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By the time Eddie walks into the station kitchen at six-thirty in the morning, Buck is already arguing with Chimney about contouring.
“I’m just saying,” Buck insists, leaning over the island counter with the confidence of a man who should never be trusted this early in the day, “if they’re professionally photographing us, contouring makes sense.”
Chimney stares at him.
“Why do you know what contouring is?”
Buck looks offended. “TikTok exists, Chim.”
“Society was a mistake,” Chimney mutters into his coffee.
Hen snorts from where she’s scrolling through her phone. “Wait until you hear Buck explain highlighter.”
“Highlighter is different,” Buck says immediately. “That’s important.”
Eddie stops just inside the doorway, duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, and watches the scene for a second.
This is normal.
This is his life.
Buck animated and loud at dawn, Hen looking deeply entertained by humanity, Chim pretending he’s annoyed while actively participating anyway.
Home.
The thought arrives quietly enough Eddie barely notices it.
Then Buck glances up and spots him.
And there it is.
That immediate brightening Eddie’s never really examined too closely before.
“Diaz!” Buck says, grinning. “Tell Chim contouring is real.”
Eddie drops his bag beside the table. “I think you knowing makeup terminology is deeply concerning.”
“See?” Chimney points at him triumphantly.
Buck gasps dramatically. “Betrayal.”
“You’ll survive.”
Buck narrows his eyes. “Maybe not. Beauty is pain.”
“You are pain,” Hen says.
Buck ignores her completely. “Anyway, important question.”
Eddie already doesn’t trust that tone. “What?”
“You shaving?”
Eddie blinks. “For what?”
Buck stares at him like he’s stupid.
“The calendar shoot?”
Right.
That.
The charity calendar had somehow become real in the forty-eight hours since Bobby reluctantly approved it. Eddie still wasn’t entirely sure how it happened.
One minute the station was helping transport displaced rescue animals after the wildfire upstate.
The next, Chimney was saying:
> “You know what people love? Firefighters and puppies.”
And now apparently there was a photographer arriving at nine.
Eddie sighs. “I’m not doing the calendar.”
Buck points at him. “Coward.”
“I’m employed here. That’s enough public humiliation.”
“Oh, please.” Buck waves dismissively. “You’d sell like crazy.”
Eddie rolls his eyes automatically.
Unfortunately, Buck keeps talking.
“You’ve got the whole grumpy-hot thing working for you.”
Hen immediately chokes on her coffee.
Chimney makes a noise like a dying seal.
Eddie feels heat crawl unexpectedly up the back of his neck.
Buck, oblivious, keeps going.
“It’s true! People love emotionally unavailable faces.”
“Buck,” Hen says weakly.
“What?”
“You can’t just say things like grumpy-hot before sunrise.”
Buck frowns. “Why not?”
Because Eddie’s heart just did something weird, apparently.
That’s why.
Eddie grabs coffee instead of answering.
Buck watches him over the rim of his mug.
“Seriously though,” he says, softer now, “you should do one picture.”
“No.”
“One.”
“No.”
“With me.”
Eddie looks up.
Buck grins lazily. “C’mon. Diaz and Buckley. Dynamic duo. We’d make millions.”
Something warm flickers low in Eddie’s stomach.
He ignores it on principle.
—
The photographer arrives at exactly nine with three assistants, two garment racks, several cases of equipment, and an energy level that feels deeply unnatural.
“Oh my God,” she says the second she sees the 118 assembled in the apparatus bay. “You’re all ridiculously photogenic.”
Bobby immediately tries to leave.
“Nope!” she says, pointing at him. “Captain Dad Energy stays.”
Hen actually doubles over laughing.
Buck, meanwhile, looks delighted.
Eddie should’ve predicted that.
Buck thrives under attention in the same way plants thrive under sunlight. The man practically photosynthesizes praise.
Within twenty minutes he’s somehow befriended the makeup artists, volunteered to help carry lighting equipment, and convinced Ravi to let someone style his hair.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Eddie mutters as Buck passes him carrying bottled water for the crew.
Buck shrugs. “It’s fun.”
“You’re frighteningly well-adjusted to having strangers moisturize your chest.”
