Archive of Our Own ^beta

“It’s actually like, pretty creepy,” Buck says. “I mean, I knew you were onto something with the whole hating all technology thing —”

“I don’t ‘hate all —’”

“Yes you do,” Buck interjects seamlessly, like he anticipated Eddie’s reaction. “I just never realized how right you were to be concerned.”

Eddie had been gearing up to make a big, dramatic huff in response to Buck, but instead he softens, humming with delight upon hearing Buck admit that Eddie was, in fact, right. It’s almost funny how quickly a small action from Buck can negate all the teasing that had come before it. Being affirmed by Buck is one of his favorite things.

“Such a Luddite, Eddie,” Chimney says. He’s the first to jump into the conversation, even though the whole team can hear it through the headsets.

They’re in the engine, stuck in traffic on the way back to the fire house with no good reason to turn on the lights and speed around the jam. Not that anyone’s in a hurry to get back to Gerrard and his never ending tirade of chores and bigoted remarks.

Buck is doing what he does best — well, one of the things he does best; he’s so multi-talented that it’d be unfair to call this his one main skill — filling space by sharing about his most recent research topic. The Wikipedia-to-Buck’s-brain-to-being-spoken-aloud pipeline is a well-oiled machine, one everyone has come to expect.

The team is not shy when it comes to teasing Buck for his tendency to monopolize group conversations with fun facts and research tidbits. Chimney makes a big show of rolling his eyes, Hen usually buries herself in a book, and Ravi is the king of wandering off with a flimsy excuse — but Eddie is more than happy to strap in and just listen to Buck talk.

It’s natural, then, that most of the time these moments turn into a two person conversation while the rest of the team listens in with varying levels of interest. Sometimes Eddie thinks they need their own comms channel, just for the two of them. A Buck-and-Eddie only channel. Then he could listen to what Buck has to say without anyone else butting in and calling Eddie names.

“You know, most people have a fundamental misunderstanding of the Luddites,” Buck replies before Eddie has a chance to refute Chimney. “They broke machines in protest, sure, but it was because their skilled labor force was being replaced by automation and it made peoples’ jobs obsolete. Ultimately, it was more about worker solidarity than hating technology.”

“And Eddie just hates technology,” Chimney replies.

“Exactly. Ergo, not a Luddite,” Buck says. “If you can get rid of ChatGPT then maybe we’ll talk about giving you a cool new title, Eddie.” He knocks his elbow into Eddie jovially.

A comfortable silence falls, save for the traffic noises coming in from outside.

“Did you have more to say or were you just going to tease me for not being cool enough to be a Luddite?” Eddie asks Buck, when he realizes that Chimney’s comment had derailed the original conversation.

“Oh right, thanks!” Buck says. His accompanying smile is enough to brighten a place in Eddie’s chest, a feeling he’s come to associate with seeing Buck happy. “I was gonna ask if you heard about the teenage girl who got pregnancy coupons in the mail?”

“Just because I got someone teen pregnant doesn’t mean I hear about every single teenage pregnancy —”

“Okay, that’s obviously not what I meant.” Buck turns his torso to better meet Eddie’s eyes. “Anyway, she got coupons in the mail for pregnancy stuff and her dad flipped out at Target, like ‘my daughter’s not pregnant!’ but like. She was pregnant, and no one knew yet. But Target knew.”

“Jeez,” Chimney says. “That is pretty freaky.”

“I know. Can’t imagine,” Buck replies, throwing just a quick glance at Chimney while keeping his focus mainly on Eddie. “But it must happen all the time, advertisers knowing things about people before they even know themselves.”

Eddie ponders it. The possibility that algorithmic learning can predict things about people based on patterns alone. Sounds like a cyber futuristic dystopia to him. “What about the whole like … listening to our microphones thing?”

“Like when your phone hears me say I want dill pickle chips and suddenly you’re seeing ads for dill pickle chips?” Buck smiles at him.

“Yes, exactly —” Eddie says, because the dill pickle chips thing happened last week. He’s still seeing ads for them every time he goes online. Which: yuck, he doesn’t want to think about them all the time. The only reason he ever buys them is because they’re Buck’s favorite.

“Well you see, the dill pickle chips are why I’ve been looking into this. And honestly there’s this really interesting podcast episode you’d like, I’ll play it next time we’re in the car, but it’s about the microphones thing.”

“Oh, yes please,” Eddie replies. Buck’s got the best taste in podcasts. He always knows what Eddie’s going to like. He struggles to pick them for himself, always overwhelmed by back catalogs, unsure where to start. Having Buck as his personal curator means Eddie never has to wonder whether he’ll enjoy a topic or find a host’s voice intolerable.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie spots Ravi making an exasperated face at Hen, who meets it with her own wide eyes and a raised eyebrow. Who knows what that’s about.

“They don’t even need to listen to what we’re saying, machine learning is just that good,” Buck adds, a grim look on his face that brightens when he spots something out the window. “Oh hey, did you guys know billboards use geolocation to do targeted advertisements?” He opens his body back up to the rest of the group, re-inviting them into the conversation.

“What the hell are you on about, Buckley?” Hen asks, accepting the invitation, albeit with a little bit of patented Hen sass.

“Like those ones, the ones that change,” Buck says, pointing out the window to the virtual billboard that’s been cycling through different images while they sit in traffic. “Advertisers basically track all our phones and like, once enough people who all meet a certain demographic are in the area of the billboard it’ll trigger targeted advertisements while we’re still in the radius.”

The billboard shifts to a grocery store deal. A $9 rotisserie chicken doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe Eddie should stop for one on his way home, use it to make enchiladas or something. He hasn’t cooked a meal in ages; it’s hard to find the motivation to cook for himself when there isn’t anyone else for him to feed.

“Were you reading about billboards at the call, Buck?” Chimney says, clearly teasing, but Buck tenses up and his eyes widen — a sure sign of being caught.

It was a medical call, so after Hen and Chim had taken over, the rest of the team just passed time waiting for it to wrap up. Buck being on his phone while he’s not needed isn’t the end of the world, but if Gerrard caught wind of it, there’d be hell to pay.

“No, I-I uh, I —” Buck stumbles over defending himself.

“So I was right to be afraid? Of all the advertising?” Eddie asks, offering Buck the out if he wants it.

“Yes, thank you Eddie.” Buck sighs in relief. “You see, guys, Eddie was right to be freaked out — these companies have so much data about us.” Buck gestures to the billboard again. It shifts, this time for a local radio station’s morning talk show — it’s not one that Eddie’s ever listened to or even recognizes. “Like, our information is helping that billboard decide what ads to show to all of the people stuck in this traffic. It’s trying to pick things that are the most widely applicable to everyone who sees it.”

Everyone watches in anticipation of the next image. Eddie wonders aloud what the perfect ad crafted specifically to target everyone in the 118 would look like. "What would it even be for?"

The billboard shifts again to a bright image with a rainbow background. A gay bar, or maybe a club, advertising their 2-for-1 margarita deal. The whole crew laughs at the timing.

