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Eddie had learned there were different kinds of quiet.
There was the quiet of the station after midnight, when everybody pretended they weren’t listening for the bells. There was the quiet in Chris’s room when his son was trying to seem asleep because he didn’t want to talk about whatever was actually bothering him. There was the quiet Buck got sometimes in the truck, jaw working, eyes forward, his whole body wound tight around whatever thought he wasn’t saying.
And then there was the quiet in Buck’s house at eight-forty on a Thursday night, which wasn’t quiet at all.
It had cartoons low on the TV, dishwasher humming in the kitchen, Christopher laughing at something on his phone, and Theo sitting cross-legged on the rug in a pair of dinosaur pajamas, pushing a plastic fire engine into the leg of Buck’s coffee table with the steady, destructive focus of a tiny engineer.
“Careful,” Buck said from the couch.
Theo didn’t look up. “Why?”
“Because if you ram the truck into the table, the truck might break.”
“Why?”
“Because the table is harder than the truck.”
Theo considered this. He picked up the fire engine, inspected the front bumper, then rammed it into the table again.
Buck closed his eyes.
Eddie hid his smile behind his beer.
“That,” Buck said, pointing with two fingers, “was the opposite of what I just explained.”
“Why?” Christopher snorted from the armchair.
Eddie said, “Because he’s four.”
Theo looked at Eddie and dramatically held up four fingers. “Four.”
“You’re four and three quarters,” Buck said.
Theo’s head whipped around. “Why?”
Buck opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Eddie took a sip of beer. “Good luck.”
Buck shot him a look over the back of the couch. He was barefoot, hair still damp from the shower he’d taken after dinner, wearing one of those soft T-shirts that looked like it had survived six laundry disasters and somehow come out better. There was a small smear of pasta sauce near the hem. Theo’s doing. Probably.
Buck had not noticed it.
Eddie had noticed it three times.
“Because,” Buck said carefully, as if approaching a live wire, “you’re getting closer to five, but you’re not all the way there yet.”
Theo looked at his four fingers.
Then he lifted his thumb too.
“Not yet,” Buck said.
Theo frowned. “Why?”
“Because time is a prison,” Christopher said.
“Hey,” Eddie said, without heat.
Buck pointed at Chris. “That is not helpful.”
Christopher shrugged, grinning.
Theo looked at him with interest. “What’s prison?”
“Nope,” Eddie said.
Buck leaned forward, elbows on knees. “It’s a place people go when they make really bad choices.”
Theo’s eyes widened.
Christopher, traitor that he was, said, “Like breaking the fire truck.”
Theo gasped and clutched the truck to his chest.
Buck turned on him. “Christopher.”
“What? Consequences.”
Eddie watched Buck try to look stern and fail because Theo was staring up at him like he’d just been handed the full weight of the legal system. Buck lasted all of two seconds before he reached down, tugged gently at the truck, and made it drive in a careful circle around Theo’s knee.
“You’re not going to prison,” Buck said. “The truck is fine.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a tough truck.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s made that way.”
“Why?”
Buck looked at Eddie.
Eddie looked back.
Buck gave a helpless, dramatic shrug. “He asks for you when you’re not here.”
Eddie’s hand paused around his beer.
Buck’s mouth twitched, like he hadn’t meant to say it quite that plainly.
Theo abandoned the truck and crawled across the rug toward Eddie’s feet. He moved like all his bones were suggestions. One knee, then one palm, then somehow his whole body tipped sideways before correcting itself.
He put both hands on Eddie’s shin.
Eddie looked down at him. “Hi.”
“Why is your face like that?”
Buck made a small, strangled noise.
Eddie slowly lowered his beer. “Like what?”
Theo squinted. “Mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody has done anything bad.”
Theo looked toward the coffee table.
Eddie followed his gaze to the fire truck.
“Nobody has done anything very bad,” Eddie amended.
Theo nodded, satisfied.
Buck was smiling now, or trying not to. Eddie could feel it from across the room, the way Buck’s attention settled on him. It was annoying, how familiar that felt. How easy. Buck watching him across a room had become part of the furniture somehow. Couch, TV, pile of toys, Buck looking at Eddie like Eddie had walked in carrying something important even when all he’d done was take off his shoes.
Eddie didn’t look at him for long.
That was the trick.
Looking too long invited problems.
Theo shifted, still holding Eddie’s leg. “Why do you have an ouch?”
Eddie glanced down.
His pant leg had ridden up enough to show the faded edge of the bandage taped near his calf. Nothing serious. Scraped it on a call, mostly bruising, very ugly. Buck had made a face at it when Eddie came over and then immediately gone for the first-aid kit even though Eddie had already cleaned it.
Buck had crouched in front of him in the kitchen, fingers careful around Eddie’s ankle, and Eddie had stood there with one hand on the counter pretending it was normal.
It had mostly been normal.
“I bumped my leg,” Eddie said.
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Buck made a sound. Eddie looked up.
