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He knows it’s not normal. That he shouldn’t have to sit down five minutes into a shower, resting his head against the wall, waiting for his heart to slow.
He knows he could fix it. He doesn’t have to deal with the hardship of gripping the lip of the tub to hoist himself up, praying that he won’t fall back down and injure himself more.
He’s aware that he could go online, find a shower seat and install it. That the support bars are there for a reason. He’s all too familiar with the orange pill bottle behind his mirror, staring at him. That it wouldn’t be wrong to take one, that it would help him.
But what was worse than the strain in his calf from the firetruck—what was worse than his racing heart from the panic—what was worse than the ache in his shoulder from the lightning strike—was admitting defeat.
It had been years of this. Not just since the firetruck, but before. That leftover pain from childhood injuries, all the lifting he did with his back instead of his legs when he worked at the ranch.
He had done it to himself. He knew that. He knew it was stupid, climbing up those trees and jumping down, riding his skateboard down a steep hill. These were the consequences, the reparations.
This was just something Buck had to live with. Eventually, he’d contend with that. He would get used to it.
It’s a really familiar excuse now. I’d rather shower at home. Too tired. Forgot to bring another change of clothes, forgot my soap.
And usually, the team buys it. They don’t think twice about it. Hell, most times, they’re too anxious to get home to really pay attention.
But it’s after calls like this that Buck knows he’s fucked. That there are no excuses he can give to sit, covered in soot and sweat for the remaining ten hours of the shift.
So he follows beside Eddie, trying not to limp as they all head to the showers. He gets his stuff, dreading it, but he knows it’s unavoidable.
The showers are, for one, extremely small. They’re stalls with no room for Buck to sit, and nowhere but the tile of the floor to sit your soap on. There’s no support behind, they close with a white shower curtain, so it’s not like Buck can rest his back against the wall while he lets the water fall over him.
The shower handle isn’t one you can move, sticking out from the wall.
It’s hell, in every way that Buck can imagine it.
He steadies himself once he’s inside with a hand on the wall—and even though he’s not sure he’d use it—there’s no support bars in them, either.
For a while, he lays his forehead against the wall the shower head sticks out of. Water barely falls on him at this angle. You have to stand right in the middle for the water to stay on you at all times.
He tries to go as quick as possible, cupping the water in his hands to get the soot off his face. With so many showers going at once with scalding water, the room quickly fogs up. Buck leans against the left wall and opens his shower curtain a bit to breathe in some cool air, his lungs burning.
He throws some body wash over himself, scrubs noncommittally, and considers it good. He’s the first one out, taking the opportunity to sit down as soon as he gets it. Somehow, taking the pressure off his leg lets the pain set in deeper, but within a few minutes, it’ll quiet down.
He gets dressed while still sitting, and then he finally gets out of the locker room and goes to the bunkroom.
He’s using the wall to support himself so he doesn’t fall, focusing on his breathing and not the tears in his eyes. He crawls into his bed with a sigh on the edge of a sob, turning over on his back so there’s no pressure on his legs.
Fuck. The searing, hot ache of his strained back sets in when he lies flat down. He winces, arching, and it relieves the pain for a moment. But he knows the position is just delaying the inevitable, so he lets his back fully rest down on the bed.
He clenches his fists through it, praying for it to go down. When the pain is finally done racing through him, he relaxes into the mattress and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, stopping the tears.
When he gets up, it will be back. And when he sits down again, it will be ten times worse. When he calms again, it will be twenty times harder to force himself to get up. And repeat, repeat, repeat for the rest of his life.
He didn’t hate himself. He didn’t. He just didn’t need the help, he didn’t want it. He did a hard job, and he’s trained his body to be strong, he doesn’t need to have accommodations, he doesn’t, he doesn’t.
But sometimes, it would be nice. God, it would help. He always stops himself from having that, though—relief.
Something about the pain makes him hateful.
