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Eddie only realized how badly he’d needed the night to slow down when Buck turned the deadbolt with a soft click and the whole house seemed to exhale around them.
It was late—proper late, the kind where the neighborhood had gone quiet and the streetlights threw sleepy amber through the front windows. The living room was mostly dark except for the glow of the kitchen clock and the faint strip of light under the hallway nightlight Buck had insisted on months ago, back when they’d first started spending whole weeks tangled up in each other’s routines.
Eddie kicked his shoes off by the door and rolled his shoulders, the day’s tension still stubborn in his muscles. He’d been bracing for noise all shift—radios, sirens, panicked voices—and now the quiet felt like a luxury he didn’t know what to do with.
Buck, on the other hand, looked like he did. He moved through the house like it was a place he could trust, like it would catch him if he leaned into it. He hung his jacket on the hook by the entryway and turned, eyes already on Eddie.
“You look… tired-tired,” Buck said, voice low and gentle, like he didn’t want to startle Eddie’s nerves.
Eddie huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “Thank you for the clinical assessment, Evan.”
Buck’s thumbs traced slow, grounding circles against Eddie’s hips through his shirt. “Better?”
“Yeah,” Eddie admitted, voice rougher than he wanted. “A little.”
Buck leaned in and kissed him—soft, unhurried, a slow press that didn’t demand anything except that Eddie be here for it. Eddie kissed back immediately, because he could never not. Because Buck’s mouth always felt like permission to come home to himself.
When they pulled apart, Buck kept his forehead close, breathing the same air. “Shower?” Buck suggested.
Eddie’s shoulders dropped another inch. “Please.”
Buck nodded like he’d been waiting for that answer and took Eddie’s hand, tugging him down the hallway. Eddie followed without resistance, letting himself be guided. It still surprised him sometimes—how easy it was to let Buck take care of him. How natural it had become, even after all the years Eddie had insisted he didn’t need anyone.
In the bathroom, Buck flicked on the light, then immediately dimmed it to the softer setting. The little lineup of bottles on Buck’s side of the counter like a tiny apothecary.
Eddie caught sight of himself in the mirror—dark circles, faint stubble, the kind of expression he got when he was still half on-duty. Behind him, Buck looked calmer just by default, but his eyes tracked Eddie’s reflection like he was reading him.
Buck reached around Eddie and turned on the shower. Water began to rush, steam blooming. Eddie took off his socks and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it into the hamper. Buck was already pulling his own shirt off. Then proceeded to shuck off his pants along with his boxers. He caught Buck admiring his body from head to toe, which made him blush excessively.
Eddie watched him for a second longer than necessary and felt something warm and stupid bloom in his chest, a giddy little hit of happiness that still caught him off guard even now, even months into this.
Buck noticed. Of course he did. His eyebrows lifted. “What?”
Eddie shook his head like it was nothing. “Nothing.”
Buck’s eyes narrowed slightly, playful suspicion. “That’s not true.”
Eddie stepped closer, hands finding Buck’s waist, and let his gaze drop down Buck’s bare torso, then back up. “You’re just—” He exhaled. “You’re you.”
Buck’s expression softened, cheeks pinking faintly. “That’s the nicest not-compliment I’ve ever heard.”
Eddie smiled, unable to help it, and kissed him again—quick, affectionate. “Get in the shower before I change my mind and fall asleep standing up.”
Buck laughed, bright, and pulled Eddie with him.
The water was hot in the best way, the kind that loosened muscle and memory alike. They stepped under the spray and Buck immediately adjusted the temperature, because Buck always ran a little colder than Eddie and Eddie always ran too hot. It was one of those small negotiations they’d slipped into without thinking—Buck tugging the water warmer, Eddie nudging it back, both of them pretending it wasn’t an excuse to press close and touch.
They stood under the water together, bodies slick with heat and steam, Buck’s hands sliding up Eddie’s arms as if checking for tension.
