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Eddie should have known the flowers were a mistake.
Not the flowers themselves exactly. The florist had been nice and the little sample arrangements were quite frankly beautiful and great examples of what they could look like on the big day. And Buck had been so absurdly delighted by the tiny cards labeled garden romance and sunset meadow that Eddie had spent most of the appointment watching him instead of listening to anything the woman had been saying about seasonal blooms and what would withstand different venues since they hadn't quite settled on that yet.
No, the mistake had been stopping for takeout on the way home, and then opening the good bottle of wine they’d been gifted by Hen as an engagement present, and then opening the second bottle sitting in the cabinet above the stove because apparently wedding planning made Buck “artsy” and “emotionally vulnerable,” which in Buck-speak meant he was one drink away from deciding peonies were some kind of incredibly involved metaphor for their love story.
Now it was nearly midnight and their coffee table was covered in florist brochures and printouts; Buck sitting cross-legged on the rug in front of the couch like a man possessed.
Eddie, stretched out in the corner of the couch with his socked feet nudging Buck’s hip, watched as the other man held up a brochure with an expression that could only be described as profound grief.
“This one,” Buck said, voice thick with outrage and hitting what Eddie always described as his whiny tone, “is trying too hard.”
Eddie squinted at the upside down photo. “It’s flowers, baby.”
“Exactly.” Buck jabbed a finger at the arrangement. “And yet. It’s smug.”
Eddie barked out a laugh. “Smug flowers?”
“You see it too.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Buck turned, blue eyes wide and earnest in the soft yellow light of the living room lamp. His cheeks were flushed, hair messy from where he’d run his hands through it all evening, and the top two buttons of his flannel popped open, evidence of the anxiety he'd been grappling with all night.
And Eddie…Eddie was deeply and so stupidly in love with him.
“I think,” Eddie said carefully as he pulled the wine bottle closer to him, because Buck in this state could derail in any direction, “that maybe you’ve had enough wine if you're assigning personality traits to the flowers.”
Buck considered that before looking down at the brochure and shrugging helplessly. “That's fair.”
Eddie smiled and reached for his glass from the side table. He’d been pacing himself a lot better than Buck had, mostly because someone in this house had to remember what decisions they’d actually made tonight and Buck had just been so excited and Eddie wouldn't deny him a thing.
They’d narrowed it down to three options for table arrangements and two for the ceremony arch after one very heated debate about whether eucalyptus was “timeless” or somehow was classed as “millennial wedding propaganda.” While the debate remained unresolved they were at least a little bit in agreement, which was more than enough for now.
Buck shuffled through the papers on the table, muttering to himself.
“Okay,” he said eventually. “Okay. So if we do the white roses, the hazelish delphinium, and the greenery–”
“We are not doing brown flowers just because it matches my eyes.”
Buck whipped around so fast he nearly toppled over. “That is not why.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow.
“It’s–well–it’s mostly not why.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s also because it’ll look good in photos.”
“With my eyes.”
“With your eyes,” Buck admitted, and then grinned. “And my suit.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, but his chest still did that warm, helpless thing it always did when Buck looked at him like that– all open and bright and like there was nowhere else in the world he wanted to be.
Their wedding.
Their wedding.
Even now, months into the engagement, the thought still caught him off guard sometimes. He’d spent so much of his life bracing for something and waiting for things to go wrong. He still wasn't quite sure that this happiness wasn't just something that would be ripped away from him in a second.
But Buck had been steady through all of it. Through the planning. Through the family conversations and debate what it was going to look like when neither of them were sure who'd even be willing to show up. Through the logistics. Through Eddie’s occasional spirals about budgets and seating charts and whether it was weird to care this much about linen colors when they were literally getting married, becuse shouldn't that be enough?
Buck had kissed him through every single worry, held him through every single spiral, loved him through the mess that was the prison of his own mind.
It matters because it’s ours, Buck has said one night, forehead pressed to Eddie’s in the dark amidst a near panic attack over napkin colors that was a front for the fear his own parents may not show up. It gets to matter because it’s ours.
