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“If you were a dinosaur, what dinosaur would you be?”
It wasn’t the first time Eddie had gotten a question like that from Buck. Probably not the last, either. Buck was looking up at Eddie, watching him dish some mac-and-cheese onto Christopher’s plate, with this twinkle in his eyes—like this was the most interesting, earnest, most very serious matter.
Christopher’s homework was still on the table, jumbled into a stack across from where they sat eating dinner; pushed to the side for the time being. It was a science project about dinosaurs, which Buck had, as per usual, taken to helping with. So, Eddie supposed, the question wasn’t really out of left field (as they could be with Buck, more often than not).
“I feel like you already have an answer for me,” Eddie teased, flashing Buck a fondly-exasperated grin.
“Well, duh, of course I do. I think it’s an obvious choice. But I want to hear your answer first.”
Eddie sighed, mulling it over. The dinosaur project hadn’t really involved him—Buck was always much better with science and math stuff, where Eddie tended pretty exclusively towards fixing the horrible grammar that made its way into Chris’ essays via Buck. Hence the sigh. He actually wasn’t sure if he could name any dinosaurs outside of the ones in Land Before Time. And even then, he didn’t particularly identify with any of those. How does one identify with a dinosaur, anyway?
“T-Rex?” Eddie tried.
“Booooring,” Buck groaned, smiling at the giggle it got out of Chris.
“Is that really the only one you can name?”
“Hey, I’m not the dinosaur expert here! You put me on the spot!”
Buck laughed, making a gesture to Chris as if saying, ‘can you believe this guy?’
Despite feeling a little defensive, Eddie would never fret watching the two of them pair up. Even if it was to unite against him.
“I think I’d be a Brontosaurus,” Christopher announced proudly.
“Ah, ah,” Buck tutted. “What did we learn earlier, buddy?”
“Oh, right,” Chris jumped a little in his seat. “Apatosaurus, I mean!”
Eddie raised his eyebrows at Buck, searching for the context he was missing.
“There’s been controversy in the dinosaur world. Controvers-aurus-y!” Buck clarified, wearing a goofy smirk that told Eddie the man was way too proud of that stupid pun (if you could even count it as one; Eddie laughed regardless).
“Brontosaurus wasn’t really its own, distinct genus. Just a different species of the Apatosaurus. Either way, I think that’s accurate, Chris. Pretty docile, very cool. And with how much you’ve been growing, I’d definitely classify you as a gentle giant, just like them.”
Chris nodded in agreement, extremely validated by the explanation.
“And me?” Eddie pushed. “Dying to hear what you’re going to stick me with,” he joked, tone dripping with sarcasm.
Eddie was half-certain Buck would tease, label him as one of the ugly, duck-billed ones, or the weird, tiny bird thing with big teeth he’d shown Eddie a picture of earlier in the week.
“Ankylosaurus,” Buck answered simply.
“Which one is that? Ugly, duck-billed or bird who needs an orthodontist?”
Buck shook his head, chuckling.
“Neither! Come on, I’m being serious. It’s the one from Ice Age, with the club tail.”
“Alright, could be worse. Why that one?”
“Because you’ve got a tough exterior. Spiky tail, full-body armor, sharp horns. Also an especially thick skull. But on the inside, you’re just a short, protective herbivore.”
Definitely could be worse, if the way Eddie’s heart was swelling in his chest was any indication.
Eddie pushed it down, though, and opted for throwing a piece of dinner roll at Buck’s lap.
“I’m not short!”
*******
Silly questions were more often than not fielded in the firehouse. There—restless in the bunkroom, in the quiet between calls—it was free reign, and Eddie was happily accustomed to it. Seven years of questions in, there was really no moment of downtime that Eddie didn’t expect Buck to break with some speculative scenario or would-you-rather.
Buck turned to Eddie, his knee propped on the coffee table (which Bobby or Hen would have promptly scolded him for, had they been nearby) and his body effectively, excessively close to Eddie despite the whole rest of the couch being vacant.
“Who do you think would win in a fight: me or Athena?”
“Buck, she has a gun.”
Buck grimaced, considering that for the first time.
“Okay, sure, whatever. No weapons, though.”
“She’s also a cop. And she’s Athena.”
Buck couldn’t argue with that.
“What about me and Hen?”
Eddie leveled him, unimpressed. It was answer enough.
“Fine, valid. Really, though? No chance?”