Buck grins instantly. “Jealous?”
“No.”
“You can moisturize my chest too if you want.”
Eddie nearly walks into a tripod.
Buck keeps moving without noticing the devastation left in his wake.
Behind Eddie, Hen makes a deeply suspicious noise.
He refuses to turn around.
—
The problem starts slowly.
Which honestly makes it worse.
If it had been immediate, Eddie could’ve dismissed it.
Could’ve blamed it on surprise or exhaustion or Buck looking objectively attractive in the way literally everyone knows Buck is objectively attractive.
Instead it sneaks up on him piece by piece.
A hundred tiny moments.
Buck sitting in makeup while one of the stylists pushes his curls back off his forehead.
Buck laughing when Chimney complains about being waxed “for the integrity of the art.”
Buck crouching automatically to let one of the rescue puppies climb into his lap.
Buck smiling at Christopher over FaceTime when Chris calls demanding behind-the-scenes updates.
That one lands strangely hard.
“You better not embarrass me,” Christopher warns through Buck’s phone speaker.
Buck looks deeply serious. “I would never.”
“You once tried to do a backflip off our couch.”
“In fairness,” Buck says, “I almost landed it.”
Christopher groans dramatically.
Eddie watches them bicker and feels something in his chest soften in a way he doesn’t entirely know what to do with.
Because this— this is normal too.
Buck fitting into their lives so naturally nobody even questions it anymore.
Christopher calling Buck before Eddie sometimes.
Buck knowing where the extra cereal boxes are kept.
Buck asleep on Eddie’s couch after late shifts.
Buck helping with homework.
Buck just… there.
Always there.
“You’re staring,” Hen says quietly beside him.
Eddie blinks. “I’m literally not.”
“You look emotional.”
“I look tired.”
Hen hums skeptically.
Across the room, Buck catches Eddie looking.
And smiles immediately.
Like reflex.
Like instinct.
Eddie’s stomach flips.
That’s new.
That’s definitely new.
—
The actual disaster begins around eleven-thirty.
Specifically: the moment Buck comes back shirtless.
Not unusual.
Not unprecedented.
Still catastrophic somehow.
Because apparently makeup had not been the end of the process.
Apparently there’s also body shimmer.
Actual body shimmer.
Buck walks out of the trailer glowing faintly gold under the station lights, turnout pants hanging low on his hips, coat open and sleeves shoved up his forearms.
The entire room goes silent for one full second.
Then Chimney says, horrified: “Oh, you look expensive.”
Buck beams. “Right?”
Eddie stops functioning.
Not externally.
Externally he’s very calm.
Internally his brain blue screens so hard it’s practically audible.
Because this is unfair.
Profoundly unfair.
Buck has always been attractive. Eddie knows this. Everyone knows this.
But this—
This feels different.
The shimmer catches across Buck’s skin every time he moves. His freckles stand out warmer against sun-browned skin. Someone’s done something to his hair that leaves it messy in a deliberate way.
And Eddie suddenly notices things he’s somehow never really let himself notice before.
The broadness of Buck’s shoulders.
The scar near his side.
The line of muscle disappearing beneath the waistband of his turnout pants.
The way Buck laughs with his whole body.
The way Eddie immediately knows when Buck’s happy versus when he’s pretending.
The way Buck always looks for him first in a room.
Oh.
Oh no.
“Diaz,” Hen says slowly.
“No.”
“You haven’t blinked in thirty seconds.”
“I’m blinking right now.”
“You look like you’re having a religious experience.”
Eddie tears his gaze away.
“Shut up.”
Hen’s eyes narrow slightly.
Then widen.
Then go absolutely sparkling with realization.
“Oh my God.”
Eddie immediately hates that tone.
“What?”
Hen points subtly toward Buck. “You didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?”
“You are so stupid.”
“I’m not stupid.”
Hen actually laughs.
“Eddie,” she says gently, “sweetheart. You are in love with that man.”
The words hit like a dropped oxygen tank.
Heavy.
Jarring.
Impossible to ignore.
Eddie opens his mouth.
Closes it again.
Across the room Buck laughs at something Ravi says, head tipped back, sunlight catching gold over his skin.
