Archive of Our Own

1.

“Si me toca escoger entre volverte a ver o aceptar que te fuiste, yo prefiero fingir que por ti estoy feliz aunque no me escogiste”

“If I have to choose between seeing you again or accepting that you left, I’d rather pretend I am happy for you, even though you didn’t choose me”

Maddie’s house was bathed in that soft, aching light of late afternoon — the kind that seeped through curtains like a secret lover, curling over furniture and clinging to skin, as if trying to offer one last embrace before surrendering to night. The kind of light that makes everything feel like a memory before it even passes.

Buck sat on the couch, hands clasped tightly between his knees, like a prayer he didn't know how to finish. His fingers were taut with the weight of held-back truths, knuckles pale, as if confessing might cause his world to tilt beyond repair. Maddie sat beside him in silence —patient, watchful, her presence a quiet tether to calmer days. She had always been his anchor, even when the sea inside him was a storm he couldn't name.

Across the room, Jee-Yun worked quietly on a puzzle, her brow furrowed in determined concentration. Her little feet kicked the floor now and then, soft sounds against the wood, steady and innocent. At any other time, Buck would have smiled, maybe knelt beside her to marvel at her quick hands and bright mind. But today, the ache in his chest was louder than her joy.

The weight of unsaid things pulled him downward, kept him in place.

"Are you okay, Evan?" Maddie’s voice was as gentle as the light, her hand resting on his thigh while the other brushed absently over the soft curve of her prominent belly, a familiar gesture of care.

Buck hesitated. His throat worked around a lump that hadn’t budged in days. I don’t want to worry her. But the words pushed through anyway, unruly and sharp.

"I don’t know." The laugh that followed was empty, brittle. He raked a hand through his hair, fingers curling at the base of his neck like they might anchor him to something real. "I think... Tommy got mad at me. Again."

Maddie’s expression shifted — a crease in her brow, a tightening at the corners of her mouth. She tilted her head slightly, but her voice remained even.

"Why did he get mad this time?"

Buck looked down, ashamed of how small the truth sounded aloud. It wasn’t some great betrayal. It wasn’t fireworks or fractures. Just the slow erosion of something he couldn’t seem to hold onto.

"A few days ago, he showed up at the loft. Wanted to take me out for dinner. But I'd just been called in by B shift — someone was out sick and I’d promised I’d help cover." His fingers tugged at the skin around his nails, peeling at the leathered edges. "I told him he could hang out until the morning if he wanted, but I wouldn’t be able to go. He said I should learn to set boundaries. That I always choose work over him."

Maddie exhaled slowly, her hand rising to his shoulder — not to fix him, just to let him know he was seen. Her touch reminded him of when they were kids, when she'd put band-aids on his scraped knees and promised the pain wouldn’t last.

"Well... I guess it’s normal for him to want to spend more time with you," she offered gently. "Maybe it’s just a matter of better planning. Have you two tried organizing your schedules?"

Buck nodded, but the motion felt empty. It shouldn’t have to be this hard to be wanted. Or to want someone back.

✧ The Past Strikes ✧

“You really still have a long way to go, Evan.”

Tommy’s voice was tight, clipped — the sound of disappointment wrapped in anger. Buck stood in uniform, ready to leave, time ticking louder than his heartbeat. His bag was already by the door, his shift minutes away.

“You can’t even stay to fix this.”

A sigh escaped him, heavy with guilt. I don’t want to leave like this. But I promised...

“Tommy, seriously, I already told the B shift captain I’d come in. If you had let me know—”

“What? Now you’re saying it’s my fault?”

Tommy's hand shot up, cutting off Buck’s words like a blade. The tension hung thick in the air, clogging Buck’s lungs.

“N-No, that’s not what I meant.” He took a step forward, placing tentative hands on Tommy’s arms — hoping touch would soften the space between them.

But Tommy stepped back.

“You always do this to me,” he said, voice quieter now, but no less wounded. He sat at the edge of the table, arms folded tight across his chest.

Buck didn’t know how to respond. It was the first time he’d had to cancel a plan with Tommy for work. Shouldn’t that count for something? But the words got stuck. He couldn’t say them. He wasn’t sure he believed them himself.

“Seriously, Evan,” Tommy continued, staring him down with a mix of sadness and frustration, “how many more times are you going to put everything else before me?”

Buck’s chest tightened. The words echoed through a part of him that remembered not being chosen . Remembered looking into mirrors and wondering what he was missing.

“You matter. Of course you matter.”

“Then prove it.”

The look in Tommy’s eyes was hard, unyielding. And then — without another word — he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him like a final verdict.

Buck stood alone, the room too quiet, his pulse loud in his ears. I didn’t even mean to mess it up. But maybe I just don’t know how to make anyone stay.

✧ The Present Demands ✧

Buck blinked, grounding himself again in Maddie’s living room. He pressed his palms against his knees, trying to stop the shaking in his fingers.

"I... I know he's right," he murmured, voice low. "Maybe I should try harder. I just… I don’t want to lose him."

Maddie leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. She didn’t say it was okay. She just held him, like she always had, like she would until he could breathe again.

"I don’t think you’ll lose him, Evan," she said softly, stroking his hair. "You're doing your best. Sometimes... love just takes better timing. A little balance."

Buck nodded, but inside, something trembled — that secret voice that never quite quieted.

What if I’m not just losing him? What if I’m the one losing myself?

Weeks later, Buck found himself on Eddie’s couch. The air was warm, the room dimly lit, the final credits of a movie fading quietly in the background. Christopher was asleep, nestled between them — his head on Buck’s shoulder, one small hand fisted gently in Eddie’s shirt like a boy who still believed he’d always be safe between the two of them.

Their conversation drifted in hushed tones, careful not to disturb the peace that had settled like soft snow.

When the silence stretched, Buck finally spoke.

“Tommy got mad at me a few weeks ago… because I took an extra shift,” he murmured, eyes fixed on Christopher.

Eddie didn’t speak — he just listened, always steady, always there.

“I told Maddie,” Buck continued with a humorless laugh. “She said we probably just needed to organize better. So I tried. I canceled a shift. I planned a whole date — comedy tickets, dinner, the works.”

He sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“Halfway through the night, he looked at me and said it felt like I was doing it out of obligation.” Buck’s voice broke. “That it didn’t feel like I actually wanted to be there.”

He reached for Christopher’s curls, running his fingers gently through them as if grounding himself in a love that never questioned its worth.

Eddie clenched his jaw. The ache in Buck’s voice burrowed under his ribs.

Buck swallowed hard.

“I don’t know how to do this right, Ed. It always feels like... It’s not enough. Like I’m not enough.”

The sentence dropped between them like a stone in still water, rippling out into silence.

Eddie’s hand found Buck’s knee again — a steady presence, a quiet offering.

“Evan,” he said, the name soft and sure, just like the time in the hospital room. “Giving your time, your effort... It’s never an obligation when it comes from the heart.”

Buck turned his face toward him, eyes glassy, mouth trembling.

Eddie wanted to reach out. Wanted to cup his cheek, wipe the pain away, tell him that love shouldn’t make him prove himself until he bleeds . But he stayed still, only his voice rising in quiet strength.

“If he can’t see that you’re not doing it out of obligation…” Eddie paused, watching Buck’s expression, “Then you’re not the problem.”

Buck’s lips parted slightly, as if breathing in that truth for the first time.

“You deserve to be believed when you give it,” Eddie finished, his voice low but unwavering.

And in the quiet that followed, Buck let out a breath — not of relief, but of recognition like he’d just remembered something essential.

Maybe love shouldn’t be earned through exhaustion. Maybe it should feel like this.

Like quiet. Like safety. Like being allowed to stay.

2.