And God, Eddie loved him.
He loved him enough that he’d agreed to spend three consecutive weekends visiting venues instead of sleeping in.
He loved him enough that he had opinions now about taper candles.
He loved him enough that when Buck started pulling up inspiration boards at 10:30 on a Thursday night, Eddie had sighed, made popcorn, and climbed into bed beside him anyway.
Tonight, though, Buck had crossed from pleasantly buzzed into dangerously sentimental somewhere around the second half of the third wine glass. Eddie had seen it coming in the way Buck got quieter between bursts of nonsense with his gaze lingering too long on the glossy pictures and mouth going soft around the edges.
That was always the warning sign. And Eddie loves him, every version of him. But emotional, wine drink Buck? Sometimes that went from being cute and cuddly to over emotional in a nonsensical way, and fast.
Buck set the brochure down with exaggerated care and leaned back against the couch, resting his head against Eddie’s knee.
“Do you think,” he asked, voice suddenly small, “that people are gonna cry?”
Eddie looked down at him with a small smile. “During the wedding?”
Buck nodded. “Like–like good cry. Not bad cry. Not like… ‘oh no, this marriage is a terrible idea’ cry.”
Eddie huffed a laugh and slid his fingers into Buck’s hair automatically, combing loose curls back from his forehead. “I think Maddie’s gonna start crying before the ceremony even starts.”
Buck smiled faintly. “Yeah.”
“Hen’ll act like she’s not crying and then Karen will hand her a tissue and we'll know.”
“Chim’s definitely gonna cry.”
“Chim cries at dog food commercials.”
“That one was emotional!”
“It was about a golden retriever learning to skateboard.”
“It was about dreams, Eddie.”
Eddie’s hand lingered in Buck’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. His eyes fluttered halfway shut, the tension in his face easing just a fraction. For a moment Eddie thought maybe the evening was winding down. Maybe he could get Buck to drink some water, brush his teeth, and stumble into bed without incident.
Then Buck opened his eyes again and said, very seriously, “I’m not gonna be your best man.”
Eddie blinked at that, fully confused.
“…What?”
Buck sat up too fast, swayed, and then righted himself with a hand on Eddie’s shin. “I’m not gonna be your best man,” he repeated, as if Eddie had somehow missed the significance of this national tragedy. “At our wedding.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said slowly, trying to piece together why that mattered in his own slightly hazy mind. “It's our wedding.”
Buck stared at him and his lower lip began to tremble.
Oh. Oh no.
“Buck–”
“I can’t do it,” Buck said, voice cracking at the edges. “I can’t be your best man.”
“Baby.”
“I’m supposed to be your best man.”
“I mean you–you are,” Eddie tried. Because it was true, in the end. If the wedding wasn't between them, Eddie knew that they'd still be standing up for each other. Because that's who they were and that's what they did. Always having each other's backs. No matter what.
“No, I’m marrying you.” Buck’s face crumpled like this was a cruel administrative error of the universe that somehow mattered way more than either of them could have guessed 15 minutes before. “That’s different.”
“Okay,” Eddie said, already fighting a smile because this was objectively insane and also because Buck looked like he might actually cry about it and he couldn't help it. It was a little endearing even if it was ridiculous. “It’s… a little different, yeah.”
Buck’s eyes went glassy. “Who’s gonna hold your ring if I’m standing next to you? What if you need something? What if your tie’s crooked? What if you’re nervous? What if– what–w–what if somebody says something weird about the flowers and I’m not there to glare at them because I’m busy at thr altar before you?”
Eddie stared at him for half a second before the first laugh escaped.
Buck looked uo at him with big, wounded eyes. “This is serious.”
“I know, baby, I know.” Eddie said, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to keep from laughing harder. “I’m sorry. Keep going.”
Buck pointed at him. “And I can’t give a speech.”
“You can absolutely give a speech.”
“No! I can’t give a best man speech.”
Eddie lost the battle and laughed, shoulders shaking with it. “Buck.”
“This is not funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“It’s tragic, Eddie!.”
