Chapter Text
He hadn’t meant to stop.
But the line is short, which is surprising when it’s this close to a university campus, and the coffee smells like something that might keep the emptiness at bay, if only for a little while.
So he gets in line. Treats himself to an Americano.
He’s barely halfway through his drink when something cuts through the murmur of conversations. A laugh, bright and familiar in a way that cracks something open inside him.
Buck blinks and looks up. He doesn’t mean to look, but there’s always something about a laugh that cuts through the low buzz of chatter — something that turns heads to the source, as if chasing someone else’s joy.
And there he was.
Curly-haired. Taller than Buck remembers — because of course he is — shoulders broader, jaw more defined. The smile is different too: sharper now, older, with lines of experience that Buck hadn’t been there to witness. In spite of all that, the laugh is still the same, if not an octave deeper.
It hits Buck like a gut punch. He doesn’t even realize he’s moving to stand until he hears the sound of his chair scraping back.
Christopher Diaz is twenty-five now.
And still, all Buck can see is the twelve-year-old boy who used to curl up next to him on the couch and whisper, "Don’t tell my dad, but I like your mac and cheese better."
A thousand memories slam into him at once — a kid curled against his side during a thunderstorm, arms wrapped around Buck’s neck as he cried over a bad dream. Sticky fingers and chocolate ice cream. Handwritten drawings in crayon. “The best Buck ever.”
The boy he used to carry on his back, the kid who used to beg for bedtime stories and fall asleep on his chest during movie nights — he was standing there in front of him.
A man now.
Chris is still laughing, one hand clutching a coffee cup, the other waving around as he says something to the group of friends around him.
And then, like something out of a dream, his eyes sweep the room, and lands on Buck.
Buck freezes. For a horrifying fraction of a second, Chris doesn’t react. But then his eyebrows pull into a scrunch, and then his eyes widen.
“Buck?”
The word is barely a whisper, but Buck hears it like a gunshot.
He takes a hesitant step forward, but Chris is already crossing the room. No hesitation from his side, just pure urgency.
Chris collides into Buck with a hug that feels so achingly familiar, it steals the breath from his lungs. It’s like muscle memory, like coming home — like ten years hadn’t carved a canyon between them.
Buck wraps his arms around him and holds on, his throat closing up. Chris smells like clean soap and city air and something faintly familiar — maybe the same damn laundry detergent Buck used to buy for Eddie years ago. The boy in his arms is solid and warm and real, and Buck doesn’t care that his eyes are burning or that he’s shaking.
Chris is too tall now, shoulder to shoulder with Buck, and Buck is blinking too hard to see straight, but none of it matters.
“God, look at you,” Buck says, voice shaking. “You’re— Jesus, you’re grown.”
“I thought—” Chris pulls back slightly, eyes shining and voice deeper than Buck had ever expected. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”
“Me neither,” Buck admits, brushing a hand through Chris’s curls. “But I never stopped missing you.”
“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Chris huffs out a laugh.
“I can’t believe you recognised me,” Buck says, wiping at his eyes before it gets embarrassing. “It’s been…”
“Just over ten years,” Chris offers softly.
“Feels like a lifetime,” is all Buck can say. There’s so much more he wants to add, but it’s all knotted up in his throat. I missed you. I thought about you every day. I didn’t know how to stay in your life after your dad stopped calling.
Chris fills the silence. “Do you— do you wanna come back to my place? I’m just off campus. You can meet the guys I live with, and we can… you know. Talk.”
“Yeah,” Buck says, his voice cracking. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”
They step out into the fading sun, the air brisk and clean in the way spring evenings sometimes are. The kind of air that makes you think maybe something was about to change.
Buck lifts his hand to take another sip of his coffee, and he can feel Chris’ eyes track the movement.
“I didn’t know you were married,” Chris says, once Buck gets his fill of caffeine and they fall into step together.
The words could have carried weight. Could have been accusatory. Could have been sharp and pointed, like a quiet punishment for letting the distance fester.
But they’re not. They’re just simple, curious, like he’s still trying to understand the version of Buck standing beside him.
“Oh, um,” Buck says, looking down at the wedding ring that’s still wrapped around his finger. “I’m not. Well, not anymore.”
“Oh.” Chris looks at him — really looks — and something soft settles in his expression. “Sorry.”
Buck shrugs, trying to play it off. “Don’t be. It wasn’t right. It was never…”
He trails off, unsure of where exactly that sentence was going to end. On whose name it was going to end.
Chris doesn’t push, instead he nods. It’s understanding in a way that makes Buck ache. They’re quiet for a moment before Buck asks the question he hasn’t dared until now.
“How’s your dad?” Buck tries to keep the question light, casual, like it doesn’t mean everything. Like it’s not the one he’s been avoiding since the moment he saw Chris, grown and radiant and looking so much like Eddie.
