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Karaoke was Chimney and Maddie’s thing.
Back when they were still denying their feelings, or trying to, anyway, the karaoke was their way of conveying underlying messages. It was Chim’s way to sing Don’t go breaking my heart to Maddie, and her of telling him I wouldn’t even if I tried.
It was Chim hiding behind lyrics and melodies and telling her he found peace unknown when he met her. And it was Maddie’s way of assuring him that she’s having the time of her life and it was all thanks to Chimney.
Buck was familiar with their encrypted conversations masked through microphones and gentle touches on stage, until they were both brave enough to tell each other what they really felt. Buck was too much of a third wheel both before and after they made it official, and the karaoke jams continued on.
It was their thing, and Buck never tried to get the mic. Except maybe one time (or twice, you’re bound to get up there if you’re here so often)—he was drunk and tired and admittedly maybe a little heartbroken. He can’t remember now if it was Ali, or Taylor, or the short moments he’d give in the heartbreak of remembering Abby. Before. That never happens now.
(Or maybe it’s the heartbreak of being perpetually in love with his best friend.)
(No one needs to know that.
Buck buries it.)
(But sometimes it does come out after six beers, a cocktail, and three shots. It comes out through Eye of the Tiger out of all songs. Or maybe it’s just the song number he has etched in his brain.
Or that one time, out of the two, that for some fucking reason, he started belting out Olivia Newton-John’s Hopelessly Devoted to you.)
(Yeah. Buck definitely doesn’t know where that last one came from. And he definitely made sure all evidence from that night was deleted, and he made both Maddie and Chim swear on everything they held dear that they would never tell another soul about it.
He made Maddie pinky swear, and extended the tradition to Chim who only really looked at both of them fondly as he clasped his pinky on their already hooked ones.
”Life would be boring without you, Buckleys.”)
So, when Chimney asks the 118 to go to Karaoke as another get together for their wedding. Nobody really bats an eye and everybody agrees.
He said, “It’s like the bachelor party, and bridal shower together?”
Buck raises his hand, and Chim addresses him with a nod of his chin and answers his unspoken question, “Yes. We’ll still have those separately. Josh and Linda already have something planned for Maddie which,” he squints his eyes at them, but Hen only laughs, “you guys also better be prepared!”
“Come on, Chim, you know us.”
Hen grins and Buck thinks, yes, he does know us, and he’s pretty sure no one’s hit him up with any plans yet. He needs to circle that back with Hen. He is, however, also involved in Maddie’s bridal shower planning. Josh asked him for some embarrassing photos which Buck was thankful that somehow he still has a few of them back before Maddie went away for nursing school.
And now, they were at the familiar karaoke bar, and some people smile their way because they know Maddie and Chimney, and by extension Buck.
And well, he was already nursing his second beer.
He makes a mental tally in his head. Four more beers, one cocktail, and three shots before the night would be over for him. Before he’s reaching for the mic and singing god knows what for everybody close to him to hear.
This time he thinks no pinky promise would let them forget what he’ll do.
And he thinks, this time it’ll be a different kind of heartbreak to be sung.
He looks a little to his left, just down the bar, maybe twenty feet away from their booth—there on the bar stool sat the most beautiful man Buck has ever had the honour to see. Chocolate hair tousled still damp from his shower back at the station, eyes light and hazel and glowing and decidedly not looking at Buck, and lips stretched over his face in a grin that was only permanently his.
(Or at least his in the way Buck would often delude himself.)
In front of him sat the most unexpected intruder.
Fine. Maybe not unexpected. And maybe not an intruder either. Chim did warn him, and if Buck was being honest with himself, Chim sounded a bit desperate and guilty and nervous when he told him.
(“Why?” His head snaps up to his to be brother-in-law.
Chimney grimaces, “Well—we are friends.”
Buck wanted to scoff and roll his eyes. Friends? They barely saw each other. That’s not how friends are, at least not in his books. And besides, it was just them, and a few guys from their shift. There was no need to invite him.
“And he did help us save Cap and Athena.”
