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For someone who had, only twenty minutes ago, proposed calling in a bomb threat in order to avoid this, Eddie was hiding his discomfort with this whole auction thing pretty damn well. In fact, Buck would argue that some of his actions could be considered peacocking, with the way he was jaunting up and down the stage, flexing his muscles.
And yet there was a little smile tugging at his lips as he watched the next two, three, four paddles raise. Of course all of these women wanted Eddie—as they should. Pride bloomed in Buck’s chest as the bid continued to climb.
“One thousand!” the auctioneer boomed. “Do I hear an advance on one thousand?”
Buck whistled through his fingers, the sound soaring out from where he stood backstage, and he saw Eddie’s head shake, mouth lifted in a smile.
“One thousand two hundred!” a woman’s voice called, but she was soon outbid.
Voices volleyed back and forth, until the auctioneer announced, “Two thousand is the number to beat! Is there—” Something pulled his attention, and he bent to receive the whisper of a lady in a suit, a phone pressed to her ear. He listened for a moment, and then a smile spread across his lips.
“We have an anonymous bidder, offering two thousand three hundred!”
Eddie grinned wide.
“Who will raise—”
“Two thousand, five hundred!” came another voice before he could finish, and the paddles began to bob in the air like a school of koi fighting for feed. The auction continued. Every so often the woman holding the phone would signal, pushing the number up by one hundred each time, and as they passed three thousand two hundred, Buck inched out from behind the dressing area with a frown, trying to see.
The bid hit four thousand before the woman on the phone signalled again: four thousand, five hundred dollars.
Most of the audience fell silent, balking at the leap, and the momentum suddenly, obtrusively, died. The auctioneer’s eyebrows raised. Eddie paused too, relaxing his arms from where he’d been holding them up, biceps popping. He looked expectant, eyes flitting around. No one else moved.
“Four thousand, five hundred dollars,” the auctioneer repeated. “It’s a high number, folks. Is it our final one? Any advance on four thousand five hundred? No? If not, Mr Diaz is going to our very lucky anonymous bidder. Going once, going twice—”
“Five thousand.”
Something moved out of the way, and suddenly Buck could feel every eye in the room turn on him as a flood of warm, pink light hit him squarely in the face. Buck himself couldn’t see much, vision blown out from the overheads, but there was one thing that the lights hadn’t cast out: and that was Eddie, who had turned around in shock at the sound of Buck emerging onto the stage behind him. Eddie who was still staring — frozen — directly at him.
“Five thousand,” Buck repeated, staring back, and the auctioneer let out a booming laugh.
“Five thousand! Someone fetch a paddle!”
The plastic was shoved into Buck’s hands, and as he stepped forward, the stage lights pulled away and he could finally see the crowd. Intrigued faces blinked up at him, and he could feel the hum, the wave of consideration, just before another paddle raised.
“Five thousand two hundred!”
"Five thousand three hundred!"
The crowd had reignited, their curiosity getting the better of them, and Eddie’s bid began to climb once more. The woman on the phone continued to whisper into the receiver, but she didn’t raise her paddle again. Buck was overwhelmed by his own relief, which was the only thing that justified his behaviour.
He raised his paddle. “Six thousand!”
Disbelieving laughs coursed through the room, and Buck spread his hands, shrugging. He casually flicked his head back towards the stage, back towards where Eddie was standing—and met frenzied, wild eyes.
Eddie was shaking his head in stiff, minute nods, which didn’t surprise Buck in the least. Buck flashed him a beaming smile of reassurance. Eddie was, after all, getting to understand just how much he was worth, and as his best friend, who better than Buck to lead the charge? He cast his gaze back into the crowd, and inadvertently landed on the group he had arrived with.
Hen and Chim were leaning so far forward that they had practically joined the table in front of them, eyes glued to the stage. Behind them, Harry’s jaw had dropped nearly into his untouched amuse-bouche. Buck’s eyes dipped into the seat that his sister had vacated, paying it little attention, before moving to the seat beside her. Athena had sat back in her chair, fingers intertwined as she squinted at him, her head tilted. Buck waved each of them off, refusing to read into it.
Slowly, the number of paddles were once again dwindling, until only a lady with earrings that dripped to her shoulders, Buck, and the mysterious woman on the phone remained. Once the number soared past seven thousand, Buck watched the lady opposite him lower her paddle, sighing in defeat, and Buck locked eyes with the final bidder.
He could vaguely hear Eddie hissing at him, somewhere just within the edges of his awareness, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted now.
“Seven thousand eight hundred and fifty!” the auctioneer conveyed, and the crowd gasped.
Buck raised his paddle once more—
“Hang on!” He bent as the woman ushered him close, and indignation flashed through Buck’s chest. “Seven thousand nine hundred and fifty! She’s just upped the bid! Come on, folks, is this going to be the—”
“Eight thousand and fifty!” Buck barely registered his own record being surpassed (not to mention by himself), even as the crowd erupted into spontaneous, jovial applause.
“That’s a new record, folks! Eight thousand and fifty dollars!”
Buck grinned, nearly buzzing with confidence, waiting for the auctioneer to repeat his bid, the word Sold! already singing in his ears—
“Eight thousand one hundred and fifty!”
Buck nearly stumbled.
“Any advance on eight thousand one hundred and fifty?”
He recovered, raising his paddle.
The woman on the phone raised hers.
Heads were snapping back and forth, as if watching a tennis match, and as the number raised by one hundred, then fifty, then twenty, and now ten dollars each time, that indignation began to burn a hole through Buck’s chest. Who wanted Eddie this badly? And if they did, they should at least be here to bid in person, so that Buck could see what they looked like, scope them out himself—
“We are in the stratosphere, folks! Eight thousand nine hundred and twenty dollars has been bid for Mr Eddie Diaz. Is anyone else going to get in on this?”
Buck’s eyes narrowed, almost daring anyone else in the room to try. He looked at the woman, speaking feverishly into her phone, and if he had to see her paddle in the air one more time, hear her raise his bid by another measly ten dollars—
Her paddle raised—
“Ten thousand!”
Somewhere in the crowd, Chimney fainted, and Hen, far too engrossed, made no effort to revive him.
“Ten thousand dollars,” Buck reiterated calmly, into the gaping silence, and finally, he wondered if he might have overstepped. But when the auctioneer repeated his bid to the astonished crowd, and the woman on the phone looked at him once, and then shook her head, Buck forgot about all of that.
“SOLD!” came the announcement a moment later. “To Mr Evan Buckley,” and to Buck’s memory, victory had never felt sweeter.
* * *
“What in God’s name was THAT?”
Buck had barely returned to his place in line — empty; he was the final bachelor to be auctioned — before Eddie came striding off the stage.
The smile was already on Buck’s face as he turned. “There he is! The winner of the n—”
“Ten thousand dollars??” Eddie looked somewhere between flummoxed and murderous, his suspenders slapping loudly against his thighs.
“I know! That got pretty intense, huh?” Buck grinned sheepishly. “For a moment there I thought—”
“BUCK.”
Buck paused, confused. Eddie was not reacting in the way that Buck had been expecting, and hey, would it kill him to show a little gratitude?
“Uh…” Buck offered finally. “You’re welcome?”
“Ten thousand.” Eddie sounded as if he were physically choking on the word. “What would—what would possess a person—”
Buck interrupted him. “I was saving you from that crazy lady on the phone—at least, I think it was a—”
“I WAS THE CRAZY LADY ON THE PHONE!”
“W—what?”
“I asked your sister to bid on me—anonymously. I was going to Venmo her the money afterwards.”
Buck stared at him. “You were going to buy yourself?”
Eddie shrugged defensively. “The money’s all going to the same place, right? Who cares who it’s from?”
Buck made a number of different noises until he finally settled on: “Well, I wish you would’ve told me.”
“I was trying to! Did you not see my face? And anyway, I didn’t think I had to warn you not to BID on me—”
The slap of approaching footsteps cut through the conversation, and Eddie broke off as Ravi jogged into view, breathless. There was something else about him too, about his smile—
Suspicious, Eddie asked, “Who won?”
