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Dinner was always a quiet affair in Hershey. the dining room would fill with the hair-raising sounds of knives scraping on ceramic plates, chewing that would get him chastised for being 'too loud', and a squeaky statement of appreciation to his mother for the meal. Things like elbows on the table, slurping of pasta, or any ramblings about his interests were shut down within an instant.
Things had been louder before Maddie left, they would chat between themselves in hushed tones with their backs turned from their parents—swapping stories from their days, giggling and laughing. But never too loud, never too joyous.
The house Buck grew up in could not be further from the one he is in now. A dinner in the Buckley or Diaz household can only be described as boisterous. Loud, unbridled chatter is a guarantee. It's never to serve a purpose, simply an obligation to feed the children in their care. It's an absolute staple for their unit meeting around one of the respective dining tables and recount their days, to hear about how Christopher's group is not pulling their weight in his biology project, or listen to Theo's near-incoherent rant about the dino-nuggies he had for lunch at preschool.
And it's not this perfect, fairytale thing. There's near-constant negotiation with Theo to get him to just eat his veggies. And Chris is his age-appropriate, moody self—lashing out on occasion, leaving the dinner table in a huff. Sometimes Buck and Eddie reach the end of their rope, particularly when they have to stop Theo from running away from the table when they ask him to finish his broccoli. But he couldn't have once imagined, or theorised, or posited anything better for himself. Just being granted the opportunity to raise their kids how they wanted to be raised, is gift enough.
So tonight, like most nights, they're sat around the dinner table. Theo next to Eddie and across from Buck, and Chris next to Buck and across from Eddie. They're winding up, everyone chewing down the last few bites of the spaghetti bolognaise and veggie medley he'd tiredly whipped up post-shift. Buck has to bite the sides of his cheeks to stop himself from smiling in between each bite.
As soon as Theo has unwillingly finished the last few bites of the peas he was served, he’s shooting up out of his seat, tugging Chris by the sleeve of his shirt. Christopher stands with only a slight groan, following along with Theo, who loudly declares that he’s taking Chris to his room to show him his new Superman figurines.
As they scurry off, Theo starts to rush and his foot catches on the edge of the area rug.
"Careful!" Both Eddie and Buck call out from their seats at the table. Chris reaches forward and grabs Theo by the collar of his shirt, steadying him and stopping him from sprinting away. (Should he invest in one of those leash backpacks? Do they mess with kids development? He should search that up later.)
Buck has been pleasantly surprised by how well Chris has taken to Theo, where most teens will roll their eyes at being requested to ‘play’ with a four year old, Christopher happily obliges. Buck thinks it’s mostly because Chris finds Theo hilarious, in the way one would find a hyperactive puppy who trips over his own paws hilarious, but whatever works for them.
Watching them interact with each other as if it’s always been this way—like this is a well established, settled routine—fills Buck with a cascade of warmth, starting in his ears travelling down his torso, through his arms and out to his toes. It’s hard to look at that and not get carried away—to see the care and love the boys have after only six months of knowing each other, and not think about how it will hopefully only grow and blossom over the next two, five, ten years of growing up with each other.
Buck’s eyes drift from the kids over to Eddie, who meets his gaze instantly, sending back a soft smile that mirrors Buck’s own. It’s scarily easy how quickly they fell into this routine, their weekly dinners becoming twice a week, then three times a week, now most nights they’re both off shift. It’s like Eddie just sensed it, knew that Buck was in over his head and just stepped in, picking up the slack with a practiced ease that only comes from over a decade of experience as a father looking after a young kid.
Without a second thought, Buck and Eddie are already scraping and stacking plates, rotating around each other—a practiced machine. Before long, the table is clear and the crockery is stacked in the sink waiting to be cleaned.
“I’m gonna check in on the boys,” says Buck to Eddie, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter.
Eddie makes a hum of agreement, a small smile crossing his lips.
In the past, people at the firehouse have joked about their wordless communication—both in the field and off. But it couldn’t be more apparent than now. It’s an odd thing, how comfortable they are in the silence. They can talk for hours—about nothing and everything—but also know intrinsically when the other needs a minute, when the day has worn them down and all they need is wordless company.
Which is why Buck knows that Eddie’s nod and hum really means ‘say hi for me, I’ll be here when you get back.'
