Archive of Our Own

Eddie didn’t mean to come out in the middle of poker night.

If he’d been given the option, he would have picked literally any other setting. A quiet conversation with Buck on the couch, maybe. Or over beers with Hen, where she’d level him with that steady, knowing look and tell him she was proud of him. Or maybe–if he was being wildly ambitious–he would’ve liked to say it like it wasn’t a confession at all. Like it was simple. Like it was easy. Like his whole life had t been pulled apart and rearranged around this idea that he had never been quite sure of, yet it rules him without his knowledge of it for years. Decades even. 

It wasn't simple.

It wasn’t easy.

Because why would it be? Why would Eddie get anything he ever wanted, when his life had always been somewhat of a mess of his own creation. 

So instead of anything low key and emotional and an intake of breath he'd been holding for far too long;  he was sitting at Chimney’s dining room table with a terrible hand, a half-empty bottle of beer sweating against his palm, and Ravi in the middle of telling a story about some guy hitting on all of them  at a bar 2 weeks ago when Chim had laughed and pointed across the table.

“Careful, man. If you keep getting flirted with like this someone might get the wrong idea and you and Eddie.” 

Everyone laughed.

It was the kind of joke that would’ve slid right past him a year ago, two years ago, every year before that. Another one of those easy little comments people made, because Eddie and Buck apparently had whatever it was that made the whole world look at them and assume. Assume things that he'd never quite looked at with much of a thought process, that never quite hit him where it hurt because of it. 

But Eddie had been sitting with something raw and strange in his chest for months now. Something he’d finally put a name to after one too many sleepless nights and one too many quiet spirals sitting opposite of Frank in the cold, clinical therapy office he forces himself into once a week. 

So instead of rolling his eyes or making a face or letting Buck shoot back something equally ridiculous, Eddie had looked down at his cards and muttered, “not if it's a guy.”

Silence.

Just complete and stunned silence that caused Eddie to look up from his cards, even startling himself. Because that was not what he'd meant to say. 

Hen’s eyes were wide when he switched his gaze over to her side of the table. Ravi’s mouth had actually dropped open. Chimney looked like someone had unplugged him and Maddie, who’d been walking in from the kitchen with a bowl of chips, had frozen mid-step as her head swiveled between her husband and her brother. 

Her brother who– 

Eddie turned. Buck was staring at him. Not in horror or even in confusion, but just staring. It was like Eddie had said it so quietly and honestly that Buck himself couldn't quite trust what he heard, instead choosing to simply look at Eddie, an obviously neutral mask overtaking his face. 

Eddie felt his face heat at the realization of what he'd said. Out loud. For everyone to hear. “I–”

“Oh,” Hen said, very gently, as if approaching a spooked animal, taking over so Eddie didn't have to try to jump and explain. “Okay.”

Chimney blinked. “Oh.”

Ravi, to his credit, recovered quickly. “Cool, man.”

Maddie set the chips down and crossed to squeeze Eddie’s shoulder. “Thank you for telling us.”

Buck still hadn’t said anything. And that was what Eddie noticed most. 

Not the acceptance, although that was there, immediate and warm and unsurprising pouring from every corner of his team. Not the relief that rushed through him so hard it made him dizzy. Not even the way Chimney immediately tried to backpedal his joke and somehow made it worse.

It was Buck.

Still looking at him.

Like the world had shifted under his feet and he was trying to figure out how to stand in it.

And Eddie didn't know what to say. 

So he didn't. 

—-

After poker night things were…fine. Well, better than fine, actually. It shouldn't have surprised him that this little family he'd created would be supportive, but there had always been that doubt in his mind. The little piece of him that always felt like a disappointment, like he was letting someone down. 

But his first shift back, Hen hugged him in the station kitchen that morning and told him she was proud of him in a voice so matter-of-fact it nearly undid him. It was maternal in nature, the same way he'd heard her talk to Denny over the years. Yet it still warmed him inside, despite the intrinsic want to push her away and say that he wasn't 14.  Chimney clapped him on the back hard enough to make him stumble and said something about “welcome to the club of complicated dating lives,” as if he wasn't already abysmal in that department. Even Ravi got involved, asking if he wanted recommendations for bars in West Hollywood and then turned so red he almost combusted when Eddie had stumbled over his words, concerned about what someone might expect of a newly out man in a seedy bar.

And then there was Buck. 

Buck who brought him coffee.

Not unusual. Buck brought him coffee all the time. Buck would go out of his way to get Blue Bottle on Monday mornings, being Eddie something simple and then letting him try whatever sugar filled monster he'd ordered. 

Eddie isn't quite sure what he expected, but when Buck set the coffee in front of him in the loft with a little too much care, Eddie heart jumped a bit, hoping that maybe he hadn't somehow royally fucked everything up. He took the cup gingerly into his hands, fingers dancing against the cardboard sleeve as Buck leaned on the counter like he was trying very hard to look more casual than he felt. His tell was always the way his leg shook when he was thinking hard about something. 

