Archive of Our Own

Buck has been crashing out for the better part of this year. 

Well, he doesn't really know if you could call this crashing out, but there's been some moments. 

The fact is that it's been a long time coming - he probably should've realised all of this somewhere along the Eddie is buried underground moment, when he really couldn't explain what exactly was happening to his body. With the well collapsing, all he could think of was Eddie, the name playing like a goddamn mantra inside his head. There really were a lot of signs. 

Buck has never been a great listener after all. 

Hence - today. It’s a Friday, everything should be fucking marvellous, he has plans to meet up with the Diazes at seven, but it is currently noon and he might be spiralling. Again. 

‘Maddie, I swear to God. I don't think I can do this anymore,’ he pleads to the phone, desperate for some kind of guidance. 

Maddie has always been such a big part of his life, it goes without saying how grateful he is for all that she's done for him, both in his adult life and while he was growing up. His sister’s stuck by his side for almost every milestone, apart from the years she spent away with Doug, which is why she's been a vital part of his not-so-recent realisation.

‘Buck, you've been saying that since… I don't even know how long it’s been,’ she sighs into the phone, making Buck catch soft sounds of the dispatch centre in the background, ‘I really don't know if I even have anything left to say to you,’ she concludes, another soft breath echoing into his ear. Maddie’s for sure already over his constant phone calls about his own best friend, but Buck’s only a man. 

‘I know, God I know,’ he groans, sitting down in one of the chairs in his backyard, his hand fidgeting in his left pocket, ‘I wish I had the guts to do something about it, but Maddie, I cannot just fucking spring this onto him! He is straight, how am I supposed to declare my fucking undying devotion to the man without making him think I’ve lost my mind!’ he raises his voice, not in anger, but in extreme frustration that he's been overcome with since many months ago.

Buck wishes he knew what was the exact moment when the friendship turned into so much more for him. He figures it's always been there, laying dormant up until that one day in June. 

They were all outside in the park, watching baby ducks with Christopher, Eddie spread out on the blanket down on the grass, his sunglasses making it impossible to say what exactly he was looking at. Buck’s heart stopped right then and there, returning to life almost instantly, taking his breath away a little bit more with every beat. That moment’s been engraved on his chest, making itself known each time his eyes land on his best friend. 

Which is, unfortunate, to say the least. Considering the fact that they spend every second of every damn day together, in and out of work, relying on each other when it comes to emergencies or parenting Chris. 

‘Maddie, have I been baby-trapped?’ Buck exhales a breath that feels ripped out of his insides, because what the fuck?

‘Have you what?’ his sister laughs, probably gaining herself an audience made out of every employee currently at dispatch, lovely, ‘Oh my God, that's the stupidest thing that's ever left your mouth,’ she's past the point of worrying if anybody hears their conversation, clearly not grasping the gravity of the situation.

‘Would you please keep your voice down? I don't need everyone knowing my business,’ he puts her on the speakerphone, oh irony - but at least he's there alone, without any gossipping dispatchers, ‘I just don't think I can do this anymore Mads. We co-parent his son together, we cook together, we grocery shop together, Maddie, Maddie how is this casual?’ he puts his head inside of his hands and slides down deeper into the chair.

'It's not. That's what I've been trying to put into that head of yours for years, Buck. Years.’ she laughs, still not understanding that he’s losing his mind over here, ‘Besides, when it comes to baby-trapping, I think you did this to yourself.’

‘Okay, I don't know what to do. I mean I do know what I want to do, but I’m not sure kissing my best friend senseless in front of his son today's evening is the right move here,’ he throws his hands into the air, as if she was standing right beside him.

‘Buck, talk to him. I’m sure Eddie would understand,’ she tells him, and God does he know that she's right.

Because Eddie would be so good about this, great even. He would say that it doesn't change a thing between them, and Buck would be left to suffer in silence, because he doesn't think he can move on anytime soon. And everything would be just as it is now, except his best friend would start to slowly pull away, disgusted or uncomfortable because of Buck’s feelings. So, yeah, telling Eddie - not in the picture and completely unnecessary. 

‘I don't think I will,’ he whispers, flinching at the sound of a key turning in his front door, ‘Shit, Eddie’s here, thank you Mads, love you, bye!’ he doesn't let her say anything back and hangs up the phone quicker than anything he's ever done before in his life, which is quite concerning, as his speed and quick thinking are meant to save people on a daily basis. 

‘God, give me strength,’ he murmurs to himself before turning over to see his best friend enter the backyard in a hurry.

Eddie looks - it would be easier to explain the emotions he doesn't bring forward in Buck’s heart. Watching his best friend became a sort of religious experience for him over the last couple of months, which probably warrants a psych evaluation and one or two HR forms.

Eddie storms through the glass door, not even acknowledging Buck in the process. He keeps talking in Spanish under his breath, his hands crossed tightly in front of his chest. Buck would call the sight before his eyes something between breathtaking, ethereal, and… frantic?

The light hits Eddie’s skin in just the right way, making his eyelashes cast soft shadows below his eyes. The frown that paints his eyebrows makes him look older, which leaves Buck wondering if he’s not starting to see some gray hairs intertwined with the dark brown framing Eddie’s face. Buck scolds himself for taking the time to admire his, clearly distressed, best friend, and gets on with the program.

‘Do you want some tea?’ he asks, still sitting comfortably in his chair. It's like an unspoken rule between them, only one is allowed to freak out at a time - it's worked wonders for them in the past, with the whole having each other's back thing. 

‘Do I want… do I,’ his best friend looks at him, bewildered by the simple question. Their eyes only lock on each other, but it’s enough for some of the fight to leave Eddie’s body instantly. His shoulders drop barely an inch, the frown disappearing only halfway, ‘Yes, actually, that would be nice,’ he says, less frantic now, eyes finally focused on one thing before him - which happens to be Buck. 

The thing about Eddie's eyes is that sometimes they do this thing where they lock onto Buck’s, his gaze piercing him in such an invasive yet comfortable way. Buck’s sure that if someone tried to touch either one of them while they’re having their silly staring contests, something would get broken forever. He likes Eddie’s stare - he likes to find it after a hard call, saying so much with so many words unspoken, feeling almost like a hug, or a soft brush of fingers on his forearm. Although the intensity of the stare has always been a mystery to Buck, he grew to crave it when it's been gone for too long. 

‘Coming right up,’ he shoots the other man a smile, making his way into the kitchen. He can hear Eddie throw himself onto one of the chairs, probably the exact one that Buck’s just got up from - it's Eddie’s favourite, after all.

The kettle takes a long time to boil the water, which leaves Buck alone with his thoughts for longer than necessary. He thinks of Eddie, welcoming himself into Buck’s home without a second thought, cutting his phone call short. He tries to understand what could possibly have made his best friend lose his cool like that, concluding that it probably has something to do with Christopher. At least that's what he decides to go with when the tea is finally ready and he carries the steaming mugs back to the backyard’s coffee table. 

‘What happened with Chris?’ Buck asks, sliding into the unoccupied chair and placing the mugs on the ceramic coasters he made with said kid a little a couple of years ago.

‘They’re holding up nice,’ Eddie comments, examining the third coaster from the set between his fingers.

‘They do, that's what happens when you mix super glue with more super glue and make a mosaic with a pre-teen. Unbreakable,’ Buck laughs, remembering the absolute disaster that project was, ‘God, I remember scrubbing my shirt after, this shit never came off,’ that earns him a laugh out of Eddie, who is clearly more settled now than five minutes ago. 

