Archive of Our Own

The sheets are tangled around his legs, his mouth tastes like regret, and Buck honestly can’t tell if he’s sweating from the hangover or the crushing weight of what-the-fuck-have-I-done.

Because Tommy. Tommy, of all people.

And Eddie’s house. In Eddie's fucking house he is living in while Eddie is in Texas sorting out his own shit. 

He rubs his face with both hands, groaning quietly. Fuck.

God.

Now that the competition’s out of the way.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Buck groans again and flops back against the pillow like the ceiling might have answers. It doesn’t. It’s just Eddie’s ceiling. Which somehow makes this worse.

Because Tommy didn’t say it with malice, at least he was pretty sure he didn't, just tossed it out like a damn fact: Buck’s been in love with Eddie this whole time. He was just too slow, and too scared, and now—now he’s scraping the bottom of the barrel for intimacy with a man who thinks Eddie was the only reason Buck hadn’t come crawling back before now.

It wasn’t about Tommy. It was never about Tommy.

Buck stares blankly at the ceiling fan. It spins like the thoughts in his head.

Eddie.

Sweet, steady, frustratingly unreadable Eddie.

Who took him in after shift without question, just handed him a pillow and a blanket and one of those quiet little smiles that Buck always secretly loved. The kind that said: you’re safe here.

The kind that Buck used to think was just for him.

Fuck.

He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes.

Because yeah, he has thought about kissing Eddie. Maybe more than he should’ve. And not just in the “oops, I appreciate how good his arms look when he splits wood” way. In the “Eddie laughed and the world shifted a little” kind of way. In the “I want to be the one he calls first, always” kind of way.

And now?

Now he’s slept with Tommy, of all people. In Eddie’s house. And he doesn’t know what’s worse: That Tommy thinks Buck’s in love with Eddie. Or that he might be right.

He exhales. Long. Slow. Wretched.

There’s a knock on the door.

But not like before. This one’s a little louder. Brighter.

Two short taps and a pause.

Buck jolts again—heart in his throat, blanket sliding off his lap.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice. But this time, there’s another voice with it.

“We brought bagels!” Chris adds, chipper and proud.

Buck blinks. Hard. What?

He barely has time to sit upright before the door creaks open, just a sliver, enough for Eddie to poke his head in, followed by Chris peeking from behind him with a giant grin and a paper bag in his arms.

Eddie’s smiling too—sleep-rumpled in the soft way Buck’s never fully recovered from, eyes warm like sun through window glass.

“Hey,” Eddie grins. “Surprise. We’re back.”

Chris practically bounces into the room and makes a beeline for Buck. “We got your favorite! Cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese.”

Buck opens his mouth, then closes it. Tries again.

“Wha—you’re back? From Texas?”

Eddie laughs a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Took the early flight. I figured you’d still be here after shift, so…” He gestures vaguely, like this is all casual. Normal.

Chris climbs up onto the edge of the bed and hands over the still-warm paper bag. “I told Dad you’d miss us.”

“I did miss you,” Buck says automatically, and then he meets Eddie’s eyes, and that’s when his brain completely shorts out.

Because Eddie is still looking at him like he’s home.

And Buck is sitting there like a man who cheated on a relationship he didn’t even know he was in.

He swallows hard. “You, uh—you didn’t say you were flying back today.”

“Wanted to surprise you,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Guess we did, huh?”

“Yeah,” Buck croaks. “Yeah, you really did.”

Chris grins and flops against his side. “You okay? You look kinda pale.”

Because I slept with someone who isn’t your dad and your dad might be my emotional soulmate and also I think I’m in love with him, buddy, Buck thinks, smiling faintly through the inner scream.

“I’m great,” he lies. “Just—hungry. Bagels, huh?”

Chris nods. “We missed you.”

Buck looks down at him, all soft and small and still his favorite human, and then back at Eddie.

Eddie, who still hasn’t looked away.

Eddie, who smiles a little too long when their eyes catch.

Eddie, who came home early just to surprise him.

Buck’s heart stutters in his chest.

“I missed you guys too,” he says, voice barely there.

And oh no—there it is again. That feeling. That awful, warm, terrifying truth curling behind his ribs like a secret he’s not ready to hold.

Buck pretends not to notice the way Eddie’s smile keeps catching him off-guard like a sucker punch wrapped in sunshine.

