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“Whoa,” Buck said. “Someone’s late.”
He tilted his head back to take in the burst of light as the firework exploded overhead. Midnight had come and gone a while ago. The bar wasn’t empty yet, but it had been clearing out slowly, since the countdown and the cheering and the champagne an hour and change ago.
Hen and Karen left minutes after midnight, barely giving Buck enough time to kiss them both on the cheek. Bobby and Athena didn’t even wait for midnight; Athena announced they were celebrating on central time, kissed her husband, and said good-bye. Chimney and Maddie lasted slightly longer, but only because Buck kept trying to buy Maddie drinks and whining when she tried to remind him she had a kid to pick up from the Lees’ in the morning.
Buck and Eddie hadn’t made a move to leave.
“The year’s still new, I guess,” Eddie said.
Buck looked at him. Another firework soared through the sky and Buck watched it burst in the reflection in Eddie’s eyes.
They were the first two to the bar. After their shift let out in the afternoon, Buck drove himself home, then to Eddie’s after a shower and changing into his outfit for tonight. Eddie wasn’t dressed when Buck showed up, so Buck followed him around the house, helping him tidy and making sure Chris was actually packing his backpack for his sleepover, Buck in his dress pants and silky green button-up shirt and Eddie in his socks and t-shirt.
Buck didn’t remember the last time they had a New Year’s Eve off. The bar was Maddie’s idea, a cute rooftop bar she and Chimney found for a date night. Buck and Eddie showed up early, Eddie grabbing them a couple beers and Buck laying claim to the big booth in the corner. Eddie slid in to sit next to him, tilting one of the beers at Buck.
As the rest of the 118 and partners arrived, Buck and Eddie found themselves scooting closer and closer together to squeeze everyone in. By the time the countdown started, they were pressed together, shoulder to hip to thigh. Eddie bumped Buck’s knee with his when Buck made him laugh.
It was a fun, loud night. It was too hard for Buck or Eddie to get out of the booth once they were in it, so everyone kept bringing them drinks, more beer and complicated cocktails with fruit and umbrellas sticking out of them that Chimney insisted they try. They were a pair: Buck and Eddie, stuck together shoulder to toe, served the same drinks and answering questions for each other, Buck explaining the fight with Eddie’s neighbors about the recycling bins and Eddie answering when Karen asked why Buck texted her asking what the deal was with some article about the Webb telescope (Chris was looking for a science project).
And when everyone started to filter out, Buck and Eddie didn’t make a move to separate from each other.
Eddie knocked his knee into Buck’s. It wasn’t a particularly cool night, but Buck leaned into the warm line of Eddie’s body against his anyway.
Buck bumped his knee back. “Are you tired?”
“Nah,” Eddie said. “Not really.”
“Me neither,” Buck said.
It was a late night, but they had a lot of late nights together. Sitting in the loft at the station and waiting for something, anything to happen. Driving to a night call, when it was late enough for the traffic to finally take a break for the day. Sitting on Eddie’s couch, credits rolling across the screen, playing chicken with who would admit they needed to go to sleep first.
“I can’t believe they all went home,” Eddie said. He nodded at the empty chairs around the table without taking his eyes off Buck.
“They’re all old,” Buck said. He pressed his knee into Eddie’s again. “Not like us, right?”
Eddie laughed, low and quiet in his throat. “Not like us,” he repeated.
His smile was small, a private thing between them. His eyes were lit up with something bright and amused. Buck couldn’t stop looking at them.
The only funny moment of the evening was when the New Year’s countdown finished and the (replay) of the ball dropping played on the bar TVs and the fireworks started exploding over the heads. It was only then that Buck remembered, with sudden, startling clarity, that he and Eddie were the only single ones at this little party. Everyone yelled zero and screamed and cheered and the couples at the table all turned to kiss each other—all except Buck and Eddie.
It was fine. It was a minute, not even, and then Buck was smacking a kiss on Hen’s cheek and trying to get Chimney to lean close enough for him to kiss him on the forehead. It was nothing, except, for a second, everyone was kissing and Buck and Eddie were looking at each other. For a second, it was just the two of them.
Kind of like now.
“It freaks me out sometimes,” Buck said quietly. “New Year’s. I get this feeling like, I don’t know. Like I’m waiting for something.”
“Waiting for wait?”
Buck shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Eddie was so warm against him. They were both in short sleeves. Their elbows were touching, bare skin on bare skin.
“The future?” Eddie offered.
“I guess,” Buck said. “Sometimes it’s like, I know it’s all right around the corner. But I don’t know what it is, or where the corner is, or how I’m going to get there.”
Eddie hums. “I get that,” he said. “Sometimes—sometimes, there’s things I want, but they feel so far away. I want them, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to get to them.”
“Things like what?” Buck said.
“Lots of things,” Eddie said quietly.
"Name one," Buck insisted.
Buck looked at him. Eddie looked back. Somewhere out in the bar, someone was calling for their friend over the music. Buck didn’t hear it at all.
"Buck," Eddie said quietly.
"Eddie," Buck parroted.
Eddie pressed his knee into Buck’s. He had a look in his eyes that Buck couldn’t read at all—unless he just meant what it looked like. Unless he just meant, this.
“What kind of things, Eddie?” Buck asked.
Overhead, a firework burst into sparkling blues and golds. Buck felt the boom in his chest. Eddie’s eyes flicked up to the sky, then back to Buck’s.
“Happy New Year, Buck,” he said, and leaned in.
Eddie kissed him. Under the dark sky of the new year, at an empty table an hour and change after midnight—Eddie set one hand on the back of Buck’s neck, gentle.
Buck kissed him back. He got lost in it in a second, in all the places Eddie was touching him, the press of his fingertips on Buck’s neck and his mouth on Buck’s mouth and their knees, knocking close under the table. He’d chosen Eddie’s cologne for him tonight, a task Eddie set to keep him busy while he second-guessed his outfit, picking through the options on the top of his dresser until he found one he liked. Buck could smell it now.
Buck blinked his eyes open when they separated. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the bar had closed around them, or the sun had come up. They could have been kissing for an hour, two hours, a day. Instead, he just saw Eddie, looking back at him with something bright in his eyes.
Eddie took a slow breath in. Quietly, he asked, "Am I too late?"
“No,” Buck said. He didn’t know when this started—a week ago, six months, seven years, longer. He couldn’t remember when he’d started hoping for this, and he couldn’t imagine ever stopping wanting it. “Never.”