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Here’s the thing.
Buck knows he and Eddie have an unusual relationship to anybody outside of it. They’re abnormally close, even for best friends, and he knows that. It’s not a new thing.
Always needing to be near and touching one another? Not new.
Constantly worrying something is going to happen to the other, even when everything seems completely fine? Not new.
Spending nearly every moment on and off shift together? Not new.
Never being able to stand when they’re arguing because the rift between them physically pains the both of them? Not new.
The only people they truly trust with every single part of themselves being each other? Not new.
The look Eddie gets in his eyes, sparkling and warm and open, when Buck does anything for him? Not new.
The way Buck smiles, soft and sweet, when watching Eddie do basically anything? Not new.
The way Eddie looks at him whenever Buck brings up Tommy, something firmly disappointed but guarded? That one is…kind of new. Kind of, because if Buck thinks back on it, this is not a new Eddie look. Kind of, because this is a consistent Eddie look, though Buck had usually been too caught up in his pining or heartbreak or girlfriend in general to notice it.
So yeah. They’re abnormally close. It’s not new, and nothing about it is new. The look is kind of new, or new to his realization, maybe, or maybe should not even be classified as new but rather circumstantial. Not the point.
The point is that Buck knows how close they are. He knows.
So he knows, when Tommy gives him Lakers tickets for his birthday, that Tommy probably thinks he’ll take Eddie before he’s even fully grasped why *the fuck* Tommy would give him Lakers tickets.
He knows that when Tommy breaks up with him and says ‘but I’m not your last’, they’re both thinking of brown eyes and tan skin.
He knows that when he shows up at Eddie's door that night with two beers and a pained expression, Eddie will let him in without question and won’t say anything until he’s ready.
He knows that even though that expression passes Eddie's face, Eddie will accept ‘I almost called Tommy’ for the reason why he has as many treats as Buck can morally stick him with.
And he knows when he’s at Eddie's place for a much different reason, feeling a little lighter for the first time in a few weeks, that Eddie isn’t actually looking at porn or even anything questionable.
What he doesn’t know is why in the fucking world Eddie would think the only solution to seeing Chris is moving to El Paso. What he doesn’t know is why he takes that iPad and doesn’t smash it right then and there. What he doesn’t know is how he ends up on the couch, clutching the device a little too hard considering his on and off lack of strength control, Eddie telling him he’ll make him coffee. What he doesn’t know is why he’s offering to help his best friend, who he is abnormally close to given all drawn data, move away from him and possibly, probably, not return.
What he doesn’t know is the name of the feeling that rips through him in a sudden assault when Eddie goes to start the coffee. What he doesn’t know is why he can barely breath for a few moments, staring at the iPad as it hits him again that Eddie is leaving.
Actually, he probably does know. Because he knows himself, and he knows Eddie, and he knows him and Eddie. He knows exactly why it played out how it did. He knows why he agreed to help, and what the feeling that rips through him is. Because love hurts, and if there’s one thing he knows, it’s how to love Edmundo Diaz.
That love, also, is not a new thing. But the realization of it, of being in love, that hits him faster than lightning can strike and harder than the force of waves pushing him down and knowing that Eddie is leaving feels like watching the mud sink in and collapse in the well, feels like having blood that is not his own in his mouth, feels like sleepless hours by a hospital bed and even more sleepless hours in this very house with the very kid Eddie is leaving to see.
He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to get on his knees and beg Eddie to stay. He wants to stay on his knees when Eddie says no and send a prayer to a god he’s never believed in, to the force of the universe he’s always believed in. He wants Chris to just come home so he can be selfish and keep them both with him, tucked into his heart and his life like they should be. He wants the family he’s grown into. He wants to never see this tablet again. He wants his boys. He wants everyone to stop leaving him .
He drops the iPad. The corner of the tablet hits the ground, surprisingly hard for only falling from the couch, and the crack sounds in slow motion when it tips and falls on the screen.
It’s not even on purpose. He would never break anything of Eddies on purpose, even if it meant him staying, but especially not the iPad, because it won’t mean him staying. He doesn’t get to feel a sense of relief that he’ll be staying, because it’s an iPad, Eddie can buy a new one or use his phone or even his computer. Eddie won’t be staying, but the iPad is on the ground and Buck knows it’s broken and now his hands are shaking and he can’t breathe.
