Chapter Text
2027
He still dreams of Eddie.
Nearly every night for the past three years, the dreams unspool in slow motion, like film reels caught in an endless loop, flickering behind his eyes in his restless sleep. They’re always so gentle in the beginning. Soft and sweet. The kind of dream that makes him forget, if only for a fleeting moment, that this isn’t real. That Eddie isn’t real. Not anymore.
This time, he’s lying in Eddie’s bed. His familiar scent lingers there like a ghost in his memory—something clean, warm and so like home. The sheets are still wrapped around him, trapping a warmth that, day by day, fades away from the recesses of his mind. As his eyes blink open to the morning light filtering through the curtains, his vision adjusts, and then, there he is.
“Hey…beautiful,” he croons, sleepily, the words leaving him unbidden, before he can strangle them as he always used to. It is as soft as a whisper. Coated in the haze of longing. Of loss.
Edmundo Diaz.
Eddie.
Eddie is smiling down at him, but he says nothing. His brown curls are slightly dishevelled. Eddie’s eyes are just as deeply brown and full of sweet honey and gold as he remembers them. Eddie’s lips are quirked into a radiant smile that always made him feel like he was basking in the warmth of the sun.
He reaches up, slowly—carefully. Gently, his fingers stretch through the space between them, barely believing the sight in front of him. And when he touches him, fingertips ghosting over the strong jaw, the skin prickled with stubble, his heart clenches. He knows the curve of Eddie’s face. He knows—a knowing that swells within the depths of his broken heart—he knows the warmth that should be there.
But there is none.
Nothing.
Eddie is smiling. Looking at him as he always did. As he always should have been. But this is a dream. And something is missing. Something vital. He frowns, barely able to breathe now, his fingers still pressed against the warmth of Eddie Diaz. Eddie Diaz, who is no longer here.
Eddie isn’t breathing.
Eddie isn’t warm.
He isn’t real.
The realisation slams into him like a freight train. A gut punch. A tsunami, drowning him. His breath shudders out of him. But perhaps—he still doesn’t let go. He cannot let go. Because letting go would mean that Eddie would slip through his fingers like sand and ashes. And he is not ready to let go. He never will be.
So, he pulls Eddie closer.
Desperate now, he shifts onto his elbow, pressing upward, tilting his head, eyes falling shut as if to shield them from the too-bright light of his life. Maybe. Maybe this time—if he just—if he only just—
Their lips meet.
And he feels nothing.
At the touch, there is nothing. Nothing. It feels like nothing.
He feels no heat. No pressure. No heartbeat matching his own.
Nothing.
Because this isn’t real.
This never will be.
He has never kissed Edmundo Diaz. He may have tasted his blood once, but nothing else. He does not know the taste of Eddie’s lips. Would he melt into him, hold him close, whisper his name between breaths? He has imagined it. Dreamed it. But that is all that it is. That is all that it will ever be. He is certain that he will never know.
His throat tightens.
He waited too long.
He has lost that chance.
Forever.
Once upon a time, Buck knew Eddie Diaz’s warmth felt like. He knew it in the way Eddie embraced his son. He knew it in the way Eddie’s arms wrapped around him after the truck bombing. He knew it in the way Eddie commanded his gaze, and declared that there was no one in the world that he trusted more with his son, than him. He knew it in the way Eddie forgave him for the rift he caused in the wake of his lawsuit. He knew it in the way Eddie clung to him in the rain, after the well had buried Eddie alive. He knew it in the way Eddie asked if he was hurt, as he lay there bleeding—certain of his death, certain of the last moment of his life. He knew it in the way Eddie sat next to him in the hospital and told him that he was irreplaceable. He knew it in the way Eddie and Christopher treated him like the family he had always wanted. He knew it in the way Eddie had embraced him as he embarked on a journey of self-discovery—of accepting himself.
He knew it in every moment they shared.
He knew Eddie’s warmth because Eddie had given it to him. Freely. Selflessly. He would tell you that it is the kind of feeling you never want to let go of. The kind of warmth that burrows into your bones and stays there, seeping through the cracks of your hurt, of old wounds and scars, and mends and heals and loves, and settles deep within.