Buck swiped angrily at one eye when a tear finally spilled over and Eddie’s laughter died immediately.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He shifted down off the couch to sit on the rug beside him. “Hey.”
Buck looked at him with wet, miserable eyes. “I’m supposed to do best friend duties.”
That somehow is what hit eddie in the middle of his chest, hollowing him out.
Because beneath the wine and the ridiculousness and the floral brochures scattered around them, that was the truth of it, wasn’t it? Buck wasn’t crying because of wedding party logistics. Buck was crying because somewhere in his heart, this still felt too good, too impossible, too much like something he could lose if he blinked wrong.
Buck had spent so long being afraid of being left behind that even joy could catch him off guard. And Eddie, well, he understood that. Intimately. It's one of the reasons they'd taken so long to get here, wasn't it? The belief that it was too good to be true. That they could lose it all in the blink of an eye.
Eddie reached out and took Buck’s face in both hands.
“You are doing best friend duties,” he said softly.
Buck sniffed, still obviously disbelieving. “How?”
“By marrying me.”
Buck frowned, clearly unconvinced.
Eddie brushed his thumbs under Buck’s eyes, wiping away tears. “You know what my best friend does?”
Buck mumbled, “Saves your life a lot.”
“True.”
“Lets you steal fries.”
“Also true.”
“Pretends not to notice when you’re spiraling about stupid stuff until you’re ready to talk.”
Eddie’s throat tightened at that one. “Yeah.”
Buck looked down, shoulders hunching. “That’s not the same as being your best man.”
“It kind of is.”
“No, because a best man is like…” Buck gestured vaguely. “Official.”
Eddie huffed a breath that was almost a laugh again. “Baby, you proposed to me in our kitchen while holding a wrench because you got distracted fixing the garbage disposal halfway through your speech.”
Buck’s mouth opened. “I had a ring.”
“You had a ring in one hand and plumbing tools in the other.”
“It was still romantic.”
“It was very romantic,” Eddie said, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “And you know why?”
Buck only blinked at him.
“Because it was you. And it was me. And I love you and that's official enough for me at least.”
That got another wobble of Buck’s lip and this time it wasn't a bad thing.
Eddie continued before the tears could come back full force. “You don’t need a title to be my person. You’ve been my person for years, Buck. Before we were together. Before either of us said it out loud. You’ve been my best friend, my partner, Christopher’s favorite human after me–”
“Debatable,” Buck muttered, still not fully willing to take that spot. still not fully believing the way their kid loved them both.
“--and the man I want standing across from me when I say my vows. That’s bigger than best man. That's better.”
Buck stared at him, trying hard to process through the haze of alcohol and emotion. “But…” he said finally, very quietly, “who’s gonna make sure you eat?”
Eddie actually laughed then hoping the sound came out more fond than anything else. “What?”
“On the wedding day.” Buck leaned closer, urgent again. “You get weird when you’re stressed and then you don’t eat, and then you get snappy, and then you say you’re fine in that voice where you’re definitely not fine–”
“Buck.”
“And if I’m the groom, I’m gonna be getting ready too. I can’t supervise your breakfast.”
“Supervise my breakfast?”
“You need supervision,” Buck said, with drunken conviction. “You’ll be all nervous and handsome and impossible.”
Eddie pressed his lips together. “Okay.”
“And who’s gonna check your cufflinks?”
“I’m pretty sure I can manage cufflinks.”
Buck gave him a look that strongly suggested he thought otherwise.
“Okay,” Eddie amended. “Someone can check my cufflinks.”
“And if you need someone to stand next to you while you freak out?”
“You’re literally going to be standing next to me.”
“At the ceremony! But what about before?”
Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it. Because, annoyingly, Buck kind of had a point. A stupidly emotional and wine-soaked point. But a point nonetheless.
He could already picture the day in his mind. The separate getting-ready rooms the venue coordinators had suggested during tours, the whole tradition of not seeing each other until the ceremony…even if he didn't really believe in all that. Eddie had gone along with it mostly because Buck had looked so delighted by the idea of a big reveal at the aisle and something a little more traditional in some ways. Even if their relationship was anything but traditional. He'd go along with anything if it's what his partner wanted.
