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“Santa doesn’t know you like I do. I’ve been there through the good and the bad, know how to make you laugh, kiss all your tears away, babe, oh, only I can do that.” — santa doesn’t know you like I do by Sabrina Carpenter
L.A. doesn’t get very cold during the winter time. It’s barely enough to justify wearing one of those ugly Christmas sweaters, and in all honesty, it’s never feeling truly festive to Buck.
He blames the lack of snow for it, mostly, something he would love to experience one day—a snowy Christmas. Oh, how he would love to light the fireplace, sit on the couch, and watch the snow fall, the cold forming intricate crystals on the windows.
He truly does want that, but he knows, deep down, that he hates the holidays for one big, all-consuming reason he has never admitted to anyone out loud before.
The family aspect of it all makes his guts churn every single year.
Growing up, Christmas was never that big of a deal in the Buckley household. Sure, there was a tree, there were presents and a nice dinner, but that was it. No grandparents visiting, no board or card games, no Christmas movies on the TV. And maybe that was a fantasy he’d gotten from said movies, a utopia of family life, but he came to know from his friends that it wasn’t that far from reality as he’d thought.
As he grew older, family seemed to matter less and less, during the holidays and all around it. Sure, his parents had tried, or pitifully attempted to, anyway. Maddie had tried even harder, trying to loop ropes around all of them in order to keep them together. But it never lasted.
They were bound to fall apart, really. His parents had just never been the parents he’d wanted or needed . Maddie, the sister only seven years his senior, had been more of a parental figure to him than either of their actual parents. But maybe that’s just the treatment you get when you were just supposed to be a walking stash of spare parts for a brother you can’t even remember because he’d died so soon.
Which is why he’d simply stared at Maddie when she’d told him their parents were going to come to Christmas dinner at her and Chimney’s house this year. Simply had his wide eyes fixated on her and her guilty, commiserating face for a while, until he’d caught himself, shook his head, and said, “No.”
They’d fought after that. Woke up Jee with their raised voices, even though they’d tried so hard to keep it down. In the end, he’d slammed the door in her face as he’d rushed out to drive home.
There was no way he’d show up at that stupid, wannabe-perfect dinner if they were coming. Not even for his niece, seeing her sparkling eyes when she’d open her present from him (“Wow, big girl, Santa got you your very own play kitchen?”), not even for his loving sister and her wonderful cooking, not for one of his best friends, whose family wasn’t going to visit this year.
No way he’d endure their accusatory questions about settling down with someone, their pitying glances that would come along with it. He knows they would ask him. Make him feel bad, because “ Maddie is pregnant with her second child, Evan, do you not feel like you’re behind ?”
Not to mention everything else that comes with spending a dinner including wine and whiskey with Philip and Margaret Buckley. The constant reminder of how unimportant Buck has always been to them, the second choice, someone they were stuck with.
So, in conclusion, he needs to get out of it, and he’s got a plan.
“I need a favor,” he lowly announces, leaning in. Hen turns her head in his direction, brow arched, her green glasses low on her nose.
“A favor,” she repeats slowly, closing her locker. No one else is in here, though Buck spotted Chim and Eddie taking inventory over at the ambulance before he came in here, still sweaty from his workout, hair standing off in all directions. He nods.
“What kind of favor,” Hen asks, suspicious. To be fair, it does seem like Buck is about to ask her to hide a body or something of the sort, seeing as he nervously glances around the room, eyes darting to the door repeatedly, his hands shoved deep into his short’s pockets.
Buck watches her sit down on the bench and bend to tie her laces. “I— I need you to help me.”
Still leery, Hen glances up at him and then proceeds to push her glasses up with one finger.
“Buck, spit it out, will you?”
He plops down next to her, eyes on Chimney and Eddie sharing a glance at a clipboard. He sometimes wonders just why their locker room has glass walls, but—
“Buck,” Hen rips him from his thoughts, growing more and more concerned by the second.
“I need you to help me convince Bobby to put me down for the Christmas shift,” he blurts, immediately looking over his shoulder, in the direction of the door. They’re still alone.
“You actually want to work Christmas?” she asks, shaking her head in disbelief.
Buck merely shrugs, lets out a sigh as he stares at the lines creasing the palms of his hands like they’re suddenly so fascinating.
