Archive of Our Own ^beta

Eddie slowly blinks at the sound of Christopher’s phone alarm going off in the other room. He wills his body to stay still, itching to reach into his son’s room and see a smaller body buried within the sheets, a small smile creeping on his face at the sight of his father. But he’s a teenager now, positively offended at the suggestion of being woken up by his dad to be driven to school. 

I’m just going to carpool with my friends. And I can get ready on my own, dad. 

(He was, however, able to bargain with his son; he’s allowed to make his lunch as long as it’s shoved into a paper bag, and, under absolutely no circumstances is he allowed to leave a note inside.)

So, mornings were a lot slower for Eddie nowadays, especially on his scheduled 48 off. He absentmindedly listens to the rustling in the kitchen while the body next to him shifts. 

Buck– another reason for these languid starts to the day. His lover stretches his arms, brain still foggy with sleep. He pulls Eddie impossibly closer, as if possible with the brunette already tucked under his left arm, body sprawled over his large frame.

Eddie used to spend every day pulling himself out of his bed, starting the day when it was quiet, while the world was still asleep. He had pushed himself to drag the sheets off his tired body, knowing he had to get to work for Christopher, knowing he had to get Christopher to school, knowing he had to take care of his son, his world . 

He had lived as a vessel, gathering everyone’s needs into his arms and laying them on his shoulders. No questions asked, he did what he thought was necessary to balance the weight. But as soon his knees would buckle, and the weight threatened to slip off his aching muscles, there was always another pair of arms picking up the pieces, lacing their fingers together in a comfortable silence. 

Now, Eddie lets his body–of skin, scars, organs and all– lay heavy on his partner, their unclothed skin pressing together. He lets the blood pumping through Buck’s heart, which rests comfortably under Eddie’s cheek, travel through their intertwined fingers into his own body, making them one. Whole .  

He doesn’t know how much time has passed between the alarm and letting the heat of Buck’s body seep through him, but he blinks, a little harder this time, to see Christopher’s frame standing at the door. He knocks softly, twice, watching as his dad’s head slowly lifts from Buck’s skin, smiling at him. 

“My ride is just outside the house. Bye dad, love you- and yes I will remember to lock the door this time,” he grumbles, sleep still thick in his voice. 

It was the other part of their compromise; can you really blame Eddie for wanting to talk to his kid before he leaves the house?

He smiles at his son, mouthing an I love you too before he hears the sound of crutches approaching the door and Chris trying his best not to make too much noise closing the front door. He also hears the click of the lock. He chuckles quietly at that. 

A groan comes from beneath him as Buck shuffles once more, mumbling something Eddie can’t quite decipher. He doesn’t bother guessing as Buck’s fingers rise to card themselves through Eddie’s hair, gently pulling him back down to his chest. 

Buck feels the giggle that erupts from Eddie’s lips rumbling against his skin. The man lying on his chest presses a kiss right above his heart, stretching his arm across Buck’s skin to trace the tattoo right above his hip. Buck shudders at the feeling, squeezing Eddie closer to his body. 

The action lets another wave of sleep wash over his eyes, but the thought of not staring down at his boyfriend this early in the morning, hair sticking out every which way, with his pretty brown eyes covered slightly by the haze of sleep, has him lifting his eyelids. He ducks his head down to see Eddie already staring up at him with a soft grin. 

Pretty . That’s all he can think of as he lets the hand still tangled within Eddie’s locks down to his cheek, gathering the heat in the palm of his hand. 

He doesn’t realize he’s said his thoughts aloud until Eddie ducks his head away from Buck’s awed gaze. There’s no doubt he feels the heat rising into his cheeks on his palm. “Good morning to you too,” Eddie manages to squeak out, willing himself to remember how to speak, choosing to fix his gaze on his fingers that are still tracing his boyfriend’s inked skin. 

Buck lets out a soft hum at his words, running his thumb along the skin below his eye, smoothing it out. Perhaps, at a moment when he was more conscious, he would tease him about the wrinkles forming near his eyes. 

He moves them both up, biting back a laugh at the small whine that leaves Eddie’s lips. He leans comfortably against the bedframe while keeping his boyfriend firm against his chest.

He lets his hand fall from Eddie’s face, trailing his thumb along the nape of his neck, travelling down his side until he lets his fingers cover his ribs. Gently, with the pads of his fingers, he lets them rest on the flesh-covered bone. Secure. Safe .

“Good morning,” he says slowly, the mist of sleep finally passing. He’s alive. He’s present. And somehow, he still has Eddie Diaz in his arms. “Did Chris leave already?” he asks after a beat.

Eddie hums the affirmative, abandoning the tattoo to hook his fingers into the waistband of Buck’s sleeping shorts. He lets them rest there, warming up his skin. He finally tears away his gaze from Buck’s skin to look him in the eyes. He allows himself to stare for a moment as another silence overtakes them, watching as his loving gaze shifts to pensive, no doubt thinking about their plans for the day.

Much to Eddie’s dismay, they do need to leave the solace of their bed and enter the cruel outside world. He only wishes he could stay in Buck’s arms until he well and truly sinks into his skin, reaching bone, where he can live forever.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie finally asks, resting his chin on Buck’s chest.

“Hm?” Buck immediately questions, before realizing that Eddie had been looking at him for quite some time.

