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The end of Buck and Tommy doesn’t start with Buck. It doesn’t even start with Tommy. It starts, of course, with Eddie. Because Buck is beginning to think that everything in the universe begins and ends with Eddie Diaz. He’s Buck first thought in the morning, and his last thought at night, and maybe that should have been a sign but…but they’re BuckandEddie. They’ve always been different about each other - always been more.
“Okay, what’s the deal?” Hen asks, flipping her magazine closed as she fixes her gaze on Buck. “You’ve been quiet all shift.”
They’re all sitting around doing their own thing. Buck is scrolling through tiktok with an airpod in his right ear, but his left ear free so he can hear Eddie reading out crossword clues when he gets stuck. Chimney is reading a book, and Hen is reading a magazine, and Ravi is playing on his Nintendo switch. It’s been a relative q-word day, with fewer than average calls and more downtime than they’re used to.
“No I haven’t,” Buck lies.
“Liar,” Eddie calls him out from his spot next to Buck on the couch.
Buck huffs out a sigh. Eddie knows him too well sometimes - knows him in a way that makes Buck’s heart race at the thought of being so thoroughly seen. He widens his legs to knock their knees together, and when Eddie looks at him he just shrugs his shoulders.
“Well she’s right,” he says. “You have been suspiciously quiet.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buck denies.
Even though he does. He does know what they’re talking about. He has been quiet all shift, keeping his words trapped between his teeth every time a fun fact, or question, or funny story tries to bubble to the surface. He’s been swallowing them down and keeping them inside of him, because he doesn’t want to bore anyone. He doesn’t want to be too much.
And it’s kind of Buck’s whole thing, being too much. He’s big, and he’s loud, and he’s chatty; he always has something he wants to say, wants to share with people. It’s the way that he connects - the way he draws people in, and offers them a piece of himself in return. But sometimes…sometimes there’s a niggling voice that creeps into the back of his head and tells him he needs to somehow become less.
At the moment, that voice sounds a lot like Tommy.
“Dude. Chim asked a question about jellyfish earlier, and you didn’t say a single word,” Ravi points out. “You’re being weird.”
“Yeah, Buck. Tell me some jellyfish facts,” Chim says, closing his book and placing it down on the coffee table to give Buck his full attention.
And Buck could tell him that the world’s largest jellyfish - the lion’s mane jellyfish - can grow up to 120ft from the top of its bell to the very ends of its tentacles. He could say that they don’t have eyes, or hearts, or backbones, or brains, and they’re made up of 95% water. He could even tell them that the turritopsis dohrnii jellyfish is technically considered immortal.
Buck doesn’t say any of those things, though. He stands up from his spot on the couch, slips his phone into his pocket and says, “Not today,” then he turns his back on the team and walks away.
Eddie finds him on the roof less than five minutes later.
Buck shouldn’t really be surprised by that. They have a habit of being drawn into each other, like two planets orbiting in the same plane. And he knew from the look on Eddie’s face as Buck walked away that he was worried - could see it in the furrow of his brow, and his questioning gaze, and the way he was biting on his bottom lip. Buck still jumps out of his skin when he hears the door to the roof grinding open, though. But he knows it’s Eddie instantly; he can feel him. There’s something about the way the atmosphere always seems to change when he’s around, like it has to make space for Eddie and Buck, and the sum of all that they are together.
He takes a seat in the black foldout chair next to Buck’s blue one, and he doesn’t say anything for a little while. Both of them just sit and watch the sun going down, and the way the sky fades from orange to pink. They’re on shift for a full twenty-four hours, so maybe they’ll be lucky enough to catch the sunrise too. He’s witnessed many of them with Eddie by his side, and there’s always something special about Los Angeles before all of its people wake up; Buck thinks it’s the closest thing to magic.
“So,” Eddie begins. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Buck says. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t need to burden anyone with this, but especially not Eddie. He’s just got Christopher home from Texas - they’re just figuring out a way to navigate their life together again - and he doesn’t need to deal with Buck’s bullshit. That was kind of the whole point of staying quiet: trying not to burden people with his presence.
Eddie sighs, and Buck can feel his gaze on the side of his face even though he refuses to look back at him.
“Don’t lie to me.” He says it so gently, like he’s asking, even though Buck knows that he’s telling. That he isn’t giving Buck an option here.
