#ask emma

[clusterbuck]

"don’t hog the blanket." (bonus if it's pre-relationship teehee)

chimney insists it isn’t a destination wedding, since he and maddie went to the courthouse the day after he proposed and made it official.

(“just—you know. tomorrow isn’t promised, and all that,” he’d said, and the gathered frontrunners of the guinness world record for most deaths evaded, also known as his closest friends and colleagues, had nodded.

“and we don’t want to do a whole big thing, anyway,” he’d added. “we have a kid and a house. there are approximately seventy-three betters ways for us to spend that kind of money, and that’s just off the top of my head.”)

but everyone agreed there should be something—some way of celebrating their marriage, and maybe also the fact that they’re all still alive. as time goes by, it feels more and more like something to celebrate.

there’s some arguing, several votes, and some creative scheduling on bobby’s part, and they end up with a long weekend at an airbnb an hour outside of los angeles, spouses invited but children not.

buck drives them both up, because of course he does. the only discussion had been what time should i pick you up? and eddie tries to ignore it, like he always tries to ignore the way he and buck default to each other time and time again.

it doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. it’s just that you’ve been friends for so long, and know each other so well, and sometimes when you close your eyes you imagine him—

it doesn’t mean anything, he tells himself. everything is fine.

they leave after maddie finishes a shift, and get in around dinner time. straws are drawn over who gets to make dinner, and bobby emerges the lucky winner.

“why don’t the rest of you get settled in the meantime?” he suggests. “i’ll be quick.”

maddie starts handing out room keys, although eddie’s not entirely sure why any of them will need a bedroom door that locks.

he’s also not entirely sure he wants to find out.

“oh,” maddie says, looking up at him and buck. “i thought—hm. there’s not as many rooms as i thought there’d be.”

buck frowns. “meaning?”

“can you two share a room?” maddie asks. “just—everyone else is. well. married.” she laughs a little, then looks down at the floor, self-conscious. chimney shows up out of nowhere to press a kiss to her temple.

eddie blinks. he’d known this, of course, on an objective, rational level—but it hits him now, standing in the living room of this airbnb with it’s large windows for gorgeous natural light and whatever the fuck else the description had said.

everyone else is married.

everyone else is married, but more often than not he and buck are treated as an equivalent unit anyway. despite not being married. despite not even being—

“yeah, no problem,” buck says, then turns to look at eddie, something hiding behind the grin on his face. “just don’t hog the blanket.”

eddie scoffs. “you’re one to talk.”

“okay, excuse me,” buck says, “i have never woken with the entire blanket hidden behind my back—”

“that was one time—”

“okay,” maddie says, holding the key out to buck and trying and failing to cover up a laugh. “so you’ll be fine, then.”

yeah, eddie thinks. definitely. it’ll be fine.

and he manages to believe it all the way through dinner, and a surprisingly intense round of charades. he believes it all the way through changing into the pyjamas he’s glad he thought to bring, focusing on organising the pairs of socks in his duffel bag so he doesn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of buck.

then they crawl into bed, eddie avoiding looking at buck so intently that he doesn’t notice buck avoiding looking at him, and—

“you’re doing it,” buck grumbles. “you’re hogging the blanket.”

“am not,” eddie shoots back. “you’re hogging the blanket. i barely have any of it.”

“stop yanking,” buck says. “maybe if you weren’t so far away—”

“you’re far away,” eddie says without thinking, and beside him, buck huffs.

“i’m just gonna—” he mutters, then shuffles around, until suddenly his arm is thrown over eddie’s waist and his face is pressed to eddie’s shoulder. his feet tangle with eddie’s, and the blanket settles comfortably over both of them.

“there,” buck mumbles. “room for both of us.”

eddie makes a noise, one that he hopes buck will interpret as assent. as anything, really, other than what it is, which is eddie’s brain short-circuiting at the feeling of buck’s chest against his back. the weight of buck’s arm on him, and the way buck’s hand has slipped just under the hem of eddie’s t-shirt, his warm fingers splayed against the bare skin of eddie’s stomach. he’s pretty sure that when they get out of bed in the morning, the shape of buck’s hand will be seared into his skin.

he’s imagined this, once or twice before. what it would be like to share a life with buck, to have all these liminal moments he misses out on with the way things are now, the almost-but-not-quite that they never talk about. he’s imagined it, and if felt just like this, right down to how cold buck’s toes are when they brush against his legs and how eddie can’t bring himself to pull away.

but it doesn’t mean anything, eddie tells himself. everything is fine.

only—buck settles in closer and sighs, and eddie, who has spent years listening to every sound buck makes, recognises this one.

this is the sound buck makes when he’s home.

only one bed prompts 🛏️

[edibleemma93]

When’s your next trip to the Dr?

Hmm interesting question 🤔 I have a physical appt in the beginning of February, so I guess we'll see how that goes 🤭

[askexperiment105]

Tw for this blog:

Self harm.

Rules:

No nsfw questions

No fetish questions

She is a minor. So no gross stuff.

M!A are not allowed, however you can give her gifts and visit her.

I can assure you, this is not a Depression Blog, everything does get better for her! I have a plot set out for her!

[clusterbuck]

HELLO wrapped number fic prompt if u want: 62 👉👈

it is perhaps a little sacrilegous to reduce trample out the days to the line bury my heart at the rodeo but. i did it anyway

this is for all my cowboy eddie girlies 🫶🏻 and for anyone who actually knows things about rodeo: i am so sorry i googled my best

Later, Buck will deny the way Eddie tells the story. 

All I had to do was get on a horse, Eddie will say. That’s all it took.

And Buck will blush and grin and insist it was more than that, but—

That’s kind of the gist of it. 

What happens is this: the LAFD announces the theme for their annual fundraiser, and Buck loses his mind. (There are some steps in between, but those are the broad strokes of it.)

Through some quirk of fate, some accident of the universe—a universe, Buck has long since decided, that gets off on mocking him—the theme of this year’s fundraiser is rodeo. 

—

At first, this doesn’t seem like a problem. Buck is ready to laugh it off like he does every year, to make a perfunctory effort towards a costume, man whatever booth Bobby tells him to, and laugh about it with Eddie later. 

Then Eddie opens his mouth, and says something that makes the entire long table in the firehouse loft get whiplash turning to look at him. 

“I used to ride rodeo.”

Hen blinks, several times in quick succession. Chimney makes a strangled noise. Buck drops his spoon. 

It splashes back into his bowl of cereal, but everyone is too focused on Eddie to notice. 

“Please,” Chimney says, propping his chin in his hands like a teenage girl in a high school movie. “Do elaborate.”

“Not professionally or anything,” Eddie says. “But it was offered at my high school. Just gymkhana and stuff.”

