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Eddie’s house felt quieter than it had any right to be, especially with Buck there. He stood in the middle of the living room, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, watching Eddie move from one corner to the other as he double-checked his bags.
Buck’s gaze lingered on the spot on the couch where Chris used to sit. It wasn’t there anymore, and the emptiness hit him harder than he expected. He’d known this was coming, of course. Eddie had been talking about it for weeks, the big move to El Paso to be closer to Christopher. But knowing it and standing here watching Eddie pack his life into a duffel bag were two very different things.
“You sure you’ve got everything?”
Eddie glanced up, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, Buck. I’ve got everything.”
Buck nodded, his throat tightening. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “Good...”
The silence stretched between them, heavy and awkward. Buck hated it. He wanted to fill it with something, anything, but his brain was stuck in a loop. Every joke or comment he thought of felt wrong, too flippant for the moment or too serious to risk. He didn’t know how to say what he was really thinking, anyway. That he didn’t want Eddie to leave. That the idea of him being gone made Buck feel like he was losing something he hadn’t even realized he couldn’t live without until it was too late.
He swallowed hard, glancing down at his feet. He’d only just started to understand his feelings, to put a name to the warm ache in his chest whenever Eddie smiled at him or the way his world felt steadier when Eddie was by his side.
And now Eddie was leaving.
“I got you some snacks,” Buck blurted out, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “You know, stuff for the drive. Sandwiches, pretzels... I didn’t know what you’d want, so I—”
“Buck.” Eddie’s voice was soft, cutting through his rambling like a warm breeze. “Thanks. Really. For everything.”
Buck forced a smile, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s nothing. Just making sure you’re set.”
Eddie took a step closer, and for a moment, Buck thought he might say something more—something that would make this all hurt a little less. Of course, he didn’t.
“You still have your spare key right? You know, in case... in case something comes up.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll keep an eye on the place for you.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said again, his voice quieter this time.
Buck nodded, gripping his keys tightly. He tried to ignore the way his chest ached as Eddie turned back to his bag, zipping it up with one smooth motion. It all felt too final, like the closing of a chapter Buck wasn’t ready to finish.
The sound of the zipper echoed in the stillness, and Buck couldn’t hold back any longer. “You’re really gonna leave, huh?”
Eddie looked over his shoulder, his expression soft but resolute. “Yeah, Buck. I am. It’s the right thing for Chris.”
Buck nodded, even though the words made his stomach twist. Of course it was for Chris. It was always for Chris. That was one of the things he admired most about Eddie—his unwavering dedication to his son. But it didn’t make this any easier.
“What about you?” Buck asked quietly, the question slipping out before he could stop it.
Eddie frowned, tilting his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean... are you sure this is what you want?” Buck’s voice was barely above a whisper, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Leaving everything behind? Your friends, the job...”
Me, he wanted to say but didn’t.
Eddie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not about what I want, Buck. It’s about what Chris needs. And right now, he needs family. Stability.”
“You have family here,” Buck said, his chest tightening as the words hung in the air. “You have us.”
Eddie’s eyes softened, and for a moment, Buck thought he might change his mind. But then he shook his head, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ll always be family, Buck. That’s not gonna change. But this is something I have to do.”
Buck swallowed hard, nodding even though he didn’t really believe it. “Yeah. Okay.”
Eddie stepped closer, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. The touch was warm and grounding, but it wasn’t enough to stop the ache in Buck’s chest. “I’ll call,” Eddie said, his voice steady. “And you better pick up. I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”
Buck managed a weak laugh, trying to ignore the way his throat felt like it was closing up. “You better.”
And with that, Eddie picked up his bag and headed for the door. Buck followed him out, standing on the porch as Eddie loaded his things into the car.
“I’ll see you soon, Buck.”
He stayed there long after the taillights disappeared, the keys to Eddie’s house still clutched tightly in his hand. The silence was deafening, and for the first time in a long time, Buck felt completely and utterly alone.
The firehouse had always been a second home to Buck, a place that thrived on chaos and camaraderie. But now, it was more like a refuge—a place to keep his mind busy and his heart just distracted enough to avoid the hollow ache that settled in whenever things got too quiet.
“Double shift again, Buck?” Hen’s voice pulled him from his thoughts as he stood in the kitchen, staring at the coffee machine as if willing it to brew faster.
Buck turned, managing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What can I say? I’m a team player.”
Hen raised an eyebrow, her hands on her hips as she studied him. “You’ve pulled doubles three times this week. You trying to make Chim look bad?”
“Hey!” Chimney called from the couch, where he was half-heartedly flipping through a magazine. “I don’t need help looking bad, thank you very much.”
Hen rolled her eyes but didn’t let Buck off the hook. “Seriously, what’s going on? You’ve been practically living here.”
“I’m fine,” Buck said quickly, too quickly. He grabbed his coffee and took a long sip, hoping she’d drop it.
Hen didn’t. “Buck, come on. We’ve all noticed it. You’re overworking yourself. That’s usually a sign.”
“A sign of what?” Buck asked, playing dumb as he leaned against the counter.
“A sign that you’re avoiding something,” Hen replied, her tone gentler now.
Buck sighed, staring into his coffee like it held the answers he didn’t want to give. “I’m not avoiding anything. Just... keeping busy. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”
“Keeping busy is one thing,” Hen said, stepping closer. “Running yourself into the ground is another.”
Buck shrugged, his smile faltering. “I’m fine, really. Just... a lot on my mind.”
Hen studied him for a moment longer before nodding. “Alright, but you know you can talk to us, right?”
“I know,” Buck said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the distant hum of the station’s activity. “Thanks, Hen.”
The alarm blared, cutting off whatever Hen was about to say next. Chimney jumped to his feet, tossing the magazine onto the table. “Showtime, people!”
Buck drained the last of his coffee, grateful for the distraction. He grabbed his gear and followed the others to the truck, the rush of adrenaline already kicking in.
The call was routine—a minor car accident with no major injuries. Buck worked methodically, his hands steady as he checked on the driver while Chim and Hen handled the passenger.
“You’re good to go,” Buck said, giving the driver a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Just take it easy.”
As they packed up the equipment, Chim glanced at Buck. “You know, if you’re trying to break some kind of shift record, you should at least let us bet on it.”
Buck chuckled, shaking his head. “No record. Just... enjoying the job.”
“You mean avoiding something,” Hen muttered, not quite under her breath.
“I’m not avoiding anything,” Buck said firmly, though his tone lacked conviction.
Chim and Hen exchanged a glance but didn’t push further. Buck climbed into the truck, leaning his head back against the seat as the engine roared to life. He stared out the window, watching the city blur past, his mind already slipping back to Eddie.
Back at the station, Buck threw himself into cleaning the equipment, scrubbing harder than necessary as the others filtered into the common area. Bobby watched from the doorway, his expression unreadable.
“Buck,” Bobby called, his voice cutting through the clatter of tools. “Take a break.”
“I’m good,” Buck said, not looking up.
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Bobby said, stepping closer. His tone was gentle but firm, the kind of voice Buck knew better than to argue with.
Reluctantly, Buck set down the rag and turned to face him. “Just trying to stay productive.”
“I know,” Bobby said, his gaze steady. “But there’s a difference between staying productive and running yourself into the ground. You need to take care of yourself too.”
Buck nodded, though he didn’t trust himself to say anything without his voice betraying him. Bobby gave him a small smile, a silent reassurance that didn’t feel as comforting as it should have.
As the rest of the team laughed in the common area, Buck lingered in the bay, staring at the neatly organized equipment. The firehouse felt like a lifeline, but even here, the ache of Eddie’s absence was a constant presence. And no amount of work could fill that void.
The first time Buck stepped into Eddie’s house after he’d left, it didn’t feel real.
He’d told himself it was just a quick stop to check on things—grab the mail, make sure no stray leaks or blown fuses had turned the place into a disaster zone. But as soon as he stepped through the door and closed it behind him, the weight of the silence hit him like a freight train.
Buck stood in the entryway for a long moment, staring at the empty living room. Without Eddie’s steady presence or Christopher’s cheerful chatter, the house felt hollow, like it was holding its breath. The absence of sound was unsettling. No soft hum of a TV in the background, no clatter of Christopher’s homework supplies on the coffee table, no distant laugh from Eddie as he answered one of Chris’s endless questions.
The house looked the same—Eddie had made sure to leave it neat before leaving—but it felt different. The couch was still there, cushions neatly arranged, the throw blanket draped over the armrest. The framed photos on the mantel were untouched, smiling faces staring back at Buck like they didn’t know they’d been left behind.
He walked further in, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness. There were faint traces of life everywhere—a forgotten notebook on the counter, a magnet on the fridge tilted slightly askew, a coffee mug Eddie had left drying on the rack. Buck ran his fingers over the edge of the counter, his mind replaying a dozen moments he’d spent here—helping Chris with math homework, teasing Eddie while they cooked, sitting around the table after long shifts with takeout containers spread out like a feast.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He’d been to Eddie’s house a hundred times, but this was the first time it felt like he didn’t belong.
His first time there alone.
With a heavy sigh, Buck moved toward the kitchen. The fridge hummed quietly, and when he opened it, he found exactly what he’d expected: a carton of milk a day or two past its expiration date and some odds and ends Eddie probably hadn’t had time to finish before leaving. Buck grabbed the milk, dumping it down the sink before rinsing the carton and setting it aside for recycling.
“See? Just checking on the house,” he muttered to himself, though his voice sounded small in the empty space. “Nothing weird about this.”
He caught his reflection in the microwave door—his expression tight, his eyes a little dull—and quickly looked away. The quiet pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting.
The worst part was the kitchen table. It was so ordinary, just four wooden chairs and a simple surface, but Buck’s stomach twisted as he looked at it. He could practically hear the echoes of Christopher’s laughter, see Eddie sitting at the head of the table with that warm, steady smile that made everything feel okay. He clenched his jaw, blinking hard as he turned away.
It wasn’t like Eddie was gone forever. They’d talked about how he’d visit, how they’d keep in touch. Eddie had promised. But standing here now, surrounded by all these pieces of their lives that felt frozen in time, it was hard to believe it.
Maybe he should just leave.
