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Chapter Text

Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz had dedicated nearly six years to the Dallas Stars as a hockey player, and this season marked a significant milestone in his career: his first call-up to the prestigious All-Star Game. While it was confirmed that a few key players on his team were sidelined due to injuries, which opened the door for Eddie, he recognized this as the opportunity of both a chance to showcase his talent and a reflection of his hard work. 

Although he was aware that he wasn’t widely regarded as an “All-Star”—his name didn’t carry the same weight or recognition in Dallas as big names like Seguin, Benn, Hintz or Heiskanen— but he had been quietly making a name for himself, as a third-line center, he was on track for an impressive 20-goal season. 

Despite the undercurrents of doubt surrounding his selection, Eddie was determined to seize the moment and prove that he belonged on the All-Star stage.

This year’s NHL All-Star game was taking place in Las Vegas, and with it being his first All-Star experience, he couldn't imagine attending without bringing his son, Chris, along for the adventure. This would be a memorable moment for both of them, a chance to bond amidst the thrill of the game.

Eddie stood in his modest bedroom, surrounded by a whirlwind of gear and clothing spread across the bed. He was carefully selecting outfits, trying to determine what would suit both being at the rink and the warm desert evenings for post-game and competition nights. 

He was determined to make this trip unforgettable for Chris as well.

Fortunately, Eddie had found a wonderful caretaker over the last few years, Carla Price, to help look after Chris when he needed to be away, especially during road games. Carla had been a comforting presence since Eddie's wife's sudden passing a few years earlier, easing the burden of single parenthood while raising a child with Cerebral Palsy. 

Leaning against the door frame, Carla crossed her arms and had a warm smile on her face, she watched Eddie with a mixture of amusement and encouragement, “So, your first All-Star game. Are you excited?” she asked, her tone light but filled with genuine curiosity. “I hope you're excited because I'm excited for you.”

Eddie paused for a moment, his gaze drifting upward to meet hers. A smile, slow but genuine, began to spread across his face, illuminating his features amidst the busy chaos of packing. The familiar feeling of excitement bubbled within him at the thought of sharing this unique experience with his son. “I am; I mean, I worry, like always,” he admitted, running a hand through his tousled hair, “but it’s definitely going to be an amazing adventure for all of us.”

“Do you know what events they’re going to have you compete in yet?” she asked, her voice laced with encouragement.

Eddie nodded, a mixture of pride and nerves dancing in his stomach. “I know I agreed to any, but what I do know I'll be competing in Fastest Skater and Accuracy”  he replied, with a hint of anticipation in his tone, “There’s a chance I could also be doing the stick handling challenge, but even if I do I know I don’t have a chance in hell to win that one”

“Well, you know Chris and I will be in those stands, cheering you on in our Stars jerseys, right?” she reminded him, her enthusiasm infectious, “and I think we look great in green.”

Eddie’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Can I thank you again for being able to come and watch Chris? I know he’s a teenager now and can handle things on his own, but with it being in Vegas and it also the All-Star Game, there’s just so much going on, and I know I can’t be there 100 percent of the time for him, plus I didn’t want to ask my parents either,” he confessed, his voice tinged with concern.

With a smile, she stepped closer, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “Eddie, I already told you it’s perfectly fine. You do not need to worry about a single thing. You got us our own room at the hotel, and trust me, Chris is beyond excited to be there for you. So, please, stop stressing about it,” she said, her tone firm yet soothing. Eddie could feel a weight lifting off his shoulders, thankful for her unwavering support, but sometimes, he worries about how his life would be without her.

He turned around and eased himself onto the edge of his bed, the mattress creaking softly under his weight. With a deep sigh, he raised his gaze to meet Carla’s steady eyes, feeling a mix of gratitude and apprehension. “Thank you again,” he said, his voice tinged with sincerity.

Carla smiled softly, her expression warm and reassuring. “Eddie, you heard me, I said don’t worry about it,” she replied, her tone light as she stepped back toward the doorway, turning around once more to talk to him, “I’ll see you in the morning before we head to the airport, bright and early, 6 am, right?”

He managed a half-hearted salute, a hint of playful irony in his gesture. “10-4, Captain,” he said, trying to inject some humor into the moment, even as a nervous flutter stirred in his stomach about the journey ahead. As she left the room, he felt the weight of the day’s chaos begin to melt away, leaving him with the quiet resolve to face whatever came next.

“Fuck me,” Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley muttered under his breath, barely coherent as he jolted awake. 

The shrill, persistent ringing of the doorbell sliced through the tranquility of his “morning”, pulling him from the depths of a restless dream. 

Disoriented, he blinked against the light filtering through curtains covering the window, his heart racing as he tried to orient himself in the stillness of his room. 

Once again the noise seemed to echo through the loft apartment once more, demanding his attention with an urgency that made him groan in irritation. With a heavy sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor sending a shiver up his spine, and resigned himself to the interruption.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the grogginess still clinging to him as he pulled himself out of bed. The soft light from the window illuminated his small loft, revealing a clutter of clothes and scattered about. 

He threw on his well-worn Los Angeles Kings hoodie, which had faded over the years, and a pair of basketball shorts that had seen better days, as he made his way down the narrow staircase. The wooden steps groaned softly with each step as if protesting his morning struggle to leave the comfort of his bed behind.

As he reached the front door, he paused momentarily, a sense of disorientation clouding his mind. 

He ran his fingers through his tousled curly hair, its disarray mirroring the chaos in his head. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door wide open.

As he stood in the doorway, Buck found his sister standing there with her arms tightly crossed over her chest, Her eyebrows were pulled together, creating a hard line on her brow, and the exasperation radiating from her made it abundantly clear that she had been waiting far too long for him to emerge from the depths of slumber. "It's almost 1 in the afternoon! Did I just wake you up?" she demanded, her voice a blend of disbelief and frustration.

 He let out an exaggerated groan, a half-smile creeping onto his lips as he bit back the urge to roll his eyes. "Ugh, did Chimney send you?" he quipped, knowing full well that the answer would be a resounding yes, but bracing himself for what was to come. 

“Not exactly,” she said, stepping into the apartment without invitation, “but he did make sure to inform me that you haven’t lifted a finger to prepare for the All-Star game.” Her tone was scolding yet tinged with concern. As she walked past him, her eyes began to take in the chaotic scene of the cluttered living space. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach when her gaze settled on the sink, where a tower of unwashed dishes teetered precariously. “And for heaven's sake, have you done any dishes at all?” she continued, disbelief dripping from her words.

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, trying to brush off the embarrassment creeping onto his cheeks. “No, I was planning to hire someone to handle that when I get back,” he admitted, shrugging in an attempt to make light of the situation as if that could somehow excuse the mess surrounding him.

 Maddie shook her head in exasperation, but a reluctant smile began to break through her initial frustration as she took in the scene around her. The remnants of his life—a haphazard pile of discarded clothes, crumpled papers, and various misplaced items—covered the floor like a chaotic tapestry of Buck's typical disarray. 

The scent of yesterday’s takeout still hung in the air, mingling unpleasantly with the odor of dirty laundry. 

Taking a steadying breath to calm herself, she summoned her resolve and began to ascend the creaking wooden stairs. Each step echoed in the quiet apartment, amplifying her determination as she made her way to the loft area, finally reaching the sanctum of Buck’s bedroom.

Maddie stepped into the bedroom and was pleasantly surprised to discover that it wasn't the disaster zone she had initially feared. Although the room bore the unmistakable signs of neglect—multiple shirts carelessly draped over the back of a chair and a few stray socks haphazardly scattered across the floor—the overall appearance was oddly manageable. It was messy, yes, but it didn’t feel overwhelming at first glance, unlike his kitchen and dining room.

However, as she approached the closet, a sense of trepidation washed over her. She grasped the handle and pulled the door open, only to be met with a deluge of clothes that tumbled out, landing in a colorful heap at her feet. “Jesus, Evan,” she mumbled under her breath. A mix of concern and curiosity bubbled within her as she surveyed the chaotic assortment of garments. Were any of these even clean, or had they all become victims of the clutter?

Knowing her brother’s laid-back attitude all too well, Maddie steeled herself for the task ahead. With a determined sigh, she dove deeper into the closet, shuffling aside a jumble of wrinkled shirts and mismatched shoes. 

As she navigated through the chaos, she finally unearthed a larger suitcase nestled beneath an avalanche of fabric. The suitcase’s once-sleek exterior was now marred by scuffs and scratches, a clear testament to its improper storage amidst the clutter.

Turning to face Evan, who had just followed her upstairs, Maddie braced herself against the pile of fallen clothes, handing him the suitcase. His expression was a mix of sheepishness and gratitude as he accepted the unexpected assistance, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small, sheepish smile.

Maddie glanced at the clock on the wall, its hands ticking steadily toward a late hour as she considered the urgency of the situation. “So you and Chim’s flight leaves at 7 in the morning tomorrow,” she said, her voice buoyant yet purposeful. With the grace of someone who had navigated messy situations before, she moved through the clutter of the room. Sighing softly, she settled onto the edge of the bed, crossing her legs in a relaxed manner while leaning slightly forward, her expression combining encouragement and resolve. “So I’m here to make sure you get everything packed,” she added, her eyes darting across the chaos on the floor, mentally piecing together a checklist of what he might need for the trip.

Her readiness to tackle the task at hand was evident, determination etched into her features as she surveyed the array of items that needed sorting.

Evan turned to face his sister, a flicker of exasperation dancing in his eyes, yet beneath that annoyance, a current of affection flowed unmistakably. “You know you don’t have to do this,” he said, attempting to inject a thread of lightness into the weighty atmosphere surrounding them. He glanced at the overflowing pile of clothes and gear sprawled haphazardly across the room, “You could be at home with Jee-Yun,” he added, thinking that invoking the image of Chim and Maddie’s precious four-month-old may persuade her to abandon her self-imposed duty of helping him.

With a bemused expression, his sister crossed her arms defiantly and raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching between annoyance and amusement. “Jee-Yun is perfectly content with her father,” she countered, her voice a blend of concern and playful sarcasm. “I’m here because I want to ensure you don’t find yourself reliving the disaster of your All-Star Game fiasco from last year,” she continued her tone firm but tinged with warmth. “Remember how you forgot to pack any underwear? We ended up frantically browsing through stores in St. Louis to snag you a whole new suit because you insisted you had 'packed the wrong one’! That was a nightmare of epic proportions.”

The mention of that disastrous trip brought an involuntary chuckle from Buck, warmth flooding his chest at the memory despite the embarrassment it prompted. 

He quickly feigned a pout, leaning into the dramatic exaggeration of his sister’s point, as if putting on a show. “You know, I’ll pack better if you're nicer to me,” he quipped, his voice taking on a mock-serious tone as he began to unzip his suitcase with an exaggerated flourish, treating the simple act like a magic trick without the magic. He lowered it with a flourish onto the bed beside her, the fabric crinkling softly as it settled.

“How about this—I'll be nicer to you once you actually start getting your act together and begin packing, alright?” she shot back, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, clearly trying to contain her amusement. 

Despite the lighthearted banter, she could sense the weight on her brother’s shoulders, understanding that he had been navigating a rough patch recently. But she respected his space, recognizing that he was not one to open up easily. She was never one to pry into Buck's inner world; instead, she preferred to stand by, ready and waiting patiently for him to come to her when he was ready to share.

With an exaggerated sigh that echoed his exhaustion, Buck turned his attention to the chaotic pile of clothes scattered across his room. 

He knew she was right; it was time to get organized. With a sigh of resignation, he glanced around the disheveled room, filled with scattered clothes, shoes, and half-opened bags. It was a whirlwind of chaos that reflected his chaotic mind. 

He tossed items into the suitcase—some folded meticulously, others crumpled haphazardly in his frantic effort to take her advice to heart. The last thing he wanted was to face another embarrassing situation like the one from the previous year.

With determination, he sifted through the chaotic piles of his clothes, instinctively choosing which pieces would make the cut. Lifting a shirt to his nose, he inhaled deeply; if it smelled fresh and clean, he set it aside in a designated pile, crafting a collection of essentials.

Among the stacks, he honed in on his boxers and boxer briefs, aware of how vital it was to have a solid selection for the journey ahead. Memories flooded back of that first night at the All-Star game last year when he had lived with the embarrassing regret of going commando— oh, the chafing, a mistake he was not eager to repeat. The thought sent a shiver down his spine as he chuckled to himself, vividly recalling the discomfort and awkwardness of that moment.

With renewed motivation coursing through him, he pressed on with his packing mission, methodically gathering enough underwear to ensure he would never find himself in such a precarious situation again. Each item he folded and placed in the suitcase brought a sense of control and preparedness for what lay ahead, transforming the chaos into a more manageable and organized travel plan.

“Wow, Dad, First Class?” Chris exclaimed, his voice rising in excitement as he rushed with his forearm crutches to keep pace with Eddie and Carla, who were leading him through the gleaming entrance of the exclusive airport lounge. 

The atmosphere buzzed with a blend of anticipation and luxury; the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the soft, muted conversations of travelers lounging in plush chairs, sipping on drinks.

Eddie chuckled softly, a warm smile spreading across his face as he adjusted the strap of the durable carry-on backpack slung casually over his shoulder. He turned to face Chris, kneeling down to meet his son’s gaze at eye level, “Actually, Chris,” his voice was low and playful, “I actually rented us a private jet. But we have to hang out here in the lounge until it’s time to board.”

Chris's eyes widened in disbelief, reflecting the bright overhead lights as his mouth fell open in astonishment. “A what? Are you friends with Taylor Swift or something?” he asked, half-joking yet clearly impressed by his dad’s grand gesture.

Eddie let out a hearty laugh, the warmth of his amusement creating a bubble of joy between them. “No, Mijo, it’s not like that at all. I just know a few really good people in the right places,” he explained, his glowing expression conveying a sense of adventure, “I wanted to make sure this trip was one to never forget.”

Chris squinted, a playful smirk creeping across his face as he tried to piece together the intriguing details of the arrangement. “It was Seguin, wasn’t it?” he guessed, recognizing the name of a trusted and well-connected friend.

Eddie nodded enthusiastically, a mischievous sparkle lighting up his eyes. “Yeah, it was Seggs. He helped me hook it up.” The sense of excitement in the air was palpable as they both shared a conspiratorial grin, their bond strengthening with the anticipation of their impending adventure.

With a playful nudge, Eddie added, “So you guys go ahead and order some food—make it something delicious—and I’ll let you know when we’re all ready to go.” The promise of luxury travel shimmered like the golden sunlight streaming through the lounge’s large windows, hinting at the adventure just around the corner.

Buck and Chimney stepped onto the sleek, modern jet, its polished interior gleaming under the soft cabin lights. The gentle hum of the engines enveloped them, creating an atmosphere charged with anticipation as they prepared for yet another adventure.

This trip felt distinctly different; Maddie had chosen to stay behind, and her absence was unmistakable, lingering like a shadow in the air.

Since welcoming their daughter just a few short months ago, Maddie had embraced her role as a new mother wholeheartedly, caring for a newborn; she had made the decision to remain at home during this trip, a choice that Buck and Chimney respected deeply, leaving Chimney and Buck to embark on the journey solo.

Maddie had jokingly declared before their departure that Chim was now ‘in charge’ of Buck, but both men knew the reality was far from that. Buck was more than capable of looking after himself; he was a fully grown man who understood the weight of responsibility that accompanied their line of work. The last thing Buck needed was a babysitter hovering over him. 

After Buck’s recent off-ice antics, the Teams PR team wanted to clean up his image, and Chimney was his Chaperone.

Chimney, a seasoned veteran of the team, had accumulated nearly triple the years under his belt compared to Buck. Their dynamic on the ice mirrored their roles off it—Chimney played Center, commanding the ice with confidence, while Buck, the agile right winger, provided much-needed support. 

It was through this teamwork that Maddie first crossed paths with Chimney, an unintentional byproduct of Buck’s friendship with him. However, the ties that bound them extended well beyond their profession; as teammates and family, they navigated life together both on and off the rink.

Yet, the bond they shared—a mix of teamwork, friendship, and familial love—added an extra layer of camaraderie to the journey. 

As they settled into their plush leather seats, Buck felt a rush of mixed emotions—excitement bubbling within him, tinged with nostalgia as he recalled past adventures shared with both his teammates and Maddie. 

He cast a sidelong glance at Chimney, gratitude warming his chest for having him as a companion on this trip. 

Buck turned his head slightly, a hint of intrigue sparking within him as he observed Chim's unabashed enthusiasm. “So, what did you agree to this year? Is it the Fastest Shot competition again?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity as he tried to gauge Chim's level of excitement. “Or is it actually called the Hardest Shot now?”

Chim, still absorbed in the glowing screen of his phone and leisurely chewing a piece of gum with an air of casual indifference, cast a brief glance upward at Buck. An amused smirk danced across his lips as he replied, “It’s called the Hardest Shot,” before promptly returning his attention to the device in his hands, fingers tapping rhythmically on the screen.

As the conversation fluttered momentarily, Buck shifted his focus to the small window of the plane, allowing the vast expanse of land to capture his imagination. He lifted the flap shielding the pane, peering outside with wide eyes, captivated by the breathtaking landscapes unfolding beneath them during their brief flight from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. 

The contrast of the rugged desert terrain interspersed with occasional patches of greenery and the majestic distant mountains created a stunning tableau that momentarily distracted him from the lively banter.

Chim, finally placing his phone down with a theatrical sigh, wasn’t finished with his playful teasing. 

He shot a sideways glance at Buck, mischief gleaming in his eyes like a spark igniting a flame. “So, what about you? Did you agree to do all the same events as McDavid and Crosby again? You know, just to stroke your ego and prove once more that you’re the best?” he teased, his laughter bubbling up as he leaned back in his seat, clearly eager to hear Buck's response.

“Okay, I know I’m nowhere close to their level,”  Buck settled deeper into his chair, crossing his legs with a mix of nonchalance and confidence, a sly smirk lingering on his lips. “But, you know what? I don't think I'm going to answer that question, just out of pure spite,” he retorted playfully, relishing the back-and-forth repartee that had become their routine.

Chimney shrugged with an exaggerated hint of amusement. “That’s perfectly fine,” he replied, his voice light-hearted. “I’ll just check the itinerary once we arrive, courtesy of our team’s crew. They have all the juicy details, after all.”

Buck let out a resigned sigh, the sound rich with both irritation and humor, recognizing Chim's clever antics. After a moment of contemplation, he sighed as he finally relented, the corners of his mouth curling slightly upward as he said, “Alright if you must know, it’s the Fastest Skater competition, the Shot Accuracy challenge, and the Obstacle Course.”

Chim erupted in a light chuckle, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he absorbed the implications of the story being shared. “Of course you are,” he quipped, clearly enjoying the banter that had become a staple of their friendship. Leaning back in his chair, he added playfully, “Just make sure not to sleep with any married ice girls this time, if you can manage that?”

Buck rolled his eyes dramatically in response, exasperation and a hint of humor mixing in his expression. “She came onto me!” he protested, raising his hands as if to emphasize his innocence in the matter.

Chim's grin widened, clearly unconvinced. “Come on, Buck! You didn’t have to get caught doing it in the back of your jeep in a parking lot, you know. Plus, let’s not forget the little detail of you almost getting arrested for it.” He leaned forward as if relishing the take on Buck's misadventures.

Buck sighed, feeling the weight of Chim’s teasing. “Look, I cannot control the way the universe orchestrates these events. It just… happened!” His tone was half-defensive, half-amused, yet a genuine thread of frustration was woven through his words.

Chim’s laughter echoed around them, warm and infectious. “Yeah, but there’s one thing you can control,” he pointed out, a teasing glint in his eye, “and that’s keeping it in your pants this weekend.” The banter continued, enveloping them in a sense of comfortable camaraderie, as they navigated the ups and downs of their lives together.

Eddie stood in front of the elevator, watching as Carla and Chris disappeared down the hallway toward their room. He made sure everything was in order for them before he could finally focus on his own accommodations. 

The bright lights and bustling atmosphere of the all-star game had left him buzzing with excitement, but now he was ready for a moment of solitude.

As he waited, the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing a familiar face. Buckley, a player Eddie recognized from the ice. “Buckley, right?” he greeted.

Buck, leaning casually against the wall of the elevator, shot Eddie an easy smile. “Going up, Diaz?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and casual confidence.

Eddie stepped inside and positioned himself next to the other man. “16th,” he replied, looking at the panel to see that the floor was already lit. This meant that Buck was headed to the same floor, and the doors closed with a quiet whoosh.

“Didn’t expect to see you at an all-star game—are you actually playing this time around?” Buck asked, raising an eyebrow as the elevator began its ascent, smooth and steady, “or are you here as a fan?”

 “Playing,” Eddie replied, “I know, it’s a shock. " His tone had a hint of amusement. The thrill of being called up to participate felt surreal, but he was ready to embrace the challenge.

Buck looked at him for a moment, then smirked knowingly. “Dallas fans must be pissed you were the one that got called up,” he said, a teasing glint in his eye.

Eddie chuckled, shaking his head. “Probably not as pissed as LA fans having to see your mug another year in a row,” he quipped back.

Buck leaned against the cool metal rail; his brow arched in curiosity as he scrutinized Eddie. “So, how many guys did you have to take out to score the spot this year?” he asked, a teasing lilt evident in his voice. His eyes roamed up and down Eddie’s frame, searching for any signs of overconfidence.

Eddie, unfazed, shot a grin at Buck. “What, Kings wouldn’t let you go to the All-Star Game in Vegas without a chaperone? I saw they couldn't let you go solo; Han made the roster with you this year,” he replied, his voice light as he turned his head slightly, watching Buck’s reaction, half-expecting another smart-aleck remark.

But this time, Buck remained quiet, his usual retorts momentarily extinguished. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and for a brief moment, their dynamic shifted. 

Sensing the pause, Eddie couldn’t help but smirk. “Save the chirps for the ice, Buckley,” he said playfully as the doors opened to the 16th floor.

Eddie stepped out of the elevator, glanced to his left, and made his way down the corridor toward his room, the soft carpet muffling his footsteps. 

Meanwhile, Buck exited the elevator just behind him and turned to the right, heading in the opposite direction toward his own room at the end of the hall. “Hey Diaz, Call me Buck.”

“Alright, Buck, call me Eddie.”

The two men briefly exchanged nods; each focused on their own path amid the quiet ambiance of the hotel.

Chapter Text

As the morning unfolded, Eddie felt a gentle moment of relaxation as he lay cocooned in the warmth of his hotel room bed. 

Sadly, the persistent buzzing of an alarm intruded upon his slumber, slicing through the calm of the dark hotel room. It emanated from his phone, which sat on a wireless charger on the nightstand, its screen casting a soft glow. 

Today, he knew that media day awaited him— an event where he'd soon find himself swept up in a tide of journalists and fans, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared at the thought of it.

Eddie squinted against the screen's brightness, focusing on the numbers glaring back at him. Relieved by the realization that he knew he had a full hour to pull himself together, he let out a small sigh of contentment. 

His gaze wandered to a recent text from Carla that had slipped through his morning haze, a spark that considerably brightened his mood. She said that she and Chris were indulging in a leisurely breakfast at the quaint restaurant nestled just off the hotel lobby and were going to head to the arena afterward.

The thought of joining them soon flickered in his mind like a beacon, adding a surge of motivation to rouse him from the lingering remnants of sleep, but he doubted he’d be able to make it before having to meet at the media rooms.

With a decisive deep breath, Eddie sat upright, the bed sheets falling away from him as he rubbed the last vestiges of slumber from his eyes. 

He leaned over and flicked the pulled the cord under the lampshade, letting the room light up with a soft golden glow. 

As he extended his arms overhead, a delightful symphony of cracks and pops resonated from his spine and shoulders, each motion breaking the grip of fatigue that seemed to cling to him. 

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he felt the soft, plush carpet welcome his feet as he stood up. 

He made his way to the bathroom, the soft, muted light creating a calming atmosphere as he stepped inside. He took a moment to relieve himself, appreciating the small comfort of solitude. 

Afterward, he turned on the shower, letting the warm water cascade over him, hopefully washing away more remnants of sleep. The steam enveloped him, and he took a deep breath, allowing the warmth to soothe his muscles before he quickly shampooed and rinsed.

With the shower behind him, he stepped out, feeling refreshed and clean. He wrapped the towel around his waist as he walked toward the edge of the bed, where his suitcase lay open on the floor at the foot. Its contents—a vibrant assortment of clothes, shoes, and essentials—were spread out haphazardly. 

The question of what to wear loomed large in his mind, his thoughts bouncing between two styles: the formal suit hanging neatly in a garment bag hanging on a coat hook next to the ceiling-to-floor mirror, pressed and waiting for its moment to shine or the more laid-back ensemble of a polo shirt paired with tailored suit pants— comfortably chic yet casual, he remembers seeing pictures of players in the same out in the previous year’s All-Star Game.

After a brief mental debate that felt like tossing a coin in the air, he ultimately gravitated towards the suit, feeling a pull towards a polished look.

Yet, he was determined to add his own flair to the formal attire. 

He resolved to keep things relaxed— no polo, but foregoing the tie altogether and leaving the top few buttons of his crisp dress shirt undone, offering a glimpse of his laid-back character. He was hoping this choice would have the balance between a polished and approachable demeanor, especially for an event that demanded both respectability and a touch of personal charm.

After carefully slipping into his outfit of the day— a crisp white dress shirt and a tailored khaki blazer that matched the khaki of his slacks— he took a moment to smooth the front of his trousers. 

Eddie put the final touches on his attire, including his usual Apple Watch, and was eager to face the vibrant day ahead. 

He understood that the hours to come wouldn't just be busy; they would also include a whole slew of new interactions and experiences in the spotlight of media day. He was told that this event would be as chaotic as it was thrilling, and he felt a spark of anticipation coursing through him.

After grabbing his phone and wallet, he took several deep breaths before leaving his hotel room and pacing down the sleek, glossy hallway toward the elevator. 

Pressing the button to call the elevator, he stood for a moment, casually adjusting his sleeves and fidgeting with the fabric as he waited. The soft whir of the building's inner workings hums in the background. 

Turning his head, he spotted Buck making his way toward him. 

Buck’s attire immediately caught Eddie's eye; it was strikingly polished yet effortlessly cool . He wore a crisp black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, revealing the intricate lines of his scripted forearm tattoo. The shirt was paired with tailored black slacks that fell neatly at his ankles, showcasing his well-worn high-top Converse shoes, which added an unexpected casual vibe.

As the elevator doors parted with a soft, melodic ding, Eddie stepped inside with urgency, pressing the lobby button before his instincts kicked in, and he reached for the ‘close door’ button. 

He was acutely aware that Buck would likely make a beeline for the elevator, too, and he didn't want to hold up the descent. 

Just as Eddie’s finger was about to make contact with the button, Buck lunged forward, his arm slipping through the narrowing gap with swift precision. The doors halted, the smooth metal stopping inches from Buck’s elbow as he grinned victoriously.

“Going down to the lobby?” Buck asked, his voice light and teasing, the corners of his mouth pulling upward into a wide smile that seemed to fill the space of the elevator with infectious energy. He sauntered in beside Eddie, his lively aura palpable in the small enclosure.

Eddie felt a familiar mix of irritation and amusement swirl within him like a storm. He was not quite sure whether to laugh or groan. He rolled his eyes, mentally preparing himself for what he knew would be a long and entertaining ride down, and Eddie now found himself straddling the line between wanting to engage and wishing for a moment of peace.

As the elevator began its smooth descent, Eddie shifted his weight from foot to foot, the metal floor reflecting the faint overhead lights. He tried to maintain a neutral expression, but the soft humming of the elevator echoed the tension in his stomach. The rhythmic clatter of the metal doors merging and the gentle chime of the floor indicator offered no solace as they moved downward, each passing floor only intensifying the thoughts racing through Eddie’s mind.

When the elevator came to a gentle halt on the 6th floor, the doors glided open with a soft whoosh, revealing a small crowd waiting outside, eager to step inside, some clad in sharp suits. At the same time, others wore casual attire, like jeans and colorful blouses, as animated conversations bubbled around him.

The sudden influx of bodies offered Eddie a welcome distraction, a buffer that momentarily separated him from Buck's presence, who loomed just behind him. 

The arrivals added a spark of life and helped to calm the whirlwind of anxiety swirling within Eddie slightly. 

He took a deep breath, redirecting his attention to the elevator buttons. Tracing the numbers with his eyes, he wondered if they held the answers to the chaos in his mind. The muted chatter around him, a medley of laughter, planning, and idle gossip, granted him a brief reprieve from his turbulent thoughts, allowing him to focus on the rhythm of the moment instead.

As the heavy elevator doors swung open to unveil the expansive lobby, a rush of people surged forward, filling the space with invigorating energy. Their voices intermingled, creating a vibrant hum that resonated through the air of the new day. 

Eddie made sure to move his feet fast and walk with the group into the lobby, with its polished marble floors and contemporary decor, buzzed with the eager hustle of individuals. For a fleeting moment, he felt himself swept up in that collective determination.

Eddie took a moment to survey the bustling scene, bright banners hung from the ceiling, emblazoned with team logos and slogans that promised a weekend full of hockey for the city. He felt a wave of relief wash over him as he reflected on his modest stature in the NHL world, even amidst the grandeur of the prestigious NHL All-Star Game. 

The area buzzed with energy, filled to the brim with fans, their eyes gleaming with excitement as they chased autographs and photos of their beloved hockey idols. 

As he navigated the throngs of spectators, he cherished his low-profile existence. The attention from fans he received was minimal, and that anonymity brought a welcomed freedom—one that allowed him to fully immerse himself in the vibrant atmosphere of the event without the incessant interruptions and relentless scrutiny that fame often brought.

Wandering the hotel lobby, he felt an unexpected wave of disappointment wash over him when he spotted the ever-present Starbucks stand as it loomed ominously at the end of the lobby, a familiar sight but definitely not his favorite option for a caffeine fix. 

Yet, with the day's demands for energy, caffeine was simply a necessity for him to continue, and he didn’t feel like walking to the strip to look for something else.

He approached the counter with a resigned sigh, his gaze scanning the menu before settling on a tall Flat White, ensuring it was loaded with a triple shot of espresso to hopefully combat the anxiety that had quietly started to seep into his bones as the morning progressed.

As he stood there, waiting for his order, he felt the familiar buzz and chime of his phone vibrating against his thigh. When his name was called to pick up his coffee, he fished the device out of his front pocket with one hand, his other hand cupping the warm cup of coffee off the counter. 

He squinted at the screen, noting that it was a text from his agent. Her message was brief yet meaningful: she wished him luck on media day. 

However, the PDF titled “Things Not to Talk About” that was sent with the text truly caught his attention.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he read through her carefully curated list. It struck him as humorous that she felt the necessity to send a guide of topics to avoid, primarily since he had always maintained a distance from the media. Yet, given the high-profile nature of the All-Star Game, he acknowledged the critical importance of managing his ‘image’ and steering clear of any narratives that could spiral out of control.

A subtle smile crossed his face as he took a sip of his coffee, preparing him for the whirlwind of attention that lay ahead. With a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hand, he navigated through the bustling hotel lobby toward the Conference Hall. 

Still, his focus remained sharp as he followed the precise instructions he remembered that was laid out in the email he had received from the league; he slipped in through the back entrance, evading the crowd.

Inside, the atmosphere buzzed as he spotted fellow players milling about, all gearing up for the highly anticipated media day. 

The bright lights and the sound of cameras clicking seemed to amplify his nerves, yet a thrill coursed through him. 

As he glanced around, his heart raced at the sight of hockey superstars like Alexander Ovechkin and Sidney Crosby, their presence commanding the room with an undeniable aura of star power. 

Although he had faced them on the ice, he felt a different kind of energy here. His admiration for these icons was palpable, and awe washed over him, transforming the moment into something he would cherish forever.

Summoning every ounce of courage, he approached several players he had long admired from afar. To his surprise, they recognized him, greeted him warmly with friendly smiles, and engaged him in conversation. 

Each acknowledgment felt as if it was a validation, and he felt a swell of pride in their recognition, realizing they viewed him not just as a competitor.

In that instant, a wave of excitement surged through him, as he mentally prepared to step into the spotlight and embrace the opportunities that lay ahead. This was more than just a media day; it was a moment to reflect on how far he had come and a thrilling glimpse into the future he had worked tirelessly to reach. 

Buck settled into his seat at the NHL-decorated table, perfectly positioned in front of a dazzling backdrop that captured the essence and excitement of the All-Star Game. The vibrant hues of silver, blue, and red, along with shimmering sequins, highlighted the glitz of the game being in Las Vegas.

Next to him, Chimney slid into his own chair, his warm and welcoming smile illuminating his face as he drank in the electric atmosphere surrounding them. 

The sound of cameras clicking, the buzz of excited fans, and the chatter of reporters created a lively chorus that set the tone for the occasion.

As the whirlwind of activity buzzed around the arena, a reporter from the throng of gathered media pushed forward, eager to seize the moment. With a professional demeanor that exuded confidence, he called out to the man at the center of attention, “Howard, it’s been a couple of years since we last saw you at the All-Star Game; what does it feel like to be back? Did you miss it?” His voice sliced through the jubilant chatter and laughter, drawing all eyes to Chimney, who stood poised yet bubbling with excitement.

Chimney's face lit up at the reporter’s question, an infectious warmth spreading across his features. “When the Kings reached out and invited me to join Buck here,” he began, his voice rich with enthusiasm and animated gestures, “I couldn’t say no!” He paused for a moment, his eyes sparkling as he took in the vibrant atmosphere surrounding him. “I’ve certainly missed the exhilarating energy that this occasion brings and the atmosphere it generates,” he continued, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “It’s not just about the plays on the ice; it’s about the camaraderie, the shared passion for the game, and the thrill of good ol’ healthy competition,” he elaborated, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. “And let’s be honest,” he added with a light-hearted chuckle, nudging Buck playfully on the shoulder, “I couldn’t keep letting Buck enjoy all the excitement alone!” Their friendly banter overflowed with warmth and affection.

Buck grinned from ear to ear at Chimney’s playful jab, his enthusiasm radiating as the light glinted off his eyes, accentuating the happiness that enveloped him. With a quick adjustment of his posture to face the cameras and the onlookers, he chimed in, “But it really is a thrill to have both of us here. This gives me the chance to show him how it’s really done now!” His voice was imbued with laughter, and he cast an affectionate glance at Chimney, their friendship a living testament to the countless shared experiences and moments of joy they had enjoyed over the years. 

As the interview unfolded, it felt like a choreographed dance, with Buck skillfully steering the conversation to ensure that both he and Chimney shared the spotlight. This moment was particularly special, marking Chimney’s triumphant return to the All-Star Game after several years spent away from the ice. 

Buck, ever the consummate showman, effortlessly highlighted Chimney’s excitement while subtly hoping that no one would bring up any of his recent off-ice escapades. 

His intent was clear: to allow his friend the freedom to truly savor the occasion, to bask in the nostalgia of past triumphs without any distractions, tainting this joyous reunion of the All-Star Game.

In another corner of the bustling conference room, Eddie gathered his thoughts as he prepared for his interview. 

The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, and he glanced up at the large backdrop that prominently featured his name. It still felt surreal to see it there.

As he faced the long table ahead of him, a flurry of photographers began capturing the moment. The rapid, flashing lights felt both exhilarating and overwhelming, and Eddie couldn’t help but wonder if he might end up seeing spots for the rest of the day.

“Diaz, congratulations on making it to your first All-Star Game! This is such a significant milestone in your career. How are you feeling about the experience so far? Are you excited to be here among some of the best players in the league?” a reporter called out, his voice cutting through the buzzing atmosphere filled with the bright flashes of cameras capturing the moment. 

Eddie leaned into the microphone, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as a broad grin spread across his face. "Oh, absolutely! This whole experience is obviously completely new to me, and I can hardly contain my excitement for the upcoming skills competition after this.” he tried to make eye contact with the interviewers instead of looking at the camera, “If I had to choose one word to describe my feelings right now, it would definitely be 'excited.'" He paused for a moment, radiating warmth as he flashed a bright smile at the camera, feeling a swell of pride wash over him. "I brought my son along today to witness the All-Star Game firsthand. It’s been a dream of mine to share this moment with him, and I’m determined to make it a truly memorable family affair."

The reporter leaned in with a warm smile, saying, “That’s absolutely fantastic! I can only imagine the excitement in your household. Is your son just as enthusiastic about the game as you are?”

Eddie chuckled, his heart warming at the thought of his son. “I think he’s actually more excited than I am! We usually watch these games together from our living room, so experiencing them live here is incredible for both of us. It’s really special to share this moment.” His eyes sparkled with joy as he imagined his son's wide-eyed enthusiasm, making the day all the more meaningful.

As the last interview of media day wrapped up, Excitement buzzed in the air as fans and players made their way to the Arena.

The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as everyone was eager to witness the next chapter unfold. 

Colorful team merchandise adorned the fans, and every team was represented by the sounds of laughter and exchanging lighthearted banter and insider jokes as they navigated the crowded corridors, their excitement for the upcoming All-Star event palpable with every eager step. 

The air was charged with anticipation, the promise of a thrilling showcase hanging thick like the scent of fresh popcorn wafting from the concession stands, setting the stage for an unforgettable day at the Arena.

In the cozy confines of the locker room, Buck settled onto a wooden bench beside his teammate, Chimney. The locker room was a familiar sanctuary, lined with polished wood stalls that shined under the bright lights above. The blend of the wood’s warmth and the musky scent of well-worn athletic gear enveloped them, grounding them in the moment amid the swirling excitement.

As they prepared for the exhilarating event ahead, the atmosphere buzzed like a hive of activity. Buck and Chimney rummaged through their gear, pulling on their uniforms and meticulously adjusting their pads. Once fully geared up, they donned their Los Angeles Kings jerseys, the new “All-Star Game” patch sewn onto the shoulder, sparkling slightly under the fluorescent lights.

Unable to resist the opportunity for some fun, Buck and Chimney struck playful poses for the cameras strategically positioned around the locker room. They leaned into their goofy camaraderie, their faces contorting into ridiculous expressions as they attempted to outdo each other in a playful battle of silliness. 

The laughter echoed off the walls, creating a lively soundtrack that underscored the electric spirit of the event enough that other players joined them— a laughable moment to be cherished amid the hustle of professional sports.

Once ready, outside the rink, players formed a line in the narrow hallway near the massive Zamboni doors, the air thick with anticipation. Each athlete was fully suited up in their vibrant jerseys, intricate shin guards shielding their legs and padded gear snugly in place. Sticks were clutched tightly in their gloved hands, ready for action at a moment’s notice. The atmosphere crackled with energy as the announcers prepared to call out each name, a sense of competition hanging palpably in the air. With each passing moment, the players grew more eager to step into the dazzling spotlight of the ice.

As the announcers began the introductions, the excitement reached a fever pitch, particularly as they kicked off with the Eastern Conference. A loud wave of cheers erupted from the stands when everyone knew Crosby’s name was being called. His presence was always celebrated like a festival in the hockey community, and it was yet another All-Star Game appearance for him.

Eddie leaned forward with a mix of curiosity and excitement, his stick resting across his knees. He cast a sideways glance at Buck, who was casually leaning against the wall, his hockey stick draped nonchalantly over his shoulders. 

Buck exuded a calm confidence, but Eddie could sense the adrenaline coursing through both of them.

With a teasing grin, Eddie broke the momentary silence by asking, " How many All-Star games is this for you?” He then shifted his gaze to Chimney, who was bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, his expression radiating enthusiasm. “And I heard it's your first time back in a few years.”

Chimney, gripping his hockey stick tightly, switched it from one hand to the other as he contemplated his answer, his brow furrowing in thought as he began counting on his fingers. “This would be my sixth All-Star Game,” he finally declared, turning to Buck with a smile that showcased his excitement. “But if I remember right, the last time I was here was your first appearance, right?”

Buck nodded slowly, a distant look creeping into his eyes as he reminisced about that memorable day. “Yup,” he replied, his voice lingering in reflection, “I think that was four years ago, wasn’t it?” He ran a hand through the curly mess of his hair, almost as if trying to brush away the memories of that time, but they clung to him, warm and nostalgic.

As the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting momentary shadows along the walls, a figure clad in a light grey uniform topped with a bright yellow vest strode purposefully down the elongated corridor.

The uniform’s crisp lines and vibrant vest stood in stark contrast to the hallway's muted tones. In their hand, they tightly gripped a neon green walkie-talkie, which emitted its own soft glow, illuminating their determined expression. 

With an authoritative voice that resonated within the confined space, they announced to anyone within earshot, “Western, get ready! Listen carefully for your name, and if you’ve taken the time to read any of the paperwork, you should know your order!” The urgency and excitement in their tone electrified the air, causing players huddled nearby to shift restlessly, their hearts racing in anticipation as they awaited the names that would determine their fates on the ice.

In the midst of the charged atmosphere, Chimney turned to Eddie with a warm smile that radiated friendliness. Both of them stood together in a small gathering of players. The sounds of skates carving into the ice echoed in the background, merging seamlessly with the vibrant cheers of fans, creating a lively and exhilarating ambiance. 

“It’s really great to see you here,” Chimney remarked, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. He looked around, acknowledging the buoyant energy surrounding them, before adding, “Though I must admit, I know it’s partly because a few of the other Stars players are sidelined with injuries.”

Eddie nodded in agreement as he leaned against the cool, concrete wall of the corridor. His relaxed confidence was evident, his body language now exuding assurance. “Yeah, it’s true. Benn, Hintz, and Heiskanen are all out, and Seguin just underwent hip surgery,” he replied, his voice steady, carrying a note of accomplishment that underscored his success this season. “But I’ve been holding my own despite it all,” he continued, his chest puffing out slightly. “I’ve racked up 35 points so far, and I’ve managed to score over 20 goals this season.”

“Not too shabby for a third-line center,” Buck chimed in teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows with a playful smirk etched across his face. His light-hearted jab aimed at Eddie was abruptly interrupted when Chimney gave him a playful elbow in the ribs, causing the duo to erupt into laughter, the sound ringing gleefully in the corridor.

“From the Dallas Stars, it’s number 80, Eddie Diaz!” The announcer's booming voice reverberated through the packed arena, filling every corner with excitement. Eddie skated onto the ice, his heart pounding as a wave of cheers erupted from the stands—a mixture of fervent excitement and heartfelt encouragement that caught him off guard. 

Overwhelmed by the support, he raised his stick above his head in a gesture of gratitude, a broad smile breaking across his face.

Throughout his hockey career, Eddie had often felt like an outsider, constantly questioning whether he truly belonged in this world of hockey. Still, the raucous cheers and applause from the crowd melted away those doubts, even if only for a moment. As he glided gracefully across the slick surface, the bright arena lights sparkled off the ice, creating a dazzling spectacle around him. 

Amidst the flurry of jerseys—each displaying a different player's name, colors swirling in a sea of excitement—he knew there were two familiar faces in the stands, Chris and Carla, his closest supporters, who were probably waving frantically and cheering with pride. 

As Eddie continued to skate forward, the soft, rhythmic sound of his skates echoed in his ears, further amplifying the electric atmosphere around him. He approached the designated line marked on the ice, his breath becoming a little more shallow as he took in everything around him. 

Upon arriving at his designated spot on the ice, Eddie noticed a cameraman standing just a few feet in front of him, expertly balancing a large, professional camera on his shoulder. The lens seemed to zero in on Eddie, capturing every nuance of the moment—his focus, his nerves, and the thrill of being in the spotlight. For a brief instantiation, the reality that the All-Star Games were filmed slipped from his mind, leaving only the palpable intensity of the moment.

Feeling a sudden wave of shyness wash over him, Eddie hesitated for a split second.

However, he quickly gathered himself, mustering a shy yet enthusiastic smile before giving a small wave to the camera, his heart racing like a drum echoing in his chest. As he glanced upward, his eyes widened in awe at the sight of his name, and face displayed prominently on the massive jumbo screen that loomed over the rink.

“From the Los Angeles Kings, number 91, Evan Buckley!” The announcer’s voice boomed through the arena, reverberating and filling the air with palpable excitement. 

Eddie watched Buck skate onto the ice, every bit the embodiment of confidence. The fabric of his jersey, emblazoned with the Kings’ colors, fluttered gracefully with each powerful stride, a blatant display of the energy he brought to the game.

As Buckley skated further onto the rink, he flashed a wide, infectious grin, raising his arms high above his head in an inviting gesture, urging the enthusiastic crowd to amplify their cheers. 

While he may not have the renowned status of a superstar, Buckley's demeanor had an undeniable spark that could ignite a fire in the arena. His enthusiasm was contagious, and the fans rallied together, their cheers crescendoing into a chorus of applause that filled every nook and cranny of the venue.

During his lap along the perimeter of the ice, Buckley made an effort to connect with the spectators, his face radiating genuine joy. He thrived on the fans’ reactions, tapping into their energy as he skated with a mix of grace and vigor. As he approached the spot on the designated line, Buck came to a deliberate, smooth halt right beside Eddie, their eyes locking for a moment. 

A nearby camera, having focused on them, captured the moment in perfect detail. 

Buckley, with a playful glint in his eye, raised his hand and waved enthusiastically towards the lens, his warm gesture bursting with a personality that seemed to shine through even the glass barrier. Leaning slightly closer to the camera, he blew a gentle kiss.

Eddie watched this playful scene unfold, rolling his eyes at the infectious chaos beside him, secretly relieved that his reaction wouldn’t be broadcast across the arena. 

The atmosphere was electric, invigorated by Buckley’s spirited presence, as the announcer’s voice echoed once more, signaling for the next player to make their entrance onto the ice. 

“Captain of the Los Angeles Kings, number 11, Howard Han!” 

The crowd erupted into a thunderous wave of cheers, a surge of energy that rolled through the arena like an electrifying current.

As the announcer continued to introduce the players representing the Western Conference, Eddie couldn’t shake the profound sense of awe that enveloped him. The atmosphere buzzed with an intoxicating excitement that felt almost surreal. He wondered if he might pinch himself to confirm he wasn’t lost in a dream. 

When the player announcements finally concluded, athletes began making their way to their respective seating areas, each veering towards their unique spots on the pristine ice below. These were no ordinary seats; they were grand wooden boxes meticulously crafted and adorned with the bold logos of the NHL, Honda, Verizon, and an array of other sponsors, whose branding painted the arena with a lively vibrance.

Eager to soak in every moment, Eddie glided over to one of the elevated boxes and settled comfortably on the edge. With a sweeping glance, he took in the extraordinary view around him. The ice glistened under the arena lights. 

“What are you competing in?” Buck asked, leaning closer with an air of genuine curiosity that lit up his eyes. He settled down onto the seat next to Eddie, the rough surface pressing into his legs. An eager grin spread across his face, showcasing his excitement as he anticipated Eddie’s response.

Eddie wore a sly smirk as he turned his body slightly, locking eyes with Buck in a way that ignited a spark of playful mischief between them. “And tell you? That would completely ruin the surprise,” he said, his tone rich with teasing, the corners of his mouth quirking up with amusement. Leaning back slightly, a quiet confidence that hinted at his competitive spirit. “After all,” he added, a glint of challenge in his gaze, “this third-line center has to keep you on your toes, you know.”

Buck’s eyebrows shot up in exaggerated mock indignation, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He prepared himself to defend against what he recognized as a lighthearted jab, “I—I didn’t mean for that to come across like—” he stammered, his voice tinged with a blend of surprise and feigned offense, as he gestured animatedly, his hands expressing his thoughts more fervently than his words.

Eddie interrupted him with a playful tilt of his head, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. The corner of his mouth curled into a cheeky grin, full of confidence and humor. “Hey, remember when I told you to save the chirps for the ice?” he quipped, his voice light and teasing. “I mean, it’s pretty clear that following the rules isn’t really your strong suit.” A sly wink accompanied his playful jab

Buck narrowed his striking blue eyes at Eddie, a mix of amusement and feigned annoyance swirling within him like a tempest. They were on the ice, and Eddie was chirping him back.

Buck knew that this kind of verbal sparring wasn't really his forte—he favored a more physical style of play, where every check and stride spoke volumes. While he often found himself caught up in spirited conversations with teammates, Buck was acutely aware that he didn’t possess Eddie's sharp, quick wit. Instead of clever comebacks, his responses tended to be blunt and forceful, much like the way he crashed into opponents on the ice—a display of raw strength rather than refined skill. But beneath his tough exterior, he appreciated Eddie’s talent for levity, even if it meant he had to work harder to keep his own brand of humor afloat, sometimes resorting to physicality to let everyone know he was still very much in the game.

Buck leaned back slightly, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he took in the situation. “That’s too bad,” he said, his tone light and teasing; he feigned disappointment, dramatically rolling his eyes and letting out a mock sigh, his shoulders drooping as if the weight of the world had suddenly come upon him. His body language mirrored that of a person sinking into the comforting embrace of a well-worn couch after a grueling day, relaxed yet still keenly aware of the exchange. “And here I was thinking that we could be friends,” he continued, his voice infused with a playful sincerity, each word carefully crafted to invite a response while keeping the atmosphere lighthearted. 

The air between them shifted, a momentary dance of possibilities tangled in jest.

“Friends?” Eddie chuckled softly, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief. He shook his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not friends with people who have egos the size of the arena.” His words floated between them, light-hearted yet sharp, carrying a hint of truth. 

This encapsulated the playful rivalry that had blossomed between them in less than 24 hours. 

Buck leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief as an impish grin spread across his features. He looked at his friend with a glint of playful challenge. “Oh, did you remember to tell Seguin that when he invited you to his Christmas party?” The words hung in the air, laced with a teasing undertone that underscored their shared history and competitive spirit. Buck's tone was lighthearted, yet the jab held an affectionate weight, “I saw the pictures on Instagram,”

“Seguin’s not like that,” Eddie insisted, his tone unwavering. A small surge of protectiveness coursed through him, intensifying his resolve to defend his friend and teammate. He was determined to set the record straight, no matter the cost.

“Oh, so perhaps it would be wise not to form judgments based solely on appearances, wouldn’t you agree, Eddie?” Buck responded with a teasing smile. His playful condescension added a light-hearted edge to the conversation, but Buck was aware of how easily people rushed to unfair conclusions without genuinely understanding the situation. 

Eddie shot a glare at Buck, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Oh, Fuck you, Buckley, seriously?' he retorted, his voice laced with irritation as he focused again on the icy surface before him, the chill seeping into his skin. 

Buck, undeterred, a smirk still playing on his lips. “Oh, not tonight, though,” he replied nonchalantly, his gaze still fixed intently on Eddie as if he were trying to decipher his thoughts. “I’ve got other things going on,” he added, the playful challenge in his tone evident.

Chapter Text

As the arena grew increasingly crowded, a wave of excitement washed over the audience, surging through the air like electricity.

The host was brimming with enthusiasm. Speaking into the microphone, his voice resonated throughout the venue as he introduced the evening's distinguished special guests. Each name was met with cheers and applause as fans celebrated the presence of their beloved icons.

The host then turned to the anticipated musical guests, whose performances promised to further elevate the evening's festivities. 

With the stage set and a lively atmosphere enveloping the crowd, anticipation peaked for the thrilling skills competition that was about to unfold, promising unforgettable moments and fierce competition among the participants.

Eddie and Buck were still sitting in their seats in one corner of the bustling arena, the tension between them palpable in the air.

Despite the array of sights and sounds surrounding them, an uneasy silence lingered. They leaned forward, their eyes glued to the rink, wholly engrossed in the unfolding events. 

As the spotlight shifted to the first event of the evening— the hardest shot —excitement surged through the crowd. This contest, known for its strength and precision, brought forth some of the finest players, each determined to prove their prowess. The participants were ready to unleash their powerful shots on goal. 

Initially reluctant about the event, Eddie found himself surprisingly entertained by the fierce competition unfolding before him. He couldn’t help but be captivated by the intensity of the players as they unleashed powerful slap shots. 

However, Eddie was slightly taken aback by Buck’s decision not to participate; after all, Buck was the top scorer for the Kings and a formidable player in his own right. Why wouldn’t he want to display his skills?

Eddie suddenly bit his tongue, a little puzzled by his own awareness of Buck's statistics.

It wasn’t as if he had followed Buck’s career closely; still, that knowledge lingered in the back of his mind, uninvited .

Suddenly, a roar of excitement erupted from Buck; his enthusiastic cheer broke through the crowd's cheers as they called for Chimney to take his turn, catching Eddie off guard as he had been lost in his own thoughts. 

As Eddie observed the scene, he noticed a theme: it seemed that primarily defensemen were taking part in the hardest shot competition. It was obvious that defensemen would take shots from the blue line, and at least for him, this trend was one he had inadvertently recognized while following the event for the last couple of years. 

The spectacle was captivating, and with each shot fired, Eddie found himself drawn deeper into the camaraderie and competition. Even as he remained seated, contemplating the dynamics around him, he cheered as each player went up to complete.

After Buck enthusiastically cheered on his captain, he made his way back to his seat and plopped down next to Eddie. 

He leaned in closer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as he tried to make Eddie squirm just a little. 

The air between them grew charged.

Buck’s presence warmed the space as he spoke in a low voice, deliberately loud enough for Eddie to hear without needing to lean closer himself. “So, aside from competing in the annual ‘let’s all hate Buck’ competition, I want you to spill the beans on which skills you’re really planning to compete in.”

Buck lingered in that intimate bubble of space, the warmth of his breath enveloping Eddie's neck with a soft, ticklish sensation that sent shivers down his spine. 

Eddie could feel his heart race, a wild thrum echoing in his chest. He struggled to maintain his composure, acutely aware of the playful amusement dancing in Buck's eyes. 

The teasing lilt in Buck's voice was both infuriating and oddly exhilarating, igniting a spark of adrenaline that coursed through Eddie. Every playful jab Buck made was like a challenge, mirroring the deeper competitive edge buried within Eddie. 

He felt a familiar flutter take shape in the pit of his stomach—a mix of excitement and anticipation that made him acutely aware of their closeness. 

With a slow, careful movement, Eddie turned his head just enough to catch Buck's gaze, their faces inches apart. 

For a moment for Eddie, the world around them faded, leaving only the charged air between them as he let out a straightforward word, “No,” the response firm yet laced with a hint of playful defiance before allowing himself to smile.

The Dallas Star couldn’t shake the warmth and comfort radiating from their newfound proximity; it felt as if it wrapped around him like a familiar blanket, soothing yet thrilling.

At this moment, something about their closeness—the easy laughter and playful teasing—felt undeniably incredible. It stirred a mix of emotions within him, almost like a spark igniting an inexplicable chemistry neither could fully articulate or comprehend.

As he reflected on all the years they had spent battling against each other on the ice, the intensity of their competitive rivalry stood in stark contrast to this refreshing atmosphere. The harsh clang of sticks and the thud of bodies colliding now felt distant, replaced by a sense of camaraderie he hadn’t anticipated. 

In this new setting, the rules of engagement had shifted; the former boundaries of competition had transformed into something far more complex and inviting.

It was a realm where mutual respect and occasional flirtation danced together, crafting a new narrative.

“Well damn,” Buck murmured, leaning back in his seat, his eyes trained straight ahead. He was trying to ignore the charged atmosphere that had developed between him and Eddie. A deep sigh escaped his lips as he watched the intense competition unfolding before him, the players battling with fierce determination on the ice.

As the spotlight gradually shifted to the evening's second event— Shot Accuracy —Eddie felt a rush of emotions coursing through him, a mix of anxiety and exhilaration. This was the moment he had been waiting for, the first thing he was competing in. 

Deep down, however, he held a strategic decision close to his chest: he was determined to keep Buck entirely unaware of his involvement in any of the games until the announcer called out his name, especially since he kept asking about it.

He remained seated among the other competitors, attentively observing the ongoing competition. Each shot rang through the arena with palpable intensity. He focused intently on the players competing, making a mental checklist of the techniques and strategies he’d practiced. 

As the announcer delivered the fateful words that would mark his turn, this was his time, and nothing would distract him from seizing the opportunity that lay ahead.

“Up next from the Dallas Stars is Eddie Diaz; your record to beat is held by Sebastian Aho of the Carolina Hurricanes, who managed to score 5 out of 5 shots in under 13 seconds,” the host announced into the microphone, his voice resonating throughout the arena. Eddie rose from his seat and glided confidently towards the center of the rink. 

The bright lights and cheering crowd heightened as the host asked, flashing a bright smile as he held the microphone towards him. “Eddie, how do you think you'll do?”

Eddie smiled back warmly, his expression radiating a mix of confidence and humility. “Honestly, I’m just happy to be invited and able to compete,” he replied, taking a moment to glance at the audience before raising a hand in a casual salute to the camera. “My son is watching me from the stands, so I really don’t want to let him down,” he added, a hint of genuine emotion creeping into his voice as he skated towards the neatly arranged pile of pucks waiting for him.

Before him stood the goal; its imposing red frame was adorned with five disks and targets printed on them as they were positioned in each corner and one perfectly placed in the center.

The familiar scent of ice enveloped him as he felt the weight of the moment, grounding him as he laid the blade of his stick against the ice. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself as he awaited the sharp cut of the whistle that would signal the start of his challenge.

Buck sat on the sidelines, his eyes fixed on Eddie as he competed, his body leaning forward in anticipation. The intensity of the moment swirled within him, causing a mixture of admiration and confusion. 

He knew Eddie would never feel the same way about him, so a ‘crush’ was the term Buck could feel fit the title. Was this what a crush felt like? He couldn't quite interpret the fluttering sensation in his chest, and it left him pondering.

The internal conflict was heavy, but watching Eddie compete sparked something in him.

The season had unfolded like a whirlwind for Buck, both on and off the ice. As he navigated the challenges of professional hockey, he found himself engaged in a profoundly personal journey that he had not anticipated. Buck was grappling with the complexities of his emerging bisexuality, a revelation that stirred fear within him.

As a hockey player, Buck was entrenched in a hyper-masculine environment that demanded toughness and resilience. The culture surrounding the NHL placed immense pressure on players to conform to ideals of strength and independence, leaving little room for anything beyond that; any vulnerability was often dismissed as a weakness.

For someone like him, who was starting to identify as queer, he found that navigating this world was going to be particularly challenging. The fear loomed over him, relentlessly reminding him of the risks involved in being open about his orientation. 

Buck understood that the struggle to reconcile his identity with external expectations could be isolating. The expectations of being a strong, silent hero in the eyes of his peers often crushed his ability to embrace his true self. 

In quiet moments between practices and games, he often caught himself lost in thought, reflecting on this evolving facet of his identity. He felt a growing awareness of his attraction to both men and women, which also brought a sense of confusion. Despite his internal struggles, Buck hadn’t mustered the courage to share these feelings with anyone, not even his sister, who had always been his confidante. 

Instead, he bottled up his emotions, which left him feeling isolated.

To distract himself from the thoughts that loomed over him, Buck sought solace in temporary connections. He immersed himself in a series of brief encounters with various women, believing that the thrill of these temporary affairs would provide the relief he craved. 

Each night, he was entwined with a different partner, offering a momentary escape and distraction from the chaos swirling within him. This led to him plunging deeper into this reckless pursuit of distraction, and a dramatic turning point emerged. 

During an impromptu rendezvous with a married woman, one of the Ice Girls for the Los Angeles Kings, Buck was caught in an unguarded moment by TMZ. The thrill was abruptly replaced by a cold wave of panic when the reality of the situation set in; this encounter threatened to lead to explosive consequences that might disrupt not only his life but also the lives of others involved.

This was why Buck wasn’t allowed to go to the All-Star game alone and was forced to have Chimney as his chaperone.

As the buzzer rang out, signaling the end of the player’s time, Buck glanced at the display board, confusion settling over him as he realized he had been lost in thought throughout as Eddie competed. The screen illuminated a time of 11.8 seconds for Eddie. While it wasn't a new record, it was still a commendable performance for Eddie’s first time.

Buck gently patted the empty seat beside him, a warm smile spreading across his face as he watched Eddie skate back towards Buck, shaking his head in disbelief as he finally settled into his spot next to him. 

“Damn, 3rd Line Center,” Buck chuckled, a teasing tone lacing his words, “your shooting was way better than I thought it’d be.” The compliment hung in the air, infused with camaraderie and a hint of admiration, acknowledging Eddie's unexpected skill on the ice.

“You should think of something more creative than just calling me a ‘3rd Line Center.’ It’s become pretty monotonous,” Eddie said, rolling his eyes with a smirk as he nudged Buck playfully with the tip of his hockey stick. “To set the record straight, I actually played as a 2nd-line winger this season, so maybe it’s time you updated your playbook.” He chuckled, the camaraderie evident in his tone.

As the excitement of the all-star game unfolded around them, the two players shared a lighthearted moment. 

While they had been playfully teasing each other throughout the part of the tournament, it was obvious to them that the atmosphere had shifted. What had begun as banter during the competitive play now felt like the seeds of a genuine friendship were starting to take root? 

They exchanged knowing glances and joked about each other’s performance, both feeling a sense of ease that extended beyond the rink. The competitive tension faded, replaced by a blossoming connection that promised more than just rivalry.

Laughter filled the air as Buck shared a lighthearted moment with his friends, but his joy quickly turned into surprise when he heard the announcer's voice call his name. “Up next from the LA Kings, it’s Evan Buckley!” the announcer boomed, his voice echoing throughout the packed stadium. He rushed to get to his feet, skating over to the host.

“Last year, you set an impressive record of 9.11 seconds, but tonight, you'll need to beat Connor McDavid, who posted a time that has everyone on the edge of their seats.” Buck took a deep breath as he shifted on his feet, the pressure of the moment weighing on his shoulders. The challenge ahead loomed large; he knew McDavid's speed and skill were legendary, and Buck was determined to rise to the occasion. “He had 5 out of 5 shots in 9.97 seconds,” the host announced into the microphone, his voice resonating throughout the arena. Buck skated towards the center of the rink.  “So Evan, do you think you could beat McDavid like you did last year?”

“Honestly, I think the last year was just a lucky one-off, a real stroke of really good fortune,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes while gesturing towards the camera with a finger. “I’m going to give it my all this time around, but I can’t make any guarantees,” Buck quipped, allowing a cheeky grin to spread across his face, hinting at his lighthearted approach despite the pressure.

He leaned forward, allowing the tip of his blade to glide gently across the slick surface of the ice, anticipation coursing through him as he awaited the sound of the buzzer that would signal the start. 

His eyes fixed on the scattered pucks that were in front of him as he positioned himself with care. The buzzer sound started, and Buck maneuvered his stick with fluid precision, each deft flick sending a puck zipping off the blade with a satisfying crack.

His focus was unyielding, and intense determination fuelled each movement as he effortlessly shifted from one puck to the next. He could feel the adrenaline surging within him as he skillfully shot the pucks, and time seemed to slow around him. 

As he shot off the final puck, taking out the upper right-hand corner target, he glanced up at the clock. A surge of excitement rushed through him when he realized he had completed the drill in 10.1 seconds. It wasn’t his best time, but it was still better than some other players.

As the camera zoomed in on him, he couldn't help but express a playful mock frown, a lighthearted gesture that contrasted with the seriousness of his earlier conversation with the host. With a casual shrug that suggested a blend of humility and amusement, he let the moment linger, fully embracing the spectacle of the sport he loved.

Eddie had a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Buck return from the ice; he couldn’t help but tease him once again. “You know, Buck,” he began, his tone light yet teasing, “if you had started at the buzzer instead of a split second later, you definitely could’ve beaten McDavid’s time.”

Buck sighed as he settled next to Eddie, setting his hockey stick beside him with a soft thud. He pulled off his gloves and let his hands run through his hair. “I guess I just let the moment get to me,” he replied a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I was too distracted to get that immediate jump at the start — the pressure was just too much to handle.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. “Pressure? I thought you were the kind of player who thrived under pressure, Buck. I’ve seen you shine in high-stakes situations before.”

Buck shrugged, his gaze drifting to the rink where the other players were still battling it out. “Maybe it’s this whole Chaperone aspect of the games this year,” he mused, his voice tinged with uncertainty, and at this point, he felt the seriousness in his words. “Honestly, no disrespect to Chimney, but everything just feels different this time around. It’s like there’s an extra weight on my shoulders.”

Eddie nodded, trying to understand his friend’s perspective. “Well, this being my first game, I can’t relate to what you’re feeling,” he admitted, his voice sincere. “But I do know one thing: you’ll figure it out.”

Buck let out a soft chuckle, a playful glimmer in his eyes, as he nudged Eddie lightly with his elbow. “I suppose I have to make this weekend worth it, huh?” he said, a teasing smile spreading across his face.

Eddie smirked slightly, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and challenge. "Well, that’s certainly one way to phrase it," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. As he spoke, he leaned in closer, using his shoulder to nudge Buck back, creating a playful yet assertive moment between them.

As the skills competition drew to a close, the atmosphere was filled with laughter and camaraderie. Buck and Eddie, comfortably perched on the wooden box, were in high spirits, exchanging playful banter about the other competitors. Their teasing was light-hearted, and they shared amusing anecdotes from the day's events. 

Just then, Chimney made his way over to join them, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Can you believe I snagged fourth place in the obstacle course?” he exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement and disbelief as he waved his arms animatedly. His eyes sparkled with the thrill of an unexpected achievement, a wide grin spreading across his face. 

Buck, the obstacle course's first-place finisher, turned to Chimney and enthusiastically clapped him on the back. “You did amazing, man! Seriously! There was a moment when it looked like you might take a tumble, and I thought for sure you’d end up in last place.” His laughter rang out, a mix of genuine admiration and playful teasing.

Eddie, standing nearby with a proud smile, chimed in with a chuckle. “And look at you now! Fourth place is nothing to sneeze at, especially considering the level of competition we faced. Those competitors were fierce!” His words carried a weight of sincerity, acknowledging the hard work and dedication it took to achieve any rank in the challenging course, “I’m glad I didn’t compete in that one; my stage fright would’ve gotten the best of me.”

The three hockey players continued to banter as they exchanged jokes and encouragement. It became clear that their friendly rivalry only deepened their bond with laughter and mutual respect. 

Chim slid up the protective forearm pads he wore and glanced at the Apple watch nestled beneath them, . His gaze brightened as he noticed the notifications lighting up the screen. “Oh, Buck?” He called out, shifting his focus to his younger teammate, “It seems like Bobrovsky and Hellebuck are inviting me out for a bite to eat and some beers. What do you say? Want to tag along, or have you found a new buddy in Diaz?”

Eddie looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged as he turned to meet Buck’s eyes. “You know, you don’t have to hang out with me just because we hit it off this weekend,” he replied, a hint of bashfulness in his voice. He glanced at his watch as if calculating time. “Besides, I promised my son I’d spend time with him after the skills tournament, so he’s probably waiting for me at home right now.”