“Well, can’t target everyone all at once, can they?” Chimney says, patting his hand on Eddie’s knee, who musters a small smile in return before looking back out the window.

Something about being singled out makes his stomach churn. He’s about to follow the train of thought when Daniels chimes in, “you don’t have to be queer to enjoy a good margarita,” from the driver’s seat. “I’ve seen you at happy hour, Chim.” He meets Chimney’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Fair!” Chimney says, putting his palms up in acquiescence.

That’s exactly it! Eddie likes margaritas, too. Maybe the unsettled feeling in his gut is just that. His privacy is being invaded just like Hen and Buck and Ravi, feeding the billboard company information about what he likes to drink on a night out.

“Okay Buckaroo, so what are we supposed to do about it?” Hen asks. “Are we tossing our cell phones?”

“Well, no …” Buck starts, but Eddie recognizes the face he’s making; it’s the one that means I wasn’t prepared for the conversation to go this way and I didn’t do the research I’d need for an informed discussion on the topic.

The radio crackles with another call for them to respond to, rescuing Buck from having to give an answer he’s not ready to give.

“Finally,” Ravi says as they flip on the lights and sirens, and Daniels pulls the engine into the shoulder to make their way to the call. “An excuse to get out of this traffic!”

“And out of this Black Mirror episode,” Eddie adds, under his breath.

*

After too many consecutive days of take-out and pizza delivery and frozen box meals, Eddie admits to himself that something’s gotta give. Some cursory google searching brings him to a recipe site aimed toward people living alone: Cooking for One. Having spent years making enough dinner so that both he and Chris have leftovers for lunch the next day, downsizing his go-to meals from family sized portions to solo amounts is harder than he’d expected.

Eddie’s never been good about eating leftovers either. It only takes one or two meals for him to get sick of eating the same thing. He could use some fresh inspiration.

As they always seem to be, the recipe page is awful to scroll through. A bar along the bottom asks him to consent to cookies and a pop-up asks him to join a newsletter mere seconds after loading. He clicks through the cookie settings blindly, closing the newsletter ask, only to be met with sound blaring through the tinny speakers of his phone.

“I take Truvada because it helps me be my best self,” an actor says, advertising some prescription drug.

He’s always hated drug commercials. What an awful reminder of the state of healthcare in this country that medications have entire ad campaigns.

“Where the hell is the fucking …” Eddie says, searching the screen for the X that disappeared the second the ad started playing. He stops in his tracks when another actor comes onto the screen.

“Buck?” Eddie says, bringing his phone closer to his face, close enough to see that no, that’s not Buck in a commercial for some random drug, just a ruggedly handsome man with broad shoulders and a bright smile. He has the wrong color hair, anyway, more blonde than sandy.

With his phone so close to his face, he can see the text across the bottom of the video, which explains that the drug can help lower the chances of getting HIV through sex.

Eddie drops his phone onto the kitchen counter like it’s white hot.

Why did whatever data corporation that collected all of his information decide he needs to be on HIV prevention? He’s not …

Eddie closes his eyes and wipes his face with both hands.

“It’s just a commercial,” he says out loud, trying to reassure himself. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

He takes a deep breath and picks up his phone, which luckily did not take any damage from the six-inch fall onto the counter. He’s not sure he’d be able to afford replacing a broken phone right now — he’s trying to save money so that when Chris says he’s ready, Eddie can pay the exorbitant last-minute airfare costs to go get him.

After agonizing for a few moments, Eddie tries to compartmentalize his thoughts and steels himself to focus. He dives back into the article, immediately getting bogged down in the recipe blogger’s story about how their step grandmother’s Chilean heritage makes them uniquely qualified to create recipes for bachelors living alone. Which, sure. Whatever.

Eddie’s stomach growls pleadingly, so he pushes any lingering thoughts about the video ad out of his mind and tries to get excited about mashing chickpeas.

*

Buck points to Eddie’s phone screen. “Ooh, swap those two first, and then —”

“Are you guys playing Candy Crush?”

Chimney’s voice interrupts from behind them, and a startled Eddie jumps away from where he had been pressed against Buck from hip to shoulder, their heads tucked close together to focus on the game. He sets his phone down on the table and shoots Chimney a look through narrowed eyes.

“Uh, yeah, why?” Buck turns around to reply to Chimney, who drapes himself half over the back of Eddie’s dining chair to get a better view of Eddie’s phone.

“I guess it shouldn’t surprise me to see you two playing a game for old people,” Chimney says, snapping his gum around his words.

“What game is that?” Bobby asks, closing the door behind him as he comes in from outside. He’s got a stack of dirty plates, which — shouldn’t that be Chimney’s responsibility as the host?

“Rather than enjoy the dinner party my wife and I spent hours preparing for,” Chimney puts a hand each on Eddie and Buck’s shoulders, shaking them as he speaks, “these two are playing Candy Crush.”

Bobby only says “Oh, great game!” as he passes them on his way to the kitchen.

“See!” Chimney points to Bobby. Eddie cracks a smile, but Buck full-on guffaws.

“We just needed a breather for a little bit, we’ll be back out soon,” Buck offers gently once his laughter has subsided.

Chimney nods, giving Eddie’s shoulder one last squeeze, but doesn’t make any moves to leave. Maybe he needs a break too. Eddie assumes it’s for a different reason than his and Buck’s retreat, though.

Seeing all of their best friends’ kids running around Maddie and Chimney’s yard is a pointed reminder of Christopher’s absence. Buck, always so attuned to Eddie’s emotional state — or more likely feeling the same tug at his own heart — had suggested they take a brief break inside.

They’d sunk into chairs at the dining room table, and Eddie found himself staring at his latest text conversation with Chris. While Chris rarely starts a conversation, his replies are starting to be multi-word more often than not, which Eddie counts as progress.

Eddie attached a selfie he and Buck had taken in the yard and typed out Dinner at Maddie and Chimney’s house tonite. Thought about adding wish you were here! but didn’t want to push.

“That looks perfect. Send it!” Buck had encouraged, probably in response to Eddie’s thumb hovering anxiously over the phone screen. “Then why don’t we play a game? Get our minds off things?”

Which is how they had ended up several levels deep into Candy Crush, leaning closer together than necessary, Eddie ignoring the ache in his chest and Buck ignoring texts from his boyfriend. Eddie, not above a little bit of snooping, had caught Buck swiping away a notification earlier with little more than a furrowed eyebrow.

Just then, Bobby re-enters, sipping from a freshly acquired mug of coffee and glancing briefly at the three of them. “Buck, walk with me? I’ve got a question for you about the menu for next weekend,” he says.

Eddie nods at Buck — assuring him that he’ll be okay without his company for a few minutes — and watches Buck follow after Bobby like an eager puppy. Or, more accurately, like an excited sous chef tasked with finessing a marinade recipe. Eddie’s been taste-testing various cuts of grilled meat all week as Buck works to finalize the ingredients for the upcoming Grant-Nash Housewarming Extravaganza — Buck’s words, not Bobby’s (and certainly not Athena’s).