The kitchen smells like coffee and warm bread and home.

Which is a problem.

He sits down at the table, trying not to look too haunted, while Eddie hands him his coffee like it’s just another Tuesday and not the setting of Buck’s impending emotional collapse.

Chris chatters away as he opens the bag of bagels and carefully divides them between plates like a tiny diplomat. “Dad said we’d go to the movies later. Buck, do you wanna come? We could see the superhero one—Dad says it’s gonna be bad, but you’ll like it.”

Buck laughs a little too loudly. “That—uh—yeah, sounds great.”

Eddie slides a mug in front of him and leans a hip against the counter. He’s not even trying to be heartstopping—gray t-shirt, soft sweatpants, the little scruff he always forgets to shave after travel—but Buck’s heart is sprinting.

“Only reason I think it’ll be bad is because it’s a sequel to a sequel of a reboot,” Eddie says, taking a bite of his bagel. “You two are just suckers for loud explosions.”

Chris shrugs. “You’re just bitter ‘cause they replaced the old guy.”

“I liked the old guy,” Eddie mutters, and then looks at Buck, grinning. “You missed some of the dumbest movie arguments while we were gone.”

Buck stares at him for a beat too long.

“I did,” he says. Soft. Honest.

Eddie blinks. His smile flickers, then comes back—shyer this time.

Something stretches between them. Something quiet. Familiar. Dangerous.

Chris doesn’t notice. He’s too busy licking cream cheese off his fingers.

Buck picks up his coffee. Drinks. Burns his tongue. Deserves it.

Because this isn’t new.

This is every casual breakfast and post-shift beer and soft shared silence made louder by the fact that now Buck knows. Now he can’t chalk it up to friendship or proximity or trauma bonding. Now he’s sitting across from Eddie—Eddie Diaz, who came home early to surprise him, who brought his son into Buck’s room like it was natural, who makes Buck’s chest ache in ways Tommy never could—and he’s realizing this isn’t going away.

It’s not a phase. It’s not confusion. It’s not loneliness. He is in fact, in love. With Eddie. Eddie Diaz.

God help him.

“Hey,” Eddie says quietly, nudging the edge of his plate toward Buck. “You okay? You’re being quiet.”

Buck forces a smile that feels like it’s made of glass. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep great.”

Eddie frowns, then leans in just a little, resting one arm on the table. “Nightmares?”

The concern in his voice is soft. Unbearable.

“Nah,” Buck says quickly. “Just… long night.”

With Tommy.

The guilt is a roiling thing in his stomach, sour and sharp.

He doesn’t know what he’s more ashamed of—that he let himself fall into old habits with someone who never deserved him… or that it happened when his heart was clearly already somewhere else.

“Okay,” Eddie says, still watching him. “You sure you’re alright?”

Buck nods and tries not to break. “Yeah. Just glad you’re home.”

That earns him a smile. A real one. The kind that makes Buck want to scream into a pillow.

Across the table, Chris holds up his juice like a toast. “To being back!”

“To being back,” Eddie echoes.

Buck lifts his coffee. “Yeah. Back.”

And so help him, he doesn’t say “Back in the house I want to build a life in.”

Doesn’t say “Back in the presence of the man I love.”

He just drinks. And wonders how the hell he’s supposed to survive this day.

Maddie leans back in her chair, bare feet propped on the edge of Chimney’s lap, the takeout boxes from their late dinner pushed off to the side. It’s nearly midnight, the house is quiet, and Chim’s trying to convince her that watching a three-hour documentary on aviation disasters qualifies as unwinding.

She’s only half-listening. Her mind keeps drifting. Specifically—to her little brother.

Chim notices. Of course he does. “You’re making that face,” he says, nudging her ankle. “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”

Maddie hums. “Do you think Buck’s in love with Eddie?”

Chimney chokes on his sip of soda. “I’m sorry—what?”

“I said—”

“No, I heard you, I just—” He waves a hand, eyes wide. “That was out of nowhere!”

She shrugs, completely calm, which only alarms him more. “It’s not that out of nowhere.”

Chim sets down his cup slowly. “Okay. Walk me through that.”

“Well,” Maddie says, stretching lazily like this isn’t the most chaotic sentence she’s ever delivered, “Buck came over this morning in full spiral mode.”

