Archive of Our Own

Eddie knows, before he’s even fully conscious, that he’s in Buck’s new house. 

He knows because it smells like him—like coconut shampoo, and that musky aftershave Buck’s grown fond of over the last year. The temperature is right, too. Buck likes to keep the A/C running overnight despite having a thick quilt on the bed all year round. 

But, upon cracking his eyes open, Eddie does not recognise the room he’s in, or the bed, or the sheets he’s under. 

This is a little catastrophic. 

His knee gives a violent throb as he pushes himself up, peering around the room blearily. He spots the full hamper in the corner, a familiar flannel shirt hanging out of it, a book on aquatic life, and – most tellingly – a framed picture of the 118 on the bedside table. Stuck to the side of it is a picture of Eddie and Christopher, grinning at the camera. 

Okay. Okay, so he’s in Buck’s bed, in Buck’s house. And Buck seems to… not be here. 

God, Eddie’s never been in Buck’s bedroom before. This bedroom, in particular. In truth, he’s barely been to Buck’s house at all since he moved. 

“Buck!” Eddie yells, voice cracking halfway through the word, and then— 

He freezes. Because— that was not his voice. 

He kicks the sheets off, and— these are not his legs. 

Stomach clenching around a dull pulse of panic, Eddie fumbles his way out of bed and all but tips himself off the mattress. His centre of gravity is completely off, and he hits the wall with an undignified squeak. There is no time to think, though. Something is wrong. 

He makes a beeline for the bathroom down the hall, and he’s not thinking, not yet. Not until— 

Bathroom. He comes to a halt in front of the mirror, mouth falling open as his heart, suddenly excited about prospectively giving him a heart attack, skips three beats at once. 

Eddie raises a hand, and Buck’s arm, in the mirror, does the same. 

Holy shit. Holy shit, Eddie’s—he’s Buck. Eddie is in Buck’s body. 

“It’s a dream,” Eddie tells himself, except it’s Buck who says it. It’s Buck’s wide eyes, boring into him in the reflection. He’s wearing Buck’s sleep-shirt, because he is Buck. 

His breathing is coming too fast now, lungs not quite expanding around the panicked breaths he’s sucking in. Buck’s wide chest expands and contracts, his birthmark deepening in colour with every second that passes. 

A ragged, crazed laugh tumbles out of Eddie’s mouth, and another one follows when he hears it—because that’s Buck’s laugh. Which is impossible, because waking up in someone else’s body is impossible, and Eddie has to piss, which means he has to touch Buck’s dick and— 

Oh, God. 

Where is Buck? 

Exiting the bathroom hastily, stumbling and clumsy on legs he’s used to looking at but not operating, Eddie heads back to the bedroom. There is no phone on (or in) the bedside table, nor anywhere on the bed, nor folded into the aquatic book where he knows Buck sometimes puts it, so he doesn’t forget what page he’s on. 

Desperation hot on his heels, Eddie tears out of the room and scans the living room and then the kitchen. He grabs the coatrack like it’s insulted him personally, fishing through every pocket. He comes up empty, save for a few receipts, a single penny, and an empty granola bar wrapper. 

He scans the receipts surreptitiously – like someone might burst in here and catch Eddie unwillingly puppeteering Buck’s body – searching for clues. Apparently, Buck bought… three litres of almond milk last week? Huh. That’s a lot of almond milk. Since when does Buck even drink almond milk? Buck likes oat milk. Eddie knows because Eddie keeps a litre in his fridge even though Buck doesn’t live there anymore. Because Buck lives here. With his almond milk receipt. 

Leaning against the wall, Eddie tries to recalibrate. If he’s woken up here, in Buck’s body and Buck’s home, then it’s a fair assumption to make that Buck’s woken up in Eddie’s body, across town. At least Eddie hopes he has. Otherwise, presumably, Eddie’s body is lying in bed right now, comatose and not driving Chris to his robotics club meeting, which he’d promised to do last night, even though Chris should’ve told him about it earlier, or at least put it on the damn calendar. 

Shit. Chris. How the hell is he going to explain this? This fuck-up isn’t even his fault! 

Doesn’t matter. Eddie needs to leave the house. Eddie’s going to piss himself. 

…No. Better plan: Eddie should pee and then leave in search of his best friend. 

Twenty minutes later, Eddie is staring at the toilet bowl. He’s been standing there, ignoring the ache in his knee, doing absolutely nothing for the past eighteen minutes. His hand is in Buck’s pants. 

What had happened was this: he’d made it to the bathroom, he’d flipped the toilet lid back, and then… nothing. 

He’s having the most intense staring contest of his life, and it’s with a toilet bowl. This cannot be what breaks him. He’s seen Buck’s dick before, in the locker room at work, and when they lived together, and during Buck’s recovery post-truck bombing. He’d helped him shower. Eddie has seen everything. This should not be the task it has become. 

Steeling himself, Eddie unclenches his hand and wraps it around his dick. Buck’s dick (which is soft against his hand, pale and thick and— pretty. Or it would be, if he were the kind of pervert who would describe his best friend’s soft cock). He pulls himself out as clinically as he can, and he’s not thinking about anything. His mind is a blank slate, and he does not care one bit about the fact that he’s holding Buck’s dick with Buck’s hand, and he’s seeing this happen with Buck’s bright blue eyes. 

Traitorously, his dick begins to swell. 

Eddie exhales shakily, closing his eyes. He tells himself: yes, it’s a nice dick. Yes, it’s pink and soft and velvety. Yes, under different circumstances, you might be tempted to look. But you can’t. You can’t, because, on the off chance that this isn’t the most vivid hallucination you’ve ever had, you’d totally, unambiguously, be pushing boundaries. Boundaries Buck hasn’t even set yet. Boundaries that should not have to be set. 

Do not be a pervert. Don’t call it pretty.

Cracking one eye open, Eddie aims his dick at the toilet bowl and whispers, “Pee.” 

This does not work. Helplessly, Eddie stares and wills it to happen. It’s so simple. It’s evolutionary. He just has to pee. 

A sharp pain zings down Eddie’s leg, sharp enough to make him wince. Grimacing, he shuffles in place. He didn’t know Buck’s leg still bothered him this much. He’s known, of course, about Buck’s chronic pain—he used to be the one making sure he had painkillers available on the bedside table when he’d occupied the other side of Eddie’s bed. 

But he hasn’t been staying over as of late, even just to crash on the couch, and he doesn’t talk about his leg at all. Ever. Eddie simply knows him well enough to catch the small tells: Buck’s left eyebrow twitching, his eyes growing cloudy, his thumbs pressing into his calf like he could dig the pain out with his bare hands. 

Swallowing, Eddie shoves his sleeping shorts down and sits down on the toilet instead. It alleviates the pain, soothing the achy throb into something dull and less acute, and Eddie’s heart aches. 

He used to know everything about Buck. 

Morosely, Eddie finally pees. He distracts himself by counting the bathroom tiles, because every time he remembers Buck’s dick is there, hanging between his legs, the stream cuts off. 

He feels like a goddamn champion when his bladder is finally empty. 

The next few steps he settles on seem pretty logical: brush teeth, don’t think, put on sweatpants, don’t think, grab car keys, do not think, drive to South Bedford Street. 

He’s only made it to step number two, sweatpants halfway on, when the doorbell rings. 

Buck. It has to be. He must’ve woken up before Eddie and come to the same conclusion as him—that driving to him was the smartest choice. He’s probably tried calling him — calling his own phone — and Eddie’s been too busy dawdling in the bathroom, phone still unaccounted for, to notice. 

Relief already coursing through his veins, he stumbles toward the front door, tugging his sleep-shirt over his sweatpants. 

“Buck,” he says, turning the lock to swing the door open, “Thank God you’re—” 

“Uncle Buck!” Jee-Yun yells, launching herself at his legs.

Eddie’s eyes go wide, just barely catching himself on the wall, head snapping up to find Maddie Buckley-Han smiling at her daughter, baby Nash in her arms. 

“Maddie,” Eddie breathes. Real, unadulterated terror threatens to overtake him. His limbs go numb, and a child is clinging to him, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. In front of Buck’s sister and her kids. He’s going to die in front of Buck’s niblings. 

“Evan,” Maddie says warmly, gaze lifting to beam the smile at him, instead. She steps over the threshold, pulling him into a hug that Eddie’s too shell-shocked to return, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek. When she pulls back, she frowns. “You okay?” 

“I’m— I’m—” Eddie blinks, snapping back into his body — Buck’s body — so suddenly he gets dizzy. He needs to focus. He cannot blow this. Schooling his face, he says, “I’m good.” 

Maddie does not look convinced. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” Eddie confirms, shoving away the urge to salute. Maddie is not his superior. Maddie is his equal. Maddie is Buck’s sister, and he has to fucking focus. “Yes. I just—long night.” 

Readjusting baby Nash in her arms, Maddie gives him a sympathetic look. “Did you finally talk to Eddie about… you know?” 

“I—uh.” Eddie buffers. He was not expecting this question. What the hell was Buck going to talk to him about? Was it something important? More important than Eddie’s important thing? His stomach does a confusing backflip. Blinking too fast, he shakes his head. Jee-Yun is still clinging to him. Lamely, he says, “Nah.” 

“Uh-huh.” Maddie takes the time to lift an eyebrow at him before she lifts baby Nash, handing him to Eddie. 

Automatically, Eddie takes him from her. He’s never held baby Nash before. This is catastrophic. He’s so small. And round. Wow, his little head is really circular.

Checking her watch, Maddie bites her lip. “I’ve got to run, but I’ll be back before lunch. Call me if you need to!” 

She starts to turn around, and Eddie’s heart falls out of his ass. Maddie’s leaving her kids here. With Eddie. She thinks she’s leaving Jee-Yun and baby Nash in the care of her brother, but she’s not, and Eddie can’t tell her that. Not without her thinking he’s having a psychotic break (something he’s not fully convinced isn’t happening). 

“Wait,” he says, shifting baby Nash. He takes a halting step forward, dragging Jee-Yun with him, who giggles and squeezes his leg. 

Maddie pauses. 

“Uh.” Eddie stalls. Baby Nash gurgles, babbling as he chews on Eddie’s shirt. “I’ve lost my phone.” 

“Did you check the fridge?” 

“I—” Eddie blinks. He should’ve thought of that; Buck used to leave his phone next to the orange juice when they were roommates every other day. “I didn’t.”

Maddie laughs. “Okay, well. Do that. Worst case, FaceTime me from your laptop, or something.” 

Shit. Eddie should’ve thought of that, too. God bless Maddie Buckley-Han. “Yep.” 

Maddie beams. Then, horribly, she softens her voice and says, “We’ll talk when I get back.” 

Shit. 

Eddie says, again, “Yep.” 

Like a scorned wife seeing her husband off to war, Eddie stands in the doorway and watches Maddie drive off. Then, patting Jee-Yun’s head, he says, “Okay. Who wants breakfast?” 

Jee-Yun bares her teeth, and Eddie remembers, vividly, that she’s currently in a bite-people-ask-questions-later phase. Gently, he extricates her, waiting for her to follow before closing the front door. 

“We had breakfast at home,” Jee-Yun informs him. 

Weakly, Eddie says, “Second breakfast?” 

Jee-Yun’s eyes go wide. “You can do that?” 

“Just today,” Eddie says. “Special occasion.” 

This, to Jee-Yun, seems to be a revelation. Nodding with big eyes, she says, “Okay. Do you have Fruit Loops, Uncle Buck?” 

Buck always has Fruit Loops. He keeps them specifically for the kids, bar Chris, who prefers Cheerios these days. Baby Nash is eating solids now, too, but he’s only eating mashed vegetables so far. Eddie knows, because those updates, Eddie still gets from Buck. Though now he gets them at work with everyone else, rather than across his dining room table. Which is fine.

“Sure do, Princessa.” 

Jee-Yun cheers and tugs him toward the kitchen. Jesus, she knows this house better than Eddie does. How did that happen? 

The kitchen is eerily unfamiliar to Eddie. Eerie in the sense that it shouldn’t be, that Eddie should know this kitchen as well as Buck knows it. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because he’s never here, and Buck is never at Eddie’s, and they’re not— they’re not who they used to be to each other. 

Setting baby Nash down in the high chair, Eddie dithers momentarily before pulling the fridge open. He scans its contents, and— there. Buck’s phone, slotted between the sandwich meat and the three mythical cartons of almond milk. 

Victorious, Eddie grabs it, thumbing over the power button. There must be a benevolent higher power, because it starts up. As Jee-Yun clambers onto a chair, Eddie quickly types in Buck’s password (which has been 118118 since Eddie met him) and checks the notifications. 

Notably, he has no texts from Buck. Or— from himself, rather. 

He does, however, have an unread message from Tommy Kinard. 

Tommy K (pilot): Hey, Evan. Thinking about you. Jones told me you bought a house. Let me know if you’re ready to talk? Or a repeat? 

Eddie stares blankly at the text. It might as well be a string of hieroglyphics, for as incomprehensible as it is to Eddie. Buck and Tommy still talk? So much so that Tommy actively thinks about him? And what the hell does he mean, let me know if you’re ready to talk? Talk about what? They’re done. It’s over. There’s nothing worth repeating.

Stomach turning uncomfortably, Eddie does what he does best: he ignores it. He thumbs over the Messages and opens his chat with himself, heart thudding uncomfortably when he sees an unsent message to himself (under the name eddie 🤠. Take that Tommy K (pilot). He’s got an emoji), cursor hovering over the question. 

Me: wanna go somewhere this weekend? 

Had Buck forgotten to send it? Or had he decided not to? They had texted yesterday, before Buck came over for a beer after work, so he must’ve written it last night. 

Did Buck think Eddie would say no? 

“Uncle Buck,” Jee-Yun says. “Fruit Loops, please.” 

“Right.” Eddie, deleting Buck's drafted text and shooting off his own, reading: ‘Yo. At your house. Call me right now – Eddie’ before pocketing the phone, rubbing his suddenly-sweaty palms on his jeans. “Fruit Loops.” 

Kids first, he decides. He just has to survive babysitting for a couple of hours, and then he can drive to South Bedford Street and, hopefully, find Buck waiting for him.

Buck jolts awake to a noise so terrifying that he almost brains himself on the side table before his eyes are even open. It’s a familiar noise—an alarm he used to hear every morning, back when he still lived under the same roof as the Diazes, because the alarm, undeniably, is Eddie Diaz’s. It’s the literal default alarm that Eddie’s phone is pre-programmed with, despite the fact that Buck tried to teach him how to change it.

Admittedly, the alarm is extremely good at its job. It’s job being: rousing Buck. It also scares the absolute pants off of him. Not literally, thank God, because he’s sure Eddie is asleep in the bed right next to him, and Eddie does not want to see Buck’s junk flying around. 

Flailing and half-asleep, Buck manages to catch himself on the corner of the side table, snuffling unattractively. Squinting at the too-early light outside, he wonders why the hell Eddie set an alarm on Buck’s phone before the sun is even up. He nearly brains himself again (which would have been embarrassing) as he stretches, fumbling to click on the side lamp and grab the phone, finally silencing the alarm. 

Woof. What a way to wake up. 

Buck heaves himself up, limbs unusually easy to move as he scoots up against the headboard. Only then does he notice that Eddie is in fact not in bed beside him. 

Huh.

Okay.

That’s—weird. Blinking slowly, Buck takes in his surroundings: the familiar off-white walls, the sweats folded neatly on the dresser, the Egyptian Cotton sheets that he bought Eddie two years ago that he’s currently swathed in. 

Something feels—off. Wrong. Maybe he had a nightmare? Or—he didn’t sleep enough? 

Or maybe it’s as simple as this: he’s on the wrong side of the bed. Evan Buckley, for as long as he’s been alive, has slept on the right side of the bed. It’s not that he hates the left side—it’s just not his side. Which works out great, because the left side of the bed is Eddie’s favourite side. They’re perfect together like that. Perfect roommates, that is. Best friends who share a bed due to— Buck’s credit score. Or—used to. Didn’t he…

His phone dings, catching Buck’s attention. Lifting it, he presses his thumb over the familiar spot that logs him in, but it does not, in fact, unlock. He blinks at it. Presses his thumb down harder, as if that will do something. The phone does not budge. It politely requests a passcode. Buck punches his own in and is met with an alert reading: Incorrect Password. What the hell?

He scrubs at his eye with his free hand, opening it again to see that the screen has faded to a photo—the wallpaper. A photo of Eddie and Chris. Chris must be around seven years old in the photo, draped in Eddie’s turnouts that are miles too big for him. Buck smiles softly, warmth blossoming in his chest, tugging at the coattails of his unease until he feels more awake, more settled.

Then, he freezes. That’s not his phone’s wallpaper. He flips the phone, looking at the case. It’s plain and black. This is not his phone. This is Eddie’s phone. Why does he have Eddie’s phone? Why is he on Eddie’s side of the bed? Where the hell is Eddie? Why is Buck even here, actually? Buck’s— he’s got his own house. Buck does not live here. Buck is supposed to be twenty minutes west in his own house, the one with the kitchy decor, a ghost town of a guest room, and a delightful hot tub out back. 

This is fine. Maybe he got drunk. Maybe he got drunk, stole Eddie’s phone, broke into Eddie’s house and relegated Eddie to the couch like a total dick. This is a plausible explanation. Maybe Buck is a really inconsiderate drunk these days.

Unfortunately, this hypothesis is quickly disproven, because the screen goes black. The screen goes black, and in the reflection, he sees a set of deep brown eyes, two days' worth of stubble, and a perfect nose. 

What.

Buck taps the screen again, panic chasing confusion all the way up his throat before settling right at the back of it. He types in Eddie’s passcode—it’s easy to remember, and probably dangerously easy to guess for hackers, because it’s just Christopher’s birthday—and is promptly rejected. Second incorrect password. Okay.

This is absolutely Eddie’s phone. Did Eddie change his passcode? Eddie’s had the same passcode for eight years. Why the hell would he change it now? Buck punches it in again, just in case he misclicked because he’s using hands that he’s trying very hard to ignore aren’t his own. But—nope. Declined again. He punches in Eddie’s birthday. Then Eddie’s sisters’ birthdays. Nada. 

What the hell?

He types one in last—his own, just in case. 

A pop-up appears: Too many incorrect attempts. You are locked out for fifteen minutes. Please try again later.

“What the hell?” he mumbles. Then he freezes like he’s playing a game of Flashlight Tag and someone’s just beamed him with industrial-grade stadium lights because his voice, while deeply familiar, is not his own.

