark-like. Buck can’t hear what they’re saying, too far away, but he knows from the line of Taylor’s eyebrows, the squint of Eddie’s eyes, that it’s at least 80% passive-aggressive barbs.

Eddie’s eyebrows twitch. Taylor’s smile twists. Jesus.

Buck has the absolutely batshit crazy thought that this must have been what it was like for Abby when they ran into her ex-boyfriend at an award show, and then promptly considers faking his own death.

He’s in the middle of figuring out the details — he really should have watched Gone Girl when Chimney told him to, instead of just reading the Wikipedia summary — when the interview ends. A hysterical laugh bubbles in his throat as Eddie and Taylor’s smiles drop in unison, Taylor immediately rolling her eyes and Eddie glaring in return.

Buck thinks about hiding behind a potted plant or making a run for it before either of them can spot him, and then ultimately decides he doesn’t actually want his best friend and his girlfriend to kill each other in the middle of approximately one billion camera crews. So he forces out a sigh and reaches deep inside himself to find a pleasant smile.

“Everyone’s playing nice over here, right?” he asks as he approaches, light and teasing.

His instinct is to sling an arm over Taylor’s narrow shoulders, but his arm twitches and stalls halfway through the movement, and he shoves his hands in his pockets instead. Eddie and Taylor are too busy glaring at each other to notice.

“Yup,” Eddie says, clipped and not very nice at all.

“We had a super fun time,” Taylor agrees, baring all of her teeth in something that someone might, technically, classify as a smile.

Buck glances pleadingly at the ceiling and is, unfortunately, not abducted by aliens. He forces his smile to be bigger, brighter, when he looks back to where Eddie and Taylor are still trying to kill each other with their eyes.

“Great,” he says, tightly. And then, because it’s been a long day and he’s tired and if he doesn’t focus on anything for too long his bad leg starts to ache and also he’s feeling kind of left out of this passive aggressive showdown, he says, “How about the three of us grab dinner then?”

Eddie and Taylor turn to Buck as one, wearing matching expressions of abject horror. Buck thinks he’s allowed the vindictive pleasure at the sight.

Eddie reads Buck’s expression for what it is a second before Taylor does, and ducks his head, almost like he’s embarrassed.

Taylor, who Buck’s not sure has ever been embarrassed in her entire life, raises her chin stubbornly. “Sorry, babe,” she says, which might be the first time she’s called him that, “but I have a few more hours of work left. You should come by mine later.” There is absolutely no mistaking what later will entail, not with the way her voice dips or the way her fingers curl around the front of his shirt.

Buck won’t look at Eddie, not if you paid him, but from his peripheral, he can just barely make out Eddie’s tense jaw.

Taylor takes a step closer to Buck, the toes of her red pumps barely brushing his sneakers, rises up on her tiptoes and then she’s kissing him, longer and more thorough than is probably appropriate for being in the middle of a conversation. When she finally pulls away, her eyes slide in Eddie’s direction, her fingers wiggling in a wave, and then she's turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd, her phone already pressed to her ear.

Buck’s shoulders slump. He can’t help but feel like he just acted his way through a scene where everyone had the script but him.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, finally turning his gaze to Eddie. He's staring stubbornly at his feet, steel in the set of his shoulders. “What happened in that interview?”

Eddie’s hand reaches for the back of his neck, rubbing along the visibly tense line of muscle. “I’m sorry,” he says, finally meeting Buck’s eyes with a wince. “I know I said I’d — whatever, play nice — and I wouldn’t make any trouble for you, so I’m sorry. I — look, if you just let me get really drunk I can probably apologize to her.”

“I — what, apologize to her? What did you do?”

Eddie shakes his head, his hand falling from his neck to gesture at absolutely nothing. Buck realizes, suddenly, that he’s frustrated. He sees it so rarely, Eddie so good at brushing things off or burying them deep, that it wasn’t obvious right away.

“Nothing, or — I don’t know. I was already tired of the interviews and she asked some dumb question about our feud and…jealousy and —” He cuts himself off, shaking his head again before meeting Buck’s eyes. “It just went downhill from there. I’m sorry, I know you like her, so I swear I’ll try harder.”

Buck’s fight leaves him in a rush, very suddenly exhausted. “Look — it’s fine. I know Taylor can be…abrasive and I’m well aware of how easy it is to wind you up.” Eddie blinks, his eyebrows dropping in sudden indignation. Buck raises his eyebrows back; Eddie rolls his eyes, giving in. “So, it’s fine. I knew you two weren’t going to be BFFs right away or maybe ever. Let’s — let's just find Maddie.”

Eddie’s jaw works for a moment, a furrow in his eyebrows like he’s working up to something, but ultimately all he does is nod. Buck thinks about pushing. He swallows it back and leads them after Maddie.

He doesn’t think he wants to know.

Buck sees Eddie less and less, but he sees Taylor more and more. It’s not on purpose.

Eddie’s busy in his own right, with a near constant stream of auditions and meetings that he doesn’t talk about. When he does see him, Buck tries to push him on it, well aware that Eddie’s trying to fill his time with distractions so he doesn’t think too much about Shannon’s absence and Christopher’s new therapist, but Eddie only brushes him off.

They manage an hour or two here and there where they watch movies with Christopher and check out special exhibits at museums.

And then they’re contractually obligated to spend an entire evening together when Damned Spot premieres.

They sit next to each other in the dark theatre and, for every scene, he can remember how tense and worried he was beforehand, how relieved and tired he was afterwards. He remembers every late night shoot, and the way Maddie’s eyes would get complicated and sad, and the way Eddie’s jawline never seemed to relax. He remembers laughing during his fight scene with Eddie, the one they needed a dozen takes to get right, remembers the way stepped into Eddie’s space and said wanna go for the title? and the way he had to angle hips away from him when they hugged afterward.

He holds his breath during the shooting scene, flinches in his seat when the gunshot rings out. He watches himself on the screen, the horrible desperate look in his eyes, the way the blood splatters his face and covers his hands. He remembers the feeling of the blood bag under his palms, remembers that it wasn’t real, but he remembers that it felt real.

Eddie’s hand lands on his knee, dragging Buck’s attention away from the screen. It’s barely visible in the dark of the theatre, but Buck can feel every single point of contact like a brand. Eddie’s fingers squeeze. Buck remembers the haunted look in Eddie’s eyes, the way he stuttered when he told Buck about being shot in Afghanistan. Buck slides his hand over Eddie’s, curling his fingers under Eddie’s palm until Eddie flips his hand and lets their fingers intertwine. Buck’s hand burns. He remembers the feeling of Eddie’s hand in his hair and —

And Buck sees Eddie less and less and Taylor more and more.

They hide away in his loft where Taylor brings takeout and Buck tells her stories with Christopher carefully edited out of them until Taylor stops him with a kiss. Taylor rolls out of bed seconds after sex to send an email and Buck loses 2.4% body fat in a month, exercising every time his chest fills with bitter, inexplicable rage.

It’s not like Abby, Buck thinks whenever he wants to dig up graves: he doesn’t spend most of his days thinking about when he might see her again; he doesn’t buy out a flower stand just because; he doesn’t fill his Instagram with lengthy captions about her. He, really, doesn’t talk about her much at all, certainly not in public, Taylor clear about not wanting a public relationship with an actor to damage her credibility.

(“I want to do serious journalism,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Maybe if I wanted a job at TMZ, then parading around with former fuck boy Evan Buckley would be a good career move.” She softens the blow with a grin, a wrinkle of her nose, and Buck laughs and kisses her until he can remember what he likes about her.)

It’s good, it’s fine. It’s realistic.

And if Buck can’t help hoping for his romantic confession in the rain, for the music to swell and the frame to linger, then that’s on him. He’s not a romance hero, he only plays one on TV.

But he can’t quite pretend he doesn’t miss Eddie.

So, he’s practically giddy when they finally make the time to go on a run.

It’s been months since they managed to squeeze one in, but Eddie texts him early one morning — Busy? — just as Buck’s kissing Taylor goodbye at the door, and an hour later he’s showing up at Buck’s door in familiar running clothes.

Buck nearly skips as they make familiar loops of his neighbourhood, excited to finally be running alongside Eddie again, their elbows knocking together as they goad each other into going faster and faster. It’s like he didn’t realize he was missing Eddie so much until he was with him again, laughing and joking and just existing as easy as fucking breathing. Easier.

Except, he realizes sometime in the middle of their run, that Eddie’s not touching him. Buck’s doing the touching, knocking his elbow into Eddie's and crowding into his space with a teasing grin, but Eddie keeps his hands stubbornly to himself.

And Buck can’t really say hey, platonic best friend of mine, why aren’t you touching me, so he forces the furrow in his brow to smooth and says nothing at all. It’s not a big deal, he assures himself, Eddie probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing anything different.

It mostly works.

And then Bobby calls him, interrupting Buck’s impending spiral.

“Hey, Bobby,” he says, panting into the receiver as he and Eddie slow to a stop. “What’s up?”

Bobby’s amused huff of breath is barely audible over the pounding in Buck’s ears. It’s been too long since he and Eddie ran together, and he’s fallen out of practice in keeping up with him. “Please tell me I’m not interrupting something I don’t want to be.”

Buck chokes on a laugh, bending at the waist to rest a hand on his knee. A foot away, Eddie’s eyebrows raise. “No, I’m with Eddie — running with Eddie,” he corrects, quickly.

“Oh, perfect.”

Buck’s eyebrows spike upwards, and Eddie’s drop in question.

“Perfect?” he repeats. “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” Bobby says, laughing. “Unless there’s something I don’t know about?”

“Not on my end,” Buck promises. He puts his phone on speaker and holds it between them. “Hey, Eds, have you done anything lately that Bobby should know about?” And then, because he’s a glutton for punishment, he leans over to nudge his shoulder into Eddie’s.

Eddie ducks his head, laughs, and takes a step away. Buck thinks about calling his therapist something like two years after the last time he had a session.

“No,” he says, deadpan. “I’m the perfect client.”

Bobby gives one sharp bark of laughter. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “Except that I’m calling Buck now so he can convince you to say yes to something.”

Buck laughs, even as Eddie dramatically rolls his eyes, too busy chugging water to defend himself. “What is it?” Buck says.

“No,” Eddie says, the second Bobby’s finished answering. “There’s no way I’m doing that.”

A week later, Eddie follows Buck into the interview anyway.

It’s a brightly lit studio in a familiar building downtown, a white table set up in front of a teal backdrop, surrounded by lighting and sound and camera equipment.

At Buck’s elbow, Eddie scowls, because in the centre of the white table are two plastic jugs that say THIRST TWEETS.

“I cannot believe you talked me into this,” Eddie hisses as they get herded toward the table and hooked up with mic packs.

Buck laughs. He honestly can’t believe he talked Eddie into this, either.

Eddie peeks, brows pinched, into one of the jugs like there’s something dangerous hiding in them, and groans.

“One day,” he says, glaring in Buck’s direction, “you-know-who is going to watch this video and I’m gonna be sending you the invoice for his extra therapy.”

Buck’s laughter gets abruptly cut off as the video producer gives a five-second warning. They do their introductions, Buck with a beaming grin and barely-contained laughter and Eddie with a tense jaw and barely-contained scowl.

“This is the best day of my life,” Buck says, meeting the eyes of one of the crew members behind the camera, who laughs before even a single thirsty tweet has been read.

“I’m here against my will,” Eddie says, prompting more laughter from Buck and the crew as he digs around the jug and pulls out a Tweet. “I want to suck the cum out of Eddie Diaz’s dick drop by drop like a hamster,” he says, deadpan, before glancing up to make eye contact with the camera. “That will not be happening.”

Buck laughs hard enough that the sound guy flinches, a hand reaching for his headphones. He leans over to snatch the paper from Eddie’s hand before he can crumple it, and folds it neatly.

“I’m taking this one home with me,” he says, winking at the camera as he makes a show of sliding it into his pocket.

The look Eddie lands on him is deeply unimpressed, but Buck can see the barest twitch of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Therapy,” he says, nonsensical to everyone but Buck, “so much of it.”

The shoot is easily Buck’s favourite interview to date, near tears every time Eddie reads a truly filthy Tweet with a straight face or beside himself with delight when he gets to read a Tweet where a stranger says when the fuck is evan buckley gonna let me peg that scrumptious bussy yum yum slurp.

“What the hell is a bussy?” Eddie asks, squinting.

Buck throws his head back in a laugh, loudest among the crew’s delight to catch another uninformed celebrity in their bussy clutches.

“Boy pussy,” he answers, blunt, just to watch Eddie blush. “You’re not gonna ask what pegging is?”

Eddie scoffs, his face folding into an indignant expression. “I know what pegging is,” he says, casual, as he digs around his own jug. Buck tries not to choke on his next breath.

“Jesus,” Eddie says, eyes scanning his newest screenshot. Buck leans into his side to look over his shoulder. It’s a bad idea, he realizes the second he does it, the heat of Eddie’s arm against his instantly distracting. He stares at the screenshot and doesn’t read a single word.

“Just saw someone say they want Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz to Eiffel Tower them,” Eddie recites, dry. “That’s so sad that you think Evan and Eddie would be able to notice anyone else in the room if they finally fucked.”

Buck chokes on a laugh, the heat of a blush rising up his neck. With a clarity that leaves him dizzy, he remembers Eddie’s hand in his boxers, the heat of his mouth. Surely, he thinks, everyone in the room can read his thoughts clear as day. Surely, there’s a sign above his head, an arrow pointing down, that says has had his hand on Eddie Diaz’s dick: Ask him about it! He has never in his life thought about a hand job this much, for this long after.

He has the insane urge to ask who Tweeted this, so he can track them down and ask them what they meant by finally.

He looks up, and Eddie’s already looking at him, eyes dark and way too close. Buck knows, in the way that he can read only Eddie’s mind, that he’s remembering the same thing Buck is.

They’ve never talked about it, Buck realizes. They’ve talked nearly every single day, but never about that. Does Eddie remember it like Buck does, like he can still feel the heat of it? Or does he remember it as a bad idea he couldn’t turn away from, a mistake that could have ruined their friendship, a betrayal to Shannon?

Eddie clears his throat, gaze skittering away only a second later. He crumples the paper in his hand. “Everything about this is sad,” he says. “I’m being paid to do this.”

Buck remembers that he’s an actor long enough to send a grin at the camera. “You know, I’ve done a lot of stuff, but I’ve never had the chance to be in an Eiffel Tower.” He drops his voice into a stage whisper, winks: “DM me.” Eddie rolls his eyes.

The crew laughs and Buck forces himself to follow suit, to go back to reading Tweets and to stop thinking about the feeling of Eddie’s hands in his hair.

And eventually, the interview ends. Buck hardly remembers the last couple of Tweets, can’t remember if he acted normal at all. Eddie’s doing his level best to avoid Buck’s eye, which offers exactly zero help. For just one second, Buck thinks about firing Bobby.

“Wait,” Buck says, stopping Eddie with a hand on his wrist as he tries to duck away the second a PA frees him of his mic pack. Eddie turns back, eyebrows raised expectantly. His expression is entirely closed, a brick wall Buck hasn’t seen in months. “I—”

He shakes his head; he doesn’t know where he was going with this, doesn’t know what on Earth he can possibly say right now, only that he has this sinking feeling like if he lets Eddie walk away right now without saying something it’ll be a horrible mistake.

“That was fun, right?” he says, weakly.

Eddie snorts, a sarcastic smile sliding into place. “Sure, real fun.” His eyes land on something to their left — a camera? — and turn instantly hard, something like a gate sliding over his expression.

Buck tries to remember how easy and fun this was not even twenty minutes ago, how delighted he was; it’s all gone up in smoke and he doesn’t know how. He has a desperate, sticky feeling shaped something like want, but he doesn’t know what it’s aimed at.

“I have to go,” Eddie says. It’s not a lie — Christopher has a PT appointment to go to — but it sounds like one anyway. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Then he’s gone, ducking through crew members and offering quick thank yous and goodbyes until Buck can’t see him at all. And Buck is suddenly, painfully aware of how many eyes are in this room, how many people saw all of that happen, what they must have thought — or if they thought anything at all. Maybe Buck — needy, insecure, lonely Buck — is the only one feeling like something terrible and nameless has happened.

“Well,” a voice says at Buck’s side, “that was interesting.”

Buck turns, and Taylor smirks up at him with something sharp in her eyes. If Buck had any room for any more complicated, messy feelings, he might have it in himself to be guilty for — something. He needs everything to slow down.

“Taylor,” he says, sliding a smile on. “You saw that?”

“Mhm,” Taylor says, noncommittal. Buck hasn't learned how to read her yet. “I was visiting a friend for lunch, heard this was happening and decided to stop by. Didn’t think I’d be participating in the world’s most uncomfortable cucking, or I might have stayed at work.”

Buck — Buck needs to sit down, he thinks. “What?”

Taylor rolls her eyes, and Buck finally thinks he can read that tension in her jaw as anger. “Come on, Buck. You’re really going to pretend you didn’t notice Eddie was two seconds away from trying to jump you in the middle of that interview?”

Buck really needs to sit down. “What? That’s not — Eddie — that’s not possible.”

There’s a distant part of Buck that is horribly, sickeningly guilty that Taylor doesn’t know about Eddie and Buck’s one-time mutual hand jobs. It feels distinctly like he’s hiding something, that it’s information Taylor would want to know. But it’s also information he knows Eddie would absolutely not want her to have. And there’s no world where Buck outs Eddie, not to anyone but especially not to Taylor.

Some of the anger — if that’s what it is — bleeds out of Taylor’s expression, her eyebrows raising in something like surprise. “It’s not?” She doesn’t sound like she believes him.

“It’s definitely not.” He shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to tell her there’s no way Eddie wants him anymore, not when he’s had every chance in the world to have him and not when he’s less than a year out from burying his ex-girlfriend.

Taylor’s mouth bends into a small frown, a look in her eye like there’s a puzzle she’s trying to solve. Buck thinks about asking her to let him know whenever she figures it out.

Eddie leaves the country almost immediately after the interview. He’s contractually obligated, due to film a guest role on a TV show in Vancouver, but Buck has a hard time not drawing a line between the most uncomfortable interview of his life and Eddie fleeing the country.

It doesn’t help that it’s a show about firefighters. He’s not playing a firefighter, but it’s close enough to make Buck — something. Itchy with that same nameless feeling that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not anger, but it’s not not anger either.

The point is: Eddie leaves L.A. for a week, and then he’s only back in town for a few days before Buck’s on a flight to Paris for a photo shoot, and then Buck’s only back in town for a week before Eddie leaves for Denver for a month to film an indie movie.

(“Bosko’s a legend,” Chimney jokes, “for finally getting Eddie to do a film without Buck.” Buck is not jealous, because that would be insane.)

They spend a solid two weeks in the same city once Eddie returns, and then Buck’s in New York for another photoshoot and, before he even gets back, Eddie’s in Mexico where he spends a little over a month doing interviews and helping with the relief efforts after a landslide tears through a city in Jalisco.

Taylor has to write a Tweet about it for her station’s Twitter account, and she rolls her eyes when the replies come pouring in praising Eddie.

“Someone made a thread — Eddie Diaz being a perfect human being,” Taylor recites, nose wrinkled, bent over her phone at Buck’s dining table. Buck focuses hard on pulling their dinner out of takeout bags and onto plates. “It’s so ridiculous. These people are so insistent that the celebrities they love are completely without fault, and the celebrities they don’t love are reprehensible.” Taylor shakes her head, eyes narrowed at her screen. “They don’t even know these celebrities. This disaster relief thing could just be a publicity stunt for all they know.”

“But it’s not,” Buck says, his decision to keep his mouth shut quickly giving way as he sets a plate in front of Taylor and takes a seat across from her. “Eddie wouldn’t do that.”

The thing is, Buck knows exactly what Eddie would think of his reception on Twitter. Eddie, who keeps so much of himself private, who always looks confused when someone approaches him to sign something or take a photo, who has only ever flinched away from compliments; he would see that thread of his greatest acts of public kindness and disagree. He might even take a similar stance on the dangers of celebrity worship, resistant to the idea of anyone seeing him or anyone else as infallible.

And Buck…maybe Buck feels a little too much like one of Eddie’s Twitter fans — desperate to shout about Eddie’s best qualities to anyone who will listen and instantly defensive when anyone disagrees — to be entirely objective here.

Taylor glances up, meeting Buck’s eyes with slightly raised eyebrows. “Even so,” she says, noticeably not agreeing, “these obsessive teens don’t know that.”

“That’s not nice,” Buck says, fighting a small frown as Taylor’s eyebrows climb higher. “Obsessive teens — that’s not really fair. They’re passionate, you know? It’s nice that they care so much. And I mean, I’ve had people tell me they made some of their best friends through being a fan of my movies.” He shakes his head, unsure of the words he’s looking for. Unsure of how to explain that he’s fiercely protective of these people who see him as someone worth caring for without having ever spoken to him. “So maybe some people take it too far, but isn’t that true of literally everything?”

Taylor snorts, looking down at her salad as she pokes her fork around. “Well, you have to say that. They pay your bills.” She sends a teasing smile in his direction, one of her bare feet nudging his ankle under the table. Buck forces a smile, her voice in his head saying you’re always so serious, Buckley.

“Enough work talk,” she says, flipping her phone face down and sliding it away from her. “Did you ever go to that new yoga place?”

And then Buck boards a flight to Greece when Eddie’s plane is somewhere between the Guadalajara airport and LAX.

He’s booked as a special guest for an MTV reality show. The premise is complicated, ostensibly about dating or at least hooking up, but Buck zones out halfway through the explanation Bobby gives him. There are challenges involved, he thinks, and some kind of leaderboard that people at home vote on. He’s not sure if anyone actually gets kicked off. Maybe there’s a cash prize?

His job is just to stand there, look pretty and recite a Welcome to the Island speech complete with horrible puns about his movies, so he doesn’t really care what the rules are.

Bobby had tried to talk him out of it, again citing the growing seriousness of Buck’s career, but it looked fun and the studio was paying for a week-long stay in Greece, so it wasn’t a hard choice. Eddie and Maddie had both teased him about it in a group chat between the three of them, Chim, Hen, and Karen, but Chim and Karen, reality TV aficionados, demanded that he share any and all insider information.

It’s an easy gig, longer hours than he expected, but in the middle of a gorgeous beach. The contestants are all 20-somethings with crazy bodies and perfectly made-up faces and the hungry air of someone who isn’t famous yet but hopes to be soon.

Ultimately, he doesn’t get the chance to talk to any of them — a fact he can’t help but be a little grateful for — immediately herded off camera once he’s said his piece. It’s probably the most efficient, fast-paced set he’s ever been on, and he’s in a cab on the way to his hotel before the sun’s even started to set.

He’s, technically, done his part, but they’ve put him up in the hotel for the rest of the week anyway in case they need him again, which is fine by him. It’s not like it’s a massive hardship for him to hang around Greece.

Except. Except Buck realizes, quickly, all alone in his fancy hotel room, that he’s lonely.

Buck had forgotten what it was like, so used to having Maddie back in his life and Eddie and Christopher and now Taylor.

And the thing is, he spent years on his own, so he knows he can be alone. Knows if he needed to he could find a party to be at in less than twenty minutes, that he could find a museum or an art gallery and have a perfectly good time all by himself.

But he hasn’t been alone in a long, long time, and when he gets out of the shower, changes into shorts, and drops onto the too-hard hotel bed, so different from his expensive mattress in the loft or Eddie’s lumpy couch, he just wants to be home.

The view from his hotel room is gorgeous, and Greece is full of so much fantastic history, and he’s wallowing in his own loneliness. Pathetic.

It’s evening in Athens, but a quick look at his clock app tells him it’s nine in the morning in L.A.

He calls Eddie.

“Hey,” Eddie answers, only three rings in, and Buck can tell from the tone of his voice that he’s doing something else — it’s Saturday, so probably laundry — but he answered anyway, even when everything with them has been just slightly off.

It’s not like they don’t talk, even with their recent inability to be in the same country at the same time, but Buck — it’s just different; off. And maybe it’s all in Buck’s head, Buck taking things too seriously again, but the feeling remains.

“How’s Greece?”

“Good,” he says, tilting his head back against the bed until he can see the view. The sun’s just started to set, painting the sky in washes of pink and purple. “Wanna see this crazy sunset? Actually, is Chris home?”

Eddie laughs, and there are some distant, soft sounds of Eddie moving around. Buck imagines him in his weekend sweatpants, padding around the laundry room in his fuzzy dad slippers that Buck got him for Christmas. Imagines that there’s a carefully folded pile of Christopher’s clothes in his arms, his phone wedged between his cheek and shoulder like only a parent can, and his hair is fluffy and free of product.

Buck’s chest twists, something nameless reaching in.

“Hey, Chris,” Eddie says, after a moment, and Buck can hear Christopher’s voice but not the response. “Wanna talk to Buck? He says he’s got a sunset he wants to show us.”

Christopher’s voice raises in volume significantly. Eddie’s gentle laugh overlaps it until Buck can hear Christopher, much closer, saying, “FaceTime him, hurry.”

“Alright, we’re FaceTiming,” Eddie confirms, and then Buck’s phone is chiming at him with the request.

The screen fills with Eddie and Christopher, squished together on Eddie’s couch to fit in the frame. It’s truly so ridiculous, and Buck really should think about calling his therapist one of these days, but he has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat.

And he realizes, suddenly, that he’s homesick.

The realization almost knocks the breath out of him, because with it comes a second, much hollower realization that he’s never felt this before. He’s never had a home he loved enough to long for when he was away. Leaving Pennsylvania was easy once Maddie was gone, and after that, he was hardly ever in a city long enough to miss it once he left. But sometime, without him even noticing, L.A. became home.

Eddie’s couch is one of the most uncomfortable pieces of furniture he’s ever encountered, but he’s staring at two of his favourite people sitting on it and he misses it like a limb.

“Buck?” Eddie says, an amused smile in place like it’s not the first time he’s tried to get his attention. Buck blinks, swallows. “You okay, man? We can call you back later if you’re tired —”

“No,” Buck and Christopher say as one, Eddie’s eyes widening briefly in surprise, and then the three of them are laughing. Buck aches.

“Okay, okay,” Eddie relents, smiling. (Buck…wanted, once.) “Show us the sunset, then.”

Buck obediently flips his camera, rolling over in the bed until he can point his phone at his hotel window. Eddie and Christopher make the appropriate ooh and ahh sounds, but Chris only lets the sunset-watching go on for a few minutes before he’s insisting Buck turn the camera back around.

Buck does so with a laugh, and Christopher’s immediately asking about Greece and Buck’s flight, and Buck’s feeling very suddenly lighter than he has in — he’s not sure how long. Hours at least, but maybe something like weeks.

Except that Buck notices, quickly, that Christopher is off. Not horribly — he’s smiling and present and asking questions, but he’s just a bit quieter than usual, his smile just a little sad. Buck tells himself to leave it alone, that it’s not his place to watch over Christopher’s mood. He caves, anyway. (Pathetic.)

“What’s up, Christopher?” he asks, keeping his tone light. Christopher huddles closer against Eddie’s arm, his eyes wide behind his glasses. Eddie’s gaze drops to him, and Buck can see the tiniest frown in the bend of his eyebrows.

Christopher shakes his head, his mouth twisting into a frown. Buck fights the urge to buy Christopher a pony in exchange for him never frowning again.

“Nothing,” he says, a lie if Buck’s ever heard one. “I just miss you.”

It’s a hit to the center of Buck’s chest, this reminder of Christopher’s blinding affection, and the realization that he’s fucking it up.

Buck watches Eddie’s eyes fall shut, briefly, before he’s rubbing his hand up and down the length of Christopher’s arm. “Hey, bud, it’s okay. Buck and I just have really hard work schedules right now, but Buck will be back home soon.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, quickly forcing cheer in his voice. The word home hits him somewhere tender. “I’ll only be gone a couple more days, and then it’ll be like I never left.”

Christopher’s frown only deepens; Buck tries not to panic and fails. “That’s not true,” Christopher argues. Eddie glances back at the screen, his jaw clenched and eyebrows pinched. Buck shakes his head, lost. “Even before Dad went to Vancouver you were never around anymore.”

There is an actual knife in Buck’s chest, he’s sure of it. If he were capable of tearing his eyes away from Christopher’s horrible, blurry frown on his phone screen, he’s positive he’d look down and see a knife, stuck through the center of him. His mouth opens and closes, uselessly.

“Chris,” Eddie says, carefully. “Remember, we talked about Buck having a girlfriend and how that means he would be a little busier than normal.” Buck bites down, hard, on his tongue so he doesn’t interrupt to demand details on that conversation.

“I know,” Christopher says, meeting Eddie’s eyes for only a second before looking back at the screen. Buck is sick with guilt, with the knowledge that he put that frown on Christopher’s face and that tension in his voice. “I just miss you anyway.”

“I—” Buck clears his throat, blinking hard against tears he refuses to shed.

He had known he was spending more and more time with Taylor and less with Eddie and Chris and Maddie and Chim, but he thought he had been doing the right thing. That he was finally done monopolizing all of their time, inserting himself into Eddie’s family and interrupting Maddie and Chimney’s relationship. He hadn’t considered that they might be missing him the same way he had been missing them.

“I’m sorry, Christopher. I miss you, too, so much.” Something crosses Eddie’s face, too quick and too low quality for Buck to catch, and then he’s too distracted by Christopher’s watery grin to notice. “I promise I’ll be around more, okay? As soon as I’m back from Greece, you and I will do something really exciting.”

Christopher’s grin immediately grows, crinkling his eyes with the force of it. Eddie’s face instantly echoes it, his head dipping to smack a kiss against the side of Christopher’s head with a quiet mwah. Buck aches.

“Why don’t you think about what you and Buck want to do when he gets back?” Eddie suggests.

“I’ll call you again before I leave, okay Chris?” Buck says.

“Okay,” Christopher says, sounding more like himself as he leans towards the camera. “Love you, Buck, bye!”

And he’s up and away before Buck can finish saying, “Love you, too, kid.” He’s so full of love for Chris that it threatens to choke him; too much, maybe. He’s still waiting for the day Eddie puts up boundaries.

“Buck,” Eddie says, once Christopher has enough time to make it down the hall and out of earshot. He’s got his serious talk voice on, his eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t think for a second that Eddie would have missed the approximately one million spirals Buck had in the middle of that call.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, anyway, waving a hand through the air dismissively. “I just — I guess I didn’t think Christopher would, uh, notice I wasn’t around as much.”

Eddie’s mouth twists, his eyebrows pinching. Buck recognizes the look, but it’s been a while since he’s seen it: it’s the look he’d get when Buck would mention Abby in the early days, the look that meant Buck wasn’t thinking about his own worth and Eddie was trying not to yell at him for it.

“Christopher loves you. Of course he misses you when you’re not around.”

Buck sighs through his nose. “I just don’t want to overstep.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, and he sounds almost angry. The tense line of his eyebrows is definitely a little angry. “You’re not overstepping. You have never overstepped with me or with Christopher. No matter what happens with —” He breaks off, suddenly, and gives a firm shake of his head. Buck wants to push — with what? Us? Taylor? — but Eddie’s already continuing, “Your spot in Christopher’s life is solid, okay? And I know I’ve said it before, but I know you, so I’ll keep saying it until you finally freaking believe me.”

Buck laughs, a punched-out sound that he can’t swallow down, almost wet. He wishes, suddenly, that they weren’t on FaceTime, so Eddie couldn’t see the way Buck’s eyes have filled with stubborn tears.

“Okay,” he says, and it’s only a little wobbly. And then, because Buck’s an idiot with no impulse control, he says, “I miss you.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches, suddenly, but the look in his eye is gooey soft. “I’m right here, Buck.”

“I know, I just—” This is the part where Buck should shut up, where he should just leave well enough alone for the first time in his life. He doesn’t. “Things have been — weird, right? It’s just —”

He’s about to say it’s just that you don’t touch me anymore when there’s a knock on his door. Buck’s jaw works, uselessly, for a moment. It feels like a sign from the universe telling him to shut up.

Eddie takes the decision out of his hands. “You should take that. Call us tomorrow or something, okay?”

Buck barely gets the chance to say his goodbyes before Eddie ends the call. Buck stares at the blank screen for a long second, feeling just off-center. Because he has a playdate with Christopher to look forward to and Eddie has once again reassured him of his spot in their lives, but Buck said things have been weird, right? and Eddie didn’t disagree.

Someone knocks on his door again. He pushes out a breath and forces himself to his feet.

“Surprise!”

And on the other side of the door is Taylor, standing in a flowy sundress with a suitcase at her feet and a bottle of wine in her hand.

Buck blinks at her, blankly, as she brushes past him into the hotel room.

“My boss was on me about taking my vacation days,” she explains, setting down the wine and toeing off her strappy wedges before collapsing onto Buck’s bed. “And I remembered that my super hot boyfriend has a room in Greece right now being paid for by MTV.”

And this is everything Buck has ever wanted: a partner who doesn’t leave him at the airport but follows after him, who wants him back and does something about it. Buck was alone and hating it, and Taylor showed up at the perfect time.

This should be the part where all of his messy loneliness and confusion over Eddie disappears. It isn’t.

This should be the moment where everything clicks into place, where he looks at his beautiful, smiling girlfriend who flew fifteen hours to surprise him and thinks I love her. It isn’t.

Something is just slightly to the left, but Buck can’t figure out how to fix it. Can’t figure out how to fix himself.

It’s only been five months. He just hasn’t given it enough time, he tells himself. He doesn’t have to be in love with Taylor, not right now.

He slides on a smile that only feels a little bit strained and he dives onto the bed next to her, her laughter ringing out as the force of his landing sends her briefly into the air. He twines his arms around her waist, buries his grin in her hair, and tries to give himself more time.

Maddie leans into Chim’s side, tucked under the arm he’s got slung across the back of Hen’s couch, and the smile she sends in Buck’s direction is one of the easiest he’s ever seen her wear.

She’s been lighter, happier since Damned Spot premiered, since she started meeting up with a group of women once a week, since she started seeing a therapist that she affectionately refers to as her best friend Diane.

It hasn’t erased everything that’s happened to her, but it’s lightened the load. Buck thinks, often, about sending Diane a gift basket.

She swirls a straw around the bright cocktail Karen’s made for her and says, teasing, “Where’s Taylor?”

Chimney snorts. “Yeah, I gotta thank her for saving us from you interrupting our dinners constantly.”

Maddie nudges her elbow in Chim’s side, scolding, but she’s grinning all the same.

Buck rolls his eyes. “That’s such a weird way to say you miss me, Howard.”

“Yeah, right,” Chimney says, laughing as he kicks at Buck’s shin with a socked foot, adhering obediently to Karen’s strict no shoes in the house policy.

“Hello,” Maddie says, waving her hand between Chimney and Buck before they can get into a full-on war. “Answer my question, Evan.”

Buck keeps his hands and feet to himself and forces a breath out, slow, through his nose. “She’s busy. There’s some Marvel movie premiere she’s covering tonight.”

It’s not a lie, but the implication that he invited her is.

Greece was fun and easy, but only if Buck didn’t pay too much attention to anything. Only if Buck didn’t focus on the fact he was still weirdly lonely, even with Taylor right in front of him, or on the way that Taylor looked at her phone more than anything else.

When their plane touched down in LA, Taylor dove back into work like she could make up for the few days she had been away, and Buck busied himself with Eddie and Chris and Maddie, and things were — fine. Busy, but that’s to be expected with the careers they have. So, it only made sense for Buck not to invite her to Karen’s birthday party, to save her the awkward task of having to say no.

And there’s the fact that the idea of Taylor in the same room as all of the people he loves most in the world kind of makes him want to walk into the ocean.

There’s a lot of stuff he’s not thinking about.

Maddie’s nose scrunches, sympathetic. “That’s too bad,” she says.

“Boo,” Chimney says. “Hiss. Disney bad.”

Maddie and Buck roll their eyes in tandem. “You cried watching Captain America yesterday,” she says, turning to him with the Maddie Buckley gotcha look, all raised eyebrows.

“That’s different. I pirated it.”

Buck snorts. “It’s fine,” he promises. “It’s probably better for everyone that we keep Eddie and Taylor far, far apart.”

They don’t talk about Taylor, is the thing. Sometimes, Eddie will stare at Buck with a tense, complicated look for a long beat and then he’ll bite out something like how’s Taylor or is everything okay with Taylor or are you seeing Taylor after this, the words tense and clipped like they’re being forced out of him against his will, but with a soft look in his eyes, and Buck will say something vague and change the topic.

Sometimes, Buck will share a story and realize halfway through that he’s edited Taylor completely out of it, and when he stutters and glances at Eddie with wide eyes, Eddie’s mouth will twist like he knows exactly what Buck’s done.

But they don’t talk about her. And they don’t talk about the interview Eddie and Taylor fought through that never saw the light of day. And they don’t talk about the Thirst Tweets video that earned him a string of angry face emojis from Maddie, a string of crying laughing emojis from Chimney, and an email from Hen that only said, “Buck. Please.”

Buck can hardly keep track of all of the things they’re not talking about.

Maddie and Chim exchange a look, an entire conversation Buck isn’t privy to happening in the blink of an eye. Buck tries not to feel like a third wheel and fails. Tries not to think about the fact that he and Taylor have never been able to do that — that he almost never knows what she’s thinking — and fails.

“Eddie! You made it,” Karen gushes from the front door, and Buck doesn’t stand a chance.

His eyes find Eddie right away, his beaming grin tucked gently against the side of Karen’s head as he wraps her in a hug. He says something that Buck can’t catch, and then he’s shifting to hug Hen next.

Buck hears a familiar thud of rubber against hardwood first and then, when he manages to tear his gaze away from Eddie, he sees Christopher’s rumpled curls second.

Karen bends briefly, hugging Christopher as Hen says something to him with a grin, both women completely ignoring the way everyone else in the room has fallen instantly silent. Denny’s at their side in the space of a blink, Harry not far behind, and the two boys pull Chris toward where they’ve been working hard at a lego creation.

If Buck were capable of looking around, he’s sure he’d see every eye in the room turned in Eddie’s direction. Except, of course, that Buck absolutely can’t check, because he can't imagine looking away from Eddie.

He meets Eddie’s eye from across the party when Eddie finally acknowledges the heavy weight of Buck’s attention. Buck raises both eyebrows: Are you okay? Are you sure about this? Are you freaking out right now?

Eddie narrows his eyes back, a fond smile breaking through: I’m not freaking out right now, but you are.

Maddie slaps the back of her hand against Buck’s shoulder, startling him enough to break eye contact.

He glares, heatless, at his sister’s wide-eyed look of surprise, rubbing his arm. “What?”

“What?” Maddie repeats, incredulous. “I follow his sisters on Instagram; I know that’s not one of theirs. Are you telling me Eddie has a kid and you knew about it? For how long?” She throws her hands up before Buck can answer, rolling her eyes. “Oh, why am I asking, you knew the whole time.”

“Who said I knew about Christopher?” Buck asks, just to be difficult.

Chimney barks out a laugh. “Uh, that entire silent conversation you two had about it? Or maybe the fact you just said his name.”

“Oh!” Maddie says, seemingly just to make noise, her hands clasped together in her lap as she leans forward. “I can’t believe you kept this from me.” She’s grinning as she says it, sounding more impressed than offended, but Buck blushes anyway.

“It wasn’t my secret, Mads. And Eddie trusted me.” He shrugs. There isn’t anything else to say. Eddie put his trust in Buck, so Buck kept it in a small lockbox, tucked away in the chambers of his heart.

Maddie’s eyes go immediately soft like Buck’s said something much more revealing than he thought he had. Buck turns to Chimney for help, but Chimney has his head tilted, eyes narrowed consideringly. It’s the look he gets when he’s watching a scene he’s not confident in unfold, just before he’s hit by some brilliant idea to change the angle or switch to a handheld.

Buck’s not so sure he likes being on the receiving end of that look.

Eddie saves him before Chim gets the chance to figure out whatever key to Buck’s life he’s looking for, having managed to pull Christopher away from Denny and Harry long enough to introduce him around.

Christopher holds both arms up the second they arrive at the edge of Buck, Maddie, and Chim’s circle, and it’s entirely reflexive for Buck to sweep him into his lap, to balance him on his knee.

Chimney says, faintly, “Hey, does anyone else feel like Buck knew about Eddie’s kid before today?” Buck ignores him.

“Oof,” Buck says, grinning at Chris as he wiggles into a more comfortable position. There’s the comfortable weight of Christopher’s hand patting at his hair, the familiar feeling of one of his crutches resting, cold, along Buck’s calf. “You’re getting real heavy, kid. We gotta start stunting your growth.”

“No,” Christopher says, giggling. “Then I’ll never be taller than Dad.”

Buck grins, sliding the hand he has resting on Christopher’s back up to ruffle his curls. “Good point.” He drops his voice to a stage whisper to say, “It won’t be hard.”

“Real funny,” Eddie says, as Christopher’s laughter fills the room. A few months ago, Buck thinks Eddie might have pushed Buck’s shoulder or kicked at his ankle or…something. Now, Eddie just rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest as he leans on the arm rest next to Chim.

Maddie clears her throat. She sends Buck a pointed look, eyes widening significantly, but Buck only shakes his head back, not understanding. Chimney snorts, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Hey. You must be Christopher, I’m Chimney.”

Suddenly shy in a way Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen, Christopher looks briefly in Eddie’s direction and then up at Buck. Maddie makes a noise like she’s dying.

“It’s alright, buddy,” Buck promises, grinning as he bounces his knee, and Chris is probably a little too old for that, but he giggles all the same. “Chimney’s the reason your dad and I met.”

Christopher’s eyes widen, sitting straighter in Buck’s lap. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie confirms, and when Buck looks over at him he’s smirking, like he’s remembering those first few days when all Buck did was push and all Eddie did was push right back. “Chimney cast me in my first movie, and then he cast Buck, too.”

“The one I’m not allowed to watch,” Christopher decodes with a small pout.

Buck laughs. “You’re not allowed to watch any of your dad’s movies,” he reminds him.

It’s only What’s Inside You? and Damned Spot so far, and both include Eddie (and Buck) covered in more blood than they’d ever like Christopher to see them in, fake or not.

Christopher’s pout deepens for a second before he’s suddenly beaming. “Dad let me watch Jump/Fall.”

Buck’s attention jerks in Eddie’s direction, but he’s got his head tipped back, staring resolutely at the ceiling. There’s a blush just barely colouring the back of his neck.

Jump/Fall is, technically, kid friendly, as far as romantic comedies go at least. There’s a scene or two that might be pushing it, but nothing that Christopher would understand at this point, so it’s not strange that Eddie would let Chris watch it.

Only, Buck realizes, Eddie’s never mentioned watching Buck’s movies before. A dozen questions form under Buck's tongue: had he seen any before they met, or did he look Buck up after their fight in the bar, or maybe after they’d finished filming What’s Inside You?

He's not sure he can ask any of them without encroaching on dangerous territory.

“Chimney’s a weird name,” Christopher says, moving on and dragging Buck’s attention back to him with a laugh.

“Chris,” Eddie says, admonishing, but Chimney waves it off.

“Yeah, it kinda is. It’s a nickname, but I’m legally not allowed to tell you how I got it.”

Eddie snorts and Christopher’s eyes go wide, interested.

Buck shakes his head, turning Chris slightly in Maddie’s direction before he can ask any more questions. “And this,” Buck says, squeezing Christopher’s shoulder, “is my big sister Maddie. I’ve told you about her before.”

“Hi,” Maddie says, voice soft and light. “I hope Buck’s only told you good things about me.”

Christopher’s head bobs, quickly, his eyes wide and round; nearly awe-struck. He holds his hand out in a fist between them, his pinky finger outstretched. “Buck taught me how to pinky promise just like you taught him.”

Maddie blinks, suddenly glassy eyes darting briefly to Buck before she’s beaming at Christopher. Her pinky wraps around his easily, and the sight makes something warm bloom in Buck’s chest.

“How about we pinky promise to keep Buck from eating all of Bobby’s cookies today, yeah?”

“Promise!” Christopher giggles, his shoulder leaning into Buck’s chest.

Buck glances over at Eddie, the only person in the world who can possibly understand the way his affection for Chris pushes at the confines of his chest, hard enough to hurt. Eddie’s already looking back, the soft look in his eyes enough to make Buck’s breath catch in his throat.

Buck looks away first, the weight of it suddenly too much.

Christopher lets Maddie and Chimney steer him into easy conversation, mostly about Buck and Eddie — the places they’ve taken Chris and the dinners Buck makes — but only for a few minutes before he’s wiggling his way down from Buck’s lap, antsy to return to Denny and Harry.

“Edmundo Diaz,” Maddie hisses as soon as Christopher has said his polite goodbyes and disappeared. Eddie rolls his eyes, preemptively. “How did you manage to keep this under wraps? And also why?”

“We should have known,” Chimney says, shaking his head sadly. “The dad energy was there the whole time.”

Buck laughs, even as Eddie shoves Chimney into a similarly laughing Maddie.

