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Buck wanted, more than anything, for his new place to feel like home.
The loft had been home once. His first real place in LA — a place he could finally set down roots. It wasn’t shared with friends or haunted by an ex-girlfriend’s ghost. It was his. The place he came back to after every shift, walls that saw him through good and bad, through the pain of a crushed leg and the aftermath of a lightning strike.
And in a way, Eddie’s house was home too. Even before he officially moved in, Eddie’s was always where he felt welcome, where “guest” stopped being the right word after the first few times. The endless movie nights, the kitchen conversations that stretched past midnight, crashing on Eddie’s couch like it was his own bed.
Buck missed that feeling —the warmth, the comfort, the belonging.
Right now, this new place just felt like a house he was renting. New. Empty. Unfamiliar.
So, Buck decided he needed new memories. He needed these walls to have something to talk about, too, if they could.
The problem was, he’d already been here a couple of months. Life had been hectic —the changes at the firehouse, Eddie and Christopher finally coming back, baby Bobby’s arrival. Somewhere in all that, he’d never gotten around to throwing a proper housewarming. Now it felt too late. So he waited for an excuse. A birthday, a celebration, something. But milestones had been few and far between lately.
Lucky for him, Taylor Swift came to the rescue.
Buck’s taste in music was always a little all over the place, but he’d never been shy about being a full-fledged Swiftie. Sure, he’d known the hits for years, but 1989 was when he really became a fan. Taylor’s music had soundtracked his life more times than he could count —heartbreak, recovery, the quiet late-night drives home from a call.
So when The Life of a Showgirl was announced, he thought, perfect. Taylor was at the height of her popularity, and throwing a listening party felt like the perfect excuse to finally have everyone over.
He’d sent out invites weeks in advance, followed by casual (but definitely intentional) reminders in the 118 Friends & Family group chat, making sure no one could claim they “forgot.”
In the days leading up to the release, Buck went all out. He spent an entire afternoon at the craft store debating between orange streamers or confetti before deciding on both. He dug out his old fairy lights from storage and strung them across the living room ceiling, stepping back every few minutes to check the balance and symmetry like it was a rescue scene.
Then came the baking. He tested recipes all week, leaving behind a trail of flour-dusted countertops and slightly burnt test batches. By the night before the party, the kitchen smelled like vanilla, cinnamon, and a hint of something citrusy he couldn’t quite name.
Standing in the middle of his decorated living room, Buck took it all in; the twinkling lights, the playlist quietly humming in the background, the table full of neatly labelled snacks. For the first time since he moved in, the place didn’t feel like a stranger’s house anymore.
It felt like it was waiting for life to happen.
And Buck couldn’t wait.
[…]
When the next day rolls around, all his plans fall through.
The firehouse was understaffed, and Chimney couldn’t get out of work. Maddie was home looking after a sick Jee. Hen and Karen had to step in and host a sleepover for Mara and her friends after the original host’s bathroom flooded. (“It’s the girl’s birthday, Buck — how were we supposed to say no?”)
Athena never planned to come in the first place, May was buried in uni assignments, and Harry decided to hit a different listening party since everyone else was flaking. Eddie and Ravi hadn’t said anything yet, but by then, Buck had already given up.
He sent a quick message to the group chat saying “No worries, maybe next time!”, like it wasn’t a big deal, like his living room wasn’t filled with orange balloons and homemade decorations that suddenly looked too bright, too hopeful.
Honestly, he should have known better. Everyone was busy with their own lives, their own families. Buck was no one’s priority.
He sat on the couch, eating his own disappointment one cupcake at a time —orange frosting staining his fingers, the taste too sweet, too much. The album had dropped last night, but he hadn’t listened yet. He’d seen people online saying it was happy, upbeat and full of love songs. Buck didn’t feel like any of that right now.
He was halfway through his third cupcake when a knock at the door startled him.
He frowned, brushing crumbs from his jeans, and called out, “Coming!”
When he opened the door, Eddie was standing there —a little out of breath, a six-pack in one hand and that familiar half-smile tugging at his mouth.
“Eddie,” Buck said, frowning in confusion. “Didn’t you check the group chat? We cancelled the party.”