“I can see the gears turning in your head. I think I see some steam coming out of your ears too,” he teases, earning a firm poke to his ribs.

“Yeah? Think I’m due for an oil change?” Buck quirks his brow. Eddie scoffs playfully at him, removing his fingers from Buck’s shorts to playfully slap his side before resting his hand on his chest. 

“What did you want to do today?” Eddie tries once more. He knows if Buck were to ask him, his reply would be something like anything you want or to spend the rest of my life rotting away in this bed with you . So, he chooses to let Buck decide their plans for the day.

Buck’s mouth opens to reply before his eyes catch the sight of their shared bookshelf. The contents of it, filled with books Buck had collected over the years. His gaze then shifts to see a few of them stacked on Eddie’s bedside table, bookmarks peeking through the pages. 

He has a sudden realization when his eyes glance over the last book he had bought at the local bookstore, sitting prettily at the top of Eddie’s stack. 

He recalls the couple that walked in that day, the girls, no older than 20, walking hand in hand before dashing off to different parts of the store. He hadn’t paid attention to them much, although he’d be lying if he said the soft giggles they let out every so often didn’t bring a smile to his face. He remembers being behind them in line at the cash register, peering up from his book to watch as they exchanged their own, their collective gasp and shared kiss leaving him with a soft feeling blooming in his chest.

“That’s my book.” It’s not what Buck wanted to say, or at least not in the tone he had said it, because Eddie is soon whipping his head towards his nightstand quizzically.

“Oh. I’m sorry Buck, did you want me to wait until you finished it? I saw it on the shelf, and I know you were still reading the one Hen got you.” His tone is apologetic, but he tilts his head in confusion when Buck quickly shakes his head.

“No! You can read it, you can read any of them. It’s just…” Buck pauses, trying to find the right words. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy sharing. It’s the opposite, in fact. 

He was the one to dump the contents of his old loft into Eddie’s house saying, What’s mine is yours! But, all the books he owned were things he liked reading. Some were filled with poems, most were the old books he had for his old high school classes, a few romance books, and even a few that weren’t in English that he collected in his time in Peru. 

But none of them were Eddie’s . 

“You didn’t have any books before I got here,” Buck finishes. It’s more of a question than a statement: "You told me you always loved reading,” he continues.

Eddie sighs, temporarily shifting his gaze away. It’s true. He remembers that night when Buck found him in their shared room, reading glasses pushed comically low along the bridge of his nose, one of Buck’s books opened in his hands. 

He had been slightly embarrassed, admittedly. It was only a few weeks after Buck had moved in, and only a few days after they had spent the day trying to build the bookcase they got from IKEA. 

He had confessed, then, that he missed reading. He missed lugging around the books he had to read for his English Literature class in his backpack. He missed getting to baseball practice early so he could benefit from the shade of the dugout to let himself slip into the world of the characters buried within the pages. 

“I didn’t really have the itch to read again until you moved in,” Eddie confesses, “I never had the time to…” let myself relax goes unsaid, but hangs in the air nonetheless. 

Buck’s eyebrows furrow at the words falling from Eddie’s lips. He recalls all the books Eddie had bought for Christopher throughout the years, or the way his mouth would quirk up in a smile whenever Buck would sneak some into Christopher’s room with the excuse that the shelf was begging to be filled with just one more book . 

“I want to take you on a date,” Buck says abruptly. Eddie lets the confusion return to his face at the change of subject. “You asked me what I wanted to do today. I want to take you on a date to a bookstore,” Buck clarifies.

Eddie feels a familiar bubbling in his stomach at the words. It’s a feeling he’s well-acquainted with ever since he let himself love Buck in a way that wasn’t hidden behind stolen glances and love confessions that threatened to spill from his lips after yet another near-death experience. 

“You want to follow me around in a bookstore and buy me a book, as a date?” Eddie replies slowly. He lifts himself off Buck, instead choosing to straddle his lap, trapping Buck’s thighs between his legs. 

“Not exactly,” Buck corrects, his hands seeking out Eddie’s hips, his thumb smoothing out the skin there. “I saw this couple; they bought books for each other and then exchanged them. I thought maybe we could do that, then come back here and read them together.” 

Those simple words have Eddie questioning how anyone could resist falling in love with Evan Buckley. Even those who do–those people on calls who, for a brief moment, are utterly captivated by Buck’s strength, competence, and soft reassurances–don’t have every part of Buck, or at least the parts that Eddie fell in love with. 

What else is he supposed to do but dip his head down and capture Buck’s lips on his own? Morning breath be damned. 

—

Eddie would rather ignore how long it took for them to finally leave the house, but he’s glad they did. When they finally arrive at the bookstore, Buck’s hand is still firmly settled in Eddie’s fingers, carefully interlaced. 

The store isn’t the largest, but it has a steady flow of people walking in and out.

The older woman behind the counter looks up to greet them, as she would any other customer.  Her eyes suddenly widen, her smile growing wide as she spots Buck’s familiar face.

Eddie spots the slight tremble in her hands as she hastily grabs for glasses hanging on a string around her neck. “Firefighter Buckley! Back so soon?” she rasps as the glasses are placed low on her nose. 

Buck boyishly scratches the back of his neck with his unoccupied hand. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Robinson,” he greets. He ignores the rising blush on his cheeks as Eddie raises his brows beside him. “And I’ve already said it, but Buck is just fine,” he adds. 

