under_starlight
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Buck knows Eddie like he knows the sun will be coming up on the two of them in the morning, hugging the line of Eddie’s shoulder even through the blinds.
And still, somehow, Eddie finds ways to surprise him.
in which eddie is sweet, and buck is a little undone by it.
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Bookmarked by under_starlight
14 Jun 2026
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"Night, Buck.” Eddie whispers into the darkness. He listens to Buck’s breathing even out, feels his own eyelids get heavy. And maybe it's the lingering tequila in his blood, or maybe it’s the exhaustion tearing down all his walls of shoulds and shouldn’ts. Either way, he barely even thinks. He just rolls over and drapes a heavy arm across Buck's waist, like it’s muscle memory. The front of his knees press into the back of Buck's, and his nose brushes against the soft skin of his neck. Buck sighs and practically melts in his arms, and before he knows it, Eddie’s falling asleep faster than he has in years.
*
Or, five times Buck and Eddie cuddle drunk and one time they cuddle sober.
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Bookmarked by under_starlight
13 Jun 2026
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Looking down at the bottle’s label like he’s reading the countdown clock on a bomb, Eddie says, “Buck.”
“Eddie.”
Said Eddie huffs. Buck suspects he also had to fight back the urge to stomp his foot with that one. “I don’t need… I’m fine. It’ll go away in a couple of days; it’s only when I stretch weird, anyway, so—”
“Or, hear me out,” Buck interrupts coolly, “you could, I don’t know—relax? A few bubbles won’t bite, Eddie.” Then, softer: “It’s a muscle soak. It’ll help, I swear.”
Eddie holds out the bottle and points at it despairingly. “Citrus jamboree,” he whines.
“It’s a party,” Buck shrugs.
Or: 5 innocuous stops along Buck and Eddie’s cozy journey to forever, +1 destination
Bookmarked by under_starlight
11 Jun 2026
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“Ravi, I want you to have my fours,” says Buck, before Ravi can start his own turn. All three heads at the table turn to him in incredulous unison, so he adds, “What?”
“That is simply not how the game works,” answers Ravi, dumbfounded. “How do you—are you real?”
“Don’t open that can of worms,” Eddie teases with a shake of his head. “I’m still trying to work that one out, and I was roommates with the guy.”
Barely audible, Hen mutters, “Roommates, he says. Is that what historians will call it?”
or: Eddie has a work wife. Buck has a lot to figure out.
Bookmarked by under_starlight
11 Jun 2026
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“Alright,” Eddie shrugs, laissez-faire. He pulls Buck’s plate to the center of the table; pushes his own forward in kind. Then he begins a drawn-out circus routine of plucking an olive at a time up and out of the bowl and plopping them onto their respective dishes, one by one.
The delicate, repetitive movement of Eddie’s pinched fingers reminds Buck of picking the petals off of flowers. He loves me. He loves me not. He love—
An olive hits him square in the forehead.
“There,” Eddie says, resolute, as the pitted projectile tumbles to the ground at Buck’s feet. “Equal treatment.”
Or: Buck, Eddie, and the olive theory. Well, in theory.
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Bookmarked by under_starlight
10 Jun 2026