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It is, without a doubt, the stupidest idea Eddie’s ever had.
He’s aware. You don’t need to tell him. As soon as he’d done it, he’d excused himself into the bathroom to stare in the mirror and whisper what the fuck repeatedly. So yeah, he knows.
But still.
Because it’s a Tuesday night and Eddie and Buck are off, miraculously, for three whole days, and they’re drinking the gross stout Buck’s been liking lately, watching Love is Blind (Buck’s choice, obviously), and Eddie turns to Buck, just a little, and says, “Hey.”
Buck glances over at him, bottle raised to his lips, and says, “Hi, Eds.”
“I have a favor to ask,” Eddie says, twisting more so his knee is pressing into Buck’s thigh.
“Dangerous,” Buck replies, because he’s an asshole, and Eddie’s so fucking in love with him that it’s embarrassing at this point.
“Dick,” Eddie says, digging his knee in a little, just to prove a point. “Maybe I’ll ask just ask Chimney. Or Ravi.”
He wouldn’t, obviously. But it’s fun watching Buck huff, watch him roll his eyes fondly.
“No, no,” Buck says around a smile, “come on. Ask me.”
Eddie’s eyes flick across Buck’s face; the bow of his lips, the tip of his chin, the line at the corner of his mouth. “You know Heather Paul?” Eddie asks, because he’s going to beat around the bush as much as possible here.
Buck purses his lips, nodding. “Hailey’s mom, right?”
Of course Buck knows PTA parents based on their kids, not their actual personalities. Eddie wishes he was so lucky.
“Yeah.” Eddie wrinkles his nose a little, trying to think of the best way to frame this. Because—look, he knows it’s a big ask, okay? He knows it could potentially alter the very comfortable chemistry of their weird co-dependent relationship. But it’s—Heather sucks , okay? “She’s been uh—propositioning me, I guess.”
Buck furrows his brow, reaching over to pause the show and turn to Eddie fully, folding his legs up under him. They’re pressed together knee-to-knee now, Buck’s arm slung over the back of the couch, hovering right near Eddie’s shoulder. If he moved, just a little, Buck would be touching him.
“Propositioning you?” Buck repeats. When Eddie nods, Buck says, “Dude, I know you’re older than me, but propositioning? Really? Just say she’s hitting on you and—”
“ Dick ,” Eddie says again, but he’s laughing. “I’m calling Ravi. Seriously, you’re getting your best friend access to my crises revoked.” He reaches for his phone where it’s been discarded on the coffee table, but before he can, Buck reaches out and grabs his wrist, squeezing.
“Okay, okay,” he says, grinning so wide his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Sorry. Tell me about Heather propositioning you.”
Eddie knocks his head against the back of the couch, rolling his neck so he can look at the ceiling. Buck’s hand is a hot brand around his wrist, and he doesn’t let go, so Eddie doesn’t move. He just sits there, staring at the weird ceiling light, his arm balancing on Buck’s knee, Buck’s fingers pressing right into his pulse point. “It’s kind of dumb, actually,” Eddie says, self-deprecating and a little miserable. “Like—I’m a widower. A veteran. A father. Some random lady flirting with me shouldn’t be a big deal.”
“Hey,” Buck says, gentle. “If she’s making you uncomfortable, that’s allowed to be a big deal.”
Eddie shifts his chin to look at Buck, smile lightly. “She’s just…a lot, I guess. Like asking me out, making comments, touching my arm. I’ve done everything save for just telling her I’m not interested, and it hasn’t worked yet.”
“So what do you need me to do?” Eddie blinks, and Buck just rolls his eyes. “Come on. You said you had a favor to ask. What’s the game plan?”
“It’s parent-teacher interviews on Thursday,” Eddie says, eyes flicking down to where Buck’s still holding onto his wrist. If he shifted just a little, he could take Buck’s hand, interlace their fingers. “I was hoping you’d come with me.”
“Sure,” Buck says, easy as anything. “Of course. I’ve been wanting to meet Ms. Hernandez anyway.” Eddie racks his brain for a minute before remembering that’s Chris’s science teacher, the one that’s teaching him about weather systems right now.
“Uh, that’s not all,” Eddie says, before he loses his nerve. “I was hoping you’d come as my—partner.” He winces as soon as the words leave his mouth, because genuinely, this is the stupidest goddamn idea. Shannon is probably cackling wherever she is over the fact that Eddie is asking the man he is very tragically in love with to be his—fucking fake boyfriend, or something, just to avoid the attention of some PTA parents.
Buck blinks at him. “Are you—you want to pretend to be in a relationship to get Heather Paul off your back?” he asks, fingers squeezing around Eddie’s pulse point a little.
