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Eddie starts noticing it in the spaces between things. It's not all at once, but in pieces. It's a gradual understanding of the change.
You wouldn't know unless you were looking for it, but Buck had changed. Not in the way Buck laughs or carries himself or interacts with his family and friends. because Buck still laughs the same, loud and bright and impossible to miss and he still wraps his family in the purest form of joy. He still does his job with accuracy and compassion. But Eddie can see the change in subtle, less obvious ways. It's in the way he pulls himself back after he's been loud for a little too long, like he’s embarrassed by the sound. It's in the way his hands twitch at Eddie’s sleeve and then retreat. It's even in the way he angles his body just slightly away whenever Eddie is near, as if proximity itself had become something risky. Something that wasn't worth it.
They’re careful now.
Careful in the station. Careful at family dinners. Careful even in Eddie’s own house, their voices lowered instinctively and touches brief, trying to be overly platonic. Eddie hadn’t thought it would feel like this when they finally crossed the line. Like constantly holding something fragile and pretending it isn’t there teetering on the edge constantly. But that's how it's worked itself out. It was the agreement they came to together.
At first, the secrecy felt almost sacred. Something just for them. A quiet thing that belonged only in late nights under cover of darkness and behind closed doors. Eddie had told himself it was easier this way. Safer. That if they didn't want anyone messing in a new, fragile relationship, hiding it was the only option. And Buck had agreed. Neither of them were ready for everyone to know. They just needed a little more time.
But Buck is not built for shrinking. He's not built to be shy or to hold himself back.
Eddie sees it most clearly one night when they’re sitting on the couch after dinner, Chris already asleep down the hall. The TV hums softly, some mindless rerun Buck picked without caring what it was. His knee bounces as he stares ahead, hands restless in his lap.
Eddie reaches over, fingers brushing Buck’s knuckles, wanting to thread their fingers together, give them a moment. Buck stills instantly, and instead of leaning into the touch, he glances toward the hallway, then the front door, and his shoulder tightens, fingers flexing nervously as he refuses to reach forward.
Eddie pulls his hand back. It shouldn't hurt. But it does. He can't help the way that it hits him, a rejection that he feels down in the pit of his stomach.
It's a few minutes before Buck finally speaks. His voice is quiet and thoughtful in a way that Eddie doesn't hear often.
“I think the thing I miss most,” Buck says, staring at the TV screen as it darkens between episodes, “is just being able to exist with you.”
“What do you mean?”
Buck huffs out a soft, humorless laugh. “I mean… I feel like I’m always on. Like I’m constantly checking myself. Watching my tone. Watching my hands. Watching my face.” He swallows. “I miss not thinking about it. About getting to be around you without worrying about…” he trails off slightly, waving a hand between them.
“I just want to be able to live with you for a minute,” Buck continues, voice rougher now, almost like he's holding back tears. “Without overthinking whether someone’s going to notice the difference. Because everything feels different. And I’m scared someone’s going to see that before I’m ready. Before we're ready.”
Eddie doesn’t interrupt. He lets Buck say it all, even when the words start to blend together, Buck tripping over himself as he speaks.
“I don’t regret us,” he says quickly, as if that even needs to be said. “God, I don’t. I just– I’m–I'm so tired, Eddie. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want to touch you.”
Eddie feels something settle in his bones. A concern that he isn't sure how to fix. But he makes a decision without thinking. There's not much he can do, but he knows he can do this.
“Pack a bag.”
Buck blinks. “What?”
“We’re leaving Friday morning,” Eddie says. “I already have the time off with my Kelly days and Chris will be at Trevor’s on Friday before going to hang out with Adrianna’s kids the rest of the time. So, I’m taking you somewhere.”
Buck searches his face, like he's looking for any signs that this is a joke, that Eddie doesn't truly understand him. He finds nothing but earnestness. “You’re serious.”
“I want you to be able to breathe.”