A silence washes over them, Buck already familiar with Eddie’s calm before the storm, waiting patiently for the other man to start explaining exactly what happened.

‘You know how you were supposed to come over today? We had plans to watch this new Spider-Man movie or something?’ Eddie starts, his tired voice sounding alarms off in Buck’s head.

‘I feel like there's a plot twist coming, way to keep me on my toes Diaz,’ he jokes, trying to ease the tension that's building in his best friend’s body, making itself known through clenched fists and the return of the frown. 

Eddie scoffs at him, his eyes closing, head tilting almost all the way back, resting on the top of the chair. 

‘So Chris texted me from school.’ Eddie has a smirk playing on his lips now, still clearly tense but attempting to make a joke out of this whole thing, ‘He wants to have a few people over tonight, he decided we're not cool enough to have a movie night with him anymore,’ Eddie pouts, honest to God, Buck is not making this shit up. 

It's taking everything in Buck not to burst out laughing at the image before his eyes. A grown man, his best friend, his partner, is pouting because his teenage son prefers to spend time with friends instead of his father and his father's best friend. 

‘Eddie…’ Buck starts, the amusement slipping through the cracks of his voice, making Eddie snap his head at him.

‘Don't you dare, Buckley,’ Eddie warns him, his forefinger finding Buck’s face immediately. 

Eddie’s eyes shimmer brightly in the sun, channeling the heat of the air through their unwavering gaze, and Buck is defenceless. He can't form a sentence, he could try, but nothing would make any sense. Instead, he stares. He gets lost inside his best friend's eyes, however cliche it sounds. He focuses on the place where deep brown meets black, seeing the other man's pupils dilate a little, probably because of the change of light. Eddie’s eyes drop Buck’s, which makes him snap back into reality and actually think about finishing the already attempted sentence.

He clears his throat, feeling his cheeks begin to produce a betraying discolouration.

‘Eddie, I fear you might be overreacting,’ he chuckles, met with his best friend's shocked stare piercing him once again. He can be strong, it's just eyes, Buckley. Jesus Christ, ‘I mean, you just got back from Texas, it's understandable that he wants to spend some time with people his own age.’

‘You think I’m dramatic,’ Eddie accuses, sounding like he’s not believing his own words.

‘See, I wouldn’t say dramatic, but it’s definitely in this region,’ Buck laughs, taking a sip of his tea, ‘Okay, what exactly is the problem here man?’ he continues, now completely focused on the problem at hand.

Eddie sighs deeply, running a hand over his face, ‘I don’t even know.’

The quiet between them washes over Buck in such a gentle way. The early-spring breeze tangles his hair, but he doesn’t really mind. He’s learning to stay in the moment, cherish it as long as it lasts, especially with Eddie now back by his side. He grew attached to their, some might say weird, dynamic - he likes to bask in the idea that he’s one of the only people Eddie attempts to open up to. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not particularly fond of the fact that his best friend struggles to communicate, it just makes the moment when he actually manages to talk about his feelings that more special. Buck has also been learning Eddie’s mechanisms for eight years now, which is why he knows when’s the right moment to push.

‘That’s not true,’ Buck argues, calling him out, but still maintaining his comfortable demeanour. 

‘I’m just…’ he’s scared, ‘I’ve never hosted any of his friends before, except Denny, but I don’t think it counts,’ Eddie sighs, taking his own tea in between his hands and blowing lightly at the surface.

‘Well, good thing that you’re not doing it alone then,’ he smiles brightly at the other man, earning himself a soft smile back.

‘You sure you still wanna come? I wouldn’t hold it against you, spending your Friday night being a server to… I think at least seven? teenagers isn’t exactly a dream,’ Eddie frowns, clearly not entertained by the vision of their evening.

Buck chokes on his tea, coughing uncontrollably for a couple of seconds, ‘I’m sorry, did you say seven teenagers?’ he asks stupidly, Eddie smiling at his face, which has got to be in one of the most shocked expressions he’s ever produced. 

‘Yup, the kid has friends.’

‘Nobody needs that many friends,’ Buck murmurs, wiping the spilled tea from the table with his sleeve.

‘You’re just saying that cause you have like two friends, and one of them is my son,’ Eddie smirks, amused by Buck’s reaction to the whole ordeal.

‘Rude, accurate, but rude,’ Buck laughs a bit, concentrating on the choice of the next words that leave his mouth, ‘You know I’ll be there,’ he says, trying to ignore the weight these simple words seem to carry.

The thing is, Buck is always there. No matter what’s happening - the good or the bad, for better and for worse, which as you say it out loud sounds awfully close to wedding vows. Buck needs to get a grip. 

It's been that way since the first time he met Christopher. He seems to have an unhealthy understanding of boundaries, but you could always say that Eddie should be the one to tell him to back off, and well, he never does. Buck believes that's the reason why he keeps inserting himself into these situations, like reprimanding Eddie's son as if Chris was his own or buying him unnecessary things his father had said ‘no’ to. 

Maybe it's the fact it's been happening since forever that it's become second nature to just roll with it. Buck knows his best friend appreciates his advice when it comes to raising his kid; however, Buck is not so sure he's right like ninety percent of the time. He views himself more as a fun uncle or a friend to Chris, which sometimes clashes when he has to have a hard conversation with him.

Eddie stays silent, immersed in thought, but the weight that was pulling him down seems to have lifted. Buck almost sees it drift away with the remaining steam escaping their mugs. 

‘Have you eaten?’ Buck asks, getting up to whip something up before they need to pick Chris up from school, cause apparently the evening together has turned into the whole day - which is to be expected at that point in their lives.

‘I cannot believe you invited Martha,’ Eddie slumps down in the passenger seat of Buck’s jeep, Christoper sitting in the back, giggling at his father's reaction to the guest list for the evening.

'She's a friend, why wouldn't I invite her?’ Chris argues, his voice still painted with drowned out laughs.

‘Because her mother’s crazy! I still can't get over that stunt she pulled at the last bake sale!’ Eddie throws his hands in the air, almost taking Buck out in the process, he laughs along Chris, amused with the level of drama his best friend portrays, once again this day might he add.

‘You are so dramatic,’ Buck says under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips as he pulls into the driveway.

‘I’m dramatic? Have you not seen the way she was undressing you with her fuc-freaking eyes the whole time you talked about your process of melting butter?’ Eddie counters, making Buck wince at the strength which he used to close the car’s door. 

‘Dad, she was not undressing Buck! Martha’s mom is married,’ Chris laughs while Buck hands him his crutches, closing the door behind him. 

Buck has to admit this whole situation brings back some fond memories. The bake sale was such a hit, and he was the one who suggested they even have it in the first place. Chris was proudly declaring that his Buck baked three dozen cupcakes for the occasion, and encouraged everyone to try at least one. Of course Martha’s mom was in fact blatantly undressing him in front of the children, but it's just another thing to laugh at. 

‘Buck, will you make the same cupcakes you did back then?’ Chris asks, his puppy eyes making Buck’s heart squeeze tightly inside his chest.

‘Sure buddy, just make sure you text Martha so that her mother can bring me some butter, I think we're running low,’ he pretends to whisper the last part only to Chris and sends a wink his way.