Chimney sinks into the seat Buck left empty. Though Eddie’s grateful for all the company he’s had this summer, at times it feels like the whole team just takes turns babysitting him so that he’s never alone.

Eddie picks up his phone just in time to see the game stopwatch reach zero and for him to fail the level. Illustrations of scantily clad men with well-defined ab muscles fill his screen. Eddie groans. For some reason, these horny role playing games keep being recommended to him.

“Does anyone ever actually play these games?” Eddie asks, showing his phone screen to Chimney, whose eyes bug wide for a second in response.

“I don’t get ads for games like that, Eddie,” Chimney replies.

Well, shit. Has he shown his hand? He locks his phone and places it face down on the table. “What uh … what do you see ads for?” He asks, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Uh … one sec,” Chimney says, fishing his own phone out of his pocket. After a minute, he flips his phone around for Eddie to see. “Here. Mostly variations on this kinda stuff.”

Chimney’s pulled up his own phone game obsession of the week — some game called Balls, maybe? — and Eddie sees a very different ad fill the screen: a bunch of little army men running down a pathway and hurdling over obstacles.

“Oh, yeah, that looks familiar,” Eddie says. He used to get ads like that all the time, but it’s been a while. “Strange …” he trails off.

One might think that given his own military background, Eddie would be the one getting army game advertisements all the time. But instead, it’s role playing games about gay hookups.

“S’probably nothing,” Chimney says, clapping Eddie on the shoulder as he returns his phone to his pocket. “Hey, Jee was just looking for you guys, it’s why I came in. Want to go see what she needs?”

“Without Uncle Buck? I think she’ll be disappointed if it’s just me,” Eddie says, already standing up from the table, thankful for Chimney’s distraction.

“I think she’ll be just as happy to spend time with her Uncle Eddie.” Chimney smiles at him. “C’mon.”

*

When Chris had asked if they could watch a movie together tonight, Eddie wasn’t imagining a feature length youtube documentary about the Disney Parks Fastpass. It’s not something Eddie would have chosen, but Chris said that Buck recommended it, thinking they’d both like it.

Chris has never really expressed interest in the Disney parks, either. Eddie’s secretly glad for it — the idea of standing in line under the hot sun just for a few minutes of a heart-pumping adrenaline rush is so unappealing to him — but he’d gather the energy to do it if Chris ever changed his mind. He’d do pretty much anything for Chris, if he asked.

This is also the first time Chris has wanted to watch something in the living room with Eddie since coming home three weeks ago.

So he’s not about to question it.

Armed with popcorn, blankets, and beverages — root beer for Chris and an actual beer for Eddie — they settle in for an evening of tentative co-existing. The documentary itself is actually a lot more engaging than Eddie had anticipated, so he’s jarred by an ad break a few minutes in.

“Thirty whole seconds before we can skip? Ugh!” Chris says, affronted by having to wait. “Could you please just get youtube premium?”

Two men in complimentary suits and ties smile at each other on the screen, taking each other’s hands in joyful celebration. The name of some menswear company he’s never heard of fills the bottom half, but he can’t take his eyes off of the men.

“I’m not not paying for another streaming service, Chris,” Eddie replies, a little delayed. “Either we cancel something else or you can learn to deal with waiting 30 seconds.”

Chris chuckles — not his usual response when Eddie refuses to spend more money on something he wants. Eddie shoots him a questioning look.

“Those guys kinda look like you and Buck,” Chris explains, pointing to the TV.

And the thing is, they do. Maybe he’s the same actor from the HIV prevention ad Eddie had seen earlier this summer, or maybe there’s just a veritable trove of hunky white men making a living starring in gay commercials. The guy’s fiancee — or husband, or whoever they’re supposed to be to each other — looks vaguely Latino, and while their similarities end there, the two men together do look reminiscent of Buck and Eddie.

“Dad, hit skip,” Chris says, jarring his attention away from the men onscreen.

“Oh shit, sorry bud,” Eddie snaps himself out of his thoughts and clicks the button to skip the ad. “Zoned out there for a sec.”

“Shhh,” Chris says. “Stop talking.”

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly. He’ll take teenage sass from Chris any day, because it means he’s where he belongs: home.

Eddie tries to let the documentary suck him back in, but his mind keeps wandering to the menswear commercial.

And it’s not just the menswear, the HIV medication, or the horny phone games — now that he really thinks about it, he’s been getting ads for gay stuff all summer.

Eddie’s stomach turns over a few times. It’s gotta be a coincidence. Eddie spends a lot of time with queer people, of course his devices are going to make that connection. Hadn’t that been what that podcast episode said? If two phones interact or are in the same physical spaces often enough, that impacts the data that advertisers use.

But what if it’s more than that?

What if, without the human barriers of shame and guilt, the algorithms that dole out ads can see parts of Eddie that he doesn’t like to look at?

It’s in the back of his mind for the rest of the documentary. As much as he wants to focus on the video — it’s actually really interesting, and the narrator’s humor is satisfyingly cut and dry — Eddie can’t remember where he stopped retaining any information.

Tomorrow, or maybe even later tonight, Buck’s going to ask his thoughts on it. He’s going to want a full rundown, to hear about the highlights, the parts that dragged, about Eddie’s favorite scene.

Because that’s what Buck does when someone watches something he recommends. He probes, he wonders, he asks questions. He “re-experiences the experience through the experience of the other,” as he puts it. Eddie might have to re-watch it once Chris has gone to bed so he can be prepared for the interrogation.

Which — that’s the wrong word, that implies something negative. Having Buck’s focus — his inquisitive mind — trained on Eddie is one of his favorite things.

It warms something deep in him, the influx of memories of previous de-brief conversations inspiring visions of what Buck might ask this time. What was the most surprising part? He might wonder. Or maybe did it make you curious to learn more about anything specific?

Eddie sips the last dredges of his beer and dials into what remains of the documentary. Advertisers be damned, he’s going to have a full Buck Approved Report no matter what it takes. He’d just prefer not to stay up half the night in order to do so.

*

It’s a slow shift. A really slow shift. A q-word shift.

Buck wandered off to get some sleep some time ago, but Eddie’s got too much caffeine in his system to even try to lay down. Instead, he’s sitting on the couch scrolling through Instagram, pretending he’s not sulking just because Buck is in a different room.

Instagram has always been such a mindless activity; he barely follows anyone and there’s nothing new in his feed. He’s not sure why he’s doing it other than to have something to do.

The ads are the only thing that’s changing as he scrolls, and a book keeps popping up between exercise influencer videos and Buck’s photodump posts.

The cover illustration of Better Late Than Never caught his eye the first time he saw it last week, but Eddie tries not to click on ads as a general rule. Even more now that Buck’s in his self-dubbed “privacy era.”

Curiosity gets the better of Eddie, who’s restless and unsettled and a little hyper from his third cup of coffee, so he opens the browser on his phone — Firefox, newly downloaded on Buck’s recommendation that he dump Google Chrome — and searches for the book on Goodreads. Buck would be proud that he took the long way instead of clicking the link in the app.

