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Buck’s brain is doing that thing again.
The thing where it latches onto one sensation and treats it like a five-alarm emergency.
Eddie is warm.
Eddie is solid.
Eddie is real.
Buck is awake enough to know this is dangerous and not awake enough to know how to stop it.
At some point in the night, he’s wrapped himself around Eddie. Fully. One arm slung low around Eddie’s waist, the other hooked over his ribs, nose tucked into the back of Eddie’s neck like this is the most natural thing in the world.
Like he belongs there.
Buck’s heart kicks hard, panic blooming fast and loud. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t wake up holding his best friend like—
Nope. Nope. Abort mission. Disengage. Retreat.
He tries to move.
He doesn’t get far.
Eddie shifts back into him instead, a sleepy, unconscious sound leaving his throat, and Buck’s entire nervous system lights up like Christmas.
Okay. Okay. This is bad. This is very bad.
He should pull away. He should put space between them. He should remember this is Eddie—his partner, his best friend, the guy who trusts him with everything—
“Buck.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Eddie’s voice is low and rough with sleep, close enough that Buck can feel the vibration of it in his chest.
He freezes.
“…yeah?” Buck whispers, because apparently his fight-or-flight response is now lie very still and hope the universe forgets you exist.
“I’m awake,” Eddie says.
Buck’s brain short-circuits. He starts mentally drafting apologies at warp speed.
Sorry sorry sorry didn’t mean to fall asleep like this didn’t mean to touch you didn’t mean to want—
“I was gonna move,” Buck blurts. “I swear. I just—I woke up and I was like this and I know it’s weird and I don’t usually—”
“Buck.”
Eddie’s hand comes up, light but firm, resting over Buck’s forearm. Not pushing him away. Not pulling him closer.
Just… there.
Grounding.
“You’re spiraling,” Eddie says gently.
Buck lets out a shaky laugh. “I don’t spiral.”
Eddie hums. “You absolutely spiral.”
Buck squeezes his eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to hold you like this.”
“I know.”
“That’s worse,” Buck mutters. “You always say that.”
Eddie shifts, turning just enough that Buck can see his face. There’s no tension there. No discomfort. Just that steady Eddie calm Buck has leaned on more times than he can count.
“I woke up,” Eddie says softly, “and you were holding me like it was instinct. Like you were afraid I’d disappear.”
Buck swallows. His throat feels tight. “I—”
“And then you tried to move,” Eddie continues, thumb brushing once over Buck’s arm, deliberate and unhurried, “and I didn’t want you to.”
That does it.
Buck’s breath stutters, chest tight, thoughts tripping over each other. This means something. This means everything. This means nothing. Don’t ruin it. Don’t name it—
“You okay?” Eddie asks.
Buck laughs again, a little hysterical. “Define okay.”
Eddie smiles. Small. Soft. Like it’s just for him.
“You don’t have to go,” Eddie says. “Not yet.”
Buck’s breath catches. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, steady as ever. “I’m sure.”
Something inside Buck finally quiets. Just enough to let him breathe.
He loosens his grip—just to prove he can—but Eddie immediately slides his hand into Buck’s, fingers lacing together like it’s instinct.
Like it’s always been allowed.
Buck’s brain absolutely blue-screens.
“Eddie,” he whispers, and there’s a question in it he doesn’t quite dare to ask.
Eddie answers anyway.
He leans in, slow and careful. The kiss is barely there—a brush of lips, soft and tentative, like he’s checking in rather than crossing a line. It lasts maybe half a second.
But Buck feels it everywhere.
Eddie pulls back just enough to look at him. “Too much?”
Buck shakes his head immediately. “No. No, that was—” He exhales, forehead dropping against Eddie’s. “That was… good.”
Eddie smiles again. Warmer this time. Certain.
“Good,” he says, and presses one more gentle kiss to Buck’s mouth. Unrushed. Unhurried. Just… there.
Buck’s panic doesn’t disappear.
But it changes shape.
And for the first time, Buck lets himself believe that maybe—just maybe—this isn’t something he has to run from.
He tightens his arms again.
Eddie stays.
*
Eddie wakes up because something is different.
Not wrong.
Just… changed.
There’s weight at his back. Warmth. An arm curved around his waist like it belongs there.
