Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The smell of coffee and bacon pulled Buck from the edges of sleep. It was the good kind of waking—the slow, soft kind where sunlight filtered in through half-closed blinds and everything felt warm, like the world hadn’t found a reason to fall apart just yet.

There was the faint thump of footsteps on hardwood, then a giggle—high-pitched, bubbling with joy, unmistakably Christopher.

Buck smiled before he even opened his eyes.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!”

The mattress jolted as Christopher launched himself onto it, bouncing with all the boundless energy of a ten-year-old who’d already been up for at least an hour. Buck groaned dramatically, flopping an arm over his face.

“Ugh,” he grumbled. “Tell the breakfast monster I’m not ready for this cruel world.”

“You’re literally already awake,” Chris pointed out, crawling up to sit beside him with a smug little grin. “You smiled before I said anything.”

Buck cracked one eye open. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.”

“Did not.”

“You did !” Chris laughed, leaning forward to poke Buck’s side. “You always smile when you hear me.”

From the hallway, Eddie’s voice floated in. “Don’t let him fool you, Chris!”

Buck chuckled, letting his arm slide away from his face as he finally sat up, stretching out the sleep from his limbs. The blankets pooled around his waist as he yawned. His gaze drifted toward the open door, just in time to catch Eddie walking past—barefoot, wearing a worn tank top and flannel pajama pants, spatula in one hand and a coffee mug in the other.

His dark hair was sticking up in a hundred directions, a product of both sleep and general apathy toward early mornings. There was a grease stain on the hem of his shirt and a tiny smudge of flour near his collarbone.

The sight hit Buck square in the chest.

This wasn’t new. They’d shared hundreds of mornings like this, off and on, over the last few years. Sleepovers after long shifts, movie nights that turned into crash-on-the-couch sleep, weekends with Christopher when Eddie needed help.

It was easy. Familiar. The kind of friendship that had been forged in fire—literally, on the job—and tempered over years of laughter, late-night talks, and weathering the worst parts of life together.

Buck knew this house like it was his own. He had a toothbrush in the guest bathroom and a hoodie that lived permanently on the coat rack by the door. Chris had once called him “my other dad” in the middle of a school presentation, and nobody had corrected him.

But lately, things had been shifting—quietly, steadily, beneath the surface. Buck could feel it in the way Eddie looked at him a little too long when he thought Buck wasn’t paying attention. In the way Buck’s heart clenched every time Eddie touched him, even casually. In the ache that lived just under his skin when he slept in the guest room.

He swallowed hard.

“You coming to eat, or should I save you some scraps?” Eddie teased from the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, one brow raised in that half-smirk that always made Buck feel unsteady.

Buck blinked up at him, taking in the domestic picture—Eddie barefoot and relaxed, his kitchen full of sizzling breakfast smells, his son bouncing on the bed beside Buck like this was all the most natural thing in the world.

He wanted to freeze this moment. Bottle it. Memorize every detail.

“Scraps are fine,” Buck said lightly, hiding the twist of longing behind the joke. “It’s what I deserve.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and disappeared back toward the kitchen, muttering something about drama queens under his breath.

Chris giggled again. “You are kinda dramatic.”

Buck flopped backward onto the pillows with a groan. “Not you too.”

But he was smiling.

There was a warm bed. A happy kid. A house that had become more of a home than his own apartment ever was. And just down the hallway, a man making breakfast like it was just another Sunday.

It hurt, sometimes—how much he wanted it. How close it felt. How far away it still was.

But he’d take mornings like this for as long as he could.

Even if it meant waking up in the guest room.

They sat together at the breakfast table like they’d done a hundred times before.

The kitchen was filled with the cozy, quiet sounds of a home waking up — the faint sizzle of bacon still cooling on the stove, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the background, the gentle clink of forks against plates. Sunlight spilled through the window above the sink, catching dust motes midair and making everything feel a little golden, a little softer than reality.

Buck sipped coffee from the chipped L.A. Dodgers mug that had, at some point, quietly become his. It had once been part of a mismatched set Eddie inherited from his parents, but Buck had gravitated toward this one years ago, and no one else touched it now. He didn’t even think about it as he held it — fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic like muscle memory — but some small part of him noticed. The familiarity of it. The comfort.

Across the table, Christopher was halfway through a messy stack of pancakes, enthusiastically recounting every detail of his science project with wide-eyed excitement. There was syrup smeared at the corner of his mouth, and one elbow dangerously close to his juice glass, but Buck didn’t interrupt. He just watched him, listened, and nodded in all the right places.

“That’s when we added the vinegar,” Chris was saying, “and it exploded, Buck. Like boom. And Ms. Lewinsky said, ‘Christopher, this is very impressive,’ which basically means I’m a genius.”

Buck grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Clearly. You gonna win the Nobel Prize for volcanoes?”

“Probably.”

Eddie chuckled, and Buck's gaze shifted — caught there like it always did, like gravity didn’t work right when Eddie was in the room. His attention drifted to the way Eddie’s fingers curled around his own coffee mug, long and calloused and still dusted with flour near the knuckles. The old tank top he wore hung a little loose at the neck, just enough to show the line of his collarbone and the curve of a scar Buck remembered patching up after a nasty warehouse fire last year.

God, he remembered everything about Eddie. Every injury. Every story. Every offhanded smile and exhausted sigh. He knew how Eddie took his coffee, how he kept his tools in his garage, how he always kept an extra blanket in the living room for Chris even in summer.

And none of it was his.

He forced his eyes away, back to Christopher, who was gesturing animatedly with his fork.

“…and then Jason said it wasn’t gonna work, but I told him, ‘You just wait,’ and guess what? It did work. Because I did the math like Abuela showed me.”

“Of course you did.” Buck’s voice was soft, warm with pride. “You’re basically a certified scientist at this point.”

Chris beamed, and Eddie smiled too — one of those private, proud-parent looks that made Buck’s chest ache.

He kept smiling. Kept sipping his coffee. But the edges of everything around him had started to blur, like he was watching the morning through a pane of glass.

It was too easy to imagine this life as his. Too easy to fall into the rhythm of it. The seat at the table that was always there for him. The plate Eddie had served him without asking what he wanted. The way Chris leaned instinctively into him, syrup-sticky fingers brushing against his sleeve as he reached for another bite.

It all felt like it meant something.

And that was dangerous.

Because Buck knew the truth: he didn’t belong here. Not really. He was the best friend, the helper, the backup plan. He was the one who was always around, the one who never left — and it was easy to confuse that with being wanted.

He stared down at the swirls in his coffee, watching the cream settle. He could feel Eddie's eyes on him for half a second too long, the way he sometimes did lately — like he was searching for something Buck couldn’t name.

The kind of look that gave Buck hope.

And hope, as it turned out, could be a kind of cruelty.

He blinked and forced a smile, even though the knot in his chest had grown tighter.

God help him, he wanted to believe this was home. 

But wanting it didn’t make it real.

So he smiled at Chris again, and laughed at just the right moment, and said nothing when Eddie stood and brushed past him, hand grazing his shoulder as he reached for the syrup.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t lean in.

He just sat there, pretending his heart wasn’t aching quietly inside his chest.

Because even if this wasn’t his, even if it never would be, he’d still show up. Still sit at this table. Still love them with everything he had.

Later that afternoon, they were sprawled on the couch — the three of them in a tangle of limbs and blankets that had become second nature.

The TV flickered quietly across the room, casting light and shadow in slow pulses as a superhero movie played for the sixth or seventh time — one of Christopher’s favorites, and one all three of them knew by heart. The volume was low, not because anyone needed to hear the dialogue, but because they didn’t really need the sound. The movie was just background noise to the warmth of the moment.

Buck was on one end of the couch, his socked feet propped on the coffee table. Eddie sat in the middle, lounging back with a cushion wedged behind him, and Christopher was curled between them, his head resting lightly on his father’s side, legs stretched across Buck’s lap.

There was something so natural about the arrangement. So easy.

Buck’s arm was stretched along the back of the couch, loose and casual, or at least it looked that way. His fingers hovered just behind Eddie’s shoulder, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. Every few seconds, the softest brush of movement — Eddie breathing, adjusting, shifting slightly — would cause their skin to graze.

It was the lightest of touches.

And still, Buck felt every second of it like a live wire running under his skin.

Then Eddie leaned into him — not a lot, not deliberately, just enough to close the last inch of space between them. Just enough that Buck could feel the weight of him, could feel the firm press of his shoulder beneath Buck’s fingertips. He didn’t seem to think anything of it. His eyes were still on the TV, mouth twitching at some joke they’d all heard before, fingers absently combing through Christopher’s curls.

But Buck stopped breathing.

He didn’t even realize it at first. His chest just locked up, tight and still and full of panic, like his body had forgotten how to be casual in the face of that single, unconscious lean.

Eddie was warm. Solid. Comfortable in that way people only were when they trusted you with everything they had. And Buck wanted to close his eyes and sink into it, memorize the exact weight of him, the smell of his skin, the quiet exhale that ghosted against his collarbone as Eddie shifted again.

He stared straight ahead, pretending to watch the screen.

He couldn’t look at Eddie. Couldn’t risk it. Not when he was falling apart inside.

And that’s when it hit him.

Clear as a bell.

It wasn’t just a crush.

It wasn’t just a slow-burning, best-friend-who-you’d-die-for kind of loyalty. It wasn’t admiration, or lust, or even the kind of fondness that sometimes confused itself for more. No. This was different. This was deeper. Sharper.

He was in love with Eddie.

Not in a fun, easy way. Not in a fleeting way. He was in love with Eddie, in a way that felt too big for his chest. In a way that had quietly threaded itself into every part of his life — into movie nights and inside jokes, into emergency rescues and quiet cups of coffee at Station 118. In the way his voice softened when he said Chris’s name. In the way he always, always made room for Buck.

