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As soon as Ravi’s car pulls out of the driveway and out of sight, Eddie collapses.
His knees give out beneath him, and he barely reaches the couch before he falls. He doesn't know when it started or what triggered it, but soon he’s overcome, wracked with sobs.
It doesn’t come out of nowhere. Eddie thinks this has been creeping up on him since his first day at the 118, when his biggest worry was why the cute, annoying guy hated his guts. It grew from handshakes to hugs, to fights and coparenting. Their long stares, words unspoken. It has always been dormant, each of them too scared to question what they’re both aware of.
And for the first time, he lets himself feel the full weight of it—the long-winding, slow-burning romantic feelings he has been building inside of him for seven years.
He thinks first of his parents. They’re already irrevocably upset about Eddie’s sudden move back to L.A. Telling them the family he comes home to is actually a severely homoerotic friendship with a guy who is more family to Chris than either of them will ever be may just kill them both.
He thinks of Chris, and he buries his face in his hands. It's too much.
Too tangled. Too late.
He is no longer crying when the sound of the garage doors opening makes him jump, squeaking loudly and reminding Eddie that an oiling is long overdue. He stands, dizzy and disoriented. He knows he has to pull himself together. Buck cannot be allowed to see him this way. So he trips his way to the bathroom, forcing himself under the showerhead and scrubbing every inch of his body until he’s red all over and squeaky clean.
He can’t scrub the sinking feeling in his stomach, or the way his skin burns at the mere thought of his earlier realization.
When he finally opens the bathroom door in nothing but shorts and a hair towel in his hand, he sees first the man who catalyzed this reaction. The sun is spilling through the blinds in dusty streaks and onto his beautiful face as he scrolls through Netflix like the choices offend him.
Eddie grabs them both beers, then holds out a bottle. Buck takes it.
“Thanks.”
Eddie sinks into the couch beside him, leaving a gap. He knows it’s awkward—they don’t ever sit like this. Usually Buck puts his head in Eddie’s lap, or they’re leaned against each other. But right now the thought of that proximity makes him nervous. Or hard. Or… what ?
The show begins. He isn’t surprised—it’s Grey’s Anatomy again. Buck always scrolls through every last option, only to return to his favorite. Eddie watches the screen, then the space between their knees. The bottle is cold in his hand. Sweating. So is his palm.
He clears his throat. Opens his mouth, then closes it again. He turns to eye Buck for a few seconds, holding his tongue.
Without a word, in one swift motion, Buck puts his beer down on the table and turns his body until his back is facing Eddie. He lowers himself slowly until his head is in his best friend’s lap. It’s a routine by now, but shit , is all Eddie can think, readjusting himself slightly, ensuring a gap between Buck’s ear and his… well… oh, crap .
“Out with it,” the man in his lap whispers. His eyes are trained on the screen, but his knowing smile melts Eddie’s heart a little. “You want to tell me something, don’t you?”
It’s not a unique exchange. Eddie often finds himself noticing when Buck is holding something back—they know each other well enough to hear what isn’t being said. There’s no point in lying; Buck would catch that, too.
“Ravi said something weird today,” Eddie says, unable to look.
Buck doesn’t look away from the screen. “Yeah?”
“It was about Tommy.”
That gets Buck’s attention. Eddie watches his profile. How he blinks slowly. How his jaw shifts. How he carefully crafts a neutral expression to throw at Eddie when he finally tears his eyes away from whichever McBrother has his attention up to that point.
“You didn’t tell me you had him over.”
“Didn’t think it was important.”
Eddie studies the beer label, thumb rubbing off the edge.
“You couldn’t sleep here.”
“No,” he breathes. He adjusts his head, disrupting the barrier Eddie made on his lap.
Eddie is relentless. Eddie is careful not to let his voice tremble or crack. Eddie is so hard, it’s beginning to hurt. “Why not?”
Buck leans up to have a sip of beer, then turns back to his original position. Says nothing.
Eddie nods, jaw tight. The silence between them stretches. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy. Like it’s waiting for something.
Eddie doesn’t push. He can tell that Buck is closing himself off to this conversation, so he doesn’t expect a response. He watches the condensation drip instead, willing his boner away.
The couch is too small. Or maybe it’s too big. There’s always space between them. Always has been.
No, that’s wrong too. The space is always there, but it’s never physical. They’re casual touchers, he’s beginning to realize. Eddie has almost trained himself to think nothing of it.
Eddie shifts. His hand twitches. Almost reaches down. Doesn’t.
“You okay?”
Eddie nods. It’s not convincing.
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Then—
“Why him?”
Buck breathes out a small laugh. Not amused. More like tired.
“Wrong person, right time, I guess.”
Eddie nods again.
There’s a noise from the kitchen. A slow creak as the fridge cycles. It’s the only sound.
Eddie thinks about saying something. Anything. But he doesn’t trust his voice. Instead, he looks at Buck’s hands. One resting on his own stomach. The other under his head, in Eddie’s lap. Strong. Familiar. Too familiar.
Eddie wants to ask a different question. A worse one. He bites the inside of his cheek instead.
His foot taps against the rug. Quiet. Nervous energy with nowhere to go. He tries to watch the screen, but the handsome man who would have distracted him is no longer in the scene.
He thinks: maybe Ravi was wrong.
He thinks: maybe Ravi was right.
Buck shifts beneath him, and Eddie can feel the heat of him now. A little too close, a little too far. Always that in-between.
He wants to say something dumb. Make a joke. That’s usually easier. He opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. His throat’s dry. Something sharp lodges there. He presses his lips together. Clenches his jaw.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Eddie looks at him. Really looks. Buck’s brow is furrowed. He’s doing that thing where he pretends not to be worried but is. Buck looking up at him like that feels like getting shot again.
Eddie’s hand lifts. Lands lightly on Buck’s hair.
He wants to laugh. He wants to crack some throwaway line, change the subject. Pretend this didn’t happen. But his stomach turns, the words don’t come, and his hand stays there. Buck doesn’t move.
A beat. Two.
Eddie points toward Buck’s face. It’s instinct. Habit. The setup for something stupid and light.
But his vision blurs at the edges. There’s a lump in his throat now, rising fast. He can’t say it. Whatever it is.
So he just shakes. Quietly. Barely.
Buck watches him, frowning softly now. Eddie thinks he has never looked more attractive.
God, not now.
But it’s too late. Whatever it is has already cracked open.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. His eyes are telling enough, and he is too exhausted to be mindful of his expression.
Eddie stares at the crown of Buck’s head, his fingers itching. He wonders if Buck can feel his heartbeat, loud and stupid, right beneath his ear.
His chest is heaving. His breaths are growing labored, and he's pink all over. It's coming up his throat-
“Eddie, do you—”
Before Buck can finish, Eddie jerks upright, shifting Buck off his lap abruptly. He stumbles forward, grabs the half-empty popcorn bowl from the table, and throws up into it.