Love me anyway.
Love me anyway.
Love me anyway.
Those three little words chase him all the way to the Jeep, Buck quickly climbing inside and slamming the door as though there's a chance the sounds in his head might stay outside his car. He bangs a palm against the steering wheel, then grips it with both hands, his knuckles white as he struggles to catch his breath, tries to figure out where to go from here.
His apartment is the obvious choice, but he's never managed to make it warm enough and he can't expect it to help him shake the chill he's just escaped. There are a dozen bars nearby, places ranging from fancy to very far from it, but he's already had a drink at dinner and is just smart enough to avoid being stupid. And Dr. Copeland has an emergency line, but while Buck vibrates with every terrible thing he said and all the helplessness still churning in his stomach, there will be plenty of time to disappoint her later.
Love me anyway.
A plea made to his parents tonight, just an echo of something left unspoken a million times before. So many people who wanted to get to know him right up until they knew him too well, or others who never bothered to try in the first place.
With one possible exception.
Buck starts the car and leaves his family behind, arriving at Eddie's house in minutes that pass without him remembering a single one. He parks near Eddie's truck and scrambles out of the Jeep, but begins to second guess everything before he reaches Eddie's front door. He's still shaking and doesn't think it will stop any time soon, doesn't think it will be healthy to pretend either way, and Buck can't take the chance that Christopher will see him like this. He isn't totally convinced Eddie should.
But he doesn't have anywhere else to go, needs familiarity or comfort or something, so he only wars with himself for another minute before settling on a compromise.
He sits down.
Maybe it's needy and selfish. Maybe it's dumb and weak. Buck thinks he's had enough practice at all of it that it doesn't really matter, so he shrugs at nobody and stretches his long legs across Eddie's porch, his head falling back against the stucco wall.
He stares off at the starless night for a while, finally closing his eyes when his vision blurs with tears he won't shed. Anger isn't an emotion he's ever been all that comfortable with – he's rarely believed he's earned the right to feel it – but it stains him now, lingering just enough that he declines Maddie's call when it comes though. Ignores her texts, too, then one of Chim's.
His parents don't make an effort at all.
And Buck doesn't actually think he's that angry with Maddie. Not really. But she's tied up in the whole mess, always has been, no matter how much the two of them thought they could take on the world by themselves. She pushed him away once before, but this time he left on his own.
Buck wishes that felt like progress.
He opens his eyes to look at the front door, longing to knock – or use the key that fits more naturally in his hand than his own ever has – and wrap himself up in something that will help take this all away, or at least remind him that it won't last forever.
Something. Or someone.
But it's so much easier to close his eyes again.
When Eddie's phone chirps with an incoming text, he assumes it's Buck, probably locked in a closet or something, screaming about how much he wants to be done with another family dinner.
But it's not from Buck, it's just about him. Apparently, he's been done with dinner for a while now.
Eddie responds to the text, then taps on Buck's name.
Hey you home from dinner yet?
He stares at his phone for a while, willing something to appear, but a few silent minutes pass.
Just making sure you're okay.
Another two minutes.
Need to talk?
That seems like a dumb question for someone who won't even text back, but Buck finally answers.
Probably not a great idea
You know I'll listen even when it's a bad idea.
You shouldn't have to
Maybe I want to.
And he does want to listen. To be there. To talk or hold or tease or touch or cry or love. He wants it all.
Tomorrow
Where are you now?
One minute. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Here
Here where?
Your porch
Too many thoughts collide at once and Eddie doesn't have the time to sort through them when he hurries to the door and yanks it open to find Buck there, propped against a wall with his phone in his hand. Eddie reels a bit, swinging wildly from concerned to relieved to concerned again, but steadies himself in time to leave the front door cracked before he moves to sit next to Buck on the cold cement. They're close enough that Eddie could drop his head to Buck's shoulder – or pull Buck toward him, he supposes – but the contact remains careful and neither of them looks at the other.
"Which one of them told you to check on me?"
"Chim."
