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Buck didn’t think that when he finally understood Maddie’s cryptic, “if there’s something you need to tell Eddie, you will,” spiel, it would be as he watches a U-Haul pull away from him, slow and careful in the rain.
His mouth opens, like the sudden realization might come pouring out of his mouth, but all that leaves him is a soft, wounded noise that mixes in with the misty raindrops, disguised by the soft patters on the road.
He takes a step forward, like Eddie’s a magnet, and he’s trying to unite with his unlike pole.
Nothing happens.
The truck keeps pulling forward. Buck watches Eddie pause at a stop sign up the road—and then he’s making a right turn out of the neighborhood, out of Buck’s line of sight.
Out of his life.
It takes him five minutes to get back into the house.
Bobby’s looking at him with that face.
The one where he’s obviously worried, but he’s trying to reel it in. His features are carefully blank, but his eyes—they’re soft and way too warm, a little too understanding, and Buck bites into his granola bar with a little too much strength, huffing in annoyance at the crumbs that spill down the front of his uniform.
“Dude, not the Nature Valley,” Ravi complains from beside him, scooting over to the other side of the couch like the drama queen he is. Buck stares at him while he chews. “We’ll be finding those crumbs for months.”
“We have a vacuum,” Buck counters. “And a broom.”
“You think that’ll stop them?”
Buck doesn’t even keep the banter going, like he usually would. Just—swipes at his pants and finishes the rest of the bar in one bite, tossing the wrapper towards the open space Ravi left.
He wishes the alarm would ring. He wishes—anything would happen, really, so Bobby would stop lurking nearby, trying to feign nonchalance as he, most definitely, keeps a watch on him.
The worst part about it is, Buck knows it isn’t unwarranted. He knows he’s being difficult. He’s snappy, and he’s withdrawn, and every call they’ve been on without Eddie—it’s all been fine, nothing serious has happened, but Buck’s been buzzing in his skin beside Ravi, ready to bite at the smallest, most trivial things.
Strike one, Ravi didn’t read his mind. Couldn’t decipher the look on Buck’s face that Eddie would’ve caught in an instant. Strike two, Ravi bumped into him three different times walking towards a woman, mid-fifties, having trouble breathing at a public library. Strike three, Ravi was in his space inside the engine.
It keeps piling up until his molars are grinding together and he’s hissing out a, “fucking watch it, dude,” that has all eyes turning to him.
Right. The headsets.
Bobby gives him a warning look for it, mouth set in a hard line.
It’s only been a week. Well—five days, actually, but who’s counting? Not Buck.
He had kept himself busy those first couple of days, slowly moving his belongings into Eddie’s, but now that everything is there, now that he doesn’t have to make another trip back and forth, his skin feels too tight.
Buck’s trying to settle into this new normal, but nothing feels right. Everything feels an inch or two to the left, and it leaves him stumbling and out of order, has him looking over his shoulder to fire off a joke directed to someone who’s almost a thousand miles away.
And it doesn’t help that all he’s gotten from Eddie are spaced out texts once or twice a day. Eddie had said he didn’t know what he was going to do without Buck. Said he didn’t like the idea of being away from Buck, either, that the move, it wasn’t nothing. Said that he was only a call away, that Buck matters to him, and yet.
It already feels awful. The disconnect.
His stomach has been steadily sinking as the days go on. He’s trying not to—make it into a thing, trying not to make it bigger than it probably is, but, well.
He’s never exactly been normal when it comes to Eddie, has he?
And now he’s—he’s dealing with all this new shit, and, you know what, you can quote him on this, being in love is stupid. Just absolutely unnecessary.
Bobby makes his way further into the lounge area, grabbing the remote from the arm of the couch so he can turn the power off. He ignores the twin grumbles from both Buck and Ravi and grabs the granola wrapper, too, shooting him another look. Buck calls that one the, I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.
“Come help me with breakfast, you two,” he says, amused. “Hen and Chim are getting started on a truck and radio check, then maintenance. We can have it ready for them when they’re done.”
Buck wants to grit his teeth. He wants to dig the heels of his boots into the floor and refuse to move, like some sort of hormonal teenager. But Bobby’s eyes soften on him again, and he nods towards the kitchen with a kind tilt to his mouth, and Buck has to look away, so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry on Bobby’s shoulder while they scramble eggs and fry up bacon.
“Fine, okay,” he says, carefully standing up.
He ignores Ravi shouting about the crumbs.
They get back from a string of calls a few hours later: a small kitchen fire, an allergic reaction, a minor fender bender.
Buck’s trudging up the stairs when his phone starts buzzing. And buzzing. And buzzing.
He pulls it from his pocket, sliding to answer without looking. “Hello?”
“Buck,” Eddie says, voice light and airy and devastating, and—Buck abruptly stops walking in the middle of the stairwell, heart stuttering in his chest to the point he has to take in a gulp of air to right himself. “Hey. I know you’re at work, but I have a second before Chris is out of school, and—I don’t know, I haven’t caught you since I got settled.”
“No, yeah, I’m glad you—we just got back from some calls, so good timing,” Buck gets out, and jogs the rest of the way up. Does he sound normal? Please sound normal.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s all good,” he answers, leaning against the wall beside the pinball machine. No one’s around—Hen and Chim are coming up the other set of stairs, laughing at a story Ravi’s telling, Bobby’s still milling around in the lower level. “But, uh, what about you? I know it’s a lot, moving and all, I was—wondering, how it’s going.”
“It was actually surprisingly easy,” Eddie says, and Buck can hear music playing softly in his truck; he recognizes the familiar sound of Selena’s voice. “The house is kind of between my parents’ place and Chris’ school. Didn’t have to lug in a bed or anything too big, so that part was fine. It feels—I don’t know. Normal. Weird, but normal.”
“That’s, uh, good,” Buck says, eyes fluttering closed. His head thunks against the wall. It’s not really what he wants to hear, that it’s easy, being so far away, but still. Tension bleeds out of him at every word passing through the speaker, tension he didn’t realize he had been holding throughout his shift, and—maybe he should send Ravi an edible arrangement. “Your parents being… okay?”
Eddie’s silent for a minute, and, okay, Buck knows the song, knows it’s Si Una Vez, so it’s the CD he always keeps in the glovebox. “Well, they’re being my parents.”
Buck hums in sympathy. “You should just take your abuela around as a shield. Ramon’s scared of her.”
There’s a fuzzy burst of laughter over the phone, and Buck breathes out, out, out. “She’s already given him the stink eye, when everyone was over that first day I drove in. He made a snarky ass comment, and—you should have seen her.”
“Good,” he says, smiling. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, he wants to say. He told him he would, as he was about to leave, but it’s—it’s so much more than he ever thought. He wants to hear his laugh, untouched by distance. “So—you’ve been okay? Really?”
“Yes, Buck,” Eddie says, and Buck can see the eyeroll just as much as he can hear it. “My sisters have been over a lot, which is nice. Chris is—he’s talking to me, and he seems excited to move back in with me. Having my abuela within driving distance again is great, too.”
“Sounds—nice,” he says, soft. His brow furrows, just a little, when his mouth starts moving again. “I’m glad it’s—I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad you’re where you belong.”
Eddie doesn’t say anything for a stretched out moment, quiet except for the soft instrumental filling up his truck. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
Eddie tsks, and Buck smiles, knowing he’s rolling his eyes again, all exasperated in a carpool line. “How are you? How’s the house treating you?”
“The house is good,” he lies through his teeth. It’s quiet, way too quiet, and Buck keeps wanting to shout across the living room, before realizing he’s alone. “Hey, Teresa from down the road brought me cookies. Saw the, uh, U-Haul.”
“No visit from Meth Lab Jim?”
Buck barks out a surprised laugh and looks around, embarrassed, quieting his voice. “No, not yet.”
Eddie’s laughing is cut short. “Oh, hey—I see Chris. I’ll have to—I’ll let you go.”
“Okay. Tell him I said you’re welcome, again, for finding that shirt.”
Eddie hums an agreement, laughing down the line. “Listen, uh—I’ll call more. I was just wiped out from the drive, and getting everything settled. I don’t want you to think that I…”
That I don’t care about you, his mind supplies.
“I know,” he says, finishes off for him, and he—he’s surprised when he finds he actually believes it. “I know you do.”
“Good,” Eddie says, voice gentle. “And same goes for you. Call when you want. I meant what I said.”
Buck nods like Eddie can see him. “Okay, yeah. That sounds good.”
When they hang up, Buck’s smiling.
Buck: What kind of cookies do you like?
Ravi: I’m a little afraid to answer this
Buck: They’re apology cookies 🙄
Ravi: Oh ok, peanut butter!!!!
Eddie: So get this
Eddie: One of my cousins loves Hotshots, right?
Eddie: I just had to explain in detail what it was like to film that scene we did. I’m talking 20 minutes. She thinks I’m a member of SAG? What the fuck does that mean
Buck: The union that represents actors and stuff??
Eddie: I didn’t even have a speaking part and I ate all their food
Eddie: Would they accept me?
Buck: Well, they’d be crazy not to. No lines but the impact was real
Buck: You get my vote for the people’s choice awards
Buck: Best guest actor with no lines and crumbs in his mask
Eddie: I’d like to thank the academy, and most importantly Evan Buckley
“Yeah?” Buck answers his phone, groggy, not even opening his eyes.
“Shit. I forgot you just got off. Go back to sleep, this was a dream.”
“Eddie?”
“Goodnight. I mean—no, you’re already dreaming. Bye.”
Christopher: I need a favor
Buck: Anything! Shoot ☺️
Christopher: You know those double chocolate cookies you make
Christopher: With the Reese’s chips ??
Buck: Yes!
Christopher: Would they be good if you sent them in the mail?
Christopher: I think my dad is going crazy he talked about them for twenty minutes
Buck: 🏃♂️
The first trip to the grocery store without Eddie sucks.
He’s bored. He actually has to focus and go through the list he’s handwritten. If this was a normal Saturday afternoon, he’d be talking about the latest documentary he’s watched—Our Great National Parks—while Eddie asks questions about it and steers him around the store, because he’s in charge of checking off the list.
Instead, he’s got his eyebrows knit together in frustration as he circles around the same aisle he’s gone through twice because— he knows the type of maple syrup he gets is around here, but he can’t find it.
