Archive of Our Own

Buck loves the farmers market.

The one he likes, the big one closest to their house that shuts down an entire six blocks every Sunday morning, has hot food and live music and rows and rows of vendors selling handcrafted trinkets that Buck could spend (and has spent) hours combing through.

He especially loves it during summer. Soft, ripe stone fruit, heirloom tomatoes in every color of the rainbow, brilliant bouquets of flowers sticking out of white buckets half-filled with water, everyone cheery and friendly and glowing in the morning sun. It’s Buck’s place. 

Every Sunday morning he’s off work, he comes home around lunchtime with canvas bags stuffed with produce so fresh there’s still clumps of dirt caked in between the leaves, cartons of speckled eggs in blue and brown and white, a loaf of brown, seedy bread, and sometimes a treat for himself—a bar of artisanal eucalyptus hand soap, or an exotic spice mix, or a tiny, beaded charm from the two little girls who run their own miniature jewelry stand next to their mother’s. 

Today he comes home with flowers. 

He’s been under the tent before, has wandered through the maze of buckets containing bundles of pink and green and yellow almost every weekend, marveling at the array while simultaneously wincing at the price tags. They’re nice flowers, of course, and beautifully arranged—well worth the eleven, or twenty two, or thirty nine dollars respectively—but Buck has never actually indulged himself and bought one. 

Because why would he? It’s not illegal to buy yourself flowers, but it does feel a little unnecessary, and Buck’s not dating anyone right now, or holding any open houses, or attending any performances, so…he’s never actually walked out of the market with one of those bouquets sticking out of his tote. 

“You should just get it.” 

Buck whips around, coming face to face with a young, sweet faced woman holding a bundle of sunflowers. He scratches the back of his head, giving her a sheepish smile. “Oh, I was just…I was just looking,” he says, a little awkwardly. “Sorry.” 

“You look every weekend,” she says shrewdly, bending down to tuck the flowers into a bucket next to the other sunflowers. “A lot of people do, but you look like…” she tilts her head, looking into his eyes, “you look like you really want them, but you’re holding yourself back, for some reason.” 

Buck’s forehead crinkles. “I do?” 

She smiles at him. “Is it the price tag? I do have some cheaper options, if you’re interested.” She squeezes between two buckets and walks towards the other end of the tent, returning with a smaller, skinnier bouquet, bursting with a rainbow of tall, flimsy wildflowers that waver in the breeze. 

“This one’s only eight,” she tells him. She peers at his bag. “I know those walnuts were thirty. From Jim, right?” 

“Yeah, Jim! Love his nuts. I mean—I…they’re good walnuts,” he stammers. He’s become friendlier with some of the vendors, and a lot of them recognize his face now. Jim is his walnut guy. They’re insanely expensive, but Buck tried them once and could never go back to the bitter, bland grocery store walnuts ever again. Jim has him hooked.

“I’m not trying to be pushy,” she says kindly, “and I’d give you these for free, if you wanted them,” Buck opens his mouth to protest, but she plows forward, not giving him a chance to cut in, “but I don’t think you’d let me do that.” She holds the flowers out, practically pushing them into his chest. 

“I…thank you?” Buck says uncertainly. Lukewarm water drips down from the stems, wetting his hand and wrist. “I’ll—yeah, let me get some cash,” he says, more to be polite than anything else. He digs around in his pocket, flipping open his wallet with one hand and passing her a crumpled ten dollar bill. “Keep the change.” 

“So it wasn’t the price,” she says to herself, nodding. 

“It wasn’t the price,” Buck confirms. “I don’t…I don’t have anyone to give them to.” 

“Are you sure?” she asks, crouching down to pluck a flower with a broken stem from one of the buckets. 

Buck frowns. Is she asking if he’s single? “Uh, no offense, y-you’re a little young for me,” he says, feeling his face warm. 

She looks up at him, a small smile on her face. “That’s okay. You’re not my type.” 

“Okay, ouch,” Buck laughs, clutching his chest with his free hand. 

She laughs too, straightening up and tucking the broken flower into her apron pocket. “I don’t date men,” she clarifies. 

“Ooh,” Buck nods knowingly. “Smart. It’s rough out there.” 

She looks at him for a moment, then sticks out her hand, her smile widening. “I’m Tamara.” 

“Buck,” Buck grins, shaking her hand. “Thank you for the flowers, Tamara.” 

“You paid for them,” she points out. “No need to thank me.” 

“Thank you for bullying me into buying them, then,” he jokes. “I’ll…I’ll figure out what to do with them.” 

“If you won’t keep them for yourself, give them to someone you love,” she tells him seriously, holding his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be romantic. Everyone likes flowers.” 

—

Buck digs a dusty vase out from one of the highest cabinets, rinses it out, and fills the now sparkling clean glass with tap water. He cuts the bottoms off the stems with kitchen shears (diagonally, because Tamara told him they stay fresh longer that way) and snips the rubber band on the bouquet before lowering the flowers into the vase. 

He thought about giving them to Maddie, or maybe stopping by Hen and Karen’s, but he’d bought frozen fish from Marco the fish guy on his way out of the market, and he didn’t think he could make it to one of their houses and back home without the fish thawing completely. 

So…he brought them home. They’re for the household, he decided. Not himself, or Chris, or Eddie specifically. Just something for the general ambiance. For everyone to enjoy. 

Eddie walks into the kitchen just as Buck is rinsing the dirt from the last of the lettuce. “Wow. What are those for?” Eddie asks, raising his eyebrows at the vase on the table. 

“The ambiance,” Buck says quickly, waving his dripping hands vaguely in the air around his head. “The house.” 

“The ambiance, huh? Hm,” Eddie hums, leaning over the table peering into the vase. “They smell nice.”

“Yeah, that’s, like, flowers’ whole thing,” Buck teases. He watches with a twinge of pride as Eddie closes his eyes and gives the bouquet a quick sniff before drawing back, a small smile on his face. 

“The ones at the grocery store just smell like water,” Eddie says. He steps around Buck, touching his hand to Buck’s lower back for a second as he reaches for a mug. “And dirt. And sometimes spray paint.”

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Buck frowns, patting a head of lettuce dry with a paper towel. “Who even likes those? The—the neon blue spray painted flowers?” He gives a dramatic shiver of distaste. “Eugh.” 

“Not my thing,” Eddie agrees. He holds up the tea kettle, and Buck steps to the side, waiting for him to fill it with water. “It’s nice when there’s a bunch of different ones in there, y’know? Instead of just twelve of the same type of flower.” He shrugs. “Looks more natural.” 

“So…what you’re saying is I’m really good at picking out flowers?” Buck asks, grinning. He leans back against the counter and folds his arms across his chest, watching as Eddie sets the kettle on the stove and flicks on the burner. 

“That’s what you got out of that?” Eddie scoffs, shaking his head. He rips open the top of a tea bag packet and drops it into his mug. 

“Well, that’s kinda exactly what you said…” 

“You’ve missed your calling,” Eddie says drily. “Your talents are being wasted, firefighter Buckley.” He clears his throat, letting out a small cough. 

“I’ll put in my notice tomorrow,” Buck says solemnly. Then he narrows his eyes at Eddie, flicking his gaze between the chamomile tea bag and Eddie’s mouth. “Are you sick?” 

“Huh?” Eddie looks up at him. “No. Sore throat, Buck, I’m fine.” 

“Oh! Wait!” Buck snaps his fingers, hurrying to one of his bags on the table and rummaging through it. “Here!” he says triumphantly, holding up a tiny, bear-shaped jar of honey between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Ah, thanks, Buck,” Eddie smiles, reaching out to take it from him. “This is actually really helpful. Ran out of cough drops this morning.” He twists off the lid and pours a small amount into the bottom of his mug. 

“It’s local,” Buck says, feeling that same twinge of pride at having made something better for Eddie. “So it’ll help with allergies. If that’s what this is.” 

“You’re like Mary Poppins,” Eddie says, fond and amused. He holds the jar up to the window, tilting it back and forth as he watches the sunlight stream through it, the honey glowing warm and golden. 

“Who?” 

“The movie? The nanny who had a magic bag with all this stuff in it. Flowers, honey, lettuce…” Eddie explains, gesturing to Buck’s tote bag. “You really never watched it?” The tea kettle whistles and he pulls it off the stove, tipping the steaming water into his mug. 

“I’m not your nanny,” Buck says, mildly horrified. Almost on autopilot, he opens the silverware drawer and pulls out the tiny spoon Eddie uses to mix sugar or honey into hot drinks, passing it to him wordlessly. 

“Thank you, Ms. Poppins,” Eddie says gratefully. His fingers brush against Buck’s knuckles when he takes the spoon, and he gives Buck this warm, sparkly-eyed smile that releases a small swarm of butterflies in Buck’s stomach. Buck withdraws his hand, giving the butterflies a silent warning to settle the fuck down. 

The thing is, Buck is well aware that he’s in love with Eddie. 

He’s known for a few months now. It was moving in with him and Chris that finally did it. The domesticity of it all. He’d had that with them before, for years and years, and then Chris left, and it was different, and then Eddie left, and it was gone completely. 

But then they both came back. And now it’s even better than it was for all those years, because Buck has it, has them, every single day. In his own house! Even if he’s home alone, if Eddie’s picked up an extra shift, or Chris is at school, or they’re both at appointments or out running errands together—they’re still here, in the house.

Chris’s lunch plate in the sink, Eddie’s hair gel on the bathroom counter, the family calendar on the fridge, Eddie’s socks mixed in with Buck’s laundry. Buck has never felt more settled somewhere. More at home. He has everything he’s ever wanted. 

He’s not going to do anything stupid like confess his feelings to ruin it. Just knowing is enough. Buck is happy he’s in love with Eddie. He had to freak out about it for a few weeks, and he still has the occasional breakdown on Maddie’s couch, but it also feels good. He loves Eddie. He gets to live with him and work with him and buy him tiny bear-shaped jars of honey. It’s a privilege to love Eddie. 

He’s happy. Really. He’s satisfied with what he and Eddie have and he’s content to live like this for as long as Eddie will have him. Sure, fantasies about kissing his best friend have been playing on a loop in his mind almost every waking moment since Eddie came back from El Paso, but he’s been doing an exceptionally good job of acting normal. 

Until, that is, he develops an obsession with buying Eddie flowers. That’s when things really start to go off the rails. 

—

Buck has been thinking about the farmers market all week. More specifically, he’s been thinking about the flower tent. Something about Eddie’s little smile after he smelled the bouquet of wildflowers is stuck in his head, snagged on his consciousness like a hangnail.

He’s antsy on the drive to the market, his palms sweaty on the steering wheel as he drives in increasingly frustrated circles trying to find parking on the busy streets around the market. The last time he bought flowers, they were practically forced on him. And they weren’t for Eddie, not intentionally. 

This time, he doesn’t even try to pretend. He walks straight to the flower stall, breezing past his usual first stops without a second glance. There’s no meandering around, no leisurely browsing or  sampling of jam or infused olive oil. He’s on a mission. He’s a little out of breath by the time he gets to Tamara. He hadn’t even realized how fast he was walking. 

“Oh! Welcome back,” Tamara smiles, giving him a little wave from behind the register where she’s helping another customer. Buck smiles back at her, returning the wave before beginning his search. He walks slowly through the rows of buckets, considering and then deciding against each bunch of flowers. None of them are quite right. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for—doesn’t even know the names of ninety percent of these flowers—but he thinks he’ll know it when he sees it. 

“So,” Tamara says, wiping her dirt-streaked hands off on a rag as she approaches. She doesn’t say anything more. 

“So?” Buck prompts, a little confused. 

“So…you’re back. I can only assume that means you took my advice?”

“Sort of,” Buck hedges. “I just put them in my kitchen. Y’know…for everyone to enjoy.”

“Mm,” Tamara hums, looking pleased. “So you did enjoy them?” 

Sure, Buck enjoyed the flowers. They gave him a little boost of serotonin every time he walked into the kitchen. They brightened up the space, providing a splash of color to a room that already felt warm and cheery and safe. But that’s not the real reason he’s here. He’s here because Eddie enjoyed them. 

“Everyone likes flowers,” Buck grins, parroting her words from last week. 

The corner of Tamara’s mouth turns up. “Sounds like whoever said that knows what they’re talking about.” 

“Yep.” Buck pauses for a minute, gathering his courage. “So…I was wondering if you could help me out again.” 

“That’s what I’m here for,” she says easily. “What are you looking for this week, Buck?” 

“Something…something that looks natural,” he says. “Like, a variety of flowers, I guess. He liked the last ones.” 

Tamara’s eyebrows raise slightly. “He?” 

Buck feels his cheeks prickle with heat. He had not meant to say that. It just slipped out. 

“Oh, um…yeah. He—Eddie—he just got back from, uh, from Texas recently. A few months ago. We were living apart for a while.” He’s not sure why he doesn’t just say my roommate. 

“Ah,” Tamara says. “You missed him?” 

Buck, to his horror, feels a lump forming in his throat. He looks down at his feet, scuffing his shoe against a flattened flower petal. “Yeah,” he admits. “It was…it was hard. It’s good to have him home.” 

“It sounds like you still care about him a lot,” Tamara says. She’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes bouncing around the tent, scanning the sea of bouquets for something matching Buck’s specifications. 

