Archive of Our Own

It's not Simone's fault.

She's funny, and pretty, and a great conversationalist. Buck loves her green cat eyes specifically. And she even knows more about animals than Buck himself, because of her work as an animal wrangler for big Hollywood productions. Which Buck thinks is the coolest job right after firefighting. She's also got these luscious dark curls falling over her shoulders, which causes Buck to have to physically resist the urge to twirl one strand around his finger and ask about her hair care routine.

Not that Buck thinks she'd be opposed to a little touching based on how close they're sitting together. It's just… well, he can't really put his finger on it… or around her curls.

There's something that twinges in the back of his mind. Something that stings. Also, his stomach kind of hurts.

It's his first date after New Mexico and all the complications that followed. It could be a new beginning, a fresh start, a real romance. Buck thinks he deserves that after everything. He wants to be a half so badly. Doesn't want to wait patiently for it to fall into his lap anymore.

And Simone would not be a one-time thing; she's that kind of girl Buck could stay with forever… if he wanted to.

On paper, she's perfect.

Even their meet-cute would be the perfect story to share at parties. They met at the freaking grocery store! How much cuter can it get in an age of dating apps and hookup culture? They literally bumped into each other, back against back, because they were both reading the fine print on their cereal boxes.

"Too much sugar," Simone had sighed when they'd turned around to each other to apologize. And Buck had lifted his box and replied with his most charming smile, "Too many false promises."

It was cute. It was a great story for a wedding. Everybody would be like, "Aw, you guys met in the real world? That's so sweet."

It's also a plus that she wasn't someone Buck met through work, unlike all his previous partners. She was completely untangled from the LAFD, the LAPD, and dispatch, not someone he met on a call. She is a miracle, really.

So, for all accounts and purposes, the evening with her should've been just as perfect as Simone herself.

She suggested a salsa club at the promenade for their first date, which is also perfect. The dance floor is always busy, the music loud and lively, and the drinks (even if Buck has to stick to mocktails for now) are fucking good. They have a table with a great view of everything, tucked away enough to feel intimate. Because of the noise, Buck has to lean in and speak directly into her ear, and Simone smells fantastic.

So… everything is perfect on paper.

Buck drains his non-alcoholic mojito, hoping that the buzz of pretending to drink will quench that uncomfortable twist in his gut while Simone tells him a story about that goat she trained for a horror movie who was supposed to look terrifying—"like the literal devil"—but loved the main actress so much that it kept bumping his head against her legs for snuggles.

Buck laughs and awws at her story at appropriate points, and it's a great story. Buck loves animals, but his heart isn't in it.

Perhaps it's the place. Not the club itself, because with the dark wooden interior, the crowd dancing to Latin music in ways that make his head spin, and the sweltering air, this is a great place for a first date.

But Buck hasn't really gone to a promenade for fun after what happened with the tsunami at the Santa Monica pier. Paradoxically, he loves the beach and the ocean, still. Loves running along the sand early in the morning or watching the sunset late at night with a beer. He can do that without worrying that the ocean will recede and then sweep him up again, but the loud, buzzing piers and promenades? Yeah, there's something about them that reminds him of the moment he thought he might lose Christopher forever.

So, he avoids them unless he has to be there for a call.

Yeah, that could be it. It's probably the Christopher of it all.

He wonders what Chris is doing tonight. Is he holed up in his room on his laptop, or is he playing Street Fighter with his dad on the couch?

Eddie had only shrugged when Buck asked him about his plans for the evening after their 12-hour shift. "Nothing special."

Eddie's standard answer these days.

If Buck hadn't told him about his date with Simone, it would've been followed by, "You wanna come over?"

And Buck would make plans about what they could eat, whether he would cook for the Diaz family or they should order in, and what movie or TV show they could watch during his entire drive to Eddie's place. Recently, Buck managed to get Eddie to watch the UK version of The Traitors with him, and they'd just made it to the celebrity season, which has Eddie hollering at the TV on multiple occasions, which in turn has Buck in stitches. Alan Carr, the man that you are.

"Buck?"

"Huh?"

Buck blinks into the dim light of the club, finds a waitress in front of him, holding his empty glass in the air.

"You want another drink?" Simone asks with a patient smile.

"Uh, yeah, sure. The same, please."

The waitress nods and disappears into the crowd.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." Buck shakes his head and chuckles lowly. "Sorry, just… work, you know."

Great, and now he's lying. About Alan Carr of all things.

"Did you have a tough emergency last shift?"

"Uh… yeah, the usual, you know."

Wow. Could he be any more vague?

Simone nods and chews on her bottom lip. A nervous tic, he assumes, that makes him instantly feel guilty. Lock the fuck in, Buck, he tells himself. This is not the time to think about hanging out on Eddie's couch.

"Have you ever watched The Traitors?" Buck asks. Which? Hello, what the hell, brain?

"Uh, no? It's a reality show, isn't it? Do they use a lot of trained animals?"

"Uh, eagles sometimes. Oh, and there's an owl? I don't know how well trained they are, though."

Simone nods, but she looks confused now.

"So, tell me about your job. What's the weirdest thing you've ever seen?"

"The weirdest?" Buck laughs. "God, there's too much. Humans are the weirdest creatures by nature."

He leans in again and tells her about all the small and big emergencies that have made him chuckle or shake his head for days afterward. Starts all the way from when that guy got tangled up and spun around in the car wash.

Simone's really into his stories, a much better listener than Buck tonight, and so for a while, he can forget about that gnawing feeling in his stomach and just be in the moment with this pretty woman.

That is, until he loses her attention to something happening on the dance floor and she sucks in air on an astonished gasp.

"Wow, they're really good."

Buck follows her line of sight, just to find that the crowd has dispersed to the edges of the dance floor, shouting and clapping at a couple in the middle who are spinning around in perfect circles.

Even for Buck's untrained eye and despite the limited view he has through the bodies standing in front of their table, he can tell that they're dancing at a level of professionalism that is different from the rest of the crowd.

He first notices the woman being twirled around in her bright red cocktail dress, her smile wide and beautiful, like she's having the time of her life. Ha! Buck would high-five himself for that pun if he were alone right now.

Her dance partner keeps being obscured by the people between Buck and the dance floor. He looks roughly like Eddie's size, with the same dark hair, obvious muscles underneath his black dress shirt, and an ass…

Wait, he shouldn't think about Eddie's ass. That's a no. No, no, no. No go.

"You wanna go get a better look?" Simone asks.

Eddie's ass is still on his mind.

No go.

"Go," Buck echoes dumbly. "Sure."

They abandon their table. On the way over to the dance floor, Simone tells him that she's been taking dance classes for a year now, which is how she got the idea for the place. Buck thinks he would love to take classes with her if things work out. They could impress everybody at their wedding with their first dance. Just another thing to add to the list of perfects.

Even if the idea of that makes him slightly nauseous. Perhaps he caught some kind of bug? Ugh, he hopes not. He really doesn't want to have to call in sick from work again now that he's finally allowed back.

They take an empty spot at the edge of the dance floor, and Buck admires the back view of the guy leading the beautiful woman for a moment longer. He really has the same haircut as Eddie, but that's not important right now. Because that guy can fucking dance. Holy shit.

It's the control of his movement, the way his muscles move, how his hips roll, and his perfect posture. How he makes those quick steps and snaps of his hips look so easy, simple. And then he twirls around, the woman in his arms turning, so her back is to him, a strong forearm curled around her stomach, and he knows that tattoo—

"Eddie?!"

The music is too loud to carry his voice far, but Simone snaps her head towards him still. Buck is gaping, his revolting stomach dropping, or soaring, flipping, twisting, throbbing, and… what the fuck stomach, seriously, what's your problem tonight?

Then his brain short-circuits, and there are no more thoughts.

Because Eddie is here. And Eddie is dancing with a beautiful woman.

And Eddie is… perfect.

His hair is all wavy and soft on top of his head, the top two buttons of his shirt open, revealing glistening skin, and holy shit.

Buck is in so much trouble.

"Do you know him?"

"H-he's— He's my partner… uh, I mean, was my partner at work. Not that he's left or anything—" Buck stops himself, then tries again, "We work together."

"Oh." There's something in Simone's tone that Buck should probably pay attention to, but he couldn't even if his life depended on it. Because Eddie is here. And Eddie is dancing. Really fucking dancing. Twirling his partner into multiple quick spins, lifting her up in the air, and moving around the floor like a miracle. A miracle sent to destroy the last of Buck's sanity.

He needs to bleach his brain. He can't live with this knowledge. He can't look at Eddie ever again without thinking about this. Of the sharpness of his grin, the precise tension in his body, the promise in his eyes. About how fucking beautiful he looks in his element. How talented he is. How in control. How he can make his partner shine and still steal all the spotlight.

"Oh, shit," Buck mutters under his breath. "Oh, no."

"Buck?" Simone asks, and he feels her touch on his arm, but he can't look at her because his eyes are glued to Eddie. Eddie, who's slowing down his movements for a more sensual grind against his dance partner, torso to torso, hip against hip, his thigh pressed between hers, and Buck's mouth runs dry, and he's not going to survive this. Someone call 911.

Then, Eddie twirls her away sharply again, and for a moment, they stay separate, perfectly choreographed quick steps and arm movements like they're on Dancing With the Stars, and Buck's stomach drops for an entirely different reason because Eddie's been holding out on him. This is definitely not his first time dancing with this woman.

Does that mean the whole I don't want to date, I don't need a woman stick was a lie? Was Eddie just unwilling to share with Buck that he had already found her? A perfect partner? Better than Buck could ever be?

Maybe Buck really needs to puke. There's definitely bile rising up his throat.

"Buck?" Simone says again, and he shakes his head at her. "Hey, is this weird? Your colleague being here? You wanna go somewhere else?"

"No!" Buck shouts and cringes instantly. "No, it's fine. I-I'm just surprised. I've never…" The last few words come out in a hushed whisper, "seen him dance like this."

