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“Come on, Buck! You can’t leave now,” Chimney heckled from across the tall table they were all crowded around, “you haven’t even done a song!”
Buck ducked his head, huffing out a laugh. “That’s because I’m terrible at karaoke, Chim.”
“That’s what makes it so much fun for me,” Chim replied, his wicked-half smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. Maddie, tucked under one of Chim’s arms, smiled at her brother and put a hand to her mouth conspiratorially.
“He already put your name down,” she stage-whispered. Chim continued to grin at him across the sticky table.
“Fine,” Buck groaned, throwing his head back dramatically, “but you better have put me down for a Carly Rae song, Chim.” As he lowered his head, he glanced at Eddie, who was already looking back at him. His eyes were warm, but he looked entirely unimpressed. Buck raised a silent eyebrow in question, but Eddie just let out a quiet laugh, and shook his head. Buck jerked his head towards the bar, another silent question, and Eddie nodded. They both stood, and Maddie started laughing. She waved a hand at Buck’s confused expression.
“It’s just – that silent language you two have. It’s so weird to watch.”
Buck snorted at the same time Eddie did, Maddie devolving back into giggles. “It’s not any weirder than your extensive eyebrow language you have with Chim.”
“That,” Chim said, punctuating his statement with a pointed finger, “is not true. The way we talk,” he said, gesturing with a hand between himself and Maddie, “is completely normal, serious relationship behavior. Whatever you guys have is like some kind of mind meld.”
“It sounds like he’s jealous,” Eddie teased, looking at Buck with a grin.
“Definitely,” Buck agreed, mock-serious.
“Definitely not,” Chim quipped back, “at least we’re engaged.”
Buck looked between them, as his sister smiled her wide and joyful smile, and couldn’t help the way his own smile mirrored hers before he registered what Chim had said.
“Wait, what does that have to do with anything?” he asked.
“Buck,” Eddie said, recalling his attention, “want to help me with these drinks? Everyone want another round?” Everyone nodded, and Buck followed Eddie to the bar, plastering himself to Eddie’s side, letting the crowd serve as his excuse for proximity. As they stood, waiting for their turn with the bartender, Eddie slung an easy arm around Buck’s middle, and pulled him impossibly closer. He dipped his mouth to Buck’s ear, and Buck had to repress a shiver.
“You don’t have to stay, Buck.” His voice was soft, impossibly gentle. “You look dead on your feet.”
“Rude,” Buck said, a quiet protest. Eddie smiled.
“You covered Ramieriz’s shift today, and we work the day after next. You should go home if you’re tired. Chim’ll understand.”
Buck knew he shouldn’t be surprised at Eddie’s care, that he should expect, after so many proofs, that Eddie would know his schedule; could look at him for a second and know exactly the way Buck felt. That Eddie cared enough to bring it up to Buck at all — that was what still knocked Buck sideways. Buck let it, and sank further into Eddie’s side, comforted, as always, in the ways that Eddie held him up.
“I know,” he admitted, “but I’ll stay for one more song. It’ll make Chim and Maddie happy.”
Eddie swayed gently sideways, knocking their hips together. “You should do things that make you happy, too.”
It was too much, suddenly, those words and this touch and the man next to him that was letting him have all of them so easily. Like they already belonged to Buck. He straightened a little, trying to remind himself of what he was allowed to have, when it came to the things that made him happy.
“Singing Carly will make me happy, Eddie.” Eddie snorted, loudly, before turning his attention to the bartender who was ready to take their order.
And it did. Singing along off-key but enthusiastically to Go Find Yourself or Whatever made him happy, and seeing his sister and Chimney cheer and egg him on made him happy, and Eddie staying out with them until Buck finally insisted that he had to go home made him happy. He let himself lean into Eddie’s freely offered touch, because that made him happy, too — and if he knew that tomorrow he would worry about the amount he let himself take, that was something that, for tonight, he would leave for future Buck to deal with. He left the bar an hour later, Eddie at his side, with a pleasant twinge in his stomach and a less pleasant scratch in his throat, and he let himself fall asleep, alone in his loft, with a smile on his face.
The next morning, future Buck was furiously annoyed with past Buck.
“Fuck,” he rasped out when he had regained consciousness, only to find that his itchy throat had developed into a full-blown sore throat. He took a swig from the glass of water on his nightstand, his swallow painful and rough around tonsils that felt like golf balls. He checked his clock — it was well past 10, much later than he usually let himself sleep in, and the mid-morning sun hit him in his eyes like it was mad that he gave half the day to last night. His head was pounding, and the rest of his body ached in that specific way that being sick always felt. Like his skin was too tight and painful, throbbing with each pump of his heart.
