Whumptober No. 11
adrift / drowning / dehydration
Openly watching Eddie as he leans over the pool table is so much better than surreptitiously watching him and hoping he doesn’t get caught. Buck loves the rosy flush that blooms high on Eddie’s cheeks when he notices Buck’s gaze and he loves the way that Eddie fights back, putting his hands on Buck’s shoulders as he passes needlessly close behind him, brushing his ass with the ghost of a touch that makes Buck instinctively jerk back for more. They’re each a few drinks in tonight, warm and floaty, circling each other in a way that makes their friends mime gagging and eye-rolling when they’re sure Buck and Eddie are looking. It’s perfect.
“One more?” Buck asks, chalking up his cue.
“Stakes?” Eddie answers.
Setting down the chalk, Buck saunters around the table. His turn to break. He pokes his tongue out over his top lip and pretends to be thinking just to watch Eddie watch him for a minute before answering, “If I win… you have to kiss me.”
“And if you win?”
“When I win,” Eddie answers, coming closer, coming very close to tuck his chin onto Buck’s shoulder and whisper in his ear. “You’ll make eggs benedict in the morning.”
Pouting, Buck says, “You don’t want to kiss me if you win?”
“You’re going to kiss me anyway,” Eddie replies. “And I can’t poach eggs.”
“You can’t boil eggs either. Or make toast. Or use a whisk. Or- Buh-buh-buh,” Buck ducks his head and swerves away from Eddie’s mouth, starting to search along his jaw. “Not until you win.”
Eddie’s low voice sends a shiver straight down his spine, “So hurry up and break.”
Buck is drifting, floating, flying through the evening. He likes drinking like this, leaning into the happy tipsy feeling because he can. Because he’s going home with Eddie. Because Eddie won the last round of pool and then he kissed Buck so soundly that Buck forgot he lost. He’s so dreamily happy that it takes him a few minutes to notice when the feeling changes.
He starts floating too high, a balloon with no one holding the string. Buck single-handedly blows the dart game that he and Eddie try to play with Albert and Chimney. Darts fall to the floor over and over and stick into the wall when he does manage to throw them, though Buck was sure he was aiming directly at the board every time.
“Have one too many there, Buck?” Chim asks and Buck thought the bartender was pouring a little heavy but not like this. He feels like he’s sweating through his shirt and it’s enough that Eddie notices and puts a hand to his head.
Eddie’s hand is the only thing keeping Buck in his body. He leans into the touch and it’s like he’s staring at Eddie from far away. Hearing him from far away. Eddie lets go and Buck wobbles.
“Let’s get you home,” Eddie says. “Gimme your keys.”
His last drink is roiling in his stomach and it takes Buck a second to find his keys and pass them to Eddie. Too many pockets. “Bathroom,” he says. “I’m going to puke.”’
“Want me to go with you?”
“No,” Buck answers, pulling away from Eddie’s concerned look. Bad enough he’s stumbling like a drunk high-schooler. He’s certainly not going to let Eddie hold his hair back while he upchucks. “‘M good.”
It’s a long walk to the bathrooms. Buck almost ends up in the kitchens before a helpful waitress redirects him down a dim and narrow hallway at the very back of the bar. The distant, disconnected feeling is stronger here where the music and voices are muffled and Buck puts a hand on the wall to steady himself and to try and hold his grip on the skin of the world. His head follows, pressing against the cool cement and he lingers long enough that Buck forgets what he was supposed to be doing. Forgets how to move.
A strong grip on his arm plucks him away from the wall and Buck teeters helplessly against the pull. “You look like you could use some fresh air,” a stranger says. And he does. Buck needs to feel a cool breeze on his face; he misses the wall already. This hand is tight and unfamiliar and as he tries to squirm away from it, it grips tighter.
“No, no, no,” the stranger’s voice chuckles. “The door is this way, come on.”