“Still?” Buck repeats, furrowing his brow. “I mean, yeah. He wasn’t gone for very long.” 

“So are you…are you wanting to get back together?” Tamara asks, setting off to the corner of the tent. Buck follows, turning her words over in his head. He should just correct her. No, Eddie’s my roommate. He’s my best friend. He’s straight. 

“Yeah,” he says instead. “I never wanted to be separated in the first place.” Technically not a lie. In this case, they just have different understandings of separated. 

“And do you know if he feels the same?” Tamara asks. She runs her fingers over the delicate petals of a clump of brilliant blue and yellow flowers, then gives a tiny shake of her head, moving on to the next bundle. 

“No,” Buck says. “I mean, yes, I know. He doesn’t.” 

“I’m sorry,” Tamara says, turning back to face him. She studies his face intently, a small line forming between her brows. Buck squirms. It feels like she’s trying to read his mind. Then, after a long moment, she speaks again. “Are you sure?” 

Buck is transported momentarily to his well-worn spot on Maddie’s couch. She’s long since given up on trying to convince him to talk to Eddie about his feelings after one night when Buck, mid-meltdown, literally begged her to drop it. It was getting too painful. These days, she’s settled comfortably into her role as a listening ear and a shoulder to cry on, and Buck hasn’t been forced to contend with the ‘are you sure he doesn’t share your feelings?’ question in months.

“I’m…” He is sure. He’s just as sure that Eddie doesn’t feel the same way as he is that the earth is round. It’s just another fact of life. But Tamara doesn’t know that. And, again, it just…slips out. “I’m not sure,” he says. He just wants to pretend, for a moment, with a stranger, that things are different. 

Tamara gives a small nod, like he’s confirmed something she already suspected. “So, you’re trying to win him back,” she says, her eyes sparking with interest. 

“Not exactly,” Buck says, again opting for a half-truth. “I’m just sort of…I don’t know. I’m trying to make him happy.” 

Tamara’s fingers skip over a bucket of roses, all white and plump and uniform, and come to rest on a smaller bouquet, the only one left in the bucket. The flowers are big and sturdy, light pink and dark pink and orangey-yellow and deep purple, no two exactly the same. 

“What about these?” she asks, lifting them from the water. “Do you think these would make him happy?” 

Buck closes his eyes briefly, replacing the wilted wildflowers in the vase on the table with this new bouquet in his mind. He pictures Eddie walking into the kitchen and catching sight of the burst of color, that small smile making an appearance on his face again. He opens his eyes.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Yeah, I think so.” 

“They’re sixteen,” Tamara says, a little apologetic. 

Buck shrugs, waving off her concern as he flips open his wallet. “I should be paying you my therapist’s rate,” he jokes, handing over a twenty. “Keep the change.” 

“Well, for twenty, you could get something bigger,” she laughs, trying to hand him a handful of ones.  

Buck holds up his hands, refusing to take her change. “Maybe next week.” 

Tamara gives him a long, searching look. “Next week, huh? Are you sure you’re not trying to win him back?” 

If Buck thought something as simple as farmers market flowers could make Eddie love him, he’d buy out the whole tent. “I’m not,” he says truthfully. 

“But you’re still in love with him,” she says, a statement, not a question. 

Buck’s heart twists painfully in his chest. “Probably always will be,” he says. The full truth this time. 

He brings the flowers up to his face, breathing in. They smell different to the last ones. Earthy, a little spicy, not as floral. He hopes Eddie likes them. If he doesn’t, though, there’s always next week. 

—

Buck spends the better part of Sunday puttering around the kitchen, dragging out little tasks and chores that usually only take him half an hour or so. He doesn’t want to leave the kitchen and miss Eddie’s reaction to the flowers, no matter how small. 

He digs the cherry pitter out from the back of the drawer of miscellaneous kitchen utensils and begins working his way methodically through the pound of dark cherries he picked out that morning. It’s not something he’d do for himself—it’s easy enough to eat around the pit, and the payoff isn’t worth the extra work. But he just doesn’t really know where to put his love for Eddie these days, so it leaks out of him in the form of honey jars and wildflowers and pitted cherries. 

He works quietly, no music or podcasts, losing himself in the meditative rhythm of the project, letting himself indulge in the fantasy he spun for Tamara, sinking into it like a warm bath. The fantasy that he could make Eddie fall in love with him if he just tried hard enough, if he just brought home the perfect bunch of flowers. That he could have Eddie in the way he wants him, that Eddie could want him back. He loses track of time completely, watching his daydream play out in his head like a movie, vivid and complex. 

It’s only when his fingers brush against the empty bottom of the cardboard carton that he’s pulled out of his trance, blinking slowly at the kitchen around him like he just walked out of a dark movie theater into blinding sunshine. His chest aches, his throat closing up with the loss of the life he’d allowed himself to imagine. 

“Uh oh.” 

Buck doesn’t turn around at first, squeezing his eyes shut against the echo of Eddie’s voice from his daydream, willing it to fade into the deepest part of his subconscious. He never should’ve dug it up in the first place. 

“You kill someone?” Eddie’s voice is a little breathless as he comes up behind Buck, nudging him gently with his shoulder to get to the sink. There’s a dark ring of sweat around his collar, and Buck can hear tinny, uptempo music floating out from his earbuds. 

“Um…” Buck looks down at his hands. They’re stained a deep magenta, dark juice seeping into the lines in his palms, wedged under his fingernails. He’s a little disappointed Eddie’s home already. He wanted to put the bowl of cherries in the fridge so they’d be cold by the time he got back from his run. 

“Was it that asshole in the cybertruck who’s always blowing past the stop sign on the corner?” Eddie asks, cupping his hands under the tap and splashing a palmful of cold water against his sweaty face. “I’ve been thinking about taking care of him myself. You hide the body yet?” 

Buck lets out a huff of laughter, the wispy remains of his daydream cleared away by Eddie’s teasing. “Not yet,” he says, reaching for a sponge. The counter’s a mess, too. It really does look like a crime scene. “You have any plans the rest of the day?” 

“I’ll clear my schedule,” Eddie says soberly. He removes his earbuds and runs a wet hand through his hair, slicking it back against his head. “Those for a recipe?” he asks, nodding his chin at the overfilled bowl of pitted cherries. 

“Hm? Oh, no, they’re for y—they’re just for snacking,” Buck says, nudging the bowl towards him. “Have as many as you want.” 

Eddie plucks a few cherries from the pile, popping them into his mouth and chewing happily. He leans back against the kitchen island, facing Buck. “What about you? Any plans?” It’s sort of a running joke between them. Eddie knows Buck doesn’t have any plans. If he did, Eddie would know about them, and vice versa. 

“Besides burying cybertruck guy?” Buck asks, biting down on a cherry of his own. It’s tart and almost overly sweet, a sharp burst of flavor on his tongue. He prefers the milder cherries, the yellow and red ones that remind him of little sunsets. But he knows Eddie likes the sweeter ones. “Nope. I’m wide open.” 

“Cool,” Eddie smiles. There’s cherry juice in between his teeth. Buck wants to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him. 

“Cool,” Buck echoes, smiling back. His heart flutters like his middle school crush just sat down at the desk next to him. The rest of the day stretches out ahead of him, warm and slow and full of Eddie. Maybe they’ll make dinner together. Maybe they’ll watch a movie, and Eddie will fall asleep with his arm resting on the back of the couch behind Buck’s neck, like he’s been doing more and more often lately. Maybe Buck can slip back into his fantasy world, close his eyes and pretend Eddie’s hand is a few inches over, playing with the hair at the back of his head. 

“Alright,” Eddie says, pushing off the island. “Gonna hop in the shower.” He snatches another cherry from the bowl and turns to leave. “Whoa, hey,” he says, stopping at the door. “New flowers?” 

Buck’s heart soars. “Yeah,” he says casually. Like he hasn’t been waiting for this moment since last Sunday. 

“Hm…” Eddie hums, stepping closer to the table and lowering his face into the bouquet. He straightens, his nose scrunched up. “I like the—the wildflowers bett—” he breaks off, sneezing violently.

“Bless you,” Buck says automatically. 

Eddie sneezes four more times in quick succession before he gets the chance to speak again. “I think I’m allergic to those.” 

Buck sighs, trying not to let the disappointment show on his face. “I’ll throw them out.” Eddie sneezes again.

It could not possibly have gone worse. He’ll try again next Sunday.

—

Buck is going to kill Chimney. 

It didn’t have to be this way. He wasn’t supposed to work on Sunday. The schedule changed at the last minute, and Chimney didn’t think to inform him of this until Friday, once it was already too late to do anything about it. 

Would Buck have actually swapped out his shift for the sole purpose of going to the farmers market? It’s absolutely ridiculous, but he thinks, given the chance, he actually would have. It’s not the flowers themselves—there are farmers markets every day of the week in Los Angeles, each with their own flower vendors and perfectly nice flowers he could buy instead.

It’s his lie. The one he told Tamara—or, rather, let Tamara believe—about the nature of his relationship with Eddie. She’s the only one he’s dragged into his fantasy world with him, the only person he can pretend with. And, god, he wants to pretend. He’s been fleshing out the story in his head over the past week, obsessing over it, coloring it in with little details to make it more real, more believable. He’s starting to spend more time in that world than he does in the real one. 

Which is why, when Chimney casually mentions that he’ll see them all back at work on Sunday, Buck loses his mind a little bit.

“What? Sunday?” Buck stops dead in his tracks on his way out of the firehouse, turning slowly to face Chimney.

“Um…yeah. Sorry, did I forget to tell you guys? We’re back on Sunday, which—no, I know, I know, don’t give me that look—listen, it just means we’ll have a longer weekend, right? Seventy two off? Eh?” 

“Dude,” Eddie groans, his head falling back. “You gotta tell us about this stuff.”

“I know, I know,” Chimney says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Seriously, I’m sorry. Things have just been so hectic with the baby, and with Jee starting TK, I just…it slipped through the cracks. Sorry, guys.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Chim,” Hen says kindly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “We know.”

Chim gives her a tired, grateful look. “I’ll make it up to all of you, okay?”

Everyone seems to be content with this resolution. Buck is vibrating out of his skin. 

“Seriously?” he asks sharply, unable to contain the frustration in his voice. The rest of his team looks back at him, a mixture of confusion and concern on their faces. Buck clenches his jaw, glaring at Chimney. “Aren’t we supposed to have more notice for shift changes?” 

“Buck,” Hen says quietly, a note of warning in her tone. Buck ignores her. 

“Wh-what if—what if I had plans?” he asks, feeling small and pathetic, completely aware he’s being unfair. He resents the whine in his voice as the words leave his mouth, but he can’t do anything to stop them. 

“Um…did you?” Chimney asks, exchanging a glance with Hen. 

“That’s not the point!” Buck says hotly, barely resisting stomping his foot. 

“Okay, Buck,” Chimney says evenly. “Hey, would you guys give us a minute?” 

Hen and Ravi make their escape, but Eddie hangs back, stepping closer to Buck. Buck can feel the heat of his gaze on the side of his face. He knows Eddie is trying to get him to look over, but Buck stares straight ahead, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. 

“Eddie,” Chimney says firmly. “Go. We’ll catch up.” He waits until Eddie is out of earshot to start speaking. 

“Okay. Spill,” Chimney says, crossing his arms. “What’s going on with you this week, man?”

“This week?” Buck asks, taken aback. “I’m—nothing’s going on. I’m just annoyed we have to work Sunday,” he says sullenly. 

“No, you’ve been weird all week,” Chimney says. “All spacey. What’s going on in that head of yours, kid?” 

Buck almost laughs. If only he knew. “Nothing,” he says again, more forcefully. 

“I know I don’t have the best track record with secrets,” Chimney says, giving him a small, self-deprecating smile. God. He’s trying so hard to be nice. It only makes Buck angrier. “But if there’s anything you need to talk about, Buck, I’m…I’m here for you, okay? You know that.” 

Buck deflates, all the fight draining out of him. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know. I’m sorry, Chim. I have…stuff going on. Sorry for taking it out on you.” 

“And I’m sorry for not telling you about the shift change sooner,” Chimney says, placing a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but whatever plans of yours I ruined, whatever stuff you have going on…I hope it works itself out.”

Buck just nods, looking down at his feet. He’s afraid that if he meets Chimney’s eyes he’ll do something embarrassing, like start crying. He really needs to stop with the daydreaming. He knows this, he knows it’s unhealthy. It’s bleeding into his real life, affecting his real world relationships. But even as he thinks this, he has no intention of stopping. He’s actually considering writing some of it down. 

“Okay, buddy. Go home, get some rest, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, his voice thick with unshed tears. 

Buck is only a few steps from his car when he’s stopped in his tracks, nearly bowled over by the force of Eddie’s hug. 

“E-Eddie?” Buck asks, his arms hovering awkwardly at his sides for a moment before he wraps them around Eddie, relaxing into the embrace. “What’s this for?” he murmurs. Eddie doesn’t respond, just squeezes him tighter, pressing his face into Buck’s shoulder for a long moment before pulling away.

“You looked like you needed it,” he says simply. “You don’t wanna talk, right?”

Buck shakes his head. 

“Well. I’m here when you do,” he says, patting Buck on the shoulder. “And there’s more where that came from,” he says, smiling slightly. “If you need it.” 

