Archive of Our Own ^beta

After Taylor moves out, the loft feels empty.

The emptiness isn’t entirely bad. Buck spends the first few days walking around in his underwear (a luxury he was sadly deprived of when he and Taylor were living together because she was always hopping on surprise video calls, and he often found himself accidentally hanging out in the background) and played video games until two in the morning on his nights off. He reorganized the spice rack exactly the way he wanted it, and he went online and ordered himself a brand new couch.

He breathed for the first time in what seemed like forever because he was no longer terrified of spilling secrets or doing something to drive Taylor away.

“Are sure you’re doing okay?” Eddie asks as they walk to the parking lot one evening, finally at the end of a very long shift. “It’s gotta be weird living alone for the first time in a while.”

Buck scoffs. “Are you worried about me, Eddie?”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth tip down in that familiar muppet face, the one Buck likes to tease him about. “Can you blame me?”

He’s right. After the year they’ve had, Buck is no stranger to worrying over his friends. These days, Eddie is doing a lot better than he was right after he left the 118, but Buck is still on the lookout for signs that his best friend is taking another bad turn. He can understand why Eddie might feel the same, especially given the fact that Buck just broke up with his long-term girlfriend has been historically terrible at handling big life changes.

“I’m fine,” Buck insists gently. “It’s not like she dumped me and moved out. I broke up with her, remember?”

Eddie shakes his head. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t going through an adjustment period, man.”

Grinning, Buck bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s as they turn the corner into the parking lot. All these years later, it still gives him something of a thrill when Eddie worries about him. Buck grew up barely acknowledged by his own parents; being fussed over by the best friend he’s ever had is something of a balm on that years-old wound, still festering under the surface where it hasn’t quite scabbed over.

“I’ll tell you if it gets to be too much,” Buck promises.

“You’re always welcome at our house,” Eddie reminds him. “Chris would be thrilled if you came to stay with us for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck says, secretly pleased by this. At this point, four years on, Buck knows he has a place in the little family Eddie and Chris have built here in LA. Nothing brings him greater joy than thinking about how incredibly important they’ve both become to him. He can’t imagine his life without them, and he hopes he never has to.

Eddie pauses next to his truck. “I’m serious,” he tells Buck. “Please think about it.

“I will, I promise,” Buck says with a grin. “I’ll see you later.” He waves goodbye to Eddie and heads for his Jeep.

Buck feels good for part of the drive home, but the closer he gets to the empty loft the more the energy just leaks out of him. It almost feels as if Eddie’s putting a voice to Buck’s unspoken fears has infected his mind, and he can’t continue to enjoy the solitude of his own apartment knowing what it really means. As he climbs the stairs, Buck’s stomach flips over. He almost expects Taylor to be working at the dining room table when he opens the door, but the apartment is just as empty and cavernous as it was when he left for work yesterday afternoon.

The evening passes slowly. Buck watches some TV, makes himself a mean stir fry, and goes to bed alone. The next morning, he wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing.

“What?” he says groggily as he picks up.

“Buckley!” exclaims an annoyingly cheerful voice.

It takes a moment for Buck’s brain to process who is speaking to him, but as soon as it does, he rolls over onto his back and blinks up at the ceiling. It’s not as if he hasn’t seen this person in the past couple of months, but they’ve mostly kept communications to text and other innocuous forms of communications.

“Albert,” Buck says after a moment. “Why are you calling me at…” He takes the phone away from his ear to check the time and groans, finishing with, “...seven thirty in the morning?”

“Oops,” Albert replies, sounding unrepentant. “Is it really that early?”

“You know it is, asshole.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Albert chuckles under his breath.

Something clinks in the background—a plate or a bowl, maybe. Buck closes his eyes and imagines Albert washing the dishes after breakfast the way he used to do when he lived here in the loft. He would never admit it out loud, but those were some of Buck’s favorite mornings. He liked looking up from his breakfast and seeing someone else at the sink, standing in the kitchen like it belonged to them, too.

Taylor wasn’t big on dishes. Buck doesn’t really fault her for that, but he can’t help comparing her to Albert in his mind now as he thinks about those days and how much he really misses having Albert around.

“So why are you calling me now?” Buck prompts eventually.

“Welllllll,” Albert says, drawing the word out for a suspiciously long time. Buck hears more clinking in the background, then the sound of running water.

Buck rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me tell a dad joke, Al.”

“What’s a dad joke?” Albert asks, sounding extremely confused.

“‘Well’ is a deep subject,” Buck deadpans. “Don’t fall in.”

A moment of silence. Then Albert wheezes, “Oh my God, that’s so good!” He starts to laugh hysterically, a bright and happy sound that brings a smile to Buck’s face against his will.

“You’re so weird,” Buck informs him.

“So are you.”

“Obviously.” Buck rolls to his left side and stares through the railing at the high loft ceiling, letting the conversation lapse into silence as Albert finishes laughing to himself.

When he’s finally done, Albert says, “So did Howie tell you…”

“…that you’re quitting the department?” Buck finishes for him. “Yeah, he mentioned it.”

“Oh.” Albert hums under his breath for a moment, then asks, “Did he sound—was he okay with it?”

Chimney had actually sounded more than okay with the idea of Albert leaving the LAFD, although Buck would never tell Albert that part. One evening, at the end of a long shift, he’d fallen into step beside Buck on his way out to the parking lot and said, “So I guess my brother doesn’t want to be a firefighter anymore.”

Buck was surprised by this. “He doesn’t?”

“Nope.” Chimney adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “Now he’s trying to decide between law school and hairdresser school.”

“It’s actually called cosmetology school,” Buck told him.

“Yes, Buck, thank you,” Chimney muttered. They walked in silence for a few more steps before he added, “I’m glad he’s doing something for himself, whatever it turns out to be.”

Nudging Chimney’s shoulder with his own, Buck said quietly, “That’s because you’re a good brother, Chim.”

Chimney scoffed. “I don’t feel like one.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Chimney muttered. “I guess I feel like he only took this job because he wanted to impress me. He could have gone off and done so many other things instead, but he stayed here and did what he thought I wanted him to do. Kinda makes me feel like my dad.”

“You’re nothing like your dad,” Buck said firmly.

“You don’t even know the guy.”

“But I know you,” Buck said. “Albert knows you. And he knows you’ll support him in whatever he wants to do with his life. You know that, right?”

He glanced at Chimney’s face and found him smiling, even though the circles under his eyes gave him a sunken, tired look. They were all running on fumes these days, and Chimney had a baby at home half the time. Buck thought he should really be offering to babysit more often, if taking care of the kid was making Chimney look this tired and worn out.

“Albert really wanted to join the fire department,” Buck added after a moment. “It wasn’t just because of you. After his accident, he said he felt drawn to it.”

“He told you that?” Chimney asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, he did.”

Chimney seemed to consider this for a moment, walking silently beside Buck until they reached the Jeep. When Buck opened the driver’s side door to toss his bag inside, Chimney put a hand on his arm.

“I’m really glad he has a friend like you,” he said. “I don’t say stuff like this all the time—”

“Or ever,” Buck teased.

“Or ever,” Chimney agreed with a genuine smile. “Seriously, Buck, I’m happy he has you. You’re a good friend.”

For some reason, this brought tears to Buck’s eyes.

“Of course,” he murmured. “I’m always gonna be here for him, and for you.”

Chimney laughed. “Buckaroo, I think it’s time to go home, before we both start crying in this parking lot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck said, but he waved goodbye to Chimney and spent the entirety of his drive thinking about Albert as a lawyer, Albert as a chef, Albert as a cosmetologist. Memories of Albert filled his mind, and he couldn’t have said why, exactly. By the time he got home, he was itching to call Albert and ask him over for a beer or something. Then he walked into the loft and Taylor was sitting at the kitchen table in tense silence, waiting for him.

That was weeks ago. Now, Buck says, “He’s really happy for you, man.”

“Good,” Albert murmurs, clearly relieved. “I wasn’t sure at first, but he has been really supportive.”

“We’re all here to support you.”

“I know you are.” The water shuts off in the background, and Albert adds, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Buck sighs, curling his fingers in his duvet. “It’s been a while.”

“We should fix that.”

Interest piqued, Buck asks, “What do you have in mind?”

What Albert has in mind turns out to be drinks at the badge and ladder bar where Buck first had sex with Taylor in the bathroom, of all places. He remembers walking out of the bathroom afterward, feeling like the world’s biggest jerk as he watched Taylor flutter her fingers at him in a halfhearted wave and speed walk toward the door. She’d been in such a hurry to leave, and she hadn’t even stopped to say goodbye.

Now that Buck thinks about it, maybe that was the real red flag in their relationship. Maybe he should have known all along that they had very different ideas about dating and love.

He spots Albert over by the bar and waves to him. Buck makes his way through the crowd, stopping briefly when he bumps into a guy he knows from the 152. By the time he reaches Albert at the bar, Albert is already handing him a beer and giving him a mischievous smile that foreshadows all kinds of trouble for the night ahead.

It hasn’t been that long since Buck saw Albert, but he feels like he’s seeing him in a completely new light as he settles on the stool next to him. Albert looks good—he’s got a new haircut, and he’s wearing tight jeans. He looks both familiar and strange to Buck, even though the friendly smile on his face is completely the same.

“You came,” Albert says, pitching his voice to be heard over the din of the bar. He looks unreasonably happy about this fact, especially since Buck expressly agreed to meet him here.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Buck asks, a little baffled.