“Yeah, I know.” Eddie shrugged, casual but not quite. “Chris has a sleepover anyway, and I know you’ve been excited for this, so…” He lifted the beer slightly, as if to prove a point. “Thought I’d come anyway.”
For a second, Buck didn’t say anything. Just looked at him.
The hurt he’d been trying to swallow down shifted into something else — something warm, soft, unexpected.
Then he smiled, small but genuine. “Yeah. Okay. Come in.”
Eddie walks in, glancing around at the decorations like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to laugh or compliment them. “Orange balloons, huh?”
Buck followed his gaze, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s kind of the colour scheme for The Life of a Showgirl. I figured orange was, you know… festive.”
“Festive,” Eddie repeated, fighting a smile. He nodded toward the table. “You make all this too?”
“Yep. Cupcakes, popcorn mix, the whole deal. There were supposed to be, you know… people.”
Eddie looked over, eyes soft. “Their loss.”
Buck felt his ears warm. He busied himself with the music instead, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up just enough to fill the space between them.
“Alright,” he said, forcing a grin. “You ready? We’re doing this right — full album, no skips.”
Eddie opens a beer and settles onto the couch, spreading out like he’d been there a hundred times before. “Lead the way, Swiftie.”
[….]
Buck had worried for a second, but by the third track, the awkwardness had mostly faded. They’d fallen into the old rhythm —teasing comments between songs, arguing over lyrics, Buck gesturing dramatically when a bridge hit.
Eddie rolled his eyes every time but didn’t stop smiling. Every now and then, Buck caught him watching —not judging, just… watching. Like he was memorizing something.
It just made him realize how much he actually missed this. Them. Buck and Eddie. Things had been weird, lately. Distant. Buck was so glad to have Eddie and Christopher back in LA, but he couldn’t help but shake the feeling something had changed in Eddie whilst he was away.
Buck was lost in his own thoughts when “Father Figure” started, but the chorus brought him back to reality, specially as Eddie chokes on his beer.
“I’m sorry, did she say because my dick’s bigger?” He asked incredulously.
Buck barked out a laugh. “I mean, if you think about it, her dick really is bigger than a lot of the guys in the music industry.”
Eddie leaned back, a slow grin spreading. “Damn. Go Taylor.”
“She’s been through a lot,” Buck said, voice softer now. “She gets to brag.”
Eddie smirked, eyes already sparkling with the joke he was about to make. “Dare I say she’s in her firehose era?”
Buck’s face flushed bright red. “How do you know—”
“Hen’s told me some stories recently,” Eddie said, voice low and conspiratorial.
“God, can we please not,” Buck begged, burying his face in his hands. “We’ve already established—I was going through a phase, okay?”
Eddie laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, you were going through something, alright.”
Buck peeked through his fingers, holding up a finger like a peace sign. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen to the song, please.”
Eddie grinned but settled down, raising his beer in mock surrender.
Next came Eldest Daughter, the slow piano notes filling the room with a softer, more intimate energy.
“This should be a good one,” Buck said, settling back on the couch. “Track fives are normally her vulnerable songs. Like ‘All Too Well.’”
“Sure, Buck,” Eddie teased, but he wasn’t dismissive — just skeptical.
They sat quietly through the song, but Buck couldn’t keep the frown off his face. The lyrics didn’t sit right, and the melody felt off. He glanced at Eddie, who wore a confused expression.
When the song ended, Eddie pursed his lips. “Uh, that was… something.”
“Yeah, uh—”
“The bridge was nice?” Eddie offered hopefully.
Buck cringed, shaking his head. “That was pretty bad. And I say that as a longtime Swiftie.”
“As long as you’re the one saying it, not me.”
Buck smiled awkwardly, pushing his hair back. “I guess she can’t win it all. Maybe I’ll send it to Maddie later and ask for her opinion.”
Eddie shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “What’s next?”
When “Ruin the Friendship” started, Buck didn’t think much of it. It had a nice beat, almost nostalgic.
“I think it’s about high school?” Buck frowns.
“Isn’t she older than us?” Eddie asks. “And still singing about high school?”
Buck shrugs. “I do know she’s re recorded her debut album recently, maybe it got her feeling nostalgic?”
And it was not an invitation
Should've kissed you anyway
Buck’s breath caught in his throat as the lyrics unfolded, each word striking deeper than he expected. He set his beer down, his heart hammering erratically in his chest, the room suddenly too small, too quiet.