"He tell you what I did?"
"Only that you got upset and left," Eddie says. "And that you might need someone."
"I have a therapist."
"And yet you're here."
Buck huffs at that. "Should I leave?"
"Please don't."
"Okay."
They're quiet for a bit, then Eddie looks to Buck.
"Is there a reason you don't want to come inside?"
"I'm not in a very—I can't—Christopher—"
"Is in bed already," Eddie interrupts. "So, you can – and I kind of really want you to."
Buck sighs, but follows it with a nod, so Eddie stands and holds out his hand to help Buck up. And whether it's Buck's vulnerability or the relative silence blanketing the porch or Eddie's resignation regarding things left unnamed, they don't bother to let go. Instead, Eddie leads Buck inside with their fingers threaded together, locks the door behind them, and smiles shyly before he turns toward the kitchen, fully intending to take Buck with him when he goes.
He stops when the grip around his hand tightens, and only catches a glimpse of the sadness on Buck's face before Buck tugs Eddie toward him for a hug.
They're not holding hands anymore, Buck tangling his fingers into the sides of Eddie's shirt so intently that the fabric stretches against Eddie's shoulders. Eddie meets his ferocity with something tender, his palms pressed flat against Buck's back to keep him close. Buck's heart is pounding in time with Eddie's pulse, and Buck is shaking – maybe has been all along – passing it to Eddie in the form of a shiver when Buck buries his face into Eddie's neck, Eddie closing his eyes at the accidental brush of Buck's lips against his skin.
"I lost it—I just—I started yelling and I couldn't stop."
Eddie starts to pull away, just to be able to look at Buck when he responds, but Buck doesn't want to let go, and Eddie is all too willing to stay. They cling to each other, and while Eddie thinks any words he can offer may fail to comfort Buck the way their embrace has, he tries anyway.
"It happens to all of us. Especially when we're dealing with parents who—" Eddie pauses. "Let's just say it's a story I know well."
"I think I've disappointed them since the day I was born."
"Also a story I know well," Eddie whispers, turning just enough to press a kiss into Buck's hair. He doesn't know why he does it, except that everything is so heavy inside him – Buck's pain and a lifetime of his own, his love for his best friend and a hug that won't let him forget it – so a single kiss seems like the only way to relieve any of the pressure.
But then Buck whimpers and Eddie can't help but chase the sound. One hand slides to the back of Buck's head to hold him still when he kisses his temple, nuzzling him there for a long time, whispering nonsense that sounds too much like a vow. Then he drags his lips along Buck's cheek, stopping only when he reaches the corner of Buck's mouth.
"Please," Buck begs.
He knows he shouldn't give in, but he's so damn weak, and falters for just a moment, kissing Buck gently enough that he thinks maybe he can pretend he's still soothing a friend. But when Buck opens for him, the kiss becomes such a devastatingly thorough thing that Eddie forgets to breathe until he forces himself away.
"I don't want to stop," he pants, and he doesn't know whether he's reassuring Buck or arguing with himself.
"But you did."
"I did, yeah. I—you didn't come over here for this," Eddie explains. "You came looking for a friend, and I think maybe that's what I should be tonight. I think maybe that's all I should be."
"For tonight?"
"For tonight."
"But tomorrow?" Buck asks, so wounded and hopeful.
Eddie smiles and reaches up to touch two fingertips to Buck's mouth. "Tomorrow I'll be more."
Buck wraps his arms around him for another hug, less desperate this time, but just as unlikely to end anytime soon, and Eddie sinks into it.
"I'm scared I'm going to end up disappointing you, too."
There's so much to say to that, a million empty promises to be made, but Eddie understands that fear too deeply to brush it aside.
"You will. In whatever small, stupid ways happen between two people in—" Eddie catches himself and takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with Buck's. "I'll disappoint you, too. But not like—never like the way they've made us feel. Not in a way that would change anything."
This time it's Buck who presses a kiss to the top of Eddie's head.
Neither one of them lets go.