The kind of love that devastates.
The kind of love that burns you—burns away at the loneliness and pain.
That strips you bare and leaves you vulnerable, but somehow, never turns you to ash.
He remembers being wrapped up in that warm embrace. How it soothed him. How it protected and saved him. How safe he felt in those arms. How safe he felt in the world with that warmth.
Except, he has been burned, hasn’t he? Because that warmth is gone now.
Those days have long since passed.
Eddie Diaz was the sun.
And Buck?
He is the weary traveller in the dark, standing in the wreckage of a life that has lost its light.
He knows what comes next.
He knows the ending to this story—to this little reverie that dances on the knife’s edge between sweet dream and nightmare.
He doesn’t fight it anymore. There is no use. And so, he opens his eyes, to the nothingness.
The bed is empty.
Eddie is fading.
His edges blur away, like morning fog lifting, like smoke billowing, like a mirage dissolving under the jagged and stony weight of reality.
His breath catches in his throat, broken. His hands dart forward, reaching, clawing, trying—desperately—to hold on.
“No!” his voice cracks.
“Please—pl—please don’t go!” his hands pass through nothing.
“Just stay with me! Okay?” his voice is small now, trembling, shaking, fragile.
There is nothing to hold on to.
Just a dream collapsing in on itself.
The nightmare is nearing its inevitable conclusion.
And when he wakes—when the last remnants of Eddie Diaz slip away from him—again—he will wake in a world bereft of half his heart.
Because, Eddie Diaz was the sun.
And when the sun sets, there is only the night—cold and unrelenting.
There may yet be light, but there is no warmth left in the world for Evan Buckley.
Buck startles awake, his breath coming in quick, ragged bursts. His chest rises and falls in quick succession as he struggles to rein in the panic suffocating him. For a brief moment, as his pulse thrums wildly in his ears, he isn’t sure where he is. The room is dark, shadows stretching and curling along the walls like ghosts. Then, the dull ache in his chest sharpens into the familiar blade, and he realises—another dream—no, nightmare.
He can feel the wetness on his cheeks, now all too familiar to him. He’s lost count of how many nights he’s woken up like this—gasping, weeping, his body aching in ways he doesn’t know how to fix. It happens every time he dreams of Eddie, only to have him ripped away as he wakes.
It’s routine now. Ritualistic, even. He forces himself to sit up, swallowing around the lump in his throat, willing his shoulders to stop shaking. His hands clench the sheets for a moment before he schools himself long enough to let go. He must, because he cannot let the sound of his despair be known. Having Christopher find him in this state would only hurt them both more.
Wiping at his face with his palm, rough and quick, he scrubs away the evidence in a feeble attempt to make it less real. His eyes flicker to the nightstand.
4:46 AM.
Almost time to get up anyway.
With a heavy sigh, he moves to throw the covers off but immediately hisses in awareness of the sharp pain radiating through his left leg. It’s worse these days. The stress, he’d guess. A constant, nagging reminder of the things he’s endured.
Gritting his teeth, he shifts his weight, testing the stiffness, and then forces himself to move. He must. There’s no room for weakness when, not too far away from the bedroom, just through the doors, soundly lies (he hopes) the other half of his heart. There’s no room for weakness when Christopher depends on him.
He finds his pain pills and takes one dry, the bitterness exploding at the back of his throat.
Outside, it’s all quiet, in a stillness that makes everything feel heavier. Each step Buck takes down the hallway of their house is careful and practised, but each one echoes louder in his mind, hollowed out with grief. It’s home, if he lies to himself. Because the truth is that it was never his home. He may have deluded himself into believing that he could ever be worthy of it, but it was always Eddie’s home—always will be. It doesn’t feel like his house—his home. It’s Christopher’s home. It’s Eddie’s home. Even after all these years, he is the piece that doesn’t fit.
But this is where he belongs now. Not because he belongs. But because this is where Christopher is. Buck is Christopher’s guardian, as Eddie willed it. He remembers being entrusted with that responsibility, and how indescribably chosen he felt. Of course, he hoped that it would never come into effect. He hoped that there would never be a world where he would become Christopher’s guardian, not because he didn’t want the obligation—the privilege, of being that, because it would mean that the worst had come to pass. It would mean that Christopher had lost his father.
