Archive of Our Own ^beta

Buck would like the record to show that he is not, usually, a very superstitious person. Sure, he tends to believe in jinxes and curses and signs from the universe, but other than that, he isn’t completely gullible. He doesn’t believe everything he reads, praying for a sign in every aspect of his life. 

Well, that is, until a poorly timed research rabbit hole that just so happens to coincide with Eddie and Chris returning home to Los Angeles and the three of them becoming roommates. 

And also the fact that Maddie had planted the idea in his head that he might be in love with Eddie. But that’s crazy, Buck isn’t. Eddie is his straight best friend. It’s ridiculous and insane and simply cannot be true. He refuses to spend another second pondering over it like he has been since Maddie brought it up. 

Hence, the need to fill his brain with other things. 

Buck is sitting on the couch reading a book as the sky slowly begins to dim outside the window beside him. The book is pretty interesting, something that Maddie let him borrow after she read it for her book club. It’s not usually what he’d pick up, but he needed something else to think about other than his sister’s questioning tone when she said, “Are you?” 

Desperate times call for desperate measures. 

He’s so engrossed in the book that he’s hardly paying attention to Eddie sitting next to him, lying against the armrest. Eddie has already begun to doze off with his phone slowly slipping through his grip. 

There’s a dumb line in the book, one that Buck’s brain fixates on so much so that he can’t even bring himself to finish reading the rest of the paragraph. It’s something about an old wives’ tale of butter melting when someone nearby is in love. The protagonist claimed it was utter nonsense, and Buck may be inclined to agree. 

The line sparks something in him, though. He can’t focus on anything else written on the page. It’s not long before Buck’s pulling his phone out and opening Google. He’s just curious if there’s any truth to the tale. 

What follows instead is a rabbit hole Buck quickly finds himself falling into. 

The book shuts closed as he abandons it beside him. His gaze on his phone tightens as he reads through website after website. Old wives' tales and myths. Abnormal beliefs. Superstitions. Curious witchcraft practices. 

Eventually, night falls all around them. Chris pokes his head out of his bedroom to shout a quick goodnight. Eddie snores on the couch next to Buck. He’s drooling a little on the throw pillow beneath him as his socked feet make their way into Buck’s lap. 

And yet, Buck is still googling. He’s opening every website and blog about strange superstitions that he can find. Things he can’t even quite imagine anyone ever believing in.

How stepping in dog poop could ever grant good luck. An odd number of roses given to a person could cause their death. Putting rosemary and thyme into separate shoes and placing those shoes at the foot of your bed can cause dreams about your future partner. 

It’s all so ridiculous, and Buck is so intrigued. 

He doesn’t believe in any of them—at least he doesn’t think he does. 

Soon after, he eventually makes his way to the bedroom, not before tucking a blanket around Eddie. Buck lies in bed that night and descends into sleep quickly from his over-tired eyes. He doesn’t think anymore about the superstitions or tales he’s read.

Until it’s all he can think about. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Buck did not mean to internalize all the beliefs and superstitions, but now it haunts him a little. A product of his hyperfixating brain. 

He often finds himself now in moments of peace (and especially not the q-word because curses very much do exist!) at the station or when he can’t sleep on his turn on the couch at home researching more about these ideas and myths. He scours Reddit for stories about other old tales. He searches through blog posts from countries around the world to discover what stories and rituals they believe in. He accidentally falls onto the witchcraft side of TikTok and is too afraid to ask any questions about how it all really works.

And he kind of believes in it all. It’s comforting to believe in something beyond himself. 

Buck has never been a religious person. He was never drawn to it when he was younger, and he still isn’t now. But it’s nice to find something to believe in just a little bit. 

He’s not obsessed with it. That would be absurd. 

Sure, he’s searching for meaning through the constellations in the sky and breaking wishbones apart with Chris when cooking chicken for dinner. He may have started watching clocks neurotically to catch when the time flips over to 11:11 just so he can wish good health for all his friends and family. It’s not an obsession, though. 

However, he’s not particularly subtle with this new fixation either. 

“What are you doing, bud?” Eddie asks one day as they stand in their kitchen together. He stares at Buck curiously while Buck grabs a pinch of salt and throws it over his shoulder. 

“Warding off bad luck.”

“Right. Okay.” Eddie shakes his head and sips his coffee. “Proceed.” 

With that blessing, Buck does proceed. 

He avoids stepping on cracks on the pavement. He’s beginning to grow slightly wary of the neighbor’s black cat. When buying a gift for Bobby and Athena’s wedding anniversary, he deliberately avoids any bouquets with yellow flowers, as it is believed in some cultures to cause betrayal. 

He’s also captivated by the concept of angel numbers. He always tries to find them whenever he can. Like now, for instance. 

They’re all lounging around in the loft, with Ravi sweeping around the kitchen, while Bobby prepares them a quick meal between calls. Buck is casually scrolling through Instagram and feels a bit giddy when he catches a post with exactly 777 likes. 

777—The lucky angel number, Buck has discovered. It means that you are on the ultimate spiritual path and should keep doing what you’re doing. 

Buck is pretty happy to catch it. It’s really what he wants to hear.

He needs the reminder. He’s been a little more confused than usual lately. Something about Chris being gone for so long, Tommy dumping him, Eddie leaving for Texas, and Buck giving up his loft for him has really thrown Buck for a loop. Unsure of what path to be on and where he belongs. 

At least the universe seems to believe he’s on the right path. Maybe there’s even a superstition out there that can help him find his own house. Not that Buck doesn’t love living with Eddie and Chris—it’s kind of a dream come true, but it’s not a long-term solution. Eventually, he’ll need to move out. 

Besides, he doesn’t know how much longer he can handle seeing Eddie fresh out of the shower with only a towel around his waist before he loses his fucking mind. 

“Oh shit,” Chimney mutters from the kitchen, causing Buck to look up. He’s pointing at the fire station’s calendar. “I completely forgot that Julie’s wedding is on Saturday.” 

A large grin breaks out on Buck’s face. “Did you know that Saturday is actually the unluckiest day to get married? At least, according to ancient Celtic traditions.” 

“Does it really matter?” Chim asks as he opens the fridge, which causes a glare from Bobby over at the stove.

“Well—” 

Before Buck can even get the chance to explain, Hen cuts him off from the other loveseat. 

“I think I got married on a Thursday.” 

“Thursdays are for losses,” Buck quotes the rhyme. It’s English folklore; Monday for health, Tuesday for wealth, Wednesday best of all, Thursday for losses, Friday for crosses, Saturday for no luck at all. 

“Damn,” she mutters. 

“Wow,” Chimney exhales. “I cannot remember the day I got married, huh.” 

