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The 118 had survived some truly ridiculous emergencies over the years, but a multi car pileup involving an overturned circus trailer, a busted fire hydrant, and a group of highly distressed, fully makeup clowns was officially going in the record books as the absolute worst.
By the time their twenty four hour shift finally ground to a halt, the entire crew looked like they had been chewed up and spat out by a crazy nightmare.
Buck practically crawled into the locker room, his turnout gear hanging off his broad shoulders like lead weights. He didn’t even have the energy to complain about the sparkling blue glitter currently plastered to his jawline, or the fact that his left boot smelled slightly of cotton candy. Across the room, Eddie was staring blankly at his open locker. He was holding a single black sock in his hand, looking at it as though he had entirely forgotten how footwear functioned, or perhaps pondering the pointlessness of human existence.
"I'm never taking Christopher to the circus," Eddie muttered to the sock, his voice raspy and completely devoid of life. "Never. If he wants to see a clown, he can watch me teach you ballroom."
Buck let out a weak, breathy chuckle, leaning his forehead against the cool, unforgiving metal of his own locker. The coolness felt amazing against his flushed skin. "I've got glitter in places I didn't know could get glitter, Eddie. I’m pretty sure a mime tried to bite me while we were extracting him from the clown car. A mime, Eddie. He didn't even make a sound, just went right for the forearm."
"Go shower," Eddie sighed, finally dropping the sock into his duffel bag with a lack of grace. "Chris is at a sleepover at Kevin’s house. I was going to pick up a six pack and order terrible, greasy pizza. The kind that makes you question your life choices. You in?"
It was a testament to how deeply entrenched they were in each other's lives that Eddie didn't phrase it as an invitation, but as an inevitable conclusion. Buck didn't even hesitate. His own loft suddenly sounded like a lonely place. "I'm in. But I'm picking the movie. If I close my eyes and see red noses, I’m going to scream, and I don't think my vocal cords can handle it."
"Deal," Eddie grunted.
Two hours later, they were lounged out in Eddie's living room. The pizza box was empty, shoved carelessly onto the coffee table next to two half finished beers. The crusts were all that remained, alongside a single rogue pepper that neither of them wanted to claim. Buck had put on Die Hard, claiming that Bruce Willis was the ultimate cleanser for clown induced trauma.
The volume was low, the familiar explosions and gunfire serving as a strangely comforting white noise in the softly lit room. Eddie was sinking into the corner of his very lumpy couch, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His body felt like one giant, throbbing bruise.
Buck was on the other end, angled toward him, gesturing lazily with his beer bottle as he rambled about a documentary he’d watched on the history of action movie practical effects.
"I’m just saying," Buck mumbled, his eyelids drooping dangerously low. He blinked them open, fighting a doomed battle against his own exhaustion. "The practical effects... they really don't make them like that anymore. It’s all green screens and CGI now. No heart. You know? There’s no... tangible risk."
Eddie nodded in agreement, though he honestly hadn't processed a word Buck had said for the last ten minutes. He was currently caught in the dangerous, magnetic pull of sleep. He watched Buck’s eyelids flutter shut, open slightly, and flutter shut again. The other man's large frame was slowly sliding further down the cushions.
"Mmhmm," Eddie offered, his own eyes slipping shut. It was just so warm in here.
Somewhere between Nakatomi Plaza getting breached and John McClane crawling through the air ducts, gravity and utter exhaustion took over. Buck’s head lolled to the side. His body listed sideways, sliding down the treacherous slope of the cushion until he collided with something warm and incredibly solid.
Eddie didn't push him away. He didn't flinch. Instead, instinct overrode whatever tiny shred of consciousness he had left. He shifted, an arm coming up to settle heavily over Buck's waist to keep the man from sliding off the couch onto the floor.
With a soft, unconscious sigh that ruffled the collar of Eddie's t shirt, Buck buried his face directly into the crook of Eddie's neck. He threw one of his ridiculously long legs over Eddie's thighs, anchoring himself completely.
They were out cold before the credits even rolled.
Eddie woke up, and it was different.
Usually, waking up was a violent, jarring process for him. It usually involved his phone alarm blaring, his shoulder aching from an old injury, and a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest about whatever disaster the day would bring. Waking up was a chore.
This morning, however, there was no alarm. There was just the soft, buttery morning sunlight streaming gently through the blinds, painting warm, dusty stripes across the living room rug. And, more importantly, there was absolutely zero pain in his back. The chronic, agonizing ache that lived between his shoulder blades was completely gone. In fact, he felt... weightless.