Buck traverses through the house, carefully stepping over discarded toys and blankets. When he first got this house, he was trying to replicate something, get his own version of what he couldn’t keep. Those first few months, he felt like he was living in a stage house. No matter how many trinkets and memorabilia he added to the shelves, it still never felt like home, just a fragile reconstruction. That couldn’t be further from the truth now. Evidence of a life well lived litter the home. Scuff marks from Christopher’s crutches mare the hardwood floor. Some very impressive marker drawings cover the painted walls. Each dent, scratch or mark tells a story of the life that now passes through his home, and he couldn’t be happier to patch them up so that the kids can make more.
He nudges open the ajar door to Theo’s bedroom. It catches on the pile toys against the wall, preventing it from opening fully, but it’s enough to see Chris and Theo sitting on the bed, Christopher with his legs hanging off the side and Theo sitting criss-cross apple-sauce on the mattress. Maybe it's a little creepy, how he stares at them through the opening of the door, but he can't help it. It's his boys, who—despite the odds—genuinely seem to love each other wholeheartedly.
He can hear Chris making humming noises as he flys Theo's Superman figurine through the air, taking fake bullet hits—with an acting prowess and commitment to character that could get him signed with a talent agency—when Theo holds up his Martian Manhunter figurine and squeals 'Pew! Pew!'.
Buck must make a pleased noise at the sight, because both his boys snap to look at him. Chris immediately takes his outstretched hand and tucks it into his lap, shielding the toy from view.
"Sorry! As you were! Just checking in," Buck says sheepishly.
Chris rolls his eyes, cheeks flush with embarassment. "We're fineeee, Buck!"
"Okay, my mistake! Me and Eddie just wanted to say hi."
"Hi Eddie!" Squeals Theo.
Buck shakes his head fondly. "He's in the kitchen buddy, he can't hear you."
"Hi Eddie!!" Repeats Theo, volume increasing tenfold.
Buck and Chris laugh as they recoil from the squeal. Buck hears a faint 'Hey Theo!' from the hallway.
"Ah, I think he heard you, bug!" says Buck cheerfully, Theo's smile doubles with that. "Alright, I'll leave you two be," He says as he raps his knuckles twice on the doorframe for emphasis.
"Bye Buck!" says a chorus of voices, perfectly synchronised.
Buck's smile is bright as he walks back to the kitchen. He stops by the laundry to do an extra load. One would imagine that a singular additional person to his household wouldn’t make that big of a difference, but somehow Buck has quadrupled his expenditure on detergent and now spends a healthy chunk of his time in his once-mostly-neglected laundry room.
Buck has asked a lot of Eddie. Maybe not verbally, but he's asked. With his eyes, with his body language. All unspoken, but no less real. And it's selfish, because he knew that Eddie would be get it, that he would understand that his look of desperation meant 'please help, I'm drowning and I need you next to me'. But he asked anyway, and Eddie—like he always does—helped, without a second thought. Filling in all the gaps left by Buck from inexperience.
Maybe it's reciprocal. But Eddie never asked, not with his words or eyes or body language. Buck offered himself in every way he could, and Eddie was kind enough to accept. Yes, Buck always helped with Chris, but he thinks that he actually got more out of the agreement than Eddie ever did, because Eddie gave him a place, a purpose, a kid.
And now, the script is flipped, and he's unsure what he's giving Eddie, he already got his purpose, already had his kid. But here he is, a relentless presence that Buck would crumble without. He tries not to think about it too much, preferring indulge in his fragile bubble rather than think about the what, when and why of it bursting. But the thoughts still creep in—during those quiet, in between moments. Like now, as he shuts the washing machine door and presses start on his load of laundry, he thinks on where he would be if he'd never met the man. The machine hums as he slips out of the room.
The drone of the machine layers on top of the sound of music from his kitchen. The song lands familiar in Buck's ears. Sweet sounds of Latin guitar vibrate through the home, accompanied by the rhythmic beat of a bongo.
He slips through the entrance and the music only gets louder, more clear. He's greeted with the visual of Eddie hunched over his kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up, leaving the tan skin of his forearms exposed. His hands are sudsy as he scrubs off the burnt parts of Buck's pasta sauce from the bottom of the pan.
"Eds leave it, I can clean up."
"Nope! You cook, I clean. Them's the rules, Buckley." Eddie smirks over his shoulder as he turns to look at Buck, head shaking disapprovingly. "'sides, last dish anyway."
