Chapter Text
— It wouldn’t be so crazy?
Maddie’s voice kept haunting Buck’s mind. The same words, on repeat. Impossible to shake, as if a spell had been cast — a spell announcing the inevitable end of the story.
And yet, Buck always responded the same way. — Eddie is my straight best friend. And he’s a tenant.
Buck didn’t quite see what renting an apartment had to do with the argument, but repeating it over and over since his conversation with Tommy made it start to feel coherent. Almost logical. Like a truth only he understood the weight of.
Buck had been turning in his bed for hours, the sheets twisted into knots around his legs, half-draped over his shoulders, half-balling under his chest like they could somehow hold the storm in his mind. The mattress sagged under him, soft in the middle, lumpy at the edges, forcing him to writhe, push, lift, and flop his body as if he could smooth out his thoughts through movement. His pillow was flat, flattened beyond hope, and every time he tried to tuck it under his head it slid away, leaving his neck strained. No blanket — useless in this stifling heat — though he ached for the slight pressure it would have offered, the illusion of safety.
Summer had been merciless this year — dry, scorching, relentless. The fires sparked by the drought-stricken trees were proof. Even now, long after sunset, the heat refused to loosen its grip. The air in the room felt thick, unmoving, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the day’s blaze and were slowly exhaling it back into the dark.
Through the half-closed blinds, the dim orange glow of the streetlights filtered in, cutting faint bars across the ceiling and the tangled sheets. Each time Buck shifted, the shadows dragged over his skin, sliding along his shoulders, his ribs, his throat. The light flickered faintly when a car passed outside, briefly illuminating the sharp line of his jaw, the crease between his brows, the restless rise and fall of his chest. Then darkness settled again — heavy, suffocating.
He wasn’t sleeping.
— Fuck. Maddie, you’re such a pain, he thought.
He twisted onto his side, knees pulled tight to his chest, then stretched abruptly as if trying to tear something invisible out of himself. He scrubbed both hands down his face, fingers pressing hard into his eyes until sparks burst behind his eyelids. He rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow, then flipped back over almost immediately, the mattress creaking in protest. One foot pushed against the wall, seeking resistance. His arm dangled off the edge of the bed, fingertips grazing the cool hardwood floor — grounding himself, maybe.
Every movement was restless, excessive. His body exhausted, but his mind running in vicious, endless loops.
He had never been a great sleeper, but right now, he needed that rest. His mind refused to slow down. He replayed every misstep, every awkward gesture, everything he might have said wrong. And inevitably, the thought that everyone would eventually leave him — always circling back to Eddie — gnawed at him like fire under his skin.
He knew where it came from. He had been in therapy. Stopped for the moment, but he knew his triggers. Lately, it had been harder. No one really blamed him — maybe himself did, as always — the past year had spared no one. And anyway… had there ever been an easy year?
Because of his sister, he now had another thought to chew on.
Well… not just because of her.
Tommy too.
— No. I’m not scared anymore… now that the competition is gone…
The voice of the man he had loved — and who had broken his heart — echoed again in his skull. The first man — well, with what he knew at this moment, actually— he had a love relationship with. According to him, Eddie was the competition.
Ridiculous.
Eddie was his straight best friend. And a former tenant. Also, he had a silver star — that wasn’t anything.
Unbeatable argument.
Tommy had no idea what he was talking about. He didn’t know Buck. He didn’t know Eddie like he did. If he hadn’t seen coming his friend’s coming-out, then who could be able? Not that any coming-out was possible— anyway. And above all — who in their right mind could imagine competing with Eddie?
They had been roommates. Buck attended Christopher’s school meetings. They spent most of their time at each other’s places. When Eddie was in El Paso, they called at least once a day— for the most part. The list was long — too long to remember everything they had done for each other.
Best friends. Period.
So why talk about jealousy?
Absurd.
And yet…
They spoke less. They still laughed, went out together, hit clubs. On the surface, nothing had changed. But a tension lingered. Constant. Like a secret neither dared touch. And even if they had, what would they have done with it? They weren’t exactly experts at emotional conversations.