“Si me toca romper todo mi corazón para atarte a mi vida, ya tendré que entender que en las guerras de amor siempre hay balas perdidas”

“If I have to break my heart to tie you to my life, I’ll already have to understand that in love wars there are always lost bullets”

It was Monday, and the station pulsed with life—noisy, messy, alive in the way Buck usually loved. But not today. Not when his mind was a battlefield of second-guesses and too-loud echoes of last night.

It was the kind of shift that kept everyone too busy to breathe, let alone think. For Buck, that should've been a blessing—he could lose himself in the rhythm of responsibility, in the rituals of folding, scrubbing, cleaning. But his thoughts, wild and relentless, refused to obey.

The distant chatter of the common area mixed with the clinking of silverware, the slam of a fridge door, and the soft roar of a hose outside. But in the laundry room, only the creak of cotton and the whisper of breath filled the air.

Hen was folding a shirt like it mattered—like it said something about who she was. Buck mirrored her motions but couldn’t follow her steadiness. He’d been folding and unfolding the same uniform shirt for who knows how long, fingers shaking just enough to give him away.

“You’re very quiet, Buckaroo,” Hen said softly, eyes still focused on her work but voice sharp with insight.

Buck blinked, startled. A forced smile climbed his face like a weight, but didn’t reach his eyes. He exhaled slowly.

“Just… thinking,” he murmured, and traded the mangled shirt for a new one, as if that could reset something inside him.

Hen paused just a second too long, then gave a soft hum. “Tommy?” she asked, casual like a scalpel.

Buck let out a laugh—sharp, dry, and painfully thin. It caught in his throat, where the lump had lived since last night.

“When don’t I?” he whispered, placing the shirt on the folded pile before fidgeting with the hem of another.

Hen didn’t push. She just waited, her silence a shelter he knew he could step into when ready. Buck swallowed and lowered his voice, eyes on the fabric in his hands.

“Last night we were having dinner with his friends,” he began, licking his lips. Don’t cry, not here. Not if you misunderstood. Not if you’re the one making a big deal out of nothing. “And he said I’m… too intense when I talk. That I take everything too seriously. That I should just… relax.”

Hen tilted her head slightly, one brow raised in thoughtful skepticism. She knew Tommy. Knew how words could twist in his mouth, sweetened by tone and sharpened by intent.

“Well,” she said gently, “maybe he’s trying to help you ease up a little. It’s not a bad thing, Buck, if it helps you find balance.”

Buck nodded slowly, but the motion was stiff. His lips quivered with something unspoken. Something he didn’t want to believe but couldn’t silence.

And then—like a slap of cold water—the memory came back, vivid and unforgiving.

✧ The Past Strikes ✧

The restaurant was one Buck had mentioned weeks ago, one he’d been excited to try. He thought it was going to be a date. Just the two of them. But Tommy had invited friends—people Buck didn’t know, whose names he forgot immediately under the pressure of trying to fit in.

The conversation had turned to work, and when Erick asked Buck about his shifts, he lit up like a firefly. He loved talking about rescues, about the lives they’d saved, about how even in chaos, something beautiful could bloom. He told a story about a rescue earlier that week, his hands animated, voice bright with passion.

"—And when we got him out, the guy was still cracking jokes about making it in time for the game. It was—"

"Evan," Tommy interrupted with a tight smile, placing a hand over Buck’s. "Let’s drop the work stuff, okay? Not everyone wants to hear another hero story."

It was a soft blow. But Buck felt the room shift. Felt himself shrink into the silence that followed. The laughter that came after was awkward —not shared. Not kind.

Later, after a few awkward goodbyes and Erick's soft “I'm sorry,” they both moved slowly toward the Jeep in a rather awkward silence. 

When they got inside, Tommy sighed and looked at him like someone dealing with a misbehaving child.

"You’re too intense when you talk,” he said flatly. “You need to stop thinking people actually want to hear all that. You shouldn't get so serious. It’s... too much.”

Buck nodded. Because that’s what you do when you’ve heard it before. When your parents used to glance at their watches mid-sentence. When the people you love make you feel like a spotlight that should’ve been turned off long ago.

"You should stop monopolizing conversations," Tommy added. “Sometimes you sound like you’re just... craving attention. Relax.”

Buck clenched the steering wheel, his jaw tight, heart folding in on itself. He didn’t speak again the entire ride.

✧ The present Demands ✧

Buck blinked the memory away, his throat burning.

“Maybe he’s right,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Hen heard him anyway.

“I talk too much. I get caught up in things. Like… like it’s all I am.”

Hen turned toward him and placed her hand on his arm, grounding him.

“Listen, Buck,” she said, voice as gentle as it was firm. “Loving someone should feel like breathing —not like holding your breath to stay in character. You don’t have to become someone else to be loved.”

His eyes stung. He smiled, but it broke before it could bloom.

What if I’m not enough just being myself?

It was Thursday now. Over a week had passed since that talk in the laundry room, and Buck sat at Eddie’s kitchen table, hands curled around a mug of coffee he hadn’t touched.

Christopher was at a sleepover with Denny and Harry, and Eddie —ever intuitive— had hidden the beer and offered comfort in the form of chai-spiced coffee with hazelnut milk. Just how Buck liked it.

The silence stretched for minutes, but Eddie waited him out, elbow propped casually on the back of the chair, gaze steady.

Buck finally spoke, his voice brittle.

“Something similar happened again,” he said. “We went out with his friends, and he told me that I was… too intense. Again. That I talk too much about work.”

Eddie’s jaw tensed, but he nodded, quietly urging him to continue.

“I told Hen,” Buck added, “and she said… maybe he just wants to help me find balance. That it’s not all bad.”

He stirred the coffee idly, eyes down, as if the spoon might give him answers. Eddie’s hands curled into fists on his thighs. “So I tried to be quieter,” Buck whispered. I tried to be less. “I stopped telling stories at dinner. I tried not to sound so passionate.”

Buck is passionate , Eddie thought, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from shaking him into some sense. 

Buck paused, then laughed bitterly.

“All it did was make people ask me what was wrong. And Tommy…” Buck bit the inside of his cheek. “He smiled. Took my hand. Said I was finally learning not to make a big deal out of everything.”

That grimace—the one on his face now—wasn’t just pain. It was the beginnings of belief. That maybe Tommy was right. That maybe Buck was too much, and always had been.

Eddie felt the air thicken in his lungs, but still, he said nothing. He knew that if he said anything, he'd end up insulting Tommy, and right now, that was the last thing Buck needed. So he just looked at him, a silent fire in his eyes.

“Maybe he’s right,” Buck said again. “Maybe I am too much. And now I’m just… trying to disappear a little.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate this time. He placed a hand on Buck’s shoulder, thumb settling into the curve of his neck.

“You don’t have to hide the part of you that shines the brightest,” he said, voice low but fierce. “Your enthusiasm, your fire—that’s not a flaw. That’s what makes people lean in, Buck. That’s what makes people love you.”

Buck broke. Just let go.

The tears fell silently at first, then with sobs he couldn’t suppress. Eddie pulled him into his arms without hesitation, holding him close, stroking his hair, whispering those same words again and again.

You’re not too much.

You were never too much.

Because the pain with which he held him didn’t leave his head or his heart, but even so, he couldn’t stop thinking about how Buck always let himself get hurt amid the love wars he so pursued.

3.

“Pude haber sido yo el que tiene tu corazón guardado pero alguien sin piedad me lo robó… Cuando por fin pensé haberlo atrapado fue que se escapó”

“It could have been me the one who keeps your heart safe but someone mercilessly stole it from me… When I finally thought I had caught it that’s when it slipped away”

A week later, the station was wrapped in that particular kind of silence that only falls after chaos. The kind that feels borrowed, temporary, fragile. Just an hour earlier, they were knee-deep in smoke and sirens, trying to pull every child out of a burning school bus. Now, the firehouse breathed in collective recovery, each member tucked into small routines to shake the ghost of what could’ve gone wrong.