Eddie let his eyes close. The water hit his shoulders and ran down his back. Buck’s palm settled between Eddie’s shoulder blades, steady. Eddie breathed out slowly and felt the last sharp edge of the shift begin to dull.
“Okay,” Buck said after a moment, voice thoughtful. “I have an announcement.”
Eddie opened one eye. “Oh no.”
Buck turned his face into the spray for a second, wetting his hair, then looked back at Eddie with solemn seriousness that never failed to make Eddie suspicious.
“You are not allowed to make fun of me tonight.”
Eddie blinked. “I’m not allowed?”
Buck pointed at him, water dripping off his finger. “No. Because I can feel it in the air. You’re thinking about it.”
Eddie’s mouth twitched. “Thinking about what?”
Buck’s stare intensified. “My curl routine.”
Eddie couldn’t help it. A laugh burst out of him, echoing off the tile. “Buck—”
“Eddie,” Buck corrected, like it was a warning.
Eddie leaned back into the water with a grin he couldn’t hide. “It’s just…” He gestured vaguely toward the shelf where Buck had already lined up multiple products like he was about to run a lab experiment. “It’s a lot.”
Buck’s mouth formed a pout so immediate it was almost impressive. “It’s not a lot. It’s necessary.”
Eddie lifted an eyebrow. “For what? Survival?”
“For my hair,” Buck said, offended. “It’s not just ‘wash and go.’ It needs care.”
Eddie stepped closer, soap-slick feet careful on the tile, and tilted Buck’s chin up with two fingers. “Your hair looks good even when you roll out of bed and it’s doing… whatever it does.”
Buck’s eyes narrowed. “That is not a compliment.”
“It is,” Eddie insisted, smiling.
Buck’s pout deepened, lips pushed out in the most ridiculous way. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”
“I didn’t,” Eddie protested.
Buck’s gaze flicked down to Eddie’s mouth. Back up. His voice dropped, but the pout remained. “You’re smiling like you did.”
Eddie softened instantly. He leaned in and kissed the pout away—one slow kiss that started gentle and stayed there, just warm and affectionate, a quiet apology wrapped in a press of lips. Buck made a small sound into Eddie’s mouth, the pout dissolving almost immediately.
Eddie pulled back just enough to breathe. “Better?” he asked softly.
Buck blinked, then nodded, cheeks a little pink. “Maybe.”
Eddie kissed him again. Buck’s hands slid to Eddie’s waist, holding on.
When Eddie pulled away the second time, Buck’s eyes were warm and pleased, but he tried for seriousness again. “Okay,” Buck said. “No more making fun. I’m doing my routine.”
Eddie lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m behaving.”
Buck squinted at him, unconvinced.
Eddie’s mouth quirked. “Mostly.”
Buck huffed a laugh and turned toward the shelf, reaching for the first bottle.
Eddie watched, amused, as Buck went through the steps like he was performing a sacred ritual—wetting his hair thoroughly, scrunching, applying product with methodical care. Eddie didn’t understand half of what Buck called things—leave-in, curl cream, gel cast—anytime Buck said the words Eddie felt like he’d wandered into a different universe.
Buck caught Eddie watching and pointed the bottle at him like a teacher. “Don’t,” he warned.
Eddie widened his eyes innocently. “I’m not doing anything.”
Buck’s eyebrows rose. “You’re doing that face.”
Eddie leaned against the tile, letting the water run over his shoulders. “I’m just watching.”
Buck shook his head, exasperated, but the corner of his mouth lifted. “Okay. Fine. Watch. But you have to be quiet.”
Eddie pressed a hand over his heart in mock solemnity. “Scout’s honor.”
Buck rolled his eyes and went back to his hair, fingers moving carefully through wet curls. Eddie found himself watching anyway—not to tease, not really. There was something about the way Buck did this, the concentration, the care. Like Buck believed he deserved softness. Like he’d decided somewhere along the way that taking care of himself mattered.
Eddie hadn’t grown up with that kind of lesson. He’d grown up with survival and responsibility and the constant background hum of what needed fixing. Watching Buck take his time with something small and personal felt… intimate.
