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There's something about the way Buck looked at him tonight, over the sticky honky-tonk bar. There's something about the once-cocky smirk softened by questioning eyes. The way Eddie wishes he'd had an answer.
There's something about the way Buck had looked at him during the games. Like he was Hercules completing his trials, a figure to behold. The way his focus never shifted during the events, and between them only once. Shirts off, soaked in sweat, cold water from his bottle dripping down Eddie's chest. He looked down then. That was the only time. Eddie wishes he hadn't looked away.
There's something about the way Buck had looked at him in LA, when he brought up El Paso. When he reminded him that he didn't know once if he would ever come back. The way his face fell, eyes darkened, marred by that same sad expression he had in front of the U-Haul truck on his street–the same one he's worn after every breakup or bad date–haunted, however briefly by his usual ghosts. Eddie wishes he never had to see that expression again.
And there's something about the way that Eddie looks back at him, every time, like he's staring directly into the sun. Like he should be tearing his eyes away. There's something about the way that he can't help but keep looking.
The night is dragging on, but he can't fall asleep. Can't stop wondering what would've happened if he'd never looked past him, never directed his gaze towards the blonde woman trying for their attention. If he'd kept his eyes on the bright burning of his smile and let the questions fall away. If he finally let himself be pulled by that gravity he feels when he's next to him.
He pulls a pillow over his face and presses it down hard, like somehow it could stifle this restless wandering of his mind. The unyielding pull towards something he can't comprehend. Can't bear to approach. But even as he digs his heels in he can't seem to stop it inching closer. Closing in on him with every shallow breath. Closer, closer–
“Eddie, you still awake?” Buck's voice is slurred, slightly. Much too loud for this time of night. And accompanied by a sharp rapping on the hotel door.
And before Eddie knows it, before he has time to question why he's here at all, he's turning the nob and blinking away the hallway lights. And he's peering up at him. And his cheeks are flushed from the alcohol. And he still has that stupid disco ball cowboy hat on. And it still feels like staring directly at the sun.
And there's something about the way Buck is looking at him.