But the idea of not seeing Buck all morning, of being anxious and keyed up and trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was about to stand in front of everyone he loved and promise the rest of his life to the man who’d already changed it–
No.
Actually, no.
He didn’t want that.
Buck was still talking and spiraling deeper into logistical despair as Eddie came back from his own mind. “And I won’t be able to give you the ‘you got this, Diaz’ pep talk, because I’ll be somewhere else getting… I don't know, moisturized or whatever.”
Eddie snorted.
Buck glared at him. “Wedding skincare is important.”
“Of course it is.”
“I’m just saying,” Buck said, voice wobbling again, “it feels wrong.”
Eddie sat with that for a moment before he cupped the back of Buck’s neck and said, “Okay.”
Buck blinked. “Okay what?”
“Okay, then don’t be somewhere else.”
Buck stared at him.
“We don’t have to do it that way.”
“What way?”
“The whole separate rooms thing.” Eddie shrugged one shoulder. “If it’s gonna make you miserable, we can get ready together. I don't–I only agreed to it because you said you wanted it. If it's doing this–” he gestured over Buck's body, “--then we can say no.”
Buck’s face went very still. “You mean that?”
“Yeah.”
“But the reveal.”
Eddie smiled. “I don’t need the first time I see you to be at the altar, you know. Did that whole thing once. In the end, didn't matter anyway. We can do this however we want to. I promise.”
Buck’s eyes went huge, almost like he had forgotten what this was all about and had forgotten that they were the ones making the rules.
“I’d rather the first time I see you that day be while you’re half-dressed and bossing people around because my tie is wrong, anyway, Eddie said. “Feels more like us.”
Buck made a strangled sound that was suspiciously close to another sob.
“And then,” Eddie continued, gentler now, “we can have Chim or Hen or whoever keep us both on schedule. You can make sure I eat. You can fix my cufflinks. You can give me whatever pep talk you think I need.”
Buck’s breathing hitched.
“And then,” Eddie said, brushing his thumb over Buck’s cheekbone, “you can walk with me to the door before the ceremony, and we can split off there. You go to the altar. I’ll come in after with Chris. So technically, yeah, I still get a moment where I see you waiting for me since that's the important part to you, right?
Buck’s mouth parted. “Eddie.”
“And if you want to give a speech,” Eddie added, because why not, “you can still give a speech. I’m pretty sure there’s no wedding police that'll come arrest you because you want to say a few words to our friends and family."
Buck’s whole face crumpled again, but this time in the good way, the overwhelmed way, the I love you so much it hurts kind of way. And Eddie? Eddie is so in love it's physically painful.
He launched himself forward with all the grace of a large, emotional golden retriever and wrapped both arms around Eddie hard enough to nearly knock them both over.
“Omigod,” Buck said into Eddie’s shoulder, already crying in earnest now. “I love you so much.”
Eddie wrapped him up and held on, bracing them both against the couch. “I know.”
“You’re so–” Buck hiccuped. “You’re so good.”
“Easy there,” Eddie murmured, pressing a kiss into his hair. “You’re a little drunk."
“No, I’m right.” Buck pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes red-rimmed and shining. “You’re good and beautiful and you let me have opinions about napkin texture.”
Eddie kissed him. Sllow and sweet and tasting faintly of wine. Buck melted into it immediately, one hand fisting in the front of Eddie’s t-shirt.
When they pulled apart, Buck rested his forehead against Eddie’s.
“I still think I should be your best man,” he whispered.
Eddie laughed so hard he had to hide his face in Buck’s shoulder.
Buck made an indignant noise. “Eddie!”
“I’m sorry,” Eddie wheezed. “I’m sorry, I just–”
“This is my truth.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
Buck pulled back enough to cup Eddie’s face with both hands, suddenly very serious again. “Can I wear a little badge?”
Eddie blinked. “A what?”
“At the reception.” Buck nodded like this was perfectly reasonable. “A badge. It says husband and best man.”
