Archive of Our Own ^beta

– 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 –

“I’m gay,” Eddie says.

His reflection in the mirror simply stares back. The knuckles on his bruised hands are white, that’s how hard he’s gripping the sink. 

“I— Buck, I’m gay ,” he says again, steadier this time. He still keeps his voice down, he’s got to be quiet. It’s the middle of the night.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, to come out. It doesn’t change who he is, because that’s what he’d always been—just never aware of it. But still, the sheer thought of saying these words out loud to his best friend leaves Eddie with a racing heart and a dry mouth. 

Because it would change how Buck views him, irrevocably so.

He knows, because it happened to him . When Buck had come out to him a few months ago, it uprooted something from within Eddie with such force that it actually, physically hurt .

Buck had been nervous back then, too. Eddie could tell from the restless fidgeting of hands and the slight tremor in his voice, and he’d almost expected the worst. Turns out, it was only close to it. 

The second he’d understood what Buck was trying to tell him, that him spending more and more time with Tommy was not a thing of platonic, casual nature, his mind had begun to spiral.

Buck, his best friend and favorite person, was bisexual, and he was dating a mutual friend of theirs on top of that. 

Bisexual. Not straight. 

His world had turned upside down right then.

“ This doesn’t change a thing between us, ” he’d replied, a soft smile on his face, more consolation to his friend than anything else. While he really wanted to mean it, he knew that he was being dishonest to the both of them at this very moment. 

It would, in fact, change everything between them. It would trigger a series of sleepless nights and hours of sitting on his couch staring into nothing, holding onto a beer bottle like a lifeline.

Buck not being straight had thrown him under the bus, had pulled a knot of thoughts from the very back of his memory back to front. Thoughts he hoped would never emerge again, because they’d complicate everything.

It was a sense of chance, of inevitability that was blooming inside of him, growing bigger with every passing day, with every glance he shot at Buck when he wasn’t looking. Something had shifted, deep inside of him and also in his life, and it was slowly consuming him, and made him reconsider who he really was, after years of avoiding it.

And he tried to push that weird, fuzzy feeling spreading in his guts aside, really, he did. 

For a while, it had even worked. Because there were bigger problems to deal with. 

Like the Kim situation, when he lost his son over a failed attempt to get back that feeling he’d lost along with Shannon, like it would somehow save him from himself.

And when he’d followed the priest’s orders and danced in his living room in nothing but his underwear and a button-up, he almost thought he could get over it altogether.

He couldn’t. Not with Buck showing up at his doorstep, not asking questions and just handing him a beer, because he just got dumped. 

That so-called “friend” of his never deserved a man like Buck, anyway. 

A man so full of affection for his friends and family, so selfless without giving it a second thought.

Eddie thought he might actually cry when he announced he’d given up his loft to sublet the house, instead, just so Eddie didn’t have to worry. And maybe he would’ve let the tears escape his burning eyes, had the others not stood right behind him.

When they hugged goodbye by the U-Haul, in the pouring rain, he briefly found himself hoping Buck would say something. Beg him to stay, tell him that a life without Eddie was the one thing he couldn’t do.

Fine. He might’ve been projecting. Maybe these were things he wanted to say to Buck , because they were painfully true, even if he pretended they were not. 

Of course, that meant that Buck didn’t end up saying any of those things.

So, when Eddie drove away, he was blinking tears away as he stole one glance after the other at the rearview mirror as he watched Buck’s slouchy-shouldered silhouette get smaller and smaller.

In the end, Texas wasn’t inherently bad. He had Chris back in his life, and that was the most important part. But still, over Christopher moving back in with him, his sister’s baby shower, and celebrating his mother’s birthday with her for the first time in years… there was something missing.

Someone .

The one person Eddie had never felt judged by, that had saved his life oh-so-many times, been there for him through the good and the bad, that walked into fires and active shooting situations in order to save him.

The one person beside his son that he didn’t think he could ever truly live without, that he had started to take for granted.

In other words, Eddie found himself missing Buck more than he’d ever expected. Like a piece of his heart, his soul had been ripped out and stayed in L.A.

Realizing just how much Buck meant to him had hit him like a punch to the face. 

After a while, there was no way for him to deny it anymore, and he finally admitted it to himself, after years of denying it, years of staying in the lane his parents had expected him to stay in, wearing blinders.

Eddie Diaz is gay.

And, turns out, also tragically, all-consumingly in love with Evan Buckley.

Which had made things awkward once he’d returned to L.A. almost four weeks ago, and Buck had insisted Eddie and Chris stay with him in their old house for a while. 

The while had turned into a silent indefinitely just one week into the stay.

“So, I wanted to tell you something,” Eddie whispers into the mirror, licking his lips. “I’m gay.”

He pauses, looks at his gray t-shirt and black sweatpants and disheveled hair for a good moment, then meets his own gaze again, his eyes glossing over.

“Gay,” he mouths, “Gay.” His throat is getting more and more dry, but he keeps going, forming the word with his lips over and over again like a spell. It starts to look weird to him, the way his mouth moves when he says it, but he can’t stop. “Gay, gay, gay… ” 

He doesn’t blink when the first tear escapes his eye. It rolls freely, a hot stream of salt down his cheek, following the curve of his face until he can taste it. 

He’s afraid. Afraid of what coming out might do to their friendship. Afraid of ruining everything they built. And all just because Eddie fell in love with his best friend and can’t remember a time when he didn’t love him.

“Gay,” he chokes out one last time, his throat constricting, his nose tingling. “ Fuck .”

He’s such a mess.

“Eddie?” Soft knocks rattle the thin bathroom door, and Eddie immediately snaps back into reality, wiping his tears away with rough hands and straightening his spine. His eyes are aching, and when he glances at his reflection one last time, he finds them red. 

“Eddie, I really need to pee,” Buck complains in a pushing tone, keeping his voice low. He’s right outside this room, waiting—only a single layer of wood keeping him from seeing the miserable state his roommate’s currently in. Eddie runs a hand through his hair, makes sure his cheeks are dry, and takes a deep, trembling breath before he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

“Sorry,” he rasps, and rushes past Buck in only a few strides, keeping his face averted. He can’t risk letting him see. “All yours.”

He sits down on his bed, his lungs aching and pulse thundering like crazy. His fingers are cold when he reaches up to swipe another tear off his cheek, and he stares into nothingness for a while. When the bathroom unlocks, he almost flinches.

Buck pushes the ajar bedroom door further open and leans against the frame, shoulder pressing against the dark wood. His arms are crossed, and with the faint light illuminating him from behind, Eddie finally sees that he’s shirtless.

“Are you okay?” Buck’s voice is weary, but the concerned undertone doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Can’t sleep,” Eddie admits, his voice all breathy, and it’s true. “Nightmares.” That, however, isn’t .

“Aw, shit,” Buck sighs, “I’m sorry, Eds. Do you need anything?”

You , Eddie thinks. “Nah, I’m good,” he says.

“Are you sure? I can make you a warm milk with honey. Maddie used to make them for me when I was young and sleepless, and they did wonders , somehow. Not sure what the science behind that is, to be honest. I mean, I did read it might improve the sleep quality, but I’m not sure if it actually helps with falling asleep. I’m not sure there are studies on that, I should google it sometime. But if you want to give it a try, I think there’s still some honey somewhere in the cabinet by the fridge.”

“Sounds tempting,” Eddie softly replies, his heart soaring. He could listen to Buck ramble all day, really. It’s cute, the way he gets lost in his thoughts and simply pours them all out to sort them. Eddie hopes it’s dark enough for Buck to not notice the way his cheeks have turned pink. “But I’ll manage.”

“Your choice,” Buck shrugs, and after a brief moment of total silence, he adds, “If you need anything…” 

“I know,” Eddie nods. “Thanks.”

And with that, he’s alone again, hearing fading footsteps echo through the hallway until there’s a thump, indicating that Buck let himself plop down onto the couch just now. 

The clock on the wall reads two a.m. at this point. Eddie can still feel his eyes burn, and he quickly slides under the covers and closes them, settling into his pillow with a sigh. 

There’ll be a point where he’ll finally feel ready, he’s sure of it. Ready to tell Buck, and ready to face the risk of ruining their friendship forever. 

Just not today.

+++

It’s two weeks later when Eddie decides he’s ready. 

They’re on the couch, Chris already in bed, and Buck is in charge of the remote, skipping through channels until he lands on a documentary about sharks. The dark room is now illuminated with blue light, and Eddie steals a glance over at Buck, who tucks one leg underneath him and takes a swig of his coke zero as he listens to the narrator. 

“They’re always talking about shark-infested waters,” he sighs, leaning back into the cushions. Eddie arches a brow. 

“I mean, yeah,” he replies, unsure of what to say. “‘cause the sharks live in the water, right?”

Buck turns and looks at him, his blue eyes gleaming in the matching screen glow. “Yeah, they do. But ‘ infested’ gives the impression that they shouldn’t. Like they’re parasites or something. But they live there, Eds, it’s their home .”

His tone is so emotional, so empathic and concerned for those generally feared animals, that Eddie has to bite his cheek and look back at the TV in order to remain composed. 

And he just knows . Knows he has to tell him, has to admit to him that he’s gay and also kind of obsessed with him. 

Because Buck deserves to know, and Eddie deserves to tell someone.

“Did you know sharks have been around for longer than trees?” Buck asks, all excited. “Mind-blowing, am I right?”

Eddie sinks deeper into the couch and sips on his water. “Very,” he breathes, incapable of replying anything else. He is busy secretly staring at the way Buck’s face is a shifting play of blue light and dark shadows, the way his smile makes his dimple pop, and the way his throat works down another sip of cola. 

God, he needs to get out of here. With quick gulps, he downs the rest of his water and gets up— so fast that he briefly sees white dots dancing around his vision. 

“Need anything from the kitchen?” he croaks, and Buck blinks up at him. 

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Eddie nods, but judging by the way Buck looks at him, it wasn’t very convincing. 

“… Okay, if you say so. Do we still have those salt and vinegar chips?”

“I think so, yeah,” Eddie sighs, relieved that Buck doesn’t push, and he makes his way to the kitchen. He can almost feel Buck’s gaze on his back, all concerned and confused. The narrator continues to talk about sharks, their revolver dentition and sixth sense and whatnot, and apart from the bag of chips rustling through the darkness, it’s the only sound in the house. 

When Eddie returns, handing Buck the bowl he poured the late-night snack into, he notices his creased forehead, the tight line he’s pressed his lips into.

“Are you okay?” he carefully asks as he sits back down. Buck groans and repositions, one hand on his knee.

“My leg is acting up again,” he hisses, “Goddamn it.”

“Want your painkillers?” Eddie offers, but Buck shakes his head, so he sits back down on the couch.

“I’m all out,” he admits. His eyes are narrowed, and his entire face is tense, and he rubs his thumb over the side of his knee, where Eddie knows it hurts the most.

“Anything else you need?” he asks quietly, already on the verge of getting up again to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer. 

“Need to put it up, I think,” Buck grunts, and leans forward in an attempt to clean a part of the chaotic coffee table in front of them. He almost knocks over his half-empty bottle of coke, and the bowl of chips almost slides off his legs in the process, too.

“Leave it,” Eddie quickly intervenes, shifting in his seat. “You can— put your legs on my lap.”

Buck’s head snaps in his direction. “Are you su—”

“Buck,” he interrupts him, encouragingly patting his thighs with one hand. “If it’s not weird for you, then it’s not weird for me.”

With one surrendering sigh, Buck turns his body and carefully drapes his legs over Eddie’s. He flinches in pain, and Eddie can barely keep a straight face. Seeing him in pain is something awfully close to torture. 

“Better?” he asks after a minute or two, with his eyes glued to the screen. It’s just ads. 

“Yeah,” Buck breathes, and they go back to watching TV in silence.

After a while, Eddie doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. His drink’s empty, his phone on the charger in the kitchen, and he still has Buck’s legs resting atop him. With a rapid pulse, he gently lays his flat palm onto Buck’s knee. He can feel his body tensing up at the unexpected touch, can hear him draw in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t say anything.

And so they sit there, Eddie softly massaging the aching leg, neither of them talking, simply taking turns grabbing and snacking a chip from the bowl. The shark documentary has turned into one about the Incas, and Buck occasionally throws in funny anecdotes about his time in Peru. 

Eddie laughs at all of them. And even though he fights it, he finds himself wishing that this, right here, was their usual Saturday night routine, all casually domestic and comfortable. 

Yeah, he definitely has to tell Buck.

“Buck, I—” he begins after a while, but as he glances to the side, he finds Buck’s now relaxed face, lips agape and eyes closed, a soft breath escaping him. 

“Buck?” he tries, but Buck is fast asleep, his neck perfectly molding against the armrest, hoodie ridden up to expose a bit of his tummy. Eddie bites his tongue and lightly squeezes the knee his hand’s still resting on.

“Buck, I’m gay,” he breathes, barely a sound coming out of him. “I hope this doesn’t… change a thing between us.”

But Buck just snores in response.

+++

It’s a wonderfully slow Sunday morning when it happens.

Chris sits at the kitchen table, grunting over math homework. Rain slams against the window and the back door, and the wind howls through the leaky joints. The scent of coffee lingers in the air, and Eddie leans against the sink, stirring creamer into his mug.