Chimney nods slowly. “Classic.”

“He said Tommy—yes, that Tommy—implied Buck was in love with Eddie. Like, very confidently.”

Chim’s brows shoot up. “Wait—Tommy? Like, ex-Tommy?”

Maddie nods, far too pleased with herself. “Apparently they… reconnected. Briefly.”

“Oh my God.”

“Yeah,” she says, smirking. “It was already a mess. But then Tommy said ‘now that the competition’s out of the way,’ meaning Eddie.”

Chimney blinks. “So Tommy thought Eddie was—”

“The blocker,” Maddie confirms. “Which, first of all, ew. But second of all… it clearly rattled Buck. And when I asked him if he was in love with Eddie, he said Eddie's straight.”

“…But he didn’t say no,” Chim finishes, eyes going comically wide.

“Exactly.” Maddie leans forward now, enjoying herself. “He did not say no.”

Chimney puts both hands on the table like he needs to physically steady himself. “Okay. Okay. This is big.”

“It’s something.”

“It’s everything.” Chim is already pulling out his phone. “I’m calling Hen.”

“Chim!”

“I knew it,” Chimney says, staring at Maddie like she’s just handed him the Holy Grail, the keys to the kingdom, and the last donut in the box all at once. “I knew it wasn’t just me. Those two have been dancing around each other for years.”

Maddie gives him a flat look. “You knew nothing.”

“Are you kidding me? Every time Buck looks at Eddie, he does that dumb golden retriever head tilt thing like he’s waiting for a treat—”

“Okay,” she interrupts and grabs Chimney’s phone, “first of all, gross. Second of all, no. You’re not texting Hen.”

Chimney freezes, phone halfway in hand. “Come on, babe—Hen would lose her mind. In a fun way!”

“No. Absolutely not.” Maddie reaches across the table and plucks the phone right out of his hand. “This is Buck we’re talking about.”

“He didn’t deny it!”

“He barely admitted it to himself!” she hisses. “You think he can handle Hen and Karen putting up an engagement countdown? Or Bobby giving him a speech about communication?”

Chim mutters, “...Athena would probably start planning the wedding.”

“Exactly,” Maddie snaps. “He is hanging on by, like, half a thread right now. You will not blow this up.”

Chim sighs, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

Maddie narrows her eyes. “Promise.”

He grins sheepishly. “Promise.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Swear on the baby monitor?”

Chim gasps. “That’s sacred.”

“Then don’t be stupid.”

She slides the phone back across the table. Chim picks it up slowly, sighing again like he’s physically in pain.

“Not even a hint?” he says, mournful. “Not even, like, a vague ‘someone you know is in love with someone else you know’ riddle?”

“No.”

“Not even—”

“Chim.”

“...fine.”

But as Maddie heads off to bed a few minutes later, Chim lingers on the couch.

Looks at his phone.

Sighs.

And mutters to himself:

“…I’m probably not stupid if I tell Hen in person.”

The ambulance hums beneath them, the sirens long since cut as they cruise back to the station. Hen’s checking their restock list on the iPad, tapping notes in with expert speed while Chim stares at the road like he’s not vibrating out of his skin with information.

It’s been ten whole hours since Maddie dropped that bomb.

He’s tried to be good.

He wants to be good.

But he’s Chimney, and this is Hen, and he is absolutely going to explode.

“Hey,” he says casually, eyes on the road, “you ever get the feeling that two people are totally in love but haven’t figured it out yet?”

Hen doesn’t even look up. “Literally every day.”

“Okay, but like—our people.”

“Chim,” Hen warns, “if this is about trying to set Ravi up again, I swear to God—”

“No, no, not Ravi. This is bigger. Like—much, much bigger.”

Hen finally looks up. “Who?”

Chim’s smile is smug. Cat-that-got-the-cream levels of smug. “What would you say if I told you... Buck is in love with Eddie?”

Hen blinks once. Then again.

And then, with zero hesitation:

“I knew it.”

Chim cackles, pounding the steering wheel with delight. “I KNEW YOU’D SAY THAT!”

Hen throws her head back, laughing. “Finally! Oh my God. I’ve been waiting for years for those idiots to figure it out.”

Chim nods furiously. “Maddie told me—”

Hen gasps, gripping the handle of the iPad. “So it’s confirmed?”