Buck’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Wow, you have a Kid? That’s absolutely adore, kids. What’s your’s like?” he exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across his face.

Eddie’s expression softened at the mention of his son. “Yeah, I love him to pieces. He’s awesome, super smart kid, he’s all I’ve got left,” he said, his tone turning more serious.

Recognizing the moment, Chim nodded appreciatively and decided to step back. He pointed at Eddie and then toward Buck before pointing to the players making their way off the ice, signaling a friendly farewell. “Alright, I’ll let the two of you chill. But just remember,” he added with mock seriousness as he pointed back at Eddie, “don’t let Buck do anything stupid, alright?”

Eddie responded with a playful salute, raising his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated fashion. “Aye, aye, Captain!” he quipped. I’ll make sure he stays off TMZ.” The warmth of camaraderie was evident between them as Chim chuckled and made his way out, leaving Eddie to his thoughts and the anticipation of time spent with his son.

As Buck and Eddie walked alongside the rest of the hockey players, heading to the area that led to the locker rooms, they made their way through the crowd of players, all eager to shed their uniforms, promising a moment of comfort as they prepared to change back into their pre-game outfits, ready to unwind after an intense competition.

After Buck and Eddie had finished changing into the bustling locker room, the two met out into the quiet hallway.

Buck leaned against the cool, white-painted cinder block wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert as he waited for Eddie to catch up. A faint smile crossed his face when he saw Eddie sliding his phone into his pocket, a hint of excitement evident in his demeanor. “So, what’s the plan?” Buck asked, curious.

Eddie approached Buck and leaned slightly forward, his voice low as he responded. “I just texted Chris. He wants us to meet him in the hotel arcade. Apparently, he managed to convince Carla to take him before the game ended.” 

Buck lifted his eyebrows in surprise, a playful smirk forming on his lips. “Oh, Carla? Is that your wife?”

Eddie chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Oh no, no, no, Carla's his caretaker. Chris has cerebral palsy, and since he’s still a minor, I can’t really leave him alone for too long. So she helps out when I’m on road trips and with things or events like this.”

A wave of confusion washed over Buck as he processed Eddie's words. “Wait, you can’t leave him alone? But… I saw a ring on your finger. Are you not married?”

Eddie held out his left hand, glancing down at the simple band that adorned his finger. “Yeah,” he replied with a resigned sigh, “I just haven’t felt like taking it off.” 

Buck furrowed his brow in concern, his mind racing to connect the dots. “Oh, are you getting divorced?”

Eddie hesitated, his expression shifting as he took a deep breath. “Um, uh… actually, I’m a widower.” He spoke the last word almost in a whisper, the weight of it hanging in the air around them.

“Oh,” Buck replied, his eyes dropping to the floor as a wave of empathy washed over him. “I’m so sorry I asked.”

“No, you’re fine.” Eddie offered a small, understanding smile, “It’s actually been seven years,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans as if to anchor himself after the brief emotional exchange.

With a subtle change in mood, the two of them began walking again, their footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. They pushed through the side door that opened onto the exterior of the hotel, greeted by the sight of security personnel and large signs that declared ‘ASG PLAYERS ONLY’ in bold letters. The festive atmosphere around the hotel contrasted with the seriousness of their earlier conversation, and they both felt the familiar thrill of anticipation for what the evening would bring.

After a long stretch of silence during their walk, Eddie and Buck finally arrived at the vibrant hotel arcade, the noise of sounds buzzing from all directions—lively laughter, ringing of arcade machines, and occasional cheers from enthusiastic players. 

Just as Buck was about to step into the arcade area, he was suddenly halted by a small crowd of eager children clamoring for autographs, their wide eyes filled with admiration. Parents, too, approached him, requesting pictures and words of encouragement for their young ones. 

Seeing the scene unfold, Eddie decided to venture ahead, seeking out his son amid the flashing lights and animated games, confident that Buck would catch up once he had some breathing room.

As Eddie weaved through the crowded arcade, he spotted Chris and Carla, intensely focused on a colossal, neon-lit version of Connect 4 that had caught his eye. Eddie couldn't help but chuckle, slightly bemused. “Connect 4 is an arcade game now? What’s next, Monopoly?” he remarked, stepping into the colorful scene as he positioned himself in front of the console.

Carla was animatedly engaged in the game, her laughter ringing out like music. "And this kid is kicking my butt at it," she exclaimed as she tried to strategize against Chris.

Eddie bent down, leaning in at Chris with playful suspicion, “She’s letting you win, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, pretty sure she is,” Chris replied before he heaved a dramatic sigh, shrugging his small shoulders with a half-smile. "Hey, it just means more tickets for—" But before he could finish his thought, his attention was suddenly diverted; his eyes widened in surprise.

Curious, Eddie turned around to follow Chris’s gaze, and a smile crept across his face as recognition washed over him. 

“— That’s Evan Buckley!” Chris exclaimed, his jaw dropping in awe as he pointed toward the familiar figure.

"In the flesh!" Buck responded cheerfully, finally catching up with Eddie's group. His signature grin lit up the room. The joyful reunion was palpable, and Eddie could see how much Chris idolized Buck, a feeling shared by many in the bustling arcade.

Chapter Text

“Yeah, Buck and I kinda became friends out there during the skills game,” Eddie replied with a grin as he spread his arms wide and introduced the special guest to the group. “Buck, this is Chris, my son.” With a warm smile, he affectionately ruffled Chris’s tousled hair, his fingers weaving playfully through the strands, making them stand even more askew. Chris squirmed in response, a mix of annoyance and amusement evident on his face as he tried to swat his dad’s hand away. Laughter bubbled up from his chest, even as he scrunched his nose, caught between the lighthearted affection of the moment and his determination to regain control over his disheveled hair.

Eddie then extended his arm, gesturing with a broad smile towards a woman with dark skin whose smile on her face could feel the room with warmth. With her fuller figure and inviting demeanor, she radiated an aura of kindness that made anyone feel instantly at ease. “And this is Carla Price, the savior of all single dads,” he said, infusing his words with a genuine sense of gratitude.

“Pleasure to meet you, Buck,” Carla said, her voice friendly and engaging as she stood up with confidence. She stepped forward and offered her hand for a firm shake, her grip warm yet assured. “You look super familiar—like, I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere else before. It’s not just the hockey thing,” she added, her brow furrowing slightly in thought as she tried to place where they might have crossed paths. Her keen observation suggested that she had a flair for connecting with others, her memory piqued by a sense of familiarity that lingered in the air.

Buck accepted her handshake, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “Well, I’m mostly just known for my hockey career, but maybe you remember me from an old commercial I did back in my rookie days?” He shrugged nonchalantly, his long frame relaxing as he shared his past. “I played for the Hershey Bears when I was younger; that’s where I got my start. I was born and raised in Pennsylvania.”

Carla nodded thoughtfully, a hint of mystery in her eyes. “I don’t think it was hockey that I’m thinking of, but that could be it?”

Turning his attention back to Chris, who had been silently observing the conversations, Buck squatted down, ensuring that the two were at eye level. He looked at the teenager, whose expression was a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “You know, Chris, your dad does not shut up about you,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

“Really?” Chris responded, eyes widening as he glanced at Eddie, who quickly averted his gaze, pretending to be engrossed in something else to avoid the piercing look from his son.

“Oh yeah,” Buck continued, chuckling softly. “It’s practically non-stop. He’s super proud of you, I can tell.”

Chris beamed at the compliment but then narrowed his eyes, a playful smirk appearing on his face. “He paid you to say all of this, didn’t he?” he asked, settling back into his seat, laughter escaping him.

“Hey now, I didn’t pay him to say anything—” Eddie interjected, his tone mock-indignant.

“Yeah, I did all this for free,” Buck chimed in, a broad grin stretching across his face as he enjoyed the banter between father and son.

The group erupted into a small fit of laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the cozy living room. Chris, momentarily caught up in the lighthearted atmosphere, glanced down at his phone as a fleeting thought crossed his mind. With a curious expression, he turned to his dad and asked, “Hey, Dad, do we have any plans for tonight?”

Eddie leaned back a bit as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I didn’t really have much in mind,” he replied with a relaxed smile. “I was thinking maybe we could all settle in and watch a movie together in my room. It could be nice to unwind. I don't have many options as a player with a teenager in Vegas right now. Were you hoping to see a show or something instead?”

Chris hesitated for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right words. He met his dad's gaze, slightly nervous but determined. “Well, uh, about that…”

Eddie’s curiosity piqued, “You have a hot date or something?” he asked, a bemused expression taking over his face as he raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to laugh or to be concerned.

“Yeah, I told Jenessa I’d FaceTime with her as soon as I get back to the room,” Chris said with a bright smile, excitement dancing in his eyes. “I can’t wait to show her the view from our room; it’s incredible! We’ve got a fantastic view of the sphere there.” He paused, “And well, we were planning just to chill and talk for a while, catch up on everything.”

Eddie chuckled softly, a fond expression crossing his face. “Sometimes it hits me that you’re not a kid anymore,” he admitted, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I’m the parent of a teenager now.” He glanced over at Carla, who mirrored his sentiments, her head shaking slightly as if to say she felt the same rush of nostalgia.

“So, what’s that? Is that a yes?” Chris asked eagerly, a spark of hope lighting up his face.

“I suppose it is,” Eddie replied, the corners of his mouth lifting in a genuine smile. “Fine, that’s a yes.”

Chris let out a small celebration, a glint of triumph in his eyes as he quickly grabbed his crutches. With barely a moment to spare, he was already moving, eager to get back to their room and connect with Jenessa. Before Eddie had a chance to say goodbye, Chris was off, navigating through the bustling lobby with a determined gait.

Carla rose to her feet, glancing back at Buck, whom she had just met moments before. “It was really nice meeting you, Evan; I mean Buck,” she said warmly, using his nickname, “but I’d better catch up with Chris; I’ve got the room key.” Without wasting another second, she darted after Chris, moving swiftly through the crowd to catch up with him, determined to keep him on track as he made his way towards the elevators.

Eddie casually tucked his hands into the pockets of his suit pants as he pivoted to face Buck. With a playful smirk, he leaned slightly forward, his interest obvious. "So," he began, his voice smooth and inviting, "it looks like I’ve got a whole night to myself in Vegas. You’ve been around, so you probably have some fun ideas for how I should spend it, right? What’s hot and happening in this city?" Eddie said with a slight shimmy to his step

Buck erupted into a tiny bit of laughter, unable to contain himself as he shook his head in amusement. "Oh, come on! Please, for the love of all that's good, don't ever say ‘hot and happening‘ like that again," he chuckled, a teasing grin spread across his face. "It honestly makes you sound like you’re pushing sixty!" His playful tone lightened the mood, highlighting the playful banter between friends.

“Alright, Show me how to have some fun tonight?” Eddie asked with a playful grin, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

Buck chuckled at Eddie’s enthusiasm, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Now, that’s something I know how to help with,” he replied, his expression shifting to one of mock seriousness as he scrunched his face playfully. “But tell me, when was the last time you actually stepped foot in a club?”

Eddie paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he searched his memory. “Well, oh god, it must have been ages ago. I think it was back when I was still a rookie, and Chris was just a little tot, barely old enough to walk.”

Buck’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock. “Oh wow, so it’s been quite a while for you, hasn’t it? That’s entirely too long to go without a night out!”

Eddie simply nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and longing for the carefree nights of his past.

Without missing a beat, Buck reached up and gently cradled Eddie’s face in his hand, his thumb brushing lightly against Eddie’s cheek. “Oh, you poor, sweet thing,” he teased, his voice laced with warmth and a hint of playful concern, just before he patted his cheeks lightly. “We’re definitely going to change that tonight.”

“Should I change, or is this—” Eddie started to voice his uncertainty, but before he could complete his thought, Buck jumped in, his enthusiasm palpable.

“Yes, definitely! For starters, you should ditch the suit coat. It’s a bit too formal for where I have planned… and do you have any jewelry other than the ring on your finger?” Buck's eyes sparkled with excitement as he surveyed Eddie’s outfit.

Eddie paused, his brow furrowing in concentration. “Well, maybe?” He mentally rifled through his wardrobe, unsure what would work better.

“Alright then, let’s head up to your room and see what we can come up with,” Buck suggested, his tone enthusiastic as he moved confidently toward the elevators. He was eager to help his new friend put together the perfect look, his infectious energy radiating from him.

Eddie found himself in a surprising shift of emotions. 

Just that morning, he had been making an effort to avoid Buck, but here he was, now willingly inviting him into his hotel room. 

As the elevator doors slid shut, a comfortable silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the soft whir of the machinery. Buck, ever the extrovert, pretended to be engrossed in his phone, occasionally stealing glances at Eddie, while they ascended to the 16th floor—their designated level for the stay.

Once the elevator doors opened with a ding, they stepped out and made their way down the corridor. Eddie led the way, his heart racing slightly in anticipation. He approached his room and swiftly swiped his key card, hearing the satisfying click as the lock disengaged. The green light illuminated, signaling access was granted. With a firm grip on the handle, he pushed the door open, revealing the space inside.

Buck followed him in, eyes widening in mild surprise as he took in the room’s dimensions. “Wow, what the fuck? I’m pretty sure your room is bigger than mine,” he remarked, his voice filled with admiration as he surveyed the comfortable furnishings and soft, golden light filling the space, “which is so unfair.”

Eddie shrugged, a small smile creeping onto his face. “It’s just a room, and as long as the bed’s comfortable, that’s all that matters to me,” he replied, letting out a chuckle as he relaxed a bit. He shrugged off his suit jacket, the smooth fabric sliding down his arms before he tossed it casually onto the edge of the bed, freeing himself from the constricting attire. He felt a sense of ease in the casual atmosphere that had begun to envelop them, “besides, don't you have to share a room with Chimney for this weekend?”

Buck wrinkled his nose in distaste, shaking his head vehemently. “Oh god, no, I absolutely refuse to share a room with him,” he exclaimed, though a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I mean, sure, he’s technically my chaperone for the weekend, which means our rooms are connected through one of those annoying conjoined doors. But honestly, it does feel like I have a room all to myself.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly as the implications sank in. “So, if you want to bring someone back to your room, you’ll have to find a way to hide them in case Chimney decides to drop by for an unexpected check-in,” he teased.

Buck’s expression shifted from playful to serious as he took in the reality of the situation. “Ugh, you’re right,” he thought, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over him. He grimaced at the thought of being caught. “I didn’t even think about finding hiding spots before I rushed out this morning,” he admitted, already mentally kicking himself for the oversight. He walked over to Eddie's bed, lifted the comforter that covered the sides of the beds, and checked underneath, “Well, if you don't have an area under the bed, that means I don't have one either.”

“Are you going to help me figure out what to wear at the club tonight?” Eddie asked, his voice cutting through the room. He extended his arms dramatically, a playful gesture that emphasized his eagerness for Buck’s feedback. 

Buck, momentarily caught off guard, quickly shifted his focus back to Eddie. “Oh yes, right,” he said, a grin spreading across his face as he settled onto the edge of the bed. He looked up at Eddie, taking a moment to take in the man before him—his posture, the way his clothes hung on him, the hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Okay, hear me out. I think you should unbutton that shirt... maybe two buttons down,” Buck leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips as he spoke, his voice a blend of earnestness and light-hearted teasing. “You know, let your chest have a little fresh air, and if you happen to have any chest hair, believe me when I say that girls can’t get enough of that. It brings out a rugged charm that’s hard to resist, you know?” 

Eddie chuckled, the corners of his mouth curling up as he replied, “Ah, yes, the elusive ‘rugged charm,’” he said, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Maybe I should have packed my favorite red flannel shirt. Then I could really lean into the whole lumberjack aesthetic—full theme and all!” He gestured dramatically, imitating a burly woodsman's stance, both laughing at the ridiculous image.

Buck pushed himself up from the bed and took a few deliberate steps until he stood directly in front of Eddie. Buck reached forward, deftly unbuttoning the two buttons he had previously pointed out. He took a moment to pause, his eyes drawn to the glimmering medallion that hung delicately from Eddie’s neck, catching the light as if distracting him at that moment. He brought his attention back to the subtle alterations that could enhance Eddie's appearance, transforming him into someone who exuded confidence and charisma, as though he were an artist preparing to reshape a canvas into something extraordinary. “Confidence is key, man. You have to show what you’ve got!” he encouraged, a warm smile spreading across his face to ease Eddie's tension.

Eddie glanced downward, an uncertain look crossing his features as he replied, “I’m not even sure I know what I've got anymore.” His voice was barely above a whisper as Buck continued to work on fixing his shirt.

Buck chuckled, shaking his head lightly. “We are two grown men heading to a club in Vegas, my friend. It’s not like it’s your first date in your freshman college dorm room. Trust me, you’re going to be just fine, Eddie.” He punctuated his words with a supportive squeeze on Eddie’s shoulder, a gesture meant to bolster his friend's confidence.

Then, with playful determination, Buck reached up and ruffled Eddie’s hair, his fingers tangling in the slicked-back style Eddie had attempted earlier. The once neat hairstyle was now a chaotic mess, and Buck took it upon himself to restyle it with his hands while wearing an impish grin. The atmosphere crackled with camaraderie as Buck's energy began to seep into Eddie, pushing aside his nerves and turning the moment into something fun and uplifting.

After his long moment of messing with Eddie's hair, Buck finally withdrew his hand and examined it thoughtfully for a second, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “You know,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and mischief, “this actually looks excellent on you; you should mess your hair up more often. Especially this little strand that falls right in front of your forehead. It adds a touch of chaos that really suits you.” Buck stepped back to admire his handiwork, his eyes sparkling with a gleeful sense of accomplishment.

Buck gestured towards the tall, ornate mirror that hung on the wall.

Eddie approached the reflective surface with a cautious curiosity, his heart thrumming in tandem with his slow steps. 

As he leaned closer, the reflection revealed messy, tousled hair that seemed to defy any attempt at order; his shirt hung loosely, the top buttons undone, exposing a collarbone and the faintest hint of chest hair, lending him an air of reckless abandon that bordered on charming disarray. However, what stood out most was the St. Christopher medallion that lay prominently against his bare skin, shimmering in the light. The medallion, usually concealed beneath his shirt, now shone brightly as if it were a silent guardian watching over him, adding depth to the carefree image that mirrored his inner conflict.

It was a stark departure from his usual polished self. Usually, he took great care in selecting his outfits, ensuring every detail was just right. But now, he felt as if he were wearing someone else's skin as if he had stepped out of his own life for a brief moment. The reflection was an out-of-body experience that left him questioning who he truly was. The disheveled look radiated a sort of raw energy he had never embraced before, and he couldn’t help but wonder what this change meant for him. 

“This is… different,” Eddie finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he touched his medallion lightly before he brushed his hair back with one hand. Despite his efforts, some strands rebelliously fell forward, framing his face in an unruly manner. 

Buck leaned casually against the wall, his muscular arms crossed and a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The dim light cast intriguing shadows on his chiseled features, and his brow arched in genuine curiosity, “Is– Is it a good kind of different or a bad kind?” he inquired, his voice light yet laced with an intent that hinted he was eager to delve deeper, all while keenly observing the man across from him.

“Um, can I respond with an ‘I’m not sure?’ Is that a reliable answer for you?” Eddie asked hesitantly; his brow furrowed in thought as he cast a quick glance back at Buck, searching for reassurance in his expression.

Buck took a few tentative steps and found himself standing once again in front of Eddie. A smile crept across his face, reflecting the warmth of their new-found camaraderie. “It’s hard to believe it’s been, what, nearly 14 years since you last stepped foot in any kind of club,” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice; he messed with the collar of Eddie’s shirt. 

Eddie glanced up, his eyes locking onto the man in front of him as he adjusted his shirt with deliberate care. The tension between them hung in the air like a charged current. Eddie let his hands rest at his sides, caught in a silent struggle—part of him urged to push the man away, to break the moment, while another part felt a strange compulsion to allow him to continue whatever it was he was doing. With a resigned sigh, Eddie finally spoke, “Maybe, at least 12 years,” He recalled with a hint of nostalgia in his voice as if he were recounting a distant memory that lingered just out of reach.

“I– Well– either way, I think it’s high time you broke that mold a little, you know, let loose and brought some fun back into your life. Your son is in his room safely with Carla; he’s Facetiming with his girlfriend, so there’s no need to worry.” Buck leaned closer, his fingers gently brushing through a few errant strands of Eddie’s hair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Tonight, it’s just you and me,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I promise to show you a good time. We’re in Vegas, after all! Let’s make some forgettable memories.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping across his face. “Don’t you mean ‘unforgettable’?” he replied, the laughter in his voice revealing his amusement.

Buck chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Nope, I’m counting on us getting drunk enough that some of this ends up in the ‘what happened in Vegas stays in Vegas’ category,” he quipped, winking at Eddie. 

Eddie took a deep breath and carefully rolled up his sleeves, pushing the light, breathable fabric just past his elbows, inviting the crisp air to brush against his skin. Following closely behind Buck, he noticed how liberating it felt to be sans his suit coat, yet a flicker of doubt nagged at him—had left the coat behind made him look like he was trying too hard to match Buck's style? 

He glanced down at his ensemble: his tailored beige suit pants paired with a crisp white button-up shirt, which he had worn earlier that day but without the coat. The stark contrast between his look and Buck's laid-back vibe made him shift uncomfortably. 

Buck, however, seemed entirely at ease, exuding a relaxed confidence that drew Eddie's admiration. He was still dressed in his well-fitted black slacks and worn black Converse high-tops, but now with a few buttons undone at the collar of his fitted black button-up shirt.

Eddie couldn't help but feel that while they were both dressed well, Buck's effortless style only highlighted the subtle tension in his own appearance.

Buck glanced back over his shoulder, his brow furrowing as he noticed Eddie shifting his hands repeatedly between his arms, pushing up each sleeve in a nervous gesture. Sensing the tension, he slowed his pace and moved closer to him, draping his arm around the slightly shorter man’s shoulders in a gesture of comfort. 

“You look scared—no, terrified,” Buck said, his voice low and filled with concern.

“I’m not scared,” Eddie replied, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him.

Buck raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Your face and fidgeting say otherwise,” he pointed out gently, observing the way Eddie's eyes flickered around as if searching for an escape.

“It’s just—I don’t know what to do with my hands,” Eddie admitted, glancing down at the ground as if the answer lay there, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. 

Buck could see the uncertainty etched on Eddie’s face, and it prompted a surge of empathy in him. “Hey,” he said softly, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder reassuringly, “it’s okay.”

The two friends continued their stroll through the bustling evening Vegas streets, the vibrant sounds of laughter and music echoing around them. Buck’s arm was comfortably draped over his friend’s shoulder, a small yet comforting gesture. 

As they approached their destination, an old brick building adorned with neon lights flickering softly, Buck paused, letting his arm drop from around Eddie, glancing at him with a grin that promised a good time. Despite the line of eager patrons snaking along the sidewalk, the sharp-eyed doorman recognized Buck immediately. With a nod and a small wave of his hand, he stepped aside, granting them access to the lively scene inside.

The air buzzed with a lively mix of mingled scents—spicy cocktails, sugary concoctions, and the unmistakable aroma of excitement that permeated the crowded club. Buck navigated through the throng, an enticing world of revelry inviting exploration. He confidently led Eddie toward a cluster of standing tables, where they found a spot to lean and absorb the atmosphere.

A blonde waitress glided by, deftly balancing a tray laden with two glasses filled with glistening amber liquid.

In an instant, Buck extended a hand, snatching the glasses before she could react. The waitress paused, surprise flickering across her face, but her eyes sparkled with recognition. With a charming grin, Buck leaned closer, slipping his card into her hand. It seemed as though a silent understanding passed between them—no words were needed; she knew exactly who he was.

“Careful. You might have just made her your new best friend,” Eddie joked, accepting one of the glasses from Buck. He raised it in a mock salute before taking a swig. The whiskey hit him like a fiery wave, the burn carving its way down his throat, forcing a wince from his lips.

Buck shrugged, a sly smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He took a hearty gulp of his own drink, relishing the warmth it offered him. After setting the glass down on the table between them, he looked at Eddie, his characteristically playful demeanor shining through. “There’s nothing wrong with grabbing a drink when the night is young,” he replied with a wink, the music thumping in the background like an echo of the vibrant night still ahead.

“Do you always do that?” Eddie asked, his voice laced with a mix of amusement and incredulity. He gestured toward the two glasses on the table before them and raised an eyebrow, his curiosity sharpening as he leaned forward slightly, eager to understand this peculiar habit of his companion. “Just help yourself to any random drinks off the waitresses' trays without a second thought?” The question hung in the air

Buck chuckled, a mischievous glint dancing in his eye as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly against the sides. “I think it’s the best way to get service,” he replied, his voice low and conspiratorial. He took a slow sip, then sat his glass down with a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Then I just give them my card to start a tab. Simple as that.” he seemed unfazed, confident in his approach to navigating the bustling club scene.

“And you trust that?” Eddie pressed, his brow furrowing with skepticism as he leaned back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. “You believe they’re going to follow through on your requests without even saying a word?” His eyes searched Bucks for any signs of doubt, seeking to understand how he could remain so hopeful in a situation filled with uncertainty, “what if they spit in your next drink?”

With a playful shrug, Buck leaned in closer, his elbows resting casually on the worn wooden table that supported their drinks. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone as if sharing a secret just between them. “What can I say?” he began, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “I've got a very trusting face.” As he spoke, he glanced up at Eddie, a broad grin spreading across his face, clearly reveling in the moment. His bright blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, reflecting a mix of mischief and delight that was infectious. “Relax, Eddie, live in the moment,” 

Despite his best efforts to remain composed and grounded in reality, Eddie found himself drawn in by Buck’s palpable energy. 

As their eyes locked, an electric connection seemed to pulse between them, and Eddie could feel the tension in his shoulders easing. The weight of the world that usually pressed down on him began to lift, making space for a rare moment of joy and spontaneity. 

He picked up his glass, the liquid sloshing slightly as he tilted it back, downing the rest of the whiskey in one swift motion. A sharp burn surged down his throat, warm and fiery, prompting a soft exhale that escaped his lips, a mixture of relief and the lingering sting of alcohol. As he set the empty glass back on the table, he shot a glance at Buck, a wild spark in his eyes.

Without hesitation, he reached across the table, his hand closing around the cool, sturdy base of Buck’s glass. The amber liquid still swirled within, glinting in the dim light of the bar. He lifted it, finishing that drink in the same manner, his throat tightening again as the whiskey coursed through him.

Buck sat back, momentarily taken aback by the boldness of the move. He studied the scene unfolding before him— Eddie, only moments ago, was questioning him, and now he was suddenly unabashed and reckless, eyes bright with an intoxicating mix of bravado and urgency.

The atmosphere around them felt charged, thick with unsaid words and the heavy silence that often preceded a storm; Buck motioned for a waitress towards the table, handed her the now empty glasses, and asked for another two glasses of the same.

He motioned for a waitress, and as she approached, he handed her their empty glasses, “Two more of the same, please,” he requested, his voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of anticipation. The waitress nodded and moved away, leaving Buck and his companion enveloped in the charged atmosphere.

Eddie shifted his weight at the standing table, trying to maintain his balance as he started to feel the effects of the alcohol hitting him harder than he had anticipated. It didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten since the press event earlier that day, which had been shortly after lunch. Now, with night fully settled in and an empty stomach, he realized the drink was hitting him like a freight train. “Sorry about that,” he said, casting a sheepish glance at Buck, who was watching him with an amused expression.

“No need to apologize,” Buck chuckled, “I bet this is a whole new experience for you; you’re finally letting loose! You should join them,” He gestured towards the pulsating dance floor, alive with clusters of people swaying and moving to the infectious beats blasting from the speakers. 

The vibrant lights flickered in time with the music, creating an inviting atmosphere that Eddie could feel tugging at him; he sighed, feeling the familiar knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. “I probably need a little more liquid courage than this to step out there,” he replied, watching the dancers with hesitation.

Buck leaned across the table; his voice lowered conspiratorially. “Well, lucky for you, I went ahead and ordered another round. Maybe I should just get the whole bottle while we’re at it,” he suggested with a wink, clearly enjoying the idea of getting Eddie to embrace the night more fully. Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at Buck’s enthusiasm, even as he contemplated whether he was ready to trade his drinking for the dance floor.

Chapter Text

The waitress glided gracefully back to their table, her movements efficient as she placed two frosted glasses of chilled whiskey in front of them. Just as she began to turn away, Buck gently rested his hand on her shoulder as he leaned in closer. “Is there any chance we could get the whole bottle?” he asked, nodding toward the elegant glasses she had just set down.

She paused, her smile faltering just slightly as she processed the request. “I’ll have to check with the bartender,” she replied, forcing a bright smile back onto her face that felt a little too stretched. “He’ll make the final call on that.” With that, she turned to leave, her high heels clicking softly against the wooden floor, leaving Buck gazing after her, a mix of hope and curiosity in his expression.

Eddie leaned forward, his fingers curling around the cool, textured glass. He raised it to his lips and took a slow, measured sip, unlike what he had just done only a few moments before. The liquid slid smoothly down his throat, adding to the warmth that spreading through him. His gaze flickered between Buck and the waitress, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension etched on his face.

“What was that about?” Eddie asked, arching an eyebrow and leaning in slightly. There was a hint of mischief in his voice, and Buck pivoted back to him. Buck, with a twinkle of excitement in his eyes, leaned forward as well, clearly relishing the moment.

“Just ordering some more liquid courage for the two of us,” Buck replied, his tone light but layered with an underlying thrill. 

The dim light of the club played across their faces, casting fleeting shadows that seemed to dance with the music. Buck’s eyes locked onto Eddie’s, and in that moment, the world around them faded, seemingly leaving only the electric energy of the night between them.

Buck felt well aware that nothing would ever happen between him and Edmundo Diaz, or so he thought. They had faced each other on the ice for several seasons, and to Buck, Eddie often came across as arrogant and aloof, and Buck wondered if Eddie thought the same of him.

Buck recognized that Eddie was frequently unnoticed on the team. He wasn’t a star player, just another name on the roster, lacking the flair that attracts attention or earns spots on highlight reels. 

Time slowed for a moment, allowing Buck to notice and appreciate the little things— Eddie stood comfortably, his posture relaxed yet vibrant, which was both disarming and inviting. His tousled hair fell in an effortless mess, framing his face. The white button-up shirt he wore was still unbuttoned like how Buck styled him, but it draped loosely over his frame. Nestled against his chest sat the Saint Christopher medallion shining softly in the light, its intricate design catching Buck’s eye and adding a touch of character to Eddie's laid-back appearance. 

On this particular day, the sight of Eddie struck Buck with sudden and profound clarity. It drew Buck in, making him feel as though he were witnessing a side of Eddie that was seldom revealed.

Buck found himself captivated and couldn't help but feel a stirring in his chest—something he usually kept buried deep beneath layers of secrecy. If he weren't still in the closet, he would freely acknowledge the attraction he felt toward the man standing across from him. Eddie's vulnerability was disarming, igniting a flutter of feelings that Buck had long denied.

Eddie took a deliberate sip of the whiskey, enjoying its warmth as he placed the glass back on the table. He gently swirled the amber liquid, observing how it captured the club's dim light. His attention turned to Buck, who was seated across from him and was wearing an easy grin. 

Eddie leaned casually against the table. “So, since this is my first All-Star Game,” he began, his voice infused with excitement. Is it typical for players to venture out like this on the first full day of festivities?” He glanced around.

Buck shrugged as he contemplated the question, his brow furrowing slightly. “You know, it really depends on where the All-Star Game is being held. Take Columbus, Ohio, for example. You wouldn’t expect the nightlife to be buzzing until dawn, but you'd be pleasantly surprised. The bar scene there has a charming quality; it’s filled with a variety of cozy spots where you can unwind. It’s not the bustling nightlife of, say, New York or Los Angeles, but there's definitely a warmth and character you can find there.”

Eddie leaned back on his heels, lost in thought as he pondered Buck’s words. “I'm a bit surprised I haven't seen others here yet,” he said, casting a quick glance around the bustling club. The thick crowd swirled around him, laughter and conversation bubbling up like an infectious tide, yet he found it hard to see much beyond a few friendly faces. He couldn’t help but doubt that someone like Connor McDavid would ever step foot in a place like this.

“Most of them probably wouldn't venture this far from the Strip,” Buck replied, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. He took a sip from his drink, eyes scanning the room with familiarity. “I personally am a sucker for hole-in-the-wall places; others usually stick close to the hotels, mingling in the more upscale spots where the glitz and glamour keep the big crowds at bay.”

Eddie nodded, absorbing the reality of Buck’s observation. This club, with its worn wooden tables, the black and white tiles dance floors, the lights, no DJ, just a stereo playing EDM and house music, enough to keep the club go-ers dancing, was a world away from the polished venues that seemed to attract the elite. 

Here, the atmosphere seemed more genuine, and the people less curated. They were all drawn together by a genuine appreciation for friendliness rather than the flashing lights of fame on the strip. 

Eddie nodded; it was probably the alcohol speaking through him now, “plus, most of them have their wives to go back to in their rooms, too.”

“Speaking of wives,” Buck said, pulling out his phone and glancing at the screen, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. “I'm surprised Chim hasn't texted me yet. I'm out late, and he hasn't said anything.”

Eddie chuckled softly, worried for a moment that Buck would ask about his late wife. He shook his head as he remembered the earlier conversation with Chim, “Remember, I told him I’d keep an eye on you tonight and not let you end up on TMZ again.” He took a drink of whiskey. 

Buck smiled at the memory, feeling a slight warmth of appreciation for Chim's concern. However, a nagging feeling lingered in the back of his mind—he wouldn’t be surprised if Chim’s check-ins were imminent, especially considering how quiet Buck's room must be.

“Well, let’s not let me end up on TMZ, alright?” Buck quipped, attempting to lighten the mood. 

Just as the words left his lips, the timing couldn’t have been better. The waitress approached, her presence breaking the tension as she expertly balanced a tray laden with drinks. She set down a bottle of scotch whiskey, its round shape gleaming invitingly in the dim light, crowned by a miniature horse that stood proudly atop the bottle. 

“Bartender ran your card for the bottle, so no worries after this,” she said, her tone brightening the atmosphere further.

Buck's gaze flickered to her name tag as he replied, “Thank you so much.” It offered him a moment to appreciate the subtle allure of her smile and the cleavage that was on full display. “Ellie… thank you, Ellie.”

With a soft smile in return, Ellie lightly touched his shoulder as she turned to leave, allowing her hand to linger just a moment longer, sending a spark of warmth through Buck. He watched her walk away, momentarily caught up in the charming interaction.

“You should ask for her number,” Eddie suggested with a sly grin, leaning forward into the table with his elbows as he observed the playful exchange between Buck and the young woman. 

Buck shook his head, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Oh god, no, I shouldn’t. She looks barely 19.” He frowned, trying to push aside the question as he sipped his drink.

“Maybe she's a big Evan Buckley fan?” Eddie smirked, raising an eyebrow with mock disbelief. “But, the man who got caught sleeping with a married woman suddenly has standards now?” he teased, leaning back, clearly enjoying the banter. 

Buck rolled his eyes in exasperation, scanning the chaotic surroundings that seemed to echo his minor frustration. "Whatever, Diaz," he scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he crossed his arms defiantly.

“Ouch, not the last name again,” Eddie mumbled under his breath, with a tiny bit of irritation bubbling just beneath the surface.

Eddie had managed to forge only a few close friendships on his own team, having spent his entire career with the Dallas Stars. Outside of the rink, however, his circle remained limited. Apart from his teammates, he could count only Mateo Chavez and Paul Strickland among his friends— both of whom played for the Texas Stars in the minor leagues. There was also Carlos Reyes, a charismatic player he admired from the Texas Rangers, but their paths rarely crossed outside of casual encounters at local events.

He leaned forward again, his large hand deftly removing the cork from the bottle before him. As he poured more amber liquid into his glass, the soft glug of the bottle, mixed with the murmur of conversation, music, and the distant clinking of glasses, His glass still contained remnants of the same liquor, but now the level was fuller.

He sat the bottle down with a soft thud, wrapping his fingers around the glass, feeling its smooth weight as he lifted it to his lips for a drink. 

As the warmth of the alcohol coursed through him, he surveyed the bustling scene around him, where patrons laughed and talked, their faces animated in the lights around them. 

Eddie felt a flicker of hope spark within him, and this could be the start of a genuine friendship with Buck, whose easy laughter and relaxed demeanor had quickly drawn Eddie in.

Beneath the surface of this blossoming friendship, a persistent uncertainty gnawed at Eddie's thoughts like a hungry animal clawing at the edges of his mind. Was this newfound connection actually authentic or just merely magnified by the effects of the location of Vegas, or was it just a fleeting moment, a mirage suspended in the glass of their liquid courage? He stole a glance at Buck, searching his face for signs of sincerity amid their playful banter. 

Buck glanced back at Eddie, a playful smile dancing across his lips. His eyes gleamed with mischief beneath the club's colorful lights. “So, what do you say? Is the dance floor calling your name yet?” His voice barely rose above the thumping music that pulsed through the room. 

He lifted his glass to his lips, relishing the moment, before tilting it back and finishing his drink in one smooth motion. The burn of the liquor was a welcome warmth.

Eddie chewed on his lower lip, his gaze shifting between the bottle of whiskey glistening on the table and Buck’s encouraging expression. “Maybe after another glass,” he replied, his words starting to slur, “I could be persuaded to say yes to that question.” A hint of mischief crept into his voice as he mirrored Buck’s actions, throwing back his own drink with determination.

The rich, spiced flavor of the liquor danced on his palate, sharpening his senses and fueling more of the courage he was seeking. The warmth spread through his chest, wrapping him in a comforting embrace. By this point, he was sure he’d long since numbed any burn it might have once caused.

Feeling a wave of boldness wash over him, Eddie grasped the bottle with a steady hand, the smooth glass cool against his palm. He tilted it gently, watching as the rich amber liquid cascaded into his glass, filling it with a satisfying glug and treating himself to another generous serving. 

Across the table, Buck leaned forward, his eyes bright with mischief. He slid his glass a little closer, a playful grin spreading across his face as their gazes locked. Wiggling his eyebrows in mock anticipation, he silently pleaded for Eddie to indulge him with another round.

With a warm chuckle rumbling deep in his chest, Eddie leaned in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye as he playfully reached forward to fill Buck’s glass. 

The rich amber liquid swirled enticingly, but just as it reached a generous halfway point, it jerked to a halt. Confusion flickered across Eddie’s face as he lifted the bottle to eye level, peering into its neck as if he could will the last drops of liquor to obey his gaze, realizing that the evening's supply of spirits had finally run dry.

Across from him, Buck couldn’t hold back his laughter as he watched Eddie scrutinize the empty bottle. The expression on Eddie’s face—half bewildered, half comically desperate—was too much to bear, and Buck erupted into a fit of laughter.

After Buck’s laughter subsided, he reached across the table, his fingers wrapping around Eddie's hand, and the gesture was both comforting and inviting. “Eddie, come on! The bottle’s empty!” he exclaimed, still chuckling. “You’ve already had one more glass—finish that one, and let’s dance!” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, urging Eddie to embrace the moment and carry their joy into the night.

Eddie felt a familiar twinge of nerves settling in the pit of his stomach. His mind raced with caution, urging him to remain in the safety of the sidelines, where he could observe without exposure, “I don’t know…” he began, uncertainty lacing his voice. 

With an enthusiastic grin that radiated warmth, Buck grasped Eddie's hand again, firmly and effortlessly pulling him toward the dance floor. The infectious energy of the moment was undeniable; Buck’s excitement was contagious, urging Eddie to break free from his reservations and dive into the merriment surrounding them.

Caught in a tug-of-war between his innate caution, Buck's magnetic pull, and the vibrant atmosphere, Eddie hesitated for a heartbeat. However, his feet had other plans. They seemed to possess a life of their own, responding instinctively to the infectious rhythm of the music that thrummed through the club, coursing like electricity in the air, drawn into the lively embrace of the crowd. The club buzzed with a palpable energy, the thumping bass reverberating through the floor and shaking the very walls. 

Bright, flashing lights swept over the room, creating an ever-changing kaleidoscope of color that splashed across the tiled dance floor. Neon hues danced alongside the thrumming beats, igniting a spark of exhilaration within him. Eddie took a deep breath, the thick air rich with the scent of sweat and excitement. He could no longer deny the allure of the moment; he was ready to let go and lose himself in the celebration.

The bass was pounding through the speakers like a heartbeat that felt as if it thumped into Eddie’s chest. Eddie wasn’t usually a fan of places like this, but tonight, something was different. Something about the way Buck stood across from him, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, dared him to step out of his comfort zone.

Buck tilted his head, challenging him with a wink, pulling lightly at Eddie’s hand, "So, are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna show me what you got?” the subtle way he moved when he thought no one was looking. It was magnetic— something wild yet soft.

Buck’s movements were fluid and confident. There was something magnetic about the way he moved, something that made Eddie’s heart race a little faster. His body was in perfect sync with the rhythm, and Eddie ket up, a little hesitant but excited by the pull of Buck’s energy.

Eddie felt a rush of adrenaline, found himself giving into the beat, and was moving before he realized it. The music pulled him in, and Buck danced with him, matching every step, his movements smooth and sure. They weren’t in sync at first, but it didn’t matter. Buck’s energy was magnetic, and Eddie was caught up in it, his body loosening as the beat took over. 

Buck leaned in closer, the music pushing them together, his hand resting on Eddie’s shoulder. “You know, you’re not bad at this,” he said, his voice low but playful, breath warm against Eddie’s ear. 

Eddie chuckled nervously, “Maybe I’m just getting used to it,” feeling the tension between them shift. They didn’t need words anymore. Their bodies spoke for them, a silent conversation that moved with the rhythm of the night. 

They didn’t need words. The space between them shrank as they danced; Eddie’s heart raced, beating hard against his chest, the closeness of their bodies sending an unexpected rush through him.

They moved together, the space between them growing smaller with each beat. 

Buck’s hand rested on Eddie’s waist, guiding and pulling him in.

Eddie could feel the heat from Buck’s hands, the closeness that made everything feel a little more electric.

As the song built up, Buck closed the distance even more, his chest nearly brushing against Eddie’s. Their breaths mingled, their eyes locking. The world outside their small bubble disappeared —the flashing lights, the crowd, the noise— it was just them. For a moment, Eddie was no longer aware of the pounding of his heart but the warm, almost electric feeling that pulsed between them.

Buck smiled, and it wasn’t the playful, teasing smile from earlier. It was different now, softer, like a question, a quiet invitation.

The lights flashed in bursts of purple and blue, painting their faces in wild colors —the beat and the air heavy with something unspoken.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat. He could feel Buck’s body’s heat and sense the anticipation in the air. The space between them was close —so close— but not quite enough. He leaned in, heart racing, and their lips were just inches apart for the briefest second.

Then the music shifted, the beat changing, pulling them apart just slightly. Eddie hesitated, his hands still hovering close to Buck’s waist. 

Was this happening? Was it the Alcohol leading them down this road?

Buck's eyes were locked on his as if reading the doubt in Eddie’s mind. A free hand rested gently on Eddie’s shoulder, fingers brushing the back of his neck, and he leaned in just a fraction more as if giving Eddie the chance to take the next step.

But the moment stretched, and Eddie pulled back just enough to break the tension, his heart still racing. They both chuckled, the weight of the moment dissipating a little.

Buck let his hand slide back down to Eddie’s waist, a firm grip that pulled them even closer. Eddie’s breath hitched, but he didn’t step back. 

Instead, he leaned in, his chest brushing Buck’s once more, both of them lost in the rhythm.

Eddie didn’t know what this was, but it was more than he had expected when he first walked into the club that night.

Then, the music dropped. The bass hit low, the crowd’s energy picked up, Eddie and Buck were moving in what felt like a natural rhythm, and their bodies were almost in perfect harmony.

Their faces were only inches apart again as if the closeness were the most natural thing in the world. Eddie's breath caught in his throat, and a mix of surprise and anticipation coursed through him. He could feel the warmth radiating from Buck's skin; the subtle scent of Buck's cologne, a hint of fresh pine and musk, lingered in the space between them, making Eddie's heart race even faster.

As he looked into Buck's striking blue eyes, their gazes locked, and the air seemed to vibrate with tension, charged with emotions neither of them had anticipated. It was a moment suspended in time that hung thick in the atmosphere, daring them to step forward into the unknown.

Without uttering a single word, Buck reached up to brush a stray strand of hair away from Eddie’s face, his fingers lingering on his warm skin. Each gentle touch felt electric as they lightly traced the rough edge of Eddie's unshaven jaw, sending a shiver down his spine. Buck's fingers moved with delicate care, almost as if he were afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile intimacy they had woven around themselves.

Eddie's gaze remained steady, a mixture of anticipation and longing filling his eyes. His heart raced, pounding loudly in his chest, as an unspoken energy crackled between them. Summoning his courage, he reached out to cradle Buck’s face in his hand, the simple gesture breaking down the last barrier that had kept them apart for so long.

Buck's chest tightened in response, overwhelmed by a wave of vulnerability that washed over him. At that moment, he pulled Eddie closer, the heat of their proximity igniting something deep within him. His lips hovered just a fraction of an inch from Eddie’s, the space between them pulsing with an electric tension that barely broke through the music that surrounded them, their breaths mingling as warmth enveloped them.

With quiet anticipation hanging in the air, they leaned closer and closed the distance. Slowly, their lips brushed against each other— slow, gentle at first, as if savoring the moment.

As it deepened with the weight of the quiet understanding. It was as if they were saying everything they hadn’t dared to speak aloud. As they lingered in that moment, the music swelled around them, each note fueling the intimacy that captivated their senses. 

Buck’s hand shifted to cup Eddie’s cheek, his thumb brushing softly over the warm skin, sending a thrill through both of them. 

In response, Eddie’s hands slid around Buck’s waist, pulling him even closer, their bodies pressed together as though they were two halves of a whole. There was no hesitation now, only the raw, deep connection of everything they had built over time—the trust, the moments of vulnerability.

The kiss transformed from a tentative exploration into something electric, charged with the raw energy that drew them together. 

When they finally broke apart, both breathless and trembling, it was as though they had finally exhaled a breath they had been holding. 

The vibrant chaos of the world around them rushed back in like a tidal wave. The thrumming crowd continued to surge around them, and lights flickered in a dizzying array of colors. The music played on, but in that moment, nothing else mattered. 

Not a single gaze lingered on them; they were just two souls lost in a sea of strangers. 

Without saying another word, they moved back into the music, lost in the rhythm, but now with something more—a kiss, a connection, and a night, neither of them would ever forget.

The neon lights from the club had faded behind them, but the echo of the music still lingered in their heads as Buck and Eddie stumbled out onto the street. 

The cool night air felt sharp against their heated skin, and the laughter they couldn’t quite suppress bubbled up as they leaned on each other for balance. The alcohol in their veins made everything feel light, the world just a little blurry around the edges.

The bright light cast long shadows over the empty streets. 

“You are so drunk,” Buck giggled, his voice slurring slightly as he stuck his arm out to use the wall of the nearby building to keep him upright.

The warm glow from the streetlight caught the curve of his smile, and Eddie couldn’t help but stare.

Eddie swayed slightly on his feet, his shirt half untucked. “I am not drunk,” he insisted, though his words were thick and clumsy. “You’re the one who’s drunk.” He pointed a finger at Buck, missing him by a good foot.

Buck laughed, the sound low and honeyed, “Oh, sure,” he teased, “That’s why you tripped over your feet three times before we even made it out of the club.”

“Shut up,” Eddie mumbled under his breath; he stumbled, but he sure hasn’t fallen yet. “You’re the one who kept grabbing my hand like you were scared I’d fall.”

Buck hesitated, the playful smirk on his lips faltering for just a moment. He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing that. It had just felt … natural. Like he couldn’t let Eddie go, he shook his head, trying to clear it, “Yeah, well, I didn’t want to lose you in there, and someone had to keep you upright. You’re a liability, Eddie.”

Eddie turned to face Buck, his hair tousled and his cheeks flushed. “I’m not a liability; you’re the liability,” he protested, though there was no heat in his words. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Buck’s arm; Eddie swayed a little as he looked around, "Are you sure we're walking in the right direction?" he asked.

Buck laughed low, trying to keep his feet under him but stumbling a bit himself. He pulled Eddie closer, their shoulders brushing, and the weight of their bodies felt comforting.

"I’m pretty sure," Buck answered, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. “I think. Or… maybe we should just keep walking. Who needs a hotel, right?”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head. "Okay, right. We’ll just sleep on the sidewalk. Perfect."

“You’re just … you’re just too good at taking care of me,” Buck said before his breath hitched. He looked at Eddie, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Someone has to,” Eddie replied softly, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes met Buck’s, and for a moment, things felt impossible still. Then Eddie grinned, that lopsided, boyish grin that always made Buck’s stomach flip. “You’re a really good friend, Buck,” he said, his voice warm and sincere.

Buck froze, the words hitting him like a slap. Friend? He forced a smile, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. “Yeah, well… I suppose someone’s gotta put up with you.”

The streetlights above flickered, casting patches of gold on the pavement as they made their way back towards the strip, back to their hotel. The drunk feeling heightened everything between them, making their closeness feel like a secret only the two of them shared.

As they reached the lights of the Vegas strip, Buck stopped abruptly, his arm pulling Eddie back. His expression was a mix of mischief and something a little more vulnerable; the alcohol had stripped away his usual defenses. He looked at Eddie, eyes wide and unguarded.

“You know,” Buck said, his voice quiet after a moment. “… you’re kind of amazing, Eddie.”

Eddie’s breath caught in his chest, “yeah?” he managed, his voice rough.

Buck nodded, his eyes half-closed. “Yeah,” he repeated softly. “ … I– I don’t know, you d– didn’t have to spend time with me; I guess, I just– I just I appreciate it.”

Eddie turned his head, his eyes meeting Buck’s. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly; he smiled, slow and lazy, and Buck’s stomach somersaulted. 

“I know,” Buck said. “B– But, still... It means a lot.” For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, slowly, Buck reached out, his fingers brushing against Eddie’s cheek, “I… I think I like you?” Buck slurred, his smile goofy but genuine. “Like– I–  I mean, I don’t know what’s happening. I– I feel like my brain’s gonna explode.”

Eddie blinked, still half in a daze. The words hit him; the confession, coming out in a jumble of drunken honesty, was both hilarious and terrifying, "Okay," he said with a teasing grin, swaying a little as he grabbed Buck's arm to steady himself. “You’re just so…” He searched for the right word, eyes unfocused. “... adorably ridiculous.”

Without thinking, or maybe because of the alcohol, Buck leaned in suddenly, pressing his lips against Eddie’s in a wild, uncoordinated kiss. It was messy, their teeth knocking together in the first instant, but neither of them cared. Their laughter bubbled between them as they pulled back just enough to catch their breath.

“Okay, wow,” Eddie said, pulling back for a second, his hands tangled in the fabric of Buck’s shirt. He looked down at the ground, half embarrassed, half giddy. “This is definitely not how I thought tonight would go.”

Buck grinned, his lips still tingling from the kiss. “Y– yeah, me neither. But... it’s kind of perfect, don’t you think?”

“Perfect?” Eddie’s voice was skeptical, but the smile never left his face. “You and me, drunk off our asses, kissing in the middle of the street?”

Buck glanced over at Eddie, a quiet smile playing on his lips. 

They were both still buzzing from the alcohol and the kiss; the weight of it all was still hanging in the air between them.

After a lengthy stretch of drunken stumbling and unsteady walking, they finally arrived at the hotel, a towering structure that loomed gracefully against the night sky. Its warm, inviting lights spilled out onto the sidewalk like a welcoming embrace as they approached the entrance, their laughter echoing in the cool breeze.

They made their way into the hotel, their steps unsteady, and they stumbled past the lobby as if they were trying to shake off the exhilaration of their lively night out. The vibrant energy of the club still buzzed in their veins.

Eddie reached out to press the elevator button, his hand brushing against Buck's, sending an unexpected shiver up his spine. Their giggles echoed lightly within the confined space as the elevator doors slid shut, sealing them away from the world outside.

When the doors finally opened on their floor, they stepped into the quiet hallway, a stark contrast to the pulsating beats they had left behind. The soft thud of their footsteps reverberated off the walls, the silence amplifying the intimate atmosphere between them, a comforting reminder of the night’s wild spontaneity. 

As they walked, their hands brushed together more deliberately, a teasing connection that sent sparks of anticipation flickering between them. 

Eddie reached his door first, surprising himself as the keycard slid smoothly through the lock with a satisfying click. He turned to Buck, a playful grin lighting up his face, but behind that levity was an unmistakable seriousness, a deeper unspoken feeling that had been building all night long. It hung in the air between them, palpable and electric, as he held Buck's gaze, each moment stretching out with unvoiced possibility.

"So..." Eddie began, his voice a little too soft for someone who had just been laughing his head off moments ago in the Elevator, "I guess, um... this is it? For tonight?"

Buck, still swaying slightly on his feet, met his eyes with a quiet intensity that made the air around them feel thick. "I guess so," he replied, his voice a little breathless. He felt like he wanted to say something more, but the alcohol made his words come out in a muddled and stuttered rush. "I– I mean, I think I’d w–want to kiss you again, but—" Buck started with a little chuckle, "- but we’re kind of drunk, and, you know, maybe... maybe we should let it simmer for a second.”

“-and let's not make things more complicated than they already are," Eddie said, his voice laced with concern. "What if someone comes out of their room to find us?”

Buck's grin wavered, the brightness dimmed by a flicker of uncertainty that flashed through his eyes. He ran a hand through his curls, his gaze drifting to the floor as if it held the answers he was searching for. “Oh, you think this is complicated?” he asked softly, his tone barely above a whisper. The weight of Eddie's words hung in the air between them, catching him off guard and stirring a mix of anxiety and something deeper within him. Buck suddenly felt the gravity of the moment, realizing just how fragile their situation had become.

Eddie bit his lip, leaning back against the cool wall next to the door for balance. For a fleeting moment, Eddie felt a mix of emotions swirl inside him, “I don’t know," Eddie confessed, his voice dropping to a quieter, almost hesitant tone. “Maybe it’s just... a lot to figure out right this second?”

The air between them hung heavy with unvoiced thoughts and unshed feelings, and for a long moment, neither spoke. 

The sound of their breathing—slow and steady—filled the space, creating an almost tangible connection that pulsed with the weight of their silence.

Finally, Buck broke the quiet, nodding as a soft smile crept onto his lips, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” he said, his tone warm with empathy. “Let’s not mess this up, okay?”

With a sense of relief washing over him, Eddie nodded, straightening his posture as he pushed off the wall. “Yeah,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “I don’t want to lose this friendship we've made, You know?” He gestured between them, the air thick with the implications.

Buck’s smile deepened, and it felt as if the chaos of everything outside faded away for a fleeting moment. “You won’t; we’ll figure it out,” he assured, his voice coated with a quiet confidence that misrepresented the lingering edge of alcohol in it. He reached out, resting a hand gently on Eddie’s shoulder, grounding them in that moment. “Just... don’t forget about me, okay?”

Eddie let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head slightly, his heart warmed by Buck’s sincerity. “Like I could,” he replied.

They stood there for a moment longer, the air thick with unspoken words and the mall lingering scent of whiskey between them, still slightly intoxicated, their minds hazy, yet a clear understanding passed between them. This moment would be etched in their memories, regardless of the chaos that might unfold in the light of day.

Eddie finally stepped back, his heart thumping a little faster as he opened the door wider, “Goodnight, Buck. Sleep well,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with warmth. 

“Goodnight, Eddie,” Buck replied with a playful smile

They exchanged one last look that held a world of meaning—questions, hopes, and perhaps fears—all left unspoken in the space between them. 

With a reluctant sigh, Eddie turned and walked into his room. The door closed softly behind him with a gentle click that echoed in the silence, sealing away the night and everything it held.

Chapter Text

Buck stood there for a few moments longer, staring at the space where Eddie had just been. A mix of emotions swirled in his chest—nervousness, excitement, and a little bit of doubt. But mostly, it felt like something worth figuring out.

With a quiet sigh, he ran a hand through his curls as he turned to make his way toward his room. The silence enveloping him amplified the loneliness that had seemed to linger in the air. 

Buck paused and stood in front of the door to his hotel room, his keycard feeling almost foreign in his hand. The metal of the door handle felt almost frozen under his grip, and the faint hum of the hallway lights was almost deafening in the silence of the night.

“Stay or go, Buck. Stay or go.” He thought out loud to himself, soft as a whisper.

He finally swiped the keycard with shaky hands, the click of the lock unlocking a surge of nervous energy through his body. The door swung open, revealing his dim, quiet room inside.

Buck entered the room, walking towards the window, the curtains open, looking out at the neon glow of the city below. The buzz of the nightlife outside seemed distant, muffled by the thick glass. 

The silence was suffocating; the bed looked too large, and the air felt too still. It wasn’t just the alcohol— but there was a warmth on his chest as if he could still feel Eddie there, a pull he couldn’t ignore. 

He was trying to convince himself that walking away was the right move, but the truth was, the moment he stepped into his own room, all he could think about was how close they had been and how much he wanted more.

“Should I stay or go?” He asked himself once again

His clothes were still on; he had hardly done anything since he arrived in his room. He was still thinking about Eddie, thinking about the long years they'd spent battling each other on the ice, the silent understanding between them, and now, how one night changed something in Buck he didn’t know could happen. 

He had spent the past hour pacing back and forth, feeling that familiar pull, the same pull he had felt all night. The room started to feel colder, the air still and stagnant. But it wasn’t the room that made Buck pause—it was the knot in his stomach, the anxiety. What would happen if he stayed in his room? Would everything fall apart? Or worse, would he lose Eddie completely?

The uncertainty gnawed at him, and the thought of leaving things unresolved gnawed even harder as if it was leaving a scar. 

The buzz of the alcohol was starting to fade a small bit, but what remained wasn’t just the haze— It all led back to Eddie, the way Eddie’s smile had felt, how his touch had lingered, how everything between them had shifted so suddenly, and he couldn’t shake the image of their kisses, the one in the club, and the one in the street on the way back to their hotel, the taste of his lips. It wasn’t just the alcohol anymore, but the heat between them, the desire.

He needed to feel that again, to be close to him. 

Without another thought, Buck grabbed his room key. 

He made it only a few steps before he found himself at the door of his hotel room; his hand went to the door handle, his fingers grazing the cold metal as he hesitated. 

“What am I doing?” He asked himself. He knew that stepping away was the right call and that they needed space to figure things out. 

But…

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts and his courage. 

With a sharp exhale, Buck made a decision. 

He wasn’t going to stay here, drowning in his own fear. He was going to go.

His hand, still grasping the cool metal of the doorknob, felt like a tether, pulling him toward the unknown, turning it and storming out into the hallway without a second thought; every step was fueled by the need to make things right— not to let this slip away.

He could feel his pulse thumping louder in his ears as he approached Eddie's room and made his way down the hallway. 

His hand hovered over the door, his breath shallow. 

He took in a deep breath before he knocked on Eddie’s door; his knuckles hit sharply against it, his hands trembling with anticipation. 

He stood there; his heart was now hammering in his chest, just waiting for the door to open.

When Eddie finally answered, shirtless and in his pajama pants that hung low on his hips, he looked surprised but not at all confused. 

There was a quiet, almost cautious energy between them.

“Buck.” Eddie’s voice was still thick but quiet, his breath shallow as if he, too, was trying to figure out what this all meant, as if he had already felt the change in the air, “It's almost 3 am.”

“Yeah,” Buck let out, his voice unsteady but determined. 

“Everything okay?” Eddie asked, his eyes searching Buck’s face as if trying to figure out what was going on.

Buck swallowed hard, the words suddenly feeling like they were stuck in his throat. He could see the concern in Eddie’s eyes, and it made his chest ache, “I– I c– I couldn’t sleep,” Buck stammered, his eyes searching Eddie’s face for any sign of hesitation or anything that might stop him.

Eddie’s expression softened, a small but knowing smile crossing his lips. “Yeah, yeah… come in,” he said, his tone gentle as he stepped out of the way and opened his door for him.

Buck stepped inside, letting Eddie close the door behind him.

There was a brief moment where neither of them moved, standing in the middle of Eddie’s room as they let the weight of the moment settle in.

The hotel room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp and the neon lights that were coming out from behind the curtains.

They stood there for a moment. Eddie’s chest rose and fell sharply, his breath shallow, and his eyes locked with Buck’s. The room seemed to shrink around them, the world outside fading away. 

For a second, everything was still.

Their hearts beat in sync, and the silence felt heavier than any words could be. They were caught in this moment—this charged, impossible moment.

Buck’s gaze darkened raw and intense, a silent invitation that hung between them like a promise. His lips parted slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came. Instead, his hand reached out, brushing softly against Eddie’s arm. 

The touch was almost tentative, but it was enough to ignite something deep within both of them. The warmth of it sent a shiver down Eddie’s spine.

"Eddie," Buck's voice emerged from the depths of his chest, low and husky, almost a whisper that danced in the air between them. The two syllables dripped with desire, wrapping around Eddie like a warm embrace. 

The way Buck pronounced his name felt like a confession, a delicate yet powerful confession, allowing Eddie’s breath to hitch in his throat, the tension hanging in the air as he locked eyes with Buck. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on him, and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. His voice emerged as a husky whisper, rough and laced with an unquenchable desire that he could no longer keep down. “Yeah,” he replied.

 The heat radiated between them, and Eddie could feel it coursing through his veins. His eyes never left Buck’s as they took another step closer until there was no more space between them, no more hesitation.

The touch was light, but it burned like fire. A warmth radiated between them, a tangible energy that Eddie could almost see. His gaze locked onto Buck’s, deep and searching, as they inched closer together. 

With every deliberate step, the space between them diminished, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. The world around them faded, blurring until all that remained was the magnetic pull of their connection.

The warmth emanating from Buck’s presence enveloped Eddie like a thick blanket, drawing him deeper into the moment while the subtle tension crackled around them. Eddie could feel his heart racing; any words, questions, and uncertainties that plagued his mind now felt distant and insignificant, as if they had been swallowed by the heavy air between them, making it nearly impossible for him to think clearly.

They were standing at the edge of something vast and dangerous, and yet, neither of them seemed willing to step back.

Buck leaned in, his breath warm against Eddie’s skin, his lips hovered just an inch from Eddie’s, and for a moment, they both stopped. Neither one dared to move, as if the world were holding its breath, waiting for the other to make the next move.

Eddie’s fingers twitched at his sides, itching to touch, to pull Buck closer. 

But he didn’t—he couldn’t. Not yet.

“Are you sure?” Eddie spoke first; his voice was still in a whisper.

Buck didn’t hesitate; his piercing blue gaze held a magnetic quality, flickering with something raw, something sincere. 

Slowly, he nodded, his voice barely audible, but it was enough to settle the chaos swirling between them, “I’m sure.”

The words hung in the air for a beat, and Buck closed the gap between them. One hand slid around the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling him in, the kiss tentative at first, like a slow burn. His other hand moved to wrap itself around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer as the space between them evaporated in an instant, and their bodies collided, pressing against each other with a force that spoke volumes.

The kiss deepened, slow and careful, as if neither of them wanted to break the fragile magic of the moment.

Eddie's hands instinctively traced the contours of Buck's chest, his fingers curling tightly around the fabric of Buck's shirt. He drew him closer, driven by an urgent desire that seemed to erase every inch of space between them. 

The soft warmth of Buck's body against his own ignited a spark of electricity, intensifying the tension that hung thick in the air. 

Every touch felt like an answer, and every kiss a confession they had been too afraid to say out loud.

The kiss turned from gentle to deep and desperate— as if the two of them were starving for the closeness, their mouths moving faster with frantic energy like they were trying to taste every bit of each other they could; there was no way they were backing down now. No hesitation, no second-guessing, no more words. Just need.

It was evident that the alcohol was still buzzing through their systems, but it only made everything feel sharper, more electric. 

Buck’s fingers threaded through Eddie’s hair, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he deepened the kiss, taking control for a moment. 

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily, eyes wide and searching as if to make sure this was real.

“I never thought...” Eddie began, his voice hushed, but he couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Buck’s thumb brushed his lips, silencing him with a soft smile. “Me neither.” 

Buck felt as if he wasn't merely standing at the precipice of something; he was already immersed in the exhilarating rush of freefall. Eddie was right there beside him; his presence felt like an anchor that held Buck steady amid the chaos. For the first time, he welcomed the unknown without fear.

“Holy fu–,” Eddie muttered, voice low and rough, as hands slid under Buck’s shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin, the taut muscles that had been a silent temptation. He groaned as his hands moved deftly to the hem of Buck’s shirt, fingers gently gripping the fabric before tugging it upward with a sudden, impulsive motion. The shirt was yanked over Buck's head, not even attempting to unbutton it, leaving the garment to fall carelessly onto the floor. 

He could feel Buck’s hands sliding up his chest, the feeling of his calloused fingertips burning against his skin, fingers tracing his body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Eddie pulled back, only for just a moment, as if to let his mind catch up with his body.

With a growl of frustration, Buck’s lips crashed into Eddie’s again. 

Buck’s hands moved to the back of Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer, feeling the heat of their bodies press together. 

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Buck growled against Eddie’s lips, his voice raw with want as his hands now roamed over Eddie’s back, his fingers trembling as he explored his skin, tracing the muscles there, pulling him in tighter, feeling the heat of him seeping into his own skin, fitting against each other in a way that felt like nothing else. 

His mouth moved against his with an urgency that matched his own; his tongue slid against Eddie’s, demanding, tasting, learning, and everything else faded away.

The echoes of alcohol lingered on their tongues, a warm remnant of the night’s festivities, but now a different kind of intoxication enveloped them— a vivid rush that sharpened their senses and intensified every nuance of their surroundings. The air between them crackled with electric energy, making the world feel more vibrant and alive. 

“God, ” Eddie cursed, murmuring against Buck’s lips, his voice thick with need. “I want more, but can’t— I just—”

Buck didn’t let Eddie finish his sentence; he silenced him with another kiss. This one felt harder, more insistent as if he were trying to show him that words didn’t matter anymore—only the feeling, the closeness, the undeniable pull between them. His hands slid to Eddie’s jaw, tilting his face just enough to deepen the kiss, his tongue tasting him with an intensity that made Eddie’s whole body tremble. 

Eddie moaned against Buck’s mouth as his hands slid down to his hips, tugging him closer, grinding against him. The tension between them was electric, and when Buck finally broke away, his breath came in ragged gasps, his lips swollen, and his chest heaving as though they’d been lost in each other for hours.

The sight of Eddie, skin flushed, eyes wild with longing, made Buck’s pulse race. He pressed their bodies together once more, their bare chests meeting, and the heat of it was overwhelming. 