If you asked Buck if he enjoys messing with his best friend he would say absolutely not. Though if you asked him to swear, that could be a different story. Eddie has a really… particular relationship with PTA parents, as well as other parents in general - God forbid they try to talk to Buck, it's like Eddie materialises himself by his side out of nowhere every time. Buck thinks maybe he just wants to be included, that would be the only logical explanation to his feral behaviour. 

‘I picked some up the other day. There's no need for that,’ Eddie rasps while turning the key and stepping inside his home.

Buck is having fun with this. 

‘Well, I don't know, are you sure there's enough?’ Buck asks playfully, stepping inside the kitchen after his best friend, Christopher long gone, probably already busy texting his friends.

‘Buck, I swear to God if you try and do something with one of the parents in Chris’ class I will-’ Eddie starts, but he's quickly interrupted with Buck’s belly laugh resonating through the kitchen.

‘Nah, I think I’ll skip parents and just go straight to teachers, does he have any available?’ Buck jokes, the whole Ana topic long forgotten, but he still likes to bring it up sometimes.

Eddie is facing the fridge, frozen right in his tracks while taking orange juice out. For a second, Buck thinks he might've crossed a line, but it quickly goes away the moment Eddie’s eyes meet his and he can see that his best friend is struggling not to laugh.

‘That's beneath the belt, Buckley,’ he whispers, a bright smirk winning its battle with Eddie's self-control.

‘I mean, it could be beneath the belt, you still haven't told me what the school’s got to offer…’ 

‘Oh my God, shut up and bake your cupcakes,’ Eddie laughs, bypassing Buck to disappear into the living room. 

Now, Buck is faced with a decision. When exactly does the banter morph into shameless flirting? Buck is not stupid, he's got enough dating/flirting/joking around experience to last a lifetime, which is why he concludes that dancing the line with his best friend is something he can do and it will not come back and bite him in the ass as a result. 

‘You sure you don't want to undress me while I melt the butter?’ Buck calls after him, finding the sweet spot between joking and not-really-joking, hearing only the loud laugh escaping Eddie's chest.

Joking around seems to fit like a missing piece every time one of them has a rough time coping with something - which is why Buck believes it's the best medicine for Eddie's incoming spiral. In the meantime, he puts their favourite playlist on as he shuffles around in the kitchen, taking the ingredients out one by one. 

Cooking and baking in Eddie's kitchen also fits like a missing piece, but to Buck’s sense of belonging. If he was to pick one place in the entire world where he feels most at home, it would, ironically, probably be this kitchen. He dreads the day when Eddie finds somebody to settle with and leaves this house behind, along every single memory the three of them made together. 

Technically, it's inevitable, but Buck finds himself daydreaming more often than not. He pictures waking up next to Eddie, scooting closer to the other man and basking in the soft light falling through the cracks in the curtains. He sees breakfasts, pancakes, and eggs, and so much bacon and maple syrup being tossed around the table. Dropping Chris at school and grocery shopping together, trying new recipes while Eddie burns something each time. It scares him, it terrifies him how easily he can shift the facts to take a drastically different narrative, how easily it comes for him to look a little further inside Eddie's piercing stare and find an ounce of love he so desperately longs for. 

But it's all in his head. Eddie barely opens up to him on a good day, there's no way he would willingly love him with everything he's got - and that's how Buck’s mind views these made-up clips playing on repeat inside his head. His thoughts circle the idea that his best friend would move heaven and hell to get to him, that he would be his fucking knight in shining armour, sacrificing every principle and every single thing he's been taught since forever. But, unfortunately, even though Eddie is not homophobic like his parents, he is painfully straight. 

Not like Eddie being gay would make their situation any different. Buck believes that even if his best friend dated men, however insane it may sound, he would never lay eyes on Buck. Why would he? Sure, Buck knows some people find him attractive, but come on. It's Eddie. 

He should really stop fantasising about his best friend being gay and loving him while he stands in the man’s kitchen, taking the freshly baked cupcakes out of the oven, kitchen already spotless. Huh, time flies when you think of unrealistic things.

‘Buck, are the cupcakes ready?’ Eddie asks on an exhale, whilst he stumbles into the kitchen, gripping the counter as if his life depends on it.

‘Eddie, is the house on fire?’ Buck answers with a question, an amused smirk attacking his face, his heart suddenly pumping all its blood supply straight to his cheeks just because their eyes met. Betrayal. 

‘What? No, the house is not on fire, what the hell are you talking about?’ Eddie’s brows furrow for the nth time today, his eyes finding Buck’s instantly. 

And, as unimaginable as it sounds, Buck physically feels his own body take the nerves out of his best friend. He notices Eddie’s shoulders dropping, face relaxing, knuckles previously whitened from the death grip he had on the counter regaining their usual colour. Buck collects his own racing thoughts, catching the only one worth paying attention to - he helps Eddie calm down. 

It shouldn't be a revelation, but the number of times it happened just today alone brings this thought to the front of his mind. Buck’s the reason his best friend’s shoulders drop, he's the reason his face’s brighter.

For the love of God, somebody sedate him before he jumps at his best friend and just touches.

The urge to brush his fingers along the other man’s shoulder, run them through his hair and hold him close is getting pathetic. 

Actually, it was never anything other than pathetic. 

‘You good?’ he asks instead of making any sudden movements, plating the cupcakes.

‘Now I am, thank you,’ Eddie breathes out a sigh of relief, his shaking hand making its way through his hair, the exact motion that Buck so desperately wants to do himself.

"I didn't do anything, sit down and have a cupcake,’ Buck instructs the other man, pulling out a chair for him. Eddie complies without question, almost throwing himself onto the chair, biting the cupcake mindlessly.

Eddie looks disheveled, no gel in his hair, a pair of loosely fitting jeans, tied together with a simple black leather belt, which is… Buck’s?

‘Hey, is that mine?’ Buck asks, the corner of his lips lifting. He can be cocky, he can be so cocky that you wouldn’t ever guess his heart is being ripped out of his chest with how fast it’s beating after Eddie looks up at him. 

And his eyes are ethereal. Buck feels his knees give out beneath his weight a little, catching himself on the back of Eddie’s chair, playing it cool. One might say he plays it a little bit too cool, with how Eddie’s irises are being slowly taken by the growing pupils. Buck’s sure he’s misreading this whole situation. What situation? What is happening right now?

Eddie looks down at his own waist, so unbelievably slowly that Buck feels he might pass out with how his eyes trail the movement of his best friend’s head. Buck puts his other hand on the table, right next to the cursed cupcake that got them into this situation. Is this a situation? Should somebody intervene? God help him. 

To paint you a better picture, Buck is basically caging Eddie in this goddamn chair, leaning over him in a way that is not even dancing the line anymore, it’s already fallen and gripping the line with one hand, scared to succumb to darkness. Buck feels lightheaded, he must be reading this wrong, Eddie is messing with him, he’s definitely not flirting. Eddie cannot flirt with him. He cannot, because he is straight, he is Buck’s best friend, and more importantly - Eddie is a renter, which, okay, what the fuck does that have to do with anything that’s happening right now. 

Eddie’s eyes trail back to meet Buck’s once more, which feels like coming home and leaving at the same time. At this point the line is engraved before his eyes, he’s patiently waiting for the moment when Eddie stomps Buck’s imaginary hand still holding it. 

