Archive of Our Own

“Recuerdo aquel verano que pasé contigo, y cada beso que nunca pasó se viste de fantasma cuando estoy dormido”

“I remember that summer I spent with you, and every kiss that never happened becomes a ghost when I'm asleep.”

The words drifted through Buck’s mind like smoke from a dying fire, clinging to the edges of his thoughts even as the real world pressed warm and solid against him. 

Eddie’s body was a living anchor beside him —no, on top of him— his chest rising and falling in the slow, trusting rhythm of deep sleep. 

The weight of Eddie’s head on Buck’s bare chest felt like the only thing tethering him to the earth; one arm draped loosely across Buck’s ribs, fingers curled just beneath his sternum as if even unconscious Eddie needed to feel the steady thud of Buck’s heart. The faint scent of Eddie’s shampoo —something clean and woodsy that always reminded Buck of rain on desert earth— mingled with the lingering trace of their shared evening, sweat and soap and the faint sweetness of the chamomile tea Eddie had insisted they both drink before bed.

That should have been enough. God, it should have been everything.

But Buck’s mind refused to quiet. 

It kept circling back to the phone call that afternoon —the one he’d taken while Eddie was still at the station finishing his shift. His parents’ voices had sounded so ordinary, so casually affectionate, that the sting had taken a moment to register.

“Evan,” his mother had begun, her tone light, almost playful, the way she used to sound when she was trying to soften bad news about a canceled visit or another missed birthday. “It’s not that we’re particularly surprised you have a boyfriend. Honestly, sweetheart, we’ve always known you had… a big heart. But we are surprised you’ve managed to keep someone for this long. Being… well, you.”

She’d laughed then, a soft, self-conscious chuckle as if she were sharing an inside joke instead of driving a splinter under his skin. 

His father had jumped in, voice warm in that distant, boardroom way he had, like he was closing a deal rather than talking to his son. 

“What your mother means is, you’ve always been all-in, Evan. Intensity like yours… it’s a lot for most people. We just worry, that’s all. We love you. We want this to stick.”

And then his mother again, sweeter still, the kind of sugar that rotted everything it touched.

“It’s a good thing it’s that boy —Eddie, right? At least he already knows what you’re like. He won’t run when the intensity kicks in. He’s seen your… episodes. The way you throw yourself at everything. That’s rare, honey. Hold on to him.”

Buck had laughed at the time. 

He’d cracked a joke about how Eddie was probably only sticking around for his cooking and Chris’s video-game collection. He’d changed the subject to the weather in Hershey, asked about their garden, anything to get off the phone before the crack in his chest widened. 

But now, hours later, with Eddie’s breath ghosting warm across his skin, every syllable returned sharper than before.

Being… you.

Intensity.

That boy.

They had survived so much together —literal hell on earth. 

The tsunami that had nearly drowned him and Chris while they searched for safety in churning black water. The lawsuit that had torn their team apart and left Buck feeling like he was bleeding out in slow motion. The gunshot that had shattered Eddie’s shoulder and left Buck kneeling in someone else’s blood, screaming his name. The lightning strike that had stopped Buck’s heart for three minutes and seventeen seconds —time he still sometimes felt missing from his bones. 

Years of almosts. 

Years of glances that begged for more. 

Years of sleeping in the same bed without touching, then finally touching and never wanting to stop. 

Years of choosing each other over and over, through grief and guilt and the slow, terrifying realization that this was home.

What if the problem had never been Eddie’s fear at all? What if it was Buck? What if the very thing that made Eddie stay —Buck’s relentless, all-consuming love— was eventually going to be the thing that drove him away?

The thought lodged in his throat like broken glass. 

His arms ached with the need to tighten around Eddie, to fuse them together so no amount of doubt or parental prophecy could pry them apart. But he stayed still, terrified that even the smallest movement would wake the man he loved and reveal how cracked he was inside.

As if the universe had heard the silent plea, Eddie stirred. 

Not fully awake —his eyes stayed closed, lashes fluttering against Buck’s chest— but his body reacted anyway. 

He turned his face deeper into Buck’s bare chest, nose brushing the small scar from the lightning strike, and let out a small, unconscious sound. A sigh that wasn’t just breath; it was comfort, like he was answering something only he could feel. 

His arm tightened, fingers spreading wide over Buck’s heart as if to say ‘I’ve got you’. His lips moved against Buck’s skin, murmuring something too soft to catch at first —then clearer, raw with sleep.

“Buck… don’t… I’m here… stay with me…”

The words were slurred, half-formed, but they hit Buck like a defibrillator shock —electric, painful, impossibly tender. Eddie’s brow furrowed for a second, then smoothed as he nuzzled closer, leg hooking over Buck’s thigh like an anchor. Another whisper, almost too quiet

“Love you… like this. Always like this.”

Eddie was dreaming. Dreaming of him. 

Answering the anxiety Buck hadn’t voiced, soothing the wound he hadn’t shown. 

Buck’s breath caught. Tears burned behind his eyes, hot and sudden. 

Eddie wasn’t awake —hadn’t opened his eyes, hadn’t heard the spiral— but somewhere in the dream, he’d reached out anyway. Like his subconscious knew exactly where Buck’s mind had gone and refused to let him fall alone.

He pressed his lips to the top of Eddie’s head, breathing him in, trying to memorize the exact weight of him, the exact rhythm of his heart. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Eddie’s hair, voice cracking even though he knew Eddie couldn’t hear. “I’m trying not to be too much. I swear I’m trying.”

Eddie hummed again, softer this time, body relaxing completely into Buck’s hold as if the apology had been accepted in whatever dream they were sharing now. His breathing evened out once more, deep and trusting, but the small smile that curved his lips stayed.

Buck wanted to whisper something else, a small ‘Always like this’ caught in his throat, but the fear wouldn’t let him.

Because Eddie had left for Texas once —packed up everything and driven away, leaving a Diaz-shaped hole in his world that had taken months to breathe through. 

Because no one in Buck’s life had ever stayed when the intensity showed up. 

Because his own parents, flawed and distant as they were, had known him longer than anyone, and if they saw the end coming, maybe they were right.

Good things didn’t follow Evan Buckley. 

They circled him, bright and beautiful, then slipped through his fingers like water.

Buck hadn’t slept a single minute that night.

The alarm chirped softly at six-fifteen, and Eddie shifted in his arms like he always did —slow, lazy, utterly trusting.

He lifted his face, and the sight of him —eyes still heavy, hair wild, that sleepy half-smile that belonged only to Buck— made something in Buck’s chest crack open all over again. 

Eddie leaned in without hesitation, kissing him slow and gentle, morning breath and all, murmuring against his lips, “Good morning, cielo.”

His voice was rough and warm, the Spanish endearment wrapping around Buck like another blanket. He lingered there, forehead resting against Buck’s for a heartbeat, then two, before pressing a second kiss to the corner of his lips. 

“You taste like home.”

Buck tried to smile, but it wobbled. 

“Morning,” he whispered back, the single word cracking.

Eddie seemed to notice, but instead of pushing, he simply smiled, small and crooked and so full of love it hurt to look at. 

He kissed Buck once more —deeper this time, slow and reassuring— then nuzzled into his neck, pressing a lazy kiss to the sensitive skin there and breathing him in, arms sliding around him like he had no intention of moving for at least another five minutes.

Buck's throat tightened with how good it felt, and how much it would hurt to lose it. 

“Don’t go,” he whispered before he could stop himself, the words slipping out raw and small. The same involuntary plea as the night before, but softer now, less desperate and more honest.

Eddie stilled. 

He pulled back just enough to look at him, brown eyes soft and searching in the early light. One hand came up, thumb brushing Buck’s cheekbone with a tenderness that made Buck want to hide and lean into it at the same time.

“Hey,” Eddie said quietly, voice still rough from sleep but steady. “I’m not going anywhere, Buck. Bathroom, then wake Chris up for school. That’s it. I’ll be right back.” 

He paused, studying Buck’s face like he could read every sleepless hour written there. 

“You okay? You feel… far away this morning.”

Buck forced a nod, but it wasn’t convincing. 

He knew it. Eddie always knew.

Eddie’s thumb kept stroking in slow circles. 

“You don’t have to tell me right now. But I’m here when you’re ready. You know that, right? Whatever it is…” He leaned in, forehead resting against Buck’s. “Give me ten minutes to wake Chris and make coffee. Then we'll stay in bed until you feel better.”

Buck swallowed hard, eyes stinging. He turned his face into Eddie’s palm, pressing a kiss there. 

“I love you,” he managed, voice thick.

Eddie’s expression softened further, something fierce and protective flickering behind his eyes. 

“I’ll be right back… I’m always coming back to you.” He kissed him again, harder this time, like a promise sealed in daylight. “We’ll talk more later. After Chris is in bed. Just us. Okay?”

Buck nodded, the knot in his chest loosening —just a little. “Okay.”

Eddie smiled, small and real. 

“Good. Because I’m keeping you, Evan Buckley. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

Then he kissed Buck’s forehead, climbed out of bed with one last lingering glance, and stretched on his way to the door.

Buck watched him go, hand pressed over his heart where Eddie’s head had been. The doubt was still there, quiet now, waiting. But Eddie’s words —both the sleepy ones in the dark and the awake ones in the light— had wrapped around it like a shield.

Perhaps if he could just keep the cracks hidden a little longer, Eddie wouldn’t see them. 

Perhaps this time, the good thing would stay.

“Pasamos de repente del calor al frío y tu recuerdo no se congeló, hoy no puedo creer que estés al lado mío” 

“We went suddenly from heat to cold and your memory didn't freeze, today I can't believe you're by my side”

A week later, the words still hadn't left his mind, and now they were beginning to make more sense.

Buck could still taste the acrid smoke from the warehouse fire on his tongue, even though the call had been listed as “routine” —a minor structure collapse with no civilians trapped. But Buck had seen the loose beam, the way the floor sagged like it was breathing, and he’d moved before his brain caught up. 

He’d lunged, rope slipping through his gloves, throwing himself into the gap to brace the collapse so the rest of the team could get clear. 

It had held. 

Barely. 

Eddie had watched it happen from the street, had screamed his name into the radio until his voice cracked, and then… nothing. 

The silence that followed had been worse than any shout.

Now, in the engine, the air felt frozen solid. 

No one spoke. Hen kept her eyes on the road like it might vanish if she blinked. Chimney fiddled with the radio dial that didn’t need fiddling. Buck sat rigid in the jump seat, boots planted wide, fingers digging crescents into the fabric of his turnout pants hard enough that the seams would probably leave bruises on his palms. 

Eddie had refused the engine. 

He’d climbed into the ambulance instead, slamming the door so hard the whole rig rocked. Buck had felt that slam in his sternum like a second impact.

Every mile back to the station stretched longer than the last. 

Buck stared out the window at the blur of LA traffic and tried not to replay the moment Eddie’s face had gone white under the helmet —eyes wide, mouth open on a silent no. He could feel the others stealing glances at him, pity and worry thick enough to choke on. 

The tension wasn’t the usual post-call exhaustion. 

It was the specific, suffocating kind that only ever settled when Buck and Eddie were on opposite sides of a fracture. And right now, the fracture felt canyon-wide.

When they finally rolled into the station bay, the ambulance was already parked, lights off, like it had been waiting to ambush him. 

Eddie was inside the locker room, already stripped down to gym shorts and a threadbare LAFD tee, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The rest of the team filed out in unnatural silence. 

Chim lingered by the engine, wiping his hands on a rag he didn’t need to wipe, eyes flicking between Buck and the locker room like he was deciding whether to step in. He and Hen exchanged one of those loaded looks that said everything without saying anything, and Ravi —God, sweet, clumsy Ravi— walked past Buck with a gentle pat on the shoulder that somehow felt like a condolence.

“You okay, dude?” he murmured, voice low enough that only Buck heard.

Buck couldn’t answer. His throat was too tight. His hands were still shaking from the call —from the split-second decision he’d made to dive under the beam before anyone could stop him. 

He’d been fine. He was always fine. 

But Eddie’s voice had cracked over the radio —“Buck, get the fuck out!”— and the fury in it had been unmistakable.

