just to sit outside your door

It's a hard thing, to begin learning the extent of your love for someone and have to leave them anyway.

The button down makes Eddie’s neck feel suffocated. There’s a voice in his head telling him to embrace the feeling, because it’s what he deserves. There’s another voice, probably Father Brian’s, telling him that he needs to stop punishing himself.

Eddie ignores both voices, because the clothes and the research and this awful meeting with the realtor aren’t for him; they’re for Chris. His son, whom he misses so much. His son, who’s growing up without him. His son, who is the beginning and end and most of the middle of Eddie’s happiness either way.

He repeats that like a mantra to himself as he swipes on house after house that seemed utterly foreign to him. He finds himself wishing he didn’t have to do this alone. If his son was here, if his parents had bothered to check in with him, if he had a partner to look with him…none of this would seem quite so hard. On his own, Eddie feels adrift. He’s got no point of reference, and it makes him feel unstable, like he can't trust his own judgement.

The knock on his door is a welcome distraction, even if Eddie’s pulse begins to race like he’s been caught cheating at something. On someone.

Eddie rolls his eyes at himself as he walks towards the door - you can’t cheat on a house….can you?

Eddie’s just idly hoping that it’s Buck outside when the door opens, and the man himself walks in.

“Buck? What’re you….doing here?” He feels like he’d been caught red handed. He can feel the ipad behind him like a murder weapon, lurking out in the open.

“I almost relapsed, I almost called Tommy…” Buck begins, sweeping past him as he offloads another mound of baked goods.

Eddie feels something ugly twist in his gut.

Tommy. Everything seems to be about Tommy these days.

And that isn’t fair - Buck doesn’t know that Eddie was struggling this much, yet he still spends most of his time trying to help Eddie. The least Eddie can do is support him as he goes through another break up, especially when Buck seems so hung up on Tommy…

Eddie just can’t fathom why.

Eddie bites into his scone with a sigh, turning as Buck starts searching the kitchen for ingredients. He wants to make fun of Buck, or roll his eyes at the fact that apparently Tommy is still an issue, although snickerdoodles do sound good…

“This is actually pretty good, Buck,” he comments.

Eddie watches as Buck meets his gaze, turning from the cabinets and relaxing ever so slightly. Something warm and grateful is shining in Buck’s eyes, and Eddie looks away, his mouth dry.

Buck starts listing ingredients, then, and Eddie wishes he could just forget this whole goddamn mess, and just sit there and listen. Buck looks more at home in Eddie’s kitchen than Eddie ever has. Eddie wanders over to the table behind him, listening to the recipes Buck is spouting from memory with his endless intelligence, beginning to think maybe he can just sit down with Buck for a little while. Have a few beers, retire to the couch like usual, convince Buck to stay until morning….

Shit.

He catches sight of the iPad again, sitting innocuously on the table, and a bolt of horror tears through him. Buck will see it if he just looks down.

How do you tell one of your favourite people in the world that you’re leaving them?

How do you leave at all?

Eddie approaches the iPad slowly, flipping it just before Buck can get a good look. He feels childish doing it…and even more childish when Buck catches him.

“What was that?” “Hmm?” Eddie feels his pulse ratchet. Look natural, shake your head, rub your hands, focus on the baking…

“You flipped the tablet, Eddie…” Buck’s looking at him with a strange mixture of curiosity, humour and something Eddie can’t identify all mingled in his piercing gaze.

His eyes are so blue; Eddie feels pinned by them.

“What’re you looking at, Eddie?” Buck smirks, and Eddie feels his stomach drop.

“Wha-, uh…” Eddie spluttered. His face is hot.

“Whoah, sorry, none of my business,” Buck says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. His eyes are twinkling. Oh god, Eddie would do anything to avoid being the one to put out that light…

A part of Eddie just has time to distantly register that ‘none of Buck's business’ is bullshit, because Eddie’s business is Buck’s business, before it’s too late anyway. Buck flips the tablet.

His eyes go wide, brow furrowed in confusion, and then something else. Something worse.

