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“I’m not in love with Eddie!” is the first thing Eddie hears on a Friday morning that was otherwise brilliant, sunny skies and all. Five words that are said so fucking loudly that the entire bloody firehouse seems to be echoing with it, like the words are carving themselves into the walls.
Eddie drops the bag of croissants from Buck’s favorite bakery onto the floor with a dull thud, body frozen in shock.
Buck’s back is to him, and he’s waving his arms about wildly—making his point very, very clearly to Chim and Ravi who are staring at Eddie over Buck’s shoulder like they’ve seen a ghost.
“I have been saying for months,” Buck stresses, and he points his finger accusingly at Chim. “To you and to Maddie and to fucking Tommy, I am not in love with Eddie! I am not secretly pining for him like—like I’m in some sort of a badly written tragedy!”
“Buck,” Ravi tries, horrified as he stares at Eddie. “Buck, Eddie’s—”
“Eddie is not my type!” Buck howls, and well—
That’s. Well. That’s something, huh?
Eddie clears his throat. Chimney hides his face in his palms, groaning, and Ravi looks as pale as a fucking ghost. Buck’s neck goes scarlet in the blink of a second, and he turns around slowly, so slowly, horrified.
“I bought croissants,” Eddie says weakly, and then flees the fucking scene.
When Eddie woke up this fine Friday morning he did not think he was going to have an existential crisis in the supply closet of the firehouse, but—here he is, cross–legged on the floor with his head in his hands, surrounded by mops and buckets and cleaning liquid, trying desperately to think of anything other than—one, the fact that Buck is not in love with him, and two, Eddie Diaz is not Buck’s type.
Oh and three, that Buck’s apparently been telling everyone in LA that he’s not in love with Eddie. Eddie’s still fucking baffled why Tommy, fucking Tommy of all people made that list, but—
Buck’s not in love with Eddie.
Distantly, in the part of his mind that is not overrun with a bunch of mini–Eddie’s screaming their heads off like their asses are on fire—Distantly, Eddie can agree that this is not a bad thing. That it is perfectly normal that his best friend, who is in his fucking will by the way, is not in love with him. That is normal. That is perfectly fucking normal and a part of Eddie is—or should be fine with it, and go about his day, but to the bigger part of Eddie—the part that’s calling all the shots right now—this is the worst day of his life, and this is his worst nightmare.
Buck’s not in love with him.
Sure. Why the fuck not. Buck likes men and he does not like Eddie, and he fucking liked Tommy, and this should not feel like a betrayal, but it does. Oh God, it does.
It’s just—Buck sounded so convinced, like him not being in love with Eddie was an absolute truth with no place for doubt, not even the slightest inkling of it— and there’s probably a piece of paper somewhere that says ‘Evan Buckley is not in love with Eddie Diaz,’ signed and notarised with a big fat red seal and Buck’s signature underneath it—that’s how sure Buck had sounded.
Why doesn’t Buck love Eddie?
Eddie groans when the thought sprouts in his mind and immediately takes root. He scrubs at his face and shakes his head like he can get the thought to fucking remove itself from existense—but no, all he can think about is why, why in the everloving fuck does Buck not love him back?
Eddie’s a nice guy, he’s pretty sure. He’s not that bad looking either, he looks pretty decent he thinks, surely fucking better looking than Tommy, which is petty and insane—he’s not comparing himself to Tommy. He has nothing to prove when it comes to Tommy fucking Kinard, who didn’t even know Buck hated mushrooms. Everyone knows Buck hates mushrooms!
He bats away the thought of Tommy with a mental broomstick, thwacking Buck’s ex-boyfriend as hard as he possibly can on the face. Eddie is not going to think about how stupidly satisfied that leaves him, no sir. Eddie’s going to be normal about this. Eddie’s going to be normal about Buck. Eddie’s a normal person.
Eddie’s a normal person—he’s got a normal job and he’s got a kid that Buck loves, and he has a house that Buck spends three nights a week in, so why is Buck so sure that he doesn’t love Eddie? And why has he been going around telling people that?
Horrifyingly, Eddie’s eyes burn.
His best friend’s not in love with him, and Eddie is feeling everything he should not be feeling at the realisation, and he’s going haywire. His body is shutting down and his brain is the equivalent to a house on fire, and Eddie’s—
Well, it doesn’t matter what Eddie is, does it? Buck’s not in love with him.