He pushes his cart through the start of the aisle again and hmphs. He sees Midnight Moo Chocolate Syrup, he sees one labeled Grade A, another one that’s in a big jug, but he doesn’t see the Organic Vermont kind he likes, and he’s—he’s huffing and getting out of everyone’s way again so he can mill around the produce section and be angry at the world.
Before he can have a meltdown next to the lettuce, he pulls his phone out.
Buck: Where is the syrup I like 😔
Buck: Eddieeee this is life or death please 🚨
Eddie: It’s next to a bottle with a yellow label
Eddie: It’s not the top row. Check below the ones you were probably looking at. You’re too tall
Buck: I’m like two inches taller than you
Eddie: Which makes me closer to the good syrup? 🤨
Buck pockets his phone and makes his way back to the same aisle, walking through slow enough he’s surprised he isn’t getting heavy, pointed sighs directed at him. His cart is making an annoying sound with every step, but he’s too far gone to swap it.
He spots the syrup section, and. Okay. He—he was definitely just looking at the top row. He lowers his gaze, sees a yellow label, and then—
There it is.
He feels a little flushed as he grabs it, because Eddie just knew that. From the top of his head.
Eddie: Did you find it?
Buck: 🙄
Eddie: You’re welcome 😇
Eddie: Evan Buckley
Is all the warning he gets before his phone starts ringing.
He’s on a morning walk, clearing his head. They had a call that was—a lot, and he’s not going to sleep anytime soon. So he’s wandering down the neighborhood, committing the new houses and stray cats and cars to memory.
“Hey, you okay?”
When Eddie speaks his voice is muffled around something, like he’s stuffed his face with pan dulce. “Are you, like, psychic?”
“Psychic?”
“You sent me cookies,” he says, and ah, okay, not pan dulce then. Buck’s smiling so hard he has to look down at his shoes so he won’t embarrass himself, if someone were to drive by. “I was talking about them the other day, and then they’re showing up to my doorstep.”
“I hope they taste okay. I was on the USPS website, and they recommended plastic wrap, but someone else said parchment paper, so I just—used both. They didn’t crumble?”
“No, they didn’t crumble,” Eddie says, “They’re perfect. Seriously. Thank you.”
Buck walks home with a spring in his step.
“And that’s not even the crazy part, Eddie,” Buck’s saying, waving his hand around in a wild gesture. “She—”
The alarm goes off again.
Eddie sounds like he’s pouting when he speaks. “Oh, c’mon. I’m never going to hear the end of this story.”
“I’ll call you later,” Buck says, and maybe he could explode the alarm? If he looked at it with enough hatred? “Bye, Eddie.”
“Bye, Eddie,” Chimney squeaks from behind him, and Buck does not turn around and thump his forehead, but—actually, no, he definitely does.
He feels a little bit like he’s the only one in on a secret.
He walks through the kitchen to grab a water bottle in the fridge and makes a face at Chim. He’s in love with Eddie.
He assists Hen with a crossword puzzle. He’s in love with Eddie.
He helps Ravi settle on the best filter for his Instagram post. He’s in love with Eddie.
It wants to burst out of him like a fucking bomb.
But—there’s no use in telling anyone. It’s not like it would do anything. Change anything.
“Is it possible,” Chimney says, breaking the silence. Buck looks up from his phone and sees him sip from a mug, eyes glinting. “For two people to get even closer after one of them moves away?”
Buck flushes. He locks his screen, the text thread between him and Eddie fading, but it just lights up again with a notification.
“What?”
“Always on that damn phone,” he jokes, reaching out to ruffle the top of Buck’s head and ignoring his hey, heys. “Seriously, though. What the hell is up with you two? It’s, like… worse than when he was actually here. Somehow.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that jazz,” Hen pipes in from his other side, flipping the magazine in her lap.
“Fonder? You saying that’s possible with these two, Wilson?”
Hen just laughs to herself, shaking her head, and Buck tries so hard to think up a defense for himself, but his hands are quite literally itching to open Eddie’s text.
“You text Maddie all the time,” is all he can come up with, and his stomach plummets as he sees the way Chimney’s neck snaps towards him, eyes bright. “I mean, not like—it’s not the same—”
“Buck,” he says, slow, latching onto those six words like a goddamn shark. “Did you just compare texting Eddie to me texting my wife?”
Buck squeezes his eyes shut and sinks into the couch. “I’m ignoring you. I can’t hear you. I know you are but what am I.”
“Okay, okay, I’m cooling it,” Chimney says, voice laced with laughter. When Buck cracks an eye open, he’s set his mug down and has his hands up in surrender. “I was just making an observation, is all.”
What Buck means to say, is mind your business, freak. Brother-in-law privileges, or whatever. He can be as mean as he wants to be. Except, what actually comes out, without his permission, is: “I just really miss him.”
Chimney nods, his smile slowly fading. He reaches out and squeezes the meat of Buck’s shoulder, once, twice. “I know you do. But it’s… you seem to be doing a good job at keeping in touch, at least. That’s all I was saying.”
Buck nods, fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm on his knees. He’s staring at his phone like it’s about to explode.
Groaning, Chimney knocks into him. “Just open the text.”
Eddie: Oh also Chris wants to Facetime soon
Eddie: The three of us
Eddie: We could do this Saturday, if you’re not doing anything?
Buck fights a smile. He turns his brightness down a little bit, because he doesn’t want Nosey Rosey in his business.
Buck: That sounds good 🥰 Morning or evening?
Eddie: Morning. We’re going to Chuck E. Cheese with my sister and nephew later on
Buck: THE Charles Entertainment Cheese? 🫨
Eddie: Don’t even get me started, because apparently they don’t even use coins anymore
Eddie: I’ll get to the bottom of it 🫡
Buck: I’m sure you will, tough guy
When the alarm goes, Buck’s smiling as he gets into his turnouts.
So, the thing is.
Buck’s going crazy. Obviously.
He knows it, everyone knows it.
But, like, he’s laying in bed, scrolling on his phone after a shower, and his bones are tired. The 48 he just worked wasn’t particularly grueling, it was just—a lot. One call after another after another after another. Nothing too big, nothing too strenuous, just nonstop.
His body is dipped into the Eddie-shaped dent in the mattress and his eyes are drooping. The hand that’s holding up his phone is slowly lowering, unable to support the weight anymore. But, instead of putting it down and getting some sleep, like a normal person, he tries to fight it.
And then, he feels a sharp tug in his gut and feels his cock twitch against the thin, breathable material of his sweatpants.
His eyes snap open. His phone falls to the mattress beside him with a muffled thud.
It’s—it’s not like he hasn’t jerked off in the house. He definitely has. But he does it in the shower, puts one hand on the wet tiles and wraps the other around himself, hissing through his teeth as he gets himself off quick and dirty. His toes curl when he comes, his body shudders as he spills over his fist, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, in there.
But now—this is Eddie’s bed.
This is Eddie’s actual bed. The bed he left behind, since his rental down in Texas came partially furnished. Eddie has slept here for years, and he—he probably—
No, no, no, no. He squeezes his eyes shut again and tries to veer off that path, immediately. Except—his brain doesn’t cooperate with him, because his life sucks, or whatever, and he’s left thinking about Eddie, in the same spot, his muscled back against the mattress, legs spread.
And he can’t stop it, once he has that image burned itself into his brain. The floodgates are open.
Would he—would Eddie have gotten fully undressed? Would he strip bare, let the coolness of the sheets relieve his flushed skin? Or would he lie down, intending to relax after work, and then have to curse and push his shorts haphazardly down his thighs? Was he quiet? Or—or did he wait until he had the house to himself? Was he loud? Did he let himself make noise?
Buck whimpers. He’s exhausted, he’s so exhausted, but he can feel himself fattening up, hard and heavy. He’s crazy. He has to be. He shouldn’t be thinking about—this, should he? That’s—it’s wrong, and it’s fucked up, and if Eddie knew, what would he do?
But instead of putting a stop to this whole situation, his caveman brain latches onto Eddie’s name, loud and clear in his thoughts, and he’s moaning under his breath, reaching into his sweatpants to wrap a hand around himself. He’s already a little wet at the tip, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he spreads it around, shivering at the feeling.
God.
He isn’t quick with it. He’s tired, so it’s slow, a loose, lazy stroke taking rhythm. And when he opens his eyes again, he’s whining.
Because this is Eddie’s room. It’s Eddie’s room. It’s his bed. It doesn’t matter what the documents say, doesn’t matter that the title has been transferred to one Evan Buckley, this is all Eddie’s.
He’s all Eddie’s.
“Fuck,” he curses, tightening his grip. He’s burning up, now, sweat prickling at his scalp, his upper lip. It’s hot, way too hot, suddenly, and he’s arching off the bed so he can tear his shirt over his head with his free hand. He relaxes back into the pillows after he’s thrown it somewhere near the door, and he’s—he’s grazing his fingertips over his own chest, fingernail scratching across his nipple, gentle.
He has goosebumps. He’s throbbing in his hand, and his sweatpants are—they’re going to be gross, he’s leaking. Doesn’t even need to spit in his hand, he’s wet enough.
And then his phone is ringing.
He jumps, startles so bad his heart attempts to pound right out of his chest, and when he looks over at the lit up screen beside him, he groans, jerking himself off faster.
Eddie’s calling. There’s a picture of Eddie on his phone, face scrunched up in a smile, and he’s in his bed, Eddie has touched himself in this same exact spot.
He’s coming all over himself with a shout.
Buck: Hey, sorry! I was napping
Buck: Everything good?
Buck sends the text fifteen minutes later, when his pulse is back to normal and he’s put his sweatpants in the washer. He only feels a tiny bit bad about lying.
Eddie: 👍🏼
Eddie: Just wanted to talk
Buck: You still free?
Eddie: Yup
Buck pads his way back into the bedroom and starts the call, stomach flipping. The dial tone rings, rings, and then—
“Pretty Woman is a great movie.”
Huffing out a laugh, Buck plops down in bed again, ignoring every thought his brain tries to fire at him. Do not engage. “Hello to you, too.”
“Hi, Buck. Adri made me watch it. She’s catching me up on everything I refused to watch with her when we were younger.”
“Who the hell refuses to watch Pretty Woman?”
Eddie hums, stretches it out, like he’s really thinking. “I was too busy trying to be a cool baseball player. I don’t know. Anyway, it made me think of you.”
Buck chokes as silently as he can. “Pretty Woman—made you think of me?”
