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Buck hasn’t ever been remotely familiar with the concept of having someone care about one so deeply, or more specifically, love one so deeply. While the concept is thrilling for most, it remains odd to him. It is neither here nor there, because he doesn't entertain himself with selfish thoughts about love, not anymore at least. He’s certain that the ship sailed a long time ago. The people who do hold him dear to them, though, know that whenever Buck is sleepy but can't get his thoughts to stop wandering, he scrolls through Wikipedia for hours on end.
It started as a way to distract himself, but gradually, over time, turned into a hobby of some sort. He searches for silly facts no one truly cares about that he can use in conversations when it gets too awkward. That’s how he found out elephants are the only mammals unable to jump, or how cows are able to have best friends. He liked the latter the most. Cows, with their preferred comrades, spend their time grazing and resting together, which reduces stress for them as well. And if your day cannot get any better: sea otters hold hands so they do not drift apart.
Tonight feels different somehow. Perhaps it's because he took a power nap earlier, it must be the reason why he is lying awake at the ungodly hour of four in the morning, he isn’t able to scramble inside his sleep-deprived brain and look for another explanation. He took a hit to the head earlier today when he made his way to the shower too quickly. Maybe that’s why he’s looking up love tonight, and not a fun fact about animals, or what cosmic dust really is. Love speaks for itself, for a lot of people, but he clicks the link anyway.
‘Love is the feeling of strong attraction, affection, emotional attachment or concern for a person, animal, or thing,’ he reads.
He has to admit, that does speak for itself, and so far he's following. He has felt strong affection and emotional attachment before. Last week, for example, he was jogging and the sun had barely just crept out from beneath the horizon, he passed a dog in the street, one that was panting while smiling at him. Later, he passed a cat that immediately nuzzled into his hand as it licked his fingertips. Besides animals, he has also felt those emotions toward Maddie, which is expected, she’s his sister.
He scrolls further down the page, eyes scanning the words rather quickly, even if they are bloodshot red due to the lack of sleep he's been getting lately. ‘Ancient Greek philosophers identified six forms of love,’ it reads, he squints his eyes. ‘Familial love,’ which he attaches to Maddie. ‘Friendly love,’ and at that— a faint smile tugs at his lips, pretty much everyone at the 118. ‘Platonic love,’ Chimney, definitely, Hen, too. ‘Self-love,’ okay, he’s getting there, he swears. ‘Guest love,’ that’s something he connects to Christopher, in a way. ‘Unconditional and romantic love.’
If he pauses while reading the last identified form of love, it is subtle, and not noticeable if someone were to be around him. A specific someone comes to mind, and despite the unfiltered longing he feels, or therapy going so well lately now that he's not banging his therapist, he cannot get himself to utter the words just yet. He feels some sort of regret when he closes the site, but he pushes it aside as he takes a deep breath and continues to scroll on Google, clicking another link instead.
Triangular theory of love.
‘The triangular theory of love is a theory of love developed by-’ his mind is going a mile a minute, and he clicks on components instead. ‘Different stages and types of love can be explained as different combinations of these three elements-’ the words are clear, for now, and he scrolls back up, eyes darting around the page to find said three elements. ‘Intimacy, passion, and commitment.’
‘A relationship based on a single element is less likely to survive than one based on two or three elements,’ he frowns. ‘Love may not be as simple as Sternberg’s triangular theory initially laid it out to be.’
Great, so in all honesty, nobody can officially help him with this. In other, less proper words, he’s royally fucked, and he feels it, too. His therapist has been a huge help to both his well-being and sanity. One thing that has helped him is making lists. Can you imagine it? If someone had told him four years ago he’d be making lists to feel mentally stable, he would have laughed in their faces. He does make a summary on a piece of paper lying on his nightstand.
Love is a strong feeling, he scribbles down, handwriting messy and rushed, and since he doesn't have the patience for this, the ink smudges all over the paper, coating his fingers blue. To a person, animal, or thing. He stares at the words he wrote down, and only then is he aware of how ridiculous all of this is. It doesn't stop him, though. Six forms of love. A relationship with only one element might not survive.
He places the piece of paper on his nightstand, the pen on top of it, and he doesn't mind his ink-stained fingers when he reaches for his laptop again. Abandonment issues. It feels like hours have passed while he hovers over the link with the cursor. None of this is a big deal, he tells himself, and with all the courage he has left to gather, he clicks. The site seems to load for a while, and maybe it’s for the best, but then it finally appears in front of him.
‘Emotional abandonment is a subjective emotional state in which people feel undesired, left behind, insecure, or discarded.’
