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Buck hasn’t ever been remotely familiar with the concept of having someone care about one so deeply, or more specifically, love one so deeply. While the concept is thrilling for most, it remains odd to him.
He didn't grow up in an environment where the concept of love was taught. On the days his mother was able to look him in the eyes, albeit hesitantly, he felt immense triumph. Ignoring the pure anger-filled glint was always difficult, so he preferred to pretend it stood for anything else. Happiness on his okay days, joy on his particularly good days, and sadness on the days when he felt like the weight of the world was resting on top of his shoulders. He knew, realistically, that even then the sadness wouldn't have been directed at him.
How utterly shocking it was for him when he found people who willingly asked how his day went. The question was plain, but the way they leaned in when he finally started talking wasn't. A squint of the eyes, a hum mid-sentence, a nod of the head, a follow-up question after he's finished talking.
How peculiar it felt for people to be inquisitive enough in not only him, but also his introspection and jumbled words.
The countless times the words, ‘I wish we had met when I was younger,’ had lain on the tip of his tongue when talking to his co-workers was obscene. Don’t get him wrong, he adores the friendships he's created and fought for over the years, he needed that attention when he was younger.
‘You’re pitiful, Evan. I can’t even…’ a shake of the head, the sheer disappointment on his mother’s face wasn't a sight he'd be forgetting any time soon. ‘I can’t even look at you right now.’
He’d heard all the words of sympathy before, although they felt more pitiful than anything else. The fear of abandonment and commitment— rational for him, irrational for others. It was always: ‘I understand why you feel that way.’ Never heartfelt and worried: ‘How come you feel that way?’
Funnily enough, he wouldn't be able to reply to either statement if they were to be said right now. That’s why when love came knocking at the door, he acted like a fool and ran.
Being scared to be loved is considered one issue, what does it make him if he's also scared to love?
If he thought long and hard, his eyes focused on one part of the sterile white walls of his apartment, he could manage a thought healthy enough to speak amidst his intruding, unhealthy ones. Does it necessarily need to be a negative thing? He didn't know how it got there, and, despite it being an unfamiliar voice, it wasn't completely unwelcome. Being in love, falling in love, maybe even loving someone. Those could be good things, no?
It could be, can be. He wondered, he still does, occasionally, at least. For worse or for better, he can’t seem to find an answer.
***
“So you love me?”
Eddie hums in response, “Yeah, I do. I love you,” his tone is both delicate and cautious. Being cautious with his words around Buck was a given in their friendship. Many layers remained both uncovered and hidden, for now, so he never knew what might set him off. How good it must feel to admit that so openly, though. No shame attached to it in the slightest.
Buck often associates ‘right person, wrong time’ with Abby. He only thinks of her every so often, but there are no feelings involved when his mind wanders, least of all love, and even the anger has vanished now. Maddie once told him that if it is the right person, there will always be a right time. Like a moth drawn to the flame, the last puzzle piece fits perfectly and makes the canvas complete. That is what it ought to be like, always finding your way back to one another. He waited longer for her to come back than he expected himself to, hell, he acted like a fucking joke and didn't want to listen to anyone around him who told him otherwise. He believes, maybe, along the way, he slowly realised she wasn't coming back— but who is he, if he doesn't try to look at it from an optimistic perspective? It is all he has left to give, and without optimism, even in the slightest form, he'd be nothing.
The moment he figured out she wasn't coming back, when he had eventually reached that dreading point, he was already tired of constantly chasing after people. For once, he wanted to be the one who was chased, and he wanted nothing more than to be worth fighting for. God forbid if he allowed himself to be selfish for once.
Taylor was brief, and the hurt was reciprocated. It came from both sides, and staying in a relationship like that wouldn't benefit either of them. There was only ever passion, he supposes, with no middle ground to begin with.
After every bad date and relationship, every failed hook-up or embarrassing ‘first kiss’, and don't get him started on his multiple shameful escapades back home in the middle of the night, Eddie was there to pick up the damaged pieces of him that slowly got lost along the way. Nobody ever bothered to pick those up, and Buck had repeatedly thanked him for that, meanwhile, the older man always shrugged it off, claiming: ‘It’s really no big deal, Buck. This is what friends are for. This is what we do.’
So much for claiming to only be fucking friends, hey? Friends didn't look at each other the way he and Eddie did, and friends didn't practically abandon their own house just so they could move in with the other.
Lingering touches, gentle and sweet words when no one's listening (but everyone hears anyway, if their friends’ knowing looks are something to go by), the almost kisses, the invasive eyes always burning into each other’s backs.
One might deem such actions as ‘particularly close friends,’ or, ‘this is truly the definition of platonic soulmates.’ In reality: he had been hanging back on the three words he still had to say, but isn't this what he had always wanted? Closure. Honesty. Someone wanted him— deeming him worthy enough to keep him around. If this is so good, then why is he so scared of the unknown?
Buck glances at Eddie, hesitantly scooting forward on where he's seated on the couch, which now leaves him on the edge. He doesn't know where to begin, he never does, and he desperately wishes he could let his feelings radiate through the entire room instead. He’d let it burn, and then scream them as loud as he possibly could, for it could never truly declare all the words he had been too afraid to utter.
“I was afraid to love you at first,” Buck timidly says, and if he were to blink, his lashes would clump together due to his unshed tears. They’re collected on his water line, but he doesn't let them fall. “I think I still am sometimes. And it’s not— it’s not like I want to be. Afraid, I mean. I don't want to be afraid anymore, Eds,” he trails off, clearing his throat as he places his palms on his knees. “I’m not afraid when I’m with you, never you. It’s just the thought of fucking this up, fucking us up. I couldn't do that to you. No matter what we are or could be, you're still my best friend.”