When Buck enters, he has his toothbrush hanging from his mouth, wearing a tight, white muscle shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants, hair all out of control and frizzy from the humidity. Eddie grins, but hides it by lifting the mug up to his lips, pretending to take a sip.

“Mornin’,” Buck mumbles, muffled by a mouthful of toothpaste. “Shmells good. Can I have shome?”

“Sure,” Eddie nods, and Buck pumps a celebratory fist and quickly rushes back to the bathroom.

“How’s your leg?” Eddie asks loudly, setting his mug aside to make some more coffee. Last night, after Buck had fallen asleep, he’d almost woken him up again to offer him the bedroom. It’s ridiculous that Buck insists on sleeping on the couch every night, anyway, but with his pain flaring up… Eddie would’ve gladly swapped, if only for one night. But he knows how difficult it must be to find rest with an aching knee in the first place, and so he let Buck sleep, simply carefully peeled himself away and put a blanket over his snoring best friend before retreating to the bedroom at about two a.m.

“It’s been worse,” Buck replies over the sound of the running sink. “But I’ll still drop by the store for some painkillers later.”

Eddie instantly notices the way Buck is trying not to put too much weight on his botched leg when he reappears in the kitchen only a moment later. But still, there is an easy grin plastered onto his face, and so Eddie doesn’t mention it.

“Thanks,” Buck smiles, and he takes the fresh mug of steaming hot coffee from Eddie’s hands, their fingers brushing in the process. The touch almost burns, and he could swear it lingers for longer than necessary, but he’s probably just imagining things. 

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” Chris announces with a groan, and he downs the last sip of his chocolate milk before moving to get up.

“Done as in finished, or done as in you’re overwhelmed and need a break?” Eddie teasingly asks, crossing his arms. His son merely grunts and gathers his crutches from where they’re propped up against the table beside him.

“Break,” he admits sheepishly, and Eddie laughs. 

“Knew it. Just don’t forget to finish it later, okay?” 

“Okay, Dad. I’ll be in my room,” Chris replies, and he lets Eddie ruffle his messy hair before leaving the kitchen. 

In the meantime, Buck has taken a seat at the kitchen table, wrapping his huge hands around his mug, enveloping it completely.

Eddie gulps and takes a deep breath. His heart is beating fast, and he chews his cheek for a moment before he clears his throat and turns to face Buck.

“Buck, I— I need to talk to you,” he croaks, and Buck tilts his head, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Sounds serious,” he responds, and Eddie shrugs. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, and he rubs a hand over his face.

“It’s nothing bad,” Eddie says, pausing. “I don’t think.”

Buck, I’m gay. The words are right there, waiting on the tip of his tongue, but he just can’t bring himself to say them. 

“You don’t want me to move out, do you?” Buck asks, sounding hurt and surprised all at once, already. A thunder growls outside, and he flinches. 

“God, no,” Eddie grits out between clenched teeth, and he clutches his hands into fists and looks up at the ceiling like it would help at all. Maybe it does. He’s not sure.

When he finds Buck’s face again, there is a deep crease between his brows, like he’s trying to make sense of it all.

Now or never, right? Come on, Eddie, what’s the worst thing that could happen? Buck, I’m gay. Go.

“Buck, I—”

A weird feeling overcomes him, and he doesn’t finish the sentence. He can’t. His throat is dry, and his guts churn. 

Nervousness doesn’t feel like this. All tingly and… weird. Like he’s melting from the inside out.

Like someone has started to pull his cells apart. 

He meets Buck’s gaze, and finds his usually soft blue eyes wider than he’s ever seen them. 

Eddie gulps, and suddenly, his arm feels oddly numb. When he looks down, he forgets how to breathe.

His hand is no longer there. It’s dissolving, painlessly and weightlessly, floating away into nothingness right before his eyes.

“Buck, what—” He desperately looks for Buck’s face again, and it’s distorted in panic, and the feeling continues to spread through Eddie’s body, a dull tingle that doesn’t hurt but still makes him want to rip his skin off.

“Eddie?” Buck asks, and Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever heard his voice carry such raw fear. 

“Buck, I don’t—”

And Eddie blinks, and blinks, and blinks, and he gasps for air that doesn’t reach his lungs anymore, and the last thing he sees before he drowns in this… feeling is Buck, lips open in a scream, eyes impossibly wide, jumping out of his seat, leaping toward him.

He can’t hear him. 

Eddie blinks.

Then, he can’t see him. 

Eddie blinks, and blinks, and blinks, but Buck is gone.

— 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 —

The first thing he notices is the sun. It’s bright, and he has to squint. Didn’t it just storm outside?

Also, there is no coffee scent in the air anymore. He takes a deep breath, and it almost smells… unfamiliar . Like vanilla and fresh laundry, a hint of honey lingering. 

Then, he notices the wall. It’s blue.

The kitchen wall has never been blue .

“Buck?” he tries, and his voice is raw and raspy, his throat dry. He rubs his face, closes his eyes and opens them again, but the kitchen wall is still blue, and the sun is still shining, and—

“Eddie.”

He whirls around, finding Buck standing there, all curly hair and blue eyes, broad shoulders, looking so familiar and yet— and yet.

Something is different. 

Eddie can’t quite put his finger on it, apart from the black t-shirt he could’ve sworn had been a white muscle tee just five minutes ago. 

Buck’s hands are trembling as he slowly steps closer, like a cautious animal inspecting something new. His breath is frantic, out of control, his chest heaving intensely as he comes to a halt and just stands there, a safe distance away from Eddie, staring at him like he’s just seen a ghost.

There’s something slightly off about him, but what? Eddie just keeps returning his gaze, waiting. But Buck doesn’t speak.

“Hey, are you okay?” Eddie eventually asks, tilting his head to the side, and he steps forward, already moving to reach out. He’s feeling dizzy, the world around him a blur as it seems to spin, only Buck in focus, familiar-yet-different Buck.

“Eddie?” Buck breathes again, panting heavily, and Eddie sees the tears well in his eyes.

“Yeah?” he slowly lets out, his entire world a tornado of thoughts as he tries to make sense of it all—he can’t. Silence spreads through the house, and for a moment, they simply look at each other. 

Before he knows it, Eddie is being swept into an impossibly tight hug, strong arms wrapping around him, holding onto him like one would onto a buoy in a storm. Buck’s broad, muscular frame presses against him, and his familiar cologne envelops them like a cozy blanket.

It’s not until after a few moments that Eddie notices it.

Buck is sobbing. Violent, shaking sobs, the kind that leave you gasping for air, and he’s letting them all out against Eddie’s shoulder, his hands desperately clawing on his back, then roaming to his hair, his arms, then his back again, like he’s trying to check if this—if Eddie— is actually real.

Slowly, Eddie lifts his arms and hugs him right back, one hand sliding into Buck’s curls, holding him close. He doesn’t remember if he’s ever seen him so… distraught . It’s making his guts twist, and he feels like throwing up. He gulps the feeling down.

“Buck, what’s wrong?”

He’s still just so baffled by all of this. The more he tries to understand what’s going on, the more he gets confused, and so he just stands and holds Buck upright as he falls apart.

“E– Eddie,” Buck cries, and Eddie’s heart breaks into a million pieces. “It’s really you .”

“Uhm, yeah?” Eddie mutters into his hair. “Did you expect someone else?”

More sobs ripple through Buck, and they sink to the floor, a tangle of limbs and tears. It doesn’t feel like Buck is planning to let go ever again, and Eddie just sits and holds him, lets his tears stain his hoodie, all while staring at the wall. This stupid, blue wall.

He doesn’t know how much time is passing. Buck is still clinging onto him, heavily panting into the crook of his neck, and they’re being drenched in sunlight coming in through the windows, and Eddie still feels like puking. 

“I thought— I thought you were gone forever,” Buck mumbles into the thick gray fabric of Eddie’s hoodie. His mind is still restless, trying to make sense of it all. 

“ Gone ?” he asks quietly, his voice shaking. He helplessly rubs his hand over Buck’s broad, muscular back, attempting to give as much reassurance as he can. 

Buck pulls back and Eddie stares at him, lets him take his face in his huge, warm hands. Soft blue eyes, red-rimmed and still glossy, roam all over his face, inspecting every inch thoroughly, caught up in complete and utter disbelief.

“Fuck,” Buck gasps, one more sob shaking his shoulders. “Eddie, you were gone for five years.”

Five years. The words echo through Eddie’s head, and he simply stares at the face he knew so well, the same face with the gorgeous dimples and the pink birthmark cutting through his brow. But it has changed. Fine lines around the eyes and mouth. 

Wrinkles in the making. Eddie finally realizes why Buck looks different to him.

Five years. 

Suddenly, his lungs feel awfully small.

Five .

Years.

His breath hitches, and he feels like he’s about to suffocate.

Five.

Years .

Is it normal to feel your heartbeat in your throat? It tastes sour to him, and he swallows it back down. It hurts.

Five—

“Eddie, hey,” Buck whispers, voice trembling. He lets his thumbs caress the soft skin of his cheeks, wiping away his tears. Eddie hadn’t noticed he started crying.

“Five years,” Eddie finally croaks. He’s jittery, his hands trembling in his lap. “What do you mean, I was gone for five– y- years?”

A compassionate, pained expression takes over Buck’s face. He blinks a few tears away and sniffles, his hands leaving Eddie’s face. He’s gathering himself, mentally preparing for what he is about to say.

And when Buck begins to explain in a soft, tender voice, Eddie can’t believe his own ears. 

Half of the world’s population had disappeared right along with him, presumed dead.

Buck bought the house and stayed here all this time, because he couldn’t bring himself to move—and he makes a joke about his already awful credit score, so Eddie laughs. But it’s a weak one, more breath than anything, because it’s all he can muster.

Chimney, Karen, and May disappeared, too, and Eddie’s heart hurts so much he thinks he might faint. So much sorrow was brought to the world, in a single moment. Five years of grief, of trying to cope. 

Maddie had the baby. It’s a boy. Chimney never got to meet him. Jee-Yun is in middle school and spends every Tuesday afternoon at her uncle Buck’s house, while her mother goes to therapy. 

Then, Buck takes a deep breath and says, “And as you were presumed… dead , uh, I became Christopher’s legal guardian.”

Finally, a dry, painful sob escapes Eddie, and he lays one hand flat against his chest, feeling his rapidly beating heart.

“The will,” he breathes, and Buck meets his eyes. His gaze is gentle but bloodshot, a hint of melancholy bubbling under his oceans’ surface.

“The will,” he nods, and Eddie lets out a deep sigh, shoulders dropping.

“I almost forgot about that one,” he admits in a disbelieving huff, because it’s been years since he let himself think about his own death and what would happen if he died. 

Buck shoots him a sad smile, but his familiar, adorable dimple makes an appearance, anyway.

“I never did.”

“Where is he?” Eddie asks, one hand moving to clutch onto his necklace. Buck’s smile turns softer, the skin around his eyes crinkling. Pride .

“At college,” he replies. “First year at Stanford.”

“Stanford,” Eddie echoes under his breath, eyes beginning to burn again. His little boy is at college . 

He’s missed out on his son growing up again. And this time, he couldn’t even do anything about it, didn’t even have the chance to fight his way back into Christopher’s life. 

Still, there is a sense of guilt piercing through his heart. He should’ve been there.

He was supposed to be there.

“Thank you,” he finally murmurs, barely above a whisper. His hands are still shaking when he looks down at them. “For taking care of him.”

Buck tilts his head down, his expression turning somber again. “In a way, we took care of each other , I guess. It was a hard time.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie mumbles, pressing his lips into a thin line in an attempt to not start crying again. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Eddie,” Buck replies softly, his voice still terribly raw from crying. “There’s nothing you should be sorry for.”

They exchange a smile, as hopeful as it is heartbreaking, and for a moment, Eddie feels at peace. Looking into Buck’s ocean eyes has always been the one thing to calm him down, like standing at the shore, listening to the sound of the sea. A sea he would drown in, if he allowed himself to stay long enough.

He would fall for any version of Buck, over and over again, Eddie realizes as he finally lets his eyes roam all over this new rendition of the face he knows so well, birthmark and scars and all. No matter how many years were to pass, at the very core, he will always be Buck , the man Eddie fell for beyond any rational thought. 

“Do you want something to drink?” Buck eventually asks, and it bursts the bubble they’d been caught in. And Eddie’s mouth is awfully dry, so he nods. They get up, Buck getting two water bottles from the fridge while Eddie sits down by the kitchen table. It’s still the same one, with the scratches and pencil marks from when Chris was young, and he almost tears up again at the sight, at the memories haunting his mind now. 

When they both sit at the table, Eddie looks around the room, finally taking it in in its entirety. The blue wall is new, and so is the fridge. The old one must’ve broken down. The familiar alphabet magnets hold up receipts, grocery lists, and strips printed by photo booths. There’s new mugs on the shelf, and a new faucet installed, too. But the frog sponge holder is still there, doing its job. 

It’s a spot-the-difference picture game with the memory that’s still so fresh in Eddie’s mind, an imagery that is outdated by five whole years.

It’s still almost impossible to grasp that he was gone for that long, and had simply reappeared in the same spot he faded from, not a day older, not a single bit different. 

Pushed back into a world that had moved on without him. 

He’s expendable now. Redundant. There is no space for Eddie Diaz in this world anymore.