The cushion next to Buck dips as Eddie takes a seat beside him. Eddie drapes his arm across the back of the couch and turns to face Chimney. The tips of his fingers are inches away from the nape of Buck’s neck, and it takes every muscle in Buck’s body not to lean back into the touch. 

Eddie chuckles. “You were a little… preoccupied. To say the least.” 

“That’s true.” Chimney shivers and shuts the fridge closed with a handful of grapes. He shoves some in his mouth as he says, “What’s with the wedding facts? You gettin’ hitched anytime soon?”

Buck stammers, “Uh.” 

“Haven’t you heard?” Hen graciously answers for him. “Buck’s on a superstitious kick lately.” 

Chimney groans as he leans on her armrest. “Oh, God. Help us all.” 

Eddie tsks. “C’mon. It’s not that bad.” 

“I’m surprised you, of all people, aren’t more annoyed about this,” Chimney says. Eddie rolls his eyes at the implication. The memory of the very cursed shift from hell haunts them all, even if Eddie still refuses to admit it. “And you live with the guy.”

The fingertips behind Buck’s neck are nearing closer. He can feel Eddie’s touch ghosting over his skin. He almost loses track of the conversation surrounding him from the feather-lightness. 

Eddie scoffs. “So?” 

Ignoring the other two, Hen turns to Buck and asks, “What else have you learnt, Buckaroo?” 

“Uh,” he coughs, bringing himself back to earth. He thinks for a moment. “Well. In China, having a beard or mustache is considered bad luck.”

Chimney lets out a boisterous laugh. He points at Eddie as his laughter rings around the room. The others can’t help but chuckle along. Buck’s face embarrassingly burns bright red. He still doesn’t dare to turn around and see Eddie’s reaction.

Out of everything he could’ve said, he just had to relate it back to Eddie. 

“That explains a lot for me then,” Eddie jokes.

Buck loses the battle against himself and finally looks over his shoulder. Eddie’s cheeks are flushed, but he’s smiling. His canines are poking through, and Buck can’t seem to tear his gaze away. 

“No, I—uh… I loved the mustache,” he stumbles over his words. It’s not even a lie. The mustache was hot—not that Buck would ever admit that aloud. 

Eddie watches him ardently. “Yeah, yeah,” he shies away before asking, “what else have you learnt?” Eddie inches closer on the couch. His knee brushes against Buck’s leg as his stare never falters. 

Buck flounders, thinking. 

“Oh! Did you know that in Texas.” Eddie’s eyebrows raise at that, his interest piqued. Buck continues, “That if you count a hundred white horses, then the next person you shake hands with will be the person you marry.”

Eddie chuckles. “I’ve never heard that before, but it does sound like something Soph or Adriana would believe in.” 

Sweeping around the coffee table now, Ravi chimes in, “Damn, too bad you can’t do that here. No horses casually walking the streets of LA.” 

“Would you want to?” Hen asks him.

Ravi pauses to think for a moment. “Nah. I’m happy being single right now,” he shrugs and then grins jokingly, “Buck, on the other hand, though…”

“Hey!” Buck shouts. 

Ravi snorts. “What? It’s true.”

Buck can feel Eddie’s eyes burning into the side of his face. “I’m… fine,” he answers with a cough, sounding more like a question than a definitive fact. Ravi stares at him, eyebrows raised. They both remember that night many moons ago when Ravi had to pawn Buck off on his own ex-boyfriend just to get a moment of peace. 

But as a matter of fact, Buck is very happily single right now. He doesn’t even think about that night with Tommy. Or the morning after. Buck definitely doesn’t think about the way Tommy implied that Eddie could be anything but straight or that Buck could be interested in him like that. Certainly never thinks about it. 

Buck likes being single. That’s what he tells himself. 

He can still feel Eddie’s piercing eyes on him, though. He begins to sweat under the gaze. Scrambling for anything to change the topic, Buck shouts, “Don’t sweep over my feet!” at Ravi, louder than he means to. It grabs everyone’s attention. 

Ravi rolls his eyes. “Don’t put your feet in my way.”

Buck tucks his feet under his legs on the couch. The soles of his shoes rub against Eddie’s thigh, and he pulls himself in closer to avoid it, further away from Eddie’s presence. 

“It’s said if someone sweeps over your feet with a broom, then you’ll be single forever. It sweeps away their chances of finding love.”

“Good. Suffer,” Ravi grumbles. 

“Asshole,” Buck retorts. 

“Alright, children. Behave,” Bobby calls out. He’s making his way over to the rest of the team as he asks, “Are you that concerned about finding love, Buck?” 

The question takes him aback. “Well, I—” Buck pauses. He doesn’t know the answer.

Sure, he’s a little concerned. Buck has always craved company. To have someone by his side. He’s always wanted a family of his own, though he’s not getting any younger, and it seems almost everyone he knows has found their person. Their other half. 

But Buck hasn’t.

Thankfully, before Buck can even spend another second contemplating Bobby’s question and the implications behind it, they’re interrupted by the alarm going off.

Once they’re sitting in the engine on the way to the call, Eddie presses against Buck’s side. He can feel Eddie’s gaze watching him like before—almost like he’s trying to read Buck’s mind. 

But Buck refuses to turn around. He stares out the window and counts every white car that they pass, pretending that they’re horses instead.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

While on the scene, Buck tries not to think too hard about Bobby’s question. He pushes it down and ignores it. It’s been a common practice for him lately. 

Instead, he stands on the sidelines and watches while Hen and Chimney attend to the patients. They’ve been called to a kids’ playground where, thankfully, no actual children were harmed. Just two parents who got into a little tussle over the swing-set and are now looking like they both may need stitches from the grimaces on Hen and Chim’s faces. 

“Hey.” Eddie comes up to him after passing Chimney the last of the gauze. “I forgot to ask. Can you pick Chris up from Lewis’ house after shift tomorrow? I’ve got my appointment with Frank.”

“‘Course. You don’t need to ask,” Buck replies. “What do you want for dinner then? Bento boxes from your favorite Japanese place?”

Another constant since Eddie’s return from El Paso has been his bi-weekly standing sessions with Frank. It’s been good for him. He’s been more joyful lately, and Buck couldn’t be happier for him. 

Though therapy is still therapy, and most of the time, Eddie returns feeling a little fragile. Buck always ensures he does the best he can to ease Eddie’s worries afterwards. So, a post-therapy comfort food is a must, and Eddie’s been obsessed with the little Japanese restaurant down the road for the last few months—even if Buck prefers the Korean barbecue place around the corner. 

Eddie turns bashful as he answers. “Yeah. That’s perfect.” He looks off in the distance at Hen and Chim before catching Buck’s gaze again. “And we can watch the rest of that documentary series you put on yesterday.”

“Or we can watch whatever you wanna watch.”