“Oh, sure,” Hen says. “Just gymkhana. Okay.”

“Some people played football,” Eddie shrugs. “It’s not that different.”

“Not that different,” Ravi echoes. “Yeah, I can’t see any difference. Definitely not the horses or anything.”

“Other people ride horses,” Eddie tries to protest. 

“But not in the rodeo,” Chimney says.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Eddie says. He shoots Buck a look that might be saying help me, but Buck’s too distracted by the thought of Eddie on horseback to react. “I was never in the rodeo. Gymkhana was like—I don’t know, rec league. The events I rode aren’t even in real rodeos.” He grins. “Or—barrel racing is, but professionally that’s women only.” 

“None of this is helping you get out of this, Edmundo,” Hen says, and Eddie glares at her. “I’m sure they’ll find something for you to do.”

She looks to Bobby and they all follow, turning to see a grin spreading across his face. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure they will.”

—

And so Buck finds himself in a locker room just off the field at some small-town rodeo arena just outside of Los Angeles, watching Eddie pace back and forth in well-worn Wranglers and a faded flannel shirt. 

“Is this a bad idea?” Eddie mutters, then shakes his head. “Of course it’s a bad idea, god, I haven’t chased the cans in over a decade—”

Buck knows he should reassure Eddie, try to talk him off this ledge, but—

This is a version of Eddie he hasn’t even known to dream of. 

A version of Eddie who looks like he could have stepped off the cover of a western, who keeps mumbling words that Buck understands separately but not in the combinations he deploys them in. A version of Eddie who is about to mount a horse and race it around the barrels in front of the entire LAFD and everyone who’s turned out to support them. 

This is a version of Eddie that makes it hard for Buck to remember that thinking about Eddie is not something he does. Is not something he can do, not without spiralling into visions of a future he can never have. 

Buck has long since learned how to quiet those thoughts, how to tuck them between his ribs and lock them away. He’s made his peace with the fact that Eddie is his friend. But it seems his immunity doesn’t extend to a version of Eddie who rides in rodeos. 

“Buck?” Eddie asks, and when Buck looks up, there’s something vulnerable in his eyes. Eddie opens his mouth, his features crouched on the edge of a question—

And there’s a knock on the door. “You’re up next, cowboy,” Chimney calls, barely disguised glee in his voice. 

“I—that’s me,” Eddie says. “I’d better—”

“Yeah,” Buck says. 

Their eyes meet, and something passes between them. Something Buck can’t identify, like every time he tries to make its shape out, it shifts just out of reach. 

“Will you watch?” Eddie asks. 

Buck blinks. “Of course,” he says. Then: “Cowboy,” tacked on just a little too late to be natural. 

Eddie grins, a little tight around the edges. 

“You’ll be fine,” Buck says, softer now. “I’m sure riding a horse is just like—uh. Like riding a bike.”

That gets a laugh out of Eddie, though he shakes his head. “It’s really not,” he says. “But I’ve come down here to practice a few times. To get to know the horse. So she gets used to me.” 

“See?” Buck says. “You’ll be fine.”

Then Chimney knocks again, and Eddie squares his shoulders and heads out of the room. 

Buck makes his way to the edge of the field. He’s right by the starting line, perfectly positioned to see it when Eddie bursts out of the alley astride a beautiful chestnut horse, racing past the timer beam and towards the first barrel. 

The race itself is fast—barely twenty seconds after Eddie started, he’s cantering back in the opposite direction and crossing the finishing line. The electronic scoreboard in the corner beeps, updating the times, but Buck doesn’t look up to see how Eddie placed. His eyes are glued to Eddie, to the slight gleam of sweat along his forehead and the way muscles ripple under his jeans as he slows the horse down. He notices Buck watching, and he—

Eddie winks, and Buck’s mouth goes dry. 

He starts heading for the alley before his brain quite catches up with his feet, weaving his way along the edge of the field until he makes it to where Eddie is dismounting. 

(Buck would like to say he doesn’t stare at Eddie’s ass while he does, but he isn’t quite that shameless a liar.)

Eddie pats the horse’s neck and murmurs something, then hands the reins to someone hovering by the side. He turns to face Buck, exhilaration written clear across his face. “Did you see?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, with a grin of his own. “Eddie, that was—” 

Then he takes a breath. “I need you to know that this isn’t just about the horse,” he says, and grabs the front of Eddie’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. 

Eddie stands frozen for only a fraction of a second before his hands find Buck’s waist, pulling him impossibly close. He makes a muffled noise against Buck’s mouth, and it takes a moment for Buck to realise it’s a laugh. 

“Not just about the horse, huh?” Eddie murmurs when Buck pulls back with a questioning look. 

Buck laughs. “Full disclosure, it’s a little bit about the horse,” he admits. “But it’s mostly about you.”

“Good,” Eddie says, smiling softly. “Because this is about you.” And he leans in for another kiss. 

also on ao3!

send me a number for a spotify wrapped prompt!

[clusterbuck]

In an effort to keep your brain going I'm sending you the prompt "kissing your lover’s forehead, then bending down to meet their lips" <3

@rewritetheending (and @sibylsleaves and @captain-hen and @buckactuallys !) tagged me for fuck it friday so fuck it, here we go ! i was contemplating keeping this for something longer but i think i like it like this actually

The question seems to come out of nowhere, but Eddie knows Buck well enough to know he’s probably been turning it over in his mind for a while now.

“Do you ever miss Texas?” 

Eddie, laying half draped across Buck’s chest, hums. “Yeah.” 

“That was quick,” Buck says.

“Easy question,” Eddie replies, moving a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. “It’s my—it’s where I’m from. I’m always going to miss it.” 

“Huh,” Buck says. “I don’t miss Pennsylvania.” Then, softer, “Tell me about Texas.” 

“What do you want to know?” Eddie asks, tracing the outlines of Buck’s tattoos with his fingertips.

“Tell me what you miss about it?” It comes out as a question, a little hesitant and unsure.

“Man, there’s nothing like a Texas sunrise,” Eddie says, wistful. It’s been far too long since he’s seen one. “Not in the city, really, but my uncle had a ranch where we’d spend a lot of our summers. We’d stay up all night, sometimes, just to see the sun come up again.

“I don’t know,” he says, humming a soft noise into the skin above Buck’s ribs. “There’s a way it feels when you’re out in the fields on a hot summer night. I don’t know how to describe it.”

“I think the kids would call it a vibe,” Buck says.

Eddie snorts, then considers. “You know what? Yeah, it’s a vibe.”

“The Texas vibe,” Buck muses.

