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“I think I’m ready to start dating again.”
The spatula slipped right out of Buck’s hand, clattering against the edge of the skillet before landing with a soft plop directly into the middle of the scrambled eggs.
He didn’t move to pick it up. He couldn't, because his entire central nervous system had just experienced the biological equivalent of a record scratch.
See, the morning had started with a beautifully mundane scene. Buck had stayed over after their weekly Buckley-Diaz movie night, and he’d woken up this morning to the footsteps of one Eddie Diaz turning the coffee maker on. Naturally, Buck had groaned his way out of his comfortable cocoon on the sofa, shivering slightly as he prepared to make breakfast favourite boys.
Back then, Eddie had greeted him with that sexy, gravelly morning voice that never failed to make Buck smile.
Now, behind him, sitting at the kitchen island and casually sipping coffee in a worn grey t-shirt that Buck had washed, folded, and secretly smelled at least four times, was the same Eddie. Completely oblivious Eddie. Beautiful, stupid, horizontal-striped-henley-wearing Eddie.
“Yeah,” Eddie continued, completely unaware that he had just detonated a small hand grenade in the middle of Buck's chest. “I was talking to Pepa yesterday. I think I’m ready to put myself back out there. Get on the apps. See what happens.”
Get on the apps, Buck’s inner self echoed, shrieking at a frequency that could shatter glass. See what happens?! I’ll tell you what happens, Eddie! You meet another perfect, shiny Omega or Beta woman with a perfectly fine job and a flawless skincare routine, she moves in, she re-decorates the living room, she doesn't understand the complex filing system for Christopher's physical therapy paperwork, and I will be relegated to 'Weird, sad and lonely Uncle Buck who drops by on alternate Thursdays because mommy thinks he’s a freak!'
Buck closed his eyes, took a deep, agonising breath of the kitchen air—which currently smelled like butter, eggs, and Eddie’s warm, campfire-cedar-spiced hot chocolate Alpha pheromones—and forced his body to turn around.
He was a thirty-four-year-old firefighter. He routinely pulled people out of burning buildings. He’d been through a lot. He’d learned enough life lessons in the last ten years of his life to make a monk puke. He could handle this like a mature, well-adjusted adult.
“Wooow,” Buck said. His voice jumped a single, traitorous octave on the vowels, but he quickly cleared his throat and clamped a tight, supportive smile onto his face. “That’s... that’s great, man. Really. Look at you, stepping out of your comfort zone.”
And heartlessly leaving me behind, Buck’s brain added viciously. Ugh, he wanted to crawl into the garbage disposal and turn it on. Instead, he watched Eddie earnestly stare at his phone, probably overwhelmed by the amount of dating apps he could install.
“You think?” Eddie asked, looking up from his phone with a small, uncharacteristically vulnerable smile. “It’s been a while. I don't even know what people write on those profiles anymore.”
“Oh, it's easy,” Buck lied smoothly, finally reaching into the pan to retrieve the spatula with numb fingers. He scraped the eggs around, his mind spinning at approximately ten thousand revolutions per minute. “Just... you know, say you're a single dad, mention the firefighting thing—trust me, people love a guy who can carry them out of a disaster zone,” and throw them around in bed, his inner voice giggled. Buck did not. “Ah, and post that picture of you in the uniform where you’re holding that stray puppy from the house fire last week.”
Please don’t post that picture, Buck instantly countered internally, his inner Buck practically ripping his own hair out. If you post the puppy picture, you will be swamped by every single available Omega and Beta within a fifty-mile radius. I will have to fight them in the streets. I will have to deploy tactical gear.
“The puppy picture?” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, a faint, handsome flush creeping up his collarbone. “Shesh, you don't think that's a little desperate?”
“No, no. It’s a classic,” Buck said, his smile feeling more like a hostage video by the second. He turned back to the stove, fiercely cutting the heat under the pan before he burned breakfast to a crisp.
Eddie said something back, and Buck laughed automatically. He hoped that wasn’t a question because honestly? He could barely hear what Eddie was saying through the sound of his own heartbeat.
He was drowning on dry land. He had spent the last decade perfectly content with their unspoken, deeply domestic arrangement. He stayed over half the week. He cooked. He co-parented. His Omega lizard-brain had been thoroughly tricked into believing they were practically married, ignoring the minor detail that they had never so much as brushed hands intentionally. And now, the fantasy was about to be obliterated by a swipe-right.
“Tell you what,” Eddie said, setting his coffee mug down with a decisive click. “After we eat, you wanna help me download one of them? We can look through my photos.”
Buck’s heart did a horrific, violent flip. He wants me to curate his dating profile. Pick which women would be on the receiving end of his dry jokes. His inner Omega whimpered in protest. Wow, this is a special tier of hell reserved specifically for me.
