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Living with Eddie is good for the most part. It's easy and natural and Buck can't lie, being around his best friend 24/7 is pretty fun.
After the first week of little sleep and slight awkwardness about whose house it is (Eddie insists it's Buck's now and Buck insists it's always been Eddie's), they agree to share the bed and settle into a comfortable routine.
Some things they do separately, naturally gravitating towards different household duties. Buck cooks and Eddie cleans. Most things they do together, dropping off Chris at school and folding the laundry and grocery shopping and deciding what to do on their days off.
When Chris is at home, they choose outings he would enjoy: the zoo, the arcade, the pool. When he's at school or a friend's house, they tend to choose more lowkey activities - going on a hike together, or to the gym, or staying home together and lounging on the couch after particularly tiring shifts while watching the shitty reality tv they both claim not to enjoy but binge watch by the season anyway.
It's a nice life. Quiet and domestic and everything Buck could want. He's spent his entire life longing for a family. For love and acceptance and someone to come home to. Yeah, living with Eddie is pretty damn good.
Dealing with some uncomfortable moments a few times a week is a small price to pay, and Buck is confident that they'll fade in time. It's just an ... adjustment period.
It starts the day Eddie gets home. The hug they share is a touch too tight, lingers a little too long, and after they pull apart, Buck is left with the distinct feeling that there's something else he should have done.
Then there's the first night they share the bed. Buck has been sleeping on the couch since Eddie got back and, admittedly, it doesn't go well for him. He's used to sleeping on Eddie's couch a couple of times a week at most, not every single night. So, when he's up and pacing around the kitchen at 2am after trying and failing to get comfortable for hours, Eddie stumbles in, hair ruffled and eyes bleary.
"What's up, man?" he whispers. "Don't tell me you're baking in the middle of the night again."
"No, sorry to wake you." Buck stretches and rubs at his lower back, uselessly trying to work out the knot there. "Just couldn't sleep."
Eddie frowns. "It's the couch isn't it?"
"No, Eddie, it's fine," Buck insists, as Eddie brushes past him and into the living room like he plans on giving the couch a stern talking to. "Really, it's -"
Eddie flops down on the couch. "Take the bed," he says, his tone calm but firm.
"I can't ask you to do that," Buck whispers back.
"You're not asking." Eddie stretches out, folding his arms behind his head. "I'm offering."
"But -"
"Shh," Eddie interrupts him. "Just go before we wake up Christopher."
"Fine," Buck mutters, reluctantly retreating down the hall.
The bed is warm and it smells like Eddie. Buck quickly scoots over to the side that Eddie doesn't sleep on. Something about breathing in the scent of his shampoo and aftershave and sleep-warm skin feels illicit. Too intimate, like something Buck isn't allowed. If he wasn't so exhausted, Buck might dwell on it for longer, but mercifully sleep comes quickly.
The room is still dark when he's woken by a hand pressing on his shoulder.
"Move over, Buckley," Eddie mutters, jostling Buck who has, apparently, migrated back over to Eddie's side of the bed in his sleep.
Buck makes an unintelligible sound and rolls over, only half registering what's going on, still semi unconscious. And then Eddie crawls into bed with him and Buck is wide awake. He pulls his arms in, tucking them close beside his body, and stays perfectly still as Eddie settles in next to him.
"I have no idea how you managed to sleep on that thing all week," Eddie grumbles, pulling the covers up over his shoulders. "But no one in this house is sleeping on that couch. There's plenty of room in here for two people anyway."
When Buck doesn't say anything, too stunned to respond, Eddie asks softly, "Is that alright?"
"Hmm?" Buck pretends to be more out of it than he is. "What's up?" he slurs sleepily.
"Is it okay with you if we share the bed?" Eddie reiterates.
There's a heavy pause as Buck listens to the pounding of his heart in his ears. It's not that much different than work, Buck reasons with himself. He's used to sleeping in the same room with Eddie, only a few feet apart on their respective bunks, and the bed is big enough for both of them. The couch is pretty awful and Buck can't blame Eddie for abandoning it.