He tugs at the collar of his shirt that is suddenly too tight, ducking his head against the light that’s suddenly too bright, digs his fingers into the cushion of the couch to try and focus on the texture under his fingers instead of the tablet at his feet and Eddie being about to leave him.
He’s in love with Eddie. He’s in love with Eddie, and Eddie is leaving him. To see their son, he reminds himself, he’s leaving to see their son and Buck is being selfish by being this upset by it. Chris had every right to leave, and Eddie has every right to follow, and he’s being selfish, which he has no right to do. No amount of love for either of them can excuse how destroyed he is by it. He’s being selfish, and he’s wrong for it, and he needs to get it together and calm down because he doesn’t need to make this harder for any of them.
Somebody is talking to him. He can barely pick it up over the sound of his heart racing, his shaky gasps for breath, but somebody's talking and he can’t see clearly because the universe hates him. He squeezes his eyes shut so hard his head goes fuzzy for a second, then opens them again to a slightly clearer field of vision. It’s Eddie.
It’s Eddie, who is about to leave him, with a hand on Bucks knee and a worried expression on his face, probably trying to coach him through breathing. He can’t hear it. He can’t get a breath in, he can’t focus. He’s in love with Eddie, and Eddie is going to leave him. Eddie is leaving, and every moment of almost eight years together is going to mean nothing.
Thinking like that is selfish. Making it about himself is selfish. He’s being selfish, and he needs to stop, and his mothers voice is in his mind telling him to just calm down, Evan , you’re not a child, this behaviour is appalling and selfish.
The hand on his knee moves up to his shoulder, and then Eddie is moving to sit next to him instead of in front of him. His mother, or the disembodied voice of her, is still telling him to calm down and that he’s only being selfish. Eddie, the real solid version of him, is grabbing his chin to make Buck look at him.
Feeling Eddie, solid and real, still there at least for now, makes him breathe easier. Looking into those beautiful, beautiful brown eyes makes his stomach churn worse. He finally hears Eddie when he says his name, “Buck?”, soft and worried. He’s going to be sick.
“Sorry,” is all Buck can manage to articulate his feelings.
“You don’t have to be,” Eddie says, and Buck wants to laugh.
Of course he has to be sorry. He has so many things to be sorry for. The tablet, the way he’s acting, loving him more than he should in a way that he has no right to love him. “Yes I do.”
“Buck,” Eddie says again, firmer but still soft because that’s the only way Eddie seems to say his name. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“It’s a tablet.”
“It’s your tablet.”
“I didn’t like the color anyway.”
“ Eddie ,” Buck says, and it comes out more wrecked than he ever wants to sound, but he’s trying to convey everything all at once. That he’s sorry, that he has reasons to be sorry, that he doesn’t want him to leave but would hate to force him to stay, that he loves him.
“Evan,” Eddie says, and Bucks stomach turns again. He’s only ever been called Evan by him once, and that was the solidified proof of their future in each others lives. It’s not fair that Eddies calling him that again as the solidified proof of the opposite.
“I’m going to be sick,” Buck mutters as response, pushing himself up off the couch, that fucking couch, to go to the bathroom. He barely registers doubling over in front of the toilet and losing the contents of his stomach, but he knows he does because when he comes back to himself his throat burns from the acid and he’s got the lingering taste of vomit in his mouth. Eddie is there, knelt next to him with a hand on his back, and if it were any other time Buck would be thinking that of course he’s here, of course he’s with him, that’s what they do.
He cries. He sits there on the floor of the bathroom with the taste of bile in his mouth and he cries until the sobs turn into meager gasps and everything hurts, and he lets Eddie wrap his arms around him like he would any other time. He cries because the love he feels for his family, his boys, means absolutely fucking nothing, and he cries because Eddie holds him like it means something and it doesn’t mean anything.
When Buck stops crying, it's followed by what feels like hours of silence stretches until Eddie finally asks, “What’s wrong?”
He should know what’s wrong. Buck wants him to know. He doesn’t want to have to vocalize how selfish he is, how all of this is affecting him and has been affecting him since Chris left. Eddie should know.
And maybe he does, because he doesn’t wait for Buck to respond and instead says, “I miss him too. Obviously. That’s why I’m going. I’m not leaving L.A, I’m going to him.”
“But you’re still leaving,” Buck says, and what he means is You’re still leaving me .