Mrs. Robinson scoffs loudly from behind the register, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. She quickly wraps up the transaction she started, waving the customer farewell before turning her full attention towards the firefighters. 

“Nonsense, Firefighter Buckley! I’d have half a mind to pay you for the work I put you through, helping me organize the shelves and getting the heavy boxes off the shipping trucks,” she gestures dramatically before grabbing the cane resting against the wall behind her. 

She grabs a handful of candies from the bowl next to the cash register as she makes her way over to Buck and Eddie; she opens Buck’s empty hand and places the candy inside of it, closing it shut with an appreciative squeeze. “It’s the least I can do,” she says, tapping his hand for good measure before taking a step back. 

Buck parts his lips, a protest hanging on his tongue, but Mrs. Robinson’s gaze has already shifted to Eddie, her arms crossing, creasing the fabric of her apron.  

“Is this that handsome boy you’re always talking about?” There’s an excited squeak in her voice as she hurriedly fixes her glasses to get a better look at the brunette. “Eddie, was it? Firefighter Buckley here is very fond of you. I’m glad he finally brought you along so I can meet the handsome firefighter who stole his heart.” 

Eddie chuckles softly and squeezes Buck’s hand once, twice, and thrice . A small I love you, but there simply aren’t the right words to express it. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Robinson.” He extends his free hand, the slightly rough pads of her fingers holding him in a surprisingly strong grip.  

“Likewise, dear.” She glances over her shoulder, noticing a sizable line beginning to form behind the register. “Perhaps we can chat another time, hm? I better get back to work.”

“I wouldn’t mind helping,” Buck adds quickly. He watches as her eyebrows perk up, Mrs. Robinson’s gaze flickering to his fingers interlaced with Eddie’s and back up to his face. “We wouldn’t mind,” Buck clarifies, giving Eddie a small nod, which he returns with a smile.

The click of the older woman’s cane is already smacking against the wooden floors before Buck can interject any further. “You boys just focus on relaxing on your day off!” She yells out to him without so much as a glance behind her, returning to her stool behind the desk.

Eddie clears his throat, watching as a flushed-looking Buck turns in his direction. “I’m sorry. She’s just… excited,” Buck eventually settles for. 

“You talk about me?” Eddie teases, turning to stand in front of him, their hands still interlocked. 

Despite his tone, Buck’s face softens, his shoulders relaxing at the simple question. “I always talk about you,” he says breathily,  tilting his head down slightly to meet Eddie’s eyes. 

His boyfriend’s face warms at the sincere words as he places a soft peck on Buck’s lips. He can feel Buck leaning into the kiss, wanting so desperately to deepen it, to dive into Eddie without a second thought no matter where they are or who is watching. And Eddie, always right beside him, uses whatever self-control he can muster up to lean back, narrowly missing his lover’s lips.

“You promised me a book.” Eddie tries his best to sound firm, but he knows any wall he tries to put up is expertly and carefully taken down by Buck’s gentle hands and warm voice.  

Buck takes a couple more moments to appreciate Eddie, to appreciate the way, if this was a few months ago, Eddie wouldn’t have been caught dead looking at someone with so much love in his eyes in the middle of a small store, let alone leaning into to kiss their lips, nevermind them belonging to Buck. 

“I did,” he mumbles into a kiss he plants on Eddie’s forehead. He steps back, giving Eddie a view of the shelves scattered across the commercial space. 

“Most of the books towards the front are new, but all the shelves in the back are second-hand, and Mrs. Robinson checks every single one before they’re put on the shelf.” He points towards the little cards on the top of the shelves. Eddie thinks he can recognize Buck’s handwriting on some of them, but says nothing. “They’re all organized by genre, and alphabetized by the author’s last name.” 

Eddie gives the whole place a once-over before turning back to Buck. “Where do we start?” he asks.

Buck laughs softly. “If I tell you where to go, it ruins the fun.” Eddie feels Buck slip his hand away from his own, and his chest tightens. 

He knows he won’t be far, but all he’s wanted since he got out of bed was to be close to Buck, to feel his heartbeat thump against his chest, to watch every breath fall from between his rose-tinted lips, to feel the way Buck absentmindedly rubs his thumb along the skin of Eddie’s hand when their fingers are interlaced. 

When Buck claps his hands together, excitement thrumming through his veins, Eddie’s hand is left hanging in the air. Cold. Without Buck.

“There’s a lot to go through, should we meet back here in thirty minutes?” Buck asks. 

Eddie lets his hand fall to his side, his eyes scanning the shelves behind his partner, before settling on his face. 

He nods and watches as Buck quickly scurries off. He wills himself not to look at which direction he went in. The idea of Buck choosing a book he thinks Eddie would like, spending every minute meticulously fishing through novels for one Eddie can immerse himself into, has butterflies swarming his stomach. 

It’s then that Eddie realizes they’ve been standing directly in the middle of the store this entire time. He decides to move out of the way, eyeing the little rotating display stand of bookmarks. He smiles to himself when he recognizes Buck’s handwriting 2 for $8.00. 

He remembers the pink that crept onto his cheeks when Buck first caught sight of his Texas Rangers bookmark; it was clearly well-loved, sporting a few large creases and discoloration along the exposed ends. Buck had offered to buy him a new one, or hell, make a new one, but he had always politely declined. 

