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Eddie steps inside the venue with muted hesitation, his boots sinking slightly into the velvet carpeting as the bass from the club’s speakers vibrates through the soles of his feet. The place is dimly lit, washed in deep crimson and flickers of gold that dance across the walls like candlelight. People are scattered around —some laughing, some drinking, some swaying lazily to the music— yet Eddie’s attention is sharp, scanning every face, every corner. His heartbeat thuds in his ears, more from anticipation than nerves.
Where is he? Did I get the place wrong? he wonders.
He spots a worker near the bar talking to a man who is —somehow— even taller than Eddie.
The taller man gestures animatedly with his hands, words flowing rapidly, while the worker watches him with thinly veiled boredom. Eddie frowns. It’s not the best start.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Eddie says as he steps forward, keeping his voice low but firm. He gives the talkative man a polite smile, then turns his gaze to the worker with a far more serious expression. “I’m looking for a room reserved for Han.”
The worker exhales, long and bored, like this is the tenth time he’s explained instructions tonight. He points at a door on the far side of the club.
“You’re both looking for the same room,” he says flatly. Eddie blinks, momentarily thrown off, and turns to glance at the tall man beside him, curiosity sparking. The worker keeps going, uninterested in their reactions. “Enter through that door, follow the hallway. It’s door number three. You can order whatever you want on the screen.”
Before either of them can thank him, the worker turns and walks away, leaving Eddie and the other man standing alone in the dim, buzzing atmosphere.
For a moment, neither speaks.
Eddie clears his throat and turns slightly, getting a better look at the stranger. The man is smiling at him —a wide, bright smile that catches Eddie completely off guard, warm and disarming in a way he can’t quite defend himself against. His eyes —God— his eyes are blue. Not the common kind of blue, but the soft, endless kind; like clear skies after a storm or ocean water hit by sunlight. Eddie’s stomach tightens, unexpectedly.
“Hey, you must be Chim’s friend,” the man says, that smile stretching wider, his voice rich with sincerity and a hint of excitement. His blue eyes shine under the club lights. “Hen told me there were a bunch of us coming, and when I got here, I didn’t see anyone, so I was asking the guy, but I think I started talking about other things, and well…”
He trails off, dragging a hand down the side of his neck, lips pressed together like he’s holding himself back from rambling even more.
The gesture is endearing in a way Eddie wasn’t prepared for. He stares —openly, shamelessly— because first, who talks like that without breathing? And second, why he makes my heart feel like it’s stumbling over itself just by smiling?
“I’m Buck,” the man murmurs finally, voice soft, cheeks tinted pink. He lifts his head just slightly, giving Eddie another one of those heart-wrecking smiles. “Chim works with me, and, well… he’s my sister’s husband.”
Eddie feels his own smile bloom, slow and genuine, fangs pressing lightly against his lower lip —a nervous habit. His throat feels tight, and it only gets tighter when he notices Buck’s gaze flick down to his mouth, linger for a heartbeat too long, and then return to his eyes.
“Eddie,” he replies, voice lower than he intended. “It’s really nice to meet you, Buck.”
He extends his hand, and Buck takes it without hesitation. Their hands fit together warm and firm —Eddie’s calloused palm meeting Buck’s slightly softer one. The grip is strong, and Eddie likes it. More than he should.
“Shall we?” Eddie adds, nodding toward the hallway the worker pointed at. “Maybe it’ll be easier to talk without so much noise. We can wait for the others more calmly.”
Buck nods quickly —almost too quickly— still holding Eddie’s hand as if he forgot he was doing it. Then realization flushes across his face, pink deepening across his cheeks as he lets go. He clears his throat, eyes darting away for a second before he gestures forward.
“Yeah… Uh, r-right. This way,” he says, voice slightly breathless. He steps to the side, allowing Eddie to walk ahead, but not before Eddie catches him glancing again —quick, shy, like he’s trying not to get caught staring.
Eddie walks forward, a small, helpless smile tugging at his lips.
And behind him, Buck follows, heart thudding just as wildly.