They all knew it was directed at him.

Neither of them said anything else and simply walked past towards the loft.

They were alone. The air around him crackled. Even the overhead lights seemed harsher, casting sharp shadows across his shoulders.

Buck stopped three feet away. His heart hammered so hard he was sure Eddie could hear it.

“Eddie,” Buck tried, voice barely above a whisper. He watched the line of Eddie’s shoulders lock up, every muscle coiling like a spring.

Slowly, like it cost him everything, he lifted his head.

The look on his face wasn’t rage exactly, it was something sharper, something carved from fear and exhaustion and love twisted into knots. 

His eyes —those warm brown eyes that had looked at Buck with nothing but love for years— were dark now. Storm-dark. Dagger-sharp.

The kind of look that made Buck’s stomach drop straight through the floor.

“I can’t. I can’t talk right now, Buck. I—I’m…” Eddie said, and the words came out rough, scraped raw. He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough that Buck winced for him. 

“I—I’m so fucking angry, and I know why you did it. I know. But if I open my mouth, I’m gonna say something I can’t take back, and I don’t want that. Not with you. So… later. Please. Just… give me space.”

Buck’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

He couldn’t even nod. 

Eddie stood, brushing past him so close their arms almost touched, and headed straight for the gym. A moment later the rhythmic, brutal thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through the station —each hit landing like a punctuation mark on everything Buck had done wrong. 

Again.

Buck stood there alone, the echo of those punches slamming into his ribs with every strike.

He felt it in his bones: this was the moment Eddie finally realized he was too much. Too reckless. Too impulsive. Too Buck.

The rest of the shift dragged in that same brittle silence. They cleared calls, restocked the rig, wrote reports —every motion mechanical. 

Eddie never looked at him directly. 

Buck kept catching the edge of his profile: jaw tight, eyes distant. By the time they finally clocked out, the sky outside was the bruised purple of early night, and Buck’s ribs ached from the way he’d been holding his breath for hours.

The drive home was worse.

Eddie’s truck felt too small, the cab thick with everything unsaid. He stared straight ahead, one hand white-knuckled on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift like he needed something to hold onto.

Buck sat rigid in the passenger seat with his knees bouncing and his hands folded in his lap like a kid waiting for punishment, watching the streetlights slide across Eddie’s knuckles on the wheel. 

Every red light lasted an eternity and Buck’s mind spun in tighter and tighter circles.

He did it again. 

Impulsive. Reckless. Too much. 

He’s going to realize tonight that this is who he is, that he’ll never stop, and he’s going to end it. 

He’ll say it quietly, the way he does when he’s trying not to break his heart. He’ll tell him that he needs to stay with Maddie for a while. He’ll say Chris deserves better than a dad who keeps almost dying on purpose. 

And he’ll have to pack the blanket he hasn't used since they started sharing a bed and pretend he understands. 

Because he understands. He’s the problem. He always has been.

Buck’s throat burned. He kept swallowing, but the lump only grew. 

He could still hear the way Eddie had shouted his name on that call —raw, terrified, furious. Not at the situation. At him. 

Because Buck had done it again. Jumped first, thought second. Because his impulsiveness had always been the crack in every foundation he’d ever tried to build.

By the time Eddie pulled into the driveway, Buck’s chest felt like it was caving in. Eddie killed the engine but didn’t move. 

For one heartbeat, Buck thought maybe he’d speak. Maybe he’d say something —anything— to end the agony.

Instead, Eddie got out without a word. The door shut with a quiet click that somehow hurt more than a slam. 

Buck watched him walk to the front door, shoulders still rigid, and leave it ajar behind him —like an invitation or a trap, Buck couldn’t tell. Maybe both.

He sat there another minute, swallowing around the stone in his throat, before dragging himself inside. 

Carla was already leaving, purse over her shoulder. She gave him the same soft, knowing smile she always did when the boys had been fighting, rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, and patted it twice like she knew exactly how close he was to shattering.

“He’s with Christopher,” she whispered. “Give him a minute, sweetheart.”

Buck nodded as the door closed behind her, but his eyes were already stinging.

He could hear them in Chris’s room —the low murmur of Eddie’s voice and the bright beep of a paused video game, Christopher’s laugh at something Eddie said. Normal. Safe. 

Everything Buck had convinced himself he was about to lose.

Buck turned toward the kitchen on autopilot, but the smell of whatever Eddie had asked Carla to leave warming in the oven made his stomach twist. 

He couldn’t eat. Not when he was about to lose everything.

He drifted into the living room instead, knees weak, and opened the linen closet like muscle memory searching for the blanket and pillow in there. The ones from the nights he used to sleep on the couch before Eddie started pulling him into their bed every single time. 

He could get ahead of it. 

If he made the couch up now —by himself—, Eddie wouldn’t have to ask him to leave. He wouldn’t have to watch Eddie’s face twist with guilt while he said the words.

He was shaking out the sheet when Eddie’s footsteps came down the hall —steady, deliberate.

“Buck.” Eddie’s voice was exhausted, quiet. “What are you doing?”

The question made Buck flinch, but he kept his back turned, clutching the blanket like a shield. 

Of course he’s tired of your antics, your neediness, you.

“Making up the couch,” Buck managed, voice cracking on the last word. He kept moving, smoothing the sheet with trembling hands. “I figured—”

“Who’s sleeping on the couch?” Eddie asked. His voice held confusion, not cruelty, but Buck’s brain supplied the rest anyway.

“You’re mad at me. Really mad, ” Buck said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I get it. I scared you. I always scare you. I’m not gonna make you share a bed with someone who keeps doing stupid shit that scares you. So I thought… I’ll just stay out here. Give you space.”

Eddie let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire day. 

“Evan.”

The use of his birth name stopped Buck cold. He froze mid-step, sheet corner still clutched in white-knuckled fingers, and finally looked up.

Eddie stood in the doorway in the same clothes he had left the station in, hair still damp from the shower he must have taken after destroying the punching bag. 

His eyes weren’t angry anymore. They were tired, yes —bone-deep tired— but mostly they were soft and red-rimmed like he’d been fighting tears in the gym the same way Buck had been fighting them in the truck. 

He looked devastated. Full of something Buck couldn’t name but felt like it might drown him.

“I would never make you sleep on the couch,” Eddie said, stepping closer. “Never. No matter how angry I am. At the end of every single day, the only place I want to be is in our bed with you. The only thing I want to do is hold you until the sun comes up. Even when I’m furious. Especially when I’m furious.”

Buck’s vision blurred instantly. The tears he’d been swallowing all day finally spilled over.

The sheet slipped from his hands, pooling at his feet. 

“Eddie…”

He kept coming until he was close enough that Buck could smell the faint trace of his body wash and the salt of dried sweat.

“I’m not mad because you’re you,” Eddie continued, voice cracking now too. “I’m mad because for thirty seconds I thought I wasn’t going to get to you in time.” 

Eddie’s voice was raw and honest in a way that sliced straight through Buck’s defenses. 

“I watched you disappear into that collapse and I—I couldn’t breathe, Buck, my heart just… stopped. I was so scared. I’m still scared. Because one day my luck might run out and I’ll lose you. And then Christopher loses the only other father he’s ever had. And I lose the man I love more than I know how to say. And yeah, I’m mad at the choice you made —but I’m not mad at you. Never at you.”

Buck felt the sob rip out of him before he could swallow it —an ugly, broken sound, the kind he usually tried to hide even from Eddie.

His knees buckled and the only thing that kept him upright was Eddie lunging forward, arms wrapping around him so tightly it felt like he was trying to hold all the shattered pieces together.

“I’m here,” Eddie whispered into his hair, one hand stroking down his back in long, steady passes while the other cradled the back of his neck. “I’m right here, cielo. I’m not going anywhere. Not because of a fight. Not because of your impulsiveness. Not because you’re too much. You’re never too much for me.”

Buck buried his face in Eddie’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent of home and safety and everything he’d been so sure he was about to lose. His hands fisted in the back of Eddie’s shirt, clinging so hard the fabric strained.

“I thought… I thought this would be it,” he choked out. “That you’d finally see I’m not worth the risk. God, Eddie, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for being like this. I didn’t think —I just saw the beam and I couldn’t let it fall on anyone else. I didn’t mean to scare you. I never mean to, but I always do. I’m too much, I’m too impulsive, I ruin everything good—”

“Shh, cielo, breathe.” Eddie’s hand stroked firm circles down his spine while the other cradled the back of his head, fingers threading gently through his curls. “You don’t have to apologize for being you. I was angry because I couldn’t say the words I needed to say in the moment. I shut down. That’s on me. But an argument doesn’t end us, Buck. A fight doesn’t mean I stop loving you.”

Eddie pulled back just far enough to frame Buck’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing away tears that wouldn’t stop falling with a tenderness that hurt.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice fierce and gentle all at once. “An argument doesn’t end us. Your impulsiveness doesn’t end us. Nothing ends us unless we both decide it does. And I’m never deciding that. You hear me? I chose you knowing exactly who you are. The guy who runs into burning buildings. The guy who loves so hard it scares people. I love every single part of that guy. Even the parts that make me want to punch a bag until my knuckles bleed.”

Buck’s laugh came out wet and shaky. “You’re allowed to be mad at me.”

“I am mad,” Eddie admitted, his forehead dropping to rest against Buck’s, eyes closed, breathing him in. “But I’m more in love. And the love is bigger. It’s always gonna be bigger.”

“I… I love you.”

Eddie’s smile was small, exhausted, but real —the kind that always felt like sunlight after a storm. 

“I love you too, Evan.” he murmured. “Now please, for the love of God, put that blanket away. Our bed is cold without you in it.”

Buck nodded, still trembling, but the weight on his chest had lifted enough that he could breathe again.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

He kissed him then —slow, deep, desperate. The kind of kiss that tasted like salt and relief and every unsaid promise they’d ever made. The hollow ache in Buck’s stomach that had lived there since the call finally cracked open and filled with something warmer, something that felt like home.

It was Eddie saying, without words, that nothing —not a fire, not a fight, not Buck’s worst fears— could pull them apart.

And for the first time since that beam had groaned overhead, Buck believed him.

“Porque solo tú sabes que cuando estás, es tan bonita la tarde. Solo tú sabes, no sé vivir, que yo sin ti, no soy nadie”

“Because only you know that when you're here, the afternoon is so beautiful. Only you know, I don't know how to live, that without you, I'm nobody.”

A couple days later, Buck had volunteered for the extra shift without a second thought. One of the C-shift guys needed the day off —family stuff— and Buck had raised his hand before anyone else could blink. 

It was the right thing to do. Noble, even. 

But the second the engine rolled out of the bay without Eddie in the jump seat beside him, the nobility curdled into something hollow.

The station felt wrong all day.

The loft was too quiet without Eddie’s low laugh drifting up from the apparatus floor. The kitchen smelled like burnt coffee because no one remembered to set the timer the way Eddie always did. 

Buck kept reaching for the spot on the couch where Eddie usually sat —legs stretched out, one ankle hooked over Buck’s knee while he scrolled through his phone— and finding only empty space. 

Every time the radio crackled with a call, Buck’s eyes flicked automatically toward the ambulance bay, waiting for Eddie to appear in turnout gear, helmet under his arm, that easy half-smile already in place. 

But Eddie wasn’t on shift. Eddie was home. With Chris.

Buck missed him like missing a limb.

Not just Eddie —both of them. 

Eddie and Chris had become the rhythm of his breathing: inhale their voices in the morning, exhale the day knowing he’d come home to them. Without that rhythm, the air felt thin, like he was trying to live at high altitude. 

He caught himself touching the dog tags Eddie had given him last Christmas —the ones with Christopher’s handprint etched into the metal— more times than he could count. 

A talisman. A reminder that they existed. That he belonged somewhere.

But belonging felt dangerously one-sided some days.

He’d texted Eddie a dozen times since breakfast. Stupid things mostly. 

A photo of the new coffee machine he had finally convinced Chim to buy. A dumb joke about Laurent’s latest baby-proofing disaster. A simple “miss you already” that he’d sent at 10:17 a.m. and stared at until the screen went dark.

