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Some days are easy.
Some days feel fresh, joyful, hopeful. Happiness, like blood, ran through his veins and brightened his eyes. Walking becameskipping. Smiling became beaming.
Alive.
Today is not easy.
Today feels dull, numb, dreary. Exhaustion clings to his cells until even breathing feels like a chore. Walking becomes dragging. Smiling becomes blank.
Surviving.
Thankfully he’s not on shift today. So he can just lay in bed. He can just. Just .
It’s such a strange realisation to have, a painful conclusion to come to, that he needs to just. Alone. He’s alone. Because he’s not supposed to just .
Just is for Eddie, who lost his wife, got shot, went through war.
Just is for Bobby, who lost his family, got over an addiction, watches over them.
Just is for Maddie, who was abused, killed her husband, had to get herself committed.
Just is for Chimney, who got a rebar through his brain, ran after Maddie, had to be a single dad.
Just is for Hen, who gave up her dream, gave up Nia, gives them all too much of herself.
Just is for Athena, who was beaten, bruised, and traumatised yet still came out on top.
Just is for Christopher, who’s gone through so much in so little time.
Just is not for him.
He’s the one who’s supposed to make the world brighter while everyone is stuck in just .
He’s the one who smiles, laughs, makes jokes, tells random facts.
He can’t just .
That’s not how this works.
That’s not his purpose.
That’s not his role.
So he’s just. Alone.
And it’s fine.
Really, it is.
Because worse than having to just , would be making everyone worry because of it.
So he lays in bed. In his big bed. His big, empty bed. His big, cold, empty bed.
And he covers himself in his sheets. His white sheets. His white cotton sheets. His white, scratchy, cotton sheets.
And he stares at the wall. The wall in front of him. The wall full of pictures. The wall full of pictures that are supposed to make him happy and get him out of this just .
But they don't.
So he stares.
And he thinks.
About his job. About his friends. About his family. About his parents. About love. About his lack of love. About the love he gives but never receives. About the love he’s not worth receiving. About his worth. About his lack of worth. About how maybe if he tried harder he’d have some worth.
He sighs.
His eyes burn.
He doesn’t know if it’s the tears or if he just hasn’t blinked in a while.
Who cares?
Who cares? Not him. Not his coworkers. Not his friends. Not his family. Not his parents. Not his purpose. He’s the one who cares, not the one being cared for.
Care for. Christopher. It’s been a while. A while for him. A couple of days. He cares. Does Christopher? No. Because Chris has his dad. Chris has his family. Chris has love. Chris doesn’t need him. Chris is fine. Chris needs sunshine. He’s a thunderstorm.
Thunderstorm. Rain. Water. Tsunami. Lost. Stupid. Not good enough. Unforgivable. Mistake.
Mistake. Daniel. Saviour. Failure. Worthless. Unworthy of love. Love.
Love. Eddie.
No.
“Buck?”
Eddie?
There’s someone coming up the stairs. Gentle footsteps. Still heavy. Eddie. No. He wants to hide. Can’t move. Just .
“ ¿Que pasa, cariño? ”
Cariño . Spanish. He learned some Spanish in Peru. People loved him in Peru. Loved his body. Not him. They never stayed. No one does. Everyone leaves eventually.
Eddie leaves. That was quick. Or maybe not? Time is a social construct anyway, and one he can’t seem to access because he’s busy just-
Just .
Just take the next breath.
Just let this intrusive thoughts go.
Just survive a little longer so you can go back to living.
Just .
Eddie’s back. He’s kneeling next to the bed. Buck thinks he might be blocking the view of the wall, but it’s not like he’s really seeing anything. His eyes are just open for lack of a better thing to do.
And closing them means doing.
And he can’t do right now, he just-
Just .
“Do you think you can close your eyes for me, Buck?”
Eddie’s talking. Why is he here? He should leave. Eddie doesn’t comfort. Buck comforts. Eddie can’t. He has more important things to do.
“Just for a little bit, tesoro , please.”
Just .
So he closes his eyes.
There’s a cool washcloth running over his face. Tenderly. It’s the soft one, too. The microfiber washcloths he bought for Jee when she was born, then got a set for himself when he realised how soft they were. They’re only taken out for Christopher. Or for comfort.
“There you go, querido , will you open your eyes again?”
It’s so hard. He can feel more tears slipping out again. Eddie brushes them away.
“Alright, you can keep them closed.”
There’s a kiss pressed to his forehead. Soft. Warm. Nice.
Eddie leaves again. Buck’s alone. Again. Always. Alone. So lonely.
Sometimes he wonders what the point even is? To be better. To hold back. To be, at all. It would be so easy.