His fingers loom over the keyboard, before he starts typing again, abandoned child syndrome. It’s something he briefly read about a few weeks prior, and he's finally reached the right mental state to get through the article.
‘Abandonment may be physical or emotional; that is, the parent may abandon the child by failing to be present in their life, or by withholding affection, nurturing, or stimulation.’
It is true that Buck often felt disregarded when he was a child, even all the way to his teens, when he became more reckless as a desperate way of showcasing that he wanted attention. That was a laughable option he chose, he thinks now, but back then he was hopeless. The more he stares at the open Wikipedia page, the more he realises the words are squished together. Is it just him or is everything getting blurry?
When he moved away from his parents’ home in Pennsylvania, he found people he cared for, and in a long process he turned that reality into a home; something he could see for himself for a long time yet to come. A place to settle down— and for once, he didn't have to fight for a place in this world, because it had been there all along, waiting for him; he just needed to find it.
Now he knows: being in love, falling in love, loving someone, those could be promising things if done properly. Love is good. It’s a reminder he has following him everywhere, on his own accord. A daily reminder on his phone, a note he scribbled down and hung up on his fridge, every notebook he owns, and every date he's ever marked, it all starts with the same thing. Love is good.
And it could be, can be. He wondered, he still does, occasionally, at least. For worse or for better, he still doesn't have an answer.
***
I. [Commitment: commitment is the decision and continuation component in the model. This type of relationship is associated with finality and the future.]
— Short-term: The decision that one loves a certain other.
— Long-term: One’s commitment to maintain that love.
“So you love me?”
Eddie hums in response, “Yeah, I do. I love you,” his tone is both delicate and cautious. He’s always been more careful with his words around Buck, never knowing what might set the man off, yet, he has a lot of courage to just admit this out in the open with no shame attached to it.
Buck often associates ‘right person, wrong time’ with Abby. He only thinks of her every so often, but there are no feelings involved when his mind wanders, least of all love, but even the anger has vanished now. Maddie once told him that if it is the right person, there will always be a right time. Like a moth drawn to the flame, the last puzzle piece fitting perfectly and making the canvas complete. That is what it ought to be like, always finding your way back to one another. He waited longer for her to come back than he expected himself to, hell, he acted like a fucking fool and didn't want to listen to anyone around him who told him otherwise. He believes, maybe, along the way, he slowly realised she wasn't coming back— but who is he, if he doesn't try to look at it from an optimistic perspective? It is all he has left to give, and without optimism, even in the slightest form, he'd be nothing.
The moment he figured out she wasn't coming back, when he had eventually reached that dreading point, he was already tired of constantly chasing after people. For once, he wanted to be the one who was chased, and he wanted nothing more than to be worth fighting for. God forbid if he allowed himself to be selfish for once.
Taylor was brief, and the hurt was reciprocated. It came from both sides, and staying in a relationship like that wouldn't benefit either of them. The three elements? There was only ever passion, he supposes, and there hadn't been a middle ground to begin with.
After every bad date and relationship, every failed hook-up or embarrassing ‘first kiss’, and don't get him started on his multiple shameful escapades back home in the middle of the night, Eddie was there to pick up the damaged pieces of him that slowly got lost along the way. Nobody ever bothered to pick those up, and Buck had repeatedly thanked him for that, meanwhile, the older man always shrugged it off, claiming: ‘It’s really no big deal, Buck. This is what friends are for. This is what we do.’
So much for claiming to only be fucking friends, hey? Friends didn't look at each other the way he and Eddie did, and friends didn't practically abandon their own house just so they could move in with the other. Don’t get him started on the lingering touches, the gentle and sweet words, the almost kisses, the invasive eyes always burning into each other’s backs, or he'd lose his goddamn mind. One might deem such actions as ‘particularly close friends,’ or, ‘this is truly the definition of platonic soulmates.’ In reality: he had been hanging back on the three words he still had to say, but isn't this what he had always wanted? Closure. Honesty. Someone wanting him— deeming him worthy enough to keep him around. If this is so good, then why is he so scared of the unknown?
Buck glances at Eddie, hesitantly scooting forward on where he's seated on the couch, which now leaves him on the edge. He doesn't know where to begin, he never does, and he desperately wishes he could let his feelings radiate through the entire room instead. He’d let it burn, and then scream them as loud as he possibly could, for it could never truly declare all the words he had been too afraid to utter.
“I was afraid to love you at first,” Buck timidly says, and if he were to blink, his lashes would clump together due to his unshed tears. They’re collected on his water line, but he doesn't let them fall. “I think I still am sometimes. And it’s not— it’s not like I want to be. Afraid, I mean. I don't want to be afraid anymore, Eds,” he trails off, clearing his throat as he places his palms on his knees. “I’m not afraid when I’m with you, never you. It’s just the thought of fucking this up, fucking us up. I couldn't do that to you. No matter what we are or could be, you're still my best friend.”
