Chapter Text
They walk in silence, shoulder to shoulder, down quiet streets where the hum of faraway traffic and the echo of their footsteps are the only thing keeping them company.
As much as he doesn’t want this night to end, Buck slows to a stop a short distance away from Chris’ building. The streetlights cast long shadows, and for a second, he lets himself imagine this moment ending differently. With Eddie’s hand in his, a key turning in the door, with warmth and quiet laughter awaiting them.
Eddie hesitates. “You sure you can’t stay?” he asks, conflicted between heading inside and staying back with Buck.“I mean, we’ve still got so much to catch up on. And, hey, if you don’t feel like heading back across the city tonight, the hotel’s got a big bed…” He trails off, trying for lightness, but his eyes give him away.
Buck smiles. It’s soft, sad. There's nothing he would love more than spending time with Eddie, to stay the night like he'd done so many times.
“I know," Buck says. "But it’s not the same, Eddie.”
Eddie swallows hard, looking away. He sees the way Eddie’s shoulders tighten, how he tries to hide the flicker of pain that crosses his face. And by God, Buck wants to stay. He wants to step back into that version of them where love lived quietly in the spaces between jokes and borrowed hoodies. But he can’t.
“I can’t do the waiting game again,” Buck adds, quieter now. His voice wavers only a little. “Chris has my number. And I’ve got his. If you’re really serious about this, about us, you’ll let me know. But I need it to be real this time. No maybe-laters.”
Eddie’s breath catches, like he’s trying to speak but the words won’t come fast enough, and just looks at Buck like he’s trying to will him to stay.
And maybe Buck would’ve, once. But not tonight.
Not when Eddie still belongs to someone else. Not when his heart’s still half-promised to a man who isn’t him.
He takes one last selfish look, memorising Eddie under the streetlight, the way his mouth opens and closes around words that never come. Memorising every line of Eddie’s face.
Then he nods once, turns, and walks away. The cool night air hits harder than expected, but Buck keeps his steps steady, not daring to look back. His fingers are in his pocket by the time he rounds the corner, pulling out his phone with a heaviness that settles in his chest.
Buck: Hey buddy. Sorry I left without saying goodbye. Just… check in with your dad when you can, yeah? I think he might need you tonight.
He hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen, then adds:
Buck: Also, I’d love to see you again sometime. Lunch, coffee, whatever works. No pressure. Just miss you.
He sends it before he can overthink, then slips the phone into his jacket as he makes his way toward his car that he parked three blocks down. Each step feels weighted with unsaid things, with the kind of ache that doesn’t scream, but lingers.
By the time he gets in and shuts the door, the quiet is deafening. He grips the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the windshield but seeing none of it. Just Eddie, looking at him like he didn’t want him to leave. Just the echo of Eddie’s “It’s always been love” still ringing in his ears.
And then he thinks of the text he just sent. Lunch, coffee.
God. When did things become so… adult?
He used to show up with dinosaur stickers and museum passes, used to race Chris through zoo exhibits and pretend to be a lion just to make the kid laugh so hard he hiccupped. Now it’s coffee. Now it’s rushed catch-ups and late-night texts and wondering how much time you can lose before someone stops being yours at all.
The realisation hits him in the gut: he doesn’t know this version of Chris. Not really. Not like he used to.
He’s still sitting with that when his phone buzzes.
Chris: He’s looking a little wrecked, honestly. But I think you gave him something he needed. I’ll stay with him. And I’d love that, Buck. You name the time.
Buck closes his eyes. Exhales.
He’s not sure what hurts more - what almost-was, or what still might be. All he knows is, tonight, he did the right thing.
Even though, sometimes, the right thing is the loneliest kind of brave.
He leans his head back against the seat, hands falling to his lap, and just sits there. Letting himself feel it all. The grief, the hope, the love that never really left.
Buck doesn’t expect the ache to hit quite so hard.
Not when Chris texts him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Not when they fall into a rhythm so easily, with light teasing and soft warmth stitched into every word. But now, lying in bed with his phone in his hand and his heart somewhere up in his throat, it hits him like it always does - how much he’s missed. How much Chris has grown.
They try to make plans earlier in the week. A few texts between them with Buck trying not to stare too long at the screen waiting for each reply.