In the loft, Chimney sat nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, exhaustion humming beneath his skin like a quiet second heartbeat. Across from him, Buck looked less like a man and more like a question still looking for an answer. His eyes darted across the napkin in his hands, folding and unfolding it with mechanical precision. The coffee by his elbow had gone cold, forgotten.

After several long minutes of companionable silence, Chimney shifted, nudging Buck's arm gently with his elbow.

“Something’s wrong with you.” He didn’t ask. He just said it, voice soft but sure. “Let me guess. Tommy again?”

Buck didn’t answer right away. He gave a sheepish smile, not quite reaching his eyes, and crumpled the napkin in his hand like it had wronged him.

“Yeah... We argued,” he muttered.

Chimney sighed, not surprised. Ever since Maddie had mentioned their first fight, and Hen had followed with a second, the whole station had been on quiet alert. Not intervening—just… watching. Observing. Hoping it was just bumps in the road and not signs of a slow collapse.

“He wanted us to go to a basketball game with his friends,” Buck continued, voice neutral, like he was trying to tell a story that didn’t hurt. “But I’d already promised Chris I’d spend the day with him. Eddie was at Tía Pepa’s sorting out some stuff.”

Chimney nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in thought, fingers tapping his cup.

“So… What happened?”

Buck stared at his hands, at the napkin—creased, soft, fragile.

“He said he understood.” The way he said it, it was clear he didn’t believe it. “But then he told me that lately, I always seem to be choosing other things over him.”

Chimney opened his mouth, closed it again. Waited. Buck didn’t look up.

“Then he said—” Buck swallowed. “‘How are we supposed to build anything if you never put me first?’”

Chim clicked his tongue. On the surface, it wasn’t the most horrific fight he’d ever heard of. Actually, Tommy sort of had a point, even if he didn’t like him.

“Well… He’s not wrong. Relationships are compromise, Buck. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to keep the peace.”

Buck nodded, but there was a bitterness to the gesture, like the word sacrifice had carved something out of him. He didn’t say anything. Just kept smoothing the napkin again, again, again. And then, memory broke through the silence like thunder.

✧ The Past Strikes ✧

It had been a Saturday. The kind of Saturday meant for comfort, for stillness. But comfort wasn’t what Buck got that morning.

He was gathering his things at Tommy’s apartment, already thinking about what snacks Chris might want, what movie they'd pick out together. He was halfway to the door when Tommy’s voice—sharp, cold—cut through the air.

"Evan? Where do you think you’re going?"

Buck turned slowly. “You said you had the game with your friends…”

"No," Tommy replied, jaw tight, eyes already narrowing. "I said we had the game. My friends. You. Me."

Buck blinked, already defensive without meaning to be. “Tommy, I… I thought you were telling me your plans, not inviting me. I promised Chris we’d hang out today. You said yesterday you were fine with that—”

"Are you really that uninterested in spending time with me, Evan?”

His full name always sounded like a punishment in Tommy’s mouth. Buck’s chest ached with guilt. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, fingernails digging into the skin of his hand.

"Tommy, we’ve spent every day together. Every night. It’s just one day. You know I don’t even like basketball—"

"Then do it for me!" Tommy snapped. “Chris has Eddie. He has him all the time. But I get scraps, Evan.”

The words hit like stones. Buck opened his mouth, then shut it again. He was always too much and somehow still not enough. He clenched his fists tighter.

"But I promised him,” he whispered. “I told him—”

"So what? It can’t wait?" Tommy’s voice was sharper now, stepping closer, his presence almost suffocating. "If you always choose him, where does that leave me?"

Buck shrunk inward. He had barely seen Chris twice in the last month. That didn’t feel like choosing. That felt like surviving.

"It’s not like I’m choosing him over you," Buck muttered. "It’s just… important."

"Sure. Important." Tommy snorted. “Sometimes I think I’ll never have your whole heart. That someone else already took it.”

The accusation rang louder than the argument itself. Buck’s throat closed. He wanted to scream that love wasn’t subtraction, that you didn’t lose pieces by loving more people. But Tommy looked at him like he was a betrayal dressed in skin.

"Go babysit a kid that’s not even yours," Tommy snapped. “I don’t want to spend the day looking at your guilty face.”

And Buck had stood there, trembling, holding the back of a chair like it could keep him upright. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying until Tommy’s door slammed shut behind him.

✧ The Present Claims ✧

Buck’s fingers clenched around the napkin again, this time not with anxiety but desperation. The urge to rip it, to destroy something small and harmless, instead of letting his feelings rip him apart.

“Y-Yeah, maybe…” he exhaled shakily. “Maybe I just need to organize things better. Maybe I’m failing to find the balance.”

Chimney gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Don’t overthink it, Buck. If Tommy’s worth it, you’ll figure it out. Just… Don’t forget to take care of him, too.”

Buck nodded, but his eyes said otherwise.

What if I’m the one who needs taking care of?

As Chimney walked away, Buck sat back, and the memory echoed like a cruel whisper.

"I'll never have your whole heart."

And deep inside, a truth curled up quietly:

Why do I feel like I already gave it to someone else?

The following Friday, Buck found himself lying on Eddie’s couch, staring up at the ceiling like it held constellations only he could read. Tommy had a night shift, and Buck hadn’t wanted to be alone.

Eddie sat nearby, on the same couch, close but not too close. Just enough that their knees almost touched. Buck didn’t look at him as he spoke.

“I talked to Chim,” he murmured. “I told him Tommy was upset because I wanted to spend Saturday with Chris. Chim said… relationships are about compromise.”

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing hard.

“So I did it. I told Chris I couldn’t stay over on Friday nights anymore. That I’d make it up to him during the week.”

Eddie blinked slowly. He remembered how Chris had taken it—how the teen had muttered something about empty promises before retreating to his room, how he had cried through dinner and ended up falling asleep with his puffy eyes and red nose. 

But Eddie didn’t tell Buck that. Not yet. Not when he seems about to break down at the mere thought of having done that.

“And I went to a game,” Buck continued. His voice was barely there. “But it didn’t fix anything. Tommy said I still felt distant. Like a part of me was always somewhere else. Like I wasn’t really his.”

He hugged his arms around himself, eyes full of shame. Eddie swallowed his anger. He wanted to grab Buck and tell him he was enough. That Tommy didn’t get to measure his worth in percentages of presence.

“Maybe I’m asking too much,” Buck whispered. “Maybe… You can’t have it all.”

Eddie stared at the ceiling. His voice came low and firm:

“You shouldn’t feel like loving Christopher is something that takes away.”

Buck turned to look at him, startled.

“If someone can’t understand how important Chris is to you… they don’t understand who you are.”

The breath Buck sucked in was shaky. He reached out, hand brushing Eddie’s, and Eddie hooked their pinkies together, grounding him.

“I’m more afraid of messing things up with Chris than of what might happen with Tommy.”

Eddie smiled sadly. “When the time comes, Chris will forgive you. But we’ve gotta understand what we’ve done… and be willing to fix it.”

Buck nodded and let his head rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

And in the quiet of that night, with their pinkies linked and their shadows tangled on the wall, Buck let himself feel safe.

At least until it was time to go.

4.

“Pude haber sido yo el que a tu lado siempre se despierte pero el futuro nunca nos llegó… Me prometí que nunca iba a perderte, y no sé qué pasó”

“It could have been me the one who always wakes up by your side but future never came for us… I promised myself I would never lose you and I don’t know what happened”

It was Sunday night, and silence had descended over Bobby’s backyard like a curtain of velvet shadows. The remnants of the day’s barbecue lingered in the air—charred wood, extinguished fire, and the ghost of laughter. The kind of scent that settles in the bones after the joy has burned out.

Everyone had gone home, their voices and presence fading into memory, but Buck remained. He sat alone, gently rocking in one of the old patio chairs, arms crossed tightly over his chest—not out of cold, but out of something much more fragile. Like a child trying to hold himself together.

