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Eddie said he could always come over whenever he wanted.
But tonight's dilemma? Eddie just got off from an exhausting 24 hours worth of a shift, without Buck, who took the day off to take Maddie to a doctor's appointment. He's probably dead to the world by now and there's absolutely no way Buck is going to intrude on him.
When Buck wakes up he's covered in blood. Head to toe- warm and sticky, unrelenting in the way it never seems to wash away. No matter how many times he gets up, flicks on the bedside lamp, seats himself upright in bed to force air into his lungs, the product is always the same.
Even once he’s managed to calm himself down, the thickness in his throat remains, a jittery feeling buzzing through his limbs as he tries to ease his heart rate back down. However long it takes doesn't matter anymore, he just finds himself… sitting there, staring into the early morning darkness of the loft beyond where the dim light of his lamp can reach. Often times he leads himself downstairs to the kitchen and slumps across the island on one of the stools, hardly ever making it back to bed even once the tidal wave recedes.
So that's how Buck ends up here, parked in his best friend and son's driveway at 4am on an early Thursday morning. Traffic was nearly nonexistent given the hour but it's still Los Angeles. He's just glad he made it here in the first place, even if its to sit here in front of the house by himself until a more respectful hour comes to go inside.
The light rattle of the Jeep's motor still running reverberates through his fingers where they clutch the steering wheel, knuckles a near whiteout. A shaky hand reaches around till those fingers turn the keys in the ignition to kill the engine.
The time and space between leaving the Jeep and making his way to the entrance of the Diaz household becomes imaginative as he finds himself suddenly standing at the front door.
Deft fingers fiddle with the deadbolt and it clicks a little too loudly for Buck's liking, but he focuses on pushing the door open just enough to slip inside before closing it behind himself, securing the turn key on this side of the deadbolt.
It’s strange yet contentive- how he feels an instant rush of ease as soon as his back meets the solid wood of the door that separates him from the outside world. The house is quiet- as quiet as you'd imagine 4am to be in a domestic father-son household. He can feel his heart rate returning to normal, and the lump in his throat dissolving into barely nothing; anxiety trickling away, fear fading, bloodstains disappearing-
He's right where he needs to be.
He manages to slip free of his shoes in the entryway before socked feet pad their way towards the heart of the house. It's not until he reaches the hallway connecting the bedrooms to the kitchen and living room that it really hits him he's here. And he sees them ahead, the doors that separate himself from each of the Diazes. Doors, doors, doors- seems to be a running theme tonight.
After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out a arm and makes contact with the first knob:
Christopher.
He's certain that even if the boy was up late playing video games after Eddie got home he's long since gone to bed by now. Gently pushing it open, not all the way, he's proven correct as his eyes catch the small figure that belongs to none other than Chris, tucked restfully beneath the blue comforter, glasses delicately discarded on the nightstand. Moonlight shines in through the sloppily curtained-off window just enough to illuminate that side of the room.
He stays there, watching for a moment long enough to take in the subtle rise and fall of the boy's chest.
Inhale, exhale.
Closing the door back again, just as tactically as before, he turns to the far end of the hallway, where his best friend is most definitely dead to the world (well… you understand). The man is coming off a dreadfully long 24 hours of tedious calls from panicked Los Angeles residents; it would surprise no one if he conked out the second he got Christopher in bed once Carla left. Eddie's a light sleeper, far too much time being trained to be so in the military to just shut that habit off, even all these years later.
He's almost certain he'll wake Eddie the second he hears the door crack open, which is the last thing he wants. Then again, he's probably so tired that he won't even stir. While the indecisiveness weighs on Buck, he hesitates again.
Every time he closes his eyes, he sees them. It plays on a loop inside his head. Just as clearly as he can see the image of his eyes closing, and feel the panic rising in his own chest again as he stands there alone in the hallway. He's completely half of the mission so far, he'd be a coward to not finish it. He needs to look, if just for a second. Just like he’d done with Christopher. He just needs to see him.