Eddie stared at him for a beat, then said, “You know what? Sure.”
Buck squinted suspiciously. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Never.”
“You are.”
“A little.”
Buck gasped like he’d been betrayed at the highest level. Then, because he was Buck and he couldn’t stay indignant for more than twelve seconds when Eddie was smiling at him, he dissolved into a laugh instead. He tipped sideways until he was sprawled half across Eddie’s lap, long limbs everywhere, still clutching one of the florist brochures in one hand.
Eddie took it from him and set it on the table.
“Okay,” he said. “I think that’s enough wedding planning for one night.”
Buck burrowed closer. “I’m fine.”
“You cried over a hypothetical speech.”
“It was a real speech in my heart.”
Eddie bit back a grin. “Mm-hmm.”
“I had material.”
“I’m sure you did.”
Buck lifted his head. “Do you wanna hear it?”
“No.”
“Rude.”
“Tomorrow,” Eddie said, tapping Buck’s nose. “When you’re sober and less likely to start another emotional incident.”
Buck flopped dramatically. “You don’t appreciate my artistic process.”
“I appreciate it so much I’m putting it to bed.”
Buck groaned, but he let Eddie haul him upright. It took some maneuvering, because Buck had apparently decided his legs were optional for some reason. By the time Eddie got him standing, Buck was clinging to his shoulders and laughing into his neck.
“You smell nice,” Buck informed him as they shuffled toward the hallway.
“That’s the new fabric softener.”
“No, it’s you.”
Eddie’s heart did that stupid, traitorous thing again.
He got Buck to the bathroom, where there was a brief but intense debate about whether brushing teeth was “a capitalist scam,” and then another when Buck insisted he needed to wash his face because “wedding skincare is forever.”
Eddie supervised the whole thing, one hand on Buck’s waist to keep him from face-planting into the sink. And then there was the actual bathroom situation and well, Eddie was happy this wasn't exactly his first time dealing with something like this and he did find himself wondering, just slightly, how his fiance had ever survived living alone.
Eventually, miraculously, Buck was in pajama pants and one of Eddie’s old t-shirts, swaying sleepily in the middle of the bedroom while Eddie turned down the bed.
“C’mere,” Eddie said, patting the mattress.
Buck climbed in with exaggerated care, then immediately rolled onto Eddie’s side.
“Absolutely not.”
Buck cracked one eye open. “But it smells like you.”
“It’s my side.”
“You’re coming here too.”
“That’s not the point.”
Buck held out both arms. “Eddie.”
And while there were moments when resisting him was theoretically possible. This was not one of them. So, Eddie sighed like he wasn’t already smiling and circled around to the other side, climbing in beside him. Buck latched on instantly, wrapping himself around Eddie with a pleased hum.
“See?” Buck mumbled into his chest. “Problem solved.”
“Shocking.”
The room was dark except for the sliver of hall light Eddie hadn’t bothered to shut off completely. It painted Buck in soft edges with messy hair, flushed cheeks, lashes still damp from crying.
God.
Eddie reached up and smoothed Buck’s hair back from his forehead, the man making a sleepy sound before he pressed impossibly closer.
For a minute, neither of them said anything. Eddie just let the quiet settle around them, the distant hum of the fridge from down the hall, the creak of the house as it cooled, the warm, solid weight of Buck draped over him.
This. This right here was the thing he’d spent years not knowing how to name. Not just the big moments. Not the rescues, or the confessions, or even the proposal with the wrench and the half-broken garbage disposal.
This.
Buck warm and safe and ridiculous in their bed. The scent of toothpaste and wine and laundry detergent wrapping around them. Flower brochures still abandoned in the living room. Tomorrow’s hangover and the half finished seating chart and the rest of their lives waiting for them, messy and ordinary and theirs.
Buck shifted, blinking up at him through heavy lids.
“Eddie?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not mad?”
Eddie frowned. “About what?”
Buck’s mouth twisted. “That I’m being weird.”
Something in Eddie’s chest ached.
He curled a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and tugged him in close enough to kiss his forehead.