Eddie feels the weight of those eyes trailing down his back —no, not his back, his ass— and the realization makes a slow, proud smile curl across his lips. It’s the kind of smile that hides beneath the guise of casual confidence but carries a flicker of amusement in its edges.
He shifts his hips slightly, just enough to make it seem accidental, though both of them know it isn’t. The movement draws a quiet breath behind him, soft and surprised, and Eddie’s grin widens as he reaches the door the worker had pointed out. He pushes it open, the low hum of the club fading as the soundproof room swallows the noise.
The hallway is quiet compared to the club outside, dim light glinting off sleek dark walls. There’s a faint hum from hidden speakers and the scent of expensive cologne and leather.
Eddie reaches door number three and pushes it open, stepping aside immediately as he holds it with his hand and nods for Buck to go first.
“After you,” he says smoothly.
But Buck —wide-eyed, eyebrows slightly raised— shakes his head quickly.
“No, no, you first,” he insists, but his gaze drops once again, shameless for half a second. Eddie laughs softly under his breath and walks inside, still smirking.
The room is dim but cozy, a mix of soft light and plush furniture, the kind of space meant for conversation that lingers too long. The air smells faintly of cedar and spilled whiskey, and the couch looks too inviting for the night they’d expected to be a group gathering. It feels secluded, safe, like a secret kept behind heavy doors.
Without thinking, they both head for the same couch. Eddie sinks into the cushions with his usual relaxed ease, and Buck immediately follows —but the distance miscalculates. Buck practically tumbles into Eddie’s lap before he realizes it, their thighs pressed together for a fraction of a second too long.
His hand lands on Eddie’s chest to steady himself before he jolts back, cheeks flaming red.
“Shit… S-sorry,” Buck stammers, jumping slightly away, face flushed a delicate pink that travels all the way to his ears.
“It’s fine,” Eddie answers, chuckling, heart beating much louder than it should. Christ, he’s cute.
Buck clears his throat and tries to salvage his dignity. “Where do you know Chim from?”
Just like that —smooth and easy— they fall into conversation as if they’ve known each other for years instead of minutes.
Eddie leans back, stretching an arm over the backrest behind Buck, letting the story roll out naturally.
“I’m a paramedic on the 220,” he begins. “Met Chim at one of those dreadful mandatory conferences. He made some joke about the coffee tasting like battery acid and suddenly we were stuck at the same table complaining about protocols for hours. After that, we started getting drinks sometimes —turns out he talks even more after tequila.”
Buck laughs —bright and sudden. Eddie likes the sound more than he should.
Buck then starts painting a completely different picture of Chimney. He tells Eddie about the station, about how Chim likes to prank new recruits with fake dispatch calls and how he once tried to cook at the firehouse and almost set the stove on fire. He shifts into softer territory —talking about Chim at home, how he acts around with them, how gentle he becomes.
Eddie is laughing so hard his stomach aches, hand over his mouth as he bends forward. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes.
“You’re kidding —he did not…”
“He did,” Buck insists, eyes sparkling.
“He really is quite a character,” Buck says softly, his voice taking on a fond, almost wistful tone. His expression shifts, something gentler blooming across his face. “But I’m glad he’s part of the family. He’s great with Maddie and the kids.”
Buck drifts for a moment like his mind is somewhere else entirely.
Eddie watches him carefully, noticing the tenderness in his words, the way Buck’s whole body seems to soften when he talks about the people he loves. There’s something luminous about him in that moment —unguarded, real. For a second, Eddie forgets to breathe.
Buck blinks, noticing Eddie’s stare. He clears his throat, cheeks flushing pink.
“Uh —What?”
“Do you want something to drink?” Eddie asks casually, leaning back. He shrugs, smirking. “They’re probably coming soon, but since they’re late, they’ll miss out on my generosity.”
Buck laughs —really laughs this time— and the sound feels like sunlight breaking through.
“Generous, huh?”
Eddie smirks.
“Extremely.”
They move toward the touchscreen mounted by the wall, the glow of it lighting up their faces in soft blue. Buck scrolls through the menu, mumbling options under his breath.
“Fries sound good,” he admits. “But maybe I’ll wait for the others, don’t wanna steal all the good stuff.”
