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Buck was jolted awake by the sudden, shrill sound of his phone buzzing insistently on the nightstand. The ringtone—some cheerful tune he’d meant to change for weeks—pierced the silence of the dark room like a drill to the brain. He groaned, one arm flopping over to silence the noise, the other dragging his tired body halfway up from the tangle of sheets.
With a blurry squint, he blinked at the screen.
2:03 AM.
MAY CALLING.
His grogginess gave way to a quick jolt of concern. May never called at this hour. And tonight—wait. Tonight she’d gone out with Eddie. They had both gone out to blow off some steam. Eddie had mentioned something about needing “a little fun” after a particularly rough week, and May, ever the loyal partner-in-crime, had offered to join him. Buck had stayed behind, figuring they’d be back well before midnight.
But here it was. 2 a.m. And May was calling.
Buck swiped to answer, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. “May? Everything okay?”
He sat up fully, heart beginning to thump faster. A thousand scenarios flashed through his mind—none of them good.
But before panic could take root, he heard it—May giggling. Light, airy, and slightly slurred.
“Oh my god, Buck,” she said between bursts of laughter. “I’m so sorry we woke you up. Really, I am. But, uh… we kind of… well, we lost Eddie’s car.”
Buck blinked. “You what ?”
From somewhere in the background, Eddie’s voice chimed in loudly, cheerful and completely unbothered: “Hi, baby!”
Buck exhaled a long, tired sigh, running a hand down his face. “What do you mean you lost Eddie’s car?”
There was a pause. A suspiciously long pause. Buck could hear muffled discussion—May’s voice, then Eddie’s, both sounding very much like two people deep in a debate that no longer had clear logic. Something about “maybe getting burgers” and “whether it was too late” for fries.
Buck waited.
“Mayyy?” he prompted again, his voice now a mix of exhaustion, concern, and growing amusement.
“Well,” May began, drawing out the word like someone trying to figure out how much truth to share. “We went to this bar, right? It was a really cool little place—kind of divey, but with amazing energy. You would’ve loved it, Buck. They had karaoke! Anyway… we parked somewhere close. I think close. But now… well, now the car’s not there.”
Buck blinked again. “Gone, like… stolen?”
May let out a sound that could have been a laugh or a groan. “I don’t think so. I mean, not really? I don’t think we were just at one bar.”
From the background, Eddie began rattling off a list—“‘Sweet Caroline,’ ‘Bohemian Rhapsody,’ ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’…”—songs that Buck immediately recognized as karaoke standards. Eddie’s voice was full of pride, as though recounting a heroic saga of vocal performance.
Buck couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips. He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Alright,” he said finally. “I’m on my way.”
“You’re the best , Buck,” May purred with exaggerated gratitude, clearly feeling the drinks she’d had. “Eddie’s saying very inappropriate things right now.”
She burst into more giggles, and then the line went dead.
Buck stared at his phone for a moment, then looked around the quiet, dimly lit bedroom. The house was still, the silence almost sacred at this hour. He didn’t bother changing—he was already in a hoodie and sweatpants, having fallen asleep fully dressed on the couch earlier while watching something he couldn’t remember.
He pushed the covers aside, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and stood with a stretch and a yawn. His joints cracked softly as he moved, a reminder that he wasn’t twenty anymore—no matter how young May and Eddie made him feel sometimes.
Slipping on his sneakers, he grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and headed out into the night.
The cool air hit him the moment he stepped outside. It smelled faintly of asphalt and the faint sweetness of late-spring flowers. The streets were deserted, save for the occasional flickering porch light or the distant hum of a passing car.
He slid into his own car, shutting the door with a soft thud. The engine purred to life, and Buck tapped on his phone to open their shared location app. They had all linked their phones ages ago—May, Eddie, and Buck—a modern, low-key safety measure that had quickly become second nature.
A small blue dot blinked onto the map: May’s location , just a few blocks away. Not far at all.
Buck shook his head, chuckling again despite himself. He could already picture the scene—May sitting on a curb, heels in her hand, trying not to drop her phone; Eddie leaning against a wall, swaying slightly, passionately explaining his karaoke set list to a passing stranger who hadn’t asked.
“Unbelievable,” Buck murmured to himself as he pulled out of the driveway.
But the truth was, he wasn’t mad. Not really. Maybe a little sleep-deprived. A little worried. But mostly, he was just glad they were safe. Happy, even. He couldn’t remember the last time Eddie had laughed like that.
___
The streetlamp above them flickered like it was unsure whether it should give up for the night. Buck’s headlights washed over two figures who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that the party was over.
May stood in the middle of the sidewalk, arms stretched out like she was testing gravity, a single heel dangling from her fingers. She was laughing at something Eddie had said—or maybe just at air. Eddie was doing a half-step shuffle, nodding his head to a beat that wasn’t playing anywhere but in his own mind.
Buck didn’t even turn off the engine. He just stared.
May was waving her shoe like a torch.
