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Eddie all but sprints up the steps to his front door, keys sitting heavy in the pocket of jeans that had been hastily shimmied up his hips back at the station. His belt hangs loose as he eagerly tries the handle and finds it blessedly unlocked.
Buck’s been up and about it seems. He has a habit of waiting up, rain or shine.
He smiles to himself, already envisioning coffee hitting the back of his throat and slipping into loungewear after a quick shower. He lets out a heavy breath at the thought of crawling back under clean and cool sheets, just to be encircled by arms that he’s spent the past twenty-four hours missing. Pictures groggy blue eyes that will hesitantly crack open and his favorite crooked grin eclipsing the face that Eddie’s always aching to get home to.
Shifts drag without Buck’s presence—it scarcely matters how busy they get or if it’s only a twelve. After almost a decade of intermittent opposite scheduling, Eddie figured he’d be reluctantly used to being on the job without Buck by his side. But he still catches himself looking over his shoulder on a call to share a look or a smirk with the object of all his big feelings, only to remember after a prolonged pause and a surprised twist in the gut that said guy is probably busy taking Theo to a park or knocking beseechingly on Chris’ door to get him to tag along. Buck’s been pretty insistent on him having a productive summer vacation away from his video-gaming guild and noise-cancelling headphones.
Eddie enters the foyer, instantly depositing his hefty duffel and hanging his denim jacket on the rack to be revisited later. His chest inflates pleasantly at the sight of shoes in an uncontrolled heap near his feet—Theo’s velcro Spider-Man sneakers, Chris’ high top Nikes, and Buck’s pristine New Balances—one tipped slightly into the toe caps of Eddie’s muddy combat boots.
He hears tuneful laughter and soft music winding its way to him from the kitchen. The Carpenters, he thinks. Must be Buck’s oldies playlist, which confirms both of the kids are awake, too. Chris is constantly suggesting new songs for it, sulking about Buck being an Apple Music customer while Theo bops his chin along to any tune, heedless.
The four of them are between households right now. Eddie’s grimly determined to eventually say goodbye to 4995 solely for the sake of space. When Theo’s here, he’s either in Chris’ room—which isn’t ideal because he’s almost sixteen and deserves a place of refuge that’s entirely his own, and also to sleep past seven a.m.—or he’s crawling stealthily up Buck and Eddie’s comforter to lay sprawled between them before sunrise is even a suggestion. Not that Eddie’s complaining when the kid’s basically a furnace who snuggles into him and suffuses his extremities with much-needed warmth.
No matter where they are, Sundays are reserved for beauty rest with a side of lollygagging, regardless. Chores are delayed and grocery shopping is postponed to Monday if they can stomach another night of takeout.
Instead, the first part of the day is spent watching age-appropriate telenovelas with Theo while Buck makes them a late breakfast, the scent of bacon wafting throughout the house and Theo clinging to Eddie’s bicep on the couch like a koala, sipping his orange juice with his enraptured eyes glued to the screen.
On Sundays exclusively, Chris can get away with rising at noon and making his way down the hall to join them in the dining room. Eddie and Buck will poke fun at him only after he plops himself down in front of the one plate of french toast that isn’t half-devoured.
Eddie guesses today is an occasion that warrants the chaos that he’s imminently going to walk into. It’s his thirty-fourth birthday, after all. Chris would still be chuffing snores into his pillow, otherwise.
Eddie’s never been big on celebrating himself. He falls into that specific category of people who claim they don’t care about the spectacle when really it's always been craved, just a little. Growing up, he made sure to make his sisters’ festivities a big deal—spent time planning and throwing them a few parties with kids in the neighborhood—but as for his own? His Dad was usually on work trips in June and July, and his Mom somehow found a way to center Eddie’s birthday around that glaring absence, bemoaning how much she’d have to prepare or handle on her own.
Since moving to LA and meeting Buck, though, he’s tended to indulge himself more. It’s impossible not to when your best friend and now fiancé is adamant that birthdays are the most important holiday of the year. Theirs are hardly twenty-four hours apart, on top of that. Buck’ll be thirty-five tomorrow.
Even before they got together, Buck had been showing up on his doorstep with a speciality latté and a frankly obscene amount of tissue paper and gifts for eight years prior. His consistent excuse being, Eddie. I promised Chris I’d make your presents look halfway decent. Love the kid, but you and I both know he won’t have a future in decorative wrapping. Me, on the other hand, I can really milk the experience if I have a ribbon. Shit, I love a ribbon.