“Buck, you’ve chosen two horrible matchups. At least make your hypothetical fights fair ones.”
“Me and Chimney?”
“Well, he did give you that black eye…” Eddie started, pretending to really think about it.
“Seriously?! There’s no way you think-”
Buck cut himself off, hitting Eddie across the chest when he saw him laughing.
“Okay, hilarious. I could definitely beat Chim, right?”
“You could definitely beat Chim. Although now, it’s unfair the opposite way. You’ve got like six inches on the guy.”
“Oh, so I’m not strong enough, just tall enough?” Buck feigned offense, clutching his metaphorical pearls at Eddie’s implication.
Eddie rolled his eyes with a playful huff.
“You’re stronger than Chimney, too. Just pointing out the advantage you’re fighting from.”
“Ha! I know that’s right,” Buck clapped in victory, flexing his bicep in Eddie’s face.
Eddie didn’t comment on Buck’s willful ignorance of the second half of his sentence.
“Don’t get too cocky there. We already agreed you’d lose against two women.”
“But two of, like, the strongest women ever. I’ll take it.”
The alarm rang seconds later, calling them out, and Eddie couldn’t help but snort at the mischievous, smug grin Buck flashed at Chimney as they climbed into the truck.
*******
Eddie and Buck had practically always set up in the back of the bunkroom, both on the bottom bunk of caddy-cornered beds, being the two resident insomniacs. Early into their friendship, the rest of the crew had exiled them to that furthest outskirt of the room, sick within two shifts of listening to their whispered conversation at all hours of the night. Since then, it had been routine; unquestioned, unchallenged, essentially tradition. They’d both pretend each night would be different. Like this time, they’d actually both try to sleep. Sometimes Buck would even toss and turn, as if finding a comfortable position was possible on these cement-like mattresses, and as if even being comfortable was enough to let him rest away the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It never worked. Queue countless games of twenty questions (well, if twenty questions was just asking insane things, with no real motive to guess or objective to win).
“Do you think we would’ve been friends in high school?” Buck whispered.
He’d been waiting for Buck to ask something. Had actually worried Buck might have really fallen asleep this time, the silence had drawn on so long.
Eddie considered it for a few seconds.
“I don’t know, Buck. Maybe. I mean, I played baseball, so we both were on sports teams. That might’ve helped. I think I was different then.”
“I was different, too. A lot angrier. Maddie had moved out, so it was just me and my parents. Not the best years of my life,” he recalled sourly.
“Yeah, not the best years of mine, either. I had to take care of my sisters a lot, especially once I got my license. I resented all of it. And I was kind of a loner.”
“Did you not have a lot of friends from baseball?”
Eddie paused, like he was admitting something terrifying. He swallowed it down, not realizing high school could still be haunting him all these years later.
“I didn’t really have any friends. Shannon, eventually. But otherwise, it was just chores, school, practice. Then sisters’ practices, cook dinner, do homework, more chores. Sleep. Repeat. Hard to find the time when you’re the ‘man of the house.’ Plus, I was kinda shy.”
“Eddie Diaz, the shy, honors-class, hot baseball player? Find it hard to believe you weren’t prom king,” Buck teased.
Eddie nearly choked on his own spit. Totally cool, real smooth.
No big deal, being called hot by Buck.
“Definitely not prom king,” he eventually managed with a scoff.
Eddie could hear the little exhale of amusement from Buck’s nose, could feel air whoosh against him as Buck turned on his side, could tell Buck was facing him now, even in the pitch-black.
“I didn’t have many friends either,” he murmured, then hesitated.
“I think I could’ve used a friend like you.”
It felt heavy, the weight of the honest reflection. Eddie sat with it for a minute, reveling in its meaning, the tiny hole in his heart it filled.
“Yeah, me too.”
A moment, a deep breath, and Buck was back on his game. He didn’t know how Buck did that. So serious to light-hearted, like the flip of a switch.
“What about elementary school?”
Eddie barked a laugh, far too loud for the current environment. Hen grumbled a bit in her sleep, but didn’t wake (Eddie thanked his lucky stars for that).
“I can’t even imagine you in elementary school, Buck.”
“Yeah, I was pretty annoying. Just a mess of ADHD tendencies and a bunch of scrapes and bruises and casts. I was also ridiculously loud. And not a good listener.”
“Oh, so exactly the same?”
He was immediately smacked with Buck’s pillow.
