“No,” Eddie says, eyeing the six-foot bunny costume and wondering not for the first time whether Buck’s had a recent brain injury, “it’s a monstrosity. It’s the stuff of nightmares. I’m not going to traumatize my kid because you’ve seen Donnie Darko too many times.”
“Pshh,” Buck says, managing to look offended on the costume’s behalf. Two teenage girls skirt behind him warily, and Eddie raises a pointed eyebrow. “I was thinking more Harvey.” He puts the suit back with a sigh.
“Besides, we’re shopping for Chris,” Eddie says, scanning the racks, “and he’s been pointedly reminding me it has to be something cool.”
“Chris is always cool,” Buck says immediately, then: “What does cool even mean these days? Remember when it used to be cowboys and rock stars? Now if there’s not, like, five layers of meaning to it you might as well not leave the house.”
“Ohh,” Eddie says, picking up a slightly battered faux-leather jacket. The cuff’s ripped and there’s a bleach stain on the shoulder but that just adds to the appeal. “Danny Zuko?”
“Has Chris seen Grease?” Buck asks, and Eddie shrugs.
“Probably not, but what’s cooler than a fifties greaser?”
“He’d probably get mistaken for a TikTok star,” Buck points out, and Eddie puts the jacket back quickly.
“Okay, new plan,” he says. “Let’s go creepy. Dracula or, hey, the werewolf from that Michael J. Fox movie?”
Buck holds up a Letterman jacket triumphantly and Eddie shoots him a finger gun.
“I bet May knows how to do all that cool make up stuff,” Buck says. “Do you think they sell fake fur? You’ve got a basketball, right?”
They grab a few more things and then head to the accessories portion of the store where a crowd of people are trying on cat ears and stocking up on fake blood. A couple of kids, no older than thirteen, are giggling at the row of suspenders and sexy lingerie, and Buck rolls his eyes like he’s not thirty seconds away from making a string of innuendos at all times.
“Hey,” Buck says, because he’s predictable and because maybe Eddie knows him too well. “If you haven’t already got a costume…”
Eddie pointedly refuses to follow Buck’s gaze. “No.”
“I’m just saying,” Buck says, and his voice is lower now, his chest pressed lightly against Eddie’s back as they browse the prosthetics section. It’s the voice he uses when he’s not playing fair, the one Eddie’s learnt in fits and starts over recent months as they drift into each other’s space, something old and something new and something that sets Eddie’s heart racing.
“No,” Eddie says again, and Buck huffs a laugh into his ear like he knows exactly how breathless Eddie already feels.
“You sure?” Buck says, pressing his fingers gently against the small of Eddie’s back, and yeah, now he’s definitely cheating.
Eddie leans into it anyway.
“Not out,” Buck says, like this is a real conversation and not just an opportunity to make Eddie flush. “At home later, when it’s just the TV and popcorn and you and me…” He says the last part slowly and Eddie has to grit his teeth to stop the noise trying to escape his throat.
It is entirely unfair that Buck can do this to him so easily. He regrets every choice he’s made to get here.
He makes the mistake of following Buck’s eye-line and almost combusts into flames where he stands.
“No,” he says, and then coughs. Wishes his throat weren’t so dry.
“No?” Buck repeats, amusement threaded through every note, and God, Eddie has no one to blame for this but himself.
He squeezes his eyes shut, feels the soft trace of Buck’s thumb against his spine, and reminds himself that it’s okay to want.
God is it okay.
“No lace,” he bites out, and Buck’s stuttered breath is just as rewarding as he knew it’d be.
“Okay,” Buck says, agreeing before Eddie can take it back, the words spilling over with anticipation. “Okay. Yeah. I’m gonna— Don’t leave without me.”
Eddie would miss the warmth of him if he didn’t feel like his blood was thrumming at a hundred degrees. He takes a few deep breaths, tries to focus on the display in front of him, puts a few things in his basket then takes them out again, grabs a tiara from the top shelf for a young mom and her toddler, and waits until the world feels stable under his feet before he joins the checkout line.
“Find everything you need?” the middle-aged woman at the counter asks, and Eddie hopes he’s not as red as he feels.
“Yup, yeah, thanks.”
“Great,” she says, and hands him his receipt.
Buck’s already at the door, a smaller bag hanging from his fingers, tied shut with a black ribbon. They stare at each for a long moment, and Eddie feels every second of it, from the pads of his fingers to the curl of his toes.
