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The idea starts because Chimney loses a bet.
Nobody actually remembers what the bet was about.
Hen thinks it had something to do with fantasy football. Ravi swears it was about whether Buck could survive an entire shift without buying a weird kitchen gadget online. Eddie’s pretty sure it involved Bobby threatening to ban everyone from using the station television during downtime.
Either way, Chimney loses.
Which is why, on a perfectly normal Thursday afternoon, the whiteboard in the loft now reads:
WELCOME TO THE FIRST ANNUAL 118 NEWLYWED GAME.
Underneath that, in smaller letters:
NO DIVORCES ON COMPANY PROPERTY.
“What the hell is this?” Eddie asks as he walks in carrying two grocery bags.
Buck immediately appears at his shoulder like he was summoned.
“Ooh, you got the good chips?”
“You texted me six times about the chips.”
“Because last time you got the weird healthy ones.”
“They’re baked.”
“They taste like sadness.”
Buck steals one of the grocery bags before Eddie can stop him and disappears toward the kitchen.
Eddie watches him go for exactly one second before sighing and following.
Hen points after them from where she’s sitting at the table.
“You see that?” she says.
Ravi nods solemnly.
“Honestly upsetting.”
Chimney grins.
“Perfect contestants.”
Bobby looks exhausted already.
“I’m begging all of you not to make HR paperwork my problem today.”
“No promises,” Chim says cheerfully.
Eddie sets the second grocery bag on the counter.
“Why do I feel like I walked into a hostage situation?”
“Because you did,” Hen says.
Buck pulls out a bag of tortilla chips and gasps dramatically.
“You bought salsa too?”
Eddie stares at him.
“You asked me to.”
“Right.” Buck pauses. “Still. Thoughtful.”
Something fond and helpless passes across Eddie’s face before he can stop it.
Hen makes a loud fake gagging noise.
Buck blinks.
“What?”
“You two are disgusting,” Chimney informs him.
“We literally haven’t done anything.”
“You’re standing too married.”
Eddie snorts.
Buck points accusingly.
“See? That! That little laugh he just did. Married.”
“I hate that I understand what you mean,” Ravi mutters.
Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I should’ve stayed at home.”
“You live here half the week,” Hen says.
“Then I should’ve slept in the truck.”
Chimney claps his hands together.
“Okay! Gather around, idiots. We’re doing teams.”
“No,” Eddie says immediately.
“Yes.”
“No.”
Buck is already opening the salsa.
“I mean… depends. Is there money involved?”
“There is pride involved.”
Buck gasps.
“Oh, we’re absolutely playing.”
Eddie gives him a betrayed look.
“You’re the weak link in this partnership.”
Buck grins.
“You love me anyway.”
The kitchen goes silent.
Buck freezes.
Eddie freezes.
Ravi’s eyes widen so hard Eddie’s a little worried about him medically.
Hen slowly turns toward Chimney.
“Oh my God,” she whispers.
Buck clears his throat.
“I mean— uh.”
Eddie reaches for the chips.
“Game rules?” he asks loudly.
Bobby looks like he’s witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion.
Chimney recovers first.
“Right! Yes. Rules.”
He flips over the whiteboard dramatically.
“We split into pairs. I ask questions. Everyone writes down answers separately. If your answers match, you get points.”
Hen raises a hand.
“What qualifies as a pair?”
“Any duo.”
“So not necessarily romantic.”
“Correct.”
Buck immediately points at Eddie.
“Dibs.”
Eddie sighs.
“Again: weak link.”
“Please. We’re gonna destroy everyone.”
And that, unfortunately, is exactly what happens.
—
The first round seems harmless.
Chimney passes out dry erase boards while Hen keeps score.
Teams end up being:
Hen and Chimney.
Bobby and Ravi.
Buck and Eddie.
“That’s unfair,” Ravi says.
“What is?” Buck asks.
“You two.”
Buck looks delighted.
“Because we’re emotionally codependent?”
Eddie mutters, “You say that like it’s a joke.”
The first question is easy.
