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Eddie had always liked silence.
Silence meant order, calm, control. In silence, nothing unexpected could jump out at him, nothing could take him by surprise. He always knows what’s coming, what to expect. He’d built his life around moments of quiet where he could reset; before the alarm clock, in the car after dropping Chris at school, at the station when the chaos of the world held its breath for one second before dispatch sent them running again. In those quiet moments Eddie knew who he was and how to ground himself in them.
So when Eddie and Chris moved back from Texas and into their home, complete with Buck deciding to stay, he prepared himself to lose that silence.
It had started innocently enough. Buck couldn’t find an apartment he could afford–Los Angeles was merciless like that, especially for someone with a crappy credit score and a lease broken too early . He’d joked about crashing on Eddie’s couch, half-serious but not pushing. Eddie had laughed it off at first. But then he saw Buck’s face fall, just for a second, before he covered it with that easy grin. And Eddie’s mouth betrayed him before his brain could catch up.
“Why not?” He questioned. “It’s not like anyone else stays over here as much as you do. Plus, Chris will love it. He’s missed you.
And that was that.
It didn’t take long for Buck to settle in. His shoes ended up by the door, mismatched with Eddie’s. His mug collection—half of them chipped in the corners and beautiful designs from travels and gifts—lined up next to Eddie’s neat, fully matching set. He made himself at home without hesitation, and Eddie found himself… not minding. Not in the way he thought he would. So much of Buck had been all over the house for so long, even before Texas. It felt natural to have Buck there, to have all his things mixed in with his and Chris’s.
The silence disappeared. But somehow, Eddie didn’t miss it.
—-
The first night it happened, Eddie thought he was dreaming.
He was lying in bed, trying to will himself to sleep after a late shift, when a voice drifted through the dark.
“Did you know sharks existed before trees?”
Eddie’s eyes snapped open. He turned his head toward the other side of the bed past the little pillow barrier, where Buck was sprawled on the mattress, arm flung over his face and clearly asleep.
Eddie blinked at him, caught between confusion and amusement. “What?” he whispered, thinking that maybe Buck was actually awake, but no. He didn’t answer. His chest just rose and fell in steady rhythm.
A laugh bubbled up in Eddie’s throat, muffled into his own pillow. Of course. Of course Buck’s dreams would involve sharks.
He fell back asleep smiling.
—
The next night, it happened again.
“Bananas are berries. Strawberries aren’t.”
Eddie turned onto his side, covering his face with one hand to keep from laughing too loudly. “You’re making that up,” he muttered.
But Buck’s lips kept moving, mumbling something else completely incoherent, before settling back into silence.
And just like that, the silence Eddie thought he’d miss so much had engulfed the room again, and he found that he didn’t like it. He’d never minded silence, but now, it had been replaced by something else.
Something he craved when it wasn’t there.
—
It became routine. Eddie would climb into bed, wait for the house to still, and then Buck’s voice would slip into the dark. Sometimes it took a few minutes, sometimes an hour or two. But, once buck was asleep, snoring into this pillow, he would start babbling. Sometimes it was trivia and fun facts. Sometimes it was incoherent, things that Eddie wouldn’t be able to recall in the morning even if he wanted to.
“Sloths can hold their breath longer than dolphins.”
“Octopuses have three hearts.”
“Wombat poop is cube-shaped.”
Eddie listened to each babble, stifling his laughter, and shaking his head into his pillow. He never woke Buck. Not even when the words made no sense, or when he wanted to argue, or when he wanted to tell him he was wrong. He kept it for himself, like a secret. It felt like it was just something for him, something that became a soundtrack to his dreams.
But it wasn’t long before the trivia gave way to something else entirely and Eddie learned that he was completely and utterly screwed.
One night, Buck whispered, “I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little. Thought I’d walk on the moon.” Eddie just smiled at that one.
Another night, “My first kiss was at camp. She had braces. Hurt like hell.” Eddie laughed, thinking back to his own first kiss at the lake, the taste of Shannon’s kiwi lipgloss stuck to his teeth.