Buck’s expression crumples into something dangerously close to overwhelmed. He laughs softly, eyes shining as he blinks back the moisture that starts to collect in his eyelashes. “Okay,” he whispers as he leans into Eddie's side, head resting on his shoulder as if it were made to fit there.
“Okay.”
—--
The drive is quiet in the best way.
Buck has the window cracked with his elbow resting against the door, curls golden in the sunshine and already mussed by the breeze as they drive. Eddie watches him from the corner of his eye, the way his posture loosens the farther they get from the city. The way his shoulders drop as the air shifts and the smell of salt creeps in. The way he reaches for Eddie instead of pulling back as he basks in the sunshine and safety within their insulated bubble.
It takes a while, but when Buck realizes where they’re headed, he goes still.
“No way,” he says, craning forward as the horizon opens up. “Eddie–”
Eddie can't help it, he smiles. “Surprise.”
Buck laughs, bright and disbelieving as he extracts his hand from Eddie's to lean out the window, taking in the beach smell and letting the sandy wind embrace him
“You’re ridiculous,” but there's no heat behind the words, only an overbearing feeling of fondness.
The place Eddie booked is small and quiet, tucked away from the busier stretches of beach. The room is warm with afternoon light, windows thrown open to the sound of waves rolling in steady and endless. It smells exactly like Eddie's thought it would, salt and sea mixed with something woodsy like sage. The places was marketed as a bungalow perfect for a romantic beach getaway and Eddie can see why. It's a small place, obviously built only for two, and it feels like the rest of the world doesn't exist, like this is the only space in the planet where it's just them, no one else. And he loves that feeling. He knows that Buck does too.
The door clicks shut behind them, loud in the silence, and Buck exhales deeply, almost like this is the first time he's been able to properly breath in weeks, maybe even months.
“Oh,” he says softly as he looks around for the first time.
Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just watches as Buck turns in a slow circle, taking it all in, hands loose at his sides as face open. His posture relaxes with each swivel of his head and Eddie can't help but smile at it.
“This feels unreal,” Buck murmurs.
Eddie takes a step closer, reaches for him. “It’s just us.”
Buck turns toward him, eyes searching, and for the first time in months, there’s no hesitation when Eddie cups his face and kisses him. He melts into it immediately, gasping into Eddie's mouth as they kiss in a gentle and unhurried way. Buck's fingers flex against where they sit at his sides before they slide into Eddie's hoodie, curling tightly into the fabric, as if he needs the contact in order to stay upright.
When they pull apart, Buck laughs breathlessly. “Already worth the drive.”
—--
The weekend stretches out around them like a held breath finally released. It's slow and syrupy and they decide to use the time to be together in all the ways they can't in their daily lives.
They walk the beach barefoot, sand cool beneath their feet, and Buck’s laughter carried off by the wind as cold water licks at the ankles and calves. They eat fish tacos on the tailgate of Eddie’s truck and watch the sun sink low and orange into the water. They kiss on a walk around town, fingers interlaced as they wander in and out of little touristy ships, sunglasses balanced on their faces and sun kissed skin glowing under the fluorescent lighting. They talk too. About work, about Christopher, about nothing important and all the things that matter in the same conversations.
Buck doesn’t pull away once.
He leans into Eddie openly, fingers lacing together, shoulder pressing into Eddie’s side as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe here, it is. Maybe it could be at home too. One day when they're ready, Eddie looks forward to the way it'll feel. To the way this freedom won't be just for secret moments where they press heated promises into each other's skin, but for their whole lives.
That night, they sit on the patio in beach chairs pushed together and wrapped in a thin blanket, the ocean humming across from them, dark waves illuminated by pale, silvery moonlight. Buck’s head rests against Eddie’s shoulder, breath warm against his neck and fingertips ghosting lightly over the sharp ink lines etched into the curve of his bicep.
“I forgot what it feels like to not be afraid of wanting,” Buck says quietly, words almost swallowed by the sounds of the ocean. But Eddie hears it. Because he always does. Because he's always listening to Buck, wanting to know his thoughts, his opinions, his dreams and wishes. He could listen to Buck talk for hours if it just meant getting to hear his voice.
