Chapter Text

The backstage was alive with chaos, the kind that only came in the final countdown before a major tour. Lightning techs shouted over one another, crew members rolled racks of glittering costumes down narrow hallways, and somewhere in the distance, Hen’s voice carried as she filmed content for Buck’s socials. The thump of bass from the rehearsal stage echoed through the walls like a pulse.

Evan Buckley, known to the world simply as Buck , sat slumped in a folding chair as the storm unfolded around him. His rhinestoned leather jacket hung half off his shoulders. Sweat clung to his hairline, the hum of adrenaline still beneath his skin from rehearsal. He didn’t care about the mess around him. He cared about the ache still in his legs from a grueling run-through, and the sharp tug in his gut that came with the knowledge: opening night was less than twenty-four hours away.

Maddie appeared beside him, a towel in one hand and a compact mirror in the other. Her gaze was practiced and calm, his sister and the closest thing to a lifeline he had in this madness.

“Last run-through before opening night,” she said lightly, dabbing the sweat from his face. “You holding it together?”

Buck let out a shaky breath. Straightening his shoulders. “Yeah. Just the biggest, career-defining tour of my life, sold-out stadiums… No big deal at all.”

The air shifted before Maddie had a chance to answer, the temperature in the room lowering.

Ana Flores glided through the crowd, tablet in hand, sleek designer heels clicking against the floor like warning shots. Her dark eyes swept the chaos like a general surveying the battlefield. The second she spotted Buck, her expression settled into that perfect, polished smile. The kind that never reached her eyes.

“Costume changes need to be faster,” she announced, barely glancing at Maddie. “Lightning cues in the third set are still off. And your vocals during the acoustic breakdown?” Her eyes locked onto Buck’s, cool and expectant. “Tighten it up. No cracks. We can’t afford them.”

Buck straightened, barely keeping the frustration out of his voice. “Ana, maybe we should ease back on some of the-” 

She cut him off with a single manicured finger against his cheek in a faux-affectionate gesture that sent ice down his spine. “Authenticity is whatever sells, Evan,” Ana said, voice smooth as silk, smile colder than ice. “Stay in line, no surprises this tour. Okay?” She gave his cheek a patronizing pat before turning on her heels and disappearing into the crowd.

Buck exhaled, rolling his eyes as the tension drained from his shoulders. From behind the camera rig, Hen’s voice cut through with a smirk. “Still got a thing for ice queens, huh? Should I be worried about your emotional stability?” she teased, phone raised, filming. “You also really gotta stop crushing on the crew by the way.” 

Buck barked out a humorless laugh, tugging his jacket back into place. “Let’s be honest, Hen, I just need a distraction from all this . Maybe one of them will finally distract me from this nightmare.” 

“Those are some famous last words.” Hen laughed.

Buck offered the camera his best popstar smirk, masking the tight coil of nerves winding in his chest. 

The biggest tour of his life was about to start, and somehow, he already felt like he wasn’t in control of his own story. 

The music restarted on cue. Buck stood to join the formation again, only for Ravi to rush over, whispering, “Tommy’s out. Ankle. Total freak accident.” 

Tommy Kinard, one of the main dancers, had come down hard during a complicated lift earlier. His ankle started swelling immediately, and Chimney’s verdict was clear. He would be out for weeks . 

“We’re screwed,” Ravi muttered, stretching out a tight hamstring beside Buck. “Nobody replaces Tommy this late and actually keeps up.” 

Buck snorted, tugging at the hem of his rehearsal shirt. “Great pep talk there, Ravi.”

“Relax,” May chimed in, sliding in between them with her water bottle and eyes sparkling with curiosity. “They found someone already.”

“Replacement’s here,” Maddie confirmed, her arms crossed and her face unreadable as she nodded toward the far end of the room. 

Buck ran a hand through his sweat-damp curls, following her gaze towards the door. The new guy stepped into view, tall, solid, with a quiet presence that cut through the noise. He shrugged off a hoodie, revealing toned arms, clean lines of tattoos disappearing under sleeves. His movements were fluid, controlled. His expression was unreadable, quietly confident in a way that only seasoned performers carried. 

Buck’s breath caught, uninvited. “Who is that ?” 

“Eddie Diaz,” Hen answered, practically vibrating. “Used to do Latin world tours for big names a few years back. Went quiet a couple years ago, family stuff I think? But yeah… The man’s legit.” 

Ravi whistles low, visibly impressed. “Damn… Okay, they’re serious.” 

May leaned in with a smirk. “Also, he’s totally your type.” 

Buck shoved her playfully, but his grin was distracted, eyes already locked on Eddie as he crossed the floor towards them. Eddie’s gaze swept over Buck, sharp but not unkind, like he was cataloging him. Not impressed by the glitter or fame. Buck stepped forward instinctively. “Hey,” he offered, hand out. “Welcome to the circus.”

Eddie’s grip was firm, no-nonsense. His expression unreadable, save from the hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t expect the popstar to be sweating like the rest of us.” 

Buck’s grin faltered for a split second as he blinked. No flattery, no false charm, just a simple truth. The words hit deeper than they should’ve, stripped of all industry bullshit. He covered quickly, managing a laugh, “Yeah, well. Glitter’s heavier than it looks.” 

Eddie’s gaze lingered just a moment too long, like he was already figuring Buck out.

Ana’s voice sliced through the moment, sharp as ever. “Positions! Let’s go, people! We’ve got twenty-four hours left, let’s make them count!”

Eddie fell into line with Ravi and May, already blending into formation like he’d been there all along. Buck turned, trying to refocus, but Eddie’s calm presence stuck with him like a drumbeat just off tempo. His honest eyes lingering longer than they should’ve. 

Maybe Hen was right. This ‘crew crush’ could become a problem.

The studio lights dimmed as rehearsal ended, the room finally breathing after hours of sharp edges and near-breakdowns. Buck grabbed his water bottle, ready to disappear into his dressing room, when Ana cornered him. Too close. Too calculated, sharp-edged smile already in place. 

“Evan,” she begins, tone smooth but dangerous. “One quick note before tomorrow.” 

Buck’s jaw tensed. “Pretty sure we’ve had this conversation already, stay on script, smile pretty, and don’t fall apart.” 

Ana’s grin didn’t budge as she stepped closer, her heels clicking against the concrete floor, her voice dropping so only he could hear. “No scandals. No coming out. No dating crew. And definitely no hooking up with the new guy,” she listed, ticking off her perfectly manicured fingers. 

Buck exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling under his skin. “Seriously? I’m here to work, Ana.” 

“I’m always serious,” she replied. “You’re a brand. An image. You know how this works. Tragic, mysterious, desirable, unavailable. ‘Authenticity’ only works if it sells.” She touched his cheek again, that same cold, practiced move. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, understood?” she asked, voice all business, her gaze already sliding away like she had better things to do. 

Buck’s shoulders stiffened, the familiar script wrapping around him like chains. He was used to this dance, the leash disguised as strategy, the rules wrapped in corporate polish. But that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. 

“Crystal clear,” he muttered, forcing the practiced popstar smile back onto his face.

Ana left, already onto her next crisis. Behind her, Athena stood near the monitors, arms folded, expression unreadable. But her eyes were locked on Buck, protective and sharp.  She didn’t say a word; she didn’t have to. Because Buck felt the warning in her silence. And the flickering of something dangerous sparking just beneath the surface. 

Attraction wasn’t part of the plan. But the moment Eddie Diaz walked into that room, something changed. 

And let’s be honest, Buck had never been good at sticking to the script.

Chapter Text

The roar of the sold-out Staples Center thundered through the backstage halls, rattling light fixtures and vibrating under Buck’s skin like an earthquake of sound and adrenaline. He sat at the edge of a vanity chair in his dressing room, leg bouncing, hands slightly clammy. Maddie fussed with his jacket, a sleek, black, custom number with just enough shimmer to catch the light without screaming for attention. 

“You breathing?”  she asked softly, smoothing his collar with the practiced touch of someone who knew how to keep him grounded. “

“Trying,” Buck muttered, tugging nervously at a stray curl on his forehead. “You know, just casually performing for twenty thousand people. No pressure.” 

Maddie smiled, firm but reassuring. “It’s your first arena tour… nerves are normal. But those people are not here by accident, Buck. They bought those tickets for you . Let that sink in.” 

Before Buck could respond, Hen’s loud, cheerful voice cut through the air. “We’re live in three, two-” she appeared in the doorway, grinning at her phone screen. “Backstage exclusive, baby! The one and only Evan Buckley, our glam king trying not to pass out before opening night!”

Buck laughed, flipping her off with a playful grin. “Rude.” 

“Accurate, you mean.” Hen teased, panning the camera around. “We’ve got May doing pre-show counts, Ravi looking like he’s about to ascend to a higher plane-” 

The dancers milled behind her, focused and hyped, stretching, adjusting gear, exchanging quiet encouragement. The air buzzed like a live wire. 

And then, Buck saw him .

Eddie. 

Off to the side by the stretching mats, looping an arm behind his head, body taut in a plain black tank, muscles flexing without trying. His movements were fluid, purposeful, someone used to the rhythm of stage life but untouched by its ego. 

Buck’s gaze lingered longer than he meant too, tracing clean lines of Eddie’s jaw, the faint tattoos curling under his sleeves, the quiet confidence radiating from him. Eddie looked like someone who had been in this madness a thousand times before and was unshaken by it.

As if on cue, Eddie’s eyes flicked to him. Their eyes locked, just for a beat. A flicker of recognition. Not in a hey, you’re famous way. Something quieter. Realer. Eddie offered a barely-there smile. Not mockery. Not awe. Just… Presence. 

Buck’s pulse quickened. He forced himself to look away, but the weight of that gaze lingered, sinking into him. 

Maddie’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, snapping him back to the moment. “Focus, superstar.” she whispered with a teasing grin. “It’s showtime.”

Buck sucked in a breath and slipped into the polished, practiced version of himself. The version that had been rehearsed for months. The honest look Eddie had given him stuck with him, a quiet undercurrent in the sea of noise. 

He exhaled slowly. Showtime. 

The lights dropped. The roar of the crowd surged, drowning the Staples Center in sound.

The bass thrummed through Buck’s chest like a second heartbeat, lights blinding. The sold-out arena pulsing with twenty thousand screaming voices. 

This was it. Buck’s first show of the tour. His first arena stage.

The music hit, and his body moved instinctively. The choreography, the lyrics, everything clicked in place with a practiced fluidity. The stage felt alive beneath his feet, the adrenaline coursing with every note. 

The dancers moved in perfect synchronization around him, bodies pulsing with energy. But amidst them, Buck couldn’t help but notice Eddie. 

He found him in the blur. Moving sharp and clean, grounded even as the lights strobed and bodies spun around them. They collided during the chorus, choreography snapping them into alignment, shoulder to shoulder, rhythm synced. 

Eddie’s hand brushed Buck’s arm, guiding the transition without hesitation. Confident. Casual. The contact was barely more than a whisper, but it sparked something electric down Buck’s spine. 

Eddie’s eyes met his for a fraction of a second, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t flirtation. It was something more subtle. Something quieter. 

I see you

Buck’s grin broke through his usual popstar polish, unfiltered and real.

They broke apart on their next turn, but that flicker lingered. 

Behind the scenes, Hen captured the entire exchange on her phone, her grin widening as she watched it unfold. Buck and Eddie. Side by side. Eyes locked mid-routine. Chemistry unmistakable.

The internet exploded. The #Buddie was trending within the hour. 

@EvanBuckleyFanlog: Okay but WHO is the hot new dancer??

@GoldenRetrieverBuck: They have so much tension omg.

@BuckVsTheWorld: Okay but… #Buddie?

@EddieDiazDefenseSquad: Manifesting popstar x mystery dancer romance.

@DiazDisaster: The tension?? It’s insane???

By the time Buck peeled off his mic pack and reached the green room, Hen shoved her phone in his face, smirking. “Congrats, Buckley. The internet’s already rooting for your love life.” 

