Archive of Our Own

It occurs to Buck when he’s over at Eddie’s house. 

Or really, it occurs to Buck hours later, when he finally drags his tired body out of the little haven he had created of their living room couch, of empty popcorn bowls and shitty romcoms and fluffy pillows, and falls back into reality—or more accurately, his bed back at the loft. He ends the night staring up at the ceiling, sleep falling further and further out of his grasp, and that’s when the memory comes back to him, a strange tug he finally decides to pull at further. And then it all unravels. 

But, anyway. The point is—

Eddie’s house. 

They both, predictably, end up there after their shift. Buck learned to anticipate it, that the door of the Diaz house will greet him once more by the end of the day, that his shoes will end up by Christopher’s muddy converse and his keys in the dish Eddie keeps on the counter. He’s learned to anticipate it, and so has his body—to the point where it almost feels sacrilegious to step into the loft immediately after work, to toe off his shoes by the too-clean entryway, to set his work duffel down on the floor—but he never acknowledges it. Every morning he wakes up, brushes his teeth, makes his breakfast, and as he closes the door of the loft behind him, he makes a point to remind himself of all the things he needs to do when he gets back—water the plants, do the laundry, check the mail—deep down knowing that if he does come back, it’ll be too late and he’ll be too tired to do any of those things anyways. Not that he really needs to in the first place, because Christopher has seized ownership of his favorite plant and is now keeping it on his windowsill, because he has enough laundry to last him a good couple weeks dispersed throughout Eddie’s dresser, because his subscription to his favorite science magazine is already addressed to the Diaz house in the first place. 

His whole life exists and plays out in a home that is not technically his. 

And all of it happens without speaking. He’s never looked at Eddie and said hey, don’t you think it’s weird half of the groceries in your fridge were bought by me and that I scribble in my appointments on your calendar, even when I’m the only one who needs to know about them? Eddie never says anything either, never acts like it’s strange to constantly bump into Buck’s overflow in what’s supposed to be his own space, like maybe it’s just second nature to him to have to fold Buck’s laundry with his own and put down the toilet seat when Buck leaves it up. 

And Buck doesn’t think he’s had to actually ask to come over in months. Eddie will just look at him while they’re changing in the locker room, a silent request, or maybe a question, and then—Buck will follow him there, Jeep perpetually parked in his driveway, like even it has made a home for itself. 

Anyway. Buck tries not to think about it more than he has to. Like now, as he slides into his seat at the kitchen table with three plates of lasagna in his hands, and a distant part of him wonders how long this has been his seat, whether he had offhandedly chosen it the first time he stayed for dinner and then it just became another piece of the Diazes he carried in his heart, another spot in their life he was borrowing. 

He wonders whether they keep it empty for him when he’s not here; if when Marisol used to come over, she was delegated to the other seat in the table of four to leave space for Buck’s memory. 

The thought makes something twinge in his stomach. He doesn’t know quite what it is, so he pushes it away and smiles as he sets Christopher and Eddie’s plates in front of them. 

Eddie pokes at the food curiously with his fork. “I see you didn’t burn it this time,” he says with raised eyebrows. 

Christopher giggles; Buck contemplates slinging a piece of pasta at them both. 

Instead he just rolls his eyes, swallows down the bite he’s been chewing on and says, “How was Dylan’s house, Christopher?” 

Dylan, aka Dylan Chambers from the science club, is Christopher’s closest friend these days. When Carla had something come up last-minute she needed to take care of, Eddie had called Dylan’s dad from the station, and they had been more than happy to have Christopher over for the last few hours of their shift. 

Buck’s expecting an answer like It was fine, or Fun, or if Christopher was being particularly generous, perhaps a brief list of the video games they had played. But instead, Christopher gets this look, somewhere between evil and delighted, and glances sideways at his dad.

Eddie, inexplicably, flushes. “Christopher,” he warns, “Don’t—”

“Mr. Chambers asked Dad out,” Christopher breathes out in a rush, giddy. 

Buck chokes on his lasagna. 

“What?” 

Christopher nods eagerly like this is the funniest thing he’s heard all year. “He—“ he giggles, before pausing to drop his voice into a delighted whisper. “he called Dad cute.” 

Eddie buries his head in his hands with a groan.  “I’m sure,” he says once he pulls his hands away, “that Elias would not have said that if he was aware you two were listening.” 

Elias, Buck’s brain repeats with a distastefulness he doesn’t quite understand. When had he become Elias? 

Buck’s only met Dylan’s father— Elias, apparently—once, and hadn’t thought to take much note of the interaction. Why would he? Christopher has lots of friends, and most of those friends have parents, and it wasn’t the first time that Buck ended up shuffling Christopher through those parents’ doorways, handing over Christopher’s backpack and going through Eddie’s slightly overboard list of emergency instructions that Buck has had memorized for years now. 

Meeting Elias Chambers had just been another case of I’m Buck, it’s nice to meet you and oh yeah, Eddie just had something to take care of, but he’ll be here to pick Chris up tomorrow, and thank you so much for having him. A routine so practiced and mindless to the point that Buck didn’t even pick up on the way Elias had been eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and hesitance, like he was trying to figure something out; hadn’t thought much about the man at all. 

But he thinks about it now. A little startled to find that his feelings towards the nice enough man he’s only met once are suddenly muddied and complicated and a little bit gut-churning, Buck begins rolling around the vague image he has of him in his head—cute, maybe, in a slightly disheveled sort of way, with wired frame glasses and messy black hair and a slender build. He looked like he could be an aged-up version of one of those singers from the K-pop boy bands Ravi listens to. Maybe that’s the kind of guy Eddie would find hot. Buck really doesn’t know what kind of guys Eddie finds hot. 

It’s a recent revelation for Buck that Eddie even finds guys hot at all. 

But he does. Which is why Buck asks, very carefully, “So. When are you seeing him?” 

He’s trying really hard to be normal about it, and probably—definitely—failing. 

Two weeks ago, Eddie had come out to Buck over a Disney movie with its volume nearly on mute and the shitty IPA he likes, and ever since then Buck’s felt a little bit not normal in a way he can’t explain, like the moment clicked something into place and he’s still trying to figure out what. It’s not that he’s not happy for his best friend, because he is. Unimaginably, unendingly happy for him. It’s just. He feels a little bit like the world’s turned upside down—the sky is red, it’s snowing in LA, and Eddie Diaz wants to kiss a man. Always has. 

It’s less that it feels fundamentally impossible, and more that Buck has been holding onto Eddie’s straightness as truth for so long that somewhere along the lines, it started to seem like it. It became like a defense. Talked too long about Eddie at a first date and now her eyebrows are raising? Mention that he’s straight. In a conversation with May and she brings up that she’s always wanted to marry her best friend? Make sure to tell her that it could never happen to you because your best friend is capital-S Straight. At his first pride last month, he kept saying it—my straight best friend, my straight best friend and I, me and my straight best friend, like it had become Eddie’s defining personality trait. 

But now that defense has crumbled away, and Buck’s still trying to figure out where that leaves him.  

Because Eddie is absolutely, one-hundred-percent, without a doubt, definitely not straight. Which, of course, is why he’s going to go out with the cute dad who asked him out earlier today who’s beautiful in a once upon a time you could find him on a magazine cover way and not a looks like he still belongs in a frat and is 80% legs type of way (completely hypothetical comparison, of course). This, Buck thinks, is just common sense. 

Eddie, on the other hand, seems to be of a very different opinion, if the confused look he shoots Buck is any indicator. “I’m not,” he says. 

“What?” 

“I’m not—going out with him,” Eddie clarifies, then huffs out a breath of laughter. “Buck.” He shakes his head, looking a bit close to tears. The hysterical kind, if Buck had to guess. “I said no.” 

“It was really awkward,” Christopher adds in a conspiratorial whisper. 

Buck’s first reaction to this is a complex knot of happiness and relief rushing through him that he wouldn’t be able to untangle even if he tried. He feels like he should just shrug, shovel another forkful of lasagna into his mouth, and move on, because Eddie clearly wants him to and he sort of wants to himself. Why would he ruminate on a man who provokes this uncomfortable feeling within him when Eddie’s not even going to see him again anyway? 

But something, unfortunately, gives Buck pause. 

Eddie gets asked out a lot. On calls, in grocery stores, at the coffee shop the 118 frequents, in the school pick-up line, everywhere. It’s sort of natural, Buck figures, when he’s got to be the most attractive man in the wider LA area, six foot with abs like a Greek god and muscle everywhere else too, and not to mention a really, really nice ass—

Anyway. He’s hot. Anyone can see that. And boy, people do. But whether it’s a lady whose kitchen fire they just put out or the yoga instructor at the class Frank convinced him to go to, Eddie always turns them down easily with a polite smile. His reasons for it have varied over the years—not his type, grieving over Shannon, taken, focusing on Christopher, too busy, not looking for a relationship—but Buck figures now that the biggest one was they had all been women. 

Who Eddie was not interested in, whether he knew it at the time or not. 

But now things are different. Eddie’s out of the closet, and Elias is a man—an attractive one at that. Theoretically, Eddie should be interested. 

Especially since—well. Buck doesn’t remember the exact wording, but Eddie had expressed something that night while pulling at the loose strings of one of his couch pillows about wanting to explore his sexuality. He didn’t exactly explain what he meant by that, but he didn’t have to. Buck’s done a little bit of sexuality exploring himself, and it involved something a little bit more… hands-on than surfing r/LGBT and watching RuPaul’s Drag Race. So Buck’s been waiting for it. For their Friday Movie Nights to be reallocated for date night time. For Eddie to show up to work with hickeys on his neck the collars of their uniform can’t cover. For him to get a fucking Grindr account or something. 