Another, “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of pancakes.” Eddie just shook his head at that one.
He laid there every night and listened to these little moments, to the memories and admittances Each piece of Buck—these little confessions tossed carelessly into the night—slotted into place with everything Eddie already knew about him. His chest ached with how much of Buck he wanted to hold onto. How much he wanted to know and to keep, to hold close. It was these little things collected together that Eddie wanted to hold against his chest, to keep safe and to know in ways that others didn’t.
And then one night, Buck’s voice cracked around the words, almost like he was crying.
“They wanted me to be perfect. Still do. But I think… I think I’m enough now. Trying to be.”
Eddie rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling, throat tight. He wanted to reach over, shake him awake, and tell him he was more than enough. That he was everything. But he didn’t. He just lay there, silent with heart pounding and falling harder than he knew how to stop.
—
It wasn’t just the nights where sounds became more important to Eddie than the silence he had become accustomed to over time. Living with Buck meant mornings filled with his humming while he made coffee, laundry that came out tangled together, debates over how much dish soap was “too much.” Eddie found himself looking forward to the mess, to the noise, to Buck’s presence filling every corner of the house. To the way that he and Chris would laugh together, their voices carrying into every crevice of Eddie’s life. He loved it.
But the nights were what undid him. The way Buck’s voice filled the stilted darkness. The way he said things Eddie suspected he’d never say when he was awake.
And then, one night, the words shifted again.
It had been a brutal shift. A fire that stole too much from the occupants of the house and had left the shift raw and aching. Buck had fallen asleep on the couch, and Eddie had nudged him toward bed. He had been too exhausted to argue, just clung to Eddie as they tumbled into their shared bed together, Buck’s hands fisted in his t-shirt like it was the only thing grounding him, keeping him safe and secure.
Eddie was drifting off when he heard it.
“I love you, Eds.”
His whole body went still.
At first, he thought he imagined it, a cruel trick of his tired mind. But then Buck’s lips moved again.
“Love you so much.”
Eddie sat up, heart racing, staring down at his best friend's sleeping face. He wanted to wake him, to demand if he meant it, to tell him he felt the same. But the words caught in his throat.
He lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling, listening to Buck breathe.
—
Morning came, slow and heavy. Eddie hadn’t closed his eyes once.
Buck stirred, rubbing his face and yawning. He blinked blearily at Eddie, then frowned. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
“You were talking in your sleep again.”
He hadn’t really been honest with Buck for the last few months. Sure, after the first few times of cure little fun facts he’d made fun of the other man, told him that it was ridiculous someone at his age would babble in his sleep. But he’d also promised that most nights were just incoherent mumblings. Eddie hasn’t wanted the facts to stop, hadn’t wanted Buck to move on somehow, try to hide it. But, now… now he had to be honest. Had to know if what he heard was truly what he wanted.
Color rose in Buck’s cheeks immediately. He groaned, dragging the blanket over his head. “Oh, God. What did I say? More random facts? Please tell me it wasn’t bananas again.”
Eddie reached over and tugged the blanket down just enough to see Buck’s wide, embarrassed eyes. “No. It wasn’t trivia.”
Buck froze. “Then… what?” His voice was small, nervous.
“You uh– said you loved me.”
Buck went scarlet. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I—I didn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—”
“Buck,” Eddie cut in, steady now. “Don’t be embarrassed. Because I love you too. I’ve been falling in love with you for a long time. I just thought you wouldn’t want me that way.”
“You… what?”
“I love you,” Eddie said again, firmer this time.
And then Buck’s face broke open, relief and joy flooding across it like sunlight. He sat up, still close enough that Eddie could feel the warmth of him.
“Eddie,” he whispered, and leaned in.
The kiss was soft and tentative, almost shy. Eddie cupped Buck’s jaw, pulling him closer, letting the world fall away. When they pulled back, nose to nose, both of them were smiling like fools.
And Eddie knew he’d never miss the silence again. Not when he had this. Not when he had Buck.