*******
Eddie took his spot next to Buck on the couch, handing Buck a beer and opening his own. He didn’t even get a chance to reach for the TV remote before—
“If we had periods, do you think we’d be in sync?”
Eddie aspirated his sip of beer. Buck hit him on the back as he coughed, then switched to rubbing gentle circles on it when Eddie finally got a breath in.
“Fuck, what?”
“Would our periods be in sync? I was just…just thinking about how much time we spend together. Like, we just got off a twenty-four, and now we’re here. Watching our show, ordering dinner. I’ll inevitably end up staying over. We’re together all the time. Do you think it’d be enough to sync up our periods?”
“Do you…are you saying we’re together too much?” Eddie asked quietly, praying the answer was a resounding no.
“Because you didn’t have to come. I know I said Christopher’s got a sleepover, so the house is a little lonely, but I didn’t mean to guilt-trip you into hanging out with me.”
Buck turned to look at him, soft and tender and filled with something Eddie couldn’t quite label.
“That’s not what I’m saying. I always want to hang out with you.”
Eddie nodded, reassured, ducking his head at the sentiment.
“Well?”
“I’d imagine we’d be on the same cycle, yeah. I see you more than I see anyone, so if I’d match up with anyone, it’d have to be you.”
“Would you give me your sweatshirt to wrap around my waist if I bled through my shorts?”
“Okay, now you’re getting ridiculous.”
“You wouldn’t? You’d let me embarrass myself all day with a blood stain?”
Eddie sighed belabouredly, running a hand over his face with a disbelieving laugh.
“Obviously I’d give you my sweatshirt, Buck. I’d even swap my own pants with yours. I just- can’t believe this is what we’re talking about right now. I don’t really want to picture either of us trying to manage periods.”
“Fair enough,” he answered, throwing his hands up in surrender.
He didn’t stop, though; just shifted gears.
“What if I was the only one with a period. Would you go into the store and buy me tampons? Or would you be too embarrassed?”
“C’mon, Buck. I have two sisters! I’m not embarrassed to buy tampons. Only a loser wouldn’t do that for their girlfriend.”
“Aw, Eddie, are you saying I’m your girlfriend?” Buck mocked, batting his eyelashes.
And fuck, Eddie didn’t mean to slip like that. He was such an idiot; blushing, feeling his face heat up. Buck’s teasing was harmless, really, but Eddie couldn’t deny the way it made his stomach flutter—getting butterflies thinking of Buck as more than a friend.
“Jesus, Buck, you know what I mean.”
“I’d be one lucky girl to have you, Eddie Diaz,” he swooned, making a kissy face dangerously near Eddie’s cheek.
Eddie took a huge gulp from his bottle and shoved Buck’s shoulder away, definitely not thinking about how close Buck’s lips had been to his face. How much he wanted them to be closer.
*******
“If you were eating me, what sauce would you dip me into?”
Chimney probably got whiplash from how hard he jolted his head around, fixing Buck with an incredulous frown. When Eddie didn’t bat an eye, but instead laid his head against the back of the sofa in contemplation, Chim turned the outrage to him.
“Seriously? Is this the kinda stuff you two talk about all day and night?”
Buck wasn’t fazed by the interruption. Eddie, feeling characteristically protective, was. Though, he’d make up for Chim’s judgment by giving Buck the attention he deserved. They should all be used to this by now, frankly—not just Eddie. They loved Buck, and this was Buck. All silly introspection and preposterous, boundless curiosity.
“How are you cooked? Like, are you a chicken tender in this scenario? Fried? Or grilled, or something else?”
Buck scrunched his lips to the side, thinking. It was one of Eddie’s favorite Buck Things. The way his face twisted when he concentrated on something, anything, everything. Pink lips pressed together, birthmark wrinkled as he furrowed his eyebrows.
“Hmm. Good question. Let’s go with chicken tender. Well, Buck tender, I guess. Evan tender? Chicken t-Evan-der? I’ll workshop the name.”
Eddie laughed, despite himself. Buck was such a dork, but…God, he did love him.
“Ranch,” is what he decided after a minute of consideration.
“Ugh, Eddie. That’s so basic.”
“Hey, you didn’t even give me a chance to explain my reasoning!”
Buck sighed, motioning him to continue with a flick of his palm.
“Fine, fine, go on. Try to justify the lame.”
“Well, I was thinking you’d probably be tougher than a regular chicken tender. You’re in better shape than most chickens, so kinda muscle-y, but I think you’d taste sweeter. So you need a thicker sauce to get through the texture, but one that’s tangy and savory to cut through the sweet. Así: ranch.”
