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Buck isn’t sulking. He isn’t. He just finds it a little weird that, instead of opting to hang out with the team at Bobby’s barbecue, Eddie’s off doing God knows what with Tommy. With Buck’s boyfriend.
He’s not even sure who he’s jealous of. Eddie? Kind of, he guesses. He’d also like to be out on the town with his boyfriend. They don’t really hang out much outside of having sex and watching basketball. But is he jealous of Tommy? Yeah. Duh. He’s monopolising Buck’s best friend’s time– not to mention stealing him away on the one day this month everyone had time for a barbecue.
So, he’s a little down. But he isn’t sulking.
While he’s not-sulking, though, he takes a sad little walk around the Grant-Nash residence, and that’s when he overhears it.
Chim’s voice echoes down the hall, “–no, he never said anything overt–”
“Uh, yes, he did,” Hen interjects. “Multiple times.”
“Okay,” Chim concedes. “Okay, yes, he did. But, like, it really does seem like he’s changed.”
Silence. Then, “Hm.”
And that’s Bobby. Buck’s curiosity is officially piqued. What are they talking about?
Bobby clears his throat. “Alright. Thank you for telling me. I’ll keep an eye on him.”
“Wish he was still working with us,” Chim mutters. “That way you could fire him.”
Bobby chuckles. “I can’t imagine a world in which I would’ve hired Kinard to begin with. But that’s between us.”
Buck freezes. Are they talking about Tommy? His Tommy? The Tommy who’s out with Eddie right now?
Hen hums. “For what it’s worth, I do hope he’s changed. Buck would… not react well, if he found out what he used to be like.” She sighs. “At least he was nicer to look at, back then.”
Chim snorts. “I think the covert racism would’ve put Buck off.”
“It wasn’t covert,” Hen reminds him.
“Alright, alright,” Bobby cuts in. “That’s enough gossiping. Let’s head back outside.”
Sucking in a breath, Buck whirls around and makes a beeline for the backyard, head spinning with this new information.
But he doesn’t have time to think about it. Doesn’t have time to wrap his head around the fact that Eddie is apparently out gallivanting with some sort of undercover racist. That Buck is dating. Fuck.
“Buck?” Maddie says, hand finding his elbow. He blinks, realising he’s stopped in front of the cooler, eyes boring a hole into the sodas and beers.
Jerkily, he grabs a Sprite, trying to keep the panic out of his eyes as he smiles at Maddie. He must not succeed, because her eyebrows do that complicated dance they only ever do when Buck’s being weird and she’s suspicious of him, likely only seconds away from a ‘gentle’ interrogation/check-in.
“I’m good,” he tells her preemptively. “Just hot.”
“Okay,” Maddie says, not looking entirely convinced. “Drink more water. I don’t want you getting heatstroke.”
“Yeah,” Buck agrees. “Hey, where’s Ravi? I need to ask him about–”
And with that, he takes off, slipping away from his sister. Maybe it makes him an asshole, but like– extenuating circumstances, and all that. What would anyone do with the information he’s suddenly acquired?
Nothing, is the answer, apparently.
Later that evening, Buck drives himself home in a stupor, fingers wrapped loosely around the wheel. He thinks he might be in shock, barely managing to conjure a single coherent thought that isn’t: You have to talk to Tommy.
He turns the key to the front door, opening it and stepping–
Into water.
Into water?
Head flying up, Buck takes in the state of his loft. His very much flooded loft. A pillow floats by him sadly, followed by a single, drenched cartoon duck-covered sock.
“Oh, fuck me,” he groans. And then he fumbles for his phone, dialling the only number he can think of.
“Buck? You okay?” Eddie asks, taking a step back from the bar. He had only just gotten there, prepared to buy himself and Tommy another round of beer, when his phone started buzzing.
“Uh,” Buck says on the other line. “Well. My loft’s turned into an aquarium, so, uh. No?”
Pausing, Eddie furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“It’s– flooded,” Buck says briskly, blowing out a breath. “And I have to call maintenance and, like, my landlord, I guess, but– I need to figure out where to go, and I could shell out on a motel, or call Maddie, but–”
“Stay with me,” Eddie says immediately. Jesus, he doesn’t want his best friend staying in a motel for however long it takes to sort out a flooding situation. What a nightmare.