“You are a busy guy,” Albert replies with a shrug. “I wouldn’t blame you if you bailed.”

Buck is unreasonably hurt by this. “I wouldn’t do that, man.”

“No, I know that,” Albert says, appearing regretful. “But you have Eddie and Chris…”

“You say that like Eddie and I are married,” Buck jokes, sipping deeply from his beer. It’s the draft he always orders on tap; he’s a little surprised that Albert remembers this at all. “I have other friends, you know.”

Albert laughs. “You do? Where are they?”

“Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

“I’m just messing with you.” Albert takes a sip of his own beer, eyeballing Buck over the rim of the glass. “So how have you been? How is Taylor?”

Buck cringes at this. Has it really been that long since he and Albert have talked? Buck doesn’t delude himself that Chimney would keep Albert updated on his life, but it hurts a little bit to realize they’ve drifted far enough that Albert doesn’t immediately know the most important thing that’s happened to Buck lately. Maybe that’s Buck’s fault for getting so caught up in things with Taylor. He feels horrible about it now, especially considering how things with Taylor turned out.

“We broke up,” Buck finally says, running his fingertips through the condensation on his glass. “She moved out a few weeks ago. It was mutual. Kinda.”

“Oh man, that sucks,” Albert replies awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.” Buck glances away to scan the rest of the bar, partly out of habit and partly out of a need to break eye contact with Albert before he starts to get emotional about the slow decay of their friendship. After a moment, he pulls himself together enough to ask, “How’s your new place? You’re in Glenwood, right?”

“Oh, I was,” Albert says. “When I quit the department I had to move out. I’m not really making any money right now.”

Buck’s curiosity is piqued. “So where are you living?”

Albert ducks his head, seemingly embarrassed. “I am staying on Howie’s couch for the moment. He’s been nice enough to let me, even though he has Jee-Yun…”

A pang runs through Buck at the thought of Albert having no real home to go to. He remembers living out of his car when he was traveling across the country, and while he wouldn’t trade those days for anything, he doesn’t envy Albert sleeping on other people’s couches while he’s trying to figure out his life. Dropping his gaze to the top of the bar, Buck considers his next words carefully. Then he decides, fuck it, Albert is his friend.

“You can stay with me,” he says, lifting his gaze to meet Albert’s.

Albert’s eyebrows fly up at these words. “Really?”

“We’ve done it before.”

“Yes, and it didn’t work out very well,” Albert says with a laugh.

“Well, as long as you don’t hook up with my neighbor again, we’ll probably be fine,” Buck jokes.

“That should not be a problem,” Albert says sincerely.

Buck grins, and they both fall silent. Around them, the noise of the bar filters through. As Buck glances at Albert out of the corner of his eye, Albert sighs and says, “Fine. You’ve convinced me.”

If Buck had thought about the invitation for more than three seconds, he wouldn’t have expected Albert to give in so easily. As it is, he’s kind of glad Albert didn’t fight him on it. The loft has been so empty since Taylor moved out, and now Buck is getting a roommate back. Secretly, he feels almost like a piece of him is settling and clicking into place.

“Good,” he says. “You shouldn’t have to crash on your brother’s couch forever. You’ve got friends, man.”

“I know I do,” Albert murmurs, almost too softly for Buck to hear the words.

Buck lifts his head and meets Albert’s steady gaze.

“You could’ve called me,” he says after a moment. “I would’ve been there for you.”

A shadow seems to pass over Albert’s face, and then he smiles that familiar smile and tips his glass in Buck’s direction.

“I know you would have,” he replies with a smile. “So when can I move in?”

It turns out that Albert doesn’t have a lot of stuff to move back into the loft.

He shows up on Buck’s doorstep a week later with two duffel bags, a beat-up file box, and a sad-looking lamp that Buck thinks he remembers from the last time Albert lived with him. When Buck opens the door, Albert shoulders his bags and gives him a smile with way too many teeth.

“Stop that,” Buck tells him. “You’re freaking me out.”

Albert ducks past Buck without dropping the smile. “I’m just happy to be here,” he says cheerfully.

Buck is left to reluctantly pick up the file box and the lamp from where Albert has apparently abandoned them on the welcome mat. He drags them both inside and deposits them on the kitchen table before turning to close the front door.

“It looks just like I remember!” Albert calls as Buck returns to the kitchen, where he's spent the last half hour debating the pros and cons of making a fresh pot of coffee before Albert’s arrival. He’s gone back and forth about a hundred times already, and now that Albert is finally in the door, the urge to put the coffee on is even stronger.

After spending the prior day cleaning like a madman, Buck has spent the morning kicking around the loft, nervously awaiting Albert's arrival. Coffee seems like the next logical step in situations like these. Maybe there is a WASP living inside of Buck after all, just waiting to be free one day. His mother would be so proud.

Making a face at the counter, Buck says, "You've been over here since you moved out. It's not like there was a lot to change, anyway."

He isn’t expecting Albert’s next words to come from so close behind him, and he startles when Albert says, “It feels different somehow. I don’t know what it is.”

It’s probably Buck’s imagination, but Taylor’s name seems to be the elephant in the room. The biggest changes in Buck’s life since Albert moved out have been about Taylor.

Swallowing down sudden feelings of confusion and melancholy, Buck attempts a smile. “It’s been a while since you lived here.”

“I suppose so.” Albert’s tone is unreadable. “Are you doing alright, Buck?”

Buck groans. “Not you too.”

“Let me guess. Eddie?”

“Constantly.”

“I think he just worries about you,” Albert points out.

“I know.” Buck finally makes a decision and starts to put the coffee pot on. “I can’t even say he’s wrong to worry. I just feel like everyone could give me the benefit of the doubt every once in a while, you know? I’m an adult. I know how to handle myself.”

“They know that,” Albert says evenly. “But they care about you, so they’re going to worry.”

Buck shakes his head as he measures out the coffee grounds. “I know that, too.”

“Whatever, dude,” Albert says with a shrug, seemingly content to let Buck evade further questioning.

The moment stretches on. Buck’s skin prickles with discomfort as he continues going through the motion of putting on the coffee pot. His mind whirls with echoes of Albert’s words, and his hands seem too big and clumsy for the simple task of filling the coffee pot with water. As he shuts off the faucet and carries the pot back to the coffee maker, Buck recognizes the feeling: discomfort at the idea that someone needs to take care of him when he’s been taking care of himself and others for most of his life.

Buck has never been the kind of person to let other people provide for him. He feels grounded, more centered, when he’s providing for other people. He feels caught between the realization that Albert is right and his own need to prove him wrong.

Albert shuffles forward and leans against the counter close to Buck’s shoulder. He seems happy enough to change the subject when he asks, “Are you going out tonight?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Buck mutters.

“Wanna get takeout and binge watch The Bachelor?”

God, Buck has missed having Albert around. He really has.

“Yeah,” he says with a real smile. “Sounds awesome.”

—

Moving back in with Buck is both the best and worst decision Albert has made lately.

His first night back at the loft is strange, to say the least. He and Buck order Thai food and make their way through multiple episodes of the latest season of The Bachelor. The atmosphere between them feels easy at first. As Albert automatically hands the pad see ew over to Buck in exchange for the pork fried rice, he begins to relax for the first time in a very long time. Maybe he has not felt this relaxed since the accident or since he moved out of Buck’s loft and into Howie and Maddie’s apartment.

Since he joined the LAFD.

Albert has had a lot of time to think since he quit his job. He’s spent a lot of time channel surfing on Howie’s cable and scouring the internet for possible clues about what he should do for his next career. He’s gone on a few dates and slept with a few women, and he’s felt so empty and alone that there are some days he wants to pull the covers over his head and never get out of bed again.

He has spent a lot of time thinking fondly of the time before, when he and Buck shared a space like this and things were easy, when he felt like he had a real home, even though all he really had was a makeshift bed on the living room couch and a tenuous place in Buck’s busy social life.

If he’s going to be completely honest with himself, Albert knows what he’s really missed. He’s missed Buck.

Having the chance to be this close to Buck again, to be allowed into his safe space, is gratifying to Albert. He feels oddly liberated by the opportunity to be so physically close to him. They are not sitting very close to each other on the couch, but their hands brush as they pass the takeout containers back and forth. Buck bumps his ankle against Albert’s shin in a familiar way, and he smiles when Albert catches his eye. He looks both the same as he did two years ago and completely different. These two years have changed him. They’ve changed Albert, too.

Lately, Albert has come to realize that he misses having Buck around all the time. He misses being able to talk to him so frequently, misses the comfort of his presence and the steady warmth of his smile.

Yes, he misses Buck, and he misses the way he used to feel with Buck when he lived in the loft the first time. Maybe he’s trying to get some of that feeling back, or maybe he is trying to rediscover something about himself that he’s forgotten over the past two years. Either way, Albert is happy to be sitting next to Buck on this couch, watching stupid reality TV together, and eating Thai food as if the last two years never happened.

Everything seems to be going well until Albert ruins the evening.

Trying to glance at Buck surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye, Albert shoves a heaping forkful of fried rice into his mouth. Too much fried rice, as it turns out, because he inhales too quickly and chokes on the whole mouthful. This results in him interrupting the TV marathon by coughing up half a lung while Buck hovers uselessly nearby and offers him a glass of water no fewer than three times.

“I’m fine,” Albert gasps once again, smacking his chest with his free hand.