“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and he sounds like he means it.
“I don’t want you to leave,” Buck says, because above everything he is so, so very selfish. “You’re my best friend. If you leave…we lose that.”
“Nothing,” Eddie says. “And I mean nothing. Will keep you safe from the fate of being my best friend forever.”
“Eddie,” Buck mutters. “Don’t.”
“You’re not losing me,” Eddie pushes on. “You could never. I mean that.”
“But I will!” Buck retorts desperately. “I will. Because you’re leaving, and you’re not going to be back. And I love Chris, Eds, you know I do. But moving to El Paso is not the answer to bringing him back. You’re not happy there. You’re not you . Do you really think being that version of you, the version you are when you’re there, is going to be what brings him back to you? Do you honestly think that’s the solution? Do you think leaving everyone that cares about you and him and what’s really right for both of you is the answer?”
“Buck,” Eddie says, like a warning, and Buck winces.
“No,” he breathes. “No, I have a right to say this. You gave me that right when you made me one of his primary caregivers, when you put me in the will, when you brought me into your life and your family. You’re not you there. You’re some diluted, repressed, sad version of yourself there. That’s not what he needs, Eddie. That’s not going to bring him back, and you know it. You’ll end up hurting him again. But instead of actually thinking about that, you’re running. You’re running to what you think is the safe option because maybe there’s a small chance he’ll want to come back if you’re closer to him, because you’re terrified if you stay here and wait for him he’s not going to come back. You’re scared, so you’re leaving L.A, and you’re leaving me , and it’s going to hurt you even more. And I’m sorry, Eddie, but I don’t want you to go, because I can’t keep losing people I love. I can’t stop you. I wouldn’t, anyway. But leaving isn’t what’s right.”
“Buck,” Eddie says again, firmer, and Bucks stomach falls. He’s fucked it up, now. He’s pushed Eddie away even more, for good. Now Eddie will leave and their friendship will be nothing but ashes. He’s ruined it, because he’s selfish, and being selfish is what’s caused all his problems, hasn’t it? Always wanting too much, being too much. He should've stayed quiet. “I don’t want to leave you.”
Oh .
That’s not where he expected Eddie to go with that, and it must show on his face, because Eddie continues. “You’re right. That’s…not what Christopher needs, and it’s not what I need. What I did need, I guess, was a slap in the face about it.”
Buck blinks at him. All of that- his panic, his tears, getting sick- and it was as easy as telling him he shouldn’t go.
There’s no way that’s how this is actually playing out. No way in hell.
“Are you-” Buck starts, and swallows the lump in his throat. “Are you sure?”
“I can’t handle losing you, either,” Eddie admits, and those damn eyes are so soft and genuine it makes Buck want to cry all over again. “And neither can Chris. We need this, here in L.A. We need you.”
“Eddie-”
“I have a right to say this,” Eddie mocks, interrupting. “Buck. We need you. I need you. I can’t do this without you. And not…not miles away, not over the phone, nothing like that. I need you right here with me. I think I always have, even before I knew you. Is that stupid?”
Buck thinks he could hear words like those on repeat forever and the way his heart skips and entire soul lights up wouldn't change. Being wanted, loved, needed- it's a feeling he'll never be tired of, and he'd be lying if he said anyone but Eddie ever made him feel like that. "No,” Buck murmurs. “No, it’s not stupid. And if it is, we’re stupid together, because I feel the same way. I can’t go through life without you.”
Eddie smiles, something small and private. “So I stay, and we do this together.”
“So you stay,” Buck agrees, and he smiles too. “And I beat your ass for the hell I’ve gone through today because of you. You made me cry.”
Eddie winces, cupping Bucks face, and Buck is suddenly struck with the thought of wanting so badly to kiss him. Another thing that’s not exactly new. He leans forward, because the way Eddie says, "I'm sorry, cariño," tells Buck he’ll kiss back, but he stops short.
“Brush your teeth,” Eddie says, grinning at him.
“I’m gonna brush my teeth,” Buck says through what can only be described as giggles, and they stumble up together so Buck can brush his teeth and they can continue the rest of their lives exactly how they should, together.
Eddie tells him later, somewhere between his right and left leg, that he should be stupid more often if it means being indulgent like this afterwards.
“Selfish,” Buck moans like a correction, and is promptly shut up.