 “You okay?”

Eddie looked up from the cup, trying for a smile and hating that idea it might come out as a grimace. “Yeah.”

Buck nodded. “Cool. Good.”

He didn’t move. Eddie waited. He watched as Buck's leg stopped but his fingers began drumming on the counter top. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, the worst lines between his eyes deepening as he thought. 

Still, Eddie waited. 

Buck scratched the back of his neck after a few moments, the words he was obviously so carefully choosing, tumbling out from between his lips in a messy, ridiculous jumble. “I just—I didn’t want–I support you and–didn’t think it was ya know–uh– weird?”

“What?”

“That you told us. Or me. I mean, not that I’m special–” He winced. “That came out wrong. Obviously I’m special, but not like–” he gestures vaguely with his hands. 

Despite himself, Eddie huffed out a laugh, Bucks brightening just a bit. As if he had somehow found solid ground, his feet struggling to find purchase on the slippery surface that their friendship had become so quickly. 

“Okay, good. Great. Laughing. That’s a–a good– good sign.”

“Buck.”

“Right. Sorry.” He sobered. “I’m glad you told us. And I’m glad you told me, even if I did have to find out with everyone else.”

Something in Eddie’s chest tightened at that. “It just kind of…” he trailed off with a sigh. “I didn't plan it, it just kind of happened. But, I'm glad you–that you care. 

Buck’s gaze held his for one warm, impossible second. “Always.”

Eddie had to look away first.

—--

It was 3 weeks later when things took a turn. 3 weeks of feeling like he was stepping on eggshells as he settled into his new life. Things hadn't changed, not really. He was still Eddie. Still the man who took his kid to school in the morning and drank scalding hot black coffee. He was still a paramedic, still slid into his turnouts and protocols without a second thought. But there was always something under the surface now. He was still learning to live in his own skin where everyone else knew, where they could give suggestions. 

Which is why he was agreeing to a date. That was his first mistake. Going to a bar and being willing to take a phone number that came with a dinner invitation. 

The second mistake was telling Buck about it. Buck. His best friend. The almost second father of his child. The person he went to everything with. The best friend who had been more than supportive over the last few weeks, but who Eddie could feel a noticeable distance with. And he couldn't let his brain move to why. Because if Buck wanted–Eddie just shook his head whenever the thought arose. 

If that was an option, well, it would have happened by now. Right? 

“Wait, wait.” Buck nearly dropped the wrench he was holding, twisting around in the middle of the Diaz kitchen with huge eyes. “You have a date?”

Eddie, who had been regretting opening his mouth from the second the words left it, leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird!” Buck said, obviously doing the exact opposite. “I’m being supportive. This is a supportive face.”

A beat. 

“You're panicking.” 

“I do not panic.”

All Buck did was raise an eyebrow, setting the wrench down in the counter behind him, crossing his arms in a bastardized mirror of Eddie's own stance across from him. 

“But that’s not the point. The point is–you have a date?”

“Why do you keep saying it like that?”

“Because!” Buck threw his arms up, letting them fall with a thud against denim covered thighs.  “This is big, Eddie.”

It was. And that was exactly the problem. 

Eddie had met the guy–Aaron-at a bar in Silver Lake when he’d gone out with Hen and Karen, wanting to just feel safe and accepted without any pressure to be more than he wanted to be in the moment. It had been the first time he’d willingly stepped into a gay bar, which had already been enough to make his skin feel too tight, like he was an imposter in his own body. But Hen had dragged him out with the kind of gentle insistence that didn’t allow for argument and Karen had kept him talking, kept him moving so he never quite had time to ruminate. Time to second guess or run away. 

Aaron had been nice. Funny. Easy to talk to. He’d bought Eddie and drink and then a second. He'd laughed at all the right times and didn't back away when Eddie had mentioned being a single father, having more responsibility than anyone at this bar should really have. And then, crucially, asked for his number instead of assuming that he was interested. Eddie had taken it, Hen and Karen both shooting him thumbs ups from the corner. 

So, Eddie had spent the next four days staring at the text thread like it was a bomb. He'd just said “hi,” stated his name, and reminded Eddie where they met. And he'd say there, typing and deleting for days. Until Buck, sprawled upside down on Eddie’s couch while Christopher played video games in the other room, had grabbed the phone from his hand and said, “Jesus, Diaz, just answer him.”

So Eddie had.

And now, somehow, he had a date. For dinner. A date. With a man. Tomorrow night. 

“Tomorrow?” Buck echoed, a little bit of horror etched into his expression and Eddie tried to tell himself that it was just about how hopeless he was to prepare in that short of a time and certainly, definitely, not for any other reason. 

“Stop doing that.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re acting like I’m being deployed.”

Buck folded his arms. “Honestly, I think this is worse.”

