a house that's not a home

by lethargicWaste

Summary:

After an emergency that hits way too close to home, Buck proposes a spontaneous trip to El Paso to look at houses—and maybe visit Christopher while they’re there. Eddie, initially skeptical, thinks that might be the worst idea he’s ever heard. Three days, just a quick trip. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter 1: our tears could melt the snow

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Uh, hi, so, yeah—we… went all out with our Christmas tree this year, and it's—um—kind of on fire?”

“I’m sorry?”

“...I think we might have gone a little overboard with the decorations.”

——

The fractured glow of emergency lights bled out onto the street, jagged streaks of crimson spilling over the vehicles parked along the curb. Flashes cut through the air to cast shadows that writhed and stretched, creeping into yards where the flickering light danced over fences, steps, and darkened bushes. The shadows pulsed with each flash, and red hues stained the faces of the neighbors who ventured outside, lured by the spectacle unfolding around them.

The man perched on the back of the ambulance sucked in a sharp breath, a low hiss between clenched teeth. His brows knit tight as he held out his hands, the raw skin of his palms mottled with angry, discolored burns. Eddie winced, his movements slow and careful as he wrapped the man’s hands in sterile dressings.

“I know,” Eddie murmured, voice low and regretful. “I’m sorry. You’ve suffered some first-degree—possibly second-degree burns. We’ll need to get you to the hospital to get them checked out.”

“I—I couldn’t stop it,” The man stammered, his voice a tight rasp, each word clipped and jagged. “I thought… thought it was just a short, the lights were flickering and—I didn’t think it’d catch like that. I just—” His breath hitched, and the words faltered in his throat. The harsh overhead light of the ambulance cast deep shadows that carved into his gaunt features, highlighting the weariness etched into his face.

“Hey.” Eddie’s hand settled firmly on the man’s shoulder, giving it a brief, reassuring squeeze. “You did your best. You got you and your son out of harm's way when you needed to, that’s all that matters.”

The man’s gaze shifted, drawn to where his son stood frozen beside the ambulance. The boy clutched a woolen teddy bear tight to his chest, his small frame cocooned in a snug gray blanket. His hair was a tangled mess, as if he’d been pulled out of bed in a hurry, but his wide eyes were locked on his dad—worried, and confused behind the thick frames of his glasses.

“Is my dad gonna be okay?” The kid's voice was fragile—tentative, like he was afraid to hear the answer, and Eddie’s heart wrenched in his chest at the fear that flickered across his face when he asked the question.

“I’m okay, buddy,” The man forced a weak smile. “It’s just a little burn. I’ll be fine.”

The shrill hiss of water rushing through a nozzle cut through the air as Buck aimed the hose at the flames, working to knock them down. A cloud of steam erupted from the ashes, rising up to accompany the smoke that billowed out of the front windows in a suffocating fog. The roof sagged under the weight of itself, black and charred as the fire popped and spit sparks beneath it.

“We good to go?” Hen poked her head around the back of the ambulance, eyebrow raised in a silent prompt for Eddie to hurry things along before she moved to get in the driver's seat.

“Just about.” Eddie shoved the supplies back into his bag, crumpling the dressing packages and gloves into a tight ball before tossing them in the trash. He tilted his head towards the man's son, standing quietly nearby. “Is there anyone he can stay with while they take you to get checked out?”

“I called my parents earlier, they’re on their way but they’re still a couple hours out.” The man pushed himself to his feet, wincing as Chimney offered a steadying hand to guide him onto the gurney. “Can he not ride with me?”

Eddie shook his head, apologetic. “I’m sorry. Is there a neighbor, maybe—”

“No! I want to go with my dad!” The boy’s voice cracked, tears springing to his eyes as he rushed the back of the ambulance. Eddie reacted instinctively, his arm shooting out to block the child from climbing up onto the tall step.

“Jamie—don’t climb up here bud, you could hurt yourself.” The man’s voice was firm, but it crumbled at the edges, words heavy with a weight he couldn’t quite mask. He cleared his throat, eyes glossing over. “Uh—I’m not sure… We don’t really—It’s just us, out here.”

A sharp pain twisted in Eddie’s gut, sinking in deep. It clawed its way up his chest to squeeze the air from his lungs, and by the time it hit his throat, the words spilled out—unbidden, and completely beyond his control.

“I can take him.” Eddie’s voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat at the confused look that crossed the man’s face. He barreled on before doubt could settle in. “My shift is over soon. We could—I could stay with him at the hospital, wait for your folks to get there.”

Relief washed over the man’s face at the suggestion, a brief moment of hope before hesitation crept back in. “I couldn’t ask you to do that—” He started to protest, but the words caught in his throat, faltering, as the weight of his own helplessness pressed down on him. He looked from Eddie to his son, then back again, torn between gratitude and the fear of burdening a stranger.

“You’re not,” Eddie replied, his voice steady, a quiet insistence in the words. “I’m offering.” He turned then, gaze softening as it landed on Jamie. Slowly, he crouched down to the boy’s level, bringing himself eye-to-eye with him. “Is that alright, Jamie?” Eddie asked, his tone gentle, coaxing. “Can I wait at the hospital with you until your grandparents get there?”

Jamie glanced up at his father, seeking silent permission. The man gave a quick, reassuring nod before Jamie turned back to Eddie, voice tinged with uncertainty. “I guess that’s okay.”

“Eddie—” Chimney started to protest, a wary look in his eye, but Eddie was quick to cut him off, shutting one of the doors to the ambulance with a heavy thud.

“I’ll clear it with Cap. We’ll meet you at the hospital.” Eddie didn’t wait for Chimney to respond, slamming the other door shut with a decisive force. He tapped twice on the back of the ambulance, signaling for Hen to pull away.

Chimney’s gaze tracked Eddie through the window, eyes narrowing, but he said nothing as the vehicle rumbled to life. The siren blared—an urgent wail that sliced through the air as they tore away from the curb, the sound swelling into the night sky.

A small section of the house’s roof gave way with a slow, groaning protest, shingles and splintered wood raining down into the dim glow of the dying fire. Ash, pale and powdery, burst from the wreckage, suspended for an instant before it drifted down, covering everything in a fine gray mist. The flames, already curling low, flared for a brief, frantic moment as the fresh fuel landed in the smoldering embers, sending a burst of sparks flying high before they fizzled out against the cool air creeping in from the collapse. The air was thick with the smell of burnt wood, sharp and acrid, clinging to skin and coating the lungs.

“Sounds like an electrical fire,” Bobby said, voice low as he surveyed the building. “We’ll know for sure once we can actually get in there, but—” He trailed off, his gaze shifting to the wreckage as Athena, standing beside him, nodded in agreement. The last of the flames were flickering out, and the crew worked quickly to douse the remaining hot spots. As they spoke, they noticed Eddie approaching, Jamie trailing just a few paces behind him with slow, hesitant steps. Bobby and Athena fell silent, exchanging a quick glance before turning their attention to the pair.

“Well, hello there. Who do we have here?” Athena’s voice softened, taking on warmth as she placed a hand on her hip, her gaze shifting to the boy. Jamie stayed silent, his small frame dwarfed by Eddie’s as he kept himself hidden behind him. Bobby and Athena looked between the two of them, a quiet tension in the air.

“This is Jamie,” Eddie placed a gentle hand on the kid's shoulder. “His dad’s on the way to the hospital, so I offered to wait with him there until his grandparents show up.”

Bobby shifted his weight, brow furrowed as he studied Eddie's face, trying to gauge how to respond. Eddie tensed under the scrutiny, back straightening on instinct. After a moment, Bobby let out a slow sigh, his expression softening just a fraction. "That’s... kind of you to offer," he settled on, though there was hesitation in his tone.

"It's nice to meet you, Jamie. I'm Athena." Athena smiled at the boy, but her eyes quickly flicked back to Eddie, arms crossed tightly across her chest. "And just how exactly were you planning on getting the both of you to the hospital tonight?"

Eddie cleared his throat, looking sheepish as he offered her a small, apologetic grin. "Well... I was hoping I might run into a kind police sergeant who would offer us a ride."

“Oh were you now?” Athena raised an eyebrow, lips pursed as if she couldn’t quite believe Eddie’s audacity.

“Please… I really need to go see my dad.” Jamie added, voice shaky. Eddie played off of this, shooting Athena a look, as if to say, see?

Athena scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Well I’d have to be some kind of monster to turn that down.” She gave Bobby a quick squeeze on his arm before turning away, not bothering to look back at them as she made her way to the police car. “Alright, you two. Hurry up before I change my mind.”

Eddie glanced down at Jamie, who seemed to be clinging to his side just a little bit tighter now that things were moving forward. The kid was quiet, but his eyes were alert, following Athena with a mix of curiosity and cautious optimism.

The back door of the police car swung open with a sharp, metallic creak and Eddie gave Jamie a gentle nudge to climb in first, the faint scent of leather and stale coffee hanging in the air. Eddie slid in after him, the door clicking shut as he settled in his seat, and his eyes drifted toward the window. Through the glass, he caught sight of Buck, his silhouette framed by smoke and ash, walking away from the smoldering wreckage of the house. He moved with a quiet purpose, his figure cutting through the haze.

Buck paused for a moment, his gaze flicking briefly to the police car before he made his way toward Bobby. From Eddie’s vantage point through the car window, he could just make out the muted shapes of them speaking, their voices lost to the distance. Buck’s lips moved, his hands gesturing in vague, restless arcs, and Bobby responded with something that made Buck falter. His eyes darted back toward the vehicle, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

A beat passed. Another. Eddie couldn’t quite read the look in Buck’s eyes—was it concern? Confusion? Or was he just trying to piece together what the hell had happened?

The soft hum of the engines and the muffled voices of the other firefighters working in the background seemed to stretch the moment thin, but Buck didn’t falter any further. He simply turned, movements deliberate as he walked toward the trucks with his hands buried deep in his pockets.

Athena started the engine, and the low rumble pulled Eddie’s attention back to the interior of the car.

"Ready?" she asked, voice soft and steady, a far cry from the usual tone she used on the job.

"Yeah," Eddie murmured, distant. He glanced at Jamie, who sat stiffly beside him. His hands were folded tightly in his lap, eyes fixed to the window as the car began to roll forward. The tires cut through the water that had pooled across the street, sending a muted rush of sound through the air, and with each passing moment, the scene—chaos and smoke—faded into the rearview.

Athena steered the squad car through the streets, the flashing lights painting the world outside in a chaotic, strobe-like rhythm. Eddie sat up straight against the seat, his gaze occasionally flicking to Jamie, who stared out of the window with a faraway look in his eyes. It was hard to tell if the kid was just tired, or if the reality of everything was finally starting to sink in.

Eddie opened his mouth to say something comforting, but all the words he reached for felt hollow. He shifted in his seat, attempting to find some semblance of comfort, but an ache had already settled deep in his bones, a weight he couldn’t seem to shake. Outside, the streetlights blurred past in a dizzying sweep of shapes and shadows, a scattered mosaic that did nothing to ease the tension building inside him.

“Hey, bud,” Eddie finally spoke, softly, breaking the heavy silence in the car. “You doing okay?”

Jamie didn’t answer right away, his cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window, lost to the blur of the city passing by. After a beat, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the movement barely more than a whisper of acknowledgement.

“I know this is scary,” Eddie continued, trying to keep his voice light. “But your dad’s gonna be okay, and you’re gonna be okay, too. You’re a brave kid, Jamie. Your dad's lucky to have you.”

The words felt like they were meant as much for himself as they were for the boy sitting next to him, but the smile Jamie gave him—quiet, fragile—was enough to make Eddie’s heart settle. Eddie glanced up at Athena, catching her eyes in the rearview mirror. She gave him a subtle nod, her lips curling into a brief, understanding smile.

Eddie… tried his hardest not to think about Christopher in moments like these. On the job, where thoughts like that could cloud his judgment, compromise his focus. But sitting next to this boy, looking at him—no older than Chris had been when they first moved to L.A—it was impossible to push those thoughts away. A sharp, twisted knot curled in his gut, that familiar ache rising up in the back of his throat like bile.

And Eddie knew—of course he knew—that’s why he’d offered to help the boy in the first place. It wasn’t just about the kid, not really. It was about something darker, something selfish. A twisted form of self-comfort, a desperate grasp at a way to do something, anything, when he felt so powerless. The thoughts lingered, heavy and suffocating, as he watched Jamie out of the corner of his eye, and the guilt gnawed at him again.

Eddie had always prided himself on his ability to keep himself in check—to stay in control, but he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt like he had any control over his life. It was as if he were drifting—constantly reacting, never truly processing. Each movement, each decision, felt like a desperate attempt to stitch together a wound that never fully healed. The thread was thin, frayed at the edges and barely holding him together, just enough to keep him from completely falling apart.

Every day, he worked with what he had, piecing himself back together in fragments, pulling the loose ends tight enough to make it through. But the seams were always there—raw, jagged, waiting to unravel the moment he let his guard down. And sometimes, like now, it felt like the weight of everything he hadn’t fixed—everything he couldn’t—was too much to bear.