“What’s your partner’s favorite takeout place?” Chimney asks.
Everyone writes.
“Reveal!”
Hen and Chim both wrote Thai Garden.
“Cute,” Buck says.
Bobby wrote In-N-Out.
Ravi wrote burger.
“That counts,” Ravi argues.
“No it doesn’t,” Hen says.
“It’s the spirit of the answer.”
“It’s not even a restaurant.”
Then Buck and Eddie flip their boards.
Buck’s says:
that tiny taco truck on Jefferson with the green sauce Eddie is obsessed with.
Eddie’s says:
Tacos El Rey truck because Buck likes watching the guy make tortillas fresh.
Silence.
Chimney narrows his eyes.
“That’s too specific.”
Buck frowns.
“It’s literally true.”
“You included emotional reasoning.”
“Because that’s why he likes it.”
Eddie points at Buck.
“He orders extra limes every time and gets weirdly excited about it.”
“I like citrus.”
“You once described a lime as refreshing emotionally.”
“It was a good lime.”
Hen rubs her face.
“This already feels sinister.”
—
The next few questions only make things worse.
Favorite movie?
Buck immediately writes Die Hard for Eddie.
Eddie writes How to Train Your Dragon for Buck.
Buck beams.
“You remembered!”
“You cry every time Toothless gets hurt.”
“I cry because friendship matters.”
“What’s your partner’s biggest pet peeve?”
Buck writes: people driving too slow in the fast lane.
Eddie writes: wet socks.
They both pause.
“Oh,” Buck says softly.
“Oh no,” Hen says.
“What?” Eddie asks.
“You answered different questions,” Chimney says.
Buck points at Eddie’s board.
“That’s my biggest pet peeve.”
Eddie points at Buck’s.
“That’s mine.”
Ravi drops his marker.
“No. Absolutely not.”
Buck looks confused.
“What?”
“You can’t just know that instantly.”
“Yes we can?”
“You’re doing it again,” Hen says.
“Doing what?” Eddie asks.
“That thing where you act like this is normal.”
Bobby quietly drinks coffee like a man preparing for impact.
—
By question ten, the atmosphere has changed.
It stops being a game somewhere around:
“What’s your partner’s coffee order?”
Because Buck and Eddie don’t just get it right.
They get horrifyingly right.
Buck writes:
Eddie gets plain drip coffee at work because he claims flavored creamer is fake food, but when he’s tired or sad he secretly likes those caramel iced coffees with cold foam.
Eddie writes:
Buck changes his coffee order every two weeks but currently it’s iced vanilla latte with an extra espresso shot and cinnamon because he says it tastes like Christmas.
The room goes dead silent.
Buck looks touched.
“You remembered the cinnamon thing.”
“You say it every morning.”
Hen slowly lowers her marker.
“Guys.”
“What?”
“You hear yourselves, right?”
Buck and Eddie look at each other.
Then back at the group.
Then at each other again.
“No?” Buck says.
Chimney points between them.
“You know each other like divorced people trying to win custody.”
“That’s oddly specific,” Eddie says.
“That’s because it FEELS specific.”
Ravi leans toward Bobby.
“Should we intervene?”
“I’ve been asking myself that for years.”
—
The game should end there.
It does not.
Instead, Chimney decides to escalate.
“Okay,” he says, eyes gleaming dangerously. “Lightning round.”
Buck sits up straighter.
“Oh hell yes.”
Eddie immediately looks wary.
“What’s lightning round?”
“Rapid-fire questions.”
“No thinking. Just answers.”
Hen grins.
“Oh this is gonna get ugly.”
Question one.
“What would your partner choose as their last meal?”
Buck and Eddie flip their boards simultaneously.
Eddie’s favorite steak from that one place in El Paso plus his abuela’s arroz.
Homemade mac and cheese, garlic bread, and six desserts because Buck treats mortality like a buffet.
Buck gasps.
“I do.”
“You absolutely do.”
Hen stares.
“Why do you know his emotional relationship to death?”
“Because I’ve met him,” Eddie says.
“Rude,” Buck says affectionately.