“Anything’s better than spending it with my parents at Maddie and Chimney’s house, Hen. They’ll just keep shooting crafty comments at me about how Maddie’s married with kids, and I’m not even in a long-term relationship,” he admits quietly. He’s talked about his family with Hen before, it’s not like she doesn’t know just how messy his relationship with his parents is in the first place, so he hopes she’ll understand, come through, agree to help. Because he knows Bobby would try and tell him to just be grateful to have a family that can come visit, and that he should appreciate and cherish that. It’s the holidays, after all, right?
“I think I know what you mean,” she slowly lets out, and they just sit there for a moment. Then, she adds, “It’s gotta be really bad if you’re willing to work instead, huh.”
“Hey, I love work!” Buck, offended, lets out, nudging her with his knee. Hen chuckles, nudges back.
“I know, I know.”
“It’s really worse than it sounds. You know I wouldn’t ditch Maddie and Jee-Yun for nothing,” Buck pleads, keeping his voice down again, because there are steps sounding from outside the door, even though they’re fading almost immediately. He sighs.
It’s true. If it wasn’t for his parents, he wouldn’t consider not going. But this year, they insisted on stopping by, probably just because Maddie just announced her second pregnancy, and they suddenly feel bad for not calling in so long. Buck hates the thought of them only stopping by to pretend they care about their kids for once. About him.
Hen looks at him with a considering expression, and eventually sighs, “You know what? I’ll do it.”
“Thank y—” Buck starts, but she holds up a hand, her lips quirking up into a rather telling smile.
“Under one condition,” she adds, getting up from her seat. Buck watches her in surprise before finally managing to say something.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m feeling puckish, Buck,” Hen shrugs, still with that smirk on her face. Buck can’t quite make sense of it.
“Puckish,” he deadpans, watching her whirl around to face him now, pushing her bright green glasses up her nose with one finger.
“Yes, puckish ,” she nods, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I’ll help you get to work Christmas to escape your family… if you kiss Eddie under the mistletoe at the station’s holiday party tomorrow.”
She motions to his best friend laughing at something Chimney said, shaking his head. Buck feels like he’s been punched in the guts.
“I’m sorry, what?” he asks, suddenly out of breath as he stares at Eddie in utter disbelief. He must’ve hallucinated, because there is no way Hen just asked him that .
“You heard me, Buckley. Take it or leave it,” she quips, and he can’t remember the last time she looked so… sly. Like she knows exactly how absolutely devious her proposition is, knows how it’s getting to Buck.
“You want me to kiss Eddie,” he repeats, because he can’t quite grasp her words just yet. “On the lips.”
Hen nods. “For five seconds, minimum.”
“Isn’t the holiday season all about charity?” he groans, running a hand over his weary face.
“Let me have a little fun, Buckaroo.”
Seriously, what is with her? Buck can’t remember her ever being so mischievous.
“You must be kidding me,” he grunts, his entire body aching from the lack of sleep and his earlier work-out. This shift has been long enough already. How probable is it for him to be so sleep-deprived he’s just making all of this up?
“Told you I was feeling puckish,” Hen just says, walking to the locker room’s door a little too casually. Buck jumps up and follows her.
“Stop saying that word!” he groans, stepping in her path to stop her. “Why on earth would you ask me to do that?”
“Honestly? Pure amusement,” Hen replies, like her words haven’t caused Buck’s guts to churn and skin to burn.
“You are so evil,” he hisses, finally letting her step past him, out of the quiet of the locker room.
“So, it’s a deal, then,” she laughs, and then they’re walking up the stairs, to the kitchen, where Bobby is preparing dinner—his infamous lasagna, six types of cheese, already smelling delicious.
For the rest of the shift, Buck’s mind is anywhere but work.
Considering the fact that he’s never thought about kissing Eddie before, not on purpose, anyway, the mental image of them standing underneath that stupid mistletoe is awfully persistent on his mind.
He tries to nap in a rather easy hour near the end of the shift, but even in the total darkness and with Chimney’s constant, white-noise-esque snoring, he can’t steady himself, can’t calm his quick heartbeat, or uncoil his guts.
He has to tell him, right? Warn Eddie that this kiss is just a means to an end, no feelings behind it.
Or at least there shouldn’t be.
He catches a whopping twenty minutes of sleep before the next call.
+++
Buck ends up baking. The entire night, he’s up, transferring cookies from the baking tray to the cooling rack, scooping more cookie dough into new batches, mixing frosting. He’s learned that all of this is helping him not go utterly insane about whatever he’s anxious about—break-ups, exams, and now, apparently, having to kiss his best friend.
