Work Text:
Buck wasn’t trying to be nosy. He was just trying to be lazy.
It was his rare weekend off, Chris was at a sleepover, and Eddie had been out running errands for the better part of the day. Buck had eaten an entire box of pizza rolls and somehow landed deep in a Step Up movie marathon on cable.
He was halfway through Step Up Revolution, halfway through a Diet Coke, and halfway off the couch when a very familiar face lit up the screen.
Buck blinked. Then squinted.
Then paused the movie and took a picture of the TV.
When Eddie walked in twenty minutes later, the first thing he heard was Buck yelling from the couch.
“Hey, Step Up stunt double—explain yourself!”
Eddie frowned as he dropped his keys. “What?”
Buck hit play. “Don’t play dumb, man. You didn’t tell me you used to be a backup dancer-slash-activist in Miami.”
Eddie walked into the living room, arms crossed—and froze when he saw the actor dancing on the screen.
Buck was grinning, wide and wicked. “Oh my God. He looks exactly like you. Eddie, you’re in a dance crew.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was blushing. “He does not look exactly like me.”
“Dude. Chris is gonna see this and think you have a secret past.” Buck tossed him the remote. “Be honest. Is your real name Sean? Were you ever part of a flash mob? Were you shirtless in a fountain?”
Eddie tried—really tried—not to smile. “That’s so dramatic.”
“So dramatic,” Buck mimicked. “Just like your dance number at the end of the movie!”
“I cannot believe you’re watching Step Up.”
Buck flopped dramatically onto his back. “I was bored and it just… happened! And now I need answers.”
Eddie sat on the edge of the couch, watching his not-quite-doppelgänger spin through an elaborate rooftop number. “Okay. I’ll give you that. We kinda look alike.”
Buck pointed at the screen. “He’s literally your long-lost twin! If you ever want to fake your own death and go underground, this guy is your out.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Is this the part where you challenge me to a dance-off?”
Buck sat up like he’d been electrocuted. “Yes. Oh my god, yes. Eddie. Dance. Right now.”
“No.”
“I dared you.”
“Still no.”
Buck put on a wounded expression. “You won’t even do it for me?”
“You’re the most dramatic person I know.”
Buck scooted closer, wiggling his eyebrows. “C’mon. Just a little pop-and-lock.”
Eddie snorted. “I’m a firefighter, not a background dancer.”
“You’re both! You’re firefighting Ryan Guzman! It’s in your DNA.”
Eddie huffed out a laugh, then stood up—and for one glorious second, Buck thought he was actually going to dance.
Eddie reached for the remote. “I’m putting on a documentary.”
“NO!”
But it was too late. Buck groaned as the screen switched to something about deep-sea eels.
“You’re no fun.”
Eddie smirked as he sat back down, shoulder brushing Buck’s. “You still think I look like him?”
Buck leaned into him with a grin. “Oh yeah. But he doesn’t have your moves.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. You’ve got those ‘dad at the wedding after two drinks’ hips.”
Eddie shoved him lightly, laughing, and Buck went willingly, landing with his head on Eddie’s thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And somehow, in the soft hum of a sea creature documentary, the moment stretched and held.
“I still say I’d win a dance battle,” Buck muttered.
Eddie smoothed a hand through Buck’s curls. “You’d trip over your own feet.”
“I’d trip into your arms.”
Eddie rolled his eyes again—but this time, he was smiling too.