Best friend is a silly word to use when the two men are in their thirties, but Christopher had told them, a while back, that is what they were. Who in their right mind would deny the kid anything?
The quietness that follows overlaps them more than any other words ever could. There are more than seven hundred thousand words in the English language, and there is no word accurate enough to describe how Buck truly feels, so he settles with a simple whisper, “I’m scared.”
Eddie lets out a sigh, not a disapproving one by any means, more so one out of deep-rooted concern. Usually, it would be the other way around, but, having a kid makes you come to terms with things quicker, he guesses. “What scares you the most?”
“I don't know. Messing this up, maybe? I don't want to hurt your feelings in the process. I have a lot of baggage, you know I do.”
“You won’t mess this up,” Eddie politely denies. “But you will hurt my feelings, because that’s what people do in relationships. You hurt each other, it’s simply the way you handle it afterwards that makes the biggest difference. We will make mistakes, but we will learn from them,” he manages a faint smile, tilting his head to the side. “There will be arguments, whether they're big or small, it’s inevitable, really. I have your back, and you have mine, that’s what we said. I’ll forever live up to that if the ball is in my court.”
Buck nods, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. A few months ago he would have felt embarrassed by being so vulnerable, but now he lets the feeling wash away, “I’m finally ready, I think. For this, us, a relationship, figuring it out with Christopher. I guess I'm just scared I’ll shut down in some way, mess it up all over again.”
Eddie reaches out, both his hands cupping Buck’s face, his palms strangely soft against the other man’s cheeks. His thumbs run back and forth on the warm skin beneath his fingertips, “I want us to work out as well,” he swallows. “I’ve waited for you for years, Evan, and I’ll keep waiting if you ask me to. I’d wait an eternity for you— hell, I'd wait forever for you if I had to, because you're worth it all. The second you're totally ready, then I'll be more than happy to give you the endless amount of love I am dying to give you.”
Buck’s signature grin conceals his face, but it has a gentle touch to it, something that is unspeakably only for Eddie. A pink flush creeps onto his freckled cheeks and nose, dusting it all over with even more colour. Away from the peering eyes and confused glances, all the expectations and the downfalls, their love remains profound. No loud words, or grand gestures— just this. The two of them were on the couch, the lights dimmed, and the room filled with whispers and hesitant touches.
“I am ready, Eds. Please?”
Who would deny Evan Buckley in all his glory when he whispers the word please so desperately? For once in his life, he isn't being cheeky, or teasing, or impulsive; he’s simply laying himself bare, in every sense of the word, for the person he trusts most in this world.
And when their lips finally connect— it feels softer than every kiss he has ever given or received. There are no fireworks, and maybe only a hint of butterflies appears, but it’s the overwhelming sense of belonging that flows out of it that touches him deep in his heart. Buck lets his shoulders slump, and his hands reach for Eddie’s wrists, feeling the heavy thump beneath his fingers, and that’s a reminder that this is real, especially when it gets more irregular and faster.
“We’ll take things slow,” Eddie breathes against his lips, with every syllable he lets out, they keep the contentment of letting their lips brush again. “Yeah?”
“We’re good at that,” Buck light-heartedly jokes, which earns him a deep chuckle in return. “I love you too, by the way.”
Eddie lets go of his face, and the warmth disappears again, but the moment their fingers intertwine instead, it returns, and he squeezes. The warm smile on his face almost makes Buck want to avoid it, considering it’s so invasive and intimate, but he's tired of running, and he's waited too long to realise he deserves this, “I know.”
Some stuff comes in waves and others come in stages. This might take a while, he's almost fully sure of it, but the good feeling remains tight in his chest.
This is good, Buck reminds himself, and love is good. He deserves this as much as any other person does. They both do.
***
“Not everyone has a heart like yours,” Maddie whispered, voice overly thick with emotion. She’s always worn her heart on her sleeve, so it was no surprise that it was her waterline filling with tears, and not Buck’s. “Not everyone will consistently give and give. Evan, maintaining— sniff, maintaining a heart this big can hurt. It can leave you feeling exhausted and blank, and it… It might feel like a jinx sometimes, but it's not.”
She anxiously looked around the room before she continued, “You can't live up to everyone’s expectations. You don't have to give people your energy when they don't deserve it. You're allowed to turn people down and set boundaries, okay?”
She glanced back down at their entwined clasped hands, and finally, back up at her younger brother’s face. She, too, like their mother, oftentimes hesitated to look him in the eye. All Buck could do was give her a tight nod in response, but his expression was pinched, eyebrows furrowed, and the slightest hardening of his eyes. Maddie always considered this exact look on his face a disguise. He was protecting himself by hiding, the one thing he's gotten so good at— running away whenever things got hard. She hastily shook her head, “You can't be there for yourself if you're empty. If you… if you have nothing left to give.”
They heard voices downstairs, not loud by any means, but the thumping up the stairs that followed made them both go eerily still. Maddie’s mouth snapped shut. When the noise passed, she let out a slight sigh, looking into his eyes and forcing a smile, “Even if there are days when the effort is evidently there, and even if they tell you they love and care about you, it’s okay not to give. You don't owe them anything.”
“Why do they hate me?”
She gently caressed his cheeks with the softness of her thumbs, a fleeting touch that burned more than soothed, “Buck…”
He violently shook his head, blond hair tousled, blue eyes that should be filled with childlike wonder were filled with hurt and confusion instead. “Maddie,” he mumbled. “Please? I need to know.”