Okay, so. He’s in a dream. Or a nightmare. Or he’s Lindsay Lohan in the hit Disney Movie: Freaky Friday, Maddie’s favourite movie when she was a teenager. Buck knows this, because Maddie made him watch it with her on twelve separate occasions.

He’d make an awful Lindsay Lohan. He’s not even ginger. 

There’s no time to worry about that, though, because another familiar voice has entered Buck’s dream. 

“Dad?” Christopher calls out, knocking at the door. “Where are my green shoes?”

Oh no. He cannot freak Christopher out. Chris can’t know Buck is losing his damn mind.

“Um.” Buck’s stomach drops. “I don’t know, buddy. Did you check the shoe rack?”

“No, Dad.”

“Maybe try there,” he manages, eyes prickling. Which is crazy. He just—he really likes being called Dad. Maybe so much that he might throw up on Eddie’s bedroom floor. 

“Okay.” 

Buck listens to the click-clack of Christopher’s crutches until he’s out of earshot before he very carefully slides out of bed. Exhaling slowly, he ignores the fact that he’s a few inches shorter than he normally is, and makes the short journey to the bedroom door on light, cautious feet. He just has to get to the bathroom, look in a mirror, and figure out what the hell is happening to him. 

He pulls open the door and startles, blinking at Christopher, who is standing right there, holding a pair of bright green sneakers. 

Jesus. How does this kid sneak around like that? The crutches aren’t exactly quiet. 

“Are you gonna shower before we go?” Chris asks.

Buck’s stomach swoops like he’s on a really terrible rollercoaster. “Go?”

“Am I walking to the bus?” Chris asks, all sass. “You said you’d drive.”

“O-oh. Right, yeah.” Buck tries not to look like he’s about to throw up. “Um. It’s a bit early for school, isn’t it? It’s—it’s barely six o’clock.” 

“Dad,” Chris says, slowly, like Buck’s having a medical emergency. “You put it on the calendar in front of me last night. It’s my early robotics meeting. Because the championships are next week.” 

“Right.” Buck pockets the stupid, useless locked phone. “Yep. I’m going to— shower. In the bathroom. You… get ready.” 

“I’m ready.”

“Okay, you go do—your thing.”

In response, he gets a face full of eyeballing. Christopher complies, though, heading back down the hall to, presumably, do his own thing. Whatever that means.

From there, Buck races to the bathroom, catching the flying door with the back of his hand before shutting it gently, turning the lock. He steels himself, takes a deep breath, and spins around.

He finds himself in a Western Stand-Off with someone else’s reflection. Unblinking, he turns his head left to right, maintaining eye-contact. The head moves side to side. Eddie’s head. Eddie’s jaw, Eddie’s nose, Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s scars, and Eddie’s little freckle by his eye. 

What the hell. 

He squeezes his hands open and closed, watching the man in the mirror do the same thing. It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Buck’s known his fair share of nonsense, has served it up on silver platters and dished it out shamelessly. This, though? This is not his nonsense. This is—wrong. 

What the hell is happening?

What the—

“Dad! Do you know where my homework is?” Chris’s voice is just outside the door, vibrating through the wood. Buck startles, spinning again.

“Um,” he chokes out. “Backpack?”

“I checked there, Dad.”

“Dining table?”

“Nope.”

“Coffee table?”

“Nope.”

“Chris. Just—keep looking. I’ll be out in a second, and I can help you look, um, mijo.”

“Okay. Hurry up, please. We gotta go!”

Jesus Christ. Now he’s on a time crunch, mid-breakdown. He takes a few careful strides up to the bathroom sink, staring his reflection in the eye, mouthing Eddie. The reflection matches perfectly. 

Fuck. 

He’s totally Lindsay Lohan.

What the hell. Sure. He’s losing his mind, or maybe hallucinating, or maybe someone spiked him with LSD, but none of that matters. Christopher has a robotics meeting, and that’s—that feels real. Tangible. He just has to get Chris to the meeting, and then he can find a way to hack into Eddie’s phone, and then he can track Eddie down through the Find My app, because if Buck’s Lindsay Lohan, then Eddie is Jamie Lee Curtis.

Okay. That’s weird. Eddie is not his mom.

Fuck. Why hasn’t Buck seen any other movies where people switch bodies? Are there more movies? Is there—

“Dad, are you okay in there?” Chris asks—not yelling this time, which is a change of pace for the morning so far.

“Yep, s-sorry—I had to—” Buck searches his brain for any word that isn’t piss. He can’t think about pissing, because his bladder (Eddie’s bladder?) is currently twinging now that he’s remembered it exists. He scrambles, digging deep for something else. Shaving. Brushing his hair. Anything. All that comes out is: “Poop.”

Seriously? That’s the best he’s got?

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, pained. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay.” A pause. “You’re being weird.”

Buck stares into Eddie’s deep, soulful eyes in the mirror and sighs. “I know, Chris. I’m being super weird.”

Okay, he has to start over. 

Step one: Shower. Step two: Drive Chris to school. Step three: Freak the hell out. 

Game face officially on, Buck strips Eddie’s shirt off, staring very intently at the wall. Then, cheeks flushing, he shoves his pants down, too. Once he’s stepped in the shower and turned on the spray, he makes the very boundary-respecting decision of closing his eyes. 

He fumbles, now completely in the dark, for Eddie’s soap and washcloth. He scrubs himself down quickly, ignoring the way his wrist brushes against his— Eddie’s soft cock. Fuck. Eddie’s dick. Eddie’s bladder. 

He needs to pee. Buck groans, forehead knocking against the tiled wall.

Okay. This is a hiccup. He can’t pee in the toilet—not without looking at and touching Eddie’s dick. Which is off-limits. For obvious reasons.

He does what any sane person would do: he hopes to God he’s standing atop the drain, raises his hands in the air like he’s under arrest and— lets go.

Eddie’s body, surprisingly amenable, relaxes and complies. He pees for an impressively long time. Eddie must’ve had a lot to drink last night. He’s so hydrated.

Once completed, Buck rinses off quickly, only opening his eyes to make sure his foot is aimed at the bathmat when he steps out of the shower. 

Naked and afraid, Buck stumbles down the hall in just a towel, re-entering Eddie’s bedroom to rummage through his dresser. He pulls on the first clothes he finds before promptly realising he’s put on the shorts with a hole in the crotch area that Eddie, the liar, has sworn he’s going to fix for three years straight. He undresses again. Redresses in reasonable clothes. When he steps back out, Chris is already backpack-clad and waiting for him in the hallway. 

“Alright,” he says, driven forward by momentum he doesn’t even understand. He grabs Eddie’s keys and wallet off the bureau. “Let’s go, Chris.”

Once they’re buckled into the car, Christopher’s attention diverts to his phone, which is almost a relief because Buck’s not really sure he’s doing a good Eddie impression right now. He’s a shit liar. But he knows how soft and patient Eddie is with Chris, how kind he is with everyone he meets, how his charm counteracts his bitchy side—he’s hoping he can pull it off okay henceforth.

Even if he is freaking the hell out.

Buck, suffice it to say, is sweating in the driver’s seat of Eddie’s truck. It’s not the first time he’s driven the truck — far from it, actually — but it’s the first time he’s done it with Eddie’s hands, and Eddie’s legs, and Eddie’s eyeline. He spends a solid four minutes adjusting the seat when he gets in, before ending up in the exact same spot that Eddie originally had the seat in.

Christopher shoots him his patented, unimpressed Teenage Stare, but mercifully, does nothing more scathing. 

With the blind confidence of a rodeo clown, Buck tells himself: I can do this. He can pretend to be Eddie for long enough to get Chris to his robotics club meeting, and he can do so without scarring Chris. The kid doesn’t need that—not at six thirty in the morning. 

So, Buck is Eddie Diaz. He’s Eddie Diaz driving. He’s driving as Eddie Diaz. He can do this.

He turns the car radio on and is immediately batted away by Christopher’s hands, who connects his phone via Bluetooth, selecting a playlist on his phone before slumping back into his chair. Somewhere Only We Know by Keane starts playing, buzzing through the speakers. 

Alright then. Moody drive it is. 

…He should probably check in with him. Right? That’s the parental thing to do. Buck would have done it anyway, if he were in his own body. 

“So,” Buck says, pitching his voice low and fatherly.

“So?” Chris echoes. 

Buck white-knuckles the steering wheel. “How’s uh— how are things?”

All this earns him in response is a shrug. Okay. Cool. Casual. Shrug. Whatever. Things are okay. Shrug-worthy. Excellent. 

“Robotics club,” Buck muses. “That’s— Mr. Hendricks, right?”

Another shrug. Okay.

“He’s nice.” 

Shrug.

Alrighty. Silence is fine too. He’s never had a silent drive with Chris before where Chris wasn’t knocked out in the back seat, but he can make this work. Buck can keep quiet. Buck can hum along to Somewhere Only We Know on the radio like a normal guy. He had an angsty phase; he knows the lyrics. He can be so, so normal.

He glances down at his hands on the wheel. Eddie’s hands. Eddie’s tanned hands, his long fingers, his strong forearms, his—

Eyes back on the road. Keane, and looking at the road.

Buck taps the turn signal, riding a corner smoothly as he enters a roundabout. 

“What the heck!” Chris yells, and it’s such a genuine, visceral reaction that Buck jolts and swerves, fumbling to right the wheels a moment before he drives straight into the palm tree in the middle of the central island. 

“What?” Buck asks, gasping for breath. “What’s wrong?” 

“Why’d you do that?” 

Buck maneuvers out of the roundabout, heart thundering. “Do what?” 

“You—that’s not how you do roundabouts,” Chris insists. “That’s how Buck does roundabouts.” 

“How could you…” Buck shoots Chris a look of disbelief. “Chris, how— how could you possibly know that?” 

“Because you don’t slow down. People honk at you, and you curse in Spanish, and then I act like I don’t know what Cabrón means.”

Buck gulps. The only reason Buck knows what that word means is because he was weirdly good at middle-school level Spanish, and because a bartender he worked with in Peru taught him every curse word he knew over late-night, ill-advised shots of absinthe. Christopher should not know that word. Christopher is a baby. Christopher probably doesn’t even know what absinthe is. 

“You know what that means?”

Turning toward him, Chris shoots him a flat look. God, he looks so much like Eddie when he’s unimpressed. It’s uncanny. “Do you want me to lie?”

“No,” Buck says, voice wavering. “Just— don’t say that. To anyone. It’s— bad.”

“Okay, Dad.”

This is not good. Buck needs to fix this. “Did you learn it at school?”

“No.”

“From a friend?”

“No.”

“From—”

“I’m not a snitch, Dad.”

Exhaling, Buck nods and focuses on the road. This isn’t his problem to fix, he reminds himself. It’s Eddie’s. Buck is not Christopher’s parent, or even anything close. Only Eddie is. And Eddie isn’t here right now, present in his own body, because Buck is here. In Eddie’s body. 

“Okay,” he says, still nodding. He’s doing a great impression of a bobblehead. “Fine.”

They settle back into silence. A song Buck doesn’t know starts playing, and he squints at the little screen. Tighten Up by a band called The Front Bottoms. What the hell, sure. Buck likes new music. Buck even uses that feature on Spotify that recommends songs based on his interests from artists he doesn't know.

So, please, allow me to shed some darkness.

Buck frowns.

Step into a summer time zone, oh / I don't care if you people like me / It won't make a difference if you don't.

The music is— look. Buck is not a musician, nor some sort of vocal expert, but holy shit. It’s awful. It’s grating. It sounds like a guy who never should’ve made it out of his mom’s garage sweet-talked a talent scout into giving him a record deal. 

Buck frowns harder.

“Chris,” Buck says. “This is bad.”

“Hey,” Chris says, chastising. “You promised not to judge my music. You said you wanted to connect.”

Oh. Buck didn’t know that. That’s—sweet.

“Plus,” Chris adds. “I listen to your weird old country music all the time. I heard you listening to Carrie Underwood before I got in the car last week.”

Biting back a smile, Buck asks, “What song?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I’m not old.”

“Hum it.”

“You’re so weird.”

Chris begins to hum the very distinct tone of Carrie Underwood’s Before He Cheats. Oh, that really is delightful information. He can imagine it now.

Eddie, in his truck in the pick-up zone, sunglasses on, tapping his finger against the wheel as he hums along to Before He Cheats. This is amazing. This is beautiful.

He loves learning new things about Eddie. Despite his extensive Eddie-Expertise, he still finds little things every so often and adds them to his files. His Eddie Files.

“Right,” Buck says, pitching his voice low, remembering he’s supposed to be Eddie, which means he’s a father. A father who speaks in a fatherly manner. “Okay, kid.”

“Did you talk to Buck?” 

 Buck cuts him a quick glance. “What?” 

“Last night,” he says slowly. “Did you talk to Buck about the thing?”

Is Buck in trouble? Did he— has he done something to warrant a talking-to? 

Nervously, he shuffles in his seat. Be Eddie, he reminds himself. “No. Uh. Not yet, buddy.”

“You better hurry up.”

“O-Okay,” Buck says. “Will do.”

They pull into the car park, and Chris grabs his backpack off the floor. Reaching for the door handle, he says, “Can you pick up milk on your way home from the bank?”

Buck blinks. “The bank?”

Eyeing him, Chris confirms, “The bank.”

“I’m going to the bank?”

“Dad…” Real concern flickers over Christopher’s face. “Did you hit your head?”

“No! No, Chris,” Buck tries to smile reassuringly. It feels more like a grimace. “My head is fine.”

“...Okay.” 

“Just—” Buck clears his throat. “What, um. What was I going to do? At the bank?” 

“You said you were picking up Abuela’s necklace for Tia Sophia,” Chris tells him. “She’s visiting next week, remember?”

“Right,” Buck says, tapping a frantic rhythm into the steering wheel. “Right, the— the necklace. For Sophia. My sister.”

Oh, God. A necklace. At the bank. For Sophia. Eddie’s sister. 

Buck’s going to have to commit identity theft to pull this off. Buck is the worst liar alive. He can’t do this. He cannot do this. 

Fuck. He has to do this.

Chris is still staring at him. “...Yep.”

“I will do that,” he confirms, voice very steady and normal.

Chris dithers. “...Hey, Dad?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“How old does someone have to be before they get dementia?”

Buck sends him a disbelieving look. “Chris, I don’t have dementia.”

Chris does not look at all appeased. “If you say so.”

“Okay.” Buck is so bad at this. He reaches out, ruffling Chris’ hair. “Go to your meeting. I’ll pick you up after school.” 

“Julia’s mom’s picking me up,” Chris says. “We’re finishing the terrarium today.” 

Relieved Chris has got plans, Buck nods. Julia’s a good friend of Chris’; they’ll have a blast together, and Buck won’t have to worry. 

“Right. Sleeping over?” 

“Yep.” 

“Cool.” 

Sighing, Chris opens the car door, backpack in hand. Buck reaches into the backseat, grabbing his crutches to pass to him, and Chris takes them from him. 

“Love you,” Chris says, crutches secured. “Bye.”

Buck smiles. This, at least, he knows how to do. He does it all the time. “Love you, Chris.”

The bank is the most terrifying place on Earth, Buck’s pretty sure. This is a new development, but it’s one he’s certain about, because the bank means he has to lie. The bank means he’s delaying his hunt for Eddie. 

Eddie, who is probably at Buck’s house, waiting patiently and expectantly for him. 

More determined than ever to get this over with, he clenches his fist around the paper slip, letting him know he’s next in line. The moment his number is called, he’s on the move. 

“Hello,” he says, approaching the till. “I’m here for— um. A safety deposit box.”

The woman takes a moment to look up, but when she does, her eyes light up. “Eddie!” 

Shit. Buck forgot Eddie’s propensity for befriending people he knows he’ll have to speak to more than once a year. 

“Hello…” Buck’s eyes slide down to the little golden nameplate on her chest. “Jennifer.”

Jennifer laughs, like he’s being silly. “It’s great to see you. How is Isabel?”

“Great,” Buck responds automatically. She is actually doing well. He remembers just last week, Eddie giving him an update about her over coffee at the station. She’s just figured out FaceTime, and they’ve been calling from time to time when she can fit Eddie into her schedule. “Um— she’s getting really into aqua aerobics.”

“She’s the best.” Jennifer turns her attention back to her computer screen for a moment, typing something with rapidly flying fingers. She’s probably really good at her job. She’s maybe the quickest typer he’s seen in his entire life. “You getting something for her?”

“Y-Yep.”

“Okie-dokie,” Jennifer says, sliding two pieces of paper over to Buck. “Just sign right here. And have a look at your security questions on the other page, it’s been a while since you updated them.”

“Do I have to change them?” 

Jennifer laughs again. “No.” 

His entire body is sweaty. He’s going to die of dehydration. Still, with shaky hands, Buck grabs a pen out of the cup on the desk and looks down. He scans the second page first, furrowing his eyebrows when he realises that… he knows the answers. He knows the answers to Eddie’s security questions. 

Wow, he thinks faintly. Maddie’s gonna love this. 

Mindlessly, he presses his palm flat against the other page and signs it, scooping both of the pages back up to hand to Jennifer. 

“Oh.” Jennifer frowns, eyes on the paper. “Your signature looks— Buckley? Did you change your name?” 

Buck might be an idiot. He’s actively committing fraud, and he’s just confirmed said fraud with his signature. He just signed his own name on the dotted line of doom.

Shaky and small, he manages a short laugh. 

“Ha. I’m—” Lie, he tells himself frantically. Lie like you’ve never lied before. He blurts, “I’m getting married. I just haven’t changed my name yet. L-legally, I mean. My hand just— instinct. Been signing… wedding invitations.”

“Oh my god!” Jennifer beams at him. She looks like she might catapult herself across the desk and hug him. “Eddie! Congratulations. I was so hoping you and— gosh. Okay, sorry, I’m being unprofessional.” She grabs another sheet of paper, placing it in Buck’s slack hands. “Here’s a fresh one. Sign your name, please.”

Buck cracks a smile. It’s probably the worst smile he’s ever mustered. “You got it.”

“Oh—” Jennifer says, “Sorry, can I grab your ID? Just policy.”

“Yep,” Buck squeaks. 

Married. He’d said married. Is he insane? 

He fumbles for his wallet, pulling his ID out. “Um. Here you go. Ed-mun-do Diaz. That’s me.”

“I know, I know,” Jennifer reassures him, giving the ID a cursory glance. “Just checking. Your handwriting is just… different.”

Fuck. 

Abort, his brain screams. 

Commit, his heart says. 

“Sorry,” Buck says. “Um. I got shot.”

Jennifer’s eyes widen. “Whoa, honey, are— are you okay?”