It had been growing for months — maybe years — slipping past Buck’s defenses without him even noticing. And now that he saw it, it was like the whole world tilted on its axis. Like he’d been walking on a flat surface and suddenly realized he was standing on the edge of a cliff.

He felt dizzy with it.

Staggered.

He didn’t know how to sit still, how to stay calm with this new truth burning inside him. Every cell in his body wanted to react — to flinch, to lean in, to run, to cry, to confess.

But he didn’t do any of those things.

He just sat there, perfectly still, as if any movement would give him away.

Because right now, Eddie had no idea. He was sitting there, relaxed and trusting, with his whole body leaning gently into Buck’s space like he belonged there, like it was safe. And Buck couldn’t ruin that. He wouldn’t ruin that.

So he swallowed hard.

Focused on the movie, on the rhythm of Christopher’s breathing, on the way Eddie’s arm brushed his just a little every time he shifted.

He stared at the screen and told himself to breathe.

He reminded himself that nothing had changed — not really.

Except for the fact that now he knew.

And knowing? That changed everything .

That night, back in his own loft, Buck lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer answers.

The apartment was quiet in a way that felt louder than it should have. Just the hum of the fridge, the occasional creak of the building settling, the faint distant sound of a car passing on the street below. The city was alive, as always — but here, in this small, dim slice of space, Buck felt like the only person in the world.

He’d left Eddie’s place after helping Chris with bedtime — a routine he knew almost as well as Eddie did now. Brush teeth. Pajamas. Tuck in. Read exactly one and a half chapters of whatever book they were working through, or else there’d be protests. Chris had yawned mid-sentence and curled up against Buck’s side, and Buck had smoothed back his hair gently, pretending not to notice how badly it hurt to say goodnight.

Eddie had walked him to the door, casual as ever. No big conversation, no heavy moment. Just, “Thanks for sticking around.”

And Buck had smiled and said “Always,” because it was true.

But now — hours later — the ache had settled in. Low and steady, right beneath his ribs.

He turned his head and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 1:47 AM.

He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even really tried.

He thought about the way Eddie smiled when he looked at Christopher. The quiet joy, the softness in his eyes like nothing else in the world mattered when his kid was happy. It was the kind of love Buck had always admired — fierce, steady, protective. But lately, it had twisted into something more complicated, something sharper. Because Buck didn’t just want to watch it anymore. He wanted to belong in it. He wanted to be folded into that light like he’d never been anywhere else.

He thought about the way Eddie said his name — not just casually, not just like anyone else did. It was lighter somehow. Easier. Like Buck was safe to him. Like Buck meant something he didn’t say out loud.

He thought about how easy it was to slip into that life — to wake up to the sound of Christopher giggling down the hallway, to drink coffee from a mug that had quietly become his, to sit at that breakfast table like his place was always waiting.

He thought about how badly he needed that.

Not just Eddie. Not even just Chris. But this life. That feeling of being wanted. Of being steady. Of being someone's person — not for a week or a season, not just until it got hard. But for good.

He needed that anchor.

But then, like always, the hope was followed by the spiral.

Because what would happen if he reached too far?

If he said the wrong thing?

If he cracked open this fragile, golden thing between them and it fell apart in his hands?

His brain, so damn good at disaster scenarios, kicked into high gear.

He saw it all: Eddie pulling away with that closed-off expression he used when he was overwhelmed. The air between them turning awkward and heavy. The texts slowing. The invitations drying up. Chris asking why Buck didn’t come around anymore — that confusion in his eyes turning to hurt.

Buck saw himself knocking on a door that no longer opened.

Just like before.

Just like always.

He saw Taylor walking out with that look in her eyes that said, You’re too much. Saw Ali growing distant when things got to be too much. Saw Abby choosing a plane over him. Every ghost of love that had slipped through his fingers came rushing back in the dark, sharp and cold and loud.

No one ever stays, Buck.

That old voice, the one he hated — the one that sounded too much like his mom — whispered it into the silence like a lullaby made of broken glass.

He squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a shaky breath into his lungs. His throat was tight. His hands had curled into fists at his sides.

He told himself he could handle this.

That it wasn’t real. That it was just a crush. A phase. A misfire in his stupid, hopeful heart. That he was reading into things that weren’t there, projecting feelings because he wanted to be loved so badly.

He told himself Eddie was straight. That nothing good could come from saying it out loud. That Buck always ruined things when he got too close.

That he could still be Eddie’s friend. That he didn’t need more.

He told himself that would be enough.

That it had to be enough.

And then, quietly, he told himself he could survive.

Because what choice did he have?

It was either keep it buried or risk losing the most important thing in his life.

And tonight, that fear — the fear of losing it all — was bigger than the hope.

So Buck lay there in the dark, staring at nothing, trying to make himself small. Trying to press his feelings back into a box they didn’t want to stay in.

And telling himself, over and over, that wanting something didn’t mean he deserved it.

So he started pulling away.

Subtle, at first.

Little things — shifts in timing, in tone, in presence — the kind of changes that could be explained away if anyone noticed. Buck figured they wouldn’t. Eddie was busy. Chris had school. Life kept moving. He just needed to… step back. Create space. Breathe.

He started with their work schedules. Where they used to align their shifts without even trying, Buck started volunteering for different rotations. Swapped days. Picked up doubles at odd hours, said he was covering for Chim or Hen. It wasn’t technically a lie — someone always needed coverage. But it was a choice.

A quiet reorganization of his life around absence.

He stopped swinging by the Diaz house after shifts. Turned down game night with a smile in his voice he didn’t feel. Told Christopher he couldn’t make it to dinner.

“Just slammed with stuff,” he said. “Rain check?”

The guilt sank in instantly when Chris’s voice dropped on the phone. “Oh. Okay.”

Eddie sent a thumbs-up emoji in response. No questions. No pressure. But that almost made it worse. Because Buck knew Eddie noticed. He just respected Buck’s space enough not to ask why he suddenly needed it.

Buck hated that. Hated himself for taking advantage of that trust.

He answered texts slower. Where there used to be a constant back-and-forth — memes, check-ins, shared YouTube rabbit holes at midnight — now there were hours between replies. Sometimes entire days.

He avoided lingering after calls. Kept conversations short. Polite. Neutral.

Safe.

He started dodging touch, too. No more playful shoulder bumps in the locker room. No more spontaneous hugs that Chris launched himself into. No more leaning close on the couch when they watched movies. If Eddie reached for something and brushed his arm, Buck would pull back like he hadn’t even noticed.

He told himself it was necessary.

He told himself it was better this way.

But it was like trying to hold back a tide with sandbags — clumsy, doomed from the start. No matter how much space he tried to create, everything in him still wanted. His hands itched to reach out, his chest ached from holding back. His mind — traitorous, relentless — kept cataloging every moment he was trying to let go of.

The curve of Eddie’s smile.

The warmth of his voice.

The way Chris’s laugh sounded when Buck walked into the room.

The way the three of them fit together like a family. Like they were a family, even if no one ever said it.

And every time Buck pushed Eddie away — every ignored call, every canceled dinner, every inch of distance he manufactured — it felt like he was carving something out of himself.

Ripping seams.

Unraveling.

He’d come home to his loft and sit in the dark, phone silent beside him, the quiet pressing in on all sides. He tried distracting himself — reading, TV, running until his legs burned — but nothing filled the space where Eddie had been. Where they had been.

Because it wasn’t just about love. It wasn’t just some unspoken crush.

It was them.

It was trust and laughter and the rhythm of a friendship that had saved his life more than once. It was family dinners and shared coffee and long nights watching the ceiling during storms. It was Chris looking up at him like he hung the moon.

It was everything.

And Buck couldn’t have it.

Not the way he wanted.

So he chose to have nothing at all.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

That this distance was survival.

That if he couldn’t have all of it, he could live with the ache of nothing. It would hurt less in the long run.

But deep down, where the truth was hard and quiet and sharp as glass, Buck already knew it wasn’t true.

Because every time he looked at Eddie and didn’t reach out — every time he lied with a smile and said “I’m just busy” — it didn’t hurt less.

It hurt more.

And it wasn’t getting better.

A few days later, Hen cornered him at the station.

It was a rare moment where she was calm, standing in the break room, a coffee in her hand, looking at him like she could see through all of his walls.

“You good?” she asked, her brows raised, sharp as ever.

Buck glanced up from the mug in his hand, trying to muster a smile. “Yeah. Why?”

Hen didn’t look convinced. She crossed her arms, not giving him the easy way out. “You’ve been... distant.”

Buck almost laughed. Of course she noticed. Hen always noticed. It wasn’t like he was the best at hiding his feelings, especially from her.

“Distant?” He tried to brush it off, faking a light tone. “I’m just tired, I guess. Long shifts, you know?”

Hen didn’t buy it. She leaned in slightly, her sharp gaze flicking to where Eddie was working across the bay, laughing with Chim, the sound of their conversation easy and natural. Eddie’s voice carried across the open space of the firehouse like it always did — relaxed, comfortable, at home.

“Uh-huh,” Hen said, her voice low and careful. “You know, I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s up, Buck.”

He forced a smile again, but it felt thin, stretched tight across his face. “It’s nothing, really. Just needed some space, that’s all.”

But Hen wasn’t convinced. She gave him a look — one of those looks that made it clear she could push him further if she wanted to. But she didn’t. She simply stood there, waiting.

Buck shifted uncomfortably. He could feel her stare. It felt like she was peeling him apart, bit by bit. He half-expected her to push, but she didn’t. Instead, she dropped her arms and gave him a small, knowing smile.

“Alright,” she said. “But if you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

And before Buck could protest or offer any other excuse, Hen turned away, leaving him standing alone in the break room, the weight of her words pressing in on him.

Later, as the day dragged on, Buck found himself watching Eddie from across the bay. He hadn’t meant to, but he couldn’t help it. Eddie was laughing with Chim, gesturing animatedly about something they’d been working on — another busted hose, another problem solved with easy camaraderie and the usual effortless charm.