He puts on a pot of coffee. Caffeinating this early doesn’t sound like a bad idea, he tells himself. As it brews, he grabs a heat pack and walks into the living room, finding a seat at their table. Rolling the leg of his sweatpants up to his knee, he presses the pack to his calf, massaging it there, trying to ease the stiffness and ache.
His gaze drifts to Christopher’s room. His mind, unbidden, calls forth the memory of that day which haunts him still.
The day the worst had happened.
2024, three years ago…
His heart was already breaking that day.
Eddie had called him, pleaded with him to come and speak with Christopher. Try to convince him to stay. Buck had hoped it would be enough, but the voice in head tells him that it won’t be enough. He wasn’t enough.
Kim—or, more accurately—the ghost of Shannon Diaz had caused such a schism between the two most important people in Buck’s life that for once, he wasn’t sure it could ever be repaired. He knew Eddie didn’t mean for this to happen. He understood. Eddie was hurting. Probably had been hurting for a long time. It was not his fault that Kim had taken things so far. The universe can be unkind in its lessons and Eddie had received an unbearably cruel one when Christopher walked into the house—and with Marisol, Eddie’s girlfriend—to witness that.
Christopher had been furious. Hurt. Devastated.
And Buck, he understood.
Christopher was hurting too. Of course, he would be.
“I—I thought she was real,” Christopher’s voice was small, carrying none of his signature joy, drained of all life, dejected, trembling slightly with something raw and vulnerable. Something so broken. “But she’s not my mom.”
Buck felt it then—that familiar, choking weight of failure rooting in his chest. He’d failed to make it better. He’d failed to fix it. Failed to convince Christopher to stay. Failed to keep his family together—the sanctuary he had found and carved out for himself.
He’s leaving.
I’m being left behind, again.
The thought flared within him, hot and sharp in his mind, before he smothered it down and stifled it. He shouldn’t be selfish. This wasn’t about him. It was Eddie who was being left behind.
“Here,” Buck stood, smoothing out his pants absently, like it would distract him from the ache building in his chest. “I’ll take your bag.”
Eddie was seated on the couch, hands wringing together, gaze fixed on some distant point Buck couldn’t see. He looked lost, crestfallen.
When Buck walked out of Christopher’s room, bag in hand. Eddie’s head snapped up at him, searching—desperate for something Buck couldn’t give him. Buck couldn’t meet his eyes, shaking his head, eyes falling, as he walked toward Christopher’s grandparents.
He handed the bag to Ramon, who thanked him softly. If there is an edge to his voice, Buck didn’t hear it.
I’m sorry I failed you.
He didn’t say it. Couldn’t say it.
Christopher walked out then, his steps determined.
“You got everything?” Eddie asked, voice rough with an edge of trepidation.
“Whatever he forgot, you can send it to us. Or,” Helena shrugged, “we’ll replace it.”
As if everything could be so easily replaced.
As if Eddie could be replaced.
As if he—no.
Eddie nodded weakly, turning to Christopher, reaching for him, hesitating. Like he was afraid to hold his own son. Afraid that he might make it worse.
I’m sorry.
Then Eddie pulled Christopher in, arms wrapping around his son’s shoulders, face pressing into Christopher’s hair. Buck could see the small tremble of Eddie’s shoulders as he breathed Christopher in, memorizing the scent of him, like he was trying to brand himself, his bones and the very fibre of being before it would be taken away from him.
Eddie kissed the top of Christopher’s head, swallowing back the grief rising in his throat, pulling back the tears burning behind his eyes.
Buck could clearly remember the first time he ever saw Eddie embracing Christopher. After the earthquake, Eddie had been worried sick, unable to reach Christopher. When it was all over, and things had settled down, Buck had driven Eddie to Christopher’s school. He watched as Eddie ran to his son. He watched as Christopher lit up at the sight of his father. How Eddie had picked his son up, and held him tight and close. The smiles on their faces were radiant. Perfect. Exactly as it should be, he wondered, a little bit envious.