“I am the queen of poor decisions!” she declared proudly.
“You’re the queen of volume, ” Eddie muttered beside her, fumbling with his phone. “Why is your location shared as ‘Planet Fun’?”
“I renamed it!” May grinned. “Because I contain multitudes.”
Buck called out, “Are you two planning to stay here all night or just until the hangover hits?”
“BUCKY!” May screeched, flinging her arms in the air and nearly toppling over.
“She’s had three cocktails and one questionable tequila shot,” Eddie explained helpfully. “Also maybe a bite of someone else’s nachos.”
“They were communal!” May yelled. “That guy offered!”
“He said ‘Do you want to die,’ not ‘Do you want a bite,’” Eddie corrected.
May shrugged. “Details.”
Buck walked toward them. “Where’s the car?”
May pointed vaguely in a circle. “That way. Or… that way? It felt like it drove itself off. Like Herbie. It wanted freedom.”
“I parked it somewhere legal,” Eddie said confidently. Then paused. “…I think.”
“You think?” Buck echoed.
“Well, I did have a strong feeling of triumph at one point. That might’ve been the parking.”
“Or the mozzarella sticks,” May said.
Eddie nodded solemnly. “God, they were crispy.”
“Okay,” Buck interrupted, raising both hands. “I’m cutting this off. Get in the car. You both smell like a nightclub and poor judgment.”
“Aw, come on,” May said, walking backward toward the car, still holding her heel like a microphone. “We were a hit . I sang ‘Valerie’ and Eddie tried to do a split.”
“I did not try to do a split,” Eddie said, climbing into the passenger seat.
“You screamed, ‘Watch this, my joints are young,’” May countered.
Eddie groaned. “I hate that you remember everything.”
“I’m your brain. You’re my chaos,” she said, flopping into the back seat.
Buck sighed and started the engine.
“Can we get food?” May asked immediately.
“It’s almost 3 a.m.,” Buck replied.
“That’s a yes,” Eddie translated. “He’ll get us food.”
Buck didn’t say anything, but he turned the car toward the drive-thru.
May gasped. “You do love us.”
“I tolerate you,” Buck said.
“You tolerate me, ” May replied. “You’re obsessed with Eddie.”
“Shh,” Eddie said, patting the air. “Don’t make it weird.”
Buck glanced at him. “You’re wearing your shirt backwards.”
“I did that on purpose, ” Eddie said with fake pride.
“He said it was a ‘fashion revolution,’” May added.
“Also I lost my left sock,” Eddie said.
“That’s a mystery, ” May whispered.
Buck pulled into the drive-thru and turned around. “What do you want?”
“Fries,” May said.
“Double burger,” Eddie said. “And a milkshake. Strawberry.”
“Can I get a… wait, what’s the saddest thing on the menu?” May asked.
“The chicken sandwich,” Eddie said.
“No! The fish fillet,” Buck countered.
May clapped. “Yes! That one. Extra tartar sauce. I want it to cry in my hands.”
The cashier gave them a dead stare through the speaker.
“I promise we’re not drunk,” Buck said. “Just… unfortunate.”
They got the food and parked. The silence lasted exactly eight seconds before May poked her head between the seats.
“You guys are really cozy,” she said, chewing on a fry.
Buck arched a brow. “Meaning?”
“You share food like an old couple. And you do that thing where you talk without talking.”
Eddie gave Buck a sidelong look. “We do?”
“You do!” May said. “It’s gross and sweet and weirdly comforting.”
Buck handed her his extra fries. “Eat before you analyze.”
She took them happily. “See? That’s love. Fry-sharing is sacred.”
Eddie reached back and grabbed one. “Fry-thievery, however, is tradition.”
May batted his hand away. “Boundaries, man.”
They all ate in easy rhythm—no need for much talk. Just crunching, the occasional sigh, the hum of the radio low in the background.
“Okay,” Buck said, finally. “Home.”
Eddie nodded, stretching. “Yes, please.”
May yawned like a cartoon character. “I wanna sleep in your couch like a princess in exile.”
“You mean like a raccoon in a hoodie pile,” Buck corrected.
“Same vibe,” she said, curling up before they even reached the house.
Buck unlocked the door while Eddie practically carried May in behind him, her feet dragging, still holding her milkshake upright.
“I’m not drunk,” she whispered. “Just emotionally horizontal.”
Eddie guided her to the couch and dropped a blanket over her.
“I want that one,” she said, pointing weakly at another blanket.
“That one’s mine,” Eddie replied.
“I love you,” she said.
“You can have it,” he sighed, draping it over her.
Buck stood back, arms crossed, watching them.
May peered at him through heavy eyes. “You judging me?”
“A little,” Buck said.
She smirked. “Fair.”
Eddie collapsed onto the couch next to her legs and let his head fall back.
“I’m too old for this.”
“You say that every time,” Buck replied, tossing him a hoodie from the chair.
Eddie caught it midair and put it on without a word.
May shifted under her blanket. “Hey, Buck?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming.”
