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It’s citrus season when Chris returns home from Texas. Which is a good thing, because their orange tree is growing oranges faster than Eddie can give them away. Last citrus season, Buck and Chris would make orange juice every Sunday morning. They’d turn it into muffins and cakes, or just drink it by the glassful.
For months after Chris left, just the thought of orange juice had made him want to shrivel up and sob.
But Chris is home now, and their front lawn is overflowing with oranges, and everything is back the way it should be.
Well, for a very brief period of time everything seems as though it’s back the way it should be. And then Chris wakes up one morning and boldly claims:
“I don’t like oranges.”
Eddie blinks at him from across the kitchen table. Between them is a box of cereal, some bagels, and a sprawling plate of orange slices.
“Since when?” Eddie frowns. “You used to love oranges.”
Christopher shrugs. He grabs a bagel and plops it on his plate. “I don’t like them anymore.”
And that’s fine, really. Tastes change. Christopher doesn’t have to like oranges.
It’s just that he does. Christopher loves oranges. Christopher has loved oranges since the first time he tasted one, Eddie watching on over a shaky video call from the desert.
But he lets it go. He doesn’t push. They talk about their plans for the day and Christopher cracks a joke and laughs at Eddie’s and everything is almost how it used to be, except Christopher doesn’t touch the oranges.
A week later, Chris has settled back into the swing on things in LA and Eddie is being very normal about his lack of interest in oranges.
It’d be easier, probably, not to think so much about it if he wasn’t hounded and haunted by oranges at every turn. He can’t even step out of his own house without tripping on five of them.
Actually, it turns out, he can’t even sit at his own kitchen table at 7am on a Sunday without a 6-foot-something firefighter crashing through the door with a boxful of oranges and a grin.
“Dude, you had so many oranges out there. These aren’t even all of them,” he announces.
“Mhm,” Eddie grunts. He is well aware.
“Is Chris up yet?” Buck asks, bustling around the kitchen. Looking for the juicer, Eddie would guess, that’s been collecting dust at the back of a cupboard for months. “I can’t start OJ Sunday without him.”
Eddie sighs. “He doesn’t like oranges,” he grumbles, with air quotes and everything.
Buck looks up from where he’s squatting and elbow-deep in Eddie’s random appliance cupboard. He looks at Eddie like he’s lost his mind. “Christopher loves oranges.”
“That’s what I said,” Eddie sighs. “Apparently he wouldn’t touch them in Texas either.”
Buck frowns and opens his mouth, but before he can say whatever he was going to say, the sound of crutches clicking on the floorboards steals his attention. He breaks out in a grin as a sleepy, wild-haired Chris appears in the doorway.
“Hey! It’s Sunday!” Buck grins. “How about an OJ Sunday for old time’s sake, huh?”
Chris looks between Buck and Eddie with narrowed eyes, sniffs, and says, “Can we make the choc orange muffins after?”
Buck clicks his fingers and points at Chris. “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had. Eddie, do you have chocolate?”
On some level, Eddie is aware that Buck is now looking at him, and has said something, but he’s a little busy catching up to the fact that Buck has single-handedly solved the Chris-hates-oranges-but-really-he-doesn’t crisis in twenty seconds, using 13 words.
“Huh?”
“Chocolate,” Buck repeats.
“Uh, yeah, should be chocolate chips in with the baking stuff.”
“You’re a genius, Chris,” Buck grins as he pulls out the juicer and sets it on the counter. Chris drags over the chair he uses for OJ Sundays, and Eddie takes a breath that settles deeper in his chest than anything has in months.
He watches, that’s his job — watching and cleaning up — as they prep their oranges and the juicer with a practiced ease. Buck is doing something on the cutting board, his tongue caught between his teeth, and Chris is fitting all the pieces of the juicer together.
“Here, chef’s treat,” Buck says, pushing a pile of chopped-up orange towards Chris.
Eddie braces. Holds his breath. Prepares to be completely normal about his kid not eating an orange and then - -
Chris eats it.
Everything is right in the world again, and on one needs to panic.
Even OJ Sunday is no match for the Diaz orange tree. By Thursday afternoon, Eddie has more ripe oranges and, delightedly, the perfect place to put them. He chops up one of the oranges into eight little slices and puts it on a plate.
Chris is in his room, doing homework, when Eddie proudly drops the plate of orange slices in front of him.
Chris looks up from his desk and blinks at him. “I don’t like them.”