Eddie groaned before leaning forward, letting his mouth trailing down to Buck’s neck, tasting the smooth skin there, sucking and nipping at him, each touch igniting more need.

Their hands roamed, pulling at any kind of clothing, desperate to be closer.

Buck’s hands slid down Eddie’s body, fingers brushing over the waistband of his pajama waistband, teasing, making Eddie’s breath hitch. His fingers looped under the waistband for a moment, tugging lightly at Eddie’s pants, feeling the heat of his skin beneath.

 “Buck,” Eddie muttered, his voice thick, “Fuck,” as he pulled back to look at Buck. His eyes were dark with hunger, a fierce need behind them. “You’re killing me.”

Buck’s lips curled into a wicked grin, “Good,” he replied, his voice dripping with desire, before he crashed his lips back to Eddie. 

The way their bodies moved together, and their lips met in a kiss so deep, so passionate, was everything they had been holding back.

Finally, their feet began to carry them across the room, the soft carpet cushioning each step as they tumbled onto the bed, the inviting comforter catching them, their bodies intertwined, unable to stop. The room was alive with the sound of their rapid breaths, skin against skin, the rush of desire that felt like it had been building for far too long.

Eddie felt like he was burning from the inside out, every nerve ending igniting as Buck’s hands roamed over his body, knowing he hadn’t been touched like this in years.

“I don’t want to stop,” Eddie whispered against Buck’s mouth, his hands sliding over his back, feeling the hard lines of Buck’s muscles, the warmth of his skin. “I want… all of you. Right now.”

Buck’s lips curled into a grin, and his eyes dark, dangerous, and thrilling, responding with a low growl, “Then don’t,” Buck murmured, his breath hot against and his lips moving hungrily over Eddie’s throat, down to his chest, every inch of his body pressing against his, pushing Eddie’s pants lower, teasing the skin just beneath the waistband, his voice hoarse with need. “Take me.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, a rush of desire flooding through his veins. He groaned as Buck’s lips found his neck again, his hands roaming lower, pulling again at the top of the pajama pants. Every inch of their bodies pressed together, skin to skin.

“Fuck, Buck,” Eddie gasped, needing more, wanting more. His hands were all over Buck, pulling at him, exploring him, and he wanted to lose himself in it, to feel him completely.

Buck’s fingers tangled in Eddie’s hair, pulling him into another deep, hungry kiss. 

“Don’t stop,” Eddie breathed, his voice hoarse with need as he let his eyes fall closed, pushing into the touch. His chest rose and fell with each breath; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone like this, the way he craved this closeness, this heat.

When he opened his eyes, Buck was over him, watching him. There was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes; it was the quiet longing that mirrored his own.

Eddie slid his hand up to the side of Buck’s neck, the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath his fingers.

Buck’s mouth moved to Eddie’s neck once more, his lips hot against his skin as he kissed a slow trail down to his collarbone. 

Eddie’s breath quickened, a quiet groan slipping from his lips as Buck’s teeth grazed his skin, sucking slightly in one spot, leaving a small mark but sending a jolt of electricity through him. The sensation was almost overwhelming—too much, but not enough. He wanted to feel it more, to lose himself in the touch, in the fire building between them.

“Eddie,” Buck gasped, breaking his connection momentarily, his voice shaky. “Are you sure—”

“Shut up,” Eddie murmured, his fingertips trailing down Buck’s chest. “Just … Just, shut up.” Eddie’s mind went blank. There was no room for hesitation or doubt, not right now.

“God, you’re so …” Buck trailed off, his attention back on Eddie’s body, his voice shaking. He didn’t even know how to finish the sentence.

Eddie looked down at Buck and grinned, slow and wicked, and Buck felt his stomach flip. “Yeah?” Eddie teased, “Tell me.”

Buck’s heart pounded, “You’re so … fucking hot,” he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop it.

Eddie’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he just looked at Buck, his expression unreadable. 

“So are you,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down Buck’s spine.

Buck’s hands softly shook as he reached for Eddie’s pajama pants cords, his fingers fumbling. He tried to undo the tied bow, keeping him from the skin beneath.

Eddie didn’t stop him, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as Buck grabbed the top of the pajama pants and pulled them off, leaving him bare.

Eddie murmured, his voice rough, “Don’t stop.”

Buck didn’t. He couldn’t. His hands explored, committing every curve, every line to memory. 

Eddie’s hands were just as eager, pulling at Buck’s pants, trying his hardest to undo the belt that he couldn't see, only feel with his fingers.

Buck allowed a free hand to find his way to Eddie, lending help to the pesky belt buckle and allowing access to the button and zipper underneath, which was what Eddie’s hungry hands were reaching for.

Eddie's hands pushed down every piece he could, until they were both bare, their skin pressed together in a searing heat.

Buck toed off his shoes, allowing his pants to fall completely to the floor, showing he was going commando under his pants.

“Are you sure?” Buck asked, his voice shaky, his eyes locking on Eddie’s, “We’re both … we’re both still drunk, and I don’t want to if you don't want to—”

Eddie cut him off with a kiss, “I’m sure,” he said, his voice firm. 

The way the words came from Eddies lips cause Buck’s heart to a beat, and for a moment, he just stared at Eddie, his chest tight. Then he nodded, his hands moving to Eddie’s hips. “Okay,” he whispered, then repeating louder, “ Okay .”

Buck moved down the bed and repositioned himself between Eddie’s legs. He sat practically on all fours. He looked up at Eddie, his eyes searching his face for any sign of hesitation.

Slow and lazy, “I trust you,” Eddie said softly.

Buck’s hands crept up Eddie’s bare thighs, his calloused fingertips brushing against the leg hairs. 

His hands moved slowly; his right hand started by wrapping his right hand around Eddie’s cock; holding it close to his mouth, sticking his tongue out, he licked gently at the slit at the tip, flicking his tongue a bit, hoping to add more sensation before lightly sucking at the tip of his cock.

Eddie’s reached and let his hand rest on the back of Buck’s head as if to motion for him to suck deeper, take his whole cock 

Buck was taking the time to taste him; his tongue flicked the tip and swirled in a circle before sliding his mouth down Eddie’s cock, his nose hitting the base, taking it all in, his nose in Eddie’s pubic hair.

He was pretty sure Eddie was at a loss of words at Bucks's lack of a gag reflex; he only needed to come up for air. He started to bounce up and down while Eddie’s cock was repeatedly hitting the back of his throat. 

Eddie let out a gasp as Buck momentarily hummed on his cock.

“Fuck, Bu-” Eddie started as his fingers gripped themselves tighter in Buck’s curls, riding the rhythm of Buck’s head bouncing with his cock in his throat; Eddie threw his head against the mattress as he was riding the high of Buck sucking him off. 

Eddie let a long moan escape his lips, and he felt as if he needed to be careful, worried that he would ejaculate right into Buck’s mouth in a matter of seconds. It had been so long since he had a mouth on his cock. Jerking off was something he had gotten so used to, especially after these last few years, but this was a sensation he never thought he'd miss. 

Buck was proving him wrong; he definitely missed this.

Biting his lip, he felt like he was getting too close to his threshold; the edge was getting closer and closer. The grip Eddie had on Buck’s curls tightened, hoping it would slow him down. 

Just in case, he pulled slightly, making eye contact with each other.

“Buck—” he said as he took in a sharp breath; the look on Buck’s face, his sex-drunk eyes, drool dripping from his full pink lips, as his cock was still in Buck’s mouth. The image he had at this moment, looking into the blue eyes, he felt like he could orgasm at this moment if he wasn't holding himself back. “— Hold on,” he said with heavy breaths as if he was trying to catch his breath. 

Buck’s half-hooded eyes looked back at the other man lustfully, his head moving up and letting Eddie’s cock fall out of his mouth.

Eddie pushed himself up to sit up fully; his hands grabbed Buck’s face, a hand on each cheek, and pulled him into him; he wondered if he was being too forceful, but he couldn’t stop himself; he wanted him. 

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he made sure he whined as he followed it with a moan.

Buck let himself ease back closer between Eddie's legs, his mouth once again wrapping itself around Eddie’s cock; the more Buck’s head bobbed, the more lubrication his saliva was coating the cock he was sucking, enjoying the curses that escaped Eddie. 

“Jesus, Buck, fucking hell—” 

“You going to come for me, baby?” Buck said momentarily as he pulled his mouth off Eddie’s cock.

But before Buck could get back into motion, Eddie moved and confused Buck for the moment as Eddie used this to throw his momentum around. 

Before Buck knew it, his back was against the mattress.

Eddie slowly leans in towards Buck, pressing Buck’s shoulders firmly against the mattress, feeling the weight of their bodies sink into the softness of the bed. 

Buck let Eddie’s lips crash into his. With every fiber of his being, in a kiss that was almost too gentle, too soft. 

Eddie savored the sensation for himself as he let his lips gently brush against Buck's tender skin, kissing Buck up his jawline, letting their stubble scratch together slightly before taking his earlobe softly into his mouth, letting him suck slightly before biting softly, a small moan escaped Buck.

As Eddie was kissing Buck down his neck, he was suckling slightly on it, leaving a trail of minor marks down it, Eddie’s hands lingering up into Buck’s curls, pulling slightly.

As Buck was laid out in front of the shorter male, Eddie now stood up at the foot of the bed, grasping Buck by his thighs and pulling him towards him and the edge of the bed, a strength Buck didn’t expect from Eddie.

As much as he was trying to keep his own cock at bay, just the moment of the strength exerted by Eddie, his cock was now hard as a rock and standing fully erect for him. 

Eddie noticed and took a free hand to stroke Buck’s cock; it was as if he was copying how Buck had done before.

He decided to pay some attention everywhere except where Buck probably really wanted. Eddie sunk down between Buck’s legs, biting and sucking over his hip bones and running his tongue over the sensitive skin around his cock, where he could see it flinching against his every attention.

Eddie was leaving hickeys all over Buck’s lower body in his wake, making the man's body tense up, the sucking of his lips leaving marks on him as if he was claiming his body as his. His body ached as he got closer to his dick; he wanted those pink lips to wrap themselves around his cock, and he wanted him to take him down his throat. He knew he would have to wait; he knew Eddie would edge him better than he'd ever do himself.

Eddie wasn’t even looking at him, but he knew he could imagine Buck’s face looking down at him and begging him to go further; this was all new to him, so he knew the build-up would have to be something different.

After he had enough of torturing him with the kisses, hickeys, and bites all over his hips, Eddie moved his face over to Buck’s cock, letting his tongue slip out and lick up the side of the shaft, then letting a hand start to motion up and down on Buck’s cock, his thumb running over the tip, playing in circles before licking up some of the fluid that was already beginning to leak out.

Buck let out an audible gulp, followed by a stronger moan than one he had let out before, watching as Eddie’s hand wrapped itself around his length and the man pushed down into the bed with his palms, his hands tangled and his fingers grasping at the comforter below them, he was aching for this touch.

After a few pumps of his hand, Eddie figured enough was enough and dipped his head back down; opening his mouth, Eddie hungrily took Buck’s cock in his mouth, almost catching Buck's surprise; the man’s mouth on him made him weak in the knees, taking him in as far as he could go without gagging.  

When Eddie” lips finally wrapped themselves around him, his hand involuntarily rested on the back of his head, not to push his head down, but to feel the rhythm his head would bounce to with his cock in his throat.

Buck could tell this had to have been Eddie’s first time giving a blow job, but he threw his head against the bed as he was riding the high of him, sucking him off; he must’ve seen a lot of porn or something to be this good still.

“fuck me,” Buck moaned, almost as if whining.

Eddie’s head popped up with a soft pop as he let Buck’s cock leave the warmth of his mouth.

Eddie let himself ease away from between Buck’s legs and grabbed him by his hips before turning him around, forcing him facedown on the bed, his ass in the air. 

Buck moved on his knees slightly, attempting to get comfortable, knowing what would be coming next, knowing there was going to be some stretching of his asshole, but instead of fingers that he thought he was going to feel, he felt Eddie’s tongue instead, flicking his tongue on his rim, adding more sensation.

Eddie moved momentarily, reaching into his suitcase and grabbing the small bottle of lube he had carried in his toiletry bag. He swiftly moved back behind Buck, who heard the click of something opening. He knew Eddie had gotten lube from somewhere.

Before he knew it, he felt the cold sensation of liquid between his cheeks, followed by a single, solid finger sliding in. Buck relaxed as he could feel Eddie start to open him up; one finger eventually became two, and then it turned into three. Eddie's fingertips softly played at his prostate; each time, his cock twitched with anticipation.

Eddie was breaking out a condom, the sound of a wrapper being ripped open, using his teeth and his free hand to open it. He took the latex and slid it down his cock; even with one hand, he made sure it was properly fit. 

His hand still played with Buck’s ass, his fingers sliding in and out repeatedly. Buck may have been bigger than Eddie, but he was so wanton, and he felt like putty under Eddie's hands.

Eddie let his condomed cock play at the opening of Buck’s asshole, rubbing it slightly at the rim before he added more lube. Hearing an audible moan that seemed to come from Buck's chest, he started entering Buck. Careful, slow, and considerate. 

Buck could feel Eddie’s hands on his hips and waist, holding him steady as he pushed inside slowly at first.

Eddie was slow with his pacing, trying to be methodical with his thrusts.

Once his cock was fully in, the pace picked up, and that was when Buck started moaning louder, gasping, and begging for more. His hands dug at his sheets as he felt Eddie with each and every push inside, each time hitting the point of his prostate, and each time, a moan escaped Buck, and he could feel, with Eddie’s breathing, that he was on this ride along with him.

“Fuck, fuck—” Eddie’s voice was sharp, just like his words. You could hear the ecstasy that coated his voice.

Eddie slowed his thrusts as he caressed Bucks's back; his fingertips glided over the smooth, warm surface, tracing the contours of muscle and sinew, leaving marks down it with his nails.

He leaned forward, letting his chest fall onto Buck’s back as he reached around, taking Buck’s cock into his hand and stroking lightly. 

Buck's stomach clinched under the touch, he was being fucked by Eddie, but with Eddie's hand around his cock, it was a whole new layer he had yet to experience, especially from this angle. 

Buck sat up, and Eddie had to follow suit, the two of them still skin to skin, Eddie still deep in Buck’s asshole; this angle felt completely different but made it easier for Eddie to jerk off Buck. 

Each thrust matched the stroke of Eddie’s hand; Buck put his hand on top of Eddie, gripping his hand tighter around his cock. 

He felt as if he was mentally short-circuiting at this moment; Buck was close to the edge; he knew if he didn't stop now, he was going to orgasm and come.

It was as if Eddie had read his mind. “Yeah, come for me; you feel so good,” he murmured in Buck’s ear, his voice thick with desire. 

As if on cue, Buck’s body gave in, “Uh-f-fu-fuck! Fuck me, yes,” he stutteringly swore loudly as he coated Eddie’s fist and some of his comforter with his come.

It was mere seconds after Buck orgasmed that Eddie's pace picked up, riding the high of getting Buck off. 

The room was filled with the sound of their breathing, quick and uneven, and the soft friction of skin against skin as they moved together. Buck’s heart pounded in his chest, his mind blank except for the feel of Eddie behind him.

“Buck, fuck…,” Eddie gasped, his hands tightening on Buck’s hips. “I’m going to come.”

Eddie’s body tensed, his movements starting to become frantic as he reached the edge. 

Buck turned his head; his back still pressed up against Eddie’s chest as he buried his face in Eddie’s neck, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he felt Eddie’s body shudder and pulse inside him.

Their bodies trembling as it felt like wave after wave of pleasure washed over them as they rode out the last of it together.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of their quick and uneven breathing, 

Eddie let his softening cock slide out of Buck, sliding the soiled condom off and tossing it into the small trashcan next to the hotel’s built-in small desk.

Buck’s heart was still pounding, his chest tight, and he couldn’t bring himself to move but let himself fall to his side on the mattress.

Eddie threw himself into the bed next to Buck, the soft sheets rumpled around them. The dim light of the night still came through the windows and the side table, casting a warm glow on their faces. 

“Eddie,” Buck murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with emotion. “That… that was—”

Eddie turned his head slightly, his gaze locking onto Buck's eyes. “Yeah,” he replied as if he could already anticipate the words that were trying to escape Buck's lips.

They lay side by side on the bed, taking a moment to process the intensity of what had just transpired.

The moonlight and Vegas lights spilled softly through the curtains, still casting a gentle glow along with the bedside lamp, as Eddie lay next to Buck on the bed. 

Buck’s hand reached forward and let it rest on Eddie’s chest, his fingers lightly tracing circles on his skin; the touch was soft but deliberate. Neither of them spoke for a long while; the silence felt comfortable,

“Buck…” Eddie's voice was low, almost tentative, as if speaking the name out loud after what they had done somehow made it more real. More vulnerable, “Are you o— okay with this?”

Buck didn’t pull away, didn’t even flinch. He just looked at him, eyes reflecting the same longing Eddie felt. “More than okay,” he murmured. His head moved closer to the other man, letting his forehead rest against his.

The silence was heavy yet ever so peaceful, inviting them to linger just a moment longer in this space that felt both fragile and profound.

But before he could say anything, Eddie’s lips brushed against Buck’s in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Stay,” Eddie said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, his fingers tracing over Buck’s jawline, his touch tender.

There was a pause before Buck leaned in again, brushing his lips lightly against Eddie’s forehead. The kiss was gentle and tender, and it lingered for a moment before he nodded, “Yeah,” he whispered back, “I can do that.”

“Good,” Eddie whispered back; a small smile lingered on his lips as he let their foreheads rest against each other again, and for a long while, they simply lay there, holding each other, savoring the warmth, the intimacy, and the raw connection they had just found.

It was enough.

Chapter Text

His body felt heavy and sluggish, and Buck woke up with a groan; his eyes fluttered open, realizing the sun was up and flooding into the room. His head was a little heavy, throbbing slightly, and his body ached.

With the remnants of the alcohol from the night before, the hangover was hitting him, as it felt as if he was having nails hammered into his head in both temples, the pressure making it hard for his eyes to focus around him. 

He shifted, feeling the soft sheets tangled around him. His hand instinctively reached for his phone on the nightstand, only to find it missing. 

"Shit..." He tilted his head, blinking against the early morning light, scanning the surface for his phone, but all he found nothing. He then attempted to scan the room for any sign of his phone, hand moving further onto the side table. 

His heart began to race more the moment he started to sit up a little more, resting on his elbow, "Where the hell did I put it?" he muttered under his breath; the absence of his phone felt more concerning than it should. 

Maybe he’d left it in his pants, or it had fallen under the bed... 

But the realization hit him as his eyes wandered around the room. 

The bed was… not his; then he noticed the layout of the room was completely different. He didn’t remember his bed angled at the window like this, and then the confusion settled in, and he wasn’t sure where he was, and it didn’t help that he was naked. "What the hell...?"

His mind raced to piece together the missing parts of the night before. "Shit," he muttered again, his mind was already trying to remember what had happened. He was mentally retracing his steps, but last night felt like a blur. Panic began to creep in. Had he blacked out?

Then, as his eyes darted around the room again, he noticed something that stopped him cold.

His eyes locked on the form lying next to him in the bed, tangled in the sheets next to him. 

A body. Warm, steady breathing.

A man. 

The man was lying on his side, facing away from him, dark hair tousled, a faint snore escaping him as he slept soundly. 

Buck blinked rapidly, his mind still trying to piece together the disjointed memory of the night before. 

He rubbed his face with both hands; he groaned softly, trying to chase away the fog in his mind. “This can’t be happening,” he said to himself quietly, but there this man was, lying next to him in the same bed, clearly unaware that Buck was awake. 

Buck’s breathing sped up as he cautiously surveyed the room again, searching for any sign of what had happened, any clue to jog his memory. 

He didn’t even remember getting here, let alone sharing a bed with someone.

His fingers curled into the blanket, still unsure of whether to wake the other man up or just... leave. 

Buck sat up slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeping figure next to him, letting his feet swing over the side of the bed; letting his feet make a connection with the carpet, hoping it would ground him more, turning his back to the other side of the mattress.

As he did so, he heard rustling behind him, and he peeked back to see.

The man's face, still relaxed and peaceful in sleep, kept Buck rooted to the spot. The sudden awkwardness, the knot in his stomach, and the anxiety was all too much, and Buck didn’t know where to start. Buck stared at the man,

his eyes roaming over the stranger’s face again. The dark hair, the strong jawline... 

His breath caught, and he looked forward once more. “No,” he breathed— the familiarity with it all clicked in Buck’s brain.

Eddie.

His mind was spinning.

He glanced at Eddie as he tried to recall the moments leading up to this. He sat there for a moment, trying to retrace his steps of the night, slowly remembering some drinks, a conversation, a flash of laughter, a hand brushing his own, a kiss? Was it a kiss? Had they kissed? 

It hit him like a punch to the gut. His mind flashed back to the previous night— a round of drinks that quickly turned into more. Eddie's quiet chuckles, the teasing, the way they'd ended up at this point, both a little too drunk to stand straight, stumbling out of the club together. It was all coming back to him now.

The uncertainty churned inside him, but beside that, the one thing he did know, and felt, was that they slept together.

"Shit," Buck muttered under his breath once more. He ran a hand through his hair, panic, and embarrassment flooding him all at once. 

His gaze fell to Eddie’s face again. The peacefulness, the vulnerability in his sleep, made Buck’s chest tighten. He hadn’t expected to wake up to this— never expected to wake up to this. 

Before Buck could gather his thoughts, Eddie stirred next to him. A soft groan slipped from his lips, his body shifting under the covers as he began to wake.

Buck sat perfectly still, his breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to act, what to do, incredibly when Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep.

It took Eddie a few seconds to fully process where he was. He blinked a few times, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the window. His eyes landed on Buck, confusion sweeping across his features. 

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face with one hand as if to shake off the grogginess.

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice was thick with sleep, but it was also laced with something more—something hinting at a recognition that had yet to reach his consciousness fully. He glanced around the room, still trying to piece everything together, his expression flickering between confusion and realization, "What—?"

“Y– Yeah… yeah, it’s me.” Buck cleared his throat, trying to sound casual, though his heart was beating wildly in his chest. “Morning.”

Eddie’s gaze shifted, and his brow furrowed as he rubbed his eyes again, sitting up slowly. “Wait… what happened last night?” he asked, his voice still rough, clearly struggling with the fog of memory.

Buck shook his head. His palms were sweaty as he ran a hand through his hair again. “I... I don’t really remember much. Just that we, uh… we drank a lot. And then…” His voice trailed off, but his mind was racing, trying to piece together the hazy flashes of the night.

Eddie’s brow furrowed slightly, a quiet laugh escaping him. "We got super drunk, huh?"

Buck nodded slowly, guilt and embarrassment pressing down hard on his chest. "Yeah...."

Eddie rubbed his face, still feeling a little hazy. "So, uh," He let out a breath, running a hand through his messy hair. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the way both of their bodies were completely naked. 

His eyes darted then widened in realization, and the tension now flooding the room. Then, like a switch flipped, his expression shifted to one of confusion. He looked back at Buck, still trying to make sense of the situation. “So... last night… did we, uh, slept together?” Eddie’s voice cracked slightly, almost a whisper, as if the words themselves were too heavy for him to grasp fully, but his eyes stayed locked on Buck, searching for something.

Buck let out a long, weary breath, the sound escaping his lips like a whisper of resignation. 

He instinctively rubbed the back of his neck, where tension coiled like a tight spring. The question lingered in the air, heavy and palpable, causing his heart to race uncontrollably once more. 

He felt the weight of it pressing down on him, a reminder of unspoken truths. Deep down, he knew the answer; it wasn't just a fleeting thought—it was an undeniable truth that still echoed within him, stirring emotions he had tried to bury.

Buck nodded and swallowed hard, but the words felt heavy in his mouth. “Yeah. I... I– ” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to the edge of the bed,  “We did. But, Eddie…”  he said, his voice tight. “It... it wasn’t something I expected to happen, it all kind of... blurs together.” trying to occupy himself, trying to avoid making eye contact with Eddie, he didn’t know if he could handle seeing the confusion—or the disappointment—in his eyes.

Eddie nodded, looking down at the bed, his face a mixture of confusion, frustration, and something else—something that Buck couldn’t quite name, but it wasn’t anger. A fear? Disappointment? He couldn’t tell.

Eddie sat up and let himself move back against the headboard, his hand reaching up again, rubbing his temples. He didn’t move for a moment. He just watched Buck, as if he were waiting for something more. “I don’t... I don’t even remember much,” Eddie admitted, his voice tinged with the same uncertainty that Buck felt. “I know we drank a lot, but I didn’t think... we’d end up here; you’re a new friend, Buck. I didn’t mean for... for things to go here.”

Buck’s heart skipped a beat at Eddie’s words. We drank a lot. It wasn’t a great excuse, but Buck couldn’t shake the feeling that their connection had been building for a while. Remembering the kiss, the way they had touched, it hadn’t been entirely about the alcohol.

“I don’t know what to say,” Buck said softly, glancing over at Eddie as he stood up and grabbed his pants off the floor, pulling them onto his legs. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to buy time or if he was stalling for something more—something to say to ease the tension that was quickly filling the space between them. “I just wasn’t expecting to wake up in your bed.”

Eddie’s eyes softened, but there was a sadness in them. “I didn’t either,” he said, “It’s just... I don’t know what happens now.”

Buck took a few steps around the bed before he froze; he leaned forward as he picked up his crumpled shirt from the floor and threw it over his head, the fabric catching on his fingers. “I don’t know either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, the weight of his words sinking in. “But I— I don’t think I regret it, I know that much.”

Eddie’s gaze flickered to the floor, his jaw tightening.

He said, his voice steady but low, “But I’m not sure I even know what I want after this. I don’t know if... if things can actually stay the same between us. I don’t know what it would mean for us— for our— our friendship.”

Buck’s chest tightened. The words stung, but they didn’t surprise him. The way Eddie said it—tentative, unsure—made it clear that neither of them had planned for this to happen. But the connection they’d shared, the chemistry between them... Buck couldn’t ignore it. 

He had known there would be questions, but hearing Eddie say it out loud made everything feel more fragile. 

He dropped his hands to his sides, unsure of what to say next. “I get that... I really do, but I— I don’t know how we fix this either… But I— I don’t— I don't want to lose you, Eddie. I don’t want whatever happened last night to mess things up for us.”

Eddie looked up at him, his eyes filled with a lingering uncertainty. “We’ll figure it out, I feel like we’d have to figure this out,” Eddie said, his voice quieter. He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but something in his tone gave Buck a flicker of hope. “I just... I just don’t want things to be weird. I don’t want to make this harder than how it feels like it already is.”

“I know,” Buck whispered, looking away, nodding, feeling a lump in his throat. “Yeah, neither do I.”

The two of them sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in between them.

Buck decided to finish getting dressed, his movements slower now, as if he was trying to give Eddie the space he needed to process. 

Eddie remained sitting on the bed, his eyes occasionally meeting Buck’s, but neither of them said anything more.

Finally, Buck found and grabbed his phone from the floor, which seemed to have had fallen next to his shoes. He glanced at the screen, half-relieved to see it was still early. No missed calls, no urgent texts, and he slipped it into his pocket. He picked up his shoes, carrying them as he took a step toward the door, glancing over at Eddie one last time.

Buck felt a slight pang of guilt for wanting to run, but he knew it was necessary. Not just for him but for Eddie too. They needed space to process everything—everything that had happened and everything that had yet to be said.

“Um, I‘m going head out,” Buck said, his voice softer now, like he was reluctant to leave but knew he had to. “I’ll text you later, yeah?” Buck added, trying to sound more casual, but his words felt too rehearsed. He didn’t want to add another layer of awkwardness to this already complicated mess.

Eddie gave a small nod, now not meeting Buck’s eyes. “Yeah. Later, Buck.”

Buck knew the conversation wasn’t over. It wasn’t resolved. He wasn’t sure what would come next, but at least they were still talking. At least they hadn’t let it entirely fall apart.

As Buck opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, the door clicked softly behind him, and the silence that followed was thick.

But for now, Buck knew he needed space. 

They both did.

He knew it was for the best, giving each other space was the only way not to make things even more complicated.

The hallway outside the room was quiet, and Buck leaned against the door for a moment, his forehead pressed against the wood, attempting to collect himself. 

Buck reached his room, inserted his keycard and pushed the door open, his mind still swirling. The silence inside his room was a welcome contrast to the uneasy energy he’d just left. He tossed his keys and phone onto the bed, his hand brushing over his face as he let out a long breath. 

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting from this morning, but it certainly wasn’t that.

What was he supposed to feel? Regret? Relief? Confusion? It's a strange mix of all three, honestly.

He threw himself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. He needed time to think, to gather himself.

Chimney appeared in the doorway of the adjoining rooms, “Nice of you to finally show up.”

Buck froze. 

He hadn’t exactly prepared for this. He had completely forgotten that his ‘chaperone’ would be waiting for him after a night like that.

“Yeah, yeah,” Buck replied, trying to sound more normal than he felt. He ran his hand over his face, already anticipating the flood of questions. “What’s up?”

Chimney stepped fully into buck’s room, wearing an amused expression but with an unmistakable undercurrent of worry. "I tried to check in with you after I got back last night, but you weren’t here.” He looked at Buck as he got closer, “You good? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck."

Buck chuckled, but it came out more like a strained exhale than genuine amusement. He had just stepped out of one emotionally charged situation, and now here came Chimney with a whole new layer of questions.

He propped himself up on his elbows, “Yeah… Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, though his voice was slightly strained. “Just a little... tired.” He offered Chimney a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, trying to mask the fatigue that had settled deep within him. He wasn’t ready to tell Chimney everything—not yet.

Chimney raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. He took a step further into the room, hands in his pockets. “Tired, huh? I didn’t see you on TMZ, so Eddie kept an eye on you. Did you wind up spending the night with a girl you met at the bar, did you make sure she wasn't married? Or make sure she was over 18?”

Buck’s stomach tightened. He didn’t want to talk about it—not yet, at least. 

His mind raced, and he quickly tried to think of something else to say. “Yeah, no... no girl. I just... needed some time to myself, spent some time walking around the strip, jst alone, you know?” He wasn’t ready to unpack all of it in front of Chimney. He let out a quiet chuckle, trying to brush it off. “Look, I just... I don’t really want to talk right now, and I’m honestly trying to figure some things out.”

Chimney raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing on Buck’s face, clearly unconvinced. “Really? Because last time I checked, you weren’t the ‘spend the night alone’ kind of guy. Are you sure about that? You weren’t... busy with someone?”

Buck almost choked on his own breath. His mind flashed to Eddie—his touch, their kiss, how things had spiraled between them. The last thing he needed was for Chimney to dig deeper. “I just, uh... just going to try and sleep it off,” Buck said, stammering slightly. His hand reached for his phone on the bed, hoping it would distract Chimney. “You know, after the game yesterday. I just needed some quiet.”

Chimney squinted at him, clearly not buying it. “Right. Well, whatever happened, I guess I can’t blame you. But I know you weren’t here last night. Are you sure you didn’t, you know, hook up with some girl? I mean, I don’t kno—”

“No, Chim,” Buck sternly interrupted, trying to steer the conversation away from any more details. He threw himself back fully onto the bed.

He wasn’t ready to talk about what had actually happened. Not with Chimney, not with anyone, at least not yet. Not until he could make sense of it himself. “I didn’t hook up with anyone.”

Chimney observed him momentarily as if he could sense there was more to the story. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “Alright, alright, if you say so. But if you did hook up with someone, that’s your business, but I just want to ensure you’re alright.”

Buck perked his head up to look at Chimney, trying to avoid showing how rattled he felt. “Yeah, Okay? I’m fine. You know I'm not a big talker when I try to clear my head.”

Chimney let the silence sit between them for a moment before he frowned, letting the thought of something happening pop into his head, “Hey, if something happened, you know you can talk to me, right? I know Maddie isn’t here to talk with you, but I am here, I can listen, and I may not say anything as impressive as she does, but I can try.”

Buck gave a short, tight-lipped smile, though the expression felt forced and strained. He could see the concern etched on Chimney's face, and he knew his friend was only looking out for him, but right now, the weight of his thoughts left him at a loss for words. “I know, Chim. I just... I don’t know what to say yet. Maybe later,” he finally managed, his voice trailing off as he stared at the floor, lost in his own mind.

“Alright, alright,” Chimney replied, raising his hands in mock surrender, the corners of his mouth twitching with a teasing grin. “No need to get all cryptic on me. Just promise you won’t go disappearing on me again, alright?”

Buck let out a nervous laugh, trying to break through the heaviness in the air. “Sure, Chim. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to talk. Just… later, alright?”

Chimney’s grin widened, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he backed out of the room. “Don’t keep me in suspense. I wouldn’t want to wait too long to hear what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

Buck waved him off and then sighed as the door closed behind Chim when he left the room. He didn’t know how he was going to handle this, but one thing was clear: Chimney didn’t have a clue about what had happened, and Buck wasn’t ready to share it just yet.

He sat himself up in bed and stared at the door. 

The conversation with Chimney had been a good distraction, but now Buck was left with his thoughts again. 

His mind drifted back to Eddie— how things had shifted so unexpectedly. It felt as if a seismic shift had occurred beneath the surface—a palpable yet unspoken transformation. They hadn’t exchanged words to define what had changed, but the air between them crackled with tension.

What now? Buck wondered, the uncertainty pressing heavily on his chest, tightening like a knot in his stomach, just grappling with a whirlwind of emotions, unsure how to proceed. 

He knew one thing for sure: things were different. That was something he would have to figure out, should he confront the change head-on or let it linger in the uncharted territory of friendship? The path forward felt murky, and each possibility was weighed down by the fear of losing what they had.

A few hours had slipped by since Buck managed to steal a brief nap to nurse the remnants of his hangover. Now, he stood alone in the light of his hotel room, gazing into the mirror. His hand roamed through the tangled mess of his disheveled curls.

Memories from the previous evening flooded his mind, vivid and electric— But as enticing as those thoughts were, there was no luxury of time to indulge them today. The NHL All-Star Game’s Division challenges loomed just a few hours ahead. 

Buck reminded himself that he was a professional athlete bound by his career responsibilities. The thrill of the game awaited him, and the fans, with their hopeful faces, were looking to him to deliver a performance worthy of their enthusiasm. 

He took a long, deep breath, trying to expel the weight pressing down on his chest. He needed to be ready mentally, physically, and emotionally for the game.

Focus, Buck , he thought, taking a moment to look at his reflection. He couldn’t afford to be distracted— The All-Star Game was a responsibility. 

A sharp knock echoed through the quiet of Buck's hotel room, causing his heart to leap unexpectedly in his chest. He took a deep breath, steadying himself before opening the door. To his surprise, there stood Chimney—his teammate, chaperone, captain, and sometimes an insufferable nuisance—with a wide grin plastered across his face that lit up the dim hallway. 

“Hey, Buck! Ready to hit the ice for some more hockey?” Chimney’s enthusiasm was infectious, but Buck felt a twist of unease knotting in his stomach, a lingering shadow of doubt he couldn't quite shake off.

Buck forced a smile, attempting to mask his apprehension. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, though the phrase fell flat in the air between them, his mind kept drifting back to Eddie and the conversation he knew he still needed to have.

Chimney eyed him for a moment, sensing something was off. “You sure? You have that look in your eye like you’re a million miles away. Did the time you spent with yourself not help as you hoped?”

“I’m good,” Buck said quickly, a little too quickly. He forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just trying to get focused, you know?”

Chim shrugged, clearly still not convinced. “Well, whatever it is, you just need to leave it behind.” He slapped Buck on the back, giving him a look of encouragement. “You’ve got this.”

Buck followed as Chimney started down the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them. A part of him wanted to run—to forget everything and just go back to yesterday morning, to the way things were before all of this changed.

But that wasn’t an option. He couldn’t back out now.

He boarded the elevator with Chimney and threw his hands into his pants pockets. 

Buck pulled himself together, forcing himself to focus. 

There was no time to dwell on the uncertainty between him and Eddie. For now, he had to be Buck, the hockey player, not the guy trying to figure out what the hell was happening between him and his friend.

Buck stood in the bustling locker room, surrounded by his Pacific Division teammates as they prepared for the All-Star Game Division Faceoffs. The air was thick with excitement and the scent of sweat and freshly applied liniment. 

As he pulled on his gear, Buck couldn't shake the feeling that it weighed more than usual—maybe it was the heavy padding of his shoulder pads or the thick fabric of his jersey, but he suspected it was more about the turmoil swirling around in his mind. His thoughts were a chaotic whirl, throwing him off balance. 

The chatter and laughter of his teammates faded into the background as he struggled to focus.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. Not now.

The arena was buzzing with energy, the roar of the crowd already palpable, even though the game hadn’t started yet. 

Buck had always thrived under pressure, but after last night and this morning, it was apparent that it felt different. About Eddie, about what was left unsaid.

When it was time to step onto the ice, Buck tried to block everything out—focused on the game, the rush of skating, the crowd, and the puck. He needed this. He needed the clarity that came with the game. But every time he looked up, his mind drifted back to Eddie—to the kiss, to the confusion, to the emotions now tied to something deeper than friendship.

The bright lights of the arena above Buck’s head flicker as he skates onto the ice, the roar of the crowd echoing in his ears. It may have been his 4th time, but it was still surreal. 

The NHL All-Star Game should be a moment of pure celebration, but right now, all Buck can focus on is the gnawing tension deep in his chest.

Buck takes a quick glance at the bench where the ‘Central Division’ team is seated. He can see Eddie on the bench, leaning forward casually with his eyes fixed on the ice, his Chen resting on his arms as his fingers tap on the boards absentmindedly. 

Buck's stomach tightens, a leaden sensation weighing him down like a heavy stone lodged deep in him. The pressure is almost unbearable, twisting in knots as anticipation builds. 

He leans forward on his stick, eager yet anxious, positioned right in the wing of Connor McDavid. The crowd fades into a dull roar around him as he focuses intently, waiting for the unmistakable sound of the puck being dropped.

He can’t avoid the fact that they know what happened. It wasn’t just the wild mess of a drunken mistake. No, this felt different. More intense. And now, here he was, on the ice, trying to keep his mind on the puck, on the plays, on anything but the memory of Eddie’s skin against his, the way Eddie had looked at him…

Buck was slow to react once the puck dropped, and his breath came in shallow bursts as he raced to the play with his teammates, the sound of his skates slicing the ice almost deafening in his ears. He tries to focus on the game, his role on the ice, the crowd’s energy pushing him forward. But the image of Eddie’s face—quiet, intense, and so close to his the night before—keeps resurfacing, distracting him.

The puck passes his way, and he snags it, effortlessly taking a shot at the goal, but his timing is off. The shot sails wide; you can hear it hit against the boards from the strength of his shot. He can listen to the coach’s voice faintly from the bench, but Buck doesn’t respond. His mind is elsewhere, tangled in the mix of guilt, confusion, and something undeniably new that he doesn’t know how to handle.

He wonders if Eddie feels it too or if he’s just as confused, just as rattled by the events of last night. But looking at him now, Eddie seems… so composed, so at ease, like none of it ever happened. 

Maybe he’s over it already. 

Maybe Buck’s the only one still struggling with the fallout.

The game goes on, but Buck’s head stays spinning. He passes the puck to a teammate, his eyes flickering back to Eddie, watching how he glides across the ice with effortless grace and how his smile lights up when he scores.

But then it hits him: the real question isn’t about the game but what he’s supposed to do now. Can he just keep playing the part of a conference rival, the part of a friend, while all this swirls underneath? Or has something shifted that he can’t ignore?

As the game progresses, Buck tries to find some balance, a way to push his feelings away long enough to focus on the game. All he can do is skate, play, and pretend everything is fine. But inside, there’s a storm, only growing stronger.

The bright lights of the arena blur as Eddie skates effortlessly across the ice, his movements smooth and deliberate—exactly how they should be. He’s in the zone, or at least, that’s what he tells himself. The crowd’s roar, the noise of the game—it all fades into the background as he glides through it, the game’s rhythm dictating every move, every play.

But no matter how fast the game moves or how many passes or shots he makes, there’s an undercurrent that he can’t shake. 

Buck.

The night before.

He can feel its weight but knows better than to let it show. That’s the trick, isn’t it? Bottling it up and pushing it down until it’s buried so deep that it doesn’t exist anymore. That’s how he’s always done it—quiet, controlled, unbothered. And he’s good at it.

But even as he focuses on the puck and his body moves on autopilot, his mind is still right there. In the hotel room. The taste of alcohol on Buck’s lips, the heat of his skin against his own. It’s still there, a low hum that won’t stop, no matter how much Eddie tries to shove it away.

He catches sight of Buck on the ice again, and just for a moment, their eyes meet. Eddie forces himself to look away, skimming his gaze across the rink. His chest tightens. It’s all so simple, yet so complicated now. There’s no way Buck didn’t feel it. No way he could’ve felt nothing. But Eddie knows this—whatever’s been stirred up, whatever’s hanging between them, it’s something he has to keep in check. 

He’s been trained for this. Control. Discipline. That’s all there is.

The puck comes his way, and instinct kicks in. He takes the shot, but it’s off and rings off the goal post. The ring was loud enough to pull him back to reality— the game. 

Right. 

The game.

The distractions can wait. 

He’ll deal with them later. 

He always does.

But damn it, it’s hard.

Eddie feels the familiar pull of frustration—frustration at himself for being in this position in the first place, frustration that nothing is simple anymore. He’s good at hiding it—he’s always been good at hiding things—but there’s only so long he can keep pretending it doesn’t bother him.

Whatever this is, whatever happened last night—it stays locked up.

He forces himself to smile, to laugh when one of his teammates cracks a joke, to keep the mood light. He does his best to pretend like nothing is wrong, even though everything feels wrong. His hands grip his stick tighter.

Every time his eyes flicker toward Buck and their paths cross on the ice, the floodgates threaten to crack open.

The game is still going, and Eddie’s body responds without thinking, without hesitation. He’s playing well; his passes are crisp, and his shots precise. 

But with each shift, his mind drifts back to the quiet tension between them.

He’s been on the ice with Buck a thousand times before, but this time, he’s not just playing with a Conference Rival— now he’s trying to hide what feels like an entire universe of emotions inside himself.

Eddie keeps his face neutral, his jaw tight, pretending everything is fine. It’s a skill he’s honed over years of playing in the NHL. 

The world doesn’t need to see what’s happening inside his head. They don't need to know that his chest is tight, that his heart is beating too fast, that his mind is a tangle of regret and something more—a pull that he’s not sure how to explain, let alone act on.

But every time they make eye contact and Buck skates past him, Eddie shakes his head slightly, trying to push the thoughts away. 

Focus, he tells himself. Just focus on the game.

Finally, the whistle blows, signaling a short break. Eddie coasts toward the bench, his muscles tight, his mind a mess. He’s sweating—not just from the game but from the constant battle raging inside him. He sits beside his teammates, forcing himself to relax and breathe. He laughs at something a teammate says, the sound coming out a little too loud, too forced.

But no one notices. No one ever does.

His eyes flick toward Buck again, and this time, Buck catches his gaze. Eddie’s chest tightens, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he looks away quickly, pretending to focus on his water bottle, his hands suddenly clammy. He feels stupid. He feels like a damn fool.

He knows he’s supposed to be the composed one. The one who never shows his cards. The one who’s always in control. But his usual sense of control is slipping, bit by bit, and it scares him.

What scares him is the thought that maybe Buck doesn’t even care. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him.

Eddie tries to remind himself that it was just a mistake, a fluke, something that doesn’t have to change anything between them. 

It wasn’t a mistake. It couldn’t have been.

The buzzer sounds, and the game resumes. Eddie shakes his head as if trying to clear the thoughts clouding his mind.

He knows that he’ll have to deal with this in his own time. When the game’s over. When the cameras aren’t rolling, and the crowds aren’t watching. He’ll have to confront what happened. 

What he feels. 

What they feel?

Until then, Eddie does what he does best: he buries it deep down, far enough to keep playing, keep pretending that everything is fine.

The rest of the game passes in a blur, his movements automatic, his focus honed on nothing but the next shift, the next play. But even as he makes the final shot, securing a goal and a victory for the Central Division, the storm inside him doesn’t settle. It lingers, building, waiting for the moment when it’ll break free.

When the game ends, the applause fades, and the players begin to peel off the ice. Eddie is unsure if he’s ready to face the truth or Buck.

But one thing’s for sure— he can’t keep pretending forever.

Chapter Text

The arena has emptied; its once boisterous energy now faded, leaving only the distant reverberations of the final buzzer hanging in the air like an echo. His team may have suffered a loss, but the disappointment barely scratches the surface of the turmoil that gnaws at his insides.

He knows he played well.

On the ice, Buck felt sharp, as sharp as a blade’s edge, a necessary intensity coursing through him with every stride. He had to be that way, focused and precise.  He should feel a sense of pride, yet it feels washed away and overshadowed.

But off the ice? The tension from the previous night clung to him like a stubborn itch he couldn't scratch, intensifying with every moment that the game ended and reality set in.

Thoughts of last night replay in his mind like a haunting melody, refusing to fade, and Buck wrestles with it, desperately seeking a way to make sense of what happened and what it all means.

He stood in the locker room, his jersey discarded and his gear still strapped on, the heavy pads weighing him down like a second skin. Around him, his teammates bantered and laughed, sharing the camaraderie of victory. He was present, yet somehow distant, as if he were watching the scene unfold from behind a glass wall.

His mind drifted back to the ice, to Eddie's expression—an enigma of indifference. It was as though Eddie had mastered the art of appearing unaffected, concealing whatever lingered beneath the surface. 

Buck couldn't shake the impression that it mattered to him, perhaps more than he had dared to admit.

But what did that mean? Was last night, with all its messy feelings and fleeting moments, just a passing encounter for Eddie? A brief fling between two guys caught up in the chaos of the city, fueled by too much alcohol and a shared thrill? 

He felt an undeniable urge to reach out, to bridge the unspoken gap between them, but the paralyzing fear of rejection gnawed away at him. 

Buck quickly shoved the thought aside, too well-acquainted with the sting of vulnerability, fighting to keep his emotions in check even as they swirled dangerously close to the surface.

“Hey, good game, Buck,” Chimney said, clapping him firmly on the back, pulling Buck out of the spiral of his thoughts. The warmth of camaraderie was palpable in the bustling locker room, but it felt distant to Buck, like a hazy memory.

Buck forced a smile, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to mask the overwhelming swell of emotion inside him. “Yeah, it was a close one. I wish we hadn’t had that turnover late in the third; it really could have gone to OT for fun, just like what happened with Metro and Atlantic.” His voice rang with practiced lightness, but deep down, he sensed the act was wearing thin. This performance was becoming familiar, a mask he often donned in moments like these.

As teammates began to filter out of the locker room, laughter and chatter echoing behind them, the feeling of isolation enveloped him like a heavy cloak. 

Watching the last of his fellow players leave, Buck stood in front of the locker room mirror, his reflection staring back at him. He took a moment to search his own eyes, feeling the emptiness reflected there. He didn’t even know why he was lingering—there was nothing left to stay for, no one waiting to share a post-game analysis or a celebratory drink. The space felt stark and heavy, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts and the weight of unspoken disappointment.

He knows Eddie’s not going to be in the hallway waiting for him. He hasn’t seen him since the game ended. 

Maybe he’s already gone. 

And maybe that’s for the best.

Buck steps out into the tiled and lit hallway, starkly contrasting with the buzzing energy of the just-concluded game. 

Buck shakes his head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He mutters a curse under his breath, a futile attempt to clear the fog swirling in his head. He’s usually good at compartmentalizing, putting things away in neat little boxes, and locking them away so that he doesn’t have to deal with it. But this? This feeling? It was different and not so easy to ignore.

He finishes changing out of his gear and into his pre-game attire, slipping on his tailored suit jacket as he walks out of the locker room. He steps into the cool air of the corridor, but it does little to temper the fire simmering in his chest. The game may be over, but the real battle is just beginning for Buck.

He grapples with uncertainty, each step echoing softly against the polished floor. He isn’t entirely sure where this path might lead him. He’s honestly not sure if he should even want it to go anywhere. 

Yet, as he traverses the silent corridor, he can’t shake a whisper from within, persistent and clear: you can’t pretend it didn’t matter.

And for once, he’s not so sure he wants to.

After the win, the locker room erupts into a chaotic symphony of cheers and laughter. The air is electric, filled with the sounds of clapping, boisterous high-fives, and animated chatter as players revel in their hard-earned victory. 

Yet amidst the celebration, Eddie feels an unsettling heaviness in his chest that dulls the thrill of success. 

He has always excelled at hiding his true feelings and maintaining a facade. 

This talent for masking his emotions was especially true in his tumultuous relationship with his late wife, Shannon. 

Their relationship often teetered on the edge of collapse, with arguments echoing long into the night and the weight of silent resentments festering beneath the surface. Despite the countless close calls with divorce, Eddie kept forging ahead; he continued to put on a brave face, convincing himself that they could make it work, driven by the hope that they could mend what was broken. Deep inside, he understood that their relationship was not conducive to his well-being and, perhaps more critically, for Chris, their young son, who found himself caught in the crossfire of their struggles.

Eddie had been raised under the looming shadow of his parent's expectations, which instilled a rigid sense of duty in him. Because of them, he felt unwavering pressure to embody the role of the 'man of the house,' sacrificing his own needs to support his family, regardless of the personal and emotional toll that grew heavier with each passing day. 

He longed for the exhilarating freedom of authenticity, wishing to express his true self rather than be shackled by the weight of his responsibilities of being the stoic figure his family and teammates admired.

As he moved through the sea of celebratory chaos, the applause and congratulations from his teammates washed over him like waves, yet they felt hollow. The one person he yearned to share this moment with—the individual he truly needed to talk to—was sequestered in a different locker room, on the other side of a painful loss. 

Reminding Eddie, while navigating his way to the locker room alongside his teammates, post-win, he caught Buck gliding toward him. He remained silent, as Buck’s expression was unreadable, his emotions obscured beneath the surface. However, as he raised his gloved fist for a casual fist bump, their eyes locked in a fleeting exchange, a brief moment of understanding. The gesture, simplicity wrapped in familiarity, felt laden with an unspoken connection during that charged moment. 

As the locker room settles into a quiet hum, some players start filtering out, their laughter and chatter fading into the distance. 

Eddie stood shirtless by his stall; his Hockey shorts, socks, and jock were still on. His phone is in his hand, and his fingers idly scroll through it, yet the screen remains a blur as his mind drifts far from the post-game analysis.

With a sigh, he puts his phone on the top shelf of the stall and fumbles as he starts to finish taking off his gear, the movements of undressing becoming a mechanical routine that offers no solace.

The vibrant energy of victory feels hollow when the weight of unspoken words lingers beneath the surface. Buck is not even here—he’s across the building, nursing the sting of a disappointing loss with his teammates. 

The thought deepens Eddie's unease.

As Eddie settled onto the bench in the stall, he slowly peeled off his padded shorts, his fingers trembling slightly as they tugged at the fabric. With each reluctant pull, the discomfort intensified, a nagging reminder of the pressure he constantly wrestled with. 

He took a deep breath, attempting to center his thoughts and push aside the rising tide of anxiety. A familiar voice sliced through his swirling emotions, snapping him back to the present and grounding him in the moment.

Roman Josi, captain of the Nashville Predators, approached Eddie with an easy confidence that radiated warmth and camaraderie. He clapped Eddie on the back, a gesture that felt genuine in the atmosphere. “Good game, Eddie! That was a smooth goal in the third,” Roman said, his voice rich with encouragement, echoing the thrill of competition.

Eddie's lips curled into a smile, but beneath that facade, it felt forced—a mask carefully crafted. “Oh yeah, you too; your goal in the second was so clean,” he replied, his tone casual, almost rehearsed.

His eyes flickered toward the door, a silent longing to slip away, to escape the increasingly suffocating environment where camaraderie felt like a heavy shroud rather than a comforting blanket. The noise of celebratory chatter and clanging equipment seemed to amplify his feeling of isolation, and he yearned for a moment of solitude.

He quickly puts on his pre-game outfit: grey pin-striped tailored slacks, brown leather shoes, and a white button-up shirt. Stuffing his gear into a duffel bag, he reminds himself to leave it behind for tomorrow's Finals game, lightening his load for the night at the hotel. He feels slightly relieved, realizing he won’t need to worry about it tonight.

As he zips up the duffel, then with another sigh, he braces himself, stepping into the world beyond the locker room’s comforting walls, knowing he must soon face Buck's lingering thoughts.

His phone buzzes insistently in his pocket, pulling him back to reality. He glances down, half-hoping, half-dreading who might be reaching out.

It’s a text from Carla —a friendly reminder about his dinner reservation with Chris— the routine echoes in his mind, a stark contrast to the chaos of his emotions.

The message reads:
Carla: Dinner at 7. Are you still going to be able to make it

Eddie sighed, looking at his watch, realizing he was cutting it close. It was already 6:45, and he knew the restaurant had to be about a 20-minute walk from the arena once he reached the door to the outside. 

Now, he has to switch gears. He’s a dad. His son’s waiting for him. No more time to brood. It’s time to put on that other face—the one that always shows up for Chris.

He quickly replies:
Eddie: Leaving the arena now, sorry! I will be there as fast as I can.

As he makes his way toward the exit, he can feel the lingering tension coursing through him, a residue of the game he just played and the unresolved conflict hanging in the air. He knows all too well that he can't afford to be sidetracked at this moment. 

As he starts the walk, he begins to bend his neck, pop the tense muscles, and let out a small huff to release the tightness in his body. He rotates his arms, trying to shake off the weight of the moment, each movement meant to restore some sense of ease. With every small crack and stretch, he hopes to cast aside the burdens of the day, if only for a few fleeting moments.

The walk to Chris’s chosen restaurant for their dinner feels long, but as he stands outside, he takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, pushing back all the questions in his head. 

He can’t be this guy—not tonight, not with Chris.

When Eddie steps into the cozy restaurant, the welcoming warmth envelops him. The soft hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes create a comforting yet foreign backdrop. 

Before a hostess can help him, his eyes quickly find Chris, who is nestled into a booth, his backpack casually sitting on the seat next to him. Chris is absorbed in his phone, a faint smile dancing on his lips as he scrolls through whatever has captured his attention. Directly across from him sits Carla, her animated gestures momentarily pulling Chris’s focus away from the screen he was preoccupied with.

Carla’s eyes light up as she spots Eddie entering, and she waves enthusiastically. A genuine smile breaks across his face, warming him from within. Despite the swirling in his mind—worries that threaten to spill over—he finds solace in Chris's presence, the anchor that keeps him grounded amidst the chaos all around him.

“Hey, Mijo,” Eddie calls out to Chris as he strides to the booth. He is determined to keep his voice steady and maintain a smile that feels necessary and fragile.

Carla rises gracefully from her seat, giving Eddie a knowing look. “I’ll let you two have your little one-on-one man-time. I’m heading back to the hotel for a little rest and relaxation,” she says, her tone light yet tinged with affection.

“Thank you, Carla, like times a million,” Eddie replies sincerely, pulling her into a warm embrace. The hug feels reassuring, a brief moment of connection that steadies him even more. “You have been a lifesaver on this trip.”

“Oh, it’s nothing! I love my Diaz boys—you two are the best,” she responds, her voice brightening the space around her as she starts to walk away. “Be safe, you two!” 

With that, Carla headed towards the restaurant exit, her presence fading but the warmth of her sentiment lingering in the air. Eddie watched her go, a sense of comfort washing over him before returning to his son Chris, prepared to dive into whatever conversation awaited them.

Eddie slid into the booth where Carla had just been, a broad smile spreading across his face. He leaned forward, eager to connect with Chris, “So, how’s your day been?” Eddie asked. “Did you enjoy the game?”

Chris looked up from the colorful menu that lay before him, his face illuminated by an infectious grin that radiated pure excitement. “Doing pretty good! You wouldn’t believe how many kids at school were buzzing about the game today. They were all talking about how cool it is that my dad is playing in the All-Star Game. Honestly, I think they’re a bit jealous that I get to see it all unfold in person.”

Eddie chuckled, a sense of warmth and pride swelling in his chest. “Yeah? Did you remind them that your old man is still a pretty good hockey player?”

Chris rolled his eyes dramatically, a playful smirk curling his lips as he leaned back in his chair. “I think I might have dropped that little nugget of info once or twice,” he replied, clearly savoring the moment. “Especially about that game-winning goal you scored tonight! The way the crowd erupted when you made that shot was something else.”

“Well, let’s see if we can pull off another win for the Central Division against the Metro tomorrow,” Eddie replied, his tone light but competitive.

Chris leaned across the table, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re going up against Crosby, though. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Eddie met his son’s playful gaze with a grin. “Hey now, we managed to take down McDavid in the third period in this game, so I guess we’ll just have to see what happens,” he retorted, a twinkle of confidence in his eyes.

As Eddie settled back into the booth, he felt the familiar weight of the day’s pressures begin to lift. 

At this moment, with his son across from him, he made a conscious effort to soak in every detail of their time together—the sound of laughter in the restaurant, the smell of food all around them, and the undeniable bond they shared. 

His responsibilities and worries could wait; Chris deserved his full attention right now. 

As the aroma of prepared dishes wafted through the air, the dinner table buzzed with conversation. 

Chris's enthusiasm was notable, and he animatedly delved into the depths of the research project he was undertaking for school. His eyes sparkled with passion as he discussed the complexities of nuclear energy, talking about its historical evolution, exploring its potential role in combating climate change, and the associated ethical dilemmas and safety concerns.

Sitting across the table, Eddie listened intently, striving to remain engaged in the discussion. He nodded along to Chris's insights, remembering the topic of his research paper —the question of ‘whether the United States should increase its reliance on nuclear power’— was beginning to dull his senses. 

Though he appreciated Chris's enthusiasm and the importance of the subject, the dense details and technical terminology sometimes made it hard for him to follow, leading to a faint glaze over his eyes as he fought to focus on his son’s animated explanation.

A nagging part of Eddie’s thoughts keeps drifting back to Buck despite Chris's enthusiasm. After all, he keeps reminding himself it was just a mistake—something that shouldn’t have the power to distract him like this. 

He runs a hand through his hair, fighting the frustration that bubbles beneath the surface as he refocuses on Chris’s words. When Eddie sees Chris’s face, which is full of warmth and life, he shakes off the lingering doubt. 

Chris doesn’t need him distracted or to be confused over some guy who also happens to be one of his son’s favorite hockey players. 

So, Eddie smiles at his son, focuses on the conversation, and pushes everything else aside, if only for a little while.

The dinner unfolds comfortably; Chris animatedly shares stories about his friends, his eyes lighting up as he recounts their latest adventures. 

Eddie did his utmost to keep pace with the lively anecdotes. He nods appreciatively, offers encouraging smiles, and laughs at all the right moments, trying to match Chris's enthusiasm. With each story, he feels a growing sense of confidence. Chris talks about how his friend Andrew broke his leg playing soccer. Eddie recalls Andrew vividly —a friend from the sleepover last summer during Chris’s birthday party who spilled a whole gallon of milk the following day trying to make cereal. As Eddie reflects, he finds himself mentally trying to catalog the names and faces, slowly mastering the art of remembering who fits where in Chris’s vibrant social circle.

Eddie watches Chris, looking back at him with those eager eyes, sharing every little detail of his life like the world revolves around it. For a moment, he almost forgets the weight of his own heart. 

Almost.

As they finish their dinner, the sounds of laughter and clinking cutlery fade into the background. Chris leans back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. “I can’t wait to head back to the hotel and dive into my Switch,” he says, excitement sparkling in his eyes. 

Eddie chuckled softly, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he considered playfully teasing Chris about his unwavering gaming obsession. 

After settling the dinner bill, they gathered their belongings and stepped out into the crisp evening air, the city lights flickering like stars against the night sky.

As they strolled along the bustling sidewalk, Eddie couldn’t help but notice how Chris hurriedly maneuvered with his crutches, each step a testament to his determination. The teenager was eager, his pace quickening, making Eddie's protective instincts kick in. “Hey, slow down a bit, buddy,” he called out, concern creeping into his tone. Despite knowing that Chris had cerebral palsy, Eddie was always torn between wanting to ensure his son’s safety and acknowledging the independence he was so eager to claim. He had to remind himself that Chris was a teenager now, capable of so much on his own, even if it sometimes felt difficult to let go.

When they finally reached Chris’s hotel room, Eddie pulled him into a warm embrace, making a point to savor the moment. He offered Chris a smile that, despite appearing cheerful, didn’t quite reach the depths of his eyes. “Good night, Mijo. Sleep tight,” he said softly, kissing the top of Chris’s head. The gesture blended warmth with a father’s underlying love and worry.

“Goodnight, Dad!” Chris replied, his voice bright with excitement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll definitely be wearing my Diaz jersey!” His enthusiasm was palpable as he slipped the key card into the door lock.

Eddie chuckled, shoving his hands deep into his pants pockets as he watched his son. “Third day in a row? You must really be riding that wave of good luck, huh?” he teased.

Chris turned, beaming with an infectious smile that lit up the entire hallway. “Just for you, Dad. I know how much it means,” he said, his tone brimming with sincerity.

As Eddie watched Chris disappear into his room, a sense of warmth flooded his chest. This comforting feeling mingled with the pang of longing he felt as a father trying to strike the perfect balance between support and autonomy. 

He turned, taking a moment to absorb the hallway before making his way back to the elevator, pondering the fleeting nature of these moments as he ascended to his hotel room.

Eddie stepped into the dimly lit hallway and leaned against the cool door of his hotel room, his heart racing as he fumbled with his key card. 

The mundane sound of his footsteps echoed around him, but a familiar rhythm approaching made his chest tighten anxiously. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was; Buck had a way of invading his thoughts even before he appeared.  

Buck strolled over, his cocky grin lighting up his face like the neon signs outside. Eddie could feel the warmth radiating from Buck's body as he leaned against the wall beside him. The faint, lingering smell of alcohol wafted in the air, a clear sign that Buck may have drowned too enthusiastically in the sorrows of his team's loss.  

“Hey,” Buck said, his voice casual, “Good game, Eddie. You guys really earned it tonight.”  

Eddie fought to keep his expression neutral, suppressing the wave of warmth that surged at the compliment. “Yeah, thanks. You guys played well, too,” he replied, forcing his gaze away as he scanned the card, the soft beep signaling his passage into the sanctuary of his room. The door clicked open with an almost finality, a barrier against the world—and Buck.  

Buck shifted slightly, an expectant look in his eyes. “So, I’ll see you around?” he asked, the casual tone belying the tension that hung between them.  

“Yeah,” Eddie managed to say, his voice thicker than he intended, trying desperately to mask the disappointment that threatened to spill forth. “Later.”  

As Buck turned to walk away, Eddie felt an instinctive pull to linger just a moment longer to imprint the scene in his mind. His gaze trailed after Buck, watching the familiar figure retreat down the hallway. He held onto that sight for a second too long before he finally wrenched himself away, closing the door softly behind him. The weight of the moment settled heavily in the silence that enveloped him.

He wants to follow him. He wants to know why everything feels so wrong and unfinished.

The silence between them feels like its own answer.

With a deep breath, Eddie enters his room. 

He’s not going to chase Buck down. He’s not going to break the silence. 

Not now, at least.

Eddie closes the door behind him, leaning back against it for a moment. The quiet of the room feels foreign, too still after the adrenaline of the game, dinner with his son, and the brief exchange with Buck. 

He rubs a hand over his face, trying to shake off the weight of his thoughts. 

He should just let it go. 

Buck’s probably just being Buck—too charming, too carefree, never wanting to acknowledge the tension that’s been building between them.

But the feeling lingers.

As he walks towards the bed, he takes his wallet and phones out of his pockets and sets them on the side table before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He runs his fingers through his hair. 

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, and he picks it up, half-expecting a message from Buck. 

But no, it’s just a reminder of something he’d forgotten—another obligation, something else to distract him from what he really wants to think about. Still, he can’t help but glance at his contacts, his finger hovering over Buck’s name.

“What if?”

Eddie shakes his head. This isn’t the time. But the question still burns at the back of his mind, pulling at him.

The silence in the room presses down again —heavy, suffocating— like he’s standing in a room surrounded by fire, and all he is breathing in is the rough smoke.

“What if I just sent the damn text?” he mutters under his breath, his gaze locked onto the glowing screen of his phone as if it holds the answers to all his questions. 

He reluctantly returns the phone to the side table with a heavy sigh. It is face-up, reflecting his conflicted thoughts.

His hand still hasn’t left the phone as he absent-mindedly traces the edge of the device with his fingers, yearning for the clarity he desperately needs. Should he reach out, or is it better to let things unfold naturally? Perhaps, just perhaps, this is one of those moments where he must step back and allow the situation to evolve on its own without the weight of his expectations looming over it. 

The minutes stretch on, each one feeling like an eternity, as he tries to find the patience to wait. But as the minutes tick by, his thoughts drift back to Buck—his words, his smile, the way his presence always seems to fill the space around Eddie.

There’s something there. 

The question lingers in Eddie's mind: how long can they keep pretending that it doesn’t matter? Just 24 hours after it happened, he wonders if this feeling of unease will gradually consume him or if he’ll find a way to move past it. 

He picks up his phone again, fingers poised over the screen as if hesitating at the edge of a diving board. His thumb grazes Buck’s name, but it pauses, hovering there longer than necessary as if searching for the courage to move forward. 

The weight of their impending conversation looms heavily over him like an uninvited shadow. 

The thought of ‘what if he brushes it off’ clenches his chest tighter than the adrenaline rush he felt during the game. It's a deeper, more troubling pain, an itch he can’t scratch.

In an attempt to distract himself, he swipes through Twitter, now rebranded as X —a sea of posts that feel increasingly hollow and devoid of meaning. Nothing captures his attention or stirs his emotions. 

He quickly flicks through the photos from the game: beaming faces, enthusiastic high-fives. As each image sparks a memory, a sense of emptiness settles in. 

Why is this so hard? 

With a deep breath, he redirects his attention back to the contact list, his finger hovering almost reverently over Buck’s name, struggling to summon the resolve to reach out finally.

Eddie pressed his lips together, staring at the screen. He then pressed “message” and typed a simple, casual word. 

Unsent: Hey

He stopped, erasing it with a frustrated swipe. 

No, that’s not what he wants to say. No, that’s not what he needs to say.

His fingers hover again, and the words start to form. He types, "You good?" but his breath catches in his throat before he can press send. He’s not just asking if Buck is okay. He’s asking something deeper. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. His heart is beating a little faster now, and the temptation to send something more vulnerable—something real—feels like it might spill out of him if he doesn’t stop.

He’s terrified of what might happen if he sends a text. 

Terrified of what Buck might say—or worse, what he might not say. 