“Have a great Halloween!” the clerk at the door tells them as they leave.
“Oh,” Buck says, and screw Halloween, Eddie can already see exactly how the rest of their afternoon’s going to pan out, “we will.”
There are certain moments that can’t be easily explained. Moments where you look at someone or something and everything you think, everything you feel, changes in an instant, struck with a bolt of sudden clarity like lightning from the sky.
Buck’s in the middle of one of those moments. He and Eddie are sitting at the table making a care package to send to Christopher at camp and he just turned to ask Eddie to pass the glue and—
Lightning.
Eddie is attractive—Buck has always known that, even from day one, but he was careful to shove that knowledge down, to try and make it be an objective thing. Eddie is attractive instead of I am attracted to Eddie. And if sometimes the two mixed, that didn’t automatically mean anything, right?
But they’re sitting at the table and Buck is in the middle of finishing a card telling Christopher how much he’s loved and missed like he’s Buck’s own kid because Buck does love Christopher like his own, and Eddie is smiling at him, and Buck can’t even breathe with how much he wants…everything. Eddie. This life. Not as a friend, but as—
“Hey, you okay?” Eddie asks.
“I—” Buck’s throat feels as rough as sandpaper. With the realization, his world tips on its axis. His fingers itch to touch Eddie, but he doesn’t know if he can, doesn’t know if he’s allowed.
Eddie’s hand finds Buck’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Buck?”
“Kiss me.” The words trip off his tongue unbidden and he can’t pull them back, can’t do anything but hold his breath and watch Eddie’s face.
Eddie’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. “What?”
Buck wets his lips. “Just—”
Words fail and he leans in, closing the distance. Eddie makes a faint sound of surprise against his mouth, but his hand moves to curve around the back of Buck’s neck, keeping Buck close as it continues.
you want me to choose.. between a pocketful of sunshine sequel or though the truth may vary sequel.. and THEN you have the audacity to throw in the booty shorts fic that you've been promising to write forever as a third option .. bobbie... BOBBIE.. thanks but i hate you
look, nids, if i wrote all the fic i’ve promised you over the years it would be highly off brand of me and we both know it. we take what we can get when my brain functions for .2 seconds and don’t question it.
fic meme: the part where raph is cranky as hell because insomnia but simon reads to him to help him sleep and raph is asleep in minutes... like it's SO SOFT and beautiful and it makes me cry. do u know how much i love this fic??
i knew you would say this scene, and i love that.
honestly though, i think though the truth may vary might be my favourite fic of mine, and i'm so pleased it resonated with other people too (especially you) 💖
[tell me a scene of mine that sticks in your head]
buddie + no. 25 “apparently everyone has a bet going that we get together”
Have a drabble!
“So, I heard something interesting at Maddie’s tonight,” Buck says. His eyes flutter closed even as he tries to regulate his breathing and distract himself. Eddie hums in question as his mouth ghosts across Buck’s pulse point before moving lower, his fingers dragging teasingly over the waistband of Buck’s sweats.
Buck swallows hard. “Apparently everyone has a bet. About when we’re going to get together.”
Eddie stills, then laughs, low and breathless.
“Think we should we tell them?” Eddie’s fingers move lower and Buck shivers. Then, he drags Eddie back up to kiss him again.
“YOU KNOW THAT YOUR BOOK IS UPSIDE DOWN, RIGHT?”
[fic meme. SIMON/RAPHAEL, COLLEGE AU, ENEMIES TO LOVERS. for @hoechlder. @ao3.]
+
“Okay,” Raphael Santiago’s saying, leaning back smoothly in his chair in a way that would absolutely have Simon unbalancing onto the floor, and offering his trademark smug smile at the poor girl across the table, “but madness as a trope has been at the base of the ghost story at least since Shakespeare…”
Simon tunes him out. It’s probably a really good point and he should be making notes, but he just….can’t. Raphael starts talking and Simon automatically switches off; it’s been that way since approximately nought point two seconds into their freshman year when Raphael had eyed Simon’s ironic Care Bears t-shirt with disgust and asked him if he wasn’t confusing college with elementary school.
Simon hates him.
+
“You don’t hate him,” Jace says later, when Simon’s finishing up rant number 1458 on why Raphael Santiago has been put on this earth specifically to torture him. Clary shoots Jace a sceptical look so Simon doesn’t have to. “He’s part of your college experience. Everyone needs a good nemesis.”
“Um,” Clary says, “who’s yours?”
