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“C’mon, open it,” Buck says, grinning, bouncing slightly where he stands by the kitchen counter. “Just something small, not that big’a deal.”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but his chest’s already gone tight with that warm pressure he only gets when Buck is being…Buck. Thoughtful, a little chaotic, and always somehow more than Eddie deserves.
He unties the twine carefully, unfolds the paper, and opens the box to reveal a framed print. Inside it: a drawing of a house. But it’s not just some generic house. This one has a cracked tile on the front step, a familiar arch over the entrance, a hummingbird feeder that someone insisted on putting up even though that someone keeps forgetting to refill it. It’s a detailed pen sketch of the house they’re standing in right now.
In the foreground of the print is a drawing of Eddie and Christopher, which Eddie recognizes the pose from a photo Buck took out front last summer. Buck and Chris were outside goofing off under the basketball hoop whilst Buck manned the grill in the driveway. Neither of them noticed Buck had snapped a picture when Eddie ran over after mowing the lawn, and playfully threw Chris over his shoulders until he showed them while eating dinner.
The print is beautiful, but Eddie can’t help but feel like something is missing. Or someone.
Why does it feel wrong Buck’s not in it?
And why does Eddie wish he was?
“Do…you like it?” Buck asks suddenly uncertain, bringing Eddie out of his head and back to reality.
Eddie swallows hard, but before he can answer, something flutters loose from behind the frame—something small. It lands on the table face-up.
A sticker.
Simple lettering in bold green script: Choose Joy.
Eddie freezes.
Buck leans over to see what Eddies staring at, “oh, I didn’t—must’ve just been a freebie from the seller or something. You can toss it.”
But Eddie doesn’t move.
Choose Joy.
It echoes like a distant church bell in his head.
The words land with more weight than Buck could possibly understand—because it isn’t just a sticker. The words are a memory, the priest’s voice months ago, telling him that maybe it was time to stop punishing himself. To stop denying himself and finally choose joy.
He looks back at the print. At the simple lines that make up the only home that’s ever really felt like one to him.
Buck sits completely still across from him, biting the inside of his cheek, unsure if he’s screwed this up somehow.
Eddie picks up the sticker, turning it over once, then carefully sets it down again. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet, “do you ever think…maybe the universe tries to tell you something more than once?”
“Like in signs?” Buck tilts his head, “I didn’t think you believed in that kind of stuff.”
Eddie nods, eyes still on the sticker, shrugging off Bucks comment and continuing, “like maybe you missed it the first time. And it just—keeps showing up until you’re finally ready to see it.”
Buck exhales a quiet laugh, “I mean…I don’t know. But if it’s true, I guess…I hope you’re ready for whatever it is now.”
Eddie looks up, their eyes lock, and something in Buck’s face softens.
Eddie just breathes, “yeah. I think I am.”
Just then they hear Christopher’s voice float down the hallway.
“Dad? Buck? Are we doing cake soon or what?”
“Yeah, mijo. You gonna help dish up the ice cream?” Eddie turns his head, blinking back whatever was starting to well up behind his eyes.
Chris walks into the room, already grinning, “did you open the present? What was it?”
“Take a look,” Eddie holds up the framed print.
Christopher studies it for a moment, then gasps, “hey, that’s us! That’s our house!”
Buck chuckles and nods, “had it custom made. I sent the artist a photo of you two out front last summer.”
Christopher lights up, “that’s so cool!” Then he asks, “but wait, where are you, Buck?”
The kitchen falls completely silent, Eddie doesn’t know how to answer that and by the look on Bucks face, neither does he.
“Well, Chris,” Eddie finally says, “he was the one taking the picture so, that’s why he’s not in it,” Eddie looks to Buck whose face is in a tight smile.
“That makes sense,” he shrugs, noticing the his dad is holding something else, “did you get that sticker too?”
Eddie glances at it in his hand and turns it toward him, “it came with the print. Says ‘Choose Joy.’”
