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Eddie arrives home to find the best —and probably worst— sight he’s ever walked into.
On the couch, Buck and Christopher are leaning so close together they look like they share the same breath, their shoulders pressed, their voices soft with excitement. Between them rests a tiny black ball of fur with pointy ears and the brightest green eyes Eddie has ever seen.
That’s a cat. A cat. In their house.
“What’s that?” Eddie blurts, his voice sharper than he intends. He doesn’t say hello, doesn’t even take his coat off.
The words tumble out like instinct, breaking the warm little bubble in the living room. Christopher jumps, his head jerking up, while Buck only swivels to face him, that wide grin already stretching across his face —the kind that screams innocent while also broadcasting I’m definitely doing something you’re not going to like, but look how charming I am while I do it.
“It’s a kitten,” Buck replies easily, his grin softening into something brighter, more tender, his blue eyes twinkling. He lifts his hands, and there it is —the kitten, comfortably nestled against his palms as though it’s always belonged there. The little creature blinks open its eyes, regards Eddie briefly, then promptly curls back into a ball, unimpressed by the newcomer. “You’ve never met one?”
Eddie bites down a laugh that wants to escape while rolling his eyes. He toes off his boots, buying himself seconds to regain control. He knows what a cat is, for God’s sake. He’s not a caveman. But also —What the hell is a kitten doing here?
“I know what a cat is, Buck,” Eddie says flatly, but his lips twitch, traitorous. He steps closer, bracing his hands on the back of the couch like the animal might lunge for his throat if he gets too close. Christopher, of course, is oblivious to the imagined danger. His little hand strokes behind the kitten’s ears, and the purr that erupts from that miniature body is too loud, too whole, too… domestic. “My question is, what’s a kitten doing in our house?”
Buck beams at him, pink creeping up his cheeks, and Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to roll his eyes or pull him in and kiss him senseless for looking so stupidly soft. Instead, Buck rests the kitten against his chest so Christopher can pet more easily, his long fingers smoothing down its back. The sight lands a blow in Eddie’s chest —because God help him, he’s jealous of a damn cat. That little bundle of fur gets to press its face to Buck’s jaw, gets to be held like it belongs there.
“It’s Hen and Karen’s Christmas gift for the kids,” Buck explains finally, voice warm, steady. Like this is perfectly reasonable, perfectly ordinary. The kitten —Inky, Eddie thinks distractedly, because he’s so black the name practically writes itself— rubs its tiny head against Buck’s chin, and Eddie’s throat tightens. “But it’s a surprise, and they had to pick it up today from the shelter, otherwise they might’ve missed out. Since the loft doesn’t allow pets, I figured I’d bring him home.”
Home.
Buck says it like it’s obvious, like there’s no other place he could have chosen, and Eddie’s chest squeezes tight. He pretends not to notice how the word twists something deep in him and wonders if Buck hears himself when he does that —says home like it belongs to all three of them. He wonders if Buck realizes how dangerous it is, planting those roots Eddie already wants too much.
“Can’t we have one?” Christopher asks suddenly, lifting those hopeful eyes that Eddie can never quite resist. His small hand strokes Inky’s head with awe. “He’s all soft and small.”
Eddie presses his lips together, straight into his best dad face. He needs the armor, because he’s already halfway gone. Buck, out of the corner of his eye, is trying —and failing— to hide a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“We have a few weeks to find out how good you’ll be with one in the house,” Eddie finally says, forcing his voice to sound stern. “If all goes well and you’re responsible with… Inky… we can think about going to the shelter to get one for ourselves.”
Christopher lights up like it’s Christmas morning, eyes sparkling, joy spilling from him so bright Eddie swears he could live in it forever. And Buck —Buck goes still, clearly understanding that one wrong move will disturb this fragile, perfect moment.
And Eddie —well, Eddie is wondering why the hell he didn’t give in sooner. How many smiles like this did he miss because he said no?
“I’ll take good care of him, Dad, I promise,” Christopher vows, carefully lifting Inky into his hands and pressing a storm of kisses onto the kitten’s head. Inky blinks at him, unimpressed but tolerant, and Eddie wants to laugh because even the cat already knows this house belongs to Christopher.
