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Right from the moment he wakes up, Buck knows that this particular day in September would be cursed. He’s terribly late, snoozed the alarm one too many times, and proceeds to spill coffee all over the front of his t-shirt when he lifts it to gulp it down as quickly as possible–so much for saving time.
Then, he almost slips and falls in the shower, and it’s all so utterly out of the ordinary that he can’t help but suspect that today would end up staying as cursed for him as it had started.
He goes to work, anyway.
It’s a beautiful sunny Monday morning, almost too picturesque, with completely clear skies and no breeze, like a storm was brewing somewhere out of sight, even if the forecast had predicted wonderful weather for today as well as the rest of the week.
With a yawn, Buck enters the fire house, planning to make a beeline for the coffee machine upstairs—he hadn’t had the chance to remake his own cup back at home.
The station is quiet today, not that he would ever say it out loud—he wouldn’t want to jinx it and make today worse than it already is. After spilling his coffee down his last white tee this morning, he is now forced to wear one of his LAFD shirts that has gotten too tight on him since he started doing more weight training a few weeks ago, just after his most recent break up. Of course, if anyone asks, he’s solely doing this to look better for the LAFD wall calendar.
It’s not untrue, Buck has been working out for this chance for weeks now, even downloaded a body fat analyzer onto his phone (it might have cost him $10 when he thought it said $1). It only came in handy that he could pour his post-breakup blues into sweat and aching muscles—it was either that or baking.
He decides to discard his duffle bag first, maybe check for a spare t-shirt in his locker, so he walks past the engines, in the direction of the locker room. His limbs are weary, still strained from last weekend. He hopes that somehow, he might be able to sneak a nap before their first call, but when he turns the corner and almost bumps into Hen, Bobby, and Chim, this wish goes up in smoke.
“I’m just saying, it’s sexist,” Hen shrugs, “It insults the dignity of this organization and makes it seem like all firefighters are male.”
“What have I missed?” Buck asks, confused. Bobby looks at him, then back at Hen.
“Come on, it’s for charity, Hen,” he tries apologetically, and Buck realizes they’re talking about the calendar.
“Bobby, you too?” she sighs, and Buck looks over at Chimney, who’s eating, silently chewing and observing. They exchange a look that’s saying I don’t know what’s the problem here, either.
“Why not?” Bobby asks, hands on his hips. “They say a man is at his sexiest when he reaches fifty.”
Hen shoots him a judgmental glance. “Is that what they say? Who’s they?”
“You’re both wrong,” Chimney cuts in, “This great nation is in need of a new Asian sex symbol. It’s our time.”
Buck decides to chime in.
“I think it’s great that you’re both going up for it.”
“Oh, because you don’t think we have a chance,” Bobby chuckles, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“I didn’t say that,” Buck teases back, just a hint of a challenging tone in his voice. “But considering the fact that they’re only choosing one candidate from each station…”
“Looks like we got some competition,” Chimney interrupts them, nodding to somewhere behind Buck. “Who’s the new guy?”
Buck follows his gaze, turning around. He instantly wishes he could just dissolve into thin air or have the ground swallow him whole.
Because this new guy, this rookie just sliding a LAFD t-shirt over his perfectly sculpted torso is…
“Eddie Diaz, new recruit. Graduated top of his class just this week. The guys over at station six…”
Buck doesn’t hear the rest of Bobby’s explanation. The entire world fades into the background, his friends’ voices reaching him through a layer of cotton.
This has to be a dream, right? A nightmare, to be exact.
Images start shooting through his head, slightly blurry memories from last Saturday night, when he for once had been in a bar drinking cocktails, and had then drunkenly ended up in the bar’s cramped bathroom–and then in his apartment—with some stranger for the first time in years.
Ergo, Buck knows exactly how soft this brown hair feels between his fingers, knows how these muscles feel working against his skin, knows how this guy’s hazel eyes get all watery and hazy when he comes. Fuck.
It was only supposed to be a one-time-thing. That had been made very clear to him when he’d woken up to an empty bed yesterday—no note, no nothing. Just the faded dent of a head in the pillow next to his.
Buck draws in a shaky breath, gaze fixated on the man he thought he’d never see again. If it were possible for the ground to open up and swallow him whole right now, he’d be more than open to it.
But it’s too late to get out of here, because Eddie lifts his head, eyes instantly locking in on Buck, who’s still staring, mouth open, an undoubtedly incredulous look on his face—and a fair amount of blush, judging from how warm he suddenly feels.
Eddie’s soft eyes widen for a moment, his brows furrowing, but he catches himself almost immediately, his face falling back to that nonchalant expression from before. But Buck has noticed it, the undeniable look of recognition and the hints of shame laced into the way his eyes instantly move on to the others as he approaches them.
He isn’t sure how he manages to stay composed, to keep his face in check. But Buck pushes his shoulders back, a clipped smile on his face. His mind, however, is still racing, along with his heart, with no telling of who’s winning. There are vivid memories replaying in his head, like how these hazel eyes had fluttered shut in satisfaction, lashes fanning over his flushed cheeks.
