Chapter Text
“I won’t let them touch Christopher.”
Eddie’s voice was low, fierce, as if saying it out loud gave the promise more weight. He stood by the window, staring out at the dimly lit street below. Shadows stretched long across the cracked pavement, but none seemed darker than the one he was leaving behind.
“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” The voice was low, steady, but tinged with concern. It was Raul, an old friend—one of the few ties Eddie hadn’t yet severed.
“It’s not about what I want,” Eddie said, his tone clipped. “It’s about what I have to do.”
“You’ve thought this through?” Raul pressed. “Because once you go, there’s no coming back. They’ll make sure of that.”
Eddie leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t have a choice, Raul. You didn’t see what they did to Ramirez, to his family. I can’t let that happen to Christopher.” His voice cracked and he bit the inside of his cheek to steady himself.
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When Raul spoke again, his voice was softer. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help.”
“You’ve done enough,” Eddie said firmly. “I can’t drag you any deeper into this. I’m already asking too much.”
“I owe you,” Raul countered. “And you know it.”
“The less you know the better,” Eddie replied. He turned away from the window and crossed to the small table where a duffel bag sat half-zipped, its contents meticulously chosen: forged documents, cash, a burner phone, and a few essentials for starting over. He’d spent weeks preparing, working every angle, tying up every loose end. The last call he needed to make was this one. “I’ve covered my tracks. Burned every bridge. By the time they realize I’m gone, we’ll be ghosts.”
Raul exhaled sharply, the sound crackling through the line. “Appropriate. You know they won’t stop looking.”
“They can look all they want,” Eddie said, his jaw tightening. “They won’t find us.”
He glanced toward Christopher’s room, the faint glow of a night light spilling into the hallway. The baby was asleep, blissfully unaware of the storm Eddie had shielded him from. That was the only thing that mattered now: keeping him safe. Keep his promise.
“I don’t like this, Eddie,” Raul admitted. “But I get it. You’re doing what you have to. Just... if you ever need anything—”
“I won’t,” Eddie interrupted. “But thanks.”
He ended the call before Raul could argue and tossed the burner phone onto the table. For a moment, he stood there, staring at the bag, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. This was it. The point of no return.
Eddie moved to Christopher’s room, his footsteps careful, quiet. He crouched by the crib, watching the baby’s chest rise and fall with each steady breath. Christopher stirred slightly, his tiny fingers twitching in sleep.
The baby wasn’t his. He never had been. But Eddie had made a promise—to the one person he’d ever truly cared for before Christopher came into his life. “Keep him safe,” she had begged with her last breath, her blood slick between his fingers. “Don’t let them get him.”
Eddie had never cared much for people. Not really. They were pieces on a board, tools to be used or obstacles to be removed. Love wasn’t in his nature, not in the way it was for others. But her? And now Christopher? They were different.
They were his.
Eddie reached into the crib and gently picked Christopher up, cradling him against his chest. The baby murmured softly, his head resting against Eddie’s shoulder. “It’s just you and me now, kid,” Eddie whispered, his voice low, almost tender. “And I don’t break promises.”
He settled Christopher into a carrier, grabbed the duffel bag, and slung it over his shoulder. By the time the sun rose, they’d be gone.
And Eddie would make damn sure no one ever found them.
***
It’s been four years, since he left everything behind, for Chris. He’s trying, to be the man he needs to be for the kid, to keep his promise, but it weighs on him, always on his mind like a scratch he can’t reach. Four years he had spent every moment trying to forget the man he used to be. But some things couldn’t be erased, no matter how far he ran.
Some days he feels like a balloon filled with too much water, seconds from bursting, and he worries that when he does, Christopher will get wet.
So he trains, he works out, he fills an application to be part of the L.A. Fire Department, even though he does not need the job, even though it would be safer if he didn’t. But he needs to, otherwise, he does not want to think otherwise. He passes his probation period, first of his class, maximum score in everything, like he knew he would. He’s the gem every department wants.
The 118 wants him.
The 118 wants him and he accepts, because he needs, needs the rush, the adrenaline, to stay sane, to not burst. The 118 has the best team in L.A., the one they send when things are at their worst, when the hope is low. He hopes this is it, the place where Chris could have something close to normal. Where Eddie could pretend he deserved it. The ghost in his mind whispers he doesn’t.