“Buck—” 

Buck throws his hands up in defence, “I’m just saying.” Post-therapy afternoons are for Eddie. He should get his favorite food and control of the TV remote. It’s the least Buck could do for him. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I want to watch what you want.” 

“Serious?”

“Yeah.”

Buck gives in. “Okay, fine.” 

He watches Eddie as the grin returns to his face. His cheeks grow flush as they round with his smile. Small dimples poke out. Buck is tempted to reach out and touch, but he stops himself. That’s not normal best-friend behavior. 

He’s so fixated on watching Eddie’s face, though, that he notices a fallen eyelash just below the beauty mark under his eye. Buck points it out. Gesturing on his own face to where it sits with his finger. “Oh. You’ve got a little something. An eyelash.” 

Buck watches Eddie paw at his face for a moment, then asks, “Did I get it?”

“No—” Buck sighs before thinking fuck it. He gently grabs hold of the side of Eddie’s face and whispers, “Let me just…” 

Holding Eddie’s face in his hand, Buck can feel the way it burns under the tips of his fingers. Eddie’s cheeks are growing pinker by the second. It’s probably just from the sun burning down on them right now. He should buy some aloe vera gel on their way home tomorrow for the inevitable sunburn. 

Buck softly rubs his thumb under Eddie’s eye and sticks out his tongue in concentration. It wipes across his bottom lip. Eddie’s eyes track the movement—glinting as the sun hits them, causing the brown to fleck with spots of green. 

Buck’s breath hitches. It’s a beautiful sight.

But he pulls back. Eddie’s eyelash is lying on the pad of his thumb. He stares at it instead to avoid Eddie’s eyes. He looks down at the faint eyelash and transfers it over to the index finger of his right hand. He remembers something he read last week about wishes on fallen eyelashes. He follows the steps outlined on the website about love superstitions to the best of his ability. 

Thinking of strong arms embracing him from behind. Amber eyes and a soft strand of hair falling over a forehead. A scar on the bottom lip and a tattoo wrapped around a forearm—Buck blows on the eyelash. It flies away in the wind. 

Finally, he tears his eyes away from it. His stare meets Eddie’s again, whose grin still hasn’t diminished. 

Suddenly growing shy, Buck stutters out, “Sorry,” and takes a small step away from him. Eddie still doesn’t budge. 

“No, it's—” Eddie’s fingers brush over where Buck’s once were on his face. He swallows. “Uh, what does it mean?”

“Hmm?” 

“The eyelash. It must mean something,” Eddie says. “ Apparently, everything has a hidden meaning now. Tell me about it.” His tone is soft, and Buck melts like putty in his hands. 

He hesitates before the words spill out. “Um, if you blow on a fallen eyelash and it flies away, it means—It means your dreams of true love will come true.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. “Are… you thinking about what Bobby said earlier?”

“It’s—” Buck pauses. He doesn’t really know what the answer to Eddie’s question is. “Just a little. I—It’s fine, though. I’m happy where I am.”

Eddie studies his face. Buck feels himself grow wary underneath the stare. He doesn’t know what Eddie will find beneath the surface, but he doesn’t want Eddie to find any sense of doubt that crawls under his skin. 

“You sure?” Eddie asks. 

All Buck can do is nod. His throat is too tight to string any coherent words together. 

Eddie’s lips part to speak again, but before he can, Bobby calls out to them, “Buck. Eddie. C’mon.” 

Bobby and Ravi are standing by the engine, watching their little exchange, while Chim and Hen take the victims to the ambulance. Eddie nods at Bobby and turns back to Buck. His grin from before is back, but it isn’t as wide as it was. Buck can’t help but feel a little guilty about it. He pushes that down, too. 

Eddie hums and says, “Well, let’s still hope your dreams come true, Buck,” before jogging over to the engine. 

Buck stands there for a moment longer, watching him go before following behind.

He hopes so, too. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Buck hates weddings. 

Okay, that’s not true. After all, he is a bit of a hopeless romantic. 

He liked Maddie and Chimney’s wedding… for the most part. The encephalitis was not ideal, and neither was Buck’s boyfriend at the time, neglecting to tell him he had a face covered in soot. Not a great way to come out to his family, but he digresses. 

He also enjoyed Hen and Karen’s vow renewal a few years back. It was a nice day—he got to spend time with his favorite people and simply revel in their love. 

So Buck doesn’t actually hate weddings. He just hates this wedding in particular. 

No offence to Julie and her partner, but a wedding is the last place on earth Buck wants to be at right now—especially sitting next to Eddie.

Not that Buck doesn’t enjoy hanging out with Eddie at any possible moment, it’s just the context. Seeing Eddie in a suit, basking in a room full of love. It makes Buck’s head a little woozy, but that may also be from the over-pouring glasses of champagne.  

Everyone is sitting around their assigned 118 and co. table, finishing the last of their dinner. Conversations are floating in the air around Buck, but he is oblivious to them all. His mind is miles away. But as it always tends to do, Eddie’s voice breaks through the chaos of the room. 

“Hey. You okay?” he asks. 

“Hmm? I’m good.”

“Really?” Eddie’s brow raises a little. “You seem a little lost to the world.”

“Just thinking.” Buck brushes it off and takes another sip of his champagne. Eddie doesn’t seem pleased with the answer, but he also doesn’t push it any further. 

From Buck’s other side, Chimney overhears them. “Buck? Thinking? That’s dangerous,” he teases. Maddie whacks him on his arm. 

Garnering the attention of everyone else, Hen calls out from across the table, “You got any more wedding superstitions for us, Buck?” 

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard about this. I’m curious,” Karen says and sets her chin in the palm of her hand. 

“Superstitions?” Maddie asks, “Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” Hen replies. 

Ravi pipes up as well, “Yeah, he’s being weirder than usual lately.” Buck kicks him under the table. He chokes on a bite of his chicken. Deserved. 

Eddie nudges him, forcing Buck’s eyes on him again. He looks really good tonight, in his suit jacket and hair styled back with as minimal gel as possible. A little strand falls over his forehead, and Buck is helpless in controlling the wild thoughts that run through his mind. 

He really needs to chill. 

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” Eddie asks. 

“C’mon, kid. Enlighten us,” Bobby adds. 

Buck gives in. 

“Well—” he thinks, “Juno is the ancient Roman goddess of marriage and childbirth, so marrying in June is considered lucky.” 

“Ha, Juno is also a Sabrina Carpenter song!” Ravi excitably chimes in.

“Yeah.” Buck chuckles. Technically, he is right. 

“‘Least Julie ticked that off her list after the Saturday fiasco,” Chimney says with a mouthful of food. 

“But, it’s bad luck to wear black at a wedding,” Buck adds. 

Eddie looks down at his black suit jacket and sighs. “Fuck. Sorry, Julie.”