But so far, none of that has happened. Eddie shows up to work with nothing on him but his uniform and a soft smile for Buck, and based on the way Eddie’s responses to his late night texts are still as quick and eager as always, there’s no way he’s had time to learn how to take it up the ass. As far as Buck’s concerned, Eddie’s sexuality has remained woefully unexplored. 

To Buck, Elias Chambers seems like a perfect opportunity to change that. He’s not quite sure yet why Eddie didn’t take it. 

So he asks. 

“Why not?” 

Impossibly, Eddie goes even more red. “Um,” he says, cutting himself off with a strangled noise. It takes him a long time to come up with an answer. “It wasn’t going to work out,” he blurts. 

Buck tilts his head, genuinely baffled. “Why?” 

Eddie quiets. He looks down at his hands, and something passes over his face. A tiredness, a crushing resignation Buck hasn’t seen on him since Christopher came back a month ago. “I just think,” he says, voice low, “that if he really knew me, he wouldn’t be asking me out.” 

Buck blinks several times. Because, okay, despite his confusion, Buck does generally think there’s lots of good reasons to turn somebody down. You can’t force yourself to have interest in somebody you don’t, and you definitely shouldn’t force yourself to start dating when you’re not ready. Buck knows these things from experience, and from witnessing Eddie’s (quite catastrophic, if he’s allowed to joke about it yet) dating life, and if Eddie had cited one of these things, then well—Buck would’ve understood. Would’ve packed up the thought of Elias Chambers into a little box, filed it away, and never touched it again. 

But that reason? 

Buck feels his heart sink low into his chest, aching as it thumps. 

He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Eddie beats him to it, nervously shuffling in his seat before plastering on a weak smile. “So, Christopher,” he says, ducking Buck’s gaze, “how was science club yesterday?” 

Then Christopher is off, enthusiastically telling some story between bites of lasagna about the experiment they had done, and Buck has no time to badger Eddie with questions, to sit him down and force him to explain why in the hell he would ever feel like that. 

Still, Buck’s eyes stay stuck to Eddie’s side profile for the rest of the dinner, and he wonders. 

It’s not until later that night, when he’s back at the loft, that he has time to unpack those wonders, dig at them like those fossil kits he used to buy for Chris. Once he starts thinking about it, he can’t stop. It plays in his head on repeat—the way Eddie had looked as he had said it, the way his voice framed it like a truth. 

The way it sounded like Eddie doesn’t think he’s good enough. 

The thing is, Buck’s never particularly pinned Eddie as someone who struggled with self-esteem issues. Historically, that’s always been more of Buck’s thing. Buck’s first impression of him had been a whiff of the smug competence Eddie exuded, and even when Buck managed to see past the exterior and get a look at the real guy inside, he supposes he never fully abandoned the idea that Eddie was someone who knew his worth. Sure, he had his moments—days where he worried about being a bad father, a bad friend, a bad son, days where the guilt of leaving Christopher and hurting Shannon and not being able to save all of his army buddies weighed down heavily on his shoulders—but Buck never would’ve thought it was enough to outweigh his perception of the good. He never would’ve thought it would manifest into something like this . 

It breaks Buck’s heart a little bit. Because Eddie has spent his entire life unknowingly trapped, seeing out of glasses with the wrong prescription. But Eddie has worked and worked to dismantle the cage, to open the gate, and to allow himself to walk out. And now that Eddie has overcome it all—has been able to look into the mirror and at Buck and say I’m gay—he deserves to be able to fly in the freedom of finally finding himself, to enjoy the blue, limitless sky he’s worked so hard for. 

But, if his words are any indicator, he hasn’t been able to. He hasn’t let himself. 

Because he doesn’t believe he deserves it. He doesn’t know that he’s beautiful and amazing and the best thing Buck’s ever been allowed to touch, and that he deserves every bit of love he might come across and more. 

And that, Buck thinks, simply won’t do. 

-

By the time their shift rolls around the next morning, Buck has a plan. 

It goes something like this: 

They’re working side by side at the ladder truck between calls, stocking up on equipment. As Eddie lifts the equipment they just cleaned from the floor and into the compartments, Buck leans his back against the red stainless steel with a clipboard held firmly in between his hands (He’s being very mature about it. He swears. Like—he’s only been barely bossing Eddie around since he got his hands on the thing. Hen and Chimney should come out from wherever they’re hiding). 

“Halligan?” Buck says, fingers sliding over the words on the clipboard as if he doesn’t have the entire maintenance log memorized at this point. So what if he always volunteers for this job? Sue him, he likes getting to tell Eddie (who also, strangely, always volunteers for this job) what to do. It’s…nice. 

Eddie surveys the ground to find it, pursing his lips before bending down to pick it up. Buck does not look when the movement gives a front row seat to one of Eddie’s finer features. He doesn’t. “Check,” Eddie says. 

Buck looks down at his clipboard and tries to ignore the weird thing that the fond, amused quality to Eddie’s voice is doing to his stomach. “Uh,” he says, about to list off another item, but his eyes flash upwards, and immediately get stuck on the way Eddie’s hand is clenched around the metal as he lifts the halligan into the compartment.

Something slithers in Buck’s stomach, a dark tingly anticipation tickling low at his spin as he watches tendons shift under the skin of his wrist, muscles popping out even with just the slight strain. His first instinct is to push it away, to avert his gaze until the feeling subsides. But then he remembers the plan. 

Right. The plan. 

This is the perfect opportunity for round number one. 

So he curls his fingers around the wood of his clipboard and clears his throat. “You have really nice hands, you know,” is what he goes with. 

Eddie jerks back just a bit, dropping the halligan into the compartment with a thud as he turns shocked eyes back to Buck. “What?” 

“Yeah,” god, what does he even say, “they’re uh, strong. And capable. You know, like…they can do a lot of things.”

Okay, so, maybe this whole plan needs a little bit of work. 

Eddie has been looking down at his hands as if he’s seeing them for the first time, but at that last part, his head shoots up. In a single second, his expression shifts from dumbfounded to pure amusement. He raises an eyebrow at Buck, lips ticking up at the corners. “Lots of things, huh?” 

Buck feels his face heat up. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. Don’t think about the things his hands could be doing to someone any day now. To another man. God. “Yeah,” he stutters out, flushed so red he bets he could camouflage with the engine, “your hands are, like, really…skilled.” 

God. God. God. He needs to bang his head on the fucking firetruck. Enough brain damage to forget he just said that. 

“Skilled,” Eddie repeats, before laughing, like he just can’t help it. “Okay.” 

“I’m serious!” Buck exclaims. Okay, so it might sound a little bit stupid, but he swears—this is important. It’s really important that Eddie knows there’s not another pair of hands in the entire world that Buck would trust more with his life and his heart and everything else that matters, no pair of hands that he would ever want closer to him. It’s for the sake of Eddie being able to explore his sexuality and have sex with another man! This is peak allyship! “They’re good hands!”

Eddie is still laughing, but his lips curl into a fond smile around it as he shakes his head at him, like Buck is a puzzle game he wants to watch more than he wants to solve. “Whatever you say, Buck,” he says.

Buck pushes his lips together and says, as if he hasn’t already embarrassed himself enough, “You also have very nice nail beds, you know.” 

It’s true , okay. Buck’s are all busted up and crusty from years of chewing off hangnails as a nervous habit, but Eddie’s nails are only surrounded by smooth, perfect skin. Forget firefighting, Buck thinks hand-modeling is Eddie’s true calling. Even the guy’s cuticles are beautiful. It’s unfair, really. 

Eddie’s laugh quickly dies and is replaced by one of the most judgemental stares he thinks the man has ever given him in their six years of friendship. “Okay,” he draws, backing away. “I think I need to grab some coffee.” 

He looks at Buck oddly for one last second before turning on his heels to head up the stairs. Watching the line of his retreating back, Buck wonders if he’s making up the way Eddie’s hand is clenching and unclenching repeatedly at his side, like he’s a little bit too aware of them. 

He swallows. 

So. That went well. 

-

Buck knows the power of a compliment perhaps more than anyone. 

He remembers it like it was yesterday. Those months he walked around feeling adrift, unmoored, aimlessly wandering the halls of his own life like a ghost. How empty he felt inside, waiting for someone who was never coming back, stamping down any grass that tried to grow under his feet. He remembers walking into the station that day, that feeling inside his chest, remembers how Eddie appearing through the grass felt like a physical manifestation of all his hurt. A threat and a target all at once. 

He remembers that he hated Eddie with the overwhelming strength of all his pain and insecurity, loathed him for an entire week. And then, Eddie looked at him in a parking lot, eyes sincere and so invitingly beautiful, and said you’re a badass under pressure, brother. 

And Buck thought, oh. 

Buck thought, here’s somewhere I can belong. 

Six words and Buck’s entire life was changed. Six words, and Buck felt like for once he was capable of doing anything, of conquering the whole fucking world if that’s what he wanted. 

And now, it’s time for Buck to return the favor. If Eddie doesn’t see how deserving he is of love and happiness, how amazing and incredible and the biggest fucking catch any guy in LA or the whole world for that matter could ever reel in, Buck will just have to lead him to that truth. Or, like, shove it right in his face. 