Eddie taps the screen anyway, ordering fries —two large portions— and adds drinks without asking.
“Too late,” he says simply. Buck looks at him, surprised and a little shy —like no one does things for him just because they want to.
The drinks arrive first —cold glasses glistening with condensation— and the conversation flows like they’ve known each other far longer than the forty minutes they’ve shared.
They talk about their jobs, swapping stories about paramedic calls gone sideways and station gossip that feels oddly intimate. Eddie talks about his son —how Christopher loves building things, how he’s learning independence faster than Eddie can keep up. His voice softens as he speaks, and Buck listens, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, eyes focused entirely on him.
Then it’s Buck’s turn.
He talks about his sister Maddie, about the way Chim makes her laugh even when she swears she’s had enough of him. He tells stories about calls that left marks, about trying to balance saving people and saving himself. And when the topic shifts —slowly, gently— to love, they both hesitate, as if the word itself might bruise if handled carelessly.
“Guess we’ve both had our share of heartbreak,” Buck says finally, tracing his fingertip around the rim of his glass.
Eddie nods, eyes lingering on him.
“Yeah. Seems like we keep looking for something that never quite sticks.”
Buck glances up, blue eyes meeting brown, something raw flickering in the space between them.
“Or maybe we keep looking in the wrong places.”
Eddie’s chest tightens. For a heartbeat, neither looks away. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable, more like a promise waiting to be made.
Their drinks multiply —first round, second, fifth. They order a second round.
“We should leave some for those who haven’t arrived,” Buck says with a grin.
“They should’ve been here sooner if they wanted fries,” Eddie counters.
Buck snorts.
“Fair point.”
Their shoulders brush again. Neither moves away.
They don’t say it aloud —but neither of them wants the others to arrive just yet.
Time slips unnoticed between laughter and stories that get a little too honest, glances that linger a little too long. The club outside fades into insignificance, its noise and lights forgotten behind the thick walls of Room Three.
When Buck laughs again —head tilted back, eyes crinkling at the corners— Eddie thinks he’s never heard anything sound so alive. And when Buck looks at him, really looks at him, Eddie realizes that for the first time in a long while, he’s not thinking about what’s next.
He’s thinking about now.
Buck stretches slightly, as if shaking off the last bit of nervousness he didn’t know he still carried, and pushes himself to his feet.
The room’s soft golden lighting catches on the curve of his smile as he walks toward the karaoke machine in the corner, hands brushing his jeans like he needs something to do with them. He glances over his shoulder at Eddie, blue eyes sparkling with something mischievous.
“If they’re not planning on making it, that’s their problem,” Buck says, his grin widening. “I’m not going to waste this opportunity.”
His fingers navigate the screen smoothly, scrolling through an endless playlist. Then he looks sideways, raising a brow at Eddie.
“Come on —pick one for me. The most random one possible. And I’ll do the same to you.”
Eddie smiles into the lip of his beer glass, finishing the last sip.
There’s a warmth blooming beneath his skin, and though he blames the alcohol, he knows better. It’s all Buck —his laughter, his ridiculous optimism, the way his shoulders seem to carry light instead of weight. Eddie stands and walks toward him, close enough that his chest brushes Buck’s back when he leans in to see the screen. Buck goes still —not tense, just… quiet. Like his body is waiting to see if Eddie will step away or stay close.
He doesn’t move.
Eddie’s hand comes to rest casually on Buck’s, fingers warm against his skin as he scrolls.
“You know how we can make this more fun?” he murmurs, voice lower now, teasing. He turns his head slightly, his cheek brushing the edge of Buck’s jaw.
Buck shivers.
At the closeness, the warmth, the smell of Eddie —something clean and sharp like cedar and soap— Buck forces himself to swallow the sound threatening to escape.
“Yeah?” he asks, breath catching.
“The one singing can’t see what song is coming next,” Eddie explains, raising one eyebrow challengingly. “Keeps the element of surprise.”
Buck’s face lights up completely —it’s stunning, Eddie thinks, unfair. His smile is bright, open, vulnerable in a way that makes Eddie’s stomach flip.
