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Against all odds, things go back to normal when Eddie returns from Texas with Chris in tow. It takes time and effort, but with the sudden reappearance of one Bobby Nash, Buck’s starting to feel like himself again. He’s got a whole self-improvement list and everything.
Moving out of the Diaz house was first on that list, as much as it sucked. The boxes felt heavier than they did when he moved in, even with Eddie’s help.
The thing is, Buck’s pretty sure Eddie didn’t want Buck to move out. He never said it out loud, but his eyes were big and pleading when he’d asked if Buck was sure. That he could keep looking for an apartment, find some place that felt like home.
But Buck couldn’t keep doing it. Couldn’t keep staying when staying had started feeling like backsliding, with the way he craved Eddie’s presence, his touch, his attention. When he already knew no apartment he found would feel like home, because home was wherever Eddie was. Home was 4995 South Bedford Street.
They shared a bed, before Buck moved out.
Eddie reached for him in his sleep sometimes. In the light of day, he never seemed to remember, but it was as if his body did. His hands would twitch, move an inch toward Buck, before drawing back. He’d flex his fingers, push them into the muscle of his own arms, to the skin above his ribs. Buck catalogued every little movement, every little change, but he didn’t and still doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know if Eddie ached the way Buck ached.
So, Buck moved out of Eddie’s house and into an apartment thirty minutes out from the Firehouse, a measly fifteen minutes away from Eddie’s. And then he met Jessie.
Jessie was perfectly normal: thirty-five years old, a personal trainer, and a painter on the side. Buck’s pretty sure “perfectly normal” is exactly what he needs, after everything.
“Hey, babe?” Jessie calls from the kitchen.
Buck toes off his shoes before padding down the hall. “Yeah?”
As he turns the corner, he spots Jessie with his hip leaning against the counter, reading something on his phone.
Maddie, upon meeting Jessie, had said he looked a bit like Eddie. Buck had vehemently denied it at the time, but now… he can see it, if he has to be honest. Jessie’s leaner, and his hair is shorter. He’s got green eyes, and he has no moles on his thighs. But he does bear a striking similarity to Eddie.
“Do we—“ Jessie looks up, pausing when he spots Buck. He smiles, continuing, “Do we have any pistachios anywhere? I wanna make that nutty granola you made a couple weeks ago.”
“Uh, I think so,” Buck says, stepping close to press a quick kiss to Jessie’s mouth. “One sec.”
Keeping a hand on Jessie’s hip, Buck reaches above him to open a cabinet, rooting around before he spots the half-full bag. Pulling it down, he smiles, plopping it down on the counter.
Jessie squeezes his bicep in thanks. “How was your run?”
Buck shrugs, stepping back to pull his sweaty shirt over his head. “Same old. Knee’s feeling okay, though, so.”
Eyes trailing appraisingly down the slope of Buck’s chest, Jessie nods. “That’s good.”
And then— silence.
Buck’s not sure how to catalogue these silences, as common as they are in the Buck-Jessie household. It’s as if the two of them just… run out of things to say. Or— well. It’s not that Buck’s got nothing to say; he simply has no desire to share. Not like he did with Eddie. But Eddie’s absence left a wound he’s not willing to let heal. No longer having Eddie is proof he once did have him, even if he never had him the whole way.
Jessie clears his throat. “So—“
Buck’s phone rings. “Sorry, let me just…” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, eyebrows furrowing at the number. He’s sure he recognises it.
“Scammer?”
“Uh, no,” Buck replies, distracted. His phone keeps vibrating. And then it clicks. “Oh, shit, it’s Chris’ school. Just–” Buck cuts himself off, mind already spinning a hundred awful scenarios, all of which involve Chris getting hurt somehow. Heart hammering, he accepts the call. “Hello?”
“Mr. Buckley?” a soft, feminine voice says.
“Yeah, that’s me. Is– is everything okay with Chris?”
“Christopher’s just fine,” says the voice. “Unfortunately, we couldn’t reach Mr. Diaz, and there’s been a flooding incident. The, um… the bathrooms are currently throwing a fit. We’re calling all parents and guardians to request early pick-up.”
“You need me to pick Chris up,” Buck clarifies.
“Seeing as Mr. Diaz appears to be indisposed, yes.”
