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Buck’s eyes blink open in the gray quiet of 5am, the kind of hush that makes everything feel softer than it really is. He doesn’t hit snooze, never really has. There’s something about moving, about momentum, that makes it easier to exist in his own head.
The apartment’s still dark when he swings his legs out of bed, floor cold under his bare feet. He gets dressed without thinking much about it; some old gym shorts, a worn undershirt, and a hoodie he doesn’t bother to zip all the way up. September’s got that strange in-between bite to it, the kind of chill that reminds him summer’s over but isn’t quite willing to commit to fall yet. He knows he’ll be chilly at the start of his run, but by mid-way he’s sure it’ll have warmed a bit.
His fingers move by muscle memory as he laces his sneakers, double-knotted, as always. Eddie teases him about it every time, calls it “excessive” with a smirk that softens into something just a little too fond. The type of fondness that’s usually reserved for Chris, but that Maddie has always said Eddie turns on Buck when her brother isn’t paying attention. Maybe that’s why he only sees it sometimes, and when he does, he treasures it. Committing it to memory. Buck smiles to himself at the thought, but it fades just as quickly as it came. Lately, he’s been hearing Eddie in his head more than he hears him in real life.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? He’s started doing things for Eddie or sometimes because of Eddie. Defensive little acts of rebellion that no one but him would recognize. But rarely does he do things just for himself. That’s always been a hard thing, loving himself without conditions. If Eddie’s voice, real or imagined, is what gets him out the door, then so be it.
The pavement greets him like an old friend and it’s one of the few places where his brain doesn’t feel like it’s clawing at itself. People always say running isn’t therapy, and he knows Bobby would have a whole speech prepared about the merits of real help, about facing things head-on. Maddie’s said it too, gently, like she’s trying not to scare him off. But therapy has never quite fit. It’s not that Dr. Copeland wasn’t good. It’s that Buck’s never been good at sitting still long enough to untangle himself in front of someone else. Eighty bucks a session feels like a steep price to pay just to pretend he’s fine.
So, he runs.
The thing with Eddie— well, it’s complicated. Not broken, exactly, but not whole either. At least not like it should be. Their friendship has survived worse, he thinks, the lawsuit fading from his mind as quickly as it pops up.They’ve always managed to come back together, their friendship stronger than ever, their love for Christopher and their found family the glue that helps hold them. But something shifted after Eddie came back from El Paso. There’s a distance now that Buck doesn’t know how to cross, like Eddie went somewhere he couldn’t follow. He’s used to being in sync with Eddie, used to the kind of honesty that’s rare and sacred. But lately? It feels like they’re pretending. Like they’re both hoping the silence will fill itself in.
And maybe that’s on him. Maybe he stopped paying attention, too wrapped up in his relationship with Tommy to notice what was unraveling right in front of him. He’d wanted something easy, something uncomplicated for once and he thought Tommy could give him that. But all it really did was distract him long enough to miss the way Eddie had been quietly falling apart.
Buck had promised himself, after everything, that he’d always be there. For Chris. For Eddie. And he wasn’t. Not when it mattered. He missed it all, every little sign that said Eddie wasn’t okay. And that led to bad decisions, Chris leaving, and Eddie following; Buck sitting on the outside of the family he’d built over the last 7 years.
He slows down outside a café, catching his breath and fumbling for the water bottle tucked in his waistband. The buzz of his phone drags him out of his thoughts, and he answers the call, barely glancing at the caller ID.
“Chim!” he says, maybe a little too loud for how early it is, still a little breathless
“Hey, Buck,” Chimney says, already amused. “What’s the golden boy up to today?”
Buck rolls his eyes, grinning despite himself. “Golden boy’s out for a run,” he mutters, taking a long drink. “But I was planning on going home and doing absolutely nothing after this. Just me, my new couch, and my ability to rot like a champion.”
There’s a pause on the line, followed by Chim’s suspiciously gleeful, “Well…”
“Chim,” Buck warns.
“What if I told you the 118 has a reservation at that new four-level laser tag place? The one with the bar and two story arcade?”
Buck freezes mid-sip. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious.”