Eddie had answered most of them. Quick replies. Heart emojis. “Soon, cielo.” But after the last message the thread went silent.

Three hours. Nothing.

Buck told himself it was fine. They were having father-son time. Video games. Homework. Maybe ice cream from the truck that parked near the school on Fridays. Normal. Healthy. 

Eddie deserved that. Chris deserved that. 

They’d had years of just the two of them before Buck crash-landed into their lives with his too-much energy and his too-loud laugh and his inability to ever leave well enough alone.

Maybe they were relieved.

Maybe the house felt lighter without him hovering. Maybe Eddie finally got to breathe without Buck’s constant orbit. Maybe Chris didn’t have to pretend he wanted Buck’s input on every little thing. 

Buck remembered the afternoons when Chris disappeared into his room with his headphones on, door closed. The evenings Eddie went to Hen and Karen’s and came home smelling like wine instead of their cheap beer. The family dinners at Pepa’s where everyone talked over each other but Buck still felt like the odd man out, smiling too wide to cover the ache.

He knew what absence felt like. 

He’d grown up in a house full of people who were never really there. Parents who looked through him like he was made of glass —pretty to look at, but not worth keeping. 

He’d spent his whole life trying to be indispensable to someone. Anyone. 

And now he was terrified he’d finally found the two people who made him feel like he mattered, only to discover they didn’t need him the way he needed them.

He was sitting in the loft, knee bouncing so hard the table rattled, staring at his phone like it might suddenly confess Eddie’s feelings for him. The last message glowed accusingly.

‘Picking up Chris now —talk later, love you’

Three hours and thirty minutes ago. Thirty-one.

Buck let his head drop back against the chair. The edge caught him right at the base of his skull —sharp, immediate pain— and he didn’t even flinch. Just closed his eyes and let the sting settle in beside everything else.

What if they were laughing about how clingy he was? What if Eddie was finally admitting to Chris that Buck was a lot sometimes? What if “soon” was code for “I need a break from you”?

The thoughts looped, tighter and tighter, until he almost didn’t hear the commotion in the parking lot.

A car door. A familiar engine shutting off. Then—

“¡Mierda!”

Eddie’s voice —sharp, exasperated, unmistakably his— cut through the station like a siren.

Buck’s heart lurched.

“Buckkkkkkk!” Christopher’s shout followed, bright and cracking with teenage glee, crutches clacking against concrete. “Dad owes us twenty bucks for all the swearing he just did while he was driving!”

“Snitch,” Eddie shot back, but there was laughter under the growl.

Buck was on his feet before his brain caught up, grin splitting his face so wide it hurt. He took the stairs two at a time, boots thudding, pulse roaring in his ears.

They were here.

Both of them.

Christopher spotted him first and lit up, crutches moving faster. Buck dropped to one knee the second he hit the bay floor and pulled Chris into a hug —careful of the crutches, careful of the teenage dignity, but unable to stop himself. Chris let it happen for a glorious thirty seconds before he started squirming.

“Buck, we agreed. Ten seconds max. I’m too old for this. You’re embarrassing me in front of the entire fire station.”

Buck laughed —shaky, relieved— and ruffled Chris’s curls before pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. 

“You love it, admit it.”

“Gross,” Chris muttered, but he was smiling.

Buck straightened. And there was Eddie.

Eddie, holding a pink bakery box from La Croissanterie —the little place an hour out of their way that only made Buck’s favorite almond croissants on weekends. 

Eddie, in jeans and that faded gray hoodie he had stolen and never given back. 

Eddie, looking at him like Buck was the only thing worth seeing in the whole damn city.

“Eddie…”

Eddie’s smile softened into something private, tender. He stepped forward, free hand rising to cup Buck’s cheek, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth like he was memorizing it.

“I was losing my mind at home,” Eddie said quietly, voice rough around the edges. “I talked to the walls. I talked to the fridge. I swear the fuc— freaking Hildy judged me. When I picked up Chris we just… looked at each other and knew we had to come find you.” 

He lifted the box a little. 

“Croissants. The good ones. And yeah, my phone died twenty minutes after I said I’d text. And this one—” he jerked his head toward Chris “—decided he was too cool to use his own phone to tell you we were coming. So… surprise?”

Chris rolled his eyes so dramatically Buck almost laughed again. 

“What Dad’s trying to say is we missed you. Like, embarrassingly a lot. We lasted two hours without you and it was torture. So we’re crashing your last hours of shift. Deal with it.”

Buck’s throat closed. He blinked hard, once, twice. 

“You… you came here. For me.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed, concern flickering. 

“Buck. Of course we did.” His thumb kept moving, gentle arcs over Buck’s cheekbone. “You think we could just sit at home knowing you were here feeling like this?”

Buck swallowed. 

“I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to.” Eddie leaned in until their foreheads touched. “I know you, Evan. I know when you’re spinning. And I hate that you spent even one second thinking we’re better off without you.”

Chris cleared his throat loudly. 

“Uh, Buck? Your neck is like… tomato level. That’s a freaking line of red? Did you get burned in the engine or…?”

Buck snorted, the sound breaking the tension in his chest like sunlight through clouds. 

“I, uh… hit my head on the chair earlier. Long story. Stupid story.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re gonna tell me that story later.”

“Or never,” Buck countered, but he was already leaning in.

Eddie met him halfway.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, tasting faintly of sugar and relief and everything Buck had been starving for all day. Eddie’s hand slid to the back of his neck, holding him there like he was afraid Buck might vanish if he let go. 

When they parted, Eddie didn’t pull away far —just enough to whisper against Buck’s lips.

“I missed you so much it hurt,” Eddie said, voice barely audible. “Don’t ever think you’re replaceable. Not to me. Not to us.”

Buck’s eyes stung. 

“I love you,” he breathed. “Both of you. So much.”

“Love you too, Buck,” Chris piped up, suddenly shy. “Even when you hug me like I’m five. But maybe next time do it when no one’s watching?”

Buck laughed —real, bright, the sound echoing off the bay walls. Eddie grinned against his temple.

“Deal,” Buck said, pulling Chris into a quick side-hug —ten seconds exactly— before turning back to Eddie. “You brought pastries. You drove an hour out of your way. You came here. You’re… you’re everything.”

Eddie kissed him again, softer this time, lingering.

“And you’re ours,” he murmured. “Always.”

Chris groaned dramatically. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go find anyone and tell them you guys are being gross again. Save me a croissant!”

He clattered off toward the stairs, muttering about “parents these days,” but the smile on his face said he didn’t mind one bit.

Buck rested his forehead against Eddie’s, breathing him in.

The afternoon felt beautiful again.

Because they were here.

And they wanted him exactly as much as he wanted them.

“Porfa, no te vayas cuando salga el sol, cuando algún error me haga pasar por imprudente. Porfa, no te vayas cuando intente hablar y al tartamudear, na-na-na-nada te cuente”

“Please don’t leave when the sun rises, when some mistake makes me look reckless. Please don’t leave when I try to speak and, stuttering, I can’t tell you anything.”

Buck had sworn a month ago that he would never do it again.

He had stood in the middle of their bedroom that night after the warehouse collapse, after the fear and the tears and the desperate kisses that tasted like ash and forgiveness, with Christopher asleep down the hall and Eddie’s hands cupping his face like he was something breakable.

“I promise,” Buck had whispered, voice raw from the last close call, the one that had left Eddie’s eyes haunted for weeks. “No more running headlong into danger without thinking. No more risking what we have. Not for anyone.”

Eddie had kissed him then, slow and desperate, like he was sealing the vow with his mouth. 

He’d promised Chris too, in the quiet dark of the boy’s bedroom, hand over Chris’s heart while Chris pretended he wasn’t crying, —still— small fingers locking around Buck’s much larger ones. 

“I’m not going anywhere, kid. I swear.”

“You can’t break it, Buck. Pinky promises are forever.”

But promises were fragile things.

So when the call came crackling over the radio —daycare fire, multiple children unaccounted for, possible entrapment— and dispatch named the address, Buck didn’t think.

And it was Jee.

His niece. His tiny, bright, fearless, unicorn-obsessed niece who two days ago had climbed into his lap at Maddie and Chim’s after dinner, pressed her sticky little palm to his cheek, and declared all the solemn gravity a four-year-old could muster.

“Uncle Buck, I love you with all my unicorn heart. Forever and ever, pinky promise.” Her breath had smelled like strawberry toothpaste and safety, and, when she hooked her smallest finger around his and squeezed until it hurt, Buck had felt something crack open inside his chest and fill with light.

As soon as they arrived at the place, Hen —acting captain while Chimney stayed home with a feverish baby Bobby— started giving orders from inside the truck, before staring intently at Buck.

“Buck, hold position, we don’t have confirmation on evac status yet,” she barked, but even when Buck heard the words, they never landed.

Because Buck was already moving.

He tore off toward the building without his SCBA, without his mask, without anything but the pounding terror in his chest that screamed her name over and over. 

The world narrowed to one thing: Jee.

Smoke billowed from the single-story building like a living thing, thick and black, swallowing the afternoon sun. Parents were already screaming in the parking lot, teachers stumbling out coughing, but Buck didn’t see them. 

His boots pounded pavement, lungs already burning from the first inhale of acrid air. His eyes watered instantly, vision blurring at the edges, but he didn’t stop. 

He couldn’t.

Everything was pure chaos —screaming children being herded out by teachers, alarms shrieking, sprinklers hissing. Buck shoved past a firefighter from another house, shouting Jee’s name into the haze. 

“Jee! Jee-Yun!” he shouted, voice hoarse before he even crossed the threshold. 

The heat slapped him like a wall —hotter than any kitchen fire he’d ever fought, because this wasn’t just a building. This was where his niece learned her ABCs and napped with her stuffed giraffe and believed Uncle Buck could fix anything.

Inside, the hallways were a nightmare of haze and small chairs overturned like fallen soldiers. He dropped to his knees instinctively, crawling where the air was marginally clearer, but the smoke clawed at his throat anyway. 

Every breath scraped like sandpaper. 

His eyes streamed tears that weren’t just from irritation —they were terror, pure and animal. 

What if she was hiding under a desk? What if she was calling his name and he couldn’t hear her over the roar of flames? What if he was too late and the last thing she ever knew was fear instead of the safety he had sworn to give her?

He found one of the teachers collapsed in the hallway, unconscious, face gray, pulse thready under his gloved fingers. Buck didn’t hesitate. He heaved her over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, legs screaming from the extra weight, coughing so hard his vision spotted black, and kept going.

Classroom after classroom—empty, thank God, but each one carved another slice from his soul.

“Caterpillars,” the sign read in bright, hand-painted letters above her room. 

The door hung open. Crayon drawings of rainbows and fire trucks fluttered on the walls. Tiny cots were pushed against the wall, nap mats rolled up, toys scattered like they’d been abandoned mid-play. 

No tiny voices. No bright purple unicorn backpack. 

Nothing.

Buck’s legs gave out. 

He dropped to his knees right there in the center of the room, the teacher’s weight dragging him down before sliding off his shoulder onto the floor with a soft thud, and for one shattering second he couldn’t breathe at all —not from smoke, but from the certainty that he had failed the one little girl who had never once doubted him.

She wasn’t here. She wasn’t—

Strong arms hooked under his, hauling him upright. 

A mask was shoved over his face —cool oxygen flooding his starving lungs— and the remaining weight of the teacher was lifted away. Buck gasped, coughing violently, but the hands holding him didn’t let go. They were steady, familiar, trembling just enough for Buck to feel the fear behind them.

“Buck —breathe, damn it.”

“Eddie—” he choked out, voice muffled and broken.

Even through the blur of tears and smoke, Buck knew the shape of him, the timbre of his voice gone raw with fear. Eddie shook his head fiercely, eyes wild above his own mask and his gloved hand cupped the back of his neck for one fierce second, grounding him.

He half-dragged, half-carried Buck toward the exit, one arm banded around his waist like he could physically keep Buck’s soul from leaving his body. Ravi appeared at the doorway, taking the teacher without a word.

“She’s outside. Move.” Eddie rasped, low and urgent. 