“This is Chimney, Hen, and Buck,” Bobby introduces them, polite as always, and Buck lets his eyes roam over the new recruit’s face, then at the way his throat works down a gulp—another familiar sight.
He goes to shake Hen and Chim’s hands, a quick squeeze before letting go.
“Eddie.”
And oh God, his voice is still as smooth and just a tad jaunty, just as it had been last Saturday, when he’d sent shivers down Buck’s spine with a husky whisper into his ear. He still carries himself with confidence, his shoulders and back straight, even if it apparently is the only straight thing about him.
Well, apart from his perfect rows of teeth he shows with every smile—a.k.a. not right now.
“Nice to meet you,” he mutters, an empty expression on his face, and the game begins: no one can know that they’ve met before, have tasted each other’s skin, have drunkenly shared private stories as if they hadn’t been in a crowded bar. And if Eddie can play it, so can Buck, even if it makes his guts churn a bit to think about the fact that they will see each other every day from now on.
Every.
Day.
He shakes Eddie’s hand firmly, the other’s skin a delicious mix of calloused and soft. Their eyes meet for a second, an ocean crashing on rocks, leaving Buck’s entire skin on fire. Unfortunately, this man is almost more attractive now than he was when Buck was drunk on tequila and mai tais, and he just knows it will come back to bite him later.
“Come on, I’ll give you a tour,” Chim gleefully says, patting Eddie’s arm, urging him to follow him as he walks off in the directions of the hallway leading to the supply room. For a second, his eyes flick to Buck’s birthmark, the light pink skin he knows the feel of against his lips. Then, Eddie rips himself away and follows Chimney, big strides creating the much-needed physical distance between them.
Buck can’t help but check out how well these pants fit him, and it earns him a playful yet weak swat in the ribs from Hen.
“You know what, I can’t even blame you,” she then sighs, following his gaze to where the door falls shut behind the others. “He is absolutely gorgeous. And I like girls.”
“Come on, guys,” Bobby reminds them, “He’s new. Be nice.”
As he walks away, Hen leans toward Buck, nudging his side. “He’s our co-worker, Buck. Off limits.”
Buck feels his stomach twist into a knot. There is no way he can tell her about any of this. He will simply have to forget about it, let the memories fade for a while and shove them into the very back of his mind. Working with Eddie will not be a problem.
“Don’t worry,” he says, a little too casually. “He’s the last guy I’d go for.”
And where is the lie in that?
***
Saturday, 10:30 p.m.
“Buck,” Eddie repeats with slight amusement, “Like the deer?”
It makes Buck laugh, and he twists and turns his drink’s straw between two fingers. A drink that Eddie insisted he’d pay for. A mai tai.
“Kind of,” he replies, reaching for the bowl of peanuts on the counter in front of them. “But also not really.”
He’d moved up two stools to close the gap between them after Eddie had struck up a conversation. He’d seen Buck tap his fingers along to the beats of this particular Salt-N-Pepa song on the counter, and that was all it took.
Now, with Eddie’s knee bumping against his underneath the bar from time to time, Buck isn’t as mad at Hen for standing him up tonight as he was five minutes ago. But when Karen had called and asked her wife to come home to a sick and puking child, he’d been a little pissed. But he’d decided to stay, anyway, which seems to pay off right about now.
“Okay, you’ll have to explain that one,” Eddie urges with a soft grin. He’s got dimples, faint crinkles around his eyes, and his canines are just ever so slightly longer than the rest of his teeth—this smile alone is enough to make Buck struggle to focus.
“It’s short for Buckley. My last name,” he clarifies, straightening up in his seat a bit. Even when he’s got his head turned away, he can feel Eddie’s soft gaze resting on him. It’s driving a hot pink blush up his cheeks.
“So what’s your real name, then?” Eddie asks, sipping on his own drink—a whiskey he’s swirling around in the glass constantly.
“Evan,” Buck says coyly, quickly adding, “But nobody really calls me that.”
“ Evan ,” Eddie echoes, the sound dripping off his tongue like thick honey. “I like it.”
It almost makes Buck regret to ever abandon it in the first place, driving a shiver down his spine. Almost.
“And what’s Eddie short for? Eduardo?” he quickly shifts the conversation, stirring his drink and popping another peanut into his mouth. Eddie shakes his head and chuckles.
“Edmundo,” he corrects him, then winks at Buck with a low, “But nobody really calls me that.”
Buck hates how he’s blushing yet again.
“And why are you in a bar all by yourself on a Saturday night, Edmundo ?” he ends up asking, his eyes searching Eddie’s in the dim light as he wraps his lips around his straw to take another sip. Eddie clears his throat and gulps down a few swigs himself before he replies.
“My friend had to cancel before we even left for the bar,” he says, “But I didn’t feel like staying home. It’s not often that I have an entire night to myself—even though I seem to have found someone to keep me company.”