He expects the door to creak a bit, so he grips the knob firmly and pulls up on it, taking the door's weight off the hinges to prevent them from giving him away; a practice he's done hundreds of times as a kid in his parents' house when he didn't want to wake them. Unlike Christopher's, he opens the door wide until wood meets flush with the door stop, ensuring it wouldn't open the rest of the way on it's own and make unwanted noise.
Eddie is laying mostly on his stomach with his head facing away from the door, pressed into the far right side of the bed, leaving the entire left side and some of the middle empty, inviting. He's sporting a dark colored shirt, maybe a deep blue or black, maybe green, its hard to tell in this lighting.
The scene is peaceful, there's really no other way to describe it. Content, comfortable, relaxed. The moonlight shines more predominantly into Eddie's room than Chris's, the lack of curtains withholding its presence where the blinds sit only half-drawn.
But there he is, live and in living color- soothing movements of up and down, up and down; same as his son's. Buck feels the way his own breath falters at the sight, a sense of relief mixed with sudden uncertainty, and he's quickly reminded of why he's here.
There's a roaming thought that tells him maybe he could leave now, that he should leave now, or at the very least make himself at home on the couch. Wouldn't be the first time. Realistically he knows Eddie won't mind finding him on the couch in the morning; he might have a couple questions but probably wouldn't push it.
He's seen Chris, and now Eddie, knows that he is here and this is real and everything is okay. Every fear that's plagued his mind since waking up has been pushed down after seeing the rise and fall of chests, the occasional sounds of sleep, signs of life that soothe like no other.
Inhale, exhale.
Once making sure the door won't move on its own, Buck takes a small step towards the bed, then another, then another. He's not even sure he's in control of his movements anymore as he's suddenly close enough that his sweatpants brush the edge of the bed. He can imagine what this looks like to an outsider; a grown man rushing over to his best friend's house in a state in the middle of the night to watch another grown man sleep. How pathetic is that…
He bites his tongue sharply as he shifts his weight to lift one leg up, planting his knee into the mattress. There's no move to pull back the covers before, instead he just pushes the knee in slowly as if testing the waters, seeing what works. Buck wonders how long he could sit on this side of the bed before Eddie woke up, thinks he should probably locate the baseball bat just in case Eddie freaks out and goes for it.
There's no glimmer of moonlight slipping in through the gap in the blinds on this side of the room but the glow leaves a dim lighting, enough for Buck's well-adjusted eyes to take everything in. When Eddie makes no signs of stirring, he continues.
It's not necessarily uncommon for them to be physically close. They usually sit close together at dining tables and barbeques, wordlessly leaning into one another on the sofa at the firehouse or Eddie's couch.
Now Buck's fully on the bed, legs bent at the knees and folded under him like a child who fell that's reaching for their mother, having created his own dent in the mattress where its dipped under his weight. He really should go back to the loft now, his only motive was to see them with his eyes, to prove that everything was as it should, nothing else. He wonders how Eddie would react to finding him asleep on the bedroom floor in the morning.
Instead, he brings a hand up and reaches-
This will surely wake him up.
Fingers tremble in the air as they approach.
He shouldn't-
The hand lands on Eddie's shoulder, the contact almost immediately stirring the man, who cranes his head over his shoulder at the offender.
"Chris?" Eddie's voice is groggy from sleep but he doesn’t sound too out of it. Buck thinks he might've been dragged out of sleep and made suddenly aware that his son needs him. Trigger parental instinct, Bobby calls it.
"Sorry, just me." Buck keeps his soft voice as he speaks in an attempt to maintain the serenity of the night. Early morning, technically; the sun will start to come up in a few hours, then it's not really nighttime anymore.
"Hey? What are you-"
"Shh, go back to sleep, 'm sorry." He doesn’t really feel like explaining everything to an exhausted and half-asleep Eddie right now, who Buck's honestly not even sure is fully aware of this conversation taking place. He's proven wrong when the man in question shifts to turn fully on his side, a sign of attentiveness as his head falls back onto the pillow to cushion it from the strain.