Now out of the stage lights, it was obvious that Ravi was blushing all the way down his neck.
“Uh…May did,” he mumbled.
“Wha—” Buck sputtered. “MAY?”
Ravi gave a weak shrug, though it did nothing to hide the delight still radiating off of him. In a casual voice, he said, “It’s for the orphans. And anyway.” He crossed his arms, staring pointedly between the two of them, and when neither spoke, Ravi raised his eyebrows and challenged, “Ten thousand dollars?”
Eddie only sighed, turning away and beginning to strip out of his turnouts.
Ravi shifted to Buck, and a sudden defensiveness overcame him.
“Oh, come on, it—it’s for the orphans!”
* * *
“So where are we going?”
Eddie adjusted his phone against his shoulder, still rummaging through his things as he did his final checks. “Uh…work?” he answered distractedly. “Aren’t you?”
“No, where are we going for dinner?”
Eddie actually removed his phone from his shoulder, staring at Buck’s name on his screen for a moment before pressing his phone to his cheek. “You’re kidding.”
Now, the offence in Buck’s voice went directly into Eddie’s ear. “Why would I be kidding?”
Eddie frowned, and then was forced to put his phone on the shoe rack as he began to lace up his boots. He tapped the speaker on. “I don’t know, I thought Chris and I would come over, and you’d cook us something or—”
“Cook YOU something?” Buck’s voice crackled loudly through the line, and, after another glance at his watch, Eddie turned around and yelled up the stairs for his son. “Eddie, I just dropped ten grand on you, the least you can do is buy me dinner.”
Eddie snatched for his phone. “And whose fault is that?” he hissed.
Buck’s end was quiet for a few moments, and Eddie knew that he was pouting. Upstairs, a door creaked, and crutches rapped against the ceiling as Chris emerged from his room.
Eddie sighed. “I don’t know, Buck, I…I guess I hadn’t given it any thought. Where…” He blew out another breath, drawing a hand through his hair. “I don’t eat at nice restaurants.”
Instantly, there was tapping on the other end of the line; Buck’s fingers were already racing over his keyboard. Then, a few moments later came: “Okay, I’m looking at the five-star reviews in a five-mile radius.”
“Three,” Eddie interrupted. “Think of the traffic.” He jabbed at his watch in exasperation as Chris slowly descended the stairs.
“Right.” More tapping.
“Shoes,” Eddie mouthed, pointing to where he’d already laid them out for Chris, and then he stood, retrieving the nearest jacket from its hook. “Buck, I gotta go. I’ll see you at work.”
“Have a think—” Buck began to protest, but Eddie had already hung up.
* * *
Eddie blinked at the phone screen that was flashed in his face. Once his eyes had adjusted, he could see that he was looking at a steakhouse, and the dozens of reviews, which averaged a 4.8, were glowing.
“What do you think?” Buck pressed. He flipped his phone around, tapped a few times, and then turned it again so that Eddie was looking at the menu. “Look how perfectly that’s been cooked.”
It was true; that filet mignon was positively glistening, and, for a native Texan, steak was practically a state religion. But any and all fancies Eddie had of putting it in his mouth dissipated when he saw the price beneath the picture.
“Three hundred dollars per cut?” he gaped. “Does it come with a mortgage?”
“Huh?” Buck turned his phone back towards him. “Oh, I didn’t check.”
“You don’t even like steak,” Eddie said, expression still twisted in disgust.
“Oh, right. True.” Buck began tapping away again, seemingly undeterred. He hummed as he scrolled, eyes darting up and down as he rapidly shortlisted their options. “Uhhh wait, okay, this Greek spot looks pretty promising. I know, I know, I’ll check the prices this time—”
“Check the price for what?” Hen asked as she and Chim came up the stairs.
Chim peered over Buck’s shoulder as soon as he was close enough. “Damn, that moussaka looks good.”
Hen’s eyebrows raised. “Why are you looking up moussakas at eight in the morning?”
Buck opened his mouth to answer, but before he had the chance Chimney’s eyes widened in realisation. “For your date?” he asked gleefully.
Twin blushes rose to their faces, neither deigning Chim with an answer.
Their captain nudged his brother-in-law with a jabby little elbow. “So where are you taking him?”
“Excuse me,” Buck groused, lightly shoving him off. “Eddie is taking me out after I spent ten fucking grand on him by winning a bidding war against my own SISTER.”
“If it makes you feel any better, even I didn’t know she was going to do that.”
Hen inspected the photos that the restaurant’s website was offering. “Well, it’s very nice,” she said. She squinted. “Highly rated date spot, but whew, forty bucks for a lasagna?”
“And on my dime, no less,” Eddie grumbled.
“It’s not a date spot,” Buck said defensively.
Hen leaned over him. “Well, it sure looks like a date spot.” She opened to the reviews page, sliding her finger upwards as she began to read them aloud. ““My husband took us for our tenth anniversary; five stars.” “My fiancé proposed to me here; four-and-a-half stars.” “Highly recommended for a first date; five sta—””
“I just searched up fancy restaurants in LA and these are what came up!”
“So don’t look up fancy restaurants, then,” Eddie griped.
“Nuh-uh,” Buck said firmly. “We’re not going to any old place that we could just plonk ourselves at on a regular Friday.” Neither of them caught the incredulous looks Hen and Chim were shooting each other from behind them.
“What’s happening on Friday?”
The team turned as Ravi, bag still slung over his shoulder, rounded towards them, slipping his phone back into his pocket as he did so.
“Cutting it pretty close there, Ravioli,” Chim clucked, but he was clearly as intrigued by the faint red still dusting Ravi’s cheeks as the rest of his team. He pulled away from the group and sidled over, attempting to look casual. “So, how did it go?”
Ravi adjusted his duffel. “Oh, it was fine. A fun time had by all.”
“Spill.” Hen crossed her arms.
“Whoa, hey, I don’t wanna hear this!” Buck objected.
“No, really, there’s nothing to tell,” Ravi shrugged. “We just got to know each other over a nice meal. May picked the restaurant, she has great taste—the food was super delicious, and—” He spotted Buck’s phone screen and made a surprised noise. “There! We went there!”
His head snapped up, and as he looked between the two of them — Buck, eyes nervously flitting down towards his phone; and Eddie, looking dutifully at everything except Buck’s phone — his smile gleamed.
"It’s the perfect date spot, you guys will love it.”
“We’re not eating there,” they replied flatly in unison.
* * *
7:09 PM, and Buck was still riffling through his hanging shirts, trying to figure out which of them to wear. The restaurant wasn’t super fancy or anything, but it was still a nice place, and a Saturday night besides; he didn’t want to look underdressed compared to everyone else. He finally settled on a white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons left undone. He could pair it with the cosy plaid jacket he’d bought recently if the restaurant was cold, and he slipped it off its hanger and folded it onto his bed.
As he stared at himself in the mirror, fidgeting a little with his collar, it occurred to him that tiny pinpricks of nerves were pushing up against his ribcage. This seemed silly to him. He turned away, looking for something else to occupy his hands, and found himself automatically reaching for his first date cologne and ugh—that was why.
He placed it back on the tray with fingers that shook ever so slightly and instead took out his usual, the one he wore to every shift. It was getting low; he needed to replace it soon. He breathed in the clean, fresh scent, and adjusted his sleeves one more time. He nodded to himself, satisfied. Then he suddenly wondered if he needed to brush his teeth again.
Before he could interrogate that thought, the doorbell rang, and Buck grabbed his phone off its charger and his jacket from his bed, taking the stairs two at a time.
As he opened the door with one hand, he reached for his keys and wallet from the dish with the other, looking up noncommittally as he slid them into his pockets—
“Hey, Eddie—”
And stopped. Because. Well.
Eddie was freshly shaved, the stubble from yesterday’s shift a distant thing, revealing the razor-sharp edge of his jawline. His dress shirt was white, like Buck’s, but unlike Buck, he was wearing a suit jacket, and dress pants that fit him just snug around his thighs.
