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The hat had made it into Eddie’s bag subconsciously.
It’s like clockwork, the way he seems to regress back into his southern nature at the smallest mention of going back down to the South, be it Texas or not.
Nashville had just been an extension of that.
So, when Chimney had selected he and Buck to drive down there and compete in the firefighter games, it was the perfect opportunity to pack his hat and his denim shirt and the nice belt that his father had gotten him as a throwaway Christmas gift last year. It was a last-minute thought, evidently, but it was nice. And he never got a chance to kick on his boots in LA.
He’d been excited to be back in the South, to hear the music everywhere and hear the accents and feel at home again, for once.
Until now.
He’s sitting in some dive bar, LED signs covering the walls and the bar sticky under his forearms, and Shania Twain is blaring through the speakers as somebody does karaoke behind him. Boots kicked up onto the base of his bar stool, Eddie sips his beer and tries his best to swallow it without choking.
Because Evan Buckley is sitting next to him in a disgusting fucking disco cowboy hat, smiling like some sort of heaven-sent angel, with the lights glimmering off of the mirrors on his head to send gorgeous little reflections over his features.
He looks beautiful. Eddie feels sick.
“Did you buy that specifically for this trip?” He sighs, laughing in disbelief as he runs a hand over his face.
“What, my shirt?” Buck grins back, wiggling his eyebrows.
Eddie doesn’t respond. Just contorts his face into something that he hopes resembles a false un-amusement.
“I’m kidding.” Sarcasm laces the blonde’s voice as he rests his chin on his hand, “I’ve had it for a while.”
His fingers brush the rim of the hat like he’s mocking a Western movie, and Eddie swears he catches Buck make a finger gun movement before he has to tear his gaze away with second-hand embarrassment.
“You’re sick.” He breathes.
“What? You don’t like my hat?”
Eddie sighs and takes another swig of his beer. “It’s a mirror ball.”
“Yeah.” Buck smiles, spinning his stool so that his body faces Eddie, and the brunette will be damned if it doesn’t give him a brilliant view of the guy’s crotch. “Like the Taylor Swift song.”
Eddie groans internally. Of course that’s why he has a fucking disco ball hat. He’d talked for days about his and Maddie’s trip to see the Eras Tour and he’d forced Eddie one night when they were tipsy off of leftover new-years-eve champagne to watch some sort of documentary about it. He’d been distracted by Buck’s smile when he watched the movie play, though. The way his eyes had sparkled when he pointed out Maddie’s favourite song, and where they’d been sitting in their stadium, and that ‘the bracelets change colour at the same time, Eddie! Isn’t that cool?’
Because you see, Eddie had come to terms with the fact he was in love with Evan Buckley a while ago. He’d had a moment of realisation, a week of denial and something resembling fear, before settling into the easy feeling that it just felt right. Inevitable.
And he wants to tell the guy.
Wants to finally start a life together and be a couple. He knows, realistically, that Buck loves him back, too.
It’s just not easy for him to say it outright. I love you.
Especially when they’re constantly surrounded by people who’ll interrupt the moment, never getting a moment for just themselves since Chris had started spending more time at home over the winter period, and baby Nash had been born, and Hen had gotten sick. He wants time for Buck. He has time for Buck. Just not.. a lot of it.
And Nashville is the perfect solution to that.
“It’s blinding half the people in here.” Eddie snorts, shaking his head and wondering distantly which spirit displayed on the bar would get him drunk enough to say something real.
“You love it.”
“I absolutely do not.”
Buck laughs and reaches and a hand up to pull the hat from his head. His curls are flat underneath it and some are sticking to his forehead with sweat, darkened slightly in their damp state. He tilts his head back to finish what’s left in his bottle and Eddie watches the way his jaw moves, Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows. It’s obscene, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.
“There.” He breathes hoarsely, “Was that so hard?”
The blonde smirks. “I’m probably gonna put it back on.”
“You won’t.”
“I could.”
“You won’t, Buck. Look around.” Eddie gestures wildly around the room, “Nobody else is wearing a costume.”
Buck rolls his eyes, grinning. He leans closer to Eddie as he responds softly, arm moving forward on the bar so that his fingers are almost brushing the brunette’s sleeve. “You are.”
Eddie furrows his eyebrows, taken aback by the statement. He’d taken a long time in his hotel room checking over his outfit, sending photos to a very unhelpful Christopher of his different jean washes to decide which looked best with double denim.
“I’m not.” He speaks slowly, “I am from Texas, Buck. This is what I grew up in.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Eddie swallows, shifting in his seat. He doesn’t respond.