“What?”
“You jumped over a collapsed railing.”
“It was in the way.”
“You landed on rebar.”
“Next to rebar.”
Buck lifted his eyebrows.
Eddie lifted his beer.
Theo’s mouth had fallen open. “You jumped?”
“He likes to be dramatic,” Buck said.
Eddie stared at him. “Me?”
“You,” Buck said. “You do this whole calm action hero thing and then act like you’re not dramatic.”
“I’m efficient.”
“You’re a firefighter. That is not a normal job.”
“Says the firefighter.”
Christopher laughed again, and Theo, who did not get the joke but liked laughing when everyone else did, laughed too. He let go of Eddie’s shin and crawled backward, then flopped onto his stomach with a dramatic sigh.
“Why do you love Eddie?”
The room kept making noise.
Dishwasher. Cartoon. Fridge. Chris’s phone buzzing once against the armchair cushion.
Eddie heard all of it too clearly.
Buck’s smile stayed on his face for half a second too long before it broke at the edges.
“I—what?” Buck said.
Theo rolled onto his back, feet kicking once. “Why do you love Eddie?”
Buck looked at Eddie.
Eddie looked at Theo.
Christopher stopped laughing.
There were probably a lot of ways to answer that question.
Unfortunately, Eddie had access to exactly none of them.
Buck’s mouth opened, then closed.
Eddie felt his own face do something unfortunate.
Theo waited, patient and sincere, as if he’d asked why pasta had cheese on it.
Buck cleared his throat. “Uh.”
Christopher made the mistake of shifting in the armchair. Eddie glanced over.
Christopher had his hand over his mouth.
Eddie knew that look.
He narrowed his eyes.
Christopher blinked at him, all innocence, like his shoulders weren’t shaking.
“Theo,” Buck said slowly, “that’s a— I mean, I— uh— do love Eddie.”
Eddie’s hand tightened around the beer bottle.
Buck kept talking, because of course he did. Because silence made Buck nervous and nervous made Buck throw himself into the deep end without checking if there was water.
“I mean, we all love Eddie. Right? Chris loves Eddie. Obviously. Hen loves Eddie. Chim loves Eddie in a kind of complaining way. Maddie loves Eddie. Jee loves Eddie, although last time she threw a grape at him, so that’s complicated.”
Theo blinked.
Eddie said, “A grape?”
“She’s in a throwing stage.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“It was one grape.”
“Buck.”
“It was a soft grape.”
Christopher was fully smiling now.
Theo sat up. “Why?”
Buck pointed at him. “Exactly.”
Eddie almost laughed. It came up his throat and got stuck somewhere it didn’t belong.
Because Theo was still looking at Buck. Because Buck was still flushed, ears red, fingers worrying at the seam of his sweatpants. Because the question hadn’t gone away just because Buck had covered it in grapes.
Theo said, slower this time, “Why do you love Eddie?”
Buck stopped moving.
The TV played a bright, stupid jingle. Some animated animal sang about sharing.
Eddie hated the animal immediately.
Buck looked at him again.
This time Eddie didn’t look away fast enough.
“I, uh.” Buck swallowed. His eyes were too open. Too Buck. “Because he’s Eddie.”
Theo frowned. “Why?”
“Buddy,” Eddie said, because Buck looked like someone had handed him a bomb and asked him to describe the wiring.
Theo turned that clean, curious gaze on him.
And that was worse.
“Why do you love Buck?”
Christopher made a tiny sound.
Eddie did not look at him.
Buck’s head turned.
Eddie suddenly became very aware of where everyone was. Theo on the rug. Chris in the armchair. Buck on the couch, close enough that Eddie could see the damp curl near his temple drying funny. Eddie himself in the other corner of the couch, one ankle crossed over his knee, beer in hand like a prop.
Like he could just sit there and not answer.
“I love Buck because…” Eddie started.
Buck’s eyes dropped to Eddie’s mouth.
Great. Excellent. Very helpful.
Eddie tried again. “Because Buck is…”
A disaster.
Kind.
Too much.
Always there.
The person Eddie called when Chris had a fever and Eddie needed someone to tell him he was not failing at fatherhood. The person who once drove across town for a charger because Christopher’s tablet had died and the right charger was in Buck’s glove compartment for reasons no one had questioned. The person who knew Eddie’s kitchen better than some people knew their own, who had opinions on Chris’s socks, who made Theo’s toast in triangles because squares were “too bossy” this week.
The person who made Eddie want to come over on nights he didn’t need to.
“Buck is Buck,” Eddie said.
Christopher dropped his head back against the chair.
Buck let out one breath that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded like it hurt.
Theo’s face scrunched. “That’s not why.”
“No,” Chris said, under his breath. “It really isn’t.”
Eddie looked at him.
Chris looked back with the calm, ruthless patience of a teenager who had survived both of them for years.
Buck rubbed both hands over his face. “Okay. Okay, no, he’s right. That’s not an answer.”