Next question.
“What’s your partner most likely to impulse buy?”
Buck writes: expensive skincare products he’ll deny owning.
Eddie writes: literally any appliance that does one extremely specific thing.
Buck points immediately.
“He bought an egg cooker last month.”
“It makes perfect eggs.”
“We have a stove.”
“It’s about efficiency.”
Hen is laughing too hard to breathe.
Ravi looks spiritually exhausted.
Chimney wipes tears from his eyes.
“This is incredible.”
Bobby mutters, “I’m retiring.”
—
Then comes the question.
The question.
Chimney doesn’t even realize the damage he’s about to do.
“What’s your partner’s most attractive feature?”
The room erupts immediately.
Hen yells.
Ravi chokes on air.
Bobby actually says, “Absolutely not.”
Buck looks delighted.
Eddie looks like he wants the floor to open and swallow him.
“Chim,” Eddie warns.
“What? It’s part of the Newlywed Game!”
“You’re gonna get us murdered.”
“Coward.”
Buck grabs his marker.
“Oh, I already know mine.”
Eddie gives him a look.
“That’s somehow worse.”
“Write your answer, Diaz.”
Everyone scribbles.
Hen and Chimney reveal first.
Hen wrote smile.
Chimney wrote eyes.
“Aw,” Ravi says.
Then Bobby and Ravi.
Bobby wrote hair.
Ravi wrote… arms?
“I panicked!” Ravi says.
“Understandable,” Hen says.
Then Buck and Eddie turn their boards over.
Buck wrote:
Eddie’s eyes when he laughs for real.
Eddie wrote:
Buck’s mouth.
Silence.
Complete.
Absolute.
Silence.
Buck stares at Eddie.
Eddie stares at his own board like it personally betrayed him.
Ravi whispers, “Holy shit.”
Hen slowly sets her marker down.
Chimney looks like Christmas came early.
Bobby closes his eyes.
Buck finally speaks.
“My mouth?”
Eddie looks deeply, deeply miserable.
“I meant—”
“You think my mouth is attractive?”
“I’m gonna throw myself into traffic.”
Buck grins slowly.
“No, no, hold on. Elaborate.”
“There’s nothing to elaborate.”
“You just publicly announced you think I have a hot mouth.”
“I hate you.”
“That’s not a denial.”
Eddie drags both hands down his face.
“Oh my God.”
Hen is openly crying laughing now.
“Buck, leave him alone.”
“No, I need to hear this.”
“You absolutely do not,” Eddie says.
Buck leans across the table.
“Is it the shape? Is it the smile? Is it because I use lip balm?”
“You use lip balm?” Ravi blurts.
“Coconut flavor,” Eddie mutters before he can stop himself.
The room explodes.
Chimney falls sideways out of his chair.
Hen is pounding the table.
Ravi looks like he’s witnessing the fall of Rome.
Buck goes utterly still.
Slowly, dangerously, he turns toward Eddie.
“You know what flavor my lip balm is?”
Eddie realizes his mistake exactly three seconds too late.
“Forget I said that.”
“Eddie.”
“Forget it.”
“You know the flavor.”
“You leave your stuff everywhere.”
“That does not explain why you know the flavor.”
“You talk in your sleep,” Eddie blurts.
Everyone freezes.
Buck blinks.
“…What?”
Eddie looks like he wants death.
“Nothing.”
“NO,” Chimney shouts. “Absolutely not. Circle back immediately.”
Hen wipes tears from her face.
“Eddie Diaz. Why do you know Buck talks in his sleep?”
Eddie’s soul visibly leaves his body.
Buck looks equally stunned.
“You know I talk in my sleep?”
Eddie stares at the table.
“You stayed at my house after the tsunami,” he says quietly.
The energy shifts immediately.
Softer.
Less ridiculous.
Buck’s expression changes too.
“Oh,” he says.
Eddie shrugs.
“You were having nightmares.”
Buck doesn’t say anything.
Hen glances between them.
And there it is.
That thing.
The reason everybody at the station feels mildly insane around Buck and Eddie all the time.