Just go to a bar.
Just take someone home.
Just get some touch. Any touch.
Some love. Any love.
Something. Anything.
But no.
He wants to be better.
But it’s hard. It’s so hard. It’s hard to feel. It’s hard to be. Sometimes he wonders if it would be best not to. Not to feel. Not to be.
It would be easier.
But then who’d bring Hen coffee when she’s just ?
Who’d let Chimney win at Mario Kart when he’s just ?
Who’d get Athena her favourite pie when she’s just ?
Who’d watch hockey matches with Bobby when he’s just ?
Who’d make Maddie sing along to stupid songs when she’s just ?
Who’d cuddle with Chris on the couch watching Disney movies when he’s just ?
Who’d sit next to Eddie on the couch and hold his wrist to ground him when he’s just ?
So he takes a breath.
And another.
And one more.
Just one more.
There’s a sound next to him on his bedside table. Something being put down. A bottle, maybe? Then something that crinkles, like a wrapper. Quite a few somethings that crinkle, actually.
Then there are clothes hitting the floor.
Then the sheets are being pulled off.
And there’s someone in his bed. In his big bed. His big, no longer empty bed. His big, warm, no longer empty bed.
And he’s being covered in blankets. The soft ones he keeps for movie nights. The ones that still smell like Eddie and Chris. The warm, soft, comfortable blankets that still smell like Eddie and Chris.
And he’s being rolled over and onto his other side. There are legs intertwining with his, an arm wrapping itself around his waist, and a hand resting on his cheek.
A thumb moves back and forth to wipe away more tears that he didn’t feel falling. Lips kiss his forehead and whisper soothing words.
“It’s alright, cariño , I’ve got you. Whatever it is, I’ve got you. I’m right here. You don’t have to hold on so tight, you can let go.”
And it’s easy, is the thing.
It’s so easy. It’s so easy to believe Eddie.
But it’s so hard to let go when all he can think of is– he can’t.
You’re exhausting .
Somehow, we just manage to suck it up. Why can’t you?
Your side is all you see .
So he doesn’t. Because he can’t. Because Eddie might be saying that he can let go, and he might mean it on some level, but not completely.
Not when he realises just how broken Buck feels.
Shattered.
Numb.
Useless.
“You can’t hold everything in forever, darling, at some point it needs to come out. Let me be here for you when it does.”
He can’t hold on anymore.
So he cries.
He cries because he’s alone. He cries because he got crushed by a ladder truck. He cries because he lost his family. He cries because of the tsunami. He cries because of his parents. He cries for the brother he never knew. He cries for Eddie and the well. He cries because Eddie was shot and he had to stand there and watch. He cries. And cries. And cries.
He cries until it feels like he can’t breathe anymore. Until ugly noises are coming out of his mouth and there’s snot running down his nose. Until his throat is scratchy and he’s hiccuping too much to even take in air properly.
The whole time, there are arms around him, soft kisses pressed to his hair, quiet reassurances that he’s not alone. That Eddie’s here.
It feels good. To be held. Taken care of. Taken care of by Eddie . For a few moments, he’s so lost in the mix of pain and comfort that he just… forgets.
He forgets.
He forgets that he’s not supposed to cry. He’s not supposed to be the one being comforted. He’s not…
Eddie’s not…
He can’t–
“Woah, what’s going on?”
He pushes off the bed, onto his feet, staggers a little because his legs refuse to work properly, takes in the image before him.
Eddie’s half-sitting up in his bed. There are water bottles and granola bars on the bedside table. A basin of water on the floor with the microfiber cloth still in it.
Comfort.
But no.
“You need to leave.”
He presses his back against the wall. Get away, get away, get away . Away from the bed, from the feelings, from the comfort. He doesn’t deserve that. He’s not supposed to have that. Eddie isn’t supposed to see him like this.
“Buck, just breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths, come on. Just like me.”
When did Eddie get so close?
When did he kneel in front of Buck?
When did Buck get on the floor?
He can see his wrist being held in Eddie’s hand, palm splayed over his chest as it rises up, then down. Up, then down.
So why can’t he feel it?
Why can’t he feel anything other than–
Just–
“You shouldn’t be here, why are you here?”
Eddie sighs. His eyes are sad. Buck did that. Because that’s just what he does, ruin everything he lays his hands on.
“You weren’t answering your texts. Phone went straight to voicemail. I got worried.”
Eddie was worried. Buck worried Eddie. Of course he did, because he can’t do anything right.
He doesn’t deserve this. Any of this. He needs to be better. Eddie can’t be here.
“You can’t be here.”
“Why not?”
Why is he still fighting this, doesn’t he get it?
