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Buck knows the sound of his family by their footsteps. He supposes that it isn't anything fancy or new, he thinks most people can do it. Soft. Loud. Socked. There's a way that each person in his life walks and he's– for better or worse– memorized them all.
Maddie is soft. Always has been. She clicks the door softly behind her and gently leaves her shoes by the front door, neat like little soldiers lined up and out of the way. It's a stark contrast to her husband who slams doors and is heard before he's seen, his shoes ending up halfway across Buck's living room.
Hen and Karen are similar, so is Athena. They command attention. Energy. They kick off their shoes, making Buck's home their own easily. They still ask questions and don't go digging around–they don't overstep at all really– but they're comfortable and Buck can tell by the way they walk around, making themselves at home in Bucks space. He's happy to be like that for them. Truly.
Ravi is still learning his boundaries, what Buck thinks about him. Everything is careful. He tip toes. Except when he's with May. Like her mom, May has made Buck's place a secondary home, especially since Bobby. Ravi settles in more then, shoes aligned with hers in the corner, toes centered at the door jam.
Then there's Eddie and by connection, Christopher. Chris is easy to hear, the tell-tale clack of crutches against the small concrete step leading up to his front door and the multiple clicks of the lock while he tries to balance and get in; Eddie or Buck often helping when he finally does ask.
Eddie is a little more…complicated, but what isn't in his and Buck's relationship. They've always been more than friends but also not quite anything more. It's a strange predicament that he often finds himself in, knowing that the feelings he harbors aren't platonic but that Eddie's are and that their strange, overly codependent best friend mess of a relationship may not be conventional, but it's theirs. And Buck will take Eddie in whatever way he'll give himself over. Buck knows that about himself now and he's unashamed. At least as much as he can be.
Eddie is… he has a signature but also he doesn’t. Some days he enters the house softly, using his own key and gently walking around the house, and being comfortable in it. He has a drawer of spare clothes in Buck's dresser and a toothbrush that sits on the unoccupied Jack and Jill sink in the master bathroom. There are days where he's relaxed. Unbothered. Sleep rumpled and hard lines softening just by the gentle footsteps he leaves around the living space. Then there are days that the door slams behind him, boots making a rough crunch that causes Buck to cringe for his gorgeous hardwood floors.
Today must be one of those days. The difficult ones. The ones where Eddie slams the door, kicking his boots off in disarray. But it isn't angry. No, he knows Eddie's angry footsteps. He sounds stressed but determined. Buck is sitting on the couch, back to the door when it closes with a harsh slam. It feels less like anger and more like he simply lost control of it, same with his shoes, scuffing against the floor, not even bothering to take them off at the door. Hes on a mission and who is Buck to deny him?
Buck turns, worn out leather giving under his weight and the pull of his thread bare sweats he threw on, not expecting anyone for the night. But, it's Eddie and he's never needed an invitation and especially not now. Not when their lives have entwined even more over the last few months, life changing in the blink of an eye, bringing newness and light and so much joy yet so much chaos.
In the dim, orange soaked glow of Bucks lamp, Eddie looks aged. The lines on his face are deep, brows furrowed together in a way that leaks concern and terror. Buck takes stock for a second. There's no blood. No visible injury. Buck himself is fine and he knows where both kids are. So, it's emotional. Buck stands, takes a step ready to help, ready to do whatever he can to help Eddie and–
“Am i gay?”
Bucks world stops spinning. Like a metaphorical record scratch, everything comes to a halt and Buck is stuck outside of his body watching as his best friend's lips keep moving but no sound comes out. Eddie is talking, spilling something into the space between them and Buck can't focus. His brain was stuck, ruminating.
Gay. Gay. Gay.
Eddie is–Eddie–Eddie said–
“Buck?”
His voice is frantic and Buck breaks himself from the whiplash to respond. Because he needs to. This isn't about him. It's about Eddie. Eddie who is standing in front of Buck, having just said something that's tearing a hole in the middle of their lives. Eddie, who's sweaty hands he keeps wiping on his jeans and who looks like he's about to puke right there on Buck's really expansive throw rug he bought before he realized it wasn't exactly stain resistant enough for what life would transform into less than a year into buying his place. But that's not the point. None of Buck's feelings are the point, really.