Eddie blinks at him. “You ate one when Buck was here. I saw you.”
Chris shrugs.
“It’s from the same tree and everything,” Eddie continues. “Lots of vitamin C. Organic, even.”
“I don’t want it,” Chris sniffs.
Eddie sighs. “Chris, you love oranges.”
Somehow, for some reason, that very truth of the universe was the wrong thing to say.
Christopher glares at him. “You don’t know everything about me. I’m not a kid anymore.”
Ouch. And that’s it, isn’t it? That’s what makes this particular pill so hard to swallow. How could his orange-loving kid wake up one day hating oranges and Eddie miss it? This fundamental thing about his child suddenly ceased to be true and Eddie didn’t even know it. He doesn’t even know when it happened. What else doesn’t he know, now? He fights the urge to sit Chris down and ask him question after question until he’s blue in the face. Until he knows him how he used to, how he should.
“I know you’re not, Chris,” he says instead. He is painfully, devastatingly aware that his kid is not a kid anymore.
“I’m not hungry. I have homework.”
“Okay,” Eddie sighs, picking up the plate of orange slices. “No oranges.”
That’s fine. It’s fine. This is all completely fine. Chris is growing up, and grown-up Chris doesn’t like oranges. That’s fine. That can be okay with him — in fact, it is okay with him. Chris doesn’t like oranges and that’s perfectly okay with Eddie.
He really does believe that. He believes it so hard for approximately two hours until he takes the garbage out and trips on an orange and loses his everloving mind.
Because here are some things that Eddie knows to be true:
- He is sitting on the damp grass of his front yard after narrowly avoiding a citrus-based ankle injury for the second time this month
- Mrs Peterson absolutely just watched the whole thing happen from her garden across the street even though she’s politely pretending she didn’t
- Christopher Diaz was born to Shannon and Eddie Diaz on July 19 2011, he has curly hair, blue eyes, and he fucking goddamn loves oranges
Mrs Peterson be damned, he doesn’t even get up off the wet grass before he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket and calling Buck.
“What did you do to the orange?” He demands the second the call connects.
“Hello, Eddie, I’m great, thanks for asking, and you?” Buck responds. Eddie ignores him.
“Why does Christopher eat your oranges but not my oranges?”
“They were your oranges,” Buck notes.
“I know!” Eddie groans. He feels insane. “They’re the same oranges!”
“Wait, so what’s the problem?”
“He won’t eat them! He says he hates oranges!”
Mrs Peterson pretends to check her mail to get a closer look at what he’s doing. He is, he can confirm, sitting on the ground amongst a pile of oranges freaking out into his phone.
“He ate them the other day,” Buck says, like Eddie doesn’t know that.
“I know. And I need to know why. What did you do to the magic oranges? It’s driving me crazy, Buck. He loves oranges. I know he loves oranges. He’s always loved oranges. I know I missed things, important things, but he’s my kid. He’s my kid who loves oranges. I know my kid.”
“Okay, woah. Eddie. Of course he is. Of course you do. It’s probably just how I cut them,” Buck soothes.
“I know how to cut an orange,” he scoffs.
“I know you do! I’m not saying you’re doing it wrong. I just - - I noticed he had some trouble getting the orange off the peel when we were eating orange slices at the park one time, so I started supreming them instead.”
Eddie blinks. “What does that mean in English?”
“It’s just like - - little segments. Like for salads, you know? So instead of the rind and the mess, I cut off the peel and pith. You could eat the little segments with a spoon, if you wanted to.”
Eddie’s not sure why it’s suddenly hard to breathe, but he’s comforted by Mrs Peterson’s snoopy presence. She’ll probably call 911 if he passes out.
“You’ve been …” He croaks.
“Supreming,” Buck supplies helpfully.
“You’ve been supreming my kid’s oranges?”
“Well, I hadn’t for a while. But yeah, I used to. I think it’s easier for him to eat.”
Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He doesn’t know why.
“How long have you been supreming my kid’s oranges?” He chokes.
“Uh, I don’t know. A few years, maybe?”
“Okay. Alright,” Eddie swallows. “And how does one supreme an orange?”
“I’ll send you a YouTube link.”
Let it be known, it’s not as easy as it looks to supreme an orange. Two oranges are sacrificed to his learning efforts, and he almost loses a thumb, but half an hour later he is placing his orange supremes into a little bowl with a teaspoon and knocking on Christopher’s door.
“Yeah?” Christopher calls out.
