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The dust finally settles on a long moving day when they’re beside each other in bed.
This house is so familiar, even now, that it makes Eddie’s chest ache a little. It creaks and hums the same as it always did, while they lie in silence. Buck had even set his furniture up in the same way that Eddie’s had been before he left, and now their belongings are all mingled together anyway. Buck’s fuzzy blanket on Eddie’s much preferred couch, Eddie and Chris’s favourite mugs beside Buck’s in the cupboard, Chris’s gaming console hooked up to Buck’s TV. Buck’s bed with Eddie’s pillow on the right side of it.
The rest of their things are in a shared storage unit on Burchard Avenue for when they figure out what the hell they’re doing about their living situation, but. Eddie kind of likes this.
There’s something about it that just feels right;their belongings - their lives - slot in together like pieces of the same puzzle. He likes seeing his son’s shoes between Buck’s and his own by the door, and he likes eating off of Buck’s plates with his cutlery, and he likes…this. He likes lying next to Buck in the late-night silence, as if this is where he belongs.
His first night back at South Bedford Street - with all three of them under the same roof - is the most at home he’s felt since Chris first walked out that door all those months ago.
Eddie lies on his back and listens to the sounds of Buck breathing beside him. He’s lying on his side, facing away from Eddie, and Eddie can’t help but turn his head to watch the rise and fall of his shoulders. His breaths are soft and shallow, but they’re coming too quickly for Buck to be asleep. He’s awake just like Eddie is, and there’s a tension in the air between them - not bad, just present. Impossible to ignore. Like there is something hovering in the space between them, just waiting for their attention.
He doesn’t mean to, but Eddie sighs. It’s a long, slow breath - one of peace and relief. The sound must alert Buck to the fact that Eddie is still awake, because he rolls onto his back in a mirror image of Eddie. Eddie looks back up to the ceiling.
“Can’t sleep?” Buck’s whisper cracks through the silence.
Eddie hums in assent. “My mind is still going a million miles a minute.”
“I can take the couch, if you’d prefer?”
“No,” Eddie answers immediately. “No, you’re good. Stay. Please.”
He can feel Buck’s eyes on the side of his face, but he daren’t turn to look at him. The moment feels so…so heavy. Not in an oppressive way, just. In a meaningful way. Like a weighted blanket soothing an anxious mind. Eddie wants to reach out and touch this thing that’s balancing so precariously between them, but he’s scared he isn’t allowed to - is scared of what it might mean if he does.
There’s been an atmosphere between them since the moment Buck opened the front door to Eddie and Christopher standing on the threshold. Eddie hasn’t been able to put a name to it, but it feels fizzy, electric, like a livewire that is one spark away from a wildfire. It had burned hot and bright when Buck took Eddie into his arms and held him for just a moment longer than perhaps he was supposed to, and it’s been simmering ever since. Lying in wait as they unpacked, and ate takeout, and Chris told Buck about all the things he’s missed out on.
And now, as they lie side by side, the heat of it feels hot enough to burn.
There’s a rustle of fabric, and Eddie can feel the bed dipping as Buck rolls over to face him. Eddie still can’t look at him, though. There’s something stopping him from meeting Buck’s eyes. He stares at the single glow-in-the-dark star on the ceiling, the one that’s been there since they first moved in and a seven-year-old Chris had insisted that Eddie needed one too. It doesn’t glow anymore but he’d never been able to bring himself to remove it. It seems like Buck couldn’t, either.
“Eddie.”
His name on Buck’s tongue is so gentle. Buck says it carefully, with purpose. Like it matters. Like Eddie matters. He feels something swell inside of his chest, like a helium balloon that’s light enough to float away.
He takes a breath, and then rolls over. As he turns inwards towards Buck, their eyes lock together. “Hi,” Eddie whispers.
“Hi,” Buck replies, a half-smile on his lips.
He looks so…so cozy. His hair is all mussed up, and his eyes are sleep-soft, and he’s got the cover pulled right up to his chin (he’s always run cold, whereas Eddie runs hot). It’s dark, of course, but it’s impossible to miss the brilliant blue of Buck’s eyes and the pretty pink of his birthmark.
Pretty. The word comes to Eddie unbidden, but it’s not like it isn’t true.
Everything about Buck is pretty. Beautiful. Effervescent. The crows feet by his eyes when he laughs, and the blush on his cheeks when someone compliments him, and the patchwork of tattoos that are dotted around the canvas of his skin. There are more now, than there were before Eddie left; he doesn’t like that there are parts of Buck he isn’t familiar with, but he’s thankful he gets to learn them now that he’s here. Now that he’s back home.