Buck stumbled after him, legs like lead, coughing around the mask. Eddie kept one hand fisted in the back of his turnout coat the whole way, steering him through the smoke like he was afraid Buck might bolt again if he let go.

Outside, the daylight hurt and the world exploded back into noise —sirens, crying parents, Hen barking orders.

Buck let Eddie guide him to one of the available ambulances like he was made of spun glass, hands shaking so badly the stethoscope clattered against the metal, before checking pupils, pressing an oxygen mask back into place when Buck tried to pull it off to speak.

Buck could feel Hen watching from a distance, arms crossed, expression a storm of worry and fury, but it was Eddie’s silence that gutted him.

He didn’t look at Buck. Not really. 

His eyes stayed fixed on the numbers on the pulse ox, on the oxygen line he was adjusting with movements clipped and mechanical, on anything that wasn’t Buck’s face.

The silence between them was louder than the sirens.

The mask helped. Air finally reached his lungs properly. But the second he could speak, Buck ripped it off again.

Buck’s fingers found Eddie’s wrist, wrapping around it like a lifeline. 

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he stammered, the words tumbling out jagged and wet. His voice cracked on every syllable, worse than it had been since his childhood. “I c-couldn’t—I had to—”

“You’re not sorry,” Eddie said quietly, so softly it almost didn’t carry over the chaos. He gently but firmly pressed the mask back up. “Breathe, Buck. Just breathe.”

Buck tried to pull it off again, desperate to see Eddie’s eyes, to read the verdict there, but another cough tore through him, doubling him over. Eddie raised one eyebrow —the same look he gave Christopher when he was about to argue bedtime— and Buck surrendered, slumping forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the scuffed toes of his boots like they held answers.

Eddie’s hand rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades until the fit passed.

When Eddie finally stepped back —toward the cluster of kids and teachers on the lawn— Buck’s chest caved in all over again, different this time. 

It wasn’t smoke anymore. 

It was the old, familiar terror: he had done it again. 

He had been too much, too reckless, too Buck. Eddie had watched him almost die too many times already. This would be the breaking point. 

Eddie would finally realize he couldn’t keep loving someone who kept throwing himself into the fire like his own life was disposable. He would take Chris and go, and Buck would be left with nothing but the echo of a pinky promise he hadn’t kept.

“D-Don’t l-leave,” Buck whispered to the empty air, voice shattering on the last word. A sob clawed its way up his throat as he was staring at his soot-streaked boots.

Eddie’s boots appeared in his line of sight again. Not with angry steps. Not retreating. Just… there.

Buck looked up.

Eddie stood in front of him without his turnout jacket now, sleeves of his navy LAFD tee rolled up, hair damp with sweat. His arms were full of the most precious cargo in the world.

There was Jee-Yun —tiny, still in her little blue leggings and sparkly unicorn shirt, cheeks flushed but eyes bright. She had both hands clapped over her mouth like she was holding in the world’s best secret, but her whole face was glowing.

“Here I am,” Eddie said, voice so soft it felt like a blanket being tucked around Buck’s shoulders. He shifted Jee higher on his hip. “And look who wouldn’t stop telling every teacher, every firefighter, every police officer that her Uncle Buck is the most fantabulous fireman in the whole universe and that she needed to see him right now.”

Jee’s hands dropped. 

“Uncle Buck!” she squealed as she nodded vigorously, pigtails swaying as they got closer to Buck. “I told them! I said that my Uncle Buck has the big number one-one-eight on his truck and he’s the best at hugs and he always finds me when we play hide-and-seek.”

Jee hadn't even finished speaking when she was launching herself forward with a delighted squeal and landed against his chest like she belonged there.

Buck caught her on instinct, arms wrapping around her tiny body like she was the only solid thing left in the world, with one hand cradling the back of her head, the other splayed protectively across her small back.

She burrowed into his chest, face pressing against the spot where his heart was still racing, and he felt her whole body relax against him.

“H-Hey, Princess Jee,” he managed while removing his oxygen mask, voice trembling so badly he could barely get the words out. “A-Are you okay, baby? Were you s-scared?”

She nodded against his sternum, but when she pulled back her smile was steady, brave in a way that made fresh tears spill down Buck’s soot-streaked face.

“A little bit… at the start. But the teacher said we had to do the quiet line, like you told me —hands on shoulders and no running— so I did it. And then I heard the sirens, really loud, and I saw the big truck, the one that goes ‘nee-naw,’ and it had one-one-eight, and I knew it was you. So… I wasn’t scared anymore.”

She stopped, thinking, then her face lit up.

“And then Uncle Eddie came! And I told the teacher, ‘He’s my other uncle, he’s super strong and he makes funny jokes,’ and she said okay. And we played the quiet game so I could go like this—” she put her finger to her lips, in the gesture for silence, but she was giggling, “—and surprise you.”

She beamed up at him.

“Did you like it? I was very sneaky.”

Buck let out a laugh that didn’t quite know how to be one —wet, uneven, breaking apart halfway through. It scraped out of his chest like something pulled loose after being held too tight for too long. He pressed his face into her hair, eyes squeezing shut as he breathed her in.

Baby shampoo. Crayons. Warm skin.

And beneath it, faint and wrong, the ghost of smoke.

His throat tightened.

“I loved it,” he murmured into her curls, voice rough. “God, I loved it. Best surprise ever. In the whole world.” 

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands coming up to cup her face like he needed to make sure she was real. 

“You were so brave, Princess Jee. Braver than me, I think.”

She blinked at that, considering it very seriously.

“No,” she decided after a moment, patting his cheek with firm little certainty. “You’re big brave. I’m just little brave.”

That did it.

Buck huffed out something that might’ve been another laugh, or maybe a sob trying to disguise itself. He kissed her palm when she left it there, lingering like he didn’t want to let it go.

Then, almost reluctantly, like tearing himself away from something warm, he looked up.

Eddie was already watching him.

Their eyes met over the top of Jee’s head.

Eddie’s smile was there —but softer than usual, edges a little unsteady. His eyes shone, glassy under the grime, like he’d been holding something back for too long and hadn’t quite succeeded.

He stepped closer, then closer still, until there was nowhere else to go. The gurney creaked slightly as he sat down beside them, their thighs pressing together without hesitation, like gravity had decided it was easier this way.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then Eddie reached over.

No pause, no second-guessing —just instinct.

His fingers slid into Buck’s, threading together and holding on.

Buck’s breath hitched. He stared at their hands like they were something fragile, something sacred. Then, slowly, he brought them up and pressed his lips to Eddie’s knuckles.

Salt. Soot. Skin.

Home.

“Aren’t you mad?” Buck whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His eyes flicked back up, searching, bracing. “I—I broke my promise.”

Eddie exhaled, long and quiet.

Not sharp. Not angry. Just… tired.

“Mad?” he echoed, almost like the word didn’t sit right in his mouth. He shook his head slightly, eyes dropping for a second before coming back to Buck. “No. No, I’m not mad.”

Buck didn’t look convinced.

Eddie huffed a breath through his nose, something softer creeping in. He lifted his free hand and reached up, thumb brushing over the birthmark above Buck’s eyebrow —slow, familiar, grounding.

The gesture stilled Buck instantly.

“Worried?” Eddie went on, voice lower now, roughened at the edges. “Yeah. Yeah, I was worried.” His thumb lingered, tracing the same small path again. “When I saw you go in there without your mask, Buck—”

His voice caught.

He swallowed, hard.

“—I couldn’t breathe. Not for a second. Hen had to grab me because I was already moving. I wasn’t even thinking, I just—” He shook his head, jaw tightening. “I was gonna go in after you. Didn’t matter how.”

Buck’s grip tightened around his hand.

Eddie let out a shaky breath.

“And then I saw you again. Inside.” His voice dropped further, like saying it too loud might make it real again. “You were carrying that teacher, and you could barely stand, and I thought—” He stopped, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “I thought that was it. I thought I was going to lose you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with everything unsaid.

“Again,” Eddie added, softer.

Buck’s chest constricted.

Jee shifted between them, sensing something she didn’t quite understand. She leaned more into Buck, one small hand curling into his shirt, the other absentmindedly patting Eddie’s arm like she was helping somehow.

Eddie huffed out a breath at that, a faint, broken smile tugging at his mouth.

“But mad?” he said again, quieter now, steadier. He shook his head. “No, cielo. Not for this.”

He leaned a little closer, their foreheads almost brushing.

“I get it,” he murmured. “I don’t like it. I don’t ever want to see that again —but I get it.” His lips pressed into a thin line for a second before he added, softer, “If it had been Chris in there…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

Buck nodded anyway, eyes shining.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, exhaling. “Exactly. Now I’m so grateful you’re both okay. That’s all I can feel right now.”

Buck let out a shaky breath that tickled Jee’s neck; she giggled and squirmed closer. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For finding me. For bringing her. For not leaving.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me for staying,” Eddie said, voice low and fierce and tender all at once. “Not for this. Not for anything. I’m not going anywhere, Evan. We’re a team —always.”

Jee patted Buck’s cheek with her tiny hand, looking at him with that sparkle that she always had in them.

“Don’t be sad, Uncle Buck… You’re a dragon!”

she announced suddenly, very serious.

Both of them blinked at her.

“A dragon?” Buck repeated, voice still a little wrecked.

She nodded firmly.

“Uh-huh. Uncle Eddie said so. When we were coming. He said you’re a brave dragon.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice like she was sharing something important. “And dragons always come back.”

Buck’s face crumpled in the softest way. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” she said again, more gently this time, reaching up to touch his cheek. “So don’t be sad.”

He let out a shaky breath that turned into a fragile laugh, pressing a kiss to her fingers.

“I’ll try,” he said.

“And,” she added, because she clearly wasn’t done, “he said he loves brave dragons. Even when they’re a little…” She squinted, searching for the word. “…silly.”

Eddie groaned quietly, cheeks flushing and dropped his head for a second.

“I did not say silly.”

“You did,” Jee insisted, giggling now. “You said, ‘my silly brave dragon.’ I heard it.”

Buck turned to Eddie, eyebrows raised, a fragile smile tugging at his lips. 

“Silly brave dragon, huh?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but the fondness in them was blinding. 

“Shut up,” he muttered, though there was no bite to it. He leaned in anyway, pressing a kiss to the birthmark above Buck’s eyebrow —quick, sure— then another to Jee’s temple. “You’re our silly brave dragon, always there for your princess Jee”

“Your Princess Jee too, Uncle Eddie,” Jee mumbled sleepily, snuggling deeper into Buck’s chest, thumb creeping toward her mouth the way it did when she was exhausted.

“Our Princess Jee,” Buck murmured, tightening his arm around her.

Eddie smiled —small, watery, perfect— and leaned in to kiss the birthmark on Buck’s face again. 

“Our Princess Jee,” he agreed softly, poking her side just enough to make her giggle, although her laughter was interrupted by a big yawn.

Jee hummed, clearly satisfied with this outcome. 

“I’m tired,” she murmured. “Saving people is… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Buck whispered, brushing her hair back. “It is.”

Eddie reached over for one of the pediatric oxygen masks, movements careful, deliberate. He adjusted it gently over her face, more instinct than urgency, his fingers lingering for a second to make sure she was comfortable.

Then he leaned in, resting his forehead against Buck’s temple.

For a long moment, they just sat there, wrapped in a bubble of soot and oxygen and love so big it felt like it could hold back the entire world as the chaos slowly wound down around them. 

Around them, the world kept moving —boots on pavement, radios crackling, distant voices calling out names and instructions— but it all felt far away, like it couldn’t quite reach them.

Buck shifted slightly, adjusting Jee in his arms, holding her a little closer than necessary.

Eddie’s thumb started tracing slow circles over the back of his hand.

Steady. Grounding. There.

Buck watched the street beyond them —parents finding their kids, relief breaking open in messy, loud ways. He knew, distantly, that any second now he’d hear Maddie’s voice cutting through everything like a siren of its own. Chimney right behind her. Panic. Relief. Questions.

But he didn’t move.

Not yet.

He just stayed there —Jee warm and heavy against his chest, Eddie solid and unwavering at his side— and let himself breathe.

Because for a few more stolen minutes, it was just them.

He had expected shouting. 