"I - yeah, it's okay," Buck breathes after a beat.
"Okay," Eddie whispers. "Night, Buck."
"Night."
And so, they share the bedroom. They don't talk about it and Chris doesn't bring it up. It's only weird if someone makes it weird, right?
At most, it takes Buck a couple of days to adjust. Soon he becomes accustomed to the swoop in his stomach when he and Eddie accidentally bump into each other as they get ready for bed and the fluttering in his chest on the occasions that their limbs brush under the covers as they settle in for the night.
It's normal, Buck tells himself. This is just part of sharing a confined space with another person. He's always experienced butterflies when Eddie touches him.
Life goes on, and each time it feels like something is missing, Buck tries to disregard it. He insists to himself that both at work and at home, everything is finally right and he wouldn't do anything to risk that.
The team hadn't felt complete without Eddie, and going back to his loft alone after long shifts had never been something Buck looked forward to. Now everything is just the way it should be.
If the small, insistent voice at the back of Buck's brain keeps telling him that it isn't enough, that's his own problem to deal with. If each time Eddie touches him, Buck wishes his fingers would linger a little longer, or if each time their eyes meet, Buck has to fight the overwhelming urge to go to Eddie, grab him by the face, and kiss him, that's his burden to bear.
At some point the denial stops. Buck isn't exactly sure when he gives up on fighting the fact that he's in love with Eddie and lets it be the simple truth that it is. It doesn't change anything. Eddie is still Buck's best friend, and he's still straight. If this is the only way Buck can have him, then he's happy to accept it. Mostly.
After all, he has nearly all the benefits of being Eddie's partner. They're fully integrated into each other's lives. They eat together and sleep together and come home to each other. They work together just as seamlessly as they always have, and they spend all their down time together too.
Christ, Buck practically co-parents Christopher at this point. Buck packs his school lunches, helps him with his homework, and drops him off at his friends' houses when Eddie's out or working a different shift. For all intents and purposes, they're a regular family unit, if a little unconventional.
In fact, Buck becomes so accustomed to their situation (bouts of aching and incessant yearning notwithstanding), that he forgets just how strange it might seem to outsiders. It's brought to his attention one night when Maddie, Chimney, and Jee are over for dinner.
"Damn," Buck mutters under his breath as he scans the kitchen counter for his watch. He knows he took it off while he was making dinner, but now he can't figure out where he set it down.
"Lost something?" Eddie asks, coming up behind Buck and resting his hand gently on the small of his back. The impression of Eddie's palm burns through the thick fabric of Buck's hoodie.
"Uh." He clears his throat. "Yeah. Can't seem to find my watch."
"I think you left it in our room," Eddie says softly. "I saw it on the side table," he adds, casually announcing to their guests that they share both a room and a bed. Which suddenly feels a lot more significant when it's being discussed in front of Buck's sister.
"Oh! Thanks." Buck quickly sidesteps Eddie's touch and turns to leave the kitchen, but pulls up short as he catches Maddie's eye.
Her eyebrows are raised so high that they're in danger of disappearing into her hairline and she's wearing an infuriatingly smug and knowing smirk. Buck glares at his sister, but she looks away to share a look with Chimney, who's also wearing a triumphant expression Buck doesn't much care for.
"Okay," he says loudly, clapping his hands together. "Let's eat."
"I thought you were looking for your watch?" Eddie asks, eyebrows furrowed.
"Yeah." Maddie's gaze returns to Buck, eyes glinting. "Don't you need to go get it from your and Eddie's room?"
"Nope. I can get it later." Buck ignores the emphasis on her question. "Jee!" He rounds on his niece, knowing he can count on her to be reasonable. "You ready to eat? I made your favourite." Buck gestures enthusiastically to the lasagna sitting on the stove.
"Yay," Jee cheers, grinning broadly at Buck, and for a moment, he forgets about anything other than the unbridled joy exuding from his niece. He grins back.
"And here I thought you made lasagna cause it was my favourite," Eddie pouts, slipping past Buck and into his seat at the table.
