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The station looked like someone had shaken a snow globe full of firefighters and then forgotten to put it down. Noise, movement, bags, gear, and the unmistakable scent of exhaustion filled every corner.
The bus provided by the LAFD sat outside with its door wide open, as if it too were bracing itself for whatever curse had been placed upon this so-called mental health retreat. The luggage racks were overflowing —helmets, duffels, blankets, a suspicious amount of protein bars— and a few stray foam rollers that no one admitted bringing.
After almost a year of watching other stations return from those retreats looking suspiciously relaxed and confusingly zen, it was finally the 118’s turn.
For one weekend, the station was shutting down completely, and every single firefighter was being shipped eight hours away —deep in the mountains where cellphone signal went to die—, to a remote center filled with activities, guided discussions, and —based on rumors— an uncomfortable number of beanbag chairs. It was meant to be healing, a chance to unpack the trauma that came with the job: the fires that haunted dreams, the lives saved and lost, the weight of helmets that sometimes felt heavier than the world itself.
The air hung heavy with the scent of sweat-soaked uniforms mixed with the comforting aroma of Bobby's last-minute pancakes —fluffy golden stacks dripping with syrup, because apparently, no one in the 118 was allowed to face an eight-hour bus ride on an empty stomach.
Laughter echoed off the walls, mixed with the thud of boots and the occasional frustrated grunt as someone rummaged through a locker for that one missing item.
Outside, the moon hung bright over the station, glowing like it had opinions about the whole ordeal. With all the noise —voices calling out, bags thumping, someone yelling about a missing charger— no one would guess it was ten at night.
The bus was scheduled to leave in five minutes.
And, shockingly to absolutely no one alive, Buck still hadn’t arrived.
Eddie stood at the station's entrance, his backpack slung casually over one shoulder, arms crossed as he scanned the empty parking lot. The moon cast a silvery glow over the asphalt, making everything feel a little too dramatic for a simple bus trip.
He kept glancing at his phone, counting down from the moment Buck had texted that he was five minutes out.
That had been ten… no, eleven minutes ago.
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. This was classic Buck: perpetually five minutes away, no matter the actual distance.
But beneath the amusement, a tight knot twisted in Eddie's chest.
It wasn't anger —not even close. It was this gnawing dread, the kind that snuck up on him during quiet moments.
An eight-hour bus ride filled with awkward icebreakers and forced discussions about "emotional resilience"? Without Buck there to make it bearable? Unthinkable.
He pictured it: sitting alone, listening to strangers bare their souls, while Buck's absence echoed like a missing limb.
No, he needed Buck beside him —making those ridiculous faces during the vulnerability talks, whispering snarky comments that would earn them both a stern look from Bobby, or just... being there, turning the ordeal into something almost fun.
If he was going to lose his mind during a weekend of forced emotional openness, he wanted to lose it with Buck beside him.
Because yeah, Eddie wanted Buck there. Always.
And yeah, he knew exactly why that want ran so deep, like roots tangled around his heart.
But thinking about it too hard right now? Not an option. Not with the bus leaving in five minutes and the team already starting to board.
"Alright, everyone, let's start loading up. We've got a long night ahead." Bobby's voice cut through the noise, calm and authoritative.
Eddie felt a wave of what could only be called despair crash over him. Dramatic? Absolutely. But after everything —the job, the losses, the quiet battles— he figured he'd earned a little melodrama.
As if summoned by pure Eddie Díaz frustration, Buck came sprinting across the parking lot like a man chased by destiny, poor life choices, or both.
He looked every bit the chaotic hero he was: black joggers hugging his legs, a white T-shirt clinging slightly from the run, white sneakers pounding the pavement, and his black jacket half-zipped, one sleeve rebelliously rolled up as if it'd put up a fight during his dash.
His duffel bag bounced against his side, zipper half-open with a dark hoodie spilling out like it was trying to escape.
But what really caught Eddie's eye was the absolute disaster in Buck's hands —a snarled knot of wired earbuds.
Eddie arched an eyebrow, because honestly, he didn’t even need Buck to explain. This was classic Buck: sprinting toward responsibilities with chaos in his hands.
Buck skidded to a halt beside him, chest heaving, his curly hair windswept and sticking up in all directions, giving him that irresistible golden retriever vibe that always made Eddie's heart do a stupid little flip.