“Sounds like something Abuela would say,” Christopher shrugs.
And somehow, that makes Eddie’s throat even tighter.
“Yeah,” he says, looking back and forth between his son and Buck, “yeah, it does.”
Chris hums, then brightens, “we should put the picture up in the living room by the front door! So everyone sees it when they come in!”
Buck looks at Eddie.
Eddie just nods, “I think that’s the perfect spot.”
🧃
Later that night, the house is quiet.
Christopher’s asleep, noise machine on, and door shut tight. Buck and Eddie are standing just around the corner, the framed print and a pencil in Eddie’s hands, and a nail, the hammer, and leveler in Bucks.
“Sure you don’t want to wait ‘til tomorrow?” Buck whispers, even though he’s not sure why they’re whispering.
“Nah. You’re here. Might as well,” Eddie shrugs and smiles, but he feels his brain go a little fuzzy and his face turn pink, suddenly very aware of how close Buck is standing to him.
He turns the frame over, eyes scanning the back like he’s double-checking it, but really—he’s stalling. His hands feel too warm.
Buck takes two steps towards the wall and holds the level with exaggerated focus, tongue between his teeth like he’s performing surgery, “is it straight?”
“Straighter than either of us,” Eddie mutters to himself.
“What?” Buck blinks.
“Nothing,” Eddie says quickly, ears now turning pink, “its good. Perfect.” He steps up to the wall, marking the top of the level with a pencil.
Buck hands him the nail, then the hammer. Their fingers brush and Eddie ignores the flutters in his gut.
They work silently—Buck now holding the frame, Eddie hammering gently. Once the frame is secure, they step back side by side. It looks good.
It just—something about Buck not being in it hits harder now that it’s on the wall.
Eddie looks over at the man standing next to him, wishing, for a split second, he could read his mind.
“I just didn’t want to assume you know?” A small shrug, “thought it might be weird if I…if I included myself.”
Edie swallows, “I would have liked that, Buck.”
Buck turns to him, blinking.
“If you’d been in it too, Eddie says, voice quiet but sure, “I would’ve loved it.”
Buck just stares for a moment, like he doesn’t quite know how to process that, but it’s true. Every time Eddie looks at that print now, that emptiness will be there—because the person who took the photo, the person who gave the gift, the person who’s been showing up for years without being asked is not in the frame.
And Eddie’s starting to realize he wants him there. Maybe always has. So why the fuck can’t he just be honest?
He’s pulled back into reality when Buck slides the hammer out of Eddie’s hands and places it back in the toolbox beside him.
“Look at us. Domestic as hell,” Buck lets out a soft laugh.
Eddie smiles but doesn’t look away from the print, “yeah, guess we are.”
A long beat passes. The quiet between them isn’t awkward—it’s weighty. Full. Like something unsaid is standing there too, waiting.
“I, uh…” Eddie clears his throat, trying to be brave, “when I saw that sticker earlier—‘Choose Joy’—it was like everything just…stopped.”
Buck turns to face him, brow drawn, “yeah?”
“Yeah. I hadn’t thought about it in a while,” Eddie says, eyes still on the print. “That conversation I had with the priest—about joy. About how maybe I should allow myself to feel it, to have it.”
Buck doesn’t interrupt. He just waits. Listens.
“I think I’ve spent a long time not letting myself believe that,” Eddie continues. “That I could choose to be happy. That I even deserved to be.”
He finally looks at Buck.
“And then this dumb little sticker shows up. You show up. Like always.”
Buck’s voice is so soft, “I didn’t do anything.”
“You did. You did everything,” Eddie says, voice barely a breath. “You didn’t even mean to. But you keep showing up—for me, for Christopher. You are the joy, Buck. You always have been.”
Buck swallows hard. His eyes go wide, like he’s afraid to move, afraid he might dream this into nothing.
Eddie doesn’t step closer, he can’t yet. But his voice stays steady.
