Archive of Our Own

Buck should be furious. All their planning, all the hard work and buried emotions and lying to get where they are. Buck should be furious.

He's sitting on a sound stage, lights beating down on him, sweat beading on his forehead, heart pounding in his chest as Eddie's voice echoes in his head over and over and over while the crowd is deathly silent, and god damn it, Buck should be furious.

“Roger,” Ryan Seacrest says, pausing for dramatic effect as his eyes flicker between the duo in front of him, “For twenty five thousand dollars,” another pause that feels like it stretches into eternity, long enough for Buck to tear his gaze away from the couple to the man sitting to his left, to try and catch his eye and ultimately get nowhere. “When did Kristy realize she was in love?”

It was love at first sight.

That’d been Buck’s answer. They’d rehearsed it.

But Eddie—

There wasn’t just one moment. Every day he showed up. Every time he made me or my son laugh when we were convinced we never would again. That first shift we had together when he wanted to hate me, and every time he grinned at me as we got to the station at the same time. It took me by surprise, but it never hit me. He’s going to say it was love at first sight but you don’t get this kind of love just looking at someone. You earn it. You work for it. You choose it.

“On our third date,” Roger answers confidently. “She wore this little yellow dress and I told her it wasn’t all that flattering but that she still looked great. She liked my honesty, and just like that. She knew.”

Jesus.

They’re in the finals with this couple.

This shows vetting process needs some work. Because they’ve got a couple of frauds and a couple who really shouldn’t be together at all fighting for the prize. Not that it’s much of a fight. All their practice went out the window when Eddie went rogue and cost them the final question.

So the real answer is probably when he died. For three minutes and seventeen seconds I had nothing to do but think about the rest of my life without him and what it’d look like. That’s when I accepted this for what it is.

Kristy’s brow furrows and Buck sits up straighter.

Wait.

Do they still have a chance?

It all starts with a letter and a call to a park — an opportunity too expensive and a game of ultimate frisbee that got a bit too ultimate. And Eddie, very casually, very heroically, batting a final, wayward frisbee out of the air just before it crashes into Ryan Seacrest's face, saving him from a second black eye.

“Hey,” Ryan Seacrest says, pointing at Buck and Eddie from the bumper of the ambulance where Hen's bandaging him up. “You two said you’re partners, right?”

Buck tilts his head. “Yeah?”

Eddie bumps his shoulder with his own, grinning, and Buck knows what he’s thinking without a single word said: Chris is going to be so jealous we met Ryan Seacrest.

He has to figure out how to ask for a picture.

Hen huffs a laugh at Ryan Holy-fucking-shit Seacrest’s side, finishing up the bandage on his arm. “They’re basically in the honeymoon phase.”

Buck rolls his eyes, because sue them, they weren’t partners for over a year. It’s nice to be able to have one another’s backs again the way they used to. “Okay—“

“Honeymoon phase?” Ryan Seacrest sits up straighter. “You’re newly weds?”

Buck huffs a laugh, and if it's a little awkward sounding and breathless, it has nothing to do with Maddie's speech last night about how he needs to stop avoiding the feelings he absolutely does not have. “Uh," He says, waving a hand awkwardly, "well—“

“Because we’re doing a reboot of the Newly Weds game,” he barrels past Buck, adding with raised eyebrows, “Twenty five thousand dollar grand prize for the couple that knows each other best.”

Eddie’s standing so close that Buck physically feels it when he tenses. The letter from Chris' school is fresh on both their minds, he knows it is, and he turns to Eddie, wide eyed. Eddie glances back at him out of the corner of his eye, his eyebrow twitching up infinitesimally in a manner that anybody else wouldn't even catch but that Buck reads with lightning precision.

They’re not going to do what he thinks they’re about to do.

He furrows his brows at Eddie, a silent, frantic question—

Right?

Eddie blinks.

Oh.

Buck swallows and takes a small step backwards.

They are.

Eddie shrugs a shoulder, and then, turning on the charm, his smile crackles to life as he twists back to look at Ryan Seacrest like he’s not Ryan Seacrest. “Yeah,” he says. “Well—there was a fiasco with the wedding," He waves his hand as if that explains it away as a mindless inconvenience, "and we had to push it back, but we’ve been together so long it just. Feels like we’re already there.” He glances back at Buck. “Right, Buck?”

He’s so quick on his feet.

Of course they’d try to verify they’re married for the Newly Weds Game. And of course Eddie would have a solution for that before it even crosses Buck’s mind as a problem needing a solution.

Buck nods. “Y—yeah. All that wasted food.” He shakes his head like it’s a real tragedy they experienced. At their fake wedding that never happened. Because they’re not even together or in love.

Hear that, Maddie? Not in love.

Hen looks between them before snorting and turning back to the ambulance. Buck can’t prove it but he’s pretty sure she’s reaching for her phone and they have about ten seconds before all their phones ding with a notification from the group chat.

Ryan Seacrest digs into his pocket with his free hand and pulls a card out, holding it out between them. It feels like a test—who’s going to take it? Is this how the game begins? At the whim of Ryan Seacrest? And his fancy—is that embossed?—business card?

Buck reaches for it, just to see if it feels as nice as it looks, and glances up at Ryan Seacrest’s face—god, they’re really just standing here having a conversation with Ryan Seacrest. He really is just that handsome.

Shit. He still needs to ask for that picture for Chris.

Shining white teeth almost blind him as Ryan Seacrest grins and releases the card into Buck’s hold. “Give my assistant a call. I’ll tell her to expect you. I’d love to have you guys on the show. Real life heroes? Partners on the job and in life? That’s a story that’ll kill in the ratings.”

Eddie reaches out and snatches the card from Buck’s hand, waving it between them. “Oh, we will. Thank you, Mr.—“

“Oh, just call me Ryan. I mean, you saved my life!”

Hen hums thoughtfully beside him as she turns around and Buck’s phone dully dings in his pocket. “Did they?”

They look at the lonely frisbee lying on the ground by the ambulance. Eddie nods. “We sure did,” he says through his teeth in the way that Buck—and Hen—knows means don’t ruin this for us.

For Chris.

Just because Eddie blocked the frisbee on accident doesn’t mean they didn’t still help him. He tripped. Someone called 9-1-1. If anything serendipity landed them in Ryan Seacrest’s perfectly manicured hands.

Wait.

Ryan Seacrest hums thoughtfully. Maybe it’s the lifetime of TV hosting, but he’s got an incredible poker face. Buck hasn’t been able to read a single thing on it. And he’s tried. As it turns out, pretending to be a couple on a game show is stressful.

“I’m sorry, Roger,” Ryan says. “That is incorrect.”

Kristy harrumphs next to Roger, crossing her arms and tossing her game card on the desk.

“What?” Roger asks, as if any woman in their right mind would ever consider the moment a man called her style of dress unflattering as the moment she knew she was in love.

“Kristy, why don’t you tell him the correct answer?”

Kristy glares at Roger. “He volunteered to help with my daughters school play. Helped her practice her lines until she was confident enough to perform.”

Roger looks down guiltily.

Ryan Seacrest clicks his tongue. “Better luck next time, Roger.” He turns to Buck and Eddie then, that Hollywood smile flashing brightly at them as he says, “But, that means you have a chance to break the tie, gentlemen, as we head into sudden til death do us part.”

Buck looks at Eddie again—not that it matters, Eddie still won’t look at him. Exhaling shakily, he turns back to Ryan Seacrest with his brightest grin, hoping the cameras can’t detect the way it wobbles, and says, “Bring it on.”

“There’s just one issue,” Ravi says, pointing his fork at them. Buck watches the sauce fling off the end and land on the table, frowning. What a waste of perfectly good sauce. “You two aren’t married.”

Harry snorts. “That’s the one issue?”

“Eddie already thought of that,” Buck says, rounding the island with the tray of cookies that’s been waiting for them since the tones went off.

Hen takes a cookie off the tray as he passes her. “Yeah,” she says, waving it as she turns to Ravi. “Their wedding got unexpectedly cancelled, but they’re working on rescheduling.”

“Ryan Seacrest’s assistant checked,” Eddie says, grinning at Buck as Buck sets the tray of cookies on the table in front of him. “And she said that they can absolutely make an exception considering.”

Harry snorts, “Considering?” He shakes his head. "Considering what?"

“Eddie saved Ryan Seacrests life,” Buck says, plopping into the seat next to Eddie.

Harry frowns. “When did—wait. The frisbee? That doesn’t count!”

“Maybe to you.” Eddie picks up a cookie. “Ryan Seacrest thinks otherwise.”

Chimney leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Am I the only one weirded out by them calling him his full name every time they say it?”

Buck frowns. Blinks. “How else are we supposed to refer to Ryan Seacrest?”

Before we can reply, Ravi leans back in. “I’m still confused. How the hell do you think you’re going to convince Ryan Seacrest and all of America that you’re Newly Weds?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly. “You’re not even dating.”

Hen looks at Eddie. “And," She says, teeth clicking like they've all forgotten something important, "you do realize doing this, you’d be telling the entire world that you’re—”

Harry points at her, “Exactly!” He says, before she’s even finished. “You’re not even gay!”

Oh.

That could, actually, be important, after all.

“Not what I was going to say, but also a valid point.” She turns to Eddie expectantly. Buck follows her gaze back to him. Tries not to look too expectant of whatever his response is going to be. His eyes are narrowed at Hen, lips pursed, which gives Buck nothing to work with. “You’d be telling the entire world you’re not straight.”

And well, even with all the talking they've done since getting back to the station—Buck hadn’t considered that.

Eddie’s straight.

Eddie’s brow furrows and he clears his throat, index finger tapping the side of his cookie. “I mean,” He says eventually, leaning back in his chair. Without even meaning to, Buck leans in towards him. “Why would I care what the rest of the world thinks? You guys know me. That’s all that matters.”

Good answer. That makes sense. Why wouldn't it?

That's the answer Buck would expect. He wasn't hoping for something different. No matter what Maddie's opinion on the matter might be.

“What if they expect you guys to kiss?”

Oh.

Buck hadn’t considered that either.

Kissing Eddie.

Kissing Eddie.

Eddie shrugs and without so much as a quiver of hesitation, says, “I could kiss worse people than Buck.”

Oh. Ha. Okay.

Buck blinks, swallowing down a sudden lump at the back of his throat and looks away, forcing a bright grin as Ravi’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead. Don't look at Eddie's lips. Don't look at Eddie's lips. “Straight actors do it all the time,” He says, and if his voice trembles, it’s just because it’s been a long day, and not because his mind’s drifting towards what kissing Eddie might feel like. “Why wouldn’t Eddie be able to?”

His lips would be soft, though, wouldn't they? Eddie's always well hydrated. They'd be soft. Warm.

“Eddie’s not an actor,” Harry says. “He can’t even lie well.”

He's the type to kiss like breathing. Bucks never really seen him kissing anyone in action beyond the odd peck here or there with one of his exes but—he just. Knows. Eddie does and feels everything so completely. So—passionately. He'd consume Buck. Take his air and give him his in return. Make him forget how to breathe on his own entirely.