“He’s… good,” Chris smiles. Half-shy, half-proud. “He’s happy.”
Buck nods, biting back the ache. “That’s good.”
“He’s with someone,” Chris adds, offhanded, almost — but not quite. Like it matters. Like he knows it matters.
“Oh?” Buck tries to sound casual, but something in his chest goes tight. And even though it’s stupid, even though the chances are slim to none, even though he hasn’t been part of Eddie’s world in years, his mouth moves before he can stop it. “Anyone I know?”
Chris shakes his head. “No. His name’s Mark.”
And just like that, the air changes.
Buck feels the ground shift beneath him. Not in a bad way. Not really. Just in that quiet, disorienting way when you realize the story you’d been telling yourself was missing a chapter. Or maybe a whole book.
Buck blinks, heart stuttering in a different way now. He covers it with a tight smile. “Huh.”
“You didn’t know,” Chris says, shooting him a sideways look. It’s a statement more than it is a question. Buck’s beginning to think there’s a lot of things he doesn’t know anymore.
“No.” Buck’s voice is thin. “I always thought…”
“That he was straight?” Chris finishes. “Yeah. I think he did too.”
Buck lets out a low laugh. “Figures.”
Chris doesn’t say anything, just gives him a small smile that looks way too much like Eddie’s.
The flat is a cramped second-floor walk-up with peeling paint on the stair rail and music thumping faintly through the walls — some kind of bass-heavy pop that makes Buck feel even older than he already is. A group of voices echo from inside as Chris unlocks the door, shouting and laughing like they were in the middle of some inside joke, in a language Buck would never understand.
“Give me two seconds,” Chris says, and then yells over his shoulder to the room at large. “I’m stealing the living room! We’ll be out of your hair in a bit.”
“Your dad?” someone calls, followed by a snort.
Chris shoots Buck an apologetic look. “They’re idiots.”
“Tell them I’m flattered,” Buck chuckles, finding that he actually means it.
They duck into the smaller of two living rooms — really just a converted den with a lumpy couch and a window that stuck halfway open. It’s quieter here, save for the distant murmur of music behind closed doors.
The silence stretches. Comfortable, but weighted.
“I should’ve tried harder,” Buck says suddenly, the words ripping out of him before he can soften them to match their surroundings. “To stay in touch. To find you. I— I didn’t know where you went after Texas. I didn’t even know if you still—” His throat closes up, sharp and tight. “I’m sorry, Chris.”
Chris looks over at him, expression open and calm, like he’d been expecting this.
“It wasn’t all on you,” he shrugs. “Dad moved around a lot after Texas. He was working weird hours. And I guess… yeah, I was mad for a while. That you just stopped calling.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Buck winces. “I just— things got messy. I spiraled. Bobby passed. Hen and Karen moved out east. Then work. A wedding. Then more work. And one day I looked up and years had passed. I know that sounds like an excuse, but—”
“It doesn’t,” he cuts in gently. “It sounds like life.”
Buck looks at him, something thick and aching in his chest. “I loved you, you know. Like you were mine. You and your dad.”
“I know,” Chris’ voice is quiet. “I never forgot.”
Buck’s hands are clenched in his lap. He didn’t mean to go so deep so fast, but being here — being with Chris — dug everything up all at once. Years of missing them. Years of pretending he hadn’t.
“He talks about you sometimes,” Chris says, leaning back against the couch. “Never much. Just— little things here and there. Stuff from the old days.”
The room swims a little, the weight of those words hitting harder than Buck expected. Chris shifts on the couch, reaching for his phone and unlocking it with quick taps in succession using his thumb. “You wanna see some photos?”
Buck blinks, startled. “Of your dad?”
“Duh. Who else?” Chris grins. “You didn’t think I’d bring him up and not show you how gray he’s getting?”
Buck huffs a laugh, already bracing himself. “He used to freak out about one gray hair.”
“Oh, he still does,” Chris laughs, pulling up his gallery. “But Mark likes it, so now he pretends he’s leaning into the ‘salt and pepper’ thing.”
The name comes out smooth, practiced. Like it belongs. Like Chris has already made all the room he needed for someone else. He tilts the phone towards Buck, screen lighting up between them.
The first picture hits him harder than he expected.
It’s Eddie, older now, hair cropped close at the sides and the beginnings of silver at his temples. He’s standing in a field somewhere, wind blowing through tall grass, sun catching on his smile. Mark is next to him, dark curls, kind eyes, his hand resting lightly on Eddie’s waist.
They looked… easy. Comfortable. Like they knew how to move around each other.
Buck stares too long. His jaw tightens. He wants to be happy for Eddie. He does. But the truth of what he lost settles heavy in his chest, and it hurts more than he wants to admit.