To Eddie, his passion for baseball and books are intricately intertwined. He would always let out a displeased chuckle when his literature teacher would drone on about, “ It’s important to read what the author isn’t telling you, because those are the words they are really trying to communicate.” 

He didn’t realize the importance of subtle communication until he was out on the field. He found it quite relaxing, really, manipulating the ball in his right hand as his left would stretch down towards his waist. He would lock eyes with the catcher, signalling his next throw without even a twitch of his lips. He didn’t need to harp on his tone or the prickly way words felt in his mouth before spitting them out, hoping they’d make sense. 

He didn’t realize how he, too, would become like those authors he’d roll his eyes at.

It dawned on him the moment his finger pressed against Buck’s collarbone, his eyes locked on those glassy blue eyes, his face riddled with scratches, as he declared there’s no one in this world I trust more with my son than you. 

He realized it the day he went to his attorney, the phantom feeling of water filling his lungs and covering his eyes, as he declared Evan Buckley as Christopher’s legal guardian if he ever lost his life.

So, when he hung up his mitt, he retired the meaningful point of his fingers towards the catcher for the brush of his shoulder against Buck’s, or the sincere press of his fingers against his skin, enough to feel the thump of his heartbeat, the touch lingering just enough to match the beat of his own. 

Someone bumps into him while he’s lost in thought and they quickly mutter out a string of apologies. He smiles politely at them, coming back to reality. 

He should really start searching for something before he decides he needs Buck more than he needs oxygen and ruins this whole date idea thing. 

Eddie takes a few minutes to walk between the shelves, taller than himself, scanning the various titles. His finger runs along the spine of the books, letting his fingertips rub against the glossy paperbacks and the juxtaposing rough hardcovers. He wanders until he hits a dead end, finding himself in a section between Greek Mythology and Medieval .

He pondered turning his interest towards Greek mythology. He remembers when Buck once went on a research binge after someone on a call commented on Athena’s name. It hadn’t been the first time it happened, but the man went on and on about the goddess Athena, citing books and papers he had read over the years. Buck had been so entranced that he went home that day to research the rest of the gods. It hadn’t been the first time, as it was something he was interested in as a kid. Eddie imagines a younger Buck sat cross-legged on the library floors, books stacked around him as he absorbed the stories and myths, with no one to share them with. 

He recalls a comment Buck made when he told the members of the 118 which character in Greek mythology he had associated with them; He had told Eddie he reminded him of Hyacinthus. 

After that shift, Eddie had gone on his own personal research quest. And maybe it was the blue light emitting from his phone screen at 3am that made him confess, in the solace of his bedroom, that Buck was most certainly his Apollo. 

But alas, he decides against it. Instead, he looks up at the section name beside it, the weight of the books seemingly bending the wood shelf trying to support their weight. In Buck’s handwriting, it read Poetry . 

Eddie hums to himself, letting his eyes trail along the titles on the spines. His eyes catch onto a familiar white book which reads Poems of Sappho . He reaches for it, thinking back to when Buck picked it up for Hen when she mentioned wanting to buy a book for Karen while she was recovering from the research center's explosion. 

He remembers seeing the book on Hen and Karen’s coffee table when visiting their house one day. He recalls the sparkle in Karen’s eye when he asked her about the book, a glass of wine in hand as she launched into a rant about the gift. She had shown him all the poems she tabbed, pen marks under some lines, the word HEN written on some, with hearts littered on the pages.

A softness creeps onto his features as he slots the book back into its place. He bends his knees, searching the books on the lower half of the shelf until he gets to the letter G written on a piece of painter’s tape. 

A book catches his eye; he runs his finger along its spine before slipping it off the shelf. His eyes scan the lemon-coloured cover, his heart skipping a beat. It’s a Pavlovian response, the colour reminding him of the tips of Buck’s curls. They are the same curls he threaded his hands through when his boyfriend was doing the dishes this morning and the same curls he lightly tugged on before they got in the car, catching him into a passionate kiss before heading to the passenger’s seat. 

The itch to turn around out of the maze of books and just drag Buck back to bed crawls up the skin of his neck. 

Maybe he should actually see what the book is about. 

The Prophet , it read in a simple black font. He recognizes the author, Kahlil Gibran. It’s one of the names that would pop up in his literature classes, the ones he’d try to memorize as he’d look up at his teacher, wide-eyed and youthful. He recalls, too, Shannon reading a novel of his– The Broken Wings , he thinks. She had told him to read it. He never got around to it.

He carefully opens the book to a random page, glossing over the words.

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

If you ask Eddie if he believes in divine intervention, he’ll surely fold his arms across his chest and grumble out a resounding no . But, he’ll think of this bookstore, and this book, and he will most certainly think of Buck . 

He straightens his legs, getting to his feet with a satisfied glint in his eyes. He checks his watch, noticing he only has about two minutes left before they regroup. He doesn’t bother looking anywhere else.

Eddie makes a mental note to ask Christopher if he’d like to join them the next time they visit the store, using the last of the allotted time to find out if they have a science fiction section. 

– 

Meanwhile…

Buck huffs frustratingly as he stands in front of the shelves filled with romance novels. His hands rest on his hips as he worries his bottom lip, his eyes scanning every book on the wooden platforms. 