And it hurt.

It wasn’t just a pang. It wasn’t just the ache that had become a constant hum in the back of his mind. No, this was sharper, hotter. It felt like a brand, a searing mark on his chest that refused to fade.

Buck swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the edge of his coffee cup. He could almost imagine it — the scene in his head playing out like it was real. Walking across the floor, pushing through the chaos, the noise, the mundane. Grabbing Eddie by the collar, pulling him close, and just saying it.

I love you. I think I’ve always loved you.

The words were so close he could almost taste them. Almost feel them leave his lips like it would be as simple as that. But then he pictured Eddie’s face in his mind — the momentary confusion, the blink of surprise — and that was enough to kill it.

He could almost hear Eddie’s voice in his head, asking him what the hell he was talking about. Or worse, the silence. The pity. The quiet, “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Buck felt his stomach twist into a tight knot, the thought almost too much to bear.

No. He couldn’t do that.

He couldn’t handle the rejection. He couldn’t handle the awkwardness. The pullback. The distance. The shift from friends to strangers.

He wouldn’t survive it.

So instead, he did what he always did when the pressure got too high.

He stuffed it down.

Pressed it deeper. Let it sit like a stone in his chest, heavy and suffocating. He let the ache settle there and pretended it wasn’t there. Pretended it was just another thing he could bury beneath the surface. Another thing he didn’t deserve.

He told himself it was fine. That it was better this way.

Better than risking what they had. Better than hearing “I don’t feel the same.”

Instead of crossing the floor, instead of following through, he turned away. His feet felt like lead as he walked in the opposite direction. Away from Eddie, away from the reality of what he was feeling.

Away from the thing he wanted most.

Buck forced himself to focus on anything else. The next call. The next rescue. The next checklist. The next reason to stay busy enough not to think. He smiled in passing, he laughed when someone made a joke, he moved like a man who wasn’t quietly unraveling.

But the ache never went away.

It was always there, underneath it all, gnawing at him.

Starving him.

And for a moment, in the silence of the firehouse, as the noise of the world buzzed around him — radios crackling, boots echoing against tile — Buck could almost hear his own heart breaking.

The sound of everything he couldn’t have.

He didn’t mean to. Not consciously. But little by little, he started to step back. To hold himself tighter. To guard his heart with all the armor he had left.

Because the plan — the one where he buried everything, pretended nothing changed, and just kept going — it wasn’t a plan for survival.

It was a plan to fail.

And deep down, though he didn’t know it yet, Buck was already failing.

Already fading.

Already pulling away from Eddie… even though he swore he wouldn’t.

Chapter Text

The silence stretched between them like a thread pulled too tight.

At first, Eddie didn’t notice it. Not fully. Buck could be moody sometimes — intense in the way only Buck was. It wasn’t unusual for him to get lost in his own head for a while. He had his ups and downs, his moments of pulling away when things got too heavy, too complicated. But this? This was something else. Something he couldn’t ignore anymore.

It started small. The missed calls. The one-word texts. The way Buck would leave the room when Eddie walked in, or change the subject when he tried to bring up something personal. And then there was the way Buck had begun to avoid eye contact — the way he wouldn’t look at him during downtime at the station. The way his energy seemed to withdraw whenever Eddie tried to get too close, in conversation or otherwise.

But what made it worse, what really made Eddie’s stomach twist, was how Buck started ghosting Christopher. The kid was more perceptive than Eddie liked to admit, and even he had noticed the change. Christopher had started asking why Buck wasn’t coming over anymore, why he wasn’t answering calls or showing up for dinner. That was the hardest part.

Buck had never said no to Christopher before.

He loved Chris. And Chris loved him back, like a brother, like a friend, like someone who was always just there. They had their inside jokes, their movie nights, their shared interests. Chris had clung to Buck in a way that made Eddie both proud and protective, and he’d never had to question it. Buck had never let him down.

But now? Now, it was like Buck was disappearing. Slowly. Quietly. And Eddie couldn’t figure out why.

“You okay?” Chim asked one afternoon, his voice low as he followed Eddie into the break room. The air between them felt thick with something unspoken.

Eddie sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Buck’s been weird.”

Chim raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Weirder than usual?”

Eddie didn’t smile. He couldn’t. This wasn’t just about Buck being a little off or having a bad day. This was something deeper, something more than just Buck’s usual quirks.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” Eddie admitted, his voice tight. The words tasted bitter, like he didn’t quite believe them, even as he said them out loud.

Chim was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. “Did you guys fight?” he asked, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed.

“No,” Eddie said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s the thing. We didn’t. One day we were fine — I mean, fine in the way we always are. And then, the next day, it’s like he’s… I don’t know. Distant. Like he’s pulling away.”

Chim gave him a long look. “So, you’re telling me this is all coming from him ? No argument, no reason for him to be pissed?”

Eddie nodded, frustration building inside him. He didn’t have the words for this. Not really. He couldn’t pinpoint what had changed, what had made Buck suddenly close off like this. All he knew was that it felt like a slow burn, a shift he couldn’t stop.

“Yeah,” Eddie finally muttered, looking down at the coffee in his hands, his grip tight. “And I don’t get it. I’ve tried to reach out. Tried to keep things normal, you know? But it’s like he doesn’t want me around.”

There was a quiet heaviness in his chest. This wasn’t just about the friendship they’d built over the years, the easy camaraderie that had formed between them after all the calls, all the times they’d saved each other. This felt like something more — like something had broken between them, and Eddie was standing on the edge, helpless to fix it.

Chim didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, finally, he shrugged, as if the solution were the simplest thing in the world. “Well, maybe you should talk to him. You know, like an adult. You’re not gonna get anywhere just guessing, Eddie.”

Eddie snorted, his lips curling up in a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, sure, because Buck loves talking about his feelings.”

But the suggestion stuck.

Maybe it was just that simple. Maybe he was overthinking it, panicking for no reason. Buck had always been open with him, in his own way. He’d always been the one to let Eddie in, to share bits of himself in the small moments, when it mattered. He’d always been the one who chose to open up, even when it hurt. Eddie had to believe that Buck would eventually do the same.

But the question lingered: why hadn’t he yet?

Why was Buck pulling away? And more importantly, why didn’t Eddie know how to stop it?

“Maybe I should,” Eddie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, the thought uncomfortable. He knew Buck didn’t like to talk about his feelings — especially when it came to something this complicated. Something like… well, whatever it was that had happened. Something that was making Buck shut him out.

Chim gave him a small, knowing smile, patting Eddie on the back with a solid thud. “There you go, man. You got this.”

Eddie didn’t feel like he had it. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, watching everything unravel, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. But for now, he’d try. For Buck. For the friendship they had. He had to try.

As the door to the break room swung open again, Eddie stood there for a moment, lost in thought, his mind spinning with the weight of the conversation. He needed to fix this. He couldn’t just let Buck slip away.

But as he turned and walked back into the main area of the firehouse, the image of Buck — distant, quiet, eyes lowered, standing on the opposite side of the room — stayed with him.

The thread was stretched thin. And Eddie had no idea how much more it could take before it snapped.

That night, after a long day filled with calls and half-finished thoughts, Eddie found himself sitting alone on the couch, staring at his phone. He knew he had to try. The silence between him and Buck had stretched on too long, and it wasn’t just affecting him — it was affecting Christopher, too. And Eddie wasn’t going to let that slide.

He unlocked his phone and hesitated, his fingers hovering over the screen. He had no idea what to say. No clever opening, no easy way to break the tension that had built up between them. So, he kept it simple.

He typed: Hey. You free tomorrow? Chris misses you.

It felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Too casual for what had been brewing between them, but not enough to bridge the chasm that had formed. Still, it was all he had. He hit send and set the phone down beside him, unable to focus on anything else.

He waited.

Minutes passed, then hours. His phone remained stubbornly silent. He tried to distract himself, flipping through TV channels, but his mind kept drifting back to the message he’d sent, to the echo of silence that stretched across the room.

It was late when his phone buzzed. Eddie’s heart skipped, his hand reaching for it too quickly, as if he could will Buck’s response to be more than just a few cold words.

He unlocked the phone, and there it was.

Sorry. Been busy. I’ll make it up to him.

Eddie stared at the screen for a long time, his thumb hovering over the text. No question, no explanation. No “hope everything’s okay” or even a “talk soon.” Just a quick, curt answer. I’ll make it up to him.

That was it.

No usual Buck warmth. No attempts to make things better, no spark of the easy, playful tone Buck usually had when he was texting him. Just... distance. Cold, flat words that felt like a punch to the gut.

The room felt suddenly colder. Eddie set the phone back down, his chest tight. He didn’t want to overanalyze it, didn’t want to let his insecurities spiral. But there it was — the starkness of it. The absence of everything Eddie had come to rely on in their friendship.

It wasn’t like Buck to pull away like this. Not without explanation, not without some kind of reason. And even though Eddie tried to tell himself that Buck was just busy — maybe too preoccupied with work, or something personal he wasn’t ready to share — it didn’t sit right. Not after everything they’d been through together, not after the way Buck had always been there for him.

What happened? Eddie thought, his mind racing. What did I miss?

He thought about the missed calls, the unanswered texts, the way Buck had been avoiding him like there was something wrong. But this — this felt like a different kind of wall. A wall that Buck was building around himself, and Eddie wasn’t sure how to break it down.

Twelve hours passed after that text, and there was still no sign of Buck. No follow-up message, no attempt to make things right. Just that one line, hanging between them like a rope he couldn’t quite climb.

He stared at the screen for a long time, the words blurring before his eyes. His thumb brushed the edge of the phone, hovering over a response that wouldn’t come. What was there to say?

“ I’ll make it up to him .” That was the end of it. No “how are you?” or “everything okay?” Just that.