It’s going to work. It is. Eddie will regain his confidence in himself, and Buck will be happy seeing his best friend being happy dating other men (did he say other men? He means, men. Just men. Not other men. There’s nothing other about it. Eddie dating men has nothing to do with Buck. Definitely not. One hundred percent certainly not correlated), and they’ll all live happily ever after. 

If Buck can figure out how to give a normal fucking compliment, that is. 

-

Eddie’s thigh is pressing into his. Which is normal. It’s so, so, so normal. Almost as normal as Buck is about it. Why wouldn’t he be normal? Buck isn’t thinking anything about Eddie’s thigh, of course—other than that it’s warm and firm and that with the way he’s sitting, legs spread, it’s bulging perfectly against the fabric of his uniform pants and—

Okay, Eddie might have nice thighs. Which is a completely normal observation Buck is only having because he’s spent the entire day solely focused on Eddie like his life depends on it. Watching for every twitch, every wrinkle of his eyebrow, every cut-off smile, looking for gray areas where his self-confidence wanes and Buck can step in. For you know, the plan. No other reason. 

Which—speaking of the plan. Maybe Buck should compliment Eddie on his thighs. That could be very self-esteem boosting, right? Or maybe not. Maybe he should learn to keep his mouth shut after the whole nail bed fiasco—

“Good work, guys,” Bobby’s voice trickles in through the headset, saving Buck from a disastrous spiral. 

Or almost, anyway. 

“Yeah,” he blurts, a little too loudly, “especially Eddie!” 

Buck feels every eye in the engine go towards him. He tries not to turn red. 

Next to him, Eddie shifts. The movement dislodges the line of his thigh away from Buck’s, which Buck has absolutely no feelings about whatsoever. 

“Um. Thank you?” 

“You were very impressive,” Buck says, sagely. 

The bridge of Eddie’s nose gets a little bit pink. If it were normal for Buck to think things like that, he would say it was…cute, maybe. Probably. Definitely not. 

It’s so quiet in the engine. Too quiet. Everyone is pointedly not looking at them now. Hen is studying her nails. Chim is humming the duet he and Maddie performed at Karaoke Night two Fridays ago, looking out the engine window like he’s trying to find a bird that might fly him away. Bobby meets his eyes through the rearview mirror for the quickest of seconds and then he’s looking away, pulling his phone out to start the New York Times mini-crossword of all things (Buck played it this morning. He’s still pissed about the clue for 3 across, by the way. Like what the fuck did that even mean ?).

“It was nothing,” Eddie says, a little bit uncomfortable, not meeting Buck’s eyes. But maybe the discomfort is a sign that it’s just been too long since he’s been praised for his work on the job. Maybe the fact that he clearly doesn’t know what to do with the compliment shows how much he needs it. 

Buck feels a little thrill run up his spine because this whole plan might actually be working . 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hen and Chim share a very ominous we’re-best-friends-and-we-are-thinking-thoughts-about-things sort of eye contact that Buck very much doesn’t like. 

He ignores it to say to Eddie, “No, it wasn’t, man. You were awesome.”

And he’s not just saying it to say it. Sure, the call today wasn’t like the time they caught a man out of the sky from on top of a moving engine or even as far as a rope rescue. It had been a house fire caused by somebody accidentally leaving the stove on, probably not even making it to a two alarm. But still, Eddie was impressive. The problem is just that—impressive is just Eddie’s normal. He’s so consistently competent Buck doubts anyone else gave today's rescue a second thought. But Buck did. Buck always thinks Eddie is incredible, even when he’s just existing and especially when he’s saving someone’s life. And he wants Eddie to see that too, see how amazing he is even in the more bland moments. 

When Eddie looks back to him with nothing but skepticism in his eyes, he continues, “You carried two grown women out of there at the same time!” 

Buck thinks back to the call, the way Eddie had emerged out of the smoke-filled doorway with one patient on his back and the other clinging to his front like an overgrown koala. With that arrangement, Eddie pretty much has to waddle to move, but Buck still remembers the flex of his arms, the determined grit of his face and—fuck, when did this uniform collar get so fucking tight? “I mean, it was crazy. Have you been working out?” 

Eddie gives him a dry look. “I’m always working out.” 

And yes, Buck knows. He knows, because sometimes he’ll come into work to find Eddie already in the gym doing pull-ups or raising hell on the punching bag, and his hair will be all messy and sweaty and his skin slick and Buck always watches with something swirling in his chest before he realizes that maybe he’s been looking for too long, and then he’ll finally force himself to turn away. Pulling his eyes off of Eddie always leaves him with the strangest feeling, like he’s somehow defying fate by doing it. 

“Yeah, but you’ve been going at it more than usual, right?” And because he’s never learned to quit while he’s ahead, Buck decides to open his mouth one more time, ignoring that nagging feeling in his gut that he’s about to get himself in trouble. “I mean, you could probably pick me up at this point.” 

Hen and Chim erupt in twin groans, as if they can’t help it, instantly sliding off their headsets, Chim banging his head against the headrest while Hen shakes hers. 

Buck, unlike them, can’t save himself from the fire he started. Instead, he watches as Eddie instantly goes furiously red everywhere his skin is showing. Buck bets if he dared to reach out, it would be burning hot to the touch. 

“I, um—” Eddie starts, very visibly flustered, as if he actually might be thinking about it. 

Is he thinking about it? About what it would be like? 

And oh no, now Buck’s thinking about it. About what it would be like to have Eddie’s thick, muscular arms holding up his weight. They way Eddie’s biceps would probably flex against his thigh as he pushed him up against a wall, maybe. How he could wrap his own legs around Eddie’s waist and feel Eddie against him, so solid and warm and—

Yeah, so he’s starting to see why that might’ve been the wrong thing to say.

He’s sure he’s about as red as Eddie is now. Not to mention, he must’ve accidentally put on someone else's uniform this morning, because he does not remember it ever being this tight. It’s like the collar is trying to choke him, Jesus Christ. 

“I—I don’t know,” Eddie finally stammers out as he fiddles awkwardly with the helmet sat in his lap, looking a bit regretful that he ever chose to move to LA and accept Bobby’s offer at the 118 and meet Buck and choose this very spot in the ambulance next to him as his designated seat. 

“You definitely could,” Buck says, “you’re very strong. It’s—“ attractive, his brain fills in for some unknowable reason, “uh, undeniable.” 

Eddie makes a pained sound at the back of his throat, eyes flying everywhere so he doesn’t have to meet Buck’s. “Yeah, well,” he pauses, looking out the window before his demeanor shifts. “Oh, look!” he says, with an extremely unnatural amount of cheerfulness, “we’re here! I’ll, uh—“ he makes a waving gesture, “see you later!” 

Then he’s sliding the engine door open and throwing himself out into the station, stumbling onto his feet. 

Buck swallows, watching him go, and then looks back at where everyone is staring at him like he’s grown two heads. 

“I saved a cat today,” Ravi says, “Do I get a compliment too?”

-

Buck is getting really good at this compliment thing. He swears . Maybe he should be a little bit concerned about how easy it is for him to find things to praise Eddie for. But it’s not his fault that the guy is unfailingly good. 

Man, you have the best laugh, he says casually after Eddie nearly curls in on himself cracking up over one of Buck’s jokes. 

Eddie hands him a coffee after a tough call, warm and made precisely how he likes it, and Buck shakes his head, looking at Eddie like he might be heaven-sent, and says how do you always know exactly what I need?

One night, insomnia finds them sitting next to each other on the station roof instead of down in the bunks like the rest of the team. Buck resists the urge to lean his head on Eddie’s inviting shoulder and instead whispers into the darkness surrounding them, I feel like I could just talk to you for an entirety. Like, I don’t think I would ever run out of things to say.

He tries not to read into it too much when Eddie responds with Well, I would never get tired of listening. 

So maybe some of Buck's compliments have had just the slightest, teensy-tiniest little bit less finesse ( wow, your weight-lifting technique is so perfect, Eds, I’m starting to get jealous and man, has anyone ever told you that the uniform blue is absolutely your fucking color), but the success rate is high. He promises.  

But the thing about this whole situation is that Buck knows Eddie, and so he knows that he might partially be watering the wrong part of the garden. Compliments have so much power, but they’re stronger if they’re directed at a weak spot in the armor, a place where someone is tender and hollow and hurting. And Buck knows—in the same way that he knows Eddie cannot fall asleep if he’s wearing socks and prefers vanilla ice cream to chocolate—that the reason Eddie might look in the mirror these days and dislike what he sees has nothing to do with physical appearance. It has nothing to do with the way he looks, or his laugh, or even how easy he is to talk to. 

Buck figures it probably has more to do with the way that last May, he blew up his entire life and lost the one thing that he holds dearest in the process. 

Christopher’s back now, has been back for a month, but Buck knows that doesn’t change the way Eddie looks at the whole Kim situation. Like the single mistake is finally the proof he needs to confirm his long-held suspicion: that he’s a failure as a father, as a partner, as a son, and as a person. That he’s a blot on everything he touches, leaching out the life from everyone he loves. That he has never, ever been a good thing. 

Buck knows that’s why Eddie has been so hesitant to allow himself good things of his own—because he’s scared he’s going to fuck them up too. And he knows that if he really wants to help Eddie, the best way to do that is to cut off his insecurities from the source. 

Which is why after an tangibly uncomfortable dinner at the Diaz house where Chris hardly looked up from his food, gave singular world answers to every one of his father’s questions, and didn’t even entertain Buck’s conversation about the La Gomera whistled language, Buck doesn’t hesitate to follow Eddie to the kitchen. 