But even as he thought it, he found himself walking to the living room instead. He dropped onto the couch, the familiar cushions sinking beneath him in a way that made his chest ache. He ran a hand through his hair, staring blankly at the coffee table. His fingers itched to text Eddie, to send something casual—Hey, stopped by the house. Everything’s fine.—but he didn’t. It felt too... forced.
Instead, he leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the silence settle over him. He let himself feel the weight of it all—the house, Eddie’s absence, the quiet ache that had been gnawing at him ever since Eddie had told him he was leaving.
He didn’t cry. But his chest felt tight, and his throat burned, and for a moment, he wished he could rewind time. Just a few months, just long enough to figure out what he was feeling before Eddie had packed up and left.
“Get it together, Buck,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.
The sound of his own voice was jarring in the quiet, and he hated it. The house wasn’t his—it was never going to be his. He was just... keeping an eye on things. Just until Eddie came back.
If Eddie came back.
That thought hit him like a punch to the gut. Eddie had talked about houses in El Paso, about planting roots closer to his family. He hadn’t made any promises about coming back, and Buck hadn’t been brave enough to ask.
Buck’s phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the silence. He pulled it out, hoping—stupidly—that it was Eddie. It wasn’t. Just a reminder from Bobby about the next shift.
“Right,” Buck said to himself, pushing to his feet. “Time to go.”
He glanced around the living room one last time before heading for the door. It would be a while before he came back again. Probably.
Buck was halfway through a bag of potato chips when his phone lit up on the coffee table. He stared at it for a moment, hesitant. The name on the screen read Eddie, and his chest tightened as he swiped to answer.
“Hey,” he said, trying for casual. His voice came out rougher than he intended.
“Hey,” Eddie’s voice was warm but tired, the sound of it making something in Buck’s chest loosen and pull at the same time. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Buck glanced at the crumbs on his sweatpants and the half-empty soda can next to him. “Nah, just hanging out. What’s up?”
There was a pause, long enough for Buck to hear the faint sound of Christopher’s voice in the background. He couldn’t make out the words, but the familiarity of it made him smile despite himself.
“Chris wanted to say hi,” Eddie finally said, his tone softer now. “He’s been asking about you.”
Buck’s throat tightened. “Yeah? How’s he doing?”
“He’s good. He’s been busy dragging me around to all his new favorite spots.”
Buck laughed lightly, though it felt like it didn’t quite reach his chest. “Sounds like he’s running you ragged. How’s everything else? How are you?”
Eddie hesitated, and Buck could picture him rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he was unsure of what to say. “It’s... fine. Settling in, trying to figure things out.”
“Figuring things out” had been Eddie’s go-to phrase since he’d decided to leave. Buck hated it. It was so... vague. But he didn’t push. He couldn’t.
“That’s good,” Buck said, forcing a brightness into his voice that felt fake even to him. “Any big plans?”
“Looking at more houses.”
Buck’s chest tightened. He leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes briefly. “Cool. Found any good ones yet?”
“Yeah. Nothing serious yet, just... looking.” Eddie cleared his throat, the sound loud over the line. “You been by the house?”
“Yeah,” Buck said, grateful for the change in subject. “Checked on it earlier. No forgotten bills or overflowing sinks yet.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said, his voice softer now. “I appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Buck said quickly. “You know I don’t mind.”
Another pause. This one stretched just a little too long, and Buck could feel the weight of all the things neither of them were saying pressing against his chest.
“How’s the team?” Eddie asked finally.
“They’re good,” Buck replied, grateful for the easy question. “Bobby’s trying to teach Chimney how to bake. It’s a disaster.”
Eddie chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. “Sounds about right.”
“And Ravi’s still trying to convince everyone that kale smoothies are a good idea,” Buck added, his grin widening despite himself. “It’s not working.”
Eddie laughed again, and for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like Eddie wasn’t hundreds of miles away.
“I miss you guys,” Eddie said suddenly, his voice quiet but steady.
Buck’s breath caught. He gripped the phone tighter, his chest aching. “We miss you too,” he said softly.
Another pause. This one felt heavier, like it carried the weight of everything they weren’t saying.
“Chris says hi,” Eddie said eventually, his tone lighter now. “He wants to know when you’re coming to visit.”
Buck swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“I will,” Eddie said, his voice warm again. “Take care of yourself, Buck.”
“You too,” Buck replied, his voice quieter now.
When the call ended, Buck sat there for a long moment, staring at the dark screen. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table and leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face.
He wanted to believe Eddie would come back, that this was all just temporary. But with every conversation, every mention of houses and settling in, that hope felt a little harder to hold onto.
Buck sighed, reaching for the remote. He turned on the TV, letting the noise fill the silence, but it didn’t help. Nothing really did. Not when the person he wanted most was hundreds of miles away, figuring out a life that might not include coming back.
Buck sat on his couch, staring at his phone. The screen glowed with the same text thread he’d been rereading for the past hour. Eddie’s last message was two days old:
EDDIE: Chris started at an art class here. He loves it. Said to tell you hi.
Buck’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. He’d already typed and deleted three different responses. He could still hear Eddie’s voice in his head—warm, steady, and familiar. But it wasn’t the same through a screen. Eddie had been gone for weeks now, and their calls had dwindled to a few minutes every other day. The texts were even worse—short, surface-level updates that left Buck feeling more disconnected than ever.
He sighed, tossing the phone onto the coffee table before running a hand through his hair. The silence in his apartment felt oppressive, like it was pressing down on him from all sides. Normally, he’d find something to do—call a friend, head to the firehouse early—but lately, even those distractions weren’t enough.
Buck kept going over to Eddie’s house, he wasn’t even sure why. He’d been stopping by to check on it regularly, making sure everything was in order. He watered the plants Eddie had haphazardly set up in the kitchen, picked up the mail, and made sure the place didn’t look abandoned.
Standing in Eddie’s living room, Buck looked around at the space that was so distinctly Eddie and Chris. The framed photos on the walls, the mismatched throw pillows that Chris had insisted on keeping, the faint scent of Eddie’s cologne that seemed to linger no matter how long he was gone—it all made Buck’s chest tighten.
He sat down on the couch, staring at the coffee table where Eddie used to sit with his laptop, going over homework with Chris or jotting down notes. He reached for his phone again, staring at Eddie’s name in his contacts. After a moment of hesitation, he hit call.
It rang twice before Eddie picked up. “Hey, Buck.”
“Hey,” Buck said, his voice lighter than he felt. “Just checking in. How’s Chris doing?”
“He’s good,” Eddie replied, his tone cheerful but distant. “He’s gotten really into baseball lately. He’s already trying to convince my dad to take him to a game.”
Buck chuckled, though it felt forced. “That’s great.”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause, a beat too long. “How are you doing?” Buck asked carefully.
“Good,” Eddie said quickly, almost too quickly. “Busy, you know. House hunting hasn’t been easy.”
Buck swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “Yeah, I can imagine. Find anything good yet?”
“Maybe,” Eddie said, but there was something off in his tone. “I mean, nothing serious yet. Just looking.”
Buck nodded, even though Eddie couldn’t see him. “Well, if you need a second opinion, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks,” Eddie said softly. “How’s everything at the firehouse?”
“Same old, same old,” Buck replied, trying to sound casual. “You know, saving lives, taking names.”
Eddie chuckled, but it felt hollow. “Good to know you’re keeping busy.”
Another pause stretched between them, and Buck felt like he was holding onto a thread that was about to snap. “I miss you guys,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Buck thought maybe the call had dropped. Then Eddie spoke, his voice softer. “We miss you too, Buck.”
Before Buck could say anything else, Eddie cleared his throat. “I should go. Chris needs help with something. I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“Yeah,” Buck said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Talk to you soon.”
The line went dead, and Buck stared at the phone in his hand. He glanced around Eddie’s living room again, the silence feeling even more suffocating than before.
Buck threw himself into work with renewed intensity. He figured that if he could pretend that everything was fine, maybe it would eventually feel fine. He laughed at Chim’s jokes, joined Hen in her crossword puzzles, and ranted about new things he’d read about. But his heart wasn’t in it, and the team noticed.
This day was no different, Hen flipped through a crossword puzzle book, Chimney munched on an apple, Buck sat at the table, his chin propped on his hand, absently spinning a pen between his fingers. His usual brightness was muted, the energy he usually brought to every room conspicuously absent.
Chimney glanced at Buck. “Alright, what’s with you? You’ve been moping around here like a lovesick teenager.”
“I’m fine,” Buck said quickly, not even looking up.
“Sure you are,” Chimney said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re like a golden retriever whose owner went on vacation and didn’t leave enough chew toys.”
Hen shot Chimney a look over the top of her book. “Seriously?”
“What?” Chimney said, raising his hands defensively. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”
Buck forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not moping. Just... tired.”
“Tired, my ass,” Chimney said, gesturing at him with his apple. “You miss Eddie and Chris. It’s cute, honestly. A little pathetic, but cute.”
“Chimney,” Hen said sharply, setting her book down. “Lay off.”
Chimney shrugged but backed off, popping the last bite of his apple into his mouth. Buck muttered something about checking the gear and left the room without looking back.
Buck was in the locker room, finishing up a routine gear check, when he heard Bobby and Hen’s voices drifting in from the hallway. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the mention of Eddie’s name made him pause.
“He sounded pretty serious about it,” Bobby said. “He said it was just what he’d been looking for, close to his parents, with a yard for Chris.”
“That’s a big move,” Hen said thoughtfully. “He didn’t say anything about when?”
“No timeline yet,” Bobby replied. “But he’s definitely considering it.”
Buck felt like the air had been knocked out of him. He leaned back against the lockers, his hands gripping the edge of the bench as he tried to steady his breathing.
This was real. Eddie was staying in El Paso. Permanently.
The words echoed in his head. A house close to his parents. A yard for Chris.
A life that didn’t include Buck.
He stayed there long after Bobby and Hen’s voices faded, staring blankly at the floor. For weeks, he’d been holding onto the idea that Eddie would come back—that this was just a temporary situation. But now... now he wasn’t so sure.
When Buck finally stood, his movements were slow. He walked back to the kitchen, where Chimney and Hen were laughing over something, their voices light and carefree.
Buck plastered on a smile and joined them, but inside, he felt like he was unraveling.
The key slid into the lock with a quiet click, and Buck pushed the door open to Eddie’s house. The familiar creak of the hinges echoed in the stillness, but it didn’t make him feel any less like an intruder.