“It’s an answer,” Eddie said.
“It’s an Eddie answer.”
“Those count.”
“Maybe.”
Theo crawled closer to Buck now and climbed halfway onto his foot. Buck automatically bent down, hands out to steady him.
The move was so practiced Eddie barely registered it until he did. Buck’s palms under Theo’s arms. Theo leaning into him without checking if Buck would catch him. Buck’s thumb brushing once over the back of Theo’s dinosaur shirt.
Eddie’s chest went tight in a way he could not blame on beer.
Buck said, “I love Eddie because he shows up.”
Eddie went still.
Buck was looking at Theo, not him. That should have made it easier.
It did not.
“He acts like it’s no big deal,” Buck said, voice careful now, quieter. “Like he was going that way anyway. Or like he just had extra groceries. Or like everyone knows how to fix a cabinet hinge at nine o’clock at night.”
Eddie looked down at his bottle.
Buck huffed once. “He pretends he doesn’t say a lot, but he says things. Just… not always with words.”
Theo was listening, head tilted, one hand still gripping Buck’s ankle.
“He makes people feel safe,” Buck said.
Eddie looked down at his beer.
The label had started to peel at the corner. He worked his thumbnail under it like that required his full attention.
Buck glanced at him then. Quick. Nervous.
Eddie could have saved him. Could have made a joke. Could have said Buck loved him because Eddie fixed his sink and didn’t judge the five different mustards in his fridge.
He didn’t.
Buck looked back at Theo. “And he loves you in a way where you don’t have to earn it. He just does. Even when he’s pretending he’s annoyed.”
Theo looked over at Eddie.
Eddie breathed in through his nose.
Christopher had stopped pretending to look at his phone.
Theo asked, “You love me?”
Eddie put the beer on the side table. “Yeah, mijo. I love you.”
“Why?”
That one came easier.
“Because you’re you.”
Theo frowned.
Eddie leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Because you ask a lot of questions.”
Buck made a small noise.
“Because you put peas in your pockets at dinner because you said they looked lonely.”
Theo smiled.
“Because you make Buck read the same book four times and correct him when he skips pages.”
Buck said, “Nobody needed to bring that up.”
“You skip the scary owl page.”
“The owl has weird energy.”
“The owl is a drawing.”
“It knows what it did.”
Theo giggled, and Buck’s shoulders loosened a fraction.
Eddie kept his eyes on Theo because that was safer. “Because you’re funny. And stubborn. And you remember which mug Chris likes. And you yell ‘Eddie’ every time I walk in like I’m famous.”
“You are famous,” Theo said.
Buck smiled. “He’s very famous.”
“Local celebrity,” Eddie said dryly.
Christopher muttered, “In his own mind.”
Eddie pointed at him without looking. “Careful.”
Theo climbed off Buck’s foot and walked the three steps to Eddie, then leaned against Eddie’s knee. Eddie put a hand on his back. Small. Warm. Solid under the worn cotton pajamas.
Theo accepted this for half a second before his head turned.
“Why do you love Buck?”
Eddie closed his eyes.
Buck said, “You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
Theo was still staring up at him, patient as anything.
He could feel Christopher’s attention. Buck’s too, though Buck had gone very still. Eddie did not need to look to know the shape of him.
“Because Buck…” Eddie paused.
The old version of him would have found the cleanest exit. A joke, a dodge, some practical answer about family. The new version of him was not exactly brave. He was just tired. There had been too much loss to keep wasting time pretending obvious things were complicated because saying them made his hands shake a little.
“He cares,” Eddie said.
Buck’s eyes were on him. Eddie could see it in the edge of his vision.
“He cares so much it makes him stupid sometimes.”
Buck let out a laugh. “Wow.”
Theo giggled again.
Eddie looked at Buck then, just for a second. “It’s true.”
“I’m aware.”
“He’ll burn toast because he’s reading an article about whether your shoes have enough arch support.”
Christopher said, “He did that.”
Buck pointed at him. “You were limping.”
“My shoe was untied.”
“You could have fallen.”
“From standing?”
“People fall from standing all the time.”
Eddie felt his mouth twitch. “See?”
Buck sank back into the couch, embarrassed and pleased and trying to be annoyed. It was a familiar combination. Eddie could pick it out of a lineup.
Eddie looked at Theo again. “He remembers things. He tries. Even when he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he tries harder than anybody.”
Buck’s face changed.
Eddie didn’t chase the expression. He couldn’t.
“And he loves people loudly,” Eddie said. “Which is annoying.”
“Hey.”
“But good.”
Theo leaned harder against Eddie’s knee. “Why annoying?”
“Because sometimes people are trying to drink a beer in peace.”
Buck laughed for real that time. The sound loosened something in Eddie’s ribs.
Theo looked between them. His little face shifted into concentration. Eddie could almost see the next question forming, dangerous and unstoppable.
“Are you married?”
