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Eddie thinks it’s a little ironic that he started to realize that he was gay thanks to a priest and a juice bar. It sounds like the start of a bad joke that ends with him running away after kissing his best friend. Really, though, it started with the mustache.
If anyone were to ask him why he grew it, he might have said that it was because he wanted to piss off Gerard or that he just wanted to try something new.
In reality, it was because his life went in a downward spiral when Chris left. It probably happened before that, if he’s being honest with himself.
Eddie doesn’t blame Chris one bit for wanting to leave, but he wishes that he’d had a second to talk through it all before his parents took Chris all the way to Texas. He hadn’t seen his kid in person since that awful night when Kim showed up on his doorstep, and he’s not sure how much longer he can handle it. It’s why he ended up in confession in the first place.
The last time he went to confession was middle school, when he first started to question if he actually believed in God, so it was a bit of a rough start. Over twenty years of sins to make up for and he didn’t know where to start.
Chris, while not easy to talk about, was the first thing that came to mind. He talked about everything he did wrong with his son. Instead of taking the weight off his shoulders, it just reminded him of all the mistakes he still hadn’t done penance for.
He remembers sitting in church, hands clasped together, praying to a god he’s not sure he actually believed in. But it was what was expected. Go to church, live in a godlike way, adhere to the church’s rules. Don’t slip up. His whole life he’s been trying (and failing) to make up for everything he did wrong.
Eddie Diaz has too many sins and not enough time to right them all. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He doesn’t deserve nice things. He was living his life, acting like nothing was wrong when the person he cares about most is eight hundred miles away and refusing to text or talk on the phone for more than a minute.
And because the universe hates him, the fucking priest showed up at the juice bar. And he was hot. And judging. And possibly into Eddie (you can still be gay if you’re celibate, right)?
The hot (and possibly gay) priest told Eddie that he could earn forgiveness. That all he needed to do was give in, choose the juice, choose joy, and just let himself be.
So that’s how Eddie ended up sighing deeply at his own reflection and getting ready to shave his mustache. Shaving the mustache felt like letting go of what little control he had left in his life, but it’s what he thought he needed. And a priest told him to do it, so it must be the right thing to do.
After he shaved, Eddie danced. He hadn’t danced in years, not since his parents turned ballroom dancing from a fun hobby to something he wished he never did in the first place.
His socked feet hit the floor and he slid along, recreating the scene from Risky Business. It was no ballroom dancing, but it made him feel more alive than he had in months. For a minute, he felt light. The guilt vacated his body and he could breathe, the pressure in his chest lifting away.
And then Buck opened the door and looked so downtrodden that Eddie wanted to help him find his joy. He thought he even wanted to be the source of Buck’s joy.
They sunk into the couch cushions and sipped beer together when it started to hit Eddie. His eyes widened and he looked over at Buck, who seemed oblivious to Eddie’s panic.
Joy for Eddie doesn’t just mean dancing in his underwear or shaving a mustache; it means Buck. It means being his partner on every call, having his back, spending every second with him. It means breaking his ribs to keep him alive and knowing exactly what he needs. It meant—
It meant something he wasn’t ready to admit just yet.
It’s only when Buck’s standing in front of Eddie that it hits him. His lip trembles and he feels his eyes water.
“It’s me,” Buck says, smiling at Eddie with his thousand-watt smile because Buck is the sun. Buck is joy. Buck is fucking juice and suddenly Eddie doesn’t want to leave, because he doesn’t just love Buck; he’s in love with Buck.
He doesn’t know how he didn’t see it before, but it doesn’t even matter because he still has to leave, for Chris. And Buck gets it. Buck understands because he’s Buck.
Eddie doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to say the words out loud, but it seems like an inevitable truth. From now to the first moment they agreed to have each other’s backs to every moment in between, he loved Buck. Loves Buck.
It doesn’t really matter, though, because he’s going to Texas and Buck isn’t. So Eddie shoves those feelings in a box and hides it in the deepest corner of his mind.
The feelings don’t go away, and he doesn’t know why he ever thought they would.
Eddie’s sitting in Texas, drinking juice (just to try it out) and thinking about Shannon. When she first died, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, even in his nightmares. The first day he didn’t think about her, he didn’t even realize until he was putting Chris to bed and Chris asked when his mom was coming back. Eddie was hit with a wave of guilt.
He thought he got over it, thought he could move forward, but Kim happened. Eddie was looking for a mother figure, a replacement, someone Chris could look up to, but she was never going to be the answer. No woman was ever going to be the answer.