Fuck.
Eddie does crawl out of the closet—the physical closet, not the metaphorical one, that makes no sense, Eddie’s not in the closet, he’s—
He’s going insane, is what he is. The alarm rang a minute ago and now they’re all piled into the truck, and holy shit, Eddie did not realise how small the truck is. Has it always been this tiny? Buck’s thigh against his feels like a blazing inferno, and every time their shoulders bump Eddie has to fight the urge to jump half a foot in the air. Eddie’s going to send a strongly worded letter to the fire department—or the fire chief, and maybe the mayor while he’s at it—surely they deserve bigger firetrucks?
Normal. He’s being normal.
He’s looking anywhere but at Buck, which is normal!
Buck’s rigid next to him, staring out the window like he’s going to spot a unicorn in the middle of LA’s busy streets. His neck is craned in an angle that’s going to be painful later and Eddie wants to tell him to cut it out, but he can’t, because he’s not looking at Buck—he’s staring at Ravi’s helmet furiously, avoiding Ravi’s eyes. And Hen’s. And Chim’s. And Buck’s, even though Buck isn’t looking at him anymore.
Eddie’s fine. He’s just a normal guy with a normal job with a normal best friend who isn’t in love with him. He’s fine.
It’s all deeply fine.
Eddie’s mood only worsens when they get back from the call, exacerbated by the fact that Buck also seems to be avoiding him.
Isn’t that stellar?
Chimney’s been watching this entire thing go down anxiously, biting his nails bloody. Eddie would tell him to stop if he were a better man, but he’s not, no—he’s just someone Buck’s not in love with. Chimney can bite his nails all he wants.
Buck announced to everyone that he was not in love with Eddie exactly three hours and seventeen minutes ago, and Eddie has gone through every single emotion on the human spectrum since. Maybe even some ones previously undiscovered to man.
Eddie’s—offended. That’s all. He’s petty and weak and selfish and he’s offended that Buck’s not in love with him, because he’s a catch. Even Abuela thinks so, and Abuela’s never wrong! That’s all there is to it, nothing else. He’s offended.
He’s offended that he’s not Buck’s type, which is a reasonable thing to be offended by. He’s not heartbroken, because that would be insane, and Eddie Diaz does not do insane, he is rational to a fucking fault—Eddie’s not insane. Being heartbroken would imply that Eddie wanted Buck to be in love with him, or that Eddie is in love with him, and both are simply—not true.
Neither of those things are true, so why do they still leave a bitter taste in his mouth?
Turns out Eddie is going insane after all, because after four calls where he’s managed to avoid Buck in every way possible, things hit rock bottom. Eddie’s been shot and stabbed and dumped by three very beautiful women, but this is arguably the worst fucking day of his life.
“Can you pass the salt?” Buck asks him in a perfectly civil tone at lunch. They’re sat next to each other because of course they are—when are they over not—and the salt is to Eddie’s right, and unless Buck reached over him in a way that would put his chest right in front of Eddie’s face, he can’t get to the salt. And if it were any other day, Eddie would pass him the salt, but it’s not any other day, today’s the day Eddie found out Buck isn’t in love with him.
Maybe there was mold in that supply closet that altered his brain chemistry. That’s the only logical reason Eddie can think of, for why in the ever–loving fuck he says the words come out of his mouth next.
“No,” Eddie says hotly. “You’re not in love with me. Go find your own salt.”
Buck startles so hard his knee jerks up, bumping into the table with a loud thud. Chimney gasps and Hen drops her fork, and Ravi’s staring at the two of them wide–eyed, pasta half shovelled into his mouth.
Eddie focuses on his own plate, face flaming red. Buck’s gaping at him like a fish out of water, staring at Eddie in shock. Which—makes sense. Eddie thought they were going to take today to the grave and never ever talk about it ever again, start afresh tomorrow like nothing had ever happened, brush it off like it was something insignificant, but—
There’s that plan shot in the foot.
“I—” Buck says, cheeks pink. Eddie does not look at his pink cheeks or pink lips or his pink fucking birthmark, he doesn’t. He looks down at his plate at his pasta and focuses on not choking himself as he stuffs it into his mouth like it’s wronged him. “Eddie, pass the fucking salt.”