Eddie just stared at him.

Buck grinned. “Kidding. Mostly.”

He should have known then that this was going to become A Thing. Because Buck never did anything halfway, especially with Eddie. Especially when he thought he was helping. And if he hasn't thought that his best friend would be overly invested in a way he maybe shouldn't have been, he should have known when Buck texted him at 6am the next day,

What are you wearing?

Followed immediately by, 

For the date. Not right now. Unless you want to tell me what you’re wearing right now.

And then after a few moments, 

That sounded weird. Ignore me.

Eddie had stared at the messages for a full thirty seconds before just shaking his head and  typing back. 

I hate you.

Buck’s reply came instantly. 

No you don’t ❤️

Eddie hated the ache in his chest that came when he read the thread back, pulling the blankets back over his head in a futile attempt at going back to sleep. 

—

By the time the evening rolled around, Eddie was no longer certain he remembered how to even go on a date, let alone be able to breathe normally or be able to remember his one name. It'd been far too long since he'd been on a real date, and the knowledge that he'd be in public, across from a man with no way to hide…it made him shake a bit. He was ready. He wanted this, he did. But it was stripping him bare, showing him all of the little things about himself that he'd buried for so long and just was nervous about revealing all at once, not just to himself but to someone else. Someone he didn't even know if he could trust. 

Christopher was at a sleepover at a friend’s house, a boy that Eddie had only met in passing, whose parents were doctors or something equally as prestigious. He hadn't really asked, Buck knew them and trusted them. So Eddie had said yes to the night without a second thought. But it made the house too quiet, too much of a void where he could sit with his own treacherous thoughts. The shirt he’d picked out, then rejected, then picked again, was suddenly too tight across his shoulders. His jeans felt wrong. His hair wouldn’t sit right. His stomach was somewhere near his shoes.

He checked the time.

5:30pm.

Aaron was picking him up at 7. Actually picking him up. Driving up the house, walking up to the front door, knocking and probably telling Eddie he looks great. The same way he did at the bar with heavy lidded eyes and a bright smile. 

He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the wall. He felt ridiculous. 

It was a date. Just a date. People went on dates all the time. He’d been on dates before. He’d dated women. He’d gotten married, for God’s sake. His teenager was quite literally proof that he knew at least a little bit of what he was doing, even if he had been born when Eddie was still a teenager himself. He could do this. It was just a first date. 

So why did this feel like he was about to step off a cliff?

Because it is different, some ugly voice in his head supplied. The one that had forced him to bury the truth about himself for years, worried for what people would think, what he would do if it all came out. If he did. 

Because you don’t know what you’re doing, the voice whispered. 

Because if you do this wrong–

His phone buzzed, breaking him from the spiraling thoughts.

Buck.

Of course. The one person who knew him better than anyone else. The man who could always get him out of his own head, provides him the support he needs. God, what would he do without Buck? 

How’s it going? Need a last minute tie? Condoms? Pep talk? Fake emergency?

Eddie snorted despite himself, a little relieved laugh bubbling its way up. Exactly what the man had probably counted on. Then replied, 

I think I’m going to throw up.

The dots appeared immediately on Buck's side.

Then, 

On my way.

Eddie sat up with a groan. Started to type. Buck–

Too late.

He was already coming, the Life360 alert of Buck leaving his own place flashing across the notification bar. 

Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door, followed by Buck letting himself in with the spare key like he always did. Like he was as equally a part of Eddie's house as Eddie himself was. And maybe he was. Just not in the way that Eddie had come to want him. But that ship had sailed, he assumed. Which was why Buck was here; Helping Eddie get ready for a date before he puked all over his new shoes.

“Okay,” Buck announced, striding into the living room carrying a paper bag from Eddie’s favorite taco place and a six-pack. "I know you're going to dinner but,” he gestured, bottles clinking together softly. “But, I think you need something normal, that you like. Something easy.” 

Eddie, who had migrated from the bedroom to pacing the living room like a caged animal, stopped short. “Why do you have beer?”

Buck held up the bag. “Tacos.” Then the beer. “And beer.” He frowned. “Try to keep up.”

Eddie should have been annoyed. Should have been confused at what Buck was even trying to do. But instead, something inside of him unclenched just a little.

Buck clocked it instantly, his expression softening. “Hey.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure.”

“I am.”

Buck set everything down on the coffee table and turned to him fully. “Eddie.”

And that was all it took. It was too much to have soft blue eyes gazing at him in concern, begging him to open up. To say something. The truth spilled out of him in a rush. 

“I can’t do this.”

Buck blinked. “You can.”

“No, I really can’t. I don’t know why I thought I could.” Eddie dragged both hands through his hair, disturbing the careful gel he'd spent at least 30 minutes on. “This was stupid. I don’t know this guy. I don’t know what I’m doing. What if I get there and it’s awkward? What if he expects me to know how to–”

He cut himself off, mouth clamping shut before he could say anything else. 

