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Eddie wakes up to noise. It’s noise he could place from a mile away. The sound of Buck, who wouldn’t know subtlety if it hit him across the face, and could only keep quiet if he was handed something to chew on.
Even then he’d probably be drumming his fingers against the hardest surface, or tapping a foot against the floor. Buck is loud, basically. That’s the conclusion Eddie has already drawn as he blinks himself awake in the morning glow of his bedroom.
Nobody else kicks their shoes against the wall quite like Buck; nobody seems to have permanent sounds falling from their lips, humming or huffing like everything they do either takes huge effort or pleases them greatly. It hardly matters that Buck is the only one who has a spare key to Eddie’s house, as Eddie could pick his presence out by sound alone.
It’s grown to be comforting to Eddie, the sound of Buck being around. Like when Eddie hides away, he knows he’s never far from hearing Buck knocking the door down, or clawing at the ground to get to him. It’s a nice thing to know; that without a shadow of a doubt, someone is there with you.
Eddie swings his legs round the bed and stands up, rubbing at his eyes like he can remove the bone-tiredness from them. He throws on the t-shirt he discarded last night and pads down the hallway to Buck.
It’s not that early, not by Buck’s standards who shoots out of bed like he can’t possibly wait to begin his days, but it’s still early enough that Eddie wouldn’t have voluntarily dragged himself out of bed, especially since he’s not working today. It’s definitely too early for Christopher to be up, so Eddie tiptoes past his bedroom door, lest he release the world’s crankiest teen onto the world. Chris is perfect, but maybe a little more perfect if he sleeps for at least eight hours.
Eddie rounds the corner into the living room, and lo and behold there’s Buck, with all the grace of a newborn deer, balancing coffees on the lid of a tupperware box.
“Hey,” Eddie whispers in hopes he doesn’t startle him and send coffee spilling all over his living room floor.
“Eddie,” Buck says, looking only marginally surprised and keeping an admirable amount of control over the precarious balancing-act that’s going on in his hands. “Good morning.”
“Hey, bud,” Eddie says again. “It’s awfully early for this, isn’t it?”
Buck looks a real degree of taken aback, like he forgets that he falls somewhere on the extreme side of morning person. “No,” he says, then furrows his brows, looks down at his watch. “Is it?”
Eddie laughs; can’t help himself. “No,” he decides. “It’s okay. Come on.”
Buck follows his lead into the kitchen, always hot on Eddie’s heels. He puts the tupperware — and by extension the coffees — down on Eddie’s kitchen island before holding one of the clear cups up to his face to inspect it. He narrows his eyes and peers through the plastic like it’s going to reveal secrets to him if he catches it in just the right light.
Then, when he’s seemingly found what he was looking for, he hands the coffee out to Eddie with a grin that rivals the sunlight flickering in through the window. “This one’s yours.”
“And you can tell that…. how?” Eddie asks, but accepts the drink anyway, without a single second of real hesitation. He knows better than to doubt Buck.
Buck’s grin only grows. “Come on,” he says, smug in a way that only works on him. “I know these things.”
It doesn’t make any sense, and it’s so boyish and ridiculous that it shouldn’t have Eddie’s heart stuttering, but he’s barely awake and he’s being handed coffee and he can’t help but be charmed. Buck’s sweatshirt looks soft and his curls look perfect and Eddie is capable of just sitting with that. Accepting that it all has an effect on him.
He sips his drink, immediately tasting the lavender syrup that Buck figured out he liked through his terrifyingly accurate ability to read Eddie. He had begun the serious task, as he called it, of deciding what Eddie should drink since black coffee was apparently not an acceptable option, and despite Eddie’s valiant effort to dislike every option, he actually liked the lavender. Something must have shown on his face, as Buck immediately snapped his fingers, grinned wildly and ceased the task of making his way through every available syrup in any coffee shop in LA. Eddie is sure his bank account thanks him for it.