“I just…I don’t want to annoy anyone today.”
The words linger in the air for just a moment, and the silence makes Buck feel so uncomfortable that he has to turn and look at Eddie, just to see what his face is doing. To gauge his reaction.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eddie all but demands, with his brows furrowed and his mouth pinched like he’s tasting something sour.
“Look, I know I talk too much, and-“
“-who said that?” Eddie interrupts before Buck can even finish his sentence.
“What?”
Eddie huffs, shifting in his seat so he’s turned sideways and facing Buck. He’s got a bewildered expression on his face, the same one he gets when Christopher starts speaking in slang that’s at least two generations removed from what Eddie and Buck are familiar with.
“Who told you that you talk too much, Buck?” Eddie asks again. “Because you know that’s bullshit, right?”
Buck wants to laugh. He like, objectively talks too much. It’s less of an opinion and more of a fact. It’s just that his mouth runs away with him sometimes. He has so much information inside his head - so many thoughts, and facts, and memories, all swirling around, that he needs some kind of outlet, and it just so happens to come in the shape of infodumping. And he’s not saying it for sympathy, or even to be self deprecating. It never used to be a thing that he was self conscious about…not until now, anyway.
“I’m a lot,” Buck acknowledges, laughing awkwardly.
“I don’t ever want you to be anything less.”
Eddie says it like it’s the most simple thing in the world. Like it’s a fact. Buck is a lot, but Eddie doesn’t ever want him to be different. He doesn’t ever want him to change. The words stick to Buck’s sun-warmed skin and soothe some of the wounds that Tommy has inadvertently opened up.
And that kind of seems like a common theme between them - they heal hurts for each other that they never even caused. Eddie’s taught Buck that he isn’t expendable, taught him that he is worth more than what he can do for people. Buck has - hopefully - taught Eddie that he doesn’t always have to go it alone…that there’s no shame in reaching out a hand and asking for someone to help you out of the water when the waves get too big.
“Well Tommy-“
“-what? What did he say to you?” Eddie demands.
“It’s not what he said, exactly. It’s just-“.
Buck sighs, runs the palms over his face as he tries to find the right words to explain this without sounding, well, pathetic. Without sounding like he’s blowing this whole thing out of proportion, and overreacting like he so often does. But also without painting Tommy like the bad guy here, when, really, he’s not done anything wrong.
“Talk to me, Buck.”
Eddie reaches out and rests a hand over Buck’s, and for a moment Buck gets lost in the way Eddie’s thumb is swiping back and forth over the bone that sticks out on the side of his wrist.
“He just…sometimes he makes me feel like I’m wasting his time,” Buck says. “Like every time I open my mouth, he wishes that I wouldn’t. I don’t know, I’m probably reading too much into things, but.
“But sometimes it feels like he doesn’t even like me? And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. I don’t know how to be less, or more, or just…just the right amount. I don’t know how to be enough.”
It spills out of Buck like a dam has broken; once he starts, he simply can’t hold back. All of his weird, complicated feelings pour out of him until he’s left feeling strangely empty. Then there’s silence afterwards. Loud, echoing silence, that creeps along the back of Buck’s neck until he’s feeling twitchy and uncomfortable.
See, this is exactly his problem. Too much, all the fucking time. Eddie is friends with Tommy, he didn’t want to hear all of that. Didn’t want to hear Buck complaining about the most ridiculous little things when Eddie is only just beginning to rebuild his life after it was all blown apart. Buck’s problems sound pathetic when he says them out loud, and he internally cringes at the way he’s been acting like they’re some kind of big deal.
Buck laughs awkwardly. “Sorry. Too much, I know.”
“Buck, that’s…”
“I know, I know. God,” Buck groans, pulling his hand out from beneath Eddie’s to rub his eyes. “You didn’t need to hear all that. I’m being-”
“-stop it,” Eddie silences him. “You’re not being anything. Tommy is the one who’s being a dick.”
Buck flinches. It’s not that Buck had expected Eddie to side with Tommy - he knows there’s no world where that would ever happen - but he had expected a more measured response. Something balanced, and fair, and equal. He hadn’t anticipated the sheer level of vitriol in Eddie’s voice or written all over his face. He hadn’t expected Eddie to come out of the gate swinging, like there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to protect Buck. And it’s Buck’s instinct to defend Tommy…to say that he didn’t mean it, that his dismissals were never intentional or personal. But-
“You’re never too much, Buck. Never, okay?” Eddie says, and it almost sounds like he’s begging. “And if Tommy makes you feel like that, then it just means he’s not enough of a man to handle you.”