He hesitated in the doorway, the weight of his own footsteps feeling wrong somehow, as if the house itself was waiting for someone else to walk through the door.
He closed the door softly behind him, the click of the latch feeling unnaturally loud in the silence. The house smelled the same—clean, warm, like home. Buck’s chest tightened at the thought.
Buck stood in the middle of Eddie’s living room, his arms limp at his sides. He had walked through the front door out of habit more than anything else, his feet knowing the path even when his mind didn’t. Now, as he stood there, he couldn’t figure out why he’d come. There was no urgent reason, no specific task that needed his attention. And yet, here he was, standing in the home Eddie had left behind.
He glanced around the room, taking in the familiar furniture, the faint smell of cedarwood from a candle Eddie never bothered to light but Christopher insisted on burning whenever he could find matches.
It felt the same, but it didn’t. It felt hollow. Abandoned. Like the soul of the house had packed up and gone to El Paso with Eddie and Chris.
What am I even doing here? Buck thought, the question settling into his chest like a weight. He rubbed the back of his neck, the silence pressing in on him. He could almost hear Eddie’s voice, teasing him for hovering. Buck, are you just going to stand there all night? Come help out.
But Eddie wasn’t here to tease him, and Buck wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He could leave, but the thought of going back to his own empty apartment felt even worse. The idea of sitting alone in silence, stewing in his thoughts—it was unbearable. He didn’t want to leave, but staying felt aimless. Pointless.
Buck let out a heavy sigh, turning toward the couch. That was when he noticed it—the cabinet in the corner, slightly ajar, its door hanging unevenly on one hinge. He frowned, stepping closer.
The hinge had come loose, leaving the door to sag crookedly, and the sight of it triggered something in Buck, a small ember of purpose igniting in his chest.
He crouched down to inspect it, his fingers running over the loose screws. The cabinet was fine, mostly, but it wasn’t perfect. Not like it used to be. And suddenly, Buck knew exactly what he needed to do.
Grabbing the small toolbox Eddie kept under the sink, Buck got to work. He tightened the screws, replacing one that had stripped, and carefully aligned the door until it hung straight again. It wasn’t hard work, but it was precise, and it required focus. And right now, focus was the only thing keeping him from drowning in his own thoughts.
This is good, he told himself. This is useful. I’m helping.
As he worked, his mind wandered, the repetitive motions of his hands giving him too much space to think. Why am I even here? The question lingered, unrelenting. What am I trying to prove? That I can fix his cabinet? Fix his house?
He tightened another screw, his jaw clenching. You can’t fix him, Buck. You can’t fix this. He’s gone. He’s moving on.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt the familiar pang of hope he hated himself for. He thought about Eddie’s texts, the brief updates, the calls that felt shorter with every passing week. Eddie’s voice sounded like home, but the distance in his words was impossible to ignore.
Buck wiped his hands on his jeans, smearing dust and grease across the fabric. He stood back, eyeing the now-straight cabinet door. It was better. Fixed.
He glanced around the room again, his gaze falling on a small stack of mail on the counter. Among the envelopes was a handwritten note pinned to the fridge in Eddie’s careful handwriting: Get spackle for wall!
Buck stared at it for a long moment, the words blurring as his throat tightened. His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where a patch of drywall stood half-finished. A ladder leaned against the wall, surrounded by a few cans of paint. Eddie had mentioned it before he left—a project he hadn’t had the chance to finish. Would he ever finish it?
Without thinking, Buck grabbed his car keys and hurried to the jeep, he felt like he was on autopilot the whole drive over to Home Depot.
You’re ridiculous, he thought bitterly, sanding the dried spackle. What do you think this is? Some grand gesture? You think fixing his house is gonna change anything?
But he couldn’t stop. It was something to do, a way to feel connected to Eddie even if it was meaningless. The thought of Eddie coming back to a finished wall—or maybe just knowing someone cared enough to finish it for him—was enough to keep Buck’s hands moving.
As he worked, his mind conjured memories he couldn’t shake: the way Christopher’s laugh sounded when Buck told one of his terrible jokes, the way Eddie would lean against the counter with his arms crossed, watching Buck with that small smile. Buck had spent years convincing himself that what he felt for Eddie was just friendship, but now the truth was suffocating.
He was in love with Eddie. He had been for a long time.
The wall was smooth now, freshly painted and drying under the dim light of the room. Buck stepped back, surveying his work. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. He wiped his hands on a rag, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him back to reality. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen. A text from Maddie.
MADDIE: You okay? Haven’t heard from you in a few days.
Buck hesitated, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He didn’t know how to answer. He wasn’t okay, but what could he say? That he was holed up in Eddie’s house, patching walls and fixing cabinets to avoid dealing with his own feelings? He typed a quick response, hitting send before he could overthink it.
BUCK: Yeah, just busy.
He cleaned up the tools, stacking them neatly in the corner where he’d found them. The room looked a little better now, a little more complete.
Buck grabbed his jacket and keys, locking up the house before stepping out onto the porch. The evening air was cool against his skin, the street bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. He stood there for a moment, staring out at the quiet neighborhood.
You’re just spinning your wheels, he thought, shaking his head. Waiting for someone who’s already halfway gone.
But even as he walked to his car, Buck knew he’d be back. The house wasn’t his, but it was the closest thing he had to Eddie. And until Eddie told him to stop, Buck would keep showing up, patching walls and fixing cabinets, trying to hold together what little pieces he could.
The firehouse was quiet, the familiar hum of camaraderie dulled in Buck’s ears. He sat in the locker room, staring blankly at the inside of his open locker. His phone rested in his hand, Eddie’s contact glowing on the screen.
The last message from Eddie had been short. “Chris is doing great in school. Weather’s been nice. Hope everything’s good there.” There was no warmth, no Eddie-ness to it. Just facts, plain and detached. It had been two days since Buck replied with a simple, “Glad to hear that. Things are fine here.”
And since then, silence.
Buck sighed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t pinpoint when it had started—this widening gap between them. The texts had grown shorter, the calls fewer.
Eddie still sounded like Eddie, but there was a hesitation now, a layer of something Buck couldn’t crack through. And every time Buck picked up his phone to call, his thumb hovered over the screen for longer and longer before he gave up.
It wasn’t just Eddie, though. Buck felt himself retreating from everything, everyone. At work, he threw himself into tasks with single-minded focus, dodging conversations that strayed too close to anything personal. At home, he distracted himself with meaningless tasks—cleaning the same countertop twice, reorganizing drawers that didn’t need it. Anything to avoid sitting still, to avoid thinking.
“Hey, Buck.” Hen’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
He turned to see her standing at the entrance to the locker room, her expression carefully neutral. “You coming to lunch?”
Buck forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, in a minute. Just... finishing up here.”
Hen tilted her head, studying him. “You’ve been ‘finishing up’ a lot lately.”
He shrugged, slipping his phone into his pocket and closing his locker. “Just staying busy.”
Hen didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. “Alright. Don’t take too long.”
Buck watched her leave, guilt twisting in his chest. He knew they noticed—the way he’d been pulling back. He saw the concerned glances Hen threw him, the teasing Chim dialed back when Buck didn’t laugh as easily as he used to. Even Bobby, usually subtle, had asked if Buck was feeling alright.
But Buck didn’t know how to explain it. How could he tell them that every time he thought of Eddie, he felt like someone had hollowed him out? That the idea of Eddie building a new life without him—without them—made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t shake?
On his next visit to Eddie’s houset, Buck found himself in Eddie’s bedroom, standing awkwardly in the doorway.
The air in the room carried Eddie’s faint scent—clean and warm, like cedar and soap—but it felt distant, like a whisper of something Buck could no longer touch. The bed was neatly made, corners sharp as if Eddie had just stepped out for a moment and would be back any second.
His eyes fell on the nightstand, where a small framed photo stood. Eddie and Chris, their smiles wide and bright under the golden light of some long-ago afternoon. Buck’s fingers brushed over the frame as he picked it up, his thumb tracing the edge of the glass.
“What am I doing?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. He set the photo down carefully, almost reverently, as if mishandling it might somehow break the fragile tether he had to Eddie’s life.
He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. Why do I keep coming here? he thought, the question gnawing at him like a persistent ache. What am I trying to find?
The answer sat heavy in his chest, unspoken but undeniable. Eddie. He was trying to find Eddie—in the walls he patched, the plants he watered, the house he kept returning to. But Eddie wasn’t here. And as far as Buck could tell, Eddie might never come back.
Buck’s gaze drifted around the room, searching for some excuse to stay a little longer. That was when he noticed it: a small tear in the curtain by the window. It was barely noticeable, just a frayed edge where the fabric had caught on something sharp.
Fix it, his mind whispered. It’s something to do.
Buck retrieved the sewing kit he’d found in a kitchen drawer on one of his earlier visits. Sitting cross-legged on the floor by the window, he threaded a needle with clumsy fingers, his hands shaking slightly as he worked.
It wasn’t about the curtain—not really. It was about the act of doing, the illusion of control in a situation where he felt completely untethered.
The rhythmic motion of the needle moving through fabric gave him space to think, though his thoughts were anything but soothing. You’re pathetic, Buck.
He let out a frustrated sigh, yanking the thread tighter than necessary. This isn’t your home. This isn’t your life to patch up. But the thought only made him work faster, his hands moving with frantic energy.
When he finished, the tear was barely visible. Buck sat back on his heels, staring at the curtain as if it might offer some kind of answer.
It didn’t.
As he cleaned up the sewing kit, Buck caught sight of another detail he’d missed before: Eddie’s watch, sitting on the dresser. It was simple, unassuming, but seeing it there—so personal, so undeniably Eddie—made Buck’s throat tighten.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hand. The strap was worn, the face scratched from years of use. It was just a watch, but to Buck, it felt like holding a piece of Eddie’s life. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Buck set the watch down quickly, as if it had burned him. He leaned against the dresser, his hands gripping the edge as he tried to steady himself. The room felt too quiet, too still, and the ache in his chest grew heavier with each passing second.
“You’re not coming back, are you?” he whispered to the empty room, his voice breaking.
“Not really.”
Buck stayed longer than he meant to, wandering the house aimlessly. He straightened picture frames, wiped down countertops that were already spotless, adjusted the couch cushions for no reason at all. It wasn’t about making the house look better. It was about feeling useful. Feeling connected.