Then Chris asked Eddie about a box of photographs that he found in Eddie’s old room. They’re from high school, back when Eddie and Shannon were actually together. When Eddie would think about that time, he’d realize how much he was pushed into being with her. His Catholic family expected him to love Shannon, his peers at school expected him to love Shannon, he expected himself to love Shannon.
Now, though, Eddie realizes he didn’t really love her. Not romantically, at least. She was his best friend, but that’s where it ended. Buck’s his best friend, too, but it’s more. Buck is the person Eddie wants to wake up next to every morning, and that’s not going to happen while Eddie and Chris are in El Paso.
Before he gets the chance to talk to Chris about going home, Karen calls him. Bobby’s in a coma.
Then Eddie’s in his kitchen in LA, arguing with Buck about Bobby’s near-death experience.
Buck always puts the weight of the world on his shoulders, spiraling so much that he forgets about how other people are feeling. So Eddie gives it to him straight, maybe a little meanly. “The Trials and Tribulations of Evan Buckley, a Tragedy in Ninety-Seven Acts,” he says harshly, and Buck’s standing there, looking properly cowed, apologizing and saying that he did everything he could. He just doesn’t get it.
But Eddie’s on edge, listening to the quiet hum of the AC in the otherwise quiet house. His skin’s practically vibrating with emotion that’s threatening to spill over. Something tightens in his chest. He could walk away right now and it would all be over.
Instead, he crosses the space in the kitchen and presses his lips to Buck’s. It’s not graceful, not in the slightest, but Buck makes a muffled noise of surprise and leans in to meet him, placing his hands on Eddie’s hips. All these wonderful feelings are floating around, erasing the anger and tension of the argument.
And then a metaphorical bucket of ice-cold water crashes over Eddie’s head. He pulls back with a start, shaking Buck’s hands away and furiously wiping his mouth of the evidence. His head hangs down and he turns away. Buck’s only visible out of the corner of his eye.
“I didn’t mean to do that. It was an accident. A mistake,” Eddie says, and it tastes like a lie. I’m not gay. I’m just overwhelmed. It won’t happen again. It’s like a mantra, echoing in his skull.
Buck flinches a little. He deflates, looking more like he did when Eddie first showed up to sit vigil at Bobby’s bedside. “An accident,” he says softly.
The room is stifling, the oppressive silence and overwhelming panic pressing down on Eddie. He clenches his fists tightly against the kitchen counter, trying to relieve the tension that’s building. It’s rising in his chest and filling his mind and he has to blink away tears because it’s all too much. He’s just poured his heart out to Buck about one of the worst moments of his life and then did… that. He doesn’t even want to think about it. Maybe they can pretend that it didn’t happen. He’s going back to El Paso after all, and Buck will be here. In his house. Their house.
“I, uh, should probably get to sleep. Early night tomorrow,” he says, not recognizing his own voice. He refuses to look at Buck. Not right now.
“You can’t even look at me?” Buck asks, voice rough.
“Please, just forget it,” Eddie begs shakily. His chest tightens.
Buck lets out a huff. “You know that I’ve been parading around, insisting that I’m not in love with my straight best friend? My ex and my sister both told me that I was wrong, they could tell that I’m hopelessly in love with you.” He laughs, a sharp, cruel, and very un-Buck-like thing, though he sounds close to tears. “We’ve been in each other’s lives for years, now, Eddie. When you left to be with Chris, I tried to push my feelings down. I’m not good at it, but I figured I could try for you, right? Couldn’t risk it.
“All it took was one kiss for you to ruin me for anyone else. You kissed me, so you don’t get to call it a mistake. Not when it meant that much.” Buck’s voice cracks as he finishes his tirade and stalks off to the bedroom, closing the door.
Eddie can’t stop shaking. His skin feels like it doesn’t belong to him. There’s an itching deep in his soul, one he can’t reach with his unsteady hands. What he just did was wrong. He’s damned himself forever, subjecting himself to an eternity of torment. Whatever god that’s out there is looking down at him and casting judgement, letting everyone know that Eddie Diaz is going to get what he deserves.
He doesn’t sleep a wink on the couch that night. A sword drives itself into his chest, in his lungs, and he struggles to breathe through stifled sobs. He’s not someone who cries, lets himself properly feel. He especially can’t do it over something like this.
