Chapter Text
This isn’t a good idea. Has never been, really, from the moment it was conceived, which was, apparently, a couple of days ago in the middle of a pretty boring 24 hour shift while Eddie wasn't paying enough attention.
It is the tenth (maybe twentieth) time Eddie is having that thought in the past hour. Now, though? Now it's for an actual reason.
“So sorry,” the staff girl apologizes once again. Her hands are worrying the hem of her apron, and Eddie almost wants to reach out to stop her. She doesn’t look familiar, so Eddie guesses she’s a new hire. More reason for her nervousness. “You can just… talk to the men?”
She's begging here. She has already explained. To carry out this… event, they need at least six people, and Eddie is —not voluntarily— the sixth one. His co-workers have signed him up, after all. He's not… Eddie doesn't think he should be dating right now.
Or ever, maybe. He's doing just fine as he is. Truly.
However, Jack is very outspoken about the fact that, yes, Eddie is fucking wrong, and he absolutely needs to date. Urgently, even. Has been very loud about this fact for years, actually, which makes the claim that is an urgent matter even more laughable. Eddie has done his best to tune him out, but his assertion had slowly gained support from the rest of the guys from his shift, captain Hill included.
So he, Jack fucking Moore —cheered by the other guys here tonight, George, Charles and Mike— signed up Eddie for a speed dating event for firefighters in their usual bar. Yes, for firefighters, exclusively. Eddie wasn't aware until today that this is actually the usual meeting spot for other firehouses apart from the 106. He doesn’t come that often, to be fair, being a full-time dad. He already feels bad for not being able to see Christopher every night.
The thing is that neither Jack nor George nor Charles nor Mike —Eddie can excuse Mike, he's a little oblivious— have apparently noticed that it was a queer speed dating event, and so the event ended up with a lineup of five men (including Eddie) and one single woman. Queer speed dating event for firefighters. Couldn't be more niche.
In any case, the organizers could have seen it coming. The one single woman. There aren't many women firefighters, to begin with, and Eddie knows in passing at least four from other firehouses that are already married to each other. Very happily married.
Here's the deal, though: Eddie is straight. Blatantly straight. His co-workers from the 106 know this. He's had girlfriends! Although, yes, he has to admit none of them has lasted very long. It's true. Eddie's schedule (and his life in general, and his little quirks, and more things he can’t bother to think about) make it difficult. Sure, more than once someone has joked he might be a bit into men. But they are that. Jokes. Between straight men.
Straight men like Eddie. Because he's straight. Eddie is very aware this predicament has happened because his co-workers didn't bother to really check the details on the leaflet. It wasn't planned as a distasteful prank, if he's to judge the expressions on their faces.
“It's okay, really,” Eddie says to the poor girl, because she's absolutely not at fault here. Her hands stop the fidgeting abruptly and her big brown eyes look at him, shiny. Damn, she's young, Eddie guesses she can't be past twenty-two.
In any case, it's as she says: this shouldn't be a big deal to Eddie. He can just chat with the guys and have a very honest conversation with the only woman so she knows he, in fact, didn't sign up for this.
But, hey, if there’s any chance she's into men…
Whatever. Eddie is not getting his hopes up, not when he's very aware he's not in a position to date anyway— he doesn't even want to date, truly.
Whatever. He’s saying it for real, whatever. Eddie can get through it. The only things he needs to do are talking and being kind. Preferably at the same time. It's only five minutes with each person, so it shouldn’t even be difficult. He’s had conversations with clerks at the supermarket that lasted longer than that.
Eddie starts the conversation before the first guy can get a word in.
“I'm straight.”
As straightforward as he can be. Yes.
The man opens his mouth. Closes it. He's young, or younger than Eddie at least. Seems familiar, maybe Eddie has seen him on a call at some point. All freckles. “So then—”
“My co-workers signed me up for this without reading the details,” he cuts him. To be fair, it hadn't been a detail, but a big QUEER sign in rainbow letters on the top half of the leaflet.
Eddie still believes his co-workers when they tell him they hadn't seen it. It's been seven years. Eddie knows they are very much capable of just ignoring very crucial details. Mike can, mainly.
On their defense, it’s not even Pride month. These things normally happen during Pride month, don’t they? Not that Eddie knows, he’s just guessing. It’s April, for fuck’s sake.
It takes the man in front of Eddie a moment, but he ends up nodding while giving him a little shrug.
“Okay, well— We can... still talk?”
“We can still talk,” Eddie confirms, and forces himself to smile a little.
It goes like this with the first three guys. All of them are okay enough with just enjoying a chat with Eddie. He feels the second one is still surreptitiously trying to flirt with him, but Eddie doesn't give in to his advances. Maybe it's just how this guy is, many people are just… naturally flirty.
Not Eddie. He knows himself. Flirting and gushing over someone are things that don't come naturally to him as a baseline. He knows he can be romantic, it has just… not happened. For a long time.
It seems the girl is to be his last date for the night, so he sits down in front of the fourth guy, not paying a lot of attention and honestly not even looking forward to meeting her at this point of the night. It's just been an exhausting day and, despite the heads-up he sent Christopher, the teen is probably wondering when his father is coming home.
He hasn't sent any texts asking, though. Eddie has been checking. In fact, he's checking his phone when—
“Hey, so… I heard you are straight?”
The voice of the other man pulls Eddie out of his mind and snaps his eyes up from his phone screen. That's when Eddie finally looks at the man in front of him.
And, damn. He is straight. Eddie is so straight. But this guy is pretty.
No, not handsome. Pretty is really the word that comes to Eddie's mind when he looks at him. Not pretty in the way a woman is pretty, hell no. He's all muscle, for starters. More muscled than Eddie, in fact, and he knows he's not that bad himself. There's a certain kind of softness to his features, though, with short hair and blonde curls, and gentle blue eyes that are looking directly at Eddie. There's a birthmark on top of his right eye, a lovely shade that Eddie doesn't know if he should classify as red or pink because of the light at the bar. Thick eyebrows, gorgeous nose, perfect lips—
“Yes,” Eddie makes himself say, because it's already been too many seconds and the silence between them might be becoming awkward. It was becoming awkward, if only for whatever the hell just crossed Eddie's mind.
“Oh, well. I was getting my hopes up when I first saw you, but you have the vibes of a guy I could be friends with,” he smiles wide, relaxed, and something warm swoops into Eddie’s stomach.
The man extends his hand over the table between them and adds, “Buck. From the 118.”
It takes Eddie a second too long to realize Buck here expects him to shake his hand. “Eddie. 106,” he takes the hand, and Buck squeezes it in a firm grip.
Okay. None of these supposed dates have started like this, no. You could pay Eddie a million dollars to tell you any of the names of the other guys and he wouldn't be able, but those four letters are already etched into his mind forever.
Buck. That must be a nickname.
“I would ask you what you do for a living, but…” Buck cuts himself, laughing at his own attempt at a joke. It’s not exactly funny, but Eddie laughs a little too, not uncomfortably. “What have you done in your life, then? Like, before this,” he gestures between them.
“I’m a war veteran,” Eddie says, easily. There's no other answer he could give, he hasn't had any other jobs.
“You serious?” Buck's eyes go wide.
“I was stationed in Afghanistan,” Eddie confirms.
“You’re shitting me,” Buck says. “That’s great,” not the way Eddie would define it, but sure. He's more distracted by the big toothy grin plastered on Buck's face. “And you came back? Well— you obviously did, I’m seeing you right now.”
This guy. This guy is something—
“Nothing as cool as that from me, I'm afraid. Traveled a lot. Was a bartender in Peru for a summer,” Buck shrugs, and his eyebrows frown slightly as he thinks. It's cute, Eddie thinks, and the thought surprises him. “Only decided to become a firefighter because I saw one on TV and I thought that would be cool.”
That… yeah, in some strange way that piece of information fits with the guy that is sitting in front of Eddie. It's strange. It's been barely a minute.
“Hey, traveling is great. I barely got out of Texas during my youth,” Eddie sips from his beer. That's the first time he's done that since before he started talking to the first guy, actually. It's a distracted movement, he's focused on Buck, eyes pinned on him, scanning his features, his smile, his—
No, not pretty. This guy really is gorgeous, isn't he?
“Only got out a couple of times to visit some family members in Mexico. Then Afghanistan happened,” Eddie continues nonchalantly. Well, he chose to enlist —to run away. He’s aware of the fact that he's making it sound casual. Going to war is certainly not casual.
But Eddie sees the glimmer in Buck's eyes. He's looking at Eddie as much as Eddie is looking at him. He's interested in hat he's saying. Very interested, Eddie feels painfully observed. Not judged, no, it's... it's genuine. It's good. So good. Is Buck interested in him? That's a good question. Eddie is straight, Buck knew that even before they started talking. So it's not romantic, it can't be romantic in any way.
More than observed, Eddie feels exposed. It's... somehow weird, like Buck can see his blood flowing through his body. Observing with high level of attention whatever is happening on his brain, where cogs and pieces are trying to put together an image of this guy that Eddie can understand. Eddie needs to make sense of that look, of the warmth he's feeling, of why he likes it.
