Archive of Our Own ^beta

You taught me the courage of stars before you left

How light carries on endlessly even after death

With shortness of breath, you explained the infinite

How rare and beautiful it is to even exist

I couldn’t help but ask

For you to say it all again

I tried to write it down

But I could never find a pen

I’d give anything to hear

You say it one more time

That the universe was made

Just to be seen by my eyes.

Saturn- Sleeping At Last

Death-cast did not call Edmundo Diaz that night, because he was not dying today. Nonetheless was he awake at 12:32 am. He felt like dying, like a hollow crept into his body and deep down he had the feeling that this hollow—dark and still—was not going to vanish anytime soon.  

__

Death-cast called Evan Buckley at 12:31 am to tell him he was dying today.

Dying.

Dying.

Unlike many other deckers, he did not fight with the man on the other line, Pete, he did not scream at him, he did not start to cry. He simply thanked Pete for the call and rejected to hear about the different options he has today. He does not care.

Evan Buckley thought a lot about dying in his life. While he was a little kid in Pennsylvania, haunted by the ghost of his dead brother. More than one time he thought, maybe, if I was gone too, it would be easier for everyone. Easier for Maddie, who wouldn’t have to come back every other week just to check on him. Easier for his parents, who wouldn’t be reminded of Daniel every time they looked at him. Easier for himself, because he wouldn’t have that aching feeling in his chest anymore. He would be free.

Death was freedom.

Death was like growing wings.

But death-cast did not call little Evan, because he didn’t die back then.

Death-cast called him now.

The first time in his life that he wanted to live, truly live.

And death-cast called him.

And he only had one thought spinning in his mind over and over and over again.

He was dying today and he never told Eddie what he felt.

Eddie.

Eddie.

Eddie.

__

Eddie was tired—bone tired, the kind of exhaustion that wrapped itself around his body but refused to let his mind drift off. He knew the second he opened his eyes and stared into the ceiling’s shadows that sleep wasn’t coming back for him tonight. With a soft sigh, he swung one leg out of bed, planted his foot against the cool floor, and pushed himself upright.

It was one in the morning. Most people would think going for a run at this hour was crazy, reckless even. But for Eddie, there was something oddly soothing about it. The streets of Los Angeles, usually alive with the hum of traffic and the constant buzz of people, were nearly deserted now. The city that never really slept had at least slowed, draped in a blanket of quiet that Eddie found comforting.

He laced up his shoes in the half-dark, stepped outside, and let the cool night air hit his face. With each step, his muscles remembered the rhythm before his mind did. His breathing fell into place: in, out. In, out. His chest rising and falling in measured cadence, the steady beat of his feet against asphalt echoing softly off the buildings around him.

But no matter how hard he tried to lose himself in the run, the feeling wouldn’t go away. That restless, gnawing edge, like something pressing against his ribs from the inside. He tried to shake it off, focused harder on his breath. In. Out. In. Out. Still, it clung to him, heavy and unrelenting.

For a fleeting moment, Eddie thought about calling Buck. At this hour, chances were good Buck was still awake—Buck rarely went to bed early if he didn’t have to. And tomorrow, they didn’t. No shift at the station. Instead, they’d made plans: a trip to the hardware store in the late morning, just the two of them, to pick up supplies for Chris’s room.

Chris had been asking—begging—for months to redo his space. At first, Eddie resisted. Change wasn’t something he embraced easily. But then Buck, of course, had sided with Chris, championing the cause with that stubborn determination of his. Eddie didn’t stand a chance once the two of them teamed up. He gave in eventually, pretending to be more reluctant than he really was. Deep down, he wanted to see Chris light up, wanted to give his son a room that felt like his own.

Tomorrow, they’d start simple—painting the walls, choosing new furniture. The easy stuff. Eddie could already picture Chris hovering excitedly, and Buck with paint smeared across his cheek, grinning like this was the best project in the world.

Eddie kept running, pushing himself down another block, another corner. The city was silent except for the soft rustle of trees, the occasional flicker of a streetlight, the low hum of distant traffic on the freeway. When he finally slowed near an intersection, he stopped and leaned forward slightly, catching his breath. The air was cool in his lungs, sweat prickling at the back of his neck.

But the feeling was still there. Stronger now. A restless energy that felt like it might consume him if he let it. He clenched his fists, forced himself to shake it off. It was just a feeling, he told himself. Nothing more. Just another night he couldn’t sleep. It would pass. It always did.

__

Buck hadn’t fallen asleep yet when the Death-Cast call came through. He hadn’t even been close. Instead, he was deep into a rabbit hole on Wikipedia, scrolling through an old article about a bridge collapse in Ohio back in 1876. More than eighty people had died that day, dozens more injured. A tragedy that had once been front-page news, now barely remembered by anyone. Forgotten—except by Buck, who was sitting in the half-light of his apartment, hunched over his laptop, reading about names and numbers that had long since turned to dust.

But the words that refused to fade, the ones circling in his mind long after the call ended, weren’t about Ohio or steel or faulty engineering. They were Pete’s words, the same words Death-Cast told everyone: “This is your last day. Make it your day.”

Make it your day.

Buck repeated it silently, over and over, like a mantra he couldn’t quite make sense of. What did that even mean? How was he supposed to “make it his day” when every option felt both meaningless and impossibly heavy? He didn’t even know what he wanted to do with the next twenty-three hours. His mind was scattered, restless, clinging to fragments of thoughts that wouldn’t line up into anything clear.

He sat frozen for a long time, until the initial wave of shock passed and a different kind of panic began to seep in. He pushed himself up from the couch, legs stiff, and walked quickly to his bedroom. His hands shook as he reached for the drawer at the bottom of his nightstand, pulling out a thick stack of folded papers.

His will.

He had written it years ago, not long after the lightning strike. The night that should have killed him, but didn’t. Death-Cast hadn’t called him then. And yet—he had died, hadn’t he? His heart had stopped. The world had gone black. But then he’d come back.

So did that mean it hadn’t counted? Did Death-Cast only call when there was no coming back? Could he—somehow—survive this, too? The questions tangled in his head, desperate and impossible. He wanted to believe in loopholes, wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out. But deep down he knew better. Nobody outran Death.

His fingers trembled as he unfolded the will. The ink looked darker in the dim light, the creases worn from being opened and closed too many times. Just two months ago, he had revised it—polished it, made it final. Everything was there.

The apartment would go to Eddie. His car to May. Every cent he had saved would be split between Chris, Jee, and Robert. Everything else—whatever “everything else” amounted to—was Eddie’s as well.

It wasn’t much, not really. But it was all he had.

Buck drew in a sharp breath, staring down at the pages as though the words might rearrange themselves into something different if he looked hard enough. But they didn’t. They just stared back, unyielding and final. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. A little after one in the morning. That was it. He had less than twenty-four hours left.

By this time tomorrow, he’d be gone.

He folded the will again, more carefully this time, smoothing the paper with hands that still wouldn’t stop shaking. He left it on the kitchen counter, a place where someone would find it, where no one could miss it. That part was done. Settled.

The rest… he wasn’t sure how to handle. He couldn’t bring himself to tell anyone the truth. Not Eddie. Not Maddie. Not anyone. Because the thought of watching the people he loved begin to mourn him while he was still alive—that was unbearable. He couldn’t stomach their grief, couldn’t stand to see it etched into their faces before it had to be.

So he’d say goodbye quietly, in his own way. Smile when he needed to, crack jokes if it kept people from looking too closely. Pretend everything was fine, even as the hours slipped away.

