rinibalko
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Where the fuck do they even go from here? They’re still in Buck’s kitchen, pressed against the counter near the fridge. Typical. Oh so fucking typical for them.
Yet entirely novel. Entirely brave in a way Eddie had never intended to be tonight.
Nor ever. This was a secret he had been planning to take to the grave with him. Something Buck would never know so he would stay free. Stay uncomplicated. Stay Buck.
Where they go from here, apparently, is Buck canting his hips forward. Grinding against thin air and making the most broken, wrecked noise.
“Eddie.”
That’s all it takes. A man can only have so much self control, and Eddie has done his penance having way too much his entire life.
Bookmarked by rinibalko
22 Jun 2026
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"It was in the couch," Buck complains. He prods at the arm of it, looking aggrieved. "You've gotta teach this guy not to take other people's things."
"Why is that my responsibility?"
Buck twists his neck to look up at Eddie from where he's putting the sock back on, expression incredulous. "It's your couch," he justifies, once all ten toes are back in captivity. "You—brought it into this world."
"Mm-mm," Eddie hums, lips pursed, head shaking. "I want a paternity test. That couch looks nothing like me."
"You sure? You're both kinda, y'know, square. Wide—hey!" Buck yelps, because Eddie has picked up a throw pillow and is using it as a weapon against the side of Buck's head with one hand. (The other is occupied stiff-arming his beer to keep it from spilling on his... second-born, apparently.) "You didn't let me finish! You're—inviting," Buck laughs, winded, "and—and soft, and comfortable—"
Or: Buck can't seem to stop losing things in Eddie's couch.
Bookmarked by rinibalko
22 Jun 2026
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Alright, now to prove he’s right.
Finger on the cursor, Buck types an a to start.
Google, in all its autocomplete glory, gives Buck some options. Four suggestions stack top to bottom in whatever order Google decides matters most on any given evening, and the four that come up under Buck's single letter are, in order:
am i gay quiz (visited 2 days ago)
Amazon (visited 5 days ago)
american airlines
ammonia bleach mix
Buck stops chewing the inside of his cheek — which, honestly, he didn’t even realize he was doing.
That’s — huh.
That’s not what he was expecting at all.
Or,
Buck uses Eddie's laptop and sees something he isn't supposed to see. He reacts accordingly. -
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“I can’t keep doing this, Eddie. Your sweatpants are in my dresser. You buy the right spices at the farmer’s market for my recipes. You wear the monstrosities I knit for you. You hold my kid’s hand when we’re crossing the street.”
Eddie’s lips are at the hinge of his jaw, like he’s testing the waters. It makes Buck brave enough to bring a numb hand up to one of the belt loops on Eddie’s darkwash jeans, thumbing there restlessly—sliding the tips of his fingers under the hem of his obsidian button-down. The skin-to-skin contact is all at once relieving.
“I think we’ve both known what we are for a while now,” Buck goads, hushed; tilting to arch his neck back against the wall, granting Eddie unlimited access, praying he takes the explicit invitation. “You’re my best friend. But this isn’t sustainable.”
or: Buck's sick of pretending.
Bookmarked by rinibalko
20 Jun 2026
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“It’s normal to have…sex dreams about people you’re just friends with, right?”
The shock on Hen’s face would be comical if Eddie weren’t mid-crisis at the moment. “I’m sorry, sex dreams?”
“No–not ‘sex dreams’, just…y’know, intimate ones.”
“Eddie, it is 8:00 in the morning. You are seriously not making me start my day by answering a dumbass question like that.”Or, Eddie has an intimate dream about Buck and realizes that he's in love, but not before assuming that it's normal best friend behavior.
Bookmarked by rinibalko
20 Jun 2026