Eddie tilts his head, resting his cheek against Buck’s hair. “You don’t have to forget again.”
Buck turns, eyes soft and earnest. “You promise?”
Eddie kisses him gently. “Yeah. I promise.”
Later, inside, the room is dim and hushed with moonlight spilling across the bed in silver bands. The air feels heavy, charged, like everything has slowed just enough for them to notice.
Buck kicks off his shoes in the corner, then pauses, suddenly shy. Eddie catches the flicker of uncertainty and steps closer, hands warm and steady at Buck’s waist.
“There’s no rush,” Eddie murmurs.
Buck nods. “I know.”
He leans in. This kiss is different. Slower and deeper, built on the intimacy of the day. Buck’s mouth is warm and soft, opening under Eddie’s in a way that feels trusting and deliberate. Eddie kisses him like he has nowhere else to be, like time has stretched wide and forgiving around them.
They've been having sex for months now. It's been heady and hazy, rushed moments when Chris isn't around and they don't have to worry about their family or friends possibly barging in. It's been a night or two of them alone, but mostly stolen moments late at night on Eddie's couch, with hands thrown over their mouths to muffle the sounds, or quick, slick, roaming hands in a shared shower before Chim sends someone to find them for some type of cleaning duty that just has to get done. It's even been something ridiculous and teenage-like in the back of Buck's truck, Eddie's back pushed against the cold metal as his eyes roll back. It's been…good. Great even. Eddie's never felt so alive. But it hasn't been this. It hasn't been slow and savored, intimate in a way that they can only be with each other, in a way that screams love instead of just lust. That says forever instead of one night that could be ripped away.
Buck makes a low sound, barely more than breath, and presses closer; until they're chest to chest. His hands slide up Eddie’s arms, lingering, learning, fingers dragging slowly as if mapping something familiar and new all at once.
Eddie’s head feels light. The room blurs at the edges.
He trails his mouth along Buck’s jaw, down to his neck, kissing slow and open, feeling Buck shiver beneath him. Buck tilts his head back instinctively, giving Eddie access, breathing going shallow. He mouths at the sensitive skin of Buck's collar bone, leaving a small mark that he isn't worried about anyone else seeing, there's still a day or two for it to fade. His hands wander, slipping beneath layers, fingertips grazing against heat and flesh.
“Eddie,” Buck murmurs, not asking for anything, just saying his name. Letting the word dance on his tongue like some kind of prayer that he knows will be answered.
Eddie kisses him again, deeper now, their mouths moving together in a lazy, all consuming rhythm. Buck’s hands slide to Eddie’s hips, gripping tightly like he’s afraid he might float away if he doesn't. And Eddie moves his sweatpants just enough that Buck's fingers dig into his flesh, forcing the hope of bruises Eddie wishes he doesn't have to hide.
They don’t rush. They sway slightly, like the ocean outside has seeped into their bones. Every touch feels heightened. Hands warm through fabric, breath mingling, lips slow and intent.
When they finally do pull apart, Buck’s eyes are dark and unfocused, mouth swollen and flushed pink, wet with shared saliva.
He laughs softly, a little dazed as his tongue darts out from between his lips.
“Wow. Okay…”
Eddie smiles, forehead resting against his, taking it all in. The yearning, the want, the ability to give and take in equal, sacred measure that doesn't have to be rushed or hidden for what feels like the first time. “Yeah.”
They crawl into bed and tangle together almost immediately, Buck tucked close to his chest and their legs entwined. Eddie presses a lingering kiss to Buck’s temple over his birthmark, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth again, just because he can. Because it's just them and their warmth and what they are nestled into a truly, wholly, private moment they'll never have to share.
Buck hums contentedly, already drifting. “This,” he murmurs sleepily, “this is what I was missing.”
Eddie holds him tighter, listening to the waves crash endlessly outside.
No hiding. No pretending.
Just them.
And he knows one day, maybe soon. They'll be ready.