In any case, whatever this guy is seeing… There's kindness in his expression, in his frame. He even looks excited. Like… like a puppy, maybe. A big puppy.
It's definitely strange, feeling this exposed for no particular or discernible reason in front of an oversized puppy.
He doesn't let himself think too hard about it. He’s not thinking too hard about it. He is not. This guy —Buck— strikes Eddie as a genuinely good guy who he could be friends with. Who he wants to be friends with. It's late, Eddie is tired after a long shift, and a good warm feeling is coiling and spinning and bouncing inside his chest cavity. That should be good. He's letting himself lean into it. For now. That’s all that is happening.
Now, regarding his previous thoughts, Eddie suspects Buck can see this feeling doing all this crazy shit. Oh, well.
“And then, a firefighter,” Buck completes.
“After a while, yes,” Eddie nods, returning to the present situation. “I, uh— had to take care of my son. I needed a good job.”
“Oh, you have a son?” Buck visibly perks up. Does he like kids? He's going to love Chris— though, okay, Chris is not a kid anymore, but—
No, wait, Eddie, stop, why would this guy meet Christopher at any point?
“Yeah, he’s almost fourteen now,” Eddie brushes everything else aside. He needs to. It doesn’t even make sense. He’s not continuing these lines of thought produced by his own exhaustion. For his sanity.
“I bet he’s nice. You look like a good father,” Buck says. Confusion must be showing on Eddie’s features, because Buck immediately adds. “You just have the vibe.”
Okay, that’s not elaborating further. That tells Eddie absolutely nothing. Zero. Nada. Vibes are something Eddie has never completely gotten. But he feels his prideful heart swell up a little bit, a familiar feeling that occurs whenever Chris is mentioned. It's familiar, it's warm, and it's not even about himself, but about the one he's ever cherished the most.
“A good father might not be chatting with strangers on a Thursday night while his kid is at home,” Eddie deflects, because it’s true.
“We are not strangers anymore,” Buck counters, and okay, it’s been barely two minutes. More or less. Buck’s overselling it. But Eddie doesn’t deny his words. “Or maybe it’s a sign you trust him and he trusts you.”
That’s really what Eddie likes to think, but he hadn’t looked at it like that. Of course he trusts Christopher is fine back home, and he knows that he would get a call if anything happened, and Chris knows his father would be there for him as soon as possible, and—
No, okay, not even the smallest hint of spiraling, he only needs to get through this… thing. Eddie needs to. In order to do that, though, it would be helpful to stop getting lost into Buck’s eyes while he thinks about... too much stuff. The warm feeling is expanding behind his ribs.
All of that is absolutely not happening. No. No. Why would it happen? Is Eddie drunk? He's only had a sip of his beer. Just now, in fact. One sip. And that's that. Is it exhaustion? It must be.
“You are right, I trust him,” Eddie lets out a weak snort as a timid smirk appears across his face. It's not conscious, really, it just happens. Buck smiles back, a bit sly.
“Told you. Good dad,” Buck says, and Eddie can physically feel something crumbling inside him. Maybe a lung, he’s having trouble breathing all of a sudden, does he need to go to the hospital?
For some god-damned reason Eddie wants to ask more. Not to make his ego swell up even more, but because he isn't sure about what Buck is seeing in him. Still. This is a five minute not-date with a guy Eddie will probably never see again, and he's trying to be as chill as he can.
And yet. He wants to know why Buck is looking at him like that. He's curious. He likes it. And he wants to hear Buck's voice even more. It really is a good voice.
In any case. Eddie is straight and not stupid, so he manages to catch the prodding questions somewhere in his larynx before they spill past his lips.
Instead, he transforms the sounds to something else he can't believe he's even asking. “So you like men?”
Well. Eddie doesn't. And he's a bit curious about it. Homosexuality. He's met not-cis-heterosexual people before, but Eddie hasn't found himself in a close enough position to, you know. Ask. Anything about it.
It's still a bad question, objectively speaking.
Granted, he's not close to the guy he met two and a half minutes ago, but Buck seems open enough. Easygoing. Or he wouldn't be in such an event, Eddie guesses.
He tries not to think this is the fourth guy he's met today that is attracted to other guys. Eddie could definitely have asked someone else a lot sooner. But Buck is… he’s different, okay?
“Oh, yes. And women,” Buck adds.
Ah. Bisexual. Right?
“You do this a lot? Speed dating,” Eddie cannot believe how stupid are all these questions, but this is the road he's taking. He's going to stick to it. Apparently.
“Oh, no. First time ever, actually,” Buck says. “I, uh— I've dated mostly women. Just one guy, my last partner. I didn't know I liked men before. My sister laughed a bit at me, actually— clueless and in my thirties. But she helped.”
“That’s great. That— that you had someone to help you,” Eddie immediately adds. “I think it’s just a sister thing, making fun of you. I would know, I have two.”
“Sisters?”
“Yeah, back in Texas,” Eddie says, and immediately wants to hit himself because it sounds way more stupid that he ever intended.
This really is going well for him.
“Do you talk to them?” Buck asks, probably deciding to ignore Eddie’s awkwardness. Because for sure he’s realizing, he has eyes, he’s pinning Eddie to the chair with a look, or at least that’s how Eddie feels, he’s—
“Oh, yeah. Not every day, but, you know. We— we have a good relationship,” he says. He drinks a bit, again. Parched. His throat his parched.
“Maddie and I live like twenty minutes away, so I’m over at hers at every chance I get,” Buck says. “Her husband is one of my coworkers, Chimney, do you know him?”
“I… no?” Eddie thinks it’s a bit of a stupid question, but Buck seems unaffected. To be fair, Eddie would remember meeting someone called Chimney, though that one (as Buck does) sounds like a nickname.
“He’s a good guy, and has been very good to Maddie. Oh! And, big news from them,” Buck smiles big, all teeth, eyes shining, “I’mma be an uncle again!”
“Wow, congratulations, dude,” Eddie smiles as he confirms the easy hypothesis that, yes, Buck adores kids.
Christopher would—
No. Again, Eddie? Again?
“Thank you,” Buck keeps the smile wide as he speaks. “I’m sure you know, having a kid and all. Is the mom in the picture?”
“No, no, she’s—” dead, Eddie cuts himself. “She’s not.”
Not about to sour the mood, is he?
“Single dad, then?” That’s a lot of work,” Buck says, and he sounds… impressed?
“I just did what I had to do,” is Eddie's simple response. Because it is. Simple. He had no other choice. He had run away too many times and Shannon suddenly wasn’t around. “My parents and sisters helped, and once I moved here there were my aunt and my grandma, so… I’ve had more than enough aid.”
“It's good to know you've had a great support system,” Buck says, and Eddie doesn't correct him. He's done his best with the cards he has been dealt.
That's when it hits Eddie. Is this a normal conversation for a speed date? It seems strangely personal. Though this is not any sort of date. They are just two guys talking to each other at a bar. Yeah. Getting to know each other in a friendly way.
“I've, uh… yeah,” Eddie concedes, because it would be more difficult if he didn't. He looks at his watch. They have barely a minute left, they can just get it over with and then Eddie can feel normal again.
Maybe.
“So, you are straight,” Buck starts, and that takes Eddie by surprise.
“Didn't we talk about that already? First thing, actually.”
“Yeah, but like… since you asked me about liking men, I think it’s fair if I ask you about liking women,” Buck says, and it’s simple, and he even sounds smug about it.
“But you like women too,” Eddie says. Evident in itself, he said it. He did!
“I know, but— I don't know. It's fair,” he shrugs, not without awkwardness.
There's a bit of truth in that. Or a lot of it, maybe.
Still, Eddie feels it's a bit pointless.
“Okay,” he accepts, slightly guarded. “I do like women. I'm straight.”
Facts, here.
“And… when did you realize you liked women?” Buck asks next.
This… Eddie has the feeling this kind of conversation normally goes the other way around.
Eddie is about to retort with something when, for the smallest fraction of a second, he considers Buck's question.
The truth is that it's… a good query, really. The easy answer is that Eddie realized he liked women when he started dating Shannon. And Shannon… She was great. An amazing friend, and in spite of her sudden and long disappearance, she was a wonderful mother. Loving her was as easy as breathing. She made Eddie laugh, she made Eddie love her. She was pretty, she was nice, she—
And Eddie… Eddie has been chasing what he had with Shannon, for a while. Not a replica, that couldn't ever happen. He has tried to date, but nothing ever catches on. It's becoming difficult to even remember what he felt when Shannon was around, when they were happy together.
This single question makes Eddie ask himself if he even has ever felt—
“Oh, seems it's time,” Buck says, and it's true. The staff is telling the participants to move on to their last date for the night. Buck smiles, easy, and Eddie doesn't know what face he's pulling himself but he knows it's not a smile. “Hey, nice chatting with you. Hope we see each other again, you are dope.”
Dope. Outlandish word to describe an utterly baffled, questioning Eddie, if you ask the guy himself.
