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It takes Buck too long to realize he shouldn’t be reading this.
It’s not fully his fault, his too peaceful 24 turned into a chaotic 30, most of the overtime done searching through the wreckage of a collapsed apartment building, keeping him on his feet enough to make him question if his leg would be able to keep him upright during the next 72 hours he has off. Enough for him to know he’s going to regret it in the morning if he doesn’t make his life easier now.
Which led to him digging through his closet for his compression socks in the middle of the night, and the subsequent collapse of his folder containing his documents, which he never fully got around to putting in a more convenient spot.
Except it’s not his.
He knows a lot of his stuff got mixed up with Eddie’s. There’s no real way of knowing who bought each plate, mug, pan, even some shirts, or decorations. He sure as hell didn't buy all the socks in his top drawer. And not just because of the move, between gifts, quarantine, random extended stays due to recovery, overnights just because, they lost track.
For the most part, neither one of them cares. Both houses always had blurry lines of ownership.
But this is not the type of stuff that should be displaced and currently in Buck’s possession.
If he had it his way, he would never lay eyes on this and be forced to learn its content.
Because he’s currently holding the “Last Will and Testament of Edmundo Diaz.”
But that’s not really what has Buck cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom in the middle of the night, feeling like the gravitational pull of the Earth has changed.
It’s the piece of slightly crumpled notepad paper with it, scribbled with Eddie’s handwriting, with lines crossed and smudged letters.
That’s addressed to him.
It takes a full paragraph that he can’t quite make sense of before he realizes this is a massive invasion of Eddie’s privacy.
But he can’t stop reading.
Because this piece of yellow paper seems to hold the answer to the thing he wants to know the most.
Why would Eddie pick him?
He never fully understood.
Eddie’s non-answer was more about Buck than Eddie’s feelings.
And staring at him are lines and lines of Eddie’s unfiltered feelings.
He knows Eddie can’t have written this long after that well collapsed. The fear he’s describing attached to that night has a raw edge that only exists with fresh trauma.
Buck knows, granted in a more abstract way since Eddie was never one to talk about the times he almost died, that that night changed something for him. He always attributed it to the inherent way situations like this forces you to confront your own mortality.
But the picture Eddie’s words are painting isn’t about fear of death, of consequences, of what’s next for the people he loves.
The letter reads like a confession.
A confusing and elusive one, but a confession still.
It doesn’t read like someone’s last words of comfort, a goodbye, an explanation of expectations, instructions on what to do once they are gone, nothing he would expect from a letter attached to someone’s will.
It just seems like Eddie is using the excuse to be as unfiltered about his feelings as he could, since there were no expectations of dealing with the consequences of saying all of this to Buck’s face.
The Buck this is intended to, is a version of him who would never see Eddie again. A version of himself he never wants to meet.
But apparently, that’s the version of him Eddie would confess to.
And it seems Eddie is aware of how unfair that is. Buck almost wants to laugh, finally reaching the last paragraph, fighting off the urge to start crying.
“I don’t know if I told you about any of this, Chris, my feelings. If you’re reading this after we had a great life together. Or if this is how you find out after I’m gone. I think part of me hopes it’s the first, that you get to keep this as proof of how it was always you. But if it’s the second, I’m sorry. I know it’s unfair to never give you the chance. I was probably too scared to scare you off. Or maybe you found someone who deserves you more than me, and I decided things don’t need to change. Because they don’t. You will always be my best friend, and that is all I need from you. But I love you more than that. I think you should know that, even if I never have the guts to say it out loud. I think that’s why I needed to write this. I almost died, and all I wanted to do was come home to my family. That’s you and Chris. You helped keep me alive down there, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. I love you, Buck. And I’m sorry if I never said it to you.”
I love you, Buck. And I’m sorry if I never said it to you.
He can’t help the way he keeps rereading that last part.
Tries to imagine having this as proof after they grow old and grey, and he can look back at this with decades of something he wasn’t aware he was allowed to want.