“Well, you did buy me a drink, so I feel like you kind of bribed me,” Buck teases, letting out a low chuckle. His stomach flutters, and he blames it on the booze. It’s only partially true, and he knows it.
“Yeah, maybe I did,” Eddie grins invitingly, popping those gorgeous dimples again. Unable to wipe his own smile off his face, Buck huffs at that comment, eyes dropping to his almost-empty cocktail.
“And who could say no to a free drink? I’m just wondering what you ’re planning to get out of it.”
He lets his eyes roam all over Eddie’s barely illuminated face. It should be impossible for a man’s eyes to be so soft and gleaming with mischief at the same time, but there he is, somehow, through some cosmic twist of fate.
Eddie leans in, and his voice is smooth and heavy with something that makes Buck's heart race when he eventually replies.
“Oh, believe me, I’m getting exactly what I want.”
In other words, Buck has lost the game he didn’t even know he was playing. And he’s not even mad about it.
***
Over the following few weeks, Eddie starts blending into the team seamlessly.
Buck hates it. So much. His co-workers, his friends, the people he’d come to think of as family, all keep gushing over how great the new guy is, how easily he picked up the routines, and how quickly he learned to keep up with everyone. It seems like all everybody ever talks about is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
There’s an intruder in Buck’s home, and there is no getting rid of it.
It’s even worse that they’re still playing that stupid game of not knowing each other. And sure, they seem to get along just fine to the naked eye, even to the point where Bobby pairs them up on call more and more often, claiming they’d just work so effortlessly well together—which they do, unfortunately. They barely have to talk to agree on what to do next, cooperating with implicitness, like they’ve rehearsed this dance a million times.
Which, objectively speaking, should be a good thing.
However, to Buck, it’s anything but .
It would have been so much easier to play the game if they’d ended up not getting along at all.
It would have given him an excuse to hate Eddie, made it infinitely easier to hide that anything ever happened between them.
Instead, he has to hide his loathing altogether, because it would be out of place, unjustified. As far as the others are concerned, Eddie and Buck could just be on the verge of becoming friends.
But then again, they are unaware of the loaded silence that spreads between the two as soon as they’re alone, when there is no longer a buffer in the form of Hen or Bobby or Chimney. It’s like a flip being switched then, smiles fading and postures slouching—an automatic halt in their constant contest of who can pretend to care less about the other.
And it’s not like Buck doesn’t have a million questions to ask Eddie, questions he could only ask when he knows no one’s eavesdropping.
Like now, with everyone else asleep in the bunk room while they clean up the post-dinner mess in the kitchen. It’s almost midnight already, and the shift has been relatively calm so far; only a few minor medical incidents, a small kitchen fire, and ironically a cat stuck in a tree, of course heroically rescued by the not-so-new recruit , and given back to its elderly owner with a confident yet compassionate grin that made Buck’s guts and heartstrings twist at the same time.
He keeps his eyes glued to the dishwasher he’s loading, focused on his task. It’s hard enough for him to focus on one chore without feeling a very attractive guy’s gaze on your back, prickling like champagne on skin.
“Thanks for helping,” he eventually says, voice raw. He can’t handle silence like this, silence that feels suffocating, like a heavy fog enveloping them.
They haven’t exchanged a single word since they were left alone by the others. He straightens back up, leaves the full dishwasher be, and turns to find Eddie quickly averting his gaze, quickly continuing to wipe down the kitchen island countertop.
“No problem.” His voice is almost too monotonous, too distant. It makes Buck want to push him up against that counter, pin him into place with his hips, and make him forget how to form human thoughts.
But he can’t do that, so he takes a deep breath and clears his throat, instead.
“Can we talk?” he asks, and Eddie promptly stops wiping that counter, eyes snapping up to Buck’s. His expression is unreadable in the dim light, something between shock and dread.
“About what?” he counters, leaning against the island now. He’s wearing an LAFD long-sleeve with the matching (and ass-accentuating) work pants. It’s a sight that might just end up lethal for Buck at some point, and he has survived the craziest fires and accidents.
“You know what,” he sighs, shoving his hands deep into his pockets so he doesn’t let his nervousness show by fidgeting with them. Eddie crosses his arms in front of his chest, biceps bulging like it’s not the hottest thing Buck has ever seen. He bites his tongue, looks back up to catch Eddie’s eyes.
“I don’t think—”
“Eddie,” Buck interrupts him, and Eddie gives up with a frustrated grunt.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters, careful not to raise his voice. The open space makes sounds echo pretty easily. “We both know that it’s better if no one finds out what happened between us.”
It’s the first time either of them has admitted to it out loud. The words hang in the air, thick with a tension that Buck can feel settling into his bones, making his guts churn. He swallows, his throat dry.
“So you don’t think we should talk about it?”
A new silence stretches between them. It’s heavy and suffocating, and Buck simply stares at the way Eddie works his jaw as he ponders his next words.
“Talking about it doesn’t change anything,” he eventually grits out. “Does it?”
“I don’t want to change anything,” Buck counters, growing impatient. Lie .
