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Buck has never been great at handling emotions. Not because he doesn’t feel them—if anything, the problem is that he feels them too much. Every emotion hits him like a tidal wave, crashing over him with an intensity he doesn’t know how to control. Happiness is this dizzying, euphoric high that makes him feel invincible, like he could conquer the world with just a smile. But sadness? Sadness is like a free fall into a bottomless pit, the ground ripped out from under him until there’s nothing left to hold onto. Anger burns through him like wildfire, sudden and all-consuming, and love—love is a force of nature, unrelenting and impossible to contain. It’s too big, too much, and when he feels it, it’s like he’ll drown if he tries to keep it bottled up.
It’s always made him feel like he’s too much. Too intense. Too overwhelming. Buck knows that about himself. He’s heard it in the way people have looked at him, the way they’ve spoken to him, told him without saying the words that his emotions are too loud, too messy. And he’s trying. He’s trying to be better about it, to be more in control, especially now. Especially with Eddie.
Because Eddie doesn’t need someone who’s too much. Eddie needs stability. Calm. A rock to steady him when the world gets too chaotic. Buck wants to be that for him—wants it more than anything—and he’s been trying so hard. It’s what Eddie deserves. So Buck has been doing his best to rein himself in, to tamp down the storm raging inside him and just be supportive, even when it’s killing him not to say all the things clawing to get out.
He told himself he respected Eddie’s decision to let Chris go to El Paso, even though it had felt like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t understood it, not really, but he’d stayed quiet because it wasn’t his place to argue. Eddie’s the parent. Eddie knows what’s best for Chris. Buck had repeated that to himself like a mantra, using it to tamp down the knot of unease in his chest. And now, Eddie is leaving too, following Chris to El Paso, and Buck is trying. God, he’s trying so hard to be okay with it.
He sits with Eddie on the couch as Eddie talks to the realtor, asking practical questions about neighborhoods and school systems, like he’s already halfway out the door. Buck forces a smile, nodding along like he’s fine. He even throws in a joke or two because that’s what he does—it’s what he’s good at. But every word Eddie says feels like another brick being stacked on Buck’s chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.
At night, Buck lies awake staring at the ceiling, his mind spinning with all the things he wants to say but can’t. He tells himself it’s not his place. Eddie made his decision, and Buck has no right to interfere. He’s just a friend, after all. But the words are still there, pressing against his ribcage, begging to be let out.
The day before Eddie is supposed to leave, Buck feels like he’s unraveling. Every time he looks at Eddie, he’s struck by the realization that this might be one of the last times they’ll be together like this—in the same city, in the same room, sharing the same air. And no matter how much he tells himself to hold it together, to keep being supportive, he knows he can’t do it anymore. The dam is going to break. It’s only a matter of time.
“Can you pass me some more tape, Buck?” Eddie asks, his voice calm as he closes up another box.
Buck grabs the tape without a word, handing it over automatically. But as Eddie turns back to his task, Buck’s eyes sweep over the empty living room. Everything that made this place feel like a home—the photos, the books, even the stupid throw pillows Chris always insisted were unnecessary—is packed away into neat cardboard boxes. The sight of it breaks something in Buck, sharp and sudden, like a crack splitting through his chest.
“Don’t do this,” Buck says quietly, almost to himself. He doesn’t register the words until they’re out of his mouth.
Eddie looks over his shoulder, pausing mid-motion with the tape in hand. “Don’t what? Tape up the box?” he asks with a confused chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
But Buck can’t laugh. He’s looking at Eddie now, really looking, and something inside him gives way. The floodgates open. “Don’t go to El Paso,” he says, louder this time, his voice shaking as he takes a step forward.
Eddie sighs softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Buck…” he starts, and Buck knows. He knows from the way Eddie says his name, from the way he won’t meet his eyes, that the next words out of his mouth are going to destroy him.
Buck feels it coming, the ache already building in his chest, and he shakes his head quickly, like he can stop it. “Forget it,” he mutters, brushing past Eddie toward the kitchen. He yanks open the fridge, the cold air spilling out as he grabs a beer. “You want another?” he calls back, his voice brittle, barely keeping it together.