“C’mon, you know. She says, can I call you Eddie? and he says, not if you expect me to answer. Did we not have that exact conversation when I moved out there?”
Heat floods to Buck’s face so quickly it makes his eyes burn. He does remember something similar, but—Eddie remembers that?
He asks him, just because he can’t help himself. As soon as the question is out, he braces himself, rigid where he lies back in a straight line.
“Of course I do,” he answers, easily, like it doesn’t feel like a physical punch to Buck’s gut. “You were so—” he puffs out a laugh, the sound hitting Buck’s ear like real movement. “You were a real piece of work, bud.”
“You can’t just bring that up out of nowhere,” Buck protests, but his grin is splitting his voice, and he knows Eddie can hear it. He rubs a hand over his face, suddenly shy. “That’s not fair.”
“I can do anything I want to, baby. I ain’t lost.”
Buck sucks in a sharp breath, and it’s—it’s audible, he knows it is, and the connection between them fades into a quiet hiss while no one speaks. His brain is pounding, unhelpfully replaying two syllables over and over and over.
Baby, baby, baby.
“Like the—the movie,” Eddie clarifies, quieter.
Great. Now Buck’s gone and fucked this whole call up, because he can’t handle one single term of endearment dripping from Eddie’s lips like the honey they pour over homemade sopapillas.
In his defense—Buck’s never heard it from his mouth before, and he’s still—he’s still sensitive, okay? His veins buzz with leftover arousal, and if he doesn’t stop thinking about this, fast, he’s going to have to fake connection problems and hang up.
“I—yeah, the movie,” Buck agrees, like an idiot, and smacks a hand over his forehead like a stricken Victorian woman. He makes a face up at the ceiling and attempts to send out a telepathic distress signal to anyone or anything that might be listening.
In the background, Buck hears another voice, makes out something like Eddito and la cocina and Buck smiles, soft, Isabel’s voice distinct.
“You gotta go?”
“Mmm,” Eddie affirms, phone moving around in his grip like he’s standing up. “Kitchen duty calls.”
“Well. Thanks for the update. You should make a Letterboxd, like I told you to do five years ago.”
“Fine, fine. Send me your username.”
“Go help your abuela.”
Eddie snorts. “She’s got plenty of extra hands.”
“Well, yours are,” he starts without meaning to, and, very weakly, finishes with, “Big.”
It’s silent again for a second, the speaker buzzing around background conversations. Buck wishes a sinkhole would open directly underneath their—his bed and swallow him whole. What the fuck?
“Okay,” Eddie finally says, his voice a smooth drawl. He sounds like he’s biting back laughter, and Buck’s tingling all the way down to his toes. Stupid, stupid. “I guess I’ll go help with the frijoles. With my big hands.”
Buck’s stomach lurches. The hand not holding his phone twitches out towards his clean, brand new basketball shorts.
No. Absolutely not. Jesus.
“You go do that.”
“I will,” Eddie counters. “They’re gonna win awards. My frijoles, not my big hands.”
Buck hangs up on him.
Eddie: This app is so confusing
Buck: I think you’re just old
Eddie: 🖕🏼
Buck: Come on, Mr. Twitter Famous. You can do it
ediazz
Pretty Woman • 1990
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ❤️
No one could look as good as youuuu MERCY 🎶
chimhan • Patron
YOU’RE HERE!
bbuckley
5 stars. You get it
For some reason, the thing that finally gets him to break is the mail.
He had known a good cry was coming. He could feel the beginnings of it tingling his nose, stinging his eyes, clogging his throat like he had swallowed a rock, every time he entered the living room expecting Eddie to be there and was met with a very empty couch. Or when he raised a fist to Christopher’s door and had to back away with a carefully blank expression.
He thought it would happen while he was watching the U-Haul make a right turn out of his life. But—he had been a little preoccupied, then, standing in the road reliving the past seven years of his life through a brand new lens. His heart thumping in tune to, I’m in love with him, I’m in love with him, I’m in love with him.
But it’s a Saturday morning, the Saturday morning, and he’s got an absentminded, easy smile on his face because he’s going to FaceTime Eddie and Chris in a couple hours, and then he’s free to relax the rest of the day. He’s got a few shows recorded, has added a couple movies and documentaries to his list on Netflix, and he’s ready to do absolutely nothing.
He opens the front door, lets the sun hit his face, nice and warm, and when he gets down to the mailbox, he’s smiling and humming to himself like he’s got his life together. He scoops up the pile of letters and starts sorting through them on his way back up the driveway. Junk, junk, bill, coupons, and then—
Edmundo Diaz/New Resident
4995 South Bedford St
He blinks at it a few times, and—no, here it comes again. That feeling. Weird.
His nose twitches, and his eyes feel wet. He clears his throat, shakes his head, tries to knock it out of his brain, but as soon as he’s got the front door closed, there are already tears tracking down his face, warm and heavy.
He laughs at himself, a short burst of a noise that claws its way out of his chest, because what the hell? And then he’s crying.
He tosses the pile of mail onto the dining room table and lets himself fall into a chair beside them. His elbows dig harshly into wood, and his shoulders are shaking, throat burning while his body refuses to uncoil itself. He’s wound up tight, curled in on himself, truly fucking miserable.
The noises he’s making echo throughout the room; bounce off the walls like they’re trying to taunt him.
And it’s—he doesn’t know why it’s hitting him now. He’s been having regular conversations about Chris’ new school, the new house that’s got great AC and a big backyard. His sisters bring the nieces and nephews almost every night, and they’re all together again. Back where they belong. Making up for lost time.
It’s just the fucking—New Resident.
It just sounds so—so permanent. Because it is.
This is fucking permanent. Eddie is gone, and they can text and call all they want to, but it won’t change a thing. Eddie’s 12 hours away by car. 800 miles separate them like a line in the sand. He’s getting ready to start at a whole new station, and he’s going to have a brand new crew, a different schedule. Another partner.
He cries, he cries, and he cries, and the clock on the wall keeps ticking.
He manages to get it together, after a while.
He lets it out, doesn’t even bother trying to keep it in. It’s been building up for two weeks now, and it wouldn’t be pretty, if he let it keep on growing until it turned into something big and ugly.
He tires himself out, then he showers, then he finds himself on the couch, boneless with fatigue. He clicks onto the channel that plays nonstop telenovela reruns, just to have some background noise that feels familiar. Then he presses the volume down to 4, just barely above a buzz.
Eddie: We can call in 20
Eddie: He’s taking his sweet time with his breakfast this morning
Eddie: You’ll see why
Buck’s sighing at the message, eyes heavy and hot. His fingers itch—he wants to feel busy again. He wants to make pancakes with stupid faces on them, he wants to scramble way too many eggs, he wants to pass toast to Eddie so he can top it off with strawberry jelly and he wants to let Christopher cut up the fruit.
And it’s stupid—he knows Eddie is competent, that he’s a great father. Of course he is; that’s just a normal fact of life. Just like he knows they’re both well taken care of. But he can’t help wondering—are they eating okay? Are they happy, there? Is someone making sure they’re laughing and having fun on tiring weeknights, is someone goofing off, just to hear their laughs melt into one?
He’s well aware Eddie has more family around now, sisters and nieces and nephews and aunts and uncles and parents. There’s so many people there to help with this. He knows this.
But—Buck wants to take care of them. That’s his job. He makes dinner and he helps with bake sales and he checks over homework. He comes over when Eddie has therapy, to make sure everything is running smoothly if he’s tired. He drives them around and takes them to the zoo and to the aquarium and to hidden hiking spots.
And now he’s—he’s alone on the fucking couch, eyes bloodshot and throat raw. He doesn’t know what to do.
He doesn’t know where to put his hands.
Buck: Call when you’re ready
He’s scrolling through his phone to try and snap out of it, reading all about how a Cheeto shaped like Charizard was auctioned for nearly $88,000 when the call comes through.
He sees his face in the preview and winces a little. It’s not as bad as he looked earlier, before his shower. He just looks a little tired, is all. But still—Eddie’s always been able to see right through him. He’ll know.
He swipes to the right to answer, and everything, everything, in his head pauses.
Because Christopher’s already beaming at him, still finishing off a chocolate chip Eggo, and Eddie’s got this smile locked on his lips, a small little thing, but it’s lighting Buck from the inside out. He’s got stubble growing out, darkening his jaw, and that stubborn strand of hair that falls over his forehead is curled up and bounces as he moves.
He’s real and moving and adjusting the tablet like an old man. Buck burns.
It’s been two weeks since he’s seen Eddie move around in front of him, live and in the flesh. He can’t stop staring. He holds the phone a little closer to his face than what’s necessary, and tries his best not to flush at the small rectangle in the corner that’s reflecting the dorky, giddy smile taking over his entire face.
“Hey,” he says, dumb with it, and Chris laughs, crumbs pooling into a fold in his I heart LA shirt. “I am so glad to see you, buddy. I’ve missed you so much.”
There’s a little flash of guilt that passes across Christopher’s eyes, behind his glasses, and Buck swallows back a frown. “I miss you too, Buck.”
Beside Chris, Eddie makes scoffs, dramatic. “Nothing for me?”
Buck’s chest is heavy. He has to actively keep himself from putting a hand over his heart. His mouth twists uncomfortably, because—can he say this without crying? He guesses he’ll find out. “You too. I—of course I miss you, Eddie.”
It’s a near thing.
“I miss you, too,” Eddie says, soft, and Buck has to clench his jaw about it. He’ll be hearing that in his dreams. “How’s your morning been?”
“Same old, same old,” he answers, feigning nonchalance with a shrug. “What about you two? Enjoy your breakfast?”
“Someone made all A’s this report card, so he got an all you can eat chocolate chip waffle buffet.”
Buck melts, beaming into the camera. “Dude, no way! That’s awesome. I—” can get you that dragon Lego set you were talking about, he almost says. He swallows it up, because—well, he talked about that months ago. He’s not sure what he’d want now. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Chris says, ducking his head, shy from all the attention. Buck’s hands ache, wanting to reach out and ruffle his hair. It’s getting long. “It was a close call. My art teacher graded one of my projects pretty shitty—I mean crappy—and I had to do last minute corrections for him.”
“Art? Isn’t the whole point of art that it’s subjective? Why the hell did he grade you like that? Is the governor over there f—screwing up the grading system, too?”