“And Arthur James, and Melissa Yu, and Terri Okafor,” Eddie says, because it isn’t just Heather Paul. It’s basically every single parent in the PTA, the ones who are always overly friendly with him when he’s able to show up to the meetings. It always Wow, Mr. Diaz, your job sure keeps you fit! and Oh, Mr. Diaz, if you need help preparing for the bake sale I’m more than happy to come over to your house and Mr. Diaz, don’t you think it’s time Christopher has a mother-figure again?
And like—Eddie gets it, somewhat. He isn’t the perfect example of a father; he misses more PTA meetings than he attends, he brings store-bought goods to the bake sales, he isn’t always there in the pickup line to fetch Christopher from school. He gets that the parents are probably being a weird, rich-version of polite, that they’re probably trying to look out for him in their upper-middle-class way, but Eddie’s tired of it. He’s fine, really. He’s got everything he needs—a super smart and adorable kid, a job he loves, six months of therapy under his belt, and—Buck.
Of course he has Buck. He’s had Buck for—for years, actually, and even though he doesn’t have him, not the way that’s been itching beneath his skin for months, he can work with this. With what he does have. And sure, the little Frank voice in his head tells him he’s being self-destructive by asking Buck to give him everything he wants with the very pointed stipulation that it’s all fake, but Eddie can handle it. He’s been to war. He’s been shot in the streets of LA and buried beneath thirty feet of mud. He can handle Buck pretending to be in love with him to get Heather and Arthur and Melissa and Terri and every other single parent at Christopher’s school off his back.
It’s fine. It’s fine .
“Okay,” Buck says after a moment, finally letting go of Eddie’s wrist. He leans back on the arm of the couch, grabbing his beer from the table. “Let’s do it.”
“Buck—”
“Eddie,” Buck replies, “if you need help getting the message that you aren’t interested in dating across, you know I’ll help. I’ve got your back, man.”
Eddie’s mouth goes a little dry, because he is interested in dating. He’s very interested in dating the man sitting next to him, interested in taking him out for dinner and making out in the back row of movie theaters and holding his hand beneath the table. Actually, he’s interested in—fucking marrying Buck, at this point, but if this is all he can have—this fake relationship borne out of Eddie’s childish refusal to just reject people—then he’ll take it.
Frank would call him a glutton for punishment, but Eddie’ll just call himself practical. He’s taking what he can get, okay?
“Thanks, Buck,” Eddie says eventually. His wrist is cold where Buck let him go, but he stops himself from doing something insane like reaching out and threading his finger’s through Buck’s, just to feel his pulse alongside Eddie’s own. “I owe you one.”
“Don’t worry,” Buck winks, hitting play on the show. “I’ll be sure to collect.”
***
Eddie lied. Things are truly, categorically, unquestionably not fine.
This was—absolutely fucking ridiculous of him, actually, and he’s probably going to have to have an extended session with Frank about how ridiculous he’s being about this. Because, like—Eddie’s a grown man. But the prospect of holding Buck’s hand is really making him consider skipping the conference and transferring Christopher to another school altogether.
“Eddie,” Buck says, sounding like he’s trying not to laugh. He’s got a hand extended, waiting patiently for Eddie to link their fingers together, and he looks so fond and amused that something in Eddie’s chest caves in, just a little. “I’m not gonna bite.”
Eddie swallows down a response that sounds something like I wouldn’t mind if you did , wetting his lips instead. “My hands are sweaty,” he says lamely, standing next to the truck. They’re standing in the parking lot, other parents trickling in through the side doors. Every time the doors open, Eddie catches a glimpse of Heather Paul manning the sign-in table, her blonde hair curled over her shoulder. Eddie hates her, a little, for making her do this.
She didn’t make you do anything , the Frank-voice says. This is all you, Eddie.
“I hate to break it to you, Eds, but I’ve dealt with a lot worse from you besides sweaty hands,” Buck says, grinning. “Need I remind you who helped you after the shooting? Or who took you home after you got shit-faced at Chimney’s birthday? Or the time—”
Eddie slaps his hand into Buck’s with a little more force than necessary. “Okay, I get it,” he says, “I’m gross and you’re a saint.”
“Just for you,” Buck winks. “Now, what’s our game plan? I was thinking we’d take it according to the layout of the school, you know? Math is on one end, so we can start there, and go art, science, social studies, gym—why are you staring at me like that?”
To be fair, Eddie hadn’t realized he was looking at Buck any way that was different from how he usually did. Maddie— Maddie , of all people—says it’s like he’s looking at Buck like the other man hung the moon and stars, and also like he wants to devour him. Which, hearing that from Buck’s sister was a trip and a half, but Eddie’s never tried very hard to remedy it. If Buck doesn’t catch on, that isn’t Eddie’s fault, right?
“I’m not staring at you like anything,” Eddie says, mildly defensive. He swings their hands between them in an arc. “I just didn’t realize you’d had the entire map of Chris’s school laid out.”