He sees her nod from the corner of his eye, but his focus stays with Eddie, who has pulled his new girlfriend (?) back into his arms as they spin around the dance floor a few more times, before he lifts her up against his hip and dips her all the way back, her fingers grazing the floor. The song ends to thunderous applause that, in Buck's head, feels like somebody is banging two metal lids against his brain.

Eddie lowers his dance partner (hidden life partner???) back to the floor slowly, her body sliding against his, all controlled grace. They're both beaming before pulling each other into a tight hug. Eddie whispers something into her ear. She nods and, finally, pulls away to move towards the bar.

Eddie glances around the room like he's considering what to do next, and the dance floor fills up with people again. It would be a good chance for Buck to disappear unnoticed. Pretend he hasn't seen Eddie in all his Latin dance glory. Get stupid drunk until there's a chance his brain permanently deletes it for him.

Which he can't. Crap.

So, instead, he hesitates, waiting for Eddie to decide which direction to head in. As soon as Eddie is on the move, so is Buck. Stepping right into his line of sight.

Eddie's busy with having people clap his back or shout something at him, so he doesn't notice Buck until they're only a few feet away from each other, though.

And, fuck. That look on Eddie's face. The last time Buck had seen him this shocked… actually, has Buck ever seen him this shocked? He's not sure. Maybe when he introduced himself to him as Freddie Fakeman?

But this is not the same, because all that exhilarated joy slips from Eddie's features, his face instead morphing into a very convincing impression of Edvard Munch's The Scream, just without the dramatic slapping of his hands against his cheeks.

He can see Eddie mouth Buck's name in disbelief before breaking eye contact and glancing around as if he's searching for something. Searching for—

"Hey," Simone says as she walks up to him. And, oh. Right. He's here on a date.

Eddie looks like he's scoffing, but that could just be Buck's imagination, because why would Eddie scoff at his beautiful date? Especially when he's here with an equally beautiful woman?

Deciding to cut right through the awkwardness of the moment, he waves at Eddie. Like, hey bud, what are the odds? Eddie narrows his eyes in answer, then whirls around and strides off.

"What the fuck?" Buck mutters and runs after Eddie without any input from his brain. He catches up to him halfway down the stairs leading to the bathrooms, snatches him by the shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

"Eddie."

Eddie's shirt is damp beneath his fingers, his muscles tense. Buck is expecting him to glare when he finally turns around to Buck, but instead, he looks completely neutral. So neutral that it can't be anything but a carefully constructed mask.

"Buck," he says, "funny running into you here."

There's an accusation in those words that Buck doesn't know how to deal with. "I told you we'd be going to a club. I just didn't know what kind yet."

"Uh-huh," Eddie replies and leans against the wall, casually, with his arms crossed over his chest. Too casual.

Down here, the music is not as loud as in the main area, but the bass still pulses in Buck's veins. Eddie's hair is all floppy on top of his head, several strands of hair falling onto his forehead. Despite the tension between them, he looks much looser than Buck has ever seen him before. It's a good look. Too good.

"How did you find out?"

"Find out what?" Buck asks, flabbergasted. Why is Eddie putting Buck through the inquisition when it's him with all the secrets?

"That I would be here?"

Buck frowns, shakes his head, and Eddie lowers his arms.

"You're really going to pretend that this," he points between them, "is an accident?"

"Wait, are you— You think I used your location to what… to stalk you here?" Buck huffs out a disbelieving breath. "I'm on a date! I thought you'd be home with Chris, watching, god, I don't know, what do you even watch when I'm not around?"

"The Pitt."

"Brad Pitt? Like a marathon of his movies or—"

"Ugh." Eddie rolls his eyes. "Go back to your date, Buck."

"After being accused of stalking you? I think you owe me an apology first."

Eddie clenches his jaw as if he's chewing on even meaner words. This close, the sheen on Eddie's skin looks beautiful. If Buck would bite him, he'd definitely taste like salt.

When nothing else comes from Eddie, Buck asks, "So, uh, who is she?"

"Who is who?"

"The woman, Eddie! The woman you were just whirling around the dance floor."

"Oh, Lucia? She's probably back at the bar."

"Really."

"What?"

"That's all you have to say? I told you about Simone as soon as I left the grocery store, remember? Sent you a text and everything—"

"Oh, I remember," Eddie huffs, then imitates Buck in a frankly offending hoarse growl, "I just had the first real big rom-com moment of my life, Ed. Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I don't sound like that. And it was a special first meeting—"

"Uh-huh, sure looks like it." Eddie gestures around, like he's asking where Buck's date went. Buck ignores that for his own sanity.

"Why are you so pissed at me? I should be angry with you!"

"Angry about what?" Eddie throws back. "I haven't done anything."

"You've been keeping secrets from me! I didn't know you were dancing your heart out with a beautiful woman called Lucia on a regular basis."

"Why is that any of your business?"

Buck's stomach plummets all the way to his feet.

"Why is that—" Now, Buck crosses his arms over his chest, doesn't miss Eddie's eyes falling to that movement. "Ha. Right. Why should anything concerning you be any of my business? Got it."

Buck nods to himself twice, then whirls around and stalks up the stairs again, ignoring the weak, "Buck," Eddie calls after him.

Simone is gone. Or at least their table is empty. Buck pushes through the crowd, checks the bar, the dance floor, then heads outside. He finds her there with her phone in hand, typing a message to someone. Likely telling her friends what a horrible date Buck is. Which he probably deserves.

"Hey," Buck says carefully, ducks his head to the side in an attempt to look cute. She frowns at him in return.

"I'm sorry about that," he points at the inside of the club, but Simone just shakes her head.

"Buck, listen, you're sweet. You're a firefighter, so I can only assume you're also kindhearted, heroic, and just all around great. But I'm a thirty-three-year-old woman, and I've dated more than enough men to know when someone is not into me. So—"

"I'm into you," Buck cuts in. "Y-you're beautiful, Simone. Clever, funny, and— I'm sorry I was so distracted all night. It's really not about you."

"No," Simone says with a sigh. "Clearly not. It's about you. You're not available." She shrugs. "And that's fine. Would've just been nice to know before all of this."

"I'm single," Buck says, offended. "There's no one in my life that could make me unavailable."

"Oh," Simone says not unkindly. "I'm sorry, but I beg to differ."

"Y-you mean," Buck's eyes trail back to the inside of the club as if he could find Eddie in the crowd again. As if they're magnets. But of course, he's not there. Because they're no longer opposite poles. No longer attracting each other. Because Eddie didn't follow. It's just Buck stalking his best friend, apparently.

"I'm going home," Simone pulls him back. "It was nice to meet you, Buck. I mean it."

Buck considers trying one more time to persuade her. He can do better. He can focus on her. It's not like he's normally this ADHD about his dates. Well, he kind of was with Dixie. Which led him back to his hotel room alone and to feel absolutely okay about it.

Okay, perhaps Simone has a point. Not about Eddie, of course, but about Buck not really being into the whole dating thing anymore. God, is he turning into Eddie? Will he wear his own chastity belt one day soon?

"It was nice to meet you, too," he says against the rising panic in his chest. "I mean it."

Simone nods with a small, forced smile, then walks away. Leaving Buck behind. So much for that wedding where they tell everyone about their meet-cute. So much for finding his other half.

Buck is frozen on the spot. He should probably go home, too. Instead, he inhales the sweet, if toxic, mixture of second-hand smoke blowing on a gentle breeze from where a few people are vaping in front of the entrance of the club. Cotton candy and watermelon.

He groans in frustration and ruffles his own hair.

Perhaps he should go back inside and pick a real fight with Eddie instead. One where he'll shove him, until Eddie shoves back. One that they can't come back from as easily as they have from all their fights before.

Something's gotta give.

"I'm sorry, Buck. I didn't mean that," Eddie startles him out of his thoughts. When he turns around, he finds him standing only a few feet away with both corners of his mouth pulled down. "I just had a hard time believing that running into you here was a coincidence."

"Clearly," Buck throws back. "Funny thing, though. Considering that I thought you were home on your couch at the moment, wouldn't it make more sense that you," he points at Eddie, "followed me here?"

"Where's your date?" Eddie says, instead of engaging with Buck's accusation.

"Oh, you know, left me at the curb. As per usual."

"Damn." Eddie pushes a hand through his hair, tousles it even more, and Buck wants to curl his fingers inside, tug his head back into his neck, have him blink up at Buck with those large cow eyes. "Because of me? Fuck, I'm sorry, Buck. You want me to talk to her? Explain—"

Eddie snaps his mouth shut so fast his teeth click together audibly.

"Explain what, Eddie? What's there to explain?"

God, Eddie looks so tortured. It's almost enough for Buck to take pity on him. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Which is a big mistake, because as soon as he does, he sees Eddie rolling his hips into Lucia's, the way his fingers spread wide against the perfect curve of her back.

Buck's spine couldn't curve like that, even if he tried. There are no dips on his body for Eddie to fit his hands into like that—

He snaps his eyes open again, deflates. This entire evening is going off the rails in ways that Buck could've never anticipated, but he doesn't want to argue with his best friend anymore.

"It's fine. It didn't go well, even before you stole the show."

"It didn't?" Eddie asks, and why the hell does he sound so smug about that?

"Yeah, I guess love at first sight continues to remain a myth."

"Could've told you that."

Buck hums, then nods towards the club. "You should get back to your girl." And Buck will go home to drown his sorrows in his non-alcoholic beer. "At least one of us still has a chance for the night to go well."

"My girl?" Eddie asks with a frown. "Oh, you mean Lucia? She's not— we're friends."

"Uh-huh."

"She actually owns the place," Eddie points at the building. "I come over to dance with her once in a blue moon when I need to blow off some steam."

The last of the fight drains from Buck at Eddie's admission.

"She's the owner of the club?"

"Yeah. She was a pretty renowned ballroom dancer in her early twenties, so you know, it's fun to dance with someone who also had formal training." Eddie grimaces as if talking about this part of himself hurts him somehow. Buck doesn't understand why. He doesn't think he's ever seen anything more stunning than Eddie dancing. He should be freaking proud of it.