From the kitchen window, Bobby and Athena watched him. Athena eventually disappeared inside, giving them space the way only someone who knows grief intimately can. Bobby remained near, close enough to listen, far enough not to spook the moment.

And then Buck spoke, so softly the words almost got lost in the air:

“Bobby… do you ever feel like you don’t matter enough?” His voice cracked like dry leaves underfoot. “Not as a firefighter. Just… A-As a person.”

The question dropped into the stillness like a stone into a lake—rippling outward, unavoidable.

Bobby turned toward him slowly, the weight of Buck’s words settling heavy on his chest. The younger man looked worn down in a way Bobby recognized too well—something in his face that hadn’t been there before. Something dimmed.

“I’ve heard some things,” Bobby said quietly, “from Hen, from Chim. But I didn’t want to push you.”

Buck’s eyes stayed on the far end of the yard, where, just hours ago, they had been tossing a football around with Christopher and Chimney, shouting and laughing and teasing. It felt like another life.

“Tommy told me I still haven’t gotten over some things,” he admitted, voice shrinking to something small. “That I’m… Clinging too much to the past. That I need to grow up if we want to work.”

The words stung more than Bobby was prepared for. He tightened his grip on the barbecue tools in his hands—stupid, unnecessary things that gave him an excuse not to clench his fists.

He inhaled deeply, trying to ground himself, reminding himself that anger wouldn't help Buck right now. That he couldn’t strangle a man for saying the wrong thing. But God, he wanted to.

“And what do you think?” Bobby asked, careful not to let the fury infect his voice.

Buck looked down at his lap, his fingers fumbling with a loose thread on his jeans. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug that felt more like surrender.

“I think… maybe he’s right.” The words barely made it out of his mouth. “I’m always too much. Too involved. Too sensitive. Maybe I’m more of a project than a partner.”

Bobby’s heart cracked a little. He saw the boy who had once run into fire without hesitation, who had clawed his way back from death and disaster, who wore his heart so exposed it was a miracle it hadn’t been torn apart already.

“Buck, son,” he said gently, “we all carry things with us. Every single one of us. There’s no expiration date on pain, no guidebook to tell you when you’re ‘over it.’”

Buck gave a slight nod, a faint signal that the words were landing, even if they didn’t yet feel like truth.

“Do you think he meant that?” he asked, voice low, uncertain. “Or did he just… not know how to say it?”

Bobby hesitated.

“Maybe what Tommy’s trying to say is that he wants to help you grow,” he offered, though the conviction in his voice had evaporated.

Buck nodded, but inside, something twisted. It doesn’t feel like help. It feels like being tied up with invisible rope, with my own heart as the knot.

✧ The Past Strikes ✧

It had been a Thursday night—ordinary in every way, except for the fact that Buck had finally managed to do something he was proud of. Something he hoped would make Tommy proud too.

He’d climbed the stairs to his apartment two at a time, grinning, breathless. The concert tickets had been hard to get, but he’d done it. Tommy had mentioned it in passing weeks ago, and Buck had remembered. Because that’s who he was—he remembered the things people cared about. Especially when he loved them.

“I got the concert tickets!” he called out, holding them like a prize. “I thought—”

Tommy’s laugh cut through the air, sharp as glass.

“Did you really spend money on that?”

Buck blinked, mid-step, the excitement draining from his face.

“Evan, you have to learn to be more responsible,” Tommy said, already moving to unlock the door. “Not everything can be impulses and emotions.”

The sparkle in Buck’s eyes faded like breath on a mirror. He lowered the tickets slowly, like they were suddenly something to be ashamed of.

“I just wanted to surprise you,” he whispered, staring at his shoes. “I thought you’d like going together.”

“I know,” Tommy sighed, touching Buck’s cheek in a way that felt more performative than sincere. “But sometimes I feel like I’m dating a teenager. You don’t have to act like everything’s your first time.”

Buck’s nod was slow, hesitant. His fingers curled around the tickets like they were burning him.

“Are you going to open the door?” Tommy snapped. “The fight’s already started and you’re making me miss it.”

Buck bit his tongue. Don’t cry. Don’t react. Don’t make it worse. Then, quietly, he opened the door.

Tommy strode inside like he owned the place, dropped his things, and headed straight for the couch.

“You should bring me a beer,” he added casually. “And if you want to spend time with me, come sit. This is better than any concert.”

✧ The Present Demands ✧

Buck clenched his jaw and looked at Bobby, his expression empty and hollowed out.

“I want to believe he’s right,” he said, but his voice betrayed him —wavering like a man on a cliff edge. “Maybe if I change, everything will finally fall into place.”

Bobby reached out, placing a steady hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“Don’t settle for less than your heart needs, son,” he said quietly. “Love isn’t built from shame.”

Buck nodded numbly, but the words didn’t take root. Not yet.

Then why do I feel more and more ashamed of being myself every day?

That Friday, Eddie’s living room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. The walls seemed to lean in a little closer, as if they too were listening.

Buck sat hunched forward on the couch, beer bottle cradled between his hands like a fragile thing. Across from him, Eddie sat, watching him with an expression that Buck hadn’t quite named yet —something between fierce concern and unbearable tenderness.

Buck exhaled slowly. “When I told Bobby, he said maybe Tommy just wants to help me grow up.”

He gave a hollow chuckle and peeled the label on the bottle.

“So I tried,” he said. “I tried not to be… me. I held my excitement in. I didn’t surprise him with anything. I acted serious. I thought maybe that would make him happy.”

He paused, voice trembling.

“And then Tommy said it felt like I was forcing it. That he needs a man , not a kid playing fireman.”

Eddie’s fists curled tightly in his lap. If he ever sees Tommy, God help him.

Because how could anyone look at Buck —resilient, kind, endlessly giving Buck— and say he wasn’t enough?

Buck ran a hand down his chest, gripping it as if he could reach inside and rip the pain out by force.

“Maybe he’s right,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Maybe I’m not mature enough. And if I’m not… what do I have left?”

Eddie couldn’t stay silent.

He reached out, his fingers brushing Buck’s knuckles before settling around his hand. The contact was soft, grounding.

“You don’t need to prove to anyone that you’re enough,” he said, voice steady. “You are .”

Buck glanced at him, eyes shining with unshed grief.

“With your impulses. With your laughter. With the way you show up for people even when you’re hurting. Don’t let anyone— anyone —make you question that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of everything Buck had yet to believe, and everything Eddie couldn’t stop feeling.

5.

“Si me toca esperarte, lo haré y no desvaneceré con las horas y aunque llegue alguien más, si no te puedo hablar, es igual que estar sola… Sé que me cuesta ver que al final voy a ser yo quien termine herido, pero debo entender que en las guerras de amor siempre hay balas perdidas”

“If I have to wait for you I will, and I won’t fade away with the hours and even if someone else comes along, if I can’t talk to you It’s the same as being alone… I know it’s hard for me to see that in the end I’ll be the one who gets hurt, but I must understand that in love wars there are always lost bullets”

The words rang in Buck’s head like a distant echo, not quite song, not quite memory. Just something lingering—soft, aching, inevitable.

He knocked twice on Bobby and Athena’s front door, and for a moment, he hoped no one would answer. But the door creaked open, and to his surprise, it wasn’t Bobby who greeted him—it was Athena.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her eyes swept over him, immediately seeing what he hadn’t said yet. And then, with that uncanny intuition of hers, she stepped aside and gestured him in.

Buck moved quietly, cautiously, like he was trespassing on sacred ground. His heart pounded like it might break through his ribs. As he followed Athena to the kitchen, he felt like a boy again —lost, uncertain, craving comfort he didn’t believe he deserved.

The kitchen was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the small lamp in the corner of the table. It cast long shadows over the counter, painting the space in soft golds and greys, like a hush over the storm.