Buck lurches. He can’t feel the floor under his feet. He can’t really feel his legs either, but they must be moving because there’s a door at the end of the hallway and it’s getting closer. Someone’s seized the string of his balloon and Buck bobs along powerlessly after it.
When the cold air hits his face, it wakes him just a little. Just enough for wrong to scream through his limbs and Buck digs his heels into the ground. He falls forward, knees cracking the cement but he’s yanked back up again before he can process the pain. Yanked up and shoved against the side of an SUV that’s waiting, perfectly placed, at a meter on the street.
“No,” Buck says, struggling, trying to push himself away, but there’s no power in his arms. The hand seizes the back of his neck, bouncing his head off the window hard enough to make his ears ring and black spots dance in his periphery.
“Take it easy, baby. I don’t want you to get hurt.” There’s a chirp and the back door opens. Buck spills onto the floor and he can’t even seem to get his hands up to prevent the fall. His brain tries to get his legs to kick, but they barely twitch as they’re lifted up and folded in with him. The world seems farther away than ever, black and grey and fuzzy, and Buck’s not tied up but he may as well be. He’s immobile. Flickering and fading.
“There you go. Just a short ride now, okay? We’ll go home and get more comfortable.”
As the car door slams, Buck thinks he hears a shout from the other side. His name? But it’s faint and Buck’s already drifting away.
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It’s October 19th, which is Dan and Phil day. And yeah, I know we’re all older now, and no one religiously ships them anymore (thank fucking god for that), but every year on this day I still think about how insane it is that people are capable of loving each other as much as they do. And I don’t mean that in a creepy phannie way, it’s not 2015. I just mean that when I think of love, like genuine, ultimate love, I think of them. Every kind of love imaginable, it’s them. I remember being 12 and deciding I had to believe in love, and soulmates, because it would be stupid of me not to when they were right there. I still believe in soulmates because of them. I think that was one of the reasons they meant so much to us as sad little tweens, so many of us were so alone, and they made us realize that maybe we wouldn’t always be. A lot of us DID find love like that because of them. It’s Insane, I’ll never stop being grateful for it.
This is a bit of a ramble, and it doesn’t really make sense, so I’ll end it here. I just think it’s crazy how many things two boys meeting 12 years ago created. Regardless of how much I grow and change, Dan and Phil will always play a part in the way I love.
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Okay so this the second part of my over-analyzing 2x01.
Big disclaimer: This is not a buddie scene, these gifs are from an amazing Hen & Chim scene about the importance of representation for Asian-Americans. This is actually the scene that made me go “oh wow, they’ve levelled up the writing in season 2″ because not only does Chim get to be the face of the 118 and be the role model for generations of Asian-Americans like he never had growing up, but Hen reinforces the fact that he IS that role model he wants to be, not because he’s showing pecs and holding a kitty but because he legitimately is a hero who saves lives, who gets little girls back to their families on the worst of days of their lives, and I fucking had tears y’all. It was extremely important and I’m really grateful they did such a good job portraying that narrative beat.
That all said, I was in clown makeup at the time of watching and could not help but notice the absolute bullshit happening in the background and so I’ve giffed it to share my misery. Because for some reason, I had this impression the Evan “Love Me Anyway” Buckley was the one who couldn’t keep from touching Eddie and being in his space and Eddie just got roped into it and I’ll say again, I was bamboozled!
Look at this shit
1. First of all, Eddie why the fuck are you dancing, you absolute dork?
2. Then the camera turns around again to show us Eddie head-to-head leaning into Buck’s airspace. Literally his shirt logo disappears is how leaned in he is. Then he leans away, only to scooch his ass closer to him. Big smiles all around. So that’s all just fine.
3. And only then does Buck lean in, prompting Eddie to lean back in himself.
In conclusion, I submit that Evan “Intimacy-Starved” Buckley did indeed try to respect normal boundaries for 5 minutes and one Eddie Diaz went “nope, you smiled at me, no take-backs, all bets are off” and set the precedent to there being absolutely no standing room space between them every again.
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