‘Oh, this old thing?’ Eddie murmurs, his voice dropping an octave, and unfortunately Buck knows exactly what’s going on. He can play along, he can joke around and imagine, because what’s happening is definitely not flirting. It’s not. It cannot be. 

‘Mhm,’ he manages to produce a hum, keeping his breath from trembling as it leaves through his nose. 

He is so casual about this. Because that’s exactly what that is, it’s casual. Friends flirt all the time, right? Sure, Hen doesn’t really flirt with Chimney but both of them are married and Hen would probably gag at the sheer idea of flirting with the man. But here, two best friends just having a laugh after one of them has been losing his mind since noon, it’s basically a coping mechanism. Yes, it’s a coping mechanism and Buck is just a really, really good friend helping Eddie out. 

‘Well, if you want it Buckley, you should probably just take it,’ Eddie says, the smirk on his lips making fun of the gears screeching to a halt in Buck’s brain.

Eddie’s body leans back, still so dangerously close to Buck, which is why he cannot be stopped. He lets his eyes trail down the other man’s face, lingering on his best friend’s lips for… too long. Definitely too long. Abort. He doesn’t back down fully though, his mind abandoning all thoughts titled what the fuck is happening here, focusing on, well, the task at hand. 

Their eyes clash, the brown in Eddie’s barely visible anymore, and Buck knows his shit, of course he does. 

Which is why it doesn’t take him more than five seconds to use one of his hands to undo the buckle of his best friend’s, Buck’s, belt. He swipes it through all of the hoops in one swift motion, straightening his back and rolling the leather around his hand. 

Eddie looks - well. His eyes are blown wide, lips parted a little more than slightly, his whole body frozen in the exact position Buck’s left him in. He’s leaning on the back of the chair, one elbow laying steady on the edge of the table. Buck’s eyes trail over his silhouette, the corner of his lips tingling from how long it’s been tilted upwards.

‘Amateur,’ he chuckles, leaving to put the belt inside his drawer in Eddie’s bedroom.

Buck gently shuts the door to the room, the buckle clinking against the bottom of the drawer as he slowly puts it down. 

What the fuck just happened?

Coping mechanisms are weird. 

And the fact is, there’s so many of them. 

For instance - some people drink alcohol, take drugs, smoke; some people party and have meaningless sex all the time (we don’t talk about Buck 1.0)

Now, Buck likes to think he’s got coping mechanisms down to a tee, he likes to work out, run, and… bake a little. Some people would see the amount of time he spends in the kitchen as a problem. He believes it’s a rather nice way to let off some steam, certainly better than opioids.

Hence, Eddie’s kitchen. 

All of the kids have already arrived, each of them amazed with the cupcakes he’d prepared. There’s got to be over seven teenagers in the living room, Eddie lost somewhere between bringing them drinks and checking with Chris if everything is exactly how he wants it. 

Eddie’s spiral didn’t stop with the arrival of the children; however, Buck wouldn’t really know, as it’s been like forty minutes since, what he decided to call it, the kitchen-belt incident. 

Buck is fine, he just baked two dozen cupcakes, which is a lot, and he is fine, he is so fine you wouldn’t question it if you saw him. 

You would, however, question it if you saw the batter he’s currently religiously mixing with a spatula.

Banana bread. He is making banana bread, only because Eddie had four overly ripe bananas, and what? Was he supposed to ignore this fact and just go on with his day? 

Buck holds eye contact with the ceramic bowl as a little bit of batter spills over the side, he curses beneath his breath and mixes a little bit harder. Take that, banana bread, you will not be spilling on Buck’s watch. 

‘What did the batter do to you?’ Eddie chuckles as he smoothly slides next to Buck, crossing his arms and leaning his hip on the counter.

‘Nothing,’ Buck mumbles, taking two bread pans out of the cupboard and lining them with baking paper.

He feels Eddie studying his every move, which is fine. It’s fine, and Buck is baking. He is in his happy place, he hears slightly muffled voices of the teenagers playing some kind of truth-or-dare game in the background, and his best friend is next to him and he is fine, thank you for asking.

‘Buck,’ Eddie starts, clearly wanting him to give him his full attention.

‘Nope,’ Buck concludes, transferring the batter into the pans with precision worthy of someone diffusing a bomb. 

‘You already made cupcakes, bud,’ Eddie sighs, taking the empty bowl from his hands. Their fingers tangle a bit with the action, which makes Buck look at Eddie’s face involuntarily. 

Big mistake. 

Huge one, really. Have you ever thought you just made the worst mistake of your life? No? Well, Buck had a couple close calls over the years, like stealing the firetruck on numerous occasions and so on.

This, however, this is the biggest mistake he’s ever made without question. 

Eddie’s eyes are focused on Buck, a small smile tugging at one corner of his lips. And you know what, Buck really should be used to this sight by now, but somehow the way Eddie looks at him will never stop taking him by surprise. He must be making things up, cause it looks like so much more than it is, and he needs to get a grip, because what?

His best friend looks at him in the same way as he looks at every other friend, like Hen, or Chimney.

And what if a voice inside Buck’s head is screaming at him that it’s not true, Eddie definitely does not look at Hen or Chimney this way, and it’s something to think about.

It’s not. Something to think about, he means. 

‘Yes,’ Buck manages to reply before the silence between them stretches too long, ‘But you had perfect bananas, I couldn’t just leave them.’

‘Perfect bananas,’ Eddie confirms, still not taking his eyes from Buck and God, can he stop?

‘Stop looking at me like that.’

‘Like what?’ Eddie laughs, throwing his head back a little and losing balance against the counter.

‘I don’t know? Like you know something I don’t?’ Buck throws the pans inside the oven, finally done with baking for today. Flour really hates to see him coming.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking abou-’ Eddie’s words are interrupted with a loud question coming from the living room.

‘What’s the deal with Buck, by the way?’ Martha’s voice cuts the kitchen air like a fucking katana.

Both of them freeze. 

Buck’s hands stop washing the mixing bowl, Eddie scoots closer to stop the kitchen sink from running. 

Their eyes meet, a silent conversation happening, where they unanimously decide to eavesdrop on the teenagers’ conversation. Now, it might be controversial, they might rot in hell for this, but at least their curiosity will be satisfied.

‘What do you mean?’ Chris asks his friend, clearly confused, even though they cannot see him.

‘I mean, what? Does he live with you and your dad? He made us cupcakes and he picks you up from school like half the time.’ Martha continues, all of Christopher’s friends quiet as mice, the tension in the living room rising so rapidly Buck starts to feel it in the kitchen.

His heart starts racing, all of the possible responses Chris could give his friends flashing through his mind. 

‘Yeah, I don’t know, I guess he’s just there.’

‘I’m not sure, he just came over one time and basically never left.’

‘My dad likes him so I’m stuck with him all the time.’

This might be insecurity overtaking his better judgment, but he genuinely believes the flashes of his imagination. For the record, he’s aware Chris loves him, but it's complicated.

These are just some of the options Buck’s mind comes up with, but he is not prepared for what leaves this kid’s mouth. 

‘He’s like my other dad.’ 

Other dad. 

Other dad. 

Buck is terrified. He looks over at Eddie, still inches away from him, and is sure to find anger, or devastation, because why would Eddie’s kid see Buck the same as his real father? 