The lavender is refreshing and sweet and it wakes Eddie up, instead of making him feel sluggish like sweet things sometimes do. Everyone else on the team hates it, but it features in every coffee that Buck brings him and Eddie’s pretty sure Buck has a bottle of it at his own house, sitting alongside his preferred caramel.
“Good?” Buck asks.
“Mhm,” Eddie hums. Buck doesn’t need to be told. “What’s in there?” he asks, nodding toward the tupperware on the counter.
“I’m so glad you asked,” Buck says, turning away to remove the lid from the box. He hums quietly as he does — classic Buck — then tilts the box so Eddie can see inside. “Cinnamon rolls. Still warm,” he adds like he’s pleased with himself; like Eddie needs any further tempting to eat something Buck has baked.
Eddie feels his eyes go wide, comically so, betraying him. “You know me so well,” he says, just to witness the way Buck’s grin changes, morphing into something softer and less brave on his face; something that Eddie loves because it’s revealing far more of Buck’s heart to him.
Buck does know Eddie so well. He knows that he couldn’t be pushed to pick a favorite between the sweet treats Buck brings him but is definitely partial to cinnamon rolls. Especially those drenched in icing and hand-delivered to Eddie alongside Buck’s presence, which he can admit he prefers over any baked good.
Buck knows that Eddie is learning to accept these things for himself, which may be easier with the sweet treats than it is with Buck’s presence. He probably knows that Eddie is attempting to rewrite his baseline, which feels dangerously close to fundamentally unworthy, particularly of something as good as Buck.
”Where’s Chris?” Buck asks, instead of appeasing Eddie and placing food in his waiting hands.
Eddie levels him with a look. “It’s definitely too early for him,” he says. “You’re about three hours optimistic on that front.”
Buck looks like he’s actually upset about that, like the lack of Chris seriously troubles him. Watching the joy slip from Buck’s face ever so slightly, does something complicated to Eddie, heat trickling through his veins until he feels like he could melt into a puddle at Buck’s feet.
The heat throughout his body is welcome, even despite the fact it feels almost unfair to be faced with the reminder that Buck adores Christopher this much, this early in the morning. Eddie finds the feeling worth basking in, anyway. Like sunlight warming his back; like dipping slowly into Buck’s hot tub; like marshmallow dripping from a s'more onto his knuckles.
But it’s not always nice, not always easy. If Eddie looks at it too much, too head-on, it feels a lot like trying to look directly at the sun. It feels like trying to look at something you’re simply not designed to see. Him and Buck, properly sharing Eddie’s son, eating breakfast together in the quiet, sipping coffee in golden light that has barely crept into the room. It’s all so nice, but Eddie’s not sure he can look at it properly. He’s not sure it’s really for him.
“Of course,” Buck says, snapping back into the overexcited puppy act. “It’s okay. As long as you can save him a couple of these.” He points to Eddie, all mock-accusation and knowing tilt to his mouth. It makes Eddie feel like there might just be a chance he could stare directly at the sun, like he would make himself look up at the stupid thing if it keeps him feeling like this. He could get over himself, he thinks, realise that he’s always gonna have Buck orbiting him like this, and might as well lean all the way into it. It would probably be the best decision he ever makes.
He rolls his eyes playfully. “I think I can manage that. Hand them over,” he says, grabbing two plates from an overhead cupboard to properly appreciate Buck’s effort. If he wasn’t here, Eddie would probably just eat one leant over the sink, hunched over like he hadn’t eaten a thing in three days.
Buck obliges, picking out the one Eddie was secretly eyeing as the best and placing it on the plate that he pushes along the counter to Eddie. He bites into it, and it’s great— of course it is. Buck is yet to hand something to Eddie that he doesn’t think is the product of a masterclass in baking.
“This is great, Buck,” he mumbles around his second bite, and he’s distantly aware of his disapproval of talking while chewing, but the rules he keeps for himself tend to relax themselves around Buck. He barely tells Christopher off for it anymore; he’s too happy to even raise a tired eyebrow at him.