“It’s my first parent-teacher night,” Buck says, “I’m gonna do it right.” And it strikes Eddie a little, that first implies there will be more. He wants nothing more than that, actually, but Eddie doesn’t know how to say will you come to every conference for the rest of Chris’s school years? without following the statement up with because you’re a second father to him, because I love you, because I want to have all your blonde-haired, blue-eyed babies, if you’d let me .
So instead, he just says, “Lead the way then, Buckley. Since you’re the expert and all.”
Buck grins, squeezing Eddie’s fingers. He pulls Eddie in the direction of the school, stepping into the hallway and queueing behind a few other parents. The wall above the shoe rack next to them is lined with pictures from Christopher’s art class, and Buck points at Chris’s once he spots it. “He’s getting good,” Buck murmurs, leaning against Eddie a little.
“He’s not,” Eddie says, huffing out a laugh. “But you’re sweet to say so.”
“Hey,” Buck replies, knocking their shoulders together, “he’s a certified Van Gogh. One day, they’ll put him in museums.”
“If your fridge counts as a museum, then sure,” Eddie says, but he’s smiling, because Buck is—God, he’s everything, isn’t he?
When Eddie left the 118 without talking to Buck about it, he was sure he’d lost his best friend. But after a few months of working at dispatch, after a fuck ton of therapy, after Eddie and Buck finally talked about everything—the tsunami, the well, the shooting—Eddie had realized just how right he was to make Buck Christopher’s legal guardian. It isn’t just that Buck loves him, it’s that he loves him the way Eddie does; he doesn’t treat Chris like he’s fragile like his parents do. No, Buck treats Chris like he’s the goddamn greatest kid in the world (which is true, obviously), like he’s a brilliant artist and a genius and master chef, and just—he treats him like Eddie would treat him. The way he does treat him. And that, more than anything, is what Eddie wants for his son. He wants someone that sees Christopher for what he is, not what he could be. Not what other people want him to be.
And Buck just does that, without question or resistance. Since the moment he met Christopher after the earthquake, Buck’s treated him like Chris is his equal. Eddie knows now, after all the talks on his couch after long sessions with Frank that Buck just treated Chris the way he wanted his parents to treat him, and that—that was a slap in the face for Eddie, really. Because he knows Buck’s parents categorically are the worst, but the fact that Buck came out the way he did, kind and genuine enough that’d he’d met a seven-year-old kid and decided that he was going to be there for him the way his parents weren’t for him—well, Eddie couldn’t do anything but fall in love with him, could he?
“Mr. Diaz,” Heather says, breaking Eddie out of his reverie. They’ve made it to the front of the line and are standing right in front of the sign-in table. Next to Heather is Arthur James, one of the only other dads on PTA. He’s nearly as bad as Heather is, and Eddie thinks there might actually be a bet between them as to which of them can get Eddie out on a date and into bed first, but he hasn’t confirmed anything. “It’s so nice to see you.”
“You too,” Eddie says, because he may not like the woman, but Abuela would smack him with a shoe if he was anything but polite. “Thanks for helping organize tonight.”
“My job as PTA president,” Heather replies, and Eddie thinks she’s trying to sound flirty, but it just makes him shrink against Buck even more. As if just noticing Eddie isn’t alone, Heather’s eyes flick over, narrowing slightly. “And who’s this?”
Before Eddie has a chance to say anything, Buck grins, extending his free hand. “Evan Buckley,” he says, easy, “I’m Eddie’s boyfriend.”
And Jesus Christ, this was Eddie’s idea . He has absolutely zero right to choke on his spit between one breath and the next, but he does anyway, because he never in his life thought he’d get to hear the words I’m Eddie’s boyfriend come out of Buck’s mouth.
No one notices his mild panic, though, because Heather and Arthur are both looking at Buck with varying levels of confusion. “Boyfriend,” Arthur echoes, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I don’t think we’ve heard of you before.”
Eddie’s mouth fills uncomfortably with saliva, his tongue heavy in his mouth. Because they didn’t really talk about the semantics of things, how they got together and how long it’s been and everything that every romantic comedy tells you comes with planning a fake relationship. Eddie had been too embarrassed every time Buck brought it up, so Buck had just said he’d handle it, that all Eddie had to do was follow his lead.
But when Buck squeezes his fingers and turns to Eddie and says, “Baby, have you been keeping me a secret?” all fond and teasing, Eddie flames so efficiently he’s pretty sure his face is as red as the engine truck. Maybe they should have worked out the semantics, so that Eddie could have confessed that the idea of Buck calling him baby is something that absolutely makes him spiral.
“Buck,” Heather says, saving Eddie from saying something ridiculous like I have dreams of you calling me that, sometimes. Eddie might actually kiss her. “Right? You’re Christopher’s Buck.”