“Nope,” Eddie says, quite calmly considering the absolute chaos going on inside his head. He’s pissed off at the pasta, too—Buck cooked, and it’s fucking delicious as always. Fucking hell. “Shan’t.”
Buck squints at him. “Are you quoting The Devil Wears Prada at me right now?” He demands.
Damn this man to hell, honestly. How dare he. How dare he.
He knows Eddie better than anyone else on this planet and he is not in love with him, and isn’t that the worst betrayal of all? Eddie would never do that to him. Eddie would never tell him he’s not in love with him. He wouldn’t break Buck’s heart like that! Eddie would never not fall in love with him!
Wait, what?!
Alarm bells start ringing in his head, and everything comes to a screeching halt, right at the edge of a cliff, except Eddie’s already been pushed off the cliff by his traitorous mind, and he’s free–falling.
“No,” Eddie says, voice horrifyingly thick as realization trickles through his veins. Oh, god. Eddie would never not fall in love with Buck—Eddie’s already fucking fallen for Buck. Without—Without him even knowing about it. How the fuck—how the fuck did this happen?!
“Jesus Christ,” Buck hisses, bringing Eddie crashing back into the earth. “Eddie. What the fuck.”
“What?” Eddie says, raising his eyebrow. Brilliant performance by one Eddie Diaz, everybody—look at how normal he’s being when his insides are being scooped out by a razor blade and his throat feels like he’s fucking swallowing glass shards, and Buck’s is not in love with him, but Eddie is—God, he is.
“I’m gonna,” Chim announces, and then pushes his chair back with a loud screech. “We’re just gonna—bye,” he babbles, and drags Ravi up by the collar of his shirt and Hen by her arm, and they’re hauling ass, leaving the two of them—Buck who is not in love and Eddie who apparently is—all alone in the kitchen.
Buck swears colorfully, scrubbing his palms on his face. “Eddie. Come on, man. Don’t make this more mortifying than it already is.”
“Make what mortifying?” Eddie asks, sipping water. Where is all this calm exterior coming from? Eddie is having a fucking panic attack on the inside! Eddie is fucking hysterical on the inside! “The fact that you’re not in love with me, or the fact that you’ve been telling all of LA that?”
Buck’s face flames red. “Eddie,” he hisses, scandalised. “Keep your voice down!”
“You certainly weren’t,” Eddie says, sniffing. He twirls the pasta on his fork, staring down at it.
Yes, alright, he knows he’s being petty. And insane. You can’t really expect a man to act normal and rational when his mind is running a flashback reel of all the moments he fell in love with his best friend, can you? And Eddie realised not even one full minute ago. That’s less than sixty seconds.
Eddie’s dealing with it all rather well, all things considered. He’s handling this spectacularly.
“Eddie,” Buck groans, the tips of his ears flushed red. Eddie wants to bite. “Can we just—can we please pretend today never happened?”
“Why?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. “Didn’t want me to know you weren’t in love with me?”
“Eddie,” Buck chokes, and it has to be a medical emergency—how red his face is. “Eddie, Jesus Christ—”
“What, Buck?” Eddie taunts, turning to fully face him. There’s fire in his veins and he’s angry and offended and most of all he is in love, and his heart is breaking because Buck doesn’t love him back, and maybe—maybe someday Eddie can act normally about it all but today is absolutely not going to be that day. No, Eddie’s going to crash the fuck out, and he’s going out in a blaze of fury, common sense be damned.
Buck takes a deep breath. “Eddie,” he says in a voice that sounds like he very much wants to strangle him. “I am—Jesus—I really am sorry that you heard that, but—what are you mad about, man?” Buck splays his arms wide, almost thumping Eddie in the chest.
Don’t call me man, Eddie wants to scream.
“I don’t know,” Eddie says sarcastically, crossing his arms. “Maybe the fact that you aren’t in love with me?”
“Eddie,” Buck says, reeling back. “What—You’re not serious.”
Fuck, does he even realise how often he says Eddie’s name? How can he not be in love after all that?
No one says his name quite like Buck does. Eddie, two syllables, and Buck says it with his whole chest, and always like Eddie’s something precious, and he’s not in love with Eddie, which might be the cruelest thing that’s happened to Eddie in all his thirty–something years.
“Deadly,” Eddie says, because he’s dug himself deep down now—might as well go all out, right?
“You—what?” Buck squawks. “Eddie! You can’t be mad about that!”