Buck doesn’t say anything, just smiles that same fond, knowing smile that Eddie loves but can’t all the way decipher. It makes him feel a bit like he’s missed a joke but Buck’s happy and it’s all directed at Eddie so he can’t find it in himself to complain.
Eddie blinks away the mild confusion, darting around Buck to grab the tupperware from the counter. “Come with me,” he says, shooting him a grin. “You can help me with my crossword.”
Buck jumps before Eddie’s even said go, following him into the dining room to sit impossibly close as they pour over Eddie’s tiny crossword book that’s already half-complete. The heat of Buck permeates through Eddie even more when he’s this close. It’s no longer just a complicated feeling that is rooted only inside him, but a real warmth that comes from his thigh pressed up against Eddie’s and their ankles accidentally slotting together in Buck’s inability to remain still.
The sun rises properly behind them and Eddie sips from his drink, delighting in Buck’s lack of understanding at how cryptic crosswords work, and the increasing furrow of his brow every time Eddie laughs in his face or snatches the pen directly from his hand. He eats another cinnamon roll, uncaring of the crumbs and the fact he hasn’t begun to really utilise his day off— there’s nothing in the washer, there’s no groceries in his cart but Buck’s here with him, and the day is almost as young as he makes Eddie feel.
Chris rises eventually, venturing into the dining room with all the sufferings of a teenager who’s been awoken by a bark of Buck’s laughter way earlier than desired. He stands and stares at them for a moment, and Eddie imagines the image they make— huddled together as if they’re stuck to each other’s hips, Eddie’s hair still dishevelled from bed like he rolled out of it specifically to spend these precious moments with Buck, who is smiling at Christopher like he missed him overnight.
“Chris,” Buck calls, a touch too loud. He’s already out of his seat, standing and then remaining still like he can’t remember why he’s just gotten up.
“Hey, Buck,” Chris says, slowly. “What are you doing here so early?”
Eddie laughs as Buck scowls. “It’s not early,” he insists again, “and you won’t be complaining when you see what I brought for breakfast.”
Christopher takes the seat on the other side of Eddie, looking more awake with each second that passes since laying eyes on Buck’s baking. Eddie leans over to reach into the box, kissing the top of Chris’ head as he goes. Buck flops back into his chair, still as close to Eddie as he can get, and Eddie tries not to feel too ridiculous at how pleased it makes him to share tiny moments with both Buck and Christopher. They may look like nothing special but they are undoubtedly the most treasured moments of his life.
They easily beat out the adrenaline-filled rescues, rivalling any second Eddie spends feeling like he’s saved someone’s life or done a resoundingly good job at something. Here he’s done a good job, anyway. His son is happy and trusting. He has Buck as much as he has Eddie and Eddie couldn’t imagine wanting it any other way. He wants to have Buck too, in every way that counts. Sharing in these slow, lazy mornings might be the way that counts the most.
“Here, Chris,” Eddie says, handing him the best cinnamon roll he could find still intact. “It’s good, Buck made it.”
Christopher stares at him a second, eyes darting the tiny distance between him and Buck, before taking it. “Thank you,” he says and he looks like Buck did earlier, another smile on his face that Eddie can’t quite understand.
“What’s on the agenda today?” Buck asks, after a while.
“Nothing really,” Eddie says. “Chores, I guess.”
Buck nods along, watching Christopher out of the corner of his eye. Buck does that a lot, keeps an unfaltering eye, his gaze stuck on either him or Christopher. Both make Eddie dizzy— sometimes for the same reason, other times for ones that are vastly different.
“Chris,” Eddie says too fast, abruptly stopping his examination of the way Buck watches over his son like a hawk. “What are you doing today, buddy?”
Christopher stuffs the last bite into his mouth. “Whatever you’re doing,” he says, shrugging. “Or I can stay home and paint,” he adds, narrowing his eyes when Eddie doesn’t say anything.
“No, no,” Eddie cuts in. “I would rather hang out with you, mijo. We can push the chores away for another day, right?”
Chris nods, smiling. “Buck,” he says. “You will hang out too, right?”