He had expected the cold shoulder, the disappointed silence, the slow unraveling of everything he’d built. He had expected his parents’ old voices in his head to be right: that one mistake, one moment of too much, would be enough to make even Eddie walk away.

But Eddie had none of that in him.

Buck rested his cheek against Jee’s soft hair and let himself believe —really believe— that one broken promise didn’t erase everything. That love wasn’t a ledger to be balanced. That Eddie looked at him and saw someone worth staying for, mistakes and all.

And as Jee’s breathing evened out against his heart and Eddie’s quiet “I love you” brushed warm against his ear, Buck felt something settle deep in his bones.

Maybe his parents had never really known him at all.

He wasn’t too much.

He was enough.

Exactly enough.

“Te puse mil etiquetas y tú no tienes precio, te enamoré con palabras y tú, con los hechos. Construimos el amor empezando por el techo sabiendo que faltaban mil pilares de peso”

“I labeled you a thousand times, but you are priceless. I won you over with words, but you won me over with actions. We built our love starting with the roof, knowing that a thousand weighty pillars were still needed.”

Buck had carried the weight of those words for weeks now, like shards of glass lodged beneath his ribs —small enough to ignore most days, sharp enough to draw blood the moment he breathed too deeply.  

Days after the fire at Jee’s daycare —after the smoke had cleared and the nightmares had settled into quiet, trembling aftershocks— they were finally enjoying a day off at home.

Christopher was still asleep —he had stayed up far too late the night before, passed out with his controller still clutched in his hand— with the kind of teenage exhaustion that made him sleep like the dead.

The house was wrapped in that rare, perfect silence: just the low hum of the refrigerator, the distant tick of the hallway clock, and the steady rhythm of two hearts beating against each other in the big bed they now shared without question.

Eddie lay draped over him, head pillowed on Buck’s bare chest, one leg thrown possessively across Buck’s thighs, fingers loosely tangled in the soft hair at Buck’s sternum. 

Morning light filtered through the half-drawn blinds, painting warm gold across Eddie’s bare shoulders and the faint scar that still lingered from the shooting. 

Buck stared at the ceiling, tracing the familiar cracks he knew by heart, the same ones he’d counted on nights when sleep refused to come. His hand rested on Eddie’s back, thumb stroking slow, absent circles over the warm skin, but inside his chest a storm was building —quiet, relentless, the kind that had been gathering since that phone call with his parents.

But that day it was worse.

He swallowed hard. 

The question had been sitting on his tongue for days, growing heavier with every quiet moment, every shared glance, every time Eddie kissed him like the world outside didn’t exist.  

“Do… do you see yourself still here in a few years?” Buck asked, voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the fragile peace of the room. Chris was asleep across the hall; he knew that. 

But the fear felt louder than reason.

Eddie stirred slowly, lifting his head until his chin rested on Buck’s chest. 

Those warm brown eyes —chocolate in the soft light, flecked with gold— found Buck’s with gentle curiosity. He shifted, settling more fully on top of him, forearms braced on either side of Buck’s ribs so they were face to face.

“Yeah,” Eddie said softly, the word warm against Buck’s skin. “I see us here. Chris a little taller, maybe complaining about his voice cracking every five minutes. Us a little more tired, a little more gray at the temples… but still us. Normal. Happy.”

Eddie smiled then, small and easy, the kind of smile that usually melted every knot in Buck’s shoulders. But this time it didn’t land. 

It felt too light. Too vague. 

Too much like the careful answers people gave when they weren’t sure they wanted forever.

Buck’s throat tightened. He tried to smile back, but it wobbled and died. 

“And… how do you see us?” he pressed, hating how small his voice sounded, how the words caught like they were afraid to leave. 

He shifted beneath Eddie, suddenly restless, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. 

“I mean… together? Or just… here, in the house? Or maybe moving someday? Or if we… I don’t know, if things ever got more serious, or—”

He cut himself off, shaking his head, cheeks burning. 

“I’m trying to figure us out a little,” he murmured, eyes flicking away to the window. “To know exactly where we’re going. If this is… if we’re the kind of thing that lasts.”

Eddie sighed, the sound soft and fond, and pressed a lingering kiss right over Buck’s heart. 

“Evan,” he whispered against the skin there, breath warm, steady, anchoring, “we’ll go as far as you want. As far as we want. I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to.”

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

The words should have been enough. 

They weren’t.

Buck felt the old box in his mind creak open —the one his parents had left behind weeks ago, packed tight with every doubt he’d ever tried to bury. His fingers curled into the sheets, gripping like they could hold him together.

“And what if you ever get tired of me?” 

The question slipped out raw, cracked at the edges. 

“I know you must be tired of dealing with me all the time… the way I am. The intensity.” His breath hitched. “The way I throw myself into everything like I’m trying to prove something. My parents— they said—”

He broke off.

Eddie had already lifted his head, eyes narrowing —not in anger, but in that quiet, devastating mix of hurt and understanding that always made Buck feel seen in ways that scared him.

“Have I ever made you feel like I’m tired of you?” Eddie asked softly.

His thumb came up, brushing along Buck’s jaw, slow and deliberate —like he could erase the doubt with touch alone.

“Because if I have, even once, you need to tell me.” 

His brow furrowed. 

“That supermarket thing —God, Buck…” A breath, heavier now. “I’ll never stop apologizing for that. I was hurt, I was scared, and I lashed out.”

His thumb paused, pressing lightly, grounding.

“You are not exhausting. You’ve never been exhausting.” His voice dropped, steady, certain. “You’re the best part of every single day I have.”

Buck swallowed hard.

It burned —behind his eyes, in his chest, everywhere. He turned his head, gaze fleeing to the ceiling because looking at Eddie felt like standing under a spotlight with no way to hide.

“It’s… a few weeks ago, I talked to my parents.”

His voice came out quieter now. Smaller.

“I told them about you. About us.”

His fingers loosened from the sheets, only to curl again, restless.

“They said they weren’t surprised I had a boyfriend…” A bitter breath ghosted past his lips. “They were surprised I’d managed to keep someone for so long.”

A pause.

“Being… me.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

“They said it was a good thing it was you,” he went on, voice thinning, “because at least you already knew what I was like —what my intensity is like— and you probably wouldn’t run when it got to be too much.”

His throat worked.

“Like I burn too bright. Like I always have.” A shaky inhale. “Like no one ever sticks around once they really see it.”

The confession hung between them, heavy and ugly.

Buck’s chest rose, fell. Once. Twice. His eyes stung, vision blurring.

“They laughed about it, Eddie,” he whispered. “Like it was just… a funny little fact about their son.”

His lips trembled, the ghost of that laugh turning bitter.

“And I laughed too. On the phone.” A beat. “But then it didn’t stop.”

His gaze flickered, almost against his will, back to Eddie.

“I keep hearing it. Every time I look at you. Every time I think about us.”

His voice unraveled.

“What if they’re right? What if I’m too much?” His breath hitched. “What if one day you wake up and realize you’ve been carrying all my chaos for years and you just… can’t anymore?”

His hands came up then, gripping Eddie’s wrists —not to push him away, but to make sure he stayed.

“We started everything backwards,” he went on, softer now, like the confession itself was tiring him out. “We were raising Chris before we even figured out how to kiss each other right.”

A broken exhale.

“What if we don’t have the foundation?” His voice dropped to almost nothing. “What if I ruin it?”

Eddie’s face softened completely, eyes glistening now too. 

“Buck… Cielo…” The endearment was a caress, wrapped in heartbreak and love so deep it felt endless. 

He shifted, moving closer, until he was fully into Buck’s lap —knees bracketing his hips, hands coming up to cradle his face. Careful. Intentional.

Like holding something precious.

His thumbs brushed over Buck’s cheekbones, catching the first tear as it slipped free.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he murmured. “Cielo… why did you carry that alone?”

Buck shrugged helplessly, a broken little movement. 

“I didn’t want to make it real,” he admitted with a shaky breath. “Saying it out loud… I didn’t want you to start seeing it too.”

Eddie shook his head, leaning in until their foreheads touched. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “No.”

Their breaths mingled —warm, shared.

“Listen to me, Evan Buckley.” His voice shifted —firmer now, but still soft, wrapped in something unshakable. “I need you to hear every word I’m about to say.”

A pause.

“Your parents don’t know you. Not the way I do. Not the way Chris does.”

His thumbs kept moving, slow, grounding.

“They see the kid who was trying to get his attention by being too reckless.” His voice steadied, deepened. “I see the man who ran into a burning daycare without a mask because his niece was inside.”

A breath.

“I see the man who taught Christopher how to tie his shoes. How to make perfect brownies. How to love without being afraid of it.”

His gaze didn’t waver.

“I see the man who rebuilt himself after lightning stopped his heart… and still came back stronger. For me. For us.”

Buck’s tears came faster now —quiet, constant.

Eddie wiped them away, one after the other, like he had all the time in the world.

“Yeah,” he continued softly, “we started backwards.”

A faint, almost fond exhale.

“We were co-parenting before we were even dating. We fought like hell. Loved like hell. Figured it out somewhere between lawsuits and tsunamis and near-death experiences.”

His forehead pressed more firmly against Buck’s.

“But that’s our foundation.” His voice anchored, certain. “It’s steel.”

A beat.

“It’s the roof we built first—because the pillars were already there.” His thumb brushed along Buck’s cheek again. “The trust. The way we come back after every fight. The way you look at me like I hung the moon…”

A flicker of warmth in his eyes.

“…even when I’m being an ass.”

Buck let out a wet, broken breath that almost resembled a laugh.

“There is no one,” Eddie said, quieter now, but fiercer, “no one in this world I trust more. Not with my life. Not with my son. Not with my heart.”

His hands tightened slightly, grounding.

“You bring out the best in me. You love the parts I hate.” A soft shake of his head. “You make me want to be better every damn day.”

Buck was crying openly now.

Eddie didn’t rush him. Just stayed there. Wiping each tear as it came.

“And get this through that beautiful, stubborn head of yours,” he murmured, voice dipping into something softer, reverent —like a vow spoken in the dark, “there is nothing —nothing— I want more than a whole life with you.”

A breath.

“A bigger house someday. A backyard big enough for Chris.” A faint smile touched his lips. “Two dogs. Big, messy ones that knock you over when you come home.”

His thumb brushed under Buck’s eye.

“A cat that only loves you.” A pause. “A turtle, if that’s what you want.”

Buck huffed out a broken laugh through tears.

“Ten more kids, if that’s where life takes us.” His gaze softened. “Biological, adopted, fostered —it doesn’t matter.”

Another inch closer.

“A wedding. Rings. Vows in front of all the people who truly love us, our chosen family.”

His voice dropped, quieter now.

“Growing old together. Gray, exhausted…” A soft exhale. “…still reaching for each other in the middle of the night.”

He held Buck’s gaze.

“I want forever with you, Evan. Not despite your intensity.” His thumb brushed his cheek again. “Because of it.”

Softer now.

“You love with your whole soul. And I get to be the one who keeps it.”

Buck broke.

A shattered sob tore out of him as his hands clutched Eddie’s wrists tighter, like letting go wasn’t an option.

“You really mean that?” he whispered.

Eddie didn’t hesitate.

“Every word.”

He leaned in, pressing slow kisses to the tears on Buck’s cheeks —one, then another— before finally reaching his lips.

The kiss was deep. Unhurried. Certain.

A promise, sealed.

“I’m not tired of you,” he murmured against his mouth. “I’m in awe of you.”

A breath.

“Every single day.”

When they kissed again it was slower, deeper, hands sliding over skin with reverence and hunger and the kind of certainty that came from years of almosts finally becoming always. 

Buck stopped thinking —stopped cataloging every flaw, every warning from his past— and let himself feel it: Eddie’s weight, Eddie’s warmth, Eddie’s love pouring into him like it had always belonged there.

And for the first time in weeks, the box his parents left behind felt smaller. Lighter. Something he could finally set down.

Because Eddie had never once asked him to be less.

He had only ever asked for more.

“Si dudé de ti, ya no me quedan dudas. Yo vengo de la Tierra y tú eres de la Luna, aunque seamos dos, yo nunca olvidaré que como tú, no hay uno”

“If I ever doubted you, I have no more doubts. I come from Earth and you are from the Moon, even though we are two, I will never forget that there is no one like you.”