Buck is a bad man. He is a bad, bad man, and he’s going to be cosmically punished forever after this. He’s ruining Eddie and Jennifer’s friendship. “Yes. I—it’s healed. I’m just a little shaky sometimes.” 

Jennifer’s still staring at him. In a rush, he adds, “I’m a firefighter.”

“I know, Eddie.” She gives him a worried look. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yep.” Buck nods his head very fast. “Dandy.”

“Right. Okay,” Jennifer says. She sounds, at least, somewhat persuaded. “Any other fun facts?” 

She’s teasing. He knows she is. Still, stumbling from his mouth comes: “I have a Silver Star.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh!”

“Yep.” Buck needs to leave. Pronto. He is sweating in places there should never be sweat. “So, the box.”

“Right.” Jennifer stands, rounding the desk. “Follow me. I’ll let you in and leave you alone.” 

So relieved he gets lightheaded, Buck nods again. “Thanks, Jennifer. You’re the best.” 

She smiles, and Buck does his best to return it. 

He has a feeling it’s going to be a long, long day.

As it turns out, Eddie’s not half-bad at babysitting. He sits Jee-Yun down in the living room once she’s done with her (second) breakfast, and grabs a puzzle off of Buck’s shelf. Together, with baby Nash in his lap, Eddie helps her sort the pieces. It’s almost meditative, and Eddie comes close to forgetting his predicament entirely. 

That is, of course, until the doorbell rings. 

Buck, he thinks. Finally.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Jee-Yun, who is fully engrossed in the puzzle. She doesn’t even acknowledge him. 

He makes his way to the door quickly, hand placed protectively over baby Nash’s head. This time, he swings the door open to reveal Ravi. 

“You’re not Buck,” Eddie says. 

Ravi blinks at him. “Uh. Not normally.” 

Ha, Eddie thinks, Me neither, man.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie says, “Sorry. Long morning. What’s up?” 

“We were gonna go for a run?” Ravi says, looking at him weirdly. 

“We were?” 

“Dude, we were gonna do a 10k today.” Ravi steps over the threshold, pausing to, very gently, shake baby Nash’s hand. Wow. Polite guy. “Good morning, Mr. Nash.” 

Faintly, Eddie says, “Right.” 

He didn’t know Buck and Ravi were so close. He had some idea that they were friends, given how often Ravi posts the two of them on his Instagram story, but… they run together? Really? Eddie used to do that with Buck. And when Buck’s leg flared up, they would lift, instead. 

They used to go to the same gym, even. He can’t remember when that changed. He can’t remember when a lot of things changed between them.

“I didn’t know the kiddos were gonna be here. We could’ve postponed,” Ravi says. 

Eddie shakes himself, gesturing for Ravi to follow him into the living room. He watches Ravi sprawl on the couch, offering Jee a fistbump she dutifully returns. 

“It was sort of impromptu,” Eddie explains. “The kids, I mean. Maddie had an appointment.” 

“It’s cool, man.” Ravi shrugs. “I can hang around. Wanna go to the backyard?” 

Eddie hesitates, but Jee makes an agreeable noise. “I wanna play.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie says. “What do you want to do?” 

“Sandbox,” Jee says decisively. 

One does not argue with a Buckley-Han. So, sandbox it is. 

Outside, the air is so humid it’s almost damp. The four of them settle around the seashell-shaped sandbox Eddie remembers Buck picking up a week after moving in. He had been so excited that it had rubbed off on Eddie, turning the day into a rare occasion where it still felt like they were best friends. Where it felt like they were their old selves. 

Jee gets to work in the sandbox right away, carrying a bucket over to the nozzle attached to the side of the house to fill it with water. She returns with it, pouring it unceremoniously over the sand. 

She announces, “I’m gonna build a castle.” 

“Need any help?” Eddie asks. 

“No.” 

Ravi and Eddie leave her to it, despite the fact that Eddie’s very good at building sand castles. 

Eddie makes sure to sit with his back to the sun, keeping baby Nash in the shade. The silence stretches between the four of them, interrupted only by baby Nash’s cute gurgling, and it’s kind of… comfortable. 

At some point, Ravi gets up once to retrieve a box of ice creams for them all — a baby-safe, homemade one carried separately that Buck must’ve made — and doles them out with a, here ya go. 

Falling back into the grass, Ravi groans and tugs his shirt off, wiping sweat off his brow with it. 

Eddie’s focused on holding Buck’s homemade popsicle for baby Nash, so he barely spares him a glance, very used to ignoring shirtless men in his line of work, until his eyes snag on his chest. 

Beneath his pecs, Ravi has two identical scars. They’re almost invisible, only a shade darker than the rest of Ravi’s skin. The skin there is thicker, mostly hidden beneath the swell of his muscular pectorals, but they’re there. Eddie’s never seen them before. 

Come to think of it, he’s never seen Ravi shirtless at all. Or seen him shower with the rest of them. He’d just never thought about it.

“You good?” Ravi asks, quirking an eyebrow, and Eddie snaps his gaze back up to Ravi’s face. 

“I’m good.” 

“You were making direct eye-contact with my nipples, dude.” 

Choking, Eddie defends, “No, I— no. I wasn’t.” 

“Hm.” Ravi tilts his head, thinking. “My shoulders, then?” 

“No.” 

“Pecs?” 

Eddie grits his teeth. “No.” 

“My scars?” 

“I—” Eddie hesitates. “Yeah.” 

Ravi snorts, leaning back on his hands. “You’ve seen them before.” 

“I… have.” Eddie reaches out, adjusting the strap on Jee’s shoe. 

“They’re fading a lot,” Ravi hums, tipping his head back, sunning his face. “It’s been like— four years since I had top surgery. My ribs are finally healing, man. Binding sucked ass.”

“I bet,” Eddie says, finally understanding. Ravi’s trans. And Buck knows, and Eddie— knows now, too. 

He’s not supposed to know. Shame is a familiar friend to him, but this shade of it is one he hasn’t worn before. He’s wearing Buck’s face, a face Ravi trusts enough to come out to, and has been handed information he’s not supposed to have. This feels like fraud. Like betrayal. His stomach is twisting itself into knots in real time, his small and large intestine tying themselves into the ugliest bow of all time. 

Fuck.

He’s an awful person. An awful person who should’ve looked away at the first sign of skin, like he always does when a man takes his clothes off in front of him. He could’ve gone the intense-eye-contact route. That would’ve been better than this.

It's not like he was even checking him out — which would’ve been more reasonable, because Ravi is admittedly, absolutely shredded — because Eddie was too busy gawking at his scars like some kind of moron. He’s a medical professional, for God’s sake. He knows— he should know better. This day has just gotten the worst of him, knocked him off kilter in every way it could. He feels like he’s spinning out into space, his line cut from his ship, oxygen running out quickly. 

He’s in Buck’s body. Buck’s body, which he had checked out earlier, in the mirror. Buck’s body that—he would actually like to be inside of, under different circumstances, because he’s his best friend, and he’s beautiful, and he lo— 

“Are you okay?” Ravi asks, voice gentling. 

Shame, as much as it’s filling Eddie’s chest right now, somehow makes space for something even more dangerous: panic. He swallows thickly. Then, bursting out of him, he says, “I’m gay.” 

No. Oh no. Eddie’s literally only said those words out loud twice before, once to Hen beneath a large umbrella at a cafe and once to Christopher while they sat on the edge of Chris’s bed. And now he’s come out to Ravi, to level the playing field in the most bizarre way possible. 

There’s just one problem: Eddie’s not wearing his own face. He’s wearing Buck’s stupid, pretty face.

And Buck is not gay. Not completely. 

Buck is—

“I thought you were bisexual?” 

“I—” Eddie stutters, heart stumbling. He’s Buck, he remembers. And he can’t blow this for Buck. He might have betrayed Ravi deeply, but he can’t drag Buck down with him. “Yes. I am. That.” 

Ravi’s looking at him like he’s grown a second head, now. “Are you… coming onto me?” 

Eddie’s eyes bug out. 

Devastatingly, Ravi looks like he’s mentally preparing ways to let Buck down easily. God. He has to fix this.

“No! No. No. I’m— someone else. There’s someone else, and I am— gay. For him.” Nash, seemingly no longer interested in the popsicle, grabs at Eddie’s sleeve, tugging at it over and over again. The repetitive motion is surprisingly calming. He exhales shakily, whispering, “Holy shit.”

“I’m very aware you’re gay for someone else,” Ravi says, like he’s being dense on purpose. “Painfully aware. Which is why I thought you’d gone crazy when you started making direct eye contact with my ten thousand dollar nipples.” 

The world screeches to a halt. 

I know. 

Ravi said he knows. Which means there really is— that Buck is interested in someone. And he hasn’t told Eddie. 

Tommy, Eddie remembers, mood souring. Buck’s talking to Tommy again. Of course he would confide in Ravi, his partner at work. His friend, who he goes on regular runs with. Who’s familiar enough with Buck to babysit with him, apparently. 

But Eddie has no time to spiral about this, because Jee, digging her shovel into the dirt, says, “Holy shit.” 

“Jee,” Eddie says, a little desperately. “Don’t say that, please.” 

Jee looks up at him. Her eyes are big and wide, identical to Chimney’s. “Is it a bad word?” 

“It is.” 

“Can I say it when I’m older?” 

“I—” Eddie casts a helpless look at Ravi, who snickers into his hand. “Maybe. You’ll have to ask your mom.” 

“Okay,” Jee says, attention back on the sand. 

Eddie relaxes. Maybe this won’t be so bad. He just needs to get through the day, and find Buck somewhere along the way, and then… then they’ll figure it out. And then he’ll deal with the whole Ravi thing. 

“Holy shit,” Jee whispers again. 

Ravi, the bastard, tips his head back and laughs.

As mighty a task as going to the bank while wearing one’s best friend’s body had been, Buck has succeeded. 

He had found the necklace, folded neatly into a corner of the safety deposit box next to an old watch that no longer ticked. Buck had grabbed it and all but sprinted out of there, feeling distinctly as though he had gotten away with extreme, Mission-Impossible-Level espionage. 

Jittery, Buck gets back into Eddie’s car, hesitating a moment before carefully dropping the necklace into the cupholder. 

Then, squaring his shoulders in anticipation, he starts the car, already mapping out the quickest way to get to his own house. To Eddie. 

God, he hopes Eddie’s there. 

That is, of course, the moment his phone chooses to ring, and Buck yelps like a dog whose tail was stepped on. He forgot Eddie never silences his phone. 

Turning the key again to kill the motor, he scrambles to grab the phone out of his pocket. 

Hen Wilson. 

A notification pops up, too. A text from himself. 

Buck: Yo. At your house. Call me right now – Eddie

Holy shit. Okay, he—he can’t respond to that. Because he can’t unlock Eddie’s phone. But at least he knows where Eddie is now, which is: in his body. Living his life. Finding out all his secrets, probably. 

Shakily, he accepts the call from Hen, pressing the phone to his ear. 

“Where are you,” Hen says. It’s not a question; it’s a demand. 

Is she here? Is she watching him? Does she track Eddie’s location regularly? Are they close enough now to have each other's live locations? Is nothing sacred? Is Eddie going to put her in his will, too?

Buck scans the parking lot. To his left, three elderly women getting into a lemon-coloured Subaru. To his right, a young man staring forlornly at his phone. Centre, a very pretty lady with a service dog. No Henrietta Wilson. “Where— uh. Where are you?” 

A beat. Then, “At my house. Waiting for you, Edmundo.” 

“I— what.” 

Buck cannot believe he didn’t know Eddie had such a rich social life. Since when does Eddie visit the Wilsons in his free time, or go to the bank without dragging Buck along with him? Maybe— shit. Maybe Eddie and Hen really are best friends now. Buck’s not sure what that makes him. 

“Okay,” Buck says, before Hen has a chance to reply. He might be panicking. He did say he’d schedule in freaking out after the bank—he had not planned to do it at the Wilson residence. And yet, “I’m. Okay. I’m coming over. Right now.” 

“You do that,” Hen says slowly. She’s catching on. Buck has to fix this. 

“Yeah,” Buck says, lowering his voice. Which— fuck. Eddie’s voice is— it’s really sexy like this, gravelly and smooth. He wonders how Eddie sounds when he’s really going for it, speaking softly, seductively. He’s never seen Eddie flirt before. Fuck. He can’t think about that right now. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.” 

Silence meets him. Then, “Karen bought doughnuts.” 

“Fantastic,” Buck breathes. Then, without thinking, he hangs up. 

Fuck.

Twenty minutes later, Buck pulls into the Wilsons’ driveway. He does three rounds of breathing exercises in the car, tries to unlock Eddie’s phone again to no avail, and then, blowing a raspberry, he exits the vehicle. 

He honestly, truly blacks out upon entering the Wilsons’ house. They must’ve greeted each other, and Buck must’ve been normal enough to pass as human (and Eddie, apparently), because he comes back to himself on the couch, holding a cup of coffee. 

“So,” Hen says, folding her legs beneath her. She takes a sip of her own coffee. “How’s it going?” 

This is it. This is Buck’s chance to tell Hen and Karen everything—to tell someone everything. Karen’s a rocket scientist—if anyone knows how to fix this, it’ll be Karen. His entire world is about to fall back into place. He’ll be back in his own body in no time, and he won’t ever have to stare for a weirdly long time at Eddie’s hands again. 

(Have to, being the operative words.) 

(He’s definitely going to keep noticing Eddie’s hands once he’s back in his own body.) 

“Ha,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. You see.” 

Karen slides onto the couch beside Hen, placing the box of doughnuts on the table. She peers at Buck expectantly. 

Buck’s vocabulary suddenly shrinks to that of an inanimate object. 

“You didn’t tell him,” Hen sighs. She turns to Karen. “He didn’t tell him.” 

Buck blanches. “Sorry, uh. I didn’t— what?” 

Karen gives him a sympathetic look. “It’s okay, Eddie. Coming out takes time.” 

“Coming out?” Buck wheezes. He can’t breathe. This is not real. This isn’t happening. 

“Look,” Hen says, reaching out to place a hand over Eddie’s knee. “It’s hard, I get it. There’s no rush to do this. You don’t even have to tell him. It’s your truth to tell.”

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

“But, I also know you want to tell him,” she continues. “It’ll be okay if you do, Eddie. It’s just Buck. You and I both know he’s not going to react badly.” She pauses. “Well. He might be weird. It’s Buck. But he’ll support you.”

Yes, Buck thinks wildly. I’m going to be very, very weird.

“No,” he hears himself say, floating a good five metres above his body. Eddie’s body. God. He’s having a psychotic break in Eddie’s body. “No, he— yeah. He’d support him. Me. He’d support me. He’s an ally. And–and bisexual. Notably." 

Hen pulls back, gesturing for Buck to take a bite of his doughnut. Buck does. It’s strawberry-flavoured. 

“Okay,” Hen says. “So, you didn’t tell him last night. New plan.” 

Was Eddie— was he planning on coming out to Buck last night? Last night, while they’d been hanging out at Eddie’s house, shooting the shit on the couch? 

Buck hadn’t… noticed. He would have noticed, right? But then again— Buck had been so caught up in trying to convince himself to tell Eddie about—

Well. It doesn’t matter. 

The point is: Buck missed something. Or maybe he said the wrong thing. Either way, he talked Eddie out of telling him, and they had instead spent the night drinking beer, pretending everything was normal. And while Buck was busy biting his own tongue to keep from blurting out I miss you, to his best friend, who was sitting right there, Eddie had decided not to tell Buck about a huge, life-changing discovery he had made about himself. 

Does he not trust Buck? Did he really think Buck would be that weird about it? Is he worried Buck would assume he’s in love with him, the same way everyone assumes he’s in love with Eddie? He wouldn’t. That would be crazy.

Buck chews the doughnut mournfully. “N’w pl’n?” 

“...Or not,” Hen says kindly. “There’s no rush.” 

His phone dings. Setting the half-eaten doughnut down on his knee, he pulls it out of his pocket. 

Reminder: Pottery Class w. Buck. 12.00 pm. 

“Oh my God, thank God,” Buck says, stuffing the rest of the doughnut into his mouth as he stands. He might not be able to call Eddie or text him, but he sure as hell can zoom his ass to pottery class and hope Eddie shows up. Eddie will show up. He knows it. “I have plans with Ed– with Buck.” 

Hen looks at him for a long second. “I know. You’re doing not-couples-pottery. We’ve talked about this.”

“I’m going to go see Buck,” he says, because he’s a fucking moron. “Right now.”

“Okay, Eddie.” She stands up, grabbing him by the shoulder and squeezing. “Tell him. And call me if you need anything.”

Buck thinks he might throw up. 

“Okay,” he says, as casual as he can. “B-Bye, Hen. My work-partner and friend.”

He’s backing away as fast as he can without tripping over his own feet.

“A-And Karen! Hen’s wife. And… and my close friend, also. Okay. I’m—” He shoots them a two-finger salute, spinning on his heels and all but ripping their door open. “Bye, bye, bye!”

Ravi abandons Eddie approximately ten minutes before Maddie returns to pick up her kids. He cites paperwork as his excuse, which perplexes Eddie until he remembers that Ravi moonlights as a landlord. There’s so much he doesn’t know about Ravi—not because of disinterest, but just… it’s never come up. Ravi can be so unassuming when, really, Eddie suspects, he’s the most interesting person in the 118. He makes a mental note to hang out with Ravi one-on-one more. 

Privately, Eddie wonders why Buck didn’t ask Ravi for help when he was house-searching. Ravi probably could’ve lorded him some land. 

He’s alerted to Maddie’s arrival when her voice calls out, “Evan!” 

Eddie, who had been helping Jee wash the sand off her hands in the kitchen, calls back, “Kitchen!” 

A few seconds later, Maddie appears in the doorway, dropping her keys back into her bag. Of course, she would have keys to Buck’s house. Eddie has keys to Buck’s house. Buck’s actually… worryingly generous about handing out keys to people. 

“Mommy!” Jee exclaims, wiggling out of Eddie’s grip till he places her down. She runs in Maddie’s direction, pigtails swinging. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Maddie crouches, kissing Jee’s forehead. “Did you have fun with Uncle Buck?” 

“Yes,” Jee insists. “We played in the sandbox, and we had ice cream, and Fruit Loops, and it was really warm, so we went inside.” She takes a heaving breath. “Can I stay?” 

“Dad’s waiting for us, lovebug,” Maddie says, smiling indulgently. “And your brother needs a nap.” 

Jee pouts. “Five more minutes?” 

“One more minute,” Maddie suggests, and Jee, who has no concept of time as far as Eddie knows, giggles. 

