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The tension is starting to get to him.
All of this beautiful relaxing nature, the fresh air, the sights and sounds of the late afternoon familiar hike. And yet, the tightness in Buck’s chest that he’s been trying to dodge for the past 72—give or take—hours, prevails.
He feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his own skin.
But he’s holding on. Yeah. He can wait. He can. And he has! He’s waiting. Even if he’s not entirely sure when he’ll get to stop waiting. He’s waiting because he’s a good person and he will respect the wishes of the people around him.
He can wait.
“Hey,” just ahead of him on the path, Eddie gestures up towards a trail sign. He turns back over his shoulder, the perfect picture of composure and nonchalance, and asks, “did you want to take a water break at the next lookout?”
And Buck feels his hold on himself slip like a misstep on a rocky path.
He can’t wait.
“Can—Can we talk about it yet?” he blurts out in a rush, tripping over his own words, tumbling and skittering like gravel down the incline, “I—I know you don’t want to but it’s—Eddie. I really think we need to talk about it,”
Eddie goes completely still.
Buck feels like his ears are ringing, he doesn’t know if this is the right call, but he’s—he can’t hold onto it anymore. It’s making him feel crazy.
He watches Eddie’s face in profile. Suddenly neutral in the way he gets when he’s trying to put a wall between himself and what’s happening around him. Buck hates it. Hates to be on the other side of that shell.
“Please?” Buck tries, sounding desperate even to his own ears.
There’s another beat, and then Eddie deflates with a heaving exhale. He closes his eyes, gives a stilted nod, and then turns to keep walking.
Buck is confused for a moment, scrambling to follow—always, always following—but then Eddie takes the split in the path towards the lookout marker he’d pointed out. He’s not running, Buck realizes with relief, he’s just leading them off of the trail.
Buck pauses when Eddie sits on the bench at the ledge, his back to Buck, facing the landscape below them. He’s still holding himself stiffly, but there’s a line of resignation in the curve of his shoulders that makes Buck’s heart ache.
He gives Eddie a second to breathe before making his way over to the bench, sure to telegraph his approach with footsteps that can be heard. For all that he’s been vibrating out of his skin wanting to talk, he finds himself moving slowly. Deliberate and measured. He’s cracked open the brittle shell, but there’s still something very fragile inside. There’s still a risk of hurt, if he’s not careful with it.
Buck stands in front of the bench for a moment, hands tucked away in his jacket pockets, looking out at the beginnings of sunset colors over the trees. Breathes deep and sits down. Leaves space between himself and Eddie, even though it makes him itch.
They don’t say anything for a while.
A bird calls. Then another.
Eventually, words from days ago, said in parting at his front door, return to the forefront of his mind—
Hey, um. Before I go…
“You told me you loved me,” Buck murmurs. As if he needs the reminder.
I love you. Just so you know.
As if he hasn’t been replaying the words in his head on a loop for days.
We don’t need to talk about it, but I just…
“You—,” Buck furrows his brow and chews his lip. Breathing in, then out, “You said—,”
I’m in love with you—and it’s important to me. That you know that.
Buck looks over at him for the first time since sitting down, “And then you left,”
I’ll see you on shift, okay?
There’s silence. And then,
“Yeah,” Eddie swallows harshly, “I did,”
“Why d—,” Buck starts, stops, huffs. Goes to try again, but he doesn’t even know what he wants to ask. Why do you love me? Why did you say it? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did you leave? All of them? None of them? He’s not sure.
Eddie purses his lips and shrugs, still not meeting Buck’s eye. But he picks an unsaid why , maybe at random, and replies, “You told me you didn’t think it was in the cards for you. And I couldn’t let you believe that was true,”
Buck’s brain stutter-steps. Rewinds to earlier in that day—before the life-changing farewell at the door took over his entire field of view—back to when he’d been telling Eddie how app dating was starting to feel hopeless, even with the newly-doubled pool size. How he’d laughed and said he felt like maybe he’d run out of chances. Maybe he’d gotten too complicated.
He feels scrambled, searching for words, “I don’t—so you just—,”
“You’re easy , Buck,” Eddie cuts him off, his voice fervent even where it cracks, no room for argument, “you’re so easy to love, it scares me sometimes,”
The wave of adrenaline and shock and overwhelming adoration that sweep over Buck makes him feel tingly and lightheaded.
“Eddie,” Buck whispers, feeling on the verge of tears as he scoots himself closer, “Eddie, look at me, please,”
Eddie’s eyes flicker to him, then down and away, but back again. Meeting Buck, just because he’d asked. Steeling himself. But brave. So, so brave.
“You don’t have to feel the same,” Eddie says, quietly, voice thick and resigned. A flash of a sad, unsure smile, “it’s okay, it’s just mine to hold onto,”
“You asshole,” Buck chokes out a laugh, folding forward to press their foreheads together, eyes closing, noses bumping, hand finding Eddie’s elbow and holding on tight, “You’re such a martyr,”
Eddie lets out a surprised snort, but he’s still shaking in Buck’s grip when he weakly teases back, “Look who’s talking,”
“Of course I feel the same,” Buck whispers into the space between them, barreling past the teasing and back to the heart of it, “of course I love you. How could I not?”
Inevitable, inevitable, inevitable.
He feels more than he hears the shuddering breath that Eddie takes, before he says, so softly it’s barely anything, “You do?”
Buck nods against him, frantic and with furrowed brows, “You—You didn’t want us to talk about it a-and then you didn’t let me say anything back before you left, you jerk—so please, just,” pressing even closer, feeling a hand on his shoulder, fingers against his jaw. Says, “let me,” feels a wetness on his cheek and he’s not sure whose eyes it came from, says again, “let me, please—please, let me love you—,”
Anything else he says is lost between the press of lips and the soft breeze.