“Why the fuck not?” Eddie demands hotly. “You saying you wouldn’t be mad if I said I wasn’t in love with you?”
Even saying the words feels like blasphemy of the worst sort. Eddie fights the urge to take it back, to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. Fucking Christ.
Buck’s face does something complicated, something Eddie can’t place. A million expressions fly across his face in the blink of a second, and the light in his eyes dims, just a bit.
“I wouldn’t,” Buck lies. Oh. Oh. “I would not be offended and I would pass you the salt.”
“Liar,” Eddie says, gears turning in his brain. Surely—But Buck said—
“I’m not,” Buck defends himself. “I’d—I’d be perfectly fine with it. And I know you’re not in love with me, so—why are we even having this conversation right now?!”
Five minutes ago, Eddie might’ve believed that to be true. Five minutes ago, Eddie Diaz did not know he was in love with Evan Buckley, but now he knows. He knows and there’s something blooming behind his ribs, behind all the ache—something that tells him maybe, just maybe Buck—
“You don’t know anything,” Eddie says, blinking rapidly. Buck’s lying to him—he’d be so fucking offended if Eddie said he wasn’t in love. Eddie knows he’d be offended—but Buck wouldn’t be offended unless, unless—
Unless he was feeling the exact same way Eddie’s feeling right now.
“You don’t know that I’m in love with you or not, no, you’ve just—you’ve just been going knocking on doors and telling everyone you’re not—”
“You’re straight,” Buck says hysterically, throwing his hands up in the air like he’s trying to remind Eddie. “And you’re a renter! Of course I’m not in love with you and you’re not in love with me!”
He—He’s lying. He’s lying about not being in love, and Eddie has truly, completely lost his fucking mind.
There’s nobody in the world who knows Eddie as well as Buck, but there’s no one who knows Buck as well as Eddie, either—and Eddie can tell when he’s lying from halfway across the country, and he can tell Buck’s lying right now. There’s that hitch in his breath and the scrunch of his nose and the way he won’t look at Eddie.
He’s lying, and—there’s only one fucking reason that Buck would lie about something like this, and maybe, just fucking maybe, the same reason he’s lying is the same reason that Eddie’s upset, and oh God—if Eddie gets this wrong, there is no coming back from this. There is absolutely no fucking coming back from this.
“Buck,” Eddie says, heart thundering. “Buck, what does me being a renter have anything to do with this?”
“You’re a renter,” Buck stresses, like he’s hammering the point home. “And we aren’t talking about me right now, we’re talking about you.”
“Same thing,” Eddie waves off, mind going a mile a minute. “And you’re still lying.”
“I’m not lying,” Buck stresses again, but his composure’s flaying apart, one loose thread at a time. “And you—you need to tell me why you’re actually mad, because there simply is no way that you’re mad about—about that.”
“You’re lying,” Eddie volleys back. “And why can’t I be mad about that, Buck?”
“Because!” Buck bursts out. “You can’t be mad about that!”
“Why?” Eddie pushes him again, off the fucking rails. God, he’s going to be fucking paying Frank’s bills for a decade after this.
“You’re a renter!” Buck howls, cheeks red. “You’ve got no fucking right to be mad about this! You should be happy about this!”
“What’s wrong with being a renter?! You fucking rent—”
“—I’ve got nothing to do with this conversation!—”
“You’ve got everything to do with this conversation! We’re talking about you not being in love with me!”
“And I’m not!” Buck says, but his voice—oh, his voice fully cracks. “I’m—” He blinks, and then blinks again, eyes filling with tears. “I’m—I’m not in love with you, alright? No matter what Maddie says, or—or what Tommy thinks, I’m—”
He’s still lying. Eddie knows he’s lying. He knows Buck.
“You’re still lying,” Eddie says, eyes wide. “Buck, you know I know you’re lying, just—just tell me, man—”
Buck’s face screws up, like he’s trying not to cry. “I can’t be in love with you,” he says, voice thick. He’s angry at Eddie. “I can’t.”
Eddie’s heart beats furiously in his chest, like it’s trying to claw out of his ribs and fall straight into Buck’s lap. “Why not?” Eddie asks, insides scooped raw.
“Don’t—” Buck inhales sharply, shaking all over.
“Buck,” Eddie says, wrecked. “Buck, are you—”
“Don’t,” Buck hides his face in his hands. His voice comes out muffled. “Don’t say it.”