The hole he’d left behind had simply grown over by poison ivy, only a memory, a silent tribute to what had once been.

“I went to a grievance counselor,” Buck’s voice rips through the silence. “I learned to live with the thought of you not being there anymore. And now… God, I don’t think there’s even a protocol for how to act when the person you grieved for five years is coming back. I—”

He pauses and catches Eddie’s gaze. 

“So, what I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry if I’m a little weird.”

“You’ve always been a little weird, Buck, I won’t have to adjust much,” Eddie jokes, his voice soft and weak. He’s tired. Like fading out and back into existence drained all his energy right out of him. It most possibly did.

“Can I ask you something?” Buck changes the subject. Eddie nods and holds onto his water bottle with a tight grip. The soft crinkles are loud in the brief silence.

“Before you… vanished ,” Buck begins, choking on his words, “you said you wanted to talk to me.”

Blood rushes to Eddie’s face, and he thinks he can hear it in his ears somehow. 

“I’ve been replaying that moment over and over again for five years,” Buck continues, and he can’t keep his gaze on Eddie, letting it sink to his hands that are fidgeting with the cap of his water bottle. “And it’s been haunting me, to say the least. To not know what you were about to tell me.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. 

“So?”

And Buck looks over at him so expectantly then, so full of anticipation, waiting to finally get a bit of peace over what happened five years ago, that Eddie crumbles. This is not at all the kind of situation he wanted to do this in.

He inhales, mentally prepares himself to finally say those words out loud, when there’s a familiar creak echoing through the house.

The front door.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Time seems to stand still for a moment. Eddie just sits there, unbreathing, jaw slack as he stares at Buck, whose cheeks have turned pink, whose eyes are now glued to his hands again.

Eddie tries to hold onto any coherent thought and listens to the sounds now echoing through the house. Metal clinking. Fabric rustling. Breathing—no, panting. Footsteps, two different rhythms, one slow and heavy, one quick and light.

Then, a voice, a guy appearing in the doorway.

“It’s pure madness out there, Buck. Everyone has reappeared, somehow? I wonder if Ed—”

Eddie doesn’t believe his eyes.

“Ravi?”

It’s a dream. It’s got to be, right? He pinches himself under the table, but apart from a small sting erupting on his thigh, nothing changes. All of this is really, genuinely happening. 

Ravi Panikkar has just entered this house, all casual, like he belonged here, and called out for… Honey ?

Eddie wishes he could fade out of existence for another five years.

“Eddie!” A happy, relieved grin is plastered onto the former probie’s face, but he remains standing in the doorway. His hair is shorter, his shoulders broader, but his eyes still have the same brown sparkle. “No way!”

And when a dog emerges from around the corner, all golden, long fur and bright, brown eyes, Eddie feels like he might actually faint.

“No,” he says, feeling oddly betrayed as he turns back to Buck, who blatantly ignores the dog immediately approaching him and bumping his leg with his head, begging to be pet. 

“Don’t tell me—” Eddie can’t bring himself to finish that sentence.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Buck quickly blurts, all apologetically with his hands in the air.

“A dog?” Eddie squeaks, and the dog, as if knowing it had been mentioned, pauses and stares over at him, still panting, jaw hanging open as it cocks its head. “You two live together and got a dog ?”

“ God , no,” Ravi scoffs, rolling up the leash and setting it onto the kitchen island. “I’m just the friendly neighborhood dog-sitter. … And apparently terrible at timing my jokes.”

Eddie looks over at him. He looks so mature, less like the almost innocent guy who had struggled so hard to become part of the group. More like a man, but still so Ravi in his very essence. 

“What?” he huffs, unable to process it all. The room is spinning again. One hit to the guts after the other, and barely any time to recover. The dog approaches and hesitantly sniffs Eddie’s jeans.

“It’s my dog, and my house,” Buck sighs, running one desperate hand through his curls. “Ravi is just…”—he throws one brief side glance at the former newbie—“helping me out at the moment.”

Eddie stares at the dog by his feet. A golden retriever with kind, sparkling eyes, a cowlick in the fur atop its head. Its pink nose is working, moving with every breath as it takes in this new scent suddenly in the kitchen. 

It was Eddie’s kitchen first. 

“Barkley, out,” Buck groans, gesturing toward the doorway, and the dog complies, trotting to the living room with a hanging head, claws clicking on the hardwood floors.

Ravi still stands by the island, looking rather out of place. Buck glances over at him.

“Rav, I—” he starts, but Ravi already knows, and holds up a placatory hand. 

“I’ll leave you two alone. Good to have you back, Eddie. Sorry for the scare.”

Eddie quietly watches him leave. Sirens blare outside, where the world is possibly one big chaos right now, confusion and relief and shock taking over. 

“I’m sorry,” Buck says after a while. Eddie finally rips his eyes off the doorway and looks back over at him, still overwhelmed.

“So you and Ravi aren’t—” he begins, unable to finish the sentence, and Buck sighs and shakes his head.

“Not anymore.”

Eddie’s brows shoot up, wrinkling his forehead, and he clutches onto his water bottle again, needing to busy his hands. Anymore . His jaw is tight, and he watches Buck uncomfortably squirm in his seat and keep his eyes anywhere but on him.

“We used to—uh.” he hesitantly starts, then clears his throat. “Hook up.”

Eddie blinks. “ Hook up ,” he echoes. Buck nods.

“To cope, I guess,” he mutters sheepishly, fidgeting with his hands. “But it was just… you know, physical . And we quickly figured out that we’re better off without the… benefits . He’s actually one of my best friends now.” 

Eddie blinks again. He feels replaced . Like Ravi had taken over a spot in Buck’s life that had always been solely reserved for Eddie Diaz without batting an eye. It feels he’s been tossed aside, like he wasn’t good enough anymore. And to think that they used to— he tries not to think about it too much.

But, the thing is, in their world, Eddie was supposed to be gone for good. Dead, ripped out of his life way too early. So, rationally, he knows that he shouldn’t be feeling this jealousy about them becoming close in whichever way, knows that this is what is ought to happen when you’re no longer part of someone’s life. Still, the feeling lingers. He pushes it aside for the time being, buries it deep under the weight of his thoughts. For now.

Buck meets his unwavering gaze and gulps, his throat working. “So.” He drags out the word, obviously unsure of what to say now.

Eddie draws in a sharp breath and sags in his seat. “So,” he sighs. “A dog.”

“You know I always wanted one,” Buck nods, visibly grateful for the change in topic. “And my therapist said it would help me feel less… lonely.”

A sharp sting pierces through Eddie’s heart. The thought of Buck, feeling alone all by himself in this house, is making him queasy. They’d just settled into a comfortable roommate routine together, for God’s sake. And Buck had to readjust again. 

And worse, it was yet another time Buck had been left behind by someone important to him, ripped from his life right before his very eyes this time, without the option to do anything about it. 

“And you named him Barkley . Barkley Buckley,” Eddie deadpans softly, to lighten the tension that’s lowering over them like a thick blanket. Buck scoffs, eyes closed as he shakes his head.

“It already was his name when I got him from the shelter, three years ago,” he explains in an amused voice, nostalgia laced into his tone. “I took one look at his face and just had a good feeling that it had to be him. Like it was fate or something.”

I know that feeling, Eddie wants to say. But he remains quiet, instead. 

+++

The others come over for dinner a few days later.

Ravi, Bobby and Athena, Karen and Hen, Chimney and Maddie, and all the kids, sans Chris—they’re all coming together in Buck’s house, eating the food Buck has cooked, from plates Buck bought after a minor earthquake had destroyed most of the old dishware a few years ago. 

All Eddie contributed to that dinner was driving to the store for some red wine.

This was once his life, with a space reserved for him, a seat saved at every table. Now, he sits on Christopher’s old desk chair, crushed between Maddie and Bobby, each turned away from him, caught up in their own conversations, while Eddie watches Jee-Yun help little Daniel squeeze ketchup onto his plate on the other side of the room.

He realizes something, and it hits him in the guts with a heavy fist. 

This version of him isn’t supposed to be at this table. He’s supposed to be pushing thirty-nine, with fine lines creasing his skin around his eyes and mouth. He’s supposed to be in the vacation photos pinned to the fridge, supposed to have memories of his son’s high school graduation. 

And God, he’s supposed to be out by now, to Buck and to the world.

Instead, he’s still his old self, and this outdated version of him simply should not be here.

He doesn’t fit into this new world.

It’s not like he isn’t happy about being back, but there’s that nagging feeling of misplacement sprawling around his heart, squeezing until it hurts.

Eddie Diaz, once best friend and father, now a burden to everyone, an inconvenience they have no choice but to work with. 

The overall mood at dinner is frisky and light, and all there is for everyone is that sense of relief and happiness, because finally, after five years of being broken apart, the family the 118 had become is complete again.

But Eddie just sits there, nursing his beer, and only speaks when someone addresses him, watching everyone laugh and share anecdotes about the past five years, updating the others on kids’ achievements and upcoming promotions.

After a while, he feels someone staring at him from across the table. When he turns his head, he meets Buck’s gaze, a compassionate expression in his face. There’s a silent question swimming in those oceans. Are you okay? 

Eddie forces a small smile and nods.

Buck frowns at that, and Eddie averts his gaze to inspect the droplets of condensation on his beer bottle’s neck.

He survives the dinner, somehow, and washes the dishes in silence while Buck cleans the table, an oddly domestic thing for them to do. It reminds him of the way things were a little over five years ago, when he’d just returned to Los Angeles and was technically a guest in his own house for weeks.

He recalls the morning he’d disappeared, the one Sunday that he’d chosen to be the day he’d come out to Buck. There’s the scent of coffee, the patter of the heavy rain against the windows, and Chris, fourteen years of age, bent over his math homework with a crease between his brows. And there’s Buck, in a white muscle shirt and gray sweats, smiling at him around his toothbrush, handsome as ever.

“Hey, Eddie,” Buck’s soft voice cuts through the silence, “I can finish up.”

“You don’t have to,” Eddie mumbles, pushing the wet, foamy sponge into the wine glass he’s holding. “I’m already at it.”

“You’re tired,” Buck urges, nudging Eddie’s shoulder with his. It ignites a spark, makes a weird, fuzzy tingle spread all over Eddie’s skin. 

“So are you,” Eddie simply says, firm but quiet. Barkley huffs and pads over to the water bowl by the back door. 

Buck seems to ponder for a minute, watching Eddie clean out the glasses and rinsing them under lukewarm water. “Then let me at least help you,” he decides, and gets a towel from the cabinet before beginning to dry off the dishes Eddie has already set aside. 

For a while, they just stand and wash the dishes. Barkley’s slurping sounds echo through the house. It feels weirdly empty now that everyone has gone home. 

Oddly enough, Eddie feels like crying again. Like the pressure to appear like he’s okay has finally fallen off him, making way for everything he’s kept bottled up all day. He draws in a deep breath, his lungs aching, and his chest is trembling, giving him away.

“I’m serious, I can take over,” Buck offers again, almost urgingly, like he’s trying to suggest something. “We’re almost done, anyway.”

“Buck,” Eddie snaps, but his voice is weak, his shoulders sagged. “Stop it.”

“I’m just trying to—”

“To what?” Eddie groans, and his eyes get dangerously tingly. “All you’ve been doing since I came back is showing me that you don’t need me anymore. You don’t let me help, don’t let me be a part of anything. And it hurts, Buck. It really fucking hurts.”

The silence rings in his ears. Blinking tears away, he stares at his hands, wrinkly from the water. He can feel Buck staring at him, and he takes a deep breath before continuing to clean off another wine glass.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs after a while, and he sounds so brittle and overwhelmed that Eddie can’t help but turn his head. He finds Buck’s brows bunched up in the middle, a glassy sheen over his eyes like a veil. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like—”

“Like you don’t actually want me to be here?” Eddie finishes his sentence when he pauses too long. Buck huffs and looks up, blinking. 

“Of course I want you to be here,” he urges gently, “You know that, right?”

He meets Eddie’s gaze and bites his cheek. “Right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Eddie mumbles half-heartedly. “I know you’ve learned to not have me around anymore, but— I’m here, Buck. I’m here, even though neither of us wants me to be.”

He can’t handle this anymore. With shaky hands, he sets down the wine glass, still covered in bubbles, puts the sponge in the stupid frog sponge holder, and walks out.

Buck lets him. 

But later, when Eddie walks past his bedroom, he can hear muffled sobs filtering through the door. 

There’s an itch in his fingertips, an urge to knock on the door that once was his , but he refrains. A dull ache begins to clutch around his heart, but he knows he’d be unwanted in there. He’s the reason for all of this, after all. It was his words that have caused Buck to break down, his return that has uprooted Buck’s perfectly balanced new life. 

Eddie has lost the right to console him.

And so, he bites his cheek, lets his shoulders drop in a quiet sigh, and goes back to bed.

He barely sleeps.

+++

They don’t mention their fight. Like, at all. 

It kills Eddie, slowly and steadily, a knife twisted in his heart anytime he looks over at Buck, bulky, beautiful Buck, who’s dropping his gaze every time. 

A few days after their fallout, Eddie walks into the kitchen, his eyes aching and his limbs in desperate need of a stretch. Buck stands by the stove, making scrambled eggs. The sizzle of the pan is the only sound in the house right now. Barkley sits patiently on the ground next to his owner, looking up in hopes of a snack falling from the sky.