Buck, maddeningly, looked thoughtful instead of alarmed. Almost like he just wanted to help. So earnest about it that it startled  a sharp, humorless laugh out of Eddie when he asked,  “How to what?”

“Seriously?”

Buck tilted his head. “You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

Eddie turned away, suddenly unable to look at him. He felt his cheeks flush, knowing he was going red, the back of his neck heating in embarrassment. “Buck.”

“Oh.” Buck’s voice changed and gentled, just a little, at the realization. “Oh.”

Eddie folded his arms over his chest, protective and useless. “Yeah. Oh.”

He hated this. Hated the heat crawling up his neck. Hated how young and uncertain he felt. Hated how badly he wanted to disappear. He was nearly 35 years old for fucks sake. He was a father of a teenager. He'd been to actual war. His daily shift was more intimidating than this, even if it was going to end in something physical. He could do this. There was no reason he couldn't. 

Buck was quiet for a beat. He clocked his head, studying Eddie for a moment. 

 “You don’t have to know everything before one date, Eds.”

Eddie let out a breath that sounded a lot like a scoff. “Easy for you to say. You’re–you.” 

“Hey.” Buck stepped closer, the gap between them closing slowly. “I’m serious. It’s okay not to know.”

“It doesn’t feel okay.”

The silence stretched. And then, quiet, almost like he wasn't meant to hear. “Do you want to practice?”

Eddie's head snapped up to meet Buck's eyes  so fast he nearly got dizzy. “What?”

Buck shrugged, like he hadn’t just detonated a grenade in the middle of Eddie’s living room on a random Friday night, only 40 minutes before Eddie's first date with a man. “Practice uh– practice what?” He asked, giving Buck a way out. Except he didn't take it. He just looked down shyly, ears going a light shade of pink, birthmark darkening against pale skin. 

Eddie stared.

Buck, apparently deciding there was no retreat now, lifted one shoulder and said in a rush, “Kissing. Just–just so you don’t go in feeling like you have no idea what you’re doing.”

Eddie forgot how to blink. His skin felt too tight. He was about to go on his first date with a man and yet his best friend, the one he's been trying desperately to ignore the feelings bubbling up inside of him for, and he's asking to kiss Eddie in the middle of his living room. Great. Just…great. His life is a comedy of errors. 

“You want to–”

“I’m just saying!” Buck said quickly, hands coming up in defense. “If that’s what you’re freaking out about, then it’s fixable. It’s just kissing. It’s not a big deal. Friends do–” He stopped. “Okay, no, friends don’t usually do that. But we’re us, so I feel like normal rules don’t always apply.”

“Buck.”

He sounded strangled, he could hear it. Buck’s face was now visibly red, but he held his ground. Like he was too far into this to call it off now. Almost like– Eddie tried to keep pushing that thought away. 

“I’m offering. No pressure. It's totally your call. I just…” He blew out a breath. “I hate seeing you spiral when maybe I can help.”

Eddie’s pulse was suddenly loud enough to drown out everything else. This was actually insane. Certifiable. It was not normal for Buck to offer something like this and it certainly wasn't normal for Eddie to entertain it, let alone accept. It was a suggestion that should be if noted, pushed away, silenced and never spoken of again. Eddie should say no, laugh, crack open a beer, and relax before his date. He should not kiss Buck. 

But behind the panic and uncertainty and the voice screaming in his head that he wasn't ready and that this was a terrible idea…there was want. 

There had been want for longer than Eddie wanted to examine too closely. Buried under years of friendship and habit and denial and fear. Tucked away in every moment Buck smiled at him too soft, touched him too easy, fit into his life like he’d always belonged there. Eddie had gotten very good at not looking directly at it.

Now Buck was standing three feet away, offering him a kiss like it was nothing. Like it was just a helpful suggestion, something that would push him into the arms of another man without second thought. Like it wouldn't ruin him. 

“Eddie?” Buck asked, quieter now and stepping forward just slightly. Waiting for an answer. Patient and understanding, even now. 

Eddie swallowed.

“This is a bad idea.”

Buck’s mouth twitched into some type of smile. “Probably.”

And that–that’s what did it.  Not confidence or the certainty that leaked through everything from his stand to his tone, but just Buck being Buck. Honest and a little reckless and so terribly earnest that it made Eddie’s chest ache.

“Okay.”

Buck went still. “Okay?” he echoed.

Eddie’s throat felt dry as he nodded, barely able to affirm. “Yeah.”

Buck searched his face. “You sure?”

No.

“Yes.”

Buck nodded once, sharp and almost nervous, like he wasn't prepared for Eddie to say yes, to take up the offer so quickly. “Okay.”

Neither of them moved. The room seemed to shrink around them, the air going thick and slightly electric. Yet, neither of them took another step. Neither went to close the gap. 

