miss you on a train

Telling Buck ‘no’ is like telling a dog not to hump your leg.

“when i was a kid, i would get these headaches, and i went to the doctor, and they said that i needed glasses. i didn’t understand that, it didn’t make sense to me, because i could see fine. and then i get the glasses, and i put them on, and i’m in the car on the way home, and suddenly i yell—because the big green blobs that i had been staring at my whole life, they weren’t big green blobs. they were leaves on trees. i could see the leaves. and i didn’t even know i was missing the leaves. i didn’t even know leaves existed, and then… leaves!” —dr erica hahn on realising you’re gay, grey’s anatomy

“What do you mean you’re in the bridal suite?” Buck barks into the phone, pacing up and down the incredibly plush carpeting of this hotel room. “I’m in the fucking bridal suite.” “Okay, Buck, calm down. What do you mean? We’ve got all the romantic stuff laid out—the strawberries and the chocolate and the champagne—” “I’ve got the strawberries and the chocolate and the champagne,” Buck whispers, fingers so tight around his phone he thinks he can hear something cracking. “What?” Maddie asks. “Hmm. Maybe there was a mix-up with the reservations? They’re both under Buckley, so… Do you want me to call the reception?” Buck sighs. “No, no, of course not, Mads. Sorry, I’ll call them. It’s fine, I’ll just—I’ll get another room, because Eddie’ll be here in a few hours…”

or, having multiple wedding reservations under the same name was an accident waiting to happen and buck’s just trying not to jumpscare his best friend with the rather intense bridal suite decor in their very platonically shared hotel room

best friends-in-law

prompts: 1 constant physical touch to feel safe + 35 your problem is my problem

Eddie shakes his head, biting his lip as he tries to inhale evenly. “M’okay,” he croaks. “Just gotta—make this Jell-o body work.” Buck approaches him, slowly, carefully straddling the bench before him, face to face. “D’you want me to talk you through it?” Eddie shakes his head again, wet hair flopping into his face. “I don’t know why it’s not working. I’ve been—for, like, twenty minutes now. Longest shower of my life.” His attempt at light-heartedness falls a little flat with the way his voice trembles when he says it. He groans, frustrated as his whole body quakes like it’s seizing, clenching his fists even harder before giving up and wrapping his arms firmly around himself, like if he holds himself tight enough the shaking might stop. His eyes are squeezed shut, and Buck feels something inside him crack when this helpless, devastated sob wracks his body, eyelashes clumped with tears he’s not letting fall. “Fuck,” he says, wobbly. “I just—God, I feel fucking insane. I know, logically—fuck.” “What do you need?” Buck asks again. “What can I do?” Eddie makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t know. I don’t know why this won’t stop.” “Okay,” Buck says, trying desperately to think of what he finds comforting when he’s in a bad place. Or what Eddie reaches for when he needs comfort. The answer is simple enough—a literal reach for each other, reassurance in the magnetism with which they lean into the other’s orbit. A hand on a shoulder, a press of bodies beside each other, a nudge of knees under the table. “Can I, uh. Can I touch you?”

or, eddie panics. buck holds him.

“Well, we’re doing a fancy dinner and mini golf and karaoke,” Buck says, “and those are kinda date activities anyway, right?” “Right,” Eddie says slowly. “Except it’s Chim’s bachelor party, so we can hardly bring dates along, even if we could find them. That’d be weird.” “Well,” Buck says, “I was thinking… what if we were each other’s dates?” Eddie’s brain bluescreens for a moment. Buck must take his total lack of reaction for disagreement, because he hurriedly says, “Like, a pretend date. That way we could test out our, like you said, moves on each other. And then be totally truthful about whether they worked or not. So we get honest feedback and we don’t have to worry about finding someone to try them out on and we can still make it to Chim’s party. And then give Chris some advice before Sunday. Right? Does that make sense?”

or, chris wants dating advice and it turns out taking your best friend on a pretend date to practice being as romantic as possible is not a good idea in theory or in practice, considering the pesky being-in-unrequited-love of it all