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The exhaustion hits in the elevator. On an average day, half a basketball scrimmage and an emergency room visit wouldn’t take so much out of him, but right now, Eddie feels zapped. Not that his usual trips to the nearest hospital typically end with him on crutches.
Sighing, Eddie leans his shoulders against the wall of the elevator car, letting his head drop back with a hollow thunk. He watches the number display count up to the fourth floor, where the bell dings cheerfully and the doors slide open.
Mustering his energy and his pair of crutches, Eddie heaves himself out and down the corridor.
It’s not until he’s standing outside Buck’s door, patting down his pockets, that Eddie realizes he doesn’t have his loft key on him.
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling another long breath. Nothing can be easy. Gripping one crutch under his armpit, he raps his knuckles against Buck’s door, knocking incessantly as he listens to Buck tromp across the loft and unlock the deadbolt and mess with the stupid chain Eddie told him to uninstall years ago.
When he finally opens the door, Buck looks surprised and briefly excited to see Eddie. Then he spots the crutches. Buck winces, looking for all the world like a dog expecting to be swatted with a newspaper.
“Oh. Uh, h-hey, Eddie,” Buck stammers. His gaze lands somewhere near Eddie’s chin, avoiding eye contact. “What are you doing here?”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “You break it, you buy it,” he says, and thwaps the papers he’s holding against Buck’s chest.
Buck catches the papers against himself with one hand. Eddie takes up his crutch again, maneuvering around Buck and into the loft.
“...What?” Buck manages after a confused beat. “Does—does our insurance not cover...?”
The sentence trails off as Buck presumably stops staring after Eddie and realizes he’s holding his own mail, not hospital bills.
With his back to Buck, Eddie smiles to himself, soft and fond.
“It’s just a bad sprain,” he calls over his shoulder. “The hospital loaned me the crutches. Told me to bring them back whenever the 118 is in the area again.”
In the living room, Eddie rests the crutches against the arm of the couch. On one leg, he drops heavily down onto the cushions. He tosses one of Buck’s countless throw pillows onto the coffee table and props his injured foot on top of it, arranging the rest under each of his arms until he’s fashioned himself something of a throne.
Having all but settled in for the evening, Eddie looks around expectantly for Buck. He spots him hovering by stairs, looking guilty.
Eddie takes pity on him.
“The doc said to keep weight off it for a couple days, have someone keep an eye on me and all that. Make sure I have help if I need it. So.” Eddie waves a hand to indicate his surroundings, his place on Buck’s couch.
In truth, the ER doctor had only affirmed Eddie’s commitment to the R.I.C.E. method and sent him away with four tablets of prescription-strength Advil for his trouble. Eddie doesn’t need to be looked after, but he hadn’t wanted to go home to an empty house, either. Tommy had been kind enough to drop him off at Buck’s without asking any questions.
“Of course, Eddie. Whatever—anything you need,” Buck promises, moving closer to the couch.
Eddie nods once. “Cool. In that case, can I have a clean shirt?”
He’s still wearing his once-sweaty tank and athletic shorts, and he already went from feeling a little grimy to actively putrid about two hours ago. He smells like an L.A. public park and isopropyl alcohol.
Buck nods vehemently. “Of course,” he says before whirling around and dashing up the stairs.
Eddie shakes his head. He can feel himself smiling again and does nothing to temper it.
As he listens to Buck open and close drawers up in the loft, Eddie toes off his sneakers and shoves them in a pile under Buck’s coffee table. When Buck returns with a neatly folded tee, Eddie peels off his top and tosses that onto the pile too.
Eddie slips into the clean shirt with a dreamy sigh. It’s heathered maroon, with a wide, thick collar. Buck knows it’s his favorite.
“Thanks, Buck.”
Once he’s made himself comfortable in his pillow throne again, Eddie sits back and watches Buck round the couch and perch one ass cheek on the far corner of the cushion, balancing halfway off it for no reason. For the first time since arriving at the loft, Eddie fully takes him in.