Eddie moved through the motions, a patchwork of half-done repairs, praying no one would notice how close it all was to unraveling. That’s what his impending move to El Paso was. Another stitch in that tangle of thread. But every step, every choice, felt more like survival than anything close to living.

Christopher left, and Eddie was hollowed the moment he walked out the door.

Ahead of them, the bright, harsh lights of the hospital signs flickered into view, lit up against the night sky like a beacon. Athena pulled the car up to the emergency entrance, her fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel as she glanced back at them in the rearview mirror. "Alright," she spoke, low but firm. "We’re here. Let’s get you inside, Jamie."

When they stepped into the hospital, the cool air hit Eddie like a jolt, heightening his senses. The sterile smell of antiseptic clung to the air, mingling with the hurried footsteps of staff and the quiet murmurs of waiting patients. The frantic energy of the fire seemed a lifetime away, replaced now by the still, almost oppressive calm of the hospital.

Before they could even reach the front desk, Athena was in quiet conversation with one of the nurses, voice pitched low as she explained the situation. Eddie watched the nurse’s expression shift, softening when her gaze landed on Jamie, and she offered him a warm smile before gently guiding them to a waiting area.

They settled in near a row of stark white chairs, the fluorescent light humming above them. Jamie immediately curled into one of them, knees drawn up to his chest as his gaze fixed downward, lost in the floor’s cold, clinical sheen.

Eddie offered the nurse and Athena a brief nod of gratitude, movements slowed as he sank down into a chair of his own. The exhaustion of the day settled in around him like a heavy blanket, its weight pressing down on his shoulders, on his chest. It had been a long, brutal day, and now, in the quiet of the waiting room, it was finally starting to catch up with him.

——

"Is this where we find our boy?"

Eddie lowered the magazine he’d been flipping through, and a pair of older faces came into focus. The woman had kind eyes, though her face was drawn up tight with concern. The man beside her was a bit taller, with silver hair and deep-set features. Their eyes both immediately locked on Jamie, who had perked up at the sound of their voices, though remained still, unsure whether to run into their arms or stay where he was.

The grandmother, a gentle smile spreading across her face, hurried over to Jamie. "Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, kneeling beside him and taking his hand. "We got here as fast as we could."

"Grandma," Jamie whispered, voice hoarse. He allowed her to pull him into a hug, and it was the first time since Eddie had met him that the boy relaxed completely, shoulders sagging as if a weight had been lifted from them the moment he fell into his grandmother's arms. Eddie watched the moment with a quiet sense of relief—and a pang of something bitter coiled just underneath.

The grandfather was a bit more reserved, but he offered Eddie a firm handshake. "Thank you for looking after him," he said, quiet, but sincere. "I’m sure this has been a lot for him—for you, too."

Eddie shook his hand with a tight-lipped smile. "It was the least I could do. Your grandson’s tough, he’s been a real trooper tonight."

The grandfather nodded, glancing back at Jamie, who now sat on his grandmother’s lap, face buried against her chest. The sight of the two of them together seemed to settle some of the tension in the air, and Eddie exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

"Thank you, really," the grandmother added, her tone soft. "We’ll take it from here."

There was a sense of finality in her words, a gentle dismissal that reminded Eddie his job was done. Jamie was in good hands now, and there was no reason to stay. He nodded, taking a step back to give them their space.

Just as he turned to leave he caught sight of Athena by the front desk, speaking with another one of the nurses, arms crossed over her chest. He walked over to her, hands slipping into his pockets. "I’m gonna head out," he cleared his throat. "I think Jamie’s good now."

Athena gave him a thoughtful look but didn’t argue. "Yeah, I can see that. You did a good thing tonight, Eddie." She paused, gaze drifting toward the waiting area where Jamie and his grandparents were talking in low murmurs. “As misguided as it may have been.”

Eddie tensed, sighing. “Athena—”

“I’m not here to chastise you. Pretty sure you’ll be getting plenty of that without my help.” The nurse at the desk handed Athena a clipboard and Athena turned to look it over.

Before Eddie could say anything more, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, and a text from Bobby lit up on the screen: You good?

Eddie typed back quickly: Yeah, just finished up here. Thanks for the backup.

Eddie tucked his phone away, glancing one last time at Jamie, who now sat between his grandparents, listening intently as the older man spoke to him in a quiet, comforting tone. It was clear that Jamie was in good hands.

"Right. I’m gonna go," Eddie turned to Athena, his voice louder now, more certain. "I’ll catch you later?"

She gave him a nod, her expression softening. "Take care, Eddie."

He gave her a small, appreciative nod before walking toward the exit, the quiet hum of the hospital fading as he stepped out into the cool night air.

A figure sat on the bench outside the hospital entrance, leaning back against it with their arms crossed. The soft, amber glow of the streetlights cast long shadows across their face, haloing their silhouette in hazy half-light. Eddie slowed as he caught sight of them, a quick, unexpected jolt in his chest as recognition flickered there.

Buck.

He was dressed in his street clothes now—a worn hoodie, faded jeans—and his feet were kicked out lazily in front of him. He must’ve been waiting there for a while. The thought tightened something in Eddie’s chest, a twist of emotion that notched itself under his ribs.

Buck looked up as Eddie approached, eyes brightening with a mix of relief and something else—something tentative. “Hey,” his tone was light, almost too light, and there was an edge to it that gave Eddie pause. “Heard you might need a ride.”

For a moment, Eddie didn’t respond, his mind was still struggling to catch up to the fact that Buck was here—outside, waiting for him. “Uh…” Eddie started, voice low and hesitant, as if the words were still trying to shake free. “Yeah, actually, I do.”

Eddie’d almost forgotten, that—yeah, he did need a ride. It wouldn’t have been impossible to find one, he could’ve waited for Athena, or called an Uber, but… He hadn’t needed to. Buck was there, like he always was, right when he’d needed him to be.

Buck’s grin flashed then, easy and familiar, the kind that always managed to both disarm and complicate Eddie’s thoughts all at once. "Well, lucky for you," Buck said, eyes full of mirth. "I just so happened to be in the neighborhood." He tilted his head slightly, the playful edge in his voice softened with fond familiarity. "You done here?"

Eddie nodded, glancing back at the hospital doors. “Yeah. Jamie’s with his grandparents now. They’re good to take over.”

Buck’s gaze hardened at that, and Eddie caught a glimpse of it before it vanished just as quickly, replaced by his usual easy-going expression. “That’s good,” Buck said, taking a step toward him. "You ready?"

Eddie hesitated, his gaze flitting over Buck before finally settling off in the distance, just over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he answered slowly. “Let’s go.”

Buck nodded, then turned to start walking toward the parking lot. Eddie fell into step behind him, thoughts spinning in restless circles

When they reached the Jeep, Eddie paused again, watching as Buck unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat. Eddie climbed into the passenger side, the weight of the night settling heavily into his bones again now that he wasn’t moving around—out of the thick of it.

“I appreciate it,” Eddie said quietly, words tangled with gratitude and the tension still caught up in his throat.

Buck started the engine and let the Jeep’s low rumble fill the silence between them.

——

Buck pulled the Jeep into the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel, watching the motion lights flicker on over the front door. Eddie’s mind felt like it had been running on empty for hours—the kind of exhaustion that went beyond physical, settled deep in his psyche, gnawing at him. The day had been long, sure, but he knew it wasn’t just the work that had him worn down.

Buck glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, waiting. The guy was like a dog with a bone when it came to figuring people out. Sometimes Eddie hated how well he knew him, how easily Buck could sense when something was wrong, even the times when Eddie wasn’t fully aware of it himself.

“Come on,” It was Buck that caved first, pushing his door open before Eddie could make a move.

They walked in silence to the front door. Eddie had no intention of talking tonight—of opening his mouth and letting anything spill out. Not yet. But the thing about Buck was, he didn’t need words to know when something was off. He could just feel it, like the air had shifted somehow, and Eddie hated that—hated how easy it was for Buck to see through the act he was trying to put on.

The house was quiet when they stepped inside—that familiar emptiness that had plagued the place for months hitting him with the force of a punch; A hollow, aching reminder that the space was too big for one person to fill. Eddie flicked the light on, but he didn’t bother taking off his boots, the sound of them thudding against the hardwood floor a sharp contrast to the silence that surrounded them. He just moved into the kitchen, body heavy, weighed down from the sleepless nights, by not feeling right, and the weight of all of that pressing down on him like a boulder on his back. He shuffled into the kitchen, seeking something—anything—to distract from the absence that followed him like a shadow.

"Beer?" Eddie muttered, already pulling one from the fridge without waiting for an answer. It wasn’t a selfless offer—more of a way for his body to do something without thinking too hard about it. The cold bottle felt good in his hand, the dull chill of it grounding him, just a little.

Buck nodded, wordlessly accepting, and Eddie handed it to him, their fingers brushing over the chilled glass. It was a simple touch, routine, but it felt heavier tonight, like there was something that wanted to break through the static in his veins.

Eddie cracked open his own bottle, taking a long swig and letting the cold liquid settle in his stomach. He didn’t look at Buck, just kept his gaze on the glass, on the label, anything but the guy standing just a few feet away, waiting. Buck didn’t say anything at first—just took a drink and pretended, for a moment, that everything was fine.

But Buck didn’t do ‘fine’. And Eddie knew that. Buck was patient, but he wasn’t stupid.

“You okay?” Buck finally asked, quiet but firm. There was no judgment in it, no pressure, but Eddie could hear the concern there, could feel it—the weight of Buck’s eyes on him, the way he was watching him like he could see right through all the bullshit—all the walls he had built around himself. Eddie couldn’t even look at him.

“I’m fine,” Eddie muttered, swallowing, but the words sounded wrong, even to his own ears. They didn’t feel right either, like he was trying to wear a mask that didn’t fit anymore, and the edges were digging into his skin.

"Long day?" Buck raised an eyebrow, the words light, like he didn’t want to push, but Eddie knew better. He could feel the shift in the air.

“Yeah. You know how it is,” Eddie said, shrugging it off like it was nothing, like it was just another day at work. He knew Buck wasn’t buying it. Eddie could see it—the way Buck’s eyes narrowed, the way he stood there, unmoving, like he wasn’t going anywhere until Eddie gave him something to work with.

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Eddie’s fingers tightened around his beer bottle, then loosened again, unsure what to do with himself—with all the things he was holding back. He wanted to say something, wanted to let it out, but the words wouldn’t come to him. He couldn’t do it. Not tonight, anyway.

"I’m not..." Eddie started, then stopped himself, shaking his head. “I’m fine, Buck. Really.”

The words hung there, empty and hollow. He wasn’t fine—of course he wasn’t, and Buck knew it. They both knew it. Eddie could feel Buck’s gaze on him, the unspoken I’m here, the offer of something more without the need to push. And for a long moment, Eddie didn’t say anything, didn’t move at all, just stood there, eyes fixed on the moonlight filtering in through the kitchen window.

There was no answer, no sudden breaking point. Eddie didn’t know how to just… let out everything he’d been working so hard to hold back—didn’t know how to make sense of it all. But Buck stayed there, resolute, like he knew the moment Eddie was ready, the words would come, and Buck would be there to catch them all.

And Eddie, for the first time in a long time, was starting to believe that maybe he didn’t have to carry everything alone. Maybe—just maybe—there was someone who would stay when things got heavy. Someone who wasn’t going anywhere.

“Right. Well, I guess I’ll get going then.” Buck’s voice took on an air of resignation, but there was a hint of something beneath it, something Eddie had learned to recognize over the time they’d spent together. The exaggerated stretch, the lazy roll of his shoulders—the way his t-shirt rode up just enough to give Eddie a fleeting glimpse of skin—it was all a performance. Buck wasn’t going anywhere, not really.

He let out a fake yawn, loud and obnoxious, and Eddie didn’t need to turn around to know the subtle shift in his posture, the way his eyes flicked toward the door, then back at Eddie, waiting, hoping Eddie would say something.

Eddie glanced at him, pretending he didn’t see the play for what it was, but he was already halfway to the hall closet, reaching for the blanket and pillow he kept there just in case. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips, though, something soft and amused despite the fatigue that pulled at his eyelids.

“Stay,” Eddie said without looking back, casual, like it was nothing. “You’ll be back here for that meeting with the realtor in the morning anyway.”

There was a brief pause, then the sound of Buck’s boots shifting on the floor, the rustle of fabric as he straightened up. Eddie knew that Buck was giving him a look—the kind that said I’m not fooling you, and you’re not fooling me either. But he didn’t say anything.

They’d been at this more often than not lately—the house hunting, the endless meetings with the realtor. They’d stay up late, hours slipping by unnoticed as their eyes grew heavy, faces illuminated as they scrolled through endless pages of listings. It was always Buck who broke first. He’d take the device from Eddie’s hands, setting it down on the coffee table with a soft thud. Then, without a word, he’d grab the remote, flicking on some mindless reality show to drone on in the background. Eddie would catch Buck’s eye, half expecting, half hoping. That unspoken request hanging in the air between them. Stay. And Buck would always nod, like it hadn’t ever been in question—like he’d known, from the moment they walked in after their shift, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe even before that.