With the nerves of someone placing a peace offering down at the feet of a god, Eddie enters the room and drops the bowl wordlessly in front of him. He presses a kiss to his curls for good measure.
“Don’t stay up too late, okay?”
Chris rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t reject the oranges. Eddie is very normal about that, too.
The next morning, he’s putting the orange supremes into a container for Christopher’s lunch when Christopher says: “Grandma did it wrong.”
It’s early, and Eddie hasn’t had his coffee yet, so it takes him a minute to decipher what he’s talking about.
“The oranges?” He asks.
Christopher nods. “Yeah. So I told her I didn’t like them.”
“Ah,” Eddie nods. He fucking knew his kid loved oranges. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
Christopher shrugs. “Buck knew.”
Ah. A test.
They’d played this game for a few months after Eddie came home and Shannon left. Eddie hadn’t known that Christopher liked his ham sandwiches cut into soldiers but his PB&Js cut into little triangles, or that he needed help getting the lid off his yogurt, but he liked to think he’d done it by himself, so you could only open it a tiny bit to get it started. Seemingly little things that felt like huge things to Chris. It wasn’t just the way he cut a sandwich, it was a reminder that Eddie didn’t know him how he should have. That he hadn’t been there. That Shannon, the person who did know, had left.
So Christopher would explode at the dinner table when Eddie used the wrong plate, and Eddie would go through every plate in their kitchen until he found the right one, and then he’d remember. Then he’d know.
And for the next nine years, Eddie knew everything. He made sure of it.
Until now. Until Christopher landed back in the arms of people who didn’t know how he liked his sandwiches cut and Eddie wasn’t there to tell them.
“Christopher,” Eddie sighs, abandoning the lunch-box-in-progress to kneel down in front of him. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, you know that, right? I’d cut sandwiches into unicorns. I’d watch a YouTube video about supreming oranges every morning for the rest of my life. I’d climb Everest with my bare hands. I’d walk through fire for you, kiddo. I love you more than anything. And as much as you might not agree with me right now, I know you. I know my kid. I know you. ”
Chris rolls his eyes, but they’re wet. “I know, dad. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I got mad that you cut the oranges wrong.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry I didn’t know. I should’ve. You just gotta tell me next time, okay?”
Chris nods.
“Hey, why didn’t you say anything before you left?” Eddie asks. He’s curious.
“About what?”
“The oranges. I must’ve been cutting them wrong for years.”
Chris shrugs. “Buck always did it.”
Eddie frowns. That can’t be true. Surely. At some point in the last two years Eddie must have cut an orange for his son.
“Buck cut your oranges every time for two years?” He frowns.
“Yeah. He was always here,” Chris shrugs. “He peeled your clementines, too.”
“What?” Eddie blinks.
“He’d peel your clementines, cause you don’t like getting the skin under your fingernails,” Chris says, like that’s knowledge that everyone in the room has.
“How do you know that?” Eddie chokes.
“That’s what he said when I asked why you couldn’t peel your own.”
Eddie blinks at him. “I never told him that.”
Chris shrugs. “Guess Buck knows you, too.”
“Yeah,” he swallows. “Yeah. I guess he does.”
When Buck picks Eddie up for work the next day, he hands him a peeled clementine and says, “Hey! How’d it go with the oranges?”
Eddie stares at the fruit in his hand and feels the earth shift beneath him. “Have you been supreming my clementines?”
Buck frowns. “I don’t think you can supreme a clementine. It’s supremed by nature.”
“But you peel it?” Eddie demands.
“Yeah?” Buck confirms slowly.
“Because I don’t like getting clementine skin under my nails?”
“Well. Yeah,” Buck shrugs, like it’s obvious.
“You don’t have to do that, Buck. I’m a grown man. I can peel my own fruit.”
“Okay. I know that,” Buck frowns, confused. “It’s just habit. It’s fine if you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.”
“It’s just habit?” Eddie repeats.
“Yeah. I peel your clementine while I wait for my coffee to brew. Gives me something to do.”
Eddie blinks.
“When did you think I was doing it?” Buck chuckles. “I’m not littering clementine peel out the window.”
“I didn’t,” Eddie admits.
Buck looks at him.
“I didn’t think about it,” Eddie clarifies. “Until Chris said you do it. I thought you just - - had a spare one.”
Buck turns his attention back to the road and doesn’t say anything.
“Thank you,” Eddie adds, belatedly. “Sorry for - - thank you. And thank you for the supreming tip. It worked.”