“Yeah, I think so…” Buck says, excitement bubbling up. But do I really want to stop standing this close to him?, he thinks, and guiltlessly lingers a heartbeat longer.
“I’m going to—”
“Just close your eyes,” Eddie murmurs, voice brushing against the shell of Buck’s ear like a touch. Buck’s breath catches. He obeys.
Eddie scrolls, picks something, and taps the screen. He steps back toward the couch and sinks into the cushions, watching with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
The opening notes of Aqua’s “Barbie Girl” fill the room.
Buck lets out a joyful, disbelieving laugh —loud, unrestrained, unashamed— before the absurdity becomes energy in his veins. He grabs the microphone and starts singing, moving with deliberate exaggeration, rolling his hips, fluttering his eyelashes, belting out lines with dramatic flair. Eddie’s laughter fills the room, warm and unguarded.
When Buck finishes with a ridiculous pose, Eddie’s clapping and laughing so hard he doubles forward.
“I didn’t think you’d have those moves,” Eddie manages, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
“Oh, I have plenty more,” Buck answers with a wink, handing the other microphone to Eddie. His cheeks are flushed —from laughter, from attention, from Eddie.
“Now it’s your turn to show yours.”
Buck taps a few things on the screen. Eddie raises a brow. Then Bruno Mars’ “Uptown Funk” blasts through the speakers. Eddie groans dramatically but stands, rolling his shoulders.
And God —he commits.
Eddie sings, hips moving, trying to mimic the music video with swagger. It’s ridiculous, chaotic, and perfect. He trips over the lyrics twice because he keeps looking at Buck —and Buck’s eyes are glued to him, wide and delighted, dimples deepening with every grin.
They don’t stop.
They fall into a rhythm —laughter, singing, teasing gazes. Buck sings “Call Me Maybe,” scribbles his number on a napkin, and slips it playfully into Eddie’s back pocket with a flourish. Eddie chokes on his drink laughing.
Then Eddie sings “All Star” by Smash Mouth, throwing his hands around dramatically like a stadium rock star, and Buck nearly falls off the couch from laughing so hard.
When Buck is forced to sing “I’m Too Sexy,” Eddie pulls out a few dollar bills he finds in his wallet and waves them like he’s at a strip club, howling with laughter —until Buck, emboldened by alcohol, adrenaline, and Eddie’s stare— straddles Eddie’s lap for a brief second, wiggling his hips before jumping off. Eddie forgets how to inhale. His eyes drop to the sliver of skin that shows when Buck’s shirt rides up. His mouth goes dry.
Then it’s Eddie’s turn again. Buck taps something on the screen.
Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
Eddie lets out a half-groan, half-laugh. “You’re kidding.”
Buck grins. “Nope. Show me what you got, cowboy.”
Eddie stands in front of him, singing like he’s onstage at a sold-out concert. Buck cups his hands around his mouth, screaming like a crazed fan. It’s stupid. It’s perfect. Eddie can’t remember the last time he laughed this freely.
Then Eddie picks Britney Spears’ “Toxic” for Buck.
And he watches —carefully, intently— as Buck wraps his fingers around the mic and starts singing. There’s something magnetic about him, the way his voice softens and sharpens where it needs to, how his movements are fluid, seductive without trying to be. Eddie feels an ache settle in his chest and heat crawl across his skin.
He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt.
Because he’s weak.
Backstreet Boys’ “I Want It That Way” comes next —Buck’s pick, Eddie’s performance. And he does the choreography. Perfectly. Step by step, like muscle memory etched from childhood.
When he collapses beside Buck at the end of it, breathless and laughing, Buck turns to him, eyes wide in disbelief.
“I need to know something,” Buck says, still wheezing with laughter. “Did you follow them as a kid or something?”
Eddie throws his head back against the couch, cheeks flushed. “My sisters used to listen to them all the time,” he groans playfully. “And since I’m the oldest, I definitely had to hear them a thousand times. And watch their videos a thousand more.”
Buck laughs, soft and warm, looking at Eddie like he’s trying to memorize this moment.