Eddie became acutely aware of everything, from the hum of the fridge to the muted traffic outside. Even the scent of Buck’s shampoo and the way his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders become all encompassing. The tiny hitch in Buck’s breathing and the way he picked at the corner of his thumbnail were presented to him in perfect clarity. 

This was ridiculous.

This was just Buck.

This was just practice. The other man had said so himself. It was just so Eddie could be more confident, a better version of himself. This was supposed to be a non-intomidating way to kiss a man, to give him the life experience he needs to move forward. 

Buck took one small step closer.

“Still okay?” he murmured and Eddie just nodded, mind beyond the ability to form words with Buck standing so close, possibly closer than they'd ever been before. 

Buck’s eyes dropped to his mouth with the confirmation, something low and dangerous twisting in Eddie's gut at the motion. Buck leaned in, lifting a hand–slow enough that Eddie could stop him if he wnated–and gently touched the side of his face. His thumb grazed over the stubble dotting Eddie's jawline, pupils slightly dilated as he tipped Eddie's head upwards just a fraction, blue eyes a bit glassy as he stared. 

All at once it hit him. This wasn't a joke, at least not to him. And from the look in Buck's eyes maybe it wasn't for him either. It was decidedly not casual, not really practice either. Or, maybe it was supposed to be, but Buck's palms against his cheek and eyes staring like he could see directly into Eddie's soul, gave him the bone deep certainty that nothing about this was going to feel casual. This wasn't anything he'd be able to move past. 

“Okay,” Buck whispered again, but this time it sounded like he was telling himself, like he was reassuring that it was okay that he could do it. The very puff of breath that carried the words, lightly warmed Eddie face as he leaned in, slowly, their lips meeting gingerly as Buck closed the final centimeters of space. 

It was soft.

That was the first thing Eddie registered. Not awkward, not tentative in the way he’d expected, but soft and oh so gentle. It was  careful, like Eddie was something precious. Everything narrowed to the feeling of Buck’s mouth warm against his, his hand steady at Eddie’s face, the way he licked into Eddie's mouth, almost unconsciously as Eddie deepened the kiss automatically, accepting everything the other man was willingly to give. He opened under Buck with a small surprised sound, an involuntary almost moan that caused Buck to freeze and pull back slightly. Eddie's hand found Buck's waist tightening, not letting him pull back more than an inch, desperate to keep him close. 

“Too much?”

“No.”

Buck’s eyes flicked over his face, searching, and whatever he saw there made something in his expression change. He leaned forward, kissing him again. 

And Eddie–

Eddie kissed him back the time, a willing participant. And maybe that was the moment it all went to hell. Or maybe it was the moment where they both realized everything had been headed here for years, the inevitable tip from friends to more. Either way, the moment Eddie leaned in and deepened the kiss on his own, Buck made a sound low in his throat the kind that made Eddie press closer, nip at Buck's bottom lip, a want to hear that again, to feel Buck's grip on him go tighter. 

Eddie felt like a live wire all the way down his spine, little sparks of pleasure flying through him. Buck's hand slid from Eddie’s jaw to the back of his neck, fingers curling there, and suddenly Eddie was gripping Buck’s shirt in both fists like he needed the anchor. One of Buck's hands tangled at the base of his hair, fingers threading through dark strands, the other finding a home instinctively in the back pocket of Eddie's jeans. 

This was not practice. 

There was nothing clinical about it. Nothing detached. No careful demonstration of technique or a moment where they pulled back and Buck asked if it was enough, if it was what he needed to feel confident. 

No Buck kissed him like he’d wanted to. Like he's been waiting for permission. Like he was standing on the edge of the same cliff that Eddie had been, not knowing how to ask if they could jump together. Not knowing that Eddie would say yes. 

Eddie opened for him without thinking, dizzy with the shock of it, the heat of it, Buck stepping into his space until Eddie was half backed against the couch, half held up by Buck’s body pressed close. It felt like stepping into sunlight after years underground, like recognition in the form of another body. It was all encompassing and right and terrifying all at the same time. 

They kept kissing, making out really, Eddie unable to pull away. He was plastered to the back on the couch, Bucks body blanketing him, fingers coming around to curl in his belt loops. He tried to push in closer, suddenly feeling like there was still too much space despite the fact that they'd never been closer. He angled his hips slightly, Buck biting down on his lip, the perfect drag of denim making him arch, Buck's own lack of self control pressing into his thigh and–

Eddie jerked back all at once, pushing Buck away, chest heaving as the sudden space between them cracked open. Buck looked at him with wild eyes. Hair mused and lips swollen, his pupils blown so wide there was only a sliver of blue left, dark and hazy with desire as he let one hand hover between them. He looked almost like a caged animal, wild with it as he stood a few inches back, breathing heavily and fingers shaking as if it was taking every bit of self control to not reach for Eddie to not pull him in again. 

Eddie just stared at him. 

“Oh,” Buck said, breathless and wrecked.