Eddie pushes off the counter and steps forward, brushing the outer edge of Buck’s personal space. His voice is daringly low, his jaw clenched as he leans closer.
“What do you want then, Buck? Do you want me to tell you that I can’t stop thinking about that night? That I regret leaving your apartment without even leaving a note? Or do you want me to admit that seeing you every day without being able to touch you again is what torture must feel like? That I only avoid being alone with you because I don’t know how long I can keep holding myself back anymore?”
Buck’s breath hitches in his throat. His heart is thumping like crazy in his chest, lungs burning from how hard he’s breathing, how hard he’s trying to stay composed.
“What,” he blankly asks, unblinking. This is the closest they’ve been in weeks—at least on purpose.
“You heard me,” Eddie whispers in a husky voice. His hazel eyes roam all over Buck’s face now, recklessly lingering on his lips, his birthmark, and his lips again, before he’s straightening back up. “But none of these things matter anymore, because now, we’re working together.”
Buck feels like he’s been punched in the guts. Hard .
“You— you can’t just… say stuff like that,” he stutters, blood rushing in his ears. Eddie is still leaning in, just out of arm’s reach, and it takes his all to not step forward and close the distance.
“I believe I just did.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have.”
“Buck,” Eddie murmurs, and his voice is so much softer than before, like butter melting in the sun. He lifts a hand, but lets it sink back down instantly, like he’s changed his mind. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” Buck snaps, full of frustration. All of this is driving him insane. “You don’t get to say all of this and… take it back immediately after. That’s not how it works.”
“You wanted to talk about it,” Eddie grinds out, jaw tight. “So I talked .”
“Not like that ,” Buck groans, throwing his head back. His entire body is thrumming with tension, but he lets his eyes find Eddie’s again anyway.
The silence is deafening. For a moment, they simply stare at each other, and he tries so hard to find answers in those soft hazel eyes, but he can’t.
“How do you expect me to go back to playing our stupid… game now, Eddie,” he asks quietly, his voice fragile on the edges, like it’s about to break. He runs a desperate hand over his face and sighs. “I won’t ever be able to look at you again, not without feeling like pushing you up against the wall and kissing you senseless.”
“Fuck,” Eddie groans, eyelids heavy. “ Evan .”
“Tit for tat,” Buck mutters, unable to brush away this warm feeling that spreads through him at the use of his given name. A name that sounds different in his ears when Eddie says it—smooth, intimate, natural.
No longer a punishment, rather a reward.
“I–” he tries, not even sure of what to say right now. It’s not like he’s ever been in this type of situation before. But Eddie seems to understand Buck’s inner turmoil, his eyes shifting in the low light.
“We can’t,” Eddie whispers weakly, and his entire body is deflating in surrender. “We—” the rest of the words get stuck in his throat, and he stifles a cough.
“I know,” Buck mutters, eyes on his own two feet now. He can’t bear to look at him now. He’s too brittle, too vulnerable. Too temptingly gorgeous, even with the distressed crease between his brows. “So, we should just… uh.”
“Forget this ever happened,” Eddie finishes his sentence, chest rising in a deep breath he ends up holding. Then, with a sigh, he lets out a reluctant, “It’s better if we do.”
“I know,” Buck mutters again. He wishes he didn’t know . Wishes he could go back in time and keep Eddie from leaving his loft in the middle of the night, pull him back on top of him again, give him whatever he’d end up asking for. But he can’t. No one can give them more time, a chance to redo anything.
“Let’s just keep it… professional from now on,” Eddie whispers, pleading. “We can be friends , right? No more fights, no more mentioning of all of…” He gestures at the space between them. “…whatever happened between us.”
“Fine,” Buck gives in, shoulders dropping. He knows it’s the only way this will work, knows that it doesn’t matter how much his heart is feeling like it’s being wrung out like a sponge with every passing second of this conversation.
He knows he has to get over it, stop asking himself the what-ifs, and start facing reality—a reality where he once again can’t have what he wants, even if it’s right in front of him.
“I’m better at playing that little game, anyway. You instantly crumbled under pressure,” he utters with a smile tugging on his lips. Anything to loosen that goddamn tension, to lighten the mood. Maybe it comes off a tad more flirty than he’d anticipated, but there are no lines left to cross between them, anyway.
“Oh, is it a competition now? ” Eddie teases him back, and the tension shifts into something more private, a mutual understanding of this new dynamic between them. They’re still just out of arm’s reach as they stand there for a moment, gazes locked.
“What, do you want to go for the title?” Buck mumbles, a fond smile making his lips curl up all automatically. Amused, Eddie arches a brow at him.
“There is no title, Buck.”
“Speaking exactly like someone who knows that they’ll lose ,” he retorts with a playful shrug. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Eddie laughs, a deep, velvety rumble from the back of his throat, and Buck hates how much a simple sound like this can affect him.
It’s a drug he got addicted to last Saturday, and he knows for certain he won’t come clean from that, won’t ever stop doing anything to hear this exact noise time and time again.
For years.