Eddie bursts into laughter and reaches out towards the camera, like he’d be able to reach through and touch. “That’s what I said. And you should’ve seen the project. It was definitely worth an A+ to begin with.”
“Okay, it wasn’t that good.”
“No, I’m sure it was,” Buck says, raising his eyebrows. “I’m glad it didn’t get in the way of all A’s. That’s so cool, buddy.”
Eddie reaches out and ruffles Christopher’s hair, rolling his eyes at the D-a-a-d. “Got a certificate and everything. Wanna see it?”
“Uh, obviously.”
Eddie picks the tablet up and walks further into the kitchen, pausing at the fridge. Buck’s suddenly got a real close up view of what should be an unflattering angle of his face, because Eddie’s silly and can’t press the camera swap icon without being an inch away from the screen. He pretends like he isn’t greedily drinking up the pixelated view of stubble and jawline and pink, pink, pink lips.
The camera turns, and he holds it up to face the decorated fridge. There’s a certificate right in the center—We are proud to recognize Christopher Diaz has received A Honor Roll this grading period—but that’s not what Buck’s focusing on.
It—the whole fridge—is covered in pictures, and Buck inhales, shaky, seeing his own face staring back at him in more than half of them.
The tears spring back to his eyes, and Buck quickly tilts his phone towards the ceiling. Only his forehead’s visible now, his frizzy curls devoid of any product. His birthmark sticks out, red and flushed against pale skin lit up by the sun coming in through the window.
“Wow,” he says after a few seconds go by. His voice wavers slightly, and he clears his throat. “That should probably get him some ice cream too, right?”
“Ice cream?” Christopher pipes up from across the kitchen, and Eddie flips the camera back onto his face just so he can fill the screen up with a truly unimpressed expression.
Later on, when Buck’s curled up on the couch with a nice blanket and has some new Glen Powell movie loaded up on the TV, Eddie texts.
Eddie: Hey you looked a little tired this morning
Eddie: Everything okay?
He pauses the movie and worries at his bottom lip.
Buck: Yeah, just couldn’t sleep last night
Eddie: Well get some extra rest tonight
Eddie: ❤️
He thinks about a damn emoji for the rest of the movie.
bbuckley
Hit Man • 2023
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ❤️
I kinda need him
ediazz
Love when you don’t take my advice
bbuckley
Listen, I couldn’t just stop in the middle
chimhan • Patron
Do you guys know everyone can see the comments
“I fucked up,” Buck says, playing with a loose thread on one of Eddie’s springtime throw pillows. He’s not making eye contact with Maddie, but he sees the way she turns towards him, and he can feel her eyes boring into the side of his head.
She’s absentmindedly rubbing her belly when Buck finally lolls his head to the side to meet her gaze. She looks tired, and god, what the hell is he thinking? She’s a few weeks into her second trimester, she came over for some peace and quiet, and now he’s about to—bother her, with his stupid, unfortunate feelings.
She’s looking at him, expectant. Eyebrow raised, soft smile on her lips. Horrifically, he feels like he could cry again.
“I, uh. I’m in love with Eddie.”
She doesn’t flinch. Her face doesn’t screw up in surprise. She just keeps smoothing her hand over her loose shirt, protective. “When did you figure it out?”
“When did you figure it out?”
Maddie laughs, eyes crinkling with it. “Well—I mean, I did call you out on your boy crush years ago.”
“But that—it was a joke,” he tries to reason, and sits up a little straighter. “It was a joke. Right?”
“It was,” she says, soft. “You were talking about them like—like they were yours. Eddie and Christopher. Way before they actually were.”
“They’re not—” he gets out, breathes, don’t cry, “Mine. Anymore. They never were.”
“Of course they are,” she soothes, reaching out to cradle his face before she sets her hand on his arm. Buck trembles at the touch and closes his eyes. “Chim tells me you’re still keeping in touch. That you guys are both serious about it. When we were apart, I was still out there. Being your sister.”
“That’s different.”
“It isn’t. Not really. What, just because they’re in Texas, it means they’re not your family anymore?”
Buck aches. He’s squeezing his eyes shut so tightly he can see starbursts beneath his eyelids. “Yes,” he grits out. “That’s exactly what it means, Maddie. Hen goes home to Karen, Chim goes home to you, Bobby goes home to Athena, I go home—I get to Eddie’s, alone. We text, we call, but it’s—it’s not enough. It’ll stop one day. We can’t keep it up forever. He’ll—they’ll both move on.”
“Evan. Hey. Look at me, please?”
Buck reluctantly opens his eyes, and the world is a blur. Maddie’s face is so watery, he can barely make out her expression.
“After everything you guys have been through together, I don’t believe for a second that this is what’s going to tear it apart. No one’s,” she sucks in a shuddery breath. “In the hospital. No one’s hurt. It’s just a little distance. That’s a cake walk, compared to some of the trouble you both have managed to get into.”
Buck huffs out a short laugh and wipes at a stray tear that races down the side of his cheek without his permission. He feels a little bit like someone shoved him into a washing machine and pressed start. “But he—Maddie he left. And I know it’s what he had to do, I—I would never try to get in the way of his and Christopher’s relationship. But—I love him. I love him, and he left.”
Maddie makes a soft noise beside him, her eyes teary.
They end up flipping to shitty reality TV and Buck fetches a Ben and Jerrys from the freezer. Two spoons.
ediazz
13 Going on 30 • 2004
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ❤️
Cried. Want Razzles
Days blur into a week. A week turns to two. Buck’s heart still feels like it was put inside of a blender.
He gets through his shifts and he’s pulled to bars and barbecues and restaurants and has to suffer through at least two watchful, sad eyes on him at all times.
He’s only told Maddie, but judging from the looks, everyone knows.
Or—maybe they already knew. And this was what they were waiting for. The delayed fallout.
But he’s—he’s managing, okay? He gets out of bed and shows up to work and channels every emotion that’s been boiling up his blood into saving lives. He cooks and he cleans and he goes for walks, visits a new record store that opens up near one of their favorite taco trucks.
He’s trying to keep moving forward. He’s trying to move on, the best he can.
So what if he’s in love with Eddie? So what if whatever chance he had to do something about it disappeared when Eddie rented a U-Haul? So what if he’s gone, forever?
No big deal. It’s all fine, really. He’ll live.
He just needs to sit at the window for a few months and pull a Bella Swan. She really had the right idea. He can blast some Lykke Li, too.
Except—Eddie texts him. Constantly. Even though he’s started at a new station. And it’s not like Buck is complaining, because he isn’t, it’s just. How is he supposed to get through this, when Eddie’s making him a priority? When he’s keeping his promise; showing him he matters.
He really thought by now the texts would be drying up. That Eddie’s name on his call log would be getting sparce.
But.
Eddie: [Image attached]
Eddie: Look at this burrito 😹
Buck: Dude, it’s bigger than your head
Eddie: I told you I was a cool baseball player
Eddie: [Image attached]
Eddie: ⚾
Buck: Omg, Babe Ruth can I have your autograph
Eddie: [Image attached]
Eddie: It’s so fucking hot, I only worked out for 15 minutes!!
Buck has to bite his fist at the picture that comes through, because Eddie’s sweaty and he’s smirking at the mirror and Buck’s getting hard before he can even stop himself.
Buck: Yeah, it’s hot here too
It’s hotter, after he takes care of himself.
Eddie: Call me when you’re up 💤
Eddie: That’s you snoring 💤
Buck calls immediately upon waking and Eddie grumbles before switching it to a FaceTime.
And then, it’s a Thursday night, and Buck’s in pajamas, curled up in front of the TV while Top Gun plays on some random channel, commercials splitting it up every ten minutes.
It’s almost ten, which is why it’s a little odd that his phone buzzes a few times in quick succession.
Buck moves the bag of chips in his lap and grabs it, and—
Eddie: I really missyou
Eddie: I’m at some cowboy bar and before you say anythgn it was Adri
Eddie: But you would like it
Buck’s eyes bore into the screen. They start to water, because he isn’t blinking. Tom Cruise shouts in the background and he almost snaps at him to shut the fuck up.
He starts typing back with shaky hands.
Buck: I miss you too
Buck: But stop blaming everything on your sister I know it was your idea to go to a cowboy bar 🙄
Eddie starts typing. Buck watches the typing bubble appear, greedy. Is he—is he texting him at a table? Is his family watching him? Do they know—do they know he’s texting Buck? Do they know he’s always texting Buck?
It disappears. Buck frowns at it, honest to god.
And then his phone is ringing.
“Eddie?”
“Buck,” Eddie shouts, loud over the music blaring in the background. A female voice shrieks, Eddie, wait, no! “Hold on, it’s—loud. So loud.”
Buck stays silent, mouth stuck in an open mouthed smile. He mutes the TV and watches as the water onscreen reflects into the living room, making everything dark and blue and cozy.
The music is muffled suddenly, and then Eddie laughs, all uninhibited and loose and fuck, shit, goddamn, Buck’s so in love with him he can feel it in his teeth.
“Fixed it.”
“You’re drunk,” Buck says, delighted. His voice is lit up with his perpetual smile. “Like—shitfaced.”
“Adri,” he blames again, “It’s her fault. She—I’m wearing a cowboy hat.”
“Mm. You’re wearing a cowboy hat at a cowboy bar,” Buck repeats, laughing under his breath. “That makes sense.”
Eddie mumbles something that sounds a lot like whiskey dick and Buck blinks one, two, five times. “’S called Whiskey Dicks. The place. I haven’t—I haven’t done this in a long time, she—hold on.”
Buck holds.
And then his phone beeps, telling him Eddie wants to FaceTime.
He panics for a second, because his hair is crazy and he’s been eating Ruffles for the past ten minutes, but his thumb has a brain of its own and accepts it too quickly, before he can think too hard about it.
It takes a few seconds for the connection to load, but when it does—
Buck blanches.
It’s a mess of pixels, blurry because Eddie’s not connected to wifi, but. It’s good enough that Buck can see the flush that’s spread pretty across his face, pink, pink, pink, and the cowboy hat that barely fits into the frame. It’s a deep brown color, and Buck’s going to die.
“I wanted to see you,” Eddie says, soft in the fucking bathroom of a bar, and Buck’s—yes—going to die. “I always—hey, sorry. Are you tired?”
“No,” Buck replies immediately. He ignores his own smiling face in the corner. “No, I’m good, Eddie.”