Buck, who appears to be frantic with worry, jumps up to get him a glass of water anyway. He returns swiftly from the kitchen and shoves the glass into Albert’s hand, retrieving the fried rice container in the process.

“Drink,” he orders.

“I said I was fine,” Albert mutters hoarsely, but he does as he’s told. When he’s drained half the glass and somewhat regained the ability to breathe through his abused throat, he looks up and finds Buck staring at him very strangely. After a moment of hesitation, Albert assures him, “I am fine, Buck.”

Buck seems to startle. “Well, good,” he mutters, snatching the glass out of Albert’s hand and disappearing back into the kitchen. Albert sits on the sofa, concentrates on breathing deeply, and listens to the glass clinking against the faucet as Buck refills it.

This time when Buck returns, Albert accepts the glass and drinks without waiting for orders. He drains the entire thing and sets the glass gently on the coffee table for Buck’s inspection.

“Happy?” he asks a little petulantly.

There is a strange look on Buck’s face when Albert glances up at him. It’s not an expression Albert thinks he’s seen before, and certainly not an expression he’s ever seen directed at himself. Buck’s focus on him is so total that Abert actually starts to feel as if he is sweating under the scrutiny, and he doesn’t like the feeling.

“You don’t need to take care of me,” Albert snaps without thinking. “I’m an adult.”

Buck stiffens as if Albert has slapped him.

“I know that,” he says after a moment. “Sorry, I just thought—I mean, yeah, of course.”

Albert’s heart sinks at the brittle tone of his voice. Silently, he berates himself for his harsh words. He knows Buck, which means that he knows the intricate ways in which Buck yearns to be needed. And Albert has just thrown that knowledge back in his face like a glass of ice cold water.

Desperate to distract Buck, he says, “I guess we could watch another episode now.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he winces. He sounds less than enthusiastic, even to his own ears.

“I think I’m pretty tired, actually.” Buck steps back from the couch, snatching the glass off of the coffee table in a jerky movement. “I might head to bed, but feel free to keep watching without me.”

Even though he doesn’t want to be overwhelmingly disappointed, Albert is. He also does not want Buck to know what he’s feeling, so he shrugs and acts as nonchalant as possible. “I think I should go to sleep as well.”

“Oh,” Buck says. “Well, there are blankets and pillows in the—”

“Yes, I remember,” Albert interrupts, feeling small and a little bit mean.

Buck opens and closes his mouth, as if he wants to say something but can’t find the right words. He’s still looking at Albert with that strange expression on his face, and Albert still does not know what it means. He wishes Buck would tell him what he’s thinking.

“Okay,” Buck finally says, taking another step backward. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Goodnight,” Albert replies, feeling strangely formal.

“Night,” Buck echoes.

He turns and walks back to the kitchen, where he sets the glass in the sink. Then he disappears up the stairs without another word, and Albert is left all alone in the living room. It is the one outcome he had hoped to avoid, actually, now that he really thinks about it. He had hoped that he and Buck could stay up late and watch a lot more reality TV. As it is, he has to resign himself to pulling out pillows and sheets and making a bed for himself on the couch.

Albert is lulled into a sense of calm as he does this. Soon, he is brushing his teeth in the familiar first floor bathroom and washing his face with the special face wash he has used since the time Buck yelled at him about proper skincare. Then, he turns off the lights and climbs into his familiar couch bed, where he settles on his back, folds his hands over his chest, and stares up at the loft ceiling.

As he waits for sleep, he wonders what Buck is thinking about. Has he already fallen asleep? Is he staring up at his own ceiling, wondering what Albert is thinking? Does he already regret asking Albert to move back into the loft?

The questions are too numerous to answer at this time of night. Albert resolutely closes his eyes and wills himself to relax. He will have a chance to talk to Buck tomorrow, and he will clear the air about the weirdness of tonight.

Unfortunately, Buck seems to have other plans. When Albert wakes up the next morning, Buck is nowhere to be found.

At first, Albert is confused. He rubs his eyes and glances around the spacious and empty first floor. Then he thinks that Buck might still be asleep upstairs, so he creeps up the steps as quietly as possible and peers around the corner. He finds the bed empty and neatly made. The door to the upstairs bathroom stands open, no sound or light coming from inside. Puzzled, Albert makes his way back down the stairs and wanders into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

He is sure that Buck must have had a good reason for leaving so early in the morning.

He doesn’t see Buck again until the evening, after a long day of binging Love Island and working on his applications for cosmetology school. Buck never told him where to find the spare key the night before, and Albert is afraid that if he leaves the loft he won’t be able to get back in. He texts Buck a few times throughout the morning, then calls and leaves a couple messages, but he gets no response. As he works on his applications, he worries over Buck’s uncharacteristic silence, even though he knows there is probably a reasonable explanation.

By the time Buck returns to the loft after six o’clock in the evening, however, Albert has had enough.

“Good day?” he calls when he hears Buck enter through the front door.

Buck pauses on the threshold, then closes the door almost gently.

“Um, yeah,” he replies. “Had some stuff to do.”

“I did, too,” Albert calls. “But I couldn’t leave because I didn’t have a key to get back into the building.”

There is a short silence, as if Buck is processing Albert’s words and must stand absolutely still and quiet in order to do so. Then Albert hears him swear under his breath, and he says, “Shit, I forgot about the key.”

“Yes, you did,” Albert says primly.

Buck comes around the corner looking chastened but oddly defiant. “You should have called me.”

“I texted you,” Albert points out. “I even called you and left a couple messages.”

Digging into his pocket, Buck comes up with his phone and glances at it. His face pales when he taps the screen and sees the notifications.

“I didn’t even think about my phone,” he says after a moment. “I’m so sorry, man.”

He looks so upset by this development that Albert immediately feels like he should comfort him. He holds out for about a minute before he decides that Buck looks upset enough without Albert giving him a hard time. He quickly changes tactics and decides to take his chance to reroute the conversation.

“No,” Albert says, “I’m sorry.”

This surprises Buck. He gives Albert a strange look and asks, “What are you sorry for?”

“For what I said last night.”

“Oh,” Buck says. “Well, it wasn’t a big deal.”

Albert narrows his eyes. “You disappeared for the entire day, ignored my messages, and forgot to leave me a key.”

Again, Buck looks chastened. “Okay, maybe I was…a little hurt by it,” he admits.

“You didn’t even leave a note,” Albert points out.

“A lot hurt,” Buck allows.

Shoving his computer off to the side, Albert scoots to his left and makes a space for Buck on the couch. Feeling a little bit silly, he pats the empty cushion and tells him to sit. Surprisingly, Buck does.

“If we’re going to be roommates again, you need to talk to me,” Albert tells him. “It kind of sucks when you leave without saying anything and then don’t answer your phone all day.”

Buck grimaces, but Albert suspects it’s more at himself than at Albert.

“I know that,” he says after a moment, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I guess I got used to it with Taylor. We spent a lot of time leaving and not talking to each other toward the end.”

Albert doesn’t know exactly what happened between Buck and Taylor, so this statement makes only some sense to him. He is tempted to ask Buck to elaborate on the problems that caused them to break up, but he knows that it is really none of his business. He’s Buck’s friend first, and now his roommate, and he’ll be here to listen if or when Buck ever needs to talk about it.

“Where did you go?” Albert asks instead of the question he really wants to ask.

“Ah, I just hung out with Eddie,” Buck admits. “He says hi, by the way.”

“Hi Eddie,” Albert replies automatically.

Buck looks amused by this for a moment, and then he sobers. “I’m sorry I left without saying anything. I should’ve talked to you about it. Now that Eddie’s in therapy, he’s always telling me to talk about my feelings.”

“Eddie is not wrong,” Albert says.

“Please don’t tell him that.”

Laughing, Albert nudges Buck’s shoulder with his own. He’s gratified when Buck nudges him back.

“I really appreciate you letting me move back here,” Albert says eventually. “But if we’re going to live together, we need to talk to each other. You can’t leave just because I made you feel bad. Maybe that’s what you and Taylor did, but I am not Taylor.”

He hesitates, chewing on his lip for a moment. Then, he decides that he’s said many embarrassing things in the last 24 hours and he might as well go all in, as Howie says.

“I really missed you,” Albert admits. “Maybe I’m not supposed to say that, but I did.”

He risks a glance at Buck and finds his friend looking back at him steadily, his eyes shining in the dim light. For a moment, Albert thinks Buck will say something devastating. The moment has that heavy, surreal feeling, like the calm before a thunderstorm. Albert’s heartbeat quickens in his chest, and his palms begin to sweat. He leans forward in anticipation of—something. Something momentous. He doesn’t know what he hopes the words will be.

But in the end, Buck only smiles and says, “I missed you, too.”

The tension dissipates. Albert bites back the sting of unwanted disappointment and smiles instead. He pulls his computer back into his lap and gives Buck a nod, hoping he does not look as strangely bereft as he feels.

“I’m working on my applications for cosmetology school,” he says, trying to shake off the heaviness.

“How’s it going?” Buck asks.

“I’ve made a lot of progress.”

“Well, you were trapped here all day,” Buck allows. He stands and glances toward the TV, adding, “And you’re pretty far into the first season of Love Island.”

Albert tries not to smile. “I thought you kept the spare key in the cabinet over the sink,” he says, looking down at his computer screen. “It was not there.”

“Oh, yeah,” Buck says uncomfortably. “Taylor said—um, she thought it was a stupid place to hide the spare key. I moved it upstairs.”

