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Published:
2025-01-20
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1/1
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who you share it with

Summary:

“Oh, hey, green this time,” Buck’s voice filters in as he swings around the corner of the railing. “What flavor is that? Watermelon or green apple?” He doesn’t pause to let Eddie answer though. “Or maybe strawberry? Although, I think Haribo are the only ones that do that. S’weird though, don’t you think? Strawberry isn’t green, it should be red.”

Eddie, who hasn’t looked up from his book — he’s mastered the art of splitting his attention, by now — snorts and curls his hand into a fist. The ring pop is lodged halfway down his middle finger, a little tight around the knuckle but secure. He stretches his arm out towards Buck, a silent offering.

Buck brightens and veers towards Eddie’s side of the couch. His fingers wind around Eddie’s wrist to steady it and he draws Eddie’s hand up, ducking down halfway to meet it.

He hums delightedly, as he gets his answer.

Notes:

this fic is inspired by and directly based off of this post.

it was a total blast to write, and i owe it all to the lovely celeste 💕 this fic would not exist without the fantastic, incredible, ridiculously spot on brainchild you delivered to us all, so ty ty ty for that. your thoughts are magic, friend. this fic is for you 💕💕 i hope you like it!

the title comes from who you share it with by layup.

this was unbetaed, so any and all mistakes are my own.

 

without further ado, ENJOY!!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

The ring pops are leftover from Halloween.

Chimney, who had been in charge of buying the candy for the station’s haunted house, had gone ham on his purchases, splurging on one of those jumbo bags of assorted candies and an extra bag of ring pops too because, “The kids love ‘em, Cap!”

He hadn’t been wrong — the kids really do love ‘em . They just hadn’t gotten the chance to, in the end. Billy Boils had sort of ruined that for them all.

Which meant that the station was stuck with a kitschy pumpkin shaped bowl that was just about full of Halloween candy.

Bobby had offered it to Hen, to Chimney. “You’ve got kids,” he’d said, wanting to put the bowl to good use.

Hen had refused — Denny and Mara did not need more sugar than they’d already gotten; Karen had taken them to the neighborhood that gave out full-sized candy bars. Before the accident, they’d loaded up. She and Karen were already reaping the consequences of that.

Chimney, ironically munching on a carrot, had shaken his head too and pushed the bowl back towards Bobby. “Sorry, Bobby,” he’d said, offering up a rueful smile, “you know I’ve got a wicked sweet tooth. So does Maddie, for that matter. It’s just too dangerous, having that much candy in our house.We’d go through it all in, like, a week. Probably less.”

He’d clapped Bobby on the back, and Bobby had sighed.

“Well,” he had said, resigned, “I guess it’ll just have to stay here then.” 

Eddie had tried not to let it sting that Bobby hadn’t made the same offer to him. It wasn’t Bobby’s fault that there wasn’t a kid in his house right now to unload it onto.

In hindsight, maybe that’s why Eddie’s finds himself to be a frequent visitor of the bowl. Some sort of twisted sense of closeness to his son. A— a kind of comfort.

That and, like Chimney and Maddie, Eddie has a pretty fierce sweet tooth too.

 

Today, Eddie finds himself sunk into the couch cushions between calls, an open book in his lap and a ring pop from the candy bowl wedged firmly onto his finger. It may or may not be his third of the day.

He always has been a sucker for— well, for suckers .

The book, a recommendation from Hen that he’s been meaning to get around to for some time now, is interesting enough for Eddie to get a little lost in it, the show Hen and Chimney are watching and their steady stream of commentary and chatter fading into the background.

He makes good headway, flicking through the pages at a steady pace, bringing the ring pop to his mouth every so often for a taste. It’s shrunk to about half its original size, by the time a familiar tread of footsteps makes its way up the stairs and breaks through Eddie’s bubble.

“Oh, hey, green this time,” Buck’s voice filters in as he swings around the corner of the railing. “What flavor is that? Watermelon or green apple?” He doesn’t pause to let Eddie answer though. “Or maybe strawberry? Although, I think Haribo are the only ones that do that. S’ weird though, don’t you think? Strawberry isn’t green , it should be red .”

Eddie, who hasn’t looked up from his book — he’s mastered the art of splitting his attention, by now — snorts and curls his hand into a fist. The ring pop is lodged halfway down his middle finger, a little tight around the knuckle but secure. He stretches his arm out towards Buck, a silent offering.