“I don’t know if I’m there yet,” he quickly admits, pulse accelerating, “I’m still—figuring it out. But I want to choose it.” He pauses and takes a deep breath, before he lets the vulnerability he feels safe enough to share in this moment pass, he says, “I want to choose you. If that’s even something you’d want.”
Buck looks like he’s been holding his breath since Eddie started speaking. Now, finally, he lets it out.
“Eddie,” he starts, voice barely a whisper. “I’ve wanted that for a very long time,” Buck admits.
A quiet settles again—gentler this time. They stand there in the soft light of the living room, framed by their own kind of homecoming—two hearts finally starting to speak the same language, and one home to hold them.
🧃
A few nights later, Eddie can’t sleep. He crawls out of bed and walks to the kitchen for a glass of water. A couple minutes later he finds himself standing alone in the living room in the dark, looking at the framed print. Just looking.
The lines are still visible in the soft spill of light from the kitchen—Chris, and himself. Eddie lifts his finger to trace over where the drawing of Buck should be.
And—Eddie can see what it is now. What it’s always been. And as he stands across from it, he can slightly see his reflection in the glass too.
His arms crossed tight across his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together, and lets the quiet settle around him.
He’s been here before—in moments like this, on the edge of something he didn’t let himself reach for.
Because it wasn’t for him.
Because he was raised to believe that wanting this—wanting someone like Buck, wanting a man—meant losing something else. His father’s approval. His faith. His safety. His sense of order in a world that already asked so much of him.
He’d been told, explicitly and implicitly, that love like this meant shame.
But Buck has never made Eddie feel ashamed. Buck has never asked him to explain himself.
Buck has just showed up, every time, like loving Eddie was something natural—not something to be earned or feared, but chosen.
Eddie feels his eyes welling up, tears threatening to spill over the edge, so he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and exhales slowly. Then—quietly, barely above a whisper—he says it out loud.
“I’m ga—” the end of the word sort of catches in his throat.
He takes his hands away and again looks at the print to face his reflection looking back at him in the glass.
“I’m gay.”
His voice breaks a little on the second word. But he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t apologize.
Because it’s not something to be ashamed of.
It’s just true.
Again he says it, “I’m gay,” this time it’s more assertive.
He lets the words settle in the silent room, lets them echo back to him in his head.
For a long time, he just stands there. Not moving. Not running.
And then—he walks to his bedroom, and opens his closet, and he can’t help but smirk at the irony.
Standing there, looking at the inside of his closet door he takes the sticker out from his pocket that he’s been carrying around since his birthday. He carefully peels the backing off the sticker, presses it to the door, right at eye level, where he’ll see it every morning, and every night.
Choose Joy.
It’s not a declaration. It’s not a performance.
It’s just a promise to himself.
And this time, he’s going to keep it.
🧃
The next morning the sun rises slow and soft over the neighborhood, casting warm light across the kitchen floor. But Eddie’s already awake.
He’s been up since just before dawn—not restless, for once. Just…still. He made coffee the way he always does, leaned against the counter, and listened to the quiet hum of the house.
But today, it feels different. Less like silence, more like peace.
The knock on the door comes exactly when he expects it: two short, one light. Buck.
Eddie’s already halfway there when he hears it.
He opens the door and there he is—hair tousled from the breeze, cheeks pink from the morning air, cardboard tray of coffees in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other. Eddie fights the urge to pull him into a hug and kiss his birthmark.
“Hey,” Buck says, easy and warm.
“Hey,” Eddie echoes, already smiling.
Buck steps inside past Eddie and walks straight into the kitchen. He sets the coffees on the counter, slides the bag beside them, and starts unpacking.
“I made these,” he says, pulling out parchment paper-wrapped pastries, “they’re not exactly bakery-level, but I wanted to try.”
“You made almond croissants?” Eddie asks, eyebrow raised.
Buck shrugs, suddenly sheepish, “thought I’d surprise you.”