Almost three months after that call, Buck could say he was surprised when Eddie casually told him to save the entire afternoon for him because he had a surprise planned, but the truth was, surprise didn’t even come close. 

What he felt was a full-blown, stomach-dropping, heart-hammering anxiety that had been clawing at his insides since the words left Eddie’s mouth that morning.

Even though things had been quiet lately —peaceful shifts, soft mornings, Christopher’s laughter filling the house like it belonged there— the little voice in Buck’s head, the one that sounded eerily like his mother’s, cool and matter-of-fact, refused to be silenced. 

It whispered that the quiet was deceptive. That good things this steady never lasted for someone like him. That maybe Eddie had finally reached the limit of “Buck’s chaos” and the surprise was going to be the gentle letdown he’d always dreaded: a conversation about space, about needing time, about how loving someone so intense eventually became exhausting.

He kept telling himself they were okay. Because they were okay.

But his body betrayed him all morning in the most embarrassingly obvious ways.

He spilled the coffee Eddie had poured for him not once, but twice —hot liquid splashing across the table and onto his own boots the second time because his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t grip the mug properly. 

He walked straight into the corner of the engine bay toolbox, hard enough to leave a bruise on his hip. 

He misjudged the doorway to the locker room and clipped his shoulder. 

And on the last call, when Eddie had simply called his name from inside the truck —“Buck, you coming?”— Buck had startled so violently that he cracked his forehead against the top of the doorframe with an audible thunk. The bump was already swelling, angry and red, no matter how much ice he pressed to it in the loft.

He was a walking disaster.

A tall, anxious, bruise-collecting disaster.

And the worst part? Eddie noticed none of it with anything but calm affection.

Eddie had never looked more at ease. 

While Hen and Chimney shot Buck curious, concerned glances throughout the morning —Hen even mouthing “You good?” during roll call— Eddie simply smiled that soft, devastating smile of his and told them, “You’ll understand everything soon enough.” 

No tension in his shoulders. No tightness around his eyes. 

Just calm. Steady. 

Like whatever he had planned was something wonderful instead of the ending Buck’s spiraling mind kept conjuring.

Buck hated how jealous he felt of that calmness. It only made the anxiety louder. 

What if Eddie was calm because he’d already decided? What if he’d rehearsed the breakup speech in his head and was now just… at peace with it?

When the shift finally ended and B-shift started filtering in, Buck practically sprinted down the stairs to the locker room. He changed at record speed, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, heart racing like he was still on a call. 

By the time he bent down to tie his shoes, Eddie was just strolling in from whatever final task he’d been finishing, towel slung over one shoulder, moving with that infuriating, grounded serenity.

“See you at home?” Eddie asked calmly, already unbuttoning his uniform shirt with slow, deliberate fingers.

Buck’s gaze locked on the movement —the way the fabric parted to reveal smooth skin and the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath Eddie’s belt. His throat went dry. His own hands itched to reach out and finish the job for him. He stared far too long.

Eddie cleared his throat, amused. 

“Buck?”

Buck’s head snapped up, cheeks flooding with heat. 

“Y-yeah. Home. Definitely.” He jumped up too fast, forgetting his shoes were still untied. His foot caught, and he toppled backward, landing hard on the bench with a grunt that knocked the air out of him.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked, a soft chuckle escaping even as genuine worry creased his brow. 

He was already stepping closer, one hand outstretched like he was ready to catch Buck if he fell again.

“Y-yeah, w-just… fine. Yeah. Totally fine.” Buck cleared his throat roughly, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms down his thighs before forcing himself to look up. “Are you… are you going straight home?”

Eddie wrinkled his nose in that adorable way he did when he was thinking, then reached out to gently stroke Buck’s cheek with the back of his fingers. The touch was so tender it made Buck’s chest ache. 

Eddie’s fingertips brushed lightly over the fresh bump on his forehead, and then he leaned in to press the softest kiss there, right on the bruise.

“I need to grab a couple of things for dinner tonight, but I won’t be long, okay?” Eddie assured him, voice low and soothing. “I’ll pick up some lunch on the way so you don’t have to cook anything. Just relax, put on something comfy, and for the love of God, try to avoid walking into any more walls or doors or trucks, alright?”

Buck nodded slowly, throat tight. 

Before he could spiral further, Eddie cupped the back of his neck and pulled him into a slow, deep kiss that tasted like coffee and reassurance and everything Buck was terrified of losing. 

It melted him from the inside out, turning his frantic heartbeat into something softer, warmer.

“See you later, cielo,” Eddie murmured against his lips, still brushing them together. 

He pulled back just enough to blow Buck a playful kiss, then turned toward the showers with that same unruffled calm.

Buck sat there for several long seconds, trying to steady his breathing, before mumbling goodbyes to the team and climbing into his Jeep. 

He drove out of the parking lot at a normal speed, but only made it a few blocks before he had to pull over. 

He rested his forehead —bump and all— against the steering wheel, hands gripping it so tightly his knuckles went white.

What could the surprise be?  

Something good? A trip? A gift?  

Or something bad? A talk about needing space? 

About how his clumsiness and intensity were finally too much? 

About how Eddie had been thinking and maybe they should slow down for Chris’s sake?

His mind raced through a thousand nightmare scenarios, each worse than the last. He ran his hands through his hair roughly, tugging at the strands until it hurt, then started the engine again and drove home on autopilot, every red light feeling like a personal judgment.

Eddie hadn’t been gone long at all.

Buck was in the middle of an overly dramatic shower concert —belting out lyrics to drown out the anxiety— when he heard the front door open. 

He peeked around the curtain, ears straining, but everything sounded normal. 

No heavy sighs. No tense silence. 

Just the quiet sounds of someone moving comfortably in their own home.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and curling at the ends, wearing the white T-shirt and dark blue linen shorts Christopher had teasingly gifted him two weeks ago —“Now you can complete the full dad outfit, Buck”--, he found Eddie in the kitchen simply organizing takeout containers on the table. 

As if it were any other ordinary afternoon.

Eddie looked up, eyes sweeping over him from head to toe. 

A wide, appreciative grin spread across his face. He bit his lower lip slightly, head tilting with open amusement. 

“Dad shorts?”

Buck felt his cheeks warm instantly. He nodded, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Chris said they’d look good on me.”

“They do,” Eddie said, voice warm and sincere. “They look really good on you.”

“You don’t look bad yourself,” Buck replied, trying for lightness even as his pulse thundered.

Eddie glanced down at his own henley and jeans, then shrugged with a playful smirk. 

“Guess I’ll have to dig out my own dad shorts so we can properly embarrass Chris when we pick him up later. Coordinated parent humiliation —classic.”

Buck burst out laughing despite everything, the sound surprising even him. For one brief, shining moment, the crushing anxiety eased. 

This was still them. 

Still teasing, still easy, still home.

Lunch was quiet and intimate —just the two of them at the kitchen table. 

Buck talked almost nonstop: about his last visit to Maddie, how excited she was for her upcoming date with Chim while Buck and Eddie watched Jee and little Bobby in two days, how Jee had asked if Uncle Buck could teach her to slide down the fire pole someday. 

Eddie listened with that steady, broad smile, nodding, chuckling at the right moments, offering soft comments that made Buck feel heard.

But halfway through the meal, something shifted.

Buck realized he’d been talking for nearly an hour straight while Eddie had said very little. 

The old fear slammed back in. 

He was doing it again —being too much, filling every silence because he was terrified of the quiet. He pressed his lips together abruptly and fell silent, staring down at his half-eaten food.

Eddie’s gaze turned curious, gentle. 

He didn’t push right away. 

After a moment, Buck stood and started clearing the dishes, needing something to do with his hands. Eddie followed without a word, picking up a towel to dry as Buck washed.

“Everything okay, cielo?” Eddie asked slowly, voice calm and even, like he had all the time in the world.

Buck nodded too quickly, fighting the burn behind his eyes. 

“Yeah. I just… talked too much again. Sorry.”

Eddie set the towel down and stepped closer, gently bumping Buck’s shoulder with his own. 

“It’s never too much with you,” he said softly, heartfelt. “Never. I’ll never get tired of listening to you talk. Your voice is one of my favorite sounds in the world.”

Buck managed a small smile and rested his head on Eddie’s shoulder for a moment, letting the solid warmth ground him. Eddie dried his hands and then interlaced their fingers, squeezing once.

“Come on,” Eddie murmured. “We’ve got time for a nap before we pick up Chris. After the shift we had, I think we both need it.”

Buck nodded again, following Eddie toward their bedroom, heart still racing even as Eddie’s calm wrapped around him like a blanket.

But the doubt lingered, sharp and insistent.

Eddie was so calm. So steady. So completely unruffled by whatever this surprise was.

And Buck couldn’t stop wondering if that calm came from certainty… or from having already decided how this afternoon would end.

Buck’s eyes snapped open the second the alarm began its soft chime, his body jerking upright so violently that the pillow slipped from under his head. 

His heart was already racing, a frantic drumbeat that had nothing to do with the early hour and everything to do with the low, persistent hum of anxiety that had taken up permanent residence in his chest since Eddie mentioned the surprise.

Eddie was still draped heavily across him, warm and solid, one arm wrapped possessively around Buck’s torso, his face pressed into the curve of Buck’s left pec. His nose was slightly squished from the pressure, mouth parted in sleep. 

Buck allowed himself one selfish second to simply look —memorizing the peaceful lines of Eddie’s face, the way his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, the faint scar on his temple that only showed when he was this close.

Then Eddie groaned, deep and grumpy, and turned his face further into Buck’s chest like he could hide from the day entirely.

“Five more minutes,” he muttered through gritted teeth, voice muffled and rough with sleep.

Buck couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled out of him, even as his own nerves twisted tighter. 

It was impossible not to love waking up next to Eddie like this —impossible not to feel the overwhelming rush of affection that made his ribs ache, but the anxiety was louder today, louder than the laughter, louder than the warmth. It made his hands twitchy, his legs restless, his mind sprinting ahead to every possible way this surprise could go wrong.

“Chris is gonna be waiting for us,” Buck murmured against Eddie’s messy hair, pressing a quick, reverent kiss to the crown of his head. 

Eddie sighed dramatically but finally began to move —slow, methodical, like every inch of separation from Buck’s body was a personal tragedy.

“He should drive his own car,” Eddie grumbled, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes.

Buck rolled his eyes fondly, the familiar banter momentarily easing the knot in his stomach. 

“The day he does, you’ll be complaining because your baby grew up too fast.”

“Our baby,” Eddie corrected softly into the pillow.

The words should have been sweet. They were sweet. But Buck caught the tiny stiffening of Eddie’s shoulders, the brief pause before he pushed himself up with both arms and stood in one fluid motion.

Buck opened his mouth to ask if something was wrong, but Eddie was already moving toward the closet, pulling out a pair of white shorts that perfectly matched Buck’s dark blue ones and tossing them onto the bed, followed by a dark blue button-down shirt.

Buck watched him disappear into the bathroom, then sighed and shook his head slowly. 

He stood, already buzzing with restless energy. While Eddie took his time, Buck couldn’t stay still. 

He paced the bedroom, straightened the already-straight comforter, picked up one of Christopher’s stray socks from the hallway floor, and wandered downstairs to adjust a crooked picture frame. 

By the time Eddie emerged —twenty minutes later, hair neatly smoothed, pockets full— Buck had changed into a light blue button-down over his T-shirt and had tried on three different pairs of shoes before settling on the white ones. 

He felt overdressed. Overeager. Too much.

“Ready?” Eddie asked, smiling that calm, devastating smile that always made Buck’s knees feel a little weak.

“More than ready,” Buck assured him, voice a touch too bright, too loud. 

Eddie’s smile only softened. He stepped close, sliding one warm hand under the hem of Buck’s shirt to rest an open palm against the thin fabric over his lower back, then pulled him in for a slow, grounding kiss.

“Perfect,” Eddie whispered against his lips and before Buck could overthink the word, Eddie was gently dragging him toward the door. “I’ll drive.”