Well, not entirely weightless, because there was a very heavy mass of pure muscle draped across his entire left side.
Eddie blinked his eyes open slowly, his brain thick and hazy, with what felt like the first genuine full night of sleep he’d had in a half decade.
He took a slow, deep breath, and his senses were immediately flooded with the sharp, clean scent of body wash, laundry detergent, and the distinct, warm scent of skin that was so uniquely Buck.
Eddie froze. His heart gave a single, hard thump against his ribs. His eyes darted down.
Buck was practically plastered to his side, molded against him like they were two puzzle pieces designed specifically to fit together. One of Buck’s massive legs was tangled intimately with Eddie’s, and his arm was slung entirely over Eddie’s chest, pulling him close like a giant, clingy, desperately affectionate octopus. Eddie’s own face was pressed firmly into the messy, soft curls on top of Buck's head, and his right hand was resting securely on the small of Buck’s back, fingers curled tightly into the soft fabric of his gray t shirt.
For a wild, complete second, Eddie didn't move. He just stayed there. He let himself feel the steady rise and fall of Buck's chest against his own. It was, without a single doubt in his mind, the most comfortable, secure, and safe he had ever felt in his entire life. The chronic tension in his shoulders had melted away. He felt grounded.
Then, Buck snorted softly, his nose twitching directly against Eddie’s collarbone.
Pure, gay panic spiked in Eddie's veins like a shot of adrenaline.
"Whoa!"
Eddie scrambled backward. It was a terrible defensive movement. He pushed aggressively against the back of the couch, completely forgetting how narrow the cushions were and the basic laws of physics.
Buck, violently startled awake by the sudden, freezing loss of body heat and Eddie's aggressive flailing, panicked. He threw his arms out blindly.
Thump.
Buck hit the floor in a tangled mess of long limbs, throw blankets, and half asleep confusion, groaning loudly as his shoulder connected with the floor. Eddie was plastered against the backrest of the couch, his eyes wide, breathing heavily like he’d just run a mile in full bunker gear.
"What?" Buck rasped, his voice rough and deep with sleep. He looked around wildly, scanning the room for a fire, an earthquake, or an armed home invader. "What happened? Are we under attack? Is Chris okay?"
"No! Chris is at Kevin's!" Eddie yelped. He cleared his throat, wincing at how high pitched he sounded, trying to force his voice back down to its normal, casual register. "No. Uh. Nobody's attacking. Just... woke up."
Buck blinked up at him from the floor, his messy curls sticking up in every possible direction, looking incredibly soft and devastatingly handsome despite the sleep lines etched into his cheek. The sleepy confusion on his face slowly morphed into wide eyed realization as he looked at the couch, then at Eddie, who was pressed into the cushions like a frightened cat, and then down at his own empty hands.
A brilliant, furious flush began to creep rapidly up Buck's neck, blooming across his cheeks and turning the tips of his ears a bright, pulsing red.
"Right," Buck stammered, scrambling to his feet with entirely too much force. He violently brushed off his jeans as if they were covered in invisible dust, refusing to make eye contact. "Right. The couch. It's, uh... it's a slippery couch, man."
"Very slippery," Eddie agreed quickly, his heart beating fast. He stood up, putting as much distance between them as the small living room allowed, suddenly feeling entirely too large for his own skin. "It’s basically a slide. A playground slide."
"Yeah. Definitely. And my leg was falling asleep," Buck added, running a frantic, shaking hand through his hair. "I was just... trying to stretch it out. Didn't mean to crowd you, dude. Or, you know, crush you with my body weight."
"You didn't," Eddie lied smoothly, grabbing the empty pizza boxes with the intensity and focus of a man diffusing a live bomb. "We were just wiped. That circus call. I didn't even know where I was."
"Exactly!" Buck pointed a long finger at him, looking so incredibly relieved at the excuse that Eddie almost felt bad for him. "Total exhaustion. Honestly, I'm surprised we stayed awake as long as we did."
"Right."
"Right."
They stood there in the living room, separated by five feet of air that suddenly felt suffocatingly thick and heavy with unspoken implications. Neither of them mentioned the fact that they hadn't just been sleeping near each other, they had been clinging to each other like life rafts in a violent storm, entirely entangled.
"I'm gonna go make coffee," Eddie announced far too loudly, turning on his heel and retreating to the safety of the kitchen like a man fleeing a burning building.