Eddie frowns. “Why’re you saying that like it’s a fault?”

Ruin him for all other—

“Eddie lies great,” Buck interjects suddenly if only to get the picture out of his head. Harry makes a face like he vehemently disagrees and Buck frowns, reaching out and sliding the tray of cookies away from him and closer to Eddie.

Harry’s eyes follow the tray before he looks up at Buck with a glare. “You’re just saying that because you think everything Eddie does is great.” He stands up to reach for one of the cookies on the tray, holding eye contact like it’s a challenge.

Buck narrows his eyes and slides the tray out of his reach. “That’s because it is.”

Eddie grins.

Ravi groans. “This is a terrible idea. I need you to understand that. Do you understand that?”

Buck looks at Eddie. Eddie looks at Buck.

“We’ve had worse ideas,” Eddie says, biting into his cookie.

Buck nods. “It’s probably our best idea yet. And not just because it’ll help Chris.”

He smiles at Eddie, and Eddie's nose wrinkles over his cookie, and Buck doesn't think about what it'd feel like pressed up against his jaw while he kisses his way down Buck's throat. Nope. He grabs a cookie and stuffs his mouth with it and doesn't think about that at all.

“Buck,” Ryan Seacrest says, still smiling, still hiding whatever he’s thinking behind that perfectly curated poker face. He might ask for poker face advice after the taping. So he can pretend that Eddie hasn’t rocked his entire world off balance with a rogue answer that he still can’t figure out the meaning behind.

Love confession? Or trying to win over the crowd?

But if he was trying to win over the crowd why would he do it in the final round? When the money is so close?

“Ryan Seacrest,” Buck says, picking up his whiteboard and marker and posing like he’s ready for whatever question he’s about to get.

But he’s not.

Whatever comes next, he doesn’t know if Eddie’s going to follow the plan.

The plan being the week of binging old seasons and parsing together the most common questions to ensure they had the game in the bag. For Christopher. For Christopher who received an offer to an incredible school, who deserves this opportunity because he’s worked for it.

It’d been a crazy idea from the jump.

But there’s not a lot he won’t do for the kid.

“What is,” There’s a long pause for dramatic tension, and then Ryan Seacrest finally asks, “your deepest, most intimate fear?”

Easy.

Losing Eddie and Chris.

He can’t say that, though.

He glances at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Eddie did go rogue in his last round, though. Buck doesn’t know why or what it meant but maybe he could—

No.

There’s too much on the line.

Christopher’s future is on the line.

He turns back to the whiteboard and writes what they rehearsed.

Not being enough.

It’s fact. It’s real. It’s a rehearsed answer that Eddie will know. It’s a truth he doesn’t admit often but Maddie and Eddie both pointed out that being honest is key to winning this game as frauds. Stick as close to the truth as possible if not the entire truth.

And this is Buck’s truth.

He clicks the cap back onto the marker and looks at Ryan Seacrest expectantly.

"You what?"

Buck sighs. "Mads—"

"No," She says, waving both her hands in front of her face as she shoves up from the couch. "I need wine if you expect me to have this conversation with you." She turns her back on him and Buck stares after her slack jawed.

"Come on," He calls after her. "It's not that crazy!"

"Neither is your being in love with Eddie," She calls back without turning around, the words muffled mildly by the wall as she turns the corner.

"I'm not in love with Eddie!"

She pokes her head around the corner just to raise her eyebrows at him in a distinctly clear you can fool yourself, but you can't fool me manner and Buck huffs, shoving up from the couch and following after her as she disappears into the kitchen.

"It's for Chris," He says as he rounds the bend. "He got into this really cool program, but it's not cheap, and The New Weds Game has a twenty five thousand dollar grand prize. How could I say no?"

She hums noncommittally as she pulls a wine bottle out and yanks the cork, all the while watching him with those raised eyebrows.

"Stop—stop looking at me like that."

"I'll stop looking at you like this when you stop lying to yourself."

He frowns at her wine glass as she fills it halfway. "I'm not lying to myself."

Eddie's his best friend.

His straight best friend.

Not only is he not in love with him, he can't be.

"Mhm," She hums, setting the wine bottle down and picking up her glass. She crosses one arm over her waist and presses her hip into the counter, motioning to him with the wine glass. "Alright, then, go ahead. Tell me how you're going to go on live television and convince the entire world you're in love with Eddie in the same breath that you tell yourself you're not."

She brings the wine glass to her lips and watches him expectantly.

He blinks.

Mutters, "I'm not in love with him."

She sighs, pushing away from the counter and sliding the wine bottle across the island towards him. He frowns down at it, and then sighs, too, and grabs the wine glass she slides over to him after it and pours himself a glass.

He's not in love with Eddie.

It's starting to feel less like a fact, though, and more like a defense, and he's not entirely sure what the hell that's supposed to mean.

Ryan Seacrest turns to Eddie, and Buck follows his gaze, gives himself permission to really look at Eddie now that the attentions on him. Eddie’s chin tips down towards their desk, and Buck watches the bob of his Adam’s apple, like he’s nervous and stealing himself. That one hair that always manages to slip free from the gel tips over his brow line and grazes the tip of his nose.

“Ready, Eddie?” Eddie nods once. “Alright. For twenty five thousand dollars, what is Buck’s deepest, most intimate fear?”

Eddie swallows, tipping his head up like he’s looking to god for an answer, and then finally—for the first time since nearly blowing their chance at winning this—looks at Buck. Buck blinks, and Eddie’s gaze meets his with clear precision, as he says softly, carefully, like there’s more behind what he’s saying than what they’re hearing, “Not being enough.”

Buck swallows around a lump in his throat and numbly flips the board around for Ryan Seacrest and the audience without breaking eye contact with Eddie. Eddie doesn’t waver. Doesn’t look away.

Doesn’t so much as blink.

Hen shakes her head as soon as she opens the door to the sight of them. She points at the bottle of wine clutched in Eddie's arms and the takeout in Buck's and shakes her head again. "No," she says. "Absolutely not."

Buck knew this was a bad idea.

But he can't say no to Eddie. Not that he would want to. Spending time with him is one of Buck's favorite past times. And Hen's one of his favorite people, and Karen's probably here, too, and that's even better.

When he ignores why they're here at least.

"We can't have dinner?" Eddie asks oh-so-innocently. If Buck didn't know better, he'd buy it. Those eyes, that pout.

Who could ever doubt him?

Well, other than Hen, at least.

"Dinner, yes," She says, crossing her arms. "But whatever you're planning on buttering me up for with that bottle of please help us wine, no. Absolutely not."

Eddie shakes his head, stepping to the side and looking over her shoulder, waving into the house with his free hand. "Hey, Karen!"

"Eddie!" Karen's pleased voice calls from within the house. Hen's shoulder's slump, and she narrows her eyes at them as she turns towards her wife before she can reach them.

"It's a bribe," She says, "It's not worth it. Stay strong."

Karen appears next to her, raising her eyebrows like she's amused, a hand gently coming up to squeeze Hen's arm in what Buck's come to learn over the years as universal spouse-speak for it's alright. Hen practically melts beneath the touch, gaze going soft and her own hand coming up to squeeze the back of Karen's hand like she's all but forgotten what she was trying to warn her against.

He wants that.

The kind of love that makes the rest of the world melt away.

The kind where language becomes secondary to touch, because a single look or graze of a hand says everything either of them need to know from one moment to the next.

Karen smiles, turning to Eddie with a raise of her eyebrows. "That looks pricey," She says, motioning to the bottle of wine with her free hand.

Eddie nods. "That's because it is."

"And why, exactly, are you coming to our door with hope in your eyes and a bottle of wine in your hands?"

Buck leans in, offers up his most charming grin. "We need your help."

Hen sighs. "No kidding."

Karen nudges her. "Be nice."

"Impossible."

"You don't even know why they're here."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I do."

Eddie shakes his head. "Hear us out." He lifts the wine bottle. "Maybe over a glass of expensive wine and," Buck holds up the takeout on cue, "dinner from that chinese place on sixth that you keep raving about?"

Karen tilts her head. "How expensive are we talking?"

"Triple digits," Buck says.

Eddie nods seriously. "We had to get an employee to get it for us and everything."

Karen looks at Hen.

Hen looks at Karen.

And then Hen sighs.

Karen grins, turning back to them. "Come on in, gentlemen."

Hen sighs. "There better be dumplings."

Buck holds up the bag as they pass her, "So many dumplings."

Eddie shoots Buck a blinding smile, and if Buck's heart feels a bit like it skips a beat at the sight of it, it's only because of the pride of a job well done.

Buck opens his mouth, but Eddie beats him to speaking, adding, “but he doesn’t have to worry about that,” he says, gently. “Not a lot I can promise, but I can promise that.” Not like he’s explaining to the show, but rather saying it directly to Buck. Like this is a conversation. The corner of his mouth ticks upwards and he breaks their stare, turning to Ryan Seacrest with a click of his jaw. “For me, for Chris. He’s not just enough. He’s exactly what we needed, even before we knew it.”

Ryan Seacrest looks between them before grinning brightly. “Well,” He says, turning away with a flashy wave of his hand and a certain flare that only Ryan Seacrest could have, “It looks like we have our winners!”

Buck can still feel the weight of Eddie’s stare on the side of his face. Like he’s waiting for Buck to look at him. But he can’t.

Not after he just reached into Buck's soul and plucked free the most damning evidence that what they are to each other has never just been best friends.

"So let me get this straight," Karen says, leaning in towards them, her glass tipping forward treacherously. Buck leans in on impulse to try and catch it, but she rights herself before he gets too far.

"Or not straight," Hen snorts, taking a long sip of her wine with raised, smug eyebrows.

Karen giggles, leaning into her. "So true. To get this not straight. You two convinced Ryan Seacrest of American Idol fame—"

"I think his thing these days is Wheel of Fortune," Buck says.

Eddie shakes his head, swallowing his wine. "No, no," he rasps, voice gone all smokey the way it does when he drinks wine. It has nothing to do with the sudden swoop of Buck's stomach. "He hosts Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve!"

Hen and Karen go still for a beat before falling into each other giggling tipsily.

Buck leans into Eddie's side, chuckling heavy and slow because who knows that? Eddie leans into him, too, warm and firm in every place they're pressed together. Buck's eyes flicker shut, and he almost lulls into a comfortable sleep, cozy and warm, until a hand wraps around his back and settles at the nape of his neck.

"The grand prize is twenty five thousand dollars," Eddie says, words rumbling through Buck's ribcage as fingers toy with a stray curl at his nape. A shiver eeks down Buck's spine and he opens his eyes, blinking in Eddie's profile before slowly looking over at Karen and Hen—they're still smiling, eyes twinkling with the boozy gleam, but Hen's brows are furrowed looking between them.

"Chris got into this really cool program," Buck says, swallowing and forcing himself to sit up. Eddie's hand slips down over the top of his spine, stills, and then slides down to his waist before slowly disappearing and reappearing in his own lap. Buck stares down at it, mourning its warmth. The feel of the callouses on his skin; the scratch as they trailed over his nape. The heat.