“Morning,” Eddie tries, the first word he’s saying today, so his voice is raspy and breaks halfway through the word. Buck doesn’t turn.

“Hey,” he replies, eyes glued to the way he’s moving the spatula around the pan. It sounds so hostile that Eddie feels like he might be sick. 

Wordlessly, he opens the fridge to get out a bottle of water. He’s in a tank top and some athletic shorts, his hair unruly from the restless night.

“Breakfast?” Buck asks tiredly, finally turning his head. There are dark circles under his blank eyes. “I’m making eggs.”

“No, thank you. Going for a run.”

It’s a simple declination of breakfast. A simple, valid response. To Eddie, it feels like a kick to the guts. Guilt floods him as soon as he stops talking, and he gulps. He feels like he should’ve said yes, build a bridge over the canyon that had cleaved between them last night. 

But to his surprise, Buck nods, an understanding look in his eyes.

It hits Eddie that he remembers , still knows that Eddie doesn’t like to eat anything before a workout, because it makes him queasy.

“I can make some more once you come back,” Buck offers, and it’s such a nice, attentive thing for him to say that Eddie almost doesn’t catch the edge in his voice.

“Sure,” he says, a weird tug on his heart. “Sounds good.”

Silence spreads, and Buck pours his eggs out of the pan and onto a plate, a few crumbs falling off. He grunts and picks up the steaming hot pieces with two fingers, flicking them back to the rest.

Eddie is about to turn when Buck speaks again.

“Would you mind taking Barkley with you?” He points to the dog.

“Uh,” Eddie stammers. It’s not like he doesn’t like dogs in general. But somehow, he has the feeling that Barkley is suspicious of him, like he can smell the fact that this Eddie doesn’t belong in this timeline. It’s in the way he keeps staring up at him, bright amber eyes with darker patterns around the iris, like he can somehow see into his soul. 

He wonders if Barkley can smell love.

“He loves to run,” Buck carries on, bending down to ruffle the short fur atop the Golden’s head. Barkley leans into the touch and closes his eyes. “But I can’t take him that often anymore.”

Eddie doesn’t ask. He doesn’t have to. Even after five years, Buck still stands the same, weight shifted to not put too much pressure on his botched leg. Apparently, it has gotten worse over time, to the point where taking a demanding, overactive dog on frequent runs has become close to impossible. 

The guilt is back. It wraps around his heart and squeezes, and Eddie takes a deep breath.

“Sure, I’ll take him with me,” he caves as he blows out a sigh. 

“Great, thanks, man,” Buck replies, setting his breakfast plate down. “I’ll get his stuff.”

Man. Eddie bites his cheek. It’s the first time since his return that Buck has addressed him as something other than Eddie , and of course it’s the most impersonal, distant nickname to exist. 

Buck comes back with a leash in his hand, the kind that can be tied around the waist, specifically made for running. Barkley is already in his harness, a dark gray fabric spanning over his torso, his long fur spilling over the edges.

Wordlessly, Buck untangles the leash and helps Eddie put it on. He’s so close that Eddie can smell his cologne. It’s still the same one he used five years ago. Memories bubble up in his mind. Images from the bachelor party, the poker night, the day Buck had come out to him. They all have this same exact scent. 

Eddie watches as Buck squats, a brief grimace flicking over his face when his knee cracks. He ruffles Barkley’s fur and presses a kiss to his snout.

“Have fun,” he says. And even though he doesn’t say any names, Eddie knows that it wasn’t him Buck was talking to. It’s Barkley, and only Barkley.

Suddenly, Eddie’s legs feel like lead. It’s almost like Buck used that leash to fasten him to the ground, too. He quietly watches Buck get back up, stifling a pained groan, biting his cheek before he walks past them, over to where his breakfast is getting cold. Barkley sits by Eddie’s feet, waiting.

“Let’s go,” Eddie murmurs, and when he looks over his shoulder, he sees Buck dig into his eggs, one hand swiping on his phone. 

It’s only then that Eddie realizes that Buck hasn’t looked him in the eye all morning.

And it hurts him, like someone’s fist is closing around his heart, because even now, he can’t stop loving this man. That feeling in his chest won’t go away, even if part of him wishes it would.

Because it would definitely be easier if it did.

He leaves the house at eight thirty a.m. The neighborhood is quiet, the air chilly, and the sun is shining from above with no real force, no warmth reaching down through the atmosphere. It smells like rain. 

For a while, Eddie just walks. His legs tingle, and he watches Barkley smell every other lamppost and mailbox as they make their way to the park. It’s a twenty-minute walk from the house, and when Chris was younger, Eddie used to take him here all the time. Now, it almost looks gray in the morning light, like a tired soldier keeping guard of the memories in Eddie’s mind. 

Barkley keeps turning to look up at him, the corners of his mouth turned up, his tongue hanging out. He knows what’s coming. Eddie halts and stretches his arms over his head, throws his head back to look at the clouds above them, and breathes. 

And for a moment, it’s like nothing has changed.

The sky is still the same, after all. A grayish blue peppered with white, fleecy clouds, promising sunshine for later. Eddie almost expects a nine-year-old Chris to look up at him from behind his glasses when he relaxes and glances back down. 

It’s only Barkley. Of course.

“Come on, boy,” he huffs, and falls into a slow, steady jog. Excitedly, Barkley lets out a bark, a triumphant yell through the emptiness of the park, and begins to trot along.

It feels liberating to be running again. He huffs and puffs, savoring the ache that’s spreading through his legs after a while. 

When Eddie glances down at the dog, he figures that maybe, their shared fondness of going for a good run might just be what’s connecting them.

After a while, they’re both out of breath, so Eddie steers them toward a bench by the side of the path. His legs scream when he sits down, and he stretches them out to soothe the ache. Barkley lays down in the shadows, panting. 

“I underestimated you,” Eddie says to him after a while. “You’re a better running buddy than I thought you’d be.”

Barkley cocks his head and looks up at him, tongue hanging out of his mouth. 

Maybe, just maybe, he could get used to this new version of the world, to this new life he got thrown into.

He could , if Buck would let him in.

When he returns to the house, Buck sits on the couch, reading a book, while the radio plays softly in the background. He doesn’t stir when the door creaks open.

“We’re back,” Eddie announces quietly, unfastening the leash from Barkley’s harness. The dog, tired but content, trots over with a slow wag of his tail and hops onto the couch, nestling against Buck’s thigh. Without looking up from his book, Buck begins to absently stroke his long, golden fur.

“It was fine, thank you for asking,” Eddie grunts under his breath, running one hand through his sweaty hair as he walks past them to the kitchen to get a water.

There’s a plate of cold scrambled eggs on the kitchen table, a fork placed next to it. 

He shovels a few bites into his mouth. It’s delicious, of course. He then grabs a glass of water, downs it in one go, and walks to the guest room to get ready for a shower.

His phone is on his nightstand, waiting for him with a new message. He arches a brow, because he only got this phone a few days ago, along with a new number he didn’t yet give to anybody.

Except Buck.

He opens it, finding a forwarded screenshot in his inbox, nothing else. No text, no explanation. Just one image suspended in the gaping silence of their message thread.

It’s a flight booking confirmation. The name at the top reads Christopher Diaz . 

Eddie’s heart leaps. His son is coming down to L.A. tomorrow. He’s about to go back to the living room and share his excitement with his best friend, but stops after one step toward the door.

He reacts with a thumbs up, instead, and leaves his phone on his bed before quietly dragging himself to the bathroom. 

The shower is hot, a welcome ache on his skin as he lets the water patter on his tense neck and shoulders. He closes his eyes and lets himself sink into the sting, the dull burn, the way his legs buzz with the threat of an oncoming muscle ache.

There’s a smile flickering onto his face without him noticing. There’s a sliver of hope coursing through his veins now, mixing with all the doubt and guilt he’s been feeling lately, because his son is coming home tomorrow. 

He lathers his body and hair with soap, rinses, and turns the shower off. When he steps out of the steamy tub, he does it carefully in order to not slip, but remembers that Buck has placed a bath rug on the ground to prevent just that. 

Attentive, amazing Buck. Always thinking ahead. Always looking out for everyone around him.

The towels are soft and smell like fresh laundry so often does. Eddie dries himself off and puts on a pair of short sweatpants and a t-shirt. Gray-in-gray, to match the current state of his soul.

When he returns to the living room, he finds Barkley curled up on his blanket underneath the window, softly snoring in the sun. The book Buck has been reading lays face-down on the coffee table, spine broken in multiple places. An empty coffee mug sits beside it.

“This came for you.”

It startles him, and he whirls around to find Buck standing in the doorway to the dining room, one hand raised, holding out an envelope.

“What’s that?” Eddie asks, but steps closer to take it, anyway. Buck shrugs.

“It’s from the Fire Department,” he says, and Eddie turns it to indeed find the LAFD’s address as the sender. “Might be something regarding your return to the 118.”

Warmth fills Eddie’s chest. He’s applied to return to his old station mere days after returning from wherever he faded to five years ago. He takes a deep breath and rips the envelope open with a swift yet controlled move.

“Hey, Eddie?” Buck then breaks the emerging silence once again, and Eddie pauses to look up at him.

“Yeah?”

“I’d really like it if you’d come back to work with us.”

Eddie shoots him a tired smile. “Aren’t you still mad at me?”

“I can still mean it,” Buck admits, staring down at his feet. Eddie turns the envelope in his hand, traces the edge of where he ripped it open with his thumb.

“And you do ? Mean it?” he asks, doing everything in his power to not give into that gravitational pull, that urge to step closer to Buck, smell his cologne and see the darker specs in his bright eyes. 

“Of course I do,” Buck mumbles, briefly looking up at Eddie, ocean crashing on shore for the first time in days. It elicits a wave of goosebumps all over Eddie’s clammy skin.

“And did you mean what you said the other night?” Buck asks, and Eddie feels his breath catching in his throat when he nods.

“I did,” he quietly replies, forcing himself to keep the eye contact up, as if looking away would mean he’ll never get to drown in Buck’s eyes ever again. “It just came out a little wrong.”

Buck shifts, leaning against the door frame like he struggles to remain upright. “You accused me of not wanting you in my life anymore.”

Eddie blinks away the vignette closing around his vision and draws in a deep breath. “Because that’s how you made me feel.”

“So what you said didn’t come out wrong at all,” Buck states, and if Eddie listens closely, there’s a brittle, shaky undertone to it all. “It came out honest. ”

It makes Eddie want to escape. But he knows that this is necessary. He doesn’t want to live in a world where Buck and he are mad at one another, no matter what year it is. 

“It’s not that I don’t want you in my life anymore,” Buck says after a few moments of pondering his next words. “I just— You were gone. Everyone assumed you were dead. And I had Chris, and Maddie, who’d lost her husband the same way, and— I just had to keep going, somehow. I had to live a life without you in it because I didn’t have a choice .”

He sounds mad, but also exhausted all the same. Eddie watches him leaning his head against the door frame and closing his eyes for a second. A prickling sensation emerges in his throat and nose. He sniffs and straightens his back, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I know you didn’t have a choice,” he mumbles quietly. “I know that, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. To see the way you’ve moved on, built an entirely new life without me.”

Buck takes a shaky breath and chases Eddie’s eyes with his own. “It’s been five years, Eddie.”

“It’s been five seconds for me.” 

These words land between them like a ticking bomb waiting to detonate. Eddie can’t quite believe he said it. But it’s true. For him, no time has passed. He’s still the same Eddie he was five years ago, because to him, those five years simply didn’t exist.

“I know,” Buck breathes. There’s a sheen in his eyes that tells Eddie he’s not the only one with a knot in his throat. “God, Eddie. I know .”

“You don’t know how it feels,” Eddie says quietly. “To skip five years like this. I literally blinked a few times and got thrown into a world I can barely recognize, to a best friend who moved on and built a new life without me in it.”

The words are sharp like knives, and Buck flinches with every single one thrown at him.

“Well,” he begins after a few beats of silence, “you don’t know how it feels to grieve someone for five years, get over their death in countless hours of therapy, and have them come back like nothing happened.”

Eddie’s jaw ticks. He takes a breath, wants to say something, but Buck continues.

“And it’s not like either of us chose this, I am well aware of that. But it’s so hard to see you, knowing what you’ve missed, knowing that you’ll never be able to catch up again. Fuck, Eddie, I’m older than you now. By four and a half years.”

Eddie takes a step back. The truth sinks into his marrow like a venom, and he can’t speak. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“I am so unbelievably happy to have you back, okay?” Buck finishes, a tremor in his voice. “But I have to learn to make space for you in my life again, and that takes time. And I’m sorry it hurts you. I’m sorry you feel like you don’t belong. It’s the last thing I want, for both of us. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie can only nod in response.

Neither of them speaks for what feels like hours. The silence is suffocating, but they just keep standing there, gazing at each other through a blur of dawning tears. 

“You should read that letter,” Buck mumbles after a while, and Eddie’s gaze drops to the envelope in his hand, now crumpled in his grip. “I bet it’s good news.”

With trembling hands, Eddie slips the paper out and unfolds it, smooths over it as best as he can. He blinks to clear his vision and begins to read, his blood loud in his ears. Buck’s steady breath reaches him through a haze, a constant reminder that he is here. Buck is here, six feet away, and he’s not leaving.