Buck closed his eyes, exhaled, and whispered the words one more time, tasting them like ashes on his tongue: Make it your day.

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know if he could. But he knew this much—if these were the last hours he had, he wasn’t going to waste them watching the clock.

__

Death-cast didn’t call Maddie Han this night, because she wasn’t dying today.

What woke her instead was the sharp buzz of her phone, vibrating against the nightstand at half past three in the morning. For a second, she thought she’d dreamed it. Then the sound came again. She blinked herself awake, groggy, already feeling the heaviness of interrupted sleep in her bones.

She loved her little brother—God, she did. But why on earth he thought it was okay to call her in the middle of the night when she had a two-month-old baby in the house was beyond her.

She fumbled for the phone and answered on the third ring, her voice thick with sleep.
“Buck?”

“Hey, Mads.” His voice was tight, forced casual in a way that immediately put her on edge. “Uh… sorry to wake you. I… can I come over? Just for a bit?”

Her grogginess fell away in an instant. The tone in his voice—strained, paper-thin—set off every alarm bell in her. Maddie sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah, of course. Are you okay?”

There was a rustling sound on the other end, the faint rhythm of shoes against pavement. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. I’m, uh… I’m walking over now. Can you unlock the door for me?”

“Walking?” She frowned. “Why aren’t you driving?”

“My car’s busted.” His answer was quick, clipped.

Maddie wanted to press him, but before she could, she heard Robert stirring in his crib. She sighed quietly. “Alright. I’ll get the door. You woke the baby, so I’m up anyway.”

“Sorry, Mads. Really. Thank you.”

Then the line went dead.

Maddie dropped the phone onto the nightstand with a groan and pushed herself up. She padded softly to the nursery, scooping Robert into her arms before he could fuss loud enough to wake Chim. His warm little body settled against her chest, tiny fists curling into her shirt as she carried him downstairs.

By the time she reached the door, Buck was already standing outside, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he was bracing against a storm only he could feel.

“Hey,” she said softly, shifting Robert on her hip as she unlocked the door. “Come in.”

Buck stepped inside, his eyes flicking briefly to the baby before darting away. He tried for a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. Maddie studied him carefully. His skin was pale, his jaw tight, and there was a nervous energy radiating off him in waves.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” she asked gently, closing the door behind him.

“I just… needed to see you. Needed to see everyone.” He ran a hand through his hair, restless. “I couldn’t stay at my place tonight.”

Maddie shifted Robert again, rocking him absently. “Buck… you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” He forced a laugh, but it cracked halfway through. “I promise. I just—I needed to be here for a bit, that’s all.”

She didn’t buy it for a second, but pushing him would only make him shut down more. So she nodded slowly, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Alright. Well, you’re here. Want some tea?”

He shook his head. “No, I… actually, can I—” He hesitated, his voice catching. “Can I see Jee? Just for a minute.”

Maddie blinked. “She’s asleep.”

“I know. I just… I need to say goodnight.” His eyes met hers then, and something in them—a mix of desperation and tenderness—stopped her from arguing.

“Okay,” she said softly.

She carried Robert back upstairs with him trailing behind. In Jee’s room, Buck leaned over the crib, brushing a strand of hair gently from his niece’s forehead. He whispered, so quietly Maddie barely caught it: “I love you, Jee. Don’t forget that, okay?” Then he pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

Maddie’s throat tightened.

Next, he turned to Robert in her arms. The baby was awake now, blinking curiously up at his uncle. Buck kissed his tiny head, lingering there for a moment as though memorizing the feel of him. “I love you, little man,” he murmured, his voice breaking on the words.

And then, unexpectedly, he reached for Maddie. He wrapped her in a tight embrace, one hand steady on Robert’s back, the other gripping her shoulder as if letting go might undo him completely. “I love you, Mads,” he whispered against her hair.

Maddie froze. There was something in his voice—an undercurrent of finality—that chilled her. She hugged him back fiercely. “I love you too, Evan.”

When he pulled away, his eyes were too bright, his smile too forced. “I should go,” he said quickly.

“Go?” Maddie frowned. “It’s the middle of the night. Just stay—”

“I can’t.” He was already backing toward the door. “Thanks for letting me in. Sorry again for waking you.”

And before she could stop him, he was gone.

Maddie stood in the dim hallway, Robert fussing softly against her chest, and felt a wave of unease wash over her. It sat heavy in her stomach, an ache she couldn’t quite name but couldn’t shake either. Something was wrong—very wrong. She didn’t know what, didn’t know why. But she knew this much: her brother had come to say goodbye.

And that terrified her.

__

Buck ignored every call that came in after he left Maddie’s house. He didn’t even look at the screen anymore. He already knew what they were—her name flashing again and again, her voice waiting for him on voicemails he’d never open. Of course she’d figured it out; after the way he’d shown up at her door, she wasn’t stupid. Maddie always saw more than he wanted her to.

But it didn’t matter. Not tonight.

As long as he didn’t have to hear her voice breaking, as long as he didn’t have to picture the worry carved into her face, then he could pretend—pretend that what he’d done was enough. He had said goodbye the only way he could, and now the only thing left was to make it through the hours ahead without unraveling completely.

He blocked her number.

It felt brutal. Cold. Heartless. But in his mind, it was the only way to protect her. Protect her from him, from the knowledge of what was coming. If she couldn’t reach him, maybe she’d eventually convince herself she was overreacting. Maybe she’d forgive him later. Or maybe she’d hate him forever. Either way, it would be easier than letting her watch him die in slow motion.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and kept walking, his footsteps echoing against the empty sidewalks. The city felt different at night, stripped down to its bones. Streetlights flickered overhead, neon signs hummed faintly, and every block stretched endlessly forward, like Los Angeles itself was holding its breath.

His car was still parked outside his apartment, untouched. He couldn’t risk going back for it, couldn’t risk sitting down behind the wheel and not finding the strength to get out again. A vehicle was too easy a coffin.

For half a second, he considered opening the Last Friend app, the one designed for people like him—for Decker kids waiting out their final hours. Strangers finding comfort in each other’s company, sharing their last meals, their last laughs, their last breaths. But the idea twisted his stomach. Buck couldn’t imagine wasting his last day with people who didn’t really know him. He wanted his hours to matter, and they couldn’t, not if he was just another name on some stranger’s feed.

Once, maybe, he would’ve gone to Bobby. In another life, in another year. Bobby had always been the steady place Buck ran to when the world fell apart. But Bobby wasn’t here anymore. Bobby was gone—claimed by Death-Cast months ago.

And he hadn’t told anyone either.

Bobby had kept it to himself, worked his last shift like any other day, and when the end came… it came. Nobody knew until it was too late. Back then, they’d all been furious. Betrayed. How could he not tell them? How could he let them walk around blind while he carried the weight of his final hours alone?

But now, trudging through the dark streets with only the sound of his own breath for company, Buck thought maybe Bobby had been right. Maybe it was kinder this way. Maybe it was better to be hated for silence than pitied for the truth.

That was the part that gutted him most—the goodbyes. He couldn’t face them. Athena would see right through him the second he stepped through her door. Hen would demand answers until she had them. Eddie—Eddie would look at him, and Buck wasn’t sure he’d survive the way that look would break him apart.

So he’d done what he could. Letters. Words on paper, folded neatly and left beside his will on the kitchen counter. He’d poured everything he couldn’t say out loud into ink, so at least when it was over, they’d have something. His goodbye, on his terms.