In the low lamplight of his living room, hair damp and curling, skin pink and warm from a recent shower, Buck looks gorgeous; infinitely touchable and within Eddie’s reach.
The hangdog expression on his face is heartbreaking when he returns Eddie’s gaze.
“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” Buck says, quiet in the stillness. “I really am. I don’t know—I didn’t mean—”
Eddie holds up a hand to stop him. They’ve already gone over this, multiple times. Buck apologized to him again and again at the park, and sent a whole thread of apologies to Eddie via text while he was waiting at the hospital.
Buck doesn’t seem to realize that Eddie is all carrot and no stick. He pulled a dick move and fucked up Eddie’s ankle, and all Eddie has wanted to do since getting carted off to the ER is rush to reassure him.
He hates watching Buck make himself small like this. He hates it more than almost anything.
“Buck,” Eddie presses. He follows Buck’s darting gaze, holding his eyes, determined to ensure that Buck is seeing him, truly hearing him this time when he says, “You’re forgiven.”
Buck stares back at him for a long moment, unblinking, before forcing himself to look away.
He makes a small, unidentifiable sound that hooks into Eddie’s heart and tugs. Buck says, “Why do you always do that?”
Eddie frowns at him. “Do what?”
“Forgive me. Like it’s nothing.”
A series of replies flit rapidly through Eddie’s head, barely considered and even more quickly discarded. It’s not nothing, you just mean more to me than anything else. You could never hurt me the way I’ve been hurt before. Even if you did, I think I’d still forgive you. You’re so easy to forgive. Nothing in my life has ever been as easy as you. I’d do anything to keep you by my side.
Eddie chuckles humorlessly to himself. Instead of voicing any of those thoughts, he mutters, “Saint Eddie...”
He doesn’t get a response to that. When Eddie peers over at him, Buck still looks fragile. Eddie swallows down his insincerity.
“Buck, you apologized. Isn’t that the point?” Eddie asks. “How does that saying go, the best apology is changed behavior?” He raises his eyebrows at Buck. “Are you going to do it again?”
“What?! No! Eddie, I would never—”
“Because I have another ankle,” Eddie carries on.
“—do something like that on purpose!” Shaking his head, Buck shifts closer to Eddie.
There’s a long pause. Eddie watches on silently, but not unkindly, as Buck sorts through his thoughts, eyes fixed on his fingers where they fidget in his lap.
“I just,” Buck tries after a time. “I got mixed up. In my head. I just... God, this is so stupid.” He shakes his head, like he’s disappointed in himself. “I was jealous.”
Eddie feels his heart trip over itself inside his chest, tumbling up against his rib cage. “Jealous,” he echoes, tone carefully neutral.
“Yes,” Buck agrees, almost desperately, beseeching eyes finally meeting Eddie’s. “You and Tommy were doing all this stuff together. Taking the helicopter, and playing basketball, and, and fighting each other in his garage?” Buck’s face does something strange then, screwing up like he’s bit into something distasteful. “He seems cool and all, and he wants to do all these fun things that you want to do too, and I just—I felt like old news, I guess,” Buck shrugs, deflating.
Eddie frowns. He opens his mouth to refute that but Buck doesn’t give him a chance.
He barrels on, “I meant what I said though, that you can never have too many friends. I really mean that, Eddie. I just got caught up for a second. Like I said, it’s stupid. You’re my friend, and you can have other friends that do things with you that I don’t do, and I shouldn’t feel the need to—to insert myself into those things. Of course you can have other friends.”
Buck sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of the things he’s saying. Eddie interrupts him before he can. “But you’re my best friend,” he emphasizes.
“Yes—yes! Exactly,” Buck says with enthusiasm, apparently relieved that they’ve both reached the same conclusion. “I know that. And I know it’s not a—a competition.”
Eddie stares at him. Buck stares back, looking hopeful, like he fully believes he’s demonstrated how he learned his lesson and is waiting for Eddie to tell him so, despite having missed the point by some margin.