For a moment, Buck’s quiet on the other line. “Yeah? You’re sure?”
“Come on, man. ‘Course I’m sure.” Eddie dodges a flailing pair of arms and then half-jogs out of the exit and into the warm night air. Instantly, the quiet feels comforting. He’s never been one for nights out. At least not without Buck there, keeping the mood jovial.
In truth, Eddie’s not entirely sure why he went out with Tommy tonight anyway. Especially since he had to ask if Chris was okay to stay with Hen, Karen and the kids tonight to make it happen. Sure, he’s friendly enough with the guy, and Tommy knows how to show him a good time, but it’s been a while since anything between them felt… normal.
There’s this look Tommy gets in his eyes whenever Buck is brought up, something intense and almost annoyed, that Eddie really, really doesn’t like. He’s quick to change the topic, too, like Buck isn’t a conversation worth having. Which– is so bizarre. Who wouldn’t want to talk about Buck if they were dating him? Buck is one of Eddie’s favourite things to talk about.
Buck’s relieved sigh comes through staticky and muffled, and Eddie smiles, endlessly fond.
“Okay,” Buck says. “Thanks, man. I’ll, uh, probably drive to yours in a few minutes. Are– are you staying out?”
“No,” Eddie decides. “No, I’ll head back, too. Race you there.”
“Okay,” Buck says again. “Okay, bye.”
Eddie smiles. “Bye, Buck.”
When he turns, he nearly runs straight into Tommy.
“Jesus–” Eddie takes a step back, laughing, surprised. “Sorry. Didn’t see you there.”
“No worries,” Tommy says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He tilts his head. “Was that Evan?”
“Uh, yeah.” Eddie’s not sure why he feels nervous all of a sudden. “His apartment’s flooded, so he’s on his way to my place. I’ve gotta go meet him there.” Eddie doesn’t mention that Buck does, in fact, have a key and could let himself in without Eddie being there to greet him. That information doesn’t feel like something Tommy should get to or needs to have.
“Evan asked if he could stay with you,” Tommy clarifies, eyes flashing.
“Yeah,” Eddie says, carefully. “I mean, he crashes at mine all the time, so.”
“His sister couldn’t host him?”
“Um.” Eddie rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, with Jee and everything…”
“Right,” Tommy scoffs, already turning, heading back toward the bar. “Well. Guess we’ll call it here then. Have a good night, Diaz.”
Wrong-footed, Eddie blinks at him. When the door closes behind Tommy, Eddie shakes his head. “Night.”
Buck beats him home in the end. His jeep is parked to the left on the driveway, which is Buck’s usual spot, leaving just enough room for Eddie to pull in beside him. Secretly, he’s always liked it when their respective cars are parked next to each other. It feels like an extension of their partnership, a nearness earned by how often they’re in one another’s orbit.
Eddie shuts the front door behind him, stumbling as he kicks his shoes off, when Buck calls out.
“Kitchen!”
Nudging his shoes into place beside Buck’s, Eddie ambles down the hallway, leaning against the doorframe once he gets to the kitchen.
Buck looks up from the cup of nighttime tea he’s fixing himself, spoon pausing mid-stir. In the centre of Eddie’s kitchen, Buck looks comfortable and unbelievably at ease, like he belongs there. A traitorous part of Eddie’s brain offers the simple fact that he does.
Softly, Buck says, “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself,” Eddie says, feeling altogether too much at the sight of his best friend in his kitchen.
Lips tugging up, Buck looks back down at the tea. “Want one?”
Eddie shrugs, pushing off the doorway. “I’ll make one. You sit down.”
Normally, Buck would protest. He might have even bodily moved Eddie, insisting very persistently that he make the tea for Eddie. But not tonight. Tonight, Buck’s shoulders slump as he deposits the spoon in the sink, slinking off toward the table. He sits down heavily, like there’s some invisible exhaustion haunting him, wearing him down.
Buck’s not good at handling direct questions about his well-being, though, so Eddie says nothing as he goes through the motions himself, the only sound in the kitchen the clinking of his own spoon in his tea.
When he’s done, he deliberately picks the chair closest to Buck, sliding his cup close to Buck’s.