Eddie shifts next to him and Buck tears his gaze away to look up—

"It's not cheap, though. So. This kind of felt like—"

"A sign!" Buck finishes for him, grinning even as Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Signs don't exist."

"What would you call it then?"

"Divine intervention?" Karen offers.

Buck turns to her in time to see Hen elbow her, a silent conversation shared between two disagreeing looks.

"I was going to say a good opportunity to make sure my kid gets what he needs," Eddie says, sipping his wine. His gaze goes distant over the top of his wine glass too fast for anyone who's not attuned to his every mood shift. And then he swallows the wine and whatever he's thinking and shoots Buck a quick smile.

Karen leans forward and sets her wine on the table. "You think you two can win against real couples?" She asks, tilting her head as her elbows find her knees and her hands wind together in her lap.

"Sure," Eddie shrugs. "Buck and I have a decade of friendship under our belts."

Karen nods. "Right, but the difference is in the fact that the couples you'll be up against have actually dipped under their belts."

Buck sits up straighter. "Sex isn't the only form of intimacy."

There's late nights staying up talking about nothing. Admitting to their deepest fears and darkest insecurities. Leaning on one another when it feels like the entire world has gone all wobbly beneath their feet. They've extracted a live bomb from a guys leg and lived to laugh about it after the fact. Eddie held Buck’s hand to distract him from the fact his leg had been crushed by a fire engine. Buck has tasted Eddie’s blood. He’s in his will.

Sex has nothing on what they've done together.

Buck takes a swig of his wine.

"So you're saying you and Eddie have been intimate?"

And promptly chokes on it.

"No!" He exclaims around the wine gurgling in his wind pipe. Eddie reaches out and pats him on the back.

His hand, and Buck knows this already, is so large it nearly stretches all the way across his rib cage.

He needs sex to clear out of his mind immediately. He can't have Eddie's hands on him while he thinks about sex. Because Eddie's hands are so big, and Buck knows they'd—

Hen clicks her tongue and leans back. Buck tears his gaze away from Eddie and stares at her wide eyed as she brings the wine glass to her lips and looks at them over the rim. "If you two expect to convince Ryan Seacrest, a panel of judges, and all of America that you're in a relationship, you'll need to figure out how to stop turning so red at the idea of it."

"That's why we're here," Buck says, ignoring Eddie turning towards him. He's red. It's not because he wants to get intimate with Eddie. It's because this—is awkward. Yeah. It's awkward to think about getting in Eddie's pants. Awkward to think about Eddie's hands finding places beyond Buck's back. Of lips trailing after those hands.

He shifts on the couch, clearing his throat.

"We figured you two could help coach us."

"Coach you."

Eddie nods, bumping his shoulder against Buck's. Buck drags his gaze around, meeting the sure grin on Eddie's face, before turning back to Hen and Karen, watching them as they watch Buck and Eddie. "Be the Yoda to our Luke."

Buck frowns, turning back to him. "You could have so easily made an American Idol reference and you went with Star Wars?"

"How the hell could I have made that into an American Idol reference?"

"There's judges and training and—"

"Well," Karen says, picking up her wine glass and leaning back. Buck turns to her, blinking. "You certainly bicker like a married couple."

Hen snorts. "Ain't that the truth."

They clink their glasses with a smile that says there's more to be said but it's already all whispered in the clink of their glasses, an octave too high for Buck to even try to figure out.

Eddie leans forward. "Does that mean you'll help us convince the world that Buck and I are in love with each other?"

Buck freezes.

The world disappears for a second—maybe it's that he blinks too long, system slow from the wine, or maybe—maybe his entire nervous system shuts off and restarts at the words Buck and I are in love with each other coming out of Eddie's mouth—and Buck realizes with startling clarity that he's a fucking idiot.

Hen looks them over and Buck lets himself fall backwards into the couch cushions as he finally starts to understand exactly what he's gotten himself into.

Maybe she'll say no.

They'll say no, then they'll all say aw, shucks, we'll have to figure something else out, and the looming realization that feels a bit like the executioner's sword about to come down on Buck's neck will forget to fall and he can go back into that pleasant bubble of denial where he's absolutely, one hundred percent sure he's not—

"Sure."

—in love with Eddie.

Eddie turns to him with a grin, one large hand coming out and squeezing Buck's knee excitedly.

Buck's eyes get drawn in like a moth to a flame. Focused on the way that hand overtakes his entire knee, how warm and heavy Eddie's touch is. How if he shifts, Eddie's hand would likely ride up Buck's thigh and woudn't that be something?

Like the moth drawn in by the flame, Buck knows he's about to get burned, but he can't stop himself from letting his gaze trail up Eddie's arm, tracing the veins all the way up until they disappear beneath his sleeves, where they dig into the firm muscle. Can't stop following that path up, over that one opened button where Eddie's collarbones peak out just enough, along the cut of his jaw, the plump of his lips, the red apples of his cheeks, all the way up to his eyes.

Eyes that are already focused and waiting for him.

Something in Buck's chest flutters—he's half convinced he's having a heart attack, and he has to force himself to tear his gaze away—to look at Hen and Karen so he doesn't have to live in that feeling, because if he lets himself live in that he's never going to survive this whole thing.

"Where do we start?" He asks, hoarse.

Hen narrows her eyes at him.

Karen smiles. "Where any good investigation does," She pulls out her phone and starts typing into it.

Eddie squeezes Buck's knee. "Which is?"

"With research!" She turns her phone around and holds it out to them. "Which one of you feels like spending twenty five ninety nine to get the complete Newly Weds Game boxset?"

“Let’s hear it for our Newly Weds, the Buckley-Diaz’s!”

His breath catches at the back of his throat. They’ve called them that all day. Since the moment they signed their contract, even. But there’s something about feeling Eddie’s stare, hearing that name, and a live audience of a hundred or so strangers cheering for them that really makes it settle in his bones.

Ryan Seacrest turns back to them, his grin brighter than the lights shining down on them. “What are you going to do with your winnings, gentlemen?”

Eddie must answer—Buck can’t be sure, because everything starts going wobbly around him. Ryan Seacrest sounds warbled and far away, maybe like Buck’s underwater and Ryan Seacrest is above ground. The world around them slowly slips away, narrowing in on the point of the desk where he’s turned his gaze towards the whiteboard. His answer’s still there. Written in red dry erase marker, like he’s written the truth in blood.

Distantly he hears the cheers fade.

The garbled sound of Ryan Seacrest and Eddie talking beside him.

He forces himself to lift his gaze, the tunnel zeroing in on where the two of them are talking. Eddie’s watching him. He’s talking to Ryan Seacrest, but his eyes are on Buck, that worried pinch between his brow the only real indication anything’s wrong. Ryan Seacrest turns to Buck, too, mouth moving like he’s asking a question.

Buck blinks.

Ryan Seacrest raises an eyebrow and leans in.

Buck forces himself to take in a breath—sound comes rushing in with it, the crew putting things away with noisy clanking of camera equipment; the audience filing out of the studio, quietly mumbling to one another about the show as the production assistants guide them out with shouted directions.

“ —still?”

Buck blinks. Swallows. Flinching apologetically, he says, “Sorry—I. Got lost in my thoughts. What?”

Ryan Seacrest smiles like he understands. “I asked if you wanted to get that selfie for your son, still?”

Buck’s mouth parts and his gaze snaps to Eddie, wide eyed.

Chris isn’t my son is on the tip of his tongue until Eddie rises from his seat, and nods, a small smile curling the corner of his lips—an accessory to the crease between his brows that doesn’t quite fit right.

“Yeah,” He says, like Ryan Seacrest hasn’t misinterpreted everything, even though he already knows, because they talked about it in round two. “Chris would love that.”

“Then come on around!”

Buck nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand settles on his lower back and a voice whispers in his ear, "Guess what I just got!" while he's scrambling eggs for the team.

He wills his heart to relax, ignores the chill zipping down his spine, and looks over his shoulder at Eddie as the hand slips off his waist and Eddie backs up to lean against the island with a self satisfied grin. "A new high score in candy crush?" Buck asks, turning back to the eggs.

"No—" Eddie rushes back in, pressing his hip into the counter beside the stove, crossing his arms over his chest as he mouth twists with a full pout. "You promised you wouldn't tell anyone about that," he whispers urgently, voice low and panicked.

Buck, despite himself, grins down at the eggs and says, "It's not like anyone's listening." They're all half dead to the world after a midnight fire and three medical calls before four am. They're waiting on breakfast and currently chugging coffee like it's the only thing tiding them over to shift change. The last thing on their minds is Eddie's weirdly endearing secret mobile game addiction.

Eddie looks at their friends, and then scoots in, whispering conspiratorially. "That's what they want you to think."

Buck chuckles, reaching out to turn the stove off. He sets the wooden spatula on the counter and turns to him. "What'd you get?"

The little suspicion fueled furrow between Eddie's brows eases away and a grin that fills his whole face takes its place as he digs into his pocket and pulls his phone out. Buck has to turn away for a beat—it's a bit like looking into the sun when Eddie's happy. Beautiful but blinding. Eddie taps away on the phone and then turns the screen to Buck, and once Buck twists to glance at it, puts it far too close to his face for him to actually read what he's looking at. He backs away, squinting to try and clear up the image—

"It's the contract for the Newly Weds Game!" Eddie says, yanking the phone away before Buck can actually confirm that's what he's looking at.

If Buck's stomach drops it has everything to do with the fact they'll be on tv and nothing to do with silly little realizations that have no actual bearing on reality.

"Oh," he says, turning away and picking up the wooden spatula if for no reason other than to give his hands something to do. He grabs the handle of the pan with his free hand and scoots the eggs around the pan. Okay.

So this this is happening.

They're really doing this.

Going on The Newly Weds game. He knew they were. He'd been sitting there when Eddie called Ryan's assistant, and they've spent the last few nights watching old episodes from the eighties, even though they were assured by Susan, the sourly assistant who didn't quite understand what Ryan Seacrest saw in them—which, what does she even know? She's not Ryan Seacrest—that there would be twists and it wouldn't be a complete rehash of its predecessor. Whatever the hell that means.

All that to say.

Buck knew this was real. Has known for weeks now that this is happening. But talking about it and thinking about it and dreaming about kissing Eddie underneath the stage lights and Eddie pulling away to tell him that he doesn't want this to end with the show, and he doesn't want it to be fake—it's fantasy.

The contract sitting in Eddie's inbox is reality.

And reality is seldom as good to Buck as fantasy.

Especially when he adds in, with a pointed reminder to himself as Eddie chatters on next to him about plans and strategy and how happy Chris will be when they tell him that he's going to be able to do the program he's all but accepted he can't—that Eddie is straight and when all is said and done, he's going to turn around and tell his family and their distant friends who don't know as much:

It was a game.

It was to help Chris.

We'd do anything for Chris.

Eddie will laugh. Yeah. Even kiss a guy.

Even kiss Buck.

And Buck will follow him every step of the way.

Even if it means silly little revelations get their feelings hurt in the process. Because at the end of the day Eddie and Chris' happiness are Buck's happiness. Even when, maybe, it might take a second for him to catch up.