“Thanks. You too,” Eddie responds almost automatically. Oh, yes, Buck. Sure. You are dope too.
What the hell is wrong with Eddie. On every level.
The only woman in this speed dating circle sits in front of Eddie not long after. She's nice, her name is Dana, and she's bisexual.
“Though I must confess that I was hoping more girls turned up,” she laughs. At least she's having fun. Right? Eddie hopes she's having fun.
Eddie follows her conversation easily enough. She laughs, he laughs. In any other situation Eddie would say they are definitely hitting it off, or at least that's how ‘hitting it off’ should look from an outside perspective. Eddie has seen it, in the distance. In movies, in TV series.
But it's void. Eddie is playing along just enough to not make her feel bad. He doesn't want her to feel bad, he wants her to have a good time. In fact, Eddie would love to get to know her, she seems kind, and friendly, and funny.
However, Eddie is distracted.
Buck's laugh resonates among the voices in the bar as he talks to guy number one. He's smiling, and why is he smiling? Guy number one (Hugh? Was that his name?) wasn't that great. It's weird that Buck is smiling that much.
Then Eddie slaps himself mentally, because he's only met Buck (and guy number one) for five minutes and he's in no way qualified to guess or even have an opinion on how Buck should be behaving.
So Eddie tries to focus on Dana. She really is sweet, isn't she? She's talking about her cat, and how she adopted it after rescuing it from the tsunami that hit the city years ago. It really is an engaging story, she has a knack for narrating stuff.
Eddie's eyes, however, keep drifting off to where Buck is sitting. He catches himself each and every time and forces his pupils to focus back on Dana.
As much as he tries he can’t stop it from happening.
It's no wonder how Buck ends up catching him before Eddie catches himself the seventh —or eighth, or tenth— time it happens.
What's surprising is that Eddie hasn't been caught sooner, honestly.
Buck smiles in his direction and, ah — something in Eddie tells him that even if Buck is smiling at the man in front of him, the smile he shot Eddie was different. Different. In which—?
No. No, clearly Eddie is imagining things. That can't be.
But the next time he looks at Buck across the bar, he's already looking at him. His gaze doesn't waver, he doesn't turn away, he doesn't—
“Are you okay?” Dana asks.
“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, just tired,” Eddie is almost too quick to respond, though he's not exactly lying.
“Kinda same,” Dana nods. “Rough day at your firehouse, too?” And Eddie isn't sure if he nods before she keeps talking. “Well, for what is worth, I think our time is over. It was nice chatting with you, Eddie.”
“Likewise,” he says, and he sounds strangely hoarse. He has been talking, but not that much.
He can still feel a pair of blue eyes following every twitch of his body. Every breath he takes. Eddie doesn't need to look back at him, he can't.
A few more pleasantries are exchanged with Dana, who jokes around saying that if they ever see each other in an emergency she might give Eddie her number, and Eddie just laughs. He wouldn’t mind that. In a friend-like way. Eddie could do with a couple more friends, actually.
It doesn't take him much to go back to his co-workers. Well, the ones that remain— Mike has gone home, it seems.
Is Buck still observing him? Eddie is truly trying to not search for him in the crowd, but the continued and conscious repression is burning him inside.
Buck could watch him burning. He could be doing it right—
“How did it go?” Jack asks, unknowingly throwing Eddie a lifeline to keep him from spiraling even more.
“Had a nice time,” Eddie says, to put it mildly. It had been nice chatting with the guys and the girl, yes, but then there was Buck.
“Got her number?” George asks.
“Nah. Not my type,” Eddie snorts, trying to ignore the question that rises in the back of his mind.
‘What is my type, even?’
“Damn, dude,” George sighs. “You are a difficult one.”
“Hey, I'm also a bit picky,” Charles says, and that's somehow defending Eddie. Thank you?
“You have a wife and three kids,” Jack points out.
“And I’m very sure I chose the correct one,” he shrugs. Charles then looks at Eddie, “anyway, wanna drink?”
A drink. Huh. Eddie had left his half full beer bottle at the table and hadn't bothered to bring it with him. He'd only drank from it while he was talking to Buck.
The mirage of some blond curls on the edge of his vision. Eddie feels hot all over. It’s no longer contained in his chest, it seems.
“I, uh— I think I'll just go home,” he blurts out.
Yeah. Yeah, that will certainly be better for his mental stability.
“That bad, huh?” George shoots his eyebrows up.
“Something like that,” Eddie admits. He has to give them something. “I'll just— see you in a few days, guys.”
And that's all, truly. They don't push Eddie, probably still feeling bad about the situation they've put him in. It wasn't that bad, but still. They had wanted Eddie to get a girlfriend, not spend twenty minutes talking to guys that aren't them.
That's what Eddie can guess, at least, as he makes a beeline for the front door. A couple of steps short from it, however, Eddie stops himself.
He doesn't feel anyone looking at him, and yet he still feels like he's burning inside. It'll take him a while to get home, at least twenty minutes by car if traffic is good tonight. A drink would certainly help, but he has to drive, so maybe some water on his face and on his nape could do the trick. At least until he can hit the shower at home, preferably cold. Hell, he hasn't even had dinner given the circumstances, but he's willing to let that go for today if getting himself to sleep can help stop whatever is going on with him.
For now, cold water sounds nice. So Eddie goes to the bathroom and washes his face, staring at his dripping reflection in the mirror as he truly, truly tries to calm down. Tries to rationalize to some degree the weird thoughts that have been crossing and bouncing around his mind regarding Buck.
It's easier said than done.
Then the bathroom stall behind him opens and it suddenly, somehow, gets worse.
“Oh, Eddie!” Buck exclaims, and Eddie sees his surprised smile in the mirror, big eyes that focus on him through the reflection. “You, uh— You okay?”
“Sure,” Eddie says curtly, gripping the sink in front of him with a tad too much strength. He should turn around, Buck is talking to him. Can he turn around?
He doesn't trust himself. Eddie doesn't know in which way or why exactly, but he knows. He knows.
“Just needed to— to freshen up a bit,” he adds a couple of seconds later. Awkward? Maybe a bit. He can't worry about that.
Oh, but he's already worrying about that.
“If you say so,” Buck shrugs as Eddie attempts to gather enough courage to turn around.
He does. Not that he feels ready. He's still gripping the sink with one free hand. Grounding, somehow.
Buck is slightly taller than him. However, Eddie immediately notices his posture, as if he tries to look smaller than he is. It’s not working. He's still big.
God, he could lift Eddie, couldn't he? Like he was nothing. A feather in his arms. And his hugs? Those must be amazing, not to talk about sleeping on that chest. He could—
No. No, Eddie can't let his thoughts go down that road. That's— that's not normal on him. What's wrong with him?
“So, uh—” Eddie clears his throat. There's something stuck in there. “See you—”
“I, actually—” Buck starts talking, then stops when he realizes he has interrupted Eddie. As Eddie doesn't continue —he can't, he needs to know what Buck's about to say—, he does. “I actually wanted to talk to you some more. Is that okay?”
Is it? Is it? Oh, no, it's not, if Eddie is to believe the sirens blaring inside his brain.
“Of course,” he says instead. He needs some water again.
“So, uh…” Buck takes a moment and leans against the door to the bathroom, blocking it. There's still something in his demeanor that tells Eddie he would move away if he wanted to get out. They are still alone in the bathroom, as small as it is, with one sink and two stalls, doors open. “You were looking at me. A lot.”
Eddie stiffens. Buck had only caught him two times. That doesn't qualify as a lot. “It was a coincidence,” he voices, Eddie is unsure exactly how.
“Uhm— Sorry, but that's bullshit,” Buck says. Eddie feels himself wincing a little. “You aren't subtle, man. You barely looked at poor Dana.”
Okay, fuck Eddie, it seems.
“So, what?” Eddie blurts out, trying to laugh. Downplay it. Downplay it. “Is it illegal to look at someone now?”
“Not at all,” Buck is fast to say, as if placating an Eddie whose fingers are starting to hurt from gripping too hard at the cold ceramic. He feels his hair brush against the mirror. As if someone is pressing him against it, but there’s no one. Buck is literally as far away as he can manage. “I just… I don't know, man, we've only known each other for a bit, but you left me worried.”
Worried. Worried. Eddie's stun must be reflecting on his features, because Buck immediately continues.
“It's not— I shouldn't assume, okay? But— but I've been there. Where you are. Not long ago. Well, not exactly gripping a sink, I mean— Whatever,” Buck shakes his head. “What I wanted to ask is if— if you are sure you are straight.”
Eddie blanks for a couple of seconds, stunned. Yes. Yes, Eddie is quite sure. Of course he's straight. He's always been. He's convinced of this fact. Yes.
“I think so,” is what he says, voice smaller than he expects.
Which happens to be the exact opposite of convincing.
But Eddie… he's looking at Buck. Really looking at him. Taking him all in, and he wonders… he wonders. He has managed to cool down, but there it is again: a comfortable warmth in the depths of his abdomen, a pool of liquid that warms up as he thinks if it would be so bad to want to be held by a man.