Now, he stands a few feet away, leaning against the counter as he watches Eddie sling their plates into the sink with a tense, abject look on his face. It’s the same expression that had practically made a permanent home on his features while Chris was gone over the summer. Buck can’t say he’s happy to see it again. 

Buck watches him for a few more moments, lips pursed consideringly, before speaking. “Hey,” his voice is soft, “you okay?” 

The thing about the dinner is—okay, it was pretty tense, if Buck’s being honest. But Buck has a feeling that has a lot more to do with Christopher being a hormonal teenager that probably just wanted to get back to his video games than any lasting resentment towards Eddie. But Buck knows Eddie can’t see it like that, that Eddie jumps at any chance to assume the worst when it comes to this, jumps at any chance to be angry at himself. 

And so Buck has no doubt about what Eddie is thinking right now. He just—has to figure out how to fix it. 

Eddie doesn’t look up, eyes burning holes into his own hands as he lowers a sauce-stained plate under the stream of the faucet. “Yeah,” he says, dull. 

Very convincing. 

“Eddie,” Buck says. 

And just like that, Eddie’s guard crumbles. He drops the dish he’s holding into the sink, leans his head back, and closes his eyes into a long, broken sigh. It reminds Buck of a little bit of a different conversation they had in this very kitchen not too long ago, how he had said I’m worried about you and Eddie had replied, Yeah. I’m worried about me too. 

Now, Eddie just shakes his head, clearly frustrated—with the situation or himself, Buck can’t tell. “I just—is it bad that I hoped we’d be done with this by now?” he asks. Then, bitterly: “I mean, it’s not like I deserve it.” 

And Buck aches so so desperately for him. “Eddie,” he says, “you deserve it.” 

Eddie scoffs, going back to angrily working on the dishes. “C’mon, Buck.” 

“I mean it.” 

Eddie shakes his head. He’s scrubbing at the bowl in his hands so hard that Buck bets you could see it glisten from space. “He’s not…obligated to like me, or even tolerate me. I have no right to expect that from him.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Buck objects. “I’m saying if he did forgive you—which he does, by the way—you would deserve it. It’s not some mistake or blip. You earned it. You’re an amazing dad—”

“But I—”

“I know what you did,” Buck cuts him off, so firm it’s almost snappish, “but you’ve made up for it a thousand times over. And you’ll keep making up for it for the rest of your life, just by doing what you always do: being the best fucking dad that kid could ever ask for.”

Eddie shakes his head again like he doesn’t believe it. Like he just can’t believe it. “He fled the state to get away from me,” he says like a defense, the same one he’s been using for months. 

“Yeah,” Buck says, “and he came back.” 

Pushing his lips together so hard they turn white, Eddie sets down the plate and looks down at his hands. Buck wonders what he sees—something beautiful, dependable, sturdy, or something to be afraid of. “It doesn’t feel like enough,” he says, quietly, an admission. 

Buck feels that ache in his chest spread, reaching out until it’s wrapping around every organ in his body, squeezing so tightly he thinks his insides might end up crushed. He wants so badly to make it better for Eddie, more than he’s ever wanted anything. He wants to gather Eddie up into his arms and hold him until he forgets what it’s like to be mad at himself. He wants to whisper the truth into his ear until he learns to see it, until he learns to see the beauty in himself obstructed by his guilt-stricken vision. He wants Eddie to know that there’s not a mistake he could possibly ever make that would taint how truly good he is on the inside. He wants Eddie to know that he deserves anything and everything, as much as and more than anyone else. 

“I know,” Buck says, and his voice cracks, just the slightest bit. “I know, Eddie. But you have to believe me: you’re a good father.” He takes a step closer to Eddie, wishing that he could grab his hands and squeeze. “You have to believe me. You have to, okay?” 

Buck doesn’t know exactly what to say. He’s not like Eddie, who always has the perfect words on hand to calm Buck down or patch his wounds or hold out a hand to help him get back up on his feet. Eddie has saved Buck a thousand times over with just a simple sentence. Buck, on the other hand, has never been able to replicate such feats, instead stumbling over his words and saying the wrong thing even when his heart is in the right place. 

All Buck has ever been able to offer Eddie is himself. And somehow, that’s always been enough. 

And so if Eddie can’t see the truth for himself, maybe he’ll see it through Buck. For Buck. And Buck can do nothing but hope the hastily put together words he’s stringing can be somewhat of a lifeline for Eddie. Hope that he, and this stupid plan, are enough. 

Eddie looks up at him finally, his eyes burning with sadness in the dull light, and Buck’s heart feels like a thousand tiny little pieces scraping at the inside of his ribcage. 

Another step closer. Quietly, he says, “You’re the type of father I wish I had.”

Eddie’s eyes sadden and soften at once. “Buck…”

Buck shakes his head and gives a small, weak smile because this isn’t about him. Not right now. “The type I would want to be,” he continues, and it’s true. 

It’s so true, because isn’t that the first thing that really drew him to Eddie, on a level deeper than just two coworkers who got along? Isn’t it the first thing on a list that would later become very, very long of things he admired about the guy? He remembers that day, driving Eddie to Christopher’s school, watching Eddie swing his son in the air from inside the car with a mixture of veneration and yearning. He remembers thinking I want that someday. 

“The type that—what did you say?” He tilts his head, and the smile he flashes Eddie is slightly stronger. “Cares enough to never stop trying?” 

Eddie drops his shoulders, shaking his head at him, but there’s a little bit more light inside his eyes now. “You’re relentless, you know that right?” 

Buck doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t drop Eddie’s eyes. “And you’re incredible.” 

Eddie’s slight smile wavers just a little bit, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with that. But then he just shakes his head fondly at Buck, eyes soft like honey. “You know I couldn’t do any of this without you, right?” he asks gently. 

Buck blinks several times, and then ducks his head into a shy smile, a tingly feeling like butterflies trying to take flight tickling at the bottom of his spine. He pushes it away to look back up at Eddie with a raised eyebrow. “So what do you say we let Christopher be all moody and teenager-y in his room for the rest of the night while we watch a movie, and then maybe you can check in on him in the morning and talk things out a bit?” 

Eddie bites his lip, maybe because the whole talk it out thing is still a little intimidating for him even now that he’s a frequent flier in Frank’s office. Still, he nods and says, “Deal.” 

His eyes, on the other hand, say something more like thank you. 

-

“So,” Maddie begins, and something about her tone makes Buck look up from where he’s secretly been composing a text under the table to Eddie (can someone tell my sister to please stop alluding to her sex life with Chimney because I assure you i do NOT want to know along with three puking emojis, just to be clear) and redirect his focus on where she’s pouring more wine into both of their glasses.

Buck is instantly suspicious; he knows what that twinkling look in her eyes means. 

Maddie sets down the bottle with a clink on the table and looks at him, settling her chin into the palm of her hand. “Do you have anything you need to tell me?” she prompts, not at all casual. 

Buck narrows his eyes. In retrospect, he probably should’ve realized that when she texted him Come to mine for dinner tonight or you’re never seeing Jee again this morning, her motivation stemmed out of something a little more than just missing his company. Now, as he runs back through the rest of the night in his head, it’s clear that Maddie’s just been impatiently waiting for the chance to interrogate him through the entire dinner, even when Buck thought she was absolutely enthralled in his discussion of the documentary he watched last night about the Toynbee Tiles mystery. Whatever. At least Eddie cared when Buck had told him. 

“Uh… no?” 

Maddie tilts her head at him, lifting up her glass carefully to her lips. She watches him over the rim as she takes a sip, and Buck feels an itch crawl up his spine under her assessing gaze. “No?” she says as she sets the glass back down. “There were no,” she spins around her glass in a small, gesturing circle, “realizations made recently? Life-changing revelations you’d want to share with the class?” 

Buck stares at her. 

She continues, undeterred. “Fundamental shifts in psyche, maybe? Ground-altering epiphanies about certain feelings directed toward a certain someone that are just dying to be shared with your very supportive and understanding sister?” 

Buck blinks once. Twice. “Maddie,” he says. “What the hell are you talking about?” 

Maddie just looks at him for one more moment, waiting. Then all at once, her shoulders drop. She sighs, sounding oh so disappointed. “Oh c’mon,” she says. “What a let down.” 

Buck opens his mouth to say something—anything—but Maddie beats him to the chase, taking another long sip of her wine while looking out to her side wistfully, presumably at nothing. And Buck will give it to her—she’s pretty damn good at the dramatics. “I can’t believe Howie got my hopes up like that,” she says with a disbelieving shake of her head. “This is grounds for divorce.” 

Buck has never been more confused in his life.

“Chim? What does—” he shakes his head, redirecting. “Maddie, what do you mean?” 

Maddie just shakes her head, downing the rest of the wine in one sip. “He told me you’ve been acting weird these last couple of days.” 

“Weird,” Buck repeats. 

“Yeah, like,” she waves a hand, “complimenting Eddie left and right.” She blinks, tilting her head. “He mentioned something about absolutely revolting levels of sexual tension, too, which. I guess that’s not even unusual, but,” she shrugs her shoulders, a bit lamely, “I just thought—maybe you had realized something, I don’t know.” 

Buck frowns. “Realized what?” 

“You know…” Maddie jerks her head to the left. 

Buck’s frown doesn’t move. “No, I really don’t, Maddie.” 

“Like…” she makes a heart out of her hands and hovers it over her chest, raising her eyebrows at Buck like do you get me now? 