Eddie turns to Buck, who lights up just to have been considered. “Of course,” he agrees. “Whatever you want.”
Eddie finds grave importance in encouraging Christopher with pretty much anything he looks at twice. He has purchased him far too many video games, replaced headphones whenever they broke equipped with microphones that Eddie didn’t even know were there. When they were too juvenile, Eddie fostered his interest in painting, buying him every paint color he pointed at, and canvas that sat against the wall of his bedroom. Christopher has had more haircuts this past year than were necessary, Eddie nodding and booking them every time Chris asked. He has far more clothes than Eddie, which isn’t actually that mean of a feat but Chris’ closet is so overflowing that it becomes impressive again.
Eddie might be overcorrecting. Making up for lost time. Bribing, even, in some people’s eyes. Doing anything to stop his son wanting to flee him again. He thinks these things himself sometimes; dangerous thoughts that start tiny and spiral if Eddie spends too much time alone in his room feeling like the walls are caving in or the house is quieter than it was yesterday. These thoughts are always destroyed eventually— usually in the mornings when Chris wakes up and lingers around Eddie, making real conversation that could only exist alongside complete and utter trust.
Or in the evening when Chris doesn’t disappear into his room after dinner and instead asks Eddie if he wants to watch a movie or talk to him about his shift.
They’re great, Eddie knows this, and he feels it even brighter and stronger as he, Christopher and Buck meander through an art gallery; an activity Eddie picked out with Chris in mind. Chris is ahead of them, surveying each and every painting with equal attention like he couldn’t bear to leave one out. Eddie finds it completely endearing and he kind of wants to bundle Chris up and scream how proud he is of him.
This type of activity is not Buck’s forte, however, and Eddie offered him an out when he picked it.
“You don’t have to come,” Eddie had said. “It’s a bit boring, even if Chris lives for this kinda thing at the moment.”
Buck brushed him off. “No way,” he insisted. “Are you kidding? How can anything be boring with the three of us?”
Eddie had smiled despite himself, and agreed.
But, true to Eddie’s fears, Buck is not very good at standing still and admiring, and he would much rather yap Eddie’s ear off like he is qualified to provide any kind of artistic judgement. Eddie can barely read Buck’s handwriting so he can’t put much trust in anything else he may produce with a pencil.
“This one’s nice,” Buck says, rocking back on his heels.
“Yes, Buck,” Eddie agrees. He would hope they would all be nice. They wouldn’t be displayed here if not.
“It’s not nice, Buck,” Chris interjects, sighing like it’s his own painting that’s being misunderstood. “It’s a serious painting. You’re supposed to feel things.”
Buck looks affronted, only a tiny bit exaggerated for Chris’ benefit. “I am feeling things,” he says. “I feel favorable toward this painting. I think it’s nice.”
Eddie hides his smile behind his hand. He secretly suspects that neither of them have much of an idea of what they’re talking about. Christopher lets it go, rolling his eyes and moving swiftly on, removing himself from any embarrassment coming from Buck’s artistic ineptitude.
“I wasn’t feeling anything,” Buck whispers to Eddie, leaning in so Eddie can feel him all up against his side. It feels like he’s revealing a secret rather than something mundane or borderline nonsensical. He always makes Eddie feel special like that— like the only person worth paying attention to, like every tiny word exchanged or any time spent together is ridiculously valuable.
“I got that,” Eddie whispers back. “I think everyone here got that.”
Buck flashes him another grin, dripping with self-assuredness. Eddie mirrors it without thinking, feeling almost able to convince himself he feels even a tiny bit of the sureness that Buck feels.
They continue wandering, Buck continues to indulge Christopher by saying something stupid that Chris can correct or rant about. Eddie joins in, pointedly disagreeing with Buck and enthusiastically accepting every explanation Chris gives instead.
It makes Buck pout, over-the-top and annoyingly endearing to Eddie, who should find the whole performance childish. But when Chris looks away and Buck’s face immediately collapses back into a grin, directed at the back of Chris’ head and as fond as Eddie’s own, it’s hard to feel anything other than a dizzying kind of happiness.