“Well, it’s... semi-confirmed,” Chim hedges. “Maddie asked Buck if he was in love with Eddie and he said Eddie's straight.”

Hen lifts a single, deadly eyebrow.

“But he didn’t deny it!” Chim adds quickly. “He didn’t say no. Just pulled the old ‘he's straight’ move.”

Hen snorts. “Please. Straight men don’t look at their best friends like Eddie looks at Buck.”

Chim nearly swerves into the next lane from laughing. “Right?!”

“This is huge,” Hen says, already pulling out her phone. “Karen is going to scream.”

“No—wait!” Chim reaches to bat at her arm. “Maddie said don’t tell anyone.”

Hen pauses. Looks at him. “And you’re telling me because...?”

“Because you’re you,” Chim says earnestly. “And I’m me, and Maddie should’ve known that was never gonna work.”

Hen considers this. Shrugs. “Fair.”

“But seriously, Hen—don’t go nuclear, okay? Buck doesn’t even realize what’s happening. I think he’s mid-spiral.”

“Oh,” Hen says, suddenly fond. “Poor baby Buck.”

“Poor baby Buck is in love with his best friend and might not survive the week.”

Hen smirks. “You think Eddie knows?”

Chim slows at a red light and lets the question hang.

“…I think Eddie’s gonna find out real soon.”

The 118 kitchen is loud with laughter and clatter, but Buck feels like he’s moving underwater.

Hen and Chim are arguing about seasoning ratios again, and Bobby’s chopping vegetables with surgeon-level focus, but it all sounds muted to Buck—like someone turned down the volume on the world.

He stares blankly at the coffee machine, watching it fill his cup like it might offer him divine clarity.

It doesn’t.

Because Eddie’s not here.

And Buck is—a mess.

It shouldn’t matter this much. It’s not like they work every shift side by side anymore. It’s not like Buck hasn’t done calls without him. But something about knowing Eddie’s technically nearby—just a couple blocks over at dispatch while Bobby finalizes the transfer back to the 118—feels worse than absence.

Like Buck could just… call him. And hear his voice. And inevitably something stupid.

“You miss him already?”

Buck flinches. Coffee sloshes onto his hand.

Hen is beside him now, leaning against the counter, too casual. Too observant.

“What?” Buck says too quickly.

Hen just smiles. 

Buck glares at her over the rim of his mug. “I’m fine.”

She hums. “Sure you are.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t want to give her anything. But his brain is still back in Eddie’s kitchen, watching cream cheese smear on his upper lip, watching Eddie laugh at Chris with sleep in his eyes and comfort in his smile.

He’d looked so happy to see Buck that morning.

Like coming home to him wasn’t just a coincidence. Like it was intentional.

Buck swears he’s focusing.

Really, he is.

But when Bobby hands him the wrench, he forgets why. Stares at it like it’s an alien artifact.

“Hydrant check,” Bobby says gently, like he’s repeating something for a particularly distracted golden retriever. “You volunteered five minutes ago.”

“Oh. Right.” Buck flashes a too-bright smile. “Hydrant. Wrench. Yep. Got it.”

Bobby watches him for a beat longer than necessary.

Buck flees.

Ten minutes later, Buck’s elbow-deep in rust and regret, trying to remember which way to turn the damn thing when Eddie’s voice comes over the radio.

“Dispatch to Ladder 118—update on that hydrant at Echo and Olive. City says the valve’s sticking, might need a flush.”

Buck’s whole body stiffens.

Not because of the hydrant.

Because Eddie’s voice. In his ear.

Soft and clipped and competent, like he belongs behind the comms. Like he doesn’t know that the sound of his voice is currently causing Buck to lose function in all four limbs.

He fumbles the wrench and it clatters to the sidewalk.

Hen’s voice comes through the truck cab speaker: “Copy that, Dispatch.”

Buck doesn’t move.

Hen’s window rolls down. “You good, Buck?”

He startles.

“What?”

She smirks. “Just checking.”

Buck mutters something that sounds like “fucking hell” under his breath and retrieves the wrench with extreme focus.

It takes five tries to open the hydrant.

Back at the station, Buck slumps into a chair like he’s just completed a triathlon. Hen plops down beside him, smug as hell.

“You’re not subtle, y’know.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Buck says defensively.