Eddie felt his jaw tighten. He knew Buck was trying to hide something. He could feel it, like an invisible thread between them that was slowly unraveling, pulling them further apart.

He took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. He didn’t want to push Buck too hard. He didn’t want to make it worse. But the silence was starting to suffocate him, and he hated it.

With a sigh, Eddie tossed the phone aside and ran a hand through his hair. The ache in his chest grew heavier. He didn’t want to think that Buck was pulling away because of something he had done, something he hadn’t realized. But with each unanswered message, each cold response, the doubt crept in.

Had he pushed too hard? Said something wrong? Had he missed a signal, an important moment when Buck needed him and he wasn’t there?

He picked up his phone again and stared at the screen, then at the message one last time. Maybe he should call. Or maybe… maybe it wasn’t time yet. He wasn’t sure.

What he did know was that he couldn’t just let this continue. Not without a conversation. He owed Buck that, and more importantly, he owed himself that.

But for now, all he could do was sit there, feeling the emptiness grow between them like a canyon he wasn’t sure how to cross.

A few days later, a structure fire put them both on edge. The kind of call that made everyone’s nerves buzz like live wire. The heat was suffocating, the air thick with smoke, and visibility was low. It felt like being in a pressure cooker, and Eddie could feel the adrenaline pushing him harder as he moved deeper into the building, searching for survivors. The walls seemed to close in on him, the heat almost unbearable, but he kept moving forward, focused on the task at hand.

Then came the groan. Low, like the building itself was warning them, and just as Eddie began to turn toward the sound, he heard Bobby’s voice crackling through the comms.

“Diaz! You need to get out of there—now!”

Eddie’s heart raced. He knew that tone. Bobby wasn’t one to panic easily, but something was wrong. Something big . The sound of creaking timbers was all the warning he got before the ceiling began to give way. Splinters of wood and dust rained down, and Eddie had just enough time to take a step back before the beam came down, nearly taking him with it.

But before Eddie could fully react, a figure came charging through the smoke. It was Buck — wild-eyed, frantic, moving like a blur of motion through the hellish heat. Buck’s strong hands latched onto Eddie’s vest with desperate force, yanking him to the ground as part of the ceiling collapsed just inches from where he had been standing.

Eddie’s world tilted, the ground beneath him shifting. He hit the floor hard, the impact knocking the breath from his chest. His head slammed against the concrete, but the sharp pain was nothing compared to the pounding in his chest. The fire, the heat — it all seemed to recede, replaced by the sound of his heart thrumming wildly, and Buck, pulling him closer.

The explosion of heat and noise was deafening, and all Eddie could feel was Buck’s body over his, sheltering him. Buck was on top of him, shielding him from the falling debris, using his own body to protect Eddie as the ceiling collapsed, the world around them roaring in flames.

They scrambled out from under the wreckage, gasping for air, the heat of the fire still licking at their backs as they staggered toward the door. Buck kept a hand on Eddie’s back, steering him through the maze of fire and smoke, ensuring he wasn’t going to go down again.

Finally, they broke through the front door, and the night air hit them like a cool wave. The sound of the fire crackling behind them seemed distant now, replaced by the sound of their breath — ragged, desperate. Eddie could feel his hands trembling, the adrenaline still coursing through him like a high-speed train.

As they made it to the open air, Buck’s grip on Eddie’s shoulder tightened just briefly, and then he pulled away, scanning Eddie’s face for any sign of injury.

“You okay?” Buck’s voice was hoarse, but there was something else in it, something that made Eddie’s pulse race. Desperation. Fear. Something deep and raw that Eddie hadn’t heard before.

Eddie blinked up at him, a little dazed from the adrenaline, his mind still trying to catch up with what had just happened. He could taste the smoke in his mouth, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But Buck’s face was close, too close, his eyes searching Eddie’s face like a man looking for something — looking for assurance.

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, his own voice hoarse from the smoke. “I’m— Buck, I’m fine.”

Buck didn’t move right away. He didn’t even blink. His gaze was locked onto Eddie, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stretch. Buck’s breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling erratically. His eyes — those damn eyes — were intense, like he was seeing something in Eddie that Eddie wasn’t sure was even there.

Eddie felt the weight of the moment settle in his chest, heavy and tight. He could almost hear his heart pounding louder than the sound of the fire behind them. And then, just as quickly as it came, the intensity seemed to vanish.

Buck blinked, and in the next breath, he pulled back, stepping away from Eddie as if he had just remembered where they were. Like the moment had never happened.

Without another word, Buck turned and walked away.

The sound of Buck’s boots pounding on the pavement echoed in Eddie’s ears. For a moment, Eddie stood frozen in place, trying to process what had just occurred. The shock, the fear, the overwhelming relief that Buck had saved him — and then that look. That look . It had felt different, like Buck had been looking through him, into something deep inside. Eddie’s chest tightened again, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

He turned slowly to watch Buck disappear into the crowd of firefighters, his back tense, his movements quick, almost frantic. It was like Buck was trying to escape something. Or someone. And for the first time, Eddie wasn’t sure if it was him.

Eddie’s mind raced, but his body refused to follow. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, the world feeling a little too real, a little too raw.

He wanted to call out, to ask what was going on, to ask why Buck had pulled away so suddenly after everything that had happened. But as the seconds stretched on, he knew — he knew that Buck was avoiding him. Again. The distance between them wasn’t just about the fire anymore. It was something else, something Eddie wasn’t ready to face.

And as the moments dragged on, the feeling of Buck’s touch, of Buck’s presence over him, began to slip away, replaced by the same cold emptiness that had been growing between them for days.

Eddie tried again that night.
He couldn't stay away anymore.
He showed up at Buck’s place uninvited. He didn’t knock softly this time. It was three sharp raps on the door — urgent, demanding. He was done waiting for whatever it was Buck was hiding behind the silence. He needed answers, needed to understand what had shifted so suddenly between them.

When the door opened, Buck looked like hell. His face was pale, lips chapped, the dark circles under his eyes looking like they were carved deep into his skin. His hair was disheveled, his clothes rumpled, like he hadn’t bothered to care about anything today — or any day before this one.

“Eddie,” Buck said, voice flat, uninviting.

Eddie stepped inside without being invited. He didn’t care. He had too much to say, too much anger, too much confusion to wait for permission. His heart was pounding in his chest. He’d let this go on long enough.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Eddie demanded. His voice was tight with frustration. The air between them felt thick with all the words Buck had left unsaid.

Buck closed the door quietly, almost carefully, as if making sure Eddie didn’t see the cracks in his armor. He didn’t meet Eddie’s eyes, but his jaw was clenched, his posture stiff. “Nothing,” he said, his voice still flat.

“Bullshit,” Eddie snapped, unable to hide the rising anger. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. You won’t answer calls. You bailed on my kid. And today? Today you almost got yourself killed dragging me out of a building you shouldn’t have been in. So no, Buck. This isn’t ‘nothing.’”

Buck flinched at the sharpness in Eddie’s words, but it wasn’t the words themselves that struck him. It was the truth in them. He had been pushing Eddie away, and Eddie knew it. Eddie was seeing him, seeing his lies, seeing the cracks he had tried so desperately to hide. It made Buck feel exposed. And it made him crack, the dam he’d been building inside of himself finally giving way.

“You wanna know why I’ve been avoiding you?” Buck’s voice broke as he spoke, rising in pitch, shaking with something raw and painful. His hands flew to his hair, tugging at it in frustration, like he was trying to rip the thoughts out of his head. “Because I can’t do this anymore.”

Eddie took a step back, feeling the weight of Buck’s words in his gut. “Do what?”

Buck’s eyes flashed with desperation, a manic kind of energy. “This. Us. Me, pretending I’m fine just being your friend. Watching you live this perfect life and pretending I don’t want to be part of it. I’m killing myself trying to stay away because it hurts too much to be near you and know I’ll never have you.”

Eddie froze. His throat tightened. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to respond to the sound of Buck’s pain — it was too much. Too honest. Too real .

Buck kept going, his voice rising in volume now, the years of repression pouring out in a torrent. It was like everything Buck had been holding back for so long was spilling out, and there was no stopping it now. “You don’t get it, Eddie. You can’t.” Buck’s chest heaved as he spoke, as if the weight of his words was literally suffocating him. “I’ve spent my whole damn life watching people walk away from me. My parents. My girlfriends. Every person I’ve ever loved. And then you came along and I thought, maybe — maybe — this could be different. But you’re straight. You don’t look at me like that. So I’ve been starving myself. Forcing distance until I get myself together. Because I thought if I stayed too close, I’d ruin everything.”

His voice cracked, trembling with raw emotion, and for a moment, Buck closed his eyes. The words that followed spilled out in a broken breath. “All I want... all I need is for you to run into my arms. But I know that’ll never happen. I’m not good enough for you. I can’t make you feel what I feel, and I can’t keep pretending I’m okay with it. I can’t keep pretending I’m fine just being your friend.”

Buck let out a bitter, humorless laugh, hollow and dark. His eyes glistened with tears that didn’t quite fall, but were so close, it didn’t matter. “But I ruined it anyway, didn’t I?”

Silence.

Eddie stood there, stunned. His chest ached, but his mind couldn’t catch up. He couldn’t make sense of the wave of emotions crashing over him. There was a lump in his throat, a strange numbness in his limbs, but nothing could reach the place where Buck’s words had just landed. The distance that had grown between them suddenly felt so much bigger than it ever had before.

Buck turned away, his shoulders shaking, his back tense. “Just go, okay? I can’t do this with you standing there and not saying anything.”

Eddie was rooted to the spot, unable to move, his mind a mess of confusion and guilt. He couldn’t wrap his head around what he’d just heard. His heart was beating so loudly it hurt, but he still couldn’t find the words. He opened his mouth, but they came out wrong.