“You okay?” Buck asks, bumping into Eddie. It’s not on purpose this time.
“Yeah.” Eddie nods. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Buck shrugs and says nothing more.
Happiness with Buck is so easy. It’s bound to be comfortable to be with someone who has known you for so long to the point that they may know you better than you know yourself. Eddie wonders how he managed to beat the system; how he managed to find someone who didn’t think themself to be better or kinder than Eddie, but still was, simply because none of this would work if Eddie didn’t think the opposite — that Buck was much more generous than he was, forgiving in a way that Eddie was only able to achieve with Buck.
It’s almost not worth dwelling on; the way he feels Buck’s gaze on him like bugs on his skin. Like something that crawls all over you but remains featherlight, something that could as easily be there as not. Eddie’s not in the business of questioning something that feels so right; so much like the kind of scenario that should only exist if his life was a little bit different. If he came with one less bag of trauma, if anything in his mind wasn’t meticulously organised, sorted into boxes that have been overflowing for as long as Eddie can remember.
He’s too happy today. Too content to muster up the energy to wonder which God is smiling down on him and blessing him with the continued presence of Evan Buckley, or what he did in a past life to warrant the kind of friendship most people can only dream about.
So, instead he takes the win. He takes it with both hands, letting the filter between his brain and mouth fall away, mostly just in the hopes that he accidentally says something to Buck that reveals something he can’t misunderstand. He unclenches his jaw, lets his shoulders drop away from his ears and lets himself get burnt by the flames of Buck’s stare. Eddie suspects that this is always going to be his favorite feeling — the knowledge that there's something good in the world, something that’s capable of making him happy.
He knows happiness is not afforded to everyone. When he was a child, it was more an absence of sadness rather than its own unique feeling. Eddie rarely felt joy, a complete freedom or layer of control that stretched across his own life but never overflowed to extra responsibilities. He sets his sights higher now, aims for more than a fleeting recognition that he happens to feel quite content, light in his body and completely tied to a moment all at the same time. There’s no room to want more than Buck, because it’s almost too much to comprehend to even have this much.
They stop for food on the way home, crowding around a tiny wooden table beside a food truck that they struck gold with, selling tacos as nice as Eddie has ever had.
The sky is cloudless above them, and Eddie for once feels entirely at peace. He doesn’t care about the way his knee is locked up under the tiny table, or the way he’s already spilt hot sauce on his jeans because he’s not sure he’s ever been quite this happy. Or relaxed, which seem to have always served as reluctant synonyms for Eddie.
He wasn’t given the luxury of being relaxed as a kid, he wasn’t granted the permission of forgiveness if he forgot to help Sophia with her homework or came home with grass stains on his clothes. These memories pass through his mind but they’re gone with the next breeze, instantly replaced with the quiet, easy calm of right now.
Replaced with Eddie revelling in the fact that his favorite people are around him, smiling at him like he’s ever been worthy of having the sun shine directly on his face. The reminder that he’s gonna go home to a place where Buck will stick around because he can read Eddie’s mind and knows that he never wants him to leave. A place where Chris can do as he pleases, and nobody walks on eggshells or blows up at anything because cycles of broken communication have been so successfully defeated that Eddie barely remembers how they ever spun round.
They go home afterwards, Christopher desperate to facetime his friends and fill them in on something that he simply can’t wait to get off his chest — his exact words to Eddie.
Eddie waves him off, desperate not to involve himself in teenage gossip, and drags Buck into his bedroom, ignoring the choked noise he makes as Eddie reaches to him with a tight grip on his wrist and probably wild eyes. He sits him on the edge of his bed and stands in front of him, hands on his hips.
“You need to help me,” he says, seriously.
Buck nods like he’s in a daze.
“I need you to help me get rid of all my shit,” he continues, gesturing to the closet behind him. “Anything that makes me look— I don’t know, like a dad, or like someone who is only dressing because they have to wear clothes to go outside.”
