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By the time Christopher brings it up, Eddie is halfway through making dinner and Buck is upside down on the Diaz couch trying to fix the lag on Christopher’s game console.
“I have a question,” Christopher says carefully.
Buck’s legs kick against the back cushions. “Shoot.”
Christopher looks between them with the seriousness of a child preparing to alter the course of history.
“How do you know when someone wants to kiss you?”
Eddie nearly drops the wooden spoon into the pasta sauce.
Buck smacks his head on the underside of the coffee table.
“What?” they both say at the exact same time.
Christopher blinks at them. “Okay, wow. That bad, huh?”
“Nope,” Buck says too quickly, untangling himself from the couch and sitting upright. “Totally normal question. Super normal. Age-appropriate. Healthy. Great even.”
Eddie points the spoon at him. “You are not qualified to answer this.”
Buck gasps. “Excuse you? I have kissed people.”
“That’s not the same thing as being good at advice.”
“Rude.”
Christopher snorts.
Eddie sighs and turns the stove down. “Why are we asking?”
“There’s a girl in my class,” Christopher says, cheeks pinking immediately. “And Karen said sometimes people practice before they actually date somebody.”
Buck lights up instantly. “Oh my god, like rehearsal kissing.”
Eddie chokes on absolutely nothing.
Christopher nods earnestly. “Yeah. Is that real or just a movie thing?”
“No,” Eddie says immediately.
“Yes,” Buck says at the exact same time.
They stare at each other.
Christopher’s eyes widen with the delighted horror of a child realizing his parental figures are about to argue in public for free.
Buck points accusingly. “People absolutely practice kiss.”
“Nobody practices kissing.”
“People rehearse speeches. People rehearse dancing. Why wouldn’t they rehearse kissing?”
“Because kissing isn’t choreography.”
Buck scoffs. “That’s literally what kissing is.”
Eddie turns back to the stove like he’s appealing directly to God for patience. “Please don’t listen to him.”
Christopher leans forward. “Wait, did you practice?”
Buck opens his mouth.
Eddie whips around so fast it’s genuinely alarming. “Don’t answer that.”
“Why not?”
“Because whatever comes out of your mouth next is going to make my life worse.”
Buck grins slowly. “I practiced once.”
Christopher gasps.
Eddie closes his eyes.
“With who?” Christopher asks.
“My neighbor in seventh grade,” Buck says proudly. “She said I kissed like a startled fish.”
Christopher immediately dissolves into laughter.
Eddie hates that he’s smiling too.
“A startled fish?” Christopher wheezes.
“In my defense, I was thirteen and terrified.”
“You’re twenty-nine and still terrified,” Eddie mutters.
Buck throws a cushion at him.
Christopher kicks his feet against the couch. “Okay, but how do movie people make it look so easy?”
“They’re actors,” Eddie says.
Buck shrugs. “Some of those kisses still look fake.”
Christopher nods seriously. “Yeah. Sometimes they look awkward.”
“Exactly,” Buck says. “Because fake movie chemistry is obvious.”
Eddie plates the pasta. “Or maybe normal people just don’t analyze kissing technique like football replays.”
Buck points at him dramatically. “That’s because you think every emotion can be solved by glaring intensely.”
“It works for me.”
“It absolutely does not.”
Christopher watches them with narrowed eyes. “You guys are weird.”
“Correct,” Eddie says immediately.
Buck ignores him. “Okay, no, but seriously, movie kisses are unrealistic half the time.”
“How?”
“They always tilt perfectly. Nobody bumps noses. Nobody hesitates. Nobody laughs.”
Eddie sets the plates down. “That’s because actors know what they’re doing.”
Buck looks deeply offended. “You think real people kiss like experts?”
“Yes?”
“No!”
Christopher raises his hand like they’re in class. “I think maybe you should demonstrate.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Eddie stares at his son.
Buck freezes mid-gesture.
Christopher’s eyes widen. “Not like actually. I just mean—” He starts laughing before he can finish the sentence. “Oh my god, your faces.”
“Congratulations,” Eddie says flatly. “You killed us both.”
Buck is bright red. Actually red. The kind that climbs all the way up his neck.
Christopher cackles harder.
Dinner should probably end the conversation.
It absolutely does not.
Because Buck, unfortunately, cannot let things go.
“It’s true though,” he says later while loading the dishwasher. “Movie kisses are too coordinated.”
“You have thought about this way too much.”
“I’m observant.”
“You’re annoying.”
Buck beams. “And yet you love me.”
The words land softly between them.
Easy. Familiar.
Dangerous.
Eddie clears his throat. “Chris, homework.”
Christopher eyes them knowingly before wheeling toward his room. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”
Buck waits until the bedroom door closes.
Then he says, “I still think I’m right.”
Eddie groans. “We are not still talking about this.”
“We could scientifically test it.”
Eddie turns slowly. “I’m sorry?”
Buck gestures vaguely. “Like. Hypothetically.”
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I’m suggesting.”
“The answer’s still no.”