The point is Eddie.
Eddie who plays it close to the vest, who never speaks until he's ready.
Eddie who, in order to ask such a question, must have sat in his own home for weeks if not months, pouring over every little thought or feeling that had brought him to this point. And he's here now to talk. To Buck. His best friend. He's looking for support, for help. Buck takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. The pit in his own stomach is still there, weighing him down, but he knows that Eddie needs him to be the strong one here. To help him through it. Buck of course is there to oblige, because he always does. Even if it'll break his own heart in the process.
“Sorry sorry Im just–I uh– God you were so much better at this, Im–”
Eddie just huffs a laugh and steps closer, hand twitching at his side like he wished to reach out but didn't. Maybe he didn't think he could. “Youre doing great, bud.”
“Asshole.”
There's no venom in their words, just light teasing. It's so similar to how they've always been that Buck almost melts into it, almost forgets.
“Come here,” He gestures to the couch as he sits back down, Eddie trailing behind him slowly, lowering himself next to Buck, their knees knocking together. The knot in Buck's stomach tightens. “Just uh–uhm–start from the beginning? What makes you think that youre–that–that you could be–uh–”
“Gay.”
Buck flinches at the word and just hopes that Eddie is too in his own head to notice. Because Buck had been forced, overtime, to assign labels to Eddie to keep his own treacherous heart intact. And every so often one of those labels falls away.
Single father not ready to date.
Married.
Widower.
Traumatized.
Straight.
Each label had taken up residence in Buck's head and heart, attached to his best friend, listing out the laundry list of reasons that Buck couldn't be in love with Eddie. Why Eddie would never choose him.
But every so often something fell away. Sure, Eddie was still working through trauma and he always would be. But Chris was older now, giving Eddie the ability to pursue something. He'd worked through what Shannon had meant to him and what the reality of their relationship had been. Slowly but surely, Eddie had torn down each and every little thing that Buck had put up as a wall, the last of which was Eddie's sexuality.
Because if Eddie was straight …
He couldn't want Buck
Couldn't love Buck
Couldn't break Buck’s heart anymore than he already had. But at least it's a break that Buck knows. A sharp stab that he's learned to deal with. His bleeding heart never truly healing but never killing him fully.
But if Eddie were gay…that changes everything and for Buck, knowing that Eddie was an option, but that he didn't love him back? It might destroy him. At the end of the day, this isn't about him though, it's about Eddie and his identity and finding himself.
“Yea uh–gay,” he says, repeating the word and letting it roll around on his tongue, tasting it in relation to Eddie. “How did you, ya know, figure that out?”
“Frank,” Eddie groans. “Made me start thinking about wants.”
“Oh I didn't know you were seeing Frank again.”
Eddie shrugs, knee knocking into Buck's again. Familiar. Grounding.
“I didn't exactly make a big deal of it. I just wanted to–I want to be better. But he started asking about what I wanted and I went online and I–” he finishes lamely with a general gesture of his hand in the air not really finishing his statement but letting it hang.
“Eddie,” Bucks smiles and tries to keep his voice teasing. “Did you take an ‘am i gay quiz?”
“I mean it's not–I --yea–yea I did.”
Buck can't help it, he laughs. Because of all the things he could think of, an online quiz made by someone unreliable like Buzzfeed who doesn't know Eddie or understand him, wasn't exactly at the top of his list. Hell, Buck had taken those quizzes before and nothing had come of them. It took a man literally physically pointing him in the right direction to get it.
Honestly, he's a little jealous.
“Sorry,” he mutters between giggles. “Just– a gay quiz? Really, Eds?”