Because underneath all the chaos and banter and accidental emotional intimacy is something terrifyingly genuine.
Something that sits in the middle of the room whether either of them acknowledges it or not.
Buck clears his throat.
“So what do I say?”
Eddie looks up.
“When I’m asleep.”
Eddie hesitates.
Then quietly:
“Mostly Christopher’s name.”
The room falls silent again.
Buck’s face crumples just slightly around the edges.
“Oh.”
“And sometimes mine,” Eddie says before he can stop himself.
Nobody breathes.
Buck stares at him.
Eddie immediately regrets being alive.
“Okay!” Hen says loudly. “Next question.”
—
The game becomes unhinged after that.
Partly because everyone’s emotionally compromised.
Partly because Buck will not stop smiling at Eddie now.
And partly because Chimney has decided subtlety is for cowards.
“What’s your partner’s ideal date?”
Buck writes:
Eddie pretends he hates romantic stuff but secretly likes quiet restaurants, soft lighting, and hand-holding.
Eddie writes:
Buck wants activities. Mini golf. Arcade. Axe throwing. Something where he can dramatically lose on purpose for attention.
Buck points.
“That’s accurate.”
“You once fake-tripped during laser tag because nobody was watching you enough.”
“I committed to the bit.”
Hen squints at Eddie’s board.
“Hand-holding?”
Eddie freezes.
Buck grins.
“Oh, interesting.”
“Don’t start.”
“You think about me holding hands?”
“I’m gonna kill Chimney.”
“That’s fair,” Chimney says.
—
The final score isn’t even close.
Buck and Eddie absolutely demolish everyone.
Hen and Chimney get fourteen points.
Bobby and Ravi get nine.
Buck and Eddie get thirty-two.
“Thirty-two?” Ravi says weakly.
“There were thirty questions.”
“We gave bonus points for emotional devastation,” Hen explains.
Buck looks ridiculously pleased with himself.
Eddie looks tired in the way only Buck can make him tired.
“You’re all just jealous,” Buck says.
“Of what?” Bobby asks.
“Our connection.”
Hen points dramatically.
“See? That. That right there.”
“What?”
“You say things that sound romantic and then act confused when everyone reacts.”
Buck opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Looks at Eddie.
Eddie is staring very hard at the tabletop.
Something shifts.
Tiny.
Barely visible.
But Hen notices.
Because Hen notices everything.
Buck looks away first.
“Anyway,” he says brightly, “we win.”
“You terrify me,” Ravi says.
“Thank you.”
The alarm goes off before anyone can continue.
Every firefighter in the room moves instantly.
Game abandoned.
Markers forgotten.
The usual controlled chaos takes over.
Buck and Eddie move automatically around each other while gearing up.
Buck tosses Eddie his turnout coat without looking.
Eddie catches it one-handed.
Eddie adjusts Buck’s collar because it folded wrong.
Buck checks Eddie’s air tank.
Neither of them seem aware they’re doing it.
Hen watches the entire thing with narrowed eyes.
“Oh my God,” she says quietly.
Chimney follows her gaze.
“…Oh my God.”
Bobby hears them and sighs.
“You’re both late to this realization.”
—
The call itself is messy but manageable.
Apartment kitchen fire.
Minor injuries.
One extremely angry cat.
By the time they get back to the station, the mood has settled into something calmer.
Exhaustion smoothing out the edges.
Buck is sweaty and covered in soot and somehow still talking.
“…and then the cat looked directly into my soul, Eddie.”
“The cat was trying to escape.”
“No, we had a moment.”
“You say that about every animal.”
“Because they understand me.”
Eddie snorts softly.
Buck immediately smiles.
Again.
That same stupid fond smile.
Hen catches it.
So does Chimney.
Ravi physically turns away like he can’t handle witnessing this sober.
Back upstairs, Bobby starts dinner while the others clean up.
Buck is talking animatedly about something involving raccoons when Eddie interrupts.
“You skipped lunch.”
Buck blinks.
“What?”
“You skipped lunch.”
