hannah • 25 • seattle-ish • 🌸🔮🪼 they are and always have been down BAD for each other 95% buddie/9-1-1, but the other 5% may include mariners baseball (TM), survivor, suits, acting, thoughts and feels, and whatever the heck else i feel like posting!
There are two cups of coffee on Eddie's kitchen counter.
One’s a standard, dark navy LAFD mug, one of a good half-dozen or so that have somehow found their way here from the station. The other is bright green, covered in cutesy cartoon animals, proudly proclaiming ‘I went WILD at the LA zoo!’ Christopher had a sticker of the same design plastered onto the hardtop of his pencil case for most of fourth grade. Eddie always thought the elephant was a little wall-eyed, would joke about him needing medical attention for the stroke.
The mugs are the first thing Eddie sees when he walks into his kitchen, the things his sleep-drenched mind chooses to focus on. The navy is filled to the brim, the coffee a deep black that’s surely masking an extra spoonful or two of sugar. He can’t see the contents of the other, already mostly drunk away, but it’s doubtlessly lighter, though probably not the creamy tan Eddie’s been seeing for years, since the apparently permanent change over to oat milk. Oat milk that now lives in his own refrigerator, too.
There’s a plate piled high with silver dollar pancakes set out on the island. Chris has already helped himself to more than his fair share, cheeks bulging with the ones he’s already shoved into his mouth. He’s now slowly and carefully moving some onto Theo’s plate. Theo must have been given some of the watermelon Eddie had cut up yesterday afternoon but it’s already gone, pink juice staining his chin and the front of his monster truck pajamas as he gleefully sucks each one of his sticky fingers.
Eddie closes his eyes.
It’s a far cry from their last morning all together like this. Just a few days ago he had woken up in the same way; alone in the bed he had had to share, drawn to the kitchen by sounds of life and gnawing hunger. Chris, sullen and cranky after another night camped out on Buck’s couch, had snapped at Theo to just shut up already. And Theo had screamed and screamed until Buck picked him up, balancing him on one hip, letting him bury his snotty, tear-stained face into his neck. Buck’s expression would twist and he’d quietly grunt every time a tiny socked foot dug into the softness of his belly. That was not a day for pancakes, and Eddie had watched Buck struggle to try and pour out cereal and milk with only one hand free.
Eddie had barely taken a step closer, ready to take some part of it over, but had received his own snapped I got it for his efforts.
He had closed his eyes then, too, listening to Buck’s coffee maker as it burbled to life – Buck had forgotten to set the timer, but at least it gave Eddie something to do. By the time the coffee was done, there was barely enough time to drink it, the countdown to getting out the door already well under way. Eddie ended up burning his tongue, had spent the rest of the day scraping the numb roughness of it against the roof of his mouth.
It had felt the same, that morning, in that kitchen full of distress and upset. The same as it feels now, in this kitchen full of warmth and laughter and, most importantly, pancakes.
“You can go back to bed, if you want.”
Eddie finally opens his eyes. Buck is at the stove, scrambling up enough eggs for a small army. He’s wearing his own hoodie but borrowed sweatpants, fabric stretched tight around his thighs. He glances up at Eddie through the corner of his eye, offering an apologetic smile. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”
It’s true, he could just go back to bed. They’re in the middle of their 48 off, no plans for the day but chores and a grocery run. But Eddie shakes his head to get the last clinging cobwebs of sleep out. “Nah, I’m up now,” he says as he takes a step closer to his waiting mug.
But first, he steps into Buck’s space, mindful of the stove. He brushes his fingertips against Buck’s cheek, catching slightly on the scratch of his stubble, until Buck turns to look at him with curiosity in the furl of his brow.
Eddie kisses him.
Soft and light, it’s done almost as soon as it’s started.
“Good morning,” Eddie murmurs against his lips before he steps away and finally,finally, gets his hands onhis coffee.
He takes a long swallow. As expected, there’s been a little extra sugar stirred in. It’s delightfully warm.
He dips his hand into the sink for the damp washcloth that’s now perpetually on hand, setting his mug down as he swoops around to the other side of the island. “Morning, Chris,” he says as he presses a kiss to the top of his son’s head, stealing a piece of extra-crisp bacon from his plate, ignoring the protests both actions cause. “And good morning, Master Theodore,” he says with the best Michael Caine impression he can muster this early, this pre-caffeine, as he snags a spit-wet hand and starts to scrub.
“That’s not my name!” Theo giggles and squirms in his seat, but allows Eddie to clean him up, turning his face into it as the pink on his cheeks stops being a juice stain and becomes a pleased flush.
“Wait, is Theo your full name, or…?” Chris has finished tearing pancakes into toddler-sized pieces and is now carefully adding a drizzle of syrup to the mix. Eddie sighs, grabbing his mug again, resigned to staying right where he is with the washcloth at the ready.
He looks up at Buck once he’s had another sip. Buck, who’s standing there, staring at him.
He’s looking a little wall-eyed. Might need some medical attention for the stroke.
Eddie nods his chin back towards the stove. “Your eggs.”
And then he winks.
He’s immediately rewarded with Buck’s eyes growing huge, his posture straightening, lips parting like he’s about to actually say something. Then his limbs are flailing as he turns back towards the stove, lifting the pan and scraping at the contents with a muffled, “Shhhhhoot.”
Eddie smiles to himself as he raises his mug back to his lips, watching the tense line of Buck’s shoulders, down the ramrod of his back. Huh, his sweatpants are tight back there, too, who’d have thought?
Buck turns, pan in hand, and starts to dole out eggs, piling Chris’s plate high with all the crispy edges. He comes around to Eddie’s side, arms brushing as he puts a more modest scoop onto Theo’s plate, leaning close as he breaks it up into more bite-sized chunks with the wooden spoon.
There’s a brush of lips against Eddie’s cheek, the soft noise of a tentative peck.
Eddie smiles and leans into Buck, pushes their hips together, side by side for a moment before Buck moves on to make their own plates.
“Finally,” Chris says, mouth full to bursting with a bit of everything from his plate. “Buck? Ketchup?”
“Sure thing, bud,” says Buck.
“Manners,” sighs Eddie.
“Catch up!” shrieks Theo. Eddie catches his arm as he throws them into the air and starts to wipe down a syrupy hand before it gets tangled in his hair. Again.
Then Eddie goes and makes two more cups of coffee.
ryliver truthing not in an insane toxic conspiracy theory way but in the way where you’re out for drinks with a bunch of your friends and two of them have been hanging out with the whole group all night but they’re sitting next to each other in the booth and keep making fun of each other and making faces like 🤭 and then they both leave around the same time and the next morning you text someone else in the group like 🤨 and they’re like girl. i know.
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
gracieabrams
stormborns
andulkaphoto
2087
dailybridgerton
ellievsbear
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
baratheonpilled