He had even considered ending it himself. Taking control. Driving out to one of the bridges, pushing the car past the barricades, and letting the drop take him before Death could decide how it wanted to claim him. He had thought about it more than once tonight, his mind circling the idea like a vulture.

But he hadn’t.

Most Deckers didn’t, not really. Suicide was rare, and Buck understood why now. Dying on your own terms sounded tempting in the abstract, but in reality? It was final. Permanent. A locked door with no chance of return. And for all the inevitability of Death-Cast, for all the certainty carved into his bones tonight, Buck couldn’t let go of the tiny, fragile hope that maybe—just maybe—something different could happen.

Because as long as he kept walking, as long as he kept breathing, there was still a sliver of possibility. A crack in the darkness he couldn’t quite give up.

And hope, even when it hurt, was the only thing keeping him from stopping in his tracks and never moving again.

__

Eddie’s alarm went off at 7:00 a.m.—sharp, relentless, far too bright for the heaviness in his body. Not because he needed to wake up, but because he’d forgotten to turn the stupid thing off the night before.

For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the hollow quiet of the house. Chris wasn’t home. He’d stayed the night at a friend’s and texted yesterday that he wouldn’t be back until this evening. The emptiness of the house hit harder than Eddie wanted to admit. If he’d let himself, he could’ve cried right then.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he shoved himself upright, shuffled to the kitchen, and poured a mug of coffee, the bitter steam fogging his glasses for a second. He took it with him into the living room, expecting nothing more than silence and the lazy hum of the refrigerator in the background.

What he got was something entirely different.

“Buck?”

Eddie nearly dropped the cup.

Buck was lying on his couch—rigid, wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling as though the plaster held some secret only he could read. He didn’t even flinch at being caught.

“Hey, Eddie,” he said softly, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn’t.

Eddie’s heart stuttered in his chest. He crossed the room, sat down beside Buck, feeling the tension radiating off him. A dozen questions burned on his tongue, but before he could ask, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Out of habit, he pulled it out, thumb flicking across the screen.

That’s when he saw them.

Dozens of missed messages. Missed calls. All from Maddie.

He didn’t open them all—he didn’t need to. His eyes landed on the most recent text, and the words shot straight through him like a blade:

Eddie, something’s wrong. If Buck shows up, don’t let him leave.

His chest tightened. His grip on the phone slipped for half a second before he caught it.

Something was wrong.

His gaze darted to Buck, who was still staring at him, his expression strangely calm, almost resigned.

“You heard from Maddie,” Buck said quietly. Not a question. A statement. “Please… don’t tell her I’m here.”

Eddie blinked, the world narrowing around him. His voice came out slow, careful. “I won’t. But the real question is… why are you here, Buck?”

For the first time, Buck moved. He sat up a little, reaching into the pocket of his hoodie. He pulled out his phone and handed it over.

Eddie frowned, confused at first. His thumb brushed across the screen, scrolling. And then he saw it.

The call log.

And there—just before the endless string of Maddie’s calls—was a number. A number Eddie knew by heart, even though he had never saved it in his contacts. Nobody needed to. Everybody recognized it.

Death-Cast.

Eddie’s stomach dropped, the floor of the world falling out from under him. His pulse slammed into his ears, roaring. For a second, the letters blurred on the screen. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“Eddie,” Buck said, his voice low, steady in a way that only made it worse.

“Buck, what the hell is that?”

Eddie wasn’t steady. Not even close. His lungs constricted, dragging in air that didn’t seem to fill them. His vision tunneled, the edges going dark, his body shaking as though his heart couldn’t decide whether to race or stop altogether.

No. No. This wasn’t happening. Not Buck. Not his Buck.

“Eds, hey—look at me.” Buck’s hand was on his shoulder now, grounding him, but it only barely cut through the terror flooding his veins.

Eddie pressed a hand to his chest, trying to force the air in. He bent forward, elbows on his knees, coffee mug forgotten, his breaths shallow and fast. He was going under, panic swallowing him whole. His mind spat out fragments—Chris. Alone. Buck. Dead. Alone again. He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.

“Breathe, Eddie.” Buck’s voice was closer, his arm wrapping around him. “Come on, in and out. Just like we do on a call. You know how to do this.”

Eddie tried, but the breaths stuttered. His hands were trembling, his whole body tense like a bow pulled too tight.

Death-Cast. The number seared into his brain. The certainty behind it. Today. Today.

__

It had been a mistake coming to Eddie’s place. Buck realized that now, kneeling beside the couch with a cold washcloth pressed gently against Eddie’s forehead. He hadn’t expected Eddie to react like this—so violently, so completely unraveling the moment the truth surfaced.

“Buck,” Eddie rasped, his voice thin and shaking, “it—it has to be a mistake. It can’t be real. We don’t even have a shift today, we—we were supposed to—”

His words fractured under the weight of panic, trailing into silence.

Buck leaned back, eyes flicking toward the ceiling where he had spent the last two hours staring, making his plan. That was what he did now—plans. It kept the terror at bay, gave his hands something to cling to when the ground beneath him threatened to collapse. He had wanted someone to know, someone to carry the truth when he couldn’t. That was why he had come here. To tell Eddie. To leave a witness behind. And then—then he would walk.

He’d wander the city until the sun dipped below the horizon, until the ground itself betrayed him. He wouldn’t fight it. Not anymore.

Because the truth was, Buck had thought about dying for so long, it had almost become a comfort. He had wanted it before—once, in the darker corners of his mind. He had wanted the quiet, the end of the ache that never seemed to loosen. And now that it was here, now that Death-Cast had placed its hand on his shoulder, there was almost relief in knowing it could finally happen. He could finally stop running. He could finally see Bobby again.

But then Eddie’s hand closed around his wrist.

The sudden warmth of it pulled Buck out of the haze, dragged him back into the present like a rope tied around his chest. He turned his head, and his eyes met Eddie’s.

“Buck…” Eddie’s voice broke. “You—you have to fight, okay? There has to be a way. You’ve already died once and you came back. You can do it again.”

The words shattered something inside him.

Because Buck remembered. He remembered the lightning strike, remembered the coma-dream where he’d wandered through a life that wasn’t quite his own. He remembered how real it had all felt—and how, even in that imagined world, the one person who hadn’t been there was Eddie.

And now, here Eddie was, begging him not to go.

Buck lifted his free hand, slowly, almost afraid of what the gesture meant. He touched Eddie’s face, his palm cupping the rough line of his jaw, thumb brushing softly against his cheek. His heart braced for the rejection that never came. Instead, Eddie leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed, as if Buck’s hand was the only thing tethering him to earth.

“Eddie…” Buck whispered, the ache thick in his throat. “Nobody escapes death. That’s not how this works.”

Eddie shook his head faintly, pressing harder into Buck’s hand like he could hold him there forever. His voice was raw, barely audible. “But you have to try, Evan. Please. You can’t just… let it happen. You can’t die. I’m not—I’m not finished with you yet.”

The words gutted him.

Buck’s chest cracked open under the weight of Eddie’s plea, all the grief and love and desperation spilling into him. And for the first time since the call, Buck wanted to believe. Wanted to believe Eddie could be right, that he could fight it, that maybe, somehow, this wasn’t the end.

But the certainty of the number on his phone burned in the back of his mind. And Buck, more than anyone, knew what it meant when Death-Cast called.

Still, with Eddie leaning into his touch, Buck couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Not yet.