Eddie’s pride gives way to a groan when he sees the genre tags on the book page: self help, memoir, LGBT — he sets his phone down in exasperation. He should’ve known.

“You okay there?” Hen’s voice interrupts a low grumble that Eddie realizes was in fact coming from his own mouth. She and Chimney are lurking — no, they’re not lurking, he corrects himself, the loft is just as much their space as it is his, and they’ve spent the shift doing much the same as him: killing time.

Eddie snorts. “I keep seeing ads for …” he trails off.

“For?” She prompts, wandering closer to the couch. Chimney follows a few steps behind.

“For … um. For gay stuff?” Eddie admits.

Hen and Chimney meet each others’ eyes and break into twin cackles.

Eddie rolls his eyes at their reaction. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, you two.”

“I’m sorry, I just —” Hen devolves into another round of laughter, so hard that she ends up shaking with no noise.

Chimney slaps her on the arm, spouting nonsense through his own laughter.

She wipes her eyes, breathing out on a “whoooooo” sound several times until her laughter finally calms.

“Okay, so, are you guys going to help me solve my problem?” Eddie asks.

“What’s the problem?” Hen asks. “I’m not seeing any problem.”

Eddie makes a noise of frustration. “The gay ads? I keep seeing them everywhere. Like. It’s being shoved in my face.” He hears it as soon as it’s out of his mouth, and scrambles to clarify his meaning. “Not, um. Sorry, no, not that — like, uh, I mean. Hen, I didn’t mean —”

“Relax, Eddie,” she cuts him off. “I know.”

Chimney furrows his eyebrows in a silent conversation with Hen. “You’re seeing them everywhere?”

“Since the margarita ad in the engine that one day,” he says, dejectedly.

“Oh!” Chimney claps his hands together and points at Eddie. “The horny phone game!”

Eddie just groans again in response.

Hen’s face screws up. “Okay, we’re coming back to that in a second,” she says, gesturing at Chimney. “But maybe it’s just Baader-Meinhof?” she asks Eddie.

“The disease?” Chimney replies.

She shakes her head. “No, you’re thinking of Creutzfeldt-Jacobs.”

“No, I’m pretty sure Baader-Meinhof is a disease,” Chimney says, pulling his phone out—presumably to check in with Doctor Google.

Hen meets Eddie’s eyes and shakes her head again, mouthing “it’s not” while Chimney taps on his screen.

“Oh, I guess — I guess Hen’s right,” he admits, locking his phone and setting it down in his lap.

“Maybe Munchausen by proxy?” Eddie offers, an image of the boy whose mom poisoned him with eye drops flickering in his mind.

“No!” Chimney says.

“Okay!” Hen cuts through. “Baader-Meinhof is another term for frequency bias.”

Eddie waits for her to clarify, and by the look on Chimney’s face, he’s waiting for the same thing — he probably hadn’t read very far into the search results.

“Like when you learn something new and you keep seeing it everywhere, but it’s actually been there all along,” Hen explains.

Her words hit a little too close to home and Eddie just groans a third time. He’s all too familiar with the hot rush of embarrassment reddening his cheeks. He’s not getting out of this conversation now.

Well — he could get out of it. Hen and Chimney will lay off if he asks them to. But he realizes that he doesn’t want them to, not really. Talking about it actually sounds pretty good. Up until this moment, he hadn’t considered doing so with anyone except Buck — and the idea of telling Buck what’s been going on gets his stomach tangled up in all kinds of knots.

Eddie’s starting to suspect he understands why that is, too. Buck is entwined with this topic in Eddie’s mind for several reasons; it’s not just that he’s the one doing the research. It’s bigger than that.

Hen and Chim exchange another look. It’s infuriating, how they’re able to communicate so much with so little. But then again, people complain about him and Buck doing the same thing.

“Have something to share with the class?” Chimney asks, his words a little cautious.

“I —” Eddie starts. Where does he even start? “I guess. I’m just wondering … why me.”

Hen sinks down onto the couch next to Eddie. “Why you what?” Hen asks, her voice soft with a kindness that wasn’t there before.

“Why am I getting all these ads?” His voice is almost a whisper, and Eddie’s fully aware how it betrays everything that’s behind the question. Everything that he’s not saying. “Did they … figure something out about me?”

“I think Buck’s our resident expert in advertising, have you talked to him about it?” Chimney says.

Hen clicks her tongue and swats at him in chastisement.

Chimney’s eyes go wide. “Not that we’re not here for you!” He adds hastily.

“What Chimney means is that while Buck might be able to shed some light on the technical standpoint …” Hen says, Chimney nodding along, “Only you can decide what it means from an Eddie standpoint. You can talk it through with us, though, if you want,” she adds.

Eddie drops the pretense. He needs advice, and he can’t go to Buck with this yet. He’ll say too much, he knows he will. And he’s not even sure what would come out of his mouth, not exactly. Just knows he’ll show his hand before he’s ready to lay it on the table. Before he’s even really looked at the cards, at least not without squinting and peeking through his fingers.

“I mean …” Eddie squirms a little in his seat. “I mean, I don’t think it’s … um. They’re not wrong, I guess? I don’t know, I haven’t really …” It’s as close as he can get to admitting his suspicions, to verbalizing the questions that echo through his mind as he lies awake at night — or any time of day, really.

“You don’t have to know yet, Eddie,” Hen replies, putting a hand on his forearm. Her touch comforts him, sending warmth through his limbs. He looks at Chimney, who’s nodding, a soft, kind expression on his face, mirroring Hen’s. “For what it’s worth, Buck’s gonna be in your corner on this no matter what.”

“Thanks, I just, I can’t tell him without — if I tell him I’m … I don’t think I can keep the…how —” Eddie flounders. He’s not sure it’s possible to tell Buck that he’s maybe probably gay without telling Buck about how he’s definitely absolutely falling for him. “He’s with Tommy. I can’t come between them,” he ends up saying. It’s an oversimplification of the whole situation, but it’s the easiest way to sum it up.

“Oh, Eddie,” Hen replies, pulling him into a one-armed hug. She pulls back and shoots a capital L Look at Chimney. “Should we tell him?” She asks in a fake whisper out of the corner of her mouth.

“Yes! I’ve been saying we should all summer!” Chimney replies, practically vibrating with excitement, pumping his fist by his side in a subdued celebration. “I knew I was right.”

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” she says.

“Tell me what?” Eddie asks.

“Buck and Tommy aren’t a forever thing,” Chimney says, like it’s the most obvious thing he’s said all day.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. A tentative seed of something makes its presence known, deep in Eddie’s stomach. It’s warm, it’s bright, it’s hope.

“Look, nothing against the guy,” Hen replies. “He’s grown a lot since we were colleagues, and even though we didn’t get along back then, I think he’s genuinely a good guy now.”

“But?” Eddie prompts. There’s more to it she’s not saying.

“But … I think he’s a little bit, well … boring.” Hen shrugs. “And I think Buck needs more … uh, enrichment than Tommy can provide.”

