Work Text:
Rain made the whole world smaller.
It pressed against Eddie’s bedroom window in steady sheets, blurring the palm trees into watercolor smears and turning the streetlights into soft halos even though it was barely morning. It filled the house with a constant hush—tap, tap, tap—like a hand on his shoulder reminding him to slow down.
Eddie didn’t slow down.
He moved through the familiar motions anyway: shower, towel, deodorant, clean undershirt, jeans instead of uniform pants because he wasn’t technically on shift until later, but he still had PT at the station, then a quick change of clothes. Habit lived in his bones. Responsibility was a muscle he’d trained too long to let go slack just because the weather wanted to be dramatic.
He stood at the edge of the bed, tugging his sock up, and tried not to look at Buck.
That was the problem. That was always the problem lately.
Buck was sprawled across Eddie’s bed like he belonged there, like the mattress had been made with him in mind. One arm was thrown up over his head, hair a mess, lashes dark against his cheeks. He’d fallen asleep on his stomach at some point, face turned toward Eddie’s pillow, and Eddie could see the faint imprint of the pillowcase pattern on his skin.
Eddie’s chest did something stupid and soft.
They were newly dating. Technically they weren’t even calling it dating out loud, because saying it made it real in a way that felt dangerous and thrilling all at once. But Buck had slept over three nights this week, and his toothbrush was already in Eddie’s bathroom cup like it had always been there, and Buck had kissed Eddie in Eddie’s kitchen yesterday like there was no universe where that wasn’t allowed.
It was the smallest thing—just a press of lips, warm and sure—and Eddie had stood there for a full ten seconds afterward holding a coffee mug, trying to process the fact that his life had changed without the world ending.
Now Buck shifted, half-awake, eyes cracking open like he could sense Eddie’s movement the way Eddie could sense Christopher’s from down the hall. Buck blinked, took Eddie in, and smiled.
The smile hit him square in the ribs.
“Where are you going?” Buck asked, voice thick with sleep.
Eddie glanced at the clock out of reflex. “Station.”
Buck’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened. “Mm,” he said, like Eddie had just told him Eddie planned to swim across the Pacific for fun. “No.”
Eddie huffed a quiet laugh, because Buck was ridiculous, and because Eddie… liked it. He liked the way Buck didn’t treat Eddie’s sense of duty like an immovable wall. He liked the way Buck looked at him like there was a world beyond what Eddie owed everyone.
“I have PT,” Eddie said, reaching for his other sock. “It’s not even work-work. It’s just—”
“It’s raining,” Buck interrupted, as if that settled it.
Eddie paused, sock half on, and stared at him. “That’s not—”
“It’s raining,” Buck repeated, more emphatic, and pushed himself up onto his elbows. The blanket slid down his back, exposing bare shoulder and the faint, healing mark on his collarbone from the last call that had gone sideways. Eddie’s gaze snagged there automatically, protective instinct flaring like an old reflex.
His expression softened, just for a second, like he knew exactly what Eddie’s brain was doing. Then he went back to being Buck—bright, determined, affectionate in a way that felt almost reckless.
“You cannot go out there,” Buck said, nodding toward the window. “It’s basically a monsoon.”
“It’s Los Angeles,” Eddie said. “It’s just… heavy rain.”
Buck made a face. “It’s wet. It’s cold.” He squinted at Eddie like he was trying to find the exact phrase that would wedge itself into Eddie’s stubbornness and pry. “And you have the day off.”
Eddie’s mouth opened, because technically—he did. He wasn’t scheduled for a shift until tomorrow. PT was optional, technically. Encouraged, sure. But not mandatory.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Eddie reached for it on reflex and saw a message from Hen: PT is on, but I’m not coming. Roads are slick. Don’t die on the way in, Diaz.
Eddie stared at it.
Buck looked up watching him, “What is it? Tell me it’s cancelled.”
Eddie should have said no. Eddie should have said, I’m fine, I can handle rain, I’ve handled worse, because that was what he always did. He didn’t make choices that felt selfish, especially not for something soft like… this.
This new thing between them that still felt like a secret he carried under his skin, warm and bright. Instead, Eddie heard himself say, “Hen’s not going.”