Eddie’s ankle throbs. Fleetingly, he wonders how he ended up here. No, that’s not the path he needs to set himself down right now. Eddie will need to be as clear and direct as possible from here on out.
Because the last thing Eddie’s going to do is let Tommy come between them somehow. If Buck won’t assert his place in Eddie’s life, Eddie will do it for him.
“You’re right. It’s not a competition,” Eddie says. “You don’t have any competition.”
Buck goes very still.
“You’re my best friend, Buck,” Eddie says. “You’re my favorite person in the world. If I haven’t adequately expressed that to you before now, then I’m the one who should be sorry. I would pick hanging out with you over any of the things Tommy and I did. It’s not a difficult choice for me.”
Buck...crumples a bit, at that. Wilting under the onslaught of earnest sincerity. “Eddie...”
Eddie goes on. “All of it would’ve been more fun with you there. But I know boxing matches aren’t your thing, and I don’t think I would enjoy kicking you in the head all that much.” A lie. Eddie is seriously considering giving it a try after this conversation. “And your talents are clearly lost on basketball. You hit like a fuckin’ linebacker, man,” Eddie teases, giving his injured foot a demonstrative wiggle.
Buck looks stricken. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing, Buck. I’m just giving you shit.” Eddie sighs. Obviously it’s not time for good-natured ribbing quite yet. Eddie shuts his eyes for a second, gathering himself.
The silence extends. He can feel Buck growing more concerned the longer Eddie goes without saying anything. “...Eddie?”
“Hold on,” Eddie says, keeping his eyes closed. “Just. Give me a minute.”
He never...made plans for this, is the problem. It’s just something that’s lived with him, every day, right next to his heart, for longer than Eddie even realized. A silent part of himself, warm and alive; pure in its absence of intention, simply existing inside Eddie, benevolently, asking for no more than what he’s given.
Eddie thought it would go unspoken for the rest of his life. He doubts, even now, if it’s worth acting upon—worth corrupting with his greedy hands and heart.
Then he looks at Buck.
Buck, who doesn’t seem to realize how much space he occupies in Eddie’s life, trying to make himself smaller for Eddie’s sake. Buck, who doesn’t know how big and bright and important he is to Eddie. Buck, whose insecurities Eddie has been entrusted with, held like bible paper in his hands, delicate and worthy of all his gentle care.
Eddie wonders if he’s already been too greedy, keeping that warm and pure thing to himself all this time.
He should’ve made those plans. Years ago, probably. Fuck it, Eddie thinks. He’s gonna have to freestyle.
As expected, Buck’s expression is worried and hurt when Eddie looks over at him again.
Eddie shoves aside the pillows between them, toppling them to the ground.
“Your leg...” Buck frets, reaching out as Eddie lowers his elevated foot, turning to face Buck.
Eddie reaches back and takes Buck’s hand in his own. Buck’s eyes snap to his face.
Eddie draws their hands down to rest in the space between them on the couch. He doesn’t think he’s ever held Buck’s hand when one or both of them wasn’t bleeding. Eddie regrets that now, too.
He doesn’t bother waiting any longer.
Eddie says, “If I told you I love you, would you believe me?”
Buck looks stunned, jaw slack, eyes wide. All he manages to say, after a long beat of astonished silence, is, “What?”
Eddie nods. He can feel his mouth turning down into what Christopher calls his ‘turtle face.’ “Not a yes. Okay.” He can work with that. “How about now?”
Eddie leans in, takes Buck’s face in both of his hands, and kisses him.
The kiss is short, and sweet. A soft press of lips, Eddie’s thumbs stroking at Buck’s cheeks, gentling him. Buck, too shocked to reciprocate, gasps, a small, startled sound that has his lips parting just so under Eddie’s. Eddie doesn’t take advantage. Tipping his chin down, breaking the kiss, he presses their foreheads together instead.
Their top lips are still brushing, so Eddie feels it as much as he hears it when Buck says, “What?”—more emphatically this time.