Buck preens at that, at belonging to Christopher. “That’s me,” he says, swinging his and Eddie’s joined hands a little. “Don’t tell this one,” he adds, pointing to Eddie with his free hand, “but Chris is kind of my favorite Diaz.”
Eddie scoffs, some of the heat receding down his neck. “That’s not actually a secret, you know,” he says, because this—the banter—he can do. “You tell me that like, every day.”
“That’s because it’s true every day,” Buck says, grinning. “Sorry, Eds, but you’ll never outrank Chris. It’s just how it is.”
Eddie wouldn’t want it any other way, actually. He’d never imagined having someone in his life who loves Chris just as much as they love Eddie, who would do anything for his kid, not out of some sense of duty for Eddie but because they genuinely love him. It’s just—nice, he supposes. That he doesn’t have to worry, with Buck, about Christopher, because both of them are always putting his— their —kid first.
“We hear all about you from Christopher,” Heather says, watching them with slightly narrowed eyes. Her gaze flicks from their joined hands to where their shoulders are pressed together, and she purses her lips. “How long have you been together?”
“Just about a month now,” Buck says. “But we’ve been partners for more than four years now.”
“How sweet,” Arthur says, and it sounds like a lie coming out of his mouth. Him and Heather share a pointed look, so Eddie looks at Buck, his palm starting to itch. Buck looks back at him, smiles a little, squeezes his fingers.
“A month of dating and you’re already at parent-teacher interviews,” Heather says. Eddie takes it back, about kissing her. He’d much rather spray her with one of their hoses. “That’s a little fast, isn’t it?”
“Buck’s been Chris’s parent long before we started dating,” Eddie says, because sure, he can’t think on his feet about their fake relationship, but he can absolutely tell the truth about Buck’s place in their lives. “Actually, I’m surprised this is the first conference he’s been to. He helps Chris way more with homework than I do.”
He sees Buck look at him from the corner of his eye, sees the fond smile on the other man’s face. “That’s because you suck at math, Eds.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, pushing at their joined hands and then pulling back in so their shoulders knock into each other. “We get it, you’re the better dad out of the two of us.”
“Hey,” Buck says, and he sounds serious suddenly so Eddie looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “I learned how to be a good dad from watching you . Everything I’ve learned has been taken straight from the Edmundo Diaz playbook, alright? You’re the best dad I’ve ever met.”
And it’s so fucking earnest that Eddie almost pitches forward and kisses Buck right here, in a random hallway in his kid’s school, surrounded by other parents and stacked away inside shoes and art-lined walls. He almost does, but he doesn’t, because Heather Paul has a sixth sense for ruining his life, probably, and she speaks before he has the chance.
“Well, this is cute,” she says, sounding just as fake as Arthur had, “but we don’t want to hold up the line!” Heather fills out name tags—one says Mr. Diaz, the other Mr. Buckley—and hands them off to Buck and Eddie, who fasten them to their jackets without comment. She flips through a few pages before finding a sheet of paper that she hands over, Buck taking it from her. It’s a list of Christopher’s classes and room numbers. “Do you need someone to show you to your first class?” Heather asks, sickly sweet.
“We’re good,” Buck says, grinning brightly. “It was nice meeting you both.”
“Likewise,” Heather and Arthur say in unison.
Buck tugs on Eddie’s hands as he waves goodbye, leading him down the hall toward one of the classes listed on the paper. Once they’re out of earshot, Buck pauses, pulling Eddie to the side so they’re leaning against the lockers. “Dude, she’s scary !”
“She’s evil,” Eddie says, laughing. Their hands are still joined, and even though Eddie’s palm is a little sweaty, he isn’t going to let go for anything, not until Buck lets go first. “That was like, her lowest level. Usually, she’s implying that she wouldn’t mind me showing her the fireman’s carry.”
“Ew,” Buck says, wrinkling his nose. “That’s not even a good line.”
“Oh yeah?” Eddie says, the words glutton for punishment flashing through his mind again. “Then what is a good line?”
Something sparks in Buck’s eyes and he leans forward a little, so his chest is nearly brushing against Eddie’s. “Hey, are you a firefighter?” he says, voice dropped low, halfway to sultry.
Eddie swallows around a knot in his throat. “Um, yes?”
“Because you’re making me feel really hot and bothered,” Buck finishes, and he’s standing so close that Eddie can feel his breath puff across his lips.
“That’s—” Eddie stutters, his mouth dry as a goddamn desert, “that doesn’t even make sense.”
“But it worked,” Buck says, the bastard. He winks, too, and Eddie is suddenly very glad he never got to meet Buck 1.0. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to handle the baby blues and the easy confidence and the—oh God, the Firehose of it all. “Now come on!” Buck says, leaning back and smiling again, as if he hadn’t been close enough to tilt forward and stick his tongue down Eddie’s throat. “Let’s go meet some teachers.”