He risked a glance at Eddie, who sat staring at the floor, the beer bottle spinning slowly in his hand. Eddie’s jaw was tight, expression unreadable—but Buck could feel the tension vibrating between them like a live wire.
The song filled the silence neither of them dared to break, and with every note, Buck felt the weight of everything unspoken pressing down harder.
It was not convenient, no
But I whispered at the grave
Should’ve kissed you anyway
A shiver ran down Buck’s spine as the tempo slowed, and his mouth fell open in a silent gasp. The words weren’t just lyrics—they were a confession he hadn’t dared to voice, hanging raw and fragile in the air.
My advice is always ruin the friendship
Better that than regret it for all time
Should’ve kissed you anyway
Buck’s ears rang with the song, the pounding in his chest drowning out everything else. Fuck. This was the worst song to listen to sitting next to the best friend he might be in love with.
His fingers twitched, the urge to reach out to Eddie nearly overwhelming—but so was the fear. Fear of what saying anything might change, or what staying silent might mean.
When the song finally ended, Eddie exhaled—a soft, quiet sound, almost a surrender.
“That one’s… something,” Eddie said, voice low and raw.
“Yeah.” Buck’s voice came out rough, barely more than a whisper. “Yeah, it is.”
The next song began—bright and cheerful, but Buck felt none of its light. The air between them remained heavy, thick with words neither dared speak.
They didn’t really talk much after that.
[…]
Something had shifted since the night of the listening party. Buck couldn’t name it, but he felt it in the pauses. Eddie still texted, still joked, still showed up for work—just with a carefulness that hadn’t been there before.
Buck told himself it was fine. He hadn’t tried to close the gap either. Whatever had passed between them that night—the long silences, the song—it was easier to ignore than face.
On calls, they still worked like clockwork, in sync as always. The unspoken understanding carried them through every move. That hadn’t changed. But in the quiet moments—between calls, over coffee, in the rig—it was like a new wall had quietly gone up.
That morning, Buck found himself at the Han’s place before his shift, pacing as he waited for Maddie to answer the door. He needed to get it out—needed someone to hear it, someone who wouldn’t judge.
“You were right,” Buck said, barging in without waiting for an invitation.
Maddie’s eyebrows shot up as she watched her brother. “I normally am. But care to elaborate?”
Buck ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the words. “I’m in love with Eddie. I think I’ve been in love with him for a while now.”
The words hung heavy in the air, and Maddie sighed. “Let me get us some coffee.”
Once they were settled at the kitchen table, mugs of fresh coffee in front of them, Maddie prompted, “Now, tell me what happened.”
“So, Eddie came over last week, to the listening party, even though everyone bailed.” Buck started, and Maddie opened her mouth to argue.
“Yes, I know, Jee was sick, no one’s fault, but that’s not my point.” He waved it off. “It should’ve been fun. But then there’s this stupid song, called ‘Ruin the Friendship,’ and it hit differently. It was awkward, Maddie. I had to sit there and realized that, yeah, maybe I am in love with Eddie—and that’s why it was so fucking awkward.”
“Evan…” Maddie tried.
“But he felt it too,” Buck pressed on. “He looked just as awkward as I did. So he must have felt something, right? If he didn’t, it wouldn’t have been so heavy between us.”
Maddie nodded, setting her mug down and leaning forward. “Sounds like there’s a lot tangled up between you two. I think there’s been a lot for a few years now.”
Buck sighed, the weight pressing down on him. “I don’t know how to untangle it without risking everything.”
Maddie reached out and squeezed his arm gently. “Sometimes the biggest risks lead to the biggest rewards. You don’t get to find out if you don’t try.”
Buck shook his head, worry creasing his brow. “What if I say something, and it ruins what we already have?”
Maddie locked eyes with him. “Then you take a breath and trust that what you have is strong enough to survive honesty. Eddie’s been carrying his own weight, too. Maybe he’s just waiting for you to make the first move.”
Buck swallowed hard, heart pounding. “I’m scared.”
“Good.” Maddie smiled, warm and fierce. “That means it matters. Now, go tell him. Ruin the friendship, or whatever it is Taylor said.”