“How was the barbecue?” he asks.
Eyes on the steaming tea, Buck shrugs half-heartedly and mumbles, “It was fine.”
Eddie isn’t sure if he believes him, not when his eyebrows are furrowed, mouth a thin line. Something’s clearly bothering him. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“It’s okay.”
For a long, dragging moment, silence follows.
“I should–” Buck gestures to the hall suddenly. “I’ll get the couch set up.”
“Absolutely not.” Eddie scoffs. “My couch is nice. It’s not nice enough for when you’re in the middle of a flare-up. I saw you limping, man.” After landing how he did on the call earlier in the week, Buck’s gait has been just a little bit off since. While Buck might be content to ignore his pain, severe or otherwise, Eddie is not. Resolutely, he says, “We’ll just share.”
Buck hesitates, looking almost pained.
“Buckley,” Eddie intones. “Don’t make me drag you to bed and strap you down.”
A surprised, pitchy laugh escapes Buck. And then, cheeks flaring red, he says, “Y-yeah, yep, okay. We’re sharing. No– no need to strap me down.”
“Good,” Eddie says, taking a sip of his tea. “‘Cause I’ll do it, you know. I’ll strap you down. I’ve got rope in the garage.”
“Got it,” Buck says tightly, standing up jerkily, and all but fleeing the room.
Eddie raises an eyebrow at Buck’s still mostly full abandoned tea, listening in as something loudly clatters in the bathroom, the noise is promptly followed by a mildly distressed yelp, a hard thudding noise and finally, a hissed curse repeated over and over. He shakes his head. Buck can be so strange sometimes.
They settle into bed easily—familiarly, like it’s natural and routine for them to do so, even though, by all accounts, it isn’t. Buck falls asleep first, splayed beneath the sheets, one foot pressed against Eddie’s calf. Eddie follows about twenty minutes later, curled around a pillow, content at the contact and closeness. He tries not to think too hard about how he sleeps best when Buck is at his side, snoring and invading his space.
Hours later, Eddie wakes suddenly and violently, nearly throwing himself off the bed before he grasps at the sheets, eyes finding Buck in the dark.
Buck, who is sitting up in bed, panting, with a hand pressed to his chest.
“Buck? Buck, you okay?” Eddie rasps, voice thick with sleep.
“Racism wasn’t enough,” Buck slurs, barely coherent. “Had to frame me for murder, too.” A pause. Then, a huff of breath, followed by a displeased, “Naturally.”
Eddie blinks. Blinks again. “What?”
As if he’d never said anything at all, Buck lies back down, eyes already closed. Within seconds, he’s snoring.
Eddie wrestles with the urge to wake him again. Clearly, he’d been having some sort of nightmare, but— it seems he shook himself out of it? Probably?
“Okay,” Eddie breathes to himself, slowly settling back under the covers. “Night, then.”
Despite his heart only now settling, it only takes Eddie a couple of minutes to fall asleep again.
Eddie’s already awake by the time he sees Buck begin to stir, sitting up in the bed. He’s wearing the reading glasses that he pretends he doesn’t really need, perched low on his nose as he scrolls through his phone. Beside him, Buck sits up abruptly, looking lost– not like he’s woken up in a place he doesn’t recognise, but like he hadn’t realised he was asleep at all.
Eddie lifts a brow in his direction, resting his phone in his lap and tugging his thin-framed glasses off, setting them atop the chestnut wood bedside table. Then, carefully, he asks, “Dream anything?”
Buck frowns, before his eyes go wide. He looks at Eddie—mouth agape for a beat before he says, quiet, perplexed, “Um.”
Eddie’s eyebrow arches even higher. “Um?”
Clumsily and with great haste, Buck scrambles for his phone, still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He types furiously for a long moment before flinging the phone toward Eddie.
“Read,” he demands, rather firmly.
Eyeing Buck, Eddie picks the phone up and does just so.
BUCK: tommy - i had a nightmare about you last night where you inadvertently aided and abetted a murderer and got me wrongfully imprisoned for said murder. i just don’t think i can do this anymore.
also i know about the racism. i hope and believe you’ve changed, but my team, my friends, were directly affected BY YOU and i really can’t see us working out now that i know you were once like that. take care
Eddie opens his mouth, pauses and shuts it again. Oddly, he gets the urge to laugh. The feeling bubbles just inside his chest, threatening to spill over, but he presses it down, forcing himself to seem some kind of neutral.