“I had chips.”
“That’s not lunch.”
“You sound like my sister.”
“You got dizzy on the stairs earlier.”
Buck opens his mouth.
Closes it.
“…Maybe a little.”
Eddie immediately hands him half a protein bar from his pocket.
The entire room stops.
Buck takes it automatically.
“…Do you just carry emergency snacks for me now?”
Eddie shrugs.
“You forget to eat when you’re distracted.”
Buck stares at him.
Then at the protein bar.
Then back at him.
Hen whispers, “I’m going to scream.”
Ravi whispers back, “Please don’t.”
Buck smiles slowly.
“Thanks.”
Eddie looks away.
“Yeah.”
There’s something unbearably soft about the whole interaction.
Something domestic.
Something quiet.
Bobby watches them for a long moment before returning to the stove.
“You know,” he says casually, “you two remind me of me and Athena sometimes.”
Buck nearly chokes on the protein bar.
Eddie goes completely still.
Hen drops her spoon.
Chimney looks delighted.
“CAPTAIN,” Ravi whispers.
“What?” Bobby asks innocently.
Buck coughs violently.
Eddie stares at Bobby like he personally set the building on fire.
“You can’t just say things like that,” Buck wheezes.
“Why not?”
“Because—”
Buck gestures helplessly.
“Because words mean things.”
“That’s generally how language works,” Hen says.
Buck looks at Eddie again.
Eddie looks away again.
And suddenly the entire station feels too small.
—
Dinner somehow makes it worse.
Mostly because Buck and Eddie keep doing little things.
Tiny things.
Automatic things.
Buck hands Eddie the hot sauce before he asks.
Eddie steals onions off Buck’s plate because Buck hates them.
Buck refills Eddie’s water.
Eddie remembers Buck’s weirdly specific preference for butter distribution on garlic bread.
At one point Buck starts telling a story and gets distracted halfway through.
Eddie finishes the story for him.
Word for word.
Ravi actually puts his fork down.
“No.”
Buck looks over.
“What?”
“You didn’t even react to that.”
“To what?” Eddie asks.
“You finished each other’s sentences.”
“We do that sometimes.”
“That’s not normal!”
Buck laughs.
“Sure it is.”
Hen points at him.
“That confidence is the problem.”
Eddie leans back in his chair.
“You guys are making this weird.”
Chimney stares.
“We’re making it weird?”
“Yes.”
“You carry emergency snacks for him.”
“He forgets to eat.”
“You know his lip balm flavor.”
“He talks constantly.”
“You know the exact face he makes when he likes tacos.”
“That one’s fair.”
Buck grins triumphantly.
“See? He admits it.”
“Buck,” Hen says carefully, “when was the last time you went on a date?”
Buck pauses.
“…Recently?”
“When.”
He thinks.
“…Okay define recently.”
“Oh my God,” Ravi mutters.
Hen turns.
“Eddie?”
Eddie immediately looks suspicious.
“No.”
“When was your last date?”
Eddie takes a drink.
“…Last year?”
Buck looks offended.
“That waitress from the sports bar doesn’t count.”
Eddie blinks.
“How do you know about that?”
“You said she called Christopher ‘sweetie’ too many times.”
“Oh right.”
Hen slowly closes her eyes.
“You people are exhausting.”
Bobby looks weirdly amused now.
“I’ve been trying not to interfere.”
Buck points at him.
“That sentence feels threatening.”
“It should.”
—
Later that night, after the kitchen’s cleaned and most of the chaos settles down, Buck finds Eddie sitting outside near the trucks.
It’s quiet.
Cool air.
City lights in the distance.
Eddie’s leaning against the engine with a water in hand.
Buck walks over automatically.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Buck bumps his shoulder lightly.
Eddie bumps back.
For a minute they just stand there.
Comfortable silence.
The kind they’ve always had.
Then Buck says, “Did today freak you out?”
Eddie glances at him.
“A little.”
“Same.”
Another pause.
Buck scratches the back of his neck.
“I didn’t know you thought my mouth was attractive.”
