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hippolotamus · 10 months

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Hippo my lovely 💕

21 - this is a very long hug now sort of hug

If it sparks joy 💕

It did! Eventually (sheepishly kicks at the dirt) Enjoy, lovely 🦛💞🐥

For the full experience may I recommend

if i’m being honest (it scares me to death) | T | 2926 words

Just got in. See you tomorrow.

Buck pockets his phone and enters the apartment — it’s not home, never really has been — his movements slow and easy, like he’s floating. Buoyed by the sort of love and contentment that can only come from spending an evening at the Diaz house. A few precious hours of dinner, then playing Boggle and Scattergories until Chris begged off to play an online game with his friends. His limbs are loose and humming, like his veins have been injected with liquid starlight. Even the air around him feels syrupy sweet and pleasant. The kind of thick, protective cover that nothing negative could hope to ruin.

He drops his keys in the bowl and immediately walks to the fridge to put away the Tupperware container of leftover mushroom and chickpea meatballs with zoodles for tomorrow’s lunch.

Eddie picked the recipe, saying he wanted to try it. No particular reason, he just did. He’s been doing that more lately, choosing dishes he would make anyway and subbing in vegan ingredients.

Buck took notice immediately and makes sure to show his gratitude in heaping platefuls and commenting on how delicious it all is. He knows from experience that it’s all too easy to end up with dried out, inedible food that shouldn’t be fed to anyone. It’s the least he can do for his best friend making the effort to cook something special just for him. Even if said best friend will never admit that’s why he’s doing it.

At times, if Buck lets himself look too closely, it feels a lot like something else. These acts of service feel a lot like love. And it is. The sort of love two best friends who would do anything for each other have. Buck’s not naïve enough to think that Eddie wouldn’t do the same thing for any of their friends or family. But at the same time it’s also more? Deeper. A sacred bond or formula shared just between them. Like learning Bobby’s chili doesn’t work without the cocoa powder. Someone could try a million different ways and it would never turn out right.

He wants to be brave enough to name this thing they’ve been building since promising to have each other’s backs. This relationship forged in fire, mud, and tsunamis. Built on collapsing foundations, busted down doors, lightning strikes, and ‘Because, Evan’.

If he could be part of Eddie and Christopher’s lives for everything, he would do it in a heartbeat. But that always seems like too much and not enough to ask for. Because Buck is too much and not enough. Acceptable in measured increments for precise amounts of time. For now — probably forever — he tucks that dream away in favor of focusing on what he does have.

With the leftovers safely put away, he grabs a beer, twisting off the cap and listening to it slide across the countertop, finally slowing to a stop next to the utensil caddy. It’s… loud. Too loud for such a small object. Or maybe the apartment is just too… cavernous? Empty?

Buck leans back against the counter, taking a lengthy sip and visually assessing his space. He has things. The right amount of things, even. After all, he’s one single person. How much could he need? He drowns the thought with more beer when his mind tries to remind him of six cheese lasagna and couches and having the answers.

He decides it’s not worth ruining his still relatively excellent mood by worrying over something as trivial as a chunk of metal, and moves out to the patio. It might do him some good.

The atmosphere is filled with the sights and sounds of the city at night. A complex symphony of traffic, music and people wrapped in an LED haze that starts at the street and drifts slowly upward. It’s a familiar melody that, just like the apartment, isn’t home but does its best to provide comfort.

He manages to pick out a few stars peeking through. Not full constellations. Those are impossible, staying hidden like the ancient giants they are. It’s nice to still be able to see the twinkling specks, even if they’re nothing like some places he’s been.

On the ranch in Montana he would lay on the hood of his Jeep and stare for what felt like hours. Feeling small, but also like something was waiting for him. Like he was part of something bigger that he just hadn’t discovered yet. Looking at the sky now doesn’t feel that way. More like being at sea, adrift and searching. Waiting to be found, though he’s not quite sure by who or what.

It reminds him of a documentary he watched once about otters. The mothers fluff up their pup’s fur and leave them to float while they hunt for food. The babies are powerless to do anything except spin in a circle until she returns. Sometimes Buck feels like that. Like somebody has given him enough support to turn in place but not actually go anywhere.

He casts a look at the table and chairs and finds himself thinking of fixing, being at your worst, trying again anyway, and— no. Clearly being outside isn’t helping, so Buck returns indoors, hoping the television will prove to be enough of a distraction.

As he searches for something to watch, it seems reasonable he just needed a better place to focus his attention that isn’t his own inner chatter. He’s already slightly irritated that the vibrant glow from earlier has faded so significantly. Maybe there’s still a chance it can be recovered.

He quickly settles on a cooking program and that gets him smiling again. He doesn’t even particularly care what’s being presented, just that it evokes the same warmth as being welcomed home and brown eyes with flecks of gold. At least until the next episode comes on.