“Thanks, Eddie,” Buck says, his voice cracking without his permission. He moves to open the driver's side door, then pauses, his hand on the door handle. He can feel Eddie’s eyes drilling holes in the back of his head, and he turns, meeting his gaze. 

“You want another hug, bud?” Eddie asks gently. 

Buck nods wordlessly. Eddie lets out a soft laugh, stepping into Buck’s space and pulling him in slowly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his spine. Buck sighs, slowing his breathing and letting his eyes drop closed. 

“Greedy,” Eddie whispers in Buck’s ear. “Two hugs? Am I gonna need to set a limit on these?” 

I love you, Buck thinks. He whispers the words into Eddie’s shoulder, his lips moving soundlessly against the fabric of his shirt. “I love you.”

—

Weirdly enough, writing down his daydreams actually seems to help. It’s good to get them down on paper—the paper in question being the notes app in his phone—and out of his head. They’re safe there, contained, quarantined from the rest of his brain. He can be normal and present at work and in social situations, and then go home and open his notes app and sink so deeply into the daydream he loses hours of time without even realizing. 

And it’s great, because now he has two Eddies. Whenever he’s not with one, he’s with the other. He has his Eddie, the real Eddie, his favorite person in this world and any other. But he also has fantasy Eddie now. And fantasy Eddie loves him. That’s really the only difference between them. Buck didn’t change anything else about their story. He wouldn’t want to.

So, really, the majority of what he tells Tamara the next Sunday he has off isn’t actually a lie. 

“No more chrysanthemums,” Buck says, ducking into the flower tent exactly six minutes after the market opened. Tamara is still setting up her register. “He’s allergic.” 

“Buck,” Tamara smiles. “You’re back.” 

“I wanted to come last week,” Buck says. “We had a shift swap. Had to work Sunday.” 

“Well, you’re here now,” she says. “You said no more chrysanthemums?” 

“That’s what those fat ones were, right?” Buck asks, making a big circle with his hands to demonstrate.

“Yes,” Tamara laughs. “That makes sense. A lot of people are allergic.”

“He said he liked the wildflowers better,” Buck adds. “So…something—something along those lines? But bigger.”

He follows Tamara around as she searches, waiting impatiently for her to ask him about Eddie. He almost cracks and brings him up on his own, but Tamara finally speaks. 

“Did he like them, at least?” 

“Um…I don’t know, actually,” Buck says truthfully. “He mostly just sneezed a lot.”

“Did he like getting flowers from you,” Tamara clarifies, giving him an amused look. 

“I…I think so,” Buck says, the edges of his thoughts going dreamy and blissful; bits and pieces of his fantasy world floating into the real one, bits of the real one floating into his fantasy. “He hugged me.”

“That sounds promising,” Tamara smiles, turning away from the flowers to look at him. “Was it a nice hug?”

“Really nice,” Buck says. He still hasn’t lied. “He hugged me twice. Because I was having a bad day.” 

“Maybe if you have a really bad day, he’ll kiss you,” Tamara suggests, teasing. 

Buck smiles. “That’s sort of how we got together,” he says. His first outright lie. It’s exhilarating. 

Tamara tilts her head, looking intrigued. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Buck takes a deep breath. This is truly the point of no return. “I’d just been dumped. Not—not by him. By a different guy. It really took me by surprise, I was…I was pretty shaken up.” 

Tamara gives him a sympathetic look, and Buck feels a momentary flash of guilt at lying to her like this when she’s been nothing but kind to him. But it’s not enough to get him to stop—he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. 

“And Eddie’s my best friend, right? We’ve known each other for a long time, I go to him for everything. Drove straight to his house after my ex dumped me, and he was…” Buck laughs softly, shaking his head, “he was in his underwear.” 

Tamara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Is he typically in his underwear when he opens the door?”

“No!” Buck laughs. “I didn’t really think twice about it, y’know, I was kinda just in shock. And he just…he sat there with me. Waited ‘til I was ready to talk. It was late, and he’d been going through a tough time, but he just—he listened. The last guy wasn’t the, uh, best listener.” 

“So why were you dating him?” Tamara asks curiously. 

Buck pauses, considering. “‘Cause he wanted me,” he says honestly. “Because Eddie didn’t.” He didn’t know it at the time, but he realizes as he says it that it’s the truth. “As far as I knew, he was straight.” 

“Ah,” Tamara says, nodding sagely, like she’s well acquainted with that particular situation.

“Yeah. B-but anyway. I started spiraling a little—a lot—and he just…did what he always does. He talked me down. Said all the right things. He told me—” Buck swallows, digging his fingernails into his palms. This is, by far, the most pathetic thing he’s ever done. It’s also the most thrilling. 

“H-he told me anyone would be lucky to have me. That if my ex couldn’t see how great I was, he was an idiot.” Buck has fleshed out this dialogue in his head and in his notes app, making fantasy Eddie tell him everything he’s always wanted to hear. He gives Tamara the Cliffs Notes.

“And then he kissed me.”

“Just like that?” Tamara asks.

“Yep. Not, like a…not like a friendly kiss, either. A real one. I’ll spare you the details, but…” Buck waggles his eyebrows at her, making her laugh. 

“Got it,” she says. “So, not straight.” 

“Not straight,” Buck confirms. 

Buck keeps the details for himself. One of his most frequent fantasies does in fact involve Eddie in that pink shirt, his legs bare, hair hanging loose around his face, happy and shiny and flushed. It’s so vivid that Buck sometimes forgets how the night actually played out. Large chunks of it have been scrubbed from his brain, rewritten by his artificial memory of Eddie in his lap, Eddie’s mouth on his, Eddie whispering to Buck over and over how much he wants him. 

“Things moved pretty fast after that. I mean, we’ve known each other so long it didn’t feel fast, y’know? His son—I mean, I already loved that kid to death, so…it was pretty seamless. I moved in. Asked him to marry me. He said yes.” 

“So…what happened?” Tamara asks softly, looking a little sad. 

“He left,” Buck says. “Went back to Texas to be with his family.” 

“And you didn’t go with him?” Tamara frowns. 

“He didn’t ask,” Buck says. The words scratch at his heart, picking at a scab that’s barely healed over. 

Tamara still looks confused, but Buck doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t feel like lingering on this particular part of the story. It’s one of his least favorites, and he usually skips over it in his daydreams. 

“But he’s back now,” Tamara prompts, finally turning back to the flowers with renewed determination. 

“He’s back,” Buck confirms, perking up. He likes this part better. “He and his kid moved back in, and it’s been…it’s been really nice.” 

“Even though you’re still separated?” Tamara moves past the pre-arranged bouquets to a white folding table littered with sheets of brown paper and neat piles of individual flowers.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “We’re still best friends. He just doesn’t love me in the same way I love him.” 

Tamara crosses her arms over her chest, studying the table of flowers. “Well. I think we should change that.” 

For a moment, Buck feels a brief, traitorous spark of hope. He knows it’s unfounded, that her confidence is based on a completely fabricated version of events, but she just sounds so certain. 

“Yeah?” Buck smiles, picking up a single tulip. “What do you have in mind?”

“Let me help you with a custom arrangement,” she says, her eyes bright. “Did you know certain flowers have different meanings?”

Buck does know this, actually. He checked out a library book on flowers when he was a kid because he thought the cover was pretty, and when the return date popped up, he stuffed the book under his mattress, unable to let it go. He didn’t dig it out again until years later, when he was certain the librarians wouldn’t come knocking on his door looking for it. He read it over and over until it was battered and dogeared, little splotches of root beer and grape jelly stuck to his favorite pages. He doesn’t remember what happened to it. His mom probably threw it away. 

“Um…vaguely,” Buck says. “I forgot most of them.” 

Tamara picks up a fluffy pink flower, holding it out to Buck. He takes it, brushing his fingers gently across the petals. “Hyacinth,” she says. “Admiration, renewed love.” 

She picks up a small bundle of tiny white flowers Buck recognizes as baby’s breath. “Everlasting love.” Buck takes these, too, holding his growing collection of flowers tightly in one hand. “Violets,” she says, handing him another bunch without looking up. “Also everlasting love. And they just smell nice.” Buck holds one up to his nose, taking a long sniff. 

She pauses, her hand resting on a pile of roses. “Are you going for subtlety? Or do you want him to know?” 

Buck hides his face in the violet, taking another calming sniff. “No roses. Too obvious.” 

She nods, grabbing a bundle of long green stems studded with smooth, shiny leaves and pushing them into Buck’s hands. 

He frowns, puzzled. “What do these mean?” 

“Nothing,” she laughs. “They just tie everything together.” 

Buck walks out of the market with a paper wrapped declaration of love sticking out of his tote bag. He sets it gently in the front seat of his car, standing it up straight and stretching the seatbelt carefully over the center of the bag, making sure none of the petals are crushed in the process. 

On the drive home, he pretends he’s bringing home flowers for his husband. Maybe it’s a special occasion—an anniversary of some kind, or a holiday. Or maybe Buck is apologizing for something, some small marital spat or stupid mistake that Eddie will easily forgive him for. Or maybe he’s doing it just because. Because it’s a random Sunday in August, and he loves Eddie. 

He sits in the driveway for a long, long time, unwilling to walk through the front door and shatter the fantasy. The flowers sit quietly next to him, wilting in the hot car. 

—

“Honey?” 

Buck freezes, the muscles in his neck tensing painfully as he sucks in a sharp breath. Is he actually, finally going fully insane? Flat out hallucinating? Because he can see Eddie in front of him, he heard the sound of his footsteps change with the flooring as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. He looks real. His daydreams are usually incredibly vivid, but not like this. 

“Buck? Hello?” Eddie wrinkles his brow, stepping closer. He waves a hand in front of Buck’s face, trying to get his attention. “You in there, bud?” 

“Y-yeah,” Buck manages, setting his knife down gingerly on the cutting board. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Uh…I asked if you got any more of that honey this morning,” Eddie says, still sounding concerned. “Meant to text you about it. It’s been a huge help with the allergy stuff, honestly, and I ran out yesterday.” His breath rattles when he clears his throat, and he lets out a small cough. 

Oh. Thank god. Buck’s not having a total mental break. He exhales shakily, taking a few steps over to his tote bag and pulling out another jar of honey, bigger this time. It was twenty three dollars. The flowers were thirty. 

“I know,” Buck says, giving him a cheeky smile. He found the empty bear-shaped honey jar in the drying rack yesterday. Eddie had hand washed it and kept the lid, even though it’s too small to actually store anything in. 

“Oh, man, you’re a life saver,” Eddie says gratefully, accepting the jar of honey. “Seriously, Buck.” He goes to grab the kettle and pauses, setting the jar carefully on the counter and stepping closer to Buck, a soft look in his eyes. It’s almost unbearable, how close he’s standing, how much he looks like the fantasy version of his best friend who’s kept Buck company for the past few hours as he worked through his chores. 

“Buck,” he says, gentle but firm. He reaches for Buck, circling his fingers around Buck’s forearm and holding on. His touch is somehow grounding and disorienting all at once. “You’re gonna need to talk to me eventually, man. About whatever’s going on with you.”

Absolutely not. “Nothing’s going on, Eddie,” Buck lies. “Nothing you can help with.” 

Eddie looks stung, and Buck’s stomach roils with guilt. “I-I mean, it’s not—it’s something I have to work out on my own, okay?”

“Why?” Eddie asks, tightening his grip on Buck’s arm. “Why won’t you let me help?” 

“You do help,” Buck says quietly. He steps closer, leaning slowly towards Eddie until he takes the hint, pulling Buck in by his arm and holding him close, his hands warm and comforting on Buck’s back. Buck lets out a shuddering breath, melting into the hug. A full minute passes. Two minutes. Buck waits for Eddie to pull away, but he doesn’t. Buck can feel the gentle rhythm of Eddie’s breath as his chest rises and falls against his own. It stabilizes him, roots him firmly in reality, the vestiges of his daydream retreating to the back of his mind. 

Buck could fall asleep like this. He’s standing up, and his hands are sticky and stiff with juice from the bell peppers he was cutting, and his apron string is pulled uncomfortably tight around his waist, but he doesn’t mind any of that. He feels like Buck again, the real Buck, hugging the real Eddie. He misses when he was content with just this, before the unrequited love became so painful he had to escape to a world where it’s reciprocated. He’s scared he’ll never be able to claw his way back. 

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, patting Buck on the back. Buck moves to pull away, but Eddie holds him tightly, trapping him in the hug. “No, don’t go anywhere. Was just gonna say I like the flowers this week.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks lightly. He’s glad Eddie can’t see his face. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting a blissful, almost euphoric smile spread across his lips. 

“Those couldn’t’ve been cheap. Do we need to talk about your spending habits?”

Buck lets out a soft huff of laughter. “What are you, the flower police?” 

“No, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head, his hair brushing against the side of Buck’s face. “If you wanna spend your hard earned money on fancy ass flowers, I’m not gonna stop you.” He nuzzles into Buck’s neck, his stubble scratching against his skin. 

“It’s nice,” he says, his voice muffled. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before.” 

“Who said they were for you?” Buck teases. His skin is hot where Eddie presses his face into it. It feels almost too good to be true, like one of his daydreams come to life. But Eddie’s hands are solid and steady on his back, and Buck’s shins are aching slightly from standing in the same position for so long, and when he pinches his own hand, he can feel it, sharp and real. 