And to that—Buck can’t really say anything because he did. And up till that point, he thought he might like the guy, might even make a friend out of him.
He sighs, turning away from Chimney in the comfort of the loft’s lounge chair, “I mean, fine. I don’t even know why you’re telling me.”
Buck thinks Chimney’s not being subtle when he whispers, barely, “Well, definitely not because of what happened in the basketball court.”
He turns to him, “You were saying?”
But Chim just grins and says, “Nothing! Okay? Cool! Thanks, Buck!”)
Chimney invited Tommy. Formally.
It was him who texted Tommy and asked him to be here. So, Buck doesn’t get why it’s Eddie that’s entertaining him there at the corner of the bar, drinking Buck’s favourite brand of beer while he laughs at whatever Eddie is saying.
Sure, Eddie is hilarious. And sometimes, he can be really funny without trying and that’s just his humour, and Buck would definitely laugh like that if he was there. But maybe just a tad bit less?
Tommy makes it look like Eddie just opened up his first comedy show and he was his first audience. Even Chimney isn’t that funny. And Chimney is a good laugh. Chimney can be a comedian if he wanted. Buck would support that. He’d laugh along with Maddie—maybe invite Eddie, too, who’ll only probably end up inviting Tommy fucking Kinard.
Buck breathes. Any train of thought leads to him chucking that ball over to Tommy, and slipping over to hit Eddie square on his cheek. He grimaces.
“Show good over there?” Hen slips next to him, taking the poor empty bottle he’s been gripping the last five minutes and replacing it with a new one.
Last three bottles of beer.
“Huh?”
“You were watching,” Hen grins, eyes flitting over to where Buck’s were just minutes ago, “not that you’re not allowed, I suppose.”
“I,” he takes a swig of the beer, already emptying half of it, “I wasn’t watching.”
“Well,” Hen sinks further down the couch, “I was.”
“You were?”
“Well, that, or the disaster that is Jones singing Shallow for the second time tonight.”
Jones is singing—
“And of course, can’t expect you to notice the commotion outside this very interesting turn of events,” Buck can see her smirking as she focuses al her attention there. He wonders if Eddie can feel the weight of their stares, or if he was so in tune with Tommy that everything just fades into static.
(That happens to Buck. That happens to Buck when he’s with Eddie. When his eyes fix on him and he can see his lips moving, or he can feel the weight of his attention on him, undivided and unfaltering—the rest of the world ceases. Everything falls away. All that matters in that moment—all that matters to Buck is Eddie.)
“What do you mean?”
Another swig. He gets another bottle from the bucket they have in front of him.
“I mean,” Hen motions slightly with her hands, barely noticeable by anyone else other than Buck who’s next to her, “who would have thought? Eddie and Tommy—” that just sounds so wrong to Buck, “would be the one to get close. Chim and I spoke about it before—we said, if Tommy stayed in the 118, you’d probably be friends with him.”
Buck scrunches up his nose. Never in a million years. Hen gives out a laugh, probably seeing the expression on his face.
“Hear me out,” she pleads, soft smile gracing her face in the dim lights, “you both love going to the gym, you’re both outdoor-sy—you like hiking and those things. He’d probably paraglide with you without you even asking—”
“I don’t want to paraglide.”
“I know you asked about prices after that one call we had—”
Buck chews at the inside of his cheek, “Was just curious.”
”Sure, Buck, sure,” he can hear the fond eye-roll she gives him, “let’s see what else? You both like video games, cycling, beers,” then she glances down at his bottle and the one Tommy was holding and Buck wanted to groan, “see! And both of you like Cap’s cooking—so he’d enjoy food. I think he also recently got into cooking. You’re so alike.”
“People can like the same things.”
“Duh,” there’s a tinge of annoyance in Hen’s voice now, and Buck has to be careful if he doesn’t want her to push, “just saying. Thought you’d be friends.”
And slowly, he finds himself saying, “Eddie likes those things, too.”
He glances at Hen who shrugs, “I think he enjoys a lot of it because of you.”