“The clothes. Hat. That’s not what I mean. That’s not the costume I’m talking about.”
Buck’s words send Eddie’s mind reeling. Is he wearing a costume? Is he pretending to be something he’s not?
Accepting he’s gay happened a long time ago. He hasn’t tried to fucking hide it either - refusing dates with women, bidding thousands of dollars on himself. But is refusing to say it out loud a costume in itself?
Hell, does Buck know?
Eddie stands abruptly, his beer bottle swaying before straightening up on his coaster. “I gotta pee.”
The words are lacklustre and empty but he steps awkwardly away anyway, smiling thinly back at Buck as he navigates the mess of people towards the bathroom.
It’s like he’s on autopilot: get out, get alone, calm down.
As it turns out, splashing water on your face really does help you calm down in a shitty dive bar restroom. Eddie glances at his dripping face in the mirror briefly before wiping the back of his hands down his cheeks to dry them.
He’s been in here for more than five minutes now, considering his options about finding a time to tell Buck he loves him before their trip ends. If Buck knows he’s gay already, then surely this will all be simple, right? He’ll just go out there and tell him, “Hey, you were right. I am hopelessly gay for you.”
But he can’t do that. The words are thick in his throat even now, shivering in the cold bathroom.
So he shakes his head, checking himself once more in the mirror and straightening his own (much more appropriate) hat and pushing out of the door.
Eddie only gets halfway back to his best friend when he sees them.
A man and a woman, huddled together on the dancefloor as people sway around them. The sound of boots tapping and scooting on the vinyl resounds quietly under the music, but the couple’s soft, sweet gazes are what stops Eddie in his tracks.
He stands, hands limp at his sides, as he watches her lean up to kiss his lips softly.
Watches him smile, a flush creeping up his thick neck as his masculinity is replaced by all-consuming love.
He’s still watching when the man reaches up and takes off his hat, smoothing out his hair and then placing it carefully over his girl’s head like it’s the most precious act in the world.
And oh. That’s it.
Eddie’s friends had told him about the so called “hat rule” when they’d first started taking interest in dating during high school. Before he’d even met Shannon.
If a guy had feelings for a girl, they’d said, or wanted to see her again, he’d give her his cowboy hat and let her keep it forever as a token of his affection.
If a girl takes a guy’s hat, they’d all giggled, huddled together on the bleachers of the football field... well. That was a more adult insinuation. Ride a cowboy, and all.
Eddie shakes himself out of the thought as he realises he’s been standing in the same sorry position for way too long, glancing around quickly to see if anybody had caught him in his trance.
The coast seems clear enough. Good.
Except it’s not just good. It’s fucking amazing. He’s found a way to tell Buck he loves him without having to say it out loud, without having to be the first one to pluck up the courage and just confess.
And he can’t wait a moment longer.
Pushing through the rest of the crowd, Eddie practically throws himself back onto his stool at Buck’s side, almost knocking over the two new bottles that sit on the bar between them. Huh.
“I thought you fell down the toilet.” Buck snorts, turning off his phone from where he’d been scrolling on it.
Eddie laughs breathlessly. Nothing’s even funny. “Nope. I’m here. Not down the toilet.”
Buck blinks. “..right.”
“Yep. Right.”
“..yeah.”
They each stare at random things around the bar for a brief moment — the bartender shaking up a cocktail, a leaning pile of plastic cups, the condensation gathering near Eddie’s sleeve — before the brunette clears his throat.
“Hey, you wanna know something?” He speaks, a nervous little lilt gracing the end of the sentence.
Buck quirks a brow, turning to face Eddie. “I thought fun facts were my thing.”
“Do you wanna know?”
“I do.”
Eddie smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Cool.”
One last long swig of his beer, liquid courage as his sisters would call it, and Eddie is spinning in his chair to face Buck. The proximity of his knees to Buck’s thigh means the blonde has to turn himself away from Eddie, and the lack of touch that could have been possible sends a pang through Eddie’s stomach.
“There’s this, like, weird rule in the South.” He begins, wringing his fingers, “With cowboys and stuff.”
Buck smiles and nods, head turned so that his birthmark catches he light in a way that makes it even more obvious than usual. “What kind of rule?”
“Been around for ages, I think. It goes like— if you give someone your hat, then you’re in love with them. And if someone takes your hat, then they want a piece of you.”
The blonde laughs softly, shaking his head. “Like a school game.”