Eddie’s departure — what Maddie called the breakup — had been brutal. An abandonment. He knew it was for Christopher. He knew. But it hadn’t changed the feeling of being left behind.
Eddie could have asked him to come. Buck would have dropped everything. Absolutely everything. For him. For Christopher. To confront his parents.
But Eddie hadn’t asked.
He had hugged him — a hug that should have lasted forever — then left.
Buck had moved into his late apartment to make life easier for him. So, he wouldn’t have to worry. And maybe also to feel less far away. When he returned, Eddie had taken it back. And Buck had found another home, without even asking if he could have stayed.
But since El Paso… since Bobby’s death…
Something had changed. A shift.
Thinking of Bobby twisted his stomach. The man who had been the closest to a healthy father figure. And he was gone.
It was his fault.
He had cried alone. Not the loud, breaking kind — not the kind that leaves you gasping for air and shaking apart — but the silent kind. The kind where the tears slip sideways into the pillow, soaking the fabric while your jaw stays clenched tight enough to ache. He had pressed the heel of his hand against his mouth to keep the sound in, as if grief itself needed to be contained. As if letting it out would make it real.
He had wanted to help — God, he had wanted to help — and had only made things worse. He had stepped in too fast, spoken too sharp, tried to fix something that wasn’t his to fix. He always did that. Jump first. Think later. Love like it was a rescue operation.
His last argument with Eddie stayed lodged in his throat, bitter taste lingering. He could replay it perfectly — the kitchen light too bright, harsh against the stainless steel; the way Eddie’s shoulders had gone rigid; the way Buck’s own voice had risen without him meaning it to. Words thrown like tools dropped in anger. Heavy. Damaging.
He remembered Eddie’s eyes most of all. Furious. And tired. And so Hurt. And that had been worse. Eddie’s tears, like reality.
He could still feel it now — that final beat of silence between them. Thick. Charged. The air in the room heavy with everything neither of them knew how to say.
They never talked about it again.
Not the words. Not the tone. Not the way Bobby’s name had hovered between them like a wound neither dared touch. They went back to routine. Calls. Coffee. Work. Teasing. As if the crack hadn’t formed. As if pretending hard enough could seal it.
But it hadn’t.
It lived in the pauses. In the seconds too long before answering. In the way Buck sometimes caught himself measuring his words around Eddie now — something he had never done before. In the way Eddie’s gaze occasionally lingered, searching, like he was checking for damage.
Buck swallowed, even now, alone in the dark.
He would have taken it back. Every word. Every sharp edge. He would have traded pride for softness, anger for honesty. He would have said I’m scared too. He would have said I miss him. He would have said I need you.
Instead, they had chosen silence.
And silence, Buck was starting to realize, could be louder than any fight.
In the meantime, they had gone out with Ravi. Buck had made it his mission to find a girlfriend for Eddie. A mission he didn’t even know why he had taken on. There was Alex, a woman they met during the job. Interested in Eddie, it seemed. But none of the women at the bar — neither Alex — caught Eddie’s attention.
Why was he doing this?
To prove Eddie was ready? That he was ready? Ready for what?
He didn’t have the answer yet. But it seemed essential to help eddie — at least, for Buck it was.
He hadn’t had much luck either. Ravi would argue on the definition of luck in this specific context, but anyway. That same night, he had gotten two numbers — from a couple looking for a third. Of course. These mishaps only happened to Buck, though Marisol’s story was hard to surpass.
He had refused. He wanted to be half, not a third. And help Eddie find his half, too.
Was he really trying?
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that they were both… stuck.
Those were the moments when they saw each other the most.
And he missed Eddie.
Maddie knew. Ravi too. Oh, Ravi knew, he had listened to him ramble about Eddie more than once.
Buck sighed. It was one in the morning. He had work in a few hours. Still no sleep.
He thought back to the glance between Ravi and Eddie at the bar. Right after Ravi had said something that Buck hadn’t heard. Ravi hadn’t said another word after that.
Strange.
Ravi had become his partner at the station, since Eddie left. Even after Eddie returned, as a paramedic, Ravi still stayed as his partner. He was happy, because he really like Ravi. But he wasn't Eddie. And now they were a trio. More or less.
