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"Buster."
Someone was calling his name. That was the most Buster Moon could process through his drunken haze. He wasn't normally one to drink, but the whole theater debacle had left the koala miserable, and so he had made a meager attempt to drink away his problems. However, five beers later, the stench of failure still clung to him like a pesky dryer sheet, and refused to go away- along with the voice that had been repeating his name for the past five minutes.
At first Buster had chalked this up to his intoxication, but when the voice refused to cease, he concluded that someone was indeed trying to talk to him, then further concluded that this someone was Eddie Noodleman.
Buster also came to the conclusion that he didn't quite care, and was content with staring vacantly at the television set instead.
"You can't ignore me forever, y'know," Eddie called again, louder this time, more persistent. He tapped his foot impatiently.
"Wouldn't bet money on that."
"Buster..." Grumbling under his breath, the sheep decided to take action. He stood in front of the TV set, arms folded across his chest as he added, "c'mon, man, it's past 3 AM. You should probably get some sleep."
"Can't sleep," muttered Buster at last, "sleep is for winners."
"No," Eddie corrected, "sleep is for people who don't want raging hangovers in the morning." Buster didn't respond. Giving an audible sigh, Eddie added, "look, Buster, I know you're upset about losing your theater-"
"And my money... and my dignity..." The koala reached down and retrieved a sixth can of beer from the floor.
"-but you don't deserve to wallow in self-pity like this," the sheep finished.
"Who says I'm wallowing?" Buster replied with a snort. "I'm fine." He popped the can open and took a long swig, ignoring the alcohol that messily dribbled down his chin in the process.
"Uh, no? You're not?" Eddie gestured to his friend. "You're binge-eating all my eucalyptus cough drops while watching old reruns of Frasier. Plus, you're drunk. And not the fun kind."
"Well." Buster's smile was tight-lipped. "Sorry for not bein' the life of the party, Eddie." He fumbled for the remote and attempted to shut the television off, which, not his proudest moment, took more than one try.
Eddie sighed as he watched his friend curl up on the half-inflated air mattress beneath him. "Look, I'm not saying you've gotta be, like, sunshine and lollipops, but you should at least try to get out there again." He took a seat next to the koala, who turned his back to him as he continued: "Y'know, start looking for some other jobs, maybe a new place to stay- somewhere that's not a pool house or a desk drawer- and lay off the alcohol a bit."
"Lay off the alcohol a bit," Buster mimicked in a low voice before chuckling under his breath. "Yes, dad."
"See, that- that's another problem. You think you're funny when you're drunk but you're not."
Buster rolled over to glare at Eddie through the dark. "Excuse you, sir, but I am a master of comedy."
"Mm. Not when you're drunk," the sheep countered. "You end up sounding like some Nihilistic sad clown."
"If that's the case, then call me Pagliaccio, my dear," the koala slurred out, his tongue getting stuck on the pronunciation.
It was too damn late to ask for clarification about whatever theater reference Buster was making this time, or why he had referred to Eddie as "dear." "Get some sleep, dude. You'll feel well-rested and ready to take on the day come morning."
"Pf. I highly doubt that," Buster replied stubbornly. However, his yawn signaled the end of the argument. "G'night, Eddie," he murmured, setting his beer aside and reaching for the blankets as he turned over on his mattress.
Eddie gave a tired half-smile. "Night, Pagliaccio," he replied jokingly. He gave his friend a once-over, making sure he looked comfortable enough under the layers of blankets before trudging to his futon couch.
The sheep felt sleep creeping rapidly upon him as he slipped under the chlorine-tainted sheets, and he sighed as he was greeted by the coolness of his pillow. This was one of the best feelings in the world, in Eddie's personal opinion, second only to the rush you get when you drink too many Mountain Dews in one sitting. Eddie was just dozing off in what promised to be a fruitful sleep when he was disturbed by the sound of rustling sheets.
"Eddie."
For the love of-
Eddie sat up groggily. "Mm?" he managed through his sleep-hazed brain, rubbing at his bleary eyes with his hooves.
"It's quiet."
"Mm," agreed Eddie.
"Could you..." There was a bit of silence as Buster collected his thoughts. "I dunno, could you turn the TV back on or somethin'?"