“I didn’t know,” Eddie said quietly, his voice barely a whisper in the heavy air. He didn’t know how to say more, didn’t know what to say next.

Buck blinked fast, his face twisting in pain. “Yeah. That’s the point,” he said, voice shaking.

Eddie wasn’t sure if he was apologizing or if Buck had just given up on him. Either way, it didn’t matter. Buck wasn’t looking for answers anymore. He had already said everything he needed to say, and Eddie could see it — he’d already started to retreat back into the isolation Buck had built around himself.

“I didn’t know,” Eddie repeated, this time with more certainty. “Because I didn’t let myself know.”

Buck’s face twisted in disbelief. “Don’t do that. Don’t pity me.”

“I’m not,” Eddie said softly. “I’m… processing.”

Buck gave a stiff nod, a cold, detached gesture. “Right. Of course. Take all the time you need.” His voice was like ice, and the distance between them — the space that was once filled with laughter, with ease, with years of friendship — was now an unbridgeable chasm.

But Eddie was already walking toward the door, unable to stay in the room any longer, knowing that the weight of Buck’s words would crush him if he did.

“Tell Chris I’m sorry,” Buck murmured as Eddie reached the door, his voice quiet, almost defeated.

Buck’s words hung in the air, the rawness of them settling in Eddie’s bones. He didn’t know how to fix this. He didn’t even know where to start.

The door shut with a soft click behind him, the sound reverberating in the emptiness of the apartment like an explosion. Eddie stood there for a moment, staring at the door, as the weight of everything that had just happened settled in his chest.

He didn’t have answers. He didn’t know how to fix any of it.

Buck collapsed to the floor once Eddie was gone.

Everything hurt. Every inch of him felt like it had been carved out, like he was existing in some kind of limbo between the pain of what he'd just said and the agonizing silence that followed.

His chest burned with the force of everything he’d kept hidden for so long. His throat felt tight, constricted, like it was fighting against the words he couldn’t un-say. His heart — it felt like it had been torn in half, a jagged, hollow space where something beautiful had once been, now empty and aching.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, desperate to stop the tears, but it didn’t work. His fingers trembled with the force of his sobs, pressing harder, but it only made it worse. The sobs broke free anyway — a raw, ugly sound that didn’t care who heard, that didn’t care about pride or self-control or any of the bullshit he had spent his life pretending to hold together.

He couldn’t stop.

Each breath was shaky, uneven, like he was gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His chest constricted with every painful, ragged exhale, and all the guilt, all the pain, all the fear he'd held back for so long came crashing down like a wave too powerful to outrun. This wasn’t the release he had hoped for, this wasn’t the relief he had imagined. It was worse.

He had done the right thing, hadn’t he?

That question kept spinning in his mind, a broken record that refused to stop playing. He had said the truth. He had let it all spill out — the fear, the love, the pain of knowing that he would never be enough for Eddie. And he had pushed Eddie away before Eddie could ever do it to him. But the ache didn’t stop. The ache only deepened.

Better to end it now than wait for Eddie to reject him gently. Better to bleed now than keep dying slow.

That’s what he had told himself. That’s what he’d convinced himself was the only choice. But as the silence stretched around him, and the weight of his own words settled into the room, the doubt began to creep in. Was this really the only way? Was there no other way to fix it? No other way to stop himself from slowly suffocating under the weight of his own heart?

His body trembled, not from cold, but from the emotional exhaustion that had consumed him. He could feel his heartbeat, erratic and painful, like it was trying to escape the prison of his chest. Buck had never been good at this. He had never known how to feel and not end up broken by it.

And now? Now it felt like every piece of him was cracking under the weight of his own longing. The love he had never spoken, the friendship he had tried so desperately to protect — it was all slipping through his fingers, and he had no idea how to stop it.

His mind wandered to Eddie, to that look on his face as Buck had poured out the truth. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t disgust. But the silence had been worse than any rejection, worse than anything Buck had ever feared.

The door closing behind Eddie echoed in Buck’s mind, over and over, each time louder than the last.

But Buck had done the right thing, hadn’t he?

He let out a choked laugh that was more bitter than anything. It was supposed to hurt less, wasn’t it? To be the one who walked away before the world could tear you apart. But all it had done was leave him hollow, empty, and more broken than he’d been before.

He could feel the tears soaking into his palms, the rawness of them cutting into his skin like a reminder of how much he had to lose. How much he already had lost.

And still, he couldn’t stop crying.

Because the truth was, no matter how much he told himself that this was for the best, no matter how much he convinced himself that it was the only way to protect his heart, Buck knew that this — all of this — was the hardest thing he had ever done.

The silence, the absence of Eddie, it was too much. He had made himself a ghost in the life he had once been a part of. A ghost with a heart that was breaking for something he would never have.

Buck had done the right thing, but it didn’t feel like it. Not now.

Not when the emptiness of it was swallowing him whole.

Across the city, Eddie sat in his truck outside his house, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. Minutes? Hours? Time felt like it had stopped entirely, as if the world had frozen in place while everything inside him churned, fought, and screamed to make sense of it all.

He stared at his own front door, the porch light glowing softly in the night, casting long shadows that stretched across the walkway. It was a sight that had always brought him comfort — a reminder of the life he had built, of the family he was determined to protect.

But tonight, the sight of it felt like a foreign thing. A place he didn’t belong.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to open the door, to step out of the truck and face the life waiting for him inside.

Because every word Buck had said echoed inside his head — clear, sharp, impossible to ignore. All I want… all I need is for you to run into my arms.

The words repeated over and over, like a song on loop. They made his chest tighten, his breath hitching with the weight of them. Eddie’s stomach twisted, a cold knot of fear and confusion gnawing at him. How was he supposed to process this? How was he supposed to make sense of what had just been laid out before him?

The words had shaken something loose in him. Something he’d locked down years ago — buried beneath duty, fatherhood, grief, and a long-standing fear he never gave a name.

A fear planted in childhood.

In church pews and Sunday bests. In stiff backs and disapproving glances. In whispered gossip behind closed doors. He could still hear the voice of his tío scoffing at a neighbor’s son — “Maricón. Shame to his family.”

He’d learned early what was acceptable. What was expected. What made a “real man.”

And love — love like the kind Buck had shown him — didn’t fit into that mold.

He clenched his jaw and stared harder at the porch, like maybe if he focused enough, the rest of the world would fall away. But it didn’t. Not this time.

He’d spent his whole life trying to be good. A good son. A good soldier. A good father. A man who didn’t rock the boat. A man who lived the way he was supposed to, not the way his heart quietly begged him to.

There had been signs, maybe. Moments he hadn’t let himself look too closely at. The way his chest fluttered when Buck smiled. The quiet jealousy when Buck dated someone new. The comfort of Buck’s presence — how natural it felt to fold him into every part of his life. Every part except the one that mattered most.

Because wanting Buck — loving him — would make everything unravel.

What would his parents say? What would his father say?

He could practically hear it now: “You think that’s right? That’s not what we raised you for. That’s not family.”

But Buck was family.

He had been, long before Eddie was ready to admit why.

And now Eddie was stuck — between what he was taught and what he felt. Between loyalty to the version of himself he had built for survival… and the truth of who he might actually be.

His throat tightened.

He wasn’t ashamed of Buck. He knew that. Buck was one of the best people he’d ever known. Brave, kind, loyal to a fault. He didn’t doubt Buck’s worth — only his own ability to deserve him. To fight against everything that had told him love like this was wrong.

He pressed a hand to his chest and let out a shaky breath.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. That’s what he’d told himself for years. That what he had with Buck was brotherhood, that his heart didn’t stutter for Buck the way it did when they brushed hands, or when Buck leaned in just a little too close. That he didn’t need more.

But he had been lying. And somewhere deep down, he knew it.

What terrified him more than the truth… was what came after.

How do you unlearn a lifetime of silence?

How do you choose yourself — your happiness — when your upbringing taught you that choosing anything outside the lines was selfish?

His gaze drifted to the small swing set in the front yard. Chris’s swing. The life he built, the family he fought for — it was all tangled in this choice.

And Buck… Buck was tangled in it too.

The man who had been there for everything. Who loved Christopher without hesitation. Who stayed through grief and guilt and gunshots.

Buck had offered his heart — broken, trembling, and open.

And Eddie had done nothing but stand there, frozen by the fear of what he might lose.

Not just Buck. But everything he thought made him “good.”

But now, sitting alone with the truth pressing in on all sides, Eddie finally saw it for what it was: Not loving Buck was the thing tearing him apart.

He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to breathe through the shame that curled in his gut. Not shame for wanting Buck — no, not anymore — but shame for how long he’d denied it. How long he’d kept Buck in the dark, left him wondering if he mattered.

But he did. God, he did.

Eddie just had to figure out how to be brave enough to say it. To risk everything he was taught for the chance to build something new. Something real.

He felt stuck, like a man on the edge of something he wasn’t ready for. Every part of him screamed to go back to Buck, to fix this, to do something. But what? What could he even say? How could he undo the damage caused by his own indecision?

The truth was that Eddie didn’t know how to be the man Buck needed. The man Buck deserved.

And maybe that was the biggest fear of all.

But that small voice inside him — the one that had been buried for so long — kept whispering: You’re not alone in this anymore.

Buck had opened himself up to Eddie, had given him the chance to step forward into something more than friendship. And Eddie? Eddie had stayed frozen in place, unwilling to let himself even think about taking that step.

But now, with the weight of everything pressing on him, he couldn’t deny it. He wanted to run into Buck’s arms. More than anything, he needed to. He just didn’t know how to let himself be that vulnerable, to let himself feel what Buck had felt for so long.

And so he sat there, stuck in his own head, trying to figure out the impossible. The thing he had never allowed himself to think about before.

The thing he was terrified of more than anything: love.

Chapter Text

Two days passed, but Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking around in someone else’s skin. Every step he took, every breath he managed to catch, felt detached.