It puts him in a bad mood, he wants to scream, to lay down and let it float away, but none of it is reasonable.
That night, he goes home, and he puts himself through the torture of getting up the stairs. He can’t sleep because of how bad it is, so much his muscles are locking, twitching, unable to rest.
He covers his ears so he doesn’t hear himself crying. Covers his body with a thin sheet just so he doesn’t have to look at it. He digs his foot into his calf for a pain he can control, a feeling he can focus on that he can stop at any time, and it makes a harsh cry fall out of him, but he needs it, he needs something else he can put all of his energy into that isn’t the fire erupting up his leg, his back, the headache from crying, as weak as he is.
He hates it, he fucking hates it, he doesn’t know what he did in a past life to deserve to feel like this, but he’s sorry now, God how he’s sorry.
It’s the worst it gets. Buck knows he can’t take it anymore. He can’t live this way forever, he’s not strong enough to tolerate it.
But he’s not strong enough, either, to buy the damn shower seat.
Buck [5:46 PM]
Eddie
He types and deletes, types and deletes, knows he’s in it now he has to say something he can’t just say Eddie and act like there isn’t always a want attached to his name, a desperate need, Eddie, Eddie.
Eddie [5:47 PM]
Buck
Hey, somethings wrong. How hard is it to say that? Hey, somethings wrong. It’s just three words. Hey. Somethings. Wrong. The something being unfixable. The something being annoyingly vulnerable. The something being him.
Buck [5:52 PM]
Hey
Somethings wrong. Somethings. Wrong.
Eddie [5:52 PM]
What’s wrong?
Okay?
Buck realizes—would it not be the end of the world to be unmendable? To be seen as someone who isn’t capable, who cannot take care of the man they love. To be weak, to need help, to be wrong.
Buck [5:55 PM]
My shower is broken.
Fuck. He was an idiot. Eddie would do something, he couldn’t change it, but he would try, and that would be good, that would help, just someone acknowledging it would help him.
Eddie [5:55 PM]
How did you do that??
Buck [5:56 PM]
I don’t really know
But it’s gonna take some time to fix
My landlord lags on this stuff, u know
Eddie [5:57 PM]
That guys an asshole
I’m sorry man.
👎👎😡
Use mine until he gets his shit together, or we can try to tackle it ourselves.
Eddie is so sweet, just—offering and gossiping about his landlord and being him, and Buck is lying, using his kindness to his advantage. He can’t make himself say this, though, just say help, and let it play out—he can’t.
Buck [5:59 PM]
Thaaank you so much man
I don’t wanna mess around with it and have him charge me for fucking it up further .. i know he would
Eddie [6:00 PM]
Don’t worry about it. You can come over tonight if you want.
Help me with dinner if you’re staying over though. You know Chris likes your cooking better than mine.
Buck [6:02 PM]
Don’t be jealous Diaz.
I’ll be there soon :)
The plan was—well, it wasn’t a plan. It was an impulsive lie. What happens when a week has passed and Eddie starts getting suspicious? What happens when all that time passes and Buck still isn’t brave enough to buy what he needs and open up?
He doesn’t really know. He’s more just thinking about Eddie’s completely accessible bathroom, customized for Chris, him and a few of his cousins fixing it up the week he moved to LA.
He packs up a change of clothes and a few ingredients before driving to Eddie’s, feeling better knowing he’s going somewhere safe.
He feels extremely fucking guilty, of course, but he’s kind of in it now and admitting to the lie in person seems even harder.
Eddie leads him to the bathroom like he doesn’t know where it is, but it’s nice. He shows him how the shower works, and Buck’s eyes are drawn to the seat at the end of the tub, but he’s trying not to stare at it too intensely, doesn’t want to give himself away.
Eddie has one of those fancier tubs, too, with a door that you can open instead of having to lift your legs. It must’ve cost a fortune, that paired with the support bar installed into the wall.