The room feels smaller now —not claustrophobic, but intimate. Their laughter lingers like smoke. Their knees brush. Outside, the rest of the world keeps spinning, unaware that in Room 3, something has started —quietly, beautifully, dangerously.
The laughter fades into a quieter kind of silence —not awkward, but soft. Like the pause between heartbeats. The room still hums with leftover joy, discarded song lyrics floating in the air like glitter. Then Buck shifts beside Eddie.
His smile fades just slightly —not gone, just dimmed. He looks down at his hands before turning his head, blue eyes meeting Eddie’s.
“Hen told me about this outing because I… I hadn’t been doing very well,” Buck says, voice gentle, careful, as though his words are something fragile he might break if he speaks too loud.
Eddie’s amusement quiets. He shifts closer without thinking, parting his legs just enough so their knees touch —a small point of warmth, an unspoken I’m here.
Buck inhales and keeps going, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor.
“I got dumped a month ago,” he admits, voice wobbling just slightly. “And… I don’t exactly have a great track record with breakups.”
Eddie doesn’t speak at first. He only reaches out —slow, deliberate— and lets the side of his hand brush against Buck’s arm, his pinky finger lingering as if to say I hear you. Keep going.
“A good relationship?” Eddie asks softly. He doesn’t push. He just… Wants to understand him. Completely.
Buck lets out a small, breathy laugh. There’s no humor in it, not really.
“No. It was a fucking mess.” He runs a hand through his hair. “After it ended… I found out a lot of things he’d been hiding. Things that made me feel stupid for trying so hard.”
His throat tightens —Eddie sees the way he swallows, trying to keep it together.
“It doesn’t hurt that he broke up with me. What hurts is that every time I think about something serious —something real— it just feels like it keeps getting further and further away from me.”
Eddie’s jaw tenses. He wants to say a hundred things —you deserve love, real love. Anyone would be lucky to have your heart. I’m sorry you were hurt— but the words get lodged somewhere in his chest. So instead, he stands.
Buck looks up, startled. But Eddie doesn’t leave. He walks to the karaoke machine, scrolls through the playlist with quiet focus, then holds the microphone out to Buck.
“Come on,” Eddie says, voice soft but firm. “Let’s get that pain out somehow.”
Buck’s lips curve into a tiny smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes —but Eddie can see there’s gratitude there, unspoken but loud.
The first chords of Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” burst through the speakers.
Buck snorts a laugh.
“You’re kidding.”
“What better way than to remember that there’s always something better than what hurt you?” Eddie replies, sitting back down, his eyes fixed on Buck with a tenderness that makes Buck’s heart ache.
Buck takes a deep breath and sings.
He doesn’t do it perfectly —his voice cracks, wavers— but he sings with everything. Every disappointment, every heartbreak, every time he’s handed his heart to someone and been told it was too much. Eddie claps and cheers like they’re in a stadium, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt.
When Buck finishes, there’s a hush. A soft one. A healing one.
Buck exhales, shoulders dropping. He turns to Eddie, eyes softer now, clearer.
“Okay… your turn,” he says gently, selecting the next song and passing the microphone to him.
The opening melody starts —slow, familiar, warm like an old memory. Eddie stiffens slightly. Elvis Presley’ “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
He hesitates. He’s sung this song before —for weddings, for jokes, under his breath while doing the dishes. But never like this. Never with a man he barely knows staring at him like he’s something worth staying for.
But he doesn’t back down.
Eddie starts singing.
His voice is deeper, smooth, warmed by beer and sincerity. The words roll out soft, almost reverent.
“Wise men say… only fools rush in…” His eyes don’t once leave Buck. Not even when his throat tightens. Not even when he licks his lips unconsciously between verses.
Buck forgets to breathe.
There’s a moment —a charged, dangerous, breathtaking moment— during the last verse, when Eddie’s gaze softens, and his smile is small and real. Like he’s not singing Elvis anymore. Like he’s just… Telling the truth.
When the last note fades, Eddie doesn’t hand the microphone back.
Instead, he reaches out —slow, unsure, heart in his throat— and takes Buck’s hand.