“You have to go, you can’t see.”
He’s still not leaving. Why isn’t he leaving?
“Eddie, you can’t see .”
There are hands on his cheeks. He thinks. Maybe? He’s having trouble connecting with his body.
“What is it, Ev? What can’t I see?”
“Me.”
Why is he fighting this so hard? Doesn’t he get it?
“Why can’t I see you? I see you all the time.”
No, he doesn’t.
Not like this.
Never like this.
Because then he’d–
And Buck can’t let him.
“No, not like this. You can’t see. You can’t see .”
Eddie looks a bit wild around the edges now.
But he’s still not leaving .
“Why?”
He huffs, pushes off onto his feet. Get away, get away, get away .
“Because you can’t . People leave . I’m supposed– I can’t just– Why won’t you leave ?”
Pulling at his hair feels nice. The pressure brings him back down to Earth a little. Helps him feel his limbs again, even though he still feels floaty.
“People can’t see. I’m– They like when I’m pretty, and perfect, and smile. It’s my job. I’m pretty, and I’m perfect, and I smile. I can’t– You can’t stay, because if you stay, you’ll see the cracks, and then you’ll leave .”
Because when people start seeing the cracks, notice how broken he is behind the pretty, and the perfect, and the smile, they leave .
And Buck can’t afford for Eddie to leave .
So he has to go now.
And Buck needs to breathe.
Needs to–
Just take a breath.
And another.
Just one more .
“Buck.”
Eddie’s in front of him again. How does that keep happening? Can he teleport or something?
“Buck, I’m not gonna leave you.”
Why does he keep saying that? Doesn’t he get it?
“ Eddie .”
He doesn’t know what to say anymore. Can barely speak.
Everything is too much.
Too hot, too cold, too bright, too dark, too soft, too harsh, too loud, too quiet, too much .
“Evan, breathe with me, come on.”
Eddie should leave.
Buck doesn’t want him to leave .
“I’m not going anywhere, cariño , just breathe for me, please.”
Just breathe .
Just .
So he does.
He takes a breath, follows Eddie’s counting.
In, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
Out, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
And again.
And again.
Tries to picture the little circle of his breathing travelling around a box like Dr Copeland taught him. Keep everything else at bay with only his breathing and Eddie’s voice taking focus.
In, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
Out, two, three, four.
Hold, two, three, four.
“You with me?”
He shouldn’t be.
Because Eddie shouldn’t be here.
He should leave.
“Why do you keep telling me to leave, Buck? I’m not going anywhere especiallywhen you’re in this state.”
But he can’t be here.
“Would you rather I call Bobby or Maddie? Someone you trust more than me?”
His eyes snap open at that, staring right into Eddie’s brown ones.
How can he–
Why does he–
“ Eddie . What? There’s no one in this world I trust more than you.”
He should know that. He should . Buck’s said it.
“I don’t trust myself.”
Isn’t it obvious? He thought it was obvious.
He’s starting to come back to his body now. Starting to feel the chill against his back from the window he pressed himself up against. It’s cold. He’s cold.
“I don’t understand.”
What’s there to understand?
“I can’t– I don’t trust myself with you right now, Eddie.”
If anything, that makes him look even more confused.
“Why not?”
He huffs. What does he mean, why not ? Why is this so hard to understand?
" Because Eddie. I can’t. You're too precious for me to handle, and I just– I keep– I break everything I touch and I can't, I can't break you. So I don't trust myself to handle you right now."
His back’s cold. He’s cold. He’s shivering again. Or are the shivers from the anxiety? He can’t tell.
“Buck.”
Eddie’s still here.
“Look at me, mi vida .”
It’s hard not to do what Eddie says when he’s saying it like that . When he’s calling him–
It’s just a habit.
A slip of the tongue.
He calls Chris that all the time. Buck’s practically acting like a child. Yeah, that’s it.
He didn’t mean it .
But his eyes . There’s something about them.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay, amor ? Can you do that for me?”
There’s a hand on his cheek, a thumb rubbing back and forth. It’s warm. It’s nice.
“You don’t need to handle everything all the time. You’re strong, you’re so strong , and I know that so well, but this isn’t healthy for you. It’s okay to let go sometimes. It’s okay to not be able to handle things. And you don’t have to handle me .”
He can’t tell you how he ended up in Eddie’s arms, sobbing into his shoulder. But he did.
And Eddie–
Eddie just brought a hand up and ran it along his spine in that way, the one that makes Buck absolutely melt .
“You don’t have to be so strong for me, cariño , I’ve got you. Let me handle you for once, alright? Let me take care of you for a change. Let go, baby. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere. You can let go. Just let go .”
And so he did.