Eddie stepped into the 118 with his usual confidence, authority, strength. He let the weight of the duffel bag on his shoulder ground him, he plastered a smile on his face, to be approachable, closer to normal he could get. The noise of the firehouse hit him next—the blend of laughter, radio chatter, and the distant clang of equipment. It was alive, messy, but honest in a way Eddie hadn’t expected. He straightened his posture, his steps purposeful but cautious as he took in the layout, reminding himself that this was his fresh start.
And then he saw him.
The man was leaning against a rig, mid-conversation with a small group, his presence magnetic in a way Eddie couldn’t quite define. His laugh rang out, loud and unabashed, pulling attention like a spotlight in the crowded space. Eddie’s gaze traced the lines of his profile—the sharp cut of his jaw, the confident slope of his shoulders, the kind of grin that seemed too genuine to be real.
The air in the room seemed to shift, the din fading to a low hum as Eddie’s focus narrowed. He felt the unsettling pull of something he couldn’t name, a visceral need to get closer, to know more. His grip on the strap of his bag tightened as he wrestled with the unfamiliar sensation. He didn’t know this man, but the force of his presence was undeniable, a gravitational pull that made it impossible to look away.
As if sensing the weight of Eddie’s gaze, the man turned, locking eyes with him. Blue. Eddie took a deep breath. Not just blue, but a kaleidoscope of shades that seemed to shift with the light. The edges carried the deep, steady calm of the ocean before a storm, while the centers flickered with a brightness that felt almost alive, like sunlight catching on water. They weren’t just a color—they were a depth, a mystery. The kind of eyes that didn’t just look at you but through you, peeling back layers you thought were impenetrable. Eddie felt exposed under that gaze, vulnerable in a way he didn’t know how to name.
The man’s smile softened, and he pushed off the rig, closing the distance between them in a few easy strides. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and low, like it was meant for Eddie alone. “You must be the new guy.”
Eddie managed a nod, his voice catching before he forced out, “Yeah. Eddie Diaz.”
“Evan Buckley,” the man said, extending a hand. His grin widened, lighting up the space between them. “Everyone calls me Buck.”
The handshake was firm, the contact sending a jolt through Eddie’s system that he wasn’t prepared for. He fought to keep his expression neutral, but the sensation lingered, a hum beneath his skin that he couldn’t shake.
“Welcome to the team,” Buck continued, his tone easy, like they’d known each other for years. “Come on, let me show you around.”
Eddie followed on instinct, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts he couldn’t pin down. Buck’s presence was overwhelming in a way that set every nerve on edge, but it wasn’t discomfort he felt. It was... hunger. The need to dissect, to understand, to keep.
As Buck talked, pointing out the break room, the lockers, the equipment bays, Eddie’s attention lingered on the curve of his mouth, the cadence of his voice. There was something reckless about him, a brightness that felt out of place in Eddie’s shadowed world. And yet, it didn’t repel him. It pulled him deeper, like a moth to a flame.
“You good?” Buck asked, pausing to glance back at him. His expression was open, genuine concern flickering in his eyes.
Eddie nodded, forcing a faint smile. “Yeah. Just... taking it all in.”
Buck grinned, the warmth of it almost unbearable. “You’ll get used to it. We’re not so bad once you figure us out.”
Eddie’s lips twitched at the edges, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to figure anyone out. Except, perhaps, Buck. There was something there, a spark he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. A need that settled deep in his chest, coiling tight like a predator waiting to strike.
As Buck clapped him on the shoulder, guiding him toward the next room, Eddie let the moment stretch, holding onto the warmth of that touch. He didn’t know what it was about this man, but he already knew one thing for certain.
He wasn’t going to let him go.
Eddie bursts.
***
All those years, holding himself back, trying to forge someone new from the flames of his old life—only to find that he had walked through the fire unburned.
Eddie’s eyes tracked Buck’s every movement, cataloging the way his hands gestured as he spoke, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Each detail was absorbed, dissected, and stored. Buck’s presence had shifted something inside Eddie, something raw and unrelenting—something that had lain dormant for four years but had just awakened, sharp and hungry, demanding to be fed.
