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Buck paces and paces and paces. He’s sure that his watch has buzzed against his wrist by now, celebrating his victory over his step goal.
He paces and paces and paces. His mind is running everywhere and nowhere, stuck in a loop, stuck in everything and nothing. The blood in his hands runs cold and his fingers are numb; he can’t do anything but hold them close to his body.
Maybe, if no one else sees it, no one else will say it.
So, he paces and paces and paces.
“Buck.” Eddie says his name so softly, nudging him to alert him to the steaming mug he had brought. When Buck makes no effort to take it, Eddie sets it on a nearby table against the wall.
Buck doesn’t look up, can’t look up, won’t look up at anything other than that dark spot on the floor, from—
He paces and paces and—
He runs into a hand, pressed firmly on his shoulder. He’s face to face with Eddie now, who is chasing and fighting to meet his eyes. When he closes his eyes against the fight, refusing to see the broken and accusatory look that he knows he’ll find in Eddie’s eyes, Eddie only sighs. His hand slides down Buck’s arm, wrapping carefully around his wrist as if he’ll crumble into sand if he is held too tightly. Eddie turns his hand skyward and runs a damp cloth over his palm, certainly staining the paper towel a faded red.
They stand like this for several minutes: Buck’s eyes closed tightly against the world and the fluorescents, while Eddie carefully cleans his bloody hands with a gentleness usually reserved for—
“Chris?” His own voice scares him, gravel under boots. He opens his eyes as Eddie’s hand pauses at the crook of his thumb. He sees it more than feels it; his hands are still not quite his own.
“Don’t worry about him,” Eddie assures him, tightening his grip on Buck’s wrist when he tries to pull away at the vague answer and continues his work. Eddie glances up at him, and, realizing he can finally meet his gaze, looks him full in the face. “He’s okay. I promise. Chris is not the reason we’re here.”
And Buck’s not naïve enough to misunderstand what Eddie is saying. Chris did not land them here. This was, as it usually is, Buck’s fault. Buck’s reckless behavior, overprotective nature, unhealthy attachment styles— whatever Dr. Copeland will want to call it.
This trip is, as so many of their other visits were, his fault.
Because— Listen. Technically, yes, he did a million things wrong here. And, no, he is not the one in the hospital bed, but it is, in fact, entirely his fault.
But now, there is something that is clawing at his skin, clawing at his temple, his chest, his limbs. Something ugly and desperate to get out, to show itself to the world—every cruel and dangerous part. He feels it tearing him apart, piece by piece. And if he is not careful…he is afraid it will kill him.
Eddie holds Buck’s eyes for a moment longer, a dragging, devastating moment that seems to say so much that Buck cannot understand. As deeply as he knows the man in front of him, he doesn’t know what he is trying to tell him, their personal, silent communication coming to a screeching halt at last.
And Buck can’t do it anymore so he closes his eyes again, reaches up with his free hand to wipe at the invisible beads of sweat he swears are collecting on his temple.
Eddie catches this wrist as well with a quick “ don’t .” He pulls his hand back down.
Buck can’t help it this time. He opens his eyes and looks at his hands: one caked with blood and the other half clean, but still a few shades off from the rest of his skin.
And a thing that has been clawing at his insides— not the thing, but significant enough in its own right— finally makes its way out. He pulls away, forceful enough to break Eddie’s grip, and stumbles down the hall, narrowly dodging nurses and other passersby. Someone crowds him into a bathroom, a hand pushing his shoulder, then grabbing his elbow until the world is quieter as the door closes behind them.
He fumbles his way into the stall, dropping onto his knees in front of the toilet, hard enough to bruise, and vomits. He heaves until there is nothing left and then keeps heaving, stomach acid burning his throat, stinging his eyes. There’s a hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing gentle circles. Eddie repeats quiet assurances, that it’s okay, he’s okay, they’re all okay . He stays there, hunched over, for longer than is necessary. Then he falls sideways against the wall, Eddie’s hand trailing to rest on his shoulder as he moves until his back is pressed against the cool tiles.
“What can I do?” Eddie asks him because he’s not foolish enough to ask if Buck is okay. Subconsciously, Buck thinks, Eddie gently presses his thumb into the pulse point just above Buck’s collarbone. “I can get Maddie if—“
“No.”