Hen doesn’t know it, of course she doesn’t, but it feels like she put a knife through his chest at the thought and kept on pushing pressure as slow realisations dawned on Buck.
Maybe he was so desperate to make a Buck shaped void in Eddie’s life that it was so easily filled by anyone who might be just like him.
It’s not like it’s hard. It’s not like they even had to try. Evan Buckley was easy to imitate, to replace, to push away to find someone even better. Maybe a version of him without all the baggage and abandonment issues.
Maybe a version of him with all the parts he thinks are tolerable, but magnified, and without all the pieces of him that he thinks are too much.
Maybe that’s Tommy.
Maybe Eddie has figured that out.
After all, he did push his hand away when Tommy came, and welcomed him wide smile and bright eyes like it was being fucking reunited with your long lost lover.
Buck felt like a puppy kicked to the curb, whimpering his owner’s name and licking his own wounds.
He finds his hands with a fresh bottle of beer, and he swears he was just finishing his last one. He looks at Hen as he raises his bottle, “How many have I had?”
She shrugs, “Sorry, Buck, I don’t know—you kept grabbing and I just kept giving you.”
Fuck.
Hen looks at him a beat too long before she’s moving closer again and keeping her voice down in a whisper even though he doubts anybody could hear because Chimney was dedicating Can’t Help Falling In Love to Maddie.
“So, tell me, what is actually going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t what do you mean me, Buckley. Did he do something? Did he say something? Tommy has a history of being an asshole, but I’ve chucked most of that in his internalised homophobia. Not that it’s an excuse, but he sure has changed since he figured out—”
“Internalised homophobia?”
“Yeah. Voice of your parents in your head, or your church, or whoever’s, telling you being gay is wrong,” Hen was moving too fast with her hands and Buck thinks he definitely had enough beers.
“I know what it means, Hen,” he washes his hand through his face and he remembers that afternoon being drunk with Hen, and he hates himself he can’t even enjoy this because of a gnawing at his chest, “just—Tommy’s gay?”
“As fuck.”
Fuck.
He looks back at Tommy and Eddie and sees the way his body is leaning forward facing Eddie, and can see his arms extending on the counter, and follows the gaze of his eyes and fuck of course.
And another wave of nausea hits Buck and he’s afraid to stand up, scared that the fifty year old building would crumble under him.
It’s one thing to want to steal his best friend. It’s one thing to even think about sharing that godforsaken label with anybody else. Let alone somebody taking it completely.
And even with that, Buck has spiralled and went into places he hasn’t visited since he was a child wanting just a sliver of attention from his parents. Since he was a kid in elementary school begging to be picked first at dodgeball. Since he worked his ass off during high school to finally be included, and worked some more because his coach loved to bench him.
Being Eddie’s best friend has provided him a space to be who he is. Where he isn’t too much and not enough. Where he just tries to be Buck, and Eddie accepts him, and sometimes, Buck can even confidently say, Eddie wants him there just as much as Buck wants to be there.
Being Eddie’s best friend meant something more to Buck. It was a feeling, a place, a home. It meant he was free to come home to Eddie and Christopher and they would welcome him with open arms.
So, when Eddie started hanging out with Tommy—of course, it was fine. Buck wasn’t delusional enough to stop him from that. When it started to get frequent, and when it lapsed over days that Buck has labeled as his own, and when Eddie can’t seem to shut up about him—
Of course, Buck was jealous.
Of course, he wanted to punch the living daylights out of Tommy.
Of course, he didn’t say anything.
Because what would you say to that?
Eddie, just to let you know, I am rotting in jealousy and my insides feel like they’re being lit up in fire and lava is flowing in my chest and there is not enough air to breathe. And I need you to stop hanging out with Tommy.
Yeah. Buck doesn’t know, either.
But now? Now that there is a possibility Tommy was feeling what Buck had coursing through his veins for years now. When there was a possibility he sees Eddie in the same light Buck does, eyes glowing and warm—Buck feels like a fire engine is pressing into his ribcage and the hand that held him is no longer there to tell him everything was going to be okay.
(He itches to tell Hen, to present her with this and say, pointing and laughing, “Oh look! Another thing we have in common.”)