And something inside Eddie abruptly falls apart.
Because suddenly everything makes sense.
The jealousy.
The protectiveness.
The impossible relief every time Buck walks safely away from dangerous calls.
The ache in Eddie’s chest anytime Buck looks at someone else too long.
The fact that Eddie already unconsciously thinks of Buck as part of his family.
Oh, God.
“Oh,” Eddie says faintly.
Hen pats his arm.
“Yeah.”
By lunchtime, Eddie has learned three things.
One: body glitter should probably be illegal.
Two: Hen Wilson is enjoying this far too much.
And three: being in love with Buck apparently makes functioning in public impossible.
“You’re staring again,” Hen says around a bite of salad.
Eddie doesn’t look up from aggressively opening a yogurt. “I’m literally eating.”
“And somehow still staring.”
Across the apparatus bay, Buck is leaning against the engine while one of the photographers adjusts camera settings. He’s laughing at something Ravi’s saying, all loose-limbed warmth and easy confidence.
The sunlight pouring through the open bay doors catches against the shimmer still dusted across his chest.
Eddie immediately looks away.
Unfortunately he looks away directly into Hen’s face.
She smiles slowly.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
“That’s fair.”
Hen takes another bite. “So. What’s the plan?”
“There’s no plan.”
“You gonna tell him?”
Eddie nearly drops the spoon. “Absolutely not.”
Hen snorts. “Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, you’re not gonna tell the man who already acts like your husband that you’re in love with him.”
Eddie rubs both hands over his face.
“Can everyone stop saying things like that?”
“No.”
“You’re all making this worse.”
“Sweetie,” Hen says kindly, “this has been worse for years. You’re just finally aware of it.”
That’s the problem.
Now that Eddie sees it, he can’t unsee it.
Every interaction with Buck suddenly feels loaded.
Buck stealing fries off Eddie’s plate during lunch because apparently personal boundaries don’t exist.
Buck nudging his knee under the table.
Buck casually handing Eddie a water bottle without asking because he already knows Eddie forgot to hydrate.
Buck saying:
“Chris texted me and demanded proof you survived makeup.”
Like Christopher and Buck are a unit independent from Eddie himself.
Like they’ve already built something together.
Something dangerously close to a family.
The realization sits warm and terrifying in Eddie’s chest.
Because he wants that.
God help him, he wants that so badly.
“Hey.”
Buck’s voice snaps Eddie out of it.
He looks up too fast.
Buck’s expression flickers briefly with concern.
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
Buck narrows his eyes immediately. “That was suspiciously fast.”
“I’m always fine.”
Hen actually laughs out loud.
Buck looks between them. “Okay, what’s happening?”
“Nothing,” Eddie says.
“Something,” Hen says at the exact same time.
Buck points accusingly at Hen. “You’re instigating.”
“Always.”
“You promised not to psychologically torment us before noon.”
“It’s after noon.”
Buck gasps softly. “Betrayal.”
Eddie watches him smile.
And there it is again.
That impossible warmth spreading through his chest.
It feels terrifyingly close to joy.
—
The afternoon shoot is somehow worse.
Because now Eddie knows.
And once the realization settles into place, his entire history with Buck starts rearranging itself in his head like puzzle pieces finally locking together.
The grocery store trips.
Movie nights.
Christopher automatically saving Buck a seat at dinner.
Buck having a key to Eddie’s house.
The way Buck always reaches for Eddie first after bad calls.
The way Eddie does the same.
The fact that everyone at the station already treats them like they’re together.
Oh my God.
They’re one shared Costco membership away from a sitcom marriage.
“Diaz.”
Eddie blinks.
Buck’s standing beside him holding two iced coffees.
“One cream, one sugar,” Buck says, handing one over automatically.
Eddie takes it on reflex.
Their fingers brush.
Tiny contact.
Barely anything.
It still sends heat racing straight up Eddie’s spine.
Buck notices.
Eddie knows he notices because Buck suddenly goes very still.
“Oh,” Buck says quietly.
Eddie’s stomach drops.
“What?”
Buck keeps looking at him.
Really looking at him.
And Eddie has the horrifying realization that Buck is good at reading him. Better than anyone else on earth.