Buck is captivated; his gaze lingers on him as he answers, “It’s alright. She already doomed herself.”

Eddie’s eyes crinkle as he laughs. “What else?” 

Buck gets a little carried away. Listing off different tales he read in a book he found specifically on love and marriage superstitions from the digital portal of his local library. Buck frequents the website often. He gets sucked in very easily, just like with this conversation—a sunken desire to make Eddie continue to laugh. 

“Oh—In English folklore, guests ensure a good future for the couple by throwing coins over their heads. And it’s also good luck to throw shoes,” he exclaims with waving hands. 

Athena snorts into her glass. “I’m glad no one was around to throw a shoe at my head at our wedding,” she says and leans into Bobby’s side. 

From next to her, Karen retorts, “I pity anyone who would have tried.” 

The spotlight on Buck fades, and everyone continues their own conversations again, but he doesn’t mind. He is content with listening in as he finishes his meal. The night is less stifling than before. 

That is, until Eddie leans in closer and rests his elbow on the table, plopping his head in his hand. His face is inches away from where Buck’s hand is gripping his almost-empty champagne glass. His breath ghosts over Buck’s skin. “Anything else?” he asks. 

Buck dares to sneak a peek at him. He’s looking up at Buck through eyelashes. Buck grabs the glass and downs the rest of his drink before answering, “Why are you so curious?” but Eddie only shrugs. “You hate all this stuff. You don’t even believe in the universe.” 

It’s a question he’s been wondering since he fell down this little rabbit hole, and Eddie had first asked what Buck was spending his nights reading about on their couch. Eddie doesn’t believe in the universe. He had laughed at the thought of it. The idea that there’s an overarching power that cares about every little thing we mere humans do. 

He can be a little pessimistic like that—it endears Buck. 

“I know, but—” Eddie leans back. He stretches his arms out until his hand is gripping the back of Buck’s chair. Buck moves in a little closer to hear him better. “I like hearing what you have to say.” 

“Really? You keepin’ a list for your own wedding? Second time’s the charm?” Buck teases. 

Eddie’s eyes bore into his. Buck’s thankful he’s sitting down; otherwise, he fears his knees would have given in at the sight. 

“Maybe. If the right person comes along.”

Buck splutters. He wasn’t expecting that.

“You serious?” he asks. 

He’s a little surprised at the answer, to say the least. Eddie has never really shown that he wants to get married again. It just didn’t seem that likely with his ex-girlfriends. He expressed his fears and anxieties at the time about Ana and how hesitant he was about their future to Buck, and not long after, he broke up with her. With Marisol, Eddie could barely handle them moving in together. Marriage was never on the table for them. 

And with Shannon, well, Buck doesn’t know what the story would be there. 

Eddie sighs, but nods. “I know the typical don’t see each other before the wedding and the something old, something new, blah, blah.” He takes a moment to sip his own glass before continuing, “We never did all that for Shannon and me. It was quick. In and out at my parents’ church.” 

Lowering his glass, his hand rests on the table again, inches away from where Buck’s own hand lies. If he were brave enough to extend his pinkie out, they could be touching. Eddie looks at him again. “I wouldn’t be opposed to doing it right. With the right person.”

Buck doesn’t want to think about who the right person would be for Eddie. Some woman that Buck would never amount to. 

It’s an insane thought. Idiotic. Eddie is his friend, and Buck should be happy he’d ever consider settling down again. He deserves to find that special someone. 

And Buck will happily stand there with the rest of his groomsmen. Like a best friend should. 

He sucks in a harsh breath before saying, “Well, um… pick a day where it’s going to rain. Rain on a wedding day is said to bring good luck. Wealth and fertility.” 

Eddie nods with a smile. “Duly noted.” 

They’re interrupted by the announcement that it is time to cut the cake. Buck beams—it means the night is almost over. 

He half pays attention as Julie and her partner take the first bite and welcome the rest of the guests to take a piece. Instead, his mind wanders to something he had read about wedding cakes. It was a frankly stupid tradition that way too many websites and bloggers considered to be fact, and yet Buck is curious. 

So while everyone else is finishing their last bites, Buck quickly sneaks away from the table. He makes his way over to where there are extra pieces of cake cut up on fancy china and snags one, wrapping it up in a napkin and hiding it in his pocket. He just has to pray he doesn’t squish it between now and when he goes to bed later tonight. 

Simultaneously, a small crowd starts to form in front of the head table on the dance floor. Buck pauses to watch for a moment as it seems Julie readies herself to throw the flower bouquet. He turns around to go back to his table, intending to beg Eddie to go home. 

He barely makes it a few steps across the dance floor when it happens. Buck is mid-yawn, hand patting against his pants pocket to ensure that the cake is really there, when suddenly he crashes into something. 

Well, someone. 

The collision almost causes him to lose his footing when one of the bridesmaids unexpectedly runs into him. Buck’s firefighter instincts kick in, immediately springing into action to catch the woman before they both fall.

Instead, he catches something else. 

The woman falls to the ground as Buck stands there, shellshocked, with Julie’s wedding bouquet in his hands. 

He’s fucking mortified. 

Everyone knows the cliché of what catching a bouquet toss means. It’s a tradition. Many sites and Reddit forms that Buck had perused when his rabbit hole of wedding superstitions reached new heights last night had included the significance of it. He knows that it originated in England in the 1800s. That mainly unmarried women partook in the slightly sexist act. He also knows that it had been modernized as a way of a little bit of fun to conclude the wedding reception. 

He also knows that superstitions say that the person to catch it is next in line to get married. 

The thought is outrageous. He can’t let himself dwell on it. There is no way in hell that Buck is the next person to get married out of everyone in this room. Even Julie’s 7-year-old nephew has a better chance than him. 

But you know the old wives’ tales. Maybe there’s some truth to it. 

Buck stares down at the bouquet in his hand, completely baffled. Hesitantly, his gaze rises to the snickering from his friends—Chimney’s laughter clear as day across the room. He grimaces, staring at them as he feels the woman next to him come to her senses and watch him in the corner of his eye with a scowl on her face. 

That’s fair, he thinks. He totally stole her thunder.

Except Buck can’t really bring himself to care about that right now as his gaze meets Eddie’s across the room. He has a soft smile on his face, and Buck can feel his own heartbeat stutter. 

He shoves the bouquet into the fallen woman’s arms and runs away from the scene. He keeps his head down, ignoring the eyes of the other wedding patrons as he makes his way over to the table. 

His friends are obnoxiously cheering as he walks up. Ravi is whooping as the rest’s laughter grows out of control. Buck ignores them all, sending quick death glares their way as he grabs Eddie’s arm and pulls him out of his chair. “We’re leaving,” he orders. 

