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Eddie had learned to categorize his relationships as if they were drills in an endless training program, each one a simulation meant to prepare him for something real, something he could never quite reach.
Shannon had been the simulation of a perfect family. On paper, it should have worked —the right boxes ticked, the familiar script followed: husband, wife, child, stability. But practice had unraveled it all. Cracks formed so wide they swallowed the love, the patience, the hope, until all that remained was a hollow structure that no longer held. He still carried guilt for that, for the ways he’d failed her, for the ways she had failed him. It had been an exercise that left him bleeding.
With Ana, the ache was different. She was kind, patient, and willing to love Christopher —but every time Eddie tried to step into the life she offered, his chest tightened. It was like breathing in smoke until his lungs burned and his head spun. She represented a prefabricated family, the sort where everything had a slot and a schedule, where love was something you performed more than felt. She was the simulation of a perfect relationship, and Eddie realized too late that no matter how much effort he put in, he couldn’t trick himself into belonging.
Marisol had been easier. Too easy. With her, he convinced himself all he had to do was smile, be agreeable, fit the mold. It was like repeating an evacuation routine: each step memorized, each gesture practiced, each word calculated. There was no soul, no spark. He’d mistaken comfort for safety, and safety for love. And in the end, it was nothing but smoke dissipating into the air.
Each of those women, each of those attempts, had been scripts that promised fire but delivered only ash. They were stories rehearsed until he couldn’t remember what it meant to feel real heat against his skin.
But now—
Now, standing in the kitchen after a grueling shift, the silence of the house pressed against him. It wasn’t the gentle quiet of rest but a silence so heavy it seemed combustible, ready to ignite with the smallest spark. Christopher was at school, and Eddie was grateful for it. He didn’t want his son to hear the storm building inside him, didn’t want to see the confusion in those wide, innocent eyes if his voice broke under the weight of what he needed to say.
The air smelled faintly of onions and sizzling oil, of Buck’s easy domesticity. Eddie leaned on the table, hands pressed flat against the wood as if steadying himself before a fall. When he raised his eyes to meet Buck’s, his heart slammed against his ribs like it wanted out.
He forced himself to speak.
“The others were drills,” he murmured. The words came out low, almost hoarse, far more serious than he intended, but there was no taking them back. They were heavy, just like the truth inside his chest.
Buck looked up from the frying pan, spatula still in hand. His brow furrowed in confusion, that soft wrinkle between his eyes making him look absurdly endearing. And yet, despite the frown, he smiled —that nervous, crooked smile Eddie knew too well, the one that always cracked his armor in two.
“What?” Buck asked, tilting his head, eyes narrowing slightly, searching Eddie’s face like he was trying to decode him.
Eddie didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. He’d been shot, he’d buried people he loved, and he’d run into burning buildings without hesitation. None of it compared to this —the terror of standing still and telling the truth. Buck’s eyes were blue flames, steady and consuming, and Eddie realized he had been circling them for years, too afraid to step into the fire.
“You’re the fire,” Eddie whispered, his lips barely moving. He wet them nervously after, like the words themselves had scorched his mouth.
The air in the kitchen cracked open with a jolt, that familiar current that always sparked between them but never burned quite this bright.
Buck let out a breathy laugh, not mocking but stunned, disbelieving, like the ground had tilted under his feet. His eyes lit up, the pale blue deepening into something alive, molten.
“Does that mean what I think it means?” he asked, voice quiet, cautious, as if afraid the wrong movement would shatter this fragile, impossible moment.
Eddie swallowed hard. Fear swirled hot in his chest, but alongside it burned something else, something stronger. Desire. Relief. The wild courage of finally stepping into the blaze instead of skirting its edges.
He moved closer, until the heat radiating from Buck’s body reached him like sunlight after a storm.
“It means I’m done rehearsing. I’m done pretending,” Eddie whispered, voice shaking but sure. His eyes swept over Buck’s face, memorizing every freckle, every line, lingering on his mouth. “With you… It’s not smoke. It burns. And, Evan—” his throat caught, but he pushed through, “I don’t want to put it out anymore.”
The spatula clattered as Buck set the pan on a cold burner without looking away. He turned, full attention now on Eddie, and in one smooth, deliberate motion, lifted a trembling hand. His palm cupped the side of Eddie’s neck, thumb brushing against the spot where Eddie’s pulse hammered wildly. Buck’s touch was steady, grounding, as if he needed to feel the life rushing through Eddie to believe him.
That single point of contact melted Eddie’s resolve into something unstoppable. He leaned in, silencing every alarm in his head with a kiss.
The first press of their lips was clumsy, tentative, like the flick of a match. But then —then the fire caught. Hunger, fear, longing, relief —all of it ignited in the same flame. Their teeth clashed, hands roamed over backs and necks, pulling, clutching, desperate to close the distance that had kept them apart for so long.
They broke apart only when breathing became impossible, foreheads pressed together, chests heaving. Each ragged inhale brushed warm air across the other’s lips, every point of contact still sparking like live wires.
Buck slid his hand to the back of Eddie’s neck, holding him close, refusing to let him drift away. His eyes, wide and shining, pinned Eddie in place.
“Then burn with me, Eddie,” he whispered, his lips brushing Eddie’s as he spoke, drawing out a soft gasp from the brunette. His tongue darted to wet his own lips, grazing Eddie’s in the process, and Eddie shuddered. “Fuck everything else.”
And Eddie did. Because in that moment, with Buck’s hands anchoring him and his mouth sealing promises against his skin, Eddie finally understood.
Everything before had been a drill. A pale imitation. A smoke-filled room.
This —this was the fire he had been waiting for his whole damn life.