Buck’s eyes went wide with triumph.
“See?” he whispered dramatically, like they were in on a conspiracy. “Hen said cuddle day.”
“That’s not what she—”
Buck launched himself across the bed with all the grace of a puppy and wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist.
Eddie made a startled sound—more breath than protest—as Buck pressed his face into Eddie’s stomach like he was trying to physically anchor him in place. Buck’s cheek was warm through Eddie’s t-shirt. His arms were solid, firm, a reminder that Buck wasn’t just a person Eddie loved looking at; he was muscle and heat and gravity.
Eddie’s body responded before his brain could make an argument. His hands automatically found Buck’s shoulders.
“Buck,” Eddie warned, but it came out softer than he meant.
“Nope,” Buck said into his shirt. His voice vibrated against Eddie’s skin, and Eddie’s heart did that stupid thing again. “You’re not going, cuddle day.”
Eddie looked down at him and tried to summon irritation. He found affection instead, heavy and inconvenient.
“Buck,” Eddie said again, a little firmer. “I can’t just—”
“You can,” Buck said, lifting his head enough that Eddie could see his eyes. They were bright, earnest, and still a little sleepy. There was a faint crease on his forehead like he’d been frowning in his dreams. “You can do one thing for yourself.”
Eddie’s throat tightened. He swallowed, because he wasn’t going to let this turn into something too serious. Not when the rain was making everything cozy and quiet. Not when Buck was looking at him like Eddie was something precious, not something responsible.
“This isn’t about me,” Eddie said automatically. “It’s about—being ready. Staying sharp.”
Buck’s eyebrows rose. “For what? The apocalypse?”
“For work,” Eddie insisted, even as the argument felt thin. “For the team.”
Buck’s gaze softened. “The team is fine,” he said quietly. “They’re not going to implode because you miss one optional workout.”
Eddie’s brain scrambled, searching for the familiar footholds: duty, discipline, routine. The parts of him that had kept him upright through deployments and divorce and raising a kid alone.
But Buck was still holding him.
Buck wasn’t letting go.
And Eddie had started to realize, in the terrifying weeks since they’d crossed whatever line they’d been pretending didn’t exist, that Buck didn’t want to take Eddie’s responsibility away.
Buck just wanted to share it.
Wanted Eddie to have more than one kind of life.
“I told Ravi I’d be there,” Eddie said, grasping at the last excuse.
Buck blinked. “Did you, though?”
Eddie hesitated.
He… had mentioned PT in passing. Ravi had grinned in a way that could have meant anything. Eddie had translated it into obligation because that was what Eddie did.
Buck’s mouth twitched, like he could see Eddie’s mental gymnastics.
“Eddie,” Buck murmured, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, added, “Eddieeee.”
Eddie exhaled, long and slow, and looked toward the window again. Rain slid down the glass in clean lines. The street outside looked empty. The air felt different in the house—warm, dim, safe.
And Buck looked like he belonged here. Like he belonged in Eddie’s bed. Like he belonged in Eddie’s mornings.
Which was… dangerous. In a way Eddie hadn’t fully let himself name yet.
They were keeping it quiet. For now. Not because Eddie was ashamed—he wasn’t. Not of Buck. Never of Buck. But because secrecy was a buffer, a way to control the explosion radius of something that felt too bright, too important.
If the 118 knew, it would become real in the daylight. It would become something everyone could see, something they could comment on, tease about, protect, judge, celebrate. Eddie didn’t know if his heart could handle all of that at once.
So for now, it was rain-soaked mornings and stolen kisses in hallways and Buck’s hand lingering at Eddie’s elbow a moment too long.
It was Buck in his bed, smiling like Eddie was worth staying for.
Buck’s thumb stroked absentmindedly along Eddie’s side, right above his hipbone, and Eddie’s body betrayed him with a shiver..
Buck's grin went smug. “There he is,” he whispered, as if he’d found Eddie hiding inside Eddie.
Eddie rolled his eyes, but it lacked heat. “I hate you.”
Buck’s expression turned soft and delighted at the same time. “Liar.”
