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“It seems like I got used to you in just one day. I miss you like I've known you for years.”
Eddie hadn’t wanted to go out that night.
Not because he had mountains of things to do, or because Christopher needed him —Chris was perfectly happy with Abuela, wrapped up in the chaos of a cousins’ gathering. No. The truth was simpler, heavier: Eddie just didn’t feel like it. He didn’t feel like putting on a clean shirt, didn’t feel like plastering on a smile, didn’t feel like being around people who expected him to laugh at the right moments.
But Lena was persistent. And when the crew at the 136 started teasing him about needing to “bond with the probie,” about how it was tradition , how the first round was on them if he came along, Eddie ran out of excuses. And then there was Tía Pepa, whose matchmaking record was as disastrous as it was relentless —already insisting he meet yet another friend’s daughter, niece, cousin, something. Compared to that looming disaster, going to the bar with coworkers was the lesser evil.
So maybe he’d backed himself into this corner.
Because the truth was, since moving to Los Angeles, between setting up a new home, getting Chris adjusted, and throwing himself into the firehouse, Eddie had been forced to sit alone with his own thoughts more often than he cared to. And those thoughts… weren’t always kind.
Like that so-called “date” Tía Pepa had pushed him into —this time with Rosa’s granddaughter.
Rosa, Abuela’s sweet neighbor who never missed a chance to send them a plate of buñuelos or tamales, had a granddaughter who was, of all things, a psychologist. She had turned their coffee outing into less of a date and more of an informal consultation. Eddie had sat there, sipping awkwardly while she gently picked apart the knots in his silences. At the time, he’d wanted to crawl out of his own skin, but later… He’d found himself oddly grateful.
Because she’d made him put language, however clumsy, to the thing he had never dared to name.
His life, if he was brutally honest, could be summed up in two words. God forgive him. Fucking shit.
He understood now why it had been so suffocating with Shannon —why being her husband made him feel like he was drowning, while being her friend came so easily. Why committing to that marriage made his chest ache like a trapped animal, but pledging his life on the line with a squad didn’t weigh him down at all.
The problem was him.
Or maybe not him exactly, but the blueprint he’d been given —the parents who measured love in discipline, the church that made sin out of breathing the wrong way, the upbringing that carved rules into his skin. All of it had boxed him into someone he wasn’t.
Because the truth was, he didn’t really like women that way. Not romantically. Not sexually. They were incredible —smart, kind, fierce, funny. He loved them as friends, as partners on the line, as family. But when he’d tried to mold himself into the man who could love them as more… it always felt like wearing someone else’s skin. Pretending.
So yeah. Eddie had admitted it, at least in whispers to his own reflection, ten times over. Gay. Or something close enough. He hadn’t told anyone else yet, but those ten times mattered.
And if he was honest, another awkward blind date with one of Pepa’s “perfect matches” would’ve been worse than this. A bar with his crew couldn’t possibly be that bad.
That’s what he told himself.
But the moment he stepped inside, Eddie’s nose wrinkled in protest. The place was packed —shoulder to shoulder, sweat and liquor staining the air, laughter and music pressing against his eardrums. The floor was sticky with the ghosts of spilled cocktails, and some half-hearted citrus air freshener fought a losing battle against musk and smoke.
He muttered something under his breath, shook his head, and searched for familiar faces. He spotted Lena first—of course, she was the one whistling at him like he was late to formation. Eddie rolled his eyes, but he smiled anyway, lifting a hand in greeting before weaving his way over.
And after a few rounds —beer, a couple of shots he probably didn’t need— he was surprised to find himself relaxing. His shoulders loosened. His laughter came easier than he expected. For the first time that week, he wasn’t thinking about bills, about appointments, about what he wasn’t saying out loud.
It was fine. It was good, even.
At least, until he caught Calley jabbing Stover in the ribs, not once, but twice, her lips pointing toward the door. Bosko and Logan both looked up, and Eddie followed their gaze almost instinctively, without even thinking.
It was just a bar. Just people coming and going. Nothing unusual. What the hell had them all stirred up over—
"It's the 118," Bosko muttered, catching his puzzled look.
Eddie blinked at her, eyebrows arching in silent question.
“We’ve been hearing some really interesting stories about them lately,” she continued, lowering her voice with a grin, “even though we’ve only crossed paths a couple of times at work. It’s like seeing a celebrity walk in.”
Celebrity? In a bar like this? Eddie thought, skeptical. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he turned back toward the door —this time, looking a little closer at the group making their entrance.
First came a woman with a shaved head, holding hands with another whose long braids swung past her shoulders, the two of them carved from confidence and fire. Next was a short man with a wild shock of spiked hair, chattering animatedly to a brown-haired woman with the sweetest smile Eddie had ever seen. Behind them was a petite woman with sharp eyes, her hand tucked securely into that of Captain Nash — that Captain Nash, the same one who’d offered Eddie a spot at the 118 months ago. Eddie hadn’t taken it, choosing the 136 instead for its nearness to his house and Christopher’s school, but he recognized the steady, calm figure immediately. Nash was speaking softly, his gaze warm and watchful as he looked back over his shoulder.
And at the end, trailing slightly behind the rest of them, came—
Oh.
Eddie’s throat went dry before he could even finish the thought.
Tall. Golden light-brown hair that caught the neon glow. A smile that stretched wide and unrestrained, lips moving so fast it seemed his words were tripping over each other to escape. His arms moved just as much as his mouth, expressive, alive, filling the space around him like gravity didn’t quite apply.
The group broke into laughter at something he said —loud, unabashed, the kind of laughter that filled a room and demanded to be heard— and Eddie’s heart thumped harder in his chest. He followed their movement as they claimed a booth… directly across from his own table.
He told himself he wasn’t staring. That he was just looking. A glance. A few seconds. Nothing more.
That was a lie.
“Yo, Diaz, shut your mouth or the flies will get in,” Stover teased, elbowing him. The table burst out laughing.
Heat shot up Eddie’s neck. He ducked his head, hiding behind the rim of his beer bottle.
“Ha ha,” he muttered, flipping Stover off without looking up.
He tried —he really did— to redirect his attention. To listen to the conversation buzzing around his own table, to laugh when the others laughed. But his eyes kept betraying him, dragging back to him.
The night stretched on. Beers disappeared, the music swelled. Logan disappeared into the crowd with a girl on his arm, and Calley tugged Bosko to the dance floor, both of them laughing as they spun each other with exaggerated moves. Stover stayed beside him, nodding to the beat, humming under his breath.
And Eddie… Eddie was stuck.
His gaze kept drifting to the man across the way. To the way his whole body seemed to vibrate with energy when he spoke, to how he could light up everyone around him with just a grin. The others in his group looked relaxed, comfortable, like they’d done this a thousand times before. And then one couple got up for karaoke, another drifted toward the dance floor, and suddenly —he was alone.
Eddie’s fingers tightened around the neck of his beer.
The man —Buck, he’d overheard someone call him— shifted in his seat. His expression changed like shifting weather. A soft smile as he watched his friends dance. Curiosity flickering as the karaoke pair sang off-key. And then —something else. Something quieter. The kind of empty look Eddie recognized, the one you only let slip when you thought no one was watching.
It hit Eddie square in the chest.
He wanted to go to him. God, he wanted. To slide into the booth and crack a joke, to catch the sound of his laugh up close. To see what color his eyes were in the dim bar light. To know if his lips were really that pink, or if it was just a trick of the neon overhead.
“You should talk to him,” Stover murmured suddenly, low enough that only Eddie heard.
Eddie startled, wrenching his eyes away, heart pounding like he’d been caught stealing.
“I-I can’t.” His tongue darted over his lips nervously.
“Can’t you?” Stover tilted his head. “Or have you already convinced yourself it won’t happen, so you’d rather not find out?”
“I…” Eddie exhaled, long and heavy. He met Stover’s gaze, feeling the weight of it press down. “I’ve never done this.”
Stover frowned, not understanding.
“I was married to a woman since I was nineteen,” Eddie confessed, voice low. The words felt jagged, foreign on his tongue, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. “Then I was in the military. And now I’m just… trying to keep my life afloat. I don’t know what to do. What to say. I’m-” he laughed, bitterly. “rusty.”
Stover softened, a rare thing.
“Then don’t overthink it. Just ask him to dance. Let the words come later.” He nudged Eddie’s shoulder, firm but not unkind. “Go. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”
Eddie’s pulse roared in his ears.
Maybe it was just curiosity. Maybe it was more. He didn’t know. But Stover was right —if he sat here and let the night pass him by, it would gnaw at him. Another thing for the “what could have been and wasn’t” box that was already too damn full.
He tipped back the last of his beer, the burn steadying him. Then he pushed to his feet.