“The deal was always that Christopher would have nothing to do with my career,” Eddie says, shrugging easily, like his dedication to protecting Christopher doesn’t regularly make Buck want to real life cry. “But I guess I didn’t think I’d end up with all of you.”

“Aww,” Maddie coos, supporting herself with a hand on Chimney’s thigh her other hand reaching out to pinch Eddie’s cheek. Eddie swats at her, laughing. “Eddie, you lo-ve us!”

Next to her, Chimney chants in a sing-song, “Eddie loves us, Eddie loves us.”

“I take it all back,” Eddie says, but his wide grin dampens the effect. “I’m walking away now.”

And, because Buck’s pretty sure he accidentally pulled a string out of the centre of himself and tied it to Eddie’s pinky sometime two years ago, he’s on his feet and following after him before he’s even aware of it. Eddie seems to have expected it, slowing down so Buck can catch up and bump his shoulder into his as they approach the spread of finger foods and snacks Hen’s set up on the dining room table.

“Big move, Diaz,” Buck comments, directing a grin in Eddie’s direction as he leans his hip against the table. Eddie shakes his head, head bowed as he fills a paper plate with Bobby’s mini BLTs. He holds the plate toward Buck without looking, who obligingly plucks one of the sandwiches with the toothpick Bobby used to hold it together. “Why the change of heart?”

Eddie’s shoulders twitch into a shrug, still not looking at Buck. “I was getting ready to go to this party and I just realized I wanted Christopher to be here. I wanted him to have fun with Denny and Harry, and I wanted him to celebrate Karen’s birthday, and I wanted to stop asking you to lie to your sister.”

Buck blinks, mouth bending into a frown Eddie can’t see since he’s still staring down at the food. He’s moved on to piling his plate with cucumber sandwiches, which Buck knows Eddie can’t stand, but that Buck loves. “I wasn’t lying to Maddie, Eddie. It wasn’t a hardship for me to respect the trust you put in me.”

Eddie’s head tilts, his mouth bunching into a knot. “I know I can’t keep this secret forever,” he admits, his round, gooey-soft eyes meeting Buck’s with a force that might have turned Buck’s knees to jelly in another life. In this one, he keeps his feet planted firmly where they are.

“Are you planning on going public?” Buck asks, something like fear rising in his chest.

He wants to protect Christopher with a fierceness that almost scares him.

He tries to remember what it was like to hear Eddie say they can have me, but they can’t have them and not quite understand what he meant. He can’t; his love for Christopher has rearranged everything inside of him, even his memories, tainting them with retrospective understanding.

“Not now,” Eddie says, “but eventually. Soon, maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever you decide, I’ve got your back.”

“I know.” Eddie’s voice is violently soft, melted caramel. “You always have my back.”

Buck doesn’t have to think about it for even a second before he says, “You’ve always had mine.”

Eddie ducks his head, his soft laughter hitting the floor between them. “Eat your boring green sandwiches.”

Behind him, Christopher laughs, and the cucumber sandwich is cold and refreshing in Buck’s mouth, and Eddie’s close enough to touch, but still not touching.

Eddie agrees to one single interview about the indie drama he filmed in Denver.

He’s reluctant to talk about the film at all. Even to Buck, Eddie only mentions how cold Denver was and what he liked about Bosko’s directing. And it’s not that Buck doesn’t push, because he absolutely does, even more so after the synopsis drops.

Because Holy Ground is about a man’s downward spiral following his wife’s death.

“Eddie,” Buck says after Christopher has been put to bed and the dishes have been washed. Eddie’s jaw clenches, his hand visibly tightening around the neck of his beer bottle. “Eddie.”

The click of Eddie setting his beer down on the kitchen table is loud in the late night quiet of Eddie’s kitchen. Eddie’s eyes are hard; Buck can nearly see the edges of the walls Eddie’s stacked up in front of them.

“Buck,” he says, “I don’t need to talk about it, okay?”

Buck sets his jaw, leans forward with his forearms flat on Eddie’s table. There’s a burn mark next to where his wrist rests on the wood. Buck put it there himself, Christopher’s first birthday after Shannon died. He dropped a lit match he had been using to light Christopher’s birthday candles, startled when Chris started to cry.

“What if I need you to talk about it?” he asks. “Because I’m gonna be fucking insufferable until you do.”

Eddie exhales a huff of shapeless laughter. “You’re right about that.” His shoulders bunch up, his palm sliding along the stubble on his jaw. “Look, it wasn’t the easiest job I’ve ever had, but it was…good. I don’t know, therapeutic or some shit like that.”

“Yeah? You know what else is therapeutic? Therapy.”

“Shut up.” Eddie laughs, throwing a balled-up napkin in Buck’s direction. A few months ago, Eddie would have kicked him under the table and kept his leg tucked neatly between Buck’s, a familiar arrangement. But Buck’s not thinking about it.

The singular interview is apparently cursed. The date gets shifted four times before it gets moved to another station, and then another station, and then at that station the date changes two more times and gets swapped between no fewer than four reporters until, eventually, it lands on Taylor.

Buck’s there when Eddie gets the call from Bobby, helping Christopher with a poster presentation on sea turtles, so he sees the way Eddie’s face pinches, a tense wrinkle forming in his brow. Buck expects him to pull the interview altogether, or to at least demand a different reporter, but he grits his teeth and says he’ll be there.

All of Buck’s well-honed survival instincts tell him to stay far, far away from the Starz News building for the forty-five minutes Eddie’s scheduled to be there. There’s no world where putting Buck in a room with Eddie and Taylor and an entire camera crew is a good idea. Buck should go to the gym or see Bobby about an audition or bother Maddie.

Instead, Buck smiles at all the right people — people who know him as Evan Buckley, movie star, and people who know him as Buck, the boyfriend whose futile attempts to lure Taylor away from her desk after hours are met with sympathetic winces and hand patting — and he slips into the room ten minutes in.

The interview is, miraculously, going well. Or, at least as well as anyone can really expect for having put Eddie and Taylor in front of a camera together.

It’s clearly awkward and stiff, but they’re not glaring behind forced smiles or trading passive-aggressive barbs. Taylor’s asking all of the typical questions and Eddie’s giving all of his typical, vague answers and it’s obvious they’re both just going through the motions, but Buck thinks they might actually get through this day without any conflict.

He might throw a party: Best Friend and Girlfriend Went Forty-Five Whole Minutes Without Fighting.

And then something shifts in Taylor’s expression, something Buck still can’t read. Her spine straightens, and she says, “You’ve had quite a few roles dealing with grief — What’s Inside You?, Damned Spot, and now Holy Ground; how was this film different after the passing of your girlfriend? Did you draw on your own experience at all?”

Buck’s stomach drops. It feels, quite starkly, like everyone in the room has just held their breath, which can’t possibly be true, so maybe Buck’s just holding his extra hard on behalf of everyone.

Because he knows — he knows — that Eddie usually doesn’t tell press not to ask about certain things beforehand, that he’s not above not answering a question if he doesn’t want to, but that Bobby has sent every single reporter Eddie’s talked to since Shannon’s death a list of Do Not Ask questions that is just Shannon’s name in big bold ink.

And Bobby had released a statement on Eddie’s behalf a few days after, just the typical stuff about respecting Eddie's privacy in his time of mourning, but Eddie himself has never said a word about Shannon publicly.

They can have me, Eddie had said right from the start, but they can’t have them.

Eddie’s expression doesn’t change, at least not enough that a stranger would notice, but Buck, who notices every single thing about Eddie, sees the way his jaw sets, the way the edge of his smile tenses. Buck wants to run in the middle of the interview, wave his hands and shout until everyone stops.

“Shannon’s…passing,” his jaw tenses; Buck’s hands curl into fists at his sides, “is always with me. She gave me my —” Eddie cuts himself off, suddenly, and Buck’s breath catches in his throat. Eddie, he knows, was about to say my son. Taylor’s eyebrows twitch, noticing the blood in the water. Buck wonders if the interview would stop if he threw up all over the sound equipment. “She gave me some of the best years of my life, so I’ll always love her and I’ll always miss her and it has absolutely nothing to do with my career, so I think it’s time we moved on, yeah?”

Taylor’s smile is tight, sharp, but it has nothing on the bite of Eddie’s tone, the hard set of his stare. “Of course.”

Buck doesn’t hear anything for the rest of the interview, just watches the seconds tick up on the monitor and tries not to do anything drastic. And eventually, like all things, it ends.

Eddie ducks out of the door almost before they manage to unhook him from his mic, Buck barely making it one step in his direction before the door swings shut behind him. There’s an itch under Buck’s skin, a desperate urge to go after him and fix that horrible look in Eddie’s eyes.

“Hey, you,” Taylor says, approaching with a grin before Buck can follow Eddie. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

Buck, frankly, doesn’t have it in himself to play dotting boyfriend right now. “Taylor, what was that? His list—”

“I didn’t say her name,” Taylor says, raising her pointer finger and smiling like it’s a joke. Like it’s some show of her cleverness.

“Are you serious, Taylor?”

When Buck was younger, he burned hot and quick, spitting angry one second and desperately empathetic the next. Over the past few years, he’s mellowed, resistant to true conflict, maybe too willing to let things go for the sake of peace. But he always falls back on old habits when he’s hurt, and right now, that old, familiar spike of anger burns through everything else, flattening his words.

Taylor’s eyes narrow, on Buck’s for only a second longer before she’s glancing surreptitiously around. “Not here,” she hisses, dragging him out of the studio and down the hall by his wrist.

They end up in an empty stairwell, their steps echoing.

“Why,” Buck snaps, the second Taylor drops his hand. “Why would you ask that?”

“Why not? It was a good question. He chose this career, if he doesn’t want to answer simple questions —“

“Questions that were off limits,” Buck bites out. “Actors choose this career to act, not to have their personal lives picked apart.”

“Those lists are suggestions. There are no rules, no signed contracts stopping me, and Eddie knows that.”

“What about basic empathy?” Buck’s chest is tight, hot.

This is nothing like the early days with Eddie. Then, he was angry and hurt and bleeding out all over the place, but when he and Eddie went back and forth it was never like this, like Buck might burst into tears at any second, like his chest might cave in on itself.

Taylor rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding, Buck? Eddie’s a grown man. I asked him a question about an event in his life that, by the way, is public knowledge. Actors get asked about their tragedies all the time, Eddie isn’t special.”

Buck shakes his head, the twisting anger in his gut turning quickly cold and empty. There’s a wall between him and Taylor, between his desperate emotion and her stark pragmatism, and it’s getting harder and harder for Buck to see her over the top of it.

“Actors don’t owe you their pain, Taylor. That’s not what this career is about.”

“Please,” Taylor scoffs, the sharp point of it landing somewhere in Buck’s middle. “I’m sure all of the poor little actors whose feelings I’ve hurt will be just fine wiping their tears with their million dollar cheques.”

Buck’s eyes fall shut, very suddenly exhausted. He could point out that Eddie isn’t pulling in million-dollar cheques, that money doesn’t make people invulnerable, that he’s an actor, too, and does that preclude him from her empathy? He doesn’t. He knows it won’t change her mind.

Instead, he sighs, an exhale that tugs uncomfortably from the centre of himself, and says, “I don’t want to fight.”

“What, and I do?” Taylor snaps, sounding very much like she does.

Buck wants to close his eyes for the next several hours. Buck wants to track Eddie down and make sure he’s okay. Buck wants to tell Bobby to kill the interview. Buck wants to figure out a way to make sure Christopher never has to hear a stranger talk about his mother’s death like it’s an acting exercise.

Buck takes a breath in through his nose. Holds it until it burns. Exhales. “Can we just go to lunch?”

Taylor’s shoulders slump, but there’s still tension in the line of her jaw. “I can’t,” she says, already turning toward the door. “I have work to do. We can have dinner later, maybe.”

She’s gone before Buck can say a thing, leaving Buck alone in the silence of the stairwell.

The thing is: he knows he and Taylor are living on borrowed time.

He knows that he doesn’t like her career, at least not the way she handles it, and he knows that she doesn’t respect his career, at least not the way he approaches it, and maybe if they were different people that wouldn’t be the writing on the wall for them. But they aren’t.

So he knows they’re holding onto fumes at this point, that there are only so many more fights they can have before it all crashes down. He even knows it might be easier, healthier, for them to just end it now before they grow to hate each other. Before they tear each other apart.

And yet, they keep holding on. They keep haunting Buck’s loft and they keep sleeping together instead of talking and they keep gritting their teeth through fights when they do talk.

Buck spends more and more time with Maddie and Eddie and Chris, and Taylor spends more and more time at work, and they find reasons to fight about that. Taylor snaps at him for prioritizing his friends over her, and Buck sighs at her for prioritizing her work over him, and they fall into bed instead of resolving anything.

And Buck doesn’t end it, because he’s still waiting for the day when something changes; when it all clicks into place. Because relationships are meant to be hard work, so if Taylor and his is really hard work then that’s…fine, probably. Because Taylor may be crass and blunt and cold, but Buck’s waspish and bitter and impulsive, so he’s pretty sure they deserve each other.

At least, he thinks, as he lets himself into Eddie’s house after Taylor sends him a text that says only Busy. Talk tomorrow, he has more time for his family.

“What’s going on here?” Buck says, already grinning when he finds Karen, Maddie, and Eddie sitting on the floor around Eddie’s coffee table, laughing.

The table holds a plate of cheese and crackers, no fewer than four wine bottles, three absolutely massive wine glasses. Maddie’s wearing the Spider-Man onesie Adriana shipped to L.A. for Eddie’s birthday, several sizes too big for her, and Karen has one of Eddie’s old baseball hats backwards on her head, and Eddie’s swimming in a hoodie Buck’s pretty sure used to belong to him. The sting of Taylor’s text doesn’t last a second in the face of it.

“It’s Hen and Chimney’s best friend date night,” Karen says, much slower than she usually speaks. She’s not quite making eye contact, eyes drifting somewhere around Buck’s birthmark.

“And Christopher and Denny are at Bobby and Athena’s for a sleepover with Harry,” Eddie continues, sounding the most sober of the bunch, but Buck can see where his smile’s just a little looser than normal. He has the hood of Buck’s sweater up, the strings pulled tight and tied in a bow around his neck. The fabric is gently crushing his fluffy, product-free hair.

“So, wine night!” Maddie finishes, raising her hands and wiggling her fingers like jazz hands. When she lowers her arms, her stolen onesie slips down one shoulder, and she spares a second to pout before tugging it back in place.

Buck laughs, sprawling across the couch, careful to avoid kicking Maddie or Eddie on his way to horizontal. “Obviously,” Buck says, in the only slightly patronizing tone of being the only sober person in the room.

Maddie leans her head back against his knee and pokes a firm finger into the meat of his thigh. “What are you doing here? It’s a Friday night.”

“Yeah,” Karen laughs, still in slow-motion. “Shouldn’t you be having young people without children sex right now?”

Eddie chokes into the comically large wine glass he’s cradling with two hands. The girls ignore him.

“Where is Taylor?” Maddie demands, eyes narrowing. “You never bring her around.”

Faintly, Karen says yeah! like a hype woman. Eddie cuddles his wine glass closer.

Buck doesn't have an answer, at least not one that he can give to his very drunk friends. He can’t say the idea of introducing Taylor to everyone I love most in the world makes me physically ill or if you see me with her you’ll know there’s something wrong and I won’t get to keep pretending.

Instead, he slips on a Buck 1.0 smirk and says, “We’re just enjoying spending our time together.”

“For eight months,” Maddie says, her squinty-eyed expression of indignation exaggerated and wine-soaked. “Are you hiding her from us or is she hiding herself from us?” Her eyebrows raise, her pointer finger jabbing in Buck’s direction.

And it's ridiculous, because Maddie is slurring so badly it makes everything she says sound insane, but Buck blinks back at her, realizing very suddenly that he has no idea. Because as much as Buck has avoided bringing Taylor around, Taylor has never asked. Even when she’s rolling her eyes and snapping at him for spending time with Eddie or Maddie, she’s never offered to come with him, has never asked why she hasn’t met his friends.

“Um,” he says, eloquently. He glances at Eddie, but he’s staring deeply into his wine like it contains all of the secrets of the universe.

“Maddie,” Karen hisses, raising her eyebrows meaningfully as she looks between Eddie and Buck.

“Oh,” Maddie says, a drunk-person whisper that isn’t much of a whisper at all. “Right. Yikes.”

Eddie’s interview with Taylor has been live for four days and no one has mentioned it. The sudden radio silence is significant; Chimney and Hen live for the days the rare Eddie interview goes live so they can tease him about every glare and avoided question over text and email and in person. Even Maddie, who would normally be all over Eddie and Taylor interacting, doesn’t say a word.

Eddie and Buck haven’t said anything about it either.

Over Eddie's head, Maddie and Karen exchange a look and without looking Eddie says, “Jar. Double jar for you, Madeline.”

Maddie and Karen grumble, glaring heatlessly at the side of Eddie’s head, but dutifully dig through their purses to produce quarters for a plastic water bottle someone’s cut in half and set on the coffee table.

“Jar?” Buck repeats with a laugh.

“Meddling,” Eddie says, only glancing up from his massive wine glass for a second. His eyes land somewhere over Buck’s shoulder. “Knowing glances, pointed comments, the phrase I’m just saying: all chargeable offences.”

“He pretends he’s not just as bad,” Karen says, smirking behind the lip of her massive wine glass. “But he’s the worst of us.”

“Lies and slander.”

Maddie starts to giggle and then can’t quite stop, tipping over into Eddie’s side, who plucks Maddie’s wine glass from her unsteady hands before she can spill. Maddie’s laughter is clearly enough to get Karen going, who folds herself over the coffee table and buries her head in her forearms. Eddie makes a good show of holding onto his deadpan stoicism, but it breaks when Maddie’s head slips off his shoulder and she tumbles completely into Eddie’s lap.

Buck can't help but join in, delighted as Eddie’s face folds into a grin, as the easy joy of his friends, his sister fills this room that he loves so much.

So, Buck and Taylor are living on borrowed time, and it’s clear to even his wine-drunk sister and friends, and he’s not always happy, but he has his moments.

Taylor has a bag of takeout cradled in one arm and her phone in the other hand when Buck opens his door for her. She barely looks up from her phone as she walks in, her heels leaving faint, wet footprints on Buck’s floor.

But she’s smiling, laughing as she says, “The line for food was ridiculous. I had to remind the guy about your weird spicy plum sauce like, three times,” so Buck smiles back.

They’re not perfect, not even fucking close to it, but Taylor remembers his order and she smiles at him like it’s easy, like it’s simple, so Buck holds on.

He rounds the other side of his kitchen island as Taylor puts down the takeout bag and sets her phone face up on the counter. “The plum sauce isn’t weird, you just have some weird aversion to sauces.”

Taylor laughs, turning her back on Buck to rifle through his cupboards for plates. They’ve been hiding out in Buck’s loft for the last eight months, but Taylor still has to check three cupboards before she finds the plates.

“Sauces distract you from the food,” she defends. “Sauces lie to you.”

Buck snorts and, when he ducks his head to tuck a grin against his chest, he sees Taylor’s phone screen lights up with a text, right next to his elbow. He’s prepared to ignore it — he’s never been someone to snoop on a girlfriend, and he’s not planning to start now — but his eyes catch on the words Eddie Diaz.

He frowns, his stomach already twisting, a foreboding feeling crawling up his chest. He recognizes the contact name as Taylor’s editor, a stern woman Taylor complains about and idolizes in equal measure. Under it: Taylor, this Eddie Diaz secret kid article is fantastic.

There’s more, something about edits and a Monday publication, but Buck can’t — he can’t. Eddie Diaz secret kid is running on a loop in his head, bumping into every rational thought he’s ever had until it breaks apart into nothing.

He thinks he might be sick.

“Buck?”

Buck’s head jerks up, and Taylor’s standing across from him with a stack of plates in front of her, a faint frown in place.

Buck doesn’t know how, but he manages to croak out, “What is this?” He gestures limply at her phone and then spins to slide it in Taylor’s direction. It takes only one glance at her lock screen for her expression to clear and then quickly shut down. “What is she talking about, Taylor?”

Taylor tilts her head back, meets Buck’s eyes with a stubborn set to her chin. “It’s a text from my editor.”

“Taylor.”

“God, Buck, you read the text. It’s what it says on the tin. Eddie has a secret kid and I wrote an article about it.”

Buck shakes his head like maybe he’ll be able to erase this entire conversation with the force of it. “Why? How did you even figure that out?”

Taylor’s shoulders lift into a brief shrug. “He said something in that Holy Ground interview about his ex that got me thinking. A girlfriend dying is sad, sure, but it seemed like more than that, so I started looking into it. I searched through — well, it doesn’t matter, the point is, I found a birth certificate with Eddie’s name on it.” Her expression is as closed as ever, but she sounds…proud.

“You have to take it back. You can’t let them publish that.” Taylor’s mouth flattens. Buck swallows against the urge to do something insane, like cry. “Taylor, please, you can’t.”

“You don’t understand; this information is public, if I don’t report on this now someone else eventually will.”

The take-out Taylor brought is untouched. The desperate itch under Buck’s skin, the sticky panic that makes him want to put his body in front of Christopher like a shield, makes him pace along the other side of the island.

“Then let it be someone else! Why does it have to be you?”

Taylor shakes her head, a frustrated, jerky movement. There’s thick, hot lava sloshing around Buck’s insides. He reaches the end of the island, pivots on his heel, and starts back.

“This isn’t just celebrity gossip. The article’s not really about Eddie’s kid. I don’t even use his name; it's not like I’m doxxing a nine-year-old.” Buck bites his tongue against a flinch. Christopher’s age in Taylor’s mouth feels deeply wrong in a way Buck can’t touch. “This is a real story about celebrity culture and parasocial relationships. It could completely change my career. Everything I’ve been working for —”

“It’s Eddie,” Buck hisses, stopping at the midpoint of the island and placing his hands down on the granite. Taylor’s eyes are clear, steady across from him. Buck has angry tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “It’s not some think piece, it’s Eddie’s life. It’s C— you can’t do this to him.”

Taylor searches Buck’s face for a long moment, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Finally, she says, “You knew. About the kid, I mean.”

Buck’s heart, which has been holding onto the side of his chest by a thread, slips down into a shivering puddle at his feet.

He thinks about sweet, perfect Christopher, the crayon picture he drew of himself, Buck, and Eddie that Eddie pinned to his fridge with a magnet of a frog. He thinks about all of the horrible, horrible things people have said about Maddie’s marriage, about Chimney and Hen and Eddie. He’s sick with his fear, his desire to protect Christopher. Even and especially from his girlfriend. He swallows.

“Yeah.” He blinks against tears, his shoulders slumping. He aches. “Yeah, I knew about Eddie’s kid.”

He can’t say his name, not in front of Taylor. They can have me, Eddie had said. Buck gets it, painfully so.

Taylor’s eyes narrow, and Buck finally recognizes the tension in her jaw as anger. “You knew that Eddie had a kid this entire time, and you never told me? All those times you were so insistent that you had to make time for Eddie you were — what? Playing house?”

Buck shakes his head, pressing his hands harder into the top of his island. He has the distinct impression that this conversation is running away from him. “That’s not fair. You know how hard everything was with Shannon—”

“No,” Taylor interrupts, raising her hand. Her cold detachment has slid away, her reporter mask abandoned in favour of bitter anger.

Buck tries to drum up anger of his own, the hot desire to push he used to have whenever he and Eddie fought in the early days, and comes up blank. He just wants to lay down for days, or weeks.

“No, I don’t know how hard everything was. What I know is that you thought Eddie was hurt and you lost your mind. What I know is that you brushed me off for a month for the funeral of a woman you had never met. What I know is that we’ve been dating for eight months — that you were the one who insisted we do this for real — and not once did you tell me about all of this time you spent with a kid who is so obviously important to you.” Taylor shakes her head, her eyes hard. “You never even asked him if you could tell me, did you?”

Buck stares down at the table, at the way the tips of his fingers have gone pressure-white against the granite, and he says nothing.

Because Taylor’s right: he never even thought to ask. And if he’s being brutally honest with himself, which he’s been trying so hard not to do these last few months, it’s because he knew Eddie would say yes. He wouldn’t want to, maybe, but he would never deny Buck anything, so he’d say yes and maybe Taylor would meet Chris and maybe she might not even write an article about it if Buck asked her not to.

And Buck, if he’s being brutally honest with himself, didn’t want her to meet him.

“Right,” she says, cold and flat, the tip of it pointed like a knife, when Buck doesn’t say a word. “Of course. You and Eddie against the fucking world.” Buck tries not to flinch and fails. It only makes Taylor’s glare more severe. “Who else knows?”

Buck leans back on his heels, feeling more and more like he’s being backed into a corner. “Taylor—”

“They all know,” Taylor answers for him, the dissecting look in her eye clearing. “Your sister, your manager — all of your weird little group. And I was the only idiot left in the dark.”

“Taylor, it wasn’t like that —”

“Then what was it like?” Taylor’s hand lands on the counter with a dull smack. “What, were you just waiting for some magical moment? Were you really hoping for the day I’d be a part of your little found family bullshit? Or were you just keeping me around so you wouldn’t be so goddamn lonely?”

And Buck doesn’t have an answer for her. He doesn’t know — or he does know, and the truth of it is selfish and horrible and unforgivable. “I’m sorry,” he says, desperate. “I didn’t mean to — I thought one day —”

“Save it,” Taylor snaps, reaching for her phone and the takeout she brought. "I have no interest in making you feel better about this."

She turns to leave, the line of her shoulders sharp, and pauses before she makes it any further than the end of his island. Her eyes are glassy, but steady when she looks at him, and he still can’t read anything past her anger.

“If I stayed right now," she says, her voice quiet in the horrible silence of his loft, "do you think we would be able to make this work?”

Buck swallows. “And the Eddie article still goes live?”

Taylor nods, her jaw a tense line. “The Eddie article’s already sent and done.”

Buck’s breath rattles his chest on the way in and there’s not a shred of doubt in his voice when he says, “Then no. There’s no making this work.”

The key to Eddie’s house shakes in Buck’s trembling hand.

He stands, useless and unable to make a move, on Eddie’s doorstep and thinks that at least for this break up they were both in the same country. He still wants to be sick.

It’s dark and raining, Buck’s curls plastered to his forehead, rainwater dripping down the back of his neck. It rains so rarely in L.A. that he probably shouldn’t have risked the drive, not after Shannon, but he doesn’t even remember making the decision. Doesn’t remember much between Taylor leaving for the last time and Buck arriving at Eddie’s front door.

He can’t look away from the key in his hands. He can’t use it, but he can’t put it away, either.

“Buck, you have to stop loitering on my — Hey, are you okay?”

Eddie’s standing in the open doorway, haloed by the light coming from inside the house. He’s dry, comfortable in a familiar dark hoodie, his eyes narrowed in concern.

It’s enough to make tears spring to Buck’s eyes, a headache already forming. He blinks them away or tries to, sniffling.

“Uh, yeah — is, is Christopher awake?” He shouldn’t be — it’s late, well past his bedtime — but he doesn’t want to risk it.

“Wha— no, no he’s in bed. Buck — just come in.”

Buck mumbles a protest, but it's immediately ignored as Eddie reaches into the rain, a hand around Buck’s shoulder, and pulls him in. As soon as the door shuts behind him, Buck’s warmer, dripping next to Eddie’s shoe rack.

Eddie disappears for a second and Buck kicks out of his shoes, places carefully them next to a pair of Eddie’s boots, but doesn’t move much further. He feels sick with guilt, standing in Eddie’s home while an article full of Eddie’s most heavily guarded secrets sits in some editor’s mailbox.

“Okay, spill: what happened? What possessed you, L.A. boy, to drive in the rain?” Eddie returns, throwing a towel over Buck’s shoulders.

Buck shakes his head, pathetic, as he reaches up to rub the towel over his dripping hair. “Pennsylvania boy,” he corrects, weakly.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Sure. Spill.”

Buck shakes his head again, blinking rapidly against tears. He has no right to be crying right now.

Eddie makes a sound, a faint hmph, before suddenly pulling Buck away from the door, pushing him onto the couch and sitting across from him on the edge of the coffee table. Buck remembers showing up at Eddie’s door after the failed PR date with Ali, all those months ago, and winding up in this same position.

This time, Eddie keeps his knees carefully away from Buck's, still not touching.

Buck looks over Eddie’s shoulder, avoiding the concern in his eyes, and sees a framed picture on the TV stand. It’s the picture of Buck, Eddie, and Christopher at the aquarium, posing in front of an aquatic backdrop, taken within the first month of Buck and Eddie’s friendship. It’s enough to make Buck break, his next blink sending a hot tear down his cheek.

“Taylor —” his voice cracks. He clears his throat, forces himself to meet Eddie’s eyes — he won’t be a coward, here — and sees something complicated, the same twisty expression he always has when Taylor’s name is invoked. “Taylor wrote an article. About Christopher.”

Like a switch being flipped, Eddie’s face goes instantly blank. “What?”

“I didn’t tell her about him, I swear I would never — she started looking into Shannon after that interview you did, I don’t know why — and she found Christopher’s fucking birth certificate and decided to write some think piece about parasocial relationships and, I don’t know, celebrity culture. I tried to get her to pull it, I swear, I begged her but—she had already submitted it when I found out.”

Buck’s out of breath by the time he spits it all out, heart twisting in his chest. Buck, who has spent the last three years learning how to read every line, every twitch of Eddie Diaz, can’t read a thing off of his blank expression. “Eddie?”

“I…I don’t know what to say,” Eddie admits.

“I’m so sorry,” Buck rushes out. “I tried…She says she doesn’t include his name but I didn‘t read it, so I don’t…I don’t know. Fuck, I’m so sorry — look I can leave —”

“Buck,” Eddie interrupts, hand dropping onto the wet denim over Buck’s knee. “Don’t — Don’t leave. I’m not upset with you. You didn’t write the article.”

“No, but my girlfriend — my ex-girlfriend did.”

Eddie blinks. “You broke up with her?”

“Of course I broke up with her,” Buck says, indignant that Eddie would think otherwise. “She — There was no way I could stay with her after she did this to you, to Chris.”

“Right.” Buck can’t quite parse out what his tone means, too sick with guilt and fear and something else to examine every single dip in his pitch. There’s a wrinkle in his brow that Buck wants to smooth out with his thumb. He swallows, thickly.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, and it cracks in the middle.

“Buck,” Eddie says, soft and tender, like Buck’s name is something precious and fragile in his mouth. “I—I couldn’t keep this secret forever, I told you that. It’s a miracle it lasted this long. I wish it didn’t have to happen like this, yeah, but I don’t blame you. I’m sorry that she put you in this position. That you cared about her and trusted her and she did this to you.”

“To me? Eddie, Christopher — he’s not —”

“Important to you?” Eddie fills in, his eyebrows raised. “Are you really going to pretend you don’t care about him like I do? That you haven’t fought for him and protected him exactly like I have since the moment you met him? You gave me Carla and you kept this from your sister and the first thing you did when you heard about this article was break up with your girlfriend and show up at my door in the pouring rain.”

And Buck can’t — he can’t think about what Eddie may or may not be implying about his relationship with Christopher, so he doesn’t.

Eddie shakes his head, his gaze sliding away from Buck for only a second before returning. His eyes are steady, clear. “She did this to you, too, and I’m sorry. I know you liked her.”

Buck lets his head fall forward, suddenly too bone-deep exhausted to hold it up anymore. He did like her, but it’s hard to remember why at this moment when all he can think about is the fact that everyone is going to know about Christopher by Monday and there’s nothing Buck can do about it. There’s nothing he or Eddie can do to protect him from the opinions of the world.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks, eyes on a small stain over the knee of Eddie’s sweatpants. “About Christopher.”

Eddie sighs, and it’s heavy in a way that pins Buck to his seat. “I guess I’m gonna tell him, let him know what to expect. And I’ll call Bobby. He’ll probably want me to release some kind of statement or do an interview and I’m probably gonna tell a lot of people to fuck off.” Buck laughs, wetly, and reaches a hand up to rub his tired, burning eyes. “But first I’m gonna set the couch up for you and we’re gonna sleep.”

“What?” Buck glances up, blinking wide eyes. Eddie forgiving him — or absolving him or whatever — wasn’t entirely a surprise, Eddie too compassionate and kind-hearted for the alternative, but letting him stay? It doesn’t compute.

“Buck,” Eddie says, slowly, as he stands and places a hand on his favourite place: the dip between Buck’s neck and shoulder. Buck tries to remember the last time Eddie touched him and comes up blank. “I told you: I want you here, in this house and in Christopher’s life and in every room I’m in. You think I’m gonna let Taylor freaking Kelly change that?”

Buck ducks his head, aiming a wet laugh at his lap. I want you here. The words settle along Buck’s spine, warm and soft and searching.

“Why?” he asks, because he’s always digging up graves. When he glances up, Eddie has his head tilted. “Why did you tell me about Christopher? We were only friends for a couple of months. It took you over a year to tell Hen, who actually has a kid, and I’m—”

“If you even think something negative about yourself right now I’m getting on a flight to Pennsylvania and I’m decking your father.”

Buck has to muffle his sudden bark of laughter against the back of his wrist, conscious of Christopher asleep down the hall. “No fair. You don’t get to fight my dad until I get to fight yours.”

Eddie’s mouth twitches into a smile, the familiar one that means he finds Buck funny but he doesn’t want to admit it. It pulls a grin out of Buck, soft and desperate and flayed open.

“I told you about Christopher because—” Eddie shakes his head, a hand running through his hair, fluffy and all over the place. “I don’t know, Buck. You — I just trusted you and your big doe eyes.”

“You don’t trust people, Eddie,” Buck feels the need to remind him.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I trust you. And you’ve never let me down.”

“Eddie—”

“Shut up. Time for talking about our damn feelings is over. I trust you, I want you here. We’ll deal with the article in the morning.” Eddie’s hand lands on Buck’s bicep, shakes him just once with a firm grip, and then he’s walking away. “Go get changed; I’ll get your blanket.”

Buck sinks into the couch, the familiar lumps digging into the same achy parts of his back that they always do.

In the last few hours his life has collapsed in on itself, and in the next few days Eddie and Christopher’s lives will follow suit, and maybe it’ll be okay but maybe they’ll spend the rest of their lives fending off awful comments from the worst people the internet has to offer.

But for now, Buck has Eddie’s voice in his head saying I want you here…in every room I’m in and I trust you and for now, it’s enough.

He gets up and does as he’s told.

Chapter Text

part four.
oh, i thought
this is gonna be one of those things
now i know
i'm never gonna love again

Buck comes home from a night spent on Eddie’s couch — an occurrence that only seems to happen more often since Taylor’s article dropped, Buck unwilling to have Christopher out of his sight for too long — and finds Hen waiting at his door.

She smirks, knowingly, as she catches sight of the duffle bag he has slung over his shoulder. He doesn’t know why he bothers with it when he has a drawer in Eddie’s dresser, a formality more than anything with how often their clothes just end up mixed together. “Eddie’s?”

Buck rolls his eyes, hip checking her gently out of the way to unlock his door. “Why ask, Henrietta, if you know the answer?”

Hen’s laughter follows Buck into the apartment. His nose immediately wrinkles; it smells stale and dusty, unlived in.

It’s been two months since he and Taylor broke it off. Two months since Taylor’s article went live. Two months since Eddie did one single interview where he said in no uncertain terms that he will continue to keep his son away from his career, that any attempts to invade that privacy will not be well received. A month and three weeks since Buck saw one unkind tweet about Eddie’s decision to keep his son private and went on a 20-tweet long rant that earned him a lecture from his publicist, a week-long Twitter ban from Bobby, and a beer from Eddie.

And in that time, Buck’s done everything he can to avoid this awful apartment that he hates more and more with every night he spends away from it. But there’s no platonic way to say hey best friend, what if I just lived with you, preferably forever? so he doesn’t, and he keeps his name on this horrible, horrible lease.

He tosses his duffle onto his couch on the way to the kitchen. “You want anything?”

Hen slides onto one of his bar stools on the other side of his island, setting her tiny backpack on the seat beside her. “Just the usual,” she says, beaming up at Buck, who rolls his eyes but obediently produces a bottle of peach iced tea that he only keeps around for Hen.

She catches it deftly when Buck slides it across his countertop, channelling not his year as a bartender in Peru but his two-week stint playing a bartender on a show about doctors.

“So,” Hen starts, once Buck’s gotten himself a celery juice that Hen wrinkles her nose at. “How are you holding up?”

Buck blinks, his celery juice poised at his mouth. “Me? Shouldn’t you be doing this to Eddie? He’s the one that got his world blown up.”

Hen rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling kindly. “Yes, you, Buckley. I’ve already talked to Eddie, and this happened to you, too. Even if we want to pretend that you don’t care about Christopher like he's yours, you did just have a break up.”

He sets his juice on the counter, bunches his shoulders up toward his ears. “I—I don’t know, I guess the Christopher of it all kinda overshadowed the whole break up thing.”

Hen’s eyes narrow, that patented Wilson X-Ray look sliding into place. Like she can see right into Buck’s deepest thoughts, the ones even he hasn’t discovered yet. “Because the Christopher article hurt you more or because you weren’t upset to see the relationship end?”

“God, Hen,” Buck says, laughing as he leans back on his heels, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest like he’s been shot. “Don’t pull any punches.”

Hen only raises a single eyebrow and stares. Buck cracks. “Okay, maybe…maybe I knew Taylor and I weren’t going to be a…a forever thing. She said — when we were breaking up — she asked me if I was only keeping her around so I didn’t have to be lonely.”

“Buck,” Hen says, sharply, and her eyebrows bend into a frown.

“No,” Buck interrupts, quickly, before he loses his nerve. “She — she was right, is the thing. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her, because I did — she was fun and beautiful and I admired how hardworking she was, but. But I think what I liked most about her was that she wanted me. And that’s…that’s awful, isn’t it? That makes me the asshole here. So I guess I can’t feel that upset by the breakup because I don’t…deserve to, or whatever, not when I was the bad guy.”

“Buck,” Hen repeats, sadder this time. She reaches her hands across the counter to cup one of Buck’s, her touch warm and soft. “There’s no singular bad guy in a break up. Maybe you weren’t as invested as you should have been or maybe you were invested for the wrong reasons, but you were never unkind to her. And Taylor was far from perfect. That article? It was unkind to you. She hurt you, too, and you deserve to feel however you feel.”

Buck ducks his head, staring at where Hen’s hands completely envelope one of his. It’s not that far off from what Eddie said to him, but it still settles uncomfortably on his shoulders, undeserved.

“Thanks,” he says, meeting her kind eyes. “But I’m fine.”

Hen nods, slow, with her laser-focused eyes still tracking every shift in his expression.

“Well,” she says, once she’s deemed Buck okay by her estimate. “I have something for you.” She digs through her mini backpack and, a second later, places a script down on the kitchen island between them. “It’s called The Way Forward, and it’s a queer love story about two con-men in 1940’s New York.”

Buck glances up at Hen, eyebrows raised, as he slides the script towards himself and flips it open. The page he lands on, somewhere in the middle, is of the two con-men hooking up in a bathroom. His eyebrows raise higher.

He’s seen all of Hen’s films, and they’re all fantastic — queer and heartfelt and beautiful — but the intimate scenes have all been quiet, slow, profound. This is quick, fast, dirty, one of the men spitting on the palm of his hand.

“Wow,” he comments, looking away from the script in time to see Hen roll her eyes, a smile tucked in the corner of her mouth. “This is different.”

“Yeah,” Hen agrees. “I want you to be in it.”

Buck blinks, mouth already open to protest when Hen cuts him off. “No, don’t give me that. You act like my movies are too good for you, but that’s not true. It’s never been true, but — Buck, after these last couple of years, watching the way your acting has only gotten better and better? You’re more than good enough for this movie and I want you in it.”

“Hen,” Buck starts, but Hen’s already shaking her head.

“Don’t Hen me. It’s my movie. But—” Hen clears her throat, leaning slightly forward to force incredibly serious eye contact. He’s tensing even before she speaks. “But if being in a queer film like this is too much and you don’t want to put yourself out there like that, I get it.”

Buck’s mouth is very suddenly dry.

He’s never come out. He’s, honestly, never thought too much about it. He hooked up with a friend a couple of times in high school, swallowing down the odd anger that would rise in the centre of his chest whenever he thought about someone finding out, but he never looked too closely at what that meant. It was just — blowing off steam.

He wasn’t…ashamed of it, not really. It just wasn’t a big deal.

And then he was an actor, and it suddenly felt like a very, very big deal. Like if the world knew this thing about him that would be the only thing they knew, and he was so new and so lost and trying so hard to make this career work for him. And then he was making it work, but every headline was about his revolving door of hookups and he didn’t want to make it any worse by bringing his sexuality into it.

It was just…easier to keep it to women, to ignore the looks some men gave him even when he wanted to return them, and then he had Abby and he thought it didn’t matter anymore. That he would never have to think about it again.

Until Eddie. And now —

“What,” he says, carefully, “does that mean?”

Hen tilts her head, a familiar sympathetic look in her eyes. “Some people are very passionate about queer actors playing queer roles, obviously ignoring the fact that closeted actors exist. I just mean that you might get some flack for it.”

He clears his throat, reminds himself that this is Hen. “And do you? Care about queer actors playing queer roles, I mean.”

“In theory, yes,” Hen confirms, “but I’ve been in this industry way too long to assume someone’s straight just because they haven’t said otherwise, and I’m gay and I wrote the thing, so all I care about is putting good actors in the roles. And you’re a good actor.”

Buck nods, and he thinks about all those years he’s watched Hen’s films and thought I could never do that. It was because he didn’t think he was a good enough actor, but it was also because he never let himself look too closely at his sexuality at all, but especially not where it related to film. Hollywood had decided who he was, and queer didn’t fit in with their image of him. Hen’s films, with their aching, desperate romances, felt almost too close. Like he couldn’t be in one without baring his soul and shattering that image, not just for Hollywood, but for himself.

But he has a solid, fantastic career that he’s proud of now, and people in his corner that will never give up on him, least of all for something like this, and he doesn’t think he cares anymore.

He thinks that one day if Chris starts to question things, he wants to make that easier for him in any way that he can.

So he nods again, and he takes a breath, and he says, “I am. A queer actor, I mean.”

Hen’s expression doesn’t change at all, except for a soft, slow smile. She puts her hands back on his, resting on the counter between them. “Thank you for trusting me with this,” she says, with just enough levity in her voice for Buck to laugh. “If anyone gives you shit for being in this movie, I’ll send Karen after them.”

“You’re talking like I’ve already agreed to be in it,” Buck points out, breath filling his chest easier.

Hen raises a single eyebrow. “Haven’t you? In your heart?”

Buck’s bark of laughter echoes through his empty loft. “You need to spend less time with Chim.”

Hen’s other eyebrow rises to join the first.

“Fine,” Buck says, tilting his head back with another laugh as Hen pumps her fist with a quiet cheer. “Fine! But when this goes horribly wrong, I reserve the right to say I told you so.”

“Okay,” Hen says, rolling her eyes. “It won’t go wrong, because I’m a genius, but if it makes you feel better.” She pats the script on the table between them, smirking again. “You can keep this one, I have another for Eddie.”

Buck nods absently for a second before Hen’s words catch up to him. “Wh— Eddie? Wait, did you say Eddie?” Hen’s already walking away, already with a hand on Buck’s door. “Henrietta! Don’t walk away from me! Did you say Eddie? Eddie Diaz?”

Hen had, in fact, said Eddie.

“So, let me get this straight,” Maddie says and holds up a hand to stop the joke before Chimney can make it. “You and Eddie are filming a romance together? You are going to make out with Eddie on camera?”

Chimney laughs, burying his head in his hands. “God, I could kiss Hen right on the mouth.”

Buck kicks him under the bar table.

They’re tucked away in the corner of the bar, crowded in a cracked vinyl booth that squeaks anytime someone moves. The bar itself is similar: cracking and old and just slightly sticky. The kind of bar Buck lived in during his early 20s, working half the night and drinking the other half. Definitely not the kind of bar he’s spent much time in during his late 20s, but Eddie likes it — knows the owner, one of the PTA moms Eddie pretends he isn’t friendly with — so they’re here.

“Why is Buck kicking Chim?” Eddie asks, setting down two beers and two brightly coloured cocktails before sliding in next to Buck. His thigh ends up pressed firmly against Buck’s, the warmth of it grounding. He turns to Buck with a grin. “Do you need backup?”

“Hey,” Chim starts, indignant, holding a hand up. Maddie laughs, gently tugging it back down by the wrist, patting it once it lands on the table.

“You’ve got Maddie,” Eddie says, tipping his beer towards him.

“And Buck has you?” Chim leans forward, narrowing his eyes at Eddie with a smirk.

Eddie shakes his head, laughing as he leans back. The movement presses the entire length of his body against the entire length of Buck’s. “Shut up, Chim.”

“We were just talking,” Maddie says, cradling her cocktail between two hands, “about you and Buck making out on camera.” Her eyebrows waggle, Chimney’s cackle tugging her face into a grin. “We’re very excited, are you excited?”

“Why,” Eddie says, slow, even as he grins, “are you excited to see your brother have sex on screen?”