“Pinky promise,” Buck adds with a grin, holding out his little finger for Christopher to link with his own, sealing it with the kind of solemnity only kids —and Buck— still believe in.
Eddie’s chest aches at the sight. How is he supposed to hold the line against this? Against them?
“Yeah, yeah…” Eddie mutters, rolling his eyes for show, though the smile tugging at his mouth ruins the act. “Now let’s put all his things away before he starts having accidents all over the house.”
Christopher practically levitates, shoving Inky into Eddie’s arms like he’s entrusting him with the crown jewels before dashing off with Buck to strategize about litter boxes and cat beds.
From the kitchen, Eddie hears Buck’s voice, patient and warm: “It’s not a good idea to let him sleep with you, buddy. We don’t know if Hen will let him sleep with Denny or Mara, and if he gets used to it, he’ll be sad if he can’t do it at home.”
Eddie tunes them out, because right now his world is small and warm and curled in his arms. Inky nestles against his chest, the steady rumble of purring vibrating into his ribs. Eddie strokes the silky fur without even realizing he’s doing it, his smile quiet, private.
This is dangerous. He knows it is. It looks too much like a family. Feels too much like forever.
But as the kitten presses close, safe and content, Eddie lets himself breathe into the thought:
Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to have a cat after all.
Eddie is starting to think it might have been a bad idea to have a cat.
And don’t get him wrong —Inky is a sweetheart. A demanding, loud, chaotic sweetheart, but still. The little furball curls up on their laps like he was made for them, meows whenever Eddie walks into the room in a way that’s definitely not normal —like he’s been waiting for him specifically, which Eddie refuses to admit makes his chest warm, and kneads biscuits on their stomachs or their thighs when they’re stretched out on the couch, vibrating with purrs so loud it’s hard to believe such a tiny body can contain them.
But sometimes… Sometimes Eddie swears Inky is possessed.
Christopher, the first time it happened, had solemnly told him that “sometimes a cat’s brain just goes crazy,” and Eddie is inclined to believe him. It’s the only explanation for the moments when the little menace is tearing through the house like he’s in the Indy 500.
He takes off like a rocket across the house, sprinting down the hall at midnight, bouncing off doors and tables and chair legs like he’s a pinball that doesn’t feel pain, leaving Eddie’s nerves frayed and his living room a battlefield. Other times, when Chris clatters by on his crutches, Inky decides they’re the deadliest prey in the wild, crouching low with his tail twitching before launching a full-scale attack on the metal poles.
And once —once— he full-on punched Eddie in the cheek when he dared to sleep through breakfast. A right hook, claws out, courtesy of barely a pound of black fluff.
At the station, his so-called friends find endless amusement in his suffering.
Every shift, Eddie walks in with some new evidence of Inky’s warpath —a scratch down his forearm, a paw print smudged on his cheek because the cheeky bastard decided to sleep on his face, and Eddie had been too exhausted to notice until morning. By the time he sits down at the table, he knows the laughter is coming.
That morning is no different. Eddie drags himself into the station and slumps at the kitchen table, every bone in his body begging for rest. Buck, without a word, slides a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. Their fingers brush for a second —accidentally, or maybe not— and Eddie lets out a noise that sounds embarrassingly close to a groan of pure relief. One sip, and the world feels marginally survivable again.
Hen sits down across from him, watching with amusement.
“You’re making me think it was a bad idea to adopt that kitten,” she teases, her tone sly. She raises a brow in his direction, lips curving into a knowing smile.
Eddie glances at her, then at Buck, who’s already biting back laughter, and lifts his own eyebrow.
“Is it that terrible?” she presses.
Buck makes some strangled noise in his throat, clearly trying not to burst out laughing, and Eddie shoots him a look.
Hen leans in, curious.
Eddie shakes his head slowly, letting a small smile slip as the memory of Inky curls warm and sharp inside him. He’s a disaster, yes. But he’s ours.
“Inky’s not terrible,” Eddie murmurs finally. The words surprise him with how soft they come out, like a defense he doesn’t mean to give but can’t stop himself from offering. And then he realizes —Inky is technically Hen and Karen’s Christmas surprise for their kids, and that he probably shouldn’t sound so possessive when the cat isn’t even supposed to be his. “I mean —he’s just a kitten. Barely a baby. Everything feels like a game to him. We’re just… not used to it yet.”