“You’ve been weird all day,” Buck says slowly.
“I have not.”
“You stared at me for like forty seconds while I was holding a puppy.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“It super happened.”
Eddie takes a long sip of coffee to avoid answering.
Buck watches him over the rim of his own cup.
Then softer: “Did something happen?”
The concern in his voice almost kills Eddie instantly.
Because Buck always sounds like that with him.
Careful.
Gentle.
Like Eddie matters.
Eddie laughs once under his breath, shaky around the edges.
“You ever realize something about yourself at the worst possible moment?”
Buck blinks.
Then his entire expression changes.
Not dramatically.
Just— stillness.
Attention sharpening.
Like he suddenly understands this conversation matters.
“Yeah,” Buck says quietly. “I think so.”
Their eyes lock.
Eddie feels abruptly, terrifyingly exposed.
Then Chimney yells from across the bay: “Buck! Stop flirting and come be artistic!”
Buck doesn’t look away from Eddie.
“Coming!”
But he says it absently.
Distracted.
Focused entirely on Eddie.
And suddenly Eddie’s heart is beating hard enough to hurt.
Because there’s something different in Buck’s expression now too.
Something tentative.
Hopeful.
Oh no.
Oh no.
—
By five o’clock the photoshoot has shifted outside.
Golden hour.
Which feels deeply targeted, honestly.
The engines gleam red in the sunset. The air smells faintly like smoke and asphalt and summer heat.
The rescue puppies have exhausted themselves and are sleeping in a pile of blankets near craft services.
And Buck—
Buck looks unfair.
That’s the only word for it.
The photographer has him leaning against Engine 118 with his turnout coat hanging open and his sleeves shoved up.
The sunset catches against the gold shimmer still dusted over his skin.
And Eddie can’t stop looking.
Not because Buck’s hot.
Well.
Not just because Buck’s hot.
It’s deeper than that now.
Buck smiles at one of the puppies and Eddie’s chest aches.
Because he knows that smile.
Knows the soft one Buck saves for Christopher.
The one he gets after successful rescues.
The one he wears in Eddie’s kitchen at two in the morning eating leftover takeout.
Love hits him again all at once.
Huge and helpless and undeniable.
Not sudden.
Just finally named.
Buck glances up.
Sees Eddie staring.
And this time something openly vulnerable flashes across his face.
The photographer says something Eddie doesn’t hear.
Buck hands the puppy to Ravi without looking away from Eddie once.
Then he walks over.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like approaching something fragile.
“Hey,” he says softly.
Eddie’s throat goes dry.
“Hey.”
Buck stops close enough that Eddie can smell smoke and soap and the faint clean scent of whatever lotion makeup had forced onto him earlier.
“You’ve looked at me differently all day.”
Not a question.
Eddie laughs quietly because apparently the universe enjoys humiliation.
“Yeah.”
Buck’s expression softens instantly.
And suddenly Eddie sees it.
Really sees it.
The nervousness beneath Buck’s calm expression.
The way his hands flex once at his sides.
The hope.
Oh my God.
“You know,” Eddie says faintly.
Buck exhales sharply.
“Yeah.”
Everything around them fades strangely quiet.
The station.
The crew.
The photographer yelling directions somewhere in the distance.
None of it matters suddenly.
Only Buck.
Only this.
Eddie rubs a hand over the back of his neck helplessly. “I think seeing you covered in glitter broke my brain.”
Buck laughs softly, visibly relieved.
“The glitter?”
“The glitter did not help.”
Buck steps closer.
“So this is… what exactly?”
Eddie looks at him.
At the man who’s already woven himself into every corner of Eddie’s life so completely Eddie can’t remember what life looked like before him.
And for the first time maybe ever, Eddie decides not to run from the truth.
“I’m in love with you,” he says quietly.
Buck’s face changes instantly.
Like sunlight breaking open.
Relief. Wonder. Something almost disbelieving.
“You are?”
Eddie huffs a laugh. “Apparently.”
Buck stares at him for one long, wrecked second.
Then: “I’ve been in love with you for years.”
Eddie actually stops breathing.
Buck laughs nervously. “Okay, wow, saying that out loud is terrifying.”