Numbly, Buck rises to his feet, watching Eddie as he steps out from his side of the booth and pauses, eyeing Buck expectantly, like he’s waiting for him. Buck blinks at him, and Eddie huffs a breath through his nose and holds his hand out between them. He looks between Eddie’s hand and Eddie’s face, and then, tentatively, places his hand in Eddie’s and allows him to lead him around the front of the booth and position them on either side of Ryan Seacrest, their hands still clasped where they’re settled on Ryan Seacrest’s shoulder between them.

A production assistant materializes out of nowhere, and Buck manages a smile, even with his focus entirely on that point where he can feel Eddie’s pulse against the palm of his hand where their hands are pressed so tight the pressure gives him no choice but to feel it.

Before Buck can so much as pretend to be in the moment, the assistant looks down at the camera, nods, and spins away, speed walking towards destinations unknown. Leaving Buck alone with Eddie and Ryan Seacrest and a whirling tornado of emotion under his skin ready to wreak havoc if he just lets it go.

Ryan Seacrest pulls away, grinning at them. “Thanks, guys. This episode is going to kill in the ratings, I can already see it.”

“To think it’s all because of a frisbee,” Eddie laughs, his hand squeezing Buck’s, like he knows Buck’s thinking about letting go and silently telling him he’s not allowed to.

Ryan Seacrest laughs, and it’s rich, like, monetarily, not like Chimney’s or Hen’s or Eddie’s is lived in and earned through experience, filled with everything they’ve been through. He forces the laugh. Eddie’s laughter usually gets pulled out of him, like it’s a shock altogether that he can laugh.

“I’ll make sure to ask for the 118 the next time I call 9-1-1, too,” Ryan Seacrest says, before someone calls for him and he gives them one more Hollywood smile, a small wave, and then walks off, and presumably, out of their lives forever.

Buck watches him go.

Eddie’s watching him watch Ryan Seacrest. Patient.

And then, “We should go get our things from the green room.” His voice so soft, careful, almost guarded. If Buck were the dreaming type, he'd say it has a hopeful uptick.

But he's far too confused to dream right now.

Buck sits at Hen and Karen's dining room table, Eddie crowded into the seat next to him, while Hen and Karen sit opposite them, big grins on their faces, as Chim paces the length of the dining room, reviewing his cards like this is the most important job he's ever had.

Abruptly, he spins and points at Buck. "Name Eddie's favorite sweet treat!"

Buck blinks. "He doesn't have a favorite. If it has sugar he'll eat it."

Eddie nudges Buck's knee with his own. "True."

Chim gives them an entirely unimpressed look. "Is that what you would have written on the card?"

"Uh," Eddie shrugs. "Probably?"

Buck rolls his lips inwards to keep from smiling.

Chim frowns, turning to Hen and Karen. "For all the marbles, Wilsons'. What is Karen's favorite sweet treat?"

"Strawberry short cake," Hen answers easily, smile going soft at the corners as Karen cheers like they've won the whole damn game and leans in to press a kiss to her cheek.

Buck watches the whole thing, something sad and cold worming it's way around his heart. He resolutely does not look at Eddie or wonder if he could convince Eddie to kiss him on the cheek like that when they get an answer right.

"That's my wife," Karen says proudly, falling back into her own chair.

How the hell are they supposed to win the actual game show when they can't even win against their own friends?

They've lost six rounds in a row.

Buck slumps forward. "I don't see how this is helping." Losing to Karen and Hen is not going to get them any closer to winning against strangers on a sound stage in front of all of America.

Chim sighs and flops into the chair at the end of the table. "Now you say that?" He asks. "Two hours into this? I could've been at home having a tea party with Jee instead of playing Ryan Seacrest's more handsome counterpart with you two."

Eddie leans past Buck and raises an eyebrow. "More handsome?"

"Than Ryan Seacrest?" Buck finishes, quirking the opposite brow like a perfect mirror of Eddie's doubt on the matter.

Eddie's knee bumps his again. A quiet you always got my back that ricochets down Buck's leg and places further than he refuses to acknowledge. Just because he knows what that feeling is now doesn't mean he needs to give it any of his attention or let it fester and ruin his friendship.

He nudges Eddie's knee back, ducking his chin and looking away when it holds sure and all the movement does is press them firmly to each other. He catches the start of a smile cutting the corner of Eddie's mouth as he looks away, and shakes away the very tempting what if that threatens to jump on it like an overly excitable puppy experiencing kindness for the first time.

"You know," Chim says, leaning into the table and pointing at them lazily. "I could fire you two."

Eddie doesn't miss a beat: "Sure," he says, "if you wanna go through the floater slush pile."

Chim makes a face—wrinkled and sour—and opens his mouth like he's going to dare Eddie to try him, but Karen stands up with an appeasing, "Okay," and drags all their attention back to her. "You two have less than a month to get in fighting form."

Eddie's knee pushes back against Buck's, like he's waging a war of dominance. Buck pushes back, their knees unmoving and hot and firm against each other.

Eddie's in great fighting form.

It's an unbidden thought, but Buck feels his cheeks flush all the same, and he yanks his knee away from Eddie's and pushes his chair back with more force than necessary.

Everyone at the table turns to him and he clears his throat. "Uh—ba—bathroom." He nods and darts around the table rushing down the hall to hide his shame, and his blush, from eyes that will absolutely pry.

"Honestly," Chim says behind him. "It's like you don't want to win."

Hen murmurs something just as Buck reaches the bathroom door that he can't quite hear.

He does, however hear Chim's response a beat later just as he turns the lock on the door:

"You can't tell me that!"

Buck presses his back to the door, closes his eyes, and prays to all the gods that have ever existed that he didn't just give himself away and they're not sitting out there guessing at why he ran away.

Buck turns to him. “What just happened?”

“We won twenty five grand,” Eddie says easily, turning in the direction of the green rooms, tugging Buck along behind him.

Buck follows easily, he always does—that’s how they got in this mess—but stares at the back of Eddie’s head as they go. “That’s not what I meant,” He says just as they reach the end of the sound stage.

Eddie nods. “I know.”

“Then—”

He pauses and turns to him as they step into the hallway. Gently backs Buck up against the wall and looks up at him from beneath his lashes. “Buck?”

Buck exhales so slow he’s not even sure he actually manages to expel any of the air burning in his lungs. “Y—Yeah?”

Eddie flops down on the couch while Buck heads to the kitchen to grab them a post shift beer. "Hey," He calls, voice muffled as Buck pulls the beers from the fridge, "I was thinking."

Buck closes the door with a groan, and calls out chidingly, "Uh oh." Tossing the caps in the trash, he makes his way to the living room, already giving his patented ready to give you shit any time now grin.

Eddie hangs his head over the back of the couch. "Why uh oh?"

"There's only one Diaz I trust to think in this house," he shakes his head. "And you are not that Diaz."

Giving him a small mocking head shake, Eddie sits up and takes the beer as Buck rounds the couch and unceremoniously takes the seat next to him. Purposefully, he ignores Eddie's expectant stare and brings the bottle to his lips to take a sip.

And because the universe fucking hates Buck, Eddie takes that exact moment to say, "We should practice." Which wouldn't altogether be that alarming, if he didn't immediately follow it up with, "Kissing, I mean."

He has enough wherewithall to turn away from him, at least, so when he spews the beer out all across his living room, it doesn't end up streaming down Eddie's face or the white shirt he changed into after shift. No, it just gets everywhere else. The tv, the table, the coasters Maddie got him. The little clay vase Jee made for him in art class that’s sitting at the center of the coffee table.

All of it.

Drenched in beer.

And Buck's regrets.

All of Buck's regrets could probably be summed up the scene before him, actually. Laid out like some sick modern art display titled, Man In Despair.

"Uh," Eddie says.

Buck stares at the mess. "It—" He cuts himself off, swallowing the aftertaste of yeast and hops to stall for time. He can't just say you said practice kissing and I lost complete control of my faculties. Because that would give way to the question what would actually happen during the practice kissing? And he can't answer that question, because he's not convinced the answer would change. "I—I think it went bad."

In his periphery, Eddie looks down at his own beer, tilting it to the side, and then bringing it to his nose and sniffing it, Buck could close his eyes and he'd still see the curious eyebrow furrow he makes down at it.

It's not that Eddie's predictable, it's that he's predictably animated and Buck's got an entire Eddie Encyclopedia in his mind dedicated to the little looks Eddie makes.

Which is why it's so particularly devastating to suddenly be face to face with the realization that he doesn't know the expression Eddie makes in the immediate aftermath of a kiss. Several kisses. Short kisses. Long kisses. There's an entire area of study in which Buck's encyclopedia has no reference. And what the hell is he supposed to do with that? Because learning the answers, filling that blank space—that's information he wants but will never be able to give back once he has it.

Eddie leans forward and carefully sets his beer bottle on the coffee table veering to the left and leaning far out of convenience to avoid the splash zone.

Buck's gaze zeroes in on the flex of his arm as he sets the bottle down; the stretch of the muscles in his back as he shifts to move back in. Eddie turns to look at him and Buck tears his gaze away to meet his, smiling nervously, hoping the panic hasn't reached his eyes.

"We probably shouldn't drink anyways."

Buck nods. "Right." Frowns. "Why not?"

"if we're going to practice kissing—"

Buck stands up abruptly, like his legs have a mind of their own, like even his body knows the situation is full blown danger danger danger mode and needs to get as much space between him and Eddie as possible. His fingers twitch at his side as he forces a laugh, "We're grown men," he says. "With tons of experience, we—we don't need to—" The words stall in his throat.

Eddie nods. "Right, but we've never kissed each other."

"Yeah! Because you're straight."

Eddie tilts his head.

Shit.

There should be more reasons, shouldn't there?

"And—and we're best friends!"

Fuck. That was close.

Eddie points. "Exactly!" And stands up, too, taking a step towards Buck like he doesn't know the mayhem happening in Buck's head—which. Is good, right? "If we expect to win this, our first kiss can't be on the show."

Well. That doesn't help. First kiss implies proceeding kisses. As in plural. Future. More. Like he expects to kiss Buck and for them to both be around for another to come around.

Except Buck's not convinced he'll survive the one.

"You—" Buck laughs, and prays the mania underlining it is only audible to his own ears. "You don't know they're going to expect us to kiss."

"We don't know anything about the reboot," Eddie says, shrugging. "You heard them when we turned in the contract. It's going to be different. Fresh for a new audience with exciting twists on the games. They could expect us to kiss. And we can't be caught by surprise or look like we don't know what we're doing."

Oh, god.

That's sound logic. How does he fight sound logic?

They’ve only just started beating Hen and Karen during their rehearsal games every other shift. They can’t let all that work go to waste by not being prepared for anything else that might come up.

"That's a good point," he says, because as it turns out—he can't.

"I know. The last thing we want is to get eliminated because we kiss like we've never kissed before."

Buck's going to die if he doesn't stop saying kiss.

But he also can't be the reason they don't win this for Chris.

Rock, meet hard place.

"That makes sense."