“It’s not too hard to work, but if you can’t get it on, just come get me.”
He was such a dad.
“Thanks, Eddie. I appreciate it.”
He gets him a towel and a washcloth, then leaves him to himself.
Buck’s been in here before, obviously. But he wasn’t paying as much attention to all the accommodations. The bottom of the tub even has a slip resistant mat inside, and one right outside. Across from the sink is a small seat, the one arm extending out longer than the other as a make-shift table you can slide in and out. Above it is the support bar.
It was all so thoughtful of him, must’ve taken hours of work to get set up, and even with all of that, he’d made sure to make it feel comfortable in here, too. A small faux plant on the back of the toilet, the shower curtain with smiley faces on it, sticky notes on the mirror that said, Don’t forget to brush! —Dad ♡ and, tylenol behind mirror + MOUTHWASH! ♡
Buck traces over his neat writing, catching himself smiling in the mirror.
He gets the shower on without trouble, and he makes sure to turn the fan on. When he gets in, rests his head on the wall and sits down, it’s so peaceful. So easy.
He lets the water cascade down, the showerhead at the perfect angle, removable. All of his stuff is within reach, sitting next to Chris’s. At the top shelf is Eddie’s soap, his razor.
He takes a minute to just breathe. Stretches out his leg, counts in four, out four.
He knew it might be better, but he didn’t know it would be like this. His movements aren’t sluggish like they usually are, his skin doesn’t feel like it’s crawling. He’s able to take his time, to even enjoy it.
When he’s finished, he’s able to dry himself while still sitting, and he uses the door to get out. He even takes the time to wash his face because he has the energy, shaves, too. He’d usually forgo these things until the last possible minute.
He’d used Eddie’s body wash, even though he had his own. The smell wafted through the shower, like cherries and frosting, and Buck loved it. He loved that Eddie found joy in small things like body wash and sweet treats and video games and dancing, that he shared this all with Buck.
When he walks out of the bathroom, he feels energized instead of exhausted. Ready to help with dinner, doesn’t need to lay down for the next hour like usual.
He feels so happy that when he finds Eddie in the kitchen, he reaches out, splaying his fingers at the small of his back, rubbing left and right. “What are we making?” He asks, watching Eddie’s hands as he cuts into a red bell pepper.
His breath hitches at the touch, but besides that, he doesn’t draw attention to the physical contact. “From the ingredients you brought, I’m guessing your plan was stir fry?” Buck nodded, looking to where Eddie had the ingredients out on the counter. “Was waiting for you for direction. I’m—cutting this correctly, right? I know you do it in a specific way.”
“No, that’s perfect. Let me find the recipe on my phone.”
He didn’t break the distance when he got his phone out, fully letting Eddie see his screen.
“You smell nice,” Eddie whispered. Stuttered, then smiled. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But he’s owning it, anyway.
“I smell like you,” Buck said, without thinking. Eddie made a hum noise. “Your body wash, I mean.”
“Oh, yeah?” He glanced over to the phone, then back to his knife. “Stealing my stuff now?”
Buck was definitely blushing. He was too endeared by the awkward way Eddie held a knife, the lefty he was, and the smile he was wearing.
“It’s just comforting,” Buck said slowly. “Having something of yours.”
He didn’t look at him, instead busied himself with finding a bowl. His skin was burning underneath the sweatshirt he had on.
“I know,” Eddie replied. Buck finally met his eyes. He used the knife to make the cut-up pepper fall in. “Why do you think I have you help with dinner all the time?”
Yes, this becomes routine for the following days, Buck over at Eddie’s, using his shower, making dinner, Eddie giving the excuse of, what if you want a shower in the morning? so Buck will stay over, and he doesn’t argue.
He uses Eddie’s body wash, his shampoo, his conditioner. Starts leaving clothes over to be washed and dried and somehow, put away instead of into a bag for Buck to take home.