“You— years?”
“Eddie,” Buck says helplessly, “I accidentally helped Chris make me a Father’s Day card.”
“That was one time.”
Buck gives him a look.
“You have a drawer for my stuff at your house.”
“…fair.”
“I know your coffee order, your grocery list, and how to tell when you’re having nightmares before you even wake up.”
Eddie’s chest feels painfully full.
Because Buck says it like it’s obvious.
Like loving Eddie is the easiest thing in the world.
Buck’s voice softens.
“I didn’t know if you’d ever… look at me that way.”
Eddie steps closer before he can think better of it.
“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”
Buck smiles shakily. “I’ve said a lot of stupid things.”
“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “But I think this one wins.”
Then Buck laughs.
Warm and bright and so familiar Eddie suddenly can’t believe he almost lost the chance to have this.
He grabs lightly at Buck’s turnout coat.
Buck goes still instantly.
“You know what really sucks?” Eddie says.
“What?”
“Now everyone’s gonna buy this stupid calendar because you look like that.”
Buck grins immediately. “Jealous, Diaz?”
“Violently.”
Buck kisses him before Eddie can say anything else.
And it’s—
God.
Warm.
Immediate.
Familiar in the way all truly right things are.
Buck’s hand slides carefully to Eddie’s jaw like he’s afraid this might disappear.
Eddie kisses him harder just to prove he won’t.
Somewhere behind them Chimney screams: “FINALLY!”
They break apart laughing.
Hen is openly recording on her phone.
Bobby looks exhausted but unsurprised.
Ravi is clapping.
Buck presses his forehead against Eddie’s, still smiling.
“You know everyone’s gonna be unbearable now, right?”
“They already were.”
“Fair.”
Eddie looks at him for a long moment.
Really looks at him.
At the softness in his eyes.
The happiness.
The love that’s apparently been there all along.
And something inside Eddie settles quietly into place.
Home.
Buck brushes their noses together lightly.
“So,” he says softly, “you wanna go home after this?”
Eddie smiles before he can stop himself.
“Yeah,” he says.
And this time, he finally understands exactly what Buck means.
The ride back to Eddie’s house is unbearably quiet.
Not awkward.
Somehow worse.
Soft.
Every red light feels charged with something Eddie still doesn’t fully know how to hold. Buck keeps glancing over from the driver’s seat like he can’t quite believe this is real either.
Eddie gets it.
Three hours ago he’d been emotionally stable.
Now Buck had kissed him beside Engine 118 while covered in body glitter and suddenly Eddie’s entire life looked different.
Buck taps the steering wheel lightly. “So.”
Eddie snorts quietly. “So.”
“We kissed.”
“Pretty sure Chimney announced that to half of Los Angeles.”
Buck grins. “He was emotional.”
“He was filming us.”
“Yeah, that’s fair.”
Silence settles again.
Comfortable.
Dangerously comfortable.
Buck’s hand shifts on the center console, fingers flexing once like he wants to reach over and isn’t sure if he should yet.
The sight of Buck hesitating almost wrecks Eddie instantly.
Because Buck never hesitates with him.
Not really.
Buck charges headfirst into everything. Into danger. Into feelings. Into people.
But this?
This matters enough to make him careful.
Eddie reaches over before he can overthink it and hooks two fingers loosely around Buck’s wrist.
Buck goes still.
Then slowly turns his hand until their palms fit together naturally.
Like they’ve done this before.
Maybe they were always going to.
Buck’s smile turns almost unbearably soft.
Eddie has the horrifying realization that he would probably do just about anything to keep seeing that expression.
“Well,” Buck says lightly, though his voice still sounds a little wrecked around the edges, “this is new.”
Eddie rubs his thumb once across Buck’s knuckles. “You complaining?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good.”
Buck glances at him again.
Then again.
Then: “You know what’s crazy?”
“What?”
“I spent like four years trying not to do exactly this in your truck after shifts.”
Eddie nearly misses the next breath entirely.
“You— what?”
Buck laughs softly, embarrassed now. “Yeah.”
“You hid that surprisingly well.”
Buck gives him a look. “Did I? Because literally everyone else knew.”