“No. It’s for real. Pretty sure it started decades ago, actually.” Eddie swallows, fingers shaking slightly in his lap, “Giving someone your hat means you’re in love.”
Buck laughs harder this time, spinning his stool away so that his back is to Eddie as he grips the bar.
“That’s hilarious! I mean— a hat exchange? To show love? If someone did that to me, I’d— I don’t even know. You must be kidding.” He rambles, amusement clear in his voice even though Eddie can’t see his face, “Even if it was real, it must be archaic. I mean, do people even still do th—“
He promptly snaps his mouth shut when he spins his stool back around, catching Eddie’s gaze.
Eddie’s very taken aback, suddenly sheepish gaze. Eddie’s gaze over where his hand is trembling, holding out his hat between them for Buck to take. A declaration of love.
A declaration which he thought would be sweet, until Buck had basically laughed in his face at the idea.
They both stare at each-other for a long time, the silence between them deafening as Buck’s eyes flicker between Eddie and the outstretched hat. His face is slowly falling, slowly depleting to something like regret, or embarrassment.
Maybe Eddie read him wrong. Maybe he’s absolutely fucking appalled by this – the idea that his best friend is in love with him and confessing whilst they’re on a work trip to Tennessee. He slowly recoils his hand, pulling the hat to his chest.
“No!” Buck speaks suddenly, hands darting out to catch Eddie’s outstretched arm and preventing it from reversing his advance any further. He looks mortified. “Oh my god. Eddie, oh my god.”
Eddie swallows, shaking his head. “It’s okay.” He breathes, dejected.
“No— no, it’s not. Oh my god. You’re so— that’s— you’re so sweet, Eds. God, I’m such a dick, you’re so sweet.”
“Really, Buck. It’s fine. That was stupid.”
Buck’s face crumples, his eyes wide and almost wet as he pulls the hat towards him again.
“Go again.” He breathes.
“..what?”
“Start again.” Buck whispers, swallowing. “You said ‘there’s a weird rule in the South’, and then told me about how the hat means love, and then I’m gonna turn around and say absolutely fucking nothing, okay?”
Eddie swallows, a hint of amusement blooming in his hollow chest around the flower of rejection that had been starting to pollute his breath. He breathes out shakily through a wry smile, nodding quietly.
“Okay.” He whispers. “Yeah. Uh. Right.”
God, get it together Eddie. He’s giving you a real chance.
“There’s— there’s a rule in the South. If a cowboy gives someone his hat, then it means he loves them.” He breathes, “He’s in love with them.”
Buck just sits there nodding, smiling softly with watery eyes as he listens to Eddie explain again. He takes a deep breath and makes a point of a very obvious zipping his lips gesture, before turning in his chair once more to face away from Eddie.
Pushing down any last piece of doubt he feels, overcome with a sudden amusement for this situation because God, it’s so them, Eddie holds out the hat again to Buck.
“You can turn back around.” He mutters.
Buck’s lip is quivering when he turns to face Eddie again, and a single tear has slipped down his cheek. The brunette tries his best to hold up the hat on a shaking arm, but just seeing the man like this, so soft and emotional, is sending a heavy feeling through his heart.
“Oh, Eddie.” Buck whispers, taking the hat from Eddie’s hands. He briefly wonders if the blonde is going to actually put it on before it’s being discarded on the bar, and hands are gripping his cheeks with an iron grip.
The force at which Buck connects their lips would have sent Eddie backwards if he hadn’t been so eager to kiss him anyway.
“I love you.” The words are breathed hot and quiet against Eddie’s mouth as he licks into Buck’s mouth. Finally tasting. Finally feeling. Finally having.
He can’t find it in himself to do anything but nod, pulling Buck’s waist so that he’s standing slotted between Eddie’s legs in-front of the barstool. Their noses squish together as they kiss, teeth clacking occasionally with the informality of their desperation, but neither of them care.
Eddie pulls away first, despite not wanting to. He rests their foreheads together, a hand coming up to wipe a thick, stray tear from Buck’s cheek.
“I’m sorry.” Buck whispers, sniffling.
“Don’t be.”
“I am. That was so rude of me Eddie— you were doing such a sweet thing, and I just dismissed it like it was stupid.”
Eddie smiles fondly, hand cupping Buck’s cheek. “It was. A little.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I love you.”
They pull each other into a hug, swaying slightly as Buck’s face presses against Eddie’s neck like a puzzle piece fitting perfectly into its resting place. He feels the blonde take a deep breath of his cologne, and smiles against his neck.
“I love you too.” Buck whispers. Quiet. Only for him.
“I know.”