Chapter Text
The house was quiet, wrapped in that kind of dim, late-night glow that made everything feel softer than it really was. Lamps cast a warm, honeyed light across the floor, catching on scattered boxes and half-packed bags. The air was thick with unsaid things, filled only by the low murmur of a muted TV playing something neither of them was watching anymore.
Buck sat with his legs pulled up onto the couch, elbow propped on the armrest, fingers loosely curled under his chin. Eddie was a cushion away, slouched back, ankles crossed, arms folded. They hadn’t spoken in a while, both pretending the silence was comfortable.
It wasn’t.
They were enjoying their last opportunity to hang out, if you could even call this enjoying. Eddie was leaving in the morning. Texas. It sounded so much farther now than it had when he first said the word.
Buck had been trying, really trying, to ignore the hole in his chest. The one that opened up the day Christopher left, and only got wider when Eddie told him he was going too. Buck didn’t let himself crumble. Instead, he became what Eddie needed; steady hands, quiet support. The friend who helped pack boxes and label them neatly. The friend who smiled when he felt like crying. The friend who didn’t say please, don't leave.
He folded Eddie’s clothes, tucked away framed photos, and kept his thoughts locked somewhere deep behind his ribs. Each picture he packed felt like another nail hammered into a door he wasn’t ready to close. He really thought his heart might split in two.
He loved Eddie.
It wasn’t a sudden revelation. More like a truth that had been there for a while, soft and persistent. Something he’d felt a hundred times over but never let himself say. It didn’t hit him like lightning, not in some cinematic flash of clarity. It was quiet. Ordinary, even. A look. The way Eddie’s eyes lingered too long. The way Buck always noticed when Eddie’s laugh was real and not just polite.
He loved him. And maybe he’d known for longer than he wanted to admit. But it didn’t matter. Buck wouldn’t risk the friendship. Not for something as fragile as a maybe.
So, he kept it tucked away in the furthest corner of his heart, untouched.
The silence between them stretched thin, humming with all the words they weren’t saying. Buck cleared his throat and finally broke it.
“So… you’re really leaving? It’s final?”
His voice was soft, almost cautious. Like saying it out loud might make it more real.
Eddie hesitated before answering. He kept his eyes forward, staring at the moving shadows on the wall.
“Yeah. I mean… it’s for the best, right?” His fingers fidgeted in his lap. “I don’t know. What if I’m making a mistake? What if Chris freaks out? What if he looks at me and just- tells me to get the hell away?”
His voice cracked a little at the end, the fear finally slipping through.
Buck didn’t hesitate. He reached out, hand resting gently on Eddie’s shoulder, fingers warm and grounding.
“Eddie,” he said quietly. “No. You’re not going to drive him away. Yeah, it’ll be hard… but you’re his dad. He loves you. He just needs time.”
Eddie finally turned to look at him, and Buck’s breath caught for a second, brown meeting blue. There was something raw in Eddie’s expression, uncertainty, hope, maybe even guilt.
Buck stared a moment longer than he should’ve. He always did. He liked Eddie’s eyes. The way they lit up when Buck talked about things no one else cared about. The way they crinkled at the corners when he laughed. Reason number 7282 why Buck loves Eddie Diaz.
Eddie leaned back with a sigh, tilting his head toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut. Buck’s hand dropped back to his own lap, lingering for a second too long.
The tension in the room shifted, strange, heavy, unspoken. Buck felt it crawling up his spine but refused to name it. Not now, not with goodbye hovering on the horizon.
He looked away and let his mind drift to a distant memory. Something safer.
It started with Eddie saying, “How hard can banana bread be?”
Twenty minutes later, the smoke alarm was screaming like it was personally offended. The oven door was wide open, Buck stood in the kitchen, frantically waving a dish towel through the thick haze of smoke like his life depended on it.
“You preheated the oven to 500?” he yelled over the chaos.
“I thought it needed to cook faster!” Eddie shouted back, as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“That’s-not how heat works, Eddie!”
Christopher, bless him, was on the couch, one hand over his mouth, eyes wide with barely contained laughter. “Dad, it smells like burnt crayons.”
Buck finally got the alarm to shut off and turned toward the crime scene that used to be an oven. Blackened batter had bubbled over the edges of the pan, scorched onto the oven floor. The baking pan itself looked like it had fought a losing battle.
In the middle of it all, Eddie stood defiantly, arms crossed, a smear of flour on his cheek like some war paint. He tried to look cool and unbothered, like this wasn’t the worst baking attempt in history.