The panic hit Eddie all at once. The reality crashing in.  “I can’t–”

He turned, extracting himself from the bubble they'd created, walking two quick strides directly into the kitchen counter. 

“Ow–shit.”

“Eddie–”

“No.” Eddie held up a hand without looking at him. “Nope. Nope, nope, no.”

“Okay,” Buck said, which was objectively not a good response to anything happening between them. “That’s–that’s okay. Take uh–just breathe. Please.”

Eddie pressed both palms to the counter and tried to remember how to exist in his own body. One deep breath in. One out. His mouth still tingled, his whole body feeling like he was going through the aftershocks of electrocution. Because that hasn't been just practice or something that gave Eddie more confidence or experience. That was– Buck had kissed him like–

No. Nope. He wasn't thinking like that. He couldn't afford to. This had been a mistake. A massive, catastrophic, friendship-destroying mistake. He couldn't look at Buck, his brain unable to fully process it all. 

“I should cancel,” he blurted in the wake of nothing else that his brain could come up with to say. 

There was a pause.

Then, carefully and quietly, “The date?”

Eddie let out a laugh that sounded borderline hysterical. “You think?”

Buck was quiet for one long, terrible beat.

“Do you want to?”

Eddie finally turned, eyes meeting Bucks for the first time since they broke apart. Buck looked…not smug. Or triumphant or even hopeful. He just looked open, vulnerable in a way that Eddie rarely got to see. The type of way that Buck usually hid behind bravado and dangerous stunts and too much baking. And it truly looked like Buck was as scared as he was. Like the answer to cancelling the date was somehow important to him too, like it mattered more than he was willing to say out loud. 

And suddenly Eddie understood that the panic clawing up his throat wasn’t just about the kiss.

It was about what the kiss meant. What it had exposed and made impossible to ignore. Maybe for both of them. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie admitted, and there it was. The truth. It was ugly and shaky and real. Something he didn't want to admit, didn't want to ruin the tentative something that the two of them had been hovering between for so many years. Because if there was one thing Eddie knew, it was that he'd never survive breaking them. 

Buck nodded slowly.

“That’s uh–thats fair.”

Eddie laughed again, softer this time, a little bit disbelieving. “You can’t just kiss me like that and then say ‘that’s fair.’” He dipped his voice a bit, trying to capture a perfect rendition of his best friend. 

Buck’s eyebrows shot up. “I kissed you like that?”

Eddie glared.

Buck’s mouth twitched into a smug smile. “Okay, yeah. Probably fair.”

“Buck.”

He sobered immediately. “Right.”

The silence that followed felt different now. Charged, yes, but not unbearable. Just more honest than it was before. Something between them that they never thoguht theyd say. 

Buck took a breath and with it a step towards Eddie in the kitchen “I didn't mean for that to happen.”

Eddie’s chest tightened for all the wrong reasons and the evidence of it must how shown in his face the way Buck immediately winces. 

“Not like that. I mean–I did mean to kiss you. Obviously. But I didn’t mean–” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus. I’m bad at this.”

Some of Eddie’s tension cracked. “You? Bad at communicating? Never.”

“Yeah, laugh it up.” Buck looked at him then, fully, all defenses down. “I didn’t mean for it to be something you had to deal with if you didn’t want to.”

Eddie swallowed. Because that was the question, wasn’t it? Did he want to deal with it? With the fact that his best friend had just kissed him like he was starving? With the fact that Eddie had kissed him back like he’d been starving too? With the fact that suddenly every weird look, every joke from the team, every moment of almost unbearable closeness over the years rearranged itself into a pattern he could finally see? With the idea that everything he's been pushing away for months since figuring out he was gay might be right there for him to take? 

The thought of it all was overwhelming. 

And then there was the date. Aaron. Waiting for him and wanting him. The man who'd be here in 40 minutes, knocking on the door and whisking him away to a restaurant that's probably too fancy asking questions he doesn't want to answer, and probably kissing him softly at the door when they were done. And none of it sounded appealing. Not now. Not after Buck. 

Aaron was, well, he was nice. He was easy and uncomplicated. No, Eddie didn't know him well at all, but he could. He thinks about it and he believes they could be good together, that they might even be happy. 

But then he lets his mind wander to Buck, who's standing barefoot in his kitchen, a six pack and beer and a paper bag of tacos sitting on the countertop. No, Buck wasn't easy. He was the very definition of complicated. But he was Buck. And he thought about the way those blue eyes looked at him before they kissed, thought about the way that he had felt as the gap closed and how no matter what the moment of his life is, that Buck is always there. The constant. And he realized that there's never be any competition. It would always be Buck, even if he wanted to keep trying to shove it all down. 

And then, because apparently Eddie had decided to commit fully to emotional devastation tonight,  “I want to deal with you.”

Buck blinked.

“What?”

Eddie was going to die.

Possibly right now. In this moment. 