He hears Eddie’s footsteps behind him, slow and hesitant, but he doesn’t turn around. “Uh… I should probably have water,” Eddie says carefully, like he’s trying not to upset the fragile balance between them.
And that’s the problem, isn’t it? Buck’s grip tightens around the beer bottle. Eddie is always living by should instead of want, always punishing himself with what he thinks is right instead of letting himself have what he really needs.
The fridge door slams shut with a bang, rattling the bottles inside. The sound echoes in the silence that follows.
“No.”
The word comes out harsher than Buck intended, and it takes him by surprise. It takes Eddie by surprise, too; Buck can see it in the way Eddie takes a small step back, his eyes wide with something that looks almost like shock.
Buck exhales sharply, the anger bubbling up before he can stop it. “No, Eddie. You don’t get to—” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the strands like he’s trying to physically drag the words back before they can escape. But it’s no use. They’re already there, burning on the edge of his tongue.
Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and his voice is calm but strained, like he’s holding something back. “Buck, you think this is easy for me? You think I want to leave? But I have to.”
“No, you don’t!” Buck’s voice rises, and he steps closer without even realising it. “You don’t have to! Not if you don’t want to! Why are you so hell-bent on punishing yourself?”
“I am not punishing myself, Buck.” Eddie’s tone sharpens, his eyes narrowing as he straightens up. “I’m doing what’s best for my son. For Chris. I thought you understood that!”
“I don’t understand it,” Buck fires back. His heart is pounding now, and his voice trembles with the weight of everything he’s been holding back. “I’ve been trying to—I’ve been trying to respect your decision, to be the good friend, but you’re punishing yourself—”
“Am I?” Eddie’s voice rises just enough to match Buck’s, his jaw tight as he steps forward. His anger is simmering now, just beneath the surface, and Buck can see it in the set of his shoulders, the way his hands curl into loose fists at his sides. “You think you know what’s going on with me? You think I don’t know what this looks like? What it feels like?”
“Yeah, I think I do,” Buck says, his voice hardening as he takes another step closer. He doesn’t care that they’re inches apart now, doesn’t care that Eddie’s anger is radiating off him like heat. “You always do this, Eddie. You deny yourself what you want because you think it’s the right thing. Because you think you don’t deserve—”
“And you know what I want?” Eddie cuts him off, his arms crossing over his chest in defiance, a challenge burning in his eyes.
Buck freezes. The words he’d been about to say catch in his throat, evaporating into the thick, charged air between them. He hadn’t expected Eddie to turn it around like this, to pin him with a question so sharp it slices through his resolve.
Eddie doesn’t let up. He stares at Buck, his gaze unwavering, his voice dropping to something quieter but no less intense. “Go ahead, Buck. If you’re so sure, tell me. What do I want?”
Buck’s throat tightens, a painful lump forming as he struggles to respond. He doesn’t have an answer—at least, not one he’s ready to say out loud. His frustration, his anger, the ache that’s been clawing at him for weeks—it’s all there, raw and suffocating, but the words won’t come.
Eddie lets out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head as his arms drop to his sides. “That’s what I thought.” His voice is soft now, almost resigned. “My flight’s in a few hours. I need to finish packing.”
“Eddie, wait.” Buck’s voice cracks, the desperation slipping through before he can stop it. He takes a step closer, the space between them shrinking. “We can cancel the flight. We can drive to Texas together. We can go get Chris and bring him home—”
Eddie shakes his head, cutting him off again, his tone sharper now. “Chris doesn’t want that.”
“He’s a kid,” Buck argues, his voice rising. “He doesn’t know what he wants.”
“No,” Eddie fires back, his eyes narrowing. “He knows exactly what he wants, Buck. He wants space—from me. And I don’t blame him. I ruined the kid’s life.”
“You didn’t ruin his life, Eddie!” Buck’s voice cracks, his hands gesturing wildly as he steps closer again. “You made a mistake. One mistake. And now what? You think you don’t deserve to be happy because of it?”
Eddie’s laugh is hollow, bitter. “I’m not happy, Buck. I’m missing out on my son’s life.” He drags a hand through his hair, his frustration bleeding into his movements.