Athena didn’t ask. She simply began preparing tea, her movements deliberate and calm. Buck slid into one of the bar chairs, his posture folded in on itself—shoulders slumped, hands wringing together, eyes hollow and far away.

He looked like someone carrying thunder behind his ribs.

Athena glanced at him with that perfect balance of strength and tenderness she always carried—especially with him. He wasn't her son, not by blood. But love had threads stronger than lineage, and she had claimed him long ago.

“Honey,” she said, her voice low, “you look like you need to vent.”

She pushed a warm teacup toward him, but Buck didn’t touch it. He only stared at it for a moment, then brought his hands up to his hair, fingers digging through as if trying to hold his mind in place.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Athena,” he whispered, his voice a ghost in the quiet. “ I feel like I’m giving everything I have… and it’s still not enough. ”

She didn’t flinch. She already knew. She had heard the silences between Buck’s words, seen the worry lines growing deeper under his eyes, watched the spark that once lit him from the inside begin to flicker.

She had heard enough about Tommy to know the kind of hurt Buck refused to name.

Sitting beside him, she let the truth bloom in the space between them.

“What did he say this time?” she asked softly, sipping her tea, her voice calm—but beneath it, a wildfire brewed.

Buck stared at his hands like they belonged to someone else. His voice was almost inaudible.

“He said I love too much,” he breathed, eyes welling but refusing to spill. “That my way of loving is… like a needy dog. That I give so much it’s suffocating.”

Athena’s grip on her cup tightened, but she didn’t let her fury spill. Not yet.

“That was cruel, Buck.”

He clenched his hands on the table until his knuckles went white. His throat trembled as he tried to keep it all in, but the words kept pushing past his defences.

“He said if I don’t learn to control my emotions, I’ll never be someone people can build a stable life with… That no one wants to be with someone who always needs so much.”

Athena reached across the counter, gently wrapping her fingers around his wrist. The warmth of her touch was grounding, real.

“Listen to me, honey,” she said, her voice soft but fierce, “the bravest thing you can do sometimes isn’t running into a burning building. It’s walking away from a life that keeps setting fire to your heart.”

Buck couldn’t meet her eyes. Not yet.

✧ The Past Strikes ✧

It had been a Tuesday. Just another Tuesday.

They were curled up—or rather, they had started out curled up—on Tommy’s couch. The lights were low. An action movie played quietly in the background, flickering across the walls. It wasn’t even one Buck liked, but he hadn’t said anything.

He’d just gotten off a brutal shift. Emotionally draining. No lives lost, but somehow, it had still carved something out of him. Buck had wanted— needed —to feel safe, grounded, seen.

So he shifted closer, inching toward Tommy with quiet hope, pressing his arm along his partner’s, trying to find comfort in the closeness. Then, slowly, he’d leaned in, curling slightly toward Tommy’s chest.

But Tommy had pulled back.

Not harshly—at least, not physically. But the look on his face was worse than a shove: a flicker of exasperation. That smug, patient smile that always made Buck feel like a burden.

“You’re too much, Evan,” Tommy said, voice bored, eyes still fixed on the screen. “You’re always clinging. It’s like you need… constant affection. Constant attention. Like some abandoned dog afraid of being left again looking for crumbs.”

And just like that, Buck froze. The words cut deeper than shouting ever could.

His skin went cold. His chest hollowed. He felt small.

“I-I just wanted to be near you,” Buck murmured, shrinking back. “Like any boyfriend would.”

Tommy gave a slow sigh, cupping Buck’s face —not tenderly, but like someone humoring a child. Then he pulled away, his tone shifting from tolerant to cold.

“Healthy love doesn’t drag,” he said. “You need to learn to love with more control. With dignity.”

Buck bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. But he nodded.

“I’m going to try,” he whispered, retreating into himself, folding his hands together as if to hold them still.

Tommy smiled, satisfied.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He patted Buck’s leg like he was rewarding a pet, not comforting a partner.

“Now act like you want to be here, Evan.”

So Buck sat there. Silent. Motionless. Watching the movie, tears prickling his eyes, pretending he couldn’t hear the sound of his own heart breaking.

✧ The Present Demands ✧

Back in the kitchen, Buck’s shoulders trembled. He closed his eyes, and the tears finally slipped free.

“Maybe he’s right,” he choked out, rubbing at his face with the back of his sleeve. “Maybe the way I love… Maybe that’s the problem. ”

Athena moved without hesitation. She cupped his face in her hands, gently brushing away his tears with her thumbs, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“No, Buck,” she said firmly, lovingly. “The problem isn’t how much you love. The problem is that you’ve been loving someone who doesn’t know how to receive it. Don’t punish yourself for the size of your heart.”

He tried to nod. Tried to believe her. But deep down, one question still burned like a wound he couldn’t reach.

What if I’m never enough for anyone?

+1

“Pude haber sido yo, si tu tan solo me hubieras pedido un consejo de amor”

“It could have been me if only you had asked me for a piece of love advice”

Eddie’s house was bathed in quiet. The kind of silence that wasn’t just the absence of sound—but the weight of something waiting to be spoken. Christopher had gone to bed hours ago, curled safely in the warmth of childhood dreams. The hallway clock ticked toward eleven, each second a soft nudge, urging the world to move forward, even as Buck sat frozen in place.

His gaze was anchored to the half-empty glass of water before him, as if the surface might ripple and reveal something—truth, perhaps. Or clarity. Or an answer to the ache that had lodged itself between his ribs.

He should have gone home. Should have gone back to Tommy’s apartment, where the bed was cold even when someone else was in it. But his feet had taken him elsewhere—home. The kind of home that wasn't defined by walls but by the people who lived inside them.

Eddie had watched him walk in, said nothing except “Want something to drink?” and handed him that glass of water—because that’s who Eddie was, quiet, steady, patient. But now Buck sat at his kitchen table, heart thundering, mouth dry, a scream lodged somewhere deep in his throat.

“I need some advice, Eds,” he finally rasped, his voice a torn thread.

Eddie nodded slowly, as if he’d been waiting a long time for those words. Maybe he had.

Buck swallowed hard. “I don’t know how much longer I can be with Tommy.”

He didn’t lift his gaze. Couldn’t.

If he was honest —truly honest— he already knew the answer. He’d known for a long time. But knowing something and accepting it were two different things. He hadn’t stayed because he loved Tommy. He’d stayed because Tommy had once made him believe that love, real love, was possible for him —and maybe being with a man was the only thing Buck had thought he was missing. Maybe that’s where I’d gone wrong all along , he’d told himself. Maybe I just needed to be with the right man.

But he’d clung too tightly to that idea, held onto it like a life raft—even as it dragged him down. Until Tommy had worn down every edge he’d spent years building back up. Until Buck started looking in the mirror and seeing someone he hadn’t seen in years.

That fifteen-year-old kid again. The one who begged for attention, who shapeshifted just to be loved. Not the man who’d found a family, who’d saved lives and been saved in return. Not the Buck who’d earned his place.

The silence between them thickened, saturated with unsaid truths.

Eddie didn’t speak. He just looked at him —really looked— and Buck couldn’t hold his gaze.

“At first, I thought… It was perfect,” Buck whispered, the words falling like shattered glass. “That I finally had someone who loved me.”

He laughed, but it was hollow.

“But lately, I feel like I’m… disappearing. Like everything I do is wrong.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. Still, he waited.

And then, as if something broke open, the flood came.

“He tells me I love too much,” Buck said, breath hitching. “That I’m clingy. That I’m like a hungry dog looking for crumbs.” His voice cracked. “That if I keep this up, no one will ever truly love me. That I’m childish. That I still live in a fantasy world of heroes and fire trucks and make-believe, and he needs a man who knows how to be in control.”

His fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of his jacket. His shoulders trembled.