Buck just looks at her like she grew an extra head overnight. “I am not following,” he says.  

Maddie looks at the ceiling and sighs, a touch exasperated. “So then none of this sounds familiar to you?” 

“Well,” Buck shrugs, “the compliment thing Chim said is true, but I don’t know—”

“Wait,” Maddie holds up a hand to stop him. “What do you mean, the compliment thing is true?” 

Buck frowns at her again. “I guess you could say it’s a thing I’ve been doing. Complimenting Eddie a lot. It’s not surprising that Chimney noticed.” Although a bit embarrassing, he can’t lie. 

Maddie’s brow knits. “You mean, consciously? Like, you’re doing it on purpose?” 

“Well…yeah.” 

“Why?” 

Buck shifts in his seat, growing a little bit uncomfortable. Because the thing about the plan is—he’s confident in it, alright? It’s a good plan. A thought out one. A very-likely-to-work one. 

But he can admit it is a little bit hard to explain without making himself look like an idiot. 

He tries anyway. 

“Well, the other day this guy asked Eddie out and—”

“Oh. My. God.” 

Alarmed, Buck stops his sentence in his tracks and looks over to Maddie. Who is just—completely gaping at him. “What?” he asks, already scared of the answer. 

Maddie just shakes her head in pure disbelief. “There is absolutely no way,” she says, “that you somehow are still unaware that you have feelings for this man.” 

Buck feels his heart stutter in his chest. “Feelings? You mean for Eddie?” 

Maddie laughs, a high-pitched sound, and says, “who fucking else?” 

Buck thinks he might be about to have a panic attack on Maddie and Chim’s kitchen table. His hands are clammy. He can’t figure out how to make that part of his body that usually breathes do its fucking job. His whole body is on lockdown, and deep down, there might be a little part of him that’s tugging, rattling against his cage at the sound of Maddie’s words, but he can’t—he couldn’t . 

“Maddie—” he chokes out, heart in his throat, “I don’t—it’s not—Maddie. I don’t have feelings for Eddie, c’mon, that’s—”

The rest of Buck’s sentence gets caught in his throat like glass, but he feels his own mind fill it in. 

Impossible. Crazy. Insane. And then, quieter: Not allowed. 

Buck swallows around a dry throat. 

Maddie just rolls her eyes. “Buck, you literally just said another guy asked him out, so you started flirting with him. How are you possibly interpreting that as platonic?” 

“I’m not—that is not what I said!” Buck protests, hands flying upwards. His heart is beating so loud he can hear it in his ears. “You didn’t let me finish the story!” 

“You’ve been in love with Eddie for about as long as I’ve been back in LA,” Maddie says flatly. “There’s not an ending to any story involving the two of you that’s anywhere remotely straight.” 

Buck is, like, ninety percent sure he’s sweating out like eighty percent of his body weight through his forehead right now. Also, it would be cool if his lungs decided to work again, but rationally he knows the likelihood of any of his bodily processes functioning normally probably went straight out the window the second Maddie uttered the words in love. 

“That’s—”

“Evan,” Maddie says, laying a gentle hand over where his palm is splayed out over the cold wood of the table, “just breathe. It’s okay. Breathe.” 

It’s the same voice he remembers from back in Hershey, the same soothing tone she would use to get him to stop crying, sticking band-aids over his self-inflicted wounds or holding him back to sleep after a nightmare, back when she was the only soft place for him to land. 

Buck can’t help it. He breathes. 

And as the breath leaves his throat, he feels himself calm—just a little bit. 

“Just—” she squeezes his hand, “walk with me here, okay? Who is Eddie to you?”

Buck blinks. “My best friend,” he answers, like it’s obvious. It is obvious. 

“And what made you decide to start this whole compliment thing?” 

Buck immediately feels himself start to get defensive again, because last time he brought up the whole Mr. Chambers thing, Maddie accused him—of what? Being jealous? Possessive? And that wasn’t it at all, not even remotely close. “I already told you—”

Maddie shushes him. “No,” she says, firm and gentle at once, “I don’t mean that. I mean the real reason.” 

Buck pauses, considers. He doesn’t want to answer. He wants to tuck tail and run back to his loft, where he can bury his head in his pillow—or maybe in the fancy bottle of tequila lying unopened on his top shelf—until he can forget that this conversation ever happened. But he has to say something. He has to show her that she’s wrong, that it doesn’t have anything to do with— that. 

So he takes a deep breath, and slowly, says, “Eddie, he’s the most amazing person I’ve ever meant, you know? But he—he doesn’t see that. And I guess I just,” he shakes his head, “I want him to see himself the way I do, from my point of view. I want him to love himself—” the way I do. 

Buck pauses. Reels back. Feels his eyes widen as his heart plummets out of his stomach. 

“Oh my god,” he says, unable to hear himself through the ringing in his ears. “I’m in love with Eddie.” 

Maddie just laughs, free and delighted, pushing herself out of her chair. “Let me go get some more wine.” 

-

Eddie is asleep next to him. Eddie—the man he has loved for years, that he thinks about when he wakes up in the morning and right when he goes to bed and even in his dreams too, the man who occupies the very center of his heart, a permanent spot for him that Buck had carved out long before he ever realized what it meant—is next to him. 

And he’s asleep. 

It’s far from the first time. Buck’s seen Eddie asleep in the station bunks and on the station couch and in the passenger seat of the jeep and in his bed when Buck was helping take care of him after the shooting and once or twice in the engine during one of those nightmare shifts where Eddie simply just had no more steam left to run on. It’s not even the first time it’s happened like this—when game night with Christopher turned into movie night with just the two of them, and Buck, yet again, simply couldn’t bring himself to leave, so they just put on another movie, and then another. 

By the end of the second movie, Eddie could barely keep his head up, which is when they probably should’ve called it a night. Sent Eddie to his room and delegated Buck either back to the loft or the couch (even the latter has suddenly become an undesirable option after some recent revelations. Fuck you, Maddie). But instead, Eddie had just grabbed a pillow and plopped it right next to Buck’s thighs, curling up on his side to face the screen from there. You don’t have to leave, he had whispered, probably once he realized he wasn’t going to make it awake for very much longer. 

Buck had wanted to ask what he was meant to do when Eddie fell asleep on him. Sit here while night turned into day waiting for him to wake up like his heart was going to do anyway? Carry Eddie to his bed and then just leave him there alone, aching as he shut the door on the bedroom? Climb in himself and learn what it felt like to dream with his eyes open?

But before he could think to ask, Eddie was already gone. 

And now he’s just asleep, so close to Buck that he can feel loose strands of his hair brushing skin, the soft exhale of his breath. So close that Buck can make out each individual eyelash, fluttering against his waterline in his sleep. So close that Buck can make out the beauty mark under his right eye and the little razor scuff on his top lip from a shaving mishap a couple days ago, so close that Buck can pinpoint every place where muscles usually held so achingly stiff are relaxed. Serene. Peaceful. 

So close that Buck has no escape from it, no way to deny the indisputable fact of the matter: that Eddie Diaz, with his ruffled hair and rosy, sleep drunk cheeks, is the single most beautiful thing on this planet. 

And it’s so far from the first time Buck’s been tortured with this sight, far from the first time that he’s even thought those very things about Eddie like this. It’s just—it’s different, when he knows that the feeling in his chest when he looks down at him has a completely different name than what he’s been calling it. It’s different, when he can no longer deny that thinking his best friend is breathtaking in his sleep isn’t, and has never been, very bro-ish of him. 

It’s different, because now, when he’s not pushing down the urges to reach out and touch touch touch, it’s so much harder to resist them. 

He wants to brush a finger through the hair curling over Eddie’s forehead, wants to run his fingertips gently down Eddie’s scalp. He wants to bend and press a kiss right to that beauty mark under his eye. He wants to trace the line of his jaw, with his fingers or with his lips, if he’s lucky. He wants to scoot Eddie over, just the slightest bit, so he can climb into the space between his back and the couch pillows and wrap his body right around Eddie’s, feel him pressed right against his heart. 

He wants to smooth out any wrinkles that might form between Eddie’s brow in his sleep. He wants to tuck Eddie in as tightly possible and make sure he never gets cold—

And hey. He might actually be able to get away with the last one. 

Buck reaches down to pick up the blanket lying discarded at their feet. It’s the soft cashmere one, the one that Buck knows is Eddie’s favorite, because he’s always reaching for it after a long day or a tiring shift or a therapy session where Frank particularly picks apart his brain until it feels like there’s nothing left up there. 

Now, Buck carefully spreads out the blanket over Eddie’s sleeping body like Eddie is a priceless painting in a museum that needs to be preserved, with a level of tenderness he didn’t even know his big, clumsy hands were capable of. 

Eddie stirs. 

It takes Buck a long moment to even pull his hands back, as if he’s moving through honey. He watches, transfixed, as Eddie lazily blinks his eyes open. 

Without moving his head, cheek still pushed into the pillow, his eyes adjust to find Buck in the dark. And he’s still clearly dreary, might even be half asleep, but for a second Buck thinks the soft look in his eyes reads a lot like… adoration. He knows he must be seeing things, wishful thinking manifesting in cruel illusions, but still. For a second there, it completely takes his breath away. 

Eddie closes his eyes again, like it’s too much effort to keep them open, and makes a questioning hum. 

