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The rain started halfway through the shift.
By the time the 118 rolled back into the station after a three-car pileup, everyone smelled like wet asphalt and exhaustion.
Chim was complaining about his socks, Hen was trying to peel her gloves off without touching anything, and Buck—
Buck was staring.
Again.
Eddie caught him doing it from across the locker room mirror.
“What?” Eddie asked, toweling rainwater out of his hair.
Buck blinked hard, like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re staring at me.”
Buck shoved a hand through his damp curls and looked away too quickly. “You had blood on your face earlier.”
“That was like six hours ago.”
“Yeah, well.” Buck shrugged. “I noticed.”
Eddie should’ve let it go.
Probably would have, a few months ago.
Before the late-night grocery runs that somehow became routine.
Before Buck started showing up for Christopher’s school events without being asked.
Before Eddie caught himself looking for Buck first after every call.
Instead, he leaned back against the lockers and crossed his arms. “You notice a lot about me.”
Buck froze.
The locker room suddenly felt too small.
Too warm.
Outside, thunder rattled the station windows.
Buck laughed once under his breath, nervous. “You make it sound creepy.”
“Is it?”
Their eyes met.
And there it was again—that thing between them.
The invisible wire pulled so tight Eddie was shocked it hadn’t snapped already.
Buck swallowed.
“No,” he said quietly. “I think it’s the opposite, actually.”
Eddie’s chest tightened.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Chimney’s voice echoed faintly somewhere upstairs, followed by Bobby telling him not to microwave fish again, but it sounded far away.
Distant.
Buck took a step closer.
Eddie didn’t step back.
“You ever think,” Buck started carefully, “that maybe we skipped a couple steps?”
Eddie frowned. “What steps?”
Buck gestured helplessly between them. “Normal people stuff. Dating. Figuring things out. Because somehow we went straight to—” He stopped himself.
“To what?” Eddie asked softly.
Buck looked at him then, really looked at him.
“To being partners in everything but the name.”
The words landed hard.
Because Eddie couldn’t even deny it.
Buck knew how Eddie took his coffee.
Knew which nightmares meant Eddie needed space and which meant he needed someone sitting silently beside him.
Christopher called Buck before he called half his friends.
Hell, last month the school nurse had accidentally referred to Buck as Christopher’s other parent and neither of them corrected her.
Eddie exhaled slowly.
“Buck…”
“I know,” Buck said quickly. “I know it’s complicated.”
“No.” Eddie shook his head. “That’s not what I was gonna say.”
Buck’s expression flickered with cautious hope.
Eddie stared at him for one long moment, taking in the damp curls, the tired eyes, the way Buck looked like he was bracing for impact.
Then Eddie reached out and hooked two fingers into the front of Buck’s shirt.
Buck stopped breathing.
“I was gonna say,” Eddie murmured, “you’re an idiot for taking this long.”
Buck’s eyes widened. “Wait.”
“Yeah.”
“Wait.”
Eddie laughed despite himself. “You’re really stuck on that word, huh?”
But Buck was already moving.
The kiss was clumsy at first—surprised and desperate and a little off-center because Buck nearly walked into the locker behind Eddie in his hurry—but then Eddie grabbed his face, Buck made this quiet broken sound in the back of his throat, and suddenly it felt like every almost-moment of the last few years crashed together all at once.
Warmth. Relief. Want.
Home.
When they finally pulled apart, Buck rested his forehead against Eddie’s shoulder and laughed breathlessly. “Okay. Wow.”
“Smooth,” Eddie teased.
“Shut up.”
“You almost concussed yourself.”
Buck looked up, grinning now, bright and helpless and so stupidly fond that Eddie’s heart did something dangerous in his chest.
Then the locker room door swung open.
Hen stopped dead.
Chimney walked directly into her back. “Why are you—oh.”
A beat of silence.
Buck still had one hand tangled in Eddie’s shirt.
Eddie was pretty sure his lips were swollen.
Chimney blinked. “Huh.”
Hen looked deeply unimpressed. “Took you two long enough.”
Buck choked. “You knew?”
“Please,” Hen said. “Everyone knew.”
“Everyone?” Eddie repeated.
From upstairs, Bobby yelled, “Dinner in ten!”
“INCLUDING BOBBY,” Chim shouted back.
Buck covered his face with both hands.
Eddie couldn’t stop laughing.
And somewhere underneath the embarrassment and the chaos and the sound of rain against the windows, something inside him settled quietly into place.