Christopher coughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone.
Buck choked on nothing.
Eddie said, “No.”
Theo turned to Buck. “Why?”
Buck’s mouth opened.
Eddie got there first. “Because you have to ask someone before you marry them.”
Theo considered this.
Then he looked at Buck. “Did you ask?”
“No,” Buck said quickly.
Theo looked at Eddie. “Did you ask?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Christopher whispered, “Great question.”
Eddie slowly turned his head.
Chris was grinning at his phone like it had personally saved him from blame.
Buck had gone the color of the sauce on his shirt.
“Chris,” Buck said weakly.
“What?” Christopher said. “He’s curious.”
“He’s four,” Eddie said.
Theo held up one hand, fingers spread. “This many soon.”
Buck leaned over to inspect. “That’s true. We’re very close to this many.”
Theo nodded, satisfied.
Eddie looked at Buck.
Buck looked at him.
The stupid animal on TV kept singing.
Christopher’s smile softened around the edges. He looked from Buck to Eddie, then rolled his eyes with such practiced affection that Eddie felt twenty years older.
“Finally,” Chris said.
Buck blinked. “Finally what?”
Christopher stared at him.
Buck’s eyebrows drew together. “What?”
Chris looked at Eddie.
Eddie said, “Don’t look at me.”
“You’re both impossible.”
Theo perked up. “Why?”
“Because,” Chris said, pushing himself up from the armchair with his crutches, “they take forever to understand stuff.”
Buck made an offended sound. “We understand stuff.”
“Do you?”
Eddie wished he had kept the beer in his hand. It gave him something to do.
Christopher grabbed the game controller from the coffee table and nodded toward the hallway. “Theo, you wanna learn how to crash cars in Mario Kart?”
Theo gasped like he had been offered a kingdom.
Buck sat up. “Uh, no crashing cars.”
“It’s a game,” Chris said.
“He takes things literally.”
Theo was already scrambling after him. “Can I be the turtle?”
“You can be whoever you want,” Chris said.
“Can Eddie be famous?”
Christopher glanced over his shoulder. “Eddie’s too famous to play.”
“Wow,” Buck said.
Eddie said, “Finally some respect.”
Chris rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling as he led Theo down the hall. Theo looked back once, waving both hands like he was leaving for something very important.
“Bye, Buck! Bye, Eddie!”
“Bye, buddy,” Buck said.
Eddie lifted a hand.
Theo disappeared around the corner. A second later, his voice carried back.
“Why is the turtle driving?”
Christopher said, “Because he has a license.”
“Why?”
“Because he passed the test.”
“Why?”
Buck and Eddie sat very still.
Then Chris called, louder, “I hate both of you.”
Buck laughed under his breath.
Eddie rubbed a hand over his jaw.
From down the hall came the opening music of the game, then Theo’s delighted yell.
Christopher said, “That’s not how you hold it.”
The dishwasher kept running in the kitchen.
For a second, neither of them moved.
But the space between Eddie and Buck had gone sharp.
Buck reached for the remote and muted the cartoon.
Eddie watched his hand. Long fingers. Nervous, because they moved too fast and then stopped too carefully.
Buck set the remote down.
Neither of them said anything.
Eddie picked up his beer, then put it down again without drinking.
“So,” Buck said.
Eddie stared at the muted cartoon animal bouncing across the screen. “So.”
“That was…”
“Yeah.”
“Unexpected.”
“He’s in a why phase.”
“That was more than a why phase.”
Eddie nodded once.
Buck rubbed his palms over his thighs. He was looking at the rug now, at the plastic fire truck still parked near the coffee table leg.
“I didn’t— I mean, I know kids ask stuff. Jee asked Maddie why Chimney’s face had lines and then asked Chim if he was old enough to have met dinosaurs, so, you know, kids are brutal, but that was…” Buck exhaled. “That was specific.”
Eddie’s mouth was dry.
“He asked why we love each other,” Eddie said.
Buck looked at him then.
“Yeah.”
Eddie nodded again, like an idiot.
Buck leaned back into the couch.
Eddie knew better than to mistake it for relaxed. Buck was giving him space with his whole body, which was very Buck and also deeply annoying.
Buck said, quieter, “I meant what I said.”
Eddie’s fingers stopped moving on the beer label.
“About you,” Buck added, unnecessarily. “And Theo. And all of it.”
“I know.”
Buck’s smile was small and crooked. “Do you?”
Eddie looked at him.
Buck swallowed. “Sorry. That wasn’t— I just mean, sometimes you don’t act like you know.”
Eddie almost said something defensive.
It got as far as his teeth and stayed there.
Because Buck was right.
Eddie did that. Took love like a tool someone had lent him. Useful, necessary, not really his to keep. He’d gotten better about it. Therapy, time, Christopher, Bobby’s voice in his head telling him to stop being a dumbass in nicer words. Still, old habits had teeth.