Admittedly, Buck had always thought of buying books for Eddie. Hell, he was the whole reason he bought the one currently sitting on Eddie’s nightstand. But finding something with the intention of only Eddie reading it? Being worthy of living among the other books that Eddie decided to pick off their bookshelf? 

Perhaps he should have given himself more than thirty minutes. 

So, that’s how Buck finds himself scratching at the curls on his head, his eyebrows scrunched together pensively. Typically, when he’d walk into the store, he’d let Mrs. Robinson talk him into getting a book or go in there with a novel already in mind. But this feels far too significant to do haphazardly.

A tap on his shoulder nearly makes him jump out of his skin, the dainty finger quickly retracting with a laugh. 

“If we weren’t standing in my store, I would have thought you’d just been picking out a ring for your mister. What’s with the face, Firefighter Buckley?” Mrs. Robinson teases. 

The tension melts from his face for a brief second before he turns to the woman with a pleading look in his eyes. “I’m picking out a book for him,” Buck explains.

Mrs. Robinson only quirks her brow, prompting him to continue.

“It was a date idea thing. My date idea thing and I don’t even know what to pick,” he groans, his eyes flickering to the shelves in the store. 

The old woman, ever so patient, hums at his words. “The truth, my dear,” she asks. 

Buck lets out a sigh. “I want to pick something he likes. What if he hates it?”

“Sweetheart, he will not hate it,” Mrs. Robinson has a soft smile on her face. “Because it’s from you,” she says before he can protest.

His chest tightens at her words. The what if what if what if what if fights its way up the walls of his throat, snapping at his tongue. 

“Why don’t you come with me, dear?” Buck nods as she guides him towards the back of the store into the little room hidden behind the payment counter.

Buck wonders why she’s bringing him to the room where he’d often bring the shipment of books and help her sort through them. 

“I thought you might have forgotten about this,” Mrs. Robinson explains as she sets her cane to the side, reaching for a box labelled DO NOT TOUCH . 

He watches quizzically as she sets the box down on a table. 

She reaches into the box, digging out a book and Buck’s eyes widen.

He instantly recognizes it as a book by Agatha Christie. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, to be exact. 

–

“I don’t know if you’re right…” Taylor’s voice fades out as Buck hears the familiar clinking of keys at his door. 

The doorknob turns, revealing Eddie with a very determined look on his face. “I think I figured out the last part of his poem!” Buck beams at Eddie’s revelation, quickly waving him over. 

“Did you let yourself in?” she questions Eddie with a raised brow. “He has the key to your apartment?” 

Buck furrows his brows at her, honestly, rather ridiculous question. Why wouldn’t Eddie have the key to his place?

He quickly detaches himself from Taylor’s side, waving Eddie over to their clue board. 

“I have to be honest Eddie, I really thought I was going to be the one to figure this thing out. Not that your help isn’t appreciated,” Buck says, grabbing him a beer from the fridge.

Eddie smirks at him, leaning against the kitchen island. “Well, maybe I could give you a run for your money Mr. Wikipedia. ” 

Buck doesn’t realize he’s blushing until Taylor gives him a pointed look and he realizes how hot his face has gotten. 

He clears his throat, handing him the beer. He tries to ignore the pang of electricity coursing through his fingertips when they brush against Eddie’s. 

“Spill it, Diaz,” Taylor says, crossing her arms, “if you figured it out, someone else probably has.” 

He sees Eddie throw up a challenging brow, about to give them the answer to the riddle when Taylor’s phone buzzes in her pocket.

“Work?” Buck asks. 

Taylor hums the affirmative. “Big pile up on the I-15, my cameraman is waiting outside of the loft.” 

She leans up slightly, going in to kiss his cheek. As her lips press against his skin, Eddie looks over at him and they lock eyes. For a split second, his eyelids flutter shut and he imagines it’s Eddie leaning in to press his lips against his cheek. 

Would he leave a mark, a single lipstick stain, the same way his girlfriend does? 

“If you find this thing, remember our agreement.” Taylor’s words bring him back to reality and he tries not to look too dazed. He smiles at her, sweet as always, and waits for the moment she walks out the door. 

Buck immediately leans on Eddie, shoulder-to-shoulder, as soon as the doorknob clicks closed. His body melts, feeling his weight settle on him and he can almost imagine this is what two magnets feel like when they finally meet their match. At peace. At home.

Buck turns to him, smiling, and waits for Eddie to do the same. He waits to see his smile, full of teeth (particularly those two teeth he swears look like fangs. He thinks it’s cute, although he’d never tell him that.)

“C’mon Eddie, spill it,” he eggs on, nudging his shoulder, “how did you figure it out?” 

Buck watches as Eddie’s smile grows almost bashful, turning away from him slightly. 

He feels him shrug his shoulders at his question. “I used to read murder mysteries growing up,” Eddie replies nonchalantly. 

“Me too!” he says excitedly, temporarily detaching himself from him. “Agatha Christie, right? I feel like you’d like Poirot . Hell, I think you could totally rock his moustache.” 

Eddie’s face scrunches at the idea. “I never actually read any of her books. I read a lot of G.K. Chesterton, though.”

“Father Brown!” Buck adds, “You’ve read Chesterton but you haven’t read anything from The Queen of Crime?”

Eddie simply laughs at the exasperated look on his face. 