Eddie nods, reaching out and blithely plucking the beer bottle from Buck’s hands. "Okay. You go brush your teeth, I'll clean up in here."

Buck's doesn't move. "Wh—what?"

"No offense, man, but I don't want to taste off beer when I kiss you."

Numbly, he nods. "Right." Sure, yeah. They’re just — thinking about what one another tastes like now.

Eddie probably tastes like the lemon bars Buck made during shift today. The three he downed as they were leaving the station.

Talk about a wild thought. Eddie tasting like the hours of hard word Buck put into something he only made to make Eddie happy. Tasting like the lemons Buck impulsively plucked from the neighbors tree that’s been overhanging his backyard. The dough Buck carefully packed into the century old square pan he dug out from the back of the cupboard at the station. The extra spoonful of sugar he added because he knows Eddie likes it extra sweet.

Oh, god.

Twisting to reach for the beer he discarded, Eddie waves him off with his free hand. “Go on, I’ve got this.”

“Y—yeah,” Buck says, backing away. He could use a minute to gather his bearings anyways. Prepare his body for whatever’s about to happen. “I’ll just—go. Get minty fresh for you.”

Eddie laughs.

Buck spins and flees.

Rock, meet harder place.

Actually, dear god, don’t.

Eddie’s free hand settles into the curve of Buck’s waist, and Buck inhales sharply, his own free hand finding Eddie’s shoulder and holding on for dear life. This isn’t happening. How is this happening? What the fuck even is happening?

"I really need us to go collect our check and our things and leave. Then we'll go home and talk. Okay?"

Home.

To talk.

Who's home? And talk about what? How are they going to talk? Are they going to talk about the earnest way he spoke about being in love with Buck? How real it felt? How it made Buck's heart stop and start and stop all over again? Are they going to talk about whether it meant anything or is Eddie about to sit him down and tell him it didn't mean anything and it was all a test and Buck failed it as hard as a person can fail?

"And you can ask all the questions whirling around in your head. Right now I need you to keep your head in the game."

Numbly, Buck replies, "You're the one who almost made us lose."

Eddie scoffs. "Roger wasn't ever going to give the right answer to that question. I took a calculated risk. And," He shrugs and steps back. "It paid off."

Buck blinks at him, exhaling and releasing Eddie's shoulder so he can fully step away. His hand flops down to his side, pinky cracking against the wall behind him. He doesn't even feel it though, just hears the quiet clunk telling him his hands going to hurt in the morning. Worst of all, he can feel the pull of his eyebrows as they inch up in furrowed confusion.

It's not often he and Eddie aren't on the same page.

Not often that he can't see what's going on in his head and decipher it and work around the problem before it ever shifts the air around them. But right now—the air is shifting.

Reforming itself into a dense fog that shrouds them within its thrall — shields Eddie's thoughts and intentions behind it. Leaving Buck disconnected and confused and feeling a bit like an outsider who doesn't know anything.

"Huh?"

Eddie blinks. Takes a small step in, ducking his chin. "Didn't it?"

"I—" Buck pauses, tilting his head. "Yes? It's more than enough to help with Chris'—"

"I'm not talking about the money, Buck."

"Then what are you talking about?"

Groaning, Eddie spins around and starts off towards the green room.

Buck darts after him, "Hey! Wait—where—where are you—?"

"I'm going to collect our winnings so we can go home," Eddie says without turning around. At the dead end at the end of the hall, he veers left and as Buck starts to follow after him, he pauses and twists around, shaking his head. "No. You go get our things from the green room."

Buck stops. Blinks. "You don't want me to come with you?"

Eddie sighs, "I didn't say that." He turns around, throwing a hand over his head. "Go get our stuff. I'll meet you outside."

Buck stares after him, hands falling to his sides to hang limply as Eddie walks away.

He's not even sure what he did wrong.

Swallowing down a wave of confused emotion—questions whirling over everything thats happened today and how it landed him here, alone, wondering if he's fucking insane—he turns and heads for the green room to gather their belongings.

“Relax.”

Fat chance.

Their knees are interlocked between them, the body heat radiating like a fire building in Buck’s gut. He can’t relax. He has to focus. Focus on how straight Eddie is. How they’re doing this for Chris. How he cannot extract even the smallest ounce of pleasure from what they’re about to do because the last thing he wants is to take advantage of Eddie.

Eddie’s straight, Buck’s in love with him, they’re about to kiss.

Somewhere across town Maddie’s spidey senses are probably going haywire. Buck’s doing something stupid. Alert. Alert. Alert.

“I am relaxed. I’m the definition of relaxed. Name someone more relaxed. You can’t. Because it’s me.”

Eddie reaches out and sets his hand atop Buck’s where it’s sitting on his lap. His hand is all at once warm and calming. Like a weighted blanket for Buck’s soul.

A straight weighted blanket.

“Yeah, bud,” Eddie says, softly. “It’s you.”

Buck sighs. “Sorry. It’s just—“

“Weird?”

Sure. Buck can go with weird. Not potentially catastrophic. Weird works.

He nods. “Yeah. So weird.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” Eddie squeezes his hand. “It’s just us, man.”

“Y—yeah.” Buck forces himself to exhale slowly and sit up straighter. “Alright. Let’s do this. Kiss me.” It feels like he’s about to go into battle, or about to put out a massive fire with nothing more than a spray bottle. The Adrenalin’s rolling through his veins and he’s either going to get through this surprisingly and completely unscathed or Eddie’s going to do CPR on him before they’re through.

Either way he figures there will be mouth to mouth and there’s no getting out of it.

“Me?” Eddie shakes his head. “You’re the one with experience kissing guys. You kiss me.”

“Me?” Buck laughs and if it sounds crazed that’s because it’s how he feels. He pulls his hand out from beneath Eddie’s and points at him with a manic shake of his head, “This was your idea! You wanna kiss me, you’re gonna have to be brave enough to ini—”

Buck’s finger finds itself suddenly digging into Eddie’s sternum, his mouth is wide open, halfway through a word he’s already forgotten because, Eddie lurches forward, grabs him, and pulls him into a kiss, sending his brain into complete and utter freefall, and catching whatever the remainder of that word was meant to be as he drags Buck into him.

And—

Buck might have forgotten how to breathe.

Is he breathing?

Actually. Who cares? Who needs air with Eddie Diaz leaning over him, a hand on either side of Buck’s face, the tips of his fingers dipping into Buck’s hairline? Who needs air with Eddie bearing down on top of him, an angel wearing the wings of Buck’s darkest desire?

Who needs air with—

Eddie leaning in and pressing into him, knee sliding over the edge of the couch and deep in between Buck’s legs, kneading into the meat of Buck’s thigh, exhaling through his nose like he’s waiting for something.

Buck realizes, abruptly, that he’s waiting for him.

Eddie’s waiting for Buck to kiss him back.

Because he’s just sitting here. Finger jabbing Eddie’s chest, mouth open beneath Eddie’s, heart racing, not kissing him back.

But, for that, Buck needs air.

He inhales sharply and leans into the pressure, flattening his hand out against the shape of Eddie’s chest, the tips of his fingers curling of their own will into the fabric of Eddie’s shirt, his blunt nails scratching and catching a stray thread as his palm curves into the shape of his pectoral. Eddie exhales against him, slower, hot air fanning over Buck’s cheek.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

Eddie’s hands slip backwards, the heel of one palm gliding over Buck’s jaw as his fingers slips into his hair, winding into the curls and either getting caught or finding purchase, Buck couldn’t say. Buck couldn’t say because Eddie’s mouth opens against his, something wet and warm—

Holy christ that’s Eddie’s tongue.

Buck brings up his free hand, grabbing onto the side of Eddie’s arm, grounding himself as he kisses him back. Holds him to himself as surely as he pushes against him. Eddie leans into it, inhaling through his nose, lips moving against Buck’s and everything else disappears.

The rest of the world just . . . falls away.

Buck’s surrounded by him—enveloped in his cologne and his touch and his taste, there’s not a sense left that isn’t entirely devoured by Eddie’s existence. And all at once Buck can do nothing but kiss him back and wonder how he ever walked a single day at Eddie’s side and didn’t know how devastatingly and life alteringly in love with him he is.

His lungs burn, his back aches from the awkward angle, neck straining up towards Eddie, like a magnet drawn to its polar force, or a puppet pulled taut by its strings, but Eddie’s lips are slow and hot against Buck’s and he could stay here in this moment, this position, forever and never feel the need to move. Not to ease the ache in his spine or the crick in his neck. Not for anything.

And then, Buck hears it. The softest groan. Needy. It takes him too long to realize it’s his own—too long to understand that he’s just moaned into Eddie’s mouth like this is leading somewhere further. Like forever in Eddie’s grasp is a potential reality and not his mind getting caught in fantasy again because yeah, Eddie’s kissing him, Eddie’s kissing him and it’s the closest to heaven he thinks he’ll ever get—

But it’s not real.

Buck jerks back, blinking up at him wide eyed.

He’s not sure when they shifted, moved, but Eddie’s fully leaning over him now, one knee pressed in between Buck’s while the other balances precariously on the couch.

Eddie exhales slowly and opens his eyes even slower, lashes long and pretty, eyelids heavy. Cheeks red and ruddy.

“I—” Buck swallows, licks his lips. Looks down at them—Eddie hasn’t moved, doesn’t seem like he wants to, which, ha, okay, fuck, okay—and then back up. “I don’t think they’d have us kiss like that.” He forces himself to laugh, but it feels chalky at best.

Eddie blinks again, his brows furrowing, like he’s only just realized exactly the position they’re in. And then, his gaze dips down to Buck’s mouth before slowly coming back up to his eyes. The fingers in Buck’s hair tense and then relax, Eddie’s thumb sweeping up and then down as he takes a breath. It’s unsteady, uncertain.

And Buck—

Buck knows the motion is meant to be comforting. He can feel it in how soft the touch is, how careful it is. In how Eddie’s gaze goes guarded, and his mouth—the mouth that was just on Buck’s—twitches like he’s trying to map out what he wants to say before he says it—

He knows, doesn’t he?

He felt it when Buck kissed him back. Heard it in his groan.

He knows.

He can see it in Buck’s face beside the mounting panic. Buck knows he can. The longer Eddie stares with that worried, contemplative look, the longer his fingers stay in Buck’s hair, the longer he remains mounted above him, Buck knows that stupid realization, those belligerent feelings he didn’t ask to have are making themselves known. His fingers clench against Eddie’s chest, like his body’s preparing for him to get ripped away and Buck knows.

Eddie knows.

And Buck’s ruined everything.

“Buck,” Eddie says, voice soft and raspy and careful.

Buck’s smile, the nerve wracked up tilt that made its way across his lips without his intent or knowledge, falls. The muscles give way as easily as his stomach drops. He shakes his head. “No,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, thick. He carefully takes his hands off Eddie and buries them in the couch cushions, and looks down, lips forming a thin line as if that’ll somehow bury everything his face already gave away.

Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.