Buck’s face burned, heart still hammering from the performance, across the room, Eddie looked up. It was just a glance, but the quiet smile said everything. 

This was just the beginning. 

The rooftop of the crew’s hotel glowed in soft lights, the LA skyline sprawling in the background like a movie set. The after-party pulsed with post-show buzz. Laughs, drinks clinking, music low but steady.

Hen streamed sparingly this time, letting people unwind without the constant pressure of cameras. Ana wasn’t breathing down anyone’s neck, which was a rare, but welcome relief. Athena hovered near the elevators, keeping a sharp eye on things but letting everyone relax for a bit. 

Buck nursed a drink by the railing, still buzzing from adrenaline and the night’s high. 

“You’re brooding,” May said, sliding up beside him with a smirk, acting like she could see right through him, and knew exactly what he was thinking. “Since when do you brood?” 

“I’m not brooding,” Buck muttered, though the warmth creeping up his neck gave him away. 

“You so are!” Ravi chimed in, appearing on Buck’s other side. “Let me guess. Tall, dark, and unreadable got under your skin?” 

Buck groaned, rolling his eyes. “Hen needs to stop sharing my business.” 

“She didn’t have to,” May grinned. “Your face in that dance clip? Screamed ‘I caught feelings mid-choreo’. ”

Before Buck could protest, his eyes caught movement across the rooftop. Eddie casually leaning against the glass, beer in hand, calm and detached from the chaos. A quiet island in the storm. 

Without thinking Buck found himself walking over, leaving May and Ravi behind, exchanging amused glances. 

Eddie glanced up as Buck approached, an eyebrow raised. “Popstar on the run?” 

Buck huffed a laugh. “More like escaping the teasing,” he paused, half-smiling. His eyes flickering to Eddie’s hand, the rings, the faint tattoos creeping along his forearm. “You good? Hell of a first night.” 

Eddie nodded. “Crowd’s wild. Haven’t had that kind of rush in a while.” he paused. “Didn’t think I’d miss it, but… tonight was good.” he paused again, then softer, more honest, like earlier, “I didn’t expect to enjoy it.” 

“You didn’t plan to tour?”

“Not really,” Eddie said, gaze flickering over the skyline. “Been off the grid. My kid needed me. Still does to be honest.” 

Buck blinked. “You’ve got a kid?” 

“Yeah, Christopher. He’s got cerebral palsy, but he’s a total badass.” Eddie smiled faintly, pride softening his expression. 

There was a warmth twisting in Buck’s  chest. Admiration. Curiosity. Something else. 

“Hen called you a ‘mystery dancer,’” Buck said, smiling around his drink. “I see it now.”

Eddie chuckled, “Yeah, well. I did have other jobs before this, touring seemed like a quieter gig though.” 

Buck raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You’ve lived like five lives already.” 

“Comes with the territory,” Eddie said, smile flickering lightly. “Priorities shift,” he continued. “Not much room for noise when you’ve got a kid.” The moment settled, quiet stretching between them, comfortable. 

Buck shifted, voice dropping, more vulnerable than he intended. “They… kinda don’t let me have priorities. Not real ones at least.” His eyes drifted down, swirling his drink. “Image. Expectations. Fans. All of that.” 

Eddie nodded, the understanding between them palpable. “I get it.”

There was a beat of silence, before Eddie dropped a quiet bomb. “I’m pansexual, by the way.” 

Buck’s brows lifted, surprised at the directness. “I don’t hide it,” Eddie added, reading the reaction. “But I don’t wave flags unless someone asks. Never saw the point in broadcasting it for strangers to pick apart.”

Buck stared into his glass. “That must be… freeing.” 

Eddie’s eyes softened, the tension crackling between them in the space of a heartbeat. “You hiding?” he asked gently. 

Buck hesitated, the weight of Ana’s rules, the pressures of his career hanging like chains around him. The words got stuck. Instead, he smiled, crooked and self-aware. “Maybe just… waiting. For it to matter to the right person.” 

Their eyes met. Something unspoken passed between them again. 

The tension settled between them like static. Warm, heavy, and undeniable. 

Not rushed. Not forced. But very, very real.

Chapter Text

The tour bus rumbled down the highway, neon city lights bleeding into the windows as they approached New Orleans, the next stop, the next sold-out show. 

Buck lounged in his seat near the back, scrolling aimlessly through his phone, trying to ignore the wildfire Hen had started. 

@EvanBuckleyIsBae:   Who IS the dancer? He’s HOT!

@BuddieNation99: The chemistry is insane, I’m feral!

@BuddieIsRealAF:   Plot twist: Eddie’s the one who breaks Buck’s tragic popstar persona.

@BuckFanForever:   Imagine being that close to Buck every night…

Buck scrolled faster, jaw tight, trying to ignore the sour twinge curling in his stomach. He’d wanted the fans invested, just maybe not like this. 

“You okay over there?” May’s voice cut through his sulking, arched brow over her phone screen. 

“I’m fine,” Buck muttered, locking his phone. 

“You’re brooding again.” Rav chimed in, grinning from his seat. “We’re officially calling it a pattern.”

Before Buck could retaliate, the bus hissed to a stop outside the hotel. Crew members shuffled for bags and room keys, already halfway into off-hours mode. 

Eddie fell into step beside him, backpack slung over one shoulder, his expression calm despite the crowd outside the hotel gates screaming both their names. 

“Didn’t expect this much… hype?” Eddie said, nodding toward the fans hovering by the barricades, posters waving and cameras flashing. Buck’s lips quirked, trying to tamp down the stupid jealousy. “Yeah, well… they have a thing for mystery dancers, apparently.” 

Eddie’s brow lifted, amused. “Jealous, Buckley?” 

Buck huffed a laugh, nudging him playfully as they made their way toward the lobby. “Just… didn’t plan on sharing my spotlight with some ‘hot new dancer,’ that’s all.” 

“Relax, popstar,” Eddie teased. “I’m not here to steal your thunder.”

Their eyes met, brief but steady, charged with unsaid words shimmering beneath the playful teasing. 

Later on the short transport to the venue for soundcheck, they ended up side by side again, shoulders brushing as the bus rumbled through the French Quarter. Outside, the city was alive, music drifting from balconies, crowds buzzing along Bourbon Street.

The Caesars Superdome had emptied hours ago, the roar of the crowd long faded into memory. The stage was quiet now, only a soft, echoing hum from the overhead lights and the low creak of worn dance tap under practiced feet. 

Eddie had stayed behind, long after rehearsal ended. Alone on stage, he repeated a new routine. Focus etched into every line of his body as he repeated the complicated footwork under dimmed lights. His movements sharp, deliberate, grace varved from discipline, exhaustion barely showing. 

Buck wandered back in, hoodie thrown over his stage clothes, searching for the phone charger he’d left by the soundboard, but paused mid-step when he spotted him. 

Eddie moved like the music was part of him, no audience, no cameras, just rhythm and muscle memory. The stage felt smaller with only one of them on it, more intimate. Real. 

Buck lingered in the wings, watching. For once, not as a popstar. Just a guy. Curious. Captivated. 

Then Eddie’s phone buzzed on a nearby chair, the screen lighting up with Chris. Without missing a beat, he snagged the phone mid-step and answered, a rare softness washing over him as his son’s face filled the screen. 

“Hi, mijo!” Eddie greeted, breath still a little winded, but his voice warm. 

“Dad! You looked so cool in that clip on Buck’s socials!” Chris beamed. “Everyone says you’re famous now!”

Eddie laughed, and it was a sound Buck hadn’t heard yet. Loose, unguarded. “Hardly. But I’ll take the compliment.” 

Buck’s heart twisted unexpectedly, watching Eddie’s walls drop, the affection raw and real, so different from the polished, tightly controlled world Buck lived in. Chris noticed Buck first, grinning widely. “Is that the singer guy?!” 

Eddie turned, not startled, maybe just a little surprised. Or was it more amused? “Yeah,” he said with a glance back. “That’s Buck.” 

“Hi!” Chris called enthusiastically through the screen. Buck stepped closer, a bit sheepish. “Hey, Chris. Your dad’s kinda showing the rest of us up.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes fondly as Chris giggled. “Go finish your homework, mijo. I’ll call again after.” 

“Okay… bye, Buck!” Chris waved energetically before the screen went dark. 

Silence settled again, heavier now. More honest. 

Buck shifted, stuffing his hands into his pockets, gaze lingering on Eddie. “You’re good with him.” 

Eddie smiled faintly. “I try,” he said while putting his phone away. 

Another beat. Charged. Waiting. 

Eddie turned, leaning casually against the stage prop crate, arms folded. “Do you ever get to be just… yourself?” he asked, voice quiet, a breath more than a whisper. 

The question hit Buck like a blow he didn’t see coming. He blinked, heart tripping over itself. “The stage version of me?” he murmured. “That’s what sells. Management’s dream. Perfect smile, perfect answers, perfect walls.” his shoulders sagged as he laughed under his breath, but it was bitter around the edges. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone even wants the real version. 

Eddie didn’t respond right away. He just looked at him, really looked, and in that moment, Buck felt completely seen. 

“I know that game,” Eddie said finally, voice low. “You wear the mask so long, you forget what your face looks like without it.” 

Buck’s eyes drifted over him, the tattoos peeking past the rolled sleeves, the quiet strength under the control. “You seem like you’ve figured it out.” 

Eddie shrugged, honest. “Not always. But with Chris, with the people who matter? I don’t have to pretend.” the words settled between them, vulnerable, fragile, unspoken longing threading the space. Buck nodded slowly, voice quieter. “I’d… like that.” his defences lowered a bit. “To have someone who sees past all this.” 

Eddie nodded once. Not dramatic. Not flashy. Just honest. 

A quiet understanding passed between them. No declarations. No big romantic gestures. 

But something shifted. A crack in the walls they both carried. 

And in the stillness of an empty stage, under humming lights and shared silence, something new began to form. 

Not Buck the popstar. Not Eddie the mystery dancer.

Just two people, beginning to find the parts of themselves they’d long been told to hide. 

And maybe… finally… starting to set them free. 

Chapter Text

Houston was thick with heat and tension. 

After a blistering soundcheck, the crew collapsed into a local BBQ joint not far from the NRG Stadium. Vinyl boots sticky with sauce, the air sweet with smoke and spice. The lighting was dim, but the laughter was loud, their post-rehearsal exhaustion melting into something warmer, looser. 

They’d become a unit, fast. The strange intimacy of tour life working its magic. Long nights, sore muscles, and backstage adrenaline binding them in ways that regular time couldn’t touch. 

Buck slid into the booth, barely getting comfortable before May wedged herself beside him, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So…” she drawled, too casual, “how long until you and Mystery Dancer snap from the sexual tension? Or are we just gonna pretend you two aren’t exchanging smoldering eye-contact in every rehearsal now?” 

Across the table, Ravi nearly choked on his beer. “You know the fans have already gone feral, right? Someone posted a slowed-down edit of that last run-through. Like, frame-by-frame hip contact .” he held up his phone to show Buck the clip. 

“Jesus,” Buck muttered, swiping it away, cheeks flushed. 

May raised an eyebrow. “So you’re not going to deny it?” 

Buck leaned back with a sigh, trying to keep the grin from cracking his carefully neutral expression. “Maybe we just… dance well together?” 

Eddie, who had just sat down with a plate full of fries, snorted. “Understatement of the year.” 

May gave Eddie a pointed look. “Oh, so you admit it’s a thing.” 

Eddie met her gaze evenly, unfazed. “I admit I’m a good dancer.” 

Hen snorted into her drink. “You’re not denying it, though.”

Eddie sat there, looking far too composed for someone being accused of breaking the internet with smoldering glances. He casually speared a fry, like none of this had anything to do with him. 

“I’ve known you people for two weeks.” Eddie said, deadpan. “This is harassment.” 