Eddie groaned. "C'mon, Buster, I can't sleep with all that background noise," he muttered. His head hit the pillow once more. "Just go to sleep already."
Silence enveloped the room for a few moments. "I can't sleep like this," came the soft reply.
Frowning, Eddie sat up and looked at his friend through the darkness. Never in his life had Buster looked so small, standing atop an air mattress as deflated as his spirit while practically drowning in a shirt that was about two sizes too big on him. He looked drained and vulnerable. And Buster Moon was never vulnerable. For as long as Eddie had known him, the koala always exuded confidence, no matter the situation. It was the theatre that gave him such aplomb, he assumed.
So when the Moon Theatre came crashing down, so, essentially, did Buster.
"It's... too quiet," Buster reiterated. "The theatre was never this quiet. The old girl... she creaked- you could hear it in the walls, a-an-" he hiccuped- "On windy nights you could hear a whistle in the rafters. It was like she was singin' me to sleep."
Eddie was stunned. "Oh," was his response.
Buster slumped down onto the mattress. "'s stupid, I know," he muttered morosely, tears threatening to fall.
"No!" blurted Eddie. "I never said- hey, come on, you don't need to cry, it's okay!" He began to ramble as he watched Buster draw his knees to his chest and exhale shakily.
"I miss her," he murmured, shaking his head as Eddie abandoned the couch to kneel at his level. "My theater's gone... 's all gone, and 's all my fault-"
There was nothing Eddie could say at a time like this. Buster had lost the love of his life, his pride and joy. How do you comfort someone who had just watched everything they loved crumble before them? It pained Eddie to watch his best friend in such a state, so he wrapped an arm around Buster as he cried silently. And an idea struck him suddenly.
"I could sing you something," Eddie blurted.
Buster lifted his head and stared through puzzled, teary eyes at the sheep. "Sing me something?" he repeated.
Eddie shifted uncomfortably. "You, uh... you said you were having trouble sleeping... 'cause it's so quiet? I could... y'know... I'm not the best singer or anything, but the offer's there," he finished.
Buster was quiet for some time, leaving Eddie to regret saying anything to begin with. Sing something? Are you mental? the sheep groaned inwardly. Do you really think Buster's in the mood to hear you commit brutal third-degree murder with your voice right now?
But, to his surprise, Buster leaned into his friend. "Yeah," he said at last, nodding his head slowly. "Yeah, I'd like that." He glanced up at Eddie, and dammit, if his eyes were large to start with, they were like pools when he was crying. "Sing me something, Eddie. Anything."
Shit. Didn't think I'd get this far. "O-okay," Eddie stammered out. "Let's see, uh..." He mentally went through all the songs his brain had ever stored, searching for the right one to sing. In terms of music taste, Eddie liked to think he was more refined than most. Anyone else would like to think he was on drugs, as his music library contained mostly "hippie-dippie-bluegrass-garbage," as Buster himself referred to it.
Eddie usually left the singing to his friend. Buster was more of a figure of direction, and enjoyed planning more than performing, but he was a koala of many talents. If one gave him a song at random, regardless of genre or length, Buster would be able to perform it with flawless execution the next day and receive a standing ovation. That's just how good he was.
Eddie's voice, on the other hand, was slightly less than average, but at least he was capable of carrying a tune and staying in key. Sure, he didn't like the awkwardness of his voice, but he'd sing if he absolutely had to.
And now, seeing how expectant Buster's gaze had been, Eddie knew he couldn't weasel out of this one.
Inhaling deeply, he picked the only song that would come to his mind at the time, one that had been stuck in his head for the past week. He leaned in near Buster's ear, so he wouldn't have to sing very loudly, and began murmuring a soft melody.
The koala let his eyes slip shut briefly, leaning into music with a contented smile, before his brows furrowed in confusion. Buster's fogged brain was just barely able to notice something was off. He opened his eyes and pulled away to narrow them at Eddie.
"Are you singing the song... from that hot dog commercial?"
"Uh..." Eddie tapped his hooves together anxiously. "No..?"
Buster's face broke into a grin. "You are," he said, and dissolved into a fit of drunken giggles.