Eddie nods, eyes as soft as ever. He’s down on one knee in front of Buck and is scanning his face over and over, as if this time, he’ll be someone else entirely. He must come to some kind of conclusion, because he works his jaw for a moment, then stands to go to the sink. He grabs a paper towel, runs it under the water. Buck just stares straight ahead at a spot of chipped paint on the door of the stall, traces along the edges of the mark with his eyes just to keep himself sane.
Eddie returns, placing himself between Buck and the spot, and mumbles hold still . In any other situation, the way that Eddie places two fingers under his chin might send terrifying sparks throughout his body, leaving his fingertips buzzing. The care with which Eddie touches the towel to his face, his cheek, just under his eye, would have Buck shaking purely in an attempt at self-restraint. The face Eddie makes when Buck instinctively pulls away when Eddie barely touches the cut on his cheekbone would have made him stick his tongue out just to irritate him. But Buck cannot think about anything. His body is not his own and he cannot think about what he wants Eddie to be.
Because Eddie is careful and is asking nothing of him at this moment. Buck’s eyes have gone unfocused, everything shimmering at the edge of clarity.
“Hey,” Eddie breathes. He pulls his hands away and Buck wishes he hadn’t. He meets Eddie’s gaze, and this might be the only thing keeping him from shattering. “Tell me what happened?”
And Buck would be sick again if he had anything left to give.
“You’ll hate me.”
“You know that I won’t,” Eddie says simply as if this is the clearest truth that he has ever spoken. He shifts to sit back against the open door, his feet coming to rest by Buck. “Will you tell me?”
12 hours before
“I guess, I’m just…confused,” Maddie is saying.
Buck still has not looked her in the eyes. He flips the plastic lid in his hands and presses it onto the matching tub with a click . He knew this would be the result and he supposes he can’t be frustrated about it.
“What are you confused about?” He picks up the boxes and turns toward the fridge, glancing at the picture of Chris and Eddie as he reaches for the door.
Maddie hesitates, and he knows that she is trying to choose her words incredibly carefully, as if one wrong word will send him running.
“Well,” she starts, “you told me about Tommy, of course, which—“ he glances over his shoulder and almost misses the face she pulls— “he seemed good for you; you made sense on paper.”
“On paper?”
Maddie tilts her head the way she does when she doesn’t want him to misunderstand.
“Looking at your traits and interests, you seem like you would be good for each other.” She fidgets with the mug of tea in front of her. “And, that is the happiest I have seen you in a long time.”
Buck rearranges a few of the loaves in his fridge to make space for the leftover containers, glad that he is facing away from her because he is pretty sure he just made a face at that last comment. He has been happy outside of a relationship, he would like to point out.
“But?” He closes the fridge door and turns to look at her, bracing his hands on the edge of the stone countertop.
“I just…” She purses her lips, then looks as if she’s steeling herself, straightening her shoulders, raising her chin. “Maybe…you don’t need to look as far as you think you do. Maybe, you need to pay a little more attention to… the people around you.”
Buck blinks.
“What– What do you mean pay attention?” He leans forward and puts on a teasing and slightly offended look. “Are you calling me self-absorbed?”
She rolls her eyes at him and lets out a tense breath. “You actually probably pay way too much attention to other people.” He furrows his brows and tilts his head curiously at that but she waves it away. “What I mean is that maybe you don’t need to be dating. Maybe you just need to take a step back and figure out what it is that you want for yourself and focus on the solid relationships that you do have. I mean, Tommy left a little over a month ago. You don’t have to jump into anything anytime soon.”
But maybe Maddie is onto something. When he is with his friends and family, outside of being with Tommy or Taylor or anyone else, there were times when he was happy, something glowing bright and confident just behind his ribs. But, then he went home and there was nothing to distract him from the dark that crept in over his head…well, that was a different story.
With Tommy– it was different. It was more than having someone to come back to, it was about discovering himself and having space to grow and breathe and figure things out without worrying about losing him.
Until he did.
Buck can’t help but look at her for a moment, his mind a hundred miles a minute. “My solid relationships?”
“Friendships,” she says, almost, simply. Except for the additional emphasis that she adds to the stressed friend. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you have consistent friends before jumping back into the dating pool. And perhaps, they’ll become something more.”
***
Eddie looks up at him from where he is standing by the island, a cup of coffee in front of him with a half-eaten muffin from the batch that Buck had brought at the beginning of the week. He smiles at first, but it tightens when he sees what Buck is holding.