Buck brightens and veers towards Eddie’s side of the couch. His fingers wind around Eddie’s wrist to steady it and he draws Eddie’s hand up, ducking down halfway to meet it.

He hums delightedly, as he gets his answer.

“Oh,” Buck says, popping off with a soft, wet noise, “yeah, definitely watermelon.” He smacks his lips a little, and his tongue pokes into the corner, catching the stray flavor. “That’s good.”

“Right?” Eddie asks, eyes finally flickering towards Buck when he taps Eddie’s shin to get him to move his legs. He removes his feet from the coffee table just long enough for Buck to pass and turns back to his book. “It’s the best flavor,” he adds absently, flipping the page.

The couch dips as Buck drops onto it, and Eddie pops the ring pop back into his mouth, curling his tongue around it to really appreciate the flavor. 

It takes him a minute to notice that the loft has gone quiet. He removes the ring pop and swallows, looking up.

Hen and Chimney stare back at him with matching baffled expressions. Beside him, Buck scrolls through his phone, oblivious.

Eddie’s brow furrows. His eyes bounce between Chimney and Hen. “What?” He finally asks.

An eyebrow arches so high on Hen’s face, Eddie can see it above the rim of her glasses. She opens her mouth. Shuts it again. Clasps her hands in her lap and narrows her eyes at him, a wrinkle forming across her forehead. Her lips press together and she hums.

Chimney laughs, a strangled bark of a thing. “You just let Buck— he tasted your ring pop.”

Eddie blinks at him. And?

Buck’s head jerks up at his name.

“I wanted to know what flavor it was,” Buck says, like that explains everything.

“Can I find out what flavor it is?” Chimney asks. 

“It’s watermelon,” Buck answers, frowning at Chimney.

Chimney rolls his eyes. “Can I have a taste?” He rephrases, swaying forward in his seat.

Instinctively, Eddie leans back. He makes a face at Chimney. “Uh,” he laughs, bewildered by the request. “ What ? No?”

Chimney’s eyes narrow. “No?”

Eddie flounders, looks towards Hen for— for clarification or something. She’s always been able to tap into the same wavelength as Chimney, to translate his more cryptic thoughts for the rest of them. Now, though, she is as stoic as ever, offering him nothing. She just sits on the end of her seat, one leg folded over the other, with an elbow on her knee and her fist tucked up under her chin. She’s got a curious expression on her face, her eyes piercing as she watches him like— like he’s a bug under a microscope.

Eddie squirms in his seat and turns back to Chimney. “Yeah— no ,” he repeats. “What the hell, Chim? That’s— gross .” 

Chimney barks out a laugh. “That’s gross ?” He repeats, equal parts incredulous and, oddly enough, gratified.

“Uh, yeah .”

“You just let Buck lick your lollipop,” Chimney says bluntly, both eyebrows jumping up.

And Eddie— flushes. Lick his — god. He doesn’t have to say it like that . That makes it sound— jesus . It’s not like that. It’s not— there’s nothing weird about it. It’s Buck . They share things all the time.

Rolling his shoulders back, Eddie tries to brush it off as the inconsequential thing that it is. “Yeah,” he says, coolly, “I did.”

He tries to go back to his book again, but he can feel the weight of Chimney’s stare on his face still, uncompromising and judgy . It makes something twist in Eddie’s gut, a need to, like, defend his choice — which is, frankly, ridiculous. It’s not a big deal! 

“And this kind of thing,” Hen pipes up, before Eddie gets the chance to say anything, “is a common occurrence, is it?”

Eddie scowls at the question. He doesn’t know how, but it feels like a trap. “I mean,” he says, “we— it’s— that’s—” he tries. Huffs. Kicks a foot out into Buck’s ankle. “Buck, a little help here?”

Buck glances up from his phone. “It’s not weird, guys,” he says, perfectly level. “We share things all the time.” He gestures towards the ring pop. “Food. Soap. Clothes.”

Eddie nods, turning back to Hen and Chimney with a satisfied attitude. He spreads his hands, palm up, in front of him. There you go . 

“I’ve even used his toothbrush a couple times,” Buck adds and shrugs.

Hen blinks. Chimney gapes.

“His toothbrush ?”

“ A couple times ?”

“It was an emergency!” Eddie defends. He’d been the one to offer it to Buck in the first place, it’s not like Buck had done it behind his back or anything. And if he’d needed to borrow it once or twice more after that first time, well. It’s really not a big deal. “It’s just spit,” he says, helpless.

