"please, Robert, will you just come home with me?"

Something settles uncomfortably in Eddie’s stomach. He wants to say no, he realises, because that means facing things he doesn’t want to. He can’t bring his own mixed up feelings to bear on Chris, though, and nods. “Only if he says you’re not bothering him, okay?”

As if Buck will ever say that. 

Elbow deep in suds, Eddie tunes out the sound of Chris dialling the phone, but as he tries to scrub away the emotions he’s feeling as hard as he is the dirty plates, he can’t help but listen. 

“Dad says to check I’m not interrupting.” Eddie winces. Chris chooses a better word choice. 

It just means Eddie’s doing things right. Right? Eddie doesn’t even know anymore. 

I love you.

“—it’s math. I know what you said last time, but I forgot.”

Buck’s voice is on the other end of the phone; Eddie recognises the timber of his voice, even if he can’t hear what’s being said. Buck is so good with Chris. He’s always been good with Chris. Even when he and Eddie were antagonistic—or at least when Buck was trying to exert himself—Buck’s feelings for Chris were almost immediately huge and all encompassing. He’s never begrudged Chris anything. The tsunami. The skateboard. He gives so much of himself to Chris. 

Maybe that’s why this is so hard for Eddie; because it’s not hard. 

“—Dad?”   

Eddie looks up, startled. “Sorry. What’s up?”

“Buck wants to speak to you,” Chris says, holding out the phone. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “Uh, I’m soapy.”

“So wipe your hands,” Chris says with an eyeroll. 

Okay. Eddie’s done harder things than this. He dries his hands and breathes in, taking the phone from Chris. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Buck says. He sounds warm, light. I love you. “You’re washing dishes?”

“I clean,” Eddie protests, and he’s surprised his voice is so even. 

Buck laughs and Eddie’s chest is tight. It’s so fucking easy to love him. 

I love you. 

“Buck,” Eddie says. His voice sounds thick. 

Buck makes a noise. “I wasn’t lying when I said I love you. But you don’t have to answer.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, even though he doesn’t know what he doesn’t know. Or whatever. Fuck, this is so hard. 

I love you. 

“I know,” Buck says. “It’s okay that you don’t know, you get that, right?”

Eddie clutches at the counter, conscious of Chris behind him. “I’m not over it,” he blurts out instead. 

Silence. Then, softly, “Shannon?”

Closing his eyes, Eddie nods. Aloud, he says, “yeah. Sometimes I think I am. Other times I feel guilty.”

“Alright.” Buck breathes a couple of times. Eddie thinks about the words I love you in Buck’s tone, the smile on his face, the softness. It’s the softness that hurts the most; that Eddie deserves that after everything. “That doesn’t change anything.”

Chris is doing his homework, so Eddie pads out of the kitchen into the hall. He presses his forehead to the wall. “I do love you.”

Buck sucks in a breath. 

“It’s a mess in here,” Eddie says, waving at his head. “In my head and heart. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing great,” Buck says, and it doesn’t sound hollow. There’s so much emotion there it hits hard. “I’m proud of everything you’ve done.”

Eddie closes his eyes, breathing shaky. “What now?”

“Well,” Buck’s tone is back to being light, “nothing changes until we want it to.”

“Okay.” Eddie pauses. “Come over?”

Buck laughs. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I want to kiss you,” Eddie admits. “If that’s okay.”

Buck doesn’t say anything for a moment and Eddie worries he’s done something wrong. Then. “Consider this blanket permission.”

Eddie smiles, peers around the wall to where Chris is still working, humming to himself. “Noted. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you,” Buck says. The words linger, still, but Eddie feels more comfortable with them, cherishes them.