"Okay, well I can make lasagna for more than one reason," Buck defends himself admirably.
"Uncle Buck?" Jee asks, craning her neck to pin him with a wide-eyed stare. "Who is your favourite more, me or Uncle Eddie?"
"Neither," Chris cuts in confidently. "I'm his favourite. Right, Buck?"
With the eyes of three of the people he loves most in the world expectantly trained on him, Buck shrinks back against the stove.
"Uhhhh." Buck concentrates much harder than necessary on putting on the oven mitts, picking up the pan, and transferring it to the table. "I love you all equally," he says diplomatically as he sets down the lasagna.
He makes the mistake of locking eyes with Eddie, who's watching him with that soft, awed, vulnerable look he sometimes gets that melts Buck's insides like candle wax. And, shit, that's the first time he's ever admitted out loud that he loves Eddie. Does it count when it was part of a blanket statement to his niece and Eddie's son? Buck hopes not.
To Buck's great annoyance, when he manages to pull his eyes away from Eddie, he catches Maddie and Chimney sharing another significant look.
"Right, well, now that that's settled," Buck says with forced casualness. "Let's eat." He stabs the flipper into the lasagna much more aggressively than he needs to.
Mercifully, Buck's culinary skills come through for him and everyone is impressed enough with his cooking to be diverted.
Dinner passes pleasantly, and Buck relaxes again, just happy to be surrounded by his family. He forgets to feel any type of way about Eddie until after they've finished eating and move to the living room.
Before any of the adults can take the armchair, Chris and Jee claim it for video games. Chris has his Switch out, with Jee in his lap, both fully absorbed by Mario Odyssey, leaving Maddie, Chimney, Buck, and Eddie to squeeze onto the couch. It's big enough for four, but only just, and Buck finds himself pressed between the armrest and Eddie's side.
He nearly jumps when Eddie's hand lands on his knee. It's an absent gesture, no one takes any notice of it, except for Buck, who can't focus on anything else. Maddie and Chimney are asking Eddie how he chose which elementary school to send Chris to, since they're considering options for Jee, and Buck isn't following the conversation in the slightest. His ears are buzzing, like his own, personal mini bee-nado has taken up residence in his ear canals.
As he talks, Eddie swipes his thumb back and forth, rubbing small circles into the denim of Buck's jeans. The touch might be soothing if it didn't make Buck's entire body feel like it was on fire. Eddie doesn't even seem to notice he's doing it, his full attention on the conversation he's having.
Embarrassingly, Buck spends the majority of the rest of the evening reminding himself how to breathe. Apparently his lungs have forgotten how to perform one of his body's most basic functions when confronted with the gentle pressure of Eddie Diaz's hand on him.
Even after their guests have left, Buck still feels like his head is spinning from what he can only attribute to a prolonged lack of oxygen. But it's not until he's in the kitchen and doing the dishes that his heart stops.
Eddie's down the hall in Chris' room.
"Alright, see you in the morning. I love you," Buck overhears as Eddie makes his way back into the hall, followed by Christopher's quiet, "love you, goodnight dad," before Eddie closes the door.
Buck ducks his head, smiling softly to himself. He's always admired the kind of dad Eddie is, open and attentive and affectionate. It's a shame, Buck thinks, that Eddie doesn't seem to realize it himself.
"What are you smiling about?" Eddie asks, leaning against the fridge and watching Buck.
"Nothing." Buck shrugs. "Just, I dunno." He hesitates before meeting Eddie's eye. "Happy to be here, I guess."
Eddie smiles back, equally soft. The easy fondness in his expression makes Buck's chest constrict sharply. "I'm glad you're here too," Eddie admits quietly.
"Yeah," Buck breathes. Fleetingly, his gaze dips down to Eddie's lips, before he sternly tells his eyes to get in line and resolutely trains them on the soapy sink in front of him instead.
"I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep you around though if I keep making you do all the cooking and the cleaning up," Eddie teases, his voice back to a normal volume. "Here, move out of the way, let me do it." He slots in front of the sink beside Buck and nudges him with his hip.