"Sorry, sorry," Buck panted, bending over slightly to catch his breath, one hand on his knee. "Traffic was —okay, no, that's a lie. I couldn't find my keys. They were in the fridge. Don't ask."
Eddie chuckled, low and warm, the sound easing the knot in his chest.
"Fridge? Really, Buck? What, were they chilling with the milk?"
Buck straightened up, flashing that boyish grin that lit up his whole face, even in the dim moonlight.
"Hey, it made sense at the time! I was packing snacks and... yeah, okay, it didn't make sense. But I'm here now!"
Eddie's gaze dropped to the earbud catastrophe.
“And what's the story with those? Did your AirPods finally rebel and run away?” he asked, curiosity winning over amusement. Then he smirked. “Or did you become like me and decide to run away from wireless technology?”
Buck groaned, dramatic as ever, his head tipping forward in mock defeat before he lifted it to meet Eddie's eyes with a pout that included those big, tragic blue eyes —eyes that could probably convince a judge to drop charges.
“Jee-Yun decided they were bath toys yesterday. Flushed 'em right down the toilet,” he muttered.
Eddie burst out laughing, the kind that bubbled up from deep in his gut, warm and unstoppable. Of course Jee-Yun had. The kid was a tiny tornado of mischief, and Buck —adorable, overindulgent uncle Buck— probably hadn't even reprimand her.
"You let a toddler near your fancy earbuds? Bold move, Buckley. Real bold."
Buck jabbed him lightly in the arm, but there was no heat behind it —just playful exasperation.
"Don't laugh! You try saying no to those big eyes.” Buck complained, and Eddie grimaced because it was true, Jee and Chris had the same expression when they wanted something, and Eddie also found it difficult to say no to them. “And then I had to dig through my closet for these relics. I swear, there was a gremlin in there guarding them. Fought tooth and nail —well, mostly dust bunnies, but same difference."
Eddie shook his head, still grinning as he nudged Buck with his shoulder, steering him toward the bus.
"Come on, before Bobby leaves without us and we have to hitchhike to Zen Mountain or whatever it's called."
As they walked the short distance, Buck focused intently on untangling the wires, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth in concentration —like a kid tackling a particularly stubborn puzzle.
He made these little frustrated huffs, muttering under his breath about "stupid ancient tech," and Eddie couldn't help but watch him, that familiar warmth blooming in his chest. It was heavy, undeniable, the kind of feeling that snuck up on him and then refused to leave.
God, he was so in love with this man. This big, chaotic, beautiful kid who turned even the simplest things —like a mandatory mental health retreat— something he actually wanted to survive.
They boarded the bus, shuffling down the narrow aisle amid the team's chatter. Hen and Chim were already in the seats behind theirs, bickering good-naturedly about legroom.
"Chim, if you manspread any more, I'm gonna need a new zip code," Hen teased, while Chim shot back, "Hey, these legs need space to breathe!"
Bobby and Ravi sat in front, Bobby scrolling through his phone with a content smile, Ravi quietly distributing granola bars like some kind of wellness fairy.
"Here, Cap —oatmeal raisin, your favorite," Ravi said softly, earning a pat on the back from Bobby.
Buck claimed the window seat with a triumphant "Dibs!" as if it were prime real estate, and Eddie settled into the aisle spot, their shoulders brushing in the cramped space.
They twisted around to join the group's pre-departure negotiations, Chim trying to negotiate snack trades, Hen telling him absolutely not, Ravi sneaking everyone extra snacks, and Bobby reminding everyone that there is no need to panic because yes, he did bring extra pancakes.
The bus lurched forward with a groan, and a collective sigh rippled through the team —like they were all resigning themselves to the inevitable awkwardness ahead.
The retreat was officially underway, for better or worse.
Eddie leaned back, thinking maybe —just maybe— they'd get a peaceful ride after all, when Buck's hands fumbled and the left earpiece shot out like a rogue missile, landing in his lap.
"Damn it," Buck muttered, fumbling to grab it.
Eddie let out a heavy sigh —not annoyed, no.
The kind that hides something warm, something soft-edged and affectionate, something he refuses to name.
Without a word, he offers Buck one of his own earbuds, holding it between his fingers like a peace offering.
“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling his shoulder in so they fit better in the cramped seat. “Can't have you suffering through eight hours of silence. Or worse, Chim's snoring.”