“Yeah, totally,” Buck choked out, plating the eggs with the practiced precision of a man who was currently watching his entire life flash before his eyes. He carried the plate over, setting it down in front of Eddie, making sure his wrist brushed against Eddie's shoulder for a fraction of a second. Just a tiny, pathetic taste of what he wasn't allowed to have. “Happy to help, Eds. That's what best friends are for.”
---
After breakfast, they stayed behind on the dining table, huddled together like they were planning an assassination instead of making a dating profile. Christopher was in his bedroom with his gaming headset on, but Eddie thought the living room was too dangerous to have this conversation. He was fiercely protective of his son's peace of mind; he didn't want Chris getting his hopes up—or dealing with the awkwardness of his dad’s love life, especially after his last relationship had imploded spectacularly—until there was actually something real to report.
Buck took the role of digital executioner, holding Eddie’s phone while Eddie hovered too close over his shoulder.
“Alright, age range...” Buck muttered, his thumbs flying across the screen.
He felt a surge of pride that was honestly a little pathetic at how effortlessly he could fill out Eddie's biography. Favourite foods? Abuela’s tamales and whatever Buck cooked. Hobbies? Fixing up old cars, watching an unbelievable amount of sports games, and being a menace at Christopher's school board meetings.
Then came the orientation and dynamic settings.
Buck didn't even hesitate. He selected Beta, Omega, and Women.
Out of the corner of his eye, Buck caught the exact moment Eddie stiffened slightly. Eddie opened his mouth, his chest expanding as if he were about to say something, but then he hesitated. He swallowed the words, his jaw tightening into a hard line before he cleared his throat and looked back at the screen.
Buck didn’t think much of it. His brain was too busy running a marathon of pure disaster mode to decode minor micro-expressions.
“Okay, now the worst part,” Buck sighed, tapping the photo upload button. “Let’s see the damage. Show me what we're working with.”
Eddie reached over, his warm fingers brushing against Buck’s hand as he swiped into his camera roll. “I don't have a lot of photos of just me, Buck. It’s mostly Chris, you, or stuff from the station.”
Buck inwardly giggled for a moment at the mentioned of his pictures, then locked in just as fast. “Let's just see.”
The selection was... a disaster. Not because they were bad, but because they were so aggressively, endearingly Eddie.
There was a blurry selfie of Eddie squinting into the sun while holding a massive, terrifyingly ugly catfish he’d caught on a trip with Bobby, Micheal and Chimney. There was one of him wearing a ridiculous, oversized straw hat while leaning on a lawnmower, looking incredibly proud of a patch of grass. Another one showed him covered in flour, glaring at the camera while Chris was melted against the counter from laughing too hard. Buck remembered when he took that one, they were trying to bake Christmas cookies—‘trying’ being the keyword here—before giving up and calling Buck for help.
“Absolutely not,” Buck decreed, aggressively swiping past the cookie one. “No way.”
“What? Why?” Eddie protested, leaning in closer until his shoulder was pinned against Buck's. His Alpha scent flared with mild offence. “I look approachable! It shows I have personality and a sense of humour.”
It shows you are a devastatingly charming, domestic, perfect Alpha dad, Buck’s inner voice screamed, his possessive Omega instincts clawing at the walls of his chest. Strangers do not get to see the flour-covered baking face. That is my face. I am the one who cleaned the kitchen after that disaster. No one else is allowed to know you look that soft.
“It shows you're a dork,” Buck lied smoothly, his tone perfectly light and teasing. “We need to elevate this. You're a firefighter, Eddie. You need to look like you can handle a crisis, not like you lost a fight with a bag of Pillsbury.”
He steered Eddie away from the dangerously sweet photos and forced him toward the more standard, neutral ones. But even those were a lost cause.
Eddie swiped to a photo Chimney had taken at a backyard barbecue last summer. Eddie was just standing by the grill, wearing a simple white t-shirt, laughing at something off-camera. The lighting caught the sharp line of his jaw, the dark swoop of his hair, and the effortless, muscular frame that Buck spent entirely too much time trying not to stare at in the locker room.
It was only marginally better than the puppy photo, which meant it was still smoking hot.
Buck stared at the screen, his lower lip jutting out into a pronounced, miserable pout. He felt a sudden, unhinged wish that Eddie would just casually walk into a door frame later and break his nose. Just a little asymmetry to help a guy out.
No, wait, Buck realised with a childish, internal groan. A broken nose would just make him look rugged and dangerously masculine. He’d look like a rogue MMA fighter AND it would make a funny conversation starter. There is literally no winning.
“This is so unfair,” Buck lamented out loud, letting his head drop back against Eddie’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “It’s actually a crime.”
Eddie blinked, brows furrowed as he looked away from the phone to Buck's disgruntled face. “What is?”