Those words make Buck’s breath catch in the back of his throat. They feel heavy, and loaded, and intentional. It feels like Eddie is trying to tell him something. And the look in his eyes as he watches Buck…it feels like molten lava pooling in his stomach.
It makes Buck think things that he shut down long ago. Makes him want things that he isn’t allowed to have. Makes him feel things you simply aren’t supposed to feel about your best friend, especially when you have a boyfriend. But Buck is thinking, and wanting, and feeling them anyway. And for one short, unbelievable second, Buck thinks Eddie is maybe thinkingwantingfeeling them too.
Their eyes are locked together, and there’s something crackling in the space between them, and it feels like they’re on the precipice of…something.
But then the alarm echoes through the open door, and the moment is over before Buck is even certain that it’s real.
The bar is just the wrong side of too loud for most people, but Buck thrives in the chaos of it. It hums just beneath the surface of his skin, making him feel giddy even before the three cocktails he’s managed to put away. It’s crowded, and busy, and he’s surrounded by almost all of his favourite people. Evenings like this are few and far between when almost everyone in your circle is a first responder, and it feels like having life breathed back into him when they get to steal time together like this.
He’s not sure how it happened exactly, but eight of them are crammed into a booth meant for six, and somehow Eddie has ended up pressed against him so tightly that the heat radiating from his body is seeping into Buck’s skin. He feels sticky, and almost too hot, but he doesn’t even consider moving away. Hen and Karen are cuddled up together, while debating with Chimney and Maddie about the merits of hard-wood floor versus carpets, and Ravi is sitting at the end with his eyes locked firmly on some guy at the bar and very deliberately ignoring Tommy.
Tommy, who is sitting opposite Buck and Eddie. And Buck knows that he should care about that - he knows he should want his boyfriend’s leg almost resting on top of his, instead of his best friends. But. But he can’t control the way that he feels.
“I’m just saying that there should be an age limit on hard-wood flooring!” Chimney exclaims, his hand coming down too hard on the table and almost sending their drinks flying.
The whole thing reminds Buck of something that happened a couple of days ago, and he opens his mouth to launch into the story. “Oh my god, wait. Did I tell you about Mrs Prescott-”
“-Evan,” Tommy interrupts him with a laugh. “No one wants to hear about your cranky, geriatric neighbour, babe.”
Buck feels something inside of him sinking, fast and heavy like a lead balloon. As Tommy begins to fill in the silence with his own senseless chatter, Buck feels just like a kid again. He feels like the little boy whose parents never wanted to hear about his day at school or what he was interested in, and who never learned the names of his friends or his favourite teachers. He feels like he’s trapped on the outside, banging on the windows desperately trying to be noticed. To be seen.
He feels the too-familiar icy heat swelling in his chest, when he realises Tommy will simply never see Buck in the way that he wants to be seen.
He calls him Evan even though Buck has asked, and asked, and asked him not to. He says it makes him feel special that he calls Buck something different to what everyone else calls him. He ignores that it makes Buck feel small. He ignores the way Buck shrinks in his presence. He ignores the way that they only ever do things Tommy cares about, and the fact that he doesn’t even know what Buck cares about. So maybe last week, when Buck had wanted to defend Tommy - when he was so insistent it wasn’t intentional. Well. Maybe Buck was wrong.
And he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do about that.
But then Eddie is leaning even further into Buck’s space. His hand is on Buck’s thigh, their ankles are tangled together, and he can feel Eddie’s breath on his neck as he begins to speak.
“Go on,” he murmurs. “I’m listening.”
And Buck hesitates for a second. He doesn’t want to bore Eddie - doesn’t want to talk his ear off like he seems to do with everyone else. With Tommy. But then Eddie smiles at him softly and squeezes his leg beneath the table where no one else can see, and Buck just feels…safe. Safe to be himself, safe to talk and talk about something he’s interested in.