Eddie laughs with him, pressing his knee between Buck's as they shift on the couch, as natural as it is in the engine, but with the warmth of Eddie's thigh bleeding through their thin clothes. Closer than they usually were, than Buck would allow for them when no one else was around. They were already far too close, far too co dependent. Buck couldn't let them get closer. Couldn't trust himself to not do something stupid. It's even harder now. His palm flexes against his thigh, grabbing hard to keep his hands to himself. Fingers against his own skin. Keeping a tasteful distance as much as he could from Eddie who was just a few simple words from giving Buck everything he's ever wanted, and that kind of hope was dangerous.
“ I know,” the joke shakes a laugh out of Eddie, his voice shaky around the words. “I just– Frank got me thinking and I didn't know how else to–” he paused. “I didn't know what else to do.”
“You could have talked to me?”
At that, Eddie looks away for the first time and Buck misses the eye contact instantly. For their entire friendship, Eddie has always looked at Buck with big, soft hazel eyes full of emotions he's not sure he could ever come close to naming. But now, all he wants is eddies eyes on him again, even if it's uncomfortable. Even if he's not sure he'll enjoy what he sees there. He wants to see it all. The vulnerability. The connection.
Instead Eddie stays looking down as he speaks, like he's afraid to see Buck's reaction and his heart squeezes again violently, a vice grip in his ribs, stomach churning at the idea that Eddie could ever think that Buck would turn him away. Would let anything he ever said change them, change the way he feels.
“I couldn't. I wanted to. God, Buck you're the first person I wanted to talk to!” He chokes on a laugh, a harsh and ragged little thing that sounds like it pushes its way past his lips without permission. “But I– I needed to know first because I–because–”
A deep breath, eyes finding Buck's again. Like magenta drawn together. No matter how much one of them wanted to look away it just wasn't possible, wasn't an option. It never was, but especially right now, in a moment Buck could feel the tension in the air and understand that they were sitting on the precipice of something. Something important. Real. Life changing.
“I–” he reaches forward for Buck’s hand and links their fingers together, thumb running over the backs of Buck’s knuckles in a soothing pattern. Buck’s just not sure who he’s trying to calm down. “I think I’m–no I know that I–I’m in love with you.”
It’s like Buck's entire world caves in. The solid floor beneath him falls out and he’s not on his couch anymore, he may not even be in his own body. He realizes belatedly that Eddies’ hand is still in his and they’re still staring into each other’s eyes and Buck can’t breath. He can’t breathe. He can’t–
“Buck?”
He snaps out of it and realizes how scared Eddie is. His eyes are big and red-rimmed,his fingers are shaking against Buck’s and he realizes that he hasn’t said anything. He’s just been staring at Eddie with his mouth hanging open and tears building behind his own eyes, wetness threatening to spill onto his cheeks.
“Eddie.”
It's the only word he can find to say because everything else feels equally like too much and not enough. He can't find a way to explain what Eddie means to him, what something like this changes. He doesn't know how to talk about the equal parts excitement and fear that mix , molten and hot in his core, desperate to reach out and touch and take, but terrified for the day that simple want can't sustain. Scared for when Eddie finds something better, someone who can care for him more than Buck can, and leaves. Tears himself and Chris away and Buck's left with a hollow heart. Because one stays, no matter how much they promise. And Buck can't do that. Not with Eddie.
And then there's a dampness streaming down his own face and hazel eyes meeting his, tears being blinked back and a small, hopeful smile that's oh so soft in a way that just makes Buck's chest cave in and he heaves and gasps. Eddie leans in more, arms wrapping around him on instinct. It's gentle, in a way that feels like the next step they tend to back away from.
He wants. He wants so badly. And so he takes. He pulls back just enough to work a thumb under Eddie's eye, salty tears catching on the pad of his finger, pushing it all away. He leans in, slotting their lips together. It's something new, yet also like a homecoming. Like it was always supposed to end this way, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Eddie tastes like salt and his peppermint lip balm and the tang of iron from where he had been worying his bottom lip between his teeth during his confession.
“I love you too,” he finally gasps when they pull a part and Eddie drags him back immediately, like a man possessed.
There are more conversations to be had. People to tell and two kids to wrap up and explain things to. But for now it's Buck and Eddie on the couch, pressed together, and finally–finally– finding themselves.
Buck wouldn't want it any other way.