And Eddie seems keen, Eddie seems happy, Eddie has just broken up with his girlfriend and he was over there more than twenty feet away from Buck laughing at some fucking story Tommy was saying.
“That’s your third, by the way,” Hen points to his bottle breaking him out of his daze. He looks down.
“Third since when?”
“Third since you asked me and I told you I didn’t know.”
Buck just groans. Probably best. He doesn’t know how many he’s had.
“Shots for everybody!” Chimney shouts in front, holding two bottles of Cuervo, his mouth in the biggest grin Buck has ever seen on him.
Maddie gets to their table and pours them two shots each, she bops Buck’s nose, cheeks red from the alcohol and the heat from this place, “Soon to be groom’s orders, drink up, guys,” then she yells at the bar, “Eddie! Tommy! Come take your shots here.”
And Buck has to remind himself he loves his sister and that he would give her the world if she asked, but another version of his world is walking towards him shoulder to shoulder with some other guy and Buck downs the two shots in front of him before they can get to the table.
“The Buckleys definitely have strong alcohol tolerance,” Eddie grins at Maddie, but eyes the two shot glasses Buck just put down.
“Don’t I know it,” Maddie smiles at him, but also glances down at her brother as she fills up more shot glasses for them. She slides one to Buck and kisses his birthmark as she whispers, “Last shot.”
He grins up at her, flimsy at all the sides of his lips, barely even holding up on his mouth as they all clinked their shots together: Hen, him, Eddie, Tommy, and a running Chim trying to get in their cheering.
“Let’s go, 118!” Chimney grins.
And Buck has to dig his nails on his palm to stop himself from saying they weren’t all from the 118 as his eyes fixed on Tommy.
Maddie smiles at her fiancee as she drags him away to go to the other tables. In their absence, Bobby pulls up a chair beside them.
“Where have you been all night?” Eddie asks, light and happy and radiant and Buck aches with it because how can he sound like that when Buck is sitting here miserable and sad and on the verge of throwing anything, something at the smug look on Tommy’s face.
“Could ask you the same thing,” Bobby grins and places his club soda down, “all I can see is these two,” he points to Buck and Hen, “and all I can hear is Jones singing whatever he wants.”
Tommy motions with his head to the bar, and has the nerve to smile sheepishly—who the fuck does he think he is? A seventeen year old with a crush? Buck reaches for another beer.
“Sorry, hauled him up over there and bored him with war stories.”
Right. A soldier like Eddie. Something that he wasn’t like Buck, and something he was like Eddie.
“Hey,” and Eddie bumps his arms to Tommy’s and Buck is just invisible and sinking and he thinks the couch can swallow him whole and Eddie won’t notice.
He says it in that assuring Eddie way. He says in that tone that Buck hears in his sleep. He says in that tone that has slowly replaced Buck’s own voice sometimes in his head.
That was Buck’s and now Tommy has tainted his name all over it.
And the next thing out of Bobby’s mouth has Buck standing up and excusing himself. To Eddie and Tommy he says, right in front of him,
“I knew you two would hit it off.”
As if he didn’t say that exact same thing to Buck. As if he didn’t make it feel like it was some great comic miracle that he suddenly had an Eddie shaped void in his life.
The problem is, Buck’s void in his life can be filtered out and filled by anybody as seen in this exchange.
But the Eddie shaped void beating in his heart right now? Like a black hole sucking everything in its vicinity? Taking apart all the galaxies that they’ve built, all the planets he thought was only theirs?
Hen probably feels something is wrong, if she hasn’t figured it out yet because her gaze follows him and he orders a cocktail at the bar and downs it in an instant because he just needs something sweet to chase all the blood and iron and bitterness this evening is leaving in his mouth.
And as he licks up the last drop of his cocktail he realises; oh shit.
Maybe it was just conditioning. Maybe he just has it all in his head. He’s sure he’s had more than six beers tonight, if anything it should have kicked in a while ago. But it was happening now and Chimney looks excited and alarmed and very scared as he approaches him.