He didn’t respond. Just gave her a look. She smiled. She understood.
“Alright,” she mumbled, already half asleep. “Wake me for pancakes.”
Buck turned to Eddie, who was now half-sprawled across the couch, eyes closed but still somehow alert.
“You staying here tonight?”
“Obviously,” Eddie said, cracking one eye open. “She snores if she’s alone.”
“I do not,” May murmured, nearly unconscious.
“You absolutely do,” Buck and Eddie said at the same time.
Eddie reached out without looking and curled his fingers around Buck’s wrist.
Buck didn’t pull away.
___
The sound that woke May wasn’t the birds or the sun or even her pounding headache—it was the rhythmic clatter of a spatula on a frying pan, far too enthusiastic for this hour.
She opened one eye.
Big mistake.
The sun streamed through the kitchen window like it had a personal vendetta.
“Oh my God,” she groaned, immediately burying her face in the couch cushion. “Who turned up the sun?”
A beat passed. Then Eddie’s voice, low and miserable, drifted in from the hallway.
“May?”
“Eddie?”
“I think I died.”
“Me too.”
Another beat.
Buck’s voice, chipper and unreasonably alive, rang out from the kitchen.
“Good mooorning, house of shame!”
“Shhh!” May hissed. “Why are you shouting?”
Eddie stumbled into the kitchen like a man emerging from the wilderness.
He was wearing one sock, a t-shirt that may or may not have been May’s, and his hair looked like it had fought a war.
“Coffee,” he croaked.
Buck raised an eyebrow without turning from the stove. “What’s the magic word?”
Eddie blinked at him.
“Please,” he mumbled.
“Nope. The other magic word.”
“Buck, I swear to God—”
“Say it.”
Eddie sighed. “You were right.”
Buck turned around, triumphant, holding up a steaming mug. “Ahh. Now that’s the flavor.”
Eddie grabbed the cup like it was a lifeline and sank into the kitchen chair with a groan. “I think my soul is trying to evacuate my body.”
May staggered in a moment later, wrapped in a throw blanket like a disgruntled ghost.
“Am I wearing pants?” she asked the room.
“You’re… wearing enough,” Buck said diplomatically.
“I can’t feel my teeth,” she muttered, sitting beside Eddie and stealing a piece of toast off his plate.
“I think I saw you drink out of a stranger’s water pitcher last night,” Eddie said.
“I thought it was complimentary.”
“It was on their table, May.”
“It had ice. I trusted it.”
Buck set a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and avocado in front of each of them.
“You’re lucky I love you both,” he said, sitting down with his own perfectly balanced breakfast and a glass of green juice.
“Ugh,” Eddie groaned. “Why do you look like a yoga instructor?”
“I took a run this morning,” Buck said brightly.
“You’re disgusting,” May muttered through a mouthful of egg.
“You’re just mad I didn’t let you sing a third Katy Perry song.”
“You did the dance moves to ‘Teenage Dream,’” Eddie reminded her.
Buck snorted into his coffee. “That was the most committed I’ve ever seen you to anything.”
“I was in the zone, ” May said, pointing a fork dramatically. “I channeled joy. I was electric.”
“You fell off the stage,” Eddie said.
May held up a finger. “I slid .”
Buck raised both hands. “Okay, okay, let’s recap: You drank cocktails named after aquatic animals, convinced a bartender to let you DJ, sang a karaoke duet with Eddie that traumatized everyone under 30, and—this part’s my favorite—you lost Eddie’s car.”
“Temporarily misplaced,” Eddie corrected.
“I stand by everything,” May said, sipping cautiously at a glass of orange juice. “Except maybe the eels.”
“The cocktail?” Buck asked.
“No. The guy. He said his nickname was Eels.”
Eddie’s head hit the table.
“Can we never go out again?” he mumbled.
“You’ll forget this pain in two weeks,” Buck said, patting his back.
“Two days, ” May corrected. “We have zero impulse control.”
Buck smiled and stood, pouring himself more coffee.
He leaned against the counter and watched them both: May practically slumped over her plate, chewing like it was a full-body task; Eddie sitting upright only because of muscle memory, blinking slowly with each bite.
“You two are such a mess,” he said fondly.
“We’re the fun part of your life,” May mumbled.
Eddie raised his mug in a half-hearted toast. “Chaos with heart.”
Buck came over, ruffled May’s hair as she groaned in protest, then gently bumped Eddie’s shoulder with his.
“You guys need greasy food, water, and bad movies.”
May perked up. “I call The Mummy! ”
“You always call The Mummy, ” Eddie said.
“It heals me.”
“She has a point,” Buck said. “It’s sacred.”
Eddie leaned back, eyes closed. “Do we have the energy to fight her on this?”
“We never do,” Buck said.
"I'm ready right now... I just think I'll go throw up first," she said seriously, standing up.
Eddie sighed in pain. "Don't talk about it, you monster."
Buck laughed.
In the end there was nothing better than ranting a little about his two favorite people.