Eddie agrees. Has agreed since the two started dating. Tommy, behind the piloting and the flashy trip to Vegas and the muay thai … is sort of just there. There’s nothing wrong with him, per se … but Buck deserves so much more in a partner than someone who’s just there.

“He’s a good guy, just not a good guy for Buck,” Chimney agrees, a devious look spreading on his face like he’s a cat who’s just been given free reign on a freshly opened tuna can — come to think of it, Eddie's seeing a lot of cat videos these days, maybe that means something too. “Plus,” Chimney adds. “Maddie has insider information. Ergo: I have insider information.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide at the prospect of finding out what Buck has told Maddie. Buck’s always been pretty tight lipped about his relationships around Eddie, so it’s a lot of it’s good, I’m happy, and I’m going out with him on Saturday so could we do Tuesday night instead this week?

“I don’t know if I should —” Eddie says, his unwillingness to break Buck’s trust winning out over his curiosity. “If he told Maddie something in confidence, I don’t need to —”

“Relax, Eddie,” Chimney replies. “All I’ll say is that you’ve got nothing to worry about. They want different things, it’s not going to last much longer, and you can quote me on that.” He counts off on his fingers as he explains his points, but then he must realize what he’s implied, because he drops his hand and looks at Eddie with a pleading expression. “Actually, don’t quote me on that, don’t tell anyone I said anything —”

“See, this is what I mean,” Eddie explains, mostly to Hen, who rolls her eyes in response.

“Everyone knows Chimney can’t keep a secret,” she says. “If Buck didn’t want people knowing his business, he shouldn’t have told his sister.”

“Buck is well aware that she and I tell each other everything, Eddie,” Chimney confirms.

The hope in his stomach wars with the discomfort at knowing too much, knowing something that Buck hadn’t told him yet. “Still …”

“If it makes you feel any better, I figured it out without Chimney’s help,” Hen says.

Chim pulls his phone out of his pocket and a smile brightens his face. “Speaking of the superior Buckley, she’s calling me, must be bedtime — hi Maddie!” Chim picks up his call and waves as he retreats to find somewhere quiet to say goodnight to her.

Eddie barely pays him any attention as he leaves, his mind caught on how obviously Buck is the best Buckley; it’s not even Maddie’s last name anymore.

And then he thinks about what would happen if Buck changed his last name. Would he still be Buck? Would he change his first name? Speaking of Evan, why does Tommy only ever call him —

“Eddie,” Hen says, jarring him.

“Huh-what's —” he replies.

Hen just smiles at him. “We don’t have to keep talking about it tonight,” she starts. “But if you ever want to, know that I’m here for you, okay?”

Eddie nods. “Thank you, Hen. I —” He finds that he’s a little choked up about it. “It means a lot to me. Having you to talk with.”

“Anytime, Eddie. But now, I’m going to call my better half and then try to get some sleep.” She pats him on the knee as she pushes herself back up off the couch. She turns back after a few steps in the opposite direction. “And hey — I’m proud of you,” she adds.

Eddie ducks his head to his chest, a bit embarrassed.

“Thanks, Hen,” he calls after her, and she tosses a bright smile back in his direction.

*

“Ah fuck,” Buck says.

“You okay?” Eddie flits his eyes over to Buck in the passenger seat before returning his gaze to the road ahead of him.

“Yeah, all good,” Buck replies. He opens the glovebox and starts rifling around. “Why don’t you have a phone charger in here?”

“Because I always remember to plug my phone in at night, unlike someone here?” Eddie jests. Buck’s phone seems to hover around 20% battery most days, what with his tendency to fall asleep with his phone open to a mile-long niche subreddit thread or a wikipedia research binge.

On the nights where Buck stays over on his couch, Eddie always makes a point of checking in after he’s asleep. More often than not, Buck’s phone can be found either in his hand or sitting next to him — or on a few notable occasions, wedged underneath him — and it’s rarely plugged in. Eddie bought a ten foot cable to stay in the living room, and it reaches the coffee table and couch just fine. Buck’s just resistant to actually plugging the damn thing in.

“Well, my phone just died, and I want to keep listening to music,” Buck says, setting his phone down in the cupholder. “Gimme,” he adds, putting a hand up and curling his fingers over to ask Eddie to pass it along.

Eddie slides his phone out of his back pocket, wordlessly handing it to Buck, who enters Eddie’s passcode like it’s second nature.

“Ughhhh,” Buck groans, rolling his head back against the headrest.

“What now?” Eddie asks. “You’ve been acting weird all night.”

“Have not,” Buck protests. He taps on Eddie’s phone and music starts playing through the speakers of the truck. It’s light, some of the contemporary jazz Eddie’s been getting into lately. And it couldn’t be more different than the playlist of whiny pop music Buck had been playing earlier from his own phone.

“C’mon, Buck. Yes you have. I mean, you asked me to drive.” That had been the first indication that something was up. Buck usually loves to drive.

Eddie doesn’t mind being behind the wheel, but sitting in the passenger seat while Buck drives is one of the most comfortable spots in the world. He can put his worries down and his feet up. It’s safe to breathe. Buck has a way of putting Eddie at ease no matter where they are.

It’s not only that Eddie’s driving, though. They didn’t have plans tonight, but Buck had shown up with a picnic basket and an empty tank of gas, said he heard that Chris was at a sleepover so could Eddie please drive them up the scenic highway so he could get out of the city for a few hours?

Eddie had agreed, of course, without question, as he always does when it comes to Buck’s odd requests. And now they’re here.

Buck breathes out a huff. “I’ll tell you about it when we get there.” That’s another piece of information he hasn’t supplied Eddie with: where they’re headed. Eddie’s not complaining; he trusts Buck. “I just … I can’t believe you don’t have Spotify premium.”

“You know that I canceled it when they hiked their prices,” Eddie says, ignoring the first part of Buck’s reply. Eddie trusts that Buck will get around to explaining eventually; they’ve got the picnic and at least an hour drive back home for the truth to come out. “I don’t listen to enough music on there for it to be worth it.”

“True, Mr. Didn’t-get-a-Spotify-wrapped,” Buck replies.

“Hey!” Eddie reaches his right hand over the center console and gives Buck a gentle shove. “I got a Spotify wrapped, they just didn’t assign me a city for my genres or whatever.”

“Okay, fine, but seeing that you spent 2,000 minutes listening to rain sounds is barely a Spotify wrapped, Eddie.”

“Har har,” he replies. Buck’s not wrong — the vast majority of what he’d used Spotify for last year was background noise to fall asleep. Now he’s got a second hand CD player in his bedroom and a disc he’d burned with white noise instead. “The radio treats me just fine, Buck.”

“You might be fine with Cali noventa y tres nueve —” Buck’s radio broadcaster impression never fails to goad a chuckle out of Eddie, “— but Chris likes to have a little more control over what he picks.” His voice gets a certain tone talking about Chris, these days. It’s cautious. Like Buck’s not sure where he stands.

If only Eddie were brave enough to tell him. Well, to ask him. To make things official in a real way. Because he knows now. He knows what he wants. He can admit it.