“No?” Eddie asks. He doesn’t move. He stays positioned over Buck, so even as Buck retreats into himself, reigns it all back in and forces himself to ignore how it feels—Eddie’s hands are still on his face and in his hair. Eddie’s breath is still coasting over his cheeks. Eddie’s knee is still pressed into his thigh.

Eddie’s still his entire world.

He always will be.

Just.

Not like this.

“No,” Buck repeats, swallowing. He shakes his head and looks back up at him, reaching up with trembling hands and wrapping them around the back of Eddie’s wrists gently. “Okay?” He asks, lightly tugging. Eddie’s brows furrow, but he lets Buck pull his hands free, dropping them to his side the second Buck releases him.

“Buck?”

“I—I know,” Buck breathes, carefully scooting out from beneath him. “This isn’t happening.”

Eddie kneels into the cushion, watching him as he rises from the couch, shaking his head. “Listen—“

“This is for Chris’ future. That’s all this is,” Buck’s voice is raw and wrecked and he swears he can taste those lemon squares when he drags in a breath. “We’re going to go on the show and when it’s over everything’s going back to the way it was before.” He nods, as if saying it cements it as reality. “I need you to know that.”

His feelings won’t ruin anything. He won’t ruin their friendship. Because that’s all they can have. Because Eddie’s straight and Buck’s a man and—

Eddie’s Adam’s apple bobs, the tendon in his jaw jumping.

Buck can’t do this. He can’t wait for Eddie to say the words. He nods, darting around the couch and running a hand through his hair. “I have to go.”

Eddie shoves up from the couch, “Buck,” he says, voice thick as he follows him, “Come on—this is your house—“

Backing away from him, Buck holds a hand out between them. “I have to go. I’m—“ He cuts himself off and turns around and stalks towards the front door, “I just—I can’t do this. I thought we could get through this and you wouldn’t bring it up, but I—“

Distantly, the footsteps that were following him stop. “You knew?”

“I—“ he stops at the door, wrapping his hand around the handle and takes a deep breath. He can’t face him. He can’t look him in the eye and admit to it, but he can’t lie either. Not when Eddie already knows. It’s one thing to hide his feelings, it’s another altogether to deny they exist when he can still taste Eddie on his lips. “Not until recently.”

“Jesus, Buck.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck’s voice cracks and he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Eddie’s shoes squeak against the floor like he’s moving again and Buck yanks the door open.

“Buck—“

“Just—lock up when you leave.”

“Buck, you can’t be serious—let’s just talk about this!”

Buck shakes his head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Eddie stops following him, standing in the doorway as Buck makes his way across the lawn to his truck.

When he climbs in and looks up, Eddie’s still standing there watching him.

Eddie’s leaning against the passenger door of the truck when Buck gets to the parking lot. There’s a comedically large cardboard check standing up against it next to him. He’s the picture of collected cool, back pressed to the metal, foot kicked out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest.

If it were anyone else, Buck would assume this is the final position of a handful of attempts. But this is just Eddie. Buck knows he just turned and plopped against the truck and waited, and the sexy romance book cover he turned into is just who he is.

Eddie tilts his chin down, squinting as Buck approaches.

“We need to talk,” he says once he’s close enough. He doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t pour emotion into the words. It’s a simple statement. It’s fact. Reality.

And he’s right.

They need to talk.

Buck stops. Sighs. Nods. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Ravi says, sitting his fork down and looking around the table. “I can’t take it. I have to say something.”

Buck pretends not to hear him, shoveling another forkful of pasta into his mouth and staring intently down at his plate. Around him, silverware clanks against plates, and he can feel several pairs of eyes turn to him, but he keeps his focus on the pasta like it’s the most important thing in the room.

Not Eddie, who’s sitting across from him and has tried to talk to him all shift.

And certainly not Ravi.

“What’s up, Rav?” Harry asks to Buck’s left with a fake curious uptilt to his voice, like this whole thing was scripted between the two of them.

And he wanted to disparage Eddie’s acting.

“Does anyone else feel a divorced vibe coming from the newly weds?”

“Now that you mention it,” Harry says with the inflection of a ten year old on the set of a new Disney channel original movie. “I do get that vibe.”

Buck sighs.

“Aren’t you two supposed to be on set in a couple days to convince the world you’re in love?”

Eddie exhales slowly across from him. “We’re fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Buck looks up from his pasta, accidentally makes direct eye contact with Eddie in the process. Eddie opens and closes his mouth like he’s going to say something but changes his mind, and Buck tears his gaze away to look at Ravi.

Then each person at the table watching them intently.

“It’s just stress,” Buck mutters eventually, turning back to his pasta and ignoring Eddie where he’s still looking at him.

“Stress?” Harry huffs a laugh. “It’s a game show. And you already look half in lo—“

Buck’s not proud of it, but he knows they’re not going to drop it, and so he says the only thing he can to get out of the conversation:

“I just hope the rest of this shift is as quiet as it started so we can relax a bit.”

Harry’s mouth snaps shut so hard Buck hears his teeth clack together.

“Buck,” Eddie breathes across from him.

The rest of the table doesn’t move or even breathe. It’s so quiet they’d hear if a pin dropped on the other side of town. Like everyone thinks if they just stay still and don’t breathe, Buck won’t have just cursed them to a shift from hell.

Buck closes his eyes.

The alarms sound two seconds later.

“Buckley!” Chim groans, throwing his napkin on the table and standing.

Yeah. Buck’ll pay for it later.

For now, he pushes up from the table and turns and heads down to the engine without meeting anyone’s eyes. Especially Eddie’s. Eddie who still hasn’t stood up when Buck reaches the top of the stairs and looks back.

“Unlock the truck so I can put the check in it.”

Buck frowns. “Aren’t we leaving?”

Shaking his head, Eddie pushes away from the door. “We’re not leaving until we figure this out.”

“I thought you wanted to talk at home?”

He bobs his head, slipping his hands into his pockets and stepping towards Buck. “I don’t think we should go home until we’re on the same page. We keep,” he pauses, makes a face, and then says through his teeth, “misunderstanding each other.”

“We do?”

He nods once, motioning towards the soundstage Buck just walked out of. “There’s a little courtyard on the other side of the studio. We can talk there.”

Buck forces himself to give him a cheeky smile, tugging his backpacks strap higher on his shoulder. “You scoped the place out?”

“Uh,” Eddie looks away sheepishly. “Actually Ryan told me about it.”

“Seacrest?” Since when have they stopped calling him by his full name?

“That’s the one.”

And since when is Eddie talking to Ryan Seacrest by himself?

“Why would he—“

“He was invested.”

“In what?”

Eddie chuckles like he’s not sure he even believes his answer before he says it. “Us.”

When Maddie opens the door, Buck smiles guiltily. She gives him her I know what you did and you’re in trouble look complete with the disappointed eyebrows, before turning and leaving the door open for him to follow her in.

“Is, uh. Is Chim here?”

“Why?” She asks, looking over her shoulder. “Scared he’s going to kill you?”

“It was only a little manure,” Buck offers feebly in response, stepping in and gently closing the door behind himself.

She scoffs and turns to look at him fully, crossing her arms. “He’s here, taking his fifth shower of the night. Because someone said a certain word on shift—“

“Okay, whoa? Hang on. We can’t prove that that’s why we got called to the farm—“

“And my husband fell in a pile of cow manure bigger than our car—“

“To be fair,” Buck says, moving in, “If he hadn’t been so focused on yelling at me—“

“—and then,” she makes a face and raises a hand, “Actually, let’s not mention what happened with the cow after.”

Buck grimaces.

Yeah he’s never going to get that image out of his head.

And Chim’s probably never getting the smell out of his hair.

“I panicked.”

Unimpressed would be an understatement for the look she gives him. “You panicked.”

“E—Eddie and I got into—I wouldn’t say a fight, but—“ he cuts himself off. “Everyone could see something was wrong. And I—I didn’t want to have to admit—“ he cuts himself off again, throat going tight around the words. It’s one thing to admit it to himself, in his head, where nobody has the space to reflect or cast judgment on him for being so stupid.

It’s another thing entirely to say it out loud.

Her expression softens. Eyebrows doing that thing they do when she’s worried about him, rising and then drifting together, and she steps around the coffee table. “Admit what?”

He sniffs, shrugs, and she stops entirely. And then she says, devastatingly, “Oh, Evan,” like she already knows without him saying a single word, and closes the distance between them to pull him into a hug.

He winds his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

“I tried not to,” he rasps.

“I know,” she says into his chest, squeezing him.

He sniffs. “He figured it out.”

She pulls away to look up at him, confused. “He figured it out?”

He nods, stepping out her grip. “We—“ he cuts himself off and gives her a look. “If I tell you this you can’t—you can’t give me that I told you so look, okay? Because I know.”

She crosses her arms. “I don’t have an I told you so look.“

He makes a face because that’s a lie and then mumbles because that isn’t the point, “We were practicing.”

“I know? You’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“No—we.” He exhales heavily. “We wanted to be prepared for whatever they threw at us.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve pulled practically every couple you know into your mock The New Weds Games. Bobby told Howie that you made him and Athena get on a zoom call at three in the morning last week. I know you’ve been practicing.”

“No.” He shakes his head and moves around her to sit on the sofa, burying his head in his hands so he doesn’t have to see the look her face when he says it. “We thought they might expect us to kiss.” She inhales sharply and he barrels through. “So we thought we should practice so we don’t look like we’ve never kissed before.” He pauses, glancing up, “And to be fair about the other thing, it was three in the morning for me and Eddie, Bobby and Athena were on a beach mid afternoon when we called.”

“That is so not the point!” She exclaims, rounding the coffee table and dropping down to sit on it, watching him wide eyed. “You kissed him?”

He groans and buries his face in his hands again. “He kissed me.”

“He kissed you? Evan Buckley!” She pulls his hands off his face and raises her eyebrows pointedly. “What the hell is the problem? That’s great news!”

“Sure,” he nods, flopping backwards into the cushions and looking up at the ceiling. “If you ignore him realizing I’m in love with him immediately after.”

She’s silent for a beat.

“Is that why things were awkward this morning?” She asks gently. “He realized you have feelings and . . .”

Buck clears his throat, sitting up and looking down at his lap, wringing his hands together.

Maddie pauses. Leans in. “Why do I have a feeling you didn’t actually give him a chance to react?”

He shrugs feebly and tosses his hands out at his sides, “Because I didn’t need to?”

“Please tell me you two at least talked and you didn’t jump to a conclusion.”

He rolls his lips to the side and looks towards the hallway.

“Is baby Nash awake?”

“Do not change the subject.”

“What about Jee? We could—“

“If you don’t tell me what happened I’m never letting you color with Jee ever again.”

He frowns, turning back to her. “That’s not fair.”

“Talk, Evan.”

“What’s there to talk about?” He asks. “Eddie’s straight!”

“You just said he kissed you.”

“To practice for a game show so we can win money to help Chris!”

She gives him a look. “You watched eight seasons of that game show together. Did they ever test anyone’s kissing ability?” She tilts her head. “How well they seemed to know kissing one another?”

“Susan said it’d be different.”

“It’s not going to be that different! You’re not going on Love Island!”

He frowns. “What’s that?”