The words are swimming on the page. There’s his name, Edmundo Diaz, at the top, and the sigil of the fire chief at the bottom. Everything in between is a blur, no matter how much he’s blinking. A tear falls onto the paper, crinkling it, diluting the ink.

“What does it say?” Buck asks hesitantly, and the floor creaks under his weight when he steps closer. “Eddie?”

“I– I don’t know,” Eddie utters under his breath, and he feels the paper softly being taken from his shaky grip. He tries to catch his breath, but his lungs seem way too small again. 

A hand lands on his arm. Warm and soft, with a few calloused spots rough to the touch. It ignites a wildfire in Eddie’s chest, and he bites his tongue, forcing himself to take deep, steady breaths.

“You’ll start next month,” Buck whispers, and Eddie breaks. His entire body is sagging, and his knees feel like they’re about to give in, like they’re made of jell-o. The only thing keeping him up is Buck’s firm yet gentle grip on his arm.

“ Gracias a dios ,” he gasps, and Buck squeezes. 

“Told you it’d be good news,” he teases, voice raw. Eddie rolls his eyes and chuckles through the tears. 

“Fuck, yes, you did.”

“And I was right,” Buck urges, and there’s a lightness to his tone that has Eddie want to kiss him. He doesn’t, of course. He couldn’t possibly.

“You were,” he scoffs instead. Buck laughs, even if it’s weak. The best sound in the world, right in Eddie’s ears.

“As I so often am.”

And when Eddie playfully pushes him for it, making contact with Buck’s shoulder for the first time in forever, it briefly feels like he’s actually, genuinely going to be okay.

+++

The car door slams, and Eddie flinches. He sits on the couch, pretending to read the newspaper, Barkley on the couch, his head on top of Eddie’s thigh. 

“Sorry, boy, gotta go,” Eddie whispers, and carefully slips away. The dog wakes anyway, but doesn’t move apart from a joyful tail wag, simply watches as Eddie rushes out the front door.

“Sorry we’re late. Traffic was awful,” Buck greets him from afar, walking around the truck. He’s in dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt that’s too tight around his arms, the fabric straining around his working biceps when he opens the passenger door. He looks so effortlessly good that it hurts, like a piece of art in a museum Eddie never wants to leave again.

Eddie, trying to focus on the more important thing happening right now, stands by the porch steps and waits. His heart flutters in anticipation, and he’s wringing his hands nervously in front of his stomach. 

“There you go, buddy,” he hears Buck say, and he watches him gather the crutches from the backseat and hand them to Chris, who’s slowly making his way out of the car. “Careful. Watch your head.”

“Stop fussing, Buck,” Christopher groans. His voice is deeper, less smooth around the edges, like the finest grit of sandpaper on Eddie’s eardrums. “I’m fine.”

Buck looks up, and his eyes immediately search for Eddie’s face. There’s a slight smile on his lips, and he quickly smoothes over his curls to get them out of his face. They’d sat at the kitchen table last night, the radio running quietly in the background while they slowly emptied a six-pack of beer, and finally talked about how excited Eddie was to see his son—and how scared. They’d sat there until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore, until Eddie’s words blurred into one another because of how tired he was, and Buck sent him off to bed like he was a sullen teenager.

It had been the first night since his return that Eddie slept peacefully in that guest bed.

“Dad!” Chris exclaims, hurrying as fast as he can to where his father is standing. And when he finally stands right before him, Eddie notices that his little boy is now exactly as tall as him. A sting pierces through his soul, something evil laced with guilt again, and he presses his lips together and scrunches his nose as he grins.

“Hi, Chris,” he says softly, and before he knows it, Chris is closing the distance between them and wraps his arms around him as best as he can, crutches clashing behind his back.

“This is so surreal,” his son speaks into his shoulder, and Eddie hugs him back, holding him impossibly close. He glances up to see Buck leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed, a proud, affectionate expression on his face, smile and all.

Eddie smiles back at him and closes his eyes, burying his face in his son’s hair, pressing a dry kiss there. Chris laughs.

“Dad,” he scolds breathily. “My hair.”

“Sorry,” Eddie chuckles, pulling him in closer before letting go, hands on Chris’ shoulders, to take a good look at him. His jaw is more angular, a trace of stubble freshly shaved away, but his brown hair is still just as unruly, his hazel eyes just as soft. They remind Eddie of his own when he was younger, and it hits him. This is his son, his flesh and blood, a part of his heart and soul, standing on his own two feet.

His gaze lingers on this new version of the face he’s known since it was round with baby fat, and pride begins to swell in his chest. But the guilt is still there too, coursing through him like blood, like it’s woven into him now, something he will never be able to fully shake.

“God, you’ve grown up so much,” he chuckles, and Chris shrugs, a smile on his lips. There are tears of joy and relief in his eyes, but he won’t let them fall. Eddie notices he’s still wearing the same type of glasses, only with dark green accents instead of red.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come down earlier,” Chris says woefully, glancing down at his feet. “But I couldn’t get any flights in the chaos of everyone returning. And it’s not like I can drive.”

“I’m just glad you’re here now,” Eddie assures him, and can’t help but lovingly pinch his cheeks. Chris rolls his eyes, but smiles.

“Let’s go inside,” Buck softly interrupts their moment, and he walks past them, his hand nudging Eddie’s shoulder in a silent reassurement. “It’s getting cold.”

Eddie lets Chris enter the house first. It’s comforting to know that despite everything, this is still the house he spent most of his life in. Even if his own father couldn’t be there for him.

For five years, Christopher Diaz had been an orphan.

Barkley starts from his slumber at the commotion by the front door. He jumps off the sofa and happily rushes to greet Chris, snuggling around his legs, letting out joyful little huffs just short of becoming barks.

“Hi, Barkley,” Chris laughs, and makes his way over to the couch. He carries himself differently now. More sublime, more mature. Even with his struggle to walk, it’s obvious that he’s an adult now. He plops down into the soft cushions, props his crutches up next to him, and opens his arms for Barkley, who immediately takes on the opportunity of a cuddle.

“Is anyone else hungry, or is that just me?” Buck asks, already on his way to the kitchen. “I could make something.”

“I could eat,” Chris nods, turning to look at Eddie. “Dad?”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Buck two rooms over. “If you need help—”

“I’m fine. Talk to your son. He’s got a lot to catch you up on.”

And so, Eddie plops down onto the couch right next to his adult son and the dog, who’s halfway sprawling across his legs, belly up. Chris scratches a spot right by his left front leg, and it begins to twitch. 

Then, Chris takes a deep breath and begins to talk.

About his high school graduation. The therapy sessions. The time he and Buck took Maddie on a trip to Disneyland. The first time that someone mistook Buck for his father, and Chris didn’t correct them. 

His admission letter to Stanford that he and Buck opened by the kitchen table with tears of joy in their eyes, and the way Barkley almost ate the damn letter after stealing it from Chris’ hands. 

Eddie doesn’t ask, but Chris answers, anyway. Marine biology. He’s studying to become a marine biologist, and he’s even taking a class on seismology this semester, too.

He lives in a dorm on campus with a good friend of his, Spencer. 

And when he tells the story of how he met Liv, his girlfriend , Eddie can’t help but smile. 

“You have to meet her sometime,” Chris smiles. “I think you’d like her.”

“I’m sure I will,” Eddie nods, and his mind is spinning with everything he’s just learned about this young man in front of him. “I really missed a lot, didn’t I?”

The words are like a punch to the gut.

His son shoots him a sad smile, but there’s a glimpse of relief and happiness swimming in his eyes that makes Eddie push his dark feelings aside for now.

But later that day, when the sun has made way for the moon, he sits on the couch and stares into nothing. Chris is sleeping in his old room, and the house is so quiet that Eddie thinks he can hear the blood rush through his body at rapid speeds. 

He clutches onto a half-empty bottle of beer and stares. His chest is heaving quickly, his aching knuckles are white, and his vision blurs with every blink. A stiff breeze makes the windows creak, but he doesn’t react, doesn’t move. His face feels hot, like he’s just spent ten minutes upside down.

Only Barkley appearing next to him out of nowhere finally elicits a reaction from him. He gasps, his gaze snapping to the ground before him, where a panting dog tilts his head and stares up at him. 

He meets the Golden’s eyes, finally realizing how numb he feels, how small his lungs seem to be, how cold it seems to be in here all of a sudden.

Barkley huffs and rests his head atop Eddie’s knee. And it feels like Eddie has been frozen in motion, because he can’t move, no matter how badly he wants to. He wants to set down that cold, wet beer bottle. He wants to reach out and scratch that one spot behind the dog’s ears, watch his eyes flutter shut in enjoyment. 

But he can’t. All there is right now is the stinging pain in his chest and the feeling of suffocation in a perfectly ventilated, dark room.

When Barkley bumps his knee again, more urgent, he feels hot tears rolling down his cheeks, dropping off his face and onto his jeans. Barkley huffs again, then leaves, his tail lazily wagging as he trots away.

Eddie still stares at the place the dog had just been in. His hands are shaking, and his breath is unsteady, too. His mind is a chaos. A tornado, ripping everything with it, swirling it around in the air. 

The guilt is back. A dark, acid feeling. It’s guilt, laced with regret and the question of What if . 

What if he had never disappeared? What if he could’ve been the father he’d always wanted to be? And what if he’d been able to come out to Buck that Sunday morning five years ago?

And there’s something else, something even darker, something even more haunting:

What if he’d never come back? Would everyone’s lives be easier, would they be better off living with the memory of Eddie than actually having him back in their lives?

They’d all adjusted to a new life without him, and he’d just come back and messed everything up. 

He feels like an imposter to a life that shouldn’t include him, but now has to, anyway.

Eddie feels like he’s drowning in that feeling, head reeling, room spinning, stars dancing around his vision.

His breath grows so quick that the air is barely reaching his lungs anymore, and he sits and cries, not even noticing the way the cushions beside him dip down until there’s a heavy, hot hand on his knee, the other gently taking the bottle out of his hands and setting it on the table.

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, and it reaches Eddie through a haze, a layer of cotton. “What’s wrong?”

And Eddie gasps, something between a sob and a breath, and croaks, “Everything.”

Buck doesn’t ask further questions. 

“You need to breathe,” he mutters instead, his hand wandering from Eddie’s knee to his arm. “Hey, Eddie, can you look at me, please?”

It takes Eddie so much strength, almost everything he still has left in him, to turn his head, exposing his tear-streaked face to Buck, his blood-shot eyes and dry lips. 

“Let’s take a few breaths together, okay?” 

Eddie attempts a nod, but he’s not sure if his head is actually moving. His body feels ten tons heavier, his limbs seem to be glued in place. He can’t remember if it’s ever been this bad.

“In,” Buck instructs quietly, demonstrating, his entire upper body inflating. Eddie tries to copy him, but his lungs hurt, so he just pants like the goddamn dog.

“Out. You’re doing great,” Buck lies, and he wants to comment on it, but his mouth is too dry to speak. But they sit and breathe together until his mind stops swimming.

In. Out. In. Out. Good. Again. In. Out. In. Out. 

It’s been years since he’s had a panic attack, but the last time, it had been accompanied by the uncontrollable urge to destroy, to hit something. Now, there’s just emptiness. A black hole that is going to swallow his entire soul if he’s not careful—or that’s what it feels like, anyway.

“F-five seconds,” he stammers, falling backward into the cushions, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling. Shadows cast in from outside dance around the white surface, and he watches them, his breath becoming calmer and calmer every second.

“What?” Buck asks, so quietly it’s barely audible, and yet, it feels like he’s just screamed into the night. 

“I was gone five seconds, ” Eddie cries, trying to keep his voice down to not wake Chris. “And I’ve missed my son growing up. I missed my little boy becoming an adult. I couldn’t even say goodbye, Buck, and now he’s nineteen and so tall and grown up— and I wasn’t there to witness it happening, and—”

The words die in his throat, and he just looks up at the moving shadows above them, his heart pumping like crazy. It skips a beat when Buck’s hand slides down his arm and gently entwines their fingers, palm-to-palm. 

“It’s not your fault,” Buck gently says after a while, and Eddie tiredly closes his eyes.

“I don’t care,” he replies weakly. “I don’t care whose fault it was. I was supposed to be there, and I wasn’t, and it hurts .”

Buck leans into the backrest next to him, and Eddie can feel the way his pitying gaze rests on his face, but they don’t talk for a while. They just sit on the sofa, darkness swallowing them, holding hands.

He doesn’t know how much time is passing. It could be anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, but eventually, he speaks into the silence with a dry throat, his voice grating on his own eardrums.

“Did Barkley come and get you, or did I imagine that?” 

Buck sighs, and Eddie can hear the smile in it. It warms his heart like a thick blanket, and he boldly lets his thumb caress the smooth skin of Buck’s hand that’s still in his.

He feels Buck squeezing his hand ever so lightly in return.

“He did,” Buck answers quietly. “He actually was supposed to become a service dog for people with anxiety disorder, but he was disqualified for being too unfocused and overactive. I guess he still remembers a little something of what he’s learned.”

Silence spreads again, and Eddie smiles into the darkness. “He’s a good dog.”

“Remind me of that when he tries to chew the towels again,” Buck groans, and they both chuckle at that, chests light and mind back to steady ground.