Instead, Buck finds the same gaze he’s been finding in Eddie’s eyes for quite some time now. Eddie looks at him like he’s the answer to the question he forgot how to ask. The seconds blur together, Buck releases a shuddered breath he’s apparently been holding, their eyes stay glued to each other. Buck’s trying to communicate how freaked out he is, not really sure if he’s succeeding or not. 

Eddie’s hand finds his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly, ‘He’s right, you know? He’s always right,’ Eddie whispers, leaving Buck to disappear in the direction of the bathroom. 

And you know what? No. He's not thinking about this right now, he's not unpacking the enormous amount of trust his best friend and said best friend's son have in him. 

He refocuses his attention on the bowl in his hands, still in need of being cleaned. He turns the water back on, but manages not to miss the next part of the teenagers’ conversation. 

‘It doesn’t help that they’re like, madly in love with each other, but yeah, he’s like a dad to me.’ 

Christopher’s voice pierces him like a fucking lightning, and the methapor is accurate, Buck knows how that feels. He sucks in a sharp breath, the bowl clatters onto the ground and smashes into a thousand pieces. 

And it could be funny, Buck could brush it off, if only Eddie's voice didn't start playing inside his head like a fucking prayer.

‘He’s always right.’

Talking is overrated. 

Buck looks up at the ceiling of his living room, taking a bite of the banana bread he made at Eddie’s yesterday evening. 

The bread he took out of the oven right before he told Eddie he was going home.

The bread he wrapped in paper while it was still hot and planted it on the passenger seat of his jeep while three kids squished together in the backseat. 

Because he gave some of Chris’ friends a ride home, cause that’s what he does. 

Buck wonders what exactly does it mean to be a dad. The term is quite overused, to be honest. When people say ‘dad’ the first person he thinks of is Eddie, which is understandable, considering how much time they spend together and well, the fact that his best friend is in fact a father. Then, he thinks of Bobby, and Philip, eventually.

Father figures in his life fall into, what some people might call a spectrum. Whilst Philip Buckley has always had great intentions, he was kind of lost behind Buck’s mother. Buck really doesn’t pay his parents that much attention, not anymore, instead trying to focus on his own found-family and shaping relationships with them. He would give his life for people of 118 without a doubt, which might be a tad dramatic, but hey, he loves his family.

When Bobby scolds him, Buck knows the man loves him either way, a luxury he never had with his own parents. It feels like Bobby has always been closer to a dad than Philip Buckley was to Buck. 

And maybe that should've been a sign, the fact that you can see a dad in someone else, even though biologically you have a perfectly good father. But the thing is, his father wasn't really that good, at least Dr. Copeland says Buck gives Philip too much credit. 

He doesn't know how and when exactly he became something like a dad to Christopher. It's a lot, especially with the fact that he's still unsure how Eddie feels about this statement. 

Because what the fuck?

How should a person feel when their kid talks about another man basically in the same manner as about their own father?

Buck has been lost before. He's been lost for so many years, all through Pennsylvania, Montana, Arizona, and other places. 

This lost is different.

Being happy and feeling like it's wrong to be. How can he just accept Chris views him as a dad and go on with his life? Sure, he's in Eddie's will, but ideally, the piece of paper will never have to be set in motion. 

It's wrong, it’s so wrong, purely because he worries Eddie will think he wants to take his place in Chirstopher’s life, and he would never do that. God, what if Eddie cuts him off and never speaks to him again only because Buck managed to overstep an invisible line between their respective lives? 

A muffled sound of a new message popping up on his phone rips him out of his train of thought. His brows furrow, as he's not expecting anyone to text him today, with Eddie clearly hating him now for destroying his family.

7:34 Eddie 

You busy?

Okay, so just to recap, his best friend clearly hates him and wants to talk because he realised Buck has been overstepping for years now, he needs to remind him that they're strictly coworkers and should definitely reconsider having drawers in each other's houses, and each other's favourite coffee creamers on standby, and-

7:38 Eddie

Buck?

He needs to face this, he needs to behave like a grown man and take the consequences. He will be fine, it’s not like Eddie and Christopher are his whole world or something.

It's not like he's, as Chris beautifully put it, madly in love with his best friend, cause that would be weird. 

It would be weird, and totally unreciprocated, because they were not flirting yesterday, or any other day before yesterday, they were just joking around because that's what they do.

7:40 Eddie

I feel ghosted.

7:40 Buck

im here

7:41 Buck

whats up

Casual. Strictly casual and so, so fine.

Are you freaking out? He's not freaking out. Buck is fine, he's prepared, and he's doing fine, he will talk about this thing with Eddie like two adults, and it's going to be probably the most gut-wrenching conversation of his entire life, but he's going to be just-

7:43 Eddie

Get ready, I’ll pick you up in 15.

What? 

He must've missed a few chapters, because why the fuck would Eddie want to talk to him about boundaries and fathering children and many other things they should definitely talk about somewhere that's not his or Eddie's house? 

7:44 Buck

um…

7:44 Buck

context… please?

Jesus Christ, why is he so pathetic. Who even says that. Oh my God.

He stares at his phone impatiently for one more minute before he makes an executive decision to actually get ready. 

Buck's always been pretty great at thinking too much about stuff that doesn't really matter, whilst compartmentalising shit he really should take a longer look at. 

Now, his judgement is often impaired, especially now, because picking a spiral titled which shirt do I look better in, black or navy blue? rather than a spiral what-the-fuck-is-eddie-doing? seems like an obvious choice. 

He goes with navy blue. 

His hair is longer now, the curls having their own opinions that are usually the complete opposite of how Buck wants them to behave. He attempts to tame them just a little, slipping a thick belt through the loops of his jeans.

7:58 Eddie

I’m outside.

Of course he is, it would probably mean it's the end of the world if Eddie was ever even a minute late. Buck sighs, grabbing his wallet and keys from the small tray next to the front door. He shoots a quick glance at himself in the hallway mirror, plastering on a small smile. 

The action reminds him a little of what he used to do when he was hiding his addiction from Eddie.

He drops the smile. 

If Eddie asks what happened, he can just talk about it. He’s an adult, an adult that can communicate and have grown-up conversations, and-

Eddie honks. 

Buck rolls his eyes and swings the front door open, trying his best not to chance a look towards his best friend’s car, and locks the door behind him. He slips into the passenger seat after taking the front porch in four quick strides.

‘Hi,’ Eddie grins at him, backing out of the driveway without wasting a second, ‘You look good.’

Casual. Platonic, casual observation that's normal between friends and definitely normal between best friends/coparents/partners/whatever the fuck they are. 

Buck clears his throat, ‘Thank you, where are we going?’ he asks, or more so accuses Eddie while shifting restlessly in his seat.

‘Dancing,’ Eddie replies with a shrug, the corner of his lips lifting up in a way that Buck must’ve seen somewhere before, because it's so vividly familiar.

He stills. 

It’s the same fucking smile he had the pleasure to observe on his best friend during the, already famous among the tiny people in his head, kitchen-belt incident.

Okay, he can do this. Eddie is definitely acting weird, they're definitely not talking about the dad thing tonight, or boundaries, or the fact that his best friend’s kid believes they're in love, because apparently they're going dancing-

What? 

‘What?’ 

Eddie chuckles, the smirk plastered on his mouth like a fucking religious icon, and Buck has been in a church before in his life but he might pass out because this smile just might be the most holy thing he’s ever seen.