Loses himself in fantasies that include matching rings, and more kids, and mundane days of love that he’s only letting himself think about because he’s tired and his leg hurts and his guard is down.
He imagines himself loving Eddie, really loving him. No restraints or questions.
The kicker is that nothing about him needs to change for that to happen.
It’s not different, it’s just a settled version of what they already are.
And he watches as a piece of paper puts a wrecking ball through every excuse he’s been telling himself since that day in Maddie’s kitchen.
Because she’s right, it’s not crazy.
And if Eddie loves him, then he’s not as straight as Buck thought.
He didn’t even realize how much of his denial relied on that constant.
He can’t love Eddie because Eddie is straight.
But Eddie loves him.
Maybe the correct thought is that Eddie loved him?
This letter was written six years ago, too much has happened. Too much has changed. Maybe Eddie never said anything because he was wrong, and it wasn’t always Buck.
Maybe Eddie had figured out a way to get over it. Over him.
Buck doesn’t like the thought, but he can’t quite figure out why Eddie wouldn’t just tell him.
Is he too late to the realization?
The thought makes him want to throw up. Makes him get up, grab blindly at a pile of blue fabric, move through the house on autopilot while pulling the hoodie over his head, and then get in his truck.
He barely even registers the fact that the sun is just starting to rise once he pulls up to Eddie’s.
Maybe it’s unfair of him to just show up now, corner Eddie in his own house about something he doesn’t even know Buck knows. Something he didn’t want Buck to know.
But Chris is at Hen’s, and Buck has no control over his body to make himself stop.
Even if he knows Eddie is not gonna be happy to be dragged out of bed to a conversation he didn’t want to have so badly, he was ready to hide from it from his grave.
Not that Buck has to figure out how to get him out of bed.
He closes the door behind him as Eddie looks into the living room, and he has barely a second to question all his life choices before he’s staring at what will probably explode his life.
What if Eddie really is over him and he’s just making a fool of himself?
What if Eddie, blinking tiredly at him, in a burnt yellow shirt Buck’s pretty sure was his at some point, is the last moment of calm they’ll ever have?
What if he’s about to hit a point of no return and be forced to live his life knowing he was too late for the thing he just found out he wants the most?
“Buck? What’s wrong?” Eddie’s voice snaps him out of his spiral, forcing him to focus as Eddie takes a few steps closer to him, as if he’s not sure what to expect.
“I—”
“You?”
“I found something,” he mumbles, clearing his throat, and Eddie nods.
“Okay, and you needed to show me at six in the morning?” He asks with a chuckle, ready to indulge him, like someone barging into his house like this isn’t insane.
Buck feels insane. Maybe he’s gone crazy at some point in the night. Maybe a box of stuff fell on his head and knocked a screw loose.
He doesn’t know what to say. Words are not easy when he’s working with information from half a decade ago.
So he just looks down at the letter that he’s clutching hard enough for it to be all crumpled up in his fist, forces himself to relax his hand, takes a step further into the house, and offers it to Eddie.
He gives him a puzzled look, doesn’t close the space between them, just reaches forward, takes it, and backs up against the arc into the dining room while smoothing the paper.
And Buck watches as he realizes exactly what that is.
He can’t have read more than a few words before his eyes widen, face circling from genuine curiosity, to recognition, to fear as he slowly meets Buck’s eyes.
“You read this?” Eddie asks, voice uncharacteristically small, swallowing hard as he turns the letter over, and he nods.
“It was in one of my boxes,” Buck explains, and he winces.
“Okay.”
“Okay? That’s all you have to say?” Buck huffs, staring at him in disbelief as he straightens his back, crossing his arms over his chest, carefully rearranging his expression into something neutral.
“If you read it, you know what I have to say.”
“That’s not enough.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s six years old, Eddie, that’s why,” he says, suddenly feeling the urge to pick a fight, anything to break Eddie’s need to hide from him. From them.
“You weren’t supposed to read that,” Eddie says, letting his head loll to the side, and softly drop against the wall.