“Ravi came over,” Eddie says, because it feels important to loop Maddie in. Unfortunately, this also reminds him of his conversation with Ravi, and how he now holds a secret in his hands that he never should’ve known existed, let alone touched. 

God. He knows too much. He should stop knowing things. 

At Maddie’s inquiring look, he adds, “I forgot we were going to go for a run today.” 

“Ah. Darn,” Maddie says, wincing. “I didn’t know you had plans.” 

Neither did I, Eddie thinks. 

“It’s no problem,” Eddie says, smiling. “I love the kids, you know that.” 

“I know,” Maddie sighs, standing again. She watches Jee sort through a handful of beads Eddie had found in the cupboard Buck had dubbed the ‘play-cupboard’. “I feel like my kids see you more than I do.” 

Eddie is ill-prepared for this. He’s not as close to his own sisters as Buck is to Maddie. He’s going to have to draw from what he knows. Which is a lot, unfortunately. He didn’t realise how closely he watched Buck until today. 

“Mads,” he says, gentling his voice. It fits a little weird in his mouth, but it lands smoothly enough. “It’s really okay. And, hey, we’ll get coffee soon, okay? Just you and me.” 

“You and me,” Maddie nods, looking touched. She clears her throat and adds, “I haven’t forgotten, you know.” 

“Forgotten what?” 

Maddie rolls her eyes playfully. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. I’m just saying… Keeping it a secret feels a little juvenile. You’re making it out to be a lot bigger than it is. It’s not going to rock the boat as much as you think it is.” 

Eddie pauses. Could this be about Tommy? If so, Eddie’s not sure if he wants to know. 

Okay, he definitely wants to know. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“It’s not embarrassing,” Maddie assures him. “And waiting to tell Eddie, especially… I don’t see the point.” 

Okay, almost certainly Tommy, then. Dating Tommy (again) is definitely embarrassing. 

“I’ll tell him,” he promises. “Next time I see him, I swear.” 

Maddie studies his face for a long moment, but seems to find his promise believable enough, because she nods. 

“So, you’ll tell him in an hour?” 

Eddie blinks. “What?” 

“Isn’t that when your weird pottery class is?” 

Oh. Right. Eddie had completely blanked on that. Buck had won coupons through some sort of radio show, thanks to the questionnaire he had filled in while stuck in a pile-up a couple of weeks ago. It had been on one of the rare occasions Eddie was weathering the torture of LA traffic instead of Buck. 

“Okay,” Eddie says, voice wavering a little. What if Buck isn’t there? What if Buck drives here instead? What if Buck isn’t in Eddie’s body at all? Fuck. He hasn’t heard back from him since he texted him, and he’s not sure how else he could have checked in with him to find out. But Eddie has faith. He has to trust the blind confidence he has in the fact that Buck will be there, loitering anxiously outside the pottery studio, waiting for him. 

Eddie wouldn’t put it past him to want to go to the pottery class despite their predicament, especially given how excited he had been about winning the coupons. 

Yeah, no. There is no way Buck won’t want to go. Despite… everything.  

“Okay,” Maddie echoes, smiling. Then, casual as anything, she asks, “Talked to Tommy recently?” 

“I—what?” 

Eddie starts sweating. What does she know? 

Maddie shrugs. “You mentioned him the other week. I’m just doing some sleuthing.” 

“Nothing to sleuth,” Eddie says. Was the thing Buck was going to tell him not about Tommy, then? How many secrets does he have? 

“Is that right?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says. “And, uh. I have to go.” 

“Oookay. If you’re sure.” 

“Maddie,” Eddie says firmly, pushing baby Nash into her arms. Baby Nash giggles as he’s transferred, clinging to his mother. “I have to go.” 

“Buck—” 

“Pottery,” Eddie insists. “Pottery, with— Eddie.”

The second Maddie’s car had rounded the corner, Eddie was in motion. He was speed incarnate. He was a fully operational, six-foot-two tank of a man, and he needed to go. 

Buck hadn’t texted him back (or called him, as Eddie had requested), but Buck must have Eddie’s phone—Eddie’s phone with Eddie’s calendar notifications, which, while annoying, are very insistent. He will show up at the pottery studio. Eddie knows it.

Forty-five minutes later, he’s sitting in Buck’s jeep, staring at the pottery studio’s parking lot. Notably, he is fifteen minutes early. 

He is also hyperventilating. 

Driving here should have been the easiest part of this very strange, very unusual day. Instead, it had turned into what he is tentatively, in the privacy of his own mind, calling the worst experience of his life. Buck’s legs— well. They’re long. All of Buck is long. He’s a long guy. Tall. Eddie is also a tall man, but he is, as far as he’s aware, somewhat proportional. 

Buck is ninety percent legs. Eddie has never considered this a flaw—except for when Buck wears shorts, and they ride up while he’s sitting, bunching around his thick, meaty thighs, and— 

And it’s distracting. Okay? It’s distracting because Eddie is gay, and Buck is a man with extremely attractive attributes, such as his legs, which might as well be tree trunks, and that’s that. 

Unfortunately, the whole leg-situation was a problem. Driving in a body one does not typically wear was actually pretty difficult, as it turned out. He hadn’t been contending only with the sheer size of Buck’s body, but also with the distracting, painful throb in his knee. Honestly, Eddie needs to have a long, serious talk with Buck about doing his physio at home. And also about using the hot tub more regularly, putting more focus on relaxing the muscles in his calf to prevent cramping. 

He had been thinking about the hot tub while driving. He had also been thinking: don’t hit the truck, oh my God, please don’t swerve, I am going to commit vehicular manslaughter, and also, I forgot to eat breakfast this morning. 

The good news is: Eddie made it to the pottery studio in one piece. The bad news is: a traffic camera definitely caught him hitting a curb so violently that his head hit the ceiling. It’s fine. Hitting a curb isn’t illegal, he’s pretty sure. And Eddie’s confident the scratch to the front of Buck’s car will buff right out.

And now, all he has to do is wait. 

Tipping his head back, Eddie shuts his eyes, pretending he’s in a large, open space, flat on the ground. He is jello. Jello is he. 

Jello. 

A smattering of tentative knocks at the window startles Eddie out of his reverie, his eyes flying open as his hands wave through the air in some bizarre approximation of a Karate move. 

He must be on his third near heart attack of the day when he spots himself standing there, peering at him through the window with a sheepish expression on his face. Eddie only knows one man capable of looking that sheepish, and his name is Evan Buckley. 

Relief nearly bowls Eddie over as he scrambles to undo his seatbelt, pulling the car door open before he’s extricated his legs from beneath the steering wheel. Buck — in Eddie’s body — scrambles to catch him. He is not successful. Eddie hits the ground with an undignified squawk, and he has to roll to avoid landing on Buck’s bad knee. 

An elderly couple walks by, pausing momentarily to stare as Eddie gingerly gets to his feet again, Buck’s hands fluttering in the air like he can’t decide where to grab him. 

“Sorry,” Buck breathes, a panicked look on his face. “Fuck, Eddie. Sorry, I—I’m, fuck.” 

“Why are you sorry?” Eddie pants, brushing the dust off his shirt. 

“I stole your body,” Buck says, which is an insane thing to say. “A-and then I scared you, and you fell out of the car, and I impersonated you at the bank, and this really nice lady called Jennifer thinks you’re a total weirdo now because I was being a freak, which happened accidentally because I—I panicked—” 

“Buck.” 

“And Chris likes The Front Bottoms now, and I insulted him, Eddie, I insulted your son as you, what if I wreck everything you’ve worked so hard to get back because I put my foot in my mouth—” 

“Buck.” 

“I just keep putting my foot in my mouth, Eddie, seriously. There are so many feet in my mouth, my teeth are basically toes. All of them, Eddie. Molars, incisors, canines, pre-molars, they’re all—” 

“Buck!” 

Buck’s mouth snaps shut. His eyes, wide and panic-stricken, find Eddie’s. 

They’re both panting, Eddie from his giraffe-leg fall, and Buck from his absurd apology-rant. 

For a very long moment, they stare at one another. Eddie has no idea how to feel. It’s not every day you’re faced with… yourself. He didn’t know the scar on his lip was so visible to the naked eye, and— well. Buck might have been right, when he told him to lay off the hair gel. Buck clearly decided to forgo it this morning, and he’s got a cool-looking swoop going, not dissimilar to whatever Tom Cruise had going for himself back in the eighties. 

He looks kind of… handsome. In a soft way. Huh. Buck wears his face well.

A full thirty seconds pass before Buck explodes. “How the fuck did this happen?” 

A ragged laugh scrapes its way out of Eddie’s throat. “I don’t know, Buck.” 

“I didn’t—” Buck exhales, running a hand through the swoop of his hair. “I didn’t even really believe in magic, until now.” 

Pause. 

“This,” Eddie says, pointing at himself and then at Buck, “is not magic.” 

Eyebrows climbing up his forehead, like he’s mentally calculating Eddie’s audacity, Buck says, “You don’t think this is magic?” 

“Nope.” 

Buck’s mouth falls open. “Eddie.” 

“Buck.” 

“We swapped bodies.” 

“We did.” 

“I am in your body, Eddie,” Buck stresses, as if Eddie hadn’t noticed. “My mind has invaded your brain.” 

“And mine yours,” Eddie says sombrely. 

“Eddie,” Buck says again. “I am inside of you.” 

Jesus Christ.

Behind Eddie, someone coughs. 

Buck freezes, stealing a glance behind Eddie’s shoulder. A man side-steps them and throws an awkward thumb toward the pottery studio. 

“You guys heading in?” 

“No,” says Eddie. 

“Yes,” says Buck. 

Eddie sighs. “Yes.” 

The bespectacled young man smiles stiffly. “That’s good to hear. I’ll be your instructor.” 

“Ah.” Eddie tries to give the man Buck’s signature, white-man smile. He must succeed, because the man relaxes moderately. 

“That’s awesome,” Buck says, painfully earnest. “I’m Bu—ddie.” 

The man blinks. “Pardon?” 

“Buddie,” Buck says, apparently committed. Eddie has to stay very, very still to keep from bursting into laughter. 

“I’ve never met anyone actually called Buddie,” says the man. “I’m Jones. Jones Potter.” 

Eddie can’t help it; he cracks up. 

Jones sighs good-naturedly. “I know. I’m a potter called Potter.” 

“It’s cool,” Buck insists. “Very— uh. Fitting.” 

“Thanks, Buddie.” Turning to Eddie, Jones asks, “What’s your name?” 

“Oh. Um.” Eddie glances at Buck before saying, “Edduck.” 

Buck, standing just outside of Jones’ line of sight, looks devastated. 

“A duck?” 

Quack.

“No,” Eddie smiles serenely. Slower, he says, “Edduck. E-D-D-U-C-K.” 

“Well. Nice to meet you, Edduck. You guys have, um. Unique names.” Jones claps his hands together, walking backwards toward the studio. “Anyway, I’ll see you guys in there. We start in ten.” 

Buck, absurdly, salutes. “Gotcha.” 

“Oh, and,” Jones hesitates, “Not that it’s any of my business, but we try not to bring our marital issues with us into the studio. The clay needs a gentle, nurturing touch.” 

Heart stumbling, Eddie looks at Buck, who is rapidly turning red. 

“U-uh, yeah, no, we aren’t—” 

“We won’t,” Eddie promises, talking over Buck. In his periphery, he can both see and feel Buck sweating at the implication, but Eddie is—ultimately unfazed. He understands how someone could make the assumption. At one point, maybe Eddie almost made the same—

Well. It doesn’t matter. The point is, he gets it. 

“Like I said, it’s none of my business,” Jones says. “But, you know. Save the marital spats for later. Embrace the zen attitude in there. We’re reconnecting with the earth.” 

“We’re playing with dirt,” Eddie says. 

Buck smacks him.

Loath as he is to admit it, Eddie doesn’t hate the whole playing-with-dirt thing. 

It’s relaxing, and the clay is soft beneath his fingers. Even the atmospheric music playing is nice, slow and melodic and just quiet enough to inspire soft, murmured conversations amongst the participants. 

Buck is laser-focused on his clay, hands shaping it carefully while the potter’s wheel spins. He barely spares Eddie or the instructor a glance, thumbs digging small indentations into the clay as it slowly transforms into an approximation of a pot. 

“I don’t know if that’s how you’re supposed to do it,” Eddie says quietly, because Buck is still handling the clay like it’s something precious. Or maybe like it’s filled with an infectious disease that he’s worried about catching if he’s too touchy with it. 

“Huh?” Buck says, not looking up. 

“Dude.” Eddie lifts his hands away from his own clay. “You’re staring pretty… intensely. Like you’re worried it’s about to file a restraining order against you.” 

At this, Buck lifts his gaze. He blinks, seemingly coming back to himself, before flushing. 

“Uh— I— sorry. You just— you’ve got nice hands.” Buck looks a little startled, suddenly, floundering to continue, “Good hands. Um. Very. Manly. Steady. They’re good at this.” 

Oh. Buck was staring at Eddie’s hands. That Buck is currently in possession of. 

A familiar, distant heat stirs in Eddie’s gut. “They’re sturdy.” Eddie tilts his head a little to the side, voice pitching low. “Even better when I’m the one at the wheel, though.”

“That’s— you can’t do that.” Buck looks mildly panicked, all of a sudden. “How do you even know how to do that? That’s my Seduction Voice. That’s— how did you know about that?” 

Eddie’s mouth falls open, laughter bubbling up as he says, “Sorry. Your what?” 

“You know,” Buck shrugs, returning his attention to the clay. His eyes keep darting around, like he’s trying not to look at his hands. “The voice I’d use at a bar, or um— maybe not a bar anymore. Just… it catches attention. Works every time.” 

Did it this time? Eddie wonders, chest fluttering. He pockets the thought, blinking a few times to settle back into himself. It’s— a stupid question. Buck can’t be seduced by his own voice. Even if it’s being wielded by someone else. 

He clears his throat. “Okay, Buck.” 

A minute passes, and Eddie refocuses on the task at hand. Only, Buck starts humming, and the tune is familiar. It takes a couple of seconds for it to click, and then Eddie finds a voice slithering into his head. 

I dug my key into the side of his shitty little souped-up four-wheel-drive—

“Are you humming Carrie Underwood?” Eddie asks, suspicious. 

Buck ducks his head, hiding a smile. “So what if I am?” 

He’s being weird. Weirder than normal. Buck knows something he shouldn’t. Eddie’s just not quite sure how. He’ll figure it out later.

Huffing, Eddie says, “You are acting way too normal for someone who’s currently in my body.” 

“I’m good under pressure.” Buck’s eyes light up, applying pressure to his sculpture to bend the rim. “Eddie, look!” 

He gestures to his interesting pot-adjacent creation. It’s a little wonky, but it doesn’t look half-bad. Eddie would definitely keep it if Buck gifted it to him, which, if Eddie weren’t here with him, he’s sure Buck would, just to make Eddie feel included in the experience. Eddie would probably put it in the garden and plant a tulip in it. Eddie keeps everything Buck gives to him. Including the really ugly key bowl Buck got him three years ago.

Though as cute as Buck’s excitement is, there are more pressing matters at hand. 

“Buck, seriously.” Eddie catches his eye, staring intently, attempting to beam the anxiety straight into Buck’s brain. “I know we’re both playing it cool, but… How are you not freaking out right now? I’m freaking out right now.” 

Buck quirks an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t panic.” 

“I don’t,” Eddie insists. “But I woke up in the wrong body this morning, and I had to—” He lowers his voice, ducking closer to Buck. “I touched your dick, man. Which—you know.” 

A violation of boundaries. A line that can’t be uncrossed. Something Eddie feels deeply guilty about.

“You touched my dick?” Buck asks, approximately one billion decibels louder than necessary. 

The room around them stills. 

Flushing, Eddie avoids eye contact with approximately twenty strangers. They really should be focusing on their own clay creations, but no. No, instead they’re staring wide-eyed at the two of them. 

“S-sorry,” Buck says, lowering his voice. “Just— what? Why did you touch my— why?” 

“To piss.” Eddie looks at him incredulously. “You telling me you haven’t peed all day? That’s not healthy, Buck.” 

“I—I peed in the shower!” Buck exclaims, eyes wide. Then, very quickly, he adds, “I didn’t look.” 

Eddie blinks. “I don’t care if you looked. You’ve seen me get changed before. It’s nothing new.” 

Cheeks flushing, Buck’s hands stutter on the wheel, bending his creation out of shape. Does Eddie always flush that brightly? Since when did his cheeks get so pink? “Well, I—I didn’t. So.” 

Eddie narrows his eyes. “Did you shower with your eyes closed?” 

A telling silence follows. 

“Buck,” Eddie says. “Tell me you didn’t.” 

“I mean—” It’s weird watching Buck’s little Buck-isms play out on Eddie’s face, nose scrunching as his nostrils flare like a twitching bunny. “I opened my eyes to, um… to step in and out. For safety.”

“Jesus, man.” 

“There was a lot going on,” Buck defends. 

Eddie glowers. 

“Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” 

“Making that face. That one, yeah,” Buck scolds. “You’re gonna give me wrinkles.” 

“I just—” Eddie cuts himself off. “What are we going to do?” 

They could ride this out. Eddie knows that’s an option. But they have a shift in two days, and he’s pretty sure endangering the citizens of L.A. because of a (he shudders to say it) curse of some sort is frowned upon. And they would endanger people, given that their bodies are currently attached to the wrong names, wrong souls, wrong minds. All it would take is one slip-up, one moment in which Eddie fails to respond to an order barked Buck’s way, and he would get a write-up. As Buck, no less, and Buck is not forgiving when it comes to work infractions. 

He meets Buck’s eyes, stomach plummeting when he realises they’ve come to the same conclusion. 

As one, they say: “Chimney.”

Buck drives them to the Buckley-Han residence because Eddie calls dibs on the passenger seat. 

He claims that driving in Buck’s body is akin to using chopsticks for the first time, which makes Buck laugh. He suddenly remembers watching Tommy try (and fail) to use them for the first time, and feels a little queasy, for some reason.

“Can a body be superior for driving?” Buck muses, and Eddie stares at his lap, which does not help because suddenly Eddie’s entire field of vision is thighs, and strong forearms and callused hands. His trousers are bunched up around his crotch, too, and Eddie remembers — vividly — what lies beneath them. It’s hard not to remember, because Buck’s cock, even soft, is thick and big, and pressing against his zipper every time Eddie’s hips shift, and—

“Yes,” he says. He has no idea what Buck’s question was. He forgot it the moment he looked down. 

Maddie’s car isn’t in the driveway when they pull into it, but Chimney’s is. Together, Buck and Eddie amble toward the front door, ringing the doorbell while holding their breaths. 

There’s no answer. 