And he's not exaggerating, not really. Buck’s eyes leave him behind as they depart on a journey across Eddie’s face. They hook on his eyelashes for a while, skimming down through his cheekbone towards the lifted corner of his lips. And it's all so surreal, and it's getting dark, and Buck just got picked up with little to no notice, and apparently they're going dancing, and it all feels like something they should talk about. 

‘We’re going dancing,’ Eddie explains, taking a left turn at an intersection, using only one hand, which is an important detail, thank you very much. 

Buck is slowly losing his mind. 

Unfortunately, he feels like he’s run out of crashing-out-energy for the day, so, well. 

Might as well accept whatever life throws at him and just go with it at this point. It's clear they're both aware of how… strange this setting is, and they're both deliberately choosing not to address it.

‘Dancing,’ he confirms, eyeing his best friend suspiciously.

‘Yes, Buckley, dancing,’ Eddie sighs, but the smile never leaves his lips.

His heart might stop, or start beating alarmingly fast, at this point it stays unclear.

‘What kind of dancing? Y’gonna teach me ballroom this fine Saturday night?’ Buck jokes, because he can do jokes. He might not be able to survive the evening, but he sure can do jokes. 

Hell, he might even test how far he can go. It's not like he’s got anything to lose, right? Eddie’s for sure going to talk to him about crossing the line and set boundaries between them… in the near future, so he might as well just do some-

‘Line dancing,’ Eddie replies, and Buck’s body goes rigid.

Line dancing. His best friend is taking him line dancing, a day after his son called Buck his other dad, a day after they shamelessly flirted in the kitchen with a handful of teenagers present in the same household, a day after Chris declared they love each other, and a day after Buck hyperventilated while cleaning the pieces of his favourite ceramic mixing bowl from Eddie’s kitchen floor.

Everything’s fine.

Buck’s eyes decide to risk a glance towards his best friend, taking the sight in. Eddie’s wearing a criminal black button-up, the material wraps his biceps with obscene accuracy, two of the top buttons already loose, and they haven't even started dancing yet. 

His eyes linger on Eddie’s waist, recognising the strip of leather hugging his hips tight. The clearly worn, washed out jeans sit comfortably around his thighs, his right leg shifting slightly as he's pushing down on the accelerator, a glimpse of a silver buckle hitting Buck’s eyes in the process. 

‘Are you wearing cowboy boots?’ he asks, dumbfounded.

‘Yup,’ Eddie pops the ‘p,’ never taking his eyes off the road.

Which is fine, really. It's not like Eddie in all black with a leather belt and cowboy boots does anything to Buck.

‘Great, I’m so not dressed for the occasion,’ Buck groans, resting his elbow on the window.

‘I’ve got boots for you in the backseat,’ Eddie’s eyes leave the road and meet Buck’s for two seconds at best, and Buck deems it too short to actually try and read whatever is going on inside his best friend’s head.

‘Of course you do, did you get me a hat, also?’ he asks mockingly, reaching into the backseat to change his shoes before they reach the destination. 

‘No, the hat’s mine,’ Eddie mumbles, briefly looking at Buck, who’s currently examining the boots his best friend’s got him.

They’re mostly black, with navy blue and silver elements scattered all around them. They're stitched with a mix of black and silver string, clearly from the higher shelf. Buck looks at them with awe, tracing some of the lines with the tips of his fingers. 

‘Eddie,’ he whispers, his eyes shimmering while he locks them with his best friend for another painfully short second.

‘Hm?’ Eddie leaves the main road and the car begins rolling on gravel, the neon lights starting to be visible from behind the trees, not more than a hundred feet ahead of them.

‘Eddie, I’m literally matching them perfectly today,’ Eddie hums in agreement, watching Buck already trying the left boot on, ‘Where the fuck did you get them?’ 

‘Consider it an early birthday gift,’ Eddie pulls the car into the parking lot of some weird-looking bar, the music loud enough they can hear it from the inside. 

The place is old, at least that's how it looks to Buck. The walls are wooden, the front porch lined with a small fence, tables with ashtrays placed in the corners. The support beams are covered in a bunch of string lights, a couple of neons shining brightly. The whole picture is pretty, but some parts could be considered a fire hazard. 

Buck looks at Eddie, who’s still wearing that shameless smirk, the neons casting a glow on him, the reflections jumping around in his eyes. 

He’s not surviving this.

Eddie turns to him, their eyes meeting properly for the first time since yesterday's evening. 

The brown inside Eddie's eyes is barely visible, overtaken by the darkening sky and pinkish rays coming in through the front window. Buck physically feels his own pupils dilate, jumping nervously from Eddie’s one eye to the other. The contact seems heavy, the unspoken words weigh them down and anchor Buck steadier in his seat.

‘You coming?’ his best friend asks, his smile widening as he grabs something from the backseat.

They jump out of the car, the music hitting Buck’s ears even harder than before. He takes a deep breath, a tingly feeling washing over him, something he hasn't felt in a long time. 

Something that feels dangerously close to anticipation.

You see, Buck spends almost every second of his life jumping into situations with little to none information. They could get a call to a structure fire, but upon arrival it might turn out to be so much more, or so much worse than expected. 

But now, the unknown feels so long-awaited, like one step in any direction will bring some kind of results, new, exciting results. Buck takes a second to doubt if it's all in his head, quickly interrupted by a slam of the car’s door. 

He looks over to Eddie, but instead of finding a head full of brown strands, his eyes stop at a black cowboy hat, once again stitched with a silver string, completing his best friend’s look with annoying perfection. Buck's staring, mouth probably open a little more than he realizes, his right arm frozen in motion of closing his own car’s door behind him. He must look comical, but, quite frankly, he only feels the last ounces of self-preservation escape his body with a shuddered breath. 

He might not know how to line dance, but he sure as hell knows how to party, flirt and get hammered, which seems to be the plan for today's evening as far as Buck’s concerned. 

‘Buckley, my beer’s not going to buy itself!’ Eddie yells at him from the bar’s front door, taking him straight out of the trance. Buck joggs over to the entrance, catching up to his best friend.

‘Oh, so now I’m paying?’ Buck goes with it, of course he fucking does, he’d like to see what you would do if Eddie fucking Diaz looked at you that way and insinuated you should buy him a drink.

He follows Eddie inside the bar.

The inside does not disappoint. This place is taken straight out of a western movie, with a little LA twist in it. There's so many people Buck almost feels dizzy with it, holding onto Eddie’s bicep so as to not lose him in the crowd. 

The ratio between men and women is rather even, what's not even, however, is the ratio between straight couples making out to gay couples making out.

Oh God.

‘Eddie, is this a gay bar?’ Buck tugs his best friend’s arm, stopping him momentarily and shouting loudly over the music.

‘No, it's a gay-western-line dancing bar,’ Eddie winks at him, continuing his way towards the bar.

Buck bluescreens. 

Eddie, his straight best friend, whose son sees Buck as the other dad, who deliberately decided he's not going to set boundaries between them because of that fact, who has been flirting with him since yesterday, brought him to a gay bar. 

Unprovoked, by the way. Totally unprovoked, and with a fifteen-minute notice. 

Okay, recap. 

Eddie might be okay with Chris calling Buck his other dad.

Eddie might be okay with flirting with Buck.

Eddie might be okay with Buck flirting with him.

Eddie might not be straight.