"You said you haven't danced like this since you were a teenager the other day."

Eddie shrugs. "I lied. Didn't want the team to know. It's good for stress release."

"Definitely better than a Fight Club 2.0 era."

Eddie laughs, softens further. "Can this remain a secret between us for now?"

"Of course," Buck concedes, because that's what they do. They have each other's backs. Even if Buck thinks the whole world should know that Eddie Diaz could take the lead role in a new Dirty Dancing movie and make billions of women around the world swoon. Or actually scratch that. Perhaps it's better if only Buck is privy to that knowledge.

"Okay," Eddie replies and smiles at Buck. He looks so good in the low glow of the lights behind him. Soft and warm, still slightly flushed from exertion, but much more approachable than a few minutes ago.

"Don't think I will just forget that you accused me of following you here, though. Bringing my date to stalk you, nevertheless. That was a really low blow."

"Yeah, that was— I was just so surprised. I never in a million years thought I would meet you here." He shakes his head. "Still, no excuse. Let me make it up to you? There's a really great taco place up ahead on the promenade that should still be open."

"You're taking me out on a date, Diaz?"

Buck doesn't expect his joke to land on Eddie like a physical blow, or the way his smile falls, and his eyes widen.

"Those tacos better be worth it," he deflects to give both of them an out.

Eddie chuckles, then clears his throat, hands tucked into his dress pants. The two top buttons on his shirt are still open, and Buck has to remind himself not to let his eyes dip to the little triangle of skin that is revealed.

Not looking at Eddie was definitely easier before Buck saw with his own eyes what Eddie Diaz could do on the dance floor. Jesus, those hips. Those freaking hips.

"Oh, they will be," Eddie says before Buck can spiral. "C'mon."

Buck shakes himself out of it, then follows Eddie along the promenade. Most cafes and stores are closed by now, but a few wine bars and restaurants remain open, casting soft lights on their path. The full moon is reflected on the gentle waves pushing against the land, the air warm but not as hot and humid as inside the club. A perfect night for a date. Not that this is a date. Of course.

The last time Buck was at the beach during a full moon was that one absurd night more than eight years ago, when he freed the child from a crane machine. When he'd still been oblivious to the fact that one day soon, Eddie and his son would fill all the emptiness in Buck with happiness, laughter, and so much love.

And now that he's here again under another full moon, he wishes he could tell his younger self that he didn't need to drown his loneliness by chasing Abby because someone much more special was on his way, someone who would make Buck's life better in every way.

Anyway…

Enough of all this sentimentality.

No matter what Bobby believed, Buck still thinks the full moon has some kind of effect on people. It would explain why Eddie has chosen today of all days to hammer away at Buck's sanity. Why the image of his best friend moving around the dance floor like a sensual god is still burned behind his eyes.

Distraction. Buck needs one.

"What's Chris doing tonight?"

"Oh, he's over at Hen's. Playing games with Denny, and staying up way past their agreed bedtime, I'm sure."

"And Hen doesn't know…"

"No, Buck, she doesn't know."

"Does Chris know?"

"About the dancing? No." But then Eddie seems to consider his answer, and something like panic creeps into his voice. "Should I tell him? You think he would be mad if he found out I kept this from him?"

"I mean, I don't think so. Adults are allowed to have a few small secrets from their children as long as they don't impact them, right? But, I just think, it's not really a secret you should be ashamed of. So why not tell him? I mean, hell, that was freaking amazing. You looked—"

Eddie takes a sharp turn into the too loud and too bright arcade they're passing before Buck can finish the sentence.

"Up for a match?" he asks at the NBA Jam machines, and Buck groans.

"Basketball? We both know you've got an unfair advantage."

"C'mon, I'll even give you a five-second head start."

Buck scratches his neck, considers Eddie. Something has shifted in him in the five minutes they'd walked along the promenade. He looks almost boyish now. Happy. Like they're teenagers, playing dumb games together, egging each other on.

"Fine," he grumbles, and moves to the machine next to Eddie's. "Got any money?"

There's hardly anyone Buck knows that still carries cash inside his wallet. Eddie, of course, the exception to the rule, hands him a five-dollar bill.

True to his word, Eddie gives him a head start. Buck still only makes it until the second round of throwing balls into the hoop before the voice informs him, "You lose," so he watches Eddie throw ball after ball in a perfect arch, nearly breaking the record by the end.

"Ah!" Eddie shouts and throws his hands in the air. "So close."

Buck can't help but chuckle. Eddie is beautiful like this. He feels younger, almost unguarded. It makes Buck want to take Eddie out more often. Not like in Nashville. Not searching for hot girls out on a bachelorette party or whatever. Just the two of them having fun with no other goal in mind.

Eddie smiles at him, his sharp canines peeking out when he compares their scores with each other. "This is really not your sport, Buck."

"Come at me on a football field, and we'll be on more even ground."

"Oh, you wanna go for the title?" Eddie echoes words from a time long ago, when their friendship had still felt so new, so different from any relationship Buck ever had before. He knows it's not Eddie's fault that so much of their relationship has been heavy recently, but he's only now realizing how much he missed them being carefree with each other.

Yeah, they should definitely go out together more often.

"You wanna try again?" he asks Eddie, nodding towards his score.

"Nah," Eddie replies with a shrug. "I'm starving. Let's go."

He's practically skipping out of the arcade on his way out, and Buck is confused. How could he go from almost disintegrating Buck with his laser-sharp glare to this? There's really only one explanation, but Buck can't afford to think that. Because if Eddie is happy that Buck's date didn't work out—

"Buck, hurry up!"

"Yeah, yeah," he laughs, jogging after him, trying very, very hard not to think about the fact that for the first time tonight his stomach doesn't hurt.

🌕

The taco place is a small hole-in-the-wall spot right by the beach. They get three tacos each, Buck a lemonade, and Eddie a Corona, before heading towards the water. They sit in the sand without preamble, pushing their drinks into the sand.

The tacos are amazing, the cold lemonade just what Buck needed after all that heat inside the club. They're sitting close enough that Buck can feel the gentle warmth Eddie's body is still exuding and smell his perfume. Buck's favorite scent on Eddie.

It's nice. God, it's fucking nice.

This is the kind of date (yeah, yeah, Buck knows it's not a real date) he'd like to have for the rest of his life.

"We haven't been to the beach in forever," Eddie muses, and Buck nods.

"When Chris was younger, it was much easier to get him enthusiastic about spending the day outside."

"We should change that." Eddie takes a sip of his Corona. "My son is starting to look like a vampire with how much time he's spending inside his room. He needs more Vitamin D."

"Yeah," Buck laughs. "He's got those cold gamer hands as well. We definitely have to do something about his circulation."

"Tomorrow?" Eddie asks. "After we pick him up from Hen and Karen, we kidnap him. Force Vitamin D and circulation on him. Spend the whole day at the beach together."

As a family, Buck's brain supplies unhelpfully.

"I'll prepare a picnic basket for us."

"You don't have to, Buck. We can just do this," Eddie lifts his taco, "or get something else on the way."

"But I want to," Buck replies with a small pout that has Eddie grin at him.

"You know I'll never say no to your cooking." Eddie laughs, then tags on, "Or your baking."

"It's a public service at this point, Ed. You know, when I was out of commission, I brought those cookies to the station to make sure you wouldn't get hangry at any point of the day. The rest of the team doesn't deserve listening to you huff and puff."

Eddie swallows around his taco and frowns at Buck. "Hangry?"

"Hungry plus angry." He points at Eddie. "Look how happy you are with that taco. Sated plus happy. Sappy."

"I'm not—" Eddie barks a laugh. "Fine, I'm sappy right now. It's a good night."

"Is it?" Buck asks carefully. "I thought you went out dancing to let off steam."

"And I did. So, I'm good."

"Hmm." Buck should probably drop it. They're having fun, it's a good vibe, Buck can pretend the buzz under his skin is from sitting at the beach at night, watching the silver shimmer of the moon on the dark water, the sound of the waves ebbing and receding. Drilling into what is likely a sore spot for Eddie will probably only end this night prematurely, leaving it on a sour note.

Don't do it, he tells himself. Buck never listens to himself, though, so he should've probably used reverse psychology here.

"Why were you stressed today, Eddie?"

Eddie doesn't answer. When Buck glances at him, he's nudging the tip of his tongue against his canine.

"Something to do with your parents?"

Eddie shakes his head.

"Anybody else in your extended family?"

Another shake of his head.

"Chris?"

"No, Chris and I are doing fine. Really good, actually."

Buck nods. He knows this.

"The PTA moms?"

"They do drive me nuts, but no."

"Work?" Not that Buck can remember anything out of the ordinary happening on their last shift.

"No, work is good, too."

Buck hums again. What does that leave? Not much.

The next words are forced out on a heavy swallow, "Did you meet someone?"

"No," Eddie is quick to say. "I told you I'm not interested in that at the moment. It wasn't a lie."

Buck crumbles the paper of his finished taco in his palm and throws it into the box with the rest of them. He shouldn't ask. God, don't ask. Don't do it.

"Does it have to do with… me?"

Eddie is so still next to him, Buck wonders if he's even breathing. For a moment, the only sound between them is the laughter of people in the distance, the crash of waves, and a seagull staying up past its bedtime squawking.

Then, Eddie mumbles, "Me siento estúpido, ilógico."

Buck has taken Spanish in school and spent months in Peru. He knows what Eddie is saying.

I feel stupid, illogical.

Buck's heart swells with hope, his breath curdling in his chest. Buck doesn't want to feel hopeful. Hopeful about what, even? It's not like he's been helplessly pining for his—

No.

What's his brain doing? Stop it, brain. Don't do this to me. Don't fucking do it.

"What?"

Eddie laughs lowly and shakes his head. "Just part of that song from earlier."

"Oh."

"Oh," Eddie echoes, taking a large sip of his beer.