An extra toothbrush from under the sink opened and sat beside Eddie’s and Chris’s. His razor on the sink, moisturizer, his leave-in treatment for his curls.
What happens is, they kind of get caught up in it. Going home together, leaving together, living together. It’s all an accident, really. Buck promises he didn’t mean for things to snowball like they have.
He has to own up to the lie. He knows that. But once he does, it’s over. All the nice accommodations of Eddie’s bathroom, all the nights spent talking about nothing and shushing each other from laughing too hard so they wouldn’t wake up Christopher.
Just—over.
It was foolish, but Buck didn’t want it to end. He wanted the safety and the help, as much as that embarrassed him.
He still has to deal with those hellish days, though. The rough calls in the middle of shift, full gear in one-hundred degree weather.
By the time he gets into the shower, nearly everyone is already out. Buck had stayed sitting in the truck, shrugging his gear off, taking some space alone before the dreaded time came to get up.
He’s taken out of it when he feels a knock on his headset he didn’t bother taking off.
“You asleep in here? ‘S fucking hot.” Eddie rolled up the sleeves of his fresh uniform, pushing the hair back that was in his eyes.
The headset fell around Buck’s neck. “Too tired to move,” he admitted. Eddie slouched in the seat across from him, enough for their knees to touch.
“Want me to carry you?”
Buck laughed, surprising even himself. “Bullshit, you can’t pick me up.”
Eddie shrugged. “I bench two-twenty.”
Buck gave him a curious look at that. “Since when?”
“Gotta keep up with you, don’t I?”
Buck leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Eddie,” he muttered, and Eddie was smiling like this was all very amusing. “Are you telling me you trained until you could bench my weight just in case you needed to pick me up one day?”
“Not needed,” Eddie said, leaning closer. “In case I wanted to. Which I did. Do. So—do you want me to carry you to the shower, Buck?”
Buck stared him down. “I can lift you too, you know.”
“It’s not a competition,” he responded. “Though, you are more built than me.”
“But it’s not a competition.”
“No,” Eddie said. And then, “I bet you’d like it, though.”
A small, “What?” from Buck, licking his bottom lip without much thought.
“Being taken care of,” Eddie whispered, like the secret it was. It felt hotter, suffocating in here suddenly. The mood shifting, Buck leaning back away, crossing his arms.
“Get your shower,” Eddie said. “I’m here when you wanna talk.”
Of course he knew something was wrong. Yeah. That checked out.
He can’t do it. He’s getting in, standing on his hurt leg, holding onto the wall, but nothing helps. The whole situation is akin to torture, he’s sick of it, squeezes the soap on his shoulders and lets it fall, then gets out.
Buck is just— exhausted. He can’t stand, make the effort to put his clothes on. He sits on the bench instead in his towel, wincing as he stretches his legs, fighting to take a deep breath and calm himself down.
It shouldn’t be this hard. It shouldn’t hurt like this. It shouldn’t make him so ashamed when Eddie comes into the bathroom, sees him struggling, and asks, all gentle, “Your shower isn’t broken, is it?”
And Buck can’t deny it like this, with his labored breathing and his cramped muscles, his red skin and the weight of a lie pounded on top of his chest. “No,” he says. “No.”
Eddie nods. He isn’t surprised at all. He kneels in front of Buck with a second towel, and begins wiping his legs off with all the care in the world, impossibly softer when he feels how tight his one calf is. “I went to the loft,” he whispers. “I wanted to fix it for you, surprise you. It was the other day, after my shift. And I found out it was working fine. Then, I remembered all those times where I’d find you in the bunkroom after a shower, and I’d try to wake you up, and every part of you was tense.
“I tried to give you time. Tell me when you wanted. But I’m worried about you. I wanna help. I just need you to let me in here, Buck.”
Satisfied with his work of drying his legs, he sat beside him on the bench, and began with his arms.