"Great. Awesome. I'll just... fold this blanket," Buck called back to the empty room, picking up the fleece throw as if it were a fragile artifact.
In the kitchen, Eddie gripped the edge of the granite counter, bowing his head. His heart was still racing, but as he stared blindly at the coffee maker, a horrible, undeniable realization washed over him.
His back was already starting to ache again. The phantom warmth of Buck's body was fading, and the familiar, lonely chill of the house was seeping back into his bones.
He closed his eyes, gripping the counter tighter until his knuckles turned white.
Damn it, Eddie thought miserably, resting his forehead against the cabinet. That was the best sleep of my entire life.
The universe, Buck decided over the next four days, was just cruel.
Their next shift at the 118 was a grueling string of minor, tedious emergencies that kept them on their toes but never quite delivered an adrenaline rush to keep them fully awake. By 2AM, an exhaustion had settled over the firehouse. Bobby, taking pity on them, and had ordered them all to bed.
Buck laid on the bunk, staring blankly at the ceiling tiles. He rolled onto his left side. He waited five minutes. He rolled onto his right side. He punched his pillow repeatedly until it resembled a lumpy rock.
Nothing worked.
The standard issue firehouse blanket felt like sandpaper against his skin, and the air conditioning unit was buzzing entirely too loud, blowing a cold draft that made him shiver.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his traitorous brain conjuring up the phantom, heavy weight of Eddie’s arm over his chest. He hadn’t felt that anchored, that securely tethered to the earth, in years. Buck was a guy who vibrated out of his skin on a good day, his mind was always racing, always terrified of being left behind, always calculating his worth to the people around him. But on that terrible but comfy couch, held so securely by his best friend, his brain had simply... powered down. He hadn't felt the need to prove anything. He had just existed, and he had been safe.
Next to him, he heard a frustrated, heavy huff of breath, followed by the aggressive squeak of mattress springs.
Eddie wasn't sleeping either.
For the next two hours, it was a symphony of misery. Buck tried moving to the gym mats to stretch, but only ended up pulling a hamstring and feeling an overwhelming, pathetic sense of loneliness in the dark room. Eddie eventually abandoned the bunk, storming upstairs to the loft to try the couch, only to return thirty minutes later grumbling about how it smelled like Chimney's boots.
The next morning in the firehouse kitchen, the bags under their eyes were so dark they looked like they’d gone a few rounds in a boxing ring.
"Rough night?" Hen asked, sliding a freshly poured mug of black coffee across the kitchen island toward Eddie. She raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them.
"Mattress is lumpy," Eddie grunted, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on his mug. He refused to look in Buck's direction.
Buck, who was currently pouring an offensive amount of sugar into his own mug just to feel something, nodded vigorously. "Yeah. Lumpy. Terrible. The worst mattresses in the city. The city needs to reallocate funds to our spinal health."
But as Hen walked away, muttering something under her breath about dramatic children, Buck and Eddie finally risked looking at each other.
The silent conversation that passed between them was loud, clear, and perfectly synchronized, honed by years of communicating across active disaster zones.
I need a nap. I need a nap too.
You know what we must do.
We can never speak of it to anyone, ever.
It was supposed to be an experiment. Strictly scientific. A one time relapse to cure the absolute sleep deprivation that was currently hindering their job performance. That was the excuse Buck fed himself as he drove to Eddie's house the following evening.
Chris was safely tucked into bed, exhausted from a day at the park. The living room was quiet. The TV was playing a rerun of a master's golf tournament, the most painfully boring thing Buck could find on cable.
They started off sitting firmly on opposite ends of the couch, maintaining a solid three feet of neutral, highly respected territory between them. Buck was practically vibrating with nervous energy, his knee bouncing up and down. Eddie looked like he was bracing for a physical impact, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.
"So," Buck said, his voice entirely too loud for the quiet living room. He winced at the volume. "Golf."
"Fascinating," Eddie said, his voice tight, staring unblinkingly at the screen as a man in plaid pants swung a club in slow motion.
Ten agonizing minutes passed. The sports announcer whispered dramatically about a sand trap.
Buck couldn't take it anymore. He was exhausted, he was touch starved, and the space between them felt like a physical canyon.
"I'm kind of freezing," Buck announced to the room at large, rubbing his arms exaggeratedly. "You keep it like an icebox in here, Eddie."
"I have a blanket," Eddie offered quickly, a little too eager. He grabbed the soft, blue fleece throw from the back of the couch and tossed it over both of their laps. The fabric settled over them, bridging the gap.