Maddie’s eyebrows spike upwards. “I said making out. I’m sorry, are there full on sex scenes in this film?”

Buck groans, dropping his head into his hands. Eddie’s palm lands on the back of his neck, squeezing briefly in apology. “Maddie, please,” Buck says, muffled into his palms. Chimney laughs.

“Evan, are you putting your dick on camera?”

“Maddie!” Buck’s head jerks up, glaring at his sister, who has set stern eyes on him.

“Well, I know Eddie isn’t putting his dick on camera.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, eyebrows pinched indignantly. “What makes you think I wouldn’t go full frontal?”

Buck tries very hard not to think about Eddie’s dick. He only mostly succeeds.

Chimney snorts. “I don’t know, maybe everything about you? I’m kind of surprised Buck’s dick hasn’t been in theatres yet.”

Buck's glare swivels to Chimney as Maddie makes a face and Eddie snorts into his beer.

“Leave Buck’s dick alone,” Eddie says, smirking, and Buck promptly chokes on nothing.

“I’m going to walk into oncoming traffic,” Buck tells the table at large. “Is that what you all want? Do you want me to walk into traffic?”

So, Hen casts Buck and she also casts Eddie. And Buck…dreads it as much as he anticipates it.

Because something’s changed since Buck ended it with Taylor. Those months of odd tension, of Eddie keeping his hands firmly to himself, are instantly a thing of the past. Like a switch flipped, Eddie’s back to easy grins and teasing jokes and near constant touches.

It feels more and more like they’re standing on the edge of something, but Buck—he can’t be the one to take a step off the ledge. Buck’s spent his entire life jumping first and thinking later, and he won’t do it with Eddie. He won’t risk the best relationship in his life by being impulsive.

It’s only that…Buck reads the script, again and again, runs through the lines out loud to himself in his barren apartment, and he just doesn’t see how he can act out these scenes with Eddie and not do something stupid. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pantomime sex with Eddie in front of a camera and then turn it off once the camera’s cut, not when he already knows what Eddie looks like when—

The point is, he’s dreading it just as much as he’s anticipating it. He manages to distract himself well enough, busy with fittings for the costume department and sessions with an accent coach and getting his ass handed to him at the gym.

And then, suddenly, he’s on a flight to Arizona with his heart in his throat and a familiar mantra in his head: don't sleep with him.

There’s something about Eddie in a cowboy hat.

Buck nearly chokes when he first steps onto set — a real bar the set designers have converted into something right out of the ’40s, a setting that almost looks like it should have a sepia filter — and sees Eddie already at his marker, sitting on a bar stool in a brown shirt jacket and a goddamn cowboy hat. He has to swallow twice before he can slide next to Eddie at the bar, waiting for the set designers to finish stocking the shelves with prop booze bottles.

“Howdy,” he drawls, slipping into a Southern accent he spent three weeks learning for a Hallmark rom-com years ago and tips an imaginary cowboy hat of his own.

He’s in a well-pressed, expensive charcoal pinstripe suit, complete with a bright red tie and a matching pocket square. It’s tailored perfectly to his measurements. It’s, honestly, better than anything he’s ever worn to an event, a fact that’s only confirmed when Eddie’s eyes swing in his direction and linger on where his shoulders fill the jacket.

“Wrong accent,” Eddie comments, smirking just so, and he’s got a drawl. Nothing like Buck’s overdramatic, made-for-TV-movie accent; it’s almost subtle, and deeper than Eddie’s voice usually is, his vowels stretching and consonants dropping.

Buck remembers, suddenly, in a way he’s never really had to think about, that Eddie spent the first nearly-thirty years of his life in Texas.

“Edmundo Diaz,” he says, slipping on the actual accent he’s spent the past four months perfecting with an actual dialect coach and not just YouTube videos, a London inflection that forces his voice a few octaves deeper. Eddie’s eyes darken. This movie’s going to fucking kill him. “Have you been holding out on me?”

Buck can see Eddie swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing briefly. “I—” He clears his throat; Buck smirks. “I’ve been from Texas the entire time I’ve known you, Buck.”

“But you’ve kept that accent under wraps.”

Eddie glances away, his mouth twitching against a smile. When he tilts his head down, the brim of his cowboy hat hides half of his face. There’s…just something about Eddie in a cowboy hat. “Yeah, on purpose. It only comes out when I’m really plastered or when I’m—well.”

This movie is going to fucking kill him.

“I didn’t hear it,” Buck says, the words out of his mouth before he can vet them. Eddie’s head jerks in his direction, eyes widening briefly. They’ve never talked about it, their trailer hand jobs, have only ever barely hinted towards it. Buck coughs. “Um.”

“I,” Eddie tries, stops, clears his throat again. “It was—fast, wasn’t it?”

Buck’s eyebrows raise. “Are you saying I’m quick on the trigger? I’ll have you know—”

Eddie laughs, and suddenly one of Eddie’s hands is on the back of his head, the other over Buck’s mouth. Buck’s mouth goes instantly dry, heat pooling in his stomach. He tries very hard to remind himself that he is technically at work right now.

“We cannot,” Eddie says, voice low and eyes dark on Buck’s, “talk about this right now.”

Slowly, like he’s worried he might spook Buck with sudden movements, Eddie pulls the hand on Buck’s mouth away. The other stays in Buck’s hair. Buck swallows. “Right now?”

“Buck.” It’s basically a groan. Buck did something terrible in a past life, he’s sure of it.

“Diaz, Buckley.” Hen arrives at their side, standing between their bar stools with a rolled-up script tucked under her arm. Her eyes find Eddie’s hand in Buck’s hair, and then immediately widen. Buck’s face is on fire, but it helps that a similar flush rises up the back of Eddie’s neck as he takes his hand back. Buck does not miss the weight of it. “Getting into character?”

Buck chokes, turning it into a cough. Eddie tilts his head down until his — goddamn — cowboy hat covers most of his face. “Sure,” he says. Buck remembers when that sure made him want to punch something; now, he only huffs a breath of laughter.

Hen smirks, a knowing look in her eye. Buck wants, desperately, to ask her what exactly it is she knows because he doesn’t understand a thing that’s happening.

“Good,” is all she says. Eddie still rolls his eyes. “We’re starting in five.”

Buck offers Eddie a two-fingered salute, receives a soft-edged smile in return, and obediently drifts to his marker, two bar stools down. The crew is quickly dispersing, the extras filing in, the cameras and sound equipment getting into place, and then Hen’s calling action.

It’s nearly second nature for Buck to slide into the role, into a slick smirk that belongs only marginally to Buck 1.0; the rest is all Tommy, deviously charming, sharply cunning. He flirts with a blonde-haired extra at the bar, leaning too close to tuck her hair behind her ear, lingering. There’s a camera on a rig barely a foot away, angled in for a close-up on Buck’s hand in her hair, tracking the movement as his hand trails down her neck, her bare arm, fingers circling feather-light around her wrist.

Her hand lands on his thigh, fingers digging briefly in, a delicate gold bracelet bright against the dark tweed of his suit pants; the camera next to them shifts to catch it, lingers.

Someone across the room shouts — “Jules!” — and the blonde-haired extra jerks in her seat, giggling softly to herself as she leans away. “Oh, gosh,” she says, both hands reaching up to push back her loose pin curls. “I—I should get going.”

“Sure thing, darling,” Buck says, his smirk firmly in place. She ducks her head against another giggle, and then she’s collecting her purse and drink and exiting the frame.

The camera returns to Buck’s thigh, framing the moment where Buck flips his hand and there, in his palm: the bracelet. It’s the moment where a viewer might realize that her wrists were bare when she adjusted her hair.

“That’s vermeil.” It’s Eddie’s Texas drawl, sounding to Buck’s left. When Buck glances up and over, he’s hunched over a glass of dark liquor, not even looking in Buck’s direction.

Buck flattens his accent, forcing his words into something bored and lazy when he says, “Excuse me?”

Eddie, finally, glances at Buck, one half of his mouth tilted up in a distinctly amused smile. Buck, in this character and also, just maybe, in a different bar in a different city three years ago, bristles.

“The bracelet? Gold plated.” Eddie snorts, raising his glass to his lips. “You’ll be lucky to get a dollar for that.”

Buck blinks, but only lets a second of surprise show before he’s dialling up the flirty grin. He twists in his seat to face Eddie fully; leans closer. “Okay, let’s pretend I know what you’re talking about.” Eddie’s eyebrows twitch upwards. “How would you know what material that bracelet is made of?”

“I’m…acquainted with her husband.” It’s not a surprise; he’s meant to know about her husband — her ring notably absent — and to not care. “The War hasn’t been great for his company; he’s not buying his wife real gold.”

“Acquainted?” Buck raises his eyebrows, suggestive.

Eddie only stares, expressionless. It’s only one half-step away from the Eddie that Buck’s familiar with, close enough that Buck almost breaks character. He reels it in; he’s got at least five scenes to go before his character can go all soft-eyed and gooey-smiled at Eddie.

When enough silence has passed, Buck juts his bottom lip out in a mockery of a pout. “Spoilsport,” he accuses, earning himself an amused breath, not quite a laugh but something approaching it. “What makes you so sure I took that bracelet?”

Eddie slides out of his seat, leaving his empty glass on the counter as he takes a moment to adjust his coat, the brim of his hat. Buck takes his time looking, his eyes lingering on the shadow of his facial hair, following the line of his coat, tracing the length of his pants.

“What’s the saying?” Eddie questions, stepping closer and tilting his head. “Takes one to know one?”

Buck tilts his head back, eyebrows lifting. Eddie’s mouth bends into a smirk. Buck can’t tell if the heat that slides along his spine is his or Tommy’s or both. He leans into it. “Say, d’you wanna dance, cowboy?”

Eddie steps closer still, his thigh just barely grazing Buck’s knee. He reaches a hand up to steady his hat as he leans forward, his mouth a brush away from Buck’s. Buck sucks in a sharp breath, holds it. “I don’t think so, darling.”

A blink, and Eddie’s disappearing out of frame. The camera lingers on Buck, who blows out the breath he’s been holding and stares after Eddie with a breathless grin, but only for a second before his eyes widen. He looks down at his hands — empty — and pats at his jacket, his pants, glancing around hopelessly.

The bracelet’s gone; Buck tosses his head back and laughs.

The movie doesn’t kill him, but it tries its best.

It’s not like What’s Inside You? or Damned Spot; then, most of their scenes were tense fights, spitting anger. It was — there was that heat at the bottom of Buck’s spine, that desire to push until something snapped, but it wasn’t like this. Those weren’t romances.

The Way Forward is very clearly a romance, every scene brimming with the promise of what’s to come, and the heat that seems to live at the bottom of Buck’s spine these days threatens to consume him whole. In every scene, Eddie in that damn cowboy hat and Buck in a seeming limitless rotation of suits, there’s that familiar desire to push, written right into the script, but there’s also the promise that something will finally snap.

And then one day, it does.

Buck’s almost sick with nerves over it, pacing up and down a quiet stretch of hallway at the back of their set. And he remembers doing the same in his trailer all of those years ago when he and Eddie had to fight in the forest for Damned Spot. He remembers his bone-deep worry that even pretending to fight with Eddie would damage their budding friendship.

That's not what he’s worried about now.

Now, he and Eddie have gone through enough for Buck to know, deep in the centre of himself, that there’s no scene they could film that would ruin them.

It’s only that they’re due to shoot their first hook up, a messy hand job in a bathroom that’s almost too close for comfort. It’s only that it’s been years since Buck last kissed Eddie and he’s made peace with the fact he’d never get to again. It’s only that Buck’s worried if he kisses Eddie again in this scene he might not be able to stop.

“How did I know you’d be freaking out about this?”

Eddie’s in the stupid hat again when Buck pauses in his pacing and turns in the direction of his voice, instinctively like a fucking sunflower. He finds Eddie leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his mouth bent into a knowing little curve.

In less than twenty minutes, Buck’s gonna have to pretend to have sex with him.

Buck swallows. “I’m not freaking out about this.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, unimpressed. “Sure.” God, Buck is so fucked, because even that kind of makes him hot under the collar.

Eddie pushes off of the wall, takes three steps in Buck’s direction, and then, suddenly, he’s standing right in front of him. Buck blinks, desperate, and Eddie’s hand lands on his shoulder. His eyes are gooey-soft, full romance hero. Buck wants to die, he thinks.

“Buck. Stop thinking so much. It’s not like we haven’t practised for this.”

Buck has no choice but to laugh, a surprised bark that drags itself out of his chest to echo along the empty hall. “Holy shit,” he says, wide eyes catching the moment where Eddie squints around his grin. “Is now the time to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Eddie’s voice is calm, casual, but there’s something hot and sticky in his eyes that nearly makes Buck’s breath catch in his throat. “You gave me the best hand job of my life ten minutes after I dumped on you about war and then Christopher’s mom died.”

“I can’t stand you,” Buck says on a choked exhale. And then: “Best hand job of your life?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning all the same. “Yes, Buck. So I know you know what you’re doing for this scene.”

“Okay, but that wasn’t even my best work. Like, not even clo—”

“Buck.”

Buck beams but relents. “You’re not freaking out about this at all? It’s one thing for us to hook up in your trailer and then not talk about it for two years and another to do it on camera.”

Eddie shrugs, his gaze sliding to the side for a second as his mouth twitches against a smile, and when his eyes return to Buck’s, they’re steady. “I trust you,” he says. And Buck's heard it before, but it hits him the same place it always does, bruise-tender. “There’s no one I’d rather simulate sex with on camera.”

Buck laughs, just to watch Eddie’s grin widen, but there’s something pooling in his gut that feels a bit like dread.

Buck’s filmed sex scenes before, and they’re usually rigorously blocked and choreographed, an intimacy coordinator on hand during rehearsals and the scene proper. It’s more awkward than sexy in practice after countless run-throughs of the mechanics. Even with closed sets, there’s something like half a dozen crew members around, there’s still camera equipment all over, there’s still the clinical blocking in the back of your mind.

Hen’s decided not to choreograph any of the sex scenes for The Way Forward. She goes over the intended tone and the narrative drive of the scene. She draws out the broadest strokes of blocking, just: enter here, end up here, hand job somewhere in the middle.

But the rest is up to them.

Hen doesn’t even want to rehearse any of the scenes.

“This is all about passion. The idea is that you can’t keep your hands off of each other,” she had said when she first talked to them about the scenes, their nudity riders with Bobby’s stamp of approval on the table between them. Buck had curled his hands into fists under the table. “I don’t want any of it to seem rehearsed. But if you two would rather —”

“No,” Buck and Eddie had said, almost as one.

So, there’s no choreography, no real blocking at all. And no time for Buck to panic about it, either, because the scene opens with the bathroom door swinging open, Buck and Eddie spilling through already mid-kiss.

He only has enough time for Eddie to grip his face between his hands, to lean in close and say, quietly enough that maybe the various audio equipment won't be able to pick it up, “Kiss me like you mean it, Trouble.”

And then Hen’s calling action, and Eddie’s mouth is sliding over his for the first time in over two years, and they’re crashing through the bathroom door.

Buck is on fire, instantly. All he can focus on is Eddie’s hands in his hair, tugging, Buck’s hands on Eddie’s waist, squeezing, the small of Buck’s back hitting the edge of a sink as they scramble backwards. There’s no finesse, only blind, desperate passion; only wandering hands and bruising kisses.

Buck remembers the first time Eddie kissed him, remembers that he had never thought of it before that moment. Remembers that he thought it would be difficult to think about anything else ever again. And it has been.

He’s not even aware of how often he’s thought about it — of just how much mental real estate the feeling of Eddie’s mouth against his has taken up — until now. Until he fists his hands in the lapels of Eddie’s duster jacket and takes control, steering them blindly backwards until Eddie’s back hits the wall with enough force to earn him a choked-off grunt.

Buck smirks into their kiss, remembering, somehow, that he’s meant to be playing a character. Remembering, somehow, that there are surrounded by cameras capturing their every move. Remembering, somehow, that he will not actually be touching Eddie’s dick in the next ten minutes.

He’s so fucked, because he’s genuinely disappointed.

Eddie doesn’t let Buck keep control over the kiss for long, twisting one hand in his hair and moulding the other in a vice grip around Buck’s waist until he can flip them around, bracketing Buck against the wall instead. His mouth slides away from Buck’s — Buck mourns — but only far enough to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck.

“You,” Buck gasps out, remembering his script, “are incorrigible.”

He feels the bend of Eddie’s smirk against his neck. He tries, for a second, to imagine how the camera might capture the action: a close-up, shadowed by the brim of Eddie’s cowboy hat. But then Eddie’s teeth scrape against his neck, a tease, and Buck stops thinking about cameras altogether.

Eddie pulls away, meeting Buck’s steaming gaze with molten eyes, a bitter smirk. “Now that sure is a ten-dollar word, darling,” he says, the darling dropping into a poor imitation of Buck’s borrowed London drawl.

“It means you’re a dick,” Buck bites out.

Eddie’s smirk only grows, and he rips Buck’s button down open, tearing buttons free from their threads, falling to the bathroom floor with faint clinks. Buck tilts his head back against the wall behind him, his eyes falling shut, somewhere between annoyance and heart-stopping lust.

Eddie's mouth returns to Buck’s neck, his hand tugging at his hair until Buck bares his throat. His other hand slides up Buck’s bare stomach, curving around his ribs. Buck’s not sure if the camera will even catch the movement, not sure if either of them cares. He can’t tell where the boundaries between their own lust and their characters lie, if there are any at all.

When he groans out loud he just barely remembers to say Eddie’s character’s name instead.

Eddie hums quietly, his mouth on the hinge of Buck’s jaw, his hands travelling down to Buck’s waistband. And Buck knows that’s out of frame — knows everything from here on out will be elbows-up, but Eddie’s fingers wrap around Buck’s belt anyway.

“Think you can be quiet?” Eddie asks, voice low.

“Fuck you,” Buck answers, and breaks off into a punched-out gasp when Eddie presses his hand against Buck’s belt buckle, the sudden pressure nowhere near where he wants it, but close enough to make heat shoot up his spine.

We are being filmed, Buck reminds himself, desperately, we are at work.

Eddie’s shoulder moves, his arm jerking and — and he’s not — it’s fake, it’s movie illusion, but Buck remembers, Buck can nearly picture it and it’s —

Buck’s filmed sex scenes before, and not once has it felt like this, like he could tip over the edge just imagining it.

He grabs Eddie’s hat by the brim — the stupid stupid thing that makes something in Buck go offline every time he sees it — and he slings his arm over Eddie’s shoulder, the hat dangling from his fingertips over the centre of Eddie’s back. He drops his face into the side of Eddie’s neck, panting open-mouthed, and he knows the camera won’t catch it, but he presses his mouth to the skin there, bites down.

Eddie’s resulting gasp is maybe the best sound he’s ever heard.

Buck lets out a shuddering gasp, pressing his forehead against Eddie’s collarbone so one of the cameras can catch the slack expression, his eyes fluttering closed. Eddie’s free hand lands on Buck’s chest, pushing back until Buck sags against the wall.

He wipes his other hand on Buck’s open shirt, smirking. Buck’s fucked-out expression narrows into a weak glare.

Distantly, Hen says, "Cut."

There’s a long, long second where Eddie doesn’t move, and then Buck hears Eddie take in a quiet breath just before he steps away. His expression shifts, packing something away, and Buck thinks about quitting his job and moving to New Zealand.

“Do we —” Buck clears his throat. “Again?”

Hen shakes her head, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. There’s a knowing gleam in her eyes that Buck nearly flinches away from. “No, that was perfect. Exactly what I was looking for.”

They have a few more scenes to go; Buck and Eddie circling each other around country clubs and bars and hotel lobbies until, eventually, they get to leave for the day.

The studio’s put them up in hotel rooms for the length of filming, rooms just a few doors down from each other. They’ve spent the first week of filming huddled together in Eddie’s room talking to Christopher or Maddie over FaceTime and dissecting the script and arguing over the price of room service, Buck’s room more or less useless except to sleep in.

Sometimes, when Buck isn’t careful, he thinks about all of the time they wasted, those months he spent in his loft holding desperately onto a relationship he knew, deep down, would never work out.

Sometimes, when Buck isn’t careful, he thinks about what it would have been like if they hadn’t stopped after that night in the trailer.

He pauses in the hallway with his room key hanging limply in his hand and Eddie only two doors down, a hand on his doorknob. And Buck. Buck still feels the warm pressure of his lips on his neck, still feels the sting of his hand in his hair, still wants like he’s been wanting for what feels like forever. It chokes him, the want, too big for his body and without an outlet.

He just needs to let some of it out, and then he’ll be normal again. It’s not jumping off the ledge they’ve been teetering on, it’s just…taking a little look over it.

“Eddie.”

Eddie looks up, away from the door he’s finally opened, an easy smile already in place. Whatever he finds in Buck's face is enough to make him blink, and Buck can’t imagine it’s all that different from how he’s been looking at Eddie for…God, Buck doesn’t even know how long — the entire time? — but Eddie’s expression changes instantly.

Buck recognizes it: the searing heat in his eyes, the brief part of his mouth, the slight flush to his cheeks. Eddie was the one to make the first move all of those years ago, the one who crossed the distance between them for the first time. And now, Eddie’s staring at him, Buck’s desperate want reflected back to him, and he knows it’s his turn to close the distance.

He’s in front of Eddie in three long strides, pausing only long enough to shove his keycard back in his pocket before his hands are framing Eddie’s face, his mouth sliding over Eddie’s, the force of it pushing Eddie into the door frame.

“Eddie,” he says again, a gasp into the narrow space between them.

Eddie’s mouth slides away from his, down along his jaw. “I know,” he says, and Buck doesn’t doubt for a second that he does know.

It spreads through him, warm, the bone-deep certainty that Eddie knows him, every twitch of his hand and every line of his face.

Buck’s spent a long time in front of cameras, a long time spilling his guts for the world to pick apart, waiting for it to feel like being seen. Even before that, he spent his entire life breaking himself down to bits and pieces in front of his parents waiting for them to recognize him. And nothing has felt quite like Eddie Diaz walking into his life, taking apart Buck’s poorly made defences and sliding into the spaces Buck hadn’t even realized were there.

They stumble through the doorway, Buck reaching blindly behind him to swing the door shut, Eddie’s hands a constant, blinding, wandering pressure. It’s desperate, fast and dirty like their scene only a few hours before, but this time Buck knows this isn’t movie magic. This isn’t Eddie pantomiming something for a camera. This is Buck’s hands undoing Eddie’s belt, making quick work of his button and zip.

This is the thin carpet of the hotel room hard under his knees as he pushes Eddie to the edge of the bed, as he tugs Eddie’s jeans around his ankles. This is his mouth watering, thinking about want a demo? and unable to deprive himself any longer.

“Wait, wait,” Eddie says, twisting a hand in Buck’s shirt as leverage, pulling him back to his feet.

“What?” Buck says, mostly a gasp. “I’m gonna be offended soon if you keep rejecting my offers to suck your dick.”

It turns out he can’t go even a second without touching Eddie, his hands sliding up to the sides of Eddie’s neck, thumbs pressing gently into the hinge of his jaw until his head tilts up obediently.

The fluorescent lights of the hotel room reflect in the brown of his eyes, and Buck can picture the framing of this shot perfectly: the close-up capturing just Eddie’s eyes, the bridge of his nose, the line of his eyebrows; the shallow depth of field softly blurring the background; the post-production colour-correction upping the warm tones. It would be beautiful, Buck knows, but it wouldn’t come close to the real thing.

Eddie grins, the muscles shifting under Buck’s palm. Eddie’s hands are warm on the back of his thighs, resting just under the curve of his ass.

“You have a bad knee,” he says, one hand slipping down until his fingers press into the side of Buck’s knee. “Floor’s hard.”

And Buck never told Eddie which leg he hurt. Maybe — he might have seen the scars, but they’re not as big as Buck thought they should be in the immediate aftermath, easy to overlook if you don’t know they’re there. More likely, Eddie heard Buck tell an interviewer about his accident and then spent the last year watching Buck, noticing the days when he limped a little more than usual and the winces he couldn’t quite manage to swallow.

“You,” Buck says, pressing his palms against Eddie’s shoulders until he falls back against the bed, until Buck can follow, his knees digging into the mattress on either side of Eddie’s thighs, “are incorrigible.”

Eddie’s laugh is a sharp bark, settling along the length of Buck’s spine. “Shut up,” Eddie groans, dragging Buck’s mouth to his with a tight, insistent grip in his hair.

Obediently, Buck shuts up. His mouth is very quickly otherwise occupied.

The sun is warm across Buck’s bare back, bright enough to cut through sleep. He’s almost heavy enough to slide right back under, pleasantly sore and comfortably warm, coming off of the best sleep he’s had in weeks or months or years.

But when Buck reluctantly blinks his eyes open, he discovers Eddie’s tucked into his chest, and he’s very suddenly awake.

Because Eddie Diaz is apparently a cuddler. Their legs are tangled, Eddie’s head all but buried his head in Buck’s chest, one of his hands curled in a loose fist right against Buck’s bare stomach. A couple of months ago, he woke up most mornings with Taylor’s hair tickling his nose, his stomach twisted tight with something like fear or guilt or anger before she said a word.

He takes a moment to poke around his chest, to turn over his heart until he can identify the stillness in his body as contentment. It’s unfamiliar, strangely shaped.

Eddie makes a sound, a bleary quiet noise half muffled against Buck’s skin, and burrows deeper into Buck like he can crawl right inside of his chest away from the demands of the morning. Buck, sue him, is hopelessly endeared.

He runs his hand down the slope of Eddie’s back, remembers doing the same years ago, remembers the grit in Eddie’s voice when he said it can’t happen again. Remembers that he agreed. He had no idea how much he’d miss it, the warmth of Eddie’s skin.

“Morning, drama queen,” he says, and laughs when Eddie groans. His stubble scratches lightly over Buck’s chest as he rubs his face against Buck’s sternum, his arm slung low over Buck’s waist and tugging him closer.

Buck’s too old for butterflies, but there is something wreaking havoc on his insides.

Until Eddie freezes suddenly, going stock-still under Buck’s hand a second before he pulls away. Whatever non-butterfly entity that’s made a home in Buck’s stomach dies on impact.

“Um,” Eddie says, and his too-expressive eyes are wide with worry. “I guess we should talk.”

Pulling apart has made the sheets slip lower, revealing the expanse of Eddie’s chest, the dark hair, the bruises Buck left on the top of his ribs and the jut of his hip.

Buck thought if he could have Eddie again for just one night, if he could relearn the feeling of his mouth and the heat of his body, then he could get it out of his system.

It didn’t work. He still wants to touch and be touched by Eddie with a fervour that makes him dizzy. He’s never wanted anyone like this, like he’ll burn if he touches him and burn if he doesn’t.

Eddie’s hands cover his face, fingertips pressing into his eyes to rub tiredly. Buck works on sitting up, putting more space between them, so he doesn’t reach out to take Eddie’s hands away. He’s too rough with himself. Eddie — Eddie deserves gentleness, deserves kindness from the world at large but from himself most of all.

It’s not Buck’s place to tell him that, is all. And he’s pretty sure it’d be at least a little hypocritical.

“I can’t lose you,” Eddie says, the first to break the tense silence that has stretched between them. He’s not looking at Buck, staring up at the popcorn ceiling instead. “You — I just can’t lose you.”

Buck breathes in and thinks about all of the people he’s lost. And the thing is: he would survive losing Eddie, he knows, just like he survived losing Maddie and his parents and Abby, but he doesn’t want to. He would survive it, but he wouldn’t be the same. It would break him right down the middle.

“I can’t lose you, either.” He glances down to meet Eddie’s impossibly warm eyes. He was so confident and steady just twenty-four hours ago, calm where Buck was trying and failing to keep it together, so Buck can be the sensible one, just this once. “But…we’re stronger than that, aren’t we? We’ve survived hooking up before. Maybe —”

Buck swallows, ducking his head against a faint laugh. He should shut up, he should so deeply shut the fuck up.

He lifts his head to smile right at Eddie, who smiles back like a reflex, and he says, “Maybe we’re just friends who can have mindblowing sex and…nothing has to change.”

Eddie blinks, his smile frozen in place but not dimming, and Buck can see his thoughts racing. Buck knows every single thing about Eddie, his deepest fears and his greatest joys and exactly where to kiss him to make him gasp quietly. He knows that Eddie’s about to agree.

“Nothing has to change,” he echoes.

“Nothing.” Buck closes the space between them, cupping his hand around the side of Eddie’s neck, tracing his thumb over the line of his jaw. Eddie’s eyes soften. Full romance hero. “You’re my best friend, Eddie.”

“You’re my best friend, too.” Eddie’s mouth slides into a smirk, the one that means he’s about to say something annoying. “Wanna get matching BFF necklaces? I get peanut butter, you get jelly?”

Buck shakes his head, refusing to give Eddie the satisfaction of laughing, and rolls over so he’s half on top, his elbows resting on the pillow on either side of Eddie’s head. Eddie’s laughter dies in his throat, blinking wide eyes up at Buck as his hands automatically land on Buck’s waist.

It’s too easy, Buck thinks, and Buck doesn’t get to have easy; he buries the thought before it can take hold, focuses instead on the feeling of Eddie’s hands on his bare skin.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Buck says, hovering closecloseclose to Eddie’s pliant, waiting mouth, but not close enough.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Oh, it’s my head we have to worry about?”

Buck slides a hand into Eddie’s hair and tugs. Eddie’s eyes flash, but his mouth snaps shut. “As I was saying,” Buck says, trying for stern but the force of his grin softens the impact, “don’t let it go to your head, but you’re also smoking hot. It’s kind of a miracle I didn’t jump you in that bar when we met.”

Eddie’s hands tighten on Buck’s waist. Buck’s stomach clenches, interested. “You mean when you were being a massive brat, Evan?”

“Brat!” Buck echoes, throwing his head back to laugh. Eddie’s hands slide upwards, moulding over his ribs. A shiver slides down Buck's spine.

“Yes, a brat.” Eddie smiles, and it’s not unfamiliar, not even close, but there’s a heat to it that’s still novel. “What did you say? Wanna see my bite?”

Buck bows his head, dropping his forehead against Eddie’s collarbone and burying his laughter there. One of Eddie’s hands lands on the back of his neck, squeezing, and it’s not the first time he’s touched Buck like this, but it’s the first time Buck leans into the heat of it instead of pretending he can ignore it.

He feels seventeen again, giddy every time someone touches him like they want him, before he learned that he could trade the hot press of someone’s mouth for the bitter rage in his gut with his parents' fingerprints all over it, when he was just enjoying affection for what it was.

Except, this isn’t just about faceless affection. This is about Eddie, his best friend in the world, who carries so much with him — so much tragedy and pain and responsibility — but who has never let it sharpen his touch. Who touches Buck like he matters; like he never wants to let go.

“Shut up,” he says, his mouth brushing against Eddie’s chest as he does. Eddie shivers underneath him which is — something he can enjoy, now. “We have,” he lifts his head enough to glance at the clock on the nightstand, “two hours before we have to be on set. Do you wanna make fun of me or do you wanna fuck me?”

Eddie’s eyes darken, his teasing smile sliding away. Buck’s stomach clenches and, before he can make a move, Eddie’s sliding his arms around Buck’s waist and flipping them over. Buck’s delighted laugh fades into a gasp as Eddie aligns their hips, dips down to capture Buck’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

Buck fists a hand in Eddie’s hair and thinks, this movie is going to kill me.

Marsha frowns at him when he sits down in the makeup chair.

“Evan,” she says, flicking one long purple nail against his collarbone where Eddie’s bitten a dark bruise into his skin. “Do you hate me?”

“Come on, Mar,” Buck says, tilting his head back with a smirk, “I told you: it’s Buck.”

She ducks her head, grumbling to herself as she sets about covering his bruise.

Because, now that Buck’s given them permission, Eddie’s insatiable. It’s like he can hardly stand to keep his hands away from Buck. The second they leave set behind — and sometimes even before, Eddie pulling Buck into dark hallways and crowding him against walls — Eddie has his mouth on Buck’s, his hands in Buck’s hair. And Buck wants him just as bad, but Eddie’s been starving longer.

They’re like teenagers, leaving marks like they can write their names into each other’s skin: mine.

Except, of course, that Eddie’s isn’t his, and he’s not Eddie’s. Nothing has to change, Buck said, and Eddie agreed. They’re just best friends who can barely go twelve hours without sleeping together. They’re just best friends who, on hour thirteen of having to keep their hands to themselves, when Eddie had an extra three hours of filming without Buck, sent and received tastefully framed nudes that earned Buck a blowjob against Eddie’s door, Eddie still in the fucking cowboy hat.

But they’re just best friends.

“Damn,” a voice says to Buck’s left. “Are you and Eddie part of some weird BDSM club?”

It’s Ravi, sitting in a makeup chair of his own and tilting his head obediently up so Cami can take a spoolie to his eyebrows.

“What?” It comes out sharper than he means it to.

He likes Ravi, is the thing. It helps that he’s not nursing a heartbreak — oh, he thinks, Taylor, and then mentally shrugs — and that Ravi is all boyish grins and jokes that Buck doesn’t understand. But even with his mini-coming out to Hen — even with the little rainbow pin Ravi has on his backpack — he's fiercely protective of this secret bubble he's found himself in with Eddie, fear tightening his chest at the thought of being found out.

He thinks about being seventeen, about flinching every time the floor creaked when he was making out with his teammate in the locker room after practice, and the sharpness in his chest takes another shape.

Ravi’s mouth quirks into a smile, his eyes only opening once Cami taps his shoulder and steps away. “It was like, a joke?” He laughs, gesturing toward Marsha as she dabs concealer across Buck’s collarbone. “Because you and Eddie are both like, covered in bruises. You know, haha, funny? How are you two finding women to hook up with between filming anyway?”

Buck can only blink, every excuse he can think of getting blocked on the way out.

“Oh,” Ravi says, and then sticks his hand in the space between them, “I’m Ravi.”

Buck blinks again. “Yeah, dude, I know. We’ve been filming for two weeks.” He’s even filmed with Ravi, who’s playing a too perceptive bartender that catches onto Buck’s cons.

“Right.” Ravi’s hand drops, his expression folding into a wince. “Uh, it’s just that a lot of leading actors tend to, uh, forget? Anyway, I loved Doomsday.”

“What — Really?”

Doomsday was his first film with his name in the credits next to a named role, an indie black comedy with a budget that consisted of three paper clips and a whole lot of faith. Buck was paid in pizza and beer. It circulated through a couple of small festivals, but never hit actual theatres. He’s not even positive it can be found on the internet.

“Yeah,” Ravi grins, “I volunteered at a festival and it was one of the films.”

“And you…liked it?”

He laughs, adjusting in his seat. He’s wearing a sweater that says Glamor Head Shark over an illustration of a hammerhead shark in a blonde wig and red lipstick. Buck feels very old. “Yeah, dude, I love bad movies. I mean —” his eyes go wide; Buck’s not sure he ever managed to recover from BDSM club so he can’t quite drum up a reaction that isn’t more dumb blinking “— not that it was bad — okay, it was really bad, but like, so bad it was good?”

Buck stares at him, and Ravi stares back until, thankfully, a third voice saves them.

“Ravi.”

Ravi and Buck’s heads swivel towards a PA with a headset around his neck. Buck can’t think of his name, but he recognizes the wireframe glasses and the slightly rigid way he holds himself.

Next to Buck, Ravi chokes on nothing. “Uh, yeah, what’s up? Hi.”

Buck sends him a baffled look. What the hell is happening? He misses Eddie.

“Uh, hi.” The PA — Stan? Listen, he’s Ravi’s handler, not Buck’s — ducks his head and…blushes? Buck looks around, just to make sure he hasn’t accidentally walked onto the set of an awkward teen romance. The PA shakes his head. “They, uh, need you in wardrobe. Someone had an epiphany about the colour of your hat, so.”

“Right, okay.” Ravi jumps to his feet, glances down at his shirt, and widens his eyes in disbelief. He turns to Buck, who can only shrug helplessly back. Buck’s fucking his best friend on an exhaustively regular basis and he’s somehow less of a disaster than whatever is happening in this trailer. “So…”

“I can, uh, walk you.”

“Yeah? Okay, yeah.”

Under his breath, Buck says, “Jesus Christ.”

Ravi shoots him a glare over his shoulder before following after the PA close enough that their shoulders brush for just, no reason at all.

Buck turns to Marsha, widening his eyes meaningfully. She rolls her eyes before he even opens his mouth. “How long has that train wreck been happening?”

“Really?” She says and jabs his arm with her makeup brush. She’s covering the thin inked lines around his bicep, but also the faint bruise just underneath it in the shape of Eddie’s thumb. “Mind your business, Buckley.”

Which, Buck has to concede, is fair.

It’s exceptionally fair, actually, considering the second he gets the go ahead to leave — please go be someone else’s problem, Marsha sighs but grins when Buck blows her a kiss — he’s making his way to the country club tennis court they’re filming on, thirty minutes early.

It’s a mistake, he realizes immediately, because the first thing he sees when he quietly reaches Hen’s side is Eddie kissing Ana Flores.

She’s in a white dress, pretty and dainty like a goddamn flower, her tennis racket dangling limply from her hand. Eddie’s wrangled into a white polo, a ridiculously tight pair of equally white shorts. There’s an actual sweatband around his forehead, holding back his hair, soft and fluffy to complete his feigned nice guy look. He looks ridiculous. Buck still wants to unwrap him like a present.

Ana ducks her head, blushing faintly, and then Eddie’s hand is there, curving around her cheek to tilt her face up so he can bend down, cover her mouth with his. It’s a slow, careful kiss, nothing like the one he and Eddie filmed a week ago, and Buck is perfectly normal about it.

The thing is, Buck has filmed a movie before, so he knows how these things work. He knows that Ana’s following a script and that even in the script Eddie’s heart belongs to someone else — to Buck, but not really, and isn’t that the story of his life these days.

So, he’s not jealous. He’s just…getting into character.

Someone calls cut and Lucy, one of Hen’s assistant directors, jogs up to Ana and Eddie, saying something to them and gesturing at the script. Eddie nods seriously, chewing absently at his bottom lip like he always does when he’s trying to memorize something, a habit Buck’s known since What’s Inside You? But now he knows the feeling of Eddie’s mouth, knows what it’s like to have that lip caught between his own teeth.

Hen’s elbow digs into his side, and when he turns to her, wide-eyed and mock-offended, she raises her eyebrows. “What’s going on with your face, Buck?”

He considers saying oh, just thinking about pulling Eddie’s ridiculous tennis shorts down with my teeth, what about you? “Nothing’s going on with my face. I’m…going over my lines.”

“Hm,” Hen hums, disbelieving, and shoves at his shoulder. “Go find a tennis racket, we’re moving onto your entrance soon.”

Buck, frankly, doesn’t need an excuse to get far, far away from Ana’s bashful smile, the way it pokes at parts of his psyche he does his best to ignore, but he’s grateful for one anyway.

The scene is maybe too easy to film, Buck’s character territorial and Eddie’s amused. Ana mostly frowns in their periphery, lost as Buck and Eddie trade pointed barbs, speaking in riddles to bitch at each other about their hook up. They haven’t slept together again since the bathroom handjob, though Buck’s scheduled to blow Eddie in the following scene, pencilled into their call sheet for the weekend. Maybe he can call their new arrangement method acting if anyone asks?

Buck presses the end of his tennis racket against Eddie’s chest and winks, his accent darkening as he drops a line about Eddie’s generosity that makes Eddie’s eyes flash dangerously, his mouth tilting into a smirk. It’s possible that Ana’s frown deepens, but Buck’s world has narrowed to the bend of Eddie’s mouth, the dark brown of his eyes.

Ana clears her throat, even that action delicate, and the glare that Buck swings in her direction is written right into the script, thank you very much.

“We should hurry,” she says, tearing her nervous eyes away from Buck to smile prettily up at Eddie, “or we’ll miss lunch.”

Eddie transforms in front of Buck’s eyes, his smirk softening into a charming grin. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll catch up.” He softens the blow with a gentle hand on her bicep, a kiss pressed to her cheek. His eyes find Buck’s immediately, daring.

Buck doesn’t even notice it when Ana walks out of frame, shooting them a curious look over her shoulder.

Their argument only escalates in Ana’s absence, just as much about their shared fury over their attraction to each other as it is about their respective cons. It’s all biting comments and heated looks, Buck crowding closer and closer into Eddie’s space, Eddie’s eyes getting darker and darker as he stands his ground.

Buck bites out the final line of the scene, standing close enough to Eddie that he can feel the heat of his body, that he would only have to tilt his head just so and they would be kissing. Eddie’s mouth twitches, his jaw clenching. They pause for a beat, letting the camera linger on their heated look for one second, then two, then —

“Cut.”

Buck stumbles a half step back, kept steady by Eddie’s hand on his waist. He gets his feet under him long enough to swat at Eddie’s hand, the heat of it sinking into bone. Eddie frowns at him for only a second before his expression clears and then folds into a laugh when he reads Buck’s glare for what it is.

Eddie is the most infuriating person Buck’s ever met; he wants to swallow him whole.

Hen shouts at them from behind her monitor, telling them to take a break while they figure out an issue with one of the cameras, and Buck’s already calculating the distance from the tennis court to their hotel room, or maybe a bathroom, or maybe he can just drop to his knees right here and claim he forget what they were filming.

“You were so great in that scene,” Ana says, appearing at their side like the physical manifestation of Buck’s karma for the last thirty years of his life, and grins up at Eddie. Buck accidentally stole gum from a convenience store once. He’s pretty sure he’s paying for it through Ana Flores. “Very charming.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says, always polite. Buck bites his tongue against something mean. “You…uh, did a great job, too.”

Buck turns his snort into a cough at the last second. Ana barely looks in his direction. She places her hand on the curve of Eddie’s forearm where he’s folded his arms over his chest, her thumb rubbing back and forth where Marsha’s covered his tattoo.

Buck clenches his jaw, tears his eyes away from Ana’s hand to stare at the ground.

And Buck — Eddie may have bruises that fit the shape of Buck’s mouth, and he may smell like Buck’s expensive shampoo, and Buck may know all of the muffled sounds he makes when he’s trying to keep quiet. Buck may have hit the emergency stop button on the elevator only a few hours ago so he could press Eddie against the doors and kiss him until he could barely breathe just because Eddie smiled at him, the soft, sweet one that crinkles his eyes.

But Eddie’s not his. Nothing has to change, he said, and nothing has.

“I just wanted to say, Edmundo —”

“Eddie,” Buck says, knee-jerk. Ana and Eddie turn to him in tandem, Ana with a wrinkle in her brow and Eddie with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, clearly trying not to laugh. “His name,” he explains, “it’s Eddie.”

“Right, of course.” Ana laughs, one hand reaching up to fidget with her prop jewellery, a gold necklace Eddie’s character is planning to steal. “It’s just that, well, my grandfather was also Edmundo so—”

“Your grandfather?”

“Buck,” Eddie says, choking on a laugh.

“Buck?” Ana repeats, incredulous. Buck misses Ravi.

“My name,” Buck says. “People — uh, some people call me Buck.”

What do girls that you hook up with call you? Taylor had said in a bathroom in some producer’s mansion before Buck asked her to try being serious.

Eddie calls him Buck, and sometimes trouble and sometimes Evan and sometimes, when they’re both too fucked out to think about the lines they’ve drawn in the sand, baby.

“Oh.” Ana blinks, and her smile is hollow.

Eddie clears his throat, a muscle in his jaw twitching against a laugh. “What was it that you wanted to say, Ana?”

Buck watches Ana’s entire face change, lighting up from within as she turns to Eddie, her big eyes widening like a Disney princess. And the thing is: Buck can’t blame her. Because Eddie is beautiful and kind and good, and Buck’s pretty sure he’s been looking at Eddie just like Ana is from almost the moment he met him. So, he can’t blame her. But he does anyway.

His mother always said he was bad at sharing.

“Oh, only that I think it’s so great that you’re doing this movie,” Ana gushes. “It’s incredibly brave of you.”

Buck blinks, the breath in his lungs turning to ice. Beside him, Eddie tenses. Brave, Buck thinks. Like kissing another man in front of a camera is a sacrifice. Like she knows a single goddamn thing about Eddie’s bravery.

“Brave,” Eddie echoes, and he doesn’t sound anything like himself.

“Yes,” Ana says, either missing the change in Eddie's tone or willfully ignoring it. “Especially with your son —”

“Excuse me?” It takes Buck a half-second to realize he’s the one who said it, his tone flat. Sharp. “What does C — What does that mean?” He wonders if it would be insane to physically put his body in between Ana and Eddie like he couldn’t when Taylor made the first hit on Eddie with that question about Shannon.

Ana turns to Eddie with wide eyes, like they’re on the same side in all of this. Eddie doesn’t say a word.

“Well, um, I read that article —” Buck barely holds back a flinch; it might not have been Taylor’s, not when every gossip mag out there wrote their own version of the story once Taylor’s hit the press, but it’s close enough to the memory of it “— and it’s — um — I’m sure people will have something to say about you and this movie in light of that so it’s very courageous of you to take that risk.”