Chris swipes again. “That one’s from last Christmas. We were in El Paso with Mark’s family.”
Another photo — Eddie laughing, half a glass of wine in one hand, Mark pressing a kiss to his cheek.
Buck’s chest twists.
He’s not surprised. Not really. He doesn’t even think he’s allowed to be surprised. He knew Eddie had always been private about everything — who he was, what he wanted, what he needed. Buck had just never been around long enough to see that privacy peel back.
“He looks so… happy,” Buck murmurs, watching the blurry photo on Chris’ phone like it might change if he looks long enough. There’s something bitter blooming in his chest — jealousy, almost. And shame, tangled up with it.
Chris glances at him, softer now. “He is. Most days. But I think…” He pauses, thoughtful. “I don’t know. He still carries stuff. Guilt. Regret.”
“Yeah,” Buck says, voice raw. “I know the feeling.” And he does. God, does he.
He’s carried Eddie in his chest like a phantom limb — something both missing and still aching as if it were there. Something he never figured out how to let go of. And now it’s too late, isn’t it?
“You’re not mad?” Chris gives him a look.
“No,” Buck says honestly. “I mean… maybe a little. At myself. For not being around to see him figure himself out. For missing it.”
Chris nods. There’s something so grown about him now — it knocks the wind out of Buck all over again. “He missed you too, you know.”
Buck looks at him, eyes stinging. “Did he say that?”
“Not in words,” Chris says. “But… yeah. Sometimes.”
Buck’s breath catches. He wants to ask what sometimes means. When it happened. What it looked like. If Eddie ever looked at his phone and hovered over Buck’s name. If he ever typed out a message and deleted it. If he ever sat in the dark and thought about the things they never said.
“Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
Chris turns to him. “Yeah?”
“Do you think your dad ever…?” Buck trails off, suddenly unsure. It suddenly feels too heavy, too much. Maybe this isn’t fair to ask. Maybe this isn’t Chris’s burden to carry.
But Chris — grown, steady, impossibly kind — doesn’t even blink. He finishes the question for him, like it was always waiting between them. “Loved you?”
Buck startles, but Chris just gives him a small, knowing smile. “I was a kid, not an idiot. I saw how he looked at you. How you looked at him. I didn’t have the words for it back then, but I remember.”
Buck’s breath catches.
Chris tucks his phone away. “You should talk to him.”
“Do you think he’d even want that?”
Chris looks at him, and Buck sees the Diaz in him so clearly in that moment: the quiet strength, the unsaid things held behind steady eyes. “I think he never stopped wanting that.”
They spend the next hour talking about everything and nothing — Chris’ PhD, Buck’s work, the city, its food, dumb TikToks Chris insists on showing him. Buck tries not to stare too hard, not to fall too deep into the nostalgia that wraps around every glance at Chris. He’s older, wiser, but still him — still the same kid Buck used to carry on his back at the zoo, still the boy who once fell asleep curled against his side during movie nights.
He’s just about to ask Chris where Eddie lives, when Chris’ phone buzzes.
Chris glances at the screen, and immediately straightens. “It’s my dad.”
Buck goes stock still.
Chris shoots a look at Buck, inhales heavily, and swipes to answer. “Hey, Dad.”
He doesn’t put the call on speaker, and Buck doesn’t ask. He doesn’t think he’d have been able to handle hearing Eddie’s voice so soon and without warning. But the apartment was quiet now, and Buck couldn’t not hear Chris’ side of the conversation.
“Yeah. No, I’m home,” Chris says, twisting slightly away. “It was kind of a weird day.”
A pause. Eddie’s probably speaking. Buck tries not to breathe too loudly.
“No, I’m fine. I just— ran into someone.”
His voice softens a little, like he’s unsure how to say it.
“Buck.”
Buck’s throat goes tight.
Another silence.
Chris’s lips twitch into a half-smile, a little exasperated, a little fond. “How many Buck’s do you know, Dad?”
Buck watches the way Chris’s face stills as he listens. The pinch in his brow. The way his mouth presses into a thin line as whatever Eddie’s saying sinks in.
“No, he didn’t know I lived here,” Chris says eventually, looking down at his lap. “It was just— random. Like fate or something.”
He lets out a soft laugh, but Buck hears the nerves in it. The tremble underneath.
“No, he’s here. We’ve been catching up.”
Something flickers across Chris’s face. A crease between his brows. He looked down at his lap.
“Dad. He didn’t mean to disappear. Things were hard. You know that.”
Buck’s chest tightens, the words cutting sharp even though Chris is defending him. Or maybe because he is.
“And— you know, you could have reached out too.”
Buck looks away, gut twisting. He’s not sure if he wants to run or throw up or curl into the couch cushions and disappear.
Another beat of silence.
“Yeah,” Chris says. “I know.”