“And—I guess I miss being around my family,” Eddie says slowly. “I didn’t always see eye to eye with them, but it was still nice to have them all around. And not just my parents—my sisters, cousins, my abuela…”

Buck’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “Would you ever want to go back?” 

“To Texas?” Eddie asks, then realises what Buck is really asking. He scrambles to shift, turning until he’s propping himself up on Buck’s chest and can look Buck in the eye. “If you’re asking whether I want to move back to Texas, the answer is no.” 

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said,” Eddie says. “And I am always going to miss it. But that doesn’t mean I want to move back.” He shuffles up a little, runs a thumb along Buck’s cheekbone. “My life is here now. Our life is here.” 

“But—”

“No buts,” Eddie says, then grins. “We could go visit, though. Maybe go out to my uncle’s ranch. I bet you’d look good in a pair of Wranglers and a cowboy hat.” 

Buck doesn’t smile. “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m making you stay here.”

“Buck,” Eddie says. “You’re not. Look, if I actually wanted to move back, I promise I would bring it up, okay? But I don’t. El Paso is where I’m from, but LA is my home. It’s Christopher’s home. It’s our home.”

“If you’re sure,” Buck mumbles, but he doesn’t quite sound convinced. 

“Buck,” Eddie says again, gentle but firm. “Sweetheart. I’m sure.” When Buck doesn’t meet his eyes, Eddie reaches up to press his lips first to Buck’s forehead, then his cheek, then feather-soft against Buck’s lips. Buck holds out for only a second, then opens his mouth to let Eddie in, one hand snaking into Eddie’s hair and the other resting just below his ribcage.

“I love you,” Eddie murmurs, mouth still resting against Buck’s. He thinks maybe if Buck feels the words, it’ll be easier for him to believe them. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

He can feel Buck’s lips finally spread into a smile. “I love you,” Buck says, and then a glint appears in his eye. “So, Wranglers and a cowboy hat, huh?” 

Heat floods Eddie’s cheeks, but he grins. “I said what I said.” 

send me a kiss prompt 🫦

[clusterbuck]

for the wrapped prompts, number 29 if it sparks? 🫶🏻✨

number 29 is the pretender by lewis capaldi 💕

listen this is. nothing. this is only half in character maybe but i simply had to exorcise it from my brain so here we are

Buck wakes to the sound of his phone vibrating on his bedside table, and fumbles for it with one eye cracked half open.

“Hello?” he mumbles, and Maddie’s voice fills his ear.

“Happy birthday to you,” Maddie sings, “Happy—”

“Maddie,” Buck groans. “Stop.”

“Hey, I got through five words,” Maddie says, and Buck can hear the grin in her voice. “That’s more than last year.”

“Can’t we just—leave it,” Buck grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s just another day.”

“It’s your thirtieth birthday,” Maddie corrects. “I already promised I wouldn’t make a big deal, but you’re going to let me wish you a happy birthday.”

“I am?” Buck asks.

“Yeah,” Maddie says. “Happy birthday, Buck.”

Despite himself, Buck smiles. “Thanks, Maddie.”

—

He walks into the firehouse holding his breath, but no one says a word. Buck is equal parts relieved and disappointed.

Relieved, because it seems like no one remembers it’s his birthday.

Disappointed, because no one remembers it’s his birthday.

You chose this, he reminds himself. This is what you want.

He’s not quite sure it rings true.

He drops his things in the locker room and heads up to the loft, grabbing the seat next to Eddie at the kitchen table. Eddie knocks a knee against Buck’s, and nudges one of his two mugs of coffee over.

Buck wraps his fingers around the mug, grateful.

“Morning, Buck,” Bobby says from the stove, and the rest of the firefighters around the table echo the greeting with varying degrees of alertness, some mumbled directly into mugs of their own.

Chimney gives Buck a long look, but he doesn’t say anything.

Of course Chimney knows. Maddie probably told him. Hell, Chimney was probably right next to her when she called him this morning.

And all of a sudden, Buck feels ridiculous.

He should just say it. Now that he’s here, at work, a grown man actively trying to hide his birthday, it feels stupid.

But even though the words are on the tip of his tongue, he can’t quite get them out.

Don’t show off, a voice in his head says. Don’t be such an attention seeker.

Buck shakes his head to get rid of the words.

Beside him, Eddie turns and frowns, then nudges him with his shoulder when Buck doesn’t react.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, quiet so only Buck can hear. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Buck mumbles back. “Yeah, just thinking.”

The morning drags on, quiet. Buck finds himself alone in the app bay, restocking the ambulance and listening to the thoughts chasing themselves around his head.

Telling them is considerably less weird than hiding it.

But if I tell them, they’ll think I’m just doing it for the attention.

Then, Dr Copeland’s voice, the one time he’d brought it up to her: Don’t you deserve attention on your birthday? Doesn’t everyone?

And there it is, the thing that always trips him up.

Deserve.

Because—Buck knows fifty people who would describe him as an attention whore without batting an eye. Buck knows that if he voiced his thoughts to anyone, he’d get raised eyebrows and furrowed foreheads and heads cocked in confusion as they tried to square this information with the Buck they know—the one who runs down endless flights of stairs with a baby in their arms, who runs into fires and towards the sound of bullets, who would fight anyone on the team for the rope rescue any day of the week.

How could Buck—that very same Buck—not want the attention?

But it’s never been about the attention. He’s never done any of it for the accolades, for the pats on the back or the interviews on TV. And if people think that’s what he’s doing it for, that doesn’t matter—he’s still pulling people out of burning buildings. He’s still taking risks so that others don’t have to—so that his friends don’t have to. So that Eddie, Chimney, Bobby, and Hen can go home to their families at the end of the day.

If he was ever going to buy the concept of deserving attention, it would be for that.

But a birthday? It’s just a day. A day that comes with the added pressure to make it special, with the expectation that everyone fawn over him just because the Earth has completed another lap around the Sun. With the expectation that Buck expects people to fawn over him just because the Earth has completed another lap around the Sun.

It’s a day that his parents never celebrated, because Buck’s birth didn’t do the one thing it was supposed to.

So it’s just—easier. To act like it’s any other Tuesday.

—

Eddie materialises by his side some time later, bearing an expression that most closely resembles a grimace.

Buck raises his eyebrows.

“Cap said to wash the trucks,” Eddie says, half-apologetic, as if he’s the one who set the task.

Wow, happy birthday to me, Buck thinks, but the words stay in his mouth. The joke isn’t nearly funny enough to merit opening the can of worms he’s spent all day mulling over.

“All of them?” he asks instead, and Eddie nods.