After a minute, Eddie said quietly, “Teach me.”
Buck paused so abruptly water dripped down his nose. “What?”
Eddie met his eyes through the steam. “Teach me,” Eddie repeated, a little more certain. “Your routine. Or—just tell me what you’re doing. I want to know.”
Buck stared at him, disbelief flickering first, then something softer. “You want to know?” he asked, voice careful, like he was making sure Eddie wasn’t teasing again.
Eddie stepped closer. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m not making fun. I just—” He shrugged, honest. “You care. And I like that you care.”
Buck’s expression warmed in a way that made his eyes go bright. He blinked quickly as if surprised by his own reaction. “Okay,” he said, voice quieter. “Yeah. I can— I can teach you.”
Eddie smiled, small and real.
Buck shifted closer under the water, turning slightly so Eddie could see better. He held up the bottle. “This is shampoo,” Buck said, deadpan.
Eddie stared. “No way.”
Buck’s mouth twitched. “You’re already being annoying.”
Eddie laughed. “Sorry. Go on.”
Buck shook his head, but his smile lingered. “Okay, so,” he began, and walked Eddie through it like Eddie was actually a student—how he washed without roughing up the curls, how he conditioned and detangled gently, how he used product when his hair was still wet, how he scrunched upward to encourage the curl pattern.
Eddie listened, genuinely. He even reached out once, careful, and scrunched Buck’s hair the way Buck showed him.
Buck watched Eddie’s hands like they were something precious. “Yeah,” Buck murmured, approving. “Like that.”
Eddie tried again, slower.
Buck’s eyes softened. “Perfect,” he said, and it sounded like he meant more than the hair.
Eddie’s throat tightened unexpectedly. He dipped his head and kissed Buck’s shoulder—warm skin, a small affection Eddie couldn’t help.
Buck turned his head, hair dripping, and smiled at Eddie with such open happiness that Eddie felt it in his chest like a bright ache. Buck stepped closer until their chests brushed. Water ran over both of them, blurring the edges. Buck’s hand came up to Eddie’s cheek, thumb tracing lightly.
Eddie leaned into it instinctively, eyes half-lidded.
Buck kissed him—slow, sweet, a kiss that felt like a quiet moment in the middle of everything. Eddie kissed back, hands sliding to Buck’s waist, pulling him closer.
They stayed like that until the water began to cool and the steam turned the mirror into a fogged blur.
Eventually Buck pulled back with a soft exhale, forehead resting against Eddie’s. “Okay,” Buck murmured. “We should get out before we turn into prunes.”
Eddie’s mouth quirked. “Prunes are good for digestion.”
Buck stared at him. “Why would you say that?”
Eddie laughed, the sound easier now. “No reason.”
They turned the water off and stepped out into the cooler air, grabbing towels. Buck shook water from his curls carefully, already moving with purpose. Eddie toweled off quickly, because he really did run hot, and the lingering heat from the shower had him feeling like he might combust.
Buck wrapped his towel around his waist and reached for another, patting his hair with the careful precision of someone handling fragile glass.
Eddie watched with fond disbelief. “You’re treating your head like it’s made of—”
Buck shot him a look. “Don’t.”
Eddie raised both hands. “I said nothing.”
Buck narrowed his eyes, then relented with a small smile.
“Good.”
They moved around each other in the bathroom with the ease of practice—Buck at the counter, Eddie at the sink. The room smelled like clean soap and Buck’s expensive-smelling hair product.
Eddie opened a drawer and pulled out his razor, eyeing his reflection. He’d been letting his beard grow in a little, but it was at that stage where it was either commit or clean up. Eddie preferred clean.
Buck, meanwhile, was already lining up bottles on the counter like he was building a tiny skyline. Toner, moisturizer, something in a dropper bottle, something that looked like it belonged in a chemistry set.
Eddie stared. “How many steps is that?”
Buck didn’t look up. “Not that many.”
Eddie counted silently.
Buck glanced at him. “Don’t count.”