Yes. Everything was fine.
That’s what he kept telling himself.
But deep down, a persistent pang remained. A tiny crack that refused to heal.
— Rhaaa… fuck.
He was tired. Tired of the night. Tired of the weight on his chest. He needed to talk to Eddie. Clear the air.
Not now.
Soon.
He didn’t want to bother him.
…
Since when had he hesitated to go to Eddie’s? To call at any hour? When had he stopped feeling at home, at Eddie’s places?
And why did Eddie stop doing all of that?
Something was there.
He knew it, felt it deep inside. And there was only one way to be sure.
Buck grabbed his phone. His wallpaper — a photo at the zoo with Christopher and Eddie — appeared. He opened Messenger, then his conversation with his lifelong partner.
He typed.
- Hey… I can’t sleep.
***
Eddie walked past his son’s room. He was asleep… or pretending to be, like all teenagers. He whispered, — Good night. — then gently closed the door.
He headed to his own room, dropped his clothes in the laundry basket by the door, and slipped into bed in his boxers. The orange glow of the streetlights filtered through the curtains and settled on the mattress, stretching in long, muted bands across the sheets.
The bed felt unfamiliar under him.
It was the same mattress. The same frame. The same dent on his side. But it didn’t cradle him the way it used to. The pillow was too warm. The sheets clung to his skin, heavy with the heat that hadn’t fully left the walls. He shifted once. Then again. Adjusted the pillow. Turned it over to find the cooler side. It didn’t help.
He stared at the ceiling.
His son seemed happy to be home. So was he.
Yet, he felt like something was missing.
He lay flat on his back at first, hands folded over his stomach like he was bracing for something. Then he rolled onto his side, facing the wall. Then onto his other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, the springs giving a faint creak every time he moved. He exhaled slowly through his nose, controlled, measured — the way he had learned to breathe through worse.
It didn’t quiet his mind.
His trip to El Paso had been eye-opening. He had confronted his parents and decided they would never decide for him again. Too many rules, too many limits. It was over. As he had promised the priest, and himself — he would choose his own happiness. He wouldn’t hold his joy back anymore.
A smile stretched across his lips.
But it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t just saying it, but living it, day after day. Eddie had always thought of others — Chris, his parents — now he had to think of himself.
He was trying. Since returning to L.A., it had been his goal.
He also wanted to find the right person. Tired of relationships without passion, without depth. Someone who understood him, who got along with his son, but who would not replace his late ex-wife. He had searched for that in his past relationships, without success.
The incident with Marisol was proof.
It wasn't a success.
Not for him, not for Christopher.
Oh no, especially not for Christopher. He had almost lost him.
He would never lie to him again.
But first, he had to stop lying to himself. That would be a good start.
He was searching, but didn’t know where. No woman really caught his interest. Had it ever? Not recently. For him, dates, sex, gestures of affection… it had always been a performance. He thought back to what his father often told him.
— You’ll need to find a woman, marry her, have children. Respect her, love her, give her what she wants, work to pay for your house. That’s what being a man is, Edmundo!
That pressure had guided every decision he had ever made. Always, all the time. Like a filter — invisible, constant, impossible to remove. The hard set of his father’s jaw. The way his mother’s silence could feel heavier than any sermon. The unspoken rule etched into every family dinner, every Sunday mass: be good. Be obedient. Be respectable. Be a man.
He had promised them that. Promised God that.
To be a good son. A good husband. A good father.
To never stray.
To never shame the family.
The guilt had a way of sinking deep, threading itself into bone. It wasn’t loud — it was quiet. It whispered. It told him that desire was dangerous. That doubt was weakness. That sacrifice was love. That suffering was virtue. He had learned early that wanting too much — wanting the wrong thing — meant failing. And failure meant disappointing not just his parents, but God.
So he performed.
What could he do, it was the only thing he ever learned.
Relation after relation, kneeling in the dim booth, hands clasped tight, reciting sins he barely understood but felt responsible for anyway. He had grown up believing that thoughts alone could condemn him. That being a good man meant controlling every impulse, every deviation from the path laid out for him.