Unfortunately, fair.
Eddie leans back against the seat with a groan. “I can’t believe Hen knew before I did.”
“Oh, Hen absolutely knew before I did.”
“What?”
Buck grins. “Maddie too.”
“Oh my God.”
“She called me emotionally repressed in a Wendy’s parking lot.”
Eddie laughs helplessly.
It bubbles out of him easier than usual, lighter somehow, and Buck looks at him like the sound means something important.
That look.
Jesus Christ.
Eddie understands now why he spiraled all day.
Buck has always looked at him with too much feeling.
Eddie just never let himself name it.
The truck turns onto Eddie’s street.
And suddenly nerves hit hard enough to steal the warmth from Eddie’s chest for a second.
Because this is real now.
Actually real.
Buck parks outside the house and neither of them moves immediately.
Christopher’s at a friend’s for the night.
The house is dark.
Quiet.
Private.
Buck exhales slowly. “You okay?”
There it is again.
That gentleness.
Like Buck’s handling something precious.
Eddie looks down at their joined hands.
“I think,” he says carefully, “my brain’s still trying to catch up.”
Buck nods immediately. “Mine too.”
Then after a beat: “I can slow down.”
Eddie looks up sharply.
Buck’s expression is open in that terrifying way only Buck can manage. Honest down to the bone.
“We don’t have to figure everything out tonight,” he says softly. “I know this kind of came at you fast.”
Fast.
Eddie almost laughs.
Because that’s the thing.
It didn’t.
Not really.
The realization did.
But the feelings?
Those have probably been here forever.
Eddie thinks about grocery store runs and movie nights and Buck asleep on his couch with Christopher curled against his side.
He thinks about how natural it felt kissing Buck.
How right.
Then he looks at the man sitting beside him and understands something huge and terrifying and simple all at once:
Nothing actually changed today.
He just finally caught up to what his heart already knew.
Eddie squeezes Buck’s hand lightly.
“I don’t want slow,” he admits quietly.
Buck’s breath catches.
“No?”
“No.” Eddie smiles faintly. “I think I’ve already been doing this with you for years.”
Buck just stares at him.
Completely still.
Then his face breaks open into something so openly emotional Eddie’s chest physically aches.
“Oh,” Buck whispers.
Eddie leans closer without thinking.
Buck meets him halfway immediately.
The second kiss is slower.
No cheering coworkers.
No sunlight.
No adrenaline.
Just Buck warm beneath Eddie’s hands and the quiet little sound he makes when Eddie kisses him deeper.
Eddie feels it all the way down to his ribs.
Buck’s fingers slide carefully along Eddie’s jaw before settling at the back of his neck.
Careful at first.
Then firmer when Eddie pulls him closer.
And God.
Eddie’s been kissed before.
But nothing has ever felt like this.
Like recognition.
Like relief.
Like finally getting home after being lost without realizing it.
Buck pulls back only far enough to rest their foreheads together.
“You know what I realized today?” he murmurs.
“What?”
“I’ve apparently never had a single normal thought about you.”
Eddie laughs quietly. “That makes two of us.”
Buck smiles against his mouth.
Then his expression softens again, something more vulnerable slipping through.
“You really didn’t know?”
The question lands gently.
Not accusing.
Just honest curiosity.
Eddie exhales through his nose. “I knew you mattered.”
Buck’s eyes flicker.
“I knew Christopher loved you,” Eddie continues softly. “I knew you were the first person I wanted after bad days. I knew I trusted you with basically every important thing in my life.”
Buck’s hand tightens slightly against the back of Eddie’s neck.
“But I don’t think I understood why it felt different with you,” Eddie admits. “Not until today.”
Buck looks at him for a long moment.
Then grins suddenly. “So what you’re saying is the glitter saved your life.”
Eddie groans instantly. “You are never letting that go, are you?”
“Absolutely not.”
Buck leans back just enough to look smug.
“I shimmered my way into your heart, Diaz.”
“That sentence alone should make me take this back.”
“And yet.” Buck kisses him once, quick and warm. “You won’t.”
Eddie shakes his head helplessly.
“No,” he says quietly. “I won’t.”
Buck’s expression softens immediately at the answer.