“Risk,” Eddie echoes, and Buck finds himself quite suddenly at the end of his rope.

He places his hand on the centre of Eddie’s back, applying just enough pressure to feel the bump of his spine. “We should get going,” he says, overly bright. Ana frowns, just as Eddie’s eyebrows raise in question. “Bobby just called me, said he wants to talk to us.”

He’s been standing in front of Eddie and Ana for the last hour, decidedly not having a phone call. They’re filming a movie set over fifty years before the invention of the iPhone, so his phone is waiting for him in his trailer.

Eddie’s mouth twitches, but he nods once before setting a kind smile on Ana. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, and the force of Eddie’s smile might be an actual curative measure because Ana only smiles kindly back and tells him to have a good day.

They manage to make it to the row of trailers that line the back of the country club, beyond all of the equipment and crew, before they start laughing, leaning against each other’s shoulders to hold themselves up.

“Stop it,” Eddie hisses, shoving Buck behind the trailers, hidden from view. Buck slides his arm around Eddie’s waist the second they’re in the clear, tugging him to his chest hard enough that they stumble. They’re saved by Eddie’s hand shooting out to rest against one of the trailers, right next to Buck’s head. Eddie’s bicep flexes, pressing against his sleeve; Buck wants to bite. “Ana’s nice.”

It’s been six hours since the last time Buck kissed him, so no one can fault him for ducking his head to press his mouth against the hinge of Eddie’s jaw. He can feel it when Eddie swallows his laughter. Eddie steps closer still, pressing the entire length of his body against the entire length of Buck’s until Buck can hardly tell where he ends and Eddie begins.

“I’m sure Ana’s real nice to you, Prince Charming,” Buck says, pulling only far enough away to raise his eyebrows at Eddie.

Eddie narrows his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration as his gaze pings around Buck’s face, searching. Buck tilts his chin, stubborn. It doesn’t help.

“You’re jealous,” Eddie says, tone pitched low just for them. His mouth splits into a grin, delighted and teasing. “You’re jealous that Ana’s interested in me.”

Buck pokes a finger into Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s shoulders fold inward at the action, giggling as he wraps his hand around Buck’s finger and shoves it away. “So you know she’s interested in you.”

“Well,” Eddie laughs, “I’ve heard I’m smoking hot.”

Buck’s head rolls against the back of the trailer with the force of his laugh. “I take it back,” he says, even as he fists a hand in Eddie’s ridiculous white polo, his other arm looping around Eddie’s neck. “You’re hideous and I can’t stand you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, and Buck only gets a flash of Eddie’s brilliant grin before he’s closing the distance, his mouth landing on Buck’s with now-practiced ease. Buck sinks into it, a tension in his spine melting away and leaving behind only decadent warmth.

The thing is: nothing has changed, not really, but Buck can’t pretend this hasn’t, the way he can breathe easy when he’s wrapped up in Eddie. And there’s a not so quiet part of Buck that knows he doesn’t get to have easy — that knows this thing he has going on with Eddie can only last so long before it falls apart under his hands — but it’s so hard to listen to that voice when Eddie’s licking into his mouth, when Eddie’s gripping his waist and slotting his thigh between his.

“Eddie,” Buck pants, tilting his head back only enough that he can speak. Eddie, insatiable, trails open-mouthed kisses along the column of Buck’s throat. “We are not exactly incognito right now.”

Eddie hums, right against Buck’s pulse point. “Why do you think,” Eddie says, his lips brushing against Buck’s skin just enough to elicit a shiver down his spine, “I would ever be interested in Ana when I have this?”

Buck’s breath catches in his throat, his hand tightening on the back of Eddie’s neck. When I have this — he wants to ask what this is, because nothing has to change and this isn’t — it can’t be anything, not for real, because Buck would only ruin it like he ruined Abby and Taylor and his parents. Because Buck will never force Eddie into the spotlight and Eddie will never ask him to stay in the shadows. Because there’s a countdown on how long they get to have this, and it ticks down with the stuttering beat of Buck’s traitorous heart.

He pulls Eddie’s face up to his, cradling it between his palms like something precious, and captures his mouth into a bruising kiss instead of answering.

“Denny!” Hen’s voice shouts, somewhere beyond the bubble they’ve created behind the trailers, and it’s enough to pull Eddie and Buck apart, sending each other confused looks. A voice answers — not young enough to be Denny’s, so maybe Karen’s — and then Hen’s saying, “Is that Christopher?”

Buck and Eddie start, perking up like dogs promised a walk, and Buck only manages to stop Eddie long enough to smooth out his hair and straighten his collar so it doesn’t look like he’s been ravaged before they’re shooting off in the direction of Hen’s voice.

“Christopher!” Eddie shouts, the second he sees Christopher’s curls, right in the middle of the circle Carla, Karen, and Hen have formed. Buck’s heart gives one pathetic thump when Christopher turns in the direction of Eddie’s voice and grins, setting off to meet them in the middle.

“Dad,” Christopher gushes back, allowing himself to be lifted into a swinging hug, Eddie’s arms flexing around his son’s narrow body.

Eddie calls Christopher every night and most mornings too, almost always dragging Buck into the frame to talk to Christopher about his latest assignment or the newest dish Bobby brought over to taste test, but it’s not the same. It’s a shock to his system, just how much his chest lifts with the sight of Christopher in Eddie’s arms, Eddie burying his head in Christopher’s hair.

It’s a punch to his sternum when Eddie sets Christopher back down, and Christopher immediately turns to Buck, arms raised. When he shouts, “Buck!” it’s the exact same voice he used to say Dad.

Buck doesn’t waste a second in scooping Christopher in a hug, clutching him to his chest and inhaling the familiar scent of the Diaz house. He presses his grin against the side of Christopher’s head and realizes that, until this moment, he had been homesick, that unsteadiness under his feet he felt in Greece. It wasn’t as bad with Eddie around, distracting in more ways than one, but it didn’t ease completely until he saw Christopher.

He meets Eddie’s eyes over Christopher’s head, waits again for Eddie to put up boundaries — he’s not your son, Buck — but Eddie only beams.

Buck clears his throat quietly, setting Christopher on his feet and keeping him steady with a hand on his shoulder as he starts telling Eddie and Buck about his flight, about how hard it was to keep their plans a secret, about how excited he is to see Eddie and Buck work. Buck tears his gaze — his cheeks starting to ache with the width of his grin — away only long enough to spare a glance around.

He catches Ravi’s eye immediately, standing in a pair of suspenders and a charcoal fedora next to where Hen and Karen are having a similar conversation with Denny. Ravi’s eyebrows raise, glancing between Eddie and Buck pointedly. Buck glares, mouthing shut up. Ravi throws his head back and laughs, an action that sends his hat tipping backwards off his head.

The PA from earlier catches it on his way past, half of his attention on an iPad, and hands it to Ravi without looking. Ravi blinks, owlish.

Eddie nudges Buck’s shoulder with his own, directing his attention to Eddie’s raised eyebrows. “What’s going on over there?”

Buck snorts; ruffles a hand through Christopher’s hair, who beams at him in response. “A ticking time bomb.”

Christopher spends the weekend in Arizona.

“Finally,” Eddie sighs while the crew resets around them. A studio lot has been transformed into a motel room for Eddie and Buck to fight in (and also, later, hook up in). Beyond the sea of equipment, Ravi’s taking a picture of Christopher in the director’s chair with EDDIE DIAZ across the top, his crutches leaning against the chair that says EVAN BUCKLEY.

“Finally?” Buck repeats. He’s standing in front of Eddie in yet another pinstriped suit while Eddie sits on the motel bed in linen pants and a white t-shirt one size too small. Someone in wardrobe either really hates Buck or really loves him, Buck hasn’t decided yet.

Eddie turns to him with a smile, leaning back on his hands. The action stretches his t-shirt across his chest. They’ve managed to keep their hands to themselves since Christopher arrived, more interested in spending every spare second with him instead of in Eddie’s bed. Buck’s being very brave about it.

“Finally, a positive to everyone knowing about Christopher.” Eddie nods towards Christopher and Ravi, who are now engaging in a very spirited hand slapping game with Denny, Karen, and Carla. “I couldn’t do this before.”

Buck grins, watching Christopher catch Eddie’s eye and wave. Eddie waves back, the stupid one where he folds his fingers. Neither of them is likely to give Taylor credit for anything, but Christopher turns his wave in Buck only a second later and pretends to catch the kisses that Buck blows dramatically in his direction just like Eddie taught him, and he can't help the warmth that grows beneath his breast bone that he gets to have this.

And Christopher loves being on set. He charms everyone he comes across; sitting next to Eddie or Buck while they get their tattoos covered, giggling with their makeup artists who hold off on comments about their fading bruises for once; glueing himself to Hen’s side as she talks to PAs and ADs about a scene, mimicking her serious expression. Really, he’s less interested in Eddie and Buck’s job, much more intrigued by the heavy equipment and frantic organization that goes on behind the scenes.

“So, you’re bad guys?” he asks when Eddie and Buck finish their PG summary of the movie, Ravi providing commentary and Hen watching silently with a growing smirk.

“Uh,” Buck says, looking to Eddie for help, who only shrugs. “Kind of? It’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“Huh,” Christopher says, spearing a piece of cucumber with his fork and turning wide eyes in Hen’s direction. “How do you get the cameras on set?”

Ravi hisses a breath between his teeth. “Dang, is it cold in here?”

“Shut up,” Buck says.

So, Christopher loves set, and only part of that is because of Buck and Eddie, but Carla still takes Christopher out to see Arizona when they film Buck dropping to his knees in front of Christopher’s father in the back of a country club.

As an added bonus that Buck only gloats about in the privacy of his head, Christopher is nowhere near set when Ana films her last scene, and only Ravi seems to notice when he rolls his eyes while she hugs Eddie a beat too long.

And, eventually, they have to say goodbye. Eddie and Buck insist on accompanying Carla and Christopher to the airport, and there they take turns smothering Christopher with hugs and mwah-style kisses to the side of his head until time runs out. Eddie only tears up a little, and Buck only tears up a little more than that.

(Later, scrolling through Twitter with Eddie’s arm draped over his bare waist, Buck finds a picture of the moment. It’s a little blurry, zoomed in too far, but it’s clearly Eddie and Buck crouching on either side of Christopher, Buck wrapping him in a hug as Eddie presses his mouth to the top of his head. The Twitter user, Buck’s name in her handle, has covered Christopher’s face with a smiley face emoji, which is close enough to an act of kindness that Buck doesn’t send the link to Bobby to get it taken down.

Instead, he saves the photo to his camera roll and doesn’t think about the caption: holy fuck that’s a family your honour??)

Eddie spends several days in a row pouting, calling Christopher whenever he can and sharing old pictures of Christopher around set when he can’t.

“I want to bully him,” Ravi says, tearing apart a muffin to eat the middle first like a weirdo, as they watch Eddie show the PA — Sebastian, not Stan; Buck’s learning things — a picture of Christopher in a Han Solo costume from last Halloween, “but also I kind of want to put him in my pocket?”

Buck, who may or may not be looking at a picture of Christopher on his own phone between bites of salad, agrees.

Their arrangement — the whole thing where they fuck every chance they get, but just as friends — takes a small break.

Except — Except for the fact that, when they returned from the airport with only a few hours before an indecently early call time, both a little teary-eyed and wrong-footed, Buck pawed through his wallet for the key to his hotel room for the first time in months and Eddie stopped him.

“Buck,” Eddie had sighed, resting his forehead against the doorframe of his room. His eyes were closed. “What are you doing?”

Buck’s hands fumbled, blinking suddenly. “Eddie, come on, we’re not —”

“No,” Eddie agreed, laughing. “Obviously we’re not gonna have sex while we’re moping about Christopher. But…”

The edge of the card cut into the palm of Buck's hand when he closed his fingers around it. “But we can be best friends who have mindblowing sex and also cuddle?”

“Buck,” Eddie said again, this one nearly a whine, the rest of his body following his forehead to lean heavily against the doorframe. “Don’t make me say it.”

Buck slid his key back into his wallet and took three steps to make it to Eddie’s side. He leaned against the wall, ducked his head to meet Eddie’s eyes when he squinted one open.

His voice was low when he said, “Don’t make you say what?”

One of Eddie’s hands lifted, landing lightly on Buck’s ribs, his fingers splaying wide. He kept his eyes there, heavy-lidded, when he answered, “I sleep better when you’re there.”

And, well, what could Buck possibly do about that, other than kiss Eddie’s pliant mouth once, softly, and follow him to bed.

But their dry spell — if it can be called that, since they still spend most mornings lazily making out while Eddie tries to negotiate just five more minutes of sleep — doesn’t last long. By the end of the week, when they finish a FaceTime call during which Christopher shows off his book fair haul, Eddie sets his phone down on the end table and reaches immediately for Buck’s waistband.

They make up for lost time, quite thoroughly.

“So,” Buck says, either hours or years later, sprawled next to Eddie on newly changed sheets in only boxers that likely won’t stay on for long. He’s already grinning as he rolls his head in Eddie’s direction, and Eddie groans before he’s said a word. But his smile is soft; fond. “You watched Jump/Fall?”

A blush appears just behind Eddie’s ear. Buck wants to touch, so he does, leaning over to press his mouth to the spot. Eddie’s grin is blinding when Buck pulls away.

“Your hair,” Eddie says, his hand reaching up to card through Buck’s hair to prove his point. Buck’s a silly, weak man because he leans into the touch. “It was darker. Curlier, too.”

“Yeah. They dyed it; fit the bad boy thing better, I guess.”

Eddie’s blushing something horrible, the sight of it warming Buck from the inside out. “I liked it,” he admits, quietly, like he’s embarrassed. “I watched it, um, before we met. Adriana loves romantic comedies, so Sophia and I went with her to the theatres to see it when it came out.”

Buck beams, propping himself up on his elbow so he can hover over Eddie, his other hand sliding over Eddie’s bare chest. It still feels a little wild, a little forbidden, to touch now that he can. “Adriana loves romantic comedies?”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. His hand lands on top of Buck’s, where it’s resting idly on Eddie’s chest. The weight, the warmth of it is intoxicating. They have to be awake and on set in four hours; Buck can’t find it in himself to care. “The point is, I spent the entire movie trying not to accidentally come out to my sisters by agreeing with them every time they called you hot.”

“You thought I was hot?” Buck can’t help it; he smirks.

“Buck. We literally just had sex.”

“Still,” Buck hedges, nearly giddy. He can’t remember the last time it was like this; this easy and fun and all-consuming. Certainly not with Taylor, maybe not even with Abby. “It’s okay, I think you’re hot, too.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again, and his hand leaves Buck’s to slide into his hair, tugging at the rumpled curls until Buck gets with the program and leans in. The kiss is easy, unhurried; a kiss just for the sake of kissing.

“Your sisters don’t know?” Buck says once they’ve pulled away. Buck doesn’t go far, resting his chin on the top of his hand, perched on Eddie’s chest. “Not about…this—” he waggles his eyebrows, indicating their general state of debauchedness “—but about you.”

“Uh, no,” Eddie says, suddenly uncomfortable, distant. “No one knows. I mean, you met my parents. They’re not — homophobic, or — they’re not…overtly homophobic, it’s just — they have this idea of who I am or who I should be and…this isn’t that. Even doing this movie…they’re not going to be thrilled about it.”

Buck clenches his jaw. He knows that, if his parents managed to remember he existed long enough to Google his name, they wouldn’t be happy about this movie, either. His memories of his parents are too tender to touch, most days, but he remembers the sharp comments his father would make when Maddie watched Buffy in the living room, and he remembers the charities his mother used to donate to. If they knew about this movie — if they watched Buck kiss another man on camera — they would hate it, but not any more than they would if it were some complete stranger.

He's not sure which part of that hurts more.

“Are you happy about it?” he asks instead, steering clear of the mushroom cloud of his parents' memory.

Eddie blinks, his bottom lip folding into his mouth for a moment. “I — It’s a good movie. Hen’s a fantastic director.”

Buck snorts. “Okay, great press answer. Now pretend I’m your best friend, not a reporter, and try again.”

“What do you want me to say?” Eddie rolls his eyes, running his hand through Buck’s sex-rumpled hair. “I was seventeen in Texas when Brokeback Mountain came out and it was a punchline to a joke I couldn’t understand. I would hold my breath anytime someone brought it up like they’d be able to figure something out about me that even I didn’t really know yet.”

When Buck was seventeen, kissing one of the boys on his football team behind closed doors, he didn’t spend a lot of time second guessing it. He learned early on that there was no winning with his parents, no secret formula that would make them look at him with affection or kindness. Being straight wouldn’t have fixed anything, so kissing boys wouldn’t ruin anything more than it already was.

But he still hid it. He still kept his hookups behind locked doors, still flinched when his parents made noises about Prop 8. Eventually, with distance and time and surrounding himself with people like Bobby and Hen, Buck managed to duck away from that shame, or at least learned how to fake it until he does for real.

Eddie isn’t there. Not yet. Buck saw the way Eddie shrunk into himself when his parents were in town. Buck was there when Eddie admitted, quietly in his dark kitchen when everyone left Shannon’s memorial, that he knows his parents love them, that he’s just not sure if they know him.

And Buck’s pretty sure he deserves at least a little of his parents’ derision, but that Eddie deserves none of his.

“Eddie,” he sighs, sliding his hand up to rest over his shoulder, his thumb tracing the line of his collarbone.

Eddie’s fingers wrap around his wrist, a gentle pressure, a familiar warmth. “Buck,” he says, on the edge of mocking with a teasing smile tugging at his mouth.

It should be fading by now, Buck thinks, the strange weightlessness in his chest every time they touch. The novelty should start to wear off one of these days. He’s not pressing his hand against a museum artifact with a do not touch sign anymore, giddy with the thrill of something forbidden.

The feeling remains. Eddie’s thumb presses against his pulse point and the feeling catches on a spark, spreading. A flashover.

He can see the way this ends, Buck burned to ash, and he thinks it’ll be worth it.

“Eddie,” he says again, tone dropping even as he mimics Eddie’s smile back at him.

Predictably, Eddie rolls his eyes. Buck, despite himself, is hopelessly endeared.

He cups Buck’s face between his hands, applying just enough pressure to tilt Buck’s head back. His eyes are warm, soft, every emotion he tries so hard to pack away right there for Buck to pick apart.

Buck wants to kiss him, so he does, just one easy peck. Blink and you miss it. Buck’s heart gives a pathetic thump anyway, but it’s worth it for the way Eddie grins.

“Buck,” he says, “I’m glad I’m doing this movie, I am. But I don’t think I’d do it if it wasn’t with you.”

“Really?” Buck grins, smug so he doesn’t look pathetically smitten instead. “Not even if it was with, like, I don't know, someone hot; Chris Evans?”

Eddie throws his head back in a laugh. When he turns his gaze back to Buck, his mouth stays in the shape of it. “Chris Evans has nothing on you, babe,” he says, and it’s meant to be a joke, but that fire in Buck’s chest doesn’t get the memo. "Now Oscar Isaac, maybe —”

Before he can finish bruising Buck's ego — and really, who is he to compete with Oscar Isaac —, Buck captures Eddie’s mouth in a kiss; slow and deep and full of intent, familiar and burning. Eddie’s hand slides down the length of Buck’s spine, fingertips featherlight; slips under the band of Buck’s boxers.

Buck smiles against his mouth, squeezing one hand around Eddie’s rib cage in encouragement, and lets himself burn.

Filming breaks long enough for everyone to go home for a few weeks, and Buck spends roughly five minutes wondering if that means whatever thing he and Eddie have going on where they screw like rabbits and then never talk about it might also be put on hold. That maybe their friends with benefits thing is exclusive to an Arizona area code.

The worry doesn’t last long.

He stops at his apartment only long enough to drop off his stuff and make a face at his empty fridge before he’s letting himself into the Diaz house, smothering Christopher in hugs and settling down for a movie night. It’s like no time has passed at all, Eddie exaggerating his reactions to make Christopher giggle and Buck arranging the peas in his fried rice in the shape of hearts to make Christopher roll his eyes.

Buck sinks into the warmth of Christopher’s laugh, the shine of Eddie’s smile, and almost forgets how badly he wants to rip Eddie’s shirt off. Almost.

Christopher’s reluctant to let either of them out of his sight, but forty minutes into some new Pixar movie Christopher manages to unstick himself from his spot between Buck and Eddie to go to the washroom.

And then, before Buck can blink, Eddie has one knee on the couch, one hand on the armrest beside Buck, crossing the space and fitting his mouth to Buck’s like it’s been years and not roughly twenty-six hours since the last time they kissed.

Buck kisses back, hands finding Eddie’s waist, torso twisting until he can get the angle right, hauling Eddie closer and closer still. Twenty-six hours is a long, long time now that he’s let himself get used to having Eddie within reach.

He tried to cheat on the flight, resting his hand high up on Eddie’s thigh, fingertips brushing the inseam of Eddie’s ratty airport sweats. Eddie had put up a weak protest, eyes on the seat in front of them, Hen and her headphones far too close.

The girl across the aisle gasped, turned to her mother and hissed, “That is Evan Buckley.”

Buck snatched his hand back fast enough to make something in his shoulder twinge. Eddie jumped, hitting the side of his head against the window, and the girl gasped again.

“Oh my God,” she said, no longer whispering, “that is Eddie Diaz.”

Buck and Eddie introduced themselves to the girl (Rashmi, on her way to visit the UCLA campus), signed the back of her college brochures, and kept their hands to themselves.

And twenty-six hours is a long, long time, but the sting of it disappears now, sprawled across Eddie’s couch, the armrest digging painfully into the centre of his back as Eddie’s mouth slides down the column of his throat.

“Eddie,” he gasps, hands tightening around Eddie’s biceps but not pushing him away. He’s not sure he could push Eddie away if you paid him. “Christopher —”

“Is not exactly quiet,” Eddie says, smirking against Buck’s skin. “We’ll hear him coming.”

Buck’s not so sure about that, not with the way his focus has narrowed to the pinpoints of Eddie’s touch.

He groans, arching under Eddie as his hand slips under Buck’s shirt, the warmth of his touch leaving a trail of heat up the slope of Buck’s waist. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Buck says, the words muffled against the side of Eddie’s head.

Eddie’s fingers tighten around his ribs, his hips shift, Buck’s arm slides around his waist, one leg bends, his knee presses against Eddie’s hip and —

A door opens. Christopher’s crutches click against the hardwood.

In the space of a second Buck and Eddie spring apart, hands frantically tugging clothing back into place and smoothing down mussed hair.

Christopher, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice the guilty expressions Buck and Eddie wear, like teenagers who can’t keep their hands to themselves. He claims his spot between them and elbows Buck to press play.

So, they don’t stop sleeping together in L.A., but they don’t have much time to fool around. There’s Christopher, eager to make up for lost time, and there’s Maddie, who seems to have missed Eddie nearly as much as she missed Buck.

Buck only pouts about it a little when he shows up at Eddie’s with an armful of groceries to find Maddie already sitting at Eddie’s kitchen table, a cheesy mug that says the short friend resting in front of her on a handmade coaster Christopher brought home from school. Eddie, next to her, cradles the mug’s twin, labelling him the tall friend.

("The what friend?" Buck had said when Maddie first brought them to Eddie's, laughing as he made a show of looking down at Eddie's glare.

Eddie had pinched his side until he buckled, putting them at the same height. The next day, Buck ordered the same set for him and Chimney.)

“What?” she says, raising her eyebrows when she spots his frown. She’s got a fortune teller in her hands, held open for Christopher to pick a number. “It’s not like I was going to find you if I went to your place.”

Eddie meets Buck’s eyes, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his mug, and twitches one eyebrow: she’s not wrong.

Buck stomps past them to the kitchen.

And then there’s awards season.

Thanks to Hollywood time, What’s Inside You and Damned Spot manage to make it into the same awards bracket, and while neither movie is necessarily Oscars bait, between Athena, Chim, Maddie, Eddie, Buck and the respective crews, they’ve tallied up a decently impressive number of nominations.

They’re not expected at every show, and Athena manages to skip out on most of them, but several times throughout the three weeks they have off, Eddie and Buck get bullied into suits.

Eddie frowns, a wrinkle forming between his brow that Buck does not find adorable, thank you, when Morgan, their publicist, tells him he can’t wear the same suit to every award show. When he says he doesn’t want to buy another one, Morgan explains a brand will pay him to wear their designs and Eddie glares so fiercely at the ceiling that Buck offers up his old suits to be tailored.

There's really no explanation for the way his insides turn to jelly when Eddie grins at him, the tension in his spine melting away.

The events themselves are more or less a blur of bright lights and small talk and red carpet interviews. (Of Buck holding his breath every time he catches sight of someone with red hair holding a microphone, only releasing it when they turn to reveal a smaller nose or brown eyes instead of blue.)

Buck preens under the attention; annoys security by lagging behind to talk to anyone that wants to and grins for more selfies than he can count.

Eddie hates it.

He does a good job of hiding it, smiling when he’s told to and obediently holding the phone when a TikTokker convinces Buck to film a dance with her, but Buck can spot the fraying edges. It’s too much attention, too many lights, too many cameras. As the nights wear on and the weeks of events drag by, Eddie sticks closer and closer to Buck’s side, like the press of their shoulders as they sit in the audience, Maddie and Chim on Buck’s other side, Athena and Bobby on Eddie’s when they can be convinced to show up, is enough to keep him going.

“Say the word,” Buck says, ducking his head so only Eddie can hear, “and I’ll fake a medical emergency. I choked on a piece of bread in a movie once; I can do it.”

“I know,” Eddie says, swaying in Buck’s direction like there’s a magnet under his skin. “I watched A Touch of Someone Else.”

Buck beams, brighter and bigger than he would for any award.

(Later, someone posts a video, zoomed in and nearly too blurry to see anything at all, of Buck and Eddie with their heads ducked together, smiling like idiots. It garners forty quote retweets by the time Buck finds it early in the morning before Eddie or Chris have woken up.

Seven of the retweets implore people to please be normal or to let men be friends, but the other thirty-three comment on sexual tension and married behaviour and dear God just fuck already. Four tweets include the hashtag Buddie, a moniker that made Chimney laugh until he cried the first time he saw it.

Something like fear settles under Buck’s skin, and he closes out of the app before he can read any more.)

In the span of three weeks, Athena and Chimney collect three Best Director awards between them, Maddie collects two for Best Actress, and even Buck secures a Best Supporting Actor for What’s Inside You? at the SAGs.

Eddie doesn’t win any of his nominations, a fact that Eddie genuinely doesn’t seem to care about, but that Buck rants about at every opportunity.

(can the building they run award shows out of just collapse already? Buck sends to Ravi, who replies, i can’t believe you just made a funny joke i’m literally retiring now.)

Until the last nomination, Best Actor for Damned Spot at the Critics’ Choice Awards, when someone Buck doesn’t recognize (“Jesus Christ,” Chimney says) opens an envelope and says, “Eddie Diaz.”

Buck’s on his feet before Eddie is, gripping Eddie’s shoulder and dragging him into a hug that crushes the breath out of both of them. They’re laughing into each other’s necks, Maddie and Chimney cheering to their right like soccer moms, but only for a too-quick second before Buck has to let go, has to push Eddie towards the aisle so he can make his way to the stage.

Buck hardly breathes as he follows Eddie’s trajectory, Maddie’s hand a tight grip on his bicep as she and Chimney hoot and holler.

On the stage, Eddie laughs breathlessly, looking down at the award in his hand. “I'll be honest, I think this is kinda silly,” he says, glancing up at the crowd, who laughs obligingly. It’s impossible to tell from this far away, with this many lights, but Buck knows he’s flushing, just a little bit. “I mean, I just showed up and did what they told me to.” More laughter. Buck’s cheeks start to ache.

“I feel…” Eddie glances back down at the award, tilting it in his hands as his brow furrows slightly. “I feel like this should go to Athena, who wrote such an incredible movie, and to Maddie, who makes me want to be braver and stronger every time I see her.” Beside Buck, Maddie makes a faint sound, something like a sniffle. Buck’s eyes sting, just a little bit. The award in Eddie’s hand shifts again, just as Eddie lifts his head and stares out at the audience. There are too many lights, too many people, but Buck’s pretty sure Eddie’s looking right at him. “And to — to Evan, who changed my life.”

Buck’s breath catches in his throat. He has no idea if there’s a camera on him, if something is catching his reaction, but he can’t manage to school his expression into something less — revealing, maybe. Something that isn’t his pulsing heart in his throat, his eyes too glassy and too soft.

Eddie clears his throat and shakes his head a little, one side of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “And to Chimney, who had nothing to do with this movie but who bullied me into acting in the first place.” A smattering of laughter, and Eddie lifts the award, gesturing with it as he says a soft, “Thank you,” into the mic and leaves the stage.

The rest of the show blurs into a series of awards that Buck barely remembers for movies he doesn't think he's watched but has almost definitely heard about secondhand through Eddie or Chimney. Buck doesn't care, frankly, can only think about finding Eddie, dragging him into another hug, shaking the award and showing it off to everyone, maybe calling Eddie's parents and telling them off.

It's hard for Buck to sit still, even with Maddie's hand wrapped tightly in his own, until finally — finally — the show breaks for commercial and Buck drags Maddie and Chimney through the aisles and behind the stage, nearly skipping.

"You'd think Eddie won an Oscar," Chimney comments, laughing as he trails behind Maddie, who trails behind Buck, her fingers twisted in the sleeve of Buck's velvet jacket.

Maddie laughs. "Or that Buck won an Oscar.”

"Ha, ha," Buck says, half over his shoulder, swerving around a pair of actresses whose appearance makes Chimney gasp quietly as if he’s never seen famous people before.

Buck hardly notices; he spots the top of Eddie’s head, the dark swoop of his hair, and everything else blurs to nothing. And maybe it’s embarrassing that that’s all it takes for Buck’s heart to jump, for his grip on Maddie’s hand to tighten just before dropping completely, but he can’t be bothered to feel anything but a rush of pride. He just barely avoids knocking someone over in his haste, and his fingers wrap around the circle of Eddie’s wrist a split second after Eddie’s eyes find him, a grin spreading over his features.

They collide in the middle, one of Eddie’s arms circling Buck’s waist as one of Buck’s spans the width of his shoulder, his hand clutching the material of Eddie’s borrowed jacket. It can’t last long, not here, surrounded by actors both more and less famous than either of them, with Maddie and Chimney waiting for their turn to shower Eddie with all of the praise he deserves and more, but Buck offers himself the split second indulgence of burying his face in the side of Eddie’s neck, clapping the palm of his hand against Eddie’s back.

When he pulls away Eddie’s hand tightens around his waist, squeezing just once before he lets go. It lingers like a brand.

“You made me cry,” Maddie accuses, and then she’s shoving Buck gently out of the way to wrap Eddie in a tight hug of her own.

Chimney’s hand reaches out to grip Eddie’s shoulder, shaking it as he celebrates getting a shoutout from the Eddie Diaz, and Eddie’s smiling and laughing, his arm around Maddie’s shoulders.

He always looks beautiful, but never more than like this: happy and loved and relaxed.

And it’s not the award — Buck knows Eddie couldn’t care less about the award — it’s Maddie and Chimney’s excitement, their beaming grins and easy affection. Buck watches, sees the way Eddie’s grin only brightens when Chimney pinches his cheek and when Maddie shouts about calling Karen and when Buck interrupts to wave his phone around, insisting they call Chris first.

Remember this, he thinks, helpless, and he can't quite shake the feeling that time is running out.

In exchange for Athena bowing out of most of the award shows, Bobby insists on throwing a party.

i am shocked, Chimney texts the group chat. bobby wants to have a party? someone check my pulse.

Everyone but Chimney is invited, Bobby responds.

It’s ostensibly to celebrate the award season, to gather everyone in one place to celebrate all of the wins they’ve accumulated, but at least partly an excuse to get Buck, Eddie, and Hen in one place after months of filming out of state.

And it’s nothing like the afterparties Buck used to go to, squirrelled away in someone’s mansion or the back of an exclusive club.

When Eddie and Buck walk into Bobby and Athena’s backyard, Christopher between them and Carla on Eddie’s other side, they find tables full of food, a bar along the back, dozens of couches and tables strewn about. Everyone’s dressed somewhere in the shaky middle ground between family get-together and Hollywood afterparty.

It’s already crowded, teeming with people, but unlike the parties he used to go to, it's all people that Buck at least mostly recognizes. There’s everyone he’d expect, plus some family — Toni hovering by a tray of shrimp, the Lees interrogating Albert on one of the couches — and even some newer addons — Ravi staring wide-eyed and starstruck at Athena, Malorie and her wife gesturing expressively at Lucy by the bar.

And —

“Sophia?” Eddie’s voice ticks up in surprise as he jerks to a sudden stop with a hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Adriana?”

Buck's mouth is already lifting into a grin as he turns, and there they are, barreling into Eddie. They look exactly like Buck remembers them from Instagram posts and the rare FaceTime, wearing grins that match Eddie’s perfectly, Sophia’s long dark hair held back in a ponytail, Adriana’s blunt bob blending into the black of Eddie’s button up.

Eddie wraps his arms around each of their shoulders, hugging them close to his chest as he buries a laugh against the side of Adriana’s head. They sway side to side, a three-headed monster that buckles briefly when Sophia’s precarious balance on her tiptoes falters.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks. His grin splits his face, his eyes bright as he steps back to let his sisters hug and gush over Christopher in turn.

And Buck's prepared to slip away, leave the Diazes to their family reunion, but before he can, without even looking away from his sisters, Eddie's hand reaches out to grip Buck’s shoulder. He drags him closer, right into the little circle they've formed, and keeps his hand there. Like he can’t let this moment go by without bringing Buck into it.

“Buck called us,” Sophia says, and there’s something smug in her tone that reminds Buck so deeply of Maddie that he has to find her in the crowd, laughing with Chimney and Karen, before his heart can unclench.

“Sure did,” Adriana says. She has one arm wrapped around Christopher, keeping him tucked against her side, but she uses the other to shove Buck’s shoulder, tipping him into Eddie’s side. “He made this whole thing happen.”

They’ve only ever talked over the phone, through texts and even a couple of emails, but Adriana doesn’t even hesitate before teasing him, and Sophia’s grin doesn’t waver for a second when it swings from Eddie to Buck.

Buck wants to do something stupid, like cry or hug them, so he buries his hands in his pockets and curls them into fists.

“It wasn’t a big deal, really,” Buck insists, turning a sheepish grin on Eddie, who’s already looking back at him with something tender and soft in his expression. Buck swallows.

Sophia and Adriana roll their eyes in tandem. The resemblance to Eddie is almost uncanny, nothing like Buck and Maddie.

To Eddie, Adriana says, “He got us first class tickets.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, his eyes wide and accusing.

“Sophia has a bad hip,” Buck hisses back, throwing his hands up. “What was I gonna do, put her in economy?”

Eddie opens his mouth, eyebrows set into indignant lines, but Adriana beats him to the punch, rolling her eyes as she says, “Not everyone’s as cheap as you are, Edmundo.”

“Cheap!” Eddie echoes, and then they’re off, sniping back and forth like only siblings can, Christopher laughing in the middle as Sophia sighs, long-suffering.

Growing up, he and Maddie hardly bickered. It’s not that they never fought, only that they spent more time as a united force, keeping each other warm in the face of their parents’ cold disinterest. Any back and forth was easily abandoned in favour of making the best of their time together until those last few months before Maddie followed Doug to London and all Buck could do was push her further away.

He finds her in the crowd again, discovers her already looking back, something tender in her expression.

She sticks her tongue out at him, crossed-eyed, and he scrunches his nose at her in return.

“They do this all the time,” Sophia confesses to Buck in a whisper, tugging Christopher away from Adriana’s side so she can crouch and wrap him in her arms. “Don’t they?” she directs to Christopher, digging her fingers in his ribs to make him giggle and scream.

“I’ve never met anyone or anything Eddie won’t argue with,” Buck says, copying Sophia’s hushed tone. Christopher’s curls are soft when Buck reaches out to run his fingers through them, fingertips sliding across his scalp.

Eddie startles away from Adriana, an indignant noise sounding high in his throat. “Wow,” he says, eyebrows high on his forehead, “run that by me again, Evan?”

“Hey now,” Buck grins. “You know you were an exception, b—bud.”

Eddie’s eyebrows twitch, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Buck, in return, ducks his head to direct a blushing grin at their feet.

They both know Buck was about to say babe.

Their shoulders knock together, a casual touch they’ve exchanged countless times before, but it's different now, with this maddening heat under his skin he can never quite ignore whenever Eddie is within reach, with the word babe sitting on the tip of his tongue. Now, every point of contact feels like a lit match.

“O-kay,” Adrianna interrupts, already in the middle of rolling her eyes. “Introduce me to famous people before I start screaming.”

“That won’t work anymore; you’re twenty-four,” Eddie says, but he finds Buck’s wrist blindly, squeezing just once, thumb over Buck’s stuttering pulse point like a kiss, and then he’s letting Adriana drag him away with a hand twisted in the sleeve of his jacket.

In their absence, Sophia links her elbow with Buck’s, directing a beaming grin up at him. She looks just like Eddie like this, brown eyes bright, smile lines bracketing her mouth like parentheses.

“Why don’t you,” she punctuates the you by knocking her hip into his, “introduce me to your sister. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Buck laughs, already dreading what’s to come, but Christopher cheers at the prospect of talking to Maddie and leads the charge.

As expected, Maddie and Sophia are instant partners in ruining Buck’s life — and Eddie’s life by extension, albeit from afar as he circles the room with Adriana —, commiserating over the pains of big-sister-hood. They trade stories about Buck and Eddie’s childhoods, bemoan the romantic failures they warned their younger brothers of only to be ignored, laugh themselves to tears over Buck and Eddie’s worst style choices — Buck’s kool-aid dyed pink hair, Eddie’s year long obsession with cargo shorts.

Eventually, once Chimney demands to see pictures, and Maddie and Sophia both whip out their phones like weapons, Buck declares himself “sick of the abuse,” and throws a giggling Christopher over his shoulder to find Bobby.

For a while, Eddie and Buck manage to circle each other without crossing paths: Buck talks to Bobby with Christopher while Eddie introduces Adriana to Chimney and Maddie; Sophia steals Christopher away so Buck can teach Albert how to make a real drink while Eddie talks to Ravi. They exchange glances from across the backyard, entire split-second conversations conveyed through eyebrow twitches and bright grins before they’re pulled away for another conversation.

Until Buck slips inside, the quiet of the house jarring as he makes his way to the upstairs bathroom, and he feels hands on his waist half a second before the door closes behind them.

He knows it’s Eddie immediately; the heat of his touch and the woodsy scent of Buck’s aftershave that Eddie always steals as familiar as breathing. He’s laughing even before he turns in the circle of Eddie’s arms, leaning his weight against Eddie until his back hits the door, Eddie’s answering grin only a flash of white teeth before he’s dragging him into an open-mouthed kiss.

Six hours. That’s how long it’s been since their last kiss, Eddie twisting his fingers in Buck’s hair and kissing him, quick and dirty, against his fridge while Christopher searched the laundry room for a pair of socks.

Buck doesn’t think he’s ever counted the hours between kisses before.

Eddie’s grip on his waist tightens, tugging the offending shirt out of the way until he can reach bare skin, and then he’s being walked backwards, his back hitting the edge of the sink and pulling a quiet gasp out of him, muffled against Eddie’s mouth.

“You brought my sisters to L.A.,” Eddie says, breathless against Buck’s cheek.

“I —” Buck laughs, scratching his fingers against the short hairs at the back of Eddie’s neck as Eddie’s hands slide up to mould over his ribcage. “All I did was buy plane tickets.”

Eddie only hums quietly, crowding closer until Buck can’t pinpoint a single place that they aren’t touching. One of his hands slides from Buck’s chest to wrap around his belt, tugging lightly. Buck’s breath catches in his chest.

“We,” Buck pants, his hand fisted in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt, right over the hard line of his shoulder, his thigh slotted between Eddie’s. “We cannot fuck in Bobby’s bathroom.”

He feels more than hears Eddie’s laugh, his mouth pressed to Buck’s jaw, teeth scraping lightly.

“Wow,” he says, and it’s a goddamn miracle Buck can understand English right now with Eddie’s hips pressing firmer against his, forcing the small of Buck’s back against the edge of Bobby’s bathroom sink. “What happened to Firehose?”

“I’m gonna kill Chimney,” Buck says.

“Please don’t mention Chimney when I’m about to suck your dick.”

“Eddie,” Buck whines, too desperate to be embarrassed. “This is —”

“Let me guess,” Eddie says, his hands easing Buck’s belt loose, shoving at his waistband until Buck has his pants around his ankles, leaving Buck in just tented briefs in his manager’s bathroom. “Trouble? What did you say that night in my trailer?”

Buck opens his mouth to answer — something like I don’t know, probably please fuck me? — but he only manages to choke as Eddie lowers himself to his knees, looking up at Buck with a smirk.

It’s so different from the Eddie who could barely talk about sleeping with the mother of his child, so different from the Eddie who scowled at Thirst Tweets written by strangers, even different from the Eddie who was cautious and unsure waking up in bed together for the first time in Arizona. Except — maybe it’s not Eddie that’s different. Maybe it’s just the culmination of all of the times they’ve taken each other apart, pieced each other gently back together. Maybe this is Eddie with the walls taken down, open and comfortable and bold.

“Fuck,” Buck hisses, dropping his head back to stare at the ceiling so he doesn’t end this whole thing too early all because Eddie fucking smiled at him. He grips the end of the bathroom counter until his knuckles hurt.

Eddie, the asshole, laughs, his thumb kneading gently over the inside of Buck’s thigh, just under the bottom hem of his briefs. “Close,” he says. “You said I was owed a couple of bad ideas. I think you are, too.”

“I think,” Buck pants, looking down at Eddie so he can glare, “I meant bad ideas as in having sex instead of going to therapy.”

Another laugh, that smirk softening into a more familiar grin that disappears briefly when Eddie nips at Buck’s hip. One hand abandons Buck’s iron grip on the bathroom sink in favour of pressing the back of his wrist against his mouth, muffling a strangled sound.

“Okay, so this bad idea is me blowing you to show my appreciation instead of buying you flowers.” He tugs Buck’s briefs down; swallows hard at what he sees. When he glances back up at Buck, one hand holding Buck’s hip in a grip that promises to bruise, his smile is — hungry. “Or should I just go buy some flowers?”

Buck’s breath comes out a hiss between his teeth, a shapeless curse hitting the air as Eddie presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh. “You can buy me flowers later,” Buck says, mostly a gasp of breath. “Plane tickets are expensive, I probably deserve extra, ah—”

The rest of his sentence dies a painless death, every part of his brain dedicated to rational thought going offline.

“I’ll get you flowers on the way home,” Eddie says, once he’s left Buck sufficiently boneless, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist in a move that makes Buck whimper soundlessly. Eddie’s resulting grin is decidedly satisfied.

Eddie cleans them up carefully, runs attentive fingers through Buck’s hair to coax it into something presentable, tightens his belt. And Buck’s had a lot of sex in his life, with a lot of people, but no one’s ever been as careful with him afterwards.

“But,” Buck says, breathless, one hand tugging limply at Eddie’s waistband.

Eddie only grins, closing the space between them to kiss Buck once, a casual, soft press of lips. The kind of kiss Buck used to share with Abby or Taylor before one of them left for work. It’s not the first time Eddie’s kissed him like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” Eddie says, patting Buck’s cheek lightly. “That was a thank you, remember? Besides,” he adds, stepping away to rest his hand on the bathroom door knob, “you’ll make it up to me later.”

The door closes behind him. Buck slides down, sitting on the cold bathroom tile with his knees bent, and wills his heart to slow down.

“I need a favour.”

Buck notices the dog leash in Lucy’s hand a split second before he hears a sharp bark. The dog in question jumps immediately, resting its white tipped paws on Buck’s thighs as its entire body shakes with excitement like Buck’s the best thing that’s ever happened to it.

“Holy shit,” Buck says, and then immediately drops into a crouch, burying his hands in her soft fur.

“Lacey, don’t,” Lucy tries, tugging gently with the leash in her hands, but the scold trails off into a sigh when Buck starts babbling meaningless praise, tilting his head so Lacey’s tongue catches the bottom of his jaw instead of his mouth. “Why am I even surprised?”

Eddie laughs, and Lacey knocks Buck fully on his butt, crawling into his lap like she’s ten pounds and not something closer to forty.

“That something loves Buck the second they’ve met him?” Eddie says, eyebrows raised. “Least surprising thing I’ve seen all week.”

Buck buries his face in Lacey’s neck so no one sees his blush.

“What’s the favour?” Eddie asks once it’s clear Buck won’t be getting up anytime soon.

“There’s some issue with our filming permits,” Lucy sighs, “so I need to help Hen deal with that, but my dog sitter fell through and Lacey has issues with separation anxiety —”

“So you want us to take Lacey off your hands for a while?”

“Yes.” Lucy presses the end of the leash into Eddie’s hands, cupping them between her own for a moment. Buck tries not to glare and fails. The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches upwards.