His brown Oxford boots stopped his outfit from verging on the stuffy, but really it was his hair that was doing most of the heavy lifting. Usually gelled for work, he’d left it to curl gently against his temples, the nape of his neck. He smelled good as well—this was not the cologne that he wore during their shifts.
All together, the effect was—
Eddie frowned. “Everything okay?” He glanced down. “Did I forget to put something on?”
“No!” Buck said instantly. “No, you look…”
Except he didn’t quite have the words. Eddie was waiting on him, his eyebrows still raised, and Buck finished lamely, “Fancy.”
Eddie spread his hands. “Hey, you picked the place.”
After another moment spent loitering, Buck offered, “You wanna come in for a drink or something? I think I have some of that whiskey from the other night still left over…”
Eddie consulted his watch. “We should probably get going, actually. I had a quick look at the traffic and it’s—”
“Twenty minutes at least,” Buck finished. “You’re right, we should go.”
He flicked off the hallway lights and the darkness from outside swarmed in, casting them both into shadow. Buck glimpsed Eddie’s silhouette against the pavement, turned towards him, before the porch lights flickered off as well.
“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” he offered again as they stepped off his porch, but Eddie shook his head.
“Nah, I’m happy to.”
Buck nodded and, those silly little nerves now travelling up his throat, palmed his own keys, slipping them into his pocket.
Eddie waited patiently for Buck to find his seatbelt and click it into place before he curved off Buck’s driveway and onto the road. The car was quiet. Unlike him, Eddie wasn’t in the habit of putting on the radio, not even to stave off the silence.
Finally, Buck asked, “Pepa get to yours okay?”
“Yeah, all good.” Eddie sounded far more relaxed than Buck felt. “She brought over Rebelde.”
Buck’s eyebrows raised. “Isn’t that the one—”
“Oh, yeah.” Eddie shook his head. “I bet Chris is being indoctrinated as we speak.”
Buck laughed politely, and then they lapsed back into silence.
“Air okay?” Eddie asked after a moment.
“Yeah,” Buck answered, and then frowned to himself. Eddie had never asked him about the air-conditioning before, or checked on his comfort level in Eddie’s car in general. Did that somehow mean that, despite his casual exterior, Eddie was feeling slightly uneasy as well?
Eddie began to drum his fingers on the steering wheel, and after a moment he cracked open the driver’s side window just a sliver, letting in the cool evening breeze. They had sat in silence before, of course. In fact, Buck could recall entire trips where Eddie had been content to drum on the wheel while Buck scrolled through his phone, still stuck on something that had taken his fancy near the end of a shift and that he’d wanted to read up on. Eddie didn’t bother him, just let Buck narrate to him if Buck wanted, replying with the occasional question. But Buck felt like it would somehow be rude to pull his phone out now. Not that he wanted to. His brain was entirely blank.
It contributed absolutely nothing for another ten, fifteen seconds, until suddenly inspiration struck.
“Harry walked in on May and Ravi yesterday morning.”
The drumming instantly stopped. “What?”
“Yep. Harry let himself in and Ravi was naked — like birthday suit naked — and Harry said that luckily May was in a dressing gown or something, but in terms of Ravi, Harry saw it ALL.”
Eddie sucked in a breath that sounded halfway between amused and horrified. “Poor guy. This is why you gotta ring the doorbell when your family member starts seeing someone.”
“Exactly.”
Eddie paused, and Buck felt his eyes glance over. “You…you never?”
Buck shuddered in disgust, shaking his head. “Oh my god, no. As far as I’m concerned, Maddie and Chim have never even seen each other naked.”
Eddie laughed. “They have two kids, Buck.”
“Doesn’t matter.” That only made Eddie laugh more.
But after a moment, Eddie acknowledged, “Way more likely that your sister would’ve walked in on you and one of your, uh…”
Buck felt himself redden. “Nah,” he said, voice quiet. “By the time she arrived, that Buck had taken a…momentary breather.”
Eddie made another little noise of agreement, fingers once again tapping against the steering wheel, and there was a pause before he said, “Is it weird that I’m a little sad that I never got to meet Firehose Buck? Out of morbid curiosity, obviously.”
Buck retreated into the well of his seat. “You wouldn’t have approved.”
“You think?” Eddie hummed. “I’ve seen a good few versions of Buck at this point. They’ve all been pretty okay.”
A smile twitched at Buck’s lips, and he distracted himself by looking out of the window, watching the cars as they raced by on the passenger side.
“You think May and Ravi will last?”
One of the passing headlights blazed in his eyes. “Why not? They’re weirdly matched, come to think of it. Though that better not mean I have to start seeing him outside of work. We all already see too much of each other.” His brain smoothly skipped over the fact that the person he saw the most of outside of work was sitting a mere foot from him.
“Scared May’s going to start bringing him to your Bachelor watch parties?” Eddie teased lightly.
Buck made an affronted noise. “She’d better not.”
“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Since you kicked me out of your house that one time instead of letting me stay for it.”
“Nash adoptees only,” Buck said staunchly. He paused before accusing, “I knew you were trying your luck.”
“You didn’t kick Christopher out.”
“That was once, and you were late to pick him up.”
Eddie scowled.
“Is he offended that he wasn’t invited tonight?”
Silence blanketed the car so instantly that Buck, his brow furrowed, actually turned to look at the driver’s side.
Eddie was staring straight ahead. “No,” he said finally, and as the car in front of them braked yet again after a measly meter gained, his cheeks tinged pink in the darkness. “I didn’t tell him we were getting dinner.”
“Where does he think you are?” Buck asked, confused.
“No, he knows I’m out for dinner, he just…” The queue moved again, and as they slid forward, Buck finished it in his head before Eddie did: “Doesn’t know it’s with you.”
Buck paused. “Well, now it feels like we’re doing something wrong.”
“And how would you have explained it?”
Buck ran his tongue over his teeth, his brain rejecting every scenario that whipped through it. The last thing he needed was a back-talking, brutally honest teenager asking him why he had bought his father for ten thousand dollars.
“Fair enough,” Buck muttered.
Eddie drummed once more. “I do want to see it.”
Buck snorted. “You’re still on that?”
“You hear about it enough, you start to feel left out.”
Buck shook his head with an exasperated laugh, and yet he couldn’t help feeling as if a little flint had been struck in his chest. Like a challenge he couldn’t pass up.
“I mean, I’m paying, whatever happens.”
“Yeah,” Buck mumbled. “That was pretty Buck 1.0 as well.”
“I think I’m turning in here,” Eddie said, and Buck looked out of the window as they finally took a right, pulling away from the brunt of the traffic going even further out of the city.
The dining enclave that Buck had chosen sat at the top of a small hill, housing fifteen or so colonial-inspired restaurants, and the expansive parking lot still had a fair amount of remaining bays.
“Not too busy,” Eddie said appreciatively as they turned in. “You picked a good spot, Buck.”
He drove past the sign offering valet parking — Eddie was somehow one of the stingiest people Buck knew yet simultaneously terrible with money — and parked them neatly into a bay a fair walk from the restaurant.
Buck remained uncharacteristically quiet, still deep in thought. Eddie seemed nonplussed by this, whistling quietly as he turned off the engine and hopped out. Buck found himself watching Eddie’s back as he trailed behind him.
They had crossed half the lot before he cleared his throat. “You know, that’s a nice jacket.”
Eddie glanced behind him. “Thanks, Buck.”
“No, seriously, Eddie, it’s a really good cut on you.”
“Is it? Well, that’s good. I was going to get one off the rack but there was a deal on and I guess the guy was pretty persuasive, plus he said he had the best tailor in the business—”
“He wasn’t lying.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm. Usually, tailoring a suit to a body like yours would be a nightmare.”
Eddie paused, and Buck had a vision of the crinkle that had formed over his brow before he even turned around. “Thanks, Buck.”