“He’s at work,” Buck says, already scooping his keys off the table. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Fantastic. See you then, Mr. Buckley.”
The line clicks.
Jessie raises an eyebrow at him.
“We–” Buck pockets his phone, stepping into his shoes clumsily. “I’ve gotta go. Chris’ school flooded and– you can stay here if you want, it’s up–”
“I’ll come with you,” Jessie says, waving him away. “It’s cool. But,” he catches Buck’s arm. “Maybe put on a shirt before we go?”
Flushing, Buck looks down at his bare chest. “Right. Yeah.”
They make it to the car in record time, fully dressed, and Buck spares a moment to be grateful for how empty the parking lot is this time of day.
“Why’d the school call you?” Jessie asks once they’re in the car. Buck spares him a quick glance before buckling up, and Jessie holds up his hands. “Not judging, just curious.”
“Uh.” Buck starts the Jeep, barely waiting to hear the rumble of the motor before pulling out of the parking lot. “I’m listed as Chris’ secondary contact.”
Jessie says nothing for a long moment. Buck keeps his eyes on the road.
“He’s really important to you.” It’s a statement, not a question. Buck’s glad Jessie has cottoned on to that– that Chris’ importance to Buck is fact. He would drop everything to ensure his safety, his happiness.
“Yeah,” Buck says, painfully underselling it.
“And,” Jessie continues, “He’s Eddie’s kid?”
Buck nods shortly, wetting his lips to reply before promptly shutting his mouth again. How he feels about Eddie is– private. Too big to speak about.
“Is he–”
Buck’s phone starts buzzing again, and he grabs it out of the cupholder, handing it to Jessie.
“It’s Eddie,” Jessie says, dutifully accepting the call before putting it on speaker.
“Buck?” Eddie’s voice crackles through the phone. He sounds frazzled, voice a little higher than usual. “Is– did the school call you?”
“Yeah, hey, Eddie, he’s okay,” Buck rushes to say, flicking the indicator on. “I’m on my way there now.”
Eddie sighs on the other end, long and relieved. “Fuck. Thank you. We were at a scene, I missed their call.”
“Hey, it’s fine,” Buck says. “You know I’d do anything for that kid.”
Eddie’s quiet for a moment, before exhaling, “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Still– thanks. I’ll meet you there, spare you the trip to mine?”
Buck sucks in a breath. He hasn’t been to Eddie’s house in over a week. “Eddie–”
“Seriously,” Eddie interrupts. “I’m on my way already, so. See you there?”
“See you there,” Buck confirms.
The rest of the drive is silent, but not tense. Knowing Christopher’s not in danger has settled his pulse, and he takes his foot off the gas a little.
“How’s Eddie doing?” Jessie asks suddenly, still holding Buck’s phone. “I mean, he’s your best friend, but you guys never really hang out.”
Buck hesitates. He always hesitates these days.
The thing is, Eddie’s good. Better than Buck’s ever seen him before.
Eddie speaks, sometimes, of his shame. Never with words, but through actions: with the tightness in his shoulders, with his darting eyes, with the shake in his hands.
These days, Buck sees very little of it. Eddie’s been lighter since coming back from El Paso with Christopher, and it’s been– shit, it’s been two months now, since they moved back to LA. Three months since they unearthed Bobby from the government lab. Things changed when they returned to normal. Buck’s still trying to come to terms with that.
Buck had loved his life. Loved how comfortably he fit, slotting right back into Eddie’s routine. Loved that Eddie and Chris were doing better, that they laughed and cooked and watched TV together. He’d made sure they were good before bowing out of their lives, before he resigned himself to the occasional movie night or outing, before he stopped indulging. And now he had his own little life to tend to.
“He’s good,” Buck says, stomach clenching. “He’s doing good.”
Jessie shifts, clearing his throat before he thumbs on the radio. Whitesnake’s Is This Love? bursts out of the speakers, and Buck clenches his jaw.
He thinks maybe the universe is a little heavy-handed, with its hints.
They pull into the school parking lot a couple of minutes later, climbing out of the car at the same time.
“He’s got red glasses, right?” Jessie asks, shutting the door. “Chris, I mean.”
“Uh, yeah,” Buck answers, distracted. He closes his own door and locks up, heading toward the school entrance. “How do you know that?”
“You’ve got pictures of him and— Eddie. On your phone.”