***
Saturday, 11:30 p.m.
Buck can’t believe he’s here. Like, actually here.
He’s actually in the bar’s tiny, dimly lit bathroom, pressing an insanely attractive stranger against the tattered, green-tiled wall, and he’s caging him in with his strong arms on either side of his head while pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to soft lips that taste like whiskey.
His head feels airy, nothing on his mind but Eddie, who’s letting out small, throaty groans for Buck to drink up. It’s like the world has shrunk to the perimeter of this mildly disgusting bathroom. Nothing exists past this dark wooden door.
“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, and his voice is raw, dripping with desire. He has his hands sliding underneath Buck’s jeans, even underneath the waistband of his briefs, his cool, calloused skin sliding against the soft warmth he finds there. He pulls Buck closer, as if they hadn’t spent the past few minutes greedily, desperately grinding against each other already, as if there is distance left to close by now.
Adrenaline rushes through Buck’s veins, the thrill of it all consuming him whole. Because yes, he has locked the bathroom with a trembling hand after Eddie had pulled him inside with a fist grasping onto his shirt, but the sheer existence of a chance someone could knock at any point and make them open the door looking all disheveled…
Buck’s never done something like this before. Has never been alone at a bar, letting some guy buy him drinks and make him laugh into his cocktail. Never before has something like this found him unprompted, out of the blue. Like fate had played right into his cards, granting him a night of what so far might just be the hottest make out session he’s ever been a part of.
This is better than any date he’s ever found on dating sites or apps. Infinitely. It has ruined him, to be exact.
His pants are getting awfully tight, and he presses his left knee between Eddie’s, pinning him to the wall even further, another low groan rumbling into his mouth.
Eddie’s hands slide back up, taking the fabric of Buck’s shirt with them. The cool air of the bathroom combined with the feather-like touch of Eddie’s fingertips induces a wave of goosebumps erupting all over his skin. Buck can’t help but sigh into the kiss, and he lets his fingers sink into the auburn waves of Eddie’s hair, pulling ever so softly, just enough to earn another moan, this one closer to a whine than anything else.
“Dios mio,” Eddie pants, and it’s the last straw for Buck, the slight growl of Spanish like satin in his ears, smooth and rich.
He fully goes on autopilot now, his skin burning with the urge to submit wholly and utterly to the mission of making Eddie feel good. Buck has always been like that, determined to please, to satisfy his partners in whatever way they wanted him to.
His fingers digging into Eddie’s sides, he slowly lets his lips take a detour down the curve of Eddie’s jaw, open-mouthed kisses creating a path past his Adam’s apple and down to the neckline of his shirt.
Eddie’s large hands are tightly grasping onto Buck’s shoulders, and he’s throwing his head back against the tiles behind him. Buck continues to make his way down, kissing Eddie’s chest and belly through his shirt before clumsily lifting it and letting his lips find the sensitive skin above his navel.
Eddie shudders at the contact, muscles contracting, and a rough hand digs into Buck’s hair.
“Fuck,” he grits out, and Buck looks up at him through his lashes, his knees digging into the cold tiles on the floor. Their eyes clash, blown pupils drawn toward each other like magnets, and Buck watches Eddie pant heavily, lips agape, eyelids heavy with lust.
“It’s actually pronounced Buck,” he teases, a breathless chuckle escaping him. Eddie’s lips curl up as he keeps trying to calm his frantic breath.
“Shut up,” he chuckles quietly, and just when Buck reaches the button of his tented pants, the hand in Buck’s hair clenches, a delicious ache developing all over his scalp. It makes him pause, his heart beating out of his chest.
“Get up,” Eddie orders, softly yet commanding. Buck is queasy, but he complies, still out of breath and beet-red in the face.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “I— I thought—”
“Don’t you apologize to me right now, Evan,” Eddie whispers, hands now on either side of Buck’s face, forcing him to look him in the eye. “I just don’t… want to do this here . It feels wrong, somehow. Like this tiny, stinky bathroom is unworthy of witnessing what you were about to do to me.”
Buck swallows thickly and nods, the weight of Eddie’s words pressing down on his chest.
“So…” he begins hesitantly, hands unable to let go of the man in front of him, pointers hooked into his pants’ empty belt loops.
Eddie kisses him, briefly. But there is so much emotion in it, Buck feels like he might just melt. God, they have known each other for less than two hours. There is no logical explanation for all of it to feel like this. Like it’s been a long time coming, like it was… meant to be. He shakes the thought away. It doesn’t make sense. He can’t possibly feel this connected, this interwoven with someone he just met.
“So,” Eddie repeats with a smug smile, “What do you say we get out of here?”
***
A lot of things can happen in seven years.
It’s ridiculous, if you really think about it, because it’s so much stress, so much trauma , that no person should ever be able to handle all of it. But Buck does, anyway, pushing through it all because he’s convinced that he doesn’t have a choice.
In some cruel twist of fate, he ends up having his leg crushed by a toppling fire truck. The following lawsuit almost costs him the friendship he’s built with Eddie up until then.