"Thanks," Buck muttered. He shifted his weight, allowing his knee to drop open. It bumped gently against Eddie’s knee under the blanket. He didn't pull away. The contact sent a jolt of electricity straight up his spine.
Eddie didn't move away either.
Five more minutes passed.
"My neck is killing me," Eddie mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace. "Slept wrong on that lumpy bunk last shift. The knots are... they're bad."
"You should, uh. You should lean back," Buck suggested, his heart beating a terrifying rhythm against his ribs. It was so loud he was sure Eddie could hear it. "Or, you know. Use a pillow."
There were no pillows on the couch. They both knew this.
Slowly, agonizingly, as if fighting every instinct he had, Eddie let his head fall sideways. He bypassed the back of the couch entirely and rested his head heavily against Buck's shoulder.
Buck inhaled sharply, a shaky breath, but he didn't freeze. Acting entirely on instinct, he carefully brought his arm up, wrapping it around Eddie’s shoulders, letting his hand rest warmly on Eddie's bicep.
The physical relief was instant and deep. It was like a master switch had been flipped in Eddie's brain. His tense, coiled muscles melted instantly. His entire body went slack, and he slumped fully and trustingly against Buck's side.
Buck let out a long, shuddering breath, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the top of Eddie's soft hair.
They didn't fall asleep right away. They just laid there, the quiet noise of the golf tournament washing over them, their breathing slowly syncing up until they were inhaling and exhaling in perfect sync.
Buck stared blindly at the TV screen, watching a tiny white ball roll across a massive expanse of green. His mind, usually a chaotic, swirling storm of insecurities, doubts, and frantic thoughts, went terrifyingly, beautifully still.
The comfortable, rom com denial he’d been wrapping himself in for the last week shredded instantly. It didn't even put up a fight.
Oh, Buck thought, as a warmth blossomed in the center of his chest, spreading out to his fingertips. I'm not touch starved. I'm not just a clingy guy who needs physical affection.
He tilted his head slightly, pressing his nose into Eddie's hair, breathing in the scent of him.
I'm just starved for him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on Eddie's shoulder just a fraction. He was in love with his best friend. The realization didn't hit like a lightning bolt, it felt like waking up from a long sleep and realizing the sun had been shining the whole time. He was hopelessly, completely, utterly in love with Eddie Diaz.
And this nap was going to completely ruin his life, because he was never, ever going to be able to sleep without him again. He would crave this specific warmth, this specific weight, for the rest of his life.
Against his chest, Eddie let out a soft, contented sigh, his fingers loosely curling into the fabric of Buck's shirt, completely oblivious to Buck's world altering internal revelation, and drifted off to sleep.
They got sloppy. The naps became an absolute addiction, a drug they couldn't wean themselves off of.
They disguised them poorly as movie nights or watching the game, but really, it was just a thinly masked excuse to collapse into each other's orbit the second Christopher was asleep, out or at school. Buck lived for the moment Eddie's guard would drop, for the moment his heavy head would rest on Buck's chest.
But doing it at Eddie's house, behind closed doors, was one thing. Doing it at the firehouse was a fatal error.
It was a slow night shift. The alarm hadn't rung in six hours. They had retreated to the bunk room around 3AM, seemingly to catch a quick power nap before the morning rush hour inevitably brought chaos. But old habits died hard, and the magnetic pull between them was too strong to resist, especially in the dark.
They had somehow managed to squeeze their two very large, very muscular bodies onto one of the notoriously narrow bunks. They were a tangled mess of limbs, defying geometry. Eddie was the little spoon, a fact he would take to his grave under threat of torture, with Buck plastered flush to his back. Buck's arm was wrapped securely around Eddie's waist, holding him tight, his face buried deep between Eddie's shoulder blades. Eddie's hands were tangled with Buck's over his stomach.
They were dead to the world, completely insulated in their own private, perfect bubble.
Until the bunk room door creaked open.
Chimney, holding a half eaten blueberry muffin in his hand, stepped into the dark room. He stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand holding the muffin. He looked again.
A slow, devious, utterly chaotic grin spread across his face.
He quietly put his muffin down on a nearby side table and reached into his uniform pocket, pulling out his phone.
Click. The artificial shutter sound was aggressively loud in the quiet room. Eddie stirred, a low rumble of a grumble escaping his throat, but Buck just blindly tightened his hold, pulling Eddie flush against him again, burying his face deeper into Eddie's shirt.