It was a more detailed reason than Eddie usually gave to these questions. Sure, he had explained some goofy things before. But now, with Chim’s judgy eyes on them, Eddie made sure to give back as much thoughtfulness as Buck had asked with.
“Wow, you actually convinced me,” Buck smiled, giving Eddie an acted round of applause.
“That was a pretty good answer.”
“You two are insane,” was all Chim said.
Eddie waved him off, a glare plastered to his face.
“It was a good question, Buck. Chimney, I’d dip you into hot lava.”
Buck laughed, loud and full, and Jesus, Eddie would do anything a hundred times over to make Buck sound like that. Chim just put his hands out, grunting, ‘what did I do?’ as he turned his attention back to the television.
“What would you dip me into?” Eddie prompted.
“Are you also an Eddie tender?”
“Yes. Same style of preparation.”
“Honey mustard,” Buck grinned.
Eddie’s favorite. And by the proud expression on Buck’s face, he knew Buck said it for that exact reason. A strange way of being known, but a decidedly Buck one (a good one).
*******
The 118 family’s nights out were few and far between, especially as a whole crew. Between kids, shift changes, all the other responsibilities, it was always a challenge to get everyone in the same place outside of the firehouse. Maddie and Chimney were partial to trying to organize karaoke nights, which Eddie hated (and skipped with half-hearted excuses) but Buck loved. Bobby and Athena typically offered their backyard for dinner parties, which Eddie loved but Buck argued were not sufficient to classify as nights out. Buck and Eddie were the ones to propose trivia nights at various bars, but the rest of the team had gotten so tired of losing that those were quickly rejected. Hen and Karen’s ideas usually won out, being the most in-touch with local events, which is how they all ended up at a new, relatively lowkey patio bar with Live Music Thursdays.
They were in the midst of their seventy-two hours off-shift, gathered around a bench table that really shouldn’t fit all eight of them, but worked because Eddie smushed himself against Buck so tightly that their thighs were nearly overlapping. Also on account of their days off, Buck was already three cocktails in, humming happily to the mellow beginnings of Free Bird. Eddie, only two beers deep, was not at the ‘one-with-the-music’ stage yet, but was content to be in good company—content, too, to have Buck’s side rubbing against his every time he leaned in to talk.
When Buck naturally fell out of the group’s conversation, he took a sip of his (fourth, now) drink and spoke into Eddie’s shoulder.
“Which one of us do you think is most likely to get famous?”
“Where did that one come from?”
Buck grinned dumbly, a little hazy in the eyes.
“Just thinking about the band. Like, do you think any musicians ever get really famous from playing gigs at bars?”
“John Prine did. Pretty sure the story is he heckled a performer at an open mic, and the guy told him to get up there himself if it was so easy. Then, obviously, he’s John Prine, so he was a hit. Got offered a weekly gig, and I guess got discovered from that. Ray LaMontagne, too, I think,” Eddie answered.
Eddie nodded his thanks to the waitress when she placed a glass of whisky in front of him, feeling oddly proud as Buck admired him with something like wonder.
“How do you know these things?”
“Please, Buck. You know more about literally everything else. I get music.”
Buck chuckled sheepishly at the subtle praise.
“Okay, fine, you get music. Really, though. Who of us is getting discovered?”
“Certainly not you, if we’re going by singing ability.”
“Eddieeeee! Rude!” Buck cried, punching his arm. “Just in general. Like, which one of us is more likely to go viral by accident. Or end up on the news.”
“Pretty sure you’ve been on the news more than a few times, hero.”
Buck rolled his eyes, shaking his head.
“That doesn’t count. Y’know, they put first responders on the news all the time. I was just doing my job.”
“Well, I’ve never been on the news, so the answer is still you.”
“You’re being difficult,” Buck groaned, taking another swig of whatever tequila concoction was mixed up in his glass.
“If we’re starting fresh from today, who’s more likely? And not for anything related to our jobs.”
“Okay, fine,” Eddie sighed. “Past doesn’t count. I still think it’s you.”
“Why?”
“You have a wider range of talent. Like, you could make a single TikTok of your baking and end up with a million views. Or someone could record the LAFD Flag Football team at practice, and there’d be three-thousand YouTube comments suggesting the Chargers sign you as their new tight end.”
Buck hummed in thought.
“I think it’s you.”