Albert rolls his eyes. “It is a stupid place,” he agrees. “Taylor was right.”

Now Buck looks exasperated.

“I thought you were supposed to take my side,” he grouses, hands on his hips.

“I’m always on your side,” Albert replies. “Unless you are wrong. Then I’m on Taylor’s side.”

Buck makes a noise that sounds vaguely irritated.

“I take it back,” he mutters. “I didn’t miss you at all.”

“Liar,” Albert says.

—

Buck isn’t proud about sneaking out of the loft before Albert wakes up on his first morning back.

He doesn’t exactly know why he did it, only knows that he needed some time alone. Whether he needed that time to think or to whine, he wasn’t entirely sure until he pulled up to Eddie’s house and found his friend already waiting for him on the front step with a steaming cup of coffee.

“Are you some kind of freaky mind reader?” Buck asked as he locked his Jeep and trudged up the driveway.

“Best friend powers,” Eddie said. “Figured you would have snuck out before getting coffee.”

“Albert makes an amazing cup of coffee,” Buck said glumly. “Maddie was right.”

“I guess this will have to do,” Eddie replied.

For some reason, this made Buck feel even worse.

“Is Chris inside?” he asked, plopping himself down on the step next to Eddie and snagging the coffee mug.

“Still in bed. It’s Saturday.”

“He’s such a teenager now,” Buck said fondly. He took a giant gulp of coffee and closed his eyes to savor the warmth sliding down this throat. He was never leaving the loft without having a cup of coffee again, no matter how awkward he felt. He finished savoring his first sip and caught Eddie eyeballing him from a foot away. “We didn’t have a fight or anything.”

“I figured. You would have been way more upset, man.”

“I guess.” Buck scratched his fingernail over the smooth ceramic surface of the mug. “We just had a misunderstanding. At least, I think it was a misunderstanding.”

“You’re not sure?” Eddie asked.

Buck stalled by taking another large sip of coffee. Eventually, he said, “I think I was too…much.”

He could tell Eddie wanted to make a joke, but Eddie was a good friend and knew when Buck was feeling fragile. Instead, he commented, “Albert wouldn’t actually say that to you.”

“You did,” Buck countered, only half joking.

“I was an asshole that day,” Eddie allowed, sounding calm. “And I was wrong, you know.”

“Yeah, you’ve said.” Buck stared down into his coffee, gathering up the courage to continue. He and Eddie had talked about the day in the grocery store many times since it happened, but as many times as Eddie had claimed he didn’t mean it, Buck still felt like a tiny part of what he’d said was true. He weighed the pros and cons of pursuing this line of conversation, then decided that Eddie was all about talking about his feelings now, so he might as well take advantage of the emotional freedom.

Steeling himself, he said, “I think you were a little right. I mean, sometimes I am a lot for people to handle.”

“We all are,” Eddie replied. “Did you forget that I trashed my own bedroom last year? You were there, man.”

“That’s different,” Buck muttered.

“Not really.”

“Yes, really.”

“Stop arguing with me,” Eddie scolded, although he sounded pretty amused by the whole conversation. “We’ve both had our moments, and we still have people who love us. You’re not too much.” He took a sip of his own coffee. “Besides, Albert loves you.”

For some reason, this startled Buck. Maybe it was that he had never thought of Albert and the word ‘love’ in the same sentence. Maybe he just wasn’t expecting it.

Whatever the reason, he scoffed and said, “Albert doesn’t love me.”

Eddie squinted at him.

“He doesn’t,” Buck insisted, squinting back at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re basically the first real friend he made in America,” Eddie pointed out. “He lived with you for months, man. Of course he loves you.”

Buck felt silly, but he was used to that when Eddie was around. It was another best friend power: Eddie’s ability to make Buck feel silly about almost anything. He really liked that about Eddie. “Oh, I thought you meant something else.”

“Well, that too,” Eddie said.

Buck’s brain screeched to a halt.

“What?” he asked.

Eddie smirked. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Albert’s into you,” Eddie said.

Suddenly, everything seemed a lot more confusing. Buck set his coffee down so he wouldn’t accidentally gesture with it and splash Eddie in the face. He had done it before, and it was not a good situation for either of them.

“Albert is not in love with me,” Buck said.

Eddie hummed in the way that meant he thought Buck was wrong.

“He’s not!”

“Okay,” Eddie said agreeably. “You know him better than I do, man.”

“He can’t be,” Buck muttered, because now his mind had restarted and everything was going a million miles a minute. He felt like he was on the rollercoaster ride from hell, and he really didn’t like it. “Wait, do you really think he is?”

Eddie gave him a sympathetic look. “I think there’s something there. Whether or not Albert knows that is something you’d have to ask him.”

Buck hates this new zen Eddie. He’s confusing and kind of irritating.

“I came here for advice,” he grumbled. “Now I’m just confused.”

“Happy to help.”

“Oh my God, you asshole,” Buck hissed.

Eddie laughed.

“See if I come to you for advice ever again.” Desperate for something to do with his hands, Buck picked up his mug and killed the rest of the coffee. When he felt a little steadier, he added, “I don’t think Albert’s in love with me. Your gaydar is broken, man.”

“I had gaydar to begin with?” Eddie joked. “Nah, man, I just see the way he looks at you sometimes.”

Buck didn’t want to ask. He really didn’t. He’d had enough of a heart attack already just thinking about the remote possibility of Albert having more-than-friendly feelings for him, and Eddie was giving him an out. He knew he should take it, if he had any sense of self preservation.

Unfortunately, Buck was born without a sense of self preservation.

“How does he look at me?” he asked curiously.

Rather than answering the question, Eddie asked, “Look, why did you ask him to move back in with you?”

Buck frowned. “He was crashing on Chim’s couch. He’s between jobs.”

“And now he’s crashing on your couch,” Eddie said reasonably. “He just traded one couch for another. Come on, that’s not the real reason and you know it. Why did you ask him to move back in?”

Eddie really was the worst.

“Maybe I was a little lonely after Taylor moved out,” Buck admitted.

“You could have moved in with me and Chris. I offered.”

“Yeah, I know.” Buck scrubbed a hand through his hair, irritated. “It wasn’t about that. You know I’d have no problem moving in with you guys, and I’d love to spend more time with Chris. I could take or leave you, though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie said. “Come on, Buck, work with me here.”

Buck groaned. “You’re killing me, man.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I’d prefer not to.”

“Okay, Buckley the Scrivener,” Eddie said like a total nerd. “Let me tell you why I think you asked Albert to move back in: you like him. You missed him, and you wanted to have him around again. You want to see where it goes.”

“He’s a good friend,” Buck protested.

“He is,” Eddie agreed. “And you can be a good friend to him and still like him.”

Buck took a moment to think this over. He could admit that in the time he’d known Albert, he’d grown a little attached to him. Maybe he’d been too attached by the time Albert joined the LAFD and moved out. And there had been Eddie getting shot, and then Taylor came back into his life, and Buck had kind of forgotten how easy and familiar it felt to be around Albert all the time. If he was being completely honest with himself, he’d say that he missed the closeness he’d had with Albert. It was different, living with Taylor, and when Taylor left, he’d wanted some of that closeness back.

“I don’t know,” Buck said honestly. “I feel good when I’m with him. My place feels more like home when he’s there.” He looked at Eddie, trying to read his expression. “I wanted things to go back to the way they were before Taylor. Before—before everything that happened.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment. “Before the shooting.”

“Yeah, before that,” Buck murmured.

They had never really talked about the shooting, about the pure terror Buck felt as he’d dragged Eddie under the truck. As he’d struggled to staunch the bleeding on the way to the hospital. As he’d watched his best friend disappear through the glass doors, not knowing if he’d ever see him alive again.

“That day really sucked,” Buck said. “Kinda feels like it changed everything.”

“Albert had already moved out by then,” Eddie pointed out.

“I’m not talking about Albert anymore.”

Eddie’s brow furrowed, and he was silent again for a long time. Eventually, he said, “I know we need to talk about it at some point, but I’m not ready yet. I promise I’m working on it.”

“That’s okay,” Buck assured him, choking up a little. “Sometimes I just feel—I want to make sure you know you’re my best friend. And I’m really glad you’re alive.”

“I’m glad I’m alive, too,” Eddie said softly. When Buck glanced at him, he smiled. It was a real smile, one that Buck was glad he’d been seeing more and more lately.

“I’m even glad you’re here to give me shit about my love life,” Buck admitted, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

“My favorite pastime,” Eddie said with a laugh.

“Yeah, you’re an asshole.”

“You still love me,” Eddie told him.

“Sure,” Buck said.

“But not the way you love Albert.”

“I never said I loved Albert!” Buck cries. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”

Eddie laughed again. Buck was secretly, ridiculously pleased that he had been able to make Eddie laugh so many times during the entire conversation.

“I’m just messing with you,” Eddie said after a moment. Then he grew serious. “Just think about it, okay? You and Albert would be good together. Maybe there’s something there.”

Buck shook his head. “How did I not know you were such a matchmaker?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Eddie’s eyes widened innocently, and he pointed at himself comically. They were back on more familiar ground, and Buck felt himself relax at the easy way Eddie shifted away from the emotional weight of their previous conversation and back into teasing.

“First you set up Josh and that electrician,” Buck pointed out. “Now me and Albert. Who’s next?”