All she did in response was lean down and kiss his forehead, a muttered ‘scoot over’ attached to it. The mere moment her back hit the soft mattress, Buck clung to her. “I love you,” she whispered into the empty and hollow bedroom. Sure, there were posters of Buck’s favourite bands plastered against the wall, but every pleasant memory had faded away over time, and now there was nothing good left to cherish.
He didn't say it back, he rarely said anything these days, “Will you stay?”
It was risky to ask, it always had been, but the least he could do was try. The only person in the household who showed him any sort of fondness was barely home lately, and the mere thought of losing his big sister was a terrifying one.
Maddie narrowed her eyes at him, took in a deep breath, shaky, uneven, agitated. That alone was the dead giveaway, and the moment she opened her mouth to say, “Yes, Evan, I’ll stay,” he knew it was a lie.
For once in Buck’s life, he had gone with it. He thought it would be easier that way, if there were no complications added, no questions asked. All he did was cling to her as his life depended on it. Maybe if he held on tight enough, she'd stay.
When he woke up the next morning, it didn't come as a surprise that the spot on his bed next to him was cold and empty, and that Maddie was gone.
When Buck was thirteen years old, he heard the words, ‘I love you,’ for the first time, and he secretly thought that it would have been better if he had been left with an, ‘I want to love you,’ instead.
(I want to love you, but I can’t.)
(At least not yet.)
***
Waking up with a face hidden in his neck and a strong arm wrapped around his waist, the defined biceps twitching when he makes the slightest movement, is something he doesn't think he will get used to any time soon. Falling asleep in a warm chest, or against a broad back? If there is a higher power up there, he thanks them every day, because this— yeah, it comes pretty close to everything he's ever wanted.
Growing up, Buck always lived up to his parents’ expectations of him, which made him so reckless toward the start of his teen years. Nothing he ever did was good enough, and the only way to get their attention was by getting hurt. When Maddie left, that feeling intensified. Gradually, along the way, he barely even recognised himself in the first place.
But with Eddie, he can simply be. It’s strange, being able to let go of every dark thought clouding his mind, unhurriedly forcing its way into his head.
The clock on the nightstand reads 04:00 and he already knows this will be another restless night. The moonlight is shining into the bedroom, barely so, since the thick, grey drapes keep most of it out— nonetheless, Eddie’s face is still partly covered.
Etherealism. Embodying both the handsomeness and resilience of the Gods themselves. Having been shaped by them, what a silly thought, but it must be true. Every part of him is defined to the last dot with perfection. From his jawline to the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips, very light freckles dusted over the cheekbones and nose bridge, and some can be spotted on his forehead, too, but those have always been more prominent during the summer.
After staring at the ceiling for ten more minutes, he finally gets up and leaves the bedroom. He waddled his way into the kitchen, careful not to wake up Christopher by making any sudden noises. The kid had gotten the flu a few days prior, and although his fever had died down, his sleep schedule was still all over the place due to the lingering symptoms.
His mind is still spiralling for some odd reason, and it leaves him feeling nauseous. He hasn't felt this way in a long time, a feeling he had grown accustomed to, which was now unfamiliar. He steps out of the front door and sits down on the steps in front of the house, staring at the cars that pass by. If he doesn't have the capacity to make his brain wind down, he might as well catch some fresh air.
Something that surprises many is when Buck admits he loves being in control. He’s aware he doesn't look like the type, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he values it more than anything else in this world. Is that truly so bizarre? When he is in control, he is able to shift his feelings whenever the fatal loneliness that always drowns in appears again. He isn't alone anymore, but tonight is simply one of those nights. They come and go.
He always used to manage it, being alone. He liked it when everything became too much to his liking, and the silence had always been a nice additional aspect. His thoughts are slowly eradicating him tonight, and he comes to realise that the quietness has turned into a killer too. A throbbing pain shoots through his head, and he groans in dissatisfaction.
His elbows are planted on his knees, and he wipes his hand across his face, a sigh exiting his fuller lips. He massages his temples, a piercing migraine already forming. Loud, thumping, begging to be let out and be heard.
‘Because Evan.. you act like you're expendable. But you're wrong.’
‘There's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.’
‘You can have my back any day.’
Remembering what the world was like before Eddie is a strange thing, because he seems to think of it as black and white. Empty, meaningless sex, useless sexting, effortless kisses. Quiet, uncomfortable kind, too many thoughts, never enough words.
With Eddie there's colour. Lots of it. The quiet is still quiet, but it isn't suffocating him the way it used to back then. Mandatory tasks became natural, and the days feel easier to get by. Getting up in the morning doesn't feel like a chore anymore, in fact, he looks forward to it.
‘We're way past that, Buck.’
Eddie is the first person Buck has ever been sure of. It’s a reminder he needs to hang on to, to breathe, and to let everything go.
‘Hang on, Buck.’
***
Buck had been angry for as long as he could remember. Perhaps that’s why he came to terms with the deeply rooted, unfiltered rage inside of him. It’s what’s often said that is the truth, because the more he felt it, the less he showed it. It’s internally, a feeling deep inside, one that’d shatter if he'd let it out.
Buck hadn't been a violent person, not naturally at least. If he argued he always made sure to keep his voice low and steady to get his point across, at school he kept low and out of fights, and he's never verbally or physically lashed out at someone.
When Maddie had asked him, when he was six years old, what he wanted to be when he grew up, he said ‘kind’ in reply. The air in the room was apprehensive back then.
There's nothing Buck hates more in life than being angry, and that’s tricky, after all, because he's been so angry at the world lately, he can barely make up space for any other feelings.
Today was his fourteenth birthday, and Maddie didn't reach out once. Not a simple, ‘Hey, buddy!’ or a straightforward, ‘Happy birthday,’ came through. Radio silence. Completely and utterly silent, and it’s become quite suffocating.