“Exactly,” Hen says, sipping her water. “That’s the problem.”

He groans.

Chim drops into the seat across from them, eyes twinkling. “So,” he says. “What are we pretending we’re not talking about?”

Hen and Buck speak at the same time.

“Nothing.”

“Eddie.”

Chim perks up like someone lit a match in his brain. “Eddie, huh?”

Buck sinks lower in his chair. “God, I hate this firehouse.”

Hen pats his shoulder. “No you don’t.”

Chim is grinning. “Dispatch Diaz, huh? Bet he’s still got that radio voice. That voice that says ‘hydrant pressure’ but means—”

“I will quit,” Buck says.

Chim snorts. “No you won’t. You’ll sit there and keep being in love with your best friend until he calls you ‘babe’ or accidentally kisses you or something.”

Buck opens his mouth. Closes it.

Hen whistles low. “Ohhhh.”

Chim grins wider. “Ohhhhhh.”

Buck covers his face with both hands. 

Hen leans against the kitchen counter, swirling the last of her wine in the glass, watching Karen flip through a takeout menu like they aren’t always going to order the same Thai they always get.

She should wait until they’re sitting down.

She doesn’t.

“Okay,” Hen says, grinning already, “I have a story.”

Karen looks up instantly, sensing a shift in the air. “From work?”

“From Buck.”

Karen puts the menu down. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Hen practically vibrates. “Maddie told Chim, who told me—because obviously—and now I am telling you, because I am a generous wife who believes in sharing joy.”

Karen raises an eyebrow, but she’s already smiling. “Henrietta Wilson, if you do not spit it out in the next three seconds—”

“Buck is in love with Eddie.”

Karen freezes mid-reach for her wine.

And then:

“Oh my God.”

Hen takes a proud sip like she just delivered the evening news. “He told Maddie. Or, I mean, he didn’t not tell her. Which, honestly, is more than enough confirmation at this point.”

Karen’s mouth is open. She looks half-shocked, half-vindicated. “I knew it.”

“Babe, we all knew it.”

“No, but I knew it first,” Karen insists, pointing dramatically. “You remember! I said it after that one BBQ when Eddie showed up late and Buck looked like someone canceled Christmas—and then perked up the second Eddie handed him a beer.”

Hen laughs. “You did clock that.”

“I practically wrote it down.” Karen grins and refills her wine. “So wait—how did it happen? What exactly did Buck say?”

Hen shrugs, breezy. “Tommy said something dumb, like ‘now that the competition’s out of the way,’ meaning Eddie and Buck went to Maddie in a panic. She asked him if he was in love with Eddie, and he said he’s straight.”

Karen narrows her eyes. “That’s not a no.”

“Exactly.” Hen beams. “So now we know.”

Karen pauses, considering. “Do they know?”

“Oh, God no.” Hen snorts. “Buck’s spiraling. Eddie’s off at dispatch. And neither of them has any idea that, like, half the team is already planning their wedding.”

Karen cackles. “Should we send them a save the date?”

Hen raises her glass. “I’m thinking fall. Warm tones. Chris as ring bearer.”

Karen clinks her glass with hers, absolutely delighted. “God, I love our lives.”

Hen sighs happily. “Me too, babe. Me too.”

Bobby’s at the whiteboard, scrawling out the rotation schedule, when Chim sidles up with the world’s least subtle “casual” vibe.

“Busy?” Chim asks, already too close.

Bobby eyes him. “Should I be?”

Chim shrugs, rocking on his heels. “Nah. Just thought you’d wanna know… Buck’s in love with Eddie.”

Bobby turns slowly. “I’m sorry?”

“Buck. In love. With Eddie.” Chim spreads his hands like he’s delivering the weather.

There’s a long pause.

“…Romantically?” Bobby asks, cautious.

Chim makes a face like, obviously. “I mean, yeah. What else would it be?”

Bobby blinks. “So they’re together?”

Chim opens his mouth to say no.

Pauses.

Wavers.

Then says, “I mean… they basically are.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow. “So they’re dating?”

Chim shrugs helplessly. “If they’re not, someone should really tell their mouths. Or their eyes. Or Chris. Honestly, we might be the last ones to know.”

And that’s all it takes.

Bobby’s expression shifts. Serious. Thoughtful. “Okay. That makes a lot of sense. I always wondered—”

“Oh yeah,” Chim cuts in. “Maddie told me Buck basically confirmed it.”