He can’t help it. The kid in him lights up. He’s been eyeing that place since it opened, even mentioned taking Chris and his friends there one day. But that day never came, and now here it is, offered up to him, just when he’d planned to avoid everyone.
Including Eddie.
Still, he hears himself say, “I’m free.”
“Thought so,” Chim says, smug, as if he knew there was no way Buck would say no. “Now text your better half and tell him you’re coming so he doesn’t flake on us.”
Buck nearly chokes. “He’s not—he’s not my—”
“Buckley,” Chim says with all the weight of an older sibling who’s lost patience. “Don’t be an idiot.”
“I’m not being an idiot,” Buck mutters, robotic and defensive all at once.
“Then just text him. Noon. Downtown. Don’t make it weird, please.”
The line clicks off before Buck can say anything else, leaving him with the cold realization that he is the one responsible for convincing Eddie to show.
Shit.
He jogs the rest of the way home in silence, jaw tight, not even a bit of music in his ears. “Text Eddie,” he mumbles to his AirPods, sending off a bland, “you going to laser tag?” It’s not like him. Usually he’d make a joke, throw in a gif or at least a “dude.” But lately, their texts have been brief, necessary. Almost businesslike.
He can’t quite pinpoint when the change happened. When FaceTimes turned into missed calls. When late-night conversations faded into awkward silences. When everything easy about being around Eddie started to feel like work instead of the natural ease they’d always had.
The reply comes just as he’s stepping into the shower. Yes.
One word. It should be enough.
He sends a thumbs-up in response, then texts Chim, He’ll be there.
And then he stands under the hot water and lets the weight of it all finally crack him open. His throat tightens, and he doesn’t fight the tears when they come. The water hides the evidence anyway.
It’s not just about Eddie. It’s about everything. About how lost he’s felt since the breakup, since the idea of a future with someone got ripped out from under him and he realized maybe it wasn’t the right someone to begin with. About how hard it is to look at Eddie and not feel like he missed his chance. Like maybe he let something slip through his fingers that he’s never going to get back, that he didn’t even know could have been an option.
He gets dressed on autopilot; dark wash jeans with a navy tshirt, scrunching a bit of mousse into his still damp curls. He grabs his keys and a protein shake on his way out, breathing in deep before locking the door behind him.
Laser tag, he reminds himself. It’s just a game of laser tag with the team. But he knows better. It’s never just anything when it comes to Eddie.
—
“Buckley and Diaz. Han and Wilson. Panikkar and Johnson.”
Bobby’s voice cuts through the room as they suit up, the laser tag vests smelling like stale sugar and sweat, probably the ghosts of kids who’d been here hours earlier. The plastic guns are sticky in Buck’s hands, cheap and light and ridiculous, but none of that stops the familiar thrum of anticipation in his chest.
“This is an official 118 bonding exercise,” Bobby reminds them like they might’ve forgotten through the teasing. “I expect feedback from everyone for their partner at the end of each round. We switch partners when we switch levels. Got it?”
Buck nods along with everyone else, but his eyes immediately find Eddie across the room. Their gazes meet for the briefest second—just enough time for Buck’s stomach to turn nervously—before Eddie looks away, like the contact somehow burned.
It stings more than it should. Buck swallows it down, gives Chim a helpless shrug when he notices the look, but Chim just arches an eyebrow in reply. Buck doesn’t explain. There’s nothing new to say.
Eddie’s fumbling with the clip on his vest, fingers clumsy and movements too rushed, and Buck’s already stepping forward before he can stop himself. “Let me check?”
He expects some kind of protest, a grumbled I got it, but instead, Eddie looks up at him with wide, startled eyes. There’s something fragile in them and for a second, Buck freezes, hand halfway raised. He almost pulls it back, almost gives up and walks away. But then Eddie blinks, and whatever panic had been swimming just under the surface gives way to something softer, quieter. He nods once.
Buck finishes clipping him in, quick, practiced, easy. He hands over the gun that’s still dangling loosely at Eddie’s side, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange.
“You’re not supposed to check your own, remember?”