Buck nodded, feeling the knot in his chest loosen just a little. “Wait, so you haven’t listened to the album yet?”
“I have a sick kid and a baby, Evan. I barely have time to breathe.” She deadpanned.
“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough,” Buck chucked. “Guess I’ll have to keep trying to turn you into a Swiftie another day.”
Maddie smirked. “Good luck with that.”
[…]
Hen caught Buck as he was grabbing his gear once he made it to the firehouse, which honestly felt like a godsend. He’d been pacing himself tight in the back of his mind, nerves jangling every time he thought about being alone with Eddie. There was still so much left unsaid—so many words tangled in his throat—and Buck wasn’t sure how to start, or even if he should at all.
“Hey, Buck. Sorry for missing the party again,” Hen said gently, stepping up beside him, eyes soft with real regret. “Maybe we could do it this week? I’d really like to see the new place.”
Buck shook his head, waving the thought away. “It’s okay, Hen. Actually, Eddie came by. We listened to the album.”
Hen’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Eddie came? I thought he wasn’t going to.”
Buck smiled, a little tired but genuine. “Yeah. He did. And, well… he actually said he really enjoyed it.”
Eddie, who’d been standing just a few feet away, scoffed loudly. “I did not enjoy that album.”
Buck grinned, nudging Eddie with his shoulder. “Sure you didn’t.”
“I did not,” Eddie insisted, crossing his arms, voice mock serious. “It was pretty average. You owe me a beer for making me sit through the whole thing.”
Buck chuckled, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, I’ll give you that. It’s not her best work, so beer it is. But only if we listen to Folklore next. I think you’d really like it. Might be just what you need to convert.”
Eddie rolled his eyes but the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Whatever, man. You’re yet to turn me into a Swiftie.”
Buck winked. “Not for lack of trying.”
Hen laughed softly, shaking her head. “You two never change.”
Buck was about to shoot back when the call came in, slicing through the easy moment.
“Gas explosion reported in the old warehouse district,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled over the radio. “Smoke visible on approach.”
Within minutes, the 118 pulled up to the scene. Thick smoke billowed from the aged brick building, the sharp scent of chemicals biting the air.
They split into teams to search the upper floors, tension high as they moved with practiced urgency.
“Second floor’s clear,” Eddie called over the radio.
“Copy that,” Buck answered, sweeping his light over cracked walls. “Moving to the west side—looks unstable, so watch your footing.”
Eddie’s voice came back, steady. “You too, Buck.”
It should have been routine. Almost was. Then the floor gave a low groan beneath them, like an animal in pain.
“Buck—” Eddie started, but the warning came too late. The boards gave out.
The drop was only seconds, but it felt endless—noise and light and dust swallowing them whole. Buck hit hard, breath knocked out of him. Metal clanged nearby, and for a second he couldn’t tell which sounds were outside and which were inside his own head.
He was pretty sure he lost consciousness for a moment, but when he came to, he tried to move—something heavy pinned him across chest and leg. Pain flared sharp and bright. His radio crackled with static and Eddie’s voice, rough with strain.
“Buck! Talk to me—where are you hit?”
Buck coughed, tasting dust. “I’m here. Just—pinned. You?”
“Arm’s—” Eddie cut himself off with a hiss, “—pretty sure it’s broken. Don’t move, okay? They’re bringing a team in.”
Buck could hear the creak of the structure above, slow settling of debris. He tried to stay still, breathing shallowly. The air smelled like concrete and gas and coppery blood.
Somewhere through the haze, Eddie kept talking, keeping him anchored.
“You’re fine. We’re fine. You just hang in there, Buck.”
Buck wanted to believe it. But edges of his vision blurred; weight pressing harder with every breath.
He shut his eyes, focused on Eddie’s voice—steady, familiar, close even when out of reach.
The air was thick enough to taste. Every breath scraped raw. Buck tried to shift again, but debris wouldn’t budge—each movement made metal groan in warning.
“Don’t, Buck,” Eddie said somewhere to his right. His voice echoed oddly in the half-collapsed space. “Just stay still. You move, the rest of this place comes down.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Buck rasped, but the joke came out weak.
A pause crackled through the radio, then Chimney’s voice, steady and calm.
“We’ve got eyes on you both. Engineers are shoring up the north side. Sit tight.”