They get to work, deep in the kind of companionable silence Buck had never realised he craved until he met Eddie. There are fragments of conversations scattered through, thoughts that arise and sink again below the surface, but mostly they are surrounded by the squeak of the sponge against the bright metal of the engine and the splash of the suds in the bucket.

Until Chimney practically storms up to them, that is.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he informs them. Eddie blinks in surprise, but Buck swallows.

“I know your sister says you have a weird thing about it,” Chimney continues, his words coming faster like a train picking up speed. “But I refuse to sit next to you all shift and not say happy birthday.”

Buck sighs.

Eddie turns to look at him, gaze so heavy it makes Buck look back. “It’s your birthday?” he asks. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I—” Buck swallows, then jerks a thumb at Chimney. “I have a weird thing about it.”

“Buck,” Eddie says, something suspiciously like sympathy softening his voice. Then he grins. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Buck mutters, then repeats it to Chimney, too, trying to sound at least a little bit gracious. It’s not their fault he’s carrying this around. He knows they’re being genuine.

“So I’m guessing this means you don’t want a big party?” Eddie asks, then bursts out laughing when he sees the look on Buck’s face.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “If you’re not into birthdays, you’re not into birthdays. It’s all good.” He smiles. “I’m still going to get you something, though. Call it an unbirthday gift, or whatever you want.”

And Buck nearly laughs, because the one thing he wants from Eddie isn’t something he could wrap up and tie off with a bow.

But that’s a different can of worms entirely.

[clusterbuck]

For Buddie, from the bed sharing prompts: 13&15…as your heart leads! Love all your stuff…I go back through them any time I need a fluff boost 😉

13. we fell asleep on the couch, watching a movie and wake up entangled with each other // 15. sharing a bed used to be quite normal for us, when did that change? this is kind of both of those and also. kinda neither

take the bed warmed by the body

mutual pining, 2.5k, T | read on ao3

Eddie wakes up alone.

It takes a moment for him to realise why it feels so strange. He wakes up alone just about every day of life, after all. But something nudges at the edges of his consciousness, and it comes back bit by bit.

Last night. The pleasant haze of a couple of beers on top of a twenty-four. Him and Buck, on his couch like always, the humming of the TV barely more than a backdrop as they argued over the highlights of the shift and each tried to claim credit for the other making it through alive.

I saved your ass at that structure fire, don’t kid yourself, you were gonna fall right through the floor—

Yeah, well, if it wasn’t for me that car at the pileup would’ve rolled right onto you—

It’s three parts bravado and one part reminder. He thinks about it, sometimes, his first shift at the 118—he doesn’t think either of them quite knew how much they’d meant it when they’d promised to have each other’s backs. He definitely hadn’t known, then, that he’d wake up one day and wonder why Buck isn’t in his bed.

Because that’s what’s missing. He has a vague memory of falling asleep with his head resting against Buck’s shoulder, their legs tangled together. 

There’s a clattering sound, one Eddie’s heard many times before. Ease spreads through him, melting the hints of tension that had started to gather at the base of his spine. 

Buck’s in the kitchen. Of course he is. Eddie’s never met anyone so allergic to sleeping in. He’s probably halfway through both breakfast and the daily crossword by now. 

Eddie gets to his feet, groaning as he stretches out his stiff limbs and rolls his head around a couple of times. He doesn’t feel like he’s old enough to get a crick just from sleeping wrong, but Hen and Chimney both told him this is just what life after thirty is like.

Buck has his back to the kitchen door when Eddie wanders in, one hand still rubbing at the back of his neck, and he doesn’t seem to notice. Eddie leans against the doorframe for a moment, watching the easy familiarity with which Buck moves around his kitchen. He opens the right drawer every time, knows exactly where everything is. 

Then he turns, heading for the fridge, and must catch sight of Eddie in his peripheral vision, because he freezes. It’s barely-there, just a moment before he wheels to face Eddie fully and fixes a grin on his face, but Eddie’s seen Buck in this exact sequence of movements countless times before. There’s something sticky about it, like he’s an animatronic on a janky track.

read on ao3

[clusterbuck]

“ it’s cold. “ “ c'mere. my arms are warmer.”

if it already hasn’t been done ofc.

also, your work is really good:)

thank you !! :)

it’s all eddie’s fault.

generally, buck tries to avoid playing the blame game, but this one is all eddie’s fault.

who doesn’t check the weather forecast before going camping?

buck knows eddie’s been camping before. he knows eddie knows how to prepare, because all the food and supplies—which eddie had insisted on doing on his own—had been incredible, and he’d gotten the tent pitched without a single extra piece left over, unlike what usually happens to buck.

it had all been—

there were moments, over sausages and sticky-sweet toasted marshmallows, when buck had glanced to the side and seen eddie already looking at him, and thought if i leaned in right now—

there had been moments where it had seemed possible, but buck had been two chickenshit to try.

they’re just friends on a camping trip, after all.

and now they’re friends on a camping trip, shivering so much buck can actually feel his teeth chattering. that’s new.

the rain had come out of nowhere, drenching them in seconds. they’d dived into the tent—waterproof, thank god—but the damage was already done, all of their clothes dripping with ice-cold rain.

“you’re mad at me,” eddie mumbles from the other side of the narrow tent. “buck? you are, right?”

“i’m not mad,” buck says, even though a tiny part of him—the part sitting in damp underwear and nothing else, huddled under a mostly-dry sleeping bag and trying to keep his entire body covered—might be. “‘m just cold. because you didn’t check the weather.”

“i did check the weather,” eddie says. “it was supposed to be clear all the way through next week.”

“well, there you have it,” buck says. “i’m not mad. at you, at least. i’m a little mad at the rain. but i’m mostly just cold.”

there’s silence, then the sound of eddie shifting. “c’mere, then,” he says softly. “it’ll be warmer. uh, body heat and all that.”

buck blinks. “you mean—”

eddie huffs a laugh. “yeah, buck,” he says. “just come over here and let me hold you, will you? we’ll both be warmer.”

it’s tempting.

it’s so, so tempting—the thought of eddie’s hands on his skin, eddie pressed against him, the heat of eddie’s body reaching places even the rain hasn’t touched.

it’s so tempting, and he should say no—

but he shuffles over without hesitating, flapping about with his sleeping bag until he’s settled with his back flush against eddie’s chest and two sleeping bags spread out over them. eddie’s arm is around him, holding him close, and eddie’s warm breath fans out across his ear in a steady rhythm of inhales and exhales.

“better?” eddie murmurs, throwing one leg over both of buck’s.

“yeah,” buck sighs, warmth finally returning to his limbs. he can feel the tips of his fingers again.

then a thought occurs to him. “army trick?” he asks, and when eddie laughs, buck can feel the reverberations against his ribcage.

