#this ended up being 1k words exactly without even trying so i'm weirdly pleased with myself

[glorious-spoon]

may i request “…casually” for the kiss prompts, if it inspires you? 🤗

- @buckactuallys

Hi, and thank you! Have some morning after sappiness, I hope you enjoy! ☺️

-

The bed is empty when Buck wakes up.

This isn't an unusual thing, actually; given the chance, he likes to sleep in. And a lot of hookups like to have some space the morning after: get showered, get dressed, start their days, make it clear that it's time for Buck to show himself the door without actually having to kick him out. He knows that whole song and dance by heart, and it doesn't bother him that much, usually.

It doesn't usually work like that when he sleeps over at Eddie's. Chris is an early riser, and while Eddie is hit or miss, he's not usually much good at staying quiet before he's got a cup or two of coffee in him. Buck has woken up more than a few times to the sound of Eddie stumbling into something in the kitchen and then cursing about it in a blurry, sleep-hoarse voice.

The thing is, usually when he sleeps over here, he sleeps on the couch.

Buck rolls over, squinting at the clock that Eddie keeps on his side of the bed. It's not actually that late; just past 8:30. The door is closed, and the room is full of hazy, diffuse morning sunlight. The walls are still painfully bare even a year after Buck helped Eddie patch and paint the smashed-up plaster, but there's a new rug on the floor, a handful of framed photos on the wall by the door. Mostly Chris, but there's one of Eddie and Buck there, from May's graduation party, draped in beads and hamming it up for the camera.

It makes Buck smile a little as he folds himself upright, but he's not sure where to go after that. He can hear noise coming from the kitchen: the clatter of dishes, soft conversation. Chris is home. And Buck is here, in Eddie's bed, clearly having spent the night there instead of on the couch. It's a little late now to try to sneak out, unless Eddie wants him to go out the window. And they really didn't talk about any of this last night. It seemed very distant then, with Eddie pressing him against the mattress, Eddie's mouth hot against his, the searing eagerness of his hands as he pulled Buck closer and touched him like he'd been thinking about it for a while, but now—

Now, Buck really wishes he'd thought to ask.

Footsteps in the hall. He freezes, and has a moment to be profoundly grateful that he pulled on a pair of sleep shorts last night, because there's a knock at the door, and then Chris ducks his head in without waiting for an answer. He does not seem surprised to see Buck there.

"Oh good, you're awake," he says. "Dad says breakfast is ready. He burned the first two pancakes, but the rest are fine."

"Oh," Buck manages, slightly airless. "I'll, um. I'll be there in a minute."

"Don't take too long, or you'll get stuck with the burned ones," Chris warns, and retreats back out of the room. Over the roaring in his ears, Buck can just hear his clear voice saying something to Eddie that includes his name.

He swings his legs off the bed, scrounges the t-shirt he abandoned on the floor last night, and gets up. His heart doesn't stop racing all the way down the hallway, but when he steps into the kitchen, Eddie glances up at him and smiles.

It's easy, that smile. There's none of the panicked regret Buck was fearing in it at all.

"Morning," he says. "You sleep okay?"

"Uh, yeah." Buck scrubs the back of his neck. Chris is in the dining room, setting the table for the three of them. On the counter next to the stove is a plate of pancakes covered by a dish towel to keep it warm; butter and syrup and orange juice for Chris are already out on the table. There's a full pot of coffee steaming fragrantly on the counter

There's Eddie, leaning over the stove to slide the skillet off the heat. He scrapes at the patch of spilled batter that scorched on the burner, then sets the spatula down and turns back toward Buck. He looks—he looks soft, a little bit sleepy still with his fluffy hair and his rumpled t-shirt. He looks like Eddie. The way he's looking at Buck isn't even new, now that he's paying attention to it.

"Can I, uh, can I help with anything?"

"Mostly all done," Eddie says, but he hands the plate of pancakes to Buck. "Here, take this to the table, I'll grab us coffee."

Then he cups Buck's cheek, leans up just a little, and kisses him briefly on the mouth, so sweetly casual that Buck kisses back without even thinking about it.

It feels different than kissing him last night, all that heat and urgency. It feels different than lazily making out in the sleepy afterglow. It feels—easy, comfortable, real.

"So we're really doing this, huh?" Buck asks, soft, when they finally break apart.

Eddie laughs under his breath and kisses him again. "Yeah. As long as you want to."

"I want to," Buck says, so fast that Eddie laughs again, louder, as he steps away.

"Still need to talk to Chris," he says, pulling out a pair of mugs.

"I think he, uh, I think he's probably figured it out," Buck says with a faint wince. He was in Eddie's bed this morning. Chris is definitely old enough now to read between the lines there. Though at least he didn't seem upset.

Eddie snickers. "Yeah. But I want to do this right. This is important." He glances at Buck again. "You're important."

"Oh," Buck says, helplessly warm.

"After breakfast," Eddie says firmly, passing Buck one of the coffee cups in his hand. Cream swirls through it, and the porcelain is warm. "Come on."

Buck takes a deep breath, nods, and follows him out into the sunlit dining room.