Buck freezes. His breath catches.
“Eddie…?”
Eddie presses the second microphone into Buck’s palm, his voice low, rough around the edges.
“Sing with me?”
Buck looks into his eyes —really looks— and sees everything Eddie isn’t saying yet. The warmth. The hope. The possibility.
And with a heartbeat that feels too loud in his chest, Buck nods.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah. Okay.”
Buck tilts his head slightly as the next song title appears on the screen.
The moment his eyes land on the word Shallow, his breath catches. His cheeks flush a deep red, heat crawling down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. His palms suddenly feel slippery against the cold metal of the microphone, and for a second, he’s terrified he’ll drop it. His fingers tremble —half from nerves, half from anticipation.
Eddie notices. He really notices.
Eddie’s lips curl into a small, knowing smile before the intro begins.
He doesn't hesitate. He brings the microphone closer and starts singing, voice soft but assured, warming the room like the first breath of sunlight at dawn.
Buck hears the effortless shift in pronouns, Eddie makes the lyrics fit them, fit this moment, without stumbling. It's confident, shameless, playful. And every time he looks up to catch Buck's gaze, his eyes hold something… Deeper. Something that makes Buck’s heart beat loud enough he wonders if the speakers might pick it up.
God, Buck thinks, how is he this calm?
When Buck’s verse comes up, he doesn’t look at the screen. Not once.
He can’t.
His eyes are locked on Eddie as if the universe narrowed down to a single point —brown irises, lashes, the way Eddie’s chest rises and falls as he listens.
Buck moistens his lips between lyrics, instinctive, anxious, and he swears Eddie watches every movement. Eddie’s eyes dip, tracing the shape of Buck’s mouth openly, with no shame or attempt to hide it.
And Buck melts.
Their voices blend at the chorus —soft smiles between words, breaths catching, gazes holding like a dialogue spoken in silence. Their knees touch, deliberately now.
Eddie's fingers brush over Buck’s briefly, then linger, curl, intertwine. The touch anchors them. It says more than either of them has dared to breathe into existence. I feel it too.
The world shrinks to three minutes and thirty-five seconds of lyrics, longing, and unresolved tension. But it’s not enough.
It ends too soon.
And as they both whisper the last line —We’re far from the shallow now— their voices meeting in unison, their faces shift. Slowly. As if they’re both afraid to break the spell. Until that last inch disappears.
Eddie’s lips press against Buck’s.
There’s no hesitation, no confusion.
Just relief.
As if they’ve both been holding their breath and finally exhaled.
Eddie’s hand slides to Buck’s cheek, fingers trembling as they trace the warm skin, the stubble, the familiar birthmark he’d memorized with his eyes long before he ever dreamed of touching it.
Buck’s fingers cradle the back of Eddie’s neck, possessive and gentle all at once.
The microphones clatter to the floor, but neither of them flinch. They don’t even hear it.
The only sounds are their uneven breaths and the soft, almost desperate noises that escape between kisses. Their hands roam —Eddie’s thumb brushes Buck’s cheekbone, Buck’s fingers curl into Eddie’s shirt, pulling him closer until their chests meet, rising and falling in perfect sync.
Time stops —until a loud horn blares, announcing their reservation has ended.
They freeze, foreheads pressed together, both laughing softly, like they’ve been caught doing something sacred.
Eddie’s thumb traces Buck’s cheek, his birthmark, then lingers over his lips as if committing them to memory. Buck exhales shakily, his hands settling on Eddie’s waist, fingers gripping like he never wants to let go.
“I think they set us up,” Buck whispers, voice breathy but amused, and he presses a soft kiss to Eddie’s cheek, then another near the corner of his mouth.
Eddie huffs a quiet laugh, his smile wide and full of disbelief.
“Did you realize it only now?” he murmurs, gently rubbing Buck’s lower lip with his thumb.
Buck shrugs, smirking.
“I did. I just… didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to scare you away.”
Eddie leans his head back a little, exposing his neck. It’s an invitation Buck can’t resist. He presses a kiss to the warm skin there, earning a sharp, soft gasp from Eddie.
