Chapter Text
Buck’s heart has always been loud.
Not loud like yelling—Buck almost never yells—but loud like music bleeding through thin loft walls. Like laughter echoing down a firehouse bay. Like the way he says I love you without even realizing he’s said it.
He says it with words, sure.
But also with hugs that last too long.
With coffee already made when Eddie stumbles into the kitchen.
With extra snacks packed for Christopher.
With Buck’s stupid, soft eyes whenever he looks at the people he loves.
Buck is open. Obvious. Easy to read.
Eddie is… not.
Eddie Diaz grew up in a house where feelings were things you carried quietly. Where love showed up as working late, fixing broken things, putting food on the table.
You didn’t talk about it.
You just did it.
So when Buck started saying things like “Hey man, I love you,” casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world, Eddie nearly short-circuited.
Because Eddie loved Buck too.
God, he loved Buck so much it sometimes felt like trying to hold sunlight in his hands. And if he loved Buck less, he’d probably be able to talk about it.
But he doesn’t.
The words get stuck.
Every. Single. Time.
They get caught somewhere between his chest and his throat and refuse to move. So Eddie came up with a system.
***
The first time it happens, Buck doesn’t even notice.
They’re sitting on the couch at Buck’s loft, watching some terrible reality show Buck insists is “important cultural viewing.”
Buck is halfway through explaining why the guy named Chad is definitely going to get voted off.
Eddie isn’t listening. He’s watching Buck.
The way Buck’s hands move when he talks. The way his hair falls into his eyes. The way his whole body leans forward when he gets excited about something stupid.
Eddie feels it then. That overwhelming, terrifying, wonderful thing.
Love.
The words rise up.
Say it, Eddie thinks. Tell him.
But the words jam in his throat like they always do.
Buck pauses the TV.
“Eddie,” he says softly.
Eddie blinks. “Yeah?”
Buck smiles a little, warm and easy.
“Love you, man.”
And Eddie—
Eddie freezes.
Because Buck says it so easily.
Like breathing.
Like it doesn’t mean the world.
Eddie tries to answer.
His mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
Buck doesn’t seem bothered. He just shrugs and presses play again.
But Eddie hates the empty feeling in his chest.
So he reaches over.
Buck’s sitting close enough that their shoulders are touching.
Eddie taps Buck’s knee.
Tap.
Buck glances down, confused.
Tap.
Buck tilts his head.
Tap.
“…Did you just Morse code me?” Buck asks.
Eddie clears his throat.
“No.”
Buck squints at him.
“Okay, but you definitely tapped me three times.”
“Did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Eddie stares very hard at the television.
Buck watches him for a second. Then smiles a little. And lets it go.
***
The second time, Buck notices.
They’re at the firehouse.
Late shift. Q-word night.
Buck is leaning against the engine, rambling about something, Eddie honestly has no idea what, because Buck’s smile is doing that thing again.
The one that makes Eddie feel like the world narrowed down to one person.
Buck bumps their shoulders together.
“Hey,” he says suddenly.
Eddie looks at him.
Buck grins, “You’re my best friend.”
Eddie’s chest tightens. Because Buck says things like that. Just throws them out there like confetti.
“Yeah?” Eddie says.
“Yeah.” Buck’s smile softens. “I love you, you know that right?”
Eddie feels the words rise up again.
I love you too.
They get stuck. Of course they do.
So Eddie does the only thing he can think of. He reaches out and taps Buck’s arm.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Buck stares at him, “…You just did it again.”
“Did what?”
“The tapping thing!”
Eddie shrugs. “You’re imagining things.”
Buck narrows his eyes.
But the alarm goes off before he can interrogate further.
***
The third time, Buck figures it out.
Sort of.
They’re back at Eddie’s.
Christopher is asleep after a movie night. Buck is standing at the sink washing dishes, sleeves rolled up, humming under his breath. Eddie leans against the counter watching him.
Because apparently that’s just his life now. Watching Buck exist.
Buck glances over his shoulder.
“What?” he asks, smiling.
“Nothing.”
“Uh huh.” Buck dries his hands and walks over. He stops right in front of Eddie.
Close.
Close enough Eddie can see the tiny scar above Buck’s eyebrow.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Buck asks.
Eddie shrugs.
Buck studies him. Then his expression softens, “You know you’re stuck with me, right?”
Eddie huffs out a quiet laugh, “Yeah.”
Buck bumps his shoulder, “I mean it. We’re family, Eddie.”
The word lands heavy in Eddie’s chest.
Family.
Buck says softly, “I love you.”
The words catch in Eddie’s throat again. Of course they do. So he reaches out.
Buck watches him carefully now.
Tap.
Buck’s eyebrows lift.
Tap.
Buck’s mouth opens slightly.
Tap.
They stare at each other.
Buck’s brain visibly starts turning.
“…Wait,” Buck says slowly.
Eddie immediately regrets everything.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Buck continues, eyes widening. “You’ve done that before.”
Eddie considers jumping out the window.
“You tap me three times,” Buck says.
Eddie says nothing.
Buck’s voice gets quieter, “Every time I say I love you.”
Eddie rubs the back of his neck, “…It’s not a thing.”
Buck’s eyes go soft.
“Oh my god,” Buck whispers.
Eddie groans.
Buck steps closer, “So it is a thing.”
“It’s not a—”
“You’re saying it back.”
Eddie looks at the ceiling.
Buck looks like someone just handed him the secrets of the universe.
“Three taps,” Buck murmurs.
Eddie mutters, “You’re overthinking this.”
Buck beams, “Three taps means I love you.”
Eddie says nothing.
Buck doesn’t push. He just smiles. Then gently taps Eddie’s chest.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Eddie’s heart stops.
Buck grins, “See?” he says. “Easy.”
Eddie stares at him.
Because Buck has no idea what he just did. No idea that Eddie’s system was supposed to keep things simple.
Safe.
No idea that Buck just used it back.
And now Eddie’s chest feels like it might explode.
Buck turns back toward the sink, humming again like nothing happened.
And Eddie thinks:
Oh.
Oh, I’m in serious trouble.