Buck froze for a beat, his eyes widening slightly as if the simple gesture had caught him off guard—hit him right in that vulnerable spot he tried so hard to protect. Then he broke into a small, sheepish smile, the kind that crinkled his eyes and made Eddie's heart stutter.
"Thanks, man. You're a lifesaver."
He took the earbud gently, like it was made of glass instead of a cheap pair of headphones Eddie bought because Chris took his, tucking it into his ear with a soft exhale.
They shifted to get comfortable, but the short cable and narrow seats conspired against them —or maybe for them— forcing their heads to lean together, temples brushing with an ease that felt both accidental and inevitable.
It wasn't planned. But it also totally was.
Eddie pulled out his phone, opening the music app Chris had bullied him into subscribing to —"Dad, ads are the worst. Trust me"—, then he scrolled through playlists, landing on one without overthinking it.
Soft music filled their shared space, a bubble amid the bus's hum.
Buck tilted his head closer, their hair mingling slightly.
"Is it in Spanish?" he asked, voice low and curious, like he was dipping a toe into Eddie's world.
Eddie nodded, already reaching to switch it.
“Yeah. Bother you?” Buck's hand shot out, warm fingers wrapping around Eddie's wrist to stop him.
“No, leave it.” Buck says, voice warm. “It sounds... nice. Kinda soothing, you know?”
He sighed, leaning in as if straining to understand, his breath warm against Eddie's cheek.
“"What does it say? My Spanish from Peru was basically 'do you have a boyfriend?' and 'I don’t receive body as pay'. Didn't get to the poetic stuff.”
The chorus hit just then, wrapping around them like a blanket. Eddie swallowed.
Of course this song. Of all songs.
His cheeks are warm, but he leans closer anyway, voice a murmur for Buck's ears only.
“I will love you, I will love you, like it's not allowed. I will love you, I will love you, like it's never been known. Because I've decided I will, I will love you.”
Buck's breath hitched, audible in the quiet.
He swallowed, then grinned —slow and bright, like the sun breaking through clouds.
"Whoa. That's... intense." Buck says, and Eddie feels his cheeks heating.
There was something in his eyes —a softness, a spark— that Eddie recognized all too well, something that mirrored his own unspoken fears and hopes.
“It’s really beautiful,” Buck whispered, licking his lips nervously before nestling his head more firmly against Eddie's shoulder, like it was the safest spot in the world.
The next song flowed in, and they both recognized it instantly. Buck let out a breathy laugh, his body shaking slightly against Eddie's.
"Oh man, this one? Classic."
They started singing quietly, voices blending in that imperfect, heartfelt way —Eddie soft and careful, Buck enthusiastic but off-key in spots, like he couldn't help throwing his whole self into it.
“Cause all of me loves all of you, love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections.”
Eddie sings softly, careful not to disturb anyone —even though Chim has headphones on and is somehow still managing to yell at Hen.
Eddie felt Buck shiver when his breath ghosted over his cheek, goosebumps rising on his arm. Buck tried to cover with a tiny, awkward laugh —"Tickles, dude"— but Eddie just smirked, pretending to focus on the passing lights outside. Inside, though, his heart pounded like a drum, echoing every unspoken word.
Because the scattered lights across the dark landscape aren’t fascinating.
Buck is.
Buck always is.
They kept going like that, whispering through songs —Eddie translating the Spanish ones with a patience he didn't know he had, Buck mangling the pronunciations in a way that was disastrously cute.
"Wait, say that again—'a golpe de recuerdo'? Sounds like I'm gargling marbles," Buck said, giggling softly, and Eddie had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
The bus rumbled on, the world outside fading into dark highways dotted with distant city lights. Their coworkers settled in: Chim's snores starting up like a faulty engine, Hen shushing him with a playful swat, Bobby murmuring about the retreat's schedule, Ravi doodling in a notebook.
At one point, Eddie leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing Buck's ear as he translated, his voice warm and confessional.
"You are what I love most in this world, that’s what you are… My deepest thought, that’s what you are."
Buck went still, then melted further into him, as if the words had unlocked something tight in his chest.
"Keep going," he murmured, eyes half-lidded.
"What I cherish most in this world, that’s what you are," Eddie added softly, his own throat tightening.
Buck closed his eyes, clinging to the moment like it was a lifeline. Eddie watched him, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes fanned out —beautiful, vulnerable, his.
And the bus keeps moving.