"You said I could sing anything!" said Eddie defensively, face flushed with embarrassment. "Besides, it was the only song I could think of. I warned you I wasn't the best singer, but-"
"I liked it," Buster denied, shaking his head furiously.
Eddie cocked an eyebrow. "You liked it," he repeated bluntly.
"Mm-hm."
"Promise?"
"On my life."
"That's how I know you're drunk."
"C'monnnn," Buster whined childishly. "Aren'tcha gonna finish?"
Eddie was taken aback. "Excuse me?"
"Want you to keep singing..." the koala trailed off, staring at Eddie with a growing interest. Maybe it was the alcohol talking (it was most definitely the alcohol talking), but something about being serenaded late at night by his closest friend had a certain charm to it- even if the song was a corny hot dog jingle.
Eddie stared back, trying to fight the growing blush that was spreading across his face. He had always had a hard time saying no to Buster, and now was definitely no exception. Especially when his friend was looking at him the way he was, eyes slightly half-lidded and glazed over.
The sheep swallowed hard before clearing his throat. "O-okay," he agreed at last, and Buster's eyes were filled with nothing short of adoration as Eddie sang the best damn rendition of a hot dog commercial jingle that he possibly could. He was no longer anxious, for his audience found comfort in his voice regardless of what he sounded like. And as the sheep sang unabashedly, a realization managed to seep through Buster's drunken haze.
Once Eddie finished he took a bow. "If I had a mic I'd drop it," he said with a laugh, then paused. "Or... or not. Yeah, no, those are expensive."
Buster didn't reply. He continued to stare at the sheep, expression unwavering.
"Aw, come on." Eddie waved a hoof in front of Buster's face, attempting to snap him out of his daze. "I wasn't that bad, was I?"
Buster shook his head absently.
"Well, then, what's... what's the problem?"
"I think I'm in love with you."
A long, awkward silence followed. Buster stared lazily at Eddie with the casualness of someone who had stated something as simple as, "What nice weather we're having." Eddie gawked back with the expression of someone whose best friend had just professed their love to them, which, of course, was by far the more appropriate expression.
"You..." Eddie allowed himself to exhale the breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding, "you what?"
In one swift motion, Buster grabbed the sheep's face and yanked him down so the two were eye-level. "I," he began as slowly as possible, carefully enunciating so his words wouldn't blur together, "am in love... with you."
The smell of cheap liquor and eucalyptus cough drops mingled in the air. Eddie didn't think he'd ever been this close to his friend's face before. He also didn't think he'd ever noticed how soft Buster's fur looked, or felt the urge to reach out a touch it.
He didn't think he'd ever felt this insane before.
Shaking the thoughts from his head, Eddie pulled away and stood up. "No," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "No, man- you're drunk, you can't possibly-"
"What?" Buster was filled with sudden anger. "I can't what?" he demanded. "I'm tired of everyone telling me I 'can't.' I can't save my theater, I can't see my dreams become reality, I can't make this world a better place to live in- well, why not, hm? Why can't I?
"I can," Buster continued, eyeing Eddie with intensity. "And if I can't, it'll be on my own terms. I'll never let anyone but myself tell me I can't."
Eddie was once again stunned into silence, yet Buster's drunken monologue instilled some form of reassurance in him. This was the Buster Moon he knew, the Buster Moon who didn't know the definition of the word "no," whose vocabulary contained no variation of "impossible," who let no man or force of nature stop him from doing what he loved.
"And so, Eddie Noodleman," Buster concluded, raising a paw in the air for emphasis, "yes, I can love you, and, drunk or not, I will love you." A small smile graced his features. "You and... and your mediocre singing skills, and your sense of style, and everything in between. And don't you dare tell me I 'can't.'"
Eddie felt an overwhelming urge to embrace Buster. A grin spread across his face and he laughed, scooping the koala into his arms. Buster, who would have normally protested against this, gave into the affection and laughed along as they both collapsed onto the deflated air mattress.
They lay there for some time, admiring the light in each other's eyes, before Eddie finally spoke up.
"Can I... can I kiss you?"
Buster's face lit up in a smile. "You can."