"Everything okay?" No, of course not, nothing is fucking okay. Every time I think I've gone long enough without my subconscious being plagued with blood and gunshots and flood waters, another one comes to replace the last and it starts all fucking over again-
“I… came to see you. And Chris.” Buck admits, voice hushed in a way that doesn't seem its because of the hour or environment. There's lingering doubt there, present only because there's no certainty in this itself not being a dream. His hand adjusts to cup around the ball of Eddie's shoulder.
"Wanna talk?"
"Not really, I… I'm sorry, I know you're tired, I shouldn't have-" Buck is immediately backing away, mumbling under his breath apologies that don't land, but he doesn't get far before a hand quickly finds his wrist before he makes it to the edge of the bed. He has no earthly idea how Eddie found it, but he did. Fingers burn where they're wrapped firmly around his skin, sleep-soft be damned.
"No, hey, it's alright… seriously," Eddie mumbles around the edge of sleep, trying his best to sound reassuring in his state. "Stay?"
And Buck should respond, even if there’s a chance Eddie will only persist when he doesn't. The problem is… he can't imagine this being the last time it happens, that this happens. He really shouldn't make a habit of doing 4am runs over to the Diaz household whenever his brain goes a little haywire after a particular bad night. There's half a thought that considers telling Eddie that this won't work but his tongue is too heavy now, and that conversation will just have to wait.
"Buck?"
"I'm gonna... go make up the couch." Buck stumbles out, but makes no attempt to pull his wrist back to himself.
"You could sleep in here."
"To be honest, I don't think I'm gonna do much sleeping, Eds." He wonders if Eddie can feel the racing rhythm of his pulse beneath the fingers still kept wrapped around his wrist.
"Well, you can sit. Or lay. Just close your eyes, I don't care." There's a moment of pause where neither speak or move, but once Eddie feels Buck won't retaliate, all it takes is a subtle tug from his hand before Buck's being urged back onto the bed. Eddie, almost reluctantly, releases his wrist to allow him to pull back the covers and slip underneath; it's the least Buck can do if he's going to share the space. No one likes sleeping with someone who's lying on top of the sheets while you're under them.
There's a blanket of silence that fills the air as they settle into place. The darkness makes it a bit easier for Buck's mind to drift in and out, head rested against the pillow on the left side of the bed. There's maybe a foot of distance between his front and Eddie's back. Their arms lay tucked in front of themselves, the comforter and top sheet clump over where it rests at their waistlines, maybe just a little higher up on Eddie's side, leaving their upper bodies exposed to the open air. Buck's comfortable, far more content than he'd ever imagined he would in this situation.
There's a shared heat that's felt in the space mingling between them, it warms Buck's mind and soul in more ways than one. It’s the low rasp of Eddie's voice that brings him back.
"You're always welcome here, you know…" He mumbles, words slightly slurred as they pass his lips but it doesn't matter because Buck doesn't know how to respond back. Eddie is fighting sleep to bring him this reassurance and he can't even say anything back to acknowledge it.
Nothing else is said for the rest of the night. They will wake up in the morning and have breakfast with Chris, who will be over the moon that Buck's here. Their next shift will come the following day, that will keep them busy and plenty occupied. They'll go about their next off day as usual, emptied lockers into laundry bags that will get done before the next round of shifts.
Everything will continue as it does. They won't talk about it, they never do. Therapy taught Buck that he was allowed to have nice things, just like Frank had told Eddie.
So he does just that.
It's a daring move but he doesn't care, not really, not now. Buck shifts forward until he is almost pressed directly against Eddie's back. If he were to lift his arm over the man they'd be spooning. Eddie shuffles in place slightly, adjusting where his hip digs angrily into the mattress, but doesn't move to push Buck away at all. Taking it as a good sign to continue, Buck does bring his arm up to lay over Eddie's waist. It's not really wrapped around Eddie, per se, but a comforting weight where it rests. It just feels natural, feels right.
Somehow Buck thinks Eddie knows this is what he needs, he always does. Sometimes visuals aren't enough, to feel and to hold is far more grounding than what sights behold.