“I just want my friends to be happy,” Eddie said with a shrug. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“No,” Buck murmured, “I guess there isn’t.”

After kicking around with the Diazes for the rest of the day, Buck finally had to admit that he was avoiding going home. He said a heartfelt goodbye to both Eddie and Chris, and then he got into his Jeep and drove home feeling both unsettled and comforted as he navigated the familiar route back to the loft. It was strange to be so off balance and feel so secure at the same time. He couldn’t remember another time he had felt this way. As he walked through the front door and realized he’d forgotten to leave Albert a key, the unsettled feeling only intensified.

Throughout the conversation that followed, Eddie’s words kept bouncing around in Buck’s head. He tried to sneak surreptitious glances at Albert to see if he could glean something from his expression, but Albert was as cheerful and firm as ever, if a little annoyed that Buck had abandoned him at the loft for the entire day.

Otherwise, he seemed exactly the same as always.

As he trudged up to bed that night, he heard Dr. Copeland, a voice he hadn’t thought about in a long time, telling him to check his assumptions. He remembered going through an exercise with her dozens of times, wishing he could sink right through the floor and disappear, rather than revisiting some of the most painful and traumatic memories from his past. Still, her advice seemed solid.

Check your assumptions, Evan, she would say. Take a step back and look at the situation from a different point of view.

Sitting down on the foot of his bed, Buck rubbed his face with his hands and imagined physically separating himself from the conversation with Albert. As he turned the concept over and over in his mind, he kept getting stuck on one particular question.

If Albert was acting completely normal, what was normal?

Now, lying in bed, staring up at his ceiling, Buck feels like he’s missed an opportunity. He can’t stop thinking about Albert. Albert, who is sleeping right below him on the couch. Albert, who traded his spot on his brother’s couch for Buck’s. Albert, who makes the loft feel more like home every time he’s around. Albert, who may or may not have romantic feelings for him, if Eddie is to be believed. Albert, Albert, Albert.

Eventually, Buck gives up on sleep as a lost cause and gets out of bed. He wanders downstairs to the kitchen and quietly pulls a glass from the cupboard.

Then he nearly drops it in surprise when Albert says, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Whirling around with the glass clutched tightly to his chest, Buck says, “You scared the shit outta me.”

The light downstairs is dim, but he can see movement as Albert swings his legs over the side of the couch, leaves his makeshift bed, and shuffles into the kitchen area. He stops a couple of feet away from Buck, who watches him warily, not sure about the dreamlike quality that seems to have settled over the entire lower floor of his loft.

“I cannot sleep either,” Albert says in the same formal way he still does sometimes. He crosses his arms over his chest and rubs his bare arms just below the sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Cold?” Buck asks, concerned in spite of himself.

“No,” Albert says softly. “Just a chill.”

“You shouldn’t have to be cold,” Buck replies just as softly. “I can get you another blanket.”

Albert tips his head and studies Buck for a long moment. After a while, he says, “You really like to take care of people.”

Blinking in the dim light, wishing he could more clearly see the expression on Albert’s face, Buck considers the statement as reasonably as he can. He may not be in therapy right now, but he’s at least self-aware enough to admit that there is some part of him that will always worry over the people he cares about. He’ll always want to make sure they’re safe, that they’re happy, that they feel loved.

“You’re my friend,” Buck finally murmurs. “Of course I’m gonna take care of you.”

Albert makes an indecipherable noise in his throat, almost a grunt. Buck isn’t sure what it means, but it doesn’t sound particularly happy.

“I’ve never had someone who wanted to take care of me,” Albert whispers.

Buck feels this statement like a knife through his chest. Suddenly, he knows viscerally what Albert is feeling, and it aches the same way it has since he was a kid with skinned knees and a broken arm, desperately wishing for his parents to love him and wondering why they couldn’t.

But Buck had Maddie when he was a kid. Even when he didn’t have her, he still knew that she was somewhere out there, caring about him.

Who did Albert have?

Albert grew up in a cold, impersonal household. His father was distant and withholding, much like Buck’s parents, but it must have been different because Albert never had anyone else. He didn’t have a sister like Maddie to tell him that he was loved. He didn’t have anyone to comfort him when things got bad with his parents. Buck thinks it must have hurt Albert to know he had a brother he had never met half a world away. He must have been so lonely.

“Well, now you have me,” Buck says before he can think too much about it.

The lighting is still too low to make out many details, but Buck is pretty sure he sees the corners of Albert’s mouth tip up in a smile. He holds his breath for a moment, feeling unbearably tender at the way Albert seems to relax, bit by bit. The set of his shoulders turns soft, and he seems to lean closer to Buck in the darkness.

Buck has felt this pull toward another person before, but it’s never felt so comfortable or so easy. He’s never felt so safe, standing in the dark with another person.

“I’ll take care of you,” Buck offers.

“I would like that,” Albert says quietly and smiles.

And these are the words that send Buck on a months-long spiral into madness.

—

The following days are interesting.

After weeks of endless school applications and more bad reality TV, Albert applies and is accepted into the Santa Monica College cosmetology program. He and Buck are in the middle of eating breakfast one morning when Albert receives the email that will change the entire course of his life. Again.

In fact, he’s right in the middle of a spoonful of cereal when the new email alert dings on his phone. When he picks it up, the first thing he sees is the word “congratulations.”

“OH MY GOD,” he shouts, startling Buck into knocking his own coffee over. They both immediately curse and jump for the roll of paper towels perched on the edge of the kitchen island.

As they’re mopping up the mess, Buck shoots Albert a bewildered look and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing’s wrong,” Albert says distractedly, crouching down to dab at the top of a cabinet. “I was accepted to a cosmetology school.”

He isn’t looking at Buck at that moment, so he doesn’t see the look on Buck’s face or pay attention to the sharp intake of breath that comes from the other side of the island. He does have to pay attention when he finds himself suddenly crushed in Buck’s hard embrace, his arms wound so tightly around Albert’s back that he nearly has to struggle to breathe.

“That’s fantastic,” Buck says warmly, his voice muffled in Albert’s shoulder. “I’m so happy for you, man.”

Albert, who was entirely unprepared to be this close to Buck this early in the morning, takes a minute too long to respond to the warm congratulations. When his mind clears, he awkwardly says, “Thank you.”

“You sound weird,” Buck comments.

“I can’t breathe,” Albert manages after a moment.

Buck apologizes and quickly releases him, pounding him on the back with maybe a little too much force.

“I’m fine,” Albert insists. He can’t stop the smile that spreads over his face, both at the knowledge that he was actually accepted into a cosmetology school and because of the lingering warmth of Buck’s hug. He wants to hug Buck again, just to see what he’ll do. He suspects Buck would let him.

“We should celebrate tonight,” Buck says. “Drinks on me.”

“It’s just an acceptance,” Albert says with a laugh. “I haven’t started school yet.”

Shaking his head, Buck pulls Albert out of his awkward half-crouch. He looks beautiful when he’s this happy. Albert hasn’t been around for many of these moments, and he greedily locks the memory of it away. Someday soon, he will find a job and move back out of the loft, and then he and Buck will go back to being casual friends. Albert may or may not be around for these happy moments in the future, although he hopes he will be.

“Celebrate the wins,” Buck tells him seriously. “Even the littlest ones. Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

No one ever has. Albert doesn’t know who would have said such things to him growing up, and Howie leans more toward pessimism on any given day. It sounds like something Maddie might say.

“You’re telling me now,” Albert says with a grin, steering them away from the subject of his sad, lonely childhood. “Where are we going?”

They end up at Eddie’s house, which comes as no surprise to Albert. He had expected a bar, but Buck drives them straight over to Eddie’s, stopping only for beer at a corner store on the way. When they pull up to the house, Albert is reminded of the last time he came to this house for a 118 party. When he closes his eyes, he remembers the buoyant feeling of being surrounded by so many amazing people who had accepted him into their family without question. Even thinking of it now brings a sting to his eyes, and he has to push the memory away or risk crying his eyes out in front of Buck and the Diazes. He straightens his shirt and follows Buck to the front step.

Buck wastes no time unlocking the door with his key, and then he leads the way into the living room, where Eddie sits on the couch, beer in hand, watching a movie with his son.

“What are we watching?” Buck asks delightedly, flopping down on the couch and grabbing Chris around the waist.

“Buck, stooooopppppp,” Chris whines, wiggling away from him.

Eddie lifts his drink in Albert’s direction. “Congrats on cosmetology school, man.”

“Thank you,” Albert says, suddenly self conscious of the rigidity with which he’s standing in the doorway, watching the happy scene unfold. He casts his eyes around the room, taking in little details that seem to have changed since the last time he was here.

When he looks back at the couch, Eddie is giving him a strangely knowing look. However, he doesn’t call out Albert’s awkwardness. He only says, “There’s beer in the fridge, if you want one.”

Grateful, Albert uses this as an excuse to disappear into the kitchen. Once there, he leans his head against the cold metal of the refrigerator door and breathes deeply, trying to push down the rabid butterflies tearing apart his chest and stomach. He has been here before, and he knows how Buck and Eddie are. They are genuinely nice guys, and they’ll welcome him into their little circle with open arms, but Albert will never actually belong. The thought makes him feel heavy.

“There you are,” Buck says, suddenly clunking through the kitchen doorway. His boots are loud on the linoleum, and he’s grinning from ear to ear, the way he only does when Chris is around.

Albert thinks fondly that Buck should be this happy all the time.