His palms were slick, so he rubbed them on his jeans, smoothed down his shirt, and cleared his throat. Each step toward that booth felt heavier, like wading through wet sand. Halfway there, his hands began to tremble, so he shoved them deep into his pockets.
And then… Blue eyes.
Sharp and bright even in the dim bar light, snapping up to meet his. Eddie froze mid-step, knees going weak.
Shit. Shit. He’s more beautiful up close.
Somehow —God only knew how— he made it all the way to the table, standing there like a man who’d forgotten how to speak.
“Hi?” the man asked, his voice low and warm, and Eddie swore he felt it in his bones. His knees nearly buckled.
Panic surged —say something, Diaz, say something— and Eddie yanked his hands free, placing one flat on the table, trying to ground himself. He forced his mouth to work.
“I-I’m Ed-Eddie,” he stammered, licking his lips like that would help. “Do you… Dance?”
For a split second, Buck just looked at him, eyes brightening like someone had flipped on a light inside. Then his mouth stretched into a grin, wide and devastating, and Eddie’s heart tripped over itself.
“Buck,” he replied easily, tilting his head, clearly amused. “And yeah. Sure.”
Eddie’s breath caught. He extended his hand, palm steady now, despite the storm inside him.
When Buck’s hand slid into his, Eddie felt his entire body react, like every nerve had suddenly woken up after years of sleeping. A jolt ran through him, sharp and hot, and he couldn’t stop himself from looking up, searching Buck’s face desperately for any trace that he’d felt it too.
And there it was.
Not in words, not in anything overt, but in the faint, betraying blush blooming across Buck’s cheeks and creeping down his neck. The flush painted him in soft pinks that matched his lips and drew Eddie’s gaze to that faint scar etched above his eyebrow, to the smile —God, that smile— that had already knocked the air from his lungs earlier.
Eddie cleared his throat, trying to steady himself, though his grip on Buck’s hand didn’t loosen. If anything, he clung tighter, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. Step by step, he led them toward the dance floor, the press of people parting just enough, the music pulsing around them.
The music that floated over them was unmistakable: bachata. A rhythm he knew like his own heartbeat. Eddie muttered a silent thank you to his parents for every ballroom lesson they’d ever forced on him, because right now, it was saving him from falling apart completely. Muscle memory guided him as he turned to face Buck, placing the man’s large, warm hands where they needed to be —low on his waist, steady— and resting his own on those broad shoulders. His fingers brushed muscle, firm beneath the fabric, and Eddie had to bite back a groan.
“Uh, I-I’ve never danced this before,” Buck whispered, leaning close, his breath hot against Eddie’s ear.
The words sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine. He let out a soft laugh before he could help himself.
“Don’t laugh,” Buck pleaded, his voice sheepish, tinged with that nervous rush of honesty. “R-really.”
“Let me show you,” Eddie murmured back, keeping his voice low, intimate. He slid his hands higher on Buck’s shoulders, anchoring him. “Just let yourself feel it.”
He moved first —slow, deliberate. Three steps to the right, measured, steady, counting softly above Buck’s ear —“one, two, three”— and then lifting his left hip just slightly to guide the rhythm. Then three steps back to the left —“one, two, three”— his right hip rising in perfect time with the music. By the third repetition, Eddie felt Buck relax, his shoulders easing, his body finding the beat. Then, like magic, they were moving together.
“You dance well,” Buck whispered after a few bars, his grip tightening instinctively on Eddie’s waist.
Eddie smiled, heat warming his chest.
“Things that come with having Latin blood,” he said lightly, tilting his head back just enough to catch Buck’s eyes. They glittered in the dim lights. Eddie winked, enjoying the rush of heat that climbed Buck’s face again. “You’re not moving that badly.”
“It’s a first try,” Buck chuckled, still staring at him, every step now smoother, more confident.
Eddie should’ve kept his mouth shut. He knew it. But the thought slipped out before he could stop it.
“If you’re that good at everything on the first try…” The words slipped out rough, suggestive, exactly as they’d sounded in his head. His face heated instantly. Damn it.
The words hung between them, charged. Eddie’s heart jumped into his throat. Shit. Did I really just say that?
For half a second, panic gripped him —until Buck’s lips curved into a slow, devastating smile.
“You’re a threat to my sanity,” Buck said, laughing, the sound bright and unrestrained. He threw his head back, throat bared, that strong column of his neck exposed in the dim light.
Eddie’s mouth went dry. He wanted —God, he wanted— to drag his tongue across the skin there, to find the thrum of Buck’s pulse and taste the life beating beneath.
“Then I’m getting my way,” Eddie muttered instead, teeth tugging at his own bottom lip to keep himself grounded.
Buck’s laugh softened. When he looked back down at Eddie, the grin was still there, but tempered now, his gaze carrying something heavier, something that hit Eddie square in the chest.
“I won’t do anything to you tonight,” Buck said, voice steady, serious.
The words landed like a stone in Eddie’s stomach. Shame flickered —he’d ruined it already, set the wrong tone. He ducked his head, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Of course. Idiot. You never know how to—
“Not because I don’t want to,” Buck interrupted quickly, almost tripping over his words, “b-but because I don’t want it to be a one-night stand.”
Eddie froze.
The floor shifted under his feet —not from beer or music or the crowd, but from the weight of those words, from the way Buck was looking at him. Not hungry. Not fleeting. Serious.
It had been a long time since anyone looked at him like that. Maybe no one ever had.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Eddie whispered back, his throat tight but his chest oddly light.
The music changed, a quicker tempo taking over, but Eddie barely noticed until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, only half-present, to see Bosko.
“The guys and I are heading out; not all of us have the pleasure of a day off tomorrow,” Lena teased, gesturing toward their teammates gathering their things. “Next shift, you pay us. Eh, have a good night, Diaz. Buckley.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, striding off before Eddie could muster one. He slipped his hand from Buck’s shoulder just long enough to wave goodbye. They returned the gesture, then disappeared into the crowd.
“Do you know Bosko?” Buck asked, curiosity written across his face, head tilting slightly as he glanced past Eddie and then back again.
“We work together. 136,” Eddie explained with a small smile, shrugging as if to make it casual.
“Oh, you’re a firefighter too,” Buck said, not questioning, just knowing. His hand flexed on Eddie’s waist, the pressure enough to make Eddie’s lips part on a quiet, unsteady breath.
“Yep,” Eddie replied simply, hoping his voice didn’t betray him.
Buck’s hand lingered for another beat before sliding away, giving Eddie space.
“Something wrong?” Eddie asked quickly, catching the movement, anxiety rushing back in.
Buck shook his head, smile easy again. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the booth he’d left behind. “Grab your jacket. I’ll introduce you to the group.”
Eddie didn’t even hesitate. He jogged back to his own table, snatched his jacket, and hurried to rejoin him. Buck was laughing softly when he returned.
“I’m not leaving without you, you don’t have to run,” Buck teased, grin playful, eyes bright.
Eddie flushed, rolling his eyes, and gave him a shove to the shoulder.
“Idiot. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
Buck’s laughter bubbled up again, warm and genuine. And without pause, he pressed his hand to the small of Eddie’s back, guiding him through the crowd and toward his group —who were already watching, every expression a different shade of curiosity, surprise, and knowing amusement.
“Family, meet Eddie,” Buck announced as soon as they reached the table, his grin wide and proud, like a kid showing off his best science project. “He works on 136 —although he was recently abandoned. Can we keep him?”
Eddie turned sharply, eyebrows raised, giving Buck a grimace and landing another shove on his shoulder. He meant it playfully, but God, the guy was impossible. Buck only laughed, soaking it in like Eddie had just given him a medal instead of a bump.
Turning back to the group, Eddie forced a small smile, nerves bubbling under his skin. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Hey, sorry I stole Buck for a bit,” he murmured, feeling the heat crawl up his cheeks. He extended his hand to the man at the center of the group. “Captain Nash. Nice to see you again.”
“Same to me, Diaz,” Nash replied warmly, shaking his hand firmly. “But you can call me Bobby… Even though you traded us for Ronnie.”
The words hit like a playful jab, but Eddie still felt his face burn hotter. He ducked his head slightly, embarrassed. “Isn’t that a good start?”
Before the awkward silence could grow roots, he felt a tap on his back. Buck, of course, had pulled up a chair for him, his blue eyes bright with that I’ve got you look Eddie had started to recognize. Eddie sat down, offering him a smile that said more than words —thank you.
Conversation flowed easily after that. Eddie found himself talking about his first week —how it had started with the earthquake, how every day since had been one long chain reaction of chaos. The table responded with laughter, sympathy, and curiosity. Little by little, Eddie learned their names, their quirks, the rhythm of their inside jokes. Hen’s sarcasm, Chim’s fast wit, Bobby’s calm center.