“No one else lives here, Buck.” 

“Hey, Chris lives here!” 

“You got flowers for my fourteen year old son?” 

“They’re for the ambiance,” Buck reminds him. 

“Fine. Am I allowed to say thank you, then? For, uh…improving the ambiance?” Eddie asks wryly. 

“I’ll allow it,” Buck says graciously. 

“Thank you, Buck,” Eddie says, punctuating his words with a brief flex of his fingers on Buck’s back. “For the flowers. And the honey.” 

“The honey’s for all of us.” 

“Dude,” Eddie groans. “You’re impossible.” He pulls away slightly from the hug, just enough so he can look Buck in the eye. One of his hands slides down, coming to rest on Buck’s waist. He raises the other slowly, hovering in the air near Buck’s cheek for a long moment before he seems to change his mind about something, curling his fingers into a fist and letting it drop to his side. 

“We should’ve done this a while ago,” he says, taking a small step back. Buck drops his hands and extricates himself from the hug, stepping out of it entirely until there’s a normal amount of space between them. Normal for them, at least. 

“What?” Buck asks, puzzled. “Hug for ten minutes?” 

Eddie barks out a laugh. “That too, sure,” he says, still laughing. “But I meant moving in together.”

“Oh,” is all Buck can think to say. Eddie sounds so earnest, so casual. Like this isn’t dialogue plucked straight from Buck’s notes app. 

“It’s a win-win,” Eddie continues. “We split rent,” he holds up a finger, counting off the reasons as he goes, “split gas money, split groceries. I mean, we’ll have saved thousands by the end of this year.” 

“That’s a win-win-win, actually,” Buck points out, gesturing to his three fingers. 

“Hold on.” Eddie stops him. “That’s just the first win.” 

“Right,” Buck smiles, holding up his hands. “Okay. What’s the second?” 

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, like it should be obvious. Buck gives him a blank look. 

“Dude, c’mon,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. “It’s convenient, right? You already spent all your time here, anyway—”

“Hey,” Buck protests.

“Just—sh. Let me talk,” Eddie says. Buck clamps his mouth shut. 

“It’s just easier this way,” Eddie continues. “You don’t have to drive home at the end of the night. You have your fancy knives here to cook with.”

Buck snorts. Eddie’s knives were abysmal, and Buck complained about them every time he came over and cooked for Eddie and Chris. He made Eddie throw out his shitty, dulled beyond repair knives the second he cut open the cardboard moving box that held them. He’s appalled that Eddie even bothered to move them to Texas and back. 

“And I like having you here,” Eddie adds. “You’re a good guy to live with, Buck.” He flashes Buck an easy smile. 

Buck smirks at him. “So…it is a win-win-win. That’s three wins.” 

“Fine,” Eddie smiles, shaking his head. “Win-win-win.” He resumes his task of making tea, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. 

“I like living with you, too, Eddie,” Buck says after a moment.  

“Good,” Eddie says with satisfaction. He turns the knob on the burner, and Buck reaches into the drying rack for Eddie’s go-to mug, setting it on the counter next to him. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“A lot of coughing, probably,” Buck says. “You’d actually have to drive yourself to work.” 

Buck was only teasing, but Eddie turns around to meet his eyes, his expression serious. “That’s not what I meant, Buck. I want you here. Regardless of the rest of it.”

An involuntary shiver runs through Buck at his words. Eddie wants him. Not in the same way Buck wants him, not in the way Buck dreams about, but still yet. He’s wanted. 

—

It’s been a slow day at the firehouse. They’ve only had a handful of calls since the beginning of their shift, and most of them were short and low stakes. Normally, if he was still the Buck of a few weeks ago, he‘d be playing a game with Hen on the couch, or teaming up with Eddie on chores that really only take one person to accomplish, or enlisting Ravi to help him take care of the breakfast dishes. Something productive, something social. 

Instead, he walked straight to the bunks when they got back from their last call, lay flat on his back, and closed his eyes. He’s not trying to sleep. He’s escaping again. 

There was a brief moment on their last call where Buck was almost certain Eddie was going to give this woman his phone number. He watched them closely; the way the woman looked up at him as he wrapped her arm, a sweet, grateful smile on her face, fluttering her long eyelashes in a way that made her look like a Disney princess. She looked like Eddie’s type, too, and he heard Eddie laugh loudly at something she said. It made Buck feel sick. He tried to look away, but his eyes were glued to the two of them, the knife in his chest twisting every time she got a smile out of him. 

On the ride back to the station, he asked, as nonchalantly as possible, if Eddie had gotten her number. Eddie gave him a weird look, his nose scrunching up like Buck had asked him something ridiculous, and shook his head. That should’ve been the end of that. 

But that small interaction cast a dark cloud over Buck’s mood, the harsh reminder that he’ll one day have to watch Eddie date again. Then he’ll have to watch him settle down. He’ll have to move out eventually, regardless of anything Eddie said about wanting him there. 

He’ll be the best man at Eddie’s wedding. He’ll dance and laugh and eat cake and give a long, teary speech, and no one except Maddie will know why he’s really crying. He’ll be close to Eddie’s wife, he’ll accept her into his family and love her as fiercely as he does the rest of his friends. Because what other option will he have? 

He can’t keep playing house with Eddie forever. The daydreams are getting worse again, more elaborate, to the point where he’s sidelining hobbies and activities that normally bring him joy and satisfaction. 

He turned down the offer of drinks after work a few nights ago because he couldn’t wait to get home, put on a pair of running shorts and tennis shoes, and walk around the neighborhood for hours, drowning himself in the fantasy of being loved. He returned home only when the blisters on his heels started bleeding into his socks. 

It’s addicting, though, in the most literal sense of the word. He’s researched the cycle of addiction, slowly connected the similarities between behavioral addiction and maladaptive daydreaming, and come to the sobering conclusion that he’s fallen into something bigger and scarier than he had originally thought. He needs help. He cannot, under any circumstances, ask for help. He tries to avoid his friends as much as possible. They refuse to let him. 

“Hey,” Hen says, scooting Buck’s legs to the side and sitting down on the edge of the cot without asking. “You have any idea what’s up with Eddie?”

Buck sits up straight, frowning at her. “Something’s up with Eddie?” 

“You haven’t noticed?” Hen raises her eyebrows, something unspoken in her eyes that Buck can’t decipher. 

“He seemed fine earlier,” Buck says. “Did, uh, did something happen?” 

“I don’t know,” Hen holds out her hands. “That’s why I’m asking you. He’s out there moping hard right now, and he won’t really talk to any of us. I was wondering if you might want to check on him.” 

“Okay, yeah,” Buck says immediately, swinging his legs around and planting his feet on the floor. “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” 

Hen smiles sadly at him. “Are you ready to talk about what’s going on with you yet?” 

Buck shakes his head, dropping his eyes to his lap. “It’s something I have to work out on my own,” he says, echoing his words to Eddie from the other day. He has no intention of working things out on his own, but what else can he say? 

“Let us help you, Buck,” Hen begs. “That’s what we’re here for. You’d do the same for any of us, right?” 

Buck stands, straightening his wrinkled shirt. “I’m gonna go check on him.” 

She doesn’t say anything else, but he can feel her eyes on his back as he walks out of the bunkroom. 

He finds Eddie in the locker room, sitting on a bench with his elbows on his knees, staring dejectedly down at his phone. The screen is black, and his eyes are blank and unfocused. Buck sits down next to him, taking the phone out of his hands and placing it on the bench. 

“Hen send you?” 

“Yep,” Buck says. “What happened?” 

“Call from my mom,” Eddie says flatly. “One of my cousins is getting married, apparently.” 

“Congratulations?” Buck says uncertainly. 

“Yeah.” Eddie gives a short, bitter laugh. “You’d think so, right?”

“She was a dick about it, huh.” Buck says, a statement rather than a question.

Eddie laughs, a real laugh this time. “The whole call was just…passive aggressive shit about how she’s glad at least someone in this family is settling down. That it’s really past time Chris has a woman in his life. A real mother figure. Telling me we’d both be better off back in El Paso with family.”  

“What’s Pepa, then?” Buck asks, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Chopped liver?”

Eddie shrugs tiredly, dragging his hands down his face and steepling them together under his chin. “That’s not good enough, apparently.” He pauses, looking over at Buck. “She doesn’t like us living together, either.”

“What?” Buck sputters. “What the hell did I do?” 

Eddie smiles slightly at his indignation. “Uh…be a man, I guess. I’m ‘too old to be living with a roommate.’”

“Does she have any idea about the state of the rental market in LA?” Buck asks defensively.

Eddie shrugs again. “I don’t think any of that matters. I think she just wants to…I don’t know, man. I love her, and I want her to—she cares about me, but the way she shows it is just…it’s not what I need.” 

Buck rests a hand on Eddie’s back, rubbing his thumb rhythmically against the space between his shoulder blades. “You’re doing a great job, Eddie,” he says, slowly, deliberately. “You’re a good dad. Chris is happy here.” 

Eddie gives a quick, tiny shake of his head, the one he does when he’s trying not to cry. “See?” he says, his voice cracking. “How hard was that? She could just—she never says anything like that.” 

Buck’s heart aches. He scoots closer to Eddie on the bench, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle and holding him, closing his eyes as Eddie returns the hug. It’s an awkward angle, and it only lasts a few seconds, but Eddie’s eyes look clearer when he pulls away. Still shiny, but calm now, more settled. 

“So…you’re not going to kick me out, are you?” Buck asks. 

Eddie grins. “No way. It’s, like, the adult version of dating a guy with tattoos and a motorcycle to piss off your parents.” He points at Buck threateningly. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

“Hey, I used to have a motorcycle.”

“Even better.” Eddie reaches out, tracing his finger along the tattooed lines on Buck’s arm. “You’ve already got it covered on the tattoos front.” 

“I can get a few piercings, if it’d help,” Buck offers. 

“Hm…” Eddie tilts his head, considering. “One of those, uh,” he gestures to his ear, flicking his finger up and down, “long dangly cross earrings?” 

Buck laughs. “Is that not, like, blasphemy or something?” 

“Or something,” Eddie smiles. He stares at Buck for a long moment, warm and steady, and Buck physically cannot stop his eyes from drifting down to Eddie’s lips. He’ll think about this moment later, rewrite it in his head and in his notes app. He’ll take Eddie’s face in his hands and kiss him softly on the mouth, and Eddie will kiss him back. And it will be enough. It has to be.

—

Eddie’s dark mood after the phone call with Helena lasts the next few days, and he’s still low by the time Sunday rolls around. Buck is up and out of the house early, anxious to get to the market and back home before Eddie wakes up. He wants to bring him flowers, make him breakfast, care for him in the way he deserves but will never ask for.

He has to turn around and walk back into the house to grab a sweater after stepping into the cool morning air. It’s early September now—not quite fall yet, still uncomfortably hot in the afternoons—but there’s a refreshing chill in the air that has him looking forward to the change in seasons.

The flower tent is busy today, busier than Buck’s ever seen it, even though the market has barely opened. Tamara is occupied with other customers for a solid fifteen minutes before she gets the chance to greet Buck. 

“Hi,” she says, a little breathless. “Thanks for waiting.” 

“Hi,” Buck smiles. “Business is good today, huh?” 

“Very,” she says. “I think it’s the weather.” 

Buck nods his agreement, then gets straight to the point. “I’m looking for flowers that will cheer someone up.” 

“All flowers cheer people up,” Tamara smiles. “But I know what you mean.” She strides confidently to the bucket of sunflowers, snatching up a bundle and holding them out. “Something like this?” 

They’re bright and cheerful, so yellow they seem to give off their own light. “These are perfect,” Buck says, taking the bundle from her. 

“Those are my girlfriend’s favorite,” Tamara says, her cheeks pinkening. “I brought them on our first date. They’re my favorite now, too.” 

Buck raises his eyebrows. “Your girlfriend, huh?” 

“It’s new,” Tamara says eagerly, blushing harder. “We’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks.” 

“Hey, that’s great,” Buck says earnestly, giving her a bright smile. “And how’s that going?”

“Amazing,” Tamara gushes. “We met under…strange circumstances, and we didn’t see each other again for a few years, but she showed up at the market one day and we got to talking. I knew her stepdad, and he passed recently, so we talked about that for a while, and the rest just…unfolded from there.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Buck says sincerely.

Tamara gives him a small nod. “Thank you. I’m happy we found each other again, though. She’s beautiful and sweet and smart, and we have more in common than I thought.” She smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And she loves flowers.” 

“Everyone does,” Buck says wisely. 

“Everyone likes flowers,” Tamara corrects him. “Not everyone loves them.” 

“Okay, okay,” Buck says, holding up his hands in defeat. “You’re the expert.” 

“And what about your person?” Tamara asks. “How did he like the flowers from last week?” 

Buck feels his stomach swoop in anticipation of the moment he’s been looking forward to all week. Lying to Tamara about his relationship with Eddie feels so much better than wallowing on Maddie’s couch, so much easier than trying to cope with the reality of the situation in a healthy way. 

“He loved them,” Buck says dreamily. “He hugged me again.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, gathering his courage, pushing down his guilt and self consciousness. “He kissed me.” 

Tamara gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Did he really?” 

In my head, yes. “At work,” Buck confirms, grinning. “In the locker room. It was perfect.”