The warmth of Buck’s touch still lingered on his shoulder, seeping through his skin like a brand. Eddie could almost feel the rhythm of Buck’s pulse beneath his palm, though they hadn’t touched for more than a second. What would it be like to hold onto that warmth, to feel it without letting go?
Eddie’s gaze flicked to the way Buck moved ahead of him, all fluid confidence and ease. His shoulders shifted under the taut fabric of his uniform, each step a study in casual power. There was something infuriatingly effortless about him, as though the world bent itself around his orbit without him even realizing it.
That smile. Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about it—the way it had reached his eyes, bright and guileless, like he’d never known fear or loss. Eddie’s stomach twisted at the thought. He’d known people like Buck before. People who burned too brightly, whose warmth spread too easily. People who didn’t survive long in the dark.
But Buck wasn’t like them, was he? No. There was something more. A recklessness beneath the charm, a flash of danger in his grin that suggested he might be more comfortable in the fire than out of it. Eddie felt the sharp edge of it, the spark that set his thoughts alight.
He inhaled deeply, catching the faintest hint of Buck’s scent—a clean, crisp mix of soap and something sharper, something distinctly him. It was grounding, maddening. Eddie found himself wondering what that scent would be like up close, mixed with sweat, with skin. Would it change in the heat of the moment, or would it stay the same—unchanging, like the man himself?
Buck turned, catching Eddie’s gaze again, and for a split second, Eddie thought he’d been caught. But Buck only smiled, easy and open, and waved him forward. “Come on, Diaz,” he said, his voice a low hum that settled somewhere deep in Eddie’s chest. “We’ve got a lot to cover.”
Eddie forced himself to move, each step deliberate as he followed. His heart was still pounding, his mind a tangled mess of questions and instincts. But one thing was clear.
He wanted more.
More of that voice, that smile, that impossible light that had cracked through the darkness Eddie had wrapped around himself. He wanted to know what made Buck laugh, what made him angry, what his hands would feel like when they weren’t shaking his in introduction, but holding on for something real.
Buck stopped near the group gathered by the kitchen, his easy smile widening as he motioned for Eddie to follow. “Alright, let’s get you introduced to the crew,” he said, his voice carrying just enough to draw the attention of the others.
Eddie adjusted a nonexistent wrinkle in his uniform, his expression calm even as his mind churned. He should have been focusing on the task at hand—getting to know the people he’d be working with—his instincts took over, cataloging details, assessing threats. It wasn’t paranoia; it was survival. And habit.
“Hey, everyone,” Buck called out, his grin almost blinding in its brightness. “This is Eddie Diaz, our new recruit.”
The group turned as one, their expressions curious but welcoming. Eddie’s gaze sharpened, noting the subtle cues in their posture, the dynamics between them.
“Bobby Nash,” said a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and an air of effortless authority. His handshake was steady, practiced. Bobby’s presence was grounding, but Eddie didn’t miss the faint tightness in his smile, the carefully measured calm. There was a weight in Bobby’s eyes that spoke of things he’d left behind—things Eddie suspected weren’t entirely in the past. The slight tremor in his fingers, the way he clasped his hands when not in motion, screamed sobriety. Controlled, yes, but Eddie knew recovery when he saw it. Something big must have pushed Bobby toward change. A loss, maybe, or a near miss. Eddie filed the thought away.
“I’m the captain here. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” Eddie said, nodding, faking genuine respect. “I appreciate it, sir.”
“None of that ‘sir’ business,” Bobby added with a small chuckle. “Just Bobby.”
Eddie inclined his head, allowing a faint smile. Bobby’s strength wasn’t in force but in stability. The kind of leader who kept his team steady in chaos. That kind of control didn’t come easy.
“Henrietta Wilson, but everyone calls me Hen,” said the next woman, her handshake warm but firm. Her gaze swept over Eddie, sharp and deliberate, as though assessing him for hidden flaws.
“Welcome to the madhouse,” she said with a wry smile.
Eddie nodded, letting her read whatever she wanted in his response. Hen carried herself with quiet confidence, someone comfortable in her own skin. The subtle glint of a wedding ring and the ease with which she spoke hinted at something more. Married, to a woman, he guessed, from the faint scent of her cologne—a sharper, androgynous tone that lingered. He pegged her as the kind of person who wouldn’t shy away from confrontation, someone who would always call him out. Trustworthy, but not someone he’d want to cross.