After hours shut away behind Chris’ bedroom door, they’d shuffle out, sharing secret words and animated gestures. Eddie, who always waited in the living room lest he ruin the surprise, would shake his head fondly at their antics. Buck’s phone being pulled from his pants was the general next step, itinerary at-the-ready, and they’d all be off to spend the day doing whatever activities he and Chris deemed fit for that specific year.
The three of them have spent endless afternoons in Buck’s truck, and before that, Buck’s jeep, driving across the state of California in pursuit of the next best attraction. Things that were less touristy were preferred, for Chris’ sake as well as Eddie’s own. Neither of them enjoy highly concentrated areas, and ever since Buck filed that information into whatever cabinet of his brain holds Facts About Eddie in bold lettering, he’s done careful and thorough research about any and all places that their group could possibly spend more than a few hours exploring.
When Theo came into the mix, he only encouraged Buck tenfold.
Before bed on many occasions—reading glasses low on his nose and prompted by Buck’s silence when he fails to provide an answer to Eddie’s twenty-three down, four letters, coffee option? daily crossword questions—he’ll peek over Buck’s mop of curls lying on his chest, mock-offended, to sneak a perusing glance at his dim phone screen. The device is typically open to Reddit threads and Wikipedia deep dives listing family day destinations that are handicap accessible and child-friendly.
Fact is, Buck’s always gone all-out for Eddie. The older he gets, the more he lets himself enjoy it.
Before Buck, the birthday blues festered. The day was just a depressing stepping stone and an obligatory reminder to consider how lonely he felt, especially during those years stationed in Afghanistan, so far removed from the one human being he longed to blow a candle out with just to see the reflection of flame in his red sports-glasses. Chris was growing so quickly, and Eddie’s birthday marked one more year of staticky phone calls and missing out. He’d been inclined to take a chisel-tipped sharpie to his calendar and cross the day out altogether, back then.
After Buck, he’s been able to reflect on all the good, instead. Buck makes him comfortable with showing enthusiasm. Since they met, he’s managed to help Eddie turn over and discern the opportunity behind having fun rather than the obstacles.
He rolls his shoulders back, cross-body stretching and popping joints as he ambles through the dining room and towards the kitchen’s threshold. The scene that greets him is limned golden, and it will never once get old.
The island is an absolute wreck, baking ingredients sprawled messily across every surface of the space: Domino’s sugar, cocoa powder, cracked eggshells, vanilla extract. There are multiple kitchen drawers and overhead cabinets open that have clearly been blindly rifled through. Buck’s mug sits, steaming, by the sink, most likely untouched if his frantic state is anything to go by. Theo’s balanced on his hip, and the arm that isn’t hitching him higher is attempting to whisk a bowl of what Eddie assumes is batter. Despite this, he’s resolutely swaying them along to the music.
“Chris, a hand would be great,” Buck entreats, sort of desperate-sounding, his back to Eddie.
Chris is sitting at the island with a recipe book open in front of him, finger skimming over the text. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be stirring… faster,” he mutters.
They’re all wearing matching striped aprons. Eddie practically swoons, arms and legs crossing one over the other as he slumps in the doorway, eyes ping-ponging between the three of them, basking in the hot air radiating from the oven that’s just finished preheating and is beeping quite incessantly.
There are balloons everywhere, most of them skimming the ceiling. Lots of reds and blues. The kids and Buck must have blown them up manually—Eddie doesn’t have a pump. His gaze darts back to Buck, and he notices that his chest is rising and falling heavily, like he’s trying to catch his breath from the act of huffing and puffing into rubber latex. Eddie melts further.
He tilts his head to study the side of the fridge. The front reached its spatial capacity many moons ago, so they’ve had to invest in new magnets to pin more pictures. Buck was ecstatic—he’s been growing his collection for almost two decades, accumulating the most gaudy of the bunch at highway rest stops, tacky giftshops, and grungy airports.
There’s one that snags Eddie’s attention, without fail, even though for all intents and purposes it’s a staple forty-year-old wine mom piece: Home is Wherever My Bunch of Crazies Are. Buck had acquired it two months prior on a road trip to Arizona with Maddie—they like to take annual getaways. The stamped words are framed by wooden and rectangular dimensions. The magnet keeps a black-and-white photobooth strip of the four of them safely secured to the appliance.