Eddie shifts his hand to hold the side of Buck’s head, cupping the shell of his ear. He pulls back, just far enough to meet Buck’s searching gaze. He says, “You mean everything to me, and I love you.” Eddie pushes the tips of his fingers through Buck’s hair, as if to tuck it behind his ear. “Do you believe me?”
He knows this is coming out of nowhere for Buck. There’s always been this undefined, inexpressible spark between them, an unacknowledged potential. But pulling it out into the sun like this is something else entirely. Eddie can only hope that he hasn’t pushed Buck farther or faster than he’s willing to go.
An inhaled breath, and he hears Buck gulp. “You—you really mean that,” Buck says.
It’s not a question. It’s not disbelieving.
Buck’s hand is trembling when he reaches up and touches Eddie’s face with no small amount of wonder.
Eddie nods, his stubble scraping Buck’s palm. He doesn’t look away from the blue of Buck’s gaze. “Of course,” Eddie says simply. “It’s you.”
Glistening tears gather in Buck’s eyes. He lifts his shaking hand away from Eddie’s face, like he can’t quite comprehend he’s touching him like this, then puts it back, essentially patting Eddie on the cheek.
“I can’t believe I broke your ankle and you told me you love me,” Buck whispers.
“It’s a sprain,” Eddie murmurs back. Then, from some deep, hidden well of game he didn’t know he possessed, Eddie pulls out, “Kiss me and make it better?”
Buck doesn’t hesitate this time. With humbling ardor and care, he pulls Eddie in and kisses him. It’s slick and hot and intimate, Buck parting his lips generously, deepening the kiss as Eddie surrenders into his hands.
Whatever doubt Eddie may have thought to cling to is eliminated. He doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed so thoroughly. He’s never felt so wholly wanted.
Through some improbable maneuver, and without interrupting their kiss, Buck ends up on his knees on the couch cushion. He crowds into Eddie’s space, pressing their chests together, kissing him urgently, like he can’t bear to be parted from Eddie now that he has him.
Making a soft sound into the kiss, Eddie lets Buck guide him until he’s lying back against the remaining pile of throw pillows. With devastating tenderness, Buck reaches down and pulls Eddie’s injured leg up onto the couch, resting his sprained ankle flat alongside his own calf.
“God,” Eddie mutters against Buck’s lips. Nonsensically, “Shut up.”
Eddie feels Buck grin against his mouth. He’s kissing more of Buck’s teeth than his lips now, all finesse abandoned. Eddie winds his arm around Buck’s neck, urging him closer until he’s between Eddie’s legs, flush against Eddie’s chest.
Eddie hasn’t made out on somebody’s couch, well, maybe ever. He luxuriates in the experience now, exchanging lapping, insistent kisses with Buck, tasting him, letting Buck take his time, both of their hands wandering over skin and under clothes. It doesn’t even feel like a prelude to more—just a simple, reverent indulgence for them to share in.
It’s in the middle of another endless, drugging kiss that Buck mumbles, “I lost the receipt.”
Eddie almost doesn’t catch it. He knows he’s drifting, lost in the hazy weightlessness of their kisses, but he’s not sure that would’ve made sense anyway.
“Mm?” he hums against Buck’s mouth. He manages to pull himself away, just enough to speak. Eddie blinks up at Buck, a bit dazed. “What was that?”
Hovering above him, Buck looks lit up from the inside, eyes crinkling in the corners, mouth kissed pink and smiling. “I broke it, I bought it, right?” he grins down at Eddie, voice roughened and warm. “Well, I lost the receipt. No takesies-backsies.”
Eddie feels so stupidly swept away by that, despite how dumb it is. Heart thumping, he lets himself sink back into the pillows, helpless and in love.
“Yeah?” Eddie challenges, like it’s a dare, another smile tugging at his lips. “You gonna keep me?”
Buck leans in and kisses him, firmly, like a promise. “I’m keeping you,” he says.