– 

Buck fishes through more of the box, pulling out a small black book. Maurice by E.M. Forster, it reads. He clutches the book in his hand as his mind drifts back to Eddie.

–

“I want to be happy.”

Eddie’s voice cuts through the comfortable silence in his kitchen as Buck scoops a ridiculous amount of Snickerdoodle cookies onto a baking tray. 

The rhythmic clicking of the cookie scoop pauses at his words as Buck gazes up at his friend.

Buck tries to catch his gaze, read the expression on his face that prompted the sudden declaration, but he gets nothing. Eddie continues to stare down at the beer bottle he’s been nursing, picking at the label absentmindedly. 

Buck sighs thoughtfully, wiping his dough-covered hands on his KISS THE COOK apron.  “What was stopping you before?” It’s a loaded question, he knows, but he would stand there listening to Eddie for as long as he needed. The statement brings him back to a couple of years ago – a worried Christopher pretending to sleep in his bed while Buck sat across from a very vulnerable Eddie.

I’m afraid I’m never going to feel normal again.

“A… friend told me I was denying myself joy, punishing myself even more than I already feel punished,” Eddie replies, his voice full of sincerity. Buck notices his eyes flickering towards the end of the hall, Chris’ empty bedroom before he continues. “I should be allowed to feel happy. I want to feel happy.”

Buck turns his body towards Eddie, his eyebrows crinkling and he swears he sees Eddie’s finger twitch. 

“This isn’t just about Christopher,” Buck says exactly what Eddie’s thinking. 

“This isn’t just about Christopher,” Eddie repeats, finally looking up to meet Buck’s worried eyes.

Buck recognizes something in Eddie’s body language, something familiar that he can’t quite pinpoint. 

“I want to be happy with myself, who I am,” he explains. “But I also want to find someone. I want to find someone Christopher will be happy growing up around, someone who makes me happy and loves me.”

Buck nods, taking his words in. 

“Is this about Marisol or… Kim?” Buck says carefully. 

Eddie lets out a pitiful laugh. “I guess so. But also, not really.” 

Buck doesn’t really have control over his face in response to those words. It confuses him, like there’s something he’s not saying, something just out of reach that he wants to touch and hold. 

He watches Eddie wrinkle his hands together, his hazelnut eyes darting everywhere but where Buck wants them to be. He lets Eddie settle, shuffling a few more times before he watches him take a deep breath, closing his eyes.

“I think I’m gay.” 

Oh.

Maybe that’s not what Buck was expecting. But now he recognizes the anxiety, the intense feeling of like the world is tumbling down and everything is about to change. 

But he remembers Eddie’s calming eyes. 

It was a date .

He remembers the joking, to ease his worry.

It doesn’t change a thing between us, okay?

He remembers the hug, the feeling of Eddie’s hand covering his waist gripping him tighter than he swears he ever has before. 

By the time Eddie opens his eyes, Buck has forgotten to reply, his eyes brimming with tears at the sheer trust the man has in him. 

He came out to him. He came out and he wants to walk this journey with Buck.  

“Okay,” Buck says simply because accepting Eddie is the easiest thing he’s ever had to. 

Eddie shoves his shoulder lightly. “Okay? I hugged you and told you this didn’t change a thing between us and I get an ‘okay’?” he teases. 

In a second, Buck throws his arms around him, his fingers brushing through the hair on the nape of his neck, holding him close. He angles his head into Eddie’s hair, smiling at the scent of the coconut shampoo he left behind at the house one day. 

“I’m so proud of you.” The words are muffled into his brown locks. Eddie raises his arms, wrapping them softly around Buck’s large frame. He feels Eddie relax against him. 

Happy , Buck thinks. I want him to be happy.

–

“You always tossed one aside when talking about that boy,” Mrs. Robinson teases, pulling out another stack of books. 

Buck ducks his head, blushing. He sets the two books he pulled out aside and fishes for another. 

Persuasion? He looks at the book quizzically, flipping it over to the back. He racks his brain, trying to remember when he picked this one out-

“Oh! That was one of my favourites,” Mrs. Robinson exclaims. “A book about second chances, you will never go wrong with a Jane Austen.” 

A book about second chances. 

The words echo in his head, bouncing around and clawing at his memories.

He thinks of Shannon. He thinks of Daniel. He thinks of Maddie. He thinks of Bobby.

“I’ll take it.” 

The timer he set for himself buzzes on his phone. 

Mrs. Robinson jumps at the sound and he apologizes, muting the timer. 

“I should get back to the counter,” she says, smoothing out her dress. “Take as long as you need, my dear. And let me know which ones you decide to pick out.”

“Want me to tell your Eddie you’re back here?” She asks.

Buck thinks for a moment, shaking his head. “I’ll be right out, but can you do me a favour?”

Mrs. Robinson smiles at his words.

–

Meanwhile…

Eddie’s eyes dart around the store looking for Buck before decidedly landing on Mrs. Robinson, who was tending to one of the tables in the store. He smiles at her and she reciprocates, waving him over. 

“Have you seen Buck?” He asks once he’s close enough. 

A mischievous grin appears on her face before she hides it under a smaller smile. 

“I don’t think I have,” she says dismissively, “but I’m sure he’s not far, sweetheart.” Eddie tilts his head questioningly at her answer, but she quickly interrupts him before he can press further.