There's tension between them now, isn't there? This is not in Buck's head. There's a buzz in the air, electricity crackling. Buck should know; he's been hit by lightning.

"But I feel better now," Eddie says, skipping over everything that should come in between. Skipping so far ahead that Buck is still on the other side of that river, waving at Eddie to stop, to wait for him. The 'why did you feel stressed about me' of it all lies between them, a large rock, half-hidden by the fast current gushing over it. But Buck can see it, he can see it, and he wants to point at it. Wants to shout: What is this, Eddie? What the hell is it?

"The first time I did this was when we had this fight about me going to El Paso. You know, when you almost adopted that beagle?" Eddie admits, giving him some crumbs, feeding the ducks rushing down the river between them. Like he wants to say, don't look at the rock, look at the ducks.

But Buck can't ignore the rock, because it's right fucking there, Eddie. What does it mean?

"After I moved back from Texas, I've been coming here whenever something bothers me enough, I know I would obsess over it all night otherwise."

"Is that where you went the night we fought in the kitchen? About Bobby— and you know, whatever. You went out to dance?"

Eddie shrugs. "Yeah."

Is it always because of me?

Buck can't ask that. No, Jesus, he can't ask.

"The first time I went to the club, it was just to see. I hadn't danced like that in forever, but there was this woman in her late fifties who'd been taking classes for a year and a half, and she asked me if I wanted to be her partner, and it was just fun. A part of myself I had buried, I guess."

Eddie rolls the bottom of the bottle against his knee, casting a quick glance at Buck, gauging his reaction.

"Lucia noticed me that second time, and when I told her about my experience, she got so excited. Said she missed ballroom dancing. Not the, you know, competition of it all. But the dancing itself. So, yeah, whenever I feel stressed these days, I come here to dance with her."

"When else?" Buck asks, hoarsely. Because if they're not looking at the rock, they're at least going to talk about the smaller stepping stones in between.

Eddie shrugs. "After New Mexico a few times. Once my ribs were healed enough. But before that, too. After the auction. And, uh, the night we went out clubbing with Ravi?"

"Eddie."

"Yeah?"

They can't talk about this, can they? It's the full moon, it makes people crazy. They are not themselves. Eddie would never say something this insane on a normal night.

"Let's go home," Buck says, determined.

"Oh," Eddie replies, and it kills Buck that he almost sounds disappointed. Like he wants the night to last forever. Like he wants Buck to push, wants him to point at the rock. "Home?"

"Yeah, I drove here, since I shouldn't drink at the moment." He lifts his lemonade. "You can stay at mine if you want, and tomorrow we'll pick up Chris. Together."

As family.

"Okay, yeah, that sounds… good. Just five more minutes?"

Buck nods, and Eddie places his Corona on the sand again before falling onto his back. Buck follows him and does the same, eyes wide on the dark sky. There are only a few stars visible tonight due to the light pollution, but it's still beautiful.

Despite the unspoken words between them, despite Buck trying so hard not to think about what all of this means that it makes his brain hurt, despite Buck having entirely different hopes for the night when it started, it's perfect.

Because Eddie is perfect.

Not in that nonsense way of one person being greater than everyone else. Buck would never deny Eddie his flaws. Buck wants him hangry, sappy, and everything in between.

And it's that thought that has Buck's heart break inside his chest, even if the buzz between them is still so alive and well that he feels the hairs on his arms rise, because:

Buck wants Eddie.

🌕

Eddie seems to be in an even better mood once they're in Buck's car. He turns on the radio, hums along to a Queen song of all things, and taps his fingers against his knee.

Buck is going insane. He really wishes he weren't sober right now. Perhaps the buzz of the alcohol could make him forget that he's seconds away from a realization that he can never return from.

You can't go there. You absolutely can't go there.

Eddie's phone vibrates, and the subtle smile grows even bigger as he types something before dropping his phone into the cup holder in the middle console. He pushes his head against the headrest and turns to look at Buck. Something that Buck is wisely ignoring.

"You're a criminal, you know."

"What?"

"That was Lucia. You forgot to pay for your drinks."

"What? Oh, my god. We have to go back!"

He can't believe Eddie made him forget to pay before he left. Buck is just about to find a place to do a dramatic U-turn, but Eddie laughs and shakes his head.

"Nah, you're fine. She saw us together, so I told her to put it on my tap. We'll pay next time. She said you're still allowed back."

"Phew, thank god for that. Because I'm planning to get a front row seat on every one of your performances from now on."

"Bold of you to assume, I'd tell you when I go there to dance."

"Well, I guess the club is just going to be my new home then. I'm sure I can make good friends with Lucia, seeing as you saved me from becoming a criminal."

"Why would you even want to?" Eddie muses a little more somberly now. "It's not really your scene, is it?"

"Are you kidding, Ed? Watching you dance—" Buck stops himself there. Is it okay to say this? Or would it reveal too much? Tone it down. No talk about Eddie's hips.

"It was insane. You were insane. You should tell the team, everybody. You know how Maddie is obsessed with Dancing With The Stars? She'd be your biggest fan."

"I'm not that good."

"Are you kidding me? You were—" Buck blows out a heavy breath like he can't even find the words. Which is the truth.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks carefully, like he's not sure he believes Buck was really that amazed by his dancing skills.

"Yeah. Of course, Eddie. All those fast spins? How quick and precise you are on your feet? The way you lifted her up, dipped her low? Your freaking hips, Eddie—"

And now he's done it. Buck groans and hits his head against the seat. Not the hips. Why did he have to mention the hips?"

"My hips?"

Buck rolls his lips together. They're locked now. Not a single word will spill from them until they change the topic again.

"What about my hips?"

Buck turns the music louder, and Eddie snorts. Turns the volume down again.

"Don't leave me hanging, bud. What did you want to say?"

"Nothing." It comes out like a squeak. Eddie's gaze is heavy on Buck's now, almost like a physical touch.

"You liked watching me dance?"

"Uh-huh."

They're turning onto his street, almost there. So close. Soon, Buck can hide in the bathroom until he's got his mouth back under control.

"Because of how I can use my hips?"

"Among other things." Buck drums his fingers against the steering wheel, stares outside the windshield with full concentration, just in case a rabbit or cat might jump onto the road. It could happen. Better safe than sorry.

"What other things?"

"You know, as I said. Those spins, and how in control you were—"

Oh, no. Now he's made it worse. Buck is going to implode any second now; his systems have overheated. He's done.

He can see Eddie lick his lips in his peripheral vision. Then, he asks quietly, "You liked seeing me in control?"

The full moon must really get to Eddie tonight. He's so different, so, so— Well, Buck has no word for it. Shouldn't search for one either. This is a dangerous road to be on. Not the literal road in front of him. That's a good road.

Just the Eddie road. Buck feels like that car in the meme, making a sudden turn on the highway, taking the exit to a place he wasn't even aware existed before. He thought he'd always known where the two of them were headed.

Best friends. Forever.

Not as a gimmick. As truth.

"Buck?" Eddie asks, and they're here. Right. Buck has parked the car and is now sitting with his hands on the wheel, his brain turning to syrup.

"Huh?"

"We're here."

"Yeah."

Buck glances at Eddie. He's still wearing his seat belt, too, chewing on the inside of his lower lip.

"You wanna see?" Eddie asks without looking at Buck, and Buck blinks back in stunned silence.

See what, Ed? See fucking what? What is there to see?

"What…" The word seems to come out of Eddie almost involuntarily. Like he's giving birth to an idea. Can't stop it from happening, doesn't mean it's not a painful, difficult process.

"What?"

Eddie swallows and rolls his eyes at himself. "What else I can do with my hips?"

Buck chokes on his own spit.

Is Eddie blushing in the dim light coming from a nearby streetlamp?

Is this real?

Surely, it's not real.

Surely, Buck is misunderstanding.

Or he's back in a coma?

Did he die? There was that truck swerving a little too close to his lane earlier that day.

"Buck?"

"What?" Buck asks, because what other word is there?

"You want me to show you? My dance moves?"

"Dance moves." He says the two words so slowly that he sounds like someone set him to 0.5 speed. Like that sloth in Zootopia. God, that was a great movie. Perhaps he can convince Eddie to watch that one tonight. Right after giving himself a lobotomy in the bathroom with his electric drill.

"Yeah, you said you liked watching—" Eddie shakes his head. "Never mind, forget it. That was a dumb idea."

"You want to dance for me?"

"O-or with you?"

"I can't salsa, or rumba, or samba, or tango. I can't do anything really but the white man's, you know—" He pumps his fists in the air, and Eddie snorts again.

"Yeah, no, sure. As I said, dumb idea."

"And you can't lift me, obviously. Or dip me, so—"

"Stupid."

"Not stupid," Buck argues, because he doesn't want Eddie to be embarrassed about this. Even if all of this is insane, even if Buck is going insane. Eddie should never feel ashamed of anything he wants. "Just probably much less fun for you."

"Well," Eddie says, and it sounds like 'I don't think so.'

Buck is at another crossroad. So, of course, he takes the path less traveled.

"You could teach me, I guess. How to use my hips like that?"

And just like that, Eddie is grinning again, and, God, Eddie should always smile like that, his eyes all soft and big, and, well, Buck supposes the lobotomy can wait until tomorrow.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean, could come in handy, right? For—"

"For?"

Don't say it.

"Well, dancing? And you know… other things."

Eddie chuckles. "Other things. Right."

Then Eddie unbuckles his seat belt and gets out of the car, so Buck really has no other choice but to follow him inside his own house. Buck gets a bottle of Coke and another beer from the fridge, then sticks his head inside for as long as he can get away with.

He finds Eddie outside, fiddling with the small speaker on the table to get it to connect to his phone's Bluetooth. Buck hands him a beer, then moves to sit on a chair, but Eddie, ah, ahs him and points at him to keep standing where he's at.

Buck shifts uncomfortably on his feet. Then, finally, music fills the space between them. It's the same song from the club earlier, the same pushing rhythm, the same desperate lyrics.