“The racism?” Eddie asks, very nonchalantly.
“Apparently,” Buck starts, picking imaginary lint off the duvet, avoiding Eddie’s eyeline, “He was… not so great when he worked with the 118.”
“Oh.” Eddie frowns, stomach twisting uncomfortably. He’d liked Tommy. At some point, at least. Not any time recently, but certainly at some point. “Well, that sucks.”
Buck sucks air through the back of his teeth, avoiding his eyes. “Yep. So.”
“So…” Eddie sets Buck’s phone down. “You had a nightmare about your boyfriend—“
“Ex-boyfriend,” Buck corrects. “A-and, yeah, I guess I did.”
“So you broke up with him?” Eddie clarifies, even though what he had just read was definitely, without a doubt, a break-up text.
Buck ducks his head before flickering his eyes up to Eddie’s shyly. “Am I crazy?”
Eddie scoffs, waving his hand dismissively, handing Buck’s phone back. “Nah. He had it coming.”
Buck nods, thoughtful. “Hm.”
“Hey.” Eddie reaches out, laying his hand on Buck’s bare knee, just below where his sleep shorts end. “You did the right thing, bud.”
Two of them carpool to the Wilsons’ and drop Chris off at school before they head to work, which, Buck realises, they haven’t done a single time since Buck got together with Tommy. It feels good and familiar to have Eddie in the passenger seat, sipping his morning black coffee with his sunglasses on and hair slicked back. It feels right, like the world had come off its axis and was only now righting itself.
Buck doesn’t mention that he’s broken up with Tommy once they’re at work, and is grateful for the back-to-back calls they have all morning. By the time afternoon rolls around, Buck’s honestly forgotten about it.
The team is scattered around the loft, the hot Californian sun streaming in through the windows.
Hen and Chim are playing Mario Kart (without Buck, which means Chim’s playing as Yoshi), Bobby’s putting together a carrot cake mix, and Ravi’s typing rapidly on his phone in the armchair. Eddie and Buck are sitting by the kitchen table, doing the crossword.
Buck jolts in his seat when Hen suddenly cheers, getting to her feet and smirking triumphantly down at Chimney, who, like the bad loser he is, groans in defeat and collapses against the cushions, demanding a rematch. Buck watches as she traipses through the kitchen, collecting a glass of water, but on her way back to the couch, as she passes by the table, Eddie’s phone pings.
Eddie immediately goes to turn it over, and like the bloodhound she is, Hen snatches it up first. Then, very slowly, her eyebrows climb up, stopping just shy of her hairline.
“Why is Tommy messaging you on LinkedIn?”
And. What?
“Give me that,” Eddie hisses, grabbing his phone back. Frowning, he aggressively types something on his phone before placing it on the table, shooting it a warning glance.
Confused and worried, Buck watches him. For some reason, when Eddie wrinkles his nose, his chest does something funny.
When Eddie looks up, he visibly startles, finding everyone’s eyes on him.
“I blocked him on everything else,” Eddie defends. “I guess he… got desperate.”
Chim honks a laugh from the couch. “Sorry—did you break up with him?”
“No. I did,” Buck defends.
This, unfortunately, elicits another honk-laugh. Chim sobers, though, when he catches sight of Buck’s face. “Wait, are you serious?”
“Yeah,” Buck says wearily, eyes fixed on the crossword.
“Shit.” Chim clears his throat. “Uh. Sorry, Buck.”
“Sorry, Buck,” Ravi chimes in from the armchair, distracted. He’s still looking at his phone. It’s likely he doesn’t know what he’s sorry about.
Hen, who’s hovering beside Buck and Eddie, says nothing on the topic. Instead, finger pointing at the crossword, she says, “Relief. Six down.”
Eddie grabs the pen out of Buck’s slack hand and scrawls the letters onto the page. Lips ticking up, he says, “Thanks, Hen.”
Buck’s not really sure what to say. His whole team now knows that he is once again single. His team, who gossip behind his back, about his boyfriend—ex-boyfriend. Idly, he wonders if they’ve ever gossiped about his other exes, too. If Eddie ever joined in. The thought makes him scowl.