Nearly an hour passed before Eddie’s breathing had finally evened out, before the tremor in his hands stilled and the panic loosened its chokehold. He sat slumped on the couch, his hair damp from the washcloth, his eyes still red-rimmed. Under any other circumstances, Buck might have teased him for it—lightly, gently, the way they sometimes ribbed each other at the station. But not today. Not now. There was nothing funny about the hollow way Eddie had broken apart.

“Okay,” Eddie said finally, his voice rough but steadier than before. “Chris is still at his friend’s place. I can text him, tell him to stay another night. That way it’s just—” he swallowed hard, his eyes flicking toward Buck like the weight of the words might crush him—“just the two of us. We can… we can do whatever you want. Anything.”

Buck looked at him, and for a moment his chest felt like it might cave in. A sad smile tugged at his lips. Yesterday—hell, even just yesterday—he’d been terrified of what lived inside him. The truth he’d buried, the longing that had gnawed at him quietly for years. He’d been afraid of it, afraid of Eddie, afraid of what it might break if he ever let it out.

But now? Now it was too late. The call had already come. His clock was ticking down, minute by minute, toward an end neither of them could stop. And with that knowledge in his bones, fear didn’t matter anymore. It was gone.

He was in love with Eddie Diaz. Completely, irrevocably. And he wanted to tell him. God, he wanted to say it so badly it hurt. But the thought of dropping that truth into Eddie’s lap on this day—of making him carry that weight into the loss—felt cruel. Unfair. Selfish.

Not fair. Not fair. Not fair.

So Buck swallowed it, buried the confession beneath another breath, and said instead, quietly, “Honestly… I’d like to see Chris one more time. And I don’t really have plans for the day. I just want to be with you.”

The words seemed to hit Eddie like a blade. His face froze, his whole body going taut as if bracing for impact. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, and Buck felt the sharp edge of the silence settle between them.

Then Eddie cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll go see Chris, let you spend some time with him. And after that…” He forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “…after that, we’ll figure something else out. Whatever you want.”

Buck gave a small shrug, his smile soft and tired. “Okay.”

The word hung in the air between them, fragile and heavy all at once.

__

The drive over was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that pressed against Eddie’s eardrums and made his chest feel like it might cave in. Normally, with Buck in the passenger seat, there’d be some comment about traffic, or a dumb joke, or Buck singing along badly to whatever song came on the radio. But this morning, nothing. Just the hum of the engine and the sound of Eddie’s own heartbeat, pounding harder than it should.

When they pulled up outside the little house where Chris was staying, Eddie kept his hands locked on the steering wheel, knuckles pale. He glanced toward Buck, who had already unclipped his seatbelt and was pushing the door open.

“I’ll just… be a minute,” Buck said, his voice soft. Almost too soft.

Eddie wanted to say something—anything—but the words lodged in his throat. He nodded instead, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

The slam of the door made him flinch.

Through the windshield, he watched as Buck crossed the small yard. Chris had already come out onto the porch, his smile wide, his little wave full of unfiltered joy. Eddie lifted his hand half-heartedly, gave one small wave back, then dropped it again. That was all he could manage.

From the car, Eddie saw them—saw the way Chris practically launched himself into Buck’s arms, how Buck crouched down to meet him, how Chris wrapped his arms tight around his neck like he had no plans of letting go. Eddie should have gotten out. He wanted to. His son was right there. But he couldn’t move. His body wouldn’t let him.

Because deep down, Eddie knew this wasn’t just a hello. This was a goodbye. And he wasn’t sure he could survive standing in the middle of it.

He could see Buck’s lips moving as he said something to Chris, his hand ruffling his son’s curls, his smile shining like the sun even though Eddie could see the tremor in it. Chris laughed at something, then hugged Buck again—longer this time, tighter.

Eddie blinked hard, fighting against the burn behind his eyes. His grip on the steering wheel turned painful. He wanted to storm out, to pull them both into his arms, to tell Chris everything was fine. That Buck was fine. That this was just another morning, another normal drop-off, another ordinary moment.

But it wasn’t. And Eddie couldn’t lie. Not when every second felt like it might be the last.

Buck finally let go, brushing a quick kiss against Chris’s hair, whispering something Eddie couldn’t hear. And when Chris smiled and turned back toward the house, Buck stayed rooted in place for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on him with a softness that made Eddie’s chest ache.

Then Buck straightened, gave a small wave, and walked back toward the car.

Eddie forced himself to smile faintly at Chris, lifting his hand once more in a quick, shaky wave. His son waved back happily, unaware. Blissfully unaware.

The car door opened, and Buck slid back in, his expression unreadable. Eddie kept his eyes forward, staring at the empty road ahead.

He couldn’t look at him. Not right now. Because if he did, Eddie wasn’t sure if he’d be able to breathe.

__

Buck hadn’t argued when Eddie said they’d take the car. He didn’t have the strength for it, and honestly—it didn’t matter. If it happened here, if his last breath came while Eddie was sitting next to him, that was fine. More than fine. Eddie hadn’t gotten the call, which meant he’d be okay. Buck kept telling himself that. Over and over.

The ride was quiet. Buck leaned his head against the window, watching the morning sun spill over the streets of Los Angeles, trying to memorize every detail: the cracks in the pavement, the palm trees swaying just slightly in the breeze, the smell of warm asphalt already rising into the air. He thought about how many times he’d driven these streets with Eddie and Chris, laughing, arguing over which music to play, promising pancakes or ice cream if Chris behaved.

For Chris, Buck had only said something vague, some throwaway line about maybe going away for a few weeks. Eddie had seen the way Chris’s face fell at that, how the boy’s smile dimmed with disappointment. Buck had promised to write him a letter.

When Eddie pulled into the crowded lot near the weekly market, Buck felt his chest tighten. This wasn’t just any errand. This place had become one of their spots. Rows of stalls, buzzing with life—people calling out about fresh strawberries, tamales steaming in their foil wrappers, buckets of sunflowers leaning toward the light. Chris always loved weaving between the stands, dragging Buck toward anything sweet. Eddie pretended to complain but always gave in eventually.

Today, it was just him and Eddie.

Buck got out slowly, stretching like someone who had all the time in the world. He didn’t. He knew that. But for a moment he let himself pretend.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice cut through the noise.

Buck turned, forcing a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Have you… already said goodbye to everyone else?” Eddie’s tone was low, cautious, as if asking too directly might break something fragile between them.

Buck nodded. “I was with Maddie. The rest… they’ll get letters.”

The look Eddie gave him made Buck’s throat ache, but he kept going. “They’re with my will. Everything’s on the counter in my apartment.”

Eddie stiffened. “Your… will?”

“Yeah,” Buck said, soft, like it was nothing unusual. “You know. Who gets what.”

“I know what a will is, Buck.” Eddie’s voice cracked just slightly. “I meant—what’s in it?”

For a moment Buck just listened to the sound of the crowd—the laughter of a little girl tugging on her mother’s sleeve, the sizzle from a grill, a vendor calling out in Spanish about fresh mangos. He let it anchor him before he answered.

“The usual stuff. May gets my Jeep. My money gets split between Jee, Robert, and Chris—for college, or whatever they need.” He paused, feeling Eddie’s eyes on him. “And the rest… the rest goes to you.”

He didn’t look to see Eddie’s reaction. He couldn’t. The silence between them was heavy enough. He just stuffed his hands into his pockets, staring down the line of stalls as if they might swallow him whole.

Finally, Eddie said, almost in a whisper, “We should get going.”

Buck nodded once. “Yeah.”