“You can just take her on a hike or something. She’s really easy going, no issues with other dogs or anything. Her recall is great if you just say her name, but maybe keep her on the leash.”

“Lacey, right?” Eddie confirms, looping the leash around his wrist as he smiles down at Lacey — and, by extension, Buck, who grins back, instinctive. “Like Cagney and Lacey?”

Buck’s hands pause in Lacey’s fur. “Like what?”

Eddie and Lucy exchange a glance, Lucy’s eyebrows high on her forehead and Eddie’s mouth tugged further up one side.

“Yes.” Lucy shakes her head, wrinkling her nose. “She was my brother’s dog, but his kid’s allergic, so — anyway, I will owe you big time.”

“I think Buck might owe you, actually,” Eddie laughs, gesturing at where Buck has wrapped both arms around Lacey’s neck, his cheek resting against the top of her furry head.

Eddie's hand reaches out to scratch gentle fingers behind Lacey’s ear, who wiggles in Buck’s hold like she might pee herself out of excitement. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles down at her, calling her a pretty girl in a soft, cooing voice.

Buck’s face must do something truly embarrassing, because Lucy makes a sound like she’s choking, mumbles something under her breath that sounds like when I tell Ravi about this, and then walks away without saying goodbye.

They take Eddie’s rental to a hiking trail that Buck Googles on the walk to the parking lot. Lacey sits politely in the backseat, her tail thumping against the leather like a clock ticking. It’s a sunny day, hardly a cloud in sight, and Buck has a hard time tearing his eyes away from the way the sun halos Eddie’s hair, brightens his eyes.

And with the dog panting quietly in the back seat and Eddie’s casual sprawl — one hand on the wheel, the other resting limply over the gear shift, his shoulders loose and relaxed —, all bathed in warm, beautiful light, Buck feels fit to burst. The only things missing are Christopher and Maddie and it would be his picture-perfect day.

He’s grinning like an idiot as they pile out of the car, gathering keys and water bottles and Lacey’s leash. He tries to bite it back before Eddie sees and questions him — and how can he possibly explain that he’s just so happy to spend a day with Eddie and a dog at a park that he might cry about it? — but when Eddie catches sight of it, he only grins back.

He knocks their shoulders together, slides his fingers around Buck’s wrist to squeeze once, thumb pressing against Buck’s pulse point just like he did at Bobby’s party, and then steps away.

Buck allows himself exactly three seconds to mourn the closeness.

Instead, he keeps his hands to himself as they start their walk, Lacey just as easy as Lucy promised, trotting along ahead of them but never pulling too hard at the leash in Eddie’s hand.

They’ve only been back in Arizona for a few days, back to long hours of filming punctuated by FaceTime calls with Chris or Maddie or both. There have a handful of scenes left, Eddie and Buck’s characters through with pretending they can hook up without it meaning something, grappling instead with the threat to their careers.

Yesterday, Buck held Eddie’s face between his hands, both of their eyes glassy with unshed tears, and put on his London accent to say, “We’ll work this out, won’t we?”

Eddie’s jaw had clenched beneath his palm. “Will we?”

“‘Course we will,” Buck said, grinning wide, all bravado but enough to make one side of Eddie’s mouth twitch. It was right there in the script — Tommy grins. James tries and fails to hold off a smile of his own, endeared despite himself — but Buck’s chest warmed like it was just for him, anyway. “That’s the real con, isn’t it? Us being happy.”

It had been harder than usual to shake the scene off at the end of the day.

He had followed Eddie to their hotel room — the room under Buck’s name still just two doors down, untouched since they returned — with something itchy crawling beneath his skin. It didn’t melt away until Eddie pressed him into the mattress, his mouth hot and gentle on Buck’s.

They didn’t go any further than that, lazily making out until they couldn’t stop yawning into each other’s mouths.

And that’s the thing: when they first started this thing they were insatiable. It was a miracle if they could make it a full twelve hours without tearing each other’s clothes off. When they fell asleep, wrapped around each other in Eddie’s bed, it was because they had worn themselves out.

Now — It’s not that they’re not all over each other, because they are. The second they find themselves behind closed doors — and even, sometimes, before then — they’re touching: hands on each other’s hips, wrapped around each other’s shoulders, kissing slow, as familiar and well-practiced as anything.

But now, there’s no desperate rush to shove each other’s pants down.

Now, when they touch and kiss and wrap themselves up in each other, it’s for the sake of it just as often as it is for an orgasm. They share a shower and kiss under the water, laughing when the water runs ice cold for a second like it always does when the neighbouring room flushes. They wake up tangled together, having fallen asleep in the middle of discussing a camp Christopher’s been begging to go to, and Eddie kisses across Buck’s bare shoulder before digging their scripts out of the nightstand to discuss their next scene.

And Buck said nothing has to change, but something has changed. He can’t quite look at it dead on, can only ever glance at it from the corner of his eye in passing before he occupies his thoughts with something — anything — else. But it’s there, just out of sight.

Whatever it is, he has to curl his hand into a fist at his side so he doesn’t reach over to tangle his fingers with Eddie’s.

And he does what he does best: he swerves the elephant in his own brain by poking at a bear.

“I think I might come out,” Buck says into the relative silence of their walk without making the active decision to. Eddie, for his part, doesn’t react at all; his pace remains even, his hand doesn’t still where it’s been idly wrapping and unwrapping Lacey’s leash around his wrist. When he turns his head to meet Buck’s gaze, his eyes are clear. “Not…officially or anything. I might just…like a few tweets, or quote Oscar Wilde, or…I don’t know. Something.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, tone even. “Whatever you want, Buck, you know I’ll support you.”

Lacey pauses to sniff at a leaf, drawing Buck and Eddie to a similar stop. Buck shifts on his feet, ducks his head to avoid the heavy weight of Eddie’s stare.

He forces himself to meet Eddie’s kind, brown eyes when he says, “But you’re not going to.” He’s not — it’s not goading, or leading, or suggesting. It’s just the truth they both know.

Eddie’s eyebrows pinch, his jaw a tense line. Buck wants to reach forward, wants to slide his thumb over the tension until it melts away. A couple walks by, the girl’s hand tucked in the guy’s elbow. Buck curls his hands into fists.

“No,” Eddie says. “No, I — I don’t think I ever will.”

It’s the answer Buck was expecting from Eddie, who keeps so many pieces of himself under lock and key, who spent the first month after Taylor’s article on edge, who snapped at a paparazzi that had something to say about Christopher, Chimney and Bobby on either side of him forcing him to keep his head down.

The footage of it made it to TMZ anyway, reporters debating Eddie’s aggression like they knew a goddamn thing about him.

Buck had his Twitter password taken away before he could even reach for his phone.

And Buck even knows that Eddie won’t keep this under wraps just for himself. He knows that Eddie’s still thinking about Christopher, about protecting him from any shitty comments he might hear about his dad, his favourite person in the world.

He doesn’t blame him for a second. There’s no world where he begrudges this decision. It’s only that, “If I come out, there’s going to be…rumours. Speculation.”

Eddie’s eyebrows raise, the corner of his mouth sliding into an amused smirk. “About us? What, because we couldn’t just be friends?”

“Eddie,” Buck says, trying and failing to hold back a laugh, “people have speculated about much less. There’s already people out there who think…If I do this, it’ll be gas on a fire. And,” he swallows, tilts his head, thinks about the bruises on the back of his thighs that match Eddie’s fingers perfectly, “it’s not like they’d be wrong.”

“No,” Eddie says again, catching the corner of his mouth between his teeth. “They wouldn’t be wrong.”

Buck can nearly trick himself into believing they’re a normal — not couple, but something to the left of that. That they're just two people that no one knows, or thinks they know. Can nearly trick himself into believing he can close the space between them, fit his mouth to Eddie’s and taste the iced coffee he tossed in the trash a half-mile back. Eddie’s eyes drop to Buck’s mouth and he knows he’s thinking the same thing.

“Buck?”

It’s too familiar, that voice, setting off a series of alarm bells in his head. Lacey barks, just once, Eddie’s arm jerking when she pulls on her leash to greet their company.

Buck turns and knows even before he sees her that it’s Abby.

Her hair’s different, longer and curlier than she used to wear it, held back with a claw clip. She’s in comfortable athletic wear, a blue water bottle dangling from a strap around her wrist, her phone held in place with an armband. She only has one AirPod in, and when Buck forces himself to look at the man next to her, he notices that he has the other one.

It’s stupid and immature, but Buck remembers that Abby never wanted to go on hikes with him. It’s just kind of a waste of time, isn’t it? she always said, a small, self-conscious smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Abby,” he says, and Eddie tenses suddenly next to him. It can’t be because Eddie, movie buff extraordinaire, doesn’t recognize her, so it must be because of whatever pathetic, desperate emotion has slid into his tone without warning. He feels like he’s gone back in time, spitting love you into a mailbox.

“Buck,” Abby says again, and there’s just a hint of laughter in her tone.

As long as Buck knew her, Abby had a way of talking, with Buck at least, that was always just a little bit amused. It used to pull at Buck’s need to please, used to make him giddy and eager to turn that thread of amusement into a true laugh. Now, it makes his shoulders tense.

“Hi,” she says, shaking her head like she might blink and discover Buck isn’t there at all. “I — I can’t believe we’d — uh, what are you doing in Arizona? Did you — you didn’t leave L.A.?”

“Uh, no,” Buck says, clearing his throat when it comes out too rough, scraping against his chest on the way out. “No, I didn’t leave L.A. I’m filming a movie, uh —”

He turns to Eddie, and it’s not that he had forgotten about him once he caught sight of Abby — he’s not sure even the end of the world would make him ever forget about Eddie standing right next to him — only that seeing Abby in the flesh has cast a net over him, tightening the strings until something starts to stifle and suffocate. But, once he has Eddie in his sights again, even with his jaw set tighter than Buck’s seen it in months, an expression only Taylor and his parents have ever brought out in him, breathing is suddenly easier.

“Abby,” he says, and wonders again what it might sound as it hits the air, stale, “this is —”

“Eddie Diaz,” Abby finishes, holding her hand out with her movie star grin.

You can take the girl out of Hollywood, Buck thinks, uncharitably.

Eddie’s expression can only be described as thunderous. Buck’s surprised that an actual real-life thunder cloud doesn’t materialize above them. Possibly by virtue of being Hollywood born and raised, Abby doesn’t even flinch.

Finally, looking like it pains him to do so, Eddie slides his hand in Abby’s. “Yeah, that’s me,” he bites out.

“How —” Buck clears his throat again; shifts his weight. “Uh, how did you know that?”

Abby laughs, and it’s something between her interview laugh and the one she would give him any time she wasn’t sure what to say, when Buck said something too revealing or too serious, startling her.

“They have movie theatres outside of L.A.,” she says, smiling prettily. It’s a joke. This part of the script says Buck laughs. For once, he can’t make himself follow it. “You — both of you — are, um, fantastic at what you do.”

“Right,” Eddie says, that same bite to his words.

And Buck — it’s not that he thought that when Abby left L.A. she also gave up Internet access and all forms of media, it’s only that —

It's only that he's never had to confront the possibility that when Abby disappeared from his life without a trace, leaving behind only the paparazzi that shouted questions about her that he could never answer, she had Buck’s entire public life at her fingertips.

Whenever she wanted, Abby could open up an article with Buck’s name in the headline, she could track as his Instagram posts became more and more about Maddie and Eddie, she could press play on Damned Spot and watch Buck lose his mind, only half in character, over Eddie being shot.

And all Buck had was an email from Abby’s agent.

The man at Abby’s side clears his throat, smiling self-consciously when it draws everyone’s attention.

He looks — a not entirely insignificant part of Buck wants to find faults in him, wants to compare him to himself, but the truth is: he looks completely and totally normal. He looks like a guy Buck might pass in the street, unassuming and virtually nondescript. Sandy hair, gentle smile lines, average height.

He doesn't look like he'd belong in Hollywood, and Buck's pretty sure that's a good thing.

“Oh,” Abby says, laughing a little as she turns to her hiking partner like a sunflower turning to the sun. Her face brightens when she does, her shoulders relaxing when her hand lands on his bicep with a gentle squeeze. Buck wonders, faintly, if that’s what he looked like when he turned to Eddie. “Sam, this is Buck; Buck, this is Sam. My, uh, fiancé.”

For just a second, the world stutters to a stop.

He thought — he was pretty sure the guy was a boyfriend but — fiancé. Buck has no idea what to do with that.

“You’re kidding,” Eddie says, sharp. Abby blinks, the edge of her smile tensing. Buck thinks he might throw up. “You really — you’re just going to act like nothing happened? Months of him trying and you —”

“Hey,” Sam says, and his tone is mild, even as his spine straightens and he leans further into Abby’s side.

Almost like a mirror, Eddie leans further into Buck’s. At their feet, Lacey makes a soft, confused sound. Buck can’t breathe.

“No,” Abby says. She’s looking right at Eddie, and Eddie’s looking right back, and Buck has no fucking idea what’s happening. “He’s right, I —”

Her gaze slides away from Eddie to land on Buck, who can’t quite smother his flinch in time. Eddie’s hand finds his wrist; squeezes. Buck watches Abby’s eyes dart to it, her eyebrows tensing briefly, before looking back to him.

“Buck, I — Can we talk?”

“Yeah, right,” Eddie scoffs, but Buck twists his wrist in Eddie’s grip until he can tangle their fingers, squeezing back.

“Okay,” he says.

From the corner of his eye, Buck just barely catches the startled expression Eddie turns on him. He tightens his hold on Eddie’s hand, hopes it’s enough to communicate any of the dozens of swirling thoughts in his head that amount to I think I need this and thank you and please don’t bitch out Abby Clark where someone might see and then Tweet about it.

He drops Eddie’s hand and steps away.

“Wait,” Eddie says, just before Buck follows Abby further up the hill. When Buck turns to him, he places Lacey’s leash gently in his hands. “Say the word,” he says quietly, just for them, “and I’ll fake a medical emergency. I was bit by a CGI alpaca in a movie once; I can do it.”

It’s enough to make Buck laugh, a startled burst of noise that has him tipping his head back with the force of it. “I know,” he says, grinning, “I was in What’s Inside You?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling when he lets Buck go, and it’s suddenly easier to follow Abby to a bench on the trail, far enough away to count as private.

They keep to either side of the bench, and Buck just barely remembers a time when he would have slung his arm over her shoulders and tucked her to his side.

He wraps Lacey’s leash around his wrist. Breathes.

“I didn’t know you got a dog,” Abby says after a minute of tense silence. She’s smiling softly down at where Lacey has decided to rest her head on Buck’s knee.

Buck tries not to wince at the reminder that Abby’s had access to his life, or at least part of it, for the last four years. “Uh, I didn’t. She’s not mine; Eddie and I, we’re just watching her for one of the ADs on this film we’re doing.”

Abby nods like that makes sense with the image of Buck she has in her mind. Buck's fingers tighten around Lacey’s leash. A glance to the side reveals Eddie and Sam talking quietly where they’ve left them; Sam awkwardly fiddling with a water bottle, Eddie’s shoulders hunched high up around his ears.

“So,” Abby says, following Buck’s gaze and nodding towards the awkward tableau Sam and Eddie make, “The feud was —”

“Oh,” Buck laughs, “no, that was real. Not anymore, obviously, but at first — we, um, we met at a bad time.”

“Right. I guess it wasn’t that long after I left.”

Buck lets out a breath slowly. Between his legs, Lacey shuffles closer, her chin heavy on his leg. He runs his fingers through her soft fur and thinks briefly about the greyhound that lived by Abby’s apartment, about the running route he and Eddie used to take around that neighbourhood that always took them past the same few dogs.

With his eyes on Lacey, watching the way her fur shifts under Buck’s touch, he says, “Were you ever planning to come back?”

“To Hollywood? No,” Abby admits. There’s a pause, and when Buck catches her eyes, they’re soft but pitying. “To you? I — I wanted to, I really did, but. Buck, my entire life has revolved around acting — around fame and everything that comes with it, and I didn’t want that anymore. I had no idea who I was without someone directing me. I had to leave to figure that out.”

“And if you came back — not to Hollywood, or to acting but to — to me, you’d what? You'd lose yourself again?”

“Buck,” she says, that laughter in her voice again. She’s smiling at him, kindly, but Buck — Buck can’t help but feel wrong-footed by it. His mind superimposes Eddie’s smile, that soft one he sends Buck early in the morning over breakfast and late at night between takes, the one that reaches between Buck’s ribs to poke and prod.

Abby’s smile feels like it’s behind glass.

“Buck, you are Hollywood. You love acting; the art of it, of course, but you like the attention, too. The connection with an audience, the community around it, letting people get to know you. You love all of it, and you’re good at it. I would never ask you to give that up, but I could never live with it.”

There’s something bitter under Buck’s tongue. He doesn’t know if it’s anger or shame or something else entirely.

“Why,” Buck says, clearing his throat when his voice cracks over the word. “Why didn’t you just call me, tell me it was over?”

Abby’s gaze falls to her hands, folded gently in her lap. For the first time, Buck notices her ring. It’s simple; a silver band with a small diamond in the centre. Understated. It is not, Buck thinks, the kind of ring people write headlines about.

And Abby might be right that Buck loves acting — that Buck likes the attention and the fame and most of the headlines — but Buck watches her spin the ring around her finger, a nervous tic that’s already become habit, and he thinks that it’s exactly the kind of ring he would have got for her if they made it that far.

“I guess the longer you go without saying something the harder it gets to finally admit it.”

Buck’s hand tightens around Lacey’s leash. If he holds his breath and focuses hard enough, he thinks he can hear Eddie talking to Sam about a baseball game.

“I really am sorry,” Abby says. In her lap, her hands twitch, like she’s thinking about reaching out, but ultimately she doesn’t. “I know it’s not what you deserved.”

“Yeah,” Buck says, quietly. He’s not sure what else there is to say.

He doesn’t want to talk about Abby.

He wants to pack that entire hike away like the highlighted scripts of movies past that he keeps in his nightstand; something that was his entire world once and is now nothing more than a memory that sometimes aches.

But Eddie turns to him on the car ride home, idling at a red light while Lacey snores in the back, and his eyes are clear. Steady.

I trust you, Eddie has said to him again and again, and he meant with Christopher, but it goes both ways. There’s no one Buck trusts more with all of his jagged edges, all of his too much emotions that spill out of him whenever he’s not paying close enough attention. Eddie only ever holds them gently in his hands, only ever keeps them safe.

He looks at Eddie, his best friend, and he remembers when looking at him made him furious and insecure and bitter, but distantly like the memories belong to someone else.

“I don’t blame her,” he says when he’s done echoing their conversation on the bench. He watches Eddie’s brow soften like that’s exactly what he expected him to say.

“I know you don’t,” Eddie says. There’s a beat, Eddie glancing briefly towards the light (still red), and then Eddie’s dropping his hand on Buck’s thigh, fingers digging firmly into the muscle. “I wish you would, but I know you don’t.”

He’s smiling, soft. It’s nothing like Abby’s pity.

“You wish I would?”

Eddie shrugs, his hand never leaving Buck’s leg. “You — you care so much about people — about everyone, even when they don’t deserve it — and I just wish you cared about yourself that much.”

Buck blinks. There's a weight on his chest he can't quite breathe around. “Like — like the way you care about me?”

A smile. Something soft and private that Buck can’t quite parse. “Yeah. Something like that.”

The light turns green. Someone honks, and Eddie takes his foot off the gas.

And then filming finishes quietly.

The last scene finds Buck and Eddie in boxers and not much else, sprawled across a motel bed, laughing into each other’s mouths. The camera rig lowers itself to catch their clothes, Eddie’s heavy boots, scattered beneath the bed.

Hen calls cut, and it’s late, and the crew is tired and worn out from two weeks full of production setbacks and technical malfunctions, but everyone erupts into cheers. Hugs and congratulations and semi-hysterical laughter make the rounds until everyone’s been included in the glow of it — even Ravi, who’s been napping behind the cameras all night despite his own filming having wrapped up the day before.

Buck kisses Hen’s cheek and accepts the fist bump Lucy offers him and teases Ravi about the PA he still won’t look directly at for too long and, somehow, eventually, lets Eddie steer him back to their room.

And when Buck posts his wrap photo on Instagram — Buck in one of Tommy’s pinstripe suits, lifting Hen off her feet in a hug in the middle of all of their production equipment, Eddie and Ravi laughing just behind them — he captions it: that’s a wrap for the way forward! count the gay people in this photo (hint: i’m one of them).

Eddie, sitting on the hotel bed next to him in boxers and not much else, kisses his bare shoulder when Buck’s thumb presses over post.

They’re tired enough that they fall asleep — Eddie tucked against Buck’s chest, the tip of his nose cold against Buck’s bare collarbone — within seconds, sharing only one lazy, off-centre kiss before everything fades to black.

Buck’s phone (silent, notifications off) lays abandoned on the nightstand until, after only a small handful of hours of sleep, Buck’s alarm wakes sounds, preset for filming that Buck forgot to turn off the night before. Buck goes from asleep to painfully alert in less than a second, turning the alarm off on autopilot before swiping to the familiar Instagram icon.

The app crashes twice before he can open it for real, and when Buck clicks over to his activity, there’s a wall of comments waiting for him. Most include rows of heart emojis, but his eyes catch on a couple of slurs, on comments like is this a joke? and okay slay pr queerbait purr.

His hands shake a little as he scrolls, doing his best to focus on the comments that thank him or congratulate him or share their own coming out stories, mostly from strangers and fans, but also from accounts with little blue checkmarks. Maddie comments every single heart emoji Apple has to offer. Chimney says, wow you can count that high? Ali Martin leaves one single red heart.

He likes them as he goes, skims the confused jokes and outright homophobia until his eyes start to blur, and then he switches over to a browser, typing his name into Google with shaking thumbs.

There’s article after article, more headlines with his name in them than there’s been in years.

He has the faraway thought that this is how he’s coming out to Abby — to his parents if they bother to pay attention to celebrity news; through celebrity gossip mags. What are the odds that Taylor’s name is on the byline of one of them?

At some point, the phone is gently lifted out of his hands.

Buck blinks stinging, heavy eyes until he can make out Eddie’s soft frown, his rumpled hair, the pillow crease over his cheek. Eddie reaches across him to place Buck’s phone — screen black and locked — on the nightstand, and then stays there, half-sprawled over Buck’s chest, a breathing weighted blanket.

“You shouldn’t look,” Eddie says, voice sleep-rough. “Pretty sure that was your advice first.”

It was, in the days after Taylor’s article dropped when every magazine was reporting on it, when Twitter was full of people digging up information on Eddie and Shannon and even Christopher, spreading misinformation and debating the quality of Eddie’s parenting like they had any right.

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, voice equally rough. “It’s just — a lot.”

Eddie hums, crowding closer until he can tuck his face in Buck’s neck. “I’m really proud of you,” he says, and Buck can just barely feel his mouth move, lips brushing against skin. “And I’ll fight every single asshole on the internet in your honour.”

When Buck doesn’t laugh — only breathes out a sigh that he feels throughout his entire body — Eddie pulls far enough away to see Buck’s face, his eyes sliding over his features like reading a book.

“Buck,” Eddie says, quietly, running his fingers gently through Buck’s curls. Buck leans into the touch, helpless. “What do you need?”

You. Buck’s heart gives a pathetic thump.

“Just — kiss me?”

Eddie’s bottom lip tenses, briefly worried between his teeth, a concentrated wrinkle between his eyebrows. A second passes, then two, and then Eddie closes the distance, kissing Buck slow, careful.

He holds Buck like something delicate; licks into Buck’s mouth like he wants to savour every second.

Buck’s chest constricts, desperate and tender and something else he can’t pinpoint.

He thinks he can hear the ticking of a clock.

Buck loves the way Eddie looks, after: the self-satisfied smirk, the boneless set of his shoulders, the rare moment where Eddie is for once completely relaxed. It makes Buck’s fingers itch for a camera.

The sheets rest low on their hips as they lay on their sides, facing each other. Eddie plays with the fingers of one of Buck’s hands idly, fingertips tracing meaningless patterns across Buck’s skin.

There’s a blooming bruise on Eddie’s hipbone, a matching one over his ribs.

Buck says, quietly, “You were going to be a firefighter.”

Eddie blinks, gaze pulling away from Buck’s hand to direct a bemused smile in Buck’s direction.

“Yeah,” he says, and he flips one hand, slides his fingers through the spaces between Buck’s until they’re slotted together, puzzle pieces sliding into place. Eddie’s palm is rough, cool, his callouses familiar against Buck’s hand. “So were you.”

“Yeah,” Buck echoes.

There was a time when Buck couldn’t even drive past a fire station without something bitter and furious rising in his chest, the reminder of a future he couldn’t have anymore, a future that might have finally proved his worth to someone — to himself. Now, it still aches, just like the leg that never fully healed, that bothers him more often than it doesn’t, but it’s not unbearable.

Now, he doesn’t think about the future he lost, or — he doesn’t think entirely about the future he lost. He thinks about Eddie, that haunted look in his eyes when he admitted that the alarm was too much for him. He thinks about Eddie in a turnout coat, about what it would have been like to see DIAZ across his back.

“What — Do you think it would be different? If we were both firefighters?”

Eddie tilts his head, the pillow under his head denting under the weight. His thumb sweeps across the back of Buck’s hand. “Maybe a little. I might not have joined the LAFD.”

Buck snorts. “Yes, you would. Your abuela and Pepa would still be here. Your relationship with your parents would be the same.”

“Yeah,” Eddie allows, laughing, “that’s true. So, what?” A grin, Eddie’s eyebrows raising when he meets Bucks’ eyes. “You think we’d meet on a call? You’d be the reckless daredevil running head first into a fire to save a puppy and I’d end up following you in just to drag you out?”

Buck laughs. He can picture it; his Captain telling him to stay put, Buck ignoring him, Eddie grumbling after him without even knowing him.

“What makes you think you wouldn’t be just as bad as me?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles. “I’d be maybe half as bad. Someone would have to be level-headed enough to keep you from doing something stupid.”

Buck ducks his head to bury his blushing grin against his chest. Eddie’s hand squeezes around his, leaning across the short distance to slide his mouth against Buck’s in a slow kiss. It ends too soon, both of them grinning too wide.

“Why are we meeting on a call?” Buck asks, thinking of how easy it is to work with Eddie, not just on sets but around the kitchen while they put dinner together and at Maddie’s apartment as they beat Maddie and Chimney game after game. “What if we were at the same station?”

A twitch, the corner of Eddie’s grin sliding further upwards. “You think we’d get that lucky?”

“Oh,” Buck laughs, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve already gotten lucky, several times in this very room, actually.”

Eddie groans, rolling away from Buck to shake his head at the ceiling. “That was terrible. You’re not getting lucky again until I can force myself to forget that you said that.”

Buck throws his head back in a laugh, his hand falling onto his bare stomach, tacky with drying sweat. When he lifts his head again, Eddie’s face is folded into a brilliant, rare grin. And Buck —

It clicks together like a horrible, horrible puzzle piece finally sliding into place. The nameless ache, the desperate want, the pull in his gut that always leads him right to wherever Eddie is; he’s fucking in love with him.

And even worse: he’s been in love with Eddie, for weeks or months or years. Maybe he was in love with Eddie on the set of Damned Spot, fake blood on his hands and in his mouth. Maybe he was already halfway in love with him in that bar. Wanna see my bite?

It’s not just sex. It’s never been just sex.

When he ran to Taylor it was because he was getting too attached to Eddie’s family, and he thought it was just that he wanted a family not Eddie’s family but —

He hid that mistletoe the Christmas after Shannon died. He held tighter and tighter onto Taylor every time he let himself get too close to Eddie — when Eddie said you were going to be a firefighter? and when Eddie looked at him too closely during that Thirst Tweets video and every other time he felt his breath catch around him.

Nothing has to change.

I could never live with that.

He is so fucking stupid.

He stumbles to his feet, rolling away from Eddie’s searching hands. He blindly shoves his legs into the closest article of clothing — his boxers — and glances breathlessly around for the rest. His heart is beating a bruise right into the inside of his ribs. He’s worried it may stutter to a stop at any moment, unsure of how he’d ever restart it.

“Buck?” Buck can’t bear to look at him, the thick worry in his tone more than enough to cut to bone. “Buck, what’s going on? Did — did something happen? Is this about your post?”

Buck only shakes his head. How can he possibly say actually, best friend I’ve been fucking for nearly five months, I’ve been in love with you the whole time? He needs to — he needs to be somewhere that isn’t this hotel room, where he and Eddie have fucking lived for the last five months, his own room completely abandoned. He needs to be somewhere far away from Eddie’s bare chest and kind eyes and gentle hands.

If he can just get some space — some time — he can get over this. He can — he can build a box for this love and he can pack it gently away and he can go back to being Eddie’s best friend, nothing else.

“Buck,” Eddie says again, and suddenly he’s standing in front of Buck, blessedly in sweatpants. He reaches a hand up — for Buck’s shoulder, he knows, that dip by his neck, where his thumb fits nicely against the hollow of his throat, the spot that works like magic to ease the tension along Buck’s spine — and Buck flinches. The hurt that flashes across Eddie’s face hurts worse than that motorcycle crash.

“Evan, please, just tell me what’s going on.”

And Buck is very suddenly furious.

Because this — being with Eddie, building this life with him — was too easy, he knew from the start. He was never going to deserve this. And even if he did, even if he could trick Eddie — trick himself — into thinking Buck would ever be good enough for it, it would never work. Buck’s name is in a dozen headlines — Did Evan Buckley Just Come Out?; Evan Buckley Bisexual Legend: Thirty Tweets That Should Have Tipped Us Off; Five Male Models Evan Buckley Might Have Been With — and Eddie doesn’t want that life. Eddie wants privacy and peace. Buck can never give him that.

“It’s nothing,” he says, keeping his eyes on the base of Eddie’s throat. Thirty minutes ago, he had his mouth there. If he had known that would be the last time he’d kiss Eddie he would have made it last longer. He shakes his head; reaches for his jeans. “I just — need to go.”

He brushes past Eddie in search of his hoodie, but only gets two steps in before Eddie’s stopping him with a hand around his wrist. Buck blinks and he’s in a bar, nearly four years ago, Eddie’s hand on his wrist, his voice distant as he said I don’t know what you’re going through. I’m sure it sucks. He blinks again and he’s in a hotel room in Arizona, breaking his own heart.

“Buck, I’m not just gonna let you walk out of here like this.”

“I love you, okay?” Buck shouts, the words tearing through weak defences. He sees the second they hit Eddie, the way his expression folds and then shatters in slow motion. “I’m in love with you. That’s what’s fucking wrong.”

He steps away and his wrist falls from Eddie’s loose grip.

The silence haunts, a physical presence hanging over his shoulder as he pulls on his sweater, as he grabs his phone and his keys. He thanks whatever entity may or may not be looking out for him that he packed the day before.

He wanted to get it out of the way, he remembers, so he and Eddie could fill their time before their check out with each other. So fucking stupid.

“Buck,” Eddie says, just as Buck’s hand lands on the door. Buck’s eyes fall shut under the weight of it. He sounds — wrecked. Buck stills. “Buck.” He’s closer this time, and when Buck turns he’s standing close enough to touch. For the first time in months, Buck doesn’t.

His eyes are wet, Buck notices, the familiar brown behind a glassy film. His bottom lip tenses. It’s familiar, this look, but it’s the first time Buck’s the one to put it on his face.

“Eddie,” he says, and it cracks down the middle. Eddie’s eyes fall shut. “I know.”

He wishes he didn’t, but he does.

For once, Buck’s the one that leaves.

Chapter Text

part five.
hurry over and cry, lafayette
i knew that i'd lose you the moment we met
but the bayou still sings every night in my head
though i can't understand what it wants
i love when it rains but i hate getting wet
never thought it'd be me that you'd haunt

Buck is at least grateful that he waited for filming to wrap before he blew up his entire life.

He doesn’t think he’s a good enough actor to put this away. He knows he’s not a good enough actor to put this away when he spends the next couple of weeks dodging concerned looks from Hen and Maddie and Chimney and even Harry, who stops him after dinner at Bobby’s with a small hand on his wrist and lowers his voice to ask if he’s okay. And being on the receiving end of concern from a twelve-year-old is probably a red flag.

Still, it takes two weeks and four days before Maddie shows up at his door with three cartons of ice cream.

“Maddie,” he groans, trailing after her as she flies through his kitchen in search of bowls and spoons. “Can we please not do this?”

“No,” she says, setting down her finds in front of where he’s draped himself dramatically across his kitchen island. “I’ve let you mope for two weeks, but I’m done. I don’t get it — if this is like, some really delayed reaction to your break up with Taylor or — Eddie said you ran into Abby while you were filming, maybe it’s Abby round two — but whatever it is —”

“Eddie told you about Abby?” He tries not to perk up like a thirteen-year-old with a crush, desperate to know every word they’ve said about him and fails. He remembers the sharp look in Eddie’s eye, the way he stepped close enough to Buck that the entire line of his arm pressed into Buck’s, the way he glared at Abby like he could make her go away with the force of his stare.

Maddie frowns with an ice cream scoop stuck in her carton of Chunky Monkey. “Yes? Is that it? Are you still upset about Abby? Because that’s fine if you are; I know she was your first love and it’s hard to get over that, especially with the way things ended.” She looks down as she drops two scoops into her bowl and four into his, eyebrows raised. “Eddie definitely didn’t seem like he was happy with the bogus apology she gave you, so it’s totally—”

“I slept with Eddie.”

Maddie’s mouth clicks audibly shut, her eyes jumping to his. Her ice cream scoop, hanging suspended in the air, drips onto Buck’s countertop.

“A lot. I slept with Eddie a lot, almost the entire time we were filming. He blew me in the bathroom during Bobby’s awards season party.” He’s twisting the knife in his own chest at this point, and the hot-sharp-desperate pain of it is almost welcome. “And then I fell in love with him like an idiot.”

Maddie blinks at him blankly for a long, long moment before she’s shaking her head, dropping the ice cream scoop in the sink and shoving her hair away from her face with two restless hands. “Wait, wait, go back. How did you end up sleeping with Eddie?” She says the last part in a whisper, like saying it too loud might disrupt the fabric of the universe.

And Buck — Buck’s kind of enjoying indulging in his bitter, pathetic pain, so he says, “Well, technically, we slept together like three years ago, during Damned Spot.” Maddie’s mouth falls open. Buck has the hysterical urge to laugh. He kind of wants to tweet, ask me how eddie diaz’s dick tastes, and then turn off his phone.

“After the shooting scene. We both agreed it wouldn’t happen again and then Shannon was back and then Shannon was dead and then I was dating Taylor.” He tilts his head, a bitter, horrible smirk twisting his mouth. “And then I wasn’t dating Taylor and we filmed a fucking romance and…it just happened. And then it kept happening, and I probably should have known better than to think I could just have sex with Eddie but.” He spreads his hands, palms up. “Here we are.”

Maddie shakes her head, the force of it sending her new, short hair sliding over her shoulders. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand? I put my —”

“Evan,” Maddie snaps, her nose scrunching. “I mean…why is it a bad thing that you fell in love? There’s no way Eddie isn’t in love with you.”

“Well,” he snaps, bitter, “that's not really the point.”

“It can’t be that simple—”

“Maddie,” Buck interrupts, sharp enough to make Maddie’s mouth flatten into a hard line. “It’s done, okay? It’s over. Just fucking leave it alone.”

“But…Buck, it’s Eddie. It’s Christopher, I mean…” Her eyes are wide, sad on his, almost too much for his bitter pain to deal with.

He thinks about spitting his pain at Eddie’s feet, years and years ago. He thinks about how stitching himself back together over the holes Abby had left in his life felt like the worst thing he would ever have to do. He nearly wants to laugh. He had no fucking idea.

Buck sighs, resting his forehead in the palms of his hands, his elbows propped up on the counter. “I’m still seeing Christopher, obviously, just not when Eddie’s around. I need some…time to get over this, but I’m not…Eddie and I, we’ll get back to being like we were. One day.”

“Buck…”

He lifts his head, only enough to blink blearily through his stubborn tears. “This sucks, okay, Maddie? It’s fucking awful, but it would be way worse to lose Eddie completely. So, I’m getting over it.”

Maddie’s mouth pulls down into a frown. “Are you? Can you get over this? It’s Eddie.”

“I know it’s Eddie, Maddie,” he says, hurt turning to anger turning to steel in his voice. “You think I don’t get it?”

“Buck,” Maddie says again, softly, the way she used to say Evan when he came home with bleeding elbows and bruised knees. She reaches across the island to cup his hands in hers, her thumbs sweeping gently over his skin. “I love you. You are my favourite person in the world, and I just want you to be happy.”

When Buck was younger, dragging himself through his early twenties with Maddie across an ocean dodging his calls, with an address that changed every few months, he used to lie awake a lot, staring at his ceiling. No matter what city he was in, what crappy room he was renting, or what lumpy excuse for a mattress he had, he’d lie on his back and stare at the ceiling, remembering the glow-in-the-dark stars that Maddie stuck to his ceiling when he was five, and he’d ask himself: am I happy yet?

Sometimes the answer was yes, when he made easy friends with his coworkers and when he had a recurring hookup he could see becoming something more. Sometimes the answer was almost, when he had a string of hookups end poorly but a job that he was good at. Sometimes the answer was no, when it was getting too close to the holidays or his birthday with a call log full of unanswered calls to Maddie.

He watches Maddie’s hands, the forest green of her nail polish and the silver of her rings, and he thinks: am I happy yet?

He doesn’t have an answer.

Buck’s life isn’t completely shit without Eddie in it.

Partly because Eddie is still in his life, mostly.

They still text — arranging times for Buck to see Chris like divorced parents, asking after a sweater Eddie left at Buck’s loft or a book Buck left at Eddie’s house — and they still see each other — offering each other strained smiles when Buck picks Christopher up or drops him off, circling around small talk when they end up at Maddie’s or Bobby’s at the same time.

It’s just — different, stilted and uncomfortable in a way they’ve never been as long as they’ve known each other. Even after that first hand job in Eddie’s trailer, the awkward tension only lasted as long as it took them to look at each other again, smile and laugh and remind themselves of who they are.

But it’s different now, different with countless hookups between them, different with the memory of Buck walking out of a hotel room with a confession shattered at their feet. They can’t remind themselves of anything, can’t go back to how it was before no matter how hard they try.

And they try. They even succeed sometimes, teasing each other over a song on Buck’s playlist or one of Eddie’s weird food preferences, laughing easily. For a second or even two it’s like nothing’s changed, and then one of them reaches out to shove the other, an action they would never have thought of before, and the ease shatters like glass under their feet. They make contact and everything stills. The touch burns and festers.

No one says anything. Maddie knows, which means Chimney knows, which means Hen knows, which means Karen knows if Eddie didn’t already tell her himself. If someone hasn’t told Athena and Bobby, it wouldn’t be hard for them to figure out. But no one says anything.

They all exchange sympathetic winces and knowing frowns, and sometimes Maddie corners Buck in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen just to hug him, and sometimes Buck catches sight of Hen squeezing Eddie’s hand. But no one says anything.

The internet, on the other hand, has a lot to say. Despite how little Eddie lets himself be online, it's apparent that Buck and Maddie and even Chimney have shared enough images and videos and Tweets with Eddie in the background or mentioned offhandedly that everyone notices when Buck stops posting about or with him at all.

it’s been two months since evan posted anything about eddie, someone Tweets, accompanied by a row of sad faces. do we think they had a falling out??

oh my god, someone replies, have u ever considered they just played that friendship up for the movie? they were literally just coworkers u people need help fr.

Someone replies to that with a thread of screenshots and videos depicting Eddie and Buck’s friendship: Tweets where Buck mentioned a funny story about Eddie, pictures Hen took of Eddie and Buck sleeping on each other’s shoulders in an airport, even that video of Eddie and Buck saying goodbye to Christopher when he left Arizona.

Buck tortures himself by going through every single Tweet, proof upon proof of all the ways Eddie used to fit into every single crevice of his life, and then he posts a Spotify link to a sad song and turns off his phone.

So, Eddie’s still in his life, but not really, and it’s not meaningless without him. It’s just hard — harder, at least. Harder, even, than those first few months without Abby. Because Abby was a blip, someone beautiful and smart who only ever let Buck halfway into her life and who never really entered his, and then suddenly she was gone.

And Eddie’s everywhere: Eddie’s in the box of sugary cereal Buck keeps in the pantry just for him, in the sweater that Buck finds at Maddie’s apartment that obviously belongs to Eddie, in the shape of Christopher’s grin when Buck takes him out for ice cream, and in every single breath Buck takes.

It stings and suffocates, the way Buck’s wrapped up in Eddie Diaz, pulling when Buck tries to tease apart the connections, but it’s still better than the alternative. It’s better to have him, even like this, than to not have him at all.

But it helps to keep busy.

Buck has Bobby sign him up for photo shoot after photo shoot and audition after audition, even the longest of long shots for films Buck doesn’t even understand, just to keep his calendar full. Bobby frowns at him, concerned and fatherly, but he fills Buck’s calendar, pencils in a dozen interviews and events and charity auctions.

It takes him a month and a half after he confesses to Maddie to end up at Taylor’s network.

It’s an interview for one of the photo shoots he did, something for an activewear ad campaign. Taylor’s name isn’t in any of the emails organizing the meeting, it’s likely he won’t have to see her at all, but Buck can’t step into the elevator without remembering all of the times he tried to coax her away from her desk for lunch or dinner, all of the times she pushed him against the elevator wall and kissed him instead of telling him about her day.

It’s impossible to sit across from an interviewer — someone tall and blonde that Buck’s never met before, so probably new — and not remember Taylor looking Eddie in the eye as she asked about Shannon.

The interview is fine. Easy. The interviewer — Kelly, she says, and Buck doesn’t even flinch — is charismatic and friendly, even as her hands fidget nervously with her notes. Definitely new, Buck thinks, and tries to smile more.

It falters when, twenty minutes in, Kelly twirls her pen between her fingers and says, “So, Eddie Diaz.”

Buck swallows and puts his movie star grin right back where it belongs. “Eddie Diaz,” he agrees. He wonders if it sounds different on his tongue than it did on hers; if she can hear the history behind it, all of the times Buck has sighed or panted or moaned it. “I’ve heard of him.”

Kelly laughs. “Oh, I’m sure. Three movies together in nearly as many years, that’s pretty crazy. Are you two tired of each other yet?”

It’s because he has years and years of interview experience that he manages to follow the script, laughing just like Kelly does.

They’re in a boardroom, not one of the filming studios. Behind Kelly, there’s a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows letting in bright sunlight. Between them: a long, impressive conference table. Buck’s seat is soft, comfortable white leather.

It’s just the two of them, Kelly’s phone sitting face up in the centre of the table to record audio, and Buck feels very small, painfully exposed.

At least, he thinks, it’s not Taylor.

“Oh, sick to death of that guy,” Buck says, grinning wide to soften the joke that sits like lead at the bottom of his stomach. Kelly laughs, and Buck can nearly picture how Eddie might roll his eyes, how his mouth might bend into a reluctant curve.

“Uh, no,” Buck corrects, glancing down at the dark wood stain of the table where his hands are resting. “I’m not tired of him. I — I would be happy to make movies with Eddie until the day I die.”

It’s the truth. He almost said it in an interview years ago, sitting next to Eddie as they talked about What’s Inside You? and it hasn’t changed at all since. Even with everything messy and uncertain between them, this he knows.

He used to think it was Abby his career was wrapped up in, Abby he would never be able to forget every time he walked onto a set, but now he knows it’s Eddie. And the worst part is: when Abby left, the parts of acting that bore her fingerprints made him bitter but now, with this chasm between him and Eddie, Buck only thinks of the places where their careers overlap with fondness.

The worst part is: he’s bleeding out for everyone to see, even if they can’t quite find the entry wound, and he still wants to twist the knife, still wants to be at Eddie’s side in front of a camera.

There’s a beat of silence before Buck raises his gaze to meet Kelly’s, her expression suddenly tender, contemplative.

The moment passes; Kelly smiles, kind and picture perfect, informs Buck of how sweet he is, and then moves on to questions about his ad campaign.

Afterwards, when Kelly thanks him in the hall as Buck waits for an elevator — as Buck cranes his head to see if he can recognize the broom closet Taylor led him into the first time they slept together —, she pauses. Bites her lip.

“You know,” she says, and then stops.

Someone Buck vaguely recognizes from lunch dates at Taylor’s desk walks by, sneers at Buck and then Kelly in turn, and doesn’t pause at all.

Kelly sighs. “I’m kind of a fan,” is what she lands on, tilting her head. “But even if I wasn’t, I’d want to say that, um, I hope things work out.”

Buck’s mouth parts; useless. Is he that obvious? Does he leave behind a sad trail of blood and tears and melted ice cream like a banner? Look at this poor, stupid man who broke his own heart.

He doesn’t get the chance to muster up any kind of response; the elevator dings and then opens. Kelly takes it as her cue to duck her head and scurry down the hall.

Buck gathers up the innards he’s accidentally let tumble out and steps onto the elevator.