“Yeah?” Buck grins. “That’s awesome. Huh. I didn’t realize he noticed.”
“He did,” Eddie assures him.
Eddie is the only one who hasn’t been paying attention, it seems.
Now that he’s noticed his lack of noticing, he notices everything. He notices that Buck never eats the clementines he buys every week, he prefers bananas. He notices that Buck doesn’t even pour himself any orange juice when Bobby makes breakfast, he prefers his protein smoothie. He notices that, five minutes after he yawns, Buck will show up with a mug of coffee, and say he was already making one.
He notices just how much Buck notices. Buck is always noticing. Everyone, but especially Eddie.
He feels undeserving and unbelieving and unbelievably known all at once. But most of all, he feels the urge to peel one thousand clementines for Buck. To pour him one thousand coffees, make him one thousand protein smoothies, supreme one thousand oranges.
He just needs to find Buck’s clementine.
“I need your help,” he announces as Chris walks into the kitchen to find Eddie staring at a bowl of oranges.
Christopher stops in the doorway. “Is this about the oranges?”
“No,” Eddie responds too quickly. “Kind of. It’s about Buck.”
Christopher’s eyes narrow. “Go on.”
“I want to do a Buck Day. All his favorite things,” Eddie explains. Because he’s thought about it, he really has, and he can’t figure out Buck’s clementine. So, he’s just going to throw all his favorite fruits at him instead. Metaphorically.
“His birthday’s in June,” Christopher notes.
“I know. He does so much for us, and I want us to show him that we appreciate it. That we care about him, too.”
“Okay,” Chris shrugs, grabbing a piece of paper and immediately nailing the brief.
Buck’s perfect day:
Morning:
- Make breakfast with Chris (bake something)
- Play date with Jee
- Gym?
Afternoon:
- Lunch with Maddie
- Aquarium with Chris and
dadEddie
Night:
- Takeout Thai for dinner (eat on couch)
- Video games with Chris
- Watch a nature documentary (Buck’s pick + good snacks)
- Sleepover on our couch
“You think that’s Buck’s perfect day?” Eddie says, reading it over his shoulder.
“Yep!” Chris confirms confidently.
“It’s just a normal day. Shouldn’t we make it… special?” Eddie asks. He needs this day to be worth at least one thousand clementines.
“You could try, but I don’t think he’d like it as much,” Chris shrugs.
Eddie knows he’s right, is the thing. It’s why he needed to ask Chris in the first place, because his list had looked almost exactly the same and he needed a second opinion.
But, no, he was right the first time. Buck’s perfect day is every day he spends with Chris and Jee, that ends on Eddie’s couch.
Eddie has a lot of feelings about that, but he’ll deal with them later, because right now he needs to text Maddie and set up a top secret play date.
“Okay, Eddie, just tell me,” Buck begs the moment Christopher’s door clicks shut.
Eddie switches the TV over from the documentary to 90 Day Fiance. “Tell you what?”
“Whatever it is. Are you leaving? Are you dying? Am I dying? Is Chris - - oh my god. Eddie. Is Chris okay?” He’s wide-eyed and wild-haired; the picture of it squeezes inside Eddie’s chest.
“Buck, what? Everything’s fine. Everyone’s fine. Why is someone dying?”
“This whole day!” Buck cries. “It’s like when you give a dog a happy meal before putting it down! This whole day was my happy meal!”
“Buck,” Eddie chuckles. “No one is putting you down.”
Buck turns back towards the TV and finally clocks that they’re now watching his guilty pleasure TV show. His eyes narrow. “It’s not my birthday,” he notes.
“I’m aware.”
“So what is it then? Just tell me, Eddie. I’m losing my mind.”
“Buck,” Eddie laughs. “I promise you, there is no ulterior motive at play here. We just wanted to have a Buck Day. To thank you for everything you do for us,” he admits. “And I couldn’t think of a fruit that you don’t like peeling.”
“A Buck Day?” Buck frowns.
“Yeah. That’s what we’ve been calling it. Chris planned it. His version of your perfect day.”
“He did?”
“Mhm. He loves you, y’know. We both do.”
“How’d he know about my secret shame?” Buck asks, eyes flicking towards the TV.
“That one was me,” Eddie chuckles. “He thinks you watch educational documentaries for fun.”
“I do sometimes,” Buck shrugs.
“Sure. But mostly you do it for Chris.”
“It’s good for his development.”
“I know. That’s why I love you.”
