there's only one bed. which is Fine, like. it should be fine. they shared a bed plenty during quarantine. but that was before—Whatever. it's fine. buck is fine. he's Fine. he's fine sharing a bed with his straight best friend. he's fine with a lot of things. he's fine with them not being partners anymore. he's fine with them hanging out with other people. he's fine with eddie dating again. not that he is dating again. buck asked. about alex. when they were in nashville. and eddie got this weird wrinkle in his forehead, like he was Upset that buck even asked. but whatever. buck's fine with it anyway. he's also fine with the fact that eddie's been weird the whole drive back so far. like, really Weird. like he's Annoyed at buck, even. maybe it's just because they didn't win the firefighter games. which, buck is annoyed at too. this is what they're good at. being partners. but they're not anymore, are they? which is fine. they were just out of practice, that's all. still adjusting to their new normal. Whatever that is. anyway. point is. everything is fine. he can share a bed with his straight best friend.
buck showers first, settles himself into bed. shuffles about, trying to get comfortable. where should he put his arms? which side should he sleep on? whatever. it's fine. he's on his phone now, flicking through recipes that he's not even taking in, just absently bookmarking. when he hears the shower shut off, he locks his phone quickly. closes his eyes. listens to eddie pad out of the bathroom. he blinks an eye open. the room is dark, the bedside lamp-light warm but dim and flickering with the insane desert rain storm that could only happen to them. like a candle in the wind. it casts eddie's body in blinking light and shadow as he towels himself dry. he looks—beautiful. he always looks beautiful. buck can admit that. it would be crazy not to notice. objectively. it wouldn’t be so crazy. to notice. buck has noticed. he watches through one eye as eddie pulls on his boxers. watches through one eye as eddie takes in an odd breath. breathes out an odd breath. then buck shuts his one eye, listens to eddie cross the room and turn the lamp off, feels eddie get into bed next to him, the dip of the bed, the rustling of covers, the ways he tosses and turns. wonders if eddie doesn't know what to do with his arms either. then feels the brush of eddie's elbow against his. almost deliberate. he realises then that he's holding his breath. for some reason. tries to let it out slowly, like the deep, heavy breathing of sleep.
moments pass, one, two, three. and buck's sure he's gotten away with it. pretending to be asleep. but then eddie says, buck? and buck breathes out, yeah? before he can stop himself. fuck. he turns his head and blinks that one eye open to find eddie looking at him. lying the same way buck is. too still. controlled. breathing in a way that takes concentrated effort. finally eddie says, you okay? and buck says, yeah. fine. good. fine. He's Fine. and eddie clears his throat, says, i think they cheated. and buck breathes out a laugh. opens both eyes. says, yeah definitely. and it's still for a moment. so still buck can hear his own breath. eddie's breath. the way they both falter as they look and look at each other. then eddie blinks, says, i've really missed that, you know. us. being partners. and buck stares for a second at eddie's face, open, illuminated now by the green-blue light of the motel sign outside. something he can't quite place in it. he swallows, feels eddie’s arm press a little more against his. says, me too. so much, man. and it comes out on a heavy breath. voice unable to contain the weight of the admission. because god, he has. missed it. like a limb. like a phantom limb. but no, not even that. because eddie isn't gone. he misses eddie in ways he can’t even articulate. in ways that don't even make sense. because eddie is right there. next to him. but he misses him. he Misses him. because he wants. More. and he's still looking at eddie. and eddie's still looking back. cast in that motel light bleeding through the window. and buck turns, has to look away. stares at the ceiling. and eddie says, buck. quiet. breathy. questioning. and buck feels eddie's fingers brush against his, intertwine. deliberate in a way buck can’t explain away. because eddie is Holding his hand. inviting. a question, almost. and buck says shakily, w—what? and eddie squeezes buck's fingers, says, look at me. and buck hears maddie's voice in his head. it wouldn’t be so crazy. and he shakes his head, heaves in a breath and moves before he even knows he’s doing it. out of bed, across the room, to the door. outside. in the wind and rain. because this isn't—can't. whatever is happening. Can't. Be. Happening. eddie is straight. for one. he's buck's best friend. he's his Straight Best Friend. he's not an option. and buck is absolutely Fine with that. because he's not in lo—
the door opens behind him. and buck says stupidly, eddie, come on. it's crazy out here. go back inside. and eddie says, you're here. like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. that he wants to be wherever buck is. even if it's in the eye of a storm. and buck breathes out, to the desert. doesn't turn around. because if he does—
and eddie says, buck. please look at me
and buck says, we can't come back from this
and eddie says, what if i don't want us to?
and whatever resolve buck had snaps, and he turns around. arms already reaching before he's made the decision. and eddie meets him somewhere in the middle. hands sliding over buck’s rain-wet face. and they kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss. mouths wet and desperate and Relieved. to finally come home. and then probably at that exact moment a tree flies into the motel.