“We’ve talked about this,” he starts, and Buck lets out a breath.
“I know.”
“Buck, I know Chris and I eat a lot, but I’m going to have to throw stuff away if you keep bringing it.”
Buck deposits the basket of fresh baked goods onto the island, leans his elbows on the counter and drops his head in his hands. Eddie isn’t mad, he knows that, his tone is teasing and he’s already opening the cellophane wrapping to see what he brought. There’s something in the tightness of his smile, though, that Buck can’t pin down, something that has his fingertips buzzing.
“I don’t know why I’m acting like this,” Buck mumbles into his hands. He feels like an idiot. Not because of the way that Tommy left, but because of the aftermath. “I feel so stupid.” Eddie raises a threatening eyebrow at him and Buck just shrugs. “No, I know, but…I just can’t help it.”
“You aren’t stupid, Buck.” Eddie’s said it close to a hundred thousand times, but his voice is not tired or angry. He knows where Buck is coming from. He grabs a cookie from the baskets and nods toward the kitchen table. “He’s just like every other ex. It sucks, yeah. But it’ll get better.”
And Buck knows this. He knows that, theoretically, Tommy is no different from Taylor or Natalia. He’s been telling himself that he knows how to handle breakups; he’s practically an expert. It’s just that…
“Why am I always the one left behind?”
Eddie meets his eyes from his spot at the table, the cookie he’d just taken a bite out of still hovering not far from his lips. It would have been comical if Buck hadn’t just asked what he had. Something tugs at the center of his chest and he follows it to his spot across from Eddie. Eddie takes a moment, swallows.
“I wish I had a good answer.” Buck lets out a breath, but Eddie isn’t done. “But I can tell you Chris and I aren’t going anywhere. And—”
“And what about when you get another girlfriend?” That stops him in his tracks and even Buck is surprised by it, even though he’s the one who asked the question. “I just…I know Marisol and Ana both got upset that I was around or with Chris so often. So why should we assume that your next girlfriend would want that?”
Buck doesn’t get it. Eddie is his best friend and is the only real thing he’s been able to count on. And when Eddie is in a relationship, Buck always takes a step back, tries to only come over when he’s invited or is absolutely sure that she is not around (especially after the one time that Eddie hadn’t told him and Buck felt like he was intruding on a date). And they always look at him the same way.
Something incomprehensible passes over Eddie’s face and he works his jaw so tightly that Buck swears he can hear it.
“We cross that bridge when we get to it,” Eddie says, pretending like that is the solution and makes everything better. “Besides, Chris won’t ever let you go, so we’re kind of stuck with you.”
Buck smiles a bit at that. And he knows this to be true, has seen it played out in earnest over the course of their friendship. He just feels…
“It just feels like I’ve been stuck in the same place for a decade.”
“I get it,” Eddie nods, leaning forward. He almost reaches for Buck’s hand but stops just shy of connection. Buck wants to close that distance. “But you have not stayed in the same place. You’ve grown every single time.” Buck wants to look away, feels like he has to. But Eddie is looking at him so intently, speaking so gently, he might as well be talking Buck off of a ledge. “You are not the same person I met seven years ago, and you will not be the same person a year from now. And part of that is because of the things you’ve learned from the people who have left you behind.”
Buck’s heart is in his throat. He knows that Eddie is right. Eddie is always right about these things. He’d met Buck when he was Buck 2.0 and had stuck around through several “software updates” since then. He knows that he has learned more, grown more, and loved more in the last few years than he had in his entire life.
He knows this.
“When did you become a therapist?” He jokes, trying to evade the compliment.
Despite Eddie’s words of affirmation – encouraging words that Buck will swear he’s taken to heart and understands more than anything – Buck makes a stupid decision, one that he is fully aware is a stupid decision. But, it is the only time he has made this stupid decision since Tommy left a month ago.
What can he say? His baking spree is starting to get expensive.
At the moment, he is pretending that he is sitting at this outdoor table at the coffee shop to people watch, that nothing is looming before him like the edge of a cliff. He’s playing the part pretty well, picking up little details as he observes and drinks his coffee. The girl at the table next to him is studying, mouthing either the lyrics of whatever song is playing through her earbuds at astronomical volumes or the words and definitions that she’s scribbling down into a notebook. The couple behind him are talking in depth about the movie they watched the previous night, about which character was actually in the wrong, and whether or not they deserve redemption.