Eddie smiles at him, canines poking at his bottom lip, and he leans his head against the stall, which—is probably not a good idea, there’s so many germs, but Buck’s infinitely grateful. Because he bares the column of his throat and giggles. Buck watches his Adam’s apple bob like it’s a modern miracle. “They teach you how to line dance here.”
“Are you about to quit your job and apply there?”
“Hell yeah, maybe,” he bites, looking back into the camera. “You wouldn’t get the steps right.”
“Oh, I absolutely wouldn’t. I’d embarrass all of Texas. The whole south, maybe.”
Eddie can’t stop smiling; his nose crinkles with it. Buck’s stomach hurts looking at him. He takes it all back—nothing’s fine, he’s not surviving this, and he guesses he just has to accept that. “No, no. I’d teach you.”
“You would, huh?”
“Um, yes,” Eddie says, fixing his hat. “I’d get you there.”
Jesus. Buck clears his throat and tries to be normal, but that phrase, with that tone of voice.
“Do you—have to get back to Adriana?”
Eddie blinks, like he forgot he was with her. Then he squints at the camera and shakes his head, laughing at himself so cutely that Buck’s hands tingle. “No. I can stay here and talk to you if I want to.”
“Okay. But don’t blame me when you miss all the fun.”
“This is the fun,” Eddie says, easy, cheeks rosy. “You’re my fun. It’s been, like, four days since we Face—Faced?”
“Facetimed?”
“Oh, yeah, that,” Eddie gets out through a laugh. “It didn’t sound right in my brain.”
“It’s a funny word,” Buck agrees, and oh, okay, he’s looking very much in love in the tiny rectangle his phone provides him with. At least Eddie is wasted. “You can—you can call me anytime, you know. Whenever you want to. It can be for both of us.”
“I know, but then I wouldn’t hang up,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, his eyes moving up and away from Buck’s face, like he’s reading something on his phone. Buck’s frozen on the couch. The Ruffles fall to the ground. “Oh, shit. Adri’s texting me.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just told me they brought our basket of fries.”
Buck’s looking at him like he’s never going to see him again. His gaze follows the slope of his nose, the beautiful brown of his eyes. The quality is too shitty, but he imagines he can see the scar on his lip. He’s—he’s a dream, he’s a dream come true, and he has to snap his teeth together so he won’t tell him so.
“You should get back out there, cowboy,” he says instead. Eddie pouts. Buck’s laughing when he continues. “Eat something, drink water. You’ll be hurting in the morning, old man.”
Eddie mumbles out a slurred, you’re the old man, but starts nodding anyway, like his stomach grumbled and he realized he’s real and a person and hungry. “Fine. Fine, okay. I’ll go.”
Buck doesn’t think he can stop smiling. “Okay. Have fun.”
Eddie hums. “Yeah. Gonna—Oscar Isaac. Tear up the fucking dancefloor dude, check it out.”
“Jesus Christ, Eddie,” Buck’s laughing, so hard his eyes are nearly tearing up with it. “Dork. Get out of the bathroom.”
Eddie’s smiling at him, miles and miles away, cowboy hat tipping into his eyes. “Okay. Okay. Bye. Love you.”
Buck’s mouth is frozen on the tail end of his laughter.
Eddie hangs up before he can respond.
bbuckley
Top Gun • 1986
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ❤️ 🔁
“You can be my wingman anytime.”
chimhan • Patron
I see you are going through it
Eddie: I don’t even want to know. Don’t tell me
Eddie: My head kills
Buck: Were the fries to your liking, cowboy?
Eddie: 😫
Eddie: Yes
Buck: Take something for your head. Maybe take some ice packs out for your joints since you tore up the dance floor
Eddie: I was quoting Ex Machina? 😵
Eddie: You should’ve hung up on me
You said a lot, Buck wants to say. You said you loved me, which is pretty normal, considering we’ve been friends for so long, but, hey, we haven’t actually said it to each other for some reason, and now you did.
Instead, he replies:
Buck: I would never hang up on you, who do you think I am
Eddie: You literally hung up on me the other day
Buck: I would never hang up on you without good reason
Buck: Hey buddy can you make sure your dad drinks a lot of water today
Christopher: Ok!
Christopher: You guys are weird btw
chimhan • Patron
Flow • 2024
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ❤️
My daughter told me to be quiet because I was crying too loud
ediazz
Get ‘em Jee
bbuckley
Yeah, be quiet
chimhan
There are so many truly devastating things I could say to you guys right now but I will keep it inside
Buck doesn’t entertain the idea of a date until Eddie’s been in Texas for nearly two months.
He’s still stuck in this stupid, shitty cycle of moping and wallowing. It feels like he’s going through a breakup, which is crazy, because him and Eddie were never anything to begin with. He loves Eddie, and Eddie—loves him, apparently, but not in a way that would fix any of this.
There’s a hollow feeling in his chest that’s, unfortunately, very familiar to him at this point, and everywhere he looks, he’s reminded of something that makes his knees want to give out.
Because he wakes up in the morning, and after he blinks a few times, after he gathers his bearings, he has to remember where he is. He’s not in the loft. The loft belongs to someone else now. He gave her the key, even. Face to face.
He wakes up and he sees sunlight pouring in through curtains, sees the framed art that Eddie left behind, the creamy beige of the walls. He’s opened his eyes to this for weeks and weeks and weeks, every morning, day after day, and yet in his mind, he’s still calling it Eddie’s room. He’s still startled, the second he’s fully awake.
It’s Buck’s room. He’s got the documents to prove it, but seeing his name attached to the Bedford address changes nothing about how he feels. Not a single thing. It still feels like he’s housesitting. Like—like Eddie’s just gone on a long vacation, and he’s here making sure everything is kept in order for when he comes back.
And he’s—he’s not trying to kid himself. He knows Eddie is staying in Texas. He knows it’s a forever thing. He’s cried about it more times than he cares to count, now.
But he can’t accept it.
He mows the lawn. He pays the bills. He keeps the house in check and makes sure it feels the same as before—tidy, but well lived in. Loved. Shoes by the front door, pens near the fridge for when he needs to add something to the grocery list.
He does all of this, and yet—it’s Eddie’s house.
He doesn’t change much, which could be where some of the problem lies. He takes down the calendar that has Christopher’s schedule, at least, and puts up a new one that looks unbearably empty in comparison. He considers changing something up, thinks about painting a room, or something, but, like—would Chris feel weird? What if they visit one day, and his house was different? Would it throw him off?
Would Buck feel weird, if it didn’t feel like the same place he’s grown to love?
Eddie jokes about it when they’re on FaceTime one day. He asks if the wall is actually gone, or if he’s put his “weird ass bike,” on it instead. Buck laughs it off, a little plastic, points his camera behind him, and says, “No, no, it’s still there,” and quickly changes the subject so he doesn’t have to tell him nearly everything is still untouched. In the same place.
The art near the front door hangs up tall, like it always has, and Buck passes by every morning, whether he’s running errands or heading down to the station, and—
“Buck,” Hen says, and when Buck snaps out of it and looks at her, she’s already got her eyes melted down, soft and concerned. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he asks, and then—oh. Okay. Everyone’s looking at him. He’s been completely spaced out while a conversation takes place around him, and he feels heat rise up the back of his neck.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been talking, just that it’s been enough time that Hen’s concerned, judging by the tone of her voice, like she’s afraid to spook a wild animal.
“Ravi was telling us about his date. You seeing anybody new?”
“Oh, uh,” Buck starts. Slow. He tries to hide the instant discomfort he feels creeping up his spine. “No. No, not recently.”
“Have you been looking?” Chim’s asking, then. Buck looks at him with wide eyes, because, wow. Et tu, Brute? “Maybe it would be good, you know. To…”
“Get out there,” Hen finishes for him, and Buck’s turning his gaze back towards her just as she finishes giving Chim a pointed look. Great. He’s probably going to find himself in the middle of an intervention soon. “Have fun. Take your mind off things.”
Things, meaning Eddie. Eddie, who loves him.
He looks over at Ravi, who looks a little uncomfortable about being in the middle of this.
“I don’t even…” Buck starts, looking down at his boots. He scuffs them against each other while he fidgets with his hands. “I don’t feel up for it, honestly.”
“That’s why you should try,” she says, so soft it hits him square in the chest. “You never know. You could meet someone that makes you feel brand new.”
And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? He doesn’t want to meet anyone. He doesn’t want to feel brand new. He wants to—to feel it, because at least then, he knows it was all real.
Whatever is happening to his face has her scooting a little closer to him on the couch, her hand moving to rest gently on his shoulder. “Just try. One time. Then if you really hate it, if you need a little more time, you can let them down easy.”
He doesn’t want to entertain the thought. Actually, he wants to immediately forget this conversation has ever happened, but Hen and Chim are looking at him like they might sic Bobby on the whole situation, and he does not need that. Absolutely not. No, no, and no.
“Okay,” he gives in. “Okay. Just—I’ll try.”
Hen squeezes his shoulder and nods, affectionately crinkling her nose at him in lieu of another careful smile. “Good.”
ediazz
When Harry Met Sally… • 1989
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ❤️
Well
bbuckley
Your sister has good taste
chimhan • Patron
Anyway, it’s about old friends!
chimhan • Patron
Oh shit
Hinge is back on his phone.
It’s been a while, but he logs in with his previous information and sees his profile pop right back up like he never left. Welcome back, it greets.
He cringes at the older pictures on his profile and replaces them with newer ones, and if his eyes stick on Kids: none, and drops his stomach like he’s on a rollercoaster, well no one has to know.
He swipes, and Eddie loves him, he swipes, and Eddie loves him.
It doesn’t make a difference.
Ben’s nice.
He’s funny in a way that comes through even over texts, and Buck finds himself smiling at his phone every time he receives a quick, witty reply.
He agrees to a date and desperately tries to ignore the feeling it brings. Because—he knows what it’s like to cheat on someone. He’s not proud of it. But, he knows, and he feels it, all over again.
It doesn’t make any sense.
ediazz
Love, Rosie • 2014
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ❤️
Well maybe I should put my head through a wall
chimhan • Patron
I see 🤔
Eddie: FaceTime on Friday? Chris is asking
Buck: Shit, I can’t
Buck: I have a dinner
Eddie: Tell Hen and Karen Chris needs his Buck time
Buck chews at his bottom lip. He could laugh it off. He could send him a silly emoji and be on his way. But—he feels. He doesn’t know, actually, just that it feels wrong not to explain.