There’s so much love in his face that Eddie almost has to look away for a second just to breathe through it.
Instead he reaches for Buck again.
Because apparently now that he’s allowed to touch him, Eddie never wants to stop.
Buck comes willingly, smiling against his mouth.
Outside, Los Angeles hums quietly through the dark.
Inside the truck, Eddie kisses the man he loves for the first time and wonders how he ever thought this was something he could survive without.
Eventually they make it inside the house.
Eventually.
It takes another ten minutes because every time Eddie reaches for the front door Buck kisses him again like he can’t help himself.
Not that Eddie’s doing any better.
At one point Buck laughs against his mouth and says, “We are literally thirty-year-old men making out in a driveway.”
Eddie kisses him again just to shut him up.
Buck seems delighted by this strategy.
By the time they finally stumble through the front door, both of them are smiling hard enough their faces probably hurt.
The house is quiet.
Christopher won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.
For once there’s no homework spread across the dining table, no video game sounds drifting from the living room, no half-finished snacks abandoned in the kitchen.
Just Eddie.
Buck.
And this huge impossible thing between them that suddenly doesn’t feel impossible at all.
Buck drops his keys onto the counter and looks around the room like he’s seeing it differently now.
Which is ridiculous because Buck practically lives here already.
There’s a hoodie hanging over the couch that definitely belongs to him.
His favorite cereal is in the pantry.
Half the blankets in the living room migrated over from Buck’s apartment months ago and somehow never left.
Eddie watches realization move across Buck’s face too.
“We’re really dumb,” Buck says finally.
Eddie huffs a laugh. “Little bit.”
Buck points toward the couch. “I fell asleep there like three times this week.”
“You drool on my throw pillows.”
“You still keep inviting me over.”
Eddie steps closer slowly. “Yeah. Wonder why.”
Buck’s smile softens instantly.
God, Eddie could drown in that look.
Buck reaches out carefully, fingers brushing Eddie’s wrist first like he’s still checking this is okay.
Eddie turns his hand immediately, threading their fingers together.
The relief that flashes across Buck’s face is small but devastating.
“You know,” Buck says quietly, “I used to think I was imagining it.”
“What?”
“This.” He gestures loosely between them. “Sometimes it felt like we were already—”
He cuts himself off.
“Together?” Eddie supplies softly.
Buck looks almost embarrassed. “Yeah.”
Eddie’s chest aches.
Because he knows exactly what Buck means.
The domesticity of them had happened so gradually Eddie never noticed the line disappearing.
Movie nights became routines.
Routines became traditions.
Buck stopped knocking before coming inside.
Christopher started saying “we” and meaning all three of them.
And Eddie—
Eddie started building his life around Buck so naturally it never occurred to him to question it.
Until today.
Until sunlight hit glitter on Buck’s skin and cracked Eddie wide open.
Buck laughs suddenly under his breath. “Hen is never gonna shut up about this.”
“She earned the right.”
“She absolutely did not.”
“She called it at like eleven this morning.”
Buck looks delighted. “Seriously?”
“She called me emotionally constipated.”
“That’s because you are emotionally constipated.”
“You’re one to talk.”
Buck gasps dramatically. “I am deeply in touch with my emotions.”
“You had a four-year crush and said nothing.”
“I wrote sad playlists, Eddie. That’s basically communication.”
Eddie laughs so hard he nearly folds in half.
Buck watches him with open fondness.
No hesitation now.
No confusion.
Just love.
Raw and uncomplicated.
It hits Eddie all over again that Buck loves him.
Buck loves him.
The thought still feels unreal enough to steal his breath for a second.
Buck notices immediately, expression softening.
“What?”
Eddie shakes his head once. “Nothing. Just…”
“Just?”
“I think I’m still catching up.”
Buck steps closer without breaking eye contact. “To what?”
Eddie smiles helplessly.
“To the fact that you love me.”
Buck goes very still.
Then something warm and unbearably tender settles across his face.
“Eddie,” he says softly, almost like it should’ve been obvious, “of course I love you.”
And there it is again.
That terrifying sincerity Buck carries everywhere.
Like loving Eddie is as natural as breathing.