He took stock of the day ahead of him — thankful that he had no plans, and decided he would take the day to stay in bed and rest, and hopefully feel well enough by tomorrow to push through his shift. Buck was used to getting colds often; he was the very image of health in most ways, but, for whatever reason, he tended to fall sick a few times every year, no matter what he did. He was used to it, and made a point to never complain about it, never calling out from work unless he thought he might be contagious. He sat in his bed, gathering the stamina to get up and shower off the copious amounts of sweat making his skin sticky, when he heard a knock on the door, quickly followed by the sound of a key in the tumbler.
“Buck?” Eddie’s voice drifted up the stairs.
“Ugh,” Buck groaned concisely from the sweat-soaked spot on his bed. He listened to Eddie shuffling around the entryway, and could picture each of Eddie’s movements. He would toe off his shoes without bending down, left foot and then right. He would move into the kitchen, dropping his keys on the island, and drop a bag of food that he picked up on his way over. Even though Buck had no idea why Eddie was here this morning, he heard the confirmation of his predictable movements like a soothing symphony, and he already felt just the tiniest bit better. Buck heard the next movement — Eddie’s soft step on the stairs — and let himself fall back into his pillows.
“I’m sick,” Buck said, eyes closed, when he could sense Eddie reached the loft.
“I can see that,” Eddie said, a quiet laugh in his voice that did nothing to cover up the fondness. Buck cracked open one eye to look at his best friend.
“What’re you doing here?” Buck asked.
“I thought you might need some provisions,” Eddie replied, and gestured over his shoulder, “I brought pozole.”
Buck let both of his eyes open, surprised. “Pozole? Did you make it?”
“Of course,” Eddie shrugged, a slight hitch of shoulders.
“But you only ever make that when Chris is sick. Wait,” Buck said, propping himself up on his elbows, “how did you know I was sick? I didn’t even know I was sick until like, three minutes ago.” Eddie shoved his hands in his jean pockets, and Buck watched with interest as the faintest of flushes made its way across Eddie’s cheekbones.
“I just had a hunch.”
“Well, if we pair these newfound psychic abilities with my math abilities, we should be able to win some lottery tickets.”
Eddie laughed. “I thought those had disappeared?”
“Eh,” Buck said, weakly waving a hand, “we could probably still win at scratchers.” They stared at each other a moment, the silence almost awkward, before Buck started coughing. Eddie moved forward instantaneously, his expression morphing into one of concern, a hand outstretched.
“I don’t have a fever,” Buck said, correctly interpreting Eddie’s movements as the back of his hand landed on Buck’s forehead.
“Ew,” Eddie muttered, wiping the sweat from Buck’s forehead on his pants, before reaching in and pulling out his phone. He quickly typed something before depositing it back into his pocket. “You should shower, it’ll make you feel better. Do you think you can manage that on your own?”
“Yes, dad,” Buck replied sardonically, “I’m not an invalid.”
“Says the man currently coughing germs into my face. You look like death warmed up.”
Buck sat up fully, firmly ignoring the way that it made the room swim around him. “You should go home, Eddie,” his gut churning with guilt, “I don’t want to get Chris sick.” Instead of listening to this prudent advice, Eddie sat down gingerly on the edge of Buck’s bed, and placed a hand on Buck’s thigh. Fevered or not, Buck swore he could feel the heat of that hand even through the layers of sheets and blankets.
“Christopher is staying at his abuela’s for the next couple nights, he’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Buck replied after a moment, his brain feeling sluggish, “but I don’t want you to get sick, either.”
Eddie smiled at him, all warmth, and Buck felt something fizzing drop into his stomach that did nothing to quell the nausea. “It’s okay. I already told Bobby that you weren’t going to make it in tomorrow, and I’m taking a sick day.”
“Wait. What? Eddie,” he said, his voice pleading.
“It’s already done,” Eddie replied, his tone light but brooking no argument. Buck, always one for looking a gift horse in the mouth, soldiered on.
“I’m fine, I swear. I don’t need the Buck up Buck Brigade.”
“Sure,” Eddie said easily, “and I don’t need to suffer through another Buck is sick but refuses to take a sickday day. It’s fine,” he went on, clocking Buck’s distressed expression immediately, “I could use a day off.”
“It’s not exactly a day off, if you’re hanging out here and catching whatever I have.”
“I want to,” Eddie said. Buck swallowed, roughly, nothing to do with his swollen tonsils.
“Okay,” Buck said.