That earned a round of laughter from the table, Buck included. But underneath it, there was something else. Something buzzing just beneath the surface. The kind of attention that made every glance feel like a spotlight. 

From the far end of the table, Athena watched it all unfold with quiet intensity. Her gaze flickered between Eddie and Buck like a strategist mapping out a battlefield. She didn’t say much, but the faint tug at the corner of her mouth betrayed a certain quiet amusement. She was watching for a reason, Buck could feel it. 

As dinner wound down and the group began to splinter, Buck lingered near the door, catching Eddie’s eye with a tilt of his head. “Wanna disappear for a bit?” 

Eddie didn’t answer. He just fell into step beside him, together they slipped into the humid night. 

Houston at night was alive in a way few cities were, humid air thick with possibility, music spilling out of open doorways, late-night vendors slinging tacos and pralines from food trucks. The two of them walked side by side, the distance between them too small to be casual. 

“Always this good at sneaking off?” Buck asked, voice light but curious. 

“Occupational hazard,” Eddie replied, hands in his pockets. “Tours, dance companies, life… you figure out how to vanish when you need to. 

Buck chuckled, brushing close enough so their arms grazed briefly. “And here I thought I was the expert at playing pretend.” 

They drifted through the streets, teasing and trading quiet truths between them. No cameras, no rules, just that magnetic pull neither could quite ignore. 

They ended up sitting on the edge of a low fountain in a quiet plaza, feet kicked out, the city buzzing around them like a distant echo. The conversation turned quieter, less about teasing, more about the lives they used to live, the ones they were pretending to live now. 

Eddie told a story about the first time Chris saw him on stage. “He thought i was a superhero,” he said with a laugh, “Said I looked like I could fly.” 

Buck listened, eyes soft. “You kind of do.” 

Eddie didn’t reply, but didn’t look away either.

Performance night in Houston came fast and loud. 

The crowd was already wild before the lights even went down. Heat rose in waves off the packed stadium, anticipation simmering in the charged air. Buck stood just off-stage, bouncing lightly on his toes, heart thudding like a bass drum. 

And Eddie was there beside him. Not behind. Not in the wings. Beside him . 

The music hit hard, lights flaring across the crowd, and they were off. 

Buck led the song, all glittering popstar energy and practiced charisma. But it was Eddie who turned the performance into something electric. During the high-energy choreography, they collided perfectly, Eddie’s hand ghosting along Buck’s hip when they turned, timing razor-sharp, the air crackling between them. It wasn’t scripted. 

It was charged, and everyone felt it. The crowd lost their minds. The roar was deafening. Phones went up en masse, Hen’s livestream spiked within seconds. Online, the hashtags and reactions exploded. 

#MysteryDancerEnergy

#BuddieIsReal

#BuckDiaz

#ThatWasNotInTheChoreo

@NewBuckleyFan: WHO is the dancer with Buck? The chemistry is illegal!

@RainbowVibes: That wasn’t acting. I felt that in my soul. 

Backstage, it was chaos. Everyone buzzed with post-show adrenaline, crew members slapping hands and laughing, the high contagious. 

Buck ducked behind a curtain, trying to catch his breath. Eddie followed seconds later, eyes dark, flushed from exertion, shirt clinging to his chest. 

They stood inches apart, chest rising and falling, a beat pulsing in the silence between them louder than the music. 

Neither of them moved. Neither of them needed to speak. The air between them was already thick with things unsaid. Want. Fear. Curiosity. Hunger. Buck’s gaze dropped to Eddie’s mouth for just a second too long. 

And then. 

“Evan,” Ana appeared out of nowhere, heels sharp against the floor. Her voice was soft. But it cut like a blade. 

They jumped apart instinctively, as if burned. She stepped into the dim corridor with the smooth poise of someone used to walking into situations already under control. Her eyes swept over Eddie briefly, then locked onto Buck like a target. 

“Walk with me,” she said. Buck didn’t move. Ana’s smile tightened. “Now.”

He threw a quick glance at Eddie. Regret, frustration, apology all tangled in a single look, before he followed her out of sight. She waited until they were away from the others before she spoke again, voice low and cold. 

“You’re not just some kid doing indie shows anymore,” she said. “You have brand deals. Press. Endorsements. People who bet millions on you staying clean and predictable.” 

“I was performing,” Buck snapped, the words too loud in the hallway. 

“You were playing with fire!” she hissed back. “I don’t care how many fans ship it. You don’t touch crew. You don’t blur lines. And you sure as hell don’t make a spectacle of yourself with someone who isn’t cleared by PR! You know the contract, don’t you?” 

Buck swallowed hard, every word landing like a blow. But Ana wasn’t finished. 

“Stay in line, Evan. I’ve worked too damn hard to let you burn it all down for some… distraction .” She turned on her heel and left, heels clicking down the hall. 

Buck stood frozen, the music from the stage still pounding faintly in the background, the adrenaline now soured with frustration. 

When he looked up, Eddie was watching from across the room. Quiet. Steady. Unapologetically real. 

Buck’s heart squeezed because there was a choice coming. And even if he hadn’t said it out loud, part of him already knew. He was tired of being someone else’s product. 

And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t sure the spotlight was worth the price.

Chapter Text

The Nashville crowd was feral. 

Lights pounded down like lightning, and the beat of the final song echoed like thunder through the stadium as Buck hit his final pose, chest heaving, sweat clinging to his skin like a second costume. The applause cracked the air open, deafening and wild, the energy surging like a wave. 

But the second the house lights rose and the curtains closed. Buck knew something had shifted. 

Backstage was a blur. Shouts over walkies, crew pushing cases and lights, dancers peeling off toward dressing rooms. Buck was still catching his breath when he noticed Eddie had stopped moving. 

He stood just past the stage entrance, frozen like someone had hit pause. 

Then Buck saw them. 

A boy, maybe ten or eleven, grinning like he could outshine the stadium lichts, crutches tucked under his arms and eyes locked on one person. 

“Dad!” the boy shouted. 

Eddie broke. A sharp inhale, and then he was moving. Bolting across the space and sinking down in front of his son like gravity had pulled him there. 

“Chris,” Eddie choked out, voice cracking. “Mijo…”

They folded into each other, Eddie holding him close, forehead pressed to Christopher’s as if the world around them had vanished. Chris laughed breathlessly, talking a mile a minute about the show, the lights, the way Eddie spun during the duet. “You looked like a superhero, Dad!” 

Beside them stood a woman, Abuela, dignified and small, her hand resting on Chris’s shoulder. Her eyes shimmered with pride. And something else. Something ancient. She was watching Eddie like she’d seen him lost and now found again. 

Buck could barely breathe. His chest felt tight and unfamiliar. 

Maddie appeared beside him, quietly stunned. “That’s his son?” she asked, voice low. 

Bobby answered from behind, leaning against a coil of cables. “Yeah. His everything.” 

Before he could stop himself, Buck stepped forward, his stage grin replaced with something more real. “Hey,” he said, crouching beside them, offering Chris the kind of real, unguarded smile he rarely got to show. “I hear you’re the king of fun facts?” 

Chris looked up, eyes huge. “I’ve got millions! Did you know sea otters hold hands so they don’t float apart when they sleep?” 

Buck grinned. “That’s my favorite one! Want to know mine?” 

Chris nodded eagerly. 

“Lightning strikes about eight million times a day, all over the world.” 

Chris gasped, delighted. “That’s awesome !” 

“You think that’s cool?” Buck leaned in. “Starfish can regrow their arms. Like, totally regenerate.”

Chris looked thrilled . “Okay, wait. Did you know that space smells like burned steak? Or like… welding sparks?”

Buck barked a laugh, “You’re gonna put me out of a job, man.” 

The two of them launched into a full-on exchange, trading strange science and space trivia like old friends. Chris lit up every time Buck added to the conversation, and Buck leaned in like none of the world around them mattered. 

From a few feet away, Abuela watched quietly, her sharp eyes assessing the moment, clocking the way Eddie’s shoulders had softened. The way his gaze lingered on Buck, unguarded, unfiltered, wide open. 

Behind them, Maddie nudged Bobby, her voice low and knowing. “He’s falling.” 

Bobby didn’t even look up. “Might’ve already landed.”

The city was quieter hours later. 

The hotel’s rooftop overlooked downtown Nashville, glittering buildings, neon dive bars, music still echoing faintly over the streets. Buck found Eddie there, leaning on the railing, alone, hands tucked into his hoodie sleeves. 

Buck approached slowly, the air between them carrying something heavier than silence. 

“Chris asleep?” Buck asked, voice gentle. 

Eddie nodded. “Out cold. Abuela gave him warm milk, and that was it. Lights out.” 

Buck stepped up beside him, letting their shoulders just barely touch. The wind tugged softly at their clothes, but neither moved. 

For a while, they just stood there. 

Then Eddie said, voice raw and low, “He’s my everything.” 

Buck looked over but didn’t speak. 

“I can’t afford to screw up,” Eddie added, eyes fixed on the stars. “Not with him. Not with his life tied to mine.”

Buck exhaled slowly. “Yeah… me neither.” 

Eddie glanced over. Buck’s eyes stayed on the skyline, but his hand drifted across the railing, fingers grazing Eddie’s. 

Tentative.

Their hands found each other slowly, carefully. Like testing the edge of something electric. When their fingers curled together, it was hesitant. Fragile. But it held.

The city stretched wide around them. Below, a world still spinning with rules, contracts, managers and cameras. 

But up here? It was just them. And stars. And the space in between. 

For the first time, neither of them moved away. And in that still, quiet moment, fingers intertwined, hearts cautiously opening, Buck knew the fall had already happened. 

This was just the part where they stopped pretending. 

Chapter Text

By Kansas, something had changed. 

The Arrowhead Stadium was humming with electricity, even before the show. Hours before the doors opened, Buck was already drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling with each rehearsal run, the echo of the bass thrumming under his skin.

The show still opened with flash and fire, and the crowds still screamed. But the choreography? That was different now. Buck could feel it under his skin before they even hit the first mark. The way Eddie looked at him had shifted. The way their bodies moved together on stage, tight, deliberate, closer than ever, wasn’t just choreography anymore. 

The routines didn’t sizzle. They scorched. 

There was no more space, no more subtlety. The routines were designed for heat, close contact, heavy eye contact, lingering touches that blurred the line between performance and… something else entirely. 

Every time Buck and Eddie danced together, the heat between them felt combustible.

By the third song, Buck could barely keep his focus. Eddie’s hand slid down his back during a turn, steadying him at the waist, but his fingers lingered. Pressed . Not accidental. 

Their eyes met, mid-spin, the world briefly blurring around them. And Eddie smirked. Subtle, sure. But Buck saw it. That flash of mischief behind Eddie’s dark gaze hit Buck like a punch to the chest, unexpected, thrilling, too much. 

By the end of the set, Buck’s chest was heaving, not from the dancing, but from the pull of something much deeper, much more dangerous. 

“Fifty bucks says Kansas is where they finally break,” Chim said, nodding toward the two of them as they disappeared offstage, sweat-soaked and flushed. 

Hen didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’ve got money on Seattle. That crowd’s gonna unhinge something.”

May, perched on a speaker with a bag of popcorn, snorted. “You all underestimate how committed they are to their mutual denial. I’ve got five cities left on my lifts before either of them cracks.”

Hen raised a brow. “We talking full kiss, or emotionally devastating eye contact that breaks the internet?” 

“Full kiss,” May confirmed, grinning. “But points for lingering stares and almost-touches. Fans are calling it Buddie -core. Hashtag’s trending.” 

She held her phone up, screen glowing with a split clip of Buck and Eddie from an earlier show. Eddie’s hand on Buck’s jaw during the final pose, Buck’s mouth slightly parted. Paused at the exact moment that looked way too much like foreplay. 

Ravi joined them, pulling out his in-ear monitors. “It’s a slow-mo disaster.”

“That’s the best kind, my boy.” Chim smirked before walking away with a coil of cables. 