Eddie snorts, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little. “Yeah, yeah,” he teases.
And for a fleeting second, Buck lets himself pretend things are fine. That nothing’s changed. That Eddie still looks at him the way he used to, with trust and ease. But the illusion doesn’t hold. It hasn’t for a long time now. He’s not able to keep pretending.
He steps back when the employee finally ushers them into the dim glow of the game arena, guiding each pair to separate corners. The room smells like rubber mats and artificial fog. Buck doesn’t say anything as he and Eddie walk to their area, there’s no need. They’ve done this enough to know how to move together, how to anticipate each other without speaking. Strategizing isn’t necessary. They’ve always known how to operate as a unit.
It’s the rest of it, whatever it is now, that’s harder.
When the game starts, they fall into rhythm like they always do. Eddie hooks left and Buck follows, fast and silent. Their bodies move on instinct, like they’re back on a call, relying on each other to make it through.
The first round is easy. Familiar. They hunker down in a corner, backs pressed together beneath walls glowing with fluorescent alien-like graffiti. The rest of the team is louder, messier; laughing, shouting, chasing each other through narrow passageways. But Buck and Eddie stay sharp. Focused.
When Ravi rounds the corner, Buck barely has to aim.
“Goddammit!” Ravi groans as his vest buzzes and lights flash red. “That’s the fifth time, Buckley! I hate you!”
Buck grins and doesn’t apologize, just points in the opposite direction. “Recharge station’s that way.”
Ravi storms off, muttering, and Buck can hear Eddie chuckle behind him. He doesn’t look over. Just smiles into the dark and lets himself feel it for a second, like it used to be.
They start to move again, circling the level, more playful than before. At one point, Eddie turns a corner too quickly and runs straight into him, face buried in Buck’s chest as he stumbles back with a laugh. Buck steadies them both, arms instinctively around Eddie’s waist, and something flares hot under his skin in a way that’s unexpected and a little overwhelming. He tries to ignore the way his body reacts, how easily it always does when it’s Eddie next to him.
But for the first time in what feels like weeks, Buck lets himself relax. Just a little. The noise in his head fades just enough to make it easier to breathe. Eddie is beside him, warm and real, and laughing like nothing’s wrong. It’s enough to make Buck feel like maybe, if he holds on hard enough, this moment could anchor him. Could save him. Could save their friendship.
He turns to look at Eddie, memorizing the shape of his grin, the squint in his eyes that only shows up when he’s really happy. He’s about to say something—he doesn’t know what, just something to hold the moment there—when the world slips sideways.
A plastic gun rises in the distance, pointed toward Eddie. The lighting shifts, red lights flashing, and Buck’s body reacts before his mind catches up.
He yells something, maybe Eddie’s name, maybe just a raw, wordless sound torn straight from his chest, and lunges. His body moves before any rational thought can catch up, pure instinct and terror propelling him forward.
He crashes into Eddie, hard. Their vests slam together with a dull plastic thud as they hit the ground, rolling behind a barrier. The impact rattles through Buck’s bones, but he barely feels it. Everything is muffled. Blurred.
It’s not a game anymore. It’s not fun, or safe, or controlled. The fake fog stings his nose. The neon lights blur at the edges of his vision. He’s not in a laser tag arena. Not really.
He’s somewhere else entirely.
Buck doesn’t register the way he’s shaking as he scrambles over Eddie’s body, fingers frantic and clumsy. He’s clawing at the vest, the shirt underneath, trying to find skin, trying to find blood. There has to be blood. There always is.
He can’t think. Can’t breathe. He hears the fabric tear under his grip and doesn’t stop. His hands search blindly, terrified of what they’ll find. He presses against Eddie’s chest, his side, under his arm; his whole body screaming check, check, check .
His mouth tastes like copper. Sharp and bitter, like panic and old blood and something else he can’t name. His face is wet, soaked. Sweat or tears or both. He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. All he can hear is the rush in his ears, loud and consuming, like water filling his lungs. Like a dam breaking open inside his chest.
He hears his name, once, and then again, but it’s distant. Warped. Like it’s underwater. Like it’s not meant for him to really hear.