"My house, my dishes," protests Buck. He walks up to the sink, using his hips to bully himself into the empty space next to Eddie.
Eddie immediately shifts his upper body away—legs still in place, pressed against Buck's own—, moving the one remaining pot firmly into the corner of his sink territory. "Sorry bud, almost done!" He picks up his sponge scrubbing into double time, hand flying back and forth over the base of the pot.
Buck goes to grab the saucepan from Eddie again, grabbing at the arm closest to him. "C'mon, lemme just—" Buck's sentence is interrupted by a splash of dish-water across his face and chest.
"What the fuck?" Buck jumps back, away from his antagonist.
Eddie snorts loudly next to him. "Element of surprise!" His voice is airy, words said mid-laugh. With a now-safe distance awarded from his sneak-attack, Eddie washes the suds out of the pot, placing it on the drying rack.
"You're the worst," grumbles Buck.
Eddie smiles in that bright way he does. "Why? Cause I got your shirt a little wet?"
"No, because you do—" Buck jestures aimlessly between them. "—this. You help too much." The words are resigned and flat, all the fight in him has been zapped out by the weight of Eddie's gaze.
Eddie's brows furrow as he wipes the dishwater off his hands. "I'm the worst because I…help?"
"Yes! You help too damn much. I don't…I don't know why you do this for me, Eddie. "
"It's just some dishes," dismisses Eddie.
"No it's not." He shakes his head firmly, eyes cast to the floor. "It's the dinner, and the dishes, and taking Theo to his dentist appointment cause I picked up a shift I forgot about. And—and it's being there every single night…letting me put all of this on you. I just—I don't know what to do with all of that."
"You don't have to do anything with it Buck, it's not conditional." His words are soft and carefully put together. "I have a question."
Buck gulps. "Yeah?"
"Would you do it for me?"
"Yes, but—"
"No buts," Interjects Eddie. "That's it. This is what we do for each other. And I'm not exactly being altruistic here. I'm happy, happier than I've been in a long while."
"Really?"
"Of course Buck, I love our new…whatever we're doing."
"So do I, but I just—you do so much for me." Buck runs his hands through the hairs on the nape of his neck, tugging them lightly.
"There is absolutely nowhere else I would rather be," Eddie walks up to him slowly, phone in hand. His other extends out, landing squarely on Buck's elbow. "Can I ask another question?"
Buck nods silently, distracted by the heat of Eddie's palm on his skin.
"Dance with me?" He question is posed so softly, gently. It still lands like a bomb. Said so casually, like it something they just do, like the mere implication of it doesn't shift Buck's world.
Eddie leans in, extending past Buck and placing his phone on the counter he's leaned against. He watches as Eddie turns the volume up on his phone. The screen lights up with the album art. 'Mi Amor' by 'Hermanos Gutierrez', the cover is familiar to Buck, he's seen it on the infotainment system of Eddie's car plenty of times. It doesn't have any lyrics, but it's always warmed something deep inside his chest, reminded him of home, belonging.
Buck eyes flick back to Eddie, who seems to be standing closer to Buck than anyone ever has before, presence permeating deep within Buck's bones despite their hands-width of distance. Eddie's face is painted with a small, radiant smile, but his eyes—his eyes have a slight nervous glint within them, hidden behind the enticing warmth of his brown irises.
Eddie tugs Buck off his secure, comfortable place leaned against the counter with his light hold on Buck's elbow, he goes willingly, let's himself be lead into the open space of the kitchen. "C'mon, I've been missing my ballroom dancing days."
Buck finds that his jaw is wired shut, completely unable to speak. Tongue heavy with unsaid words weighing down. The best thing he's able to do is a pathetic gurgle of mild agreement. Eddie manoeuvres him with ease, grabbing both of Buck's arms and pulling them up, looping them over Eddie's shoulders.
Buck should run, he has every option and opportunity to. Eddie is holding him, yes—his large hand encapsulates his side, thumb running over the bumps of his ribs—but it's feather-light. He's giving Buck an out at every step, but Buck can't leave. There is no scenario where Buck chooses to be anywhere but Eddie's side.
So he gives in to it—that intrinsic desire—and steps even closer to Eddie, who shoots him a warm smile back. Buck nods his head up and down, still unable to verbalise. Part of him is scared that if he speaks, he will break the illusion in front of him, the gorgeous, unbelievable illusion of slow dancing with Eddie Diaz will dissipate like a mirage.