Best friend is a silly word to use when the two men are in their thirties, but Christopher had told them, a while back, that is what they were. Who in their right mind would deny the kid anything?
The quietness that follows overlaps them more than any other words ever could. There are more than seven hundred thousand words in the English language, and there is no word accurate enough to describe how Buck truly feels, so he settles with a simple whisper, “I’m scared.”
Eddie lets out a sigh, not a disapproving one by any means, more so one out of deep-rooted concern. Usually, it would be the other way around, but, having a kid makes you come to terms with things quicker, he guesses. “What scares you the most?”
“I don't know. Messing this up, maybe? I don't want to hurt your feelings in the process. I have a lot of baggage, you know I do.”
“You won’t mess this up,” Eddie politely denies. “But you will hurt my feelings, because that’s what people do in relationships. You hurt each other, it’s simply the way you handle it afterwards that makes the biggest difference. We will make mistakes, but we will learn from them,” he manages a faint smile, tilting his head to the side. “There will be arguments, whether they're big or small, it’s inevitable, really. I have your back, and you have mine, that’s what we said. I’ll forever live up to that if the ball is in my court.”
Buck nods, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. A few months ago he would have felt embarrassed by being so vulnerable, but now he lets the feeling wash away, “I’m finally ready, I think. For this, us, a relationship, figuring it out with Christopher. I guess I'm just scared I’ll shut down in some way, mess it up all over again.”
Eddie reaches out, both his hands cupping Buck’s face, his palms strangely soft against the other man’s cheeks. His thumbs run back and forth on the warm skin beneath his fingertips, “I want us to work out as well,” he swallows. “I’ve waited for you for years, Evan, and I’ll keep waiting if you ask me to. I’d wait an eternity for you— hell, I'd wait forever for you if I had to, because you're worth it all. The second you're totally ready, then I'll be more than happy to give you the endless amount of love I am dying to give you.”
Buck’s signature grin conceals his face, but it has a gentle touch to it, something that is unspeakably only for Eddie. A pink flush creeps onto his freckled cheeks and nose, dusting it all over with even more colour. Away from the peering eyes and confused glances, all the expectations and the downfalls, their love remains profound. No loud words, or grand gestures— just this. The two of them on the couch, the lights dimmed, and the room filled with whispers and hesitant touches.
“I am ready, Eds. Please?”
Who would deny Evan Buckley in all his glory when he whispers the word please so desperately? For once in his life, he isn't being cheeky, or teasing, or impulsive— he’s simply laying himself bare, in every sense of the word, for the person he trusts most in this world.
And when their lips finally connect— it feels softer than every kiss he has ever given or received. There are no fireworks, and maybe only a hint of butterflies appears, but it’s the overwhelming sense of belonging that flows out of it that touches him deep in his heart. Buck lets his shoulders slump, and his hands reach for Eddie’s wrists, feeling the heavy thump beneath his fingers, and that’s a reminder that this is real, especially when it gets more irregular and faster.
“We’ll take things slow,” Eddie breathes against his lips, with every syllable he lets out, they keep the contentment of letting their lips brush again. “Yeah?”
“We’re good at that,” Buck light-heartedly jokes, which earns him a deep chuckle in return. “I love you too, by the way.”
Eddie lets go of his face, and the warmth disappears again, but the moment their fingers intertwine instead, it returns, and he squeezes. The warm smile on his face almost makes Buck want to avoid it, considering it’s so invasive and intimate— but he's tired of running, and he's waited too long to realise he deserves this, “I know.”
Some stuff comes in waves and others come in stages. This might take a while, he's almost fully sure of it, but the good feeling remains tight in his chest.
This is good, Buck reminds himself, and love is good. He deserves this as much as any other person does. They both do.
***
II. [Intimacy: intimacy is the attachment and bonding component in the model. This type of relationship is associated with connection and understanding.]
— Feelings of closeness, connectedness, and bondedness in loving relationships.
Waking up with a face hidden in his neck and a strong arm wrapped around his waist, the defined biceps twitching when he makes the slightest movement, is something he doesn't think he will get used to any time soon. Falling asleep in a warm chest, or against a broad back? If there is a higher power up there, he thanks them every day, because this— yeah, it comes pretty close to everything he's ever wanted.