So, he makes sugar cookies, decorates them after pictures he’s seen on Instagram, and by morning, there are reindeer, snowmen, presents, Santa hats, and Christmas trees carefully stacked in two containers; he even puts the seatbelt on them before driving to work.
The party isn’t until six p.m. today, and he’ll have to work a twelve-hour shift before that. The sun isn’t even beginning to peek over the horizon when he puts the Jeep in park on the station’s lot, weary and heavy-lidded.
Maybe baking through the night was not as good of an idea. He should’ve just had a mug of chamomile tea, listened to an audiobook or something, and tried to get a few hours of sleep.
No going back now, though. He is sleep-deprived and anxious, his stomach catching on fire when he catches Eddie helping Bobby to hang up a Christmas garland from the loft space railing.
“Morning,” he lets out in a croak, holding onto the cookie containers for dear life. The two turn their heads in his direction and smile.
“You brought cookies,” Bobby notices, nudging his chin toward the boxes. “That’s nice, Buck.”
“What kind of cookies?” Eddie asks, busily wrapping the garland around the newel post to finish the decorating job. Buck sighs and tightens the grip on the boxes, grateful that they’re not cardboard, so there is no way for him to squish his work.
“Sugar cookies,” he replies, and Eddie hums joyfully.
“My favorites,” he grins, and all Buck can think to reply is…
“I know.”
He knows all of Eddie’s favorite foods, the ones he admits to and the ones he doesn’t.
“Put them on the counter by the fridge, but put a Post-It on them to make sure no one gets to them before the party,” Bobby instructs, oblivious to the way Buck and Eddie’s gazes meet. They’re like magnets, always pulled toward each other, always feeling the pull of the other, no matter where they are.
Only this time, even though Eddie’s eyes are as soft as ever, Buck feels his anxiety rise back up again, a tidal wave returning.
The tide, he learned recently, is actually controlled by the moon and its magnetic field. And even though he isn’t sure how it works exactly, he still feels like that describes this current situation pretty well.
So, Eddie is the moon, even if his smile is more sunshine than anything else in the world, even more than sunlight itself, because the sun could never successfully light up a person’s soul along with the rest of the world.
Buck shakes his head to get out of his thoughts.
+++
The mistletoe is hung up on the ceiling of Bobby’s office, because the Captain had insisted on it not being out in the open—it’s a holiday party, not a making-out party (his words, not Buck’s).
Eddie walks in just as Buck stares up, inspecting the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.
“Do you think we should— What is this ?”
He motions up to the dangling piece of greenery, and Buck presses his lips into a tight line before giving in and letting his gaze meet Eddie’s.
“Right. I was going to talk to you about this,” he sighs, his stomach churning, his palms sweating. No going back now. “Hen wants us to kiss under the mistletoe.”
“What?” With his voice some octaves higher than usual, Eddie flinches, and yeah, maybe Buck shouldn’t have led with that. Given a bit more context, possibly.
He shoves his hands into his pockets and averts his gaze to the door. He can’t really make out if this feeling that’s currently consuming him is dread, anticipation, or something in between.
“It’s the only way she’ll agree to help me convince Bobby to put me down for the Christmas shift,” he sighs, chewing on the inside of his cheek. It feels ridiculous, now that he says it out loud, and judging by the way Eddie’s brow arches in pure confusion, he’s not alone with that.
“By having us kiss?”
“Yeah,” Buck nods, rubbing a hand over his face. There’s anxiety crawling all over his skin like little ants, because Eddie’s reaction can really make or break this plan.
“Why?” he ends up asking, still in disbelief over what he’s just heard.
“Because she’s feeling puckish,” Buck mumbles, shrugging.
“Puckish,” Eddie deadpans, his forehead in deep creases. Not good. “Seriously?”
“If you’re not comfortable with it, say it now, because she’s going to be here any minute,” Buck impatiently lets out, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His leg’s aching again, as it does from time to time.
With slightly trembling fingers, he fishes a silver pack from his pocket and squeezes a piece of gum from it, putting it into his mouth and chewing it eagerly.
“Want one?” he offers, holding out the half-empty pack, but Eddie shakes his head, his gaze unwavering on Buck’s definitely-blushed face.
“No, thanks, my breath’s fine,” he says slowly, as if he’s still processing, and Buck wishes he would do so just a little bit faster. “Why on earth do you need Hen’s help to ask Bobby for the Christmas shift—most importantly, why do you wanna work Christmas?”
“Hen can convince anyone to do anything, and Bobby’s too much about altruism and holiday spirit and all that to understand why having Christmas dinner with my parents would be catastrophic,” Buck quickly explains, stumbling over his own words. His eyes nervously dart to the door, and there are footsteps echoing from what hopefully is only the very far end of the hallway.