“Okay,” he said, shrugging, “maybe you’re the banana bread guy!”
Buck stared at him for a second, then cracked up, laughter spilling out of him in waves. “You think?”
After that, the chaos softened. Buck took over, pulling out a real recipe, letting Chris act as his eager sous-chef. Eddie lingered nearby, snatching bits of batter, bumping elbows, leaning over Buck’s shoulder more than necessary. Every time Buck looked up, Eddie was smiling like he hadn’t just nearly burned his house down.
They never did get the burnt smell out of the oven. But Buck didn’t mind.
It was the kind of night he filed away in his mind for safekeeping, one of those golden evenings stitched together by small messes, laughter, and a kind of warmth that didn’t come from any oven.
What stuck with him most, though, was the moment he reached over to brush flour from Eddie’s cheek. His fingers lingered for half a second too long. Eddie didn’t flinch or pull away, just blinked, a little stunned. Neither of them said anything.
And later, when the banana bread was in the oven (at a reasonable temperature), and they were sitting close, knees almost touching, Buck caught Eddie looking at him. That look that lasted just a beat too long.
Maybe they were both waiting to see who would move first.
Buck never found out.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, blinking himself back into the present like it took effort. The memory drifted away slowly, still clinging to the corners of his mind. He looked up at Eddie, a faint smile curling his lips. “That was a chaotic night,” he said, voice lighter now. “And you should be glad I was there. You almost burned your house down.”
Eddie scoffed, his hand reaching for the half-empty bottle on the coffee table. “Imagine that, a firefighter’s home going up in flames.” He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “Chim would never let me live it down.”
Their laughter eased something between them, for a second. But the quiet that followed came in slow and steady, settling in around the edges like fog.
Eddie’s fingers traced the edge of the bottle, going still. He shifted a little, as if something had been sitting in his chest too long and finally needed a way out. “You know, Buck…” His tone was different now, softer, careful. “You don’t have to act like this isn’t hard. If you’re sad, say it. Hell, if you’re angry-”
“Eds,” Buck said, interrupting him gently. He turned more fully toward Eddie, knee brushing his. “I could never be angry at you for leaving. This is about Chris. And it’s good, you’re doing what you have to do.”
Eddie looked at him, searching his face. Buck felt the air thicken between them.
“No matter how pissed Chris is right now,” Buck went on, “it’s not gonna last. He loves you. He needs you. And honestly? I’m glad you’re doing this. Even if it sucks.” His lips lifted, just slightly. “Now don’t start second-guessing yourself, okay? Go. Be there for him. And if things fall apart, if it all goes sideways… I’ll still be here. In your house."
That finally pulled a laugh from Eddie, real, quiet, maybe a little tired. Their eyes caught again, and this time, they didn’t look away.
Buck’s breath hitched in the stillness. Something shifted under his ribs, tension curling into something that felt dangerously like hope. The TV cast soft light over Eddie’s face, making him look impossibly warm and heartbreakingly close. Buck couldn’t tell if it was the beer, the late hour, or just everything building up over years, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
Eddie tilted his head slightly. His body leaned in, barely, subtly, but it was enough. Enough for Buck to feel it.
Enough to believe he wasn’t imagining this.
But still, he hesitated. His hand twitched on his knee. His heart thundered in his chest like it was trying to warn him. This could ruin everything.
And still.
Still.
His right hand lifted, moving on instinct. It landed gently on Eddie’s shoulder, steadying both of them. Then, slowly, carefully, his other hand rose to Eddie’s cheek.
Buck gave him one more chance to pull back.
He didn’t.
And so Buck closed the distance.
The kiss was soft-tentative, full of nerves, full of everything they’d never said. It wasn’t deep or messy or rushed. It was quiet. Like a question. For a second, it felt like the world stopped spinning.
Buck swore he could feel Eddie’s breath stutter against his lips. But then he noticed the stillness. Eddie hadn’t moved. Hadn’t leaned in any further. Hadn’t pulled away either.
Just… frozen.
Buck’s heart sank.
He pulled back slowly, the weight of panic already pressing down on him. Eddie was staring at him wide-eyed, like he’d just been shoved off balance and hadn’t figured out which way was up yet.
It was all Buck needed to know.
The crash came fast and hard. Heat bloomed across his cheeks. His chest tightened like something inside him cracked open.
“I’m sorry, Eddie,” he breathed, the words tumbling out as he backed away. “I-I should leave.”
And the spiral began.
