part 2! this is probably all for today but i will have more soon :)

Chris comes to Los Angeles before Eddie goes to Texas, in the end. Helena says it’s a visit, Eddie is hoping it’s more than that, but he’s afraid it isn’t. Ramon made a cryptic comment – or was it cryptic, maybe Eddie is just reading too much into it! But anyway, maybe there’s more at stake with this dinner than Eddie thought, and at least they’re going out to eat so Eddie doesn’t have to make food, what a nightmare that would be, but it has to be perfect, he has to be perfect, and can Buck stop staring at him like that and answer the goddamn question?

“I’m sorry,” Buck says. “Was there a question in that rant?”

“How can I make this go well – fuck, I can’t even figure out which shirt to wear.” Eddie sits on the bed. He's all despair, his raked-through hair and the defeated curve of his bare back.

“What, uh, what shirt are you thinking of?” Buck says.

Eddie looks at his dresser like he’s just been told it’s filled with something he hates, like snakes or rice pudding. “I can’t cancel.” He looks at Buck hopefully. “Right?”

“You’re not gonna cancel,” Buck says.

“I can’t even pick out a fucking shirt. This is going to be horrible.” Eddie plunges his face into his hands and groans despondently for a very long time.

“Eddie.” Buck approaches, tugging at an arm until Eddie reluctantly lets it drop. His eyes are so wide Buck can see the whites all the way around, his breath coming in shallow puffs. He's on the verge of a panic attack, Buck realizes.

“I can’t do this,” Eddie whispers.

“Eddie…” Buck presses a knuckle between his brows.

“I can’t. I was a fucking idiot to think…” Eddie shakes his head, and Buck can see the next words clear as newsprint in front of him. He’ll say his parents were right. He’ll say he’s not fit to be a father, that he’s a piece of shit. It’s the kind of thing Eddie has always believed about himself, unfortunately. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Eddie hates himself.

But it’s one thing to think it, and another to say it. Saying it will do something to Eddie, and Buck doesn’t know how reversible it’ll be. It will certainly fuck this dinner up catastrophically.

Eddie’s opening his mouth to say it, but Buck gets there first. “You have clean laundry, right? In the dryer?”

“Yeah?” Eddie says.

“Go get that, okay, bud?”

“...why?” Eddie says, and the train of thought that was building in every tiny expression on his face, in his dark eyes, derails.

“Because I asked you to,” Buck says.

Eddie gets up. He pauses for an almost-glance at Buck, and then finally takes a breath and goes.

Once he’s out of the bedroom, Buck starts rummaging in his dresser. He finds:

- Eddie’s favorite socks; the last survivors from the latest pack of them. For some reason, Eddie waits until they’ve all worn completely out instead of buying a new pack while he still has a pair left. Whatever.

- A pair of pants nice enough for the restaurant, but not specially bought for the occasion like the pair Eddie is currently wearing. Eddie should look like this is something he cares about, but also like it’s normal. Like he’s on his own turf. Not like he’s at a job interview, for fuck’s sake.

- The watch Christopher bought Eddie a few years ago. Not for Chris to see, though that’s a bonus, but for Eddie. To remind himself what he’s fighting for.

Buck hesitates for a moment, but then hears Eddie coming back. He takes the leap.

- Boxer briefs, one of the nice pairs that Eddie barely ever wears even though Buck absolutely knows that he really likes them. They’re soft but supportive and are all gorgeous, deep colors (Buck chooses a pair in a deep red). Eddie almost seems embarrassed by how much he likes them.

“Got it,” Eddie says. He puts the basket on the bed, but his eyes are fixed on the boxer briefs in Buck’s hands.

Buck adds them to the pile of things on the bed. “Put these on.”

Eddie looks at the clothes on the bed. He says, “’Kay.”

He strips right there with Buck in the room, down to nothing. Buck doesn’t look right at him until he has the boxer briefs on.

“I always forget how comfortable these are,” Eddie says with an awkward chuckle.

“No, you don’t,” Buck says. Eddie puts on the socks and then his pants (insane).

He says, “Still didn’t solve the shirt thing.”

“Right,” Buck says, and stops staring to dig through the basket. He finds a button-down, another dark red; sue him, it's Eddie's color. “This is the one.”

Eddie makes a face. “I can’t, it’s all wrinkled.”

So Buck finds Eddie’s iron and ironing board and sets it up. Eddie watches for a few seconds before Buck says, “Why don’t you fold that, huh, princess?” pointing his chin at the basket of laundry.

It comes out a bit weird, and Buck kind of wants to explain that he was making a joke about how he’s having his clothes picked out for him. Like a princess. But also, that doesn’t really account for everything about how he said it, and Eddie’s blinking at him, color rising in his cheeks, and Buck – well, Buck’s not gonna do anything to stymie that reaction, he’s not a monster. So he doesn’t explain. After a minute, he raises his eyebrows at Eddie, and Eddie jolts into motion, dumps out the basket of laundry and starts folding.

And he’s still shirtless, so Buck can see that his nipples have gone tight and peaked. Swallowing hard, Buck gets to work ironing the shirt smooth.

Eddie’s still folding when he finishes, but he doesn’t stop. He does the rest and then says, “Is that – like that?”

Not like there’s that many ways to fold laundry, and Eddie’s avoidant eyes are telling. He wants to hear –

“Yeah. That’s good,” Buck says, and Eddie breathes out slowly, nodding.

He takes the shirt Buck gives him and puts it on, and as he buttons it up a strange hush falls over the room. Eddie’s dressed, head to toe, in clothes Buck chose for him, and Buck’s blood thrums dangerously.

“Good,” Buck says again. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says. Buck can see his nipples through his shirt.