By this man in front of him, specifically.
“You think—” Buck straightens up and stops himself. He seems to be about to breach the distance between them, but then doesn't move, still blocking the door. “Listen, I… I told you. I only knew I like men because of my last partner, but— before that? Straight as a maypole. And, uh— it's hard coming out in your thirties.”
Eddie doesn't see where this is going. He doesn't want to see where this is going.
“So, uh— I wanted to say, after I got the… the impression, that you weren't that sure— I wanted to offer… myself? I'm not anyone's experiment,” he corrects himself. “But— but I'd hate to leave this bar without giving you the possibility to test… a theory?”
“A theory,” Eddie echoes. He's hearing everything, every word tumbling out of Buck’s pretty lips. His brain is just taking a bit to process it.
“That you might not be straight,” Buck clarifies. “Because as I said— I've been there, and it's… it's better, when you know it. If you happen to be… it. And,” he adds, fast, “and if you want to test it and realize you are, like, completely heterosexual— that's amazing too. I just… I got an inkling and wanted to offer you the chance to… to experiment,” he winces at the word. “I’m just a stranger, you don't have to see me again after this.”
Eddie's brain is quick to supply the fact that he would hate to not see the marvelous human in front of him ever again.
The little control he's been able to retain this evening is seeping through the cracks. Buck is looking at him, seeing him, and Eddie is completely sure that now he can see everything that's going on in his brain.
“I am…” Eddie is unsure of where he's getting this thread of voice from. “Okay.”
Oh, good job. That means absolutely nothing.
“Okay?” Buck repeats, and with worry painted all over his face, he moves from the door towards Eddie.
He walks slowly, but there's not much distance to cover. Eddie doesn't move, fingers as white as the sink, breathing suddenly heavy as he can't pull his eyes away from Buck's figure.
Buck, who stops barely a couple of inches from him. Who tentatively raises a hand and touches Eddie's chest. Warm. Extremely warm. It could leave a mark, there, shirt in the middle and all. Exactly there, on top of his heart, brushing his collarbone.
‘Please. Please, please, please, please, please—’ Eddie isn't even sure if the plea escapes his lips. He hopes it doesn't.
Not like it matters.
“Can I kiss you?” Buck's tone is low, spiking the warmth to a scorching hot in his abdomen.
‘Please, make me say yes.’
And it's a stupid thought to have when he isn't even feeling pushed, coerced, but Eddie is already forming the simple three-letter word in the smallest thread of voice.
“Yes.”
The world stops for the long seconds it takes Buck to search Eddie's face for any sort of lie or discomfort. Eddie knows his panic must be reflected on his features. He feels it bubbling, gnawing on his lungs, on his heart, escaping through the spaces between his ribs.
He still, deep inside, knows he needs this.
But it's normal. The nervousness. Expected, given the circumstances. Buck must see it that way, too, because when Eddie breathes again he's leaning forward to place his lips on top of Eddie's.
It's slow, at first. A chaste kiss, one like Eddie hasn't received in forever. Buck is tentative, unhurried, giving Eddie space. Eddie could pull away, move to one side and beeline to the door and get the hell out of there. Never look back, forget this ever happened. Maybe it was the product of a tired mind, exhausted after a long shift Nothing more.
But this kiss feels like everything Eddie didn't know he wanted.
He quickly realizes his hand is not frozen in place as he reaches out towards Buck's chest. Firm, under his T-shirt. He grabs the fabric more forcefully than he intends, pulling it a bit towards him. He needs this. He needs this.
Buck laughs against his lips, separates for a moment and goes in again, deeper, faster, and heaven above. Eddie could die like this, and he wouldn't mind it that much.
It's only been a couple of seconds, and Buck has moved his hand to Eddie's shoulder. Insistent but gentle, he pulls Eddie from the sink and, before he knows it, his back is hitting the door of one of the stalls as it closes. Buck has made his best to barely break the kissing, and Eddie finds himself incredibly grateful.
He needs this to survive. Whatever this is, he thinks as he sinks a little down the wood of the stall. As if this guy isn’t taller than Eddie, already.
Buck slips one hand under Eddie's shirt as he kisses him deeper, palming his abdomen, going up soon after. It won’t be long until he finds the healed scars under his fingers. Eddie has parted his lips, unsure of when, unsure of why, but he can't even think of regretting when Buck's tongue is inside his mouth and it feels so damn good. A low moan escapes his throat and Buck catches it between his lips, only to let out a content sigh in response.
Eddie feels like the sanest person in the world as he loses his mind between Buck's kisses. This was the best impulsive decision he's ever taken, his new personal doom. Something he'll definitely regret tomorrow, something he'll think about for ages.
The hand under his shirt is moving, exploring, incredibly warm as it moves, occasionally slightly squeezing his flesh. It feels surprisingly great, even more when Buck brushes his nipples. Eddie wants to chase the feeling, but is silently thanking the blessing that is that Buck seems to be teasing him, for Eddie doesn't know what would have happened inside his pants already if Buck happened to be more relentless.
It's been… it's been a long time. Too many nights spent alone. Years, if he needs to be sincere, and tonight—
The door to the bathroom opens, a moan transforming into a whimper in Eddie's throat.
Panic floods his system, and Buck's hand reaches out to his mouth before more sounds escape him. A man is whistling on the other side, and it isn't long before the door to the other stall closes. A couple of seconds, and none of them are moving.
Buck looks straight at Eddie's panicked face, and to his surprise he looks chill enough. Eddie thinks that maybe this is not the first time this has happened to him. Or at least a risk he was assuming before he started talking to Eddie, before he suggested— this.
Buck leans forward, kissing the back of his own hand and Eddie feels his own lips moving as if on command, kissing the palm that covers his mouth. Buck leans back, snickers, and heads down for Eddie's neck.
Eddie feels Buck's lips against his neck before he registers what he's doing. The kissing and biting and sucking that follows drives him crazy enough to lose any attempt at restraining the noises that threaten (and deliver) to come out of his mouth. Buck's hand helps at muffling them, dying against his skin, and Eddie can just pray he's not being that loud. He's somehow aware of the sounds of the bar that filter through the door, so that's probably helping, too.
He can't know. He can't even focus on anything else that isn't Buck's lips, teeth, the hand under his shirt that is lowering itself back towards the navel area.
Where the heat is pooling, exactly towards where Eddie is trying not to think about.
If he starts to admit to himself he's never been harder in his life, he's going to lose it completely.
Eddie doesn't know how much time passes before the guy in the other stall finishes his business and leaves, but he manages to enjoy every second of it despite the creeping anxiety, the panic that makes the tips of his fingers tingle.
Oh, his hand is still gripping Buck's T-shirt. Maybe he should move, he— Eddie should touch. Is he allowed to touch?
He wants to.
“Can I…?” His thoughts are interrupted by Buck, whose fingers are caressing the waistline of his jeans. Not tugging, no, he doesn't seem to want to take them off.
They are still close enough to where Eddie can see the outline of his own dick straining against the rough fabric.
“Yes,” he breathes out, fast, in one beat. As he's looking down, he sees Buck's hand palming him, and the feeling is—
Eddie groans as he throws back his head, head hitting against the door, rattling the wood.
Another person could enter and Eddie wouldn't even think of stopping his sounds. Pathetic, desperate. He absolutely knows how he sounds like.
He doesn't care. Oh, God, he doesn't care.
“I could blow you,” Buck mumbles between kisses, against his ear, breathy, and for the next ten seconds Eddie is pretty sure he must have heard wrong.
But then, Buck, hand against his crotch, the other entangled in his short hair since Eddie doesn't know when, leans back and looks at him. Flushed to the tip of his ears, birthmark an even deeper red, blue eyes glassy and lips too swollen to not know what he's been doing.
Eddie has the brief realization that he must be looking like him. God.
The underlying panic starts to seize control. Eddie can feel it, he's familiar with the feeling. What is he doing? What is he doing?
“I want to blow you,” Buck says, emphasizing the verb Eddie’s barely there consciousness is aware he has changed. “Do you…? Do you want me to?”
“You want to…” Eddie echoes back, not finishing the sentence. Oh.
Oh, no.
That's… that's too much. He already feels like he's asphyxiating. Like the world is going to end him here and now. For liking… this, for enjoying it, for this stupid choice, for being called Eddie and being, for having Chris at home waiting for him and yet he's here— he's— he might even die, he—
“Oh, man,” Buck says instead. He stops touching him, and a small part of Eddie is thankful as he would have recoiled voluntarily if he had room. But then Buck’s reaching out again, fingers reaching for Eddie's pulse on his neck. Seconds pass. Eddie knows he’s breathing too hard, too fast. “Let's— I'll get you out of here, I'll— yeah.”
Eddie isn't exactly aware of how he moves, or what happens around him until he feels the splash of water on his face followed by the back of his neck.
The cold helps. The cold helps. It delivers him back to the bathroom. Eddie doesn't know where he was, but it was somewhere else.
“Are you…? Do you live far away? I can get you home,” Eddie is pretty sure Buck has said something else, but those are the first sentences he fully catches.
