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“You know, packing would go a lot quicker if you didn’t stop to look at everything,” a voice says near Buck’s shoulder.
He lifts his head from the yellowing pages of the photo album and smiles, butterflies erupting in his stomach. Eddie leans against the wall with his legs crossed over his ankles. He folds his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging and on full display thanks to the gray tank top. A lone strand of dark hair curls across his forehead in a way that Buck can’t help but find adorable. An amused smile dances on his lips.
God, I love you.
“Just taking a trip down memory lane.” Buck holds up the photo album. “Ballroom dancer Eddie Diaz!”
Eddie groans, his face turning red. He pushes himself off the wall and drops to the floor beside Buck, stretching his legs out. “Why did I let you pack the living room?”
“Because you wanted to pack the linen cupboard yourself.”
“I have a system.”
“And I now have your embarrassing childhood photos.”
With another groan, Eddie buries himself into the warmth of Buck’s neck, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of his boyfriend's body wash. Buck laughs, his shoulders shaking. He presses a light kiss to Eddie’s forehead, letting a comfortable silence settle over them.
These are the moments Buck loves. The quiet moments that most ignore, the intimacy of existing alongside each other in the stillness of an afternoon. They breathe in each other's presence and exist in a bubble of their own making that no one can disturb. It’s peace, it’s calm, and it’s them. They don’t need the extravagance. They just need each other.
Eddie kisses the warm skin of Buck’s neck, lifting his head from his shoulder. He grabs Buck’s hand and entangles their fingers together, squeezing them. Buck squeezes back, love flowing through his veins.
“I’m glad you ditched the hair gel,” Buck says, tapping one of the photos in the album. A young Eddie stands in the centre of what he can only assume is a ballroom, dressed in a golden tuxedo jacket. His hair is slicked back with an unnecessary amount of gel. “You look better without it.”
“Oh yeah?”
Buck hums softly. He rakes a hand through Eddie’s mess of dark hair, feeling the soft strand tickling the palm of his hand. “I wouldn’t be able to do this otherwise.” His fingers glide through Eddie’s hair, his nails tickling his scalp.
A shiver goes through Eddie’s body. “Is that why you did all my hair gel when you moved in?”
“Yes, and I’m never telling you where it is.”
“It’s inside an empty protein powder container at the back of the kitchen cupboard.”
“What?” Buck stops scratching his nails on Eddie’s scalp and looks at him with wide eyes. “How do you know that?”
“You never buy a new protein powder until you finish the old one, but there are two vanilla ones in the cupboard.”
“That’s not fair. It was a really good hiding spot.”
“It is, but I know you, Buck.”
“That you do.” Buck smiles, squeezing Eddie’s hand and brushing his thumb over his knuckles. He lifts their hands up and presses a light kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand.
Turning back to the photo album, Buck turns the page, his eyes sweeping over the collection of Diaz family photos. The album in question once belonged to Eddie’s Abuela, but she’d bequeathed it to her grandson before he and Chris left Texas for the final time two years before. Not long afterwards, Eddie and Buck found their way to each other.
It happened slowly.
After Eddie and Chris returned to L.A., Buck continued to live with them. Every mention of Buck moving out was quickly shut down by Eddie himself, who didn’t mind having Buck around. They ate breakfast together before shift, ate dinner together, and ended up sharing a bed when the couch caused trouble for Buck’s leg and Eddie’s shoulder.
Love snuck up on them during those shared breakfasts, those quiet evenings in, and the stillness of the night. They’d wake up tangled in each other, Eddie’s face buried into Buck’s neck, and Buck’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Soft smiles were exchanged over mugs of coffee and plates of scrambled eggs. Warmth would flood Buck’s body during dinner, when the three of them would gather around the dining table.
Their first kiss happened when Eddie was doing the laundry.
Buck stood in the entrance to the laundry room and watched him fold their laundry, which had become an amalgamation of their clothes. Eddie had looked up from the laundry, a smile spreading onto his face. Before Buck could do anything, Eddie had left the pile of folded laundry and crossed the gap between them in a matter of seconds.
His fingers had cupped Buck’s cheeks, and he pressed their lips together. Fireworks crackled beneath Buck’s skin, his nerve endings fizzing and popping. When they’d pulled away, both of them laughed, finally acknowledging the years of tension between them.
Two years later, they’re packing up to move to a new house. A house that’s theirs, that they own, with enough room for them, Chris, and whatever else the future may hold for them. Buck can’t ask for more.
They stay sitting on the living room floor, thumbing through the photo album despite the mountain of boxes piled around them and the rooms still left to pack. Eddie drops his head onto Buck’s shoulders, their fingers still tangled together.
Buck’s eyes roam over the page, looking at each photo. Eddie’s ballroom dancer days were well-documented, but one photo stood out amongst the rest.
A pre-teen Eddie stood alongside his sisters, Adrianna and Sophia, with large smiles on their faces. Behind them is a large stone sign that reads ‘Lydon B. Johnson Space Center’ with the NASA logo in the top corner. It’s not the sign that catches Buck’s attention, though; it’s a small mop of blond curls standing at the other side of the sign.
“When was this taken?” Buck asks, looking at Eddie.
“Oof, erm, 2002, I think? I don’t know. Why?”
“I think that’s me.” He points to the mop of curls.
Eddie lifts his head from Buck’s shoulder and frowns, staring at the image. “Are you sure?”
“I remember that shirt.” The shirt in question is a pale blue and white striped thing, paired with jeans and white sneakers. Memories flash through Buck’s mind. “I spilled ketchup on it not long after this was taken, so Mom had to buy me a shirt so I didn’t embarrass her.”
“You’re kidding.” Shock twists its way through Eddie’s voice.
“No, I’m serious. I won some radio competition that gave us tickets to visit the space centre. It was the first time I ever went to Texas.”
“Of course you did.” Eddie chuckles. “Sophia begged Mom to take her after they showed her footage of a moon landing in school. She wanted to go to the NASA headquarters in Washington, but Mom said Houston was closer. I almost didn’t go.”
“Why?”
“There was a big ballroom competition coming up, and I wanted to do well, but my partner, Rebecca, twisted her ankle, so we couldn’t rehearse. I ended up in Houston instead.”
Buck blinks, taken aback. “We were both in Texas at the same time, feet away from each other, and never knew.”
“Some might call it fate.” Eddie’s free hand cups Buck’s chin and tilts it towards him, their eyes meeting in the afternoon light streaming into the living room.
“Yeah?” Buck says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And what do you call it?”
Eddie shrugs, his fingers dancing across Buck’s skin. He leans forward and presses his lips to Buck’s, his thumb brushing his cheekbone. Just like their first kiss, every nerve in Buck’s body ignites. His skin tingles beneath Eddie’s gentle touch, and he voices that are constantly screaming in his head fall silent. It’s as magical as it’s always been.
They pull away, faces inches apart from each other.
“Just this once, I agree with them,”
Eddie says, pressing their lips together again. Buck melts into the kiss, the photo album falling off his lap with the photo staring up at the ceiling.
Fate always finds a way.