That pressure had shaped him. Guided him. Restricted him.
With Shannon, it had been different. In a way.
He truly loved her. No performance — not totally. With her, he had felt something softer. Easier. His first real love, his first best friend. Loving her hadn’t felt like fulfilling a requirement. It hadn’t felt like ticking a box on a checklist handed to him by his father or the Church. It had felt natural.
What made her different from the others?
Maybe it was that she had seen him before the armor fully settled. Before the weight of expectation hardened into discipline. Before he convinced himself that love was duty.
With Shannon, he hadn’t been trying to prove he was a good man.
He had just been a happy man. At least, he tried.
And sometimes, lying awake now, he wondered whether he had married her because he loved her — or because loving her also made him safe. Acceptable. Good.
Or maybe because they were two scared kid that happened to get a kid.
The thought alone made guilt bloom in his chest.
Because even questioning it felt like betrayal. Of her, of their son.
But he can count on his sisters, his tía and his abuela. At least.
She was his savior, always there to pump him up. To wash away the dark thoughts.
Her loss still hurt.
Every time he passed the photo on the altar made with Christopher, he felt a pang. He knew she had loved him deeply, and she had always been there for him, unlike his parents.
She had welcomed Buck so quickly, as if he had always belonged. She always left a plate at dinner… in case Buck showed up. She knew things about Eddie that he didn’t even know himself. He wished he could ask her everything, have her guide him. Help him choose the right person — for him, and for his son.
— You weren’t looking in the right place his abuela said one time, with her warm gaze.
He could promise his abuela one thing — he would never go back to old habits.
The night out at the bar with Buck and Ravi had been proof.
His best friend, whom he had missed terribly lately, had insisted on finding him a date. Eddie had been frustrated but touched. He had tried to refuse, but Buck never really let it go. He couldn’t say no to him. Taking away this small pleasure was too much to ask Eddie.
During the evening, Eddie had watched him. Buck seemed so at ease, so natural… even more so since his bisexual coming-out.
Eddie envied him.
Admired him.
Buck was approaching women to get their numbers. He had succeeded… for himself.
Eddie smiled.
Of course, Buck had found a couple. And, in the end, he refused to see them again.
Eddie approved.
It wasn’t what he needed.
Buck was growing.
But the shift of the man’s glances — from Buck to Eddie — had triggered something in him. A strange sensation, emotions he couldn’t name. Fear maybe.
He had ran away.
Nothing like that had ever happened with Buck. With him, nothing felt dangerous or unfamiliar. He never felt the need to escape — if anything, he felt the pull to stay.
And that was the problem. Everything was raw, natural. Magnetic.
What Buck thought of Eddie mattered, and vice versa. They were inseparable, insufferable, reading each other’s thoughts. A gift… and a curse. They knew when something was turning in the other’s head. A dangerous connection, which made lying useless. The other would see through it. But they weren’t any smarter for it. Always making the same mistakes. Always doubting themselves.
Since the night out, Ravi had been looking at him oddly. The same expression as Hen or Maddie.
At the bar, Ravi said, about Buck — How come you’re so bad at this? But the golden retriever firefighter hadn’t heard him.
Eddie had stared at him, and Ravi had stayed quiet for the rest of the night. But his gaze betrayed doubt. Eddie felt scrutinized. As his defense, he only wanted to stop the teasing on Buck, poor boy was trying so hard. That was legitimately very sad—and maybe a little cute.
Had he seen something Eddie himself hadn’t?
Probably, but it wasn’t the first time — at the workfield, Hen’s gaze always seemed to carry a quiet understanding when it came to Eddie. He had never dared to ask his colleague what she saw. The truth was a frightening thing.
Often, he realized this type of thing — that everyone else seemed to understand something about him and Buck at a single glance — while he himself needed Buck there to truly see it. As if whatever existed between them only became visible when they were side by side. People like Hen, Maddie, Ravi… they noticed it instantly. But Eddie? Eddie only understood himself when Buck was in the room. They had always been like that — mirrors angled toward each other, reflecting parts neither could fully grasp alone. The serious conversations. The type that hadn’t really happened since their kitchen argument, after Bobby’s death.