So Buck restarts his story about Mrs Prescott from next door, who spilled tea on her hard-wood living room floor, slipped, and broke her hip. And he’s vaguely aware that everyone else is listening, too, but it’s hard to focus on anyone but Eddie. Eddie, who listens without once looking like he’s doing it out of pity. He doesn’t look like he’d rather be somewhere else, with someone else. He listens, and he nods his head, and he laughs at the right moments, then he asks questions once Buck has finished talking. He makes it seem so easy…makes it seem like putting up with Buck isn’t a hardship at all. Like he isn’t just tolerating buck, but he’s appreciating him.
Buck’s heart feels big and fuzzy inside of his chest, and it’s a little bit to do with the alcohol they’ve all been drinking, but it’s mostly just Eddie. The way he sees Buck, and he listens to him, and he cares about him. Like actually, genuinely cares. It’s…it’s a lot, to have something as powerful as Eddie’s attention. His love. Buck will always feel lucky to be a part of Eddie and Christopher’s life, even if there’s a piece of him that will always wonder what more could have looked like.
But then Eddie is leaning closer again, and-
“You’re so easy to love, you know that?” He whispers into Buck’s ear. “It’s one of the easiest things I’ve ever done.”
And Buck can barely breathe.
They’re in Buck’s loft again, because of course they are. Because that’s all they ever do. Takeout and a game at Buck’s, beer and a movie at Tommy’s, or maybe the occasional coffee date if Tommy can be bothered to make the effort.
There’s a match playing out on Buck’s TV - MMA, even though Buck genuinely couldn’t care less about it. In fact, he kind of hates it actually - hates the way his ribs feel too tight around his lungs when he watches the violence, because all he can ever picture is Eddie in a ring like that. Eddie getting hurt like that. And he knows - he knows - that Eddie doesn’t do that anymore, but it doesn’t stop the thought from popping up in the back of Buck’s head anyway.
And god, Tommy won’t stop talking about it. He’s commenting on the whole damn fight, despite the fact that there are literal commentators already doing that on the screen. He’s talking, and he’s talking, and Buck wouldn’t care even if you paid him to, but. But it would still, never in a million years, cross his mind to ask Tommy to stop. He would never make Tommy feel bad for something that he enjoys, because who would ever want to do something like that? Buck knows all of the legal and illegal moves in MMA. He knows the rules, and how the judging works, and he knows Tommy’s favourite fighters because he listens even though he’s not interested.
And it hits him then, that Tommy has never once afforded Buck the same kindness.
Eddie knows everything there is to know about the Titanic because he listened when Buck talked about it, after staying up until 3am doing research on it. He knows about jellyfish because after that one conversation at work, he’d turned to Buck on the way home and said, “Go on, tell me about jellyfish then.” Eddie knows Buck’s favourite food, and his favourite colour, and his favourite book and favourite movie. He knows Buck’s allergies, and he carries paracetamol everywhere for him because he can’t take ibuprofen.
And it’s not a one way street with them, because Buck knows the rules of baseball for Eddie, even though he thinks it’s just about the most boring sport in the world. He knows Eddie’s favourite song, and he knows Eddie’s real favourite song - the one he listens to almost daily but would never, ever admit to. He knows what triggers Eddie’s PTSD - he remembers last 4th of July, when they were out on a call right as someone started to set off fireworks. Buck had covered Eddie’s ears just in time to dull the sound when they started to go off, and Eddie couldn’t find the words to say thank you but he didn’t need to, because Buck could already see it in his eyes.
They’re best friends. They’re partners. Equals. They know everything about each other. Why should Buck settle for anything less than that in his romantic relationships?
“What’s my favourite movie?” Buck asks.
Tommy startles, barely dragging his eyes away from the TV as he says, “What?”
“Or TV show? Or song?”
He scoffs, his attention flickering between the fight and Buck. “Evan, what are you-“
“Name one thing that I’m interested in. That I like, or enjoy, or care about. Just one.”
He’s not really sure why he’s asking, when he already knows that Tommy doesn’t have the answers. But that in itself is an answer - that tells Buck everything that he needs to know. That he realised months ago, probably, when Tommy almost outed him to Eddie then left him on the side of the road with no way home. But he’d been so desperately determined for things to be different this time - for things to work, finally, after so many other failed attempts - that he’d sacrificed parts of himself that should have never even been up for debate.
“Where is this coming from?” Tommy sighs, finally pausing the TV and giving Buck his attention.
“You don’t have an answer, do you?”
“You’re being ridiculous, Evan.”