“No,” Buck laughed. “I just meant, well…” Either Eddie had slowed or Buck had sped up, but they had nearly drawn level. “With your chest being so broad and your waist being so narrow, there’s always the risk of it pulling across your ribs or hanging straight down.”
Their shoulders bumped before breaking apart again. “Since when are you such an expert?”
“I had a lot of jobs, remember? Wasn’t always living in turnouts.”
“Oh, right. Bartending?”
“Maître d’ at a country club for junior golfers.”
“Fancy.” Eddie ran a hand through his un-gelled hair. “So, maestro, the next time I order a suit, what should I be looking out for?”
Buck shifted to look at him, letting his eyes wander before gently pulling them both to a stop just beyond the halo of light emanating from the restaurant’s entrance. “Come here, I’ll show you. See this little seam?” He reached out, just below Eddie’s arm, and saw Eddie cautiously following his finger. Buck let it settle into the fabric for a moment before drawing it down towards Eddie’s waist.
“This part right here.” It might have been the cool evening breeze, but he felt the tiniest of shivers ripple through Eddie’s torso. “See? No flaring, no buckling. Last thing you want to do is a disservice to the body underneath.”
He was met with silence, until Eddie finally managed a little laugh, tightened by nerves and confusion. He was waiting, Buck knew, for the joke part of all of this to come. Buck held.
“Is—is that right?”
“Yes,” Buck said softly. “That’s right.”
When he saw the bob of Eddie’s throat as he swallowed, he finally allowed his lips to turn up into a wide, gleaming grin. Upon seeing it, Eddie groaned and shoved him away.
“For God’s sake,” he muttered as Buck descended into laughter. “You know, I liked this suit, and you had to go and ruin it.”
“I was being serious, Eddie! You look good.”
“Whatever,” Eddie huffed, striding forward and pushing the door to the restaurant open. It did so, with a loud, pissed off tinkle. “Evening,” he said to the man behind the host station, the irritation not entirely cloaked beneath his polite words. “Reservation under Diaz, please.”
“Good evening, sir. Yes, 7:45, for two people?”
“That’s the one.” And then, turning to Buck, he added under his breath, “For now.”
Buck only barked out another laugh, and, when the maître d’ called over a waitress to bring them to their table, said cheerfully, “Very elegant suit, sir.”
“Thank you,” the man replied, bemused, but it was worth it for the twitch of Eddie’s head.
Buck thought that pulling Eddie’s chair out by way of apology would be too much, so he resisted, lowering himself down opposite him with a smile. Eddie noted the soft, apologetic-adjacent look on Buck’s face and shook his head once more for good measure before sitting back in his chair and taking in their surroundings, his shoulders relaxing.
“May I offer you both the wine list?” the waitress asked in slightly accented Italian.
“Sure,” Buck said. “Any recommendations?”
“Well, it does depend on what you would like to pair it with. As for the reds, we have a lovely—”
“Just the whites, please,” Eddie said, and for some absurd reason, Buck felt his cheeks go warm. Of course Eddie knew that red wine tended to give Buck a headache, and so he never offered it to Buck at his home, but there was something about the way it sounded now, coming out of an Eddie who had dressed up for dinner, sitting opposite him under dim restaurant lighting—
“It’s fine, Eddie, I wasn’t planning on drinking much anyway, so I can drive—”
“I’m good with white, Buck.”
The waitress looked at him politely, and after a moment, Buck nodded.
“Alright, then,” she said with a smile. “One of our classic combinations would be to pair the pinot grigio with our branzino—”
“Eddie doesn’t usually go for fish, unless it’s—”
Buck stopped. Was that normal? he thought suddenly. Even if Buck knew that Eddie didn’t really like white fish he didn’t have to speak for him. Eddie was perfectly capable of telling this waitress what he wanted.
He heard a laugh, and it sent a little startle through him. The waitress was looking between them, amused.
“Perhaps you’d like to order for each other?” Her eyes were sparkling, and something began to gnaw at Buck’s brain. “It’s nice when our partner knows us so well.”
Neither of them corrected her. It was true in a sense, Buck rationalised. They were partners.
He snuck a look at Eddie. He seemed entirely unbothered by the waitress’ assumption, though Buck tended to wonder if Eddie appeared that way on purpose, not wanting Buck to think that Eddie somehow thought that there was something wrong with being gay, or bi, or whatever. He’d probably practiced until his reaction had become natural.
So Buck let it hang in the air as well, trying to stop his brain from winding around the word, testing it out when it sounded like this. If Eddie could be normal about it, so could he.
* * *
Maybe it should’ve bothered Eddie that the waitress thought that he and Buck were boyfriends. In fact, he was pretty sure it should have. And yet, as he sat waiting for his brain to freak out, almost poking holes into it, daring it to protest…it didn’t.
When it came to relationships, Eddie was an overthinker—at the very least, a planner. He thought about how a woman would fit into his schedule, into his home, which side of the bed they would occupy. He thought about how their presence would affect Chris, weekend plans, Eddie’s shopping list, even the bills (more water, more electricity, more groceries). When they started affecting how late Buck could stay over, the dinners he would politely duck out of, Eddie thought about them a lot.
And so it always helped that his relationship with Buck himself was something that Eddie never thought about. It just was.
Eddie watched him as he rattled through the menu (Buck had already identified the most popular items from the reviews page and had sent them over for Eddie to read, but Eddie liked hearing Buck go through them all again) and he thought that Buck looked good tonight—his white shirt brought out his tan, the few buttons he had left undone revealing a glimpse of the tattoo a few inches above his heart, more tattoos poking out from where he’d rolled his sleeves up to expose his forearms.
Eddie sipped at his Vermentino, and Buck suddenly glanced up, meeting his eyes for less than a second before turning the page and moving on at lightspeed to the specials. He was talkative tonight, even for him, not making room for even the briefest of silences between them. Eddie had, of course, noticed the unusualness of such silences, but in that same mildly curious manner as the idea that he and Buck appeared to be a gay couple. Maybe Buck was trying to decide how best to reintroduce Eddie to Buck 1.0 now that Eddie was on the lookout for it. And now that they were on opposite sides of the table where he couldn’t do that…suit thing again.
“So, Abby, uh,” Eddie said, not quite meaning to, and Buck’s head shot up. “I guess she really changed you, huh?”
Buck blinked several times, but then, to Eddie’s surprise, he didn’t nod.
“You know,” he said finally. “I don’t know.” His fingers ran over the menu’s fringe, up and down, and Eddie watched the line of his mouth as he drew his lips in. “Abby….she gave me a taste of what it would be like to have something serious, and I wanted that, for sure. But when she left, when I knew she wasn’t coming back…I could’ve slipped back in so many times. That’s how it started with Taylor, too,” he admitted, and Eddie thought, well, why not mention that one as well. “Just me not being able to be alone with myself, I guess. And I think…too many nights of being alone again would’ve done it. I would’ve eventually fallen back into what I’d done before, even if it looked different.”
Buck paused, and when he looked up, Eddie felt his heart suddenly clench. “It took me a long time to realise it, but it was you and Chris. It was. You — I mean, you both — you gave me somewhere to go, made it so that I never felt alone or forgotten. I think that’s all I’d ever been looking for.”
Eddie blinked.
“I mean it, Eddie. You always had a spot for me at the table, you gave me plans on the weekend, you were always someone on the other line. I never thanked you, Eddie, but I should have.”
For a long moment, Eddie just stared at him, unsure of how to answer. Then he swallowed.
“Don’t be silly,” he managed finally. “You don’t have to thank me, or Chris. We weren’t doing you a favour, Buck. We never thought about it that way. I don’t…I don’t think I ever really thought about it at all.”
He had never consciously involved Buck in the way that Buck thought he had, Eddie knew that much. It wasn’t as if he’d pitied him, or felt some obligation to take care of him. In fact, it had always sort of felt to Eddie like the exact opposite.