Buck leans against the counter, grinning in that reckless way that always means Eddie’s about to lose a fight he didn’t realize started.
“I’m just saying, if two people know each other really well, theoretically their kiss would look more natural than actors pretending.”
Eddie stares at him.
Buck keeps going because apparently self-preservation abandoned him years ago.
“And Christopher asked for advice, so technically this would be educational.”
“You want to kiss me for science.”
Buck opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Then points finger guns at Eddie. “When you say it like that it sounds weird.”
“It is weird.”
“Not that weird.”
“Buck.”
“What?”
Eddie can feel heat climbing up his neck now, which is deeply unfair because Buck’s the one saying insane things.
“You cannot honestly think this is a good idea.”
Buck’s confidence flickers for exactly half a second.
Then softer, quieter—
“I mean… I don’t know.”
Something in Eddie’s chest shifts.
Because suddenly this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.
Buck looks nervous now. Actually nervous. Hands fidgeting against the countertop, eyes darting away for once instead of locking stubbornly onto Eddie’s face.
And Eddie realizes with terrifying clarity that he could stop this.
One sentence.
One laugh.
One “that’s ridiculous.”
Instead he hears himself ask, “You really think movie kisses are unrealistic?”
Buck blinks.
“Yeah,” he says carefully.
Eddie takes a step closer before his brain can intervene.
Buck goes very still.
“You think ours would look realistic?”
Buck’s breath catches.
“Ours?”
The kitchen suddenly feels too small.
Too warm.
Eddie can hear Christopher moving around faintly down the hallway, can hear the dishwasher humming, can hear his own pulse loud enough to be embarrassing.
Buck laughs nervously. “I feel like maybe we lost the plot somewhere.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them moves away.
Buck swallows hard. “Eddie.”
There’s something helpless in it.
Something hopeful.
Eddie’s been in burning buildings with less tension than this kitchen.
“You know,” he says slowly, “normal best friends probably don’t argue this hard about kissing.”
Buck lets out a startled huff of laughter. “Yeah. I was just thinking that.”
“And normal coworkers definitely don’t consider practical demonstrations.”
“Very unprofessional of us.”
Eddie steps closer again anyway.
Buck’s eyes drop immediately to Eddie’s mouth.
Oh.
Oh.
That’s—
That’s not subtle at all.
Eddie feels almost dizzy with it. With the realization that maybe this has been sitting between them longer than either of them wanted to acknowledge.
Buck says quietly, “We really shouldn’t do this because of a fake argument.”
“Probably not.”
Neither of them moves.
Buck’s voice drops even lower. “But maybe we could do it because we want to.”
Well.
There it is.
The thing Eddie’s been circling around for months without touching directly.
He reaches up before he can overthink it, brushing his fingers lightly against Buck’s jaw.
Buck inhales sharply.
And then, because apparently the dumbest possible route is still a route, Eddie kisses him.
It’s—
God.
Buck was right.
It’s not perfect.
Their noses bump immediately because Buck laughs against Eddie’s mouth halfway through it, and Eddie’s smiling too much to maintain any dignity whatsoever.
But it’s warm.
And familiar.
And somehow the easiest thing Eddie’s done in years.
Buck’s hand lands carefully against Eddie’s waist like he’s afraid this might disappear if he moves too fast.
Eddie kisses him again anyway.
Softer this time.
Slower.
Buck melts into it with a tiny, wrecked sound that goes straight through Eddie’s ribcage.
When they finally pull apart, Buck looks stunned.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Wow.”
Eddie can’t stop smiling. “Scientific enough for you?”
Buck stares at him for another second before breaking into helpless laughter.
“We are never telling people this happened because of a debate about movie realism.”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“Bobby would actually fire us.”
“Hen would make fun of us forever.”
Buck grins. “Christopher’s gonna figure it out in like six minutes.”
Right on cue, Christopher walks back into the kitchen doorway.
He stops.
Looks at Eddie.
Looks at Buck.
Narrows his eyes.
“…You practiced kissing, didn’t you?”
Buck immediately chokes.
Eddie covers his face with one hand.
Christopher points triumphantly. “I knew it!” Christopher reacts to the news exactly the way Eddie should have expected.
Which is to say: like he’s been waiting for this moment since approximately 2019.
“You’re kidding,” Eddie says weakly the next morning.
Christopher looks up from his cereal. “About what?”
“The—” Eddie gestures vaguely between him and Buck, who is currently hiding his face behind a coffee mug like cowardice is a viable survival strategy. “The way you’re acting.”
Christopher shrugs with exaggerated innocence. “I’m just surprised.”
“You are not surprised.”
“No,” Christopher agrees immediately. “I’m really not.”
Buck makes a strangled noise into his coffee.
Eddie points accusingly at his son. “You cannot just casually accept this.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s weird!”
Buck lowers the mug enough to mumble, “Is it though?”
Eddie whips toward him. “You are supposed to be helping me.”
“I think we established last night that I’m actively bad at that.”
Christopher snorts milk through his nose laughing.
It’s awful.
Eddie loves them both so much he briefly considers walking directly into traffic.