“You,” Buck grumbled, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, his Omega scent spiking with a cocktail of disgruntled arousal and frustrated envy. “You're in your mid-thirties, you have a teenager, you use some stupid 13-in-1 shampoo, and you still look like you belong in a catalogue for outdoor gear. It’s disgusting, Eddie.”
A sudden wave of spiced Alpha pheromone bloomed around them. Proud. Eddie let out a low, rough chuckle, clearly flattered but completely missing the desperate, bleeding heart hidden right beneath Buck's complaints. “I'll take that as a compliment, mastermind. So, which one are we uploading first?”
---
Sometimes, Buck wished the crazy woman who kidnapped him in New Mexico had finished the job.
Oh, no, not because he was a danger to himself. No, he just thought death would be preferable to this hell. Maddie had once compared him to a 14-year-old teenage girl, something that Buck was a little offended, but ultimately agreed about.
It was even more apparent a week later; Buck’s internal teenage girl hadn't just taken the wheel—she had built a fully operational command centre in his brain, almost like that movie Inside Out.
The dating profile had gone live, and it had been seven days of absolute psychological torture. Every time Eddie’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, Buck’s stomach did a horrifying, toxic little flip. He spent his off-shift hours obsessing. Was he texting an Omega? A Beta? Was he using emojis? Did he send the picture where he’s wearing his nice leather jacket?
To keep himself from completely losing his mind and jumping off the roof of the firehouse, Buck channelled his manic, possessive energy into the only thing he knew how to do: over-preparing.
When he dropped by the Diaz house on their next shared day off, he didn’t just bring groceries. He brought a thick, heavy, three-ring binder and a red clipboard.
Eddie, who was sitting at the dining table sorting through mail, stared at the massive stack of stationary like Buck had just walked in carrying a live bomb.
“Buck,” Eddie said, his eyebrows executing a very attractive, confused furrow. “What the hell is that? Paperwork from Chimney?”
“Worse,” Buck said, setting the binder down with a heavy, dramatic thud. “Your future. As of today, you’ve been back on the market for a week, Eddie. I know for a fact that you’re getting matches. But you haven't gone on a single date—because you have no operational strategy. This,” he smacked the binder with his clipboard, “is your survival guide. The dating scene has changed, Eddie. It’s a jungle out there. People use acronyms now; they have ‘icks’ and ‘flags’. If you go in there without a strategy, you’re going to get screenshotted for Twitter discourses.”
Eddie looked at the binder, then up at Buck, a slow, teasing smile spreading across his face. He let out a chuckle, poking a finger into Buck’s side as Buck sat down next to him. “You are unbelievable. Why do I have the feeling that you’re more invested in my dating life than I am?”
The tone was playful, so deeply fond and familiar, that Buck genuinely felt like he might explode into a million pieces of rainbow confetti right there on the hardwood floor. His Omega lizard-brain preened under Eddie’s impressed gaze.
“Someone has to be,” Buck grumbled, quickly flipping open the binder to hide his flaming red cheeks. “Alright, look. Section one: First Date Protocol.”
Eddie leaned over, his shoulder once again pressing firmly against Buck's, his campfire-cedar scent wrapping around Buck like a heavy blanket. He let out a low whistle. “Holy shit, Buck. Is this colour-coded?”
“Yes, it’s colour-coded,” Buck said defensively, pointing a pen at the page. “Blue is for casual coffee dates, green is for outdoor activities—which I know you like—and red is for high-stakes dinner dates.”
The binder was a masterpiece. Buck had spent his late-nights—usually reserved for Wikipedia rabbit holes and YouTube video essays—printing out actual mood board photo collages. There were outfit templates (neatly labelled based on the weather), conversation starters that avoided any mention of gruesome firefighting injuries, and specific flirting strategies tailored to different dynamics.
“Look at this,” Eddie murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of a mood board Buck had curated for a potential art gallery date. It had swatches of neutral colours and photos of stylish jackets. “You even put together outfit layouts? Buck, this is... honestly, I’m incredibly impressed. The amount of effort you put into this...”
Eddie was looking at him with such genuine admiration that Buck’s heart absolutely ached. For a brief, shining second, he completely forgot that this monumental effort was actually a blueprint for his own personal hell. He forgot that he was designing the perfect dating roadmap for Eddie to walk away from him.
“Well, you know me. Go big or go home.” Buck cleared his throat, his thumbs nervously gripping the edges of the clipboard. His voice dropped into a softer, slightly shy register. “I just... I want you to have the best, Eddie. You deserve someone who appreciates you. Even if... you know. Even if it's weird.”
“It's not weird,” Eddie said softly, his dark eyes fixed entirely on Buck’s face, ignoring the binder completely for a long, quiet moment. “It’s really sweet, Buck. Thank you.”