Hen hums thoughtfully, nodding as though she understands. But Buck —Buck can never leave well enough alone. His grin slips out, wide and wicked, and then the chuckle comes.
“He snuck into Eddie’s room last night,” Buck says, voice bubbling with laughter already. “and decided Eddie’s feet were prey. Climbed onto the bed in the middle of the night and just —went for it. Biting his toes, pouncing like it was a hunt.” Buck laughs again at the memory, eyes bright, cheeks pink, and Eddie groans low in his throat.
“You should’ve seen him,” Buck continues mercilessly, “sitting up in bed, hair all mussed, glaring at a pound kitten and scolding him like he was Christopher. And Inky just kept going, biting his fingers this time like, yeah okay, Dad, sure, tell me more while I chew on you.”
Hen nearly chokes on her coffee, fighting a laugh of her own, and Eddie groans, half-growl, half-grumble, heat rising to his ears. Traitor.
“You make fun of my misfortunes,” Eddie mutters under his breath.
But when he risks a glance at Buck, the laughter has softened into something quieter, fonder. Buck’s grin lingers, but now there’s a gentleness there too, his blue eyes warm in a way that makes Eddie’s chest feel too tight.
“It’s not a misfortune,” Buck counters gently, tilting his head like he’s trying to get Eddie to see it the way he does. “It’s his way of showing you he likes you.”
Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, hard. His first instinct is to argue, to scoff, to remind Buck that love doesn’t come with teeth and claws. But part of him —stupid, traitorous— wants to believe it. Wants to admit that maybe Buck’s right. That maybe getting ambushed at 5 a.m. by a kitten isn’t a curse but a weird, ridiculous blessing.
Also, he wants to —aches to— reach across the table, cup Buck’s face in his palm, and ask him if he even knows what he’s saying. If he knows how dangerous words like that are, how close they cut to the bone.
Instead, he clears his throat and tries for his usual exasperated edge.
“He was hunting me, Buck,” Eddie insists, burying his face in his coffee cup to hide the warmth creeping up his neck.
Buck doesn’t miss a beat.
“It’s love in its own way,” Buck replies, smiling with that infuriating certainty that Eddie can never quite shake off.
And Eddie, helpless against the way his heart surges at those words, can only sigh, rolling his eyes for show. He wants to say you don’t get it. He wants to say don’t make this harder than it already is.
Because with every purr, every pawprint, every ridiculous mess, Inky has started to wedge himself into their lives like he was always meant to be there.
And maybe Eddie is starting to realize that the cat isn’t the bad idea. The bad idea is letting himself believe he doesn’t want more of this —more of Buck’s laughter, Christopher’s joy, and the strange, chaotic warmth of home.
That night, after dinner dishes were stacked in the sink and Christopher’s homework was checked over with the usual mix of sighs and patience, the three of them gravitated to the couch like it was ritual.
The TV glowed with the familiar colors of a movie they had seen at least four times before, maybe five, but Eddie had long since stopped keeping count. With Chris, repetition wasn’t boring —it was comfort, proof that good things could be held onto.
Inky leapt up to join them not long after, all glossy black fur and boundless self-importance. He turned in a circle.
Then another.
Then another thirty.
Eddie swore the little creature would spin himself into the floorboards before finally dropping. Tiny paws pressed rhythmically against their thighs, kneading the fabric of their sweatpants like dough before Inky decided he had sufficiently molded his spot to perfection.
At last, he sprawled out right in the middle of them, stretching his miniature body as far as nature would allow, eyes fluttering shut as if the world finally met his standards.
Christopher had slid off the couch halfway through the routine, stretching his legs out comfortably across the rug, his head pillowed between Buck’s knees like it was the most natural place in the world.
He was already chattering about the movie’s plot holes and favorite lines with the kind of detail only kids could muster after five repeat viewings. Buck leaned down to listen, his big hand absentmindedly ruffling Christopher’s curls whenever he laughed.
And then Inky began to purr.