A softer breath this time.
“I didn’t text you because I thought… I don’t know. I didn’t want you to freak out. Or shut down. Or hang up.”
Buck’s heart sinks. That hurt isn’t meant for him, but it still hits like it is.
Chris nods slowly, even though Eddie can’t see him.
“I’ll tell him.”
Then: “Okay. Yeah. I love you too. I’ll see you tonight.”
Chris hands up and lets the phone drop to his lap.
Buck stares at his hands. “He mad?”
Chris doesn’t answer right away.
Then: “Not mad. Just… caught off guard. He sounded, I don’t know, sad, maybe. I think hearing your name knocked the air out of him.”
Buck nods slowly. “Guess I know the feeling.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Chris says quietly. “But you did stop talking to us. And that left a mark.”
Buck swallows.
Chris nudges his knee. “You know, I used to think you and my dad would end up together,” he says, and it comes so out of left-field that Buck gets whiplash from the speed he turns his head.
“What?” he breathes, too thrown to mask anything.
Chris doesn’t flinch. “When I was a kid. I thought that was just how it would go. You were always there. Always looking at him like he was the only person in the room.”
For the tenth time that day, Buck feels like his lungs have stopped working.
“I mean, you were in love with him, right?” Chris asks, so calmly it almost doesn’t sound like a question.
Buck blinks, jaw falling slightly open. “Chris—”
“It’s okay. I’m not trying to, like, stir anything up,” Chris says, leaning back into the cushions. He stares up at the ceiling. “I just… I used to think that’s what love looked like. The way you looked at him. The way you took care of both of us.”
Buck closes his eyes. Just for a second. Just to keep it together.
He thinks of a hundred nights sitting across from Eddie at the kitchen table, sharing beers and stories and that quiet space only they could ever really fill. Thinks of Eddie’s laugh, the one that only came out when Buck was being stupid on purpose. Thinks of brushing shoulders in the locker room, of movie nights with Christopher curled between them, of a million little almosts.
“I loved him,” Buck says finally, the words torn from him like they’d been waiting all this time. “God, Chris. I loved him so much it felt like it was killing me sometimes.”
Chris just nods, like he already knew. Because of course he did.
“I wanted to be there. For both of you. I meant to be,” Buck goes on, voice cracking. “But things got… complicated. I didn’t know how to stay without ruining everything.”
“You didn’t ruin anything,” Chris says gently. “You gave us so much. You gave me so much. I never blamed you.”
Buck lets out a shaky breath, blinking hard. “He’s really happy with Mark?”
Chris gives him a look, soft but unreadable. “He’s content. Mark is kind, and patient with my dad, and he makes him laugh when no one else can. But…” He trailed off, eyes focused on the flicker of a streetlight outside. “He’s not you.”
That does something to Buck. Something sharp and aching that settles in his ribs and refuses to budge.
“He doesn’t make Dad weird and nervous,” Chris continues. “He doesn’t make him overthink every little thing he says. He doesn’t make him glow. He loves Mark. But he loved you first. And I think… maybe he still does. Just differently. Or maybe not so differently. I don’t know.””
Buck lets out a shaky breath. “Chris, I—”
“I know it wasn’t simple. I know you had your reasons. Life was messy back then. But I just… I think maybe you both thought you were doing the right thing by letting go. And maybe you were. But I don’t think either of you ever stopped wanting the other.”
Buck looks down at his hands, trying to remember how to steady himself when the floor itself feels like it’s tilting under him.
Chris leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I saw him once, like two years ago, just sitting in the garage, holding one of those old photos of the three of us. I don’t think he knew I saw. But he looked so— lost.”
Buck can’t speak. Can’t move.
Chris softens. “I’m not saying this to guilt you. I’m saying it because I think he still loves you. And I know you still love him.”
There’s a long silence. The kind that trembles with everything unsaid.
When Buck finally finds his voice, it comes out hoarse. “I never stopped, Chris. God. I never even figured out how.”
Chris just nods, quiet and steady and years older than the last time Buck had held his tiny hand.
Buck presses his fingertips to his eyes and laughs, watery and hollow. “You’ve gotten too wise, you know that?”
Chris grins. “Perks of being raised by emotionally repressed men.”
That pulls a choked laugh out of Buck.
“He’s coming by,” Chris says after a moment. “Not right now. But soon. I didn’t push. I just told him you were here, and he said okay.”
Buck looks up, eyes wide.
“I figured you might want a little warning,” Chris adds with a small smile. “So you don’t pass out when he walks through the door.”
Buck huffs a watery laugh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Chris nudges him gently. “You’ll be okay, Buck. Both of you.”
Buck doesn’t answer — but he looks at Chris like he was seeing him for the first time, fully grown and brave and wise in ways that shouldn’t have surprised him, but did.