Eddie’s mouth twitched. “I’m not counting.”
Buck’s eyebrows lifted, unimpressed.
Eddie turned on the sink, water rushing. He splashed his face, then reached for shaving cream. In the mirror, he could see Buck in the background, towel now swapped for matching plaid trousers—because Buck had, at some point, convinced Eddie that matching pajama pants was “cute” and “domestic” and “a normal couple thing,” and Eddie had discovered to his surprise that Buck was right.
Buck wore the plaid trousers low on his hips and a black tee that clung softly to his shoulders. Eddie wore the trousers too, but no shirt—because Eddie ran hot, and because he liked the way Buck looked at him when he didn’t.
Buck caught Eddie watching him through the mirror and smiled faintly. “What?” Buck asked, already applying something to his face with gentle pats.
Eddie shook his head, spreading shaving cream along his jaw. “Nothing.”
Buck’s eyes narrowed, amused. “You’re doing that again.”
Eddie met Buck’s gaze in the mirror, razor paused. “Doing what?”
Buck’s smile warmed. “Looking at me like you wanna eat me.”
A smirk already forming on Eddie’s fac. He turned his face slightly to get a better angle for shaving, but his eyes stayed on Buck’s reflection. “Maybe I want to,” Eddie admitted quietly.
Buck’s hands paused. His expression softened, all teasing gone. “Eddieee,” he said, voice gentle.
Eddie dragged the razor carefully along his jaw, rinsed it, and tried not to laugh. “Sorry,” Eddie whispered.
Buck shook his head, in disbelief. “Don’tttt.” He went back to his routine, but slower now, like he was staying in Eddie’s orbit on purpose.
Buck pointed at him with a little bottle. “This is not a scam.”
Eddie tilted his head, shaving foam still on his face. “You sure? Because you were adorable before the tenth step.”
Buck gasped, offended. “I am adorable during the tenth step.”
Eddie’s eyes softened. “Yes,” he said simply. “You are.”
Buck blinked at him, cheeks flushing. He looked away quickly, pretending to focus on his face again. Eddie watched him through the mirror, feeling the quiet satisfaction of making Buck blush. It never got old. It probably never would.
Eddie continued shaving, slow strokes, rinsing the razor between passes. He liked the ritual of it. The clean scrape. The small control.
Beside him, Buck moved through his routine with practiced ease, finishing one product and reaching for the next. Eddie caught glimpses of labels—words like “hydrating” and “barrier repair” and “brightening”—and tried not to laugh.
Buck, apparently, read his mind. “You’re judging,” Buck said.
Eddie rinsed his razor. “I’m observing.”
Buck gave him a look in the mirror.
“Same thing.”
Eddie shrugged, then leaned closer to the mirror for precision around his chin. “If it makes you happy,” Eddie said, “I’m not going to stop you.”
Buck’s voice softened. “It does,” he admitted.
Eddie glanced at him. “Yeah?”
Buck nodded, eyes earnest. “It’s… calming,” he said. “Like shutting my brain off. And it makes me feel—” He hesitated, then said quietly, “like I’m taking care of myself.”
Eddie’s chest warmed. He rinsed his face, wiping away the last foam. “Then keep doing it,” Eddie said. “I’ll only make fun of you a little.”
Buck huffed a laugh. “Rude.”
Eddie turned slightly, leaning his hip against the counter so he could look at Buck directly, not just in the mirror. “You’re perfect,” Eddie said, simple and honest. “With or without all of that.”
Buck’s gaze flicked up, soft. “I know you think that,” Buck said, voice gentle. “But it’s not about being perfect. It’s about… being kind to myself.”
Eddie’s throat tightened. He nodded slowly. “Okay,” Eddie said. “Yeah. I get that.”
Buck smiled, small and bright. “Good.”
Then Buck reached for a packet on the counter.
Eddie’s eyes narrowed immediately. “What is that.”
Buck’s expression turned innocent in the most suspicious way. “Nothing.”
Eddie pointed. “Buck.”
Buck held up the packet like a peace offering. “It’s a face mask.”