“Are you okay, Buck?”
“Chim, can I have the book—or, enter this song.”
“Buck…”
Then Maddie is there, hand on his back, “Hey, you wanna sit down?”
“I want to sing.”
As he says it, he swears he can suddenly feel the numbness in his hands, and the way half of his face also numbs from the alcohol and how warm it was and how droopy his eyelids have been, but his right hand is firm on the microphone and the stage sways but Chimney helps him up.
He can hear them whisper,
“Maddie, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“And you think I do? But what can we do?”
Buck doesn’t care. He’s going to sing. In front of his family, in front of his friends, in front of his station, in front of Tommy fucking Kinard.
In front of Eddie Diaz, love of his fucking wasted life!
Chim looks up at him, “What was your song again, Buck?”
And he almost staggers forward off the stage, but Chim holds him and so does Maddie and he swears he sees Eddie stand up from the booth, but he can’t be too sure because his vision is blurry and there’s a light up ahead and he’s sure Tommy is sinking his claws at him and he probably can’t get up.
Chim looks like he’s feeling pity as he says, “Are you sure?”
Buck nods, determined.
And the familiar tune plays and people start hollering and Buck almost preens on stage because look, he might be shy with karaoke, but he still loves attention.
“Let’s go, Buckley!”
“Wooh, Buck!”
“Bucklor Swift!”
“Isn’t his ex’s name Taylor?”
”You’re on the phone with your girlfriend, she’s upset. She’s going off about something that you said cause she doesn’t get your humour like I doooo!”
His eyes try to squint through the spotlight, his hands actually try to swat at the light to move it away so he can see their table properly.
Bobby has his phone out from what he can make out of it, and Hen is biting her lips. Eddie is Eddie, and Tommy is just well, there. Buck glares at him, and somebody from the crowd cheers.
“And he’ll never know your story like I do!”
Chim is talking to Maddie, a palm on his face and there’s more people joining him and he’s sure Taylor Swift is going to sue him the way he was butchering her song;
“Cause she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts—he’s plane captain and I’m on the fire house! Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find that what you’re looking for has been here the whole t-ta-time!”
Buck is actually jumping on stage and he’s dancing and he’s pointing and he doesn’t know where his aims go, but he certainly knows where he wants it to go.
“If you could see that I’m the one who understands you! Been here all along so why can’t you se-heee? You belong with me-hee! You belong with me!”
Buck pretends he has an air guitar and the crowd goads him on and he swats at the lights again because the only clear table not visible to him is their table, and FUCK! He wants to see his face.
He tries to get down, but Chim pushes him back up, “Slow down, pop star, singer stays on stage.”
He groans but gets back to it, “Your worn out jeans,” he has one particular in mind, “I can’t help thinking this is how it ought to be! Laughing on a park bench thinking to myself hey isn’t this easy-sy!”
And not for the first time, his voice turns soft and weak and fragile as he sings the next lines, “And you’ve got a smile that could light up this whole town, I haven’t seen it in a while since I brought you down. You say you’re fine, I know you better than that. Hey, what you doing with a boy like that?”
Buck wants to suddenly erase the lyrics and turn the stage to one of the spoken word poetries he’s asked Eddie before to come and see, and when he saw a tear fall from the corner of his eye when they did watch.
And for a second he just wanted to confess, to lay his heart out on stage, to put Tommy to the stake never to be seen again.
But the music still fills the air and he continues, “He wears bo-oo-oots, I wear sneakers. He’s plane captain, and I’m on the bleachers! Dreaming ‘bout the day when you wake up and find that what you’re looking for has been here the whole time! If you could see that I’m the one who understands you. Been here all along, so why can’t you see-hee? You belong with me! Standing by and waiting at your front door. All this time how could you not know, Eddie?”
And his see of fans have died down, with only barely three of them singing along.
Because if he hasn’t been giving it away, somebody can shoot him with an arrow to his chest and he will dissolve right here and now. But his system is full of alcohol and he really doesn’t care right now, not when the song’s still not over.