Eddie knows the weight of that name. He knows how heavy it feels to Buck, and he knows when it’s okay to use it. It knows that it matters.
Buck runs his hands over his face and up into his hair, tugging on his curls for a moment as he works up the courage to say, finally, “I can’t do this anymore. We’re done.”
Tommy’s facial expression doesn’t even change. He’s always so stoic, so…reserved. Buck had thought it was dignified, at first. He’d thought he was experienced, and put-together, and self-controlled. But now Buck knows the truth. Tommy is aloof, and indifferent, and so unconcerned with anyone or anything that doesn’t directly affect him. He isn’t more mature than Buck - even though he’s done his best to try and convince himself of that - he’s just more detached. He simply doesn’t care about anyone but himself.
“You’re kidding? Because I don’t know your favourite goddamn movie?”
“Because you don’t know me. And I don’t even think that you want to.”
Tommy scoffs again, and the sound is starting to grate. Starting to sound like nails on a chalkboard, or a knife scratching across a plate.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Not for much longer,” Buck says. “I want you to leave.”
As Tommy stands up, he laughs. It’s mean and sardonic and filled to the brim with all of the bitterness he carries inside of himself. All the coldness that he tries to pass off as maturity.
“I knew you weren’t ready,” he spits out as he looks down at Buck.
And Buck…Buck doesn’t even bother to argue with him. He doesn’t see the point. You can’t tell Tommy anything he doesn’t want to hear, and Buck has nothing to prove anyway.
He’d spent so long wondering if Tommy really wanted him - if he even really liked him - that he never stopped to wonder if he liked Tommy. And the answer to that is no, not really. It was never Tommy’s attention he’d been vying for, and it wasn’t Tommy that he’d wanted to kiss. Buck had felt a sense of obligation towards him…had felt like he owed him, for helping Buck figure out that he’s bisexual. But he would have figured that out in the end, anyway. He was right on the edge of realising he wanted his best friend, when Tommy swooped in and changed everything. So he doesn’t owe the man a single thing.
He waits in silence as Tommy slips his shoes and jacket on. There are none of his things in Buck’s apartment, and none of Buck’s in his, so it makes the whole process so much quicker. And he doesn’t have to say another word to him, because just minutes later Tommy slams the door closed behind him without even glancing back.
Buck takes a breath. And then another. And then he smiles.
It’s Christopher who opens the door when Buck knocks. He’s wearing his pyjamas, and there’s toothpaste right in the corner of his mouth, and it’s clear that he’s just about to head to bed. But he smiles big and bright, and Buck still feels it like a jolt of electricity straight to his heart. Because even though he’s been home for weeks now, the ache of his absence lingers in every breath that Buck breathes. God, he loves him more than he knows what to do with.
“Hey Buck,” Chris says around a yawn.
“Hey kid,” Buck greets him, even though he can hardly be called a kid anymore with how tall he’s gotten.
“It’s late,” Chris informs him as he holds the door open for Buck to step inside, and Buck can’t help but laugh. It feels like he’s being scolded for missing curfew.
“Yeah, I know,” he acknowledges. “But I need to speak to your dad.”
Chris looks up at him with a suspicious look on his face as he asks, “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, buddy. Everything is fine. Promise.”
Chris scrutinises him for a moment longer, like he’s checking to see if Buck is lying. Once he seems satisfied that nothing is wrong he hums, yawns again, and mumbles, “G’night,” before disappearing down the hallway and leaving Buck standing in the empty living room. He can hear soft music coming from the kitchen though, and so he follows the sound of Noah Kahan until he finds what he’s looking for.
Eddie’s got his back to the door as he dries the dishes with a dish towel, carefully placing each one back in its place like he’s trying not to disturb Christopher. Buck should probably make Eddie aware of his arrival, but he steals a moment just to watch him. To watch the way his back ripples beneath the white t-shirt that he’s wearing, and the way his biceps pop when he bends his arms to brush his hair out of his face. He’s wearing grey sweats, and his feet are bare, and Buck doesn’t even need to see his face to know that he’s never looked more beautiful than this.
“Hi.”
Eddie startles at the disturbance, and spins around to see who caused it. But when he sets his sights on Buck, he offers him a sleepy, tender smile.
And yeah, Buck was right. Beautiful.
“Hey,” he says, as he’s drying his hands on the dish towel. “I thought you were busy tonight?”