And he has—not because he showed up with Eddies favorite pastries, but because he keeps doing this. Keeps loving him like this. Soft and simple, like it’s easy. Without asking for anything in return. Without fanfare. Just…showing up.
Eddie watches him unwrap the pastries, slide them onto plates, reach for the powdered sugar without asking where it is.
And something in Eddie settles, even deeper than it did even last night in the dark living room. He thought love had to come with weight. With sacrifice. With the need to suffer to deserve it.
But maybe it doesn’t.
Maybe this—Buck in his hoodie, humming under his breath, fussing with coffee lids—is the joy he is supposed to choose. Maybe it’s not about a decision made in a rush of feeling. Maybe it’s about letting himself stay in the good. Letting himself be loved the way Buck’s always loved him—without shame. Without fear.
And for the first time, Eddie feels like he can do it.
He can be this version of himself.
Not the one who’s always looking over his shoulder. Not the one who’s afraid to speak it out loud. Just the man who woke up this morning knowing he’s gay, and that it’s not something to fix or fight. It just is.
He’s just a man who wants to kiss his best friend. And hold his hand when they walk into the supermarket after a long shift. And wake up early to hike with. And sleep in on Sundays. And call into work one day in the future just because they want to spend all day in bed together. And take him apart each night. And kiss his forehead when he’s sick. And marry someday. And grow old with. And—
Buck looks up, mid-sip of coffee, “you’re staring.”
“Am I?” Eddie blinks, face turning pink.
“Little bit.”
Eddie shakes his head, smiling and quietly remarks, “you’re just…here. Making yourself at home.”
Buck grins, “it’s kind of my thing.”
Eddie smiles fondly and nods. He doesn’t say anything else—he doesn’t need to.
Because Buck just gives him a smile that’s all dimples and softness and moves around the kitchen like he belongs—because he does.
And Eddie lets himself have this moment, coffee in hand, heart full in his chest.
No pressure. No confessions. Just this feeling:
I can be happy. I can let it be easy. I can let myself choose him.
🧃
Later that night, the house is quiet again.
It’s almost midnight and Chris went to bed a couple hours ago.
Buck’s still there, sitting next to Eddie on the couch, even after spending the entire day with the Diaz’s. He made them dinner and did the dishes—like any other given night.
But it hadn’t felt like any other night.
Because now Eddie knows.
He’s done wondering, done hesitating. Done holding it in.
He turns to look at Buck, sitting there watching the movie intently. He’s never been so aware of not touching someone in his entire life. Eddie traces the profile of Buck’s face with his gaze, then his eyes land just past Buck at the print on the wall.
Buck catches Eddie staring, “what?” He asks slightly terrified of the answer, “is there a bug on me!?” He puts his hand up to his temple and runs his fingers through his hair. Bucks hair. It just looks so soft.
“No, no nothing like that,” Eddie feigns a laugh.
Then, in a moment of pure bravery, Eddie takes his hand and runs it through Bucks hair where his own just was moments ago. He’s never touched Buck this intimately before, and is surprised at just how natural it feels. The pair don’t say anything to each other for a moment, just continue to look at each other longingly.
“Eds,” Buck’s whisper breaks the silence.
“I. I—just. I wanna show you something,” Eddie admits, voice small.
He nods signaling to Buck to follow him, they get up off the couch, walk down the hallway, past Chris’s door, into Eddie’s bedroom, not even bothering to turn on the light.
He opens the closet door.
Buck looks at the sticker, then back at Eddie.
“That’s where you’re putting it? …In your closet?” Buck can’t help but chuckle.
Eddie smiles and shrugs, voice low. “yeah, it’s uh—so I can see it every morning. Every time I suit up for work. And every night too.”
He pauses and looks at Buck, whose smirk has faded into the sweetest smile, listening intently to Eddie’s words.
“I want to be reminded,” Eddie adds, “to make the right choice, even when it seems scary.” As he speaks he reaches for Bucks right hand with his left, and laces their fingers together as he hears Buck’s breath catch at Eddie’s words, “…To make the right choice, especially when it comes to you.”