Eddie knows he’s gay. Going back to El Paso awakened parts of him that he thought were long-dead, buried beneath his catholic guilt, the weight of expectations he couldn’t meet, and a wife he couldn’t love the way he was supposed to. It was hard, unstitching the shame that had held his life together for the past thirty years and watching his very foundation fall apart. Harder still, unlearning the guilt that had been drilled into him since he was just a boy. But he knows that about himself, now. He knows who he is, finally, after so much time spent searching.
And then Buck’s tired eyes meet Eddie’s, and he sees the way his skin flushes even in the darkness, and suddenly Eddie knows all over again.
Suddenly he wantswantswants like he hasn’t ever wanted before.
And - oh.
Of course.
The realisation is a gentle one, like slipping beneath your favourite blanket or re-watching your favourite movie.
Eddie loves Buck. Of course he does. It’s been living inside of him this whole time, hasn’t it? A gentle hum beneath the curve of his ribs - something he was too afraid to acknowledge until now. But there’s no fear here, no shame. How could there be, when Buck is smiling at him so sweetly? The only thing that exists here - in this home, in this room, in the inches of space between them - is love.
It’s not the loud, ferocious, explosive kind of love. It’s not the fireworks and frenzy that Eddie always thought it was supposed to be. It’s soft, and it’s quiet, and it settles the parts of Eddie that have always been restless. It replaces the threads of shame and stitches together the pieces of him that have always felt broken.
Loving Buck feels like a hot drink on a cold day; it warms Eddie up from the inside out, spreading through his body like rays of sunlight.
“You okay?” Buck murmurs into the silence between them.
It had felt like half of Eddie was missing while he was in Texas. There was an ache inside of him that just wouldn’t ease, a loss that only seemed to grow bigger the longer he was away. Having Chris back was everything - was the most important thing in the world to him - but it still felt like breathing with only one lung. Surviving with only half of his heart.
He took his first full breath the moment he saw Buck’s face again.
“I am now,” Eddie whispers back.
Buck hums quietly. He turns his face into his pillow a little, like he’s trying to hide the smile that’s curling at the corners of his mouth.
“Happy to be home?” he asks.
Eddie nods, his hair against the pillow making a muffled, scratchy sound. “We missed you,” he says. “I missed you.”
“We talked every day,” Buck says, and maybe it’s supposed to be teasing but his pupils dilated at the sound of Eddie’s confession and he kind of looks like he wants to burrow beneath Eddie’s skin.
“It wasn’t enough,” Eddie admits with a slight shrug of his shoulder. “Didn’t like being away from you.”
Before he left Eddie had told Buck that if he was going to make it about choosing between him and his son, then Buck would lose every time. It wasn’t a fair thing to say, not because it wasn’t true, but because Buck had never once implied that - would never even consider asking Eddie to make that choice. He was the one who made the whole move possible, after all. The truth of it was, Eddie was just projecting. Deciding to move back to El Paso had felt like choosing between both halves of his heart, and while yes, of course Chris would always come first, it had still been an agonising decision to make.
It should have been a sign, maybe. Leaving Buck behind had felt like he was being torn in two. But he hadn’t even considered it a possibility then. Now, however, everything is different. There’s a whole world that’s opened up to him.
He knows, now, what that ache had been about - knows that it was so much more than just leaving his best friend. He knows why he facetimed Buck every single day, sometimes more than once. He knows why Buck’s encouragement made him feel brave enough to take a stand against his parents.
He knows why coming back to LA feels like having a piece of himself returned that had been stolen from him - like his heart is whole again, finally.
“Yeah,” Buck murmurs. “Yeah, I, uh, kind of hated it. Missed you too much. Both of you.”
He glances away from Eddie, like he’s not brave enough to say the words out loud while looking at him. Eddie wants to reach out, wants to hook his finger beneath Buck’s chin and make him look him in the eyes - make him see all the things that are hiding there. He doesn’t, though. He clenches his hands into fists beneath the covers.
“We’re home now,” Eddie says, and he’s not sure if it’s to reassure Buck or himself. He still can’t fully believe that he’s here again, that all of this is real.
“Back where you belong.”
Eddie laughs quietly. “Yeah. Right where I belong.”
In LA, in this house, in their home. In Buck’s bed, with nothing between them but a couple of inches of space and a whole host of unspoken feelings.
“It wasn’t the same, seeing your face through a screen,” Buck says, his voice slow and thick, lips loose with exhaustion.
Eddie’s heart stutters in his chest, and he can’t fight the smile that tugs at the edges of his mouth. He doesn’t realise they’ve both been moving closer to the middle - to each other - until the slightest movement causes their knees to knock together between the covers.
“No?” Eddie asks, breathless and trembling.
Buck shakes his head. “No. Couldn’t see the beauty mark beneath your eye. The camera doesn’t do you justice.”