“God, Buck,” Eddie breathes out, one hand slipping up to tangle in Buck’s hair. “I can’t believe we both did the same thing.”
They dissolve into gentle laughter, like the world is suddenly too light to hold anything heavy.
Another kiss, slow and lingering.
Buck’s fingertips trail up Eddie’s arm until their hands find each other again, fingers lacing together naturally —as if they were always meant to.
Eddie tilts his head, eyes soft and hopeful.
“Shall we finish karaoke at my place?”
Buck doesn’t trust his voice. He just nods, slow and sure, eyes shining, lips still tingling. Eddie squeezes his hand once before guiding him toward the exit, their fingers intertwined like a promise neither of them plan to break.
The next morning arrives far too quickly, wrapped in the soft gray light of dawn. Eddie pulls into the station parking lot, truck engine humming quietly as Buck sits beside him, breath warm against Eddie’s cheek when he leans forward to press a slow, lingering goodbye kiss to his lips. It isn’t rushed. It isn’t shy. It’s gentle, deliberate —a promise that last night was real, that it wasn’t just alcohol and dim lights and karaoke smoke making them brave.
Eddie’s hand cups Buck’s jaw for a second longer than necessary, thumb brushing over that familiar birthmark like he’s tracing something sacred. Buck leans into the touch, smiling against Eddie’s mouth before he pulls away.
“See you tonight?” Buck whispers, their breaths mingle one last time. His voice holds a note of hope, like he’s terrified of hearing a different answer.
Eddie smiles, soft and sure.
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Buck’s chest feels full —too full— as he grabs his bag and opens the door. Cold morning air rushes in, but he barely notices it. His lips are still tingling. His heart is still racing.
He swings his legs out of the truck, and as he lands on the pavement, out of the corner of his eye he sees two familiar silhouettes near the entrance: Hen and Chimney. They’re whispering something, watching him like two kids who know they’re about to get caught. When they see Buck heading straight toward them with that determined set to his jaw, their eyes widen comically.
“Shit—go, go, go!” Chim hisses, bumping fists with Hen as if sealing a pact, before they both turn and make a run for the station doors.
Buck rolls his eyes and raises his voice.
“Don’t run away, cowards!”
Eddie’s laughter bursts from inside the truck —bright, warm, crackling with amusement— and it carries across the parking lot. Buck doesn’t turn around to look, but he feels it, like sunlight on the back of his neck. God, that laugh.
Hen glances back once, face split into a guilty grin.
“We did our job, we’re done here!” she calls before sprinting up the steps.
“You’re welcome for your love life!’ Chim shouts over his shoulder, nearly tripping over his own feet as he races inside.
Buck stops at the bottom of the stairs, hands on his hips, pretending to look furious but unable to hide the smile tugging at his lips.
“Unbelievable! You two are dead later!”
From the truck, Eddie calls out through the open window, still chuckling.
“Be nice, Buck!”
Buck glances back at him then, and for a moment, time slows. Eddie’s eyebrows are raised in amusement, his cheeks slightly flushed, his lips red from kissing —his smile so easy and soft that Buck has to physically hold onto the railing to keep from turning around and climbing back into the truck and kissing him again.
How the hell did I get this lucky? Buck thinks, watching Eddie.
How am I supposed to stop staring at him? Eddie wonders at the same time, fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel, trying to memorize the sight of Buck in the morning light —hair mussed, lips kiss-bitten, happiness carved into every line of his face.
One way or another, Buck thinks as he finally turns and walks into the station, he has to thank them for setting him up —Hen, Chim, even Maddie in a way. Maybe not with words. Maybe with coffee. Or babysitting. Or —hell— paying for karaoke next time.
Inside the truck, Eddie’s smile lingers even after Buck disappears into the station. His fingertips absentmindedly brush over his own lips, still tingling from the goodbye kiss.
He knows he should drive away, start his day, pick up Christopher from Abuela’s… but he sits there for a minute longer, replaying the way Buck whispered “See you tonight?” like it was the most important question in the world.
And Eddie had meant it.
He’d meant every bit of it.
Tonight can’t come fast enough.