Bobby nods, already filing this away as truth. “Well. I’m happy for them.”

“Me too!” Chim grins. “I mean, I’m still processing the fact that Buck fell for Eddie, of all people, but—”

“Alright,” Bobby says, already heading toward the lockers, “I’ll let Athena know tonight.”

Chim’s eyes widen. “Wait—what?”

“Just keeping her in the loop,” Bobby says calmly. “It’s good news.”

“Yeah, but I don’t—okay—hang on—” Chim hurries after him, stumbling over his words. “They’re not, like, official-official.”

Bobby glances back. “But they’re dating.”

Chim makes a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a shrug. “...Sure?”

And that’s it.

Bobby walks off, entirely convinced.

Chim stares after him.

Then sighs, rubbing his face.

“Oh no. Maddie is gonna kill me.”

Bobby sets his fork down, leans back in his chair, and says it so casually Athena almost doesn’t catch it.

“Oh, by the way—Buck and Eddie are dating.”

She blinks once. “Finally.”

Bobby frowns. “Wait… you knew?”

Athena snorts. “Bobby. Please. I’ve had bets riding on this since the lawsuit.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow. “You bet on my firefighters love lives?”

“I bet on inevitabilities.” She takes a sip of wine, smirking. “I just didn’t think it’d take them this long.”

Bobby chuckles. “Chim said Maddie told him. Buck admitted it.”

“Well, I’m glad someone finally made a move.” Athena pulls out her phone. “May’s gonna lose it.”

Athena picks up her phone and writes out a text message.

It finally happened.

Buck and Eddie are together.

She hits send. Smiles to herself.

Bobby serves dessert.

It’s been a quiet ten minutes at dispatch.

Which, for May, usually means she can grab a sip of her iced coffee, glance through the CAD screen, and prep for whatever fresh chaos the city has in store.

She’s mid-line update—typing out a clarification on a traffic obstruction downtown—when her phone buzzes next to the keyboard.

She doesn’t expect it to be important. Probably one of her group chats dropping memes again.

But it’s not.

It’s her mother.

Mom: It finally happened.

Buck and Eddie are together.

May freezes.

Eyes wide.

She stares at the text like it’s in a foreign language. Then she reads it again. And again.

And then, slowly, very slowly, she turns her head.

Because Eddie Diaz is sitting beside her.

Eddie Diaz, completely oblivious, leaning over the console with one hand tapping out call notes, the other rubbing at his temple.

Calm. Focused.

Utterly unaware that May just got a message that says he's dating his best friend.

She stares at him for a full three seconds.

Then—

“Wait… why didn’t you tell me you and Buck are dating?”

Eddie freezes mid-keystroke.

His head turns toward her. Slowly.

Brows drawn together in genuine confusion. “What?”

“You and Buck,” she says, waving vaguely between them. “Together.”

Eddie blinks. “I’m sorry—what?”

“My mom just texted me,” May says, phone still in hand. “She said ‘it finally happened.’ And that you and Buck are together.”

“I—” Eddie shakes his head, sitting back. “I don’t—wait, what?!” Eddie blinks fast. “I—I’m… confused.”

May stares at him. “So… that’s not a no?”

“I just—” He gestures helplessly, like he can push the conversation away with vague hand movements. “I don’t understand what’s happening right now.”

“You’re not dating Buck,” May repeats, slower this time.

“I—” Eddie runs a hand over his face. “I didn’t think we were.”

May narrows her eyes. “Okay, but you said that like a guy who’s worried he missed the conversation where he agreed to date his best friend.”

“I’m just trying to figure out why people think that,” he says, voice tight. “I didn’t know—no one told me—”

May blinks. “You needed someone to tell you if you were dating him?”

Eddie looks like he’s about to implode. “I mean I might have called him babe once? Maybe? I don't really remember.”

May just stares at him. “You've called him babe before.”

“I'm going on my break.” Eddie mutters.

“You’re spiraling.”

“I need air.”

“Because you’re spiraling.”

Eddie sits in his truck with the air conditioning blasting and one hand braced on the steering wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

He’s not panicking.

He’s just… thinking.

Hard.

Like really thinking. Retrospective, life-flashing-before-his-eyes kind of thinking.