Buck laughs like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. “You are a dad, Eddie.”
“I know.” Eddie sighs. “But I think I’m ready to feel like a lot more than just someone’s dad.”
Buck blinks once and then jumps into action, ripping open Eddie’s closet and pulling things off hangers. He holds up a t-shirt that Eddie has worn exactly once, tilts his head and then throws it down onto the floor, letting it ball at his feet.
Eddie can’t even find the space to regret asking Buck, even as he continues to litter Eddie’s bedroom floor with clothes that he deems unworthy, even as he starts to laugh at Eddie and some of his most regrettable purchases.
“You really wore these?” he asks as he holds up a pair of cargo shorts. They’re khaki green and even Eddie can admit they’re kinda hideous.
He shrugs. “Pockets,” he says, as if he’s in the habit of carrying lots of tiny things around.
“What about this?” he says, now holding a black turtleneck and clearly biting back a laugh.
Eddie vividly remembers wearing that, playing poker with Buck after the lightning strike nearly ripped him away from Eddie. He remembers sweating in it, feeling overdressed and worried about Buck and kind of like he was doing something illegal by weaponizing Buck’s new math talent, even if it wasn’t for money. He doesn’t offer Buck any of that; keeps his face neutral. “Toss it,” he says. “If you hate it, I hate it.”
Buck looks conflicted with that. “Hey,” he says, quieter now, “if you like it, don’t let me yuck your yum.”
Eddie laughs. “It’s awful. It’s going,” he reiterates, genuinely meaning it.
Buck complies, throwing it onto the growing donation pile.
They keep going until Eddie is left with a concerning lack of clothing, and Buck’s face is back to looking concerned and his eyes flick round the room like he can’t make sense of what he’s seeing.
“What brought this on?” he asks, like he’s afraid he’s going to spook Eddie.
“Needed a change,” Eddie says, characteristically vague. He’s never been one to give too much of himself away, even if Buck pushes at that boundary every single day.
Buck’s brows knit together in confusion, hands twisting in his lap where he’s perched on the edge of Eddie’s bed.
“You know you don’t have to change,” he starts. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Eddie. Nothing I would change about you.”
“I know,” Eddie agrees instantly, because he knows it’s true. He smiles at Buck, wishing to quell his unfounded panic. “It’s not a sad thing, Buck. I just think I need a change. A reset, if you like.”
“Okay,” Buck says, nodding but looking barely convinced.
Eddie sits down beside him, stares ahead for a second. “I think a lot of things are changing,” he says slowly, giving himself time to stop the process of clawing his own heart out. “This is just something for me to show myself that I’m accepting it. I’m alright with feeling like some things are coming into focus, making more sense than they used to.” He pauses, bites at his bottom lip. “It’s supposed to change, I think. I don’t have all the words for it yet, but I want to find them.”
Nothing's really changing, but Eddie himself, and the permission he is giving himself to look at everything a little bit differently. He can look at the way he’s always been drawn to Buck, always thought of him differently, like the label of best friend doesn't quite cover it, and now understand that it’s because he feels something serious for Buck.
He knows he loves Buck, thinks he’s the best person he’s ever known. He feels lucky to know him— all too aware that adoring someone this wholly only happens once in a lifetime. Aware that this kind of love only comes round when you’re presented with the great love of your life, someone who feels worth worshipping, like the very core of them is good and made specifically to be found and interwoven with you.
Buck feels like Eddie’s end just as much as he feels like his beginning, Certainly the love of his life and the only person he misses when they’re in the same room. Other than Christopher, Eddie has never felt this strongly for someone; never looked at someone and thought of them as an extension of himself.
“I’ll be here when you find them,” Buck tells him eventually. “I’ll always be here.”
Eddie knows that. Of course he does.
“I hope so,” Eddie says. “I will want you around when I have the words for all of this.”
Buck looks at him, the blue of his eyes so deep Eddie feels like he could be drowning in them. He looks like he might be catching on, that he also feels the same magnetic pull that Eddie does; the fact that Eddie is trying to quietly reveal that he’s pretty sure he has feelings for Buck. He just needs a little time.