“I know,” Eddie said again, and made himself hold Buck’s eyes this time. “I’m trying to act like it more.”
Buck’s face went soft.
Eddie immediately wanted to make a joke.
He didn’t.
From the other room, Theo shrieked with laughter.
Christopher said, “No, no, turn left. Your other left.”
Theo yelled, “Why do I have two?”
Buck smiled without looking away from Eddie. “He’s gonna destroy Chris.”
“Chris needs humbling.”
“He’s your child.”
“Exactly.”
Buck laughed, but it faded fast. Enough to leave the real conversation sitting there between them, legs crossed, waiting.
Eddie shifted. His knee bumped Buck’s, and neither of them moved away.
That was new.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
Maybe that had been happening for years and Eddie was only now tired of pretending furniture was responsible.
Buck looked down at their knees.
Then back up.
“Chris knew,” Buck said.
Eddie snorted. “Chris knows everything.”
“Yeah, but…” Buck shook his head. “He said finally.”
“He’s dramatic.”
“He gets that from you.”
“Absolutely not.”
Buck gave him a look.
Eddie accepted the loss with dignity. “Maybe a little.”
Buck’s smile came and went. His fingers curled against his thigh.
“He didn’t seem surprised,” Buck said.
“No.”
“Did that surprise you?”
Eddie thought about it.
Chris had been watching them for years. Chris had seen Buck in their kitchen in the morning making pancakes like he lived there. He’d seen Eddie drop everything for Buck the same way Buck dropped everything for them. He’d seen the hospital chairs, the school events, the birthday parties, the bad days, the good days, the quiet days when Buck didn’t say he was staying but stayed anyway.
Christopher had probably known before Eddie did.
“No,” Eddie said.
Buck nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me neither.”
Eddie looked at him.
Buck wasn’t confused. He wasn’t laughing it off.
He knew exactly what they were talking about.
Buck’s throat bobbed. “Eddie.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
Eddie let out a breath that almost became a laugh. “You think I do?”
“No, I know you don’t. That’s why this is terrifying.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean, I know how to—” Buck stopped. His face went red again. “Not that. I mean, relationships. I’ve been in relationships. Obviously. You know that. Too well, maybe. Sorry.”
Eddie looked at him.
Buck winced. “I’m doing the talking thing.”
“You are.”
“I can stop.”
“You won’t.”
“No, probably not.”
Eddie leaned back, shoulder pressing into the couch cushion. Buck’s house smelled like dish soap and pasta and the lavender shampoo Theo had decided he only tolerated if Buck made dinosaur noises while washing his hair. Eddie had found Buck doing it two nights ago, crouched beside the tub, roaring quietly while Theo poured water over a plastic stegosaurus.
Eddie had stood in the doorway too long.
Buck had looked up, hair falling into his eyes, sleeves wet to the elbow.
“What?” he’d asked.
Eddie had said, “Nothing.”
Buck had smiled like he knew Eddie was lying and let him get away with it.
Eddie was tired of getting away with it.
Buck said, “I don’t want to mess this up.”
Eddie looked at him. “Us?”
Buck nodded.
There it was.
Us.
Eddie had started ending up here after dinner more nights than he didn’t. His shoes by the door. Christopher’s crutches propped near the couch. His jacket over the back of Buck’s kitchen chair.
No one had said anything about it.
Us.
Eddie’s hand was resting on his own thigh. He turned it palm-up before he could talk himself out of it.
Buck stared at it.
Eddie stared at Buck.
For a second neither of them moved.
Then Buck put his hand in Eddie’s.
His palm was warm. It usually was. Eddie knew that from handoffs on calls, from helping Buck up after a collapse, from passing him tools, from a hundred small contacts he had filed away under normal and ignored like a coward.
Buck’s fingers fit between his.
Eddie looked down at their hands, then back at Buck.
“I don’t want to mess it up either,” Eddie said.
Buck’s thumb brushed Eddie’s knuckle. Once. Testing.
Eddie let him.
Buck said, “But there is an us.”
Eddie’s chest tightened.
“Yeah,” he said. “there is.”
Buck breathed out. “Okay.”
Eddie’s mouth twitched. “That’s all you needed?”
“No, but it’s a start.”
From down the hall came a digital crash, followed by Theo yelling, “I’m winning!”
Christopher said, “You’re going backwards.”
“Why?”
“Because you turned around.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re terrible at this.”
“Chris,” Eddie called automatically.
Christopher yelled back, “Affectionately!”
Buck laughed, shoulders shaking.
Eddie held his hand and felt the laugh travel through him where their arms touched.
That was another thing.
They were sitting close enough now that their shoulders almost met. Eddie did not remember moving closer. Buck probably had. Buck was always moving toward people. Eddie was always pretending he hadn’t noticed until the distance was gone.
Buck looked at him, still smiling a little. “Theo’s question really got you, huh?”
“It got you too.”
“Yeah, well, my face betrays me.”
“That’s true.”
“Rude.”