Buck breathes, once, twice. Deep, calming breaths and for a minute, they stay just like this. Chest to back, feeling the rise and fall of each other's breathing pattern. Buck’s body immediately warming where they're resting so closely together.
Inhale, exhale.
Just as Buck is about to let his eyes fall closed, he feels a hand reach down to his own where it lies limply against the bed beside Eddie's stomach.
He doesn't say anything, just lets Eddie move their hands up until they reach Eddie’s chest, who presses Buck's palm down, forcing it flat. The familiar thumping radiates loudly under his palm, the crook of his elbow resting perfectly in the dip of Eddie's waist. Gentle fingers brush the back of Buck's hand, tapping once, twice, three times against the skin.
We're okay.
For the first time all night Buck feels the weight of fatigue drag on both his mind and body, comforted in the presence of his best friend, and the boy that lies peacefully in his own bed just down the hall. The feeling of a kind and tender warmth pouring out, offering him something delicate and sweet in place of the dark that previously occupied the space. As if all the tension coiled tightly in his chest, a heavy weight he’s been carrying for who knows how long, finally begins to unravel.
He lets his head tip down to rest on the corner of Eddie's pillow.
And then he was asleep.
It happens again, because of course it does.
Buck is restless, can't sleep but feels like he's two seconds from dropping at any given moment… and that’s how he's found himself on Eddie's couch tonight.
He didn't bother making up the couch after he arrived, framed between not wanting to wake Eddie and Chris up in the process of digging through the hall closet, but also deeming it a completely futile task anyway.
Buck's now sure how long he's sat here for, upright and plush against the back of the couch, hands switching between being splayed flat against his thighs and interlocked between his knees, a light swing in their motion. He wonders what time it was when he left the loft, didn't even bother checking his phone before charging out the door in an frustrated last attempt. He's not even certain if he locked it being himself. Pulling the forgotten piece from his pocket, the bright screen blares mockingly at him.
3:26am.
Buck sets the phone down on the coffee table and settles back against the couch. His eyes have adjusted to the darkness now, and can take in the scenery of the dimly-lit living room. He considers switching on the lamp beside the arm chair. Too far away.
His brows furrow together in quiet concentration, trying to stave off something he's not entirely sure of. It takes a lot of willpower to not audibly groan in frustration.
The torturous part? Buck can't bring himself to crawl into Eddie's bed like before. There's something… he can't do it. Why? He's not sure, it's like he's taking too much by doing so. Take, take, take. Instead, he settles for stretching his legs out over the couch while he mindlessly scrolls on his phone, grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the couch and draping it across himself.
Buck doesn't know how long he sits like that before he hears it. The faint click of a latch bolt securing into its socket before the sound of footsteps shuffle towards and into the living room.
"Bu-ck?"
There's a moment of silence that stretches probably longer than Buck should allow, but he's hesitant about what the best plan of action is in this situation. He hadn't exactly planned on anyone being up this early, at least at a more reasonable hour he could play it off and say he just got there. Now though, there's no coming back from this.
As Eddie steps through the doorway Buck immediately picks up on the way his hands are furled tightly in his own shirt where his arms cross over and around himself, like a person embrace, like he’s afraid the moment might evaporate into thin air if he let go.
"Hey, Eds… sorry if I spooked you." Buck's greeting and apology go unanswered, leaving a gaping silence that fills the air like static, and for a moment Buck thinks he's made a horrible lapse of judgement for being in his house.
“What're you doing here?” Eddie ends up saying, mumbled around a grogginess that doesn't sound pleasant like it would from someone waking up from a warm nap.
“Uh…” There is fine sheen of a blush on Buck’s cheeks now from being caught. The soft glow of moonlight doesn't do him any justice against Eddie's observations. “Short version? Went to bed, couldn’t sleep, didn't wanna bother Maddie since it's literally the middle of the night. Sooo… here I am."
"Nightmare?"
"Not tonight, no."
Buck realizes in his mind that their routine, if you can really call it that, has shifted. The air in the room is cool, making him glad for the hoodie he’d pulled on. Inhaling, he caught the scent of home and safety and sandalwood. As Buck let's his phone drop to his lap, Eddie hugged himself a little tighter.