Home. Yes. Home is safe.
“...Call 9-1-1, or hell, we have a full bar full of firefighters, someone must be a paramed—”
“Home. I wanna go home,” Eddie doesn't recognize his own voice, but the words are his. They are what he needs.
“Okay, okay, I'll just—”
“My car,” Eddie says. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Oh, he looks—
No one can see him like this. Is he crying? He suddenly feels the tears. Is he shaking? A bit. Just a bit. He's definitely sweating. He has to… he needs to…
“You can't drive right now,” Buck says. It's distant, but he sounds… worried. Yes. Maybe. Eddie can't focus. He tries, but he can't. “I'll take you, you just need to…”
Eddie wants to say he can handle himself, he's been here before, he can… he has to. He can't rely on Buck, but look at what letting himself make choices has done to him. Eddie feels like dying, or maybe he's dead already.
“I'm dying,” he mumbles, and feels how Buck takes his hand. He doesn’t pull away. It’s… nice. Grounding.
“You might feel that, but you are gonna be fine. It'll be fine. Come on,” and then Buck is gently guiding him out of the bathroom, taking a left turn and avoiding the crowded bar area completely, and when the night air hits Eddie's face he realizes they have gone through the backdoor.
Eddie can't quite recall where he parked his car, not now. It's… it's one of those. In the distance. For sure, so he can't argue when Buck offers him the copilot seat of what must be his own car.
He doesn't let go of his hand until Eddie is in. He immediately misses that warmth.
“Talk to me,” Buck says as he starts the car. “Or I could talk, you just need to focus on telling me how to get you home. Would that be better?”
“I think…. I think so,” Eddie leans back against his seat, and tries to do what he knows that needs to be done. Breathe deeply, for starters.
“Okay. Okay, I can talk. Do you want me to turn on the AC?” He asks, and Eddie is aware enough to nod, so a couple of buttons later cold air is flowing into the vehicle. Buck also reaches out to move the vents towards Eddie.
That helps with the… lack of clarity. And everything else.
Buck keeps talking and talking throughout the drive, only pausing so Eddie can give him indications on how to get home. Eddie is just… listening. He retains some information. Buck talks about his job, which is familiar, if only because Eddie is also a firefighter. The emergencies he's talking about are… different, but still similar enough. The camaraderie in the workplace does actually seem dissimilar, as Buck describes the relationship with his co-workers as some sort of family. He reaches out, once in a while. Eddie doesn't really registers it, but he knows he feels better when Buck does it.
It's soothing. Buck manages to pull a calm tone, despite the tense hands that grip the wheel. It takes Eddie minutes to notice how tense Buck is, how… anxious? No, that's impossible, not when they don't know each other that much. Why would he like this because of Eddie? It must be something else. Eddie can’t think clearly, after all.
Buck is talking about his niece when they finally pull up in front of Eddie's house.
“Do you need help getting inside?” Buck asks. Eddie still hasn't moved.
“I'm… I'm doing better,” not what Buck's asking but what Eddie is able to articulate. Information enough. He is doing a bit better.
It suffices.
“Okay, uhm… try to have a shower, yeah? Or just go to sleep, if you can. If you need anything—” Buck stops himself. He falters. Eddie is about to ask what he's going to say when Buck keeps talking, “call 9-1-1.”
Sure. Yeah. 9-1-1.
Eddie gets out of the car. His legs are a bit wobbly, but they sustain him.
“For what is worth, I'm sorry,” he hears behind him. It takes Eddie a moment too long to attach the voice to the person of Buck, which is weird because he's been talking throughout the entire trip.
Maybe Eddie is still not doing great. It really has to be enough.
“Thanks for bringing me home,” is the last thing Eddie says before closing the car door.
He knows Buck doesn't drive away until he's inside the house. A quick look around tells Eddie that Christopher is already sleeping soundly in bed. That's a blessing, really, Eddie thinks, and he agrees even more with himself when he looks at the state he's in the bathroom mirror.
He's… no, not going to process it tonight. How utterly miserable he looks. How— Eddie has never seen himself looking like this. This… bad. The panic might not be seizing him with as much force anymore, but its effects —along with… what happened with Buck— are obvious even in the aftermath.
No. Not today.
Eddie takes a quick shower, not bothering to let the water heat up, and passes out as soon as his head touches the pillow.
Eddie knows he wakes up repeatedly through the night, but he still wakes up… feeling calmer. More in control than he was the previous night. Which doesn’t mean his heartbeat goes at a normal pace, not at all. And, overall, he is still incredibly exhausted.
Hearing Chris already rummaging in the kitchen, getting ready for school —sweet kid, hasn't even tried to wake up his dad—, Eddie goes to the bathroom to do some damage assessment.
And there is, certainly, some damage assessment to do.
It's been more than a decade since the last time Eddie saw a hickey blooming on his skin, but he still knows how to recognize one when he sees it. It's proof enough that he didn't hallucinate the previous night. How he... liked it. Enjoyed it, until his brain caught up.
Aside from that one —as if it’s nothing, it’s big in fact—, he seems… fine, if he discounts the dark circles under his eyes.
Now, after the damage assessment, comes the damage control. Whatever that means in this case.
As calmly as he can manage, Eddie goes through his options and ends up settling on cutting a large enough band-aid to cover the bruise. A turtleneck in April is not an option, and he doesn’t have any make-up at hand. Shannon had, and he had borrowed some in an occasion, even though it really didn’t match his skin tone. It's still not ideal by any means, and without a doubt there will be questions, but Eddie is more willing to whip up a lie than to explain how a hickey has ended up on his neck. Not that the math is difficult to make. But Eddie wouldn't survive the teasing at work, even if he doesn't let any details slip.
He pushes everything else to the back of his mind. For a few more minutes, at least.
“What happened to your neck, dad?” Chris asks as soon as Eddie walks into the kitchen.
“I tripped and hit myself. Got a nasty bruise,” Eddie says, perhaps too quickly.
He doesn't intend to look at Chris, but of course he does it. The teen looks… skeptical, to say the least. “You are covering a bruise? With a band-aid?”
Okay, maybe not Eddie's best lie.
“Hey, it wasn't me. They put it at the bar, and I just forgot to remove it once I got home,” he tries to sound nonchalant, casual, as he makes his way to the coffee machine.
Keep calm, Eddie. Keep calm. There’s no reason to suspect his words.
“So remove it now?” Chris suggests.
Eddie is digging himself a hole and is close to writing his own tombstone, which shouldn't be surprising to him. He's done it many times before, the soil around him feels familiar, even. “Nah, I'll just let it unstick itself.”
Chris lets out a snort. “Gross.”
But that works well enough. He drops the topic.
Having Chris around is a good distraction, and they even have to leave early for school because Eddie doesn't have his car with him —Chris questions him again, but Eddie just says that because of his accident last night a co-worker insisted on bringing him home. Eddie thinks his son is not buying it, but he's kind enough to not prod.
It’s not as difficult for him to suppress the panicked thoughts on the bus, where there are so many noises around him —main reason while he decided to not call an Uber, really—, and in his car, where he can turn on the music and focus on the road in front of him. Thankfully. He can do this. He can do this. He needs to be functional. Eddie has been functional plenty of times throughout his life, even when he shouldn’t have been. No excuses.
It's when he gets home, where the silence is almost oppressive, when the real trouble begins.
Eddie sits on the couch. A bird chirps outside. Buries his face between his palms. Presses it hard against them, almost hurting, fingers gripping where his scalp starts.
He tries to take a deep breath. Fails miserably, shaky. Trembling.
Alright. So Eddie has kissed a man.
Okay, no, fuck that, he's done way more than kiss a man, the band-aid and the sensitive skin it covers on his neck is a terrible reminder of that. What the fuck? What the fuck? Eddie is straight— has always been straight, what happened last night is bullshit. It's— it's a mistake, it doesn't make sense. Why did he do that? Why? It doesn't— It—
Eddie lifts his face from his hands, gasping for air. He needs… He has to sort through this in a better way. One that doesn't send him into his second panic attack in less than twelve hours. There has to be one. Eddie can be reasonable. He can think logically. Of course he can reach a feasible explanation for what happened last night. Managing to explain some bullshit he’s done to himself? Been there, done that numerous times.
He can start with something simple: last night, Eddie made out with the most gorgeous person he has ever seen. Everything in that sentence can be taken as a fact. Sure, that person is a man. Sure, Eddie is straight. That doesn't mean he doesn't get to experiment, even in his thirties. Buck himself had talked about experimenting, and mentioned he hadn’t discovered his bisexuality until recently. There’s that. That’s reassuring. Eddie can experiment.
The problem lies in the fact that Eddie was too into it until circumstances made him come back down to reality. To reality and to a panic attack.
Despite this, the former affirmation can only lead to Eddie asking himself if he really, truly, is completely straight. Objectively. That question is stirring something deep in his gut but, as he's trying to approach the matter calmly, fact after fact, question after question, Eddie is managing well enough.