“Copy,” Eddie answered. He shifted, hissing in pain. Buck forced his eyes open. Through dust, he could just make out Eddie a few feet away, left arm cradled tight, helmet light cutting gloom.
“You okay?” Buck asked.
“I’m fine.” Eddie gave a short laugh that didn’t sound fine. “You’re doing all the heavy lifting.”
“Funny.” Buck coughed, ending in a gasp. Weight pressed harder on ribs. “Eds… I can’t—”
“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s tone dropped, steady. “Look at me. Slow breaths. You’re gonna be alright. They’re almost here.”
Buck tried. Focused on Eddie’s voice—the rhythm, low and certain, something to hold on to while the world narrowed to dust and pain.
Minutes dragged. Noises above blurred into steady hum: tools clanking, shouted orders, saws whining. Buck drifted in and out; edges of the room turned soft and far away.
“Buck,” Eddie said sharply. “Stay with me, man.”
“M’with you,” Buck mumbled. Mouth dry, tongue heavy.
“That’s right.” Eddie’s voice was hoarse but kept talking—anything to keep him awake. “You still owe me a beer. And those cupcakes. The orange ones, yeah?”
Buck managed a faint smile. “Can’t believe you ate three.”
“Four,” Eddie corrected.
That earned a weak laugh, and for a second, tension eased.
Then something above shifted again. Dust rained down. Eddie swore under breath.
Chimney’s voice cut in through radio:
“Hold position—we’re coming through south wall. Less than two minutes.”
Two minutes. Both impossible and too far.
Buck’s vision dipped; darkness pressed in edges. Grip on consciousness slipping.
“Eddie?”
“I’m here.”
Buck didn’t realize what was happening during the lightning strike. Too fast—one second staring at sky, next crashing into darkness, waking in sterile hospital bed.
But this time was different. He could feel it all now. Slow, creeping exhaustion draining him. Dull ache deep in abdomen, heavy pressure making every breath harder. Fingers tingled, vision blurred at edges, cold seeping into bones like ice.
He knew. Could feel it in chest—a quiet warning. Bleeding internally, and it was bad.
Eddie was a medic—he’d know. Exactly how bad.
“There’s…” he rasped, voice barely a whisper. “There’s—there’s something I need to say.”
Eddie’s eyes locked onto him, dark and frantic. Broken arm trembling as he reached out, voice sharp. “Don’t. Don’t say it. Not now.”
Buck’s chest tightened. Part of him knew Eddie was trying to protect them both—to keep pain at bay—but words clawed at his throat. He swallowed hard, eyes searching Eddie’s for something, anything.
“I can’t—” Buck started again, but Eddie cut him off.
“Buck, listen to me. You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna get out of here. We’re gonna get out of here, and then you can tell me whatever you want. Just hold on.”
Buck swallowed past the pain, tried to push words through tightening knot in throat. Wanted to say it all—the things locked away for years, tangled in silence and fear.
But Eddie’s desperation filled the room between them, his refusal a shield against truth they both dreaded.
“Eddie, I don’t—” Buck tried, voice caught in throat. Bitter cough brought blood to lips, staining them dark. “I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”
“Bullshit, Buck.” Eddie’s voice cracked but stayed fierce. “You’ve survived worse. You’re going to be fine.”
Buck’s breath hitched. “Tell Chris I love him, ‘kay? I know I haven’t been around much since you moved back, but he’s a great kid, and I love him—”
“You tell him, Buck. We’re not doing this. You’re going to be fine.”
He could hear desperation, raw and trembling, beneath Eddie’s words. Eddie was holding himself together by sheer will.
“Tell Chimney to look after Maddie and the kids. Tell—tell Maddie—“
“Buck, stop. Please.” Eddie’s voice broke, pleading. “I’m not telling anyone anything because we’re getting out of here.”
“’M sorry,” Buck found himself saying. “‘M sorry you’re the one ‘ere. It shouldn’t be you. ‘M sorry to have to—have to watch me ‘ie.”
“Don’t say that,” Eddie begged, and fuck—Buck realized he was crying. “No one is dying, you hear me?”
Buck nodded weakly, willing himself to believe Eddie, clinging to that fierce hope even as darkness crept closer.
There was still one thing left unsaid—the words he wanted to say most—but they got swallowed by the shadows.