But no matter how lively the table was, Eddie’s eyes kept drifting back to Buck. To the way he leaned in when Eddie spoke, listening like every word mattered. To how his hands moved when he told a story, animated, wide, unstoppable. To that boyish grin that lit up his whole face whenever the group teased him.
He looks so damn happy just being here, Eddie thought, his chest tightening with something he didn’t want to name.
Time blurred. The music shifted again, this time a merengue, its quick rhythm drawing couples to the floor. Without thinking twice, Eddie leaned close.
“Wanna dance again?”
Buck’s smile was immediate, wide and reckless. He grabbed Eddie’s hand and pulled him up, no hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Eddie led him onto the floor, this time slowing down enough to really teach him the steps. He guided Buck with gentle pressure at his waist and shoulder, murmuring counts near his ear. And Buck —quick learner that he was— caught on fast, until they were moving as one. Their hips brushed with every sway, chests so close Eddie could feel the heat radiating off him. At one point, their foreheads touched, and neither moved away.
“They’re very nice,” Eddie murmured, voice softer than he intended, eyes flicking briefly toward the table before returning to Buck. His right hand had slipped naturally to Buck’s lower back, anchoring him, while Buck’s arm rested loosely around his neck. Their free hands had tangled together somewhere between their shoulders.
“Sometimes they’re unbearable,” Buck admitted, his smile boyish but sincere, “but they’re everything to me.” He paused, his forehead still pressed to Eddie’s. “What’s your family like?”
Eddie almost laughed. Almost. Because in any other circumstance, with anyone else, he would’ve dodged that question with a joke or a polite shrug. But this wasn’t anyone else. This was Buck.
And Buck made it so damn easy to forget the walls he’d built.
‘Why do I trust him like this?’ Eddie thought, chest tight. ‘Why does it feel like I’ve known him for years instead of hours?’
A year ago, he would’ve swallowed the truth and buried it. But that Eddie was gone, thanks to late-night talks with Rosa’s granddaughter —the psychologist who’d pried open doors he thought were locked forever— and thanks to the job that had stripped him bare more times than he could count.
So he sighed, meeting Buck’s eyes head-on.
“My parents are there, but… More than they should be.” His tone sharpened, but he didn’t look away. “They still think I’m incapable of raising my son the way I want to. Providing for him the way I know I can.”
He saw it immediately —the flicker of confusion in Buck’s face, the way his body went a little rigid, as if bracing himself. Eddie panicked for half a second, rushing to fill the silence.
“Ever since his mother left —and honestly, even since I got back from service— they think I’m dragging him down. Like I’m… wrong, somehow. But…” Eddie shook his head, tightening his grip on Buck’s hand. “There’s a reason we are here, and they’re in Texas.”
The word son seemed to echo between them.
Buck’s breath caught. His eyes searched Eddie’s, his voice barely above the music when he finally murmured, “You have a kid.”
“Yes. Christopher.” Eddie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. “He’s seven.” His phone, with the latest photo, was sitting back at the table in his jacket pocket, so instead, Eddie twirled Buck with a playful spin, laughing when Buck stumbled just slightly, their bodies colliding before they found the rhythm again. Buck’s laugh followed, soft and surprised, and Eddie’s chest ached at the sound.
“He means everything to me,” Eddie said simply, honestly. “And every day, I’m working to be what he needs. Not just what my parents drilled into me.”
Buck’s whole body seemed to exhale at once, the tension melting away. Eddie caught it, saw the relief in his eyes, and couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head.
“Did you think I was about to tell you my wife’s waiting at home with our kid while I sneak out to dance?” Eddie teased, incredulous.
“Something like that,” Buck muttered, embarrassed, his cheeks flaming red as he ducked his face against Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie chuckled and shifted their grip, untangling one hand just so he could lift Buck’s chin gently, tilting his face back up until those blue eyes met his again.
“No. No, Buck. I may have a lot going on in my head, but I’m not that kind of person.”
“I know,” Buck whispered, and for some reason, it sounded like a vow.
That was enough to make Eddie’s chest ease. He let his hand drop, but didn’t let go of Buck entirely; their fingers still brushed, their bodies still swayed to the music. For a few moments, they just danced like that —breathing the same air, both of them reluctant to break the spell.
But Eddie wasn’t done. Not tonight.
“My abuela lives here,” he found himself saying, voice quiet but sure. “She came from Texas a few years back. Tía Pepa —my father's sister, too. They… they’ve become my anchor. For me and for Chris.”
Buck tilted his head slightly, forehead brushing Eddie’s again. “They help you?”
“Every way they can,” Eddie admitted, and there was warmth in his tone now, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “My abuela has this way of keeping me grounded, reminding me where I come from, reminding me that being stubborn doesn’t always mean being right. And Pepa —she’s loud, she meddles, she prays too much— but she’s also the one person I can call in the middle of the night and she won’t judge me. She just… shows up.”
The thought made his throat tighten. He cleared it, blinking away the weight that always came when he spoke about the people who’d saved him more times than he deserved.
“Without them, Buck, I don’t know how I’d do it. I want Chris to feel safe here, to feel like he’s surrounded, you know? Not just by me.”
Buck’s eyes softened in a way Eddie wasn’t used to. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t even surprise. It was recognition.
“I get that,” Buck murmured, his voice low but steady. “For a long time, it was just me and Maddie. She… She’s the only real family I’ve ever had. She practically raised me when my parents didn’t. And even now, she’s still the one I go to when things get too heavy.”
There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes then, quickly masked by a smile, but Eddie caught it —he always caught the things Buck thought he hid well.
“And then the 118 happened,” Buck continued, his grin growing a little softer, a little shakier. “Bobby, Hen, Chim… They became everything I didn’t even know I was missing. A real family. The kind you choose.”
“The kind you fight for,” Eddie added quietly.
Buck nodded, his thumb brushing unconsciously along Eddie’s shoulder where their hands still rested.
“Exactly.”
For a while, they just looked at each other, the music weaving around them like a cocoon. Eddie could feel the weight of Buck’s words sitting right beside his own —two men who’d found themselves remade by the people they loved, both blood and chosen.
“Then you get it,” Eddie said finally, his voice rougher than he intended. “What it’s like to build something different. To protect it with everything you’ve got.”
Buck’s breath caught, but his eyes didn’t waver. “Yeah, Eddie. I get it.”
And the way he said his name —it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t light. It was steady, like he was testing it on his tongue, like it mattered.
The song ended, but Eddie didn’t step away immediately. Instead, he lingered, his hand still firm on Buck’s waist, holding him there as if the music had no right to stop what was happening between them. He leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing Buck’s ear.
“Hydration?” he murmured.
Buck only nodded, breathless, his curls damp against his forehead. Eddie let himself savor the sight —Buck’s flushed cheeks, the curve of his smile, lips bitten pink from nerves and laughter. Pretty, Eddie thought, and hated how the word stuck to the inside of his chest like honey.
“Let’s go.”
They wove back to the table, still caught in the gravity of one another. A collective gasp went up from Chim and Hen the second they arrived, joined by a chorus of suggestive glances that hit Eddie like a spotlight. His face burned, and before he could retreat into himself, Buck threw his entire body into the chair, grabbing Maddie’s glass without asking and downing it in a single gulp.
Eddie, in contrast, picked up his own water and sipped it calmly —or tried to.
“Hey!” Maddie exclaimed, smacking Buck’s hand in mock outrage.
The table erupted in laughter, and Eddie couldn’t help it —he laughed too. The tension slid off his shoulders, replaced by something lighter, something that felt like belonging.
It grew when, with casual curiosity, Eddie asked each pair at the table how long they’d been together. Hen and Karen smiled knowingly, Bobby’s arm tightened around Athena’s shoulder with a quiet kind of pride… until Chimney choked on his drink and Maddie nearly leapt out of her chair.
“We’re just friends!” she blurted, cheeks flaming.
“Yes,” Chim added too quickly, throwing his hands up, his voice edging toward panic. “Just friends.”
The table fell apart in laughter again —Buck’s the loudest, his body doubling over as Maddie smacked him upside the head for good measure.
Eddie’s chest ached, but not from holding in his laughter. It was full —too full. He’d grown up surrounded by people, hundreds of relatives always moving in and out of rooms, voices overlapping, food piled high on tables. But instead of comfort, it had often felt suffocating, like he couldn’t find his place in the noise.
Here, though? Sitting in this little circle, watching Buck tease his sister, listening to Hen’s easy warmth, to Karen’s genuine questions, to Bobby’s grounding voice and Athena’s sharp but motherly interjections —it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt right. It felt like home.