Eddie swallows. He can feel his heart all echoing in his ears; it’s making his chest hurt.

Maybe, if he hadn’t let Buck find out, he could have put it off. It wouldn’t have to be real…

He answers Buck’s cautious questions, waiting, waiting, waiting for the pin to drop. Buck’s smart enough to know he isn’t moving within LA. Knows him well enough to know moving for any other reason is unfathomable. And yet it still takes a few minutes before the realisation dawns on Buck’s face, slow and sickening and poisonous.

“I’m tired of missing out on all my son’s big moments before he grows up,” Eddie explains. His voice is so dry it cracks right down the middle.

That makes him want to laugh - of course it does, because Eddie’s cracking right down the middle. One half is with Christoper, like always, and the other…

Buck looks straight at him, blue eyes so piercing it almost hurts. “When..uh…So, so when would this be happening?”

Eddie can’t meet Buck’s eyes. Not like this. Not right now, not with this button down obstructing his airways and the tablet heavy in his hands.

“I have this meeting with the real estate agent in a few minutes,” he confesses, waiting for Buck to get it. “And that’ll get the ball rolling.”

He can’t quite say it: as soon as possible.

Because that would imply Eddie wants to leave, when he doesn’t.

And that would also tell Buck to leave, which Eddie really doesn’t want, even if he knows it's inevitable. Buck will leave Eddie alone, and Eddie won’t even be able to blame him because he’s the one leaving for good.

“Hence the button down,” Buck clarifies, because he knows Eddie far, far too well.

“Hence the button down,” Eddie agrees.

Buck looks at him, then looks at the tablet. Looks at him again.

Eddie feels like a wild, longing thing in that moment, like whole rose gardens are growing beneath Buck’s stare, snaking vicious thorns around the hope in Eddie’s heart and suffocating his ribs. They wither and live and die in endless cycles as the moment stretches. He wishes Buck would stay, wishes that beneath the longing he wasn’t so alone, wishes wishes wishes for a thousand ungrateful things that aren’t his to ask for.

“Well, we should move this party to the couch,” Buck says abruptly, already moving, casual as you like.

Eddie turns, the word ‘We?’ already spilling from his lips.

He follows Buck without thinking - like always - as his best friend strolls easily for the living room.

Buck only looks back once, a kind smile and an easy shrug his response. “You’re going to need a wingman,” he said. “Some of these places are tragic; I don’t trust you to pick a nice one on your own.

And oh. Oh.

Isn’t that a nice thought?

Buck’s right; Eddie is tragic on his own.

But Buck goes to sit on the coffee table in that way of his, even though he’s far too tall to make it work, and he looks so at home there that Eddie can almost believe Buck lives there permanently.

“I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” he replies, turning to hide the smile that stretches across his face.

He’s not alone after all.

Throughout the whole awkward call with the realtor, Buck is both a sounding board for Eddie’s increasingly less hesitant questions and comments, and an invaluable contributor himself. For the umpteenth time, Eddie finds himself wondering what he would do without his best friend. He really, really doesn't want to find out.

As the call begins to wind up, Eddie finishes his beer, placing it on the coffee table and leaving his hand on Buck’s leg. He wants to communicate silently that he’s so grateful to Buck - he doesn't have the words to do it out loud. He wants Buck to know despite all of this, he hopes Buck will never be too far away.

“What do you think?” Eddie can’t help asking Buck, once the realtor finally, finally logged off.

Buck has been chipping in with so many useful questions and comments - but Eddie wants to know the whole of what his best friend thinks. Now that the realtor is no longer listening, he feels like they can be themselves entirely.

Buck places his hand over Eddie’s, and Eddie wishes the few points of contact felt like enough. He wants more. But that’s the problem with Eddie. He always wants more.

“I think it’s a good start!” Buck said, tone chipper. Like always, his voice is like a light out of the tunnel of Eddie’s thoughts. “I mean most of these options aren’t ideal, but the realtor seems to know where to go from here in terms of balancing your practical needs and your tastes.”