The next morning, Eddie folds the sheets on the couch military-style and slips out of the house before the sun has even come up. The world is dark, quiet, the same way it’s been since he and Buck– It is still LA, though, so as he walks further away from home, the sounds of the city get louder. At least it’s something to drown out his thoughts, even if it doesn’t ease the ache in his chest. He looks at his phone, at the location sharing app.
Buck and Eddie have had their location sharing on their phones for as long as either of them can remember. Even with Eddie’s technophobia, Buck was able to convince him of its importance regarding their safety.
On their first FaceTime call after Eddie moved to El Paso, Buck had made an offhanded joke about what he would do if Eddie got kidnapped by one of his Uber pickups. Even though it didn’t do either of them much good, Eddie left his location sharing on.
Now, though? Eddie makes damn sure it’s turned off.
He’s terrified that Buck, who should be at work by now, will come tearing out of the station to look for him. To beg for answers, a discussion, anything. Or worse, Buck will think it’s his fault and apologize. Eddie’s not sure he could handle facing the fear-filled look in his eyes. Best to avoid any of those possibilities.
He orders an Uber and gets in, briefly thinking about how strange it is to be on the other side of the transaction again. Eddie’s never liked driving, always letting Buck take the wheel whenever the opportunity occurred. Yet another thing that was supposed to be his responsibility as a man that he couldn’t do right.
The address he gave is a cafe he and Buck would go to on rare occasions. It was much further away than their normal coffee place, but sometimes Buck would insist on it as a treat. They visited the cafe a lot more while Chris was gone.
When Eddie gets out of the car, he’s greeted by familiar sights, though it doesn’t stop his heart from pounding. Everyone knows. They know what he did with Buck last night and now they’re watching him in his mad dash to get away from it all. They’re whispering about him and what he is because they know he kissed his best friend. They know he’s…they know–
His throat tightens. It’s not rational, to think that everyone saw the signs and knew before he did, but what if that was how it was? If he talks to Hen, Chim, Karen, and Bobby when he wakes up, will they smile knowingly and say they’ve been waiting for this? Back in El Paso, would his parents see the shame that clings to his skin like a film? Would Chris be disappointed in who his father is? It’s like he’s got his own scarlet letter that’s calling out to people, ‘I did this. Look at me. Shame me.’
Not a single head turns in his direction.
The cashier gives Eddie a nice smile and hands him his black coffee. He’s still terrified that she knows. There’s not even a real reason to hide and yet he’s making that choice. He’s running away.
He sets his coffee down and thunks his head on the table. The kiss wasn’t a mistake, it never could be with Buck, so why is that what he said it was? He isn’t good enough for someone like Buck, who practically radiates goodness and lives his life as himself. Eddie’s the epitome of the opposite. He runs and hides and refuses to admit simple truths to himself. He’ll never be the perfect person, never be the best dad, he’s definitely not a good friend; Buck deserves someone better to come home to.
Sermons from Eddie’s youth loom over his head, telling him how wrong it all his. His parents’ words echo in his head, clashing with something else. Bobby. A man who grew up in the same religion and is a guiding force of life.
Bobby may not be able to talk back right now, but Eddie sits by his hospital bed anyway. He’s hoping for a sign (ironic, considering that he’s not even sure if he believes in that kind of thing), anything to tell him what to do. Maybe Bobby will finally wake up and tell him how to fix this. Fix him.
“I’m gay,” Eddie whispers. The world doesn’t suddenly stop turning, the sky doesn’t burst into flames. All that’s left is Eddie, shaking slightly and bouncing his foot up and down. Bobby doesn’t stir.
He decides he has to tell Buck something He’ll go back and explain that he’s too broken to be loved in the unconditional way that Buck practically radiates. That there’s something so wrong with him that he drives away the people who care about him and Buck doesn’t deserve that. He’s barely able to admit one simple truth to a man in a coma without fear of a panic attack.
Buck isn’t home yet when Eddie comes back, so he takes the time to prepare what he plans to say. He’s doesn’t think he’s bisexual, like Buck. He’s pretty certain he’s gay, but even thinking the word fills him with inexplicable terror. Disparaging comments from his parents fill his ears, telling him he’s not enough, that he’s wrong, that he’s not worthy of good things.
Everything flies out the window when the front door opens and Buck enters.
Even in the soft light of the house, he looks mesmerizing. His hair’s a little darker than usual, he’s wearing a long-sleeved green shirt, and his eyes look a little bloodshot, but none of it really matters because all Eddie can think is how beautiful Buck looks. He’s never thought– never allowed himself to think that way about another man before.