Buck teared up at the soft affection. The towel was so warm. “Did you get that straight from the dryer?” He asks in a broken voice.
“I did,” Eddie says. “I wanted you to have it when you were done. Something comforting.”
He put the towel over his neck, then brought the edges underneath Buck’s eyes. He wiped his tears away.
“Eddie,” he said. That was more than help. More than a confession. Because his name was always after some flirtatious sentence, some vulnerable thing he needed him to listen to, a secret, a question building up for years.
It was the strongest word in Buck’s vocabulary.
“I don’t—“ His voice broke off. He felt so panicked, his heart racing, eyes darting back and forth, and Eddie was just—stroking his hair, patiently waiting, there to listen.
“I don’t think I like the way I am,” he confessed.
Eddie’s fingers paused at his temple. “Buck.” It was dry, like the thought of that offended him. But he was still waiting, not forcing him to speak.
“You know . . . after the firetruck, and my leg. How the doctor said there might be residual pain?”
Eddie slowly nodded.
“Well, he was right. And—it’s-it’s pretty bad, Eddie. It can get—pretty bad. And so. . . it can be hard for me to-to do things? Like showering. Standing like that in one place for an extended time—it really hurts, and so it freaks me out, and then my heart will start going really fast, okay? And—it’s just hard to-to do that for me. Among. . . some other things, but. That’s-that’s one of the hardest, probably.”
He was taking it in, nodding along. His eyes were wet, and his hands had found their way into Buck’s.
“That was—“ Eddie cleared his throat. Pinched his eyes closed. “That was six years ago, Buck. Are you—you’re saying it’s been like this for six years?”
Shamefully, Buck looked away. He pointed his eyes to the ceiling, the light stinging his tears away. “Yeah.”
“Six years is a long time,” Eddie said. “A long time of . . . pain, and—Jesus, Buck. You could’ve told me—you know you could’ve told me, I would’ve—“
“But I didn’t want you to,” Buck interrupted. “I didn’t. I didn’t want anyone’s help. I didn’t even know how to process it myself— hell, I still don’t. I don’t know what I’m doing, Eddie. I just know that showering at yours helped me, and being around you, and not having to walk up those fucking steps—“
They laughed together, through the uncomfortableness of the topic, of Buck’s shaking voice.
“I felt better with you. And I was too ashamed to-to get help myself, to order a shower seat, to find a new place that was only one story. I-I thought that if-if I just used yours, than that was okay, because your house has always been safe, and-and nice, and that’s what I wanted—I wanted something that I wouldn’t hate myself for having, and nothing you’ve given me has ever been bad, and I know my logic fucking sucks, but that’s how I’d worked it out.
“And I’m sorry I lied. I shouldn’t have used you like that, I just was too much of a coward to say, fucking—like, help, you know? Just couldn’t say that word, but I—should’ve. I should’ve said it. And I’m sorry.”
Eddie was already looking at him when Buck felt okay enough to move his eyes from their hands. “Buck,” he quietly said, “if it counts for anything, I think you’re very fucking brave.”
He managed a weak smile. “Even though I used you for your very accessible home?”
Eddie scoffed, laughing. “That’s not why you did it, dumbass. You did it because you love me. And you know I love you.”
“Oh.” Buck grabbed at his chin so that he’d look his way again. “Is that right?”
“And you trust me.”
Buck didn’t deny that. “I wish I could’ve told you earlier.”
He shook his head. “No,” he muttered under his breath. “I should’ve checked in with you. That’s on me.”
“I got very good at hiding it,” Buck said softly.
“I wish you didn’t,” Eddie immediately said. “I wish you didn’t have to. All this time, you should’ve been staying with me. I should’ve taken care of you.”
“You’ve always taken care of me. C’mon.”
“No—this is different. You deserve better. More. You should have the world at your feet, Buck, bending to your will. Do you know that? You should have anything you want.”