Eddie pulls Buck in closer, moving one of the hands that was on his side over to the edge of Buck's back. The other grips his waist, its tight enough to make his skin pucker around the digits, soft fat displaced to outside Eddie's grasp—but it's nothing more than pressure, a grounding force. Buck feels warm all over, both from where Eddie is holding him and from his core, radiating out to the rest of his body.
The music feels barely there, the sound of his blood pumping fills his ears instead, but he can still pick up on the beat. To call what they're doing a dance would perhaps be an insult to dancers. They're mostly just stepping in time, rocking back and forth, trading their weight from one leg to the other. It should be awkward, disjointed. But it feels natural to him, he's always his most at peace in Eddie's presence—held and holding.
It somehow reminds Buck of his last homecoming in high school with Tracy Adams. They were in the gymnasium which had been done up with gold balloons and royal-blue streamers. Tacky in hindsight, but felt significant at the time. They had danced in the middle of the basketball court to a mix of slowed-down pop songs. It was the first time he'd taken a date to any school event, and he didn't have a clue what he was doing. He held her waist awkwardly, tried to lead but only ended up having his toes stepped on. They were watched by an overeager chaperone who made sure they didn't get too close to one another.
How Buck and Eddie are dancing would've definitely gotten them hit with a ruler. They're not plastered against each other, but it's a near thing. With each step, Buck feels himself being pulled further into Eddie's orbit, removing the space between them inch-by-inch.
After some time of them rocking somewhat to the beat, Buck finds part of his voice, "So, why are you the lead?"
Eddie smirks at the question. "You're dancing with the 2006 El Paso Latin Ballroom Champion, I'm the lead. You can next time,"
Buck ignores how the implication of 'next time' makes him feel.
"Yeah? You gonna dip me?"
"You wish," smirks Eddie. Instead of a dip, Eddie takes a wide step back, gracefully capturing Buck's hand as it slips off his shoulder. Eddie takes his arm with practiced ease and reaches up, prompting a spin from Buck automatically.
He giggles like a schoolchild as it happens. Buck has never—not once in his life—been spun. But it makes him giddy. He's unsure if its the act of it or just who is doing the spinning, but he's giddy nonetheless.
As he comes back around, he looks at Eddie, who has a warm, bright smile on his face. Before he knows it, a firm hand is planted on the small of his back and he's pulled right into Eddie's orbit once again. What little space was present before is now completely gone, both of Eddie's hands are wrapped around his torso and Buck's hands are resting against his chest—rising and falling with every heavy intake of air. Buck laughs breathily in Eddie's face, who's does the same right back. Their breath intermingles right in between their lips. Eddie's face tilted up ever so slightly to meet Buck's eyes.
He's so beautiful, his brain unhelpfully provides. It's something he's been aware of since the moment he first laid eyes on him. His, bright brown eyes, unmarred skin, thick and defined muscles. He ignored it for a long time, pushed it into the depths of his psyche to let it fester and grow until it took over, too impossible to ignore.
"Eddie," Buck croaks out, voice faltering embarrassingly.
"Hey, Buck." Eddie's voice is light and airy, with his signature rasp that sets Buck's skin alight. He can see the light dusting of blush over Eddie's cheeks that he's sure matches his own.
If Buck is getting this wrong, he can't even be held accountable. Because Eddie is so close, each blink causes his lashes to brush the ridge of Buck's cheek. And Eddie's eyes keep darting between his eyes and his lips. So you really can't blame him when he just leans in.
Despite the barely-there distance between them, it feels like a lifetime before his lips reach Eddie's. Mercifully, Eddie meets him in the middle, finally pressing them together.
And, fuck his lips are so warm.
One side of his mouth is chapped from where he tends to bite out of anxiety—but it's still pillow-soft. Buck immediately lets out a groan when they connect, and Eddie slips into the opening with ease. It's neither a make out nor a peck, but it's sweeter than any other kiss he's had in his life.
A hand runs through his hair and a shiver goes down his spine. Eddie sucks Buck's bottom lip between his teeth and it's like he knows all his buttons before he's even pressed them.
Much to Buck's chagrin, they separate after a moment. He pulls back to see Eddie's eyes which are bright and crinkled from the wide smile on his face. And Buck can't help but mirror to him.
There's not a sliver of regret on his face, no moment of worry or doubt like Buck had feared, just pure blissfulness.