***
Buck is actually going to be the death of him.
If it’s not I’m Eddie’s boyfriend , it’s putting his hand into Eddie’s back pocket, or sharing an anecdote that’s actually true about waking up next to Eddie in the morning, or telling a very detailed story about their first kiss that has Eddie going red like a blushing virgin.
Buck is nothing if not committed to this whole fake dating thing, and honestly, it’s going to come back and bite Eddie in the ass. What’s he going to do at the next PTA meeting when Mrs. Hernandez asks how his lovely boyfriend Evan is?
Die. That’s what he’s going to do.
“So, Christopher is doing exceptionally well in English this year,” Ms. Clifford says, glancing between her notes and where Buck and Eddie are balancing on the uncomfortable plastic chairs. “He’s taken a great interest in our Greek mythology unit.”
They’re almost done. English is their last class, and then they have the weird PTA mixer in the gym, and then it’s over. Eddie and Buck can go home to Christopher and watch Encanto and eat pizza like they planned. He just has to make it through this last meeting, say some perfunctory hellos over bad decaf coffee, and then they can forget this ever happened.
“I’ve been reading through his materials with him,” Buck says, leaning forward. Honestly, he’s been taking the lead in these meetings the way that Carla usually does; Eddie never has the right questions and doesn’t laugh in the right places, but Buck just fits right in, like he’s been doing this whole life. “And I was wondering how you manage to tell the stories without all the, you know, unsavory bits?”
Ms. Clifford laughs, instantly charmed by Buck. Eddie knows the feeling.
The two of them chat idly about Zeus being a whore and how Christopher really likes the story of Arachne because he and Buck have been in an arachnid phase, and Eddie just—watches. Watches as Buck fits himself into Eddie’s life so easily, the way he has been since the beginning. Watches as he settles into the role of dad without any hesitation, how he just gives and gives and gives so much of himself to Eddie and Chris, without asking for anything in return.
Eddie loves him. That isn’t news, not in the slightest, but a feeling bubbles up in his chest, fizzy like champagne, and he knows what it is. It’s not just that Eddie loves him. It’s that he wants to tell Buck that he loves him. He wants to ask Buck to let him love him for the rest of their lives.
And it's—he thinks the panic attack is a little warranted, okay? Because Eddie has been so okay sitting on his feelings for Buck. He’s been in love with the man for—Jesus, way longer than he’d ever admit, but he’s never had the desire to tell him before. He’s never wanted to change absolutely everything about their relationship.
It’s Frank’s fault, probably. Eddie doesn’t know how, but he’ll blame it on Frank’s mission to unpack all of Eddie’s repression like a goddamn Russian nesting doll if anyone asks.
“Eds,” Buck says, crouching in front of his chair, hands balanced on his knees, “just breathe for me, okay? Breathe, sweetheart.”
“I’m—” fine , he wants to say, but he chokes on the word. Instead, Eddie wraps his fingers around Buck’s wrists and squeezes, hard enough that he can feel Buck’s steady heartbeat in his palms.
“That’s it,” Buck says, exaggerating his own breathing so Eddie will match it. “You’ve got it, Eds. In and out. You know the drill.”
Eddie huffs out an incredulous laugh, and his voice is wrecked when he says, “I shouldn’t have to know the drill. I should be—what the fuck is the point of therapy if I’m having panic attacks in Chris’s English classroom?”
“You know healing isn’t linear,” Buck says quietly, tipping forward so his forehead is balancing on Eddie’s, a gentle pressure Eddie feels all the way in his bones. “That six months of therapy doesn’t fix everything. But you know what?”
“What?” Eddie asks.
“At least you’re not in the hospital thinking you’re having a heart attack this time,” Buck says. “I’d call that progress.”
Eddie laughs again, and even though it’s punched out of him, it sounds a little more genuine, a little more like him. “You’ve got a point, I guess,” he says, eyes closing. His hands slip down Buck’s forearms until he’s cupping his elbows, and Buck lifts his own hands until he’s cupping Eddie’s face, fingers fitting along his jaw. “Where’s Ms. Clifford?”
“She gave us the room when you just about keeled over,” Buck says, and Eddie promises himself that he’ll get her a bouquet or something for Teacher Appreciation Day. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“I just…” Eddie trails off, blinking his eyes open. Buck’s already looking at him, concern and fondness and fuck— love in his eyes, and Eddie knows, with everything in him, that this is the rest of his life.
But he isn’t about to say that in a sixth-grade English classroom on a random Thursday night. He’s going to—he’s going to treat Buck right. Because Buck deserves absolutely everything, and Eddie—Eddie isn’t going to fuck this up.