Nothing else really matters in this moment aside from the fact that Eddie loves Buck. Every atom, every beat of his heart, every breath, it’s all for Buck. It always has been. Buck’s been there without question every time Eddie’s asked. He wishes he had been a braver man sooner.
Buck tosses his bag down a little haphazardly, the stony expression on his face tightening when he takes sight of Eddie. “You came back.”
“Of course I did.” Eddie wonders if he looks as wrecked as he feels, hesitating in his own house.
“I thought you went back to El Paso,” Buck says, crossing his arms. He hasn’t moved very far past the front door, and Eddie’s feeling every inch of space.
“I needed some time to think.”
“When I thought you– you were gone, Eddie. I know you’re not Abby, but for a second it felt like her all over again,” Buck says.
“You do matter to me, Buck, like I said before I left. After Chris, you’re the most important person in my life.” Eddie’s not begging, but he might as well be. He needs Buck to know— he needs Buck to know.
“Then why’d you say the kiss a mistake? Why’d you make me feel like I did something wrong?” Buck asks. There’s no malice behind his words.
“I was…I was terrified of what it meant,” Eddie admits. “I spent all day trying to figure out what to say to you. I even worked out a speech. It was a shitty speech, but I still have some things I need to say. If you need to kick me out after, I’ll understand.”
Buck raises an eyebrow, then nods for Eddie to continue. It’s strange to see him this quiet.
Eddie takes a breath. “Being– being gay was something I grew up thinking was wrong. I grew out of that mindset, and you know I love you, Hen, Karen, Ravi, everyone, but it’s different when it’s me. I—I didn’t know I was allowed to feel this way. It feels so heavy because it made me feel good.
Buck crosses his arms and waits. Not threatening, just patient.
“I spent the whole day panicking because I wondered if everyone could tell. If they knew that you and I– that we kissed. If they knew that I was gay,” Eddie realizes he’s shaking.
Buck drops his arms, crossing the gap and holding him tight. They stand there for a moment, Eddie letting his emotions all come to the surface while Buck comforts him, warm and solid. He sobs into Buck’s chest as it all bubbles to the surface. He’s never said the words to another person before. Another person that can hear and respond back, anyway.
Eddie knows that Buck’s shirt is probably ruined from all the tears and snot. He’s not sure he’s ever let himself go like this, not since the night Buck found him with the baseball bat. It feels different now, fully letting himself be the recipient of such care. Touch has always been something he’s craved but never allowed himself to have, limiting everything as much as he could while still making it through.
“Thank you for telling me. You don’t have to carry this alone, Eddie,” Buck promises into Eddie’s shoulder, a little muffled. “I— I shouldn’t have said the stuff I said to you last night. I should have realized.”
“I’m a mess, Buck. You don’t need to apologize for calling me out on my bullshit. I hurt you. I made you feel bad.” Eddie hates how vulnerable he sounds, less like a man and more like a scared kid.
“You don’t think I’m a mess, too? I hurt the people I care about sometimes, too. It doesn’t make me a bad person. It doesn’t make you a bad person, either.” Buck moves back a little, still holding Eddie, but standing just close enough that Eddie has to tilt his head up a little to meet his gaze. “We said we’d have each other’s backs. Part of having your back means I’m here for you with whatever you need. I know what I want, and that’s every part of you, messed up or not.”
“Me, though?” Eddie asks, like it’s some unfathomable thing.
“Of course I do,” Buck says softly. “It’s always been you.”
“Are you sure, though? I don’t think I’m ready to come out to everyone. Not yet,” Eddie admits, feeling the nervousness creep back in. “I don’t want you to have to hide this, us, from everyone. If you want someone else you can be open with, I’ll understand. I don’t want you to be someone you’re not just for me.”
Buck blinks. “Eddie. I said I know what I want, right? I don’t care if you never come out. I’d be happy just being here with you. Just the moments in private would be enough for me because I’d get to spend them with you. You’ll always be enough for me.”
He leans in. Eddie lets himself be kissed, feeling hot tears drip down his cheeks. He thinks he’s been waiting to hear those words his whole life, even if he didn’t know until now. Eddie Diaz, imperfect, with a history of mistakes, is enough for someone. It’s like he’s able to breathe properly for the first time.
When he tells everyone at the one-eighteen, there’s no I told you sos or teasing. It’s just pure acceptance, though there are smiles as he entwines his hand with Buck’s. He still isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but what they have is theirs.