They’re not letting go of each other’s hands until Eddie—involuntarily—falls asleep. He feels Buck’s eyes resting on him the entire time, less pitying and more attentive with every breath taken.

When he wakes the next morning and finds a blanket draped over him, the fuzzy feeling in his chest returns.

+++

Buck asks him to join him for a trip to the store a few days later. It’s not a big deal, not really. Except to Eddie, it kind of is. 

It’s a step in the right direction. A leap back into what their friendship used to be, doing everything together, as mundane as it might be, just for the sake of not doing it alone. 

The return of a certain normalcy to Eddie’s life. He’d spent the past few nights staring at the ceiling of the guest room, unable to sleep, because his mind was a complete whirlwind of thoughts. There was the memory of how Buck’s palm felt pressed against his own, and the lingering feeling of being redundant. 

The way Buck had consoled him, hadn’t judged him for breaking down, had simply made sure Eddie was going to be okay—it made Eddie wonder. 

If his feelings, ever so present and persistent like weeds growing in his heart, might have the slightest, faintest chance of getting reciprocated after all.

But then again, he was in severe distress, and Buck is trained to help people who are.

So, to Eddie, it’s all just wishful thinking. A nice thought to have, nothing more.

He steals secret glances in Buck’s direction as they sit in the car, a Taylor Swift song softly playing, barely loud enough to be heard over the buzz of the engine. It’s been a few days since his panic attack. 

A few days since Buck had taken his hand and entwined their fingers. 

Eddie is still replaying the moment in his head, over and over again, because it’s the only thing he really remembers from that night. The only clear memory through the haze of his despair, and it’s the way Buck’s hand had felt in his.

He could’ve said it right then. Take a deep breath and finally tell Buck what he’d wanted to tell him before he disappeared. I’m gay. 

But he didn’t. He’d only just started to get his life back, to get Buck back. He wouldn’t have wanted to risk ruining that again. 

He’s gone back to not feeling ready again, and it hurts.

“You’re quiet today,” Buck says. His fingers tap to the beat of the song, and he stops at a red light, giving him the opportunity to glance over at Eddie.

For a split second, their eyes meet. 

Eddie looks away first.

“Just caught up in my thoughts,” he replies, not the full truth, but still not a lie, either. The light turns green, and the truck rolls forward again.

“Anything you want to share?” Buck asks gently. Oh, if he only knew.

“No, but thanks,” Eddie mutters. Not yet. 

Buck doesn’t push. He simply nods, lips in a tight line. They stay quiet for the rest of the drive. Eddie just stares out the window, deliberately turning his head away from Buck. The world is rushing past him in a blur, and he makes out hardware shops and taco trucks that seem familiar yet foreign all at once.

The area is comfortably familiar to Eddie. One street over, there’s a farmer’s market on Tuesdays, where he and Chris used to go and get their fresh produce whenever they could afford to. With those fond memories playing through his mind, he can’t help but smile, nostalgia rushing through him. It’s a little weird, though, that in his head, the weekly trip to the market was surely less than five years ago. In reality, it’s been almost ten years. 

That’s when the last bit of joy leaves him again, and he bites his tongue. Moments of happiness seem to be more fleeting than anything else lately, hints at what could have been. What should’ve been. If only.

Buck stops the car in a parking space close to the entrance and turns to the right. Eddie can feel the shift in the silence like a blast of wind shaking him up. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Eddie’s eyes snap to Buck’s in an instant. There is this nagging feeling that Buck knows something, maybe knows the way Eddie can’t stop thinking about how warm and soft his skin had been against his own, or knows the words that have been lingering on the tip of his tongue for what feels like an eternity by now. 

“I know,” Eddie says casually, offering Buck a small yet sincere smile. He forces himself to keep the eye contact up for just a moment longer than he normally does, and this time, it’s Buck to look away first. 

“Good,” he mumbles, and Eddie’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or not.

So, he sighs, gathers himself, and says, “Let’s go, Buck,” before quickly exiting the truck, walking off to get a cart without daring to look back.

When they enter the store, the air is wonderfully cool and dry, a wonderful contrast to the humid warmth outside. Eddie pushes the cart through the sliding doors, and Buck follows as he checks his list, almost indecipherable strokes of ink on a crumpled piece of paper. He’s always had terrible handwriting.

“Avocados,” Buck states, like it’s a fact, and rushes off. With a smile on his face, Eddie follows him to the vegetable section and watches him pick up a net of bright green avocados, inspecting them in the neon light with a squint. It’s adorable. 

They move through the aisles, Buck leading the way to the next product on his shopping list. Eddie just trails after him, marveling at the amount of labels he doesn’t know sitting in the shelves. How can the world have changed so much and yet so little in those five years?

He stands and stares at the stack of canned tomato sauce, and he starts to get lost in his thoughts again, but Buck comes back into his field of vision, three cardboard boxes in his grasp. Eddie recognizes the packaging instantly. 

His favorite pasta. He’d always bought that exact shape and brand whenever there’d been a bit more money left at the end of the month. It was so delicious but kind of pricey, and so it had turned into something he and Chris ate on more or less special occasions. It was also easy to cook, which was good.

Buck smiles and nods down to where the three boxes are poorly stacked in his arms.

“Your favorite, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods, a little taken aback. The fuzzy feeling in his chest grows larger again. “You remembered.”

Buck shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Of course I did.”

When their eyes meet this time, there’s something different in Buck’s baby blues. Something anticipatory, something waiting. But he blinks, and it’s gone, so Eddie must have imagined things again. He steps forward and takes the boxes out of Buck’s cradle, fingertips grazing the soft skin of his bicep in the meantime. 

He wonders if he’s the only one who’s felt that electric buzz.

“Thanks,” he genuinely smiles, and lowers the pasta into the cart, where the boxes clumsily land atop cartons of oat milk and a few bags of flour. Buck takes the list out of his jeans’ pocket and smoothes it out with his hands, but it’s beyond repair. It’s cute, the way he frantically tries to somehow get rid of the wrinkles, pulling on the edges, pouting when he realizes it’s not working. 

“I think that’s everything,” he nods, looking back and forth between their filled cart and the list. Then, his eyes snap to Eddie, who just stands and waits, hands on his hips. “Or is there something else you want, Eds?”

Eddie tries to brush past the nickname and ponders for a moment, goes over what they have in the fridge and what they’re about to buy in his mind, and there’s only one thing he can think of—even though he’s not exactly sure why. He looks around the store, scans the shelves surrounding them, and then turns back to Buck.

“Orange juice,” he finally suggests. “I’m in the mood for orange juice.”

Buck chuckles, arms crossed in front of his chest like he knows how his biceps look good enough to eat when he does that. “Sure, let’s get you some juice.”

“No pulp,” Eddie reminds him when they reach the correct aisle, endless rows of different sized bottles of juice all around them. Buck squats and picks a gallon of pulp-free orange juice from the lowest shelf.

“I know,” he smirks, getting up and pretending to toss the heavy container in Eddie’s direction, chuckling when he flinches in response. “I know you, Eddie.”

Eddie blames his high heart rate on the scare Buck gave him just a few moments ago and laughs to cover it up. His gaze catches on the way Buck’s shoulders ripple beneath his tight t-shirt when he lowers the juice into the cart.

“Yeah, you do.” Almost entirely.

Almost.

+++

Eddie doesn’t know why he’s agreed to be here. He’s packed away in a booth, sitting across the table from Buck and Ravi. The bar is dark, only green and blue neon lights dancing over the ceiling, and it smells like sweat and alcohol.

It had been Ravi’s idea to come to this shady bar. Eddie would’ve preferred to stay home, but he wasn’t given much of a choice. Buck had simply tossed a black v-neck tee at him and told him that the Uber would be at their house in five minutes.

Turns out, it hadn’t actually been a spontaneous thing at all. Buck had sheepishly confessed in the car that Ravi had suggested this night out about a week ago, a celebration of Eddie coming back to the station. They simply hadn’t told Eddie, knowing that he would’ve found a way out somehow.

Ravi’s frustrated sigh rips him from his thoughts about a quiet movie night with beer and pizza.

“By the way, the cactus I bought last week died .”

His words have that sway in them only drunk people can add to the spoken word—not quite slurred, but not perfectly clear, either. Buck rolls his eyes.

“No fucking way,” he groans. “How do you manage to kill every single one of your houseplants?”

Ravi shrugs and takes a sip of his beer, his makeshift chaser to the numerous tequila shots they’ve had so far. The empty glasses sit on the table, neatly set up in a row by Buck, who needed some kind of occupation for his restless mind. Eddie can’t remember how many of these he’s thrown back tonight, and he stifles a hiccup.

“Maybe you overwatered it,” he suggests. He’s not really interested in this conversation, and it carries in his monotonous voice, but Ravi just tilts his head and shrugs apologetically. 

“It looked bone-dry,” he defends himself, and Buck scoffs out a dry laugh.

“That’s kind of the whole point of a cactus, Rav.”

Eddie chuckles and eats a few of his fries. They’re cold.

He looks up from his plate, immediately finding Buck’s gaze resting on him, a soft expression on his flushed face. It’s unbearable. His chest is growing fuzzy again. Quickly, he drops his eyes back to his food.

Ravi orders more shots for them, and Eddie can’t help but comply, and ends up chugging down two more. The alcohol burns in his throat, but he savors the feeling. It’s kind of nice to drown your worries in tequila, to no longer feel the guilt coursing through your veins because it’s all booze, instead.

“I’m glad you’re coming back,” Ravi says, words completely blurring together now. “Those years without you were awful . Like, Buck almost ended up quitting after you… vanished .”

Eddie’s eyes widen, and he glances at Buck, who absently plays with an empty shot glass, spinning it between two fingers. The glass looks ridiculously small in comparison to his hands, and Eddie gulps.

“Really?” he chokes out, baffled. It doesn’t seem like Buck to give up his firefighter career. Because to him, it had never just been a job . It was a passion, something that had been in his blood. To run toward danger when everyone else was trying to get away. He’d always been selfless and devoted, threw himself into roaring flames if it meant to get someone else out. Eddie had never known him any other way, and he couldn’t possibly imagine Buck in any other profession. 

Buck Buckley, only complete in a set with a helmet and turnout coat, soot on his face.

“Yeah. Had his resignation printed out and signed, pinned to the fridge,” Ravi reveals, and Buck sucks in a sharp breath. He’s clearly holding himself back.

“Oh my God,” Eddie breathes. Ravi nods.

“That’s what I said. But he was convinced he should do it.”

Under the table, Eddie nudges Buck’s foot with his own, a careful, secret question. 

Buck catches his gaze, a hint of despair flickering over his otherwise tense face. Then, his foot nudges back.

“Bobby ended up convincing him to stay,” Ravi recounts, patting Buck’s shoulder, oblivious to the amount of discomfort he’s just brought over his poor friend. “Thank God.”

“I wasn’t actually going to quit,” Buck mutters defensively, averting his gaze. His shoe is still pressed against Eddie’s, and neither of them moves away. “I was just going through a rough time, for obvious reasons.”

A brief sting of guilt makes Eddie bite his cheek.

“Rough time,” Ravi echoes, scoffing. “Please.”

He turns to Eddie with a half-amused, half-concerned expression. 

“That guy was so depressed that people genuinely thought he was mourning a husband .”

Eddie almost chokes on his beer, disguises it as something close to a laugh. Husband?

Buck grunts, staring down at his lap, where Eddie knows he’s fidgeting with his hands. “Ravi, please.”

Eddie feels awfully dizzy. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s holding onto his beer bottle. He wouldn’t be surprised if it burst in his hands right now, even if he doesn’t think he’d actually be able to squeeze it that hard.

“What? It’s true,” Ravi insists, still not noticing how uncomfortable Buck has become. “People at the department were talking. I mean, he went solitary for weeks after you…” he pauses and tilts his head at Eddie, “ disappeared. He grew a beard and everything, didn’t reply to anyone’s texts. Not even Hen’s or Bobby’s. For two weeks, he was completely gone. Turns out he drove out to the mountains and camped there to get away from everything. Off the grid, man. It was real bad. No wonder there were all those rumors going around…”

“Ravi,” Buck scolds, harsher this time, gritting it out through his teeth.

Ravi ignores him. “But he eventually agreed to go to therapy. He was slowly losing himself, you know? It was so hard to watch.”

Eddie takes a big breath and watches Buck’s face turn a deep shade of pink. For a brief instant, a split second, Buck’s eyes flick up to meet his. It makes Eddie’s heart skip a beat, but the moment is over before he knows it, and Buck scowls over at Ravi.

“Ravi, I swear to God.” 

His voice is deep and low, a slight rasp to it. It’s imperative. Ruthless. And kind of hot.

Finally, Ravi seems to realize that he’s said too much and covers his own mouth with his hand, eyes wide as he looks over at Eddie—anything to avoid looking at Buck.

“Damn. I didn’t mean to— say all that.”

Buck grunts, jaw ticking. “Then why did you?”

“I wish I knew,” Ravi sighs, rubbing a flat palm over his heated face. “I— I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

He’s off before either of them can object.

The booth feels colder the second he’s gone. Quieter, in a way.

Eddie’s fingers slowly loosen from around the beer bottle. It’s wet with condensation, and his hand aches from how hard he’d been holding on.

Across from him, Buck is picking his cuticles again. His jaw is still tight, teeth grinding.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, shifting to nudge Buck’s foot with his again.