When he catches Tommy’s eye, the small smile that had been subconsciously playing on his lips turns tight and pressed. Tommy makes his way over to the table and Buck pushes a covered cup of coffee toward him.
“I got it right this time,” he says, desperately trying to sound like he’s calm, cool, and collected all at the same time.
Tommy barely smiles and sits across from him. Buck doesn’t think he’s trying to be rude or intentionally distant. He just thinks that– well. He just thinks that Tommy looks tired. His hair is disheveled and his stubble has grown out more and Buck kind of wants to kiss him, just to feel the scratch again.
“What’s up, Buck?” Tommy asks and Buck can’t say he’s surprised by that. It’s already awkward; why drag it out?
“I don’t get it.” He says, because it’s true. “Explain it to me.”
Tommy tips his head to one side, brows furrowed in that cute way Buck used to tease him about. “Explain what to you? Why I left?”
“Yeah.”
“How could I have been clearer?”
Buck has a lot of questions. This one just…This one just seems like the most glaring, the one that has been pressing on every corner of his mind, on every nerve.
“Why can’t my first also be my last?”
Tommy takes a deep breath and shrugs. “That doesn’t happen.”
“It has never happened ever?” Buck knows he’s being petty, but the explanation wasn’t good enough then and it isn’t good enough now. “No one has ever married their first love?”
Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up at the word married , but he rolls his eyes as if this is something that Buck should have learned in Elementary School. Maybe he should have.
“Not as often as people would like to think, Buck. How many people get married and stay with their high school sweethearts?”
“We’re not in high school. We are full-grown adults.”
“But romantically?” Buck knows he makes a face and Tommy smiles a little bit. “You are essentially in high school. And that’s not a bad thing. You’re new to it; you’re learning and that is incredible. But I need someone whose sure. Someone I know can handle it.”
“Is this because of our first date?” He leans forward on his elbow, his grip on the coffee cup dangerously close to spraying coffee everywhere. Buck thinks it’s a stupid question– Tommy’s second eye roll of the day confirms it– but he can’t help it. “I know I acted like an idiot and–”
“Who’s attention were you trying to get?”
That stops Buck short. “What do you mean?”
Tommy shifts and straightens his shoulders, not unlike what Maddie had done in his kitchen. “When I first…The first time I came to your loft, after the pick-up game–” Buck’s stomach twists at the memory– “you said that trying to get my attention was exhausting.”
“I remember.” And he does, vividly. He thinks about it sometimes, that kiss more than any of the others they shared.
Tommy looks as though he’s waiting for Buck to put the pieces together and when Buck still doesn’t understand, he sighs yet again. “You were never trying to get my attention.”
“I was–”
“You weren’t,” Tommy insists, not angrily, but as if he has been trying to come to terms with this himself. “It was never about me, Buck. I mean, if I was able to help you figure some things out for yourself, I guess I’m happy to help. It hurts, and I wish that weren’t the case because you are incredible, but whatever. It’s fine.” Tommy swallows hard. “It’s fine. But everything that led up to-- to us? It was never about me. And that’s fine. But the sooner you see that, the better it is for everyone.”
Buck thinks he gets it. Maybe.
“Wait, so,” Buck begins before the thought is fully formed in his head, and the words come out without his knowledge, “you think I was trying to get someone else’s attention? And just– what? Using you? You really think I’d do that? I-I mean, who’s attention would I–”
He stops.
Of course.
Of course, Tommy saw it. Every partner he’s had since they’d been friends had seen it. He’s the common denominator in everything. Buck was jealous and just assumed it was because he liked Tommy. His mind is spinning. But all of it…
You can have my back any day.
You two have an adorable son.
At least when I date someone, I actually date them. What’s your excuse?
Of course I forgive you.
There’s nobody in this world that I trust with my son more than you.
No one will ever fight for my son as hard as you.
You act like you’re expendable. But you’re not.
Are his concerns your concerns? Is his happiness at least as important to you as yours? Could you see a future there?
Buck wonders if he’s the last to know.
Tommy nods, following the trail from Buck’s unfinished sentence. “There it is.”
Buck starts to say something, but, in a moment, Tommy’s face changes. His eyes get wide, and Buck has seen him like this before. Tommy reaches across the table, shoving Buck to the left, toward the girl who is studying.