Buck glances at Jessie. He’s not sure why he feels like he’s been caught in a lie. “Right.”
At the front of the school, what seems to be the entire school is gathered. Buck speed-walks the rest of the way there.
“Chris?” Buck’s eyes fly over the sea of heads all loitering in the parking lot. “Christopher?”
“Buck!”
He whirls, spotting Chris waving at him, bracing his elbow on his crutch. Buck jogs over to him immediately, crouching to pull him into a hug.
“Hey, buddy,” he says, relief washing over him. Chris squirms a little, but surprises Buck when he squeezes him before letting him pull back.
“Hey, Buck,” Chris grins.
Ruffling his hair, Buck grins right back. “Heard the toilets exploded, or something.”
Chris nods seriously. “They did.”
A beat, and then they’re both cracking up.
Behind him, Jessie clears his throat. Buck cranes his neck to peer at Jessie. He blinks, and then he startles back to life.
“H-hey, Chris, this is— this is Jessie,” he says, leaning to the side, letting Jessie step closer with a half-hearted wave. “My boyfriend,” Buck adds belatedly.
Chris stares at Jessie, and Buck feels himself deflate. He’s not stupid, is the thing. Chris is a smart kid; he’s probably put two and two together and come up with Jessie’s the reason Buck’s not around anymore.
But, ever the kind kid he is, Chris mumbles a polite, “Nice to meet you.”
Jessie smiles in a way that looks kind of painful. “Yeah, hi, Chris. Nice to meet you too.”
Well.
“Listen,” Jessie starts, lowering his voice and leaning close to Buck. “I—“
“Chris? Buck?”
Buck’s head snaps back around in time to see Eddie at the same time as Eddie sees him. Eddie smiles, shoulders sagging with relief.
Buck stands as Eddie approaches, stepping back to give him better access to Chris. He watches with something painful lodged in his throat as Eddie embraces Chris, ruffling his hair the same way Buck did.
“You okay, mijo?” Eddie asks, scanning Christopher’s face.
Chris rolls his eyes, readjusting his crutches. “I’m okay, Dad.”
Eddie gives Chris’ shoulder a squeeze as he stands, turning toward Buck. He ducks his head, huffing almost self-deprecatingly, before tugging Buck into a hug. At once, Buck feels himself relax, melting into the embrace.
“Thank you,” Eddie says breathlessly, tucking his face into the crook of Buck’s neck for just a moment. He inhales before pulling back, eyes soft the way they only ever seem to get around Chris and Buck.
Despite— everything, Buck’s face heats. He rubs the back of his neck. “No problem, Eddie. Seriously.”
Shaking his head, Eddie knocks their shoulders together.
“Everything good?” Jessie puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder, and Buck nearly jumps.
Eddie’s eyebrows furrow before his face goes surprisingly blank.
“Yes, yeah, uh— Eddie, Chris, I’ll see you soon?” Buck fumbles for his words.
Eddie gives him a small, sad smile. “Yeah. See you, man.”
“See you, Buck,” says Chris. Grinning, Buck ruffles his hair again. Surprisingly, Chris endures it with a smile on his face.
In the same way the stars are there even when the sun rises, Eddie is there when Buck goes home. That is to say that to Buck, he is everywhere. To Buck, he is known and felt and missed.
The drive home is quiet. Buck can’t think of a single thing to say, not now that everything in him is yelling at him to go back, to march back into the Diaz’s house and plant himself firmly on the couch.
But he won’t. ‘Cause he’s being a grown-up.
“Thai okay for dinner?” Buck asks, shuffling into the kitchen. He casts a glance at the fridge, knowing they’ve got the ingredients for at least three different meals. He wonders why he never put any pictures or magnets up, why he left it so unassuming. His entire life feels unassuming, these days.
He still needs a shower.
“I… sure,” says Jessie. He takes a deep breath, and suddenly Buck knows what he’s going to say.
“Buck, I–”
“I love you,” Buck says, the words small and uncertain even to his own ears. It’s the first time he’s said those words to Jessie, and he realises the second they’ve left his mouth that they feel false. He’s transported back to the loft, to Taylor, to Tommy. Foundations built on shaky ground, always on the verge of collapse.
He’s never been the sturdy kind.