“Hey, kid,” Bobby says from the kitchen. Buck looks up, meeting his sympathetic eyes. “Want to help me with the frosting?”
Buck nods, slapping the table. He can spiral about his team’s misdeeds later.
“Sure thing, Cap.”
They make a creamy chicken stew that night, standing side by side with their shoulders brushing. While they had prepped (practising mise en place, as per Buck’s demands), Eddie threw on an album he’s been a little obsessed with recently, Tim Bernardes’ Mil Coisas Invisíveis, and sips at the wine Buck had insisted they uncork. Nascer, Viver, Morrer rings through the speakers, swirling through the room.
The first time he had put the album on, Buck’s entire face had lit up, recognising the Portuguese. Painstakingly, he had translated a few of the lines, and Eddie’s brain lingers a little too much on that now, Bernardes’ soulful voice singing: E eu sou a consciência da coisa que eu sou / Eu quero e eu amo e eu posso e eu vou.
And I am the consciousness of the thing that I am / I want and I love and I can and I will.
Chris, who rarely leaves his room when he’s been granted time to play games on his computer, even joins them as they move together, tapping his finger to the music as he perches himself on a barstool and watches as they plate up. His eyes light up when he tastes the stew for the first time, and tells Buck in a tone that brooks no argument, that he has to put the stew into their regular meal rotation. Privately, Eddie thinks it might actually be possible to do so now, without Tommy in the picture anymore.
The three of them watch Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs (Buck’s favourite of the Ice Age movies. Eddie’s unsure if it’s because one of the characters name’s is Buck, or if it’s because of the dinosaurs) that night, which Chris rolls his eyes at (I’m not a kid anymore, Dad), but he settles in within ten minutes, making jokes with Buck that have Eddie biting back smiles all evening.
After Chris is settled and tucked into bed, and Eddie rejoins Buck in the living room, he very promptly realises just how completely wiped he is. Buck, not glancing up, says, “Do you want a bee—” His gaze flickers upward, catching Eddie’s slumped shoulders and sleepy expression immediately, and changing tactic mid-sentence. “—To head to bed?”
Eddie, like the old man he apparently is now, agrees. He nods and drags his fingers through his hair before turning on his heels and making his way down the hall. He hears Buck click off all the lights, and after a minute or two, he follows after and shrugs out of his day clothes and into a pair of sleep shorts and a hoodie.
Eddie doesn’t really understand how Buck can sleep in a hoodie in the California heat, but he doesn’t say anything on the matter. Buck has done stranger things. He shrugs out of his shirt, tossing it into the hamper and pulls on a pair of basketball shorts before crawling beneath the sheets. The mattress dips under Buck’s weight after a beat, and Eddie closes his eyes, feeling warm and settled, counting Buck’s breaths.
The next thing Eddie knows, images are flashing through his brain. It’s Buck, on dozens and dozens of dates. Kissing people, some of the faces almost familiar, others completely alien to him. It’s Polaroid after Polaroid slamming over the top of each other. Buck kissing, Buck holding hands, Buck giggling, Buck smiling, Buck with his arm around a man, Buck with his hand up someone's shirt. It’s all Buck, Buck, Buck.
Inexplicably, the photos disappear from Eddie’s field of vision. They scatter away, and left in their wake is Buck. His Buck. Not a photo, just him.
Buck is standing in a pristine, burgundy suit, with a bouquet of roses in his hands, untied, single, richly red, reflexed roses ready to be handed out.
Except Eddie isn’t there.
Eddie is sitting on his couch, his navy, plush couch, surrounded by about thirty throw pillows. He’s melted against the cushions with a sweating beer resting between his denim-covered thighs. He tries to move, but he can’t. He just has to watch. Dread sinks in as he observes the line-up. There are a dozen men and women on the stage. For some reason, Tommy is also there. And Taylor. And Ali. And Abby. And—okay. Half the people on the stage are Bucks exes.
He’s staring at them, at the way they look at Buck, and he remembers, suddenly, every single story he’s been told about them.
Ali, who left him right after his leg got crushed, because she suddenly couldn’t handle the lifestyle, the second it became too real.