“Grabbing a beer,” Albert offers. “You?”

“Please,” Buck says fervently.

They return to the living room with their drinks and take up positions around the TV. Buck squeezes himself into the corner of the couch beside Chris, leaving Albert to sit in the armchair to Eddie’s left. As he sinks into the surprisingly comfortable upholstery, Eddie leans over and asks, “Are you doing okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Albert says. “Thank you for the beer.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, as if trying to figure him out, and then the corner of his mouth quirks in a small smile.

“No problem,” he replies. “We’re watching How to Train Your Dragon, by the way.”

“Such a good film,” Albert comments.

“It’s great,” Eddie says agreeably. “Chris has only seen it about twelve times already. Buck has probably seen it even more than that.”

“I heard that,” Buck pipes up from the other end of the sofa.

Eddie laughs. “Am I wrong?”

“I’ve seen it eleven times,” Buck shoots back.

“I stand corrected.”

“Buck would never watch How to Train Your Dragon without me,” Chris adds.

“Never,” Buck agrees.

“It’s at least a bi-annual tradition,” Eddie says to Albert. “Since Chris was seven.”

Albert has to admire the dedication.

“My parents never watched movies with me,” he admits, side-eyeing Eddie to gauge his reaction. “But, um, even if they had, it probably wouldn’t have been very much fun.”

He doesn’t want to get into the enigma that is his father or his life back in Korea. There’s too much painful history there, and it is likely that no one would understand anyway. Howie might have already told Eddie some of the story, but Albert doesn’t feel much like sharing that part of his childhood with anyone. He hasn’t even talked to Buck about it.

Eddie doesn’t push. He never pushes, which is why Albert likes Eddie.

“They missed out,” is all he says in reply. Then he turns his attention back to the movie, and Albert follows his lead.

By the time they leave Eddie’s house, Albert is pleasantly drunk. Buck, who stopped drinking hours before, announces that it’s time for them to head out. Albert follows him to the Jeep, climbs into the passenger seat, and immediately falls asleep. The next time he opens his eyes, Buck is shaking him awake.

“We’re home,” he says softly.

Albert likes the way those words sound coming out of Buck’s mouth.

Buck helps him stumble up the flights of stairs that lead to the loft, and Albert allows himself to sink into Buck’s warmth for the precious few moments it takes them to make the journey from the car to their front door. With some creative maneuvering, they manage to get through the front door without letting go of each other.

Buck stops next to the kitchen table, adjusts his grip around Albert’s waist, and says, “You should sleep with me tonight.”

Albert blinks, thinking he’s misheard. “Sleep where?”

“In the bed,” Buck says, “with me.”

“Which bed?” Albert asks.

“Technically, there’s only one bed, man.”

Confused, Albert looks toward the couch in the living room, where his comfy sheets are set up just the way he likes them. Then he looks up the stairs toward the shadowy, off-limits area where Buck usually sleeps. Albert has gone up to grab things like a spare T-shirt or to use the bathroom when the downstairs is occupied, but he’s never spent more time than was absolutely necessary in the place where Buck sleeps. It feels too much like trespassing.

“I have a bed,” Albert finally says. “It is over there.”

“You know, you use 100% fewer contractions when you’re drunk,” Buck tells him, shifting them both in the direction of the stairs. “Come on, man. My bed is comfier than your bed.”

“Is it?” Albert asks skeptically. “I do not believe that.”

“Believe it.” Buck nudges Albert’s knee with his own. “Step up.”

Obediently, Albert does. He feels the sole of his shoe connect with the wood, and then Buck is helping him to shift his weight up toward the next step. It feels almost like Albert is moving underwater as he goes.

They make their way up the stairs painfully slowly, and Buck helps Albert every step of the way. Halfway up, Albert realizes that Buck is holding one of his hands, using his other arm to steady them both as they navigate the steps together. The feeling of their fingers intertwined is almost too much for Albert to handle in his fragile, drunken state.

By the time they reach the top, Albert is flagging again. He allows Buck to drag him toward the bed, and then he finds himself being laid down on the softest, most comfortable mattress he has ever felt beneath his body.

“What the fuck?” he says.

Buck laughs from somewhere above him. “Told you it was comfortable.”

“You did not do it justice,” Albert informs the ceiling.

“Best bed I’ve ever slept in,” Buck said agreeably.

“I would hope so. It is your bed.”

He feels Buck’s hands on his ankles, gently tugging off his sneakers. Buck’s hands are so soft, Albert thinks as they help him scoot up the bed to reach the pillows. Flopping over onto his side, nuzzling his face into a pillow that smells like home, Albert watches Buck move around the room, picking up stray clothing items and getting ready for sleep.

“You are taking care of me,” Albert murmurs when Buck returns to check on him. “Just like you said.”

Buck’s hand pauses on his shoulders, pressing down only briefly before it disappears again. His voice sounds strangely hoarse when he says, “You know I’m here for you.”

“I know,” Albert breathes. “I know you are.”

He might drift off for a moment. The next time he opens his eyes, he can hear Buck climbing the stairs again. Albert hears him set a glass down on the bedside table, the gentle clink stirring some far-off memory in Albert’s brain of Maddie doing the same for him when he was recovering from the accident.

“I did not know it would be this soft,” Albert murmurs, eyes closed.

He’s not sure whether he’s talking about the bed or this overwhelming tenderness he feels when he’s close to Buck. When he’s with Buck, everything feels softer. He goes to a place where the hurts don’t cut so deeply, and the pain of loneliness isn’t as great as it was before. Falling into the comfort of this mattress feels like wrapping himself in Buck’s incredible warmth.

Albert rubs his face against the pillow and repeats, “Soft.”

“You haven’t slept on it yet,” Buck says gently. His voice is already fading away.

“I am already asleep,” Albert whispers, and then he is.

—

After the night they spend celebrating Albert’s acceptance to cosmetology school, Albert doesn’t go back to his makeshift bed on the couch.

Buck doesn’t really know why he pushed Albert to sleep upstairs with him in the first place. Maybe he’d wanted Albert to have a comfortable place to rest on a night that was meant to celebrate a big accomplishment. Maybe he’d wished for Albert to admit that living on the couch was a temporary solution. Or maybe Buck is a small, selfish man who has missed sleeping close to another person.

Whatever the reason, no real discussion occurs about the transition. It just seems to happen. One day Albert sleeps on the couch, and the next day he doesn’t.

It’s not as awkward as Buck would have expected. Albert seems totally fine with it, and Buck sleeps better than he has since Taylor moved out.

Daily life changes. Rather than fighting over the coffee maker in the morning, he and Albert fight over the upstairs bathroom. Buck yells at Albert for leaving his wet towel on the bed, and Albert gives Buck a hard time for moving all of his cosmetology school stuff when he’s trying to get some gym time in before he goes to work.

“You leave it everywhere!” Buck shouts up the stairs as Albert stomps around on the second floor landing.

“I need those things for school!” Albert yells back at him.

It’s not a bad way to live, Buck decides after a while. They both settle into something resembling a routine. Little by little, Buck starts to relax into it. Albert seems to lose some of the tension he’s been carrying around since he moved back in. They eat dinner together and find new, terrible reality TV shows to watch.

Albert has been in the loft for a couple months when he gets the bright idea to practice his shampooing techniques on Buck.

“You want to wash my hair?” Buck asks incredulously over a stir fry dinner one evening.

“Yes,” Albert says. “I have to practice my head massages.”

Buck had no idea this was a thing people learned in cosmetology school, but he supposes it makes sense. Chewing on a piece of bok choy, he eyes Albert across the table and considers the ramifications of allowing himself to become a beauty school experiment.

In the end, he agrees. How much harm could Albert possibly do with a head massage?

Then he comes downstairs the next morning, ready to hang on his day off, and finds Albert pushing a chair up against the kitchen sink.

“In my kitchen?” Buck asks. “Really?”

“I’ll clean the sink,” Albert says with a shrug. “The faucet is detachable. It’s perfect.”

“This is not how I thought I’d be using my kitchen sink when I moved into this place,” Buck comments. He considers the setup and concludes that he’s got nothing to lose. “Sure. Why the fuck not?”

This is how he ends up sitting in the chair with his head tipped back into the sink as Albert gently washes his hair. It’s tentative at first. Albert spends a good portion of the first few minutes fiddling with the water temperature, testing it against the inside of his wrist while Buck leans back awkwardly against the edge of the sink. He seems nervous, but not nervous enough that his hands shake. Buck doesn’t know what he’s been doing in cosmetology school so far, but it seems like this is really important to him. And if it’s important to Albert, it’s important to Buck, too.

So he waits patiently, watching Albert out of the corner of his eye until he finally seems to be satisfied with the temperature and says, “I’m going to touch your hair now.”

Buck swallows heavily. “Okay.”

He doesn’t remember what he thought this experience would be like, but Buck is pretty sure he couldn’t have predicted the tenderness with which Albert runs his fingers through Buck’s hair as the warm water sluices over his head. He’s careful not to get his fingers tangled in Buck’s curls, which Buck is silently grateful for. The softness is the best thing Buck has felt in a very long time.

When he seems satisfied that Buck’s hair is suitably wet, Albert reaches for the bottle of shampoo he brought down from the upstairs bathroom.

“That’s my shampoo,” Buck murmurs as Albert squeezes out a dollop and begins to massage it into his hair.

“What else was I going to use?” Albert asks.