Frowning, Buck rings the doorbell again. No answer. 

“Come on,” Eddie says, nudging him with his elbow. “Let’s go around the back.” 

Buck follows Eddie, who rounds the house before unclasping the gate. They make it two steps in before Eddie chokes, hand shooting out to grab Buck’s arm. 

Buck stumbles. “Wha—FUCK.”  

Right there on the grass, Chimney is doing naked yoga. Almost-naked yoga — he is wearing a pair of neon-green and black Speedos, of all things — and he’s currently… contorted in some sort of bizarre star-shape. 

Buck slams his eyes shut, but to no avail. The image is burned into his retinas. It’s playing on the back of his eyelids. Forever. 

“Buck!” Chimney exclaims, happily. “Eddie, my man. What are you guys doing here?” 

“U-um,” Buck says. “Chim, could you—clothes?” 

“Oh.” Chimney seems to mull this over. “No.” 

“No?” Eddie bawks. He still hasn’t let go of Buck’s arm. “Why not?” 

“Because I’m in my own backyard,” Chimney says serenely. “And you’re breaking and entering. So…” 

Buck heaves a sigh, peeling his eyes open very slowly. Chimney’s got his hands on his hips, smiling like this is normal. 

“Where Maddie?” Buck decides to ask, nudging Eddie until he opens his eyes, too. 

“At a Mommy & Me thing,” says Chimney, nodding toward the house, unfolding his limbs to stand up straight. “Come on, we’ve got lemonade. It’s really good.” 

Buck exchanges a long look with Eddie before shrugging helplessly. 

Inside, Chimney pours them each a glass of lemonade — which Buck reluctantly has to admit is pretty good — and ushers them toward the dining room table. Bizarrely, half the chairs are occupied by Jee’s teddy bears and one really creepy-looking doll. Buck sits as far away from it as he can. 

Just when he thought his life couldn’t get any weirder, he’s having a tea party with his borderline-naked brother-in-law.

“So,” Chimney says, taking a long sip of his lemonade, speedo-clad ass planted firmly at the head of the table. “What brings you to the humble Han abode?” 

“Well,” Eddie starts, before stalling. 

“We—” 

“Buck and I—” 

“I’m in his body,” Buck blurts. 

Chimney’s mouth opens and closes. “Regularly?” 

Buck chokes. “No, I—me. Me, Buck, I’m in—I’m in Eddie’s body.” 

Narrowing his eyes, Chim asks, “Is this your way of telling me you two are an item?” 

“No,” Buck squeaks. “N-no, I—we woke up like this, Chim.” 

Horrified, Chimney says, “Inside of each other?” 

He leaves his mouth open. So wide that Buck’s worried a fly might land atop his tongue and make a home there. 

Beside him, Eddie makes a gurgling noise. It sounds painful. 

“Chim,” Buck says, tone pleading. “We swapped bodies.” 

Chimney blinks. Then he blinks again. Nodding like this makes perfect sense. He leans back in his chair. “You got Freaky Friday’d.” 

The sigh of relief Buck lets out is powerful enough to propel a yacht into motion. Meanwhile, Eddie blanches. 

“You—you believe us?” Eddie asks. “Just like that?” 

“Yes,” Chim says, looking very serious now. “Without a doubt. Maddie and I even have a secret timeloop-slash-body-swapping safeword.” 

“Huh.” Honestly, that isn’t a bad idea. Buck wishes he’d thought of that. “What is it? The safeword?” 

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Chim says enigmatically. Then, sighing like a disappointed mentor, he says, “You guys should really have your own safewords. Especially if you’re… intimate.” 

Buck clenches his fists under the table. 

“We’re not.” It comes out a tiny bit defensively, maybe. It’s just that he knows Eddie’s— whatever. And he can’t just let people assume they’re together. Romantically. Intimately. It’d be homophobic.

Beside him, Eddie is stiff as a board. 

“I believe you,” Chimney says, though it sounds a lot like I know you’re lying, I just can’t prove it. Which, again, is wrong. Buck wishes he could convince him, given that Eddie’s reputation as a… straight man is on the line, here. 

“Seriously,” Buck says. 

Chim clicks his tongue. “Whatever you say, Maestro.” 

Clearing his throat, Eddie lays his hands flat on the table. “We, uh… We don’t know what to do. Which is why we’re here.” 

“Last resort,” Buck adds, because Chim is annoying him right now. 

Without acknowledging this, Chim nods at Eddie. “Let’s say you’ve really been Freaky Friday’d. That movie’s about, you know, gaining perspective, developing empathy by experiencing situations you otherwise wouldn’t be privy to. Do you feel like that’s what’s happened?” 

“Um.” Buck shuffles uncomfortably. “Not really?” 

“Eh,” says Eddie, making a sort-of gesture with his hand. 

“I—I mean,” Buck says, “I did stuff I wouldn’t normally do, like go to the bank as Eddie, sure, but—but I’ve gone to the bank with Eddie before. So.” 

“Hm.” Chim frowns. “You guys coordinated your day in the morning then? With the bank, and everything?” 

“I couldn’t reach Eddie,” Buck grumbles. 

Eddie blinks. “What?” 

“I couldn’t get into your phone,” Buck explains, irritated. “Which, by the way, when did you change your phone’s passcode?” 

Eddie tenses harder. “You bought milk.” 

A second ticks by. “Um. What?” 

“Almond milk,” Eddie says, waving through the air like he’s making a great point. “You like oat milk.” 

Buck mouth drops open. “I’m branching out!” 

Chim eyeballs them, steepling his fingers together. “Okay. Ignoring that, what were you guys doing right before you—switched bodies?” 

“Uh.” Buck bites the inside of his cheek. “We had a movie night with Chris. Think we had two beers each, and, uh… That’s it. I drove home and went to sleep, after that.” 

“You didn’t do anything else?” 

“I jerked off,” Buck offers. 

Chim purses his lips like he’s sucking on a lemon. “Okay, Buck.” 

“I usually do!” 

“Okay, Buck.” 

Turning his eyes to Eddie, Chim says, “What about you, Di-az?” 

Eddie bites his lip, shrugging. “I took a shower, did the WORDLE, and went to bed.” 

Betrayed, Buck shoots Eddie a look. “You didn’t text me about the WORDLE.” 

Eddie says nothing, but he, at least, has the decency to look sorry. It’s not even… it’s not significant. Not really. But in the grand scheme of things, Buck wonders if this isn’t a symptom of a larger problem. It’s proof, really, that they’re drifting apart, that they’re no longer BuckandEddie. That they’re no longer best friends. 

Swallowing, Buck averts his gaze. 

“Huh.” Chim taps his chin. “Well… What was the WORDLE?” 

Eddie hesitates. “Wimpy.” 

“How many guesses?” 

Eddie sighs. “Is this important?” 

“Yes, Eddie,” Chim insists. “All the details are important.” 

“Two,” Eddie tells him. 

“Wow.” 

Eddie arches an eyebrow. “Did that help?” 

“Not at all.” 

Buck pouts. “It took me four tries.” 

“Four?” Eddie asks. 

“I didn’t want to commit!” 

Sighing, Chim leans back in his chair. A little jealously, Buck eyes Chimney’s biceps. “Honestly, guys, I’m stumped.” 

“I—” Buck bites his lip, stomach twisting nervously. He catches Eddie’s eye. “Chris told me you were supposed to tell me something. Last—last night. But you didn’t.” 

Eddie pales. Then, rallying, he says, “Maddie said you’d been meaning to tell me something.” 

“I—no. Nothing to tell.” 

Crossing his arms, Eddie huffs. “Same here.” 

Chimney’s gaze slides from Buck to Eddie. “Ah. You’re both liars.” 

“What the hell?” 

“Cowards,” Chim amends, as if that’s any better. “Wimps, even.” 

“We’re not—” Eddie looks a little green around the gills. He stands, suddenly. Buck notices his fingers are trembling. “This isn’t helping. This isn’t going to fix things.”

“Eddie,” Buck tries, reaching out for him. 

His stomach twists when Eddie flinches away from it. 

“Let’s go, Buck.”

Chimney looks between them, expression gentling. “You just have to be honest with each other. It’ll help. The truth always does.”

“Okay, Yoda,” Eddie mumbles, a little petulantly.

“It’ll help, the truth will,” Chim calls after them as Eddie drags Buck out of the house by the wrist.

The drive back to Buck’s house is stilted. 

Eddie hadn’t meant to essentially storm out of there with Buck in reluctant tow. Chimney had been trying to help, but his psychoanalysis, while good-natured, had been supremely unhelpful, and in the end, a little hurtful.

Coward. The word plays over and over in Eddie’s head as he listens to the rumble of the truck. It’s a word he’s intimately familiar with. One he’s trying, through Frank and Hen’s insistence, to wipe from his vocabulary. Especially in regards to this secret.

Eddie hasn’t come out to Buck yet. Objectively, that’s true. But it doesn’t mean he’s lying. Does the universe think he’s a liar? Is this some sort of karmic punishment? A couple of months ago, he didn’t even believe in the universe. Not really. Not in the way Buck does, who seems to think of it as some sort of higher power, in charge of his fate and leading him where he needs to go (sometimes, in Eddie’s opinion, straight into hell. Eddie thinks maybe the universe sucks).

At least, for now, they can agree that the place they need to go is home. Well. To Buck’s house. Which isn’t home. But it’s something close to it, because it has Buck’s things, and it has Buck. Eddie glances over at him as Buck turns a corner, tracing the worried lines of his own side profile. 

Fuck.

What they really need, Eddie knows, is to talk. Alone. As unappealing as that might be, Eddie knows it’s an inevitability. They’re adults; they can handle an uncomfortable conversation. If only to, as Chim had put it, coordinate the rest of their day. And life, maybe, if they remain stuck like this. Which Eddie is not going to think about. 

Unfortunately, the doorbell rings not twenty seconds after they’ve closed the front door. A moment later, Ravi swings it open, waving. He doesn’t even wait for it to be answered. Maybe Ravi even has a freaking key, too. Maybe the whole world has a key to Buck’s house, and it’s not even special. It doesn’t even mean anything. Maybe it never meant anything.

“Hi,” Ravi says, nodding at them both. Looking at Eddie, he says, “I forgot my cap here.” 

“Oh.” Eddie nods, stilted. “Right. Come in, it’s probably in the backyard still.” 

Shooting him a grateful smile, Ravi jogs down the hall toward the back door.  

“Ravi was here?” Buck asks curiously. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “This morning. Apparently, you guys were supposed to go for a run.” 

“O-oh. Ha, yeah, I’d—yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I forgot we’d planned that.” 

Mildly, Eddie says, “We used to go running. Together.” 

“I—” 

“Found it!” Ravi announces, coming bounding back down the hall. He waves the cap at them, slipping it onto his head with a half-smile. “All good to go.” 

“Right,” Buck chirps, clapping Ravi on the shoulder and urging him toward the door. As Eddie. “I’ll see you at work.”

“Jeez, rough welcome,” Ravi laughs. 

“No, it’s not—” Buck flounders, hand hovering over Ravi’s shoulder. “I’m not… you’re welcome. Here. Obviously. In—” He shoots Eddie a panicked look. “In Eddie’s house. Buck’s house. In this house that belongs to— to Buck. Not me.” 

Eddie, very maturely, does not laugh. He does, however, smile.

“Right,” Ravi says, very slowly. “In this house. In this beautiful gay house.”

Eddie blanches. Oh no. His past has caught up to him. His backyard blunder is about to blow his life up in real time. Great. 

“W-why is it—what?” Buck’s eyes snap between the two of them rapidly. “Why is it gay? It’s a normal house.” 

Ravi snorts. “Because he’s gay, Eddie. Apparently.” 

So close, Eddie thinks miserably. 

Buck stills. “What? He’s— what? Buck’s bisexual. Notoriously. Notably.” 

“I’m aware.”

“Y-yeah,” Buck says. “But you said gay. He’s not.” 

Jesus Fucking Christ. Eddie wants to shove their lovely mutual friend Ravi right out the front door and into the street right now. Then maybe hammer the door shut. He cannot handle talking to a single person other than Buck right now.

“Oh.” Ravi waves him off. “It’s an inside joke. We had a weird conversation this morning.” 

At this, Buck shoots Eddie a frighteningly betrayed look. Eddie gulps. Audibly.

“Ha.” Ravi readjusts his cap, shaking his head. “You know, we’ve almost got the whole LGBT at the 118. Bisexual, trans, lesbian… we’re only missing one.” 

Internally, Eddie heaves a sigh of relief. Okay, so Ravi doesn’t care about him knowing he’s trans. That’s good. One win. Universe: 500. Eddie Diaz: 1. 

“But we don’t,” Buck says quickly. “Because no one’s—gay.” 

“Right,” Ravi says slowly. “I know. I, um, I’ve gotta go. See you guys.” 

Weakly, Eddie waves at him, watching Ravi close the door behind him. 

And then they’re alone. 

“Why are you trying to ruin my life?” Buck asks, voice low and dangerous. 

Eddie is at once hit by a wave of clarity. This is it. This is the moment. He needs to tell Buck, or else he might never tell him. And if being honest is what will get them out of this mess—then he’ll take one for the team. 

He can be brave. He can. 

You are not a coward, he tells himself. You are not a wimp.

Squaring his shoulders, Eddie meets Buck’s gaze. “I’m gay.” 

Jolting, Buck makes a very small, very hoarse noise. He visibly buffers, fishmouthing as his eyebrows pull taut. “No, you’re not.” 

“It—what?” Eddie blinks. “I am. That’s why I told Ravi I’m—I’m gay. Because I am.” 

“No,” Buck says slowly, like Eddie’s being unreasonable. Like Eddie’s not telling him something vulnerable, and raw, and terrifying. “You’re not.” 

Uncomfortably, Eddie’s chest twists, his heart stumbling over a beat. He didn’t think this would be an argument. “Yes, I am.” 

“...No?” 

A small, disbelieving laugh escapes him. “Is that a question?” 

“No,” Buck says more firmly, blinking too quickly. “No, it’s—no. You’re not gay.” 

“Buck.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m gay.” 

“Wrong.” 

Eddie gapes at him. This cannot be happening. Not in a million years did he think that this, coming out to his best friend, would be the task it’s becoming. He’d assumed it would be… difficult, but not—not for Buck. For himself. 

Being outright denied the right to be gay? Well. Stranger things have happened, as evidenced by the very body he’s inhabiting right now, but—still. 

“Call Hen,” Eddie tells him. “Ask her if I’m gay.” 

Immediately, Buck shakes his head. “No.” 

Eddie’s eyes narrow. “Why not?” 

“She already told me you’re gay.” 

Eddie throws his hands up, laughing hoarsely. “So you already know!” 

Meaning Buck has known the whole time. At least since his morning coffee plans with Hen. Buck has known Eddie is gay, and they haven’t switched back, and Buck didn’t fucking say anything, meaning they could’ve stayed trapped in each other’s bodies forever if Eddie hadn’t come clean, and—

“No,” Buck insists. 

“What—okay.” Eddie takes a steadying breath, trying to calm his thundering heart. He feels like he’s just run a marathon. “Call Christopher.” 

Suspiciously, Buck averts his gaze. Then, quietly, he mumbles, “No.” 

“Him too?” Eddie exclaims. “He—he told you?” 

“In a roundabout way.” 

God. That’s what Christopher asked Buck about this morning. Buck has known. Buck has known this whole time, and he didn’t say anything. Didn’t assume anything. Didn’t even fucking believe him. Eddie doesn’t know how he was ever foolish enough to believe there could be anything between them. That a chance in circumstances might— might change things for them.

Maybe he should’ve remained a coward.

“Mierda.” Eddie tugs a rough hand through his hair, pulling at the strands. “Buck, I’m going to kill you.” 

“No.” 

Eddie clenches his jaw. He’s pretty sure there’s a visible vein bulging in his neck. He’s seen it on Buck’s throat before. Wanted to trace it with his—

“Stop saying no,” Eddie seethes. 

“No–” 

Eddie doesn’t even realise he’s moving until he’s got a hand pressed to Buck’s mouth. Startled, Buck takes a step backwards, back colliding with the wall. Eddie follows, hand squishing the lower half of Buck’s face, the other flying to Buck’s waist. 

They lock eyes, breathing hard. Then, face hardening, Buck licks Eddie’s hand. 

“Dude.” Disproportionately annoyed, he drops his hand, wiping it on his jeans. 

Buck grimaces. “Tastes like clay.” 

“Gee,” Eddie says sarcastically. “I wonder why.” 

Buck opens his mouth to retort, but closes it again. For a long moment, neither of them say anything. Their breathing calms as the seconds tick by, and Eddie—Eddie doesn’t look away. 

He can’t. He doesn’t want to, not when Buck is right there, soft and pliable, chest pressed to Eddie’s. 

As strange as it is staring at his own face, Eddie can see Buck beneath it. It’s impossible to miss—the way his eyes catch the light, the way Buck’s own do. His soul, maybe. Eddie can see it all, whatever it is—can see Buck even when he’s wearing the wrong face. 

Slowly, Buck’s eyes soften. Little by little, his face morphs into something vulnerable and—scared, almost. Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen his own face so emotional. 

Voice barely a whisper, Buck says, “You’re gay?” 

Relief blooms in Eddie’s chest, lips twitching into a small smile. Just as softly, he says, “I’m gay.” 

A breath shudders out of Buck. “Holy shit.” 

Eddie laughs, squeezing Buck’s waist. “Yeah.” 

“No, like—” Buck blinks five times in rapid succession. “Holy fuck. Holy bananas.” 

For some reason, Eddie’s stomach swoops. “I know.” 

“You’re gay.” 

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Eddie says, exasperated. He tenses a moment later. “I, uh. I was supposed to tell you last night. I was looking at you, and I just…” He sucks in a breath. “I couldn’t get it out. I just… I wished, for a moment, that you could read my mind.” 

Buck’s eyes widen. He swallows, mouth twitching nervously. “I—I was thinking the same thing. That I just—I wished you could read my mind, too.” 

Heart skipping a beat, Eddie asks, “What was it? Your secret?” 

Ducking his head, Buck mumbles, “I joined this, um. This bouldering group. We climb every Thursday, and I go when we’re not working.” 

A strange mix of relief and disappointment floods Eddie. “That’s it?” 

Buck huffs a laugh. “That’s it.” He wets his lips, eyes flickering to Eddie’s and then away again. “I—I don’t know. I guess it’s not a big deal, but it felt like it was. Because I didn’t tell you when I joined the group, and before—before, I would have. Immediately.” His voice dips, growing quieter. “I’ve been lonely. I thought… I guess I thought I needed to branch out, and make new friends.” 