With any luck, he thinks, the elevator may crash and the LAFD can show up to round out Buck’s world tour of broken hearts and crushed dreams, each and every one with Eddie’s signature neatly etched across the top.

“Hold the elevator!”

It’s pure instinct that has Buck pressing his knuckle against the open door button before he’s had the chance to register the voice, and even then it skims over the top of his mental pity party, too focused on Kelly’s parting message and the colour of Eddie’s eyes when Buck left to notice anything else.

And then Taylor Kelly walks into the elevator.

“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening when they land on his, “you have to be fucking kidding me.”

Maybe Buck should move. Lots of actors live in New York. He could be Jesse Eisenberg’s roommate; it might be a good character-building exercise.

“Taylor,” he says instead, mostly a sigh. “Hi.”

Taylor rolls her eyes. Buck ducks his head to stare at his shoes, his shoulders hunching around his ears.

He almost loved her, is the thing. He could have loved her; he’s just not sure he ever liked her very much. He’s not sure she ever liked him very much.

And they haven’t talked since the breakup, since Taylor asked if they could make it work and Buck said they couldn’t, not with Eddie’s best-kept secret ripped to shreds in Taylor’s hands.

Ultimately, Taylor’s article didn’t ruin much. Christopher’s never been treated differently, his name and image well-guarded, his school discrete and understanding. The bullshit assholes on the internet spew about Eddie and Chris alike is vile, enough to make Buck’s teeth ache with furious rage, but it’s minimal, overshadowed by the good.

But she still wrote it, and he doesn’t think she would have told him about it at all if he didn’t find it himself. Because she never trusted him, which is just as well, since he never trusted her.

“Well,” Buck says into the silence of the elevator, and Taylor’s rolling her eyes again before he’s even finished, “at least you didn’t have to interview me?”

Taylor scoffs, a bitter smile tugging at her mouth.

When Buck’s feeling particularly melancholy, enough to poke at tender memories, he remembers the good days with Taylor more than anything; the times she smiled at him, soft and sweet, before kissing him; the mornings he woke up with her in his arms, how she’d wrinkle her nose and grin when he kissed her forehead; the way she remembered his favourite orders, extra packets of spicy plum sauce tucked away in takeout bags.

He’s not sure how often he’s seen that same, twisted smile she’s wearing now, not sure if it’s new or not.

“Obviously I didn’t have to interview you,” she says, halfway to sneering as she leans against the elevator wall and taps away at her phone. “I don’t work here anymore.”

Buck blinks. “What?”

Another eye roll, this one accompanied by a sigh. “I haven’t worked here for nearly a year. The Eddie article got me a job, a good one.”

“Right,” Buck says, and he tries not to sound bitter.

Taylor’s quiet scoff makes it clear he’s failed, though he’s not quite sure what response she was looking for. That’s great, congrats on profiting off of Eddie’s son? Glad the betrayal was worth it? Hope the pay is great?

Silence falls, awkward and heavy as they keep to their respective sides of the elevator. Buck finds himself torn between wishing someone could share the tension and not wanting to subject anyone to this nightmare.

His fingers itch to text Eddie — he can almost picture Eddie’s response, something dry and a little mean, exactly the right thing to make Buck laugh — before he remembers that’s not what they do anymore.

They make it past two floors before Taylor makes a small noise, pockets her phone, and turns to face Buck. She has her arms folded across her chest. If she were Eddie, it would mean that she’s protecting herself, offering herself a small bit of comfort to get through something.

But she’s not Eddie; she’s Taylor, and Buck has no idea what it means.

“Just tell me one thing,” she says like Buck’s the one who owes her something. “Did Eddie ever make his move?”

Buck chokes on nothing at all, spluttering uselessly as he presses a closed fist against his chest. Taylor only raises one eyebrow.

“What? What do you mean Eddie making a move?”

“Come on,” Taylor grins, sharp. “All Eddie and I ever did was fight over you.”

“No,” Buck argues. “All you and Eddie did was fight, period. I had nothing to do with it.”

“You had everything to do with it,” Taylor says, throwing one hand up. “From day one, at that wrap party for What’s Inside You? when Eddie came marching in, your knight in shining armour, it was all about you.”

Buck’s mouth opens, closes. They weren’t even friends then, not until after Eddie shooed Taylor away. It wasn’t about Buck, it was about Christopher and the secret Eddie was holding so close to his chest, just like Buck was holding onto Abby.

Only — only at that point Eddie didn’t know about Abby, and no one knew about Christopher at all.

Taylor’s eyes narrow, considering. “You never saw that interview Eddie and I did during the Damned Spot junket, did you?”

“Uh, no, I didn’t.” He had nearly forgotten all about it, truthfully. There were so many interviews after, so many more pressing concerns with Eddie and Taylor at the centre of them, for their awkward interview in that hotel lobby to leave much of an impression, especially when it never made it to air. “I figured it was — I don’t know — too awkward or boring or something.”

Taylor laughs. “No. It was gold.” She sounds almost hungry, her eyes flashing briefly. “The views that would have brought in? I begged for it to air. But I asked him about your feud, if it had anything to do with jealousy and —” she blows out a breath, eyebrows high on her forehead, mouth pursed “— he nearly bit my head off, so Nash made us cut it. It was pretty obvious that it wasn’t you that he was jealous of.”

Buck’s not sure if he’s still breathing, unsure of how to make sense of what he's hearing

“And then,” Taylor continues, ignoring the way Buck’s blinks have become increasingly stunned, “you did that Thirst Tweets video. The way he looked at you? No one — not even you — has ever looked at me like that. But you said it wasn’t possible, and — and I was pretty sure you wanted him, and I knew he wanted you, but that’s when I realized you had no idea.”

“Why —” Buck clears his throat, tries again: “If you…knew about — about all of that, why did you stay with me?”

For the space of one blink, Buck sees Taylor. Really sees her, for maybe the first time since he’s known her; spots a quiet sadness buried deep under every inch of her carefully crafted harsh exterior. “You’re not the only one who gets lonely, Buck.”

She blinks again, and it’s gone. Her sharp smirk slides back into its rightful place, her head cocked gently to the side. “So. Did he win?”

Buck sighs, the rush of air scraping painfully on its way out. He’s tired in a way he feels in his bones. “I don’t think any of us won, Taylor.”

The elevator slows to a stop, the doors opening with a quiet ding into the lobby.

Taylor adjusts the strap of her bag, grins down at her shoes and then up at Buck. For just one second, Buck’s back in Bobby and Athena’s backyard all those years ago, holding her hairpins in his hand.

“I don’t know,” she says, her nose wrinkling, “I’ve got a great job, a nice apartment; I’m feeling pretty good.”

It’s enough to make Buck laugh, a startled bark of noise that tugs Taylor’s grin wider.

“Goodbye, Taylor,” he says, imagining the Eddie that lives in the back of his mind rolling his eyes.

Taylor steps off the elevator, sends one more smile over her shoulder with a limp wave. “Goodbye, Evan.”

Buck comes home one day to find a script waiting for him, pinned to his fridge with a magnet from the aquarium.

He holds his breath as he approaches it, dramatic and embarrassing like the silly little actor that he is, and doesn’t release it until he catches sight of Chimney’s handwriting scrawled across a blue sticky note.

It was ridiculous of him to think Eddie would use his key to Buck’s loft for the first time in months just to leave a script on his fridge. He did anyway.

Chimney’s sticky note says: hey buck, if you don’t do this movie willingly i will deepfake you into it. xoxo chim.

He makes it ten pages into the script — Last Call, the title page says — before impatience gets the better of him, skimming through the pages with his heart climbing steadily further up his throat.

He reaches the end — “The worst part about dying is always losing you,” the character that Chimney’s highlighted for Buck says — and he picks up his phone.

“Evan,” Chimney says in greeting, tone mock-serious. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Buck can just barely make out Hen’s snort in the background.

Buck ignores the bit to ask, quietly, “Are you serious about this?”

There’s a beat of silence, then the muffled sounds of Chimney talking to Hen followed by some shuffling, a door closing with a quiet click.

Buck sits at his kitchen island, and he remembers breaking up with Taylor here, remembers Hen convincing him to do The Way Forward here, remembers telling Maddie about Eddie here.

He runs the tip of his finger over the irregular patterns in the laminate, and wonders if he should move.

Finally, Chimney says, “Buck,” his tone quiet and uncharacteristically sincere. “Yes, I’m serious. This is — I didn’t write it for you but, once I was done it was pretty obvious the role is meant for you.”

Last Call is about best friends. All of Chimney’s movies are, to some extent. And in each one, the best friend dies. Buck’s made offhand jokes about it before just like the rest of the internet, but — but Last Call is about best friends who watch each other die again and again.

One of them watches the other choke on their own blood in the early 1800s, helpless to do anything but hold their hand. They find each other again fifty years later, on a battlefield without any memories of the life they previously lived, and one of them is shot in front of the other. Again and again, they find each other; love each other. And again and again, they die.

With each lifetime, the memories slowly begin to catch and hold until they know enough to mourn each other before they’ve even met; until they know enough to try — and fail — to change the fates they’ve been dealt.

And for the first time in Chimney’s career, it’s not a comedy. There are moments of humour, because it’s Chimney, but they’re few and far between, the script more concerned with the tragedy of these best friends, destined to lose each other.

In the end, they don’t fix anything. They meet and die again and again and again, indefinitely, making do with the fact they get to meet at all.

It’s not a happy ending, but the character Chimney’s marked for Buck, the yellow highlight gently smearing printer ink before it had the chance to dry, ends the film meeting his future best friend’s eyes across a crowded bar for the first time in this lifetime, convinced that it is.

“Chimney,” Buck tries, pressing a knuckle against the island countertop until it starts to ache.

“Tell me we’re not still doing that thing where you pretend you’re a bad actor so I’ll compliment you,” Chimney says, long-suffering enough to make Buck huff an amused breath of laughter.

“No,” Buck says, and it’s the truth.

Despite the knee jerk instinct to believe himself not enough and far too much all at once, the one that tricks him into thinking every role he’s ever gotten has been at least mostly a mistake, he’s come far enough to trust Chimney’s judgement, to know Chimney would never put him in a movie if he didn’t deserve it.

“Good, because I haven’t taken any Lactaid today.”

“That’s a terrible joke,” Buck informs him once Chimney’s finished laughing. “I guess I’m just surprised; this movie is —”

“Careful, Buckley.”

“Now who’s fishing for compliments?” Chimney’s snort is muffled over the line, and Buck grins at his empty apartment. “I just mean it’s different.”

“Yeah, well,” Chimney hedges, “I’m different than I was a few years ago. You’re different than you were a few years ago.”

He’s different since he met Maddie, Chimney means, just like he means Buck’s different since he met Eddie.

Five years ago, Chimney and Buck were — fine. They had their movies and they had each other and Hen and Bobby. Sometimes, Chimney even had Tatiana, when his movies were pulling in enough ticket sales. For a minute, Buck even had Abby, before she was ready to be someone better. But it wasn’t what either of them wanted. It wasn’t what Bobby and Athena had, what Hen and Karen had.

And then Maddie showed up at Buck’s door with her entire life packed into a suitcase. And then —

“Hey,” Buck says, nearly a whisper. Like if he says it quietly enough it won’t hurt. “Thank you, um, for forcing Eddie to star in What’s Inside You?”

“Buck,” Chimney sighs, sounding every bit the big brother that he is.

“No, I’m serious. I — whatever’s going on right now, he — Meeting him kinda changed my life, and as much as it pains me to say it, you made that happen so — just accept my gratitude and don’t tell Maddie about this conversation.”

Chimney laughs, and Buck can’t help but think back to a time, those early months when Buck first met him, when every laugh he managed to pull out of Chimney felt like winning an award.

“Well, thanks for having Maddie as a sister.”

“You’re welcome,” Buck says, smug. “I’ll remember to mention this in my speech at the wed—”

The call cuts out; Buck’s lock screen — Chris, beaming in the director’s chair with EDDIE DIAZ across the top — is blank when he pulls it away from his face.

He throws his head back in a laugh, and the sound bounces off the walls of his terrible, terrible apartment.

Buck expects filming to sneak up on him.

In the past, the period between accepting a role and playing that role seems to happen in double-time, his anticipation and nerves cutting through hours like they're nothing. He hardly remembers the wait between Athena’s phone call and walking onto set; between Hen sliding a script across his island and boarding that flight to Atlanta.

That’s not how it happens this time.

This time, the days drag by. Buck tries to fill them — with dinners with Maddie and nights out with Hen and meetings with Bobby — but nothing makes time move faster. He crosses the days off on his whiteboard, red dry erase ink slicing through meetings and shoots and interviews, and it feels like he’s dragging the hours by with his teeth.

Part of it is his own indulgent sadness turning time to sticky taffy.

The other part of it is that Chimney can’t find the other lead.

“I don’t get it,” Chimney groans, flipping through headshots in Maddie’s living room, the one that's rapidly becoming less Maddie’s and more Maddie and Chimney’s even if no one admits to it. Next to him, Maddie rubs her hand soothingly over his shoulder. “There are a billion actors in L.A. and I can’t find one for this goddamn role.”

Filming is due to start in less than two months. Every other role has been filled, Buck’s casting already several weeks old to the general public.

But not the other lead.

what’s taking so long? someone Tweets, is howie prowling the streets of la for another fruity pretty boy for evan to have a rivalry with?

And Buck imagines it: imagines Chimney picking someone from his pile of headshots, someone handsome and talented. It would be fine — Buck can drum up chemistry with a wall if you let him — but.

But Buck sighs, puts his mug down on the last remaining spot on the table not covered by Chimney’s spiral and leans back. “Because it’s Eddie.”

Chimney and Maddie’s heads swivel to Buck as one, Maddie’s eyes wide and concerned, Chimney’s eyebrows low and confused.

It’s like casting a spell, invoking Eddie’s name.

“Buck,” Maddie says, but Buck shakes his head.

“The other lead is Eddie,” Buck says, firm. “You know it, I know it, everyone knows it. Just call him.”

“Buck,” Chimney says, setting down the papers he’s fiddling with to set uncharacteristically serious eyes on him. “I’m not going to…”

“What? Make me uncomfortable?” Buck shakes his head, looking away from Chimney and Maddie’s heavy attention to tap uselessly at his phone, opening and closing apps. “Eddie and I are professionals, and we’re — we’re fine, okay? It’s not like it’s a romance, so just call him. You know he’s perfect for it, and you know we can do it.”

There’s a beat of heavy silence in which Maddie and Chimney have an entire conversation through eyebrow twitches that Buck tries not to resent.

“Evan,” Maddie says, her tone heavy and her eyes sad. “Chimney can find someone else.”

“But he doesn’t have to,” Buck says, and it’s nearly a snap. Chimney’s eyebrows twitch and Maddie’s frown deepens. With some effort, Buck softens his tone, and continues, “I know what I’m doing. Just call Eddie.”

Chimney and Maddie exchange another loaded look, but ultimately Chimney nods and Maddie sighs and no one stops Buck from turning the volume up on the episode of Master Chef.

And when Buck shows up at Eddie’s door two weeks later, Eddie greets him with, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Buck’s chest tightens, instinctively. It’s all it seems to do around Eddie, these days.

He’s in a henley with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the smooth line of his forearm as he holds the door open, his tattoo poking out. Once, Eddie would have reached out, wrapped his fingers around Buck’s wrist and tugged him into the privacy of the house to hug him properly.

Beyond him, the house looks the same; Christopher’s sneakers piled by the shoe rack, Eddie’s hoodie over the back of the couch, his keys in the frog bowl on the entry table.

If Buck were to clear his mind of the last few months, he might be able to pretend absolutely nothing has changed.

Eddie’s hand flexes against the door, and a frown tugs his mouth downwards, and when Buck blinks all he can see is the look on his face when Buck walked away.

Absolutely nothing is the same.

“Come on, Eddie,” Buck laughs, forcing a grin. It feels wrong, and Eddie’s eyes narrow, disbelieving. “You’re not that old. I’m picking up Chris, remember?”

“Buck,” Eddie sighs. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He does. Doesn’t mean he wants to talk about it.

“What’s there to say?”

“Uh, how about: have you lost your mind?”

The hard edge of Eddie’s voice hits and burrows. Buck thinks about the way he used to say baby and tries not to cry.

“Eddie,” he sighs. “It’s just a movie.”

Eddie’s hand slides away from the door, reaches halfway between them, fingers flexing like he might touch; Buck’s breath catches.

His hand pauses between them, hovers, and then drops.

Gesturing limply for Buck to follow, Eddie takes a step away from the door. Buck closes it behind him. The house suddenly feels much smaller, the air between him and Eddie thin.

One of these days, Buck thinks, he’ll stop wanting to touch him.

And it’s not even the sex; it’s not the desperate, hot touches that he misses. He still wants, still wakes up some nights with flashbulb memories of Eddie’s hands pressing bruises into the back of his thighs and a heat in his gut he struggles to ignore, but he can’t pretend that’s all it is anymore.

He stands a foot away from Eddie, his hair soft and rumpled, and Buck only wants to step into his space, slide his arms around his waist, rest his head in the dip of his neck. Breathe him in.

He hasn’t been sleeping very well without him.

“Are you sure about this?” Eddie says, quietly.

Christopher is somewhere down the hall, packing a bag for their day out. Buck has tickets for an exhibit on sharks at the aquarium and plans to have lunch with Pepa before they meet Maddie and Chimney at the animal shelter so Maddie can finally pick out a cat.

Everything between him and Eddie might have changed, but it hasn’t for Christopher. And Christopher’s not dumb, he knows something is different, but they’ve done everything they can to shield him from it.

Distantly, Buck spares a second to be bitterly amused that, once, he wanted Shannon’s place in Eddie’s life, and now he has it; the divorced co-parent working out a custody schedule and hiding the worst of it from Christopher.

“We’re actors,” Buck reminds him. “We managed to make it work before we were friends.”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “Are we not friends now?”

“Of course we’re still friends,” Buck says, and it comes out sharper than he intends it to. Eddie’s bottom lip tenses, packing some emotion away before Buck can see it. “I just mean that we’ve always been a good team.”

“But this movie —“

“Is good.”

“It’s great,” Eddie agrees, firm. “But we were gonna be firefighters.”

Like every single time they’ve put words to the lives they might have had if things were just a little different, Buck’s breath catches in his chest. Faintly, he thinks his bad knee might throb, and then dismisses it as theatrics, a byproduct of his career.

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asks. Wonders if he sounds as tired as he feels.

“Because it’s —” Eddie cuts himself off with a rough, frustrated noise. It’s so rare, Eddie revealing his frustration, that it catches Buck by surprise. Years ago, in that bar, Buck would have revelled in pulling a reaction from Eddie; now, he mostly wants to cry.

Eddie’s hand jerks at his side then curls into a fist. “It’s a movie about fate. About — about being destined to know someone.”

“You don’t believe in any of that crap,” Buck snaps, louder than he means to.

Silence rings out. Buck’s eyes catch on the movement of Eddie’s jaw as he swallows, and he remembers what it felt like under his mouth.

“I don’t —” Eddie cuts himself off, sliding his palm across the stubble that’s starting to grow in, nearly as long as it was when Buck first saw him. There’s something tight in his expression, warring with itself.

A few months ago, Buck might have stepped closer, might have kissed Eddie slow until he relaxed enough to put his thoughts in order, to put words to the feelings he’s always been taught to bury.

But maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe he would have been just as scared to hear Eddie spill his guts as he is now.

And now, with that fear forcing his heart into a desperate stutter, he clenches his jaw and stares down at his feet.

“Buck,” Eddie sighs, something brittle in his voice. Buck keeps his eyes downcast; refuses to see whatever tender expression might be turning his eyes soft. “I just want —”

“Okay, I’m ready!”

Christopher’s voice sounds a second before Buck registers the sound of his crutches against the floor, and when Buck’s head jerks up, Christopher’s grinning, either oblivious to or willfully ignoring the tension between Buck and Eddie. He has a backpack slung over his shoulder, half unzipped until Buck reaches over absentmindedly to tug the zipper the rest of the way.

Eddie reaches over at the same moment, and his hand pauses a breath away from making contact with Buck’s, hovering uselessly above Christopher’s shoulder before he snatches it back, shoves it in the pocket of his sweats and hunches his shoulders.

Christopher’s smile tenses at the corners, blinking between Buck and his dad with a small furrow in his brow.

And that’s enough for Buck to risk eye contact with Eddie, whatever Eddie was trying to say and whatever Buck was trying not to say falling away as they come to the split-second, silent decision to put aside their bullshit for Christopher’s sake.

“Hey, buddy,” Eddie says, grinning grin as he drops into a crouch and ruffles a hand through Christopher’s curls. “You’re gonna have a great day with Buck, right?”

“An awesome day,” Buck corrects, enough cheer in his voice to make Eddie laugh and roll his eyes, and, just for a second, it’s almost like normal. Except that Buck says, “We’ll take a bunch of pictures of the cats at the shelter for your dad,” and if everything were normal, Eddie would be coming with them.

Buck keeps his cheery grin in place by sheer force of will, and the tightness in his chest doesn’t loosen until Christopher echoes it easily.

Eddie, for his part, doesn’t let his smile slip either, though Buck can spot where it’s starting to fray at the edges. They disappear when he presses a kiss to Christopher’s forehead, one hand gently cupping the back of his neck.

And — and Buck loves him. What the hell else is he supposed to do?

“Why don’t you throw your bag in the car?” Buck says, suddenly desperate to put distance between himself and this man he loves and loves and loves, no matter how badly it hurts.

Christopher says his goodbyes, allows Eddie to kiss him again, and then takes off toward Buck’s Jeep, parked on the road instead of next to Eddie’s truck.

“Buck, I’m sor—“

“Don’t,” Buck interrupts, his voice cracking over the word. He can’t hear Eddie apologize, not for this. “We’re fine, right? Friends.”

“Friends,” Eddie confirms, nodding firmly. His jaw is set stubbornly like he can make it so just through his conviction. “You’re still my best friend, Buck. I told you —”

“Nothing has to change,” Buck says, and he knows he has the line wrong. He knows that Eddie’s line was I can’t lose you, that Buck was the one to promise nothing would change and also the one to break it, but he can’t bear to hear those words in Eddie’s mouth again. “And nothing has.”

“Right. Nothing’s changed.”

It’s the biggest lie either of them has told each other, the weight of it hanging heavy in the air.

Buck’s palms itch.

“I’ll bring him back after dinner,” he promises, feeling like he’s reading the lines off of a divorced parent's handbook, except that he’s never been a parent, not really. He’s just played one on TV.

Eddie nods, a hard bob of his head, and his forearms flex as he tucks his hands under his arms, hugging them to his chest. Buck wants — It doesn’t matter. He can’t have it.

When he leaves, he doesn’t look back once.

The animal shelter is basically Disneyland, at least as far as Christopher’s concerned.

His eyes grow as wide as saucers behind his glasses the second they step foot in the lobby where they have rows of cages filled with their smaller pets — hamsters and guinea pigs and rabbits. Not even Maddie, Christopher’s current hero, standing with Chimney by the front counter with a stack of pamphlets in her hands, is enough to deter him from leaning close to one of the cages to softly at a sleeping rabbit with half of its ear missing.

“Buck,” he says, tone pitching into the near-whine that Buck’s long since come to associate with just one more story and I won’t tell Dad if you won’t.

“Not a chance, kid,” Buck says, using both hands in a gentle grip on either shoulder to steer Christopher toward Maddie and Chimney. That tone might have worked on him years ago, back when Buck was more concerned with Christopher liking him than anything else, but he’s since developed a resistance to it. “Your dad would kill us both.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Christopher argues, peering up at Buck with a toothy grin, trusting Buck to keep them steady. “He always tears up at those sad dog commercials.”

“That’s ‘cause your dad’s a huge softie. But that doesn’t mean he wants a rabbit in his house.”

“Then why don’t we keep it at your house? I can come over to feed him and play with him and clean his cage, and Dad can’t be mad because it’s not his house.”

“Ooh,” Chimney laughs, dropping his arm from Maddie’s shoulder to quietly slow clap. “Smart kid.”

Christopher beams, preening under Chimney’s praise and Maddie’s affection as she tugs him out of Buck’s hands to wrap him in a hug.

“And then we would have to see you all the time like we did before,” Christopher adds, looking up at Buck from the circle of Maddie’s arms, “and Dad would stop frowning so much.”

Buck’s heart takes a quick plummet to the soles of his shoes. Maddie and Chimney exchange a glance of furrowed eyebrows and twisting frowns over Christopher’s head.

It’s Maddie who breaks the silence first, running a hand through Christopher’s curls as she says, softly, “He’s frowning, huh?”

“Maddie,” Buck says, a warning, just as Chimney bats Maddie’s hands away so he can steer Christopher down the hall.

“Let’s go meet some cats,” Chimney says, brightly, with one hand on the centre of Christopher’s back. “Maybe we can find a grumpy looking one to match your dad.”

“My dad says he isn’t grumpy,” Christopher says loyally, even as he grins around a giggle.

“Yeah, but isn’t the look on his face when you say he is so funny?” Chimney mimics it, his brow pinching together and his mouth turning down into a sharp frown.

Maddie links her elbow with Buck’s, slowing him down until they’re a few steps away from Chimney and Christopher’s joint laughter.

“Maddie, come on,” he sighs, but obediently keeps to her side.

She makes a sharp noise and digs her elbow into his side just once. “Don’t Maddie me on the day I’m becoming a cat mom.”

He’s been taller than her since he was fifteen, growing almost a foot in one semester so that, by the time she came to visit — only for a week in the summer as her and Doug’s visits to London increased in frequency and length the closer they got to the wedding —, he had shot past her.

But he doesn’t remember her ever feeling small. Even when he knew something was off with Doug, when she was becoming less and less the Maddie he knew, she never seemed small. Even now, with Buck over the line of thirty and nearly a foot taller than her, the top of her head just in line with his shoulders, she doesn’t feel small.

She’s always felt larger than life, his number one — and sometimes only — protector, the one who held everything together even when he felt like it was all coming apart at the seams. Whenever he was sad, or angry, or something else he couldn’t identify outside of the way it made his hands shake and his ears ring, there she was to wipe his tears and hold his hand until he could breathe again.

But Buck spent years without her, and he never quite learned how to put himself back together, but he’s learned to cover the holes and move on.

And he’s not sure he’s something Maddie can fix anymore.

“What do you think I should name my cat?” Maddie says, and Buck’s so stunned he nearly trips over his own feet. Maddie doesn’t seem to notice or at least doesn’t seem to care, tilting her head as she taps her fingers over the bones of Buck’s wrist. “Or should I just keep whatever name the shelter’s given them? Might be better, right? They don’t need any more change.”

“Maddie —“

“But I was thinking maybe Nora? Like my character in Damned Spot.”

“Maddie, what are you doing?”

A sniff, Maddie tossing her hair back to set a stern glare on Buck. “I’m telling you about my future cat, Evan.”

“Okay,” Buck says, slowly. “Why?”

The meddling jar fees might be more or less evenly split between Karen, Eddie, and Maddie, but Buck’s willing to bet Maddie comes out ahead. He finds it incredibly hard to believe that she only wants to discuss her cat’s name.

Maddie sighs, bringing them to a stop in the middle of the hallway only a few steps away from where Chimney and Christopher are waiting by the locked door to the cat room. Chimney has his phone out, angled to show the screen to Chris, who giggles at whatever he finds.

“Buck,” Maddie says, and her arm slips out of his until she can sweep her thumb over the inside of his elbow, gentle and comforting like Buck always imagined a mom should be. “I won’t pretend I don’t have a lot of questions about everything with Eddie —“ Buck snorts; only grins when Maddie rolls her eyes “— but I trust you. I trust you so much, in fact, that —“

“Sorry for the wait!” A soft clap, a set of keys clanging with the movement, and a volunteer with a bright orange t-shirt and a name tag that says Mac appears at their side. They turn to Maddie, their bright grin widening as they ask, “Are you our prospective cat parent?”

“Yes, I am,” Maddie confirms, straightening with an excited grin as her hand falls away from Buck’s arm.

The volunteer lets them into the room, shooting off details about the cats as they see them; that one refuses to eat unless you’re petting her and that one doesn’t really like men and that one loves to watch Real Housewives.

A trio of black kittens start screaming the second they catch sight of people, and one of them uses their little claws to crawl up Chimney’s pant leg, ignoring his cries of pain.

The rest of the volunteer’s info session is immediately forgotten by everyone but Maddie as Chimney obliges the kitten’s demands, cradling it in his palms, and Christopher nearly trips over one of his crutches in his haste to lean closer, kept steady by Buck’s hand reaching out to grip his shoulder instinctively.

“Buck,” Christopher says, that rise in his pitch audible again as he runs his fingers over the top of the kitten’s head. The kitten starts purring like a jet engine and Christopher squeaks. “Please please please?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Chimney laughs, the traitor. “Please?”

There’s a pang in Buck’s chest, that familiar desire to give Christopher everything he wants and then some, but it’s followed a second later by a sharper sting. Because somehow, without Buck even realizing it, he stopped treating Christopher like his best friend’s kid and he started treating him like a — he can’t quite allow himself to touch the word son without flinching.

Are you really going to pretend you don’t care about him like I do? Eddie had said after Taylor’s article made something crack in Buck’s chest.

And he and Eddie might be in an odd place, struggling to find their way back to something solid, but this love he has for Christopher hasn’t changed. And when he landed back in L.A, after Arizona, after Buck caught an earlier flight and dodged Hen’s questions about it, he had a text on his phone from Eddie that said You should take Chris to the Zoo on Friday, if you’re up for it.

He might not be a dad — he might only play one on TV — but he’s something close enough to it that he has to force himself to slide a grin into place. “Sorry, buddy, not gonna happen,” he says and ruffles a hand through Christopher’s hair until his pout gives way to a grin.

It’s with the memory of that text top of mind that Buck snaps a picture of Christopher cuddling the kitten to his chest carefully, and sends it to Eddie: just had to tell him no about this kitten ):

Dots appear; disappear and then reappear. Finally, Eddie says, Haha. Welcome to my life.

Buck swallows — it feels sharp — and pockets his phone.

“Maybe Maddie will adopt him,” Buck suggests, resisting the urge to tear up as the kitten closes his eyes and buries his head in Christopher’s neck, “and then you can see him whenever you want.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chimney says, a kitten balancing on either shoulder as he gestures carefully toward Maddie. “I think Maddie’s found the one.”

She’s on all fours, half underneath a table and speaking in a soft voice to a cat Buck can’t see, on account of it hiding underneath a table, but Buck can tell from the sweet dip of her voice and the way she’s risking dirtying the knees of her expensive jeans that Chimney’s right.

It’s an awkward fit once Buck joins her, hunched over painfully to avoid hitting his head on the table, squeezing in between one of the table legs and Maddie, but neither Maddie nor the cat seems to care.

The cat in question is less cat, more huge cloud of fur, her eyes closed as she leans her head into Maddie’s careful touch.

Or, on closer inspection, she’s only mostly a huge cloud of fur. She has big bald patches along the curve of her back and her sides, probably more out of sight. When Buck frowns, Maddie explains in a near whisper, “Mac said someone dropped her off when her owner died, but her owner had been sick for a while and wasn’t taking very good care of her. They had to shave off a bunch of mats.”

“Oh,” Buck says, copying Maddie’s whisper. The cat’s ear twitches at the sound of his voice, squinting one eye open to glare at him until the gentle rhythm of Maddie’s hand over her head works to relax her again. “How old is she?”

She doesn’t look like a kitten, is the thing. Even ignoring the bald patches, she looks a little frail, a little bit like she’s seen more of life than she’d like to.

Maddie makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, scratching her index finger underneath the cat’s chin. Even her purr sounds a little old, a deep rumble that stutters every few seconds.

“They said she’s almost eleven, but some cats live to twenty so she’s actually a baby.”

Buck swallows his laughter, nodding sagely, unseen, as Maddie stares heart eyes at the cat.

“Put your hand out,” Maddie instructs, still not looking as she nudges her shoulder against his. “Let her sniff you.”

Buck does as he’s told, resting his hand palm up on the floor in front of the cat, who stops purring long enough to stare at it with palpable judgement before offering Buck the gift of sniffing his hand once. He has no idea what’s happening — if he’s passing a test or failing it — but she turns back to Maddie a second later, closing her eyes and blocking out Buck’s existence.

“Did I do that ri—”

“I’m quitting acting.”

Buck startles, nearly whacking his head on the top of the table as he turns to Maddie in surprise. She doesn’t look away from the cat, and her voice is even and calm, her shoulders relaxed as she smiles sweetly. She doesn’t seem like she’s breaking down, like this is a cry for help.

Still, Buck says, “What?”

She shrugs; repeats, “I’m quitting acting. I only did Damned Spot to prove I could — to prove I could act without Doug — and I did it. But — but acting was never really my dream.”

“It wasn’t mine, either,” Buck says, quietly. His knee throbs distantly, and he knows he’ll be feeling the consequences of crawling under this table for days.

“But you love it,” Maddie says, finally turning to face him with a small furrow in her brow. “Don’t you?”

And the thing is: he does.

He’s not stupid; he knows that his relationship to acting isn’t the healthiest thing out there. He knows that he puts a little too much stock in his public reception, that he’s a little too willing to disappear into a character to hide from himself.

But he loves it anyway.

He loves meeting people who found some joy in his movies; loves the bond you form with a cast and crew after months spent working together to make something; loves the way it feels to finally get a scene right.

“Yeah,” he says, “I do. You don’t?”

She shrugs again. “Not more than I loved nursing. But — but I like making something. I like having a voice. So, I don’t know, maybe I’ll write something.”

“Like a movie?”

“Sure,” she says, and then turns a distinctly shit-eating grin in his direction, “or maybe I’ll write Buddie fanfic—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” he begs with a wince. “I’m pathetic and heartbroken right now, you have to be nice to me.”

Maddie laughs, a sudden rise in volume that makes her cat flinch and cower further in the corner. It’s enough to distract Maddie completely, who gushes soft-spoken apologies and resumes petting her.

They stay there for some time, Buck eventually stretching out to lay on his side, propped up with one elbow when he’s unable to keep his weight on his knee any longer, Maddie seemingly content to spend the rest of her life petting this cat.

Faintly, they can hear Chimney and Christopher talking and laughing, the kittens chiming in every so often with high-pitched meows, but their little bubble under the table feels like another world entirely, quiet and isolated.

And then, eventually, Maddie says, “Oh, also, I’m pregnant.”

Buck’s head hits the table with a bang.

On the first day of filming, Chimney’s waiting for him in the studio’s parking lot.

“You don’t have to do this,” he starts to say almost before Buck’s stepped out of the Jeep. “I can change the scene — I can scrap it entirely — we can switch you and Eddie — I can call Maddie —”

“Howard,” Buck snaps. He focuses on the stinging cold of his ice coffee in his hand, the condensation that’s collecting on the side of his hand, so he doesn’t do something drastic, like push Chimney into one of the studio tour golf carts. “We’ve talked about this. Like, so much. I’m fine with the scene.”

“Okay,” Chimney says, slowly.

For thirty seconds, they walk side by side in silence, Buck sipping at his coffee — too sweet, and he has the distant thought that Eddie would pretend to hate it, but would spend all day stealing sips of it, if that were still something they could do — and Chimney snapping his gum anxiously.

And then: “But are you sure you’re sure?” Chimney hits Buck’s arm with a rolled-up copy of the script. “I will ban you from seeing your unborn niece or nephew if you’re lying to me right now.”

“Chimney,” Buck says through gritted teeth, “I am sure.”

“Okay,” Chimney says, holding his hands up in surrender, but Buck still feels the weight of his eyes on the side of his head as they make their way to set.

Their first day of filming is nearly fourteen hours.

The day starts easy, Buck and Eddie’s characters meeting for the first time in their latest lifetime in a gym. Someone’s put Eddie in a loose black tank top, a pair of tight dark joggers, his hair styled messy and fake-sweaty, and when Buck walks on set in his own workout clothes he considers quitting on the spot for exactly two seconds before he gets it together enough to stop thinking about the last time he saw Eddie sweating for real, sprawled across their bed in —

Eddie smiles at him when he sees him, something easy and casual, but Buck spots the tiniest thread of anxiety under the curve of his mouth.

Remarkably, it helps, knowing that Eddie’s as nervous about this as he is. He wonders, distantly, if he was nervous that first day when Buck saw him on the set of What’s Inside You? Buck imagines that he must have been, that Buck just missed it, unequipped to read him, then.

Now, with all of the knowledge of Eddie that he’s collected over the years — which twitch of the eyebrow means he’s pissed and which means he’s amused; the exact cadence of his true laugh versus a press laugh; what he sounds like when you press your mouth to the inside of his thigh and —

Buck knows him, now; knows him well enough to know that, beneath his unflappable surface tension, he’s nervous.

So, Buck smiles, and he makes fun of the weird sweats they put him in, and he even makes a reference to their past — this won’t be hard, he laughs, just like when we met — before they set up to start the scene. Their characters posture and peacock; Buck’s character’s failed attempt to pick up a red-headed extra prompts Eddie’s character to muffle a snort of laughter against the back of his wrist, and then they’re off, bitching back and forth like they both have something to prove.

“What’s your problem, man?” Eddie says, smirking as he adjusts his grip on a weight.

There’s a fire crawling up Buck’s spine, a heat he hasn’t dealt with in months.

It’s all been grey since Arizona, Buck’s anger a cold weight along the length of his spine, and even before then, the blinding heat of their early days had faded to a soft, golden glow like sunlight pouring through a window.

The sudden reappearance, like copper on the back of his tongue, startles him enough to trip over the next line, the words turning to bitter ash in his mouth.

“Sorry,” he says, not looking at where Chimney’s huddled behind a monitor in favour of shaking his head at his feet.

“Buck,” Eddie says.

Buck can hear the frown in his voice, and he shakes his head again. “I’m fine; just forgot the line. Let’s go again.”

They go again, drifting back to their original markers and waiting for Chimney to call for action. Buck flirts with an extra who looks a little too much like Taylor. Eddie barely muffles a laugh that sounds a little too much like you’re trouble. Eddie says, “What’s your problem, man?”

Buck clenches his jaw against the rage that rises up his chest, the one that always lives just beneath the surface, poorly protected, and says, “You. You’re my problem.”

Eddie blinks, and then blinks again, his brow settling into a furrow.

Here, the script says: Kyle starts to remember their past lives.

Buck echoes Eddie’s frown, and he can nearly feel the tension in the air, can nearly picture how the editing team will pull back the score, maybe mess with the filters, inject confusion into the very marrow of the scene.

There’s a scene, earlier chronologically in the script but that they're not due to film for a few days still, of Buck and Eddie’s characters in 1950s California — not the ‘40s, and not New York, but close enough to it to make Buck’s skin itch — meeting in the middle of a bar fight, Buck shouting what’s your problem, man? as he drags Eddie away from a drunk man shouting slurs around a bloody lip. The script has Eddie slurring back, right now? You’re my problem.

They’re filming out of order, but Buck feels the gravity of it in the line of his spine anyway, even before Buck’s character remembers for himself.

But this isn’t the scene Chimney’s worried about.

The scene Chimney’s worried about approaches with the midday sun, with a street downtown getting blocked off to make room for their stunt cars and a crane.

“Buck,” Eddie says and, like Buck, he’s already been made up with bloody gashes over his face, his shirt ripped and covered in blood and dirt.

“Don’t worry about me,” Buck says, watching the crane gently lower the shell of a car, crumpled like a tin can, to the asphalt. The fake blood is making his clothes sticky and uncomfortable; heavy.

Buck’s stunt double, a hilarious guy Buck’s worked with before, will take his place for the actual crash, but for today they’re only filming the aftermath. For today, it’s just Buck and Eddie.

And Buck’s gonna spend the next several hours acting while crushed underneath a car, and he’s not even thinking about his accident, about the surgeries and the scars. He’s thinking about running into the middle of a crash site, remembering the glass that crunched beneath his feet as he spun around, desperate, thinking Eddie was somewhere among the carnage.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asks, turning to Eddie with raised eyebrows. Eddie’s staring out at the set, his brow furrowed. The stunt car is blue, not red like Shannon’s, but Buck knows that hardly matters. A muscle in Eddie’s jaw twitches. “Eddie?”

Eddie blinks, ducking and shaking his head gently at his feet as his shoulders bunch, tense, around his ears. “I’ll be fine. I just —” His jaw clenches, hard enough Buck imagine it hurts, before he looks up and meets Buck’s eyes, and his are — they’re glassy, Eddie’s bottom lip folding into his mouth as he blinks the moisture away. “It just kinda sucks seeing you covered in blood.”

And — and he really doesn’t know what to do with that.

He swallows against a sudden, sharp lump in his throat, his eyes catching on a gash someone’s painted on Eddie’s cheek. It looks real, and Buck just barely holds himself back from touching it, from searching for proof of the false edges.

“Yeah,” he agrees, quietly, like speaking too loud might shatter this bubble of stark honesty they’ve created on the edge of this scene. “I — it fucking sucks.”

“I’m okay,” Eddie promises, voice rough. “And you’re okay. Right?”

Buck nods, several hard bobs of his head that make his ears ring. “Right.”

“Buck, I —”

One of Chimney’s ADs calls their names, waving a clipboard at them, and Buck ducks away before Eddie can say anything else.

And the scene is —

It’s rough. Even though he can’t feel the weight of the car shell on him, even though he knows there are dozens and dozens of stunt coordinators and various other people in charge of Buck’s safety swarming around on the off chance something goes wrong, even though the car is attached to a crane, it’s rough. There’s a pad between him and the asphalt, but he feels like there isn’t, feels like he can feel the grit of gravel beneath his palms like he did that night, his totalled motorcycle a heavy weight on his leg.

But he swallows the panic just enough to remember his script, shoves aside the memories of that night, the paramedics that tried to make him laugh on the drive to the hospital, and focuses on Eddie.

Eddie, who crouches in front of him on his hands and knees, not pinned under the car like Buck, but battered and bruised regardless. Eddie, who grips Buck’s hand tight in his own. Eddie, who wears a desperate, broken expression that Buck is all too familiar with.

They held hands, Buck remembers, the night Shannon died. Buck crawled into his bed next to Eddie, and he held his hand.

Eddie begs him to live — stay with me, come on, I got you — and somehow, he does.

It’s not his character’s turn to die.

And the scene is rough.

His skin is crawling by the time a PA removes his mic pack, by the time Chimney tells everyone to take their lunch, his fake-blood-soaked clothes suffocating as he stumbles away from the car, his knee throbbing and then nearly buckling beneath him.

“Buck,” Eddie says, but Buck shakes his head, flinching when he sees Eddie’s hand reach for him.

Eddie’s hand drops like he’s been burned. Buck walks away before he can see whatever expression he’s put on Eddie’s face.

He makes it all the way to his trailer, set up beyond the equipment and away from the barricades, before he registers the sound of Chimney’s voice calling after him. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t slow; just swings open the door of his trailer and ducks inside, already tearing off his blood-soaked sweater.

The bathroom in his trailer is small, barely big enough for him to turn around in, but the water runs hot and that’s all he needs to scrub the fake blood from his palms and with it, hopefully, the feeling of Eddie’s hand in his.

He hears the door to his trailer open again, followed by the soft sounds of Chimney’s footsteps. They come to a stop nearby, and Buck doesn’t have to look up to know he’s hovering in the doorway.

“Chimney,” Buck sighs, willing his hands to stop shaking as he presses them, hard, against the bathroom sink. “I’m not doin—”

“Do you wanna know why I always write about best friends?”

Buck blinks, startled. It’s enough to make him turn, eyes catching on the relaxed set of Chimney’s shoulders as he leans against the door frame, arms folded across his chest. His sunglasses rest on the top of his head.

“What?”

“My tragic backstory,” Chimney explains, one corner of his mouth ticking up into a smirk. “You’re basically my brother-in-law now, so you’ve definitely unlocked access to it. Do you want it?”

“Chim, you don’t have to —”

“Obviously,” Chimney says, laughing. “I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t willing.”

Buck’s shoulders slump and he sits carefully on the edge of the sink, gesturing at the toilet for Chimney, who rolls his eyes but sits on the closed seat anyway. The bathroom is small enough that Buck’s ankle presses against the side of Chimney’s calf anyway, and Buck takes a small amount of comfort in the touch.

“You’ve met the Lees,” Chimney starts, and waits for Buck to nod, a small furrow in his brow, before he continues, “they had a son. Kevin. He was my best friend — not like you and Eddie, but like — brothers, you know? We did everything together.

“So, when I started working on sets as a PA, he joined me. And I was doing it because I wanted to direct one day, but Kevin, he didn’t want to write movies, he just wanted to make them. He was so good at figuring out a shot, at knowing the right camera or the right angle to approach a scene from, but he couldn’t be bothered to think about structure or conflict. We used to come up with these fantasies where I’d write the movies and he’d make them happen, like I.A.L Diamond and Billy Wilder.”

“Who?” Buck asks, unable to help himself.

It works to smooth some of the tension from Chimney’s brow, his expression relaxing as he rolls his eyes with his entire body. “Jesus Christ, Buck,” he says. “Some Like It Hot?”