“And you think you’re going to be happy in Texas?” Buck counters, his voice harder now, the anger bubbling back to the surface. “You think that’s the solution? Chris should be here—with you. You can both be happy here .”
Eddie shakes his head, looking away as if trying to escape the weight of Buck’s words. “I forgot,” he mutters, his voice low and biting, “you think you know what I want.” He laughs again, humorless and sharp, and turns to walk away.
Maybe this is Buck’s problem. He’s watched too many people walk away, too many people he cared about leave without a fight. But this? This is different. He can’t lose Eddie, not like this. Not at all. The thought of living a life without Eddie is like a punch to the gut—overwhelming and unbearable.
Before he can think, before he can stop himself, Buck reaches out, his hand wrapping around Eddie’s wrist.
“I think you want me,” he says, the words tumbling out on a single, ragged breath. His heart is hammering so loudly in his chest it feels like it might burst.
Eddie stops, his whole body going still. For a moment, something flickers across his face—something so soft, so vulnerable, that it takes Buck’s breath away. But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, hidden behind a carefully constructed wall.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie says quietly, pulling his arm free from Buck’s grasp.
“C’mon.” Buck’s voice is weaker now, a pale echo of the heat from moments before. “You must know…”
But Eddie doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look at Buck, doesn’t say a word as he stands there, motionless, his gaze fixed on some indeterminate spot on the floor.
Buck takes another step closer, his hands trembling slightly as he brings them up to cradle Eddie’s face. His palms are warm against Eddie’s cool skin, his touch gentle but firm, like he’s holding something fragile. “You must know how I feel about you…”
Eddie’s eyes lift to meet Buck’s, glassy with unshed tears. He presses his lips together, a visible effort to hold himself together, but his expression wavers.
“Eddie, it’s always been you,” Buck says, his voice barely above a whisper. Eddie shakes his head—once, twice—but he doesn’t pull away.
“Buck…” Eddie whispers, his voice cracking like he’s piecing himself together in real-time.
“We can have a good life, Eddie,” Buck murmurs, his thumbs brushing softly against Eddie’s cheeks, his gaze searching, pleading. “You, me, and Chris. We can have a good life. If you’re not ready, we’ll wait. We can just be friends—it doesn’t matter. But we can be happy. I know it.”
Buck means every word. He loves Eddie deeply, with a kind of certainty that feels like it’s been etched into his bones. He knows, with every part of himself, that Eddie loves him too. But he also understands if Eddie isn’t ready—if this truth, this them, is too much for Eddie to face right now. Buck would wait a lifetime if it meant being in Eddie’s life in any way.
But Eddie doesn’t move. He doesn’t lean in, doesn’t pull Buck closer. Instead, he lowers his gaze again, his shoulders curling in on themselves like a man bracing for impact.
“I’m going to Texas, Evan.” Eddie’s voice is so soft it barely registers, but the weight of it lands like a blow.
It’s not just the words; it’s the way he says it—quiet, final, like a door shutting. And then there’s the sound of his name— Evan —on Eddie’s lips, a sound that should be beautiful but feels like it’s breaking him apart.
Buck’s hands fall from Eddie’s face, and he steps back as though the distance might dull the ache splitting his chest wide open. His heart feels like it’s shattering, piece by jagged piece, scattering across the kitchen floor, and all he can do is watch.
“I hope you’re happy,” Buck says, the words bitter and hollow as he turns away. He walks back into the living room, grabbing his jacket and keys without looking back.
“C’mon, Buck,” Eddie says softly, following him into the living room. He sounds just as wrecked as Buck feels.
But Buck shakes his head, the anger rising again—hot and uncontrollable, ugly in a way that makes his skin crawl. He can’t let it go, can’t stop the words spilling out.
“This doesn’t have to be how it ends,” Eddie says, his voice breaking again, but Buck spins around, laughing bitterly.
“How it ends?” Buck echoes, his voice rising with every word. “Do you want to know how this ends, Eddie? You’re going to Texas. You’ll see Chris, sure, but you’ll still be miserable because you won’t talk to him. You’ll keep punishing yourself for things that aren’t your fault. And then one day, you’ll meet some woman—someone nice, someone like Shannon—and you’ll marry her because you think it’s what Chris needs. Because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do. ”
Eddie’s face goes pale, but Buck keeps going, the words spilling out like he can’t stop.