Somewhere along the line, Eddie learned he wasn’t allowed to have this. Between Sunday mass, and his parents’ accusing gaze, and years spent in the army, he learned he wasn’t allowed soft. Wasn’t allowed gentle. It simply wasn’t in the cards for someone like him - a husband, a father, a soldier, a man.
But then Buck reaches out, his hand sure and steady, and he touches Eddie with a tenderness he’s never felt before.
He starts at Eddie’s hairline and works his way down. His eyes follow the path he creates, delicate fingertips caressing Eddie’s brows, and his nose, and then the bruise-like circles that have pooled beneath his eyes. His thumb brushes over the arch of Eddie’s cheekbone, down the side of his face, and along the cut of his jaw. When Buck reaches Eddie’s chin he rests his thumb in the divot at the centre. Their eyes meet, and the world falls away as Buck presses his thumb to Eddie’s lip.
Eddie can’t help it - his mouth parts in a silent, breathless gasp, and he can feel his cheeks begin to flush beneath Buck’s watchful gaze. He feels winded, dizzy with want, and when his tongue flicks out to swipe away the dryness of his lips, it catches on Buck’s thumb. It’s only for a moment, the time between two heartbeats, but it’s enough for Eddie to taste the salt on Buck’s skin.
Buck’s eyes grow dark, his pupils dilating as he glances from Eddie’s eyes, to his mouth, to his eyes again.
“Eddie.” His name is a plea, a prayer. Something sacred; something holy. “Can I - can I-”
“Yes.”
It doesn’t matter what Buck is asking him for, the answer will always be yes. He’s already given him his son, his future, his heart. He’d tear out his own rib and hand it over if that’s what Buck so desired. He’d give him anything in this world.
There’s barely any space at all left between them, but Buck closes it slowly, carefully, giving Eddie time to put a stop to what’s about to happen. He doesn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t ever even dream of it. He’s wanted this for longer than he’s known, since well before he knew he was even allowed to want it.
Buck’s mouth hovers above Eddie’s as he asks, “Are you sure?”
The sweetness of Buck’s question is enough to bring tears to Eddie’s eyes. “I’m sure,” he promises. “Please.”
Buck’s hand slides from Eddie’s chin to his hair, and then he pulls him in close and kisses him. It feels like a whisper, a caress. The most tender press of lips. Eddie has never felt more treasured in his life.
Buck kisses him like this is the most important thing he will ever do. It feels reverent. Every movement is deliberate, and intentional, and so, so careful, like Eddie is spun sugar - something delicate, something to treat gently. It feels a little bit like being worshipped. No one has ever kissed him like this before, he didn’t even know that it could feel like this - like the kissing is the main event, and not just the prelude. Like this, right here, is everything Buck has ever wanted coming true.
Eddie’s hand finds its way to Buck’s waist, slipping beneath his t-shirt and splaying across his back to hold him close. The solid warmth of him beneath Eddie’s hand is instantly addictive. Buck trembles at the touch, a whisper-thin gasp slipping out of his mouth and between Eddie’s lips. He swallows it down hungrily, greedily, desperate for anything that Buck is willing to give to him.
There’s no rush. Their pace is leisurely, time stretching out infinitely in the dark, middle-of-the-night haze. Eddie could spend the rest of his life in this moment, the world frozen in time around them while they are the beating heart right at the centre of it.
When Buck pulls back Eddie chases after him, earning him a low, throaty chuckle from Buck. There isn’t much space between them for long, though, before Buck is crowding into Eddie’s space again, pressing their foreheads together while they breathe each other's air. His hand comes to rest on Eddie’s cheek, Buck’s thumb tracing softly over the arch of his cheekbone in a way that makes him shiver. With both their eyes closed, Eddie brushes their noses together and clutches at Buck’s hip.
“I love you,” Eddie whispers.
He’s never been allowed to want something for himself before. Everything he’s ever done has been for someone else - his parents, his sisters, Shannon, Chris. This time, Eddie gets to choose for himself. This time, Eddie gets to choose Buck.
Buck hums, sweet and satisfied. “I love you, too,” he promises, leaning back to press a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose, his cheek, the middle of his forehead.
After seven years and 800 miles - after bombs, and wells, and snipers, and lightning - this feels like the easiest thing in the entire world. And Eddie’s never believed in the universe, or the stars, or fate, but he thinks he and Buck must have been made for each other. He thinks this was always supposed to happen. So maybe he does believe in something, after all. He believes in them.
“You feel like home to me,” Eddie confesses.
Buck groans, kisses him once, twice, three times, then says, “You’re in my bones, Eddie Diaz.”
Eddie wants to stay there forever. Wants to live inside Buck, inside this moment, for as long as the world will let him. He’s fought to survive for long enough; he finally gets to live, now.