Eddie chuckles, but willingly lets Buck drag him away from the table. He waves goodbye at their friends who call after them, but Buck keeps his eyes down until they’re out of the venue. 

As they step outside, the full moon shines down on them, and Buck chooses to blame that for why he’s acting so strange. Everyone knows weird things happen on a full moon. It’s a fact. 

He orders a ride as he and Eddie stand there. Eddie watches him with a few giggles still spilling out. 

“We are not talking about this,” Buck demands. 

“Think that was the best moment of my life,” Eddie says, a little dazed from laughter. 

It’s not until later, when they’re home, clad in sweats and sworn to not rehash the events of the night, that Buck remembers the extra piece of wedding cake. 

He pulls it out from his suit pants’ pockets to find it mostly squished, but that doesn’t deter him. He calls out a goodnight to Eddie, whose turn it is on the couch tonight, and shuts the bedroom door behind him. 

Supposedly, a 17th-century superstition claims that sleeping with a piece of wedding cake under your pillow will cause you to dream of your future partner. Buck was a little ambitious earlier in the night when he remembered the tale; now, he’s more cautious.

“This is so stupid,” he mutters to himself as he re-wraps the cake in the napkin and places it under his pillow. He just hopes he’s able to clean up any cake stains in the sheets before Eddie notices. 

But when Buck eventually falls asleep that night, he does dream of a person—someone who is often the main character in his dreams. 

Familiar brown, floppy hair and likewise round brown eyes. Tan skin and faded stubble, sometimes even sporting a mustache. A firefighter uniform like his own, but with a different name written on his badge; four little letters instead of seven. 

A St Christopher medallion and a Silver Star. Rosey cheeks and an infectious laugh. Quiet humor and tears that he never lets spill from his eyes. The best father that Buck knows. The person that Buck trusts most in the world to have his back. 

It’s Eddie. Of course it is. 

Buck jumps awake the next morning when his alarm goes off. His mind flashes with memories of Eddie’s smiling face looking down at him under the sunlight. Buck’s breath hitches as he throws his pillow on the ground, finding the smushed piece of cake. His eyes widen.

No. This is stupid. It’s not real. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a fucking tale. 

Buck tosses the cake into the garbage bin in the bathroom and braces himself to walk out into the living room. As expected, Eddie is sitting there on the couch, blinking his eyes awake. He looks so soft in the morning light coming through the windows. 

Buck holds his breath. He is so fucked. 

“Mornin’,” Eddie mumbles. He sounds half asleep still, and all Buck wants to do is hold him in his arms until they’re both falling asleep again. Together. 

But that’s insane. Buck can’t do that. Eddie is his best friend. Dreaming about him means nothing. None of this means anything. It’s just fiction. 

“What?” Eddie asks. He’s properly awake now and noticing how Buck is just staring at him, completely bewildered. 

“N—Nothing,” Buck stumbles over his words. “Coffee,” he says awkwardly, before bolting into the kitchen. Eddie watches him go, utterly confused. 

Buck needs to be normal about this. Dreams mean nothing. Longstanding traditions mean nothing. Superstitions mean nothing. Buck is not in love with Eddie, and he will be normal about it.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Buck is not normal about this. He’s actually the furthest thing possible from being normal when it comes to Eddie. 

Because the thing is, the worst possible outcome—he’s totally in love with Eddie. 

And having to watch Eddie host a tea party in the garden with Buck’s niece is not helping. 

He is so fucking doomed. 

Not only did he have to fall in love with his straight best friend, but his straight best friend also just happens to be the very best person in the world. Buck was already well aware of the fact, but seeing Eddie sit in their backyard on a picnic rug with Jee-Yun while wearing one of her toy tiaras makes him realize it all over again.

Because Eddie is just so good. He’s one of Buck’s absolute favorite people. His heart is golden and so full of love, even if he tries not to show it. He’s reserved, to protect himself, but not with Buck. What they have is special and rare, and Buck wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that. He couldn’t risk losing Eddie and Chris—his family—over this. 

Anyone would be so lucky to have Eddie in their life in any form. He makes it so easy to fall in love with him. And Buck refuses to ruin that. He can’t lose the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He needs to control it. He has to live with this.

Buck lingers in the doorway, watching them clink teacups after checking on their lunch heating up in the oven. They’re babysitting for the day while Maddie’s working and Chim’s taking the baby to the pediatrician for a routine appointment. 

He can’t help the grin that tugs on his lips seeing Eddie and Jee together, giggling in matching tiaras, surrounded by her stuffed animals. It warms his heart. 

It’s also entirely unfair that Eddie in a plastic pink tiara that’s way too small for his head somehow makes him even more attractive. The universe is really putting Buck through the wringer here. 

Buck jumps from his dazed state when, out of nowhere, Jee suddenly squeals. He stands up in the doorway and races over to the two of them. 

Eddie also immediately springs into action like the dad he is, throwing his plastic cup down on the ground in a hurry. “What’s up, Jee?” he asks.

“Look!” Jee shouts and excitedly points at a bug that landed on the back of her hand.

Eddie gets a closer look and smiles, the tension from his shoulders relieving in an instant. “Wow, a ladybug!” he cheers with her. 

Buck sits down next to Jee, also easing up, as she slowly moves her arm up to get a closer look at the bug. “It’s so pretty,” she says in awe. 

From over her head, Eddie’s eyes meet Buck’s. He purses his lips together, pouting at the cuteness overload. Buck smiles back with his cheeks heating a little. 

So much for trying to control himself around Eddie. 

He has to physically bring himself to rip his eyes away from Eddie’s to focus back on Jee. “Y—Yeah, do you know what it means?” he asks her, but he still feels Eddie’s gaze lingering on him. 

Jee shakes her head. “No.”

Ladybugs were one of the many insects that appeared often when Buck was researching superstitions regarding luck, because in their field, luck is highly sought after—especially when one was casually struck by lightning. 

They're often associated with love and prophecy. For a ladybug to land on you, it’s believed to be a good sign. 

It’s also believed to be a sign of love, but Buck has trouble believing in that. 

“Well, ladybugs are lucky. They’re meant to bring you good luck. You can make a wish when it lands on you and it’ll come true,” he explains. Unconsciously, he looks over at Eddie again. Eddie’s lips are curled up with faint dimples peeking through. His whole face softens as Buck speaks to Jee. There’s a look in his eyes that feels familiar, but Buck doesn’t know how to pinpoint it.

“Why don’t you make a wish?” Eddie whispers to Jee. She cheers back, squeezing her eyes tight and thinks up her wish. When she opens her eyes, she’s smiling, full teeth on display besides her missing front tooth. 

The three of them watch the ladybug on Jee’s hand for a moment longer before it flies away and lands on Eddie’s arm instead. It startles him. 