He grabbed his phone, keys, jacket, his movements sharp and frantic, like he was trying to escape before his thoughts caught up to him. His mind wasn’t working clearly anymore. He wasn’t thinking, just moving.
Eddie scrambled to his feet, voice urgent. “Buck, hey- stop, please.”
“No, Eddie, you stop.” Buck’s voice cracked, rough around the edges, like he was barely holding it together. “I really should go. I crossed a line and...” He let out a heavy exhale, like it hurt to say the words. “You need sleep. You’ve got your trip. Texas and all that.”
Buck was already at the door, hand trembling on the knob. He paused, eyes flicking back to Eddie, that one last, searching glance.
“I’ll be here in the morning,” he mumbled, voice low and uncertain. “Y’know, to say goodbye and stuff.”
There was a beat of silence, too long, too heavy. Eddie didn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything. Buck hesitated for half a second longer, then turned.
“Night, Eds.”
The door clicked shut behind him with quiet finality.
And Buck… Buck knew he had officially screwed everything up.
The next morning, Eddie woke to the soft, persistent tapping of birds at the window. Their cheerful chirping broke through the haze of sleep, light and annoying in a way that felt almost cruel. The sky outside was pale with early light, already creeping in through the blinds, spilling faint shadows across the room.
His head ached, not sharply, but with that dull, throbbing pressure that promised either a hangover or something worse. Guilt. Regret. Maybe both. He blinked and realized he was still in yesterday’s clothes. Jeans stiff and bunched around his waist, his shirt twisted, wrinkled beyond saving. One sock clung to his foot, the other nowhere in sight. His mouth was dry, he didn’t even remember falling asleep.
Dragging a hand over his face, Eddie sat up slowly. His eyes landed on the living room beyond the open bedroom door. Empty.
Of course it was.
He walked out and stopped in the middle of the room, taking in the mess they’d left behind. The couch cushions were half on the floor, blankets crumpled and twisted like someone had tried to fold them and given up halfway. The coffee table was littered with beer bottles and the sad remains of some greasy takeout they hadn’t even finished. A scene frozen in time. His chest tightened. Bits and pieces of the night before flickered through his mind. Laughter, light jokes, the hum of the TV in the background, Buck’s hand brushing against his by accident, except Eddie hadn’t pulled away. He wasn't even fully awake, but his day got off to a shitty start. Coffee, I need coffee.
It was supposed to be a normal night. Their last before he left. But nothing about it felt normal now.
And then, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, it came back.
The kiss.
Eddie froze. His hand hovered in midair as he reached for the mug on the counter, but now it was just an anchor, something to hold on to as the memory washed over him. He closed his eyes, but that only made it worse.
Buck’s hand on his cheek. Warm. Gentle. The way his other hand steadied him like he was afraid Eddie might fall apart.
The way Buck had leaned in, slow, tentative, but certain. Like it wasn’t an accident. Like it meant something.
Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. His heart thumped once, then hard again, loud enough he could feel it in his teeth.
He brought the mug to his lips but barely managed a sip before choking on it, coughing roughly and doubling over the counter. The heat in his cheeks wasn’t from the coffee. He slammed the mug down too hard, the ceramic clattering against the surface.
“Dios,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his forehead, fingers dragging down over his eyes. “No. Don’t go there.”
But the image was already carved into the inside of his skull. Buck’s mouth on his. The softness of it. The stillness. The fact that he hadn’t moved, hadn’t kissed him back.
Hadn’t done anything. And now it was all he could think about.
A low groan escaped him as he pushed away from the counter. He needed to move, needed to pack, to focus on anything else. If he let himself sit with that moment too long, he’d start wondering what it could’ve meant. What it should’ve meant.
So he did the only thing he could.
He went to his room and grabbed the sheets from his bed. Folded them as neatly as his hands would allow.
The warmth of Buck’s hand on his skin.
He opened the bathroom cabinet and brushed his teeth. Mouthwash, deodorant, everything familiar tossed into the duffel.
Buck’s lips. Soft, focused, unafraid.
He paced his room, grabbing things, his boots, extra chargers, cologne he barely used anymore, and dropped them into the bag without thinking.
How would it feel if he’d returned the-
A knock at the door stopped his chain of thoughts.
He froze mid-step, fingers clenched tight around the handle of his duffel. The sound echoed through the still apartment like a thunderclap. Normally, Buck would let himself in with his key, called out Eddie's name like he belonged here.
But this time… this time it was different. This time, Buck knocked.
And Eddie.. he felt his whole body go still.