“I mean–” He dragged a hand down his face with a groan. “Jesus Christ.”

“Eddie…”

“I’m trying,” Eddie snapped, mostly because if Buck looked at him like that for one more second he might combust. “Give me a minute.”

Buck actually mimed zipping his lips. 

Ridiculous man. Ridiculous and endearing and something that Eddie needed in his life so desperately that his body literally hurt trying to imagine life without it all. 

Eddie exhaled, hard.

Then, because there was no graceful way to say any of this and he was so, so tired of pretending not to know himself or to pretend that he didn't feel the way he did, he took a breath. Then another. 

“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

Buck stared at him.

Eddie stared back, trapped in the awful suspended moment after a confession where the world might still end. Where he could have read all of this completely wrong and destroyed everything he'd been hoping towards. 

Buck’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“You think?”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “That’s your response?”

Buck made a helpless noise and covered his face with both hands. “No, no, sorry, that came out wrong I–”

“It absolutely came out wrong.”

Buck dropped his hands, eyes wild. “I’m sorry! I just–Eddie–” 

His eyes were wild, a hand coming up rake through his hair, making the curls messier than they already were as he searched for the right words. “I have–I– I've  been in love with you for so long that I genuinely forgot there was a version of reality where you didn’t know that.”

In one moment, Eddie forgot how to be angry.

“…What?”

Buck looked like he wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously. “Yeah.”

“You—”

“Yeah.”

“For how long?”

Buck visibly considered lying, Eddie could see it as the wheels turned. “Don't.” 

“Probably… embarrassingly long.”

“Buck.”

“Since before Ana.”

Eddie’s entire brain short-circuited. Of all the answers, that wasn't one he expected. 

“Since–what?”

Buck winced. “In my defense, I did not enjoy that realization. I didn't actually really know that's what it was until after Tommy. But I uh–yea–it’s been a while. Like I said, embarrassingly long time.”

Eddie stared at him like he’d started speaking another language.

Buck spread his hands. “I didn’t know what to do with it, okay? You were with someone. Then you weren’t, but then everything was weird and Christopher and work and Taylor happened. And then–then–God Eds, you got shot and I still wasn't sure. Then Tommy and all of that. And then you came out and I thought maybe I was making assumptions and I didn’t want to make this about me and–” He stopped, breathing hard in an attempt to slow his tirade. “And then you said you had a date, and I wanted to be happy for you, I did, but I also kind of wanted to throw up.”

Eddie barked out a startled laugh, Bucks face softening a bit like he's been waiting for some sort of relief. 

“You wanted to throw up?”

Buck nodded. “Violently.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic.”

“Yeah.”

A smile pulled at the corners of Buck’s mouth. “Yeah.”

The quiet settled again, but this time it was warm. Not as fragile as before and full of something that felt like maybe they'd finally decided to jump off that cliff, but together. It was terrifying and steadying all at once, in a way nothing else had ever been. Not even Shannon. And he knew he should be panicking more. That there would be so much more to unpack and think about and discuss. And he would. Probably. But right now? 

Right now Buck was here. In front of him and within arms reach.  Buck, who knew how Eddie took his coffee and what brand of cereal Christopher liked and how to talk him down from ledges he didn’t even realize he was standing on. Buck, who'd been his partner in every way for years. Buck who he'd give his life for in a heartbeat and who he knew felt the exact same way.  Buck, who'd taken his face in his hands and kissed him like he was a starving man. 

“Okay.”

Buck blinked. “Okay what?”

“I’m canceling the date.”

Buck’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t have to do that because of me.”

“I know.”

“Okay.” Buck hesitated. “Should I  leave while you do that?”

Eddie snorted. “Why? So you can have a panic attack in your truck instead of right here?”

Buck looked affronted. “I don’t–”

“You absolutely do.”

Buck opened his mouth, then closed it again with a roll of his eyes towards the ceiling. 

Eddie took out his phone before he could overthink it and typed a quick message to Aaron, 

Hey, I’m really sorry, but I need to cancel tonight. Something came up, and I don’t think it’d be fair to go out when my head’s somewhere else. You seem great, and I’m sorry for the late notice.

He stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering, and hit send. 

There.

Done.

He looked up to see Buck watching him., lower lip worries between his teeth. Eddie's chest ached at it, desperate to pull him closer again.

“Well,” he said, suddenly awkward in a whole new way. “Now what?”

Buck, incredibly, glanced at the tacos. “We eat?”

Eddie laughed. Something drudged you from deep inside him, helpless and real and relieved enough that it left him a little dizzy.

Buck grinned, and just like that the air changed again. Easier. Not because anything was settled, exactly, but because it was them. Because even standing in the wreckage of a life-altering kiss and multiple confessions, Buck still defaulted to something normal. Something that was completely them. 

“Come here.”

“What?”