Because May asked him if he was with Buck, and instead of laughing it off, or snapping “no,” or even thinking “that’s ridiculous” — his brain just… short-circuited.

And now it’s glitching in slow, painful, incriminating high definition.

You’ve called him babe before.

No he hasn’t. Why did he say that?

...Has he?

Maybe he has.

He replays the last week in his head. Buck at the station. Buck on his couch. Buck cleaning up Chris’s cereal disaster with his sleeves rolled up, forearms flexed, laughing like this is the best part of his day.

He definitely called him something.

Hey, man.

Hey, Buck.

Thanks, partner.

You’re the best, babe—

His stomach drops.

“No,” he whispers out loud.

But oh God, maybe.

Okay. Deep breath. That’s not definitive proof of anything.

People call each other pet names all the time. It’s just a word. It doesn’t mean—

And then his brain pulls up a highlight reel he did not ask for.

Buck, wet from a storm call, peeling his turnout jacket off and running his hand through his hair.

Buck, sun-drenched at a park day, eyes crinkled, shirt soft and worn thin, laughing at Chris’s terrible jokes.

Buck in Eddie’s kitchen, barefoot, pouring coffee like he belongs there.

Eddie’s eyes close like maybe that will stop his own memories from assaulting him.

I have definitely checked him out.

Like… not even subtly. Not once or twice.

Multiple times.

With interest.

There was that time Buck wore that stupid white t-shirt that clung to him in all the wrong-right places. Eddie remembers that day clearly because he kept missing words in a sentence.

And that other time at the station when Buck leaned against the rig, arms crossed, shirt riding up just a bit—and Eddie looked.

He looked.

He lingered.

“God,” he groans, leaning his head back against the seat. “I’m an idiot.”

He didn’t know?

He didn’t know?

He’s been acting like Buck’s just his best friend, his partner, his emergency contact, his go-to person for literally everything in life — and it never once occurred to him to interrogate why that felt so natural.

Why he lets Buck in, deeper than anyone else.

Why Buck’s laugh is the sound that cuts through any bad day.

Why Chris looks at Buck like he is his hero, and Eddie—Eddie—has just accepted that, no questions asked.

He knows why.

He just didn’t want to see it.

Until now.

Until May asked if he was dating his best friend.

Until his own memories betrayed him.

He closes his eyes again.

Oh fuck. I think I’m in love with him. Fuck.

And just like that, the silence inside the truck is deafening.

The thing is, it’s not a date.

It’s just dinner and a movie. Just the two of them. Just a Friday night with no Chris, no chaos, no fire alarms or station noise. Just a few hours of peace before the world tips sideways again.

He’d asked casually, or at least tried to.

“Chris has a sleepover Friday night. You wanna hang out? Maybe dinner, movie?”

And Buck had smiled — that soft, sunlit kind of smile that always feels like it lands directly in Eddie’s chest — and said,

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Now it’s later. After tacos. After popcorn and bad previews. After a dumb action movie Buck claimed he’d hate but still leaned all the way forward in his seat for, grinning like a kid.

Now they’re walking back to Eddie’s house, side by side, their arms brushing just enough to make Eddie hyper-aware of his own skin.

“Okay,” Buck says, “you were right. That movie didn’t suck.”

Eddie glances over. “Told you.”

“You didn’t tell me it had a car chase that lasted twenty minutes.”

“You didn’t ask.”

Buck lets out a laugh — bright and unfiltered, the kind that always makes Eddie smile without trying. “Still think the twist was dumb, though.”

Eddie shrugs. “You liked the car chase.”

“I did like the car chase,” Buck admits, nudging him with an elbow. Their steps are lazy. Comfortable. Familiar in a way that sneaks under Eddie’s ribs if he lets it.

It’s nothing new — they’ve had nights like this a hundred times. After late shifts, holidays, quiet Sundays. Buck on the couch. Buck at the stove. Buck reading with Chris. Buck everywhere.

But tonight feels... different.

Chris is gone. The house is quiet. The movie glow is still warm in Eddie’s bones, but underneath it, something else is shifting.

Buck follows him inside without a word, kicking off his shoes by the door like he lives here. He practically does.

Eddie goes to the kitchen, grabs two beers from the fridge. When he hands Buck one, their fingers brush. He doesn’t move away right away.

Buck notices.