“Your father,” Jace says, like it’s obvious. “I didn’t say it had to be another student. Izzy’s is the conservative dress code, and Alec’s is every obnoxious heterosexual couple he knows.”
“That’s us,” Clary tells Simon with a smile.
Jace salutes. “It’s worse because he has to spend all his time with us, but better because he can tell us to our face how gross we are.” He wipes away a fake tear. “He’ll look back on those memories fondly.”
“Okay, I get it. You guys get off on tormenting Alec,” Simon says, “but just so we’re clear, Raphael Santiago really is the worst.”
“We know, honey,” Clary says, patting his leg.
Simon feels very patronized.
+
Magnus decides that a Wednesday night is a totally reasonable time to throw a party, which is patently untrue but they all go anyway.
They lose Alec almost immediately, taking up his place at Magnus’ side as his boyfriend holds court, and Izzy disappears shortly after, followed by the eyes of roughly a million admirers Simon can’t fault for a second.
“You good?” Clary asks, and Simon waves a hand.
“Go. Find a corner to make out in. I’ll be fine.”
“Great, thanks,” Jace says, tugging Clary away before she can change her mind.
“You’re blocking the door,” a horribly familiar voice says, and Simon squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment before stepping aside.
“What are you doing here?” Simon asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t care, he really doesn’t, except that he absolutely does and it’s going to drive him crazy for the rest of the night.
Raphael shoots him a look that says he knows exactly how Simon feels. “Unfortunately, I live here.”
“Uh,” Simon says, and wonders if he knew that. He’s ninety-percent sure he didn’t, in which case he and Alec are going to have a serious chat. “Since when?”
“Since the start of the year.” Raphael rolls his eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Magnus is technically my guardian. Was my guardian. Obviously that stopped being important when I turned eighteen, but the damage was done.”
“And by damage,” Simon says, “you mean emotions?”
He thinks Raphael may actually growl. It’s fascinating. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be studying? You looked a little lost in Monday’s seminar…”
“Wow,” Simon says, and wonders where the alcohol is, “A, not all of us feel the need to take over discussions. And B, fuck you.”
Raphael smirks, and Simon wants to scream. No one in the world is able to get under his skin this much, and that’s saying something considering he and Jace accidentally became friends in sophomore year.
“I’m walking away now,” Simon says, and ignores Raphael’s mocking laugh behind him.
+
Simon’s drunk. Very, very drunk. Possibly the most drunk he’s ever been.
“Nope,” Clary says, pointing her glass at him. Half of it sloshes over the rim. “Remember prom? We were wasted.”
“God,” Simon says, scrunching up his nose. “That was bad.”
“So bad,” Clary agrees. “Where’s the vodka?”
Simon passes her a bottle that, actually, may be tequila? Honestly at this point he’s not sure it matters.
“Did you know Raphael lives here?” he asks out of nowhere, and Clary gasps.
“No! Here here?”
“Yep!”
Clary blinks and drinks her tequila. “Wow. So weird. You should go say hi!”
Simon snorts. “I already did. Sort of.”
“Well go say it again,” Clary says, pushing ineffectively at his arm. “With sexy eyes or something.”
Simon’s brain shorts out. “…What? Why?”
Clary laughs. “Because you like him, doofus. You like like him. You want to kiss him and marry him and be shouty about…comic books and that show only you two watch forever.”
“You liar,” Simon says, because all of that is blatantly untrue. Clary has no idea what she’s talking about. Absolutely none. Simon hates Raphael. Hates his stupid smug smile and his expensive jackets and his perfect hair and the way he always makes Simon feel hot and awkward and like he’s the only person in the room.
“Oh shit,” he says, and Clary nods, patting him on the shoulder.
“S’ok,” she says.
“It really, really isn’t,” Simon says and snatches the bottle of tequila back.
+
It’s very possible he’s dying. Everything’s both very loud and very bright even though his eyes are definitely still closed, and it tastes like something’s died on his tongue.
“Fuck,” he croaks and rolls over only to crash promptly to the floor. “Fuck.”
When he finally manages to open his eyes, Raphael’s staring down at him, wearing a heavy brocade robe and holding a truly giant mug. “You okay down there?”
“Your couch sucks,” Simon says, and Raphael shrugs.
“Magnus chose it, blame him.”
“Where’s everyone else?” Simon asks, attempting to sit up and failing spectacularly.
“They, like normal house guests, went home when the party finished.”