“Okay,” Eddie agreed, rising from the bed and offering a hand to Buck. “So get in the shower, and I’ll get the food ready.”
Buck took his hand, and figured if could let the excuse of him being sick allow another day of accepting Eddie’s touches, he would take it.
Buck turned the water up as hot as he could stand, and stood under the spray until his skin was pink all over and his fingertips started to prune. Hot water always made him feel better, but by the time he wrapped himself in a towel and slowly shuffled back into his bedroom, he felt more sick than ever. At some point during his shower, Eddie had been upstairs again, and laid out his favorite pair of sweats that Buck knew had been living at the Diaz’s house for months. There was an LAFD shirt, too, one that was too thin from too many washes that had a Diaz emblazoned across the back, and a blister pack of cold medicine on the table next to his water glass. Buck shivered, a fever probably now setting in, and felt ridiculously like he might cry.
After putting on the clean clothes and taking some medicine, he dragged his comforter off his bed, and draped it around his shoulders. As he walked slowly down the stairs, Eddie turned from where he was standing over the stove. As Buck drew closer, he could finally smell the soup through his stuffed up sinuses and felt a wave of fresh nausea wash over him. Eddie took one look at him, and before Buck could try to muster up the strength to sit and force down a bowl of soup, Eddie was stepping around the island and close to Buck again.
“Go lay down,” Eddie said, and correctly surmising exactly how Buck was feeling, went on, “the food will be here when you’re hungry.” He gently turned Buck around, and pushed him towards the couch. Once Buck was settled into the soft cushions, Eddie tucked the comforter around his massive frame, and turned on the nature documentary Buck had been in the middle of, the volume turned down low.
“I’m gonna eat some of this,” he said, “but I’ll be right back.”
Buck hadn’t managed to utter a single word in this interaction, and he simply nodded, swallowing painfully. He turned to face the tv, getting as comfortable as he could, and watched Eddie return to the kitchen, his blinks slowing as sleep already threatened to pull him under. He was almost out again when he felt rather than heard Eddie’s presence return to the couch. He squinted an eye open to find Eddie standing by his head, a folded washcloth in his hands.
“Where does it hurt?” Eddie asked, faintly teasing.
“Everywhere, jerk. Sit down,” Buck managed, propping himself on an elbow, making space for Eddie. Eddie glanced between his hands and the small space on the couch for a moment too long. “Please,” Buck rasped out, and Eddie huffed out an amused breath.
“You’re so pushy when you’re sick,” he said, maneuvering himself into a sitting position.
“Am not,” Buck protested weakly, and dropped his head heavily onto Eddie’s thighs, “just like bossing you around.”
“Because this is the only time I’ll listen to you?”
“Mmm,” Buck hummed intelligently, his eyes already closed again. After a moment, Eddie draped the cool cloth across his forehead, and Buck drifted towards unconsciousness. Just before he fell asleep again, Eddie repositioned the cloth to a cool side, and combed his fingers through Buck’s hair to get it out of the way. Buck let out a contented sigh, unable to do anything else, and dimly noticed an intake of breath above him. Eddie repeated the motion a second later, and Buck couldn’t remember ever feeling so comforted, flu be damned. A second later, he was asleep.
He woke again, several hours later, judging by the golden shafts of light from what looked to be a beautiful summer afternoon. His head was still pillowed in Eddie’s lap, the apartment quiet save for the sound of Eddie’s breathing. He heard a page turn above him, and glanced up, turning his head gingerly. Eddie was halfway through the book that Buck had left on his end table – Pleasure Activism – and Buck just watched another minute as Eddie read.
“I didn’t think that would really be your speed,” Buck whispered, his voice unused and rough. He smirked as Eddie jumped, minutely, before setting the book down.
“You feeling any better?” he asked, and Buck’s stomach let out a loud rumble. Eddie laughed and put a hand on Buck’s forehead. “You still have a fever, but let me get some soup, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Buck murmured, and pushed himself up into a seated position to let Eddie stand up and stretch. Eddie ambled into the kitchen, and Buck let himself stare out the window, his thoughts fuzzy and disjointed. Before he was gone long enough for Buck to miss him, Eddie was setting two bowls of pozole down on the coffee table, and handed Buck more medicine and a glass of water, which Buck took gratefully. He settled next to Buck again, and passed him a bowl. They ate in silence for a few minutes, each sip of the warm liquid making Buck feel a little more awake, a little less like death.
“Sorry I slept on you so long,” Buck said into the silence, “you must have been bored.”
“Buck,” Eddie exhaled, “I don’t mind, okay? I wasn’t bored. This book is pretty good, anyways.” Buck looked at him, another blush coloring his cheeks.