Someone —definitely Chim— let out a massive snore, followed by Hen's muttered "For the love of —breathe through your nose, man!"
The bus erupted in quiet chuckles, but Eddie and Buck remain in a tiny universe of shared breath and half–translated lyrics.
Their hands brush.
Once. Twice. A third time —too deliberate to be chance, too tentative to be bold. Neither pulled away until the chorus swelled.
“I found a love to carry more than just my secrets—”
They jerked back simultaneously, too quick, too guilty, too aware.
Eddie cleared his throat, heat flushing his neck. "Uh, intense song, huh?"
"Yeah," Buck agreed, voice a little hoarse, rubbing the back of his neck. "Totally."
But before the awkwardness could settle, a new song started —one that hit Eddie like a freight train. He made a small, pained noise, eyes squeezing shut.
Buck tensed, glancing over. "You okay? Want to skip it?"
Eddie shook his head, resting it lightly against Buck's again.
"No. It's... fine." His voice trembled as he translated, “Because you are my sun, the faith with which I live, the power of my voice, the feet with which I walk…”
Buck's hands clasped tightly in his lap, knuckles white, like he was holding himself back from reaching out.
“It’s you, my love, my desire to laugh, the goodbye I’ll never know how to say, because I could never live without you.”
Buck lifted his head slightly, searching Eddie's face as if piecing together a puzzle. Eddie kept his eyes closed, swaying with the rhythm, throat tight —he couldn't look, not yet, or everything would spill out.
The English lyrics followed, and Eddie finally opened his eyes, gazing at Buck's relaxed features.
“I swam across, I jumped across for you, oh what a thing to do…”
Tthe line hits him harder than any call ever has.
Because Eddie knows the truth.
Not everything he'd survived was just for Chris.
So much of it —the will to keep going, to fight through the darkness— was because of Buck.
Buck, who made life brighter, messier, funnier, worth the chaos.
Buck, who Eddie had been in love with for years, realizing it in fragments like this.
Without overthinking, Buck's hand slid toward his. Eddie took it —no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just quiet certainty of something that’s always belonged to him, their fingers lacing like puzzle pieces finally clicking.
He doesn't look at him. Buck doesn’t look at him. Their hands simply curl together like they were always meant to find each other there.
The next Spanish line feels like a knife wrapped in velvet.
“Friends for what? Damn it, I forgive a friend, but I love you,” Eddie translated, squeezing Buck's fingers gently, still not daring to meet his eyes.
Buck leaned in closer, practically molding to Eddie's side, his breath syncing with the music.
"Keep translating," he whispered, voice thick. "Please."
They stayed like that, song after song, until Buck's body grew heavy, his breathing evening out. Another track started, and Eddie bit back a laugh at the timing. Why is the universe so dramatic tonight?
“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling, so it goes… Some things are meant to be.”
There it was —the cosmic nudge he'd been avoiding.
He buried his face in Buck's hair, —soft, warm, smelling like shampoo Buck probably stole from his bathroom— and breathes in as he whispers the next translation, more fragile than he wants to admit.
“My favorite person has a pretty face, an angel in their smile, a heart, and I sing this little song to my favorite person…”
He turned the volume down to a whisper, glancing at Buck —drifting off now, lashes fluttering. Buck's head slipped fully onto Eddie's shoulder, and Eddie froze, not wanting to shatter the peace.
He stayed alert, guarding this moment with the same fierce protectiveness he'd always felt for Buck, only now laced with the weight of his realizations.
Buck nodded off gradually, tiny sighs escaping until he was out, trusting and serene.
Eddie exhaled softly, finally relaxing, his own body syncing with the bus's sway until he eventually falls asleep too.
Eddie stirred awake later, pulled from sleep by a warm puff of breath against his neck —not a pillow, definitely not.
His brows furrowed as fragments clicked: the bus, the hand clasped in his, the soft lyrics crooning about loving someone for a million years.
"I could hold you for a million years, to make you feel my love…"
He squeezed the hand tighter on instinct, blinking away grogginess just enough to see a mess of blond hair brushing his cheek.
Oh. Right. Buck.
Buck, asleep against him.
Buck, breathing calmly, his nose tucked into Eddie’s collar.
Buck, whose warmth is pressed along Eddie’s side like it belongs there.
The bus rolled through pre-dawn blue, quiet save for the engine's hum. Eddie stayed still, letting it sink in.