Buck: 🤣
Buck: It’s with a guy
Eddie: A guy?
Buck: Ben
Buck: We met a few days ago
Eddie: Oh
Eddie: Okay, I’ll let him know
Buck: Sorry, we could do Saturday
Eddie: Yeah
Buck: [2 images attached]
Buck: Which one for a date?
Maddie: Second one 🥺
“So,” Chim says, plopping onto the couch beside him. He snaps his gum obnoxiously and Buck sighs and closes his book. “Maddie tells me you have a date.”
“If you’re here to—”
“Hey. No. I’m proud of you. For trying.”
Buck blinks and tries his best not to look as taken aback as he feels. “Uh. Thank you?”
“I know it’s been—with the whole—you know.”
“I am not talking about this with you right now.”
“Noted. Heard.”
Ben: My roommate’s getting tired of hearing about you, I think
Eddie: Why is Cher so good???
He responds to Eddie first.
They decide to meet at a nice Mexican restaurant not too far away.
Friday comes, a little too quickly, and when he finishes off his shift earlier in the day, Hen knocks their shoulders together and waggles her eyebrows, a move that reminds him way too much of Karen on wine nights.
He gets home. Naps. Tries not to feel insane when his alarm goes off later.
And it’s—it’s weird.
Buck gets dressed, a nice cardigan he splurged on and jeans that are both comfortable and have no trouble awarding him with lingering stares when he’s out and about. He scrunches product into his damp hair and just—feels weird.
Logically, everything is fine. Nothing is wrong. Ben’s nice, and his pictures are great. They have a lot in common. If nothing else, he knows he’s going to have a good meal. But his stomach is turning in a way that doesn’t happen for first dates, and when he meets his own eyes in the mirror, they look—blank. Tired.
He shakes out his shoulders. He spots a piece of lint near his collar and picks it away. He tries to smile.
For a wild, insane second, he almost calls out to check if Eddie’s ready.
He can see the exact moment his brain rights itself. His eyes dim, his mouth falters around the smile he’s been trying to tack on, and heat pools into the apples of his cheeks, flushing them out a light, rosy, pink.
He’s in the bathroom, flushed to hell, and all he manages to think about is how Eddie called him just like this, drunk off his ass, and told him he loves him. And now he’s going on a date with someone else.
“Fuck,” he mutters to himself.
When he gets into the Jeep, he immediately pulls up one of his more relaxing playlists so he can calm the hell down.
He gets out of his head enough to tap his fingers against the steering wheel and hum to himself while he drives, but as soon as he sees the restaurant’s sign, lit up and twinkling in the evening dusk, his stomach turns again.
It’s Friday, and he’s not on FaceTime with Eddie and Chris. It’s Friday, and he’s about to swap awkward introductions with a guy he’s only spoken to over an app.
It won’t be—easy, like he knows it would be with Eddie. It won’t be familiar. He won’t be able to order for the guy, won’t be able to tell the waitress to make sure there’s plenty of cilantro on Eddie’s dish while he’s off picking out ice cold bottles of Jarritos with Chris near the front entrance.
His heart is in his throat by the time he finds a good parking spot, and it takes a full minute for him to turn the volume down and take the keys out of the ignition.
He checks his phone.
Eddie: Chris ended up having a movie night with Abuela, he’s excited for tomorrow
Eddie: Hope everything is 👍🏼
Ben: Got us a table near the back! I’m by a Frida Kahlo painting. The one with the monkey 🐵
Buck locks his phone and breathes out through his nose and tries not to wince as he gets out of the car and steps onto the rocky gravel. It crunches beneath his feet as he follows the path inside, and he steps aside when he opens the door, letting a family walk out before he enters.
They’ve been to this restaurant before, a good amount of times. Most recently, it had been after Chris won an award for science class and he wanted to celebrate with a nice dinner.
“You’re first on the guest list, obviously,” Eddie had said at the station, knocking a loose fist against Buck’s clothed shoulder. He had shivered anyway. How did he not know? “And then Pepa’s coming, too.”
Buck had lit up. “Pepa? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“How many, sir? Just one?”
Buck blinks a few times and then shakes his head. “Oh, uh. No, I’m—” he starts to scan around the room, looking for the painting Ben had mentioned, and his heart pounds when he finds it, because Ben’s already looking.
“With him,” he finishes, and—okay. Ben’s attractive: sharp smile, dark hair, impressive build. Buck knows this. He’s smiling at him from across the way, his hand up in a cute little wave, and Buck—well, he fucking hates himself, because the only thing he can think is: yeah, this isn’t gonna work.
He doesn’t even give the guy a chance to say hello.
He steps forward anyway, keeps walking until Ben stands up, putting his hand out shyly.
Buck takes his hand, and it’s—not right, either. Too small.
“Woah,” Ben gushes, moving their hands together in a slow shake. “You look nice.”
“Uh, thanks,” Buck laughs, and moves to sit in the chair across from him. “You—so do you. I like the jacket.”
Ben’s eyes are twinkling in the low light, and Buck clears his throat, averting his eyes to the menu.
“I ordered us some waters to start. Chips and salsa are on their way.”
“Thanks,” Buck says, and it’s—his legs are bouncing underneath the table. The air feels a little heavy. “You haven’t been here long, right?”
“No, no, I texted when I sat down. You didn’t keep me waiting,” he says, and when Buck looks up at him, his eyes are—green and staring into him. “And, like, even if you had, I wouldn’t have minded.”
Buck laughs again, a short burst of air through his nose, and he feels his face heat up as he looks over the dinner specials.
The waitress comes by then, with water and chips and salsa, and Buck recognizes her, a sweet old lady named Josefina that hit it off with Pepa the last time they were here. Her big brown eyes widen a little in recognition and she puts a small hand on his shoulder, squeezing.
“Hi, mijo. It’s been a while,” she says, eyes crinkling up in a smile. For some reason, Buck wants to cry.
“Yeah, hi,” he croaks, menu forgotten. He can feel Ben’s eyes on him. “How have you been?”
“Cannot complain. What about you, huh? How’s—” and then she’s finally setting her soft gaze onto Ben, and narrows her eyes for a split second. Blink and miss it. When she looks back at Buck, she tilts her head, a questioning lilt. “Ah. Okay.”
Buck looks over at Ben, tries his very best not to shrink under his calculating eyes. “Yeah, uh,” he says, voice a little wobbly. He points at the menu in his hands like it’s going to save him. “You ready? I know what I’m getting.”
Ben nods, so Buck orders first, a beef enchilada dinner. He listens quietly as Ben orders some special he’s never heard of, customizing it enough to where Josefina’s pen struggles to keep up on her notepad.
She takes their menus and smiles a little sadly at Buck, and then she’s off towards the kitchen.
“So,” Ben says, holding out the o, and—fuck, there’s no way he doesn’t know something’s off. Their waitress is treating Buck like he’s about to break.
“I’m sorry,” Buck rushes out. It comes out of him before he can stop it, and he takes the straw out of the wrapper so he can have something to do with his hands.
“Hey, don’t be,” Ben soothes, his hand reaching across the table. “It’s okay. You just didn’t say anything about a—a break up, so I didn’t—”
“It wasn’t a—” Buck interrupts, quick, and fuck, he’s being so fucking rude. He looks up through his eyelashes and feels his shoulder sink. “Sorry. It wasn’t a breakup.”
“It wasn’t a breakup,” Ben parrots, a kind smile on his face. “What was it, then?”
“It’s, like. Really complicated.”
Ben looks down at the Apple watch that’s delicately wrapped around his wrist and shrugs. “Well, we have time, Buck. If you want to get it off your chest.”
“Are you—are you sure? Wait. No. I don’t want to make this about me.”
“I asked, didn’t I?”
Buck falters. And then he looks around the restaurant nervously. Josefina’s having a conversation near the back, everyone else is focused completely on the people at their own tables. Ben, when Buck’s eyes find him again, is sitting there patiently, eyes warm.
“It’s just that—I haven’t talked about it much.”
Ben raises his eyebrows, like he’s saying go on.
“So. It’s a lot.”
“Try me.”
Buck spills his guts.
He tries his best to condense everything, tries to make it easily digestible, but he finds himself starting from the very beginning, and his mouth—it can’t stop, once it starts.
He hasn’t laid it out like this for anyone. Only bits and pieces to Maddie here and there. Sometimes to Karen, because he can’t hide anything from her. He talks and talks and talks, and he doesn’t tell the guy everything, he keeps private things private, but he can tell by the way Ben’s staring at him that even without the entire picture, it’s more than just a lot.
He only shuts up because the entrees are delicately set in front of them, with a reminder that the plates are still hot.
Ben reaches down for his fork with big eyes, and blows out a breath before he starts cutting into his chimichanga. “Jesus, dude.”
Buck laughs. It’s a loud thing, and as it breaks free from his chest, he realizes he’s not so tense in his seat anymore. “I told you.”
“That’s—and he’s just… gone? Forever?”
Buck stabs into his enchilada a little harder than necessary. “I mean, he gave me his house. He’s all settled in Texas. He’s where he’s supposed to be.”
“You know you could get this whole story adapted into a movie, right? Or, like, maybe it’d be better as a TV show. I could see it going for seasons and driving people crazy.”
Buck chews his food slowly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he says, mmming at the forkful of rice he shovels into his mouth. “The whole will they, won’t they thing. The tragedy of it all.”
Something must change on Buck’s face without him meaning to, and jeez, he’s gotta start controlling himself, because Ben’s dropping his fork and putting his hands out.
“Sorry. That’s probably not what you want to hear.”
Buck can’t help himself from laughing again. He lets his own fork hit the edge of his plate with a clink. “I mean… honestly, this is the first time I’ve talked about it like this, with anyone. It’s—nice? To hear it wasn’t all…”
“In your head?”
Buck nods. He takes a long gulp of his ice water, the lemon bumping him in the nose. When he sets it down, Ben’s looking at him, lips pursed.
“So… your not breakup. Are you just looking to—take your mind off of it?”
“I don’t really know,” Buck says. Pauses for a second. “What I want. I mean—this whole thing, it was my friend’s idea. And I do like you, I think you’re—you’re funny, and you’re sweet for letting me ramble. I don’t mean for this to sound like I…,” he trails off, a little frustrated. He feels a little frantic, needing to clarify. “I really did want to meet you. It’s not just…”
“Hey,” Ben’s saying, reaching out again. He’s just out of reach. Buck thinks the only thing he comes into contact with is the sleeve of his cardigan. “That’s fine. We both said we weren’t really looking for anything serious on our profiles.”