Maybe that was the scariest part.
Hours passed like minutes. More drinks. Hen and Karen stealing the spotlight during karaoke, Chim trying to out-sing them and failing spectacularly, Bobby crooning in a way only Athena clapped for. And then Taylor Kelly —yes, that Taylor Kelly— made her move.
She leaned toward Buck, eyes glittering with intent, her smile just shy of predatory. Eddie felt his jaw tighten before he could stop it. If someone asked, he’d deny the flare of irritation —deny the way he looked at her like she’d trespassed into something sacred. He’d deny it until his last breath.
Thankfully, Buck brushed it off, distracted enough by the night to wave her away politely. And then, as if nothing had happened, he got up and tugged Eddie back to the dance floor.
Eddie didn’t resist. He never could when it came to Buck.
This time, a bolero filled the room, slower, softer, the kind of song that didn’t require performance —only closeness. Buck slid his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him in until there was no space between them. Eddie’s hands went instinctively to Buck’s neck, fingers curling into his hair as they swayed.
Their eyes stayed locked, steady, daring.
“Why didn’t you accept the invitation to the 118?” Buck asked suddenly, his voice lower than the music.
The question made Eddie’s throat dry. He exhaled.
“I’d already given Ronnie my word I’d go to 136. It’s closer to home —it meant I’d have more time with Chris.” His voice cracked slightly at the mention of his son, but he pushed on. “Still… I won’t lie. It would’ve been interesting to do my probationary year with you guys.”
“Fate,” Buck murmured, leaning in so close Eddie felt the warmth of his lips against his ear. The shiver that shot down his spine was instant, impossible to hide.
“There’s no such thing,” Eddie countered quickly, heat crawling from his collar to his ears.
Buck pulled back just enough to smirk.
“If it doesn’t exist, then why did we even meet? You can’t tell me the universe isn’t screaming at us right now.”
Eddie wanted to scoff, but the words caught in his throat.
“The universe isn’t screaming, Buck.” His voice softened, grew vulnerable, stripped of its armor. “But… maybe. Maybe it was more than a coincidence that we met.”
The way Buck smiled then —it wasn’t smug. It wasn’t teasing. It was luminous, as if Eddie had just handed him proof of something he’d been waiting for. Eddie rolled his eyes to cover the heat burning in his chest, then spun Buck out in a playful twirl. Buck stumbled, laughing, and Eddie caught him by the waist again before he could fall.
The song carried them through the rest of their silence. Their hearts beat fast, syncing in the quiet rhythm of the bolero, and when Eddie rested his forehead lightly against Buck’s, it wasn’t part of the dance. It was something else entirely.
When the song ends, they drift back toward the table, though the energy of the night has already begun to soften. Chairs scrape against the floor, and coats are pulled from the backs of chairs. Some of them have early shifts in a few hours, others have kids waiting at home, and others are just worn out from laughter, dancing, and one too many rounds of karaoke.
Eddie turns his head just in time to catch the look on Buck’s face —strange, tentative, as if he’s standing on the edge of something and doesn’t know if he should leap.
"Hey," Eddie whispers, brushing his fingers lightly against Buck’s forearm, testing the ground, grounding him. "Do you have your phone there?"
Buck blinks, startled, but nods and fishes it out without hesitation, handing it over like it’s nothing. Eddie carefully types in his number, then calls himself, just to be sure, before returning it.
"So?" Buck asks, glancing down at the glowing screen with the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
“This isn’t a one-night stand,” Eddie murmurs, voice low and certain, before tipping his chin toward Maddie, who’s waving him over like only a big sister can. Buck hesitates for half a second, then obeys her summons, and Eddie lets his hand fall away.
He takes his jacket, sliding his arms into the sleeves, moving with the calm he doesn’t feel. He pulls a couple of bills from his pocket, meaning to settle his share of the tab, but Athena stops him with a gentle touch to his hand—soft, deliberate, like his abuela does when she’s pulling him away from the stove.
“This time it’s on us. Next time you can pay.” Her eyes glint with warmth and authority as she points her chin toward Buck, who’s laughing at something Maddie said while Chimney mimics her gestures. “Anyone who can bring that kid out of his shell deserves to come back as often as they want.”
Eddie’s throat tightens. He wants to argue, to insist, but the words dry up, and instead he tucks the bills back into his pocket.
His heart is loud, too loud, and he doesn’t know how to quiet it.
He follows the others out, the rush of cold air slapping against his face. It makes his nose wrinkle, but before he can really complain, he sees Buck waiting a little ahead, shoulders hunched, breath fogging in the night.
"Hey," Eddie murmurs again, softer this time, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.
For the first time in years, he feels like a teenager again —awkward, nervous, standing too close to someone he likes too much. The difference is, back then, he used to punish himself for it. Now, he’s just… standing here, wishing time would stretch.
"Hey," Buck replies, his lips quirking. He shoves his hands into his own pockets, mirroring Eddie without even realizing it. "Chim’s calling an Uber. We’re going around the museum, so… Can we give you a ride?"
His voice is tentative, shy in a way Eddie finds devastating.
"I live a little further out," Eddie answers, tilting his head toward the lot. "Maybe I can give you a ride instead."
Buck’s eyes widen, hope sparking bright, but before he can nod, Chimney’s voice cuts across the parking lot, announcing the arrival of their car. Buck’s expression crumples, just slightly, before he pastes on a small, resigned smile.
"I think the universe screamed again," Buck says, his tone somewhere between teasing and regret.
“The universe doesn’t scream,” Eddie repeats, rolling his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitch with the effort of holding back a smile. “Goodnight, Buck.”
For a second, Buck hesitates, caught in a war with himself. Then, before Eddie can even prepare, he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to his cheek. Warm lips, soft and fleeting, but enough to send heat rushing up Eddie’s neck. When Buck pulls back, his own cheeks are red, his smile sheepish.
“Night, Eds.”
Eddie stays frozen as Buck jogs toward the waiting car. He watches him slide inside, hears Chimney call something that makes Maddie swat at him, and still his skin burns where Buck’s lips touched him. He swallows hard, but nothing cools the flame in his chest.
By the time he says goodbye to the others and finds his truck, his heart is still hammering too fast.
He drives carefully, his body on autopilot, the night blurred into streetlights flashing past his window.
He hasn’t had more than water in the last few hours, but he still feels unsteady —though not from drink. From Buck. From the way he laughed, the way he looked at him, the way one simple kiss on the cheek feels like a claim he never saw coming.
Every thought returns to him —his smile, his voice, the way his hands fit against him when they danced, the way he bites his lips when he’s nervous. Buck has fused himself into some space in Eddie’s chest Eddie thought had gone cold years ago. And it terrifies him. And it soothes him. And it feels, somehow, inevitable.
By the time he parks at home, the silence of the house feels too heavy. Christopher’s not there tonight, and for the first time in a long while, Eddie hates the solitude. He lies back on his bed, sighing into the dark, the ghost of Buck’s lips on his cheek haunting him. He realizes with a pang he already misses him —not just him, but the way Buck made him feel, alive in ways Eddie had buried under duty and silence.
His eyes are already drooping when the shrill buzz of his phone breaks through the quiet. Groggy, Eddie fumbles for it, squinting against the brightness of the screen.
Unknown
2:43 AM – hey, eddie.
2:43 AM – m home.
2:44 AM – u get home ok?
Eddie glanced at the glowing screen, already knowing who it was, though the contact still read Unknown. He shouldn’t smile at the sight of the message —yet there it was, tugging at the corner of his mouth. He let his fingers hover, thinking too long for such a simple answer.
Why was it so easy for Buck? Words flew out of him like sparks, quick and unfiltered. Eddie, on the other hand, weighed every response as if Buck might read between the letters and see too much.
Finally, he typed, steady and careful.
You
2:44 AM – Hey, unknown.
2:44 AM – Yeah, I arrived safely.
He hesitated again, thumb tapping the edge of the phone. His house was too quiet. Too dark. He could feel the empty weight of it pressing against him. Against his chest. And before he could second-guess it, he added:
You
2:45 AM – Though I’m already hating how quiet this house feels right now.
Buck <3
2:45 AM – woah, hold up 👀
2:45 AM – r u…. proposin dirty things t me, diaz?
2:45 AM – n here i thought u were diff uwu
Eddie snorted, shaking his head, the absurdity of Buck’s tone cutting right through the heaviness in his chest. He typed faster this time, letting his dry humor steady him.
You
2:46 AM – I’m definitely proposing dirty things to you, Buckley -.-
2:46 AM – Fall asleep without showering. Don’t brush your teeth. Leave your shoes on.
2:46 AM – This kind of dirty… or dirtier?