“Right,” Chimney responds slowly. “So you’d share your toothbrush with me?” 

Eddie recoils. “What the— no! Why do you keep—”

“But it’s just spit , Eddie,” Chimney interrupts, taunting him with his own words.

“It’s not— I— that’s different!” 

Chimney raises an eyebrow. “How?”

Eddie fishmouths as he tries, and fails, to come up with any sort of sensical explanation. “It just is!” He lands on lamely. “Buck’s— he’s my best friend.”

Buck’s elbow knocks into his, his knee too, and Eddie doesn’t need to look over to know he’s smiling, deeply pleased by the affirmation the way he always is when Eddie says it.

Chimney looks between them, nodding. “Uh huh. Yeah, well, see, Hen’s my best friend too, but I wouldn’t let her use my toothbrush,” he says. “Sorry, Hen.”

Hen snorts, holds up a hand. “ Please . I wouldn’t want to use your toothbrush,” she says. 

“ Well ,” Buck cuts in, tilting his head and offering up a charming smile, “I guess you guys just aren’t as close as we are then.”

Chimney and Hen share an inscrutable look. 

“No,” Chimney muses, “I guess we’re not.”



They’re in the bunks later, trying to catch a few winks after the barrage of calls they’d had over the last few hours. Most of them had been minor, but there had been a number of them, one after the other, and everyone had been pretty beat once they’d finally made it back to the station.

It’s dark now, the glow of dimly lit phone screens dotting the room long since extinguished, and it’s quiet too. Only the muted sounds of Hen and Chimney and the rest of the A-shifts breathing fill the space. 

Buck isn’t asleep yet; his symphony of snores hasn’t struck up quite yet. But he’s not far off, Eddie can tell. He’d be a lot more chatty if he was all the way awake.

Eddie isn’t asleep yet either. Nor is he close to it. He lies on his back, on top of the sheets of his bunk, his feet crossed at the ankles and hands clasped loosely together over his stomach. His thumbs drum softly against his sternum.

The earlier conversation sits at the forefront of his mind. Chimney’s reaction to it all, Hen’s too. 

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie whispers, turning towards Buck’s bunk beside him. They’d chosen the two catty corner on the far side of the room, way back at the beginning. So close together, it’d made it easy for them to bend their heads together and keep their conversations hushed, while everyone else tried to sleep. Bunks weren’t assigned, but these had unofficially officially become theirs, over the years.

Buck is lying on his side, Eddie can just make out the outline of him in the dim moonlight that seeps through the cracks in the blinds. His arm is tucked beneath his ear, head pillowed over his elbow. His chin tilts up, his sleepy eyes blinking towards Eddie.

“Hm?” He hums back, soft and quiescent.

“Do you think it’s weird how much we share?” Eddie asks, after a moment.

Buck is quiet for a beat. Two. Three. Like maybe he’s really considering the question.

Eddie holds his breath. Wonders if earlier in the loft was the beginning of the end.

It’s a silly worry, though. This is Buck .

“No,” Buck finally tells him, firm in his conviction, but gentle in his delivery. There’s a rustle of sheets as Buck’s arm slips out from beneath, traveling the short distance between their bunks to find Eddie’s. His fingers curl around the back of Eddie’s hand, thumb worming its way beneath to brush over the middle of his palm. “I like sharing things with you.”

A hearty warmth sparks in Eddie’s chest, catches on the flint of his ribs and spreads , the soft glow of it settling snug in the center of his belly. “I like sharing things with you too,” Eddie says back.

Buck hums again, happy and contented, and squeezes Eddie’s hand. Then he yawns. His jaw cracks with it, and Eddie buries a quiet laugh into his own shoulder.

But the laughter comes to a swift end when Buck squeezes his hand a second time and, with something raw and deeply honest lacing his voice, says, “I’d share everything with you, Eddie.”

“Oh,” Eddie exhales, head swimming with it, a little. He catches his lip between his teeth, pressing in to suppress the gooey soft smile that wants to spread. He studies the bottom of the bunk above him, eyes catching on the wonkily carved ‘sweet dreams, eddie -b’ that’s sat there in the wood for some months now. The corner of his mustache twitches, his teeth dig into his lip harder for a split second, then they disappear.

The smile breaks free, soft and warm and happy.

Everything, huh? It sounds— nice.

Kind of perfect, actually.

Notes:

thank you so much for reading! let me know what you think with a kudos and a comment!

 

PLEASE come say hi and talk all things eddie diaz with me on tumblr or twitter! :)