Eddie’s pulse tripped. Too soon, his brain warned, because liar implied Buck knew something—implied Buck knew Eddie’s feelings were bigger than he was admitting.
But Buck didn’t push. Buck never pushed exactly where Eddie was tender. He just… held, and waited, and somehow that was worse, because it made Eddie want to give in willingly.
Eddie’s phone buzzed again. Another message—this time from Chim: If you come in today, I’m making you mop the bay for fun. Stay home.
Eddie stared at it.
Buck’s eyes darted to the screen. “Oh my God. The universe is begging you to cuddle me.”
Eddie’s mouth twitched. “Chimney is not the universe.”
“He’s a messenger,” Buck insisted solemnly. “A prophet.”
Eddie shook his head, but the laugh slipped out anyway, quiet and reluctant. It felt strange to laugh like this—softly, in bed, with rain outside—like laughter could be domestic too.
Buck’s face lit up at the sound, like Eddie had handed him something precious.
That look… Eddie didn’t know what to do with it. He never had. Even as friends, Buck looked at Eddie like Eddie was worth something. Now, dating—secretly, stupidly, tenderly—Buck looked at Eddie like Eddie was home.
Eddie swallowed again, throat tight.
“I shouldn’t,” Eddie said, because if he said it out loud, maybe it would be true.
Buck tilted his head. “Why not?”
Eddie searched for the right answer and came up with the same one he always did. “Because I’m supposed to show up.”
Buck’s gaze didn’t waver. “You are showing up,” he said simply, and tightened his arms around Eddie’s waist. “You’re right here.”
Eddie’s breath caught.
It was such a Buck thing to say—earnest, almost absurd, but somehow exactly right. Like Buck had looked at Eddie’s entire life of proving himself through action and decided to redefine what “showing up” meant.
Eddie’s brain tried one last time. “Christopher—”
Buck’s face softened. “Christopher’s at Hen and Karen's for a sleepover with Denny this weekend,” he reminded him gently. “You told me. He’s fine. He’s probably playing Mario Kart.”
Eddie’s lips curved despite himself, because he could picture it perfectly.
Eddie had checked in twice already this morning.
Buck’s hand slid up Eddie’s back, fingers splaying between Eddie’s shoulder blades, warm and steady.
Eddie’s body leaned into it.
He realized, with a jolt, that he’d been standing here for almost a full minute without moving toward the door.
His socks were still mismatched.
His keys were still on the dresser.
He was still in Buck’s orbit.
Eddie exhaled, long and slow, like he was letting go of something heavy he’d been holding.
Buck watched him, eyes wide and hopeful, like he could feel the shift happening.
Eddie narrowed his eyes. “If I stay,” he said, warning in his tone because he needed to feel like he had any control at all, “you can’t be smug about it.”
Buck’s grin broke across his face like sunrise. “Impossible.”
Buck squeezed him again, quick and excited, then immediately went still like he didn’t want to spook Eddie into changing his mind.
Eddie rolled his eyes and reached down to cup Buck’s jaw, guiding his face up.
Buck’s breath hitched like Eddie had just done something outrageous instead of something simple. Eddie hated how easily Buck could make him feel like he was doing something brave just by touching him.
Eddie pressed his forehead to Buck’s. “I’m staying,” he said quietly, because Buck deserved to hear it.
Buck’s eyes fluttered closed for a second, relief washing over his features. “Yeah?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Eddie confirmed, and kissed him.
It was warm and slow, like the rain outside—steady, patient, filling the space between them with something soft.
Buck melted into it, one hand sliding up Eddie’s neck, fingers tangling lightly at the base of his hair. Eddie’s chest loosened. His shoulders dropped. The tight coil of duty that lived between his ribs eased, just a little.
When they pulled apart, Buck blinked like he was trying to recalibrate.
Eddie let his thumb trace Buck’s cheek, right where the pillowcase pattern was fading.
Buck’s smile turned sweet. “Hi,” he murmured, like they hadn’t already spent hours together last night, like Buck hadn’t kissed him in Eddie’s kitchen yesterday.
Eddie’s mouth quirked. “Hi.”