And Ana? 

Ana was waiting in the wings, her smile too sharp, her grip on Buck’s wrist a little too tight, nails digging in just enough to make him flinch. 

“Careful, Evan,” she whispered, pulling him close as the crew rushed around them. “You’re not hired to be real . You’re hired for what looks good. Don’t start getting confused.” 

Her eyes flicked toward Eddie, who was laughing at something Ravi said across the room, and then back to Buck. “Whatever this is… stop.”

Buck swallowed hard, jaw tight, but he didn’t argue. He was used to the rules and the control. But as Ana walked away, Buck’s gaze drifted back to Eddie, the way he moved, loose and confident, and entirely himself in a way Buck could only dream of. 

Chicago was louder. The Soldier Field venue bigger. Brutal in its energy. 

After the show, Buck found himself in the green room, back pressed to the cool wall, head tipped back, breathing deep to slow the comedown. He felt like his entire body was buzzing, strung too tight. 

Eddie appeared, still damp with sweat, handing him a bottle of water with a small, tired smile. 

Buck accepted it. Their fingers brushed. Neither pulled away. 

“Feels like every city’s hotter,” Buck murmured, throat dry. 

Eddie looked at him, something unreadable in his eyes. “Maybe it’s not the cities. 

They shared a laugh, the kind that holds more meaning than words. For a moment, the noise around them fell away. Eddie’s hand found Buck’s, fingers intertwining naturally. This time, they stayed. No one else was in the room. But even if someone had been, it wouldn’t have mattered. 

“Think anyone’s noticed?” Buck asked, voice barely above a whisper. 

Eddie’s thumb brushed over his knuckles. “Hen started a betting pool.” 

Buck groaned. “We’re so screwed.”

Eddie just smiled. “Not yet.”

Seattle cracked something wide open. 

The Lumen Field had been packed, every seat filled, fans chanting, crying, singing along. The final routine had gone off like fire. Eddie had touched him more than necessary. Buck had leaned into every moment. And it had worked , the crowd had eaten it up. 

But backstage, the mask shattered. 

Buck slipped away before anyone could notice. 

The city glittered below, rain-slicked streets reflecting neon signs as Buck slipped onto the hotel rooftop. The roar of the crowd still echoed in his ears, but up here? It was finally quiet. Although maybe a bit too quiet.

His hands grabbed the edge of the railing like it might hold him together, before sagging against it. Stage mask cracking around the edges. Evan Buckley, rising popstar, media darling, endless energy machine, felt like a costume that didn’t fit anymore. 

He didn’t hear the door open.

“You always disappear after the good ones?” Eddie’s voice was soft, but steady. 

Buck startled slightly. Turning around, he came face to face with Eddie, hoodie pulled over his head, casually leaning against the doorframe. There was concern in his eyes though. Real, steady concern. 

“Needed some air. Needed… not to be Evan Buckley, Pop phenomenon.” Buck murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Needed… less of everything.” 

Eddie stepped closer, the rain-soft wind teasing at his hair. He didn’t push, just waited. Buck exhaled hard, fingers tightening on the railing again. “I can’t breathe sometimes,” he admitted, voice rough. “Ana’s got me on a leash. No scandals. No relationships. No… me . And my family’s just the same. It’s all about image. Staying in line.”

He looked over, eyes searching. “You get that, right?” 

Eddie’s gaze softened, stepping beside him. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “More than you’d think.”

There was a pause, heavy with unspoken things, before Eddie’s voice dropped lower. “When I found out about Chris, I panicked. I was nineteen, barely holding myself together. I joined the army just to feel like I was doing something right.”

Buck’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“The army gave me structure, I enlisted a second time when Chris got diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy.” Eddie continued, resting his arms on the railing beside Buck. “It gave me an excuse to run from the pressure, and the fear of screwing up.” his throat worked as he swallowed. “It made me feel like I had control, didn’t stop me from making mistakes, though.” 

Buck’s breath hitched, "So you weren't in control, then?"

“Nope,” Eddie whispered. “But I learned how to fake it really well.” he laughed bitterly. 

They stood there in the silence that followed, Seattle’s lights flickering below, the weight of shared confessions pressing between them. Buck’s hand drifted toward Eddie’s, uncertain, hesitant. Until Eddie closed the space, fingers tangling without hesitation. 

“I don’t want to screw this up,” Buck said. 

“Neither do I,” Eddie replied. 

And then it happened. Sudden, messy, desperate. Their mouths crashing together, weeks of tension snapping like a wire pulled too tight. It wasn’t perfect or rehearsed. But it was real. 

When they finally pulled apart, breaths ragged, foreheads touching, Buck let out a broken laugh. “We’re so fucking screwed…” 

Eddie’s lips curved, thumb brushing along Buck’s cheek. “Then let’s be careful.” 

They kissed once more, quieter and slower. Like sealing a promise, to keep this secret tucked between hotel walls and whispered rooftop nights. 

And that night, the rooftop became sacred. Not perfect, but theirs.

The tour kept moving. 

The Mercedes-Benz Stadium in Atlanta pulsed with performance. Buck lit up the stage like a wildfire, all charm and thunder, but there was something in his eyes—a distance, a defense. The crowd roared for the persona he wore, and he gave them everything except himself . It was powerful. Polished. But the applause echoed strangely, like it was missing something only he could feel.

At Camping World Stadium in Orlando, the show sparkled—bright lights, huge sound, a sea of joy. Buck gave his all, smiling wide, dancing like the ground burned beneath him. But even in the warmth and the glow, there were moments where his shoulders tensed mid-verse, where his gaze drifted just above the crowd. The magic was real, but it felt rehearsed. Like a dream he hadn’t quite stepped into yet.

Denver was crisp and electric at Empower Field, the thin air making everything feel sharper. Buck’s voice soared that night—clear, defiant, unstoppable. But between the anthems and encores, there was gravity in the quiet. A flicker in his expression during that song. As if the altitude stripped away the layers and left something vulnerable underneath. The show was flawless. But so was the mask.

Vegas was dazzling at Allegiant Stadium, a perfect performance in a city built on illusion. Buck owned the stage like a king, every move choreographed, every lyric crisp. The audience saw a star, bold and blinding. But under the glitter, there was a question in the silence between songs. A heartbeat too fast. A glance too long toward the wings. It was a spectacle. And still, somehow, a secret.

They danced like nothing had changed. But everything had. The choreography still burned, but now it bled truth.

Fingers lingered longer. Glances stretched across songs. Buck would lean in a little closer. Eddie would curl a hand around his waist just a second too long. 

And behind the scenes? 

Stolen hotel room moments. Fingers brushing in hallways. Soft laughter shared in the dark. A kiss behind a dressing curtain. A whispered confession between soundcheck and curtain call. 

Eddie talked more about the walls he built, the things he feared, the pain of being told he was ‘too soft’ during his military time, too devoted to Chris to be free. 

Buck opened up, too, about feeling like a product, not a person. About managers who dictated everything down to his smile. About how, for the first time in his life, being with someone felt like breathing. 

They never called it love. But it was building. Quietly and powerful. 

And they were already past the point of no return. 

Chapter Text

The beach town felt like a dream. 

Nestled between jagged cliffs and endless sea, it was the kind of place that didn’t exist on tour itineraries or fan maps. Just quiet streets, sleepy cafés, and air thick with salt and sun. The crew had scattered across the country for their week off. Some home to family, some chasing adrenaline, some just vanishing. Buck and Eddie? They slipped away unnoticed, vanishing into the seams of the map with nothing but duffle bags, sunglasses, and a shared hunger for escape. 

The bungalow they rented sat tucked between palm trees, faded blue shutters creaking softly in the breeze. Every window looked out onto the open sky and sparkling sea. It felt impossibly far from the roaring stadium crowds and strict schedules. 

For seven days, they lived like they belonged only to each other. 

Mornings came slowly. Sunlight poured through gauzy curtains, warm and golden. Buck would wake to the scratch of Eddie’s stubble against his shoulder, the weight of an arm slung heavy across his waist, breath warm at the nape of his neck. Sometimes they’d talk. Sometimes they didn’t. There was no pressure to perform, no manager’s call time, no cameras waiting to catch a hint of scandal in the shadows. 

In this place, they laughed louder. Teased more. Let their guards down. 

Afternoons belonged to the ocean. They wandered barefoot through tidepools, stole kisses between crashing waves. Eddie dragged Buck into the surf more than once, Buck squealing like a child as Eddie tackled him into the shallows. They ate ice cream that melted too fast in the heat, and took naps under umbrellas with the sea breeze curling around them. 

Eddie taught Buck how to skip stones, grinning every time Buck failed spectacularly. “Physics, Buck,” he said, biting back laughter. “Not flailing.” Buck pouted, soaked and sun-kissed, before retaliating with a splash that turned into a wrestling match in the shallows. 

Evenings were their softest hours. They’d dress in loose shirts and linen, head to a tiny, family-run café in the dunes, where the servers didn’t care who they were. Buck would rest his ankle against Eddie’s under the table, fingers brushing in secret. They told stories over grilled seafood and local beers, stories they’d never shared, even in the late-night hotel hallway talks that once held them together. 

And at night, it was just them. Behind closed doors, under threadbare sheets and moonlight through cracked shutters, they stopped pretending. 

It started slow, Buck’s fingers ghosting down Eddie’s chest, his eyes searching, asking silently. 

Eddie nodded once, the breath catching in his throat like he’d been waiting for years for this moment. 

They kissed like they knew every version of each other. Onstage, backstage, rooftop, rehearsal room. But now it was just skin and truth. The kiss turned hungrier, deeper, a thread snapping loose in both of them. Buck gasped as Eddie pressed him back onto the bed, and his hands scrambled to keep him close. 

“Tell me to stop,” Eddie whispered, hovering over him. His voice low and rough with restraint. 

“Don’t you dare,” Buck rasped back, curling a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck to pull him in again. 

Clothes disappeared piece by piece, dropped to the floor like the weight of the world. Eddie’s touch was reverent, sure, but soft. His mouth worshipping every inch of Buck like he wanted to rewrite the damage with lips and breath. Buck shivered under the attention, the intensity of Eddie’s eyes never straying from his. 

Eddie’s mouth traced lower, tasting every line of Buck’s body as Buck’s hands fisted in the sheets, head thrown back with a groan that cracked open years of frustration and carving. 

They moved together, slowly, rhythm building until everything blurred. Breath, moans, desperate pleas. It wasn’t performative or perfect. It was theirs. Messy and sacred and real. Buck came with Eddie’s name on his lips, Eddie not far behind, whispering, “I’ve got you,” again and again like a prayer. 

Afterwards, when their breathing calmed and their bodies cooled, they lay tangled in the sheets, limbs heavy with exhaustion but reluctant to separate. Buck’s head rested against Eddie’s bare chest, fingers tracing mindless patterns across his skin. The silence stretched comfortably until Buck broke it, voice raw and quiet. 

“I never get to feel like this…” he whispered, voice cracking, barely audible. “Like I’m not pretending.” 

Eddie’s hand cradled the back of his neck, lips brushing Buck’s curls. “With me…” he whispered back, “you never have to pretend.” 

And for a heartbeat, Buck let himself believe it. 

Time was greedy. 

The final morning arrived wrapped in mist and quiet dread. The bungalow felt emptier somehow, like it knew the dream was ending. 

Bags by the door. The distant hum of the town waking up. The quiet dread of the tour resuming in Mexico City pressing down on them both. 

Buck stood by the window, watching the waves roll in. His jaw was tight, his arms folded, breath shallow. Behind him, Eddie moved quietly, zipping the last duffel bag. The silence between them was no longer comfortable. It pressed in from all sides, thick with the return of expectation. 

Eddie walked up behind him, arms slipping around Buck’s waist, pulling him in tight. His lips grazed the curve of Buck’s shoulder. 

“We’ll figure this out,” Eddie murmured, voice warm against his skin. 