His heart didn’t flutter the way it used to when he heard that familiar voice calling “Eds” through the doorway. No. Now it felt like a stone dropped into his chest. Heavy. Sinking.
Like he was about to drown.
Buck stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a frown knitting his brow. The morning sun was just rising, casting a soft golden light that caught the curls falling over his forehead and glimmered on his shoulders. His blue eyes, those big, clear blue eyes blinked at Eddie with something softer in them. Less tense than last night, but still guarded.
Eddie hesitated a moment, then cleared his throat. “Hey, Buck. Come in.”
Buck stepped inside, dropping his hands into his pockets. His steps were quiet but purposeful as he closed the door behind him.
Eddie moved to the dining room, pulling a couple of mugs from the cupboard and sitting down at the table. “Can you help me pack up these mugs? I know how much you pay attention to detail, I don’t need these breaking on my watch.” He smiled faintly, the attempt at lightness feeling shaky.
Buck lingered for a second before joining him at the table, settling onto a chair with an almost reluctant slump. Eddie tore open some bubble wrap and grabbed a roll of tape, pushing a mug gently toward Buck. A fresh cup of coffee was waiting for him too.
“So,” Eddie began, voice a little tight, “how’d you sleep? I’ve got such a headache, I don’t know how I’ll survive the drive.” He gripped his mug like it was a lifeline, trying to anchor himself.
Buck’s eyes darkened, his mouth tightening. “Kinda rough,” he said without a smile.
Eddie opened his mouth to respond, but Buck cut him off before he could say anything. “Are you just going to ignore what happened… yesterday?”
Eddie froze, the bubble wrap crinkling between his fingers. He looked up at Buck, who was watching him intently.
“I mean, I kissed you, and you… you just stood there.”
The words landed like a blow. Eddie swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “I-I… Buck, what was I supposed to do? It caught me off guard…”
Buck stared at him, that familiar bitterness creeping into his expression. Then he let out a bitter laugh, almost a bark. “Right. You’ve said that.”
Eddie looked down at the mug in his hands, unable to meet Buck’s eyes. “I didn’t mean-”
“No, it’s fine,” Buck interrupted sharply. “You don’t owe me anything.”
The room fell heavy with silence. Eddie wrapped the next mug carefully, his hands working mechanically like it would keep everything from falling apart.
Then Buck moved closer, his voice low but tense. “Are you seriously gonna pretend like nothing happened?”
Eddie shook his head slowly, voice rough. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“How about the truth?” Buck’s voice cracked on the last word, as if saying it hurt.
Eddie’s gaze flickered up, tired and worn. “I’m leaving, Buck.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to fight.”
“No. Of course not.” Buck’s voice was bitter, sharp. “Because fighting means admitting something did happen.” His eyes flashed, and his voice cracked again, raw with emotion. “Jesus, Eddie.”
“It didn’t,” Eddie snapped back too fast, too sharp-like a reflex.
Buck flinched, pain flashing across his face. Then he nodded slowly, almost defeated. “Yeah. I get it.”
Silence stretched between them again, thick and uneasy. They finished packing the mugs in gut-wrenching silence. The clink of glass and rustle of bubble wrap felt loud in the quiet room.
Eddie slung his duffle over his shoulder. This was it. The moment he’d been dreading and trying to push away all at once.
Buck stood in the hall, too far away, arms crossed tight against his chest. He still hadn’t looked at him.
Eddie shifted uncomfortably, taking a hesitant step closer. “Buck…” His voice was soft, uncertain.
No response, just the heavy silence pressing down.
“I know this is hard,” Eddie said, his voice cracking a little despite his best effort. “But you matter to me. A lot.”
For a long moment, Buck didn’t move. Then he finally met Eddie’s eyes, not angry, not hurt, just… hollow, like the space between them was an ocean.
“That’s why I can’t leave without this.” Eddie’s voice barely a whisper.
Without thinking, he surged forward and wrapped his arms around Buck. Tight, solid, a silent promise. Like he was trying to say everything with that one hold.
Buck didn’t hug back at first. Stiff, tense, like he was still trying to figure out what this meant. But then, slowly, Buck’s arms found their way around Eddie’s waist. The hug deepened just a little, fragile but real.
Eddie stayed in it, breathing in the familiar scent of Buck’s jacket, feeling the steady beat of his heart against his own. He lingered a second too long, caught somewhere between hope and fear. Buck pulled away, his forehead creased in a frown that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Eddie turned away, shoulders heavy as he walked toward his truck. He didn’t look back—until he was sure Buck wouldn’t see the tears that slipped