He went through the motions, and he did them well. He showed up to work, flashed the smiles he needed to, talked to people, answered calls. He laughed when it was expected, helped when it was necessary. He was functional, but he was not whole. Not really.

At home, he spent time with Christopher, as he always did. They played video games, made jokes, and ate dinner together like any other evening. Eddie kept up the facade, the easy camaraderie. Christopher didn’t know anything was wrong, of course. 

But inside, there was an unsettling stillness. Like he was moving in a world that didn’t quite make sense anymore.

It was all static in his head. The hum of the refrigerator. The ticking of the clock. But above all, Buck’s words, looping in a maddening cycle.

All I want… all I need is for you to run into my arms.

He couldn’t escape them. They circled around him, wrapping themselves around his ribs like a vice, squeezing until he could barely breathe.

The pain in Buck’s voice had gutted him. Eddie had heard pain before. He knew what it was to carry that kind of hurt, to live with the crushing weight of things unsaid and emotions hidden deep beneath layers of protection. He had lived it. He was living it.

But hearing that same kind of pain from Buck— his Buck—had cracked something inside him, something he hadn’t even known existed. It was an ache that resonated so deeply that Eddie couldn’t silence it, no matter how hard he tried.

And yet, despite it all, Eddie still didn’t know what to do with it. Not yet.

How could he? How could he just... step into that kind of feeling? How could he face the vulnerability that Buck had just laid bare in front of him? He had been so sure for so long that he could never allow himself to want anything more than friendship with Buck. The idea of crossing that line had been inconceivable. Eddie had built a life based on safe, easily definable things—fatherhood, friendship, duty. But now, those things felt distant. Like they no longer held the same weight they once did.

It wasn’t that Eddie didn’t care about Buck—God, he cared. But now, caring was no longer enough. He had to confront feelings he didn’t have the words for, feelings that had been there for as long as he could remember, buried deep beneath the surface. He’d spent so much time running from them, locking them away in favor of what felt easier. Safer.

But this? This was a whole other beast. The depth of it terrified him.

Eddie wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever it was he felt for Buck. He had so many questions. So many doubts. How could it be real? Was it even possible for him to love someone like that? Someone who had never given any indication of wanting anything more than friendship?

And then there was the fear that twisted in his gut, gnawing at him relentlessly. If he let himself fall into this—if he took that first step—would it break everything? Would he lose Buck completely? Would he push him away for good?

He didn’t know what to do.

Eddie had spent the last two days trying to find an answer. Trying to make sense of it, but the more he thought about it, the more questions piled on top of one another. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to act on what Buck had said or if he was terrified by it. He wasn’t sure if he even deserved it.

He had spent so much of his life being the one who held things together, the one who made sure other people were okay, that he had forgotten how to ask for what he needed and wanted. How to let himself need. Let alone how to let someone else need him.

But God , what if it wasn’t just about need anymore? What if it was about something else? Something deeper? Something terrifyingly real?

Every second that passed, Eddie felt that gnawing ache in his chest grow. He couldn’t ignore it. No matter how hard he tried.

The static in his mind didn’t fade. In fact, it only grew louder.

On the third day, Eddie found himself sitting on the porch steps, the evening air warm and still. Chris was in the yard, kicking around a soccer ball as part of his PT, his small feet sending it bouncing erratically as he laughed to himself, completely immersed in his game.

But despite the normalcy of the scene, Eddie couldn’t shake the weight that had settled deep in his chest. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind like an endless loop—Buck’s raw confession, his voice shaking with emotion, the ache in his eyes. And Eddie’s failure to say anything. To do anything. To comfort him.

Eddie had spent days trying to sort through everything that Buck had said, to make sense of the overwhelming feelings that had surged inside of him. But the words Buck had spoken kept echoing. All I want… all I need is for you to run into my arms.

Chris’s voice cut through his thoughts, soft but filled with that familiar innocence. “Is Buck mad at me?”

Eddie blinked, startled by the question. He’d been so caught up in his own head, he hadn’t realized Chris had even stopped playing. The ball lay still at his feet, forgotten for the moment.

“What? No, mijo. Why would you think that?” Eddie tried to keep his voice light, but it was hard. So hard. It felt like the weight of the world was in his chest.

Chris shrugged, kicking the ball again, though this time it didn’t have the same enthusiasm. “Because he hasn’t come over. And he always comes over.”

Eddie’s heart twisted at the words. God, he hadn’t realized how much Chris had come to depend on Buck’s presence in their lives. Buck wasn’t just Eddie’s best friend; he was someone Chris trusted, someone who’d become a fixture in their routine. Someone who had been there for him through more than Eddie liked to think about.

Eddie swallowed, fighting the lump in his throat. He had no easy answer for this. No quick fix. He didn’t know how to make everything right again, didn’t know how to explain the complicated mess that was his relationship with Buck—hell, his own feelings.

“He’s just…” Eddie trailed off, trying to find the right words. “He’s going through something. It’s not your fault, okay?”

Chris kicked the ball again, his gaze now fixed on the ground, his brow furrowed in thought. “But I miss him,” he said, quieter this time, like he was trying to make sense of it too.

Eddie felt the weight of those words hit him like a punch to the gut. I miss him. His chest tightened at the simplicity of it. He didn’t have the luxury of pretending anymore, not with Chris standing there, vulnerable and open.

Eddie took a deep breath, his voice catching slightly as he spoke. “I do too,” he whispered, more to himself than to Chris. But it was the truth. God, it was the truth.

He missed Buck in a way that was almost unbearable. Missed his presence, his jokes, his way of lighting up any room with his easy smile and unshakable optimism. Missed the way Buck’s laugh filled the spaces between them, the way his hands always seemed to be reaching out, trying to touch, trying to make a connection.

Chris, sensing the shift in his father’s mood, started kicking the ball around again, though he was quieter this time. Eddie couldn’t help but watch him, wishing he could take the burden of his son’s disappointment away. But all Eddie could do was sit there, the weight of his own mistakes bearing down on him.

For a long time, they sat in silence, with only the faint sound of the soccer ball bouncing across the grass to break it. Eddie’s mind raced, and his heart ached. He misses him. And so did Eddie.

He missed the way Buck had been there for him when things got tough, when Eddie had been so ready to run from everything. He missed the way Buck had been a part of his life for so long, even when Eddie had tried to keep things distant. It was hard to admit that he didn’t know how to live without him anymore.

Eddie’s gaze wandered back to the porch, the familiar creaks of the wood beneath him grounding him. It wasn’t just Buck who had to come to terms with everything. It was Eddie too. He had to face what had been right in front of him all along—the love, the connection, the depth of what they shared.

And he had to decide whether he was brave enough to claim it. To claim Buck.

Finally, he stood up, stretching his legs. He felt the weight of the silence between them, the unspoken understanding that hung in the air. “Let’s go inside, mijo,” Eddie said, ruffling Chris’s hair. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Chris nodded, though his expression was still a little downcast. But Eddie didn’t blame him. He felt the same way. He missed Buck more than he could articulate, and he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to get back to where they were.

But for the first time, Eddie knew that he was willing to try.

He just had to find the courage to reach out. To take the first step. To run into Buck’s arms.

That night, Eddie found himself staring at the ceiling, the room dark and silent except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. He shifted in bed, trying to get comfortable, but the thoughts swirling in his mind refused to let him rest.

He thought about everything—about the years Buck had stood by him, unflinchingly loyal, without asking for anything in return. The fire calls they’d faced together, the lives they’d saved, the bond they’d formed through shared experience. And the quieter moments—like those nights watching dumb action movies in the firehouse lounge, the ones that had turned into marathons, everyone half-laughing, half-dozing on the worn couch. He thought about the way Buck had dropped everything to help with Christopher, without hesitation. He thought about how Buck had always been there, every time Eddie needed him.

But it was what Buck hadn’t said that played on a loop in Eddie’s mind. The way Buck’s eyes had shone with something deeper than friendship that night. Something Eddie had always been too afraid to acknowledge.

Love.

It was the word that clung to the edges of his thoughts, sharp and vulnerable. Real, terrifying, unconditional love. The kind of love that made your chest ache, that made you both want to hold on to someone and let them go all at once. Eddie had been loved before, but never like that. Never with that intensity, that kind of deep, soul-shaking devotion that Buck had poured out without a second thought.

And as much as Eddie tried to shove it away, to ignore the quiet longing in his heart, the truth settled in like an inevitable tide. He had been feeling it, too. Maybe not in the same way, maybe not with the same clarity, but it had been there. In the small things. In the way Buck had laughed at his jokes, how he’d always known when to step back and when to lean in. In the way Buck had never judged him, even when Eddie had been a mess. How he'd become an unspoken constant in Eddie’s life, always waiting for him, always there when things fell apart.

Eddie tried to recall the moments when he first started noticing—really noticing—Buck. He had always cared about him, but somewhere along the line, it had deepened. The way Buck’s smile reached his eyes. The way he carried himself, full of unguarded warmth and humor, even in the darkest moments. The way Eddie’s heart had picked up the pace when Buck had walked into a room, and how every little interaction seemed to matter more than the last.

But Eddie had never let himself look too closely. It was easier not to. Easier to shove those feelings down and pretend it was all just friendship. After all, they were best friends, right? And best friends didn’t fall in love with each other. That was the kind of thing that ruined everything. It would ruin them. He couldn’t afford to lose Buck—couldn’t afford to lose this rare connection that had become a lifeline for him.

But Buck had looked. Buck had seen what Eddie refused to acknowledge in himself. He’d known, even before Eddie had been brave enough to admit it. And what had Eddie done? He had pulled away. He had shut down, pretending he could keep things the same. But Buck had kept reaching, kept staying, even when the distance between them seemed insurmountable. Even when Eddie had almost pushed him away for good.

Eddie’s heart squeezed at the thought. Buck had stayed. He had stayed even when it was killing him, even when it tore him apart inside, until he couldn’t.