The sound filled the quiet like a heartbeat, impossibly loud for such a small body. It vibrated against Eddie’s leg, traveled up into his chest, and loosened something tight in his ribs that he didn’t even know he was holding.
Before Eddie could think better of it, his head tipped sideways, landing gently against Buck’s shoulder. It was instinct, muscle memory almost —leaning into him, closing that last inch of space between them.
He told himself it was only because Buck was there, warm and steady, and the couch dipped just right.
But his heart thudded traitorously, too fast for something so casual.
“Sometimes I feel like kittens’ purrs are the most peaceful sound in the world,” Buck whispered after a while. His voice was soft, meant just for Eddie. He stroked Inky’s belly with careful fingertips, slow and steady.
Every so often, his hand brushed against Eddie’s thigh, featherlight touches that set sparks crawling up his skin.
Eddie swallowed, his throat dry.
Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how good this feels, how easy it is to let your head stay here. Don’t think about how right it looks —Buck’s hand petting the kitten, Christopher’s laughter filling the room, you leaning in like you belong.
“That,” Eddie murmured back, his voice warm despite the tease already forming in his chest, “and Christopher’s snoring.”
He delivered it with a straight face, but Buck burst out laughing, a startled, full-bodied sound that shook his shoulders. The jolt nudged Eddie’s head, though he didn’t bother lifting it. Buck leaned back into him instead, shoulder to shoulder, their laughter tangling together like threads.
From the floor, Christopher frowned up at them, indignant. “Hey! That’s rude”
Which only made Buck laugh harder, his free hand instinctively dropping to squeeze the back of Christopher’s neck in apology.
Eddie just smiled. Because this —this was the kind of moment that slipped under his guard, soft and ordinary and utterly dangerous. It was too easy to imagine keeping it, too easy to call it theirs. For a fleeting second, he let himself stop fighting it.
And then everything was okay.
Not everything is okay.
That Sunday was dedicated to deep cleaning the house, the kind of annual ritual Eddie insisted on before they could even think about pulling the Christmas decorations out of storage. He wanted everything ready for next week, spotless and organized, so there would be no obstacles between them and twinkling lights, garlands, and Christopher’s inevitable insistence on hanging every single ornament in one concentrated corner of the tree.
They started early. Too early. So early Eddie had to down three cups of coffee before he could even manage a bite of breakfast.
Christopher, usually a whirlwind of energy in the mornings, was practically glaring at his cereal like it had committed some personal offense. Eddie almost wanted to laugh, but if he laughed, he’d have to admit he wasn’t any better off—running on caffeine fumes and a stubborn sense of responsibility.
When the sound of a car pulling up reached them, they didn’t even need to check. They both knew. Christopher was on his feet immediately, the bad mood dissolving as he rushed to the door.
Eddie followed, slower but no less eager, because if he was being honest with himself —something he usually tried not to be— he loved seeing that scene too much to miss it. Christopher throwing himself into Buck’s orbit, Buck smiling like coming here was the highlight of his week… it got Eddie every damn time.
But of course, Inky had other plans.
As soon as Buck’s keys jingled against the doorknob, the kitten crouched low, tiny haunches wiggling, eyes locked like a hunter. Eddie barely had time to register before the door cracked open and—
“Inky, no!”
The shout ripped from his chest, his stomach lurching.
Buck reacted instantly. The grocery bags slipped from his hands with a heavy thud, forgotten, as he lunged down like he’d been training his whole life for this exact ridiculous scenario. Inky shot forward, a streak of black fur across the threshold, but Buck’s arms scooped him up mid-leap. And then Buck was sprawled flat on his back on the porch, cat clutched to his chest.
For one horrifying heartbeat, Eddie thought he’d lost them both —cat and man. Then Inky started purring. Loudly. Obliviously. The little traitor kneaded Buck’s shirt with his paws like nothing had happened.
Christopher burst out laughing first, relief dissolving into pure hilarity. Buck joined in, grinning at them with his hair a mess and Inky perched smugly on his chest like he’d won something. Eddie tried to hold it together, but the absurdity hit him square in the ribs and he doubled over, laughing until his stomach hurt.