For half a second, his body reacts before his brain does—relaxes into it, settles deeper into the mattress, breath evening out like this is familiar.
Then it clicks.
Buck.
Eddie goes still.
He could move. He knows that. Could shift, gently untangle himself, pretend this never happened. Pretend Buck didn’t pull him close in his sleep like it was instinct.
Like it was need.
Instead, Eddie stays.
Buck’s breathing is uneven, the way it gets when he’s half-awake. Eddie can feel his heart racing through Buck’s chest—fast, anxious—like his body knows something his mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
Of course it’s Buck, Eddie thinks fondly. Terrified even when he’s the one holding on.
Eddie stays awake after that.
Minutes stretch. Then hours.
Buck tightens his grip once, murmurs something incoherent into Eddie’s neck, nose pressing into skin like he’s anchoring himself. Eddie swallows hard and lets him.
Lets himself be held.
At some point, Buck tries to pull away. Slow. Careful. Like he’s defusing a bomb.
Eddie doesn’t think.
He just shifts back.
Chooses him.
When Buck freezes, Eddie pretends to sleep for another minute—just long enough to be sure. Just long enough to decide that whatever this is, he doesn’t want Buck waking up alone.
When he finally speaks, Buck’s panic is immediate and achingly familiar. Eddie watches it unfold with a quiet, devastating tenderness.
God, he thinks. He has no idea how loved he is.
When Buck apologizes, Eddie wants to laugh and ache and pull him closer all at once.
So he does the simplest thing.
He tells the truth.
And when Buck doesn’t pull away—when Buck stays—Eddie knows.
This wasn’t an accident.
This was waiting.
*
The diner smells like coffee and grease and something fried Eddie can’t quite identify. It’s comforting in a way he hadn’t expected.
Buck sits across from him in the booth.
And stares.
Not subtly.
Not at all.
Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You gonna eat that, or are you just gonna look at me until the waitress calls the cops?”
Buck blinks. “Sorry. I just—” He glances down at his plate, then back up. “…you’re real, right?”
Eddie snorts. “Last I checked.”
Buck huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He keeps sneaking looks after that, like if he stops, Eddie might disappear.
The waitress drops off their food. Buck thanks her like she’s done him a personal favor. Eddie watches him butter his toast, careful and precise, shoulders still a little tense—like he’s waiting for something to go wrong.
“You okay?” Eddie asks, gentle.
Buck nods too fast. “Yeah. Totally. Great. Normal.”
Eddie hums. “You’re doing the thing.”
Buck grimaces. “Yeah. I know.”
He looks up then, eyes serious. “Last night—this morning—I just wanna be clear that if you regret it, if you want to pretend it didn’t—”
Eddie reaches across the table and covers Buck’s hand.
Buck stills instantly.
“I don’t,” Eddie says.
Buck swallows. “You don’t…?”
“I don’t regret it,” Eddie repeats. “And I don’t want to pretend.”
Something in Buck’s face softens. Not relief exactly. More like recognition.
“Okay,” Buck says quietly.
They eat after that. Mostly in silence—but it’s the easy kind now. The kind that feels earned.
Buck keeps looking at Eddie like he’s memorizing him.
Eddie lets him.
*
They’re back by the truck when it finally happens.
Buck lingers, keys dangling from his fingers, shoulders tight again.
“This wasn’t a mistake,” Eddie says gently.
Buck exhales. “I know. I just—needed to hear it out loud.”
Eddie steps closer. Not touching yet. Giving Buck space to choose.
“I’ve wanted you in my life for a long time,” Eddie says. “I just didn’t know what shape that took until you were already holding me.”
Buck’s eyes shine. “You don’t scare easy, do you?”
Eddie smiles, soft and sure. “Not when it’s you.”
Buck laughs, shaky and emotional. “Figures.”
He steps in then, closes the space. Forehead to Eddie’s shoulder, breath warm against his neck.
“I was so afraid I’d ruin this,” Buck murmurs.
Eddie wraps his arms around him without hesitation. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
He presses a gentle kiss into Buck’s hair. Not possessive. Just steady.
“You found it,” Eddie says.
Buck clings for a second, then relaxes—lets himself be held this time.
And Eddie thinks—
Yeah.
This is it.