Slowly he turns, watching the way Jessie’s shoulders slump. Slowly, he approaches, taking short steps until he’s close enough to touch, to place his hands gently on Jessie’s chest.
Jessie’s throat bobs, resting his forehead against Buck’s.
This should be intimate, Buck thinks. Wishes, foolishly. Foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, Jessie’s heart pounding beneath Buck’s palm. Selfishly, heartlessly, Buck wishes it wasn’t Jessie’s heart he was feeling.
He swallows around the lump in his throat, around the swell of unwelcome emotion trying to claw its way up.
Exhaling shakily, Jessie’s eyes flutter shut. “I love you too.” The words don’t move Buck, ringing hollowly through him. “But…”
Inexplicably, Buck’s eyes start to burn. “But?”
Jessie visibly steels himself, lips thinning before he opens his eyes again. “But we’re not meant to be together. There’s always going to be someone else.”
Oh.
Blinking quickly, Buck reels back. “Someone else? You’re—?”
Cheating on me? In love with not-me?
Jessie’s eyes widen. “No— no. I’m talking about you.“
The apartment goes quiet, except for their heavy breathing. Distantly, Buck registers the shake in his hands. He thinks of Eddie’s hands after a rough call, the way he’d shake and shake and still maintain that he was alright. Buck asks, “You think there’s someone else?”
Scoffing, Jessie pulls a hand through his hair. “No. Jesus, Buck. But— but maybe there should be.”
Hesitating, Buck takes a halting step forward. “Jess, I don’t understand.”
Jessie doesn’t look like he believes Buck. Buck can’t blame him.
Eyes sad beneath the disbelief, Jessie says, “I think you should tell him.”
Buck says nothing.
Rubbing at his nose, Jessie continues, “You’re an incredible boyfriend, Buck. An incredible guy, but it’s— it’s unfair.”
“You don’t— Jess, I’ve been all in with you, you’ve gotta give me that.”
“I do. I am,” Jessie fingers wrap around Buck’s, squeezing once. “But this– there’s a kid involved. And, look, we haven’t talked about kids, but I know I don’t want any. I— I think you do. Am I right?”
Quietly, feeling as though he’s confessing something awful, Buck says, “Yeah.”
Jessie nods, eyes darting down to the floor before finding Buck’s again. “And, um. Eddie.”
“What about Eddie?”
“It's unfair to him. You don’t see the way he looks at you? That man is ass over tea kettle for–”
“Don’t.”
“Buck, he loves–”
“Jessie, I’m serious. Don’t.” Buck can hardly breathe, body lit up like a livewire.
“Talk to him. Tell him.”
The words land like a physical blow. Buck’s heart beats uncomfortably heavy beneath his ribcage.
“Look,” Jessie says, voice clipped as he steps back. “I’m gonna get out of here. My brother’s got a guesthouse, and I’ve got a key, so.”
“Yeah,” Buck says, voice rough. He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’ll— I’ll see you?”
Jessie purses his lips. He shakes his head. “I think this— us, we’re over.”
Buck feels his own face crumple, and he turns away, heart twisting into the shape of a fist, folding the hurt into something smaller.
“Buck,” Jessie says, voice gentler. “I’m not trying to be mean. I just… I won’t ever really belong to you. Not while Eddie’s around.”
Twenty minutes later, like the absolute pathetic sad-sack he is, Buck’s dialing Eddie’s number.
He wonders what it would be like if for every wrong decision he’s made, he’d also had to swallow concrete. If it would harden inside of him, if he’d just feel heavy, if he’d feel the grit of it in his mouth. If it would taste like regret.
He thinks he’s always tasting regret.
“Fuck, what am I doing?” he mutters, pacing the length of his kitchen. He starts pulling his phone away from his ear to hang up just as Eddie answers.
“Heeey.” Buck tips his head up toward the ceiling. Why did he call Eddie? “Sorry, it’s late–”
“Ow. Fuck.” Eddie hisses on the other line. Voice pained, he says, “No worries, man. I’m awake.”
Buck blinks. “Eddie?”
Half-laughing, half-groaning, Eddie says, “Sorry, I think I just sprained my ankle on the stupid– Jesus–”
“Eddie,” Buck repeats, moving on autopilot. He snaps his keys off the wall, already at the front door. “I’ll be right over. Don’t move.”