“Chimney Han,” said the next man, his handshake more casual, his grin quick and practiced. “Don’t worry, Diaz, we’ll go easy on you. First week, anyway.”
Chim’s energy was different—lighter, like a man who’d made peace with being underestimated. But Eddie caught the flicker in his eyes, a hollowness just beneath the surface. Loneliness. Chim covered it well, with jokes and quick quips, but it was there, raw and unguarded in the moments between. “Baby Buck here already showed you around?” Eddie’s gaze darted to Buck as Chim cracked another joke, the warmth in his voice lingering a little longer when he addressed him. There was friendship there, but not the kind that filled the void Chim carried.
“And this is Athena Grant,” Buck said, stepping aside to reveal a woman whose LAPD uniform and commanding presence immediately set her apart. Her handshake was brief but confident, her gaze cutting through him like a scalpel.
“Welcome,” she said simply, her tone both firm and kind.
Eddie nodded, meeting her gaze without flinching. “Thank you.”
Athena’s eyes lingered, her scrutiny cool and precise. Eddie felt it like a weight, her ability to size him up in seconds. She wasn’t someone who trusted easily. She wasn’t someone he could slip past without her noticing, either. A dangerous mind. The most dangerous in the room.
Athena shifted her attention to Buck for a moment, and Eddie caught the faintest flicker of warmth in her expression before she masked it. A protector, but not soft. She cared for Buck, though she wouldn’t coddle him. Her approval would need to be earned, and Eddie had no intention of testing her patience.
As the introductions wrapped up, Hen leaned toward him with a playful smile. “Hope you’re ready, Eddie. Working here’s not for the faint of heart.”
“I’ve been through worse,” Eddie said, his tone even but tinged with something darker. The response earned a few chuckles, but his words were more truth than jest.
“Alright, everyone, back to work,” Bobby said, clapping his hands lightly.
Eddie’s gaze drifted to Buck again as the group dispersed. The warmth and ease the others showed toward him painted a picture Eddie wasn’t sure he could trust. They liked Buck. They trusted him. But none of them saw what Eddie saw—the spark, the recklessness, the brightness that could either ignite or destroy.
And Eddie wasn’t sure yet which one he wanted more.
***
Buck leaned back against his couch, the quiet of his apartment pressing in on him as he replayed the day’s events. Meeting someone new wasn’t exactly unusual in his line of work—rookies came and went. But Eddie Diaz wasn’t just someone new.
He closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as his thoughts unraveled.
Eddie Diaz.
The name felt heavier now than it had earlier, laced with a weight Buck couldn’t quite place. There was something about him—something that tugged at Buck’s instincts in ways he didn’t fully understand. He could still feel Eddie’s presence, like a current humming just beneath the surface, low and electric.
It wasn’t just his looks, though Eddie was—Buck swallowed hard, the thought unfinished. It wasn’t just the sharp angles of his jaw or the quiet confidence in the way he carried himself. It was the way Eddie watched.
Why does he look at me like that?
The question looped in his mind, persistent and unrelenting. Buck had been on the receiving end of plenty of looks before—some flattering, some dismissive, some downright predatory. But this? This had been different.
Eddie’s gaze had felt like being stripped bare, like Eddie had peeled back every carefully constructed layer Buck had built to protect himself and had seen.
It should have been terrifying.
And maybe it was.
Buck opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He tried to shake the feeling, but his mind kept circling back to the moment Eddie’s hand had landed on his shoulder, warm and solid.
A shiver ran through him, unexpected and sharp.
It had been brief, just a gesture of connection. But Buck couldn’t forget the weight of Eddie’s fingers, the way they’d lingered just a second too long. He couldn’t forget the way Eddie’s dark eyes had pinned him, like they were searching for something—something buried deep, something Buck wasn’t sure he wanted found.
Buck’s hand drifted absently down his stomach, brushing over warm skin, his fingers catching slightly on the edge of his waistband. His breath hitched, the motion both grounding and maddening. What the hell is wrong with me? The heat in his chest coiled tighter, sharper, spreading through his limbs like a slow burn. His thoughts circled back to Eddie—his steady gaze, the weight of his hand, the way his voice had seemed to settle directly in Buck’s gut.