“Well?” Tamara asks excitedly. “What happened next? Are you back together now?” 

“Yeah,” Buck says, ducking his head bashfully. “Yeah, we are.”

“Oh, Buck,” Tamara breathes. “That’s…I’m so happy to hear that.”

“Thank you,” Buck says, feeling deeply, hopelessly sad all of a sudden. He’ll never get to hear his friends congratulating him like this. He’ll never get to hear Chimney’s whoop of excitement, Maddie’s fond I told you so, Hen and Karen’s knowing about damn time. 

“So, is this the last I’ll be seeing of you?” she asks, tilting her head. “I mean…you won him back.” 

Buck shakes his head. “No way,” he says emphatically. “Are you crazy? What kind of husband would I be if I stopped buying him flowers as soon as we got back together?” 

Tamara laughs. “I don’t know. You’re a man. Men aren’t typically great husbands.”

“Alright, alright. Touché,” Buck laughs. “But I am.” 

“I believe it,” she says kindly. “He’s a lucky guy.” 

Buck clutches the sunflowers tightly in one hand, the tiny white spikes on the stems digging sharply into his palm. 

“You should tell him that.” It’s supposed to be a joke, one of those classic Married Person quips he hears from couples in comfortable, long-term relationships, but it comes out strained and unnatural. Buck clears his throat, patting around the pockets of his pants in search of his wallet. 

“It’s on me this week,” Tamara says, stilling his hand. “These are my cheapest flowers, anyway. And we’re celebrating,” she says, her eyes dancing. Buck’s heart hurts. She’s his friend now, a true friend, someone he cares about, and their entire friendship is built on a lie. Accepting free flowers feels like a step too far. 

“Let me celebrate by paying you,” Buck insists. 

“They’re six dollars, Buck,” Tamara says. “I’m not taking your money. Spend it on Jim’s nuts or something.” 

“I couldn’t even get two walnuts from that man with six bucks,” Buck grumbles, and Tamara giggles, shushing him. 

“Buy yourself a drink, then. Did you see the new coffee truck that opened up next to Marco’s tent? I had an amazing lavender latte last week.” 

“Uh…yeah, I think so. Coffee Mouse?” 

“That’s the one,” Tamara says. 

Buck buys two lavender lattes on his way out of the market, setting one surreptitiously on Tamara’s table when she’s not looking. He knows it doesn’t make up for any of this, but he has to try to assuage his guilt somehow. 

The latte tastes like soap and gives him a stomachache. Or maybe it’s the shame.

—

“Morning, sunshine,” Buck says brightly, turning away from the stove and waving his spatula at a yawning, sleep-rumpled Eddie. He’s barefoot, wearing an old, holey LAFD t-shirt that looks a little too big to be his own. 

It makes sense. Energy rates are higher in the summer, especially during peak hours, so they try to run the washer and dryer as little as possible. It’s economically savvy to dump everyone’s laundry into one load, and there are usually a few things that are sorted out incorrectly. Buck’s t-shirts in Eddie’s basket, Chris’s jeans in Buck’s, Eddie’s socks in Chris’s. 

But seeing Eddie wearing what Buck is ninety percent sure is his own shirt still gives him butterflies. It’s looser around the neck than it is when Buck wears it, and the flash of collarbone makes Buck feel like a Victorian man catching a lurid glimpse of an ankle. 

Eddie grunts, shuffling up behind Buck and wrapping his arms around his waist from the back, burying his face in Buck’s neck. Buck freezes, the spatula hovering in the air above the skillet, pancake batter dripping sluggishly into the sizzling pan. 

“G’morning,” Eddie says sleepily. So, this is something they do now, apparently. Buck sets the spatula down and raises his hands to Eddie’s forearms, holding them there, determined to commit the entire scene to memory. The warmth of Eddie’s body pressed against his, the moist heat of his breath on Buck’s neck, the sweet smell of butter and sugar floating up from the stovetop. 

Buck doesn’t dare move, holding on as long as he can until his nose fills with the acrid scent of burnt sugar. He swears under his breath, snatching up the spatula and flipping the blackened pancake. 

“Uh…I don’t want that one,” Eddie says, pulling away from Buck and leaning against the counter next to him. 

“Too bad,” Buck says. “That’s what’s on the menu. Take it or leave it.” 

“I think I’m craving cereal, actually,” Eddie says, reaching for the cabinet. 

Buck smacks his hand away. “Eat the cereal and die,” he says darkly.

“Jesus,” Eddie mutters, withdrawing his hand. 

Buck scoops the ruined pancake into the trash and rinses the pan before setting it back on the heat, dropping a fresh pat of butter into the center. 

“Chris isn’t even here, y’know,” Eddie says. “He spent the night at Lewis’s. The sleepover party, remember?” 

“I know,” Buck says. “It was on the calendar. These are for you.” 

Eddie is silent, looking down at his hands as he twists his fingers together. He seems anxious about something, and Buck waits patiently for him to speak first. 

“I was thinking about what my mom said the other day,” he begins. Buck keeps his gaze trained on the pancake, not wanting to interrupt Eddie’s train of thought in any way. “About…about settling down. Finding a wife.” His voice tightens on the last word, clipped, like he wants to get through it as fast as possible. 

Buck hums, just to show he’s listening. He adds a handful of blueberries to the circle of batter, his hands shaking as he does, one berry escaping to the edge of the pan. He knew this was coming eventually, he just didn’t think it would be so soon. Eddie wants to date again. Seriously this time. For marriage. Buck bets he wishes he got that woman’s number on Wednesday. 

“I don’t think…um. I don’t think I want that,” Eddie confesses. 

Buck frowns. “What do you mean?” 

“Not right now, at least,” Eddie hurries on, softening the definitive statement. “Not any time soon. I like what I have right now, y’know?”

“‘Course, Eddie,” Buck says understandingly. He feels weak with relief. “Do what you wanna do, not what your parents want. There’s no timeline for finding someone. It’ll happen when it happens, right?” 

Eddie frowns, still fidgeting with his hands. “But what if I don’t want it to happen?” 

“Like…you don’t think you want to get married again? Or date anyone?” Buck asks. “Ever?” Tiny bubbles are forming and popping on the surface of the batter, and he flips the pancake, revealing perfect, golden brown edges and a scattering of berries, split open from the heat. 

“I just…I can’t picture it, y’know?” Eddie says, running a hand through his hair. It’s sticking up at all angles, still mussed from sleep. “Meeting someone new. Dating. Trying to impress her.” He shakes his head, reaching for a handful of blueberries. “It’s exhausting.” 

“It shouldn’t be,” Buck tells him. “It’s not, when you find the right person.” 

Eddie sighs heavily. “I dunno, man. I feel like I have all my people already. I have Chris, Pepa, Abuela, the 118. I have you. I don’t really…I don’t want someone else. I feel like—I think I am settled. Is that crazy?” 

“It’s not crazy, Eddie,” Buck assures him. “Plenty of people never get married. It’s not, like, a law or anything. And there’s nothing wrong with being happy with what you have.” 

Eddie sighs again. “I know, I know. I just…I wish my mom saw it that way.” 

Buck bites his tongue, holding himself back from saying something nasty. He knows, despite everything, that Eddie loves Helena. That’s okay. Buck can hate her enough for the both of them.

“I’m sorry, man,” he says instead. “Maybe she’ll come around.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Eddie says listlessly. They’re both quiet for a long moment, only the hiss and pop of butter in the pan filling the silence.

“So what about…y’know. Sex,” Buck asks. “‘Cause I know you get, uh…restless.”

“Ah…yeah. Haven’t quite figured that part out yet,” Eddie says, wincing. “I’m not really a one night stand kinda guy.” 

“No, you are not,” Buck agrees. “Maybe you could be, though?” 

Eddie shakes his head slowly. “No…I don’t think so.”

“Or a…what about a friends with benefits situation?” Buck suggests, flipping the finished pancake onto a plate and sliding it across the counter to Eddie. 

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Which of my friends do you suggest I have sex with, Buck?” 

Buck’s ears go hot. “Oh, I-I meant—like, a new friend. Like, um, you could—you could meet someone new, but instead of a one night stand, it’s like, uh, multiple night stands. But without th-the dating part. No strings, y’know.” 

“Eh,” Eddie shrugs, uninterested. He cuts a wedge of pancake with his fork and blows on it to cool it off before stuffing it in his mouth. 

“You need syrup?” Buck offers, already reaching for the cabinet. 

“Honey,” Eddie says. 

Buck blinks. “What?” 

“Honey,” Eddie repeats. “Instead of syrup. It’s next to the tea bags.” 

“You’re obsessed with this stuff,” Buck says, passing him the jar. “It’s like I’m living with Winnie the Pooh.” 

“You’ve ruined grocery store honey for me, dude,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “And grocery store flowers.” He straightens up suddenly, his gaze flitting around the kitchen. His eyes land on the fresh vase of sunflowers and he lights up, beaming at Buck. 

“New flowers,” he says happily, taking a big, honey-soaked bite of pancake.

“They’re supposed to, uh, cheer people up,” Buck explains. “Sunflowers, I mean.”

“So…they are for me this time,” Eddie smirks, in a voice that, if Buck didn’t know better, would almost sound flirtatious. 

“They’re for anyone who needs cheering up,” Buck says, fighting a smile.

“Well, they worked,” Eddie says. “I’m cheered up,” he gives Buck a soft smile, setting his fork down on his plate and stepping into his space. He reaches up, wrapping a hand around the back of Buck’s head and pulling him down, bringing his face level with Buck’s forehead. A second later, Buck feels the sticky press of lips against his skin, hears Eddie’s quiet mwah as he pulls away, releasing his grip on the back of Buck’s head. 

Buck feels dazed, a little drunk. Did that really just happen? Fantasy Eddie kisses Buck’s forehead all the time, but real Eddie has never kissed him, not on the forehead or the hand or the cheek or anywhere, not once in their seven years of friendship. 

“What…what was that for?” Buck asks weakly. He touches a hand to his forehead, and his fingers come away sticky with honey. He barely stops himself from licking it off. 

Eddie shrugs. “For anyone who might’ve needed cheering up.” He stuffs an enormous bite of pancake into his mouth, smiling at Buck as he chews, one cheek puffed out like a chipmunk. “You got any batter left?”

“Uh…yeah. Um.” Buck ducks his head, a dopey grin spreading across his face. He reaches for the butter knife, something warm and hopeful flickering in his chest. “One pancake coming right up.”

—

Even though Eddie hasn’t kissed Buck again since Sunday, it’s still as fresh in Buck’s mind as it was twenty seconds after the fact. He hears the soft smack of Eddie’s lips every time he closes his eyes, feels the sticky sweet honey on his fingers and forehead every time he looks at his best friend. He savors it, relives every millisecond in his head, weaves it into his daydreams, indulging himself in the memory of what he assumes will be a one time occurrence.

But then it happens again. And this time they have an audience. 

Buck’s knee is on fire. Not literally, but it certainly feels that way. He wiped out hard on their last call, scraping his knee and the side of his thigh across loose gravel, rough enough to tear a gash through his pants and badly scrape the skin beneath. He’s going to have a nasty bruise, too. 

It burns like hell, but it’s not bad enough that Chimney makes him go to the hospital, which Buck is deeply grateful for. He limps into the firehouse, wincing with every step, and sits down heavily on the second stair from the bottom of the staircase. He doesn’t think he can make it any farther. 

“C’mon, dude. Up.” Eddie orders, offering him the hand that’s not holding his med kit. 

“Can you just do it here?” Buck asks plaintively, gritting his teeth at the sharp stab of pain as he shifts his leg, trying to get into a comfortable position. 

Eddie glances around, tapping a hand against his thigh as he thinks. “Alright. We’ll be quick. Let’s just scoot off to the side, bud, people still need to walk on these.”

Buck chokes down a small noise of pain as he scoots as far to the side as he can, resting the side of his head on the cool wall. Eddie pulls on a pair of gloves and kneels at the bottom of the staircase, then begins carefully slicing through the torn fabric of Buck’s pants, widening the gash. 

“Man, you really did a number on your knee,” Eddie whistles, gingerly rotating it back and forth. “Does that hurt?” 

“Not really,” Buck says. “It’s more just—ah—stinging.”

“Good, that’s good,” Eddie says. “You’re gonna be fine. Just gotta get some of this gravel out. Gonna need you to stay really still for me.” He holds Buck’s leg steady with one hand, and the weight of it is a welcome distraction from the pain. 

“Copy that,” Buck says weakly. He looks away as Eddie begins to pluck out the bits of gravel and small pebbles embedded in Buck’s knee. He’s careful and efficient, and the only reason Buck can even feel that it’s happening is the occasional cool metallic press of the tweezers against his skin. 

“There,” Eddie says briskly, patting his ankle. “All done with that part.” Buck’s knee is still gruesome—red and raw, pockmarked with the hollows left by the pebbles and still oozing blood in some places—but it’s a relief to see his skin free of debris. 

The next part is worse; the bright, sharp sting of alcohol fizzing violently in his wound. Buck hisses, clenching his jaw against the pain. In his mind, fantasy Eddie reaches for his hand, intertwines their fingers, and lets Buck squeeze it until the pain subsides.