Buck leaned back into him, his voice cracked when he finally spoke. “I don’t want to go back… Not to hiding… Not to all of that.”

Eddie didn’t promise that it would be easy, he didn’t want to lie. He just held him tighter, and together they stood there, listening to the waves, counting down the seconds before the world found them again. 

And when they finally left, the door clicked shut behind them, but their shadows lingered a moment longer in the morning light. Proof they’d been real, even just for a little while.

Chapter Text

The roar of the crowd hit Buck like a physical wave as they stepped onto the massive stage in Mexico City. The Estadio GNP Seguros pulsed with energy. Flags waving, camera flashes dancing around the air like fireflies, and a sea of fans screaming his name like a battle cry.

Buck grinned, adrenaline surging through his veins as the music kicked in. Every note he sang was echoed back louder. Every movement was met with cheers that shook the stage beneath his feet. 

And in all of it, his eyes found Eddie. 

Their connection was magnetic, impossible to mask. Even in the chaos, even surrounded by backup dancers and floodlights, Buck always felt Eddie there. A glance across the stage. A shoulder brushing in the wings. The way their fingers grazed when they passed each other, just for a second too long. 

Backstage, the moments they could steal were fewer, more fleeting, but they made them count. Quick kisses behind stacks of equipment, bodies pressed close in dark hallways, whispers of “missed you” and “be safe” before being pulled back into the performance machine. It wasn’t enough, but it was all they had for now. 

The Latin American fans weren’t just passionate. They were explosive, devoted in a way that set the very air on fire. And relentless in the best way possible. They flooded social media with clips, edits, and relentless love. And the #Buddie ship? Out of control. 

Hen laughed every time the fan cams caught a lingering glance. Ravi had a running bet on when someone would finally slip. May was curating a collection of the best #Buddie edits on TikTok. Even the crew noticed the spark between them, but passed it off as harmless chemistry. No one wanted to say it out loud. 

No one except for Maddie.

Buck wiped sweat from his face, adrenaline still buzzing under his skin as he slipped into the green room. Maddie was there, waiting with bottled water and a soft smile that only siblings could share. 

“You killed it out there,” she told him, proud but watchful. Buck smiled, chest still tight with the high of performing, and the quiet ache of keeping his personal happiness locked away behind closed doors. 

“Felt good,” he admitted, still humming with adrenaline. “They love us out there.” 

Maddie nodded, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “They do,” she agreed. Then her voice softened, and she had that big-sister look that Buck had learned to brace for.

“But Buck…”

He sighed before she could finish, already knowing where this was going. “I know.” 

“Ana’s not stupid,” Maddie said gently, stepping closer, her eyes scanning his face like she already knew too much. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Buck swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he murmured, his gaze flicking to the stage exit where Eddie was laughing with the crew. His chest tightened. 

How do you hide something that feels like the most honest thing you’ve ever had? And how was he supposed to be careful when every moment with Eddie felt like the only real thing in his life?

The high of the show still buzzed under Buck’s skin when they finally made their way back to the hotel in the early hours, sneaking down quiet side streets, laughing with Eddie tucked close beside him. 

They thought they were being careful. 

The street was empty, just the two of them and the night. Eddie’s hand brushed Buck’s lower back, and Buck smiled like a reflex. A quick kiss behind a parked van, nothing more than a moment. 

But it was enough. 

The next morning, Buck’s phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Notifications flooded in like a siren call. He cracked one eye open, groaning as dozens of missed notifications flooded the screen. His half-asleep mind registered names. Hen, May, Maddie, Ana , before the trending tags pulled him awake fully. 

#BuddieConfirmed?!

UNIDENTIFIED MAN SPOTTED WITH BUCKLEY – SECRET BOYFRIEND?

His heart sank. 

The photos weren’t crisp. They were grainy, taken from behind a car window or through a restaurant’s tinted glass. But they told the story. Buck, clearly recognizable, standing too close to Eddie. A blurred frame of Eddie leaning in, smiling. Too softly, too close. 

Social media had exploded. Fans weren’t stupid. And if the internet had one talent, it was turning crumbs into conspiracy. The edits were everywhere. Fan videos dissecting the photos, timelines. Hashtags multiplied like wildfire. #Buddie was worldwide. 

The knock came seconds later. Sharp. Measured. 

Ana didn’t wait for permission. She pushed past him, heels echoing sharply against the floor, tablet in hand. Her jaw was clenched. Her eyes glittered with rage and calculation. She slammed her tablet on the table, tabloid headlines plastered across the screen. 

Popstar Evan Buckley: Secret Romance with Unidentified Man?

Fans erupt over Buddie speculation!

Who is Buck’s Mystery Lover?

“I control your image,” Ana said, voice like ice over broken glass. “Not you. Not your feelings. And certainly not your goddamn impulses!” 

Buck opened his mouth, but she stepped closer, cutting him off with a cold, practiced smile. 

“One more misstep,” she hissed, voice low and sharp. “And this whole thing burns. You and the tour included. Do you understand me?”

Buck didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Ana turned on her heel and left him standing there, the door clicking shut like a prison gate behind her. 

The dressing room buzzed with post-show chaos. Buck disappeared before anyone could stop him, hoodie pulled tight, fingers trembling just slightly. It worried Eddie more than he liked to admit.

Back at the hotel, Eddie paced the length of the room for the fifth time in ten minutes. Thank God he was alone, because Eddie couldn’t fake calm right now if he tried.

He kept checking the clock, then the door, then the clock again. Still no Buck.

The moment the tabloids hit that morning, Eddie had felt the shift. A hundred versions of panic rolled through his chest: for Buck, for their privacy, for Chris. But more than anything, for the way Buck had gone quiet. Not cold, just… carefully muted. And when Buck got like that, it meant he was protecting something.

Or someone. The lock clicked. Eddie turned just as Buck stepped into the room, hoodie up, eyes tired but dry.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, crossing the room in three long strides.

Buck nodded, which didn’t mean much. “Yeah. I… yeah.”

Eddie cupped the side of his face, searching for truth in the cracks. “Ana told the crew she talked to you. I had a bad feeling.”

Buck looked away. “She did.”

Eddie waited. Buck didn’t continue.

“What did she say?”

There was a pause just a fraction too long. Buck offered a careful shrug. “Nothing I didn’t expect. She’s pissed.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “You sure that’s all?” he asked quietly.

Buck hesitated. Then smiled that soft, practiced smile, the one Eddie had only recently learned to see through. “Yeah,” Buck said. “That’s all.”

So Eddie let it go.

He didn’t know that Ana had said the quiet threat out loud. That she’d hinted at pulling strings in the entertainment world. That she’d said Eddie will lose more than just his job if this circus keeps going. That she’d weaponized him, his career, his life, even Chris as casually as someone might spill coffee.

Buck had swallowed it. Taken the hit. And kept it from him. Because love, sometimes, meant choosing peace over honesty. At least for now.

Later, much later, Eddie would find out.

But tonight, he pulled Buck into his arms, held him tight, and said, “Whatever happens next, we face it together. You hear me?”

Buck didn’t confirm it outright, but he didn’t deny it either. Just turned away, started picking up his bag from the floor.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked, the dread already sinking in.

“I’m going back to my own room.”

Eddie’s chest cracked open. “Buck—”

“This is getting too loud, Eddie. Too dangerous. I should’ve never…” He swallowed. “I need to figure out how to fix this.”

“You think leaving me out of it is fixing it?”

Buck didn’t answer.

Eddie crossed the space between them in two strides, grabbed his arm gently, tried to catch his eyes. “I don’t care what she said. I don’t care if this gets messy. I want you. That doesn’t change.”

Buck smiled then, a quiet, gutting kind of smile. “That’s exactly why I have to go.”

And just like that, he slipped from Eddie’s grasp and out the door. The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful. It was hollow. Cold.

Eddie stood in the middle of the room alone, the echo of Buck’s absence louder than any headline.

Chapter Text

Every night felt like a dream he couldn’t wake from, and not always in a good way. 

Brazil was wild. The energy, the heat, the chaos. From the moment they touched down in Rio de Janeiro, it was like being swept into a hurricane made of neon lights, heartbeats, and screaming fans. Airports swarmed. Streets flooded with signs and flags. Girls cried when Buck waved. Boys shouted his name like a chant, like a prayer. Everywhere they went, the sound followed. 

Buckley! Buckley! Buckley! 

He was loved here. Worshipped even. Sold-out shows. Stadiums that vibrated with the force of the crowd. The kind of noise that made his bones rattle, that drowned everything else out, including his own fear. 

Onstage he was a god. But offstage? He felt like he was suffocating. 

Buck smiled for the cameras, signed autographs, and played the role Ana demanded. His every word, every step, controlled. His life polished into marketable perfection. 

Each moment off the stage was a performance of its own. Ana’s voice lived in his head like a second heartbeat. Her rules were absolute. 

No coming out.

No scandals.

No relationships within the crew. 

No Eddie. 

And yet… there was Eddie. 

The person who grounded him, made him laugh when everything felt too heavy. The one who held him through nights of silence and adrenaline crashes. The one he’d risked everything for, even without realizing he was doing it. Until now. Because now, the weight was crushing him.

The Rio shows were euphoric. Fireworks, sweat, dancing under hot lights and even hotter skies. The Brazilian fans had no chill, and Buck adored them for it. He fed off their chaos. But that night, the second encore barely over, Eddie cornered him in the shadows behind the dressing room. 

The hallway still shook from the crowd’s chant echoing outside. “BUCKLEY! BUCKLEY! BUCKLEY!”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” It wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement. “Care to tell me why?” 

Buck’s heart clenched. “Just tired,” he lied with a weak smile. “Big shows. Big crowds.”

Eddie didn’t even blink. “Bullshit.” 

Buck flinched. 

“You promised no pretending,” Eddie continued, his voice low, shaky with hurt. “Not when you’re with me. But that’s all this is now, isn’t it? It’s all you’ve been doing these last few days. You smile for the cameras, laugh with the crew… but you can’t even look me in the eye anymore…”

His voice cracked slightly, and Buck couldn’t bring himself to answer. He couldn’t say it wasn’t true. 

“I’m trying-” 

“No, you’re performing,” Eddie interrupted, the edge in his tone sharp. “And I’m not your audience.”

The silence between them was too loud. Buck looked away, guilt gnawing at his ribs, shoulders sagging even further than before if that was even possible, the weight of expectations, secrets, and carefully constructed lies pushing down on him. 

“I’m fucking scared Eds…” Buck whispered eventually. It was the truth, and it felt pathetic. 

Eddie’s eyes flickered with something, understanding, maybe? Pain definitely. 

“So am I. But shutting me out? Pretending like this is just… temporary? That’s worse.” 

Buck had no answer. Just guilt burning a hole in his chest. The crowd roared again behind them, and for the first time. Buck wondered if any of it was worth it. 

By the time they reached São Paulo, the cracks had turned into fractures. 

Another sold-out stadium. Another tsunami of fans. But Buck moved like a machine now. Flawless vocals, dazzling smiles, perfect steps. And completely hollow inside. 

Offstage, everything was noise. #BuddieConfirmed was still trending. The paparazzi had new blurry photos, Buck and Eddie disappearing into a hotel side entrance, their heads ducked close.

The headlines were relentless. 

Secret Romance? Buckley’s Mystery Man Surfaces Again.

Who is the Buddie Behind the Curtain?

Every time Buck looked at his phone, Ana’s voice rang in his head. 

One more misstep and this whole thing burns. You and the tour included.

Eddie will lose more than just his job…

Eddie had pulled back. Not publicly, never onstage. Their performance still sizzled, the chemistry still there like lighting trapped in choreography. But behind the scenes, Eddie barely looked at him. 

It was Buck’s own fault really. He kept pushing him away since the first articles appeared, trying to protect him. But it still hurts like hell. 

The crew also noticed the shift. 