“Buck,” he said quietly, “you are many things.”
Buck made a protesting noise.
“Loud,” Eddie continued.
“Rude.”
“Dramatic.”
“Extremely rude.”
“Terrible at pacing yourself with wine.”
Buck huffed.
“But you are never too much for me.”
Buck went very still in his arms and Eddie felt the way the words settled between them a little heavier than he'd intended.
“Do you hear me?” he asked, softer now.
Buck nodded against him.
“Good.”
Another small silence.
“Even when I cry about stupid stuff?”
Eddie laughed under his breath and slid his fingers into Buck’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way Buck liked. “Especially then.”
Buck sighed, practically melting against Eddie's practiced fingers.
“I just wanted to do it right,” he admitted after a moment. “All of it.”
Eddie’s hand stilled, then resumed its slow path through his hair.
“I know.”
“I want it to be good for you.”
“It already is.”
Buck tilted his head enough to look at him. “It hasn’t happened yet.”
Eddie smiled, brushing his thumb over Buck's temple. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Because it’s me?”
Eddie’s throat tightened. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Because it’s you.”
Buck’s eyes slipped shut again.
Eddie kept playing with his hair, untangling the soft strands at the nape of his neck, tracing lazy lines over his scalp. He could feel Buck drifting, each breath slower than the last.
Right on the edge of sleep, Buck murmured, “You still need breakfast.”
Eddie had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. “I know.”
“And water.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t let Chim pick the music for the getting ready room.”
Eddie snorted. “Why?”
“Too much Journey.”
“That is a real risk.”
Buck nodded against his chest, satisfied that Eddie was finally taking this seriously.
“And…” His words slurred together. “Need a badge.”
“A badge.”
“Best husband man.”
Eddie broke then, laughter shaking through him silent and helpless.
Buck made a sleepy, offended noise.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispered, kissing the top of his head. “Best husband man. Got it.”
“Good.”
A minute later, Buck was out.
Eddie knew the exact moment it happened. The line of his body went heavy in that particular way, all unconscious trust. His grip loosened just slightly where his hand was fisted in Eddie’s shirt. His breathing deepened, warm and even against Eddie’s ribs.
Eddie lay there and watched the ceiling for a long time.
He thought about the wedding as he started to drift. about flowers and vows and badly behaved relatives and whether Christopher would cry and whether Buck would, too, and the answer to that one was obviously yes. He thought about Hen standing with him. About Maddie standing with Buck. About Chim probably losing the rings for thirty seconds and then finding them in his own pocket. About Athena looking like she was trying very hard not to be emotional and failing miserably, seated next to her kids and a photo of Bobby that had basically been the first thing they'd decided on.
He thought about the version of himself from years ago, the one who would’ve laughed if someone told him this was where he’d end up; in a bed that felt like home, with a man who loved him loudly and awkwardly and without apology, planning a wedding and arguing about flowers and worrying over breakfast and cufflinks and speeches.
He thought about how close he’d come, so many times, to missing this.
Buck stirred in his sleep, face scrunching for a second before relaxing again. Eddie smoothed his hair back.
“Hey,” he murmured, though Buck was asleep enough not to hear him. “I love you too.”
Buck breathed deeply. Fully oblivious, causing Eddie to smile into the dark.
“I’ll let you boss me around all morning,” he whispered. “You can fix my tie, make me eat, give me your weird pep talk. Whatever you want.”
Buck made a soft sound, nestling closer.
“And if you really want,” Eddie added, unable to resist, “I’ll even get you a badge.”
That earned him nothing but another sleepy exhale.
Eddie leaned down and kissed his forehead again, lingering there for a second.
“I love you,” he said, the words easy now, worn smooth with use and still somehow brand new every time. “My best friend. My best man. My best husband man.”
Buck’s mouth twitched, just barely, like maybe some part of him heard it. And Eddie just kept smiling down at him.
Then he kept his hand in Buck’s hair and stayed there until sleep finally came for him too, the house quiet around them, the flower brochures forgotten in the living room, and tomorrow waiting just on the other side of morning.