Buck puffed out his cheeks, letting out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, his inner teenage girl kicking her feet under the table in a total panic. Don't look at me like that, he thought desperately. Don't be nice to me while I am actively plotting to scent-bomb your entire wardrobe the second you actually try to leave this house.
Buck forced a bright, completely fraudulent grin. “Anytime, Eds.”
---
“Okay, how do I look?”
Eddie gave a single, slow spin in the middle of the living room, his hands smoothing down the front of the dark grey button-down shirt.
He looked good. He looked devastatingly, unfairly good. Buck made absolutely sure he did, strictly adhering to the “Casual but Intentionally Hot” layout on page four of his color-coded binder. Right now, staring at the broad line of Eddie's shoulders and the perfect fit of his dark jeans, Buck was beginning to deeply regret ever buying that three-ring binder.
From the other side of the couch, Christopher didn't even look up from his phone as he raised a single thumb in the air. “You look great, Dad. Very normal.”
“Normal is good,” Eddie muttered, turning toward the hallway mirror to fiddle with his collar for the fourteenth time.
The teenager had accepted the idea of Eddie dating again surprisingly easily. Too easily, honestly. In fact, Chris kept cutting these sharp, knowing glances toward Buck, his eyebrows slightly raised, like he was just waiting for a second, much bigger announcement to drop.
Buck wanted to crawl under the coffee table and cry. The kid’s silent judgment was a heavy weight on his already fragile, pining conscience.
Eddie checked his watch. “If I drive away now, I’ll be about… fifteen to ten minutes early. Just in time. Alright, I'm heading out.”
No, Buck’s inner lizard brain instantly shrieked. Do not let the Alpha leave!
Before Eddie’s hand could even touch the doorknob, Buck shot up from the couch like he’d been launched out of a cannon. “Wait! Hold on, Eddie, your—your jacket.”
Eddie paused, turning back with a confused blink. “What's wrong with my jacket?”
“It’s... sitting weird on your shoulders,” Buck lied smoothly, his heart hammering against his ribs as he stepped directly into Eddie’s personal space.
This was it. The point of no return. Buck was fully aware he was being a selfish, territorial lunatic, but as he reached out to grip the lapels of Eddie’s jacket, his Omega instincts took complete control.
He smoothed his hands down Eddie's chest, deliberately dragging his inner wrists—right over his active scent glands—hard against the fabric of the collar. He patted Eddie's shoulders, lingering almost a little too long, making sure a thick, heavy layer of his own sweet, orange blossoms Omega pheromones was thoroughly baked into the threads. My territory, his brain whispered, a toxic wave of possessive satisfaction washing over him. My Alpha. Good luck getting anyone else near you when you reek of me.
“There,” Buck breathed, his voice a little raspy as he finally stepped back, plastering that tight, ‘supportive best friend’ smile back onto his face. “Perfect. Go get 'em, tiger.”
Eddie looked down at his chest. He looked a little dazed by the intense physical inspection, before giving Buck a warm, incredibly fond grin. “Thanks, Buck. Wish me luck.”
The front door clicked shut, and the house fell into a heavy quiet.
Buck stood in the entryway for a long moment, the manic energy draining out of him all at once. He let out a massive, pathetic sigh that seemed to rattle his entire six-foot-two frame, turning back to the living room with slumped shoulders.
“Why is it not you?”
Buck blinked, looking over at the couch. Christopher was staring at him, his phone completely abandoned on the cushion beside him. Buck briefly contemplated playing dumb but Chris’s expression was carefully blank, like he was trying not to make Buck burst into tears at the reminder of what he couldn’t have.
God, how pathetic did he look like?
Buck let out a strained, breathless laugh, waving a hand dismissively as he walked back to the couch. “What? Chris, no. Come on. Your dad has... he has zero interest in me like that.”
“Did he tell you that?” Chris asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Well, eh, n-no,” Buck stammered, his cheeks warming up. “But I just know it. Trust me, I know.”
“You don't,” Chris countered flatly, leaning back against the pillows. “Not until you actually ask him.”
“Chris, I can tell,” Buck insisted, his inner teenage girl tossing her hands up in defeat because the actual teenager in the room was being way too logical. He knew that. He knew there was a non-zero chance that Eddie would look at him as an Omega if he just asked. But that’s the thing—he didn’t want that. He was afraid of changing what had remained strong after all these years. “We’re just—we're best friends. When you have something this strong and beautiful for years... you start to be afraid. It’s complicated.”
Christopher stared at him for three long seconds, his face a perfect picture of sceptical disbelief, before he clearly decided that Buck was a completely lost cause.
“Fine. Whatever,” Chris said. He snatched up a spare gaming controller from the coffee table and lobbed it directly at Buck's chest. “You're bad at lying. Want to play Smash Bros and lose horribly?”