He followed Eddie into the press of the market, the noise and color wrapping around them. And though Buck tried to breathe it all in—the smell of ripe peaches, the gleam of sunlight on glass jars of honey, the simple hum of life going on around them—he couldn’t shake the weight in Eddie’s silence.

Not fair, Buck thought. It wasn’t fair. None of this was.

__

The first thing that hit Buck as he and Eddie stepped fully into the market was the sound. Not the sirens or dispatch calls he was used to living by, but the simple, chaotic symphony of normal life. Voices overlapped like threads of a woven tapestry: vendors shouting out deals in both English and Spanish, kids squealing as they darted between the stalls, a dog barking excitedly at the smell of grilled meat. Somewhere a busker strummed a guitar, his voice rising above the din with a song that was cheerful in a way that almost hurt to hear.

Buck slowed his pace for just a second, trying to breathe it all in—the heat of the sun as it pressed down on his skin, the salt of sweat already forming at the back of his neck, the faint perfume of fresh flowers mixing with fried dough. He wanted to memorize it, etch it into the marrow of his bones. Because he knew—God, he knew—he wouldn’t get this again. Not like this. Not tomorrow.

“Keep moving, Buck,” Eddie muttered beside him, and Buck realized he’d stopped right in the middle of the path.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, forcing his legs to start again. “I was just… looking.”

Eddie glanced at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Yeah. I get it.”

They fell into step together, shoulder brushing shoulder as the current of people carried them deeper into the maze of stalls. Buck tried to focus on Eddie’s steady presence, the way he moved through the crowd with quiet confidence, like nothing here could knock him off balance. It was grounding. Comforting. And yet, even that small brush of Eddie’s arm against his own was enough to twist something sharp in Buck’s chest.

This was what he would never have: weekends wandering the market, Eddie at his side, Chris tugging at their hands, laughter bubbling up without the shadow of an ending hovering overhead. He’d lose the chance to watch Chris grow taller, to roll his eyes when Eddie got picky about vegetables, to sneak a second pastry when Eddie pretended not to notice.

He’d lose… them.

And somehow, even knowing that, Buck smiled. Because Eddie was here. Eddie hadn’t pushed him away, hadn’t shut the door in his face or let the panic spiral turn into anger. He was here, walking beside him. That had to count for something.

The first stall they passed was piled high with fruit: crates of oranges glowing bright as fire, strawberries so red they almost looked fake, mangoes with juice dripping down their cut edges. A woman behind the counter smiled at them, holding out a toothpick stuck through a chunk of pineapple.

“You have to try this,” Buck said, nudging Eddie with his elbow. “Come on, live a little.”

Eddie gave him a flat look. “It’s fruit, Buck. I’ve had pineapple before.”

“Not like this.” Buck snatched one of the samples before Eddie could protest further, popping it into his mouth. Sweetness exploded on his tongue, so sharp it made his eyes widen. “Okay, wow. Seriously. You have to.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but when the vendor extended another toothpick, he took it with a quiet sigh. He bit into it, chewed, then swallowed without much reaction.

“Well?” Buck pressed.

“It’s pineapple,” Eddie said, deadpan.

Buck gaped. “Are you kidding me? That was like… sunshine in fruit form! That was—” He threw his hands out, searching for the right words. “That was a religious experience, Eddie.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitched. Buck caught it, and pounced. “You’re smiling. You liked it.”

“I’m not smiling,” Eddie said, definitely smiling.

Buck laughed, a sound that startled even himself. He hadn’t expected to laugh today. The sound felt almost foreign in his throat, but it loosened something that had been locked tight all morning.

“Fine,” Eddie conceded, “it was… good pineapple.”

“Thank you,” Buck said, victorious. He turned back to the vendor. “We’ll take some.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“You’re not seriously gonna tell me you don’t want more.”

“I didn’t say that,” Eddie said, reaching for his wallet. “I just meant you’re not allowed to put this on your credit card if it’s supposed to get split between Chris and Jee and—” He cut himself off abruptly, jaw tightening.

Buck froze. For half a second, the noise of the market dimmed, the laughter and shouts fading into a kind of hollow silence. Then he forced a grin. “Relax. It’s cash.”

Eddie didn’t argue, just paid for the pineapple and handed the bag to Buck. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, lingering for a fraction longer than necessary. Neither of them mentioned it.

They moved on, weaving through the crowd. Buck pointed out everything he could just to fill the air: a stand selling handmade candles in mason jars, another overflowing with second-hand books, the line snaking from the food trucks. Eddie listened, sometimes responding with a grunt or a soft “hm,” sometimes not at all. But every now and then, something cracked the surface—Eddie smirking when Buck got powdered sugar all over his shirt from a churro, Eddie snorting when Buck insisted on trying to juggle three oranges and nearly smacked a passing man in the head.

It was easy, almost. Too easy.

And that was the dangerous part. Because for a few minutes at a time, Buck could almost forget. He could almost pretend this was just another Saturday, and that when the sun went down, he’d get to do it again next week. He could almost pretend there was a future where he’d still be standing next to Eddie, laughing in the middle of a crowd.

But then his gaze would snag on something—a father holding his daughter on his shoulders so she could reach for a balloon, an elderly couple sharing a paper cone of roasted nuts, their hands still intertwined after decades—and the ache would come back. Sharp. Relentless.

That would never be him. Not now.

He swallowed hard and shoved the thought down, forcing himself to match Eddie’s stride.

By the time they stopped for lunch, they were carrying more than they’d planned: a bag of fruit, a loaf of fresh bread, two jars of honey Eddie had insisted on after hearing the vendor talk about local bees. They sat on a low stone wall at the edge of the market, paper plates balanced on their knees—tacos for Eddie, a burrito for Buck.

Buck bit into his food and closed his eyes, savoring the heat of the spices, the mess of flavors. “God, that’s good.”

“Don’t get salsa on your shirt again,” Eddie said, not looking up.

“I make no promises.”

Eddie shook his head, but his lips curved upward just slightly.

They ate in silence for a while, the bustle of the market humming around them. Buck watched Eddie out of the corner of his eye, the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the line of his jaw as he chewed thoughtfully. He wanted to memorize this, too—the small, quiet moments that had nothing to do with fire or chaos or tragedy. Just Eddie, eating tacos on a sunny day.

He wished he could tell him. He wished he could say it out loud, all of it: that he loved him, that he’d always loved him, that he wanted a lifetime of markets and bad fruit jokes and car rides and mornings where Chris came barreling into the kitchen for pancakes.

But it wasn’t fair. Not now. Not when all he could offer was one day.

So instead, he said, lightly, “This might actually beat the pineapple.”

Eddie snorted. “Don’t let the pineapple hear you say that.”

And Buck laughed again, because what else could he do?

__

The living room felt too still. Eddie sat on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the wall clock like it was the only thing tethering him to reality.

16:12.

His heart beat every second along with the tick of the hands. He couldn’t stop looking. Couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Buck had been in the shower for nearly an hour, but that wasn’t what gnawed at Eddie. It wasn’t the sound of the pipes or the creak of the water heater.

It was the number. 16:12.

Sixteen hours.

Buck had already survived sixteen hours past when he thought he wouldn’t. Sixteen hours of stolen time. Sixteen hours of laughter at the market, of pineapple and churros and bread warm from the oven, of Buck’s smile breaking through the cracks.

If he could make it this far—if he could fight this hard—why couldn’t he keep fighting? Why couldn’t Buck survive the rest?