It had been Buck who had seen Eddie floundering, who had brought Carla into their lives without Eddie ever asking for it—Eddie had never asked Buck, or anyone, for help, and yet Buck had known, and he’d continued to help, again and again. Sometimes Eddie felt bad that Buck could barely go a weekend without Chris asking to see him, and he swore it had been Chris’ complaints to Buck about Eddie’s cooking that had started their regular dinners together, and Eddie couldn’t believe that as a single dad caring for a son with special needs he could take an afternoon to head to the boxing gym, or weekly therapy, without burning an insurmountably large hole in his pocket, because Buck didn’t give a second thought to spending more time with Chris.
He didn’t think that other single dads were able to do that. Nor had Eddie ever felt particularly attached to that label in the first place—not for the past eight years.
It’s nice when our partner knows us so well.
His relationship with Buck was something that Eddie never thought about.
He was thinking about it now.
Eddie hadn’t corrected the waitress because on some level it felt like doing so would have been dishonest. Buck had found the partner-shaped hole in Eddie’s life and he had filled it himself. It might have made Eddie sick with guilt to think about the way that Buck had slotted in without effort, without complaint, and so perfectly, but that hole had been there even before Shannon had died. Either she had been unreliable, or states away, or he’d been mad at her or she had been mad at him, and so somehow that space had always been left open…and Buck had filled it without Eddie asking—without Eddie’s permission.
But Buck would never fit himself in somewhere he wasn’t wanted; Eddie knew how sensitive he was about things like that. No, Buck could have never entered that space in Eddie’s life unless Eddie had already, unthinkingly, automatically, offered it to him.
And Eddie had never questioned it, because Buck was his best friend. Because Buck was his partner.
Only Buck was a man.
And Eddie’s brain suddenly froze.
* * *
Buck didn’t know what he had even been worried about. Sure, they were at a fancy restaurant with dim lighting and Eddie was wearing a bespoke suit and their waitress thought that they were a gay couple, but those were all superficial things that had taken up unnecessary space in his brain. All that mattered was that he was here with Eddie, and they were having a great time. In fact, Buck thought that best friends should treat themselves to fancy dinners together more often.
“How’s the linguini?” he asked, and Eddie shot him a thumbs up through his bite. Since there had been so many things on the menu that they’d wanted to try, they had ordered a bunch of sharing platters in lieu of mains: garlic mushroom crostini, squid ink linguini, pappardelle bolognese, duck ragu, calamari — and those were only what had already arrived.
Buck took another bite of his mushrooms, and the noise he made was nearly ungodly. “How do they come up with this stuff?” he marvelled. “I’m in food heaven. Don’t you think? Eddie?”
The wine had flushed Eddie’s cheeks, and, after swallowing with what looked to be great effort, he nodded.
“What? Oh, yeah, definitely.”
Buck beamed as he popped another piece of calamari into his mouth. “This may be our best idea to date.”
“To what?” Eddie choked, and then hastily swallowed down a sip of water. “I mean—you’re ten thousand dollars out of pocket, Buck.”
Buck waved him off with his fork. “Not that part—that part was definitely a miscalculation, but seriously, Eddie, we should come out to eat like this more often.”
The look Eddie shot him was nothing short of incredulous, and Buck heard the waitress laugh as she returned to their table balancing three more plates of food.
“How are you liking your dinner?”
“It’s amazing,” Buck gushed. “Hey, I know it’s a little cheeky to ask, but how does the chef get the duck so tender?”
Their waitress made a show of looking around them before bending down. “You didn’t hear it from me, but: duck legs, braise them low and slow.”
Buck nodded emphatically, mimed locking his mouth shut, and turned his grin on Eddie—Eddie, whose eyes had suddenly been made unbearably soft by the golden overhead lights as he stared back at him. Buck found himself pausing, blinking as his grin began to fade—
“Shall I clear some space?” the waitress offered, gesturing to their crowded table, and they hastened to help her. Eddie spooned the rest of the duck onto his plate, and Buck took the rest of the calamari and linguini. Three new platters were deposited, and the waitress left after another: “Enjoy!”
“Let’s see if this arrabbiata compares to the linguini,” Eddie said, picking up his fork. “I really should have pasta more often.”
Buck looked at the forkful of linguini he’d hastily served himself and remembered how much Eddie had liked it. “Oh! You should finish this,” he said automatically.
“Nah, you go ahead, Buck—”
“No, I insist. You liked it more than I did.” Buck had already twirled it onto his fork, so he offered it towards Eddie, waggling it in the air. Eddie stared at it before shifting his eyes warily back to Buck’s face.
“Oh, come on, I had that flu weeks ago,” Buck chided. “You won’t catch my germs.”
Eddie, for some reason still looking rather unconvinced, took the fork hesitantly. Buck, undeterred as always, reached for Eddie’s plate, the last piece of duck in its puddle of ragu, and swapped it for his.
“I’m gonna try and make this,” Buck said confidently. “Chris loves duck, so once I perfect it you guys can come over—”
He trailed off when he noticed that Eddie’s gaze had travelled beyond him, and Buck turned around in his chair to see their waitress staring at them from where she stood exchanging smiles with another waiter. He was looking at them as well.
Buck turned back. “Oh, that hasn’t helped, has it? We should probably tell her,” he added casually—
“Did you really not know before Tommy?” Eddie suddenly interrupted.
Buck blinked, taken aback by the intensity of Eddie’s gaze, the seriousness in his expression.
He kept his own voice light. “Sort of,” he said, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin, and saw as Eddie’s eyes flicked towards the movement. “I mean, you know, I had the odd threesome during college—we all experimented a little, right?” Eddie gave a minute shake of his head. “I meant, generally,” Buck corrected. “But, anyway, Tommy was the first guy I’d had feelings for and slept with. I guess I’d never put those pieces together until him. I just…I thought all guys checked out other hot guys’ asses, you know?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said after a moment. He smiled, and yet Buck noticed the effort, the brevity of it, before it was wiped. “Guess they don’t, huh?”
Buck leaned forward. “Eddie, you…you can ask me anything, you know. I won’t be offended, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can be your Gay Yoda,” he added with a grin.
He was met once again with silence, only this time Buck was acutely aware that he was no longer the one causing them. Those awkward stretches from before had been completely a result of Buck himself overthinking what to say and treating each natural pause in conversation as something intolerable. The moment Buck had stopped counting his breaths, those silences magically disappeared. And yet, here was another, slowly sneaking up on them both again.
“That,” Eddie said finally. “Would be helpful.”
Buck didn’t want Eddie to worry. He flashed him another grin. “What do you wanna know?”
* * *
Eddie was in despair.
He didn’t know where to look, how to laugh, and his voice sounded more and more like he was talking around marbles. He caught himself adjusting his hands several times—moving them between his lap, folding them across his chest, and picking up his cutlery only to put it back down again seconds later. All the wine he’d drunk had also made him unbearably warm.
This was all made worse by the fact that Buck seemed to have relaxed more and more with every hour that had passed. Eddie’s eyes took him in: the way he was leaning back against his chair, one hand resting lightly against the stem of his wine glass as he tilted his head at Eddie, a small smile pulling at his lips. How many people had he sat opposite and looked at just like this, trying to seduce them into going home with him later? Because Eddie could—Eddie could see how that might work on a person.
Buck picked up his glass — his first and only of the night — and Eddie finally had to reconcile himself to the truth: he wasn’t observing Buck anymore—he was staring. Staring at Buck’s mouth as he sipped, at his long fingers as they tapped around the base of his glass, at the size of the bowl compared to the hand Buck had cupped around it.
And for the life of him, Eddie could not understand why Buck had condemned him to this exact fate. Had he no grace? No mercy? Why had he insisted on taking Eddie out? Yes, he was getting a free dinner out of him, but why here—why couldn’t Buck have just swiped Eddie’s credit card and ordered two hundred dollars' worth of sushi or something? Or why hadn’t Eddie just transferred the two hundred to Buck’s account and called it even (the rest, of course, was for the orphans)? Because this—this was torture.
What did Eddie want to know?
Maybe everything. Maybe nothing, ever again.
Actually—there was one thing.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he blurted out.
Buck raised his eyebrows before using his fork to point at a sign behind Eddie’s head.