And the last thing Buck thought, as the cold pulled him under, was that maybe he should have kissed Eddie anyway.
[…]
Turns out Buck was better at cheating death than he ever thought possible.
He really thought that was it—felt the darkness closing in, the cold pulling him under—but somehow, against all odds, his eyes fluttered open. Harsh fluorescent lights stabbed at his vision, and the steady beep of machines filled the quiet room. The sharp antiseptic scent cut through the air, each breath shallow and tight in his aching chest.
Pain throbbed beneath the surface, dull but relentless. His body felt heavy, every limb weighted by bruises and broken bones. Yet despite it all, he was alive.
With effort, he turned his head, blinking against the brightness. There was Eddie—his arm encased in a bulky cast, his usual easy confidence replaced by raw relief. Without hesitation, Eddie’s hand reached out, gently brushing a damp strand of hair from Buck’s forehead, as if afraid to break something fragile.
“Hey,” Eddie’s voice was rough, low, like he’d been holding it in for days. “You’re awake.”
Buck’s throat was dry and raw; words caught in his chest like a weight he couldn’t push past. Was this real? Was he really here, safe, alive, with Eddie?
“I’m gonna call the nurse, okay? I’ll be right back.”
“Eddie—”
Without a word, Eddie leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Buck’s forehead. Soft and sure, the gesture left Buck blinking, heart suddenly pounding in his ribs, every nerve prickling with a mix of confusion and something tender.
“I’ll be right back,” Eddie promised.
Eddie slipped quietly out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. Minutes later, he returned with a nurse—a calm woman with kind eyes and a steady voice. She checked Buck’s vitals, adjusted the monitors, and asked gentle questions about pain and comfort. Buck’s throat was too dry to answer much, even after drinking some water, but the nurse’s presence was grounding, her quiet confidence a tether to this fragile new reality.
When the nurse left, Eddie stayed by Buck’s side, settling back into the chair with a tired, relieved smile.
“How long have I been out?” Buck finally asked, voice rough.
“A couple of days,” Eddie said. “We’ve been taking turns so you’re never alone. Maddie left not long ago, but she’s on her way back now—with everyone.”
“Is she— is everyone okay?”
Eddie’s voice caught, trailing off. “You scared the hell out of us, Buck. Two broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a concussion. You lost a lot of blood. They weren’t sure you were gonna make it.”
Buck felt the air leave his lungs. His stomach dropped, cold and hollow.
“Eddie, I’m sorry.”
Eddie reached out with his good arm, his hand finding Buck’s, holding it gently but with a quiet strength. His eyes searched Buck’s—steady and soft, fierce with something unsaid.
“Tell me,” Eddie urged, his voice firm but gentle.
“What?”
“You wanted to tell me something back at the warehouse. Tell me now.”
Buck swallowed hard, heart hammering against ribs that still ached. The words he’d locked away, the truth he’d buried in silence, rose like a tide ready to break free.
“Eddie…”
“Evan,” Eddie’s voice cracked, raw with emotion. Buck shivered at the sound of his name. “Tell me.”
Buck gave in, voice barely more than a breath.
“I love you.”
The words barely left his mouth before Eddie leaned in, pressing his lips to Buck’s in a kiss that was desperate and sure, a lifeline thrown across years of unspoken feelings.
The confession washed over Buck like a sudden rush of heat flooding a cold room. His throat tightened, eyes fluttered closed as waves of relief, hope, and something terrifyingly beautiful crashed through him.
“I love you, too,” Eddie whispered against his lips, voice raw but certain.
Buck laughed—a broken, shaky sound that bloomed into something warm and wild inside his chest.
“I love you,” he repeated, because now the words felt too big to say just once. “Eddie, god, I’ve loved you for so long, you have no idea—”
Eddie cut him off with a small, amused grin. “I think I might have some idea,” he said softly. “But you are never scaring me like that again. No whispering at graves, got it?”
Buck smiled weakly, the tight knot in his chest loosening for the first time in days. “Did you just quote Taylor Swift?”
Eddie groaned, shaking his head, though the smile stayed. “God, please shut up.”
Buck’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Make me.”
Without hesitation, Eddie leaned in again, his grin widening.
And this time, he definitely made him.