“You don’t–” Eddie pauses, breathing once, twice, down the line. And then he sighs, “Okay, yeah. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Buck says, halfway down the corridor already. “See you in fifteen?”
“See you,” Eddie echoes.
Eleven minutes later, Buck pulls into Eddie’s driveway.
When he’d first moved into the apartment with Jessie, he’d meant to find a place further away from Eddie’s. He wanted to give himself the space to breathe, to learn how to live without him. He’s glad, now, that he found a good place so close.
He doesn’t bother knocking, instead toeing off his shoes before closing the door quietly behind him, eyeing Chris’ door.
“Eddie?” he whispers, padding down the hall.
“In here,” Eddie replies.
Buck beelines for the bathroom. He pauses at the threshold, mouth falling open.
Eddie’s sat on the toilet lid with just a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still wet. His eyes are bright— amused, despite his predicament.
He’s got his left leg splayed in front of him, his ankle very clearly swollen, his knee bruised.
“Jesus. Eddie,” Buck breathes as he steps closer, crouching. His hands hover over Eddie’s left knee, eyes wide.
“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “Looks worse than it is.”
“Did you—?” Buck casts a glance at the shower. “In the shower?”
Eddie huffs an embarrassed laugh, shifting on the toilet seat. “Yeah. Yeah, I slipped.”
“Oof.” Buck grimaces sympathetically. “Tough break, dude.”
“No break, thank God,” Eddie sighs, tipping his head at the ceiling. Rolling his neck, he says, “Mind, uh. Mind getting the Deep Heat? I was already pretty sore from my run earlier. It’s in the—“
“Cupboard under the sink, I know.” Buck shoots him a smile before getting up. He squats awkwardly as he rummages through the cupboard, finding the Deep Heat exactly where he left it, next to the first aid kit.
“Huzzah,” he says, waving it in the air. Eddie shakes his head at him, lips twitching.
Eddie tugs the towel up a smidge as he shuffles, and Buck readjusts to kneel between Eddie’s legs. For a moment, he lets himself linger, to revel in the closeness. The sweet scent of coconut body wash, the warmth emanating from Eddie’s red skin, the quiet way he exhales above Buck.
Then, carefully, Buck applies the cream to the side of Eddie’s knee. He rubs circles into his skin, sliding his hands down to press gently into his calf. It’s meditative and repetitive, and Buck focuses entirely on the task.
“Put more on,” Eddie says after a minute, voice low.
Buck flickers his eyes up, catching Eddie’s gaze briefly. “Who are you calling a moron?”
Eddie huffs a laugh. Buck’s chest fills with light.
Eddie’s got good legs, he thinks. Sturdy and strong, despite the impressive bruise blooming on his left knee. He massages the skin around it, thumb sweeping over an old scar below his kneecap.
“You know,” Buck starts, head still ducked. “I– I called you earlier, ‘cause…”
“‘Cause?” Eddie prompts gently.
It’s an awful idea to tell him, Buck realises. He’s done this particular dance before, back when Tommy broke things off with him. It’s what he’s done for years now: something goes wrong, Buck runs to Eddie.
“Buck.”
He keeps his eyes on Eddie’s bruise. Pressing his thumb into Eddie’s skin, he takes a breath.
‘“Cause Jessie and I, uh. Broke up.”
When he chances a look up, Eddie’s eyebrows have flown up to his hairline.
Buck swallows thickly, averting his gaze once more. “I– I know. I didn’t really see it coming either.”
He’s lying. He’s a lying liar who lies.
“How did it happen?”
Capping the Deep Heat, Buck considers how to answer. He doesn’t want to lie to Eddie, not so directly, but he also can’t tell him the truth.
Shrugging, he says, “Same way it happened with Tommy. I pushed, he ran.”
Eddie levels him with a truly impressive look of judgement. “Right.”
“O-okay, maybe not, uh, exactly like Tommy,” Buck packpedals. “But Jessie made the same points Tommy made, so still– you know. Same ballpark.”
“And now you’re here,” Eddie says.
“Now I’m here. Like last time.” Buck tries to laugh, but it comes out strangled.
“This your way of telling me you wanna stay over?” Eddie guesses.
Buck swallows. “Tangentially.” He looks down. “But— but I shouldn’t.”