Buck passed him on his way to the couch, and without missing a beat, he flopped down, face-first, into the cushions. Eddie could hear the dramatic thud of Buck’s body hitting the fabric and the deep, satisfied sigh that followed.

"Goodnight, Eddie,” came the muffled voice, barely intelligible through the couch. “Thanks for the bed.”

Eddie tossed the blanket and pillow onto Buck’s back, and Buck chuckled from underneath them, the sound rich with self-satisfaction. “Thanks,” he said again, this time with a note of mock sweetness, and Eddie rolled his eyes even though he was smiling.

Self-assured. Always getting his way.

Eddie shook his head, fondness flooding his chest, and then went about the rest of his routine—a quiet, methodical process of winding down. It’s not like they hadn’t done this before, not like they hadn’t spent hours in this house, talking or sitting in comfortable silence, the world outside feeling a little less… overwhelming, when they were together.

There had always been something about Buck being here that made the space feel a little more like home—a little more lived in. Eddie wasn’t sure when that shift happened, when it stopped feeling like his house and started feeling more like theirs, but somewhere along the way, it did. It might have been the first night Buck crashed on the couch after a rough call, or the time he’d shown up on the doorstep with takeout and they’d ended up watching some ridiculous movie he didn’t even remember the name of late into the night, laughing like a couple of idiots. It wasn’t any one thing, more of an accumulation of smaller moments—the kind that had built something permanent while he was looking away.

Eddie couldn’t stop feeling the weight of his decision to move, the guilt pressing in every time he thought about it. This house—it wasn’t just a roof over his head anymore. It was where he'd learned to breathe again, where he’d carved out a life for himself, one day at a time. And now, as he prepared to leave it behind, it felt like he was leaving a piece of himself here too. Eddie couldn’t look at Buck for too long, couldn’t meet his eyes without a hollow ache settling deep in his chest. He couldn’t think about it, couldn’t allow himself to dwell on the pull he felt in opposite directions. One part of him longed for El Paso, for Christopher, and the life he wanted to build with him there. But there was another part—just as powerful, just as real—that longed to stay. To keep living in these small, everyday moments here—with Buck. What was he supposed to do, when part of him felt like it belonged in both places, but neither fully felt like home without the other?

Eddie knew he wasn’t being fair, and it ate at him—gnawed at the edge of every interaction, every moment they shared between the two of them. Because Eddie knew. He knew that the second Buck broke down and asked him to stay, he would shatter. Because he'd want to. God, he'd want to stay more than anything. But Christopher was everything. Eddie couldn’t stay away from him. And maybe that’s why Buck hadn’t asked him. Maybe Buck knew, deep down, that Eddie would say no, and the thought alone was enough to keep him quiet. It wasn’t that Buck didn’t want him to stay—Eddie knew that, too. It was just that Buck had to shield himself from the pain of hearing Eddie tell him no. Had to shield Eddie from having to say it in the first place. And that thought, that silent understanding, was almost as painful as the decision itself.

Eddie set the last of his things aside and glanced over at Buck, who was already curled up, head tucked into the cushion like he belonged there. The blanket tangled around him, one of his legs poking out from underneath it. The top of his head stuck out from the other end, a mess of soft curls, and for a moment, he looked younger—like a kid, seeking out comfort in the lumpy familiarity of the cushions; That well known pressure of the spring that dug into his hip, no matter which way he turned.

Eddie couldn't help it—he chuckled softly to himself. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Buck turned his head just enough to meet Eddie’s eyes, his face still half-buried in the pillow. His eyes glinted with mischief, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “I know,” he said, slow and syrupy. “But you put up with me anyway.”

Eddie rolled his eyes again, though the smile never quite left his face. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Buck’s grin widened, and he lifted up from the pillow just enough to shoot Eddie a wink. “Too late.”

Eddie leaned against the doorframe, just watching him—the easy way Buck filled the space, the way he’d become something Eddie didn’t have to question anymore. The man who’d been at his side through more than Eddie could even count. Even now, after everything, there was no hesitation in Buck’s presence, no second thoughts, just a quiet certainty that felt like this—like Buck, sprawled on the couch like he owned it; Like he knew this house was as much his as it was Eddie’s.

“I’m not the one who has to sleep on the couch,” Eddie said after a moment, his voice softer than he intended. Buck had been there for him in ways Eddie still didn’t have the words for, not when it came to the hard things, not when it came to the real things.

“You’re right,” Buck sighed, voice muffled again, though there was something warm in the way he said it, something that Eddie didn’t quite know what to do with. “I’m just here for the company.”

Eddie watched him just a second longer, then pushed off the doorframe, moving toward the hallway. He turned out the lights in the living room, the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of the city outside the only noises left in the house. It was peaceful, quiet in a way that’d been foreign to him for too long. Maybe there was something else he should be doing—he knew there was something he should say, some conversation they still hadn’t had. But tonight? He wasn’t pushing it.

“Goodnight, Buck,” Eddie said, pausing at the end of the hallway, voice low.

“Night, Eddie.” Buck’s voice was quiet, but Eddie could hear the smile in it—the one he could always count on being there, even when the world felt like it was spinning too fast.

Eddie headed to his room, but the weight of the day felt a bit lighter on his shoulders. For the first time in what felt like months, he wasn’t carrying it alone.

And that was enough for tonight.

——

“Some of those had to be fake,” Buck sighed, filling their coffee cups with a practiced ease. The pot was still warm from Eddie’s last refill, a lifeline during the homestretch of their meeting. “Did you see the kitchen in the first one?” Buck added, eyes rolling slightly as he took a sip, with the same half-amused, half-exasperated look that always made Eddie smile, even when he wasn’t in the mood.

Eddie didn’t immediately answer. His eyes had drifted to the fridge instead, gaze locked on the array of pictures scattered under colorful magnets; Christopher’s grinning face in every frame. Some from summer vacations, one from last Christmas, the two of them wrapped up in scarves, standing in front of a tree so big it almost swallowed them. And then there was the drawing Christopher had made years and years ago, hung up near the top. A crude but endearing picture of Eddie and him holding hands, a pair of stick figures with giant smiles. I love you, Dad, had been scrawled at the bottom in Christopher’s shaky handwriting.

The ache in Eddie’s chest flared, sharp and heavy. He blinked, eyes stinging, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. Too empty. He missed him. God, he missed him.

Especially now, with Christmas coming up. He could almost see it—Christopher’s excitement, his energy, the way he would start counting down the days while they were still clearing the plates from Thanksgiving dinner. Eddie had always tried his best to make Christmas a special holiday—ever since it had become just the two of them. He’d wanted to do it right, make it theirs while still finding ways to honor Shannon. But now—with the distance between them… How the hell was he supposed to get it right when he wasn’t even there? When he couldn’t be sure when he’d get to see Christopher again, laugh with him again, or even just sit down at the table for breakfast without the empty space where his son should be?

"Hey," Buck’s voice broke through his thoughts, a gentle lilt to it. "You good?"

Eddie blinked again, then looked at Buck, stood there with an eyebrow raised, coffee mug in hand. Eddie gave a tight nod, forcing a smile, but it felt flimsy even to him. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About the houses?” Buck prodded, taking a sip. His eyes were still on Eddie, waiting for the real answer.

Eddie hesitated, then shook his head. “No. About Christmas. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do it this year.”

Buck’s expression softened, and he took a slow step forward. “You mean... without Christopher?”

Eddie’s chest tightened at the words, and he swallowed hard. “Yeah. I don’t know how to make it right, Buck. It’s... it’s just not the same, you know?”

Buck set his mug down on the counter with a soft thud. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, watching Eddie, before he turned to the sink where the dishes they used at breakfast sat unwashed in the basin.

“…We both have the next three days off.” Buck’s voice was light, careful. He turned on the faucet, the soft clink of plates and silverware filling the quiet kitchen. Eddie hummed in response, half-listening, half lost in his own thoughts. It had been a long morning, and the weight of everything—the move, the holidays, the distance from Christopher—felt heavy in his chest. He didn’t have the energy to fight Buck’s seemingly endless optimism, not right now.

Buck didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care. “We could… set up a few showings. Go and poke around a bit,” Buck suggested, scrubbing at the plate in his hands.

Eddie’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Buck—”

Buck cut him off with a quick, almost too-casual, “Maybe… stop by and visit Christopher.”

Eddie froze, the mug in his hands suddenly feeling like a weight. Visit Christopher? He hadn’t seen his son in months, not since the day he'd packed up and left. The thought of seeing him again—of getting that first glimpse of him after everything—made his stomach flip. He had no idea how to navigate that.

“I don’t know how much they’ll appreciate us dropping by unannounced,” Eddie muttered, his voice low, almost defensive.

He picked up the plate Buck had just washed and started drying it, not quite looking at him.

Buck wasn’t phased. He kept working, moving the other plate to the drying rack. “You mean like how they did, the night they took him?”

Eddie’s whole body tensed, and the air between them grew thick. The words had hit him harder than Buck probably intended. Eddie didn’t ever want to think back to that night, the one that still lingered under his skin like a nasty bruise that refused to fade.

That was different. Christopher had asked them to be there. He needed them there. And now... now Eddie was the one who felt like an intruder. He was the one being asked to stay away.

“I’m just saying,” Buck’s tone remained firm, unwavering. “You're his father, Eddie. You have every right to go and see him.”

Eddie scoffed, the sound sharp, almost bitter, as he continued drying the plate. The words tasted wrong in his mouth when he started to speak. “Buck—”

Buck didn’t back down, didn’t flinch. “Do you really want the first time you visit your son to be when you tell him you're his new neighbor?”

Eddie stilled, the dish towel frozen in his hands. That... that was a good point. There really was no way to ease into that one. How could he? He couldn’t just show up and say, Hey, I live down the street now! How would Christopher even begin to process that?

Buck, reading his hesitation, slid a clean fork in front of him to jumpstart the conversation again. “We’ll just go to look at houses,” he said, shrugging, as if it were that simple. “And if we just so happen to be in the neighborhood for a visit—well, so be it. You can take that autograph as an excuse. You haven’t mailed it out yet, have you?”

Eddie blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in Buck’s approach. “No—”

“Great,” Buck said, a wide grin spreading across his face, like he’d just won the lottery. “Let’s get this show on the road! I’ll finish washing up, you call Marcia back—tell her we want to set up some of those showings after all. There was that one we didn’t mind—you know, the one with the double doors—that was having an open house tomorrow.”

Eddie stared at him for a moment, the words hanging in the air as Buck barreled on about the different houses, lips moving a mile a minute. He didn’t know if he was ready for this—any of this—but Buck was right. He couldn’t keep avoiding it. He couldn’t put off seeing Christopher forever. And maybe a visit wouldn’t be as hard as he was imagining. Maybe the whole thing wouldn’t break him down the way he feared.

With a slow exhale, Eddie nodded, and the weight of everything he’d been carrying in his chest shifted—just slightly. "Fine. But you’re driving."

Buck's grin only widened, like he knew that would be a condition, and was fully prepared for it. “Deal.”

As Eddie watched Buck’s easy excitement, the grin plastered on his face as he finished up with the dishes, something else shifted inside him. It hit him all at once—how much Buck had been there, how much he’d been a part of Christopher’s life over the past six years. He hadn’t just been a friend or a colleague; Buck had essentially raised Christopher alongside him, through school projects and trips to the zoo, through birthdays and holidays. Buck had been there for every scraped knee, every laugh, every late-night conversation in the kitchen. Eddie had been so wrapped up in his own mess—the guilt, the distance, the ache of missing Christopher—that he'd almost forgotten how much Buck would be missing him, too. That giddiness in Buck’s eyes wasn’t just about reuniting Eddie with his son; it was about seeing Christopher again himself. Eddie hadn’t even realized how deeply Buck had woven himself into that part of their lives, but now, as Buck practically bounced around the room in his excitement, Eddie understood. He wasn’t the only one who’d been living with a hole in his chest these past few months. Buck had been, too. And Eddie couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, knowing that.

“We can still make good time if we leave in an hour,” Buck said, checking the directions on his phone with an energy that made Eddie pause. It wasn’t ever about the houses; Buck was just this excited about seeing Christopher again. And Eddie, for the first time in a while, realized how much he’d missed this connection between them all—how much he’d missed seeing Buck care for his son.

Eddie nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah… Yeah, okay—sounds good. I’ll call Marcia.” He picked up his phone, glancing at the screen. Marcia, their realtor, had been handling most of their house search, and now, with everything moving faster than anticipated, he just hoped she’d still be able to lock down a few showings for them. He pressed her contact, holding the phone to his ear as he shifted his weight, trying to keep his nerves in check.

"Hey, Marcia?" Eddie began, then cleared his throat. "It’s Eddie Diaz. Sorry to call you back so soon. Plans have changed, and we might head out to El Paso tomorrow."

Buck, always a bit too curious, made himself busy bustling around the kitchen. He took their coffee cups from the table and dumped them into the sink with exaggerated care, careful to set them down as quietly as possible. He was being obvious—comically so—leaning in to catch every word Eddie said as he turned the faucet on, washing the cups in a way where he could still eavesdrop. Eddie shot him a look, but Buck didn’t seem to notice—or care. The excitement on his face was contagious.