Eddie stared. “Absolutely not.”
Buck’s eyes widened into something doe-like and impossibly earnest. He tilted his head slightly, lower lip already pushing forward.
Eddie saw it coming like a train and still couldn’t stop the impact.
“No,” Eddie repeated, firmer, because he had to try. “I am not putting that on my face.”
Buck took one step closer. “Why not?”
Eddie gestured vaguely to his own face as if the answer was obvious. “Because I don’t need it.”
Buck’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s not the point.”
Eddie crossed his arms. “It’s sticky.”
“It’s not sticky,” Buck argued, already opening the packet.
Eddie took a step back. “It smells weird.”
“It smells like… green tea and aloe,” Buck said, offended on behalf of the mask.
Eddie pointed at Buck. “You said you were going to do your routine. You did your routine. That’s enough routine for one night.”
Buck’s lips formed a pout. His eyes stayed big.
“Please.”
Eddie held strong for three full seconds.
Then Buck’s pout deepened and Buck’s gaze flicked down to Eddie’s mouth, then back up, as if he was reminding Eddie of all the ways Buck could negotiate.
Eddie sighed, already losing. “Buck—”
Buck stepped closer, hands hovering at Eddie’s waist. “Just try it,” Buck coaxed. “You’ll feel fancy.”
“I don’t want to feel fancy.”
Buck smiled. “You’ll feel… pampered.”
Eddie made a face. “I don’t do pampered.”
Buck’s voice turned softer, more earnest. “Let me take care of you,” he said quietly.
That hit different.
Eddie’s resistance faltered in a way he could feel physically, shoulders loosening. He stared at Buck, saw the sincerity there—not teasing, not playful. Just Buck, offering something gentle.
Eddie swallowed. “Fine,” he said, gruff. “One time.”
Buck’s whole face lit up, triumphant.
“Yes.”
Eddie pointed a warning finger. “But if I break out, I’m suing you.”
Buck laughed. “You won’t.”
Eddie glanced around the bathroom like he needed an escape route, then—because he was already committed—he sat up on the counter by the sink, legs apart for balance, hands braced behind him. Buck stepped in close, standing between Eddie’s knees, and Eddie felt the warmth of him immediately, felt how natural it was to have Buck right there in his space.
Buck looked up at Eddie with a grin that was entirely too pleased. “You look like you’re about to fight me.”
Eddie snorted. “I am.”
Buck leaned in and pecked Eddie’s lips once quick, sweet. Then again. And again, like he was punctuating Eddie’s stubbornness with affection.
Eddie’s mouth softened despite himself. “You’re ridiculous,” Eddie murmured.
Buck smiled, unrepentant, and tore the mask packet open fully. “Okay,” Buck said, suddenly focused. “Hold still.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, but he held still.
Buck’s fingers were gentle as he unfolded the mask—thin, cool, damp. He lifted it toward Eddie’s face with careful precision like it mattered.
Eddie watched him, helplessly fond. “You’re taking this very seriously,” Eddie said.
Buck’s eyes flicked up. “I am serious,” he said. “This is skincare.”
Eddie’s mouth quirked. “Yes, sir.”
Buck set the mask against Eddie’s face and adjusted it, smoothing it over Eddie’s cheekbones, lining up the holes for his eyes and mouth. The sensation was weird—cool and clammy—but Buck’s touch was warm and steady, and that made it tolerable. More than tolerable, really.
Buck leaned in close, concentrating. His brows knit slightly as he patted along Eddie’s jaw.
Eddie stared at him, chest doing that giddy thing again. “You know,” Eddie said quietly, “you’re very pretty.”
Buck froze, fingertips still against Eddie’s cheek. “Eddieee,” he protested, but his cheeks went pink instantly.
Eddie smiled behind the mask, which made the thing tug slightly on his face. “What?” Eddie said, voice muffled. “It’s true.”
Buck’s eyes widened. He looked both flustered and pleased, which was one of Eddie’s favorite combinations. “I’m literally putting a mask on your face,” Buck said, like that should somehow disqualify him from compliments.