“Why?” Eddie asks softly. Buck stays silent. “Buck. Why?” He waits, the way he always does when he wants Buck to say more, but this time, he doesn’t. Instead, Eddie inhales quickly. “Seriously. I— I feel like I haven’t seen you since you moved out.”
Buck closes his eyes. Quietly, he admits, “That’s the problem.”
He’s belonged to Eddie for a long time. In every way Eddie hasn’t belonged to him.
“Every time,” he starts, before cutting himself off. He can’t parse through the emotion building in his chest, can’t figure out if it’s heartbreak or relief at finally finding the words, of being brave enough to speak them aloud. “Every time, I run to you.”
Eddie says nothing, and Buck can’t yet look at him, so he keeps speaking.
“I get dressed in the morning, and I wonder if you’d like my jacket. I brush my teeth, and I wonder if you still think my hair looks best curly. I–I’m halfway out the door, and I pretend I don’t want to surprise Chris with breakfast.”
“You know you’re welcome whenever, Buck.” Eddie’s voice is gentle in a way that tells Buck he either really isn’t getting it, or really is.
“I order an avocado bagel because I know you like them, and– and I kiss people I don’t want when you’re not around.”
It’s the worst thing Buck’s ever confessed, and the relief-regret pulses through him in waves.
Eyes burning, Buck finally looks up at him. “It just keeps hitting me. I’m never going to stop thinking about you.”
Eddie’s hands twitch as if to reach for Buck, before retracting the way they always do. Hopelessly, horribly, it stings like rejection.
“Eddie, I can’t– I can’t separate myself from you–”
“Buck.”
“It’s– Eddie, everything comes back to you, everything I do–”
“Evan.”
Buck startles, eyes finding Eddie’s. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but Eddie’s smiling.
“Me too,” Eddie confesses softly. “It’s the same for me.”
Like a thread unspooling, the tension in Buck’s body unwinds. He reminds himself that good things don’t happen to him, that the trepidation set in his shoulders has a right to be there.
Still, he can’t tear his eyes away from Eddie’s face, even as he shakes his head. “Eddie, you… you’re my best friend. But I love you like you’re more than that.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, exhaling shakily even as he smiles. “Me too.”
Buck must look truly pathetic, blinking up at Eddie, because Eddie sighs, tugging at his sleeves.
“Come on,” Eddie says as Buck rises, wrapping his arms around him.
It takes Buck a moment to recalibrate. His arms wind their way around Eddie, face pressed to Eddie’s shoulder. He has to hunch over awkwardly to do it, but he’s never once rejected a hug, least of all from Eddie.
“I love you,” Eddie breathes, soft and sure and just for Buck.
The words roll over him like a balm, finding him like an answer to a question he’s been asking for years.
Once, during his brief stint in college, Buck read a poem about self-reflection. He was meant to answer the question: what makes art digestible? He hadn’t realised, until now, that perhaps what stuck was this idea of the “I” – that a declaration not preceded by an “I” made it lesser somehow. That a “love you” without an “I” said to the right person made it more bearable but less sincere, and that in turn, a “love you” with an “I” said to the wrong person made it a bigger lie.
“I love you,” Buck says now, and knows they’ve both committed to this declaration.
Eddie’s hand smoothes up Buck’s back before finding the back of his neck. His touch elicits sparks, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and for once Buck doesn’t hate that he’s like this– that he lights up when given proof he is seen.
He guides Buck down until his knees hit the floor, arms only loosening so he can bend to follow. Slowly, Eddie turns his face, cheek grazing Buck’s. His hand finds the side of Buck’s neck, thumb pressed to the hollow above his collarbone. His spot.
A flare of arousal, followed by an even deeper feeling of trust. Buck’s breathing quickens, eyes flickering to Eddie’s a moment before Eddie catches Buck’s lips with his own, and oh.
For many years, Buck spent his time searching for something. Recognition, care– glory, maybe. Here, in Eddie’s arms, he thinks maybe what he’d been looking for was shelter.
It’s in the soft meeting of two mouths, hands grasping for purchase, that the ache is soothed. In realising that he is as wanted as he is needed. That he wants and needs Eddie as much in return.
It’s all they are to each other in the end: animals with synchronised heartbeats, with devotion that rivals instinct. It’s so much more than worship when the chest Buck presses his hands to belongs to Eddie. So much more when Eddie only pulls away to say, “Stay.”
So Buck stays.