This could be the end of whatever fragile connection they have, and Eddie knows he might not be able to handle it.

So, he sets the phone down again.

He takes a deep breath and stands up, pacing across the room. He runs a hand over his face, trying to clear the fog in his mind.

But he can’t stop thinking about it.

He picks up the phone again.

“What’s the worst that could happen?" he murmurs as if attempting to keep his thoughts secret despite being alone.

It's just a simple message—merely a question that weighs heavily in the air. 

Eddie sits on the edge of his bed, the soft glow of his phone illuminating his face in the dim light of the room.  

He knows he has a choice: he can let this silence linger, allowing it to deepen the chasm of uncertainty between them, or he can dare to break it. Making the first move feels monumental, a leap into the unknown that could either bring clarity or leave him blinded by regret. 

Deep down, he senses that if anything is to change, it should start with him. 

 He begins to type with a sudden, deep breath that seems to fill his lungs with courage. 

The words form slowly, pacing his racing heart:
Unsent: Should we talk about last night, Buck?

The weight of those words hung in the air. 

His thumb hovers over the "Send" button, a small but powerful gateway to a conversation that could change everything.

He stares at the message, his mind racing with possibilities— but minutes slip away, stretching into what feels like an eternity as he wrestles with his hesitation. The phone sits heavy in his hand, and he sets it down on the bedside table with a defeated sigh. Again, he decides against sending it. 

He leans back onto the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and waits, caught in the limbo of anxious anticipation and fearful indecision. 

What if Buck doesn’t respond the way Eddie hopes? 

He knows this is a moment he wouldn’t be able to undo; the words would be out there, simmering in the space between them, and he wouldn’t be able to take them back. 

Yet, uncertainty gnaws at him. Is he truly ready to face whatever may come from this moment?

So, he waits. 

Just one more day, perhaps.

Eddie sits up and looks back at his phone as his thumb hovers nervously over the screen again. This time, he doesn’t erase the message he’s typed. Instead, he stared at it, and the question felt loaded, like a gun resting precariously on the edge of a table. 

He knows exactly what happened between them. 

Each moment replays vividly in his mind, sweet yet terrifying.

But how does he even begin to talk about it? The tangled knots of his feelings twist tighter in his stomach. How does he ask Buck what exactly this connection is when he still grapples with understanding it himself? 

“Are we friends, or are we more than that?” Eddie mutters into the silence of his room, the words echoing back to him. The question claws at him, louder and more insistent than it did before, demanding an answer he’s not sure he’s ready to confront.

Eddie rubbed his face with his hand and stood up, pacing again after placing the phone on the bed. 

All he can think about is the silence between them; it is unbearable, and he feels like drowning in it.

He looks down at the screen, the flashing text cursor blinking back at him, still taunting him. 

It would be so easy to send the message, get it out in the open, and hear Buck’s voice again, even if it’s just in a text. 

It feels so risky. 

But the risk may be worth it. Maybe he’s just been too scared to admit that he needs something more than what he’s had.

Eddie deletes his previous words and types again, this time with more intent:
Eddie: What do you think we are, Buck?

The words feel heavy, but they’re true. He doesn’t want to keep pretending anymore, unsure of where they stand, circling each other in this gray area of friendship and something else. 

Something Eddie hasn’t been brave enough to name until now.

He stares at the message, at the blinking cursor, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to wait. 

He wants to know. 

He needs to know.

With a deep breath, he presses “Send.”

As soon as the message is on its way, he holds his breath, and his heart stops for a second, waiting. 

He throws the phone onto his bed, steps back, and tries to breathe through the feeling in his chest. 

He’s done it now. 

The silence is gone. 

The waiting is over.

The moment stretches infinitely, and the minutes crawl by like molasses.

Eddie wanders backward, ultimately leaning against the cool glass of the wind. His gaze locked onto the phone as if it might explode and propel him into the open air, releasing him from the tension coiling within. 

He can’t silence the whirlwind of anxious energy swirling inside him. “Did I push too hard?” he whispers to himself, his voice barely rising above the stillness of the room. 

Finally, the phone vibrates.

Eddie’s heart leaps in his chest, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through him. He steps away from the window and moves toward the bed, almost reluctantly reaching for the phone as if it holds the potential to burn him. His fingers tremble slightly, a physical manifestation of his mounting anxiety, as he picks it up and checks the screen.

It’s a message from Buck. 

Anxiety mounts as he reads the words—a single line composed of just three words:
Buck: I don’t know.

The simplicity of the message is deafening, echoing the uncertainty hanging thick in the air. 

This was not what he expected. He stared at the words for a long moment, trying to understand them: " I don’t know ."

Buck doesn’t know. 

It’s not rejection, not yet. But it’s not reassurance, either. It’s just… uncertainty.

Eddie feels something rise in his chest, part frustration and part hope. 

He thought Buck was always so sure of himself—so confident. But this… this is different. This is something neither of them have been willing to talk about.

Buck doesn’t know. 

But maybe that means he’s still figuring it out, and maybe Buck is as confused as he is.

After a few seconds, another message pops up. Eddie’s fingers curl tighter around the phone as he reads it:

Buck: I think I’m more scared of not knowing than I am of figuring it out with you.

There it is. The truth is finally spilling out. Buck isn’t running away from this. He’s just afraid. Just like Eddie.

Eddie types quickly:
Eddie: Me too.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. 

But they can figure this out. 

Together.

Before Eddie can type out a reply, another one comes almost instantly:
Buck: Maybe we don’t have to know everything right now. Maybe we just take it one step at a time.

One step at a time, and that’s enough for now.

Buck stepped out of the sobering shower, feeling the cool air of the bathroom against his damp skin. He swiftly grabbed a towel and wrapped it securely around his waist. He moved to the fogged-up mirror with a small hand towel, wiping away the condensation to reveal his reflection. 

As he began to scrunch the curls of his short hair, coaxing them into their natural shape, a sudden ‘ding’ echoed in the quiet room, slicing through the comfortable silence. His phone lay on the counter, its screen lighting up to signal a new message. For a moment, he hesitated, the anticipation tinged with a flutter of nerves.

Setting the towel aside, Buck leaned forward to grab his phone, his heart racing at the sight of Eddie’s name flashing on the screen. The notification indicated he had one new text message, and Buck felt a pang of curiosity mixed with a hint of anxiety.

He opened the message and the question that glared back at him 

Eddie: What do you think we are, Buck?

The words hung heavily in the air, too complex to summarize into a simple label. It was loaded, and a part of him wanted to respond with a casual “just friends,” but he knew that wouldn’t capture the truth of what he felt or the bond they had begun to forge. 

The uncertainty loomed, mingling with the steam still lingering in the air, and Buck found himself momentarily lost in thought, contemplating the depth of their connection.

Staring at the screen, watching the blinking cursor as if it were taunting him, a silent reminder of the weight of the words yet to come. Fingers hover above the keyboard as he types and deletes a few half-hearted attempts at crafting the perfect message. Frustration builds within him, and each deleted line echoes his uncertainty. 

“What the hell do I even say?” he mutters under his breath, frustration lacing his voice. He pushes open the bathroom door and steps into the hotel room.

Pausing momentarily, he glances out the window as if searching for inspiration in the bustling world outside. Neon lights stream through the glass. Despite the vibrant scene below—a city alive with movement and energy—his thoughts are a tangled mess, mirroring the chaos within him.

Each word that comes to mind feels inadequate, leaving him more lost. He takes a deep breath, hoping clarity will come, but instead, he finds himself trapped in a cycle of self-doubt. 

He understands the unspoken question behind Eddie’s words, the weight of what’s been brewing between them for weeks, perhaps even months. It’s an awareness that both excites and terrifies him.

Buck has always struggled with uncertainty. Instead, to hide it, he maintains a facade of light-heartedness, deflecting deeper emotions with humor and banter. It’s a defense mechanism he’s honed over the years, a way to keep others at a distance where it feels safe and predictable.

But now, faced with the prospect of vulnerability, he feels the familiar tension gather in his chest. The deep breath he takes doesn’t fully alleviate the rush of thoughts and emotions swirling around inside him. 

With trembling fingers, he types out a response, his heart pounding as he sends the simple yet heavy message.  
Buck: I don’t know.

It’s the honest answer; he’s unsure if it’s what Eddie wants to hear, but it’s the truth.

Time feels like it's stretching out, making seconds feel like hours.

He anticipates that Eddie will pull away, just like he always does. He’s familiar with this pattern; it's a defense mechanism they both seem to resort to. It’s easier for him to retreat into silence, to evade the uncomfortable confrontation that looms over them. In doing so, he can avoid facing the confusing emotions that swirl endlessly in his mind.

With a determined breath, he resumes typing, his fingers flying across the keyboard with renewed urgency. He feels the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing against him, the truth simmering just beneath the surface. He knows he needs to articulate what’s been haunting him, a truth he has avoided for far too long.

His words linger in the air, delicate yet unwavering, as he carefully opens the door to a conversation he has long feared initiating. Each syllable he types feels like a stepping stone into uncharted territory, fraught with vulnerability and hope. He pauses for a moment, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him before he finally hits send. 

Buck: I think I’m more scared of not knowing than I am of figuring it out with you.

The instant he does, a wave of dizziness washes over him. 

As Buck sat quietly, lost in thought, his phone vibrated unexpectedly, pulling him back to the present. 

He glanced down at the device resting in his palms, his heart quickening with anticipation. The screen illuminated his face with a soft glow, revealing a new message that had just come through. With a mix of curiosity and apprehension, he read the simple yet poignant words: 

Eddie: Me too

The phrase echoed in his mind, and suddenly, the knot in his stomach loosened. It’s small but enough to make him feel like there’s a chance. 

A chance for something.

He’s never experienced this level of vulnerability with anyone before—not like this. It feels different, more intense as if he’s laying bare parts of himself he usually guards so fiercely. But there’s also that sense of risk, a fear of losing something valuable if he lets his walls down. But Eddie feels different from anyone he’s known, perhaps making this moment thrilling and terrifying.

He’s always felt comfortable sharing his thoughts and feelings with his sister, but she’s not here right now. The thought of confiding in Chimney feels impossible; it’s not a conversation he’s ready to have with anyone else. There’s too much at stake, too much at play.

The uncertainty looms over him. He has no idea what the outcome of this moment will be. Will Eddie turn and walk away, leaving him longing for what might have been? Or could this moment blossom into something neither of them imagined?

Yet, the silence that envelops them is not stifling; instead, it brims with potential.

Buck:   Maybe we don’t have to know everything right now. Maybe we just take it one step at a time?

Buck exhaled deeply as he pressed send, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. This eased the tension that had been coiling within him.

One step at a time

It’s not a perfect solution, he reminded himself, but it’s something— a thread of hope, and right now, that’s all he really needs. 

He smiles to himself, feeling a little lighter. For the first time in a long time, Buck doesn’t feel like he’s running from something. He’s ready to take the next step. And for once, it feels right.

He quickly types out a question, hoping to get an answer to it:

Buck: Lunch?

The grey bubble pops up, then disappears. Buck knows this is a simple question, but honestly still worried about the answer.

His phone buzzed, and he looked down at the answer. 

Eddie: Sure, just tell me when and where.

Chapter Text

The darkness of the early morning enveloped Buck’s room like a thick blanket, muffling the world outside. He reached for his phone resting on the wireless charger, its illuminated screen cutting through the shadows. Glancing at the clock, the glaring red numbers read 3:47 AM. 

He wanted to chalk it up to muscle memory, his body still attuned to the early morning practices that had shaped his routine. Yet deep down, he knew the truth: his mind had been on a collision course with the upcoming lunch since they started texting about it.

He lay there for a few moments longer, rubbing a hand down his face, pulling at the stubble on his chin in a futile attempt to ground himself. The ceiling above him blurred into a hazy expanse as he tried not to dwell on the strange sensation in his stomach—a heaviness that felt inexplicably tied to his anticipation. 

With no clear idea of how to quiet his restless energy, Buck made a decision. He threw off the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool air brush against his skin. A self-respecting pro athlete knows that when you can’t sit still, you lace up your running shoes and hit the pavement. 

With a small exhale, Buck exited the hotel lobby and braced himself against the chill of the early morning air, determined to shake off his thoughts. He hoped each step would bring clarity, pushing away the swirling doubts that had lodged themselves deep in his brain. 

Yet, as he continued down the bustling sidewalk, he still couldn't find the clarity he was looking for.

“What are we even going to talk about?” he fretted as he ran, heart racing as if trying to escape the confines of his chest. "What if we just sit there in awkward silence? What if I accidentally lock eyes with them for too long, and everything just gets weird and—” His voice trailed off, lost in the spiraling thoughts that clutched at him. Each anxious whisper further fueled his self-doubt, drowning out the sounds of honking cars and chit-chatting pedestrians around him.

Suddenly, Buck halted mid-stride, his pulse racing like a runaway train. With his hands resting on his hips, he inhaled deeply, a futile attempt to calm the anxious flutter in his stomach. The vibrant hustle of the city swirled around him, but he felt achingly isolated in his internal chaos.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered sharply, shaking his head as if trying to reject the invasive thoughts physically. “Get a grip.” 

The sharp words caught the curious gaze of an elderly woman briskly power-walking past him. Her brow furrowed with concern. He watched her disappear into the crowd, feeling embarrassed and irritated at his own state.

With a resigned shake of his head, he resumed his run. He pushed forward, determined to forge through the storm, step by step, with each stride feeling both like a challenge and a small victory against the chaos.

By the time he returns to his hotel room, he's drenched in sweat. 

He strips off his damp clothes, tossing them into a corner, and steps into the cool embrace of the bathroom tiles, which feel refreshingly crisp against his heated skin. He turns on the shower, adjusting the water until it reaches a perfect warmth. As the warm streams cascade over him, he hopes it allows the heavy weight of exhaustion to melt away.

After a long rinse, he slips into a pair of soft, worn LA King's sweatpants that feel comforting against his skin.

He flops onto the bed and reaches for his phone. Its screen glows softly, casting a pale light that flickers gently in the dim room, still enveloped in the hushed stillness of the moments before dawn. 

As he unlocks the device, he starts to flick through apps and messages, searching for a spark of inspiration or clarity amidst the chaos in his mind. With each scroll, it all feels increasingly futile, like digging through sand for a precious gem. There were no answers, no solace—only his tangled thoughts, stubbornly refusing to untangle themselves. 

He sighs, staring at the ceiling, hoping for the textures to show him a moment of insight.

As he glances at the clock, anxiety creeps in— he’s supposed to meet Eddie soon, uncertain of how to occupy the minutes that stretch out ahead of him. 

The anticipation of their lunch lingers in the air, but a sense of restlessness settles within him instead of excitement. 

With a sigh, he wrestles with a flurry of thoughts, desperately searching for a way to ground himself before this lunch.

So, of course, he starts stress-cleaning, a habit that has become his go-to coping mechanism. 

He’s not a messy person; he’s a functional adult, but at this moment, his perfectly fine hotel room feels completely off. 

The sight of clutter—an array of random items piled haphazardly across the room—sets his nerves on edge. Each disorderly object contributes to an overwhelming sense of chaos that prickles his skin. 

He shifts his gaze towards the small loveseat nestled in the corner, where a collection of mismatched pillows sits neglected. Their uneven spacing disturbs him; the asymmetry sits in his mind like a persistent itch he can’t quite scratch. 

Taking a deep breath, and, with a quick, decisive movement, he reaches out to straighten the pillows. He aligns them with meticulous care; a wave of tranquility washes over him, momentarily easing the tension that had been building in his chest.

But as he steps back to admire his work, he’s struck by an unsettling realization: this is a ridiculous, almost obsessive behavior. 

He shakes his head, forcing himself to step away from the loveseat and take a breath. 

The silence in the room is deafening. He picks up his phone, checking for new messages, hoping for a distraction. 

Nothing. It's just the same unchanging screen. 

His stomach performs an involuntary somersault, a reminder of the anxiety gnawing at him. 

“Jesus, Buck,” he mutters under his breath, the frustration evident in the way he rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “It’s just lunch.” But that thought offers little comfort.

As he stands in front of his suitcase, the minutes tick by slowly, agonizingly. 

Deciding what to wear has morphed into an unexpected dilemma—a tug-of-war between casual comfort and a carefully curated appearance. He rummages through his suitcase, fingers grazing the fabric of various shirts, his frustration mounting with each piece. One by one, he tosses the rejected options onto the bed, where they pile up like fallen soldiers. This shirt feels too formal, its crisp collar stifling, another too relaxed, its faded print whispering of lazy weekends rather than the occasion ahead.

As time ticks mercilessly on, his anxiety intensifies. What should be a simple decision begins to transform into a personal crisis. He looks at the mirror, contemplating the person he wants to present versus the one he feels like at that moment.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of internal debate, he reaches a conclusion. He settles on a pair of well-worn jeans and a slightly baggy t-shirt—an outfit that merges familiarity with an effortless vibe. He didn’t have to worry too much about the All-Star Game finals, as his Pacific team was knocked out of it. 

He glances at the clock again; an hour still looms ahead.

With a defeated sigh, he plops down on the edge of the bed. He waits, staring at the blank television screen. 

Checks his phone, half-hoping for a message that might ease the tension coiling in his stomach.

Nothing.

He scrolls through his notifications, the silence only amplifying his nerves. 

He waits some more, the seconds stretching into what feels like minutes. He rechecks his phone, the flicker of disappointment washing over him as he realizes he’s still alone in this anxious anticipation.

Then, finally—finally—it’s time to leave, and somehow, that makes him even more nervous.

Because the moment he steps out the door, there’s no more stalling.

No more distracting himself.

It’s happening. Whether he’s ready or not— he’s about to sit across from Eddie Díaz and talk.

Eddie wakes up way too early, even by his standards. 

He looks at his phone on its charger, reading 4:15 AM 

The room was dim, his curtains closed, knowing the city outside would still be bustling, just like how his mind had been. 

He stares at the ceiling, his heart beating hard against his chest, and the first thing he thinks isn’t about the game last night or how sore he feels from pushing himself too hard.

No, It’s about lunch.

With Buck.

But it’s not just lunch. Not really; he knows it’s going to be a conversation.

Eddie throws off the covers, sitting up in bed. He runs a hand over his face, feeling the lingering remnants of sleep clinging to him. 

His gaze drifts to the nightstand, where his phone lies, its screen dark and still. He refrains from reaching for it, fully aware that Buck hasn’t texted him this morning, as they had laid out their plans just hours before.

The night had been restless; thoughts spiraled in his mind, each one more chaotic than the last. Every time he tried to drift off, the upcoming meeting with Buck kept resurfacing, making him worry about the wrong things to say or with remnants of their previous conversations, overshadowing his attempts to find any kind of solace in sleep.

He shakes his head, trying to tell himself to focus on something else—anything else. The excitement of the All-Star Game finals game looms in the back of his mind. 

But then it makes him try to recall when they first met on the ice before they got to know each other, when Buck chirped him with that stupid cocky grin, and Eddie felt something spark in his chest that wasn’t just competitive fire.

Maybe he needs to move, so he heads to the hotel gym, throwing himself into a workout with way too much intensity. He pushes himself harder than necessary—heavier weights, extra sets, a longer treadmill run—like he can sweat out whatever this feeling is, the feeling that their rivalry turned into something sharper, something that made his pulse quicken way too much for comfort.

It doesn’t work; it reminds him of when they got drunk when they let go for just one night.

Telling himself it was just a mistake, That it didn’t mean anything.

That is the way he keeps checking the schedule to see when the Kings play the Stars. It's just because of hockey— it's just about competition, nothing else.

That the way his chest aches every time he thinks about the fact that after this weekend, Buck will be hundreds of miles away, back in L.A. 

The second Eddie's done and back in his room, he immediately walks into the bathroom to wash away the sweat from the gym and the thoughts invading his head. Eddie climbs into the shower and turns the water as hot as he can stand it. He stands under the spray, eyes shut tight, trying to block out the noise in his head.

But it doesn’t work. The nerves are still there, coiled like a tightly wound spring in his stomach, and now, with nothing to distract him, his brain starts spiraling.

What about Chris?

Chris.

His son, his whole world. 

If Eddie’s been lying to himself for this long, then what would that mean for his son? What does it mean for the way he raises him, the kind of man Chris sees when he looks at his dad? How does he even begin to explain something he barely understands himself? What if—what if—he’s screwing everything up before it’s even started?

He squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know.

His chest tightens as he exhales sharply, gripping the back of his neck like he can hold himself together by force. 

But then Shannon—God, Shannon.

He hasn’t let himself think about her much lately, but this morning, she’s everywhere. The echoes of their past, of the choices they made, of the love they had, and the way it fell apart.

She was his first everything. His first love. The mother of his child. The person he swore he’d figure it out with, even when it was clear, they would never get it right.

And then she was gone. He loved Shannon. That much has never been in question. From the moment they met, from the whirlwind of teenage romance to the years of trying and failing and trying again, he loved her. 

She was part of his foundation, part of who he is. He built a life with her, built a family with her.

From a young age, he married, built a life that adhered to tradition, and diligently checked every box society laid before him. In his quiet moments, he assured himself that it didn’t matter when he occasionally found himself lingering a moment too long on the silhouette of another man or when a wave of inexplicable feeling washed over him, uninvited and unsettling.

He loved Shannon deeply and sincerely. He cherished the connections he made with her and admired their strength and grace. 

Eddie opens his eyes. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, but sometimes, Shannon feels like one. Haunting the spaces in his life where doubt lingers, whispering in the back of his mind when he lets himself think about wanting more than what he’s allowed himself to have.

But beneath that surface, an unlit corner of his heart whispered doubts. Was it love, or was he simply playing the part he was taught to play?

Then there is Buck—energetic, free-spirited, and impossibly magnetic. 

The thought of allowing Buck into his world, beyond the casual camaraderie they shared, sent shivers down his spine. 

What if he opened up to Buck completely, peeled back the layers he had so carefully built? What if Chris became attached as well? 

Because it’s not just about what he wants, it never has been. Every decision Eddie has made since the moment Shannon passed has been about Chris. Even before that, when they were young and scared and had no clue what they were doing, Eddie had always tried to make the right choice for his son.

So what does it mean that he’s here now, staring himself down in the mirror, thinking about another man?

What does that make him?

The label sticks in his throat. Gay. Bi. Queer?

Does it even matter?

A bitter laugh escapes him because, of course, it matters.

He was raised in a world that dictated strict roles and expectations, a world where the identity he grappled with couldn’t even be contemplated. He was a hockey player, immersed in a rugged, masculine sport where vulnerability would feel like a betrayal. 

He exhales, dragging both of his hands down his face.

It’s a lot. It’s too much. 

He needs to stop thinking about it.

He turns off the water and steps out of the shower. He wraps a towel tightly around his waist, its fabric warm against his damp skin. 

As he approaches the sink, steam coats the mirror, obscuring his reflection. He leans in closer, his hand trembling slightly as he wipes the mirror clean, revealing the face that stares back at him—one marked by weariness and uncertainty.

Gripping the edge of the sink, he feels the cold porcelain grounding him. Water from his hair trickles down his forehead as he takes a deep breath. 

He knows he won’t uncover the answers he seeks in the next hour nor in the day to come. It might take him weeks or even longer. 

There's a part of him that clings to hope, believing that Buck deserves nothing less than the truth. 

Buck deserves his vulnerability and sincerity.

The truth is daunting: perhaps he’s been deceiving himself for far too long. 

It dawned on him that he may have spent his entire life reciting lines from a script that never truly belonged to him. 

And now, standing here in this fogged-up bathroom, stripped of pretense and resolution, he realizes he’s completely off-book. He's now lost in a scene without any clear direction.

“What the hell am I even doing?” he asks himself.

The thought loops in his mind over and over, but it’s not really a question. It’s an accusation.

Because this—whatever this is—wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

Now, he’s standing here, staring at himself, realizing he’s not who he thought he was.

And it terrifies him.

Because if he’s not the man he’s always believed himself to be, then who the hell is he?

His hands tighten on the sink.

All he knows is that in less than an hour, he’s supposed to sit across from Buck and talk about this. About them… and he’s not sure if he’s ready.

But Buck is waiting.

And —no matter how lost he feels— he doesn’t want to run.

So Eddie pushes away from the sink, stares at himself in the mirror for a long, quiet moment, and then makes a decision.

He’s going to lunch, and he’s going to try.

He needs to get dressed, which should be a straightforward task, something everyone does every day without thinking twice. Just clothes—no big deal, right? 

Yet, for some reason, this simple act has turned into another source of stress. As he rummages through his suitcase, everything he pulls out feels fundamentally wrong. 

He glances at the team hoodie. It’s comfortable and familiar, but wearing it feels too casual as if he's giving off the impression that he’s not even trying and not taking it seriously.

Next, he holds up a button-up shirt. It’s sharp and tailored, perfect for making an impression. Doubts creep in; it's too formal, as if he’s overly conscious like he’s trying far too hard to impress.

Then there are a couple of T-shirts, one is plain and unassuming, easy to wear but also too boring. He pulls out another, remembering how it fits him just right, but there’s a nagging voice in his head that wonders if it's too much, drawing too much attention to himself. 

As thoughts whirled in his mind, new questions surfaced: Should he wear a jacket or skip it altogether? Was it better to stick with jeans or opt for something different, like slacks?

“Fuck me,” he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the array of clothes now strewn across the bed.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally settled on a fitted t-shirt that hugged him perfectly, layering it with a simple black zip-up jacket. He paired this with a classic pair of jeans, the fabric soft and worn, just how he liked it.

As he looked in the mirror, an unexpected realization hit him—his hands were shaking. 

Not violently, and certainly not enough for anyone else to notice, but he could feel the slight tremor. A pulse of nervous energy coursed through him.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the air fill his lungs as he slowly exhales. He flexes his fingers, feeling the tension in his muscles, and rolls his shoulders back to try to release the tightness. 

“This is ridiculous,” he says to himself as he looks at his hands.

For God’s sake, he's Eddie Diaz— he’s a player who has fearlessly been slammed into the boards by opponents twice his size, the impact rattling the very bones of lesser men, known for his resilience and grit. He’s faced pucks speeding toward him at velocities that could snuff out a life in an instant, yet he stands unwavering, glove ready, eyes sharp. He’s tangled in fights on the ice, where every second counts, and a moment’s hesitation could spell disaster, leading to either a triumphant escape or a painful fall.

But despite the physical confrontations and high-stakes moments that are filled with adrenaline, none of those experiences—none of the clashes, the bruises, the triumphs—have ever made him feel quite like this. 

A weight pressing down harder than the exhaustion he would feel from countless hours on the rink. 

He sank onto the edge of the bed as he gripped his hands together, knuckles turning pale against the strain. His elbows rested on his knees, a posture of defeat, and his gaze was fixed on the worn carpet of his hotel room, each thread seeming to taunt him with its familiarity.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the word a bitter whisper in the stillness.

His jaw tightened involuntarily, his muscles rigid.

This is getting too real.

Too fucking real. 

The gravity of the moment threatened to swallow him whole.

Because if he goes to lunch today, if he sits across from Buck and they actually talk about what’s been hanging between them, there’s no more pretending, no more ignoring it.

No more telling himself that Buck is just some guy he plays against, just some person who gets under his skin.

He knows how to handle a game, how to read a play, and how to anticipate every move before it happens. But this? he doesn’t know how to do this. This is uncharted territory.

Buck and Eddie agreed to meet at a small, unassuming diner nestled on a side street, one of those quiet spots where the clatter of dishes and the soft murmur of conversations create a comfortable cocoon of anonymity. 

Buck had arrived early, settling into a corner booth that offered a clear view of the entrance. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers on the surface, creating an uneven rhythm that echoed his restless thoughts. 

He glanced at the clock above the counter, each tick amplifying his anticipation as he waited for Eddie to arrive.

The bell above the door chimes softly. Eddie feels a sudden tightness in his throat as he steps through the threshold and lifts his gaze. 

He enters cautiously, taking a moment to absorb the scene around him—the warm, inviting glow of the overhead lights, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air, as his eyes finally land on Buck, tucked away in the booth at the end of the diner.

Neither of them speaks as Eddie slides into the booth, taking the seat across from him, eyes guarded, hands clasped on the table. 

The space between them feels impossibly wide, even though their knees almost brush beneath the table.

The waitress glides over to their table, her presence cutting through the quiet that had settled around them. 

With a warm smile, she invites them to place their orders. After a brief glance at each other, Buck speaks first, holding up the menu and requesting steaming black coffee, leaving out any sugar or cream, then decides to add a sandwich. 

Eddie, still considering the menu options, finally decides on a basket of crispy fries, and he, too, orders a coffee like Buck.

The waitress nods, jotting down their orders before disappearing back to the bustling counter, leaving Buck and Eddie to finally engage in conversation.

Eddie exhales sharply, his back pressed firmly against the worn vinyl of the booth. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous energy crackling between them. “So,” he begins the word escaping his lips like a taut string finally snapping, filled with tension and unsaid emotions. “I guess we need to talk.”

Buck lets out a bitter, humorless laugh that echoes softly in the dimly lit diner. “Yeah. We probably should’ve done that before we—” He hesitates, the weight of his words hanging in the air, the gravity of the moment pulling at him. He stops, wincing as the unspoken reality looms over them like a thundercloud. Instead, he gestures vaguely, as if trying to encapsulate everything they both know without having to say it outright.

Eddie runs a hand down his face, his eyes flickering away from Buck, avoiding the piercing gaze that always left him feeling exposed. “Before we fucked?” His voice is low, punctuated by an edge that Buck struggles to dissect. Is it regret? Frustration? Perhaps both?

Buck swallows hard, feeling the lump in his throat rise as he finally nods. “Yeah. Exactly that.”

The gravity of their actions and the complexity of their feelings hang in the air, pulling them further apart even as they sit right across from each other.

The waitress glides over to their table, her presence a brief interruption as she carefully sets down their steaming coffees. 

Eddie takes the mug as his fingers drum nervously against the ceramic surface, a restless rhythm that mirrors the quickening pulse thrumming in Buck's chest.

After several moments, Buck finally breaks the stillness, his voice unexpectedly shaky. “So… do you regret it?” The question hangs heavy, and he winces inwardly at the vulnerability exposed in his tone. 

Eddie’s jaw tightens, a flicker of apprehension flashing in his expression. 

Buck braces himself for a response that could shatter everything between them. 

Then, slowly, Eddie shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly. “I don’t.”

The fear that had lodged itself in Buck's throat begins to dissipate, replaced by a cautious hope.

“But it—” Eddie pauses, choosing his words with care. He looks down at his coffee, then back up, his brown eyes locking onto Buck’s blue ones with an intensity that sends a shiver down Buck’s spine. “It wasn’t nothing.” The raw honesty in Eddie's gaze is unsettling in its intensity, stirring emotions that have long simmered beneath the surface. “And honestly… that scares the hell out of me, and I cannot deny I’m fucking terrified.” 

In those words, Buck catches a glimpse of Eddie's vulnerability—a shared fear.

Buck lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Yeah,” he admits. “Me too.”

Eddie looks down at his hands, his fingers flexing restlessly as if grasping for something just beyond his reach—a fleeting moment that seems both exhilarating and terrifying. “I don’t know what this means,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re rivals. We’re supposed to hate each other on the ice, to push each other to the limits. And now…” He hesitates, his thoughts swirling, the weight of unspoken feelings hanging heavily in the air as he continues to avoid Buck’s gaze, the table suddenly feeling like a chasm between them.

Buck leans forward, the intensity of the moment pulling him into the conversation. He rests his arms on the table, his gaze steady and searching. “We’ve been telling ourselves that, haven’t we?” His tone softens, gaining a newfound honesty. “That it’s just this rivalry. Just this competition, something we can bury ourselves in.”

Eddie meets Buck’s eyes again, and the walls they had carefully built up around their relationship come crashing down in an instant. No more pretending, no more hiding.

“It was never just that,” Buck states, his voice steady, the truth settling between them.

“No… no, it wasn’t.” Eddie swallows hard. 

Just then, the waitress arrives with their food, completely unaware of the seismic shift that has occurred within the small bubble of their conversation. The sizzling dishes and fragrant aromas fill the air, contrasting sharply with the heavy emotions that linger between them, leaving their intertwined fates now delicately suspended in the balance.

They sit in silence for what feels like an eternity, the only sounds surrounding them being the gentle clatter of plates as they cut into their meals and the far-off hum of laughter and conversation drifting from neighboring tables. Each moment stretches as they chew thoughtfully, lost in their own thoughts, the world around them fading into the background.

Eddie takes a deep breath, the tension in the air palpable. Finally, he clears his throat, his voice breaking the silence with a hint of uncertainty. “So,” he begins, his tone wavering between caution and optimism. “What now?”

Buck responds by lifting his coffee cup, his fingers curling around the warm ceramic. He takes a deliberate sip, savoring the moment before letting a small, playful smirk break across his face. “I guess we should stop running?” he replies.

Eddie watches Buck intently for a moment, searching for any hint of insincerity but finding none. “Yeah,” he agrees finally. 

The conversation drifts, and the rest of their lunch settles into a comfortable silence, a break from the chaos.

They don’t dive back into the heavy conversation. Instead, they keep it simple, talking about upcoming games. It’s the familiar territory, a safer place to land.

But beneath it all, there’s an awareness, like a charged undercurrent, in the way Eddie’s fingers tap against his coffee cup, in the way Buck’s knee brushes his under the table, and neither of them pulls away.

As the waitress approaches with the check, Buck swiftly reaches for it, snatching it from the table before Eddie has a chance to protest. 

A playful smirk creeps across his face as he says, "I got it. Consider it a peace offering." The words hang in the air, infused with a mix of lightheartedness and underlying competition.

Eddie tilts his head, one eyebrow raised in bemusement. “Oh, a peace offering?” he replies, his lips curling into a teasing grin as he considers Buck’s gesture.

Buck shrugs nonchalantly as if the act were as simple as breathing. “Yeah, think of it like a truce, you know, with our heated rivalry and all that,” he states, his confidence radiating outwards.

Eddie leans back in his chair, arms crossing defiantly over his chest, a hint of skepticism in his gaze. “A truce,” he echoes, drawing out the words as if trying to grasp their weight fully. “You do realize we’re still playing against each other in a few weeks, right?” 

Buck grins. “Oh, yeah, and I fully plan on kicking your ass on the ice.” He pauses, eyes flicking down for just a second before meeting Eddie’s again. “Off the ice, though…”

Eddie’s lips part slightly, something flickering in his gaze. 

He doesn’t answer right away, just studies Buck with that same unreadable intensity that always makes Buck feel like he’s standing on the edge of something dangerous.

Then Eddie nods, slow and deliberate. “Yeah,” he says, voice quieter now. “… Off the ice.”

As they finish their meal at the diner, Buck and Eddie step outside into the crisp air. The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a bright glow over the street.

Eddie stands beside him on the sidewalk, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. The smile Buck had seen only moments ago in the diner seems to have vanished. His face now seems unreadable. 

Buck can sense that something is brewing beneath the surface. Eddie's lips part slightly as if he’s on the verge of saying something, but just as quickly, he closes his mouth again, his jaw tightening into a hard line.

Buck’s intuition tells him that something is amiss; There’s a palpable shift in Eddie's demeanor, a flicker of vulnerability that Buck knows he can’t ignore. 

Eddie exhales sharply, looking up, eyes meeting Buck’s, and there’s something there—hesitation, conflict, something that makes Buck’s chest ache.

“This… this is absolutely insane,” Eddie finally manages to articulate, his voice a turbulent blend of disbelief and unwavering determination. He takes a deep breath, feeling the heaviness of the moment settle around him like a thick fog. “I’m sorry, Buck, but we’re not just a couple of guys who happened to meet at a bar. We’re hockey players—fierce rivals on the ice, battling each other as if it were a war zone, with the stakes always raised,” He shakes his head, struggling to reconcile the weight of the situation with the uncharted territory they now find themselves in. His gaze drifts away from Buck’s searching eyes, lost in thought. “And now—now, what are we? Sleeping together? Having serious conversations about feelings?” A humorless laugh escapes his lips, bitter and hollow, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of emotions swirling within him. “And how the hell is any of this supposed to work? You're in LA while I'm back in Texas… What are we even doing to ourselves, Buck? It feels like we’re skating on thin ice, and I can’t figure out where it’s leading us or if we’re even allowed to go there.”

Buck takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the sudden storm created by Eddie’s words. The sudden shift in their conversation from the lighthearted banter inside the diner to this heavy, uncomfortable truth feels like a punch to the gut, hitting him with an intensity he wasn’t prepared for. 

There’s no way he’s backing down—not now. “I—I don’t know,” he stammers, the weight of vulnerability evident in his hesitance. “But I know—I know I don’t want to go back to pretending I don’t feel this.” He gestures between the two of them, his hand hovering over the invisible yet palpable connection that has been building, surging between them like an electric current. “Do you?”

Eddie falls silent, the air around them thickening with unspoken thoughts, the tension almost tangible. His silence speaks volumes.

And that silence hangs heavily in the air, twisting like a knife in Buck’s stomach, each moment stretching painfully. 

He shifts on his feet, the warmth of the Vegas afternoon sun feeling distant and cold. 

The urge to reach for Eddie is overwhelming, a desperate need to shake him, to break through the wall that’s formed between them. “Look, man, I know it’s messy. I know it’s complicated,” Buck says, his voice trembling slightly, raw with a mix of frustration and longing. “But you can’t stand there and tell me it wasn’t real,” His voice drops to a near whisper, betraying the tremor of desperation. “Not after that night, not after everything that’s happened.”

Eddie clenches his jaw, muscles tensing as he turns his gaze away as if the weight of Buck's words is too much to bear. He blinks rapidly, a clear effort to hold back whatever tumult of emotions threatens to break free. With a heavy sigh that sounds almost like a surrender, he finally replies, “I know,” his voice soft but strained.

And in that moment, Buck feels his heart plummet into his stomach, each beat echoing the growing distance between them. 

“Eddie,” Buck pleads, trying to reach out, wanting nothing more than to place a gentle hand on his shoulder to offer comfort, but Eddie takes a small step back, the unspoken barrier between them reinforcing itself.

“I—” Eddie exhales sharply, the frustration mingling with sorrow in his voice. “I just … I need time to think, okay?” 

The words hit Buck like another knife to his gut, leaving him momentarily frozen in place as the air between them thickens.

Think.

‘I just—I need time to think.’

The words hang in the air, subdued and almost hesitant, like it was hanging from a branch that was about to snap. 

Eddie never falters. Eddie is decisive, a force of nature, gliding through life with an assurance that Buck has admired from a distance. Whether he’s flying down the ice, standing his ground in a tough situation, or simply walking through a crowded room, Eddie always radiates a confidence that makes it seem as though he holds all the answers—like he knows who he is and where he belongs.

But this moment? 

At this moment, Eddie is anything but certain. 

His gaze flits away from Buck, almost as if it’s drawn to the ground, the walls, anything but the piercing intent in Buck's blue eyes. The silence stretches, suffocating, and Buck can feel its weight pressing down. He wonders if, maybe, if Eddie meets his eyes, the dam will break.

Buck wonders if he should feel a sense of relief. After all, Eddie didn’t reject him outright. He didn’t say it was a mistake or that he didn’t share those feelings. No, Eddie merely asked for time. 

That should be enough. That should give Buck hope, a sliver of optimism to cling to. 

But it doesn’t feel like enough. 

Buck nods slowly as though performing a delicate dance between acceptance and despair. “Okay,” he manages to say, forcing his voice to remain steady, though inside, he feels like stones were being placed on his chest, and he was slowly being crushed by the pressure. “Take your time.” His words lack the conviction he wishes they carried. His fingers twitch at his sides, muscles tense with the urge to reach out, to stop Eddie, to scream, Please, don’t do this! But the words stay put and claw at his throat stuck between his heart and his lips.

Eddie hesitates, just for half a second, as if caught in a whirlwind of his thoughts, before turning on his heel and walking away. 

Buck stood in the lingering silence, the echoes of Eddie’s footsteps fading into the distance. 

The possibility of something more between them felt like sand slipping through his fingers, and with every passing moment, it seemed to drift further away. 

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself against the tide of emotions threatening to overtake him. Something cracks inside him, sharp and hollow, unleashing a dull ache that spreads through his chest. 

He’s been here before, caught in the same emotional riptide, standing with his heart laid out —open, vulnerable, and hopeful— only to watch the person he cared for turn their back, leaving him in the silence of heartbreak.

Maybe it was foolish to cling to the hope that this time would be different, that Eddie would be different, that they could be different. 

The wind picks up, swirling around him as the city moves on, his spirit unraveling as Eddie vanishes around the corner.

A car drives by, music echoing from its speakers, the rhythm sharply snapping Buck back to reality. He stands alone outside a diner in the neon-lit chaos of Las Vegas, grappling with the suffocating thought that he might have just ruined everything.

He stares at the spot where Eddie has just stood, Eddie's words echoing repeatedly. 'I just—I need time to think,' loops in his mind, a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. 

Buck longs to believe those words, to convince himself that Eddie just needs space—that he would eventually come to his senses, but the haunting image of Eddie's face.

His body is urging him to act—run after Eddie, say something, but he remains rooted in place, paralyzed by the weight of his own disappointment.

Because the truth is, Buck is exhausted. 

Pursuing those who don’t wish to be caught, weary of pouring his heart out, only to watch it slip through the fingers of those who don’t want it. Maybe Eddie was just another “almost”—another person who had taken the fragile pieces of Buck’s heart and cradled them in their hands, only to find it too risky to hold on to.

As a sharp breath escaped his lips, a shudder of realization washed over him, and the diner behind him felt overwhelming—too bright, too loud.

So, Buck did what Eddie had done moments earlier.

He left.

But this time, he didn’t abandon the place in a frantic dash; instead, he walked slowly, deliberately, as if every step weighed him down. Each footfall felt heavier than the last, as though he was carrying an ache now anchoring him to the ground.

Finally arriving back at their hotel, Buck stepped off the elevator. As he meandered toward his room, his eyes flickered to Eddie’s door, hoping for the chance that Eddie might swing it open, see Buck waiting there, and talk again.

Yet, no such moment came, and he kept walking, ultimately arriving at his own room.

He swiped his room key, and the door clicked open. He stepped inside, allowing the door to click shut behind him and sealing him in the oppressive silence. For a fleeting second, he stood there, his back pressed against the door. 

It was as though the adrenaline that had propelled him from the diner had finally seeped away, leaving in its wake the crushing weight of everything he was trying to avoid. 

“Why am I always here?” he thought bitterly, feeling the familiar ache well up inside him. He should have been accustomed to this by now—craving something intensely yet seeing it slip away into the void.

A harsh exhale broke the silence as he dragged a hand through his hair, the movement frantic and chaotic, before he began pacing the length of his room. Standing still felt like suffocating, and he needed to escape the confines of his racing thoughts.

‘I just—I need time to think,’ 

Eddie’s words echo in his mind, looping endlessly. 

Buck had witnessed the guilt etched into Eddie’s features, the dawning fear, and how he had dashed away before Buck could voice another word,

But for Buck, the worst part, the absolute worst, was that Buck had let him leave. He had stood there, desperately hoping he might just look back. But Eddie never did.

Buck came to a halt mid-pace, his hands landing on his hips as he stared at the floor, his jaw clenched. His breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps. 

It shouldn’t have hurt this much—not when they hadn’t even defined what “this” was. They hadn’t named the dangerous, thrilling thing that had sparked between them. 

Yet, the absence of those words only made it ache more deeply. Eddie had known there was something real and undeniable there—something that Buck had attempted to gift Eddie outside the diner—and Eddie had chosen to walk away from it.

He could switch on the television, take another shower, or even run to release the tension feeding the whirlwind inside him—but none of that felt right.

Instead, he sank onto the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head dropping dejectedly into his hands. 

There was nothing left for him to do. There is no next step to take. There was no way to fix this. There was no purpose in chasing after Eddie when it was painfully clear that Eddie had no desire to be caught.

Buck thought that maybe that was the hardest truth to swallow. 

Buck had spent his entire life striving to be enough for the people he cared for, to become what they needed so they would stay. Perhaps, just maybe, Eddie had never intended to stay at all.

Just as silence settled heavily in the air, the door to the adjoining room swung open without warning. 

“Alright, I know I said I was gonna give you space, but I had to tell you—” Chim began, only to stop short when he caught a glimpse of Buck. The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous; the teasing words he had prepared evaporated as he took in Buck's frail state.

Buck sat on the edge of the bed, tense and hunched over, his elbows resting on his knees. His fingers were woven through his hair in a desperate attempt to hold himself together as if letting go would send him spiraling down. His head hung low, an invisible weight pressing him down, a thick, heavy gloom that hung in the air.

 Chim felt the familiar warmth and playfulness he usually brought with him dissolve, replaced by a strange, cold dread. “What happened?” Chim whispered, stepping further into the room, his voice uncharacteristically urgent. 

Buck didn’t respond. He didn’t even lift his head. Instead, he exhaled sharply, a bitter sound that cut through the silence, before dragging both hands down his face as if trying to scrub away all the turmoil churning inside him, and he looked up at his captain.

Chim instinctively knew something was very wrong. He had witnessed a myriad of emotions flood Buck’s face over the years: anger that burned bright and quick, sadness that seeped into the corners of his eyes, frustration that made his body tense, and heartache that crushed his spirit. 

But this? No, this was different—an unsettling depth Chim had never seen before. Fighting the urge to retreat from the heaviness in the room, Chim crossed the space between them and dropped down onto the bed beside Buck. The mattress dipped under his weight, the familiar bounce barely registering in such a somber moment.

“Alright,” he said softly, his tone shifting to one filled with concern. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” He nudged Buck's shoulder gently, hoping to coax him out of whatever dark place he found himself trapped in. The comforting rapport they shared hung in the balance, waiting for Buck to reach out through the silence.

Buck shakes his head, and the tension in his fingers is evident as they twitch restlessly against his knees. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, though the words barely manage to escape his lips.

Chim snorts, a disbelieving chuckle escaping him. “Yeah, okay. And I’m the starting center for the Kings.” His tone is laced with sarcasm, a playful jab meant to pierce Buck's facade.

Buck huffs out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but it lacks any real humor—just a hollow echo of what it should be. 

Chim studies Buck closely, his eyes narrowing in concern. There’s an unmistakable storm brewing behind Buck’s blue eyes, one that he’s desperately trying to keep hidden, but Buck is failing miserably at pretending that everything is just fine.

It’s impressive that Buck had turned pretending into an art form, wearing his mask of “I’m fine, don’t worry about it” like armor. But right now? Right now, he looks like someone who just found themselves standing on thin ice that’s just cracked beneath them.

Buck rubs his hand on his face, tension etched along his brow and lets out a breath that’s too sharp, tinged with frustration. “It’s nothing, man. Just—just a bad lunch,” he mutters, his gaze still averted, now looking out the large hotel window as if ashamed to meet Chim's questioning eyes.

Chim squints, trying to unravel the layers of Buck's admission. “A bad lunch,” he repeats, his tone a mix of skepticism and concern, searching for the truth that Buck is so adamantly trying to bury. 

Buck nods, still avoiding the intensity of Chim's gaze. “Mhm,” he replies softly, but the weight of his words hangs heavy in the air between them.

Chim crossed his arms, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Uh-huh. So, this disastrous lunch ended with you looking like your whole world just imploded?” 

Buck released a frustrated breath through his nose and shot Chim a warning glance. “Chim—”

“No, really, I’m serious,” Chim interrupted, leaning forward slightly. “Last time I checked, a bad lunch was when your order gets messed up, or the waiter forgets about you altogether. Not—” he gestured dramatically at Buck, “—whatever this state is that you’re in right now.”

Buck’s jaw tightened, his irritation visible. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he responded firmly, the fatigue evident in his tone.

Chim tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “You do realize that refusing to talk about it only makes me want to hear more, right?” 

Buck groaned, frustration boiling over as he stood up abruptly. He began to pace the small confines of the room, running his hands through his hair in a gesture of exasperation. “It’s not a big deal, okay? It was just—someone I thought I could… I could trust– .” His voice wavered, a hint of vulnerability creeping in. “I opened up to him, let my guard down, and thought maybe—” He halted, shaking his head as if to dispel the thoughts haunting him. “But I was wrong.”

Chim observed him intently, and the worry etched in his expression. “Alright,” he said slowly, trying to unravel the tangled emotions swirling around them. “So this guy—”

Buck's body tensed involuntarily at the mention of 'guy,' 

Chim had already picked up on the fact Buck had said ‘him’ in his ramble but quickly picked up on Buck’s reaction to the mention of ‘guy.’ “Ohhh,” Chim exclaimed, sitting up straighter, eyes widening with realization. “Ohhh. So it is a guy, isn’t it?”

Buck scoffed, defensive. “I– I didn’t say that.”

Chim raised an eyebrow, leaning in. “Look, I know I’m not your sister or Maddie, but I am married to her, and I’ve learned a few things—” He paused, a sudden realization dawning on him as he narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Who is it?”

Buck visibly panicked, the color draining from his face, which was all the confirmation Chim needed.

“Oh my God,” Chim exclaimed, turning to face Buck with his body, looking at him in disbelief. “You’re acting all weird. You’re avoiding names, which means I definitely know him, don't I?”

Buck shook his head vigorously, desperation in his eyes. “No, you don’t.”

Chim wasn’t convinced. Not with Buck’s stiff shoulders, clipped tone, and the whole bad lunch excuse hanging in the air. This was clearly something deeper, something that rattled Buck to his core, and the curiosity gnawed at Chim’s instincts.

Something that’s got Buck’s hands twitching, his jaw locked so tight it looks like it might crack, and his whole energy screaming don’t ask me about it.

Which, obviously, makes Chim want to ask even more.

But he also knows how Buck works—push too hard, and the guy will shut down faster than a faulty Zamboni engine. 

Chim shifted his weight on the edge of the bed as he glanced at Buck, who sat with his arms crossed, a barrier against the vulnerability hanging in the air. “Okay,” Chim began, his tone light but his gaze steady. “I’m not gonna push you. But let’s just call this what it is—this was about a person , wasn’t it?”

Buck exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and defensiveness evident in the sound. “Chim.”

“What? I’m not asking for names,” Chim smirked, the corners of his mouth teasingly uplifting. “Yet.”

 Buck shot him a look that was far from amused, his expression a blend of irritation and reluctant amusement as he rolled his eyes.

Chim raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful glint in his eyes. “Fine, fine. No names. But just to clarify—this was, like, a thing for you, right? A real thing?”

For a heartbeat, Buck hesitated, caught off guard by the question. But it was a fleeting moment; the truth was clear as day. When something wasn’t real, Buck didn’t falter. 

Chim’s playful demeanor softened, a hint of empathy threading through his words. “Damn, man.”

Buck rubbed a hand over his face, the gesture weary and heavy, as if he was trying to wipe away the weight of recent memories. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough, cracking like a fragile glass on the brink of shattering. “And I thought—” He trailed off, frustration gnawing at him, before shaking his head as if to dispel the remnants of hope. “I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t think they’d—”

He stopped again, lips pressing together in a tight line, emotions brewing just beneath the surface.

Chim watched him with a mix of concern and understanding, allowing the silence to settle between them for a moment. Finally, the words found their way out of him. “They walked away, didn’t they?”

Buck’s silence hung heavily in the air, a weighty acknowledgment that sunk deep. He let his head hang between his shoulders, knowing he didn’t even have to say a word.

Chim exhaled slowly, “That sucks,” he said, the sincerity in his tone undeniable.

Buck let out a short, humorless laugh that echoed in the quiet room. “Yeah, yeah, It does.” 

For a brief moment, they sat in a shared silence—uncomfortable yet calm, a respite from the turmoil swirling within.

Chim, unable to resist the urge to lighten the mood, tilted his head slightly. “You sure you don’t wanna just tell me wh—”

Buck glared at him, a warning enough to silence any further inquiry.

“Alright, alright,” Chim relented, backing off with a teasing smirk. “No names. But if you ever feel like drowning your sorrows and pretending none of this ever happened, I know a bar where we can ship the finals at.”

Buck shook his head, but there was a flicker of a smile blooming on his lips—small, tired, but undeniably there.

“I hate you,” Buck said half-heartedly, but the jest in his eyes betrayed the affection he held for his brother-in-law, elbowing Chim slightly in his side.

Chim grinned widely, the bond between them evident in the playful sparring. “No, you don’t.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Buck’s shoulders, their shared laughter mingling with the heavy air, a quiet testament to their unshakeable bond in the face of life’s complexities.

Eddie barely recalls the haze of how he made it to his hotel room. With a grunt, he shoves the door open, the metal latch rattling violently before the door slams shut behind him. 

He leans heavily against the door for a moment, his pulse racing as he catches his breath.

He made a few steps more into the room before he leaned heavily against the hotel room's built-in desk, its solid surface feeling like the only thing anchoring him to reality.

The memory of Buck’s gaze lingered, a haunting echo of quiet, measured disappointment. It wasn't anger or frustration that shone in those eyes; it was something deeper, a profound hurt that cut straight to Eddie's core. 

He couldn’t shake the realization that he had been the one to inflict it.

He ran.

The instinct to flee from anything that frightened him had become his default coping mechanism, a response that left him feeling both powerless and trapped. 

Now, the weight of his fear bore down on him. He was terrified—not just of what he had done but of what it meant for them.

His hands trembled as he stood in the stillness of the room, adrenaline coursing through him like a jarring current, as if it were a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside. 

Eddie pressed his palms against the cold, smooth surface of the desk, desperately searching for a sense of stability as his thoughts spiraled out of control, and he felt an overwhelming urge to reach for the minibar.

He resisted the temptation of whiskey, opting instead for a crisp bottle of water. Clarity was essential; he needed his head clear, especially with the NHL All-Star Divisional Finals looming in the forefront of his mind.

His thoughts drifted back to Buck's voice—low, certain, and infused with an unsettling confidence that gnawed at him. There was something unshakable about Buck's conviction that made him feel even more unmoored. 

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends in frustration. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he muttered to himself, his voice echoing in the empty room.

With a surge of uncontainable energy, he ripped off his jacket and flung it onto the chair in the corner, the fabric landing in a haphazard heap. 

He began to pace the room— Once, twice, then a third time. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the anxiety that clung to him like a second skin. 

Each shaky breath failed to bring him the steadiness he so desperately sought.

Because this isn’t just about Buck.

This is about everything.

He kicks off his boots and heads into the bathroom. Turns on the shower, his second one of the day, hot enough to scald. Maybe if he scrubs hard enough, he can wash this feeling off of him.

But even under the stream of hot water, it lingers.

The way Buck had looked at him.

The way it hadn’t felt wrong. Not in the bar. Not in the hotel room that night. Not in the diner today.

He leans forward, his head against the tile, water pounding against his back, eyes squeezing shut.

‘But you can’t stand there and tell me it wasn’t real.’ Buck’s voice echoes in his head, cutting through everything else. 

Eddie wants to tell himself it wasn’t real, that it was a mistake, a heat-of-the-moment thing, something fueled by adrenaline and whiskey and years of too much tension on the ice.

But it’s a fucking lie.

He grips his hands into fists, pressing them against the cool tile.

About the fact that Eddie has spent his whole life following a script that never included this. About the way his father’s voice still echoes in the back of his mind, warning him about what a man should be. About how hockey—his career, the thing he’s given everything to—has always felt like a space where being anything other than straight wasn’t an option.

The NHL likes to pretend it’s inclusive. That it’s changing, that the locker rooms are different now. That there’s space for guys like him if he is a guy like that. Because even if guys in the league say the right things, even if they slap rainbow tape on their sticks once a year and call it progress.

Eddie knows the truth. He’s heard the jokes. The way some guys throw around words like soft and weak like they mean the same thing. The way players will get close on the ice is by throwing an arm over a teammate’s shoulders or bumping helmets after a goal, but God forbid anyone lingers too long and anyone looks too long.

The way the slur “faggot” still gets muttered under someone’s breath when they’re pissed. No one calls it out. Not really. Maybe a few of the younger guys flinch, maybe a couple of them say, Hey, man, not cool, but no one really pushes back. 

No one risks their career over it.

Because that’s what it would be. A risk.

Eddie knows how this goes. He’s seen how this goes.

Every time a guy comes out in hockey, it’s the same story. The NHL says the right things—issues a supportive statement, reminds everyone how inclusive they are, how there’s a place for everyone in the sport… but then, almost like clockwork, that player stops getting ice time. Stops being seen in the lineup.

Next thing you know? He’ll be sent down to the minors.

The official excuse is always the same—We’re making a roster change, it’s a depth issue, he wasn’t producing the way we needed. But Eddie’s been around long enough to know the truth.

They don’t want the distraction, and they don’t want the headache. It doesn’t even take someone outright saying it. No one has to stand up in a meeting and declare, we don’t want a gay player in our locker room . 

It’s quieter than that. More insidious.

It’s the way teammates start acting just a little different. The way the banter turns careful, how the offhand locker room jokes about “wives and girlfriends” start skipping past you, how guys who used to joke around in close quarters suddenly find reasons to keep their distance.

It’s the way management looks at you. You’re a liability, and you’re not worth it.

Eddie clenches his jaw, staring down at his hands. He’s spent his whole life proving he belongs here.

He fought for every damn inch of ice time, every contract negotiation, every opportunity. And it’s not just for him. It’s for Chris. It’s for their future.

If he came out—if he let himself have Buck, let himself be what Buck wants—how long would it take before he lost all of that?

What happens if the locker room finds out? He is on a team in Texas… what If his teammates start looking at him differently? If it becomes a thing—a distraction, an issue, something the team has to address?

How long before the team decided he wasn’t worth the PR? Before, a coach called him into an office and said, Look, Eddie, you know how it is. We’re making some changes, nothing personal.

How long before he’s wearing a minor league jersey? Before he’s not playing at all?

Eddie stepped out of the shower, and he tossed on the plush robe that had hung on the back of the bathroom door. He took a moment to collect himself before moving into the main area of the hotel room. 

The room was dimly lit, and he made his way to the side table where his phone was charging. As he picked it up, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, and his gaze locked onto the background image—a nostalgic photo of Chris wearing an oversized Diaz jersey that nearly engulfed his small frame, a helmet askew on his head, giving him an endearingly awkward look.

Chris.

An overwhelming wave of concern washed over Eddie as he contemplated what could lie ahead for Chris. 

What would happen when Eddie could no longer provide for him? 

His mind raced with images of Chris—brimming with potential yet already burdened by his disability, standing out in ways no child should have to. The loss of his mother had left scars that even Eddie's love couldn't completely heal. 

Eddie recalled how his own parents had always tried to swoop in, their wealth and concern wrapping around Chris like a safety net, yet that comfort was laced with expectations. 

He could almost hear his father's stern voice echoing in his mind, filled with judgment and authority: “Christopher deserves stability, Edmundo. This is going to follow him. You have to think about your son. You have to think about what kind of example you’re setting. We just want what’s best for him.” 

The weight of his father’s words settled heavily on Eddie’s shoulders. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Chris—he simply wouldn’t allow it.

But what if they won? What if the relentless tide of societal expectations and prejudices swept him away?

Eddie's mind raced with conflicting thoughts. What if their rigid definitions of love and responsibility suffocated the very essence of his relationship with Chris? The fear of being judged for loving another man gnawed at him—a constant reminder of the risks he faced. The thought of finding his own happiness, only to be condemned and possibly lose custody of his son, haunted him like a ghost that wouldn’t let go.

The stark reality loomed like a dark cloud overhead: The struggle between wanting to live authentically, with his heart exposed and unguarded, and the paralyzing fear of the consequences for Chris kept swirling in Eddie’s mind. 

He exhaled sharply, his breath a mixture of frustration and resolve. He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble prick against his skin, grounded in the moment but lost in the chaos of his heart. 

Rising abruptly from the bed, he began to pace the room, and the walls felt like they were closing in.

Suddenly, Eddie couldn’t breathe.

It happens fast—too fast. 

He gripped his phone so tight it might snap in half, his chest locked up, his vision tunnels, and his legs felt like they might give out beneath him.

No. Not now. Not this.

He stumbles back against the hotel room's built-in desk, gripping the edge like it can ground him like he can hold himself together through sheer force of will, but his hands are shaking, his fingers numb even as his heart slams against his ribs, too fast, too hard.

He gasps for air.

Nothing comes.

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of him, like taking a hit along the boards that sends his helmet snapping back and his lungs seizing up. Only there’s no ice beneath him, no ref blowing a whistle, no trainers rushing over to make sure he’s still in one piece.

Just him. Alone.

And the thoughts won’t stop circling.

He’s spent his whole career proving himself—fighting for his place on the team, showing the league he belongs here. 

But none of that will matter if this gets out. If he gets out.

And if it happens to him? If the organization turns on him, his father’s voice once again echoes in his head, ‘You made your choices, Edmundo. You did this to yourself.’

His stomach churns. The walls feel too close.

He presses a hand against his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, trying to force his lungs to work, trying to slow the frantic pounding of his pulse.

Five things you can see. The hotel TV. It’s off. His suitcase was by the foot of the bed. Closed and zipped. The side table lamp. Off. His phone screen. Still open to Buck’s number. His own hands—shaking.

Four things you can touch. The cool metal of his St Christopher medal under his shirt. The rough edge of the desk. The sweat-damp fabric of his robe. The fading bruise on his forearm from the last game.

Three things you can hear. The distant sound of traffic outside. The hum of the hotel AC. His own ragged, gasping breath.

Two things you can smell . Ice spray from his gear. Hotel soap.

One thing you can taste. Fear.

He drags in a shaky inhale. Then another.

It takes minutes—long, agonizing minutes—but slowly, his pulse starts to steady. His lungs start to obey. The tightness in his chest doesn’t disappear, but it loosens just enough for him to think again.

Eddie presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, exhaling sharply.

This can’t happen.

Whatever this thing with Buck is—whatever it could be—he can’t let it cost him everything.

Because if he loses hockey, if he loses Chris—

He doesn’t know who he is without them.

Chapter Text

As the days stumble by, Buck feels the weight of uncertainty bearing down on him, the silence between them growing louder. He finds himself unraveling as he tries to distract himself, but the ache in his chest remains. 

Every time he glances at his phone, his heart races, caught in a raging swirl of hope and dread. He half-expects to see Eddie’s name illuminate the screen, just to bring a spark of connection that he desperately craved. Each time, he is met with emptiness—no messages, no calls, only the echo of silence that seems to stretch on endlessly.

Days then start to turn into weeks, each one more agonizing than the last. 

Buck often hovers over his drafts, fingers poised over the keyboard, crafting messages that spill his thoughts and feelings—only to delete them in a rush of uncertainty before sending. 

Before he knows it, three agonizing weeks stretch out before him like an endless desert. 

Buck tells himself to wait. He knows that Eddie needs space, even if it’s hard to accept, yet his haunting memory of that fateful lunch lingers. Every word, every glance exchanged, is etched vividly in his memory, looping endlessly and refusing to fade. 

He repeats to himself that patience is a virtue, but as the hours stretch out, his resolve begins to fray. 

When the Los Angeles Kings finally touch down in Dallas, he knows he can’t ignore the things that have been building since that pivotal lunch, needing to be confronted.

Tonight is game day, marking their first match-up since everything shifted, and he will see Eddie tonight. 

He immersed himself in skating, pushing his limits during each drill to push away all the feelings and thoughts bubbling up. 

His muscles protested the intensity of the effort. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and his breath came in ragged gasps, but he pushed through the pain, oblivious to the strain on his body. 

Watching from the boards, arms crossed, Hen has seen a lot of dumb things in her career.

A guy trying to play through a broken hand? Dumb. One ignoring a concussion because he “felt fine?” Also dumb. 

Buck, though? As she watches him, he is rapidly climbing the ranks of the dumbest.

She watches as he flies across the ice like he’s got something to prove. To be fair, she’s sure he does because nobody skates like that unless they’re either running from their demons or trying to make a point. 

She knows Buck; it’s probably both.

She sighs, shaking her head as she watches him go through another drill with all the grace of a man who should have stopped twenty minutes ago. His strides are choppy now, his posture rigid, and he’s gasping for air. 

Beads of sweat drip down his face, but he doesn’t slow down.

As the practice ends, Hen is waiting at the boards. Buck skates over, leaning forward, resting his arms on top, chest heaving. He barely notices her at first, still too busy trying not to pass out.

“Oh, hey, Buck,” she says, tone light but laced with something sharp as she walks towards him. “I have a quick question— are you actively trying to kill yourself, or is this just an unconscious effort?”

Buck looks up and blinks at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a hint of amusement. He lets out a soft, breathy laugh that dances in the air between them. “I’m fine, Hen,” he assures her, though he is still trying to catch his breath. His voice was relaxed yet playful, as if trying to ease the concern on her face.

“Oh, okay, that’s fantastic,” she deadpans. “So glad to hear you’re fine and not, I don’t know, about to drop dead from exhaustion.”

He rolls his eyes as he unbuckles and pulls off his helmet. “Hen, I’m serious. I’m good.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Hen tilts her head. “How about you tell that to your legs? Because I’ve seen Bambi, and your legs are shaking like a baby deer on ice.”

Buck frowns, glancing down. She’s right. His knees are wobbling slightly, but just enough that she notices.

She lifts a brow. “So. Wanna try again with the ‘I’m fine’ thing you’re trying to say, or should I just start preparing my ‘I told you so’ speech for when your body inevitably collapses?”

Buck exhales sharply, frustrated. “I just—” He hesitates, trying to find the right words to use, “I just want to be better, okay?”

“For who?” Hen challenges, her eyes widening with a mix of concern and determination as she leans forward, eager for a response. 

Buck’s jaw tightens, a sure sign of the internal battle he’s facing. Words linger unspoken on his lips, but he remains silent, the weight of his thoughts holding him back.

Feeling the shift in the atmosphere, Hen softens her stance just a little. 

A sigh escapes her, heavy with worry. “Buck,” she urges, her voice gentle yet firm, “this isn’t training. What you’re doing is just self-destruction with extra steps. You need to see that.” Her brow furrows, conveying her deep concern for him as she searches his expression for any hint of understanding.

He looks away, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face as his gloved fingers tighten around the edges of the boards.

Hen sees it. “Look,” she continues, her voice steady but firm. “You wanna improve? Great. I love that for you. But grinding yourself into the ice like this? All it’s gonna do is land you on my injury list.” She lifts a brow. “And trust me, you do not wanna be one of my injured players; I tend to get real annoying.”

Buck snorts, but it’s weak. “But you’re already annoying.”

“Oh, Bucky-boy, this is nothing compared to how bad it’ll be if I have to tape and staple you back together.” She steps closer, voice dropping slightly. “I mean it, Buck. You don’t get better by breaking yourself, and you can get better by training smart. So either you slow down now, or you’ll be forced to later—and I guarantee you won’t like the second option.”