What would Eddie’s hands feel like?
He froze, his fingers pressing against the muscle of his stomach as a sudden image flooded his mind: Eddie’s hand there instead, firm and deliberate, leaving heat in its wake.
The thought hit him suddenly, unbidden, and his fingers twitched against his skin. Would Eddie’s touch be steady, deliberate? Or would there be something else beneath that calm—something rougher, something that burned? His heart kicked hard in his chest. Stop it, Buck.
The image was too vivid, too sharp. Buck sat up quickly, running a hand through his hair as if to shake it loose as he let out a nervous laugh. But the unease—no, the heat—settled deeper in his chest.
Get it together, Buck.
When Buck had first seen him, standing there in his crisp uniform, Eddie had looked every inch the part of a firefighter. His posture was perfect, his jaw set, his expression calm and composed. But it wasn’t the uniform that had caught Buck’s attention—it was the way Eddie moved.
Every step, every glance, had been charged with power. Eddie didn’t move like someone who needed to fill the space around him; he moved like someone who owned it.
Eddie had watched him, yes. But Buck had watched him, too—the way his shoulders shifted under the taut fabric of his uniform, the way his lips tightened when he was deep in thought, the faint furrow between his brows when someone spoke to him.
There had been a moment, just one, when Eddie’s gaze had swept over the crew, calm but calculating. Buck had felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Eddie hadn’t been just meeting the team; he’d been assessing them.
And when Eddie’s gaze had landed on him, it had lingered.
The thought sent a fresh jolt of heat through Buck’s chest, sharp and unwelcome. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of his living room.
What did he see?
That question had settled like a stone in his gut, heavy and immovable. It wasn’t like Buck to get caught up like this. He’d met plenty of intense people before—people with pasts, people with edges sharp enough to cut.
But Eddie was different.
In the kitchen, he grabbed a cool bottle of water but it did little to ease the fire smoldering inside him. Buck gripped the counter with his free hand, his knuckles whitening as his thoughts tangled. He could still see Eddie’s dark eyes, the way they’d lingered on him like they’d peeled him apart and cataloged every piece. The intensity of it had left Buck breathless, unsure if he wanted to run from it—or toward it.
He tipped his head back, taking a long gulp of water, but it didn’t help. The tension in his chest hadn’t eased. If anything, the memory of Eddie’s gaze made it worse. He could feel it like a touch, pressing into him, sinking deeper.
Buck set the bottle down with a quiet thunk, dragging a hand through his damp curls. His skin was fevered, his thoughts restless, his pulse thrumming in his ears. What’s wrong with me? He swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the water.
Buck exhaled shakily, his head dipping forward. Why can’t I stop thinking about him?
As he walked toward the bedroom, he let out a quiet nervous laugh, low and disbelieving. You’re losing it, Buck. Over a guy you barely know. But even as he climbed into bed, his body sinking into the mattress, the image of Eddie’s hand on his shoulder returned, vivid and unshakable.
For a moment, Buck’s hand hovered at his waistband, his breath coming fast and shallow. Giving in wouldn’t fix anything. But right now, with the air too thick and Eddie’s voice still echoing in his mind, it was all he could think to do.
***
That night, Eddie sat cross-legged on the floor of Christopher’s room, the soft glow of the night light painting gentle shadows across the walls. Christopher lay in his bed, clutching his favorite stuffed animal—a plush dinosaur Eddie had replaced twice without the boy noticing. His wide eyes blinked sleepily up at Eddie, waiting for him to finish the story of his first day.
“So,” Eddie said, his voice low and soothing, “there’s this guy at the firehouse. His name’s Buck.”
Christopher’s lips curved into a small smile at the name. “Like the deer?”
Eddie chuckled softly. “Not quite, buddy. It’s short for Evan Buckley. But everyone just calls him Buck.”
“Is he nice?” Christopher asked, his head tilting slightly, the way he always did when he was curious.
Eddie hesitated for half a second, searching for the right words. “Yeah,” he said finally, his tone softening. “He’s... really nice. The kind of guy who makes everyone feel welcome.”