The bathroom door opened, breaking Eddie’s trance. Buck walked into the living room barefoot, hair still damp, his phone held up in front of his face. His smile looked too big for the moment, too fragile.

“Hey,” Buck said, almost breezily. “So, I was looking at some posts. A little outside the city they’re doing a firework show later tonight. And from there, you can see the sunset over the ocean too.” He lowered his phone, his grin turning boyish, teasing. “Wanna come with me, oh last friend?”

It was supposed to be a joke. Eddie knew it was. He could hear the forced levity in Buck’s voice, could see the way the corners of his mouth trembled like he was holding something back.

But Eddie couldn’t laugh. His chest squeezed too tight, the air sticking in his lungs until it hurt. His heart slammed so hard he swore it might break through his ribs.

“Or,” Eddie said, the word catching, “or you could just stay here.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

“Stay here. Please.” Eddie finally tore his gaze from the clock, meeting Buck’s eyes like a drowning man reaching for the surface. “Look at the time, Buck. You’ve already made it this far. Sixteen hours. You’re still here. So maybe you just… maybe you stay. Maybe I keep you here. And I protect you. And—” His voice cracked, and he clenched his fists against his knees. “I’m a medic. I know what to do. I can save you. If something happens, I can save you. And then—then you’ll wake up tomorrow, and we’ll go see the fireworks together. Tomorrow. Not tonight. Tomorrow.”

“Eddie…”

The sound of his name in Buck’s voice was soft, broken, and it made Eddie’s throat close. Because it wasn’t agreement. It wasn’t hope. It was pity.

“Please,” Eddie whispered. The word shook like glass about to shatter. He hadn’t begged since he was a kid, and never like this. Never with his soul hanging on it. “Please, Evan. Please don’t go. I can’t—I can’t live without you, do you understand that? I can’t.”

Buck’s eyes brimmed with tears, his lips trembling as he tried to smile. He set his phone down on the table, then crossed the room slowly, like Eddie might break if he moved too fast.

When Buck’s hand came up, warm and gentle, cupping Eddie’s cheek, it was the same touch from that morning. Familiar. Steady. Reverent. Eddie leaned into it helplessly, eyes squeezing shut, trying to burn the feel of it into his memory.

“Please,” Eddie said again, his voice so quiet now it was almost nothing. “Please.”

Buck’s thumb brushed across his cheekbone, catching a tear. His own eyes shimmered, tears finally spilling free. “Eddie… I don’t want to die here. Not in your house. I don’t want you to carry that. To sit on this couch for the rest of your life and only see me disappearing.”

“I already carry it,” Eddie said, the words bursting out like a wound tearing open. “Don’t you get it? You’re in everything, Buck. Every corner of my life already has you in it. You’re in the kitchen with Chris making pancakes. You’re in the stupid pineapple at the market. You’re in every call, every scar, every—” His breath broke, sharp and unsteady. “You’re in me, and I can’t carve you out, and I don’t want to. So don’t tell me not to carry you. I already do.”

“Eddie,” Buck whispered, his own tears falling fast now, “nothing can save me. Not even you.” He hesitated, then choked out the last words. “Not even your love.”

Eddie flinched. His breath caught like it was ripped out of him, but the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “But I do love you. God, I love you, Buck. I love you and I—” His voice broke, completely unmoored. “I don’t know what to do if you go.”

He couldn’t say anything else, because Buck was kissing him.

Buck’s lips were soft and trembling against his own, tasting of salt and grief and everything Eddie had never allowed himself to hope for. It was desperate, clumsy in its urgency, but it was also the most perfect thing Eddie had ever known.

He clutched at Buck like he could hold him there forever, like his hands might be enough to anchor him to the earth. Their tears mixed together, salty streaks running down both their faces, and still Eddie kissed him back, harder, longer, afraid that if he let go even for a second Buck would vanish like smoke.

When Buck finally pulled back, it was slow, like he didn’t want to, like he was trying to make the moment last as long as possible. Their foreheads rested together, breath mingling, both of them crying quietly in the silence between words.

“I still want to see the fireworks,” Buck whispered, voice raw and fragile. “Okay?”

Eddie nodded, because what else could he do? His hands shook as he cupped Buck’s face, pressing one last kiss to his temple.

“Okay,” he said, though the word felt like a lie. Because he knew—he’d always known—no one escaped death.

Not even the ones you loved most.

__

The drive to the bluff was quiet, but not heavy. Not like it could have been. Eddie’s knuckles rested on the steering wheel, steady, sure, the same way he drove into every call, every emergency. That calmness should have soothed Buck, but tonight it only pressed deeper against his ribs. Because he knew—Eddie wasn’t calm. Eddie was hanging on by threads, just like him. He could see it in the way Eddie’s jaw tightened whenever the silence lasted too long.

Buck kept sneaking glances at him, memorizing his profile as the sky shifted into streaks of gold and orange, the horizon bleeding color like the world itself couldn’t hold it all in. Eddie caught him once, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He didn’t have to.

When they parked and got out, the air smelled faintly of salt, the ocean carrying its weight all the way up the cliffs. The place wasn’t crowded, just a scattering of couples on blankets and a few families unpacking coolers. Kids ran in the grass, laughing, chasing bubbles lit up by the dying sun.

Buck shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, trying to stop them from trembling. Not fear—at least not only fear. Anticipation too. He wanted to drink every second of this in, like he could bottle it, like he could keep Eddie with him long after.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones with the idea,” Eddie said, nodding at a couple spreading out a blanket a few feet away. His voice was low, almost casual. Almost.

“Guess not,” Buck murmured. He looked around. “Where do you wanna sit?”

Eddie tilted his head, scanning the bluff, then gestured toward a spot near the edge, where the view stretched wide and endless, the Pacific unfurling like a sheet of dark glass. “There. Best seat in the house.”

They didn’t bring a blanket. Buck didn’t mind. The grass was dry, the earth still warm from the day’s heat. They sat close, shoulders brushing, Eddie’s arm pressed against his, a touch neither of them moved to break.

For a while, they didn’t speak. The world didn’t need words. The sun dipped lower, sinking into the horizon in slow, deliberate strokes. The sky went from gold to a bruised violet, streaked with crimson. Clouds lit up like embers, fading one by one.

Buck exhaled softly. “God, it’s beautiful.”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s voice was hushed, reverent. “It is.”

Buck turned his head, expecting Eddie to be watching the horizon. He wasn’t. He was watching Buck. His eyes caught the light, turning them molten, as if the sunset itself had taken root inside him.

Buck swallowed, throat dry. “You’re not even looking at it.”

“I am,” Eddie said simply. His mouth curved, barely a smile, but enough. “I am looking at it.”

Heat bloomed in Buck’s chest, spreading until it ached. He laughed, quiet and broken. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it.”

Buck’s breath caught. Eddie’s words weren’t flippant—they were raw, unguarded, heavy with everything neither of them had said until tonight.

And Buck couldn’t answer, not with words. So he leaned in, pressing his lips softly against Eddie’s.

It wasn’t like the kiss in the living room, desperate and soaked in tears. This one was different. Gentle. A pause in the world. Buck’s hand lifted, brushing Eddie’s jaw, feeling the stubble rough against his fingers, the warmth of his skin. Eddie sighed into him, tilting his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make Buck’s heart stagger.

When they pulled back, Buck laughed again, softer this time. “You taste like churros.”

Eddie huffed, a smile tugging at his mouth. “And you taste like pineapple.”

“Perfect combination.”