“Back there,” he said casually.
Eddie pushed back his chair, getting unsteadily to his feet. The restaurant was a blur to his eyes as he stumbled his way towards the sign Buck had pointed to, and once he shouldered through the swinging door he went directly to the sink, pressing his hands against the cool marble. He let out a long, deep breath before looking up at himself.
Wild, animal-bright eyes stared back at him. He was flushed all the way down to his neck, cheeks rosy, and his hair looked an unruly mess from all the times he’d unconsciously run his hands through it.
And yet, at the sight, a ferocious blush rose to his face. Not because he looked bad, but because he looked like he’d just emerged from one of the best nights of his life. Not that any of the sex he’d had before had made him look like this, which may well have been the most damning thing of all.
He turned the tap to the coldest setting and ran it full stream, letting it pound against his hands just like Frank had taught him to do every time he’d felt on the verge of another panic attack. He stood there as his hands eventually numbed with the cold and pressure, and felt himself slowly beginning to come down.
In fact, when he looked at himself now, he was met with something far more unsettling: he’d just had a life-altering realisation, and yet the face that stared back at him looked no different than it had before. Nor had God come to smite him; another uplifting fact.
He thought of Buck sitting calmly back at their table, and god, if it were anything else, Eddie would’ve taken refuge in the fact that he could go and talk to him, be with him in less than a minute, but whether Buck was seconds or hours away, it didn’t make any difference: Eddie couldn’t talk to him about this. He needed his best friend so much, and he couldn’t talk to him. He pulled at his collar, undoing another button.
But the alternative was an equally terrible prospect. Could he really go back outside, knowing what he knew, and sit back down like nothing had changed? Pretending somehow felt even worse. Especially when Buck didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve Eddie just….lusting after him. There was no other word for it.
Eddie’s brain flashed back to the parking lot, when Buck had crept into his personal space and touched the seam of his suit, running his finger down towards Eddie’s waist. Eddie had felt a spark of panic before he’d pushed him away, but at the time he’d explained it as Buck having found an erogenous zone or something, and his own response had been purely biological, but now he was confronting that too—as another moment of desperate rationalisation.
Why had Eddie even asked to see Buck 1.0?? And in fact, the better question was, what had he expected by doing so? He had requested Hypersexual Evan Buckley and for what? Because he’d felt left out?
That excuse, in retrospect, had been dogshit.
And now, dear God, all he could think was that he wanted Buck to do it again. One touch, and Eddie had been undone.
Right. Well, this needed to end. No more lusting after his best friend. Buck deserved better from him. The thought was firm, grounding. Eddie wouldn’t just be like those other men and women who saw Buck for his looks and nothing else. Eddie would treat him like his best friend. He could do that. And then he would take the entire weekend to recover from this, reevaluate his life, and only then would he think about what he was going to do come their shift on Monday.
Eddie took a final, deep breath and left the bathroom. He walked through the restaurant and back to their table, doing his best impression of normalcy, and then Buck looked up, smiled at him brightly — Don’t look at his mouth, Eddie begged — and said, “Hey, wanna share dessert?”
And Eddie remembered the exact moment when he had put Buck’s fork in his mouth, and this time he turned so red that there was no amount of wine on Earth that could have justified it.
* * *
“So, what are you in the mood for?”
Buck pointed at one of the starred items, his other hand holding the menu out between them. “Apparently the panna cotta is supposed to be pretty good.”
Eddie made a vague, noncommittal noise, and resumed studying their options. He must have gone through the list five or six times by now. Eddie could be very particular about dessert.
As he waited for his decision, Buck couldn’t help but note that Eddie’s hair had gotten curlier since he’d first seen him tonight, his eyes brighter. Maybe it was the lighting in here, but, man, he hadn’t thought that it was possible for Eddie to look better than he usually did. Sometimes Buck thought that it was actually unfair how attractive the man sitting opposite him was. No wonder he’d had to pay ten grand for him.
Buck offered Eddie the menu to hold and sat back in his chair, looking casually around the room. His eyes halted at a couple seated near the door and his brain instantly said: first date. He was rather charmed, actually, seeing the man stumbling through his questions, taking nervous sips from his wine. The girl opposite him kept twirling her hair out of nerves, her body language already closed. There would not be another date.
Buck made a little noise of pity, shaking his head, and Eddie, still looking at the menu, murmured, “What?”
“Near the door, the girl in the green dress. He’s not getting a second date.”
Eddie frowned before subtly peeking at them. “How do you know it’s a first date?”
Buck made a duh face. “Do you know how many I’ve been on?”
More than that, Buck could tell the first dates from the year ins, the ten-year marks from the decades, the second wife from the mistress. Everyone in his life was in a relationship.
“Look at them,” he said quietly. “Constantly adjusting themselves, reaching for a drink every time the conversation stalls.”
Eddie studied him, brow drawn. “Alright.” He gave the room a once-over. “What about them? Salt-and-pepper in the salmon-coloured shirt.”
It took Buck only a few seconds. “Few years. Three, tops.”
“Fuck off, you’re guessing.”
“He’s still making an effort with his choice of outfit, and she’s going for more daring, colourful. But they look comfortable together—he keeps taking food off her plate.”
Eddie stared at him a moment longer. “Fine, what about the young couple at the back?”
Buck took them in. “He’s sweating—look, drying his hands on his pants, but she looks fairly comfortable. She clearly likes him, she’s not turned off by his sweaty hands. But he’s still trying to impress her. I'd say three months at most.”
“What about them? That older couple beneath the painting of the dog.”
Buck looked over, and he smiled. “Decades.” He let out a breath, allowing the picture to take shape in his brain, the details filling themselves in. “That colour coordination is completely accidental, and they haven’t spoken for the entire time that I’ve been looking at them.”
“What if they’re both just introverts who like the same colours?” Eddie challenged lightly.
Buck shook his head. “I can’t describe it, exactly, but there’s just something in their eyes, you know?”
He looked back just in time to see Eddie swallow.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Yeah, I do.” He opened his mouth to speak, closed it again, and then seemed to go with his first option. “What about them?”
Buck followed his gaze and paused. This one took longer.
“Hard to tell,” he admitted after a while. “But they were friends first.”
“You think?”
“Mm. You can see how familiar they are with each other, but every so often they’ll make the other blush.” Buck looked between the two men, sharing a scoop of gelato. “And see the one on the left? How he’ll stare, panic once he’s realised he’s staring, and then realise that he’s allowed? You only get that with friends.”
The sound Eddie made seemed to get lodged in his throat before he could answer. His hand came up to push through his hair, inadvertently messing it up again. It looked good messy, why did Eddie not wear it like this more often? Without the gel, Buck could see the natural lightness, the layers, and with the way it was catching the light, it—
He hastily averted his gaze. Having a friend as attractive as Eddie was a minefield.
He laughed away his temporary discomfort. “Man, I’m glad I’m not on a first date. I don’t think I could deal with that level of awkwardness and those dumb questions at this stage of my life.”
He’d said it just to say something, but as the words left him, he realised how true they were. Buck didn’t want something new and shiny—he wanted something comfortable, almost effortless, where he knew the person and they knew him and they fit into his life without Buck needing to rearrange it, or rearrange himself.
Buck could read every single relationship in this room.
Slowly, he looked at Eddie opposite him, and a single, tiny exhale left him.
There were no other friends in this restaurant.
* * *
Eddie was doing better. Buck had found a new activity for them to get stuck into, and as Eddie played along, grasping at the opportunity to focus on the other people in the room, he paradoxically was given the space to realise why it was entirely normal that he felt this way about Buck. It would be weirder if he didn't, in a way.
Buck was dependable, competent, funny, loyal, emotionally available, fun, attractive. He was everything one could ask for in a partner. His past relationships hadn’t worked out because the people Buck had dated simply hadn’t appreciated that that was the case.
Then a catastrophic thought hit him.
Buck was the perfect partner in Eddie’s eyes because Buck had spent years shaping exactly what Eddie wanted in a partner in the first place. His eyes darted up to the ceiling. The smiting would come any moment now.