“Not the point. Which is that you don’t know anything until you two talk!”

“I do know. I know Eddie’s straight. I know why we’re doing this, and I know that I can’t have these—these feelings and stand there and listen to him politely turn me down!”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Buck and Maddie both sit up, turning to the hallway. Chimney stands before them in nothing more than a hot pink towel wrapped around his waist, an empty bottle of body wash clasped in one hand.

Buck jumps to his feet. “Chim—“

Chim narrows his eyes at him and points with the empty bottle. “You are so lucky my wife loves you.”

“Uh, for what it’s worth—“

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want any apologies from you until after you get back from that game show and I don’t smell like eighty pounds of cow manure. You can apologize when Maddie isn’t wrinkling her nose and trying to resist telling me I still smell bad.”

Buck turns back to her and she shrugs guiltily. “You know I have a sensitive nose.”

“No, you don’t,” Chim sighs. “I just smell that bad.” Buck twists back around to face him and Chim makes a face. “What’re you even doing here anyways?”

Maddie steps forward. “They kissed.”

“Wha—Maddie, you can’t just—”

She looks at him like he’s dumb. “You act like I wasn’t just going to tell him as soon as you leave.”

Chim blinks. “I’m confused.”

“Why?”

“If they kissed—“ he stops himself, squinting. “Did you two talk?”

Maddie scoffs and crosses her arms. “Apparently they’re allergic to talking.”

Chimney looks back and forth between them, opens his mouth like he wants to say something, and then stands up straight and snaps his mouth shut.

Like a bloodhound, Maddie seems to catch something in the movement and tilts her head, zeroing in on it as her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Howie?”

Chimney shakes his head and backs up a step. “I need to take a shower.”

“You’ve had five already.”

“And I still smell like manure. So.” He waves the empty bottle. “Goodnight Buck.”

He turns on his heel but Maddie steps forward. “Howard Han what do you know?”

Chim stops. His shoulders rise up to his ears and he shakes his head. “I know nothing.”

“Oh my god?”

Buck sighs. “Mads—“

Maddie turns to him and raises one eyebrow. And Buck knows that look just as well as all the others. It says shut up and sit down and don’t argue.

He throws up both hands in surrender and steps away. “I—I think I should go.”

She looks back and forth between them, and Chim takes the opportunity to make a run for the bathroom for his sixth shower. Buck takes this as his window to slowly back away from her.

“Buck,” she says, pointing. “Talk to Eddie. Don’t just avoid the issue and then hurt yourself when you two go on that show.”

“Yeah, uh,” Buck clears his throat. “I think it’s a little late for that, Mads.” She opens her mouth, expression going sad and determined, and Buck steps back in and pulls her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll be all right, though.” He says, letting her go.

“Buck—“

“Promise.” He holds up his pinky for her.

She stares at it for a beat, before, resigned, reaching out and wrapping her pinky around it. “At least try?” She asks, looking up at him, eyes wide and pleading.

He smiles. Shakes her pinky.

And lies.

“Sure, Mads.”

The picnic table is rickety.

When Buck shifts, it wobbles beneath him. Every time it crunches in the gravel, it spikes his anxiety, and every time it spikes his anxiety, it adds another twenty seconds of him sitting across from Eddie silently, unsure what to say, while his leg shakes and starts the whole thing over again.

Eddie, for his part, seems content to let him stew in the anxiety. Quietly sitting on his side of the picnic table. Like today hasn’t—well, been today.

Buck looks down at the aged wood table top. The paint’s all but worn away, left behind chipped and rotting wood. It’s honestly a sad excuse for a table. If he feels so inclined, he’s pretty sure he could reach out and dig out pieces of it even with his blunt nail beds.

Somewhere in there is a metaphor for his life, he’s just too tired to find it.

“Buck.”

He jolts upright, glancing up to find Eddie watching him. He takes a breath, planning to let Eddie talk, but instead finds himself asking, “Did you mean it?”

Eddie’s face falls.

Oh.

Buck starts to nod.

Eddie shakes his head. “No. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Decide what I’m gonna say before I say it.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Eddie sighs. He shifts on his side of the table and the whole thing wobbles and creaks beneath them. Buck digs his heels into the gravel and crosses his arms over the top of the table.

“Last I checked you were straight. And then today, you—you said all that—“ He closes his mouth and swings a leg out from underneath the picnic table, side straddling it and debating standing up. Maybe it’ll be easier if he can pace. If he has an excuse not to look at him while they have this conversation. “I’m kinda freaking out.”

Eddie laughs under his breath. “You and me both.”

Buck frowns.

“What’d you mean when you said Ryan Seacrest was invested in us?”

Eddie’s cheeks flush pink and he looks up at the sky, hands flexing atop the table. “Apparently,” he says eventually, voice cracking. “He knew from the start that we weren’t together.”

What?

“Yeah,” He nods. “Evidently he likes to play matchmaker.” Leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table. “And I—Jesus, Buck, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to talk about everything for months, I just didn’t know how. And this opportunity just fell into our laps and I figured why not?” He sniffs. “At the very least I’d have plausible deniability if it didn’t go how I was hoping.”

Buck’s mouth feels so dry.

Still, he manages to rasp, “And, uh. How—how were you hoping it’d turn out?”

“Well.” He shifts on the bench again, and the table wobbles, but Buck’s so focused on the way Eddie’s eyes dip down to where Buck’s hands are on the table to pay it any mind. “I figured, two birds one stone. We get the money to get Chris into that program and at the same time, I—convince you how good we’d be together.”

Buck blinks. “Eddie,” he says. “You’re straight.”

Eddie chuckles, nodding. “Yeah, Hen got on me when she realized I hadn’t come out to you yet. She said you’d be more focused on that than anything else, I just. Couldn’t figure out how. And I don’t know, man, I thought you’d just—get it. You always do with everything else.”

Where does Buck even start with that?

Come out?

Hen knew?

Come out?

“What do you—are you saying—“ He pauses to take a breath and collect himself.

Eddie takes the opportunity to upend his entire world. “I’m gay. Or, I think I am? I’m a lot more sure about it since our kiss.” He shakes his head, his brows furrowing. “I thought you were rejecting me.”

“What?” But swings his leg back over the bench to give him his full attention. “When?”

“That’s when I was going to come out to you. I figured, let me kiss him. Show him I’m serious and then—” He shakes his head again. “You told me that that wasn’t what this was for you and ran out of your own house and didn’t talk to me for three days.” His gaze dips down to the table. “I thought I ruined our friendship.”

Awestruck, Buck breathes out a quiet, “I thought you realized I was in love with you.”

Eddie’s gaze jerks back up to him, eyes widening a fraction, his cheeks flushing bright. He looks pensive for a moment and then huffs out a laugh that sings of irony. “I thought you realized I’m in love with you.”

Buck may have lost his lightning induced math skills years ago, but even without them, he can work this equation out.

If two plus two equals four, then . . .

“I didn’t,” He answers, uncrossing his arms and reaching out to place a hand at the center of the table, not quite sure they’re in a place where he can reach for Eddie’s hand yet. “I—jesus, Eddie, you have to—to know that if I knew you wanted me like that, I never would’ve gotten up from that couch.”

“Yeah,” Eddie exhales, dragging a hand across the table and tapping the wood beside Buck’s hand with his thumb. “Chim made that clear last night.”

“Chim?”

“I let slip a couple weeks back what I was hoping with all this.” He shrugs. “When we were at Hen and Karen’s? You were in the bathroom and he was asking why we were bothering and it was either tell him or never hear the end of it, so,” He waves a hand as if that explains everything.

But it doesn’t make any sense.

“You expect me to believe Chimney, our Chimney, kept a secret? For weeks?”

Chimney can’t keep a secret. He’s physically incapable. It eats him up and bursts out of him like a dormant volcano ready to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting village. He’s Vesuvius, and everyone around him is Pompeii. There’s no way he—

But the other night.

He’d been weird. Maddie saw it. Buck had just been too caught up in his own feelings to pay it any mind, but now that he thinks about it, he had been ready to burst, hadn’t he?

Eddie smiles, close lipped and bright, nodding. “Yeah. I was surprised, too.” His hand drifts closer to Buck’s. “And then he came over last night. Called me an idiot in about fifty different ways before telling me what you thought happened that night.”

“That’s why you—”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Buck has a meticulous curl routine. Which is why it’s so jarring to be sitting in a chair with a complete stranger as she does his hair with annoyed assurances that she’s not going to send him out in front of the cameras looking insane. She won’t even let him look in the mirror, purposefully turning him away from it so he can’t double check her work.

He’s stressed enough as it is, knowing Eddie’s going to get here any minute now and they’re going to have to go from having not spoken in three days to convincing people they’re in love with each other. Now he has to worry about a stranger ruining his hair, too.

The door opens, and because Buck’s hair stylist—Martina—hates him, he has no choice but to watch as Eddie enters the room, smiling gratefully at the production assistant who closes the door behind him. No options other than to be facing Eddie when he turns his attention onto the room at large and promptly zeroes in on Buck. His shoulders sag, something softer settling on his face as he comes to a stop just inside the room.

“Diaz, right?” Martina asks, hands twisting in Buck’s hair as she looks over her shoulder to Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t look at her. “Eddie,” he answers.

“You can take the empty seat. Peter will be here in a few minutes to take care of your hair and makeup.”

Make up? Maybe she didn’t get a clear enough look at him, but Eddie? Eddie doesn’t need make up. Buck does. He hasn’t slept in three days, the bags under his eyes could offload a family of eights groceries. He needs make up. Eddie’s perfect.

Eddie doesn’t move immediately. He stands there watching her mess with Buck’s hair.

Martina glances back over to him. “Everything okay?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah—just. The girl who brought me in here told me to ask you to come talk to her outside. Apparently somebody isn’t coming in and—“

Martina lets go of Buck’s hair and is out of the room before Eddie finishes his sentence.

Buck promptly turns his chair around and pretends to check his hair out in the mirror. Pretends his eyes haven’t strayed from his reflection to watch Eddie watch him.

“Buck,” Eddie says.

Buck swallows. Reaches up to tug at a curl that looks all wrong. “Hey, man.”

Eddie’s reflection steps forward, tucking his hands into his jean pockets. “Can we pretend the last couple days never happened?” He shrugs a shoulder. “I kinda wanna kick some couple ass with my best friend. I don’t know if you’ve heard but we’ve been training for this thing for weeks now, and he’s kinda competitive, so.”

It’s an olive branch.

Buck closes his eyes.

He does not deserve an olive branch.

“Only kind of competitive?”

But he’s also not going to turn it down.

Eddie chuckles, and Buck swears he can hear the relief cutting the edges of it as Eddie meanders further into the room. “Yeah,” he laughs. “It’s more like dramatically, irrefutably, insanely competitive.”

“He, uh. He sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“Sure.” He says but it just sounds fond. “But he’s my pain in the ass.”

Buck drops his hands to his lap and turns the chair to face him. “You sure you still wanna do this?”