Eddie takes both his hands in his own and steps back, grip never faltering. As soon as their arms go taut, he's pulled back into Eddie, he stumbles through the steps, legs still jelly and wavering.
His dance partner laughs at his stumbling, moving one hand to its preferred resting place of his back, working to steady him and save them both the embarrassment of tumbling to the floor. Eddie's other hand stays in his, grip reassuringly tight. He can feel all his callouses under Buck's own, rough and weathered by years of work.
And Eddie's laugh is so bright, it's the most beautiful sound he's heard in his life, better than all the music he's consumed, better than all the birds in the sky. He wants to deepen every smile line on his face, watch as the years make his wrinkles grow deeper and as his hair go gray.
"I love you," he says before he even has the time to process it. It's been on the tip of his tongue for years, but here in this kitchen with the evening light shining through the blinds and the taste of Eddie still on his lips, he can't help but let it tumble out.
"I love you too," returns Eddie like it's the easiest thing in the world. "I love you, and this life we've built. I love our dinners, and our errands, and spending each and every night together. I want it all with you, Buck."
"You've got it all, you have every part of me, Eddie." Buck handed himself over to the man the minute he met Chris, the minute he saw the kind of father he was. And now he gets to see it for the second time. How could he ever want something else?
Eddie drops Buck's hand to free is own, bringing it up to Buck's face and wiping a tear he didn't know he'd shed. "Hey," he asks with that raspy voice again. "We doing this?"
Buck feels his cheeks warm up, "Yeah, yeah I think so."
Eddie doesn't reply, he just leans back in, capturing Buck for a deep, indulgent kiss as they continue to rock half in-time. Still licking into each others mouths.
The song changes once, twice, three times, Buck's not sure. He's pretty certain it's all the same artist, the sweet melody of guitar remains consistent despite the beat changes. In the kitchen, Buck can also hear the churn of the dishwasher, the sound of the running washing machine, and the occasional burst of giggles from their children down the hall. But he mostly hears Eddie's laugh, his uninhibited, joyous laugh—despite his near silence on account of his lips being occupied. it's a song that is stuck on repeat in his mind, a noise he wants to cause again and again for the rest of their lives.
It's just on the right side of filthy, each graze of Eddie's teeth on his lips and each swipe of his tongue illicits a groan from Buck, and a matching one from Eddie in response. But it stays at that level, both happy to exchange saliva as they dance, entangled in each others arms.
Despite the lack of escalation, it's better than anything he's ever experienced. His lips on Eddie's, being in his arms—feels more natural than ever before. Never more at home than now, in his kitchen, with their children playing with toys down the hall. And it's not because it's this magical, animalistic connection. But it's because it's Eddie, which is probably the most multi-defined, complex word in Buck's dictionary. It's Eddie, who has been right in the centre of his life for years, even when the lines we're undrawn.
It's Eddie.
And they stay just like that, no desperation and no slowing down, just simply exploring this new territory. Learning the ins and outs of one another. They stay like that until the loud, cheery jingle of the washing machine interrupts them, causing a smile on their face that can't be contained.
They both pull back huffing slightly. Each tentative-step back feels mountainous now that he knows what it feels like to have no space between them.
Eddie glances down at his watch and sighs. "It's late."
"It's late," repeats Buck.
"I gotta…work in the morning." Eddie taps at his watch and smiles at him softly, a pang of regret in his features.
"Uh huh." Buck's cheeks hurt a little from the wide smile on his face.
"I'll, uh—I'll see you tomorrow?"
Buck nods like a possessed bobblehead. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow. D'ya want me to take Chris to school?"
Eddie's brows furrow up as his eyes go soft in that familiar way. He steps forward and places a peck to Buck's lips. Shorter than any of their previous kisses, but just as sweet. "God, I love you, that would be amazing." A hand finds the edge of his jaw. "I meant it, every word. I want this more than anything." Eddie's always been skilled at those sentences that just, destroy him.
"Jesus, Eds. You have no idea what you do to me."
"I think I felt a bit of what I do to you," smirks Eddie.
Buck groans, embarrassed and blushing. "Alright, go home then! Get outta here." Buck shoves Eddie lightly, but it's got no bite to it.
"Okay, okay!" says Eddie. "C'mon." he grabs Buck's hand, tugging him out of the kitchen into the hallway. "Let's check on our kids."