Buck’s gaze flicked past Eddie toward the window, rain still tapping insistently. “We should make breakfast,” he said, then immediately changed his mind, because of course he did. “Or we should not move ever again.”
Eddie chuckled, soft. “Those are very different plans.”
Buck shrugged, entirely unbothered by inconsistency. “We can do both.”
Eddie arched a brow. “Explain.”
Buck’s eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. “Breakfast and then back to bed.”
Eddie stared at him. “You’re going to cook in my bed?”
Buck looked offended. “No. You’re going to cook.”
Eddie blinked. “Excuse me?”
Buck smiled innocently. “You make the best breakfast,” he pouted, as if this was an established fact.
“I make a decent breakfast,” Eddie said.
Buck’s grin widened. “See? Perfect. Chef Diaz.”
Eddie should have argued. Should have reminded Buck that Eddie had just surrendered an entire routine for this.
Instead, Eddie found himself softening again, because Buck’s eyes were so bright, and because the idea of feeding Buck in the quiet warmth of the house felt… good.
That was the terrifying part. How good all of this felt.
“Fine,” Eddie said, voice gruff, like he could pretend he wasn’t already halfway gone. “But you’re helping.”
Buck’s face lit up. “I always help.”
Eddie gave him a look. “You mean when I cook, you stand too close and steal bacon.”
Buck gasped. “I am a valuable kitchen asset.”
Buck leaned in, quick as lightning, and kissed Eddie again—just a brief press of lips that made Eddie’s brain stutter. Then Buck pulled back, smiling like he’d just won something.
“I love you,” Buck whispered.
Eddie’s heart thumped hard.
He stared at Buck, chest tight, heat spreading under his skin, and wondered how the hell he’d gotten here.
How the hell he’d gone from partners, friends, family to… this.
To Buck in his bed, smiling like Eddie was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Eddie pressed his forehead against Buck's and whispered back, “I love you, too.”
“Now get up,” Eddie ordered, sliding out of Buck’s arms before Buck could see how much he was affected. “You’re not staying in my bed all day.”
Buck yawned, stretched like a cat, and watched Eddie with open fondness. “Yes, Chef.”
Eddie shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Don’t.”
Buck’s laugh followed him as Eddie headed toward the kitchen. It filled the hallway like sunlight, even with the rain.
Eddie moved through the kitchen on autopilot—coffee first. He started the kettle, pulled out eggs, found the bread Buck liked because Buck always bought the same kind.
The rain pattered against the window over the sink. The whole house smelled like damp earth and brewing coffee, warm and alive.
Buck wandered in behind him, barefoot, wearing Eddie’s old gray sweatshirt like it belonged to him. It was too big, sleeves stretched and swallowing his hands. Eddie’s chest tightened at the sight, because something about Buck in Eddie’s clothes felt dangerously intimate.
Buck leaned against the counter, watching Eddie crack eggs with the quiet intensity he usually reserved for rescues. It made Eddie’s mouth twitch.
“What?” Eddie asked, keeping his eyes on the pan.
Buck blinked like he’d been caught. “Nothing.”
Eddie glanced up and found Buck’s gaze fixed on him, soft and warm.
“Buck,” Eddie said, warning, because he could feel himself tipping into something too vulnerable again.
Buck pushed off the counter and stepped closer, slipping his arms around Eddie from behind, careful around the hot pan. He rested his chin on Eddie’s shoulder, right where Eddie’s neck met his jaw, and exhaled.
Eddie froze for half a second—reflex, surprise—then relaxed into it like his body had been waiting for this all morning.
Buck’s cheek was warm. His breath tickled Eddie’s skin. His arms around Eddie’s waist felt like a promise.
Eddie’s throat tightened again, because it was impossible to keep pretending this wasn’t huge.
“Thank you,” Buck murmured, so quiet Eddie almost missed it.
Eddie swallowed. “For what?”
“For staying,” Buck said simply.
Eddie stared at the eggs in the pan, suddenly very interested in them. “It’s one day.”
Buck’s arms tightened. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice soft. “But it’s… you.”
Eddie’s chest ached.