Buck <3
2:48 AM – ur a menace
2:48 AM – a treat 2 my sanity, diaz
You
2:48 AM – Then I’m getting my way.
2:49 AM – Good night, Buck. I’d stay up, but responsibilities won’t let me talk till dawn.
2:49 AM – Sweet dreams <3
Buck <3
2:50 AM – rest, eds
2:50 AM – dream of bedbugs 2nite 🐜
Eddie huffed a laugh, shaking his head. Of course Buck would find a way to ruin a soft moment. His thumbs moved quickly, the words sharper now, but softened by the ghost of a smile.
You
2:51 AM – That’s disgusting.
2:51 AM – I change my mind. No more sweet dreams for you.
Buck <3
2:52 AM – ok ok no bedbugs 😅
2:52 AM – dream of me then 😏
Eddie blinked at the screen, lips twitching despite himself. Dream of me. It was ridiculous. Cocky. And yet, his stomach did a strange little flip.
You
2:53 AM – Smooth. Real smooth.
2:53 AM – But you do know you’re impossible to sleep after, right?
Buck <3
2:54 AM – good
2:54 AM – means i’ll keep u awake n more ways than 1 👀
Heat prickled at the back of Eddie’s neck. He let the phone fall to his chest for a second, staring at the ceiling like it might give him answers. More ways than one. Damn Buck and his timing.
Finally, with a quiet huff, he picked the phone back up and typed.
You
2:55 AM – Go to sleep, Buck.
2:55 AM – Some of us have kids to wake up to.
For a moment, Eddie thought that would end it. He half-hoped it would. But then his phone buzzed again.
Buck <3
2:56 AM – yeah…
2:56 AM – n some of us jus wish we had some1 2 wake up 2.
And just like that, the teasing was gone.
The words sat heavy in Eddie’s chest, his thumb hovering but unmoving. The silence in his room seemed to echo, wrapping tight around him, until all he could hear was the faint pulse of his own heart —and Buck’s loneliness threaded through the screen.
The words hit harder than Buck probably meant them to. Eddie knew loneliness —knew what it was to sleep in a house that felt too quiet, to hear the walls press in on you when all you wanted was warmth, laughter, someone breathing steady beside you. He thought of Christopher’s empty room tonight, the absence of soft snores down the hall. He thought of Shannon, and then forced himself not to.
But mostly, he thought of Buck.
Buck, who hid his ache behind jokes and emojis and shameless winks. Buck, who could dance like he’d known Eddie forever. Buck, who had looked at him tonight like he was… enough.
Eddie let the silence stretch too long. The phone dimmed. He unlocked it again, typed half a sentence, deleted it. Rubbed a hand down his face, cursed under his breath. Finally, with a soft sigh, he gave in to what felt both too much and not enough.
You
2:59 AM – You’ll get there.
2:59 AM – Don’t rush it. Some things… are worth waiting for.
Buck <3
2:59 AM – u rlly think so?
Eddie’s lips curved into something between a smile and a grimace. He thought about how easy it was for Buck to get under his skin, to tilt the world on its axis with just a handful of words. Dangerous. That was the only word for it.
You
3:00 AM – I know so.
Buck <3
3:01 AM – …
3:01 AM – ur dangerous, Diaz.
3:01 AM – night.
You
3:01 AM – Good night, Buck.
Eddie stared at his phone long after the screen went dark, the glow fading but the warmth in his chest stubbornly staying. With a sigh that was half a laugh, half a surrender, he set it on the nightstand to charge.
His feet felt heavy, like every step to the bathroom carried the weight of what had just happened —not the texts themselves, but the way they lingered, the way he lingered.
The water hit his skin in a cold rush before turning warm, running down his face, over his shoulders, carrying with it the sweat of the night and the haze of beer. He pressed his palms against the wall for a moment, leaning in, letting the steam curl around him. But no amount of water could wash away the thoughts racing through him.
It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? A couple of hours. That was all it had been. A handful of conversations, three songs, and yet —Eddie felt like Buck had carved out a place inside him he hadn’t even realized was empty until now. The weight of his laugh, the way it shook through his chest. The press of a shoulder against his. The brush of lips against his cheek that still burned like a secret brand.
He’d never missed someone this way. Not Shannon, not anyone. Never this fiercely, never this suddenly. It was as if Buck had bypassed the usual slow unfolding of trust and affection and gone straight to the heart of him, reckless and uninvited.
And it scared him. God, it scared him. Because Eddie had rules —rules carved from scars, from mistakes, from promises broken and years of convincing himself he was doing what was best. He’d told himself that opening up again would be different, that if he ever dared to try, it would be on his own terms, carefully, safely.
But none of this was safe. None of this was careful.
Standing there with water dripping from his chin and his hands covering his face, Eddie realized the truth of it: from that first dance, he hadn’t just let Buck in. He’d handed him everything. His attention, his laughter, his trust —maybe even the fragile pieces of himself he’d sworn no one would ever touch again.
And the most dangerous part? He wasn’t sure he wanted to take it back.
The days blurred together, as they always did —shift after shift, school runs, dinner at the table with Christopher— but threaded between all of it were the interruptions, the sparks that came from Buck.
It started small, with the constant buzz of his phone at random hours. Texts that should’ve been meaningless —except they never were, not when Buck typed like his thumbs were in a race, every message too loud, too bright, too him .
Buck <3
11:13 PM – chris asleep yet?
11:13 PM – or still tryin 2 bargain his way into 3 more hrs?
You
11:14 PM – Out cold.
1:14 PM – He’s tougher than me, though.
11:14 PM – Kid wins every time.
Buck <3
11:15 PM – lol dangerous
11:15 PM – def ur kid 😂
Eddie chuckled to himself, shaking his head. He should’ve put the phone down. He told himself he would. But then he typed back, and that reply turned into another, and another, until the hour grew late and Eddie realized his face hurt from smiling at nothing but a glowing screen.
Some nights, the texts had nothing to do with the day. No fires, no calls, no errands worth mentioning. And yet Eddie still caught himself counting the seconds until his phone lit up.
Buck <3
02:10 AM – u up?
02:10 AM – lol not in the dirty way, promise
02:10 AM – …unless u want 2 👀
You
02:11 AM – You’re impossible.
02:11 AM – Go to sleep, Buck.
Buck <3
02:12 AM – nah
02:13 AM – sleep’s 4 ppl who don’t have hot firefighters stuck in their heads all day
Eddie groaned, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes, but the smile wouldn’t leave his face. He tossed the phone onto the nightstand and turned off the lamp, determined not to encourage Buck’s antics. He swore he wouldn’t answer. Not this time.
Five minutes later, the room still dark and his pulse refusing to calm, Eddie reached for the phone. His thumb hovered only a second before he typed back.
You
02:18 AM – You’re unbelievable.
And just like that, his chest felt lighter. Like maybe sleep wasn’t so impossible after all.
Soon the texts bled into calls. Buck’s voice became a fixture of Eddie’s nights, as familiar as the hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Sometimes they lasted five minutes, sometimes an hour. Eddie even started keeping an extra charger plugged in by the door, just in case.
One night, he slipped out onto the porch, phone warm against his ear, the quiet of the neighborhood folding around him like a blanket. The air smelled faintly of cut grass and asphalt cooling from the day’s heat, and Eddie leaned back against the rail, eyes on the dim glow of the streetlight.
“So you’re telling me your abuela makes the best tamales in the world,” Buck said, dramatic as always, “and you didn’t save any for me?”
“Didn’t think you’d want to risk your life.” Eddie smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “She doesn’t exactly hand them out freely.”
“Bro, I’d fight dragons for some tamales.”
A laugh bubbled up before Eddie could stop it, low and warm. “You wouldn’t survive five minutes with Abuela.”
“Try me.”
And then Buck asked —about Tía Pepa, about Christopher’s special soccer team, about the family Eddie rarely spoke of. He asked not like someone making conversation, but like someone who wanted to carry the answers with him. Eddie found himself talking more than he meant to —about Abuela practically raising him, about how she still showed up for Christopher like he was her own, how they were his and Chris’s anchors in LA.
When his words finally ran out, Eddie realized how much he’d given away. The porch light buzzed above him, moths fluttering close, and he shifted uneasily, pressing his palm flat against the rail.
Buck didn’t laugh it off or change the subject. His voice came quiet, softer than Eddie had ever heard it, like he was speaking from under the covers.
“Wish I had that. Guess that’s why I hold on so hard sometimes.”
Something inside Eddie’s chest pulled tight, sharp and familiar. He let himself sink down onto the porch step, phone cradled to his ear, staring out at the street while his pulse tripped unevenly. Because God, he knew exactly what that felt like. He just couldn’t tell Buck. Not yet.