Chris: Hey, so I’ve a deadline for part of my PhD on Thursday. Big assignment. But I’m free on Friday and Saturday if you’re still around?
Buck: Of course I am. Can’t wait. You still have to fill me in on your whole life.
Chris: That’ll take more than a coffee. We’ll need snacks and possibly a whiteboard.
That makes Buck smile, but underneath it, there’s this slow, aching hum in his chest. Chris used to ask him to explain how planes fly, why giraffes have long necks, if the zoo would still have the baby elephant. Now he’s juggling university deadlines, dry sarcasm, and grown-up plans that Buck isn’t part of anymore.
He isn’t sure how to catch up. How to make up for ten years of zoo trips that never happened, missed birthdays, school events he never clapped for, problems he never got to help solve. There’s pride, of course there is, but it sits alongside something smaller, sadder. Grief, maybe - for the boy he loved like family and the years he lost with him.
And then, two nights later, his phone buzzes again. This time with another name that hasn’t lit up his screen in a decade. It’s the same number Buck had saved for ten years. Never deleted. Never updated. Never reached out.
Eddie: Didn’t think this was still your number.
Buck’s heart goes still. He stares at the message like it might vanish if he blinks too hard. Above it sits a quiet graveyard of what once was:
Missed call - 12 April 2025
Missed call - 20 April 2025
Hey, sorry! Lost track of time. You okay?
Missed call - 25 April
Free to talk?
Call duration: 00:18
Call me whenever!
Missed call - 3 May 2025
Missed call - 5 May 2025
Ghosts, all of them. Silent, unfinished.
His thumbs hover for a moment. Then—
Buck: Some things don’t change.
It takes a minute. Maybe two. Then:
Eddie: I’m visiting Chris on Friday. If you’re around... maybe you could stop by? If you want.
Simple. Tentative. Like Eddie still doesn’t know what he’s allowed to ask for.
Buck stares at the message, his stomach twisting, and types back before he can let himself think too hard.
Buck: Of course, Eddie.
And that’s it. No overexplaining. No digging up everything they buried. Not yet. But Buck sits with it for a while. Lets the screen dim into a black screen.
He thinks about how, just a few days ago, they were two people caught in a history they couldn’t name. And now Eddie’s texting. On the same number Buck couldn’t bring himself to erase.
It feels like a crack letting light through. Edging towards a beginning, maybe. Or a second chance.
Chris had changed. Eddie had changed. And Buck isn’t sure what parts of him are still the same. But if this is the start of something, if they’re finally letting themselves try again, then maybe that’s enough.
Friday arrives slower than Buck expects. Maybe it’s the anticipation that makes the hours drag, or maybe it’s just that he hasn’t had a reason to look forward to anything in a long time.
Chris greets him at the door with the kind of smile that makes Buck ache all over again. It’s a painful reminder of what was once a toothy smile, is now much more subdued, suited for a grown-up and sharper around the edges, but it’s still so unmistakably him. They hug, and Buck forgets to breathe for a moment.
“Deadline done?” Buck asks, toeing off his shoes. The flat is quiet, presumably abandoned by the rest of its occupants in search of a music-pumping alcohol-laced Friday night.
“Printed and submitted,” Chris says proudly. “And I only wanted to throw my laptop once, so I consider that a win.”
Buck laughs, the sound spilling out of him easier than it should.
They sit on the couch, legs tucked under them, Buck with a mug of tea he didn’t make, Chris with a blanket he didn’t offer to share, rather just draped it across both of them like it was obvious.
They talk. About university, friends, football. About nothing and everything. Chris tells him he’s thinking of travelling around Europe once he finishes his PhD, and Buck tries not to think about how yesterday, Chris was in middle school.
“So,” Buck says eventually, nudging the boy’s mug with a fingertip, “anyone special I should be hearing about?”
Chris groans, dropping his head back against the couch dramatically. “Seriously? You’re going full dad-mode now?”
Buck smirks. “Hey, I’m just catching up. I missed a whole season of your life.”
“You missed more than a season,” Chris says, but not unkindly.
Buck’s smile falters, but he nods. “Yeah. I know.”
A beat.
“There was someone,” Chris says. “Last year. But it kind of fizzled out when I got too busy with everything. We’re still friends, though.”
Buck raises a brow. “Still friends, huh? That’s rare.”
