The World is Wide

Do you think they're gonna fight?

hmmmmm

"What is your problem?"

The words ring through the weird echo in Buck's kitchen. Eddie's furious, the lines of his body tense, holding himself apart from Buck.

Which shouldn't be as life-changing as it feels.

"Eddie," Buck says, fingers tight around the counter. "I thought you were out with Tommy."

"I was," Eddie says slowly, and there's confusion in the way he stares at Buck, a little betrayed, a little hurt. "You said you were busy tonight, but then Maddie sent a text. You told her we were going out?"

Fuck.

Buck shrugs, sliding his beer bottle off the counter. "Does it matter?"

"You're lying to your sister, to me, and you're asking if it matters?"

It's not lying. It's preservation. Buck can't—can't do this. "You were having fun, I was having fun," as if, "everything is fine."

Eddie watches him as he crosses the kitchen, cradling the beer bottle in his hands. Buck wants him to leave, to let him have this, whatever it is, in private. "You don't lie to me."

"Yeah well, people change," Buck mutters, because the hurt lances through him. Eddie and Tommy, getting on better, their relationship so effortless when Buck was jealous and angry and, and, and. "Tommy's—"

"I don't care about Tommy right now," Eddie says, coming to stand on the other side of the counter. "I care about you and whatever you have going on! it's not like you, Buck, and you can talk to me, you know you can."

Buck opens his mouth, closes it. "Not this. Not this."

There's definitely hurt in Eddie's expression, but he turns before Buck gets a good look. "Aren't we," Eddie starts, cuts off. His shoulders fall, sag a little. "Alright, Buck. Just—there's nothing you can tell me that I wouldn't—"

"Eddie," Buck whispers. He always thought it would be some furious thing, angry and heavy with emotion. Instead, he feels desperate, knows that if Eddie leaves like this, tension and hurt between them, it won't matter anymore.

"I think I might be bisexual!"

The words fall faster than he can stop them. It settles like lead in his stomach and he takes an involuntary step backwards.

Eddie turns, his eyes widening a fraction, his mouth closing. He stares.

The stretch is long enough that Buck starts to panic, feels something claw at his chest and it's tight, so tight, he definitely need to be somewhere else, anywhere else.

"Why would that," Eddie starts, cutting himself off.

Eddie's not stupid, of course he's not, but Buck hopes, begs, that he thinks it's Tommy, that Buck's like this because—

"Buck," Eddie says.

Shit. "Eddie, I don't—"

"Look at me." Eddie's words are soft, so soft. Buck wants to look up but he can't, he can't. Not if he wants to keep breathing or standing or doing anything that isn't collapsing because this is Eddie and he's, he's, everything.

Feet move into his periphery, fingers curling around his bicep.

"Buck," Eddie says again, this time firmer. "Buddy, look at me."

Like he's moving through mud, chest still tight, body warm, Buck is helpless to do anything but look up. Eddie looks the same way he always does. Buck isn't sure what that means; aren't things supposed to change? To shift beyond comprehension?

"Me?"

The word shouldn't be so life-changing. It's two letters, but it feels like so much more as Buck stares at his best friend. He wants to say yes, wants to run, but whatever Eddie sees in his face must say everything he can't.

"Shit." Eddie's fingers rest against Buck's collar, and he tips his head forward. Their foreheads touch and Buck doesn't know what to say, what to do. "Your timing, man."

Buck swallows. "I didn't know, not really. Not until—"

"Tommy," Eddie says. "Did you think—?"

"It seemed so easy, you and him," Buck starts.

"It is," Eddie agrees, shaking Buck a little. "But that doesn't mean anything against you. How could it? How could anyone come close to you?"

It's—Buck's fingers curl slowly around Eddie's waist, hooking in his jacket. "I'm sorry," he says, "about the lying, about not telling you. I couldn't, I didn't want to ruin anything."

"I know." Eddie sighs, pulling back, but his hand stays on Buck's collarbone, thumb rubbing against the exposed skin. "I'm so proud of you for saying it."

Something loosens in Buck's shoulders. "Thanks."

"But," Eddie says, and the lead is back, molten and hot in Buck's stomach. "I can't—Marisol and Chris," Eddie starts. "I need to speak to them and I can't, I need—"

The words trail off into silence.

Buck stares at Eddie, at the stricken expression, the concern. "I'm not going anywhere."

A smile curves Eddie's face and god, how could Buck have thought he'd be okay with this losing this? With letting Eddie go and being alone?

"It doesn't have to be now," Buck says, finding himself back on familiar ground. "You're the forever kind of guy, Eddie."

Eddie looks gut-punched, and his fingers flex against Buck's collarbone, tugs him forward by his shirt. A kiss brushes against Buck's temple, and Eddie drags him into a hug. "You're something else, Evan."

The hug is warm, tight, and Buck clings to the back of Eddie's jacket. He feels wrung out, worn and used, and he buries his face in Eddie's neck. "I'm sorry."

"Shut up," Eddie says gently. "It's not an easy thing to say."

Buck doesn't ask what about you or why did you come here or you make me so fucking happy.

Eddie doesn't say I don't know or I'll always come for you or you're the forever kind of guy, too.

Eventually, they will.

For now, it's enough.

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