“You know what?” he mutters. “I’m going to work.”
“You work in two hours,” Christopher says.
“Then I’m going early.”
Buck watches Eddie storm toward the sink with the fond expression of a man witnessing a tiny angry dog bark at a thunderstorm.
It should honestly be illegal for him to look that soft this early in the morning.
Christopher notices too.
“Oh my god,” he says, delighted. “You guys are already doing the weird eye contact thing.”
“We have always done eye contact,” Eddie says defensively.
“No,” Christopher replies. “Now it’s gross.”
Buck loses it laughing.
Eddie hates this family.
—
Unfortunately, the universe apparently also hates Eddie Diaz.
Because the second they walk into the station, Hen takes one look at them and says, “Finally.”
Buck nearly walks directly into the engine.
Eddie freezes. “What?”
Hen blinks slowly. “You two got together.”
“No we didn’t,” Eddie says immediately.
Buck says, at the exact same time, “How can you tell?”
Hen bursts out laughing.
“Oh, you idiots.”
Chimney appears from nowhere holding a banana. “Wait, wait, wait—did it happen?”
Eddie points furiously. “Why is everyone acting like this was inevitable?”
“Because,” Chim says, peeling the banana with devastating calm, “you’ve been in love with each other for years.”
Buck looks personally betrayed. “Years?”
“Buddy,” Chimney says gently, “you bought this man a couch because you missed him.”
“That was a normal thing to do.”
“No,” Hen says.
“Not even slightly,” Chim agrees.
Eddie crosses his arms. “Okay, even if hypothetically something happened—”
“Something happened,” Hen interrupts.
“—it’s not a big deal.”
Buck makes a tiny offended sound.
Eddie sighs immediately. “I mean—it is. Just—”
Buck’s expression softens instantly.
And there’s that stupid eye contact thing again.
Hen physically recoils. “Oh, that’s disgusting.”
“Actually nauseating,” Chim agrees.
Bobby walks in just in time to catch the tail end of it.
He takes one look at Buck and Eddie standing too close together, Buck smiling unconsciously, Eddie visibly trying not to smile back—
Then Bobby closes his eyes briefly like a man exhausted by inevitability.
“About time,” he says.
Eddie throws his hands in the air. “What is happening?”
“You really thought you were subtle?” Hen asks.
Buck hesitates. “...Yes?”
The entire station erupts.
Ravi nearly falls off the couch laughing.
“You guys flirt like divorced people trying to remarry.”
Buck looks horrified. “What does that even mean?”
“It means,” Chimney says, “you bicker like an old married couple but look at each other like you’re in a romance movie.”
Eddie rubs both hands down his face. “I’m quitting.”
“No you’re not,” Bobby says calmly.
Buck, traitor that he is, grins. “You can’t quit. We just started dating.”
The words hit Eddie like a freight train.
Started dating.
Buck says it so naturally too, like it’s obvious, like there’s no universe where this doesn’t happen eventually.
Something warm settles in Eddie’s chest.
Buck notices immediately because of course he does.
His smile softens around the edges.
And Eddie’s gone. Completely doomed.
Hen watches this exchange with visible pain. “Can you guys stop having entire emotional conversations with your faces?”
“No,” Chim says. “Actually don’t. This is fascinating.”
Bobby pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please remember you still have a shift today.”
That should probably restore professionalism.
Instead Buck says, “Technically Eddie kissed me first.”
The room explodes.
“Oh my god,” Ravi yells.
Hen clutches Chimney’s arm. “I need details immediately.”
Eddie stares at Buck in open betrayal. “You said we weren’t telling people.”
“I said we weren’t telling people it happened because of a movie-kissing debate.”
Chimney goes silent.
Hen goes silent.
Ravi slowly lowers himself into a chair.
Bobby looks toward the ceiling like he’s searching for divine strength.
“…I’m sorry,” Hen says carefully. “A what?”
Buck lights up instantly. “Okay, so Christopher asked for dating advice—”
“No,” Eddie says.
“—and then we started arguing about whether movie kisses look realistic—”
“Buck.”
“—and then Eddie said maybe we should test it—”
“I absolutely did not phrase it like that.”
Hen is crying laughing now.
Ravi’s wheezing audibly.
Even Bobby looks one second away from losing composure.
Buck points triumphantly at Eddie. “But then he kissed me.”
Eddie mutters, “I’m transferring stations.”
“Worth it though?” Chim asks.
Eddie opens his mouth automatically.
Looks at Buck.
Buck’s already watching him with that unbearably hopeful expression again.
And honestly?
Yeah.
Absolutely worth it.
Eddie exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he admits quietly.
The room immediately goes soft around the edges.
Hen smiles.
Bobby looks relieved more than anything else.
Buck, meanwhile, looks like Eddie personally hung the moon.
Which is ridiculous.
And terrifying.
And maybe the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
Buck steps closer without thinking about it, shoulder bumping Eddie’s lightly.
Easy.
Natural.
Like they’ve been doing this forever.
Christopher was right.
They really are gross now.