Chapter Text
There were, objectively, too many pieces.
Four separate cards per invitation, each with its own designated place in the stack, each meant to be aligned just so before being slid into an envelope that Eddie had insisted had to be “the exact shade of cream, Buck, not ivory, not white—cream.”
Buck had not known there were that many shades of white.
Buck had not known that there were that many steps involved in assembling a wedding invitation either, but here he was—sitting at the Diaz dining table, hunched over like a man attempting delicate surgery, sleeves of his oversized hoodie swallowed halfway over his hands, a crumpled tissue graveyard slowly building to his left.
Across from him, Eddie was pacing.
Not walking—pacing. Tight turns at each end of the room, phone in one hand, a pen tucked behind his ear, muttering numbers and timelines under his breath like a man calculating a military operation instead of planning a wedding.
“Okay, so if we confirm the caterer by Thursday, that gives us two weeks buffer before the final headcount,” Eddie was saying, mostly to himself. “But that means we need the RSVPs out today or tomorrow at the latest, because—”
“AITCH! AITCH! AITCH!—hh—HA-HA-HAITSHOO! !”
Buck folded forward over the table with the force of it, barely managing to turn his face into his elbow in time. The invitation pieces in his hands scattered like startled birds.
Eddie stopped pacing.
“Bless you,” he said automatically, already halfway back into his mental checklist.
“Wait—no, not that pile, that’s the RSVP inserts—Buck—”
“Sorry, sorry,” Buck mumbled thickly, dragging a tissue from the box and pressing it firmly to his nose. He sniffed hard, breath hitching again, shoulders tensing. “Hh—huh—HAHHH—HE’TCHIEW! HE’TCHIIEEWWW!”
“Jesus,” Eddie muttered, but not unkindly. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Buck said immediately, because that was easier than explaining the way his head felt stuffed with cotton and concrete all at once. He blew his nose—loud, unashamed, necessary—and winced slightly at the pressure. “M’good.”
He wasn’t.
But Eddie was already turning back toward the table, eyes scanning the neat stacks of paper with laser focus.
“No, that one goes under the details card, not over it,” Eddie said, reaching across to adjust Buck’s work. “We talked about this.”
“We did,” Buck agreed hoarsely. He blinked slowly, trying to refocus on the tiny printed text that kept swimming in and out of clarity. “I remember. Definitely.”
He did not remember.
What he remembered was waking up that morning feeling like he’d swallowed sandpaper, head pounding, skin too hot and too cold at the same time. He remembered checking his temperature—101—and staring at it for a long second before grabbing his phone.
Buck: Hey, feeling kinda crappy this morning. Might stay home today.
Eddie’s reply had come almost instantly.
Eddie: We don’t have time to fall behind, Buck. Just come over. We’ll take breaks if we need to.
So Buck had gotten up. Had pulled on the first hoodie he could find, grabbed a thermos of honey and lemon tea, a box of tissues, and driven over anyway.
Because Eddie needed this.
Because Eddie needed everything to be perfect.
And because Buck would give him anything he asked for, even if it meant sitting here while his body quietly revolted.
“Okay,” Eddie said, snapping his fingers once like he was resetting himself. “Focus. We have—what—fifty more to assemble? We can knock that out in, like, an hour if we just—”
“HE’ITCHOOO! CHOO! CHOO! CHOO!”
Buck barely managed to twist away from the table in time, sneezing in a rapid, helpless burst into his shoulder. The motion sent a sharp spike of pain through his sinuses, and he groaned softly under his breath.
Eddie frowned.
“Okay, that’s—” He hesitated. “That’s a lot.”
Buck waved him off, already grabbing another tissue. “It’s just a cold,” he said, voice rough. “Or maybe just allergies or something.”
“In February?”
“California,” Buck said weakly, as if that explained anything.
Eddie didn’t look convinced.
But his phone buzzed, and his attention snapped away instantly.
“Hold on—caterer,” he said, holding up a finger as he answered. “Hi, yes—this is Eddie Diaz, I’m calling to confirm—”
Buck let his shoulders sag a little as Eddie turned away, voice slipping into polite, controlled professionalism.
He reached for his thermos, unscrewing the lid with slightly shaky hands and taking a careful sip. The tea was lukewarm now, but it still helped, soothing the raw ache in his throat just enough to make swallowing bearable.
For a moment, he just sat there.
Breathing.
Trying to gather himself.
Then he picked up the next set of invitation pieces.
Eddie had not always been like this.
That was the thing Buck kept reminding himself as he fumbled through aligning cardstock edges that refused to stay straight.
Eddie wasn’t controlling.
Eddie wasn’t obsessive.
Eddie was just… trying.
Trying to make something perfect.
Trying to build something stable, something beautiful, something that wouldn’t fall apart the way so many things in his life had before.
Buck understood that.
He really did.
Which was why he didn’t say anything when Eddie corrected him for the fifth time about the order of the inserts.
Which was why he didn’t complain when Eddie reorganized the entire table layout halfway through because the stacks “weren’t efficient.”
Which was why he kept going, even as his head grew heavier and heavier, even as his breaths started catching with that telltale, dangerous hitch.
“Hh—hh—”
Buck froze, one hand stilling over the invitation in front of him.