And Buck doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe it’s because in the past week, he’s gotten so used to just saying every compliment that comes to mind about Eddie, and now he doesn’t remember how to bite his tongue. Or maybe it’s simply that the quietness of the night makes everything feel sacred and safe and unaffected by the fact that soon, the sun must rise, and he loves Eddie so much that it’s just dying to be let out of his lips, right on the edge of his tongue. 

He doesn’t know why, but he looks down at Eddie, gently pushes a strand of hair out of his face and says, in a whisper, “You’re so beautiful when you sleep.” 

And it’s too honest, too telling, and Buck instantly holds his breath after the words exit his mouth, terrified, half hoping that he said it quietly enough that maybe Eddie missed it. 

But Eddie’s face just shifts into a shy grin, soft almost like he’s keeping it for himself as it curls into his cheek. He shakes his head, eyes still closed, and turns his face into the pillow. 

But Buck can still see the outline of the smile. 

His heart is beating with its memory even as Eddie—almost as instantly as he had woken up—falls back asleep. 

-

Buck has barely made it through a page of the book he just cracked open when he hears a familiar pair of footsteps sound up the stairs. He feels Eddie behind him first, before he’s rounding the station couch and plopping down next to Buck and then just—laying his head right into his lap, right in the middle of the station where their entire team could see, without hardly a second of hesitation. Like that’s just normal. 

That can’t just be normal, right?  

Things have been a little bit weird with Eddie, just on principle, since Buck sort of redefined his entire existence with the help of Maddie (and a quickly emptying bottle of wine) last Tuesday. Buck doesn’t quite know what to do; what it changes, if anything. Should he allow himself all the pieces of Eddie he once took so easily now that he knows why he yearns for them so badly? 

In the end, he does. Of course he does. He’s too selfish to let any pieces of Eddie go. But it still feels different existing around Eddie now that he’s seeing every interaction through a clearer lens. And the whole Plan thing gets a lot harder when each compliment feels like he’s physically throwing his heart into Eddie’s hands and screaming don’t you see how much I love you, and that was never the point in the first place. 

But the natural uncomfortableness that comes from hanging around the love of your life after you have just realized he’s the love of your life isn’t the only way things have been weird. It’s also just…Eddie. 

Because recently, Eddie’s been complimenting him back. Or kind of. It’s not direct, not in the way Buck does it. It’s… subtle. Buck may just be reading too much into things, but it just… kind of feels strange. Not to mention this morning, Eddie had come into work with a coffee in his hands from Buck’s favorite local cafe, the one that’s fifteen minutes out of Eddie’s way, and placed it in his hands with a shy, soft smile. And yesterday, he had even asked Buck if he wanted to go to dinner Saturday night. 

“Dinner?” Buck had repeated, confused. “I thought I was already coming over? Did I get uninvited without knowing?”

“No, no,” Eddie responded with a slight blush, “I meant like—out somewhere. A restaurant.”

“Oh.” Buck blinked, because that wasn’t a thing they had done, like, ever. “I mean, sure, of course I’ll come. But you know, if you didn’t want to have to eat my lasagna again, you could’ve just said that.” 

Eddie just rolled his eyes and moved on, and Buck definitely wasn’t complaining about getting to go to some cool restaurant with Eddie, but still felt so undeniably weird. Different for them . 

And now, Eddie’s head is in his lap. Forget never going out to restaurants, Eddie has definitely never done this.

It seems as Eddie has recently dedicated himself to the mission of making Buck forget how to breathe as much as possible. 

“Uh, hey, Eds,” he manages to rasp out, a little breathless. He really, really, really is having to resist the urge to thread his fingers through Eddie’s ungelled hair. “You good?” 

Eddie hums in confirmation, closing his eyes as he leans his head further back on Buck’s thigh, exposing the inviting tendons of his neck. Buck feels saliva pool into his mouth and quickly swallows it back. 

“Whatcha reading?” Eddie asks after a moment, popping a singular eye open.

“Um,” Buck tilts the cover parallel to the ground so Eddie can read it, “it’s about, uh, quantum mechanics?” 

Eddie snorts, unsurprised. “Nerd,” he says, but the word is laced with too much fondness for it to be anywhere near an insult. Especially when he follows it with an easy, “You should tell me about it.”

“Well, considering I’m literally only on page two, there’s not much for me to say.” He laughs. “You wouldn’t want to hear me talk about that anyway.” 

A crease forms between Eddie’s eyebrows. “Of course I do, Buck.” 

Buck instantly fills with warmth all the way down to his bones. Because there are so many people in his life—Bobby, Maddie, Chim, Hen—who love him, that he has no doubt love him, but they don’t enjoy listening to him, not like this. They’ll tolerate it, sure, suffer through his podcast debriefs and true crime fascinations, but they never ask to hear about them. But Eddie does. Eddie wants to know. Eddie wants to listen, enjoys it even when it’s about something way above both of their pay grades. And that’s just—Buck doesn’t know what to do with that fact besides melt a little bit inside about it. 

How did Buck ever think he wasn’t absolutely head over heels in love with this incredible, amazing man? If Buck believed that he deserved it, that the universe would ever grant someone like him such a gift, he would almost think Eddie was made for him. 

“Well, uh,” Buck fumbles to set the book down on a nearby side table, laughing awkwardly, “maybe once I get a little bit further in.”

Eddie’s frown deepens. “You don’t have to put it up,” he says. 

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. Now that he doesn’t have the book, he has no idea where to set his hands—every possible landing spot is just Eddie. “You’re here now.” 

He doesn’t know how to say that talking to Eddie, or just… sitting with him is a thousand times more interesting than any fucking book or movie or podcast that catches Buck’s attentions. He doesn’t know how to say that the chances of him being able to focus on the words at all were absolutely doomed the second Eddie decided it would be a good idea to fucking lay his goddamn head in Buck’s lap. 

Eddie smiles, pleased. Then, almost as if he sensed Buck’s uncertainty, he grabs one of Buck’s hands where it’s hovering awkwardly in the space between him and—

Buck is actually going to have a heart attack. 

—intertwines their fingers together. 

Jesus fucking Christ. Buck watches, frozen, as Eddie lowers their joined hands on his chest and leaves them to rest there, right over his ribcage. He’s still smiling that pleased smile, closing his eyes as if he’s completely at ease, as if this just—normal. 

Buck would be freaking out, he really would, but to do that he would probably have to let go of Eddie’s hand. And he just. Doesn’t want to. 

So he holds it in. Pretends that this is all good and normal and very bro-ish of them and that he’s not holding the hand of the man he would give up literally everything to have a shot at marrying. 

And he can’t help it—he starts rubbing his thumb up and down over the smooth skin of Eddie’s knuckles. Eddie’s smile settles further into his face. 

“I’m tired,” he says after a moment. 

Buck laughs, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “That’s your fault for staying up until two last night.” 

Eddie opens his eyes. “You were texting me,” he protests, whiny. 

“Okay?” Buck rolls his eyes. “You know when I text you at ungodly hours I’m not actually expecting you to respond, right?” 

Those texts are just mindless rambles anyway, attempts to scrub his head clear of some of the random facts and shower thoughts that clog it up when he can’t sleep. He never means to prevent Eddie from falling asleep too, although he can’t deny that there is something comforting about seeing his name light up his screen when he’s in the middle of a particularly bad bout of insomnia. 

Eddie pouts, and God. That’s fucking adorable. “But I want to.” 

Buck just laughs, feeling warmed to his heart. “Well, I guess if you don’t mind being grumpy for the entire shift after, then be my guest.” 

Eddie opens his mouth—probably to protest the time and time again proven fact that he’s grumpy on little sleep—but is cut off by the quiet ding of his phone. 

A small, focused frown overcomes Eddie’s face as he shifts his weight slightly so he can pull his phone out of his pocket, a movement that unfortunately makes him have to let go of Buck’s hand. Which is fine. So fine. 

Eddie raises it over his face so that Buck is looking down on his phone case. He watches as Eddie’s frown deepens.

“What is it?” Buck asks. 

“Uh,” Eddie says, a tiny wrinkle forming in between his eyebrows, “it’s Elias.” 

Buck’s heart just—stops in his chest. “You mean—you mean Dylan’s dad?” he asks, practically chokes out, as if he needs the clarification, as if he hasn’t been tossing the name and the face around constantly in his head ever since he heard Elias had asked Eddie out, trying to figure out why the strange feeling the idea provoked in him was so hard to get past. “What does he want?” 

The question comes out too strong, too accusing, too scared, because all of the sudden, Buck feels like something is being stolen right out from under his hands, that he’s losing something even though it was never really his. 

Because in the past couple of days, ever since Buck had realized how much Eddie truly meant to him, he had forgotten about Elias. He had forgotten that that’s where this whole thing started in the first place—Eddie rejecting Elias for all the wrong reasons. Buck wanting to help him. Trying to patch up his self-esteem so Eddie didn’t feel like he had to say no, so he could fully spread his wings now that he’s free of the shackles. 

And Buck carried out his plan, had made it happen in every way he could. But what happens now if it actually worked? What happens if Eddie is finally ready to date men, and Elias is here, giving him another shot to act on it? What happens to Buck now that he knows that seeing Eddie date another man would probably kill him slowly inside, piece by piece? 

All at once, Buck realizes he might’ve just ensured his own heartbreak. 

Eddie doesn’t look up from his screen. “He’s just asking if I could have Dylan over tomorrow after school. He had something come up, I guess.” 

Buck feels relief rush through him all at once, like a tidal wave, because that means Elias isn’t flirting with Eddie or asking him out again or trying to steal the heart that Buck so desperately wants for himself. But then, he pauses. 