“Right, okay,” Eddie continued into the phone, trying to keep his focus on the conversation. “We were hoping to set up a few showings while we’re in the area. Is that possible?”

Buck, now drying off the last cup, peered at Eddie with wide eyes, as if to ask, Well? Is it?

“It’s possible,” Marcia replied, the connection making her voice light and crackly. “I’ll pull a few strings and see if I can make it work. It’s last minute, so keep your expectations in check, but I imagine you’ll be able to see a handful of houses tomorrow. I’ll send you the details in a bit.”

Eddie let out a breath, relief washing over him. “Thanks, Marcia. I really appreciate it. We’ll see you soon.” After a beat, he hung up the phone and turned to Buck, who was practically vibrating through the kitchen tile.

“Well?” Buck said, grinning from ear to ear. “Is it a go?”

Eddie met his eyes and nodded, unable to hold back the smile that crept across his own face. “It’s a go.”

Buck’s face lit up as he threw his arms up in the air, letting out a loud, triumphant cheer that echoed through the kitchen. “Yes! We are so back!”

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head as Buck did an exaggerated little shoulder shimmy. It felt… good, to see him like this. Like they were back to their usual rhythm—no heavy conversations, no unspoken tensions—just the two of them falling back into something familiar and comfortable. Buck’s smile was wide, almost too much for the space between them, and Eddie couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him. There was something about Buck’s effortless energy that made everything lighter, easier.

Buck caught his eye and wiggled his eyebrows, clearly pleased with himself. "I'm a good dancer, huh?" he asked, voice low and playful.

Eddie raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "You’re… something, Buck. I’ll give you that."

Buck laughed, shaking his head. "I’m entertaining, and—I pack a mean bag. Which is what we should be doing right now, by the way.”

Right. Packing. Eddie dragged a hand down his face, his mind still buzzing with the details of the trip. The idea of leaving L.A. for a few days, heading to El Paso to see houses—it was a lot, all at once. He was still processing the fact that they were actually doing this.

“We’re not getting anything done in here,” Buck sighed, exaggerated and long-suffering. “I mean, there’s me, getting the dishes done—and there’s you, overthinking everything—but that’s not exactly the most productive method to start packing for a trip.”

“I’m not overthinking,” Eddie muttered, but it was a weak defense and he knew it.

Buck raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, yeah? If you say so.” He shrugged, and started walking toward Eddie’s room without another word.

Buck tossed his phone onto Eddie’s comforter and rubbed his hands together, already crouching down to pull out the duffel bags Eddie kept under the bed. They were ratty and old, but they’d do the trick.

Eddie rolled up his clothes to toss into one of the duffels, working methodically to get everything packed. Buck was in the corner of Eddie’s room, rummaging through his dresser. He'd seen Buck do this countless times—just help himself to Eddie’s stuff, taking up space in a way that didn’t need asking. And that was the part that hit Eddie the hardest: the easy way Buck belonged here, without question. He didn’t have to think twice about it, didn’t need Eddie’s approval. He just... was.

Eddie paused mid-roll, glancing over at Buck, who was pulling out a pair of socks and grabbing a t-shirt, tossing them into his bag. It was far from the first time he’d gotten into the drawer himself, and it was all Buck’s stuff packed in there anyways.

Eddie blanched, fingers dug into the t-shirt he’d balled up in his fist. Buck had his own drawer here—and there was enough stuff in it to pack for their trip.

Buck turned to him, catching his eye, and smiled. “I’ll grab the toothbrushes,” he said, already heading toward the bathroom before Eddie could respond.

Eddie just nodded, thoughts drifting as he stared at the duffels on the bed. This was all pretty… domestic.

He’d panicked when Marisol had moved in with him. He'd panicked when he thought Ana was starting to get too serious. The thought of living with someone, of sharing his space with them, was always too much. So why—why—did it feel so easy with Buck?

Buck wasn’t just here for a night or two. He had a drawer in Eddie’s dresser. He knew where the spare keys were, where the coffee mugs lived, where all the good snacks were hidden. And it wasn’t even a question. It wasn’t something Eddie had to think about. But that comfort, that... familiarity... it twisted in his gut in a way that made him wonder if it was too much. Wasn’t it supposed to feel different?

"Alright," Buck said, walking back in with the toothbrushes in hand. "We’ll need more toothpaste when we get back, but I already added it to our list." He grinned, tapping his phone to show Eddie the reminder. “You know, just in case we forget again. I know you’re terrible at keeping track of it.”

Eddie glanced at the list—their shared list—and felt something stir inside him. It was… definitely domestic. Too domestic? Maybe. But it felt right. And, God, when had they gotten to this point? He hadn’t thought about it before. Didn’t need to. But standing here now, watching Buck slip the toothbrushes into his bag as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Eddie realized how much he had let Buck in, without even realizing it.

A flutter twisted low in his stomach. A soft, unexpected ache.

Buck, still oblivious to Eddie’s sudden shift, passed Eddie a pair of his basketball shorts. Eddie had worn them almost every night for years—they were his most comfortable, worn-in pair, the ones that made him feel like he could finally relax at the end of the day. "Here, figured you’d wanna take those."

Eddie took them from him, fingers brushing briefly over Buck's as he did. For a moment, the weight of it all hit him. The easy intimacy of it. Buck knew him, really knew him. He knew the things that made Eddie comfortable, the little things Eddie never even had to mention. It wasn’t just about the clothes, or the toothbrushes, or the shared list on their phones. It was that quiet, unspoken understanding between them. Buck had made himself a part of Eddie’s life in a way Eddie had never let anyone else before.

And for some reason, that felt... nice. In a way Eddie couldn’t quite put into words. He wasn’t sure when it had shifted, or why, but it was... nice to be known like that. To be seen, without pretense. To have someone who got him without him having to explain it all.

Eddie let out a breath, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thanks,” he muttered, his voice a little rougher than usual. It wasn’t just for the shorts. It was for everything. For making it all so damn easy, when Eddie had never thought it could be.

Buck looked up, eyes full of that familiar, steady warmth. “Of course, man. Anytime.”

——

The hum of the car engine was a steady, comforting backdrop as they cruised down the highway. The road stretched out ahead of them, yellow lines blurring beneath the tires, marking the path between L.A. and El Paso. It was still early enough that the sun shone bright in the sky, casting a harsh glare over the lanes of traffic, but there was something peaceful about the drive despite that. The kind of peace that only came when Eddie was in motion.

The air in the car was warm, filled with the scent of the little air freshener Buck had clipped onto one of the vents. Sandalwood, maybe. Eddie’s hands rested loosely on his lap, his mind flickering between the road and the chatter Buck provided.

"Did you remember your charger?" Buck asked suddenly, glancing over. He hadn’t even been talking about chargers—or phones, for that matter. It was like he’d been running down a built-in checklist in the back of his mind this whole time, and just got to something he wasn’t sure about.

Eddie side-eyed him for a second, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a wry smile. “It’s a bit late to be asking that, don’t you think?” he replied, tone teasing. It was the kind of question, the kind of exchange, that made this trip feel like less of a grueling task. Like they’d done this sort of thing together before. Like it might even be fun, in a different context.

Buck chuckled, his eyes back on the road, but they were still scrunched up at the corners. "You know I can’t help it.”

Eddie could hear the grin in Buck’s voice, but he just let it sit there in the air for a moment, soaking in the rhythm of the drive. It felt... good. Comfortable. It had been a while since he’d let himself just be—on the road, in the moment, with Buck beside him. Just the two of them, doing something for themselves.

“You’re too prepared,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head, but there was no real bite to it. “You know that? I thought you might bust out a clipboard when we were packing.”

Buck leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming on the wheel. “Hey—Better to be too prepared than not prepared enough. Besides, you like Clipboard Buck.”

Eddie scoffed, the corner of his mouth lifting at the sound of Buck’s carefree tone. Despite all the uncertainty about the move, the houses, everything ahead of them, this part—him, and Buck—felt like something he could count on.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the tires on the pavement, the soft hum of the car’s engine, and Buck’s voice drifting in and out with occasional commentary about the city passing them by.

"So," Buck said after a few beats of silence, his voice a little quieter, a little more reflective. "You really think this is it? El Paso’s where you’re supposed to be?"

Eddie didn’t answer. Instead, he let his gaze drift to the road ahead, his fingers tightening over the fabric of his jeans. He didn’t have an answer—not yet.

But Buck didn’t seem to need one. He let the question hang there, and as the miles stretched out ahead of them Eddie couldn’t help but feel like he was on the right track to figuring it out.

——

The truck stop diner was a quiet little oasis along the endless stretch of highway. The only sounds came from the clinking of silverware, the low hum of the neon lights outside, and the occasional murmur of the two other patrons—a weathered man in a ball cap sipping coffee at the counter, and a middle-aged woman working her way through the mountain of pancakes in front of her. The place was cozy, worn-in, with dark wood paneling and checkered floors that had long since surrendered to the weight of countless footsteps. It was the kind of place that seemed to exist in its own little pocket of reality—a world where time didn’t race forward, but lingered, stretching into the shadows that pooled in the corners, folding gently into the soft hum of the overhead lights. The air here moved differently—thicker, warmer—unaffected by the rush of the world outside.

Buck slid into the worn booth across from Eddie, the cracks in the vinyl catching on the fabric of his shirt when he leaned forward to grab their menus out of the stand. The words were faded, and stained, and Eddie brushed the pad of his thumb along the lines of text as he scanned the page.

The low, warm light from the neon sign outside washed through the windows, casting a soft glow over the two of them. The sun had set hours ago, and headlights from passing cars flickered and blurred like fireflies against the glass. It had been a long day already, and the miles seemed never-ending. Hopefully they could count on a good meal to help them recharge.

Buck flipped through his menu in that way he always did when they went out—no real hurry to make a decision, just skimming the options before he settled on whatever caught his eye first. “What are you getting?” he asked, glancing over at Eddie.

Eddie paused then. He hadn’t really been taking in what was printed on the menu in front of him, more mindlessly scanning, so he wasn’t sure what sounded good. “I don’t know yet. What are you getting?”

Buck glanced up, his gaze flicking between Eddie and the menu. “I think I’ll go with the meatloaf. Mashed potatoes, green beans, the whole deal. I’m in the mood for something heavy.”

Eddie’s stomach gave a low grumble at the mention of it. “That sounds good,” he said, the words coming out almost without thinking. It did sound good. Warm. Filling.

“Yeah? Alright, I’ll order it for both of us then.” Buck caught the waitress’s eye and waved her over, leaning back against the booth.

Eddie let himself relax into the booth, not really feeling the fatigue, but letting the hum of the diner dull the sharp edges of the road and the endless thoughts crowding his mind. He watched Buck chat with the waitress for a moment, the easy way he smiled and joked with her, and felt an odd flicker of warmth in his chest.

The waitress nodded and walked off, shoes squeaking on the floor, the sound far too loud in the otherwise peaceful space.

“So, what’s on your mind?” Buck asked after a beat, already half-focused on the woman’s retreating back.

Eddie blinked. “Nothing much. Just... thinking about the next few days, I guess.”

“Yeah? You nervous?”

Eddie shrugged, then gave a half-smile. “Maybe. A little. But I’m also... I don’t know. I guess I’m just glad to be on the road. Working towards something.”

Buck’s expression softened, the teasing edge gone. “Yeah, me too. It’s nice, huh? Us. Being out here.” He paused, then added quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should say it. “It feels like the right thing to do, you know?”

The waitress came back, carrying two steaming plates of meatloaf and mashed potatoes and setting them down in front of each of them. Eddie’s stomach growled again, the rich scent of the gravy and beef making him realize how hungry he actually was.

They ate in a companionable silence, even Buck too hungry to focus his efforts on any real conversation. The clink of silverware against their plates as they dug into their meals was enough, the soft murmur of the diner’s hum filling the spaces inbetween.

When the waitress finally came back, she placed the check down on the table; Right in front of Buck. Eddie’s gaze lingered on it for a second too long, something in his chest tightening. He hadn’t even realized what had happened until Buck casually reached for his wallet.

Eddie’s hand twitched, a knee-jerk reaction before he could stop it. “I can pay,” he said quickly, the words slipping out before he could second-guess them. It wasn’t a big deal, right? Just dinner between friends. But the idea of it—the gesture, the way she’d set the check in front of Buck like it was his to take care of—it triggered something in him. Something familiar, something old.

Buck froze for a moment, looking up from his wallet. There was a glint of something in his eyes, and he gave Eddie a look, like he’d caught onto the tension he was trying to hide. “I dragged you out here,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “The least I can do is treat you to a meal.”

It was so simple. So casual. And yet, Eddie’s chest tightened again, a twinge of discomfort flicking through him. He wasn’t used to this—letting someone else take care of something for him.

“Buck, I—”

Buck waved him off, pulling out his card and handing it to the waitress with a smile. “I got it. Don’t worry about it.” Then he turned back to Eddie, eyes warm and unbothered. “It’s just dinner, man.”