“You’ve got more now,” Eddie said at last, voice rougher than he intended. His free hand curled into a fist against his knee. “You’ve got the 118. And me.”
The line went still, so still Eddie thought for a moment the call had dropped. Then he heard it —a breath, quick and unsteady, like Buck had been caught off guard.
“Careful, Diaz,” Buck said finally, his laugh thin, wrapped around something heavier. “You’re soundin’ like you actually like me.”
Eddie smiled despite himself, small and private, hidden in the dark where no one else could see. He tipped his head back against the rail, the sky wide and starless above him.
“Good night, Buck.”
The click of the line ending left the night too quiet, too still. Eddie stayed there on the step, phone resting against his chest, and let the weight of it settle in. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, when Buck’s voice had become the thing he needed at the end of the day —but it had. And that scared him more than he could admit.
And then came the little crossings —their lives weaving together in ways Eddie couldn’t keep labeling as coincidence.
At a fire one afternoon, through choking smoke and chaos, Eddie spotted Buck hauling hose across the lawn, soot streaking his jaw. For no reason at all, Buck looked up, caught his eye, and grinned. Eddie felt the hit of it in his chest, sharp and startling, like he’d been holding his breath without realizing.
He should’ve looked away. He had no business letting himself get distracted —Ronnie was already yelling over the radio, the blaze eating through the upper floors of the duplex like it was made of paper. But the grin stayed with him, bright and unshaken, and Eddie couldn’t stop tracking Buck’s path through the smoke.
Buck didn’t hesitate; he veered toward him, helmet tucked under his arm, boots splashing through runoff water pooling in the grass. He moved with purpose, eyes locked on Eddie in a way that made the fire around them seem almost secondary.
“Your collar’s loose,” Buck said, voice muffled through the SCBA mask clipped to his gear. Without asking, he reached out, tugging at Eddie’s turnout, adjusting the straps with sure, practiced hands. His knuckles brushed the plate of Eddie’s chest, and Eddie was suddenly aware of how close they stood, the heat of the fire mixing with the warmth Buck carried everywhere he went.
Eddie arched a brow, trying for steady when his pulse was anything but. “You always fix other guys’ gear in the middle of a five-alarm?”
The corner of Buck’s mouth quirked, teeth flashing white under the soot.
“Only the cute ones.” His voice was playful, easy, but there was something in his eyes —unguarded, daring— that Eddie felt deep in his ribs.
He wanted to say something back, to throw the line right into Buck’s smirk, but the world roared too loud around them. An explosion of glass shattered on the second floor, the flames leaping higher. Buck tightened the last strap with a sharp tug, his hand lingering for a beat too long before he pulled back.
“Good to go,” Buck said, softer now, like it was meant only for him.
And then the orders snapped, sharp and urgent. Eddie turned when Ronnie barked for his crew, forcing himself to move, to focus. He slipped into the rhythm of it, cutting through smoke, dragging hose, hearing nothing but the rush of oxygen and the fire’s growl. But every time he caught sight of Buck —the swing of his axe breaking through a door, the silhouette framed by orange light as he pulled someone to safety— Eddie felt that grin echo in his chest like a brand.
By the time the fire was finally under control, Eddie was drenched in sweat, his lungs aching from the smoke that clung to everything. He pulled off his helmet, dragging a hand through damp hair, and there was Buck again —leaning against the truck, chest heaving, curls plastered to his forehead, soot painting his face in dark streaks. He looked wrecked and glorious all at once, and Eddie hated how badly he wanted to just stand there and stare.
“Thanks for the gear check,” Eddie said as he approached, swiping at the grime on his jaw with the back of his glove. He tried to keep it casual, but his voice carried something else, something Buck would have to be deaf not to hear. “Guess I passed?”
Buck tilted his head, lips tugging into that lopsided grin that knocked the air right out of Eddie’s lungs. “Barely. Gonna have to keep an eye on you.”
Eddie huffed a laugh, shaking his head, though his chest felt strangely tight. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”
For a beat, the noise of the aftermath fell away —the radios, the hiss of hoses, the chatter of neighbors. It was just the two of them, locked in that charged quiet where words seemed too fragile. Buck’s grin softened into something smaller, quieter, almost shy, and Eddie felt the ground tilt beneath him.
“Buck!” Bobby’s voice cut sharp through the air, pulling Buck’s head up.
Almost at the same time, Ronnie’s bark carried across the lawn, impatient and commanding.
“Diaz!”
They froze, the spell snapping but not breaking. Buck gave the smallest shrug, a flicker of a smile, like what can you do? His eyes lingered on Eddie’s, holding tight to that unspoken thread, until the very last second before he turned to jog toward his captain.
Eddie stood for a moment longer, breathing smoke and heat, feeling like his chest was too full. He told himself it was the adrenaline, the aftermath, the exhaustion. But as he walked back to Ronnie, he knew better. The fire hadn’t been the only thing burning that afternoon.
A few days after the fire, Eddie found himself driving toward the 118. He told himself it was just because he was in the neighborhood, but the truth gnawed at him with sharp teeth —he just wanted to see Buck. That need had taken root somewhere deep, stubborn and insistent, and no matter how many excuses Eddie tried to stack on top of it, the truth wouldn’t budge.
The closer he got, the worse it became. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, stomach buzzing with nerves that had no business being there. By the time he parked across from the red bay doors, he’d rehearsed at least five different excuses, none of them convincing even in his own head.
When he finally pushed through the wide bay doors, bag of food dangling from his hand, the air inside smelled of motor oil and detergent, the echo of tools clanging faintly in the distance. The place buzzed with quiet energy, organized chaos that spoke of family more than workplace.
Hen was the first to spot him. She stood by the engine, rag in hand, grease smeared across her knuckles, sharp eyes narrowing in instant suspicion. Her eyebrow arched so high it practically scraped the ceiling.
“Diaz,” she said, voice low, deliberate, dripping equal parts amused and suspicious. “What are you doing here? Wrong station.”
Eddie cleared his throat, held the bag up like evidence. “Funny. Brought food.”
Before Hen could lob back a quip, boots thundered down the stairs. Eddie looked up just in time to see Buck bounding two at a time, hair damp like he’d just showered, shirt half-tucked. The grin that broke across his face was so wide, so unguarded, that Eddie’s chest loosened before he could stop it.
“Eddie!” Buck’s voice rang through the bay, too bright, too happy. He practically launched himself forward, snatching the bag out of Eddie’s hands with the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning. “You came to see me?”
God help him, Eddie thought, because that look —that raw, unguarded happiness— hit harder than the fire they’d fought days ago. It left him exposed, off balance, like he’d walked into a backdraft.
“I was in the area,” Eddie lied, the words flimsy as tissue. From the corner of his eye, he caught Hen’s smirk and knew he’d been found out instantly.
“Liarrrr,” Buck sang, grinning even wider. He wiped his palms nervously down the thighs of his pants, like he couldn’t keep still. “You missed me.”
Eddie tried to smirk it off, but the heat in his chest betrayed him.
“Maybe I just wanted to see if the rumors were true.”
Buck cocked his head, curls falling into his eyes. “What rumors?”
“That you actually work here.”
Hen snorted so loud it echoed against the engine bay walls, and Eddie nearly lost his composure. Buck’s jaw dropped, scandal carved across every line of his face.
“First of all, rude. Second, you’re just jealous because I’m the favorite.”
“You keep telling yourself that, Buckley.”
Chim strolled out of the bunkroom just in time to catch the tail end. His eyes bounced from Buck’s beaming grin to Eddie’s smirk, and his laughter was immediate.
“Wow,” Chim drawled, savoring every word. “That’s a welcome I’ve never seen him give anyone. Not even Bobby.”
Buck flushed pink to the tips of his ears, already unpacking the food like it was sacred treasure.
“Shut up, Chim.”
Right on cue, Bobby emerged from his office, calm and unshakable as ever. He didn’t say a word, didn’t tease or pry. Just looked at Eddie with that steady, knowing gaze that seemed to cut through excuses. One small nod, slow and deliberate, and Eddie’s ears burned hot under his collar.
The food didn’t last long in the bay.
Buck tugged Eddie upstairs to the loft, insisting he couldn’t stand eating surrounded by engine grease. The space was already buzzing: Chim claimed a chair at the table, Hen perched on the arm of the sofa, Bobby at his usual spot near the counter. Buck dumped the food on the table, tearing it open with the enthusiasm of someone hosting a holiday.
“Sit,” he ordered Eddie, thrusting a soda into his palm like it was meant only for him. Their fingers brushed, lingering a second longer than necessary, before Buck backed away, nerves spilling into motion. He dropped onto the couch, wedging himself between Hen and Chim, still watching Eddie from the corner of his eye.