Chris shrugs. “We were better at being friends anyway. I guess that’s just how it goes sometimes.”
“Either way,” Buck says, smile softening. “They were stupid to let you go.”
Chris shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe the timing just sucked.” He glances over. “Seems like that happens a lot, huh?”
Then, Chris leans back, eyes scanning the living room like he’s remembering a hundred little things that once happened. “I used to worry you’d be a different person if I ever saw you. But now it’s like… you’re still the same Buck. Still important, still annoying.”
Buck huffs a laugh, eyes stinging more than he wants to admit. “Glad to know I’m consistent.”
“You always were.” Chris bumps their shoulders together. “So… where do we go from here”
Buck laughs under his breath. “We get lunch on Saturdays, text memes, keep talking? Maybe you let me come cheer at one of your dissertation presentations.”
Chris snorts. “Okay, I love you, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Buck grins. “You love me.”
“You’re lucky I do,” Chris says, just as the front door opens and they both glance up.
Eddie freezes - almost comically - in the entryway like he didn’t expect to find them sitting there, knees nearly touching, eyes a little red.
“Hey,” Eddie says, voice rough and too casual. He’s holding a bag of groceries in each hand. “Didn’t know you were already here.”
Buck stands slowly, unsure of what to do with his hands. Even now, the sight of Eddie takes his breath away. As far as Buck knows, that's one thing time will never change, whether it's been ten years of fifty. “Yeah. Got here a bit ago. Chris was free.”
Eddie nods, looking between them, like he’s checking for something, or maybe just trying to catch up to the moment he walked into. “That’s good. I’m glad.”
Chris, thank God, cuts through the tension. ”Did you get frozen pizza?”
“Yeah,” Eddie blinks, freezing where he’s on the way to the kitchen to put the rest of the groceries-slash-food away. “Why?”
“He always brings frozen pizza when he’s nervous,” Chris says to Buck, well within earshot of Eddie.
Eddie rolls his eyes, shoulders relaxing. “I was trying to be useful.”
“You’re always trying to be useful,” Buck says before he can stop himself, and it comes out softer than he means to.
Eddie’s gaze flicks to him. It’s sharp, a little helpless, and Buck wonders how two people who once knew everything about each other can still feel like strangers in all the ways that matter.
But then Chris stands too, claps a hand on Buck’s shoulder. “I’ll put these away. You two talk or… hover awkwardly. Whatever it is you do. You have three minutes until I come back.”
He grabs the groceries from Eddie, shooting him a look that’s equal parts exasperated and fond, then jerks his chin toward Buck like a silent command.
Eddie’s fingers flex uselessly at his sides as Chris disappears into the kitchen.
The air shifts.
“I told Mark,” Eddie blurts out, too loud in the sudden quiet.
Buck blinks. “What?”
“About you,” Eddie clarifies, quieter now. He takes a few steps forward, closing the distance until there’s only about two feet between them. “About us and, um, what we were. What we still might be.”
What they might still be.
Buck swallows, unsure what to do with that, how to hold it in his chest without crushing it.
Eddie doesn’t look at him. He’s staring somewhere over Buck’s shoulder, like if he meets his eyes it’ll break them both. “He was sad. But he understood. Like I said, I think he had a feeling. I told him to take his time moving out. It was the least I could do after everything.”
Buck’s heart twists. “Did you tell Chris?”
Eddie gives the faintest shake of his head.
“You need to,” Buck says gently, but firmly. “He seemed close with Mark.”
“I will,” Eddie promises. “I just—” He swallows, eyes flicking to the kitchen doorway, like he’s afraid Chris might hear. “I needed you to know first. That I meant it. That I chose you.”
Buck stares at him, torn between relief and guilt and something else that’s older than both. That ache in his chest deepens. He doesn’t know what he expected. Maybe not this. Maybe not so soon. Maybe not in the exact words he used to dream about late at night, ten years too late.
“Thank you,” he says finally, voice rough with everything he can’t fit into two words. “For telling me. For… doing it.”
Eddie nods, still not quite meeting his gaze. “I should’ve done it years ago.”
Buck lets out a breath, a shaky one, and dares to reach out, touch Eddie’s arm lightly. “Yeah. But you’re doing it now.”