“Your parents are in town for the holidays?” Eddie asks, voice softening. “Holy shit.”
“The only valid response, actually,” Buck admits, nervously wringing his hands. “So, you’ll do it?”
Eddie leans in ever so slightly, and mutters lowly, “On the lips?” —and Buck’s entire body begins to scream. The footsteps are getting louder, and someone’s humming a carol. His heartbeat is off the charts by now, he suspects, and he feels like he’s about to faint.
“Yes, on the lips, Eddie,” he hisses, stepping forward without realizing he’s doing so until Eddie is suddenly so much closer. He gulps.
Eddie offers an awkward half-smile. “Hen really is feeling puckish, huh.”
Speak of the devil. Hen comes to a stop in the doorway, tilting her head in curiosity.
“Hey, you guys,” she smiles, and there is a mischievous look in her eyes when she looks at Buck. It makes him feel like melting on the spot, simmering into the floorboards, would be a great out right now. Alas, physically impossible.
Hen glances at Eddie, her expression shifting. “Good job earlier with the kid, Diaz.”
They’d rescued a kid from a burning building earlier, and Eddie had been the one to find him and carry him out.
“… Thanks,” he hesitantly replies, shooting Buck a questioning glance. Buck can only shrug and look away instantly. There are too many emotions whirling around inside of him right now, because what does the universe mean by making him kiss his best friend in front of one of their best friends? A means to an end? Is this truly what he’s willing to do to get out of family dinner?
… Yes, it is.
“Hen,” Buck eventually drags out, “Did you talk to Bobby today?”
“Not yet,” she quips, a smirk playing her lips, not fully taking over. “How about…” She glances at Eddie. “Your end.”
Buck points to the ceiling, earning an impressed nod from her.
“Nice work. I’m waiting.”
“Have I told you how evil you are, Hen?” Buck mumbles as he turns fully toward Eddie, who is awfully pale in the face, pupils blown.
“I’ll get over it,” Hen stage-whispers, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Now…”
Buck watches Eddie fidget, glance over at Hen in a silent scream for help, but hell, is there even a way to walk back from this anymore? Forget it ever happened? He feels like they all know there isn’t.
“I—” Eddie mutters, and his eyes drop to Buck’s lips now, a shaky breath escaping his nose.
They’re mere inches apart, breath mingling, and Buck feels so, so awkward. Because he doesn’t feel dread at all. His entire body is begging him to surge forward and close the distance between them, like a magnet being pulled to its counterpart.
His hands find the fabric of Eddie’s shirt, crumpling it as he grasps tight, pulling him closer. And then, for a fleeting millisecond, their gazes meet one last time, and all he can see in those soft brown eyes is Eddie silently telling him that it’s okay.
Buck leans forward, eyes closing, angling his head ever so slightly, and suddenly, his lips meet Eddie’s, a spark of something intense jolting through his veins at the contact.
They’re soft, softer than they look, and plush and firm against his own. Feeling Eddie kiss him back oh so tenderly, parting his lips over Buck’s, feels much better than he’d ever imagined.
But… he forgot to count, for God’s sake. He has no idea if this has been two seconds or ten, because this kiss makes time stand still, makes his veins rush in heat and leave his mind absolutely and blissfully blank.
So, just for good measure, Buck deepens the kiss once more, almost groaning in satisfaction when Eddie complies.
When they pull apart, winded and in shock over what the hell has just happened, Buck suddenly regains consciousness of his surroundings. Hen is standing there, eyes wide and jaw slack, blinking at them.
“That was about five seconds, right?” Buck pants under his breath, and Hen scoffs a laugh.
“That was twenty -five seconds, Buck.”
“Oh,” Eddie breathes, and Buck swallows the knot in his throat, lips in a tight line.
Hen shakes her head at them. “Oh,” she echoes dumbly, “Yeah, oh .”
“So, we’re good?” Buck asks meekly, scratching the back of his neck, the very spot where his skin has raised in goosebumps. “You’ll talk to Bobby?”
“I will,” Hen says, but she’s still shaking her head in disbelief. “Merry Christmas.”
And with that, she leaves, quick strides taking her back to the party, leaving Buck and Eddie standing alone.
Eddie sighs, but his spine is still rigid.
“I bet she didn’t think I’d actually do it. She must be feeling pretty damn foolish right now,” Buck attempts to jest, to lighten the tension between them, but it’s still a thick blanket weighing them down.