“Is everything okay?” Buck askes, taking in the other's appearance, and the fact that it’s the middle of the night and Eddie also stands clearly unable to sleep. Now he’s worried.
Buck sits patiently, watching Eddie's slow movements as he stands in place near the doorway.
“Just… bad night.” Eddie’s voice comes out shaky, he doesn’t meet Buck’s eyes and he sounds tired. The way Eddie’s hands are still grasped tightly in own shirt where his arms remain crossed around him. It isn't until Eddie fully steps into the living room that Buck sees it.
Buck looks at Eddie a little closer and sees he’s shaking. He had a nightmare and he’s shaking from it.
Buck is on his feet in seconds and making the couple strides over to Eddie before pulling him into a near-crushing hug, holding him firm in his arms. They haven't hugged in awhile, not for any particular reason, just... they haven’t. But it feels nice right now, it feels more natural than anything else Buck has ever done.
Eddie doesn't react immediately, and enough time passes that Buck worries he's jumped too soon, but then arms drop from between where their fronts meet and circle around his back tightly, clutching at the fabric of Buck's hoodie. Eddie's face smushes into the front of Buck's shoulder, whose hands move around his own body to cage him in gently, one arm across the middle of his back while the other cradles him behind the neck as they settle in place. Eddie melts.
Buck can only hope his presence and company is grounding enough, words stuck to his throat like peanut butter in the roof of the mouth. His own body throbs with a buzz of fatigue that makes him feel like he's floating. The strong hold he has on Eddie acts like a buoy on a stormy, turbulent ocean, and Buck tries to selfishly revel in it for as long as he can.
Neither makes any moves of letting go, but with Eddie now somewhat relaxed in his arms, Buck speaks.
"Let's sit down for a minute," His voice low, soft in the silence of the night.
Eddie pulls his head back but pauses, the eerily glow from the hall light lets Buck pick up on the spaced out gaze in his eyes, but he nods and lets himself be moved. There's something familiar lingering around, both can feel even if neither mention it.
They get positioned on the couch, fatigue pulling at both of them as they move to get comfortable. Eddie settles into the cushion closest to the arm rest, seated more on the edge of the couch, Buck taking the spot right next to him, soaking in the proximity. It doesn't take long before one of them speaks; this time, it's Eddie who starts.
"You really didn't have a nightmare?" Eddie mumbles, words dragging around the sleep-laced tone still in his voice.
"Uh, no, no I didn't." Buck affirms, and he watches as Eddie breathes in through his nose, trying to put puzzle pieces together in his mind.
"So you came over to… sit on my couch?"
"Yes? But not really?" Buck answers, his own voice just as hushed and quiet as Eddie's own. "I just wanted to be here."
And oh.
Buck sees the cogs turning in Eddie's mind before he ever looks up at him, silently asking Buck to continue, so he does.
"I just... I've felt so restless. When I do sleep, I get nightmares and never go back to bed. When I can't sleep, I spend time doing God knows what to occupy myself. I'm just so tired and bored of sitting in my kitchen in the middle of the night in a place that feels so empty."
"I told you to come here whenever you wanted." Eddie presses, his eyes half open, fingers laced together in his lap. He doesn't look at Buck though, instead keeping his gaze set on his fidgeting hands.
"I... don't wanna become dependent on needing to come here every time something happens. I hate tip-toeing around the issue with no actual solution, makes me feel… guilty?" Buck’s heart beats loudly in his ears, loud swooshing that echoes around in his chest the more he spills. "I even put your house key on a separate ring by itself so the jingling wouldn't wake you or Chris when I came in."
He takes a moment to breathe, a moment to let the admission sink in, for both Eddie and himself.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm using you by coming here, interrupting your nights because my brain enjoys self-sabotage."
Buck watches the way Eddie fidgets in place, like one does when they're unsure of what to say or do. He shifts to press his back fully to the couch to match Buck, looking hesitant to speak but clearly wanting to. Buck knows more or less what words are forming and jumps to speak again before Eddie gets the chance to retaliate, or lecture him, whatever came first. He knows Eddie will bring it back up some other time, he's sure of it.