”Oh I remember driving to your house in the middle of the night. I’m the one who makes you laugh when you know you’re ‘bout to cry. I know your favourite songs and you tell me ‘bout your dreams! Think I know where you belong! Think I know it’s with me-hee!”
He clutches the mic to his chest as tears suddenly fill his eyes and he sings or recites, there’s not much note change in his voice anyway,
“Can’t you see that I’m the one who understands you? Been here all along, so why can’t you see? You belong with me. Standing by and waiting at your front door. All this time, how could you not know, baby? You belong with me. You belong with me. Have you ever thought just maybe, you belong with me?”
And Buck doesn’t know if he’s able to sing the last line because before he knows it, he’s tripping over the cord trying to get down and get to Eddie, and everything turns black.
Mornings hate Buck, apparently.
Mornings hate him because he can feel a buzzing in his left ear, and the sun too hot in his face, and he’s sure he put his blinds down last night—
Fuck.
Last night. He immediately sits up, holding the side of his head. Last night was a blur and there’s a throbbing pain near his ribs. What did he do?
Did he actually take a swing at Tommy? Did he fight back?
Why does he need to be one of the first things Buck thinks about in the morning? He can’t even shake his head, scared it’s only screwed on and held by bandages. He’s afraid if he moves it’ll fall off.
And it dawns on him that his bed doesn’t really feel like his bed, so does his sheets, and he’s wearing very soft clothes that he’s not even sure he’d be capable of from his state last night.
And oh my god.
Did he sing You Belong With Me to Eddie in front of all of his family and friends and colleagues and Eddie and fucking Tommy?
Did he change lyrics to fit their narrative?
Did he have the audacity to go home with someone else after he declared his undying love for his best friend?
He finally opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is the wall that they patched up together and there’s something that gets caught up in his throat and he can barely swallow—apart from the still bitter taste from last night’s drinks—there’s something big and heavy lodging itself there.
He looks down and sees a worn out ARMY shirt with holes in them. The same one he’s seen Eddie wear a hundred of times. He puts the blanket aside and sees one of the shorts he left here, and his heart twists in his chest as he sees fresh white socks on his feet. He was definitely wearing black ones last night.
He takes note of the sheets and remembers it’s the one they bought on sale one random Friday they went to the mall. It had weird geometric designs, and Buck told Eddie he needed a little design in his room, a little life. He looks around and on the dresser, his face smiles at him with his arms thrown around Chris and Eddie right beside them. He reaches out, but stops when he remembers the idiocracy he pulled last night.
He wonders if Eddie just dumped him here out of pity and left him alone so he can leave, save himself some dignity.
But he can definitely hear people moving in the kitchen, and he can feel their feet pad across the floor—but wait, this is Buck’s first time sleeping in Eddie’s room and it smells just like him and he wants to savour it, but knows he’s already indulged and overstepped and he might be looking at an end of something once he steps out of Eddie’s room.
He told him last night—through a Taylor Swift song, no less, how he felt about Eddie. Years of longing and suppression and secrets, he blurts it out in barely matched lyrics because alcohol and jealousy pushed him and now he was going to lose the most important person to him because of it.
He wants to blame Tommy, but knows it’s ultimately his fault.
He’s had Eddie for years and he never did anything about it. Now it’s too late. Now he won’t even know.
He knows Eddie would still keep him as a friend. He’s nice like that. But to what extent will he keep Buck away from him? What distance would he put?
And Buck would understand, he does.
So, he takes a bit more time before he drags his ass out of Eddie’s bed, and fixes his sheets just the way he knows he likes it, and takes his time in the toilet, throwing his toothbrush he has stocked here after because this is the last time and he has to face that.
But he hears Eddie before he sees him. He hears his feet glide across his floor, he can hear the oven on and smell bacon, he can hear the sizzling on the pan probably eggs, and he can hear him humming a song, whispering the lyrics under his breath.
“Been here all along, so why can’t you see?”
So, Buck takes a chance to look, to see.
Eddie is wearing a white shirt, Buck’s apron over him with a pretty cursive saying Kiss The Chef, jogging pants hugging his legs, hotel slippers making him sliding and gliding easier. His hair is a mess like he’s been combing through it all morning, but his face is brighter than Buck’s ever seen him.