And now, he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last time Eddie would ever get to hold his son. The thought broke something in him.
Eddies words were firm—so steady, so unwavering—but there was a distinct edge of pain beneath them that Buck could hear plainly.
“I love you.”
Christopher didn’t acknowledge them. Didn’t return them. His head turned away, eyes fixed away like he couldn’t bear to look at his father. Or maybe he was punishing Eddie.
“You’re not even gonna look at me?”
Eddie’s hand darted towards Christopher, fingers brushing against his chin, trying to turn his face toward him, trying to see him—but Christopher pulled away. Shook him off. Blunt. Final.
“No.”
The word cut like a blade. Buck felt it deeply in his own chest, even as he stood frozen, watching. He knew though, that Eddie would feel it more. It would cut more. Eddie would bleed more.
I’m sorry.
For a moment, Eddie was still. Like his body was processing the pain, making room for it. Then he moved—falling to his knees in front of Christopher, trying to meet his son’s eyes.
“I know you’re angry, but you need to listen to me.” His voice was raw now, wrecked. Pleading. Eyes desperate to meet Christopher’s. “I love you,” Eddie musters every ounce of resolution in himself, “no matter what. You want to go with your grandparents? Okay. I hate it, but I love you. So I’m letting you go.”
His voice falls. Faltering, cracked.
Christopher’s eyes finally met his father’s then. Did he see it? Did he see the desperation in them, as plainly as Buck could? Did he hear it? If he does, he made no indication. Cold and distant.
“But you can always come back.” Eddie’s voice softened, gentler now, but no less steady. No less certain. “If you change your mind five minutes, or five months from now…” Glassy-eyed, Eddie assured his son, firmly, believe me, I love you, “…and I’ll come for you. Okay?”
“Okay, Dad.”
“Okay.” Eddie exhaled, a broken thing, as his hand lifted to Christopher’s check, fingers tracing over the skin like he was memorising the shape of him.
The room was still for a moment. Still, and silent. The weight of the moment settling between them all. Buck couldn’t look away. It hurt, but he couldn’t look away. He had to be strong, not just for Eddie, but for Christopher too. Chris was leaving, so he had to make sure Eddie wouldn’t be alone. He had to be there if Eddie fell apart. So he couldn’t avert his eyes.
Which is why he saw it plainly.
Which is why the memory would be seared into his mind forever.
He thought he was losing his mind, at first. A trick of his exhaustion. He was all but certain of it. But then—
Eddie was fading.
Eddie was turning to ashes. His body wasn’t solid anymore. It was turning to something softer, frail, something less—something gone.
Christopher faltered, a step back, his breath hitching in his throat.
And then he was screaming.
“Dad?!”
Buck moved instantly, on autopilot, instinct overriding horror. But whatever was happening, he couldn’t stop it.
“DAD!” Christopher lunged forward, reaching out—trying to hold on—but Eddie was dust.
Christopher lost his balance then, nearly falling, but Buck caught him. He barely had time to breathe. He could hear Helena calling out for Eddie just a few steps away, before a thud hit the floor.
Ramon.
Ramon was turning to ashes too.
And Helena—Helena was wailing too.
Christopher thrashed in Buck’s arms, struggling, crying out, desperate to reach his father even as he slipped away.
Buck clutched him tighter, terror thundering through his veins. Was Christopher next? Was Christopher going to turn into dust in his arms?
Or would Christopher fall to the ground as he turned to ash, and be all alone? The fear and confusion roiled within him, poisoning every atom of his being.
His best friend had turned to ashes. And there wasn’t a thing he could do. He had no idea what, if anything, he could even do.
Helplessness clawed at his ribs. His breath came in ragged bursts. His heart pounded, so hard and fast, it hurt. He felt as helpless now as he had felt when Eddie was buried alive under the well so many years ago, but this? It was so much worse.
The only thing that mattered though—the only thing real in this moment where the unreal was happening, the impossible was happening—was the boy in his arms.
The boy was sobbing.
The boy who was screaming.
The boy who was crying out for his father.
And Buck knew—knew with an unshakeable certainty—that he would never forget that sound for as long as he lived.