He’s so assured of himself, Eddie almost finds himself convinced.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Eddie just can’t fathom how he’s going to manage the rest of this without Buck. He should be grateful that Buck has come to help him at all - and yet, of course, Eddie has to be greedy. He wants Buck’s help with everything. He doesn’t think he’s capable of doing anything without him.

“Is there anything else? Anything you didn’t ask the realtor, I mean?” Buck’s tone is light, but the tension in his shoulders belies his worry.

Buck wears his every emotion like paint on a canvas, ink on a page. Eddie knows he tries to hide it when he’s sad, or worried - Buck never wants to be a burden on anyone else. But no matter what everyone else thinks, Eddie has never once been fooled.

Eddie sighs. There’s no point hiding anything from Buck. His best friend is incapable of ever letting things go.

“I never…” Eddie doesn’t know how to explain the mess of emotions that choke his chest. How does he tell Buck how scared he is, when moving is his idea? It’s not like he can ask Buck to come with him, as much as he wishes he could. “I gave the realtor a radius that would be relatively close to Chris and the station I’d have to transfer to. But I never explained why I needed to be close to him. I haven’t told Chris anything yet, and I don’t even know where to start-”

Buck puts a hand on Eddie’s arm, and Eddie trails off.

“Woah, Eddie. It’s fine. One step at a time, okay?”

Eddie looks at Buck, reminding himself to breathe.

The choking feeling in his chest loosens slightly, or maybe Eddie is just getting a little lost in the blue of Buck’s eyes. They’re wide, and warm, and reassuring. It’s unfair, how much Eddie wants to get lost in them. He looks at Buck, and even with the other man right beside him… he wants.

“Thanks,” Eddie whispers, and it’s not enough for either of them.

Buck ducks his head in that way of his - a blush creeping up his cheeks.

Oh, how Eddie wants.

“Anything I can do to help, anything at all. Just let me know.”

Eddie takes a long breath, letting it go as slowly as his lungs can bear.

Buck always offers so much - too much. He doesn’t seem to realise that Eddie would keep taking - taking and taking until Buck has nothing left to give. Buck has been drained dry by so many people before. Eddie won’t, can’t, be one of those people. He’s already ruined things with Chris. Buck is too precious to risk.

But maybe, if Buck is at his side, Eddie can find the strength to fix this whole mess on his own. Maybe, just this once, he’ll be able to keep everything he needs.

Buck spends the rest of the evening helping him with real estate prices and planning and reassurances, and Eddie collects every piece of advice like a precious stone. By the time Buck leaves that evening, Eddie feels lighter than he has in months. Years, maybe.

Just this once, maybe he’ll get this right. He’s letting himself be happy. He’s going to get his son back, no matter what it takes. And he feels confident that through it all, his best friend will always be by his side.

***

It’s a hard thing, learning the extent of your love for someone by losing them.

Buck sits on the couch - Eddie’s couch, because where else does he find the couch comfortable - and realises in a horrific flood of feeling that he’s about to lose his best friend.

No, not lose. He’s about to watch his best friend walk away, run towards the rest of his life - a life that doesn’t have Buck in it. And Buck, the hopeless fool that he is, is going to help him.

What can he do, but help Eddie?

“You want some of these?” Eddie asks, munching on his third scone of the morning.

It takes Buck a moment to understand the question. Because Evan “Buck” Buckley wants a lot of things. He wants to call his ex-boyfriend, because he doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. He wants a drink, something stronger than beer. He wants the hollow nauseous feeling in his gut to go away. Somehow, all of these things have combined into one solution: he wants Eddie Diaz to stay.

What he doesn’t want is a sad consolation baked good.

“Nah, I’m good,” he replies, instead of saying any of that. “I’ve eaten so much baking in the last week, I think I need about a month off. I’ll take a beer though.”

In anyone else’s house, he would never be so presumptuous. But this is Eddie’s house, so he isn’t really a guest. A fact proven when, after grabbing two beers from the fridge, Eddie brings his laptop over to where Buck sits. Dumping his supplies of food and alcohol on the coffee table, Eddie sits at Buck’s side. Even the familiar feeling of Eddie’s leg pressed against Buck’s isn't tangible enough to stop Buck’s spiral. Eddie is so real beside him; it’s unfathomable that he could leave.