Eddie shrugged as much as he could while sitting on a counter. “Pretty people can do skincare,” Eddie said.
Buck’s mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head, exasperated, and went back to smoothing the mask, but his ears were pink now too. “Stop,” Buck mumbled.
Eddie’s voice softened. “I won’t,” he said honestly. “You’re cute when you blush.”
Buck lifted his gaze slowly, eyes warm and a little shy. “You’re impossible,” Buck said.
Eddie tilted his head slightly. “Come here,” Eddie murmured.
Buck leaned in, and Eddie kissed him through the mask’s mouth opening—awkward and soft, but still a kiss. Buck made a small, pleased sound and kissed back, then pulled away just enough to peck Eddie again. And again.
Eddie laughed quietly. “You’re going to mess it up.”
Buck’s grin returned, bright. “Worth it.”
Buck finished adjusting the mask and then stepped back to admire his work like an artist. “Okay,” Buck announced.
“Ten minutes.”
Eddie stared at him. “Ten?”
Buck nodded solemnly. “Ten.”
Eddie glanced toward the mirror. His reflection was absurd—shirtless in plaid trousers, face covered in a slick mask that made him look like a spa commercial gone wrong. He deadpanned, “If you take a picture, I’m breaking up with you.”
Buck’s eyes sparkled. “Noted.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes, suspicious.
Buck held up both hands, innocent. “I won’t,” he promised. Buck not so sneakily took the picture and sent it to Christopher, but Eddie doesn’t need to know that. Buck had stepped back in close again, hands settling on Eddie’s thighs lightly, like he couldn’t resist touching.
Buck looked up, expression softer now that the mask mission was accomplished. “Thank you,” Buck said quietly.
Eddie blinked. “For what?”
Buck shrugged, but his eyes stayed earnest. “For letting me,” Buck said. “For… being willing.”
Eddie’s chest warmed. He reached down, fingers hooking gently behind Buck’s neck, and pulled him in. “Always,” Eddie murmured, and kissed him again—slow, real. Buck kissed back like he meant it.
When they pulled apart, Buck stayed close, forehead resting against Eddie’s. “You’re really wearing matching pants with me,” Buck whispered, delighted, as if he’d just noticed.
Eddie snorted. “Don’t act like you didn’t engineer this.”
Buck smiled. “I did,” he admitted proudly. “And you look cute.”
Eddie’s brows lifted. “I look cute?”
Buck nodded firmly. “Yes.”
Eddie’s mouth quirked. “You have terrible taste.”
Buck gasped. “Rude.”
Eddie squeezed Buck’s neck gently, affectionate. “Come on,” Eddie said, voice softer. “Let’s go watch something while I marinate.”
Buck’s eyes went bright. “Marinate,” he repeated, amused. “Yes. Let’s.”
They moved to the bedroom with easy closeness—Buck’s hand finding Eddie’s wrist, Eddie tugging Buck gently along. The bedroom was dim, lit by the TV standby light and the soft glow of a bedside lamp.
Buck grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on low, choosing some comfort show they’d both seen a dozen times—the kind that didn’t demand attention, just filled the quiet with familiar voices. Eddie climbed onto the bed and settled against the pillows, blanket pulled up to his waist because the mask was making his face cold.
Buck slid in beside him immediately, curling close. “Okay,” Buck said softly. “Hands.”
Eddie blinked. “What?”
Buck held his hands out expectantly.
Eddie stared at him for a second, then let Buck take them. Buck’s fingers wrapped around Eddie’s, cradling them carefully as if Eddie’s hands were something precious.
Eddie’s hands were bigger, rougher—calluses, little scars, the evidence of work and years. Buck’s were slimmer, but warm and strong, always moving like he couldn’t help it.
Buck began to play with Eddie’s fingers gently—tracing the lines of his knuckles, running his thumb over Eddie’s palm, interlacing and unlacing their fingers like he was soothing them both.
