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Eddie’s halfway through his coffee when he realizes his mistake.
To be fair, Eddie’s never claimed to be a morning person, especially on his days off. By the time he stumbled out of his room and into the kitchen, Buck and Christopher were wrapping up the school-day morning routine without him, dirtied plates moved to the sink, Christopher rising from his chair to grab his backpack.
Eddie had reached down to press a quick kiss to his head as he passed, a quiet “good morning” mumbled into his curls.
“Morning, Eddie,” Buck had said, turning to him with a fresh coffee in hand. He was smiling, small, contended, beautiful in the morning light. It was the smile that haunted Eddie in the best ways, one that he hoped he would never see directed at anyone else. Eddie’s smile, only his, forever, forever, please. Eddie had shuffled over, sleepy and distracted by the smell of coffee and so in love that he just—
Took the mug from Buck’s hand.
And looked up at him, at his blue eyes and messy hair and that same, sweet smile on his mouth.
And he kissed him, soft, and quiet, and sure.
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Thinking back, Eddie desperately tries to remember the few moments that followed, before Christopher reappeared in the kitchen; before he and Buck were out the door with nothing more than a “See you later, Dad!”
It was a quick kiss, it had to be. Too quick for Buck to kiss back, right? Wait, would Buck have kissed back? And after, Eddie knows he moved to sit at the table, since that’s where he is now, his half-cup of coffee growing colder with each agonizing moment that he spends thinking about how he’s just ruined the best relationship he’s ever had, romantic or not.
He wonders how he got to this moment; Simultaneously hoping that the love of his life runs through the front door, sweeps him up, kisses him with an intensity that puts the greatest romances to shame, and also never comes back, never smiles politely and says, “Sorry, Eddie. It’s not like that for me.”
God, this is a nightmare.
If he’s being honest with himself, this all started two months ago, when Buck showed up in his living room during a movie night with Christopher, with two stuffed bags and a surprisingly serene expression for someone who had just ended a long-term relationship.
Since then, it’s been shared rides and shared meals, game nights with Christopher and synced calendars, synced alarms, synced breaths. Buck’s books are stacked in the dining room shelves, his clothes mixed in Eddie’s dresser, and Eddie...He…
Well, he’s just surprised he hasn’t fucked this up sooner.
Because, if he’s being really honest with himself, he thinks this might have started years ago, fifty feet underground, Buck’s face coming in flashes, with Christopher, Shannon, the 118. His family. Or with his hand on Buck’s shoulder the day after he saved his son, knowing there was no other person he would trust as much, without question.
Or even that very first week, filled with frustration and pettiness and interactions charged with something that Eddie didn’t recognize, didn’t understand, not the way he does now. In a hospital parking lot, where they evolved from reluctant coworkers to partners, promises to support the other overwhelming the rush of a successful call and a blown-up ambulance.
Really, Eddie’s loved Buck for so long now—doesn’t know how to stop it, doesn’t think he wants to.
He just hopes Buck will continue to let him, even quietly, even as friends. If nothing else, as friends.
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Fifteen minutes later, while Eddie’s washing dishes and rehearsing a thousand different apologies, the front door opens, and then Buck is there in the doorway, and every possible sentence is gone from Eddie’s mind in an instant.
Instead, the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, “You’re here.” Buck blinks, eyes meeting Eddie’s, tentative. There’s a question in them, but what it is, Eddie’s not sure.
“Well, yeah,” Buck starts, “I’m kinda living here right—”
“No, I just thought… That was fast, I mean.”
Buck’s eyes dart down, chin dipping into his chest, hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck.
“Oh,” he says, “Yeah. I guess I did speed a bit on the way back home. Safely! Of course.” Buck grins, crooked. He’s embarrassed, Eddie realizes.
“Why?”
“Why, what? I came back? Too fast?” Buck steps forward, and by the look on his face Eddie knows what he’s going to say next. And even though he’s tried to prepare for this, Eddie doesn’t want to have this conversation, not now, not yet. “Eddie, you kissed me earlier, and then you just walked away. And I know I left to take Chris to school, but… We should talk about this, right? I mean, I want—”
“God, Buck,” Eddie interrupts. Here goes nothing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kissed you. It was. I wasn’t thinking, okay? I wasn’t thinking, and I was tired, and I crossed a line, and I’m sorry. It will never happen again, I swear. We can--” Eddie stops, takes a breath, steels himself. “We can pretend it never happened.”
Buck’s gone quiet, his figure still in Eddie’s periphery. He can’t look at him. Knows he wouldn’t see disgust or anger, instead terrified to find something worse, like pity, doesn’t know what he’d do if—
“I don’t want to,” Buck says. He’s right in front of Eddie now, close enough to touch. Eddie could reach out and grab Buck’s hands and beg him, for forgiveness, or for his love, for the rest of his life.
He tightens his grip on the counter behind him.
“Eddie, c’mon, look at me, please,” Buck’s hands, big, and warm, and so gentle, cradle Eddie’s face, lifting it up. Buck stops, waiting, and when Eddie’s eyes meet his, he doesn’t see sadness, or pity, but something else entirely. Instead, Buck smiles—Eddie’s smile—and moves his hands from Eddie’s face, one to the side of Eddie’s neck, the other trailing down his arm to grab his hand, still holding the edge of the counter. Buck leans down, forehead resting against Eddie’s, and Eddie feels the last of his breath halt in his throat when Buck’s thumb starts to brush against his collarbone, soothing and exhilarating all at once. “I don’t want to pretend,” he says, soft, so soft. “Tell me why you kissed me, please. It’s me.”
Eddie can feel his heartbeat, racing in his chest, his neck, reverberating throughout his entire body. Surely Buck can feel it too, must already know the exact feelings Eddie’s been holding in for so, so long. Suddenly, Eddie doesn’t want to keep them from Buck, not anymore, not ever again. He turns his hand, warm under Buck’s, and laces their fingers together. Takes one more, bracing breath, and says:
“You’ve been here, in this house, for months. But you’ve been with me, and Chris, for years. And I kissed you because I have dreams of mornings like this, with you, for the rest of my life. And earlier, I looked at you, and all those dreams felt real—I want them to be real. I want you to stay here, forever, if you want. You’re my family, Buck, and I love you. I’m in love with you.”
Buck laughs, bright, beautiful. Moves their interlocked hands to rest against his chest, over his heart, racing, in time with Eddie’s. In sync.
“God, Eddie, I love you too. I love you so much, I’ve wanted to say it for so long.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s good,” Eddie nods, keeps nodding. “That’s, uh, great, actually,” Eddie’s gone stupid with the sight of Buck’s joy, overwhelmed by the full view of unrestrained love shining in his, blue, blue eyes. He watches Buck’s smile turn playful, teasing. Realizes that he’s been staring up at him in silence, head still moving, still nodding. God, why is he still nodding? He—
“Hey, Eddie?” Buck says, hands coming up again to frame his face, keeping him still, and Eddie doesn’t think he could ever let this go. Realizes he will never have to. “Kiss me again.”
And there, standing in their kitchen, dizzy with relief, and happiness, and love, Eddie does.