“Almost…done…” Eddie promises, dabbing ointment gently into the scrape before reaching for gauze, wrapping it securely around his knee and thigh. “There. You did it. Not so bad, huh?” Eddie’s gloved hands linger on Buck’s leg, one on his thigh and one on his upper calf, carefully avoiding the gauze. 

“Piece of cake,” Buck croaks. 

“Sure you don’t need me to kiss it better?” Eddie asks quietly, looking up at Buck through his eyelashes, unsmiling. 

Buck’s breath catches in his throat, his lips parting slightly in surprise. He blinks several times, surreptitiously pinching the skin on his hand between two fingernails. This can’t be real. It’s not real. Maybe he hit his head during his fall? 

Eddie doesn’t wait for an answer. He dips his head to Buck’s knee, pressing a long, tender kiss to the clear skin directly below the gauze before pulling away and looking back up at Buck. 

“That should help,” Eddie murmurs. He stares at Buck for a long moment, assessing his reaction. Buck doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. He’s forgotten how. 

“Whoa,” Chimney says, stopping dead in his tracks at the bottom of the staircase. He makes eye contact with Buck over Eddie’s head, his eyebrows at his hairline. Buck just stares back at him, wild eyed, absolutely nothing to offer by way of explanation. 

“Uh…they must’ve made some major changes to the paramedic certification course since I went through it,” Chimney says. “I do not remember that step in cleaning wounds.”

Eddie just rolls his eyes, snapping off his gloves and straightening up. “He’s good to go, cap,” he says, seeming vaguely annoyed by the interruption. 

“I’m…sure he is,” Chimney says slowly. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, his eyes flicking between Buck and Eddie. Then he turns on his heels and starts off in the direction he came from, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear water from his ears. 

Buck waits until he’s out of earshot to speak. “You kissed my knee,” he says numbly.

“Mhm,” Eddie confirms. He doesn’t even look up, just continues packing his supplies back into the med kit. “Hey, I was thinking we just do Thai for dinner? Really don’t feel like cooking tonight. And I don’t want you limping around the kitchen making me feel bad about it either.”  

“Sure,” Buck says slowly. ”Uh, Thai. Sounds good.”

Eddie looks like he wants to say something else, but he’s interrupted by the blare of the alarm. He nods towards Buck’s knee, pointing a threatening finger at him as he walks backwards. “No running around on that,” he says loudly, raising his voice to be heard over the siren before spinning around and jogging towards the engine. 

“You’re man behind, Buckley!” Chimney calls over his shoulder as he hops into the driver's seat. Buck watches the engine pull out of the station, still slumped against the wall, unable to move. Much less run around. 

For the first time in forever, he doesn’t take the opportunity to slip into his fantasy world. He’s too busy thinking about the kisses. The real kisses. From the real Eddie. His beautiful, amazing best friend who won’t ever—no, can’t ever—love Buck in the same way Buck loves him, but who hugs him when he’s sad and kisses him when he’s hurt and wears his old t-shirts to sleep and looks Buck in the eye when he tells him I want you here.  

—

Buck hasn’t worked a Saturday shift since he started buying Eddie flowers. The timing of the shift means that they get off at eight in the morning on Sunday, just in time for the opening of the market. Conveniently, it’s located on their route home from work, so Buck decides he’ll make a quick stop on the way home, just for some nuts and flowers and to chat with Tamara, exchange stories of reciprocated love and domestic bliss.

“Hey, actually,” Buck says, stopping Eddie before he climbs into the passenger’s seat. “We should, um, take separate cars today.”

“Uh, okay…any specific reason why?” Eddie asks, slowly shutting the car door. “You finally getting sick of me or something?” 

“Well, yeah, that too. But I was gonna make a stop after work,” Buck says casually. “Figured you’d wanna just go home and crash.” 

“What stop?” Eddie asks curiously. 

“Um…farmers market,” Buck says, fiddling with his keys. “I’m out of walnuts.” 

“Oh, no worries,” Eddie says easily, reopening the car door. “I’ll just come with you.” He swings his bag onto the floorboard, sliding into the seat. Buck’s pulse speeds up, his heart dropping into his stomach. 

“Uh…are you—a-are you sure?” he asks, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “It might take me a while.” 

“Whatever, that’s fine,” Eddie says impatiently. “Just get in the car, man. We’re gonna be late, c’mon. ”  

Buck stands in the driveway, keys dangling limply from one finger, frantically wracking his brain for something, anything to get him out of this. 

“Buck! Let’s go!” 

He comes up empty. 

So now Buck is experiencing the shift from hell, a hell entirely of his own making. It doesn't have anything to do with the actual calls. It’s the ticking time bomb he unintentionally set off this morning, and every minute that passes is another minute closer to what will undoubtedly be the worst moment of his life. 

The only small shred of hope he has to cling onto is the size of the market. It’s huge, spanning multiple blocks, and he’s spent the past twenty four hours meticulously mapping it out in his head, trying to plan the perfect route through the market that will ensure they don’t pass Tamara’s tent. 

The main problem here is that Jim and his nuts are stationed directly across from her, and Eddie already knows that’s the entire reason Buck wanted to stop by the market in the first place. Buck thinks there must be another tent somewhere in the market that sells nuts. At least one. The market’s website is no help whatsoever; the most recent updates having been posted in 2019. So he’s going into this completely blind. And very nauseous.

“Wow, parking is never this bad,” Buck lies, purposely speeding past an empty spot. Maybe if he just circles for long enough he’ll have a good reason to suggest skipping the market and going straight home. 

“Dude, you just missed a spot,” Eddie says, whirling around in his seat to look at the road behind them. “Take a lap, it’ll still be there when we come back around.”

Buck sighs inwardly, shoulders slumping in defeat when he loops back around and the spot is, in fact, still empty. He takes his time parking the car and digging through the backseat for his bags, all the while feeling like he’s willingly marching into his own grave. 

“Damn, this place is huge,” Eddie says, swiveling his head in all directions as Buck leads him through the market, making sure they stick to the route he planned out. “Oh, shit, wait—they have kettlecorn?” 

“Eddie, have you ever been to a farmers market?” Buck asks, amused. 

Eddie gives him a withering look over the top of his sunglasses. 

“Okay, okay,” Buck laughs, holding up his hands. “Sorry. You want some? I have cash.” 

“Not at nine in the morning, I don’t,” Eddie says, waving him off. 

“You don’t wanna get any for later?” Buck asks in a sing-song. “It’s good kettlecorn, Eddie.” He holds out a ten, dangling it in front of him. Eddie snatches it away, a fond smile on his face. 

“Thought so,” Buck grins. “I’ll be over there,” he says, pointing across the street. “Meet me at the strawberries when you’re done.” 

“Strawberries. Got it,” Eddie says, giving him a playful salute and strolling away, joining the long line stretching out in front of the popcorn truck. 

Things are going surprisingly well. They’re at the complete opposite end of the market to Tamara’s tent, and Buck is beginning to think he might actually get away with this, that this might turn out to be nothing more than a beautiful, caramel scented Sunday morning with Eddie. He’s just picked out the perfect basket of strawberries when he hears a familiar voice behind him. 

“Buck?” 

Buck turns, his face breaking into a wide grin. “May?” 

“What are you doing here?” she laughs, pulling him into an awkward side hug, attempting to avoid crushing her bag, which is bursting with fresh produce; the long, feathery stems of organic carrots sticking out over the top. 

“Uh…” Buck holds up the basket of strawberries. “Buying strawberries?” 

May laughs again, nodding. “I see that. I just mean—I’ve never seen you here before! Is this your first time at the market?”

Buck shakes his head. “No way. I love this place, I’m here every week. I’m, uh, surprised we’ve never run into each other.”

“I’m usually here in the afternoons,” May says. “I’m just here early today to…to visit someone.”

“Someone?” Buck prompts, waggling his eyebrows. “Someone…like, a boyfriend someone?” 

May’s mouth twists, like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “Um…not exactly.”

“What do the kids call it these days?” Buck snaps his fingers and looks up, trying to jog his memory. “Situationship?” 

May visibly cringes. “No, nothing like that. And you’re way too old for that word.” 

“Rude,” Buck mutters.

“More like a girlfriend,” May smiles. She says it so casually that it takes a second for it to register.

“Oh!” Buck exclaims, eyes wide. “Oh! You—you’re—”

“Yes, Buck,” May laughs. “It’s new. I mean—the girlfriend thing and the lesbian thing. I haven’t really told anyone except Harry yet.” 

“That’s—this is amazing,” Buck enthuses. “Hey, look, you figured it out before I did!”

“I don’t think it’s a competition,” she says, amused. “But thanks. It does feel kinda amazing.” She pauses, fiddling with a charm on her bag. “So…do you want to meet her?”

“Of course,” Buck says eagerly. He cranes his neck to look at the kettlecorn line. Eddie is still towards the back, but it’s moving fairly quickly. “I’m here with Eddie. I’ll text him to meet us there. If…if that’s okay?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m okay with Eddie knowing,” May says. “She’s one of the flower vendors. It’s the one on, uh…corner of Fifth and Sunrise, I think. Other end of the market.” 

Buck’s fingers still on his phone screen. His blood runs cold. “Fifth and Sunrise?” he repeats. 

“Yeah,” she says, giving him a weird look. “Pretty sure. It’s the only one in that direction, at least.” 

God. This would happen to him.

“O-okay, um. Great. Okay. I’ll text him.” He pretends to finish the text, typing nonsense for a few seconds before locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket without sending anything. “H-he’ll meet us there,” he says, his voice shaking. 

Buck is about two blocks and five minutes away from bearing witness to the destruction of the most important relationship in his life. He stares back at Eddie for a moment, drinking him in. He’s relaxed and content, radiant in the morning sun. Buck loves him so much it physically hurts.

He has the sudden, overwhelming urge to spin around and sprint away, send May an apologetic voice note about food poisoning, and crawl under his covers to hide for the next forty eight hours. But he knows that would only delay the inevitable. It’s better to get this over with, to rip off the bandaid. 

May’s face lights up when they turn the corner and spot the flower stand. Despite the impending implosion of Buck’s entire life, he can’t help but smile at how happy she looks. It’s a welcome sight after the past few months of grief and pain. 

“Her name is Tamara,” May says to him as they walk up, pointing excitedly. Tamara’s back is to them, helping a young couple decide between two bouquets. “We met a few years ago—through Bobby, actually. It’s a…weird story. I’ll fill you in later.”  

“Tamara,” Buck says weakly. “Got it.” His feet feel like lead as he follows May into the tent. He hangs back a few feet, watching with a confusing mixture of dread and affection as she sneaks up behind Tamara, placing a hand on the small of her back and whispering something into her ear. 

“May!” Tamara exclaims, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Hi! I didn’t expect you so early.”

“Maybe I wanted to surprise you,” May smiles. “Or maybe I have a doctor’s appointment later and this is the only time I could make it.” 

“Very romantic,” Tamara teases. 

“Oh, also,” May says, turning her head to look back at Buck, “I have someone I want you to meet. This is my—”

“Buck!” Tamara grins. “Hey! May, this is the customer I’ve been telling you about.”

May frowns, giving Buck a wary look. “The one who keeps spitting cherry pits into the flower buckets?” 

“No,” Tamara laughs. “The sweet guy who bought all those flowers for his husband.”

May looks at her blankly. “Buck?” She points at him. “That guy?” 

“Um…yeah?” Tamara frowns. “Why? Wait, do you two know each other?” 

“Buck?” May repeats. 

“Yes, Buck, that guy right there with the strawberries and the cargo pants,” Tamara says, exasperated. “He’s been coming in every week to buy flowers for his husband. I talk about him, like, all the time!” 

May turns to Buck, her expression unreadable. “Buck?” she asks softly, her eyebrows drawing together. “What is she talking about?”

The next few seconds happen in slow motion. 

“Hey. There you are. What the hell, man? This is not the strawberry tent,” Eddie says irritably, crunching down on a handful of kettlecorn. “Oh, hang on—is this where you’ve been buying all the flowers?” He holds out the kettlecorn bag to Buck. Buck doesn’t move. 

“You must be Eddie,” Tamara says warmly, giving him a small wave. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she winks.

Eddie raises his eyebrows, giving Buck an amused look. “Oh, yeah? All good things, I hope.” 

“Your husband absolutely adores you.” 

Eddie looks over his shoulder, like Tamara might be talking to someone behind him, then turns back, giving her a puzzled look. 

“Me?” 

“Yes,” she giggles. “You are Eddie, right? Buck’s husband?” She turns to Buck, looking impressed. “Buck, you weren’t lying. He’s gorgeous.”

Buck’s vision begins to blur, all the flowers in the tent blending into a dizzying kaleidoscope of pinks and greens. He can’t seem to get his lungs to expand, can’t get even the tiniest sip of oxygen past the tightness in his chest. He feels the weight of three sets of eyes on him, burning holes in the side of his face, but he can’t bring himself to look at any of them. 

“Buck?” Eddie says eventually, sounding muffled and faraway through the ringing in Buck’s ears.

Buck bolts. He drops the carton of strawberries onto the pavement, feeling one squish underneath his shoe as he turns and sprints for the exit. He dodges and weaves through the crowd, not even bothering to apologize as he knocks over some poor woman’s basket of oranges. She yells after him, but there’s no time to stop and help her clean up. If he didn’t already feel like the worst person in the entire world, he might feel some guilt about this, but there’s nothing. He’s numb. 