The working theory is - Eddie brought him to a gay bar because Eddie is really bad at talking and being straightforward, which Buck understands as Flirting with you was not casual, I’m very much interested. 

Which, yeah, Buck can work with that. 

Honestly, it feels like too much of a revelation to have on a Saturday evening in the middle of a crowd, in new cowboy boots that must’ve cost a fortune, with his best friend inches ahead of him, wearing this fucking hat and glancing at Buck from time to time to see if he’s still following, even though his hand is still tightly wrapped around Eddie’s bicep. 

Buck needs to fucking breathe.

They finally get through the shit ton of people, Buck’s hands landing on the bar top with unnecessary force. The bartender is a guy in late twenties, maybe early thirties, Buck’s eye lingers on his tattooed arms for half a second longer than it probably should. Their eyes meet, and the man doesn't waste a second before sliding towards the two of them. 

‘Hey gorgeous, what can I get you?’ the dark-haired guy leans over the bar top, looking directly at Buck. He physically feels his best friend take a sudden sharp breath and tense up next to him.

Huh.

Maybe Eddie just needs a little push? 

Buck can definitely work something out. 

‘Honestly, I’m not sure. For my friend here, whatever you got on tap,’ he turns to look at Eddie briefly, raising an unspoken challenge, the corners of his lips lifting involuntarily as he studies the fire behind Eddie’s eyes, ‘I’m leaning towards tequila, maybe?’ Buck’s attention comes back to the younger bartender, he tilts his head slightly, mirrors the other man’s posture and leans closer.

‘You sure you wanna go straight for the shots, gorgeous?’ the bartender meets him halfway, starting to pour the beer for Eddie.

Eddie, whose arm just curled around Buck’s waist. 

Now, Buck might've planned for something to happen, but he greatly miscalculated. Eddie’s fingers brush the covered skin of his waist with so much possessiveness it makes Buck’s blood come to a boil. He feels his own body betray him and lean towards his best friend on instinct, never actually caring for the dark-haired bartender. 

‘Let’s start with beer, hm?’ Eddie murmurs next to his ear, sending shivers down his spine. 

‘Alright, make that two,’ Buck stutters a little, relaxing into the other man’s touch. 

He feels Eddie’s fingers squeeze Buck’s waist one last time before his hand is dropping down. It leaves a cold spot on Buck’s side, but he's not the one to complain about the warmth being there in the first place. 

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts, Eddie’s quiet chuckle forcing it to come to a halt. Buck reaches for his wallet, quickly interrupted with Eddie's hand sliding his own card across the bar top, ‘Name’s Diaz, open a tab.’

‘You got it,’ the bartender murmurs underneath his breath, clearly annoyed at Buck’s best friend, what a shame.

‘Hey, I thought I was supposed to be paying?’ he turned to Eddie, pointing accusingly at his wallet. 

Eddie’s eyes lock onto him, making Buck swallow, because if his best friend’s stare could kill, he would be long dead and buried. 

‘No, I think you should stay away from the bar tonight,’ Eddie grips his beer in one hand, the other finding Buck’s wrist, leading him towards a standing table in the corner. And Buck goes, because he always goes wherever Eddie leads him.

Buck is drunk. 

He’s not exactly sure when one beer turned into two, or when those two beers turned into a fourth round of shots Eddie’s bringing to their table, but he's not complaining.

‘Are you trying to make me drunk, Eddie?’ Buck leans towards the other man, squeezing his bicep a little harder than necessary. 

Not that squeezing Eddie’s bicep is necessary altogether, but if you ask Buck he’d say it’s a relative concept.

‘Well if I am, I think I’ve already succeeded, bud,’ Eddie chuckles, placing the shots on the table. Both of the small glasses have lime wedges on top of them, but salt is nowhere to be seen.

‘Wait, salt’s at the bar, I’ll go get it,’ he says, rushing past Eddie in the direction of the bar. 

He takes half a step at best, before he’s smoothly turned around by a hand circling his waist.

Oh.

Buck’s head is spinning, his eyes trace the already familiar weight from his waist straight to the owner, focusing on none other than his best friend. 

Eddie’s stare is different. He skips between Buck’s eyes with ease, his hand adjusting its grip on Buck’s side. He looks dangerous, like he's trying to hold onto already established truths between them, but at the same time is painfully aware of what they're doing.

Throughout the entire evening, they've been drinking, laughing like crazy, and dancing the line between banter and flirting. Buck decides the line is overrated, sure, they might not talk about it but he's convinced they both know exactly where this is going. 

The music seems to turn quiet, Eddie dips his chin before taking a step closer to Buck, too close, dangerously close. 

What's even more dangerous is the way Eddie has to tilt his head backwards to meet Buck’s eyes. Their breaths clash in the middle, Eddie’s hand still resting on his waist.

Not resting, holding. Because the strength with which Eddie’s fingers grip the skin over his shirt is so close to vulgar, Buck’s not sure if it won't leave any marks on him.

God.

Eddie moves even closer, but misses the front of his face entirely, going straight for his ear.

‘I told you you’re staying away from the bar tonight,’ Eddie whispers, his lips brushing Buck’s ear. The hairs on his neck stand, chills running through every inch of the upper part of his body. 

Buck’s brain might be short-circuiting, with the way the alcohol seems to overtake every single drop of his blood, because he thinks he just lost his damn mind.

‘You know Diaz, I think you're all talk but in reality-’ he begins, quickly forgetting what he’s supposed to say next.

Because, well.

Eddie leans back, his breath no longer tingling the skin around Buck’s ear, which is a loss he’s willing to accept. With Eddie’s fingers never leaving Buck’s side, he brings the back of his other hand up to his mouth, licking a short stripe across it. The fucking smirk comes back to his lips, almost making Buck’s eyes roll back into his head, which is insane, because he somehow survived eye contact with his best friend while said best friend licked salt from the back of his own hand just a second before.

The smile of this man just might be the thing that kills him.

Buck doesn't have much time to think about the whole situation, because Eddie is now offering the rest of the salt for Buck to lick, and he’s just a man. 

Their eyes meet for what feels like a thousandth time tonight, Buck trying his best to keep them locked onto each other while his tongue collects the salt from Eddie’s hand. He drags it out, rush being a relative term. He’s holding Eddie’s wrist a little harder than needed, the blood in his veins picking up the pace underneath Buck’s fingers.

Buck believes he knows his best friend pretty damn well. 

At least, that's what he would’ve said on Friday, around eleven thirty, before this whole shit show started.

Now, Eddie's irises darken to a point of no return, his pupils dilate, consuming the brown in the process. Something comparable to hunger slowly oozes through his eyelashes, taking purchase on Buck’s mouth. He swallows, the sting of salt on his tongue sending a pulse down his throat, his eyes breaking the invisible line and concentrating on the shot of tequila still left untouched on the table.

Buck shifts his body towards it, losing Eddie's hand from his waist in the process. He mourns the loss for around four and a half seconds, feeling the shot warm him from the inside and biting on the lime.

‘Come on, Diaz. I thought you took me dancing,’ he winks at the other man, turning towards the growing group of people on the dancefloor as someone yells out encouragements for more people to join.

He hears the shot glass slam against the table behind him, guessing Eddie downed the tequila quickly to catch up to him.

He's not wrong, as just a moment later he feels a soft glide on the hem of his shirt, rough fingers lifting it and sliding back into place at the right side of his waist, this time without any material in the way. Buck notices himself being pulled back, as both he and Eddie fall into the long line of people in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Some people leave an impression of space around them, preparing to dance as soon as the first sounds of ‘Good Time’ start playing. 