“But, uh, I don’t think you signed up to hear me talk about my—friend.”
Ben’s lip twitches up into a smile. “You act like it’s a hardship to sit across from a gorgeous guy.”
Buck feels himself begin to flush again and ducks his head. “You know what I mean.”
“Again. We aren’t looking for anything serious. I’m having a great time—the food’s good, the company’s even better. Don’t sweat it.”
Buck nods, shy, picking his spoon back up. “Okay. That’s—thank you.”
They continue eating and talk about the things they mentioned briefly on the app—what they do for work, places they’ve traveled, hobbies. They do have a lot in common, and it’s—easier, than he expects it to be.
It should be a good thing, that it’s easy. But if it’s easy for him, it’s going to be even easier for Eddie, because he doesn’t—he never even—
“Hey, so. I’m not usually this forward.”
Buck’s eyes widen a fraction.
“Do you wanna go back to your place? No pressure, just—I have a roommate, so it’s not ideal. You know, if you want to keep taking your mind off things.”
Buck freezes. And for some reason, he says: “Yeah. Okay.”
It’s just—he has to try, right?
Ben looks a little taken aback at the quick response, that he accepts so easily, and moves to put his card on the small tray Josefina brought by after their last round of refills. Buck follows his lead, setting his card beside Ben’s, biting at his bottom lip, because—him and Eddie, they used to rock paper scissors the bill.
“Okay. I can follow you in my car.”
“Sounds, uh. Sounds good.”
They share an awkward wave out in the parking lot before they get into their respective cars, and then suddenly Buck’s on the road again, with the knowledge that Ben is behind him at the red light, following him to Eddie’s house. To his house.
He keeps looking into the rearview mirror, heart pounding a little unsteady in his chest. This is—he wants to. He wants to get his mind off of Eddie, and it’s not like it was all that difficult to accept Ben’s offer. He’s nice and flirty and way too kind, and Buck could—he could grow to like him. One day.
His music is playing low, low, low, barely audible. He makes a right into the neighborhood, and another one. He tries not to think about how much he feels like he’s betraying Eddie.
When he starts to slow, pulling into the empty driveway, his stomach bottoms out. Ben pulls in right beside him, and it’s—it’s a weird sight, the two of their cars side by side.
There’s not a truck here.
Buck swallows down the lump in his throat and kills the engine, pasting on a smile when he gets out of the Jeep. Watches Ben click his keys twice, beeping it locked.
He starts walking towards the front door, goosebumps raising on the back of his neck when he feels Ben hovering behind him, close. He unlocks it, steps inside, and then Ben’s got a hand on the small of his back, pushing him further inside, gentle.
If he—if he closes his eyes, he can picture it so easily.
How Eddie would do the same thing. Put a big hand on the back of his neck like he owns him, like he knows Buck would give easily.
He shivers. Hard.
“You good?”
The voice behind him is wrong. Buck grits his teeth and, like, maybe Ben would get it, if he told him to shut up. He’s understanding enough. He sat through a whole lecture about Eddie and still invited himself back to Buck’s.
“Yeah, uh. Just—been a while.”
Ben adds more pressure, presses his hand further into the dip in Buck’s back. He’s warm, and—and Buck knows, Eddie would cover more of his back. His hands are bigger than Ben’s, bigger than Buck’s, and he’d feel—he’d feel so much better.
“Lead the way.”
Buck does. His steps are slow and hesitant. Every inch he takes into the house feels wrong, because—he doesn’t know, it just feels forbidden. This place has so much history. Everywhere he looks, every corner, has a memory attached. And here Buck is, bringing some random guy home. Letting his distinct cologne catch on fabric. He’ll have to fix that, later. Spray it down.
His hand stills on the doorknob to the bedroom.
Ben’s still touching him, steady over his cardigan.
“Uh,” he says. His hand hasn’t moved to turn it. He’s still not looking at Ben. “There’s not really much in here. Still getting it ready.”
“Buck,” Ben says, low, voice tickling the shell of Buck’s ear. He’s about the right height, just a couple inches shorter than him, and Buck’s eyes flutter closed. “It’s okay.”
Except—it’s not okay. Not really. Because this is Eddie’s room. Untouched. Completely the same.
Because this is Eddie’s bed. He’s about to bring another person into Eddie’s bed, and he feels like he might collapse to his knees and just—sink along the wood, until he’s a pile of limbs against the closed door.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move a muscle. Doesn’t open the door. Just heaves out a heavy sigh.
“Buck?”
He curls into himself, his forehead meeting the door. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, it’s—”
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Ben’s hand moves to squeeze his shoulder, a comforting gesture that Buck isn’t really sure he deserves right now. “It’s okay. I mean it.”
Buck slowly turns around, until he’s looking down his nose at Ben for the first time since the front porch. He feels so fucking—fragile, like he could break at any second. Shatter, completely.
“I can head out. And I—I can message you tomorrow,” Ben says, nodding to himself, like he’s winging this whole thing and likes what ends up coming out of his mouth. “See where things are?”
Buck hums, nods, not trusting himself to speak. He watches as Ben reaches out and squeezes his shoulder again with a reassuring smile, and watches, as he walks down the hallway and lets himself out.
He slumps against the door. Bangs his head against it. And then, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.
He fishes it out and answers it without even looking at the caller ID.
“Buck?”
Eddie.
“Sorry, I know you’re—I don’t mean to interrupt, but—what was the password to Hulu?”
Buck blinks a few times and lets out a breath, and then, because the universe hates him, Ben walks right back in the front door.
“Hey, sorry. I tossed my keys on your couch when we were coming in!”
He pulls the phone away from his mouth and covers the end with his hand. “Oh—that’s fine. You find them?”
Ben pokes his head around the corner and jingles them at him. “Got ‘em. See ya, Buck.”
“Bye, Ben,” he gets out, bringing his phone back to his ear.
The front door closes.
“Uh,” Eddie says. “Sorry. Shit, sorry. I should’ve just texted, I don’t know why I—”
“No, no, it’s okay,” Buck hurries out, and finally, finally enters Eddie’s—his—room with a heavy sigh that rattles his lungs. “He was just leaving. I didn’t—we didn’t—”
“Oh, hey, you don’t have to explain,” Eddie says. Cutting him off. “It’s not like…”
Buck’s standing right inside the doorway, ears perking up like a dog. Eddie doesn’t continue his sentence, and Buck’s bones start to shake.
“It felt weird,” he admits, out of nowhere, instead of pressing, not like what? His face feels hot. Burning up. He sits on the edge of the bed so he doesn’t start pacing around. “Bringing someone here.”
Eddie hums. A question. “It did?”
“Well—yeah,” he says, moving to get his phone tucked safely between his face and shoulder so he can begin to untie his shoes. “It’s your bed, Eddie.”
There’s a noise that comes across the receiver that Buck can’t decipher.
“You need my permission to fuck around in my bed?”
Buck straightens out his back so quickly his hand has to shoot up to catch the phone. He kicks his shoes off weakly. “What?”
“Do you want my permission?” he asks. His voice is—Buck’s breathing starts coming in heavier, because Eddie’s voice is—rough, and fuck, is he mad?
“I don’t—Eddie?”
“You can get off in my bed, Buck. It’s yours.”
How the fuck are they even having this conversation right now? Buck’s hot. He’s feverish with it. He’s so fucking hot he puts the phone on speaker and throws it beside him on the comforter so he can shuck his cardigan off and let it fall to the floor.
“You took Ben home,” Eddie says, voice filling up the room like he’s there. Not a question. A statement.
Buck looks up at the ceiling like there’s a hidden camera. “I did.”
Eddie hums. “What’s he like?”
“I don’t—we just met. I don’t really know.”
“He didn’t leave much of an impression?”
Buck is going insane. Maybe he’s finally lost his mind. All the pining and yearning and grief has finally pulled him under.
He pulls at the soft cotton of his white tee, because he’s beginning to sweat, now.
“Not—not really. Why are you—”
“Y’all talk about anything interesting?”
“Eddie.”
Eddie makes a noise. If Buck were to speak, he’d be cut off. “Why was he inside?”
“Jesus. I think you know—we were gonna—but I made him leave.”
“Okay,” Eddie says. He laughs, but it’s—nothing’s funny. He laughs and it sounds like a huff. “But you really—a shitty first impression, bad conversation, and you let him inside?”
And it’s like. It hits him, all of a sudden. The first thing Eddie said when he answered the phone. Buck completely ignores what Eddie’s asking, because—what? What. His mind is racing so hard, following the rapid stuttering of his heartbeat, and he might start hearing blood whooshing in his ears pretty soon.
“You have the Hulu password in your Notes app.”
Buck’s watching the phone like if he stares hard enough, he can see Eddie’s face through it. He wishes he could, because—all Buck can hear is dead air.
“So what if I do?”
“Eddie,” Buck breathes out, completely sideways. The Earth is wrong, he thinks. He might fall off the bed and land on the ceiling. He takes his phone off speaker and presses it to his ear, just to have him closer. “That’s why you called. Because—you said you needed the password.”
“Well, yeah. I know what I said.”
Buck huffs out a disbelieving laugh. He wipes a hand over his face and stares, open mouthed, out the window. “I—I guess I’m just having a little trouble understanding.”
It’s silent again. Buck can only hear Eddie suck his teeth, like he’s rearing up for an argument. “Well, same here. You don’t like the guy, and then he’s in my house?”
“I don’t like the—? I never said that—”
“You can’t just—you can’t take someone home.”
“Eddie, what are we talking about right now? What are you talking about?”
Eddie makes an exasperated noise, and Buck can see it—the frustrated pinch of his brow, the curl of his lips. He expects his voice to come out rash, rough, angry. Instead, it’s barely audible. “I don’t want you to take anyone home.”
Buck’s thoughts turn into static.
He runs a hand across his chest, pauses at his heart, just to make sure it’s still working. Because—well, he’s half convinced he hit his head and he’s in the middle of a concussion dream sprawled on the hallway floor, but the other half of his brain says, hey, there’s only one way to read that, and it’s decidedly not platonic. Wake up. Do something.