Chocolate coloured hair and hazel eyes, glowing and twinkling and warm.
Eddie stops once he notices him, dropping his arms to his side, a small smile gracing his lips. Buck gulps.
”Good morning.”
”Good morning,” Buck says, unsure, staying at the threshold of a kitchen he’s come to know more than his own.
”I’m making breakfast,” Eddie says after a while waving his spatula around the kitchen before dropping them again, “you just missed Chris. Karen picked him up with Denny.”
He remembers the observatory they were going to today.
”Right,” he says as he gulps, taking a step and stepping back, “uhm.”
”Buck, sit!” Eddie pulls out one of the chairs and gets out his mug, filling it with coffee and flying across his own kitchen.
“Okay.”
When Eddie laid down his mug, he stood up fiddling with his fingers because this is the most tense they’ve been since they met, “Do you need some help? I can help—do you need anything else?”
But a nervous weight on Eddie when he said good morning has been lifted in the space where he got the mug and poured coffee for him and his hand reaches out to his shoulder as he pushes him back down.
“I’ll get you aspirin. Your headache must be killing you, and your ribs? All okay there?”
Buck did feel a throbbing, but he wasn’t too sure what it was. He lifts Eddie’s shirt up and sees a big bruise forming at his ribs as he grimaces.
When he looks back up, Eddie’s still looking at him sharing the same expression. “Won’t really help much with the bruising now, but do you want a cold compress?”
”Yeah,” Buck breathes, “thanks.”
Breakfast happens quietly and Buck has to swallow quickly every time Eddie looks at him, sun at his back not helping as memories from last night continue to flood him.
And Buck knows they have to acknowledge the elephant in the room, and they will, but just—it’s been a while since it’s actually been this peaceful with them. With just the two of them. And Buck wants to savour it in case it’s his last.
Eddie keeps on looking at him like he’ll break out in another song, though, so he keeps his eyes down and shovels eggs and bread and bacon in his mouth.
”Hey,” Eddie laughs already getting up, “slow down, tiger.”
Buck swallows and blushes at the pet name, and ever more when Eddie pushes a glass of water his way.
Breakfast stretches and Buck doesn’t want it to end, but they start running out of food and start running out of excuses to talk about last night. And words are suddenly coming out of him before he can even think about it,
“I’m sorry, Eddie.”
That’s all he can say. There’s nothing else. He’s just sorry he went and ruined their friendship. He’s just sorry he let it get so messy.
“What?” Eddie asks tilting his head, and Buck just wants to reach out and take him for himself, but he can’t.
“I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“I don’t know,” Buck looks down, twiddling with his fingers, “for getting so drunk, for singing god knows what, for getting jealous about Tommy,” he winces, no point in skirting around that now, “for letting that get the best of me.”
Eddie hums, leans back on his chair, “So, that’s what it was about.”
Buck chances a glance at him, “What about?”
“Whatever you had going on about Tommy.”
“Was it obvious?”
Eddie puts his hands on the table as he looked up thinking, “Well, you did throw a basketball at me—”
”Wasn’t aiming at you—“
”Tommy then?”
”Not really.”
Eddie laughs and there’s a spark that springs to life in the middle of Buck’s chest and he looks at Eddie with the most amused look he’s ever seen on him.
“Fine. Maybe,” he admits, if the amused look is caused by him.
“And you’ve been ignoring me, ignoring Tommy.”
Buck gulps, “You were replacing me,” he confesses, “you were getting another me. I couldn’t watch you do that, Eddie.”
”Another you, Buck?”
”Hen said that we were alike, Tommy and I, and I just—but before that, I guess I already figured. You were getting a new friend, and don’t laugh because—”
”I’m not laughing,” and he says that in that tone he said Hey with Tommy last night. The way he reassures Buck that he isn’t silly for feelings the things he does. The way he makes sure that Buck knows he has a space here, in Eddie’s home, in Eddie’s life.