May had stopped teasing. Ravi looked at them like he wanted to ask but didn’t dare. Hen shot Buck glances that said, ‘Fix it. Before you lose him completely.’

Maddie, as always, said nothing. But her eyes followed him everywhere, lined with worry. 

The final São Paulo show was a whirlwind. Lights, glitter, roars so loud it shook the floor. 

But backstage, everything unraveled. 

The crowd’s cheers still thundered through the concrete walls, but Buck couldn’t focus. His pulse was racing, his skin itching under layers of sweat and glitter. The mask was slipping. 

Eddie grabbed his wrist, pulling him behind the stacked rigging equipment. His grip was gentle but his eyes were blazing. “You’re unraveling,” he said. “This… this isn’t working, Buck.” 

Buck looked away. 

“You think I can’t see it? You’re exhausted. You’re miserable. And you won’t let me in.” Eddie’s voice cracked. “You lie to me, to yourself… How long can you keep doing this?” 

Buck yanked his hand free, emotions boiling over. “You don’t get it! Ana’s watching me like a hawk. The label’s breathing down my neck. My parents… fuck, they’ll disown me if this gets out!”

“And what about me ?” Eddie cut in, voice sharp. “Where do I fit in, Buck? Where’s my place in your perfect little image? I don’t even know where I stand with you anymore…”

Buck went still, his throat closed. They stood there, breathing heavy, close enough but oceans apart. Neither moved for a moment. 

“You said no pretending,” Eddie said, quieter this time, voice rough. “But maybe that’s all we ever were. A secret. A shadow.” 

The words hit like a blow. Buck tried to speak, to reach out, to fix it, but Eddie was already vanishing into the maze of backstage shadows. 

Later that night, alone in his room, Buck lay wide awake in the silence, still dressed, staring at the ceiling like it could give him answers. The noise of São Paulo lived outside his window. Horns, cheers, fireworks still going off for reasons unknown. 

But inside? 

Silence. And one very simple truth. He was losing Eddie. 

And this time, it might not be something a kiss or a whispered apology could fix.

Chapter Text

They called it a break. 

Two months off. No tour, no lights, no crowds. Time to breathe, to rest, to ‘reset’.

But for Buck, it wasn’t a break. It was a sentence. A punishment dressed up as a vacation.

There was no resting when the whole world was watching you lie. 

It started, as most disasters did, with Ana. 

“We need to control the story,” she said, her tone calm but surgical. “You’ve let the Buddie rumours fester for too long. Now we pivot.” 

And just like that, Buck became a headline again. 

Taylor Kelly was the solution. 

She was everything PR loved. Polished, poised, camera-ready. A seasoned media presence with just enough edge to seem real, but not enough to be a threat. 

Buck had done press with her before, the usual flirtatious banter for the cameras, all surface level, nothing real. 

But this time? This time was different. Ana orchestrated every moment. 

A sit-down exclusive. Strategic photos. Whispered rumours. 

“Damage control,” Ana had called it, fixing his collar like she was dressing a mannequin, not a person. “You smile, play nice. You charm her like your career depends on it, because it does.” 

So Buck smiled. 

Taylor leaned in during the segment, her hand brushing his, eyes sparkling like they were sharing an inside joke. The entire thing was scripted. Manufactured chemistry, clean and hollow. 

The internet didn’t care. 

NEW IT COUPLE ALERT: Buckley & Kelly Spotted Leaving Dinner in LA

From Flirty Banter to Red Carpet Romance? 

Sorry Buddie shippers, the heartthrob’s taken. 

Within forty-eight hours, the narrative was solidified. 

#NewItCouple trended worldwide. Buck and Taylor were together. 

Except they weren’t. Not even close. 

Their first photoshoot made him want to throw up. 

Matching neutral tones. Taylor’s head on his shoulder. Soft, intimate lightning. A lace of fingers here, a stolen glance there. Carefully curated affection. 

“A PR dream,” Ana practically swooned, flipping through the proof. 

Buck wanted to scream. His heart was somewhere on the floor. 

Every smile was a lie, every touch a performance. 

And every interview? A rehearsed script. 

“We kept running into each other during events, I guess the spark just became a flame over time.”

“She’s amazing, seriously. So talented.” 

“She’s brilliant, really. Such a connection!”

“I’m lucky, really.”

“It feels… easy, you know?”

No, it didn’t, it felt like a slow death. 

Behind the scenes, Taylor was civil. Distant. Professional. They barely spoke unless it was about logistics. Flights, event timings, what side to stand on for red carpets. 

Buck didn’t blame her. She was just doing her job. But that didn’t stop it from tearing him up inside. 

The house was quiet. Too quiet. 

Chris was away for the week, visiting his grandparents in El Paso, so Eddie had no excuses. No distractions. Nothing to hide behind except silence and sweat-drenched dance floors. 

He trained harder. Ran longer. Stayed late at the studio after everyone else had gone home. Because if he stopped moving, even for a second, the grief would catch up. 

The headlines came fast.

New Romance for Buckley?

From Backup Dancer to Backseat: Sources Say Buck’s Moved On

Inside the Relationship Between Buck and Taylor Kelly.

Eddie hadn’t even been surprised. 

What hurt wasn’t the relationship. It was the lie. The knowing. 

Because he could see it in Buck’s eyes, even in high-definition, even from thousands of miles away. 

He wasn’t happy. But he was playing the part.

Some nights, Eddie rehearsed what he would say if Buck ever called. 

“I know it’s not your fault.”

“I wish I could hate you, but I can’t”

“I don’t need perfection. I just needed you to be real.”

But the phone never rang. 

And when it finally did, it was only Ana. logistics. Tour planning. Nothing personal. 

Buck didn’t even text. Not once. 

So Eddie buried the words. 

Back home, the group chat imploded. 

Bobby: So… This is the narrative now?

Hen: I swear to God if this is true I will fly to LA to slap you.

May: Tell me this is a bit. A stunt. Hell, even a fever dream.

Athena:  Please tell me you didn’t agree to this circus. 

Ravi: Can we riot? I’m ready to riot!

Chim: Is it bad that I kinda liked the Vogue shoot? I mean… style-wise?

Hen: CHIM.

Chim: Sorry!! Just trying to lighten the mood!!

But it was Maddie’s voice that cracked something deep inside. 

She called while he was in the car, on the way to another stage appearance. She didn’t even say hello. Just breathed out, broken and quiet. 

“Is this really happening?” she whispered, heartbreak bleeding through every word. “I watched you with him… with Eddie… and now-” 

Buck gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles went white. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” he interrupted her, voice shaking. 

Maddie exhaled sharply. “It looks like you’re breaking both your hearts to protect someone else’s version of you,” she replied. “And I don’t know how much more of that you can survive.”

Buck had no answer, because if he was honest? He didn’t know either.

Eddie’s reaction? 

Nothing. 

No texts. No calls. No messages. 

Complete radio silence. 

The award shows aired live. Buck’s smiling face on every screen. Taylor beside him, perfectly styled, laughing at his fake charm. 

Eddie watched the award shows from home, the glow of the TV screen flickering across his living room walls like a ghost. Buck looked good. Confident, clean-cut, posed like a statue in a museum. 

Perfect. 

Except Eddie knew him better than that. 

He knew that smile. 

He knew how it wasn’t real. 

And it still didn’t matter, because Buck chose the lie anyway. 

The breaking point came after the VMAs. 

Buck had smiled through four hours of flashing lights, red carpet interviews, awkward banter, and winning Best Pop Tour Performance. 

He should’ve been thrilled. 

Instead, he found Eddie outside the venue, near the loading dock. Alone. 

Eddie was leaning against a pillar. 

Buck stopped a few feet away, breath catching like he’d been punched. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. 

Eddie didn’t turn around. “Congratulations,” he said flatly. 

“Eddie, please… Can we talk?” 

That got his attention. Eddie turned, slow and heavy. 

“Now you want to talk?” 

Buck flinched. “I didn’t have a choice.” 

“You did. You just didn’t pick me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Eddie’s voice was raw now. “You kissed me in Seattle.” he pointed at Buck, “You held my hand in hotel rooms. You promised me not to pretend when you were with me and then… Then you made me invisible. ”

Buck swallowed. “I’m trying to protect you!” 

“No. You’re trying to protect them . Your label, your image, your fucking fake relationship. Don’t pin that on me!” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Buck whispered. 

“Well, you did.” 

Silence. 

Buck's voice broke when he said, “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Eddie shook his head. “It’s not your job to fix it right now. It’s your job to figure out who the hell you are when no one’s watching.” 

Buck stepped forward, desperate. “I need you.” 

“I need space,” Eddie said quietly. “I need to not feel like a mistake.” 

And then he was gone. Again. 

That night, Buck sat alone in a designer suit, staring at his own reflection in a hotel mirror. It looked like him. It wasn’t 

He didn’t know who he was anymore. He just knew who he’d lost. 

And he wasn’t sure he could get him back. 

Eddie didn’t talk about it much, not even with the team. But they knew. You couldn’t fake that kind of devastation. 

May was the first to ask. “You okay?” 

He lied. “Fine.” 

Hen didn’t ask. Just handed him a cup of coffee and said, “Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here.” 

Even Ravi. Sweet, awkward Ravi. put a hand on his shoulder one night after rehearsal and muttered, “We’ve got your back, dude. Whatever happens.” 

Eddie nodded. Said thanks. Didn’t believe a damn word of it. 

Because how do you explain missing someone who isn’t really gone, but isn’t really yours either?

The dance studio became his church. The mirrors, his confession booth. 

He threw himself into rehearsals with sharp movements and tighter formations. Sweat poured from him like penance. 

But in reality, it didn’t cleanse anything.

When the time came to return to tour, Eddie packed his bags with clinical efficiency.

Nothing personal. No extra keepsakes. No photos. No good luck charms. Not this time.

He told himself he was ready. 

He wasn’t.

Because the one thing he knew for sure?

The next time he saw Buck, really saw him. He didn’t know if he’d be able to look away. 

Chapter Text

Australia marked the next leg of the tour.

A new continent. A new wave of fans. And a new level of pretending. 

The air was different, though. He couldn’t explain it, not really. Something about the salt and smoke in the wind, the distant buzz of the stadium even before it filled. Everything felt louder. Harder. Sharper. 

Or maybe it was just the sound of Eddie’s own heart breaking, over and over again. 

Two months of distance, and somehow Buck still managed to feel further away than ever. 

Eddie adjusted his earpiece, eyes tracking across the packed Melbourne Cricket Ground from his side of the stage. The crowd screamed as the first base hit dropped, lights blazing. 

The opening number hit hard, music pounding, lights sweeping the stadium. Buck smiled, danced, and sang. It was all muscle memory now. 

But the spark? Gone. 

Buck and Eddie moved like clockwork on stage, their performance flawless to the casual eye. But anyone who looked closely could see the difference. They barely glanced at each other. Gone were the playful smiles, the natural smiles, the natural chemistry, the little moments that once sparked so much frenzy among fans. The connection that used to set the stage on fire had dimmed to embers. 

Even their signature moment, an unscripted glance mid-set that always sent fans into a meltdown, was missing. Eddie skipped it entirely, eyes grazing past Buck like he was just another spotlight on stage. But he wasn’t. He had never been. 

The set ended to thunderous applause. Cameras flashed. Fans screamed. 

Eddie felt absolutely nothing. 

The show went on, but the crowd noticed the difference. Hashtags flooded social media within hours. 

#BuddieIceCold

#Where’sTheFire

#BuddieBreakUpConfirmed?

Meanwhile, the headlines painted a different story.

Power Couple Alert: Buckley and Kelly Take Australia by Storm.

Onstage Sparks and Offstage Romance: Buck and Taylor Heat Up.

Tour Romance Confirmed!

Buckley Finally Settling Down!

Backstage was no better. Tension threaded through every shared space, every brush of proximity. Even Taylor Kelly’s presence, front row, glittering and camera-ready, added fuel to the growing rumors. She’d been at the afterparty the night before, arms linked with Buck in every staged photograph. Eddie had noticed, even if he pretended not to. 