That’s when Chris returns, footsteps light as he rounds the corner. He pauses for half a second when he catches the tail end of the gesture, Buck’s hand still resting against Eddie’s sleeve. He doesn’t say anything, just glances between the two of them with an unreadable expression before announcing, “Pizza’s in the oven. I didn’t burn it. Yet.”
Buck laughs softly, letting his hand fall away. “Small miracles.”
Eddie gives a faint smile, still tucked into himself, but there’s a warmth starting to bloom in his eyes.
He glances at Chris, then back at Buck. “You staying for dinner?”
“Don’t be silly, Dad,” Chris says. “Of course, he is.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” Buck’s smile tugs wide and warm before he can stop it, a reflex more than anything. Something in his chest loosens at Chris’s easy certainty, like he still belongs here, like maybe he never really left.
Chris walks past them, giving Buck a light nudge on the shoulder as he does. “You were sat on the comfy side of the couch, by the way. I’m stealing that later.”
Buck smiles. “Fair warning.”
There’s the soft thud of a cabinet closing, the rustle of a snack wrapper, the low hum of Chris rummaging through a drawer in search of something and humming off-key. Buck stands there for a moment, caught in the strange ease of it all. The domestic simplicity. The three of them existing in the same space again, like maybe it wasn’t all lost.
Chris disappears back into the kitchen and Buck finds himself drifting in after him, like muscle memory, pulled by the scent of warming dough and something else. Something gentler, something like home.
Eddie follows a beat later, and it’s all too easy to feel like no time has passed at all. Buck falls into rhythm easily, opening cabinets like he’s been here a hundred times before, and grabs a mixing bowl without asking.
Chris tosses him a bag of spinach. “You still do that thing where you add lemon zest to everything?”
Buck snorts, catching the bag midair. “That ‘thing’ is called elevating flavours, thank you.”
Eddie ambles over, picking up a clove of garlic, and Buck glances at him, grinning fondly as he starts slicing into the spinach.
“Planning to char it into oblivion again?”
It’s made in reference to a movie night years ago, when a ten year old Chris had begged for garlic bread. Eddie had taken it upon himself to play chef, full of confidence and zero skill. The end result had been a smoking tray and a house that smelled like regret. They ended up ordering takeout instead, and Chris had laughed about it for weeks.
“It was barely burnt!” Eddie protests, jaw dropping in mock offence.
Chris snorts from the fridge. “You set off the smoke alarm. Twice.”
“Okay, okay.” Eddie holds up his hands in mock surrender. “So maybe I supervised the oven a little too hard.”
Buck just laughs, warm and full and easy, and gestures toward the cutting board. “You wanna be useful, chop those carrots. No artistic liberties.”
Eddie salutes him with the knife like a menace. “No promises.”
They move around each other effortlessly, Chris cracking jokes, Eddie nudging Buck out of the way with his hip just for the fun of it. Buck rolls his eyes but doesn’t move, just keeps working around Eddie like it’s natural. Like it’s always been.
The pizza finishes baking while they whip up a quick salad and something vaguely resembling garlic bread, and then they all pile into the living room with their plates. Chris grabs the remote with a dramatic sigh, flipping through movie options like it’s a major life decision.
“Okay, action or disaster?”
“We already have Eddie,” Buck deadpans, not even looking up from his plate.
A pillow sails through the air and bounces off his shoulder.
“Rude,” Eddie mutters, but there's no heat behind it. Just the familiar rhythm of a joke that’s been put away for too long.
Chris nearly chokes laughing. “This is all I ever wanted.”
They settle on an old favourite, some early-2000s flick they’ve all seen a dozen times, Buck on one side of the couch and Eddie on the other. Chris is on the floor between them, back resting against the couch.
For a moment, all the years between then and now blur out. Just Chris laughing at the screen, Eddie sneaking bites from Buck’s plate, Buck leaning back into the cushions like maybe he belongs somewhere again.
Done with his two slices of pizza, Chris takes a bite of the garlic bread, raising an eyebrow at Eddie. "Didn’t burn it this time. Look at that, Dad, big comeback."
Buck laughs, the sound unguarded, and when he glances sideways, Eddie’s already looking at him.
Without thinking, Buck reaches for Eddie’s hand, finding it easily in the space between them.
Their fingers brush, then settle together, a quiet connection.
And for the first time in a long time, Buck doesn’t feel like he’s reaching for something he’s already lost.