Buck caught the controller against his stomach, a faint, genuine smile finally breaking through his misery. “Oh, you think you can beat me? You're on, kid.”
---
Eddie’s first date predictably failed miserably.
The woman apparently spent the last twenty minutes of their dinner glancing nervously around the restaurant before claiming her cat was having a medical emergency.
The next date was even shorter; she barely finished her iced coffee before looking at Eddie like he had just admitted to a high-profile felony and practically sprinting to her car.
By the third disastrous failure, Buck’s internal emotional landscape had devolved into a tense, chaotic war zone.
Every single time Buck was at the Diaz house to ‘cheer Eddie on’ before a date, Christopher would sit on the couch, saying absolutely nothing, simply drilling literal holes into the side of Buck’s head with a laser-focused, judgmental stare. Chris knew. The kid didn't know the exact mechanics of Omega pheromone warfare, but he knew Buck was up to something, and his silent, unimpressed gaze made Buck want to dissolve into the floorboards.
“Why is it not you?” Chris had said a few weeks ago.
Buck wished it was that easy.
Because every time he rubbed his wrists on Eddie, secretly scenting the Alpha, he felt incredibly stupid. He was ashamed of himself. He would lie awake in his own bed at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking, I am a toxic, disgusting person. I am betraying my best friend’s trust. He trusts me with his kid, he trusts me with his house, and I am literally chemical-bombing him so he dies as an old, lonely bachelor.
By midnight, the little angel on his right shoulder would’ve convinced him to stop and confess his crimes. But then... he would show up at the station, and Eddie would be sitting at the kitchen island, looking thoroughly bewildered and entirely single, and the angel was bazooka-ed by the devil on his left.
Another part of Buck’s brain would take over. A dark, smug, deeply primal part of his Omega lizard brain would puff its chest out, throw its hands in the air, and scream, VICTORY!
He felt like a winning Omega. A terrible human being, yes, a completely unhinged and borderline criminal best friend, absolutely—but a triumphant Omega nonetheless. No one else’s scent was on Eddie. No other Omega was setting up a nest in Eddie's bedroom. Eddie still belonged to the house, to Christopher, and, in a very secret, pathetic way, to Buck.
“I don't get it,” Eddie sighed on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, staring blankly at his phone while Buck chopped vegetables for dinner. “The app says we're a ninety percent match. We have a great conversation over text. Then the second we meet up in person, it's like I'm radioactive.”
“Maybe you just have bad luck, Eds,” Buck said smoothly, his hand steady as he diced a bell pepper.
Radioactive is exactly the right word, Buck thought, his inner teenage girl twirling her hair maliciously. You’re a walking bomb of sweet orange blossoms and vanilla, like an old lady who sprayed on too much floral perfume because her nose got too used to the smell. You smell like a mated Alpha who just stepped out of a family cuddle pile. No single Beta or Omega alive is going to touch you with a ten-foot pole.
“I don't know,” Eddie muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe I'm just out of practice. I have another lunch date on Friday. Claudia. We're going to that outdoor bistro by the park. I'm going to try a different cologne.”
Buck froze, the knife hovering over the cutting board. An outdoor bistro? Friday?
He immediately started running the meteorological calculations in his head. Open air meant wind. Wind meant his scent wouldn't cling to Eddie the same way. It would blow right off him.
Shit.
---
Buck was pacing a trench into the kitchen tile.
He had spent the last two hours channelled by pure, frantic, apocalyptic anxiety, resulting in a meal that was way too elaborate for a casual Friday afternoon with a teenager. On the kitchen island sat a perfectly golden, intricately scored Beef Wellington, a side of roasted asparagus with a lemon-herb reduction, and individual ramekins of chocolate soufflé waiting by the sink.
Christopher walked into the kitchen, stopping dead in his tracks as he surveyed the culinary war zone. He raised his eyebrows, looking from the four different dirty pans to Buck’s wildly dishevelled hair.
“Wow,” Chris said, leaning on his crutches. “What’s the occasion?”
My death, Buck thought mournfully, setting the heavy hot pad down with a miserable sigh.
In his head, he was already playing a tragic, slow-motion movie of Eddie's lunch date. It was a beautiful, breezy day. The wind would be sweeping across that outdoor patio, completely stripping away every molecule of Buck’s carefully applied pheromones. Eddie was out there right now, free of Buck's chemical sabotage, effortlessly charming this Claudia woman with his stupidly perfect smile and his intense, listening eyes.
“What does ‘listening eyes’ even mean?”
Buck ignored Chris’s sarcastic voice to slump against the counter, looking like a Victorian widow.
“I think this might be it, Chris,” he said, his voice dropping into a dramatic, heartbroken whisper. He leaned against the counter, “The wind failed me today. He’s probably locked it down by now.”
Christopher rolled his eyes so hard Buck was surprised they didn't get stuck. “You know, I have an easy solution.”