"But you had one," Buck deflects lightly, not wanting to create added pressure. It's more of a statement than a question, one that appeals like a gentle offer, an invitation to wrack his friend's brain about whatever is going on up there. He watches Eddie's face to see if there's any change in demeanor; nothing.
"Yeah... something like that." It's a little more sarcastic than Eddie wanted. There's no laugh or snarky comment to accompany it but it still sounds all the same.
"Wanna talk about it?" Buck feels the need to turn his body towards Eddie for this conversation, but out of fear of making him uncomfortable or feel like he's being watched, he remains in place with them still sat side-by-side, thighs pressed together from their proximity.
"I don't really remember it." Eddie answers, shifting his fingers over and between one another where his hands still sit in his lap.
The only light in the room comes from hallway outlet plug and what bit of moonlight threads its way through the curtains of the living room. The glow from both creates a hazy blue-orange, clashing together like titans reigning in a new dawn. The way it illuminates Eddie's face and accentuates the lines of worry and anxiousness pulls at Buck's chest angrily, if the way Eddie fumbles with his fingers and the hem of his sweatpants wasn't evident enough.
Buck has just enough time to consider asking Eddie if he'd like to try laying back down when the man in question tilts his head back to meet the cushioning at the top of the couch. He watches the way Eddie takes a deep breath as he quickly settles. Buck briefly wonders if the angle is good on his neck, but he makes no attempt to warn or adjust him. He'll take this at Eddie's pace.
"It was about you. And Christopher," Eddie tells, his voice shaky as he does. Buck can see all of it, the way it rattles out of Eddie's chest, lungs deflating as they continue. "I wasn't lying, I don’t remember much of it. Something about you and him getting lost, and me not being able to find you. I don't know if it was about..."
Tsunami goes unsaid. Buck understands nevertheless, he can read between the lines just fine.
"I just... woke up in a panic. I went and checked on him and was gonna come out here and refocus. Thought about calling you but I knew you would've jumped up and rushed over, wasn't gonna ruin your night. But you were already here and a selfishly I'm glad."
Buck tilts his head to the side, eyes meeting the tufts of ruffled brown locks resting haphazardly against the cushion. He reaches over with deft fingers and taps Eddie's knee lightly, to hone the man back in or for his own personal sanity, doesn't matter either way.
"You could've called me regardless, you know? I would want you to." Buck nearly whispers the sentiment, receiving a faint hum in response. Eddie's eyes close and despite the circumstances, he actually looks a bit peaceful. Any lines of worry or stress have faded, overall he looks a lot more at ease, long since stopped his shivering.
"You should go back to sleep, we've got a shift tomorrow." Buck suggests, nodding towards the hallway.
"Are you going to stay?" Eddie asks, and there's levels to that question, layers that haven't [yet] been discussed. Are you staying here on the couch, or will you join me in the bed? Will you be here in the morning for breakfast or should I expect to have a mostly empty house by then?
"If you'll have me."
Neither of them make any attempt to move right away, opting to sit in a comfortable silence instead, body heat and faint brushes of skin and fabric all that is shared between them. Buck is the first to stand, reaching a hand out to fist the shoulder of Eddie's t-shirt, urging him to his feet at well. They lead one another into and down the hall silently, an unspoken agreement of sorts as they both make their way towards Eddie's bedroom.
The light creak of a door sounds, a quick click of the bedside lamp turning on, feet shuffling across linoleum.
"I don’t think I can sleep now." Eddie says, standing beside the bed and staring down at the covers. The comforter is completely crumpled and nearly falling off the far right side of the mattress, pillows heavily dented and abused from being drug around and not-so-lightly fluffed in a frustrated manner.
"That's okay… I have an idea, but you have to promise not to call me weird." Buck says, which Eddie only snorts at. Rationally, Buck knows there's nothing he could say or do that would drive Eddie away. A little poking fun at here and there but never to a point where it's hurtful.