There’s an awful sound, metal on metal, flesh on concrete on metal. People are screaming and running and Buck looks up for long enough to see a rogue car go off of the sidewalk and back onto the street.
And Tommy sprawled out where the vehicle had left him. He can already see the deep, dark red staining his sweatshirt. Buck mumbles his name and tries to get to him, stumbling the whole way and never fully getting to his feet.
“Tommy,” he says, “hey, hey, look at me.”
He surveys: superficial cuts and red welts already forming on his face and hands and probably elsewhere, a rip in his sleeve showing a not-so-superficial cut, and–
Buck is pressing firmly on Tommy’s abdomen, where metal has lodged itself. He knows this, he’s good at this, he’s trained for this.
“Evan…”
“It’s okay, you-you’re okay,” he sniffs and looks Tommy in the eyes. “You will be okay.”
Buck does not look up. He stares at his hands, one caked with blood and the other half clean. He had stumbled through the explanation and he’s pretty sure that it made no sense. He had ridden with Tommy in the ambulance, keeping out of the way and watching as two strangers did what Buck hadn’t been able to do.
Eddie hadn’t said anything, still doesn’t say anything. Buck doesn’t know if he is looking at him and is too panicked to find out.
And all of this, all of these conversations, all of the mistakes that he has made in the last six weeks are pressing, pushing, crushing him. It has all been breaking him apart from the inside– that is the thing that has been clawing out of his chest, tearing at his lungs and his ribs and his throat. It has left him wide open on the hospital bathroom floor, covered in blood that is and isn’t his, terrified for the man who is definitely not his. It is the thing that is keeping him from looking up into his best friend’s eyes, knowing that he should have known what to do and couldn’t do it.
And he can’t handle any of these things anymore.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Eddie says, his voice thick, interrupting his spiral. “Buck.”
When he doesn’t look up, Eddie nudges him gently with his foot.
Buck wishes that Eddie hadn’t covered that spot on the door. Now he has to find a new way to ground himself: pressing his head back against the tile on the wall until a dull pain ripples through his head, hands pressing into the floor until the small tile pattern becomes etched onto his discolored palms, closing his eyes tightly until he sees the phosphenes behind his eyes.
“Hey.” Eddie is shifting again. Buck can hear the door knock against the stall as he pushes against it, on his knees next to him. Eddie puts his hand on his wrist again, two fingers pressing into the pulse point there. “Buck, just breathe.”
Everything is pressing and pushing and caving and Buck can’t breathe. He presses everything outward, hoping and praying to some mythical being that might be hovering above the hospital, asking that this might be enough to keep everything at bay. His hands press down, his head presses back, his eyes press closed.
Eddie’s voice drifts in and out, clear then muddy, assurances and cautions, insisting that he breathe, Buck, just breathe .
“Buck, I need you to open your eyes, alright?” Eddie’s voice is firm, something to hold onto. “Look at me; breathe with me.”
Buck slowly looks, and Eddie nods.
“You know how to do this,” Eddie assures him. “In four,” he watches as Buck takes a shaky breath in and falls apart. “It’s okay, take your time. In four– there you go– hold seven…a little bit longer you’ve got it. Good, out eight. Do you think you can do it again?”
His voice has softened and his hand is wrapped around Buck’s wrist and he thinks that maybe he can.
And he does.
Again and again.
It’s not gone, but the pressure eases and air enters his lungs freely. Eddie is still breathing with him, measured and even. Buck can feel his heart beating against Eddie’s fingers and can imagine counting and doing the math in his head until Buck’s heart rate returns to normal.
“What can I do?” Eddie asks him again. Buck reaches up to press the heels of his hands to his eyes, but Eddie catches both of his wrists this time. “ Just …why don’t we start with washing your hands, yeah?”
At this point, Buck’s not sure where he would be if Eddie hadn’t shown up. Probably on the floor of the waiting room in shambles, waiting for news that may never come because he has no business knowing anymore. He’d be tearing out of his skin about a guy he doesn’t think he loves, simply because that guy showed him an incredible side of himself he didn’t know existed.
And if Eddie hadn’t shown up, he might have worried about him instead.
As Eddie leads him to the sink by the wrist, he looks at himself for the first time: cuts on his face from where bits of metal and dirt were tossed by the—
“What about the driver?”