“You know this about yourself.”
Buck bumped his shoulder against Eddie’s. The contact was small. Casual, if anyone asked. Nobody was asking.
Eddie bumped back.
Buck’s smile shifted.
Eddie felt fifteen years old and thirty-four at the same time.
Buck looked down at their hands again. “Can I say something weird?”
“You’re going to anyway.”
“Also rude.”
“Accurate.”
Buck took it. He always did. His thumb kept moving, light over Eddie’s skin.
“I think,” Buck said slowly, “part of me has been waiting for someone else to name it.”
Eddie went quiet.
Buck grimaced. “Which sounds pathetic.”
“No.”
“It does.”
“It sounds human.”
Buck looked at him.
Eddie shrugged with one shoulder. “Annoying, but human.”
Buck laughed softly. “There he is.”
Eddie did not smile, except he did.
Buck’s hand tightened around his. “I think I didn’t want to be wrong.”
“You weren’t.”
“I know that now.”
“Didn’t before?”
Buck’s eyes flicked over his face. “Sometimes I did.”
Eddie understood that. Too well.
Some days the truth was obvious. Buck in his kitchen. Buck with Chris. Buck asleep on Eddie’s couch with one arm hanging off and the TV still playing. Buck grabbing Eddie’s turnout coat in a crowd, Buck saying his name like it mattered, Buck showing up and staying and staying and staying.
Other days Eddie could talk himself out of anything.
They were friends. They were family. They were co-parents now in a way no paperwork had ever fully captured. They were Buck and Eddie.
People could fit a lot of denial inside words like family.
“I didn’t want to be wrong either,” Eddie said.
Buck held very still. “Yeah?”
Eddie nodded.
Buck’s voice dropped. “What changed?”
Eddie looked toward the hallway.
Theo’s laughter came again, bright and wild. Chris was laughing too now, despite himself.
“What didn’t?” Eddie said.
Buck followed his gaze.
For a moment, they listened.
Theo yelling. Chris coaching. A fake engine revving. Their house, except it wasn’t their house. It was Buck’s. Eddie knew that. His shoes by the door didn’t make it his.
Still.
He knew which cabinet had Theo’s cups. He knew Buck kept extra wipes in the basket under the side table. He knew the porch light flickered when it rained and that the bathroom door stuck unless you lifted the handle. He knew Christopher liked the armchair because the angle worked better for his crutches. He knew Buck had started buying the orange juice Eddie liked and pretending it had been on sale.
Eddie looked back at Buck.
“Everything,” he said.
Buck’s eyes got shiny.
Eddie looked down at their hands. “Don’t.”
Buck laughed under his breath. “Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
Like Eddie had handed him something fragile and Buck already knew where to keep it.
Eddie cleared his throat. “Like that.”
Buck shook his head, but he was smiling through it, and Eddie felt better. They were still them. Whatever this was, it hadn’t replaced anything. It had only put a name on what had already been sitting on the couch with them.
Buck said, “So what are we naming it?”
Eddie’s stomach dipped.
Buck caught it. “Sorry. Too much?”
“No.” Eddie rubbed his thumb along the side of Buck’s hand. The motion was easier than the words. “Maybe.”
Buck nodded immediately. “Okay.”
“I don’t mean…” Eddie stopped, annoyed at himself. “I don’t want to hide behind nothing. I just don’t know what word fits.”
Buck’s expression changed into something careful.
“Me neither,” Buck said.
Eddie looked at their hands. “We’re more than friends.”
Buck’s fingers tightened.
“Yeah,” Buck said.
Buck swallowed. “I don’t need a perfect label tonight.”
“Good.”
“But I do need…” Buck looked down, then made himself look back. Brave in that Buck way. Messy and direct. “I need to know I’m not inventing this.”
“You’re not.”
“Okay.”
“I want this,” Eddie said, before Buck could ask the worse version. Before Eddie could dodge it and hate himself later. “Whatever this is. I want it.”
Buck stared at him.
Eddie forced himself not to look away.
Buck’s mouth curved, slow and disbelieving. “You do?”
Eddie gave him a look. “I just said it.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why are you asking?”
“Because I like hearing it.”
“Buck.”
Buck stopped.
That was new too. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Eddie just hadn’t used that tone with him in a while.
Eddie looked down at their hands. Buck’s thumb had gone still against his.
“I’m bad at this,” Eddie said.
Buck’s face softened. “Eddie—”
“No, I know. Shocking.”
Buck huffed, but he didn’t interrupt again.
Eddie rubbed his thumb along the side of Buck’s hand once, then made himself stop hiding in the movement.
“I’m bad at saying things before they’re already obvious,” Eddie said. “And I know that’s not fair to you.”
Buck’s mouth parted a little.
Eddie kept going, because if he stopped, he was done.
“You’ve been in my life for so long that I think I forgot it was a choice.” He swallowed. “Or maybe I didn’t forget. Maybe it was easier to act like it just happened. You were there. Then you kept being there. Then Chris started expecting you to be there. Then I did.”
