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Buck is pretty sure this is what peace feels like.
Not the kind that comes after a long, exhausting shift, when the adrenaline finally bleeds out and your muscles ache as if you’ve never used them before. Not the kind that comes in the form of quiet panic subsiding when a call goes sideways and they manage to just escape utter doom. This is the fragile, almost delicate kind of peace. It’s the kind that lives in soft lighting, rumpled blankets, and Eddie’s soft breathing, slow and warm beside him.
They’re tucked into Buck’s bed this time, blankets twisted around their ankles and piled around them, the TV glowing faintly with an animated movie Buck picked purely because it “looked cool” and like something that they’re probably hone in on while high. Eddie had laughed, kissed his temple, and let him put it on despite having more of an interest in a lava lamp moving background that he always chose to put on. Truly, Buck hadn’t even cared about the plot, he just thought it looked cute and he wanted to see Eddie's reaction.
He’s holding the poorly rolled blunt between two fingers, staring at the glowing tip like it’s a tiny star. Smoke rises in lazy spirals, curling around his lungs. He coughs lightly as he inhales. He keeps going, keeps breathing, until everything feels soft and shimmering. The edges of his mind blur out, a heaviness settles in his limbs, eyes going half-lidded.
“Don’t let it go out, babe,” Eddie murmurs from his side, voice low and warm in that slow syrupy way it gets when they have nights like this. It's full of that gentle teasing tone that makes Buck’s chest squeeze in exactly the right way.
“Oh. Right. Yeah. I gotta–” He takes another long pull, letting the smoke fill him and making him light headed in the way only a mix of weed and comfort can. When he passes it over, Eddie’s fingers brush his own, casual but electric, and Buck swears it’s like a tiny shockwave straight to his chest. It's always been like that. Buck had wondered if it would fade after they'd gotten together, the newness and initial excitement giving way to the ordinary. It never had. Every touch was equally as electric as it had been the first time they accidentally touched.
Eddie leans back against the pillows, blowing smoke gently toward the cracked window. Buck watches, mesmerized, the hazy lamplight softening Eddie’s strong features. There’s something so tender in the way Eddie just exists here. Completely untouched by the world outside. Eddie's always lived with expectations on his shoulders. And in this moment watching him be vulnerable and gentle and living for himself, It makes Buck’s chest swell.
“You okay?” Eddie asks with a half smile, voice low and lazy, the words falling slowly from his lips.
Buck grins. “Just thinking…” he trails off and smiles, eyes tracing over the curve of Eddie's jawline. "You're really, really pretty.”
Eddie snorts, a soft, breathy laugh that makes Buck’s stomach do a little flip. “You’re high.”
“And also correct,” Buck says firmly, like logic itself is on his side. As if he could ask the oxygen in the room itself if Eddie was pretty and it would agree.
Eddie smiles, leans over, and presses a kiss to his birthmark that lingers just long enough to make Buck melt. His hand comes up to cup his face, thumb tracing lazily over Buck's jaw, like he's trying to memorize every feature, like he's seeing Buck in some sort of new way.
The movie flickers in the background, voices starting to dull around a catchy pop song, but Buck barely hears it. He doesn’t need to. The soundtrack of Eddie’s breathing, the way he shifts just enough to fit against Buck perfectly, is all the music he needs.
“Snacks?” Eddie asks eventually, voice teasing, and eyes glinting in the low light.
Buck knows his own eyes must practically light up. “Yes. Immediately. This is a life-or-death situation.”
Eddie laughs, brushing a hand over Buck’s arm before carefully setting the blunt in the ashtray on the nightstand. “I’ll be right back.”
Buck watches him move around the room in just a t-shirt and tight navy blue boxer briefs that hug him in all the right ways. He moves naturally, entirely at ease, like he owns this little world and it's all he's ever wanted. Buck’s chest tightens with affection. This is home. Eddie is home. And somehow, being here, watching him like this, makes time stretch. Every little sensation is sharper; the warmth of the blanket against his bare shoulder, the faint buzz in his head, the faint smell of Eddie’s shampoo mingling with smoke.
When Eddie returns, he’s carrying an absurd amount of snacks. There's chips, cookies, a half-melted chocolate bar, some type of soft cheese, and a bowl of what looks like the leftover pasta from two nights ago.
“You went full goblin,” Buck says, delight and giggles in his voice, scattering crumbs across the blanket as he reaches for a handful of chips.