“theoretically,” eddie says. “but i never—um. i never ended up actually spooning any of my squad.”

“but not for lack of trying?” buck suggests

eddie huffs another laughs. “no, there was a definite lack of trying.”

they lay in silence for a moment, listening to the raindrops spattering against the tent roof. eventually, buck becomes aware of eddie’s fingertips drifting along his skin, like he’s tracing some kind of pattern. but try as he might, buck can’t discern what it is.

eddie hums, the vibration of his lips soft against the side of buck’s throat. “buck?”

“hm?”

“can i tell you something?”

buck blinks in the dim light of the flashlight propped up in the corner of the tent. “you can tell me anything,” he says. “you know that.”

eddie blows out a breath, slow and warm. “tonight wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

“i know,” buck says, finding eddie’s arm under the pile of sleeping bags and squeezing it. “i’m not actually mad at you about the rain.”

a ghost of a laugh bubbles past eddie’s lips, floating across buck’s skin. “i don’t just mean the rain,” eddie murmurs. “i mean—i was gonna bring you out here tonight and—”

“murder me?” buck suggests, when eddie trails off. “eddie, it really sounds like the next words out of your mouth are about to be about murder.”

eddie takes a breath. “i was gonna bring you out here tonight and tell you i’m in love with you,” he says.

buck freezes, and immediately feels eddie’s body stiffen behind him and start shifting further away. “no, i’m—” he says, grabbing eddie’s arm, the closest thing he can reach. “no, hey—eddie, don’t go anywhere, just—”

he shuffles around until he’s facing eddie, slipping one leg between both of his. “eddie,” he says, softer now, spreading his palm flat against eddie’s chest. eddie looks down at him, his brown eyes open and curious. he’s no longer trying to get away.

“the whole time we were toasting marshmallows, you had a little bit stuck to your top lip,” buck murmurs, and brushes his thumb against the now-clean spot. “just there.”

eddie frowns. “why didn’t you—”

“i didn’t think i could mention it without also mentioning how much i wanted to kiss it away,” buck says, and eddie breaks into a grin.

“i could go get some more marshmallow,” eddie says, and buck curls his leg around eddie’s.

“don’t go anywhere,” he says. “i need your body heat.” then he grins. “and i don’t need a bit of marshmallow to kiss you.”

only one bed prompts 🛏️

[clusterbuck]

For the soft prompts

This is my boyfriend, husband, partner...

the first time it happens is on a call, so eddie cuts the woman some slack. not for the part where she hits on the firefighter actively pulling her out of her totalled car, which seems irresponsible at best, but for the part where she doesn’t see the black silicone band on his left ring finger. there’s a lot going on.

eddie flashes a quick smile. “sorry, married.” he glances around, finally locating buck by the other car. “to that guy.”

“he could come too,” the woman says, and eddie stifles a laugh.

“we’re pretty much the monogamous type.”

—

the next time, he’s a little more annoyed. he’s off duty, so his ring is clearly visible, and universally recognisable as a wedding ring.

and it’s the grocery store. who hits on people at the grocery store?

the guy doesn’t believe eddie at first, so he sighs and pulls out his phone. he dials, and as soon as buck picks up he says “eggs, milk, cheese, and toilet paper.”

“i didn’t forget,” eddie grumbles. “but there’s some asshole here who doesn’t believe i’m married.”

he doesn’t mention that the stranger is hitting on him, but buck connects the dots. “tell him to back the fuck off,” buck says. “i never learned how to share.”

when eddie looks up, the guy is gone.

—

by the fourth or fifth or seventh time, annoyed no longer covers it. not when he’s standing at the bar waiting for his drink, and buck is pressed against his side with one hand resting in the back pocket of his jeans.

“nice to meet you,” eddie says when the girl introduces herself, putting very little effort into keeping his voice level. “this is my husband.”

“oh!” the girl says, glancing between the two of them. “um, have a good night.”

“you know, you could have been a little nicer,” buck murmurs, leaning in to press his lips to the side of eddie’s throat.

“last time i was nice, she said he could come too,” eddie says.

buck grimaces. “yeah, okay, don’t like that.”

eddie sighs. “i should get one of those shirts,” he says. “you know the ones that say i’m with stupid?”

“oh, and instead of stupid it would say married?” buck asks. “i mean, it might be a little obnoxious, but it would get the job done.”

“nah, i thought i’d still go with stupid,” eddie grins, and buck’s mouth turns into a pout. eddie leans in to kiss it.

“i’m with stupid (in lawful wedlock),” eddie says. “how’s that sound?”

“well,” buck says, in a mock-serious tone. “if i’m stupid, you married stupid. what does that make you, huh?”

“the luckiest man in the world,” eddie says, and leans in to kiss him again.

[clusterbuck]

31. kitchen counter make-outs for the kiss prompts if it sparks!

hello anon thank you for this prompt kitchen counter makeout supremacy forever and always<3

must be nice where lovers go

first date, but that trope where it's terrible // 2.7k, T

Eddie drives to the restaurant, and the air in the car seems to get thicker as they approach. It takes him a couple of wrong turns to find it—he’s never been before, just found it on a list of great first date restaurants in LA—and by the time he pulls into a parking spot, Buck seems a little withdrawn.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, leaning over to nudge Buck’s arm with his. “You good?” 

“Huh?” Buck asks, like he’d been deep in thought. “Wh—yeah, I’m fine,” he says, swallowing. Almost like he’s steeling himself for something.

For… the date.

“Buck?” Eddie tries again, but Buck just flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Everything is fine,” Buck says, and opens the passenger-side door. “Come on, let’s go.” 

Things don’t improve when they get inside, and the host, an older man, does a double-take when Eddie says “Diaz, party of two,” and indicates Buck. He recovers quickly and shows them to their table, but it leaves an uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of Eddie’s stomach.

read it on ao3

[clusterbuck]

Hi there :)

#55 for Spotify wrapped prompts

ok so number 55 is now that we don't talk by taylor swift but i don't fuck with breakup fics unless they're exes to lovers so here's some getting back together <3

can't pretend it's platonic (it's just ended)

Sometimes, it takes everything in Eddie not to reach out and touch Buck. 

He forgets, sometimes, that it isn’t what they do. Not anymore. That he can’t just reach out to skim his fingers along the corded muscle of Buck’s forearm, or tug on a curl that isn’t falling into line again after a shower. That he can’t snag his fingers in Buck’s belt loops as Buck walks by, stopping him in his tracks just to pull him in for a kiss. 

He forgets, sometimes, but he never makes it further than an abortive jerk of his hand before he remembers again. 