Eddie meets his eyes in the mirror, jaw working as he looks back down at the red running off of Buck’s palms. Buck wants to cover that spot on his jaw, either with his hand or a kiss he isn’t sure. But in his current state, he’s terrified of what he might leave behind.
“Bobby said he was DOA,” Eddie informs him, because of course he had asked and would have pressed to find out. Buck can imagine the flare in Eddie’s nostrils and the fire in his eyes. The Eddie that is in front of him, however, is very different, holding a look akin to shame. Buck knows he still blames the driver and it’s eating away at his conscience. “Heart attack, I guess.”
Eddie holds a paper towel out to him, but Buck forgoes it, gets soap again. He scrubs hard at his hands, at his nails, between his fingers.
“So, I can’t be mad about it.”
“It was an accident.”
“I know.
Buck’s not sure if Eddie had said it for himself or for Buck. Neither of them says anything for a long time. Eddie, however, will occasionally shake his head just slightly, as if he is trying to dispel a thought or feeling.
“Just ask it,” Buck insists when the silence starts to press in. He watches the last of the soap run through his fingers and it’s not enough. He gets more soap and tries again. Eddie just watches him, turns to lean back against the counter, eyes straight ahead.
“You called him.”
“I really can’t do a lecture right now.”
“Good,” Eddie shrugs, “because I don’t want to lecture you. I was just going to ask how it went.”
Buck is convinced that there is not enough soap in the world to get the blood out of his skin; he’s convinced that it has soaked into his pores, entered into his own bloodstream, and he has to fight to keep the stomach acid where it belongs.
“He’s not taking me back.” He tries to say it as if it hadn’t led to the most prolific and groundbreaking realization that Buck has had in years, just moments before everything had exploded around him. Eddie closes his eyes with something Buck might mistake for relief.
“Did it get bad?”
“No, no,” Buck mumbles, shaking his head. He scrubs at his hands more aggressively, splashing Eddie with water. “Sorry.”
Eddie looks at him with– well, with more than one look combined into something Buck has never seen before: concern in the way his eyebrows raise just slightly in the middle, fondness in the small upturn at the corners of his mouth, that petty banter that Buck knows is playing in his mind, held back by the gravity of the moment.
And then there’s the look in his eyes. Buck has seen it before, directed at him on more than one occasion, but he’s never been able to pinpoint exactly what it is. Something is telling him that this is not the time to ask about it.
Eddie turns off the tap and holds out the paper towel once more. When Buck reaches to turn the water back on, Eddie covers the lever.
“Give it time,” he says softly. “Scraping the skin off of your hands is not going to keep blood off of them.”
Buck meets his eyes and–
And he’s exhausted. He’s tired of standing, of staying, of hurting, of healing. He wants to lash out, just once, to yell and scream about how broken he is. He wants to dig his nails into his arms and chest and face, to pull away the skin that has never been his own. He wants to be allowed to fall to pieces and to shatter someone else’s world. He’s tired of letting other people shatter him; he wants it to be his turn.
Eddie must see some of this playing out on his face because he’s pulling Buck into a hug, an arm around his waist and the other hand finding its way into Buck’s hair. Buck doesn’t know if he falls apart, but he definitely cries, gasping for air all over again. He holds onto Eddie, the only solid thing he has been able to find in everything. He holds onto Eddie as if Eddie is the only thing keeping his feet on the ground, as if Eddie is the only thing keeping him from breaking into sharp fragments.
Buck holds onto Eddie.
Buck is sitting on Eddie’s couch– not panicking, but something very close to it. Eddie is in the kitchen getting the popcorn and drinks and will be returning soon to find Buck in quite the state.
But, he has to talk about it. It’s festering and Buck can’t handle it anymore because he is this close to doing something astronomically idiotic.
So, he’s been keeping his hands to himself, physical distance. And he knows, he knows , that Eddie has noticed. He’ll sometimes throw a questioning look in Buck's direction and he just has to pretend he doesn’t know what it means. It’s killing him and he thinks he’s about to do something incredibly stupid, so he might as well prepare for it.
He’s wringing his hands, perched on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at a watermark on the coffee table, when Eddie walks in.
“Okay, so,” Eddie begins, counting off on one hand, “Narnia, Lord of the Rings, or Star Wars?” Buck tilts his head, a smile pulling at his lips. “What? You wanted fantasy and that’s about all I’ve got.”
“Narnia?”