Flashing neon words pop up into Buck’s head like fireworks. Okay. Bye. Love you.
“Eddie, are you—” jealous, he almost says. It dies in his throat before it can reach the heavy air around him. He braces himself, taps a pattern into the soft material of his shirt and sucks in a breath. “If you told me not to go to dinner with him, I wouldn’t have.”
A surprised cough hisses down the line. “You’d have listened?”
It’s easy, to say: “I would do anything you asked me to do. I thought that was clear.”
“Anything?” Eddie drawls.
Buck lets his hand fall to the mattress so he can fist the comforter, knuckles turning white with it. “Yeah, Eddie. Anything.”
“God,” he hears Eddie breathe out. There’s rustling over the line, like he’s moving around. “Where are you?”
“Sitting on your bed.”
Buck is one hundred percent not prepared to hear a punched out gasp directly in his ear. He is two hundred percent not prepared to hear,
“Lie down.”
He does. He does it so quick he gets a little dizzy, then he presses his phone a little harder against his ear. “Okay.”
“Did he—did you let him touch you?”
“No—yes. A little.”
“I hate him. He sucks.”
A laugh startles out of his mouth, breathy. “It wasn’t—it was nothing. I kicked him out, like, three seconds later.”
“It’s not nothing,” Eddie says. “He was in my house, touching you, like—like you’re his.”
“I’ll delete the app,” Buck says, out of his mind. “I didn’t even get his number. At the restaurant, I—I talked about you the entire time. I talk about you to anyone that listens. I can’t stop.”
“My entire family talks about you like they’ve met you. That’s how much I can’t shut up.”
Buck squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a big breath, because—how is this even happening? It feels like his date with Ben was a week ago, but the guy was in the hallway not five minutes ago, and now—
Now Buck’s aching in his pants, socked feet fidgeting across the comforter. The different materials make a hissing noise when they rub together.
“You can’t just—say these things,” he pauses to pop open the button on his jeans and hovers his hand over the zipper. “Eddie, I’m—I need to—”
“Tell me what you need,” Eddie cuts in, and his voice has Buck curling his toes, has him swallowing in an attempt to soothe his dry throat. “You already have my permission.”
Buck whines and unzips his pants. He lifts his hips and pushes his jeans and briefs down the best he can with one hand. It’s enough, and it looks filthy when he looks down, his clothes bunched up around his thighs, cock heavy and hard and flushed.
“Need you to talk to me,” he gasps out, fitting his hand around himself. He’s glistening at the tip, and he strokes once, twice, to get himself wet. He’s not nearly as slick as he wants to be, but he can’t stop himself from twisting his wrist to relieve the throbbing. “I want to listen to you while I’m—fuck—while I’m touching myself in your bed.”
Eddie curses and stumbles around half-formed words before he’s able to speak. “I want to hear—I want you to—” he sounds frazzled, as out of sorts as Buck feels. Good. “Spit in your hand. I want to hear it.”
Buck nearly blacks out. He brings his hand up to his face, sees precome glistening on his palm and licks, and then he’s spitting loudly into the center of it, moaning at the filthy noise that fills up the quiet of the bedroom.
“There you go, baby. Good boy.”
“Shit, fuck,” he grits out, shuddering. He finds a good rhythm again, stroking himself slowly, makes sure to spread his saliva around. It’s fucking obscene, the way it sounds, messy and loud, and heat creeps up his neck. “Can you hear it?”
It takes Eddie a second to respond, and by the way he speaks, wobbly and out of breath, Buck knows they’re a perfect mirror image eight hundred miles away. “I can hear it. I wish I could—I wish I could put it in my mouth.”
“Eddie,” Buck groans, frantic, and if it’s possible, he thinks he gets even harder. When he comes, it’s going to kill him, probably. His obituary is going to be so fucking embarrassing. Evan Buckley, died 2025. Came too hard.
“I’ve never done it before. You’d have to show me,” he says, and Buck’s eyes are rolling back at the image his brain conjures up for him. Eddie, nervous, licking at his lips. Eddie, flushed, on his knees. “You gonna show me how?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll show you,” he gasps out, and he feels so good, it isn’t even Eddie’s hand on his cock, but he’s trembling so hard he might fall off the fucking bed. “I want to show you.”
“I want you to show me everything,” Eddie continues, breathless. “I want to do—everything with you. What would you have done if—if Ben had stayed?”
“I’d have let him fuck me and pretended it was you.”
It’s a lie. It’s a bad one, because he just sent the guy packing and Eddie knows it, but he—he wants to make Eddie feel it. Wants to get him riled up. Wants to fuck him up.
Eddie keens. It sends a violent shiver up Buck’s spine, making him arch off the bed with the intensity of it. “I fucking—hate him.”
Buck wants to laugh, but he’s jerking himself so quickly it’s eating up his brain cells and leaving him stupid. He’s molten, sweat dripping down the side of his neck. “You wanna fuck me that bad?” he breaks off, swearing at the noises he’s hearing, now that Eddie is silent, listening. “I want you to.”
“Yeah, I—I don’t want anyone else touching you ever again,” Eddie’s half-hysterical now, voice wavering, like he’s making himself convulse. “Only I—hah—get to. For the—for the rest of time, I’ll be the only one who gets to.”
“God,” Buck moans, and he’s—he’s getting close, now, so he reluctantly slows down his movements, exhaling.
He doesn’t want it to be over yet. He wants to keep listening, he wants to make it last, he wants to drive himself so crazy the only thing he can manage are strangled, desperate noises, wants to shut his eyes tight and imagine Eddie holding onto them like it’s the only thing keeping him sane.
“Want you to fuck me, too,” Eddie keeps talking, out of breath, and Buck gasps at the precome that blurts out and starts trickling down his hand. “I’ve been—I’ve been going crazy out here, without you, I—I want to know what it’s like.”
“I’ll give it to you,” Buck whines, “I’ll—whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
“I want to hear you come,” Eddie replies, quick with it, sucking in air like he’s starved of oxygen. “I want to hear you, I want to—I wish you were here, wish you could—all over me—”
Buck doesn’t even get a warning. He’s coming before he can even speed his rhythm back up.
He inhales through his mouth, hard, like he’s been hit, and then he’s nearly weeping with it, how hard it hits him.
He’s got Eddie in his ear, telling him he wants his come, and Buck—Buck can’t keep his eyes open, his body’s just giving the fuck up. He’s met with pitch black, his legs are tensing so much he vaguely braces himself for a cramp, he’s saying something, he doesn’t know what, just that it makes Eddie curse loudly and follow him with a rapid, dirty, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
It’s fucking filthy. He’s a mess of his own spit and sweat and he’s coming so much that it’s pooling over the soft muscles of his stomach, warm and thick, and—he can see it, he can see it, Eddie’s mouth opening, wanting to know how it tastes. Eddie, on his back, egging him on, wanting it all over his pretty, flushed skin.
“Oh my god,” he manages to wheeze out, breathing so hard he can hear every intake like he’s got a microphone pointed to his mouth. He drops his hand and runs his fingers through his come, dazed. He can’t believe they just—his heart pounds, wildly. “Eddie.”
“I’m here, I’m,” he’s panting, and Buck wants to see him, wants to taste him, wants to clean him up. “I fried my brain.”
Buck chuckles weakly, twitching a little with the aftershocks. “No, yeah, me too. I—I’m a mess.”
Eddie whines at that. “Stop. My hands won’t stop shaking, I can’t hear you say that right now.”
“Can’t hear me say what? That I made a mess of myself in your bed?”
“Buck,” Eddie grits out. “Yes, that. I—I wish I could see.”
A lightbulb goes off. “Give me a second, huh? I’m going to—can we clean up, then…?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we should—that sounds good. I’ll talk to you in a second?”
“Uh, yeah,” Buck says, and then—it’s all so absurd. A shy, bumbling goodbye after they got each other off over the phone. He laughs, and then he can’t stop.
“Shut up,” Eddie barks out through his own laughter, and then the line goes dead.
Buck: Do I have permission to send something insane
Eddie: The permission I gave earlier extends to everything on earth until the end of time
Eddie: Anything for you, whatever you want, etc
Buck: [Image attached]
Eddie: Ffcj
Eddie: Oh mygod
Eddie: 🛐🙏🏼
Buck: Okay, call me back
Eddie doesn’t call him back. Buck sees his own face looking back at him when Eddie requests a FaceTime instead, and he watches with a giddy smile as the connection loads up.
“Is this how it’s going to be now?” Eddie says instead of hello. He’s blushing, his eyes are twinkling, and his hair looks damp with sweat. Buck’s going to take art classes just to be able to paint it on an extra-large canvas and hang it up in the hallway. “That picture almost sent me to the E.R.”
“Hey, we could get you on TLC. Sex Sent Me to the E.R. Remember that show?”
“Mmm,” Eddie’s looking at him with raw affection, and it’s—it’s a little bit of a shock to his system, for Buck to realize this isn’t anything new. He recognizes the expression from early mornings at the station, quiet nights after dinner. “You look good.”
Buck—well, he isn’t prepared for that. He ducks his head, huffing out a surprised laugh and turning the camera away from himself.
“No, no, hey, come back.”
“Ugh,” Buck grumbles, but puts himself back in frame immediately, anyway. Anything for him means anything, even if he’s a blushing mess and embarrassed about it. “You can’t say that.”
“I can.”
“Says who?”
“Says me,” Eddie says, putting a finger out before Buck can argue further. “I also want to say sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“The whole—I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
Buck squints at him. “Yes, actually, you did.”
“Okay, I did. I just kinda went crazy, because—Buck, you make me insane. I knew it was going to fuck me up, leaving you, but it’s—I didn’t realize how much, until you were getting smaller and smaller in the rearview, and I just thought, fuck, what a horrible way to realize I’m in love with you.”
Buck closes his eyes and laughs, almost silently. “Eddie.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s when I got it, too.”
“What a fucking pair we make,” Eddie says, shaking his head. The strand of hair Buck wants to bite falls onto his forehead. When he speaks again, his voice is impossibly softer. “But we’ll figure it out, huh?”
Buck smiles.
“Yeah. Yeah, we will.”
Buck deletes Hinge later that night, when they finally, finally tear themselves away from FaceTime. He sends Eddie a screenshot, just to have an excuse to talk again.
Eddie: Bye Ben 👋🏼🥳
Buck: Wow.. After all he did for us?
Eddie: Idgaf