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Eddie watched Buck with quiet concern, his brow furrowed. "Just tell me what’s wrong," he said gently.
Buck shook his head, eyes focused on some distant spot on the floor. "It’s nothing," he lied, voice tight.
But Eddie wasn’t buying it. He’d heard that tone before, and he recognized the weight behind it.
You’re exhausting . Buck remembered Eddie saying that to him once, years ago. The words had settled somewhere deep, resurfacing now with renewed sharpness.
"It’s something," Eddie insisted. "I haven’t seen you smile all day."
"I don’t want to talk about it, okay?" Buck’s voice rose slightly, but it wasn’t anger—it was fear, embarrassment maybe.
"Please, Buck?" Eddie stepped a little closer. "I know you’re mad at me for some reason—"
"It’s not your fault," Buck cut in quickly. "It’s just..." He let out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. Guess I am talking about this."
He hesitated, then continued. "I was on a date yesterday. The guy said I was too much. And he was right. I rambled so much—talked about stupid, useless facts no one cares about, told stories about work..."
"Buck," Eddie said quietly.
You’re exhausting . The words echoed again in Buck’s head, louder this time.
"And I’m doing it again, aren’t I?" Buck’s voice started to shake. "Rambling on and on and annoying you and I’m exhausting—"
"No, you aren’t." Eddie’s voice was firm, steady. Then, softer, "Are you… still thinking about what I said five years ago?"
Buck’s eyes dropped. "No. I’m not," he said, but the hesitation betrayed him. "I haven’t thought about it in a while, but then my date said I was ‘too much’ and it reminded me. Of what you said. And I kind of started spiraling and… now here I am. Avoiding my best friend."
Eddie sighed, stepping closer, the distance between them evaporating in an instant. “If I had a time machine,” he said quietly, “I’d go back and never say those words to you. You’re not exhausting, Buck. You’re not too much , either. I was just angry.”
Buck gave a shaky nod, but his gaze didn’t lift. “I know. I know you were,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”
He paused, swallowing hard.
“It’s just... it’s what I’ve been hearing long before you ever said it. My parents used to tell me to stop talking all the time—said I was giving them a headache. At school, I had trouble making friends. People thought I was weird. And they weren’t wrong. I was weird. I am .”
His voice cracked, raw and open now.
“I used to hurt myself on purpose. Just to get attention. Because I didn’t know how else to make people look at me, listen to me. I thought maybe if they worried, they’d care about what I had to say. Wouldn’t tell me to shut up. Wouldn’t get annoyed by me.”
He let out a bitter laugh that held no humor. “I truly am… exhausting.”
The silence that followed felt heavy, but not empty. Eddie stood there, absorbing every word, every wound Buck had dared to speak aloud. Then, slowly, he reached out, as if anchoring them both to something steadier. He put a hand on his shoulder. The spot that belonged to him.
“Evan.” He waited until Buck looked up, really looked at him. “You don’t need to change who you are for anyone. You just need to find someone who accepts you— all of you—wholeheartedly.”
He saw Buck flinch slightly, like he wasn’t used to hearing that, like he wasn’t sure he deserved it.
“Screw that guy,” Eddie went on, more heat in his voice now. “If he says you were too much, then fine—he was right. You were too much. Too much for him . And that’s not a bad thing. That just means he wasn’t the right person.”
Buck blinked, the words hanging between them, unfamiliar but comforting.
“Don’t dim your light for anyone’s convenience,” Eddie finished. “You burn bright, Buck. Let yourself.”
Buck didn’t— couldn’t— speak. Didn’t argue or deflect. He just stood there, breathing in the kind of truth he’d spent a lifetime convincing himself didn’t exist.
“Now, c’mere,” Eddie said softly, opening his arms without hesitation.
Buck didn’t resist. He stepped forward and let himself fall into the embrace, burying his face against Eddie’s shoulder like it was the only place in the world that made sense right now. Eddie held him tightly, like he meant it. Like he wasn’t going to let go until Buck truly believed every word he’d said.
“You can come to me about anything ,” Eddie murmured, his voice steady in Buck’s ear. “You’ll never be too much for me. I promise.”
And for the first time in a long while, Buck let himself believe it. Even just a little.
Eddie pulled back just enough to look at him, a small smile playing at his lips.
“Hell,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with warmth, “you could read the dictionary to me and I’d let you.”
Buck huffed out a laugh, unexpected and a little shaky, but real. “That’s a dangerous offer. I’d take you up on it. I like learning new words.”
Eddie just shrugged. “Then start with ‘A.’ I’ve got time.”
In that moment—held close, seen fully—Buck felt a little less like too much, and a little more like just enough.