His birthday dinner hadn't gone great, either. He was seated at the dining table with his parents, mindlessly rambling about a ‘really unique new trick’ he had learnt a few weeks prior, and that he was almost sure of it that he was going to ‘become a pro skater’.
“You should be more focused on your education instead of skating, or whatever else it is you do in your spare time,” his mother grumbled, which made his father nod his head in agreement. Her voice was still relatively soft, and if you hadn't grown up with them as your parents, you might've believed it was a simple comment.
“I am also focused on my education,” Buck mumbled while he stabbed his fork into one of the baked sweet potatoes that was all but basically forgotten on his plate. The hot steam had already disappeared, and if he were to take a bite, it would be cold instead of hot. “It’s just… just a small thing I like to do to lose some time.”
“Speak up, son,” his father said, voice flat and rough, distinctively different from the one his mother used. If he had known then what he knows now, he might've paid attention to the crack when the word ‘son’ was uttered.
“You’re pitiful, Evan. I can't even,” his mother fiercely shook her head. “I can't even look at you right now.”
Buck stared down at his lap, his hand balled up in a fist while his fingernails dug so deeply into his own palm, it made him flinch. “You haven't even looked at me since Maddie left. I mean, have you ever really looked at me, Mom?”
“Don’t talk to your mother like that.”
“You don't have anything to be upset about, Evan, stop crying!”
He hadn't even realised that he had been crying, not until it had been pointed out, anyway. Only then had he noticed the tear stains on his pants, the dark splotches visibly standing out on the lighter material.
Before he went to sleep that night, he lit up a candle he had placed on his desk a few days prior. When he closed his eyes, he counted from three to one, the only wish he had was for Maddie to come back home.
At fourteen years old, he promised himself that one day he was going to leave this place. This house, family, town, maybe even the country if nothing worked out. One day he was going to run so far away that he was never going to look back ever again.
‘I love you.’
(I want to love you, but I can’t.)
(At least not yet.)
***
Finding peace in the misery that was buried deep inside of you, years ago, isn't an odd concept, it’s rather realistic. For Buck, it’s the only thing that made him feel for the longest time, that he didn't care if that made him sound pathetic. When he didn't have anything, he could at least shut down his intruding feelings and turn to something familiar— something that didn't know any boundaries, something he deemed as safe at the time.
Is it healthy to find comfort in your suffering? Most definitely not. But was it validating to him? Of course, it was. It is inherently human, you see. Everything he has ever been through, giving that a place, although an unhealthy one at the time, has proved that it mattered to him. It makes you connect with those feelings on an even more intimate level. ‘This mattered to me, and therefore, I was so hurt by it at the time.’
Then the years passed, and while he was still living at home, it slowly started forming into his identity. He didn't only find comfort in his suffering, but he also identified with that pain, and he wasn't ready to give it up for a long time to come. Identifying with it means you're clinging to it, holding on, and if you let it go, it means you lose a part of yourself you slowly created while letting those unhealthy coping mechanisms take over your mind.
Therapy is going great, he has to admit, and now that he's no longer sleeping with his therapist, or his new one at that, he's really allowed himself to be open and true with himself. The entire ‘assaulted’ debate remains far away from his mind, for he is still in denial regarding it. He did have a thorough conversation with both Bobby and Eddie about it, whereas his captain told him, ‘Ethically and legally, it is an abuse of power.’ He could get behind that if it were about anyone else, for some reason, just not himself.
His boyfriend, on the other hand, had been pretty pissed off, and told him, ‘Even if you didn't feel violated, and gave your consent, it was still professional misconduct. She was higher in power at that moment, and she took advantage of it.’
He gets that, he understands it completely, he merely found it extreme to be viewed as assault at first, even though he was a very willing participant. Thinking back at it, the more he does so, he seems to be agreeing with both his captain and boyfriend, though, admittedly, he did have an obsession with sleeping around— and he certainly hadn't let go of that idealisation and obsession when it happened. Emotionally harmful, definitely, she was supposed to help him through his problems, not let her, to be blunt, fuck it out of him.
“Hey, baby.”
The soft and sleepy voice cuts him out of his thoughts, his heart blooming, and he briefly pictures them a couple of years away from now, Christopher more grown up than he already is, and maybe a daughter. Eddie tips his head towards Buck, lips slightly tugging up. To be fair, he looks incredibly exhausted, hair ruffled and a little curly at the ends, but the smile never fades.
“Hey,” Buck whispers as another car passes by.
Eddie reaches for his hand, squeezing it, before he tugs, “I can’t fall back asleep without you. Come back to bed.”
And maybe, just maybe, this isn't so bad after all.
*
When they're back in bed around thirty minutes later, Buck lets the warmth wrap around him. Both from the thick duvet and Eddie’s arm which is tightly wrapped around his waist, practically holding on for dear life. He bites on his tongue to not let a joke slip, probably something along the lines of: ‘I won’t disappear again,’ but it sounds more serious than light-hearted, and he doesn't want to ruin the moment, so he swallows it.
Eddie’s grip on Buck’s waist tightens, tugging him closer against his front, his head curling up against his shoulder. “Honey,” he mumbles, lips pressed against the warmth of Buck’s shoulder.
A hum. Sleepy and effortless.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Yeah.”
Minutes pass, clock keeps ticking, tension remains, the ceiling multiplies, but it doesn't seem to change, no matter how long Buck appears to stare at it.
“Honey?”
Eddie looks for a lot of things to hold onto when he stares down at his boyfriend, now sitting up on the bed. Discomfort, a twitch of the jaw, a furrow of an eyebrow, a faint blush dusting over the freckled cheeks. He's left with nothing but a glassy-eyed look. Out of it, lost in a haze. Louder and firmer this time, “Evan?”