Eddie shrugs and drops down next to him, bumping their knees together as he settles. “What can I say? I’ve got a lot of Catholic guilt.” Buck laughs softly at that and he sees that fond smile creep up on Eddie’s own face. “So which is it?”
Buck’s heart is pounding in his throat; he’s terrified that he might choke on it if he breathes too deeply.
“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Eddie meets his eyes and shifts, more upright, more serious. “Okay. What’s up?”
“It’s about Tommy and I’s conversation…that-that day.” He hadn’t actually told Eddie anything about the conversation–how could he have? Eddie nods, and tenses his jaw. Buck knows that look, and he knows what Eddie is thinking. “You-you came up and I…I wanted to tell you something that Tommy said. Something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.”
Eddie looks torn between being interested and being jealous, being curious and concerned about his own reputation. He leans forward a little, brows furrowed and eyes trained steadily on Buck– who is absolutely unsteady. “Okay?”
“Well, he…” Buck shakes his head. Start over. “Actually, when Tommy and I first started dating–” Eddie’s eyebrows go up, and Buck doesn’t blame him; he’s barely following his own train of thought– “I told Tommy that I was jealous of the two of you hanging out without me because– well, because I-I wanted Tommy for myself. That I was trying to get his attention. With the pick-up game and everything…”
Eddie nods but Buck thinks he’s still clueless.
“ That day, when–when the accident happened, Tommy asked me whose attention I was trying to get. And, you know, that confused me. Because I had told him I was trying to get his attention, to get him to notice me. And he couldn’t be my first and last, because I already knew who my last was, I just had to realize it.”
“What do you mean?”
Eddie’s eyes are still on him, unwavering, more intense now. Buck can’t look up at him, so he looks at the floor, the pictures on the mantle, the watermark on the coffee table.
“Buck?”
“It was you,” he blurts out and immediately regrets it. “I wanted your attention and thought it was just as a friend. But then when Tommy came in, there was this entirely separate feeling– some-something I had never felt before.”
“Buck—”
“And because it was new and Tommy was new, I thought it was toward him, this insane feeling that had me nervous and fluttery and insane; I thought, well, if I am about to experiment and find out some wild new information about myself, I might as well do it with someone who I can lose— and that sounds terrible, I know, it’s awful. But it wasn’t a conscious choice I made; I just realized it after. And Tommy couldn’t be my first and last because you are my last. And also apparently my first. I don’t know–”
“ Buck. ”
The pounding of his heart in his throat is too much and he has to stop talking anyway. He drops his head into his hands, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“I’m sorry; I know this screws everything up–”
“Can I talk?” Buck can’t tell if he’s angry and he should be able to tell.
“I guess.”
And then he doesn’t. Eddie Diaz is silent for an excruciating amount of time and with each passing moment, the panic constricts in Buck’s chest.
“What…” Eddie starts, then stops, then starts. “What do you mean you wanted my attention?”
“Eddie,” Buck almost whines, distraught. “I don’t know how much clearer I can be without saying the wrong thing.”
“Say the wrong thing.”
Buck’s head snaps up at that and he clears his throat. There’s no turning back. His hands are shaking and he might vomit. But, it’s happening and he needs to say it.
“I don’t…I like you. A lot, Eddie. Not just as a best friend, not just as two people who have each other's backs, not just because of Christopher. I like you , Eddie. The way your whole face changes when you laugh, like that one stupid joke has lifted the weight of the world off of your shoulders. The way you care fiercely, and forgive endlessly, and protect selflessly. The way you drop everything when I call about something stupid, not because you owe me anything but because you genuinely want to talk to me. The way you stood up for me when Marisol said she didn’t want me coming around. I love you , Eddie.”
The last statement was more than Buck had bargained for and he loses his voice and his confidence with it. He feels like his heart has lept out of his chest and is lying open and bare and bleeding on the couch between them and all Eddie can do is stare at him. Eddie just looks at him, dumbfounded.
“Oh.”
And in one word, Buck’s heart breaks. He stands and Eddie doesn’t seem to even register it. “I-I should go.”
He makes it all the way to the front door before Eddie snaps back to reality. He scrambles to his feet, a pillow flying off the couch in the process.
“Wait, wait , Buck, please.”
And suddenly, Eddie is in front of him, holding his wrist, staring at him with enough intensity to make Buck’s knees buckle.
“I-I…” He closes his eyes, shakes his head, regains his senses. “I want to be your last.”