Buck swallows hard, something shifting behind his tired eyes. He finally nods, slow and reluctant. “Yeah. Okay.”

Hen narrows her eyes. “That sounded a lot like I’m saying ‘okay’ so Hen will stop lecturing me, and not I’m actually gonna listen to Hen.”

Buck gives her an exhausted grin. “Maybe it’s a little of both?”

Hen groans, lifting her glasses up and pinching the bridge of her nose, “Lord, give me strength.”

He laughs, finally pushing off the boards.

“Hey, go hydrate before I tell Bobby to bench your ass tonight for excessive dumbassery,” she calls after him.

Buck throws her a lazy salute over his shoulder with a small, tired smile, “Threat noted.”

Hen watches him skate off, still unconvinced he’ll actually listen, but she hopes she got through to him a little.

But Buck is 90% sure Hen is bluffing… Maybe. He then stops to think about it and realizes, she’s not bluffing.

This is why he spends the next five minutes trying to figure out how to stop her before she marches straight to Bobby and gets him benched.

After he changes out of his practice gear, He makes his way down the hallway outside the locker room, finding her in the makeshift medical room at the American Airlines Center, sitting in a computer chair with wheels, her feet kicked up onto the medical table, and just casually scrolling through her phone like she doesn’t hold the power to ruin his life.

“Hen,” Buck begins, leaning in the doorway, trying his hardest and smiling with his most disarming smile, “Do you know that you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world?”

Hen doesn’t glance up from her phone, her fingers tapping furiously on the screen. “No,” she replies flatly.

Buck’s confidence falters momentarily, caught off guard. “You– you don’t even know what I was going to say.”

With a frustrated sigh, she finally lifts her gaze to meet his, her eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement. “Oh, I know exactly what you were going to say. You’re about to plead with me not to tell Bobby that you’ve been skating around like an idiot, all while teetering on the edge of disaster… So, my answer is still a firm no .” Her expression is a mix of playful defiance and genuine concern, making it clear that while she enjoys teasing him, she also knows better than to indulge in his reckless antics.

Buck groaned, his frustration evident as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Hen, come on. You know Bobby’s just going to overreact to this.”

Hen raised an eyebrow, a skeptical look crossing her face. “Oh, really? Is that what you think? Or perhaps he’ll actually respond appropriately to one of his star players treating what’s supposed to be a full-contact sport like it’s an extreme survival challenge?” 

With an exaggerated sigh, Buck shifted his weight and tried to reason with her. “Okay, but what if I promise to take it easy this time?”

Hen’s seen guys overtrain before, seen them push too hard, ignore their bodies, pretend they’re invincible—until they’re not.

But she can see Buck is different this time; it’s the look in his eyes when he thinks no one’s watching.

Because Buck isn’t just tired, He’s drained, not just physically.

He starts to turn to escape the medical room, but Hen stands in front of him, arms crossed, with a look of being unimpressed and looking like she is about to fight Buck physically.

“Sit,” she commands, her finger pointing decisively at the Medical table in the center of the room.

Buck frowns, a hint of frustration creasing his brow. “Hen, I’m fine—” he protests, not wanting to appear weak.

“Evan Buckley,” she said his full name firmly as she raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her gaze. “Didn’t ask. Sit.”

With a resigned sigh, Buck feels the weight of her authority settling over him. Shoulders sagging in defeat, he reluctantly sits on the table.

Hen takes a seat in the rolling chair she was in just moments before. She rolls up to sit across from Buck and studies him for a long moment. “Alright, Buckaroo. Tell me what’s going on?”

He blinks. “What do you mean? You already yelled at me about training too hard—”

“I mean,” Hen interrupts, leveling him with a look, “what’s going on up here?” She taps her temple. “Because you’re not just pushing your body too hard. Your head’s not right either.”

Buck shifts, uncomfortable. “Hen, I—”

“No bullshit,” she cuts in. “You’re overtraining like you’re trying to outrun something. So what is it?”

Buck’s jaw tightens. His fingers flex against his knees, and he has approximately 0.5 seconds to come up with a reasonable explanation before Hen sees right through his very real and totally normal existential crisis.

There is no way in hell he is admitting the truth; it’s not happening. Not when the truth is that he’s hopelessly, ridiculously, disastrously falling for a rival on the ice.

That would be mortifying.

So, when Hen levels him with a look that could peel paint off the walls and says, “You’re trying to outrun something,”—he panics.

And the first words out of his mouth are: “Uh… I want to get faster?”

Hen stares at him.

Buck blinks.

Hen continues staring.

Buck knows that look and forces himself not to squirm under the weight of her judgment. “What?” he says, forcing a casual shrug. “I’m just trying to, you know… improve my speed. It’s important. Hockey stuff.”

Hen tilts her head, unimpressed. “Buck. You’re already one of the fastest guys on the team.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“So what, are you trying to break the sound barrier now?” Hen isn’t stupid, which is unfortunate for Buck.

“I, uh…” He clears his throat. “I just—want to improve my endurance?”

Hen squints. “Your endurance?”

“Yeah.” He nods quickly. “Gotta keep up late in the game, right?”

Hen doesn’t blink. “Buck. You could probably play an entire overtime period without slowing down.”

Buck shrugs. “Well, I wanna be able to do two overtime periods.”

Hen stares at him for an uncomfortably long time. Buck can feel her judgment pressing down on him like a physical force.

Then, she exhales, rubbing her temples. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve been skating like a complete lunatic, nearly collapsing in practice, and generally acting like a guy trying to get himself benched… because you want better endurance ?”

Buck nods, “Exactly.”

Hen levels him with a look so sharp he’s surprised it doesn’t cut him in half. “You do realize I’m not an fucking idiot, right?”

Buck groans. “Hen—”

“No, seriously.” She folds her arms. “This is some next-level, half-baked excuse, even for you. So, I’ll ask again, being serious about this, what’s going on?”

Buck flounders. His brain scrambles to piece together anything to get her off his back.

He could say he’s stressed, and it’s technically true. He could say he’s trying to prove himself, which is also true. 

“Uh.” He forces out a laugh. “I guess I’ve just been… frustrated lately?”

“Okay,” Hen raises an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair, her arms still folded in front of her, “Frustrated, how?”

Buck swallows. “Just, you know… Hockey stuff.”

Hen sighs again and doesn’t blink. “Uh-huh.”

Buck forces himself to hold her gaze.

Hen tilts her head, considering. “So, let me get this straight. You’re out here running yourself raw because of… hockey.”

Buck nods. “I just…” He hesitates, then shakes his head, finally caving in, but knows he’s not going to give his entire story, “Okay, I don’t know. I feel like if I stop and slow down—it’s all gonna catch up to me.”

She’s seen this before when players push themselves to exhaustion, not because they want to but because stopping means thinking. It means feeling. “Catch up to you how?” she asks, voice softer now.

Buck swallows. “Like… I don’t know. Maybe I’ll realize I’m not good enough.—” He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his sweat-damp hair. 

Hen nods slowly, leaning forward. “Buck. You are enough, just as you are. You don’t have to kill yourself to prove it.”

Buck laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Try telling that to my brain.”

Hen sighs. “Yeah, well, we all know your brain is dumb sometimes.”

That gets a small smile out of him.

“Look,” she continues. “I get it. When everything starts to feel out of control, it’s easy to latch onto something—even if that something is skating until your legs give out.”

Buck nods, staring at the floor.

“But let me ask you this,” Hen says. “If you keep going like this, what happens when your body does give out? What happens when you can’t train because you’ve wrecked yourself?”

Buck exhales sharply. “I’ll have to deal with whatever’s going on in my head.”

“Exactly.” Hen tilts her head. “So maybe, instead of running yourself into the ground trying to avoid it, you start dealing with it now—before your body forces you to.”

Buck doesn’t answer right away. But he’s thinking.

Hen stands, patting his shoulder. “Look, I may be good, but I cannot fix whatever’s going on in your head, but I can tell you that burning yourself out will not help, and you don’t have to figure this out alone.”

Buck glances up at her. “Yeah?”

Hen nods. “Yeah. So maybe instead of pushing through it alone, you start talking to someone about it. Doesn’t have to be me—though, let’s be real, I am great— I know you have your sister. You can talk to her, but Buck, you need to talk to someone .”

“I’ll–“ he pauses as he lets out a slow breath. “I’ll think about it.”

Hen smirks. “Good. And in the meantime, if I catch you pulling this crap again? I will tell Bobby.”

“You had to ruin the moment, huh?” Buck groans, burying his face in his hands. “I hate you.

“I know you love me,” Hen corrects.

“Nope!” Buck practically throws himself off the training table. “This has been fun! Really! But I’ve got things to do, places to be—” 

She watches as he stands, still looking exhausted but… maybe a little lighter, “You mean no more self-destructive training, right?”

Buck glares. “Goodbye, Hen.”

Hen just smirks as he escapes down the hall. “Bye, Buck.”

It’s not a fix, not yet. It is a start, though

American Airlines Center - Dallas, Texas
  — the Los Angeles Kings vs. the Dallas Stars —

Buck exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. He needs to focus.

This means Buck has approximately twenty minutes before he has a game to play.

Because, of course, the universe has a sick sense of humor. It's a game where, unfortunately, he’s going to have to see him ; he’s going to be face-to-face with the very person who has him mentally messed up— Eddie Diaz.

He shoves his helmet on. Eddie is just another opponent, another player he needs to out-skate, out-score, out-perform.

It doesn’t matter that Eddie’s smirk does annoying things to his stomach. It doesn’t matter that they always seem to find each other on the ice, like gravity’s pulling them together. It doesn’t matter that, deep down, Buck likes how Eddie challenges him.

As Buck skates out onto the ice, for him, warmups should automatically be a basic muscle memory. A chance to get loose, get focused. A time to prepare for the game, not a time for Buck to spend way too much energy making sure he and Eddie don’t get too close

Eddie, apparently, has the same idea.

Because they’re avoiding each other, maybe no one else notices—maybe to the rest of the world, this is just a normal pre-game warmup—but Buck notices.

Eddie won’t even look at him.

Buck exhales sharply, dropping into a lunge. It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s—

“Oh, come on,” Buck says under his breath because, of course, this is the exact moment Eddie shifts into the same stretch as him, right at the other end of the ice, arms flexing, rolling out his shoulders like he doesn’t already have the best posture known to man.

Buck clenches his jaw and stares at the boards, because he is not doing this. Not here. Not now.

Then, because the hockey gods hate him, Eddie moves into a groin stretch.

Buck grits his teeth so hard he’s surprised they don’t crack. He does not look. He refuses.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Eddie looking at him. The second he lets their eyes meet, Eddie whips his head away.

Like he wasn’t just staring, Like he’s the one who got caught. Buck’s breath stutters. This means that Eddie is avoiding him because he’s feeling it, too.

Buck got up and skated towards the bench as players from both teams darted back and forth, taking warm-up shots, their jerseys a blur of motion. 

He stood near the boards, stick gripped so tightly his knuckles ached. His eyes tracked the movement on the ice, but his mind was elsewhere. The game was simple: skate, pass, shoot, win. He knew this. He’d done this a hundred times before. But tonight, something felt different, heavier.

His stomach was a tangled mess of emotions, none of which had anything to do with the game itself.

He barely noticed Bobby approaching until a firm tap against his helmet snapped him out of it.

"Hey, kid. You with us?"

Buck blinked, shaking himself out of his thoughts as he turned to face his coach. Bobby stood just outside the rink, arms crossed over his jacket, his gaze sharp and knowing.

"Yeah," Buck said quickly, forcing a nod. "Just… getting in the zone."

Bobby let out a quiet scoff. "That what we’re calling it now?"

Buck exhaled sharply through his nose, trying not to look as rattled as he felt.

"I’m fine, Bobby. Just focused."

Bobby studied him for a long moment, then took a step closer, lowering his voice.

"You know," he started, "I used to do the same thing. Stand there like a statue before warm-ups, trying to psych myself up."

Buck shifted, finally glancing at him, "Yeah?"

Bobby nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah. Back when I was your age, playing for a team, I thought I had something to prove. I’d get in my own head, and start making the game about things it wasn’t. One time, before a Conference Finals game, I was so focused on trying to prove myself to a guy on the other team that I completely fell apart on the ice. Missed shots, sloppy plays—worst game of my career."

Buck frowned. "What were you trying to prove?"

Bobby hesitated, then sighed. "That I belonged. That I was just as good as the other guys were. Maybe better." He shook his head. "But I was so wrapped up in it, I lost sight of the actual game. I let my emotions sink me before I even stepped on the ice."

Something in Buck’s chest clenched. He looked back at the rink, his stomach twisting because—damn. That hit way too close to home.

"So, what happened?" Buck asked.

Bobby smiled a little. "Coach benched me for most of the game. But when he finally put me back in, he told me something I never forgot: ‘Play the game in front of you, not the one in your head.’ "

Buck swallowed hard, gripping his stick a little looser.

"Look, I don’t know what’s rattling around in your head right now," Bobby continued, softer this time. "But I know the look of a guy carrying something onto the ice that doesn’t belong there. And I know how much you love this game, Buck. So, whatever this is? Leave it in the locker room and just play."

Buck inhaled deeply, nodding slowly.

"Yeah. Okay."

Bobby gave him a firm pat on the shoulder before stepping back.

The buzzer sounded for the start of the game. Buck shook out his hands, exhaled, and pushed forward onto the ice. The weight in his chest was still there, pressing against his ribs—but for now, he could skate past it.

For now, it was just him and the game.

Bright lights illuminated the rink, casting long shadows and highlighting the tension between competing teams. It was time for the teams to line up for the National Anthem.

Buck stands on the blue line, his helmet in hand, and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t shift, doesn’t breathe too deep, doesn’t do anything to acknowledge what’s happening, but he feels it, feels him .

Eddie’s glare is a burning weight on the side of his face, hot enough to cut through the noise of the arena, through the national anthem, through the entire damn crowd.

Slowly—casually—Buck shifts his eyes just enough to see Eddie out of the corner of his vision.

And oh yeah. Eddie’s pissed.

His jaw is locked so tight it looks painful, and his brows furrowed in that sharp, permanent scowl he gets when he’s barely holding it together.

Which is good.

Because Buck isn’t exactly feeling calm right now, either, and if Eddie is pissed? Then, at least Buck isn’t alone in this.

At least it wasn’t just him that night. The night that still won’t leave his head, especially after Eddie walked away after their lunch to talk about it.

Buck exhales slowly, locking his gaze forward again, staring at the flag like he’s actually paying attention.

Buck tries to push his tangled thoughts aside as the game kicks into motion, an electrifying burst of speed and power igniting across the ice. 

Faceoff happens, the puck drops, players surge forward, and the arena erupts with energy—but none of it registers for Buck.

Because across the rink, Eddie Diaz moves like a storm, and Buck can’t look away.

The sharp focus he usually thrives on—the ability to drown out the noise, to lock into the rhythm of the game—slips through his fingers like melting ice. Every time he blinks, he sees Eddie. Every stride, every shift of weight, every sharp turn. The furrow in his brow, the tight set of his jaw.

Each passing minute on the scoreboard drags like an eternity, the anticipation pressing against his ribs until it’s too much.

He’s done waiting.

The ice vibrates beneath him, skates slicing through with a sharp, rhythmic precision. The game is heating up, but Buck is locked in, his heartbeat drumming in sync with the pulsing roar of the crowd.

It’s halfway through the second period, and Buck casts a swift glance over at Eddie, his gaze sharp and calculating, searching for any chance to exploit an opening.

As Eddie gains control of the puck, Buck's stomach tightens, a familiar rush of tension coursing through him.

Buck's mind races, a whirlwind of strategies and tactics. He assesses the movements of players around him with precision, eyes flicking between teammates and opponents as he weighs his options. 

The air is thick with tension, and he can practically feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Each play that unfolds is a potential opportunity - a moment where he can shatter Eddie’s momentum or check him hard into the boards.

Just like that, strategy, tactics, and logic dissolve. There’s no more careful assessment, no more precise calculations. There’s just instinct.

His skates carve deep into the ice as he launches forward, propelled by adrenaline, frustration, and something else—something he refuses to name. Each stride was a release of volcanic frustration and simmering anger, propelling and driving him closer, faster, until Eddie was within reach.

The arena seems to pulse around them as Buck’s focus narrows, reduced to the solitary figure of Eddie. 

Then—impact.

Buck’s shoulder collides with Eddie in an explosion of force, shoulder slamming into him, sending them both crashing into the boards with a thunderous crack. The sound reverberates through the arena, cutting through the crowd’s uproar. 

For a moment, the world stops.

Buck feels the hit in his bones—the jarring collision, the rush of contact, the way Eddie’s body tenses against his. The smell of sweat and ice fills his lungs, thick and electric.

Then—chaos.

The crowd erupts, a deafening mix of cheers, gasps, and shouts. 

The referee’s whistle slices through the noise, sharp and unforgiving.

But Buck barely hears it.

Because Eddie is still there, against the boards, breathing the same charged air, their helmets inches apart. They’re locked together, caught in something too big, too messy, too unresolved.

When reality crashes back in, and they become aware of the game around them, they finally rise to their feet. 

In that instant, Then Eddie’s fingers twist into Buck’s jersey. Not pushing, not pulling—just holding. 

Buck’s fingers remain firmly clenched around Eddie’s jersey, anchoring him to a reality he can barely face.

Eddie’s glare cuts through the surrounding turmoil, sharp and furious, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls, his voice slicing through the tension, each word sharp enough to cut.

Buck’s breath shudders out, but his voice is steady when he speaks. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired of waiting for you to talk to me.”

For an intense heartbeat, Eddie’s eyes flicker, and Buck swears he can sense something deeper lingering just below the surface—perhaps a hint of regret or an undercurrent of guilt. 

Eddie loosens his grip —and then shoves him away.

Buck stumbles back, the cold air biting at the space Eddie just filled. His stomach lurches, frustration flaring sharp and raw.

Eddie doesn’t look at him as he skates toward the bench, his posture rigid, shoulders coiled like a wire pulled too tight.

Buck stands frozen, breath still heavy, chest aching with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Then the ref skates up beside him, voice cutting through the haze.

“Buckley. Penalty box.” the official barks, authoritative and uncompromising voice cutting through the haze like a knife.

Buck swallows the burning frustration and skates toward the box, each step heavier than the last.

Two minutes. Two minutes to wrestle with the realization that, no matter how hard he tries to bury it, he wants Eddie to look back.

When Buck’s penalty is up, he pushes out of the box with a burst of speed, trying to shake the weight of Eddie’s absence from his chest. The game has moved on, the intensity ratcheting up as both teams fight for control, but Buck feels unmoored—like he’s chasing something just out of reach.

Eddie is back on the ice, but he’s avoiding Buck. 

Every time their paths could cross, Eddie pivots away, his movements sharp and precise, his focus locked on the puck, on anything but Buck. It’s infuriating. It’s suffocating.

The puck ricochets off the boards, bouncing into open ice, and Buck is the first to reach it. Eddie is right there, skating toward him at full speed, their paths on a collision course once again.

Buck doesn’t hesitate. He spins, body shielding the puck as Eddie barrels into him. The force sends them both sprawling, limbs tangling as they hit the ice hard— a mess of sticks, skates, and frustration.

Eddie is on top of him, breathless, eyes blazing. His hands press into Buck’s shoulders, holding him down, but there’s no real fight in it. Just something raw, something desperate.

Buck’s chest heaves as he stares up at Eddie, and for a split second, the world narrows to just them. The roar of the crowd, the scrape of skates, the calls of their teammates—it all fades into background noise.

Then Eddie’s grip tightens, fingers curling into Buck’s jersey like he’s holding on for dear life. His jaw clenches, his eyes flickering with something dangerous, something close to breaking.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” Eddie mutters, his voice low, rough.

Buck exhales a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh yeah? You gonna do something about it?”

The second they regain their footing, something in the air shifts.

Eddie’s eyes are dark with something unspoken, something stormy and unresolved, and Buck feels it deep in his bones— the inevitability of it.

Then, almost in sync, their gloves hit the ice.

The crowd erupts, the energy in the arena spiking to a fever pitch. The refs hesitate, watching, but they haven’t jumped in yet. Not when both men are locked in, skating in tight circles, sizing each other up.

The first hit is fast, grazing Buck’s jaw. He exhales sharply, then retaliates, his fist colliding with Eddie’s shoulder as they grapple, fists swinging, bodies crashing.

They’re not just fighting for the game anymore.

This is tension, unresolved words, things neither of them has ever said out loud. It’s frustration and heartbreak and something dangerously close to longing, all spilling out onto the ice in raw, unfiltered aggression.

Eddie lands another hit, his grip strong as he yanks Buck forward, twisting them both, their skates struggling for traction on the slick ice.

Eddie’s eyes flicker—anger and something else, something Buck can’t name. “Is this what you wanted?” Eddie growls, voice rough, breath hot against Buck’s face.

Buck’s grip on Eddie’s jersey tightened, “ You think I wanted this?” His voice is ragged, breathless, but filled with something raw, something undeniable. “Say it,” Buck growls, “Whatever you’ve been holding back, fucking say it.” His fists are still clenched, still trembling, his body vibrating with adrenaline, anger—something else.

Buck got a hit in, his fist colliding with Eddie’s jaw. 

Pain exploded through him, but Eddie barely felt it. Something flickers across Eddie’s face—regret, realization, maybe both—but before Buck has time to brace before Eddie swings again.

Eddie’s fist connects— clean, hard, devastating.

Buck’s head snaps to the side, pain exploding along his jaw, and then—copper. 

He tastes blood, sharp and metallic, pooling at the corner of his mouth. The hit knocks him off balance, his skates scraping against the ice as he struggles to stay upright.

The crowd is deafening, a chaotic mix of cheers and gasps, but Buck barely registers it. All he knows is the sting in his jaw and the way his pulse pounds like a war drum in his ears.

Eddie is breathing hard, still gripping Buck’s jersey like he’s not sure if he wants to hit him again or pull him closer. His chest heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the weight of something bigger than just the fight.

For a second, Buck sways on his feet. Then, slowly, he lifts a hand to his mouth, swiping at the blood trickling from his mouth. He glances at it, then back up at Eddie, and—God help him—he laughs. It’s not mean, not mocking. Just breathless and raw, tinged with something Eddie can’t quite name. “That all you got?” Buck rasps, voice rough, words curling at the edges with something reckless

Buck’s laugh echoes between them, breathless and too much . Messing with Eddie like a taunt, like a challenge. Like an invitation.

Because this isn’t just a fight, it never was.

Eddie knows it. Buck knows it.

The refs are closing in now, voices sharp, hands reaching to pull them apart, but Eddie isn’t ready to let go. Not yet.

Buck’s eyes flicker—something dark, something knowing —as he leans in just enough that only Eddie can hear.

Buck’s not ready to let this end.

He swings fast—but just wide enough that Eddie barely has to move to dodge it.

Eddie’s next hit looks sharp and angry — but his fist never actually connects. Just a brush of knuckles, a whispered threat against Buck’s cheek.

A warning.

Or maybe a promise.

Buck’s breath ragged. “You’ve been avoiding me,” he hissed.

Eddie tightened his grip. “Because this can’t happen again.”

Buck whispers, his voice rough, “Tell me you don’t want me,” his breath ghosting over Eddie’s jaw, a cruel echo of something Eddie shouldn’t still be thinking about. 

Eddie’s fingers tighten in Buck’s jersey, fuck , he needs to step back—needs to get his head on straight—but then Buck shifts, just barely, and Eddie feels it.

The weight of him. The heat.

And it wrecks him.

Because for weeks, he’s been pretending, shoving down the memories of Buck’s hands on his skin, the taste of whiskey and something sweeter on his lips, the way it felt right in a way nothing else ever has. Eddie exhales sharply, his grip finally loosening. 

A moment later, the refs are shoving between them, prying them apart before the fight can go any further, and sending them to opposite penalty boxes.

Eddie turns to Buck and mutters, still catching his breath. “You really are a fucking menace.”

Buck groans and replies, “Shut up, Diaz,” still feeling the ghost of Eddie’s fist against his jaw, the heat of his grip on his jersey. 

He skates toward the penalty box, his body aching, his cheek still bleeding, his head spinning with everything that just happened.

Buck takes a seat in the penalty box once again, he lets his head tip back against the glass and exhales.

The box attendant passes Buck a towel, to wipe the blood off his face.

After Buck and Eddie serve their penalties, they get back on the ice, but something between them has fundamentally shifted. The fight was supposed to settle things—burn off the frustration, the tension—but instead, it’s only made everything more intense.

Eddie still isn’t looking at Buck, but Buck can feel him. 

Every time they pass each other on the ice, every time they get caught up in the same play, the air crackles between them.

Buck scores the tie-breaking goal right as the final buzzer sounds, and the Kings’ bench erupts in celebration. Buck exhales, running his tongue over the inside of his cheek, still tasting blood, still feeling the ghost of Eddie’s fist on his jaw. 

The win should feel better than this.

His teammates slap his back as they skate off, clapping him on the helmet, but his eyes are searching for one person.

Eddie.

He finds him near the opposing bench, helmet off, hair damp with sweat, jaw locked tight; he looks wrecked—not from the game, not even from the loss, but from this. From them.

For a second, Eddie looks up, and their eyes meet.

The hit. 

The fight. 

Buck should let it go. Should skate off with his team, soak in the victory, and pretend none of this happened, But he can’t.

Instead, he smirks— just a little, just enough to be infuriating— holding up a gloved middle finger towards him and mouths, ‘Fuck you’ towards Eddie.

Eddie leaves the bench and goes down the tunnel with the rest of his team.

The Kings just won, the locker room is alive with energy—laughing, shouting, music blasting. His teammates are hyped, riding the high of victory, but Buck?

Buck is still stuck on Eddie.

On the way his knuckles felt against his jaw. On the sharp, unreadable look in his eyes after the fight. On the way he skated off without a word, shoulders rigid, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

Buck barely registers the post-game interviews, throwing out the usual lines about teamwork, strategy, “one game at a time.” His head isn’t in it. It’s somewhere else. It’s back there, still standing on the ice, still looking at Eddie.

And the thing is—Eddie didn’t have to fight him. He chose to.

That means something.

Buck’s now in the middle of dressing, the game still coursing through him, a raw mix of adrenaline and exhaustion. He pulls his gear off slowly, one piece at a time, the day's weight settling over him. His muscles ache, his jaw still throbbing where Eddie’s hit landed, but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s different now. There’s this pressure building in his chest—something unresolved, something unfinished.

He’s halfway through pulling on the tailored slacks of his game-day suit when his phone buzzes in his bag on the bench beside him. At first, he doesn’t pay it much attention, too focused on the task of getting dressed, slipping his shirt over his head.

But the buzz comes again.

He pauses, fingers still halfway through tucking in his shirt, and glances over at his bag. His stomach tightens, and for a split second, he wonders if he should ignore it—maybe it’s just a post-game message from one of the guys. Or something from his sister.

But then his phone buzzes once more, a reminder of missed text messages, sharp and insistent.

Curious now, Buck grabs it from the bench, his hand a little unsteady as he unlocks the screen—his pulse stutters when he sees the message.

Eddie.

The texts were simple, direct—

Eddie: Players parking lot.
Eddie: Now.

The words hit him like a physical blow. His stomach drops, and his breath catches, the noise of the locker room around him suddenly fading into the background. It’s just that message now, echoing in his mind. Now.

The tension between them—the friction that’s been building, simmering—suddenly feels too real. Too close. Too inevitable. His thoughts scatter, trying to process what it means, what it could mean. Eddie hasn’t been this direct with him before.

His heart picks up, pounding in his ears. The sound is deafening in the quiet of the locker room.

Without thinking, Buck grabs his hoodie and pulls it over his head, his mind scrambling, trying to catch up with his body. There’s no plan, no idea of what’s going to happen, but something is pulling him forward. Whatever Eddie wants, whatever this mess between them is—it’s about to shift.

His hands shake slightly as he stuffs the phone back into his pocket, the words still seared into his mind.

His breath feels too shallow as he moves toward the door, the sounds of the locker room fading as he steps into the hallway, the bright lights buzzing overhead. 

He doesn’t know what’s waiting for him in the parking lot, doesn’t know what Eddie wants or how this is going to play out. But he knows one thing—he’s not turning back.

Not now. Not when everything he’s been feeling, everything they’ve been tiptoeing around, is finally about to come to a head.

Outside, the night air feels colder than usual, like the world is holding its breath as Buck steps out of the arena, reminding him that Texas can still get chilly and California winters have spoiled him.

The parking lot is nearly empty, save for a few lingering cars and the distant hum of the highway. But Buck doesn’t have to look far.

Eddie is leaning against the passenger side door of his truck. He’s changed out of his gear, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, but there’s still something sharp about him—like he hasn’t quite let go of the game, of the fight, of them.

He looks tense. Pissed.

But mostly, he looks like he’s waiting.

Buck stops a few feet away, letting the space stretch between them, but it’s not enough. He shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket, trying to keep his voice steady when he finally speaks. His whole posture is wound tight like he’s bracing for impact. 

Buck gives him exactly two seconds to say something. 

He doesn’t.

“You gonna keep running from me, or are we actually gonna talk this time?”

Finally, Eddie looks up, and Buck feels it—a crack in Eddie’s usual steely exterior, something raw and unguarded slipping through. Eddie inhales sharply exhales through his nose, something sharp and frustrated. “What the hell was that game, Buck?”

Buck scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was me finally getting your attention?”

Eddie’s jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, congratulations. You fucking got it.”

So Buck steps closer, jaw tight. “So, what? You want to talk to me now?”

They stand there for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken stretching between them like a live wire.

Then Eddie pushes off the truck, stepping closer. “You can’t do that,” he says, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “You can’t just—hit me like that—and expect it to fix anything. You can’t say that shit on the ice, and you keep… pushing. You don’t have to keep pushing me, Buck.” He steps forward, trying to close the distance, but Eddie holds up a hand, as if to stop him, Eddie says, his voice strained. “I can’t give you what you want.”

Buck’s chest tightens, his frustration bubbling over. “What the hell do you think I want, Eddie?” His voice cracks slightly. “I just want you to talk to me. To stop pretending like what we have doesn’t matter.”

“You think I don’t want to be honest with you?” Eddie’s voice raises just enough to show how frustrated he is.

Buck’s laugh is humorless. “Right. Because ignoring me was a way better solution.”

Eddie’s hands flex at his sides. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

Buck glares at him and points,  “Bullshit.”

Eddie lifts his head, eyes flashing in the dim glow of the streetlights as he points back at Buck “Don’t start.”

Buck lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, you know what, I think I will. Because from where I’m standing, you spent the last three whole fucking weeks acting like I don’t exist, and now, after an entire game of playing like you wanted to end me, you suddenly want to meet up in a parking lot? What the hell, Eddie?” His words are flat, his voice thick with exhaustion, not anger—just tired. Tired of the back-and-forth, the endless cycle of unspoken words, and the confusion, Eddie seems determined to drag him through.

Eddie exhales sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “I needed time.”

Buck shakes his head, scoffing. “Right. Time. Sure. And what? You figured it all out? Because from where I’m standing, it still looks like you’re running.”

Eddie’s jaw tightens. His fists clench at his sides. “I’m not running.”

Buck steps closer, eyes burning into his. “Then say it. Say what this is.”

Eddie’s face shifts, his eyes darkening, and for a moment, Buck sees the tension break through—he sees Eddie’s fists tighten so hard his knuckles whiten, and for an instant, he thinks Eddie might snap. 

The fight. The frustration. The raw, unresolved anger has been building between them for so long. 

“Fine,” Eddie spits, his voice low and dangerous. “You want to know what I’ve been running from? It’s you. It’s me. It’s the mess we’re in, and I don’t know how to fix it.

For a moment, Buck freezes. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, hearing the admission, hearing the weight of it, and he feels his frustration twist into something else—something fragile. 

Because Eddie’s right. Neither of them knows how to fix this. And neither of them knows how to walk away, either.

Buck watches the war play out across his face—like he’s standing on the edge of something and terrified of what happens if he jumps.

Eddie exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, and for the first time tonight, Buck sees it—the conflict written all over him. The guilt, the hesitation, the way his chest rises and falls like he’s fighting himself just as much as he’s fighting Buck. Then, finally—quietly, barely above a whisper—Eddie says, “Chris.”

Buck still remembers meeting Chris in Vegas. “Chris,” he says, repeating Eddie’s words.

Eddie’s throat works around the words. “Yeah, you remember, I have a son, Buck?” His voice is raw and heavy, with something so much bigger than just the two of them. “You think I haven’t thought about him through all this? I’ve been a father before anything else, and it’s not just my own feelings I’m worried about here. I can’t— This isn’t just about me. It’s about him. About his life. About what happens if people start looking at me like I’m not—” He breaks off, inhaling sharply, shaking his head, he swallows, his throat tight with emotion, and for the first time, Buck sees the weight Eddie’s been carrying, the burden that’s kept him silent. “Do you know what it’s like to be the guy in the locker room who— who isn’t like everyone else?”

Buck clenches his jaw. He knows exactly what it’s like in the locker rooms and the weight of secrets, and understands the struggle of hiding one's true self. While he keeps his own bisexuality close to his chest, shared with only a handful of trusted friends, he recognizes that his journey is not the same as Eddie's.

Eddie lets out a humorless breath. “You hear what gets said in there? When the doors are closed? When they don’t think anyone’s listening?” He exhales harshly, raking a hand through his damp hair. “They talk like being gay is a joke, Buck, like it’s something that makes you less. And the guys who come out? They don’t stick around. They get benched, they get sent down, they get traded, and then they disappear.”

Buck’s heart stutters. He feels the air leave his lungs as Eddie’s words sink in, and he understands. Buck knows all too well. 

Eddie shakes his head, voice thick with something barely held together. “I can’t disappear, Buck. I can’t lose my place in the league. I can’t give my parents any reason to think I can’t take care of Chris.”

There it is— the real fear.

It's not just what the team would think. It was not just what the league would think, but what would happen if his parents decided they could do a better job. If they had an excuse to step in.

Buck exhales sharply, his chest aching. “Eddie… I do know, I understand.”

Eddie lifts his gaze, his brown eyes dark and so damn scared. “I can’t lose him.” His voice breaks, just a little as he steps closer, his expression torn. “I know I can’t hide from this forever, but I can’t just jump in and risk hurting him.”

Buck swallows hard. “You won’t.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he doesn’t believe that.

Buck steps forward, closing the distance until he can feel the warmth radiating from Eddie's body, a comforting presence amidst the turmoil. “Eddie, you’re not going to hurt him,” he says, his voice lowering to a soft, steady whisper that cuts through the tension. “You are the best damn father I’ve ever met. No one’s taking Chris from you.” 

Eddie exhales sharply, his body slumping, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration evident in every movement. “I don’t even know how to make this work, Buck,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost like he’s breaking. “I don’t know how to be everything to you and still be everything to him. How do I balance that? How do I keep him safe and not ruin this thing… whatever it is… between us?”

They stand there in the silence again, the tension still thick but with something else—an understanding. An unspoken promise that this isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning.

Eddie glances at Buck, his gaze softening just for a moment. “I… I need you to be patient with me, Buck.”

Buck takes a deep breath, nodding, feeling the weight of Eddie’s words sink in. “I can do that.” 

Buck can see it—the war happening behind his eyes.

Eddie swallows hard. Eddie’s gaze drops to the floor, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he struggles to process Buck's words. His hands tremble, a mixture of fear and anxiety coursing through him.

Without thinking, Buck reaches out. His fingers glide gently over Eddie's, a tentative yet grounding touch that seeks to reassure him. He intertwines their hands, holding Eddie's tightly in his own, hoping to convey a sense of security and support that words alone cannot provide.

“I don’t know how to fix it,” Eddie says, his voice hoarse, “I don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t want to hurt you, either.”

Buck steps forward, “I get it, I do, but you don’t have to fix it,” he says softly. “You just have to stop carrying it alone.” his chest tightens.

Eddie doesn't pull away for the first time in a long time. 

Instead, his breath catches, and he curses under his breath like something snaps—like the tension finally breaks—he moves. 

His hand grips the front of Buck’s hoodie, yanking him forward, crashing their mouths together in something messy and desperate. 

Buck groans against him, hands flying to Eddie’s waist, anchoring himself in his solid warmth.

It’s not soft. It’s not careful —something messy and desperate and real. Eddie kisses him like he’s starving. Like he’s trying to drown out every doubt, every fear, every whispered what-if. Like he’s trying to erase the hesitation, the running, the space he put between them.

But Buck—because he’s Buck—doesn’t let him get away with it that easily.

He kisses back just as hard, teeth scraping against Eddie’s bottom lip, hands gripping his jacket like he’s daring him to pull away again. when Eddie finally breaks for air, Buck doesn’t step back. Doesn’t give him an inch.

Foreheads pressed together, Eddie’s grip on Buck’s hoodie tightens. His breath is ragged, his eyes still so damn unsure.

Buck smiles—small, teasing. He tilts his head, breathing hot against Eddie’s lips. “So… that was an interesting way to say I’m in.”

Eddie exhales sharply, still gripping Buck’s hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His heart is pounding in his chest, “Shut up, Buck… I—” He swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t know how we’re going to make this work.”

Buck lets out a breath—maybe a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. Just something rough, something real. “Yeah? Well, join the fucking club.”

Before Eddie can think of something to say or give himself even a second to overthink, Buck steps back. 

Not far. Just enough to look Eddie in the eye and let the cold air slip between them like a warning.

Buck says, voice quieter now, steadier. “Maybe we could figure it out together?”

Eddie’s throat goes tight because, of course, he wants this. He’s wanted this—this tension, this fire, this thing between them that’s always been just beneath the surface, burning hotter with every hit, every fight, every stolen glance… He’s spent his whole life keeping things in check. Controlling the chaos, controlling himself. 

And Buck? Buck was something he can't control… But standing here, adrenaline still thrumming in his veins, Eddie realizes something.

He doesn’t want to control this.

Not anymore.

He nods, just once, “Okay.”

Buck arches an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Eddie huffs out a breath, shaking his head with a small, almost self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, okay. I’m done running.”

Something shifts in Buck’s expression. The tension in his shoulders eases—not all the way, but enough. He searches Eddie’s face like he’s looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in his words. Finally, Buck nods. “Good.”

Buck steps closer, defying the space Eddie’s tried to create. He’s done. He’s tired of playing by the rules, tired of waiting. Without another word, he closes the distance, his hand shooting out to grab Eddie’s jacket this time, pulling him in. There’s no hesitation in the way Buck leans in, and then, without warning, the space between them collapses. 

Eddie’s hand curls around the back of Buck’s neck, pulling him in the rest of the way. 

When their lips crash together— hard, urgent, with no thought of consequences, it’s a collision of want and frustration, their mouths clashing as if they’re trying to make up for all the time they’ve wasted apart.

Buck’s heart races as Eddie deepens the kiss, his body pressing into him, their chests flush against each other. It’s desperate, messy, full of raw emotion. Eddie’s hands are everywhere—on Buck’s shoulders, his waist, his neck—like he can’t get enough.

Buck pulls away first, gasping for air, his chest heaving. His fingers grip Eddie’s jacket tightly, still holding him close. “Is this… is this what you want?” he asks, his voice low and raw.

Eddie looks at him, and there’s no hesitation now. “I don’t know,” he admits, voice hoarse, still catching his breath. “But I can’t run away anymore.”

“We don’t even know what this is, Eddie,” Buck says, his voice trembling slightly from the emotions still roiling inside him.

Eddie shakes his head, his forehead resting against Buck’s. “I know,” he admits. “But we need time, and I need time. We’ll figure it out. For me. For Chris.”

“I’m here; I’ll wait, I promise.” Buck nods, understanding. He brushes his thumb across Eddie’s jaw, his expression softening. “You don’t have to be perfect; you just need to be ready, and right now, that’s all I want from you.”

Eddie’s lips curl into something close to a smile, but his eyes still have a heaviness. “Jesus Christ, Buck, I don’t deserve this, I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs.

There’s a long moment of silence as they stand there, the weight of what just happened hanging between them. 

Eddie’s hand lingers on Buck’s waist, his thumb brushing gently against the fabric of Buck’s shirt as if he’s still unsure of where to go from here.

Finally, Buck lets out a quiet, almost amused sigh. “I guess we should go back inside. Before someone catches us making out in the parking lot.” He said as he stepped back from Eddie, the warmth departing

Eddie chuckles, the sound low and real. “Yeah, probably a good idea.”

They don’t pull away, though. Not yet. Instead, they stand there for a moment longer, leaning into each other, both of them silently acknowledging that whatever this is, it’s not over.

His eyes meet Buck’s again, and this time, there’s no hesitation, “You know,” Eddie says softly, “I can’t promise anything right now. But I—”

Buck kept his voice steady, holding up a finger against Eddie's lips, “You don’t have to promise anything, Eddie. I want to say I'm always here for you, but I know it's going to be kind of hard when I'm in LA and you're here in Dallas. You can text or call me about anything, and I mean anything.”

Eddie looks at him for a long moment, clearly torn between what he feels and what he thinks he should do. He wants this. He knows it. But there’s a war in his eyes—fear, hesitation, uncertainty about the future.

Buck lets every ounce of frustration, longing, and something dangerously close to love slip into his words. “Come up to my hotel room,” Buck murmurs, gaze locked onto Eddie’s. “We can talk. We can figure this out. Or we can just—” He exhales sharply and shakes his head. “I just don’t want to spend another night wondering what would’ve happened if you stayed.”

Eddie swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides like he’s physically fighting the pull toward Buck. But it’s there, crackling between them like an open flame, impossible to ignore.

“Damn it, Buck,” Eddie admits, voice rough, barely audible over the hum of the parking lot, “You scare the shit out of me, Buck.”

Buck’s heart stutters, and he reaches out just enough for his fingers to brush against Eddie’s wrist. He is not holding —just touching and grounding them both. “Yeah?” he breathes. “Well, you wreck me, Eddie.”

“I can’t—” Eddie starts, but he doesn’t finish. He honestly felt lost in Buck's words

“Can’t what?” Buck murmurs, voice wrecked.

Eddie closes his eyes, and for a second, Buck thinks he’s going to pull away. But then he shakes his head, exhales, and whispers, “Can’t walk away from this again.”

Buck’s stomach flips, his pulse beating so hard he swears Eddie can hear it.

“Then don’t,” Buck whispers back. “Come to my hotel room tonight, and we leave for Denver in the morning,”

Eddie’s eyes open, dark and wrecked and burning. He doesn’t say anything—just nods once, sharp and certain. “Okay. Yeah, I know Chris is spending the night at a friend's house tonight. I’ll come up.” He pauses, glancing down at his feet before looking back at Buck. “But just so you know…. If we’re doing this, it’s… it’s not just casual, Buck.”

Buck doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping through. He gently placed a hand on Eddie’s arm, “I know,” Buck says softly. “I’m not looking for casual either.”

Eddie nods, and for the first time, there’s a slight, genuine smile on his lips, though it’s still guarded. “Alright.”

“W Hotel, room 811”

They finally part, and Buck walks himself back into the arena, not looking back at Eddie but knowing he would see him in less than an hour.

Chapter Text

Buck waits until he hears a soft knock at his door. He opens it to find Eddie on the other side. 

“Oh, very incognito, totally not trying to get caught,” Buck says, his tone soft but teasing. He takes in Eddie’s outfit—the hoodie pulled low, the baseball cap tucked beneath it, and sunglasses in the middle of the night, the unmistakable aura of someone trying to go unnoticed. “You know, we’re not in a spy movie, right?”

Eddie laughs bitterly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, maybe I’d feel better if I was.” His eyes flicker to the hallway behind him and then back to Buck. “I just—this is stupid. I just didn’t know how else to do it, okay?”

Buck smiles softly, his heart swelling with affection despite the tension of the situation. He steps aside to let Eddie into the room, making sure the door clicks shut quietly behind him. The sound of Eddie’s heavy sigh fills the air, and Buck can see the tightness in his shoulders as Eddie leans against the door for a moment, clearly still on edge.

“You didn't have to do all this, Eddie,” Buck says quietly, his voice full of understanding. “It’s… it’s just us, and I'm pretty sure everyone on the team is asleep in their rooms; there's no need for a disguise.”

“Shut up,” Eddie replies as tension coils in his shoulders. His gaze flicks toward the window as if someone might be outside, peering in, eight stories up. 

Buck is staring at him, blue eyes dark with something Eddie isn’t ready to name. He pushes the hood off and takes Eddie's hat before slowly taking off the sunglasses. He sets the glasses in the hat before setting it off to the side and leaning into Eddie against the door. Eddie's hoodie is twisted in Buck's grip, and neither of them is sure if they’re letting go or pulling each other back in.

Buck tilts his head, lips dragging along Eddie’s jaw, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every second. “So, you still wanna talk?” he whispers, voice so low it barely cuts through the thick tension between them.

Eddie should push him away and demand space, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches back as his fingers tighten in Buck’s hair, yanking just enough to make Buck let out a low, wrecked sound that shoots straight through Eddie like a lightning strike. 

Buck’s breath stutters, but his hands don’t stop—fingertips teasing at the hem of Eddie’s shirt, the warmth of his palms searing through the fabric.

Eddie’s stomach clenches, every instinct screaming at him to stop thinking and just give in. But he forces himself to exhale sharply, forces himself to remember the stakes. “We need to talk,” he says, and he hates how breathless he sounds, how weak his voice is against the way Buck is looking at him.

Buck hums, amused, his hands sliding lower, his grin downright sinful. “Alright, then talk,” he says, challenging Eddie to hold onto his resolve.

Eddie groans, “Oh, so you want to map out how we're going to sneak around while you're actively giving me a boner?” his grip tightening in Buck’s hair again, dragging his head back enough to force him to listen. “I mean it, Buck.” His voice is rough, low, and barely steady. 

Something flickers in Buck’s eyes, something sharp and knowing, but it doesn’t stop him from smirking. “Oh, you do?”

Eddie exhales harshly, his fingers flexing against Buck’s scalp. “Then why—” His words cut off when Buck’s hands slide up under his shirt, broad palms spreading over his ribs as if he belongs there, and it causes Eddie to shudder.

Buck leans in again, his lips brushing just beneath Eddie’s ear. He murmurs, voice rough now, laced with something deeper. “You’re gonna pretend you don’t want this right now?” His voice is low, dripping with challenge. “Because your hands say otherwise.”

Eddie’s throat bobs, his pulse hammering so hard he knows Buck can feel it. “That’s not the point.”

Buck lets out a soft, knowing laugh, his lips still hovering close. “No? ‘Cause it kinda seems like the point.”

Eddie tightens his grip on Buck’s hair, forcing just enough tension to make Buck still. 

His breath is heavy, his pulse hammering, but he refuses to let himself get swept away—refuses to let Buck distract him with soft touches and teasing smiles.

Eddie exhales sharply, forcing himself to ignore the heat pooling in his stomach. “Buck.” His fingers flex just a little, and Buck shivers beneath his grip. “We need rules,” he grits out. “We need a plan. Or this is going to blow up in our faces.”

The reminder cuts through the haze, but Buck doesn’t pull back. If anything, his expression softens. “I know,” he says, quieter this time.

Eddie swallows hard, his grip easing in Buck’s hair, fingers sliding down to cup the back of his neck instead. “Then we figure this out,” he murmurs.

Buck’s breath is warm against his skin, “So, rules?”

“Right. Rules.” Eddie huffs a laugh, short and humorless, “Because that’s working so well for us right now.”

Buck pulled back, taking a few steps back, farther into the room, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed. He created space between the two of them so they could talk. As much as Buck wanted to feel the warmth of Eddie pressed against him again, he knew he needed to be serious about this.

Eddie doesn’t sit. Instead, He just paces, fingers dragging through his hair, leaving it a mess, exhaling sharply, “Do you realize how many ways this could go wrong?”

Buck watched him. “Yeah. I do.” His voice is steady, even. “But I also know that if we don’t at least try, it’s gonna drive us both insane.”

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, but trying means sneaking around. It means lying to our teams and to our families. Buck, it means—” He stops, jaw tightening. “It means if we get caught, my parents could try to take Chris away from me.”

Buck knew Eddie was scared, but hearing it laid out like that made it hit harder. “Eddie…” He crosses the room and places a careful hand on Eddie’s arm. “Hey, we won’t get caught, and they won’t take Chris.”

Eddie lets out a sharp breath, looking at Buck like he wants to believe him but can’t quite let himself. “You don’t know that.”

Buck doesn’t waver. “Like you said, we talk, we make rules, we make sure we’re careful and don’t do anything stupid.”

Eddie scoffs as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed,  “This is already stupid.”

Buck smirks. “Yeah, but it’s the good kind of stupid.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Buck catches the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. Buck gives him that look—the one that’s starting to become his weakness— and Eddie knows he’s already lost. “…Okay,” he says, barely above a whisper. “We try.”

Buck grins, and for a second, Eddie forgets why he needs to be serious. He wants to be serious. If they’re going to do this, they need actual ground rules, not just Buck’s reckless confidence and a mutual hope that they won’t get caught.

But now Buck is making that very difficult because Buck can’t seem to sit still. Every time Eddie tries to talk, Buck is there—touching, teasing, brushing against him like a live wire, a walking temptation. 

And Eddie—Eddie is trying to stay focused. He really is, so when Buck shifts, nudging a knee between Eddie’s thighs, Eddie does the only thing he can do, he tugs hard on Buck’s hair again.

Buck makes a choked-off sound, blinking up at him, and—yeah, okay, maybe that backfired because Buck looks far too pleased about it.

Eddie tightens his grip, making sure Buck knows he means business. “Focus.”

Buck grins, his tone filled with mischief. “I am focused.”

Eddie glares. “Not on what you should be.”

Buck huffs and sits up, raking a hand through his hair like he needs to shake off whatever thoughts were just running through his head. “Okay, okay,” he concedes, “Let’s make these rules.”

Eddie stops, turning sharply. “Buck—” he exhales sharply, shaking his head, “We have to be smart,”

Buck replies lightly, “I know.”

Eddie doesn’t let it drop. He turns, and his eyes are dark and serious. “Do you?” His voice is low, the edge in it sharp enough to cut. “Because this isn’t just about us sneaking around, Buck. This is my career. This is your career.” He shakes his head. “Hell, it’s my son.”

Buck swallows hard, “ I know,” he repeated.

Eddie exhales, “They’ll say we're ‘distracted.’ That we’re not playing like we used to. And the worst part?” His laugh is bitter, “No one will say it outright. No one will admit it. But we’ll know.”

Buck clenches his jaw. “We don’t have to come out.”

Eddie levels him with a look. “Buck, you think people won’t notice?”

Buck exhales sharply because, yeah. He sees the risk. If they slip up even once—a look held too long, a touch that lingers, one moment of weakness in the wrong place, and suddenly, the rumors will start. Rumors? They’re worse than the truth because rumors stick.

Eddie clasped his hands between his knees, gaze fixed on the floor. “My parents…” he starts, then stops, pressing his lips together. “They think I already have too much on my plate,” Eddie mutters. “I haven't told them about hiring Carla. They think I'm doing this all on my own, and if they think I’m—” His voice catches, and he shakes his head. “If they think I’m putting this before Chris, they’ll want to push for custody.”

“Hey, they wouldn’t win,” Buck says, but even as the words leave his mouth, he knows it’s not that simple.

Eddie laughs, hollow and humorless. “You think I want my kid hearing that his dad’s ‘unfit’? You think I want him dragged into that kind of fight?” Eddie lets out a breath, fingers pressing into his temples. “Chris is my everything, and I don’t want him to have to deal with any– any of it.”

Buck’s chest aches. He moves forward, crouching before Eddie, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Hey, we’ll be careful.”

Eddie exhales, relieved. “Okay. First rule—we don’t text anything that could get us caught. Keep it vague. Keep it short. No calls unless we know it’s safe, nothing someone could take out of context.”

“Maybe we can put each other's numbers in as something simple like an emoji? Or do we just have each other in our phones by Initals?” Buck threw out the idea, “Since I go by Buck, my first name being Evan so that I can be ‘E’ in your contacts.”

“That’s not a bad idea, less of a pinpoint.” Eddie nodded, “Put me in as D for Diaz.”

“—Or dick,” Buck joked as he took a seat next to Eddie on the bed, “maybe ill put an eggplant emoji next to it.”

“For the love of god, please don't,” Eddie said with a small laugh before leaning back on the bed, his head tilting toward the ceiling like he was already regretting every decision leading to this moment. “No meeting up after games. No post-game talks. No lingering on the ice,” Eddie adds. “We play it like we always have. Sell this rivalry. Give them absolutely nothing to suspect, Make sure no one thinks twice about us.”

Buck exhales sharply. “Which means we have to be worse on the ice.”

Eddie shrugs. “Think you can handle it?”

“I laid you out tonight, didn't I?” Buck scoffed, “And I gotta admit, it was kind of hot.”

Eddie's eyes narrow back at Buck, “Let's not forget I got payback.

Buck rubbed his cheek where Eddie's fist made contact during their fight in the game, “how could I ever forget?”

Eddie smirks slightly, something fond flickering in his expression. “You think you can handle that?”

Buck huffs a laugh as he stretches out on the bed, all lazy smirks and knowing glances.  “Guess we’re gonna find out.”

Eddie exhales, shaking his head. “Jesus, this is a terrible idea.”

Buck searches his face with fear and frustration and want written all over it. “Do you want to stop?”

Eddie hesitates. Not for long, but long enough for Buck to brace himself. Then— “No.” he lets out a long exhale, shaking his head. “Jesus, this is a terrible idea. Sounds like a damn spy mission.”

Buck shrugs. “Might as well be. You know how people are. One picture, one video, and we’re screwed, so that would also mean no personal stuff in public. So that means no looking at each other like we—” He stops and clears his throat. “Like we do when we’re alone.”

Eddie swallows hard. “Right.” He rubs at his jaw, thinking. “And if we’re ever at the same event? We keep our distance. No slipping away together. No secret meetings where someone could notice. People will believe what they want to believe. We just have to give them enough to hold onto,” Eddie smirks. “Besides, if we make it look like we hate each other, no one’s gonna question it.”

Buck’s face twists slightly like he hates that idea, but he nods. He knows Eddie’s right. He knows they have no choice. But it still burns. The idea of pretending like Eddie doesn’t mean anything. It's like they’re just players on rival teams.

Eddie must see something in his face because he exhales, softer this time. “It’s not forever, Buck.”

Buck scoffs. “You sound pretty sure about that.”

Eddie hesitates, “I have to be.”

Buck nods slowly. He gets it. Eddie has more on the line than he does, so Buck doesn’t argue, even if part of him wants to.

Instead, he pushes past it. “So, what? We avoid each other until the end of the season?”

Eddie's face distorts as he tries to find the right words to explain his thoughts about it, “Yes and No? We win. Both of us. We push through playoffs, take our teams as far as we can, goals assists, we just keep our names on the score sheets.” His eyes meet Buck’s, and there’s something sharp in them. “The farther we go, the more important we are. The more important we are, the harder it is for them to push us out.”

Buck studies him, realization settling in. “So, you’re saying you want us to make ourselves untouchable.”

Eddie nods. “Exactly. It feels like the most logical to do.”

Buck’s hands shift, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against Eddie’s arm— gentle, grounding, and softly says, “Okay.”

Eddie turns his head, meeting Buck’s gaze again. “You really think we can pull that off?”

Buck exhales, “I think we have to.” He swallows, jaw clenching. “Look, I hate this. I hate that we have to hide, that we can’t just—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “But if keeping this secret means you get to keep your son? Then yeah. We try to pull it off.”

Eddie swallows hard, searching Buck’s face—looking for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that they’re about to walk into something that’s already doomed to fail.

There’s none— just steady, unwavering certainty.

Buck turns his head, finding Eddie already looking at him. There’s something raw in his expression, something vulnerable. 

“Tell me to go,” Eddie murmurs, voice rough. “And I will.”

Buck’s stomach clenches. He should. They just talked about not having secret meetings and to give each other space. He should tell Eddie to go, but he doesn’t. Instead, he whispers, “I don’t want you to.”

Eddie’s eyes fluttered shut for a second as if that was what he needed to hear. He huffs a breath, almost a laugh.

Buck props himself up on his elbow, looking down at Eddie, his fingers twitching against the comforter. He shifts closer, not quite touching, but close enough that he can see the uncertainty flickering in Eddie’s eyes. 

Eddie exhales, eyes slipping shut again. 

Buck doesn’t move. He just waits, watching as Eddie works through whatever war is happening inside his head.

When Eddie finally opens his eyes, something shifts.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reaches across the space between them, fingers brushing over Buck’s wrist before curling around it like he’s anchoring himself there.

Buck’s breath catches.

Eddie looks at him, searching, and squeezes his wrist. Before letting out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, and before Buck can overthink it, he turns his hand under Eddie’s and laces their fingers together.

Eddie doesn’t pull away.

And for now, that’s enough.

The space between them is almost nonexistent, but they still aren’t quite touching—at least, not entirely. Not yet.

Buck lets a hand rest at Eddie’s hip, barely there, just the faintest whisper of contact, like he’s afraid to press too hard like Eddie might pull away if he does. His thumb moves in slow, absentminded strokes against the fabric of Eddie’s hoodie, not pushing, just feeling.

Eddie is tense beneath him, his body wound tight like he’s fighting himself, and every muscle in him is screaming to move away even though he hasn’t. Even though he won’t.

“I can feel you thinking,” Buck murmurs, voice low, as he leaned in, his breath ghosting against Eddie’s jaw.

Eddie lets out a rough exhale, his own hand moving to Buck’s bicep, fingers curling but not gripping, not pulling. “Yeah, well, there’s a lot to think about,” he mutters.

Buck hums, dipping his head just enough that the tip of his nose skims the curve of Eddie’s jaw. Eddie shudders—actually shudders—but doesn’t move away.

“What if–” Buck whispers, lips barely brushing the skin just beneath Eddie’s ear. “we don’t think for a minute?”

Eddie’s breath catches, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against Buck’s arm, but still—still—he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, he shifts just enough that his body presses against Buck’s, the warmth of him seeping through their clothes, his breath coming quicker now.

“You make it sound so easy,” Eddie whispers, voice rough.

Buck huffs a small, breathless laugh, finally allowing himself to press just a little more into Eddie’s space. “It is easy,” he says, lips still hovering over Eddie’s skin. “It’s everything else that makes it hard.”

Eddie’s hand slides up Buck’s arm, fingertips brushing along the back of his neck, tentative but deliberate.

Buck nods, moving just enough to press their foreheads together finally, and his fingers press just a little firmer into Eddie’s hip, grounding them both.

Eddie still can’t shake the truth of everything weighing on them. Chris. Hockey. 

But then Buck—because he always has to push—leans in again, his voice low and way too tempting as he murmurs, “And what about right now?”

Eddie stiffens. “What?”

Buck smirks. “We’re in a hotel room. No one can see us. No one can hear us.” the hand that sat on his hip made its way under Eddie’s hoodie, barely there, but it sent heat curling up Eddie’s spine. “So tell me, Eds. Do the rules apply right now?”

Eddie doesn’t fight the way his lips twitch, realizing Buck is trying to get his mind to stop worrying, “You’re the worst.”

Buck grins, bright and reckless. ”Like I asked, do they apply right now?”

Eddie knows he should say yes. That he should push Buck away, keep the focus, stick to the damn plan, and go home… But Buck’s lips are inches from his, his breath warm against Eddie’s skin, and every ounce of logic Eddie has left evaporates the second Buck’s hands slide up his chest.

“We… We can take a break,” Eddie mutters, already cursing himself for it.

Buck grins. “That’s what I thought.”

Eddie grips Buck’s neck, dragging him down into a kiss. It’s hot, all tongue and teeth like Eddie is trying to devour him whole… and Buck lets him, groaning into his mouth, his own hands moving like they don’t know where to settle—his fingers skate over Eddie’s ribs, his stomach, before gripping his hoodie as if he was attempting to pull him any closer.

Eddie shifts beneath him, one leg hooking around Buck’s waist, pulling him down until there’s no space left between them. 

The friction makes Buck hiss through his teeth, his hips rolling into Eddie’s before he can stop himself. Eddie curses, his fingers digging into Buck’s shoulders, his breath hot and ragged as he nips at Buck’s lower lip, then soothes it with his tongue.

Buck groans against Eddie’s lips, startled but not unwilling, not even close. A hand, which had only been touching, grazing up Eddie’s chest, now gripped Eddie’s hip, the other sliding up his side, fingers digging into the fabric, into his solid warmth. 

Eddie presses back just as hard, his free hand curling into the short hair at the nape of Buck’s neck, holding him there like he’s afraid Buck might pull away.

Their bodies align, heat sparking between them as Buck shifts, pushing Eddie back against the mattress, his weight settling over him. Eddie gasps into his mouth at the shift, and Buck takes advantage, sliding his tongue along Eddie’s lower lip, deepening the kiss until there’s nothing left between them but heat and want.

Eddie groans, hungrier like he’s been starving for this, tilting his head to kiss him deeper. His fingers slide under Buck’s hoodie, tracing the warm skin at his waist.

Buck shudders, a sound escaping him that he’d be embarrassed about if Eddie didn’t look just as wrecked and desperate.

“You’re killing me,” Buck rasps against Eddie’s jaw, nipping at the skin there, sucking lightly just to hear the way Eddie gasps, fingers tightening in Buck’s hoodie.

“Right back at you,” Eddie mutters, his body betraying him, pressing against Buck, searching for more. His hand slides under Buck’s shirt, fingers dragging across warm, bare skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Buck groans, pressing his forehead against Eddie’s as he sucks in a breath. “Maybe we should slow down.”

“Yeah, Slow down,” Eddie agrees, but his hips rock up slightly again, and Buck swears under his breath.

“Jesus, Eds.”

Eddie huffs a breathless laugh, then slides his hands under Buck’s hoodie and pulls—not off, but just high enough to get more skin, more of Buck under his hands.

They kiss again, deeper, messier; Eddie’s hand splayed across Buck’s back, holding him there like he’s afraid this will end too soon. 

Buck feels drunk on it, on him, on the warmth of Eddie’s body under his, and on the way, Eddie kisses as he means it.

Eventually, Buck breaks the kiss, just long enough to catch his breath. His lips hover over Eddie’s, their noses brushing, their bodies still tangled together.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, voice wrecked.

Buck dropped another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another along his jaw, like he can’t not touch him.

Eddie exhales shakily but doesn’t move away. “We should stop.”

Buck smirks, his lips red and kiss-swollen. He brushes his nose against Eddie’s, a softer contrast to how his fingers tighten against his hips; he asks, “Maybe we should?”

Eddie groans, tipping his head back against the pillow, but his hands don’t stop moving, tracing idle patterns over Buck’s skin like he’s memorizing him.

They should stop.

“Tell me you want this too,” Buck murmured, his lips so close to Eddie’s that the words felt like a caress.

Eddie closed his eyes, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he tilted his head forward, letting his mouth meet Buck’s in a kiss that was equally desperation and relief. 

Buck groaned softly, his hand sliding up to cup the back of Eddie’s neck, deepening the kiss.

Their movements were hurried and frantic as if they were both afraid the other might change their mind. 

Buck pulled at the sleeves of his hoodie, pulling it up over his head as he tossed it to the side. It hit the floor.

"Take this off," Buck murmured against Eddie’s lips, his fingers fumbling with the zipper of his hoodie. Eddie complied; instead of unzipping it, he pulled the fabric over his head and tossed it aside. Their shirts quickly joined the growing pile of fabric gathering on the floor.

Buck’s hands roamed over Eddie’s chest, tracing the lines of the muscles of his chest, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake, while Eddie’s nails dug into Buck’s back, pulling him closer.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Buck stared down at Eddie, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me you’re sure,” he said, his voice rough.

Eddie’s chest heaved as he looked up at Buck, his desire mirrored in his eyes. “I’m sure.”

That was all Buck needed to hear. 

He kissed Eddie again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him as he pushed him gently onto the bed. Eddie’s back was now entirely against the mattress, and he let out a soft groan as Buck climbed over him, straddling, his mouth trailing down his neck and his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Eddie’s breath hitched as Buck’s lips sucked on his neck, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through him. "Buck…" his voice was a whisper, a plea, a promise all at once.

Buck’s hands slid down Eddie’s back, pulling him closer as he nipped at the sensitive skin below his ear. "God damn, I missed you," Buck murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Every-fucking-day of these last three weeks."

His fingers now slowly brushed down Buck’s chest, his touch reverent, as if he was trying to remember every detail from the 3 weeks before, "You’re not the only one," Eddie admitted, his voice rough with need. "I thought about you… almost every night."

Buck’s lips found Eddie’s again, the kiss deep and possessive. His hands slid lower, gripping Eddie’s hips, "Show me," Buck whispered against his lips, "Show me how much you missed me."

Eddie didn’t need to be told twice. His hands moved to Buck’s pants, grabbing hold of the waistband of his sweatpants before pushing them down.

Buck’s hands were on him as well, their movements frantic as they stripped each other bare; his hands fumbled with the button of Eddie’s pants, his arousal making his movements clumsy.

“You—” Eddie starts, but Buck chooses that exact moment to suck a mark into his throat, and whatever words were about to come out dissolve into a choked-off sound.

Buck smirks. “Sorry, what was that?”

“You’re not sorry.”

“Not even a little.”

Eddie groans, tipping his head back against the pillow. Buck nips along his jaw, his hands slip lower, and his thumbs brush teasing circles against the bare skin just above Eddie’s waistband.

It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming.

Buck wants him. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing, just pure, unfiltered desire, making Eddie feel dizzy.

“I should stop this,” Eddie mutters.

Buck hums, lips ghosting over Eddie’s in something that’s almost like a kiss. “You won’t.”

And he’s right because Eddie doesn’t stop him. He can’t, he won’t, he doesn’t want to.

Instead, he slides a hand into Buck’s hair, gripping hard once again, remembering the look on Buck’s face from earlier, and pulls him into another kiss, messy and desperate. 

“Fuck,” Buck whispers, forehead pressed against Eddie’s. “You feel—Jesus, Eddie.”

“Buck—” Eddie starts, but it turns into a gasp as Buck rolls his hips again, grinding down with enough pressure to make Eddie’s breath stutter.

“Yeah?” Buck murmurs against his mouth, teasing, smug.

With his hand still tangled in buck’s curls, Eddie yanks him down, “ -Less talking.”

Buck chuckles, the sound vibrating against Eddie’s lips. “You’re the one who said we needed to talk—”

Eddie doesn’t let him finish. He growls—actually growls—and then he flips them fast, pinning Buck to the mattress, bracing his hands on either side of Buck’s head.

“Oh,” Buck breathes, “this again?.”