Part of him knows he can’t blame this on something as simple as muscle memory—the firehouse hadn’t known. He hadn’t exactly been in the habit of kissing Buck against the railing in the firehouse loft, so he should be able to walk past Buck leaning against said railing without thinking about the way he could fit his hands on it, one on either side of Buck’s hips, and lean in just far enough to press Buck’s back against it. 

But that’s only a very small part. The rest of him knows the feeling of Buck’s body against his well enough that he can imagine it all too easily, even in all the places they never kissed.

Buck sits across from him now, his long limbs pretzeled into one of the armchairs by the TV. He’s holing a book as if he’s reading it, but Eddie has never known Buck to take this long to turn a page.

He looks up, and sees Buck’s head flick down, as if Buck had been trying to look at him without being seen. Buck peers up again, cautious, and Eddie slams his gaze back to the puzzle he is supposedly working on with Hen.

She’s filled out all the borders. He’s added three pieces, total.

Eddie clears his throat and starts sifting through the pieces, slightly too vigorous. Hen frowns at him. “Eddie? You good?” 

He almost laughs at how ridiculous the question is. I broke up with the love of my life three days ago, he wants to say, and now he’s ten feet away from me and I have to pretend everything is fine. 

Instead, he smiles, and hopes Hen can’t tell how fake it is. In his armchair, Buck frowns, like he can.

read it on ao3

send me a number for a spotify wrapped prompt

[clusterbuck]

For those that don’t understand the nuances that the writers are telling maybe you should bring back clippy (is that his name or is it something else?)

hmm you mean a little like this?

[clusterbuck]

dancing in the rain + resting foreheads together 🌧️

the day is long, the shift even longer. it’s been raining on and off all day, just enough to ensure that buck hasn’t been dry since he stepped out of the house over twenty-four hours ago.

the shift has been long, and more than that it’s been boring. routine call after routine call, false alarm after false alarm, the movement of piling into the engine and out again the only thing keeping buck awake through most of the night. now they’re in the final stretches, and all buck wants to do is find eddie and climb into the jeep, eddie’s hand on his thigh squeezing at regular intervals to keep him awake long enough to drive home.

the final minutes drag by like they’re shackled to the floor, until bobby finally takes pity on them and lets them go five minutes early. buck shuffles into the locker room like a zombie, and finds eddie sitting on the bench staring blankly into the distance.

“hey,” buck murmurs, sitting next to eddie facing the opposite direction and dropping his head onto eddie’s shoulder. eddie hums, leaning his head against buck’s, but no words come out.

“yeah,” buck mumbles. he opens his mouth to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn.

buck means to get up and change back into his street clothes, he really does. but he leans against eddie, and fifteen minutes later he wakes to bobby shaking him gently by the shoulder.

“go home, boys,” bobby says. “you’ll sleep better.”

buck blinks, slowly picking himself up off eddie’s shoulder. eddie turns to look at him, and a soft smile spreads across his face.

“you’re all—crinkly,” he says. “from my uniform. here.” he reaches out to run his thumb along the indents on buck’s cheek, and buck leans into his touch.

“home?” buck asks, and eddie nods, his thumb brushing buck’s bottom lip and the corner of his mouth.

eddie heaves a sigh and gets to his feet, then turns to hold a hand out to buck. “come on, then.”

getting changed feels like it takes years. the rain has slowed to a drizzle, but it picks up as they drive until buck pulls into the driveway pelted by raindrops so large they bounce off the windshield.

buck whines. “we’re gonna get soaked.” he drops his head to rest on the top of steering wheel. “i just wanna go to sleep.”

eddie’s silent for a moment, then buck hears his door open. by the time he picks his head up to look, eddie’s already opening the driver’s side door.

“take your phone out of your pocket,” he says. he’s drenched already, rivulets of water running down his face, the deep blue of his henley turning into navy. he’s drenched, but he stands in front of the door and holds his hand out and buck doesn’t think, just does what he says.

“leave the phone in the car,” eddie says. “just—so it doesn’t get wet.” so buck puts his phone in the cup holder and takes eddie’s hand, following him out into the pouring rain.

“what are we doing?” buck asks, letting eddie pull him to the little patch of grass in front of their house.

“we’re dancing,” eddie says, as if it’s just that simple.

buck frowns. “why—”

“we were gonna get soaked anyway,” eddie says. “at least this way we get something out of it. and besides—” he looks down, hiding a sheepish grin like he’s embarrassed somehow.

“besides what?” buck asks, stepping closer and winding his arms around eddie’s neck. it’s still raining, but the longer he spends touching eddie the less he notices. it’s a beautiful morning, the sky painted pink with hints of the rising sun, and he’s standing next to the man he loves. their son is sleeping inside, and soon they’ll go in and shower off the cold rain together, then fall asleep together with all their limbs intertwined.

it’s still raining, but buck’s stopped caring.

eddie settles his arms around buck’s waist, pulling him closer. buck’s not sure if the way they’re swaying counts as dancing, but he can’t quite make himself care.

“besides—” eddie starts, then takes a deep breath, looking up at buck. “i’ve been talking to frank about—i want to be better at—” he pauses, lifting a hand to cup buck’s jaw. “i love you,” he says. “i want to show you.”

“eddie,” buck breathes. he leans in, letting his forehead rest against eddie’s. “you do show me. you’ve been showing me long before i ever knew what it meant.”

“yeah, but—” eddie says. “i don’t know, i mean—smaller stuff. you’re always doing all this spontaneous romantic shit, and i—”

“hey,” buck says, cupping eddie’s jaw and kissing him, slow and careful so he gets his meaning across. “you don’t—you know i don’t expect that from you, right? i love you. with or without the dancing in the rain. i don’t need you to be anything other than who you are.”

the corner of eddie’s mouth lifts in a smile, and he squeezes buck’s hip. “but what if i want to?”

buck grins. “i’m not saying i’m opposed to the spontaneous romantic shit,” he says. “just that—i already love you. everything else is—it’s like when you order takeout and they throw in extra fries, you know? you didn’t need them, you don’t expect them, but you’re definitely gonna take them.”

eddie blinks at him, then bursts out laughing. “are you comparing me to extra fries?”

“maybe,” buck says, laughing a little. “do you still love me?”

and he’d meant it as a joke, but eddie gets serious and takes a step closer, his hand warm and solid on buck’s hip. “yeah, buck,” he says. “i do.”

little romantic gestures 💘

[clusterbuck]

I'm totally willing to forget the break and send you kiss prompts! I hope this sparks something ✨ “let’s just kiss to see what it’s like” then pulling away, lingering for a moment, then going in for the second kiss

you get this kind of rush (1.4k, T)

Eddie would like to be able to blame the alcohol, but with every passing minute his untouched beer grows warmer between his palms. He wishes he could blame alcohol, that he believed in it enough to blame the position of the planets in the sky. Anything would be better than knowing that every decision he’s made tonight has been a bad one, and he has no one but himself to blame.