A friendship that is built on trust, on understanding, and on pretending that it’s enough to be what they are. Just friends.
And then he’s almost losing Christopher, Eddie’s son, in a goddamn tsunami, and feels guilty for weeks after that. But then Eddie, ever so gorgeous and compassionate Eddie, tells him there is no one in this world he’d trust his son more with than Buck, so it all has to be okay. (It’s not.)
When Eddie gets trapped in a collapsed well a while after that, leaving Buck sobbing and attempting to dig through thirty feet of mud with his bare hands until Bobby pulls him away, Buck starts to question his own sanity. But he is allowed to be afraid of a world without Eddie Diaz in it, even if they’re just friends .
Eddie is being shot about a year after that. Buck has to save him by dragging him underneath a fire truck, only to have Eddie deliriously ask him if he’s hurt. It’s Eddie’s blood tinting him red.
He won’t ever be able to forget the metallic taste he had on his tongue that day.
God , Buck knows what Eddie’s dick, his sweat, and his blood taste like, but they’re still just friends.
Friends who put the other in their will as their child’s legal guardian in case of their death. Buck still can’t wrap his head around that one.
And then, just because the universe really does seem to hate him, he gets struck by lightning and dies, even if it’s just for three minutes and seventeen seconds. Bobby tells him later that even though he’d been impacted by the lightning as well, Eddie had still fought his way up the ladder to save him, and that his tears had blurred into the rain, so no one mentions them now.
Eddie yelled at paramedics and counted the seconds he was dead for, but they’re just friends.
And Buck is okay with that.
Because he has to be.
The downside of lying to yourself for too long is that there is an inevitable point in time where the lines blur, where reality and deceit become impossible to tell apart. Buck has told himself so many times that whatever he and Eddie have is merely casual, that it’s now the only truth he can say out loud, no matter how much his heart is banging against his rib cage, begging to be allowed to scream out the actual truth for everyone to hear.
Because in reality, Buck’s feelings for Eddie have never faded.
They only grew , like weeds, taking up any empty, hollow space in his heart. And there was nothing he could do about it.
But it doesn’t matter what Buck feels or doesn’t feel. It never has, and it’s no different now.
He has become a different person in those seven years. Changed by the catastrophes chasing him, and yet he’s still smiling. He’s bulkier, more confident. More mature, maybe.
And yet… and yet.
It’s not like it’s actively hurting anymore. The pain has become a part of him, soldered onto the cracks of his heart. In all honesty, he isn’t even sure what a life without it would even be like.
But the worst pain of all isn’t the physical kind. His botched leg, his chronic migraines, or panic attacks, none of it hurts as much as the sting he feels in his heart every time Eddie brings a new boyfriend for him to meet, or anytime he catches a glimpse of Eddie’s naked body in the shower room and realizes that he’s slowly forgetting how this skin feels against his own. Or when he ends up finding similarities to Eddie in every godforsaken person he’s trying to date in order to push his feelings aside.
The same hazel eyes, though never as soft as Eddie’s. The same tendency to choke out Buck’s name when he comes—just never the way Eddie does. Or something as simple as wearing the same brand of cologne as him. It seems everywhere he looks, it’s just Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.
It was a single night seven years ago, and it haunts him till this very day, no matter how much he pretends it doesn’t. As pathetic as that may sound, this man has effectively ruined everyone else for him.
But they still have each other’s backs, no matter what—being just friends can’t take that away from them.
Buck is there when Chris leaves for Texas, holding Eddie when he’s crying after the door falls shut, and he feels insanely guilty for savoring the way their bodies still fit together perfectly.
When Buck’s first long-term gay relationship falls apart, Eddie is there, no questions asked, letting Buck bake scones and brownies in his kitchen and taking his phone away so he can’t call his ex—oblivious to the fact that Buck had only been with that guy after seeing how close he was becoming with Eddie .
Everything has always been about Eddie, even if Buck doesn’t want to admit it.
Who should he even admit all of this to ? No one knows they hooked up. Not even his own sister, even though he’s still not sure how he managed to keep it from her.
In the end, he’s all alone. He always was, always will be. He can be surrounded by people, and yet, he would always feel lonely, unworthy, misunderstood.
Unless he’s with… his best friend.
Who is now stuck in a wrecked car.
At least Buck is convinced he must be—it’s hard to tell from the way their phone call abruptly ended only seconds after a loud crashing noise had his heart rate spiking already.
Eddie had been on his way home from therapy, broadcasting Buck’s voice over the car’s speaker system. He was drinking coffee, teasingly commenting on the way the barista had topped off the i in his name with a heart, and gushing about Chris finally texting him back more frequently now.
Buck screams Eddie’s name into his phone, but the call really is disconnected. His throat hurts, and when he promptly calls 9-1-1 with trembling hands, he prays it’s not Maddie picking up. It’s not. Some guy named Andy tries to understand what he’s saying, but he’s hyperventilating because oh-my-God, he doesn’t know where exactly Eddie was when it happened. But he’s not the only one calling about that crash, and so Andy can assure him help is on the w–
Buck ends the call mid-sentence and rushes to his car, ignoring the way his leg is acting up once again. He drives, white-knuckled grip on his steering wheel, almost running a few reds, almost causing approximately three new accidents on the way.