His fingers are tentative at first, almost too soft. Buck wills himself to relax and lets his head tip back a little further into the sink, and Albert’s fingers begin to dig into his scalp. The repetitive motion begins to soothe Buck enough that he really does begin to relax, giving up control to Albert’s gentle hands and the familiar, comforting scent of his own shampoo.

Time seems to slow down. For a while, Buck is only aware of Albert’s fingers in his hair. He starts to drift in and out, listening to the soft exhalations Albert makes every time his fingers make a pass over the crown of Buck’s head. The rest of the loft is silent around them, almost like Buck and Albert are existing in a vacuum, away from the sounds of regular life in the city.

At some point, Albert murmurs, “Your hair is softer than I thought it would be.”

Buck smiles, keeping his eyes closed. “What did you think it’d feel like?”

Albert hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Coarser, maybe?”

“It is pretty curly,” Buck allows.

“Soft,” Albert repeats.

“Bet yours is softer.” Buck cracks one eye open and peeks up at Albert, hoping to catch him smiling.

It turns out that Albert isn’t smiling, but the corner of his mouth does quirk in something that could be distantly related to a smile. He goes back to concentrating on Buck’s hair, which has started to feel like it’s buzzing on top of his scalp. He’s so relaxed he might slide right off the chair and fall to the ground. But then he would mess up Albert’s grand hair washing adventure, and that’s the last thing Buck wants to do.

It feels like hours pass before Albert finally turns the facet back on and gently rinses the suds out of Buck’s hair. Then he drapes a towel over Buck’s head and softly squeezes some of the extra water out of the ends of the strands.

“All done,” Albert finally says. He helps Buck lean forward and pats the towel over his hair once more, swiping over the back of his neck a couple of times to catch any stray drops.

Buck looks up at Albert, and the expression on Albert’s face is…strange. Wistful, maybe. It twists something in Buck’s chest, makes him wonder where they’re supposed to go from here.

Logically, Buck knows that letting his roommate wash his hair in the kitchen sink shouldn’t be a life-changing event. It was just a really good head massage, nothing groundbreaking. Still, Buck can’t help feeling like something fundamental shifted between them the moment he let Albert put his fingers in his hair.

“Thanks,” Buck says.

Everything feels awkward after that. Buck can’t help sneaking glances at Albert out of the corner of his eye, tracking his movements as he gathers his things and gets ready for the day. Needing something to do with his hands, Buck makes a pot of coffee and then sits at the island, sipping slowly while he watches Albert look for his shoes.

“Have you seen the right one?” Albert asks as he comes down the stairs.

“Nope,” Buck replies.

“I could have sworn I left them upstairs,” Albert mutters.

“Did you check under the bed?”

“Of course I checked under the bed.” Albert puts his hands on his hips, the very picture of frustration, and looks around the main room of the loft with a critical eye.

Buck watches him somewhat warily. He feels strangely on edge, waiting for…something to happen. Albert doesn’t appear to be similarly affected; he’s distracted by the enduring mystery of his lost shoe and doesn’t seem to feel any tension. The dissonance between Buck's sudden, uncontrollable anxiety and the comfortable familiarity of Albert’s daily search for his shoes is disorienting. Buck focuses on his coffee and tries not to look like he’s having a silent crisis in the kitchen.

Later, when Albert has left for class and Buck is on his own in the loft, he calls Eddie and recounts the experience minute by minute.

“Hold on,” Eddie says on the other end of the line, “let me get this straight. Albert washed your hair, and now you think you might be in love with him?”

Buck scowls at the blank TV screen from where he’s curled into the corner of the couch.

“I didn’t say love,” he insists.

“You might have feelings for him,” Eddie amends.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” Buck insists. “I’m having a moment. I’m just confused. This is not good, Eddie. First the bed and now this…”

“Whoa, what bed?”

“We’ve been sleeping in the same bed,” Buck hisses.

If anything, Eddie sounds more delighted by this news than actually shocked. “You have? Since when?”

“Since the night he watched How to Train Your Dragon with us.”

“That was months ago,” Eddie points out. “And you’ve just been sleeping in the same bed because…?”

“He was sleeping on the couch,” Buck mutters.

“He slept on the couch before and you never had a problem with it.”

Buck sighs, aggrieved. “I have a problem with it this time. I wanted him to feel like this is his home, you know? And you can’t feel truly at home when you’re still sleeping on the couch.”

Eddie hums. “Why is it so important to you that he feels at home, then?”

“I know what you’re doing,” Buck fires back. “You’re trying to work your therapy magic on me.”

“No therapy magic. Just questions.”

Covering his face with his free hand, Buck takes a deep breath and focuses on the words Eddie is saying to him over the phone. He takes a moment to really think about what has been so different with Albert this time around, why he’s been so dead set on making sure that Albert has a home to come back to every day. Maybe Buck is just carrying forward the principles he applied to his own life when he was younger and dumber and traveling the world, when home was an impossible, far-off dream.

Deep down, he knows that isn’t true.

“I want to take care of him,” Buck admits. “I want him to be happy here.”

“He could be happy somewhere else.”

“No,” Buck says more forcefully than he means to. He takes a deep breath and continues, “I mean, if leaving would make him happy, I would support him. Of course I would. I just…I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I want him to be happy here.”

Eddie pauses for a long moment. Buck can hear Chris chattering away in the background, probably talking to Carla, and he feels a pang at the realization that he hasn’t been over to see Chris or Eddie lately. He’s been too busy with work and Albert and all the other problems life likes to throw his way.

“That sounds kind of like love to me,” Eddie finally says.

Suddenly feeling very drained, Buck presses his forehead into the couch cushions and holds his breath. He should just hang up on Eddie and try this conversation again later, when his scalp isn’t still buzzing from Albert’s tender attention. He really does give an awesome head massage.

“I don’t know what this feeling is,” Buck murmurs. “I just know it’s something.”

It is something. Buck thinks of Albert waking up in the morning with terrible bedhead; Albert singing tunelessly in the shower every morning; Albert smiling at him in a way that makes him seem happy and present; Albert looking at Buck intently, the way he’s always looked at him. Maybe Buck just hadn’t noticed before that there was something else to the look.

“Man, you know I’m here for you,” Eddie says, “but this sounds like something you need to talk to Albert about.”

Communication is the one thing that Buck has always been terrible at maintaining in his relationships. He sucked at communicating with Taylor, with Ali, with Abby and all the rest. He doesn’t know how he would address some of those communication problems, even now, in hindsight.

Finally, Buck admits what he has been ignoring since even before Albert moved back in with him.

“I’m scared,” Buck says quietly. “I’m afraid I’ll mess it up again.”

“Okay, listen up,” Eddie counters. “Every relationship is different. The problems you had with Abby and Ali were not the same problems you and Taylor had. Thinking about Albert in that frame of reference is just setting yourself up for failure, man. You can’t force a relationship into a cookie cutter shape. I believe you were the one who set me straight on that with Ana.”

Buck was. He’s also pretty terrible at taking his own advice.

“Look, my point is, don’t assume you’re going to mess it up,” Eddie continues. “Don’t sabotage yourself by giving up before you’ve even tried.”

Buck appreciates the advice, even though he hates that Eddie is probably right about this.

“You were a lot less annoying before therapy,” Buck tells him.

“Yeah, you’ve said.”

“It’s a valid criticism.” Buck smiles in spite of himself, then sobers. “Thank you, though. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be very lonely,” Eddie says.

“Depends. Would I still have Chris? I’d take him over you any day.”

“Funny guy.”

Buck laughs, but he sobers quickly. “Seriously, Eddie. I know I don’t say it enough, but…thank you.”

“Always,” Eddie says.

—

The days continue to ebb and flow. Weeks pass. Albert finishes his first school quarter and manages to pass all of his classes. He’s learning so much in school that some days he doesn’t think his brain has any room left over for anything else.

But he learns other things, too.

Albert learns a lot about Buck that he did not learn when he lived in the loft before.

He learns that Buck actually likes cleaning.

(“It relaxes me,” Buck calls over the sound of the vacuum cleaner. It’s early one Saturday morning, and Buck apparently woke up before nine and decided that the floor needed to be vacuumed and mopped immediately.

“How did I not know this about you?” Albert shouts back. “We lived together for months! And you made me do half the chores!”

“Who do you think cleaned up after you when you forgot to do those chores?” Buck yells.

“Okay, fair point,” Albert mutters. He goes back upstairs.)

He learns that Buck knows every word to every song in Grease.

(“I almost played Danny Zuko in my high school musical,” Buck says defensively, grabbing the popcorn bowl out of Albert’s hands. “I watched the movie a few dozen times for research.”

“Well, Danny Zuko is an asshole,” Albert informs him, “so I guess it fits.”

Buck appears shocked by this. “Take that back!” he cries, and they get into a wrestling match that ends with popcorn all over the floor, down Albert’s shirt, and in Buck’s hair.

Buck makes Albert clean it up. Albert doesn’t mind so much.)

He learns that Buck hogs the covers. He’s the worst cover hog Albert has ever met, and he’s met a few.

(Albert wakes up some mornings completely uncovered, shivering on one side of Buck’s incredibly comfortable mattress. Since the night they celebrated his acceptance to cosmetology school, Albert has been unable to tear himself away from Buck’s magical mattress, no matter how many times he’s promised himself he will retreat to the couch the next day. Even Buck being a terrible cover thief can’t drive him away from the bed.