He eventually blinks, pupils returning to their normal size, pink cheeks becoming more visible, the colour slowly returning to his face.
A shake of the head, but Eddie isn't frustrated, he never is. Even if he was, he wouldn't let it show, “Are you okay?”
A nod. Silence, a car passes by the house, a dog is howling outside, and worlds are clashing together when Buck reaches up to connect their lips. Sloppy due to tiredness, yet eager, partially exhilarated. This might be their thing, after all, every small thing turning into something bigger.
Big eyes, dilated pupils, wandering hands, messy hair, and lovesick smiles. Breathless promises and confessions, Eddie’s fingertips lingering over scars, longer than they should, longer than is deemed appropriate and comfortable. Acceptance, letting go, becoming one. Every touch of his hands is worshipful. No time to wonder whether it makes Buck want to cry or lose himself in the feeling.
Moments pass, clothes get lost, sheets get tangled, muffling noises by using the pillow, fingers interlocked at all times, never, not once letting go. Both panting, one a little harder than the other, Eddie breathes out an unbalanced, “I love you.”
One last slow movement of the hips, one last kiss, head being tilted back for eye contact, and every emotion Buck has ever known comes oozing out, “I love you too. I— ah, I love you so much, Eds.”
***
When Buck turned fifteen, he broke his arm. No words of reassurance, no hug or pat on the shoulder. All he got was an ultimatum on how he never thought about the consequences of his actions. He couldn't seem to grasp the difference between right and wrong anymore, considering he had been growing more reckless lately, but surely, this hadn't all been on him.
When Buck was fifteen years old, his mother told him she would rather have another dead child instead— that’s when he tuned her out, since whatever that had meant, had made her go all teary-eyed in a way he didn't quite grasp.
(When he went to sleep that night, he let the happy memories that never really ensued take over his mind.)
(He felt like he deserved that.)
‘Not everyone will consistently give and give.’
‘You can't live up to everyone's expectations.’
‘You don’t owe them anything.’
But what did he owe himself?
At fifteen years old, Buck convinced himself that maybe one day it wouldn't be so complicated anymore. Maybe one day it wouldn't be so hard to think of all the love he might’ve gotten if things had gone differently.
‘I love you.’
(I want to love you, but I can’t.)
(At least not yet.)
***
Buck is comfortably thrown half on top of Eddie, face shamelessly hidden in his neck, nuzzling into it like he's a cat. Meanwhile, Eddie’s fingers are slowly caressing Buck’s arms. Now and then, very subtly, they slide over his wrist. Old, faded and jagged scars are felt, but not necessarily seen. All that remains is a reminder, something reassuring, a thumping heart.
Present.
Alive.
Real.
“Hey,” Eddie whispers, voice slightly more hoarse than usual. “Did you know that you're extremely beautiful?”
All Buck can do is snort, even if his cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink, “You remind me now and then, yeah.”
Eddie smiles, small and sweet, more private than usual. He shakes his head, nose nuzzling against Buck’s temple, “Mhm. Seriously, though. You’re beautiful.”
As he wants to open his mouth, make a light-hearted joke, and swat at his boyfriend, Eddie goes on, “And there is nothing wrong with you. If anything, it’s brave. It’s brave how you get up in the morning, even when your heart is aching and even when life gets chaotic and confusing. It’s brave how you continue to love and how you lay yourself bare for me, despite the way you were treated in the past. More so, the lack thereof. You keep going, and you fight, and you move forward every single day. That’s a choice. That is what makes you strong,” he shifts, pulling back so they can look each other in the eye. “Even if you don't feel it, peace surrounds you. You are not your loneliness, or your thoughts, or the quietness that used to eat you alive, or what you went through in the past.”
“Then what am I?”
“You are what you love, Buck,” Eddie fiercely responds. If he was able to reach inside his chest, slash his heart out, hold it in the palm of his hand and surrender, he would. He would do it a thousand times over. “And you love so many delicate and esteemed things. That is who you are. And you can't forget it—”
“Eds,” Buck interrupts, a lonesome tear dribbling down his cheek.
‘Even if you don't feel it, leave surrounds you.’
“You don't have to say anything, sweetheart. I only wanted you to know, I guess.”
Even if Buck was able to find the words he was looking for, he's certain they still wouldn't be enough. The only thing he's able to do is nod dumbly, blond strands of hair falling onto his forehead, and he doesn't bother trying to wipe his tears away. “Can you—” a strangled noise escapes his lips. “Please. Can you just hold me?”
Eddie gathers all the courage he has left, nods his head in return, and it’s truly that easy.
‘I love you,’ is a whisper they both convey.
*
Buck whispers a pathetic, “Will you stay?” later that night. It’s bizarre how he's in a place he considers home, yet the words take him back, and all of a sudden he's thirteen years old again.
When Eddie says, “Always,” in response to his question, it’s the first time in Buck’s life that he believes it.
When he wakes up the next morning to a face hidden in his neck, an arm loosely hanging from his waist, and the sheets tangled between their legs, he isn't entirely surprised.
How strange is that? Getting used to the very notion he had loathed when he was younger, but only this time, he liked getting used to it not being a lie.
***
Exactly four months after Buck turned sixteen, he ran away from home for the first time. It had started with him skipping school more often lately, and then he got unfortunate enough to crash his motorcycle. Nothing in his life could ever go according to plan, but the hope never withered, and for the first time in his life, the consequences of his actions were positive.
“Mads?” Buck whispered, his eyes— despite being beyond blurry and his head feeling dizzy— followed the familiar figure that stood in front of him. His eyesight was truly horrendous, and he couldn't imagine how awful he must've looked in that moment.