He doesn’t say anything—because Eddie’s already stepping closer, nervous but steady.
“I meant what I said the other night. And I’m ready now. I’m not hiding anymore.”
Eddie pats Bucks hand as he lets go, not because he wants to, but because he needs to reach into the top drawer of the built-in in his closet. He pulls out a small keepsake box—something he started when he was in the army. Eddie opens the box and pulls out a small square of paper. Something worn and familiar, he unfolds a movie ticket. The ink has faded with time, and it’s edges are soft from being touched too many times.
Eddie holds it up and asks Buck, “do you remember this?”
Buck squints and reads what it says, The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part and his breath catches.
“That night,” Eddie says, “you bought Christopher an extra snack because he was nervous, and brought his favorite blanket from home just in case he got overstimulated. You let him talk through the whole movie, too. And—I didn’t know it then, but…” he shrugs, “I think I started falling in love with you that night.”
He sets the box back down and turns back towards his best friend. Buck’s still smiling sweetly, eyes shiny, looking at Eddie like he himself hung the damn moon.
Just then Eddie closes the distance between them—fingers gentle on Buck’s jaw. Eddie suddenly aware of how it feels less like a beginning and more like a return. Their foreheads brush.
And then finally—finally—Eddie leans in and kisses Buck.
It isn’t rushed. Isn’t burning. Instead it blooms.
Soft, reverent, full of something ancient. Like his heart has known this feeling much longer than his body has had the courage to admit it.
Buck’s hands find his waist, grounding him, pulling him closer.
And Eddie lets himself feel it. The rightness of it. The way Buck’s mouth fits against his like a psalm he forgot he knew by heart.
He thinks—this is what love is supposed to be.
Not a punishment. Not a penance.
A blessing.
For a second, he thinks of church pews and altar candles, the hush before communion. That quiet, breathless reverence he was taught to associate with something unreachable.
But this? This is divine.
And it’s his.
When they finally pull apart, Buck’s eyes are wide and glassy, “yeah?” he whispers.
Eddie nods, his voice steady with conviction, “yeah.”
A pause. And then he says it, as easy as breathing, “I love you, Buck.”
It lands between them like the light from the moon—quiet and infinite.
Buck stares at him like the words have knocked the wind out of him. Not surprised, not afraid. Just…ruined. In the best way.
And then he lets out the smallest laugh—barely a sound, more like a release—and whispers, “God, Eddie… I love you too.”
And it’s not loud. It’s not explosive.
But it shakes something loose in Eddie anyway.
Because this time, it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like rising. Like every part of him that had once been buried—under duty, under silence, under guilt, under shame—is finally standing upright in the light.
He leans forward, bringing his lips to meet Bucks again. This time, it’s deeper. Hungrier. More certain. Their mouths part further and tongues slip across lips. There’s heat to the kiss now, not urgent, but alive.
Bucks fingers find the back of Eddies neck, drawing him in like he’s something sacred to be held. And Eddie repeatedly grabs at Bucks waist, a favorite spot he’s discovered.
When they finally come up for air, foreheads resting together, neither of them pulls away, they just breathe together.
Then Buck lets out a small, stunned laugh.
Eddie opens his eyes, wary, “what?”
Buck shakes his head, grinning and full on giggling, “just thinking.”
“Uh oh.”
Buck pulls back to look at Eddie, eyes bright, “this might be the only time in my life something gay has actually happened in a closet.”
Eddie snorts—actually snorts—and drops his head to Bucks shoulder.
“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous,” he says through his snorts.
Buck wraps his arms around him, still laughing, “yeah but you love it.”
Eddie huffs into his shoulder, pulls back and says, “I do.”
And then Buck kisses his forehead, softly.
No more pressure. No more fear.
Just this—joy, and love, and the closet they’ll never need to hide in again.
And for the first time in his life, Eddie lets himself feel completely, fully loved—without apology.