He should pull away. Create space.
But instead, he inhaled deeply, savoring Buck's warmth.
A languid note shifted in the song. Eddie lifted his free hand, brushing a stray curl from Buck's forehead with a tenderness reserved for Chris, Abuela... and now, undeniably, Buck.
Buck hummed softly in his sleep, content and vulnerable, and Eddie's smile broke through unbidden. He'd move mountains for that sound.
“I could make you happy, make your dreams come true,” Eddie murmurs along, voice still thick with sleep, leaning his head closer until their temples touch, “nothing that I wouldn't do, go to the ends of the earth for you, to make you feel my love.”
He didn't register the confession in his tone, or how his thumb stroked Buck's hand.
His body just relaxed, folding back into the warmth, and Eddie —guarded, resilient Eddie— drifted off again with the man he loved in his arms.
Dawn filtered in gradually, soft golds and grays painting the fogged windows. The world outside was hushed, mountains looming like silent guardians. Inside, the bus was mostly quiet —Chim's snores punctuating the peace, a faint rustle as someone shifted.
Eddie woke with a sharp inhale, old habits dying hard even in safety.
The first thing he sees is Buck. And Buck… hasn’t moved.
He’s still tucked into Eddie’s shoulder, face relaxed, cheek warm against his neck, lips parted as he breathes in slow, even waves.
He sleeps like someone who trusts the person holding him —without hesitation, without fear, without needing to think twice. There’s something in the way he sleeps —something innocent and brave at the same time, like he knew Eddie would catch him if he fell.
Eddie swallowed hard, heart racing. He should move. But his heart rebelled, beating louder, faster.
And then… It happens.
That song.
The one Eddie hoped would not come on while Buck was conscious.
The one that has always hit too close, too deep, too true.
But now there’s no escaping it —the opening notes spill softly from the earbuds they still share.
His pulse thudded, but he turned toward Buck, watching dawn light dance on his lashes. He didn't want to wake him. But he couldn't lie either.
So quietly —almost just mouthing the words— he translate the song.
“I feel weak when I’m without you, and I grow strong when you’re here, without you I no longer know what it is to live, my life is a tunnel without your light.”
His voice trembles despite the upbeat tempo. It shouldn’t be possible to sound emotional over a fast-paced Spanish ballad, but Eddie somehow manages.
“I want to spend more time with you, reclaim the nights I lost, conquer the immense fear of dying, and be eternal with you.”
It’s too much. Too raw. Too real.
But he can’t stop.
And maybe the universe wants the truth spoken aloud, because Buck is awake.
Slowly —so slowly— Buck’s eyes open, soft with sleep and something deeper. His lips tilt upward in a sleepy smile that Eddie feels in his chest like a spark.
It’s not a surprised smile. Not a confused one. It’s just… soft.
Their hands —which had been resting loosely between them— find each other again, fingers intertwining deliberately —needy, acknowledging. Thumbs brushed knuckles in slow caresses, a wordless dialogue.
Eddie smiles faintly —just enough to be seen, just enough to be real. Buck mirrors it, and for a moment the world is small enough for just them.
Before either can say anything —before the world can intrude— the LAFD delegate at the front clears his throat.
"Folks, we're about five minutes out. Rise and shine!"
Chim groans awake behind them —"Five more minutes, Mads!"—, Hen mutters something under her breath and Ravi is already stretching and yawning.
Eddie and Buck don’t move. Not really.
The spell they’re in doesn’t break.
It simply shifts.
As if on cue, the last song of the playlist begins. A cosmic joke. A perfect one.
“Lucky I’m in love with my best friend…”
Buck doesn’t even pretend to hold back, he lets out a shaky laugh —almost shy— and buries his face in Eddie’s neck, hiding the smile that’s too big to control and a groan somewhere between laughter and embarrassment.
"Of course. Of freaking course."
Eddie squeezes Buck’s hand, firmer this time —grounding, claiming. An "I know." A "Me too."
A "We've been idiots, huh?"
Something inside him settles. Something inside him accepts.
The song ends.
The trip ends.
But what started because of a tangled pair of headphones, a cramped bus seat, and a playlist full of secrets does not end here.
Eddie Díaz knows that clearly now.
Some things —the real things— just need room.
Room to grow.
Room to speak.
Room to become whatever it’s trying to become —slowly, surely, inevitably.
And they had all the time, warmth, and room to make it work.