“It is good,” he agreed, letting only the faintest touch of teasing color his words. Another few moments passed as they finished their food, and Eddie gathered their dishes to take them to the sink, only to return to his exact position at the end of the couch.
“Do you want to stay down here, or go up to bed?” he asked, as if Buck would ever give up the chance to put his head in Eddie’s lap again. Instead of answering, Buck let himself collapse into Eddie again with a tired groan. Eddie laughed, fond and indulgent, and Buck wondered if he wasn’t the only one letting himself enjoy the proximity that Buck’s flu could excuse.
“This couch is much more comfortable than your last one,” Eddie said quietly above him.
“It’s too soft,” Buck admitted from inside his blanket cocoon, “and I don’t like the color.”
“Didn’t you pick this one out?” Eddie asked, some other unidentifiable question in his voice, “I guess it doesn’t really match.”
“Seemed like it did at the time,” Buck murmured. Eddie hummed from above him.
“Do you want to watch something?”
“Paddington 2,” Buck said immediately.
“Again?” Eddie laughed again.
“I’m sick, Eddie. And everyone agrees that Paddington is a masterpiece.” Eddie was already navigating the homescreen, and patted Buck’s head consolingly. He left his hand there, and Buck was, apparently, still letting himself want for things that he normally would never ask for.
“Can you keep…” his voice trailing off, uncertain how to put words to it. But, as always, Eddie didn’t need to know what he was asking for before able to give it, and started to run his hand softly through Buck’s hair. Buck made it through five minutes of the movie before he was asleep again.
He woke in the dark, the credits of the movie rolling, his head still in Eddie’s lap. He felt the low rumble of Eddie’s quiet snores above him, and felt like doing nothing more than rolling over, tucking his head into Eddie’s stomach, and going back to sleep. His shifting seemed to wake Eddie up, though, and he watched as Eddie blinked awake and looked down at him.
“Hey,” he said gently, his hand returning to Buck’s hair, “you feel better. I think the fever broke. We should get you to bed, you’ll be more comfortable.”
“‘M comfortable here,” Buck responded, “your legs are comfortable.”
“Sure they are, cowboy,” and Buck could hear the smile in his voice. “But you’ll sleep better in a bed.” Still, he made no move to get Buck up, and Buck took the darkness as a chance to be brave.
“Eddie?” he asked, “how did you really know I was sick?”
Eddie, surprising Buck, answered immediately. “Because you never say no, Buck, and then you always get sick.”
“What?” Buck asked, not expecting this answer at all. Eddie cleared his throat.
“Last night. You were exhausted and you wanted to go home, but Chim asked you to stay out, and you did.”
“‘Course I did,” Buck replied. Buck, used to giving pieces of himself to anyone who asked, was not following this logic.
“Of course you did,” Eddie agreed, “you always do.”
“And that makes me sick?” Buck asked, still confused.
“Sometimes,” Eddie said, and Buck tracked the movement of Eddie’s other hand scrubbing over his face in the dim light leaking in from the streetlamps. He let a heavy sigh escape through his nose. “You always say yes to everyone, and you never take yourself into account.”
“It was just a night out, Eddie,” Buck said, feeling strangely wrong-footed.
“It was just a night out,” Eddie agreed, staring somewhere past the tv, “after you covered an extra shift, after all the things you do for everyone on a daily basis. I just wish – I wish you’d be selfish sometimes.”
“This,” Buck said, untangling a hand from under his comforter and patting Eddie’s knee, “feels a little selfish.”
“It’s not, Buck, that’s the thing. I already told you I want to be here.”
“But why?” Buck asked, and Eddie didn’t answer. Buck let him have the silence, still feeling like he was asking for something that he couldn’t fathom the answer to. After a while, Eddie shifted.
“I just do, okay?” his voice so quiet in the darkness that Buck wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it. “Let’s get you to bed.” He helped Buck sit and then stand, putting a sure hand on Buck’s back and leading him up the stairs. He settled Buck back into bed, draping the sheets over him once again. He stood, once satisfied that Buck was comfortable, hands on his hips like he wasn’t quite sure what to do next.
“Will you stay?” Buck asked, feeling small and sick, a question he used to ask Maddie when they were young and she was the only person who cared for Buck, knowing suddenly and surely that he no longer lived in a world where he was so alone.
“Of course,” Eddie murmured, and moved to the dresser to pull out clothes for himself. He settled next to Buck, the distance between them in Buck’s large bed unwelcome and cold.
