Chapter Text
If Buck says it enough times, it’ll be true.
Play it cool. Play it cool. Play it cool.
He’s been chanting it like a personal mantra since 6:03 AM, right after he walked into the station, saw Eddie tossing a football with Ravi in the parking lot, and immediately forgot how breathing worked.
It’s fine. It’s fine.
He’s totally fine.
Which is why he’s now standing in the kitchen, death-gripping a coffee mug, staring blankly out the window while his heart does catastrophic things inside his chest.
Somewhere to his left, Chimney clears his throat. “Uh… Buck?”
Buck blinks.
“Oh—yeah—sorry, what?”
Chim just raises an eyebrow. Hen, perched at the kitchen table with a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, glances up. A slow, knowing smirk curves across her face. Buck immediately knows he’s doomed.
“You’ve been stirring an empty mug for five minutes,” Chim says, voice carefully neutral.
Buck looks down. Sure enough, his mug is completely dry, the spoon clinking pointlessly around the ceramic.
“Just… thinking,” Buck mutters, setting it down and reaching for the coffee pot like it can fix the flaming train wreck that is his life.
Hen’s smirk deepens. “Thinking about how pretty Eddie looks in the morning light?”
Buck chokes on air.
“No! No! I mean—not that he doesn’t—he’s just—a good-looking guy, objectively, and firefighters are supposed to be, you know, fit and—”
“Uh-huh.”
Chim sips his coffee. “Totally objective.”
Hen kicks back in her chair, tapping something into her tablet. “I’m updating the betting pool.”
Chim perks up. “Ooh, what are we betting now?”
Hen grins wickedly. “Two weeks.”
Buck frowns. “Two weeks until what?”
“Until you either tell him how you feel,” Hen says sweetly, “or combust into actual flames.”
Buck makes a strangled sound. “I am not—! There’s nothing to—! We’re friends!”
Across the bay, the garage doors are open, letting in the early morning sun. Buck’s eyes, completely without permission, drift back to Eddie. Eddie, who’s leaning against the truck, arms crossed, laughing at something Ravi just said.
Eddie, whose smile could outshine the whole goddamn sun.
Eddie, who Buck loves so much it feels like it’s stitched into his skin.
And then it happens.
Eddie looks up.
Straight at him.
Buck freezes.
Eddie’s smile softens, something warm and private flashing across his face.
For a second — one second — it’s just them, in their own little world.
Buck, predictably, panics.
He yanks the coffee pot off the counter too hard, sending it sloshing over the edge. Hot coffee splashes everywhere — the counter, the floor, his shirt.
“Shit!”
Hen cackles.
Chim pats his back sympathetically. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”
Buck groans, grabbing a rag to mop up the mess while his face burns hotter than the engine block they cleaned yesterday.
Across the bay, Eddie’s still looking at him, brow furrowed, half-concerned and half-amused.
Buck drops his eyes and scrubs harder at the counter.
Play it cool, Buck. Play it cool.
So far, he’s batting zero.
Later That Shift
They’re doing hose drills — basic training, routine maintenance — but Buck can’t focus for shit.
It’s not his fault.
Eddie’s wearing that stupidly tight station shirt, the one that clings to him like it’s in love, and Buck’s brain is short-circuiting every time Eddie bends over to pick something up.
“Hey, Buck!” Bobby barks.
Buck jumps. “Yeah! Yup! Totally paying attention!”
Bobby stares at him for a beat. Then sighs, like a man who’s accepted his fate.
Hen strolls past, whistling innocently. “One week,” she calls over her shoulder.
Buck flips her off.
Hen just winks.
That Night
Buck’s lying in his bunk, staring at the ceiling, hands tucked behind his head.
Eddie’s bunk is across the room. He can hear him breathing, slow and even. Safe. Close.
Buck closes his eyes and lets himself imagine, just for a minute, what it would be like if things were different. If he could roll over and curl into Eddie’s side, safe and steady and warm. If he could press a kiss to that soft patch of skin just under Eddie’s jaw, the one he catches himself staring at too often.
He’ll never have that.
He knows it.
But in the dark, for just a little while, he lets himself dream.