“No,” Buck shot back instantly.
“What? You're already convinced it's over,” Chris argued, completely unbothered by Buck's impending emotional demise. “Why not just go out with a bang?”
“Do you want me to die?” Buck gasped, placing a hand over his chest. “If I tell him, he’s going to realise I’ve been bio-terrorism-ing his love life for two months, Chris! He’ll never look at me the same way!”
“But—”
“I’m not doing it.”
Chris threw his hands up in absolute, exasperated defeat. “Ugh! I'm just saying, if you confess, and Dad confesses, you won't mope around the kitchen making three-course meals, and Dad won't keep asking me if the same shirt he wore last week looks nice. You guys get to be as gross and domestic as you want. It’s a win-win situation!”
“Your dad isn't going to confess to anything, Chris, because he doesn't—”
The sharp click of the front door unlocking cut him off.
They both froze. When the door swung open, Eddie walked into the house. His shoulders were slumped, his jacket was slightly rumpled, and his face was the universal picture of complete, utter, crushing defeat.
“Dad?”
“Eddie?” Buck breathed. His heart did a violent, confusing double-take. He didn't look like an Alpha who had just locked down a second date. “Hey. You're... you're back early.”
“I think I figured out why my dates were ruined, Buck,” Eddie said, tossing his keys onto the counter with a hollow clack. He rubbed his palms aggressively over his face. “When we were at the bistro… it was good. I mean, I thought the date went pretty well, but then we stood up to say goodbye. I went in for a completely normal, polite first-date hug, and the second I got close, she froze. She looked at me like I was disgusting.”
Buck’s chest tightened. “Why?”
“Because she said I reeked of an Omega. Fresh, heavy, possessive pheromones, all over my collar and my jacket,” Eddie said, stealing a piece of crouton from the salad. “She said there was an undertone of a young pup's scent, too. She literally accused me of having a secret mate and a kid at home, playing the charming single dad while my ‘poor, clueless Omega’ was stuck handling the house.”
Eddie let out a harsh, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “That’s when it hit me. The other dates. The sudden emergencies, the weird looks, Vanessa sprinting out of here... it’s the exact same reason. They all thought I was some cheating douchebag.”
The guilt hit Buck like a physical blow. It knocked the air right out of his lungs. He looked at Eddie’s slumped shoulders and felt a crushing wave of shame. He had gone too far. He had genuinely ruined Eddie’s confidence and made him look like a liar, all because he was too much of a coward to face reality.
“Eddie...” Buck started, his voice cracking slightly as he gripped his apron fabric. He was going to confess. Or, no—he was going to offer to step back. He’d move his things out, stop staying over, give Eddie the space to actually breathe without being chemically choked out. It was a late, painful redemption, but it was the right thing to do. “Look, if my scent is causing this much trouble, maybe I should—”
“But the craziest part is,” Eddie interrupted, entirely tracking his own train of thought as he leaned heavily against the kitchen island, “it’s just you and Chris. It's just our life. And it made me realize... it’s going to be damn near impossible for me to date anyone, Buck.”
Buck blinked, cutting himself off. “What?”
“Think about it,” Eddie said, looking up, his honeyed dark eyes fiercely sincere. “How am I supposed to find someone who accepts that my best friend's scent is baked into the foundation of my house? Whoever I date is going to have to accept that you're a package deal. You're not going anywhere. I’m never going to choose some new person over you or push you out of our family. If a date can't handle how close we are, then...” Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Then I guess they aren't the one.”
Buck froze.
He felt a bizarre, overwhelming urge to laugh and cry at the exact same time. A tear actually pricked the corner of his eye. Here he was, a toxic, selfish bastard who had spent the last few weeks playing a villain in a rom-com, fully convinced he was the unloved, disposable best friend about to be replaced. Meanwhile, Eddie hadn't spent a single, solitary second considering a life without him. Eddie was willing to nuke his entire future dating life before he ever dreamed of asking Buck to step back.
The sheer, staggering weight of Eddie's loyalty hit Buck's Omega instincts like a freight train. Overwhelmed, his biology betrayed him; a sharp spike of raw, emotional distress leaked out, his usually sweet orange blossom scent instantly souring into something sharp and anxious.
Eddie’s head snapped up, his Alpha instincts immediately going on high alert. “Buck? What’s wrong? Your scent just—”
“Woooow!” Buck exploded, his voice jumping a full octave into a panicked, high-pitched squeak. He violently waved his hands in the air, his inner teenage girl screaming in absolute, DEFCON 1 terror. “That is... wow! Jeez, Eddie, you are so right! People these days, I swear, they are just so cynical! So paranoid about pheromones! Like, haha, me and you? Mates??? Sheesh! Can’t an Alpha and an Omega just be completely normal, platonic friends without society making it weird?!”