Eddie took two steps forward, closed the distance Buck seemed too stunned to cross, and curled his hand in the front of Buck’s shirt.

“I said come here.”

He ended the sentence by reeling him in, this time being the one to initiate the kiss. And this time, Buck made a broken sound and met him halfway, all startled joy and hunger and care. His hands found Eddie’s waist like they’d always known where to go. Eddie felt himself smile into the kiss, felt Buck smile back, and the sheer absurd rightness of it nearly knocked him sideways.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathing hard, Buck rested his forehead against Eddie’s.

“So,” Buck murmured, voice wrecked and frayed at the edges. Like the feelings were still too big to know where to put them all.  “Still practicing?”

Eddie huffed a laugh. “Shut up.”

Buck just responded by kissing the corner of his mouth. “Never.”

—

They did, eventually, eat the tacos.

Mostly because Buck insisted Eddie needed “protein after all the emotional trauma,” which was such a Buck sentence that Eddie had nearly choked laughing, making it impossible to deny the request. Even if there were other ways he wanted to keep his mouth busy. There was time. They had the rest of their lives. 

They sat on the couch, knees bumping with a half-watched action movie playing on the TV neither of them paid attention to. At some point Buck’s arm ended up around Eddie’s shoulders to hold him tight. At some point Eddie stopped pretending that it made him nervous and leaned in fully, soaking up the love being so freely given. 

At some point–later, when the beers were open and the worst of the adrenaline had faded– Buck let his head lull to the side, quietly looking at him. “You okay?”

Eddie knew what he meant.

Not, Are you okay right now?

But, Are you really okay with this? With me? With what this changes?

He thought about it.

About the fear that still lingered, because of course it did. About Christopher, and timing, and the fragile terror of wanting something this much. About how he had spent years building walls around parts of himself he didn’t know how to name, and how Buck had somehow ended up on the inside of all of them anyway.

He  even thought about how, for the first time in a long time, the fear didn’t feel bigger than the want.

“Yeah,” he said finally, and he meant it.

Buck looked at him like he was seeing the sun for the first time after a long, dark storm.

“Yeah?”

Eddie rolled his eyes to cover how that expression affected him. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

Buck’s smile turned soft, almost unbearably so. “Okay.”

A beat.

Then, tentatively in a way that made Eddie’s heart squeeze, “Can I ask you something?”

“That depends.”

Buck huffed a laugh. “Can I take you on a date?”

Of course Buck would ask. Of course, after all this, he would still want to do it right.

Warmth spread through Eddie so fast it almost hurt.

“You’re asking me out,” he said slowly, “while sitting on my couch after kissing me stupid.”

Buck nodded. “I contain multitudes.”

“Idiot.”

 “That’s not a no.”

Eddie let himself look at him then, really look. At the man who had been his best friend, his partner, his safe place, maybe for longer than either of them had known how to admit.

Then he leaned in and kissed him once, quick and sure.

“No,” he said against Buck’s mouth. “It’s not.”

Buck exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years. And maybe he had. 

“Tomorrow?” he asked immediately. “I can pick you up. Or not pick you up, since I’m already here. But I can leave and come back and make it official. Or we can stay in. Or go out. Or–”

“Buck.”

He stopped.

Eddie smiled, small and helpless and probably a little wrecked.

“Tomorrow sounds good.”

Buck beamed and it was ridiculous how much that could still undo him.

“Okay,” Buck said, like it was the best word in the English language. “Okay.”

The movie kept playing. The tacos got cold. At some point Buck laced their fingers together and neither of them made a big deal out of it, which somehow made it feel even bigger.

Later, when he walked Buck to the door out of sheer habit despite the fact that Buck wasn’t leaving yet, just grabbing something out of his truck, Eddie paused in the doorway and looked back at him.

“Hey.”

Buck looked up from where he’d been tapping on his phone. “Yeah?”

Eddie hesitated for just a moment.

Then, because he wanted to say it before fear got its hands on him again, because Buck deserved to hear it without the panic and the spiraling and the chaos wrapped around it, he said, “I’m glad my first kiss with a guy was you.”

Buck went completely still for a minute before he crossed the room in three strides, cupped Eddie’s face in both hands, and kissed him slow enough to make Eddie’s knees threaten to give out 

When Buck pulled back, his voice was rough.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’d really like it if your second one was me too.”

Eddie laughed, warm all the way through.

“Yeah?”

Buck kissed him again, quick and smiling into it. “Yeah.”

And maybe there would be hard conversations later. Maybe there would be nerves and logistics and the terrifying, beautiful reality of telling Christopher and the team and their families that apparently everyone had been right all along.

Maybe Eddie would still spiral. Truly, he probably would. But Buck would be there. In his kitchen with tacos. On his couch with too much heart. Looking at him like he was something worth choosing, over and over and over again.

For tonight, that was enough.

More than enough.

Eddie slid his hand into Buck’s, tugged him back toward the couch, and let himself be led.