“You just?” Buck echoes, pulling back slightly so he can look at Eddie properly.
“I just got overwhelmed,” Eddie settles on, because it’s not actually a lie. “I’m okay now.”
Buck stares at him for another long moment, sweeping a thumb over the bone beneath Eddie’s eye. Eventually, he finds what he’s looking for, because he nods. “We can go home,” he says softly, “skip the mixer. No one would mind.”
“I can name at least six people who would mind,” Eddie says, tilting his mouth into a grin. He resists the urge to turn his head and kiss Buck’s palm. “I’m okay, Buck. Seriously.”
“Okay,” Buck acquiesces. “If you’re sure.”
“I am,” Eddie says. “I’ve got my boyfriend to charm the pants off everyone.”
Buck grins, shaking his head. “That’s all I’m good for, huh?” He stands up, hands slipping from Eddie’s jaw to his shoulders and then off him entirely. He extends a hand to pull Eddie up, and once they’re both on their feet, Buck fits his hand into Eddie’s again, interlacing their fingers like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Come on. Let’s go face the beast.”
And as they’re walking out of the classroom, offering apologizes to a very understanding Ms. Clifford, it hits Eddie.
Buck called him sweetheart without anyone else around. And Eddie—
Eddie just smiles.
***
“I was wrong,” Eddie hisses, tucking his face into the junction of Buck’s shoulder and neck. “We should have just gone home.”
Buck, the traitor, laughs. He’s got an arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist, hand splayed wide over his ribcage. In his other hand is a napkin with two oatmeal raisin cookies and someone’s honest-to-God phone number.
(“Just in case you need anything!” Melissa Yu, Kenny’s mom, had said, writing the number on the back of an old receipt, as if Buck wasn’t literally there as Eddie’s boyfriend.
“Oh my God,” Eddie had mumbled as soon as she was out of earshot. “Your hand is on my ass and she’s still hitting on you?”
“Maybe I should stick my tongue down your throat to get the message across?” Buck offered. Eddie had shoved him to get the image out of his mind.)
“Just a little longer,” Buck says, squeezing Eddie’s waist a little. “Unless you really want to go. Seriously, say the word and—”
Eddie sighs, just this side of dramatic, and pulls his face from Buck’s neck. He flips his wrist so he can check the time, and says, “We’ll stay until 7:30.”
Fifteen minutes. He can handle fifteen minutes.
“Don’t look now,” Buck says, mouth at his temple, “but Heather looks like she’s about to blow a gasket over there.”
“Good,” Eddie says, because he’s probably a terrible person.
Buck laughs. “Eddie, that’s rude ,” he says in the same voice he uses to teasingly scold Christopher when talks with his mouth full.
“It’s true ,” Eddie retorts, leaning more into Buck’s side. His own arm slips around Buck’s waist, hand worming its way beneath the hem of Buck’s button up to rest on the warm, smooth skin of his hip. “You might have to start coming to PTA meetings with me, just so she really gets the message.”
“Sure,” Buck says, nodding. “I can do that.”
Eddie glances up at him. “What?”
“What?” Buck echoes, furrowing his brow. Eddie very much so wants to smooth it out with his thumb. “What do you mean what ?”
“What do you mean you’ll go to PTA meetings?” Eddie asks.
The confusion on Buck’s face only grows. “Dude, you literally just asked me to come to them.”
“Yeah, but—but you’d have to keep pretending,” Eddie says, and he doesn’t actually know what he’s doing, but suddenly it feels like he isn’t sure. Not about his feelings for Buck—he’s so fucking sure about those he could probably write a book about it—but rather about whether or not he deserves to have Buck.
Frank’s voice in his head reminds him that’s not a choice he can make for Buck, but like—Eddie’s not a graduate of therapy yet, alright? He’s still learning. So if he regresses a little bit, when the panic about whether or not he’s healed enough to deserve Buck begins to swim in his chest—sue him.
“And like, what if you met someone? And then we’d have to explain that we were faking it the whole time, or that I couldn’t hold onto another parental figure in Chris’s life, or—”
“Eddie,” Buck says, twisting so they’re facing each other fully. He lifts his free hand, the one not holding the cookies, up to cup Eddie’s face. “What just happened?”
“I just—we didn’t think this through?” Eddie says, trying for a laugh that sounds pathetic even to his own ears. “Like, this is crazy, Buck. Even for us.”
And Eddie—he knows Buck loves him. He knows that he and Chris make up the most important people in Buck’s life, right next to Maddie and Jee-Yun. But there’s such a big leap between Buck loving him and Buck loving him, and Eddie is suddenly unsure whether or not Buck has made that leap. If Eddie is more to Buck than just his best friend.
So he—pushes. Because it’s what Eddie does best; he pushes at people when he’s afraid. Thinks that if he pushes hard enough, overcorrects well enough, he can avoid all the bad things that come with loving Eddie.