Eddie didn't move. He just stared at Buck, his head tilting slightly as his eyes tracked Buck's manic movements. “...Buck?”
“I'm just saying, you totally dodged a bullet!” Buck rambled, talking a mile a minute, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard it was audible in his ears. He grabbed the ties of his apron, his fingers twisting them into frantic, complex knots. “Claudia clearly wasn't the one if she's that judgmental! Honestly, you don't need that kind of negativity in your life. Right, Chris? Chris, tell him. It’s just a big, crazy...”
Buck was turning a spectacular, deep shade of crimson. His face was burning so hot he thought his skin might peel off. He was spouting pure, unadulterated bullshit, his brain completely short-circuiting under the intensity of Eddie's gaze.
Eddie slowly straightened up from the island, taking a slow step closer to Buck. “Buck, you're shaking. Why are you acting like this?”
Shit.
That was the breaking point. The genuine, sweet concern in Eddie's eyes cracked Buck's resolve right down the middle. He couldn't carry the lie for another second. He looked at the perfect Beef Wellington, he looked at Christopher watching from his chair, and he looked at the Alpha he loved more than his next breath.
Buck threw his hands in the air, abandoning the apron ties entirely as a breathless, miserable sob-laugh escaped his throat.
“Because it wasn't a misunderstanding, Eddie!” Buck shouted, his face flaming red as the truth finally burst out of him. “It was me! I've been sabotaging you! I'm the reason your dates failed!”
Eddie’s mouth dropped open. For a second, the only sound in the kitchen was the ticking of the wall clock.
“You...” Eddie started, his head shaking as if trying to physically clear the confusion out of his brain. “You sabotaged me? How?”
“The jacket!” Buck confessed, the floodgates completely bursting. “The collar checks! The lint rolls! Every time you went out the door, I practically rolled my wrists all over your lapels! I scent-bombed you, Eddie, so no one in their right mind would date you!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Buck caught a sudden movement. Christopher was slowly, meticulously rising from his chair. The teenager caught Buck’s eye and gave him a massive, theatrical wince—a look that clearly said you are completely on your own, man—before grabbing his plate and sneaking out of the kitchen with impressive, silent speed.
Buck wanted to beg him to stay, but Eddie was already stepping closer, completely flabbergasted.
“But why?” Eddie demanded, his arms gesturing wildly. “Buck, you helped me set up the profile! You swiped with me on the couch! You literally made a color-coded tactical binder to help me plan the dates! Why the hell would you pretend to support me if you were just going to turn around and nuke my chances from orbit? No—why are you so opposed to me dating in the first place?!”
Buck’s face began to turn a spectacular, deep shade of crimson. He started stuttering, his words tripping over each other in a desperate bid to manufacture a logical excuse.
“Because—well—you see, it’s kinda like, uh, as your best friend, I have a duty to filter out the bad ones! If they can't handle a little stray pheromone, then they aren't strong enough to be in the Diaz household! It was a—a screening process!”
Eddie looked sceptical.
Buck tried again until he was turning so red he looked like he might actually combust on the kitchen tile. Finally, his brain completely short-circuited. He threw his hands in the air, abandoning any semblance of a defence.
“Fine!” Buck shouted, his inner teenage girl completely taking the wheel and slamming on the gas. “Fine! You want to know why?! Because I am completely, stupidly, miserably in love with you, Eddie! Okay?!”
Eddie stood perfectly still. His jaw went slack, his dark eyes widening to the size of saucers. “You... what?”
“I'm in love with you!” Buck ranted, pacing the small stretch of tile between the island and the fridge, waving his arms wildly. “I've been in love with you for years! And then you decided you wanted to start dating again, and my human brain tried to be the good, supportive best friend. And I really did! I downloaded the apps! But then my Omega brain went into absolute lizard-mode emergency panic. Every time I saw you putting on cologne for someone else, I just couldn't stop myself!”
“Why didn't you just say anything?!” Eddie replied, his own arms gesturing wildly, completely bewildered.
“Oh, yeah, sure, because that would have gone over so well!” Buck fired back, launching into a dizzying display of pure mental gymnastics. “Eddie, you have exclusively dated women! Brilliant, beautiful women! I am a six-foot-two male Omega who invades your personal space and cooks your family dinner! What was I supposed to do? I knew I couldn't have you, but then I realized I couldn't bear the thought of some other Omega coming in here, taking over my kitchen, scenting my pup, and erasing me! So I was selfish! I used my scent to scare them off so I could keep pretending we were a family for just a little bit longer!”
Buck finally ran out of breath. He stopped pacing, his chest heaving under his apron, his face still bright red. He looked at Eddie, who was just standing there, processing the confession, the biological warfare, and the fact that his best friend had apparently been pining after him in agonising silence.