By the time he left, the sky was tinged with orange, the sun sinking low on the horizon. Buck locked the door behind him, pausing on the porch to look back at the house one last time.
I can’t keep doing this, he thought, but even as the words formed, he knew they weren’t true.
The firehouse buzzed with its usual rhythm—calls coming in, the team chatting over coffee, Chim making some joke that only half-landed. But Buck was barely hearing any of it. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his phone in his hand, staring at the screen like it might suddenly combust.
A text from Eddie.
EDDIE: Found a place. It’s small but nice. Thinking of taking a closer look tomorrow.
He’d been expecting it ever since he overheard Hen and Bobby talking, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
No pictures, no details. Just a simple, detached message. Buck’s stomach churned as he read it for the tenth time. A place. A place where? he thought bitterly, even though he knew the answer. It wasn’t here. It wasn’t in Los Angeles. It wasn’t home.
He clenched his jaw, his thumb hovering over the screen. He wanted to respond, to ask for more information, but what would he even say? Don’t buy the house? Don’t leave? Don’t leave me?
Instead, he locked the phone and set it down, a little harder than he meant to. The dull clatter against the table drew Hen’s attention. She frowned as she glanced over. “You good, Buck?”
“Fine,” he muttered, his voice clipped. He picked up his coffee mug and took a sip, but the bitterness made his stomach twist. He set it down and pushed back his chair abruptly, standing. “I’ll be in the gym.”
The punching bag swung wildly as Buck threw another punch, then another, his fists landing harder and harder. Sweat dripped down his face, his shirt clinging to his back, but he didn’t stop.
The repetitive motion, the impact—it was the only thing keeping him from spiraling.
How could he drop that on him all of a sudden? Buck thought, his knuckles stinging as they connected with the heavy bag again. Like it’s nothing. Like he’s just picking out paint colors or some new couch. Like it’s not his whole life he’s moving away.
The bag jolted under his next hit, and Buck stepped back, breathing heavily. He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His chest ached, but not from exertion.
Buck returned to the kitchen, his hair damp from a quick rinse. Hen, Chimney, and Bobby were at the table, their conversation trailing off when he entered. Bobby’s gaze lingered on him, and Buck could feel the concern radiating off him.
“You alright, kid?” Bobby asked.
Buck shrugged, grabbing his phone off the counter. He avoided looking at them as he replied, “Just tired.”
Chimney snorted. “You’ve been saying that for weeks. Maybe stop taking extra shifts and actually sleep for once.”
Hen shot Chimney a warning look, but Buck was already snapping back, “I’m fine, Chim. Thanks for the concern.”
“Whoa, okay.” Chimney raised his hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t mean to poke the bear.”
Bobby’s brow furrowed, his gaze sharpening. “Buck, if something’s going on—”
“I said I’m fine!” Buck’s voice rose, and the words echoed in the suddenly quiet room. The sharpness in his tone surprised even himself. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. Just... drop it.”
“Buck—” Hen started, her tone softer, but Buck cut her off.
“I don’t need a lecture, okay? I don’t need everyone acting like I’m some pathetic loser who can’t hold it together.” His voice cracked, the anger bleeding into something rawer.
He turned away, grabbing his jacket. “I’m gonna grab some fresh air.”
“Buck,” Bobby said firmly, standing, “maybe you should take the rest of the shift off. Go home. Get some rest.”
Buck hesitated, his shoulders tense. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but then he nodded sharply and stormed out, the door swinging shut behind him.
Buck didn’t go home. He couldn’t. The silence of his apartment felt suffocating, and he knew he’d just sit there, staring at his phone, waiting for another vague text from Eddie that he didn’t know how to respond to.
Instead, he drove to Eddie’s house. The keys felt heavy in his pocket as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. The familiar scent hit him immediately.
The house was still. Quiet. Buck walked into the living room, his footsteps echoing slightly on the hardwood floor.
His eyes landed on the coffee table, where a coaster he’d forgotten to put away sat. Next to the coaster was a stack of mail, neatly arranged but slightly askew. Buck reached out, straightening it with deliberate care. It was such a small thing, but it gave him a brief distraction. He set the pile down, then caught sight of something else—the wobbly leg of a kitchen chair.
It was subtle, barely noticeable, but once he saw it, it was impossible to ignore. The chair tilted slightly every time he pressed on it. To anyone else, it might have been a minor annoyance. To Buck, it was a relief.
Within minutes, Buck had dragged the chair to the center of the room, flipped it upside down, and was inspecting the joints. One of the screws had loosened, leaving the leg unsteady. Buck fetched a screwdriver from Eddie’s utility drawer, crouched down, and got to work.
This is fine, he told himself as he worked. I’m just helping out. Making sure everything’s okay for when he gets back.
But even as he thought it, doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. If he gets back.
Eddie’s text replayed in his head like a loop he couldn’t escape: “Found a place. Thinking of taking a closer look.” The words sounded so casual, but to Buck, they carried the weight of a decision already made.
He imagined Eddie walking through a house in El Paso, imagining a life there, picturing Chris growing up in that space—far away from here. Far away from him.
Buck tightened the last screw and flipped the chair back over, giving it a tentative shake. It was sturdy now, perfectly stable. He should’ve felt accomplished. Instead, all he felt was hollow.
He glanced around the kitchen, searching for another project, another distraction. His eyes landed on the window above the sink. The latch was slightly misaligned, leaving a faint gap where cold air seeped through. Buck stood abruptly, grabbing the screwdriver again.
Buck sat on his couch in the loft, the dim light of the TV casting shifting shadows across the room. He wasn’t watching—hadn’t been for hours. His phone rested face down on the coffee table, exactly where he’d placed it after Eddie’s last text came through.
Buck hadn’t answered Eddie’s first text about the house. That didn’t stop Eddie from sending him pictures of it a day later. Buck hadn’t managed to respond to that one either. He stared at the third consecutive text.
EDDIE: Hey, did you get my message? Let me know what you think.
This one also sat unanswered. He just couldn’t bring himself to reply, couldn’t summon the words to fake enthusiasm or pretend he wasn’t falling apart.
By the fourth text—“Just wanted to check in. Hope you’re doing okay.”—Buck had given up even opening the messages. The guilt sat heavy in his chest, but he told himself Eddie was probably busy anyway.
By Saturday, Buck found himself back at Eddie’s house. The moment he stepped inside, the silence wrapped around him like a weighted blanket, heavy and suffocating. It felt like the house was holding its breath, waiting for its people to come home.
But they weren’t coming home. Not yet, and maybe not ever.
As he walked through the quiet rooms, it felt less like a favor to Eddie and more like self-inflicted punishment. Each creak of the floorboards beneath his boots echoed in the emptiness, a reminder of how hollow the house had become.
Buck tried to focus on practical things. The dripping faucet in the bathroom. The squeaky hinge on the back door. The uneven legs on the kitchen table that wobbled just enough to be annoying.
They were small annoyances, nothing urgent, but they gave him a purpose.
He tightened bolts, adjusted screws, replaced worn-out washers. He scrubbed the stovetop even though it wasn’t dirty, ran a rag along the baseboards like he could wipe away the ache in his chest. But no matter how many things he fixed, the house still felt wrong. Like it was waiting for its heart to start beating again.
What happens to all of this if Eddie moves for good? The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. Would Eddie sell the house? Pack up the photos and the memories, box them away like they didn’t mean anything? Would some stranger live here, completely unaware of the life that had existed within these walls?
The idea made Buck’s stomach churn. This house was more than just a place. It was a home—a home that had opened itself up to him, welcomed him in like he belonged here. And now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
It was late when Buck finally let himself stop. He stood in the doorway of Christopher’s room, staring at the neatly made bed and the scattered collection of toys on the shelves. The room was pristine, untouched, like a photograph frozen in time.
He could almost hear Christopher’s laugh, the sound so vivid in his memory it felt like it was bouncing off the walls. The way Eddie’s face would soften as he watched his son play, that quiet kind of love that made Buck’s chest ache in the best way.
Buck’s eyes landed on a small globe perched on the nightstand. He walked over and turned it, watching as it spun lazily before coming to a stop. His reflection stared back at him from the glossy surface, distorted and unfamiliar.
He wandered back to the kitchen, his toolbox still open on the counter. His gaze fell on the fridge, where a few magnets held up pictures and notes. One caught his eye: a simple drawing Christopher had made, stick figures of himself, Eddie, and Buck standing together. Beneath it, in a child’s handwriting, were the words: “My family.”
Buck froze, his breath catching in his throat. The ache in his chest turned sharp, clawing at him from the inside. He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the paper.
“My family.”
The words felt like a cruel joke now. He didn’t know what he was to them anymore. Eddie was building a new life in El Paso, Chris was thriving with his grandparents, and Buck… Buck was here. Clinging to a house that wasn’t his, to people who weren’t his.
Buck leaned against the counter, his head falling into his hands. Why am I doing this? The question circled in his mind, relentless and unforgiving.
He wanted to believe he was just being a good friend, looking out for Eddie, keeping things together in his absence. But deep down, he knew the truth.
He wasn’t doing this for Eddie. He was doing it for himself—clinging to the hope that maybe, somehow, Eddie would come back. That Eddie would walk through the door, drop his bag by the couch, and make some offhanded comment about the paint on Buck’s jeans. That Chris would barrel into the room, grinning and full of stories about his day.
But Eddie wasn’t walking through that door. And Buck had no idea if he ever would.
When Buck finally straightened, his legs felt shaky, like they might give out beneath him. His eyes drifted back to the drawing on the fridge, the colors slightly faded from age. He wanted to take it, to fold it up and keep it as a reminder of what this place had meant to him. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his to take.
Buck hadn’t planned to disappear—not really. He’d told himself that during his longer weekend off, he’d finally give himself some distance, some time to reset. Avoid Eddie’s house entirely. After all, he’d been there too often.
He’d resolved to stay at his apartment, maybe catch up on sleep, or lose himself in the kind of mindless distractions that didn’t let his thoughts spiral.
But the quiet at home only amplified the ache.
By the end of day one, he found himself pacing, restless, his apartment walls feeling like they were closing in. Every part of him told him to resist the pull, to stay away from Eddie’s house. Yet, before he even realized it, he was driving there, the well-worn route almost automatic under his hands.