“You’re the worst,” Eddie mutters, but his mouth is already on Buck’s jaw, his teeth scraping along his pulse point, and Buck shudders.

“I’m your worst,” Buck challenges, tilting his chin up, inviting more.

Eddie goes still; his restraint is hanging by a thread because Buck is gorgeous like this— sprawled out beneath him, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and so inviting. He reaches up and swipes his thumb across Buck’s bottom lip, watches the way his mouth parts at the touch, the way his breath catches, and he wants. Jesus, he wants.

“You’re driving me insane,” Eddie mutters, pressing a kiss to the edge of Buck’s jaw, down the line of his throat.

Buck groans, head tipping back to give him more room. “I’m not stopping you.”

That’s all the invitation Eddie needs.

Eddie’s lips trail lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along Buck’s throat, his breath hot against his skin. Buck gasps when Eddie bites at his collarbone, and Eddie actually smirks, like he’s proud of himself for making Buck come undone.

Buck tugs him up and crashes their mouths together again, rolling his hips just enough to make Eddie curse against his lips.

“Shit, Buck—” It’s messy and desperate. Eddie swallows hard, realization still crashing into his head, “This is dangerous.”

Buck’s stomach twists, and he keeps his eyes on Eddie, but he doesn’t let go. “I know.”

Eddie huffs a breath, opens his eyes again, and looks down at Buck. “We’re being idiots, aren’t we?”

Buck grins, though it’s a little breathless. “Yeah, but we always are, and you love it.”

Eddie lets out something between a laugh and a groan, dropping his forehead to Buck’s. “You’re infuriating.”

“And yet,” Buck teases, shifting just enough to press another kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth, “you’re still here.”

Eddie sighs, his body finally relaxing against Buck’s. “Yeah,” he admits, “I’m still here.” he lets his lips linger on Bucks before pushing in more.

Buck melts into the kiss, his fingers now threading into Eddie’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. Eddie is everywhere—solid and warm, his weight pressing Buck into the mattress, grounding him even as the heat between them threatens to pull him under.

They shouldn’t be doing this without a final plan, not when Eddie still looks at him like he’s balancing on a knife’s edge, like any second now, he might snap out of this haze and run again.

But fuck, Buck can’t stop.

He slides his hands up Eddie's back, his fingers tracing the dips and ridges. He needs this— needs to feel Eddie, to prove to himself that this isn’t just some fleeting moment, that Eddie wants this too.

Eddie exhales sharply, his breath hot against Buck’s lips, and hesitates for a second. His grip tightens where he’s bracing himself against the mattress, his whole body tensed, like he’s fighting a battle with himself.

Buck pulls back just enough to search his face, heart pounding. “Eddie.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. “I know,” he mutters. 

He knows, because this is more than just lust. It’s more than the heat crackling between them, more than the way Buck makes him feel alive in a way he hasn’t in years.

It feels real… and real is terrifying.

“Talk to me,” Buck urges, voice softer now, fingers still tangled in Eddie’s hair, grounding but not trapping. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Eddie swallows hard. “This is dangerous.”

Buck’s stomach twists; he doesn’t let go. “I know.”

Eddie is gorgeous like this—flushed, hair a mess, his eyes dark with something Buck just aches to drown in.

Buck, breathless and exhilarated, flipped their positions, quickly maneuvering himself so that he was on top this time. The weight of Buck’s body pressed Eddie into the soft mattress, a teasing grin spreading across his face as he effectively caged him in, amplifying the thrill of the moment. 

Eddie glanced up, his eyes sparkling with surprise and delight. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he relished the playful power dynamic; he moaned under Buck’s touch.

Buck’s hands trail lower, fingertips skimming over Eddie’s chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat, his pulse thumping louder in his ears. 

Eddie isn’t stopping him. Eddie’s fingers grace up Buck's hips and the warmth of Buck’s skin, the lean muscle of his torso, realizing they were finally experiencing this completely sober. 

His hands are on Buck’s back, dragging him closer but then pulling away like he’s trying to figure out how far to go.

Buck says with a breathless grin, his lips brushing against Eddie’s. There’s a teasing undertone to his voice, but underneath it, “You know… it’s not fair when you get me this worked up, and you keep holding back.”

Buck’s fingers slide down Eddie’s chest, tugging the waistband of Eddie’s jeans, but he’s not rushing. He’s savoring the way Eddie’s body tenses under his touch. 

There’s only the feeling of Eddie’s lips on his, of hands pulling at pants, the rush of skin against skin that feels too right to stop. 

Eddie moans against Buck’s lips, words lost in the desperation of the kiss, and Buck can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins.

“I want you,” Buck breathes, voice cracking as he presses Eddie further into the bed, his hands tracing down Eddie’s side, urging him to get closer. There’s something needy, something uncontrolled in his voice, and it makes Eddie’s breath catch.

“You’ve got me,” Eddie mutters, voice hoarse, hands gripping Buck’s back as he pulls him down into another kiss, deep and urgent. “You’ve got all of me.”

Buck can’t help it. He wants more—needs more—and Eddie is right here, tangled up with him, giving him everything he’s ever wanted, even if they’re still tangled in all the mess of their secrets.

But now, there’s no more room for doubt, and they’re not running from what they want.

Eddie reached down, his fingers deftly grasping the button of his jeans and unzipping them. Their fingers brushed against each other, and the last remnants of fabric slipped away as they worked in tandem.

Eddie was finally bare beneath him, Buck paused, his eyes drinking in the sight of him. Buck’s eyes raked over him, his gaze hot and hungry, his voice husky, his hand sliding down Eddie’s stomach, his fingers grazing the hard length of Eddie’s cock. "I could look at you all day."

Eddie’s cheeks turned a bright shade of pink at the compliment, his hands reaching for Buck. "You’re not so bad yourself," he replied with a smirk.

The longing poured out in every touch. Eddie’s breath hitched as Buck’s lips trailed down his chest. Eddie’s breath hitched as Buck’s mouth found his nipple, teasing it with his tongue. 

He dug his fingers into Buck’s back, his hips bucking uncontrollably. “Buck, please,” he begged, his voice raw.

Buck smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Please what?” he teased, his hand sliding lower, his fingers brushing against Eddie’s aching cock.

Their lips met again, the kiss slow and deep, as Buck’s hand wrapped around Eddie’s cock, stroking him slowly, teasingly, until Eddie moaned into his mouth. Then his hand moved faster, his thumb brushing over the tip of Eddie’s cock, making him gasp.

Eddie’s breath hitched, his hips jerking slightly at the contact. "Buck…" his fingers tangling in Buck’s hair as he arched into the touch. "Don’t stop."

Eddie’s hips bucked as Buck's hand stroked his cock, his body trembling beneath him. 

Buck’s lips moved lower, his tongue tracing the lines of Eddie’s abdomen before he reached his destination. 

Finally, Buck let his mouth close around Eddie's cock, and worked him with his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive tip before taking him deeper. Eddie’s hands fisted in the sheets, his back arching as Buck worked him with a skill that made his head spin.

“Buck, I—fuck,” Eddie choked out, his hips bucking up into the heat of Buck’s mouth. “You know I’m not gonna last if you keep—oh God, your tongue is just—” he warned, his voice trembling.

Buck pulled back with a smirk, his eyes locking with Eddie’s. "Good," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "I want to see you fall apart."

Eddie’s heart raced as Buck moved up his body, his lips finding Eddie’s in a deep, hungry kiss. Eddie could taste himself on Buck’s tongue, the sensation sending a shiver down his spine. 

Buck’s hand reached between Eddie’s legs, his fingers brushing over Eddie’s asshole, pushing slightly to let the soft sensation take hold of Eddie.

"Tell me what you want," Buck whispered against Eddie’s lips, his voice a low growl.

Eddie’s breath hitched, his body trembling with need. "You," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Fuck, I want you, Buck."

Buck’s grin was wicked as he shifted, his body pressing Eddie into the mattress. “Good answer.”

Eddie's response was a soft nod, his eyes burning with desire. Buck reached for the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube. Eddie watched, his heart racing. He knew what was coming as Buck prepared himself.

Buck’s lips curved into a soft smile as he retrieved the bottle of lube he’d stashed earlier. He coated his fingers with the slick liquid, his eyes never leaving Eddie’s.

Buck's other hand slid down Eddie's thighs, spreading his legs apart wider. Eddie felt a surge of anticipation as Buck's fingers touched his skin, teasing him, preparing him. The sensation was almost too much to bear.

When Buck’s fingers pressed against his entrance, Eddie’s body tensed for a moment before relaxing, his hips lifting to meet Buck’s touch. Buck kissed him deeply, his fingers working him open with practiced ease, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through Eddie’s body.

Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, his body tensing momentarily before relaxing into the sensation. "Buck…" his voice was a moan, his hips rocking against Buck’s hand.

Buck only then added a second finger; he didn't want to rush Eddie too fast, his touch gentle but insistent as he worked Eddie open. "Fuck, you’re so damn tight," Buck murmured, his voice thick with desire. "I can’t wait to be inside you."

Eddie’s moans filled the room as Buck’s fingers worked him open, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. 

“You feel so good,” Buck murmured, his breath hot against Eddie’s skin.

Eddie’s fingers gripped the sheets, his body writhing under Buck’s touch; each push from Buck's fingers brushed against his prostate, "Please…" he begged, his voice trembling. "I need you, Buck."

Eddie moaned, his hands tighter on the sheets as Buck added a third finger, stretching him. 

“Jesus, Buck,” he panted, breathless, “Just fuck me already.”

Buck let his fingers slip out slowly, and Eddie let out a small whimper at the loss. Buck didn’t need to be asked twice, reaching once again to the side table, immediately grabbing and ripping open the condom wrapper, working as fast as he could to get to latex on his cock.

Once he had the condom on, he positioned himself between Eddie’s legs, the tip of his cock now pressing against Eddie’s entrance, and Eddie’s entire body tensed with anticipation. Buck opened the lube once more and coated his cock.

“Look at me,” Buck said, his voice soft but commanding, the closeness of fucking in missionary, Eddie’s eyes locked onto his, his heart pounding as Buck pushed in slowly, inch by inch until he was buried deep inside him.

"Fuck…" Eddie’s voice was a gasp, his fingers reaching towards Buck’s shoulders, his body adjusting to the stretch, his voice trembling. “This feels… so good."

Buck’s hands gripped Eddie’s hips; he pushed more inside and bottoming out, the sensation overwhelming as Eddie’s body welcomed him. "God, Eddie…" Buck’s voice was a growl, his thrusts slow and deliberate as he adjusted to the sensation. "You are so damn tight," Buck murmured, his voice rough with desire.

Eddie’s hips rocked against Buck’s, his body craving more. "Don’t hold back," he pleaded, his voice trembling. Eddie’s fingers dug into Buck’s shoulders, his body arching into the touch. "Buck… more…" he pleaded, his voice trembling with need.

Their lips met again, soft and tender this time, as Buck’s hips began to move again, slow and deliberate, each thrust dragging a moan from Eddie’s lips.

Eddie’s hands started to roam Buck’s back, his nails leaving trails of fire as Buck’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. “Buck…” Eddie gasped, his body tightening as pleasure coiled in his gut.

His thrusts slowed but were still deep, each one hitting that spot inside Eddie that made him see stars, his hands gripping Buck’s arms, his moans filling the room. “Yes,” Eddie gasped, his nails digging into Buck’s skin. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

Buck’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming harder, more urgent. Eddie’s body was on fire, every nerve alight with pleasure. He could feel the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter, until he was on the edge of release.

“Buck,” he panted, his voice breaking. “I’m gonna—”

Buck’s thrusts became more urgent, the sound of their bodies coming together filling the room. Eddie’s moans mingled with Buck’s, the sensation overwhelming as their bodies moved in sync.

“I’ve got you,” Buck murmured, his lips brushing against Eddie’s ear. “Let go for me.”

Eddie’s body trembled, his orgasm building with every thrust of Buck’s hips. “Buck… I’m so…”

“Come for me,” Buck said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Eddie’s spine. “Let me feel you.”

Buck’s hand wrapped around Eddie’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts, and that was all it took. Eddie came with a cry, his body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. Eddie’s body clenched around Buck, his orgasm crashing over him with a force that left him breathless. 

Buck followed soon after, hips stuttering as he spilled inside Eddie, his moans mingling with Eddie’s as they both came undone once more. Buck collapsed on top of Eddie, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to catch his breath.

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the weight of their decision settling over them. 

Buck’s lips brushed against Eddie’s in a soft kiss, his touch gentle, as he pulled off the condom, just casually tossing it to the small trashcan next to the side table as he rolled onto the bed, the two of them now laying next to each other as Eddie let his legs down to relax.

The air in the room starts to feel heavy and thick with the lingering heat of what they just did, and Eddie can’t breathe past it. 

His pulse is still hammering in his ears, his skin still burning, but his mind—his mind is screaming at him, staring at the ceiling like if he looks at Buck for too long, he’ll break apart.

This wasn’t supposed to happen; they had just made the rules.

Eddie scrubs a hand over his face, dragging in a sharp breath as he forces himself to sit up. Buck is still lying next to him, sprawled out with his hair a mess, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. His chest is rising and falling slowly, even in breaths. It is like he has zero regrets, and this was inevitable.

And maybe it was.

Buck turns his head toward him, his eyes still hazy with the remnants of pleasure, but there’s something sharp underneath—something observant. “Okay,” Buck says, his voice rough from exertion, “you’re spiraling.”

Eddie rubs a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “We said we were gonna be smart.”

Buck props himself up on his elbows, observing him. “We are being smart.”

Eddie exhales hard, fingers tightening around the sheets. “We said we weren’t gonna be reckless,” he mutters. “We said we’d be careful.”

“We are careful,” Buck replies.

Eddie lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Because sneaking around and then immediately fucking was so careful?” His voice is edged now, biting more than he means, but his chest is too tight, and Buck needs to understand. 

Buck frowns, sitting up more fully. “Eddie—” His jaw tenses, his expression shifting. “I do get it, Eddie.”

“No.” Eddie shakes his head, dragging a hand through his hair. “You don’t get it.” His pulse is hammering, panic clawing at his ribs. “You—you’re fine, Buck. You’re the star of your team, top-line center; They love you. If this ever got out, they’d protect you.”

Buck’s brows furrow. “You don’t think the stars would protect you, too?”

Eddie huffs another humorless laugh, hands clenching into the sheets. “Buck, I’m a fucking third-line center,” he says, voice raw. “I was lucky even to make the All-Star Game, and we both know it was because half my team was injured.” He shakes his head, voice dropping. “Guys like me don’t get second chances.”

Buck’s expression shifts, something sharp flashing in his eyes, “bullshit.”

Eddie exhales harshly, shaking his head. “No, it’s not.” He gestures vaguely. “You know how this league works. You’ve heard all of the same shit I have in the locker rooms, the homophobic jokes, the ‘keep that stuff out of hockey’ bullshit. Do you really think I’d still have a spot in the league if this got out?”

Buck’s jaw tightens. “Stop talking like this, you’re a damn good player.”

Eddie scoffs. “That doesn’t matter, and you know it.” His chest is tight, his voice thick with something too big to swallow. “You know what happens to guys like me.”

Buck doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. “Yeah,” he says evenly. “I do.” 

And that—that—is somehow worse.

Because it means Buck has thought about it. He knows the risks, how unforgiving the NHL can be, and how careers can be ruined with one wrong move. And yet, here they are. He just watches Eddie, something profound and unreadable in his eyes. “So what are you saying?”

Eddie exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose, and his throat tightens. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Buck challenges, and he shifts closer, his hand ghosting over Eddie’s wrist. He is hesitant but warm, his eyes searching Eddie’s face. “We already said we’d keep this quiet. No one has to know. We can—”

Eddie cuts in, his voice fraying. “If I get pushed out of the league, that’s it. I don’t have the big-brand endorsements, the safety net. I don’t have options like you do.” His voice drops lower, breaking slightly. “I can’t lose my career.” His voice cracks somewhat, betraying him, and he hates it. “And if I have to choose between you and Chris, I sure as hell am not choosing you… Buck, We can’t do this,” he says finally, but his voice lacks conviction.

Buck’s thumb brushes over his skin. “Then why does it feel like we don’t have a choice?”

Eddie hates that there’s truth in that. Even with the weight of everything pressing down on him, he wants this, he wants Buck.

Eddie swings his legs over the edge of the bed, the room still thick with the heat of them. His breath is uneven, his skin buzzing like the aftershocks of something he shouldn’t have let happen.

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I should to go.”

Buck, still sprawled against the pillows, shifts up onto one elbow. His eyes are hooded but alert, tracking every movement. “No, you want to go,” he counters, voice rough. “Big difference.”

Eddie exhales sharply, reaching for his hoodie. “We agreed to keep this quiet—”

“And sneaking out at three a.m. is really subtle,” Buck interrupts, voice dripping sarcasm.

Eddie glares at him. “Better than someone seeing me leave in the morning.”

Buck tilts his head. “You think that, but creeping around in the middle of the night? That’s not how you keep a secret, Eds. That’s how you get caught.” He shifts, sheets rustling as he sits up entirely. “You wanna stay hidden? Stay here.”

Eddie’s pulse stutters, his grip tightening around the fabric in his hands. “Buck—”

Buck doesn’t flinch. “I think leaving in a panic isn’t the solution.”

“I mean it.” Buck pushes himself off the bed, closing the distance between them. “You think someone’s lurking outside my door, waiting to catch you leaving at sunrise?” He scoffs. “That’s paranoia talking, not logic.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. “It’s realistic.”

“It’s fear,” Buck corrects, voice gentler now, but he doesn’t argue. He just looks at Eddie, and it’s almost worse.

Because Buck isn’t just hearing him—he’s feeling it.

Eddie sighs, exhausted. “I have to go.” He reaches for his shoes, but before he can take a step, Buck moves—hands firm on Eddie’s hips, grounding, steady.

His voice drops, quieter now but no less determined. “Stay.”

Eddie looks away, shaking his head again. “I can’t.”

Buck huffs out a small, almost humorless laugh. “You can,” he insists. “You just won’t.”

Eddie’s throat works, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Buck,” He sighs.

Buck shakes his head, thumb brushing over Eddie’s cheekbone. “Just for tonight,” he murmurs. “Just until morning.”

Eddie swallows hard, fingers twitching at his sides.

Buck tilts his head and presses in closer, mouth ghosting over Eddie’s cheek. “Do you want to go?” he asks again, softer this time.

Eddie exhales shakily, torn between his instincts and his wants, between fear and the warmth of Buck’s hand on his skin. “No.”

Buck nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of Eddie’s jaw—gentle, steady. “Then stay.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to fight it—but when Buck tugs him back toward the bed, his body moves before his brain can catch up.

Because for tonight—just for tonight—he lets himself stay.

Chapter Text

For a second, still caught in the haze of sleep, Eddie doesn’t register why his pillow is solid and warm or why there’s an arm draped heavily over his waist, a steady breath against the back of his neck.

Then it hits him.

Buck.

His body tenses before he can stop it, his brain catching up to the reality of where he is, what they did, how badly he should have left last night before falling asleep wrapped around Buck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Carefully, he shifts, trying to slip out from under Buck’s arm without waking him, but the moment he moves, the arm tightens.

“Mm-mm, no,” Buck grumbles sleepily, voice thick with sleep. “No sneaky escapes yet.”

Eddie freezes. “I wasn’t—”

“Liar.” Buck’s lips brush the back of his shoulder, the heat of him seeping into Eddie’s skin, making it nearly impossible to think straight. “Just stay, just a little longer.”

Eddie exhales slowly, his resolve warring with the sheer comfort of this. “Buck—”

“I know.” Buck’s voice is softer now, but there’s something stubborn beneath it. “I know why you want to go. But you don’t have to.”

Eddie wants to argue. He wants to remind Buck of all the reasons this is a bad idea, that people talk, that they can’t afford to slip up, that just being in this bed together is a risk. But instead, he turns his head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of Buck’s expression. Sleep-mussed hair, half-lidded blue eyes, the kind of soft vulnerability Eddie’s not sure he’s ever seen before.

And just like that, he’s done for.

He sighs, letting his body relax back into the mattress. “Okay, ten more minutes.”

Buck grins against his skin. “Liar.”

It’s warm. Comfortable.

It just feels right .

Buck lets out a slow breath, reluctant to move, but the reality of the day is already creeping in. 

“So,” Eddie starts, voice low, rough from sleep. “Your flight’s in a couple of hours?”

Buck nods, stretching out on the mattress before rolling onto his side to face Eddie fully. “Yeah. And you’ve got practice today, too, right?”

Eddie huffs out a breath, rubbing his hands over his face again. He presses his lips together, glancing toward the door, then back at Buck. “How am I supposed to get out of here without someone seeing me?”

Buck smirks, propping himself up on an elbow. “You could always climb out the window to keep the spy theme going with the hat, hoodie, sunglasses combo.”

Eddie glares at him, shoving his shoulder. “Not funny.”

“It was kind of funny.” Buck’s smirk softens, though, and he shakes his head. “Look, you slip out after I leave. I'll be there with the team as we load up the shuttle to the airport, and you can go about 15 minutes later out the back door, no big deal.”

Eddie breathes, nodding, knowing that it would have to be his best bet. “Yeah. Okay.”

Buck watches him momentarily, then shifts forward, pressing his chest against Eddie’s back and wrapping his arms around him from behind. 

Eddie stills for a second, then sighs, leaning back just slightly into Buck’s touch.

Buck squeezes him lightly before letting go.

Eddie turns his head just enough to meet Buck’s eyes, something flickering in his expression—doubt, uncertainty, maybe even a little bit of hope. 

Buck wants to kiss him again, pull him back down onto the bed, and tell him they have five more minutes, ten more, as long as they want. But they both know better, so Buck presses one last lingering kiss to the back of Eddie’s neck before pulling away completely.

Eddie sighed and stood up. He grabbed his hoodie from where it had been thrown on the chair, then grabbed his jeans and started pulling them on. Buck watched as he tugged it over his head, his shoulders stiff and his jaw tight.

This shouldn’t be this complicated. But it is.

Buck had just thrown on his shirt, smoothing it down as he looked at Eddie standing by the window, his back to him, fumbling with his hoodie. 

The nervousness in Eddie’s movements was palpable, and Buck could tell the man was about one second away from either ripping the shirt off or having a full-on panic attack.

“So,” Buck began as he took in the sight of Eddie, who looked like he was in some kind of weird crisis and forgot how to put on clothes. “You need a hand with that?”

Eddie turned and gave him a look. His shirt was halfway on, but one sleeve was stuck awkwardly behind his head. “I got it. I got it,” Eddie muttered, tugging and adjusting, but it wasn’t looking any better. “Just… give me a second.”

Buck, trying not to laugh, zipped up his pants and reached for his socks, but before he could grab them, the unmistakable sound of a knock came at the door. Loud and with zero subtlety.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Buck! Hurry up, or I’m coming in!” Chim’s voice boomed through the door, way too perky for this hour.

They freeze.

Eddie, standing there with one leg in his jeans, jumps in place at the sound, nearly knocking over a lamp, “ Oh, for the love of… ” he mutters under his breath. He looks at Buck. Buck, who is now putting his hoodie on, inside out, looks at Eddie.

“Shit,” Buck mutters beside him, rubbing his eyes as he sits up, a flash of panic crossing his face. He looks at the clock and curses, realizing they’re running late, running a frantic hand through his already disastrous bedhead.

Eddie glares as he ‘whisper-yells’ “ You didn’t set an alarm ?”

“ I did! I just— ” Buck flaps a hand uselessly before lunging for his shoes, trying to pack whatever he can into his suitcase. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. Louder this time. 

Who is it?!” Buck calls out, the playful tone still laced in his voice.

Eddie glares at him, motioning for him to keep quiet.

“Buck?” You know exactly who it is, and we’re gonna be late!” It’s Chimney’s muffled voice from the hallway, unmistakably annoyed.

“Uh, yeah?” Buck calls back, trying to sound casual. “I’ll—uh—I’ll be right out! Just a sec!”

“How are you not ready to go? The shuttle is ready, and we’re supposed to leave in ten. We're leaving without you if you’re not dressed in five.”

“One sec!” Buck yells, voice cracking just slightly. He turns to Eddie, eyes wide. “ You need to hide .”

Chim's voice could be heard once again through the door, “Hey, seriously, man, we gotta go!”

Buck rushes to pull on his shoes, clearly trying to play it cool but failing. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming! Just—uh—looking for my, uh, lucky socks!” Buck’s voice cracks, and Eddie almost can’t suppress a laugh; then in a whisper, he turns to Eddie, “ Just—hide in the bathroom, please. I’ll get rid of him .”

Eddie’s own stomach churns, anxiety bubbling up again. This whole thing feels like a whirlwind, a mess they hadn’t planned for. He steps back, watching Buck’s frantic movements, then suddenly catches his eye.

Eddie glares at him for half a second but relents, sprinting toward the bathroom with the speed of someone who’s just been told the building’s on fire. 

Meanwhile, Buck tried to compose himself, moving with the precision of someone trying to keep their cool while their world was spinning out of control.

He swung open the door, offering Chim a bright smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh, hey, man! Uh, what’s up?”

Chim stood in the doorway, arms crossed, giving him a skeptical look. “You said ‘just a sec,’ but way too many minutes; what were you doing in there?” Chim asked, his voice thick with suspicion as he tried to look around the room over Buck’s shoulders 

Buck ran a hand through his hair, trying not to sound too guilty. “Just… uh, getting my packing together. You know, last-minute organizations, Maddie had me watch that Sparking Joy show-thing, and I felt the need to feng shui my whole suitcase.”

Chim raised an eyebrow. “Last-minute organization?”

Buck laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Haha, yeah, you know. Just making sure everything’s in order.”

Meanwhile, inside the hotel room, Eddie was trying to hide in the bathroom, his baseball cap low over his eyes, practically holding his breath. He could hear Buck’s conversation with Chim getting louder, but he was too focused on making sure he wasn’t seen to care.

“Seriously, Buck. Come on. The Shuttle is waiting outside the lobby,” Chim said, still standing there like he was waiting for Buck to give him something more.

“Right, right,” Buck said, his hand twitching toward the door, trying to move this along. “Just—one second. You know how it is.”

“I swear if you’re not ready—”

“Chim! I’m so close to being ready I can taste it!” Buck practically shoved him out the door. “I’ll meet you down in the lobby in a minute, alright? I just need to get my shoes on?”

Chim shrugged before looking at his watch, “You've got 5 minutes to be downstairs in the lobby, or we're leaving without you.” 

“Deal, that's more than enough time, I promise.” Buck retorted with a smile.

Chim started to walk down the hall, and Buck breathed a sigh of relief. He quickly closed the door behind him, locked it, and leaned back against it, staring at the bathroom door and running his fingers through his hair.

From the bathroom, Eddie poked his head out just enough to make sure Chim wasn’t lurking nearby. “He’s gone?”

Buck nodded, his heart still pounding. “Yeah.”

Eddie stepped out, “That was too close,” he said, wiping his brow as if he’d run a marathon.

“Yeah, well,” Buck said, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder, “we better get a move on before Chim comes back to check if I've left the room.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, I try,” Buck said with a wink. He then quickly moved toward the door. “I’ve got to get going before this gets even weirder.”

Buck once again checks his phone to make sure he has changed Eddie’s contact to “D.”

“I’ll go first,” he says, voice quieter now. “I’ll take the elevator down, act normal. You wait a couple of minutes. No one will think twice.”

Eddie nods, meeting his eyes.

Buck hesitates, then steps closer, reaching out to squeeze Eddie’s wrist again. “Eddie.”

Eddie finally looks up.

Buck’s breath catches for half a second; he holds Eddie’s gaze, then squeezes his wrist again before slowly letting go.

Eddie exhales through his nose and nods once more. “I’ll text you.”

Buck doesn’t push for more, even though he wants to. Instead, he nods, grabs his bag, and heads for the door.

He pauses with his hand on the handle, glancing back at Eddie one last time. “See you on the ice.”

Eddie gives him a small, almost smirk. “Try not to run me into the boards next time.”

Buck grins. “No promises.”

Before Eddie can say anything, Buck presses his lips against his, soft and quick, just a fleeting kiss, a moment of them, of everything they can’t have right now. It’s electric, and for a heartbeat, everything feels right.

There’s a brief moment between them—Buck’s expression softens, eyes apologetic, “Later,” Buck says, his voice barely a whisper.

With that, he’s gone, disappearing down the hall like this never happened.

He waits.

It’s only when Buck’s footsteps fade away into the distance that Eddie emerges from the bathroom. He stands still, staring at the door for a long moment.

But he knows he can’t stay.

With a long, exasperated breath, Eddie pulls the door open, slipping into the hallway. His feet move slowly at first, but the further away he gets from Buck’s room, the more the weight of reality sets in. He turns around to look back down the hall as if expecting to see Buck coming around the corner. But there’s nothing. The hall is empty.

“Later,” Eddie whispers to himself, mimicking Buck’s earlier gesture.

He doesn’t look back at Buck’s room, even though the temptation is there.

Eddie walks past the elevator. There is no way he would take that. It’s too risky. People can be unpredictable. The last thing he needs is to run into someone, especially with everything so fresh between him and Buck. So he makes it towards the stairs.

He moves quickly, taking the stairs two at a time, not even thinking about the pounding in his chest or how his breath quickens with each step. Every part of him wants to look back, find Buck, and be close to him again. But he knows that’s not possible.

The sound of his footsteps echo in the stairwell, but it doesn’t matter. When Eddie reaches the ground floor, he exits the stairwell and walks through the back hallway, making his way to the hotel's side entrance. The air outside is cool against his face, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s been building inside him.

He takes in a steadying breath, trying to shake off the tension. The reality of what just happened settles in—what he felt, what Buck made him feel—but the weight of everything is still too much to face right now.

Eddie heads toward his truck without looking back, but the world isn’t watching him as closely as he thinks. He sits in the cabin of his truck as his phone buzzes in his pocket.

E: Smooth getaway?

Eddie huffs a small laugh and shakes his head.

D: So smooth. I don’t think I saw anyone when I snuck out.

A few seconds pass before Buck’s following message comes through.

E : Told you. Now get your ass to your practice before you're late.

Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn’t fight the small smile pulling at his lips.

For now, they’re still a secret. For now, they still have time.

As they settle into their familiar routines, the days are filled with the rhythm of hockey practice, engaging press conferences, and shared team dinners, each moment reinforcing their connection. 

They don’t talk daily—not out of disinterest or lack of desire, but out of a conscious choice to avoid the overwhelming intensity of rapid-fire exchanges. They tell themselves that if they allow themselves to dive in too quickly—constant streams of texts, late-night conversations brimming with laughter, and playful inside jokes morphing into something deeper—it might all become too much, too fast.

So, Instead they start by pacing themselves, they adopt a strategy of measured restraint. They convince themselves that holding back is simple, pretending restraint is easy, like it doesn’t take every ounce of self-control not to reach for their phones the second they have a quiet moment, the urge to share a thought, or a fleeting moment nearly overpowering. 

It becomes a dance of patience, and they find themselves caught between desire and caution, yearning for connection while guarding against the weight of what such a connection could mean.

At first, it’s simple. 

A text from Buck after a game, casual, easy.

E: You see that goal? Tell me you saw that goal.

D: I saw you nearly trip over your own feet celebrating.

E: Rude. But fair.

Or chirping each other over little things.

E: Nice assist last night. Could’ve been cleaner, though.

Eddie replies three hours later—purposeful, like he’s not checking his phone. 

D: Coming from the guy who nearly ate shit on a breakaway?

It turns into a rhythm. A routine. Buck texts Eddie about a game, about the league, about literally anything to have an excuse. Eddie doesn’t always reply right away, but when he does, it’s dry, biting, the kind of thing that makes Buck grin at his phone like a damn idiot.

And then, every once in a while, there are messages that are… different.

D: Long day.

D: Road trips suck.

D: Missed a shot I should’ve had.

And Buck wants to be there. He wants to say something real, to pull Eddie into something steadier than the scraps they’re living off. But they have to be careful.

So instead, Buck keeps it measured, never too much, never too fast. 

E: Don’t let it get in your head.

E: Just a few more games till home ice.

E: Next time, you’ll nail it. 

And then, one night, Eddie sends: 

D: Been thinking about you.

And Buck— Buck’s brain short-circuits.

It takes Buck a full ten minutes to answer. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he has to force himself to play it cool.

E: That so?

Eddie replies immediately. 

D: Yeah.

And Buck wants to throw his phone across the room. His brain was still on a downward spiral because— because what the fuck are they doing? What the fuck is he supposed to do with that?

And they keep pretending and keep walking the tightrope between too much and insufficient. 

They keep telling themselves it’s okay. It’s working.

Until it’s not.

Because after that night—after Eddie sends that text and Buck spends the rest of the evening staring at his phone as if it might combust—things seem to have shifted.

Not in some dramatic, earth-shattering way. But subtly, in a way that starts to gnaw at both of them.

As days start to turn into weeks, texts begin to appear more frequently. The space between them feels smaller, even though they’re still thousands of miles apart. And neither of them says it out loud, but it’s there—the weight of missing each other in a way that feels a little too much like longing.

Then, one night, Buck is lying in bed, his body sprawled across it, exhausted from a home game, and his phone rings.

It’s late. If it's Late in California, Buck knows it's even later for Eddie.

Still, Buck answers immediately. “Hey.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a second; he just breathes as if he hadn’t expected Buck to pick up. Then, finally—

“You know… I hate this,” Eddie says, voice rough, like he’s been holding it in all day. “I hate not seeing you.”

Buck’s chest tightens; he closes his eyes and exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I hate not seeing you too.”

It’s quiet for a long moment. Then Eddie says, “I’ve been staring at flights to LA for the last hour or so.”

Buck sits up so fast his head spins. “Wait, what, why?”

“I— I’m not saying I’m coming,” Eddie says quickly. “I just wanted to look them up, you know, get an idea of prices.”

Buck presses his fingers to his temple. “Jesus, Ed.”

“I know.” Eddie groans, and Buck can hear the frustration in his voice. “Especially since that conversation in the hotel, we talked about being careful.”

Buck laughs, but it’s breathless, a little unhinged. “Yeah, well, screw being careful.”

“Oh, now you say that,” Eddie says with a small laugh in his voice.

Buck flops back against his pillows. “Hey, I mean it. Come visit.”

Eddie’s voice comes through the phone, softer now, as if he’s thinking it over. “Buck, I can’t.“

Buck’s heart sinks slightly, but he nods, even though Eddie can’t see it. “Yeah. I get it. I was just being a smartass.” His fingers curl into his sheets, a little more frustrated than he lets on.

There’s a long, quiet pause.

Eddie speaks again, almost sheepish. “It’s just… I keep thinking about you, you know? Especially when the NHL network keeps showing your goal from tonight, and I keep seeing that dorky smile on your face… and I don’t know what to do with it. I miss you, but this… this isn’t easy.”

Buck closes his eyes, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He feels the same way. But that’s the catch, isn’t it? “I miss you too, Ed,” Buck says, voice soft, quieter now. “I think about you too much too much sometimes.”

“I know.” Eddie’s voice is strained. “But we don’t have to rush anything, Buck. It’s just… complicated .”

A few beats of silence, then Buck chuckles softly, trying to lighten the mood a little. “Yeah, ‘complicated’ seems like an understatement.”

Eddie’s laugh is short but honest, and Buck can feel the tension in his chest ease just a little. “Look, we’ll figure it out.”

“I know,” Buck says quietly, his voice almost a whisper now. “I just don’t want to lose this.”

There’s another pause, and when Eddie speaks again, his voice is a little softer, maybe even a little warmer. “You won’t.”

The rest of the conversation is quieter and less urgent. They both know that whatever’s happening between them is more than just physical, and it’s not something they can just run away from. But they also know it’s not something they can rush.

So, they say their goodbyes, knowing they’re not really saying goodbye, just for now, and for now, that’s enough.

Crypto.com Arena  - Downtown Los Angeles, California
— the Los Angeles Kings vs. the Dallas Stars —

The night of the game arrives in Los Angeles. It's the first time they see each other face-to-face since Dallas, and it’s electric. The tension is palpable in the air, but neither Buck nor Eddie can quite shake the underlying charge between them. 

It feels as though the entire universe has conspired to throw them into this moment, their professional rivalry now tangled with the weight of what’s unspoken between them. 

Every step they take, every breath, is a delicate dance of pretending everything’s normal.

The Stars vs. the Kings are two teams with a fierce rivalry growing between them, but tonight, for Buck and Eddie, it’s more than just a game. It’s a test, an undeniable question they can’t seem to answer: Can they be two players on opposing teams and still hide what’s simmering beneath the surface?

Buck is skating hard to win and prove to himself that this isn’t affecting him. His skates cut through the ice, the speed almost familiar, but the knowledge of Eddie across the rink shadows each stride. 

Eddie—he’s aware of every single movement Buck makes. His presence is a silent weight, hovering over Eddie’s every action. It’s impossible to focus. Every pass he makes is calculated, but every glance towards Buck feels like a tiny fracture in their fragile charade.

The game begins with the usual intensity, but tonight, something’s different. The hits are sharper, the body checks harder, and every play feels like it carries a secret just beneath the surface. Neither of them can fully immerse themselves in the game. 

Their focus flickers—eyes meeting, then darting away too quickly. Every time Eddie looks up, Buck’s there. Every time Buck glances at Eddie, it’s like a reminder of everything unspoken.

The first time they face off, it’s all business. The face-off is quick, clean, and nothing personal.

But then it happens. 

Buck moves, weaving through the ice, eyes scanning the rink. He’s on a breakaway, headed for the net. 

He’s fast, but Eddie’s faster. Eddie’s on him, closing in. 

Buck can feel the sweat on his brow, the pressure mounting with each step. He can hear the crowd roaring in the background, but he does lose focus on Eddie, not knowing he’s right there, coming at him with every ounce of determination.

For a split second, Buck hesitates. His mind is already calculating the shot, but his eyes lock with Eddie’s, and the world shifts. It’s like the entire rink fades away, and all he sees is Eddie. The man who’s been haunting his thoughts, the one person he’s been trying to avoid confronting, not just on the ice but off it too.

Eddie’s face is set, eyes hard, but there’s something else in them. Something soft, something that Buck recognizes—regret, longing, fear. Their rivalry, their friendship, their relationship—it’s all there in that brief look.

And Buck freezes. He’s never frozen like this before, not in front of a defender, not when the goal is right there within reach. But in this moment, he can’t pull the trigger. He can’t take the shot.

Eddie sees Buck falter. He sees him freeze in a way that he’s never seen before. It pisses him off, more than he’d care to admit. 

Their focus was to keep playing, and ignore what was going on between them. They’re not supposed to be like this— Eddie does what he’s always done when the world doesn’t make sense: he reacts like a hockey player.

He’s not thinking about their kiss, or the stolen moments in hotel rooms, or the way Buck’s hand trembles just slightly whenever they’re close. He’s not thinking about how they’ve both been pretending it’s nothing, pretending like everything’s normal.

No. Eddie thinks about the one thing he can control now— the hit.

The impact is more violent than Eddie expected it to be. His shoulder hits Buck’s chest first, and the weight behind it knocks the air out of Buck’s lungs, sending him hurtling to the ice. 

Buck hits the cold surface with a sharp thud, his head hitting the ice first and his stick flying out of his hand, his breath coming in short, shocked gasps.

For a moment, Buck doesn’t know where he is. The crowd roars around him, but all he hears is the rush of blood in his ears and the frantic thumping of his heart. 

His body aches where Eddie collided with him, but it’s the way his mind is spinning that hurts the most.

Eddie stands over him, towering, as Buck stays sprawled on the ice. He doesn’t offer a hand, and doesn’t make any gesture of camaraderie. He doesn’t even look like he’s concerned. His eyes are hard, his expression unreadable. But there’s something there, something that Buck can’t quite put his finger on—something that pulls at him in a way he doesn’t want to admit.

It’s a few seconds before the referees pull Eddie away, before the other Kings players decide to retaliate. The moment is over as quickly as it happened. 

Buck’s not moving. He stays on the ice, chest heaving as he tries to collect himself. He’s never been hit like that before. 

Not physically, no. He’s been knocked down, tripped up, knocked out, but this? This felt 

For the rest of the period, Buck can’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just a body check. It wasn’t just hockey. 

There was something else behind it—a message, an answer to everything they’d been skirting around for weeks. 

The game continues. Every pass he makes and every shot he takes feels like it’s in Eddie’s shadow. His movements are stiff, and his body is not quite responding to the usual rhythm of the game. Eddie’s everywhere. He’s not just an opponent on the ice anymore—he’s something else entirely.

The final buzzer sounded, and the Stars win. But neither Buck nor Eddie feels like they’ve won anything.

As the locker room empties, Buck slowly starts to pull off his gear, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. His mind is still swirling from the hit Eddie delivered. It was a message, and Buck doesn’t quite know how to decode it. 

His thoughts are all over the place when he hears Hen’s voice approaching.

“Buck, hey—how’re you doing?” Hen’s tone is a mix of concern and casualness, but there’s no mistaking the urgency behind her words. She pauses by his locker, her eyes scanning him with practiced care. “You took a pretty hard hit back there in the third, and It looked like you hit your head. You alright?”

Buck smiles, rubbing his face as he tries to shake off the dizziness lingering since Eddie barreled into him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just a little winded, honestly.” He reaches for his water bottle, though his hands feel unsteady, and takes a long gulp. “It’ll just be a bruise, nothing new.”

Hen doesn’t buy it. She crosses her arms, her gaze sharp. “No offense, Buck, but I’ve been around long enough to know the difference between ‘winded’ and ‘concussed.’ You took that hit pretty hard, and I saw how your head hit the ice. It doesn’t look too steady right now. We should probably go through the protocol.”

Buck looks up, already starting to feel the weight of his body pressing down on him, the exhaustion of the game combined with the tension of the hit. But he can’t let anyone know that it affected him more than he’s willing to admit—not when it was Eddie who hit him. Instead of responding immediately, he tries to laugh it off, but it sounds hollow in his ears, “Hen, I’m good, really. I’ve been hit harder than that before.”

She’s not convinced. “Right. And that’s exactly why I’m not asking. You know the rules. I’m gonna have to check you out. Concussion protocol, Buck. I don’t care if you think you’re fine. This isn’t just about what you feel in the moment. It’s about being smart.”

Buck sighed, letting the moment stretch out, feeling that familiar knot of frustration in his gut. He glanced away, not meeting her eyes. “Alright, fine, I’ll go through the protocol, alright?”

Hen watches him closely, a small, knowing look crossing her face. “Do you need to talk about something?”

Buck forces a smile. “Nah, not right now.”

She shrugs, not pushing further but still maintaining her watchful eye on him. “Alright. But you better be honest with me if you start feeling off, and don’t hide anything from me. I will catch you.”

Buck just nods, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the weight of everything pushing down on him. He knows Hen’s just looking out for him, but right now, he doesn’t know if he has the energy to explain what’s really going on.

“Okay, okay. Let’s get this over with.” He stands and follows her toward the medical room. Still, as he walks away, his mind is already racing back to that moment—the hit, the way Eddie’s eyes seemed to burn into him, and the way his chest had tightened from the emotional collision that had happened right along with the physical one. It’s hard to shake the feeling that, more than the game, this—whatever this was between him and Eddie—was the real thing that had knocked him off balance.

Hen doesn’t cut corners. She’s thorough, even if Buck tries to downplay things.

She sits him on the exam table in the team’s medical room, flipping on the bright overhead lights that make Buck wince. That alone earns him a skeptical look from Hen.

“Is light bothering you?” she asks, tilting her head as she crosses her arms.

“No,” Buck lies, blinking against the brightness.

Hen hums, clearly not buying it. She picks up a small penlight and holds it up. “Follow this with your eyes. No moving your head.”

Buck does as he’s told, tracking the light as Hen moves it left to right, then up and down. It’s fine at first—just a little off—but when she suddenly switches directions, a wave of dizziness rolls through him. 

He tries to hide it, but Hen sees the tiny flicker of his eyelids and how he sways just a bit.

“Buck,” she warns, lowering the light. “You felt that, didn’t you?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face. “It was only for just a second.”

Hen doesn’t look pleased. “That ‘just a second’ is exactly why we’re doing this.” She grabs a small card from the table, flipping it around so Buck can see the letters printed on it. “Read this for me.”

Buck squints, trying to focus, but the letters blur slightly at the edges. He blinks a few times, clears his throat, and finally manages, “L, T, F, D, K…”

“The fifth letter was wrong,” Hen points out, “Now, try again.”

Buck exhales sharply, re-reading it—this time correctly—but the fact that he messed up at all makes his stomach twist.

Hen doesn’t gloat or press him. Instead, she moves on, having him close his eyes and touch his finger to his nose, testing his balance as he stands on one foot, checking for nausea. He gets through it, but she doesn’t look satisfied.

Finally, she steps back and crosses her arms. “Alright, Buck, I’m not clearing you.”

He groans. “Hen—”

“You’ve got delayed responses, light sensitivity, and I saw you wobble more than once,” she cuts in firmly. “That hit did more than rattle you.”

Buck clenches his jaw, frustration bubbling up. But deep down, he knows she’s right.

Hen softens just a bit. “Look, I know you want to push through, but I’m not letting you back on the ice until you’re cleared.” She raises a brow. “Are you gonna fight me on this?”

Buck exhales slowly, looking down at the floor, then shakes his head. “No.”

“That's Good,” she nods. “Because I’d win.”

Buck lets out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah.”

Hen watches him for a second, then adds, “And Buck? Whatever else is going on in that head of yours—it’s not just the hit that’s messing you up, is it?”

Buck hesitates but doesn’t answer.

Hen doesn’t push. “Get some rest, okay Buckley? Just take a break and breathe, ”

Buck nods, but as she leaves the room, he knows that rest won’t come easy. Because Hen’s right—it’s not just the hit. It’s Eddie. And that’s a whole other kind of headache he doesn’t have an answer for.

Eddie shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

They’re supposed to be keeping their distance—playing it safe. But as he sits in the quiet of the visitor’s locker room, still in his half-unzipped gear, the weight of what happened on the ice presses down on him like a ton of bricks.

He hit Buck. Hard.

He’s replayed it a hundred times in his head already. The way Buck went down. The sharp inhale of the crowd. The few agonizing seconds before Buck pushed himself back up, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it.

And Eddie—Eddie couldn’t do a damn thing but skate away and pretend it didn’t just wreck him.

He grips his phone, staring at the screen, the blank space where he could type anything. He shouldn’t. He should let it go.

But before he can talk himself out of it, his fingers move.

D: You good?

He hesitates after pressing send, running a hand through his damp hair. He shouldn’t expect a reply. Not right away. Maybe not at all.

But his phone vibrates almost instantly.

E: You trying to check on me or make yourself feel better?

Eddie exhales through his nose, his grip tightening. Both.

There’s a longer pause this time, and Eddie feels the nerves twist in his stomach. Then—before he can think too hard about it—he types:

D: I hated it.

This time, Buck takes longer to respond. Eddie watches the little typing bubble pop up, then disappear, then pop up again. Finally—

E: Hated what?

Eddie clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know how to say it.

That he hated the way it felt to hit Buck. That he hated how he had to pretend it didn’t matter. That he hated watching Buck go down and not being able to go to him.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. Then—

D: Just…  I hated seeing you like that.

Another long pause. Eddie’s heart pounds.

Then—

E: Yeah. Me too.

It’s not much. But it’s enough.

Eddie exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment before he sets the phone down. He thought maybe he could invite Buck, this time in his own hotel room.

Eddie wants to. God, does he want to?

It would be so easy. One text. One offer. He could tell Buck to come over, sneak in through the side entrance, take the elevator up to the ninth floor, find his room, and knock twice.

And Buck would come. Eddie knows he would.

But that’s the problem.

This isn’t just about wanting. It’s about what happens after. And after a game like that—after the hit, after seeing Buck on the ice like that, after the way it felt—Eddie’s not sure he can pretend like it doesn’t matter.

He stares at his phone, at the thread of messages between them. His fingers twitch over the keyboard.

D: Are you still in the arena?

Buck’s reply comes almost immediately.

E: Nah, back at my apartment.

So, he’s alone.

Eddie swallows, his thumb hovering over the screen. His mind is still spinning, and the idea of seeing Buck, of just being with him, is almost too much to resist.

Almost.

His phone vibrates again.

E: You okay?

Eddie doesn’t think. He just calls.

He pressed the Facetime option. It’s reckless, impulsive—stupid, even. But his hands move before his brain catches up, and Buck’s name is suddenly ringing on his screen.

He almost hangs up and tells himself this is a bad idea.

Then, the call connects.

Buck’s face fills the screen, his hair still damp from the post-game shower, the birthmark above his left eye looks a bit pinker than he remembered, and a hoodie loose around his shoulders. His expression shifts from surprised to something softer, something Eddie doesn’t quite know how to name.

“Hey,” Buck says, voice lower than usual.

Eddie exhales. Just hearing him helps more than it should. “Hey,” he says back. He shifts against the hotel pillows, adjusting the phone so Buck can’t see the way he’s rubbing at the sore spot on his shoulder. “Didn’t mean to interrupt your night.”

“You’re not.” Buck leans back, propping the phone against something, his hands disappearing from view. “I just took a shower, and then I was just lying here. Thinking.”

Eddie huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Buck’s eyes flicker across the screen, searching. “You sure you’re okay?”

Eddie hesitates. Lies come easy when it’s over text when he can think through his responses. But this? This is different.

He doesn’t want to lie.

So, he settles for something close to the truth. “I'm sorry. I didn’t like seeing you go down like that.”

Buck exhales through his nose, nodding. “Didn’t love it myself either, to be honest.” He tilts his head, a half-smile on his lips. “But hey, if you were trying to keep pushing the rivalry and making it look real, mission accomplished.”

Eddie groans, dragging a hand over his face. “Jesus, don’t remind me.”

Buck laughs, and Eddie feels it in his chest, in the warm pull of something he’s trying hard not to name. For a moment, neither of them speaks. It’s not awkward, though. Just quiet.

Then Buck shifts, the camera wobbling as he settles further into the pillows. “You almost asked me to come over, didn’t you?”

Eddie stills.

Buck doesn’t sound smug. It doesn’t sound teasing, just knowing.

Eddie swallows. His throat feels tight.

“Yeah,” he admits, “I was just thinking about it.”

Buck’s gaze flickers, something unreadable passing over his face. “So, why didn’t you?”

Eddie takes a breath. He thinks about lying, thinks about deflecting. But it’s Buck. So he doesn’t.

“Because if I saw you tonight,” he says quietly, “I don’t think I’d want you to leave.”

Something in Buck’s expression softens.

Eddie then wishes he had just asked him to come over. He wishes he didn’t care so much about rules and consequences and all the ways this could go wrong because right now, looking at Buck through a screen, it doesn’t feel wrong at all.

Buck smiles, small but real. “Yeah,” he says. “I know what you mean.”

Eddie shifts against the headboard, gripping his phone a little tighter. “I guess I should ask you if you’re okay?”

Buck sighs, running a hand through his still-damp hair, trying not to make eye contact with the camera, “Hen told Bobby to bench me.”

Eddie’s stomach twists. He sits up a little straighter. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, exhaling. “Tried to tell her I was fine, but She gave me the look .”

His jaw tightens. “Did you tell her you were dizzy? Nauseous?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, I just failed the protocol. She just—” He hesitates, something flickering across his face. 

Eddie grips his phone tighter, his stomach sinking, “Wait—you failed protocol?”

Buck sighed, and Eddie watched as it looked like Buck was taking a seat on his bed. “Yeah, I'm benched until I’m cleared.”

Eddie shakes his head, honestly wishing he had invited Buck over before finding all this out, “Buck, what the hell? Are you—how bad is it?”

Buck shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “She thinks it's just a Mild concussion… probably. I’m getting it confirmed tomorrow. I've got an appointment before noon.”

Eddie clenches his jaw. Fuck. He’d been trying to hit Buck hard, but not this; he didn’t mean to injure him.

“You should’ve told me you were hurt,” he says, voice low.

Buck huffs out a humorless laugh. “Oh yeah? Did you want me to do that in the middle of the game? Was I supposed to skate over and say, ‘Hey, Eddie, you hit me a wittle too hard. Can we take a timeout?’”

Eddie doesn’t laugh. “I would’ve backed off.”

Buck’s smirk fades. He swallows. “I know.”

Eddie rubs a hand down his face. “Jesus, Buck.” He exhales sharply. “Are you actually dizzy or nauseous?”

“Just a little bit,” Buck admits. “But mostly, I’m just tired.”

Eddie closes his eyes for a second, breathing through the guilt pressing against his ribs. “You need to rest. No screens, no workouts, nothing stupid. Got it?”

Buck smiles, small and teasing. “You know, you’re kind of adorable when you worry about me.”

“Buck,” Eddie warns, voice tight.

Buck’s smile softens, and he lets out a small sigh, “I’ll be careful. Promise.”

Eddie exhales. He’s quiet for a moment before he says, softer, “I really didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

“I know,” Buck says. “It’s hockey, Eds. Shit happens.”

Eddie nods, but the guilt doesn’t ease. He did this, and now, all he wants is to be there. But he can’t. He swallows. “Okay, well, get some sleep.”

Buck’s voice is quieter when he says, “Yeah. You too.”

The silence stretches between them, comfortable and heavy all at once. Eddie watches as Buck shifts on his bed, his head hitting the pillow with a sigh. 

“Wish I was there,” Eddie says, barely above a whisper.

Buck’s lips curve into a tired smile. “Yeah?”

Eddie swallows hard. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence before Buck murmurs, “Me too.”

It’s reckless—this whole thing is reckless. But Eddie can’t bring himself to care, not when Buck looks like this, all soft and sleepy on his screen, his walls down in a way they never can be in person.

“You really should get some rest,” Eddie says again, but this time, he doesn’t hang up, “Close your eyes, Buck.”

Buck smirks, eyes half-lidded. “You gonna tuck me in, tough guy?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but his chest aches with something warm. “Shut up and close your eyes.”

Buck does, but Eddie doesn’t hang up. Instead, he listens—to the steady rhythm of Buck’s breathing, to the quiet hum of the hotel air conditioning in his room. It’s stupid how much he likes this. How much he wants it.

“You still there?” Buck mumbles sleepily, his eyes still closed.

Eddie exhales. “Yeah.”

Buck smiles against his pillow. “Good.”

Eddie should hang up. He should end the call and go to sleep himself. But instead, he shifts onto his side, tucking his arm under his head as if Buck is right there beside him.

They don’t say anything else.

When Buck’s breathing evens out, and Eddie knows he’s asleep, he finally whispers, “Goodnight, Buck.”

Then, and only then, does he let himself close his eyes, too.

Chapter Text

Buck's Apartment - Los Angeles, California

Buck lies in his bed, now he was starting to feel the weight of his mild concussion pressing down on him. His head’s still a little bit foggy, but he’s thankful it wasn’t any worse. He has the blinds drawn, the apartment quiet, save for the occasional sound of his own breathing. 

He told Hen he’d rest, but part of him is still fighting the urge to do anything but sleep.

The phone buzzes beside him on the nightstand, but he ignores it. He’s not in the mood to talk to anyone just yet.

He pulls the covers tighter around himself, enjoying the warmth of the bed, not worrying about being late to practice, and his appointment with the doctor was a few hours away, his eyes drifting closed again.

Then the unmistakable sound of a knock on his door shatters the silence. It’s not a polite knock—it’s the kind of knock that makes it clear someone’s not going away anytime soon. 

He groans, half annoyed and half dreading who it might be. It’s too early for this, and honestly, it’s making his head start pounding a bit more now.

He tries to ignore it, curling up in the blanket, praying whoever it is will go away. 

But the knocking doesn’t stop. It just gets louder and more insistent.

“Buck!” comes Maddie’s voice, laced with concern but also with a little frustration “I know you’re in there, and I swear if you don’t open this door right now, I'm going to come in anyway.”

Buck lets out a long sigh, Maddie’s not going to give up, and the fact that she's has her own key to his apartment, for emergencies only, she's going to make this an ‘emergency’.

He drags himself out of bed, his legs being a little wobbly, with a slow descent down the stairs from his loft, he stumbles to the door.

When he opens it, Maddie stands there, arms crossed over her chest, looking unimpressed. “Are You okay? I saw the hit last night, Chim told me that Hen said you didn’t pass the protocol. What happened?”

Buck leans against the doorframe, trying to mask how rough he actually feels. “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bad hit and my head bounced off the ice a little, I just needed to sleep it off, my doctors appointment isn't for a few more hours”

Maddie eyes him carefully, taking in the exhaustion in his eyes. “Buck, You look like you got hit by a bus, and then that bus reversed and ran over you.”

He rubs his face with one hand, trying to shake off the fog. “It’s honestly just a mild concussion, I’m fine.”

Maddie sighs, but her voice softens. “I know you’re fine , Buck, but I’m just making sure you’re actually taking care of yourself, because I know you don’t always make the best decisions when it comes to this stuff.”

“Yeah, well, you know me, it’s kind of my thing,” Buck mutters with a shrugg, trying to keep the mood light.

But Maddie isn’t having it. She steps into the apartment without waiting for an invitation, her gaze sweeping the space with practiced precision—sharp, knowing, impossible to fool.

“I really didn’t want to come here to play nursemaid,” she says, dropping her bag by the door. “But you can’t keep brushing things off like this, Buck. I know you. You hate sitting still, and you’re not exactly the ‘rest and recover’ type.”

Buck offers a faint smile, the kind that’s meant to be reassuring but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just needed a little time, that’s all,” he says, trying to sound casual, trying to sound like himself.

But the truth hangs heavy behind the words, and Maddie knows her brother, and she isn’t buying it.

He shuffles toward the couch and drops onto it with a sigh, stretching out like the weight of pretending has finally caught up to him.

Maddie doesn’t say anything for a moment. She just wanders into the kitchen, moving like she’s done this a hundred times before—because she has. She opens his freezer, rummages around, and pulls out a frozen bag of peas.

When she returns, she tosses them at him without ceremony. “Put this on your head.”

Buck catches it one-handed, raising a brow. “Seriously?”

“They’re cold, That’s good enough.”

He huffs a soft laugh, pressing the bag to the side of his head, eyes drifting closed. Maddie watches him for a moment, arms crossed, before she has a seat in the armchair next to him.

His phone buzzes on the armrest, and Maddie catches the way his body tenses—not in alarm, but in anticipation.

He doesn’t answer it immediately. Just glances down, lips twitching slightly, and then sets it down.

“So, is everything okay?” she asks casually, from her spot in the armchair.

“Yeah.” Buck’s voice is a little too quick, a little too practiced.

“Team stuff?” she prods.

“Yeah… well, a friend.”

Maddie nods, lets it go. But her eyes flick to the phone again. He’s never called anyone on the team a “friend” with that kind of tone.

Later, while Buck’s in the kitchen grabbing Advil, her gaze lands on the screen again when it lights up—just a single letter.

D.

No heart emojis. No full name. Just the letter D.

When Buck returns, she watches the way he thumbs his screen again, barely hiding his smile this time.

Maddie’s arms crossed, watching him like he’s a puzzle she can’t quite piece together. Buck tries to pretend he doesn’t notice—keeps adjusting the bag of peas on his head, keeps avoiding her eyes—but it’s no use.

“You know, Chim has been saying that you've been kind of weird lately,” she says, casual but pointed.

Buck snorts softly. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Have you even eat today?”

“I was in bed before you showed up, so no– no I haven’t,” Buck groans and sinks deeper into the couch. “I’m fine, Maddie.”

She pauses, eyes flicking over him. “You always say that.”

“Because I am,” he insists, not quite looking at her. “It’s just a mild concussion, nothing I haven't had before, and I'm benched until I'm cleared by a doctor.”

“You remember that season, about 3 years ago,” she says casually, too casually. “The one where you played through a torn groin for three whole weeks and didn’t tell anyone until you couldn’t walk?”

Buck winces., he remembers it all to well, “Maddie, that was different, it was playoffs.”

“Oh, was it?” she counters. “Because I’m honestly getting the same vibe.”

He tries not to react. Keeps his expression neutral. But Maddie’s eyes narrow anyway.

“I’m serious, Buck. You get this… look . When something’s wrong and you’re trying to pretend it’s not,” Maddie presses, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been distracted. Off. Not just because of the hit. Before that. At dinner last week, you barely touched your food and kept checking your phone like you were waiting for something. Or someone.”

Buck’s stomach flips. He forces a shrug. “So now I’m not allowed to text people.”

“You are,” Maddie says slowly. “But you’ve never been great at being subtle. You flinch every time it vibrates.” She leans forward now, elbows on her knees, expression more earnest than accusatory. “Is there something going on, Buck?”

Buck hesitates just a second too long.

Maddie’s eyes sharpen, “There is.” She said plainly.

“No,” he says too quickly. “I mean—not like that. It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious,” she echoes. “Okay. So is that why you’ve got a mysterious ‘D’ texting you?”

His head snaps toward her. “You looked at my phone?”

“Not on purpose,” she says quickly. “It lit up while you were up getting an advil and I looked over and saw it. I didn’t snoop, I swear.” Maddie doesn’t move right away. She sits there, arms still crossed, eyes lingering on him with that maddeningly perceptive look she’s always had, “You know,” she says after a beat, tone deceptively light, “you weren’t exactly subtle the last time you tried to keep a relationship secret.”

Buck’s body goes rigid before he can stop it.

Maddie doesn’t miss the reaction. “You remember the Ice Girl, right Candice, Candie?”

Buck exhales sharply, rubbing his forehead. “Maddie—”

“She was married, Buck… and has two kids.”

“Yeah,” he snaps, more harshly than he intends. “I know, I remember.”

There’s a beat of silence between them—just thick enough to sting, heavy enough to press in.

“I’m not trying to throw it in your face,” Maddie says quietly. “I just—back then, you convinced yourself it was fine because you could compartmentalize it. Because you thought if you didn’t talk about it, if no one knew, it wouldn’t get messy.”

“And yet, it still got messy,” Buck mutters, more to himself than to her.

“And all thanks to TMZ for catching it,” Maddie says. “now, you’re acting the same way again. Distracted. Secretive. Hiding something— And I don’t want to watch you get hurt again because you think silence is a safe place to love someone.”

That hits him harder than he expects. Because she’s not angry—she’s worried.

“I am not repeating the same mistake,” Buck says, quieter now. “… and I promise that this is different.”

“Then why, Buck— why does it feel exactly the same? All over again?” she asks softly.

“I’m not doing that again,” he says softly, finally meeting her gaze. “It’s not—this isn’t anything like that.”

“Then what is it?” she asks gently. “Because you’re walking around like you’ve got your heart wrapped in barbed wire, and you won’t tell anyone why.”

Buck swallows hard. He wants to tell her. God, he wants to unload all of it—how it’s Eddie, how it’s complicated, how it feels like something fragile and beautiful and terrifying all at once. 

Buck’s jaw works, but he has no answer. Not one he can say out loud without giving everything away.

Maddie studies him for a moment longer, her expression a mix of concern and determination, revealing nothing yet hinting at unspoken thoughts. 

After what feels like an eternity, she lets out a weary sigh and stands up from the chair, the floor creaking softly beneath her. She glances toward the kitchen, a familiar sanctuary of warmth and practicality, and walks over to the freezer. The cold air rushes out as she opens it, and she rummages through its contents before pulling out a bag of frozen corn. 

As she makes her way back to him, he notices the way her brow is slightly furrowed, the tension in her shoulders unmistakable. With a gentle tug, she takes the bag of peas from his hand and replaces it with the corn, her touch surprisingly soft yet firm. “I don’t need you to tell me everything,” she says, her voice dropping to a more intimate, softer tone. A hint of vulnerability breaks through the steadiness she tries to maintain. “But please, don’t lie to yourself about whatever this is, Buck.” Her eyes search his for understanding, seeking a connection amidst the confusion that looms between them.

And then, without another word, she leaves the bag on his chest and walks back to the kitchen, letting the silence settle behind her.

Buck sat there, the coolness of the corn against his chest doing little to dull the heat inside him. 

His sister’s words had a way of sticking, digging in like splinters, and now, he felt that familiar push-pull between wanting to let her in and keeping everything locked tight.

Maddie folded her arms over her chest, as she came back into the room, her voice quiet but intense. “Why are you so scared to just be… honest? With yourself, with me, with whoever this person is?”

Buck’s chest tightened at her words. His mind raced, thoughts scattering like sparks. Eddie’s face flashed in his mind—his smile, the quiet intensity of his eyes, the way he had looked at Buck in the locker room that one time when they didn’t know where this was going. 

“Madds, you don’t understand,” Buck finally said, his voice thick with something close to panic. He shifted on the couch again, but it was clear that he didn’t want to face her gaze anymore. “This… whatever it is, it’s complicated.”

Maddie’s face softened. She stepped closer, kneeling in front of him. She reached out, placing a hand on his knee, her eyes full of both care and exasperation. “Buck… look at me. You’re always trying to protect everyone. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”

He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat suddenly too big to ignore. He could feel his eyes welling up despite himself. He hated this vulnerability—hated how close he was to cracking in front of her, So instead, he says, “I’m just tired, Maddie.”

Maddie’s grip tightened on his knee, her voice gentle but firm. “You deserve happiness, too, you know. Just—don’t run from it. Don’t let fear make your decisions for you.”

Buck blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tide of emotions threatening to drown him. She was right, but how could he not be scared? How could he let someone in when he couldn’t even trust himself to stay whole?

Buck sat in silence for a long beat, the weight of her words pressing on him harder than anything he’d ever felt. He hated how vulnerable she made him feel, but at the same time, he knew she was right. He’d been running for so long that he didn’t know if he even knew how to stand still.

“Thanks, Maddie,” he finally said, his voice quiet, a little broken. “I’ll figure it out. I just… I don’t know how to stop worrying about screwing it all up.”

She squeezed his knee one last time before standing up, “just know I’m here, when you’re ready,” she says softly. “Even if you are being an idiot.”

He huffs a laugh, more grateful than he can say. “Yeah. I know.”

But the weight in his chest doesn’t go anywhere.

Because Maddie is getting closer to the truth And Buck isn’t sure what happens when she finally reaches it.

After a few hours later, and after she made him a pot of her ‘Philly famous’ potato soup, she finally left to go home, she didn’t want to leave Jee-Yun too long with the babysitter

When she finally walked out the door, Buck exhaled sharply, eyes glued to the screen as he typed.

E: Maddie’s starting to notice something is going on with me… She doesn’t know what, but she’s worried. And I’m worried she’ll figure it out if we keep this going.

He stared at the message for a long moment, feeling the weight of every word before hitting send.

Then he waited. His heart pounded in his chest as he silently cursed himself for even bringing it up.