“Are you in love with me,” Eddie asks, heart in his throat. It comes out more as a breathless statement than a question, and oh—
Buck makes a sound like someone’s gutted him. “Eddie,” he chokes on a strangled inhale.
Eddie blinks, staring at the face that he’s loved for years without even knowing. “Are—Are you in love with me,” he asks again, a breathless realisation.
“Eddie.”
“If—If you are in love with me, then—Buck, I really need you to—are you in love with me?”
“Eddie.”
“I think you’re in love with me,” Eddie says, frozen in shock—because an Eddie Diaz in love is a fearless Eddie Diaz, apparently.
Buck chokes. “You can’t just,” he peeks out at Eddie with one eye. “Eddie! You can’t just say that!”
“I can say what I want,” Eddie retorts. “And I think you are in love with me!”
“I’m gonna punch you in the mouth, I swear,” Buck pinches the bridge of his nose, face scarlet, but he doesn’t say no.
“You’re in love with me,” Eddie says, haltingly. “You’re in—love, with me, and you’ve—you’ve been going around telling people that you’re not? Buck—why?”
Buck doesn’t say anything, cheeks blazing pink, looking anywhere but at Eddie.
“Fine,” Eddie pivots, heart hammering. “Fucking—fine. Tell me why then.”
If Buck won’t admit it outright, then—then fine. Buck seems to be underestimating just how well Eddie knows him, and that’s fine. Eddie’s—Eddie’s going to catch him in the lie, because Buck’s lying.
“Tell you what?” Buck asks warily.
“Why you’re not in love with me,” Eddie replies, voice deceptively calm. “You already said I’m not your type, but I know you’re pickier than that, so. Let’s hear it.”
Buck’s eyes are all pupil right now, barely a hint of blue to be seen. “You’re—what?” Buck asks, baffled. “What?”
“Tell me,” Eddie says. “Why you’re not in love with me.”
“I’m not going to do that,” Buck shakes his head, staring at Eddie like he’s lost his goddamned mind. (Eddie has.) “What the hell?”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “If you’re—if you’re that sure you’re not in love with me, then you’ve definitely got a list. You’ve always got a list. Come on.”
“I—I don’t have a list,” Buck stammers, and Eddie can see him physically reeling from this conversation, like he’s been flung from one corner of the Earth to the other.
“Tell me,” Eddie says, refusing to back down. If Buck’s going to lie about this, then Eddie’s sure as hell going to make sure that he sees through.
“You’re insane,” Buck says, slowly. “You’re insane.”
“Tell me.”
“Oh my god. Oh my god, fine! You peel your apples!”
Eddie blinks.
Buck glares at him.
“I peel my apples,” Eddie repeats, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re not in love with me?”
Buck’s glare intensifies. “And you never water the plants.”
“I don’t water the plants.”
“And you’re repeating everything I’m saying right now!”
Eddie gapes at him. “I—” he starts, and then shuts his mouth. Leave it to Buck to surprise him, even now. “Sorry. Continue.”
“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever fucking done, by the way.”
“You ate cotton candy in nothing but your underwear for two days straight, Buck.”
“Eddie!”
“Sorry, sorry. Continue.”
Buck huffs. “You don’t like summer,” Buck starts ticking the reasons off on his fingers. “And you’ve never watched a single Marvel movie, and you blast music at six in the fucking morning and you—you play basketball.”
“Basketball?” Eddie protests, offended. “What’s wrong with basketball?!”
“You refuse to wear socks even when it’s freezing at night,” Buck glowers at him, on a fucking roll now. “You don’t like cheesecake, and you don’t like chocolate cake, and you hate sitting in the aisle seats literally anywhere we go and—”
“Buck—”
“And you down the coke in the fridge like it’s personally wronged you and do you know how many cans I have to buy every week just to make sure you don’t run out, Eddie? Do you? Maria probably thinks I’m running a shady business—she gave me a dirty look when I cleared out the entire shelf last time, Eddie! And you give me so much shit for my green grass smoothies!”
Eddie stares and stares at him, mouth open in shock.
“You. Keep. Wearing. My. Hoodies. And then you never give them back to me, either! All my hoodies are now at your house, man! I woke up freezing my ass off and I couldn’t find a single one in my closet, do you realise how insane that is? You stole my whole wardrobe! I got a cold!”