Since then, their words had stayed careful. Functional. Safe.
Eddie turned in bed, lying on his side, the sheet twisted low around his hips. The moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, cooler than the streetlight’s glow, washing the room in pale silver. It traced the line of his shoulder, the bridge of his nose, the faint crease between his brows. Outside, the city hummed distantly. Inside, everything felt too still.
He still felt guilty about the argument.
Sure, what he had said was true. The facts hadn’t been wrong. But truth delivered like a blade still cuts. And he had cut deep.
Buck’s blue eyes came back to him — wide, wounded, shining in the harsh kitchen light. Not angry. Hurt. That was worse. Eddie had seen the moment Buck turned the blame inward, like he always did. The way his jaw tightened. The way his shoulders collapsed just slightly. The way he started mentally tearing himself apart before anyone else could.
And Eddie had kept going.
Sharp comments. Controlled tone. Precision strikes.
He told himself at the time that someone had to say it. That Buck needed to hear it. That grief didn’t excuse recklessness. That responsibility mattered.
But underneath that justification was something uglier: he had been angry. Scared. And instead of admitting that, he had chosen control.
It whispered now in the dark— You failed. You weren’t patient. You weren’t kind. You weren’t the better man. Not enough. More for himself than anything.
He had grown up believing that intention mattered less than action. That harm, once done, stained. That words spoken in anger didn’t disappear just because regret followed.
He swallowed.
Since El Paso, he felt guilty for a lot of things. Leaving. Not asking Buck to come. Not trusting him with that decision. He knew Buck would have said yes without hesitation. He knew it the way he knew his own name.
But he hadn’t asked.
Because asking would have meant admitting he needed him. And because part of him believed sacrifice was something he had to carry alone. That being a good man meant protecting others from the weight of your choices — even if it meant pushing them away.
Buck had already done so much.
And still, Eddie had left him standing in the middle of the road.
A tear welled up before he could stop it. It slid slowly toward his temple, cool against overheated skin. He blinked hard, annoyed at himself, and wiped it away with the back of his hand.
The moonlight caught the moisture briefly before it disappeared.
It wasn’t the moment.
Guilt would not solve the problem. Punishing himself would not undo the look in Buck’s eyes. It would not take back the words. It would not bring Bobby back.
He exhaled slowly, steadying his breathing the way he had learned to do years ago — in churches, in confessionals, in quiet rooms where he had promised to be better. But lying there in the half-dark, one truth remained, stubborn and undeniable:
He didn’t regret what he felt.
He regretted how he said it.
And that difference mattered more than he wanted it to.
But will Buck excuse him?
He missed their conversations. Movie nights, listening to Buck’s fun facts about his weekly obsessions — often inspired by Christopher’s ones. Or watching him cook when stressed. Or playing video games with his son. Most of the time… he watched Buck. His best friend.
— Normal, he repeated to himself.
He missed Buck.
He didn’t know what to do, or what to say, to “get him back.” It wasn’t as if they didn’t see each other almost every day… but there were fewer nights out, less teasing, less of everything that made them “them”. Maybe they were just lost in their own misunderstandings, trapped in their own mental filters?
When they are together, a quiet kind of peace settles around him — subtle at first, almost fragile — and in those moments, he allows himself to believe that everything is as it should be. But once they part, after the long hours of work pull them in different directions, the stillness fades. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the emptiness seeps back in — a hollow ache, a reminder of the unrest that lingers between them, waiting.
The solution was simple — talk.
Not now.
Soon.
A night when one of their homes would be theirs alone. Buck’s place was rarely empty — as his. Before El Paso, he wouldn’t have hesitated. So yes, the wound between them lingered, keeping him awake long after the city had gone quiet.
He needed to talk to Buck. Now.
But why bother him at this hour?
He could wait.
He should wait.
At that moment, his phone vibrated. He picked it up and unlocked it.
The screen showed a photo — him, Buck, and Christopher in the kitchen, covered in flour, laughing while making cookies.
A message notification.
Buck.
He couldn’t sleep, either.
- Me neither. Call?
- Yeah. Responded Buck.