"Shit," Buck mutters, the shock of Eddie's abrupt proximity making him drop the dish he was holding. It splashes into the water, covering the counter and the front of Buck's hoodie in soap bubbles. "Look what you did." He glares at Eddie without any heat.
"What I did?!" Eddie exclaims in mock offence. "I'm pretty sure you're the one who dropped the pan, Buck."
"Yeah, well I wouldn't have if you didn't knock me off balance," Buck accuses, plunging his hands back into the sink.
"I don't think I trust you climbing up ladders if your balance is that bad," Eddie says flatly, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
Buck gasps. "Are you questioning my competency on the job?"
Eddie shrugs. "What if I was?" he asks, squaring his shoulders and bumping their hips together again.
"I don't think that's a game you wanna play," Buck warns.
"Mmm." Eddie pretends to consider for a moment. "I think I'll take my chances."
"Oh yeah?" Buck prompts, leaning closer into Eddie's space, too caught up in their bantering to take much notice of his racing pulse. "You still think you can take me?"
Eddie's lips quirk up into a knowing smile. "Oh yeah," he agrees confidently, voice dropping lower. "I can take you."
Before he can properly register that Eddie is staring at his lips, Buck's hands are out of the water, splashing Eddie and drenching his front with water and soap bubbles.
Instead of stepping back, Eddie's hands shoot forward, grabbing Buck's wrists before he can return his hands to the water. Sometimes Buck forgets just how fast Eddie's reflexes are.
The kitchen suddenly feels too warm and his already galloping heartbeat punches into an impossibly faster rhythm. But it doesn't stop Buck from fighting back. He struggles against Eddie's grasp, which he immediately realizes was a mistake, because then Eddie's crowding in against him, pushing him back against the counter and pinning him in place and that's when Buck's heart stops.
No more frantic pounding against his ribs. No more struggling to breathe. Buck isn't even sure if he has lungs anymore, or a heart, or any of the other things that are supposed to be necessary for survival. There's just Eddie.
Eddie, pressed along his front and close enough to smell. Cedar and citrus and that thing Buck has never been able to identify but privately categorizes as uniquely Eddie. The only sensation Buck is properly aware of is the heat radiating from Eddie's body, compounded by the electricity where his fingers are still wrapped tightly around Buck's wrists.
All the playfulness has drained out of Eddie's expression and is replaced by something else, something unfamiliar that Buck can't quite place. His eyes are dark, darker than usual, and focused, zeroed in on Buck's face. Eddie releases a slow, shaky breath and lets go of Buck's wrists. He doesn't step away. Buck doesn't want him to. He fights the urge to grab Eddie's waist, to keep him this close forever.
"I -" Buck says uselessly, surprised that he's even capable of speaking. He swallows thickly and tells himself the way Eddie's eyes dart down to track the movement of his throat is coincidental. "We should probably, um, finish the dishes," Buck tries weakly.
"Okay," says Eddie. He makes no move to step away.
They're caught at some sort of impasse and Buck isn't sure how to break it. If this was almost anyone else, Buck would know what to do. He can see the natural progression of what should come next. But Eddie is straight. Straight , he tells himself for the hundredth time. Not in love with Buck. Not interested in Buck. And certainly not interested in kissing Buck.
"I think I'm going to kiss you now," Eddie whispers, he sounds a little dazed.
"Okay," says Buck. He stays exactly where he is, as still as possible, afraid to break the trance. Because there's no way this is actually happening. Even as Eddie leans in, angles his head to the left, bumps their noses together, repositions, Buck still doesn't believe it.
Then Eddie's lips are pressed against his own. Eddie's kissing him. Really kissing him, soft and tentative. Buck should do something. He should probably close his eyes. He should definitely kiss back. He's too stunned to do either, and then Eddie is pulling back, stepping away, confusion and something like betrayal flashing in his eyes, and that's not right. That's the last thing Buck wants.