They chuckled quietly, and for a moment, Buck let himself pretend. Pretend this was just another night, another lazy evening stolen between shifts, where the world wasn’t ending, where time wasn’t a countdown.

The sun dipped lower, kissing the horizon. Eddie leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him. Buck mirrored him, their shoulders still pressed.

“You remember the first time I dragged you to one of these?” Buck asked, eyes on the ocean.

“The market?”

“Yeah. You hated it.”

Eddie laughed, short but real. “I didn’t hate it. I just thought it was… chaotic.”

“You said it was a waste of a perfectly good Saturday.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“You did.” Buck nudged him with his shoulder. “And then Chris found the candy stall and suddenly you were outnumbered.”

Eddie’s smile softened at Chris’s name. “Yeah. He loved that.”

“He still does.” Buck hesitated. “He’ll always remember that. You know?”

Eddie turned his head, studying him. “And he’ll always remember you. Buck, he loves you.”

The words sank deep, warm and sharp all at once. Buck looked down, twisting a blade of grass between his fingers. “I wrote him a letter.”

“I know.” Eddie’s voice cracked, but he steadied it. “I know, Buck.”

Silence pressed between them again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full, too full, with everything they couldn’t say.

The sun slid lower, painting the ocean in liquid gold. Buck’s chest tightened. He wanted to tell Eddie everything—every memory, every thought, every fear. But the words jammed in his throat. What good were confessions when time was slipping through his fingers like sand?

Eddie must have sensed it, because he shifted closer, their arms brushing fully now. “Talk to me,” he said quietly.

“About what?”

“Anything. Everything. Just… don’t go quiet on me now.”

Buck let out a shaky laugh. “Okay. Um… remember when we tried to build that stupid treehouse in your backyard?”

“Oh God.” Eddie groaned, pressing a hand over his face. “That was a disaster.”

“You nearly cut your hand off.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Buck said, grinning faintly. “Chris banned us from using tools after that.”

Eddie laughed, a real laugh this time, and it made Buck’s chest swell. He’d give anything—anything—to keep hearing that sound.

The minutes slipped by, the sky bleeding darker. At 9:50, the last sliver of sun disappeared, swallowed by the horizon. The world exhaled, and the first stars blinked awake overhead.

Buck’s breath caught. He wanted to freeze it, this exact moment: Eddie beside him, the salt air on his skin, the afterglow of laughter still warm between them.

He turned, heart aching, and whispered, “Kiss me again.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. His lips found Buck’s, sure and soft, and Buck melted into it, pouring every ounce of himself into the kiss—every unspoken word, every goodbye he couldn’t bear to say. Eddie’s hand slid to the back of his neck, holding him there like he’d never let go.

When they broke apart, both of them were breathless. Buck rested his forehead against Eddie’s, eyes closed. “I wish…” He trailed off.

Eddie’s voice was rough. “Me too.”

And then the first firework split the night sky.

They both looked up, the world above them exploding in color—red, gold, green, white, shimmering trails that painted the dark canvas. Children gasped, couples leaned into each other, the air filled with the sharp scent of smoke and the boom of celebration.

“Wish you something.” Buck demanded.

“What? That’s a shooting star thing Buck.”

“No, you can wish you something with a firework as well.”

Buck watched for a moment, then turned back to Eddie. His profile was lit by the bursts of light, shadows chasing across his face. And Buck thought—this is it. This is what heaven must look like.

He reached for Eddie’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Eddie’s grip tightened instantly, fierce and unrelenting, as if he knew too.

“Beautiful,” Buck murmured.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, eyes never leaving him. “Beautiful.”

And Buck realized Eddie wasn’t looking at the fireworks.

He was looking at him.

__
By the time they finally left the beach, the night had deepened fully, shadows pooling in the corners of the city, the air carrying the faint tang of salt and smoke from the fireworks. Buck glanced at his phone—11:00 p.m. His pulse was pounding so wildly he half-wondered if his heart might give out right there on the boardwalk. Not from fear of what he knew was coming, not entirely. From everything else. From Eddie’s hand warm and certain in his own, from the heaviness of each step, from the impossible weight of goodbye pressing closer with every breath.

They didn’t take the car. Neither of them wanted the confinement, the artificial hum of an engine closing them off from the world. So they walked instead, hand in hand, down quiet streets lined with shuttered shops and dim streetlights. Their joined palms swung lightly between them, as if the gesture could make the night last longer.

Eddie broke the silence first. His voice was low, almost lost to the night air. “Maybe you’ll make it through this. Maybe you can survive it.”

Buck gave a small, broken laugh, the kind that wasn’t really laughter at all. “Maybe,” he echoed. He knew the lie of it, knew it down to his bones, but he couldn’t rip that thin thread of hope from Eddie’s hands. Not when it was all Eddie had left to hold.

That hope—fragile, impossible, cruel—was going to be Buck’s undoing. He could already feel it.

They kept walking, the hush between them broken only by the scuff of shoes on pavement, the distant hiss of waves below the cliffs. And then the street curved, leading them onto a narrow bridge that stretched across a gorge.

The sound of water rose up from below, fierce and relentless, crashing against the rocks. Buck’s chest tightened. His stomach dropped like the ground had shifted beneath him. He didn’t have to think about it—he knew. This was the place.

Here.

This was where it would end.

He slowed, his steps faltering. His breath hitched. Eddie noticed instantly.

“Don’t stop walking, Buck.” Eddie’s words came out tight, raw, laced with a fear he tried and failed to mask with sarcasm. “What could be smarter than standing still on a bridge on your last night on earth, huh?” His voice cracked. “Just keep moving.”

Buck turned to him, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s eyes. “Eddie… please. Stop pretending I have a chance at surviving the next thirty minutes. Stop pretending this is something we can beat. You think it helps, but it doesn’t. It’s exhausting, and it’s cruel, and I—” His breath caught. He pressed his fists to his chest, like he could hold himself together. “I’m not going to survive. And that’s okay.”

“No, it’s not—”

“It is.” Buck’s voice rose, desperate, pleading. “Eds, it is. Because I’ve had everything I ever wanted. You, Chris, the family we built. Maddie safe, Jee safe. You have no idea—I’m leaving with a life full of love. And when it’s over, I’ll get to see Bobby again. I’ll meet Daniel. And it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. And one day—” His throat closed, and tears blurred his vision. “One day, in a very, very long time, you’ll die too. And I’ll be there waiting for you. I’ll be there, Eddie. Always.”

Eddie’s face was wet with tears, tracks gleaming in the streetlight. Buck didn’t even realize his own were falling until they reached his lips, salty and bitter. Eddie’s arms came up, almost violently, pulling him in, and Buck folded against him without resistance. His forehead pressed to the crook of Eddie’s neck, the familiar warmth, the smell of soap and smoke and salt clinging to him. Eddie held him like he was trying to fuse them together, like if he just held on tightly enough, the world couldn’t take Buck away.

They stood like that for a long time, locked in silence except for the sound of the water raging below and their uneven breaths.

When Eddie finally spoke, his voice was hushed, trembling. “What did you wish for? During the fireworks?”

Buck gave a weak laugh against his shoulder, the sound muffled and wet. “That May will be the one to teach Jee, Chris and Robert how to drive. Because God knows you and Maddie have zero patience for it.”

Eddie actually laughed—hoarse, broken, but laughter all the same. The vibration of it shook through Buck’s chest where they were pressed together. “That’s true,” Eddie admitted, his hand stroking slowly over the back of Buck’s neck. “That’s very true.”