He presses harder, blinking fast. His vision keeps skipping, glitching like a faulty reel of film. One second it’s Eddie’s confused face beneath him, alive and whole, and the next, he’s blinking and seeing blood soaking into concrete, Eddie going still, his own hands covered in red.
He can’t get his breath. He can’t get a grip. His hands won’t stop shaking. His brain won’t stop screaming.
Not again. Please, not again.
“ BUCK! ”
The sound of Eddie’s voice slices through the fog like a lifeline. Buck jolts back, scrambling off of him, pressing himself to the wall as if it could hold him together.
The room swims back into focus in pieces. The sweat on his face. The sting in his lip from biting through it. The vibration of the laser tag vest still clinging to his chest. There’s no gunfire. No blood. No sirens or screaming. There’s just a plastic arena, and his best friend on the floor looking at him like he’s about to shatter.
Eddie inches closer on his knees. “Hey,” he says gently. “Are you–?”
The question dies on his tongue the moment their eyes meet. Buck knows what he looks like; wrecked, wide-eyed, undone. He can’t hide it. Not from Eddie.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers.
Buck laughs. A broken sound, thin and frayed at the edges. “ You’re sorry?” His voice cracks around it. “God, Eds, I—I should’ve known.”
He doesn’t even know what he means. That something was wrong? That he wasn’t okay? That Eddie hadn’t been okay for a long time either? He just knows that the guilt is rising in his chest like floodwater.
Eddie’s hand finds his face, gentle and warm, thumb brushing tears away from his cheekbone like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The touch is different, less casual, more deliberate. It holds weight, electricity, and care.
Buck closes his eyes, just for a second, and lets himself feel it. The kindness and care. The thing they never talk about but can never quite ignore.
“Do you want to go home?” Eddie asks. The question lands soft, like a pillow to the ribs.
They haven’t really spoken in days, maybe even weeks at this point. Not like this, at least. And now Eddie’s asking if he wants to leave. To go home. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere they can fall apart without the eyes of their family on them.
Buck nods. “Yeah,” he says, voice trembling. “Take me home.”
—
Buck doesn’t ask questions when Eddie leads him to the truck, passing the keys to Buck’s Jeep to Bobby, their voices soft and quiet. Buck can’t focus on the words they say, but he knows it’s about him.
He doesn’t say anything when Eddie pulls into traffic and turns west instead of north. Doesn’t breathe too loudly when he realizes they’re not heading toward Buck’s place at all, but down familiar streets, toward the house he’s memorized in every season, in every kind of light.
He only speaks when the turn onto Eddie’s block makes it undeniable.
“I thought we were going to my place.”
Eddie’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “We can. If you want. But I figured—Chris is at school. And I’ve got fresh coffee. And… you could stay for a while.”
Buck doesn’t answer right away. He stares out the window, blinking back the ache behind his eyes.
The idea of walking into his apartment, empty and echoing, feels unbearable. He’s not sure what hurts more, that he hadn’t realized how badly he didn’t want to be alone, or that Eddie had.
“Okay,” he says quietly. “Yeah. Yours is– uh– good.”
—
The house is still and warm, afternoon sunlight pooling against the kitchen tile
Buck hovers in the doorway for a second after they step inside, uncertain of what version of himself to be here; friend, guest, something else he can’t name. But Eddie doesn’t give him time to spiral. He just nudges the door shut behind them and says, “Shoes off,” like it’s any other day.
Buck obeys. It’s easier to let muscle memory take over, to move through this space like he belongs in it even though he thinks he no longer does.
He drops onto the couch while Eddie disappears into the kitchen, the quiet broken only by the sound of the coffee pot and the clink of two mugs. When Eddie returns, he hands Buck a mug without a word and sits down beside him, not touching, but close enough that Buck can feel the heat of him. They sit like that for a while. No laser tag. No team. No pretending everything’s fine. Just the two of them.
“I haven’t been back there since,” Buck says eventually, voice raw. “Since the shooting.”