Oh, Jesus Christ , he thinks. Frank’s going to have a field day with this.
Buck’s face twists up a little. “Is it so crazy?” he asks.
“What?”
“This,” Buck says, waving the cookies around a little. “Us. Is that so crazy?”
Before Eddie has a chance to say anything, Heather and Arthur are sidling up to them, twin looks of—something not good on their faces. Eddie looks between the two of them and Buck, who’s chewing on the corner of his mouth thoughtfully as he greets Heather and Arthur.
“Hey,” Buck says politely. “Are you two enjoying your evening?”
“More than you,” Heather says, and Eddie bristles. “Sorry, just—it looks like the two of you are fighting?”
Eddie narrows his eyes a little. She’d probably like that, actually. “Not fighting,” Eddie says, his voice a little hoarse. Buck’s hand has moved off his face and is resting on the side of his neck, so Eddie shifts a little until they’re standing side by side, Buck’s hand slipping to wrap around his shoulders. “No worries.”
Heather and Arthur exchange a look. “We know how hard it is,” Arthur says.
“Marriage,” Heather adds.
“We aren’t married,” Eddie says, a little dumbly. He’s not actually sure where this is going, but he’s pretty sure he won’t like it.
Arthur waves a hand in dismissal. “You know what I mean,” he says, even though Eddie really doesn’t. “Serious, committed relationships. Heather and I both ruined ours, you know? We can see the cracks.”
“It’s like a secret power,” Heather says, nodding.
And Eddie—laughs, actually, because once again, he’s probably a terrible person, but also if they think this is going to seal the deal on his interest in them, they’re so far from correct it is funny. It’s like Eddie going up to someone and saying hey I’m trying to get over my huge fucking crush on my best friend, wanna go on a date? and pretending it’s a pickup line.
Buck pinches his bicep, hard, and Eddie swallows the rest of his laugh, transforming it at the last second into a cough that he hides behind a fist. “No cracks,” Buck says as Eddie chokes on his laughter. “Just talking.”
“Very seriously,” Heather says.
Eddie looks up in time just to see Buck narrow his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business,” he says, and like, maybe Eddie’s into impolite Buck. He’ll have to unpack that later. “But we were talking about what we were gonna do when Christopher is out of the house this weekend.”
Heather and Arthur both get pinched expressions on their faces that Eddie would find amusing if he wasn’t blinking at the implication of Buck’s words. And not just the implication that they were going to have sex this weekend, but the—
Us. Is that so crazy?
Oh. Oh .
“Buck,” Eddie says, tugging on his jacket suddenly, the way Christopher does when he wants attention. “We have to go.”
Buck glances down at him, frowning. “Why?”
“Left the oven on,” Eddie says, reaching for his hand. He threads their fingers together and pulls Buck toward the exit. “Bye!” he calls to Arthur and Heather, who are staring after them with annoyed looks. Eddie could genuinely give less of a shit right now, to be honest.
It’s pitch black outside, and people are coming and going from the parking lot, but Eddie pays them no mind as he all but bodily drags Buck towards the truck.
“The oven ?” Buck asks, incredulous. “Dude, that is the lamest excuse—”
And then he’s silent, because Eddie pushes him against the truck and swallows the words right out of his mouth.
Kissing Buck is a fucking revelation, actually. It’s nothing like Eddie thought it would be—and honestly, he’s thought about it an embarrassing amount. No, it’s better because it’s real and that’s just—God, Eddie doesn’t get why he hasn’t been kissing Buck this whole time. Because kissing Buck is all Eddie wants to do for the rest of his life, actually.
Buck immediately catches on, one hand twisting in the short hairs at the back of Eddie’s head, the other slipping into his back pocket to pull them closer together. He licks into Eddie’s mouth like it’s his job (Eddie wouldn’t mind that, actually), tongue pressing incessantly against his, like he’s making good on his suggestion from earlier. Eddie makes a noise in the back of his throat as he presses closer into Buck, so they’re connected from knee to hip to chest.
Eddie grumbles out a protest as Buck moves away from his mouth, but it quickly dies out once he begins trailing hot, wet kisses down Eddie’s neck, sucking on the soft skin right above his collarbone. Eddie tugs on Buck’s hair to get him to stop before he leaves a hickey, and the noise that comes with Buck’s mouth detaching from Eddie’s skin is actually obscene.
“Buck,” Eddie whispers, dragging him close enough that their noses brush together. “We are in public.”
“It’s dark,” Buck replies, sounding a little wrecked. “No one can see.”
“That is not a good enough reason to get handsy in a parking lot,” Eddie says, a little wrecked himself. He pulls back, just a fraction, so he can see Buck’s eyes. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Buck says, smiling a little. “For the record, I’m not about to fall for another PTA parent.”