--

It’s a bad idea to invite Buck over in the first place, but the force of habit so strong is he doesn’t think twice about it. “Coming over?” he asks as they unlace their work boots, so reflexive he half thinks the words fall out of his mouth every time he bends at the waist like this.

“‘Course,” Buck says, like it’s a done deal.

Off to the side, Hen and Chimney roll their eyes at each other, as if to say the deal is more done than either of them yet knows.

It’s not until he’s driving home, Buck’s headlights bright in his rearview, that Eddie remembers Christopher is at a sleepover tonight.

It’s going to be fine, he tells himself. You’re going to be fine. You’re a grown man who can spend one-on-one time with his best friend.

It does, admittedly, sound a little ridiculous when he puts it like that.

But Buck’s been acting strange, lately, and Eddie’s been having a hard time keeping himself in check. Because he knows how to live in a world where he wakes up panting from dreams of kissing his best friend.

He’s just not sure he knows how to live in a world where those dreams don’t feel impossible.

read it on ao3 // send me a kiss prompt 🫦

[clusterbuck]

omg for the little romantic gestures, “trying to cook their favourite dish”? 🥺💕

the house smells good when eddie walks in. spices linger in the air, familiar in a way that feels like the heat of the texas sun on the back of his neck. it still takes a moment for him to recognise it, and when he does he understands why—it smells like his abuela’s tamales. which isn’t something he’s expecting in his house, eight hundred miles from his abuela.

he drops his work bag by the door and kicks off his shoes, wandering through the house until he reaches the kitchen doorway. buck is standing at the counter, seemingly so absorbed in whatever he’s doing that he hadn’t noticed eddie coming home.

“hey,” eddie says, leaning against the doorway. “smells good.”

buck startles, just a little, and when he turns to look at eddie there’s a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

eddie puts his hands in his pockets so he won’t reach out to touch it.

“you—you’re early,” buck says, turning back to the counter. now that eddie looks, he can see that the kitchen looks a little like a miniature hurricane tore through it. but it smells even better here than it had by the door, so eddie’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

and besides, he likes cleaning the kitchen with buck. it’s the kind of thing that feels so domestic he sometimes thinks his heart will crack under the weight of it, but he loves it anyway. loves the way buck fits into his kitchen like he lives here, like he’s always lived here, like he’s meant to be part of their family unit.

so it’s okay if the kitchen looks like a disaster zone. they’ll fix it later.

eddie glances at his watch. “only half an hour,” he says. “there was some kind of confusion with shift change, the next shift got there early so they just sent us home.”

“okay, well—go wait in the living room or something,” buck says, trying to hide his cooking behind himself. “i’ll only be like—well, i don’t want to jinx it, but—”

“i know you’re making tamales,” eddie says, frowning. “what’s the big secret?”

buck’s face falls. “it was supposed to be a surprise,” he says. “i even asked your abuela for her recipe.”

“and she gave it to you?” eddie asks. “she guards that thing with her life.”

“she didn’t want to,” buck admits, then grins. “but she caved when i told her it’s for our one-month anniversary.”

eddie freezes. “our—”

buck, seemingly misinterpreting eddie’s confusion, looks at the floor and scratches at the back of his neck. “i know it’s—silly, and kind of juvenile, but i just—i don’t know, it’s the first month of the rest of our lives. i wanted to celebrate that.”

eddie blinks, silent, and buck lets out a nervous laugh. “it’s corny,” he says. “it’s—is it corny? it is, right?”

“no, it’s—” eddie manages to say, then swallows, unsure where to even start. “buck—”

buck looks up at him, and eddie takes a deep breath.

“it’s—buck. we’re not dating.”

something clatters, and eddie realised buck’s dropped the spoon he was holding. he stands stock-still next to the kitchen counter, completely frozen except for the way that his mouth opens and closes then opens again without any sound coming out.

“i’m—” buck finally says, then blinks. “yeah, we are. you—eddie, you asked me out. last month. you told me to dress nice and said you’d pick me up. and we went to—”

“the poker game,” eddie says slowly.

“yeah,” buck says. “and it was—we were—i don’t know, i guess i just—assumed. that it was—” he trails off, shifting his weight from foot to foot and looking anywhere but at eddie.

“but—” eddie starts, dumbfounded. he has what feels like a million questions, but what ends up coming out of his mouth is, “you haven’t—we haven’t even kissed.”

buck huffs a hollow laugh. “i thought we were taking it slow,” he says. “i thought—i don’t know, i mean, i was gonna ask about it eventually, but i thought—” he shakes his head. “god, i don’t know what i thought,” he mutters. “this is so—i’m just, uh. i’m gonna go—”

he makes to step past eddie and out of the kitchen, but eddie grabs his wrist. buck stares at him, and eddie lets the grin that’s been building inside of him finally spread across his face, all the way into a laugh that bubbles out into the space between them.

“okay, laugh it up,” buck mutters. “just let me—”

“buck,” eddie interrupts him, squeezing his wrist. “that poker game? i spent the whole night wishing it was a date.”

buck stares at him, blankly, until a flicker of recognition starts in his eyes and finally cracks into a careful smile. “you mean—”

eddie slides his hand down over buck’s wrist to where he can thread his fingers through buck’s. “i mean today isn’t an anniversary, but one year from today can be.”

little romantic gestures💘

[clusterbuck]

oooh fake fic titles? “you and me and the lemon tree”

whoops this is no longer a fake fic

you and me and the lemon tree

1.6k | future fic | buckley-diaz family shenanigans

The lemon tree is Christopher’s idea. 

“We’re not moving again,” he says. “That’s what you said, right? So we could plant it now and take a picture, and then in like ten years we could take the same picture only the tree would be big. It would be cool.”

“It’s gonna take a long time to get there, buddy,” Eddie says, and Christopher sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s fifteen, now, and the eye-rolling happens a lot, but most of the time it’s still tinged with fondness.

“I know that,” Christopher says. “But it could be like—a tracker. Of how long we’ve lived here. It would be cool, right?” 

“Of how long we’ve lived here,” Buck corrects, nudging him gently. “You’re off to college soon. Just a couple of years, and it’s just going to be me and your dad.” He looks over and winks at Eddie, who hurries to put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder and reassure him he’ll always have a home to come back to. 

“Of course you will,” Buck says, and reaches out to ruffle Christopher’s hair. Christopher ducks away and tries to fix the curls that fall into his face. “We’re always here for you. But when you’re not home…”

“Gross,” Christopher groans, and Eddie leans over to shove his shoulder. The cold metal of his wedding ring brushes against Buck’s skin, and he grins. 