The dressing room hummed with post-show energy, dancers laughing, managers checking schedules, roadies darting past with equipment. And there, in the middle of it all, was Buck. A magnetic smile pasted on his face like war paint. Taylor Kelly sat beside him, effortlessly gorgeous, her hand brushing his arm like they were the real thing. 

Eddie didn’t let his eyes linger too long. 

Buck found him anyway. 

“Eds-” he started, voice low, cracking at the edges. 

Eddie didn’t look up. “Don’t.” His voice was quiet, clenched. He kept unlacing his boots, staring at his hands like they could anchor him. 

“We promised,” Eddie said, voice thinner than he meant, quieter too. “No pretending. Not with us. But this?” He jerked his head subtly toward Taylor, who was laughing with Ana. “That’s all you do now. Pretend.” 

Buck’s eyes flinched like the words physically hit him. “I didn’t want this-”

“You could’ve fought harder,” Eddie said. Each word burned as it left him. “Instead, you let them turn you into something you’re not. And now you’re clinging to the lie like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.”

He didn’t wait for a response. He couldn’t. One more second staring into those too-blue eyes, and he’d say something he couldn’t take back.

Later, near the equipment crates, Buck leaned against a speaker case, trying to breathe past the noise in his head. Athena found him there, sharp eyes and crossed arms. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, boy.” 

Buck didn’t even flinch, but his eyes didn’t meet hers. “What game? It’s handled…” 

Athena’s expression hardened. “You think what I just watched was ‘handled’? You think pretending next to that woman like you’re not unraveling is some kind of win?”

He stayed quiet. 

Athena shook her head, stepping closer. “Listen to me, keeping the outside threats away? That’s my job. I’ll handle stalkers, crowds, even your management if I have to.” 

Her gaze hardened, razor-sharp. “But I can’t protect you from what you’re doing to yourself.” 

Buck swallowed, throat tight with things unsaid. 

“You’re lying to your fans. To Eddie. To your crew…” her voice softened slightly, cutting even deeper. “But the worst lie? That’s the one you keep telling yourself.” 

She stepped back, sunglasses sliding down over her eyes, voice like steel. “Stop running before there’s nothing left to run from.” 

The tour bus hummed down the dark coastal highway towards Sydney, quiet except for the low buzz of exhaustion and quiet conversation. Buck sat alone, headphones in, but no music playing. 

Bobby dropped into the seat beside Buck with a sigh, coffee in hand. He didn’t speak for a long moment, just stared ahead with thoughtful eyes. 

“You know, there’s a point where even the strongest stage can collapse under too much weight,” he finally said, voice calm. “You can only pile so many lies, expectations, and photo ops on top before the whole damn thing caves in.” 

Buck’s jaw tightened, gaze fixed on the blurred trees outside the window. 

Bobby’s hand landed on his shoulder, warm and grounding. “I’ve seen what pressure like this does to good people. You don’t have to carry it alone.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “And you sure as hell don’t have to torch everything real just to stay marketable.”

He squeezed Buck’s shoulder gently. “Don’t let the act become your whole life. Because if you do, you’ll wake up one day and the real you will be gone.” 

Sydney glittered in the distance. Another show was coming. Another lie, and another decision on what to do. 

Sydney stretched beyond the glass railing, lights reflecting off the dark surface of the water, the illuminated arch of the Harbour Bridge framing the skyline.

Buck sat with his knees drawn up, hoodie zipped up to his chin, fingers picking at the fraying fabric along the cuffs. His adrenaline from the final show buzzed under his skin, but it wasn’t the good kind. It was tight, nervous energy. The kind that left his chest hollow and his head spinning. 

From down the hall, the echoes of the afterparty drifted faintly, crew members celebrating the Australian leg of the tour, the success, the headlines. The same headlines that plastered him next to Taylor Kelly in every glossy magazine, under every clickbait caption. 

Music’s Hottest Couple Take the World by Storm.

Lies packaged with perfect lightning and rehearsed smiles. 

Eddie wasn’t looking for Buck. Not really. 

But something about rooftops had always drawn them both. A quiet place above the noise and chaos. 

“You really like rooftops, huh?” he said softly. 

Buck didn’t turn, eyes fixed on the cityscape. “Only place I can breathe lately, where people forget I’m supposed to be perfect.” 

Eddie’s shoes scraped the ground as he sat beside him. Stretching out his legs, arms braced behind him on the cool concrete. His body radiated warmth despite the chill in the air. 

They sat there, breathing together in silence. The same silence that had stretched between them for weeks. But now, it finally cracked. 

Buck’s fingers curled into his fist, nails digging into his palms. His chest felt too tight, too small for everything he’d been swallowing down, the management orders, the staged moments with Taylor, the walls closing around him. 

“She’s not…” Buck’s voice broke before he steadied it. “She’s not you.” 

Eddie’s breath hitched softly, shoulders stiffening. The tension stretched between them like a live wire. Buck risked a sideways glance. 

“I never wanted any of this,” Buck admitted quietly. “The secrets. The lies. But every time I try to push back, Ana reminds me how fast I could lose everything. The music. The fans. You.” 

Eddie finally looked at him, and it was like a punch to the chest. All quiet hurt, the guarded affection simmering beneath anger. 

“You promised me…” Eddie’s voice cracked, soft but firm. “No pretending with me.”

Buck’s throat tightened, guilt washing over him. “I’m trying-”

“You’re surviving,” Eddie interrupted, but his tone was gentle. “But it won’t last. I’ve been there, Buck. When I was overseas. You wear the mask long enough, you forget how to take it off.” Eddie’s voice wasn’t angry. It was tired, bruised. 

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Buck admitted, voice shaking. 

“You’re still in there,” Eddie answered. His fingers brushed Buck’s briefly. Tender. “I see him. Every time you laugh. Every time you sing. I just… I hate watching you disappear underneath all that PR bullshit.”

Buck’s eyes burned, but he forced a smile. “I’m right here.” 

Eddie’s lips twitched, sad but honest. “No, you’re not. But I’m waiting… Whenever you’re ready to stop running.” 

For a moment, they just sat there, neither of them moving closer. The space between them buzzed with hurt and hesitation, their walls not completely gone, not yet. 

A door clicked behind them. They both tensed as Taylor Kelly stepped onto the rooftop, heels clicking softly against the stone. She hadn’t meant to overhear. But the tension, the undercurrent between them, was impossible to miss. 

Buck straightened, hand pulling back. Eddie’s jaw tightened, gaze flickering away. 

Taylor’s eyes narrowed faintly, curiously calculating. And for the first time… sympathetic?

She lingered by the doorframe, saying nothing, but the shift in her expression said enough. She saw it now. The cracks in Buck’s facade. The quiet heartbreak Eddie wore like armor. The depth of whatever was unraveling between them. The soft looks and the bruised vulnerability. 

This wasn’t a fling. Wasn’t some backstage crush. It ran deeper, dangerously so. 

Taylor wasn’t stupid. She had her suspicions before. But this? This moment confirmed it. The rooftop. The heartbreak was written across their faces. 

She saw the truth now, too clearly to ignore. She was a placeholder in a story that had started long before she entered the picture. 

A pawn in a machine. A role she’d been cast in. 

But for the first time, Taylor didn’t feel like playing anymore. 

Chapter Text

The energy in Paris was electric, headlines flashing, paparazzi lurking, fans camped outside venues, hotels, and literally anywhere Buck might appear. The European leg of the tour was sold out, relentless and suffocating. 

Everywhere Buck turned, there was another interview, another performance, another staged moment with Taylor. Their fake relationship was packaged like a fairytale for the public. Arms linked on the Champ-Élysées, soft smiles under city lights. 

Gossip sites posted glowing headlines. The glossy press painted Buck as a golden boy in love, walking hand-in-hand with Taylor Kelly along the Seine. 

Tabloid headlines blared.

Is Buckley finally off the market?

Music’s golden boy and the fiery journalist heating up Paris!

Fire & Ice: Buck’s Fiery Romance Melts Hearts in Europe

It should’ve been a dream, but it felt like a nightmare. 

Meanwhile, backstage the tension boiled. 

May paced with her phone glued to her hand. Hen sat scowling by the soundboard. Ravi sent Buck pitying looks when he wasn’t shooting death glares at management. 

The worst part? Eddie had stopped trying to hide the distance. 

He moved through soundcheck and stage prep like a machine. Precise, professional, emotionally absent. He didn’t flinch at the sight of Buck’s hand on Taylor’s waist. He didn’t say a word about the tabloids. 

After rehearsal, Hen cornered Buck by the monitors, eyes hard with disappointment. “You’re not only breaking your own heart here, Buckley.” she said sharply. “You’re breaking his too.” 

Buck opened his mouth. No words came.

“Everyone can see it, and I mean everyone . Except maybe you and him,” she hissed, stepping closer. “You promised him something real. You gave him hope. And now? You’re killing both of you with this stupid game.” 

Buck felt the guilt claw at his ribs, but Hen was already walking away.

That night, after another interview where Taylor played the perfect supportive partner and Buck smiled through gritted teeth, they ducked into an empty hallway of the venue. 

Taylor leaned against the wall, slipping off her heels with a sigh, eyes sharp and tired as they locked onto him. 

“I know I’m just a pawn in all this,” she admitted, quiet but cutting. “They can dress it up however they want, but I’m not stupid.” 

Buck’s shoulders slumped, exhaustion bleeding through every inch of him.

“Taylor-”

“Save it,” she interrupted, softer now. More resigned than angry. “I’m not here to drag you. But I want you to know, I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I had all the facts.” 

The truth hit harder than he expected. 

“I’m not the villain here, Buck,” she said. “But you need to stop pretending you don’t already know who you love.”

Her eyes flickered toward the dressing rooms down the hall, toward the very real ache hanging between Buck and Eddie. 

“I didn’t know…” she paused, weighing the next words. “I didn’t know it was him.” 

The weight of it settled heavily between them. “He’s good at pretending,” Taylor added, voice laced with quiet sympathy. “But you broke something in him, and I don’t think staged magazine covers are gonna fix that.” 

Buck’s jaw clenched, shame burning beneath his skin.

The next day, after the show, Taylor found Eddie alone near the loading dock, leaning against a pillar, smoking a cigarette with tired eyes. Their gazes met, guarded and uncertain. 

“I never would’ve said yes to this… if I knew.” Taylor confessed, voice steady but laced with regret. “I thought it was harmless PR. Clean up some rumours. I didn’t know it would tear him apart… or you.” she said. “I didn’t know I was standing in the middle of someone else’s heartbreak.”

Eddie gave her a bitter smile. “You and me both.”

The storm began in Madrid. 

The rain came in sheets. Relentless and cold. The city glistened with tension, its streets smeared with reflections of tour buses and paparazzi lights. Inside the area, the energy was electric. Outside of the venue, something sacred was splintering. 

After the third show, Buck found Eddie on the rooftop of the hotel, leaning against a pillar. Hoodie up, a cigarette between his fingers. A rare vice he hadn’t touched much since El Paso. 

Buck walked over. Eddie didn’t look up. 

“You don’t even smoke,” Buck said quietly. 

“Yeah, well,” Eddie exhaled, “turns out I do a lot of things when I’m miserable.”

Buck’s throat tightened with guilt. “You won’t even talk to me anymore.” 

“You already made it clear who you want to be by your side,” Eddie said, voice low, edged with pain. “So why don’t you talk to her .” 

“I can’t keep doing this,” Buck whispered.

Eddie didn’t move, but his eyes locked on him, tense with unspoken hurt.

“I miss you so much it physically hurts,” Buck continued, eyes shining. “And this… God, Eddie, this is all fake. Every smile, every kiss, every photo with her.” he said, voice raw.

“But the damage isn't,” Eddie snapped. “Do you know what it’s like? Watching you touch her like it means something? While I stand in the wings, pretending it doesn’t kill me?” 