Eddie cracked the soda but didn’t sit right away. Bobby had drifted closer, quiet and steady, asking him something about his work schedule and whether Eddie would be interested in changing stations once his probationary year is over. Eddie answered automatically, distracted by the sound of Buck laughing at something Chim said, the warmth of his presence threading through the loft like sunlight.
And then, in the middle of Bobby’s sentence, Eddie’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced down, thumb brushing over the glowing screen.
Buck <3
u totally came here just 4 me 😉
You
I brought food for everyone.
Buck <3
nahhh. u don’t drive across town 4 chim. admit it
You
You’re ridiculous.
Buck <3
ur smiling tho. gotcha.
Eddie fought hard to school his expression, forcing himself to focus on Bobby’s words. But his lips betrayed him, tugging up at the corners no matter how hard he bit them down.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket, heart thudding too fast. Damn it. Buck was right. He was smiling. And worse —he didn’t want to stop.
That night, long after midnight, Eddie’s phone lit up on the nightstand. The glow cut across the room, a sharp rectangle against the dark. He should’ve been asleep hours ago —he had shift in the morning, Christopher’s drop-off before that— but the second he saw Buck <3 on the screen, his hand was already moving. No hesitation, no thought, just instinct.
He thumbed the answer and pressed the phone close.
“Hey,” Eddie murmured, voice low, careful not to wake Christopher down the hall.
“Eds,” Buck groaned, long and dramatic, like Eddie was the only person who could hear it. “You gotta save me.”
Adrenaline spiked. Eddie sat up against the headboard, already bracing. “What happened?”
“Nothing happened,” Buck huffed, exasperated in that way that somehow always made Eddie’s mouth twitch toward a smile. “Maddie and Chim. They’re fighting again. This time… wait for it… because Chim put his socks in the dishwasher.”
Eddie blinked, trying to wrap his head around it. “…In the dishwasher?”
“Yep.” Buck’s laugh cracked through the line, uncontainable and bright even in the late hour. “He said it was efficient —two birds, one stone. Maddie said she didn’t like a caveman. I tried telling them I was Switzerland, but Maddie doesn’t believe in Switzerland when she’s pissed. She said Switzerland is just a coward with chocolate.”
A laugh caught Eddie off guard, rolling out of him before he could stop it. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “And why, exactly, are you calling me at one in the morning about it?”
“Because you actually listen,” Buck said, matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Unlike Chim, who is —no joke— currently locked in the bathroom googling if it’s safe to sanitize socks next to dishes.”
That pulled a real laugh from Eddie, one that shook his chest. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Unbelievably charming,” Buck shot back without missing a beat, smug even through the static.
Their laughter hung between them for a moment, fizzing in Eddie’s chest, warm and easy in the quiet of his bedroom. But then Buck’s voice dropped, softer, the edges stripped away.
“Hey, Eds?”
Eddie shifted, suddenly hyperaware of the silence in his house, of the thrum of his own heartbeat. “…Yeah?”
“Thanks. For answering. For… I don’t know. Being there.”
The words landed low, sneaking under Eddie’s ribs. He leaned his head back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling fan cutting slow shadows above him. Buck’s vulnerability wasn’t like his jokes, loud and exaggerated —it was quiet, steady, dangerous in how much Eddie wanted to hold it.
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Eddie said. His voice came out rougher than he meant. He cleared his throat, steadied. “I’m here.”
Silence hummed through the line, but it wasn’t empty. It was charged, full of something unspoken.
“Yeah,” Buck said at last, a whisper that sounded almost like it was pressed into a pillow. “Guess I’m just not used to it.”
Eddie closed his eyes. The ache in his chest wasn’t sharp; it was slow, consuming. He wanted to tell him he deserved it, that he should’ve had it all along. That he deserved people who stayed, who didn’t treat him like an option or a burden. But the words stuck, heavy in his throat.
Instead, he said, gently, “Try to get some sleep, Buck.”
“Only if you promise you will too.”
Eddie smiled into the dark, small and private. “Deal.”
The line clicked, silence rushing back into the room. Eddie lowered the phone but didn’t let go, didn’t set it back on the nightstand. He sat there with it pressed to his chest like it was something alive, like if he held on long enough, Buck’s voice might still echo against his ribs.
Sleep didn’t come easy. His mind kept circling back —Buck’s laugh breaking through the static, his quiet “thanks,” that whisper of not being used to it. Eddie hated how quickly Buck had become essential, how every conversation stitched him deeper into the fabric of Eddie’s days and nights. He hated the way he caught himself waiting for the next call, the next text, the next excuse just to hear his voice.
Except —no, he didn’t hate it. That was the lie he told himself to keep the fear from swallowing him whole. Because the truth was worse and better all at once: he wanted it. All of it.
He thought of Christopher’s laugh when Buck showed up unannounced, the way Maddie’s relief softened whenever Eddie was around, the way Buck looked at him like Eddie was someone worth showing up for.
And maybe for the first time in years, Eddie realized it wasn’t just fear running through him.
It was hope.
The truth about his feelings didn’t crash into Eddie like lightning. There was no sudden spark, no loud thunderclap to warn him. It came quieter, sneaky almost —like water rising under a door, inch by inch until suddenly he was standing in it, soaked through, unable to ignore how much space it had taken.
And it hit hardest at Christopher’s special soccer game.
He’d mentioned it offhand one night, more filler than invitation. Buck had been in one of his marathon rants about Chim’s catastrophic attempt to fix a leaky pipe — “guy basically invented indoor fountains where there shouldn’t be fountains” —, and Eddie, smiling despite himself, had let it slip.
“Chris has a game this weekend,” he’d said, voice careful, like testing ice. “Nothing big. Just a fundraiser at the park.”
He hadn’t expected Buck to pause mid-story, hadn’t expected the thoughtful little hum in response. Eddie had almost backtracked, thrown in something to make it clear it wasn’t an invite. He figured Buck would laugh, toss out a casual “Tell him to score one for me,” and then move on.
He hadn’t expected Buck to show up.
But there he was.
Eddie spotted him in the bleachers before kickoff, arms overflowing with sodas and snacks, looking like he’d raided half the concession stand. He was grinning so wide he should’ve looked ridiculous —except he didn’t. Somehow, impossibly, he made Eddie’s chest ache just standing there.
And Buck didn’t just watch. He cheered. Loudly. Unapologetically. Like Christopher’s team was competing for gold in the Olympics and not tripping their way through a community fundraiser.
“C’mon, Diaz!” Buck’s voice rang out, hoarse but steady. “That’s my boy right there!”
Eddie nearly dropped his coffee, mortified and breathless all at once. Parents turned their heads, amused smiles curving on their faces, but Buck didn’t care. He whooped at every pass, clapped for every stumble, shouted encouragement until his voice cracked. It was over-the-top. It was embarrassing.
And God help him, it was perfect.
Christopher adored it. Every time he glanced toward the bleachers, his whole face lit up, gap-toothed grin splitting wide as he waved at Buck. At one point, he even pointed him out to his teammates, puffed up with pride that someone was cheering just for him.
Eddie’s breath caught hard, like someone had pressed a fist against his chest. Because Buck wasn’t looking at Chris like he was just some kid on a field. He looked at him like he was his kid, his whole world.
And something cracked inside Eddie. Something that had been sealed off, locked tight, too dangerous to even look at. He should’ve been annoyed. Buck had shown up uninvited, barged into a corner of Eddie’s life without hesitation. Normally, that would’ve set him on edge. But there wasn’t room for annoyance. Not when warmth was spreading through him like wildfire, sharp and tender all at once.
He loves him already, Eddie realized, stunned.
And the thought scared the hell out of him. But it also steadied him in a way nothing had in years.
That night, long after the cheers had faded and Christopher had fallen asleep, Eddie sat at the kitchen table in the quiet. His phone buzzed against the wood, screen lighting up.
Buck <3
10:40 AM – never seen a kid kick like that
10:40 AM – u 2 are somethin’ else
10:41 AM – but he’s def my fav diaz 😎
Eddie stared at the words longer than he should have. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, searching for something to say, but everything he thought of felt flimsy, inadequate. Finally, he let his hands fall uselessly into his lap.
His chest felt too heavy, too full of something he couldn’t quite name. Fear. Hope. Longing. All tangled together, pressing against his ribs until it hurt to breathe.
And in the quiet hum of the kitchen, Eddie couldn’t dodge it anymore. The truth whispered at the edges, patient and undeniable.
He didn’t want this man to leave. Not now. Not ever.
The weeks kept stretching long after that, slipping one into the next until Eddie couldn’t quite tell where one ended and the other began.