He wanted to turn around. He wanted to kiss Buck until his brain stopped trying to make rules for something that didn’t want to be contained. He wanted to say, I’m scared, and I’m happy, and I don’t know how to do this without messing it up.
Instead, he nudged Buck lightly with his elbow. “If you get grease on my sweatshirt, I’m making you buy me a new one.”
Buck laughed into Eddie’s shoulder. “Deal.”
Eddie flipped the eggs, plated breakfast, poured coffee. Buck stayed wrapped around him the whole time, shifting only when Eddie moved, like they were connected by something invisible and steady.
When Eddie carried the plates toward the couch, Buck followed like a shadow.
The living room was dim in the rain-light, cozy in a way Eddie didn’t usually notice because he was rarely here long enough to.
The couch had a blanket draped over the back from the last time Buck had been over and they’d pretended it was to look nice and not because Buck ran cold.
Buck dropped onto the couch and immediately patted the space beside him, expectant.
Eddie sat, and Buck scooted in close, thigh pressed to Eddie’s, shoulder bumping his arm.
Eddie’s body went warm all over, like Buck’s touch had rewired him.
They ate slowly, rain filling the pauses. Buck talked with his mouth half full about some movie he wanted Eddie to watch, gesturing with his fork like it was important. Eddie listened, amused, and tried not to stare too obviously at Buck’s lips.
Every so often, Buck’s hand would brush Eddie’s knee, casual, like it was nothing. Eddie’s heart would leap like it was everything.
After breakfast, Buck took the plates to the sink without being asked, which Eddie filed away as suspicious behavior. Buck was always affectionate, but domestic helpfulness was a new weapon.
When Buck came back, he didn’t sit. He stood in front of Eddie, hands on his hips like he was about to deliver a verdict.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “What now?”
Buck held out his hand.
Eddie stared at it, because holding hands was still… new. They’d done it in private, in Eddie’s car, fingers briefly laced when Buck thought Eddie was too tired to notice. But it still made Eddie’s stomach flip like he was a teenager.
“Buck,” Eddie said, voice quiet, and Buck softened immediately, like he heard the caution under it.
“Come.” Buck said gently.
Eddie looked at Buck’s hand again.
Then he placed his own in it.
Buck’s fingers closed around Eddie’s, warm and solid. He smiled like Eddie had handed him the world, and then he tugged—gently, insistently—until Eddie stood.
Buck guided him toward the couch again, but instead of sitting side by side, Buck pulled Eddie down with him and then immediately rearranged them like he was assembling furniture: Eddie on his back, Buck stretched out on top of him, chest to chest, legs tangled.
Eddie made a startled sound. “Buck—”
“Shh,” Buck whispered, already settling, cheek pressing to Eddie’s chest like he’d been waiting for this exact shape. “Cuddle time.”
Buck shifted, nose brushing Eddie’s collarbone, and sighed like he’d found home.
Eddie’s arms wrapped around him on instinct.
Buck hummed, pleased, and Eddie’s entire body softened.
Rain tapped against the windows. The house felt warm. Buck’s weight was heavy in the best way, grounding Eddie in the moment.
Eddie stared up at the ceiling and let himself feel it—this strange, quiet happiness. This gentle ache of wanting.
He’d built his life around taking care of others. Christopher, his Abuela, the team, the job. He’d learned to measure his worth in what he could do, what he could carry.
Buck wasn’t asking Eddie to stop caring.
Buck was just asking Eddie to be here.
To let himself be held.
He kissed the top of Buck’s head—quick, almost accidental—and felt Buck smile against his chest.
“See?” Buck murmured, voice muffled. “Way better than PT.”
Eddie huffed a laugh, fingers tracing slow lines along Buck’s back. “Don’t get cocky.”
Buck lifted his head just enough to look at Eddie. His eyes were soft, serious under the teasing. “Too late,” he whispered.
Eddie met his gaze, feeling something steady settle in his chest.
He tightened his arms around Buck, just a fraction, and Buck melted into him again like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Outside, rain kept falling.
Inside, Eddie stayed.
Buck’s fingers curled in Eddie’s shirt, holding on. Eddie closed his eyes, listened to the rain, and let himself breathe. Safe, warm, and exactly where he wanted to be.