Jee giggles. “Uncle Eddie, now you have to make a wish!” 

Eddie chuckles back. “Okay,” he whispers as his gaze flashes back to Buck for a split second before he closes his eyes and makes his own wish just like she did. 

Once he opens his eyes, Jee excitedly asks, “What did you wish for?” 

The ladybug flies away again, opting to land on a daisy in the midst of the garden that Buck had begun while Eddie was in El Paso. 

Eddie leaps over the picnic rug to tickle Jee’s sides. “If I tell you, then it won’t come true,” he says as she giggles loudly. He looks over at Buck again. “Right, Buck? There are superstitions on that, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” Buck replies, breathlessly. “But I think that only applies to birthday candles.”

“Well, I’m not taking any chances,” Eddie whispers, leaning back. 

“I hope your wish comes true, Uncle Eddie,” Jee says.

“Me, too, Jee,” Eddie replies with a sigh before standing up. “Alright, how about we go grab Chris and wash our hands for lunch, hm?”

“Okay!” she shouts before running into the house. 

But Eddie lingers back for a second, stretching out his back like the old man he is and groaning as it pops. It should be illegal how endearing Buck finds it. The bottom of his shirt rides up as he does, and Buck chooses to blame the sliver of hair he sees trailing down Eddie’s stomach distracting him as to why he can’t stop himself from rambling on. 

“You know—” he coughs. “Uh—European folklore believed that when a ladybug lands on you that love is on the way. They say you will get married within the year.”  

Eddie stands beside him, looking down at Buck, the sun like a halo around his head. He smiles brighter than it. 

“After you caught that bouquet, I wouldn’t be so surprised,” Eddie says coyly. 

Buck stumbles, brows furrowing. “What?” He practically chokes on the word. 

But Eddie just chuckles and shrugs. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” 

Buck’s brain feels scrambled, like Eddie’s scooped the insides out, mixed them all together, and shoved them back into his skull. He wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case; it certainly feels like it. 

“W—what does that mean?”

But Eddie doesn’t dignify that with a response. He just smirks harder, canines threatening to peek through as he snorts, before turning around and walking into the house. 

All Buck can do is watch him go. He’s never been more confused in his life. 

What does that even mean? 

Buck blinks awake once Eddie’s figure disappears into the kitchen. He needs a moment to sit here alone and decompose what the fuck Eddie could possibly mean by that before needing to act normally again. His eyes dash around the backyard in a flurry, staring at the remnants of their tea party, until they land on a daisy sitting on the picnic rug that Jee must have picked earlier.  

For some reason, Buck picks up the daisy and twirls it between his fingers. He considers it for a moment, thinking about when he and Maddie used to pick them as kids when she’d walk him to school. He remembers Maddie teaching him a little game she used to play with her friends—picking off the petals to determine if their crushes liked them back.

The Daisy Oracle. He read about it a few weeks ago on a particular deep dive into flower divination. It sounds stupid, but it wouldn’t hurt to try, right?

Buck stares down at the flower for a moment, pressing a soft petal between his fingertips before plucking it off. He whispers, “he loves me,” under his breath as he does so, thoughts running wild of Eddie in a too-small tiara and a grin on his face. 

Buck tries again, whispering “he loves me not,” and then again, alternating the phrases on repeat for a couple of minutes until there’s one petal left.

His breath hitches as he plucks the last petal, muttering, “he loves me.” 

“Fuck,” Buck stutters, gaze fixated on the now-bare flower. He’s frozen in time until he hears Jee call his name from the doorway.

“Uncle Buck, come on!” she shouts. 

Buck blinks, remembering where he is. He stumbles to his feet, shoving the daisy into his pocket, and makes his way inside while shaking his head. 

He’s not about to let a stupid flower convince him that Eddie could possibly have feelings for him. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Buck is positive the universe may be taunting him.

Like somehow, he’s pissed it off so terribly that now it’s decided his eternal punishment is trying to convince him that Eddie might actually love him back. But just because Buck’s now accepted that he’s probably—highly likely—in love with Eddie does not mean that Eddie’s in love with him. This all has to be the universe’s revenge. 

It’s the only explanation Buck can find for any of this. 

And, it’s also the only reason why Buck’s currently staring at an apple peel he just threw over his left shoulder. Because the internet told him to. 

An apple peel that is supposedly meant to reveal the first letter of the name of your future partner. Whatever the hell that really means. 

An apple peel that suspiciously looks like the letter E.

But Buck can’t think that way. He can’t have false hope. He refuses to. 

Buck’s in such a state of shock staring at the peel that he doesn’t even take note of the front door opening and closing down the hallway, or the sound of crutches making their way into the kitchen, until Chris speaks. 

“What are you doing?” The classic teenager judgmental tone wakes Buck up. 

“Chris!” he shouts way louder than he should, jumping back and hitting his hip on the corner of the kitchen counter. “You’re home. Why are you home?”

“It’s four p.m,” Chris states like it’s obvious, which it should be, if Buck hadn’t been staring at the apple peel and was instead finishing slicing them for the fruit salad he was making for Chris’s after-school snack. “What are you doing? Why are you staring at an apple peel?”

“Uh, n—no reason,” Buck stumbles before recuperating. “Hey, what does the apple peel look like to you?” He desperately needs a second opinion here. 

Chris stares at him, deadpan. You’d think by this point he’d be used to Buck’s nonsense. “It looks like an apple peel, Buck.”

Buck shakes his head. “No. I mean—What shape does it look like?” 

“Why?” 

“Just enlighten me.” Buck tries to smile, though it comes out a bit more squeamish than he intends. “Look at it from over here. What does it look like?” 

Actually walking into the kitchen instead of just judging him from the doorway, Chris looks down at the peel from Buck’s angle. “Um,” he mumbles, studying it hard. “An E, I guess.”

That is what Buck was afraid of. He’s not the only one who sees it. 

“Right…” he mutters before clarifying, “Are you sure?”

Chris nods. “Yeah, look—” He points at the tips of the peel. “It curves there and there, like an E.”

Buck is very much aware of that fact, but having Chris spell it out for him really throws him through a loop. It makes it all too real. Something undeniable. 

He can’t tell if that makes things better or worse. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath. “That’s what I was afraid of.” 

Chris pauses for a moment, staring at him funny. “Are you okay? Do I need to call Dad?”

Immediately, Buck splutters. He’s sure he looks something unhinged right now. He really can’t be dealing with Eddie’s questioning as well as Chris’s amidst all this. “What? No, I’m—I’m fine. Don’t call Eddie.” 

“You’re acting weird,” Chris says skeptically. 

“No, I’m not,” Buck quickly defends, but he already feels himself sweating under Chris’s watchful eye. He’s a smart kid. Buck should’ve known Chris would definitely pick up on his weirdness. 