The realization hit Eddie with the weight of a freight train—Buck had loved him through all of it, even when Eddie had been too afraid to love him back in the same way. And in that moment, in the silence of the night, Eddie knew. Knew that he had been in love with Buck. He had just been too scared to say it, too scared to even acknowledge it to himself.

But Buck had made it clear. He had thrown himself into the fire, literally, for Eddie. He had saved him from certain danger without a second thought. He had been the one who had always shown up, even when Eddie hadn’t known he needed saving.

It was all too much. Too much to ignore anymore.

Maybe it wasn’t just about being afraid to want it. Maybe it was more about being afraid of how it would change everything.

The thought of Buck, vulnerable and open, confessing his love… and Eddie not reciprocating? The idea of pushing him away for good was too much to bear. The idea of Buck never coming back, of never having this… whatever this was, was enough to make Eddie’s chest ache, his throat tight.

He knew what he wanted. He knew. But knowing it and being able to act on it were two very different things.

Eddie got in his truck, the engine rumbling to life, and drove through the quiet streets of the city, the hum of the tires on the asphalt the only sound filling the silence. He didn’t turn the radio on, didn’t need the distraction. His mind was too full, too full of everything that had happened—and everything that could happen now.

His breath came slowly, a steady rhythm to match the beat of his heart. He had called Pepa to look after Chris, but now it was just him, the dark road ahead, and the weight of everything that had been building for so long. Every inch of him was torn between wanting to push forward and still being afraid of what waited on the other side.

He pulled up outside Buck’s apartment around midnight. The place was dark, as expected, but through the window, he saw the soft blue glow of the TV. The flicker of that light seemed like a lifeline, a thread that tugged at him, pulling him closer to something he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

He walked up to his loft and knocked softly on the door. Nothing. The silence hung heavy.

“Buck,” Eddie called through the door, his voice low but firm. “I know you’re in there.”

A moment passed, then the faint sound of footsteps. The door cracked open slowly, just enough for Buck to peek through. His hair was messy, eyes tired, and he looked like he’d been through hell and back. Eddie’s heart ached at the sight, the unmistakable weight of Buck’s exhaustion—physical and emotional—making the moment feel even more fragile.

“Eddie,” Buck said, his voice guarded, wary, but not unwelcoming.

“Can I come in?” Eddie asked, standing there, his hand still hovering over the door.

Buck hesitated, his eyes flicking to the empty space in the hallway behind Eddie, almost like he was waiting for something. But then, with a deep breath, he stepped aside, wordlessly letting Eddie in.

The apartment was dim, the lights turned low, and the TV played the muted documentary about a tiger hunting in the tall grass, the image flickering in the background. Buck sat on the edge of the couch, his back straight but his posture tight, like he was preparing for something. Eddie settled on the coffee table in front of him, facing him directly. The space between them felt charged, full of tension, but Eddie wasn’t backing down.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Eddie started, his voice careful, but steady.

Buck didn’t speak, just stared at him. He was still holding on to something—hurt, maybe. Or disbelief. Or both.

“I didn’t know,” Eddie continued, the weight of his words sitting heavily on his chest. “Because I never let myself know.”

Buck’s lips twisted into a bitter laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t, Eddie. Don’t say something just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not,” Eddie said, his voice firm, steady this time. “I mean it.”

Buck’s eyes sharpened, his gaze now cutting through the air between them. His face was set, defensive, like he was waiting for something that was going to hurt. 

Eddie’s own voice dropped, almost to a whisper. “I wasn’t walking away. I was scared and I needed time to process.”

Buck shook his head, frustration building in his chest. “You don’t know what this is like. Wanting someone you can’t have. Holding it in until you’re sick with it.”

Eddie’s voice softened, but there was a vulnerability in it that Buck couldn’t ignore. “I do. Now.”

Buck’s breath hitched. Eddie was closer than ever to saying it all, to unraveling the knot they had both been pretending wasn’t there. But he couldn’t stop now.

“You’re right,” Eddie said, his words slower this time, like he was finally letting himself feel them. “I didn’t see it. Because I had this idea of what I was supposed to want. Who I was supposed to love. But Buck… you’ve been part of my family for years. And somewhere along the way, it stopped being just friendship.”

Buck stared at him, still, eyes wide but unblinking, like he was trying to find something in Eddie’s words that wasn’t there. He was waiting—waiting for the hurt that Eddie had never said. Waiting for the rejection that had always felt inevitable.

Eddie’s voice dropped, softer now. “I’m not saying I figured it all out overnight. But I’m done running from it.”

He reached over, taking Buck’s hand carefully, but with certainty. The moment their skin touched, a jolt of warmth passed between them. It was like the world outside of that touch didn’t exist. All that mattered was the quiet, electric contact. The softness of the moment that felt too fragile to break.

Buck’s breath caught. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he squeezed Eddie’s hand, his fingers tightening as though he was afraid to let go.

“You said all you wanted was for me to run into your arms,” Eddie said, his voice low but sincere, his eyes never leaving Buck’s face. “So here I am. I’m not going anywhere.”

The silence fell between them, but this time it wasn’t cold. It was different. It was full of something new, something Eddie hadn’t been sure he would ever feel again. The possibility. The hope.

Buck squeezed his hand in response. And then, slowly, without hesitation, Eddie leaned in. His heart was racing, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

The kiss was soft, uncertain at first. Neither of them was sure if this was real, if it could last. But Buck answered anyway, tilting his head, pulling Eddie closer, deepening the kiss with the desperation of months spent aching. Hands roamed, clutching at fabric, at skin. Each touch felt like it was trying to fill the empty spaces they’d left between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and a little shaken, Buck let out a shaky laugh, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was real.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice raw.

Eddie grinned, a warm, relieved smile breaking through. “Yeah.”

Buck’s eyes searched his face, as though he still couldn’t fully grasp what had just happened. His fingers brushed across Eddie’s cheek, like he needed to be sure that Eddie was really there, that this wasn’t just another dream he’d woken up from.

“You sure about this?” Buck asked, his voice tentative but full of hope, like he was giving Eddie one last chance to turn back.

Eddie didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, his voice steady, his heart fully in the moment now. “And if you’re willing to be patient with me… I want this. I want you.”

Buck’s voice broke, and for the first time, there was no doubt in it. “I’ve always been yours.”

And in that moment, both of them knew. It was real. It was finally real.

Later, they lay curled together on the couch, the soft hum of the city outside the only sound that filled the room. Eddie’s head rested on Buck’s chest, his breath steady and warm against Buck’s skin. Buck’s arm was wrapped around Eddie, holding him close, like he was afraid to let go even for a second. The weight of his presence felt like a balm to Buck’s weary soul.

It was quiet. Peaceful, even. Eddie’s fingers absently traced small patterns on Buck’s t-shirt, and Buck’s hand was tangled in Eddie’s hair, fingers lightly massaging his scalp. No words were needed. Not yet. They had said everything they needed to say earlier. Now it was just this — the steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth between them, the silence that spoke volumes.

For the first time in a long while, Buck let himself relax completely, his body sinking into the couch, into the moment. He had spent so many years feeling like something was missing, like there was always a gap, a part of him that no one could fill. And yet, here they were. Together. And suddenly, everything felt whole.

Outside, the city continued to breathe, the faint sounds of traffic and distant voices muffled by the walls of the apartment. The soft glow of the streetlights filtered through the window, casting a calming light on the room. Time seemed to slow, stretching into something that felt eternal.

Inside, everything finally made sense.

Buck closed his eyes, letting the sensation of Eddie’s presence fill him completely. He could feel the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest against his own, the warmth of his skin, the quiet comfort of being close to someone who truly saw him, who understood him. The ache that had lived in Buck for so long, the one that had gnawed at him in silence, had faded, replaced by something richer. Something real.

And for the first time in years, Buck didn’t feel like he was starving.

There had been so many moments before, countless nights spent alone or pushing people away, convincing himself that he didn’t need anyone, that he was fine on his own. But now, with Eddie in his arms, he realized how empty those moments had been. How much he had needed this — the love, the connection, the belonging.

He felt full.

Full in a way that was new. Full of peace. Full of warmth. Full of hope.

He felt wanted.

And not just by anyone. By Eddie. The one person who had always been there for him, even when Buck hadn’t known how to ask for what he truly needed. The one person who had never left, who had never judged, who had seen him for who he was — flaws and all — and loved him anyway.

Home.

That’s what this felt like. It wasn’t just a place, or a bed, or a familiar street corner. It was here. In Eddie’s arms. In the space between them. It was the sense that, no matter what happened, they had found each other.

In that moment, Buck allowed himself to believe in the possibility of forever. Of this. Of them. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. And that was enough.

He squeezed Eddie just a little tighter, letting the stillness stretch between them, and closed his eyes.

Home.

Chapter Text

Buck woke up to warmth.

Not sunlight. Not the usual morning heat seeping through the windows. But him. The weight and presence of Eddie tangled up beside him, breath soft against his neck, one leg hooked lazily over Buck’s hip, their bodies perfectly aligned like two puzzle pieces finally slotted into place.

The room was quiet. Outside, the sky was still bruised indigo and soft pink — that fragile edge of dawn where the world held its breath. No cars. No sirens. Just the faint rustle of leaves in the wind and the subtle creak of the building settling. The kind of silence that made everything feel more real. Or maybe more sacred.

Buck didn’t move.

He just lay there, still and overwhelmed, letting the reality of it all sink in. The rhythm of Eddie’s breathing against him. The weight of his arm draped across Buck’s chest. The solid, warm pressure of a body he never thought he’d get to hold like this.

This wasn’t a dream.

Eddie had come to him. Chosen him. Not in theory. Not in a maybe-one-day kind of way. But in the real, terrifying, beautiful way that meant everything.