While Eddie continues to survey the scene of his bed, Buck immediately walks to the other side and throws the comforter back over the bottom half of the bed in a more appealing layout. Then, in one swift motion, he climbs up into the right side of the bed and props himself up with his back against the headboard. He pats the spot next to his right hip, an open invitation.
Still standing beside the bed closest to the door, Eddie remains in place.
"Eds,"
"Yeah?"
"Come up here."
Now Buck expected one of a few outcomes… either Eddie would shoo him off and say his idea was weird, or he'd begrudgingly indulge Buck on this crazy idea if even for one night. Or by some little miracle, Eddie would willingly accept the offer with a compassion not yet known to man.
What Buck doesn't expect is for Eddie to walk all the way around to the side he first entered on, tap Buck's leg in a 'scoot' motion. Once Buck has resettled in the middle of the bed, Eddie climbs up himself and fits right against Buck's left side instead.
Buck chooses not to ask questions, he's perfectly content with their current arrangement without the excess speculation and wonder. Though he does wonder how lucky he is to be in a predicament where he's got his best friend here with him, head resting on his shoulder with such trust and unyielding faith.
A nose crosses the space between his throat and collarbone as Eddie settles into a comfortable place, close to Buck's chest. His arm wraps around the length of Eddie shoulders and brings him in closer, like a shield of protection from whatever entities may try to disturb them.
"Just close your eyes," Buck mumbles, face so nearly buried into the top of Eddie's head, close enough to smell to the sweet scent of vanilla and sandalwood. "Don't have to sleep, just relax a bit."
So Eddie does that, a simple enough task that would be difficult to argue himself out of. He can tell Eddie's already drifting with the first 10 minutes or so that they sit there. Buck can feel gentle puffs of warm air where the fabric of his hoodie curves up and juts some of the breath up into his neck.
Buck wants to talk about so much more than just the nightmares they both seem to have, even the aftermath of them. It's overwhelming sometimes, not quite knowing what something is yet feeling so strongly about it that you can't entirely place it, or get it off of your mind.
For now he lets himself wade in the warmth of this, invulnerable and secure with Eddie right here with him, drowning out the raging storm that rolls outside, full of turmoil and distraught and uncertainty.
Buck doesn't realize he himself has fallen asleep until he's popped awake, face safely tucked into soft strands of brand ridden of product. Eddie's left arm has now moved to rest across Buck's stomach, hand laid in a loose fist against his hip on the other side. He doesn't realize what woke him until he hears the bedroom door cracking open, hinges wincing with the motion. His head snaps up immediately.
A mess of blonde, curly hair breaks through the doorway and into the now brightly lit room.
"Dad? Your alarm didn't go-" Chris crashes through the silence before he sees Buck, hand still wrapped around the doorknob as he realizes who's in the room.
"Hey, buddy, good morning."
"Hi, Buck. Is dad okay?" Chris's small voice sounds a bit alarmed and unsure as he looks over at where his father is propped against Buck. Puzzle pieces shift together quickly and Buck realizes what this might look like, and jumps to reassure the boy.
"Yeah, bud, he's alright, uh… dad and I had a last-minute sleepover, he's just tired. Sorry you didn't get to see me." Buck replies softly, hoping the smile spreading across his face is reassuring enough. Judging by the way Chris's eyes twinkle, he knows he's right.
"Can I be part of it too?" Chris asks, walking forward until his hands fit themselves into the fitted sheet at the edge of the bed, a hopeful gleam in his eyes where he looks up at Buck.
"Of course, come on up here and snuggle with us."
Buck grins widely at the hushed cheer the boy gives as he makes his way up, crutches abandoned against the nightstand. Buck mentally prays they don't fall and crack the linoleum loud enough to wake Eddie.
Still with his back against the headboard, Chris curled against him on one side and Eddie on the other, and arm around each of them… there's something here.
Blanketed with soft devotion and love as they sit in the comfort of the Diaz household, Buck has found it. Stability and safety intertwined with a tenderness he doesn’t know how he found.
And this.
This is everything.
They don't need exclusivity.
They don’t need official.
This is all he could ever want or need right here.