🧃
About a week later, the sun is just starting to spill through the blinds when Eddie wakes.
The house is still. No alarms, no calls. Just the soft rustle of fabric and the faint hum of the ceiling fan. And warmth. Not just from the sunlight—it’s Buck too.
He’s curled beside him, one arm flung across Eddie’s waist, his head nestled half in Eddie’s shoulder like he’d wandered into it sometime during the night and just never left.
Eddie doesn’t move.
He just lies there, breathing it in.
For so long, mornings meant movement. Wake up, check the time, check on Christopher, lace up boots, get ready, get through the next thing, go go go.
But this morning?
This morning is stillness.
Buck stirs slightly, his nose brushing against Eddie’s collarbone. He makes a quiet, content noise and doesn’t open his eyes. His fingers twitch once against Eddie’s ribs like they’re confirming he’s real.
Eddie smiles, barely there, but it’s more than he’s let himself feel in the morning in a long time.
He thinks of all the other mornings—the ones where Buck was in this house but not in this bed. The ones where they brushed shoulders in the kitchen, swapped school drop-offs, shared coffee, shared everything but this. And now—now he gets to have this. Gets to have Buck.
He glances across the room to the closet. The door is cracked, just enough to catch a sliver of light. And there, just barely visible in the gap, is that sticker.
Choose Joy.
It looks so ordinary.
But it changed everything.
Crazy thing is? Eddie thinks, he could’ve ignored it. Could’ve brushed it off as coincidence—or not even acknowledged it at all. He’s done that before—let moments slip through his fingers, afraid to name what he wanted.
But he didn’t this time.
This time, he chose. Chose to be happy. Chose Buck.
And it gave him this: Buck asleep beside him, wrapped around him like they’ve been doing this for years. A quiet house. A heart that doesn’t ache.
Eddie shifts slightly to press a kiss to Buck’s hairline, careful not to wake him. Not yet.
“Thank you,” he whispers, not even sure who he’s saying it to. The universe, maybe.
Or maybe just to Buck.
A couple minutes later Buck shifts again, just enough to blink his eyes open. Still groggy, still warm.
“Mm,” he murmurs, voice scratchy, “what time is it?”
Eddie glances at the clock but doesn’t answer, “s’early, go back to sleep, sweetheart.”
Buck hums, content but stubborn, “nah, love waking up like this.” He stretches a little, arm tightening around Eddie’s waist, face pressed into his shoulder like it belongs there.
Eddie runs a hand slowly down Buck’s back. He still feels like he might be dreaming, like he’ll wake up to find this was another almost.
But Buck is here. Real and heavy and solid in his arms.
“You okay?” Buck mumbles, already starting to drift again but not wanting to miss the moment.
Eddie nods, pressing his cheek to Buck’s hair,“yeah.”
A pause.
“Better than okay, actually.”
Buck’s lips twitch into a lazy smile against his skin, “yeah?”
Eddie closes his eyes, lets himself rest fully into the feeling of being.
“I used to think choosing joy meant walking away from something. Like I’d have to give up control, or let go of things that made sense.”
He pauses.
“But now I think it just means…letting yourself want what’s already yours.”
Buck smiles, “I am, ya know? Yours.”
“Mm, I know,” Eddie kisses Bucks curls, “and I’m yours.”
“Feels like we should’ve been here a long time ago,” Buck says finally, voice quiet. “But then again maybe this is when it was supposed to happen.”
Eddie huffs a soft laugh, “don’t go getting all ‘this is fate’ on me.”
“I’m serious,” Buck says, tilting his chin up slightly to meet Eddie’s eyes, “you chose me. I don’t take that lightly.”
Eddie brushes a thumb across Buck’s jaw, heart full in his chest. “I’ll keep choosing you,” he leans over and kisses the love of his life, morning breath and all.
Buck pulls back and smiles, “yeah?”
“Always.”
They lie there a while longer, tucked into each other like they’ve been doing this forever, like the world outside the bedroom doesn’t need them just yet.