This one features a couple, a husband and wife posed in their studio kitchen. They’re surrounded by pristine white cabinets, gleaming mixing bowls, and perfectly measured ingredients that will make a stunning something-or-other. When it’s complete they’ll pull it from the stainless steel double oven to be served on the prop table that’s been set like a photo shoot for Better Homes & Gardens.

Buck can’t help but notice how they move in harmony, fluidly traversing around each other, like a ballet. Like partners. Maybe it’s all for an audience, but it looks genuine. Not the type of movement that’s choreographed or faked. He stares, scrutinizing every instance of adoring looks and playful gestures until something within him finally cracks.

The hollow ache that usually lives in his chest suddenly feels deeper. Wider. Like it may actually break through and tear him apart, causing him to wonder how such emptiness can feel so massive. As if his ribs are slowly cracking open, snapping one by one, stretching the skin while crushing his lungs and heart. He wants to scream or something. Anything to untangle the mess sitting under his sternum.

Through rapid, gasping breaths Buck tries to refocus, to take himself back. Even just fifteen minutes. Is that so much to ask? Returning to blissfully, ignorantly, mindlessly observing?

Despite what he wants, the screen remains unchanged. Mr and Mrs Fucking Perfect carry on with their routine, blurred and watery in front of him. And Buck – he’s spinning in circles again, too helpless to do anything except wait. Except he doesn’t want to. He’s so tired of drifting and circling and clinging and pausing.

It’s just- when he’s the guy who’s always trying to fix things that are out of his control… what is he supposed to do?

🍠🍠🍠🍠🍠

Eddie puts the last of the dry dishes away in the bottom cabinet, and not a moment too soon. He’s got an early shift in the morning and has to get to bed. He could have left them in the rack for tomorrow, but it gave him extra time to mentally replay the earlier parts of the night. Like watching Buck smile, all pleased and fond, every time Eddie thanked him for a helpful cooking tip. Or watching Chris break out in a full belly laugh at one of Buck’s corny dad jokes.

It really is a form of self-torture sometimes, having Buck over for dinner and homework and board games. Pretending they’re a family and this is a normal everyday thing he gets to have.

He tells himself it’s for Chris, too, but he also knows that’s a blatant lie. If Chris wasn’t a factor Eddie’s pretty sure he’d invent any and all reasons to spend more time with Buck.

Eddie sighs and lays the dish towel over the sink edge. The ridiculous one that says Silence of the Yams over a print of a sliced up root vegetable. It came as part of a set Buck and Chris gave him last Thanksgiving. It’s probably not a coincidence he uses this particular one the most. The shade is a nearly identical match to the burnt orange sweater Eddie always likes on Buck.

There are times it feels like he’s not the only one with all these feelings welling up inside, trying to prevent them from bleeding out through his pores and spilling onto Buck. Like there’s something in the casual touches and glances that pass between them. Something electric and charged that’s more than bros or friends and decidedly not platonic.

One day, maybe, he’ll work up the nerve to tell Buck what’s in his heart. To ask him on a date and hope he’s not fucking up the best relationship that’s ever happened to him and his son. For now he’ll take whatever Buck is willing to give. Even if it only ever comes in the form of shoulder nudges, zoo trips, and Keeping the Peas housewares.

He starts his nightly routine, walking a path through the rooms, turning off lights and making sure doors are locked. When the final throw pillow is returned and the last pile is straightened, he hears the tentative knocking.

The noise immediately puts him on edge, setting off his protective instincts. Nothing good can come from someone being at his house this late. Christopher is in bed and Buck has his own key. Eddie tiptoes across the floor to peer through the peephole, shocked to discover who’s waiting on the other side.

“Buck?” Eddie turns the deadbolt, opening the door wide for his friend.

This isn’t anything like the night he came seeking respite from Maddie’s well-intentioned visitor train. Instead of standing tall, barreling past Eddie, Buck stares straight ahead, unblinking and motionless with slumped shoulders that make him appear small. Eddie can see how his eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. He looks utterly broken.

Before Eddie can say his name again, Buck surges forward over the threshold. He falls into Eddie, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

Eddie pushes the door shut, not bothering to listen if it latched correctly or not. He returns the embrace, one hand on Buck’s back, the other gently petting his hair as Buck’s body shudders against his own.

He gratefully absorbs each whimper and sob. The way thick, searching fingers clutch at his shirt.

“Shhhh, hey. I’ve got you.”

Buck was fine a few hours ago. What the hell could have happened since then?

“I- I’m sorry, Eds.” Buck begins to pull back, rubbing away the wetness on the sleeve of his maroon hoodie. “It’s late. I shouldn’t have- I’m gonna–” He jerks his chin toward the doorway.

“Uh-uh. None of that.” Eddie lightly grips Buck’s elbow, a silent question. Buck hesitates, looking between Eddie and the entryway, before he acquiesces to letting Eddie tug him closer again.