“And I… I’m starting to believe him, Eddie.” His voice was barely a whisper now. “I believe him because… What if he’s right? What if I’m too much? There’s a reason things have never worked out before.”

What if it’s me?

That silence—so heavy now it felt like it had weight—settled between them again.

But Eddie couldn’t let it stay there. Not this time. Not when Buck had finally said it out loud.

He leaned forward.

“That’s enough, Evan.”

Just one word. But it struck like lightning.

Buck blinked, startled.

“W-Wwhat…?”

“That’s enough,” Eddie repeated, his voice low, firm. His hands trembled on the table as if they were begging to reach out, to hold Buck steady. But he didn’t move, not yet.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me. And I’m going to be honest —you don’t need advice. You need the truth.”

Buck opened his mouth to speak, but Eddie cut him off, not unkindly.

“I don’t care what Tommy says.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade —sharp but burning with warmth.

“What I do care about is that every time you talk about him, you vanish a little more. That you’re starting to believe you’re too much when the truth is—” his voice shook, but only from the force of emotion, “—the truth is that no one could ever love you enough to match how much you give. Because you love fully. Recklessly. Beautifully. And that’s not something to be ashamed of. That’s something people spend their whole lives searching for.”

He swallowed hard.

“Break it off. Leave him.”

Eddie’s voice cracked—raw now, stripped of its armor.

“Please, Buck. Because I can’t keep watching you fall apart. Tommy doesn’t love you —h-he consumes you. And I won’t just sit here while someone snuffs out your light.”

Buck’s breath hitched. His eyes darted down, then back up.

“So what… What am I supposed to do if I leave him?” he asked, voice trembling. “I-I don’t want to be alone again, Eds.”

And there it was.

The truth under all the others. Not fear of losing Tommy. But fear of the silence that came after. The kind of silence that had haunted Buck since childhood.

Eddie reached across the table at last, slow, reverent—like he was touching something sacred. He covered Buck’s hand with his own, warm and grounding.

“You won’t be alone.”

His voice softened.

“Stay with me. Because that happy life you dream about? The one you think you don’t deserve? I want that life with you. Christopher wants that life with you. We always have.”

The world stilled.

The rope that had cinched around Buck’s chest unraveled, thread by thread.

“You won’t be alone,” Eddie repeated, brushing his thumb over Buck’s knuckles. “Stay. With me. With our family.”

Buck’s eyes shimmered, confused and overwhelmed, like someone waking from a long, cruel dream.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me for years,” Eddie whispered. “All the silence, all the holding back… It was for this. Because I always hoped that when you were ready —when you needed someone to tell you it was time to quit—I’d be the one to say it. So we could have that life. Ours. ”

Buck let out a sound —half-sob, half-laugh. Relief and grief twisted together.

He didn’t speak, didn’t need to.

He leaned forward, gently, forehead resting against Eddie’s, silence blooming like a promise between them.

“Eddie…”

“Shh,” Eddie murmured, thumb stroking along his hand. “I know.”

And for the first time in a long time, Buck thought, I’m not alone. I never was.

“Pude haber sido yo pero dejaste un loco enamorado buscando un beso tuyo en la estación y no hay peor desgracia que extrañar lo que nunca pasó”

“It could have been me but you left a madly in love fool searching for your kiss at the station and there’s no worse misfortune that missing what never happened”

The house remained cloaked in a silence so complete, it felt sacred. As if the walls themselves understood the gravity of what had just unfolded between them. As if time, sensing the shift in the universe, had chosen to stop and bow its head.

No one would have guessed that a storm had just broken in Buck's chest. That Eddie's voice—soft but certain—had cracked something open that had been locked for years behind a wall of self-doubt and silence. The living room was the same. Christopher was still sleeping down the hall. The night still hummed quietly beyond the windows.

And yet, everything had changed.

Their foreheads rested together—just a breath, just a whisper of a touch—but it was enough. More than enough. Buck shut his eyes, anchoring himself in the warmth of Eddie’s skin, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, the way the world seemed to collapse gently around them like a tent being taken down after a long, difficult journey.

This is what it’s supposed to feel like, Buck thought, the realization blooming slow and painful and beautiful in his chest. This is what home is.

He could feel it, the pull —like gravity, like instinct— telling him that if he leaned in just a few more inches, everything would finally click into place. That the chaos would settle. That he’d remember who he was.

Eddie felt it too. Buck could tell. It was in the way his lips trembled, how he didn’t breathe for a moment too long, how his hand tightened just slightly where it still held Buck’s.

The heat hovered between them, close enough to taste.

Buck opened his eyes, and they found Eddie’s lips first. He swallowed hard, as if he could keep the truth down just a little longer. Then he pulled back —only slightly, only enough for the air to cool again between them.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice shredded at the edges. He placed a trembling hand against Eddie’s chest, the weight of his fingers gentle but certain, like a goodbye that hadn’t decided if it would stay one.

Eddie’s brows drew together in a soft crease of confusion, but he didn’t move.

“Buck?” His voice was barely a breath, hesitant. He was still afraid to say too much, even now. Maybe especially now. After so many years of loving him in silence, maybe this was all he’d get.

“N-No… I-I don’t mean…” Buck's voice cracked mid-sentence. He let out a shaky sigh, catching the flicker of pain in Eddie’s eyes. “I don’t want us to start like this. N-Not while I’m still with Tommy.”

His fingers didn’t let go of Eddie’s hand. They couldn't. They clung as if Buck were afraid he’d drift away without that contact. His thumb brushed lightly over Eddie’s knuckles, as if memorizing their shape.

“I don’t want this to begin with a lie,” he whispered, his eyes downcast, “even though he made me feel like I was the lie.”

Even though he made me believe I was too much. Too loud. Too soft. Too everything he didn’t want.

The silence that followed didn’t choke. It held. It understood .

Buck looked up again, and Eddie was still watching him —steady, quiet, infinitely patient. There was no disappointment in his eyes. No judgment. Just a softness that melted every sharp edge Buck had learned to carry.

Maybe Eddie had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. Maybe he'd hoped for it in silence more times than he’d admit. But still, he wasn’t afraid to wait a little longer. Because he knew — he knew — that this was real. That it would come.

Gently, Eddie squeezed his hand, anchoring them both to the here and now. He leaned forward again until their foreheads touched, just like before, breathing him in, giving Buck time, giving him space.

“It’s okay,” Eddie murmured, a smile brushing his lips like sunlight through curtains. “I know if you don’t do it your way, it won’t feel right. I can wait.”

Buck stared at him, disbelieving. His eyes shone, wet and wide, overwhelmed with something too big to name. He raised his hands and cupped Eddie’s face, thumbs trembling as they ghosted over his cheekbones. He held him like a question he was terrified to ask.

“W-What if I take too long?” Buck’s voice wavered. “What if he t-tangles me up again? What if I go back?”

What if I lose myself again before I can find my way to you?

Eddie didn’t flinch. He didn’t falter. His thumb began to move in slow, grounding circles on the back of Buck’s hand.

“Then I’ll still be here,” he whispered, his voice steady as the ground beneath Buck’s feet. “No matter how long it takes.”

He smiled gently, leaning in just enough to make sure Buck heard what came next.

“And if you want me to come with you, to help you end it —I will. I’m not letting you walk into something that hurts you, not alone.”

That was it.

The dam cracked.

Buck let out a broken sound, halfway between a sob and a breath. His shoulders shook as the weight of years, of longing and pain and unspoken things, spilled out of him like water through a breach. Eddie pressed his forehead against his again, not moving, not asking for anything more.

There was no kiss. There didn’t need to be.

The silence between them spoke louder than any vow. The closeness was the promise.

“Thank you,” Buck choked out, his voice wrecked from crying, from feeling too much all at once.

Eddie smiled, eyes still closed, brushing his nose against Buck’s in the softest motion.