This, Eddie hadn’t known. He hadn’t even suspected that Buck was feeling lonely enough to seek company outside of the 118. He’s always orbited his family closely, never the first to suggest meeting strangers unless he was looking to blow off steam with someone he’d never have to see again. And even that isn’t something Buck particularly enjoys doing. 

“Why?” Eddie searches his face, chest constricting. “You have friends.” 

You have me. 

Buck huffs weakly. “Friends who go see documentaries without me.” 

“Buck,” Eddie says, exasperated. “That wasn’t about you.” 

“But I would’ve gone. I would’ve loved it.” 

“I know.” 

“You didn’t invite me.” 

It’s true. Eddie hadn’t invited Buck, but it wasn’t because he didn’t want him there. It was because, an hour before Hen suggested they see a documentary together, Eddie had come out to her. After the documentary, Eddie had very shyly added that Buck had a lot to do with it. Hen had squeezed his hand and smiled like she already knew. Like maybe she’s known the whole time. She hadn’t said it, though. Had just let the comforting, knowing silence speak for itself. It’d been nice. To not have to hear I told you so even if it maybe would’ve been deserved.

“I didn’t,” Eddie concedes. “Because… Buck, I told Hen about—me, that afternoon. That I’m gay.” 

Buck sags against the wall, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh.” 

“But I wanted you there,” Eddie tells him softly. “I always want you there.” 

He always wants Buck around. Every moment that he shares with Buck is one that would be empty without him. Doesn’t he get that? Doesn’t he see that Eddie’s always trying to carve space for him where he likely shouldn’t? Where it would be dangerous to? Right in his heart, even?

“I—I think maybe that’s what—maybe that’s what this was. For me, I mean,” Buck says, voice shaky. “I was scared to tell you I miss you.” 

Heart tripping over a beat, Eddie says, “I’m right here.” 

Quietly, like he’s confessing something awful, Buck says, “It hasn’t felt that way, recently.” 

“I know.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I was… I had to deal with some things,” Eddie says, knowing he’s being evasive. “I had to get over something.” 

Buck tilts his head. “What, your sexuality?” 

Eddie’s eyebrows fly up. “No.” 

“What was it?” 

Bravely, Eddie doesn’t look down at Buck’s— or well, his own mouth. He stares into the deep brown of his own eyes, pulling back just an inch. Just because Buck accepts he’s gay now doesn’t mean anything. He can’t let himself think it means anything.

“Buck, it’s not important,” he insists, gently. 

Buck makes a small noise. “Eddie, we have to be honest if we want to switch back.” 

“Then tell me why Tommy Kinard is hitting you up for a repeat.” 

Buck freezes. “What.” 

“Yeah, I—” Eddie sighs, taking a small step back, letting go of Buck’s waist. “He texted. And Maddie said you were—what happened? Why would he… I don’t understand, Buck. You guys broke up.” 

Mouth falling open, Buck scoffs. “I don’t have to tell you everything.” 

“Right,” Eddie says, bristling. “And I don’t have to tell you everything.” 

A long second ticks by, neither of them looking at each other. 

“You used to,” Buck exhales finally. “We used to.” 

It feels like a physical blow. Stumbling back, Eddie clears his throat. 

“I—” Eddie presses a hand to his chest. “I need a second.”

Buck’s fucked up. God, he’s fucked it all up. 

He’s going to be stuck in Eddie’s body for the rest of his life, and Christopher is going to keep calling him Dad. Buck has to throw himself into traffic. But he can’t, because he’d kill Eddie’s body. What if Eddie’s soul follows? That would be murder-suicide. 

Groaning, he leans back against the wall. All he had to do was react like a normal person. His best friend of nearly a decade, Eddie, his Eddie, came out to him, and Buck told him no. And Eddie hadn’t even really gotten mad about it! He’d let Buck process it, like the gracious, patient man he is. And then Buck, because he's Buck, asks for more. For honesty, when he can’t be honest himself. Like some sort of… child. Who the fuck does that? 

A hypocritical idiot, that’s who. 

Shoulders drawn up to his ears, he shuffles into the kitchen after Eddie. 

Eddie stood with his head down, hands on the counter. His hair — Buck’s hair — looks a little like a halo, with the sun hitting him from behind. 

Without looking at him, Eddie expels a loud breath. 

“H-hey.” 

“Can you just give me a minute?” Eddie begs, gripping the counter. 

“I will,” Buck assures him. “I just—” 

“Buck,” Eddie’s nostrils flare, lifting his head to meet his gaze. “I get that we need to fix this, and I get that I’m a part of this, but I need a minute. Sixty seconds of silence. Fucking please.” 

“Do you want me to leave?” 

Eddie averts his gaze. “I didn’t say that.” 

Buck hesitates. “I can, if you want me to.” 

“I don’t,” Eddie says. “But if you want—” 

“No,” Buck says. “I want to stay.” 

This, for some reason, makes Eddie scoff. “Didn’t seem like it, a couple months ago.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“You moved out,” Eddie says. “Literally—two nights after Chris and I got back from Texas. You left us.” 

“Eddie, what?” Eddie sounds mad about it. Like, actually mad. Or at least hurt. Hurt by Buck doing the thing that was— it was expected of him. To give Eddie his place back. His space. Christopher and Eddie needed to settle in again. To make it their home. Buck was just trying to get out of his hair. He was only there to keep the space warm. It was never his. “Of course I—you needed the space! It was always going to be temporary!” 

Scoffing, Eddie pushes himself off the counter. “Okay. So, what, if you hadn’t found a place in time, you would’ve moved back in with Tommy? Was that the plan? Were you ever going to tell m—” 

“Pause,” Buck rushes to say. 

Eddie freezes. Buck exhales slowly. 

“We are moving,” he decides. 

Eddie looks at him like he’s got two heads. His eyes are so wide. Buck didn’t even know his eyes widened that far. “What?” 

“Come on.” Buck grabs him by the elbow, tugging at him. “Backyard.” 

He starts walking, heading toward the back door. Eyebrows furrowing, Eddie follows him. 

“Why?” 

“We cannot keep fighting in kitchens,” Buck tells him. “I am developing a Pavlovian response to kitchens. I get mad when I’m in kitchens.” 

Shooting him a truly baffled look, Eddie shakes his head. “Okay, Buck. Let’s—” He watches Eddie’s shoulders sag a little, chest expanding around an exhale. “Let’s go outside. Get some fresh air.” 

Once outside, Buck swings his arms back and forth, expelling the tension in his body. 

He clears his throat. "So." 

“So,” Eddie echoes. 

It occurs to Buck that here, outside, they’re using their inside voices. They’ve always been a little backwards like that. 

They lapse into silence, and Buck tries not to look at Eddie. It’s been strange all day, seeing Eddie operating his body, but like this, caught in the setting sun, it’s almost painful. Buck’s always been a terrible liar, but Eddie… he knows how to mask what he’s feeling. And seeing him do that with Buck’s face makes Buck all the more aware of how often Eddie makes the conscious decision to hide. 

“I love this backyard,” Buck says, breaking the silence. 

“Yeah.” Eddie turns his face, staring at a spot on the grass. “Okay.” 

“Why do you sound weird about that?” 

Very mildly, Eddie says, “Your new yard is nice.” 

“It is.” 

“Nicer than mine.” 

Buck falters. “I wouldn’t say that.” 

“You’re the one that picked this one, so.” 

Buck shuffles on his feet nervously. “Do you hate my backyard?” 

It’s a nice backyard. Buck mows the lawn every 1.5 weeks. The hot tub is new and flashy, installed only a year before Buck moved in. There’s a sandbox. Everyone loves sandboxes. He’s been thinking about getting a porch swing. One that he could drink his coffee on and read a book in the early hours of the morning after a jog. Like an old man. 

Maybe Eddie would hate his porch swing, too.

Almost petulantly, and very Chris-like, Eddie shrugs. “Sure.” 

“Sure?” 

“I don’t know, Buck. I don’t know.” 

“Are you…” Buck ducks his head, trying to catch Eddie’s eye. “Eddie. Are you mad at me?” 

Shrugging again, Eddie expertly avoids Buck’s gaze. 

“Are you mad at me for moving out?” Buck clarifies. 

Another shrug. The Diaz boys are going to drive Buck crazy. He’s going to confiscate their shoulders. Some studies say that 93% of communication is nonverbal, communicated through tone and body rather than words. Buck thinks the Diazes, in particular, are working on a 99 to 1 ratio.

“Dude,” Buck says, baffled. “You’re worse than Chris.” 

This prompts Eddie to look up, shooting him a scathing glare. 

“Speak,” Buck requests, a little desperately. 

Tipping his head back, Eddie sighs. His breath leaves his lungs gustily, like he’s expelling more than just air. Then, clenching his fists, he says, “Yes. Okay? I’m mad at you. I hate that you left. Like it was nothing, Buck. Like it was easy.” 

The words hit Buck like a physical blow. Throat tight, he says, “It wasn’t easy.” 

A painful-sounding laugh escapes Eddie. “No?” 

“Eddie, no,” Buck stresses. “I was—Eddie, I had to go. I had to.” 

“Why?” 

Buck presses his hands to his chest. “It was killing me.” 

It’s more honest than he means for it to be. He could’ve just admitted that the home wasn’t his to live in, to have. Or that he was trying to give them space—but the true reason is a lot more selfish than he thought he’d be willing to admit.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s face hardens. “Well, it killed me to watch you go. We were good, Buck. Things were good. And I—I’d been dealing with things. I was going to tell you—and I thought maybe you—” 

Eddie cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, nostrils flaring as he huffs out a breath. “And then you just left. I guess that should’ve cleared things up for me.” 

Buck stares at him, heart hammering. “Cleared what up for you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“Eddie,” Buck says, quietly now. “I didn’t leave because it was easy, I left because—because staying was too hard.” 

Eddie ducks his head the way he always does when he’s trying not to cry, and Buck’s stomach drops. He hates when Eddie cries—or more so, he hates when Eddie only almost cries. When he gets all tense, and wound up, and teary-eyed, but never lets the tears slip out, only lets them gather in his big, brown, devastating eyes. 

Voice hoarse, he says, “Okay, Buck. I get it.” 

Buck has no idea what’s going on right now. He doesn’t know why Eddie looks like Buck’s breaking his heart. 

“Eddie,” he pleads, eyes burning. “Can you look at me? Please.”  

For a long moment, Eddie doesn’t. Then, schooling his face—steeling himself, like he’s… like he’s bracing himself to look at Buck, which in itself is devastating—he meets Buck’s eyes. His expression flickers the moment he does, and Buck’s face crumples. 

“I love you,” Buck says, voice shaking. “Okay? I love you, and I can’t live my life orbiting you if I want—if I want a chance at—at getting married, or having a family.” 

“You have a family.” 

“The 118 is always going to be my family,” Buck agrees, vision blurring. “But I mean… I mean kids. Someone to come home to.” 

Eddie looks wrecked. “So come home.” 

“What?” 

“Come home to me. To our kid. Our house. Our—” 

Our. Our. Our. Each one hits like a bullet through Buck’s skin, searing as it pierces through flesh. It’s not real, he tells himself, it can’t ever be real. Eddie wants Buck to fill the role of live-in best friend, and Buck just … he can’t. Because that’s not what it is for him. He thinks maybe living with the Diaz Boys like they’re a real family, without actually getting to have them, might be the death of him. 

Especially if Eddie— if he gets a boyfriend. Which he could now. And Buck would have to be cool with it. And share a dinner table with the guy. And not hate him. And fuck, Buck would hate him. Buck would hate his guts. The guy could be the best guy in the world. Kind, caring, loving, funny, perfect— and Buck would hate him.

Because he gets to have it. The real thing. He gets to have Eddie, and Chris, and— he gets the happy ever after.

And Buck doesn’t. Buck never does. Buck is never enough. He can never be enough. 

And he had to accept that. Doesn’t Eddie understand how hard that was? How hard it was to pick himself up by his bootstraps, pack up his shit from the only place he’d ever truly felt at home, and head on out like it didn’t kill him? To play good-friend-Buck on his way out, wishing Eddie and Chris luck with settling back in again. In their home.

In the home that can never be his.

“Eddie.” Buck swallows around the burning lump in his throat, voice hitching horribly as he says, “I can’t play house with my best friend for the rest of my life. That’s what I’ve been—” 

“It’s not fucking playing,” Eddie says, voice wobbly. “It’s real. It’s real. To—to me. To me, it’s real.” 

Something in Buck’s chest gives, like an old house on fire finally giving in. He kind of wants to crumple, wants to fall to his knees and cry. 

He doesn’t understand. 

Eddie can’t possibly be saying— 

Breath shuddering out of him, he swipes at his eyes. “You don’t understand.” 

A ragged laugh tears out of Eddie. “You don’t think I do? You think I don’t imagine coming home to you? That I don’t think about kissing you before I go to sleep? That I don’t wonder what kind of suit you’d wear to our—our wedding? What kind of fucking flowers would be in your—” Eddie’s voice stumbles, wet and trembling, “— stupid little intricate boutonniere?” 

“Eddie—” 

“That I don’t imagine you on Christopher’s PTA committee being a goddamn nightmare, waving around a stupid clipboard? That I don’t dream about you old, and grey, holding my fucking hand?” 

“Eddie—” 

“I’ve spent—years, Buck,” Eddie pants, eyes wild. “Years of my life wanting you. I don’t need you to want me in return. I just need you to know. I need you to not act like— like I’m straight, or like I don’t get it. Like it’s not real for me. I need you to know.” 

“I didn’t,” Buck manages, despite the fact that all he feels capable of is squeaking or crumbling into a pile of limbs. “I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me. You never— how was I supposed to know?”

“I—” Eddie looks angry, for a second, but not at him. At himself. “I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s been hard. Why do you think I’ve been so distant? I— I tried, Buck. I really tried. To get over it. To not make this your problem.” 

“Eddie.” It feels like the only word he knows.

“And I can’t go home. I’m in your body. And… and I can’t even— I can’t even get you to see it. To understand. How much I love you. How much I’ve loved you. My whole life, I’ve shoved shit like this down. Buried it. But you…” He shakes his head, scrubbing at his eye. “I couldn't, Buck. I couldn’t. Loving you wasn’t something I could ignore. It was too big. It’s too big.”

Buck, unable to do anything else, bursts into tears. 

Eddie loves him. Eddie loves him so much that he’s planned out their future together. Not something trivial like them moving in together (the step Buck always seems to stumble at), but more than that. Raising a kid together. Getting married. Building a life together. A real future. It’s all real.

Eddie wants it to be real.

It’s so much. Too much. His body trembles as tears flow freely from him, no matter how hard he tries to suck them back in.

At once, Eddie’s face morphs into shock. “Buck—” 

“Sorry,” Buck sobs, covering his face with his hands, embarrassment flooding his cheeks with colour. “S-sorry, just—I need—I’m sorry, Eddie, I don’t know what’s—” 

“Buck,” Eddie says, voice so, so gentle. “Can I—?” 

Buck drops his arms, and Eddie swoops in immediately, enveloping in his warm embrace. He squeezes him, hands splayed wide over Buck’s back. Biting back a sob, Buck sucks in a heaving breath. 

The world is overwhelming, and his whole world, right now, is Eddie. Eddie, who loves him. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, heart beating fast and hard against Buck’s chest.

Buck buries his face in Eddie’s neck. “Don’t. Don’t be sorry for loving me. Please.” 

“I’m not,” Eddie swears. “Never, Buck.” 

For a long moment, neither of them moves. Eddie’s arms don’t slacken once, holding onto Buck like he needs this just as much as Buck does. 

Only when his heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to gallop right out of his chest does Buck pull back, face sticky with tears. With a trembling hand, he cups Eddie’s jaw, eyes flickering between his. 

Voice barely a whisper, he says, “I’m gonna kiss you now.” 

Eddie’s mouth falls open. “What?” 

“I—” Buck blinks. “Is that not okay?” 

Eyes shining with something like relief, Eddie swallows. “I thought you didn’t…” 

“Eddie,” Buck says, rubbing his thumb reverently across the delicate skin beneath Eddie’s eye. “Listen to me. There isn’t a world out there where I don’t love you.” 

Eddie looks sort of like he’s been sucker-punched. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Buck breathes. “Oh.” 

Slipping his hand up to the side of Buck’s neck, Eddie sways forward. Lips ghosting over Buck’s, he says, “Kiss me.” 

Eyes fluttering shut, Buck leans in. 

The moment their lips brush, a warmth unspools in Buck’s chest. It feels like sunshine, like a gentle, warming fire, pulsing through him in waves. 

Tilting his head, Buck presses in closer, a giddiness overtaking him when Eddie’s hand slips into his hair, holding him there. Holding him to himself. 

He makes a soft noise, nose grazing Eddie’s cheek, and then— 

The world tips. He stumbles forward, wondering if he’s having an out-of-body experience, before something inside of him jolts. 

Gasping, he pulls back, blinking rapidly. 

Eddie stares at him, panting and wide-eyed. 

Eddie stares at him. Eddie’s face. Eddie’s— 

“Oh my God,” Buck breathes. “We—how did—” 

A loud, delighted laugh escapes Eddie. God, Buck’s missed looking at Eddie’s face. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs is fucking unbeatable. 

“I don’t know,” Eddie grins, framing Buck’s face with his hands. 

Grinning right back, Buck presses a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, relishing in the mere fact that he’s allowed to do so. 

Pulling back, he says, “True love’s kiss.” 

Cheeks flushing, Eddie arches an eyebrow. “...Are you comparing us to Shrek and Fiona?”

A laugh stutters out of Buck. “That’s who you associate true love’s kiss with?”

“You’re the one who likes that movie, Buck. You love Shrek 2—”

Buck kisses him again. Has to. Drags Eddie in by the short hairs at the back of his head and slots their mouths together, pressing himself close. This angle is better, he thinks, than when he’d been kissing his own mouth. He likes being able to tilt down, just a little, to plant one on him.

Besides, Eddie wears his own face better than Buck ever could.

It takes Buck approximately fifty-three seconds to drag Eddie through the back door and into the house. He walks Eddie backwards, cradling the back of his head when his back hits the wall, lips never leaving his. 

Eddie can’t stop touching him. His hands have a mind of their own, fingers skating down Buck’s back, trailing over the swell of his ass before he grabs him, hauling him closer. It’s as though Eddie’s been possessed—which is an unfortunate comparison, considering his newly re-acquired body. 

“Eddie,” Buck gasps, pulling away with a wet noise. 

Half-lidded eyes on Buck’s wet mouth, Eddie says, “Please.” 