He knows the roads Eddie’s taking when driving to and from therapy. Knows because he’s accompanied him once—after the lightning strike. He wasn’t even aware he actually was able to remember the way until now, when his subconscious seems to have taken over the second he’d started the Jeep.
His tires screech when he abruptly brakes, and the bumper of his car is pushing against the bright yellow tape that’s already blocking off the scene. He can feel his heart in his throat, his ears, his eyes—everywhere it’s not supposed to be. His chest does feel terribly empty when he scans the site, taking in the chaos.
Smoke billows from a tangle of two cars, wrecked and mangled to mere piles of silver and black metal.
First responders are everywhere, firefighters and paramedics, and police are securing the scene. One of the officers steps up to Buck when he stumbles out of the car.
“Sir,” he shouts over the howling sirens, “ Sir, please stand back!”
“I can’t,” Buck yells, his voice raw. “I— I have to—”
He’s so winded he needs a second, hands on his knees and trying not to puke. He can’t remember the last time he’d been that nauseous.
“Sir, I can’t let you pass through,” the officer insists, a hint of pity in his voice. He already has one hand resting on his radio.
And here is the thing.
Buck knows the rules.
But the rules don’t apply when it comes to him and Eddie.
“My husband’s in there,” he croaks, and it’s scaring him just how easily this bittersweet lie slips off his tongue. The officer’s face pales abruptly.
Now that he gives it a second thought, Buck could have just said he was a firefighter and avoided lying altogether.
But then again, he most definitely would have had to help, which he’s not sure he’d be capable of right now. Not with Eddie involved. Not again .
“Please,” Buck adds, still out of breath. He points to the scene, paramedics preparing a gurney as firefighters form a blob around the wreck like a hive of bees. “I have to know if he’s okay.”
The policeman throws a brief glance over his shoulder, his spine rigid. He’s contemplating. It’s all taking too long. Buck’s skin feels like he’s covered in ants, like there is a rash breaking out all over it while he has to wait. And he knows stress-induced rash is a thing.
His blood rushes in his ears as he watches the officer mumble something into his radio. A few seconds later, Buck gets a nod from him, and this simple gesture makes him almost lose it.
His heart skips a beat, knees almost caving in, but he takes a shaky breath and ducks underneath the held-up tape. His hands tremble as he fidgets with them, palms sweaty.
Every step bringing him closer to the car wreck feels like stepping over hot coal.
“The husband,” the officer informs the others, and there are firefighters briefly glancing over at Buck and his completely disheveled curls and crumpled hoodie, because he naturally didn’t change before hurrying out.
“Whose husband,” someone asks, and Buck gulps down a knot in his throat, only to still feel it afterward.
“B-black SUV,” he manages, and it doesn’t sound like his own voice when he says it. “His name is Eddie D— Edmundo Diaz.”
After that, it’s all a blur. Only snippets of what happens next make it through the haze of Buck’s brain.
“Mr. Diaz, your husband—”
“—ambulance… —hospital, and—”
“…ride with him—”
Buck gets escorted to the ambulance and almost falls when he tries to climb in.
He hears the familiar beeping and rattling of the equipment, sees the even more familiar silhouette of Eddie on that gurney, and feels… nothing.
He feels nothing.
His body and soul, his entire existence, has gone numb.
Buck doesn’t remember how he managed to not rip away the working paramedics and help Eddie himself, just to make sure no one could screw that up, doesn’t even remember if he’d answered any questions for them.
He also doesn’t remember how he got into the hospital’s waiting room, a glass of water on the table next to him, the pitiful yet careful glance of one of the nurses resting on him.
The clock says half past five. He’s supposed to be at work right now. But then again, so is Eddie.
God, Eddie.
It’s not for another half an hour before someone calls out for relatives of Edmundo Diaz, and Buck gets out of his seat with wobbly legs, churning guts, and sweaty hands. His stomach growls. He hasn’t eaten since his ten a.m. bowl of cereal.
The doctor is wearing a white lab coat, pristine and brightly white. He has a clipboard in his hands and a stethoscope around his neck, a pair of glasses sitting low on his nose. Buck walks alongside him, down long, tiled corridors and past windows and other patients’ rooms. His legs are wobbly as he listens to the doctor explaining the situation.
It could’ve been so, so much worse, he tells him. Eddie had been in surgery to stop some internal bleeding. His ribs and left arm are broken, and there is a gash cutting through his eyebrow that needed stitches. There had been a chance of a cerebral hemorrhage, but it’s only a light concussion, blah, blah, blah.
All that Buck needs to hear is that Eddie is alive.
They halt by a closed door. Room 317. The irony of it all doesn’t go past Buck, and he forces himself to take a deep breath.