It takes him about two seconds to remember how to move again, enough time for Eddie to turn away almost entirely. Buck grabs him, fingers frantically scrabbling against the fabric of Eddie's shirt for a second before he can gain purchase, then he's yanking him back, spinning Eddie around and walking him back against the kitchen table. Eddie's eyes go wide and the small, surprised sound he makes is immediately muffled by Buck's mouth.
Kissing Eddie, as it turns out, is incredibly intuitive. Buck has certainly thought about it enough times, but theory is not always the same as practice, and in this case, it’s neither. Actually kissing Eddie is about a million times better than kissing Eddie in his imagination. Because now that Buck has the permission to do it, he doesn't have to hold back. He doesn't have to guiltily abandon the idea before he can let it get out of hand. If the way Eddie is arching into him and pushing forward for more is anything to go off of, Buck is pretty sure he'd prefer that things did get a little out of hand.
"Wait," Buck gasps, forcing himself to pull far enough away to look Eddie in the eye. He can't just assume about this. He has to be sure. He refuses to let Eddie be added to a long list of unsuccessful romantic entanglements. Eddie is different. Eddie is his best friend. Eddie might very well be the love of his -
"You're straight," Buck blurts out. His hands are trembling as he takes them carefully off of Eddie's body.
Eddie frowns, then blinks. "What?"
"You're, uh..." Buck licks his lips, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. Eddie keeps staring at him. "Aren't you?"
Slowly, Eddie shakes his head. "No, Buck," he says definitively, voice heavy with intention. "I am not straight."
"Oh." That's an overwhelming amount of information to receive in four very short words. Buck feels light-headed.
"I'm pretty sure I'm gay," Eddie continues evenly. "And I am one-hundred-percent sure I'm in love with you."
"With me?" Buck asks blankly.
"With you," Eddie confirms, a small, amused smile stealing across his face. "Is that a problem?"
Buck shakes his head adamantly. "No."
"Good." Eddie smiles wider. Buck isn't sure if he's ever seen him look so free. So unashamedly happy. "Can we get back to kissing then?" he asks expectantly.
"Um." Buck clears his throat. He's heard everything Eddie's said. He's pretty sure every single word has embedded itself in his brain for the rest of his life. But somehow it still isn't computing.
"Did I break you?" Eddie asks, looking incredibly pleased with himself at the prospect.
"I think you're the love of my life," Buck admits without thinking, the words rushing out of him before he has time to second guess himself.
"Oh." Eddie's eyes do that thing again, where they go all soft and wide and adoring, and Buck's insides get all melty. "Buck."
"Yeah," Buck agrees, voice wavering.
"Hey." Eddie lifts one hand, gently cupping the side of Buck's face. He automatically leans into the touch and Buck wonders, distantly, when Eddie's touch stopped being heart attack inducing and went back to just being comforting.
Eddie thumbs away the tear making its way down Buck's cheek. He doesn't remember when he started to cry.
"That's okay," Eddie says gently. "I'm pretty sure you're mine too."
"Then yes," Buck says, and Eddie's eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "We can keep kissing," Buck clarifies.
And they do.
They kiss across the kitchen and all the way down the hall. They kiss between hurriedly whispered words and even more hurriedly discarded clothes. They kiss through moans and gasping breaths and heated touches. They kiss in the quiet come down of the afterglow, and their bedtime routines take twice as much time because they have to stop to kiss then too. Eddie kisses Buck goodnight and Buck kisses Eddie good morning.
They kiss on their way out the door before work and in the car after their shift is over. They kiss on the couch during commercial breaks and at the gym between sets and across the kitchen table sometimes, if Chris isn't looking.
Buck thought that being in a relationship with Eddie might mitigate the incessant sense of longing he's carried with him for so long. But it doesn't. If anything, it only serves to intensify it. Buck is always waiting for the next time he can kiss Eddie, the next time they can hold hands or cuddle up next to each other. The next time he can say 'I love you.' He never tires of the simple joy of being allowed to do it.
Being in love, Buck finds, isn't just about getting what he wants, it's about knowing that someone else wants all the same things just as badly. The longing is bearable when it’s with Eddie.