That was the first real red flag.

It was the first time in months —maybe years— that Eddie had volunteered to drive when they were all together. 

Buck’s mind immediately spun wild theories. 

Was Eddie trying to control the situation? Was this part of the surprise? Was he preparing to have a serious talk while Buck was trapped in the passenger seat?

Weird. Definitely weird.

By the time they reached the long line of cars waiting outside the high school, Buck was vibrating in his seat. He kept adjusting his shirt collar, tapping his fingers against his thigh, glancing sideways at Eddie, who was nodding along calmly to one of the upbeat tracks on their “family” playlist like the world wasn’t tilting on its axis.

The sudden thud of knuckles on the window made Buck jump so hard his knee slammed into the glove compartment. Eddie’s laugh blended warmly with Christopher’s as the window rolled down.

“Hey, Chris,” Buck said, trying for casual and failing when his voice cracked halfway through.

Christopher rolled his eyes at both of them, raising one eyebrow in an expression that was pure Eddie. 

“Please tell me you didn’t get me matching clothes, because I am way too old for that.”

Eddie burst out laughing again, the sound rich and easy. 

Chris climbed into the back, adjusting his crutches with practiced ease, and immediately launched into a breathless recounting of his day —Chelsea and Donna’s dramatic showdown over Alex (“You should’ve seen their faces when they realized he’d asked both of them out, just hours apart. He truly deserves what they're going to do to him.”), the little notes teachers had scribbled on his assignments, and an ambitious plan to start a food business at school.

“You’ll help me with that, right, Buck?” Chris asked, eyes bright with excitement.

“Absolutely,” Buck replied instantly, leaning back to face him more fully. “We can test recipes this weekend. I’m thinking empanadas, maybe some of those spicy Korean corn dogs—”

For nearly an hour, Buck was lost in the conversation, his energy pouring out in enthusiastic waves —gesturing with his hands, laughing too loud at Chris’s jokes, offering wild ideas that made Christopher grin wider and wider. 

He didn’t even notice how much time had passed until he glanced out the window and saw a familiar sign.

“What are we doing in Burbank?” he asked, curiosity cutting through the anxiety for a moment.

Eddie just shrugged, calm as ever, one hand loose on the wheel. 

“I was craving ice cream. Figured it’d be a good way to spend the afternoon.”

Chris pulled out an earbud at the mention of ice cream, smiling. 

Buck turned to look at him, and the shared grin between the three of them felt so normal, so right, that Buck’s chest loosened —just a little.

They parked and walked into the shop hand-in-hand, Chris leading the way with his crutches clicking cheerfully. 

Once seated, a bored-looking server dropped off menus and vanished. Chris ordered the burnt milk flavor, Eddie chose something called Bloody Mary that sounded suspiciously spicy, and Buck —after scanning every option like it was a life-or-death decision— settled on a mixed berry smoothie.

He couldn’t sit still. 

His leg bounced under the table and he talked rapidly about summer vacation plans, suggesting everything from beach days to a road trip to the Grand Canyon, his voice rising with excitement. 

Eddie’s hand eventually settled on his thigh, thumb stroking slow, soothing circles over the bare skin just above the hem of his shorts. The touch was grounding, affectionate, but Buck still felt like a live wire about to spark.

Chris suddenly pointed his spoon at him.

“You’re acting weird today.”

“M-Me?” Buck’s voice shot up an octave. He cleared his throat, cheeks burning. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Nothing better than spending the day with my two favorite boys.”

Christopher kept staring, skeptical. Eddie rolled his eyes fondly and shifted in his seat, which seemed to trigger some silent father-son communication. Chris’s eyes widened, then narrowed in resignation.

“Want to try my burnt milk ice cream?” Chris asked, changing the subject but still watching his dad.

“Sure,” Buck said, grateful for the distraction. He took a small spoonful —and immediately regretted it. His eyes watered as the unexpected flavor hit. “Why does it taste like I’m eating smoke?”

Chris dissolved into laughter. 

Eddie smiled softly and handed Buck a bottle of water, watching with quiet amusement as Buck downed it in one desperate gulp.

They stayed like that for a while —Chris teasing Buck’s “delicate” taste buds, Buck defending spicy food with exaggerated passion, Eddie simply sipping his own spicy shake and observing them both with that steady, loving gaze that never wavered. 

Buck kept waiting for the exasperation, the subtle sigh that said “tone it down,” but it never came. Eddie just looked at him like he was exactly where he was supposed to be —loud, energetic, a little chaotic, and completely loved.

By the time they left the shop, Buck felt lighter. The afternoon had been good. Really good.

Then Eddie dropped the next bombshell as they reached the car.

“How does Six Flags sound right about now?”

Chris lit up instantly, the kind of teenage excitement that made Buck’s heart swell. 

“Yes! Please!”

Buck blinked, staring at Eddie. 

“You… already planned this?”

Eddie answered with a slow, spicy kiss that tasted like the Bloody Mary shake and pure affection. 

“Yeah. I did.”

Six Flags was pure paradise for Buck. 

The second they stepped through the gates, the last traces of anxiety burned away under the bright sun and the smell of popcorn and adrenaline. 

He became a whirlwind —dragging them from game stall to game stall, winning plush toys with ridiculous determination, his laughter loud and unrestrained. He collected a small army of stuffed animals, chattering nonstop about the park’s history, the engineering of the rides, and how they should come back soon.

They rode everything they could. 

On the Celebratory Swings, all three of them were lifted high and spun wildly, laughter and shouts blending together until they were breathless and when they hit The Drop Tower, Buck grinned at Chris right before gravity yanked them downward, the rush pulling a joyful whoop from all of them. 

They took turns —Buck joining Chris on the wilder rides Eddie preferred to skip, Eddie stepping in when Buck needed a break, and both adults sitting out the ones Chris declared “too cool to go into with his parents.”

Eddie even insisted they all crowd into a photo booth. 

The eight strips of pictures were perfect: four with Chris making silly faces, four without where Eddie had cupped Buck’s cheeks and kissed him so thoroughly the camera caught Buck’s dazed, lovesick grin.

As the sun began to dip lower, painting the sky in oranges and pinks, Chris wanted one last ride on the RailBlazer. Buck and Eddie waited at the bottom, Eddie now carrying two massive stuffed animals the size of his head and a bag bulging with at least twenty smaller ones slung over his shoulder.

Buck was mid-monologue, gesturing animatedly as he explained the physics of roller coasters and how great it would be to bring the younger kids next time, when the old voice slithered back in.

At least he knows what you’re like now and won’t run away when you start with your intensity.

Buck’s mouth snapped shut. 

He glanced sideways at Eddie, bracing for the familiar look of fond exasperation or quiet fatigue.

But Eddie was simply smiling —soft, warm, eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached over, stole a piece of cotton candy from Buck’s hand, and popped it into his mouth.

“Good thing it’s the last ride,” Eddie said gently, humor lacing his tone. “If you kept winning prizes like that, they probably wouldn’t let us come back. The staff would stage an intervention.”

Buck blinked, then felt his own smile bloom —smaller, but genuine and relieved. In that moment, his intensity wasn’t something to dim or apologize for. It was met with Eddie’s steady affection and the most beautiful, accepting smile he had ever seen.

Eddie didn’t need him to be less.

He just looked at Buck like he was already everything.

Buck could feel the exact moment the sky outside turned fully dark, the last traces of sunset bleeding away as Eddie’s truck rolled to a gentle stop in front of Maddie’s house. 

The engine ticked softly in the quiet. For several long, terrifying seconds, Buck’s heart hammered so violently in his ears that he could barely hear anything else. His palms were slick against his thighs. 

Why were they here? 

Eddie hadn’t said a single word about stopping at Maddie’s. Not during the drive back from Six Flags, not when Chris had been chattering in the backseat, not even when they’d been laughing together over cotton candy.

Had he done something wrong?

Had his intensity finally pushed Eddie too far today —his loud laughter on the rides, his endless facts about roller-coaster engineering, the way he’d practically vibrated with excitement while winning prize after prize? 

Maybe Eddie had decided the surprise wasn’t a proposal or a romantic getaway after all. 

Maybe it was something heavier. 

Maybe he’d asked Maddie to be there as backup because he knew Buck would fall apart.

Buck’s breath came shallow and fast. 

He gripped the edge of the seat, knuckles white, every worst-case scenario crashing through his mind like a runaway train.

Then Christopher shifted in the back, pulling a small overnight bag from the floor and opening the door. 

“Be nice to Aunt Maddie and get a head start on your homework, Chris,” Eddie said calmly, voice warm and steady like always.

Chris just nodded, muttering a half-hearted “Yeah, yeah, bye,” before climbing out. The door clicked shut behind him.

Chimney appeared almost immediately, with little Bobby balanced on one hip and Jee-Yun darting out from behind his legs like a tiny rocket, crashing into Chris with a delighted squeal as she launched into a rapid-fire monologue about how “super cool” the sleepover was going to be —something about forts, popcorn, and Daddy’s famous pancake recipe for breakfast. Chris laughed despite himself, letting Jee tug him toward the house.

Neither Buck nor Eddie moved to get out. 

Chimney caught Buck’s eye through the windshield, offered a quick, knowing wave, and grabbed Chris’s bag before gently herding both kids inside. 

The front door closed with a soft finality that echoed in Buck’s chest like a gunshot.

Normally, dropping Chris off at Maddie’s would have sparked pure joy —date night, just the two of them, stolen hours to be loud and affectionate without worrying about teenage eyes rolling in the background. 

But tonight it felt different. Heavier. More final. 

Buck’s leg started bouncing the second the truck pulled away from the curb. Up and down, up and down, the rhythm frantic and unstoppable.

Eddie reached over and placed a warm, steady hand on his knee, thumb stroking slow circles. 

It should have helped. It didn’t. 

Buck’s mind was already spinning faster.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe Eddie had planned the perfect day —ice cream, Six Flags, matching outfits, laughter— so the ending wouldn’t hurt quite so much. 

Maybe he was going to sit Buck down tonight and say the words Buck had been dreading for weeks: that Buck was too much, too loud, too chaotic for the long haul. 

That Chris deserved stability. That Eddie needed someone calmer. Someone who didn’t spill coffee twice in one morning or ram his forehead into truck doors because a single “Buck?” made him startle like a frightened animal.

Buck didn’t say a single word the entire drive home. 

His leg kept bouncing even when Eddie turned on their shared playlist, soft familiar songs filling the cab like a peace offering. 

Every red light felt like a countdown. 

Every mile closer to their house ratcheted the anxiety higher until Buck’s chest felt tight enough to crack.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Eddie moved through the evening with that infuriating, beautiful calm. 

He cooked —an impressive pasta dish with fresh herbs and garlic that smelled like comfort and home, paired with a bottle of wine that definitely hadn’t come from the ten-dollar rack at the corner store. 

The lights were dimmed low, casting everything in a warm, golden glow. Soft music played from the speaker in the corner. Their forks clinked gently against the plates.

Eddie seemed more at peace than ever, shoulders relaxed, small smiles appearing whenever he glanced across the table. 

Buck, on the other hand, was drowning. 

He couldn’t eat more than a few bites. The beautiful dinner only made everything worse. This was too nice. Too intentional. 

Too much like the kind of meal someone prepared right before they delivered devastating news.

The thoughts churned faster and faster, a vicious loop that left his eyes stinging and his throat tight. 

He kept his gaze locked on his plate, pushing pasta around with his fork, terrified that if he looked up Eddie would see every ugly insecurity written across his face.

Eddie glanced at him curiously a few times, head tilted slightly like he was trying to read the storm behind Buck’s silence, but Buck avoided his eyes, staring down until the pattern on the plate blurred.

When Eddie finally stood to clear the dishes, the scrape of the chair against the floor sounded like a starting gun. 

Buck’s hands clenched into tight fists on the table, nails digging crescents into his palms. His eyes were already reddened, burning with unshed tears. 

He couldn’t let the day end like this —not after the laughter at Six Flags, not after Eddie had looked at him with nothing but affection while he rambled and won ridiculous plush toys.

He heard Eddie’s footsteps returning from the kitchen and forced the words out before he could lose his nerve.