The house was as quiet as ever, the kind of quiet that pressed down on him, heavy and smothering. Buck hesitated in the entryway, telling himself he’d just check on a few things—water the plants, maybe tidy up a little. He wouldn’t stay long.
But one hour became two. Two became the whole afternoon. Buck spent hours wandering the house, fixing things that didn’t need fixing. He reorganized the pantry, patched up a corner of wallpaper that had started peeling, and even scrubbed the baseboards until they gleamed.
When evening came, he’d run out of things to repair, but the thought of leaving felt unbearable. Instead, Buck started inventing new projects, seeking out imperfections that barely existed. He polished the kitchen faucet until it shone like new. He rearranged the furniture in the living room twice, debating if Eddie would even notice the difference. Then he noticed a few scuffs on the wooden floorboards and spent hours on his hands and knees, buffing them out.
Buck turned off his phone after the third call from Chimney. He couldn’t face the questions, the concern in their voices. How could he explain the weight that pressed on his chest, the gnawing fear that Eddie might not come back? He wasn’t ready to admit how lost he felt or how much he missed the steady rhythm of their lives together.
By midnight, Buck was exhausted. He’d spent the entire evening sanding a wooden chair in the garage, convinced it needed refinishing even though it was in perfectly good condition. His arms ached, his back protested every movement, but he couldn’t stop. He worked until his body gave out, his head slumping forward onto the workbench.
When he woke up hours later, the house was dark and eerily quiet. His neck ached from the awkward angle, and his hands were stiff from gripping the sandpaper for too long. He blinked blearily at his surroundings, disoriented for a moment before the reality of where he was hit him.
He should have left then, should have gone back to his apartment. But instead, Buck wandered back inside the house, his feet dragging on the polished floors. He didn’t even bother turning on the lights as he collapsed onto the couch.
The thought of facing his empty apartment felt like too much, and before he could overthink it, sleep pulled him under again.
The next morning, Buck woke to sunlight streaming through the windows. He sat up, groggy and disoriented, and rubbed a hand over his face. The house was still, as it had been for days.
He could leave. He should leave. But instead, he wandered into the kitchen and started making himself a cup of coffee.
By the end of his third day off, Buck had given up pretending he wasn’t hiding. The house became his refuge, the place where he could exist without judgment.
Buck sat on the couch that evening, staring at the toolbox he’d left open on the coffee table. There was nothing left to fix, nothing left to do, but the thought of leaving felt impossible. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn’t let go. Not yet.
The knock on the door was sharp and insistent, cutting through the stillness. Buck blinked, his head snapping up. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and for a brief moment, he considered ignoring it. But the knock came again, louder this time.
“Buck, I know you’re in there,” Athena’s voice called out, firm but not unkind. “Open the door, or I’ll let myself in.”
With a groan, Buck pushed himself to his feet and shuffled to the door. He cracked it open just enough to see her standing on the porch, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
“Hey, Athena,” he said, his voice rough from disuse. He didn’t bother to fake a smile.
“Don’t ‘hey, Athena’ me,” she said, her gaze sharp. “You’ve got half the team worried sick. Chim was about two minutes from calling a search party.”
Buck sighed, stepping back to let her in. “I’m fine.”
Athena walked past him, her eyes scanning the living room. “Doesn’t look fine to me,” she said, her tone softening as she took in the empty takeout containers and the pile of tools on the coffee table. “You’ve been holed up here for days, haven’t you?”
Buck shrugged, closing the door behind her. “I just needed some space.”
“Space from what?” Athena asked, turning to face him.
She stepped closer, her expression gentler now. “Talk to me, Buck. What’s going on?”
Buck sank onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... everything. I feel like I’m falling apart.”
Athena sat down beside him, her posture relaxed but her eyes focused on him. “This have anything to do with Eddie?”
Buck let out a hollow laugh. “What doesn’t have to do with Eddie?” He shook his head, staring down at his hands. “He’s halfway across the country, looking at houses, building a life in El Paso. And I’m... I’m here. Taking care of his house like some kind of... placeholder.”
“You’re not a placeholder,” Athena said firmly. “You’re his friend. And you’re hurting because you miss him. That’s normal.”
“It’s not just that,” Buck said, his voice cracking. “I... I think I’m in love with him.” The confession hung in the air, heavy and raw. Buck let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping.
“And he’s gone. He’s moving on, and I’m stuck here, trying to figure out how to be okay with it.”
Athena’s expression softened, and she reached out to place a hand on his arm. “Buck, have you talked to him about any of this?”
Buck shook his head quickly. “No. I can’t. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Eddie, don’t move to El Paso because I’m in love with you’? That’s not fair to him. He’s doing what’s best for Christopher, and I’m not going to get in the way of that.”
Athena was quiet for a moment, her gaze steady. “You know, Buck, sometimes we convince ourselves we’re doing the right thing by staying silent. But silence doesn’t solve anything. It just leaves you with a lot of ‘what-ifs.’”
Buck looked away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t even think it matters,” he said. “He’s probably already made up his mind. And even if he hasn’t, what am I supposed to do? Ask him to stay for me? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”
“You won’t know unless you ask,” Athena said gently. “But even if you don’t ask, you need to talk to someone about this. You’re carrying too much on your own.”
Buck let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start with being honest,” Athena said. “With yourself, with Eddie, with the people who care about you. You’ve got a team who’s willing to listen, Buck. Don’t shut us out.”
Buck nodded slowly, though the weight in his chest didn’t feel any lighter. “Thanks, Athena.”
She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze before standing. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. Let us help you.”
As she left, Buck sat alone in the quiet house, her words echoing in his mind. He didn’t know if he was ready to face everything she’d said, but for the first time in days, he felt a sliver of clarity. Maybe it was time to stop running from the truth—even if he wasn’t sure what it would mean.
Buck walked into the firehouse, shoulders hunched, dragging his feet like the weight of the world was hanging off his back.
He dropped his bag by his usual spot, forcing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes when Chim called out, “Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. How was your mini-vacation, Sleeping Beauty?”
“Yeah, super restful,” Buck said, avoiding Chim’s gaze as he sank onto the couch like he was trying to melt into it. The TV buzzed in the background, some rerun sitcom with canned laughter that grated on his nerves.
Hen wandered over, her eyes sharp with that mix of warmth and concern she always carried. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus. What’s going on?”
Buck shrugged, not even bothering to mask the exhaustion in his voice. “Just tired.”
Hen didn’t let up, crossing her arms and leaning against the edge of the couch. “You’ve been ‘just tired’ for weeks now. You sure there’s nothing else going on?”
Buck opened his mouth to respond, to offer some excuse, but Bobby’s voice cut through the tension from the kitchen. “Buck, can you give me a hand in here?”
Grateful for the out, Buck practically leapt off the couch. “Yeah, sure, Cap. What do you need?”
The kitchen smelled like freshly brewed coffee and something sweet baking in the oven. Bobby handed him a cutting board piled high with vegetables. “Need these chopped. You good?”
Buck froze for a split second, gripping the knife a little too tightly before forcing himself into motion. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Bobby didn’t say anything else, just leaned against the counter, his quiet presence speaking volumes. Buck focused on the rhythmic chopping, the steady thud of the blade against the board the only thing keeping him grounded.
The rest of the day passed in a fog. Calls came and went, the team moving like a well-oiled machine, but Buck felt like he was watching from the outside. He did his part, cracking a joke here or there, but even those felt hollow.
In the lounge during downtime, he stayed perched on the edge of the conversation, laughing when the others laughed but never fully present. Chim made a crack about his silence—“What, Buck’s run out of stories? Someone write this down, it’s historic”—but even that didn’t pull him in.
It wasn’t until the late afternoon lull that everything finally came to a head. They were scattered around the room, flipping through channels and arguing over dinner plans, when Buck’s phone buzzed against the table. Instinctively, he grabbed it, his thumb swiping over the screen.
EDDIE: Hey, are you alright? Did I do something to upset you?
The words blurred as Buck’s chest tightened, his breathing shallow. The edges of the room seemed to tilt, the noise of the TV and the chatter fading to a dull roar. He set the phone down carefully, his face unreadable as he stood abruptly.
“Buck?” Hen’s voice broke through, her concern cutting through the haze. “You okay?”
He didn’t look at her, just nodded vaguely.
“Yeah. Just need some air.”
The garage was cool and quiet, the hum of the firehouse muffled behind the thick doors. Buck leaned against the firetruck, pressing his palms into the smooth metal as he tried to steady his breath.
Did I do something to upset you? Eddie’s concern should’ve been comforting, but all it did was make the ache sharper.
Eddie was moving on, building a life hundreds of miles away, and Buck felt like he was stuck in place, tethered to something he couldn’t name.
“Hey, man.” Chimney’s voice broke through, soft and cautious. Buck didn’t turn around, just kept staring at the truck. “You alright? You kind of bolted back there.”
For a moment, Buck didn’t answer. When he finally turned, his eyes were red, his jaw clenched. “I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Chimney stepped closer, concern etched across his face. “Can’t do what?”
“This,” Buck gestured vaguely, his hand trembling.
“Pretending like I’m okay when I’m not. Eddie’s leaving, Chim. He’s got a house lined up, and I’m just supposed to be fine with it? Like it doesn’t matter?”
Chimney’s teasing grin was long gone, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Buck—”
“No.” Buck shook his head sharply, his voice rising. “I know what you’re gonna say. ‘It’s his life, his choice.’ And I get that, I do. But it’s like... I can’t breathe. I can’t do this.”
Chim didn’t respond immediately, just let the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. Finally, he reached out, resting a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Have you talked to him about how you’re feeling?”
Buck let out a hollow laugh, stepping away. “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Eddie, I’m falling apart because you’re leaving’? Yeah, that’ll go over great.”
“Maybe not in those exact words,” Chim said gently. “But Buck, if this is eating you alive, you’ve got to say something. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
It doesn’t matter what I say. He’s leaving anyway.”
The weight of his admission hit like a punch to the gut. Chimney stayed quiet for a moment, then squeezed Buck’s shoulder gently.
“You need to go home. Take some time to figure out what you want to do with all this.”
Buck nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak. As Chimney walked away, Buck sank onto the truck’s bumper, his head falling into his hands.
Go home.
He didn’t even know where that was anymore.
Buck found himself at Eddie’s house again. Each time he hated himself just a little bit more.