“Yeah, you are,” Chris huffs and snacks on an apple slice. “Weirder than your usual levels of weird.”

Buck brushes it off. He avoids looking at Chris by grabbing a bowl and fork for him. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Is this one of those superstitious things?” Chris asks, pointing at the apple peel still on the floor. 

“No?” Buck says very unconvincingly.

Chris quirks an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe,” Buck relents. “But I don’t think it worked.”

“Well, what was it supposed to do?”

“Uh—” Buck stutters. He knows he’s not getting out of this unscathed. “It’s said if you peel an apple and then throw it over your shoulder and look for the shape of a letter, it’s meant to be the first letter of your future partner’s name,” he explains with cheeks heating at every word. 

“And you got an E,” Chris points out. 

“Supposedly.” Buck’s voice pitches higher than he intends. 

“That,” Chris points at the peel again, “is undoubtedly an E.” 

“Maybe.”

Chris smirks like the little shit he is. “You know whose name starts with an E?” 

Buck is so fucking aware of whose name starts with an E. Almost too aware. It’s the sole reason why the tightness in his chest is expanding every passing second.

He shakes his head rapidly. “Nope.”

“I bet you can think of one.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not?” Chris asks.

Buck sucks in a sharp breath. “What do you mean, why not?” 

Chris shrugs. “Just—Why not? It’s not that crazy.”

Buck almost screams. He’s losing his damn mind. 

It’s not that crazy. 

He’s heard that before. He could never forget. Those four little words haunt him. 

And now Chris, out of all people, is implying the same—the same as Buck’s sister and his ex-boyfriend. That the concept of him and Eddie being together wouldn’t be so crazy, so much so that even Eddie’s son agrees. 

The universe is fucking mocking him. 

“Wha—” is all Buck manages to spit out from his shock.

“Trust me,” Chris says, unworriedly. He looks down at his phone while Buck is still audibly gulping. “‘Kay. I’m gonna play a game with Denny. Let me know when you figure it out,” he says before turning for the door. 

Buck heaves. “Wait—No. Chris! What did you mean?”

But Chris doesn’t give him an answer. He steps over the apple peel still on the ground and shouts over his shoulder, “Bye, Buck!”

Before Buck can even properly process the implications behind Chris’s words, Eddie walks through the front door, taking all the little remaining breath from him. 

“Hey,” Eddie exhales softly once he catches a glimpse of Buck. “What was that about?” he asks with a smile. 

Buck’s stomach regurgitates. 

“Uh, nothing,” he coughs out awkwardly.

For a moment, Eddie just stares at him curiously, clearly able to tell Buck’s not being honest, but much to Buck’s relief, he drops it with a sly nod and a soft, “Okay.”

Buck swallows. He avoids looking over at Eddie. 

“Hey, why is there an apple peel on the ground? Is that meant to be a prank?” Eddie asks jokily as he walks further into the room. He brushes his hand against Buck’s bicep as he walks past. Buck thinks he may die on the spot. “You know you’re meant to use banana peels, bud.”

Buck mutters under his breath. “It feels like a prank.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It happens where most things happen for them—in the kitchen. 

Buck was trying to distract himself on their afternoon off with a little stress-induced baking as a way to not lust over Eddie mowing the lawn through the window, when something causes him to stop dead in his tracks. 

On a little tray surrounded by the mess of other ingredients is the stick of butter. 

And it’s beginning to melt. 

Buck is completely transfixed by it. He cannot look away. He knows what it means, and it can’t possibly be true. It’s the thing that started it all. 

He can’t be in love with Eddie. He just can’t.

“Hey, you.” 

Speak of the devil. 

Eddie walks in from the back door with an easy casualness to it, like Buck’s world isn’t entirely crashing down. “Whatcha making? Those triple chocolate chip cookies I like so much?”

Buck doesn’t respond. It’s a simple question, but he doesn’t know how to answer it. His mouth suddenly feels too dry to form words. 

“Buck?” Eddie asks, concern growing. He softly touches Buck on the arm, causing him to virtually jump across the room. “Jeez, man. You alright?”

“Fine! I’m fine,” Buck splutters out almost too quickly and with too high a pitch to be deemed normal. 

Eddie furrows his brows. “You don’t seem fine. Is everything okay?”

“Y—Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” Buck answers poorly. He tries to continue whatever the fuck he was doing before he was deeply distracted, just so that he doesn’t look over at Eddie. 

Eddie pauses. “I dunno. You’ve been acting strange lately. You’ve been… off. Did I do something?” 

Yes. 

“No!” Buck practically shouts. 

“Yeah, that wasn’t very convincing,” Eddie says with a squint. “What’s going on, man? Is it me?” There’s a sort of sadness and desperation to his tone. A sharp shift from the joyful energy with which he entered the room. Buck hates himself for causing it. It causes him to break. 

“It’s not you,” Buck succumbs with a sigh. “It’s the butter.”

“The butter?” Eddie repeats. “What’s wrong with the butter? We bought it together.”

And that’s part of the issue. The melting butter that’s throwing Buck through a spiral and mocking him is the very same butter he and Eddie bought at the grocery store days ago. Because they do all of their grocery shopping together. For the house they live in together, names sat next to each other on the lease and matching addresses on their licenses. 

It’s all too domestic and marital for two platonic friends. 

“It’s melting,” he says simply, as if that explains anything.

Eddie lets out a stilted chuckle. “Uh, yeah, it tends to do that when you leave it out for too long.”

“You don’t get it,” Buck says softly. 

“Then explain it.” 

Buck wishes he could. He’s so tired. He’s tired of pretending like nothing’s happening. Like his world didn’t shift entirely when he realized how he feels for Eddie isn’t how he should as a best friend. 

He wishes for dear life that he could just grab Eddie by the shoulders and scream everything at him, just so the thoughts are finally able to escape Buck’s mind. He can’t hold it in anymore. 

But he has to. 

“Buck, c’mon,” Eddie pleads. “I feel like things between us have been different lately.”

Buck can feel Eddie’s eyes drilling holes into the side of his face, but he ignores them. He busies himself by grabbing the hand mixer. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, avoidantly. 

“That!” Eddie bursts, pointing a finger. “That’s exactly what I mean. We’re not being honest with each other anymore.” 

“You say that like I’m hiding something from you. I’m not,” Buck lies. 

Eddie gives him a disbelieving look. “Really?” 

“Yes!” 

Eddie sighs, giving in. “Okay, you say that, but—”

But Buck doesn’t want to hear it, whatever Eddie makes of his strangeness and attempts at distance lately. He cuts Eddie off by turning on the old hand mixer, the too–loud whirling filling the air. Eddie glares at him. He’s unimpressed. 

