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“Buck.”
A noise akin to a groan comes out of Buck’s mouth in response. Eddie huffs out a laugh at the sound of it.
“Time to sleep?”
Despite the fact that Buck is currently tucked into Eddie’s side and breathing steady breaths, he disagrees.
“Mm-mm,” Buck protests. “Not ready; ‘m reading ‘bout cows.”
If Eddie were to look at Buck’s phone, which sits an unhealthily short distance to his face, he would, in fact, find the Wikipedia page for highland cows, along with six other tabs open to articles on various micro-subjects. What do highland cows eat? How do you care for highland cows? What climate should highland cows live in? These are all questions to which Buck is looking for answers.
Instead, Eddie asks, “Cows?”
“Mhm. Highland cows.”
Eddie has just put down the book he’s been reading, Artificial Condition; it’s the second in a series Karen recommended to him. He’s shut the lamp on their nightstand off, which makes it so the only light in the room comes from Buck’s phone screen. The brightness is turned down, and the white point has been reduced, but it still illuminates Buck’s face. His lips sit in a frown which, along with the way his brows pinch inwards, makes him look grumpy. His curls remain un-styled after a wash and lay messily over his forehead. Eddie can’t help himself from slipping a hand into those curls. He scratches softly at Buck’s scalp, drawing a yawn from his lips, further proving Eddie’s point.
“You’re sleepy, bebé.”
“But…” Another yawn. “...wanna know what they eat.”
“You can read about it in the morning, too, y’know.” Eddie plays softly with the curls at Buck’s neck. “Gotta go mimis.”
“Wanna know now,” Buck whines.
To say Buck can be sensitive when he’s tired would be an understatement. To say he’s capable of logic near sleep would be the opposite. Eddie knows this, of course, but he also knows how to tire Buck out (in more ways than one). So, Eddie continues threading a gentle hand through Buck’s hair and says:
“Tell me about what they eat.”
Buck may be unaware that he’s falling for Eddie’s trap, but he burrows his head further into Eddie’s chest regardless.
Eddie listens intently as Buck tells him about the diet of highland cows. In between yawns, he talks about the health of the average cow and how it allows them to survive off poorer pastures than other cattle. Eddie hums in all the right places, although his own eyes grow heavier, and he only mutters “Really?” when Buck tells him these cows can eat poison ivy.
The hand on Buck’s head stays put. Eddie grows sleepier as he twirls Buck’s soft, product-less curls between his fingers and rubs gently behind his ears. When he places a featherlight kiss on the crown of Buck’s head, his hand falters. He remains hunched into the scent of coconut and sea salt in Buck’s hair. He hums contentedly as he flops back down.
Buck halts mid-sentence about the hours in a day highland cows spend eating (Eddie will have to ask him about that in the morning) and laughs.
“Alright, I give,” he says as he reaches for his charger. “I can read more about them tomorrow.”
“Chris’ll help,” Eddie mumbles. It’s something only Buck’s carefully attuned ears can understand.
“Yeah, I bet he will.” Buck kisses Eddie’s cheek. “Roll over, cuddlebug.”
The sound Eddie lets out is almost a laugh. Exhaustion washes over him as he settles onto his side and is pulled back into Buck’s embrace. Buck gives Eddie a squeeze before settling his arms around him and buries his face into Eddie’s neck, placing a soft kiss.
“‘Night, baby.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“We can’t get a cow.”
“Of course not.” Yawn. “We can’t get a cow. Needs friends.”
Eddie gently nudges Buck with his elbow, and Buck simply pulls him closer.