Buck immediately caves. His shoulders sag and he sighs. When he speaks, his voice is barely loud enough to be heard over the noise of the bar.

“Ravi was right. I wanted to quit. I just didn’t— didn’t know how to do this job without you anymore. It really did feel like I had lost my…” He leaves a poignant pause and picks at his cuticles. “You know. Person .”

Eddie’s breath hitches. He should say something, he knows that. But for once, he’s utterly speechless. His head is empty as he simply stares at the blushing man across the table, fixating on the stray curl that’s sticking out. 

“It’s ridiculous,” Buck adds after a few beats of silence. “Forget it.”

They don’t speak until Ravi returns. They all drink one last beer before calling it a night. It’s shortly after two a.m. when they watch Ravi get into an Uber. The night is chilly and humid, and they both quietly stand there, hands in their pockets, until their own taxi comes to a halt by the curb.

Eddie still doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even get a thank you across his lips when Buck holds the car door open for him.

There’s too much going on in his hazy mind. He’s blankly staring out the window, trying to make sense of it all, but fails.

The ride home isn’t long, only fifteen minutes with a short detour over the highway to avoid a construction site. The radio plays some old jazz music. Their driver, a guy with gray hair and wiry glasses, keeps glancing up in the rear mirror to sneak a glimpse at the two guys sitting in his backseat. But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t ask questions, as if he can sense the tension poisoning the air.

And so, no one says a single word for the entire drive. When they exit the car, it drives off immediately, screeching tires loud in the quiet of the night.

Eddie watches Buck fish the keys out of his jeans’ pocket as they walk to the front door. The porch light is on, a dim yellow light creating a halo-like sheen around the entrance of their house. In the distance, a baby is screaming. It’s silent apart from that and the jingle of Buck’s keys as he slides them into the lock and twists. 

Inside, the house is swallowed in darkness. Eddie reaches for the lamp on the entryway table and flicks it on, the sudden glow casting both of them in a pale wash of light. They blink against it, eyes adjusting slowly. Without a word, they slip out of their jackets. Buck takes Eddie’s from him, gently, like it's what he always does, and hangs it on the familiar hook beside his own.

When he brushes past him, too close for the fact that there’s an entire living room around them, Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. His hand lifts all by itself, and his fingers curl around Buck’s wrist, making him stop in his tracks.

“Buck.” His whisper is almost too loud in the silence. “I—”

Buck turns to face him, shadows playing over his expectant face. He’s so effortlessly beautiful that it hurts, and Eddie gulps heavily.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs, and Buck furrows his brow.

“For what?”

“For messing everything up.”

Buck scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous, Eds. We’ve been over this. It’s not your fault you came back.”

The room is swaying—or maybe Eddie is. He feels his eyes tingling with dawning tears.

“I sometimes wish I hadn’t,” he mutters under his breath, letting go of Buck’s wrist with limp fingers. The words are sour on his tongue. He stares down at his feet, but hears Buck take a deep, trembling breath.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers, voice husky. “Eddie, I am so glad you’re back. Even if it was hard to readjust.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to his. Somehow, even in the dim light, Buck’s eyes are otherworldly blue. His birthmark is a dark spot on his face, and he’s just so beautiful that Eddie has to hold his breath for a moment. 

“Having to learn to live a life without you in it was torture,” Buck adds after a few beats of silence. “Yes, I went to therapy, but it never stopped hurting. The pain I felt since the day I watched you dissolve right in front of me has never faded. I just learned to live with it. Or tried to, at least.”

There’s a shaky breath escaping Eddie’s throat, and he makes a strangled sound. 

“Come here,” Buck sighs, and before Eddie knows it, he’s being swept into a tight hug. Not one of those half-hearted ones with pats on the back. A real, bone-crushing hug, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He barely manages to hug Buck back. 

“I missed you so much.” The words are muffled by Eddie’s hair. Buck’s grip on him doesn’t loosen for a while, not even slightly. Like he’s afraid Eddie might vanish again if he allowed himself to let go.

Buck smells like alcohol and sweat, the same scent that had filled the air at the bar. But there’s something else, a hint of his cologne, that reminds Eddie that this, right here, is real. 

“I—” Eddie begins, but when they pull apart, Buck’s hands are still on him, finding the slight curve of his waist like that’s their usual spot, like they’ve rested there a thousand times before. It steals the words right out of Eddie’s mouth. 

His breath catches. He could swear he can somehow feel Buck’s heartbeat, even without touching his chest. Or maybe it’s his own, thundering so loud it fills the space between them. God, there is less than five inches between them right now. 

Buck’s hand twitches at Eddie’s waist, like he isn’t sure if he wants to pull him closer yet.

In the haze, Eddie doesn’t notice the way that his gaze drops to Buck’s lips until he looks back up to find his pupils dilated to the maximum, leaving only a sliver of blue around the edges. There’s a gleam in them, a flicker of something deeper. Desire .

He doesn’t dare to breathe, forces himself to keep his eyes anywhere above Buck’s mouth.

Until Buck looks down, too.

“Eddie,” he mutters, and Eddie watches him lick his lips. Subconsciously, he pulls on Buck’s hoodie, and gasps when Buck takes an eternally small step forward, further into his space. He’s not much taller than Eddie, only by two inches, but right now, it feels like he’s towering over him. 

Buck leans in, a minimal shift in his posture, but it makes Eddie’s breath hitch in his throat.

This is happening. Truly, really, genuinely—

Eddie flinches when Barkley marches into the small gap between their legs. His wagging tail is alternatingly hitting both of their knees, and he makes happy little huffing noises, just shy of a bark.

Buck steps away, out of arm’s reach from him. The moment is over. 

“Hi, bud,” he greets his dog, and Eddie watches him crouch down with a pained expression on his face to scratch that one sweet spot behind Barkley’s ear. “Did you miss us?”

Us. 

“I’ll… go to bed,” Eddie mutters, and Buck looks up at him. The gleam in his eyes is gone, but his pupils are still huge. His fingers keep combing through Barkley’s fur, like if he keeps petting the dog, he won’t have to acknowledge whatever just almost happened.

“Yeah,” he breathes, a bit exhilarated. “Okay.”

Eddie hovers in place for a second, he’s not sure if he should actually leave. 

After a few moments of seeing the way Buck is cuddling his dog with a soft smile plastered on his flushed face, he eventually turns, and heads for the hallway. His legs feel heavy. Every step away from Buck feels like peeling something warm and necessary away from him.

Once again, he lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. In the quiet, Eddie thinks he can hear Buck talk to Barkley in a hushed voice, thinks he can make words like traitor and I can’t stay mad at you , but the alcohol is still coursing through his veins, so maybe, he’s imagined it all.

He doesn’t fall asleep until the sun begins to rise.

+++

Of course, neither of them addresses what happened that night. Not the next day, or the day after. Not the week after, days before Eddie’s first day back at work. 

They talk about anything but .

If Eddie is nervous about coming back to work. (He is.)

If Buck should invest in the wireless vacuum. (He will, anyway, so why are they discussing it?)

Buck stays out late after shift more often— he’s going out for dinner with Ravi, comes home in the late evening hours, apologizes for it every time, all while Eddie tries to act like it doesn’t make him livid with jealousy. And then, there’s also that underlying fear of his—that Buck is distancing himself for a reason.

The reason being what happened the week before. They were drunk, after all. 

Maybe, Buck doesn’t feel the same after all.

But he still makes breakfast for both of them, knows exactly how Eddie likes his coffee, how he likes his eggs.

It feels nice to be known.

Some nights, they sit on the couch, noses buried in their books, not speaking to each other for two hours or so. It’s arguably the best time of day for Eddie, who keeps occasionally sneaking discreet glances over at Buck. 

Buck catches him almost every time, cheeks blushed, and offers a small, almost coy smile before returning to his novel.

They settle into this new routine, one that finally feels a bit more final than what they’d gone with before. And it’s nice. Eddie wouldn’t want to complain.

But things have shifted.

A seismic shift has happened, and it’s driving him insane. He’s not imagining things—maybe he never did. There is something unsaid lingering in the air, something heavy and warm buzzing in the distance between them.

He can feel it. It’s so obvious when you pay close attention to it, when you know what subtle things you’re looking for.

It’s the way Buck’s hand lingers on Eddie’s lower back whenever he’s brushing past him in the kitchen.

The way that Eddie often catches Buck staring at him and quickly averting his gaze when he gets caught.

And oh, also the way Buck casually asks Eddie to tag along for Barkley’s long evening walk almost every single day since it happened. 

Like today.

It’s late, streetlights on and streets quiet. The air is motionless and thick, humming with the dawning storm. But Barkley had stood in the kitchen with his leash in his mouth, shifting his weight from one side to the other like a toddler holding it in. 

And so, Buck had sighed, ran one hand through his hair, and gulped down the last few sips of his cola zero before getting up and pulling his hoodie over his t-shirt. It had messed up his hair again, and Eddie chuckled under his breath. Then, their gazes caught, and Buck grinned over at him, holding up the leash he’d taken from the dog’s mouth.

Eddie had simply returned the smile and got up to retrieve his denim jacket from the hanger without any further comment. 

It’s chilly, but not too cold, and without the wind, the air feels stuffy and too humid. The neighborhood is quiet. Overhead, the sky is churning with low, troubled clouds, as dark as wet ash, pulsing faintly with distant lightning.

Barkley pulls them down the street. Buck keeps looking up, and Eddie can tell that he gets more and more anxious with every step that’s taking him from the house. 

“Ravi got me this weighted blanket for my birthday last year,” he tells him, eyes fixated on the dog, who’s leading the way. “Had trouble sleeping for years.”

“Did it help?” Eddie asks, hoping Buck doesn’t notice the edge in his voice. But he can’t help it. Those past few days, all there seems to be to talk about is either the dog, groceries, or Ravi . Apparently he does anything to avoid talking about the night after the bar. Eddie adjusts his grip on the leash and watches Barkley lift his leg by a lamppost.

“For a while,” Buck says, and Eddie sees his jaw moving, like he’s chewing his cheek again. “Then, Ravi had to get me the heaviest one they sell.” He chuckles, and they keep walking, Barkley eager to sniff every bush and tree by the curb. 

“Sometimes I think I wouldn’t have survived those five years without him,” Buck adds after a while, running a hand through his hair. It’s awfully frizzy, the humidity getting to it. But it stills looks soft, and Eddie finds himself wishing he could run his hands through it. Pull on it, maybe. Just enough that it would sting a little.

“He was there for me when the others weren’t. Not that I’m blaming them. But it was still nice to have a friend who cared.”

I was there for you first. I cared about you first. 

Eddie swallows his words down. The white-hot jealousy is back. Like he somehow has the right to claim Buck as his own. He doesn’t. Especially not after deserting him like he did, even if he couldn’t possibly have avoided it.

“Don’t tell him I said that,” Buck chuckles dryly. 

Eddie just grunts and grips the leash tighter, jaw ticking. Even in the darkness of the night, it doesn’t seem to go unnoticed. Buck touches his arm, a fleeting contact with the rough denim, and even though it’s two layers of fabric away from his skin, it feels like hot coals searing holes into it.

“What’s going on?” His tone is all concerned yet accusatory. Eddie forces a smile through the bubbling enviousness in his belly.

“I’m okay.”

Buck scoffs, steps closer to nudge Eddie’s shoulder with his. More contact, more hot coals.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he urges lightly. 

His words glide through the walls of Eddie’s mind like a knife through butter. With a deep, shaky breath, he gives in, hands in fists. His spine is rigid when he speaks.

“Okay. Seeing how close you and Ravi have gotten while I was—gone, sucks. It feels like you replaced me, and it makes me want to strangle someone. And it’s stupid. I shouldn’t feel this way. I shouldn’t be angry at you for moving on from our friendship like this. But I can’t help it, alright? And the fact that you used to— hook up … God, just thinking about that is making me so mad, and—”

He hasn’t noticed that Buck has fallen behind until he looks up from Barkley, turns his head to the right, and finds no one beside him. He stops and whirls around. A drop of rain falls onto his hair, another one on his cheek.

“Buck?” Eddie tries, and Buck just stares at him with a slack jaw for a moment.

“You’re jealous,” he finally lets out.

“I said it was stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, Eds,” Buck says, slowly stepping closer. Droplets of rain catch in his curls, and one rolls down his face like a tear. “It’s not stupid at all.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks cautiously, feeling the way the rain grows heavier. A thunder rumbles through the air, but Buck does all but flinch as he comes even closer. His gray hoodie is full of dark, wet spots, all over his shoulders and chest. 

“That I understand why you feel that way.”

“Great,” Eddie deadpans. “Thanks.”

“But I need you to know that I could never replace you, you idiot. Not in a million years would I ever find someone like you again.”

He’s awfully close now. Eddie bites his cheek and glances up at his wet face. The rain keeps pouring, keeps drenching them, but they don’t move. 

“Someone like me,” he echoes, and Buck chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t let it get to your head. But yeah. Someone like you .”

There is no one in the world but them, Eddie is sure of it. He stares at Buck’s soft expression, at his birthmark glistening with rain, at the wet strands of hair that hang into his forehead now, too heavy to stay up. He’s so beautiful. 

“What are you talking about?” he whispers, just loud enough for Buck to hear it, a crack in his voice halfway through.