Christopher nodded, satisfied with the answer. “Is he your friend?”
Eddie’s throat tightened at the innocent question. Friend. The word didn’t feel right, but Christopher didn’t need to know that. Not yet. “He’s... getting there,” Eddie said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He’s the kind of person you just want to be around, you know?”
Christopher yawned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he blinked them open again. “Do you think I could meet him?”
Eddie felt a strange heat bloom in his chest at the thought. The idea of Buck meeting Christopher was both thrilling and terrifying. But it was more than that. The thought of Christopher knowing someone like Buck—a man so bright, so warm—was something Eddie hadn’t allowed himself to dream about.
“Yeah, you’ll meet him,” he murmured, brushing a stray curl from Christopher’s forehead. “I think you’d like him.”
Christopher smiled sleepily. “I like nice people.”
Eddie’s lips twitched upward, but the words struck a chord deep within him. Buck was nice. More than nice. Buck was good, in a way Eddie had never been and never would be. That was the part that stuck with him as he watched Christopher’s eyes drift shut. He’d spent so long shielding his son from the ugliness of his past, from the man Eddie used to be, still was. But Buck? Buck could be something different. Something better.
“Time for bed, mi hijo,” Eddie said, his voice soft. He leaned down to press a kiss to Christopher’s temple. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Daddy,” Christopher murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
Eddie watched him for a long moment, his head buzzing with what his next steps should be. As Christopher’s breathing evened out, Eddie rose to his feet, the need to take action making him move.
***
Buck.
The name echoed in his mind as his fingers moved deftly across the keyboard. It had been a long time since Eddie had felt this kind of pull, and it unsettled him. But it didn’t stop him. If anything, it spurred him forward, sharpening his focus as he began the search.
Within minutes, with only Buck’s full name, Eddie had a stream of information at his fingertips. Social media profiles, local news articles, public records. He leaned back in his chair, skimming through the curated glimpses of Buck’s life. Pictures of him laughing with friends, standing on the beach, grinning in front of fire trucks. Buck’s smile was everywhere, bright and unguarded, radiating a warmth that Eddie couldn’t look away from.
But Eddie wasn’t just looking. He was scrutinizing. Cataloging. Each image, each post was another piece of the puzzle, another layer to peel back. Buck was younger than Eddie had assumed, but not by much. His career path was steady, impressive even, but there were gaps—moments of upheaval that Eddie filed away for later consideration. Family information was sparse, but Eddie didn’t need much to piece together the strained dynamics. The easy camaraderie Buck shared with his coworkers didn’t extend to his family, at least not publicly. Interesting.
Eddie’s gaze darkened as he came across a few older photos. Buck with women, their hands on his shoulders, their smiles wide and possessive. Eddie’s jaw tightened as he lingered on those images longer than he should have. None of them had lasted. That much was clear. None of them had been enough.
He closed the laptop with a quiet snap, his mind already buzzing with everything he’d uncovered. But it wasn’t enough. Not yet. He needed to see more, to know more.
Eddie grabbed his jacket, moving silently through the house. Christopher was asleep, his breathing soft and even, and Eddie paused by his door, ensuring he wouldn’t wake before slipping outside.
***
Eddie leaned against the rough brick of the building, his figure half-concealed by the shadows of a tree-lined street. The binoculars hung heavy in his hands, their cool weight grounding him. He checked the camera on his phone again, Chris peacefully sleeping, before his gaze zeroed in on the window across the street.
This wasn’t where he’d planned to be tonight—not at first. But plans were mutable, and the ache had grown too insistent to ignore, driving him here, to this spot, with an inevitability that made his pulse quicken.
The soft glow from Buck’s apartment outlined the man’s silhouette as he sat on the couch, his head tipped back, his posture restless. Eddie adjusted the focus, sharpening the image until every line of Buck’s body came into view—the tension in his shoulders, the faint crease between his brows, the way his hands curled absently against his thighs.
Eddie exhaled slowly, the sound a whisper against the night. Mira nada más. Dios, look at you, Buck.
Inside, Buck shifted, his head falling forward as he braced his elbows on his knees. For a moment, he was utterly still, his breath even, but then he laughed—a soft, almost startled sound that rippled through the quiet like a spark catching flame.