Buck looks at him like he’s some sort of revelation, cheeks flushed, pupils dilating. His chest stutters, and then he’s ducking down again, claiming Eddie’s mouth with his own. 

Eddie melts beneath Buck’s touch, tipping his head back to open his mouth for him, to let Buck in, in, in. He’s been so hungry for this, for Buck—and he can’t fathom that this is actually happening. Buck is kissing him, Buck wants him, Buck—Buck loves him. He loves him back. 

Making a small, unabashedly horny noise, Eddie slips his hands around to cup Buck’s pecs. Above him, Buck shudders, fingers tightening around Eddie’s shirt. He licks into Eddie’s mouth as he presses closer, and Eddie inhales sharply, a bolt of arousal flaring bright in his gut. 

Unable to resist, Eddie bites into Buck’s plush bottom lip, tugging until Buck moans, shaky and overwhelmed. The noise goes straight to Eddie’s gut, making his head spin. 

He wants this. He wants Buck so, so bad. All of him. His hands, and his mouth, his thighs, and his—his cock. 

Nudging him, Eddie pulls away from him, wrapping his hand around his elbow. Buck blinks at him, rosy-cheeked and confused, and Eddie feels his heart grow three sizes. 

“Bed,” Eddie pants, and Buck’s hand spasms around his waist. 

“Bed,” Buck rasps. 

It takes them almost two entire minutes to make it down the hall and into the bedroom. Eddie just—he can’t help himself. He keeps pushing Buck up against the wall, kissing him until Buck makes another delicious, low, desperate noise. Eddie wants to wreck him. Eddie wants to pull Buck apart at the seams, needs to see him come undone.

Once there, Eddie lets Buck shove him up against the wall again — Eddie did not know he had such a thing for walls until now — and goes loose and pliable, legs spreading instinctively to make space for him. 

Hands trembling with anticipation, Eddie tugs his shirt over his head, launching it somewhere to his left. Buck stares at him, pole-axed, for a moment, before scrambling to do the same. 

Eddie, for a solid three seconds, wonders if Buck would let him fuck his tits sometime. His chest is plush, and round, and packed with muscle. Then, he remembers how to be a person and not just an ogling perv and reluctantly drags his eyes away.

Buck meets him there, grinning bright and boyish. Eddie wants him so bad he feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Can I…?” Buck hesitates, fingertips grazing Eddie’s jeans. 

Embarrassingly, Eddie’s cock twitches. Noticeably. “Go for it.” 

Unbuttoning jeans shouldn’t be as sexy as this, Eddie thinks faintly. But, fuck—Buck pulls it off. Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from his hands as they work the zipper down, as they slip past the waistband and slip his jeans down. Mouth hanging open, Eddie toes off his shoes and steps out of them, bracing himself on Buck’s strong, capable shoulders. He doesn’t miss a beat once they’re off, hands scrambling to Buck’s sweatpants, eyes flying up to find Buck’s. 

Dazed, Buck nods. 

If taking someone else’s sweatpants off were an Olympic sport, Eddie would win gold. He does it with precision, speed, and grace. He pauses, too, just long enough for Buck to kick his shoes off, before he resumes his Olympic-level tugging. Buck is left gaping like a horny fish when Eddie tosses them across the room haphazardly. They knock into the curtains a little roughly. It’s fine. Eddie hates those curtains.

It’s sort of bizarre, standing in your best friend’s bedroom in only your underwear, visibly hard and wanting. But Buck’s right here with him, cock jutting, pulling the fabric of his underwear tight. Eddie’s mouth pools with saliva, gaze slipping back up to Buck’s. 

“Fuck, Eddie,” Buck breathes, capturing his mouth in another kiss. 

But Buck doesn’t kiss him with the same feverish intensity, instead slowing down, taking his time to peck the corner of his mouth once, twice, thrice. His head drifts lower after that, laving his tongue over Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie bares his throat, unable to keep a soft, embarrassing whimper from slipping out. Buck’s hips twitch, teeth sinking into Eddie’s skin before he sucks.  

Head knocking into the wall behind him, Eddie groans, guttural, animal, and desperate. 

Buck’s hands, that’ve been sliding over Eddie’s waist, suddenly come to a pause. Buck pulls back from where he’d been worrying deep marks into Eddie’s throat, looking— hesitant.

Hand cradling Buck’s cheek, Eddie leans in, nudging their noses together. “What’s up?”

Buck knocks their foreheads together, inhaling deeply. “I just— maybe we should slow down.”

Eddie blinks. He does not want to slow down. Did he— is he rushing Buck into this? Is Buck not ready?

“What?” Eddie asks, then gentles his voice, smoothing his thumb over Buck’s cheekbone. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.” Buck’s eyes flutter closed, expression loosening a little under the soothing tracing of shapes against his cheek. “Just— we don’t need to do this. Now.” 

“You don’t want to?” Eddie asks lightly. It’s okay if Buck wants to stop. Eddie won’t feel disappointed, even if he will have to take a minute to cool himself down, or maybe take a chilling shower to will his boner back into submission—he’ll still get to kiss Buck, and maybe curl up with him, and have the kind of gentle intimacy he hasn’t had in a long time. He feels giddy at the thought. The sex, the kissing, the cuddling—it all has equal appeal to Eddie. It’s Buck he gets to do it with. He’s excited. Thrilled. He kisses the corner of Buck’s mouth, letting his own eyes fall closed. “We don’t have to. If you don’t want.”

Buck’s hands squeeze Eddie’s waist, prompting Eddie’s eyes back open. Worried blue finds him once he does, bearing into his own. “Eddie, it’s your first time.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow, leaning back an inch. “Buck, I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not a virgin. I mean, I’ve got a kid.”

Rolling his eyes, Buck huffs. “Your first time with a man.”

“Okay?”

“It should be special,” he insists, smoothing his thumb over Eddie’s side. Eddie, involuntarily, shivers. He recovers quickly, ignoring the pulsing ache between his thighs.

“You’re special,” Eddie tells him, meeting his eyes meaningfully, holding his stare with just as much intensity. “It’s special because it’s you.”

Despite himself, Buck flushes, his cheeks turning splotchy and pink. God. Eddie wants to bite him. Wants to sink his teeth into the apples of Buck’s cheeks and just chew a little. Buck would let him, he thinks.

Sighing, Buck says, “Eddie, you know what I mean.”

“Do you not want to have sex?” Eddie asks plainly. 

“N-No, I do– I do.” Buck pauses. Inhales. Exhales. Steadying himself. “I do.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, voice dropping low. He slides a hand down from Buck’s cheek, down the line of his sternum, across the plains of his fuzzy, perfect stomach until his fingers can tuck into the waistband of Buck’s briefs. He doesn’t go lower, though. Just keeps them there, toying with the elastic of his underwear, sliding them back and forth, the back of his fingers teasing against Buck’s skin. “What do you want?”

Buck answers eloquently with a pitiful little whine. 

Eddie bites down around a smile. “C’mon, bud. You’re the one with the experience. Tell me what you want.”

Flushed, Buck turns and ducks his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck, mouthing greedily at the skin. He’s hiding, Eddie thinks, but that’s okay. Eddie will let him. For now. He drags his fingers out from Buck’s briefs, trailing his thumb back and forth through Buck’s happy trail as Buck sucks a mark into his neck, only a few inches lower than the last one he’d left.

Finally, still tucked between jaw and shoulder blade, Buck separates from Eddie’s skin enough to mumble, “I wanna fuck you.”

Arousal licks a molten line along Eddie’s spine, setting his body alight. 

“Okay,” Eddie breathes out.

Buck extracts himself from Eddie’s neck, looking at him with unsure, bright eyes. “U-Unless you don’t— we don’t have to go that far. I can suck you off. O-Or we can, um. Frot. Frotting is good. Or—”

Eddie kisses the words out of Buck’s mouth. He licks at the seam of his mouth, gaining entrance easily, then slips his tongue right in. It’s a sloppy kiss, wet and noisy, and Eddie revels in it. Revels in the way it makes Buck shiver and pant, surrendering to the moment as easily as Eddie. 

Breaking the kiss, Eddie pants, “Fuck me. You’re gonna fuck me.”

Buck groans, nodding, but doesn’t move. Just keeps panting heavily, hands frozen at Eddie’s waist.

“C’mon, big boy,” Eddie urges. “If you want it to be special, make it special. Give me the full Evan Buckley experience.”

Buck’s hand catches Eddie’s wrist, pulling his hand out of the space between them and presses in, their bodies flush. He traces a short line on the sensitive skin of Eddie’s inner wrist with his thumb, catching Eddie’s eyes again. “Eddie, I don’t think you can handle the full Evan Buckley experience.”

He can’t.

He absolutely can’t.

Still, confidently, Eddie grinds his hips forward, letting their hard cocks brush together through the thin layers of fabric. “Try me.”

Eddie, suddenly, is in the air.  

Well. He’s in Buck’s arms. Buck has swooped down and grabbed Eddie by the back of his thighs, picking him up and pressing him firm against the wall. Fuck. Eddie loves walls. He hates this house, but he loves these walls. 

Eddie did not know Buck could lift his entire body weight. Perhaps he should’ve expected as much—considering their line of work—but his cock isn’t really thinking about firefighting right now. It’s just throbbing. 

Currently, throbbing right against Buck’s hard stomach. Eddie rolls his hips, letting himself shamelessly gain some friction against it. Buck squeezes the back of his thighs, thumbs digging into the muscle. Eddie’s hips stutter, eyes falling closed.

“No, no,” Buck murmurs, voice sweet and low, “open up. I wanna see you.”

Eddie, apparently very easily coaxed, peels his eyes back open. Buck is there, beautiful and looking mighty smug at sending Eddie breathless and speechless all in one move. 

Eddie cannot let this stand. He grabs a hold of Buck’s curls, pulling Buck into him till their mouths brush. “You gonna fuck me against the wall, baby? Or is this just for fun?”

Fingers flexing against Eddie’s skin, Buck exhales raggedly. “I could, you know,” he whispers. “I could slide my cock into you just like this. Fuck up into you till you’re shaking. It’d be easy. You’re not heavy.”

“I’m heavy,” Eddie breathes out, fighting for his damn life against the image of that as it slides into his brain, slotting in like a DVD and playing the scene out in real time in his head. 

“Nah,” Buck mumbles, brushing their lips together. “You’re not.”

Traitorously, Eddie’s cock twitches. Buck’s attitude, unfortunately, does it for him. Always has. 

“Buck.” Eddie tilts his head, brushing his lips against his jaw. “C’mon. Please.”

Buck’s body presses him tighter against the wall; the movement almost seems involuntary. 

“Please, what?” Buck asks, voice gravel-rough.

“Fuck me.” Eddie feels his cheeks heat with colour, the warmth spreading all the way to the tips of his ears and then down to the back of his neck. “Want you to make love to me, sweetheart.”

It’s cheesy, maybe. But Eddie means it. He knows Buck has had a lot of meaningless sex—pleasure chasing, intimacy seeking, still good sex—but meaningless emotionally. He knows that’s not what Buck wants, though. Not what he craves. He knows that what Buck wants is to be wanted, to be loved, and to get to love in return.

He wants Buck to fuck him stupid, to show him the full Evan Buckley experience—but he just wants Buck, too. Wants his best friend to kiss him, touch him, and make him feel good. And in return, he wants to do the same, till Buck is shaking, and whimpering, and moaning Eddie’s name right into the wet heat of his mouth.

“Eddie,” Buck exhales, sounding beyond wrecked suddenly. “Y-You can’t just say that. Jesus Christ.”

“Why not?” Eddie pants. “I mean it. I love you.” The words are mumbled right against the stubbly line of Buck’s jaw, punctuated with a sweet, lingering, closed-mouth kiss.

Buck’s hands, holding Eddie up, suddenly falter. Yelping, Eddie clutches his shoulders, wrapping his legs tight around Buck’s waist. Buck catches him easily, one hand on his ass, one hand on his thigh, pushing his back firm against the wall. “S-sorry. Fuck. Sorry.”

Eddie presses his face into Buck’s neck, breathing unsteadily, and giggles. He giggles. He doesn’t think he’s giggled before in his entire life. “Maybe you should put me down, bud.”

“Hey, I-I can—” Buck gropes Eddie’s ass tighter. Which is proof of something, sure, but Eddie’s not quite sure what. He’s certainly not complaining, though. “I’ve got you.”

Pulling back, Eddie nods softly. “I know. But I wanna get on a bed. And get your underwear off. I wanna look at your dick now that it’s not attached to me.”

Buck kisses him once more, chastely. He whispers, “Our lives are kind of insane, Eddie.” 

Eddie laughs, nudging his nose against Buck’s. “I know.” 

Finally, gently, Eddie is placed back on the floor. He will be bringing the wall sex up another time. He’s put a mental pin in it. 

Nudging Buck backward toward the bed, Eddie kisses him, slow and sweet. He melts into the taste of Buck’s tongue, of the feeling of their lips slotting together wetly. Then, once Buck’s knees hit the edge of the mattress, Eddie breaks it, dropping down to his knees.

Buck looks down at him, bewildered. “Um, h-hi?”

Eddie makes direct eye contact with the, frankly obscenely large, wet patch on the front of Buck’s underwear. To the patch, he murmurs, “Hey.”

Beneath Eddie’s gaze, it kicks. 

“A-Are you talking to my dick or me?”

Eddie leans forward and kisses open-mouthed over the weeping head of Buck’s cock, sucking at the wetness of the fabric. Buck’s hand flies to his head, hips grinding forward in an involuntary roll as he whimpers. 

Fingers trembling, Buck slides his fingers into Eddie’s hair, tugging him back. “Eddie, as much as I want you to suck me off, if-if you touch my dick with your tongue, I am going to come. And I really, really wanna get in you.”

“Presumptuous,” Eddie says, eyes lifting upward. “I was just kissing your dick. We only became acquainted today.”

“Yeah, well, he’s a little too– friendly.”

“You saying you’re a quick shot?” Eddie’s lips tug up into a cheeky grin.

“I’m saying I’m having sex with the hottest guy I’ve seen in my entire life, who also happens to be the love of my life, and– and I’m a little worked up. A-And sensitive.” He tugs roughly at the roots of Eddie’s hair. It stings. The pain melts into pleasure as it zaps down Eddie’s spine. “Asshole.”

Tilting forward and kissing Buck’s bare thigh, Eddie mumbles, “I’m sorry. I’ll be nice.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Buck says. “I like that you’re kind of a dick.”

Eddie pauses. Pulls back. “You think I’m kind of a dick?”

“No, I think you’re a dick. I was just being nice.” Buck drags his hand to the side of Eddie’s face, tracing over his bottom lip. “But only ‘cause you look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Eddie blushes harder, fingers twitching by his side. “Shut up.”

Buck’s thumb pauses on his bottom lip. “You like that?”

Somehow flushing even darker, Eddie repeats, “Shut up.”

“No, no, you like it,” Buck says, grinning. “You like being pretty for me. You’re so pink right now, Eds.”

Breath catching in his chest, Eddie lifts a hand, dipping his fingers beneath Buck’s waistband and pulling his underwear down slowly. Buck’s pupils blow as his cock snaps free, grazing against Eddie’s cheek. 

With a loose hand, Buck grabs his cock, replacing his thumb on Eddie’s bottom lip with the tip of his wet, flushed dick. Eddie lets him. Lets Buck paint the pink of his lips with his pre, darting his tongue out to clean it up before licking through the slit. 

“Fuck,” Buck exhales. “So pretty.”

Eddie opens his mouth, driven by instinct, ready to take Buck past his lips, but Buck doesn’t let him. Instead, grabs him by the hair and holds him in place as he taps his cock against the side of Eddie’s face. It’s embarrassing. It’s filthy. It’s so hot that Eddie feels all the remaining blood in his body rush south at once.

“Drag ‘em lower for me?” Buck says gently. “Wanna be naked for you.”

Testingly, Eddie tries to tilt forward toward Buck’s cock, but Buck’s grip is iron-firm in his hair, pinning him in place. His scalp burns sharply, his mouth open in a pant.

“Come on, Eddie. I’m– I promise you can suck my dick later. Later tonight, even.” His grip loosens, just slightly. “Didn’t know you’d be so needy for it.” 

Embarrassment and shame curl in his gut. He expects to feel queasy, but instead, he just feels hot all over. Finally, he pulls Buck’s underwear down to his ankles, wordlessly helping him ease them off each foot. Buck tucks a knuckle under his chin, making a little upward nodding motion with his own head. Slowly, Eddie rises to his feet, flushed, quiet, and feeling— wrecked. Breathless.

Buck drops onto the bed. Eddie goes to follow after him, but Buck halts him with a hand at his hip. 

“Take ‘em off, Eddie,” Buck urges. “Please?

“You gonna make me do all the work?”

“No,” Buck says, grinning. “Just wanna see you strip for me.”

Cheeks pink, Eddie rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh.”

Buck presses his hands into the sheets behind himself, leaning back a little and drinking in the sight of Eddie in front of him.

And, well, Eddie’s always been a little bit of a performer. He steps back, dragging a hand down his torso, fingers dragging through the hard lines of his abdomen. Buck watches, rapt, looking a lot less cocky now.

Eddie hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, dragging them down slow, letting the elastic drag over his cock, exposing it inch by inch.

Buck swallows. Audibly.

“You look like you wanna eat me,” Eddie says.

Buck’s eyes slide up, lingering at Eddie’s mouth. “I—” He blinks. “I think I’m dead. I think I’m dead and this is heaven.”

Laughing, Eddie shakes his head. “It’s dick, Buck. It’s a normal dick.” 

He lets it snap out, then, slapping against his stomach. Hard, wet at the tip and curving a little to the right. Buck makes direct eye contact with the head, licking his lips. Eddie fists himself loosely, once, twice, then lets go. 

He’s never— look, there’s probably a lot of things he’s never done sexually. He’s never been particularly adventurous, which makes sense considering the catholic guilt and latent homosexuality. But he’s certainly never stripped for someone before. Never felt this desired, either. Buck really does look like he wants to eat Eddie alive. Looks like he might actually do it, too.

Eddie leans down, dragging the underwear over his legs, turning to the side a little.

“Fuuuuck,” Buck breathes out slowly.

Eddie blinks, turns his head and raises a brow, underwear half-hooked around one of his feet. “What?”

“Your ass—” Buck exhales harshly. “Jesus Christ, Eddie. Haunts my fucking dreams.”

“You calling my ass nightmare material?” 

Eddie finishes pulling his underwear off, stepping in close. 