“Me? How? For what?”
“You’re hotter,” Buck pointed out, shrugging, like it was the easiest, most obvious thing in the world.
Eddie’s throat went dry. Heat creeped up his neck.
“I’m… what?”
“You’re objectively more attractive. You’ve got, like, movie-star good looks. And you can dance! If they ever made another Step Up movie you would definitely get the part.”
What was Eddie supposed to say to that? His mind was blank, and his heart was hammering against his chest, so close to Buck he could smell the sandalwood of his cologne and feel the ghost of his breath. And Buck said he was hot. Again.
“Um…I…thank you?”
“You’re welcome!” Buck giggled, bumping his shoulder—intentionally, this time—against Eddie. “I think you’d hate it, though. You’re too introverted for all that attention.”
“Fair point. Which is why it should be you. You’d like it much more than me,” Eddie reasoned, taking a slow drink, hoping the ‘liquid courage’ would live up to its name.
“Plus, you’re pretty hot yourself.”
Buck blushed a furious shade of pink. Eddie liked the way it matched his birthmark.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, Buck. I’m not blind.”
Buck was uncannily the shade of a tomato now, and he tucked his face into the curve of Eddie’s neck in an attempt to hide it. Eddie chuckled lightly, nervously, Buck’s head shaking on his shoulder as he did.
Buck didn’t move, even as his face cooled. He was well on his way to drunk, Eddie knew; definitely tipsy enough to be more carefree and tactile than usual.
He still didn’t lift his head when he asked, “Would you think I’m hot if I was a worm?”
Eddie paused.
“Is there a right answer to this? It feels like a trap.”
Buck finally picked himself up, and Eddie mourned the absence at a degree worthy of Shakespearean tragedy.
“No right answer,” he shook his head vehemently.
“Just honest opinion. Would I be hot if I was a worm?”
“Am I also a worm? Or are you asking me, a human, if I find worms attractive?”
Eddie was really lost with this one.
“Not any worms, idiot. Me as a worm.”
“As far as worms go…sure, Buck. You’d be a hot worm.”
The blush was back, flushing Buck’s cheeks the happiest shade of crimson Eddie had ever seen. His face was practically glowing with what Eddie would call a giddy smile, all white teeth and dimples. He flipped the switch, though, and turned to straight-faced in a second.
“Eddie?”
And Eddie was… slightly concerned for the looming words, given Buck’s sudden change in demeanor. He swallowed around a lump in his throat, wishing he’d started with the whisky instead of beer.
“Yeah, Buck?”
He looked bashful, leaning in close to whisper in the general vicinity of Eddie’s ear—at least, as close as he could get while still staring Eddie directly in the eyes. Fourth mixed drink was definitely starting to hit him.
“Would you love me if I was a worm?”
Hell yes, Eddie wanted to shout. Scream, I’d love you if I was a worm, or you were a worm, or I was dead, in any universe, even if I had amnesia and forgot everything else I’d still know I love you.
And okay, realistically, Eddie knew it was an understood truth that they loved each other; platonically, or quasi-platonically, or however you could describe this seven-year thing between them. But that wasn’t…they didn’t say it. Eddie was pretty sure this would be the first time. And Buck was half-drunk, tangling up those daunting three words in a hypothetical about a fucking worm, and would surely not realize how much weight they held for Eddie. Wouldn’t realize how he meant them.
He raised his eyes back up from their momentary fixation on a particular knot in the wood of the table, and saw Buck still staring, never having left. There was that something again. The thing Eddie couldn’t ever put a name to, no matter how many times he’d seen it when Buck looked at him. Hope, and nerves, and affection, and wanting, and pleading, and some sort of warm reverence. All mixed together, making it hard to parse out. Love maybe, Eddie finally realized.
“I’d still love you if you were a worm.”
“Still? Does that mean…do you love me now?”
Eddie stuttered, revoking his second of bravery.
“Fuck, I…yeah, of course, but um…it’s just-”
“Do you love love me?” Buck asked, deadly serious despite the adolescent phrasing.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Eddie huffed, all shaky breath and ardent avoidance.
“Eddie?”
“Buck, you’re drunk, I don’t want to…we were talking about worms-”
“Eddie.”
“Yes, Buck! Okay? I love love you.”