“No?” Eddie asks, sounding a little too close to insecure for comfort.
Buck slides his hand from the back of Eddie’s head to his jaw, running his thumb over Eddie’s kiss-slick bottom lip. Eddie presses a kiss to the pad of it without thinking, and Buck’s smile widens. “I’ve got my hands full with this one,” he says, pinching Eddie’s ass for emphasis.
“ Buck ,” Eddie hisses, because he’s a grown man, and he isn’t about to get hard in the parking lot of their kid’s middle school.
“Come on,” Buck says, dragging his across the skin beneath Eddie’s eye. “You like it.”
“I love it,” Eddie corrects, and it isn’t the grand romance Buck deserves, not really, but Eddie can’t go another minute without Buck knowing. “I love you .”
Buck’s eyes go a little wide. “Eds—”
“Like, an insane amount,” Eddie barrels on, laughing a little. “Hen and Karen and Maddie —God, if I have to wax poetic to your sister over a glass of wine ever again, I might actually lose my mind—they all know. Know that I—I look at you, Evan, and I see the future. All of it—the house and the picket fence and the cat, because I know you’re a little allergic to dogs.”
“Eddie—”
“I want to always come to parent-teacher conferences with you,” Eddie keeps going, “and PTA meetings and bake sales. I want to have more kids, so we never have to stop. So I never have to stop showing you off. I want to—to love you, like you deserve, because I know— I know that I have a lot of damage, a lot of baggage. Afghanistan and a dead wife and the shooting and—” he lifts his hands to cup Buck’s face, to tip their foreheads together, “and you deserve absolutely everything, because you are everything, to me and to Chris, and I just. I love you, more than I thought I could love anyone that wasn’t my son. And I want—everything, actually. I want everything you’ll give me, Buck. Even if it’s just your friendship, even if it’s—it’s nothing more than what we have right now. I just want you . Because I love you. I’m in love with you.”
Buck pitches forward to capture his lips in another kiss, softer than their first but still enough to send sparks straight from Eddie’s toes to the top of his head. When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far, just tugs Eddie in a little closer, if it’s even possible. “I’m in love with you too,” he says, soft, reverent, sounding like the rest of Eddie’s life. “If that wasn’t clear by agreeing to be your fake boyfriend and feeling you up in a parking lot.”
Eddie lets out a surprised laugh. “I’m getting an idea, yeah.”
Buck pulls back further so he can get a good look at Eddie, his eyebrows doing something complicated. Eddie reaches up and rubs at the crease between his brow, thumbs lightly at his birthmark. “You can have it,” he says.
“Hmm?” Eddie replies, because he’s kind of distracted by the bow of Buck’s lips.
“You can have everything,” Buck says. “The house and the picket fence and the cat. The kids and bake sales and anything you want, Eds. You can have it all. Jesus, of course you can have it. You’ve always had it. Had me.”
“Baby,” Eddie says, and he feels a little bit like crying, but in the best way possible. “I don’t—you—”
“Me,” Buck agrees. “I love you, and I love Christopher, and I thought—I thought maybe this, tonight, would be the one chance I had to be more with you, even if it was just pretend. Because I’m good at that, you know?” he says, tilting Eddie’s chin up with his thumbs, “I’m good at pretending. But I don’t—I don’t want to pretend anymore, Eds. Not about this. Not about how I feel about you.”
“That’s so—fucking romantic,” Eddie says, sliding his hands down Buck’s neck and shoulders until he’s gripping his biceps. The breeze picks up, ruffling Buck’s curls, free of gel and so pretty that Eddie’s actually might cry. “You’re so—holy shit, Buck.”
He laughs, fond, and presses a kiss to the shell of Eddie’s ear, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “You’re pretty holy shit yourself, Diaz.”
Eddie draws him into another kiss, and there’s something about knowing that he can do this now, that he can keep doing this, that makes his heart stutter in his chest, makes his fingers flex on Buck’s arms.
“Hey,” Buck says, once they’ve pulled back long enough to breathe. “You said you owed me one.”
“Yeah?” Eddie says, trying to find a way to convince Buck to get into the back of the truck and makeout with him for a bit before they have to go home.
“So I think it’s only fair that you let me take you out on a date,” Buck says, grinning a little on this side of proud.
Eddie blinks. “Is that—how is that a favor for you?”
“Be cause , sweetheart,” Buck says, like it’s obvious, “I get to woo the love of my life and take him out on the town like he deserves.”
“You’re—insufferable,” Eddie says, but he’s grinning so wide he can feel his eyes crinkling in the corners. “ Woo . Who says woo ?”
“Me,” Buck says, adorably indignant. “And whatever. You love it.”
“Yeah,” Eddie says, leaning in for another kiss that Buck so graciously gives him. “I really do.”