Eddie nodded, though the heat in his chest didn’t quite fade. Eddie had always been the provider. In every relationship in his life, in every moment, it was his instinct to step up—to take care of everything. With Shannon it had been the bills, the dinner reservations, making sure she was taken care of. With Christopher, it was everything: school lunches, homework, sleepless nights when his son just needed him there to hold him. He was used to being the steady hand, the one who made sure the world didn’t tip over, the one who fixed things when they broke. It had always been his role—his responsibility. So when Buck offered to do things for him, when he didn’t hesitate for a second to reach for the check, something inside Eddie instinctively resisted.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he was the one being taken care of, and it felt... nice. A soft comfort that slipped under his skin, warm and unfamiliar. But the thought lingered too long, and that warmth turned to something else, something sharp—embarrassment. He wasn’t used to this feeling. He wasn’t supposed to need it. Eddie quickly turned his gaze to his plate, his chest tightening, as if he could push that fluttering sense of being looked after away. He wasn’t sure what scared him more: the fact that it felt so good, or the quiet shame that followed for thinking it at all.

Eddie could feel it—the quiet stretching between them. The sound of his fork scraping against his plate felt distant, the noise suddenly intrusive. Eddie’s eyes dropped to his meal, his hand moving mechanically, pushing the last bits of his food around. He wasn’t hungry anymore. Not for this. Not for anything.

Buck’s voice broke through the stillness. “Hey,” he said, low and gentle, and Eddie could feel the weight of it pressing against him. He noticed. He always noticed. “Eddie, what’s going on?”

Eddie felt a twinge of panic, something cold at the back of his throat. It was that same reflex again, the one he was trying so hard to shake—put on a mask, pretend everything was fine. Old habits. "Nothing," he muttered, voice too tight to sound convincing.

Buck wasn’t buying it, he never did. "You sure?"

The question hung there between them, a thread pulled taut, waiting for Eddie to break it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. If he let himself say anything, if he gave in to the wave of whatever was twisting inside him, he’d never stop. So he just nodded, the motion stiff, like a reflex.

"Let’s get out of here." Buck said, voice a little softer than before, almost like a suggestion.

Eddie felt the change in the air immediately—the shift from the suffocating weight to something easier. Buck was holding back, giving him space. “Yeah,” Eddie couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t face the quiet concern Buck was trying so hard not to push at him. “Let’s go.”

They both stood, Buck a little quicker than Eddie, but neither of them rushed. The quiet hum of the diner around them was almost too loud now, in the absence of conversation. They walked out side by side, the cool night air hitting them as soon as they stepped past the doors, neon lights flickering above them.

Buck shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing over at Eddie as they made their way to the Jeep. He wasn’t saying anything. He didn’t have to. Eddie could feel his gaze on him, just enough to make him aware of it. It was the way Buck always looked at him—steady, waiting for Eddie to find his footing, to stop dragging his feet through whatever it was that weighed on him.

Eddie’s breath caught, his chest tightening as they reached the Jeep. He couldn’t help himself. He could still feel Buck’s eyes on him, over the hood. Buck hadn’t said a word. But Eddie knew him too well. Knew that silence, that quiet respect for Eddie’s space, was just another way of saying, I’m here. When you’re ready.

And that was it, wasn’t it? Buck was here. He was always here, willing to be here, even when Eddie pushed him away, even when he shut himself off. But Eddie… Eddie kept pulling back. Kept shutting down, kept thinking that needing anything, especially from Buck, was a weakness.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Eddie pressed his palms flat against the hood, a soft groan escaping him, more to himself than to Buck, who was still standing there on the other side, arms crossed. And that was it—the thread snapped. Eddie realized, all at once, how fucking stupid it was to keep pushing him away. To keep acting like he couldn’t need Buck, couldn’t need anyone, like he was some kind of fortress that couldn’t allow people in.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, the words a little rougher than he intended.

Buck didn’t flinch, didn’t look surprised—he just held Eddie’s gaze, head tilted to the side. “For what?”

“For being…” Eddie gestured to himself, shaking his head. He was tired—tired of the self-sabotage. Tired of being so goddamn ashamed of feeling good about things.

I think you were punishing yourself, Father Brian’s words came back to him, a quiet echo in the back of his mind. He could still hear the priest’s voice, that gentle urging to allow himself the grace of joy. I think you were denying yourself.

It had been weeks since that conversation with Father Brian, since they’d sat across that table from each other, more exposed than he’d ever felt in any confessional. The priest had spoken to him as if he could see straight through him, as if the burdens Eddie had been carrying, for so long, were etched into his skin instead of buried deep beneath it. It was the first time someone had told him, straight up, that it was okay for him to feel good about things—especially after everything that had happened.

"Joy, Joy—Allow yourself joy," Eddie had repeated the words to himself a hundred times, when he was alone and trying to figure it out. Trying to make sense of why he always pulled away when things got too good. It was easier said than done.

But he was trying. He’d started small, like when he put sugar in his coffee for the first time in months, just because he wanted to. A little sweetness. A little comfort. That was a step, right? And the music. The songs that used to fill the halls of his house that had faded into silence after everything fell apart. He’d put them on again, bobbing his head around the kitchen, even if it was just for a few minutes while he cleaned up. Just long enough to remind himself that he could feel something other than the weight of all his responsibilities.

And then there was Buck.

Eddie smiled to himself, a soft, half-there thing, as he thought about how easily he’d started to share space with him. It had started with small things—sitting on the couch without worrying about how close they were, without immediately pulling away or making excuses. Now, it was sitting close enough that he could feel the heat of Buck’s shoulder through the fabric of his shirt. Not much, but enough to remind him that he wasn’t alone. This, though—this thing with Buck, this connection, whatever it was—felt like a bigger step. Eddie could feel it, the weight of it, more than he cared to admit.

Eddie hadn’t realized how far into his own head he’d gone until the silence settled in again, thick and heavy, curling around him like smoke. He hadn’t meant to drift, but here he was—staring blankly at the light that gleamed across the hood of the Jeep.

Buck’s voice cut through the haze like a knife. "Eddie? For being what?"

For a second, Eddie didn’t answer. He just stared out over Buck’s shoulder, at the endless stretch of highway, and tried to make sense of the knot tightening in his chest.

"The way I am." he spit, voice clipped as the words slipped out before he could stop them.

He saw Buck shift out of the corner of his eye. For a long moment, there was only the hum of the highway, the white noise of tires on asphalt off in the distance. Eddie didn’t dare to look at Buck’s face. He wasn’t sure what he would see there.

"Eddie," Buck cleared his throat. "What do you mean?"

Eddie swallowed, throat dry. He couldn’t quite put it into words—didn’t know how to explain what was going on inside his head, this mess of guilt and confusion, the way he’d pushed everything and everyone away for so long. How he was constantly fighting against this instinct to stay closed off. To stay guarded. To keep everyone at arm's length. To protect them from him. To protect himself from them.

"I don't know," Eddie muttered, the words nearly lost to the hum of cars. "I just... I don't know how to stop being this way, Buck. It's like—" he trailed off, sighing deeply, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. "I don't want to keep being the guy who pushes everything good away because he’s afraid of what happens when he lets himself want it."

Buck stayed quiet, but Eddie could feel the weight of his gaze. He just let it sit there, like he was waiting for Eddie to trudge his way through his own thoughts.

Eddie’s jaw clenched, and he let out a short, sharp breath, shaking his head. "I don’t know how to let people in," he said, the words coming out almost in a whisper. "I never have. I don't know why I'm afraid of it."

Eddie thought that maybe Buck would press, maybe Buck would say something else—ask about what it was that Eddie was afraid of wanting. But Buck kept quiet. He let Eddie speak, let the words come to him in their own time; Made sure the silence was lasting enough for Eddie to navigate.

After a beat, when he realized Eddie didn’t have any more to say, Buck finally spoke again. "You don’t have to change all at once. It’s okay to take your time."

Eddie looked at him then, really looked, and saw the understanding there. It wasn’t pity, or sympathy. It was just... presence. The kind of presence Eddie had begun to crave more than he cared to admit.

"Thanks," Eddie said, finally allowing himself to exhale, a little deeper this time. "For… dealing with all this."

“Someone’s gotta do it.” Buck beamed at him, and Eddie let out a shocked little chuckle through his nose. Then, more serious— "I’ve got you, Eddie. Always."

Eddie rolled his shoulders, his fingers lingering on the door handle as he climbed into the car. He settled into the passenger seat, the familiar sight of the dashboard grounding him. Buck slid into the driver’s seat beside him with a soft creak of the leather. For a few seconds, the only sound was the soft hum of the car’s engine as Buck turned the key in the ignition.

Eddie’s eyes flicked over to the window, following the fading neon lights, the blur of headlights passing in the dark, the rhythmic click of the turn signal as they pulled back out onto the highway.

One step forward. One mile at a time.

——

The low melody of a Christmas song crackled out over the radio through bursts of static, the only other sound besides the low, steady rumble of the tires eating up the road. Eddie looked out the window, watching the asphalt stretch ahead of them, the faint glow of distant lights barely breaking through the heavy night. It should’ve been peaceful, that quiet, the rhythmic pull of the drive on the endless highway.

But the weather was changing. The first few flakes of snow began to mix with rain in a fine spray against the windshield. It wasn’t quite snow; Not quite rain, either. More of a cross between the two, just enough to make the road slick with it. The asphalt turned darker, more treacherous beneath the car’s tires, and Eddie could feel the car slide beneath them as Buck adjusted his speed, hands tight on the wheel.

"Easy, Buck," Eddie murmured, not a knock on the way Buck was handling it—just his own nerves rearing their head.

Buck didn’t reply, just kept his focus on the road, his eyes flicking between the windshield and the mirrors, scanning ahead, scanning the spaces around them. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was his heightened sense of caution or Buck’s, but something in the air had shifted, and it made every inch of Eddie’s body tense. Something was wrong.

And then, up ahead, Eddie saw it. Lights flashing across the foggy blur of the highway. Two vehicles, a truck spun sideways across the lanes, the other rear-ended and half in the breakdown lane, smoke rising from the hood. The car in front of them slammed on their breaks, tires spinning as they crashed into the side of the truck on the road and sent them both skidding off into the median.

Before Eddie could even say anything, Buck was reacting—his foot slamming down on the brake, grip tightening on the steering wheel as his body leaned into the turn. The car jerked, tires skidding on the slick pavement, the world outside blurring into a web of snowflakes and headlights.

"Hold on!" Buck’s voice was a sharp command, a second before he yanked the wheel hard, pulling them toward the breakdown lane. The car slid, tires fighting for purchase on the wet road. Eddie’s breath caught in his chest, eyes locked on the rearview mirror where the worst of the accident unfolded behind them.

Another car slid into their lane, and Eddie’s heart skipped as Buck swerved again, this time bringing them inches from the side of the road, the sound of tires skimming dangerously close to the gravel. Buck’s arm shot out, a protective barrier between Eddie and the dashboard. It was automatic—an instinctive movement, like he had done it a hundred times before.

The sudden pressure of Buck’s arm against Eddie’s chest was enough to make him tense, but it grounded him. Even with the panic that was creeping up his throat, the solid weight of Buck’s forearm made something inside him settle, if only for a second.

Buck’s hands were white-knuckling the wheel now, eyes flicking to the side to make sure there was enough space to pull over. Eddie’s pulse pounded in his ears. The brakes squealed as he slammed them, pulling the car to a halt just past the accident in the breakdown lane. Eddie reached forward to turn their hazards on, the lights blinking rapidly and illuminating the snow-flecked sky.

Eddie’s heart was still hammering in his chest as he glanced over at Buck. He could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his breath came quick and shallow, but Buck didn’t say anything. There were no words. The snow started to fall a little heavier, the scene outside muffled by the sound of the storm and Eddie’s racing heart.

"Jesus," Eddie muttered under his breath, grip tight on the armrest, mind still racing. "That was close."

Buck didn’t respond, just exhaled a slow breath, his fingers loosening on the wheel. His gaze flicked to Eddie, to the tightness still in his shoulders, the way he was staring at the windshield and trying to shake the tension off.

"You okay?" Buck asked, voice quieter now that the urgency had faded, replaced with a soft edge of concern.

Eddie nodded, forcing a breath. "Yeah," he finally said, voice rough. "Yeah, I’m fine.

The snow was starting to fall heavier, the kind of thick, wet flakes that quickly turned to slush, sticking to the windshield, blurring everything beyond it. The road was beyond slick now, the asphalt glazed with a sheen of ice, and the headlights from the oncoming traffic cast long, distorted shadows as they moved past. Eddie’s eyes stayed fixed on the rearview mirror, watching the wreck unfold, his hands tightening on the door handle. Buck was already unbuckling his seatbelt, and Eddie followed suit, reaching for the first aid kit beneath the passenger seat.

There wasn’t any way to plan for this. A personal vehicle. No sirens. No radios. Just the two of them, off duty, driving down an empty stretch of highway in the middle of a storm. But the instinct was always there. Always ready.

"Eddie," Buck said, his voice tight but calm, "You sure you’re okay?"

Eddie glanced at him, nodding quickly as he reached for a pair of gloves. "I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Buck didn’t need to be told twice. He was already out of the car, boots crunching in the snow as he moved toward the sedan that had spun out in front of them. Eddie grabbed the first aid kit, the familiar weight of it a small comfort, but he knew better than to rely on it. This wasn’t a call. They were on their own until help got there.