Buck's eyes snap to Eddie's face, which has a burgeoning grin forming. Eddie's eyes meet him briefly, smile growing further before his gaze shoots back forward, squeezing Bucks hand twice as he tugs them down the hallway.
They stand shoulder to shoulder in front of Theo's door. Buck's hand flexes, making the movement to drop Eddie's, but the man's grip becomes a vice in response, shaking his head definitively.
Eddie's eyes are wide as he looks Buck in his, mouth bunching up in that adorable way. 'No,' he mouths.
'Okay,' mouths back Buck, nodding as he pushes open the door with his spare hand.
His eyes land on the boys, and it is a picture perfect sight. Chris has his back against the wall that the bed lies against, watching a video on his phone with the volume at a barely-audible level. And right next to him—curled up against his side with his hands tucked into his chest—is Theo. Theo who is snoring into the fabric of Chris' shirt, leaving a patch of drool that darkens it from light-blue to navy.
Buck all but slumps against Eddie, dropping his head onto Eddie's shoulder, his radiating warmth immediately enveloping him.
"Hey, Chris," whispers Eddie in dulcet tones. "Time to go home, mijo."
Chris' slow-blinking eyes drift over to them in the doorway, gaze dropping from their faces down to their interlocked hands. Within an instant, Christopher's previous tired demeanour shifts to one of exuberance, face breaking into a wide smile.
"I'm not allowed to move," answers Chris quietly, gesturing to the sleeping child curled up against him.
Buck and Eddie both chuckle lightly. Buck steps forward, their joined arms extending out until they can no longer hold on. Bucks fingers trail out against Eddie's hand as they disconnect, wanting to maintain contact for as long as possible.
He leans over the bed and untethers Theo from Chris' side. Theo groans in disagreement, one of his arms reaching forward to fist Christopher's t-shirt.
"C'mon, bug. Let go of Chris," says Buck as he tries to pry Chris' shirt from Theo's surprisingly firm grasp. Chris smiles as his body is pulled forward, giggling lightly.
Eventually Buck's firefighter strength wins out, and he plops Theo onto his hip, who makes vague murmurs of annoyance into his shoulder. The only word Buck can make out is 'sleepy'.
Eddie shepherds Chris out of the room, placing his arm in reach for stability, but letting Chris choose whether he reaches for it.
Buck walks them to the car with a very tired Theo curled up into him. Buck and Eddie stall at the door, Chris trailing ahead, jumping into the already unlocked car.
"Tomorrow?" Asks Eddie.
Buck nods. "Tomorrow."
Eddie smiles that bright, dazzling smile and leans up, placing a short, barely there peck to Buck's birthmark.
Buck's cheeks warm so quickly it's almost medically concerning. And Eddie's face is just hovering in front of him. So Buck leans in, pressing his lips into the pronounced apple of Eddie's smiling cheek.
It feels so natural, so comfortable to do. Buck doesn't know how he survived eight years without peppering Eddie with kisses, one a day to each and every mole, scratch, blemish and scar. Because now he might wither away to nothingness without his daily intake of Eddie's lips on his.
Eddie pulls away with reluctance written all over his face. He reaches forward over to Theo, placing his hand in his hair and ruffling it fondly. "Bye, Theo," Eddie says softly.
"Buh bye, Eddie," responds Theo mid-yawn.
There has to be some sort of hidden string connecting him to Eddie because Buck feels a tug in his gut as soon as Eddie walks away. His feet stutter for a moment, aching to follow him, to grab him, to do anything. But he watches from the door as Eddie loads into the car, sending a final wave and smile through the side window.
Theo goes down seconds after he's put to bed. Possibly the fastest Buck's ever seen him conk out before, his little body completely zapped of energy. He pauses for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of Theo's chest as soft snores leave his mouth.
Buck still feels a steady buzz under his skin when he slips into bed that night. Can still feel the residual warmth of Eddie's lips on his, the ghost of a hand on his waist, the sound of Eddie's laugh in his ear. The unspecified promise of tomorrow rings through his brain and he tries to will the sun to rise already. He can't wait to see Eddie in the morning, dressed in pyjamas, hair sleep-stirred and soft. Can't wait to wrangle their kids to school on time, pushing them out the door. Can't wait to start their new everything from tomorrow 'til they're racing each other with their walkers down the hallways of their retirement village.
He really can't fucking wait.