“And I know he’s annoyed with the ads,” Buck continues, interrupting Eddie before he accidentally blurts out a marriage proposal and asks Buck if he’d like to file step-parent adoption paperwork in the same breath.

Eddie blinks a few times, gathering his thoughts. “I already told him I’m not paying for another subscription service. If he wants to get ad-free Spotify, then he’s going to have to pick something to cancel.”

“Well, what if I paid for it?” Buck offers, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Buck, I can’t make you do that —”

“You wouldn’t be making me do anything, I’m offering,” he interrupts.

“Okay, well I can’t let you, then.”

“They have a family plan. It’s barely more than what I’m paying for just me, and we could all be on it together. You can have your pick of rainstorms again.”

Eddie hums, pretending to think it over for a few moments — he already knows he’s going to say yes. If Buck pays for it, he wouldn’t technically be going against the agreement he’d made with Chris. And he can admit to himself now that anything that puts Eddie, Chris, and Buck together under the umbrella of a family is enticing to him. It’s selfish, but he relishes the idea of having another way to keep Buck close. Another thing tying Buck to the Diazes.

“You swear it’s not an imposition?”

“I want to do this for us, Eddie,” Buck says.

“Can I at least pay you for half of it?”

“Ah ah,” Buck tsks. “Then you’d be paying for another subscription service, which you said you weren’t going to do. Gonna have to bite the bullet and let me do this for you, Diaz.”

He has a point.

It’s then that the music gives way to a commercial, just two guys talking conversationally in the background. About vacation houses, maybe? Air bnb? Eddie’s gotten used to tuning ads out when he occasionally listens to music, but he’s been a little on edge since Buck started teaching him about targeted advertisements.

“Man, I’d love to go there, someday,” Buck comments.

“What?”

“Fire island? It’s — the ad,” Buck clarifies.

“Wasn’t it for Air bnb?”

“Yeah, but for places on Fire Island.”

“Where’s that?”

“New York,” Buck replies. Eddie waits for more information, but Buck doesn’t continue. He glances over to see that Buck’s got that look on his face, the one that’s guarded, almost shy.

“What makes it special?” Eddie asks, returning his eyes to the road.

Buck laughs, a big guffaw.

“What?” Eddie asks. “What did I say?”

“No, nothing!” Buck says, still laughing. “It’s just … it’s like a resort town, but it’s actually like. A pretty important place in LGBT history?”

“Oh!” Eddie’s hand comes up to his mustache, smoothing it out and wiping his mouth as he contemplates how to reply, eventually settling on, “Well, uh, maybe Tommy will take you.” He’s pretty sure he’s almost successful in keeping the bite out of his voice when he says Tommy’s name.

“Hah, yeah, not likely,” Buck replies, flipping his hand in dismissal. “I, um — I broke it off today.”

“Oh!” Eddie says for the second time in less than a minute. “I’m … sorry to hear that.” He thinks he does a pretty good job sounding genuine.

He tries to meet Buck’s eyes, but he’s pretty uncomfortable taking his eyes off the road for more than a few seconds at a time, especially when he’s driving up the coast in the evening light. Plus, Buck’s got his gaze firmly fixed out the window.

“I’m not,” Buck says, voice almost a whisper.

“Not … sorry?” Eddie asks.

“Mm-hmm,” he hums in assent.

“Well, um … congrats, then?” Eddie tries, unsure of where to tread. Buck might not be sorry they’ve broken up, but Eddie would wager that he probably wouldn’t like him turning on Kool & the Gang and singing along in celebration.

“Thanks,” Buck says around a dry chuckle. “I … it wasn’t working.”

The words are there, bubbling under Eddie’s skin. Threatening to burst, to implore that Buck tell him what happened, to go through every detail and find out if he’ll be kicking Tommy’s ass when he returns to LA. Why is it that Eddie has no problem asking questions he doesn’t want answers to, but the moment there’s information out there that he can’t live without, his throat closes up and his brain stops working?

“I thought things were going pretty well?” Eddie gets out, and it’s all wrong, it’s not what he wants to say at all.

Buck scoffs. “I mean, I dunno … Once I realized —” Buck stops in his tracks. “Uh, realized that I didn’t see a future with him? I didn’t want to string him along.”

“That’s good of you, Buck,” Eddie says. “Better than lying to yourself about what you want,” he says, an air of self-deprecation clouding his words.

“Oh, Eddie, no,” Buck backpedals. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply —”

“You’re fine, Buck,” Eddie interrupts. “Even if you didn’t mean it that way, it’s true. I’ve been lying to myself for a long time.” Eddie glances to see Buck’s face scrunched up in discomfort. “Wanna tell me more about Fire Island?”

Buck takes the out graciously. “Really? You want to hear more about it?”

“I always want to hear what you have to say, Buck. About anything.” It’s a little close to the whole truth, the things he’s not telling Buck, but the grin he gets in response is well worth it.

Buck talks for a little while, telling Eddie about the history of the island, and he hums along and asks questions throughout, just happy to listen to Buck talking. He learns about the geography: “sometimes it’s one island but right now it’s actually two,” the etymology of the name: “there’s several theories and we don’t really know which is the truth,” and of course, its emergence as a gay village by the mid-1900s: “people could be themselves there when it wasn’t safe pretty much anywhere else, y’know?”

It occurs to Eddie that tonight is the perfect occasion to tell Buck about the advertisements — and what he’s realized about himself. He’ll keep his feelings for Buck for another day — if ever — but at least if something slips through his filter unintentionally, Tommy’s out of the picture. Eddie’s a lot of things, but he refuses to ever be a homewrecker again.

“Oh! Here, slow down, this is it! Take that turn!” Buck points and Eddie slows and signals his intention to turn.

A sign catches his eyes before he pulls through, though. “Are you sure? It says private road.”

“I’m sure, I did my research,” Buck confirms.

Eddie hesitates, even though the road is clear. While he wouldn’t classify himself as a rule follower necessarily, traffic laws are the one area where he prefers to just fall in line. He’s seen the fallout of bad driving decisions too many times to push the limit on the road.

Buck leans to look both ways down the highway. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing, just …”

“We’ll be fine, Eddie. Don’t you trust me?”

There they are: the magic words that get Eddie to do anything Buck desires. “Of course I trust you,” Eddie says, making the turn onto the private road.

It’s silent — underscored by the jazz still playing through the speakers — while they pass huge beach houses with high privacy gates. Eddie’s heart is beating so loud he’s sure that Buck can hear it over the music.

The private road ends at a small parking lot just next to a beach. Eddie pulls backwards into a spot at Buck’s insistence, so they can set up to watch the sunset from the truck bed.

Even though they’re only an hour or so north of the city, Eddie swears the air smells different out here. He steps closer to the beach, breathing it in, while Buck spreads a blanket out over the back and unearths two small pillows from somewhere to cushion their seats.