Suddenly, all the furious, manic energy drained out of Buck. He looked down at his shoes, his lower lip twitching slightly as the crushing weight of reality set in. Shit. He had officially ruined everything.
“I... I probably sound completely crazy, don't I?” Buck muttered, his voice suddenly very small, deflating entirely.
Eddie stood there, wide-eyed, staring at Buck's pathetic, slumped posture. Strangely, the cedar-and-campfire Alpha scent in the room hadn't gone sharp or angry.
“...A little, yeah,” he said softly.
Buck immediately puffed out his cheeks, letting out a loud, defensive huff, and crossed his arms tightly over his chest, looking like an incredibly disgruntled, pouting toddler.
The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, and Buck’s internal teenage girl was currently packing her bags and preparing to move to Canada under an assumed name.
I ruined it, Buck thought, his chest heaving. I officially broke the friendship. He’s gonna kick me out and ban Chris from seeing me ever again.
Just as Buck was about to step away, Eddie lifted a palm, chewing on his lip.
“Say it again,” Eddie said with a considering frown. He waved his hand in a small, circular motion, exactly like he was asking Buck to repeat a tactical firefighting plan over the radio.
Buck blinked, thrown completely out of his defensive pout. “What?”
Eddie wasn't standing there with his arms crossed, looking furious or disgusted. He was actually stepping closer, his dark eyes locked onto Buck's face with a strange, intense focus. “Come on. Say it.”
“Uh, I’m sorry for—”
“No, no, the other one.”
Buck’s blush flared right back up. “I... uhm. I'm in love with you...?”
Eddie didn't flinch. Instead, a massive grin broke across his face—sharp, bright, and completely unhinged. Nodding to himself, he tapped the face of his watch, his breathing a little shallow. “Okay. Alright. It's only 2:00 PM right now, we can still hit up that gallery show.”
Buck’s jaw dropped. His brain completely derailed. The gallery show? The one I picked out for his date with Claudia? He looked at the brunet, completely bewildered. “What are you doing?”
“I'm taking you out on a date,” Eddie stated, a breathless, giddy laugh escaping his throat. He looked alive, his entire posture vibrating with a sudden, chaotic energy that Buck had never seen in him before. He looked light.
Buck’s jaw dropped further, an entirely different kind of blush spreading across his cheeks. A date?! With me?! Now?!
“Now??” Buck stuttered, pointing frantically down at his comfortable, lived-in sweater and the faded kitchen apron. “B-but I'm not dressed yet!”
“You look perfect,” Eddie insisted, and before Buck could even process the words, Eddie lunged forward. He didn't just gently take Buck's wrist; he grabbed Buck's hand, his fingers intertwining tightly with Buck's, and practically began hauling him toward the front door.
“But, Eddie—”
“C'mon, Buck,” Eddie laughed, turning back to look at him. His dark eyes were wide, glittering with a manic, triumphant sort of joy that sent a shockwave straight to Buck's core. “It's just me. And honestly? Thank God you're insane, because I was about to go on a fifth date with a stranger just hoping I'd find someone who smelled half as good as you do.”
Buck froze in his tracks, his heart hammering a frantic, explosive rhythm against his ribs.
Oh.
The realisation hit him syrupy slow. Between both of them, he wasn’t uniquely unhinged here. He had spent weeks agonizing over being a toxic, unhinged saboteur, totally convinced Eddie was normal—only to find out that Eddie’s brain was functioning on the exact same frequency of crazy. Eddie hadn't just forgiven him; Eddie was thrilled. Eddie was so deeply, subconsciously codependent that having his entire dating life nuked by biological warfare was apparently the best news he’d heard all year.
He's just as crazy as I am, Buck’s inner voice realised, a massive, dizzying wave of relief washing over him. We are both completely insane.
With a sudden spark of mutual madness, Buck stopped resisting. He let out a breathless laugh of his own, his grip tightening around Eddie's fingers as Eddie pulled him into the entryway.
Grinning from ear to ear, Eddie turned toward the hallway and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Chris! I'm taking Buck out on a date! You're watching the house!”
From down the hall, Christopher’s door cracked open. The teenager stuck his head out, his eyes sliding from Eddie's aggressively joyful face down to their tightly linked hands. He didn't look surprised at all. He just looked deeply relieved that the absolute circus in his kitchen was finally moving outside.
“You guys better be back before 10:00 PM! No funny business!” Chris yelled back, already swinging his door shut. “Buck said he was gonna make his signature six-cheese lasagna tonight, and I'm holding him to it!”
“Deal!” Eddie shouted back, his face splitting into a proud, victorious grin.
He pulled open the front door, dragging a thoroughly dazed, happily blushing, and equally lovesick Buck out into the afternoon sun. As the door clicked shut behind them, Buck felt the breeze hit his face.
Chris was right. Why didn’t Buck just ask?