Buck was already at the wrecked sedan pulling open the driver’s door, his breath fogging in the freezing air. The driver—a middle-aged man—was still conscious, slumped against the steering wheel, blood running down his forehead. Eddie quickly joined him, coming up beside the car. They needed to get him out of the road—before any other vehicles lost control.

“No obvious fractures, but we need to get him out of here, now,” Eddie muttered, his voice controlled, calm, the adrenaline already setting in. He worked quickly, hands moving over the man, checking for injuries, feeling the man’s pulse—a little too fast, but steady.

“Can you sit up?” Buck asked the driver, his voice soothing, though Eddie could tell he was already scanning for signs of worse injuries.

The man groaned but nodded slightly, trying to push himself upright. His face was pale, eyes unfocused, but he was aware enough to help when Eddie and Buck both gripped his shoulders to guide him. He wasn’t terribly hurt, but the shock and blood loss were enough to make him unsteady.

“We’re gonna get you out, alright?” Eddie reassured, as Buck helped to gently pull him out of the sedan, guiding him to his feet, one hand steadying his back.

Eddie grabbed the first aid kit, pulling out gauze and bandages as they guided the man away from the wreckage. The storm was picking up, the slush starting to accumulate in the tracks they left behind in the road. It was going to get worse. They needed to get him to safety.

Buck was still close by, eyes scanning the area, alert. “We should move him to the shoulder, get him away from the cars.”

Eddie nodded and helped the man shuffle toward the shoulder, his feet slipping on the wet pavement. “What’s your name?”

“Kareem.” The man groaned, brows pinched as Eddie guided him.

Eddie pressed the gauze to the man’s head wound, applying pressure. “Alright Kareem, still with me?” he asked, watching the man’s face closely. The driver nodded weakly, but his breath was coming in shallow bursts, and his hands were shaking from the cold.

Buck glanced at Eddie, a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes. He was already moving toward another vehicle, the pickup that the sedan had collided with. It was facing the wrong way, its front end crumpled, smoke rising from the engine. Eddie hesitated for a moment, watching Buck disappear around the back of the truck before focusing back on the driver in front of him.

"You're okay," Eddie murmured, trying to keep the man conscious as he stabilized his head with one hand and pressed the gauze to his forehead with the other. "Just stay with me. Help is coming soon."

Eddie’s breath came out in clouds, and the snow fell harder, mixing with the blood on the pavement.

Buck’s voice cut through the sound of the wind, urgent. “Eddie! She’s got a pulse, but she’s breathing pretty shallow! Could be a concussion! I need you to check the passenger when you can! Looks like a broken arm!”

The rain was blurring everything now, the cold seeping into Eddie’s bones as he helped Kareem over in the safety of the shoulder. Buck was already starting to move the pickup driver, leaning into the vehicle with a calm precision that Eddie knew well. He didn’t have to check on Buck. He knew what to do.

Kareem looked more alert now, eyes wide as he took in the scene around him, and Eddie brought his hand up, guiding Kareem to apply pressure to his own wound. “Keep pressure on that. I need to go help over there. Stay here, alright?” Kareem nodded, and Eddie took off again, headed over to the pickup.

A young woman climbed out of the third car in the breakdown lane behind them, shaken up, but not obviously injured. Eddie diverted course and rushed over to her. “Ma’am! Are you alright? Was there anyone else in the car with you?”

“I’m—I’m fine… No, no one else. Is everyone okay?” Her body was shaking, due to the adrenaline and the cold, but she was alert. No slurred speech. She could make her way to the shoulder herself.

“We’re checking right now. Head on over there, where that man is standing—emergency vehicles will be here soon.” Eddie pointed over to Kareem, and the woman nodded before moving along, eyes on her feet as she shuffled through the slush.

“Eddie!” Buck called for him, and Eddie turned back to the pickup again, rushing to the passenger side to set the first aid kit down. By the time he got there, Buck had started to move the driver, conscious, but pretty out of it as she hung off his side. “Passenger’s arm is bleeding pretty bad, I’ll try to come back after I move her over.”

The engine was smoking, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning rubber and gasoline. The girl in the passenger seat was slumped forward, unconscious but breathing. She had a few cuts on her face, a gash above her eyebrow. Blood dripped down her cheek, but nothing looked life-threatening. Eddie could see her arm, though—the angle was wrong, and there was too much blood pooled around it in the fabric of her jacket.

“Hey, hey, can you hear me?” Eddie’s voice was calm, low, but insistent. He leaned into the truck, pushing the door open as gently as he could. It creaked, and he could feel the heat radiating from the engine—this truck was barely hanging on.

The girl stirred, blinking up at him. Her eyes were unfocused, dazed.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, alright?” Eddie continued, trying to keep her calm. His hands were steady as he reached for the seatbelt, trying to unbuckle it without disturbing her too much. “You’re gonna be okay. Keep your eyes open for me.”

She nodded weakly, and Eddie could see the faint relief in her eyes. But the moment he touched her arm, she winced, and a soft whimper escaped her lips. “Okay, I need to stop the bleeding,” Eddie said, more to himself than her, as he started working quickly to clean the area around the injury. The bone wasn’t visible, but the swelling and bruising were already starting to set in. Her arm was broken, and the skin was torn from the broken glass, blood seeping through the torn fabric of her jacket.

“Alright, just breathe.” Eddie pulled the torn jacket away from her arm as gently as he could, but the girl still cried out. Eddie murmured an apology as he pressed a gauze pad against the wound, applying pressure to slow the blood flow.

Behind him, he heard Buck’s voice, low and steady as he moved further away from the truck, helping the driver. Eddie didn’t look up, knew Buck was handling it—had to trust him.

The bleeding hadn’t slowed, and Eddie didn’t have much—no tourniquets, no splints. Just the basic supplies from the first aid kit. Eddie's fingers fumbled momentarily as he grabbed the fabric from her jacket and ripped it free. It was thick and durable, and that had to be good enough for now. He wrapped it tightly around her upper arm, above the injury, pulling it with as much force as he dared. The bleeding started to slow almost immediately.

Eddie took a deep breath, his gloved hands working quickly as he wrapped the bandage tightly around the girl’s arm. The bleeding had slowed significantly, but it wasn’t stopped entirely. He tightened the makeshift tourniquet just a little more, using what he had on hand—tape, gauze, anything to keep her stable. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough to move her.

He glanced at her face. She was still dazed, eyes heavy, her lips barely moving as she mumbled something he couldn’t make out. She wasn’t in shock yet, but it was a near thing.

“I’m gonna move you now,” Eddie said, his voice firm. He kept his hand on her shoulder, offering a sense of comfort. He needed her to stay with him. She had to stay alert. The girl gave him a weak nod, the slightest movement, but it was enough.

Eddie could hear the faint crackle of the snow, the sound of Buck’s voice as he talked to the drivers of the other cars. The engine of the pickup was still smoking, its hum faint against the howl of the wind. He moved quickly then, taking a deep breath before he gently slipped his arms under the girl’s knees and back. She groaned softly, her body slack in his hold, and he immediately adjusted, cradling her as carefully as he could.

“There we go.” Eddie murmured. “You’re almost out of here.” He was already moving, sidestepping around the wreckage, his boots slipping slightly on the ice-coated ground. Eddie could feel the cold seeping through his shirt, but that was nothing. His mind raced, calculating the best way to get the girl out of harm’s way.

“Almost there,” Eddie huffed, his breath fogging up in the air. He reached the shoulder, and with one final movement, he gently set her down on the snow-covered ground. Eddie moved quickly to make sure she was positioned in a way that kept her arm supported. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and Eddie instinctively leaned closer, ready to help if she slipped any further.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” Eddie said, his hand pressing lightly to her cheek. “I’m right here. Stay with me.”

Her eyes slowly opened again, the faintest flicker of recognition in them. She was still there, still hanging on. Eddie didn’t move away, just stayed at her side. Eddie could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance, but he didn’t look up. He just kept his hand resting on her shoulder.

The sky was spitting small bursts of flurries, already lightening up, dusting the road and everything around them in white. His breath came out in foggy puffs, but his focus didn’t waver. He kept his gaze fixed on the girl, his chest tightening with each shallow breath she took.

Behind him, Buck’s voice cut through the noise. “Eddie? Everything good?”

Eddie turned slightly to look at him, his own voice calm despite the adrenaline still coursing through him. “Yeah, she’s stable. Bleeding has slowed.”

Just then, the blare of sirens grew louder. Red and blue lights flashed through the falling snow, illuminating the road ahead as emergency vehicles arrived, skidding slightly on the slick asphalt. The team of paramedics hopped out of the back of the ambulance, immediately jumping into action.

“Got a woman with a fractured arm, it was bleeding pretty heavily so I tied it off with fabric,” Eddie called out as one of the paramedics approached, his voice steady. “She’s conscious, no spinal injuries, from what I can tell.”

The paramedic nodded quickly, then glanced at the girl, assessing her condition for himself. “You did good, man,” he said to Eddie, before turning to the girl. “Alright, we’re gonna take care of you now.”

Buck stepped back, making room for the paramedics to do their thing. Eddie stayed close to the girl, but now that the paramedics were there, he knew his part was done. The paramedics gave him a brief, appreciative nod as they set to work, cutting away the rest of her jacket to get a better look at the injury.

The other paramedic turned to Eddie and Buck, giving them a once-over. “You guys need to get checked out?” she asked, a concerned look on her face.

Eddie shook his head immediately. “We’re fine. Just... just need to get back on the road.”

“Happy holidays, then,” she said with a quick, warm smile. “Stay safe out there.”

Buck gave them a quick salute, but he didn’t linger. “Happy holidays,” he added, before he turned back toward the car, calling over his shoulder. “You good?”

Eddie nodded as he started to walk toward the car. The adrenaline was wearing off now, and his hands shook where he’d stuffed them deep in his pockets. He got into the passenger seat and shut the door behind him, leaning back against the headrest. It was still cold inside the Jeep, but it was leagues better than the biting wind outside.

Buck slid into the driver's seat next to him, pulling out his phone as he started the engine. The glow of the screen illuminated his face for a moment, and Eddie saw him tap a few times before opening the weather app.

"We’ve made good time," Buck looked up, meeting Eddie's gaze. "We can find a hotel, wait out the worst of the weather. Get a few hours of sleep. We’ll still make it to the showings tomorrow."

Eddie exhaled, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just a bit. "Sounds good," he said, though his voice still carried that edge of exhaustion. It was a relief to know they could take a moment to rest.

Buck glanced out at the road, assessing. "I’ll find us somewhere. It should clear up by early morning.”

Eddie nodded slowly, not feeling great about stopping for so long, but the idea of getting some sleep sounded like the right call. “Yeah,” Eddie finally said, his voice a little quieter now. “We’ll make it work.”

“You know, New Mexico only gets an inch or two of snow per year on average down this way. The chances of it happening while we were passing through were like, slim to none.” Buck shifted into drive, maneuvering the car carefully through the slushy snow, the headlights illuminating the darkened road ahead. The sound of the tires on the wet asphalt was almost hypnotic, and as they pulled away from the scene, Eddie couldn't help but feel a quiet relief. He looked over at Buck, who was already focused on the road, hands steady on the wheel.

“I’ve just about had it with chance. It always seems to find a way to screw us over.” Eddie turned his gaze to the window, watching the snow fall in soft, chaotic flurries, each flake briefly catching the light before melting into a web of tiny rivulets that trailed down the glass. The road ahead stretched long and dark, an endless ribbon of asphalt, with miles still separating them from El Paso, but for the moment, he allowed himself to settle into the calm rhythm of the drive. A few hours of rest, then they’d get back to it.

——

The Jeep rolled to a stop in front of the motel, headlights cutting through the falling snow to illuminate the neon sign that flickered with a tired, electric hum. Rose’s Roadside Motel had been spelled out in chunky, faded letters that glowed an uneven red—buzzing like it was struggling to stay alive out in the cold. The parking lot was nearly empty, save for a few trucks and a couple of other cars, parked at odd angles to accommodate the mess of slush beneath them. The snow melted the moment it reached the ground, blending into the wintery mix gathered on the slick asphalt.

Eddie squinted at the sign, then at the building itself, taking in the mismatched exterior. The motel’s paint was chipped, the walls a pale mint green that had long since settled into a tired sort of charm. A fake palm tree sat off to the side of the office door, its plastic fronds brittle as they hung under the weight of the snow piled on top of them. The door had a small wreath on it—red ribbon and faux holly that had been through a few too many winters—branches battered and bent at odd angles. The whole place looked like something from an old roadside postcard, kitschy and a little offbeat, relying entirely on that sense of nostalgia to pull people in.

Buck glanced over at Eddie, reading the skepticism in his expression, and shrugged. "It’s... definitely got character."

Eddie raised an eyebrow, then reached over to push open his door, the warmth of the car quickly replaced by the sharp bite of the cold air as they stepped outside.