Eddie groans.
“Oh my God.”
Buck laughs.
“There he is.”
“Can we never talk about this again?”
“Absolutely not.”
Eddie hides his face briefly.
Buck watches him fondly.
“You know,” he says after a second, “I think everybody thinks we’re already together.”
Eddie snorts.
“Everybody’s been thinking that for years.”
Buck goes quiet.
“…Yeah.”
Something shifts again.
Softer this time.
More dangerous.
Eddie stares out at the street.
“You ever think maybe they have a point?”
Buck stills.
The city noise hums around them.
Distant sirens.
Traffic.
A helicopter somewhere overhead.
But suddenly all Buck can hear is Eddie breathing.
“You mean,” Buck says carefully, “about us acting married?”
Eddie huffs out a laugh.
“Buck, we basically are married.”
Buck’s heart does something alarming.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
Eddie finally looks at him.
And there’s something open there.
Terrified.
Honest.
“I just don’t know if we’re joking anymore.”
Buck forgets how to breathe.
Because there it is.
Finally.
The thing that’s been sitting between them for years.
Not spoken.
Not touched.
But always there.
Buck swallows.
“I don’t think I’ve been joking for a while.”
Eddie’s eyes widen slightly.
Buck laughs nervously.
“Wow. Okay. That sounded more intense out loud.”
“No,” Eddie says immediately.
Buck looks at him.
“No?”
Eddie shakes his head.
“No, I just…”
He exhales.
“I think maybe I stopped joking first.”
Buck stares.
Then laughs once in disbelief.
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.”
“Eddie.”
“I know.”
“No, seriously, Eddie.”
Eddie finally smiles.
Small.
Real.
The kind Buck wrote on the stupid board earlier.
The kind that changes his whole face.
Buck feels dizzy.
“You have really bad timing,” he says weakly.
Eddie raises an eyebrow.
“Because of the game?”
“Yes! Obviously because of the game!”
Buck gestures wildly.
“I spent three hours getting psychologically tortured by Chimney.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
Eddie laughs softly.
Buck’s chest aches.
“There’s the eyes thing again,” he blurts.
“What?”
“When you laugh.”
Eddie freezes.
Buck immediately regrets speaking.
“Sorry. That sounded—”
“No,” Eddie says quietly.
Buck stops.
Eddie looks at him steadily.
“You meant it.”
Buck exhales.
“Yeah.”
Silence settles between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just full.
Heavy with years of things neither of them knew how to say.
Buck laughs softly.
“I can’t believe the Newlywed Game is how this happens.”
Eddie smiles.
“Honestly? Feels kind of inevitable.”
“That’s fair.”
Buck hesitates.
Then:
“So what now?”
Eddie looks at him for a long moment.
Then steps closer.
Slow enough that Buck could stop him.
He doesn’t.
Not even a little.
“You tell me,” Eddie says softly.
Buck looks at his mouth.
Which apparently Eddie notices immediately because his expression changes.
Tiny inhale.
Tiny shift closer.
“Okay,” Buck whispers.
And then he kisses him.
It’s not dramatic.
No fireworks.
No cinematic swell of music.
Just warm and careful and unbelievably familiar.
Like something Buck’s been reaching for forever without realizing it.
Eddie’s hand comes up automatically to the side of his neck.
Buck makes a quiet sound into the kiss.
Eddie kisses him deeper immediately.
Which feels.
Important.
Buck grabs lightly at Eddie’s shirt.
Eddie laughs softly against his mouth.
“There’s the mouth thing,” Buck mumbles.
Eddie actually bites back a smile.
“Shut up.”
“Never.”
They kiss again.
Slower this time.
Softer.
Buck feels warm all the way through.
Like something finally clicking into place.
When they pull apart, Eddie rests his forehead briefly against Buck’s.
“You know everyone’s gonna be unbearable about this.”
Buck grins.
“Oh, Chimney’s gonna throw himself a parade.”
“As long as Hen doesn’t say ‘I told you so’ every five minutes.”
“She absolutely will.”
Eddie sighs.