“Can we leave Chris for a bit?” Buck asks. “I wanna show you something.”
Eddie wets his lips, tongue darting out his mouth to drag over them. Buck follows the movement with his eyes. “Uh— yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Buck drives them in silence. It’s weird for someone like Buck to sit in silence and it rattles Eddie because it feels like it’s leading up to something. He recognises that he only really has himself to blame for that. His almost-confession probably became impossible to misinterpret if his face reflected even just one of the emotions he was trying to keep at bay for just a little while longer.
Eddie doesn’t really know where Buck is driving. His mind is hazy. It feels as though the car window has turned frosty, blurring the world until he can’t fully know what the outside looks like.
He isn’t worried about the streets that fly by as Buck drives them further and further away from South Bedford Street, because when he turns his head to Buck, he’s suddenly so far away from being unsure of anything. Nothing is more important than Buck beside him, nothing more capable of re-centring Eddie, pulling him back into the present.
Buck pulls the truck to a stop, parking it by a lake where it’s quiet, an illusion of freedom that LA rarely offers. It reminds Eddie of Texas, of pretending that this kind of freedom was all he wanted, of hoping that one day he would be brave enough to find it for himself.
He swings open the door, jumping out the truck and disappearing. Eddie waits for a bit before copying, clambering out the passenger door and looking for Buck. He’s laying in the bed of the truck, staring up at the sky and looking like the kind of thing Eddie wouldn’t dare to think about in Texas when he drove himself to a place like this.
Eddie climbs up beside him, laying next to him and breathing out through his nose — deep and full and like he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
They don't say anything for a while, and Buck keeps his eyes trained to the sky even when Eddie flops on his side and stares at Buck’s side profile instead, tracing it with his gaze until he thinks he could draw it from memory.
“You’re staring,” Buck says eventually.
“I know,” Eddie agrees, making no effort to look away.
Buck smiles, just a little, but doesn’t look at Eddie.
“You stare at me all the time,” Eddie offers. “Sometimes it feels like you think I’m going to disappear.”
Buck’s gaze does falter then, his eyes widening like he’s been caught.
“It’s not a bad thing,” Eddie amends. “I like it when you look at me.”
Buck hums, almost inaudible. “I don’t think you’re going to disappear,” he says. “I did, I think, for a while.” He stops for a second, looking around but never twisting to meet Eddie’s eye. “When you came back from Texas I uh— I guess I couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense to me that you wanted to come back to me.”
Eddie grabs Buck’s hand that was laying only an inch away from his. He tangles their fingers together.
“It wasn’t about me, though,” Buck continues, shrugging as much as the tiny space allows. “You weren’t leaving me or coming back to me. I was just, like, there. It was supposed to be all about Christopher, but I was always there, Eddie, and it started to feel like I shouldn’t have been.”
Eddie squeezes his hand. He knows that Buck can’t explain this — how his entire life has revolved around whether he felt useful enough, whether he was doing a good enough job at keeping people interested, keeping people wanting to be around him. It’s never been like that with Eddie, he’s always wanted to be around Buck, not ever because of what he can offer.
“I did come home to you,” he says.
Buck smiles but it’s only half as real as Eddie wants it to be.
“I won’t ever disappear again,” he promises.
“I know,” Buck says, and Eddie hopes he really does.
They fall back into silence, but Eddie keeps looking at Buck. He couldn’t look away, not even if the stars were visible, not if they were in time for the best part of the sunset.
“Today was a good day,” Eddie says after a while.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s stupid how happy I was today. How happy I always am whenever I’m with you.”
Buck’s smile turns into something real and Eddie feels like he’s won something. “It’s not stupid. I’m always happiest when I’m with you.”
Eddie knows that. He thinks about buying groceries together for each other’s houses. He thinks of the times he’s folded laundry whilst Buck is there, sat talking about something he’s probably told Eddie about a thousand times before. He thinks about them squinting at Chris’ impossible math homework together before giving up and sheepishly telling him that he really ought to just figure it out himself.