Chimney backed out of the room slowly, his eyes wide with glee, already unlocking his phone and pulling up the 118 group chat, specifically, the one without Bobby.
Chimney: Budget cuts are getting completely out of hand. Bobby is making us share bunks now to save on laundry costs.
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Ten minutes later, the alarm finally blared.
Buck and Eddie jolted awake, scrambling out of the tiny bunk in a flurry of limbs, completely unaware of their impending doom. They suited up in record time, rushed out to a minor grease fire at a 24 hour diner, and returned to the station two hours later, smelling like burnt bacon and craving breakfast.
They walked up the stairs to the loft, bumping shoulders comfortably.
Chimney, Hen, and Ravi were sitting around the kitchen island. The moment Buck and Eddie stepped into the room, all three of them stopped talking abruptly. The silence was deafening. They all turned to stare.
"Good morning, sunshine," Chimney chirped, his voice dripping with faux innocence. "Sleep well?"
"Fine," Eddie grunted, oblivious, heading straight for the fridge to find some eggs.
"Just fine?" Chimney pressed, leaning forward. "Not perfectly rested? Not feeling incredibly... supported? Emotionally and physically?"
Buck frowned, freezing with the coffee pot halfway to his mug. "What are you talking about, Chim?"
Chimney turned his phone around and slid it across the kitchen island.
Buck looked down. His brain promptly short circuited.
There it was. High definition proof of him clinging to Eddie like a desperate koala bear, their legs tangled together, Buck's face practically buried in Eddie's neck.
"I just didn't realize we were operating on a buddy system for nap time," Chimney cackled. "I'll keep that in mind next time."
Buck’s entire body went rigid. The blood drained from his face and then rushed back in a violent, burning wave. His insecurities, which were never far from the surface and always waiting for an excuse to ruin his life, flared violently.
He thought of his realization on Eddie's couch. He thought about how much he desperately wanted this, how much he loved Eddie, and how completely disgusted Eddie was going to be now that it was out in the open. Now that everyone was mocking them. Eddie was a deeply private, guarded guy. He was going to push Buck away. He was going to build that massive, impenetrable wall back up, and Buck would lose his best friend completely.
"Give me that," Buck snapped, snatching the phone off the counter. His voice was much sharper than he intended, defensive and panicked. His face was burning hot. "It's, we were tired, okay? It’s just a small bunk. I run hot, he runs cold. Don't make it weird, Chim."
"I'm not making it weird, you're the ones spooning at work!" Chimney laughed, holding his hands up in surrender.
"Shut up!" Buck yelled, his panic fully taking over, blinding him to the fact that Chimney was just teasing. He shoved the phone back across the counter with entirely too much force. He backed away from the kitchen island, his breathing turning shallow.
He couldn't look at Eddie. He absolutely refused. If he looked at Eddie and saw disgust, or embarrassment, or worst of all, pity, Buck would absolutely shatter into a million pieces right there on the firehouse floor.
"I'm, I need to check the inventory on the ambulance," Buck stammered wildly, already turning away. "I think we're low on gauze."
Buck spun around and fled down the stairs, practically tripping over his own feet, leaving a stunned, heavy silence in his wake.
The locker room was dark, quiet. Buck sat heavily on the bench, putting his head in his hands.
He was completely overwhelmed by the disaster he had just created. He had ruined the best thing in his life over a stupid nap. He should have never gotten into that bunk. He should have kept his distance. Now Eddie knew he was clingy, and soon Eddie would figure out why, and then Buck would be left with nothing.
The locker room door swung open, the hinges squealing softly in the room.
Buck didn't look up. He didn't need to. He recognized the footsteps.
"Buck."
"Eddie, man, I'm so sorry," Buck started rambling immediately, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of him in a desperate, frantic rush. "I know it's weird. I'm just... I'm clingy. You know how I am. I don't know personal space. I cross lines all the time. I didn't mean to crowd you, and I know you hate when people make a big deal out of stuff, and you hate being the center of attention, and I’m so sorry Chimney took that picture. We can go back to normal. I promise. I won't do it again. I'll sleep on the roof if I have to."
"Buck, stop."
Eddie physically stepped into Buck's space. He stood right in front of the bench, right between Buck's knees, forcing Buck to stop his frantic rambling and look up.
Buck expected to see anger. He braced himself to see deep embarrassment, or the familiar walls of Eddie's emotional repression slamming down.