Eddie’s snapped back to the present by a thunderous cackle and a subsequent stupefied splutter. Theo’s just blown flour right into Buck’s face.
Eddie’s grin only grows when he sees Christopher slap a palm over his mouth, sniggering at Buck’s expense.
“Morning, gang,” he greets, keen to jump into the mayhem.
Buck pivots abruptly and drops the whisk with a clank. Eddie thinks he’d be raising two hands in surrender if not for them being occupied with gathering Theo up in both arms, powdered face fish-mouthing as he registers Eddie’s presence.
Theo’s eyes widen comically. “Teddy!” he screeches, immediately making grabby hands.
“Shit,” Buck gripes.
“Swear jar,” Chris contributes smugly, tilting the crown of his head back into Eddie’s sternum as he squeezes his teenager’s shoulders and drops a kiss to his forehead. “Happy birthday, Dad.”
“Thank you, mijo,” he gushes, adjusting Chris’ glasses dutifully. “Looks like you’re the boss round’ here, huh?”
Chris snorts good-naturedly, “Something like that. Buck’s losing it.” He makes the universal gesture for going nuts as he stirs a finger in a circle next to his temple.
Eddie chuckles and makes his way over to Buck, who’s busy patting his pockets for loose change that he’ll never find.
“Shoot! I meant to say ‘shoot.’ Always say ‘shoot.’ Never the other thing. Get it? Got it? Good.” Buck addresses the room at large, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Hi there, little monster.” Eddie swoops into their space to smack pecks all over Theo’s face—Buck transferring him to Eddie’s arms seamlessly as he giggles delightedly against the onslaught.
Theo clings to his hip with his ankles, flour-smudged nose smushing into Eddie’s temple as he murmurs, “It’s your special birthday, Teddy.”
“That’s right, sweetheart.” He raises a hand to mime some creature or other, making chomping motions as he hovers it over Theo’s ribs. “And I see someone’s gotten up to no good,” he drawls, carrying out the suspense for a few loaded seconds before he finally makes contact and tickles Theo’s side thoroughly, roaring like a grizzly bear.
Once Theo’s shrieking hiccups have subsided, Eddie reaches out instinctively, looping his free arm around Buck’s nape as Buck encircles his waist, effectively sandwiching a toddler between them.
Eddie rubs their noses together, Buck’s grown-out stubble familiarly grazing his dimpled cheek. His curls are completely unruly, evidently untouched since Buck rose from their bed. Eddie loves how disheveled his head of hair looks after a night of good sleep. He enjoys running attentive hands through the tendrils before having to painstakingly pry his limbs from Buck on the rare occasions he needs to rise before him.
Buck runs his lips over the line of Eddie’s jaw before bringing their mouths together for a too-short kiss.
“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers reverently, thumbing the scar occupying Eddie’s bottom lip, grip tightening on one of his love handles. “Was the shift okay?”
Eddie lets the full scope of his smile unfurl, nodding to the best of his ability as his teeth clack with Buck’s briefly. “Missed you.”
“Really, weirdos? Right in front of Theo’s salad,” Chris clears his throat meaningfully, and Eddie turns just in time for his facepalm.
“Pretty sure he’s occupied with sucking frosting off his fingers, pal,” Eddie defends.
Theo slurps noisily to punctuate his point.
Buck seizes the distraction to plant one last kiss against Eddie’s cheekbone; grumbles, “This was supposed to be a surprise,” right against the thin skin there. “We’re baking. Together. Not sure whose bright idea that was.”
“Totally yours,” Chris snarks, drumming his pointer fingers against the edge of the island. “We’re doing fine, Buck. Dad likes whatever you make him.”
“But it needs to be just right,” Buck laments. “You only turn thirty-four once, Superman.”
“What exactly are you attempting here, bud?” Eddie runs a thumb over the sensitive patch behind Buck’s ear, revelling in Buck’s shudder.
“Dark chocolate sponge cake with raspberry ganache,” Buck rushes out, like he can’t contain the extra weight of such an illicit secret anymore. His eyebrows are jumping all over the place; twitching in an interpretive dance. “Lemon meringue tarts are also en route from that patisserie you like near Hen and Karen’s. Maddie’s bringing breakfast and champagne for mimosas. All your favorites.” He heaves a load-bearing sigh.
Eddie thinks he’s drooling. “At this rate I might just have to repropose, Buckley.”