Buck dropped his bag by the door and wandered aimlessly, there was nothing left for him to do. Everything in the house was fixed, every surface was spotless.
Buck found himself sitting on the kitchen floor, staring at his hands. The ache in his chest was still there, heavier than ever. And for the first time in weeks, he let himself cry.
Buck found himself at Eddie’s house again, though he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. Each time he came back, it was harder to justify, harder to ignore the voice in his head that whispered he was crossing a line.
He hated himself for it, hated the way he couldn’t seem to stay away, but that didn’t stop him from unlocking the door and stepping inside.
He dropped his bag by the door, the sound echoing louder than it should in the silence.
Buck wandered aimlessly, his footsteps soft against the hardwood. There was nothing left for him to do. Every surface had been scrubbed, every hinge tightened, every crack patched. He’d spent days fixing things that didn’t need fixing, trying to convince himself it was for Eddie. But now? Now there was nothing to hide behind.
In the kitchen, the table he’d painstakingly leveled sat unbothered, its legs no longer wobbling. He moved without thinking, opening cabinets, looking through drawers, searching for something—anything—to focus on. But everything was in its place. There were no loose screws, no crooked shelves, no leaky faucets. It was maddening.
Buck eventually slumped to the floor, his back against the cabinets, and stared down at his hands. They were calloused from years of work, hands that had pulled people from burning buildings, patched wounds, and held onto others for dear life. But now, they were useless. There was nothing left for him to fix, no distraction to keep him from facing the truth that had been gnawing at him for weeks.
His vision blurred, and for the first time in weeks, Buck let himself cry. Silent, aching sobs wracked his body as he sat there on the kitchen floor, his head bowed and his hands trembling.
He didn’t even try to stop it, didn’t bother wiping away the tears as they fell. There was no one here to see him, no one to ask what was wrong or offer a comforting word. He was alone.
Minutes passed, maybe hours. Buck lost track of time as he sat there, the quiet of the house pressing down on him like a physical weight. When the tears finally slowed, he leaned his head back against the cabinets and stared at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths.
He pushed himself to his feet, his legs unsteady.
The house felt too small, and too big, and he needed to leave before it swallowed him whole.
Buck’s apartment felt emptier than usual, though it was cluttered with evidence of his recent downward spiral. The couch was buried under a pile of discarded blankets, an empty takeout box balanced precariously on the armrest.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at his phone, Eddie’s name glowing on the screen. A new text. He didn’t open it.
A knock at the door broke the silence, startling him. Buck frowned, considering ignoring it. Then the knock came again, more insistent.
“Buck, it’s me,” Maddie’s voice called through the door.
Buck groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. Of course, she’d come. They all talked. Athena must’ve told her. Or Chimney. Or both.
He opened the door, leaning against the frame, trying to muster a smile. “Hey, Maddie. Everything okay?”
Maddie’s eyes swept over him, taking in his rumpled hoodie, the faint bags under his eyes, and the general chaos behind him. She didn’t smile back. “I could ask you the same thing. Are you going to let me in, or are we doing this in the hallway?”
Buck sighed and stepped aside. “Come in.”
She entered and stopped, her gaze scanning the apartment. “Wow. Did a tornado hit this place, or is this the new ‘sad firefighter chic’ I’ve been hearing so much about?”
“Very funny,” Buck muttered, closing the door. “What do you want, Maddie?”
Maddie turned to him, crossing her arms. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. Chim said you’ve been off lately.”
“I’ve been busy,” Buck said, moving toward the kitchen to avoid her gaze. He grabbed a glass from the sink and rinsed it out. “Work, fixing up Eddie’s house—it’s nothing, really.”
“Fixing Eddie’s house,” Maddie repeated, following him. “You mean the house he left behind when he moved to El Paso?”
Buck’s shoulders stiffened. “He hasn’t moved yet,” he said automatically.
Maddie tilted her head, her voice softening. “Is he really coming back?”
“I... I don’t know,” Buck admitted, gripping the counter until his knuckles turned white.
Maddie’s expression softened as she stepped closer. “Evan, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to take care of everything—his house, his problems, his absence—like it’s your responsibility.”
Buck let out a hollow laugh, setting the glass down a little too hard. “What else am I supposed to do, Maddie? He’s gone, Chris is gone, and I’m here. I’m the one who’s supposed to be there for them. That’s all I know how to do.”
Maddie placed a hand on his arm, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re more than just the guy who takes care of everyone else. And it’s okay to let yourself feel something about this. You don’t have to hold it together all the time.”
Buck shook his head, his eyes glassy. “I don’t even know what I feel anymore. I just know that I’m... I’m waiting for something that might never happen. I don’t know if he’s coming back, Maddie. And if he doesn’t—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard.
“Have you told him?” Maddie asked quietly.
“Told him what?”
“That you’re in love with him.”
Buck froze, the words hanging heavy in the air. He let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck.
“What’s the point? He’s in El Paso, building a life with Chris. What am I supposed to say?”
Maddie’s lips quirked into a small, sad smile. “You’re supposed to be honest. With him, and with yourself.”
Buck laughed bitterly. “Yeah, well, honesty’s overrated.”
They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of Buck’s words settling between them. Finally, Maddie reached out, pulling him into a hug. Buck hesitated, then melted into the embrace, his head resting on her shoulder as he let out a shaky breath.
“You’re not alone in this, Evan,” she murmured. “Even if it feels like it.”
“I know,” he whispered, though it didn’t feel true. Not entirely.
When Maddie pulled back, she gave him a long, searching look. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay? And if you need to talk, call me. Anytime.”
Buck nodded, avoiding her gaze. “Yeah. I will.”
But as Maddie left, the apartment felt emptier than ever. Buck glanced at his phone again, Eddie’s unread text still glowing on the screen. He picked it up, stared at it for a long moment, then set it down without opening it.
Buck was officially entering insane territory. He had gone to IKEA and gotten shelves. He remembers Eddie talking about Chris wanting a shelving unit in his room, so buck had went and bought it.
He sat on the floor of Eddie’s living room, surrounded by tools, screws, and an IKEA shelf that seemed determined to break him. The instruction booklet lay open in front of him, a taunting maze of wordless diagrams that made no sense, even after he’d studied them for the past ten minutes. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the kind of exhaustion that had nothing to do with physical effort.
The phone buzzed against the floor, startling him. He picked it up hesitantly, Eddie’s name lighting up the screen. Another text. The sixth one this week, each one a gentle nudge, each one a reminder of the distance between them. He stared at it for a long moment before opening it.
EDDIE: Are you okay? Please answer me, I’m getting worried.
He typed and erased three different replies before settling on something short.
BUCK: Sorry, I’m fine. Just busy.
EDDIE: Jesus Buck, you’ve ignored my texts and calls for a week. What’s got you so busy?
Buck hesitated, then snapped a picture of the half-assembled shelf and sent it.
BUCK: Trying to figure out how to make this thing stand up. It’s winning.
EDDIE: You’re building furniture?
BUCK: I needed a project.
EDDIE: You’ve got plenty of projects at your place.
Buck stared at the screen, his chest tightening. He typed slowly this time.
BUCK: Yours is quieter.
The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then came back again. Buck held his breath until Eddie’s reply finally came through.
EDDIE: I don’t mind you being there. You know that, right?
The lump in Buck’s throat grew harder to swallow. Did Eddie know? Did he understand what it meant for Buck to be here, in this space that felt so empty without him?
BUCK: How’s El Paso?
There was a pause, longer this time, and when Eddie’s reply came, it felt measured, careful.
EDDIE: It’s fine. Chris is good. But… it’s not the same. I miss LA.
Buck read the message three times before it fully sank in. He should have felt relieved, maybe even hopeful, but instead, it twisted something deeper. Missing LA wasn’t the same as missing Buck.
BUCK: You having second thoughts about the move?
The typing bubble reappeared, flickered, then stopped. Buck stared at the screen, holding his breath.
EDDIE: I don’t know yet. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.
It wasn’t a no, but it wasn’t a yes either. It was limbo—an answer that gave him nothing to hold onto. He didn’t know how to respond, but Eddie wasn’t finished.
EDDIE: Are you sure you’re okay? Maddie said she was worried about you.
Buck’s jaw tightened, his initial reaction irritation. Leave it to Maddie to go running to Eddie. But the anger fizzled out almost immediately, replaced by guilt. She was worried. Everyone was. And maybe she had a right to be.
BUCK: I’m fine. Just tired.
This time, the typing bubble disappeared completely, replaced by an incoming call. Buck stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the answer button. He hesitated, then swiped to accept.
“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than he intended.
“Hey,” Eddie replied, and even through the phone, his concern was palpable. “You don’t sound fine.”
Buck huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I’m fine, Eddie. Really.”
“You’re not,” Eddie said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Talk to me, Buck.”
Buck leaned his head back against the couch, closing his eyes. He wanted to talk, but where would he even start? “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“How about the truth?” Eddie suggested, his voice quieter now. “You’ve been pulling away.”
“I just figured you were busy,” he said. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Buck,” Eddie said, the weight in his voice making Buck’s breath hitch. “You could never bother me.”
Buck let out a shaky laugh, his hand gripping the phone tighter. “You say that now, but you’ve got enough on your plate without me dumping all my crap on you.”
“You’re not dumping anything,” Eddie said firmly. “And I’m not too busy for you. So stop thinking that, okay?”
Buck swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in his eyes. He wanted to believe Eddie, but the doubts were louder.
“I just... I miss you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Eddie was quiet for a moment, and Buck could hear him exhale softly. “I miss you too,” Eddie said finally. “Chris does too.”
Buck’s throat tightened at the thought. He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion creeping back in. “Yeah, well… tell him I miss him too.”
“I will,” Eddie said. “But, Buck, I need you to promise me something.”
“What?” Buck asked, his voice hoarse.
“Take care of yourself,” Eddie said. “And don’t shut me out.”
Buck let out a hollow laugh. “You’re not exactly easy to shut out.”
“Good,” Eddie said, his tone soft but steady. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”
Buck closed his eyes, the weight in his chest lifting slightly. “Thanks, Eddie.”
“Anytime,” Eddie replied, his voice warm. “Call me if you need to. For anything.”
“Okay,” Buck said, though the word felt fragile.
They ended the call, and Buck sat there for a long time, staring at the disassembled shelf. He reached for the instruction booklet again, if nothing else, he could finish this.