“I almost forgot! These are on the house,” she exclaims, rummaging through the table before picking up a few items. “Mr. Buckley is always buying these when he comes in – oh these are his favourite!” 

She hands him a packet of pastel, transparent sticky tabs with a matching pen and highlighter. 

Eddie had been well acquainted with his boyfriend’s annotating habits when he started poking around his book stash. 

If you ask Eddie, he might not understand it, but finds it incredibly endearing nonetheless. He imagines all the ideas Buck wants to share about a book, his thoughts dancing on the tip of his tongue.

He can picture the impatient tapping of his finger on the book's spine, unable to discuss his ideas on paper and opting to pick up a pen instead, scribbling down the words bouncing in his head before a new one takes over. 

Even after seeing the reactions or mindless doodles littered across the pages, Eddie never picked up the habit. He can still hear the clicking of his mother’s tongue when he’d get too excited, too into a story, that his fingers would stretch out and wrinkle the spine. 

He could still see his abuela’s apologetic smile as she handed him a book off her precious bookshelf, the dogged-eared pages warm and inviting as they’d sit quietly together in her living room. 

He places the little annotating kit on top of Buck’s book, smiling at her. As he goes to thank her, a large, familiar frame appears behind the woman. He can’t help but widen his grin, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. Eddie quickly hides his book behind his back.

“Hi,” Buck says, almost bashfully. Eddie doesn’t question the slight flush of his cheeks, chalking it up to the anticipation of seeing what Eddie has chosen for him. 

Mrs. Robinson looks between the two of them, throwing them a knowing smile, before saying something about being at the register once they are ready to check out. Truthfully, Eddie hadn’t been paying too much attention to her words. 

“Are you ready, baby?” Eddie asks, rubbing circles on the book with his thumb. It’s a nervous tic, one that comes out of hiding when he’s around Buck. It’s not his fault he takes one look at that man and decides he needs to give him the entire world or more if he asks.  

And Buck isn’t any better; he’d think he’d be over the relationship jitters by now. Even after having known each other for almost a decade and living together for quite some time now, he just wants to make Eddie happy, wants to be the solid ground under his feet.

“Yeah,” Buck replies. It comes out as a soft whisper, but Eddie hears him anyway. 

“Same time?” Eddie asks.

“Same time.” 

They lock eyes before bringing their items forward from behind their backs, bringing them to eye level. 

Buck is the first one to crack, forcing his eyes away from Eddie’s hazelnut ones to peer at the book in his hand. He reads the title, then the author, and a small gasp leaves his parted lips.

“Kahlil Gibran!” Buck looks back up at Eddie, a grin forming on his face. “I love his poems,” he explains. “Maddie got me my first poem book. I think it was right before she left the house, it was called The Wanderer . I was upset at her, so I never got around to reading it, but after I left home I started collecting books and finally opened it. I never wanted to put it down.” 

Eddie smiles warmly, exchanging the books in their hands as Buck speaks. “I don’t remember seeing any of his books on your shelf,” Eddie replies.

“ Our shelf,” Buck quickly corrects, “I don’t keep it there. It felt too personal to just leave out in the open, y’know?” He doesn’t tell him that he keeps it in a safe box alongside his birth certificate, passport, and letters and drawings that Christopher has made for him throughout the years.

“I love it, seriously , how did you know?” It’s a rhetorical question, really. Buck knows why, because Eddie cares about him and listens to him, no matter how long he speaks for. Eddie always listens. 

“It just reminded me of you,” Eddie replies simply, as if it doesn’t warm the entire surface of Buck’s chest. He wills himself not to kiss him right then and there.

Eddie gazes down at his novel. He can’t help but notice how pretty the cover is, taking in the intricate drawing of the woman. Jane Austen’s Persuasion . 

He recalls Shannon lending him her copy of Pride and Prejudice right before she was pregnant. She never got around to finishing it, and neither did he, the copy likely living somewhere in his parents’ basement along with everything else he left behind in El Paso.

He knows he’ll finish this one, though. He’ll cherish every word. 

He must have been lost in thought because Eddie’s watery eyes glance up to meet Buck’s worried face. 

“I love you,” Eddie says, watching as every muscle in Buck’s face softens. 

He doesn’t remember when or if he ever told Buck about his love for classical books. The man has a tendency to just read his face and know , like he’s soaking in every single one of Eddie’s innermost thoughts with ease. 

Eddie pulls him into a hug, careful not to drop the book as he wraps his arms around Buck. “You got me a book.” The words are muffled into his neck. 

Buck laughs softly, melting at the feeling of Eddie’s hands resting on his spine. “I love you too,” he says, leaning into his touch. “I hope you like it.”

To Buck’s dismay, his boyfriend pulls away at his words, his right hand covering Buck’s hip while he holds his new book in the other. “I love it,” he says, before leaning in, the heels of his feet lifting off the ground as he pecks his pink lips, “because it’s from you.” 

Buck smiles against Eddie’s lips, stealing another kiss before pulling back. He lets out a small, fake gasp, clutching his free hand to his chest. His smile morphs into a cheeky grin. “Are you, Eddie Diaz, flirting with me?” 

Eddie huffs, shaking his head with a smile as he pushes off Buck’s body. He grabs Buck’s unoccupied hand, leading them towards the register. “Just for that, you’re paying,” he replies. 