Oh no. Not again.
He pressed the back of his wrist under his nose, trying to stave it off, blinking rapidly.
Didn’t work.
“AITCH! AITCH! AITCH! AITCH! AITCH!”
The sneezes ripped out of him one after the other, sharp and forceful, leaving him breathless by the end of it. He slumped forward slightly, coughing weakly into his sleeve.
Eddie turned around mid-sentence.
“—sorry, can you repeat that?” he said into the phone, distracted now, eyes locked onto Buck. “Yeah—no, just—hang on a second.”
He pulled the phone away, covering the receiver.
“Buck.”
“I’m fine,” Buck croaked automatically.
Eddie stared at him.
Really stared, this time.
Taking in the flushed cheeks, the glassy eyes, the way Buck’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for yet another tissue.
“You don’t look fine.”
“I just—” Buck sniffed, wincing. “Didn’t sleep great.”
That part was technically true.
Eddie’s jaw tightened.
On the other end of the line, the caterer was still talking faintly.
Eddie hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then he put the phone back to his ear.
“Sorry about that,” he said, voice snapping back into business mode. “Yes, Thursday works. We’ll finalize the menu then—”
Buck watched him go.
Watched the way Eddie slipped so easily back into planning, into logistics, into the thousand moving pieces of a wedding that had somehow taken over their lives.
And Buck—
Buck picked up another invitation.
Because this was what Eddie needed.
Because this was what mattered.
By the time Eddie finally hung up the phone, twenty minutes later, Buck had assembled exactly three more invitations.
And used at least ten more tissues.
The trash pile beside him had grown into something truly impressive.
“Okay,” Eddie said, setting his phone down with a decisive nod. “Caterer’s locked in. That’s one—”
He stopped.
Because Buck was no longer sitting upright.
He was slumped forward, elbows on the table, forehead resting briefly against his sleeve as he tried—unsuccessfully—to stifle another round.
“Hh—hh—huh—”
“Buck—”
“HA-HA-HAITSHOO! ! HAHHH-HE’TCHIEW! HE’TCHIIEEWWW!”
Buck barely got the tissue up in time, the force of the sneezes bending him nearly in half. He sucked in a shaky breath afterward, nose running, eyes squeezed shut in miserable defeat.
There was a pause.
A long one.
Then Eddie sighed.
Not annoyed.
Not really.
Just… something else.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Buck sniffed, blinking up at him. “What?”
Eddie crossed the room in three steps.
Pressed the back of his hand to Buck’s forehead.
And froze.
“…Buck.”
It wasn’t a question this time.
Buck tried for a smile.
“Hi.”
“You’re burning up.”
“Am not.”
“You are definitely running a fever.”
Buck shrugged weakly. “It’s probably not that bad.”
“What was it this morning?”
Buck hesitated.
Eddie’s eyes narrowed.
“Buck.”
“…101,” Buck admitted.
Eddie went very, very still.
Then—
“You came over here with a 101 fever?”
Buck winced.
“You said to come over,” he pointed out, softer now.
That landed.
Hard.
Eddie’s expression shifted—guilt crashing in fast and heavy, knocking all the sharp edges off his earlier focus.
“I didn’t know you were sick sick,” Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. “I thought you meant, like—sniffles. Not—this.”
Buck shrugged again, smaller this time.
“I didn’t want to fall behind.”
Eddie stared at him.
At the flushed cheeks, the exhausted slouch, the way Buck’s breathing still hitched every few seconds like his body couldn’t decide whether it was done yet.
And just like that—
The wedding, the invitations, the caterer, the schedule—
None of it seemed quite as urgent.
“Okay,” Eddie said again, softer this time.
“Okay, new plan.”
Buck blinked.
“What?”
“You’re done,” Eddie said, already moving, gathering up the scattered papers from in front of Buck and stacking them neatly out of reach. “No more invitations. No more anything. You should be in bed.”
“Eddie—”
“Nope.”
“Eddie—”
“Nope,” Eddie repeated, firmer. “You have a fever. You should not be here assembling cardstock like it’s life or death.”
Buck opened his mouth—
And then promptly ruined his own argument.
“AITCH! AITCH!—hh—HA-HA-HAITSHOO! !”
Eddie raised an eyebrow.
Buck sighed.
“…okay, that was bad timing.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said dryly. “Real unfortunate for your case.”
Despite everything, Buck huffed out a weak laugh.
Which turned into a cough.
Which turned into another miserable sniffle as he grabbed for yet another tissue.
Eddie watched him for a second longer.
Then—
“C’mon,” he said, gentler now. “Up.”
Buck hesitated.
“…we’re really behind,” he said quietly.
Eddie shook his head.
“We’ll catch up,” he said. “We always do.”
He reached out, steadying Buck as he stood—because Buck was definitely a little unsteady, even if he pretended otherwise.
“And for the record,” Eddie added, softer still, “I don’t need perfect invitations.”
Buck looked at him.
“Yeah?”
Eddie nodded.
“I just need you.”
That—
That did something warm and aching in Buck’s chest.
Even through the fever.
Even through the fog.
“Okay,” Buck murmured.
And this time—
He let Eddie lead him away from the table.