Buck bit his lip. Staring, admiring. Eddie was completely serious, his voice confident. “Historically,” he said slowly, “I’m not very good at asking for that.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to learn how to read your mind,” he said. He looked like he was going to kiss him, then he murmured, “Superhero shit.” And Buck busted out laughing, resting his forehead on his shoulder.
“You fucking nerd.” Buck kissed his neck, then pushed their noses together. “You know what I’m thinking now?”
“Hmm.” He traced his lips over Buck’s. “You want me to kiss you?” And the words— the words alone felt like a kiss. Buck nodded, and Eddie continued with, “Then show me how you like to be kissed, Buck.”
Buck stayed there teaching him until the alarm went off.
It was better, physically, to accept the help. But it was worse, mentally.
He liked feeling better. He liked the roll-on Tylenol Eddie buys. He likes the tea that helps with his headaches, the patches that Eddie helps put on his back, menthol relaxing his muscles.
He doesn’t like that sometimes, he can’t do things by himself.
It’s hard standing at the stove, having to continuously stir something. He shifts uncomfortably, eventually letting Eddie do it and sitting down until he feels like he can walk again.
The worst is doing dishes, having to bring a chair to the sink and sit on the backs of his heels. It feels humiliating, but it’s so much easier.
The first time he does that, he cries in Eddie’s arms. It’s so much easier and he hates that it’s so much easier. He can’t help but think of how weak he is for it, that he’s being dramatic, that if he just gets through it and then sits down he’ll be fine.
But why suffer?
Why?
Because sitting and doing dishes isn’t normal? Because having chronic pain makes him lesser somehow? Because he deserves it ?
Buck doesn’t know when he started thinking like that about himself. How he ever got it into his head that he needed to do something a certain way just because everyone else was.
Even in the comfort of his own home, nobody else there, he would continue cleaning or cooking even if it fucking hurt and he was sweating, like he had something to prove, like if he couldn’t finish mopping up the kitchen that meant he couldn’t do anything.
He’s trying—trying to unlearn it, this lesson of pain.
It’s hard on bad days, mornings where he can hear the rain outside and feel the cold seeping into his muscles, and he just knows he’s not going to accomplish anything.
Trying to get up, wincing at the strain in his shoulder, the way he can barely bend his leg, he lays back down, clenching his pillow. He can’t even fucking move, it’s so bad, and it’s now that he likes to think of the fucking irony of having chronic pain and being allergic to NSAIDs.
His doctor had prescribed him a higher dose Tylenol, but it’s all the way in the bathroom, which is just stupid on his part, and he’ll have to wake Eddie up, which is somehow worse than all of the pain combined.
He’s still asleep, facing Buck. Since getting together, he’s slept better, deeper, sometimes he’ll even snore from how safe he is, and Buck is so grateful he can do that now, that he’s healing.
“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie,” he says quickly, running his thumb over his cheek. “Baby, wake up. Please, please, I’m sorry—“ He fists at Eddie’s shirt when a sharp pang like stabbing hits in his leg, unrelenting. “Ow, ow, fuck—Eddie— “ he gasps, and processes that there are tears falling, but Eddie is also awake, shooting up and turning Buck over, assessing for injuries.
“What’s—what—“
He’s half-asleep still, looking for blood, looking to fix it, his medic side taking over, but—“Just need my meds, please, I’m okay, promise.” But as he says it, a roll of discomfort shoots up his back.
Thisisnotokaythisisnotokaythisisnotokay is all his brain can repeat, a mantra he screams in his head so he doesn’t focus on his body.
“Okay, okay, fuck. Hold on, I’ll be right back, you’re okay, you’re okay.” He kisses his head quickly before getting up and heading to the bathroom, knowing exactly where they are.
Buck digs his face into his pillow, so uncomfortable it’s driving him insane. When Eddie’s back, he can’t really see him, his eyes blurred, but he hears the frantic, “Baby, baby, here, honey,” and feels Eddie’s palm cup his face. “Sit up so you can take this, okay? Then you can lay back down.”
