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Eddie’s—in a mood again.
Manic, maybe. Buck still isn’t sure, but he’s becoming more convinced the longer this goes on. He did his research, obviously, but Eddie doesn’t want to be evaluated, and Buck obviously isn’t going to force him.
He’s walking on the walking pad Buck bought him, scrolling frantically on his phone, like he’s not seeing anything exciting enough for him to pause. Buck honestly wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for his dilated pupils, and the fact that this has happened before; although Eddie seems to be handling it better than last time. Sometimes Buck thinks Eddie knows he’s bipolar, even though he’s shut down all of Buck’s attempts at bringing it up.
When Eddie’s done walking—an entire hour after he started—he steps off the pad, walks up to Buck, and throws his sweaty arms around him.
Buck groans. “Eddie. You’re all gross.”
“I’m gross? You’re gross,” Eddie responds, putting his face in Buck’s neck. He breathes in deep. “You smell so good.”
He chuckles softly. “Eddie,” he whispers.
“Need you,” Eddie mumbles against his skin. “Wanna feel you.”
Buck learned about this when he did his research. Mania impairs consent, so if Eddie is manic, he likely can’t consent to any sexual activity, even if he asks for it. It makes Buck glad he didn’t encourage Eddie’s flirting the last time this happened.
Buck swallows. He doesn’t like telling Eddie no, even though Eddie never reacts badly to it. “Not now, baby. You gotta shower.”
Eddie pulls back, frowning. A flash of hurt crosses his eyes. “Come with me?”
He sighs, scratching his chin. “I said—”
“Maybe I just want you to fucking shower with me, Buck. Jesus,” Eddie snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “Why don’t you ever want to spend time with me?”
Do not engage. Do not engage. Do not engage. “Eddie, I’m not doing this with you right now.”
Wrong answer. Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms. “Fine. Just don’t fucking talk to me then. I don't care,” he says, taking a step back. He turns around, beginning to walk to the bathroom.
Buck’s heart sinks, and he grabs Eddie’s arm quickly, holding him in place. “That’s not what I meant, man. C’mon. Don’t be pissed at me.”
“I’m not pissed. I just don’t want to talk to you right now.” He jerks his arm back, cradling it in his hand. “Man.”
He hesitates before speaking again, and that’s enough time for Eddie to lock himself in the bathroom. Buck walks up to the door, reaching to knock, then decides against it. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to do this.
Sometimes it feels like Buck is the worst boyfriend on the planet. Like he doesn’t deserve to have Eddie. Sometimes it hurts so bad trying to be who Eddie needs him to be that he can’t breathe with it. Sometimes he thinks about when they were apart and is frozen in place, paralyzed with fear.
Only sometimes, though, so Buck deals with it.
Eddie takes his ultra-heavy duty sleeping medication that night, and then he’s out before Buck even finishes cooking dinner. Buck suspects that he’s so angry he couldn’t handle being awake anymore. Like he was so hurt, being conscious was killing him.
Not for the first time, Buck wonders how they managed to get here. How they went from best friends to this. If it was the right decision. But it doesn’t matter now, does it?
When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he doesn’t get out of bed. Buck bakes chocolate chip pancakes again, even though Chris is at a sleepover, missing Eddie’s presence in the kitchen, chest aching in his absence. It’s a shift; for the last few weeks, he’s been waking up at the crack of dawn, way before Buck.
When he’s finished baking, he knocks on the door lightly, then opens it. Eddie is turned around, not facing him, looking at the wall.
“Hey,” Buck murmurs softly, placing a hand on Eddie’s forehead. “What’s going on? You not feeling good?”
“Not now, Buck,” Eddie responds, covering himself in the comforter.
Buck feels instant panic, all the manic energy Eddie has had over the last few weeks seemingly dissipating overnight. “Eddie, I made breakfast.”
He sniffs. “Not hungry.”
“You gotta eat anyway,” Buck says, pulling the comforter off of him. Eddie immediately huffs, curling in on himself, covering his face with his hands.
“I don’t wanna talk right now, Buck,” Eddie says.
“Then, we don’t have to talk. We can just lay here. I’ll heat the food up later.”
Eddie is quiet. “Okay,” he says quietly. Buck lies down beside him, hesitating, before wrapping his arms around him. Eddie immediately melts, tension releasing from his body. Buck feels a jolt of pride. I did this, he thinks. No one else. Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can be who Eddie needs.
When Eddie doesn’t get up again the next day, Buck really starts to worry.
One day after an argument is one thing. Two days signals a crash.
“Baby,” Buck whispers into the back of Eddie’s neck, his arms wrapped around him. “Wanna come with me to pick Chris up?”
“No,” Eddie responds, staring at the wall.
Buck frowns. “I think you should get out of the house. It’s been two days.”
“You don’t want me to come, anyway,” Eddie mumbles. “Don’t want to spend time with me, right?”
A shock to his system. Buck hadn’t expected Eddie to bring it up again. “Eddie,” Buck whispers. “You know that isn’t true.”
Eddie tears up, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Buck, do you think I’m crazy?”
“Why would I call you crazy?” Buck asks, bewildered. “You know we don’t use that word.”
“It feels like you do,” Eddie sighs. “Just go pick up Chris.”
Buck shifts, sitting up. “I think we should talk about this. You don’t seriously think that, right?”
“You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, y’know? I’m an adult. I can handle it.”
“I love you, Eddie,” Buck says, reaching to play with Eddie’s hair. Eddie moves away from his touch. “More than anything. If it feels like I’m walking on eggshells, it’s just ‘cause I care about you.”
Eddie sniffles. “Please just go pick up Chris.”
“Eddie.”
“Get out of my room, Buck,” Eddie says, pulling the comforter back over him.
Buck freezes. “Your room?”
Eddie doesn’t respond. Buck feels his heart quicken in his chest. It’s their room. He shouldn’t take anything Eddie says in this state to heart, but it’s hard. It’s hard to pretend like it doesn’t bother him. It’s hard to pretend like he doesn’t take everything Eddie says to heart.
Buck sighs, stands up, and closes the door on the way out.