Which is nice. Honestly. Look at what his life has been in the past hours, he has to be thankful in some way. He’s doing this like a pro. He’s going to get such a good grade in self-assessment, he would talk to his therapist about this if he still had one.
Still. Eddie looks at the black screen of his TV and sees himself reflected in it. Objectively, all that has happened to him truly sounds like the plot of a very bad series.
Screen. An idea comes to mind, now. Chris has said several times that many answers are on the Internet. Which is on a screen, though a different kind of it. So maybe it’s not such a bad idea to make a quick search on Google, see if the search engine can help him sort through some of these very chill thoughts before he starts panicking again from holding them captive for too long.
Before he starts regretting it, Eddie grabs his iPad, sits on the floor and opens Google.
Okay. He’s now facing the blank page. Great, now he just needs to…
He types, ‘am i gay’ and taps the search button without looking, because if he looks at it he might not do it. Then he closes the tab before it loads. Takes a ragged breath. This is not working. Tries again, lasts enough to let the results show, and that’s like a sentence. Like a ‘well! I cannot get out of this one now’ , though he totally can, he can just close the tab again. He doesn’t.
The results start by an ‘Am I Gay’ quiz from wikiHow. Eddie isn’t sure how reliable wikiHow is, but opens it in a new tab just because if it’s the first result it must mean it’s good, right? Seems as good place as any, so he waits for it to load.
By the third question he closes it, though, mostly because he doesn’t know how or what to answer and he’s struggling enough as he is.
Eddie spends the next thirty minutes going through some other tests and quizzes, closing every one of them before finishing them because he, sincerely, honestly, doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to answer like to most of the questions. Alternatively, they are joke tests, like the ones from Buzzfeed. Eddie doesn’t know enough about the Internet to know what to trust, really.
And anyway, what is he supposed to get all of this? It's stupid. It's stupid. Of course he's straight.
It's at this moment when a website he hasn't clicked on catches his attention. The address seem slightly familiar, just as Buzzfeed rang a distant bell, but he can't pinpoint in which way— or from where.
“What is Reddit?” He asks out loud.
It’s not like someone is going to answer. Again, he’s alone and in crisis, and talking to himself out loud maybe makes him look a bit crazy. But it really sounds familiar. Maybe Christopher has heard about it? He’s way more tech-savvy than Eddie will ever be. He's in class, but he'll end up checking his phone at some point, right?
For a single second Eddie thinks that maybe he could just ask his son in person. He'll be back home in a few hours. Eddie could wait until then. Use that time to formulate some excuses as to why exactly he’s asking about Reddit. He can wait.
Then he realizes that no, he can't.
Me
Hey, Christopher.
What is Reddit?
To his surprise, the answer comes not even a minute later.
Christopher
omg
dad
what
Me
Shouldn't you be paying attention in class?
Christopher
but you just messaged me
Okay, fair. Eddie has some fault in there.
Christopher
for what is worth
we are on recess
so i’m just hanging out on the cafeteria with my friends
Eddie checks the hour and, okay, it tracks. Lucky him?
Christopher
but dad
reddit???
Me
If you know what it is, just answer.
Please.
Christopher
okay??
reddit is like a massive forum
that has like mini forums inside
about many different topics
people can post stuff there, and you can ask questions, comment on other posts, upload photos… idk a lot of stuff
Me
Is it trustworthy?
Christopher
uuuuh
depends if the person who is posting or commenting actually knows what they are talking about i guess
ian is saying there are some terrible people but it depends on the sub forum
i haven’t been paying attention to reddit tbh
Okay. So, what Eddie is getting, is that it's a good place to ask questions in spite of horrible people being around. Horrible people can be anywhere, right? Eddie has met some of those in every place he has gone.
Christopher
now
really
why are you asking, dad?
Oh, shit. Uh. See? This is exactly why he should have waited a bit. Eddie needs to come up with something. Fast.
Me
Last night I met some people from other firehouses.
And a couple of them were LGBT.
I got some doubts while we were talking and I didn't really get around to ask them, so I was looking for some answers on Google, and Reddit showed up.
Close enough to the truth, so it's unlikely Eddie could slip up without being able to salvage it.
Christopher
oh
not a bad idea, don't think there'll be like. homophobes in lgbt subreddits.
they probably get straight up banned.
Eddie is just nodding to the phone screen at this point, as he sees more dots appear while Chris keeps writing.
Christopher
there has to be a subreddit that's just
lgbt
there has to be a bunch of places actually, there's a place for almost everything, ian says
as long as you are respectful and follow the rules you can just ask whatever
or well maybe someone asked your questions already? and they got some answers
people answer pretty fast, there are people reeeeally hooked on reddit
Eddie is guessing a subreddit is one of those miniforums Chris had mentioned before. It would make sense. Or maybe he's completely wrong.
An internal debate soon develops for the next five minutes about if it's really a good idea to ask for the help of strangers on the Internet. Because no way someone has had Eddie’s exact experience, and even if they had, it would take Eddie an awful lot of time to find something he can relate to, he has already accepted that.
Reaching the conclusion that he has nothing to lose and no better ideas, Eddie spends the next hour setting up an account and browsing Reddit for the best small forums —subreddits?— about LGBTQ+ issues.
When he finally settles on asking on r/questioning —well, he's questioning himself, right? And this seems to be specifically focused on some maybe-LGBT people questioning themselves—, since it seems the most aligned and not really malicious. And small by Reddit standards, apparently. Better for Eddie. He doesn’t feel as anxious talking to… way less people than in other subreddits.
Not like he isn’t anxious at all. Please.
He spends another hour or so reading posts to make sure he's going to upload his question in a correct way. Eddie feels he doesn't have the right words in his vocabulary to talk about this, nonetheless, but maybe Chris is right and if he's respectful enough… Maybe it'll be fine.
One thing he picks up that he now reflects on his post is how vague people purposely are when they talk about their personal lives.
So he gets to work. Write. Whatever.
r/questioning — 1m ago
Am I gay?
A few days ago I was hanging out with some friends at a bar and I found myself being flirted with by a guy I just met. He was absolutely gorgeous, but I think it's normal to appreciate how good-looking a guy can be, right? Anyway, later I ran into him somewhere else (in private) and he asked me if I was sure I was straight, because he had gotten an entirely different vibe from me. I was a bit overwhelmed, and I said that I wasn't sure, basically. He offered to kiss me so I could find out if how that felt and I accepted, and it honestly felt great. We did a bit more than kissing before I had to go because I was panicking.
I'm in my thirties and I've only ever been with women. I don't remember the last time I felt like that. Does that mean I like men? I'm confused.
He expects the world to explode when he publishes it, but it just… doesn't happen. The bird is still chirping outside. A bit annoyingly, it has been at it for hours. Eddie almost throws the entire iPad away, but he remembers just how expensive it is, so he just turns off the volume and tries to distract himself as best as possible.
Maybe he can even forget he has posted that.
Eddie, in fact, doesn't forget he has posted on Reddit. That would mean he had to forget all that happened last night, and he’s found out that’s basically impossible at this point. Or ever.
He manages to not check again until late at night. Restraint, they call it. As it happens, there are only two people who have answered his question. That’s not overwhelming, not at all.
Their answers, though…
Eddie was internally hoping people would just say he's clearly heterosexual.
‘It sounds like you most definitely are attracted to men. As you didn't give enough information, I cannot say if you are gay or maybe bisexual, but ask yourself if you really liked the women you've been with. A good point of reference is what you felt with this man, as it sounds like you were (are?) attracted to him.’
And then, the other.
‘With what kind of person do you see yourself spending the rest of your life with? The catch is that you need to be happy. That's your answer.’
…People aren't solving anything. Nuh-huh. He can't be having these doubts at his age. For starters. He's always been straight, it's what—
Eddie cuts the thought before it finishes, but he knows how it ends. He's always been straight, it's what it has been expected of him.
That’s… a catch. In his whole situation. Something he hasn't considered until now. Buck asked Eddie how he knew he liked women. Eddie was baffled, but given the circumstances it now sounds like a very rational question.
What Eddie should be doing right now is catching some sleep. Because it's 1am. And his brain is going to combust if he keeps this up. Eddie might like men, yes. He's too tired to panic about it right now. Maybe his exhaustion is the only silver lining in his current situation.
He has time. Sorting it out will take him some of it, he doesn't have to do it today.
Another comment on his Reddit post appears at some point during the next day, reminding Eddie that sexuality is fluid and that he still has time to discover himself.
That helps. Mostly because he's not panicking that much anymore, so he can interpret the comment literally and not as some sort of very kind and amicable attack. Like, he has asked for opinions. It’s not like he can be mad at people when they actually respond. He can agree or not with them, but at least their words are kind.
From then on, Eddie takes it one day at a time.
The hickey is barely there when he goes back to work, so he can remove the band-aid and just say that a particularly vicious mosquito bit him. That sends Mike into a spiral of worry because that means mosquitos are starting early this year, and he insists he's like a big luminous neon sign for the insects. Charles says it's probably his perfume. Mike refuses to change it. Jack points out that it's definitely too strong even for the beings who aren't mosquitoes.