“She’ll be beautiful, right? She’ll love Chris, and she’ll love you too—at least, she’ll think she does. And you’ll love her in the way you think you’re supposed to, but it won’t be enough. Because you’ll still be lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about me. ”
Buck’s voice cracks, and he steps closer, his frustration boiling over. “You’ll think about how good it was here. How good it could’ve been. And every time you kiss her, every time you try to convince yourself this is what you wanted, you’ll feel it, won’t you? That piece of you that’s missing. The part of you that you left behind. The part that’s—” He chokes on the word but forces it out. “ Me. ”
Eddie’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching like he’s trying to keep himself together.
“And when you lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about me. ” Buck’s voice cracks, the anger bleeding into something raw and unfiltered. “Thinking about us. About how good our life could’ve been here, you’ll hate yourself because you’ll know—you’ll know —you ruined it.”
Buck’s voice drops, quieter now but no less cutting. “And you know the worst part? I’ll be here. I’ll still be here, waiting like some pathetic idiot, because for some reason I can’t stop loving you.”
The silence that follows is deafening. Eddie’s chest rises and falls like he’s trying to find air, but he doesn’t say a word.
Buck shakes his head, pulling on his jacket with jerky, frantic movements. “I can’t do this,” he mutters, grabbing his shoes without bothering to put them on. He’s halfway out the door when Eddie finally speaks.
“Buck…”
But Buck doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look back as he strides to his Jeep, slamming the door behind him. If Eddie’s going to leave, maybe Buck has to leave first.
The guilt eats Buck alive. He can’t sleep. It’s only been hours since he stormed out, but the weight of what happened presses down on him like it’s been days. He sits on the couch in his loft, staring blankly at the city lights outside the window. The TV is on, some early-morning infomercial buzzing quietly in the background, but he doesn’t register it.
Every word he said to Eddie is on an endless loop in his mind, sharp and cutting, like barbs aimed at himself as much as at Eddie. You’ll marry her because you think it’s what you’re supposed to do… you’ll lie awake at night thinking about me… you’ll hate yourself because you’ll know you ruined it.
Buck runs a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck as though he can physically hold himself together. The guilt twists in his stomach, sharp and unrelenting. What if Eddie’s already gone? What if that was the last thing Buck ever said to him?
He’d been angry, sure—angry and scared and desperate—but now the anger has drained away, leaving behind a hollow ache. What kind of friend says something like that? What kind of person throws those words at someone they love?
Buck pushed him too hard. The thought claws at him, raw and unyielding. Eddie wasn’t ready—not for this, not for them—and Buck knew it. But he let his emotions spill over, like he always does. He couldn’t hold it in, couldn’t stop himself from saying all the things he’s kept buried for so long.
And now, Eddie’s probably packing the last of his things, his mind made up, because Buck couldn’t leave well enough alone. Because Buck had to push. Had to make it all about him—his feelings, his fears, his desperate need to hold on.
Buck exhales sharply, his chest tight, his throat burning. The weight of his failure feels unbearable. He was supposed to be there for Eddie, supposed to be someone Eddie could lean on. Instead, he’d made everything worse. He’d turned it into a fight, forced Eddie into a corner, and then ran away when it all fell apart.
His gaze flickers to his phone on the coffee table. He hasn’t touched it since he got home, too scared to see if Eddie’s texted him—or worse, to see that he hasn’t. He doesn’t even know what he’d say if he called. Sorry feels like too little, too late.
The guilt presses heavier as the minutes crawl by. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, his hands pressed against his face as he tries to breathe through the weight of it. But it doesn’t go away. It won’t. Because no matter how much he wishes he could take it back, he can’t.
He’d said it.
And now, he might have lost Eddie forever.
Buck’s eyes flicker to the clock. He watches the numbers change, minute by agonizing minute, dragging him closer to the time of Eddie’s flight. The tears burn in his eyes, hot and unwelcome. He’s boarding his flight right now , Buck thinks, the realization like a punch to the gut. Eddie is leaving, and Buck couldn’t even be a good enough friend to drive him to the airport because of his own damn emotions.