The meal Buck pulls out of his picnic basket is a decadent platter of fruit and cheeses and crackers and dried meat, washed down with sparkling grape juice — Buck had opted for a non-alcoholic beverage so neither of them has to worry about driving back. It seems … awfully romantic. Buck’s just missing a candle. Well, and his boyfriend.

“Was this … were you going to take Tommy on this picnic?” Eddie regrets the words the second they’re out of his mouth. He doesn’t actually want to know whether he’s eating a meal hand-selected for Buck’s now ex-boyfriend, whether he’s the second-place pick to watch the sun set over the ocean. “Like, before you broke up with him.”

Buck’s head turns to meet Eddie’s eyes. “What?” He asks around a bite of goat cheese and salami on a peppered water cracker.

“Was this meant to be a date with Tommy?” Eddie doesn’t want an answer, he wants to dig a hole, crawl in, and never come out.

Buck swallows. “No, I heard you,” he clarifies. “I just — no, no. I planned this for us. You and me. After. After I broke up with him.” The slightest red tinge paints Buck’s cheeks as he explains.

“Oh,” Eddie says, that little prick of hope reigniting in his chest. “Well, thanks. I love it.”

They smile at each other, timid. Eddie tops up their metal camping cups with the last of the juice and they clink them together in companionable silence.

Eddie broaches the subject after they’re finished eating — stomachs full, laying back against the pillows, sun just above the horizon. “You know how you were telling me about Target knowing that girl was pregnant before she did?”

“Well, technically, she knew, but her dad didn’t,” Buck corrects, off-handedly. Buck has this way of correcting things that Eddie now knows isn’t his way of trying to act superior, just his way of inviting people into having the same information as him. It’d set him off for a while there at first, had made him feel like he was being well, actually’d. Then he saw Buck do the same with Chris, and it slid into place. It’s Buck showing his love.

“Right,” Eddie says. The information changes things — that the girl had known she was pregnant all along — but not by much. Eddie’s still Made Some Realizations this summer. And maybe they were things he knew all along, but was too afraid to look at head-on. Too nervous to put to words. “Anyway. I just. I’ve been having a similar experience, sort of.”

“Oh? Is it a boy or a girl?” Buck teases, reaching out to pat Eddie’s stomach. “You’re not showing much yet, you must still be early on.” His hand lingers, the touch electrifying Eddie’s entire body.

He can’t help but smile. “No more kids right now,” he laughs. “Maybe someday, though,” he adds, and it’s thrilling to see how clearly that excites Buck, how he has to school his face to neutral after the hopeful glint passes through his eyes. Maybe they’re on the same page after all.

Buck hums, a noise of agreement and contentment and interest all at once, as his hand migrates up to Eddie’s chest, a delicate touch dancing its way up his torso.

“Probably not a baby, though,” Eddie adds, his voice barely above a whisper. “Lots of big kids out there who need adopting too.”

Buck nods along with Eddie. “That’s true.” He matches Eddie’s whisper. “So … what’s going on?” he taps his pointer finger against Eddie’s chest.

Eddie takes a deep breath. “A few months ago, I started seeing ads that were … well, around a similar theme,” he says. It’s not quite a whisper, still, but he’s quiet. Cautious. “And I wouldn’t have thought much about it, except for all of your research about the privacy stuff.”

“Which has been so much scarier than I ever could have imagined,” Buck adds, eyes boring into Eddie’s.

“Which has been so much scarier than anyone ever could have imagined, yes. But. Not the point. Or, well, sort of the point.” Eddie clears his throat and fiddles with the hem on his sleeve, resisting the urge to put his hand over Buck’s where it still rests on his sternum. “It seemed like advertisers … knew something about me. Something I didn’t know. Or, wasn’t admitting.”

“Oh?” Buck asks, pulling his hand away from Eddie. The loss is palpable, immediate, and he wants Buck’s hand back on him now and for forever.

“Remember that margarita ad?”

“The billboard one?” Buck adjusts his seating position, correcting his posture.

“Yeah,” Eddie says.

“I remember telling everyone about the billboards, yeah. I guess I had forgotten the specifics, though.”

“Well, Chim said something about it only being applicable to a couple of us, not to everyone.”

“Right,” Buck agrees, but his face betrays that he’s not putting the pieces together. Eddie’s going to have to lay it out.

“And then it kept happening. I mean. It happened in the car just now too.”

“What kept happening?”

“The gay ads.”

“Gay ads? Like for …” Buck prompts.

“Like. A gay couple selling suits for a menswear company,” Eddie tells him.

“Well we live in LA, that’s pretty typical,” Buck replies.

“Okay, I also kept seeing ads for phone games about scantily clad men?” Buck looks ready to retort, so Eddie plows ahead: “and preventative HIV medication?”

“Straight people can get HIV too —”

“Buck,” Eddie says, stern. “I’m trying to tell you …” He steels himself, taking a deep breath. “I’m trying to tell you that I’m gay.”

“Are you —”

“I’m sure,” he cuts off Buck.

“Okay, but the ads could be a coincidence,” Buck pushes back.

“Could be, sure. But I’m still gay.” In all the times he imagined telling Buck, Eddie never anticipated him trying to come up with alternate explanations.

“You don’t have to let companies make decisions for you, Eddie, they’re imperfect too, sometimes —”

“Dude!” It comes out louder than intended. Buck’s eyes go wide as he shuts his mouth. “Sorry, sorry Buck. I’m just.” Eddie bites his lip. “No one’s making decisions for me. Why are you … fighting me on this? I’m trying to —”

“Oh, god, sorry, Eddie, oh god,” Buck says. “Thank you,” he adds, emphatically. “Thank you for telling me. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Buck. You’re the first person I’ve told,” Eddie says, a little shy about it. “Well, I mean, Hen and Chim know,” he adds. He may not have said anything explicitly, but that conversation didn’t leave a lot of room for them to come away with anything less than knowing he’s some flavor of queer and that he’s harboring feelings for Buck. “But I didn’t really … you’re the first one I named it to.”

“I’m honored, Eddie,” Buck says, eyeing Eddie up and down. “You okay? You’re shaking a little bit.”

Buck’s right — he’s jittery. It’s a combination of things, really: the relief of having told Buck, the fact that there’s more he’s not saying, and the cold wind coming off of the water. “I’m a little chilly,” Eddie settles on. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth.

“C’mere,” Buck says, lifting his arm up to make room for Eddie next to him. “I can keep you warm.”

Their eyes both flit to the blanket they’re sitting on top of, but Eddie pointedly ignores it as an option.

In any other situation, with anyone else, Eddie would call Buck’s behavior flirty.

Well, maybe he can call it flirty in this situation, too.

Eddie goes wordlessly, ducking his head to hide his undoubtedly red cheeks. Buck curls his arm around him, pulling him close, as Eddie tucks his face against Buck’s chest. Though truthfully, his nose is more in Buck’s armpit region. The combination of Buck’s woodsy deodorant and a day’s worth of body odor are oddly enticing. He breathes deeply, reveling in the scents and letting Buck’s body heat warm him as the sun ducks below the horizon in the distance.