Eddie watched, something tender swelling in his chest. “You like my hands,” Eddie said, half amused, half stunned.
Buck didn’t look up. “I like all of you,” Buck said simply, as if this was obvious.
Eddie’s throat tightened. He shifted closer until Buck’s shoulder pressed against his. “You’re sweet,” Eddie murmured.
Buck finally looked up, eyes warm. “I’m right,” he corrected.
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “That too.”
Buck kept cradling Eddie’s hands, thumbs moving in slow circles that made Eddie’s whole body relax. The TV murmured in the background, but Eddie barely heard it. His attention narrowed to Buck’s touch, Buck’s closeness, the steady comfort of being cared for in small, deliberate ways.
Buck leaned over and kissed Eddie’s shoulder, then Eddie’s jaw—careful to avoid the mask’s edges—then Eddie’s mouth, quick and soft.
Eddie smiled against it. “You’re going to steal all my kisses,” Eddie murmured.
Buck’s grin was sleepy and pleased. “That’s the plan.”
Eddie’s eyes softened. “Okay.”
They watched the show for a while—mostly just letting it run while they existed together. Buck’s fingers never really stopped moving, always tracing, always holding. Eddie occasionally squeezed Buck’s hand back, grounding himself in the contact.
After a few minutes, Buck’s gaze flicked to Eddie’s face. “How’s it feel?”
Eddie considered, deadpan. “Like I’m wearing a wet napkin.”
Buck laughed, bright. “You’ll thank me later.”
Eddie turned his head slightly, looking at Buck. “You know what I’ll thank you for?” Eddie said quietly.
Buck’s smile softened. “What?”
Eddie’s voice dropped. “For making home feel like this,” Eddie said. “Like—” He swallowed. “Like I don’t have to be on guard all the time.”
Buck’s eyes went bright, emotion flickering there. He shifted closer, forehead touching Eddie’s temple. “You don’t,” Buck whispered. “Not with me.”
Eddie’s chest ached. He kissed Buck softly, careful. Buck kissed back, lingering.
When they pulled apart, Buck breathed out slowly, as if steadying himself. “Okay,” Buck said, voice thick with feeling. “We’re going to remove the mask.”
Eddie squinted. “Is it time?”
Buck checked his phone. “It’s time.”
Eddie exhaled in relief. “Thank God.”
Buck slid off the bed briefly and returned with a warm washcloth, because Buck was Buck and apparently this was a whole event. He sat close again and began peeling the mask carefully from Eddie’s face, slow and gentle.
Eddie made a face. “This is gross.”
Buck hummed, amused. “Hold still.”
Eddie held still, eyes on Buck’s face. Buck’s concentration made him look younger somehow, softer. Eddie’s chest did that giddy flip again and he couldn’t help smiling.
Buck caught it and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t start.”
Eddie laughed softly. “I’m not starting.”
Buck peeled the mask off completely and tossed it into the trash, then wiped Eddie’s face gently with the washcloth, careful strokes across his cheekbones and jaw.
Eddie watched him and felt his heart squeeze with affection. “You’d make a terrifyingly good nurse,” Eddie murmured.
Buck’s mouth quirked. “I know.”
Eddie blinked. “That confidence is new.”
Buck leaned in and pecked Eddie’s lips. “It’s not new,” Buck said. “It’s just finally directed appropriately.”
Eddie’s smile softened. “You’re ridiculous.”
Buck’s eyes warmed. “And you love me.”
Eddie didn’t hesitate. “Yeah,” Eddie said quietly. “I do.”
Buck’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, cheeks faintly pink. He set the washcloth aside and climbed back into Eddie’s space, curling close immediately. His hands found Eddie’s again like he couldn’t help it.
Eddie let Buck take them, fingers interlacing easily.
Buck sighed, content, and rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder, eyes on the TV but attention clearly elsewhere. “Your skin feels softer,” Buck announced after a moment, delighted.
Eddie stared at him. “You’re lying.”
Buck lifted his head, offended. “I am not lying.”
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “How would you even know?”