Eddie feels suddenly overwhelmed by it.
By the years hidden underneath those words.
The missed chances.
The quiet devotion.
All the moments that make sense now in hindsight.
Buck driving across the city at three in the morning because Eddie couldn’t sleep after a rough call.
Buck helping Christopher with school projects even after double shifts.
Buck learning how Eddie takes his coffee without ever being told.
Buck choosing them again and again and again.
“Oh,” Eddie whispers.
Buck’s eyebrows lift slightly. “What?”
“I think maybe everyone else figured this out before we did because we were already basically married.”
Buck bursts out laughing.
“Honestly? Fair.”
Eddie smiles despite himself.
Then Buck’s expression shifts softer again.
Careful.
Hopeful.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
Buck rolls his eyes affectionately. “Shut up.”
Eddie grins. “Go ahead.”
Buck hesitates.
Which still feels strange on him.
“I know today was a lot,” he says slowly. “And I don’t want to assume anything just because we finally stopped repressing ourselves—”
Eddie snorts loudly.
Buck points at him. “You don’t get to laugh. You’re worse at feelings than I am.”
“That is objectively false.”
“You once got shot and tried to apologize for bleeding on me.”
“…okay maybe continue your point.”
Buck shakes his head fondly before continuing.
“I just mean…” He exhales quietly. “I don’t want this to scare you.”
Eddie’s chest tightens instantly.
Because underneath all Buck’s lightness there it is: fear.
Not of loving Eddie.
Of losing him.
The realization settles heavily in Eddie’s ribs.
Buck’s been carrying this alone for years.
Buck, who loves loudly and openly and without restraint, had still convinced himself this might never happen.
Eddie steps closer until they’re nearly touching.
“It doesn’t scare me,” he says honestly.
Buck searches his face carefully.
“No?”
“No.” Eddie reaches up, fingers brushing lightly through the curls falling over Buck’s forehead. “Honestly? I think the only scary part is that I almost missed it.”
Buck’s breath catches softly.
Eddie keeps going before he can lose his nerve.
“You’re already my person, Buck.” His voice comes quieter now. “I think I’ve known that for a long time.”
Buck looks wrecked by the words instantly.
Like Eddie reached into his chest and squeezed.
“You can’t say stuff like that casually,” Buck whispers.
Eddie smiles faintly. “Why not?”
“Because I’m trying very hard not to propose right now.”
Eddie stares at him.
Buck stares back.
Then: “Okay wow, too soon, abort mission—”
Eddie kisses him mid-panic.
Buck melts instantly.
Every ounce of tension disappears the second Eddie’s hands settle against his waist.
The kiss turns slow again.
Deep.
Unhurried.
Like they finally have time now.
Buck backs them carefully toward the couch without breaking contact.
They end up tangled together against the cushions, laughing quietly every few seconds because neither of them seems capable of believing this is real.
Buck traces his thumb along Eddie’s jaw.
“You know Chris is gonna make fun of us mercilessly, right?”
Eddie groans. “He definitely already knew.”
“He absolutely knew.”
“Traitor.”
Buck smiles softly. “He’s gonna be happy.”
The words land warm.
Steady.
Because of course Christopher will be happy.
Buck already belongs here.
Maybe he always did.
Eddie looks around the living room again: Buck’s hoodie. Buck’s shoes by the door. Buck himself curled into Eddie’s side like this is instinct.
Home.
The realization settles deep this time.
Certain.
Complete.
Not new.
Just finally spoken out loud.
Buck nudges his shoulder lightly. “What’re you thinking about?”
Eddie looks at him.
Really looks at him.
At the man who’s loved him quietly for years while building a life beside him piece by piece.
Then Eddie smiles.
“Honestly?”
“Yeah?”
“I think the body glitter changed the course of my entire life.”
Buck laughs so hard he nearly falls off the couch.
And Eddie kisses him again because now he can.
Now he gets to.
And somewhere between the laughter, the glitter still stubbornly dusted across Buck’s skin, and the quiet warmth of the house around them, Eddie realizes something else too:
For the first time in a very long while, the future doesn’t feel frightening.
It feels easy.
Like Buck.
Like love.
Like coming home.