His breath hitches when Buck’s gaze drops to his lips. 

“I think you know,” he mutters. A drop of water falls off the tip of his nose. 

“Do I?” Eddie croaks. His mind is empty. They’re in the middle of the street, in the pouring rain, standing so close together that their shoes touch. He watches the wet stains on Buck’s hoodie grow darker and bigger.

Until there’s a finger hooking under his chin. Buck gently guides his face up, until his head is ever so slightly slanted back, until Eddie is forced to look at his face.

“Yeah, you do.”

Dizziness takes over Eddie’s body, and he moves his free hand to grasp onto Buck’s side, steadying himself. Touching Buck is grounding, somehow, bringing his airy mind back to earth. But his heart is still beating so loudly that he wouldn’t be surprised if Buck could hear it.

“I—” he begins, but the words escape him. His throat is dry, and his Buck’s eyes are still glued to his lips. His entire body is on fire. He doesn’t even feel the heavy rain pattering onto their faces and shoulders anymore. All there is, all there ever could be, is Buck .

“Eddie,” Buck whispers, and it sounds like a prayer from his lips, thick honey dripping from his tongue. Thunder rumbles through the silence.

“Yeah?” He almost doesn’t get a sound across his lips. Buck softly huffs. His finger is still hooked underneath Eddie’s chin, holding him in place. It’s a simple, faint touch, but it fastens Eddie to the ground nevertheless.

“Is this okay?” 

A smile starts blooming across Eddie’s face. Relief floods his brain, his soul, his heart. He feels lighter, like he’s floating.

He nods, and Buck’s entire body seems to melt, immediately tugging him closer. And closer. When their noses brush, Eddie’s eyes flutter shut all by themselves.

A beat passes. Then another. With a loud crack echoing through the neighborhood, the rain turns into an impossibly heavy downpour, like the storm has been waiting for them to cross this invisible line between them.

And then, finally — it happens.

Buck’s kiss is soft and careful, like he’s testing the waters, making sure that all of this is genuinely happening. It ignites a firework inside Eddie’s chest, an electric static taking over his entire body as he deepens the kiss with a low, satisfied grunt.

Their mouths are slick from the rain, but they still slot together perfectly, like they were meant to do this all along.

Buck slides one hand into the back of Eddie’s neck, lets his tongue graze his teeth, earning a gasp.

Mind empty, Eddie lets himself fall into the deep end. He’s losing himself in this embrace, and he’s not sure there is anything left of him. The kiss grows more frantic, more needy, more desperate. Eddie’s chest is pressed against Buck’s with no space left to spare. 

That’s when a sharp bark cuts through the air, and Eddie gasps when the leash pulls tight, wrapping firmly around his hand until it hurts.

They both freeze.

Another bark, more urgent this time, and then there’s a sopping wet dog pressing into the small space between them, soaking their jeans in the process. 

“Oh my God,” Buck chuckles under his breath, and presses his lips to Eddie’s one more time before stepping away. “Interrupting us again ?”

Barkley huffs and looks up at them. His fur is hanging from his small frame like a willow’s branches, and even though he should be incapable of actual facial expressions, he still somehow looks miserable. 

“I think someone has had enough of the rain,” Eddie jokes, voice strained and raw. He meets Buck’s eyes and sees the daze in them, the glassy sheen veiling his oceans. 

“Yeah,” Buck grins, still breathless, his soaked hoodie clinging to his broad frame, rain dripping from his lashes like tears. He looks wrecked in the most beautiful way. “For the record, I thought it was kind of romantic.”

Eddie chuckles, biting his lip. “Well, he’s a dog. I don’t think he cares about romance.” 

Barkley huffs again, pulls on the leash, and looks back at them with an expectant look in his eyes. 

“Okay, okay. Let’s get going,” Buck laughs, and they shift and fall into step beside each other, Barkley leading the way with eager, quick steps.

Eddie almost lets go of the leash when Buck’s knuckles brush against his. But neither of them pulls away. 

When they’re back at the house, Eddie waits outside, keeping Barkley in the shelter of the porch roof. The rain is ruthless, and there is lightning accompanying the thunder sounds now. With every second passing, he feels the cold seeping into his bones more and more. His clothes are dripping onto the floor, creating a large puddle next to the smaller one forming underneath Barkley.

A few minutes pass before Buck returns from inside the house, carrying a huge, thick bath towel.

“He hates being dried off,” he warns as he unfolds it. “Can you keep him still?”

“Sure.” Eddie slides his hands down the dog’s sides and hooks them under the harness to keep him in place. Barkley sees the towel lowering onto him and lets out a whimper. 

“Every single time,” Buck curses under his breath. Just before the towel reaches his dripping fur, Barkley shakes, and drops of water fly everywhere.

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, eyes narrow to avoid getting any water in them. “He really hates this.”

“I wish I knew why,” Buck sighs, and keeps going until the fur is no longer soaked. “Good boy, Barkley. It’s over, look, you made it.”

Eddie lets go of the harness, and the dog immediately runs inside. Buck scratches his neck and lets out a nervous chuckle.

“I’m just now realizing that I didn’t bring towels for us ,” he sheepishly admits, and then they’re laughing again, a soft sound in the constant patter of the rain.

“Of course you didn’t,” Eddie deadpans, but keeps his tone soft enough to signal that he doesn’t really care about the stupid towels right now. He is busy replaying the kiss in his mind.

Buck rolls his eyes and pulls Eddie inside, fingers wrapped around his wrist.

The door falls closed behind them, but the thunder is still loud in here. The storm is the only sound in the darkness of the house. Barkley is already curled up on his blanket under the window, eyes closed. 

While Eddie slips out of his utterly drenched shoes, he watches Buck fiddle with his hands, picking on his cuticles again. Another thunder roars through the night, louder than any of the previous, and Buck flinches, his entire body jerking. 

“Hey,” Eddie mutters, and he steps closer, hands finding Buck’s waist, pulling him in. “Buck.”

“Sorry,” Buck whispers, cheeks red in embarrassment. Hesitantly, he lifts his arms and slides them around Eddie’s neck, interlocking his hands behind it. “Guess that’s another thing I’ll never get over, no matter how much therapy I go to.”

Eddie chuckles. It’s almost odd for him to feel so at ease with Buck in his arms already. But something has settled between them. A sense of comfort, different from the kind they’ve felt around each other before.

They kissed. Eddie can’t believe it. They actually kissed, on the street, in the rain, like all of this was a movie. And now, they’re standing in their living room, in each other’s arms, dripping rain water onto the hardwood floors.

He’s so happy he could cry.

“What’s wrong?” Buck asks under his breath, and Eddie blinks away the blur of tears.

“Nothing. Like, actually nothing.”

Fondly, Buck lets his eyes flick all over his face. “You’re crying.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh and drops his gaze to the edge of the water stain on Buck’s hoodie, just above the pouch. His skin is on fire, and there’s that sense of coming home settling into the lowest pit of his stomach.

He’s ready.

“I have to tell you something,” he mutters quietly, sucking in a shaky breath, his eyes still glued to Buck’s belly. 

The tension is getting unbearable. It’s pulling at Eddie’s soul, squeezing his heart, and he’s a little grateful when Buck lets out a soft, affectionate laugh.

“No need.” 

Eddie’s eyes snap up to his, his heart skipping a beat, and Buck smirks at him.

“I already know you were the one who put the empty milk container back in the fridge. To be fair, you also were the only suspect, so—”

“I’m gay, Buck.”

Buck’s face falls. “Oh. I mean, oh—”

“I wanted to tell you back when Chris and I moved back from Texas, but I… never got the chance,” Eddie babbles on, and he feels his face heating up. “That’s what I was going to tell you the day I— disappeared. I’m gay. So gay.”

He pauses, sees the relieved smile playing on Buck’s lips, and adds, “And also hopelessly in love with you.”

Buck’s hands slide to his cheeks, and he holds his face tenderly, like it’s the most valuable thing in the world to him. The touch is nice and warm on Eddie’s clammy skin, and he shivers.

“I’m so proud of you, Eds,” Buck then mumbles, dimple popping, eyes glistening.

“Sorry about the milk container thing,” Eddie chuckles, but it’s weak. He’s too consumed by the fact that he actually just came out to his best friend, and the way it makes him feel so light and breezy. A weight has fallen off his shoulders, a weight he’d been carrying around since he’d been a teenager, but never admitted to.

“Forget the stupid milk,” Buck groans. “You just said you’re in love with me.”

“I did,” Eddie nods, pulling him even closer. “I think I’ve been in love with you for years now. I just never realized it. Because falling for you was so easy that I didn’t even notice it was happening to me.”

It feels so good to say all of this out loud. And seeing Buck’s smile grow even further is the best reward of them all.

“Years.” There’s disbelief in Buck’s voice, and he gulps. Eddie has to look away.

“Years,” he confirms. Another thunder roars, loud and deafening. Buck doesn’t react this time. His eyes roam all over Eddie’s face, thumbs grazing his cheeks.

“Fuck, Eddie,” he murmurs softly. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Eddie blinks. “You are?”

“God, yes. Of course I am. I loved you before you disappeared, and I never stopped loving you, even when I thought you were gone forever. And I fucking love you now, too.”

This time, it’s Eddie to close the distance between them. Desperately, he leans forward and catches Buck’s lips in a heated, open-mouthed kiss.

Buck immediately caves, lets his fingers slide into Eddie’s wet hair, lets their tongues meet and swirl, a silent game of who loves the other more .

It’s hard to say who starts it. But somehow, they stumble in the direction of the bathroom, pulling and pushing on each other’s clothes. 

Eddie’s jacket falls to the floor with a thump. Then his shirt. 

He lets his hands slide underneath Buck’s hoodie, feeling the rippling muscles underneath. Buck shudders at the touch, but lets Eddie slide the hoodie and t-shirt over his head all at once.

Their hands are all over each other now, recklessly exploring the other’s body, finding ridges and valleys in each other’s skin like their life depended on it. Like they’ve been starved of each other for five years.

When the bathroom door closes behind them, Buck’s mouth starts to travel, and there are kisses being pressed to Eddie’s stubbly jaw, then his neck, his shoulder.

There’s a brief pause, and then, carefully, Buck’s lips graze his scar. 

“Buck,” he chokes out, throwing his head back. This is the most intimate thing Buck could’ve done right now. It’s a reminder of what happened that day, many years ago, back when Eddie had realized for the first time that what he felt for Buck was stronger than a casual friendship. That their bond was deeper, somehow. He just hadn’t been aware in what way.

“What? Do you want me to stop?” Buck asks cautiously, completely out of breath. With a puzzled look on his face, Eddie looks at him and shakes his head.

“That’s the last thing that’s on my mind right now.”

“Good,” Buck sighs, and then, they’re kissing again, frantic and desperate. Zippers are being opened, jeans and briefs pulled down, and then, they stumble into the shower, all somehow without letting go of each other.

The heat of the water is welcome on Eddie’s cold skin, but he couldn’t care less. He just keeps working his mouth against Buck’s, finally claiming it as his. 

Forever.

They don’t end up actually showering.

Instead, Eddie finds out that a calculated flick of his fingers over the tip of Buck’s cock drives him off the edge, finds out what sounds Buck tends to make when he comes.

And Buck ends up doing the same for him, too, sending him into oblivion, stars in his vision and all, simply by placing a thousand sloppy kisses to his mouth and stroking and teasing his length with skillful fingers until he falls apart.

It’s perfect.

After a while, fingertips pruney and cheeks flushed, they step out of the tub. With gentle moves, they dry each other off, avoiding each other’s eyes, broad smiles on their faces. When they leave the steamy bathroom, Eddie automatically makes a turn to go to the guest room, but Buck stops him in his tracks, shakes his head, and simply pulls him into the bedroom.

They crawl under the covers and let the silence take over, letting everything sink in.

Eddie stares at the ceiling, still hazy and weary, and he reaches out and takes Buck’s hand, squeezing.

Buck squeezes back.

“How are you feeling?” he asks after a while, and Eddie can’t help but laugh. There’s so much going on inside of him right now. And for the first time in forever, it’s all good. 

“Pretty great,” he whispers, and rolls onto his side, pressing dry kisses to Buck’s shoulder. “You?”

Buck sighs. “I can’t believe that I had to wait five years for this.”

“Me too,” Eddie nods, and watches Buck turn to face him now, too. There’s a somber look in his eyes. 

“Out of all the universes out there, we just happened to live in, like, the most cruel one,” he mutters sadly, “So unfair.”

Eddie huffs. “Yeah. But we’re here now, right?”

Buck licks his lips and nods, and Eddie shifts to sneak another kiss, deep and full of love, the kind that makes your heart flutter in your chest like a butterfly.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we’re soulmates in every universe?”

Eddie pulls away and stares at the beautiful face in front of him. A face he’s spent years studying from afar, now all up close. A piece of art, chiseled from marble, just for him to adore it.

“You think we’re soulmates?” he asks under his breath. His body is consumed by that familiar fuzzy feeling reserved for Buck.

“Don’t you?”

Eddie chuckles. “No, I— I do .”

“So?” Buck asks curiously, moving closer.

With an affectionate eye roll, Eddie grins at him, and reaches to kiss his nose, then the one cheek that isn’t pressed into the pillow. Then to the birthmark cutting through Buck’s brow.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I think we are.”

the end.