So Eddie stops being the center of attention, and that's honestly great. Everyone slides past his bite that is certainly not a bite. It's fine, Eddie's co-workers are too busy discussing perfumes and colognes to bring it back up, if by any chance any of them has any suspicion of what it really is.
Honestly, it's not a bad conversation to listen to, Eddie thinks, and he’s glad the others don't notice he's quieter today. When you spend so much time together as the 106 does (or any other firehouse, Eddie can guess), you end up running out of conversation topics. Perfumes are definitely a new topic, though they've all been very aware of Mike's preferred scent since he was just a probie.
In general, Eddie tries to step back from unimportant group conversations for a while. It's a good time to think about his personal issues without losing his mind. After all, if he starts to panic a tad too much he can go back to focusing on whatever Jack is sputtering.
The 106, of course, ends up noticing.
“Hey, aren't you quieter lately?” Mike asks one day.
“Me? Maybe. I don't know,” Eddie tries to shrug it off, though the question catches him off guard.
“Anything going on?” Mike insists.
“You know,” Eddie says, waiting for a beat. Just in case Mike wants to fill the space to let him off the hook. Doesn't happen. “Family stuff.”
“All good with Chris?”
“Yeah, yeah, other family stuff.”
And that seems to convince him to drop it, since none of Eddie's co-workers know a lot about his family aside from Christopher's existence.
It takes Eddie a week of thinking and pondering before he finally accepts that he likes men. He tries to think if his co-workers are in any way attractive to him, but reaches the conclusion that they are more like brothers to him in a sense, so that's why the mere thought repulses him. Consequently, he goes down a social media rabbit hole, jumping from the public profile of a man to the next, and tries to discern if he finds any of them attractive, at least on a physical level.
It still feels weird. Looking at men as research. Eddie is trying to prove a hypothesis here, okay?
And, okay. After an embarrassing browsing history on his Instagram, Eddie can admit some men are fine. Not as fine as Buck. He's still somehow the most gorgeous man he has ever seen. But, yeah. Eddie can distinguish some level of attraction.
Hypothesis proved, Eddie likes men. Fine. Fine. He can be normal about this knowledge.
In the second week, he starts to doubt himself again. Reasonably, Eddie was married. To a woman. He has a kid. Nah, he doesn't like men. Of course he doesn't! He was conditioning himself by looking at all those pictures. That can happen, right?
But then he thinks about Buck and, as it happens, Eddie loses his shit. Admitting to himself that Buck is the reason why he wakes up with a mess in his pants almost every morning also takes a while. And, honestly, a few more tries at exactly remembering what happened in his dreams. But he has to be honest: he wouldn't —he couldn't— forget nor confuse Buck's eyes. And what he finds out the morning after proves a point.
Eddie is a mess. Reddit was a bit helpful, and he has gone through the cycle of accepting and denying his attraction a few times already, but you can’t blame him if he's still doubting himself. He feels he needs to talk about this with somebody, as in having a full conversation, not just publishing a post on fucking Reddit. But Eddie doesn't have to think much to realize there's no one in his immediate circle who he can talk to about… this. This not-so-hypothetical attraction to men.
It takes Eddie one more week to reach the painful and embarrassing realization that there's really only one person he can talk to about his current predicament.
Eddie has just enough to go by. Not because of the name, he still doesn't think that can be a real name, but because of the station— maybe if he goes there and describes the guy someone will recognize him. He looked pretty unique, at least to Eddie's eyes.
It still takes him another week to gather enough bravery to go to the 118 and ask about Buck.
It's early in the morning when Eddie gets there. He guesses it's probably the best time, there will probably be people changing turns so it's more likely to catch someone at the station than if he happened to swing by in the middle of the day. There is a risk at that hour, however. That risk being bumping into Buck. He just needs to get his number, and any of the other firefighters might have that, right? A quick look at the people who are shuffling stuff around tells Eddie this might be his lucky day. He really just has to approach someone and ask them. Just another quick look for good measure—
“Hey, can we help you?”
Eddie, honest to God, hasn't seen the small Asian man approaching. He has been too focused on trying to check if Buck is around —he’ll come back at some other time if he is, really— to notice him, now leaning against one of the engines with a slight worried frown.
Might as well. “Yes! I'm, uh— looking for a guy named Buck?” Eddie asks, and since the guy is taking a beat too long to respond he adds, “he's a bit taller than me, curly hair, blue eyes, birthmark right here?” He points at the spot.
There’s a silence between them. Eddie drops his hand. He's starting to feel stupid. Someone is laughing in the background about something else, but that certainly doesn't help his psyche.
“Are you… a friend?”
“Kind of,” Eddie opts to say.
“Huh,” says the man, a few seconds later. Maybe Eddie should have elaborated.
“Hey, I'm just… We know each other from when we were in Peru,” Eddie lifts his hands, and it's not such a bad lie. There’s still a bar involved. Somehow. “If you could give me his numb—”
“If you want to tell him anything, he'll be out of the shower in no time,” the man shrugs. Then, to Eddie's dismay, turns around and says, “oh, look. Speaking of the devil…”
Horror. No good luck, no good luck at all. Somehow must have cursed Eddie, in fact, given what is now presented before his eyes.
The 106 doesn't have glass walls. The 118, for some reason, does. That's how Eddie can see a shirtless Buck getting out of the showers area and into the locker room, naked from the waist up. Even the plain gray sweatpants look good on him. This is not helping. Not those sweatpants, not the nakedness, not his damp curly hair. Eddie could try to focus on something else, like... he could spend a good while thinking why the hell does a firehouse have glass walls delimiting the area where people get changed.
Instead, he's looking at Buck's endless chest, and that prompts a single thought that appears clear as day on his mind.
‘Holy shit, I'm gay’.
“Eddie? ” The name comes slightly muffled behind the glass, but that certainly means Buck is speaking loudly.
And— wait, that means he has seen Eddie. Oh, he's looking at Eddie. Oh, no. No. No. This is exactly what Eddie wanted to avoid at all costs. He could have taken some precious seconds to hide, but no, he was busy being gay. Apparently.
And now? Now he's blanking so hard he doesn't even register that Buck exits the locker room, still half-dressed, and approaches him with a slightly confused smile.
“Oh, so maybe he is your friend from Peru.”
“My friend— from Peru. Right. Yes, Chim. Hi, Eddie, all good?”
It takes Eddie an embarrassing amount of time to be able to put together something that sounds like a response.
“Yeah, just… I need to talk to someone and I don't have your number?” The effort is there, for sure.
Buck is about to respond, but the other man —Chim?— interrupts just to say, “Well, you both have fun. Buck,” and he shoots him a look that Eddie doesn’t know how to interpret. He turns around and walks towards the locker room himself, where a young man and a woman are looking through the glass with attention, not even caring if they are spotted.
“You have my number.”
Seconds pass. Then, oh, okay, Buck is talking to Eddie. Right. Eddie who is making a conscious effort not to look at Buck, because he looks… so so good, and he’s about to have another crisis on the spot.
“I do?” Eddie asks.
“Yeah, when, uh— When we got in the car, you weren’t— you weren’t really there, so I guess you didn’t notice, but I told you I was giving you my phone number just in case,” Buck scratches the back of his head and those arms. All muscle. All.
Wait, just in case what?
“In case you wanted to talk,” Buck adds a couple of seconds later. Maybe Eddie said it out loud, maybe the question was written all over his face. Could be anything. “If you give me your phone I can show you— here,” Eddie is already pulling out his phone and Buck reaches for it. Does not touch it, but signals until they make it to the contact screen.
There it is. A Buck on his phone. In fact, it’s written as ‘buck’ with a smiley face emoji, which makes Eddie repress an incredulous laugh. What the fuck. It was there. It was right there. He’s been psyching himself up for an entire week to come ask for the guys number and it was right there.
“Oh,” the sound escapes his mouth. “Then I’ll… I’ll text you at some point,” he says, though right now he’s thinking there’s no way in hell he will contact Buck. Not after this.
“Hey, uhm—” Buck stops him. “If you are not in a rush or anything we could maybe talk now? In person? If you need it now. Just let me get dressed and we can go to my apartment or something.”
Eddie’s world tilts a little at hearing the word apartment. What is Buck saying? There’s— nothing else is going to happen. Nothing. Eddie finds him incredibly attractive, and he absolutely likes men, but nothing is going to happen. He doesn't even need to have this conversation anymore! He's clearly attracted to men. He'll probably doubt himself again next week, but not right now.
“Oh, no, no— I just realized how that sounds. No. I just thought you might want some privacy. We can even stay in my car for all I care,” Buck is fast to add.
Alright. Alright. Buck wasn’t trying to say anything with that. That’s— that’s good to know.
There’s a small, annoying part of Eddie that feels slightly disappointed, though.
“The car is… fine,” Eddie, somehow, manages. Didn't he just think he doesn't need this conversation?
“Okay, okay— great! Give me a minute,” and he immediately sprints towards the locker room, startling the (now) three people looking at them from behind the crystal wall.