“Just when you’re dead,” Buck bites, and he recoils.
“No, not—” Eddie sighs, running a hand across his face, “that’s not the version I gave my lawyer.”
“Whoa, you just decided I wasn’t worth the trouble? Did you even mean any of it?”
“Did I even—of course I did, Buck, but it wasn’t fair to put that on you, not like that,” Eddie says, pushing himself off the wall, but still avoiding Buck’s eyes as he smooths the paper as best as he can.
“Then why did you keep it?”
“Because it felt nice to write it, it was somewhere else, so I didn’t have to carry it, made it easier to deal with, easy to compartmentalize,” he shrugs, like he’s not holding something that could turn Buck’s life upside down. Something that did turn Buck’s life upside down. “Besides, I read it a couple of times over the years, I like having it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s something palpable,” Eddie says, playing with the edges, strangely careful with it for a piece of paper that was already crumpled and smudged before Buck ever found it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, his voice more hurt than he expected, and Eddie huffs.
“Oh, come on, Buck,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“What?” Buck takes a step back, feeling defensive as he shakes his head.
“What good would it make?”
Eddie says it as if he thought about it long enough to run through enough scenarios to be sure this doesn’t end well. If he’s honest, it stings.
“You said you were sorry you never gave me the chance,” he says, pointing at the letter, “and you still didn’t give me a chance,” he adds, motioning helplessly around himself as Eddie drops his head, and shoves the letter into his sweats pocket.
“You were straight.”
“And you’re not?” Buck asks, a knee-jerk reaction of the small part of himself drowning in curiosity since he found the papers, but he just shrugs.
“I don’t know what I am.”
“Yeah, because it’s not like you ever showed much interest in any guys,” he says, an incredulous laugh spilling out of him without his permission, and Eddie just glares at him.
“That’s because I don’t want a random guy, Buck.”
“Then what the fuck am I?” He exclaims, voice louder than he expected.
Because that’s the thing, right?
What is he to Eddie if he can just ignore whatever this is for years?
What is he when Eddie doesn’t so much as look at someone else, but won’t tell him something like this?
“You’re something I can’t lose,” Eddie says, simply, like it explains everything, but it just makes him angry.
“So you just spent six years lying to me?”
“I never lied about how I feel,” he says, sounding defensive as he straightens his back, expression hardening.
“No, you just hid a big part of it.”
“What do you want from me here?” Eddie asks after a moment of charged silence, and Buck sighs.
“I—” he tries, but he can’t find the words.
“Because I’d rather die your friend than live my life as someone you rejected,” he adds before Buck can figure out what to say, and he huffs.
“That’s such bullshit.”
“Buck, you don’t want me.”
There’s a finality to Eddie’s tone that shocks him into silence.
Is that the explanation for years of not telling him? Is he that convinced Buck doesn’t feel the same?
“That’s—”
“What?” He groans, motioning vaguely around him, “every time I got to a point where I felt like maybe I could tell you, you pulled the rug from under me,” he explains, making Buck frown at him.
“Taylor.” The way he says it makes Buck’s mind flash to the way Eddie closed in on himself during his welcome home party after he was shot. At the time, he blamed his painkillers wearing off, too much attention too fast. Was that about Taylor’s hand around his arm, keeping his attention?
“Natalia.” He flashes to matching suits, feeling alive for the first time since he died, then Eddie’s refusal to meet his eyes at that graveyard.
“Tommy.” Eddie’s careful support as he told him about his date. “You know, Tommy really stung, it wasn’t that I’m a man, you just don’t want me,” he says with a humorless chuckle, before looking up as he runs a hand across his face. “I could’ve told you, but I know you. You would try to force it, but then I would be trapping you with me. And how long until that exploded in my face? Everything good in my life always does.” Eddie is blinking rapidly as he clears his throat, before shrugging with a deep exhale. “So, yeah, I’m in love with you, probably have been the whole time I’ve known you, but you don’t want me, so I just have to live with it.”