"Okay," Eddie says with a pleased grin, then, to Buck's surprise, lowers himself onto the chair in front of him. "Let's see what we're working with first."

Buck places his Coke on the table and wrinkles his nose. "You want me to shake my hips for you?"

"Yes," Eddie says, like this is an entirely normal request.

Buck doesn't often shy away from making a fool of himself in front of another person, but he still feels a little self-conscious when he starts dancing to the song. Which mostly consists of him lightly stepping from one food to another, trying, but mostly failing, to get his hips into the mix.

"What are you doing, dude?" Eddie laughs. "What is this?"

Heat crawls up Buck's neck, has his birthmark pulse. "Dancing?"

"I've seen you dance before, Buck. This is not that."

Buck stops moving, hands hanging uselessly down his body.

"Come here," Eddie says, waving him closer. Buck stops just a foot away from Eddie, his heart nearly leaping from his chest when Eddie grips his hips with his two large palms.

"I'm not drunk enough for this," Buck chokes, and Eddie laughs again.

"You're not drunk at all."

"My point exactly."

"Okay, close your eyes. Let me guide you. Just imagine drawing a figure eight with your hips, like this—"

And now there's pressure on his hips. Pressure! On Buck's hips. From Eddie's hands. Buck squeezes his eyes shut because what else is there to do? Look down at Eddie, who is currently almost eye level with his crotch? Yeah, definitely not.

He tries to follow Eddie's guidance as best as he can, but it only works well in one direction. His hips just don't want to roll like that on the other side.

"Stop overthinking this, Buck. You're resisting."

"I'm not resisting," Buck splutters. Eddie slaps the side of his thigh, and Buck nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. What the fuck was that?

"Okay, let's try something else, then. Just you know, roll your hips like you would if you were using a hula hoop."

"I sucked at hula hoop," Buck groans, but still tries to follow Eddie's guidance again. Mostly unsuccessfully. "I don't think I can move like that. Probably just my pelvis not being formed the right way."

"Bull—" Eddie cuts himself off. "Fine. Let me show you."

Buck has barely even opened his eyes before he's manhandled onto the chair. Eddie presses something on his phone, then returns to step between Buck's open legs. The song playing now is slower and without lyrics. Just guitars and light drums.

"Give me your hands," Eddie orders and places them on his own hips. "Pay attention."

At the first unhurried roll of Eddie's hips, Buck nearly goes cross-eyed. The full moon is really casting a spell over them tonight. This is so far out of the realm of how they normally interact with each other. Eddie is basically giving him a lap dance.

A lap dance!

Buck is getting a lap dance from his straight best friend.

Hello, universe, how is this my life?! What have I done to deserve this?!

"Buck," Eddie says quietly, and Buck flicks his eyes up to him. "Your thoughts are very loud."

Yeah, that would be because I'm screaming at the universe in my head, Eddie, Buck thinks, but doesn't say.

"Don't think so much, just feel the rhythm, yeah?"

Buck nods, lowers his eyes again. Luckily, Eddie is all torso, so Buck is not eye-level with his crotch, but he can still see his stomach muscles shift below his shirt with every roll of his hips, and perhaps that's even worse.

God, Eddie is so fucking hot.

Not!

Eddie is not hot.

Wait, that's kinda mean. Eddie is hot, in a platonic way. Just because he has an eight-pack and dances like sin personified doesn't mean Buck wants to sleep with him. It's just a platonic observation. His best friend is good-looking. The moon is full. The Earth is round. The world keeps spinning—

"Buck!"

Buck startles so hard, he nearly falls out of his chair.

"You're not paying attention."

"S-sorry," Buck says, not even attempting to deny the accusation. "I'll do better. Gonna focus."

"You'd better. I don't just teach this to anybody."

"You don't?"

"No, Buck," Eddie laughs like that's the most ridiculous idea ever. "Just you."

"Oh. Okay."

"You see, the trick is not to force anything. The movement should be smooth, continuous."

Buck nods, dumbfounded.

His always-overactive brain has turned itself off. All he can do now, really, is stare at his hands on Eddie's hips, watching him do these slow circles beneath his fingertips.

"Yeah," Eddie rasps. "Like that."

Like what? Buck isn't even doing anything. That's all, Eddie.

Oh, but perhaps Buck is doing something, because he thinks he might be breathing harder than would be platonically appropriate. Perhaps the heat in his cheeks and birthmark are actually visible to Eddie in the dim light? Maybe, just maybe, his face is doing things it shouldn't?

Eddie's hips change their movement, do those figure-eights that Eddie tried to guide Buck into earlier, and Buck's fingers twitch on his hips, fingertips digging deeper into his flesh. Eddie gasps, and before Buck can stop himself, he's collapsing forward, his forehead brushing against Eddie's shirt.

"Eddie."

He doesn't mean to say Eddie's name, doesn't mean to stay like this, head bowed low until the crown of his head is resting against Eddie's shifting stomach muscles, eyes squeezed shut, lungs burning. Is he hyperventilating? He feels dizzy. Feels like the oxygen isn't reaching his brain anymore.

And Eddie doesn't stop, only slows down his movement. The most sensual lap dance of Buck's life, and it's done by his straight best friend.

Though, is this really straight behavior?

It feels kinda gay.

Especially when Eddie places a hand on the back of Buck's head, strokes his fingers through his curls like he wants to calm him down, wants to encourage him to stay like that, wants to claim him.

It feels really kinda gay, actually.

And Buck can't lie anymore. He's probably been hard for a while now, and it's getting painful against the restriction of his jeans, and this can't be platonic, right? No matter how you twist and shape it, this is—

Eddie's hand slides to the back of Buck's neck, fingers tight around the slope of it, thumb pushing into Buck's pulse point, and he's still rolling his hips, and fuck, a soft, helpless moan slips out of Buck's mouth before he can stop it.

Eddie steps away, instantly. Eyes wide.

And, ah, there's the line they should've never crossed. And Buck can't even blame it on being drunk, can't even hide the obvious shape in his jeans, can't do anything but stare at Eddie, equal parts petrified and mesmerized.

Because Eddie is flushed, too. Breathing harder than usual. His eyes might be big and panicked, but they're also darker than Buck has ever seen them.

"Let me take a shower," Eddie states before Buck can find a single word to say, and Buck just nods like an idiot. Eddie stumbles inside the house before Buck can come properly online again, but even when his brain has both blood and oxygen again, he can't really catch a thought that makes sense.

"Damn you, full moon," he mutters instead. He should probably get up and prepare the couch for Eddie to sleep on. Yeah, he will do that now. In three, two, one—

Okay, perhaps not right now. Eddie's prone to taking quick showers, military style, but he won't be done right this minute. Buck can still get up in a moment. No, this is how he procrastinated in the past. Let's not repeat a pattern.

How weird would it be if he were still here, sitting on this chair, once Eddie comes back? He would think he broke Buck. Which he has. But he doesn't need to know that, right?

"Fuck it," he groans, then pushes himself up and out of the chair. Preparing the couch is better than staring blankly into his own garden, trying to find his common sense again.

Thinking about this can only lead to two things: Spiraling into fear or spiraling into hope, and neither of those is a valid option if he wants to stay friends with Eddie.

So, he gets a clean blanket and his spare pillow from the linen closet and carries them to the couch. Eddie enters the room a moment later in Buck's sweatpants and a t-shirt, both slightly oversized on him, rubbing a towel through his hair.

"I—" Buck points at the couch, and something in Eddie's expression shifts, eyebrows drawing together into not quite a frown yet.

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

Buck nods. "Well, you know where everything is, so I'll just—" He gestures towards his bedroom.

"Already?" Eddie asks, and it looks like he's biting his tongue afterward. Buck glances at the clock. It's almost two in the morning, and while he does stay up longer whenever he goes out, the two of them together? Yeah, they're mostly dead to the world by midnight. Like two millennials hanging out should be.

"You wanna watch something instead?"

Eddie grimaces and sniffs. "Nah, forget it. We should sleep."

"Okay, then…"

Eddie tries to smile, but it still looks like a grimace. "Good night?"

"Yeah," Buck replies, shifting on his feet, wringing his hands in front of his body. "Good night."

He shuffles towards the bathroom before he can make a bigger fool of himself. Once he's done washing up, he finds that Eddie has already turned off the light in the living room. Buck clicks the bedroom door behind him shut a moment later, then face plants onto his bed, groaning into his pillow.

When he turns onto his back, the whole horrible truth of what just happened between them sinks into his bones, paralyzes him with an unspeakable fear.

What if things are awkward tomorrow morning? What if they can't look each other in the eye anymore? What if Eddie is already considering fleeing the state again? What if this has ruined things between them forever?

"I hate you, full moon," Buck mutters, pressing the tips of his fingers against his burning eyes. "I really fucking hate you."

🌕

Buck is still wide awake when his clock reads 3:16 am, and a soft knock sounds on his door.

"Buck?" Eddie asks through the door. "Can I come in?"

His resolution to pretend to be asleep lasts for two whole seconds before he calls back, "Uh, yeah, sure?"

Eddie opens the door, slips through it almost soundlessly, before clicking it shut behind him.

"What's up?"

"Can't sleep," Eddie murmurs, padding closer.

Buck sits up against his headboard and finds Eddie staring at him from the foot of the bed. The full moon is shining right through Buck's windows, casting everything in a milky glow. Eddie is, of course, absolutely beautiful in the cool light.

"Why not?"

"It's the couch," Eddie says too quickly. "It's too hard."

Eddie's slept on his couch before. Hell, Buck has slept on that couch too many times to count. It's not a hard couch. Especially not in comparison to the torture device that Eddie calls his mattress. It would be so easy to call him out on his lie, but Buck's been doing the whole spiraling shebang for over an hour now. Hell, he created a whole soap opera in his head of how what happened earlier could spiral into him losing his friends, his team, Chris, everyone that mattered, really, so he'll take Eddie's outstretched hand with no further questions asked.