“ So foolish,” Eddie replies quietly. “I— I should get back to the others.”
“Yeah, me… too,” Buck nods, biting his lower lip. But neither of them makes a move.
He watches Eddie bring a small, blue blob to the front of his mouth and pick it off his lips with a shaky hand. His heart drops. He hadn’t even realized…
“Thanks for the… gum,” Eddie mumbles, holding it up like a trophy of some sort, but rather the kind you get for participating, not winning.
Their eyes meet, clashing with intensity. Blue and brown, like the sky above the mountaintops, like the sea washing up on a rocky shore, like fucking blue Curaçao mixing with coffee. If he tried, he could possibly come up with more comparisons, but his mind is as blank as his throat is dry. He somehow still can’t look away. Not that he really wants to.
So he follows every move of Eddie’s hand as he puts the gum back into his mouth.
His skin burns, his guts churn, and he has the urge to kiss him again. To steal his gum back, of course. Not because feeling Eddie’s lips on his made him feel like he’s finally complete, like he’s coming home, like— like this was exactly what he was meant to be doing all along.
“So—” he croaks, and Eddie arches a brow at him.
“Yeah,” he replies, quiet and soft, voice like honey in Buck’s ears. “So.”
“Chances are pretty good that I’ll get out of Christmas dinner with my parents now,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “So. Thanks for that.”
“You’re— welcome,” Eddie smiles, dimples and everything. It’s how Buck knows it’s genuine. Not that he’s studied Eddie’s smiles before or something, he’s just picked up on the way his eyes crinkle and his dimple pops whenever he talks about Chris, for example. And how there’d never been either of those things when Eddie had forced himself to feign joy to his parents once.
Moments pass, and Buck’s pulse is still terribly quick, and he feels like he’s about to faint with the way he has to slow his breaths. They’re still so close. Buck can smell the lingering scent of peppermint, hot chocolate, and Eddie’s aftershave in the air.
And neither of them moves. Not stepping out of each other’s personal space, not turning their heads away, nothing. Just two guys staring into each other’s eyes, finding unsaid words, undone things.
“Eddie—” Buck tries, but he can’t finish his sentence.
Because his best friend has his huge, warm hands on his face and pulls him down, their lips crashing with such force that there is a small moan escaping Buck’s throat.
Immediately, his hands are on Eddie’s waist, and they’re making out, all alone, with no one to witness, no one to tell them to stop.
Eddie’s fingers are in his curls, their chests are flush, and he makes a whimpering sound when Buck walks him backward against the nearest wall. It’s a newfound drug, something that gets Buck high and giddy, makes his heart skip a beat.
He kisses Eddie’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone peeking out from underneath his shirt, and gets rewarded with breathy sighs, and he feels like he never, ever, wants to stop.
Eddie pulls him up by his hair, an awfully sweet ache, then proceeds to kiss his birthmark, his nose, his lips again.
“Holy fuck,” Buck pants into his mouth, feeling the gum on his tongue again, the faint taste of mint almost gone. “Eddie—”
“Shut up,” he gets interrupted, hands roaming his shoulders before Eddie twists them around, and it’s Buck to huff when his back hits the wall instead.
“Eddie—” he moans when soft lips travel along his jawline, peppering hot kisses. It pains him to shove Eddie away, hold him at arm’s length. He is more than grateful for the wall stabilizing him.
“What?” Eddie asks, out of breath, pupils impossibly large, lips swollen. He asks it like he’s just been ripped away from the first meal after a week of starving.
“What are we doing?” Buck asks dumbly, because words are really hard to find when your best friend is looking up at you like that.
“What do you mean, Buckley? Seems to me like you know exactly what we’re doing,” Eddie whispers, stealing a kiss. Buck melts into the touch.
“We have to talk about this,” he tries, but it’s a weak plea. Eddie chuckles.
“Later,” he offers, soft eyes all over Buck’s tingling face, like he’s taking it all in, savoring the image, the feeling, the wonderfulness of it all.
And even though Buck really wants to say so many things, like Eddie Diaz, are you gay and haven’t told me? and I think I might have fallen for you without knowing it , he just shrugs and pulls Eddie toward him, eager to kiss him again, and again, and again.
The holidays are all about giving, right? Apparently, that includes giving in.
And every moan, every sigh, every small praise escaping Eddie’s mouth is the reward for it, a prize Buck never thought he’d wanted to win.
But God, does all of this feel like winning to him.