Buck shakes his head. “Isn’t that a Snoop Dogg song?”

“A Snoop Dogg — Okay, we’ll tackle this issue later.” Chimney shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “The point is, Kevin and I were brothers, and we were working on film sets together all the time. The hours were crazy and we were PAs so we got paid shit, but we loved it.

“Then we got booked for this action movie, something about cars. I remember thinking the script was crap, but we couldn’t be picky, and Kevin was so excited to see these huge stunts in action.

And one day, uh, a stunt went wrong. There was nothing anyone could have done. Faulty equipment, some issues with the controls on the crane. And Kevin was just a PA, he shouldn’t have been anywhere near the stunt, but he saw it happen — I saw him see it happen — and suddenly he was pushing the stuntman out of the way.”

“Chim…”

Chimney’s shoulders twitch, his head tilting to the side as his jaw clenches.

The thing is, as long as Buck’s known him, Chimney’s seemed untouchable. Always laughing, always directing the energy of every room he was in, with or without a camera on hand; nothing ever got to him. Even when things crashed and burned with Tatiana every other month, he never let it get to him where people could see.

It’s unnerving to see the cracks, doubly so to realize they’ve been there for a while, just hidden well.

“It felt like it was my fault for a long time,” Chimney says, quietly. “I was the reason he was on that set. I kinda thought, well this is my punishment for that, right? Having to live without him. And when I sat down to write movies after, I kept coming back to this: losing your best friend; being the reason you’ve lost them; living with that again and again. And now, we’re here.”

“This movie,” Buck says, thinking of the script he has lying on the coffee table just outside of this trailer, the notes he’s written in the margins.

“Yeah,” Chimney agrees, and his voice cracks just a little. “This movie. I think it’s my goodbye — or not a goodbye, I’ll never say goodbye, but — I think it’s the last movie I’ll write about losing a best friend.”

Buck swallows; it’s difficult. There’s less fake blood on his undershirt than there was on his sweater, but it sticks to his skin and weighs him down anyway.

“Anyway,” Chimney says, rolling his shoulders, “my point is: we all use these movies to work through shit. We’re all just — marinating in our own damn trauma every time we step onto a set for one reason or another, even if it has nothing to do with your crap. But we don’t have to kill ourselves on it. No movie is worth that.

“So,” Chimney stands, punctuating his point with a stern finger pointed at Buck’s chest, “the next time there’s a scene that feels like too much, don’t fucking lie to me about it, Buckaroo.”

Buck laughs, startled as he rocks away from Chimney’s point. “Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “I honestly didn’t think it would be that bad.”

“Come on, Buck,” Chimney says, the curve of his smile knowing and a little sad. “Everything with you and Eddie is that bad. I had to threaten him with Maddie to keep him from coming after me to make sure you were alright.”

And Buck’s pretty sure Chimney would have had to do the same to him if it were Eddie that ran away from set on the verge of a breakdown, so he can’t really say anything to that. Can’t really let himself touch the way it makes his skin itch, either.

Buck sniffles, rubbing the back of his wrist against his nose. “You’re gonna be a really good dad, Chim.”

Chimney blinks, and it might be the first time in Buck’s life he’s seen him truly stunned silent, his mouth parting just so. His next blink comes faster, and he raises one hand to scrub across his face like he can wipe all emotion with it. “Shut the fuck up, Buckley. I’m not crying in a trailer; I’m not twenty-five anymore. Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with you?” He shakes his head, walking away as he continues to rant, “Doesn’t know Billy Wilder, wants to make me cry in the middle of the work day, never listens to me, what else?”

With the bathroom sink creaking dangerously under his thighs and the fluorescent lights burning his already stinging eyes and the Chimney’s familiar voice cursing from the trailer’s kitchen as he bangs around cupboards, Buck laughs and lets something in his chest unwind.

Five weeks into filming, Buck digs up the number of the therapist he hasn’t seen in something like six years, and he makes an appointment.

It’s partly what Chimney said in his trailer; partly the voicemails Maddie leaves him talking about her pregnancy, about how excited she is for Buck to meet her kid; partly the way Christopher looks at him like he has all of the answers, like he trusts Buck to always be there for him.

But it’s also partly that one day he looks in the mirror and recognizes the hard look in his eyes not because it belongs to him, but because it used to belong to his mother.

So, he makes an appointment, writes it in purple dry erase ink on his whiteboard calendar as T — 3 PM, and ignores Maddie’s curious frown when she sees it.

And then, when all is said and done, Buck ends up at the grocery store.

“What do you like to do for fun?” Dr. Copeland asked, her smile kind and mild. “Something that has nothing to do with your job.”

Buck, who had been prepared to say work out, closed his mouth; thought on it. Finally, he said, “I like to cook.”

“Okay,” Dr. Copeland said, crossing her legs carefully at the ankles. “What was the last thing you cooked?”

“Um,” Buck said, and then stopped. In his hands, he was methodically tearing the wrapper of his paper straw to pieces. “I — um, I guess I don’t know.”

“That’s fine. Do you know what’s in your fridge right now? What’s a meal you could make with that?”

Again, Buck said, “Um.”

He didn’t think he was at the point with his therapist where he could say well, I usually did the grocery shopping for Eddie’s house, my best friend slash former fuck buddy slash person I’m desperately in love with but can never have, so I never really buy groceries because it makes me weird and sad.

Also, he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be the full truth, not when his fridge was empty more often than not even before Eddie was in his life. He kept it full when he lived with Abby, prepared for any of her odd late-night cravings, and even for a couple of weeks when Maddie lived with him before she found her own place.

But then Abby was gone, and then Maddie was gone, and then it didn’t seem worth it.

He continued to rip his straw wrapper into sad confetti and admitted, “I have three celery juices and a carton of eggs in my fridge.”

One of Dr. Copeland’s eyebrows twitched, just a little, but she only nodded serenely. “Okay, first piece of therapy homework: sometime this week, go to the grocery store and pick out the ingredients for your favourite dish, and then make it.”

And Buck ends up at the grocery store.

He has a basket in his hands — filled with flour, salt, more eggs since he’s pretty sure the carton in his fridge is expired, a handful of different spices, bread crumbs, a carton of milk — as he surveys the selection of cheeses at his disposal.

There’s a recipe with Bobby’s name on it on his phone, a fancy, elevated mac ‘n cheese in honour of the Kraft Dinner dinners Maddie used to make him on particularly hard days, that advises him to go with his heart for the cheese (and then offers no fewer than six cheese combinations as suggestions), but Buck isn’t sure his heart has an opinion on cheese.

If he were cooking for Eddie and Christopher, he’d get American and Havarti; if he were cooking for Maddie and Chimney, he’d get cheddar and gruyere; if he were cooking for Bobby and Athena, he’d put the cart down and slowly back away.

But he’s just cooking for himself, and he has no idea what to do next.

“Sorry, excuse me,” someone says to Buck’s right, a hand reaching out to gesture at the cheese Buck’s blocking.

“Oh, sorry,” Buck says, immediately stepping back to give them room as he glances up and —

“Ali?”

Ali blinks, her hand pausing around a block of Monterey Jack, and her hair’s longer, blonde now and just a little wavy, but it’s definitely her.

He’s heard about her in headlines — at least three more rom-coms since Call It Even, a recent engagement to a co-star that Buck read about with his phone resting on Eddie’s bicep as they spooned — but he hasn’t seen her in person since that failed date, his last memory the image of her small frown just before his car door closed behind her.

“Buck,” she says, smiling wide, “hi. I didn’t — sorry, would it be, like, painfully out of touch for me to ask what you’re doing here? No offence, but you just kinda seem like someone who orders their groceries.”

Buck’s startled into a laugh, one hand reaching up to grip his chest, theatrically wounded. Ali rolls her eyes, but the smile that tugs at her mouth is amused.

She’s just like Buck remembers her — funny, down to earth, blunt — and Buck spares a second to wonder what it would have been like if they worked out; if Buck had been brave enough to correct her assumption and if Ali had liked him enough to look a little closer.

It would be easy, he thinks. She wouldn’t flinch away from the spotlight like Abby, wouldn’t begrudge his career like Taylor, wouldn’t —

It would be easy, he thinks.

He lifts his basket, which doesn’t really answer her question at all, and then stutters twice before he manages to admit, “It’s therapy homework.”

Ali’s eyebrows raise, but they’re not judgemental, just surprised. “Therapy homework? I have to say, my therapist never comes up with fun stuff like this.”

Buck blinks. “Your therapist?”

“Come on, Buck,” Ali laughs, but not unkindly, “you have to be a little fucked up to purse this career.”

Buck’s laugh drags itself out of his chest, dislodging something that got stuck there around the fifteen-minute mark of his therapy appointment when Dr. Copeland asked about his parents and Buck just barely managed to avoid jumping out of a window.

“Right,” he says, shifting his weight on his feet before he adds, “And you won’t —”

“Tell anyone? Of course not.” Ali shakes her head, watching her hands as she idly shifts groceries around her cart; adjusting the angle of a box of fettuccine noodles, nudging over a jar of pickles, twisting a can of whipped cream. “But, um, I did want to apologize, you know, for what happened a couple years back.”

Buck’s shoulders tense, briefly. “Oh, Ali, you don’t —”

“I don’t have to,” she agrees, that confident grin passing over her expression. “But I want to. I’m sorry that I didn’t ask more questions when it was clear something else was going on, and I’m sorry that I never called you again.”

The apology, he realizes, is nice. It doesn’t leave the same bitter aftertaste in his mouth that Abby’s did; it doesn't hit him hollowly, hours later, the way the lack of Taylor’s did. It’s just nice.

“It’s —” one of Ali’s eyebrows spikes upwards, and the it’s fine Buck was about to say dies on his tongue. “Thank you,” he says instead and laughs when Ali nods seriously. “But — can I ask, um, why you didn’t think I could be asking you out for real?”

“Well,” Ali says, tilting her head with an amused little smile, “opening the text with, Got your number from my manager, was a little confusing.” Buck offers her a laugh, rolling his eyes, and Ali’s grin widens before it falls away in favour of something pensive, considering. “And I’ve been on more PR dates than I’ve been on real dates by a very wide margin, but also — um, I kind of thought you were hung up on someone else.”

Buck pauses, feeling his brow furrow. “Someone else? No, Abby was —”

“Not Abby,” Ali corrects, and her nose wrinkles a little. “It’s just — you talked about him a lot. Eddie Diaz.”

“Ali,” Buck says, fear crawling up his chest. Because it’s one thing for people on the internet who have never met them to speculate on his and Eddie’s relationship, and another entirely for someone in the industry to. “Eddie’s not —”

“Of course,” Ali agrees easily, but Buck can hear it for what it is — not Ali believing Eddie is straight, but Ali agreeing to keep up the pretence. “I just didn’t get the feeling it was me you wanted to be on a date with.”

An hour ago, he told his therapist, I guess sometimes I feel like…Like if enough people like me it’ll make up for the fact my parents don’t, and now he wonders if he was so upset about it not working out with Ali because he wanted it to, or because he just wanted to be liked. Wonders if he ever really knew Ali at all.

“I —” He’s spent so much of the last few years lying — to himself more than anyone, but to Taylor and to Maddie and to Eddie in small ways, too, ways he didn’t even realize until far after — and he can’t let himself lie to Ali now. “You’re right. I don’t think I knew it at the time, but you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Ali smiles, and her fingers wrap around his wrist in a gentle hold. She’s missing callouses, her hand’s a bit too small, and her thumb doesn’t land in the right spot over his pulse point, but it’s nice to be touched.

“Thank you,” she says, something amused and pointed dancing in her eyes before she lets her hand fall away. “And enjoy your therapy homework.”

In the end, he gets gouda and mozzarella, and he spends four hours teaching himself how to make pasta from scratch with a playlist of songs he made when he was twenty-five playing quietly in the background. The cheese sauce isn’t perfect — it’s a little grainy, oddly oily, not super cheesy — and the noodles are overcooked, but afterwards, he sits on the floor of his kitchen scrolling through property listings on his phone while eating slices of gouda, and he thinks it’s a step in the right direction.

Filming is difficult.

Physically, it’s taxing as Buck convinces Chimney to let him do more and more stunts on his own (and because even in this weird limbo where they’re friends who can barely look at each other, they still can’t help rising to the other’s challenge, so Eddie does, too).

Emotionally, it’s just as bad, standing across from Eddie every day and playing his best friend in a dozen different lifetimes and scenarios, destined to end tragically every time. It feels like there’s a clock running out, just like it did in Arizona, a ticking under his skin he can’t quite ignore and can’t quite confront either.

And, somehow, Buck finds himself staring down the barrel of another shooting scene.

He’s known it was coming since the day he accepted the role. He was even thinking about it as he told Chimney to hire Eddie. It’s been there, a haunting spectre over this entire goddamn production the entire time.

He feels like his character in the film; fated to repeat the same tragedies again and again.

But this time he’s alone.

This time, he doesn’t open his trailer door after an hour of restless pacing to find Eddie, prepared to say just the right thing to ease Buck’s worries. He doesn’t turn around, hidden in a hallway behind set, to see Eddie’s easy smile.

This time, he gives up on sleep when the sun starts to rise in his window, the birds chirping as they gather around the bird feeder Christopher designed to match the one hanging in Eddie’s kitchen window, and he goes for a run.

It’s early enough that he’s the only one out, sneakers hitting the pavement with a force that travels up his spine.

Every time his thoughts try to stray towards Eddie — the laps they used to run around Abby’s neighbourhood, the jokes Eddie used to make about his stamina, the run they went on when Buck was with Taylor and Eddie wouldn’t touch him — he speeds up.

By the time his phone dings with a text he’s panting, a stitch in his side making every breath a challenge.

He stumbles to a stop, vision blurring for a moment before he takes in enough of his surroundings to discover he’s made it 5 miles away from his apartment.

His lock screen notifies him of a text from Eddie.

It’s a picture of Christopher’s room, his bed in the centre of the frame. Christopher has a leg sticking out of the covers, his rumpled curls peeking out from where his head’s buried under a pillow.

Underneath, Eddie’s text says: Tried to wake him up to say goodbye before set. Went well obv.

Buck’s phone shakes a little in his hands, the result of overexerting himself on a run and absolutely nothing else.

He holds down on the picture and attaches a heart reaction to it. His thumbs hover, uselessly, over the keyboard for a long moment, until the screen starts to dim and he’s forced to type out: lol he’s definitely ur kid.

Dots appear, disappear, reappear. Buck might hold his breath.

In the end, Eddie pins a heart to Buck’s message. Buck pockets his phone and starts the run back to his apartment.

And unlike Damned Spot, this shooting takes place in the middle of the day. The sun is bright and oppressive overhead. The street’s been blocked off for filming, cars replaced by holiday-themed parade floats, the sidewalks swarming with extras decked out in Santa hats and lightweight Christmas sweaters.

In reality, it’s June and nearly 90 degrees.

“Buck,” Eddie says as they stand around their markers waiting for the cameras to get in place, squinting at Buck in the sun.

“Can we please not do this?” Buck says, on the edge of a snap. He’s hot in a jacket, sweaty and irritable and distracted by a past he still can’t look directly at. He doesn’t have the patience for Eddie’s worry.

His frustration only sharpens when Eddie smirks, something amused in the bend of his mouth. “Well,” he says, “I was just gonna ask if your makeup artist put you in a high enough SPF, because we both know you burn like —”

Buck laughs, reaching out to punch Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s laughter joining as he rocks a half-step away. “I don’t burn,” he lies, just to watch Eddie’s eyebrows raise skeptically, and for just a second, they’re best friends again.

Until Chimney shouts a five-second warning, and the crew snaps to action, and the scene starts; tension slides back into Buck's spine.

Somehow, Buck manages to follow the script; manages to laugh at all the right parts, teasing Eddie on the edge of a parade despite the pit in his stomach. And when a fight breaks out next to them, Buck doesn’t even have to fake the anxiety.

“Kyle,” Buck snaps, fear like a vice around his throat, but Eddie’s pushing into the middle of it anyway, trying in vain to ease the tension with a loud, placating voice, his hands raised, and then —

It doesn’t sound much like a gunshot this time, either, but Buck flinches anyway.

The extras involved in the fight disperse just as the other people around them start to scream and run, but Buck freezes, staring helplessly as blood blooms over Eddie’s stomach.

Eddie’s knees buckle, and Buck’s at his side in a second, whispering no no no as he helps lower Eddie to the ground with hands on either elbow, his eyes wide and desperate. The ground is hard under his knees as he drags Eddie half in his lap, tears already stinging the corner of his eyes.

This time, it’s not the shoulder, and there’s no blood splattered across Buck’s face or sweet in his mouth, but he tears off his jacket and presses it against where the blood can’t seem to stop seeping, and it feels just like the last time they did this anyway.

It just kinda sucks seeing you covered in blood. Buck swallows something like bile.

“Henry,” Eddie says, a rough croak. It sounds like the way he says Buck, careful and heavy.

His hand wraps loosely around Buck’s wrist where he’s holding his jacket against the wound. It’s quiet on set, but Buck imagines this is the part where they’ll add sirens in post-production, distant to start. Too distant to help.

“Henry,” Eddie says again and squeezes his wrist once. Buck’s next breath comes out as a sob. “It’s — there’s nothing you can do.”

“There has to be something I can do,” Buck snaps, furious and blabbering. His hands are shaking, and he can’t be sure if he’s acting or not. “I have to save you, I have to — Kyle — I have — I have to save you.”

He barely knows what he’s saying anymore, if he’s following the script or not; he’s just gasping out sobs, feeling his chest crack in two.

A hand on his cheek, Eddie’s thumb tracing a line under his eye. The touch is tacky with fake blood.

Buck’s pretty sure that’s not in the script.

“How are we supposed to do this?” Buck begs, tightening his fist in the blood-soaked jacket he’s holding, useless, against Eddie’s stomach. It’s wet under his hands. He can hardly breathe around his tears, his chest heaving. There’s a headache forming behind his eyes. “How are we ever going to fucking fix this?”

A beat of heavy silence, only the sounds of Buck’s haggard breaths. The crew around them has faded to nothing in Buck’s mind, but he thinks they might be holding their breath.

Finally, Eddie says, “Maybe we don’t.”

And it’s in the script — Buck’s read it himself a half dozen times — but it hits him like a punch anyway. “What?”

“Maybe —”

Eddie breaks off to cough into his fist, and when he pulls his hand away, it’s splattered with blood. There’s blood on his bottom lip, covering his teeth. Buck’s chest squeezes, his heart beating a terrible rhythm against his ribs.

It’s fake blood, the result of a capsule broken between Eddie’s teeth, but Buck’s traitorous heart doesn’t know the difference.

“Maybe we stop trying to fix this,” Eddie says, and Buck reluctantly drags his gaze away from his mouth — from the blood on his mouth — to meet his eyes. Full romance hero, Buck thinks, and then has to remind himself this isn’t a romance. “Maybe it’s okay that we keep finding each other, even if we keep losing each other, too. Maybe this pain is worth whatever time we have together.”

Buck cries. What else is there to do? He bows his head, resting his forehead against Eddie’s collarbone, where his t-shirt is damp with blood, and he cries until Eddie’s hand, resting against the back of Buck’s head, goes limp and slides away.

Until Chimney, finally, says, “Cut.”

Buck manages to hold it together as he stumbles to his feet, as he lets one PA take his mic pack and accepts the tissue that another PA hands to him so he can wipe at his snotty nose. He assures Chimney that he’s fine, promises to call Maddie so he can tell her the same thing, and walks off set with his head high, his hands steady at his sides.

But with the trailer door shut behind him, he stands at the kitchen sink and feels something unravel right from the centre of himself; fears he might shake apart.

And then: “Buck.”

It’s Eddie. Only Eddie’s voice wraps around the B, clips around the ck, like that, like it’s something special and sweet in his mouth. Steel slides into Buck’s spine; tightens his shoulders. The laminate edge of his trailer’s kitchen counter digs into his palms. He won’t lift his head, won’t open his eyes.

Eddie, sounding closer than he did a moment ago, says, “Talk to me.”

Maybe we stop trying to fix this. It wasn’t Eddie’s words, not really, but it was Eddie’s voice. And maybe Chimney’s story about best friends losing each other again and again isn’t their story, not really, because he hasn’t lost Eddie yet. But — but maybe we stop trying to fix this.

Maybe he has to let Eddie go. Maybe he doesn’t get to have it both ways. Maybe you don’t fuck your best friend for five months and get to keep them at the end of it.

He swallows; it’s rough. “I’m fine. Go away, Eddie.”

“No.” Closer still. He can nearly feel the heat of Eddie’s body, as familiar and addicting as always. He wants to lean into it. He tightens his fingers on the edge of the counter, clenches his jaw until something aches. “You have to talk to me.”

“Do I, really?” And there’s the anger he’s never been able to let go of, the liquid heat in his chest. The part that stings: Eddie’s already seen it, has faced it and decided to stay anyway. The part that burns: Buck’s the one that walked away. “Go away.”

“Buck, please. I’m not leaving while you’re like this.”

A memory: Buck, I’m not just gonna let you walk out of here like this. He remembers how that ended.

Cut to: Buck, a damaged heart in his chest that makes him turn to his best friend in the entire world and meet his tender, soft gaze with something hard and bitter and broken. Buck drops a lit match: “Are you in love with me?”

The flames catch. Eddie closes his eyes. Buck makes himself watch.

And it’s not a fair question — it’s not meant to be, it’s meant to hurt — because the answer, he knows, is no.

Or, it’s yes but not enough or yes but it doesn’t matter.

The answer might be yes, but Buck knows Eddie well enough to know it’s not an answer he’ll let himself say.

Because Buck loves Eddie, and Eddie even loves Buck, but they’re still exactly the same people they were when Buck walked away in Arizona.

There's less than two feet of space between them, Eddie standing, still covered in the fake blood from their scene. Over his cheekbone, a smear of red left there by Buck’s hand. Four years ago, in a different trailer, on a different set, they stood just like this, and when Eddie poured his pain out between them Buck met it with a kiss.

Now, neither of them steps closer.

“Buck.” A hard swallow. Buck remembers feeling that under his palm, pressing Eddie’s head back against the wall of their hotel room shower, whispering promises into his ear. “It’s not that easy for me.”

Buck swallows a flinch. “Oh, and this is just a fucking blast for me.”

Silence falls. Eddie’s jaw is set into a tight line, his hands curled into fists at his side.

Buck folds his arms across his chest, tucking his hands under his armpits as his shoulders hunch around his ears, the counter digging into the small of his back. There’s something crawling up his throat, something that tastes a bit like the syrupy sweet fake blood Eddie kissed off of his mouth years and years ago.

“I think we need to call it,” Buck says, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s eyes.

“What?” Eddie asks, his eyes narrowing. “Call what?”

“This,” Buck spits out, unfolding one arm to gesture sharply between them. “This…thing we’re doing where we’re pretending we can still be friends. We need to call it. It’s not fucking working, it’s just — killing us.”

“Buck,” Eddie says. He sounds like he did in Arizona, right before Buck walked away. His eyes are wide and glassy. “I — I can’t lose you. I told you, in the beginning, I can’t — you’re my best friend. I told you.”

“And I fucked it up. I said nothing had to change and I lied. Everything has fucking changed.”

The silence of his trailer feels a bit like a death sentence, if Buck's allowed to be dramatic about it.

A second passes, and then two and then three before Eddie nods his head, sharply. “Okay,” he says, and Buck just barely holds off a flinch, swallowing the bitter pain he created for himself until Eddie continues, “We — we can take a break. I’ll give you space, whatever you need. We have a good schedule with Chris, we’ll keep that up. But I’m not giving up on you, and you can’t expect me to. So — so, take your time. Do what you need to do. I’ll give you space. But I’m coming back.”

The promise lands somewhere tender; skims off the top of an old bruise. Because in his entire life, only Maddie has ever loved him enough to come back, and he can’t quite convince himself that he deserves Eddie on top of that. And Eddie has never lied to him, but Buck can’t quite believe him either.

But if they’re calling this — if Eddie’s giving him space, and maybe he’s coming back but probably he isn’t — then Buck thinks he’s owed just one last bad idea.

And Buck’s in therapy now. He’s breaking his chest open for a woman with a degree to examine, and he’s following her homework, and he’s getting better, he is, even if it kills him. But — but Dr. Copeland told him healing isn’t linear, so he thinks he’s allowed this small setback when he crosses the trailer in three strides, cups Eddie’s face between his palms, and slides his mouth over his.

It’s, impossibly, better than he remembers it. Every nerve ending in his body sparks against the sensation of Eddie’s hands on his waist; sets themselves on fire at the slide of Eddie’s tongue over his bottom lip. He’s not sure how he went so long without this, not sure how he’ll go without this again.

“That was stupid,” Buck says against Eddie’s mouth, mostly a pant. “Let’s pretend I didn’t do that.”

He’s working on loosening his fingers from Eddie’s hair, on gaining the strength to step away, when Eddie surges forward, this kiss hard and rough and desperate.

“Now we’re even,” Eddie says, swiping his thumb over the line of Buck’s jaw once before his hand falls away and he takes a step back.

“I meant it,” Eddie says with his hand on the door. “I’m coming back.”

The trailer door shuts quietly behind him.

For once, the party isn’t at Bobby’s.

Instead, Maddie fills her dining room table with veggie trays and cupcakes, and Chimney puts a terrible B movie Bobby starred in sometime in the ‘90s on the living room TV, and only their closest friends cram themselves in Maddie and Chimney’s two bedroom apartment.

Mamma Mia, Maddie’s cat, curls on top of the couch and stays so still that Ravi jumps straight into the air when she lifts her head to yawn.

And Buck makes it a whole twenty minutes before he drifts to Maddie’s side, allows her to drag him into a conversation about funfetti versus chocolate, and then blurts out, “Where’s Eddie?”

Maddie’s eyebrows bow into a sad frown, her hands pausing in the middle of organizing cupcakes on a tray. It seems to be her permanent expression whenever someone brings up Eddie, even indirectly, in front of Buck since they called it quits for real. But by some miracle — and probably Chimney’s influence — she hasn’t pried him for any more details since he first told her.

No one’s said anything, really. Like children of divorce, they all plan around custody arrangements; Buck with Chimney and Hen while Eddie’s with Maddie and Karen, Buck with Bobby while Eddie’s with Athena, Buck with Ravi and Lucy while Eddie’s with Albert or May. It’s never obvious, because most of them are actors who pretend for a living, but Buck isn’t stupid.

And he knows it’s for the best — knows it was his fucking idea, that Dr. Copeland had reluctantly agreed it was a good idea, even if she qualified it with for now and short term solution and let’s talk about your mother again — but it’s been two months of only seeing Eddie on set. Of only speaking to him through the lines Chimney’s written, of holding his breath when Chimney calls cut and watching Eddie disappear, giving Buck the space he was promised.

Their text thread has been untouched. When Buck picks up Christopher, Carla’s there to send him off.

So, it’s for the best, but Buck fucking misses him anyway, more than he thought he would.

Finally, after several seconds that feel like years, Maddie’s gaze drops back down to her cupcakes as she admits, “Eddie’s not coming.”

“Maddie,” Buck says, his spine straightening. “You didn’t have to —”

“Oh, I invited him,” Maddie says, rolling her eyes. “He’s not coming because he’s — um, he’s in Texas. Talking to his parents.”

“What? Why?”

He’s pretty sure part of this space thing they’re doing means he can’t get on a plane and stand between Eddie and his parents, but he wants to anyway.

“I don’t know, I swear. He just said there was something he needed to do. And he already knows about,” a vague gesture toward her stomach, “this, so I told him it was fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Buck says, snappier than he means it to be. Maddie raises an eyebrow, a look that’s come brand new with pregnancy, and Buck works to soften his tone when he says, “You didn’t see the way his parents talked to him at Shannon’s funeral. He needs —”

“He has his sisters,” Maddie reminds him, gently. “They said they’ll text me if something goes wrong, okay?”

Buck grumbles but wills the line of his shoulders to relax. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Sophia and Adriana to be there for Eddie, because he does, it’s only that — it’s only that two months isn’t long enough to stop loving Eddie, but it’s apparently long enough for Eddie to start making decisions Buck can’t predict.

He feels like he’s cupping water between his hands, watching it slide away and useless to do anything about it, Eddie already changing without him, Buck already losing pieces of him, and without anyone to blame but himself.

“Buck,” Maddie says, something soft and knowing in her voice, and Buck can’t deal with that, actually, so he presses a kiss to her forehead and disappears into the party.

Lucy and Ravi, accompanied by Ravi’s boyfriend (who, upon closer inspection, is in fact the PA from The Way Forward), are an easy distraction, new enough that they know only the vaguest details of Buck’s trainwreck of a life and normal enough that they don’t seem to care to learn more.

Lucy mainly ignores them to pet Mamma Mia, who Ravi eyes warily, until Sebastian takes off to get them all more drinks, and Buck turns to Ravi with a grin.

“Wow, Ravi,” Buck says, affecting cheer that’s only half-mocking as he knocks their elbows together, “congrats. Now I’m gonna tell him you cried during Never Gonna Give You Up.”

“I will tell Twitter you faked coming out,” Ravi says with a smile. “I’ll make you the next Misha Collins.”

“I have no idea who that is.”

“Of course you don’t, weather boy.”

Lucy laughs loud enough to startle Mamma Mia into running away, and then shoves Ravi’s shoulder, hissing this is your fault.

“Alright,” Chimney says in his best director voice from the front of the room, his hands cupped around his mouth, before Lucy and Ravi can dissolve into a true fight. “Everyone sit down; Maddie’s short and can’t stand on a table.”

Exchanging partly confused, partly amused looks, everyone does as told, Lucy and Ravi and Buck crouching in the middle of the floor for lack of options.

Next to Chimney, Maddie smiles serenely as she places either hand at the top and bottom of her stomach, stretching her shirt just enough to show off the tiny bump, and says, “The rumours are true, the director of Never Gonna Give You Up put a baby in me.”

The response is immediate, nearly as loud as every award show Buck’s attended, as everyone swarms Maddie and Chimney with congratulations, Maddie bursting into tears and Chimney fluttering his hands around like he’s not sure what to do with them.

And it’s a beautiful, fantastic day, but Buck turns his head to share a grin with Eddie and feels ice in his veins when he remembers Eddie’s in Texas and I’ll give you space and two months of no contact.

Taking advantage of Maddie and Chimney's distraction, he slips down the hall and into the guest room.

It’s in the early stages of being converted into a nursery with a series of pastel painted squares lining the wall, a stack of unopened packages in the corner, a pile of pregnancy books on one of the nightstands.

For the first time since Maddie told him she was pregnant, Buck realizes — understands — that Maddie and Chimney are starting a family. And he knows that doesn’t mean they won’t be his family anymore, that it only means his family is growing, but he thinks about the family he wants, and he thinks about Christopher, and something in his chest aches.

Karen finds him there, sitting on the edge of the guest bed, staring at the line of pastel paint swatches; aching.

She closes the door softly behind her, hands him one of the two glasses of water in her hands, and then sits next to him.

They sit in silence for some time, the sounds of the celebration muffled. It’s not awkward, but —

People haven’t picked sides in whatever the hell Eddie and Buck are doing, but Buck’s pretty sure if they did, Karen would pick Eddie. And Buck wouldn’t blame her, because he’s pretty sure he would, too.

And then, finally, Karen says, “Did you know I broke up with Hen? Years ago, I mean.”

It’s the last thing Buck was expecting her to say, and he turns to face her with wide eyes. “What?”

“Mhm.” Karen tilts her head back, a small, sad smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “We had been together for — oh, I don’t know, five months? — when Eva showed up with Denny. And I was scared. I wasn’t ready for a family or — or for forever with someone. So, I broke up with her.

“It was awful, but — but I thought I could handle it, you know? I had my career. My movies. I told myself I didn’t need Hen on top of that, that I would be okay with what I had.”

Buck swallows. There’s something lodged in his chest, the edges of it sharp as he breathes in, breathes out.

“And then Chimney showed up at my door,” Karen continues, a thread of amusement under her words. “We knew each other, obviously, but we weren’t close like we are now, and suddenly he was in my house telling me I was making the biggest mistake of my life. And I was. Because as scared as I was to be with her, I was ten times as scared to be without her. And now she and Denny are without a doubt the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Karen laughs, but it’s a little sad, a sound that tugs at the center of Buck’s chest. “But we were broken up for three weeks and four days, and sometimes I still worry we haven’t made up for it.”

“Karen, it’s not —“

“Oh, no, I’m not giving you any advice right now; Even I don’t have enough money to afford the meddling jar fee I’d rack up if I interfered with Eddie’s plan.” Karen shrugs, bringing her glass of water to her mouth and smirking against the rim. “I’m just…telling a story.”

And Buck can’t quite understand what’s happening, but he catches and holds on — “His plan?”

“Buck,” Karen’s hand lands on Buck’s bicep, her fingers squeezing gently just once, “you’re not me in this story. Eddie is.”

One of the worst parts of secretly engaging in a half-year long friends with benefits situation with your best friend who also happens to be a famous actor only to blow it all up and then decide you can’t even be friends anymore? Your TikTok FYP mocks you.

Every third or fourth TikTok Buck scrolls past, huddled under his covers in his too-big bed long after midnight, is about Eddie. Or about Buck. Or about Eddie and Buck.

Clips from their movies with captions like Movie Scenes That Made Me Cry Part 23 or fruitiest moments caught on film 😳. Segments of interviews: Eddie and Buck finishing each other’s sentences while recounting a story from set; Buck’s laughter audible out of frame as Eddie reads out a Thirst Tweet about his ass. Shaky zoomed in footage of Eddie and Maddie walking Mamma Mia down the street on a leash, the caption proclaiming that eddie must really love her wtf is maddie doing #meddie, as if every other post on Chimney’s Instagram isn’t an ode to his love for Maddie.

Buck’s all but decided to delete the app and possibly throw away his phone altogether when he lands on a clip from an interview that he’s never seen before, Eddie’s jaw set stubbornly. In the centre of the screen, the poster has slapped on a caption: omg ?? eddie diaz socialist king ???

His thumb hovers over the screen. He should swipe away, he knows. Knows that this is maybe unhealthy, pouring salt into a wound intentionally.

He scrubs the video back to the start.

On screen, Eddie rubs the flat of his palm over his stubble, forearm flexing against the sleeve of a green flannel. The video’s clearly been zoomed in and cropped to fit the aspect ratio, the new configuration leaving the interviewer a disembodied voice out of frame, so the only thing Buck can see is the increasing tension in Eddie’s jaw when they say, “So, former Staff Sergeant Diaz, do you think we’ll ever see you transfer that experience to screen? Maybe in Nolan’s upcoming war film?”

Buck winces, his grip on his phone tightening as something like lead forms in the pit of his stomach. He thinks about the haunted look in Eddie's eyes that day in the trailer, the way he spit out the words Silver Star.

The Eddie on his screen frowns, sharply, as he says, “No.”

There’s a second of stunned silence from the interviewer, and Buck’s expecting the video to loop back to the start at any second, but then something passes across Eddie’s expression, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment before they smooth out into hard hard lines. Eddie says, “I’m not proud of my service.”

Buck’s breath catches in his chest, his phone nearly slipping from his grip.

And Eddie’s still talking.

“I have nothing but respect for the people I’ve served with, but I’m not proud of it. The military preys on people like me, kids who feel like they have no other options, and then they leave us out to dry. And they convince us we’re the good guys, but we’re not. So, no, I won’t be doing a movie about war. Next question.”

The video starts over.

Before he can think it through, he’s sending the TikTok to Maddie: isn’t this weird??? is something going on with eddie????

It’s past midnight, but Maddie’s second trimester has brought with it terrible insomnia, so it’s no surprise when his phone starts to ring in his hand, a picture of Maddie filling the screen, less than a full minute after he’s sent the text.

“Evan,” Maddie says the second Buck lifts the phone to his ear, her voice hard, “tell me you are not watching Eddie’s interviews right now.”

Dutifully, Buck says, “I am not watching Eddie’s interviews right now.”

Somehow, Maddie makes her silence decidedly judgmental. Buck’s not strong enough to weather it.

“Did you watch it?” he asks instead, sounding smaller than he’d like.

Maddie sighs, a soft sound muffled through the phone, and if Buck strains himself, he can hear sheets rustling and Mamma Mia’s strange, stuttering purr. “Yes, Buck, I’ve watched that interview. What’s the problem? Are you suddenly pro-military?”

“Obviously not,” Buck scoffs.

“Okay,” Maddie says, that placating tone in her voice she used to use when she was talking Buck down from spiralling after a date gone wrong in high school. Buck spares a second to address the warm spot behind his breast bone, the knowledge that Maddie’s always been a great mom. “Then did you think Eddie was?”

“No, are you kidding?” Buck says, frustration sliding into his tone. He doesn’t know how to explain himself, how to say he knows Eddie and that this isn’t like him; doesn’t know how Maddie can’t see it like he can. “Eddie doesn’t share stuff like that, not in interviews.”

“Maybe he’s just changing,” Maddie sighs. There’s more rustling, Mamma Mia giving one scratchy meow and Chimney giving one rumbling snore. “It’s been a few months since you two decided to take a break. Last Call finished filming weeks ago.”

Buck clenches his jaw; stares up at his ceiling. He thinks about Abby on a hike with her fiancé after she’d told him they were a waste of time. He thinks about Taylor at a different, better job; about Ali’s blonde hair and the ring on her finger; about Eddie going to Texas.

“It was okay,” Christopher had said, poking at his ice cream when they spent the day at the park after the visit. “Dad was sad, but he was better by the time we left.” And Buck shoved a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth to avoid asking any more questions.

People keep changing — changing for the better — and it’s always after they leave; after Buck pushes them away.

“Buck,” Maddie says, gently. “This isn’t forever.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe —” Buck clears his throat; blinks stupid, teary eyes at the ceiling. “People don’t come back, Maddie.”

Silence, only Maddie’s soft breathing, and then, “I did.”

“That’s different,” Buck insists. He can’t say, when people get better they realize they don’t need me anymore, not without Maddie doing something drastic, so he bites his tongue until he tastes copper.

“Have faith,” Maddie says. “Eddie might surprise you.”

And then Buck doesn’t see Eddie until the Last Call wrap party.

It’s nearly three months after filming’s finished, a little too long to be a proper wrap, but Maddie’s appointments and work on the nursery push the date back and back until they can finally manage to corral everyone into Bobby and Athena’s backyard months after the fact.

Buck didn’t go to the wrap party for The Way Forward — he booked a photo shoot out of the country for that weekend and pretended it was an unfortunate coincidence — so the last time he went to one was for Damned Spot. He remembers it for the look in Eddie’s eyes when they stood at the back fence, planning to surprise Christopher; for the tension in his jaw when Eddie admitted Shannon was asking to come back; for the way the news hit a tender spot Buck wasn’t ready to confront.

Now, Buck gets through the party the way he used to — with a little too much to drink, with fake grins that are just a little too wide, with small talk that slides a little too heavily towards flirting — and he avoids Eddie like it’s his fucking job.

It’s miserable; worse than trying to hold himself together at the bar the night he met Eddie.

He makes his rounds, clenches his jaw until something hurts, and less than an hour in, he decides it’s not worth it.

You don’t have to force yourself to do things that hurt, Dr. Copeland has said more times than he can count at this point. You can choose yourself sometimes.

So, he sends a text to Maddie and Chimney — i’m heading home. headache. love u x — and he orders a car.

The backyard feels bigger than he remembers as he ducks around people he only half-recognizes and waves off the concerned look Bobby sends in his direction, like he might never reach the end of it. It’s a dramatic thought to have, he knows even as it forms, but he’s an actor and also, apparently, very mentally ill, so — so he’s allowed, he thinks.

“Buck.”

Right at the edge of the yard, one hand already reaching for the gate, tension snaps into Buck’s spine. Because only Eddie says Buck like that.

And he’s trying to be less of a coward these days, so he curls his hand into a fist, and he turns to face him.

He’s seen him — he’s been brutally, painfully aware of exactly where he’s been this entire party — so the blue button-up stretching across his chest isn’t a surprise, but it makes something itch under his skin anyway. It’s a shirt he’s never seen, a shirt that the Eddie he knew would never wear.

Buck swallows.

“You’re leaving?” Eddie says, the corner of his mouth tense, and then, “Sorry. I shouldn’t ask — I —”

“Yeah,” Buck says, and his voice cracks a little in the middle of it. “I’m leaving.”

Eddie’s jaw is a tense line. Buck’s eyes trace the curve of it, and he remembers what it felt like under his mouth when that was something he was allowed to do. He remembers every look Eddie’s ever given him. This is new. This is distant, careful.

“Okay. That — You —“ Eddie cuts himself off with a bitten-off sound, his eyebrows pinched together, and Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie at a loss for words. Eddie, who weighs every decision he’s ever made and who rolls his words around in his mouth for as long as he can before he’s forced to share them. Buck wants to lie down and maybe cry.

“You were amazing,” Eddie says, finally, and his voice is heavy with sincerity. Buck doesn’t think he’s talking about the movie. Buck pinches the skin of his wrist until the sting of pain is enough to distract from the pressure on his chest. “Thank you.”

It’s too sincere for a wrap party. It feels almost like — well, kind of like a goodbye.

Buck blinks, and it’s only because he’s literally a professional actor that he’s able to slide on a smile — Eddie’s mouth twists, spotting the edges — and say, “You, too.”

“Right. Right. Buck —“ Eddie cuts himself off again, his head ducking to direct the frustrated noise at his feet. “Buck, I…”

“What?” Buck says when Eddie’s trailed off. And he’s suddenly angry. He’s tired of this space, tired of Eddie changing, tired of hurting, but not tired enough to change it; cowardly, again. His voice is hard, almost a snap, when he says, “You what?”

He doesn’t know what he wants Eddie to say. Except that he does — except that he wants Eddie to say he’s changed his mind, that he loves Buck enough to come back, that he wants everything Buck does and more. Buck swallows, and there’s a look in Eddie’s eye as he tracks the movement, something sad and desperate, that almost makes Buck hope —

And then Eddie shakes his head and takes a step back. “Uh, nothing. Sorry.”

And he’s gone. Buck at least makes it to the car he has waiting for him before he cries.

E! News announces Eddie’s newest movie on a Wednesday in November: Damned Spot Star Eddie Diaz to Star in Lena Bosko’s New Drama, Drown.

The body of the article, Buck skimming it at a lunch with Ali until she rolls her eyes and steals his phone to shove in her bag, says the filming will start in early December. In Germany.

And two weeks after Eddie leaves, Buck books an Airbnb in San Diego for no reason other than he can’t stand to be in his apartment for a second longer and he has free time on his whiteboard calendar.

He sends Bobby and Maddie texts with the address, packs a bag, stops by Carla’s place only long enough to hug Christopher and tell him he’ll be back soon, and he leaves.

It’s a beautiful house, with a gorgeous ornate balcony off of the primary bedroom that hangs over an equally stunning garden. He spent way more money than he probably should have, enough that he almost heard Eddie’s voice in his head scoffing when he booked it. There are way more bedrooms and bathrooms than Buck would ever need for a four-day vacation or a lifetime. He doesn’t know what possessed him to pick this one out of every option in the world, or he does and just doesn’t want to confront it.

And he’s a sad, pathetic man so when he passes the bedroom on the main floor with french doors leading to the backyard, he thinks about what it would look like if he swapped out the double for Christopher’s single, with the dinosaur comforter and his collection of stuffed animals. And when he passes the room at the end of the hall upstairs that’s been set up like a home office, he imagines the shelves full of his books and Eddie’s collection of comic books that he pretends he doesn’t have. And when he passes the smallest bedroom, the one right next to the master, he imagines a nursery.

And when he’s finished lapping the house, imagining all of the ways his and Eddie’s lives could intertwine among the hardwood floors and the granite countertops and the expansive backyard, all he does is miss Eddie’s house. It’s small and creaky, and it needs something repaired every other month, but it’s lived in and warm and it has Eddie and Christopher’s and even Buck’s fingerprints all over it: rings on the kitchen counter from where Eddie refuses to use coasters, and scuffs on the floorboards from Christopher’s crutches, and wine stains on the carpet from Buck laughing too hard at Karen’s impression of a Disney studio exec.

He always thought when he finally made it as an actor, finally had stable ground beneath his feet and paychecks that would make 20-year-old Buck piss his pants, that he’d get himself a big house like this San Diego Airbnb. He’d throw parties every weekend, and he’d fill an entire room just with shoes, and maybe he’d have a model for a wife and a dog, but maybe he wouldn’t.

He never thought he’d be here, at the height of his career, standing in what would have been his dream house in another life, and that he’d be missing Eddie’s bungalow like a limb.

He thinks about throwing a party just to fill the silence that threatens to consume him whole. But then it rains, the perfect pathetic fallacy for Buck’s storm cloud mood, almost like Chimney wrote it himself, and he ends up balancing a heavy bottomed glass full of too-expensive Scotch on his stomach instead as he slumps far enough down in the fancy armchair in the primary bedroom that his neck aches.