Eddie ordered the affogato, since he knew that Buck didn’t have anything caffeinated past four, and Buck went with the chocolate mousse. When their desserts came, Eddie had expected Buck to offer some of his (Buck usually ordered dessert but didn’t finish it, more given to making and distributing sweet foods than to eating them), but he looked like he’d fallen a little into his own world.
In the silence, Eddie looked around, eyes catching on the gay couple that he had chosen for Buck’s game — You only get that with friends, he remembered violently — and Eddie decided that it was unquestionably a good thing that they were not sharing a dessert. Because dessert sharing was for couples. He and Buck had both set an unconscious boundary by sticking to their own choices. Definitely good.
Which told Eddie another thing: Buck had known that he had liked men for going on three years now, and he had not once made a move on him, never expressed the slightest romantic interest in him, which led Eddie to believe that Buck simply didn’t feel the same way. Again, this was good. Eddie was putting his logical hat back on, and he was seeing things clearly.
Now all that was left was for Eddie to figure out how he was going to get over Buck. Clearly, they couldn’t exist in this limbo state anymore. No more dinners like this; Eddie might actually die.
So, he thought to himself, maybe on Monday, he could casually bring up how he had been thinking that Buck ought to start dating again. Let Buck take himself off the market. Then Eddie could spiral alone, but at least it was a different kind of spiralling, one where Eddie knew for sure that he could never have him—
Only to become so overwhelmed, so entirely disgusted by the mere idea of Buck sitting opposite some faceless stranger in a fancy restaurant just like this, driving them home and allowing them into his bed, that Eddie abruptly changed his mind, and he knew for sure that Buck being with anyone else ever again would be the thing that actually killed him.
* * *
Buck had been on countless dates, dates in every single form there was.
This one, no doubt, looked different than the others. There were no polite, boring openers, no asking Eddie’s favourite colour (brown), how long he had lived in LA (eight years), what he did for work (…), but nevertheless, there was no denying it now: Buck and Eddie were on a date.
Only Eddie had no idea, because Eddie had barely been on dates — by his own choosing; Eddie could’ve landed any girl in the greater LA area if he’d wanted to — and so Buck was the menace who had unknowingly dragged Eddie out on this date with him. Poor Eddie.
Buck felt like the worst friend to ever exist. He had asked Eddie out, practically forced Eddie to come on this date with him, only to start blatantly checking him out from the first moment he had seen him standing on his front porch. Buck was a menace.
Moreover, despite having bragged about his own prowess, was clearly also illiterate when it came to reading relationships. Because Buck had, for the past eight years, completely, one hundred percent, misread his and Eddie’s dynamic. Their comfort level hadn’t come from friendship, nor from being teammates or even partners at work. No, it had come from being in a nearly decade-long relationship.
Buck and Eddie had skipped past their first date, their three months in, then three years in—they had hurtled past dating altogether. Their comfort level was of the married variety, and Buck was about to throw up his chocolate mousse.
* * *
Eddie started as their waitress returned and gently laid their bill on the table, right in the centre.
He raised his head. They’d stayed for so long that the restaurant had nearly emptied out and, oh god, neither of them had even noticed—
Eddie had dived into his pockets and come back out with his wallet before he’d even realised it, declaring, “Thank you, I’m paying—”
Only for the bill jacket to be slammed back down on the table by a hand that had come out of nowhere.
“Eddie, I think we should do halfsies!”
Was he imagining it, or was there a tinge of desperation in Buck’s voice?
Nevertheless, Eddie gaped at him. “Are you serious?”
“No, Eddie, I really am. We ate so much, I feel bad—”
“Excuse me, we’re only here because you insisted on me paying for dinner—”
“Well, I feel differently now—”
“Ten THOUSAND dollars, Evan.”
And Buck suddenly looked as though he were hearing those words for the first time.
* * *
Now that the competition’s out of the way.
Tommy had scoffed at him, and when Buck had brought his outrage to Maddie, hoping she would reiterate the notion that Tommy had no idea what he was accusing Buck of, instead, she had asked him outright: Are you? In love with Eddie?
Buck remembered the looks Hen always threw them, the way Chim would roll his eyes and shake his head whenever Buck would talk about Eddie, how Bobby had benched him from going after Eddie in that well collapse, even though he'd had no issue letting the rest of the team help—
Oh my god. Everyone knew. Everyone was onto him.
Was Eddie onto him as well??
Ten THOUSAND dollars, Evan.
If Eddie hadn’t known already, there was no way that he didn’t know now—
“I bid ten thousand dollars on you,” Buck mumbled, feeling as though he had been struck by lightning again, though somehow this felt more soul-crushing.
With an exasperated sigh, Eddie replied flatly, “What did I tell you.”
At the sound of a tiny choke, they both looked up.
Their waitress looked on the verge of tears. “Ten thousand dollars to come here?” she whispered.
“Please, don’t,” Eddie said immediately, yanking the bill out of Buck’s hand and shoving his credit card inside of it. He handed it to her, and she gaped at them once more before scurrying off.
They sat in absolute silence until she returned. Eddie thanked her and folded the receipt, slipping it into his pocket, then said, “Ready to go?”, only it sounded more like an order than a question.
Buck numbly stood as well. Blindly, he trailed after Eddie through the empty restaurant. Maddie. He needed to talk to Maddie right now. He needed to find an excuse to leave. He could fake a stomachache, then Eddie would—fuck.
He needed to drive Eddie home. Eddie had drunk so much wine.
Fine, he could do that. He just had to drop Eddie off, and then he would drive straight to Maddie’s. There wouldn’t even be traffic. Buck could floor it. And then Maddie would make all of this make sense.
* * *
The parking lot had virtually cleared out as well, and their footsteps were heavy in the silence as they cut through the empty bays, Eddie finding the shortest distance to the car with military precision.
It sounded like Buck was shuffling his feet, and Eddie knew that something had happened. He didn’t know what, but it was bad, and it was definitely to do with him.
As they neared his truck, Eddie realised that he absolutely could not take an entire ride of this. He needed to make an excuse. It was so late, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask Buck to drive him all the way home and then back to Buck’s (the offer of Buck staying over at his, as they had done several times after ending late, was absolutely out of the question). Eddie was totally fine to take a cab, and he’d have to come and pick up his truck in the morning regardless.
That all sounded perfectly reasonable to him, and yet he couldn’t get his mouth to work. All too soon, he had stopped in front of his car, Buck too shuffling to a stop behind him, and then it was suddenly too late.
The beep of the car unlocking echoed through the darkness.
* * *
Buck felt Eddie slip into the car beside him. The interior lights glowed as Buck started the engine, and then they faded, engulfing them both into darkness again.
After a moment of silence that stretched long past the laws of sound, Eddie reached out and turned on the radio.
* * *
Even now, nearly five minutes into a silent drive, Eddie knew why he had gotten into the car.
Because there was some part of him, despite the awkwardness, the silence, the absolute annihilation of everything he thought he knew, that still wanted to be around Buck. Eddie actually thought that no matter how bad this got, not being around Buck would still be worse.
At least Buck was here, solid and real beside him, so Eddie couldn’t twist him to pieces until he’d turned him into some abstract, terrifying thing that Eddie couldn’t even recognise anymore.
He listened to Buck’s soft breathing, counted ten of them, and slowly felt himself begin to calm down. There was no one else that Eddie wanted to be around when he was panicking like this. No one else could make him feel better than Buck could, just by being with him.
Eddie swallowed. Time to be brave.
* * *
Buck felt Eddie pause, could almost sense the shift that came over him, and then Eddie reached out and turned the radio off again.
Buck mentally collapsed, and waited for his best friend to break his heart.
* * *
“Buck, why did you bid on me?”
Buck’s gaze riveted to him for a split second before he cast it back to the empty roads in front of them. “I—I told you, Eddie. To save you from that crazy lady on the phone—who I didn’t realise was my sister, and you, obviously, by proxy—”
“Save me from what?” Eddie interrupted.