“Eddie,” he breathes, stunned as he starts moving closer, but Eddie raises a hand to stop him.
“I’m fine, Buck, I’ve had long enough with it. So you can go do whatever it is that you need to be able to look at me again, and we’ll reassess then. I don’t need you to let me down easy.”
“Tommy broke up with me because of you,” Buck blurts out before he can do something like kick him out of the house.
“What?”
“He and Maddie think I’m in love with you,” he explains, and Eddie’s breath catches before he shakes his head.
“Well, you’re not, so…”
“Don’t tell me how I’m feeling,” Buck protests, trying to move closer, but something in his expression breaks as he studies him.
“Buck, man, please don’t do this.”
Eddie sounds genuinely terrified, arms crossed as he stares at him, seemingly rooted in place.
“Can you just listen to me?” Buck tries, taking another step closer, but he just shakes his head.
“No.”
At least he’s not moving away.
“Eddie.”
“What? I don’t get the things I want, Buck, they divorce me, or die, or flee the state, or fall in love with everyone else but me, it is what it is,” he complains, and it makes Buck flinch.
“That’s not fair, I didn’t know I could want you.”
“Well, I know you didn’t magically fall in love with me in the past hour, so please don’t confirm my thoughts and let me trap you, because I know that knowing you don’t love me will make you miserable, and I can’t be the one making you miserable,” he states, and Buck isn’t sure of what he can say that will convince Eddie, so he just takes the last few steps between them.
“Eddie.”
“Buck, please,” Eddie whispers as he cups his face, his eyes darting to his lips, as Buck’s thumbs gently brush his cheek.
He leans in slowly, gives Eddie time to pull back, to stop him, but his hands move to clutch his collar, dragging him closer as he lets his eyes fall closed, and it’s the permission Buck needs to close the space between them.
Buck had never truly let himself imagine what it would be like to kiss Eddie, but during the odd moment his mind wandered before he snapped himself out of it, it was always frantic. A release of tension.
But kissing Eddie is like the first gasp of fresh air. Something letting him know he’s safe now, that he can breathe.
It’s unhurried as hands tug him closer, even though there is no closer, and he sinks into the feeling of Eddie’s lips opening under his. Into the content sigh Eddie lets out.
Until he pulls away too soon, keeps his hands clutched to his hoodie, but extends his arms, putting as much space between them as he could without losing that point of contact, blinking at Buck like he can’t quite believe he’s real.
“That was not fair,” he complains, shaking his head, maybe trying to clear it as he looks dazzled up at him.
“Eddie, I’m so in love with you, I didn’t even notice,” he says, and Eddie raises an eyebrow at him as he finally lets go of him. “No, that sounded bad,” Buck shakes his head once he realises what he said, “I—loving you is kinda like breathing? I’m not thinking about it, I just do. All the time. There’s this part of my brain that’s just always focused on you, I just never thought to question it. Because it’s just… Right, you know? Of course I don’t have to think about it to be thinking about you, I just do. The same way I just love you.”
“Buck.”
There’s a reverence in Eddie’s tone that makes him shiver.
“I didn’t know I could want you.”
“Why does that change anything?”
“I couldn’t think about it, if I did, I would never be happy with anything else, and I thought I couldn’t have you,” he explains, while Eddie searches his face, but he can’t quite figure out what Eddie is looking for, “I love you, I do, this is me walking in with you, like I always did, like I’ll always do.”
“Buck.”
“Please, baby, you know you can’t get rid of me, don’t push me out now.” Buck’s not above begging, he will if that’s what Eddie needs to believe him.
“Don’t do this because you feel like you need to.”
“Was I ever not there to catch you? You just gotta let me,” he closes the space between them again, hands resting on Eddie’s waist, while his eyes narrow as if Buck is a puzzle he can’t quite figure out. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, he just lets him look as his fingers trace absentminded patterns on his hip.