Buck didn’t move.
Eddie looked at him properly.
“And now Theo is here and Chris rolls his eyes at us and your house has my shoes by the door half the week, and I still keep acting like I don’t know what that means.”
Buck’s eyes had gone shiny again, but he stayed quiet.
Eddie’s hand tightened around his.
“I know what it means,” Eddie said. “I’ve known. I think I’ve known for a while.”
Buck’s voice was rough when he asked, “What does it mean?”
Eddie let out one short breath. Almost a laugh. Mostly nerves.
“It means I want to come here even when I have no reason to.” He glanced toward the hallway, where Theo yelled something about a mushroom. “It means I like the way he yells my name when I walk in. It means Chris looks happier on nights we end up here. It means I know which mug you give me because you think I don’t notice you saving it.”
Buck looked caught.
Eddie kept going.
“It means I don’t just want the parts of you that fit into what we already are. Partner. Best friend. Family.” He shook his head once. “I want the rest too.”
Buck’s fingers tightened hard around his.
Eddie’s chest felt too tight, but the words were out now. He could see them on Buck’s face.
“I want this,” Eddie said again, quieter. “I want you. I don’t know what we call it yet. I don’t know how fast we go. I just know I’m tired of pretending I only come over because Theo likes me and Chris wants to hang out and you need help with dinner.”
Buck gave a wet little laugh. “I do need help with dinner.”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, mouth twitching. “Your rice is a crime.”
Buck laughed properly then, wiping quickly under one eye.
Eddie let the smile fade first.
“But that’s not why I’m here,” he said.
Buck looked at him.
Eddie held it this time.
“I’m here because you’re here.”
Buck stared at him.
For once, he didn’t answer right away. His hand was tight around Eddie’s, his thumb pressed hard into the side of Eddie’s knuckle like he needed somewhere to put the feeling.
Eddie let him look. He’d said it now. There wasn’t much left to hide behind.
Then Buck leaned in.
Eddie met him the rest of the way.
The kiss was gentle, almost careful. That should have felt strange after everything Eddie had just said, but it didn’t. Buck kissed him like he was still checking in, even with his mouth. Like he knew this mattered and didn’t want to rush past it.
Eddie’s hand moved from Buck’s chin to the side of his face. Buck made a small sound, barely there, and Eddie felt it against his mouth.
That got him more than it should have.
He had kissed people before. He had been married. He had lived a life.
Still, kissing Buck in his living room, with the dishwasher running and Theo yelling at a video game down the hall, felt different enough that Eddie had to stop thinking about it before he ruined the whole thing.
Buck pulled back first, but only far enough to breathe.
His forehead touched Eddie’s.
“Okay,” Buck whispered.
Eddie huffed. “You keep saying that.”
“Because I’m trying not to say twelve other things.”
“Pick one.”
Buck’s eyes flicked up. “I love you.”
Eddie’s lungs stopped cooperating.
Buck winced immediately. “Too much. Sorry. I know we were doing the no rigid labels thing and I just— Theo already said it and we said it, technically, but not like that, and I don’t mean you have to—”
Eddie kissed him again.
Buck shut up into it, fingers catching in Eddie’s shirt. Eddie held his face and let himself have three seconds of not thinking.
Then four.
Then Buck laughed against his mouth, breathless and a little wrecked.
Eddie pulled back. “What?”
“You kissed me to stop me spiraling.”
“It worked.”
Buck laughed harder, dropping his forehead to Eddie’s shoulder.
Eddie let him.
His hand stayed at the back of Buck’s neck, fingers resting against warm skin. Buck’s shoulders moved under the laugh, then settled. Eddie could feel the exact moment it turned into something quieter.
Buck said, muffled against Eddie’s shirt, “I do, you know.”
“I know.”
Buck lifted his head.
Eddie looked at him and knew there was no clean way to say it. No careful version that wouldn’t leave him exposed. He could soften it with a joke. He could make Buck work for it. He could hand over a piece and call it enough.
Buck had been doing that for him for years.
Eddie was tired of being the only one protected.
“I love you too,” he said.
Buck’s face cracked open.
“Do not cry on me,” Eddie said immediately.
Buck laughed and wiped at his eyes. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m emotional.”
“You’re damp.”
“That is such a gross way to say that.”
“You’re the one doing it.”
Buck shoved lightly at his shoulder. Eddie caught his wrist before he could pull away, and Buck looked at the contact like it still surprised him.
Good.
Let it surprise them for a while.
Buck turned his hand until Eddie’s grip became another version of holding hands.
“So,” Buck said.
Eddie sighed. “We’re back to so?”
“I’m processing.”
“Loudly.”
“Internally, actually. You should be proud.”
“I’m suspicious.”
Buck smiled. “Fair.”
From down the hall, Theo yelled, “Buck! I’m the mushroom!”