His voice is still raspy from sleep, his hair a mess, but his eyes are wide open, and he’s trying to uncap Buck’s meds, hold his hand, open his water, and get the blankets up him all at the same time.
Christ, Buck has never seen him so frantic before.
He’s able to get two pills out, and Buck throws them to the back of his mouth. Eddie holds the water up for him, cupping the back of his head. When he’s done, he realizes he’s been sobbing with every exhale, panicked, and Eddie has spilled the water all over the floor.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Eddie murmurs, fully encapsulating Buck with his arms, his head on his chest, rocking them back and forth. “It’s okay, baby, you’re okay, we’re okay, we’re—fuck, fuck, it’s okay—“
His breath rattles. Buck can feel it in his chest, the fear taking over now that the adrenaline is leaving him. “I’m sorry,” Buck sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I scared you, I’m sorry—“
“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He brings Buck closer, till he’s on his side, his bad leg thrown over Eddie’s hip. Eddie keeps it there, massaging the muscle, somehow remembering those YouTube tutorials through the panic. Buck whimpers at the touch at first. “Shh, shh. I know it hurts, I know, I know. You cry as much as you need to, I got you.”
Buck couldn’t believe he’d dealt with times like this by himself before. He was falling apart in Eddie’s arms, nearly asleep, his head thumping from the crying.
When he wakes up a few hours later, the pain tolerable, Eddie is still awake. Almost in a trance, trailing his fingers up and down his arm, kissing his head.
“I’m okay,” is the first thing he says. Eddie pulls him closer. He nods his head, Buck can feel it, but doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry I scared you. I know it must’ve been hard.”
“It was just—“ Eddie cuts himself off, swallowing hard. “ God, it was so scary, Buck. It was so scary. I thought I was gonna have to take you to the emergency room.”
Buck shuffles up, meeting his eyes. “Oh, honey.” And he doesn’t know much else to say, how many apologies will make him forget.
“I just wanna take it away from you, Buck. I just wanna take it and make it mine.”
“I wouldn’t wish that on you,” Buck said quickly. “It’s really, really rare that that can happen, okay? So don’t be scared. Just rest. I’m okay now.”
“But you were—“
“I know.”
“And I couldn’t even stop it,” he sobbed. His voice was horrified.
“Y-you did, you did. You helped me so much.”
Eventually, he’s unable to get anything else out but, “Buck.” And he tucks him into the blanket on his side, making sure his pillow is propped up. He wipes his eyes. “Are you comfortable? You’re—you’re not hurting?”
“I’m comfortable, sweetheart,” he promises. He plays with Eddie’s hair how he likes, carding through it. “Please, please sleep, okay? Just try for me, I’m feeling so much better, I promise.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes are still like pinpricks, terrified, goosebumps up his arms. He probably doesn’t even register how high his shoulders are, how tense his fingers are around Buck’s shirt.
“I’m sure, I’m sure,” Buck whispers. “Just sleep. Sleep, sleep, sleep, close your eyes. There you go,” he says, when Eddie’s eyes fall shut, his head on Buck’s chest over his heart. “Thank you for taking care of me. You helped so much, Eddie, you’re allowed to rest now.”
He whispers sweet, comforting words until Eddie’s breath evens out. Then, he swipes a finger over the space between his eyebrows, smoothing it. He stretches out each of his fingers, flattening them onto his waist.
There was one thing Buck was never not capable of doing. Something that didn’t matter even in the throes of pain. Loving him was the most effortless thing he’d ever done. And it was so easy to let Eddie care for him when he realized this—
That there was nothing shameful about letting the one you loved into your heart, to see all of your pain. It was the best choice Buck had made. Even if it came with that raw and humiliating emotion of vulnerability. That was what trust was. That was what letting Eddie see him cry was, what letting him help him was. That was love.