Taylor, who betrayed Buck and hurt him so deeply after everything that happened with Jonah.
Tommy, who is—
Jesus Christ, Tommy, who is crossing the stage, hand out, waiting expectantly for a rose. He doesn’t deserve Buck’s rose. He doesn’t deserve a minute of his time, actually. A second of it, even.
It’s The Bachelor, Buck is on The Bachelor, Eddie realises all at once, which is confusing, because he’s not even sure he’s ever seen a single episode—but a flash of a memory pops into his brain: The lunch room at dispatch, May Grant is perched on the counter with a boba tea in her hands, sipping on a large straw, recounting last night's episode, discussing who she thinks should end up with the bachelor, and why the rest of them just aren’t right for him. Eddie, apparently, was listening far more than he thought. He’d mostly been focused on the mildly soggy, overly cheesy Caesar salad he’d been eating.
It seems he’s absorbed the information enough to know that what’s happening on stage isn’t right. Tommy shouldn’t be there. Tommy doesn’t deserve Buck. His attention, his love, his time. And– it’s not that Eddie is jealous. That’d be insane. It’s just that if anyone knows what’s right for Buck, it’s Eddie. Eddie knows him better than anyone else ever has.
He’s his best friend.
Eddie wants to turn off the TV. Can’t bear to watch Buck select Tommy again. Not when he knows how this ends—Buck, waking up from a nightmare, finally aware of the fact he’s dating a complete douchebag. It’s just that it took him months to get there. Months of being overlooked, and undercared for, and mistreated.
Buck deserves more than that. Buck deserves more than any of the people on that stage.
None of them are, or could ever be, right for Buck. Buck deserves the moon, and the stars, and someone that will hold him at night, or walk through fire at his side, holding his hand, or—or just more. More than any of them could ever offer him, because none of them ever truly knew him. They didn’t take the time to. If they had, they wouldn’t have ever let him go. Buck’s not the kind of guy you can just let go. He’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of person. The kind of person who makes Eddie almost believe in fate—or just believe that maybe he did something really, really good, and brave, and kind in a previous life to earn having Buck by his side every single day.
Eddie tries to close his eyes so that he doesn’t have to watch, and surprisingly, his body allows it. When he opens them again, he’s standing on that stage, in front of Buck, who is smiling at him. It’s unclear to Eddie how he got here. Deeply unclear, actually.
He looks side-to-side. They’re surrounded by cameras held up by only vague-faced strangers. To his left are the line-up of contestants—their hands all empty now, not a rose in sight. When he looks back, he realises, unexpectedly, that Buck is only holding a single rose now. No longer red. It’s pink. Soft pink. Eddie’s favourite colour. Or at least, his real favourite colour, not the one he’s been telling people since he was a kid and found out that wasn’t the answer boys or men were supposed to have.
He reaches out, thumbing one of the delicate, bent-back petals, and it’s silky to the touch, soft and thin beneath the pads of his fingers.
“Eddie,” Buck says, catching his attention.
Eddie glances up from the bloom. “Yeah?”
“Will you accept this final rose?”
Eddie blinks. “What?”
Buck laughs, light and airy. He’s so, so beautiful. There are crinkles by Buck’s eyes that weren’t there when Eddie first met him, and a few stray greys dancing through the front of his curls, and his smile—fuck, his smile has always knocked the air out of Eddie’s lungs. Buck’s mouth opens again, the plush pink of his lips glistening under the harsh lighting, catching Eddie’s eye as he says, “I said, Eddie, will you—"
“Eddie, will you please turn your alarm off?” Buck groans from next to him, bapping at Eddie’s shoulder half-heartedly. “It’s five in the morning,” he whines.
Eddie startles, but doesn’t respond. Buck rolls over, squinting through bleary eyes as Eddie sits up, looking beyond shell-shocked as he stares across the room, right at the wardrobe door like there’s a ghost trapped inside.
Wordlessly, Buck reaches over to turn the alarm off. Eddie swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. Eddie still doesn’t say anything.
“Did you have a nightmare?” Buck asks. “Did I bring bad juju into your house? Into your bed?”
This, finally, gets Eddie to roll his eyes. “No such thing as bad juju,” he grumbles, voice sleep-rough. Buck pretends it doesn’t send a shiver down his spine. “Or good juju. There’s no juju.”