Buck closed his eyes. “He is not the mushroom.”
Christopher called, “He keeps calling Toad the mushroom!”
Theo yelled, “Why is his head like that?”
Buck started to stand, but Eddie didn’t let go of his hand right away.
Buck looked down.
Eddie did too.
Then Eddie loosened his grip.
Buck didn’t move.
“Do we tell them?” Buck asked quietly.
Eddie glanced toward the hallway. “Chris already knows.”
“Yeah, but officially.”
Eddie glanced toward the hallway. “We tell him there’s something between us.”
Buck went quiet for a second.
Then he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
“And that we’re figuring out what it looks like.”
Buck’s mouth softened. “I like that.”
Buck stood then, pulling Eddie up with him. Their hands stayed linked between them for one second longer than necessary before Eddie let go.
Christopher was sitting on the floor of Buck's bedroom, one leg stretched out, crutches within reach. Theo was perched beside him with the controller upside down, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration. On screen, his character drove straight into a wall and stayed there, wheels spinning.
“You’re doing great,” Chris said.
“No he’s not,” Eddie said.
Theo turned, delighted. “Eddie! I’m winning!”
Buck leaned against the doorframe. “Buddy, you’re facing a wall.”
Theo looked back at the screen. “Why?”
“Because walls are magnetic,” Christopher said.
Buck pointed at him. “Do not start.”
Chris looked up at them.
His eyes dropped to their hands.
They weren’t holding hands anymore, but Eddie was close enough to Buck that their shoulders touched. Barely. Enough.
Christopher’s mouth twitched.
Eddie braced himself.
Chris said, “So are you two done being weird?”
Buck choked.
Eddie said, “No.”
Buck looked at him, startled.
Eddie shrugged. “Probably not.”
Chris stared for half a second, then laughed. “At least you’re honest.”
Theo dropped the controller and scrambled up. “Are you married now?”
Buck made a sound like a tire losing air.
Eddie rubbed a hand over his face. “No.”
Theo looked disappointed. “Why?”
Buck glanced at Eddie.
Eddie glanced back.
This time, Buck smiled first.
“Because,” Buck said, crouching down in front of Theo, “we’re figuring some things out.”
Theo frowned. “Why?”
Eddie crouched beside Buck. “Because grown-ups are slow,” Eddie said.
Christopher made a noise. “Some of them.”
Buck nodded solemnly. “Very slow.”
Theo looked between them, then leaned close to Buck’s ear and whispered very loudly, “Do you love him?”
Buck looked at Eddie over Theo’s head.
“Yeah,” Buck said. “I do.”
Theo turned to Eddie. “Do you love Buck?”
Eddie looked at Buck.
Buck’s smile was nervous again, but steadier.
“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I do.”
Theo accepted this with a nod so casual it nearly made Eddie laugh. “Okay. Can you help me be the mushroom?”
Buck’s shoulders shook.
Christopher put both hands over his face. “I cannot believe that worked.”
Eddie sat down on the floor beside Theo and took the upside-down controller from his hands. “First, this is the wrong way.”
“Why?”
“Because buttons go on top.”
“Why?”
“Because Nintendo hates parents,” Buck said, sitting on Theo’s other side.
“Buck,” Eddie said.
“What? He doesn’t know what Nintendo is.”
“I know Mario,” Theo said.
“He knows Mario, Eddie,” Buck said.
Christopher looked over Theo’s head at Eddie, then Buck. His expression was softer than his sarcasm. Proud, almost. Relieved in a way that made Eddie’s throat tighten.
Eddie gave him a small nod.
Chris rolled his eyes, but this one was different.
Finally, again.
Buck’s knee pressed against Eddie’s on the carpet. Theo leaned back into both of them, small body warm and trusting, controller now facing the right direction. Christopher resumed his coaching with the grim patience of someone teaching a raccoon to parallel park.
“Okay,” Chris said. “Press A.”
Theo pressed every button at once.
The car launched forward, bounced off a wall, and immediately fell into water.
Theo screamed with laughter.
Buck laughed too, head tipping back.
Eddie looked at him.
Buck caught him looking.
For once, Eddie didn’t look away.
Buck’s smile settled into something quieter, something just for Eddie across the top of Theo’s head.
Theo tugged Eddie’s sleeve. “Why did I fall?”
Eddie turned back to the screen and picked up his own controller.
“Because,” he said, “you need a better teacher.”
Christopher gasped. “Excuse me.”
Buck handed Eddie the second controller, fingers brushing his. “Big talk from a local celebrity.”
Eddie took it. “I’m famous for a reason.”
Theo bounced in place. “Why?”
Buck’s knee pressed a little harder against Eddie’s.
Eddie looked at the screen, at the tiny car blinking back onto the track, and let himself smile.
“Because I show up,” he said.
Buck went still beside him for half a second.
Then his shoulder bumped Eddie’s.
Theo yelled, “Drive!”
So Eddie drove.