"You wanna switch?"

"Or… we could share?"

"Uh." Buck is blinking rapidly and swallowing heavily. Eddie doesn't disappear, no matter how hard he blinks. This is not a hallucination. This truly is his best friend asking to share his bed. Buck's heart sits somewhere high in his throat. "Okay?"

Eddie nods once, then walks around the bed to the other side. He slides under the (shared!) duvet just as soundlessly, and a moment later they're lying side by side, still as two vampires in their coffin staring at the shadows moving across Buck's ceiling.

The silence between them is suffocating, the whole room buzzing with electricity again as if the lightning inside Buck has remained dormant for years, only to unleash into the atmosphere now.

Buck clears his throat. "Did you know that the word lunacy stems from the belief that certain phases of the moon can cause periodic insanity? It comes from the Latin word lunaticus, which basically means 'of the moon'."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, that's so."

"Hmm."

Okay. Brain. More facts. You can do this. Just distract Eddie long enough from what happened between you earlier until he forgets all about it.

"We're having a full moon tonight," Eddie observes. "Are you saying you're feeling insane?"

"Kinda."

"Yeah," Eddie chuckles lowly. "Me too."

Oh, okay. So they'll just blame it on the moon then.

"You don't believe in that kind of superstition."

"No," Eddie says. "I don't."

Okay. Good. So, they can't blame it on the moon.

Buck wriggles his toes under the duvet, trying to get rid of some of that pent-up energy inside him. He doesn't know what to think anymore. Doesn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry about earlier. I know you really liked her."

For a moment, Buck has no idea what Eddie is even talking about. His date with Simone seems like a million years away now. Something he did in another life. A life before he had his hands on Eddie's hips.

"Yeah, you know how I get. I imprint on someone too quickly, then try to hold onto it, no matter if it fits or not."

"It didn't fit?"

Honestly, Buck can't even say. In another world, one where Eddie doesn't exist, Simone could have been the real thing. Maybe. Who knows. Because Eddie exists. So the point is moot. But Buck shouldn't say so.

"She thought I was unavailable."

"Unavailable," Eddie echoes, and it sounds like he's almost in awe of the word.

Buck should really stop talking now. He should feel lucky that, after the whole incident of popping a boner in front of his straight best friend, Eddie still wants to be around him. That he's reaching out even. But does his stupid mouth listen to him?

"Do you think I'm unavailable?"

When Eddie doesn't answer, and Buck's heart is mimicking a hydraulic press inside his chest, he turns his head against the pillow.

Eddie is staring up at the ceiling with an almost manic look in his eyes. Buck wants to trace the slope of his nose with his fingers, the shape of his lips, press a soft kiss to the mole beneath his eye.

"Eddie?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I should stop dating other people?"

Finally, Eddie turns his head to look at him. "Because you're unavailable?"

"But am I unavailable?" Buck whispers back. "Am I… taken?"

Eddie's brows knit together like the last question physically hurts him, and Buck is about to backpedal. He's pushed too far, has steered them too deep into their river, they're gonna crash against the rock they've been ignoring all night, and drown.

But then Eddie turns on his side, facing Buck. "Do you want to be taken?"

Buck is holding onto a tree branch, trying to keep their raft from spiraling out of control with his last remaining strength, but Eddie is looking at him like he wants him to let go, and what is he supposed to do but unclench his fingers and let them slip from that last piece of plausible deniability?

He turns to face Eddie as well, only the small stretch of bed separating them now. "Yeah, I-I think I do."

"Yes?"

Buck nods, tries to keep his eyes fixed on Eddie's, even when he licks his lips. He's definitely breathing harder again, but there's nothing he can do about it. Nothing but wait and see if their raft will glide into calmer waters or shatter against the rock.

"By whom?" Eddie asks as if he doesn't know the answer. Buck scoffs, an almost soundless breath, then shakes his head, his curls catching friction against his pillow.

He's not going to say it first. He's already let go of that branch; now it's Eddie's turn to steer.

Eddie sighs, closes his eyes, then turns on his back again.

And, well, there's Buck's answer right there. What was he thinking?

He sighs even more heavily than Eddie did, then turns on his back, too. A lobotomy looks more and more attractive right about now.

"I guess we hit that rock after all," he mutters to himself, imagining himself holding onto the shattered remains of his raft, trying not to drown.

For several moments, there's nothing but silence between them, shadows moving overhead. The corners of Buck's eyes are burning. He knows this will all look even worse in the bright light of day, but for now, he's going to pretend it's the moon's fault. Just so that he can make it through the night.

Then, Eddie says, "You'd be unavailable until you're at least eighty, you know? You should be sure, it's what you really want. No more dating other people for the next forty-six years. It's a long time."

Buck almost chokes on his own heart. He doesn't dare look at Eddie again, scared that it will damage the bubble, make it burst.

"Oh, so I'm allowed to date again when I'm in a retirement home? Turn all the ladies' heads?" Buck asks, and then tags on, "And the gentlemen's?"

Eddie scoffs, and some of the tension draws out of both of them. They're really doing this? They're going to swim to the other side, drenched and definitely worse for wear, but together?

This is not a drill, his brain provides as butterflies explode in his stomach.

"In that case, I wanna be taken until I'm at least ninety. A hundred, if I live that long."

"With technology advancing, we might make it to one-hundred-and-ten," Eddie muses, and Buck can hear the grin in his voice.

Buck presses a fist against his mouth, tries to stop the happiness from bubbling over and ruining the moment.

"Seventy-six years of being unavailable, Buck, that's a whole damn life. You should be sure you want it."

Buck hums like it's a question he needs to consider. Like he hasn't known that Eddie was his person almost since the day he met him. That the only one he could imagine a forever with would be him. As friends, yes, but the idea has always been there. Watching Chris graduate, go off to college, build his own family somewhere. Christmases, birthdays, and the everyday— be by Eddie's side throughout all of it. No matter in which shape or form he's allowed.

"Let's try to make it eighty years together?" Buck eventually answers. "I like round numbers."

"Eighty years it is," Eddie says and lifts his fist in the air right by Buck's side.

Buck snorts, then bumps his fist against Eddie's the way they've done a hundred times before. They're in this together. Forever, apparently.

And Buck can't believe how fucking lucky he is.

When he started the night with the idea of finding his other half, how could he have ever thought he'd find it anywhere else but right here?

Denial is a river, his brain supplies, and that finally has him dissolve into chuckles.

"What?" Eddie asks, alarmed. "Why are you—?"

Buck rolls towards him, but he can't stop laughing, so he just ends up curled up against his shoulder, pressing his laughter into the sleeve of Eddie's t-shirt.

"Buck," Eddie tries again, but that only makes it worse. God, they really make a pair, don't they? Idiots, the both of them.

Buck tries to rein in his laughter, but then Eddie's shoulder starts to shake, too, and he chuckles, "Stop it, Buck. This is serious," and it's game over. Buck laughs so hard his stomach hurts.

"I know," Buck presses out, tears prickling in his eyes. "It's just— We're both—" He snorts again. "We're both so dumb."

"Estúpido," Eddie agrees, his laughter shaking his whole frame. Buck stretches out a hand, wants to feel Eddie's happiness beneath his palm. He settles it into the dip of his waist, thumb brushing against his lower rib, stomach muscles shaking beneath his forearm.

Eddie's laughter dies the moment Buck squeezes him, replaced, instead, by a sharp inhalation of air. It sobers Buck, too, quiets him until all that's left is the electricity crackling between them. Buck draws his thumb back and forth against the curved bone, waits for Eddie to relax and melt into it before lifting his head away from his shoulder.

Once they're looking at each other again, Buck's at a loss, all his nerves returning at once, settling all the way up in his throat. It was easy to talk about it in hypotheticals when they were facing away from each other. But what comes next?

Well, he knows what would come next with everyone else. He's good at the whole I'm-going-to-kiss-you dance. Got that I'm-attracted-to-you smirk down to perfection. But this is Eddie.

Eddie.

The one who's always been so close and still out of reach. Right there, right in front of Buck, but untouchable even in his own mind.

How can he touch him now when it never seemed allowed? Not just a bro hug, not with a hand on his shoulder or a playful pat on the back. But touch him like a lover? Touch him without restricting all the love in his heart, letting it burst free from its carefully constructed prison?

Eddie's Adam's apple bobs on a heavy swallow, his eyes flickering lower, getting stuck on Buck's lips.

Buck takes a shuddering breath, digs his thumb deeper into Eddie's rib. He can't move, can't take the next step. This one is on Eddie.

Eddie's eyes snap back to Buck's, and he's got that determined look in them. The same one he gets when they're on a call and he knows he's about to do something risky, a fraction of a second before he does.

Eddie shuffles back on his side, so close that their noses brush and his face blurs in Buck's vision.

"I'm going to kiss you," Eddie says. It's a fact now. Spoken into the small space between them. Spoken into the glow of the moon-filled night. A hushed secret. A determined revelation.

Take me, Buck thinks. I've been yours for so long.

A hand comes up to the Buck's jaw, and just the reminder of how large Eddie's hands are, how well they will span Buck everywhere, is enough for him to gasp, eyes fluttering closed. Next thing he knows, both of Eddie's lips are on his lower lip in the most careful of kisses he's ever received. The simplest brush of skin, not even a taste, and still enough to destroy him for anybody else forever. His hand twitches around Eddie's waist, holding on tighter.

Eddie leans away, his breath caressing Buck's mouth in a rush. Buck wants to breathe him in forever. His chest is a misshapen steel cage, his heart beating dents into it.

"You're frowning," Eddie whispers, and Buck tries to pull his focus away from his tingling lower lip to concentrate on what the rest of his face is doing. And, oh, yeah, his brows are knitted together the way they usually only are when he's in pain.

"Sorry," Buck says and tries to relax his face. "It's just... It's you, you know. It's a lot."

"Too much?" Eddie asks and brushes his thumb over Buck's cheekbone. "You want to—we could talk about it first thing tomorrow morning over coffee instead? O-or put a pin in it until we've got a chance to, I don't know, go on a date?"