“Remind me why we’re in charge of taking care of him?” Eddie managed between chuckles, shaking his head at the sight of Buck cradling the kitten like a hero in some ridiculous rescue.
What kind of chaotic little trio are we to be entrusted with something so small and so… insane?
“Because we’re incredibly fast and smart,” Buck declared, still sitting on the floor with Inky nestled between his legs, before glancing down at the bags he’d dropped and pouting dramatically. “I think I broke my eggs.”
Christopher dissolved into another fit of giggles, and Buck joined him. Eddie groaned, fighting his own smile, as he bent to collect the bags. He scolded Inky, who decided Eddie’s finger was the perfect chew toy in response, while the house gradually slipped back into its familiar rhythm —the kind of chaos that was more comforting than disruptive.
At least until Christopher turned on the vacuum cleaner.
Chaos reigned again.
The second the hum filled the hallway, Inky transformed into a demon. Hissing, tail puffed, body arched like a tiny Halloween decoration come to life, he launched himself at the vacuum as though it had declared war. Every time Chris shifted direction, Inky pounced, smacking the machine with his paws before leaping back in terror and fury.
Buck’s laughter rang out from the kitchen.
He had abandoned the groceries and was now sitting on top of the table, leaning back as if the extra height could save him, one hand clutching his stomach while his head tipped back in helpless amusement.
“That’s it, Inky! Defend your territory!” he hollered, nearly crying with laughter.
Eddie, dusting the shelves in the dining room, rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. Of course Buck would be cheering the cat on. Of course he’d find this hilarious instead of actually helping. Still, he couldn’t deny the view was good from here —Buck doubled over in laughter, curls catching the light, the kind of joy that filled the whole house.
“It looks like Eddie trying to defend us from the appliances that help us live better,” Buck called out between wheezes, arranging cake ingredients in front of him without even pretending he planned to climb down. “With his sense of reality completely altered…”
The rag Eddie had been using sailed across the room before Buck could finish the thought. It smacked him right in the face. Buck yelped, scandalized, while Eddie smirked, triumphant.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold, Buckley,” Eddie said smoothly, crossing his arms before turning back to his figurines, polishing Abuela’s gifts with smug satisfaction.
Buck grumbled dramatically, but the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.
Peace lasted exactly ten minutes, until Christopher knocked over his glass of chocolate milk. It splashed everywhere —floor, chair, and, most importantly, all over Inky, who let out an offended screech before bolting.
“Inky!” Christopher gasped, but Buck was already there, scooping up the dripping, sticky kitten while Eddie dropped to his knees to mop up the mess.
When Eddie stood again, the sight nearly undid him.
Buck was soaked. His t-shirt clung to his chest, his joggers darkened several shades, his curls plastered damply against his forehead. Inky had left a roadmap of scratches across his arms, with one claw mark running up his neck and onto his shoulder. And still —still— Buck was smiling, trying to soothe the squirming cat on the table as Inky furiously licked himself clean, looking thinner than ever under the damp fur.
“Were you going to bathe him, or was he going to bathe you?” Eddie asked, stepping close, his voice gentler than he intended. His eyes traced the scratches automatically, frowning when one seemed deeper than the rest. He reached out without thinking, tilting Buck’s arm to inspect. “We definitely need to trim his nails.”
They patched him up at the kitchen table, Christopher insisting on “helping” by kissing each wound dramatically to “make it heal.” Buck laughed through the whole process, even as Eddie’s fingers lingered a second too long on his skin, even as Eddie’s chest squeezed with something sharp and warm at the sight.
And then Eddie looked at him properly —really looked. The wet shirt, the ruined joggers, the drops of water sliding down his neck, the way his curls stuck to his forehead. It was ridiculous. It was messy. It was… God, it was beautiful.
The laugh burst out of Eddie before he could stop it, shaking his shoulders, loud and helpless. He leaned against the table, clutching the edge for balance, because if he didn’t hold on, he swore he might fall over from the force of it.
Because it was absurd. Because it was domestic. Because it was his life. And because somewhere, deep down, Eddie knew —he didn’t want it any other way.
That night, after hours of scrubbing floors, baking for Thanksgiving, and sneaking in a couple of video games with Christopher, the house finally settled into quiet.