The sigh of it curled low in Eddie’s chest, tightening his grip on the binoculars. ¿Qué piensas, mi amor? What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?
Eddie’s breath caught as Buck stood suddenly, his movements quick but unsteady. He stretched lazily, his shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of golden skin, and Eddie’s jaw clenched. Buck wandered toward the kitchen. The refrigerator light spilled across his frame, bathing him in a cool, pale glow as he pulled out a bottle of water.
Eddie’s binoculars brought the scene into sharp relief—the soft glow of the fridge light outlining the slope of Buck’s shoulders as he stood at the counter. Eddie’s gaze tracked the slow, deliberate movement of Buck’s hand as it gripped the water bottle, the tension visible even from this distance. Buck tipped his head back, taking a long sip, and Eddie’s breath caught. The line of Buck’s throat as he swallowed was too intimate, too revealing, and Eddie’s fingers tightened around the binoculars.
Eddie tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a faint smile. There it is, he thought. The restlessness, the need. Buck might not have named it yet, but Eddie knew exactly what it was. You feel it too, don’t you, mi cielo?
The binoculars lowered, Eddie’s fingers tightening around them as his lips curved into a faint smile of his own. That was the expression Eddie had been waiting for—the one that Buck reserved for himself when no one was watching.
But Eddie was watching.
Eddie’s breath slowed, steady and measured, as he slipped the binoculars back into place. Across the street, Buck pushed off the counter, his movements looser now, like the tension had unraveled just enough to let him breathe. He wandered back through the apartment, leaving the bottle on the counter as though he’d forgotten it.
Eddie tracked him through the living room and into the bedroom. The curtains there were sheer, offering Eddie just enough to make out the faint curve of Buck’s shoulders as he sank onto the edge of the mattress.
Inside, Buck tipped his head back again, his hands dragging over his face. Eddie could feel the heat radiating from him even from here—the need Buck didn’t know how to name, the desire that was pulling him apart at the seams.
Eddie tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he watched Buck shift, his hands drifting absently down his chest, his breathing quickening.
Touch yourself, cariño, Eddie thought, the words an unspoken command that hummed low in his chest. Let yourself feel it.
Even now, Eddie could imagine the heat coursing through Buck, the confusion that tangled with it, making every breath feel too shallow, every touch of the cool sheets against his skin unbearable. Eddie’s chest tightened, his pulse quickening as he watched Buck’s hand drift down, tentative and unsure.
Eddie’s heart pounded, his grip on the binoculars firm as he drank in every detail. Buck’s vulnerability was exquisite, the way he wrestled with his own body, his own thoughts. Eddie could almost feel it himself—the heat, the confusion, the weight of wanting something you didn’t understand.
Eddie finally lowered the binoculars, his expression unreadable as he let them hang loosely from his neck. The night stretched quiet and still around him, but his mind was alight with possibilities, each one sharper and more vivid than the last.
Buck wanted him. Eddie had seen it in the firehouse, felt it in the way Buck’s gaze lingered, in the way his body had leaned toward Eddie each time they touched. And now, here he was, alone in the dark, fighting a losing battle against the desire Eddie had lit within him.
The thought filled Eddie with something dangerous and sweet, like the first taste of a forbidden fruit and settled heavy and sharp in his chest, the weight of it grounding him as he stepped back into the shadows. Buck didn’t know it yet, but he was already Eddie’s. The fire that burned in him now had been lit the moment Eddie’s hand had lingered on his shoulder, the moment their gazes had locked across the firehouse.
He turned, his movements slow and deliberate as he slipped the binoculars into his jacket pocket. He wouldn’t stay longer—not tonight. Buck needed to feel this, to let it burn through him until there was nothing left but the ache Eddie had planted there.
Desearás que sea yo, Buck. You’ll wish it were me.
Eddie walked toward his truck, the soft hum of anticipation thrumming steady in his chest. The shadows stretched long behind him, curling at his feet like they belonged to him.
Soon, they wouldn’t be the only thing Buck surrendered to.
Sliding into the driver’s seat, Eddie cast one last glance at the glowing window.
“Duerme bien, cariño,” he murmured, his voice low and rich with promise.
With a quiet growl of the engine, Eddie pulled away, leaving only darkness in his wake.