Growing up, Buck always lived up to people’s expectations of him, which made him so reckless toward the start of his teen years. When Maddie left, that feeling intensified. Gradually, along the way, he barely even recognised himself anymore. But with Eddie, he can simply be. It’s strange, being able to let go of every dark thought clouding his mind, unhurriedly forcing its way into his head.
The clock on the nightstand reads 04:00 and he already knows this will be another restless night. The moonlight is shining into the bedroom, barely so, since the thick, grey drapes keep most of it out— yet, Eddie’s face is still partly covered. He looks ethereal, shaped by the Gods themselves, embodying both the handsomeness and resilience. Every part of him is defined to the last dot with perfection. From his jawline to the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips, very light freckles dusted over the cheekbones and nose bridge, and some can be spotted on his forehead, too, but those are more prominent during the summer.
After staring at the ceiling for ten more minutes, he finally gets up and leaves the bedroom. He waddled his way into the kitchen, careful not to wake up Christopher by making any sudden noises. The kid had gotten the flu a few days prior, and although his fever had died down, his sleep schedule was still all over the place due to the lingering symptoms.
His mind is still spiralling for some odd reason, and it leaves him feeling nauseous. He hasn't felt this way in a long time, a feeling he had grown accustomed to, which was now unfamiliar. He steps out of the front door and sits down on the steps in front of the house, staring at the cars that pass by. If he doesn't have the capacity to make his brain wind down, he might as well catch some fresh air.
Something that surprises many is when Buck admits he loves being in control. He’s aware he doesn't look like the type, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he values it more than anything else in this world. Is that truly so bizarre? When he is in control, he is able to shift his feelings whenever the fatal loneliness that always drowns in appears again. He isn't alone anymore, but tonight is simply one of those nights. They come and go.
He always used to manage it, being alone. He liked it when everything became too much to his liking, and the silence had always been a nice additional aspect. His thoughts are slowly eradicating him tonight, and he comes to realise that the quietness has turned into a killer too. A throbbing pain shoots through his head, and he groans in dissatisfaction.
His elbows are planted on his knees, and he wipes his hand across his face, a sigh exiting his fuller lips. He massages his temples, because he can feel a piercing migraine forming.
‘Because Evan.. you act like you're expendable. But you're wrong.’
‘There's nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.’
‘You can have my back any day.’
He doesn't remember what the world was like before Eddie. Most of it was quiet, filled with empty and meaningless sex, useless sexting, and effortless kisses. With Eddie? He doesn't know for sure. The man waltzed into his life and suddenly the quiet was still quiet, but it didn't feel nearly as suffocating as before. Mandatory tasks became natural, and he doesn't feel the need to turn every thought into a negative one ever again.
‘We're way past that, Buck.’
Eddie is the first person Buck has ever been sure of. It’s a reminder he needs to hang on to, to breathe, and to let everything go.
‘Hang on, Buck.’
***
III. [Passion: passion is the drive and excitement component in the model. This type of relationship is associated with romance and sexual desire.]
— The drives that lead to romance, physical attraction, sexual consummation, and related phenomena in loving relationships.
Finding peace in the misery that was buried deep inside of you, years ago, isn't an odd concept, it’s rather realistic. For Buck, it’s the only thing that made him feel for the longest time, that he didn't care if that made him sound pathetic. When he didn't have anything, he could at least shut down his intruding feelings and turn to something familiar— something that didn't know any boundaries, something he deemed as safe at the time.
Is it healthy to find comfort in your suffering? Most definitely not. But was it validating to him? Of course, it was. It is inherently human, you see. Everything he has ever been through, giving that a place, although an unhealthy one at the time, has proved that it mattered to him. It makes you connect with those feelings on an even more intimate level. ‘This mattered to me, and therefore, I was so hurt by it at the time.’
Then the years passed, and while he was still living at home, it slowly started forming into his identity. He didn't only find comfort in his suffering, but he also identified with that pain, and he wasn't ready to give it up for a long time to come. Identifying with it means you're clinging to it, holding on, and if you let it go, it means you lose a part of yourself you slowly created while letting those unhealthy coping mechanisms take over your mind.
Therapy is going great, he has to admit, and now that he's no longer sleeping with his therapist, or his new one at that, he's really allowed himself to be open and true with himself. The entire ‘assaulted’ debate remains far away from his mind, for he is still in denial regarding it. He did have a thorough conversation with both Bobby and Eddie about it, whereas his captain told him, ‘Ethically and legally, it is an abuse of power.’ He could get behind that if it were about anyone else, for some reason, just not himself.
His boyfriend, on the other hand, had been pretty pissed off, and told him, ‘Even if you didn't feel violated, and gave your consent, it was still professional misconduct. She was higher in power at that moment, and she took advantage of it.’