”Well, it sounds insane and a little immature, but—you were getting a new friend and I knew it was only a matter of time before you left me behind. And last night, the more Hen pointed out how alike we were—I figured, well there you go.”
”Buck, you and Tommy are nothing alike.”
Buck scoffs, because yes of course, they aren’t anything alike because probably Tommy didn’t need to be assured every six months on what he meant in people’s lives. He probably didn’t have sixty two bags of worries and anxiety and issues he still has to work through. He probably isn’t annoying with deep dives he does in the internet, pestering everybody with useless facts.
“Buck,” Eddie has stood up and went to his side, pulling him to stand up, placing his thumb in that space that has his name tattooed in its hollows, “listen to me.”
He can’t meet his eyes.
“Buck,” he pleads and it’s not fair, because there are tears forming and once he meets Eddie’s gaze, he’ll be gone for.
“Eddie.”
”Please.”
Then he looks and he’s mirroring the exact same expression.
“You and Tommy are nothing alike,” he follows his eyes, “because—because, he won’t mean to me the way you do. Ever. Do you want to ask what we talk about?”
“The military,” Buck guesses.
”Yes, and?”
”And?” Buck asks because it’s been a mystery to him, too.
”And, you.”
”Me?”
“Yes, you.”
”Me?” He asks again, “Why?”
Eddie laughs then, a bit hysterical and manic and Buck reaches out to his waist and his face clears as he answers, “I also didn’t know why. I was just there and he was there and I was just talking about you.”
”But you haven’t been hanging out with me.”
“Because you haven’t been hanging out with me,” Eddie smiles then, a bit easily, “I thought there was a problem, or you were going through something and I should have asked—”
”I should’ve told you—”
“Would you?”
If Buck was being honest, maybe no. But if Eddie asked, he doesn’t know if he can deny him the truth.
“But why were you talking about me?”
“Because, Evan, I didn’t know it till you were singing Taylor Swift off key on stage last night that,” and he steps closer and the spark is lighting up to a flame and Buck might know where this is going, but he’s never been too lucky to hope and have it, but he still does, “that I belonged with you.”
And there is laughter bubbling up his throat and his hands are reaching and holding and so is Eddie and Buck can’t really describe what he’s feeling other than absolute joy.
”You do?”
”I do,” Eddie laughs, euphoric, “I talk about you. I think about you. I breathe you in, Buck. I belong with you in every way that matters.”
“Do you know what that means to me, Eddie?” He asks, hands gripping the white shirt, tears filling up his eyes.
”Tell me what you meant by it first.”
And he’s sure Eddie knows by now. He’s sure the lyrics gave it away. He’s sure the hunch on his back and the way he said good morning today showed exactly what he meant. But he says it because he asks, and he’ll give him anything he asks.
“I meant I love you, Eddie. In every way that matters, even in the ways it doesn’t. I just—I love you,” he wanted to add for years, but they’ll talk about that later. Later, he’ll tell just when he fell and when he knew that it was over for him, that it was no competition for anybody else.
Because for Evan Buckley, Eddie Diaz was the one he belonged with, and he knew Eddie Diaz belonged with him.
Eddie closes their distance and Buck has to gasp because it feels like breathing again after holding it for so long. It feels like his bones sighing and resting, finally finally home.
Eddie kisses him and Buck kisses back with all the years that’s still in between them unsaid with a promise. Buck opens his mouth and inhales him in, tongue exploring something he never thought he could savouring every sharp intake of breath and grip and gasp Eddie was giving him.
When they break free of each other, Eddie smiles and sings, “Hey, isn’t this easy?”
And laughter breaks through the kitchen, sun still warming them, their hands never far from each other.
That morning, Eddie kisses away all the doubt, and green gnarling monsters inside his ribcage peppering it with soft fingers and lips, and he tells him over and over again how he belongs to Buck, repeating the three words he’s always longed to hear.
And if later, Bobby sends him the video of him singing on stage, as he begs Eddie to delete it, only to give in for him to save it as he kisses him.
Well, Buck might have just discovered karaoke might be his thing, too.