Buck lets out a wounded sound, giggling when Eddie nudges him with his shoulder. 

“Robinson gave you the tabs, didn’t she?” Buck asks, looking down at the gift in his hand. 

“What makes you say that?” he replies, quirking his brow, although the pink blush on his cheeks gives it away.

“Sweetheart, the first time you saw me writing in one of my books, you nearly fainted,” he counters. 

“Can’t you let me indulge in your habit?” Eddie says, turning towards him as they place their books onto the counter for Mrs. Robinson to scan. 

“I’ll let you indulge in more than that,” Buck says with a wink.

Eddie scoffs, about to answer, when Mrs. Robinson coughs, grabbing their attention.

“Will that be all?” she asks. 

Buck made sure to leave extra coins in the tip jar. 

–

Buck tilts his head to the right every time they reach a red light or stop sign, only for his eyes to be met with the sight of a giddy Eddie Diaz. It isn’t a long drive back home and he’s content with the comfortable silence if only to keep staring at the grin Eddie can’t seem to wipe off his face. 

The man clutches his and Buck’s books so close to his chest that you would think he was trying to fit them into his ribcage, keeping them away from the rest of the world– something only Eddie and Buck could reach. 

If it weren’t for the tiny bit of self-control he is clinging to, he would have already told Eddie he bought at least five more books for him that are lying comfortably under the backseat. 

–

They finally settle down at home, deciding to take the second half of their date to the couch.

Eddie, tasked with making the space as cozy as possible, leaves their two favourite mugs on the counter as the coffee brews. It may be the middle of the afternoon, but sue him for wanting to pamper his boyfriend. 

He feels two strong, secure arms wrap around his waist as he pours the last cup. “Are you joining me?” Buck mutters into Eddie’s skin, peppering a few kisses along the column of his neck. 

Eddie shudders from the attention. He smiles warmly as he turns in Buck’s arms, holding the cups. He pecks his lips and his nose, and his cheeks for good measure. “Lead the way, cowboy.”

Buck plops himself down, handing Eddie a blanket he retrieved from their room. He convinces him to buy a new one every time they shop around and his lover, ever-so-smitten, doesn’t put up a fight. 

Eddie suppresses a giggle, watching Buck settle into the couch, his small, circular reading glasses lying on his nose. He wants to joke about his boyfriend looking like Harry Potter, but he doesn’t think he would get the reference. 

He settles down beside him, leaving a little space between their shoulders. Truthfully, they’ve never actually read together, or at least sat down with the intention of doing so. It makes him slightly nervous if he’s being honest, but the feeling of the warm blanket mixed with the hot liquid moving down his throat puts him at ease. 

Buck, as many times as he’d tease Eddie for the rectangular eyeglasses that hang on the tip of his nose, loves them. He can’t quite explain it – the mushy feeling that rises in his chest when Eddie wears them around the house. He looks so homely and it just feels so… domestic. He doesn’t try to strain his eyes, or to squint at the small lettering for the sake of some performance. 

He feels comfortable and safe with him.  

So, he wears his reading glasses. And so does Buck. 

He notices though, that after Eddie takes a sip from his drink, he immediately grabs his book, takes his bookmark, which Buck had set down on the coffee table, and flips through to the first page.

After a few beats, Eddie notices out of the corner of his eye that Buck’s book is still laying there next to his abandoned coffee mug. 

He turns to his boyfriend with a confused expression until the sight hits him.

Buck’s pouting, honest-to-god pouting at his boyfriend.

He’s going to marry this man one day. Maybe sooner rather than later.

“Baby?” He tilts his head, trying his best not to laugh. 

“You’re too far away,” Buck explains, his pout morphing into somewhat of a cheeky grin. “And that just won’t do.” 

Before Eddie could reply, he lets out a small gasp as Buck grabs his ankles, hauling his legs up onto the couch until they are settled over his lap.

He looks at Buck, who looks positively proud of himself, eyes wide, before letting out a fit of giggles. Buck can’t help but join in.

“Better?” Eddie asks, once their joint laughter subsides.

Buck hums for a moment, pretending to mull over the question as he smoothes his hands over Eddie’s knees. He leans towards his boyfriend, careful not to crush him in the process. 

“Much,” kiss, “better,” kiss. 

With the position of Eddie’s frames on his nose, their glasses clink together every time their lips touch, making a small clink sound. It feels so them – he can’t help but peck him just one more time before Buck fully pulls away, settling back into the couch cushions. 

Satisfied, he picks up his book, along with the pen and tabs Eddie got for him, and rests them against his boyfriend’s knees. 

Eddie smiles at him before getting comfortable against the throw pillows, opening the book he abandoned on his lap. He glances at the clock perched above the fireplace. It reads 2:00 pm. 

He knows he’ll have to leave in an hour to pick up Christopher from school, then figure out what to make for dinner, and finally get into bed before repeating the cycle over again tomorrow. And that means he’ll have to get up, no longer a couple inches away from Buck’s scrunched nose as he scribbles down onto his book’s pages. 

But, it doesn’t seem so bad. He can do this tomorrow, and the day after, he thinks. And once he finishes this book, he knows he and Buck can go out to buy a new one. 

So, he cracks open his book, relishing in that new-book smell, and lets his eyes soak up the words on every page.