So not hidden at all.
True to his word, Buck comes out barely a minute later still straightening a T-shirt that is already dampening due to the still wet hair. He only has one shoelace tied.
“Let's go?” Buck pants a little, and Eddie has no choice but to nod and start moving with him.
Still, before exiting, Buck turns around and signals to the people who must be his team. Yes, the ones who are halfway out of the locker room, looking at them. “See you, guys!” And turns around again, almost jogging towards the parking lot.
Before Eddie himself tries to follow his rhythm, however, he sees the only woman in the team point at her own eyes, and then point at Eddie's. 'I'm watching you' she seems to articulate.
Alright. This is surely going to go well.
Eddie has been sitting in the car in silence with Buck for what seems like an eternity.
It's probably just been about five minutes.
He's trying to find the words. Whatever they are. Oh, because it isn't like Eddie was ready to have this conversation in person right now. It's not even 9am. And Buck still looks extremely good, even more under the sunlight, even though only a little of it reaches the interior of the car. This man in front of him was made to stand under the sun, Eddie has absolutely no doubts about this fact.
At least he's not panicking. He came to talk to Buck because he knows he can talk to him. He just doesn't know where to start.
“I'm sorry for… what happened.”
Good place as any.
Buck perks up, hearing his words. “For what?”
“For my panic attack.”
Eddie just realizes how stupid it is as he says it out loud.
“You really can't be apologizing about that. It's not like you chose to have one," Buck says, tone incredulous.
“Still, I put you in an uncomfortable situation.”
“Uncomfortable? Dude, we are firefighters, what I did we both do worse every week.”
Which is a good point. Eddie isn't looking at Buck directly, but he can still see him through the rear view mirror’s reflection and he looks… baffled, even.
“Is this why you wanted to talk to me? To apologize?” Buck continues, because Eddie has shut his mouth again.
“No, it wasn't—” Eddie cuts himself. Come on, Eddie. You've been looking for this guy for a reason. “It's been a rough few weeks. Mostly because what— what we did, has made me realize I like men.”
There's a silence. Buck leans back in the pilot seat.
“What we did,” Buck echoes, not even a hint of mockery in his tone. He's serious.
“I think,” Eddie adds, unable to contain himself. He now looks at Buck by the corner of his eye, and he has a frown.
“You— I was gonna say I'm happy for you, man, because I've been there and I know it can be a bit of an intense realization, but you think? You are not sure?”
“See, that's why I wanted to talk to you. Because you've been through whatever I might or might not be going through,” Eddie says, now fully looking at Buck. He knows those blue eyes have been stuck to him since they entered the car. “You figured it out, and I have no one I can talk about this, so… I don't know, man, looking for you seemed like a good idea.”
And maybe it wasn't. But he's already there, isn't he?
“Hey, I'm…” It takes Buck a full ten seconds before he speaks again. “I'm glad you thought of me. For this, I mean. I hope I can be of help.”
Eddie takes a deep breath. Fine. Okay. He can have this conversation. He needs to have this conversation.
“How was it? Realizing you like men?”
“It was… not entirely unexpected?” Buck says after a few seconds. “It… Once I thought that maybe I liked men, some things from my past started… making sense? All together it was logical, so… it wasn't bad. Just a bit frustrating it had taken me this long to realize it. Thinking that maybe I could have made the most of my twenties— and I mean, I was pretty wild back in the day, but… Dunno. It's a whole deal discovering something about yourself in your thirties, but better now than ever, right?”
Better now than ever. That automatically makes Eddie feel more at ease with himself, even if his experience doesn't relate that much to Buck's. For starters, it doesn't sound like Buck had a month-long breakdown over liking guys.
“Does any of that help?”
“In… some way,” Eddie is nodding, although he doesn’t immediately notice.
Buck seems to wait for Eddie to add something, to say anything. But it’s not even a minute when he, after struggling for some seconds, speaks.
“So— sorry for going on some kind of tangent, but when— I made you realize you might like men? I was guessing you were having a wonderful time until you panicked, so, err— I've been kind of beating myself up for pushing you too far.”
Huh?
“What? No. I wanted that,” Eddie blurts out, without thinking. He stills forces himself to add. “What… kissing. Making out. It was great.”
The seconds stretch for so long and so thinly that Eddie is pretty sure that must have been the end of the conversation. Maybe he said something he shouldn’t have, but he certainly feels shockingly okay with that statement. Something that would have given him pains to admit just a few days ago, now it has come out so naturally.
That has to be considered as some kind of progress. Is he getting a good grade in coming out?
“Yeah?” Buck ends up saying in the softest voice. It takes Eddie by surprise.
This… this is good. He can keep talking trying to ignore his filter, for once. That's an idea.
“I got overwhelmed but, uh— That doesn't put the blame on you. I was very into it until… yeah,” it's an effort. Eddie really is trying. “Not you, nor what you were doing or— suggesting about doing. Probably it was bound to happen regardless. Me panicking.”
“Oh,” Buck reacts in the same soft voice.
“And you stopped,” Eddie continues. “You saw that I wasn't doing great and you helped me. Which— really, thank you.”
“Dude, you say it as if it wasn't the bare minimum,” Buck says.
“I know— I know,” Eddie knows. He's also been denied the bare minimum at many points in his life, he wouldn't expect such care coming from a stranger. “I can still be thankful it was you who kissed me. Or for everything, I guess.”
Buck is looking straight at him, and Eddie finds he doesn't feel uncomfortable at all. Does he like Buck's attention a bit too much? Pretty sure he does.
“So you liked it? Making out with me?” Buck asks. As if Eddie hadn't confirmed it already. He still seems slightly unsure, a bit shaky even.
“Yes,” Eddie says in a heartbeat. “I really liked it.”
“Would you—” Buck stops for a second, seems to think about it, then continues. “Would you like to kiss me more? Because I think I'd like to. Kiss you. Quite a lot more. I mean, you said you are still not entirely sure you like men, but...”
Eddie is starting to realize that even if liking men is normal and okay, perhaps what's going between Buck and him isn't exactly the standard.
It's difficult to care when Buck is so close.
"You know I asked Reddit?" Eddie blurts out.
"You did what," Buck almost chokes on the sudden change of topic.
"Yeah, I... the morning after I was still panicking a little, and while I was trying to sort my thoughts I started doing... 'am I gay' quizzes and such. I didn't finish a single one, but I ended up posting on Reddit, talking about what.. what had happened."
Buck is in silence, mouth open.
"It actually helped," Eddie adds.
"Not what one would expect from Reddit, but I'm glad," Buck finally speaks. "Why are you...? Why did you tell me this?"
"Full disclosure," Eddie shrugs. 'And suppressing my filter' he thinks. But he doesn't regret saying it.
"That's... that's great," Buck laughs a little. "I'm glad it helped. And I'm even more glad it apparently wasn't helpful enough, because here you are."
Yes. Yes, there Eddie is. In Buck's car. Close to him. Comfortable through his nervousness. Still a light touch of panic somewhere deep in his brain, but this time is better. He will do better.
“I think,” Eddie's voice comes out clear as day. Buck perks up, “I'd like to do more than kissing.”
Eddie can see Buck visibly gulp down, his eyes stuck on Eddie's lips.
“Now?” Buck asks. Eddie knows he has to. But before Eddie can double down and tell him to yes, please, he needs it like breathing, Buck adds. “It's just that my co-workers have been spying on us from behind Chim’s car for a while and I don't want to give them gossip material.”
Eddie stops. Then turns around, looking at—
Ah. There they are. Chim and the other two people who were looking behind the glass, now trying to look very casual from behind a white Ford Puma.
“Are they always like this?” Eddie asks.
“Kinda. Normally our cap can reign them in, but he had to leave a bit early today,” Buck says.
“I… get it,” Eddie says, finally peeling his eyes away from the group of people who definitely try to be even more casual if possible, talking to each other while making big gestures.
“They are nice, I promise. Chim, Hen and Ravi,” and Eddie can feel the fondness in Buck's voice. “Still, don't want them to see us…”
“No, not at all,” Eddie immediately agrees, because honestly someone entering the bathroom while Buck and him were making out had been, though kind of exciting, a bit too much.
“Okay, yeah, yeah, so… Do you want to come to my apartment?”
Eddie's stomach swoops. His apartment. Okay. That's fine. That's fine? Well, that could be fine. About five minutes ago it wasn't fine. Eddie can be not normal, for today, for whatever this is. He can chase this.
“We can just… go there and chat. Even with what we've— we've just said,” Buck adds. Eddie's face must be telling on him. “Because, I mean, you are an amazing kisser —don’t know if you knew that—, but I would also like to get to know you? If you want?”
Oh, that…
"That actually sounds wonderful," Eddie says. Buck smiles wide and seems to contain himself from leaning forward right there and kiss Eddie.
Not going to happen now. But, maybe, later...
“Hey, just curious,” Eddie asks as the engine starts with a soft rumble. “What's your actual name?”
Buck stops for a second, hands on the steering wheel. But he's smiling when he answers.