He’s connected his phone to the speakers that seem to be inside of the walls throughout the house and that addressed him by name when he asked them to play Maddie’s breakup playlist. And he’s so fucked, because even that makes him miss Eddie.

It’s because Taylor Swift’s voice is singing and time is taking its sweet time erasing you — and maybe because Buck’s scream-singing along with her — that he doesn’t hear the knock at the door.

He rolls out of the chair, just tipsy enough to be unsteady on his feet as he tries not to spill any of his drink. The speakers are lamenting about a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair, and Buck’s pausing to press his forehead against the edge of the fireplace mantle so he doesn’t do anything stupid, like cry again, and then a rock hits the glass door of his balcony.

His head jerks toward the sound — a solid plink that he only hears because he’s so close — and a second later he sees another one hit it. Over the speakers, Taylor (and isn’t that salt in a wound) yells distance, timing, breakdowns, fighting.

He opens the balcony’s double doors, steps into the rain, and hopes he isn’t about to get murdered. At the railing, he looks down, and somehow, impossibly, there’s Eddie: soaked to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead, with a pile of rocks in the palm of his hand.

Eddie, who should be in Germany right now.

Silence, the train runs off its tracks.

“Eddie?” he says, shouting to be heard over the pounding of the rain. It’s been less than a minute and Buck’s hair is already starting to drip rainwater onto his nose. He’s too far for Buck to catch all of Eddie’s expression, but he thinks he might grin when he sees him. “You should be in Germany!”

Eddie laughs, his arms splaying wide. His henley is plastered to his body like a second skin in the rain, and if Buck wasn’t so confused he might be a little turned on. “But you’re not in Germany,” Eddie shouts.

“What does that even mean?” Buck asks, and can’t quite keep the laugh from his tone. He feels a little insane, like he’s reached a stage of heartbreak previously unknown to man where he starts hallucinating movie scenes in real life.

“It means — It means that —” Eddie shakes his head, his wet hair flinging with the force of it. Buck’s stomach has formed a tight fist. “Buck — Evan — I…I fucking love you! Okay? I am in love with you! I love you so much it’s like…it’s like it’s all I can see. I love…the fact that you’re a morning person, and I love the stupid gloves you wear to wash the dishes, and I love the way you look when you’re reading a script, when you get that wrinkle in your eyebrows, and I love the way you love my kid. I love the way you look at me like I’m…like I’m doing something right just by existing. I love that you hate my parents. I love you, and I’ve loved you so long I don’t even know when it started. And I’m so sorry that I was so scared of loving you, that I let this stupid careeer stop me from loving you how you deserve to be loved, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, starting by getting pneumonia standing here in this rain listing all of the ways I love you.”

Buck’s acted scenes like this more times than he can remember — he has half a dozen scripts in his bedside drawer with these speeches highlighted in yellow — but he’s never been on this side of it. And he’s never felt it like this — right in the very centre of himself, tugging on the threads that just barely hold him together.

Before he can question it, he turns away from the balcony and takes the stairs two at a time on his way down, leaving a trail of rainwater behind him.

The rain’s cold and biting the second Buck steps outside, but he hardly notices. He’s too busy trying not to slip on the rain-soaked grass in his fake Gucci slides and break his neck. Eddie’s standing right where Buck left him, head low and shoulders slumped, clearly not noticing Buck until he’s right in front of him.

Eddie’s head jerks up, and the look in his eyes is — hopeful and soft and scared. Buck is sick of second guessing and holding back and doing things all wrong. He reaches Eddie — finally — and he cups his face between both of his palms, and then Eddie’s hands land on Buck’s elbows, and then —

Buck’s mouth lands on his for the first time in months, and it feels exactly the same; like someone’s held a lit match to the bottom of his spine, catching on gasoline. He wants to crawl inside of him, wants to quit his job and dedicate the rest of his life to doing just this until climate change burns the world to ash.

“I told you I’d come back,” Eddie says, tearing his mouth away far too soon, his hands squeezing Buck’s waist in apology when Buck makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat. “And now I have to — you gotta stand like, six feet away so I can explain everything without distractions. I practiced with my therapist in possibly the most awkward fifty minutes of my life, so I’ll be pretty pissed if it was for nothing.”

“Another speech?” Buck laughs, uncomfortably aware of the water-logged weight of his clothes now that he isn't being kissed. “Eddie, this isn’t a movie.”

“No, but…but you love romances. You love the cliches and the cheesy confessions and the grand gestures. And you — you deserve that, for someone to love you dramatically. So, just let me, okay?”

“I —” And what can Buck say to that but, “Okay. Okay, but maybe we should try to avoid pneumonia. Come inside?”

Eddie’s mouth quirks into a smirk and — God, it’s been months since Buck’s seen it; it’s almost enough to make him cry. “At the risk of quoting Jump/Fall at you,” Eddie says, and slides on a terrible impression of Buck’s deeper voice, “I’d be happy to follow you anywhere.”

For the first time in months, Buck’s laugh costs him nothing, sliding out of his chest easily.

Inside, Buck busies himself with the coffee maker. Somewhere in this Airbnb, Eddie’s changing out of his rain-soaked clothes into a pair of Buck’s sweats and one of his hoodies, and Buck still can’t touch but — soon, he thinks. They’re so close.

He pours cream into his coffee, slips an extra spoonful of sugar that Eddie will never ask for but always wants into Eddie’s, and by the time he’s bringing them out to the living room, Eddie’s emerging from the bathroom, his hair ruffled and damp.

They exchange soft, nervous smiles as Eddie perches on the edge of the couch, accepting the mug Buck hands him, and Buck takes a seat on an armchair, well out of reach. Six feet, Eddie said, and he was onto something.

Buck can still feel the burn of their kiss on his mouth, and a not-significant part of him wants to say fuck it to having mature conversations about their feelings and just bend Eddie over the nearest surface.

But more than that, Buck wants a future with Eddie. He wants — he wants to be happy, whether or not he deserves it.

“So,” Buck says, when they’ve let a handful of tension-filled moments pass in silence, Eddie staring into his coffee, “you said — your therapist?”

Eddie’s laugh isn’t much more than an amused exhale. “Yeah, yeah. Uh, I had a couple of rough weeks. It wasn’t just us, it was, you know, everything I’ve been avoiding for my entire life. Anyway, Karen and Maddie staged an intervention.”

“An intervention?” Buck laughs, making a mental note to have words with his sister.

“Yeah,” Eddie waves his hand in a limp gesture, “you know, stop making yourself miserable or we’ll sit on you. Regular sister stuff.”

“Huh,” Buck says, leaning back into his seat and resting his mug on his stomach. Eddie’s eyes follow the gesture, lingering around where Buck’s damp shirt has plastered itself to his side. He didn’t get quite as soaked as Eddie, but it’s enough to make a difference; enough to make heat zip up Buck’s spine at the attention. He clears his throat and continues, “Chimney did something similar.”

Eddie shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from Buck to roll his eyes at his coffee. “Yeah, well, it worked. Therapy — sucks, but. It helped. I came out to my parents —”

“Eddie.” Buck straightens, eyes wide. “That’s — that’s why you went to Texas?”

A nod, Eddie’s hand sliding over his stubble. “It went — I mean, there was a rough spot at the beginning, but they came around. Adriana cried, but don’t tell her I told you that. And I realized that — that I had to get better so I could be what you deserved, because back in Arizona —”

“Eddie,” Buck says again, fingers tightening around his mug. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I know — I get it.”

“I know you do, but you deserve to hear it anyway.” Eddie sets his mug on the coffee table, twists in his seat to face Buck properly, and his eyes, soft and liquid gold, have nothing on any romance hero Buck’s ever played. “Buck, when — when I started acting, I thought I could keep it separate. Do my job and then go home. But I didn’t think — I never could have imagined I would meet someone like you. You were so — God, you were so annoying, that first night —” Buck laughs, wetly, and Eddie grins back, beautiful “— but even then, all I wanted was to know you. Not Evan Buckley, but you.

“And — and it was fucking terrifying, the way you just…fit. All of the sudden I was having these insane thoughts like — like how it felt like I’d known you my whole life only a few months in, and how even going a few hours apart fucking sucked, and how I was pretty sure I wanted to raise my child with you for the rest of our lives —”

“Eddie,” Buck says, a choked exhale.

“Shut up, I’m romantic monologuing at you.”

Buck’s laugh is nearly a sob as he scrubs his wrist across one burning eye. He’s not sure what to do with any of the swirling, desperate feelings in his chest; not sure how to make sense of them. They press at the confines of his chest, threatening to spill through the fractures in his skin, and he thinks — he’s starting to think — that he can let them go. That Eddie will never begrudge them.

Eddie moves further along the couch, closer to Buck, and reaches across the space between them to wrap his fingers around Buck’s wrist, his thumb landing at his pulse point before sliding over his palm. A shiver slides down Buck’s spine.

“I knew that I — wanted you — God, I don’t know, probably from that first night, but I knew I was in love with you when you broke up with Taylor.” Buck’s breath leaves him in a rush. Eddie’s thumb sweeps back and forth, grounding. “But it was fucking terrifying; I couldn't let myself touch it. And the thing is, I've always told myself that I didn't what people — what strangers — think about me. But if what people say or think about me affects my family? That — that I didn’t know how to live with.

“And then my therapist pointed out that maybe I think like that because I don’t see my value,” an eye roll; Buck chokes on a laugh, “outside of my responsibility to my family. So he asked me if I could have everything I wanted, what would that look like? And I said it would look like Christopher, and like someone telling me that one of my movies helped them through a rough time, and like Maddie and Karen and Chimney and Bobby. That it would look like waking up next to you every day.

“So. So, people are gonna be assholes. People are always going to be assholes, and they would be even if you and I were fucking firefighters, but I’m done letting that stop me.”

Buck blinks stinging eyes, his throat burning.

“I’m not gonna come out,” Eddie says, his fingers tightening around Buck’s hand when he tenses, “not officially. I’m just — I’m just gonna live my life exactly how I want to, which hopefully involves you, and people can think whatever they want. I don’t owe them anything.”

“But — people will — take pictures and, and —”

“Let them.” Eddie grins, and his hand slides up, his thumb grazing along the inside of Buck’s forearm. “Sometimes they take nice ones, and we can sic Bobby after them when they don’t. And — and I think it would have helped, if I saw more pictures of — of people like us when I was a kid.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, barely more than a whisper.

“I want you,” Eddie says, “and I love you, and I don’t care about anything else.” A smirk, Eddie tilting his head with a gleam in his eyes before he adds, “And I’m gonna get a complex soon if I keep saying it and you don’t —”

“Holy shit,” Buck laughs, and he’s blindly setting his coffee down on the nearest surface so his hands are free to reach forward, cup either side of Eddie’s grinning face, dragging him closer. Not close enough to kiss, not yet, but enough that they’re both bent almost uncomfortably to be in each other’s space, one of Eddie’s hands curving around Buck’s ribs. “Holy shit, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love —”

Eddie kisses him quiet, closing the distance and rising to his feet, crowding Buck against the back of the chair until he can land in Buck’s lap, his knees squeezing on either side of Buck’s thighs.

He feels — insatiable, fit to burst after months of holding back, of tightening his hand into a fist every time he wanted to touch. Now that he can — now that it’s not just touching, but it’s everything that comes after; the promise of a future they might get to have together — it’s turned his desperate hunger into something soft and sweet in the palm of his hands, in the press of Eddie’s mouth against his. It’s that fire along his spine, but it’s also a stillness under his skin, a feeling like coming home.

He bunches Eddie’s shirt in his hands, their mouths only pulling apart long enough for Buck to drag it over his head and toss it blindly away before Eddie’s dragging them into another kiss, licking into his mouth.

“Fuck,” he says when Buck slides his mouth over his jaw, down his throat. “Fuck, what if we lived here and just never left?”

Buck grins against his collarbone, digging his thumbs into the jut of Eddie’s hips until he makes a small, bitten-off sound in the back of his throat. “I think Maddie would kill us both.”

Eddie groans, using both hands on Buck’s shoulders to push himself to his feet. Buck makes a quiet sound in protest, pouting shamelessly until Eddie hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his airport sweats and slides them off in one sharp movement. Buck’s mouth goes instantly dry, his hands reaching out to touch, but Eddie turns and walks away before he can make contact.

“Shut up about Maddie and fuck me,” Eddie says over his shoulder, taking the steps up two at a time.

Buck just barely manages to avoid tripping and cracking his head open as he chases after him, their laughter louder than the rain.

In the morning, Buck wakes up with the sun warm across his bare back.

He’s comfortably warm, relaxed in a way he hasn’t been in seemingly forever when he blinks his eyes open and discovers Eddie in his arms.

It feels like a dream — like a dream he’s had too many times to count — before the events of the night before filter in, slow motion.

The line of Eddie’s eyebrows is relaxed in sleep, his mouth set in a tiny pout. His hair is just a bit longer than Buck’s used to seeing it, messy and sticking up in all directions. He looks — Buck’s not a writer, but even if he was, he doesn’t think he could find the words for it.

And he wants to kiss him, so he does, ducking his head to press his mouth against Eddie’s forehead, sweeping his thumb over the curve of his ribs. Eddie makes a soft sound, and then burrows closer, one arm draping over Buck’s hips and tugging him closer. Their legs twist together under the covers that hang low on their hips.

Buck takes a moment, and he thinks to himself: am I happy yet?

He knows better now than to think it’s that simple — that Eddie will fix every tender and aching part of himself —but he’s pretty sure he’s closer than he was a year ago.

“Good morning,” he says, and wiggles closer to Eddie still, until he can’t identify a place where they’re not touching.

“Ugh,” Eddie groans against Buck’s chest, “good morning.” And then, after a moment, “I still love you by the way. In case you forgot.”

Buck laughs, identifying the weightlessness in his chest as joy, and tilts Eddie’s head back with a hand in his hair until he can slide their mouths together in a slow, casual kiss. “That’s great news,” he says, a whisper in the space between them, “I still love you, too.”

Eddie grins, his eyes crinkling with the force of it, and it transforms his entire face. Buck thinks about the therapist Eddie mentioned, about his trip to Texas and his military takedown, about the way smiles seem to come easier to him now, and for one second he’s so filled with pride for Eddie that he kind of wants to cry about it.

“Lena gave me twenty-four hours in L.A.,” Eddie says, craning his head to read the clock on the bookshelf, “which gives us about twelve hours before I have to go.”

Buck swallows disappointment, trying in vain to remind himself that he just went several months in a row not talking to Eddie at all, that he can go a few weeks with him on the other side of a phone just fine.

And then Eddie says, “Do you want to come with me?”

Buck blinks, a hand tightening on Eddie’s ribs. “But—”

“If you’re about to say what will people think, the answer is probably that we’re fucking like bunnies and A) I don’t care but B) I hope they’re right.”

A laugh, Buck rolling onto his back with the force of it, his hand on Eddie’s rib tugging him after him so Eddie ends up half sprawled on top of him. “I meant, but you’re filming a movie.”

“Okay?” Eddie grins, fingers trailing up and down Buck’s side. “I’m pretty sure we spent half of our time filming The Way Forward method acting in our hotel room. Besides, Lena’s seen you; she’ll get it.”

“Lena’s a lesbian,” Buck laughs.

Eddie rolls his eyes, waving one hand dismissively. “So’s Karen and she still called me an idiot for letting you go. Just come to Germany with me. Christopher’s break is coming up, we’ll fly him out. Filming will be over way before Maddie’s due date.” He props himself up with a hand on the mattress next to Buck’s shoulder, leaning over to kiss Buck just once, slow and deep. “Come to Germany with me. I went too long without you, I’m not interested in going another day apart so soon.”

Buck blinks, and his eyes sting but the twist in his chest is sweet, decadent. And what else can he do but say, “Okay. Okay, let’s go to Germany.”

Eddie’s grin grows, laughter bubbling out of him as he swings his leg over Buck to straddle him properly. Buck’s hands land on his bare thighs easily, thumbs sweeping across the line of his boxers.

“Hey,” Buck says, squeezing Eddie's leg in his hand. When Eddie tilts his head in answer, Buck beams, feeling it in his chest, and says, “You came back.”

Eddie's smile is soft, tender and flayed open like nothing Buck's ever seen before. “Of course I came back,” he says, leaning down to kiss him just once. "Not even the evil apocalyptic Alpacas from What's Inside You? could keep me away, baby."

Buck's laughter dissolves quickly in favour of Eddie's mouth on his, Eddie's hands in his hair, the clock ticking the seconds away not to an ending, but to the start of another act.

Chapter Text

epilogue.
these are the hands of fate
you’re my achilles heel
this is the golden age of something
good and right and real

The whiteboard in Eddie’s kitchen — their kitchen, and that’s still taking some time to get used to, even months later — has had this date circled for weeks.

Pink dry-erase ink curving around the squared out date — July 27th — in Buck’s slightly shaky hand. The actual event was added a few days later, Eddie taking a blue marker to write FREE SLURPEES PREMIERE!! in his neat print. On either side: green and purple stars denoting Eddie and Buck’s therapy, respectively; blue smiley faces for Christopher’s school events; red reminders of auditions and shoots and meetings, far fewer and further between than they used to be when the calendar only belonged to Buck.

He’s pickier now.

A Buckley movie is whatever movie wants me, he said, years and years ago, and he’s had enough therapy now to know that had everything to do with his self-worth; with the feeling he had under his skin that urged him to set himself on fire for other people’s amusement.

And the feeling lingers sometimes when he least expects it. When he has several great days in a row only to wake up and discover he can’t quite hold off on the nagging thoughts in the back of his head that tell him he’s tricked Eddie into something, or that he’s going to show up at Maddie’s door and find her gone again, or that he’s going to open his email and discover — somehow — that every director he’s ever worked with has somehow retroactively removed his name from the credits.

But he’s picker now. Now, when he thinks about a Buckley movie he thinks about romance and devotion and parenthood and the kind of love that doesn’t change you but reveals something that was always there, waiting to be seen.

He’s pretty sure that’s progress.

“Would you kill me if I proposed at a movie premiere?”

He feels the heat of Eddie a second before he hears his voice, pitched low just for them, Eddie ducking his head to speak into Buck’s ear. His chest presses, solid and warm, against Buck’s back, his chin digging briefly into Buck’s shoulder.

The smile that splits Buck’s face is almost a reflex as he leans back into Eddie’s touch, something relaxing in his spine when Eddie’s hand reaches up to press against his other shoulder, his thumb digging into the muscle there.

In front of them: rows of flashing cameras and excited fans and buzzing interviewers.

“Probably not,” Buck admits, tipping his head back to direct his love-sick grin at its intended target. Eddie’s eyes crinkle at him. “But Maddie and Chimney will, considering it’s their premiere.”

“They’re not even here yet,” Eddie scoffs, his smile flattening at the edges into something teasing. The hand on Buck’s shoulder slides along the length of Buck’s spine until it reaches his hip, fingers moulding around the curve he finds there. “They won’t even notice.”

“They’re putting Jee to bed, and believe me, they will notice. And then Maddie will kill me because you’re her favourite.”

Eddie laughs, rocking back with it and taking Buck with him, his grip on Buck’s waist tightening. “I am not her favourite. I’m her favourite in-law, but Albert doesn’t really set a high bar.”

Congratulating himself on his restraint, Buck finally caves, turning to face Eddie properly.

They got ready side-by-side in their bathroom only a couple of short hours ago, Christopher sprawled across Eddie’s bed with Buck’s annotated copy of Free Slurpees! in his hands so he was close enough to make dramatic grossed-out noises every time they paused to kiss. So, technically, this is not his first or even his one-hundredth time seeing Eddie in a suit. They’ve been to countless events together in the time they’ve known each other, and while their public appearances slowed down after they got back from Germany, they didn’t stop.

Eddie’s refusal to spend more money than he needs to means that he’s even wearing the same suit he was wearing for the Drown premiere, a relatively small event that still made a small section of Twitter lose their collective minds when Buck showed up and just barely managed to keep his hands to himself.

So, he’s seen Eddie in a suit, and he’s even seen Eddie in this suit recently, and he actually sees Eddie in much less very regularly, but — but his eyes still catch on the line of his shoulders, on where the coat tampers just so at his waist, on the way his pants stretch taut over his thighs, filling the fabric more than they did the last time he wore them.

When Buck manages to drag his gaze up to Eddie’s face, he has a knowing smirk waiting for him.

“I’m telling him you said that,” Buck says, just barely remembering the thread of their conversation.

“Okay,” Eddie says, undeterred, “but I’m telling Ravi you fell asleep during his last movie.”

“Christopher had that stomach bug the night before,” Buck hisses, punctuating his point with a finger jabbed in Eddie’s chest. Eddie only beams, wrapping his hand around Buck’s accusing finger and shaking it until Buck grins back. “Also, you’re not allowed to testify against me, it’s the law.”

“That is not the law,” Eddie laughs, sliding his arm around Buck’s waist and tugging him closer, tilting to press their foreheads together, “but you are so sexy.”

It’s instinct to sling his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, to let them sway just a little, the tip of his nose dragging over Eddie’s cheek. They don’t kiss but — but it’s a kiss without a kiss.

At his back, Buck hears cameras flash.

“We are in public,” he reminds Eddie, but weakly, and without loosening his grip or stepping away.

Eddie’s arm only tightens around him, pressing the entire lengths of their bodies flush together. And it’s been nearly two years since Eddie gave Buck his romance movie rain scene — nearly two years since they gave each other permission to touch and then never really stopped — but Buck loves his cliches, and every touch still feels like the first. Like bumping their shoulders together at the back of Bobby’s yard and realizing there was more to Eddie than he thought.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “and I got permission from my therapist to ravage you in public.”

Buck’s laugh is a sharp burst of noise that he buries in the shoulder of Eddie’s jacket, an action that forces them into another sway, Eddie’s arm tightening once again to keep them balanced.

Cameras continue to flash.

It’s not the first picture someone’s taken of Buck and Eddie a little too wrapped up in each other to get away with plausible deniability, and it won’t be the last. And Eddie’s kept up with his decision not to come out; he speaks out more about issues he’s passionate about, sexuality among them, but he never puts words to himself, and whenever an interview is brave enough to ask, “So, you and Evan Buckley?” Eddie only says, “He’s my best friend,” with a smile.

And Buck’s more or less shaken off the fear that the cameras will drive Eddie away the same way they did Abby — or that Buck’s reputation will bother him the same way it did Taylor — but there’s a sliver of doubt that lives in his bones, that he doesn’t think he’ll fully remove, that makes him take a small step back.

A furrow makes itself known in the middle of Eddie’s brow, the skin wrinkling, but he lets his arm drop, lets Buck put a small bit of distance between them.

“Eddie,” he says, quietly, “you know you don’t have to force yourself to do something just because you think it’ll — I don’t know — make up for something, or —”

“Buck,” Eddie’s hand lands on Buck’s chest; slides up to cup his neck, “every single time I’ve touched you — today and yesterday and the night we met — it was because I wanted to. Even when I knew I shouldn’t, or when I was scared to. I told you; I don't care who sees.”

Eddie has never lied to him. He’s avoided saying what he really means, and he’s dodged questions he doesn’t want to answer, but he’s never lied. Every time that Eddie’s put words to their relationship — to Buck’s place in his life — Buck knows it’s never been a lie, but it’s always just a little difficult to believe it. To believe that it will last. That one day Eddie won’t wake up and regret everything.

Even that day, nearly eight months back, when Buck rolled out of what was only Eddie’s bed then, making noises about heading to his mostly abandoned loft to get some more clothes, and Eddie said, “Don’t.”

“What?” Buck had said, laughing as he searched the floor for his boxers.

Christopher was at Maddie and Chimney’s for the weekend, a monthly cousin sleepover that they rotated hosting duties for, Maddie and Chimney with a pre-teen one month and Eddie and Buck with an infant the next. As a rule, Buck didn’t think about what Maddie and Chimney did with their weekend off, though he imagined the last few months were spent frantically finishing their movie, but Eddie and Buck managed to spend most of it in bed like they were in a hotel room in Arizona again.

“Don’t go,” Eddie repeated.

“Eddie,” Buck laughed again. He discovered his boxers hanging off the edge of his nightstand and slid them on. “I think I’ve hit the limit of times I can reuse the outfits I have here before TMZ starts rumours I’m going through a crisis. And it’s been, like, weeks since I was at the loft; I should make sure a family of gay possums hasn’t taken up residence.”

“Exactly,” Eddie says, rising to his knees on the bed and knee-walking across until he made it in front of Buck, close enough that he could wrap his fingers around Buck’s wrist and tug him closer. Once Buck was properly within reach, his shins brushing the edge of the bed, Eddie’s hands slid, featherlight, up his chest, over his neck, landing softly on either side of his face. “It’s been weeks. So, let’s just make it forever. Move in with me, with us. Christopher’s been asking for months anyway — for years, really. Move in. Don’t go.”

Buck blinked very suddenly teary, burning eyes at him, feeling something in his chest crack or mend or unwind or all three. He thought, briefly, about moving in with Abby, about how she tried to talk him out of it, about how he had assumed she was just nervous and gun shy. He thought, less briefly, about that San Diego Airbnb and all of the ways he imagined Eddie and him building a life there, and how, in the end, he only wanted Eddie’s bungalow. He thought, even less briefly, that he should call Dr. Copeland.

“Eddie,” he said, softly, and laughed a little wetly. “You can’t ask me to move in with you with your dick out.”

“Why not?” Eddie grinned, and then kissed Buck once. “Lots of great stuff happens when my dick’s out. Like twenty minutes ago, when —”

“Holy shit,” Buck laughed, “I’ve corrupted you.”

“Buck,” Eddie said and shook Buck’s head gently between his palms. “Move in with me. Never leave. Leave your dirty socks all over our house forever and fill our shower caddy up with your expensive shampoo and get rid of your awful loft.”

Buck blinked, and it was so easy to picture that life. They were already mostly living it, Buck’s loft a haunted house that he nearly forgot about until the rent left his bank account once a month while Bobby sighed at him about poor financial decisions.

Only once, in the early months of their real relationship, had Buck disappeared to the loft to hide away after a rough fight that left them both in tears, and even then it had only lasted a few hours before Eddie showed up at his door with a Subway cookie and a quiet admission of I already miss you.

But it was one thing to picture it and another thing to have it for real. To think himself deserving of it for real. To swallow down the fears that Eddie was only asking because he was sex drunk and still a little horny, that he’d regret it when the high wore off.

It always was.

Then Eddie kissed him, long and slow, and, with their mouths still close enough to touch, said, “Please? Please move out of the apartment Taylor Kelly once slept in,” and Buck was laughing too hard to remember why he was doubting them.

“Buck,” Eddie says again, now, his thumb tracing the line of Buck’s jaw. His eyes are gooey-soft, romance hero. And still, no one says Buck like Eddie does. “I love you. You are the single great love of my life. I don’t care how many times I have to remind you.”

Buck blinks, and his eyes sting a little with tears he refuses to shed at a movie premiere of all places, but he has no choice but to grin. Eddie offers a grin of his own, eyes crinkling in the way Buck loves so much, and they don’t really kiss in public, but Eddie tilts his head and —

“Hello,” a voice to Buck’s right snaps, and then Chimney’s hands are sliding between them, shoving at either of their chests until they back away from each other. “Stop being cute and in love in front of cameras, this is Maddie’s night.”

Next to Chimney, Maddie laughs, gorgeous in a baby blue dress that sweeps the floor, her long hair set into loose curls around her shoulders. “I’m smiling,” she says, putting one hand on Buck’s shoulder, “because I love you, but if our movie gets overshadowed by Eddie queerbaiting accusations I will be a very fun aunt to Christopher and make your lives very difficult.”

“See,” Buck says to Eddie, glaring heatlessly, “I told you she’d kill me if you proposed tonight.”

“Edmundo Diaz,” Maddie hisses, her grin never twitching, “no one will find your body. Why would you publically propose when I still haven’t forgiven either of you for March 21st?”

Eddie rolls his eyes with his entire body. “It’s been four months, Maddie. Move on.”

“At least you were there,” Buck says. “Sophia and Adriana still call once a day to yell at him.”

“Good,” Maddie snaps. “They should yell more. Go tell interviewers how much you love us, please.”

And in the theatre, Buck sits between Eddie and Maddie during the film, Chimney on Maddie’s other side, and alternates between gripping Eddie’s thigh and squeezing Maddie’s hand every other scene.

Free Slurpees! is a romance, proper. A woman, lost and grieving her brother, meets a man, drowning in similar grief, when her cat escapes from her apartment in the middle of a rainy night.

It’s funny, like all of Chimney’s movies, but it’s drier than his humour usually is, and there’s an undercut of gravity, of love and loss, that's so Maddie that Buck feels it in his bones. It reminds him, almost painfully, of huddling next to her in her bed in their house in Hershey, hiding under the covers with her portable DVD player and wearing out her bootleg copies of The Holiday and Love, Actually and Notting Hill.

Buck doesn’t even pretend that he’s not crying, letting out tiny hiccups that make Maddie giggle, her own voice thick with tears. And Eddie slides his hand under Buck’s, twisting until their fingers intertwine, just like he did the night Damned Spot premiered, when Buck watched Eddie get shot on a big screen and wasn’t sure what to do with himself, and this time — this time there’s nothing stopping Eddie when he brings their joined hands up, squeezing gently as he presses his mouth against the back of Buck’s hand.

In the end, after the screen goes black and a title card reads as always, for kevin, the credits read: Writer, Maddie Buckly and Director, Howie Han.

It’s well after midnight when they finally make it home.

The house is dark and quiet, Christopher at Pepa’s for the night, and they’re tired enough that they don’t even bother to flick on any lights as they pick their way through the house, silently falling into their routine. Eddie stops at the kitchen to fill glasses with water, and Buck makes a pit stop at the thermostat to turn it down a couple more degrees, Eddie grumpy unless he sleeps in near-freezing temperatures.

They meet up again in the bedroom, helping each other undress and tuck their suits somewhere safe, and then make faces at each other in the mirror while they brush their teeth. They crawl into bed with practiced ease, and it’s nothing like Arizona, when the nights they slept together without sex were prefaced with excuses — too tired; we have to be up early; morning sex is better — to avoid what they weren’t admitting. It’s nothing like the time after Arizona, either, when Buck could hardly sleep through the night, his bed empty and cold and too big.

It’s domestic in a way he’s never had, a reliable comfort that feels warm and lived in like his childhood home never did.

“Love you,” Eddie says, his eyes already closed even as he purses his mouth at Buck expectantly.

Unseen, Buck rolls his eyes, but there’s a desperate tug at his chest that won’t even let him pretend to deny Eddie, and he obligingly closes the distance to give Eddie one minty fresh kiss. When he pulls away, Eddie’s smiling softly.

“Love you, too,” he says; feels it in his fingertips.

And, on the knife’s edge of sleep, his eyes barely open, Buck feels around his nightstand in the dark until his fingers catch on something cold, small. The ring slips onto his finger easily, and when he rolls over, draping his arm over Eddie’s waist, Eddie’s hand finds his with the same ease. Eddie’s thumb slides over the silver just once, like a kiss.

(four months ago)

On March 21st, Maddie’s already waiting for them outside when Eddie pulls his truck in front of Bobby and Athena’s house. Jee, only a few weeks away from turning one, pauses tugging lightly at Maddie’s hair when she spots them and starts to babble, waving her arms wildly.

“What is going on?” Maddie asks, loosening her grip on Jee when Buck swoops in to grab her, babbling meaningless baby-talk at her. “Why did I need to get everyone to Bobby’s on such short notice? Did something happen? Is someone dying?”

“Why,” Eddie says, pausing briefly to drag Maddie into a quick hug and smack a kiss on her cheek, “would we tell everyone to dress nice if one of us was dying?”

And they are, in fact, dressed nice: Eddie in his favourite night out shirt, the dark button-up he wore the night they met; Buck in a white-striped button-up an expensive brand sent him; even Christopher wrangled into a nice sweater vest. Maddie and Jee are in matching dresses, Maddie’s green and Jee’s black, the small floral print nearly identical.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maddie says, pulling an increasingly too-cool-for-school Christopher into a hug. “Buck’s dramatic; it sounds like something he’d do.”

“Rude,” Buck says, still in a high-pitched baby voice that makes Jee giggle and then pull his nose. “Nobody’s dying. We’re getting married.”

A beat of silence. Maddie blinks. Eddie grins so wide it looks like it hurts. Buck mirrors it effortlessly, feeling something golden and warm bloom in his chest and then spread.

Finally, Christopher breaks the silence with a snort of laughter that he tucks against his chest.

Maddie blinks one more time before she’s spinning on her heel, stalking toward the backyard. “Chimney,” she shouts. “Howie! Howard! You deal with this!”

Chimney, once they finally catch up and confirm that, yes, they are getting married right now and, no, it’s not a very funny prank, laughs so hard that he cries.

“Married!” Maddie keeps repeating, her hands fluttering. “No warning! Dress nice, they said! You raise your baby brother for over thirty years, and then he asks you to plan a wedding in twenty minutes.”

Karen rubs Maddie’s shoulder and hides a laugh against the back of her wrist.

Maddie glares. “I’ll remember this when Denny elopes,” she says, and Karen’s mouth drops into a small o.

“You take that back right now,” Karen hisses.

“No warning!” Maddie repeats, swinging her glare back to Buck. “Do you even have a license? Rings?”

With a terribly fond grin that makes Buck giddy like the teenager fans they meet in coffee shops sometimes, Eddie says, “Buck filled out an application in the car and I picked it up at the county.”

“It was ninety dollars,” Buck continues. “No wait and we didn’t even need a witness since it’s confidential.”

“And,” Eddie adds, one hand sliding across the small of Buck’s back until he can hook two fingers in Buck’s belt loop, “I’ve had rings hidden in my drawer for like three months.”

“It’s true,” Buck grins, already feeling tears sting the corner of his eyes, “I cried about it earlier.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chimney laughs, shaking his head while Maddie throws her hands up and walks away, muttering about seating under her breath. “I’ll keep Maddie calm, one of you can deal with Bobby’s meltdown.”

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie says, eyes wide, just as Buck says, “Bobby.”

In the end, Buck draws the short straw — (“You’ve known him longer.” “He didn’t fire you once for having sex in his office.” “No, but I blew you in his bathroom so you owe me.” “Oh, I should have walked away sooner,” Karen says.) — and finds Bobby in the kitchen, standing with his hands on his hips in front of four packages of ground beef.

Athena, sitting at the island with a softly amused smile and a full glass of wine in her hand, rises to her feet when she spots Buck. “Congratulations,” she says on her way past, patting his shoulder gently, “don’t break my husband or I’ll find you.”

The kitchen is silent when she leaves, Bobby continuing to stare at his collection of meat. Buck frowns, a small thread of tension sliding up his spine; it’s not quite the same one that used to follow him into the house when he came home from school with another detention or failed test, but it’s in the same family.

He takes a deep breath; feels it settle in his chest.

“Bobby —”

“This isn’t enough meat to make burgers for everyone,” Bobby says, jumping into action like Buck’s broken a spell. He gathers the meat in his arms, juggling them so he can open the freezer and shove them back in. “We might just have to order in food, and I can make desert while people are eating dinner — maybe that tiramisu Eddie likes, or —”

“Bobby,” Buck says again, sharper this time. He’s known Bobby for years, has watched him grieve and open up and fall in love, but he’s not quite sure what to do with this frenzy. “You don’t have to make anything.”

Silence falls; heavy. Eventually, Bobby nods and then says nothing.

“Are you —” Buck clears his throat; shifts his weight. The tension in his spine builds. “Are you upset? We should have told you, but it was just a last minute decision and we didn’t want to do it at the courthouse without all of you like someone did. But — but we don’t have to, if you don't want us to.”

It would be disappointing, maybe, but Buck doesn’t need to be married to Eddie to love him the way he does, like it’s built into his DNA. And he won’t do it without Bobby’s permission — his blessing.

Slowly, Bobby closes the freezer. He turns around, just as slow, and when he faces Buck his eyes are steady but — glassy. Buck’s eyes sting with tears, a lump rising in his throat.

“I’m not upset,” Bobby says. “I’m not — Do you remember when we met?”

“Of course,” Buck says. “Athena shoved me in your office. She said we were the only ones who could help each other, we were so hopeless.”

Bobby laughs, his eyes bright with a fondness Buck can nearly feel in the air. He remembers when he used to be so jealous of that look, of that love Bobby and Athena shared. Now, he only thinks of Eddie, waiting outside with rings in his pocket.

“Yeah, and she was right. We were both lost. For different reasons, but lost anyway. This was a career I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore — that I thought was only making me worse — and then you showed up, and you needed saving just as bad as I did, and —” Bobby shakes his head, his shoulders tightening for a moment before they relax. “You and I, we saved each other, and I’ve watched you grow these last few years into a terrific man and an incredible father and I’m — I’m just really proud of you, kid. No one deserves this more.”

It hits Buck somewhere he wasn’t sure still existed, a place filled with a childish longing for affection that was only ever neglected. Bobby's pride — his love — slides into empty spaces, warm and glowing.

“Aw, man,” Buck laughs, choked and wet, “I wasn’t supposed to cry until the actual wedding.”

Bobby laughs, a deep chuckle that sounds so fatherly Buck almost cries for real, and then he’s wrapping a hand around Buck’s bicep and pulling him into a hug. Buck drops his forehead to Bobby’s shoulder, sinking into the embrace and thinks, for maybe the first time in his life, that he doesn’t need his parents at all. That he has everything he needs.

Into Bobby’s shirt, Buck says, “You’re ordained, right?” and Bobby’s laugh echoes.

When they make it back out to the yard, after Bobby’s texted May to let her know she’s in charge of ordering pizzas, somehow Maddie has conjured up just enough seats for everyone. They’re mismatched and a few seem to be missing entire pieces, but they’ve been organized in neat rows, a grassy aisle down the middle. Their altar, Eddie already waiting next to it with Christopher standing at his side, is an arch of pink and purple balloons that Buck recognizes from May’s birthday party a couple of weeks ago.

It is very obvious this wedding was put together in twenty minutes. Buck loves it so much he can hardly breathe for it.

Eddie catches his eye almost the second he steps into the yard, a smile breaking across his face like sunshine, and he takes a step forward only to be stopped by Maddie pointing sternly at him from the front row.

She shifts Jee into Chimney’s lap and then she’s at Buck’s side, shooing Bobby toward their balloon-altar, and manhandling Buck into place. She gestures vaguely and a second later the wedding march plays, somehow, possibly by magic.

Or, he realizes after a second of scanning the crowd, by Ravi’s ability to press play on Spotify, and Lucy’s ability to hold up May’s bright pink portable speaker.

He barely has a second to breathe before Maddie’s marching him down the aisle, her elbow linked through his, and it’s only that point of contact that keeps Buck’s feet under him, his breath catching and holding in his chest as he stares at Eddie.

Eddie who, at the end of the aisle, is grinning right at him with teary eyes, his hands fiddling idly with the cuffs of his sleeves and his feet shifting like he’s holding himself back from meeting Buck in the middle. Buck, for his part, can hardly see through the blurry film of his tears, his cheeks aching with his own grin.

Eddie’s impatience wins out when Buck and Maddie are two steps away, Eddie taking a step forward to slide his hand into Buck’s and tug him faster along. Maddie rolls her eyes, their friends and family laughing, and then Buck can't hear anything at all. A bomb could go off, he thinks, and he wouldn't notice a damn thing past the glassy brown of Eddie's eyes.

“Hi,” Eddie says.

“Hi,” Buck says back.

“Hello,” Bobby says, and Chimney snorts from the front row. “Welcome to this very last minute wedding. We all know how impatient these two are, and how long they’ve been waiting for this — we’ve probably been waiting for this longer than them — so I’ll jump ahead. Should I ask if you two wrote vows on the drive here?” Bobby asks, an amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

It falls, stunned, when Eddie and Buck both nod, Eddie pulling his phone out of his pocket as Buck unearths a crumpled napkin covered in black ink.

“Seriously?” Chimney says from the audience. Maddie shushes him audibly.

“I didn’t write mine on the drive, obviously,” Eddie assures Bobby’s concerned eyebrows, “I wrote them when Buck was getting ready.”

Bobby’s eyebrows kiss his hairline, but he gestures for Eddie to go ahead.

“Buck,” Eddie says, and then has to repeat himself when his voice cracks over the ck, blinking rapidly. Buck's own throat tightens, painfully. “Buck, the first time I saw you, I thought, he’s going to be trouble.” Buck’s breath leaves him in a rush, a small sound rising in the back of his throat. “And I was right, because you were an asshole —” laughter from the crowd, Chimney’s bark easy to pick out “— and you hated me but it was mostly because I still — I still just wanted to know you, even against my better judgement. It was like —” Eddie shakes his head, swallowing hard before he pockets his phone. He’s hardly looked at it this whole time, his eyes locked on Buck’s, the brown of them golden in the mid-afternoon sun.

“I’m not someone who believes in fate or the universe, but — you make me want to believe. Because it feels like fate that we ended up here. That I convinced you to like me and then to love me, and that we managed to make this work even when everything was in our way, and that I get to stand here and marry you and raise our kid with you; the love of my life, the person who makes me believe in all of those silly romances we star in. But it’s more than fate because this wasn’t handed to us — we earned it — and — God, baby, loving you is the only thing that makes sense sometimes. I don’t have to marry you to know this is forever, but it’s definitely a nice way to spend a Monday and I’ll do it every Monday for the rest of our lives if you want.”

Buck chokes on his laugh, half a sob, and he has to sniffle, shaking his head like it might help settle some of the desperate, glowing emotions in the centre of his chest, before he says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Eddie grins. “Now say your vows so we can kiss.”

Behind him, Christopher says faintly, "Ugh, gross, Dad," but he sounds near tears himself.

Buck laughs again, smoothing out his napkin with shaking hands, squinting through his blurry tears to read his cramped writing.

“Actually,” he says, swallowing hard and crumpling the tissue in his hand. “I’ve read off of scripts for years and — and today, I don’t want to.” He tosses the napkin blindly to the side, his fingers clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Well, hey,” Eddie says, bending down to snatch the napkin from the grass, “I’m still getting this framed.”

Buck barks out his third laugh in as many minutes, giddy and half hysterical. “I can’t wait to laugh at your dumb jokes for the rest of our lives. That’s not the vows, that’s just a side note.” It’s Eddie’s turn to laugh, a delighted burst of sound that makes Buck’s chest lift.

“The first time I saw you,” Buck says, “I thought you were hot,” the crowd’s laughter is a little choked; Eddie’s grin only widens, “and I kinda hated you for it. I was so heartbroken at the time that I couldn’t see anything past it. Even if I could, I never would have imagined that I’d find the love of my whole entire life on the set of Chimney’s weird boyband apocalypse movie. And I — I’ve been in a lot of romance movies — not bragging, just the truth — and I’ve said a lot of romantic things in my life, but I think — I think knowing you and loving you has shown me that sometimes the most romantic thing isn’t a big speech or the perfect score but just — just this. Just the fact that we ended up here at all, that we had every reason to give up and we decided to try again anyway, over and over again. So, um, not to upstage all of our writer friends, but I love you and I'm really glad you suggested we get married today.”

Eddie’s grin is fucking magic. Everything it touches seems to glow, warm and tender and achingly soft. Buck fills so full of it he may die and he thinks it would be worth it.

To Buck’s left, Bobby clears his throat and, sounding just a little choked, starts to say, “You may —”

And whenever Buck lets himself be sappy and emotional and desperately in love with Eddie enough to imagine their wedding, he always imagines that he would be the one to jump the gun, to interrupt their officiant's speech to grab Eddie’s face in his hands and kiss him senseless. But it’s Eddie who reaches one hand for Buck’s hair and the other for his waist, who tugs him across the short divide and slants their mouths together, the kiss hard and desperate and biting from the start.

Buck’s hands twist in the fabric of Eddie’s shirt, right over his ribs, pulling him closer and closer still, and if it weren’t for their kid standing directly behind Eddie or his sister and niece in the front row, he might lean into the height at the base of his spine and turn this kiss into something more. But Maddie clears her throat pointedly and Bobby sighs and Buck, somehow, pulls his mouth away.

He’s rewarded with Eddie’s beaming grin, with Eddie tightening his grip on Buck’s waist so he can’t step fully back.

“Okay,” Bobby says, ostensibly aiming for exasperation, but it comes out choked and wet instead. “You’re married now.”

Somewhere, somehow, people are cheering; Chimney hooting and hollering like it’s a frat party, Ravi whistling, Jee scream-laughing, Christopher yelling. Buck hears it all from a distance, his focus narrowed to the point of Eddie’s grin.

“You’re stuck with me now,” Eddie says, his thumb pressing gently against the hollow of Buck’s throat.

“Thank God,” Buck laughs. He’s been stuck with a lot over the years — with a haunted apartment that didn’t belong to him, in a relationship that suffocated, in a strange grief he couldn’t name — but, here with Eddie and with Christopher, with this love he can feel in every inch of his body, it only feels blissfully right, a final piece sliding into place. For once, the earth feels completely still and solid beneath his feet.

He kisses Eddie again; feels the curve of his smile against his mouth. “I was kinda hoping I would be.”