Instead, Eddie looked incredibly calm. His eyes were intense, clear, and entirely focused on Buck. He didn't look like a man who had just been outed for cuddling his male best friend in front of his entire found family. He looked completely and utterly sure of himself.
"You think I care about the picture?" Eddie asked, his voice low with an emotion Buck had never heard directed at him before. It was soft, but it carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"Well, yeah," Buck stammered, his heart stuttering in his chest. "You're... you know. Private. You don't like people in your business."
Eddie let out a short, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. He reached out, his warm hands wrapping firmly around the thick curve of Buck's neck and shoulders. The touch sent a familiar, grounding shockwave straight to Buck's core, instantly settling the frantic buzzing in his brain.
"Buck, look at me," Eddie commanded softly. He waited until Buck's wide blue eyes met his. "Do you honestly, truly think I would let anyone touch me while I sleep if I wasn't completely in love with them?"
The locker room went dead silent. The low whine of the ventilation system seemed to vanish entirely. Buck literally stopped breathing.
"What?" Buck whispered, the word barely making it past his lips.
"I have chronic insomnia," Eddie said, his voice dropping to a raw, honest whisper, his thumbs gently tracing the line of Buck's jaw. "I have back pain that makes me want to scream some days. My brain never shuts off. The only time I have slept through the night in five years is when your giant, heavy, ridiculous arm is crushing my ribs."
Eddie took a small breath, stepping even closer, until his knees pressed against Buck's.
"It’s not just a nap, Buck," Eddie continued, his eyes searching Buck's face. "It’s you. It’s always been you. You make me feel safe. I just... I didn't know how to say it without making it weird, or without scaring you off. But I don't just want to sleep next to you. I want to wake up next to you. Every single day. I panicked at first, but every time it just got better..."
Buck stared at him, his mind racing at a million miles an hour trying to catch up to the reality he was suddenly living in. He looked at Eddie’s hands, gripping him like he was a vital lifeline. He looked deep into Eddie’s eyes and saw the exact same desperate, overwhelming, all consuming affection that had been keeping Buck awake at night for weeks.
The unbearable tension finally snapped.
Buck reached up, his hands tangling violently in the collar of Eddie’s uniform shirt, and pulled him down.
The kiss was sweet, a little desperate, and entirely inevitable. Eddie went willingly, his hands sliding from Buck's shoulders to cup his face, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. It felt exactly like that first moment on the couch, like slotting into the exact place he was always meant to be, like finding a home he didn't know he was looking for. All the frantic, anxious energy drained completely out of Buck's body, replaced by a warm, heavy, golden contentment.
When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathing a little heavy, their foreheads resting against each other. Eddie’s eyes were closed, a soft, beautiful smile playing on his lips.
"So," Buck whispered, a brilliant, blindingly bright smile breaking across his own face. "Are we going to tell Chimney he's a matchmaker?"
"Absolutely not," Eddie groaned, opening his eyes, though he was smiling too, his hands slipping down to rest comfortably on Buck's waist. "I will literally never hear the end of it. He'll want a plaque."
"Good point." Buck leaned in for another quick, grounding kiss, relishing the fact that he was finally allowed to do so. "Hey. I love you too, by the way. So much."
Eddie’s expression softened entirely, melting into pure fondness. "I know. Come on. Let's go deal with the peanut gallery before Hen comes down here looking for us."
Three hours later, the post breakfast lull had settled over the 118.
Bobby walked slowly up the stairs to the loft, carrying a stack of paperwork. The firehouse was uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of the usual bickering or video game sound effects.
He paused at the top of the stairs, looking toward the living area.
On the famously lumpy, terribly uncomfortable loft couch, Buck and Eddie were fast asleep. They were completely and unabashedly tangled together in the middle of the room. Eddie’s head was pillowed comfortably on Buck’s broad chest, rising and falling with his even breaths. Buck’s arm was wrapped securely around Eddie’s shoulders, his cheek resting on top of Eddie's hair. They looked completely at peace.
At the kitchen island a few feet away, Chimney had his phone out again, practically vibrating with excitement, ready to take another compromising picture to add to his growing folder.
Bobby sighed softly. He calmly walked over to the island, put his large hand squarely over Chimney’s camera lens, and gave him a stern, undeniable Captain Nash look that brokered absolutely no arguments.
"Put the phone away, Chimney," Bobby whispered fondly, glancing back at the two men on the couch with a small, knowing smile. "The boys are resting."