floyd

I write fanfic when my degree isn't trying to choke me out

[rubberonpavement]

Eddie Diaz, my muse... so sad and sand-sodden, you never left the desert behind. When the army let you out of one, you came home to another, to a marriage falling to pieces no matter how desperately you want to need it. How poetic that the man you find yourself tied to is the sun itself, that for the first time, the heat and light of it isn't trying to roast you alive

[rubberonpavement]

and he forgives you (dogs are loyal like that)

No one has ever painted grief the way Evan Buckley does tonight. Even last night in the kitchen, with his steel jaw and shimmering eyes, that sharp and sure sorry I’m sad that Bobby’s dead, falls short of this husk. Through the mourning and the funeral, through the gaping silences Bobby used to fill and the tear-soaked prayers for this all to be a wretched lie, Buck has never looked so hollow.

For someone so loud and tall, all-encompassing and bright, he’s sickeningly good at making himself small, at curling up like a dog in the pound. It’s jarring to see him like this after dinner tonight, where he’d been so open and booming. Laughing and poking fun at Eddie, catching up with Chris, waxing poetic over Pepa’s cooking — he’d been happier than Eddie had seen him in ages. He’d been okay, nothing like the shell Eddie had snarled at in the kitchen. He’d been fixed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67616826

Rating: Mature

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Post-Episode: s08e17 Don't Drink the Water (9-1-1 TV), Eddie Diaz Loves Evan "Buck" Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley Needs A Hug, POV Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Holding Hands, Groveling Eddie Diaz, a whisper of Internalized Homophobia