He gets that, he understands it completely, he merely found it extreme to be viewed as assault at first, even though he was a very willing participant. Thinking back at it, the more he does so, he seems to be agreeing with both his captain and boyfriend, though, admittedly, he did have an obsession with sleeping around— and he certainly hadn't let go of that idealisation and obsession when it happened. Emotionally harmful, definitely, she was supposed to help him through his problems, not let her, to be blunt, fuck it out of him.
“Hey, baby.”
The soft and sleepy voice cuts him out of his thoughts, his heart blooming, and he briefly pictures them in a couple of years away from now, Christopher more grown up than he already is, and maybe a daughter. Eddie tips his head towards Buck, lips slightly tugging up. To be fair, he looks incredibly exhausted, hair ruffled and a little curly at the ends, but the smile never fades.
“Hey,” Buck whispers as another car passes by.
Eddie reaches for his hand, squeezing it, before he tugs, “I can’t fall back asleep without you. Come back to bed.”
And maybe, just maybe, this isn't so bad after all.
*
When they're back in bed around thirty minutes later, Buck lets the warmth wrap around him. Both from the thick duvet and Eddie’s arm which is tightly wrapped around his waist, practically holding on for dear life. He bites on his tongue to not let a joke slip, probably something along the lines of: ‘I won’t disappear again,’ but it sounds more serious than light-hearted, and he doesn't want to ruin the moment, so he swallows it.
Eddie’s grip on Buck’s waist tightens, tugging him impossibly closer against his front, his head curling up against his shoulder. “Honey,” he mumbles, lips pressed against the warmth of Buck’s shoulder.
A hum.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Yeah.”
Another five minutes pass, and Buck remains tense. The ceiling doesn't change, no matter how long he seems to stare at it. Eddie clears his throat, “Honey?” When there's no reply, he sits up straight on the bed and continues to stare down at his boyfriend. The term still makes him feel a bit giddy. His eyes wander over Buck’s face, looking for anything to hold onto, maybe a sense of discomfort, a furrow of an eyebrow would be enough, he thinks, but there's nothing. The only thing he sees is a faint blush dusting over the freckled cheeks. “Evan,” he says, a little louder and firmer this time.
Buck snaps out of his daydream, glancing up at Eddie with half-lidded eyes, the colour slowly returning to his face, the pink dusted cheeks becoming more visible.
Eddie shakes his head, “Are you okay?”
A nod of the head, and then he's reaching up to connect their lips, worlds clashing together, and heart rates speeding up. The kiss is sloppy due to the tiredness, yet eager and exhilarating. That’s the way it goes with them, every small thing they do together turns into something so much more. Big eyes, dilated pupils, and lovesick smiles.
His hands explore Buck’s body, fingertips lingering over the scars covering his body, longer than they should, longer than is both appropriate and comfortable, but it feels like accepting a part of him that he doesn't even accept himself. Every touch of Eddie’s hands or lips against his burning skin is gentle, sweet, albeit unfamiliar.
Desire and lust are extremely reasonable feelings, but passion and love would be more fitting for this one. The intimacy comes flooding in, and so does the passion, and then so does the commitment, and those are the three elements you need for a relationship to succeed, or to not fail as fast. Buck is right where he wants to be.
When they’re both left panting, Eddie breathes out an unbalanced, “I love you. You will always be enough for me.”
One last slow thrust, and every emotion Buck has ever known comes flooding out, “I love you too,” he pushes his face deep into his lover’s chest, “I love you so much, Eds.”
***
As the years passed, and the seasons kept blossoming, because the world never ended when he was in doubt— Buck writes an e-mail to Robert Sternberg, thanking him endlessly for the triangular theory of love, and for teaching him about the three elements, mostly indirectly. The mail trails on, and it doesn't seem as if there will come to an end to it, until he finally sends it off.
Understandable for it to be so long, is it not? He doesn't doubt himself anymore, because when he glances over the screen of his laptop, all he sees is his entire world collided together, and the flowers are in bloom again, and, in some unexplainable way, the world really didn't end when he was thirteen, or fifteen, and especially not when he was eighteen.
He sees his husband, and his son— because Christopher had been such an angel, and for his birthday, a few years prior, asked Buck to finally adopt him— and their four-year-old daughter, who's watching him with big, brown eyes that make his heart soften impeccably.
To be frank, intimacy, passion, and commitment will get you far in life, much further than you'd assume, but what helped him them the most was the unconditional love oozing from both of their hearts. That is what made their relationship feel as easy as breathing.
Thank the stars above for making him able to love, for it is the best thing he has ever done.