All because he crashed his fucking motorcycle.
He graciously disregarded that part.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, Buck,” Maddie her voice hadn't changed over the span of a few years, all that had changed was the fact that it was quieter now. Wildly quiet, but thick. The quietness he had been used to, an insane amount of emotion laced onto her tone, it was enough to make him shudder.
All he could do was look at her in return. For a teenager with so much to say, he remained strangely silent. Everything he had ever told her, everything he had ever wanted to tell her, she took it with her when she left. Now he had nothing left to say. Weird how that worked. How he had put so much effort into not blaming her for leaving, and even that didn't work out the way he wanted to.
“Buck, I'm—”
“Sorry?”
When he was thirteen, Maddie held his hands in hers, she held him as if her heart was solely beating for him. When he was thirteen, he might've believed her.
Now he was sixteen, and all he could do was sigh at the familiar gesture. It didn't feel nearly as warm as it used to, and even if it did, it was a bare touch that seared. Perhaps it had lost all its meaning years ago, he couldn't be sure.
Maddie looked down at their hands, “I’m not going to apologise,” she started, which he found fairly rich. “I know I left, and I know I should've called, and I can't tell you why I did that.”
He gaped at her, and she quickly shushed him, “Just yet. I will tell you everything the moment I feel—”
He couldn't help himself, he squeezed her hands, “The moment you feel what, Mads?”
She swallowed, her eyes darted around the room, “The moment I feel safe. The moment I am safe I will tell you all about it, and I hope that you’ll understand why I did the things that I did,” she smiled at him, and all his worries disappeared for a second. “I hope that you’ll come to the conclusion that I didn't always have a choice, but that I did try my best.”
She took his face in her hands and traced the birthmark with her finger, “I’m proud of you, Evan. I raised you well.”
He leaned into the touch, because he had never been strong enough to resist, and continued to close his eyes. It was there one moment, gone the next, and it felt like home nonetheless. As if a soft summer breeze flew through the window.
“It was really goddamn hard, you know,” he mumbled through the raging headache and blurry eyes.
“What was?”
“Trying to hold on to something that wasn't real,” he cleared his throat as he uncomfortably looked around the hospital room. “You never said goodbye, so I always assumed you'd come back. Clearly, I was wrong.”
She quickly wiped her tears away, “I’m here now. I know it’s not enough, but I—”
It isn’t. It’s never going to be enough. You left me there, Maddie, you—
He didn't end up replying, and she didn't bother finishing her sentence.
At sixteen years old he realised that loving his sister was particularly lonely sometimes. He wondered how it was possible to both love and hate someone at the same time.
‘I love you.’
(I want to love you, but I can't.)
(At least not yet.)
***
“I’m telling you, it’s true,” Eddie huffs in frustration, even if most of it is meant in a teasing manner. His arms are making overly dramatic gestures, and Buck’s lost in a trance. The argument about a specific movie has been going on for the last twenty minutes. It was getting ridiculous, but everyone found too much pleasure in it to stop.
Hen’s lips quirk up, “I believe you, Eddie.” He lets out a deep breath as if to say thank you, before she goes on with, “Although…”
“Hen!” Eddie grunts in betrayal. “Traitor.”
Chimney's mouth drops open. He barks out a loud laugh and high-fives Hen with way too much eagerness, “It’s all right, man. Just admit you're wrong.”
At this point, Eddie’s given up, so he drops back onto the couch with a grunt, looking at his friend with amusement in his eyes, “You weren't here a second ago. That automatically makes your opinion irrelevant to me.”
Buck is aware he's been awfully quiet throughout this entire debate, but the noise of his friends talking and laughing easily fades into his mind as background noise. It’s comforting, in a way, to feel so at home with a group of people. A sense of belonging washes over him, and at this point, he's zoning out, so—
"Buckaroo?"
He looks up and sees the three of them staring at him. Hen is looking at him with a hint of fondness, Chimney nudges his shin with his foot, and Eddie bumps his shoulder against his. Not long later, there's a hand resting on top of his thigh, fingers spread widely, soothing movements with the thumb, and the heat floods right through the fabric of his pants.
Eddie goes on, and Chimney groans, wiping a hand across his face. “I’m telling you, the movie is about accepting others who are different. It includes friendship, loyalty, courage and selflessness.”
Hen’s eyes gloss over, a soft look covering the entirety of her pupils, and it won’t be a surprise if she’s thinking of Denny.
“Honestly, Chim, you should watch it just so you can come to the conclusion that you are the exact opposite of selflessness.”
“Low blow, man. Really low blow,” Chimney laughs, head falling back and all, his hands falling to his legs.
Buck chuckles, huffing out a breath, “Eddie’s right. Chris watched the movie, what? How many times now?”
“Three times, give or take,” Eddie proposes.
“Mhm. There is a plot and a story behind it, but it’s kind of hard to find or focus on because you're so invested in the movie itself. You’ve got to dig deeper into it.”
Eddie has a bright smile on his face, the pure look of victory, since Buck’s opinion is the only one that matters, apparently. He leans in close enough so he can press a soft kiss to his cheek.
Chimney groans as he sees the two teaming up again, “He’s a kid. What movie are we even talking about?”
“I’m sorry that our son is simply smarter than you are,” Eddie retorts.
“E.t.,” Hen fills in.
“E.t. are you kidding me? We discussed the movie e.t.? This is a joke.”
The rest of the evening is filled with laughter, comfortable jokes, and everything is the way it’s supposed to be.
*
“Our son?”