And yet Buck knows that Eddie needs this move, needs to see Chris, needs Buck’s help to make all of this work.

So for the next hour, Buck sits beside his best friend and speaks to a realtor about houses in El Paso, houses that are thirty minutes from good schools and twenty minutes from the fire station in El Paso and seven hundred and eighteen minutes from Buck, left behind here in Texas.

Buck doesn’t think about that. He thinks about traffic times and foundations and bones, and colour schemes and decor and insulation. He thinks about the look on Chris’ face when his Dad finally comes home to him, the look on Eddie’s when he realises that his son misses him just as much as he does the teen. Buck thinks about Eddie’s new life, and very carefully ignores the fact that he won’t be in it.

“What do you think?” Eddie asks, after hanging up. Cautious, uncertain, scared.

He leant over to put down his empty beer ten minutes ago, and left his hand on Buck’s knee as he did so. Buck puts his hand over his friend’s, squeezing in gentle reassurance. His mouth is so dry, and not from the beer.

“I think it’s a good start! I mean most of these options aren’t ideal, but the realtor seems to know where to go from here in terms of balancing your practical needs and your tastes.” Confident, assured, relaxed.

Buck is so good at this.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Eddie is staring into space, like the hardwood floor is more interesting to him than this conversation. Like he’s lost.

But Buck is good at this, goddammit. He knows how to read Eddie, always has. “Is there anything else? Anything you didn’t ask the realtor, I mean?”

He forces himself to keep a light tone, even though he dreads Eddie’s answer.

Buck knows there’s something wrong; Eddie’s warm brown eyes are less intense, more glassy than usual. His usually expressive face is just a little too flat.

Buck knows a lot of things - facts, figures, firefighting. But if he lost his whole memory, lost every brain cell he had, he knows he’d still be able to understand Eddie Diaz. Would always be able to read him like a holy book.

His best friend hums, thinking through his answer.

“I never…” A long pause. “I gave the realtor a radius that would be relatively close to Chris and the station I’d have to transfer to. But I never explained why I needed to be close to him. I haven’t told Chris anything yet, and I don’t even know where to start-“

Buck puts a hand on Eddie’s arm, leaning closer. He can only hope his presence grounds Eddie half as much as the other man’s touch did him. “Woah, Eddie. It’s fine. One step at a time, okay?”

Eddie looks at him then, finally looks at him for the first time in this whole wretched hour.

His brown eyes are like pools Buck could sink into; it’s both relaxing and overwhelming at once. If Buck never moved from this moment, he thinks it would be safer…

Fun fact: quicksand is a colloid, two substances at once. It’s only dangerous when agitated, meaning you're completely safe until the moment you try to move…

Eddie is just so…Eddie. Sometimes Buck feels like he doesn’t know what to do with it all, like he wants something he doesn’t even have the words for.

“Thanks,” Eddie whispers, so close to Buck’s ear the words are barely even there.

Buck feels a prickle down his neck. He ducks his head, fighting the warmth in his cheeks. “Anything I can do to help, anything at all. Just let me know.”

Eddie squeezes his wrist in thanks. Buck watches him do it, watches his hand release Buck and then disappear entirely.

He wishes Eddie would stay.

But then Eddie is standing up, putting out the recycling, opening more tabs on his computer and looking at houses again. The moment is over. Buck’s skin feels cold in his wake.

Eddie is leaving.

They spend the rest of the evening together, so close to normal that it make his skin itch, because the whole world may well have shifted for Buck. That night, he turns down Eddie’s familiar offer to crash on the couch. He goes back to his apartment instead. He doesn’t switch on any lights; he knows his way in the dark (fun fact, completing actions enough times creates a new neural pathway between the central nervous system and the muscles you’re moving, allows things to become muscle memory). In bed, he lies awake for hours, trying his hardest to stop thinking and managing nothing better than two paltry hours of restless sleep.