The door to the office was heavy for such a small building, creaking loudly as they pushed it open. Inside, the air smelled of old coffee and something else—something sweet, like potpourri that had started to lose its scent. The bottoms off their boots scraped at the floral welcome mat, rough and grating as they stomped off the slush that clung to their soles.

Behind the desk was a woman, probably in her late fifties, with graying hair twisted into a bun perched high on her head. Her large, round glasses magnified her eyes to comical proportions, making her look perpetually startled. She didn’t look up immediately, instead continuing to type on the ancient computer in front of her. The screen was an aggressive shade of green, something straight out of a bad ‘90s movie, and the harsh light reflected off of her wide frames.

Eddie cleared his throat, glancing around the small lobby. The walls were lined with cheap landscape paintings and an assortment of knick-knacks: tiny ceramic animals, faux leather chairs, and a basket of mints on the counter that probably hadn’t seen any action in months.

When the woman finally looked up, her smile was warm and deliberate. “Evening, boys. What can I getcha?”

Buck flashed her a quick smile of his own, leaning forward on the counter. “Hi. We were hoping to get a room for the night. Do you have anything available?”

The woman tapped a few keys on her computer, squinting at the screen. “Well, we have a few left. They’re all one bed.” She looked up at them, blinking behind her thick glasses. “That work for you?”

Buck shot a quick glance at Eddie, no longer than a second, then looked back at the woman. “That’s fine. But, uh, any chance we can get a cot brought over?”

The woman gave them a curious look, but didn’t miss a beat. “Sure thing. I can have my son bring one over before you get there. Just give me a minute to get you set up, alright?”

Buck tapped his palm on the counter before leaning back. “Perfect. Thanks.”

Eddie, still trying to make sense of the interior design that even his abuela would scoff at, couldn’t help but let out a dry chuckle. "Guess we’re really doing this, huh?" he muttered, eyeing the garish wallpaper and mismatched furniture as Buck slid his ID and a credit card across the counter.

“Hey,” Buck replied, flashing a grin. “Nothing says road trip like an old-timey motel and questionable sheets.”

The woman took the card, quickly filling out the paperwork before handing it back to him. “Here you go,” she said, passing them a key to their room. The keychain was worn, with a tiny plastic palm tree stuck to it. “Room 5. He should be bringing that cot over right away. You boys need anything else?”

Buck took the key and shook his head. “I think we’re all set. Thanks again.”

“Happy holidays,” the woman said as they turned to leave.

“Yeah, you too,” Buck called over his shoulder.

As Eddie pulled the door open to head back out into the cold, he couldn't help but smile a little, despite himself. The place was a dive, sure—but maybe that was part of the charm.

The cold air whipped around them as they pulled their bags from the back of the Jeep, the engine still ticking from the chill as Eddie slammed the trunk shut. Buck moved to unlock the door to their room, holding it open with his forearm.

"Right this way, sir," Buck joked, in what was surely a truly offensive British accent, bowing his head to prompt Eddie to walk past him. Eddie barely stifled a laugh, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.” Eddie replied, grabbing the strap of his bag a little tighter. The room wasn’t much to look at—small, cramped. A bed pushed against one wall, a worn desk beside it with an old lamp flickering faintly in the corner. There was a cot in the far corner, already set up, the mattress thin and creaky-looking, but it was there, at least.

Buck shifted past him, his body pressed close, the proximity so natural it made Eddie’s skin hum. Buck’s hand brushed Eddie’s shoulder in a subtle warning, a quiet acknowledgment of how little space they had between them. The touch was brief—no longer than a few seconds—but it lingered. Lingered like the warmth of his hand was still there, the heat of it seeping through the fabric of Eddie’s shirt to settle in his muscles even after Buck pulled away.

Eddie turned his head slightly, but Buck was already off in his own little corner of the room, tossing his bag down onto the cot with a resigned sigh. It seemed so easy—for Buck to settle into things, even here. Even in a tiny motel room that felt more like a closet space than any sort of room they could actually rest in.

Every movement Buck made sent a ripple through the small space they occupied, from the way he reached for his toiletry bag to the way his jacket sleeves tugged as he shrugged it off. Eddie didn’t know how to handle it—how to breathe in this space that suddenly felt too confined, too intimate. Buck’s presence filled every inch of it, and Eddie was left fumbling with the weight of it, unsure of where to place himself.

Too close.

Eddie’s chest tightened as the words circled in his mind—a relentless mantra. Too close. Buck was always there—in his kitchen, in the back of the fire truck, on every shift. It had always felt effortless. Familiar. Professional. But here, in the dim light of the motel room, everything felt different. The space between them, the air itself—it had all condensed. It was as if every moment, every glance carried more weight now. What had been easy before, thoughtless, now felt like something tangible—something bigger.

Every shift Buck made, every time he brushed past Eddie or reached for something, just a little too close, made it harder for Eddie to breathe.

There was no reason he should be feeling like this. The heat pooling in his chest every time Buck leaned in or made that little hum of a sound when he found something he’d been looking for. The thrum of his pulse in his ears when Buck’s eyes flickered over him, not even in full attention, just a brief glance that made everything in Eddie's chest go tight. It was ridiculous.

And Buck—damn it—Buck didn’t even notice.

He just hummed to himself as he fished through his bag, pulling out a toothbrush, talking about how tired he was after the drive, acting like they were just… two guys, hanging out in a room together. But Eddie could feel it, the quiet hum in the air, the way their movements had stitched together in some sort of shared rhythm.

Buck stretched, his voice low, subdued. “I need a shower. You all set?”

Eddie cleared his throat, not sure how to answer, not sure how to name the strange coil of warmth that was making it hard for him to sit still.

"I’m good," Eddie said, voice rough. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat, then glanced at the door like it might give him some sort of direction. "I’m gonna… go out for a bit," he muttered, looking back at Buck with a tight smile. "Gonna grab us something to eat. I’m starving."

Buck paused, looking at him for a long beat, then raised an eyebrow. “Eddie… you sure? I mean, I can go with you—”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Eddie cut him off, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. “I’m gonna walk—I’ve been sitting too long. Just… Just stay. Relax. I’ll be back in a bit.”

There was a flicker of concern on Buck’s face, the kind that Eddie had come to recognize as protective, like Buck could sense the shift in the air. Like he could feel the strain that Eddie was trying to keep hidden. But Buck didn’t push. He just nodded, humming his agreement.

"Okay," he said, his voice quiet. "I’ll just—uh, unpack a little. You’ll be alright?"

Eddie nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah. I’ll be fine."

Buck didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he didn’t press the issue. He pulled open his bag, rummaging through it, and Eddie turned, making a quick exit before the urge to say something else could catch him. Before the warmth in his chest flared hot enough to burn.

Snow drifted lazily in the air, swirling in little eddies, soft and light against the backdrop of the darkened sky. His breath formed a thin, cloudy mist as he exhaled, and the cold seeped into his lungs, clearing the heat that had been building in him—inside the crowded space of that motel room. He needed it. Needed the bite of the cold to cool the warmth still pulsing in his chest.

The snow crunched beneath his boots, each step a rhythm to the disarray in his mind. Eddie walked with his head down, lost in the hush of the storm, not really paying attention to the path ahead of him. His thoughts were elsewhere—always elsewhere.

Buck.

It was impossible to push him out. Even now, as he walked, the span between his steps filled with the thought of him. Buck was everywhere. In his peripheral, the space between his breaths—the shadow at his back. Buck moved in and out of the cracks in Eddie’s life so naturally, so seamlessly, it felt like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.

Eddie frowned, feeling that thought settle in his chest. He hadn’t asked for this—whatever this was between them. He didn’t know how to stop it, didn’t even know when it had started. The lines had been so clear before. But now—Eddie exhaled, harsh, the tip of his nose cold as ice.

Christmas lights flickered in the windows of buildings along the street, a soft glow of red and green casting an almost nostalgic light on everything. The world felt a little quieter out here. Not peaceful, not exactly, but quieter in a way that let him think. Let him breathe.

Up ahead, across the street, a church appeared through the falling snow—a dark silhouette against the night sky. Its tall stone walls loomed, heavy and ancient, the pointed steeple reaching up to breach the clouds. The stained-glass windows shimmered in the glow of the streetlights, fractured light trapped in each pane. Rich blues, deep reds, and golden yellows refracted off of the glass, bleeding color onto the snow-covered sidewalk below. Eddie’s gaze lingered on it, his feet slowing as a familiar ache twisted in his chest—a tug, quiet but insistent; Burdock, clinging to his skin. The kind of pull that spoke to some deeper part of him, something old and worn. It wasn’t the church itself, but the weight of the memories it stirred, that pressure that always seemed to settle over him, like a hand on his shoulder.

But he didn’t cross the street; He didn’t step toward those heavy wooden doors.

Instead, he turned away, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, and kept walking. His boots sank into the slush, each step a rebellion against the cold creeping through the leather to seep into the soles of his feet. Each stride carried him further from the church’s silent judgment, looming just over his shoulder.

As he approached the market, the bell above the door jingled a hollow greeting, the sound jarring in comparison to the stillness of the night that waited just outside. A gust of warm air hit him as he crossed over the threshold, a sharp contrast to the cold that clung to him like a second skin. The shelves were lined with the usual—stacks of snacks, rows of canned goods, brightly colored plastic containers that popped against the muted grey shelves. It was all too much, too vivid, and Eddie exhaled a breath that felt like an apology.

He hadn't gone in, hadn’t crossed that street for a reason. Guilt was a childhood friend—an old, familiar companion, wrapped up in the scent of incense and the sharp sting of half-truths spoken into confessions. A low whisper in the back of his mind, always reminding him of what he wasn’t, of what he hadn't done, of what he couldn't do. He was always shifting, always moving away, always keeping just enough distance to avoid facing it.

He walked past the aisles, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing in his ears, the only thing breaking the stillness of the store. His eyes drifted over the shelves, a blur of processed food and cluttered rows of cans. Eddie didn’t really see any of it—not the brightly colored boxes, the rows of chips, or the chilled cases filled with pre-packaged meals. His fingers brushed against the edge of the cooler as he pulled out a couple of sandwiches, their plastic wrapping cool to the touch. He shifted them in his hand, just to feel the weight of them, then stopped in front of the drink case.

Eddie’s breath fogged the glass, as if the cold outside had followed him into the store. The array of sodas, juices, and bottled water stared back at him, blinking neon in the quiet space. Eddie stared at them, listless.

There were too many options. The labels screamed at him in bright, blinding colors, bold against the sterile hum of the fluorescent light. He stood there for what felt like a long time, just looking. The light from the case was harsh, casting a cold blue glow across his face, washing him out in a way that made everything feel slower, quieter.

After a long moment, Eddie reached out and grabbed two bottles of lemonade.

He turned away from the case, the bottles cold against his skin, and made his way to the counter. The transaction was a blur, the exchange of cash and the quiet beep of the register nothing more than muted background noise. When he stepped back outside, the bite of the cold air hit him like a slap, sharp and grounding. It cut through him, and for a moment, the weight of everything—the pull of the church, the quiet tug in his chest—faded; Pushed away by the harsh clarity of the storm.

Instead, he tightened his grip around the handle of his bag, glanced up at the sky, and let the snowflakes fall, soft against his face.

——

The door closed behind Eddie with a soft click as he stepped back into the room, quiet, save for the hum of the heater and the tap of Buck’s fingers across his phone screen. Buck was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs stretched out in front of him—worn gray sweats hugging his thighs. A faded blue t-shirt clung to his frame, the hem curling up just enough to reveal the edge of his waistband. His hair, still damp from the shower, was tousled in tight curls, dark strands clinging to his forehead.

Eddie felt the familiar stir of warmth spread across his chest, a slight catch in his breath at the sight of Buck looking so... soft. Vulnerable, in a way Eddie wasn’t used to seeing him—so unguarded, lip bitten raw from worrying it between his teeth, his brow furrowed in silent concern.

Eddie set the bag down on the table next to the door, not thinking too much about it, but the small thud against the wood felt oddly final, grounding. He didn’t say anything, just let himself take in the moment, let the stillness of the room settle over him.

Buck looked up then, his eyes catching Eddie’s, and for a second, time slowed. That feeling of closeness washed over him again, but this time, there wasn’t any undercurrent of uncertainty. There was something else—like the slow, soothing brush of a thumb at the nape of his neck.

Ah.

It was comfort.

Eddie found himself wanting to close the distance, to feel the heat of Buck’s body against his again, even if it was just for a second. He almost reached out before his fingers curled back into his palm.

“Hi.” Buck breathed the word out, eyes wide as he looked up at Eddie from his place on the comforter—head tilted. The question in his gaze was unmistakable. You okay? Eddie only smiled, too tired to do much of anything else.

“Hi.” Eddie murmured back, then passed over the food he’d grabbed, eyes lingering on Buck’s face as he inspected what Eddie had picked out for him.

"Thanks," Buck said, his voice low, warm—a quiet appreciation in his tone. Eddie felt that same contentment settle into him, a steady, comforting warmth that didn’t feel so foreign anymore. It was easy. Being here, with him.