Eddie glances at him, not surprised that Buck asked the question they left the apartment. He thought it would take him until they got into the car, but it didn't. A gentle, adoring glint sparks in his eyes, and he slowly nods his head, “Yeah,” Eddie manages, trying to stay upbeat, comforting, delicate.
“You’ve always been his father, Buck,” he goes on, not giving the blond rendered speechless man a moment to interfere. “He comes to you when he's sad. When something’s wrong and I'm busy, he calls you. When I'm having a fucking breakdown, he calls you. You’re not just his legal guardian in case I die, you’re his father. We do this together, we've been doing so for years now. You’ve been looking at him like he was your own since the moment you met him— don't think I didn't notice how entranced you looked when you said he was a great kid.”
A choked-out laugh, a muffled sob, a kiss to the forehead, and a lingering touch to the cheek. “Well, he is a great kid,” Buck pathetically tries to argue.
“I don't want you to be afraid anymore, Evan. He’s yours. Just like he's mine. He’s our son.”
Convulsing, breathing heavily, real. This is real, warmth. Moderately cautious, scared, reluctant, fearful. It melts away. Happiness, joy, elated. Love. Limitless. Constant. Infinite. His heart is whacking against his chest, thump thump thump, and then it’s ringing in his ears.
“I love you,” Buck breathes out, feeling much lighter than he's felt in the last couple of weeks. He doesn't only say it because he means it, he says it like every part of him will slowly wither away if he doesn't. He needs love to breathe, he needs—
A fleeting kiss on the lips, barely there, barely enough to call a kiss on its own.
“I love you and Chris so much, Eds,” another whisper, another flow of sincere words and feelings. “I love the two of you so incredibly much.”
A kiss to both his cheeks, his nose, forehead, and lips, “I know, honey,” a moment of silence. Another beat passes, “We love you as well,” a kiss to his birthmark. It lingers, a hand cupping the back of his head to keep him close.
After all this time, the touch doesn't burn anymore. He’s able to lean into it knowing it’ll stay. For the first time in his life, love is going to stay, and it’s going to love him back.
For the first time in his life, he isn't afraid to let it in.
***
“What did you do?”
A screech, a shriek, a twinge of discomfort in his ears. What didn't he do?
He looked up with half-lidded eyes, chest aching, and eyesight blurry. Two of everything, eyelids fluttered shut and opened again. An empty bottle still in the palm of his hands, the bathroom floor cold and suffocating. Sterile, white walls, gagging, a full stomach, then it’s empty, the suffocating feeling remains.
I love you.
He owed himself more than this. Everyone finds reassurance in something, it’s a way to cope, but tragic things happen and there won't be a reason for it. Sometimes there's no reason why something occurred. Occasionally, things will be so indescribable that it just happens. Things happen, and there's nothing you can do about it.
Tears streamed down his face, his body slumped against the wall, knees pulled up against his chest, and all of a sudden they were flat on the floor. Hands shaking from fear, unable to breathe. Regret, worry, scared, weak, remorseful.
Yelling, a call of a name, his, then his father’s. His mother’s eyes, was it worry, or anger? A cold hand on his cheek, a pat, a light slap so his eyes would stay open. Desperate, rushed. “Stop,” he forced out, weak, inaudible, it was garbled, impossible to understand.
Eyes closed, heart heavy, and all he saw was Maddie. The coldness disappeared, and he immediately felt lighter.
At seventeen years old he realised that everything he had ever done hadn't been good enough. The thought of it staying that way forever terrified him.
‘I love you.’
(I want to love you, but I can't.)
(At least not yet.)
***
“Sorry for waking you up,” Buck says, voice light, blue eyes focused. The porch light shines warmly on his face, a blush coating his cheeks.
Eddie shakes his head, moving to sit down next to him on the porch, “None of that,” he presses a kiss onto Buck’s cheek, a hand on the back of his neck. “Everything okay? You’ve been restless today.”
A nod of the head, but it doesn't seem too convincing. They both know it. Five minutes tick by in silence, “Do you, ah, do you remember,” he harshly swallows. “You know that call we got earlier today?”
Eddie looks at him, gaze intent, soft, yes, but intent nonetheless. “There were quite a few, baby,” he points out.
The moonlight reflects down on the street, lighting up the entire neighbourhood. The stars are visible in the sky, and the atmosphere is tense, on Buck’s behalf.
Eddie’s brows are furrowed, body unrelaxed, fingers repeatedly (and quite aggressively, might he add) thumping against his thighs. His mind is working overtime, until it clicks, “Is this about the kid’s attempt? Because he survived—”
Slow at first, then all at once. A gasp, a slouch of the shoulders, a sniffle. A flood neither of them expected to follow, an inaudible cry. It isn't loud by any means, it never has been when it comes to Buck, it’s simply heavy.
An arm wrapped around said slouched shoulders, lips pressed against blond hair, comforting words flowing out. Come on, breathe. Hey, hey, it’s all right, just—
A sigh of relief, breathing pattern returning to its average ritual. Love, gentle and gracious. Whispered words, hesitant explanations, when I was seventeen—
Watery eyes, compassion, a lot of sorrow. A nod of the head now and then, moments of silence while explaining, kisses to the temple when tentative. No shame or judgment, no doubt on the other side, only warmth. Genuine questions: can you tell me why? How’d that happen? How are you feeling now? Want to talk some more about that? Followed by dedicated statements: take your time. Don’t rush. It’s okay. You’re strong.
It ends with a whisper, a crack of the voice, “I’m sorry I didn't tell you sooner.”
“You don't have to apologise,” is immediately thrown back at him, steady and firm. “Don't ever apologise for not being ready.”