"I don't want to put a pin in it. I can look normal." He tries to smooth out his brows with little success.

Now, Eddie frowns, too. "You don't look normal. You look like I punched you in the stomach."

"Well," Buck laughs, "you have. Metaphorically."

Eddie snorts. "That doesn't sound very pleasant."

"N-no. It's the most pleasant punch in the stomach I've ever received."

"Buck," Eddie says gently. "We don't have to push this."

Buck shakes his head, digs his fingers into Eddie's back. He couldn't bear it if Eddie pulled away now. "Kiss me again. Ignore my face."

"How am I supposed to ignore your face while I'm kissing you?"

"I don't know!" Buck whisper-shouts. "Just close your eyes."

Eddie gives him a fond look. The one that says, he thinks Buck's being ridiculous, but that's just what endears him even more to Eddie. Buck loves that look. It makes him feel like he's allowed to be exactly who he is. That he can put all of his weirdness on display and not just be loved despite it, but because of it.

When Eddie leans in for the second kiss, Buck knows he's frowning even harder, but it's just… so much. Eddie's lips are warm and soft, and he kisses Buck like this is the most important thing he's ever done. Softly at first, just lips moving over Buck's, breathing together, his thumb tracing Buck's cheekbone again. He leans away just enough that their lips keep clinging to each other, before moving back in with more pressure and a different angle.

Buck's losing the battle with himself and moans into it. Eddie makes a helpless noise in return, a sigh that ends on a whimper, and Buck has never heard him make a sound like that before, and, oh, god, this is too much in the best way imaginable.

He kisses Eddie back just as slowly, lips pushing in and drawing back, never moving away enough to separate, moments when they just breathe into their connection, lips slightly open as they shape around each other. Eddie's lower lip is between both of Buck's now, his tongue nudging against it once, and Eddie's hand on his cheek tightens, his fingers tight against Buck's jaw.

Eddie shifts onto his elbow and changes the angle of their kiss again, makes it more pressing this time, harder, even though they're still shying away from deepening it.

In turn, Buck slides his hand down the slope of Eddie's waist until he finds the hem of his shirt. The moment his hand slips underneath and touches Eddie's skin for the first time, they both startle and gasp, their kiss pausing but not ending. Just lips lightly touching between their harsh breathing.

Eddie's skin feels flushed beneath Buck's palm. He's covered in goosebumps and, oh… he's trembling, actually trembling, when Buck smooths it over his waist to the small of his back, holding him there.

Perhaps Buck isn't the only one being overwhelmed. As far as Buck knows, Eddie hasn't been touched in two years, has never been touched by a man before. They should probably take it slow.

But Eddie seems to have other ideas, because he collapses into Buck, pushing him deeper into the mattress. His tongue slips between Buck's lips and finds his, just a gentle nudge, a question, but what can Buck do when Eddie is asking so politely for what he wants, but give it to him?

Bringing up his other hand to Eddie's nape and tangling his fingers into the soft hairs there, he tilts his head and licks into Eddie's mouth.

"Buck," Eddie groans like now he's the one in pain, pulling away to look at him. For a short moment, they just blink at each other in the milky light of the moon, both frowning still, then Eddie kisses him again, harder this time, tongue seeking tongue.

Buck is floating in the Milky Way, dancing on the full moon. He's kissed enough people to call himself somewhat of an expert in the matter, and he still can't believe that he's never known that kissing could be like this.

For Buck, kissing has usually been the easiest way to seek validation and make himself feel good. A way to get confirmation that he's still wanted, still useful.

Kissing Eddie isn't about Buck at all. Not about what he wants this to lead into, or about his insecurities.

Kissing Eddie is all about Eddie. Eddie's pleasure, the shocked little noises he makes into Buck's mouth, the goosebumps he can raise on Eddie's skin when he traces his spine. God, he's touching Eddie's spine, mapping its perfect curve. Eddie's shoulder blade, which draws back and into Buck's touch, muscles flexing beneath his fingertips.

There's Eddie's tongue and the way it feels against Buck's, all smooth texture, and talented muscle. The taste of the inside of his mouth, still slightly minty. And, fuck, knowing what Eddie tastes like, how he shivers and writhes into Buck's touch, might just be the greatest discovery of Buck's life.

It makes him greedy. Makes him want to be the one and only excavator of all of Eddie Diaz's unknowns. But Eddie might just feel as greedy as Buck himself, because a moment later, he slides between Buck's open thighs, pressing him into the mattress with his full body weight. Chest against hitching chest, and, Jesus, Eddie is so hard against him that Buck can't help but stutter his hips upwards and into the pressure.

Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows with a startled moan, and Buck, not willing to separate their connection yet, lifts his head, chasing Eddie's mouth, his hand tight on the nape of Eddie's neck.

"Jesus, Buck," Eddie pants when Buck finally lets him breathe. "You feel—" He cuts himself off on another moan and circles his hips against Buck's just as slowly and smoothly as he had earlier that night in the garden.

Then he's scrambling for the hem of Buck's shirt, pulling it up over Buck's abdomen, trying to fight it off without giving them enough space for the maneuver. "C'mon, Buck. I want to see you."

Buck nods and pushes a hand against Eddie's shoulder. "You, too."

Eddie sits up on his knees just long enough for both of them to pull off their shirts and throw them into the abyss next to the bed. He's back on Buck instantly, the soft hair on his chest brushing against Buck's sternum, his skin still covered in goosebumps everywhere where Buck touches him. Eddie's fingers search whatever skin isn't covered by his torso, digging into the layers of muscles and fat like he's been thinking about doing this for ages, like he's just as addicted to the idea that this is Buck's body he's touching as Buck is about touching Eddie.

They're not even really kissing anymore, just panting into each other's mouths.

Then, Eddie moves his hips again, and—

"Ah." Buck presses the crown of his head into the pillow, and Eddie latches his mouth onto the edge of his jaw and sucks. Hard.

"Fuck, Eddie," Buck growls, carding his fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft it feels.

Eddie hums in return, littering Buck's throat with more open-mouthed kisses, his hips catching an indulgent, leisurely rhythm that has Buck half out of his mind.

A random thought pops up, and Buck can't help but laugh disbelievingly on his next gasp.

"Is this what you had in mind when y-you said— mmh, that you wanted to show me what else your hips can do?"

Eddie's answer comes in the form of him sucking another bruise into the skin where Buck's neck connects to his shoulder, his hips rolling harder into him. Buck's heels grapple for purchase against the bed, his back bowing off it. It's so good. Almost enough to distract him. Almost.

"Eddie? Did you— was that you coming onto me earlier?" he chuckles breathlessly.

Eddie collapses against him, head tucked into Buck's shoulder. The skin of his face is burning, and how freaking adorable is that? He made Eddie blush.

"Oh my god, it was! You weren't talking about dance moves, you were—"

"Shut up, Buck," Eddie whines, digging his teeth into Buck's shoulder.

"You're so freaking cute," Buck snorts, which has Eddie pinch his side. Then, another memory of their evening resurfaces. "Wait, when you said that you went dancing the first time after our fight about El Paso, was that— Does that mean you were jealous of a dog?"

Eddie groans, his body growing absolutely boneless against Buck's like he's lost his will to fight. "What about it?"

"A-and that night at the club? You were jealous because I was flirting with other people? That married couple?"

This finally has Eddie pull back and look at Buck with a stern frown.

"You said you wouldn't leave my side. One second later, you disappeared."

"R-right," Buck admits, and the realization sobers him a little. "That was shitty of me."

"It was."

"But the auction, Eddie? Were you really jealous of a bunch of retirees who asked me to be part of their knitting circle?"

"It was about your freaking multimedia presentation, Buck! It was absolutely shameless."

"Oh," Buck says with a grin, "so you liked it?"

Eddie glares at him, and Buck tries to get his smile under control by biting his lower lip. "You like me."

"I love you, you absolute idiot," Eddie huffs back, and perhaps he shouldn't be as surprised by those words as he is, but look, Eddie is not wrong here. Buck can be an idiot.

"You sure you're not just… moonstruck?" Buck whispers in awe.

"Yes. Certain." Eddie rolls his eyes. "I've been in love with you forever. Coming to terms with it was what took a while."

"Oh."

"So?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not going to say it back? Do I have to do all the work here?"

"Are you hungry?"

"What?" Eddie's frown is so deep that he almost looks like that Muppet with the unibrow.

"Nothing," Buck laughs and squeezes Eddie's hip. "That's probably the bitchiest love confession anyone's ever received."

"Well, you're kinda leaving me hanging here."

"It's also the greatest love confession," Buck admits. "Because it's the only one that matters."

"Better." One corner of Eddie's mouth ticks up. He's beautiful when he's happy.

"I'm so in love with you," Buck sighs, and it's freeing to finally say it out loud. "You're it for me, Eddie. It's a little scary."

"It is," Eddie agrees, "Eighty years is a long time."

Buck nods, pressing his lips together, lashes fluttering in an attempt not to cry. "Do you remember that call all those years ago when you were still a probie? The old couple, where one of them was crushed by his car, and tragically died at the scene?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah, they'd gotten married quite recently but been together forever, right?"

"Yes, them! I talked to the husband back then and told him I could only hope to find something as good as what they had for myself one day. And even though I never really understood it until now, what he said to that really stayed with me." Buck lifts a hand to Eddie's face, cups his jaw in his palm. Because the answer is right here.

He never had to search for it.

What they have was built brick by brick over the years, a stable foundation of trust and love. Seeds that were buried in their backyard long ago, that they can watch sprout and blossom now.

"'You don't find it. You make it.' That's what he told me."

Eddie's lower lip wobbles. He's sometimes a little smarter than Buck (but Buck won't ever tell him that), so he gets the meaning right away.

"Now, who's sappy?" Eddie groans, but the bruising kiss he gives him afterward tells Buck that he doesn't mind in the slightest. And if that's the case, Buck is going to shower him with so much love, so much affection. He will never hold back again. Eddie will know just how loved he is every day for the rest of his life.