“Buck!” Eddie shouts. “Buck!” His voice fades as Buck puts more and more distance between himself and the flower tent, his shoes pounding the pavement in tandem with the blood pounding in his ears. He can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, and without thinking about it, he pulls it out and throws it into a bush. 

He doesn’t even notice until he gets to the car how badly his leg is hurting. It’s only been a few days since he took his spill at work, and he is currently under strict orders to avoid doing exactly what he just did. There’s a spot of blood on his knee, seeping through the fabric of his pants, but he has no time or capacity to worry about that right now. 

He doesn’t even bother with a seatbelt, doesn’t adjust his mirrors or check the road before pulling out, just puts his key in the ignition and drives. He breaks almost every single traffic law on his way to Maddie’s house, but somehow, he makes it there unscathed. He sort of wishes he didn’t. 

—

“Maddie,” Buck pants. “Maddie.” 

“Oh, my god, Buck,” Maddie gasps. “What happened? You look…are you okay? Your leg is bleeding!” 

“Maddie,” Buck repeats, looking her dead in the eyes. “I did something terrible.”

Maddie’s eyes widen. “What kind of terrible?” 

“Is Chimney here?” 

“Um…no, no, he’s with Jee, they’re at her TK orientation, it’s just me and the baby—Buck, what’s wrong?” 

“Can I come in?” Buck asks, still breathing hard. 

Maddie ushers him in, frowning deeply. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now,” she demands, pointing to the couch. “Sit.” 

Buck collapses onto the couch, dropping his head into his hands. His face is feverish, his hands clammy and stiff from clutching the steering wheel the entire drive over. “I need help, Mads,” he chokes out. 

Maddie sinks into the couch next to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling his head into her chest. “Breathe, Evan.” She slows her own breathing, taking long, deep breaths in through her nose, exhaling slowly through her mouth.

Buck breathes with her, focusing on the rush of air through his nostrils, his sister’s soft hands, the sweet, familiar smell of her shampoo. It takes a few minutes before he’s able to speak. 

“I don’t even know where to start.” 

“The beginning?” Maddie suggests, pulling away and looking at him, her face open, eyebrows creased with worry. 

“So…you know how I’m in love with Eddie?” 

“You might’ve mentioned it.” 

“Well, I…I’ve sort of been, um. Lying to this flower vendor at the farmers market about—about him being my husband.”

Maddie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! Um. Okay, that’s…that’s not what I was expecting.” 

“It’s worse than it sounds,” Buck continues. “It’s been going on for—for weeks. Over a month. And, um. I-it’s sort of…elaborate? Like, I-I made up this whole story, and I thought it’d be fine, right, because i-i-it’s not like—I mean, she doesn’t know Eddie, and LA is so big, I never thought…”

“Oh, Buck,” Maddie breathes. 

“She’s dating May,” Buck says miserably. “The flower vendor is.”

Maddie covers her mouth with both hands. “No.” 

“And I was there with him today,” Buck says, his voice cracking. “With Eddie. Because he wanted to come with me, and I couldn’t say no, a-and May was there, and it all just… fuck. It was a fucking nightmare. I can’t—I can never see him again. Any of them. I can never see anyone ever again, I have to go off the grid, I—”

“Breathe,” Maddie reminds him. “Slow down. No one’s going off the grid.”

“I’m not done,” Buck sighs. “Um. Okay. D-d’you remember when I was a kid, and I’d, uh. I was really spacey sometimes? Just, like, zoned out?” 

“I remember,” Maddie says gently. “You weren’t spacey, Buck. You’re talking about the daydreams, right?” 

Buck nods. Maddie knows how much trouble he would get in at school. Teachers said the same thing on every report card, at every parent teacher conference. He doesn’t pay attention. Always in his own little world. He knows the material, he just doesn’t sit still long enough to actually apply himself. 

The daydreams were different then, of course. Instead of dreaming about being married to his straight best friend, he fantasized about adventures. Waking Maddie up in the middle of the night, the two of them climbing out the window with a rope of knotted bedsheets. Finding a magical door, or a portal, or a tunnel, or something to transport them to another world. 

Maybe they’d both be demigods, or vampire slayers, or have a magic treehouse that could take them anywhere they wanted to go. He’d be special and important and wanted, and no one would ever throw away his library books or yell at Maddie on her birthday. 

“I’ve been doing it again,” Buck says, feeling about eight years old, small and scared and ashamed. “It’s bad this time, Mads. I don’t—I don’t think I can stop. I-I haven’t even tried, I don’t want to stop.” 

“Oh, Buck,” Maddie says again, placing one cool palm against the side of his face. She looks at him intently, her eyes shiny with tears. “We’ll get you help. Okay? Are you still seeing your therapist?” 

Buck shakes his head. “Didn’t want to talk to anyone. J-just wanted to keep—I didn’t want t-to stop,” he says, a lump rising in his throat. “I knew she’d want me to stop.” 

Maddie sighs. “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?” 

Buck shakes his head again. “I can’t. Too embarrassing.” 

“None of us care how embarrassing you are,” Maddie tells him. “We love you because you’re embarrassing.”

“Not funny,” Buck sniffs, trying not to smile. 

“I’m only partly kidding, Buck. I don’t love you despite anything about you. I love you because of it. Okay?” 

Buck goes silent, looking down at his lap. “The daydreams are about Eddie.” 

Maddie’s face falls. “So…that’s why you didn’t ask any of us for help?” 

Buck nods, avoiding her eyes. “I couldn’t. Didn’t want to, either.” 

Maddie’s phone buzzes on the coffee table. She reaches for it, her eyes catching on the contact name on the screen. 

“It’s Eddie,” she says slowly. “Can I answer it?” 

“No,” Buck says sharply. “Please,” he adds, softer this time. “Please don’t.” 

Maddie sets it down on the couch, letting it ring until it goes to voicemail. Her phone pings with a text. 

“He’s asking if you’re here,” she reads. It pings again. “He says he has your phone? Buck, why was your phone in a bush?” 

“Don’t respond,” Buck says urgently. “He can’t know I’m here.” 

“He wants me to send you home,” Maddie says, holding the phone out for Buck to read. 

Maddie, I know Buck’s there. Please send home ASAP. 

“Yeah, to kick me out and throw all my clothes out the window and block my number,” Buck mutters.

“Right. Because that totally sounds like something Eddie would do.” 

“I wouldn’t blame him!” Buck says loudly, throwing up his hands. “If he doesn’t do it, I will.” 

“You’ll…throw all your own clothes out the window? Okay, Buck, I think you’re maybe being a little dramatic here.” 

“What?” 

“You knocked on my door acting like you murdered someone! This isn’t the unforgivable offense you think it is, Buck. Explain it to Eddie. Eddie knows you. He cares about you a lot. He’ll understand.”

“What’s there to understand?” Buck asks bitterly. He stares at Maddie’s phone screen, watching as little gray bubbles pop up at the bottom of the text thread. 

Tell him I’m not mad. 

Buck blanches. “What?” He hands the phone to Maddie, wide eyed. 

“What do you mean, what?” 

“Wh—of course he’s mad. Why wouldn’t he be mad?” Buck asks, slightly hysterical.

“I don’t know, Buck. I’m not Eddie. You know who you could ask about this, actually?”

Buck stands up abruptly and begins pacing back and forth across the floor, staring down at Maddie’s phone. “He’s still typing,” he tells her. 

“Let me drive you home,” Maddie offers. She peeks at the spreading patch of blood on his pant leg. “Actually, let me take a look at your knee and then I’ll drive you home.” 

Another text whooshes in. 

Buck I want you to come home. 

Buck smiles a little at that, because the first thing he thinks is how proud he is of Eddie. He’s asking for what he wants. Demanding it, even. Then he rereads the message and feels heat spread through his body, because what he’s asking for is Buck. He wants Buck. 

“Okay,” Buck says decisively, sitting on the floor and yanking the pant leg on his injured side up past his knee, the thick fabric dragging painfully over his tender skin. “Let’s do it.” 

“Be careful, oh, my god,” Maddie fusses, glaring at him. “Did that not hurt? What is wrong with you?” 

“Do you need a refresher?” Buck asks.

“No, no. I think I’m all caught up. Stay right there.” Maddie walks off, returning almost immediately with a clear plastic bin filled with medical supplies. And Buck feels eight years old again, because here’s his big sister sitting cross legged on the carpet, cleaning his scrapes, teasing him to distract him as she pats them dry, telling him to be careful next time in a way that’s loving instead of punitive. 

“All better,” Maddie says tenderly, getting to her feet with a groan, her knees popping as she straightens. She bends down and kisses the top of Buck’s head. “Let me get my shoes and the little one and we’ll get in the car, okay? I’m taking you home.” 

—

Buck hesitates before putting his key in the lock. Technically, this is his house. He lives here, he pays rent. It’s always felt like home. But he feels like he’s lost the right to just walk right in after today, after everything he’s done over the past month. His fist hovers at the door for a moment before the latch twists and clicks on its own, swinging open. 

Eddie’s eyes drop to Buck’s pant leg. “You’re bleeding.” 

“It’s fine. Maddie fixed me up,” Buck says quietly, still hovering on the doorstep. 

Eddie steps aside, gesturing for Buck to come inside and walking into the house without checking to see if Buck is behind him. Buck follows him into the kitchen, his heart in his throat. He can’t get a read on Eddie. He’s calm, his voice even, face clear of everything Buck was afraid of seeing. But he doesn’t necessarily seem happy to see him, either. 

Eddie fills the kettle with water and sets it on the stove, flames licking up around the edges as he turns the knob on the burner. Buck watches, mesmerized by this simple, mundane action he’s seen Eddie carry out countless times. It might be the last time he sees it. 

There are two mugs already set out on the counter, teabag strings dangling over the sides, the honey jar sitting between them. Eddie doesn’t turn around until the kettle whistles, and Buck sits anxiously at the kitchen table, staring down at his hands as he waits for Eddie. 

“Do you want to talk first?” Eddie asks, setting a steaming mug down in front of him and settling into the seat across from him. “Or should I?” Buck wraps his hands around the mug, the warmth from the boiling water quickly becoming too hot to bear. He leaves his hands there anyway, pressing them into the ceramic for as long as he can stand before pulling them off, his palms pink and tingling. 

“You,” Buck says, not looking up from his mug. 

Eddie nods, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “So, I talked to Tamara. It was…enlightening.”

“Is she…um. Is she pissed?” Buck asks tentatively, scratching at the back of his neck. He knows this thing with Eddie is higher stakes, but he still feels sick with guilt at manipulating his new friend. 

“Surprisingly? No,” Eddie says, shrugging. “Said something about how she’s been through her own struggles. That she’s hurt people because of it. I don’t know, uh—something like that. She wants you to come back next week to talk.”

Buck looks up, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. “Really?”

“I mean, I don’t remember exactly what she said, but that was the jist. She actually…” he chuckles, shaking his head. “She sort of thought it was romantic. In a psycho way. Her words, not mine.” 

Buck ducks his head, the very corner of his lips turning up. “Well. She’s not wrong about that. The psycho part.”

“I wouldn’t really call it that,” Eddie frowns. 

Buck takes a sip of his tea, stalling. It scalds his tongue and the roof of his mouth, causing tears to spring to his eyes. He definitely just lost most of his tastebuds for the next few days. 

“Wh-what would you call it?” he asks, bracing himself for the worst. 

Eddie shakes his head, seemingly at a loss. “Is this…is this what’s been going on with you lately?”

“Sort of,” Buck hedges. “It’s related.”

Eddie raises one eyebrow expectantly, giving him a Go on expression. Buck takes a deep breath, meeting his eyes. There’s no point in lying anymore. He might as well get it over with. He owes Eddie this much. 

“Wh-when I was a kid, I would daydream. Not, like—not like regular daydreams. The kind that messes you up. Effects your real life.”

“Okay,” Eddie says slowly. “So that’s what you’ve been…”

“It hasn’t happened since I was a kid, I don’t know why…I mean, I thought I was done with this,” Buck says bitterly. “But it just—it started back up again and I didn’t—Eddie, I didn’t even realize how bad it was until it was already too late to stop.” The words pour out of him, and it feels like throwing up or lancing a wound; painful and gross and shameful, but also a relief. “I’ve been living in a fantasy world,” Buck confesses, his voice small. “More than I’ve been living in this one.”  

“The…you mean what you were telling Tamara?” Eddie asks. 

“Yes,” Buck swallows roughly, his throat working. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracks on the last word, but he doesn’t break eye contact with Eddie. 

“About being married to me,” Eddie clarifies. Buck nods, nausea swirling in his gut. 

“Why?” Eddie asks after a long moment, eyes roaming over Buck’s face like he’s searching for something. “Buck? Why did you lie about that?” 

Buck takes a breath, steeling himself. “Because I wanted it to be true.” 

Eddie stares at him. “You want to be married to me.”

It’s a little cruel, Buck thinks, to make him repeat it, but he supposes he deserves it. He nods, looking down at his hands.

“You love me.”

“Eddie…” Buck pleads, closing his eyes. His eyes are still closed when he hears the scrape of a chair being pushed back, the quiet swish of Eddie’s jeans as he walks away. He doesn’t dare open them. He doesn’t want to watch him leave this time. 

”Stand up,” Eddie says. Buck starts. He thought Eddie had left the room, but it sounds like he’s close, maybe a foot away from where Buck is sitting. 