A nod, a squeeze of the back of his neck, another kiss to his hair. Foreheads resting together, noses touching, wiping each other’s tears away. Huddling closer together for warmth, and possibly consolation, fingers entwined. A brush over the knuckles, a kiss placed on the back of his hand.
“It’s okay,” Eddie tells him, tugging him impossibly closer, trying to give his boyfriend the reassurance he needs. He’d be lying if he said he didn't need it, too. “You’re okay. We’re okay. And— and if we’re not, then we will be. We’ll be all right.”
We’ll be all right.
A voice in his head says that he deserves this.
Funnily enough, he's starting to believe it.
***
Once Buck turned eighteen, he ran away for good.
Maddie picked him up, already knowing he was going to ask her to come with. Begged, quite frankly, even said please at the end. Desperate, wide searching eyes, but she still said no.
A bunch of I’m sorry’s and a few be safe’s, and for once, he didn't let it dim his hope. He hadn't even officially left yet, and life already felt brighter. So, he hugged her, let her kiss his cheek in return, and he went on his way.
At eighteen years old, Buck finally felt like he was going to be able to breathe again, even if it wasn't with his sister next to him.
At eighteen years old, Buck promised himself that he would run and never look back.
To new hopes and new beginnings, he silently cheered.
‘I wanted to love you but I couldn't.’
(He knew that now.)
***
If he told people that loving Eddie was easy, it would be a lie. After a while, it got easier, sure, but how much can you truly love a person when you were never taught how to?
At the beginning, it often felt like a messy journey. Everyone, time and time again, had everything figured out, and he didn't. Distressed, troubled, low-spirited. Hidden tears, shaky hands, sleepless nights, bottling up a lot of feelings, constantly afraid it’d end in heartbreak or a broken promise.
What used to be intense, turned to something calm. Secure. Hidden smiles (after a compliment, the slip of words: ‘my son’ turning into ‘our son’), shaky hands (this time due to nerves before a date night, or before reaching out for a kiss), sleepless nights (constantly mulling over the other man’s smile, oh, how terribly sweet and private it is, and it’s all for him, and him alone), having long conversations (both about their feelings and the future, both remain terrifying but it doesn't feel as scary to open up anymore), taking the promises to heart (because he believes them now, knowing they won't be broken).
Loving Eddie was terrifying and lovely all the same. Loving Eddie was learning that he could be loved too.
***
Maddie let out an expressive chuckle, her hand resting on top of his, the other encircling her cup of coffee. It’s a ceramic mug, the thick kind, a bunch of aristocrats drawn onto it in a theatrical technique. “Be selfish. For once in your life, be selfish and take the risk, Evan,” was the first thing she told him, brought the mug up to her lips, then placed it back down. “He looks at you like you're his world, you deserve that. Let someone make you believe in love again. This is what you owe to yourself. You need to do this for yourself.”
Buck stared at his sister, a pang of dissatisfaction went straight through his heart, and as he let the words settle, he slid his chair right next to hers, and wrapped his arms around her, “I will.”
She let out a wet chuckle, placed her hand on his back, and held him awfully close to her. If they both thought the same thing, they did a tremendous job at not allowing it to slip, “Good,” she sniffled. Pressed a kiss to his cheek and said, “Finding a guy and tiptoeing around each other for years is so in character for you.”
Buck groaned, then laughed, loud and full of life, then pulled back from the hug. She, too, had a smile on her face. Both of them softened. Loud laughter turned into faint chuckles, hands remained interlocked, and wide smiles transformed into gentle ones.
“I love you,” Buck told her.
Maddie's chest beamed with tenderness, “I love you too, Buck. So much. I always have.”
He nodded once, immediately and confidently. A few years ago, he would've hesitated. Now, he doesn't seem to think twice about it, “I know.”
‘I love you, I always have.’
(He knew that now.)
***
Rings on both ring fingers, left hand, fingers entwined, people laughing, hugs and kisses being shared, people clapping, toasts being said. Hand on shoulder, hand on waist, foreheads pressed together, slow rhythm, music filling the air, a twirl (which they both find beyond silly), laughter follows.
A soft kiss here, a sloppy one there. A squeeze of his shoulder, a pat on the back, a ruffle of his hair, a pat on the cheek.
Buck looks up at the sky sometime throughout the evening, gaze wandering, steadily focused on the stars, the atmosphere light. He doesn't believe there's something up there, has never truly thought it through, but if there is— he bows his head, thank you, he wants to say. Thank you for making me able to love. It’s the best thing I've ever done.
Hands empty, heart full, light, twinkling, sparkling, buzzing with unspent energy. Head empty and light, not a doubt in the world, every ounce of tension driven away from his mind. Thoughts remain healthy, positive, joyful, and even. He’s never felt this consistent about anything.
What used to be empty is now full, too much of it, he's afraid it might spill over. Everyone is there to pick up the broken pieces and stitch him back together when required.
“There’s one thing they missed, you know,” Eddie tells him, lips pressed against his ear, head slightly bent, pulling closer so they can hear one another over the sound of laughter belonging to their guests.
“What’s that?”
His nose is nudged against Eddie’s, eyes half-lidded, lips a soft red colour, already barely swollen, chests pressed together. Lips are being pressed together, compatible and sturdy. Eyes closed, fully leaning into each other. Parting just a little, tongue slipping inside, tentatively tonguing.
Lips disconnecting from one another, foreheads stay pressed together, cheeks flushed with a soft pink hue, pupils only slightly dilated, full of emotion.
“Your heart. They missed your heart.”
***
‘I love you.’
(I want to love you, but I can't.)
(At least not yet.)
‘I wanted to love you but I couldn't.’
(He knew that now.)
‘I love you, I always have.’
(He knew that now.)