He wants to do any number or ill-advised things like hold Buck’s face between his palms, kiss away every tear, and murmur every wonderful thought he’s ever had about the man in his arms until Buck believes them. For now he settles for cradling and rubbing soothing patterns and silently loving. He’ll stand here all night if that’s what Buck needs. He can do that.

“I don’t know what happened. All I did was turn on Food Network,” Buck warbles. Then he shakes his head against Eddie’s shoulder, exhaling a world weary breath. A puff of air expelled by someone carrying the universe and trying to make it appear no bigger than a classroom globe. Eddie’s, unfortunately, more than a little familiar.

“That’s not true,” Buck confesses.

The silence returns and Eddie waits for Buck to elaborate on what he means. It isn’t long before the explanation comes, so muted that Eddie almost doesn’t catch it.

“I’m tired, Eds. Of pretending to be happy alone and waiting to be chosen. Tired of holding back just so the wrong person likes some version of me that isn’t even authentic. It’s just all so exhausting.”

I’d choose you. Three words Eddie can’t bear to make himself say out loud, because his best friend is hurting and now is most definitely not the time for that kind of confession. So he holds onto them a little longer, ignoring the sting where they settle back into his heart. A burning pain that only becomes more intense when Buck burrows impossibly closer, continuing to cling to Eddie like a lifeline.

Buck speaks again, sounding unfathomably small and heartbroken. “Am I that hard to love?”

“No.” Eddie’s answer is immediate and unwavering. As true as the night he first decided in front of their captain and an exploding ambulance.

Buck responds with a skeptical huff. “You have to say that because you’re my best friend.”

Eddie slides the hand on the back of Buck’s neck forward, grazing over his cheek and under his chin until he can tip his head up. Even in the darkness, Buck’s eyes are exceptionally blue. Endless depths that manage to steal Eddie’s breath and reflect back every future he yearns for.

It’s been ages since Eddie’s given any serious thought to last first kisses or until death do we part, but he would swear under oath that’s what he sees now.

“No,” Eddie reiterates. This should probably be more difficult and be ratcheting up his anxiety. But it doesn’t. Instead he’s wrapped in a distinct calm. An undeniable certainty, because what he’s about to say is true and however Buck reacts won’t change it. “I have to say that because I love you.”

Buck blinks and his mouth falls open in an imperfect o. “Y-you what?” He whispers.

Now that he’s said it once, a second time is that much easier. “I said I love you. And I will always choose you. All of you. Over and over. Every version. If you’ll let me.”

Buck’s eyelashes flutter, fresh tears starting to pool there, and he looks at Eddie with such awe and disbelief, like he can’t accept that someone would genuinely want him. Not that he doesn’t understand the feeling, but it shatters Eddie to think Buck has spent even a second believing he’s unlovable.

“Of course I’ll let you. How is that even a question?” Buck asks, as if they haven’t been dancing around exactly that for years. He stands to his full height, never letting his hands drop, beaming down with the smile Eddie’s claimed as just for him. “But, Eds?”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“This has been a really long hug. Not that I’m complaining. I was just kinda hoping I could kiss you. Finally. I’ve been kinda wanting to for a while.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And who is Eddie to deny him that?

“Please,” he sighs into the diminishing space between them. His tone borders on a plea, but this is Buck. The person who has seen Eddie at his most vulnerable, who sees Eddie more than he’s ever allowed anyone else.

They drift closer until their lips brush, just enough that Eddie gets a taste of Buck’s horchata lip balm. Eddie can’t understand needing more than the 3-pack he can get at the grocery store, but right now he’s not complaining about the sweet, cinnamon flavor.

Eddie deepens the kiss, pausing when he can make himself break away, just enough to murmur ‘I love you’, wanting to make sure Buck knows he’s all in. That this isn’t a fluke or temporary, pitying lapse in judgment.

Because he does, and he is, with every fiber of his being. He loves him, loves him, loves him.

Suddenly Buck pulls back, breathless and wide-eyed, his already plush lips kiss swollen, tempting Eddie to bring them back together. “I just realized I never said I love you, too. Because I do a-and I really need you to know that.”

Eddie hums appreciatively, claiming Buck’s mouth again, unable to stay apart any longer now that he knows what it is to kiss Evan Buckley. He submits to the love and adoration and the way they fit like two puzzle pieces, further solidifying how they’re meant to complete each other. He doesn’t know how he ever thought he knew what love was.

There are infinite meanings for different people. For Eddie, it’s painted in hues of burnt orange and blue. Folded in cheesy puns and always having a fresh container of oat milk in the fridge. Stated in facts about retrofitted ceiling tiles and light fixtures; conveyed in I know you did, what are you afraid of, and I misunderstood the assignment.

It’s following his heart on the winding path that led him to a reality better than any fantasy.

#soft prompts #buddie fic #eddie diaz #evan buckley #fic: if i’m being honest (it scares me to death)#hippo writes

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