The firehouse buzzed with its usual energy. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted from the kitchen, the faint sound of a football game played on the lounge TV, and the team’s banter filled the gaps in between. It was the same as it had always been, but for the first time in weeks, Buck felt a little more like himself.
He wandered into the kitchen, a mug in hand, and found Chimney and Hen already mid-argument over whose turn it was to clean the communal fridge.
“I’m just saying, if we find another mystery container, it’s going in the trash,” Hen declared, hands on her hips.
“Fine by me, as long as you admit you were the one who left it in there,” Chimney retorted.
“Why do you always assume it’s me?”
“Because last time, it was you!” Chimney shot back, grinning.
Buck chuckled as he poured himself some coffee. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean it out. Consider it my contribution to maintaining peace.”
Chim turned, eyebrows raised. “Look who’s suddenly Mr. Helpful. Feeling alright, Buckaroo?”
“Yeah, actually.” Buck shrugged, taking a sip from his mug. “Feeling... better.”
Hen exchanged a glance with Chim, her lips quirking into a small smile. “Good to see you, Buck. For real.”
“Thanks,” Buck said, his voice soft but genuine. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a victory. A small step out of the fog he’d been living in.
Later, during a lull in calls, Buck sat on the couch scrolling through his phone. His fingers hovered over Eddie’s name, the recent call still fresh in his mind. The conversation had been good—really good. And for the first time, Eddie’s words felt like something solid to hold onto.
He tapped out a quick text.
BUCK: Hey, any updates on that house hunt?
The response came faster than he expected.
EDDIE: Not really. Last place was a bust. Looking at a few more places this week, though.
Buck smiled faintly, the casual tone of Eddie’s reply easing some of the tension in his chest.
BUCK: Has Chris gotten further on the treehouse plans?
EDDIE: Obviously. Kid’s already got designs drawn up.
BUCK: Classic Diaz efficiency.
EDDIE: Someone’s gotta keep you Buckleys on track.
The teasing warmth of the exchange made Buck grin, a sensation that felt foreign but welcome. He was still thinking of a witty reply when Hen plopped down beside him, her eyebrow raised.
“You’re smiling. Should I be concerned?”
“Nope, nothing to see here,” Buck said, locking his phone and slipping it into his pocket.
Hen didn’t buy it for a second. “Uh-huh. Who were you texting?”
“Eddie,” Buck admitted, his tone nonchalant. “Just... catching up.”
Hen’s expression softened. “Good. You’ve been, I don’t know, brighter today. It’s nice to see.”
Buck shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “I’m trying. One step at a time, right?”
Hen nodded. “That’s all any of us can do.”
Buck stood in the paint aisle at the hardware store, arms crossed as he stared at the dizzying array of color swatches. Blues, greens, yellows—all blending together in a blur of indecision. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing this, or when the idea had even popped into his head, but once it had, it stuck.
Eddie’s kitchen could use some life, something brighter. Something less... beige. The walls felt as tired and worn as Buck had been lately, and he wanted to change that.
He thumbed through a few cards before his eyes landed on a bright, cheerful green. It reminded him of something Christopher had mentioned once, how he wanted his room to feel like “sunshine and grass.”
A grin tugged at Buck’s lips as he grabbed the card. “Sunshine and grass it is,” he muttered, grabbing a can of paint and some supplies before heading to the checkout.
Back at Eddie’s house, Buck rolled up his sleeves and surveyed the kitchen. He’d cleared the counters, moved the table to the center of the room, and spread out a plastic tarp. The faint smell of fresh paint already filled the air as he pried the lid off the can and stirred the vivid green into a smooth consistency.
“Alright,” he said to himself, dipping the roller into the tray. “Let’s make this place a little less miserable.”
The first stroke of green spread across the wall, vibrant and almost startling against the dull beige background. It made Buck smile. The color was bold, alive—it was everything the house needed.
As he worked, the rhythmic sound of the roller moving up and down the walls gave him space to think. But this time, the thoughts weren’t heavy. They weren’t suffocating. Instead, they floated by like passing clouds.
He thought about Eddie and Christopher, Buck could picture them here, Eddie making breakfast while Chris chattered on about his latest school project. The color felt like it belonged, like it was a promise of something better.
Would Eddie hate it? The thought lingered, but it didn’t weigh him down. Buck chuckled to himself, imagining Eddie walking in and raising an eyebrow at the bold change.
“‘Seriously, Buck?’” he said aloud, mimicking Eddie’s voice. “‘You couldn’t have gone with something neutral?’”
But then Buck imagined Chris lighting up when he saw it, maybe even declaring that it was the coolest kitchen ever. That was worth any teasing Eddie might throw his way.
By the time Buck had finished the first coat, his shirt was speckled with paint, and his arms ached pleasantly from the effort. He stood back to admire his work, the vibrant green walls catching the late afternoon light streaming through the window.
It wasn’t perfect—there were a few streaks he’d need to touch up—but it already looked brighter, livelier. It felt like the house was breathing again.
Buck cleaned up, wiping his hands on a rag as he stepped back to take it all in. “Yeah,” he muttered. “This is good.”
As he packed up the supplies, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind. What if Eddie really did hate it? Buck hadn’t asked—hadn’t even considered asking, really. He’d just done it, like everything else he’d been doing at the house lately.
But this was different. This wasn’t fixing something broken or cleaning up a mess. This was a choice, a bold change that Eddie might not appreciate.
Buck sighed, leaning against the counter. “Well, too late now,” he said to himself. “Guess I’ll deal with it when he gets back.”
If he gets back.
He glanced at his phone, the urge to text Eddie bubbling up. Maybe he could give him a heads-up? But the thought of trying to explain why he’d decided to paint the kitchen without permission made him hesitate.
Instead, he typed out a simpler message.
BUCK: Made a few updates to the house. Hope you and Chris like surprises.
He hit send before he could second-guess himself and set the phone down, his nerves buzzing as he waited for a response.
Buck spent the rest of the afternoon tidying up and admiring the transformation. He even allowed himself a moment to sit at the kitchen table with a glass of water, taking in the fresh new atmosphere.
It wasn’t just the color that felt different—it was the energy. The kitchen didn’t feel as lonely anymore. It felt hopeful.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Buck found himself smiling for no particular reason. It wasn’t a big change, but it was enough. It was a step forward, a reminder that even in the absence of the people who made this house a home, it could still be a place filled with warmth and life.
For the first time in weeks, Buck felt like he’d done something right.
A week later, Buck was stood in the kitchen. The third coat of paint had finally dried so the kitchen was officially done. The late afternoon sunlight spilled through the windows of Eddie’s kitchen, catching on the freshly painted green walls.
Buck stood by the counter, sipping water from a bottle and admiring his handiwork. The vibrant color had transformed the space, making it feel less like a house missing its inhabitants and more like a home that might welcome them back someday.
He was about to start tidying up the brushes and roller when he heard it—a car door slamming shut outside. His brows furrowed as he set the bottle down, his body tensing. He moved toward the window cautiously, peeking out. What he saw made him freeze in place.
Eddie’s truck.
The air rushed out of Buck’s lungs as he watched the familiar silhouette of Eddie step out, followed by Christopher climbing down from the passenger seat. The boy looked taller than Buck remembered, his movements just as energetic.
“What...?” Buck muttered under his breath, his brain scrambling to make sense of what he was seeing. He stumbled to the door, heart pounding, and flung it open just in time to see Christopher spot him.
“Buck!” Christopher’s voice rang out, joyful and bright.
Buck barely had time to brace himself before the boy crashed into him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. “Hey, buddy!” Buck exclaimed, his voice catching in his throat. He held Christopher close, his chest tightening. “What are you doing here?”
Christopher grinned up at him, his eyes sparkling. “We missed you! So we came back.”
Buck’s heart stopped, the words hitting him like a freight train. He blinked, his gaze darting to Eddie, who was walking up the driveway with his hands in his pockets, his expression soft and unreadable.
“For good?” Buck repeated, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked back at Christopher.
“Yeah! Dad said we missed LA too much.” Christopher spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Buck’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to say, “You’re staying?”
Eddie stopped a few feet away, his gaze steady as he nodded. “Yeah. We’re staying.”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Buck’s knees felt weak, and he instinctively tightened his hold on Christopher to ground himself. “You’re staying,” he repeated, as if saying it out loud would make it more real.
“Dad said LA is home,” Christopher added, his tone matter-of-fact. “And you’re here. So, of course, we’re staying.”
“I’m so happy to hear that superman.”
“And dad said we had to make sure you didn’t destroy the house.”
Buck laughed at that, and leaned down to whisper in Christophers ear. “Why don’t you go check out the kitchen? I painted it to make the house happy.”
Chris nodded excitedly and entered the house. Buck turned back to Eddie.
“Hey,” Eddie said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that Buck hadn’t realized he’d been starving for.
Buck swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing. He looked at Eddie, who was watching him closely, as if trying to gauge his reaction. “You’re really staying?” Buck asked again, his voice trembling.
Eddie’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “We are.”
Buck blinked rapidly, his emotions teetering between relief, confusion, and disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he blurted, his voice rising slightly. “Why didn’t you call or—or text?”
Eddie shrugged, his smile turning sheepish. “I wanted it to be a surprise. We just decided a couple of days ago.”
“A couple of days ago?” Buck echoed, his head spinning. “Eddie, you’ve been in El Paso for weeks, talking about houses, making plans, and now you’re... you’re back? Just like that?”
Eddie stepped closer, his expression softening. “It wasn’t just like that,” he said quietly. “It took me a while to figure things out. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized... this is where we belong.”
Buck stared at him, his mind racing. Questions swirled in his head, too many to sort through.
“You could’ve given me a heads-up,” he muttered, his tone a mix of relief and frustration.
“I know,” Eddie admitted. “But I wanted to see your face when we got here.”
“Why now?” Buck asked, his voice softer, almost hesitant.
Eddie hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Because... I missed you.”
The words hit Buck like a punch to the gut. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
“I missed this,” Eddie continued, his voice stronger now. “I missed home. And you, Buck. I missed you.”
Buck let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Eddie, you can’t just say that and expect me to—”
“I’m not expecting anything,” Eddie interrupted, stepping closer. His eyes were earnest, searching Buck’s face. “I’m just telling you the truth.”