Every night found him awake longer than he should’ve been, his phone pressed to his ear, waiting for the familiar sound of Buck’s voice. It didn’t matter if they’d just spent the afternoon together at his house, or if Eddie had seen him laughing in the firelight of a blaze a few hours before —when darkness fell and the house was quiet, Eddie still craved it. That low, animated voice on the other end of the line, tumbling out stories like they were confessions only Eddie was meant to hear.
Buck talked about Maddie and her new place, about how hard it was not to hover when she was unpacking. He rambled about Hen and Karen and their plan to maybe —just maybe— have another baby, his voice carrying the kind of awe that made Eddie smile in the dark. He reenacted Chim’s latest misadventure with so much detail Eddie could practically see it, laughing quietly so he wouldn’t wake Christopher. And then Buck would shift, voice softening, and tell Eddie about sneaking out as a kid just to watch fires from the street corner, the way the light painted the night sky.
“It wasn’t about the destruction,” Buck said once, tone oddly reverent. “It was about watching people come together, you know? Strangers helping each other. Like… hope burning brighter than the flames.”
Eddie hadn’t expected that. That kind of openness. It knocked something loose in him every time.
But it wasn’t just Buck talking.
Somehow, somewhere along the way, Eddie started sharing too. At first, small things. Abuela’s sharp tongue during his last visit, Tía Pepa’s relentless “dating advice” that made him want to sink into the floor. But then heavier truths started to spill out, ones he hadn’t given voice to in years. Shannon. The silence she left behind. The sharp edges of her absence that still caught him off guard even now. How she wanted to meet Christopher again, and how that tangled him up in knots he didn’t know how to untie.
Those words had lived locked in his chest for so long, too dangerous to release. Yet with Buck, in the soft dark of midnight, they came out anyway. And Buck never laughed, never brushed them off, never made him feel like he was weak for saying them. He just… listened. Like Eddie’s voice was something precious. Like every word mattered.
Sometimes, Eddie would lay flat on his back, one hand covering his eyes, the phone warm against his ear, Buck’s laughter crackling through the speaker. And he’d wonder when exactly he’d started needing that voice just to fall asleep. When the sound of Buck breathing at the other end of the line had become the only thing steady enough to anchor him through the night.
Weeks turned into months before Eddie realized what had happened. It wasn’t just Eddie and Buck anymore. Somewhere in the blur of late-night calls and lingering glances, it had shifted into something else. Something wider.
It became Eddie and Chris and Buck.
The three of them together, as natural as breathing.
Trips to the park where Buck pushed Chris so high on the swings Eddie had to bite back a warning —until he saw Chris’s face, pure joy, and Buck standing there with both arms ready to catch him if he slipped. Afternoon visits to the museum, where Buck pretended to be bored before sneaking off to whisper facts about dinosaurs to Chris, making him giggle so loud strangers turned their heads. The aquarium, where Buck pressed his forehead against the glass with Chris, both of them wide-eyed as sharks glided by, leaving Eddie standing behind them with a chest so full it almost hurt.
And then it wasn’t just outings. Buck came to Sunday lunch at Abuela’s, slipping into the chaos of family chatter as if he’d always belonged there, smiling patiently through Abuela’s interrogation and laughing when Tía Pepa started grilling him about girlfriends. And Eddie came to Bobby’s backyard BBQ, flipping burgers beside Bobby while Chim teased him and Hen shook her head like she’d seen this coming all along.
Everywhere Eddie and Christopher went, Buck seemed to be there too. And the strangest part wasn’t that Buck showed up. It was how natural it felt that he did.
Like maybe Eddie hadn’t just let Buck into his life. Maybe Buck had been part of it all along, and Eddie had only just realized.
One Friday night, Buck showed up at Eddie’s doorstep like he had every right to be there, like this had always been part of the plan. He carried a massive bag of snacks slung over one shoulder, a crumpled list of movies sticking out of his pocket as if he were prepared for the apocalypse.
Christopher opened the door before Eddie could even reach the knob and practically launched himself into Buck’s arms, laughing like he’d been waiting all week just for this moment.
Buck caught him with an easy laugh, crouching down to his level without hesitation, his eyes bright and warm as Chris chattered about which movie they should start with. Eddie leaned against the wall for a moment, unnoticed, just watching. And his chest pulled tight again, because it wasn’t just his son laughing anymore —it was Buck too, folded seamlessly into the rhythm of their home.
They crammed onto the couch, Christopher tucked in the middle, Buck and Eddie shoulder to shoulder. Chris whispered commentary through the film, Buck whispering back with exaggerated gasps and conspiratorial tones, their laughter rising and falling together.
Eddie barely caught a single line of dialogue from the movie. His focus kept drifting —to the way Buck leaned in toward his son, not to perform, but to listen. To the way Christopher’s trust, always hard-won, had been given to Buck as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Eddie’s heart tightened painfully in his chest. Because Buck didn’t just look comfortable here —he looked at home.
By the second movie, Christopher was slumped against Buck’s side, breathing slow and steady. Buck didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb him, just wrapped an arm loosely around the boy and looked at Eddie with a quiet smile that said he’d hold him as long as it took. Eddie stood, careful as ever, and lifted his son into his arms. He tucked Chris into bed, smoothing the blankets, pressing a kiss to his forehead. But when Eddie lingered at the door, hand pressed against the frame, it wasn’t only Christopher he was thinking about. It was the way his house had felt different tonight —lighter, fuller, safer.
When he walked back into the living room, Buck was still there. Waiting. The glow of the television flickered across his face, softening the sharpness of his jaw, throwing his eyes into shadow. Vulnerability sat there, in the quiet curve of his shoulders, in the stillness that was so rare for Buck.
Eddie sat back down, and the silence between them pressed in, charged and undeniable.
“This has never happened before,” Eddie said, his voice low, almost to himself. His eyes stayed fixed on the TV, though he couldn’t have named what was playing if his life depended on it.
Buck shifted, turning more fully toward him, one leg tucked beneath him.
“Is it… a bad thing?” His tone was careful, like he was bracing for impact.
Eddie let out a slow breath, dragging a hand over his face before meeting Buck’s gaze. Really looking at him.
“No. Not bad. Just… different. I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. And when you’re not around, I miss you like you’ve been gone for years. It’s-” He broke off, shaking his head, but pressed on. “It’s weird, yeah. But it’s real. More real than anything I’ve felt in a long time.”
Buck’s lips parted, his throat working as he swallowed hard. His fingers tugged nervously at the hem of his shirt, but his voice, when it came, was soft and steady.
“I feel it too. And I thought maybe I was losing it, because how do you miss someone you’ve barely met? But with you… it doesn’t feel rushed. It just feels… right.”
Something broke open in Eddie’s chest then, something he hadn’t let himself touch in years. He didn’t think —he just reached out, found Buck’s hand, and threaded their fingers together. The fit was too natural, too easy. Like maybe they’d been doing this in some other life already.
“I don’t want this to end here,” Eddie said, voice rough with honesty.
“Then it doesn’t have to,” Buck whispered, the corners of his mouth lifting, though his eyes shone with something deeper, something raw.
Eddie didn’t give himself another second to hesitate. He leaned in, closing the distance. The kiss began soft, almost cautious, a testing of boundaries neither of them had dared cross before. But then Buck sighed into him, and Eddie answered, and it deepened —fierce and certain, like gravity itself had been waiting for this moment to finally drag them together.
When they broke apart, breaths mingling, Eddie pressed his forehead against Buck’s, eyes fluttering shut.
“Stay,” he murmured. It wasn’t a plea. It was a certainty.
Buck smiled, small but radiant, eyes crinkling the way they always did when he was happiest.
“Wasn’t planning on leaving.”
The movie played on, forgotten, as they drifted from the couch to Eddie’s bedroom. Not in a rush, not tangled in anything but the comfort of presence. They lay side by side, warmth seeping into the spaces Eddie hadn’t even known were cold. The sheets rustled softly as Buck shifted closer, his hand brushing against Eddie’s, staying there like a promise.
“Goodnight, Buck,” Eddie whispered into the quiet, his voice thick with exhaustion, but tender in ways he couldn’t hide anymore.
“Night, Eds,” Buck answered, leaning in to press another soft kiss to his lips before settling back against him.
Eddie stayed awake a moment longer, staring at the ceiling in the dark, the weight of everything finally sinking in. But it wasn’t heavy this time. It was steady, sure, grounding. That night at the bar, that dance —it had cracked something open. But this night? This night sealed it. Changed everything.
And for the first time in years, Eddie wasn’t afraid of what came next. Not with Buck by his side.
“It seems like I, in a single dance, gave you my life. It seems like feeling overcame the rules that existed.”