It’s true. He hasn’t been back to that intersection. He stays man behind on calls that are too close and lets his gps reroute him the longer way if it’s on a route he has to take. He never wants to be there again, never wants to look at that asphalt that’s been long since cleaned but still somehow feels like it’s stained with Eddie’s blood.
Eddie exhales through his nose. “Me either. At least not by myself.”
Buck stares down at the coffee. His hands are still shaking. He hadn’t noticed until now. “I thought I was fine,” he says. “Thought I was past it. It’s been–God it’s been years, Eddie.”
“I think we both did.”
Silence falls again, thick and heavy with the weight of memory. Buck wants to say something— anything —but the words are tangled up inside him. It’s like his brain keeps glitching, stuck in that moment when instinct overrode reality. When his body was convinced Eddie was going to die again and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it.
“I saw that vest light up, and it was like—” His voice cuts out. He clears his throat, tries again. “I couldn’t breathe. I just kept thinking, not again. ”
Eddie’s quiet for a long time. Then, “I saw you panic. I saw it happen in your eyes. And all I could think was… I did that to you. I let this thing sit between us for so long, and now you’re breaking, and I don’t even know how to help you anymore.”
Buck’s head jerks up. “That’s not–you didn’t–Eds, no. It wasn’t you. It was everything. It was that day. It’s still that day.”
Eddie looks like he wants to argue, but something in his expression cracks. He leans forward, elbows on knees, head in his hands. “I’ve felt like a failure for so long,” he says quietly. “As a dad. As a friend. As a firefighter. After the shooting, I kept telling myself I was okay. That I had to be. That you were the one who got the worst of it. But I was lying. To you. To me. To everyone.”
Buck’s heart clenches.
“I didn’t know,” he says softly.
“I didn’t want you to,” Eddie says. “You were finally happy. You had Tommy. You were smiling again, and I thought, don’t ruin it. Don’t make him carry you too. But it’s kind of always– it’s always been there.”
Buck’s breath catches. “But I wanted to.”
“I didn’t know how to let you.”
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s heavy, but necessary. Eddie shifts again, back against the couch now, facing Buck fully. There’s something open in his expression, something unguarded and unfamiliar.
“Texas changed things for me,” he admits. “Being back there, I saw everything I’d been running from. The way I never let anyone all the way in. Not really. Not even you.”
Buck swallows hard, but doesn’t interrupt.
“I thought I’d moved on from the shooting,” Eddie continues. “But I never talked about it. I buried it. And that laser tag place, when you tackled me, Buck, for a second, I thought it was real too. I felt it. The moment you saved me. And the fear in your face when you looked at me again– I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
Buck’s voice is barely audible. “I didn’t even think. I just–I–I couldn’t lose you.”
Eddie doesn’t look away. “I know.”
The quiet stretches, but this time, it feels like it’s giving them something. Room to breathe. Room to finally see each other in a way they hadn’t before.
“I’ve missed you,” Buck says. The words slip out before he can second-guess them. “I’ve missed you ,” he says again with emphasis. “ The way we used to talk. The way you’d look at me and I didn’t have to wonder what you were thinking.”
“I miss you too,” Eddie says, like it hurts.
Buck doesn’t know who moves first, but suddenly they’re closer. Not touching, but less than a breath apart. He can see every flicker of emotion in Eddie’s eyes. It’s all fear, grief, longing.
“I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Buck finally says, quiet and sure, because there’s no point pretending anymore. Not when his body still feels like it’s buzzing from fear, from relief, from something so much deeper than he knows how to carry alone.
Eddie exhales like he’s been holding the truth in for years. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
Buck stares at him, heart thundering, waiting for the crash that never comes. All he feels is a quiet kind of certainty. A softness. A homecoming.
“Can I–” he starts.
But Eddie’s already leaning in, already there, his hand cupping Buck’s cheek like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The kiss is slow, deliberate. Like a promise they’ve both been aching to keep. There’s nothing rushed about it, just the warmth of finally being known.
When they pull apart, Buck’s forehead rests against Eddie’s, their breaths mingling.
“I’ve got you,” Eddie says, voice low and steady.
Buck closes his eyes.
“I know.”