Eddie flicked the old, beat-up TV on with a quiet click, the screen sputtering to life with a flicker of static before A Year Without a Santa Claus began to play as he settled on the foot of the bed next to Buck. The music of the old Christmas special hummed softly in the background, the droning sound a strange sort of comfort. The low, familiar voices of the characters became the soundtrack to their meal, nostalgic holiday scenes flickering in the glow of the TV. The sound of crinkling wrappers filled the air as Eddie and Buck sat side by side, eating their sandwiches in silence, the only real noise coming from the TV and the occasional rustling of them shifting in place on the comforter.

Eddie finished his last bite, tossing the wrapper away without looking, his eyes on the screen but not really seeing it. He was still digesting the meal, still trying to shake off the weight of the day. The warmth had settled back into his bones, but it didn’t feel like enough. He could use a shower.

Buck shifted beside him, leaning down to grab his things before getting the cot ready to sleep in. Eddie’s throat tightened. He glanced over at Buck, watching the way he moved, at the way the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his back. A knot formed in Eddie’s chest—working its way up to perch just below his chin, then he cleared his throat before he could stop himself.

“Don’t.”

Buck froze mid-motion, raising an eyebrow. “Hm?”

Eddie swallowed, forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. “You can sleep on the bed.”

Buck scoffed lightly, a fond, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not making you sleep on the cot, Eddie. It’s fine, I can sleep anywhere, really—” He waved a hand, dismissive.

“I wasn’t suggesting that I sleep on the cot,” Eddie cut him off, voice firm, but his heart was pounding in his throat.

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy. He had meant for it to be casual, a quick offer, but it felt so much bigger than that now, and Eddie hated that it felt like too much—too much vulnerability, too much of him asking for something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want. He felt exposed, unsure, and the way Buck’s lips had parted in surprise didn’t help matters any.

“Oh. Uh—” Buck hesitated, then pulled back a little, sitting on the edge of the cot, his expression shifting to one of consideration. “You sure? I mean, it’s—”

“Buck.” Eddie’s voice was sharp, clipped with an urgency he couldn’t quite explain. The word felt like a tether, pulling Buck’s attention back to him.

Buck blinked, realization flickering in his eyes. “Okay. Yeah—alright.” He exhaled, nodding. “It’ll be like a sleepover,” Buck added with a grin, his eyes warm and teasing, a shift in tone to break the tension.

Eddie’s shoulders relaxed almost instinctively at the sight of Buck’s smile, the tightness in his chest loosening with each second that passed. It felt like a crack in the dam, the pressure in him easing just a little.

Eddie dug through his duffel bag, the zipper scraping against the vinyl as he rummaged for something comfortable. His hand brushed against the familiar fabric of his basketball shorts, and he brushed his thumb over the hem to ground himself. He pulled them out, along with a faded t-shirt he kept for the lazy mornings after long shifts, then walked over to the bathroom door before glancing over his shoulder.

Buck had settled into the bed, turned over onto his stomach as he stretched down to plug his charger into the outlet by the nightstand. When he got it, he flipped over onto his back with a huff, arm stretched over his head against the pillow as he looked up at Eddie with a triumphant grin. The cuff of his sleeve stretched tight over his bicep, digging a crease into his arm.

"I still need to shower," Eddie muttered to no one in particular, his voice strained. "I’ll be—yeah." He didn't wait for a response, didn’t give Buck any time to form one, before he shut himself in the bathroom.

The bathroom light flickered on, casting a harsh, yellow glow across the cracked tile. He stood there for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror, the quiet hum of the motel’s old plumbing reverberating in the background. His eyes tracked over his reflection, the exhaustion heavy in the lines beneath his eyes—tension, set in his jaw.

He ran a hand through his hair, already feeling the weight of the last few hours pressing in on him, pulling him in different directions. He didn't know how to make sense of the constant pull between wanting to be close and needing to be alone to figure out what that meant.

Eddie let out a slow breath and stepped into the shower, the warm water washing over him in torrents. He scrubbed his skin, mind spiraling. Would it be better if Buck was asleep when he got out? Or if he was still awake, waiting for him?

Eddie turned his face up to the spray, letting the water burn hot against his skin, feeling the heat race through him.

He didn’t know why it was so hard. So fucking hard. Maybe because Buck wasn’t like anyone else. Not like Ana, or Marisol, or anyone Eddie had ever tried to make space for. Buck belonged here, and that feeling—well, it was new. And new things made Eddie skittish, like stepping over a threshold blindfolded, not knowing if there was solid ground beneath his feet.

The shampoo circled the drain as he stepped out of the shower and the cold air of the room sent goosebumps racing across his wet skin. He dried off quickly, wrapping the towel around his waist as he stared at himself in the mirror, willing the flush from his cheeks to disappear.

Fuck it.

He pulled on his basketball shorts and t-shirt, trying to ignore the thumping of his heart against his ribcage as he opened the bathroom door.

Eddie stepped back into the main room, a few stray water droplets still clinging to his skin. The room was dim, shadows stretching across the walls as the soft glow from a single bedside lamp filtered through the room. Buck’s figure lay still on the mattress, his back turned toward Eddie, the comforter moving with the soft rise and fall of his breathing. From this angle, Eddie couldn’t even tell if he was asleep or just lying there, pretending to be.

He reached for the small light, flicking it off with a soft click, then pulled back the covers and slid into the bed. The mattress creaked under his weight, dipping slightly as he settled in, his body stiff, like a coil wound too tight.

Buck muttered under his breath as he rolled over to face him, “Y’ alright?” his words slurred together, eyes half lidded as looked up at Eddie through the dark.

As Eddie’s eyes adjusted to the low light, Buck’s face slowly came into focus, soft and serene in the quiet of the room. His lashes, dark and thick, brushed the curve of his cheek with every slow breath. Eddie’s gaze lingered on the birthmark on Buck’s brow, just over his left eyebrow. It was barely distinguishable in the low light, but Eddie would know its shape blind. He found himself wanting to trace it with the pad of his thumb, to see if the skin felt as soft as the rest of him looked.

“Mmmmmhm.” Eddie hummed, his voice tight, strained. He tore his eyes away from Buck, near vibrating as he stared up at the empty safety of the ceiling above them. The only light in the room came from the faint red glow of the alarm clock, its numbers casting a dim glow into the corner of the ceiling, where his gaze traced the edge of every shadow. Outside, rain pattered against the window in a steady rhythm—but it did nothing to ease the tension wound up in Eddie’s body.

Eddie felt every shift of the bed beneath him, the slight dip where Buck had settled beside him. The space between them felt vast, but also, somehow, impossibly close. He could hear Buck’s breathing—even, slow, like he was already losing himself to sleep. Eddie was wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling, his mind a tangled mess.

The mattress creaked as Buck shifted, pulling at the covers. Eddie’s throat clicked as he swallowed, a wave of discontent rolling through him. It was the space—too much of it now. He could feel it pulling him in, like a current.

Every time Buck moved, every time his weight shifted in the bed, Eddie froze. He could feel the heat from Buck's body. The soft pressure of the air between them. It was like a call, pulling at the edge of his awareness, drawing him in, making him realize just how long it had been since he let himself feel the comfort of another person so close.

Eddie’s jaw tensed, every inch of him aware of the fact that Buck was right there, just a few inches away. Eddie shifted slightly, adjusting the pillow beneath his head, trying to ignore the way his heart raced with every small movement from the other side of the bed. He forced his chest to rise and fall in slow, measured breaths, each inhale a conscious effort to ground himself. But it was futile—the heat inside of him only grew.

Just… reach out.

Eddie swallowed, his throat dry. It’s not a big deal. It’s just his best friend, just Buck. No harm in that. But the space between them felt like a chasm now, impossibly wide—a barrier in his mind he couldn’t quite push past.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. He won’t mind, Eddie told himself. Just—just reach out. It’s fine. You need it. He won’t—he won’t think anything of it. He’s your best friend.

But what if Buck wasn’t comfortable? What if he thought it was weird? What if it changed everything?

Eddie exhaled, his fingers gripping the sheets, hands trembling—just a little. The idea of it felt so simple, yet the distance between his desire and his action felt insurmountable. Still, the heat in his chest grew, relentless. He needed that warmth. He needed the connection, however fleeting, to anchor him.

His ankle brushed against Buck’s side of the bed and he froze, holding his breath, wondering if Buck had felt it. He barely moved, praying it hadn’t been too obvious—a subtle shift, just testing the waters.

Then, like a slow, cresting wave, the longing swelled inside of him—unrelenting, undeniable. The urge to reach out, to feel, to connect... It was something Eddie hadn’t realized he'd been starving for, a quiet ache that thrummed beneath his skin. He shifted again, more deliberately this time, his ankle grazing the cool sheets before his foot found its mark—lightly, gently—against Buck’s. Just enough contact to make his intent clear—to make sure it couldn’t be mistaken for an accident.

Eddie felt the heat bloom instantly, a rush of warmth unfurling from the soles of his feet, racing up his legs, his entire body humming with a sharp, electric awareness. His pulse surged, quick and frantic, as he held his breath, suspended in the space between decision and instinct. Should he pull away? Or press closer? Every second stretched taut as he focused solely on that single point of contact.

Buck didn’t pull away. Instead, after a brief pause, he let his ankle shift, aligning with Eddie’s, pressing back ever so slightly—just enough for Eddie to feel the warmth radiating from him—a quiet invitation. And just like that, the knot in Eddie’s chest unraveled, the tension rushing out of him in a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

The contact was simple, yet it settled over Eddie like a soft, reassuring blanket. He stayed still for a moment, letting the silence wrap around them, the steady rhythm of Buck’s breathing filling the space between them—a quiet comfort in the dark. The bones of their ankles pressed together, solid and firm against the skin, but there was an unexpected softness to it, a tenderness in the way they aligned—the subtle pressure digging into Eddie’s skin. The warmth lingered there, and Eddie could feel the faint, tickling brush of Buck’s leg hair against the top of his foot—light, almost imperceptible, but there all the same.

This is okay, Eddie thought, as he let that warmth settle in. This is more than okay.

The quiet between them was different now. The anxiety that had been coiling in Eddie’s chest, tight and electric, unraveled with every slow, steady breath he took. He pressed tighter against Buck’s ankle, just enough contact to ground him, to remind him that this wasn’t something dangerous—something to fear. Buck wasn’t pulling away, wasn’t pushing him out, and that simple fact settled something deep in Eddie’s gut.

Eddie shifted slightly, rolling onto his side to face Buck, not entirely aware of the movement at first. It felt...natural. Comfortable, even. Buck’s breathing had slowed, deepened, and Eddie watched him for a moment, the soft rise and fall of his chest visible in the dim red glow from the alarm clock on the nightstand. He looked peaceful, unaware, completely at ease in a way that made Eddie feel small—but not in a bad way. Small, like he was being enveloped by the safety of the moment—by being with someone he trusted so completely.

For a few long seconds, Eddie couldn’t move. The warmth between them, the subtle pressure of their legs and ankles intertwined, kept him rooted in place. His heart, which had been racing just a few minutes ago, was now steady, calm, even as his mind buzzed with a thousand little things that felt—too much. Too many feelings. Too many thoughts. Too much wanting.

He could feel the weight of the day’s exhaustion creeping up on him, the events from earlier swirling around in his mind. But all of that seemed to fade under the soft hum of the rain outside, the sound of Buck’s steady breathing, the warmth of the body so close to his.

Eddie closed his eyes for a moment, just to savor it—the softness of the air in the room, the fact that Buck was still there, that he hadn’t pulled away. The slide of the sheets beneath them. The subtle shift of light behind his eyelids as the numbers on the alarm clock switched over.

He shifted his leg again, pressing in closer, the urge to feel more of Buck—more of the warmth, of the connection—growing stronger the longer they stayed like this. It was subtle, just the faintest adjustment, but Buck didn’t flinch. Didn’t recoil. Instead, Buck’s foot shifted too, pressing into Eddie’s with a slow, deliberate movement.

It’s okay, Eddie thought again. This is okay.

Their legs were pressed together up to their knees now—ankles hooked over one another.

Still, he felt a flutter of something—a nervousness, maybe, or just the weight of his own vulnerability—as the space between them grew smaller. His chest tightened again, not in fear, but in something else. Something that felt too much like longing to ignore.

What if Buck doesn’t want this?

But Buck didn’t say a word. He didn’t shift, didn’t pull away, didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable. Instead, he let his foot burrow under Eddie’s leg, cold toes wiggling against his calf—as if it was the most natural progression in the world.

The rain pattered on the window, a soft, soothing rhythm that seemed to echo inside the stillness of the room. Eddie felt his eyelids grow heavy, the pull of sleep creeping in—the weight of the day finally catching up to him.

Then, just before sleep took him fully, Buck shifted, like he was adjusting for comfort. Eddie felt a hand brush his shoulder, just a quick touch, like maybe Buck ached for that closeness just as much as Eddie did.

“Night, Eddie,” Buck mumbled softly, his voice thick with sleep, the words muffled against his pillow.

“Goodnight, Buck,” Eddie whispered back, the words barely audible, even to himself.

His thoughts were muddled now, like a dream on the edge of waking, but something in him felt peaceful. Safe.

And as sleep finally settled over him, the soft rhythm of Buck’s breath beside him was enough to quiet everything else.