Eddie glances at the chair next to him and back. “Let’s see,” he says, rounding it and plopping down into it. “I get to spend the day with my best friend, with all the catering I can eat, while we make a bunch of lovesick fools wish they knew each other as well as we know each other. And we might win twenty five thousand dollars for our efforts.” He shrugs. “Why the hell not?”

Buck’s smiling. He doesn’t know when it started or how to stop, but he nods anyways and smiles wider. “I do like winning.”

Eddie laughs, leaning back in the chair and looking Buck over. “Then let’s win this.”

Buck nods. “Let’s win this.”

“Where—where do we go from here?”

Eddie swallows, tapping the tabletop three times in succession before seeming to make a decision. Buck watches the way it transforms his face, the sure set of his jaw, the way the tendon jumps when he clenches it as he settles on it.

“Chris knows.”

Buck rears back, nearly popping off the back of the bench. The table wobbles dangerously, and if Eddie weren’t sitting on the opposite side balancing them out, he’s convinced the whole thing would topple over. “He knows?”

Eddie nods. “That I’m gay. That I’m in love with you. That I—“ he takes a breath and looks away. “Think you’re probably the last person I’ll ever feel like this about.”

Buck blinks.

And then reaches up and pinches himself in the bicep as hard as he can. He hisses as pain shoots down his arm and zings into the center of his palm.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He grimaces, releasing his arm and rubbing over it.

“Making sure I’m not dreaming.”

Eddie stares at him for a beat.

And then starts laughing.

“Hey!”

He shakes his head. “No way you’re gonna get mad at me for laughing, Buckley. I told you I’m in love with you and you pinched yourself to prove you’re not dreaming. You’re the most ridiculous person I know.”

Defensive, Buck says, “Yeah, the most ridiculous person that you’re in love with!”

And, wow. Okay.

He’s teasing Eddie. He’s teasing Eddie about being in love with him.

Because it’s true.

Eddie’s in love with him.

How the fuck did he get this lucky?

“Yeah,” Eddie responds softly, the lingering laughter puffing out after it. “I really am.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “What?”

“You thought I rejected you. You kissed me and I told you that it didn’t mean anything and then I ignored you for three days. And I said the Q word on shift to avoid talking about it.”

Eddie’s shoulder shifts up as he wobbles his head side to side. “Yeah, well,” he squints, “I got out of the cursed shift relatively unscathed. Chim, though? He still smelled like cow dung when he came over yesterday.”

Buck groans. “I’m never gonna hear the end of that.”

“He’s never gonna stop smelling like that.”

Despite himself, Buck laughs, groaning again and burying his face in his hands on the table. “Oh my god.”

“We might actually win this,” Buck gushes as they exit the stage to head for craft services for lunch.

Eddie grins at him, his cheeks pink and his eyes bright.

They’ve eliminated two of the other couples. It’s a completely different game than they were playing with their friends. Either their friends are more in love than the people they’re up against, the couples they’re up against are frauds like them and haven’t done the rehearsals, or—

Or, Buck and Eddie—

“I didn’t doubt it for a minute,” Eddie says, holding the door open for Buck.

Buck slips through twisting around to face him as he walks backwards. “I did!” He exclaims. “I mean, come on. Jerry and Tom have been together for forty years and finally took the plunge. I thought for sure they’d take us in the last round!”

Eddie’s smile goes crooked, his cheek rounding with the motion. “Maybe there’s a reason it took them forty years to get to the altar.”

Buck gasps. “Right? They did seem,” he widens his eyes dramatically. “A bit high strung?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Eddie snorts, motioning behind Buck with his chin. “Crash zone. Spin.”

Buck spins. He’s two feet from the catering table. Yum. Eddie reaches past him and plucks a paper plate off the table and holds it out to him. Buck takes it and twists back around, stomach whooping as he comes face to face with him. He hadn’t realized he’d come so close, and now they’re practically chest to chest.

He clears his throat and takes a step back.

Eddie’s gaze dips down, he clears his throat, looks back up. “We’re clearly the only ones who did research.”

Buck nods. Eddie’s eyes are practically glimmering. He looks so happy—cheeks pink, lips cut in a permanent smile, even as he rolls his lips and finally steps around Buck, nodding towards the catering table. Buck follows him with his eyes and his body.

It’s so hard not to love him.

And it’s so easy to forget that he does.

Until he doesn’t.

He takes an unsteady breath and shifts to follow him down the line.

“If we just stick to what we rehearsed,” he says quietly. “I don’t think we can lose.”

Eddie nods, picking up two cookies, setting one on his own plate and the other on Buck’s without looking. He gives himself a chocolate chip, and Buck’s breath catches, as he realizes he gives him the last snickerdoodle. Eddie points at it with his thumb as he turns back to the table.

“It’s probably not as good as Bobby’s.”

“Don’t you want it?”

“Huh?” He glances back. “No. That one’s yours.”

“But it’s—“

“Yours, Buck.”

Buck blinks back a sudden wave of emotion. It’s just a stupid cookie, but Buck knows Eddie would choose a snickerdoodle over a chocolate chip any day. He knows it. But their plates tell a different story. Their plates say Eddie will do what makes Buck happy before he’ll do what makes him happy. And that’s—

Eddie glances back at him and freezes. “What’s wrong?”

“You—“ he shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Buck.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie’s brows twitch. He looks to the ceiling and then back down, and steps in, voice going low, “Buck, I—“

“Gentlemen!” Ryan Seacrest’s voice booms behind them.

Buck jumps so high his snickerdoodle takes flight before flopping back down onto his plate.

“How’s it going?”

Buck opens his mouth to reply, but Eddie glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and whatever Buck was going to say dies on his tongue and instead, he shakily sets his plate down on the table and says. “I have to go to the bathroom, actually. Be right back!”

Eddie frowns. “Buck—“

“I’ll be right back,” Buck forces a smile, waving at Ryan Seacrest and darting around the table.

Distantly, he hears Eddie explain, “He has to pee when he’s nervous.”

Buck pulls his head out of his hands and looks at Eddie seriously. “How did Chris react when you told him?”

“Well.” He leans into the table, wrinkling his nose. “When I tell you there’s nothing more eye opening than your fifteen year old looking you in the face and saying finally when you come out to him—I mean it. I was so scared and he just—tossed it all out the window.” His gaze goes distant. “I love that kid.”

Buck smiles. “He loves you.”

Eddie swallows, his lips pinching like they do when he’s trying not to cry and then he quirks an eyebrow at Buck and redirects all that energy. “And what about you?”

“Me?”

“I’ve laid it all out. You haven’t said it back.”

Oh.

Eddie won’t look at him.

They’re going into the final round and Eddie won’t look at him.

“Are you asking if I love you?”

“Alright, Eddie,” Ryan Seacrest says, “For the win and twenty five thousand dollars: when did Buck realize he was in love?”

Buck smiles, mostly for himself, and looks down at the table. Finally, he reaches across the invisible divide and takes Eddie’s hand in his own. He swallows, blinking rapidly. “Yeah,” he says, looking up at Eddie from beneath his lashes. “I’m kind of ridiculously in love with you, actually.”

Eddie laughs, and it’s wet, like he might cry. He brings his free hand out and puts it overtop both of theirs, grinning. “Thank god. Imagine you not being ridiculous about something. World might implode.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay, Diaz.” He’s laughing, too, though, and looks down at their hands. The laughter slowly peters out as he stares at them, though, until all he has left is a quiet, “I think you’re the last one, too, you know?” He glances back up. “Not that there’s ever been anyone before you that I felt even half as much as I do for you.”

Eddie narrows his eyes playfully, squeezing Buck’s hand. “Not even Abby?”

Buck huffs. Low blow. He was young and dumb and she was the first one who gave him any real attention. He never actually loved her. “Abby who?”

Eddie leans in. “What about Tommy?”

That startles another laugh out of him. “Definitely not. Actually—just wait til I tell you what Tommy thought of us.”

He lights up, leaning in. “Spill.”

They’re taking a five minute break for commercials and make up touch up.

The questions hanging in the air. Twenty five thousand dollars on the line.

The answer on Buck’s little whiteboard is it was love at first sight. The moment Buck actually knew was just a couple weeks ago, sitting on Hen and Karen’s couch. But the moment he actually fell?

Sitting here under the soundstage lights, baking in the silence, it comes to him unbidden. He glances over at Eddie, where he’s staring across the sound stage at Ryan Seacrest, looking contemplative. And it just. Hits him.

You’re a bad ass under pressure, brother. You can have my back any day.

“And it took us over a year to get here after that?” Eddie asks, laughing. “We’re idiots.”

“Welcome back to The Newly Weds Game!” Ryan Seacrest says, his Hollywood smile directed at the camera as the lights dance over the stage. “When we left, the Buckley-Diaz’s had the chance to win it all. Let’s see if they’ve managed to take it home.” He turns to them. “Eddie, are you ready?”

Eddie nods.

“Alright. When did Buck realize he was in love?”

Eddie hesitates. Glances at Buck, and then licks his lips.

“There wasn’t just one moment.”

“Yeah, but we—we got here eventually.”

“With a lot of help.”

Buck shrugs. “I think we would’ve gotten here on our own, even without all this. We would’ve realized at some point that the codependency was more than normal, platonic codependency.” He pauses. “Right?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Sure, bud. Don’t tell Ryan Seacrest that, though, he was pretty excited about getting another match under his belt.” He tilts his head. “Guy doesn’t have much going for him. I think we gotta give him this.”

Buck laughs out loud, and Eddie’s cheeks grow ever pinker, leaning in towards him like he’s drawn in by the joy.

Buck should be furious.

Buck’s going to kiss him and never stop.

He pushes up from the wobbling table. It creaks as he takes his free hand and presses it down onto the wood to hold his weight as he leans over it. Eddie smiles up at him.

“You tryna kiss me, Buckley?”

“That a problem, Diaz?”

Eddie smirks at him, slowly shaking his head, before rising as well and meeting Buck in the middle of the rickety picnic table.

“And they almost arrested us,” Buck says proudly, pressing his back into the kitchen island, his coffee cup clutched to his chest like a trophy, while Eddie stands next to him and pours his own.

“If Ryan Seacrest hadn’t shown up and saved us,” Eddie says, placing the pot back in the coffee maker and twisting around. “We’d probably have needed one of you to bail us out.”

“After what you two put us through?” Chim says, leaning against the loft balcony. “You better be happy your new friend Ryan Seacrest saved you. I would’ve left you there.”

Ravi chuckles. “Honestly, I can’t say I’m surprised you two finally admit how you feel and immediately get charges for public indecency and property damage.”

Buck pouts. “The table was already falling apart.”

“And,” Eddie says. “Technically there were no charges.”

Buck nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own and gives him a secretive smile. “Just a permanent ban from the lot.”

Eddie blushes bright pink.

Yeah. He’s still got it.

Harry wrinkles his nose. “I’m begging you to talk about literally anything else.”

“When does the episode air?”

Buck shrugs. “They didn’t say.”

“You didn’t ask?”

Eddie looks at him, eyes dipping down to Bucks mouth. “Nah,” he says, swallowing and turning back to the room. “We got what we needed from it.”