“Thank you for letting me stay,” he murmured, voice thick. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Maybe Eddie had dreamed of more—of lips meeting for the first time, of breathless laughter and the taste of something that had always been inevitable. But none of that mattered. Not tonight.

Because he’d keep waiting.

For Buck.

For the life they were going to build.

For the moment the light returned to Buck’s eyes and never left again.

Because Eddie Diaz had made up his mind a long time ago:

Some things were worth the wait.

And Buck?

He was worth everything .

“No me obligues a disimular que quizá no te vi si te veo porque sabes que lo prometí, aunque si yo fuera tú, no me creo”

“Don’t force me to pretend that maybe I didin’t see you if I see you because you know I promised, though if I were you, I wouldn’t believe me”

The next morning woke cold and strange, like the city itself had paused to hold its breath. The sky hung heavy, and Buck could taste the goodbye in every bite of his breakfast. It settled on his tongue like ash — bitter and final.

Eddie sat across from him, quiet and focused, organizing every step of what needed to be done, as if this were just another mission. But Buck saw it — in the way his hands hovered too long over the coffee mug, in the flicker of his eyes that never fully met his. It was the same tension that lived in his own chest.

When they both climbed into the Jeep, Buck let Eddie take the wheel — not because he wanted to, but because he was too wired, too frayed at the edges . The air in his lungs felt borrowed, and he knew that if he drove, his hands would shake too much to hold the wheel steady.

The ride took just over fifteen minutes — a cruel mercy. It was as if Los Angeles itself conspired to keep the moment short, to speed toward the inevitable. The buildings blurred past, unaware that today something would unravel quietly and not be put back together.

Eddie parked in front of Tommy’s building, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. His eyes swept over the entrance like he was expecting it to bite.

Buck turned toward him, his jaw tight, pale as the morning light.

"Promise me something," he murmured. The tremor in his voice wasn’t weakness —it was courage, straining against old fear.

Eddie looked at him without blinking, a quiet nod giving him space to continue.

"That you won’t interfere. I need to do this myself. If… i- If it gets ugly, I’ll take it. I just… need you to let me finish it."

Eddie's heart thudded with dread. He couldn’t promise that — not really. Not if it meant standing still while Buck broke again in front of him. But he also knew Buck — knew the fire that lived under his skin, how much it cost him to reclaim what had been taken.

Eddie exhaled, slow and sharp. Then nodded.

"Okay. I promise. But, Buck…” His voice dropped to a warning whisper, the heat of it unmistakable. “If he crosses the line… Don’t ask me to stay put.”

Buck’s throat worked around a lump. He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and whispered, "Just… Trust me."

Eddie unlocked the car, and together they stepped out, the air cooler than it had been inside —as if the city itself didn’t want to witness what came next.

Tommy’s apartment looked exactly like it had the last time Buck had been here — cold, surgical, silent . A place meant to be displayed, not lived in. Everything was in its right place —except Buck, who had never been given a place at all.

They stepped inside using Buck’s key, which still felt too clean, too new. Eddie stood to the right of the door, leaning into the wall like a shadow with crossed arms. He said nothing, but his eyes followed Buck like a soldier on watch.

Tommy emerged from the kitchen, beer in hand, crooked smile. His steps were too casual, too practiced —like a wolf in polite clothes.

“Evan?” His voice oozed charm. “So? You here to give me the daily report of everything you screwed up, or just stopping by to keep playing ‘you know what you want’ ?”

Eddie’s jaw tensed. His hands twitched, ready. But he stayed rooted, eyes narrowed.

Buck inhaled. One step forward. Then another. He looked Tommy in the eye.

“This is over.”

It was a sentence, not a conversation. Solid. Real. Final.

“I can’t do this with you anymore. I’m not less because I love too much. And I’m not going to apologize for it again.”

Tommy’s face twitched —just slightly— before he smoothed it over with a laugh that felt like glass cracking.

“I knew you wouldn’t last,” he sneered, placing the bottle on the coffee table like this was routine. “I always knew you’d run. Because that’s what you are. Too much , and still… not enough .”

The words ricocheted through the sterile apartment. In the past, Buck would’ve crumbled under them. But not today.

“No,” he said, voice like flint. “I am enough. And even when I stood in front of you —all of me— you didn’t see it.”

He turned, ready to leave. The chapter was closed. He didn’t care what Tommy had left to say. He didn’t want his voice living in his head anymore.

But Tommy moved faster, placing a hand on the door, blocking his way.

Buck turned back slowly.

The mockery in Tommy’s face was gone, replaced by something darker. Something Buck hadn’t let himself believe lived in him.

"So you're going to give up?" Tommy’s voice was low and mocking, just loud enough to land like a slap. “What a surprise. Then you'll go around telling people I'm the bad guy.”

He leaned in, fake pout on his lips.

Buck took a half-step back, pulse thundering in his ears.

Eddie uncrossed his arms. Took a breath.

"Tommy, move," Buck said, trying to keep his voice calm. Firm.

But Tommy didn’t move. He stepped closer, invading Buck’s space.

“You know what the worst part is, Evan?” he said, voice dripping with spite. “I actually thought you might be different. That you might be worth it. But in the end, you’re still that desperate kid, begging someone to pick him. And it won’t be me.”

Buck clenched his jaw. The images crashed into him — all the dinners eaten in silence, the kisses that felt like duty, the moments he’d dimmed his own light just to be tolerable.

"Just pretend you don’t exist. It’s easier for everyone that way."

His breath hitched. The walls pressed in, folding around him like a box. The man in front of him wasn’t someone he’d liked —he was a stranger wearing a memory.

Tommy lifted a hand —a gesture too quick, too entitled.

And Eddie moved.

He stepped in sharply, pushing Tommy back with one hand and placing himself between them.

“Don’t touch him.”

Eddie’s voice was low and razor-sharp, the kind of tone you only used when you were seconds from war. His fists clenched. Buck’s hand found the fabric of Eddie’s shirt and held tight.

Tommy stumbled back a step but barked out a laugh, eyes wide, cruel.

“Oh, I get it now. You need your little friend to protect you, huh?” He smirked. “Can’t even fight your own battles, Evan?”

Eddie bristled, ready to respond —but Buck’s grip on his shirt pulled him back.

And Buck… Buck stepped forward.

Still shaking, still breathing hard. But steady.

“No,” he said. Loud. Certain. “I don’t need anyone to defend me from you anymore.”

He didn’t flinch when Tommy scoffed. Didn’t blink when he sneered.

“This is over, Tommy.”

And that was the last thing he would ever say to him.

He turned away, Eddie’s warmth a breath behind him as they left the apartment.

In the hallway, the silence was loud.

Buck leaned against the wall, hands shaking, but his face — his face was calm.

"I did it," he breathed. His hands opened and closed like wings. “ I did it. ”

Eddie stepped forward, placed steady hands on Buck’s shoulders, and then slid them down to grip his trembling fingers.

"You did it, Buck," he said, voice low and full of something deep. "And you never have to pretend you don’t exist again."

Buck looked at him, eyes glassy but clear.

“Thank you for…” he whispered. “ Thank you for breaking your promise. ”

Eddie smiled, worn but warm. His hand rose to Buck’s shoulder, thumb brushing the skin just below his neck.

“It wasn’t hard,” he whispered. “My only real promise is this — no one gets to dim your light again. Not while I’m here. ”

And in that narrow hallway, with the city breathing behind them and a door finally closed, Buck understood.

He had crossed the line. And he wasn’t going back.

“Si me toca borrar cada marca que a ti te dejaron sus besos, yo prefiero escribirles encima con los que faltan de los nuestros”

“If I have to erase every mark his kisses left on you, I’d rather write over them with the ones we’re still missing”

After that night —after the words were spoken and silence swallowed them whole— life rushed back in with a force so loud it left no space for processing. Between the blare of sirens and calls for help, there was no room left to unpack the weight of what had been said, of what had been broken, and what had started to heal.