Minutes felt like hours. Finally, Eddie’s response came in, and Buck let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

D: I’ve been wonder about it too...

Buck stared at the message, the knot in his stomach tightening. Eddie was always so calm, so grounded—so why did that make Buck feel even more anxious?

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the tension. What was he doing? It felt like he was standing on the edge of something, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to step back or step forward. Instead, he just stayed there, teetering.

E: I know we shouldn’t want to hide this forever, But if Maddie figures it out… If anyone finds out… it’s not just about us anymore.

There was a pause before Eddie’s reply came in.

D: I know. We need to be careful. For now. I get it, Buck. We’ll do this on our terms.

Buck’s heart stuttered in his chest as he read the message, feeling both reassured and terrified all at once.

Eddie's Home - Dallas, Texas

The trade deadline is rapidly approaching, and Eddie would be lying if he said he can’t feel the pressure building. 

He knows the team’s options are growing slimmer, and with injuries on the team, The Dallas Stars have been underperforming, and his spot as a third-line center, Eddie knows the reality. If they need to cut salary, he’s expendable. Even if He’s been playing well this season— better than anyone had thought possible, especially the commentators on ESPN—but that doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of the NHL business. he’s worried—worried that he might get traded to another team, away from Dallas, away from the stability he’s fought so hard to maintain for his son.

And then there’s Buck. 

Even though they’re in different cities already— Dallas and LA —Eddie can’t shake the feeling that the secret with Buck is starting to feel more like an anchor. The emotional connection they share is undeniable, He’s gotten used to being able to text Buck at random times, to know that Buck’s there, that they’re in this together somehow. He’s also come to rely on their late-night conversations, where they talk about anything and everything, the moments where they let their guards down and just be. 

How would this relationship survive a trade? Especially if the distance was farther, and the possibility of being in a completely different Conference than Buck. Could Eddie balance the demands of a new team and still keep this thing with Buck going?

But what if this relationship were to go public, it could blow up in both their faces.

It’s been a month or so weeks since their last heated, passionate meeting in Dallas, and a weeks since the Stars played against the Kings in LA and Eddie had laid Buck out with a concussion. While they haven’t seen each other in person since then, it felt as if the connection has only deepened. 

They text, call, and keep things light—sometimes heavy—but the secrecy, the constant tug-of-war between wanting more and keeping things hidden… it’s getting harder.

Now, it looms like a dark cloud hanging over him. Nothing concrete, but the rumors are flying, and He’s no stranger to trade rumors, but the fact that this one feels different makes his stomach twist. No one is safe.

Everywhere Eddie goes, it feels like people are talking. 

During practice, he overhears players chatting about possible trades. The Kings are looking for depth, the Islanders might need help on the defensive line, and suddenly, Eddie’s name is tossed into every conversation like he’s a commodity to be swapped. 

It’s strange—this feeling of being wanted and unwanted at the same time. He’s playing well enough to stay, but not so well that he’s irreplaceable.

One afternoon, as he’s getting ready for practice, his teammate, Matt, approaches him with a grin.

“You hear the latest?” Matt asks, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie sets his skates down, a sense of dread creeping up his spine. “I hear a lot of things these days,” he says, trying to play it off. But inside, his heart is pounding.

“They say you’re on the trade block,” Matt says, his tone casual, but there’s something knowing in his eyes.

Eddie’s stomach flips. “Who’s ‘they’?” he asks, trying not to sound too panicked.

“Oh, just the usual crowd.” Matt shrugs, “I don’t know, man. I heard they’re shopping you around. Looking for a better fit to move up to the second line.”

Eddie grits his teeth, but it’s more out of frustration than anger. 

He’d heard the rumors, but hearing them from a teammate makes them feel more real, but it also felt rude as well.

“Well, that's great, I guess... Just what I need to hear today,” Eddie mutters, trying to keep his voice steady.

Matt chuckles. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’ve still got plenty of value. Maybe you’ll get traded to some team with a good beach, someplace sunny.”

Eddie manages a dry smile. “Yeah, because a vacation is exactly what I need right now.”

As the conversation dies down, Eddie continues to dress for practice as he hears his phone buzz in his bag. 

It’s a text from Buck.

E: Hey, how is your day going?

Eddie’s fingers hover over the screen. He should tell Buck about the rumors, about how he feels like his whole future is up in the air. 

He doesn’t want to burden him. Instead, he types back quickly.

D: Yeah. Just… love hearing all of the trade rumors. You know how it is… I’m fine.

But Buck, ever the perceptive one, doesn’t let it go that easily.

E: I can hear the “I’m fine” in your voice even through a text. You sure you’re good?

Eddie can’t help but smile at Buck’s insistence. He has a way of seeing right through him.

D: I’m actually fine. Really. Just… trying to keep my head screwed on right, It’s just… a lot.

There’s a pause before Buck responds, and Eddie can almost feel him thinking.

E: Well, don’t let the trade stuff get to you. You’re more than just a piece on a board. Don’t let them treat you like one.

Eddie’s chest tightens, and he stares at the screen. He doesn’t know if Buck realizes how much those words mean to him. It’s nice to have someone who sees him as more than just a commodity. Even if it’s just Buck.

But Eddie still can’t shake the anxiety gnawing at him. What if he is traded? What if he gets sent to a team so far away from Buck that it feels impossible to keep this going?

Later that night, Eddie finds himself awake, staring at the ceiling in his dark hotel room. He can hear the muffled sounds of the city outside, but it doesn’t help calm his racing thoughts. 

His phone buzzes again, and he glances at the screen—it’s a text from Buck.

E: I’m thinking about you. You doing okay?

Eddie’s been trying to keep it together, trying to focus on the game, but there’s no escaping the tension of it all.

D: Trying. But it’s… hard.

Buck’s reply comes quickly, always the reassurance Eddie needs.

E: I know, man. It’s a lot. But I’m here. Whenever you need to talk. Or if you just need to vent about the rumors. You know I’ll listen.

Eddie can’t help it—his fingers move over the keys before he even thinks about it.

D: What if I do traded? What if I end up on the leafs or something like that, a completely different Confrence in the opposite end if the country— and I can’t do this— if we can't do this anymore?

For a moment, he wonders if he should have sent the text at all. 

But Buck’s response is immediate.

E: We’ll make it work. No matter where you end up, we’ll make it work. I promise.

Eddie stares at the screen, unsure if he believes Buck fully, but the words comfort him more than he expects. We’ll make it work. But The uncertainty still lingers.

Its Thursday, and the hours tick down to the trade deadline the following day, Eddie’s nerves only grow sharper. He’s on edge, every rumor pulling him in a new direction. 

His phone rings—it’s his agent. Eddie’s heart races. He answers quickly, voice tight.

“Eddie,” his agent says, “I’m hearing some things. The Stars are looking at a few possibilities, something to shake it up, if they need cap space, your name is on that list, but nothing’s finalized yet. Don’t panic. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Don’t panic,” Eddie mutters under his breath, a little bitterly. “Easier said than done.” 

He swallows hard, clenching his jaw. 

There’s no definitive trade yet, but the uncertainty is enough to drive him crazy. He wants to call Buck immediately, but he hesitates. He doesn’t want to make Buck worry if there’s nothing to worry about.

But he can’t help it. He picks up his phone, fingers trembling as he sends a text:

D: You hear anything about me?

There’s no immediate reply, and Eddie frowns at his screen. He taps his foot, waiting, but when the text bubble finally pops up.

Buck’s reply is quick and to the point:

E: No, not a thing, Why?

Eddie waits a moment, still unsure how much to say. He doesn’t want to worry Buck too much, doesn’t want him to think he’s falling apart over a few rumors.

D: just got off the phone with my agent, and I feel like I might be getting traded. Haven’t heard anything concrete yet.

He doesn’t add the part where he’s terrified that this trade could mean the end of their thing. That, if he’s sent to another city, if he has to start over somewhere new, everything might fall apart.

Buck’s reply is immediate, and Eddie can hear the concern in his tone even through the text.

E: Eddie… I know this whole situation sucks, but don’t let it eat at you. You’ve been playing well, you're in the road  to a 50-point season, and if they don’t see that, then they’re fucking blind.

Eddie stares at the screen, reading Buck’s words over and over. For a moment, it feels like everything is more straightforward than it seems. If Buck can handle this, maybe Eddie can, too.

He’s about to reply when his phone rings and he doesn’t hesitate to answer it.

“Hey,” Buck’s voice is soft on the other end. “You good?”

Eddie closes his eyes, listening to Buck’s voice like it’s the only thing that grounds him. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“I know it’s hard,” Buck says, and Eddie can practically hear the sincerity in his voice. “But whatever happens, just don’t forget that I’m here.”

Eddie chuckles softly, even though his chest feels tight. “I won’t.”

After a night's sleep, that's when the trade deadline finally hits, Eddie’s stomach is in knots. He goes through the motions of the day—practice, meetings, media interviews—but the whole time, he can’t shake the feeling that something is coming.

But when the clock strikes 3 PM and the final trades are made, Eddie’s name isn’t on the list. 

He’s still a Dallas Star. The team made a change, but Eddie, Eddie is staying. 

It’s a relief, but at the same time, there’s a weight to it.

He quickly sends Buck a text, his fingers moving fast as the weight lifts off his shoulders.

D: No trade. I’m not going anywhere. Guess I’m still a Star.

And as soon as Buck replies, Eddie feels like he can breathe again.

E: Good. Glad to hear it. I know they wouldn’t be stupid to let you go. We’ll still figure this out together, okay?

Eddie smiles to himself, “Together,” he repeats under his breath, knowing that, at least for now, they have a chance.

A few days passed. It was a quiet evening at Eddie's place. he had just come back from practice, and the familiar exhaustion from the rink weighed on him. He knew he would have to get ready for the week-long road games, but instead, he leaned against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

The time was coming when they’d have to face whatever was happening between them.

But tonight, that wasn’t the issue.

It’s Chris.

His son has been a bit quieter lately, even for a teenager. Eddie chalks it up to the usual teenage mood swings, but something about the way Chris has been acting doesn’t sit right with him.

Eddie glanced over to where his son sat at the kitchen table, eyes glued to the pile of homework in front of him. He had been unusually quiet lately, but Eddie figured it was just the stress of school catching up with him. Maybe it was the teenage angst, the constant need for space.

But then Chris suddenly dropped his pen with an almost defiant tap, leaning back in his chair. His eyes were narrowed, focused on Eddie like a hawk, and there was something in his gaze that made Eddie stiffen.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Chris asked, voice low but sharp, catching Eddie completely off guard: “You and Buck, you’re…okay, right? Like, everything’s fine?”

It was a small thing, but the look in Chris’s eyes, the way he said it, had been full of that unspoken understanding that teenagers get—especially when they’ve picked up on something they weren’t meant to.

Eddie had brushed it off with a casual, “Yeah, we’re good,” but the truth is, it nagged at him. Because as much as he wants to protect Chris from this whole mess, from the secrecy and the pressure he feels being in this hidden relationship with Buck, he knows Chris isn’t oblivious. Not at all.

“You hit Buck pretty hard that night, huh?” Chris asked, without looking up from his food

Eddie froze. He hadn’t thought about how his son might take it—especially now that he was noticing the subtle undercurrent between him and Buck. But Chris wasn’t a kid anymore, and he was sharp. Too sharp for Eddie’s liking.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. “It was just a hard play, Chris.”

Chris looked back up from his books,  his brow furrowed in concern. “Yeah, but you looked pretty pissed when you hit him. You alright? Or is something going on with you two? You seemed to have changed after the All-Star game.”

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. His immediate instinct was to deflect. “What are you even talking about?”

Chris shrugged, but his gaze stayed fixed on his dad. “You’ve been acting different. Ever since The All-Star game and coming back from the West Coast roadie. And it’s not like I can’t tell when you’re… hiding something. You’re terrible at it.” He paused, letting the words sink in.

Eddie felt a tightness in his chest. Chris could always tell when something was off. “It’s not like that, Mijo, okay?” A breath caught in his throat. The lines had blurred too much, and now Chris noticed the tiny shifts. Eddie had thought he could keep it all separate—his family, his life with the team, the moments with Buck—but it was impossible to compartmentalize everything.

Chris turned his head and looked at his phone, his eyes focused on the screen. “I can tell something’s going on. You’re different when you talk to him. I’m not stupid, Dad.”

Eddie’s heart raced, his stomach clenching. “It’s just– It’s just work stuff,” he said, the words coming out strained, even to his own ears.

Chris doesn’t back down, he rolled his eyes, putting his phone down with a heavy sigh. “Work stuff?”

Eddie opens his mouth to deny it, but the truth lingers there, thick and undeniable. He’s kept things from Chris before, but this is different. 

“It’s not what you think,” Eddie finally said, his voice quieter, almost pleading. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I’m just looking out for you, okay dad?” Chris continues, his voice softer now, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Eddie sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not going to get hurt, Chris. I promise. It’s just… complicated, alright? But I’m fine.”

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t think you are.“

Eddie’s heart races, the weight of the secret threatening to crush him. Chris is too perceptive, too close to the truth. But how does he even begin to explain this to his son? To explain Buck? “I know, I know. I know I keep saying It’s complicated, it’s… it’s just something I have to handle on my own, alright Chris? It’s not something you need to know about right now. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Chris didn’t say anything for a long moment, but Eddie knew he wasn’t satisfied with his answer. He leans back, crossing his arms, his brow furrowed. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, Dad. But I’m not dropping it. You don’t have to pretend. I’m not a little kid anymore. I can handle it.”

Eddie opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat. He knew Chris was right. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and Chris deserved more than this. 

But Eddie's not ready, not yet, to come clean. Not when he’s terrified of how it might all unravel.

For now, all Eddie can do is nod, hoping that Chris will give him some space. But deep down, he knows this is just the beginning. The questions won’t stop.

Before Eddie could speak, Chris turned back to his homework, his tone quieter this time. “But just—don’t hurt them, okay Dad?”

Eddie froze, his heart pounding. “I won’t,” he said, his voice strained. But deep down, he couldn’t be sure.

It was an hour and a half after their conversation and dinner, and Eddie stood in the kitchen, wiping down the counter. His thoughts drift back to his conversation with Chris. 

He’s still processing how quickly Chris is picking up on things. When did his son become so perceptive? Eddie thought he had more time and room to hide things and keep certain parts of his life, especially with Buck, in the shadows.

Eddie hadn’t expected Chris to notice how his phone would light up at odd hours of the night or how his expressions would soften when ESPN showed highlights from a Kings game. 

That subtle change had been more noticeable than Eddie had even realized.

Eddie knows he’s been trying to walk this tightrope between being a father and someone with a secret. He’s only ever kept things from Chris to protect him, but now it feels like his son is the one protecting him. Every time Chris asks a question, every time his eyes narrow with suspicion, Eddie feels more exposed than he ever has.

The fact that Chris had noticed the tension from the hit, the same hit that Eddie regretted almost immediately, only added to his guilt. 

Eddie had done his best to make sure Chris never saw the aftermath of that moment, but Chris’s keen eye didn’t miss the way Eddie had flinched in the locker room during the post-game interviews how the injury was mentioned. 

He can’t escape it.

He wanted to tell Chris the truth, to sit him down and explain everything, but how? He never imagined his relationship with Buck—whatever it is—would put him in this position. But here he is, stuck between a secret love and a son growing too quickly for him to keep up.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, wishing things were simpler, hoping he didn’t have to feel like this. But Eddie knows that nothing is ever simple when it comes to matters of the heart, and now he’s caught in a whirlwind that’s pulling him in too many directions at once.

Eddie stares at his phone, his fingers hovering over the keys, he can’t shake the feeling that Chris is getting too close to the truth. With a sigh, he types the message, his thoughts heavy on his mind.

D: Chris asked about you tonight. I think he is figuring things out. He’s been asking a lot of questions.

He reads the message over twice, the words weighing on him. He doesn’t want to burden Buck with this, doesn’t want to add more stress to their already complicated situation, but he also knows that this is something they’ll need to address together if it gets worse.

For a few moments, Eddie stares at the screen, waiting for a reply, but nothing comes through. He knows Buck’s probably busy or caught up with something, but the silence gnaws at him. He wants reassurance, a simple “Don’t worry” or “It’s fine,” but that doesn’t come. What comes instead is a steady stream of anxious thoughts racing through Eddie’s mind.

He’s so deep in his thoughts that his phone vibrating catches him off guard. Quickly, he snatches it up.

E: Shit. I figured it was just a matter of time. He seems like a pretty smart kid. Do you think he’s caught on to the… us part, or just that something’s off?

Eddie leans back against the counter, rubbing his face. He wishes it wasn’t so hard to balance it all. They’ve barely scratched the surface of defining what they are, what they mean to each other, and now he’s stuck trying to figure out how to explain it to a teenager who’s way too perceptive for his own good.

D: He’s noticed… something. I’m just not sure how much yet. I keep trying to keep things from him, but he’s too bright, Buck. I don’t know how much longer I can hide this from him.

Eddie watches as the three dots appear, knowing Buck is typing, and his chest tightens. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Buck, but this whole situation is messy, and the last thing Eddie wants is for his son to be caught in the middle of it all.

After a moment, the text comes through.

E: Look, I know this isn’t easy. You’re not alone in this, Eddie. We don’t have to rush to any conclusions. Just take it one step at a time. Chris… he’ll come around.

Eddie closes his eyes, letting out a breath. Buck’s words are like a balm to his frayed nerves, even if he knows this situation is far from simple.

D: I don’t want him to hate me for keeping this from him… I don’t know if I can keep pretending.

There’s a long pause before Buck replies again.

E: We’ll figure it out, I promise.

Eddie smiles slightly at the screen, feeling the familiar weight of Buck’s reassurance. It doesn’t make everything okay, but it makes it bearable.

D: I’ll talk to him. Soon.

E: I won’t stop you, whenever you’re ready.

Eddie leans back, sinking into the stillness of the kitchen, the quiet hum of his phone the only sound around him. 

He’s grateful for Buck’s support but knows the road ahead won’t be easy. Still, it’s comforting to know that they’re in this together. He can’t hide forever, but he’ll take it one step at a time.

He just hopes to figure out how to navigate the following conversation with Chris before everything unravels completely.

It was the day after a game; Eddie had just gotten home from practice and was sitting on his bed, changing out of his now post-practice clothes.

Chris showed up in the doorway of Eddie’s room, his expression softer now but still serious. He was leaning on one of his crutches but was using his other hand to balance against the doorframe, “Dad, I’m not a little kid anymore. You’re trying to protect me, but I’m not an idiot. I asked you to be honest, and you still haven’t talked to me about it.”

Eddie was glad he was sitting down, too, or else he would have been shocked and stumbled at Chris’s words; he swallowed hard. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks—Chris wouldn’t let this go. Not this time.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt by it,” Eddie said, his voice breaking a little, though he tried to keep it steady. “You’ve got enough on your plate already.”

But Chris wasn’t done. He crossed his arms, his voice firm. “Dad, I’m not gonna get hurt by it. You can’t keep brushing it off like this. Just talk to me.”

The words stung harder than Eddie expected. 

He was so used to being the one in control, the one who did the protecting, but now, the roles were reversing, and his son was holding him accountable. Eddie didn’t know how to handle that—didn’t know how to balance the desire to protect Chris from his world and the need to come clean finally.

“Chris, I—” Eddie started, but Chris held up a hand, stopping him.

“Dad, just… just talk to me, okay? I'm sick of waiting?” Chris said, his voice quieter now, more patient. “I’m not asking for some elaborate explanation, but please, don’t keep lying to me, okay?”

Eddie could feel the weight of the moment, the pressure in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, he was unsure how to proceed. 

It wasn’t just about the secret with Buck anymore. It was about Chris, too—about navigating this new stage of their relationship, balancing fatherhood and whatever it was with Buck.

“I will talk to you about it, I promise,” Eddie said, voice thick, and he could feel the heat rise to his face, shame mixing with anger. He tried to hold it back and stay calm, but the frustration bubbled up in him. “Chris, this isn’t something—”

“No! No more excuses!” raised his voice, cutting him off. “I’ve been watching you. Watching you hide it and watching you pretend like I don’t know what’s going on. You don’t talk to me anymore like you used to, and when you do, it’s like you’re just waiting for the phone to buzz, and I’m standing here just watching all of it! I’m supposed to be your son, not some… some stranger you keep in the dark!”

“I didn’t want to put this on you,” Eddie replied, standing up and stepping toward his son. “I didn’t want you to deal with any of it.”

“You didn’t want me to deal with it, or you didn’t want to deal with it yourself?” Chris snapped back, his voice sharp like a knife. “I can handle it, Dad. I’m not blind, okay? I’m not some dumb little kid that you can just fool!”

The raw pain in Chris’s words hit Eddie harder than anything else. He knew he had been trying to shield his son from all this, but in doing so, he’d pushed Chris away. He hadn’t realized how much distance he had created between them until now.

Chris wasn’t done, though. His following words were quieter, more hurt than anything. “You said we’d talk about it. But I’ve been waiting and waiting, and now I’m just… I’m just angry and annoyed, Dad. You’re not being fair to me.”

Eddie stood there, frozen, feeling his anger twist inside him, but it wasn’t at Chris. It was at himself. The guilt, the shame—it all hit him at once.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Chris’s expression softened momentarily, but the frustration was still there, simmering just under the surface. “You kept it from me. You didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

The two of them stood in silence for a long moment, the air thick with everything left unsaid. 

Finally, Chris spoke again, his voice quieter now but no less firm, “I just want you to be honest with me,” he said. “That’s all.”

Eddie’s heart felt heavy in his chest. “I know. I know. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn’t know how…”

Chris shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. “I don’t need to know everything, Dad. Just don’t hide from me anymore, okay?”

Eddie nodded slowly, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this small, this vulnerable, in front of his son. 

Chris had grown up in ways Eddie hadn’t even realized, and now, more than ever, he had to figure out how to be honest with him—about everything.

“I’ll talk to you, okay? I’ll… I’ll tell you everything.”

Chris stood there for a moment longer, his arms still crossed over his chest, “Good.” he smiled slightly before saying, “Because I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one trying to keep this family together.”

Eddie’s chest tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. So, he did the only thing he could think of: He reached out, pulling Chris into a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” he muttered again, his voice thick with emotion. “I really am.”

Chris hugged him back, though his grip was a little more reluctant than it used to be. “Just don’t make me wait too long next time,” he said, his voice muffled against Eddie’s shoulder.

“Just give me a second to get my bearings, and I’ll talk to you about everything, tonight .”

Chris nodded and gave him a knowing look but didn’t push it further. Instead, he got to his feet, making a wobbly trek to the living room. “Alright, I'll be in my room,” a small grin tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes; he took a few more wobbling steps before looking back at his dad, “I want you to be happy. That’s all.”

Eddie let out a soft chuckle, but the weight of the conversation lingered in the air, heavy and unresolved. 

Chris had pulled back, but Eddie knew that things wouldn’t stay quiet for much longer and Chris retreated to his room.

Eddie sat on the edge of his bed, phone gripped tightly in one hand, the other dragging through his hair as if that would somehow slow the storm swirling inside his chest. The house was quiet now— still tense, hurt, and calmer. Eddie didn’t feel any more relaxed.

His thumb hovered over Buck’s name—well, not Buck’s name. Just E. That tiny little initial that had somehow come to mean everything and nothing at once. He hesitated momentarily, then hit the call button before he could talk himself out of it.

Eddie calls.

Buck answers with a groggy, “Hey,” voice still heavy with sleep, like he’d just dozed off.

Eddie exhales softly at the sound. “Did I wake you?”

“No,” Buck lies, already sitting up. “I was just… resting my eyes.”

There’s a pause— Eddie didn’t answer right away. Just breathed into the line, trying to figure out how to string the words together.

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice sharpened. “Everything okay?”

“No,” Eddie admitted. “I mean—yeah. No one’s hurt or anything; it’s just… I think I have to tell Chris.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, but not a surprised one. Buck had always known this moment would come. “So, He figured it out?”

Eddie let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Yeah. He threw a damn fit, Buck should've known he'd find out; he’s not a kid anymore. He sees everything.”

Buck went quiet for a second and softly said, “You okay?”

“I don’t know.” Eddie rubbed the back of his neck. “I hate that I lied to him. I hate that I made him feel like I couldn’t trust him. He’s hard-headed, so he's definitely my kid, but he's so much smarter than I give him credit for, and I… I feel like I screwed this up.”

“No,” Buck said firmly. “You didn’t screw it up, you didn't screw anything up. You’re trying to protect him. But maybe he doesn’t need protecting anymore—not like that.”

Eddie let the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t heavy, not exactly. But it meant something.

“I think I need to tell him everything,” Eddie said finally, “Not just that there’s something between us, but what us actually is. I don’t know how, but I can’t keep pretending. Not after tonight.”

Buck was quiet again. But when he spoke, his voice was soft—softer than Eddie had heard in weeks. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.”

“I know.” Eddie’s voice cracked just a little. “But I kind of have to do this part. He’s my kid.”

“I get that,” Buck said. “But I’m here. However, if you need me—if you want me to talk to him too, or wait until you’ve said what you need to say first… whatever you need, I’m in.”

Eddie smiled, small but real. “I knew you’d say that.”

“You’re not the only one with instincts,” Buck teased gently. Then he added, more seriously, “You’ll be okay, and he’ll be okay.”

“I hope so.”

“You’ve got him, Eddie. Just like you’ve got me.”

Eddie leaned back on the bed, the phone still pressed to his ear, and for the first time all night, he let himself breathe.

There’s a pause—comfortable but weighted.

“I’ve been thinking,” Eddie says eventually, his voice low and steady.

Buck chuckles lightly, trying to ease the tension. “Uh-oh, sounds dangerous.”

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters, but there’s no bite to it. “I’m serious.”

Buck hums. “Alright, What were you thinking about?”

Eddie’s quiet for a beat too long, and Buck shifts on the other end of the line. He knows that silence—it’s not hesitation, exactly. It’s Eddie lining up every word before letting it fall.

“About us,” Eddie finally says. “About what this… is.”

Buck goes still.

They’ve danced around it for weeks, now months— traded touches and texts, traded looks that meant more than either of them wanted to admit. But this? Saying it out loud? It feels like opening a door, but they can’t close again.

“I mean,” Buck says cautiously, “I thought we were already doing it.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly. “But what are we doing? Are we just hooking up when we can manage it? Are we dating? Are we—” He stops himself, the words together lingering in the silence even though he doesn’t say it.

Buck swallows, heart pounding a little harder. “You know I don’t want it just to be hookups, Ed. I've told you that.”

“I know,” Eddie replies immediately. “I don’t either. And when I talk to Chris about it, I'm wondering if we need to label what it is, what we are? That’s why I’m asking.”

It’s quiet again, softer now—like they’re both afraid to breathe too loud and scare the moment off.

“I want this to be real,” Buck admits. “Even if we can’t really tell anyone yet. Even if it’s messy and complicated, I still want you .”

Eddie closes his eyes, the words settling into him like warmth under his ribs.

“Okay,” he says, breath catching just a little. “So we’re… together?”

Buck smiles, even though Eddie can’t see it. “Yeah, yeah, I like thay– We’re together.”

“And don't forget we’re gonna keep pretending we’re not, even in the same building.”

“I know,” Buck says dryly. “I’ve always wanted a secret boyfriend,”

Eddie laughs. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“But I’m your dumbass, now.”

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly, heart aching and full. “Yeah. You are.”

They talk a little longer after that—lighter stuff, easier stuff—but something shifts underneath it all. It’s not casual anymore. Not undefined.

When Eddie finally hangs up, he stares at his phone for a moment, thumb hovering over Buck’s contact name—still not saved under anything specific. Just a single letter. Just a secret.

Now he knows what they are, it’s time to tell Chris.

Eddie headed back down the hallway and stood in the doorway of Chris’s room, quietly watching his son sit at his desk, fiddling with the corner of a book but not actually reading. His shoulders were still tense, and Eddie’s heart ached at the sight.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Eddie asked softly.

Chris didn’t look up right away. “So you can lie to me again, or are you going to actually talk to me?”

The words hit like a punch to the chest, sharp and well-aimed. Eddie didn’t flinch, but he deserved it.

“No,” he said, stepping further into the room. “Like I said, no more lies.”

Chris finally turned around, his expression guarded but open enough that Eddie could tell the door was just cracked. Waiting.

Eddie sat down on the edge of Chris’s bed, elbows resting on his knees. “Alright, I said I'd talk to you, and I owe you an explanation.”

Chris crossed his arms. “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said quietly. “You were right. About the phone. About how I’ve been acting differently. And it’s because… there’s something going on.”

Chris raised a brow, sarcastic teenage armor sliding into place. “Oh, you don’t say.”

Eddie smiled faintly. “Chris. It’s Buck.”

Chris blinked. For a second, Eddie thought he might be angry again. Or confused. Or worse—disappointed. But Chris just stared at him like he was trying to solve a puzzle he already half knew the answer to. “I knew it,” Chris said finally. “You know, I didn’t want to believe it, I thought…but… I knew it.”

Eddie let a small laugh out with surprise.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Dad, come on, You gave him a concussion and spent the next week looking like you were gonna cry every time someone mentioned.”

Eddie let the nerves start to wash away, “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just… I guess I didn’t know how to tell you. It was new. Complicated. I didn’t want to confuse you.”

Chris frowned. “Why would it confuse me?”

Eddie blinked. “I—I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want you to feel weird about it.”

Chris’s voice was quieter now, gentler. “Because he’s a guy?”

Eddie looked down at his hands. “Yeah. Maybe. I didn’t want you to feel like I was hiding something that would change everything.”

“It doesn’t,” Chris said simply. “It doesn’t change anything, Dad. I just… I was mad you didn’t trust me.”

Eddie looked up, eyes burning. “I’m sorry, mijo. I am. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I couldn’t be honest. I was just scared. This thing with Buck—it’s different. It’s real. And I didn’t want to mess it up.”

Chris nodded slowly, then added, “You still did.”

Eddie chuckled through the tightness in his throat. “Yeah. I kind of did.”

There was a pause, and then Chris asked, “Does he make you happy?”

Eddie didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah," He nodded, "He does.”

Chris let that sit for a second, then gave a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s gross. But fine. You’re forgiven.”

Eddie’s heart softened all the way as he let out a small laugh, “Thanks, kiddo.”

Chris smirked. “But I’m telling Abuela you have a boyfriend, and you’re gonna have to explain it to her.”

Eddie groaned. “Oh, you Traitor.”

Chris laughed, and for the first time in days, the tension between them broke—fragile but mending.

“Hey, Dad?” Chris added as Eddie stood to leave.

“Yeah?”

“I kinda always hoped it would be Buck.”

Eddie stopped, heart stumbling in his chest. “Yeah, Really?”

“Yeah,” Chris said with a shrug. “He seems like a good guy and good for you. And he is also one of my favorite players besides you, so it's a win-win.”

Chapter Text

Los Angeles, California - Buck’s Apartment

Buck’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter just as he was pouring cereal into a bowl—he wasn’t even hungry, but it felt like something to do while he spiraled in worry. 

The contact lit up the screen: D. Just that single initial. No name. No emojis. Clean. Unassuming. Secret.

He snatched the phone up like it might disappear.

“Hey,” Buck answered quickly, setting the cereal box down without opening it.

Eddie’s voice came through, soft but steady. “Hey. I told him.”

Buck froze. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, and Buck could hear it—the weight in his voice, the tension still lingering like smoke from a fire. “It went better than I had expected it to be.”

Buck sank into one of his dining room chairs, heart racing, “Oh, okay, so what… what did he say?”

“He was mad at me. Not because of us. Just because I didn’t tell him. Because I didn’t trust him enough to be honest about everything.”

Buck’s throat tightened. “Shit.”

“But he’s okay with it,” Eddie added quickly. “More than okay, actually. He said… he said he always hoped it’d be you.”

“Wait,” Buck blinked hard, stunned still for a beat. “He actually said that?”

“Yeah, said you're one of his favorite players besides me.”

And Buck didn’t know what to do with the warmth that suddenly bloomed in his chest—how it curled into his ribs and made everything feel just a little more real. Like this wasn’t just some reckless thing anymore. Like it could be something.

“That kid is way too perceptive,” Buck muttered, trying to lighten the weight in his chest, but his voice cracked a little around the edges.

Eddie chuckled softly. “Yeah. He gets that from his mom.”

A silence settled between them for a beat, not uncomfortable—just full.

Buck cleared his throat. “So… what now?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie admitted. “But I feel better. Like I can breathe again. Like I’m not pretending in my own house anymore.”

Buck nodded, even though Eddie couldn’t see it. “I’m glad. Really glad.” Then, quieter, “I kept thinking about it all day. If he found out and freaked out… I didn’t want to be the reason you lost anything.”

“You’re not,” Eddie said firmly. “You wouldn't be; I would've probably fought for you as much as I’d fought for him.”

Buck’s breath caught. “Jesus, Eds,” he murmured, voice low and shaky.

Eddie let out a small, tired laugh. “Sorry. Getting soft.”

“I like you soft,” Buck said before he could stop himself, “— and hard,” voice warm and teasing—but the emotion underneath was undeniable.

“I know,” Eddie said, and Buck could hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, by the way, Chris wants to see you next time you're in town.”

Buck’s heart thudded unevenly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re gonna have to be on your best behavior.”

“I always am.”

Eddie scoffed. “That’s a lie.”

“True,” Buck said, grinning now. “But I’ll be good—for him.”

“And for me?”

A beat of silence, “Always,” Buck said, quietly but sure.

“Alright, I'll talk to you later then. Text me whenever you want,” Eddie replied before hanging up the phone.

Buck slowly lowers the phone to his chest, his heart pounding harder than it did during his last game. His mouth opens, then shuts again, then opens like he’s going to say something to the empty room. But what could he say?

Eddie told Chris.

Eddie told Chris. About them.

No soft launch. No slow roll-out. No half-truths or vague suggestions. He just… did it. Sat down across from a teenage boy who probably knows way more than either of them ever gave him credit for.

Buck scrubs both hands down his face, groaning softly into the quiet of his apartment. It’s just… a lot. It’s more real now than it’s ever been. 

The edges of it have shifted, turned from abstract to concrete. Because once a kid knows, that’s not nothing. Because deep down, there’s a warm, spreading kind of ache in his chest.

Because Eddie trusted him with this. Trusted them enough to speak it out loud to the most important person in his life.

And maybe Buck had been spiraling about Maddie and Chim and the team and the media—but maybe, in all of that noise, he’d forgotten what this really was.

It’s not about secrecy. It’s not about fear.

It’s about them. And about the people they let in.

And now, Chris is one of them.

It also means the circle’s widening. And Buck can’t stop thinking about the next inevitable step: telling Maddie.

And that’s where everything in his brain goes sideways.

Because Maddie—Maddie—has never once been chill about anything involving his heart. Not when he was younger and breaking his own heart over and over, not when he started dating casually after therapy, not even during the Ice Girl fiasco. And that had been a disaster.

He cringes at the memory of her voice when she’d found out about that mess. Not angry—worse. Disappointed. Frustrated. 

Worried in that big-sister way that always makes him feel like a dumbass teenager again, even when he’s wearing an A on his jersey and scoring hat tricks on national broadcasts.

He flops onto the couch and stares at the ceiling.

If I tell Maddie, Maddie tells Chim. If Maddie tells Chim, Chim tells Hen, and then He puts it together with the hit and the concussion and the way I probably looked like a kicked puppy after that game—

His hands scrub over his face.

God. He’s not ashamed of what he has with Eddie. Not at all. But he knows what comes next once it’s out in the open: the questions, the rumors, the speculation. The eyes. And the truth is, this thing with Eddie is still so new and fragile and quiet. 

He wants to keep it that way for just a little while longer. Wants to keep it soft and private, just theirs.

But then again—Chris knows. That boundary has already started to shift. 

It’s not like Maddie wouldn’t be supportive. Of course, she would. She loves him. But she’s Maddie. She worries. And once she worries, she acts. And Buck doesn’t know if he’s ready for that avalanche yet.

He picks up his phone. Stares at her contact.

His thumb hovers over the screen. His stomach flips.

He types.

Buck: Can I tell you something without you telling Chim?

He stares at it.

Deletes it.

Types again.

Buck: Maddie, do you have a second?

Deletes that, too.

He throws the phone onto the coffee table and groans, dragging a pillow over his face.

He’s not ready. Not yet. Not until he figures out what kind of firestorm he’d be inviting in.

But that doesn’t stop the thought from gnawing at him as he tries to fall asleep, so he decides to FaceTime call Eddie.

Buck’s voice is tight when Eddie answers. He was not panicked, not exactly, but wound up in that specific way he gets when his thoughts start spiraling too fast to catch.

“I think I need to tell Maddie,” Buck blurts out before Eddie can even say hello.

Eddie blinks, sitting up straighter in bed. He had been half-dozing, the TV on low, but Buck’s words cut through the haze like ice water. “Okay,” he says slowly, carefully. “What’s going on?”

“I just—” Buck exhales sharply. “After I got off the phone with you and how you told Chris, I got to thinking on if I should tell Maddie because she's been wondering and worrying about me anyway, and I—Eddie, I don’t know how long I can keep this from her.”

Eddie’s quiet for a beat. He hears the panic beneath Buck’s voice, the way it keeps dipping toward fear no matter how calm he tries to sound.

“What did you tell her already?”

“Nothing,” Buck says quickly. “But she was watching me. Like really watching me. The way I kept checking my phone, the way I brushed her off—she knows something’s up. And if she presses harder, I’m not gonna be able to keep lying.”

Eddie sighs softly, dragging a hand through his hair. “So… you want to tell her.”

“I don’t know.” Buck’s voice cracks just a little. “I want to stop feeling like I’m living in a glass box, waiting for it to shatter. But I’m scared, Ed. Because if I tell her, she’ll tell Chim. And then Hen probably finds out. And then it’s just—”

“Dominoes,” Eddie finishes for him gently.

“Exactly.”

There’s a pause, one of those weighted silences that says more than any of Buck’s spiraling words ever could.

Eddie rubs a hand over his face, “You’re overthinking.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Another beat.

“…But what if I’m not?”

Eddie smiles softly, that familiar ache blooming in his chest. Buck has always carried things too deeply—his heart is constantly stuck in his throat. “Buck,” he says quietly, “you think Chris finding out didn’t terrify me? You don’t think I laid awake half the night wondering what it would do to him? Wondering if I was ruining something good. You think I wasn’t running every possible scenario in my head before I said a word?”

Buck doesn’t respond, but Eddie can feel him listening. Really listening.

“I told him,” Eddie continues. “Not because it was easy. But because I trust him. And I realized I couldn’t keep building something with you in secret while shutting the most important person in my life out of it; yeah, he sort of already figured it out… and guess what? I didn’t combust. Chris didn’t hate me. The world didn’t explode.”

Buck’s silent.

“That’s different,” Buck mutters. “He’s your kid. He’s not gonna tell the team or start gossiping in the locker room.”

“No,” Eddie agrees. “But I’ve got just as much to lose.”

That makes Buck pause again.

Eddie leans his head back against the headboard. “This thing between us—it’s not nothing. I told Chris because I trust him. And if you trust Maddie the way I trust Chris… then, maybe it’s time?”

Buck’s voice is smaller this time. “What if it’s too early?”

“Then it’s early,” Eddie says simply. “But it’s real. And we’re already in it, aren’t we?” He hears Buck breathe in, slow and shaky. “You don’t have to tell her tonight,” Eddie adds softly. “You don’t even have to tell her tomorrow. But you don’t need to spiral about it either. She’ll understand. And if she tells Chim, then fine. Let them know..”

Buck lets out a quiet laugh, the edge of his nerves fraying just a little. He hums quietly, a low, thoughtful sound. “You always know what to say.”

“I don’t,” Eddie admits. “I just know what you need to hear.”

Buck chuckles under his breath, and the sound warms Eddie more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

“Remember, you’re not alone in this,” Eddie adds.

There’s a long silence, but this time it’s gentler, easier. Like the air has finally settled between them.

Then Buck says, barely above a whisper, “I’m glad it’s you.”

And Eddie, heart thudding in his chest, replies just as quietly, “Yeah. Me too.”

Buck goes quiet again. And then, softer, “It doesn’t feel real sometimes. Like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Eddie’s heart aches in his chest. “It’s real to me.”

Buck doesn’t sleep well that night.

Even after the call with Eddie—calming, grounding in that way only Eddie ever seems to manage—he still finds himself tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, wondering how long he can keep dancing around the inevitable.

Because Maddie’s not stupid.

She knows him better than anyone. She practically raised him when their parents were just emotionally unattached to them. She’s seen him through every bad decision, every misstep, every time he tried to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. 

So when Maddie texts him in the morning—

Maddie: Coffee? You still owe me for making me drive across town to babysit your concussed ass last month

he stares at it for a long time before finally answering back:

Buck: sure!

They sit at a quiet table in a café not far from the practice rink, the kind of place with mismatched mugs and a barista who somehow already knows Maddie’s order. Buck sips his coffee, eyes flicking toward her cautiously.

Maddie is still watching him like a hawk.

“So…” she starts, casual, but not really. “How is everything going?”

“Not too bad, still in the Wild Card position for the playoffs.”

She nods. “Yeah, Chim mentioned that the other day..”

“Yeah.”

Another sip. Another pause.

Then, “you’re still being weird.”

Buck nearly chokes on his coffee. “What?”

“You heard me.” Maddie raises an eyebrow. “The last time you were like this, you were sneaking around with that married Ice Girl, and you lied about it for two months.”

Buck groans, sinking into his chair. “Can we not bring that up again?”

Maddie shrugs. “I’m just saying, you’re not exactly subtle when you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Buck lies, too quickly.

Maddie tilts her head. “So you think I’d forgotten about ‘D’?”

Buck hesitates. It’s not a pause long enough to confirm anything, but it’s long enough to raise suspicion.

Maddie narrows her eyes. “Concussion made you forget I remembered that?.”

“Maddie—.”

She says dryly. “You just got all flustered and won’t make eye contact. Classic Evan Buckley tells.”

Buck drags a hand down his face.

“Is it someone from the team?” she asks, sharper now, more serious. “Because if it’s another situation like the Ice Girl—”

“No,” Buck cuts in quickly. “It’s not like that. It’s—” He stops himself. “It’s not something I can talk about yet.”

Maddie studies him for a long moment. And then, surprisingly, she backs off.

“Okay,” she says, sipping her coffee again. “But when you’re ready to stop lying to me, I’ll be here.”

Buck lets out a breath. “You’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad,” she says softly. “I’m just… worried. Only because I know you, and I love you. You’re my baby brother, and I know when you start shutting people out, it usually means you’re scared.”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t because she’s right.

Days start to pass, and it gets harder to pretend.

Not just with Maddie, but it almost seems to be with everyone. With Chim, who keeps tossing casual jokes Buck’s way, trying to get a rise out of him, and with Hen, who narrows her eyes a little too often now like she’s figuring out a puzzle without quite knowing what the pieces are.

Buck’s not even sure what gives it away. Maybe it’s the way his phone buzzes and his whole face lights up. Maybe it’s the way he disappears after games or how his mood lifts and crashes depending on whether he’s heard from Eddie that day.

Or maybe he’s just terrible at this.

It builds quietly at first. A thread of unease running under everything, twisting tighter every time Maddie tilts her head at him or says, “You seem off lately.”

And he tries to wave it off. Tries to joke, tries to redirect, tries to lie, even though it’s not his style and Maddie knows it.

But it’s wearing him down.

And then comes the breaking point.

It’s late. He’s already had a long day, his body aching from the last game. He’s sprawled on the couch, his phone balanced on his chest, and texts open to Eddie, but no message has been sent.

Because what is he even supposed to say?

Then, his phone buzzes. Maddie .

Maddie: You’re avoiding me.

Maddie: It's been a week, Buck, and you haven't replied to any of my messages.

Maddie: Whatever this is, just tell me, please.

It’s not that Buck doesn’t trust Maddie. It’s that he trusts her too much, which is exactly why he decides that this conversation needs to happen face-to-face.

He doesn’t send a text or make a call in advance. 

Instead, Buck finds himself standing on Maddie’s doorstep one unusually quiet afternoon, dressed in a dark hoodie with the hood pulled low over his forehead and a well-worn ballcap that obscures his eyes. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, trying to mask the turmoil inside him. He knocks lightly, the sound echoing in the stillness, then hesitates, glancing back over his shoulder as if he’s about to commit a crime.

Moments later, the door swings open, and Maddie blinks in surprise, her expression a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey—what are you—?” she starts, but Buck cuts her off, urgency lacing his words.

“Is Chim here?”

Maddie’s brow furrows. “No, he took Jee to the park for the afternoon,” she replies slowly, her voice tinged with suspicion. “Why?”

Buck exhales sharply, a wave of relief washing over him, though his shoulders remain tense. “Can I come in?”

Without a moment's pause, she shifts to the side, allowing him to enter and creating space as if to allow the weight of unspoken words to settle in the air around them. Her eyebrows arch in disbelief, skepticism etched on her features, as she studies him intently. “So, are you finally going to spill the beans on what’s happening,” she challenges, her voice laced with impatience, “or am I supposed to play the guessing game? Especially since you’ve chosen an outfit that screams ‘undercover’—what are you hiding?”

Once inside, Buck begins to pace, the nervous energy coursing through him making it impossible to sit still. He feels like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap, even though he’s rehearsed the words in his mind a hundred times—no, a thousand. It’s ridiculous how much he’s thought about this moment, and yet the words still elude him.

Trying to diffuse the charged atmosphere, Maddie speaks up with a light-hearted comment, “You’re not dying, right? Because you’re giving me some serious ‘I’m about to drop a bomb’ vibes here.”

Buck lets out a huff of laughter, the sound tinged with relief yet still tightly coiled. “No, not dying.”

“Okay,” Maddie replies, crossing her arms and fixing him with a knowing look that pushes him further into his discomfort. “So what’s got you looking like you’re about to throw up on my carpet?”

He hesitates, each word seeming to weigh more than the last. Finally, he lifts his eyes to meet hers, vulnerability stark in his gaze. “It’s Eddie,” he says, his voice low, the gravity of the situation hanging in the air between them.

Maddie freezes, just for a second. “Eddie… Diaz?”

“Yeah.”

She stares at him, processing, and Buck watches her face shift—confusion giving way to realization, realization giving way to something softer.

“Oh,” she says finally. “ Oh .”

Buck nods, jaw tight. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I kept thinking if I said it out loud, it’d become this whole thing. That Chim would find out, the guys would find out, and suddenly it wouldn’t just be ours anymore.”

Maddie’s quiet for a moment, then walks over and sinks onto the couch. “So… for how long?”

“Since the All-Star Game,” Buck admits, cheeks flushing.  

“Is it serious?” she asks gently.

Buck nods, a little overwhelmed. “Yeah. It is.”

Maddie watches him for a beat. “Do you love him?”

It’s not a question.

Buck’s breath catches in his throat. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I think I do.”

And then Maddie’s expression breaks into something warmer, deeper. “God, Buck. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know me.”

Maddie’s eyes shine a little. “I do know you. And I also know how hard this must’ve been for you to say.”

Buck finally sinks down beside her, shoulders sagging like he’s been holding something heavy for weeks.

“Are you gonna tell Chim?” he asks, not quite meeting her eyes.

Maddie thinks for a beat. “Eventually. But not because I’m gossiping—because you’ll want him to know. When you’re ready.”

Buck smiles faintly. “Thanks.”

“But,” she says, narrowing her eyes teasingly, “you are going to tell me literally everything about how this happened. Like, now.”

He groans. “Do I have to?”

“Oh, yes. Every single detail.”

Buck lets out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to physically force the words out of himself.

“So, yeah, it started at the All-Star Game,” he says. “Kind of… accidentally. We were both there, obviously, and I don’t know—.” Buck clears his throat and starts again, standing up and pacing a little now like the movement will help him untangle the chaos in his head. “It didn’t start in some dramatic, fireworks kind of way,” he says. “We talked that night, yeah, but it wasn’t like some perfect romantic movie. We were just—two guys, I took him to a Vegas club, killing time after all the media stuff, just talking and drinking,”

Maddie’s eyebrows raise. “Talking?”

Buck shoots her a look. “ Actually talking. At first.”

Maddie raises an eyebrow. “So you bonded over overpriced drinks and mutual exhaustion?” She snorts but waves a hand. “Okay, okay, continue.”

“Basically.” Buck chuckles under his breath. “It was easy. Stupidly easy. He made me laugh. I made him laugh. We traded stories— and just talked. And meshed so well.”

She watches him carefully, then shakes her head. “You know, now that you’re saying it out loud—I did notice you acting weird after the All-Star Game. You were distracted. Yeah, that's why you  kept looking at your phone all the time.” Maddie prompts, eyes sharp with curiosity. “And then?”

“And then we kept drinking,” Buck admits, finally dropping back onto the couch. “We got drunk. Like stupid drunk. I don’t even remember whose idea it was to go back to his room, just that it felt… natural. Like the next step.”

“And that’s when you slept together?”

Buck nods. “Yeah. We were wasted and laughing, and—God, Maddie, it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But it did. Even then, before we admitted it.”

She gives him a long look. “You don’t usually hook up with someone and then spiral for this long afterward.”

Buck groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“And he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who does casual well either, right?”

Buck shakes his head. “No. He tried to play it cool. We both did. We swore it was just a one-time thing. A dumb, impulsive mistake.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“No.” Buck’s voice softens again. “I tried to talk to him the day after at lunch, but he walked away. But then, when we played in Dallas, we fell literally into each other’s orbit again, and then we kept talking. Not every day, but enough. And I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Not just the sex—though yeah, that too—but him. Who he is. The way he talks about his kid, the way he sees the game, the way he gets quiet when something actually matters to him.”

Maddie lets out a slow breath, watching him carefully. “So you tried to be casual, and it didn’t stick.”

“Exactly,” Buck says, laughing bitterly. “We were doomed from the first hangover.”

Maddie’s mouth quirks. “So this wasn’t some slow-burn love story. It was chaos and tequila and a hotel room with questionable lighting.”

“Actually, it was whiskey,” Buck grins. “But, yeah, the most Buck-like origin story imaginable.”

“And now you’re in it,” she says gently. “Whether you meant to be or not.”

Buck groans and lets his head fall back against the couch cushion. “I wasn’t subtle, was I?”

“No, not really. But I just thought you were doing your usual post-event self-sabotage spiral.”

“Oh, well thanks for the vote of confidence.”

She grins, but her eyes are still scanning him—assessing, observing. “Wait—wait. That time I came over, and you looked like you’d barely slept with the concussion? That was the night you got hit by Eddie during that Kings-Stars game, right?”

“Yup.”

“And you looked like someone punched you in the heart, not just the head. You kept brushing it off; oh my god, now it all makes sense.”

Buck throws a throw pillow at her. “Maddie, please stop connecting the dots; I’m already spiraling.”

Maddie tosses the pillow back at him. “I’m your sister. It’s literally my job.”

She pauses, then her tone shifts—quieter, more serious. “You’ve been in love with him longer than you’ve admitted to yourself, haven’t you?”

“I think I always have been,” he says eventually. “I don’t want to say it was love at first sight, I just didn’t know it. Not until I had to come back to LA and he wasn’t there.”

Maddie sighs. “God, Buck. That’s… a lot. And beautiful. And completely terrifying, I’m sure.”

“You think I’m making a mistake?” he asks, unsure, tentative.

“No,” she says without hesitation. “I think you’re finally being honest with yourself. And that’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”

Buck swallows the lump in his throat.

“But also,” Maddie adds, pointing a finger, “if you screw this up, you know I’m going to have to tell Chim, and then he’ll have to tell Bobby, and then Bobby will probably stage a whole intervention, and—”

“Okay, okay,” Buck laughs, holding up his hands. “Message received.”

Maddie gives him a warm look. “You really love him?”

“I do.”

“Then don’t let fear keep you from being all in.”

There’s a beat of silence between them. And for the first time in days, Buck breathes a little easier.

After spending some more time with Maddie, Buck made his way home. He was barely through the door before he pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment, his thumbs fidgeting while his heart still beat a little faster from everything that had just happened. He finally types:

E: Did it, I told Maddie.

E: Like actually told her. Everything.

E: Drunken hotel bar origin story and all.

He stares at the message, debating if he should say more, before following it up with:

E: She kind of already suspected something. Said my poker face sucks.

E: Also, she said to stop hiding like I’m guilty. So. That’s a thing.

The read receipt appears instantly. Three dots pop up. Disappear. Reappear. Then nothing for a few seconds before finally:

D: You okay?

D: Like really okay?

Buck exhales slowly, a half-smile tugging at his mouth.

E: Yeah. I think I am.

Then, after a pause:

E: You were right, though. It was eating me alive. It feels better, even if I’m still kind of terrified.

D: Terrified is normal.

D: But I’m proud of you. Really.

E: Don’t get all mushy now, Eddie.

D You love it.

E: Yeah. I kind of do.

It’s the next morning when the paranoia really sets in.

Buck’s in the middle of trying to make himself breakfast—eggs, toast, the bare minimum his head can handle after drinking a little too much the night before—when it hits him all over again.

Maddie knows.

Which means… how long until Chim knows?

He stares at the pan in front of him, then at the half-burnt toast. His mind keeps replaying the conversation from last night—not just what he said, but what she didn’t say.

She never said she wouldn’t tell Chim.

She never said she would, either… but still.

And Maddie and Chim are married. Like, fully, actually married—no secrets, no lies, no private categories of conversation. And sure, Maddie didn’t go running to tell him the minute Buck walked out the door, but eventually… right?

What if she already has?

He pulls his phone out, staring at it like it might explode. No new texts. No calls. No weird “Hey man, how’s your head?” from Chim laced with loaded subtext. But that only makes him more anxious.

He types a text to Eddie and then deletes it. Types another, and then deletes again.

Eventually, he sends:

E: You don’t think Maddie told Chim, right?

Another pause.

E: I mean, he’s always weird around me, but what if he’s being extra weird and I’m just too freaked out to notice?

Finally, Eddie replies.

D: Buck.

D: Breathe.

E: Can’t. Breathing is canceled.

D: You’re spiraling.

E: YES, I AM. You knew this would happen!

D: I don’t think she told him. But even if she did, Chim’s not going to tackle you in the middle of the team's locker room yelling “ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH EDDIE DIAZ?”

Buck groans and leans against the counter.

But he can’t stop thinking about it now.

What if at the next practice, Chim walks in with that look—like he knows something but isn’t saying anything yet? What if he starts making comments? What if he does that eyebrow raise he always does when he’s trying to be subtle and failing miserably?

What if Maddie had already told him, and they had just decided to wait and see how long Buck would squirm before confessing?

He ends up burning the eggs and toast. After that mess, he decides on his go-to coping mechanism: stress Cleaning. 

He’s halfway through cleaning the kitchen when it hits him again.

He drops the sponge with a wet slap against the sink and mutters, “God, why would she tell him?” Because sure, she didn’t say it. But Maddie’s not exactly a vault. She’s a worrier. And when Maddie worries, she talks. She talks to Chim. Always has. Always will.

Buck paces the length of his apartment, then stops, then paces again. Picks up his phone, stares at it, and puts it back down like it personally offended him.

“Maybe he’s just… waiting for the right moment to corner me,” he mutters aloud, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe he’s going to say something at the lineup. Oh God, what if he already knows and he’s just letting me walk around like a dumbass?”

His phone dings.

It’s Eddie.

D: Did you remember to eat real food today or are you surviving on caffeine and anxiety?

E: Eggs & Toast. Burnt. Also, I’m spiraling again.

E: Seriously, I think he knows.

E: What if he knows and he’s just waiting for me to admit it so he can hit me with some “dad of the team” wisdom??

D: You’re not okay.

E: I’m not! This is who I am now! A shadow of the man I once was. I used to be fearless. Brave. Now I’m hiding from a potential conversation.

D: You’re fine.

E: Yeah, well, tell that to my nervous system.

D: Buck.

D: Chim doesn’t know. And even if he does—we’re adults.

E: See, that’s what you say because you’re emotionally stable.

E: I, however, am a gremlin held together by sarcasm and bad choices.

Buck wakes up at 4 a.m. in a cold sweat.

What if Chim’s just biding his time?

What if Maddie didn’t say anything directly but implied something? A weirdly phrased comment, an odd look, a half-sentence that left just enough space for Chim to guess?

He throws the blanket off and stares at the ceiling. “He knows,” he whispers into the dark like he’s narrating a horror movie. “He knows, and he’s waiting to ambush me with dad-energy and disappointment.”

By 4:37 a.m., he’s made a full list in his notes app of every mildly suspicious thing Chim has done over the last 48 hours:

• Asked him if he was “seeing anyone these days.” Casual tone, but Buck swears Chim was probing.
• Mentioned Dallas twice. Completely unrelated context. Was it a test??
• Called him “buddy” twice in one sentence. Unprecedented. What did that mean?

At 5:03 a.m., Buck tries to make breakfast for the second day in a row, just toast this time, burns it again, and ate it standing over the sink like a man in emotional crisis.

He texts Eddie.

E: If he knows, should I confess first or act surprised when he says it?

D: Buck. It’s 5 a.m.

E: This is urgent.

D: You’re still spiraling.

E: I am! And you’re so calm about it! You’re always calm! Why do I have to be the neurotic one in this relationship?!

D: Because you’re cute and you have the emotional resilience of a sponge.

Buck groans and puts his phone facedown like that will stop the intrusive thoughts.

Buck’s pacing the locker room hallway after morning skate like he’s about to get traded, benched, or both. He’s already half-dressed in his compression gear, hair still wet under his beanie, taping his stick and re-taping it because what if Chim knows?

And Buck’s losing it. Subtly. Invisibly. Except not at all.

Every chirp from a teammate sounds like a clue.

But his hands are clammy, and his legs feel jumpy, like he’s got penalty kill nerves even though it’s just practice. He keeps glancing at his phone like it’s going to explode.

He shoots a message to Eddie while everyone’s in the showers.

E: What if your coach trades you just because of vibes?

D: …That’s not how trades work. Besides, it’s long past the trade deadline, so you’re not getting traded.

E: I KNOW but still. Vibes are powerful.

D: You’ve officially lost it.

E: I’m a cautionary tale. “Don’t sleep with a third-line center from another team unless you want to spiral mid-season.” That’ll be my legacy.

He throws his phone into his duffel bag before he can type another text like “Should I fake a groin injury to get out of this media scrum?”

It’s been 4 days since Buck sat on Maddie’s couch and spilled everything. 4 days since he laid it all out in messy, stumbling half-confessions—about Eddie, about the hotel rooms, about the way this thing between them had started with drinks and ended in something neither of them knew how to name. 4 days since Maddie sat there, arms crossed, one brow arched with that uncanny big-sister intuition that made Buck feel twelve years old again.

And the 1 day he hasn't texted Eddie yet about Chimney.

Maddie hadn’t said anything to Chim—at least, not technically.

Because Buck knows his sister. Knows that even if she didn’t say the words “Buck’s sleeping with Eddie Diaz,” there’s no way she didn’t give some kind of look, some shift in tone, some subtle “Hey, something’s going on with your rookie.”

And Chim’s the goddamn captain of the team.

So now Buck’s spiraling.

He’s on the ice for practice, but his head’s not in it. Every time Chim skates by, Buck swears he’s watching him too closely. Every chirp feels like it has a double meaning. 

Every “You good?” from his teammates feels loaded. And it’s not like Buck is usually paranoid—okay, maybe a little, but this is different. This is pressurized. This is career-threatening if it blows up.

Worse, Chim doesn’t say anything.

No snide comments. No awkward conversations. Just…normal. Which is somehow worse. Because if Chim knows, why hasn’t he said anything? And if he doesn’t know, why is he being so nice?

After practice, Buck sits alone in the locker room for way too long, still in half his gear, staring at his phone like it’s going to tell him what to do. He has three unsent messages to Eddie typed out in his notes app.

-- I think Chim knows.
-- What if Maddie told him?
-- I don’t know how to breathe around him without feeling like I’ve already ruined everything.

Instead, he just types one out and hits send:

E: You sure we’re not about to set fire to everything we’ve worked for?

He stares at it for a while after it goes through, like maybe the screen will offer reassurance.

Nothing.

Just his own reflection staring back at him in the black mirror of unread messages.

So once again, in this never-ending spiral, Buck calls Eddie.

Eddie answers on the second ring, voice low and familiar through the receiver. “Hey.”

And Buck doesn’t even say hi. He doesn’t bother pretending he’s not mid-spiral.

“I think I’m gonna lose it,” he blurts, breath catching somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Seriously, I’m barely holding it together.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and then Eddie’s voice, calm but with an edge of concern: “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Buck says. Then, “Everything. Chim’s being too normal.”

Eddie snorts softly. “That’s what’s got you unraveling? That Chim’s… normal?”

“Yes,” Buck groans, dropping back onto his couch and covering his face with one hand. “He’s not suspicious. He’s not weird. He’s just being Chim, and it’s driving me insane because what if Maddie told him? Or what if she didn’t say anything, but just, like, gave him a look, you know? And now he’s pretending everything’s fine because he’s planning to bench me right before playoffs or—or worse, trade me for bringing drama into the locker room—”

“Buck.” Eddie’s voice cuts in, firm but not unkind. “You’re spiraling yet again?”

“No shit, I’m spiraling!”

There’s silence for a beat. Buck’s heart is pounding. His chest feels too tight.

Then Eddie says quietly, “You really think this thing we’re doing is gonna cost you your career?”

Buck blinks up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

Another pause.

“You think it’ll cost me mine?”

That lands heavier than it should. Buck sits up a little, frowning. “What? No—Eddie, no. That’s not what I meant—”

“I’m not asking to make you feel guilty,” Eddie says, quieter now. “I’m just saying… if either of us should be scared of fallout, it’s me. I’m not a star forward. I’m not a golden-boy LA royalty. I’m not an NHL All-Star like you… I’m a third-liner who got lucky because half my team was injured.”

Buck swallows hard. “You’re not lucky, you’re good.”

Eddie lets that hang in the air for a second before replying, “Point is… We’ve been doing it this long, so we can keep going, and if that means you have to tell Chim, then tell him.”

Buck exhales, dragging his fingers through his hair. “I know. I just… I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Then stop waiting,” Eddie says. “Nothing’s dropped yet.”

Buck bites his lip, his voice quieter now. “You’re not scared?”

“Of course I’m scared, I’m terrified,” Eddie says without hesitation. “But I’m more scared of what it’d feel like to lose this. Lose you.”

That stuns Buck into silence.

“We’re doing this, Buck,” Eddie continues, voice softer now. “I know I want it, and I know it’s worth the risk.”

Buck rubs his face again, heart aching and calming at the same time. “God, I wish I was in Dallas.”

“I wish you were here, too,” Eddie says gently. “But you’re not. So until you are… you gotta stop thinking every quiet look is the end of your career. And maybe trust that some things don’t fall apart just because you’re afraid they might.”

Buck laughs—just a little. “That sounded suspiciously like a pep talk.”

“I play hockey. I’m full of clichés.”

Buck smiles now, finally breathing easier. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

And maybe it’s not a solution. Perhaps the spiral will hit again tomorrow. But for now, Buck leans back into the couch, phone still pressed to his ear, and lets himself feel grounded—just a little—by the steady sound of Eddie’s voice. 

So when Eddie hung up to help Chris with his homework, Buck found him spiraling all over again. His thumb flies over his screen, barely keeping up with the frantic pace of his thoughts. He’s pacing his apartment, heart thudding too hard, half-ranting via text.

Buck (intended for Eddie): I was thinking about how he offered me his protein bar after practice. Who does that unless they’re covering something up?

Buck (intended for Eddie): Maddie definitely told him. Or hinted. Or smiled too much. She’s a smiler, Eddie. That’s her tell. God, what if I get benched? What if they trade me before the deadline because I’m secretly a walking PR disaster?

Buck (intended for Eddie): What if she tells Chim? What if he finds out everything? I mean, I know she’s not trying to out me or anything, but you know them—they’re married, they talk about everything. I’m freaking out.

Buck (intended for Eddie): Do I scream “off-ice distraction”? I scream off-ice distraction, don’t I?

He pauses, breath caught in his throat, expecting Eddie’s usual calming reply. Something dry and grounding like: “You scream dramatic, not distraction.”

Instead, his phone buzzes.

Buck stops in his tracks. Stares at the screen. 

Oh no.

He scrolls back up.

No.

His last four texts weren’t to Eddie. They were to Maddie.

“Shit,” he mutters out loud, slapping a hand over his face.

Maddie: Um… I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you didn’t mean to send that to me?

Maddie: … but, Wow. That’s a lot of gay panic for this evening. You definitely meant to send that to Eddie.

Buck freezes. “No. No, no, no, no, no—” 

He practically drops his phone onto the kitchen counter like it’s cursed, staring at it like it might explode. His heart’s in his throat, adrenaline spiking like he just took a slapshot to the chest.

Another ping.

Maddie:  For the record: no, I haven’t said anything to Chim.

Another message buzzes in:

Maddie: Do you want to talk about it, or should I just pretend I didn’t see you spiral into existential dread?

He groans, dragging both hands down his face. “I’m the dumbest person alive,” he mutters to himself.

He calls her because there’s no way he’s texting his way out of this one.

He answers with a strained: “Hi.”

“Hey there, Mr. Nervous Wreck,” she says cheerfully. “Having a good time spiraling into the void about your very serious and very hot secret hockey boyfriend, huh?”

“Please kill me, please take me out behind the shed and shoot me..”

“No, I’m going to keep you alive just so you can continue being a chaotic mess for my entertainment.”

Buck groans again, “I hate everything,” he mutters, “Why did I ever tell you?”

“Because you love your big sister?”

“I regret everything.”

“No, you don’t,” Maddie says, tone softening. “I know you’re freaking out. But I haven’t told Chim. You know I wouldn’t do that without asking you first.”

“I know,” Buck says quietly. “It’s just… you two are so close. He’s your husband. I don’t want to make you lie to him or put you in the middle.”

“You’re not,” she says gently. “You told me, Buck. That was for you and me. If you decide you want Chim to know, too, then that's fine. But you get to control that—not me.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Buck swallows hard. “I know. I do know. But it still scares the hell out of me.”

“Because you’re in deep,” she says gently. “Because it’s not just about feelings—it’s your careers, your teams, his kid. It’s a lot.”

“I keep thinking about how it’s all gonna fall apart,” Buck admits. “Like if one thing shifts—if Eddie gets traded, if Chim finds out, if someone on the team starts talking—it’ll all just… implode.”

“You know, you don’t have to carry all that on your own,” Maddie says. “Eddie’s part of this too, Buck. He’s in.”

Buck goes quiet.

Because she’s right. Eddie is in. He’s steady in a way Buck still doesn’t always know how to trust, even when he wants to. Even when he already does.