“Eddie,” Buck said, reaching towards him, letting his knuckles brush Eddie’s hip. “I always say yes when you ask me to do stuff, too.” Eddie turned slightly towards him, and put his hand over Buck’s, his touch light and hesitant.
“I know. But, I think, it’s different. Right?” Buck thought of all the things Eddie asked of him, and thought that asking was too much of an overstatement. Eddie asked him for things that Buck desperately wanted to give him, for things that gave Buck back everything he had ever wanted: he asked Buck to be a present part of Christopher’s life; He asked Buck to keep him company, to be a warm space when Eddie needed gentleness. He asked Buck to stay.
“It’s different,” Buck agreed, and he flipped his hand over under Eddie’s, grasping his wrist in a backwards-sort of hand hold. Eddie gripped his wrist back, a mirror of other touches they had shared, the strongest hold two hands could give. “It’s different,” he repeated, and let himself fall asleep once again.
The next morning was bright, and Buck felt almost back to normal, even with the lingering feeling of pain skirting around the edges of his skin. He was alone in his bed, but he could hear Eddie moving around the kitchen, the gurgling sound of the coffee machine drifting up into the loft. He checked his phone, completely neglected for the past 24 hours, and saw a long line of messages asking how he was feeling. As warm as the care made him feel, he turned his phone off, deciding his replies could wait. Something had shifted in him since the day before, a certainty settling in his stomach that had everything to do with the feeling of Eddie wanting to take up space in his loft. He got up, feeling much steadier on his feet, and walked downstairs.
“Morning,” Eddie greeted him, “you look better.”
“I feel better,” Buck agreed, nodding. “Did you make enough coffee for me, too?” Eddie snorted in response, apparently not deigning this question worthy of an answer. Buck understood the feeling.
“You’re still staying home today,” Eddie said, a finger pointed imperiously at Buck, “we’re going to make sure you’re actually better.” Buck lifted his hands in surrender, a smile poking at his cheeks.
The word home echoed around Buck’s head, and he spoke without thinking first. “Wish we were at your house.”
Eddie looked at him, a slightly bemused smile tugging at one side of his mouth. His hair was soft and fluffy, and Buck wanted nothing more than to cross the kitchen and touch it. “We can go over tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Buck agreed easily. He paused for a moment. “I was thinking about what you said yesterday, and I think you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” Eddie said, turning back towards the coffee and pulling two mugs out from the cabinet. He shot Buck a look over his shoulder. “But what was I right about, specifically?”
Buck snorted, his sinuses still a little blocked and making the sound snotty and disgusting. Eddie smiled wider, eyes fond, and Buck felt his stomach flip.
“About how I never say no to people.” Eddie raised his eyebrows and hummed. “I think I’m going to try more often.”
“Good,” Eddie said, sliding a cup of coffee into Buck’s empty hands. The heat from the cup warmed his palms; the way he could tell Eddie had doctored it exactly to Buck’s taste warmed the rest of him. Eddie settled at the stool next to him, taking a sip of his own coffee. “Do you want breakfast?”
“No,” Buck quipped back, and they both started laughing.
“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie said, pushing playfully at Buck’s shoulder.
“No, I know. But you were right about that, too.”
“What?”
“I never say no to you, either.” He took a steadying breath before taking a leap. “But I really, really, want to give you whatever you ask me for.”
“Yeah?” Eddie asked, timid and soft.
“Yeah,” Buck replied, “and I want to try asking for what I want, too.”
“What do you want, Buck?” Eddie asked, and Buck forced himself to meet Eddie’s eye. Buck moved his hand towards Eddie, pulling Eddie’s away from his mug and slipping his fingers in between Eddie’s. He gave Eddie a small smile, hoping to quell his own nerves. Eddie let out a quiet “oh,” before squeezing Buck’s fingers back.
“I really want you to kiss me.”
Buck watched in awe as all of the tension from Eddie’s shoulders dropped away, as he immediately leaned towards Buck. He pressed his lips to Buck’s, and Buck immediately pressed back, terrified and hopeful. The kiss stayed like that for a moment, until Eddie’s other hand grasped the back of Buck’s neck, pulling him closer. Buck sighed into it, letting his mouth drop open, and for a moment they stayed like that, lips moving, Buck melting into it. Eddie pulled back, too soon.
“Your breath is awful,” Eddie said, laughing delightedly at the affronted squawk Buck let out, but leaned in to press another close-lipped kiss to the corner of his mouth in apology.
“I am an invalid, Eddie,” Buck said, smiling and happy, “but I’ll go brush my teeth.”
Eddie’s hand was still on his neck, rubbing soft circles into his hair. “I’ll be waiting.”