Buck didn’t announce the breakup like he might have in the past. No dramatic declarations, no bitter jokes to mask the pain. He wasn’t ready for anyone else’s voice in the story, not yet. Only Eddie had been given access to the truth —the raw, tangled thread of it all.

It came up, almost accidentally, during a quiet lunch mid-shift. They were halfway through their plates when Bobby, casually, asked if Tommy would be joining them for Athena’s birthday celebration that weekend.

Buck barely reacted. Just a shrug. A tightening of the jaw. And Eddie’s leg, pressing slightly firmer against his own in wordless support.

"I don't know," Buck mumbled, his gaze locked on a piece of grilled chicken he was picking apart with his fork. "I haven’t spoken to him since I broke things off, and I’m not interested in doing so."

He popped the chicken into his mouth like punctuation, chewing through the moment. Silence fell for a beat too long before Eddie cleared his throat and shifted the conversation toward Chimney’s new baby preparations. No one pressed. No one asked. Just like that, it was over.

And life —predictably, inexorably— kept moving forward.

Friday night found Buck once again at Eddie’s place, where the quiet was so profound it almost felt sacred. The three of them had resurrected their Friday movie tradition, now tinged with something softer, warmer —like healing stitched into routine.

Christopher had fallen asleep on the floor, cocooned in his own carefully constructed nest of pillows and blankets. The television flickered silently, its volume turned off the moment Chris began to snore.

Buck sat stiffly, unlike the more relaxed version of himself earlier that day. His hands were knotted together, elbows perched on his knees. Still. Guarded.

Eddie sat beside him like a lighthouse, patient and unwavering, waiting for Buck’s storm to come ashore in its own time. He didn’t push. He never did. He knew Buck needed to get there on his own.

He knew the wounds Tommy had left on Buck's head wouldn't disappear overnight, which was why he hadn't brought up the conversation. He knew Buck had to sort himself out.

“I still think about what he told me,” Buck finally murmured, his voice so low it felt like a secret. “That I was too much. That no one could bear so much.”

Too much.

Always too much.

Too loud. Too emotional. Too everything.

His voice was low, as if he feared that repeating those words would give them more power. His fingers twitched, trying to find some rhythm in the chaos. He sniffed quietly, trying to breathe through the ache still lodged in his chest like glass.

Eddie reached for the remote and turned off the screen. The silence that followed was gentle, comforting —an invitation, not a void. He turned slightly, enough to see Buck clearly, to offer presence without pressure.

"And what do you think?" he asked softly.

Buck let out a hollow laugh, his shoulders trembling with it.

“I think maybe he was right,” he whispered. “That everything I touch… eventually breaks.”

Relationships. Friendships. Myself.

Eddie leaned in, inch by inch, like approaching something wounded and sacred.

“Do you know what I see?” he asked, waiting until Buck’s eyes finally met his. In Eddie’s gaze, there was no judgment —only reverence. “I see someone who has always given everything. Who loves with his whole heart. Who never stopped being himself, even when the world didn’t know what to do with that kind of light.”

Buck swallowed hard. His vision shimmered with unshed tears —a breath caught between disbelief and desperate longing.

“What if all that’s left of me are scars?” he asked, his voice cracking under the weight of vulnerability.

Eddie’s fingers, featherlight, brushed against Buck’s hand. The other rose to his cheek, tracing gently along the curve of it.

“Then let me write over them,” he whispered, each word like poetry drawn from the depths of his soul. “Not to erase them. Just… so they’re not all you remember.”

Silence settled between them—thick, holy, charged —the warmth of Eddie's hand on his cheek like an anchor.

Buck stared at him, heart hammering. Is this it? Is this what it feels like to be seen without flinching?

"What if I don't know how to start over?"

Eddie’s smile was quiet, unwavering. “Then we start together. Step by step. There’s no rush.”

And in that moment, the distance between them finally collapsed.

Buck leaned forward first, hesitant but sure, drawn like a tide to the moon. Their lips met softly, slowly—as if afraid even this small miracle might slip away.

They kissed like men who had waited too long and loved too deeply. When they parted, Buck exhaled shakily, eyes searching Eddie’s face for any sign that it had been a dream.

“Eddie…”

His name came out like a breath of air in the middle of the storm.

Eddie rested their foreheads together, smiling. 

“Whatever comes, we face it together,” Eddie whispered, before briefly kissing his lips again. “And no matter what happens, Buck, you won't have to do it alone.”

Buck closed his eyes, letting Eddie's warmth envelop him. 

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Buck didn’t feel ruined.

He felt chosen.

Morning spilled into the kitchen through the gauzy curtains. Soft light touched everything with gold.

Eddie stood at the counter, shirtless, wearing nothing but pajama pants and sleep. He was making coffee when Buck shuffled in, barefoot, hair mussed, eyes soft, a borrowed T-shirt hanging loosely on his frame.

“Good morning,” Buck said, voice still raspy with sleep and with that shy but emotion-filled smile, the one that was still testing how it felt on his face.

Eddie turned and offered a smile that felt like home. “Good morning.”

The moment stretched —simple, but full.

Then came Christopher, blinking sleep from his eyes, hair sticking up in wild directions. He rubbed his face, blinked at the two adults, and looked at them with suspicious eyes.

"Did Buck stay over?" he asked sleepily, raising one of his eyebrows, a sparkle in his eyes that was anything but innocent, and an amused smirk on his lips. "I didn’t see any blankets on the couch."

Buck opened his mouth to answer, but stopped short, his cheeks turning a soft pink, but when he turned to Eddie, he saw calm —always calm.

"Yeah," Eddie said easily, ruffling Chris’s hair, earning a grunt from the teenager. "We stayed up late talking. His back was killing him, so… We shared."

Christopher squinted for a beat longer, as if weighing the answer. Then, with the ease of someone who didn't need confirmation, he nodded with a shrug. "I like it when Buck’s here. The house feels happier."

That lump returned to Buck’s throat, thick with emotion. He smiled, watery and wide.

And in Eddie’s glance, Buck felt it again —recognition. Not just of who he was, but of what they were becoming.

Chris opened the fridge and pulled out the milk. “So… Breakfast together?”

“Of course,” Eddie said, grabbing the cereal.

As they all sat down, Buck realized something profound —Christopher didn’t need the whole story, if he had been a smart kid before, he was now a genius, even beneath all the layers of sarcasm and hormones he now had as a teenager. He already understood. The house was quieter now, not because something was missing, but because something had arrived .

Not a beginning, but a continuation.

A love story waiting to be written in the spaces where silence used to be.

After lunch, Buck took a long shower, the water washing away more than just sleep and sweat. He emerged wearing one of Eddie’s soft old T-shirts, barefoot, while using one of the towels to dry his hair.

From the hallway, he could hear Christopher’s laughter —loud, bright— as he and Eddie wrestled over game controllers on the rug. Chris was teasing Eddie about his “grandpa reflexes,” and Eddie was mock-offended, trying to retaliate with playful jabs and exaggerated groans.

Buck stopped in the doorway and watched them —his family. His heart swelled so full it almost hurt.

At one point, Eddie looked up, caught his eye, and smiled. That smile —the one that had always, always saved him.

“You planning to stand there all afternoon?” Eddie asked, eyebrow raised.

Buck smirked, stepping in. “Depends… Is there room for me?”

Chris rolled his eyes like the overdramatic teen he was growing into. “There’s always room for you, Buck.”

Buck settled in beside Eddie, their bodies pressed together, the controller passed between hands that brushed and lingered.

It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t grand.

It was everything.

This was his life now. A life where he didn’t have to shrink to fit. A life where his too-muchness wasn’t a flaw but a gift. A life where he was loved — truly loved— exactly as he was.

And Eddie?

Eddie looked at Buck with a softness that said everything words couldn’t.

It could have been me, he thought.

Now, finally —it is.