By the time they finally get out of bed, the sun’s higher in the sky and the house and neighborhood is slowly beginning to stir.
Eddie brushes his teeth while Buck leans in the doorway, yawning dramatically, his T-shirt rumpled from sleep. It’s one of Eddie’s, and it fits him just snug enough that Eddie has to look away to stay focused on toothpaste.
“Don’t hog the sink,” Buck teases, nudging Eddie’s hip.
“You’re not even using it!” Eddie says, spitting into the basin with a grin.
“Yeah, but I might.”
It’s all so easy—this quiet shuffle between them, the sleepy smiles, the way Eddie reaches automatically for the towel to hand to Buck before Buck even asks for it. They move like they’ve done this a thousand times. Like they’ll do it a thousand more.
They walk out to the living room, Buck opens the curtains and Eddie turns on their favorite smooth jazz YouTube stream. As they make their way to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast, they pass by the print hanging on the wall.
Buck pauses.
Eddie sees him glance at it—at the little illustrated version of Eddie and Chris, forever captured in ink, standing side by side in front of their house. And for just a second, Buck’s hand brushes over the edge of the frame as they walk past.
Eddie doesn’t say anything.
He just follows him into the kitchen.
The coffee’s already half brewed by the time Buck starts fussing with the toaster, still barefoot, humming under his breath. Eddie leans against the counter, watching him.
“How long have you been making breakfast in this kitchen?” he asks softly.
Buck turns, eyebrow raised, “I don’t know…since forever?”
Eddie nods, “mm, feels like that.”
Buck pops a couple pieces of bread down, “why, you getting tired of my peanut butter-to-toast ratio?”
“No,” Eddie says, and it comes out lower than he meant it to. “I just—I never really saw it for what it was before.” Buck stills, hand resting lightly on the counter and Eddie continues, “you were building something with me. Here. Without ever asking for anything in return.”
He meanders over, until he’s standing next to Buck, who’s now slicing a banana. Eddie gets close enough their shoulders bump and Buck huffs a bit of laughter.
Eddie reaches for one of the mugs Buck just set out—Bucks favorite one—chipped near the handle, and the inside of the mug is forever stained a light brown by the amount of times it’s been used. It’s the one Chris picked out for Buck when they first went to the aquarium together—so someone will have a pry it out of his cold dead hands. Eddie fills it with fresh coffee and tops it with a sprinkle of cinnamon.
Buck stopped slicing the fruit when Eddie walked over. Now, he turns to face Eddie as he takes the mug his boyfriend hands to him.
“And I think…part of me always knew. I just wasn’t ready to call it what it was.”
Buck doesn’t speak for a second, he just looks at Eddie’s deep coffee eyes. Then, quietly: “what is it?”
“Home,” Eddie says no hesitation, then clarifies, “you are my home.”
Buck swallows hard, the toast forgotten. His free hand curls around Eddie’s hip instinctively, anchoring. Neither of them says anything for a moment, they just stare into each other’s eyes.
Right now there’s just this: sunlight slanting through the kitchen window, the smell of coffee, the hum of the toaster, distant jazz in the background.
Just them.
And when the toast finally pops up, they both laugh—a little stunned.
Eddie presses a kiss to Buck’s temple. Then his birthmark. Then his cheek. Then, finally, his mouth.
When they pull back, Buck just murmurs, “took you long enough.”
Eddie snickers and playfully swats Buck’s pectoral.
“Yeah,” he says, “but I got here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
They stand like that for a while, swaying in each other’s arms, sharing a cup of coffee for a moment, the morning air moving gently around them.
In the living room, the print hangs on the wall.
In the closet, the sticker remains: Choose Joy.
Eddie did.
Epilogue – Christmas Morning
The living room smells like Buck’s cinnamon rolls and pine. The soft shuffle of old fashioned Christmas jazz music plays in the background as the tree glows in the corner.
Christopher is camped out on the couch, already lost in one of his new graphic novels, wearing fuzzy socks and the hoodie Buck got him.