Buck blushes prettily, his eyelashes interspersed with the sunlight that’s streaming through the half-shuttered blinds. “I’m getting flour all over your tank top, Eddie.”
“Mm. Don’t care,” he nuzzles into Buck’s powder-caked birthmark, missing the pinkness there that he’s made his mission to deepen whenever an opportunity arises.
Theo begins poking restlessly at the side of Eddie’s throat, and Eddie bends to deposit him. Before he can stray too far, Eddie plucks a paper towel from the holder resting on the countertop, wets it, and gets on a knee to dab it gently over his protruding pout. He looks so much like Buck that he almost loses his balance on his way back to standing—conciously straightening his posture as one of Buck’s hands steadies him.
Theo jogs over to Christopher and cups his hands around his cheeks, leaning in conspiratorially to mumble something in his ear. Chris beams, grabbing his crutches and speeding off to the dining room, Theo right on his heels.
“Abandoners!” Buck yells after them, shaking his head affectionately.
“What’s that about?” Eddie muses, playing with Buck’s palm and tracing the silicon engagement band that resides on his ring finger.
He couldn’t help himself after he’d proposed. They were originally going to forgo an engagement ring altogether—wait until the exchanging of bands at their wedding in September. He’d lasted about three days before he decided that he’d been patient long enough. Might as well let everyone in their broad vicinity recognize the impending nuptials. Eddie liked knowing that anyone who saw it and had a moral compass would back off; that they’d know Buck belonged to someone else and would tuck their tail between their legs, chastened.
“Nope. Not telling,” Buck mimics zipping his lips and throwing away the key. “They’d have my head.”
“Well, they’d have to go through me, first.”
Eddie rises on his tiptoes, arms redistributing to their rightful place behind Buck’s neck as he presses them flush together, sagging into Buck’s hulking frame as he props his chin on an obscenely broad shoulder. Buck’s palm rubs up and down his spine in increasingly soothing motions, bunching up Eddie’s LAFD tanktop at the hem.
Buck gives him affection so freely. It makes Eddie feel safe enough to surrender to it—to a side of him that’s unguarded and content to bask in every small point of contact. He was always under the impression that he had to display the stereotypical level of control that aligned with being in his midthirties when it came to physical touch, but with Buck, those expectations have shriveled under the influence of Eddie’s unfettered giddiness. Most days, he forgets that there was ever a time where he could restrain himself around Buck and simultaneously function in day-to-day society.
Eddie observes the kitchen once again, practically purring when Buck skates fingers under his shirt to trace the indentations on his bare back. He massages the notches and digs steadily into tight muscles, relieving stockpiled tension that Eddie hadn’t realized accrued.
Eddie tries to reward his efforts with an affirmative moan, but it catches high in the back of his throat when his eyes land on the glass vase placed delicately on the wall of gray cubbies at the opposite end of the room.
He raps on Buck’s chest imploringly, jolting him out of whatever rhythmic state he’d been lost to. He can admit that he’s rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet in anticipation. Eddie still refuses to loosen their embrace even a fraction.
“Buck… are those?”
Buck doesn’t even turn around, scratching his nails in circles over Eddie’s tailbone. “Brown-eyed susans? You bet.”
Eddie pulls back from the crook of his neck to meet the mischievous gaze that makes his blood sing and his insides mushy.
“How did you– Those are native to–” he begins, awed, as Buck cradles the side of his throat.
“Texas, yeah. Ordered the seeds awhile back and grew them in secret.” He brings a finger to Eddie’s lips to indicate a shushing motion. “I, for one, have a wicked green thumb.”
Eddie nips absent-mindedly at the digit while he admires the floral arrangement in his periphery. Brown-eyed susans are rugged at first glance, but their petals have always reminded Eddie of rays of light—like tiny charming sunflowers. Their middles are bulbous burnt umber, and if you look closely enough, the center disks are shaped like infinity symbols. He likes to entertain that it’s some kind of metaphor for Buck and their family.
“They’re beautiful,” Eddie says, hushed. “God, I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Buck echoes easily, shy and boyish even after all these months. “I wanted to go all out. It’s not too much, right?”
“It’s perfect,” Eddie reassures, needing to wipe clean the tone of insecurity. “Can’t believe how lucky I am.” He clutches one of Buck’s palms in both hands, elevating it towards his mouth to kiss the center of it. He tastes sweetness that’s definitely residual icing, but that Eddie will go to court and defend in front of a jury oozes naturally from Buck’s pores.