Eddie had shut his eyes without realizing, squeezing them closed, grappling with the fact that he’d just confessed to Buck like a middle-schooler passing a note to their crush. Buck was radio silent, which didn’t at all help the panic bubbling in Eddie’s stomach. When he dared to blink one eye open and face the cruel world, wincing a little in embarrassment, all he could see was a faceful of Buck. Buck, smiling dopey like a lovesick fool.
“You loooovee me,” Buck parroted, practically singing it.
Eddie was mortified, genuinely. He was never going to live this down. He might’ve ruined everything, and Buck wouldn’t say so, just joke around then let him down easy tomorrow when he woke up with a hangover. Maybe, better yet, Buck would get more drunk and forget this all happened (Eddie briefly considered buying shots to ensure this outcome).
Buck must’ve felt him drifting into his head. Just in time, too, because the waitress was passing, and Eddie was ready to flag her down for a round.
“Hey!” Buck blurted, shaking Eddie’s side.
That was one way to get his attention. Also, unfortunately, the attention of the rest of the table, who had until then been engrossed in a disgusting, painfully detailed horror story Hen was recounting about her lab in med school.
Eddie felt six pairs of eyes on the two of them as Buck pulled him in by the collar of his shirt.
“Hey, Eddie. Stop panicking. I love love you, too.”
Eddie was ninety-nine percent sure he was short-circuiting.
“Uh…as a worm, or…”
“Nope. As just you.”
Buck honest-to-God booped him on the nose as he said it (loveable, adorable idiot).
Hen cleared her throat, a knowing smirk on her face.
“Uh, what did we miss?”
Eddie was buffering. His brain was nothing but a loading icon spinning at a turtle’s pace, as slow as the ’94 Windows desktop he grew up playing Snood on. Stuck in the rut of ohmygodBucklovesme brain fog.
“Eddie loves me,” Buck shrugged, threading his arm through Eddie’s, completely oblivious to Eddie astral projecting beside him.
“Oh he does, does he?” Athena now, flitting her eyes between the two of them.
“He does,” Buck gloated. “Isn’t that crazy? And I love him, too!”
“It’s not so crazy, Buck,” Maddie commented.
Buck turned to Eddie instead, not satisfied with the muted, sarcastic responses from the table.
“Eddie, isn’t it crazy?”
He had finally returned to his body, just barely. Enough to admit it was, “uh, not so crazy. It’s been…I’ve loved you for a while now.”
“I’ve loved you for a while!” Buck gasped.
“And we’ve all already known this for a while,” Chim jumped in. “An embarrassingly long while, I might add. Been waiting on you two to catch up.”
“Wasn’t Eddie supposed to dip you in lava, Chim? You’re ruining the moment,” Buck whined.
“Yeah, Chim,” Karen (whose cocktail consumption had been on pace with Buck’s, impressively) said pointedly, elbowing both him and Hen, who she was sandwiched between.
“They’re having a moment. The moment.”
“The moment?” Eddie questioned, speaking up only to control his reaction to Buck nuzzling back into his neck.
“The one we’ve all been waiting for!” Karen clarified.
“I think what my wife means is,” Hen started, gently sliding Karen’s piña colada out of reach, “we’re really happy you two finally figured out what you mean to each other.”
“That!” Karen nodded enthusiastically.
“And all I meant was it’s taken you damn long enough to-” Chim tried, before being promptly cut off by Maddie pinching him and Buck shushing him.
“Enough out of you,” Buck grumbled, shooing Chimney with a lazy flick of his hand. “Why didn’t any of you tell me he loved me?”
Buck paused, shifting his focus back to Eddie, still cuddled into the curve of his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You…never asked.”
He took a breath, piecing it together himself as he spoke.
“You ask me so many things. Worms, dipping sauces, dinosaurs. About the past, about the future, about everything and nothing and anything. I figured if you loved me…if you wanted me to love you, you would’ve found a way to question it out of me by now.”
“So,” Buck exhaled. “What you’re saying is…I should ask you more questions?”
Eddie was laughing, and hopelessly smitten, and feeling brave. Ignoring the attentive audience watching his every move, he grasped Buck’s chin between his fingers, tilting him up, and pressed a kiss to his lips.
Short, sweet, soft, simple.
“Ask me as many questions as you want.”
And Eddie knew he would. Buck would surely ask him a million more, forever.
Eddie also knew that one day—down the line, maybe in a year (if he could hold out that long)—he’d have a question for Buck, too. One he’d ask with the same sincerity, same love, Buck had used for every question, silly or serious, before. One he’d ask on a knee, with a ring in his pocket.