Buck’s breath hitched. He shook his head, his emotions threatening to spill over.
Eddie’s expression softened, his hand reaching out instinctively.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice steady. “I didn’t mean to leave you behind.”
Buck laughed wetly, brushing at his eyes. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
Eddie’s grip tightened, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
“I’m here now,” Eddie said quietly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
The words broke something in Buck. He stepped forward without thinking, pulling Eddie into a fierce hug. Eddie didn’t hesitate, wrapping his arms around Buck just as tightly.
They stood there for what felt like an eternity, holding onto each other like they were afraid to let go.
They got interrupted when Christopher came back and started tugging on Eddie’s sleeve.
“Dad! Come look at the kitchen! It’s so cool!”
Eddie frowned, his gaze shifting to the house. “The kitchen?”
Buck froze, suddenly remembering the bold green walls. “Uh... yeah. About that,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I might’ve made some changes.”
Eddie raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “What kind of changes?”
Christopher didn’t wait for an explanation. He grabbed Eddie’s hand, dragging him toward the door. “Come see!”
Buck followed nervously, his palms sweating as Eddie stepped inside and stopped dead in his tracks. The kitchen was brighter than it had ever been, the green walls practically glowing in the afternoon light.
Eddie turned slowly, his eyes wide as he took in the transformation. “You painted my kitchen?”
Buck shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was looking a little sad, so... yeah. Surprise?”
Christopher beamed. “It’s my favorite color! Buck said it makes the house feel happy.”
“You said that?”
Buck felt his face heat up. “Well, yeah. I mean, it was just an idea. If you hate it, I can repaint it.”
Eddie shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t hate it. It’s... bold.”
Buck winced. “Bold good or bold bad?”
“Bold... unexpected,” Eddie said, his smile widening. “But I think it works.”
Buck let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Good. Because I wasn’t sure if it was a mistake or not.”
Eddie’s smile softened, and he stepped closer. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said quietly.
“Thanks, Buck.”
Buck shrugged again, his throat tightening at the sincerity in Eddie’s voice. “Figured the place could use some color.”
Christopher had run off to his room to unpack something, leaving Eddie and Buck standing in the kitchen. The air between them was warmer now, a little less heavy, but Buck still felt a twinge of nervousness as Eddie’s gaze lingered on the freshly painted walls.
Eddie turned to him, his brow raised slightly. “So... any other home improvements I should know about?”
Buck hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, well, a few things here and there. Nothing major. Just stuff I thought might help.”
Eddie folded his arms, his lips twitching into a teasing smile. “Just stuff?”
“Yeah, you know,” Buck said, shifting his weight awkwardly. “Little things.”
“Alright, show me.”
“You want me to show you everything?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, his tone light but insistent. “If you’re going to renovate my house, I should at least see what you’ve been up to.”
Buck let out a nervous laugh, motioning for Eddie to follow him. “Okay, fine.”
Buck led Eddie through the house, pointing out each small change as they went. “I fixed the dripping faucet in the bathroom,” he said, gesturing to the gleaming sink. “And the squeaky hinge on the back door—no more waking up the neighbors when it slams.”
Eddie nodded, clearly impressed. “That hinge has been driving me crazy for years.”
“Yeah, well, you’re welcome,” Buck said, his voice tinged with mock bravado.
In Christopher’s room, Buck hesitated at the doorway. “I didn’t touch much in here,” he said quietly. “Just installed some shelves... dusted a little.”
Eddie stepped inside, his gaze softening as he took in the familiar space. “You got him shelves?”
Buck shrugged, his throat tightening. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“We’ve been talking about it forever...”
“I know, I figured I would help.”
Eddie turned to him, his expression unreadable. “You really did all of this while I was gone?”
“Yeah,” Buck admitted, his voice quieter now. “I just... I needed something to do.”
Eddie frowned slightly. “Buck—”
“There’s more,” Buck interrupted, not ready to have that conversation just yet. “Come on.”
In the living room, Buck pointed to the freshly painted baseboards. “They were scuffed up, so I gave them a quick coat of paint.”
Eddie crouched down to inspect them, his smile soft. “They look great.”
“And, uh, I tightened the legs on the kitchen table,” Buck added as they circled back to the dining area. “It wobbled, and I figured that’d get annoying.”
Eddie leaned against the counter, watching Buck closely now. “You really couldn’t sit still, huh?”
Buck laughed nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well, you know me. Gotta keep moving.”
Eddie tilted his head, his smile fading just slightly. “Why, Buck?”
Buck froze, his heart hammering in his chest. “What do you mean?”
Eddie straightened, stepping closer. “Why did you do all this? I mean, I’m grateful, but... you didn’t have to.”
Buck looked away, his jaw tightening. “I just wanted the place to feel... less empty. For Chris. For you. I didn’t want you to come back and feel like it wasn’t home anymore.”
Eddie’s eyes softened, his voice quieter now. “Is that all?”
Buck hesitated, his walls crumbling as Eddie’s gaze stayed steady on him. “I guess I just... missed you. Both of you. Being here made me feel closer to that.”
Eddie took another step closer, close enough that Buck could feel the warmth radiating from him. “You really think I could forget what home feels like?”
Buck’s breath hitched as he looked up, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “I didn’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You were looking at houses. You didn’t say... I didn’t know if you’d come back.”
Eddie’s brow furrowed, his hand reaching out to rest on Buck’s shoulder. “Buck,” he said softly, stepping closer. “Thank you.”
Buck blinked, his chest tightening painfully. “Eddie, you don’t—”
Before Buck could finish, Eddie leaned in, closing the space between them. His lips brushed against Buck’s, soft and hesitant, as if asking permission.
Buck froze for a split second before he melted into the kiss, his hands finding Eddie’s waist. The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world. Buck felt the tension in his chest ease, replaced by a warmth that spread through him like wildfire.
When they finally broke apart, Buck’s forehead rested against Eddie’s, both of them breathing heavily. “I didn’t know you felt... this,” Buck whispered.
Eddie smiled, his hand brushing lightly against Buck’s cheek. “I think I always have.”
Buck let out a breathless laugh, his heart pounding as he leaned in for another kiss. This time, it wasn’t hesitant or uncertain—it was everything Buck had been longing for, everything he didn’t know he needed.
For the first time in weeks, Buck felt like he could finally breathe. Eddie was here, Christopher was here, and everything else could wait.
It had been weeks since Eddie and Christopher had come back to LA, but the novelty of their return hadn’t worn off for Buck.
Every time he stepped into Eddie’s house, he felt warm. The ache he’d carried for months had dulled into something softer, something almost healing, though it hadn’t disappeared entirely.
He still caught himself watching Eddie too closely, waiting for some unspoken sign that this was temporary, that Eddie might change his mind again.
But Eddie had stayed, settling back into life in LA with the same ease he brought to everything. Christopher had slipped seamlessly into his routines, and the house—once silent and heavy with absence—was alive again with laughter, conversations, and the comforting chaos Buck had missed so dearly.
Tonight, though, the house felt quiet, the kind of calm that only came after Christopher had gone to bed and the world outside seemed to pause.
Buck lay on Eddie’s bed, one arm draped lazily behind his head, the other tracing absentminded patterns on the soft fabric of Eddie’s t-shirt. Eddie was next to him, propped up slightly on one elbow, watching Buck with a soft, almost amused expression.
“I still can’t believe you painted the kitchen without asking,” Eddie teased, his voice low and warm.
Buck groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Okay, you’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance,” Eddie said, his smile widening. “But honestly? I love it. Chris loves it. And knowing you picked his favorite color? You win points for that.”
Buck peeked out from behind his hand, his cheeks flushed. “Well, I was trying to be helpful. Not like I could sit around doing nothing with you gone.”
Eddie’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray curl off Buck’s forehead. “You really did all that just to make this place feel like home?”
Buck shrugged, but his voice was quieter now. “I just wanted it to feel like... you. Like you and Chris were still here. I didn’t want to let go of that.”
Eddie leaned in, pressing a kiss to Buck’s temple. “You didn’t have to do all that to prove this is home, Buck. You already made it home.”
The words settled between them, warm and heavy with meaning. Buck blinked up at him, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You say stuff like that, and it’s like I don’t even have a chance.”
Eddie laughed softly, lying back down and tugging Buck closer until their heads were on the same pillow. “You don’t. I’ve already decided you’re stuck with me.”
Buck grinned, burying his face against Eddie’s shoulder for a moment before pulling back to meet his gaze. “I think I’m okay with that.”
They lay there for a while, the quiet stretching comfortably between them. Eddie’s hand found Buck’s, their fingers lacing together as if they’d always fit that way. Buck let out a content sigh, his body sinking into the mattress like it hadn’t in months.
“You know,” Eddie started, his voice casual but with a hint of something deeper beneath it, “you’ve spent so much time here, I’m surprised you haven’t just moved in.”
Buck’s head jerked up, his eyes wide. “What?”
Eddie chuckled, his thumb brushing over Buck’s knuckles. “I’m serious. You’re here almost every day, you sleep over several times a week. And after everything you’ve done—” He gestured vaguely toward the rest of the house. “—it kind of feels like you’re part of it.”
Buck’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He blinked at Eddie, his heart racing. “Are you... are you asking me to move in?”
Eddie’s expression softened, his voice turning quieter. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Buck stared at him, his mind spinning. “Eddie, I—are you sure? I mean, this is your home, your space. And Chris—”
“Chris would love it,” Eddie interrupted gently. “You’re already a part of his life, Buck. A part of both our lives. This just... makes sense.”
Buck swallowed hard, his throat tight. “You move fast, don’t you?”
Eddie laughed, his hand reaching up to cup Buck’s cheek. “No. I feel like we’ve already wasted enough time. I want you here. I want us here. Together.”
The words hit Buck like a tidal wave, overwhelming and exhilarating all at once. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. “You’re gonna regret saying that when you realize how much stuff I have.”
Eddie grinned, his voice a warm murmur. “We’ll make room.”
Buck kissed him then, slow and steady, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of their lips. When they finally broke apart, his smile was so bright it felt like it could light up the entire house.
“Okay,” Buck said softly, his voice trembling just slightly. “I’ll move in.”
Eddie’s grin widened, and he pulled Buck closer, wrapping him in an embrace that felt like home. “Welcome home, Buck.”