Buck studies him. Concludes, “You did have a nightmare.”
“Yes,” Eddie says, voice suspiciously neutral. “I guess you could call it that.”
“Do you—I mean, do you wanna talk about it?”
For a moment, it’s quiet. Then, Eddie half-shrugs, the movement stiff and unnatural.
“I don’t know. There were photos. Of—” Eddie pauses, frowning. “Men kissing. I guess. So many of them. Like, an obscene number.”
Buck’s stomach flips weirdy. “...Okay.”
“And then there was the stage,” Eddie adds. “You know, from The Bachelor.”
Buck does know The Bachelor. He very much did not know Eddie was familiar with The Bachelor, except for maybe just the fact that it exists.
“Sure,” Buck says, frowning a little, trying to process the information.
“And everyone had roses. Obviously. And then he—this guy was holding a rose. Just one.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“But then I was there.”
Buck frowns. “You weren’t there before?”
“No, of course not.”
“But you were there now.”
Eddie looks at him incredulously. “Yes. Obviously. And no one else had roses anymore. And then the rose wasn’t red, Buck.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“It was for me.”
Something that Buck is unwilling to name twists uncomfortably in his chest. “Oh.”
“I don’t—why was it for me?”
“I–” Buck blinks several times, trying desperately to wrap his head around everything. “Is your subconscious homophobic?”
Eddie’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. He wheezes, “What?”
“Just,” Buck flaps his arms, panicking now. “You said there were men, and you got asked out by a man, and then you woke up and said you’d had a nightmare, so– I just, I mean, that sounds kind of homophobic?”
“That wasn’t–” Eddie exhales through his nose, eyes fluttering shut. He looks unfairly pretty, even with his hair sticking up in a million different directions and little lines indented into his cheek from his pillow. “The rose changed colours, Buck.”
“That doesn’t sound scary,” Buck says. When Eddie doesn’t respond, he wets his lips. “Eddie, you know The Bachelorette exists, right? It’s a pretty good show. Better, even. You could have just– gone on that.”
He leaves it unsaid that Eddie’s sleeping brain had flung him onto The Bachelor instead. The fact that it had done so either means one thing or another.
Or maybe Buck’s reading into this too much. Maybe dreams don’t mean anything. Shit, maybe he should have broken up with Tommy in person and not mentioned the nightmare.
Fuck, is he a bad person?
Pushing that aside, Buck sits up a little. He can pretend to be normal about this. He’s a good friend.
“Unless the nightmare element of it all really was that it was– men,” Buck says, still really trying to piece this together.
“Oh my God, you’re doing this on purpose,” Eddie mumbles, keeping his eyes shut.
“I’m not–”
“Tommy was there,” Eddie emphasises.
A pulse of shock zings up his spine. “Tommy was the bachelor?”
“No.” Eddie makes an impressively disgusted face. “No, Jesus, that’s– gross.”
“Homophobic,” Buck accuses.
“Me calling your weird asshole racist ex gross is not homophobic,” Eddie says sternly. “I hate him because of who he is as a person, not because he’s gay. I hate him morally.”
“I’ve always said that,” Buck says faintly. “You’re a moral hater.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’m not a hater. I just hate your ex. All of them, actually. I can’t believe all of them were there. I don’t even know what Ali really looks like.”
Record scratch. Buck blinks. “What?”
“I mean, I think I saw her profile on Instagram, like, once. You know, on the people you may know thing. But I really don’t remember her face.”
Buck thinks Eddie might be talking about Facebook. He can’t really focus on that right now.
“...Why were my exes there, Eddie?”
“Because they were all getting voted off. Obviously. I—I told you. Only I was getting the rose.”
“Right.” Buck wonders if maybe he’s still sleeping, if this is some sort of insane mishmash of his own desires and worst fears. This isn’t like any nightmare he’s had before, but new things happen every day. “Obviously.”
Eddie pauses for a long second. He seems to be having some kind of revelation that Buck is very much not privy to, that Eddie seems to think he is.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
No, the fuck it does not.
“Yeah, sure,” Buck says.