“Besides,” Maddie adds lightly, “you’re the star forward on a playoff-bound team dating a hot third-liner with a good jawline and a great kid. I’ve heard those kinds of Hockey Romance novels are super popular right now, and those are pretty good.

Buck snorts. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, so helpful.”

“Thanks,” he says softly after a moment. “For not freaking out. For keeping it to yourself.”

“You’re my brother,” she says. “I love you. Even when you’re texting the wrong people mid-breakdown.”

“God, I’m never gonna live that down.”

“So… are you gonna tell Eddie you accidentally texted me about your deep fear spiral or are you gonna pretend it didn’t happen and make it weird forever?”

“Oh, I’m definitely telling him.”

“You deserve that.”

“I know.”

Buck’s apartment feels small and too quiet as he paces back and forth, his thumb scrolling absently over his phone. The words Maddie sent him earlier still hang in the air, and the thought of Chim finding out feels like a heavy weight on his chest.

He finally taps on Eddie’s name, pulling up the FaceTime screen. As soon as it rings, Buck’s heart skips—Eddie’s face lighting up on the screen, relaxed, yet somehow not.

“Hey,” Eddie greets, his voice soft and easy. He’s somewhere quiet, maybe in his hotel room after a game, but there’s something comforting about seeing him. Eddie’s always been like that for Buck—steady, grounded.

Buck forces a smile, trying to hide the storm brewing inside of him. “Hey.”

“You good?” Eddie asks, sensing the tension in Buck’s voice almost immediately. His brow furrows just slightly, the concern evident, but Eddie doesn’t push. Not yet.

“I’m… yeah. Just thinking about some things,” Buck says, glancing away for a second, the words feeling wrong even as they leave his mouth.

“Yeah?” Eddie says quietly, giving him that space. “What kind of things? You’re not spiraling again, are you?”

Buck rubs his eyes, trying to figure out how to phrase it. The anxiety’s building again, that tightness in his chest, like his breath’s caught in his throat. “Yeah, I’m spiraling again, but just a little this time...”

Eddie watches him, a flicker of concern crossing his face. He leans back against the headboard of the bed, holding the phone at a comfortable angle. “About what?”

“About… everything, Eddie. I don’t know if I can keep this a secret much longer. And then there’s Chim—what if he finds out?” Buck says all of it in a rush, and when he finishes, it feels like he’s just run a marathon. Like he’s been holding his breath and now, finally, it’s all spilling out.

Eddie sits up straighter at that. “So, you’re just worried about Chim finding out?”

“Yeah,” Buck quickly corrects himself, feeling guilty for even saying it. “Maddie told me she won’t tell him… But Chim? He’s like a brother, Eddie, I mean he practically is… He’s not gonna take this well. He’s also my Captain… I don’t know if he’ll understand.”

Eddie’s eyes soften, and for a second, it’s like the world has narrowed down to just the two of them, this unspoken connection between them that makes Buck feel more seen than he’s ever felt in his life.

“You can’t keep doing this, Buck,” Eddie says, his voice full of sincerity. “You’re not hiding this from Chim forever. Eventually, you’ll have to tell him.”

Buck looks away, glancing out the window like he can somehow find the right answer there. “I know, but the longer I wait, the worse it’s gonna get. And then there’s Maddie. She… she knows everything, Eddie.”

Eddie takes a deep breath, leaning forward just a little, sensing the panic in Buck’s words. “Buck, you don’t have to make all the decisions right now. Just breathe. You don’t have to have everything figured out today. You’re gonna be okay, alright?”

Buck looks back at Eddie’s face, the steadiness in his eyes. It’s the calm he needs, even if it feels like everything around him is chaos. His shoulders relax just slightly.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Eddie,” Buck admits, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I’m not good at hiding things from people I care about. And I feel like I’m losing control.”

Eddie’s face softens further. “You don’t have to hide this anymore, Buck. Not from me. Not from Maddie. And you don’t have to do it alone.”

The words hit Buck harder than he expected. He almost wants to tear up, but instead, he just laughs, a bitter, shaky sound. “I’m such a mess.”

Eddie shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re not. You’re just… figuring it out. But you can’t keep doing it by yourself. And when you’re ready, you’ll talk to Chim. When it’s the right time. And I’ll be here for you when that happens.”

Buck’s gaze flickers between Eddie’s face and the space around him. It’s clear Eddie’s not going anywhere. He’s not going to leave him hanging. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what Buck needed to hear more than anything else.

He sighs, sinking into the couch, his fingers still curled tightly around the phone. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“No need to thank me,” Eddie replies, his tone warm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, Buck feels a little lighter, like maybe he’s not about to lose everything after all.

Later that night, still reeling from their conversation, Buck decided to text Maddie.

Buck: Hey, I know it's late.

And then, almost without thinking, he adds:

Buck: I think I need to talk to Chim. Soon.

He stares at the message for a long moment, watching the dots flash, and then stops.

When the reply finally comes, it’s a little simpler than he expected.

Maddie: Don’t overthink it.

Buck just stares at the message, a strange sense of peace settling over him, even if it doesn’t make everything easier.

Buck had been pacing in his apartment for the past half hour, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and insecurities. He needed to talk to him. Needed to get this off his chest before he completely spiraled into panic. But, as always, when it came to matters of the heart, he hesitated.

The drive to Chim and Maddie’s house feels like the longest one Buck’s had in a while, even though it’s only a few miles. 

The tension in his chest isn’t going away, and every red light he hits only adds another layer of dread. He hasn’t seen Chim outside of games and practices for a while at this point, and he certainly hasn’t seen him like this, knowing the weight of the conversation he needs to have.

The Kings’ captain is intimidating in his own right. He’s always been protective of Buck, but that’s not why Buck’s nerves are tight. It’s because this is Chim—his best friend, his brother-in-law, the guy who’s always had his back. But this time? Buck is the one who has to face the truth.

As he parks his truck, the familiar feeling of dread settles into his gut. It’s not just about the secret with Eddie. It’s about everything—about Maddie and how she already knows. About how Chim might feel betrayed, but also about how Buck’s never done this before. He’s never had to hide something this big.

He exits the truck and heads toward the door, steeling himself for the inevitable. When he rings the doorbell, his heart pounds against his chest. The door swings open to reveal Maddie, her face softening when she sees him.

“Hey, Buck,” she says, stepping aside to let him in. Her smile was warm, but there was an undercurrent of concern in her eyes that Buck couldn’t ignore, but she knew why he was here.

“I—I’m ready to talk to Chim,” Buck says, trying to keep his voice steady, but the words come out clipped.

Maddie glances over her shoulder, calling out, “Chim! Buck’s here.”

Chim appears moments later, his expression unreadable. The moment their eyes meet, Buck can tell something’s already shifted.

 Chim might not know the specifics, but he knows enough to sense that something’s up.

“Hey, Buck,” Chim’s voice is even, but Buck can hear the edge of tension in it. It’s the same tone he uses when they’re about to have a difficult conversation. “What’s up? Everything alright?”

Buck hesitates for a moment, glancing at his shoes before looking up into Chim’s expectant gaze. “Hey, uh, can we talk?”

Chim’s expression shifts into one of concern, but he doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Come on in.”

Buck steps inside, the familiar warmth of their home doing little to ease the tension in his chest. The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. Chim gestures to the living room, his voice soft but direct.

“Sit down, please; you’re making me nervous with that look on your face.” Buck takes a deep breath and sinks into the couch. Chim sits opposite him, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. “What’s going on, Buck?”

The weight of what he’s about to say hangs in the air. Buck can feel the gravity of it, pressing down on his shoulders. He fidgets with his hands, unsure of how to start and how to make this as easy as possible.

“I—uh… this isn’t easy,” Buck starts, his voice cracking slightly. “I’ve been keeping something from you, Chim. Something pretty big.”

Chim raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, now you’ve got my full attention. What’s going on?”

Buck swallows, trying to keep his emotions in check, but the words spill out before he can stop them. “I’m with Eddie. Diaz. I’ve been seeing him. It’s… complicated. I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t know… how.”

Chim stares at him, unmoving for a moment. The silence between them stretches, and Buck’s heart races in his chest. He waits for the explosion, the anger, the disappointment—but none of that comes.

Chim looks at him for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Eddie, huh?” His voice is low, contemplative.

“Yeah,” Buck says quietly, nodding. “I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, but I did. I thought it would be easier that way…”

Chim tilts his head slightly, still studying Buck with that same unreadable look. “And you thought it would be easier to keep it from me ?” He laughs softly, but it’s not a laugh of humor. It’s more like disbelief, a sound that cuts through the air.

“I didn’t want to complicate things, Chim. You know how things can get, especially with the team, with the league. And I… I didn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable; now it feels like everything’s feeling a bit weird, and… and I don’t know how to handle it anymore.”

Chim leans back in his chair, staring at Buck with a mixture of sympathy and concern. “Buck, I get it. I really do. But keeping this from me? I understand, It’s gonna hurt a hell of a lot more than just telling me the truth from the start. We’ve been through too much for you to feel like you have to hide things from me.”

“I know,” Buck runs a hand through his hair, frustration mounting. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Chim. I didn’t want to mess things up between us. I just—I didn’t know how to explain it. It’s the rivalry, it's Eddie. You know Eddie and me. We’re different around each other, and I didn’t want you to think… I don’t know… that it would change things.”

Chim nods slowly, taking in Buck’s words. The air between them feels thick now, and there’s a weight in the room that neither of them can shake off. Finally, Chim speaks again, his voice softer this time.

“I don’t know what’s harder to process here—the fact that you’ve been hiding it or the fact that you’re telling me about it now.” Chim lets out a slow breath, staring at Buck. “But I get it. You didn’t want to ruin something good, it’s Eddie… I can see how this would be complicated . You’ve got that rival-history with him. We all do. But if you’re serious about him, Buck… you need to stop hiding this from people who care about you.”

Buck feels a sense of relief flood him at Chim’s words, but there’s also a lingering sense of guilt. “I’m sorry, Chim. I really am. I didn’t want to lie to you. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Chim sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly processing everything. Then, with a look of quiet understanding, he finally says, “Well, you’ve told me now. And that’s what matters.”

Buck meets Chim’s gaze, a mixture of relief and fear still lingering in his chest. “Are you… mad?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

Chim shakes his head, standing up and walking over to where Buck sits. “No, I’m not mad. Just… surprised . This isn’t what I expected, Buck, but it’s your life. You’ve got to live it the way that feels right to you. I’m still your friend. I’m still your brother. Still your captain. Nothing changes that.”

Buck exhales, feeling the weight he’s been carrying lift off his shoulders just a little. For the first time in a while, he feels like things might actually be okay.

“Thanks, Chim,” Buck says, his voice thick with emotion. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react, I kind of spiraled thinking about it.”

Chim gives him a small smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You should’ve known I’ve always had your back, Buck. Always will.”

And in that moment, Buck feels the shift. The tension in the room eases, and while things may be complicated, one thing is clear: Chim’s still in his corner.

But there’s still the matter of how to move forward from here, of course. And that’s something Buck’s not sure about yet.

But for now, this—this is enough.

Chapter Text

Buck flopped back on his couch, and the phone tilted just enough so Eddie’s face filled the screen. The glow from his TV was flickering in the background, but his eyes were only on Eddie—who looked like hell in that way Buck found annoyingly endearing. Post-practice sweat still clung to his hairline, and he had a water bottle in one hand like he hadn’t realized the call would last longer than a few minutes. 

Spoiler: it always did.

“Media’s crawling again,” Buck said, “They asked Chim today if the rivalry was personal. Said I looked too pissed when I checked you last month.”

Eddie’s smile curled slightly, but there was tension behind it. “Maybe because the last time we played you tried to cup-check me with your stick.”

“Oh don’t even start; you slashed me first.” Buck snorted. “Honestly, I’m getting real tired of acting like I hate you.”

Eddie looked away, just for a second, then back. “You think people are catching on, at all?”

“Sometimes I feel like everyone’s catching on. The way the reporters look at me, hell— even Hen raised an eyebrow the other day when I spaced out during drills.” Buck chewed on his lip. “I mean, Chim’s cool, but what if it spreads? What if it leaks? Playoffs are just a week and a half away, I know I’m the golden boy, but you—”

“—I’m just the guy who hit you so hard I knocked your little brain around in that big skull of yours,” Eddie jokingly finished for him, but not cruelly, and it was sort of honest.

Buck softened as he looked at his phone screen, wishing Eddie was here and they could just cuddle with each other and just talk like this. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Eddie said, “But I worry about it too, sometimes.”

Buck didn’t answer right away. Its weight settled between them, heavier than usual. Not for the first time, they sat in the silence of their own questions, the ones they weren’t sure they had answers to yet.

But then Eddie looked up again, gaze steady, his voice tender, “I still want this, us, you know that, right?”

Buck nodded. “Yeah. Me too. I just—I don’t want to screw it up and lose you.”

“Stop it,” Eddie replied. “You won’t.” 

Buck exhaled a rough, jagged sound that surprised even him. He felt a rush of emotions swirling within him, and he nodded again, almost absently, as if trying to convince himself of the truth of his own words. “I mean, I love you, and that’s—” 

His breath caught in his throat, and the weight of the confession hung in the air between them like a fragile thread. 

It was as if time had suspended itself, leaving nothing but the palpable silence that followed. 

Eddie’s eyes widened in disbelief, a mix of shock and something deeper flickering behind them. “What?” he managed to stammer, processing what he had just heard. “Did you just say—” 

Buck blinked, his eyes widening as the reality of his words caught up with him. “I—I didn’t mean to—” he stammered, the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Yes, yes, you did,” Eddie replied softly, his tone devoid of teasing or anger. There was an unwavering sincerity in his voice, something comforting and solid that wrapped around Buck like a warm embrace. “It’s okay though, because I love you too.”

Time seemed to pause as Buck froze in place, allowing Eddie's confession to wash over him. It settled into the ache that had nested between his ribs, mingling with the racing pulse in his chest. It was a feeling both exhilarating and terrifying—a realization that what had been dancing in the shadows was finally laid bare.

“…Shit,” Buck whispered, a mixture of astonishment and joy breaking through his stunned expression. But as warmth spread across his face, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Okay. Yeah. That’s—okay.”

Eddie let out a soft laugh, just a hint of delight in his voice. “That was romantic as hell,” he teased, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

“Oh, shut up,” Buck retorted, feeling the flush deepening on his cheeks but unable to hide the smile that had blossomed there. 

“Hey, Still love you, though,” Eddie added, his gaze steady and sincere. 

Buck met his gaze, feeling a reassuring pull that anchored him to the moment. He didn’t look away—couldn’t look away—because in Eddie’s eyes, he found a home he hadn’t realized he was searching for all along.

Maybe the world would find out. 

Maybe it would get messy. 

Maybe playoff pressure, media chaos, and team dynamics would come down on them hard.

But at this moment—in this little flickering rectangle between cities—it didn’t matter.

“You’re still blushing,” Eddie teased gently, leaning closer to his screen like it would help him see Buck’s flushed cheeks better.

“Yeah, well, you just said you love me back, so forgive me if I’m just a little flustered,” Buck shot back, trying to play it off with a grin, but there was still a dazed softness in his eyes. “Didn’t exactly plan to say it like that.”

Eddie tilted his head, smirking. “Would’ve been weirder if you did plan it mid-conversation and media paranoia spiral.”

Buck laughed, curling an arm under his head as he sank deeper into the couch. “True. Very on-brand for me, though. Declare love in the middle of a full-blown stress meltdown.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said with a shrug. “Kind of perfect, in a messed-up, emotionally chaotic, Buck kind of way.”

Buck rolled his eyes, but the grin stuck. “God, you’re annoying.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” Eddie sing-songed, and Buck groaned loudly, covering his face with his free hand.

“Don’t start using it like a weapon.”

“Too late. It’s mine now.”

“Alright, then I take it all back.”

“Nope, no refunds,” Eddie replied smugly, leaning back in his chair and stretching. “You’re stuck with me, golden boy .”

Buck peeked through his fingers, heart thudding too warm, too fast. “Promise?”

Eddie’s smile softened. “Yeah. I promise.”

They just looked at each other for a second. No jokes, no teasing—just that quiet sort of awe that hung in the space between them now, like something delicate but solid all the same.

“Hey,” Buck said after a beat, voice quieter. “With everything going on… the rivalry, the league, the press breathing down our necks? Are you sure we can do this?”

“I’m not sure of a lot of things,” Eddie admitted, gaze steady. “But I’m feeling pretty sure about you.”

Buck swallowed hard, trying not to look like he was about to melt through the couch. “Okay. Yeah. That’s—okay.”

Eddie smirked again, but it was softer this time. “And just so you know… when this season’s over, and we’re not pretending to hate each other anymore—”

“You mean when I can finally check you against the boards without the added guilt?”

Eddie laughed. “I mean when one of us wins the cup, if one of us wins the cup, I want to kiss you at center ice, just to really mess with everyone, the league, the reporters… Everyone.”

Buck laughed too, but something about the image lingered. His heart ached in the best way. “God, you’re such a sap.”

“And you love it.”

Buck exhaled a soft chuckle and nodded. “Yeah. I really do.”

Eddie looked at him for a long moment before whispering, “I love you, Buck.”

And this time, Buck didn’t freeze or spiral—he just smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world and said, “Love you too.”

The game against the Ducks was heating up, it was the familiar kind of rivalry where you could practically feel the animosity in the air. It wasn’t just the players on the ice; it was the fans, the coaches, the whole damn city of LA. 

Buck was focused, his movements sharp, but there was something else on his mind. It wasn’t just about winning anymore. Not with what was happening right in front of him.

The puck was down in the corner, with Ravi Panikkar, one of the Kings’ newest players, drafted this last summer and just called up from the Ontario Reign, fighting for possession against Clint Garner, the Ducks’ resident trash-talker, who had made a name for himself with his vicious on-ice antics. 

It wasn’t enough for Garner to be a physical player; he thrived on the mental games, the taunts that got under his opponents’ skin.

Now the two players were locked in a puck battle along the boards, and that’s when Garner started. 

It was subtle at first—nothing more than a trash talk here and there, the usual annoying stuff that players like him thrived on.

But then, Buck heard it—loud enough to cut through the noise of the game.

At first, it was just the usual jabbering. Garner’s voice cuts through the sound of pucks clanging and skates scraping against the ice. But then it took a turn—a shift into something darker. Something Buck wasn’t going to let slide.

“Is that all you got, you little faggot ?” Garner growled, leaning in close to Ravi’s ear as they fought for the puck along the boards. “How’d they ever let you on a team? You can’t even hold your own. You’re fucking useless.”

Ravi didn’t respond, trying to focus on the puck, but Buck saw the way his shoulders tightened, the way his head dipped just slightly. It wasn’t much, but Buck could feel the sting.

Garner saw that moment of hesitation, and like the scum he was, he went for the kill. “Shit, you’re so fucking weak, no wonder no one wants you here,” Garner hissed, shoving his elbow into Ravi’s ribs hard enough to make him stagger. “Maybe they’re just using you as a token. Let you pretend you fit in, but you’ll never be one of us.”

Buck’s teeth clenched, a wave of rage bubbling in his gut. He didn’t know much about Ravi, but he sure as hell knew that no one on this team would stand by while a piece of shit like Garner got away with this.

“You don’t belong in this game,” Garner spat as he shoved Ravi again, this time with an open palm to the back of his head. “Just another joke pretending to play hockey.”

As Ravi tried to fight for the puck, pushing against Garner’s weight, the taunts continued, and Buck could see the way it was affecting him— it was clear: he was hurt.

“Hey!” Buck yelled as he approached, but Garner barely spared him a glance. 

The vile words were still spilling out of his mouth as he threw another shove into Ravi, sending him crashing into the boards with a sickening thud that echoed through the arena.

“Maybe you should just quit,” Garner sneered standing in front of Ravi. “You’re never going to make it here.”

That was it. 

Buck’s blood boiled. He didn’t even think. It wasn’t about strategy anymore. He wasn’t going to sit by and watch another one of his teammates be humiliated like that.

Buck skated toward them, a fire building in his chest. He could hear the crowd murmuring, but he didn’t care. He was done letting this trash talk go unchecked.

Without a second thought, he barreled into Garner, his shoulder slamming into the side of Garner’s chest, sending him hurtling forward with a brutal body check that left Garner stunned against the boards.

But he didn’t expect it to feel like this. The moment his shoulder collided with Garner’s body, the hit landed harder than he anticipated. Buck’s left leg buckled under him, and he felt a sharp pain flare up in his hip. It was a brief moment of discomfort, but it was enough for a jolt of panic to hit his chest.

The crowd erupted. It was a massive hit—maybe even over the line—but Buck didn’t care. Garner’s jaw went slack with surprise, and as the two of them skidded to a stop, Buck was right there, his body pressing against Garner’s, grabbing hold of his jersey and forcing him to stay down.

“Don’t you ever talk to one of my teammates like that again,” Buck growled, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from Garner’s.

Garner, now reeling, shot a look full of fury. “What the hell is your problem, Buckley? You can’t defend this weakling forever. He doesn’t belong here!”

Buck was too far gone to care. “You’re the weak one, dickhead,” Buck hissed, his fists curling into tight balls. “You’re a fucking coward hiding behind words. Do you think you can break people down with bullshit? Not on my watch.”

The refs were finally skating toward them, but Buck wasn’t budging. He was towering over Garner now, completely blocking any chance of him getting back on his feet. The hatred in Garner’s eyes was palpable, but Buck didn’t care. Let the guy stare at him all he wanted.

“Get off him, Buckley,” one of the refs said, hands outstretched, trying to separate the two.

“I’m not done with him yet,” Buck snarled, his glove still holding onto Garner’s jersey, though he finally allowed himself to be pushed back, his body still seething with anger.

Garner, now getting to his feet, shot Buck another venomous glare. He was shaking off the hit, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done. The message had been sent.

“You don’t know shit about this game, Buckley,” Garner spat, trying to regain his composure. “This is just a fucking joke to you, isn’t it?”

Buck glared at him, his chest heaving as adrenaline pulsed through him. “Four-time All-Star, pretty sure I know more about this game than you ever will,” he muttered, turning his back and skating away, the refs still hovering behind him.

But something was wrong. 

Something in his leg didn’t feel right. He barely noticed it as he skated back to the bench, pushing himself to ignore the ache that was starting to spread. 

It was just a tweak. Nothing serious. Just a little off-balance from the hit. He was sure. He wasn’t about to let it slow him down now.

Still, as he sat on the bench, the pain in his leg grew sharper, more insistent. He was clenching his jaw so tight it almost hurt, the familiar sting in his hip becoming a dull throb. He could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles were tightening around the injury.

He didn’t want to admit it. Not now. Not when there was so much on the line. If anyone saw the way he was favoring his leg, they’d ask questions he didn’t have answers for. He wasn’t about to get sidelined over a stupid injury. 

As the game went on, he kept pushing. His leg felt heavy, each stride feeling like a little more effort than the last, but he fought through it. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not with the playoffs coming, not with everything that was hanging in the balance.

“Hey, Buck, you good?” Ravi asked as he passed by, catching Buck’s pained expression for a second.

Buck gave him a quick nod, forcing a grin. “Yeah, just a little knocked around, nothing to worry about.” He didn’t even let himself flinch as he stretched his leg out under the bench, hoping no one noticed.

Ravi didn’t buy it. But before he could ask more, the buzzer went off. Buck shook his head, trying to clear it. His body was screaming for rest, but the game wasn’t over yet. And neither was his fight against Garner.

The Kings won that night, but for Buck, the victory didn’t feel like much of a win. The pain in his hip was worse now, and it was only after the game, when the adrenaline was fading, that he allowed himself to feel it. His leg was stiff, the ache like a slow-burning fire under his skin.

When he got back to the locker room, he could feel the way his teammates were eyeing him, no doubt noticing the way he was limping and how he winced when he reached down to untie his skates. But Buck wasn’t about to let anyone in. Not when he was still trying to process the fact that he’d just stood up to Garner like that.

It was a weird mix of emotions—satisfaction that he’d finally shut Garner up, but a sense of dread creeping in as he realized how much this injury was going to affect him.

But for now, he was still Buck. He was still the guy who fought for his teammates. And as long as no one knew how bad it hurt, he’d be fine. Right?

Practice was brutal, it was the next day after the game against Anaheim, and his hip was still in pain. The usual Tylenol, IcyHot, or Tiger Balm hasn’t helped him at all.

Buck had been gritting his teeth through every drill, pretending his hip wasn’t screaming with every shift in weight, every stride on the ice. He wasn’t slow enough to be obvious—just off enough that anyone really watching him would notice. And unfortunately, Coach Bobby Nash always noticed.

Bobby stood at center ice, arms crossed, watching the scrimmage with narrowed eyes. He didn’t say much at first; he just observed. But Buck knew that look. It was the same one Bobby gave him when he was about to get chewed out—equal parts disappointment and concern, with just enough edge to make Buck feel like he was twelve again and had gotten caught trying to tape a broken stick together.

“Buck,” Bobby finally called out, voice echoing off the boards. “Get over here.”

Buck swallowed the knot in his throat and skated over, doing his best not to favor his hip as he slowed to a stop. “Yeah, Coach?”

Bobby didn’t answer immediately. He just studied Buck for a long moment, as if he were waiting for Buck to crack on his own. When Buck didn’t, Bobby gave a short nod toward the boards.

“Take another shift. I want you battling for pucks in the corners. Hard. No coasting.”

Buck blinked, confused. “Uh, yeah, I— I can do that, sure.”

“Good,” Bobby said flatly. “Let’s see it.”

It was a test. Buck knew it. Bobby wanted to see him push, to see if he’d snap under the pressure. And he nearly did.

The moment Buck went in for the puck battle—shoulder-first, weight shifted into the boards—his hip gave a sharp twinge that almost buckled him. He managed to hold his footing, but not before a small wince slipped out of him.

Not before Bobby caught it.

Bobby blew the whistle, sharp and immediate.

“Buckley. Off the ice. Now.”

Buck skated toward the bench reluctantly, already knowing he wasn’t going to win this round. He dropped onto the bench, jaw clenched, and stared out over the ice as the rest of the team kept moving through drills.

A minute passed. Then two. Then Bobby walked to the bench and leaned over the rail beside him.

“You want to tell me why you’re skating like you’ve got a knife in your hip?”

Buck didn’t answer.

“You tweaked something in last night’s game, didn’t you?”

Still, Buck didn’t say anything.

Bobby sighed, heavily. “You’re not doing anyone any favors by pretending you’re fine. Least of all yourself. Do you think I haven’t seen this before? You think you’re the first guy to try and power through pain and screw himself over worse?”

“I’m fine,” Buck muttered, voice low.

“No, you’re stubborn,” Bobby shot back. “And you’re pushing your luck.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Bobby softened, just slightly. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been off—not just physically. Mentally. You’re sharp one minute, and then you’re off in your own head the next.”

Buck rubbed his gloved hands together, jaw clenched. He wanted to say it was nothing. 

But Bobby’s voice was low and firm again when he added, “You don’t have to tell me everything. But I need you to be honest, Buck. If there’s something going on —on or off the ice— I need to know.”

Bobby came around the board and sat beside him, elbows on his knees. “You’ve been off since before the last game. Not just physically. Head’s somewhere else. You’re carrying something—and I don’t mean that hip you’re pretending isn’t bothering you.”

Buck exhaled through his nose. “I’m just tired.”

“You think I haven’t seen this before?” Bobby said, not unkindly. “You’re not just tired, Buck. You’re holding something in so tight, you’re about to snap.”

There was a long beat. Buck didn’t speak. Didn’t move.

Bobby shifted beside him, softer now. “I don’t need the full story. But I need my top-line center healthy—body and head. If something’s going on… deal with it. Before it gets worse.”

Buck swallowed hard. He wanted to tell him everything. About how he felt like he was carrying three ticking time bombs all at once: his hip, the playoffs, and his heart.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“I’ll go see the trainers,” Buck said finally.

Bobby gave him a long look. “Good. Do that. And Buck—whatever it is you’re carrying, you don’t have to carry it alone. Just remember that.”

Buck nodded, biting down on the emotion threatening to crack his voice. “Yeah. I will.”

He limped down the tunnel toward the trainers,

The trainer’s room smelled like antiseptic, sharp and clean in a way that made Buck’s skin itch. He sat on the padded table, one leg swinging slightly, arms crossed over his chest, trying not to look like he was in as much pain as he actually was.

Hen walked in with her usual no-nonsense energy, tablet in hand, already giving him the kind of look that said don’t even try to bullshit me. Her brows already raised like she’d heard about the rough practice before even seeing him.

“Okay,” she said, tapping into her notes, “tell me what fresh hell you’ve done to yourself now.”

Buck forced a lopsided grin. “I’m just here for the vibes.”

Hen gave him a deadpan look, unimpressed. “You’re limping worse than a rookie with a pulled groin, I could see it from the other side of the damn rink. I saw you talking to Bobby, and I know he all but dragged you in here.”

“It’s not that bad, Just a little sore.”

“Evan Buckley, I know you too well by now,” Hen arched an eyebrow and set the tablet aside. “I’ll decide. Now, Lie back.”

He did, jaw clenched a little tighter than necessary as she started palpating along his hip. He winced at the pressure, just slightly—but not enough to miss the way Hen’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Any sharp pain?” she asked, pressing just above the joint.

He sucked in a breath. “Only when you do that.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone was unimpressed. “So not bad at all, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Buck gritted his teeth. “It’s completely manageable.”

“You always say that right before you get benched,” she said. Then, softer, “How long’s it been hurting?”

“Oh, just since this morning,” he lied. It had been longer.

Hen didn’t call him on it. She didn’t need to.

“It’s a mild strain. But, if you keep pushing it, it could become something worse... You know that, right?”

“I’m fine,” Buck said quickly, too quickly. “Seriously. I’ll stretch it out, ice it. Just don’t tell Bobby I’m broken down again.”

Hen gave him a long, considering look. “You’re not broken. You’re just really bad at admitting when something’s wrong.”

He opened his mouth, ready with another deflection, but something in her tone—low, concerned, not just clinical—stopped him. He looked away instead, jaw tight.

“You’ve been off for weeks,” she said. “Not just physically. Buck, Don’t think I haven't noticed that you're jittery. Distracted. You think nobody notices, but I promise you, we do.”

Buck’s throat worked around a knot. “It’s just…” he lets out a sigh, “The pressure. The season. Playoffs are looming. You know how it is.”

Hen gave a slow nod. “Sure. But if there’s something more going on—something else you’re carrying—you know you can talk to me, right?”

He hesitated a beat too long before forcing a small smile. “I know. But really… I’m okay.”

Hen didn’t press. She just exhaled and grabbed the wrap tape. “Then let me help you stay okay. Ice, rest, rehab stretches. No pushing it, I better not see you with skates on or on the ice, or I’m dragging you back in here personally.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

But even as she taped his hip, her gaze flicked up to his face again. She didn’t believe him—not fully. But she let it go. For now.

And Buck… he felt that weight settle again in his chest. He’d dodged another conversation. But it wouldn’t stay buried forever.

Buck waited until he was in his apartment, post-shower and pretending his hip didn’t ache like hell. He tossed a hoodie on over a pair of sweats, adjusted his phone against the kitchen counter, and hit FaceTime.

Eddie picked up almost immediately, the call framing him in the glow of his living room. Chris was probably already in bed, and the house was quiet around him. Eddie’s eyes immediately softened when he saw Buck’s face on screen.

“Hey there, handsome,” Eddie said, easy and warm.

Buck grinned, trying to push the tightness out of his voice. “Hey, yourself. You look tired.”

“Long practice. Coach has us running lines like it’s the first week of preseason.” Eddie tilted his head, studying him through the screen. “You look tired too.”

“Pfsh, I’m golden.” Buck waved a hand dismissively. “Just a little sore from practice. Nothing major.” he picked up his phone from the counter and made his way back to the living room,

Eddie didn’t say anything at first, but Buck could already see it—that look. The one Eddie gave him when he was clearly suspicious but was waiting for Buck to dig his own grave first.

“So…” Eddie leaned back on the couch. “You gonna tell me why you’re walking like an old man with a bad hip or do I have to guess?”

Buck’s smile faltered for a second, but he recovered. “What? I’m not—walking weird.”

“You literally groaned sitting down just now.”

“Okay, that was just…” Buck waved his hand again. “Dramatic flair.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

Buck leaned forward to grab his water bottle from the table, and in the process, his hoodie hiked up just a little—just enough for the edge of the medical tape peeking out above the waistband of his sweats to be visible for just a second.

Eddie’s expression shifted in an instant.

“What the hell is that?”

Buck froze. “What’s what?”

“That!” Eddie pointed to the screen. “That white tape, that's K-tape. Buck. What did you do now? Are you injured?”

Buck tugged his hoodie down, trying to act casual. “It’s—Hen just taped it. It’s not a big deal.”

“Hen taped your hip?” Eddie’s voice climbed an octave. “What happened?”

“It’s just a strain. A tiny one. Barely even noticeable.”

“Strains don’t get taped unless they’re noticeable.”

Buck exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “It was from that hit on Garner, okay? I twisted weirdly. I didn’t even notice it until the next morning. It’s not a big deal.”

Eddie leaned forward toward his phone, his jaw tense. “You didn’t tell anyone?”

“I told Hen!”

“Hen’s a trainer, not your boyfriend.”

Buck blinked at that, startled by the sudden flush in his chest. He glanced down, sheepish.

“…You’re right.”

Eddie softened a little at the admission. “Buck. You’ve gotta stop pretending you’re invincible.”

“I know. I just… I didn’t want you to worry. With everything going on, the playoffs coming, the media breathing down your neck—”

“ Our necks,” Eddie corrected gently. “This is an us now. You and me.”

Buck swallowed hard. That settled in his chest in a way nothing else had all day.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just didn’t want to dump more on your plate.”

Eddie’s voice dropped a little, warmer. “You’re not a burden, Buck. You’re—”

Buck was staring at him, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You gonna say something sappy, Diaz?”

“I was trying to,” Eddie said with a laugh, then quieter, “I was gonna say you’re mine. And I’d rather know when you’re hurting than watch you pretend you’re not.”

Buck’s breath caught. His chest ached in a totally different way now.

“I love you,” he said before he could stop himself.

The silence stretched for a beat, but it wasn’t heavy—it was full, warm.

Eddie smiled softly. “Yeah. I love you too.”

They just looked at each other for a moment. Buck’s hip still hurt. The playoffs still loomed. The media would still tear them apart if they ever found out.

But for the moment—right here—it didn’t matter.

“You’re quiet,” Buck said after a beat, still watching Eddie through the screen.

Eddie smiled, soft and crooked. “I’m just… letting it sit for a second.”

Buck’s brows pulled together slightly. “Letting what sit?”

“You. Saying you love me again.” Eddie’s voice was light and teasing, but its weight was there under the warmth. “I’ve imagined hearing that from you a lot, you know.”

Buck’s heart twisted. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie shifted in his seat, gaze still locked with Buck’s. “I mean, I figured you did. You’ve been spiraling like a guy who loves too hard and overthinks every second of it.”

“Wow. Okay.” Buck huffed out a laugh. “You gonna psychoanalyze me now?”

“I already have. Thoroughly,” Eddie teased, then softened again. “I just… it’s good to hear it. Really hear it.”

Buck rubbed the back of his neck, flushed but smiling. “Well, you’re stuck with me now.”

Eddie grinned. “I’ve been stuck with you since the All-Star Game, Buck.”

Buck let out a small breath, leaning back again, the moment settling into something warm and grounding.

Then he winced.

Eddie caught it immediately. “Seriously, you’re still hurting?”

“No,” Buck lied unconvincingly.

“Babe.”

“That’s cheating. You can’t call me that when I’m trying to be stubborn.”

Eddie just gave him a look.

Buck caved. “Okay. Maybe a little. It’s mostly tight, not sharp. Hen said it’s probably just overworked muscle.”

“And what did Bobby say?”

“…That I should rest.”

“And you’re gonna listen to him, right?”

Buck hesitated.

“Buck.”

“Maybe. Eventually.”

Eddie let out a frustrated sigh. “You are the most bullheaded man I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, you still chose me.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Eddie said dryly. Then, quieter, “You’re not allowed to burn yourself out before playoffs. Not for some locker room defense crusade. Not for pride. Not even for me.”

Buck’s expression faltered. “I didn’t mean to get hurt, Eds.”

“I know,” Eddie said. “But you’re too important to be reckless with. Especially now.”

Buck looked away for a second, swallowing hard. “I just—Garner was saying horrible shit to Ravi. Nobody was doing anything. It made me think… what if someday someone talks like that about us? What if someone says that stuff to you?”

Eddie’s whole expression changed. He leaned forward again, voice low and firm. “If anyone ever said that about us, I’d happily knock them into next week. But you don’t have to carry that weight by yourself, Buck. That’s not how this works. It’s us now.”

Buck looked back at him, eyes wet at the edges, but he smiled through it. “You really mean that?”

“Hey, I love you,” Eddie said, softer now. “All of you. Even the part that gets hurt trying to defend every underdog on the ice.”

Buck chuckled quietly.

“Rest your hip, Buck.”

Buck sighed dramatically. “Yes, Captain Diaz.”

Eddie grinned. “Don’t tempt me. I’ll fly to L.A. and make you stay in bed.”

Buck waggled his eyebrows. “Promise?”

Eddie groaned and laughed. “Okay, now you’re pushing your luck.”

Buck wasn’t technically supposed to be moving around too much. Coach Bobby had finally laid down the law—after Hen tattled, of course—and insisted Buck take the full week off to let his hip recover properly. No ice, no gym, and absolutely no stress.

Buck was doing his best to follow orders. Mostly. He was resting, icing, and definitely not texting Eddie anything filthy while on muscle relaxers.

Except… he was.

Sprawled across his couch in shorts and a t-shirt, phone propped on his chest, Buck grinned lazily into the FaceTime camera. “You’re seriously just gonna sit there with that smirk and act like you’re not trying to kill me right now?”

Eddie chuckled from the other end of the line, clearly tucked in somewhere quiet, his eyes low-lidded and voice warm. “I’m not even doing anything.”

“You’re doing plenty,” Buck muttered, biting back a groan as Eddie said something low and sultry that made his toes curl, Buck adjusted the phone slightly, hand moving lower with a sharp inhale, as he pushed down his short and gripping his cock, stroking it slightly “Jesus, Eds…”

“I love hearing you moan my name like that.” Eddie replied, voice thick and teasing, “You touch yourself every time you miss me this bad?” 

“You have no idea,” Buck gasped.

And that’s when the front door opened.

“Hey, Buckaroo!” Chim’s voice rang out brightly. “Mads made soup!”

Buck froze—mid-motion, phone nearly tumbling off his chest. “Oh shit—”

Too late.

Maddie walked in first, holding a Tupperware container and already mid-sentence. “Hen said you were finally resting and—”

She stopped. Blinked. Eyes darted from her half-naked brother to the very obvious position of his hand and the phone now face-down on his stomach.

Chim came in right behind her. “Whoa—wait, oh my god—”

Buck panicked, hurling the phone off the couch like it was on fire. It landed with a dull thump on the rug.

“WHAT THE HELL,” Buck blurted, voice several octaves too high, flushing violently as he scrambled to pull a throw pillow over his lap. “Don’t you knock?!”

“You're supposed to be resting!” Maddie squeaked, turning away immediately while shielding her eyes with the soup container. “We weren’t expecting—that!”

Chim just laughed—loud and shocked. “Holy shit, were you—were you seriously—FaceTiming—?”

“No! I mean yes! I mean—god!”

Maddie, still shielding her face, blindly shoved the soup container onto the kitchen counter and retreated behind it like it was a holy relic. “Tell me you weren’t doing that with Eddie.”

Buck’s mouth opened. Closed. “Um…”

“You were?!” she gasped. “Oh my god, Evan!”

From somewhere on the rug, the FaceTime call was still very much connected, because Eddie’s voice came through faintly: “Buck? Did you just throw me?!”

Buck covered his face with both hands. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die right here on this couch.”

Chim had leaned over to grab the phone, holding it up. “Hey Eddie,” he greeted with that Captain smirk. “Good to see you, man. Sorry to interrupt your little, ahem, pep talk.”

Eddie groaned. “Please don’t kill him.”

“Oh, we’ll see,” Chim said, chuckling and tossing the phone gently back to Buck. “Maybe just suspend him from FaceTime privileges.”

“I hate everything,” Buck muttered into his hands.

Maddie had retreated fully into the kitchen, now pouring wine with trembling hands. “There are images in my brain now. I need bleach. And therapy.”

Eddie, trying valiantly not to laugh, just said softly, “Love you, babe.”

Buck peeked up with a pitiful look. “Don’t call me that in front of them.”

Chim leaned back on the counter next to Maddie, sipping some of her wine. “Too late, lover boy. Too damn late.”

Later that night, Buck lay sprawled on his bed, one arm flung over his eyes in sheer emotional exhaustion. His hip ached, his pride was in tatters, and he was never going to be able to look Maddie or Chim in the eye again without spontaneously combusting.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. A call from Eddie.

Buck groaned. “Please have mercy,” he muttered but answered anyway.

Eddie’s voice was casual, but Buck knew he already had a smug grin. “Hey, superstar.”

“Don’t,” Buck warned, voice muffled from behind his arm. “I’m hanging up if you start.”

“Oh come on,” Eddie said, utterly unbothered. “I’ve been waiting all day to talk about this. You launched your phone across the room. I swear I heard air time.”

“I panicked!”

“You threw me across the room, Buck.”

“I panicked hard!”

Eddie laughed, head tipping back, that deep, warm sound making Buck’s ears burn all over again. “And then Chim picked up the phone. Chim! Do you understand how surreal it was to be mid-phone sex and suddenly get tag-teamed by your boyfriend’s captain and his sister?”

Buck groaned louder. “Please stop talking.”

“Also—Chim called it a ‘pep talk.’ I’m never recovering from that.”

“ I’m never recovering from that.”

Eddie smirked. “And Maddie. Maddie, man. She sounded like she was about two seconds from calling a priest.”

“I think she that poured wine like it was holy water,” Buck muttered.

“You know what the best part was?” Eddie leaned closer to the camera, mock-conspiratorial. “The fact that your throw pillow wasn’t even doing anything. You had no cover, you should’ev just pulled your pants up.”

Buck dropped his arm, glaring. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

Buck paused. That same embarrassed look flickered across his face, the tiniest softness creeping in around the edges. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

Eddie’s smirk melted into something gentler. “I know,” he said, voice warm. “I love you too. Even when you’re launching phones and scarring your family.”

“You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Buck exhaled, half-laughing now, despite his mortification. “Fine. But you know what? Your turn’s coming.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Next time you’re the one with the week off, I’m FaceTiming you with zero warning. See how you like my Captain and my sister walking in.”

Eddie raised a brow. “Mmm. Sounds like a challenge.”

Buck smiled faintly, eyes crinkling. “You have no idea.”

“Maybe we should try it again, its pretty late, pretty sure we won't have to worry about them walking in now, right?” Eddie's voice seemed a little too eager at this point, there was a weight to them— his voice softer now, almost intimate, “I’ve been thinking”

“About?” Buck leaned back against his headboard, his free hand idly tracing patterns on the sheets.

“You,” Eddie said, and the word hung in the air like a dare.

Buck’s heart stuttered, but he forced a laugh, rough and dismissive. “Yeah? Thinking about me, how?”

“Oh,” Eddie purred, and the shift in his tone made Buck’s breath catch. “I was thinking about how you look when you're on the ice, with all of that pent-up energy. All that frustration.”

Buck’s hand stilled on the sheets. “Oh? I don't know what you're talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Eddie said, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “I see it in the way you skate. You’re wound so tight, Buckley. And I can’t stop thinking about what it’d take to make you snap.”

Buck’s throat went dry. He could hear the faint rasp of Eddie’s breath through the phone, could almost picture the way those lips were curling into that infuriating smirk.

Buck’s grip tightened on the phone. “You think you can just call me up and—”

“Yeah, I do,” Eddie interrupted, his tone sharp but still laced with that maddening confidence. “Because I know you. I know the way your mind works. You’re always looking for the next challenge, the next rush. And I’m right here, Buckley. I’m the biggest damn challenge you’ve got.”

Buck’s chest rose and fell as he fought to keep his breathing steady. He wanted to hang up. He should hang up. But he didn’t. Instead, he found himself saying, “You think you can handle me like this, Diaz?”

Eddie’s laugh was dark, promising. “I know I can. But the question is… can you handle me?”

Buck’s jaw clenched. “God, you sound so hot like this.”

“Tell me to stop, and I’ll hang up right now. But if you don’t… I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before, I'm going to dominate you through this phone.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m listening.”

Eddie’s breath hitched, just slightly, and Buck felt a thrill of triumph at the sound. “Good,” 

Eddie said, his voice soft but no less commanding. “Now, lie back. Close your eyes. And let me take the lead.”

Buck hesitated for a moment before shifting against the pillows, letting his head rest back. His eyes fluttered shut, and he could almost feel Eddie’s presence in the room, phantom hands ghosting over his skin.

“You’re always so fucking cocky on the ice,” Eddie murmured, his voice like a caress. “But I wonder… are you just as confident when you’re not in control?”

Buck’s breath hitched. “You think you can take control of me?”

“Don't be a brat, Buck,” Eddie said, his tone firm. “I know. And you’re going to let me. You want this. You want to know what it’s like to let go, to let someone else take the reins for once.”

Buck’s heart pounded in his chest, his body reacting to Eddie’s words in ways he couldn’t—or didn’t want to—stop. 

Eddie’s voice was a whisper now, sending shivers down Buck’s spine. “You’re curious. You want to know what I’d do to you. How I’d make you feel.”

Buck swallowed hard, his throat dry. He wanted to say something back, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he found himself nodding, even though he knew Eddie couldn’t see him.

“Good boy,” Eddie murmured, the praise sending a jolt of heat straight to Buck’s core. “Now, tell me where you are.”

“In—in my room,” Buck stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel the weight of Eddie’s presence through the phone as if the man was right there with him, his voice a low rumble that made Buck’s skin prickle.

“Perfect,” Eddie said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “Now, I want you to lie down on the bed. Can you do that for me?”

“I'm already in bed,” Buck answered, his fingers twitched against the sheets, his body betraying him as heat pooled low in his stomach.

Eddie said, his voice dripping with confidence. “Tell me… are you touching yourself yet?”

Buck’s breath caught. “What?”

“You heard me,” Eddie said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Are. You. Touching. Yourself?”

Buck hesitated, then bit his lip as his free hand drifted downward, fingers brushing against the waistband of his sweatpants. “No.”

“Liar,” Eddie said, and Buck could hear the smirk in his voice. “I can hear it in your voice. You’re already tempted. You’re already wanting. So why fight it? Touch yourself, Buckley. Let me hear you.”

Buck’s hand trembled as he slid lower, his fingers brushing against the tip of his semi-hard cock beneath the fabric of his sweatpants separating him. He let out a shaky breath, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—disbelief, desire, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

His fingers curled around himself through the fabric, his breath hitching as a low groan escaped his lips. “Eddie—”

He then let his hand slide beneath the fabric to find the hard length of his cock. He bit his lip, a soft moan escaping his throat as he wrapped his fingers around himself.

“That’s it,” Eddie murmured, his voice a low, soothing hum. “Just like that. Let me hear you, Buck. Let me know how it feels.”

Buck’s breath hitched, his hips jerking slightly, involuntarily, as he stroked himself. The sensation was electric, every nerve in his body firing at once. “Eddie…” he gasped, his voice barely recognizable.

“I’m here,” Eddie replied, his voice impossibly soft.

Buck’s hand moved faster, his body arching off the bed as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. He could feel it building, the pressure mounting with every stroke, every word from Eddie’s lips. He was so close, so damn close—

“Not yet,” Eddie said suddenly, his voice sharp enough to cut through the haze. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

Buck groaned, his hand stilling as frustration and need to be warred. “Eddie, please…”

“I said not yet,” Eddie repeated, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’re going to wait. You’re going to hold on until I tell you it’s time. Can you do that for me, Buck?”

Buck’s chest heaved, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. But he nodded, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “Yeah. I can do it.”

“Good,” Eddie said, his voice softening again. “Now, let’s see how long you can last.”

Buck’s fingers twitched, hovering just above the head of his throbbing cock. His breath was ragged, his body taut with need. 

Eddie’s voice — low, commanding, and impossibly smug — echoed in his ear, keeping him on edge.

“Keep going,” Eddie purred, the softness of his tone betraying the iron grip he had over Buck’s every movement. “But don’t you dare come, Buck. Not yet. You’re going to tell me what it feels like. Every. Single. Detail.”

Buck swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Eddie—”

“No excuses,” Eddie interrupted, his voice sharp enough to make Buck flinch. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Buck’s fingers wrapped around himself again, his touch feather-light. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to be good.”

“Then talk to me,” Eddie demanded, his tone softening ever so slightly. “What does it feel like?”

Buck hesitated, his mind racing. But Eddie’s voice was insistent, pulling the words out of him despite his reluctance. “It’s… It’s like fire,” he began, his voice trembling. “Every time I touch myself, it’s like I’m right on the edge. I can feel it building, Eddie. It’s so fucking close.”

“Mm, good,” Eddie murmured, his approval sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. “Keep going. Tell me more.”

Buck’s hand tightened slightly, his hips jerking up into his own grip. “My skin’s so sensitive,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Every little touch feels like—fuck—like electricity. I can feel it everywhere, Eddie. My chest, my stomach, my thighs… It’s all so much.”

Eddie’s breath hitched audibly on the other end of the line, and Buck could hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re doing so well, Buck. But you’re not there yet, are you?”

“N-no,” Buck gasped, his body writhing as he fought to keep himself from tipping over. “I’m so close, but I’m holding on. I’m trying to be good for you, Eddie.”

“You’re doing great,” Eddie assured him, his voice dripping with praise that made Buck’s chest swell with pride. “But I need you to hold on just a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

Buck’s fingers dug into his thigh as he forced his hand to slow down, his strokes now agonizingly deliberate. “I—I think so,” he panted, his voice strained. “But it’s so hard, Eddie. I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

“You can take it,” Eddie said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Don’t think. Just feel. I’m right here.”

Buck’s eyes fluttered shut as he let Eddie’s voice wash over him, his body responding to the heat in those words, to the promise they held. His grip tightened, his breathing growing ragged as he gave into the sensations coursing through him.

“Good,” Eddie breathed, his own voice rougher now, more urgent. “You’re doing so good, Buck. Let me hear you. Let me know what you’re feeling.”

Buck’s head fell back against the pillows, a low moan slipping past his lips as his hand moved with more purpose, more intent. “Eddie… fuck…”

“That’s it,” Eddie said, his voice a low growl.

Buck’s chest heaved as he tried to steady his breathing, his hand still resting on his thigh, trembling slightly.

“Do you have lube, Buck?” Eddie’s voice cut through the silence, low and commanding, sending a shiver down Buck’s spine.

“What?” Buck’s voice cracked, his mind struggling to catch up.

“Lube,” Eddie repeated, his tone steady, almost amused. “In your nightstand. Reach for it.”

Buck’s throat went dry. He shifted uncomfortably, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.  “Eddie, I…” Buck hesitated, his hand hovering over the nightstand drawer.

“Do it,” Eddie interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. 

Buck swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he pulled the drawer open. The small bottle of lube sat there, innocuous yet suddenly charged with meaning. He picked it up, the cool plastic pressing into his palm. His heart raced, his mind spinning with a mix of fear and anticipation. “Got it,” Buck murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Eddie said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Now, tell me something, Buck. What’s been on your mind? What fantasies have been keeping you up at night?”

Buck’s breath hitched. He wasn’t sure he could put words to the things that had haunted his thoughts, the things he’d buried deep because they didn’t make sense because they couldn’t make sense. But here, in the dark, with Eddie’s voice in his ear, it felt like maybe, just maybe, he could let them out.

“I… I don’t know,” Buck stammered, his free hand clenching into a fist.

“Yes, you do,” Eddie coaxed, his voice smooth and insistent. “Tell me. Let me hear it.”

Buck’s mind raced, images flashing through his head—Eddie’s confident smirk, the way his eyes had challenged him on the ice, the way his muscles flexed as he skated past. 

“I…I’ve thought about you,” Buck admitted, his voice trembling. “About us. On the ice, against the boards.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s voice was low, almost a purr. “What happens on the ice?”

Buck’s face burned, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “You pin me there. You’re stronger and faster. I can’t get away. And you…you lean in, right up against me, and you whisper something in my ear. I don’t even know what, but it makes me…makes me…”

“Hard?” Eddie supplied, his voice thick with amusement.

“Yeah,” Buck breathed, his hand gripping the bottle of lube tighter. “And then you…you don’t let me go. You keep me there, pressed against the boards, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“Is that what you want, Buck?” Eddie asked, his voice dropping even lower. “To be pinned? To be at my mercy?”

Buck’s stomach twisted, his body responding to the words despite the part of him that wanted to protest, to deny it. But he couldn’t. Not now.

“Yes,” Buck whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Good,” Eddie said, his satisfaction evident. “Now, open the bottle. Warm it up in your hands. I want you to take your time with this, Buck. Feel every second of it.”

Buck’s hands shook as he uncapped the bottle, the slick sound of the lube filling the quiet room. He poured a generous amount into his palm, the coolness making him shiver before it began to warm against his skin. His heart was racing, his whole body on edge as he followed Eddie’s instructions.

“Now, touch yourself again,” Eddie commanded, his voice a low growl. “But don’t rush it. I want to hear every sound you make, every breath you take.”

Buck’s hand moved slowly, almost hesitantly, as he wrapped his fingers around himself. The sensation was intense, the slickness amplifying every touch. He bit his lip to hold back a moan, but it escaped anyway, soft and involuntary.

“That’s it,” Eddie murmured, his own breathing growing heavier. “Let me hear you, Buck. Don’t hold back.”

Buck’s hips twitched, his body craving more as his hand moved with increasing urgency. But Eddie’s voice stopped him.

“Slow,” Eddie commanded, his tone firm. “You’re not in control here, Buck. Remember that.”

Buck groaned, frustration mingling with arousal as he forced himself to slow down, to savor every touch. His skin felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation. He could hear Eddie’s breathing on the other end of the line, rough and uneven, and it only made the heat inside him grow.

“Tell me,” Eddie said, his voice low and husky. “What else do you think about? What else do you want?”

Buck’s mind raced, his fantasies spilling out before he could stop them. “I…I’ve thought about you in the locker room. After a game. You’re still in your gear, all sweaty and…and…”

“And?” Eddie prompted, his voice teasing.

“And I can’t help myself,” Buck admitted, his voice trembling. “I push you up against the wall, and I…I suck your cock. And you let me. You…you want it.”

“I do,” Eddie agreed, his voice rough. “I want it, Buck. I want you.”

Buck’s breath caught, his hand moving faster despite Eddie’s earlier command. The image was too much, too vivid, and he felt himself spiraling closer to the edge.

“But you’re not done yet,” Eddie said, his voice sharp, bringing Buck back from the brink. “Keep going. Tell me more.”

Buck’s mind was a haze of desire, his thoughts blurred and incoherent. But he tried to focus, to put words to the images swirling in his head. “I…I want to feel you. All of you. I want to…to taste you. And I want you to…to fuck me. Hard. I want you to take me apart, Eddie.”

“Fuck, Buck,” Eddie growled, his voice strained. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Buck’s hand moved frantically now, his body trembling as he teetered on the edge of release. 

But Eddie’s voice stopped him again, sharp and commanding.

“Not yet,” Eddie said, his tone brooking no argument. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

Buck groaned, his body shaking with frustration. “Eddie, please…”

“Patience, Buck,” Eddie murmured, his voice soft but firm. “You’re mine now, but you have to wait.”

Buck’s breath came in short, ragged gasps as he forced himself to slow down, to hold back. The tension in his body was almost unbearable, every nerve on fire with need. But Eddie’s voice was in his ear, steady and commanding, and somehow, Buck managed to obey.

“Good,” Eddie said, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Buck’s chest heaved, each breath escaping him in a ragged gasp. “Eddie, please… I can’t—I need to—”

“Shh,” Eddie’s voice purred through the phone, low and commanding. “You’ll come when I say you can. Not a second sooner. Flip over.”

Buck’s heart pounded as he obeyed, rolling onto his stomach, the sheets cool against his overheated skin. 

“Spread your legs,” Eddie ordered, his voice firm and unyielding.

“Touch yourself,” Eddie commanded, his voice low and urgent. “But don’t rush it. I want to hear every sound you make.”

He let out a shaky breath, his hand moving slowly, teasing himself, the friction maddening.

“That’s it,” Eddie murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

Buck's fingers fumbled for the lube, the slick sound of it opening filling the quiet room.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Eddie ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Buck’s voice trembled as he spoke. “I’m… I’m teasing myself, my– my asshole”

“Good boy,” Eddie crooned, the praise sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. “Now slide a finger in. Slowly. Let me hear you.”

Buck’s breath hitched as he pressed a slick finger inside, the sensation making his hips jerk. “Oh, fuck…”

“That’s it,” Eddie murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now imagine it’s me. My fingers. My hands. My control. Fuck yourself for me, Buck.”

Buck’s eyes squeezed shut as he obeyed, his finger thrusting in and out, the friction maddening. He could almost feel Eddie’s presence in the room, his strong hands gripping his hips, his voice whispering filthy promises in his ear.

“You’re so good for me, babe” Eddie continued, his tone a mix of praise and dominance. “Now imagine my tongue on your chest. Tracing every line, every scar. My breath is hot against your skin. Can you feel it?”

Buck’s free hand moved to his chest, his fingers grazing his nipples as he moaned. “Yes… fuck, yes.”

“Pinch your nipples,” Eddie commanded, his voice sharp. “Hard. Make them feel it.”

Buck gasped as he obeyed, rolling his nipples between his fingers until they were hard and sensitive. Every touch sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his core, his body trembling with need.

“You’re so desperate,” Eddie taunted, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “I can hear it in your voice. See it in the way you’re falling apart for me. But you’re not done yet.”

Buck whimpered, his fingers moving faster, deeper, his body arching off the bed. “Eddie, please… I need—”

“I know what you need,” Eddie interrupted, his tone dark and possessive. “Imagine it’s the locker room. You’re bent over the bench, my hands gripping your hips. You’re taking my cock, Buck. Every inch of it. Filling you up, stretching you so wide open. Can you feel it?”

Buck’s moan was almost a sob as he obeyed, his hand moving frantically, his hips rocking against the mattress. The fantasy was overwhelming, and Eddie’s voice painted the scene in vivid detail.

“You’re mine,” Eddie growled, the words sending a thrill through Buck’s body. “Mine to fuck. Mine to control, and you're doing so good for me.”

Buck’s eyes fluttered shut, “Eddie…”

“I’m here,” Eddie replied, his tone firm but reassuring. “But this isn’t over. Not yet, Buck. I’m just getting started.”

Buck’s breath caught, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through him. “What do you mean?”

Eddie’s laugh was low and dangerous. “You’ll see.” Buck’s heart raced as Eddie’s voice dropped to a whisper, the next command already forming on his lips. “Now, get on your knees. We’re not done.”

Buck got off the bed, slowly got into the floor, his knees met the cool hardwood floor, the sensation grounding him even as his mind spun —an edge of tension, a promise of more. The phone pressed against his ear, Eddie’s breathing audible, steady but with a faint rasp that betrayed his own arousal.

“Hands behind your back,” Eddie commanded, his voice low and firm, leaving no room for argument. “Don’t move them unless I tell you to.”

Buck set the phone on the floor and turned on his speaker phone before he obediently clasped his wrists behind his back, the position making his shoulders stretch slightly. His hip was pulsating in pain, but he couldn’t stop himself from following Eddie’s orders. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, the anticipation coiling in his stomach. “What now?” he asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Now,” Eddie said, his tone shifting to something darker, more possessive, “you’re going to listen. You’re going to hear every sound I make, every breath I take. And you’re going to stay exactly where you are, untouched, while I do what I want.”

Buck’s breath hitched, his body reacting to the words despite his best efforts to stay composed. “Eddie—”

“Quiet,” Eddie snapped, the sharpness of his tone sending a shiver down Buck’s spine. “You don’t speak unless I let you. Understood?”

Buck swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around his wrists. “Yes.”

“Good boy.” Eddie’s voice softened slightly, but the edge of command remained. “Now, stay still. And listen.”

There was a rustling sound on the other end of the line, followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down. Buck’s body tensed, his imagination running wild as he tried to picture what Eddie was doing. The soft sound of fabric shifting, the faintest hitch of breath—it was enough to make Buck’s pulse quicken.

Then came the first sound that nearly undid him: a low, barely audible groan, deep and throaty, the kind that Eddie only let out when he was completely lost in the moment. Buck’s jaw clenched, his hands twitching against his back as he fought the urge to touch himself.

“You’re doing so good,” Eddie murmured, his voice rough with arousal. “Just like that. Stay still for me, Buck. Let me take what I need.”

Buck’s chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, his body on fire with need. He could hear every sound Eddie made—the wet slide of skin on skin, the soft, choked noises that escaped his lips, the occasional sharp inhale that signaled he was holding back. It was torture, pure and simple, and yet Buck couldn’t bring himself to hang up. He was too far gone, too ensnared by Eddie’s control.

“Do you hear me?” Eddie asked, his voice thick and strained. “Do you hear what you do to me?”

Buck nodded, then remembered Eddie couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he managed to choke out, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Good,” Eddie growled, the word laced with satisfaction. “Because this is all for you, Buck. Every sound, every movement. It’s yours. You made me this way.”

Buck’s hips twitched involuntarily, his body aching for release, the pre-cum leaking from the tip, of his cock. “Eddie, please—”

“No,” Eddie interrupted, his tone sharp. “You don’t get to beg. Not yet. You’re going to stay right there, kneeling on the floor, and you’re going to take it. Every. Single. Second of it.”

Buck whimpered, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to stay still. The sounds coming through the phone were relentless—Eddie’s breath coming faster now, his movements more urgent, the wet, rhythmic sounds of his hand moving over his cock sending waves of heat through Buck’s body.

“I bet you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Eddie said, his voice rough and uneven. “Kneeling for me, taking everything I give you, Buck. All mine.”

Buck’s chest tightened, the words clawing at something deep inside him. He wanted to protest, to argue, but he couldn’t. Because, at that moment, he knew it was true, and there was no denying it.

Eddie’s breath hitched, a low groan escaping his lips. “Fuck, Buck… you’re going to be the death of me.”

Buck’s eyes squeezed shut, his body trembling with the effort of staying still. He could feel his own arousal, heavy and insistent, but he didn’t dare touch himself. Not without Eddie’s permission. Not yet.

The sounds on the other end of the line grew louder, more desperate. Eddie’s breathing was ragged now, his movements frantic. “You’re—you’re so fucking perfect,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “I can’t— I need—”

Buck’s heart pounded in his chest, his body screaming for release. “Eddie, please—”

“Come for me,” Eddie growled, his voice rough and commanding. “Now, Buck.”

Buck’s body obeyed without hesitation, his release crashing over him like a wave. His cry echoed through the room, his hips jerking as he came, completely untouched, the intensity of it almost too much to bear. He could still hear Eddie’s voice, urging him on, coaxing him through it until the tremors subsided.

When the room fell silent again, Buck collapsed forward onto his hands, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The phone was still on the floor, Eddie’s breathing audible, slower now but still uneven.

“Good boy,” Eddie murmured, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction. “You did so well for me.”

Buck’s eyes fluttered shut, his body still buzzing with the aftermath of his release. “Eddie… Holy shit…”

“I’m here,” Eddie replied, his tone firm but reassuring.

“I’ve never done that before; that was… insane.”

Buck would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't glad he had hardwood floors because he made a bit of a mess, but he knew he could wait a day. After how this phone call went, he knew he needed to nurse his hip just a bit more now.

Chapter Text

After a few days of forced rest, Buck’s been cooped up in his apartment, restless and eager to get back on the ice. He’d been icing his hip religiously, but it’s not the same. There’s a sense of emptiness in his routine, no adrenaline rush to drown out his spiraling thoughts.

He’s halfway through reheating pasta he forgot he made three days ago, dressed in one of Eddie’s hoodies that still smells like his cologne. He’s limping a little from where he’s been babying his hip, freshly iced, sweatpants slung low, hair wild from napping on the couch, when the doorbell rings unexpectedly, dragging Buck out of his spiral. He blinks, momentarily confused.

Buck isn’t expecting company.

At first, he thinks maybe it’s Chim or Maddie—maybe even Hen doing one of her surprise drop-ins with protein smoothies and judgment, or food delivery —maybe the protein bars he forgot he ordered at 2 am— 

When he opens the door, he’s met with Ravi, the rookie who’d been on the receiving end of Garner’s homophobic taunts. His eyes are slightly more hesitant than usual, and Buck immediately senses something’s off.

The rookie stands awkwardly in the hallway, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense beneath his team hoodie. He looks younger, suddenly stripped of his gear and swagger, just a kid trying to figure out how to be a person in a world that rarely makes room for softness.

“Hey,” the rookie says, shifting from foot to foot like he’s afraid the ground might open up and swallow him. “Sorry to just show up like this, I know this is weird, I… wasn’t sure if I should text first.”

Buck blinks. “You didn’t. But hey, you’re lucky I’m decent.” Buck steps aside without hesitation, “Come on in.”

Ravi walks into Buck's apartment, but hovers by the doorway like he’s waiting to be told it was a mistake.

Buck glances at him, concerned now. “Is everything okay? You alright?”

Ravi flushes and waves it off. “Yeah. Yeah, just—uh—I wanted to thank you. For… you know, the other night, the night against the ducks. For what you did with Garner.”

Buck waves a hand like it’s nothing. “You don’t need to thank me. Garner’s a walking garbage fire, I just happened to be the one who got to take out the trash and I loved having an excuse to bodycheck a dickhead.”

That gets a little laugh out of Ravi. But it’s short-lived. He still looks nervous. He still has that jittery energy, as if he’s working up to something big.

Buck notices it now, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You sure you're okay? I mean I heard what he said to you…”

Ravi nods, then immediately shakes his head. “I mean, yeah. Sort of. Not really.”

Buck frowns. “Did Garner say something else to you?”

“No. It’s not—It’s not about him. I just… I wanted to tell you something.”

“You want to sit down?” Buck gestures toward the couch, where a folded blanket still holds the shape of his nap. “I can offer you water, questionable pasta, a protein smoothie in the fridge that I regret making, and emotional damage. Dealer’s choice.”

That gets a real laugh out of Ravi—short, but honest. He sits on the edge of the couch like he doesn’t trust his legs to hold him much longer. Buck joins him, giving him space but keeping his eyes soft, open.