“Eds, I…”

His voice died instantly.

Eddie wasn’t walking toward him with careful distance or a prepared speech.

Eddie was on one knee on the living room floor, right there in the soft lamplight, holding a small wooden box in both hands. 

His expression was open, hopeful, and so full of love that Buck’s entire world tilted on its axis. The calm that had unnerved Buck all day was still there —but now it looked like certainty. Like peace. 

Like forever.

“Evan,” Eddie began, voice low and steady but thick with emotion, “every single moment I spend with you reminds me of all the reasons I fell in love with you. Your laugh, the one that fills every room. The way you talk about random facts like they’re the most important thing in the world. How you love Chris with your whole heart, like he hung the moon and stars. Your devotion to your family —even when they don’t always deserve it. The way you love so intensely, so completely, like there’s no other way to do it.”

Buck felt his eyes well up instantly, hot tears spilling over before he could stop them. His chest heaved with a sob he tried to swallow.

Eddie continued, eyes never leaving Buck’s face. 

“And every moment we spend together makes me more certain that I don’t want to spend another second of my life without you. Without making this official. Without finally taking that step that lets me call you my husband in every single way that matters.”

He slowly opened the wooden box.

Inside wasn’t just a ring. 

It was a carefully curated collection of their life together —movie ticket stubs from late-night dates, museum passes from the day they’d taken Chris to see the dinosaurs, aquarium tickets from the afternoon Buck had spent explaining every single fish to a delighted Christopher. There was the heart drawing he had made for Chris’s homework years ago, a tiny bottle filled with sand and water from their first beach day as a real couple, and dozens of candid photos: Buck and Eddie laughing in the kitchen, the three of them piled on the couch, Buck asleep with his head on Eddie’s shoulder while Chris read beside them.

And nestled in the center of it all was a simple, elegant silver band. 

Two small blue stones flanked an engraved letter “E” on the inside —subtle, meaningful, perfectly them.

“Eternity will never be enough when it comes to being with you,” Eddie said, voice cracking just slightly on the last word. He looked up at Buck with shining eyes. “So I’m asking you today… Evan Buckley, will you stay with me? Forever?”

Buck stared, blinking rapidly, mouth slightly open as if his brain had short-circuited. 

He had spent the entire day preparing to lose Eddie. 

Preparing for the gentle letdown, the “we need to talk,” the slow unraveling of everything he’d come to need like air. 

He had never —never— prepared for this.

“Evan?” Eddie asked softly, a flicker of nervousness finally breaking through his calm. His hands trembled just a little around the box.

Buck hesitated one heartbeat longer, the last poisonous whisper of his mother’s voice trying to claw its way back in —too much, too intense, he’ll leave— before it shattered completely.

He launched himself forward off the chair and into Eddie’s arms with a broken sob. Their mouths crashed together in a messy, tear-soaked kiss. Laughter bubbled up through the crying, bright and disbelieving, drowning out the last of the old fears.

Eddie pulled back just enough to set the box carefully aside, then cupped Buck’s face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the steady stream of tears.

“You’re an idiot,” Buck murmured against his lips, voice thick and watery. “I—I thought you were going to leave me. All day I kept thinking… the surprise, the calm, dropping Chris off… I thought this was the end. That I’d finally been too much.”

Eddie’s smile was soft, radiant, and so full of love it hurt. He leaned in and kissed Buck again —quick, reassuring, grounding. 

“I’m not going anywhere, cielo. Not today. Not ever. I’ve been planning this for weeks. I wanted today to be perfect because you deserve perfect. You deserve to know, without any doubt, that I’m choosing you for the rest of my life.”

Their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. Buck’s hands clutched at Eddie’s shirt like he still needed proof this was real.

Eddie reached for the ring, sliding the cool silver band onto Buck’s finger with reverent care. It fit perfectly, the blue stones catching the low light like tiny promises.

As the metal settled against his skin, the crushing weight Buck had carried in his chest for weeks —the insecurity, the fear, the voice that sounded like his parents telling him he was too much— finally, completely vanished.

Because it was Eddie.

Eddie, who had seen every jagged, intense, chaotic piece of him and had only ever asked for more.

Eddie, who looked at him now with calm, steady love and called him husband like it was the most natural truth in the world.

And with him, the word “forever” didn’t feel terrifying anymore.

It felt like coming home.

“Porque cuando estoy contigo llega el verano y se termina el frío, eres la calma en la que más confío, me voy a enloquecer si no te vuelvo a ver”

“Because when I’m with you, summer arrives and the cold ends, you are the calm I trust most, I’ll go crazy if I don’t see you again”

The sky over Bobby and Athena’s backyard was the softest shade of twilight blue, strung with delicate fairy lights that twinkled like stars someone had gently lowered just for them. 

The day had finally arrived —not in some grand ballroom or beachside venue, but here, in the place that had become a second home to all of them. 

No lavish decorations, no hundreds of guests. 

Just the two of them two months after his proposal, their blood relatives sitting quietly in the front rows, and their chosen family crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on folding chairs and blankets spread across the grass. 

Laughter and easy conversation floated on the warm evening air as people caught up on station gossip now that Bobby had officially been retired for a year —stories of new probies, old calls remembered with fondness, the quiet ache of missing his steady presence in the captain’s chair. The chatter felt like home, like the firehouse family extending beyond shifts and into forever.

Buck’s heart thundered so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it. 

His palms were damp where they clasped Eddie’s, but Eddie’s grip was warm, solid, and unwavering —the same calm anchor he had been through every storm they had ever faced together.

When the moment came, they walked down the short aisle side by side, fingers intertwined so tightly it felt like they were holding each other’s futures. 

Ahead of them, little Bobby toddled with fierce determination, throwing flower petals with far more force than necessary, giggling every time one stuck to his own chubby fist. Jee-Yun followed behind him in her pale blue dress, clutching the small pillow that held their final rings, her face scrunched in fierce concentration and barely contained excitement.

She kept glancing back at them with a toothy grin that made Buck’s chest ache with love.

At the end of the aisle stood Bobby, looking more like a proud father than a former captain, his gentle smile steady and warm.

Flanking him were Maddie —already crying softly, dabbing at her cheeks with a tissue while trying and failing to keep her composure— and Christopher, standing tall on his crutches, smiling in that same open, trusting way he had the very first time he met Buck years ago, when everything between the three of them had still been fragile and new. 

That smile had always felt like acceptance. Today it felt like belonging.

Everything was perfect.

Buck’s gaze flicked briefly to the front row where his parents sat. Their expressions were calm, politely curious, as if they were observing something interesting but not quite understanding its depth. 

He could feel the old echoes trying to creep in —too much, too intense, too Buck— but they were faint now, distant, like voices calling from the wrong side of a thick wall.

Bobby began the ceremony with his characteristic warmth, making a couple of light remarks about how he had known from the very first chaotic shift that Buck and Eddie were the perfect complement to each other —“like two pieces that somehow made the whole engine run smoother, even when they were both on fire.” 

The comment drew soft laughter from the small crowd, easing the emotional weight just enough for everyone to breathe.

When it came time for the vows, Buck went first.

His voice came soft yet confident, the same tone he always used when he talked about loving Eddie —like it was the most natural truth in the universe. He spoke of late nights and lightning strikes, of learning to be a father before he even knew how to be a partner, of how Eddie had taught him that love could be both fierce and safe. 

His words drew laughter at the funny moments and fresh tears from the audience, especially from Maddie, who was now openly sobbing.

And then it was Eddie’s turn.

Eddie took a slow, steady breath, but his eyes never left Buck’s. The slight tremor in their clasped hands told Buck how much this meant, even as Eddie’s voice remained calm and sure.

“Evan… Buck… Everything has always been different with you,” he began, and Buck felt the first hot tears burn at the corners of his eyes. “Not because it was complicated, but because even before I understood it, you were already home. You and I built something without realizing it —with Chris, through the good days and the not-so-good ones, through every time we chose to stay, even when we didn’t know how to do it right.”

Eddie moistened his lips. Buck felt the faint tremor in their joined hands and squeezed gently, offering silent reassurance. Eddie’s eyes glistened, but his gaze remained steady.

“I heard people say you were difficult, that you were too much, that sooner or later someone was going to get tired of it. And I won’t lie —it bothered me. Because they didn’t understand anything.” 

Buck could feel his parents’ eyes on him now, heavy and watchful. Fresh tears slipped down his own cheeks, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from release. 

The sharp, critical voice that had lived in his head for so long —his mother’s voice— began to dissolve completely, overwritten by every word Eddie spoke. 

“Because what they call ‘too much’ is precisely what makes it all worthwhile. The way you feel everything so deeply, the way you throw yourself into things with your whole heart, the way you stay even when it hurts… That’s not something you get tired of, Evan. It’s something you learn never to lose.”

Eddie paused briefly, glancing down at their clasped hands before looking back up, his smile small and impossibly tender.

“When I chose the ring, I wanted something perfect… I wanted something that meant something,” he said. Buck’s free hand instinctively rose to caress the two blue stones on his own band, the metal warm from his skin. “Blue moissanite signifies fidelity and a solid foundation of trust in a relationship. It also has a lot to do with communication —and it’s said to have a special connection to the universe… the one you say you listen to so much.”

Soft, affectionate laughter rippled through the garden. Buck couldn’t look away from Eddie, marveling at how this reserved, private man was standing here, in front of their family and friends, laying his heart completely bare with the most profound words Buck had ever heard.

“That’s why I chose those stones,” Eddie continued, voice thickening with emotion. “Not because they were the most expensive or the most traditional, but because they shine even when no one is looking. Because they endure. Because they are born from pressure and still end up being light. Because they reminded me of you —of everything you’ve been through, of everything you are… and of the way you keep staying.”

Eddie leaned in just a fraction closer, their foreheads nearly touching and Bobby cleared his throat with theatrical gentleness.

“Please don’t kiss before I tell you,” he murmured, eyes sparkling with amusement.

Both men nodded, smiling through tears. A profound sense of calm finally settled over Buck, warm and all-encompassing, like the first true breath after years of holding it.

Bobby continued with a few more words about love, choice, and the family they had built together, then spoke the words Buck had been longing to hear his entire life.

“By the power vested in me by the County of Los Angeles and the Association of Ministers of America, I now pronounce you husbands… You may kiss.”

Eddie lifted their clasped hands and pressed a reverent kiss to Buck’s wedding band, right over the blue stones, then he slid his free hand to the back of Buck’s neck, drawing him close. 

Buck stumbled forward slightly, laughing wetly into the kiss as their lips met —soft at first, then deeper, full of every promise, every fear overcome, every moment they had chosen each other through fire and doubt and joy.

Any remaining chill inside Buck vanished completely. 

The old fear of losing them was still there, but it no longer felt like something he would cause. It felt like a sacred reminder of how precious every single moment with this family truly was.

When they finally parted, foreheads resting together, the garden erupted in cheers and applause.

Chris approached then, crutches clicking softly on the grass, holding a small folder with the official adoption papers. His face wore the most nervous expression Buck had seen on him since the early days of puberty—eyes wide, cheeks flushed, but shining with unmistakable hope and love.

“Buck…” Chris’s voice cracked just a little as he held out the papers. “I’ve been waiting to do this for years. I want it official, like, you being my other dad. Forever.”

Buck’s breath caught on a sob. 

He pulled Chris into a tight hug, Eddie wrapping his arms around both of them, the three of them forming a small, unbreakable circle right there in front of everyone. 

Tears flowed freely now —from Maddie, from Athena, even from Hen and Chimney in the second row. Buck’s parents watched quietly, something softer in their expressions than he had ever seen before.

In that moment, Buck understood with crystal clarity what he had always felt but never fully believed until today.

From the very beginning, they had been a family.

Not because of blood or paperwork or perfect circumstances, but because they had chosen one another again and again —through tsunamis and lawsuits, through lightning strikes and sleepless nights, through every doubt and every fear.

And they would keep choosing each other, tooth and nail, heart and soul, no matter what anyone else said.

The garden erupted in cheers and applause as they kissed again, slower this time, sealing the promise that had always been there.

They were his.  

He was theirs.  

Forever.