“May or may not have a few bombshells up my own sleeve for tomorrow,” Eddie leers, stroking Buck’s knuckles—blinking seductively up at him from beneath his lashes in the way he knows Buck can’t stand because it makes him weak: his words, not Eddie’s. “Most of them involve keeping you in bed.”
Buck flounders for a full thirty seconds, the tips of his ears turning crimson. “Jeez, it’s scorching. Are you hot? I mean– you obviously are. What I’m asking is. Um. Are you hot like, body temperature-wise? As in, are you sweating? ‘Cause I am. Sweating, that is,” he finishes with a grimace.
Eddie’s tactic works yet again.
If he were keeping score, there’d be hundreds of tallies on his board. Buck would get a gold star for good sportsmanship, but everybody knows those are conciliatory.
“You are trouble,” Buck admonishes, shaking himself out of a stupor as his chest heaves. “An evil man.”
“You enjoy it,” Eddie snickers heartily. “And the point still stands. Despicable things will be happening in our room. Heed my warning.”
“The one time I’m thrilled that my birthday falls on a Monday,” Buck swats his ass playfully. Eddie yelps soberly. “Bless you, summer day camps.”
Theo and Chris materialize out of nowhere, the former’s hands held behind his back as they return to the kitchen.
Buck looks like he’s been expecting them. “Have something you wanna give Eddie, guys?” he pushes, winking at Chris. He pivots and maneuvers Eddie by the waist to lean them back against the counter, bestowing their full attention on the boys.
Chris smiles toothily at Theo and starts to mouth: one, two…
“Ta-da!” Theo hollers before three. He reveals a folded piece of paper with a flourish.
“Theo, that’s Buck’s!” Chris hisses, flailing at the air until he snags a corner of it and folds it into the front pocket of his apron.
“Hey!” Theo whines. His eyebrows scrunch up in yet another expression that is so painfully Buck.
“Uh, nothing to see here,” Chris says guiltily. “Buck can’t open his until tomorrow, buddy,” he directs this at Theo, placating. “I don’t care that they’re less than twenty-four hours apart, it’s bad juju to open a gift early. Let’s try that again.”
Theo rolls his eyes sassily before shuffling closer to Eddie, annoyance forgotten as he passes him the intended card. “Here you go, Teddy.”
Eddie takes it gingerly—quirks his mouth at Chris teasingly.
“Later, Dad. You and Buck are sharing a card this year. It’s in the back of my closet. No snooping,” he quips.
Eddie nods seriously, shifting to open the card that’s been presented to him. He finds stickers of all shapes and sizes on both of the inner pages—firetrucks, Bluey dogs, Captain America shields. In the crease there’s a giant purple and blue scribbled heart with four blocky stick figures holding hands in the center of it. There are doodles of stars, suns, and a rainbow that Theo must’ve used half of his Crayola collection on. The words I love you zigzag from top to bottom.
Buck sniffles next to him, turning his forehead into Eddie’s temple to examine the details at length, too.
“Sweetie, this is fantastic,” Eddie compliments, choking up. “You two must’ve been working double-time.”
“I helped with the drawings,” Chris supplies. “Theo’s the Picasso of the group, though.”
Theo positively beams. “I like potatoes.”
“Bring it in, everyone,” Eddie bends to splay his arms out wide, and Theo toddles right into them.
Buck waves his hand at Chris, softly breathing, “C’mere.”
Eddie’s heart lurches in three different directions as Chris sidles up to Buck and nestles himself into their makeshift hug.
“One more thing,” Buck’s big hand engulfs Eddie’s nape and kneads the tendons there. He sounds nervous. “I may have booked plane tickets for Soph and Adriana,” Buck confesses into the strands at the top of Eddie’s head.
“Buck,” he laughs serenely, enunciating every letter of his name.
Eddie feels heavy, but it’s not the kind of weight that’s diminishing. The sensation is utterly bearable, and something that he never wants to take for granted. He’s overwhelmed by the sheer amount of happiness that has engulfed every nook and cranny of his life. Buck and the kids bring purifying color to it—they’ve decorated his foundations with their smiles; with their presence that’s all-consuming. Eddie belongs entirely to them—will make trivial wishes on candles with Buck and blissfully receive homemade cards while the boys look on for the rest of their days.
Eddie supposes he’s a newly appointed birthday enthusiast. How could he not be, surrounded by people who love him so unconditionally?