Because as much as he doesn’t want Eddie to have sex and kiss and fall in love with a man that isn’t him, he does. He does because Eddie deserves it. Eddie deserves to be happy, to get to hold his queerness like it's a gift, to explore it and enjoy it and cherish it in any way he sees fit; he deserves to get to kiss a man in the middle of a crowded street and feel nothing but pride about it. And Buck wants that for him more than anything, so much so that he would resign himself to a life of heartbreak and surviving off whatever scraps would be left over for him after Eddie’s lover or boyfriend or, god forbid, husband picked off all the best bits. 

And he knows that as much as he wants it, as much as he yearns for it, Eddie isn’t going to be doing any of that—the exploring, the holding, the cherishing, the kissing-in-the-middle-of-streets—with Buck. Eddie doesn’t want Buck. He wants someone like Elias, who probably is an expert at filing taxes and organizing the pantry and having his life together, and who could probably love Eddie cleanly, neatly, not in the all-consuming, messy way Buck does it. And Eddie probably wants that—someone who knows how to keep love in between the lines, someone who doesn’t throw up their affection with every word like it’s a physical entity that can’t be kept inside, leaving a mess at his feet. 

And that’s okay. Eddie can want what he wants and deserves to have it. And Buck isn’t going to be selfish. He’s not going to try and stop Eddie from chasing it. He’s not going to go against the plan just because he wants something a little bit more now. 

He’s doing this for Eddie. He’s doing it, because at the end of the day, all he wants is for Eddie to finally find the contentment he’s been missing in one way or another for his entire life. All he wants is for Eddie to be happy. 

And he never wants to be the one that’s holding him back. 

He takes a deep breath. He resigns himself to dying inside a little bit. And he suggests, “You should ask him out.” 

Eddie peers up at him from over his phone, brow wrinkled. He looks like he thinks he must’ve misheard. “What?” 

Buck can feel his own heart physically sizzling in his chest, like he’s just tossed it on the hot coals and is now just watching it burn, hands tied behind his back. 

He shrugs with a nonchalance he’s definitely not feeling. “I mean, he’s made it clear he’s interested,” he says. “You should give him a shot, see if something could work out between you two.” 

Eddie stares at him for a long second, completely dumbfounded. Then he’s swinging himself up, pulling his head out of Buck’s lap and turning to face him on the couch. “What the fuck, Buck?” he says, and he sounds… mad? “Please tell me you’re fucking joking right now.” 

Buck blinks several times, a little bit thrown. “I…”

Eddie searches his eyes. “You’re being serious,” he says, a statement, and then his eyes are flashing with a deep hurt, one that Buck feels infiltrate his own skin even though he doesn’t understand it. “Oh my god.” 

In one quick motion, he’s pushing himself off the couch, beginning to agitatedly pace across the space in front of Buck. Buck watches him, frozen, uncomprehending, even as Eddie turns his distressed expression on him. “I mean, do you really want me to text this guy, Buck?” His voice is softer now, almost pleading. 

No, Buck wants to say. No, of course not. I want you to want me. I want you to love me. I want to be enough for you. 

Instead, he swallows the truth down and says, “I think it could be a good idea.” 

Eddie stares. Then he closes his eyes and takes a long, broken breath. “Right,” he says. “Okay. That’s—good to know.” 

Buck thinks that based on his voice—the way he’s holding himself like he might just be about to fall apart—that maybe it’s not. But he doesn’t understand why. 

All he can do is watch in a mix of confusion and disorientation as Eddie walks away. 

-

So, Eddie is ignoring him. Like, is one hundred percent certainly ignoring him. If Buck is cleaning the engine, Eddie is upstairs in the loft. If Buck is upstairs in the loft, Eddie is cleaning the engine. Buck tries to corner him after breakfast; Eddie announces to the station at large that he really needs a nap and makes an exit to the bunk room. On the way to a call, Eddie offers to ride in the engine with Hen and Chim. 

And throughout the day, he keeps sending Buck all these agitated looks. But what’s worse is that when Eddie doesn’t know Buck’s looking, he drops the anger and the annoyance and the disinterest and just lets heartbreak take its place. He looks so fucking sad, like some secret grief no one else understands has dug its way into him. And Buck’s not the only one who noticed. 

“What did you do?” Chim whispers to him in a hiss, only an hour into the shift. 

“I don’t know,” Buck hisses back. 

His only working theory is that maybe Eddie took up his advice to ask Elias out and got rejected, and so now he’s pissed at Buck for suggesting it. But that doesn’t seem to match up to Eddie’s reaction earlier. Maybe Buck had overstepped? He really doesn’t know. 

At this point, he feels ten seconds away from pulling out all of his hair or driving over to Maddie’s to see if she has any extra bottles of wine laying around. He wants to scream at Eddie, please talk to me because the last time you were ignoring me like this you joined an illegal fighting ring and nearly killed someone . He wants to say, just say something because I might not get you in the way I want but I can’t lose you altogether.  

In the end, Buck has to wait until the very end of the shift, when everyone else but him has filtered out, to get Eddie to talk. He stands in the very far corner of the locker room, the only place hidden from the view of the windows, and waits until Eddie finally emerges from wherever he’s been hiding since their last call. It feels a bit stalkerish of him, but necessary. Finally, Eddie walks in and immediately steps over to his locker, probably assuming that Buck was already gone, having left with everyone else. 

Eddie swings his locker open. Even from this distance, Buck can make out the pictures lining the inside of the door. One is of Christopher and Eddie together at Christopher’s theater performance a couple years back, Christopher in green face-paint and a tree costume. Another one of Buck and Christopher together with two massive ice cream cones in their hands, grinning maniacally. 

And then a new addition—a selfie of Buck and Eddie on a trail they had hiked over the summer when Chris was gone. Buck remembers that hike, how they had later sat with their feet hanging off a cliff, miles of green forestry in front of them, and Eddie had whispered to him, I think you’re the only reason I get up in morning right now, and a thousand other things that Buck no longer can recall. 

Buck swallows. Slides his hands in the pocket. “H-hey, Eddie.” 

Eddie doesn’t startle. He doesn’t flinch. He just closes his eyes and sighs, like he can’t even find it in himself to be surprised that Buck would corner him like this. “Buck,” he acknowledges, so completely bereft of its usual fondness that Buck can’t help to let it sting. 

Eddie begins to change out of his uniform, and Buck tries not to think about the legions of bare, tanned skin that appears as Eddie slides his uniform shirt over his shoulders. Tries not to think about the sound of the belt clinking as he unbuckles it or the muscular flex of Eddie’s leg as he steps into his sweatpants. 

He tries not to think about it, but his mind is everywhere, getting caught on a thousand different pieces of barbed wire as he tries to garble out something suitable—a plea for Eddie to open up, an apology even though he’s not sure what he did wrong, a request to come over, he doesn’t know. 

In the end, he doesn’t go with any of those options. 

“That shirt looks nice on you, you know,” is what he says instead, watching Eddie slide on a dark green henley. 

Eddie presses his lips together. “Oh, really.” His voice is flat. Tired. 

“Yeah,” Buck says, because he’s never known when to shut up, especially not when it comes to Eddie. He might as well be wagging his tail like an overeager puppy at this point. “Dark green is kinda your color, man. Brings out your eyes and everything.” 

Eddie slams his locker closed and whirls around on him. “Okay, Buck,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s going on here?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Eddie leans back against his closed locker to level him with a long look. “You’ve spent the entire week flirting with me and then you tell me to date Dylan’s dad and then you’re just flirting with me again? What is this about, Buck? Am I missing something.” 

Buck chokes on air. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t flirting,” he stammers out. 

Oh my god, he must be losing his goddamn mind. Did—did Eddie really think he was fucking flirting this entire time, oh my god. Oh my fucking god, he needs to fling himself through the glass of this fucking locker room, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Eddie gives him a deadpan look. Buck can’t look too long as his crossed arms and the way his biceps are bulging against the fabric of his Henley, or he’ll probably die of horniness overload, and now is really not the time. “Oh, really?” Eddie says, unconvinced. 

“I’ve just been…” Buck realizes that there really is no good way to explain it. “Trying to be nice,” he finishes lamely, shooting Eddie a look out of the corner of his eye like please don’t question this anymore or you’ll probably end up realizing I have a big fat crush on you. 

“Okay, sure,” Eddie says, generously. “But there’s a difference between just being nice and telling someone they have a nicely shaped ear.” 

Oh great. Eddie just had to bring that incident up. 

“But you do!” Buck is willing to die on this hill. He already has, a little bit. “It’s a perfect ratio of—” he waves a hand towards Eddie’s ear, “roundness to flappity thing.” 

Eddie looks like he wants to bash his head into a wall. “You did not just call it a flappity thing.” 

Ear lobe, Buck realizes it’s called, just a second too late. Oh well. 

Buck drops his shoulders. He should tell Eddie the real truth about this whole plan thing. Clearly something about it has agitated him. So even if the truth is too telling, too vulnerable, Eddie deserves to know. 

So he bites his lip, shrugs, and says, “I just want you to feel good about yourself.” The words come out soft. 

Eddie frowns, bringing out the little crease between his eyebrows again. “I do feel good about myself.” 

And oh, how much Buck wishes that were true. 

“Eddie, I know you,” he says with the saddest of smiles. “And I know you don’t.” 