“What about you?” Buck asked after a beat, his voice fragile, curious, afraid. “What did you wish for?”

Eddie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back just enough to look at Buck, his hand coming up to cup his face. His thumb traced the line of his cheek, wiping away tears that only kept falling. His silence stretched so long that Buck almost thought he wouldn’t answer at all.

And then Eddie whispered, voice breaking but steady in its truth: “I already got my wish.”

Buck’s breath hitched.

Eddie’s thumb pressed more firmly against his cheek, grounding him. His eyes shone like firelit glass, locked on Buck’s. “You. You’re everything I ever wanted.“

__

Eddie’s heart beat so slowly it felt like it was dragging him under water. Each thud inside his chest was a stone, heavy, deliberate, and cruel. His eyes flicked down to his watch. The hands glowed faintly in the dark, small spears of light cutting through the suffocating night.

11:54 p.m .

Six minutes. Just six more minutes until midnight. Six minutes, and maybe—just maybe—this nightmare would be over. He told himself that nothing terrible could possibly happen in six minutes. That was what people said before tragedy struck, wasn’t it? Famous last words.

Eddie didn’t say them out loud. He just held Buck tighter. The night around them was unnervingly still, broken only by the rhythmic crash of waves far below the bridge. The sea surged through the gorge, foaming and restless, like it already knew what was coming.

And then headlights.

At 11:55, the glow of twin beams pierced the darkness. An engine roared from the left side of the bridge, and just as Eddie squinted into the glare, another vehicle appeared from the opposite end, speeding toward them. Two cars, both moving too fast, both refusing to yield.

“Buck—” Eddie started, instinct forcing him to push his body closer against Buck’s, away from the road, away from the oncoming danger.

He didn’t get to finish.

The sound was deafening—metal shrieking, glass exploding, the gut-wrenching crunch of steel slamming against steel. At 11:56, the two vehicles collided head-on, the impact so violent the world seemed to lurch beneath Eddie’s feet. Shards of glass scattered through the air like falling stars, glinting under the faint moonlight before cutting into the dark. One of the cars spun sideways, slamming against one of the supporting pillars of the bridge.

That was the moment Eddie knew. The sharp, resonant crack that followed wasn’t just wreckage. It was the sickening groan of stone giving way. The collision had fractured the concrete pillar, and the weight of years pressed down mercilessly, grinding it apart. The bridge itself shuddered, like some massive creature taking its final breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Buck gasped, his body trembling against Eddie’s. His hands clutched at Eddie’s jacket instinctively.

The ground shifted under them. Not much—just an inch, maybe two—but enough for Eddie’s stomach to lurch into his throat. His mind raced, calculating, searching for options. They weren’t standing in the middle of the road. They had been pressed near the side, close to the railing. Safe. They should have been safe.

But safety had never been promised.

A section of the bridge floor tore loose, breaking away in a jagged roar. Stone and rebar shrieked as they bent and snapped, plunging into the churning waters below. Eddie’s knees buckled, his body thrown sideways. His arms wrapped tighter around Buck, unwilling—unable—to let go.

By 11:57, when the smoke began to clear, Eddie opened his eyes and realized the worst had come true.

They weren’t standing on the bridge anymore. Not really.

The slab beneath them had broken free, dropping down several feet. Somehow, it was still caught on twisted metal and shattered concrete, hanging precariously over the gorge. The only thing between them and the black, foaming water below was this crumbling, slanted platform.

Buck stood in front of him, his face pale and slick with sweat. His entire body shook, though whether from adrenaline or fear, Eddie couldn’t tell. His own heart pounded so hard he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

And then Buck said the words Eddie had been dreading.

“Eddie… the slab—it won’t hold both of us.”

“No.” The word ripped out of Eddie’s throat before Buck even finished. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say it.”

“Eddie—”

“Don’t you dare, Buck! Don’t you even think it!” Eddie’s voice cracked, rising high, desperate, the way he’d only ever heard himself when Christopher was in danger. He clutched Buck’s arm as if sheer force could hold him here, could anchor him to life.

But Buck’s eyes were calm in a way that shredded Eddie from the inside. He looked sad, yes. Terrified, of course. But under all of it was resignation. That same resignation Eddie had fought all day, all damn day, every second since Buck had whispered that he wasn’t going to make it through the night.

“Please,” Buck whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost lost under the hiss of fire somewhere above them. “Please, Eddie. Don’t make this harder.”

Eddie shook his head violently, tears blurring his vision. “You think I’m just gonna let you—? No! I can—I can climb, I can jump—”

“You can’t.” Buck’s lips curved into the saddest smile Eddie had ever seen. “And you know it. That’s not how this works.”

Eddie hated him for being right. He hated him for giving up. He hated him for being so goddamn brave.

“Stop it,” Eddie begged, his voice cracking open like glass under pressure. “Please, stop. Don’t you get it? You’re all I have. I can’t—I can’t live without you, Buck. You hear me? I can’t. So don’t you stand there and—”

Buck lifted a trembling hand and pressed it against Eddie’s cheek. That familiar touch—the same one from that morning, from a thousand other moments Eddie hadn’t let himself name. Eddie leaned into it helplessly, his whole body aching with the weight of it.

“I was supposed to die today,” Buck whispered. His thumb brushed away a tear that immediately returned, sliding hot down Eddie’s face. “We both knew it. I just… I didn’t think I’d get this much time. But I did. I got today. I got you. And that’s enough.”

“No,” Eddie choked. “It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.”

“Eds…” Buck’s voice cracked, and his own tears fell freely now. “I should’ve told you sooner. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

Eddie’s chest broke open. The words clawed out of him, ragged, desperate. “I love you, too. Do you hear me? I love you! So don’t you dare leave me, Buck. Don’t you dare—”

Buck leaned forward, capturing Eddie’s mouth in a kiss so full of grief and love it seared itself into Eddie’s soul. It was desperate, clumsy, salty with tears, but it was everything. The kiss Eddie had been waiting for without even knowing it. The kiss he would never forget.

When Buck pulled back, he rested his forehead against Eddie’s. His lips trembled with words Eddie didn’t want to hear.

“Live a little for me, okay?” Buck whispered, his voice breaking like the world around them.

And then—

The slab tilted.

Eddie screamed as Buck’s weight shifted, as his hands slipped from Eddie’s arms. He lunged forward, grabbing, clawing, anything to hold on—but Buck was already falling, already gone, his blue eyes locked on Eddie’s until the black water swallowed him whole.

The sound that tore out of Eddie’s chest wasn’t human. It was raw, guttural, a howl of grief that echoed across the ruined bridge. His body shook so violently he thought his heart would rupture. He was alone. More alone than he had ever been.

12:00 a.m.

Eddie stood on that broken slab, but part of him had already died. His lungs dragged in shallow, useless gasps. The world above him—sirens in the distance, fire crackling from twisted wreckage—blurred into meaningless noise. Buck was gone.

And so was he.

There was no climbing back. The slab shuddered under him again, dropping another foot, stone grinding against metal. He looked up, knowing there was no escape, no rescue.

At 12:01, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He fumbled it out with shaking hands, the screen blurring through tears.

“Hello?” His voice was a broken rasp.

“Hello, this is Susie from Death-cast,” a gentle voice said. “I’m so sorry to inform you that—”

But Eddie didn’t hear the rest. He couldn’t. Because the slab finally gave way, tearing free from its last anchor.

And Eddie fell.

At 12:02 a.m., he followed Buck into the abyss.