Buck was right. There is only one bed worth sleeping in, and it isn’t in the living room.)

He also learns that Buck has moved everything around since Taylor left because he wanted a change.

“A fresh start,” he says, waving his hands around as if to indicate the entire loft. “When she moved out, I thought, why not move some stuff? Not like there was anyone else around to care.”

He sounds surprisingly hollow when he speaks about his decision to redecorate. Albert would have expected him to sound carefree, satisfied with the results, but he suspects that Buck has mixed feelings about the nature of the change. He also can’t help but notice that Buck has acquired a new couch since he was last here.

“What happened to the couch?” he asks one morning as Buck is getting ready for work. They’re a few months into cohabitating, and Albert isn’t quite sure why he hasn’t asked before.

Buck glances toward the living room, and a complicated look passes over his face.

“Taylor got rid of it,” he says casually.

Albert is shocked. It was a very nice couch. “Got rid of it?”

“She had her own.” Buck shrugs. “Mine had to go.”

“Was I sleeping on Taylor’s couch?” Albert asks. He’s not sure how he feels about that.

Buck laughs. “No,” he says quickly. “I bought a new one when she moved out.”

Relieved, Albert shakes his head and states, “I loved that couch. It was my home.” He stops and thinks about how that must sound to Buck, like Albert is a squatter taking up his living room and forming unusual attachments to pieces of his furniture.

However, Buck seems to take this in stride.

“I know you did,” he assures Albert as he finishes pouring his coffee. “What do you think of the new one?”

Albert considers the question for a long moment. It’s a comfortable couch, but it is new and not very worn in. He suspects that after some time, it will begin to feel like the old couch, which had just the right amount of sink and give. Sitting on the old couch felt like receiving a hug from a good friend or a brother, someone who knows you. Lying on this one feels like a tentative hug from a new acquaintance.

“We’re getting to know each other,” Albert finally decides.

Buck appears to be amused by his answer. He grins at Albert over the rim of his coffee mug and mutters something that Albert can’t quite make out.

Changing the subject, Albert says, “The walls seem very empty.”

“Oh.” Buck glances around again, as if noticing this for the first time. “Taylor took most of the decorations she’d put up. I guess I never got around to filling the holes.”

“I see,” Albert says seriously.

For as long as he has known Buck, Albert has known that Buck takes pride in his space. He is never obnoxious about it, but he does like to decorate with things that he likes. Like anyone else, he goes through phases with his tastes. Albert doesn’t like this phase, though. It seems empty and solemn, not like Buck at all.

While Buck is at work that day, Albert decides to fix it.

Since moving back in with Buck, he hasn’t left the loft very much at all. Most of his time is spent at school or at home, and he only has class three days a week. During his free time, he’s been methodically working his way through a series of reality TV shows. Sometimes Buck joins him when he’s home from work, but Albert sometimes spends consecutive days in the loft without leaving once.

His car protests being driven at first, having sat in its parking space for a couple of days without any activity. Albert thanks whatever deity is out there that his battery has not died in the meantime, and then he drives to the Michaels nearby for supplies.

Walking through the aisles, Albert looks for things that he thinks Buck would like. There is a modern-looking clock in one corner of a store that Albert believes would look good on the big, empty wall in the kitchen. After checking the price tag, he decides he will take a picture of it and show it to Buck later.

Maybe Buck will want to buy it, since he has an actual income.

He puts some small things into his basket as he goes. It’s not until he reaches the front of the store, close to the registers, that he spots something that really catches his attention. It is nothing flashy, and it doesn’t look particularly well-made or expensive. The smooth wooden surface shines in the fluorescent store lighting, and one of the hooks is slightly crooked, as if someone dropped it at one point.

It’s a key holder, similar to the one Howie put up on his wall to keep track of his different sets of keys. However, where Howie’s key holder is an elegant, ornately-carved piece, this one is carved into a simple word:

HOME

It sings to something in Albert. He buys the key holder.

Then he takes it home and spends two hours putting it up on the wall. He has to spend some time looking for Buck’s tools, which have been hidden away in the closet upstairs, and he has some trouble with the level feature on his phone. He pushes through these annoyances, determined to add this one element to Buck’s sad, bare walls. To make the loft feel more like a home again. He wants that for Buck and for himself.

By the time Buck arrives home after his shift, Albert has successfully installed the key holder and opened a beer. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, congratulating himself, when Buck walks through the door.

“Starting without me?” Buck asks, tossing his bag on the floor.

He turns to close the door, and Albert can tell that the key hook catches his eye immediately.

For a long moment, Buck stands in the open doorway, still as a stone. Albert waits nervously at the table, taking a long, bracing sip of his beer. He can’t stop looking between Buck and the key holder, bouncing his knee beneath the table. He wishes he could smother this anxiety down and be cool about this.

When Buck turns, Albert is surprised to see tears in his eyes.

“Is it bad?” Albert asks quickly, alarmed by the unexpected display of emotion. He stands up, ready to placate his friend as much as necessary. “I tried to make it level, but my phone was very unhelpful. We can take it down if you—”

He’s not expecting Buck to cross the floor in a few large strides, grab Albert’s face between his hands, and kiss him firmly on the mouth.

As he’s being kissed by Buck, Albert notices a number of things all at once.

He feels the rough, callused skin of Buck’s hands against his cheeks, so familiar because the calluses are like his own used to be. He absorbs the heat of Buck’s body where it presses up against him and notices how much taller Buck is when they’re this close together. He smells a whiff of familiar soap from the shower Buck undoubtedly took at the station before leaving. He tastes the barest hint of Buck through this closed-mouth kiss and wishes fervently that he could taste Buck for real.

It takes forever for Buck to pull away from the kiss. It is long enough that Albert actually closes his eyes, savoring the closeness because he knows he may never have the chance again.

Buck’s lips leave Albert’s, but he doesn’t go too far away. He stands in front of Albert, his hands still gently holding Albert’s face. Their knees knock together as one of them shifts, but Albert couldn’t say whether it is he or Buck who moves. He feels disconnected from everything except for Buck’s touch, the delicate skin of Buck’s closed eyelids, the wetness on his cheeks. Albert is confused, but he’s not willing to move out of Buck’s space. Not yet.

Eventually, Buck opens his eyes. He blinks twice, slowly, and says, “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Albert did not mean to make Buck cry. They both seem to be doing things they don’t mean to do today.

Buck is still so close. If Albert leaned forward just a few centimeters, he could brush his lips against Buck’s lips again. He could wrap his arms around Buck’s neck and kiss him the way he wants to kiss him: with open mouths, with tongues, with desperation. He could take the leap and see where he lands.

Instead of doing that, Albert states, “You kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes.

“You didn’t mean to,” Albert repeats softly.

“Not really.”

“You probably shouldn’t do it again,” Albert mutters. Against his better judgment, he looks down at Buck’s lips.

“I shouldn’t,” Buck murmurs back, but he’s already started to lean forward again. His next words are whispered against Albert’s mouth, and Albert feels them like a gentle brush against his skin. “I really, really shouldn’t.”

This time, the kiss is messy. Buck’s fingers tighten on Albert’s skin, and his lips part before Albert can think to ask. Emboldened by this, Albert lifts his hands to grip Buck’s shoulders tightly. He kisses Buck the way he wanted to kiss him before, and Buck allows him to do it. He even encourages it with the way he touches Albert and pulls him closer, letting Albert in and giving up control to him. Albert kisses Buck tenderly and then not so tenderly, until his own lips buzz and his heart pounds in his chest with excitement, and Buck takes it all willingly.

Albert doesn’t know how long they kiss for. He loses himself in the slick slide of their mouths, Buck’s tongue tangling with his. All he can taste, smell, and feel is Buck.

By the time Buck pulls away again, Albert feels as if he’s been knocked to the floor. But when he looks around, he realizes he’s still standing. Buck is still holding him so tenderly, and they watch each other for a time before either of them speaks.

“You bought a key holder,” Buck finally says.

“I did,” Albert agrees giddily. “It’s okay, right?”

Buck bites his puffy lower lip, pulling Albert’s attention to his mouth again. “It says ‘home.’”

“Because this is home for me,” Albert murmurs. “It should feel like a home for you, too.”

Cautiously, he brings one hand up to brush his fingertips over the birthmark above Buck’s eye, letting them linger there for a moment. The skin doesn’t have a different texture, and it’s cool to the touch. Albert marvels at it. It’s just skin in a different color.

“Move in with me,” Buck mutters suddenly.

Surprised, Albert pulls his hand away.

“I already live here,” he says, glancing around the dining area. His sweatshirt is thrown over the back of one of the kitchen chairs; his brushes are washed and drying in the dish drainer by the sink, even though Buck has told him a hundred times to keep them in the bathroom. The couch hasn’t been slept on for weeks.

Buck laughs. “No, I know that,” he says. “I mean, move in with me, like… Be with me. We can make this a real home.”

“I already told you this is my real home,” Albert murmurs. “Doesn’t it feel like one?”

He gazes up at Buck’s clear, blue eyes and feels, not for the first time, like he is about to step off of a cliff and into the abyss. There have been so many times in Albert’s life when he’s done this before, and no one has ever been willing to step with him. Now, Buck is gazing at him like he would follow Albert anywhere, step off any cliff with him, if only he asked.

For the first time, Albert feels like it might be okay to ask.

“It does feel like a home,” Buck says softly, and he smiles. “But only when you’re here.”