He starts by wrapping both of his arms around Eddie's body, cradling him, one hand still buried in his hair, the other spanning his hip. It doesn't take more than that for Eddie to bring his hips back into the mix, moving against him in that torturous, practiced rhythm that drives Buck absolutely insane.

"So good," Buck slurs, and Eddie huffs a laugh against his lips, surging against him with more force until Buck's eyes roll back into his head.

"Yeah? You really like how I move my hips, huh?"

"I do," Buck concedes, words bubbling out without any filter now. "I really do. Seeing you dance rearranged me on a molecular level. I am forever changed. You looked so good. So sexy."

"I'll dance with you whenever you want, baby," Eddie chuckles, pressing his soft laughter against Buck's ear, before sucking his earlobe into his mouth and worrying it with his teeth. And wow, isn't that something? The idea of being allowed to ask for a dance with Eddie? To dance together around their kitchen while making dinner, dance in their backyard, sharing kisses and laughter whenever they feel like it?

Yeah, that's…

Buck has to sign up for dance classes asap.

"Our first dance will be so amazing," Buck groans, trying and almost succeeding to match the tempo Eddie's hips are setting with his own. Maybe he's not so hopeless after all. "And, mhh, our meet-cute story! Oh god, Eddie, it's perfect."

"Meet-cute?" Eddie's laughter is strained now, almost pained. The way he keeps moving is less finesse at this point, more of a dirty grind, and Buck is a thirty-four-year-old man who will finish in his pants. It's a fact. And that's okay. That's the burden you bear when your boyfriend(!) is this hot.

"Yeah, the whole—ah— grenade thing? 'You can have my back anytime'? Oh, Eddie, just like that, that's so—" Buck throws his head back on a particularly heavy thrust, moaning through his clenched teeth, before continuing, "People will shed so many tears at our wedding."

Eddie barks a laugh and slaps a hand over Buck's mouth, biting the tendon in his neck. "You can plan our wedding tomorrow. Now, let me focus on making you feel good, yeah?"

Buck can only nod, the fact that Eddie keeps his hand pressed against his mouth doing something utterly fascinating to his insides. When Eddie's free hand slides down his thigh and opens it wider by pressing Buck's knee down and to the side, he releases an embarrassingly needy whine against the palm of Eddie's hand. Eddie, the bastard, shushes him empathically. "It's alright, babe. I've got you."

Buck nods, because he knows it's the truth. Eddie's got him, always has.

The problem is, Buck is already way too close to the end, and how unfair is that? He's not the one who had no sex life for two years. But apparently, Eddie and his damn hips don't care about that, because they obliterate his last remaining sanity and drag him to the place of no return in record speed. It's the hottest moment of Buck's life, and he's still wearing his pants, can't speak, and is not even doing much beyond writhing and gasping under Eddie's touch.

His fingers dig into the flexing muscles of Eddie's ass over his sweatpants, not to push him closer, just to feel the work Eddie is putting into making Buck feel so goddamn good. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he concentrates on not falling over the edge before Eddie is right there with him, but without his sight, the way Eddie is panting and the rustling of the sheets are very loud in the quiet room, and he's fighting a losing battle.

Buck feels like a wind-up toy, coil twisted to the very limit, so close to unraveling and spinning out of control that he needs to pull Eddie's hand away from his mouth to warn him through gritted teeth, "Close."

"Yeah. God, yeah, Buck, me too," Eddie answers in a rush and kisses Buck with teeth and tongue, close and so fucking hot, his fingers digging hard into Buck's knee and, yeah, that's it, game over.

Buck wraps both arms and the leg that isn't pinned around Eddie while he gets swept up and drowned by his own pleasure, his back curving until he feels the shape of Eddie's medal against his skin, a mark that he hopes will leave an impression.

Eddie's answering groan is so raw and beautiful that Buck knows he will chase to hear it for the rest of his life. Find new ways to make him feel good every day.

For a moment, they hold each other as tightly as they can, muscles drawn tight, Eddie's teeth sharp against Buck's lower lip. Then, Eddie collapses like a doll with cut strings, forehead pressed to Buck's chin, and the space around them turns very quiet and very small.

Buck blinks at the ceiling for several long moments, trying to catch his breath, already having given up on his sanity.

"Wow," he eventually sighs. "I would like to state for the record that I haven't come in my pants since I was sixteen."

"Yeah?" Eddie huffs against his neck. "That good, huh?"

"Bravo," Buck replies with a helpless chuckle. "Encore?"

Eddie leans away, his hair a fluffy, wavy mess on top of his head, his grin wide and sharp in the pale light. He kisses the tip of Buck's nose, then his lips, before leaning away again just to smile at him.

"So glad you enjoyed the performance."

"Enjoyed?" Buck scoffs. "Eddie, that was a masterpiece."

"I guess it's like riding a bike."

"The dancing?" Buck laughs. "Or the sex?"

Eddie shrugs, grinning even wider now. "Both. I'm apparently very good at both."

Buck can't argue with that.

🌕

Chris is very unamused by their whole kidnapping plot, sulking in his beach chair under the umbrella Buck strategically placed to shield him from the sun, Switch in his hands.

At least he accepts the piece offering in the shape of Buck's self-made fried chicken and lemonade.

"Hey, bud, I want to tell you something," Eddie says eventually, and Buck gives him an encouraging nod. Chris drops his Switch into his lap and narrows his eyes at Eddie and then at Buck.

"Oh my God, you're finally dating!"

"W-what?" Eddie sputters because Buck knows that's not the secret he meant to reveal today. "No? I mean, yes. Yes, we're dating, but—"

"Ha!" Chris exclaims and lowers his gaze back to his game. "Called it."

Eddie blinks at Buck as if he's signaling an SOS sign at him, and Buck shrugs. Eddie narrows his eyes like he's saying you're absolutely no help.

"Called it?" Buck asks carefully, just for the lack of having anything else to say.

"Duh," Chris retorts as if that one word says it all. And perhaps it does. They were idiots for a very long time, after all. Figures the fifteen-year-old figured them out way before they got their shit together.

"Okay," Eddie says. "Uh, do you have any questions about it? Or something you'd like to say?"

Chris frowns, then shakes his head. "Nah, I'm good."

"Good as in…"

"Oh," Chris says, and finally tears his gaze away from his game again. "Congratulations?" He says it like he's unsure what exactly his father is angling for, and that's just the first thing that comes to mind.

Buck, at least, beams. "Thank you."

Eddie glares at him before returning his attention to his son. "So, you're completely fine with it?"

Chris shrugs. "Not like it's gonna change much. It's just labels."

Eddie rubs a hand over his brow. "Are you saying we've been acting like we were dating the entire time?"

"Duh."

"Buck," Eddie hisses, nodding towards Chris. Buck has no idea what Eddie wants from either him or Chris. Looks like it's already all figured out. Eddie takes a deep, stabilizing breath that only makes him look more agitated at the end.

"Okay, fine, I guess it's not a big deal to anyone but me then."

Chris presses the button on his Switch to turn it off, then gives his father his whole attention for the first time since they picked him up today.

"Sorry, Dad, I just thought… it was so obvious. But I'm really happy you guys figured it out. Makes it easier to talk about Buck at school. People always ask, "Who's Buck?" whenever I tell them about my weekend or who helped me with my science project. And then I have to tell them this whole complicated backstory, how he's my father's best friend, but basically raised me, together with my dad, for almost a decade now, and you know it's a whole thing."

Eddie looks like he's seconds away from spontaneously combusting, his face a deep tomato red.

"So, I'm happy for myself, too. I'll just call Buck my second dad from now on. Makes it so much easier."

And now Buck's face is flushing with heat, his birthmark throbbing.

"Okay," Eddie says, and Buck can see that he's conjuring up his alter ego: Paramedic Eddie, who is good under pressure. "Well, I'm happy it makes things easier for you, mijo. But, actually, I wanted to tell you something different."

"Buck is moving in?"

"No."

"We're moving in with Buck?"

"No, that's—"

"Oh, we're finally getting a dog! Buck loves dogs."

Eddie collapses backward onto the towel he's sitting on with a weary sigh, hiding his eyes below his arms.

Chris frowns at Buck and waves at his father. "I guess that's a no?"

"Yeah, sorry, bud. No dog for now. But your father wanted to tell you something else about himself, something you might not know about him yet."

"Oh," Chris says, like a light bulb just went off in his head. "The dancing!"

Eddie sits up quickly. "You know about the dancing, too?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, I have this classmate who is really into Latin American dances. She showed me a video of you dancing at a bar or something? She wanted me to tell you that her mother is single, so I told her you're presumably in love with your best friend. But now I can tell her it's confirmed!"

Eddie looks like his soul has left his body, so Buck shuffles next to him and takes his hand into his, massaging his thumb into the flesh of his palm.

"Okay," Eddie mutters. "I give up. I have no secrets."

"Well, that's good," Chris says, finally turning his Switch back on as if he considers the matter closed. "I don't like secrets."

"There's a video of him dancing?" Buck murmurs to Chris.

"Buck!"

"Uh-huh, I can send you the link later. It's been shared quite a lot on Insta."

"Chris!" Eddie drops Buck's hand and stands rather dramatically with his palms resting against his hips. "You are both traitors!" Then, he storms off towards the water like he needs to cool himself down.

"You should go," Chris says with a nod in his father's direction. Buck gets up to jog over towards Eddie (his life partner!!!) when Chris calls after him, "Don't forget to bring him a cookie to cheer him up!"

"Of course," Buck laughs and ruffles Chris' hair. "How could I forget?"

Later, when they're back home, exhausted from spending the whole day in the sun, and Eddie is already asleep, curled up next to him, Buck will watch the video of him dancing with the volume off, and his chest will swell to twice its size. Because the moon is waning and Eddie loves him even without its influence, and Buck is finally a half, and will be for the next eighty years.