He would be happy doing that for the rest of his life. He would be so happy in the monotony, in the mundane, in the things that are achingly domestic and oh so boring if not for the reminder that you’ve found someone who equally wants to do these boring things with you for as long as time allows them.
He wants to give all his best days to Buck. And these are undoubtedly the best – where everything just feels good. Like even if it was raining and Eddie was wet through his clothes, Buck would make it feel like it was sunny, like today was the brightest day until tomorrow comes and instantly dethrones it.
“Buck,” Eddie says, and he hears how unnoteworthy he sounds, the reflection of the mundane in his own voice. He knows how ordinary it is for him to call to Buck, how routine this is — like he’s going to ask him what’s for dinner or to pass him the television remote. Instead, this time, he says, “I’m in love with you.”
He hears Buck’s breath catch even as his own stays remarkably steady. It’s a scary couple of seconds, even if Eddie is sure that this feeling can’t possibly be one-sided.
“Eddie,” Buck breathes. “You can’t— you have to know….”
“I know,” Eddie says, squeezing his hand again. “We’re gonna do this, Buck, because we’re so much happier together and I think we both deserve that.”
Eddie can see Buck’s waterline shining, tinged slightly red. He looks like Eddie’s giving him everything he’s ever wanted. Buck deserves it, and the thought that Eddie could give it to him is dizzying.
“You deserve it, Eddie,” Buck says, as Eddie could have predicted.
“Not more than you. Besides, I can’t have mine without you.” Eddie grins when Buck finally turns to look at him. “What do you say, Buckley? Because I’m kinda sick of pretending that I don’t want to be this happy.”
Buck is suddenly leaning up on his elbows, twisting his body before launching himself at Eddie, smothering one side of him entirely. He mumbles something that sounds like yes, something that sounds like i love you into Eddie’s neck, but the finer details hardly matter when everything is settling into its rightful place.
Eddie feels like he’s flying, even despite the weight of Buck on him. He feels like he’s been given time back, like nothing feels wasted anymore since it’s led him here. His hand snaps to the back of Buck’s head like it’s always meant to be there and he cards his fingers through his curls, already addicted to the feeling.
Buck leans out of Eddie’s neck, his face finally visible again and undoubtedly the prettiest thing Eddie has ever seen. “This is real?” he says, a question but only because having everything handed to you is never going to be easy to believe.
“Realer than anything I’ve ever felt,” Eddie tells him, burying his hand deeper in Buck’s hair, clinging to the joy that courses through him.
Buck’s watching him again, a cyclical effect where Eddie looks at Buck like the only thing in the world, completely besotted and disgustingly in love, and Buck reflects that same look, until neither of them could appear any fonder, any more unbelieving that they feel the exact same.
Buck leans in first, some mind-numbing reminder that he’s always giving Eddie exactly what he wants. Eddie distantly thinks that this is probably only the first step of Buck showing him a new version of joy. Showing Eddie the kinds of things that will have him declaring that his life has changed, that he has never known true happiness until now. By tomorrow morning, Eddie thinks he will probably be ready to spill a lot of his thoughts to Buck.
Buck finally kisses him, gentle like he’s giving Eddie an out he will never take. Eddie metaphorically scoffs in his face, tightening his hold on Buck and kissing him properly; with the force of a decade of dancing around it, a decade of pretending and repressing and somehow raising a child under the pretence that they’re just best friends.
It’s fucking great, because everything about them is, and Eddie is breathless and boneless when Buck finally pulls away, looking at Eddie with blown pupils and a blush that rivals his birthmark.
“I love you,” Buck says. “I didn’t say it before, but you— you know anyway, Eddie. You know it’s always been you.”
Eddie feels the grin completely take over his face. He would feel ridiculous, if only he had the brain capacity. “God,” he says on an exhale; one that feels like relief. “I love you, Buck. So much.”
Eddie’s never been happier.