The thought gnaws at him, sharp and insistent. What if this is it? What if Buck lets him go, and he never comes back?
He’s still sitting there, drowning in his thoughts, when there’s a knock at the door—a barely-there sound, so quiet that Buck almost doesn’t hear it. He freezes, waiting, unsure if he imagined it. But there it is again, soft but insistent.
Buck drags himself off the couch, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief, and walks to the door. He expects Maddie, or maybe a neighbor, or even some delivery driver who’s gotten the wrong address.
He doesn’t expect Eddie.
Eddie’s standing there, wearing a worn-out LAFD T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He looks absolutely wrecked—eyes red-rimmed, face pale, his shoulders hunched like he’s barely holding himself up. Buck blinks, his mind struggling to process the sight, like he’s hallucinating.
“I want it,” Eddie whispers, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion, the sound barely scraping the air.
Buck’s heart stutters in his chest. He stares, uncomprehending, his hands trembling at his sides. “Eddie, you… you missed your flight,” he says, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. His voice wavers, guilt slamming into him all over again, heavier now that Eddie’s actually here.
Eddie shakes his head, his expression determined despite the wreckage written all over his face. “I want it,” he says again, louder this time. His voice cracks on the last word as he steps inside, brushing past Buck, like moving forward is the only thing keeping him standing.
Buck stands frozen, the world tilting on its axis, his mind reeling as he tries to catch up. “Eddie, what—”
“I want you, ” Eddie interrupts, his voice breaking on the last word. His eyes shine with unshed tears as they lock onto Buck’s, raw and open, every guarded piece of him falling apart at once. “I want… I want us.”
For a moment, Buck can’t breathe. The words hang in the air between them, like they’re too fragile to hold. His chest tightens, a sharp ache spreading through him, and he shakes his head, stepping back. “Eddie, I…” His voice catches, thick with emotion. “I said things… awful things. I shouldn’t have—I was angry, scared. I said things I can’t take back-”
“You don’t have to take it back,” Eddie interrupts, his voice trembling but sure. “Yeah it hurt but you weren’t wrong, Buck. Everything you said…” He exhales shakily, his hand dragging down his face. “It’s true. It hurt because it’s true. I’ve been running—from you, from myself, from everything I want.”
His voice cracks, and he looks down, his hands clenched into fists like he’s physically holding himself together. “I don’t know how to want, Buck. I’ve spent so long telling myself I don’t deserve to. That wanting is selfish. That I can’t want and still be the father Chris needs.”
“But I want so much…I want you.”
Buck’s throat tightens, tears burning in his eyes as Eddie’s words unravel him piece by piece. “Eddie…” he whispers, his voice cracking, but Eddie shakes his head, taking another small step closer.
“I want Chris to be here with us. I want to stay in LA. I want overpriced smoothies and bad traffic and late-night calls with you. I want a life with you, Buck. A home. I want…” His voice drops to a whisper. “I want to marry you. God, I want you. ”
The words knock the air from Buck’s lungs, his hands trembling as he reaches up to wipe his face, the tears falling freely now. “Eddie,” he chokes out.
“I love you” Eddie interrupts, his voice softer now. He steps closer until there’s barely an inch between them, his hands coming up to grip tightly at the front of Buck’s T-shirt. His fingers shake as they clutch the fabric, grounding him, tethering them together.
“And I forgive you,” Eddie says, his voice fierce despite the tears streaming down his face. “Because I love you. Because I know you love me.”
Buck’s breath catches, his hands trembling as they come up to rest over Eddie’s. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but sure.
Eddie’s gaze flickers to Buck’s lips. “Can I?” he asks, his voice breaking on the question, his expression so open and vulnerable it steals the breath from Buck’s lungs.
It’s soft at first, tentative, like they’re afraid to break whatever fragile thing has brought them here. Eddie’s lips press against Buck’s with a hesitance that speaks of too many years spent holding back. Buck’s hands hover near Eddie’s waist, unsure where to land, his chest tight with the weight of everything unsaid.