They settle on the couch — their usual spots, close but not too close. The TV is playing a replay of a hockey match, but neither of them are really watching.

Eddie’s heart is doing that thing again — the thing it’s started doing more and more often around Buck. The quiet thump behind his ribs like it’s trying to say something before his brain can catch up.

He turns to look at Buck, who’s scrolling absently through his phone, soft light flickering across his face.

Eddie opens his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Hey, babe—”

Silence.

Complete and total silence.

Buck’s thumb stills on the screen. His eyes flick up — wide and startled, and then something else Eddie can’t quite name.

Eddie’s heart stops.

He freezes.

Oh god. Oh god.

Why the hell did he do that?

Buck blinks. “What did you just call me?”

Eddie fumbles. “I—uh. Nothing?”

Buck puts the phone down. Turns toward him fully.

His voice is gentle. Teasing. But also... curious. “Did you just call me babe?”

Eddie feels his ears go red. “It just slipped out.”

“Right,” Buck says. Watching him too closely now. “Because that’s a thing you call me all the time?”

“I didn’t—” Eddie rubs the back of his neck. “I just… I was trying it out.”

Buck raises an eyebrow. “Trying it out?”

Eddie shrugs, eyes dropping to the floor. “I wanted to see how it felt.”

There’s a long pause.

The kind that stretches and swells between them until it’s almost unbearable.

“And?” Buck asks finally.

Eddie lifts his eyes. And for once, he doesn’t lie. Doesn’t deflect.

He just says, quietly, “Kinda felt right.”

Buck’s expression softens. That look Eddie knows like the back of his hand — the one that says I see you. The one that says maybe I’ve been waiting.

“Yeah,” Buck murmurs. “Yeah, I think it did.”

They sit there for a beat.

Not talking. Not moving. Not quite breathing.

And Eddie thinks, no, Eddie knows, he is in so much trouble.

But he doesn’t take it back.

And Buck doesn’t look away.

Buck isn’t breathing.

Not really.

He’s sitting on Eddie’s couch, in Eddie’s house, in the silence with hockey on in the background — and Eddie just called him babe.

And it wasn’t a joke.

It wasn’t even one of those accidental nicknames that slips out when you’re tired or distracted or mocking Chim.

It was… intentional.

He knows it was intentional.

Eddie’s sitting beside him, doing that thing where he tries to look unaffected and ends up looking like he’s being crushed under the weight of his own emotions.

“I wanted to see how it felt.”

That’s what Eddie has said. Like it was a science experiment.

Like calling Buck babe was a neutral test of physics, instead of the emotional equivalent of dropping a lit match into a field of dry grass

Buck swallows. His heart is pounding. His fingers are twitching against his glass.

“Kinda felt right.”

That’s what Eddie had said.

Buck doesn’t know if Eddie meant for it to sound like a confession. He probably didn’t. This is Eddie. He could accidentally propose marriage and then backpedal into “I meant that platonically.”

But still.

It’s sitting in the air between them now, bright and buzzing and impossible to ignore.

And Buck—Buck is tired.

Tired of pretending he doesn’t feel it.

Tired of wondering.

Tired of the ache that starts in his chest every time Eddie smiles at him like he hung the moon and then looks away like he’s not allowed to mean it.

“I wanted to see how it felt.”

Well.

Maybe Buck does too.

He shifts slightly, enough that he’s facing Eddie fully now. They’re close. God, they’re always close. But tonight… it feels different.

Eddie glances at him, uncertain. A flicker of nerves behind those dark eyes.

Buck’s voice is quiet, careful. “You wanted to see how it felt?”

Eddie licks his lips. Nods. “Yeah.”

Buck tilts his head. “Can I?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Can you what—”

But Buck’s already leaning in.

Slow. Gentle. No pressure.

Just giving Eddie time to pull away.

Eddie doesn’t.

Their lips meet softly, barely more than a brush, like the question mark at the end of a sentence they’ve been writing for years.

It’s not dramatic. It’s not fireworks.

It’s just… right.

Like sliding a puzzle piece into place.

When they part, barely an inch between them, Buck stays close. Breathless. Waiting.

Eddie opens his eyes.

Looks at him like he’s seeing Buck clearly for the first time.

Then says, voice low and a little shaky—

“I think it felt right.”

Buck grins.

“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”