Buck smiles, ducks his head. “I love you guys, too. I - - I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
A moment washes between them, heavy with how close they both came to finding out.
It’s broken by Buck’s yawn.
“Chris wrote that your perfect day ends with a sleepover on our couch, but I’m suggesting an amendment,” Eddie announces.
Buck cocks his head at him.
“Come to bed with me,” Eddie says softly.
“What?” Buck frowns.
“The couch is yours if you want it. But so is my bed.”
“Because I peeled your clementine?”
“Because I love you. And I want you to come to bed with me.”
Buck blinks.
“Like - - Eddie . That sounds like - -“
“Like what?” Eddie smiles.
“Like not what you mean.”
“Up to you,” Eddie shrugs. “I’m going to bed, and I’d like you to join me, but you don’t have to. It’s your Buck Day.”
With that, he pats Buck on the knee, and heads toward his bedroom.
He’s just settling into bed, iPad in hand, when Buck walks into the room, hesitant.
“We’ve never done this,” he says from the doorway.
“It's the same as yours,” Eddie says. “Under the covers, head on the pillow.”
Buck rolls his eyes, but steps into the room, closing the door gently behind him. “Are you sure?”
“You could sleep with your feet on the pillow if you want, but I don’t think it’d be very comfortable.”
Buck huffs, and heads towards the other side of Eddie’s bed. He pulls the covers back and gets in.
Eddie turns his attention back to his iPad, scrolling through the pages in front of him.
“What’re you reading?” Buck asks, scooching closer and leaning in to read over Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie rolls his eyes fondly.
“Chris’ school newsletter,” he says.
“You never told me there’s a newsletter!” Buck gasps, leaning in even further to see the screen. “What’s in it?”
Eddie chuckles and just hands him the tablet. “How often do they send these?” Buck asks, grinning at the newsletter like it’s a winning lottery ticket. “Can you forward these to me? Is Chris in here?”
“Buck, I’m in love with you,” Eddie says, not entirely on purpose but entirely true down to the very core of him.
“That’s his science teacher!” Buck continues. “She loves Chris. I - -“ He looks up. “Huh?”
“I’m in love with you,” Eddie repeats.
Buck blinks at him from over the iPad. “What?”
“You supremed my kid’s oranges,” Eddie supplies.
“Eddie.”
“You peeled my clementines,” he adds.
“You don’t need to - -“
“Your perfect day is hanging out on my couch and reading my kid’s boring school newsletter.”
“It’s not boring .”
“It’s so boring, Buck,” Eddie laughs. “You watched so many documentaries with my kid that he genuinely thinks it’s your movie of choice.”
“I do enjoy documentaries - -“
“I know. I know you do,” Eddie smiles. “But you also love 90 Day Fiancé and Below Deck and whichever housewife is angry that week, and you don’t even like orange juice that much but you came over every Sunday for years to juice oranges with Chris, and I’ve never seen you eat a clementine but you always buy them because they’re my favorite, and you’ve loved us so well for so long that I didn’t even notice it happening.”
“It’s not that I don’t like clementines, I just - -“
“Prefer bananas, I know,” Eddie finishes. “And you’ll drink orange juice but you prefer your protein smoothie. You don’t really like pickles, but you leave them on your burger because Chris steals them. You already knew how to make sushi but you let Bobby teach you because he was so excited to show you. I know you, too. I love you, too. I’m just not as good at showing it.”
Buck stares at him, breathing heavily.
Eddie stares back.
“Is this just because it’s Buck Day?” He asks weakly. “I don’t want the happy meal if you don’t - - if it’s not a real cheeseburger.”
“I’m not really a love confessions for the fun of it kinda guy,” Eddie shrugs. “You can think about it. No rush. I just wanted you to know.”
“You’re in love with me?” Buck asks.
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“With…me?”
“With you, yes.”
“If this is just about the clementines, you don’t need - -“
Eddie cuts him off with a kiss. It hits the corner of his mouth, barely even his lips at all. Where a dimple would be, if he had one. It’s just a press of his lips against Buck’s, but it floods his veins with something buzzing and alive. Buck must feel it too, he thinks, because he gasps, and reaches up to hold Eddie’s head in place — keeping him from pulling away. Buck turns his head, so slowly, aligning their mouths from Eddie’s off-center attempt. He lifts Eddie’s chin, takes a shaky breath, and whispers, “Eddie, I - -“. Eddie cuts him off again, better this time — on-target and right on the bullseye.