“Stand up, Buck, please,” Eddie repeats. Buck gets up from his seat slowly, hand braced on the back of the chair for support, worried his legs might give out under him without it. 

The look on Eddie’s face isn’t one of anger or discomfort or pity. He looks…he’s smiling. He’s smiling—just a little bit, mostly in his eyes—but it’s there. And then he does the last thing Buck ever would have expected. Eddie hugs him. Buck is hit with a wave of relief so intense he feels himself begin to shake. A full body shake, hands quivering on the soft cotton of Eddie’s t-shirt as he returns the hug, legs trembling underneath him, breath coming out in uneven little gasps. 

He stumbles forward a half step, pressing his chest flush against Eddie’s, overlapping their feet until there’s no part of their bodies that aren’t touching. One of Eddie’s hands slides down his back, resting on the exposed gap of skin between the hem of Buck’s shirt and the waistband of his pants. 

“I bought you flowers,” Eddie whispers, his lips brushing against the shell of Buck’s ear. 

“What?” Buck asks, completely preoccupied with the feeling of Eddie’s hand on his lower back. 

“Tamara helped me pick them out,” he continues, drawing small circles on Buck’s back with his fingers. “Did you know flowers have different meanings?” 

Buck presses his face into Eddie’s neck, hot tears leaking out of his eyes and sliding down his nose, soaking into the collar of Eddie’s t-shirt. 

“Because I didn’t. Flowers are flowers, right?” He drops a kiss on the top of Buck’s ear, feather-light.  

“But not with you, Buck. No, you—you think about that kind of stuff.” A kiss on the short hair at the side of Buck’s head. “You…god, I mean, really, Buck, you love in the way everyone dreams about being loved.” 

“No,” Buck rasps, finding his voice. “Not everyone.” 

“Because they fucking suck,” Eddie says viciously.

Buck chokes out a surprised laugh. “Eddie.”

“No, they do,” Eddie insists. “They’re idiots. Everyone who’s had the chance to—to be loved by you, and they didn’t take it? Or didn’t appreciate it?” He scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Biggest mistake of their goddamn lives. There’s something wrong with them, dude, seriously, like, they should get their heads checked.” 

Buck laughs again, more of a gurgle, his throat still tight with tears. “Well, uh, you’re the paramedic, I guess.”

“Exactly,” Eddie laughs. “And I’m smarter than all of them. Your exes, your parents, anyone who didn’t…who doesn’t love every single thing about you. Even the weird shit. Especially the weird shit.”

“The weird shit?” Buck repeats, his mouth dropping open. 

“Yeah, man. Lying to farmers market vendors about your imaginary husband? That’s a little weird, right?” 

“Maybe a little…” Buck concedes. 

Eddie grabs for one of Buck’s hands, bringing it to his mouth and pressing his lips against his knuckles. “But I don’t…I don’t love you despite that stuff. If you weren’t a little weird sometimes, you wouldn’t be Buck, right? And I want Buck. I love you because of all that.”  

Buck doesn’t even know where to start. Eddie just told him he loves him. Twice, actually. He told him he wants him. He can feel every spot Eddie’s kissed, little patches of heat lingering on his skin, bright and pulsing. He thinks maybe he’ll get them all tattooed, little x’s to mark the spots. 

“Maddie kind of said the same thing earlier," is what he finally decides on. 

Eddie gives him a strange look, reeling back slightly. “Okay, well, I love you in a very different way than your sister does.” 

Three times now. “And—and what way is that?” Buck asks, clearing his throat. “I mean—I-I need you to say it, Eddie. Spell it out for me.” 

Eddie spreads his fingers on Buck’s face, large hands cupping his cheeks. He glances down at Buck’s mouth, then back up to his eyes, the corner of his lips tugging up into a half smile. “How did this go in your fantasies, Buck?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Buck says desperately, clutching at the back of Eddie’s shirt. “Don’t care about that anymore.” 

Eddie presses his forehead against Buck’s, their noses bumping against each other, breath intermingling in the small gap between their parted lips. 

“‘Cause in mine, it went a little like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing Buck’s with every word. Buck gasps, a shiver running through him as Eddie’s words register, lips buzzing just from that slight touch, and Eddie takes his chance, finally closing the space between them. His lips part around Buck’s bottom lip, kissing him soft and slow, so slow he’s barely moving for a long moment. Then his tongue swipes across Buck’s bottom lip, and he’s licking into his mouth, deepening the kiss. 

The blood is fizzing in Buck’s veins, skin alight with something brilliant and electric as Eddie’s tongue slides against his, warm and real and alive. It didn’t go like this in his fantasies. It didn’t even come close. He drops his hands from Eddie’s back, shoving them under Eddie’s shirt to grip the bare skin of his waist and yanking him in closer. Eddie shudders against him and slides a hand back into Buck’s hair, using it as leverage to tilt his head to the precise angle he wants him in. 

The sweet kiss escalates quickly, turning wet and desperate, more tongue than lips, chests heaving against each other. Eddie’s teeth catch on Buck’s lip and he moans involuntarily, stars exploding behind his eyes. 

“God, Eddie,” he pants, breathing hard into his mouth. “You’re—you’re really fucking good at this, you know that? Fuck.”

“I’ve had lots of practice,” Eddie says, equally breathless. “In my head. I’ve got about two thousand imaginary Buck kisses under my belt.”

“Jesus Christ,” Buck groans. “That’s the hottest thing a-anyone’s ever said to me.”

Eddie kisses him again, purposeful with his movements, like he’s trying to take Buck apart piece by piece, like he’s been rehearsing this in his mind just as long as Buck has. Buck doesn’t even realize he’s half-hard until he feels the heat of Eddie’s hard-on pressing insistently against his leg. He pulls back, giving him a wicked grin.

“You’re hard just from kissing me.”

Eddie snorts. “Uh, pot meet kettle,” he says, shifting his hips in a way that elicits another moan from Buck. “And this is nothing. I’ve gotten hard watching you chop vegetables, Buck.” 

“No you haven’t,” Buck laughs.

“Seriously,” Eddie insists. “My gay awakening heavily involved cabbage. You ever looked at your arms in a mirror?” Eddie slides his hands down Buck’s shoulders, squeezing his biceps. He leans in again, kissing along Buck’s jaw, open-mouthed and searing hot. 

“Okay, Eddie—Eddie,” Buck says, reluctantly pulling away, putting distance between them. “W-we’re not the only ones who live here.”

“Right.” Eddie clears his throat, reaching out to wipe spit off Buck’s jaw with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah. But I’m, uh, free later tonight if you wanna pick up where we left off…maybe behind a closed door?” 

“I’ll get back to you. Have to check my calendar,” Eddie says noncommittally. He glances behind him at the fridge, then turns back. “Great news. I think I might be able to squeeze it in.” 

“Great,” Buck echoes. “I’ll pencil you in for nine to four.” 

“Four in the morning?” 

“Better start hydrating,” Buck says, nodding his chin towards the abandoned mugs of tea.

Eddie gapes at him, a pretty pink flush rising in his cheeks. “The crazy thing is you’re not even joking, are you.” 

Buck gives him a coy smile, turning away to collect the mugs. The tea is ice cold. He discards the tea bags and sets one in the microwave to reheat, feeling Eddie’s eyes on him as he does. 

“So, uh. Not to bring down the mood or anything,” Eddie begins, moving to stand next to Buck at the microwave. “But have you…are you still talking to your therapist?” 

Buck rubs a finger nervously across his bottom lip. “Ah. Not exactly. No.” 

“Okay…is that something we could maybe start up again?”

“Jeez,” Buck says lightly, rolling his eyes. “We’re not even married and you’re already nagging.” 

“What, so you’re divorcing me now?” Eddie frowns, momentarily distracted. “Sorta feels like I’ve been demoted.” 

Buck knows Eddie is teasing, but his mind flashes back to the conversation they’d had the previous week. He grabs a kitchen towel to protect his hand from the hot ceramic and pulls Eddie’s mug out of the microwave, replacing it with his own as he mulls over his words. 

“I, uh…I kinda thought…I mean, you said you never wanted to—to get married. I don’t want to…I mean, look, this can be whatever you want it to be, Eddie. Okay?” 

“I said I don’t want to meet someone new,” Eddie says, grabbing Buck’s wrist and squeezing reassuringly. He waits to speak again until Buck meets his eyes. “That I don’t want to find a wife because I’m already settled. I, um…I kinda feel like I was pretty clear about that.” 

“Oh,” Buck says. “Well, uh. I’m not new.”

“No, you’re not,” Eddie agrees.

“So…”

“So. It’s on the table.” Eddie gives him a lopsided grin. “Maybe we start with ‘boyfriend,’ though? Kinda been dying to call you that.” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, and Buck smiles back, letting Eddie drag him in by the wrist for another long kiss. 

Buck pulls away when the microwave starts beeping, grabbing his own mug and setting it next down on the counter next to Eddie’s. 

“Honey?” Eddie says.

Buck snaps his fingers, walking across the kitchen to retrieve the jar of honey and holding it out to him. It’s over a third of the way gone, which Buck thinks, privately, is a worrying amount of honey for Eddie to have consumed in only two weeks. 

Eddie takes it from him slowly, looking amused. “Oh, I meant…thanks.” 

Buck stares at him for a moment before it hits him, lips parting in surprise, something bright and sweet and golden unfurling in his chest. “Oh!”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his eyes sparkling with affection. “Uh, I was just gonna say I’ll be right back. Gotta grab something.” He strides purposefully out of the room, returning a moment later with a colorful bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bag of walnuts in the other. 

“So, uh,” he says, setting the walnuts down on the counter. “Jim is a fucking criminal.”

Buck barks out a laugh, nodding his agreement. “Highway robbery. But he’s like my dealer, man, he’s got me hooked on his nuts.”

“Dude. Gross.”

“Sorry,” Buck grins, not sorry at all. 

“So, uh…I told you Tamara helped me with these,” Eddie says, glancing down at the flowers in his hands. “But I’m gonna need you to let me take full credit for them, if that’s okay.” 

Buck gazes down at the flowers, captivated by the array. It’s the most colorful, varied, uncoordinated bunch of flowers he can ever remember seeing. It sort of looks like they stuffed one of every flower in the tent into the same bouquet. “So do these ones have, um…meanings?”

“Well…yes and no,” Eddie says, tilting his head back and forth. “Not, like, flower language meanings. I don’t know what the hell any of these are supposed to mean, to be honest. Tamara told me to just, um. Pick whichever ones made me think of you. So. That’s what they mean.” 

Buck takes the bouquet from him gingerly, cradling it in his arms like it’s something breakable. “No one’s, uh…no one’s ever bought me flowers, either.” 

Eddie looks briefly murderous, and Buck hurries to soften the statement. “Actually, no, I’ve definitely woken up to flowers in a hospital room before,” he amends. 

“Hospital flowers don’t count,” Eddie snaps. 

“Eddie,” Buck laughs. “It’s really not a big deal. Plus, I mean, hey, you’ve pretty much given me a sampler bouquet of every flower on the planet right here, which sorta makes up for it, don’t you think?”

Eddie still looks miffed, but he doesn’t press the issue. “So, you distracted me about the therapy thing earlier—”

“Hey, hold on, you distracted yourself!”

“—so I need to know where your head’s at here, Buck. What I need to watch out for, what I can do to help…y’know. Lean on me, okay? That’s what I’m here for.” 

Buck nods, and Eddie pats his upper arm twice, satisfied. Buck reaches for the tiny spoon in the drying rack, dipping it into the honey jar and leaning over Eddie’s mug, drizzling a generous amount into the chamomile-scented steam. Then he lifts the spoon to Eddie’s mouth, holding it steady as Eddie sucks off the remaining honey. 

His lips are coated with a sheen of honey when he pulls away, and Buck tilts Eddie’s chin up with one finger, leaning in for a sticky, sugary kiss. “I love you, by the way,” he says softly, holding Eddie’s eyes. 

“Yeah, I kinda gathered that,” Eddie says, amused.

“I just, uh, forgot to actually say it earlier.”

“I’ll let it slide,” Eddie says graciously. “We were a little preoccupied.” He smirks at Buck, then smacks his own forehead, reaching into his back pocket. “I forgot something too. Here. Drama queen,” he teases, tossing Buck his phone. “You really didn’t need to throw it in a bush, dude.” 

“Thanks,” Buck mumbles. “I was considering going off the grid.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, unconcerned. “I would’ve found you in three hours, tops.” 

“You don’t know that,” Buck frowns, slightly offended. 

“I know you,” Eddie says simply. “And I already told you. You’re not going anywhere, remember? You’re stuck with us.” 

Eddie loves Buck. He listens to him and understands him and tells him over and over that he’s wanted, through jokes and hugs and clumsy bunches of flowers. It’s a privilege to be loved by Eddie. 

Message from Maddie: Call your therapist first thing tomorrow! Call me second! Love you!

Message from May: Can’t wait to tell this story at your wedding. The four of us should go out to brunch next week! You’re paying. Call me if you need anything!

(3) Missed calls from May

(17) Missed calls from Eddie

Message from Unknown Number: Hi Buck. It’s Tamara. I got your number from May. I hope things went well with Eddie. And I hope you like the flowers. It took him twenty minutes to decide haha. See you next Sunday!