Evan x Eddie

The firehouse was unusually quiet that evening. After a long shift, most of the team had already gone home, leaving only the soft hum of the lights and the occasional sound of footsteps echoing through the halls. Buck sat alone on the couch, exhausted, his uniform still slightly stained from the day's call. Across the room, Eddie was quietly putting away his things, moving slower than usual. Neither of them said anything. They didn't need to. Somewhere along the way, their friendship had become something neither of them knew how to name. Every lingering glance, every accidental touch, every moment spent sitting beside each other had started to feel different. Buck watched Eddie when he thought Eddie wasn't looking. Eddie did the same. Their lives had always been tangled together—through emergencies, bad days, late nights, and moments when one of them needed the other without having to ask. But lately, there was something else. Something neither of them was ready to acknowledge. When Eddie finally walked toward the exit, Buck's eyes followed him until he disappeared around the corner. And for the first time, Eddie stopped just outside the room. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and took a slow breath. Because leaving Buck behind had somehow become the hardest part of every day. Neither of them knew it yet, but the distance between them was about to disappear.