Buck made a number of unintelligible noises, but Eddie waited for him to answer.
“Well, you know,” he finally sputtered. ”You never know with these anonymous bidding types! I didn’t even know what she — sorry, or he, or they — looked like. I mean, come on, Eddie, for all I knew, it was a serial killer on the other line!”
Eddie raised his eyebrows. “You really thought that you were saving me from a serial killer? That’s where your brain went?”
“No,” Buck admitted. He sighed deeply before taking another breath. Eddie himself didn’t dare to just in case Buck changed his mind about elaborating.
“It bothered me, alright? That someone was fighting that hard for you. I just kept thinking, why does this random person want to date you so badly?” Buck’s face had scrunched up, almost in disgust. “I didn’t want you going off with someone like that.”
Eddie nearly cracked a smile. “Some people might argue that bidding ten thousand dollars on your best friend is some brand of crazier.”
“Well, yes, but…” Buck shifted. “You know me.”
They pulled to a stop at a red light. It had turned green again before Eddie said softly, “Thank you for looking out for me.”
Buck’s eyes flickered towards him. “What else would I do?”
And then a very specific part of Buck’s admittance seemed to finally hit some region of Eddie’s brain.
* * *
“It bothered you that much?”
Buck moved his hands along the steering wheel. “Well, yeah, Eddie,” he finally mumbled. “It bothered me ten-grand-much.”
Eddie had no reply to that, no protest, and all of a sudden, Buck was sure. Somehow, between the time they had entered the restaurant and left it, Eddie had realised as well. The silences, the staring, the flush that had crept down his neck…
Buck had been stared at too many times not to recognise when someone liked what they saw.
The streets passed by them in a blur. Buck’s brain felt on the brink of exploding—and as though if he moved even a little, something would shatter, and all of this would suddenly go away. And Buck didn’t want that.
They were somewhere different now, in this car. They had crossed into some new kind of territory, and neither of them were shying away from it. They weren’t panicking; they weren’t fighting to get back to what they knew.
Buck had barely seen any of it—not the roads, nor the lights he was stopping at, but by some miracle they had turned into Eddie's street, and now Buck was pulling up his driveway.
He curved neatly into Eddie's usual spot and shifted out of Drive. Eddie didn’t move. Something in Buck paused, waited, and then he reached out and turned off the engine.
As if he’d been waiting for Buck to do exactly that, Eddie let out a breath and opened his car door. Buck heard his feet hit the pavement, and then, so quietly that Buck almost thought he’d imagined it, Eddie asked, “Are you coming?”
Buck’s brain was blaring at him, but he opened his car door and got out anyway. Eddie didn’t seem to notice, didn’t even turn around to check. How many times had Buck walked up this driveway? Never like this.
As he neared his front door, Eddie fished into his pocket for his key, and as he guided it into the lock, Buck saw that his hands were shaking. The lock clicked, and the door silently swung open. Eddie stepped inside, kicking off his shoes, and Buck hovered on the front porch, waiting for Eddie to turn back around.
Had Eddie invited him to walk him to the door? If this was a date, that would be the gentlemanly thing for Buck to do — to walk Eddie to his door and say goodnight — but before Buck could get the word out, Eddie clarified, “Are you coming inside?” and oh, that’s what he had meant all along.
Buck shut the door softly behind him, shucking off his own shoes.
Shadows played along Eddie’s face, slipping beneath his collar and across the planes of his white shirt. The entryway was enveloped in darkness, and they stared at each other, neither knowing what to do next—or rather, knowing exactly what to do next but waiting for the other to do it first, to confirm that this was actually happening—
A door creaked upstairs, and a moment later, Chris called out, “Dad?”
They both froze. Eddie met his eyes in the darkness. Buck kept his mouth shut.
Eddie swallowed. “Yeah, buddy, I’m home.”
There was a pause.
“Okay, goodnight!”
“Night, kiddo,” Eddie replied. His eyes never left Buck's face. “See you in the morning.”
Buck expected him to gently call it off, to ask Buck nicely to leave, that the moment of insanity had passed, but a few moments after Chris’ door clicked shut, Eddie murmured, “He’ll hear two sets of footsteps going up the stairs. We need to wait until he falls asleep.”
Buck was so taken aback that he could barely do anything more than nod, his brain searching desperately through Eddie’s words for a rejection, an explanation, but he felt his mouth opening, heard the words, “I can wait,” leave his own lips.
“Yeah?” Eddie asked, the hope in his voice barely disguised.
Buck smiled. “Yeah.”
Buck saw Eddie’s eyes fall to his upturned lips, and the look within them suddenly changed.
“Actually, I can’t.”
And Buck’s heart clenched right before Eddie pulled him in by his collar and kissed him.
Buck’s entire body seemed to go still, like he’d forgotten how to breathe, to move, to exist at all, and then Eddie opened his mouth against his, and the relief slammed into him so hard that it almost hurt.
His hands found Eddie’s hair straightaway, and he breathed out a sigh as he buried them into Eddie's soft curls, finally able to touch what he’d been staring at all night. Eddie made a noise halfway between surprise and deep, deep satisfaction, which sent something brand new hurtling straight to his gut.
He seized into Eddie’s space again, fingers greedy and searching beneath the obstacle of Eddie’s jacket, finding that space beneath his arm where Eddie’s waist began to narrow, and Buck knew that he didn’t imagine it this time when Eddie’s entire torso shuddered in his grip. Eddie’s skin was searing, and Buck could feel his pulse hammering through his neck, unsteady beneath the heat of Buck’s mouth. If it were anyone else, Buck might have paused, breathed out an, “Are you alright?”, but this was Eddie, and Eddie could take care of himself.
Buck had never had to think about how he and Eddie worked as a pair. From the moment they’d met, they had somehow synced up perfectly, their bodies finding a natural rhythm, and so it was a slight shock when Buck suddenly felt his back collide with something solid. He grunted as he turned to check, Eddie’s mouth drawing across his — which nearly buckled his knees — and he realised that he was being pressed into the back of the couch.
He shifted towards the arm, trying to make space, only to find himself suddenly being urged into the cushions, and then Eddie’s full weight dropped into his lap. There was a smirk on Eddie’s lips, and Buck knew exactly what he was thinking: that being on this exact couch, tearing at each other’s clothes, was turning them both on far more than it should have.
Eddie was pulling at his shirt, untucking it from Buck’s pants, and Buck realised that he had to be the responsible one here. Not on the couch. Not with Chris upstairs.
He tried to ignore the weight on him, the sound of Eddie’s heavy breaths, and pulled back. He didn’t get far, Eddie’s hands still hooked around his neck, but far enough that he could look at him properly, and Buck nearly flatlined.
Eddie looked wrecked, his mouth red and his hair a disaster, and Buck could only thank God that they were in the dark, or else he might not have had the wherewithal to do this.
He took a moment to catch his breath, eyes still trailing over Eddie’s face, and a sudden intrusive thought hit him. Wasn’t Eddie straight? But then he looked at him again, and maybe it wasn’t his place to say it, but straight men didn’t look at other men the way that Eddie was looking at him right now, and that question disappeared.
“Buck.” It was little more than a breath, almost a whine, but Buck shook his head.
Eddie repeated himself, hands tightening around Buck’s neck as he tried to pull him closer, and Buck laughed, reaching out to sweep one of Eddie’s curls back from his damp forehead, and Eddie practically melted in his lap. His hands slowed, thumb rubbing against Eddie’s temple, his hairline.
“You’re staring,” Eddie murmured.
“I’m allowed,” Buck replied, and Eddie leaned forward, resting their foreheads together with a sigh.
“Hey,” Buck whispered. “At least that ten grand went to a good cause.”
Eddie made a quiet noise of agreement. “It’ll make such a difference for the orphans.” He paused before drawing back. “You did mean for the orphans, right?”
Buck rolled his eyes. “Yes, Eddie, of course.” He leaned in and nudged Eddie’s nose with his. “For the orphans.”