In all his recent googling, he’d come across a few forums about love languages. Some people show their love through acts of service, peeling clementines and supreming oranges. Others through their words, some through quality time, or gifts, or physical touch. Buck, Eddie had realized, speaks to him in every one of them. There’s not a single way Buck doesn’t love him. If Eddie’s words aren’t enough to convince him the same is true in reverse, he has no problem telling him in every language there is.
Buck whimpers as Eddie kisses him, thoroughly and with purpose. It’s one thousand clementines in a kiss.
“I’m in love with you,” Eddie reiterates as he gasps for breath. He presses another kiss to Buck’s mouth for good measure.
“Oh,” Buck blinks. A slow grin breaks over his face. Eddie loses whatever breath he’d managed to gasp back. “Yeah, okay,” Buck nods urgently, leaning back in to steal what’s left of the air in Eddie’s lungs. Eddie gives it to him gladly.
The next morning is a Sunday — OJ Sunday, apparently, if the giggles and sounds of the juicer are anything to go by. Eddie is the last to wake up, finding Buck and Chris in the kitchen, hunched over the counter and whispering.
“Morning,” he greets, leaning against the doorway with a grin.
Buck turns at the sound of his voice. “Hey,” he smiles. It’s soft, but a little cautious.
“Dad!” Christopher groans. “You can’t be here! Buck! He’s not supposed to see!”
“Ah, he’s right I’m afraid,” Buck tuts. “No Eddie’s in the kitchen on Eddie Day.”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “We’re not doing - -“
“Oh, but we are,” Buck corrects, crossing the kitchen to push Eddie out of it. “Back to bed. Shoo,” he pushes, following him out of the doorway until they’re out of sight. “Shoo, shoo.”
Eddie pouts. Buck kisses him.
“That still okay?” Buck whispers.
Eddie kisses him in response. “More than.”
Buck grins, and kisses him again, all the while pushing him backwards. He’s so thoroughly kissed and distracted that Eddie doesn’t even notice when they’ve reached his bedroom. Buck pushes him down into his bed and presses one final kiss to his lips.
“Stay here,” he instructs.
“Hey!” Eddie grumbles, blinking back to reality.
“Read a book or something,” Buck suggests. “It’s Eddie Day!”
“It’s not Eddie Day,” Eddie throws back. It can’t be Eddie Day, because then Buck Day isn’t special anymore, and Eddie is running out of metaphorical clementines.
“Mm, sorry, but it is,” Buck shrugs. “Chris’ idea. And you have to actually be in bed for breakfast in bed to work.”
Eddie softens. “He’s making me breakfast in bed?”
“He is. It’s a surprise.”
“He’s always wanted to do that,” Eddie notes. “Hard to do with crutches.”
“Mhm. He told me,” Buck smiles, leaning back in for another quick kiss. “Relax. Rest up. You have a busy day ahead.”
“ BUCK? ” Chris calls from the kitchen.
“Duty calls,” Buck grins. “I wouldn’t suggest getting out of that bed again if you value your life.”
“Noted,” Eddie chuckles.
“Oh! Hang on!” Buck gasps. He disappears down the hallway and reappears a few moments later, hands behind his back. He grins as he reveals a peeled clementine, handing it to him.
“For you,” he smiles.
Eddie grins. “Thank you.”
“Eat it in bed or I’ll be fired from my sous chef duties,” he adds.
“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Eddie laughs, crawling back under the covers.
“I love you,” Buck smiles from the doorway. “I don’t think I said it - -“
“I know,” Eddie smiles back.
“BUCK!” Christopher yells, more annoyed this time.
“Act surprised,” Buck says, pointing a finger at him.
“I will. I love you,” Eddie chuckles.
Buck grins. “Happy Eddie Day!”
“It’s not - -“ he starts, but Buck’s already shutting the door on him. “It’s not Eddie Day,” he sighs, to the empty room.
Except, it turns out, that it absolutely is. As Christopher breaks through the door with a grin, Buck right behind him with a platter of breakfast food and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, Eddie has a feeling that every day from here on out might be his perfect day.
His kid is back where he belongs — known and seen and loved. And Buck is right here, knowing him and seeing him and loving him. Loving both of them, and being loved in return. It’s Buck’s perfect day and it’s Eddie’s and it’s every day for the rest of their lives. It’s supremed oranges, peeled clementines, and more juice than Eddie knows what to do with.
🍊🍊🍊
artwork by @abritincanada