Buck smiled slowly, mischievous, and leaned in to press his lips to Eddie’s cheek—then lingered there, as if testing.
“Science,” Buck murmured.
Eddie’s laugh came out warm. “You’re unbelievable.”
Buck kissed him again, quick and sweet.
“Thank you.”
Eddie’s eyebrows rose. “For what this time?”
Buck shrugged, but his eyes stayed earnest. “For letting me have these things,” Buck said quietly. “The routines. The… domestic stuff. For making room for it.”
Eddie’s chest tightened. He squeezed Buck’s fingers gently. “Buck,” Eddie murmured, “I didn’t realize I wanted it until you brought it into my life.”
Buck’s expression softened so much it looked like it might tip into tears, but he blinked and smiled instead—bright, grateful.
He leaned in and kissed Eddie’s mouth slowly, a kiss that felt like a promise. Eddie kissed back, hands tightening on Buck’s, pulling him close.
When they finally pulled apart, Buck rested his forehead against Eddie’s. “Okay,” Buck whispered. “Now we actually watch the show.”
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “Sure.”
They tried. They really did.
But Buck kept stealing kisses—little pecks against Eddie’s mouth, his jaw, his shoulder—each one small and affectionate, like Buck couldn’t help spilling his love out in touch. Eddie pretended to be annoyed, but he kept turning his head to meet Buck anyway, kept pulling him closer, kept letting his hands roam gently over Buck’s back.
At some point Eddie’s fingers slid into Buck’s hair, careful not to disturb the curls Buck had worked so hard for. Buck sighed, content, melting into Eddie’s touch like it was the safest place in the world.
Eddie kissed Buck’s hairline and murmured, “You still have to teach me the curl thing.”
Buck lifted his head, eyes bright. “You want to learn?”
Eddie nodded, smiling. “Yeah,” Eddie said. “I want to learn everything that makes you… you.”
Buck stared at him for a second like Eddie had just handed him something fragile and priceless. Then Buck’s smile turned soft and stunned. “Okay,” Buck whispered. “Yeah. I’ll teach you.”
Eddie’s throat tightened. He kissed Buck again, slow.
“Good,” Eddie murmured.
Buck’s fingers tightened around Eddie’s hands, and he laced their fingers together again, holding on.
They settled back under the blanket, bodies pressed close, the TV murmuring on. Buck resumed playing with Eddie’s fingers, tracing each knuckle like he was memorizing Eddie in a language that didn’t require words.
Eddie watched Buck’s face in the dim light—soft and happy and a little sleepy—and felt something steady anchor in his chest. Not the rush of newness, but the calm of certainty. The sense that this—this silly, tender, domestic night with matching pajama pants and hair routines and face masks—was the kind of life Eddie wanted to keep building.
Buck shifted closer, nose brushing Eddie’s neck. “I love you,” Buck murmured, voice drowsy.
Eddie’s heart warmed like a slow flame. He kissed Buck’s forehead gently. “I love you too,” Eddie said, just as soft.
Buck hummed, satisfied, and tucked his head back onto Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie’s arms wrapped around him automatically, holding him close.
The show kept playing, but their focus drifted. Their breathing slowed in sync. Buck’s hand stayed clasped around Eddie’s, fingers threaded through Eddie’s like a quiet claim.
Eddie pressed one more kiss to Buck’s temple and whispered, mostly to himself, “You’re it for me.”
Buck’s eyes fluttered open for a second, warm and sleepy. He smiled like he’d heard, like he understood. He leaned up just enough to peck Eddie’s lips—one, two, three quick kisses—then settled back down with a content sigh.
Eddie laughed under his breath, holding him tighter.
Outside, the night stayed still. Inside, under soft light and softer blankets, Eddie let himself be exactly where he was—clean, safe, loved, and not alone. And when Buck’s fingers tightened around his again in his sleep, Eddie squeezed back, smiling into the quiet, already looking forward to tomorrow’s small rituals and ridiculous routines, because they were Buck’s—and now, they were his too.