Eddie sits next to Buck cross-legged on the floor, close enough that their knees are touching, and hands him one last gift. It’s slim, neatly wrapped in matte red paper, tied with an overly dramatic silver bow.
Buck raises an eyebrow, grinning, “this is suspiciously well-wrapped. Are you trying to make me look bad in front of our kid?”
“Well, he already thinks I’m the cool parent,” Eddie says, smirking, “you’re just here for comic relief.”
Chris doesn’t even look up, “it’s true.”
Buck’s jaw drops and he clutches his chest in mock betrayal, “wounded! On Christmas!”
“Just open it, drama queen,” Eddie rolls his eyes.
Buck laughs, but his smile shifts as he carefully tears back the paper. The moment he sees the artist’s signature, he stills—eyes scanning the image, breath catching in his throat.
It’s another print.
Same soft, golden tones. Same art style. Same house.
But this time, there are three people standing in front of it.
Chris is in the center of the drawing, mid-motion—hands flung up in the air, curls wild, a blur of joy.
Eddie is just beside him, head tilted over toward the third figure, smiling.
It’s Buck. Because of course it is. He’s there, fully there, not just a shadow in the background or somehow implied. He’s on the other side of Eddie, hand linked with his boyfriend—their fingers gently intertwined, subtle but unmistakable. They’re all facing the house together, but their bodies are turned slightly in, leaning toward each other.
It’s the same house.
But this time, it’s a complete family.
Buck stares for a long moment, silent.
Eddie shifts beside him, “I found the same artist. Thought it should match the first one.”
Buck’s eyes flick to him—wide and soft, full of emotion.
“But this one,” Eddie says, “is how it actually looks now. How it’s always felt.”
Buck doesn’t say anything at first. Just keeps looking at the print like he’s trying to memorize every detail. His throat works around the lump forming there.
Then he sets the frame gently aside and turns to Eddie with a look that says you didn’t have to—but I’ve never wanted anything more.
“I love you,” Buck says, voice thick with feeling.
Eddie smiles, eyes crinkling, “I know.”
And then they both lean in at the same time for a kiss.
It’s warm and lingering, the kind of kiss that tastes like cinnamon sugar and a future they’re both sure of now.
From the couch, Chris groans loudly. “do you guys have to do that where I can see you?”
Buck pulls back, grinning. He quickly leans back in and presses another kiss to Eddie’s cheek, obnoxiously loud and animated, just to be annoying.
“You’re gross,” Chris says, but he’s smiling behind his book.
🧃
That night, the house is quiet again. The tree lights blink lazily in the corner, dim now, like it too is winding down. Chris has long since gone to bed, and Buck fell asleep on the couch half an hour ago, curled under a blanket with one arm stretched out like he meant to wait up for Eddie.
Eddie just woke him up a few minutes ago and led him to bed, assuring him, ‘won’t be far behind you sweetheart, I promise.’
Now Eddie walks back down the hallway, directly to the Christmas tree to unplug the lights and then over to the curtains in the living room to close them up. On his way back to their bedroom, he slows when he passes the prints.
They hang side by side now—two versions of the same home.
He looks at the first one—the house, just him and Chris—and his chest swells with affection.
Then his eyes shift to the second one.
It’s still them. Still the same house. Still the same love.
But this time…it’s whole.
Three figures, side by side, grounded. Buck’s hand in his.
Eddie smiles to himself, when suddenly his phone buzzes in his pocket.
He pulls it out absentmindedly, expecting maybe a holiday text or a reminder he forgot to snooze.
But it’s an email notification.
Your order is ready for pickup!
Engraved wedding band — 14k Gold size 10
Eddie stares at it for a beat. Then a slow, toothy grin spreads across his face.
He taps the screen to clear the notification, and slides the phone back into his pocket.
He glances once more at the print, heart light and certain.
Then he heads back down the hallway to bed.
Back to Buck.
Back home.