Buck giggles, his side still occupied by Eddie's hand, ‘I think you're gonna have to let me go if I’m meant to dance.’

‘Mhm, right. Because you know the steps?’ Eddie asks condescendingly, lifting a brow at him. 

Buck's smile falters, mouth opening at an attempt to retaliate, but nothing comes out.

‘Thought so. Just follow my lead, sweetheart,’ Eddie gives his waist one last squeeze, before starting to tap his leg to the rhythm.

Great thing that the rhythm of the song is so fucking loud, because Buck’s heart might’ve just lost it’s own. 

Eddie moves their bodies smoothly, first two steps to the left, then right back. Buck mimics his movements, quickly reading the general idea through the cracks. It’s similar to being on call, the two of them moving in tandem, listening to each other's bodies without uttering a word, acting before they have a second to think about it. It seems to be a recurring theme with the two of them.

Buck’s head is heavy, his arm braced around Eddie's shoulders as the other man guides them through the song, people around them screaming and laughing as they bump into each other. The sea of cowboy hats expanding so far Buck’s not sure if he hasn't traveled to Texas in the past hour. 

The song speeds up, and so does Buck’s understanding of the steps, ‘Hold on, I think I’ve got it.’

Eddie laughs beside him but lets his side go, just to take not even a step away and watch him expectantly.

Buck thinks for… well, no time, really, before he grabs the hat from Eddie's head and slides it onto his own, tracing a finger over the edge, laughing at Eddie's facial expression.

Because why in the world is Eddie looking at him like that, his eyes tracing every single movement Buck makes, which are a little too smooth for someone who just tried line dancing for the first time, but if Buck were to be humble, he'd just say he's a natural.

Eddie’s stare lingers on Buck’s fingers as he flicks the front of the hat, his best friend’s expression resembling something like shock, awe, or desperation, though Buck’s not sure that's it.

Eddie's eyes move up and down Buck’s body, he's dancing right in front of him, destroying the almost nonexistent by now line of people. Buck doesn't really think, once again, when his hand comes up to hold the hat in place, the song nearing the end, the tapping of their feet speeding up one last time. He looks down, focusing on the moves, not noticing how close to him Eddie now is.

Buck looks up, drowning in Eddie's eyes. It should be weirder, really. The tension that's been building between them since yesterday, but in reality it's been almost a decade. It doesn't feel weird, or unwanted, or even surprising, and Buck doesn't exactly know what to expect next.

That's the only strange thing about this whole situation, the fact that after so many years, Buck is finally meeting another side of Eddie, the one that's hungry, possessive, probably jealous, and wants so openly. Buck's not sure what happened in Texas, but he’s glad he can experience this version of his best friend firsthand. It's quite exciting, not knowing how the other person is about to act, even though you've been studying them for the better part of a decade. 

The music stops somewhere between Eddie's eyes tracing Buck’s fingers on his hat, and Eddie’s eyes falling onto Buck’s mouth. 

The next song begins, people around them screaming even louder, tapping the soles of their shoes on the ground in unison. Buck looks through the crowd, his hand gripping the side of the hat religiously, afraid it's going to get thrown off by the lesbian couple jumping alarmingly high just to the right of them. 

This song is lively, a little bit dirty, if Buck’s being precise, and he doesn't know the title. He doesn't know the title, but he decides he likes this song, so he goes to ask Eddie about it, only to find his best friend’s eyes still glued to him, his expression terrified and so, so gone that Buck takes in a sharp breath, his own eyes falling onto Eddie’s mouth for two seconds too long.

Buck barely manages to blink before his best friend's hands are hauling him in by his neck, their lips crashing against each other with so much force it should probably give him some sort of whiplash.

Buck acts before he can think, kissing Eddie back with even more strength, his hands landing on his best friend's waist, which earns him a gasp released against his lips. One of Eddie’s hands travels around Buck’s neck, finding the small hairs at the back of his head and tugging.

‘Fuck,’ Buck breathes out, lifting the hem of Eddie’s button-up and sliding his fingers around his bare skin.

Eddie hums at the contact, his fingers gripping Buck’s neck so fucking hard his head starts throbbing. Their lips work together, both of them gasping for air in between the movements. 

Buck bites Eddie's lower lip, getting a loud moan, which in turn makes him whimper against his best friend's mouth. 

Eddie’s the one to break the kiss, breathing heavily against Buck’s mouth, the smirk returning back to its usual spot. Buck has to blink a couple of times, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s lips. He’s getting dizzy, but the only thing left on his mind is please, God, let him kiss me again.

‘You good here, Buckley?’ he chuckles as he fixes the placement of his hat on Buck’s head, his smile becoming a little more fond than Buck’s gotten used to these past two days. 

And what even is self respect? Buck doesn't like the idea of this concept, so the next words that leave his mouth sound awfully close to begging, and he couldn't care less.

‘Please kiss me again,’ he breathes out, his eyes fluttering shut when Eddie complies instantly, bringing Buck down by his neck once again.

The kiss is not gentle, the 8-year-old desperation finally having a way out of his body. Buck whimpers into Eddie’s lips, as the other man's tongue slides over his bottom lip. He might sound like a teenager laying his hands on another person for the first time in his life, but in reality, that's exactly how it feels. 

Buck’s hands leave the other man’s waist and grip harshly onto the brown strands of hair. The sound that leaves Eddie at that action is borderline animalistic, making Buck lose his breath and come up for air. Their hands stay put as they hold each other close in the middle of the crowd, everyone around them not aware of how revolutionary this moment is.

Their foreheads rest against each other, Buck’s lips forming a smile and laughing, still a little breathless. 

‘If I’d known line dancing gets you going I’d have gone to Texas with you,’ Buck admits, watching as Eddie’s head falls onto his shoulder with a loud laugh.

‘Honestly, I think it's the hat,’ Eddie says, biting his lip as he looks up at Buck again, his eyes still hungry, but full of something so much more meaningful than that. Something that's been inside them both for quite some time now, Buck only now realising that he wasn't making it up.

Love.

‘Don't look at me like that,’ Buck groans, his thumb brushing over Eddie's bottom lip, releasing it from between his teeth.

Eddie laughs, his eyes glistening in the dim lights of the bar. His pupils are so fucking large Buck’s not convinced they'll ever go back to being normal-sized. 

‘I’m not sure I can stop,’ Eddie whispers against his lips, Buck meeting him halfway for another bone-crushing kiss.

They move together, lips slanted into place, hands wandering loosely across their bodies. The way they seem to understand each other without unnecessary words manages to sneak up on Buck, the sense of urgency suddenly making him braver than he’s ever been.

‘I love you,’ he admits quietly, in the middle of a gay-western-line dancing bar, the loud music surrounding them, the crowd of people making it almost impossible to move now.

‘I know, sweetheart,’ Eddie’s lips find his own for one quick kiss, ‘I love you too.’

And it might be so fucking overdue, and in desperate need of a long ass conversation about what exactly does that mean for the two of them and their family. But for now, their eyes lock onto each other a little differently, as they're grinning in the middle of the dancefloor, drunk and sweaty, and so fucking happy.

Oh, and the bar’s name is Buckle up, which Buck is definitely bringing up at their wedding.