“High Eddie has no shame,” Eddie replies, climbing back into bed and arranging the snacks carefully. “High Eddie wants carbs.”
Buck digs in eagerly, chocolate smudging his fingers and crumbs falling over his side of the blanket. Eddie just giggles nearly uncontrollably as brushes them off his chest with gentle, tender fingers. Each touch makes Buck feel like he’s melting in slow motion, each laugh, each smile, another thread tying him into this soft, glowing world.
“This,” Buck says around a mouthful of cookie, “is domestic bliss.”
Eddie tilts his head at him, soft eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Buck says, suddenly serious. “Like… this. You. Being here. Not running toward something awful for once. Just… us. I like it.”
Eddie nudges him with his shoulder, lazy and warm, and Buck curls a little closer, resting his head near Eddie’s chest.
“We deserve some quiet, I think.”
“I love you,” Buck whispers, forehead resting against him.
Eddie smiles, thumb brushing along Buck’s shoulder as he pulls him as close as possible. “Love you too, Buck.”
They settle back into the pillows, tangling limbs, passing snacks, passing the joint again and letting the minutes drift away unnoticed. Buck stretches, letting his legs tangle with Eddie’s, feeling the gentle buzz spread through him. Every little touch; the brush of fingers, the accidental bump of knees, the soft weight of Eddie pressing into him, is like a lifeline, grounding him in the most satisfying way.
Buck’s thoughts start floating in that dreamy, high haze. He marvels at how Eddie’s hair smells faintly of shampoo and smoke, how the soft glow of the TV flickers across the soft, dark strands, how the blankets twist around them in warm, chaotic comfort. He takes another hit and feels his chest go light, almost like he could levitate off the mattress if Eddie didn’t press a knee into him gently to keep him anchored.
“Hey,” Eddie murmurs after what feels like an eternity, reaching over to grab a chip and pretending to be stern. “You’re hogging the chocolate again.”
Buck laughs, licks his fingers, and tosses Eddie a cookie in mock surrender. “Sharing is hard when it’s this good, okay?”
Eddie grins, pressing a lazy kiss against his temple again, before slipping his hand down to lace their fingers together. “You’ll live. I promise.”
The TV plays some ridiculous scene where someone trips over a banana, and Buck cackles, throwing a chip at Eddie, who catches it mid-air with a mock glare. They laugh like idiots, limbs tangled, the room hazy with smoke and warmth and the faint sweetness of chocolate. Everything is soft and sage like they’re the only two people in the world.
Buck stretches his arm over Eddie’s waist, tracing little patterns on his back, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The blanket slips off his shoulder, revealing bare skin, and he shivers slightly from the cool air, and then Eddie’s hand is there, brushing against him, warm and grounding, and the shiver fades into velvety comfort.
Minutes, maybe hours, drift by. Buck doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t care. Every laugh, every kiss, every touch, is a tiny explosion of happiness in his chest. He leans in closer, noses brushing, fingers fidgeting with the edges of Eddie’s shirt. It's all small nudges and pushes and playful touches that feel weightless.
“You feel… floaty,” Eddie murmurs after a long exhale, eyes half-lidded and blinking hard.
“I do,” Buck admits. “Like… like I could just… drift forever, but right here.”
Eddie smiles, pressing his forehead to his. “Good. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t,” Buck promises, voice soft, and heart impossibly full. He pulls Eddie closer, wrapping an arm around him, and presses his body into his. He feels it as the warmth sinks down into his bones.
When the last of it finally burns down to nothing and the snacks are half-eaten and the TV long forgotten, they’re still curled together. They're tangled up in blankets, quiet and barely awake but present and grounded in each other. Buck watches Eddie’s chest rise and fall, small strands of hair falling into his eyes, and he thinks maybe this–this small, high, ridiculous, perfect domesticity–is the happiest he’s ever been.
He strokes Eddie’s hair, listens to the slow, steady beat of his heart, and feels like he could float forever in this little bubble they’ve made together.
And for once, nothing hurts. Not the world, not past mistakes, not the chaos. Just warmth, laughter, and love. It's the kind of peace that stays even when your chest is still buzzing and your head is a little fuzzy, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve finally landed somewhere permanent, somewhere soft.
Buck closes his eyes, nestling against Eddie and sinking into the feeling of home.