“It’s just—it’s not crazy, when you think about it. When it’s laid out like that. I mean, I make the most sense. We—you and I—we make the most sense,” he catches Buck’s eye, his hair all sleep rumpled, stubble a little overgrown. Buck tries to focus on that so that he doesn’t think too hard about what it sounds like Eddie is saying.
“Okay. Yeah,” Buck chokes out. “N-Not crazy.”
“I used to have sex dreams about you,” Eddie continues, far too casually considering the content of the sentence.
Oh, God. Buck’s head is spinning. Weakly, he says, “Sorry. Run that by me again. Slowly, p-please.”
“Years ago,” Eddie explains. “And they were always different. Sometimes we, um… you know, when we were in quarantine together, and sharing a bed, I’d—I don’t know. My mind would wander, when I was sleeping. It was— nice. We kissed a lot. You pet my hair while I,” Eddie hesitates, cheeks colouring, “Sucked you off. You held my hand. And then, you know, again in El Paso, and when we were staying together again after I got back, and—”
“Okay!” Buck squeaks, heart beating a tattoo against his chest. “Okay, okay, so– so your subconscious isn’t homophobic.”
“My subconscious is gay,” Eddie deadpans.
“I’m gonna pass out.”
Eddie’s eyebrows fly up, hand landing on Buck’s bicep, over the sleeve of his shirt. “Don’t do that.”
“Okay,” Buck agrees, voice faint even to his own ears.
“Buck,” Eddie says softly, eyes flickering between Buck’s. He looks like he’s figured something out that he’s been trying to solve for years. He looks—relaxed. At ease, even. Like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. The corner of his mouth is tugged up into the whisper of a smile. Buck just wishes he knew what the hell was going on. “You’re the bachelor. You’re—you’re the juice.”
“Eddie, I…” Buck takes in the hope in Eddie’s eyes, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m so confused right now.”
Eddie appears unperturbed. “In the dream, you gave me the rose. It was pink.”
Immediately, Buck replies, “Your favourite colour.”
Eddie smiles gently. “Yeah.”
“You want me to give you a rose?”
“I want to be with you.”
“Like, on the bachelor?”
“Like, in real life.”
“Oh.”
“Oh.”
“Oh. O-oh, wait, fuck, shit, okay, like– what the fuck, Eddie–”
Buck launches himself at him. Eddie yelps, arms flying out to wrap around Buck’s waist.
Hovering over Eddie, heart hammering, Buck resists the urge to kiss him. “Why the hell would you tell me like that? At five in the morning?”
Eddie looks way too pleased with himself for someone who’s actively being interrogated. He shrugs, loose and easy, and says, “It made sense to me.”
Baffled, Buck says, “You’re the least sense-full person I know.”
“That’s not a word,” Eddie says, smoothing his hand against Buck’s back, tucked just under his hoodie.
And, the thing is, they could keep this argument going until the end of time. But what Buck really wants to do is ask Eddie to–
“Kiss me.”
Eddie, as if helpless to do anything but follow Buck’s command, tugs Buck down by the neck to capture his mouth in a kiss. Embarrassingly, as he’s pulled in, he lets out a vague, surprised, squeaking noise not dissimilar to a sound a whimpering puppy would make.
God, Buck thinks, his tongue sliding against Eddie’s, their mouths slotted together perfectly, I could do this for the rest of my life.
He realises that he probably can. Like, he gave Eddie a rose. Yeah, okay, it was in a dream, but Buck would give Eddie so many roses in real life, too. That’s got to count for something, right?
Tommy, alone in his downtown apartment, feels a sudden wave of unexplainable dread crash over him. Inexplicably, he realises that Eddie is dating Evan. Just like he knew he would. He just feels it. Knows it to be true without needing any evidence at all.
Mournfully, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing into CashApp.
$TOMMY-KINNARD: sent $1
Message attached: Diaz, please talk to me.
$DIAZZEDMUNDO: sent you $3
Message attached: For emotional damages. Now go away. :)
$BUCKBUCKGOOSE: request $500
Message attached: for the legal fees in my dream
Tommy sighs, shaking his head, and finishes off his beer in one swift, depressed gulp and powers his phone down. He throws it onto the couch, the same way he’s thrown away any chance he ever had with Eddie Diaz.
Fuck my life, he thinks, completely serious. Fuck. My. Damn. Life.