“No, I’m saying this is the best ass I’ve ever seen.” Buck pinches his hip, then drags Eddie directly into his lap. Eddie’s never sat in anyones lap before. Especially naked. It feels– it feels like it should feel more vulnerable than it does. It’s just– it’s Buck. Everything feels exposing but not… not in a bad way, with him. It just feels comfortable, and hot, and fun.

Buck settles his hands on Eddie’s hips and asks, “Can I eat you out?”

Eddie’s whole body flushes with warmth. “Jesus Christ, Buck.”

“You wanted the full experience.” Grazing his lips over Eddie’s cheekbone, Buck lowers his voice to say, “Full experience is pulling you apart with my mouth, getting you nice and loose ‘n wet for me.”

Shivering, Eddie nuzzles closer. “I’m not one of your girls, Buck.”

“No, you’re my—” Buck hesitates. “Um.”

Stomach swooping, Eddie smiles, pulling away to look Buck in the eye. “Your boyfriend, bud.”

Eddie’s never had a boyfriend before, he realises, filled with joy. He has a boyfriend now. Buck is his boyfriend. His first, last and only.

Buck laughs breathlessly, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. 

“Yeah?” Eddie grins. 

“Yeah,” Buck exhales. His hands squeeze Eddie’s hips. “Fuck. Please. Please let me eat you out.”

“Jesus. Yeah– yes. Okay. I might not– like it.”

“Then we switch gears,” Buck says easily, stroking the length of Eddie’s thigh. “Whatever you want. Whatever makes you feel good. Just talk to me.” 

With Buck’s hands guiding him into place, Eddie ends up against the sheets, head surrounded by Buck’s collection of one million pillows as Buck settles betwixt his thighs.

“Yeah.” Eddie wets his lips, letting his legs fall open entirely. “Yeah, okay.” 

It’s a sight to behold, having Buck between his legs. Watching his tongue dart as he ducks low, breath ghosting over his cock. 

“Beautiful,” Buck murmurs, planting a soft kiss to his inner thigh. 

“Nngh,” says Eddie. 

His stomach swoops the moment Buck’s lips brush over him, hot tongue darting out to lick over his rim, and— 

Fuck. 

Eddie’s never felt this exposed before. He has to focus to keep his breathing even, gaze locked on the top of Buck’s head as he nudges forward, opening his mouth to lick over him again, hand reaching around Eddie’s thigh to guide a fist over Eddie’s cock. 

Twitching, Eddie releases a sharp breath. Tentatively, he slips his hand into Buck’s hair, petting him. 

Making a soft noise, Buck pushes even closer, licking firmly over Eddie’s hole, the tip of his tongue pressing against the tight ring of muscle until it gives. 

Eddie locks up, mouth falling open around a heaving gasp. Buck’s tongue is inside of him, and then he pulls it out, before pushing it back in again, lips sealed around his skin like he likes this, like he likes the taste of him. 

It’s like he’s making out with him. Like he’s making out with Eddie’s hole. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie gasps. “Holy fucking shit, Buck. What—what the fuck.” 

Buck pulls back, face ruddy. He pants, “Good?” 

“Don’t stop,” Eddie begs. 

Grinning like he’s won the lottery, Buck ducks back down and licks a broad stripe of Eddie’s hole. His tongue is so wet, and warm, and teasing, and Eddie’s fucking—sensitive. Jesus Christ, he didn’t know he was so sensitive. All his nerves are sparking like cut live wires. 

Buck’s tongue, exploratory, dips into him again, right past the furled muscle of his rim.

Eddie keens, fingers tugging at the sheets as he groans. 

Buck moans into it, the noise rumbling through Eddie like thunder. 

It stokes the heat in Eddie’s gut, cock blurting pre-come. He didn’t know he’d find this so—so hot. Didn’t know it could feel like this, that Buck’s arousal, Buck’s want, would feel like his own. 

“Buck,” Eddie manages, head fuzzy. He bites his lip, choking back a noise as his hips jerk up, urging Buck closer. 

Moaning approvingly, Buck squeezes Eddie’s dick again, thumbing over the wet head blindly. 

“Buck. Holy shit, don’t stop, don’t—” 

His orgasm slams into him out of nowhere. Arching off the bed, Eddie moans, high and tight. He gasps with it, eyebrows furrowing as he paints his stomach white, hand tightening in Buck’s hair. 

Buck whimpers, nose crushed into Eddie’s skin as he licks into him, tongue breaching him once more. 

“Fuck.” Eddie tugs Buck away from him, hit by another bolt of arousal at the fucked-out look on Buck’s face. 

Blinking blearily, lazy grin on his face, Buck rasps, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie stresses, leaning back on his elbows. 

“You need a minute?” Buck asks, breath ragged. “I—I can get you some water.” 

Eddie levels him with his best scolding are-you-joking face. Post-orgasm, it’s probably not very good. “You promised me the full Evan Buckley experience.” 

Ducking his head, Buck flushes. “Y-yeah, but if you need—” 

“Buck.” Eddie’s eyes flicker to Buck’s hard, leaking cock, before meeting his gaze again. His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek as he remembers the taste of it. “Fuck me.” 

“Okay.” Buck grins, boyish and disbelieving all at once. His fingers drift to Eddie’s come-covered stomach, hesitating only for a moment before he swipes his thumb through the mess and brings it to his mouth. He sucks the come off of his thumb, eyes fluttering shut, and Eddie groans like he’s in pain. Because he is. Death by arousal—post-orgasm, no less. What a way to go. 

It’s a little bit like watching an artist work, bearing witness to Buck slick his fingers up with lube before slipping his hand between Eddie’s legs. He’s so focused, eyes flickering between Eddie’s hole and Eddie’s eyes as he works one, two, three fingers into him, curling them until Eddie jolts. Victoriously, Buck grins, stroking over the bundle of nerves, and Eddie holds his breath, caught between telling him to please never stop and pulling away from the sensation, over-sensitive as he is. 

He relaxes into it after a minute, letting Buck finger him at his own pace. He steers away from Eddie’s prostate, stomach clenching when he notices Eddie’s dick twitching. 

“Still—” Buck swallows, hand stilling. “Still want me to fuck you?” 

“Yes,” Eddie says. He’s still in disbelief that he got hard again. He hasn’t done that since he was in his early twenties. 

Shuffling forward, Buck leans closer to kiss him again. It was probably meant to be just one kiss, something brief, but Eddie reels him in with a hand at his elbow. Buck sighs against him, dick hot and hard on Eddie’s stomach. 

Inhaling through his nose, Buck grinds down, cock slipping through the come on Eddie’s stomach. Eddie full-body flushes, head spinning with it. 

He disconnects from Buck’s mouth, arching closer. 

“Come on,” he demands, pleads, begs. He tugs him closer by his shoulder. “Don’t make me beg, Buckley.” 

Buck falters. “I need— they’re in the—” He blinks, pressing into Eddie’s hands. “I could… do you want me to—”

Eddie has no idea what he’s talking about. His head is fuzzy and overwhelmed — his body still not fully recovered from coming his brains out. Unfortunately for Buck’s very cute stammering sentences, Eddie’s gonna need a coherent one.

“Buck,” Eddie says, squeezing the flesh beneath his hand. “English.”

Breath stuttering, Buck opens and closes his mouth. Then, impressively steady, “Can I fuck you bare?”

Eddie’s cock twitches against his stomach, still mostly soft but putting in the effort to get back in the game, apparently. Eddie swallows thickly, nodding dumbly. “Yeah.”

It’s medically unadvisable. Eddie knows that. Eddie’s a paramedic. Eddie’s had unsafe sex exactly one time in his life, and got himself a child out of it. But it’s not like Buck’s going to knock him up. Probably. If anyone could do it, it’d probably be Buck.

“I’m clean,” Buck assures him, cheeks pink. “I just– I want to feel it. Wanna feel you.” 

“You wanna come in me?” 

Buck wets his lips, pupils blowing wide. Nods. “Please.”

“I’m clean,” Eddie exhales. “I’m good.”

“I’ve never—before,” Buck says. “Without a condom.” 

Fuck. That— that really does something for Eddie. He’s not a particularly jealous person, but he’s coming to realise he’s a pretty possessive one. He gets to have this, to have him, in a way no one else ever has— and no one else ever will. 

“Good.”

Buck grins down at him, pleased. “Yeah? You like being my first?”

Eddie drags him down till their noses touch. “I like being your last.”

Something unreadable flits across Buck’s expression, Eddie does not have time to examine it, because Buck is guiding Eddie’s legs further apart, hooking them around his body and lining his cock up with Eddie’s hole.

Buck holds his gaze for a second, a silent question.

Eddie nods.

And then, nudging his hips gently forward, Buck sinks into him. Eddie’s eyes almost roll back, overwhelmed and trembling with it, with how big he is. He can feel how hard Buck is, too—weeping head buried inside of Eddie, slicking up the way for the rest of him. 

“Move,” Eddie begs, digging his heels into the back of Buck’s thighs. 

“W-wait. Just—hold on.” Buck holds himself ramrod-still, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Buck.” Eddie cups the back of his neck. “I’m good. Fuck. I’m so good. Got me– got me nice and ready for you. I promise I’m good.”

“Eddie, it’s not– not you I’m worried about.”

“Oh.” Eddie glances down between them, eyeing Buck’s flexed core. “You close?”

Buck nods with a wince, eyes fluttering open. “Sorry.”

“No. No, it‘s hot,” assures him, his own cock swelling against his stomach. “I can feel it, you know. How hard you are. I can feel you twitching. Can feel everything. You’re so fucking— big.”

Buck’s hips stutter. “E-Eddie—”

Eddie’s head drops back. Even just the slight shift of movement is so, so good. Eddie’s body is loose from his orgasm still, lax with pleasure. “So fucking full. Jesus. You feel so–”

Buck’s hand flies to cover Eddie’s mouth. 

“I will come,” Buck tells him, like that’s supposed to be unappealing. “S-seriously.” 

Snorting, Eddie licks his hand. Buck pulls it away, catching himself on an elbow. He slips in another inch, face slackening in pleasure. 

“You taste like clay,” Eddie says breathlessly, shit-eating grin on his face.

Buck rolls his hips once, very slowly. Breathlessly, he says, “Do I?”

“No.” Arousal pooling in his gut, Eddie does his best to maintain the grin on his face. “You taste like come.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“My come,” Eddie says, brushing his lips against Buck’s. 

Buck whimpers. “Fuck, Eddie.” 

“That’s what I’m gunning for here,” Eddie says. Then, nipping at Buck’s lip, he murmurs, “I’m so fucking horny.” 

“Fuck,” Buck says again, with feeling, as he pulls out halfway before pushing back into Eddie. “Did—did you know the word horny originated in the 18th—late 18th century? Instead of saying they had an erection, they would s-say they had the horn. But the phrase—the phrase to have the horn was used already in the—the 1700s.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie moans. 

“Yeah,” Buck chokes out, grabbing Eddie’s waist as he fucks into him harder, faster. “Y-yeah, it—fuck, it was.” 

Buck shifts, changing the angle, and Eddie forgets all about how arousing etymology can be. 

Like this, lying between Eddie’s legs, Buck’s face is a marvel. Pink and focused, mouth parted as he works up a steady rhythm, tensing each time he slips back into Eddie. 

He gets it, now. Buck is fucking good at this. All that bragging over the years, all the sly remarks—they were earned. His hips move fluidly, fucking Eddie hard now without making it hurt, grazing his prostate often enough to drive him crazy. 

Groaning, Buck’s face drops into the crook of Eddie’s neck, mouthing at him, sucking his skin between his teeth. It stings, and Eddie revels in it. He hopes Buck marks him up, hopes it’s clear to anyone who sees him who he belongs to. 

Fucking Eddie hard enough to jolt him up the mattress, Buck slips his hand into Eddie’s, pressing it into the soft duvet. Fumbling, Eddie finds Buck’s other hand, too, urging him to press both of his hands down. To hold him down, to claim him. 

They’re panting into each other’s mouths, eyes barely open. The room is loud with the sound of their bodies colliding, skin on skin, grunts and moans punched out of them. 

“Good?” Buck slurs, thrusts quick but shallow now. 

“So good,” Eddie says, grinning deliriously. “So fuckin’ good, mi tesoro. You’re so good. Make me feel so go—fuck.” Eddie’s thighs are trembling, the muscles fluttering. ”I need—” 

Eddie tries to extricate his hand from Buck’s, but Buck reads his mind. Squeezing Eddie’s wrist, Buck slips his hand between Eddie’s legs, wrapping his fingers around his thick, pulsing cock. Eddie throws his head back against the plush pillows, throat bared as Buck fucks into him steadily, tempo even.

Buck’s hand fists over his cock, squeezing over the tip. Despite his strength mostly zapped, Eddie manages to pry his eyes open and lift his head, watching as Buck tilts a little, eyes focused where their bodies meet or— fuck. It’s higher. He’s watching his hand work over Eddie’s dick, teasing at the slit, his hips grinding in easy circles and filling Eddie up while he watches himself work Eddie’s cock.

Eddie’s dick blurts pre-come, spilling over Buck’s fingertips. Buck bites his bottom lip, cock flexing inside Eddie. 

It’s—dizzying, seeing just how affected Buck is by Eddie’s body, by his pleasure, by him. Buck tightens his grip on the upstroke of his hand, the next thrust just a little sharper, and Eddie’s done for. His spine arches, curving impossibly as he comes a second time (something he’s never done in his entire life) all over his stomach, chest and Buck’s pale fingers. 

“Buck,” Eddie sobs. He sobs out Buck’s name, tears pricking in his eyes as his oversensitive dick pulses over and over within Buck’s grip as he fucks him through his orgasm.

Ungracefully, he collapses against the bed, gasping for breath, trembling full-bodied. Buck curves over him, body so close Eddie can feel the heat of it radiating off of him. 

“So fucking hot, Eddie,” Buck whispers, voice thin. “Can I—”

Buck cuts his own sentence off, hips speeding up as he grinds desperately into Eddie’s body, chasing his own pleasure from Eddie’s spent form. Eddie lifts his hand (and is frankly impressed he still is able to) and pulls Buck close, so close he can feel the hot puff of Buck’s breath. “Please,” he manages.

Buck drops his head, forehead knocking against Eddie’s nose, a ragged moan slipping past his swollen lips. “I’m so close, I’m so—” 

“C’mon,” Eddie whispers. “Come for me.”

Buck’s whole body tenses, the fibres of his muscles all pulling taut at once as he rocks forward, fucking so deep into Eddie that he swears he can feel it all the way in his throat. Buck nods, slightly headbutting Eddie, but Eddie can forgive him for it. 

“Gonna– gonna come for you. E-Eddie, go–gonna—” Buck leans his forehead to Eddie’s cheek, whining high and long. Eddie can’t do anything but take it, body clenching and baring down as Buck fills him. 

Buck’s cock hardens inside Eddie, burrowing itself inside over, and over, and over till– 

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Buck gasps, pressing almost painfully against the side of Eddie’s face. “I love you, E-Eddie, I love you, I—”

In hot pulses, Buck comes inside him. It feels like he spills endlessly, pressed all the way inside, filling Eddie entirely. It’s like nothing he’s ever experienced before. The feeling is hot— dirty and gross in a way that makes his cock twitch with interest, a little pathetically, because of how spent it is, but it’s also— intimate. It’s bare, and raw, and the only time Buck’s ever come inside someone.

It’s the only time someone’s ever come in him.

It's just for them. 

Buck collapses on top of him, still inside, his whole body trembling. Eddie wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Love you. Fuck. You’re so good.”

With a quiet whimper, Buck lets himself slip out of Eddie’s body. Collapsing to the side, pulling Eddie in with him. 

“Shower,” Buck mumbles, chest still heaving. 

“Later,” Eddie tells him gently, stroking his back. 

It’s been a hell of a day. For both of them. Neither of them have ever been particularly good at handling big, emotional moments. They never used to talk about it, not really. Something would happen, and Buck would end up on Eddie’s couch, and they’d have a beer about it. That’s it. Rinse and repeat. 

But this time—this time, fate forced a break in routine. Waking up in one another’s bodies didn’t get them here; talking did. Communicating, as much as Eddie hates to say it, did. 

Honestly, Eddie might never stop talking again. He’s got a boyfriend. Evan Buckley is his boyfriend, who he gets to raise a kid with, and work with, and have sex with. Who he gets to come home to. Who he gets to come home with. 

Skin abuzz with pleasure, Eddie turns his face into Buck’s neck. 

“We have to do that again,” Eddie says. 

Buck laughs. “Yeah?” 

“One million times,” Eddie says. He’s serious, too. They’re going to have to factor sex into their schedule from now on. He thinks, on their days off work, that the best time for it might be in the morning. They’ll have to set alarms. 

And maybe evenings too, actually. Once they’re sure Christopher’s asleep. 

Oh, and he needs to ask Buck to move back in with him. Or—or maybe he and Chris can come live with Buck. The house is certainly big enough, and if—if in the future, they decided to have another kid—well. They’d have to move into an even bigger house anyway. 

“By the way,” Buck exhales, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s knuckles. “I’d wear a black suit, I think.” 

“Huh?” 

“To our wedding,” Buck explains. “I like the traditional look.” 

Overwhelmed, Eddie buries his face in Buck’s neck, pressing feverish kisses to his skin. 

“God,” he breathes, chest lighter than it’s ever been. “I’m gonna marry the hell out of you, Evan Buckley.” 

“Right back at you, Eddie Diaz,” Buck says, smile in his voice. 

Snuggling closer, Eddie closes his eyes. 

“Hey,” Buck whispers into the dark. “Can I take your name?” 

“‘Course.” Eddie kisses his pulsepoint, breathing him in. “Or we could hyphenate.” 

“Buckley-Diaz?” Buck says, slowly, like he’s tasting the words. Then, abruptly, he says, “Dude. Chim’s been calling us that for years.” 

Eddie’s eyes fly open. “Motherfucker.” 

Cackling, Buck tugs him even closer, slotting his leg between Eddie’s. 

“Guess we—” Buck giggles, “Guess we were the last to know.” 

Groaning, Eddie grumbles, “Only took us being inside of each other to figure it out.” 

Buck gasps around another laugh. “Eddie—that was—that was so bad.” 

“It was good,” Eddie defends, but he can’t stop his mouth from tugging up into a grin. He nuzzles into Buck’s neck, body shaking with Buck’s laughter. 

Love, he thinks, is never cowardly to choose. This might very well be the bravest thing he’s ever done. The best thing he’s ever chosen. 

“Love you,” he mumbles. 

“Love you too,” Buck says immediately, his rumbling voice a balm to Eddie's very soul. 

Thank you, he thinks. He may not believe in the Universe, but if something, anything, is out there, he's grateful. He'll always be grateful for Buck.