And he watches as Eddie seems to find whatever he wants, his expression softening as his body relaxes on his next breath, and his hands find the back of his neck to pull him in.
This one is frantic. It’s like Eddie realized he’s allowed to touch and isn’t sure what he wants to do more. And Buck lets him, going pliant under his hands, letting out an embarrassing noise he will deny later, as Eddie deepens the kiss, tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth as his arms go around his shoulders, kisses his way across his jaw, until he’s nuzzling on his neck with a deep sigh as his arms tighten around him.
“God, I love you so much.”
“I know,” Buck giggles, turning so he could kiss the side of his head, “you wrote me a love letter,” he teases, and Eddie lets out an offended huff.
“That—” he cuts himself off, pulling back just enough so that he could look him in the eyes, “how did you even find it in the middle of the night?”
“I was looking for something,” Buck mumbles, and he gives an expectant look, “my compression socks.”
“I knew you were moving slower when we got back to the station,” Eddie says, giving him a once-over as if looking for injuries.
“I’m just—” Buck tries to defend himself, but gets interrupted.
“I have them.”
“What?”
“You forgot them in the hall closet,” Eddie says, pointing in the direction of the hall, and he laughs.
“Of course I did.”
“Did you take something for it?” He asks, fingers playing with the curls in the back of his neck, and Buck nods.
“Yeah.”
“Do you need ice?”
“Not right now.”
“Buck,” he raises an eyebrow at him.
“I totally forgot about it once I got in my truck. I just wanted it close in case I needed it later,” he explains, and it seems good enough for Eddie to nod.
“Okay, do you wanna go to bed?”
“Not even a date, and you’re already inviting me to your bed?” he teases, but Eddie just shrugs.
“You’re in my will, how much more official can we get?”
“I don’t know, marriage?” Buck laughs, but he nods, leaning into his shoulder again.
“Okay, we can go to city hall after we sleep,” Eddie says, lips brushing his neck as he nuzzles closer.
“Eddie,” he lets out a bashful laugh, trying to move back, but Eddie’s arms just tighten around him.
“You said it,” he shrugs, and Buck makes a mock-offended noise.
“That was not a proposal.”
“Do you want me to do it? I can.”
“I—”
“I don’t think you would like a huge production, though.”
“Eddie,” he tries to interrupt, but it seems like Eddie is caught up in saying what he’s imagining out loud.
If Buck’s fully honest, he never thought about getting engaged as more than an abstract concept, he wants the life, the how he gets there was never his focus. But Eddie’s words feel thought out, like he imagined what Buck would like. The details. Like Buck just reminded him that he needs the supplies to make it happen, but he has no problem making it happen.
He never thought about it, but with Eddie mumbling words into his skin as if thinking out loud, it shocks him how much he wants it.
Craves it, even.
To just be Eddie’s. No take-backs.
“I could just get rings, and—”
“Eddie!” He grabs his shoulder, pulling him back so he can look him in the eyes, and Eddie looks sheepish.
“Sorry, I’ll slow down, I just got—”
“Hey, I love you, you’re not freaking me out, I just didn’t know you wanted this,” Buck explains, and he moves to cup his cheeks.
“I just want you,” Eddie says, simply, and he leans into his touch.
He can live with that.
He wants to live with that.
He wants to give Eddie whatever Eddie wants.
“Can you let me do it?” Buck asks, suddenly, half-formed plans swirling in his brain.
“Huh?”
“I got a love letter, let me give you the big production.”
“Yeah?” Eddie nods, and he hums, leaning in to kiss him again.
“Gotta woo you,” Buck adds into his lips, and he laughs, pulls back, but then comes back to kiss him, once, twice, three times.
“I don’t need wooing, I just need you.”
“Is that a no?”
“I didn’t say that,” Eddie shakes his head, kissing him again, like he can’t help but close the space.
“Need to make sure you won’t change your mind,” Buck says, and it’s supposed to be a joke, but Eddie pulls back, watches him with a painfully soft expression.
“No take-backs, I wrote you a love letter.”