“Overall, he’s stable,” the doctor assures him, “He’ll make a full recovery. He’s just out of surgery, so probably still a bit groggy. But I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to see you.”
“Thank you,” Buck nods, his voice husky.
He enters the room just as a nurse walks out. The light is bright and cold, the air a bit stuffy. There is a bed in the middle of one wall, a nightstand on each side, an IV propped up on the left, a chair waiting by the window.
When Buck finally allows himself to look at Eddie, he finds his soft, tired eyes already resting on him.
He looks so brittle and pale in this hospital bed. There is a cast on his left arm and a bandage stuck to his brow, and there is a faint hint of a smile on his weary face. Buck still thinks Eddie is the most gorgeous man he’s ever laid eyes on. He blinks away the blurriness.
“Eddie,” he sighs, stepping closer until he can hold onto the bed’s rail. He needs it.
“Imagine my surprise when they said that my husband was waiting for me,” Eddie grins weakly, and Buck winces, heat rising to his cheeks. He rubs a hand over his face.
“Oh my God,” he groans, looking up at the ceiling. “That— I didn’t mean for you to find out.”
“That we’re married?” Eddie teases, and Buck looks back down at him.
“That I told people we were. But I needed a way to get through to you when I came to the scene of the crash and—”
Eddie blinks.
“You were there?”
“Of course I was,” Buck nods, avoiding Eddie’s eyes now. “Drove there as fast as I could, actually.”
“That’s insane,” Eddie sighs, “You’re insane, Buck.”
“I know,” he grunts, shaking his head. “Missing work to be here and everything.”
“Hey, me too,” Eddie jokes, and Buck scoffs out a tired laugh. His heart is soaring in his chest, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to savor this moment forever.
When he opens them again, he finds his vision to be blurred. A tear rolls over his cheek and drops onto the comforter. Eddie’s smile fades, sadness taking over his face.
“Buck,” he whispers softly, “What’s wrong?”
And he really, genuinely tries to come up with a string of words that could come close to describing what he’s feeling right now. For a few moments, he simply stares down at Eddie and the way his eyes are so full of affection and care.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he eventually mumbles, and his voice is awfully shaky, so many things left unsaid. Eddie’s brow is as furrowed as the stitches and bandage allow it.
“Do what?”
For a while, their gazes are simply interlocked. Buck doesn’t think he could look at anything right now, not when there are so many emotions laying in those suspiciously glassy hazel eyes.
“Pretend.” His voice breaks when he says it. “I can’t keep pretending, Eddie.”
He doesn’t know how much time passes, and Eddie just keeps looking up at him with that hurt, confused look on his face, so he makes a decision.
He’s waited long enough.
“Fuck this,” he mutters, his entire body on fire as he leans down, the bed rail pressing into his belly, one hand gently cupping Eddie’s jaw.
And then, for the first time in seven years, Buck presses his lips to Eddie’s.
At first, he lets them linger. Has his eyes closed, his breath held, and he waits. After a few seconds, he finally, finally feels Eddie kiss him back.
It’s gentle, impossibly tender, because Eddie doesn’t have a lot of energy, but Buck doesn’t care. It’s probably the most innocent kiss he’s had in years, and yet, he is entirely convinced it’s the best one yet.
Eddie’s lips are a bit dry, and the kiss tastes like salt more than anything.
It’s perfect.
With a soft smack, they pull apart after a while, taking in each other’s breaths, not daring to open their eyes just yet.
“Buck,” Eddie mutters, a tremor in his voice. “I—”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” Buck immediately blurts out. Maybe he shouldn’t have done this. Shouldn’t have let his emotions take over like that, but… he doesn’t get much time to overthink it, anyway.
“No,” Eddie whispers quietly, “You don’t get to take it back now, Evan. That’s not how it works.”
And he nudges his face up and catches Buck’s lips in another kiss, tentative and deliberate. Buck can only give in, his pointer hooking under Eddie’s chin carefully. It feels so natural. Meant to be. Puzzle pieces falling into place, glued together for good.
Once they separate again, Buck straightens back up, and Eddie blinks up at him with weary eyes, and he’s slightly winded.
“I should be the one apologizing, Buck,” he mumbles wearily, his eyelids heavy. He is exhausted. “It’s my fault we’re in this mess.”
Buck takes a deep breath, taking Eddie’s hand. His thumb draws assuring circles over the back of it.
“I hurt you,” Eddie adds after a few seconds of silence. “I’m so sorry.”
“Well, seems like you got plenty of time to make up for it now,” Buck teases, squeezing Eddie’s hand ever so gently. “If you want.”
At that moment, something shifts. There is no more game to play, no more reason to pretend anything. In about three years, this will be nothing but an anecdote in Eddie’s vows to Buck, who will shake his head and laugh, because it’s so goddamn ridiculous.
They’re a bit of a mess. Have always been, and will always be.
Buck wouldn’t want to have it any other way.
Now, there is a smile tugging on Eddie’s lips, and he entwines their fingers.
“I never wanted anything more.”