“Yeah.”
Neither of them move away.
Buck’s hands are still tangled in Eddie’s shirt.
Eddie’s thumb is still brushing slowly against the side of Buck’s neck.
Buck smiles helplessly.
“We really did annihilate everybody at that game.”
Eddie huffs a laugh.
“Well. We had an unfair advantage.”
Buck tilts his head.
“What advantage?”
Eddie looks at him softly.
“We were already in love.”
Buck goes completely still.
Then his face does something unbearably open.
Something wrecked.
Something happy.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
Eddie immediately looks alarmed.
“Oh no. Was that too much? Because I can walk it back. I can absolutely walk that back.”
Buck kisses him again.
Hard enough this time that Eddie makes a surprised sound.
When Buck finally pulls away, he’s smiling.
Bright.
Warm.
A little teary around the edges.
“Don’t you dare walk that back,” he says.
Eddie stares at him.
Then smiles too.
And yeah.
There are probably easier ways they could’ve figured this out.
But honestly?
This feels right.
—
Unfortunately, they still have to go back inside.
Which means facing the world.
Or more specifically:
Facing Hen Wilson.
“I think we should fake our deaths,” Eddie says as they approach the station doors.
Buck considers it.
“Tempting.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I’m emotionally compromised.”
“You’ve been emotionally compromised since 2018.”
“That’s probably fair.”
Buck reaches for the door.
Then pauses.
“Hey.”
Eddie looks at him.
Buck smiles softly.
“Your eyes do the thing right now.”
Eddie groans.
“Still not helping.”
Buck beams.
Then opens the door.
The station goes silent immediately.
Every head turns.
Hen narrows her eyes.
Chimney gasps dramatically.
Ravi looks terrified.
Bobby takes one look at them and mutters, “Finally.”
Buck blinks.
“…Finally?”
“Kid,” Bobby says, “you moved into Eddie’s house emotionally about three years ago.”
“That’s true,” Chimney says.
Hen points.
“You literally co-parent.”
“You have a joint Costco membership,” Ravi adds weakly.
Buck looks offended.
“That’s financially responsible.”
Eddie quietly says, “We kissed.”
The room explodes.
Chimney screams.
Hen starts clapping.
Ravi actually falls off his chair.
Bobby looks deeply satisfied.
Buck laughs helplessly.
“Oh my God.”
Hen points at Chimney triumphantly.
“You owe me fifty bucks.”
“What?” Eddie asks.
Chimney groans.
“She said you’d figure it out before the end of the year.”
Buck stares.
“There was a betting pool?”
The entire room suddenly becomes very interested in literally anything else.
“Oh my God,” Buck says delightedly. “There WAS a betting pool.”
“You cannot be mad,” Hen warns.
“I’m not mad. I’m obsessed with this.”
Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose.
“How long?”
“Officially?” Chimney says. “Since the kitchen incident.”
Buck frowns.
“The kitchen incident?”
“Which one?” Ravi asks.
“That’s the problem,” Hen says.
Bobby finally sighs.
“You two love each other loudly. People notice.”
The room quiets.
Buck glances at Eddie.
Eddie glances back.
And suddenly neither of them seem embarrassed anymore.
Just… soft.
Comfortable.
Buck smiles.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“We do.”
Eddie’s expression melts a little.
Hen presses a hand dramatically to her chest.
“I need everyone to understand this is the greatest day of my life.”
“Mine too,” Chimney says.
“Please don’t make this weird,” Eddie mutters.
“You kissed your best friend after winning the Newlywed Game by thirty points,” Hen says. “We are way past weird.”
Buck immediately brightens.
“Oh my God, we should frame the scorecard.”
Eddie laughs helplessly.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” Buck says smugly, “you’re still obsessed with my mouth.”
The station erupts again.
Eddie lunges for him.
Buck yelps laughing as Eddie wraps an arm around his neck.
“Take it back.”
“Never!”
“You’re the worst.”
“You love me.”
Eddie stills.
Just for a second.
Then smiles against Buck’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” he says softly.
“I really do.”