And now he was here. In Buck’s bed. In Buck’s life. Holding him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A month had passed since the night Eddie showed up at his door, raw and terrified and honest. A month of stumbling through this new rhythm — a quiet evolution of everything they’d ever been. Hesitant smiles over morning coffee. Late-night talks that spilled into the early hours. Tentative kisses that began unsure and grew bolder, deeper, until they weren’t tentative at all. Touches that had once been casual, now lingering, reverent, filled with silent promises neither of them quite knew how to speak aloud yet.

It hadn’t all been smooth.

They both had their scars. Eddie still flinched sometimes when things felt out of his control, when emotions crept too high, too fast. Buck still had moments where he caught himself bracing — expecting to be left behind, preparing for a goodbye that hadn’t come. But even then, they reached for each other anyway. Clumsy, stubborn, committed. Every day, they chose again.

And now… this.

Buck shifted slowly, not wanting to disturb the peace.

Eddie stirred just slightly, muttering something incoherent and warm against Buck’s neck. His leg tightened instinctively around Buck’s hips, and his fingers twitched against Buck’s ribs. Even in sleep, he held on.

Buck smiled to himself, soft and amazed.

He let his fingers trail slowly across Eddie’s jawline — familiar, but never like this. The golden light from the window caught the curve of his cheekbone, the slope of his nose. Stubble rough under Buck’s touch. There was a small scar near Eddie’s temple, faint and pale, that Buck didn’t remember noticing before. He leaned in and pressed a kiss there, just because he could.

Eddie stirred again, blinking awake, eyes hazy with sleep.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice deep and rough.

Buck’s smile grew. “Hey.”

“You’re staring,” Eddie added, smirking faintly.

“Yeah,” Buck said. “I am.”

Eddie leaned in and kissed him — lazy and unhurried, the kind of kiss that came with no agenda, just affection. His hand came up to rest against Buck’s cheek, thumb brushing along his skin like he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch him like this.

“I could get used to waking up like this,” Eddie said against his mouth, the words melting into Buck’s lips.

Buck kissed the corner of his smile. “You better.”

They didn’t move for a long while. Just breathed each other in. Time slowed, suspended in the kind of closeness that didn’t demand anything except being.

Eventually, Eddie rolled onto his back with a stretch that made the sheet slide low on his hips, muscles rippling under golden skin. Buck watched, utterly helpless to the sight, gaze tracing every familiar line of Eddie’s body now made new by intimacy.

His hand slid down, slow and deliberate, over Eddie’s stomach, then dipped lower.

Eddie turned his head lazily toward him, one brow raised. “Oh, so that’s where this is going.”

“I mean,” Buck murmured, fingers brushing just under the waistband of Eddie’s boxers, “you’re in my bed, half-naked, looking like a goddamn dream—”

Eddie leaned over and kissed him, effectively cutting him off.

What started as teasing ignited like dry kindling. The air shifted. Heated. Their mouths opened with more hunger this time, more urgency. Eddie rolled over him, settling between his thighs, hands mapping the curves of Buck’s body like they were trying to memorize him all over again.

The sheets twisted around their legs. Their movements were frantic and tender all at once — mouths trailing over skin, teeth scraping gently, hands clutching at each other like lifelines.

Buck gasped when Eddie’s lips found the spot just below his ear. He arched up, desperate for more contact, fingers tangled in Eddie’s hair. “God, Eds,” he breathed. “You feel—fuck—”

Eddie kissed him hard, swallowing the words. His voice was thick, low, wrecked. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Buck met his gaze, blue meeting brown, wide and vulnerable. “I do. I really do.”

And after that, words gave way to movement. Heat. Sounds that weren’t quite coherent — gasps and murmurs, the rustle of sheets, the quiet symphony of want finally given permission to be.

When they came — wrapped around each other, breath caught in shared rhythm, fingers clutching like they’d fall apart otherwise — it was with matching cries that turned into stunned, breathless laughter.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, the sweat cooling on their skin. Legs still a little tangled. Fingers lazily tracing patterns on bare backs and shoulders.

Buck turned his head and brushed his nose against Eddie’s cheek. “I think that was illegal in at least three states,” he murmured.

Eddie let out a short, disbelieving laugh, voice still rough from exertion. “Shut up.”

Buck laughed and tucked his face into Eddie’s neck. “Worth it.”

And they kissed again — slow, lingering, and sweet. Just because they could. Because after all the distance, after all the waiting and not-knowing, they were finally here. Together.

And neither of them was going anywhere.

It was the first time Buck had spent the night in Eddie’s bed.

Not just under his roof — that had happened more times than he could count — but his bed. The same sheets Eddie slept in, the same pillows that smelled like his cologne, the same soft, worn blanket Buck had once teased him about. And now, it was wrapped around both of them like it had always belonged there.

Chris was home, which made it different. Riskier. Realer.

But last night, wrapped around each other in the dark, listening to the quiet rise and fall of their breathing, neither of them had cared.

The sun was still low when Buck slipped into the shower, the house still quiet with early morning calm.

Eddie padded barefoot into the kitchen, his t-shirt from the night before slung over the back of a chair, forgotten. He scratched the back of his head, hair sticking up in all directions, and hunted for the coffee like a man on a mission. The floor was cool under his feet. 

He was just pouring a mug, steam curling up into the soft light, when a small voice caught him off guard.

“Dad?”

Eddie froze.

Then turned slowly.

Christopher stood in the doorway in his well-loved Spider-Man pajamas, one sock halfway off, hair a sleep-mussed mess, blinking blearily at him.

Eddie’s heart jumped.

“Hey, mijo,” he said gently. “You’re up early.”

Chris rubbed at his eyes. “I dreamed of Buck. Where is he?”

Eddie cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way his voice wanted to crack. “He’s in the shower.”

Chris frowned a little. “He slept over?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, trying to sound casual. “He did.”

There was a beat. Chris blinked at him.

“I thought he was mad at us,” he said softly. “He didn’t sleep over for a long time.”

Eddie’s heart ached. He knelt down, level with his son, and tucked a piece of hair behind Chris’s ear. “He was never mad at you. Things were just... a little complicated for a while, so while he has been here since, we had to work back up to him sleeping over.”

Chris looked at him, thoughtful and serious in the way only he could be. “Are you guys okay now?”

Eddie’s chest swelled, the truth pressing at his ribs like sunlight. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re more than okay, buddy.”

Chris narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re smiling weird.”

Eddie laughed, caught. “I’m just… happy.”

Chris beamed then, bright and sleepy and pure. “Can we have pancakes?”

“Always,” Eddie grinned.

Ten minutes later, the kitchen was alive with warmth and sound — batter sizzling on the griddle, laughter echoing against the walls, Chris elbow-deep in whipped cream and syrup, grinning like he’d won the lottery. Eddie flipped a pancake with a flourish, stealing a sip of coffee between turns.

The smell of butter and sugar wrapped around the room like a hug.

Buck appeared in the doorway, hair still damp and curling slightly at the edges. He wore a soft expression, something wide and full and just shy of disbelief.

He paused there for a moment, watching them. Watching this .

Eddie barefoot at the stove, his smile lazy and lit from the inside. Chris humming under his breath while stabbing at a whipped cream mountain with a spoon. The kitchen filled with the sounds of home.

Buck let out a soft breath.

And for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like an outsider looking in.

He was in it. He was here.

He walked over and kissed Eddie’s cheek — just a press of lips, gentle and grounding. Eddie leaned into it without thinking, his smile never wavering.

Then Buck reached out and ruffled Chris’s hair, earning a squeaky protest and a syrup-smeared grin.

“Morning,” he said, voice thick with everything he didn’t quite know how to say yet.

Eddie turned to him, eyes warm as his fingers slipped effortlessly into Buck’s.

“Morning, Buck,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe now, it was.

That night, curled up on the couch with Christopher tucked snugly at one end, Buck found himself in the kind of peace he never thought he'd have. The room was dim, lit only by the soft flicker of the TV and the occasional burst of laughter from whatever cartoon was on.

Christopher was wrapped in his favorite blanket, legs tangled over Eddie’s and a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between them all. Buck sat on the other end of the couch, shoulder to shoulder with Eddie, their knees brushing beneath the fabric of the throw blanket draped over them both.

At some point, without a word, Eddie’s hand slipped into his under the blanket.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t a declaration.

It was quiet. Steady. Real.

Buck glanced over, just once, eyes catching on the soft curve of Eddie’s smile as he watched Chris giggle at a talking animal on screen. His fingers squeezed Buck’s gently — a grounding kind of touch. The kind that said you’re here, and I want you here. The kind Buck had always dreamed about, even when he didn’t let himself admit it.

They passed the popcorn back and forth. Chris insisted on being the “popcorn boss,” which mostly meant he shoved handfuls into both of their mouths at random. Buck laughed until he had tears in his eyes, his cheeks sore, his chest aching in the best way.

There was no pretending tonight.

No awkward glances or quiet tension. No second-guessing if he was allowed to be this close or this happy.

Just the three of them. Together.

A family.

At one point, Buck leaned into Eddie’s side, head settling against his shoulder. Eddie shifted only to make more room, resting his cheek lightly against Buck’s temple, his thumb brushing soft circles along the back of Buck’s hand.

The weight of the day, the week, the years melted away beneath the warmth of that small, perfect moment.

Buck’s eyes fluttered shut, breath evening out as the cartoon voices blurred into white noise.

And all he could think — all he felt — was this:

This was what he’d been starving for.

Not just love, though he had that now. Not just the thrill of being wanted, seen, known.

But belonging.

A place to rest.

A place where he didn’t have to earn his space, or shrink himself to keep it.

And now?

Now he was full.

Full of laughter, of warmth, of quiet hands beneath shared blankets.

Full of Eddie’s steady heartbeat against his ear and the soft weight of Christopher’s foot tapping his knee in absent affection.

Full of everything he never dared to hope for — and everything he never wanted to lose.