“Are you serious right now?” he shouts over it. 

“Sorry, I can’t hear you,” Buck shouts back. 

With a groan, Eddie reaches over and unplugs the mixer from the wall outlet. 

“Hey! I was using that.”

“Buck, I’m trying to talk to you about something,” Eddie says firmly. He’s still attempting to catch Buck’s eye. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Buck mutters. 

“I think there is,” Eddie insists. “You can’t lie to me. I know something’s going on.”

“There isn’t.”

Eddie releases an exhausted breath. “Okay, fine. If you don’t want to talk, can you at least listen to me?”

Buck doesn’t necessarily want to hear whatever it is Eddie has to say. He doesn’t want the walls he’s purposefully built to crash down. 

He already knows what Eddie’s going to say anyway—how he’s noticed Buck’s feelings about him, but he doesn’t feel the same. Eddie will let him down easy; there’s no doubt there, but Buck doesn’t know if he can exist in a world where he can just move on from Eddie Diaz. 

He can’t go back to being only Eddie’s best friend now that he knows he wants more. 

Yet, he still, though reluctantly, turns around and leans against the counter to offer Eddie all of his attention. “The floor’s all yours.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp inhale, building courage, then speaks, “Look, you can deny it all you want, but things between us have been different lately and—” He pauses, eyes drifting. Buck braces himself for the pain. “It’s because of me.”

Huh? 

“What?” Buck stutters. 

But Eddie barely registers his voice. He continues as if Buck didn’t speak at all. 

“Okay, I know that ladybugs aren’t genies and they can’t—They can’t magically grant wishes. Not that genies are real, but—” He runs a hand through his hair, a clear sign of stress. Buck is utterly confused about what the fuck he’s trying to say right now. “But if they were real, they could grant wishes. Right? But ladybugs can’t just force someone to love you. Or to marry you. Even if that’s what you wish for. I don’t believe in any of that crap anyway. But I—I believe in you. And you kept sending me signs—Or—Or I thought they were signs, but clearly I was misreading them.”

Buck thinks he may be hallucinating. It’s the only explanation. 

Because what the fuck? 

“And just because you caught that bouquet at the wedding doesn’t mean you’d pick me, but it kind of already feels like you have?” Eddie hesitates. “I mean, you’re here, in our house with Chris and I—It just feels so right. It feels… real.” He steps an inch closer. Buck freezes in his spot. “And I’ve been trying to let myself want the things that bring me joy lately. To see the signs and believe in them, leaving room for the unknown and all that,” Eddie exhales. “So this is it. This is me, seeking that joy. And that includes you.” 

Buck may throw up. 

“What?” he gasps.  

Eddie refuses to look away now. Buck burns under his stare. That something that’s always been in his eyes, the understanding of it is clear as day now. 

But Buck can’t let himself believe it. 

“It’s always been you, Buck. I know that now,” Eddie says with certainty. “I know that you’ve been looking for more, even if you act like you aren’t. You pretend that you’re happy with just the way things are, but you’re not. I’m not. I want more. I want you. And I thought that maybe you’d want me too, but if you don’t—if I’m not the one you want, that’s—that’s okay.” 

“Eddie, I don’t—” Buck stumbles. “What are you saying?” 

Eddie gives him a timid smile before saying softly but indisputably, “I love you.”

And Buck, simply can’t. He just can’t. 

This isn’t real. 

He turns away, eyes catching that damn tray of butter again.

It’s still melting. 

“The butter is melting,” he points out. 

Eddie blinks. He looks over as well. “Uh, yeah. You said that before.” 

“You love me, and the butter is melting,” Buck says dumbly. 

Eddie nods. He’s almost speechless. “Yep. Those are both facts,” he manages to spit out. 

Except they’re not both facts to Buck. They can’t be. Because Eddie can’t love him like that. 

There’s something in Buck, from the moment he was born, that made it impossible to. Everyone leaves. That’s just how the story goes. Buck clings, and they leave, and he’s left alone and heartbroken. That’s his prophecy. 

Eddie’s already left once. Buck doesn’t think he could survive it again.

But it’s inevitable. With him, it always is. 

He can’t deal with this right now. He can’t think about this for another single second. Buck reaches over the counter and plugs the hand mixer back in. It buzzes to life.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Buck?” Eddie yells over it again. He’s fed up.

“See!” Buck shouts back. “I’m annoying, and I'm loud, and a mess, and too much. You don’t mean it. You don’t want me. You’ll get sick of me, and then you’ll hate me, and I’ll be—”

“But I do want you, Buck,” Eddie cuts off his self-deprecating spiralling. “I know all of this already, and I love you anyway! I’ll always love you. You can be as annoying as you want but nothing you do is gonna change that.” 

Buck turns the mixer off. He steps away from the counter, finally looking Eddie in the eyes again. 

“Really?” he says in a quiet voice. 

“Yes. Buck, I love—”

But before Eddie can continue, Buck cuts him off with a kiss. 

He pulls Eddie in, gasping into his mouth as he finally lets himself fall. He falls into Eddie, knowing Eddie will always be there to catch him. Not even a moment later, Eddie kisses him back, just as eagerly and desperately, like he’d been waiting just as long as Buck has. 

Buck has never felt this way before. He honestly never thought he could. Bobby had asked him once if he was concerned about finding love, and Buck didn’t know the answer to that. He was starting to doubt a future where that was plausible for him. 

But Buck has it now. His future is just within reach. With Eddie and Chris, in their home, together. 

It’s everything he’s been hoping for. For every wish on a star, every pluck of a daisy petal, every strange superstition, it’s all led him here. 

“Holy shit,” Buck blurts out the second Eddie pulls away, simply for a breath of air.

The smile on Eddie’s face is all-encompassing. Buck can’t help but replicate it. 

“Ditto.” 

Buck snorts. “Did you just say ditto?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling too widely for it to appear as anything but enamored. “Shut up, I’m in shock right now.”

“You’re such a loser,” Buck teases. 

“Says the man who wouldn’t shut up about the butter.” 

“It was melting!”

“Okay.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Buck says with a laugh. “What were you even saying about ladybugs and genies?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “I literally don’t know. I think your stupidity has rubbed off on me after all these years.”

Playfully, Buck shoves his shoulder. Eddie only chuckles in response and pulls him back in. 

“For the record, I love you too,” Buck says. The words feel like a sense of relief. 

“I knew it!” Eddie exclaims. “I can’t believe your weirdness made me doubt it.” 

Buck cringes. “I have been acting weird, haven’t I?”

“So weird,” Eddie emphasizes unnecessarily. Buck squints at him. “But that’s okay. I still like you anyway.” 

“Like? Have I downgraded from love already?”

“Never,” Eddie declares through a kiss. Buck sinks into it happily.