*

Buck balances a hand on Eddie’s shoulder as he reaches up to grab a box of cereal from the top shelf. It’s a wholly unnecessary touch; Buck’s tall enough to reach the box with ease. Doesn’t mean Eddie wants him to stop, though.

They’re grocery shopping for the Diaz household. Ostensibly, Buck is getting food for his apartment too, but if the couple of cans of soup and box of crackers he’s added to the front corner of the cart are any indication, he’s not planning on spending too much time there in the coming days.

Buck’s been on the couch in Eddie’s living room almost every night since he broke things off with Tommy. It’s been a few weeks, and Eddie’s pretty sure he’s only gone back to his apartment once — after a long, drawn out goodbye where Eddie thought for sure they were going to kiss.

Because things have been different since that night with the picnic in the truck. Lighter. Easier. Like they’ve been building toward something inevitable for years, and now they’re starting to acknowledge it.

Not in so many words, of course. But this thing between them, it’s real. Eddie’s certain. He’s never had something like this with someone, this soft, easy build to a relationship filled with flirting and tension and lingering eye contact. This part has always been rushed, glossed over.

Taking his time with this makes him feel like a teenager. Or how he imagines a teenage romance must feel. Embarrassing, giddy. In love. Blushing and teasing and sharing small smiles that communicate so much without needing words.

Eddie’s been thinking about it a lot. About Buck. About him and Buck. About telling Buck. About dating him, romancing him. Sweeping him off of his feet. Telling Christopher that he’s got a boyfriend and maybe someday he’ll have a husband. Eddie’s pretty confident that it’s going to happen, and soon. It’s just a matter of timing.

Buck’s also taken to putting his hands on Eddie at what seems like every opportunity. But he can’t blame him, because Eddie’s reciprocating just as often.

It started small — fingers brushing as they passed an object between them, lingering shoulder pats and high fives and fist bumps — but it’s grown. It’s Buck’s hand on his knee as they eat family dinner with the 118. It’s Eddie brushing a stray curl off of Buck’s forehead. It’s —

It’s Buck’s hand on his lower back as they turn the corner at the grocery store to go down the pasta aisle a second time.

“Oh! We’re out of ice cream!” Buck stops in the middle of the aisle, but Eddie continues pushing the cart until he realizes Buck’s hand isn’t on his spine anymore. He backtracks, but by the time he’s taken the few steps to return to Buck’s side, he’s dropped his hand.

In his sudden movement, however, Buck has found himself in the way of several other customers without realizing it. Eddie raises his own hand to Buck’s back, using the flimsy excuse of guiding him out of the way and toward the frozen section all while doing his best to control the cart with just one hand.

Buck, noticing Eddie’s struggle, lifts a hand to the push bar to help steer, correcting the leftward drift that had begun the moment Eddie decided touching Buck was more important than not hitting something. Buck’s whole back brushes along Eddie’s arm as they maneuver themselves in some bastardization of a three-leged race, where instead of tying your ankles together the challenge is to push a cart with your favorite person in the whole world and somehow focus more on the path in front of you than on all the delicate points connecting your bodies.

It’d probably be much simpler if one of them pushed it alone, but they stay in their current configuration as they traverse past the microwavable lunches and the pizzas. All the while, Buck complains about the big sticker ads on the freezer doors and how they obscure the items inside, but at least they're not the screens tracking your eye gaze, using the one free hand between the two of them to emphasize his point.

They make it to the dessert section, only to be met with one of said sticker advertisements, proclaiming “When you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend … there’s always Talenti.”

“Look, Eddie, targeted advertisements are getting so good now they’re printing ads for people.”

Eddie inhales a sharp breath. “Yeah?”

“I, uh …” Buck freezes.

“You let an inside thought become an outside thought?” Eddie jests, using the same phrasing that they relied on several years ago to help Chris learn what’s appropriate to share and what needs to stay inside his head. His hand remains on Buck’s back, unwavering, and he uses it to tug Buck closer toward him.

“I —”

Eddie leans down to whisper in Buck’s ear. “Wanna get the ice cream and go home and make out about it?”

Buck sputters and tucks his chin to his chest in bashful shock. “Eddie!” he says, placing his hand on Eddie’s chest in some semblance of admonishment that really just means they’re almost embracing in the frozen aisle.

“I’m obviously going to get us Ben and Jerry's,” Buck says, opening the freezer door to do just that. He grabs three pints — Cherry Garcia for Eddie, Phish Food for Chris, and Half Baked for himself. “Not going to let an ad sway me from our tried and true flavors.” He knocks his elbow against Eddie as he turns away to put their spoils in the cart.

Eddie, almost positive they’re on the same page, figures it’s safe to prompt him. To confirm. “We, uh, we still gonna …”

“Make out about it?” Buck finishes his sentence, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Eddie nods, grinning at the absurdity of how this conversation has developed — and at the thought that someday he’ll be recounting this story at their wedding, telling everyone about how they’d confessed in the frozen food aisle at the local Ralph’s.

“Yeah, Eddie,” Buck says. “I think that can be arranged.” Pointedly, Buck places his hands on the cart and starts pushing it toward the front of the store.

“Maybe just one for the road?” Eddie calls after him.

“I’m not —” Buck whips around, then lowers his voice when Eddie catches up to him. “We are not making out at Ralph’s, Eddie!”

“No, no making out. But what about a little kiss though?” Eddie puckers his lips. He’s more than fine waiting until they’re home, but the opportunity to tease Buck is too irresistible to pass up.

Buck lowers his eyebrows and squints his eyes at Eddie. “Our first kiss is not happening in the frozen section, I don’t care what you say. Be patient.” He pats Eddie’s cheek and then whisks the cart toward the checkout.

And Buck’s right — their first kiss doesn’t happen in the frozen section.

Just after Buck places the final paper bag in the back of the Jeep, Eddie decides he’s done being patient. He loops his arms around Buck’s waist and pulls him in close. Buck goes willingly, draping his arms over Eddie’s shoulders in return.

“Hi,” Eddie whispers, thrilled at how he has to look up to make eye contact with Buck. His heart thumps in his chest. It’s such a heady experience, being locked in an embrace with Buck. Knowing what it means.

“Hi, Eddie,” Buck replies, amusement coloring his voice.

“I’m kind of crazy about you, Buck,” Eddie says, squeezing Buck close to him.

“Oh? Well, that’s convenient,” Buck replies, “because I’m kind of crazy about you too.”

“Can our first kiss be in the parking lot?” Eddie asks, leaning imperceptibly closer.

Buck doesn’t reply, simply closes the distance between them.

It’s quick, not the long, indulgent kiss Eddie had imagined they’d share when they finally crossed the barrier into whatever comes next for their relationship. It’s just a peck, a brief press of dry lips against each other.

And it’s perfect.

Eddie blinks open his eyes to see Buck smiling down at him. Eddie grins, and Buck leans in for another kiss before pulling away to shut the back hatch of the Jeep.

“There’s more where that came from,” Buck says over his shoulder as he returns the cart to the corral just opposite their parking spot. “But we’ve got ice cream melting in the back, so get moving!”