But then something shifts. Eddie lets out a trembling breath against Buck’s mouth, and the dam bursts. The tension shatters as Eddie surges forward, one hand sliding to the back of Buck’s neck while the other fists in his shirt, pulling him closer. Buck’s hands find their place, clutching at Eddie’s hips like he’s afraid to let go.
The kiss deepens, messy and desperate, like they’re pouring every unspoken word, every ounce of longing, into it. Eddie’s lips are warm and soft but insistent, moving against Buck’s with a fervour that steals the air from his lungs. Buck kisses back just as fiercely, his hands gripping tighter as if he can anchor himself in this moment, in Eddie.
The faint taste of salt lingers on Eddie’s lips—tears, Buck realizes, though he’s not sure if they’re his or Eddie’s. The thought makes his chest ache, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he presses closer, his fingers sliding up Eddie’s back, tracing the curve of his spine as Eddie’s hand tangles in his hair.
The world narrows to this: the slide of Eddie’s mouth against his, the way Eddie’s fingers tremble slightly where they clutch at him, the faint hitch in Eddie’s breath as Buck tilts his head to deepen the kiss further. Buck can feel Eddie’s heart pounding against his own, their bodies pressed so close there’s no space left between them.
Eddie’s hand tightens in Buck’s hair, tugging slightly, and Buck gasps, the sound swallowed by Eddie’s lips. The kiss grows more urgent, their movements frantic, like they’re trying to make up for all the time they’ve lost, for every moment they’ve spent apart when they could have had this.
Buck’s knees almost give out as Eddie shifts, his lips parting slightly, allowing Buck to taste him more fully. There’s a hint of something sweet—coffee, maybe, or something lingering from earlier in the night—but mostly, it’s just Eddie, raw and unfiltered, and it’s everything Buck’s ever wanted.
When they finally break apart, it’s only because they have to breathe. Eddie’s forehead rests against Buck’s, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Buck’s eyes flutter open, his gaze locking onto Eddie’s, and for a moment, they just stand there, holding each other, their chests rising and falling in sync.
Eddie’s hand slips from Buck’s hair to cup his face, his thumb brushing softly against Buck’s cheek. “I love you,” he whispers again, his voice shaking but sure.
Buck smiles through the tears still streaking his face, his hands resting against Eddie’s back, anchoring him there
“I’ll marry you,”he murmurs, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, savoring the warmth, the closeness, the promise of everything yet to come
Eddie lets out a small, disbelieving laugh, tears still shining in his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice fragile, like he’s still scared to believe it.
Buck nods, brushing a hand against Eddie’s cheek. “Yeah.”
Eddie’s shoulders sag, relief washing over him like a tide. “Come with me to get Chris,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Let’s bring our son home. Let’s… let’s have a good life, Buck.”
Buck smiles softly, his hand lingering against Eddie’s cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. Eddie closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into the touch, his breath steadying as if the simple connection is enough to hold him together.
They stand there, the silence between them heavy but no longer suffocating—now, it feels full, alive with unspoken promises and the fragile hope of what comes next. Eddie’s shoulders relax, the weight he’s carried for so long seeming to finally ease.
Eddie’s words linger in Buck’s mind, reverberating like the final, steady note of a song that’s been playing in his heart for years. A good life.
He’d thought about it so many times, what that could mean—more often than he’d ever admit, even to himself. He’d imagined something simple, something steady: Chris’s laughter echoing, Eddie’s smile softening the rough edges of every bad day. He pictured pancakes together at a messy table, the smell of coffee mingling with the sound of cartoons in the background. Late nights on the couch, Eddie’s hand resting over his, the weight of the world left outside the door.
A good life wasn’t grand or perfect—it wasn’t some unreachable fantasy. It was this. It was Eddie standing here, his voice still thick with tears but filled with something that might just be hope. It was the quiet certainty of choosing each other, over and over again, no matter how hard things got.
Buck feels the weight of it settle in his chest—not heavy, not crushing, but grounding. For the first time in a long while, the ache in his heart doesn’t feel like loss. It feels like possibility.
Eddie exhales softly, his shoulders finally relaxing, and Buck watches as a glimmer of peace crosses his face. He doesn’t need Eddie to say the words again; Buck already knows. This is what a good life looks like.
And maybe, for the first time, Buck allows himself to believe they can have it.