“I just meant we’d have space to spread out the big puzzles on the dining table if it’s not covered in your homework,” Buck says, projecting innocence.

“Sure you did,” Eddie grins, and hooks a finger into the belt loop of Buck’s jeans to pull him in for a kiss. 

“So are we planting a tree or not?” Christopher asks, and Buck laughs into his husband’s mouth.

—

They plant the tree exactly one month after they move into the new house, and exactly one year after Buck had gotten on one knee in the middle of the loft and Eddie had said fuck, I have a ring stashed in my sock drawer. Buck and Christopher spend several days doing the research, and they determine that their best bet is a grafted sapling, a tree that’s already done a little bit of growing.

“They’re harder to fuck up,” Christopher says, and Eddie says hey, then admits it’s probably for the best. 

“You told me you have a black thumb,” Christopher says. 

“And you told me I can’t cook,” Eddie says. “I learned that, hm?” 

“I guess,” Christopher says, and Buck snorts a laugh then kisses Eddie in apology. 

The sapling is barely a foot tall, and looks more like a twig than anything else when they get it planted. “It’ll grow,” Christopher says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself just as much. “It’ll look more like a tree eventually.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “You almost look like a person now.” 

“More than you do,” Christopher shoots back, and Eddie makes a mock-offended noise. 

“Sorry, kid, I don’t agree with you on that one,” Buck says, slipping a dirt-streaked hand into the back pocket of Eddie’s jeans. 

They take the picture, the little sapling with their house in the background. The house they bought together, that they moved into together, the house that neither of them is ever going to live in alone.

They take the picture, and then discover that it’s surprisingly hard to get photos printed anymore. But finally, after several trips to several different drugstores and Walmarts, they have a shiny four-by-six inch photo to put up on the refrigerator with the magnet they’d bought at the aquarium the day after Eddie kissed Buck for the first time.

The front of the fridge fills up quickly, with shopping lists and receipts, ticket stubs and shift schedules and permission slips and the general detritus of three lives intertwined, but the photo is always there at the centre of it all.

—

The day Christopher leaves for college the tree is twice as tall as it had been, if not more. It looks like a tree now, if in miniature, still too small to bear fruit but tree-shaped nonetheless. 

Eddie insists on getting a picture of Christopher next to the tree, and walks into the backyard to find Buck already lining up a shot. 

Christopher grumbles, and Eddie stands behind Buck to rest his head on Buck’s shoulder and peer at the phone screen. “This was your idea,” he reminds their son. “You said it would be a good tracker.” 

“We didn’t take a picture of me with it when we planted it,” Christopher points out. “It’s only tracking the house.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and hooks his thumbs through his husband’s belt loops. “But it’ll be cute anyway.” 

Christopher rolls his eyes, but he lets Buck take the picture.

The college Christopher had chosen isn’t far, so Buck and Eddie drive him to his dorm and fuss over his room and take him out for dinner, and still make it home by the end of the night. Eddie drops their bag by the door and Buck slips into the kitchen, and they meet out on the porch swing.

Buck hands Eddie one of the open bottles of beer he’s holding, and offers his own up to clink against. “So,” he says, taking a sip, then tips his head back to look at the sky. They can’t see many stars in the middle of LA, but it never stops them from trying. “Empty nest, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, tapping the neck of his bottle against his chin. “Just you and me.” 

Buck smiles, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, and Eddie’s hand splays across his thigh. “You and me and the lemon tree.” 

—

The first time they fight—really fight, the kind with voices raised and doors slammed and words so sharp they draw blood on the way out—Buck goes out to the lemon tree. Years later, when he no longer remembers what the fight was about, he’ll remember this: the tree, four feet tall with a trunk that just barely holds him up when he leans against it.

He changes his mind almost instantly, though, and lies under the tree instead. He doesn’t want to damage the tree, risk pushing it off course before it ever flowers. 

Buck lies under the tree and stares up at the sky through the leaves, searching for patterns in the gaps and trying not to think about the things he’d just said. It’s all—

It all seems so stupid now, five minutes and twenty-five steps removed. This is what they’d promised each other, after all. The good times and the bad. This fight doesn’t matter, not really, not in the long run.

He doesn’t know if it’s five minutes later or fifty, but eventually he hears the sound of the porch door and the footsteps he’d recognise in any crowd. Eddie sits down next to him and Buck extends his arm, waiting for Eddie to lie next to him and settle his head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs.

“I know,” Buck says, pressing his lips to the bit of Eddie’s forehead he can reach. “I’m sorry, too. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I know we will.”

—

Christopher brings home his first serious girlfriend, and the lemon tree bears fruit.

“This better not be a sign,” Eddie says, holding up a finger in warning. “We don’t need to have the talk, do we?”

“Dad,” Christopher groans, every bit a child complaining about his father despite his twenty-two years. “Ew.” 

“I’m just saying—”

“It’s okay,” Buck interrupts him, swooping into the living room with a kiss to Eddie’s cheek and bumping Christopher’s fist. “I gave Chris the talk long before I gave you any kind of talk.” 

“You did what?” Eddie squawks.

“The kid had questions,” Buck shrugs. “I was there.” 

“It’s not a magic tree,” Christopher says. “It’s just lemons.” 

“Just lemons,” Eddie says. “No metaphors?” 

“I promise,” Christopher says. “No metaphors.” 

—

Things don’t work out with the girlfriend, in the end, as often is the case with first loves. But some years later, Christopher marries Matilda in his fathers’ backyard, and the tree is tall and beautiful, full of vibrant yellow fruit. Christopher promises to love her forever, in good times and bad, standing under the tree he planted when it was barely a twig, and Buck surreptitiously swipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

Beside him, silent tears run down Eddie’s face.

“Remember the day we planted the tree?” Buck asks, and Eddie sways against him. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It barely came up to his knee.”

“You said he almost looked like a person,” Buck says.

Eddie laughs. “Look at him now.” 

“Yeah,” Buck says. “You did that. And before you say it—I helped, I know. But you did most of the work.”

“I guess I did,” Eddie murmurs, leaning his head on Buck’s shoulder. “And now he’s married.”

“It’s just you and me now,” Buck says. “It’s always gonna be you and me.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and Buck hears the smile in his voice. “You and me and the lemon tree.” 

—

They take a picture, later that night, of the tree with the house in the background. They compare it to the original, and of course Christopher had been right all those years ago. It’s cool.

“Did take a while to get here, though,” Eddie says, when they’re finding a place for the new photo on the fridge.

“Yeah,” Buck says, and bumps his hip against Eddie’s. “But it was worth every step.”