“Buck,” Eddie says softly, heart racing.
“You pretend you don’t find all the sitcoms I watch funny but you’re always smiling when you think I’m not looking and you eat my horrible cookies, Eddie. They taste so fucking bad, man, I made Chimney a batch of them and he spit it out right there. Jee-Yun cried. You made me think I was good at baking! You and Christopher both!”
“I like your cookies,” Eddie says honestly. I like you.
“That’s why!” Buck howls, flushed head to toe. “That’s why I don’t love you!”
Eddie—helpless—just grins at him, lopsided, because he knows.
“Buck,” he says, and thinks there’s nothing more he’d love than to just say his name for the rest of eternity. “Buck, those—those reasons sound an awful lot like reasons why you do love me, sweetheart.”
“What?” Buck doesn’t—squeak—but it’s very close to it.
“I said,” Eddie smiles at him, indulgent. He’s soaring through the clouds right now, because his best friend’s in love with him. “All that sounded like reasons why you’re in love with me.”
“Mm—mm,” Buck shakes his head. “Nope. No.”
“Who’re you trying to fool, Buck?” Eddie asks, so tender. He takes one brave step towards him, heart racing. There’s a flashback reel running through his head right now, and—and all Eddie can see is Buck, Buck, Buck. Buck, saving his son. Buck, saving Eddie. And most importantly—
Buck, loving Eddie.
There’s never been a thing he’s been successful at hiding from Eddie, and this one’s no exception. Eddie’s got him figured it out. Eddie knows him, front and back.
“I’m not in love with you,” Buck says again, weakly. His eyes are so, so blue. Depthless, like the ocean that Eddie’s come to love. “I’m—I’m not in love with you.”
“You’re in love with me,” Eddie murmurs, coming right up in Buck’s face. They’re standing so close now that Buck’s chest brushes up against his every time he breathes.
“You can’t decide that,” Buck says, lashes fluttering. He inhales sharply when Eddie’s hands come to lightly rest on his waist, a touch so featherlight it’s barely there. “Eddie.”
“I’m not deciding,” Eddie argues softly, blinking up at him. God, he’s so big. Eddie wants to bite him all over—and he’s going to, he decides—just as soon as they clear this up. “I know. I know you, Buck. You can’t hide from me.”
“I’m not,” Buck says, but his gaze flicks down, lingering on Eddie’s lips. There he is.
“You are,” Eddie says, and then—he doesn’t have to, but he gets up on his tiptoes anyway. “Which is good, because I’m in love with you.”
And before Buck can protest, he kisses the words right out of his mouth.
Eddie kisses him—and Buck gasps, eyes flying wide open. “Ed—” he tries to say, but Eddie tugs on Buck’s bottom lip with his teeth. Buck makes a shocked little noise, eyes fluttering closed.
“I love you,” Eddie whispers right into his waiting mouth, and Buck finally, finally gives up the pretence. His hands find Eddie’s waist in a bruising grip, and oh, fuck—
Buck walks them backward, pushes Eddie up against the wall with a wild look in his eye.
“Say that again,” he demands, and it’s like he doesn’t know where to look—his eyes are on Eddie’s lips and his face and—
“I love you,” Eddie says, breathless and grinning with it. Buck’s pupils flare, and he pushes Eddie into the wall harder. Eddie fights back a moan, biting his lip. “I love you. And you love me.”
Buck inhales sharply. “I—” he looks at Eddie, and then that last wall of defense splinters to nothing but dust. “Fuck,” he breathes out, shaky, and then presses their foreheads together. “Fuck. Eddie.”
“That’s me,” Eddie whispers, pressing his palm to the burning skin of Buck’s neck. Buck nuzzles into the touch, breathing hard. “Hi.”
“Eddie,” Buck says again. “Eddie. I’m—”
“I know,” Eddie says, softening. “Buck. I know.”
All the breath leaves Buck’s lungs, and he slumps forward into Eddie. Eddie pulls him closer, their hearts hammering against each other—trying to beat right out of their chests and become one.
“I love you,” Eddie says, and Buck kisses him before the words even leave his mouth. Really kisses him, like something out of a fairytale. Eddie smiles into the kiss, and it’s sweet, sweet victory.
“I love you,” Buck gasps into his mouth, or maybe it’s Eddie—he doesn’t know.
Lucky they’ve got the rest of their lives to figure it out, no?