He knows what Buck was supposed to be doing tonight. He knows that Buck was seeing Tommy. And his complete refusal to even say the man’s name is both endearing and hilarious. He hates the man more than Buck ever could, simply because he believes that Tommy isn’t good enough for Buck.
“Yeah, well. Change of plans.”
It’s hard to miss the smirk that’s playing at the edges of Eddie’s mouth as he asks, “Oh yeah, what happened?”
“I guess I realised a couple of things,” Buck says with a shrug of his shoulders.
It's not the whole truth, exactly. He’d realised those things a long time ago, and was simply clinging onto an already failed relationship in the hopes that things might change. Or, maybe, in the hopes that Buck would learn to be okay with settling for someone other than Eddie. But he can’t say that, so it’s close enough to the truth that it’s not a lie.
“Like what?” Eddie asks, as he tosses the dish towel onto the counter and takes a step closer to Buck.
“He doesn’t know anything about me, so-“
“-I do.”
Eddie’s interruption makes Buck’s heart stumble in his chest, like when you miss a step on the stairs and it feels like you’re falling.
“…what?”
“I know everything about you. I know that your favourite food is butter chicken from that Indian restaurant near Chim and Maddie’s. I know your favourite colour is blue, but not light blue, only the darker shades.
“Your favourite movie is Remember the Titans even though you don’t watch football. And I know that your favourite book is This Is How You Lose The Time War because you’ve read it like a dozen times, even though you always tell Bobby that’s it-“
“- Lord of the Rings,” Buck finishes with a cracked whisper.
Buck looks at his best friend - at the strand of hair falling into his eyes, and the red flush on his cheeks, and the swirls of caramel drizzled through his chocolate eyes - and he sees the love of his life. He sees everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s ever dreamed of, and he’s looking at Buck like…like he feels the exact same way.
“Eddie,” Buck whispers, and he never knew a single word could hold so much weight until he carried Eddie’s name inside his mouth.
“I know everything about you, Buck. And I meant what I said in the bar, about how it’s one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. I love you.”
It’s not something Buck had ever thought he would be allowed to have. He’d hoped, for just a second, when Eddie had said that at the bar. But he’d thought he couldn’t have possibly meant it the way Buck wanted him to.
Because Eddie’s love is a big, and bold, and beautiful thing, and it’s far too good for the likes of Buck. He’d simply accepted that one day he would have to settle for good enough - settle for someone who would tolerate him, even if they didn’t appreciate him. Someone who would keep him, even if they didn’t love - or even like - him. And he thought he would have been okay with that. He thought that something would always be better than nothing at all. But…
“I love you, too,” Buck confesses. “God, Eddie. It was always you.”
Eddie’s eyes are alight when he says, “Since the very beginning.”
And maybe neither of them had known it at the time. Maybe it had taken years, and traumas, and tragedies for them to finally be ready to face this thing between them…this thing that is alive, and powerful, and glorious. That is as close a thing to heaven as Buck will ever believe in. But they know it now.
Buck takes a step towards Eddie, and then Eddie takes a step towards Buck, and both of them meet in the middle.
There’s love here. Here in this house, in this room, in the millimetres of space between them. So much that’s it’s all Buck can feel, all he can taste, all he can breathe. It’s all he can see, too, when he looks into Eddie’s eyes and finds him looking right back.
“I’ll understand if it’s too soon, but can-“
“-kiss me,” Buck begs.
And Eddie obliges.
His tentative, shaking hands reach up to take hold of Buck’s face, and he touches him so gently - so reverentially - that Buck feels like he is being worshipped. Eddie’s fingers trail across the birthmark over Buck’s left eyebrow, and the creases by his eyes, and the curve of his lips. He follows his own movements like he’s trying to commit every detail of Buck’s face to memory, and Buck raises his arms to wind them around Eddie’s waist and pull him closer, until their chests are flush together.
And then, with a smile on his lips and a nervous hitch of his breath, Eddie kisses Buck.
It’s soft, and sweet, and so achingly tender that Buck feels himself trembling beneath Eddie’s hands. It feels like being seen and being known and being loved, better than he ever has been before. It feels like the culmination of a lifetime of wanting and waiting and hurting and suffering, have all led to this very moment - the moment where Buck is finally home.
He doesn’t feel like too much in Eddie’s arm. He feels exactly right.