#bimedusalover

"Of course it isn't," Eddie agrees, hurt rather than angry, and his expression fractures, cracks, too fast to hide it from Buck. He tries to anyways, turning his back on him, dragging a hand through his hair, over his face, down his chin as he tries to collect himself, to put the pieces back together.

When he turns back around, his features are controlled, jaw clenched, mouth set, but his eyes— his eyes are stormclouds, and his voice is steel dipped in despair when he quotes, "According to you, there is no us; there's never going to be an us."

Buck rears back, the words — his own goddamn words, the ones he didn't even mean, not really — hitting him like a slap in the face. "E-Eddie," he tries, and he doesn’t even know where to start, doesn't know how to explain that he was just trying to get Maddie off his back; that he just wasn't ready for her to know yet that he's been lying — to her, to himself; that Eddie wasn't supposed to hear any of that, he wasn't ever supposed to know, let alone be upset by it.

"You sure you're doing okay?"

"Yes, Eddie."

There's a pause and the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board as Buck continues to chop veggies.

Then -

"Buck, you know I'm just worried about you, right? I don't mean to make you feel smothered or anything."

"I know."

There's more silence between the two; Buck continues to chop up various veggies for the stir-fry he's making for dinner, and Eddie bustles around him, pulling plates and pans, whatever else is needed, despite Buck not asking for them, the pair always in sync.

"Do you have anything you want to talk about?"

"No, Eddie," Buck says through gritted teeth, pushing the knife against the cutting board a little harder than usually, the thud echoing through the space. "I said I was fine."

"You just don't seem it," Eddie presses. "Ever since we got back from Minnesota, I thought we were doing good."

"Eddie." Buck stops from his mutilating of the vegetables in front of him and looks up at the brunette standing across from him on the other side of the island. "Just because you've became a master of therapy with Frank doesn't automatically make you a therapist! I'm fine."

Eddie stares back at him and scoffs, shaking his head as Buck goes back to cutting, the knife making a more profound thud with each slice.

"I just want you know you have somebody you can talk to, Evan," he muttered. "Didn't expect that to be such a crime with you."

There was a loud crashing sound as Buck smacked the cutting board with the knife, pieces of green and red peppers scattering the floor as he let go of the sharp object.