“Ah,” Simon says. “And, uh, I…didn’t?”
Raphael frowns. “You don’t remember?”
“Nope,” Simon says with a wince. “Too much…I’m gonna guess tequila based on the throbbing behind my eyes.”
“…Right,” Raphael says, and if Simon didn’t know better he’d say he was upset. He’s probably just mad that Simon’s still there, taking up his couch on a Thursday morning and stopping him reading the entire works of Tolstoy or whatever it is Raphael does for fun.
“I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can, you know, stand up without breaking something.”
Raphael sighs. “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
+
The kitchen’s a disaster zone, bottles and empty cups everywhere, and Simon doesn’t want to know what he just stepped in. Still, the smell of fresh coffee manages to take away some of the edge and Simon goes through cupboards until he finds a mug almost as large of Raphael’s.
“So,” he says, when Raphael follows him as far as the doorframe, “did you, uh, need help cleaning up, or…?”
“You really don’t remember anything about last night?” Raphael says, ignoring the question, and Simon frowns.
“I mean, I remember getting here and you telling me you live here, and I remember Jace starting up a game of beer pong, but after that…nope, not really.”
“Do you remember the party Magnus threw for Isabelle’s birthday our freshman year?” Raphael asks, which is completely out of left field, wow.
“Sure,” Simon says carefully. “Not the specifics, but I remember it was a fun night.”
“So,” Raphael says, and Simon’s not so hungover he doesn’t recognize the danger in his tone, “you don’t remember finding me on the balcony and telling me that you, and I quote, found me ‘super hot, especially when I do that smug asshole thing.’?”
Simon blinks.
“And,” Raphael continues, “you don’t remember the fourth of July when you brought me melted ice-cream and told me you liked my voice? Or the time you kissed me in the garden at one of Isabelle’s stupid sorority parties?” He takes a step forward and Simon swallows nervously. “Or last night when you found me in my room and told me you wanted to marry me and have shouty arguments forever?”
“Um,” Simon says.
“I see,” Raphael says. “It was just the tequila, then.”
He turns to leave and Simon finally remember to actually do something.
“Wait,” he says, and Raphael pauses. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Raphael looks at him like he’s an idiot. Which…fair. “Because you didn’t.”
Which—
Fuck.
The thing is, well, okay, yeah. Simon’s had a crush on Raphael since he insulted his Care Bears t-shirt and proceeded to start an argument over the benefits of new media in literary studies. He knows this. Sure, he tries to keep it buried as far down in his own denial as he can, but it doesn’t help when he spends most of every shared seminar they have staring at the sharp jut of Raphael’s collarbone beneath his stupidly expensive button-downs.
It’s a thing.
He just…hadn’t known that maybe it was a shared thing.
“I woke up on the couch,” he says, which isn’t at all what he’d meant to come out of his mouth but at least it’s a full sentence.
“Obviously,” Raphael says. “You were wasted.”
“So I didn’t kiss you?”
The corner of Raphael’s mouth tilts up, just a little. “Oh, you did.”
“So you didn’t kiss me back?” Simon says, piecing events together slowly but surely.
“I never do,” Raphael says, and Simon frowns, feeling confused and a little hurt. “I always tell you to kiss me when you’re sober. You never do.”
Simon, it turns out, is the biggest idiot on the planet. Clearly college is wasted on him.
“Right,” he says, digging the last remnants of his bravery out from his pounding skull. “Right.”
It’s probably not super romantic that he steps in the wet patch again, but as first kisses goes it’s…well. It’s pretty fucking excellent, actually.
Right up until Raphael pulls away.
“God, you really need to brush your teeth.”
“Yeah,” Simon says, backing up awkwardly. “Yeah, I’ll just—”
“There’s spare toothbrushes under the sink,” Raphael says, rolling his eyes, but the flush on his cheeks gives him away.
“Be right back,” Simon says, and tries to remember where the bathroom is.
+
Raphael’s doing the leaning thing again. Simon wants to try it but he’s not going to risk crashing to the floor whilst they’re still in the honeymoon phase. Besides, he doesn’t think he’d look anywhere near as cool.
Raphael’s embroidered jacket is draped over the back of his chair and his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and Simon has no idea what conversation the professor’s just struck up.
Which isn’t too different from normal, really.
Raphael catches his eye and Simon’s heart does a truly embarrassing skippy thing in his chest.
“You know that your book is upside down, right?” Raphael says, smirk sliding into place, and Simon sighs.