He knows that Eddie was born into a world where enough was something he could only ever pretend to be, and even then, he still never managed to play the part well enough; always too emotional or too wild or too stuck in his own head. For his entire life, Eddie hated both the mask he wore and the face under it. Hated the man they forced him to become, hating himself for not wanting to be it. Everything after then was just dominoes falling into line. Shannon getting pregnant, him not wanting to marry Shannon after she got pregnant, marrying her anyway, leaving his son for the army, leaving Shannon for the army, leaving both of them again, not saving Greggs—it all just became evidence that he was worthy of his own derision. 

Buck knows that Eddie probably has always thought bad of himself in one way or another. It’s one of the world’s biggest tragedies. 

Eddie crosses his arms a little tighter around himself. “Well, maybe you just feel too good about me,” he shoots back, a touch defensive. 

Buck takes him in—the beauty mark under his eye, the little piece of hair at the top of his head he must’ve missed when gelling it this morning, the way the sweatpants he’s wearing are just the slightest bit too short and curling up his lower calves—and he knows. He’s not idealizing Eddie; he’s seeing him for exactly who he is. And he still thinks he’s perfect.

He gives Eddie a small smile. “That’s not possible,” he says, a truth. 

Eddie bites his lip and looks away. With the way he’s holding himself so tense, Buck has the thought that he might be blinking back tears, but when Eddie turns back to face him, his eyes are dry. “So this entire time, this has been about…what, boosting my self confidence?” 

He sounds so tired about it. Disappointed. Buck still doesn’t get what he did wrong. 

“Well,” Buck shrugs, “yeah.” 

Eddie looks at him. “Why?” 

Buck just shrugs again and probably doesn’t think it fully through when he says, “So you can date Dylan’s dad.”

“So I can date Dylan’s dad,” Eddie repeats drily. He runs a hand over his face and huffs. “Buck,” he says, exasperated, “I don’t want to date Dylan’s dad.” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, throwing his hands up in the air angrily because that’s the whole point, “you said that if he knew you he wouldn’t want to go out with you. Which is why—” he waves a hand in gesture to the whole situation. “I just—I wanted you to be able to chase the things you want, you know.” 

Eddie stares at him. “Buck,” he says, haltingly. “That’s not the real reason I rejected Elias.” 

Buck pauses, looks at him. Frowns. “What?” 

“I mean—it’s not the biggest reason,” Eddie amends. 

Buck’s brain is whirling. “Then what is?” 

Eddie gets this sour look on his face, like he really doesn’t want to say what’s coming next. “I rejected him because—god.” He shakes his head at Buck with a pained look in his eyes. “You really have no idea do you?” 

“What?” Buck is starting to get antsy. He doesn’t much like the feeling of knowing there’s something important he’s missing. “Tell me, Eddie.” 

“I rejected him,” Eddie begins slowly, without breaking eye contact, “because I knew it wasn’t going to work out with him. Not because I don’t feel good about myself or that I think I’m going to ruin it, but because he’s not you, Buck.” 

Buck actually, like, can’t fucking breathe. Seriously. Like not even in a romance-novel-author-is-making-up-things-to-make-everything-more-dramatic kind of way, but in an actual serious medical emergency, emergency tracheotomy round two is imminent, somebody call the ambulance type of way. He’s not being dramatic, he’s not. Because surely, surely, Eddie cannot mean what Buck thinks he means. 

Eddie averts his eyes. “I just wasn’t ready to tell you yet that night at dinner,” he says, soft. “And so I made this half-lie up so you wouldn’t catch on, and then—” he waves a hand, smiling grimly, “here we are.” 

“Eddie,” Buck chokes out, “I—”

Eddie doesn’t give him anytime to finish, a bitter laugh interrupting Buck’s sentence. “And God, can you fucking believe that this entire time, I thought you were doing this whole thing because wanted me? Because you wanted to be with me? I actually thought we were dating, or—” he shakes his head, like he’s embarrassed or maybe even angry at himself, words getting quieter as he goes on, “at least heading in that direction or something, I don’t know.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Buck feels the entire last week slot into place, parts rearranging in his mind into a full picture. Eddie’s small smile that night at his house. How he had started complimenting back, being extra sweet and affectionate and touchy in a way he had never been before. And oh, he had fucking asked Buck on a date. And after all of that, Buck told him to go date another guy. Of course Eddie had gotten angry. Of course he’s been heartbroken this entire shift. 

He essentially thought Buck had broken up with him. 

Oh. My. Fucking. God. 

“For once I finally let myself believe that I could have you,” Eddie sniffs before laughing mirthlessly. Buck can see the wetness that’s starting to form in his eyes. “That I deserved you. And it was all just me fucking—misunderstanding shit. Seeing what I wanted to see.” Eddie wipes at his eyes. “I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

Buck’s heart cracks down the middle. 

“Eddie,” he says, trying to wrap his mind around it all, trying not to grin like an idiot because that would be inappropriate but—Eddie wants him. Eddie wants to be with him. Eddie is sad and angry at himself because he thinks he doesn’t get to. “Eddie,” Buck repeats, and Eddie looks up, meeting his eyes through tears. Buck smiles, small. “You’re not an idiot. And you didn’t misunderstand anything.” 

Eddie laughs again, like he doesn’t believe him. 

“No, no, Eddie, I’m being serious.” He takes a step forward, closer to Eddie. “I feel the same way.” 

Eddie sniffles, meeting his eyes. “You…you do?” 

“Yeah,” Buck nods. He grabs Eddie's hand from his side and holds it out between them, fingers gently wrapped against the delicate bones of his wrist. He can feel the way Eddie’s pulse jumps under his fingertips. “Look, it’s true that I maybe mostly started this whole thing because of what you said that night at dinner about why you rejected Mr. Chambers. And maybe I didn’t even realize it until Maddie sort of forced me to, but,” he rubs a finger gently over Eddie’s pulse point, “none of it—I mean, this whole stupid compliment thing—would’ve happened the way it did if I didn’t love you.” 

He smiles down at Eddie, who’s using his free hand to wipe away more tears. “I wanted you to be able to date any man you wanted, yes. But I also just wanted you to know there’s not a single part of you that I don’t love. Even your ears.” 

A long silence. Eddie is staring at him. 

“What? Why are you making that face?” 

Eddie laughs in disbelief. It’s the good kind, Buck thinks—hopes. “I’m making this face,” Eddie says, “because I’m trying to come to terms with the fact that the love of my life just said the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard, and ended it by talking about my ears.” 

Buck straightens up in defense. “They’re good ears!” he protests, and he’s prepared to go on a whole rant about it when— “Wait, did you just say love of your life ?”

Eddie grins, blinding even through the wetness still clinging to his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” he says with no lack of fondness, and then he’s pulling his wrist out of Buck’s grasp and using his now free hand to pull Buck straight into a kiss. 

It’s everything all at once—lips and teeth and tongue and the taste and smell and feel of Eddie everywhere—and Buck never wants it to end. It’s better than any compliment, any perfectly made coffee cup from Buck’s favorite cafe, any movie night, any other kiss Buck’s ever had before. 

After a moment, Eddie pulls back with a pop. Buck would mourn the loss, but luckily, Eddie doesn’t go too far. He brings his thumb to rest at the corner of Buck’s lips, where his spit is still wetting the skin, and says, “Be mine, Buck. Be my boyfriend. Come home with me tonight. Go on that date with me on Saturday.” 

Buck grins. “Okay. Yes. To all of it. Holy fucking shit, Eddie.” 

“And please, please, please don’t ever tell me to date another guy again, alright?”

Buck frames Eddie’s face with his hands and leans down to press a dry, featherlight kiss right to the beauty mark under his eye. He promises himself that eventually he’s going to kiss all of them—every perfect imperfection—and call each one out by name, so Eddie knows how beautiful they are too. 

But for now he just smiles into the press of his lips, grinning so big that it probably doesn’t even count as a kiss anymore. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.” 

-

“Hey,” Buck says, the thought occurring to him several hours later. “Did it work?” 

Eddie opens his eyes, the brown of them ten times more beautiful from this close. “Did what work?” he asks. 

They’re in Eddie’s bed. Buck’s in Eddie’s arms. Buck has just discovered a million new things about Eddie and his body and what it’s like to be the recipient of his love and be allowed to love him just as visibly in return. He’s never been fucking happier in his life. But he still has one more question. 

“You know, the plan. The whole build-up-your-self-confidence-thing ?” 

Eddie tucks his small smile in between his teeth, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, you mean the thing that prompted you to tell me I have nice nail beds? Yeah, I’m sure that was real effective.” 

Buck's smile slowly drops off his face. He bites his lip. 

“Hey,” Eddie whispers with a frown, probably sensing where Buck’s mind just went. “I’m just messing with you.” He rubs his thumb over Buck’s bottom lip, gently prying it out of the grip of his teeth. 

Buck diverts his gaze. He feels something sinking deep in his stomach. Embarrassment, maybe. 

“Buck,” Eddie says, gently tapping on his chin until Buck has no choice but to meet his eyes. “You love me. And if you love me, I can’t be a bad thing, right?” 

Buck looks at him, eyes wide with hope. “So you’re saying it worked?”

“Yeah, Buck,” Eddie smiles, fondly, “I think it did.” 

Buck flops onto his back (which is kind of an impressive feat considering how tangled up with each other they currently are) with a proud grin, so big he can feel it twinging in his cheeks. He closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m a genius,” he says. 

Eddie laughs, and the effortless happiness contained in that singular sound alone is the only win Buck really needs. 

“Sure,” Eddie says, “you tell yourself that, babe.”