It was the kind of silence Eddie loved most —the earned kind. Not the tense quiet of a hospital waiting room, not the hollow quiet of an empty house, but the soft one that comes after a day well-lived.
Christopher had gone to bed early, surprising Eddie but not enough to wake him; the kid had been running on pure energy all day, so Eddie figured the crash was inevitable. Inky was also out for the count, curled in his tiny bed in what looked like the most uncomfortable position in the world, one paw dangling off the edge, his whole body stretched too far for his size. Still, he purred faintly even in sleep, vibrating against the little blanket Christopher had insisted on putting there.
That left Eddie and Buck alone in the living room, finishing up the small tasks that made the space feel ready for tomorrow. They sorted Christopher’s toys from Inky’s —a battle, considering the kid had decided half the kitten’s things belonged to him. They cleaned out the litter box, fluffed the couch pillows, and made sure Buck’s blanket —the one he’d unofficially claimed— was folded neatly across the arm of the couch.
Or at least they tried. Eddie wasn’t concentrating. Not really. Every time he looked up, he saw Buck —brushing cat hair off his shirt with that exaggerated pout, curls falling into his forehead, cheeks still faintly pink from laughing too hard earlier. And every time Eddie’s chest tightened with the same thought he always shoved down.
How am I supposed to let him walk out that door tonight?
This house had grown so used to Buck —his voice, his warmth, his chaos— that the idea of the space without him felt… wrong. Eddie didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t want him to go back to a place that wasn’t here. And God, when had it become so obvious that Buck had a permanent place not just in this house, but in Eddie’s heart?
“You know,” Eddie said suddenly, the words spilling out before he could stop them, “you and Inky look a lot alike.”
Buck’s brows rose in surprise, his hands freezing mid-motion.
“You both came to this house, and from the first moment it was obvious you belonged here.”
There it was. The truth, dressed up in something simple and harmless, but heavy enough to make Eddie’s pulse stumble in his throat.
Buck’s cheeks went crimson, his lips parting as his eyes snapped up to Eddie’s. That look —God, Eddie had memorized it by now. The mix of surprise and uncertainty, edged with a shy smile that had always undone him. That look made Eddie want to grab onto him and never let go.
“A-And that’s a bad thing?” Buck asked, and there it was again—that note of fear Eddie knew so well. Buck’s voice carried it in little cracks, as if he was braced for rejection, for being told he was too much or not enough. Eddie hated that Buck lived with that kind of shadow.
“No,” Eddie murmured, setting down what was in his hands and closing the space between them. He wanted Buck to see the truth in his face, to feel it in his voice. “Not at all.”
His heart raced, but for once, Eddie didn’t back down. He let himself be selfish, just this once. He reached out and cupped Buck’s cheek, the stubble rough against his palm, grounding him.
“It’s the best thing that could have happened to me.”
The words hung there for only a breath before Eddie leaned in, before fear could claw its way back in and stop him. He tilted his head and pressed his mouth to Buck’s in the softest kiss he’d ever given —gentle, quick, but so full of every unspoken thing he hadn’t been able to say.
And suddenly, everything slotted into place.
Buck went still for a heartbeat —then melted, like every piece of him had been waiting for this. Eddie felt the shift, the way Buck’s whole body leaned toward him instinctively, as though kissing Eddie wasn’t a choice, but gravity.
Of course, that was when Inky decided to announce his displeasure with a sharp, demanding meow, the sound startling enough to make them both laugh into the kiss.
Buck pulled back, chuckling, his hands sliding to grab the back of Eddie’s shirt, keeping him close like he couldn’t quite let go yet. His eyes sparkled in the dim light, wide and incredulous, lips red and soft from the kiss.
“I think Inky just gave me his blessing,” he whispered, voice husky and sweet, words so ridiculous that Eddie couldn’t even begin to process them.
So he didn’t. He just kissed him again.
Because Inky, that little whirlwind of claws and purrs, had somehow been the key. The key that unlocked Eddie’s chest, quieted the fears that had always held him back, and reminded him of something he already knew deep down: home wasn’t walls and roofs —it was Buck, sitting here with him, in the middle of their chaos.