Buck stepped closer. “You think I don’t feel the same?” 

“Then stop lying !” Eddie said, voice breaking. “To her. To them. To me .”

“I can’t!” Buck snapped, making Eddie flinch. “None of this was my choice. The relationship, the silence… Ana, she…” he swallowed. “She threatened to destroy everything. My career. Maddie’s career. You. Chris…” 

Eddie didn’t respond. Not at first. The rain hit harder now, tapping against the railing like static. 

“You should’ve told me,” he said at last, “sooner.” 

“I was trying to protect everyone,” Buck said softly. “And I ended up hurting the only person I-”

“Don’t!” Eddie snapped. “Don’t say you love me if you’re still choosing the lie…” he said softer.

“There you are!” Ana’s heels clicked against the wet floor as she approached, eyes cool and controlled, even in the rain. Her gaze flicked to Eddie with icy dismissal. “We have a schedule, Evan. You can’t afford… distractions.” 

Her hand closed around Buck’s arm. He flinched. 

“Step out of line again,” she murmured, low enough so only Buck could hear her. “And I will end you. You’re a product, Evan. I made you. You don’t get to rewrite the narrative now.”

Buck’s throat locked, he couldn’t speak. 

“I’ll be downstairs.” she added, smiling. Then she disappeared into the elevator, her reflection lingering for a second too long. 

When Buck turned back, Eddie was already gone.

Buck found himself in Bobby’s suite, shoulders hunched, eyes heavy with frustration and regret. Bobby poured them both a cup of tea, watching Buck unravel. 

“I feel like I’m suffocating,” Buck said, voice strained. Bobby’s expression softened with quiet understanding. 

“You’ve got two choices, Buck. You either keep letting fear control you… Or you can fight for the life you actually want.” 

Buck’s hands trembled as he wrapped them around the mug. 

Downstairs, Athena stood at the monitors, watching Ana’s smug exit through the lobby. Her eyes narrowed. Ana Flores had just made a very dangerous enemy.

The fallout in Liverpool was immediate. 

Ana kept the leash tight. Appearances, interviews, social media posts. She paraded Buck through staged moments like a marionette with glossy eyes and a ford smile.  But it was unraveling. Everyone could see it. 

Hen cornered Buck again, before soundcheck. “You look like a ghost. You haven’t eaten, haven’t slept. What are you doing?” 

“I don’t know anymore,” Buck said, voice raw. “Trying not to lose what little I have left?”

“You already did,” Hen shot back. “Now the only thing left is whether you’re going to fight for it.”

The venue was massive. Sold-out, rowdy, soaked in rain. 

The rain outside hadn’t stopped. It pounded on the roof like a second heartbeat. Fans screamed and sang along. 

The energy crackled, but Buck barely felt it. His body moved through the motions, rehearsed and hollow. 

But then came the acoustic set. 

Halfway through the acoustic set, Buck looked at the setlist. One song stood out in sharp, unforgiving ink. The one he wrote in a sunlit hotel room with Eddie asleep beside him. 

He hadn’t planned to do it, but something inside him gave way. 

The lights dimmed. The crowd hushed. 

He got four lines in before his voice cracked. 

The mic caught the sound. The tremble. The breath that didn’t quite land. 

Then the tears came. 

Not loud. Not messy. Just real. A slow unraveling. A heartbreak played live. 

He turned away from the crowd, trying to shield his face, but the cameras were faster. They always were. 

Screens lit up with headlines in real time. 

#BuddieBreakUpConfirmed

#BuckInTears

Eddie didn’t stay. Didn’t want to see what Buck did next. Couldn’t. His body moved before his brain could catch up. Back through the hallway, past the crew, out into the cold Liverpool rain. 

He found a stairwell. Sat on the concrete step. Pressed his palms to his eyes until stars danced behind them. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

They were supposed to be a team. Buck was supposed to let him in. Not protect him by staying silent. Not hold it all in until it cracked his ribs and spilled out onto a stage for millions to see. 

He leaned his head against the stairwell wall, soaked through and shaking, and let himself admit the truth. 

He was still in love with Buck. Had never stopped. 

The dimly lit crew lounge in the arena’s underbelly was unusually tense. Rain hammered the windows, the after-show chaos had faded, leaving only the quiet hum of frustration. 

Hen slammed her tablet down on the table, glaring at the latest headline.  

Buck Breaks Down During Liverpool Concert, Taylor Kelly Still by His Side!

“Taylor Kelly still by his side,” she repeated mockingly, looking ready to throw the tablet across the room. “Meanwhile, the person he’s actually in love with is miserable.” 

“Eddie hasn’t spoken to anyone since Madrid.” Ravi sighed. 

May scoffed. “Ana’s working overtime. Threats. Manipulation. It’s a circus.”

Chim scratched his head. “She’s got the label wrapped around her finger. If Buck pushes too hard…” 

Maddie walked in, defiance under her exhaustion. “If Buck keeps this up, he won’t make it to the final show.” 

Hen’s gaze sharpened. “Then we stop standing by. Ana doesn’t own him. We do our jobs backstage, we take back control. Slowly. Through the cameras, the livestreams…” 

May smiled softly. “We control the narrative.” 

Ravi perked up, cautious but curious. “What… What exactly are we suggesting?”

Maddie sat down beside Chim, voice low but firm. “We remind the world who Buck really is. No staged PR stunts. No forced chemistry. We push the real moments, the lingering looks, the way he lights up near Eddie, the spark that made people fall in love with him in the first place.”

Hen’s voice softened. “We start with little things at first. Social posts, backstage clips, stuff the fans notice, but Ana doesn’t. We’ve got the #Buddie trending even with the walls up. Imagine what will happen when we show even a sliver of the truth.”

She loaded a clip, showing it to the others. An unposted moment from weeks ago, Backstage in Rome, Buck and Eddie brushing shoulders, laughing quietly. It was nothing dramatic but the look between them said everything.

“Post it,” Maddie said. “Remind them who he really is.”

They exchanged looks, a silent pact forming in the shadows of chaos. 

“Rebellion starts now,” Hen declared, uploading the video. The first of many posts to follow.

Chapter Text

London was supposed to be the pinnacle. 

Three sold-out nights at the O2 Arena. 

Historic. Monumental. Career-defining. 

And Buck delivered. Every note, every move, every stage cue hit with ferocity and polish. The crowd was electric, lights blinding, his voice soaring.

But behind the curtain, his world was quietly falling apart. 

He barely had time to towel off after the final encore when he was ushered into a private lounge offstage. A chill slid down his spine the second he saw them. 

His parents.

Margaret Buckley’s sharp eyes swept the room, already critical. “Evan, we need to talk.” she said, voice clipped, her eyes scanning him like a report card she wasn’t impressed by.

Philip was already seated, fingers steepled in front of him, composed like always. “This situation has gotten out of hand.” 

Buck blinked, still catching his breath. “What situation, exactly?” 

Margaret didn’t wait, “The internet is a circus, pictures of you and that… dancer. That ridiculous gossip reporter glued to your side, and now fans are speculating about your… preferences.”

Buck’s stomach dropped. He could hear his pulse pound in his ears, already raw from the two hours on stage, but this? This suffocating pressure was worse than any arena roar. 

Margaret’s tone turned brittle. “You fix this. Publicly. Taylor’s already on the payroll. She’s charming, pretty, safe. Propose to her.” 

Buck stared at them in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

Philip didn’t even flinch. “You propose. Soon. Make it believable. Show the world you’re exactly who they thought you were.” 

Buck felt his throat tighten, heat rising behind his eyes. Not anger, not quite. Something closer to shame. Panic. 

“I’m not marrying her,” he said, voice low. “I don’t even-”

“You don’t have to mean it,” Margaret hissed. “You just have to sell it.”

Then Buck heard the softest sound. A breath, caught in someone’s throat. 

Eddie was standing in the doorway. So still he could’ve been part of the wall. 

Towel still draped around his neck. Face pale. And his eyes? Shattered. 

“Eddie-” Buck took a step forward.

But Eddie had already stepped back. 

One glance. One quiet, searing glance. And then he was gone. 

“Evan?” Margaret’s voice sounded muffled now, like it was coming from underwater. “Are we clear?” 

Philip stood. “Do what needs to be done. You’ll thank us later.” 

Buck didn’t answer. He just stared at the empty doorway, listening to the sound of his own heart shattering. 

The rooftop was quiet, wind rustling gently against the glass panels. London’s skyline stretched across the horizon, glittering, sprawling, cold. 

Eddie stood near the edge, fingers curled tight around the railing. The cool night air did nothing to soothe the fire in his chest. 

He heard footsteps behind him. Knew who it was without having to turn. 

“I figured I’d find you here…” Buck said softly, voice tight. “You heard them…” 

Eddie closed his eyes, fighting the tears burning behind his eyes. “Just the part where your parents want you to put on a ring and lie to the world.” 

Buck walked up beside him, “Eddie, it’s not what I-”

Eddie shook his head, turning to him with red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t. Okay? Don’t say it’s not what it looked like. Because maybe it’s not. But it still hurts like hell.” 

He paused, chest heaving. 

“I love you, Buck. I really do,” he said, voice breaking. “But I won’t be your secret. And I definitely won’t be your fucking lie.” The first tears slipped out. 

Buck flinched like he’d been struck. “I never wanted to lie.” 

“But you are,” Eddie whispered now, wiping away the tears. “Every time you let them control the story. Every time you let them write me out.” 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Buck choked. “They threatened everything. My career, Maddie’s-”

“I get it,” Eddie cut in. “I do. But I can’t drag Christopher into this. Into a world where we have to hide who we are just to survive.” 

He stepped back, eyes shining with more unshed tears. “I can’t live like that. And I won’t let you kill yourself trying to.” 

“Eddie, please… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You already did,” Eddie whispered. “I won’t do this, I won’t love you in the dark.” 

Buck reached out. But Eddie stepped away, shaking his head. 

“If you ever decide to be brave enough… If you ever fight for us like you fight for everything else… You’ll know where to find me.” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, but I’m stepping away.”

And he did. Not because he didn’t love Buck. But because he had to.

Because sometimes love wasn’t enough when it came wrapped in silence and shame. 

Buck didn’t chase him. He couldn't. He just stood there, alone on the rooftop, with London’s lights blurring behind his tears. 

Hours later, Buck was still sitting on the rooftop ledge, slouched and silent, the city lights below bleeding together in a blur of color and regret. The night air was cool and biting, but Buck barely noticed. 

The door creaked open behind him. 

Maddie slipped outside, jacket over her shoulders, hair pulled back. She walked quietly until she was beside him, then sat down without a word. 

“I lost him,” Buck said, voice hoarse from crying. 

Maddie’s heart clenched, she reached out to place a steady hand on his back. 

“They want me to marry her,” he whispered, voice cracking again. “For a headline. For optics. They said it would ‘save everything’.”

Maddie pulled him closer. “And what about saving you?” 

Buck didn’t answer her question. “I should’ve been stronger. Should’ve fought harder. But… I feel like I’m drowning, Maddie.” he sobbed. 

She pulled him in a hug. “You don’t have to go under. Not alone.” she pressed a kiss to his hair. “We’ll figure this out. Together.” she whispered.

Inside the crew started mobilizing. Hen’s sharp voice cut through the tension. 

“Ana’s been running this whole show like a tyrant. We can’t let her keep strangling Buck’s truth.” 

Ravi nodded. “It’s time to take back the reins. Buck deserves to tell his own story.” 

May leaned in. “We’re done playing Ana’s game. We’re rewriting the story.” 

“For that you’re gonna need the footage. The real moments, the glances, the touches… The truth.” Athena spoke up from behind them. “Good thing people trust security.” she smirked, holding up a flashdrive. 

Bobby joined her, eyes blazing. “We’re not just his crew, or his dancers. We’re his family. We fight for him.” 

Chimney nodded firmly. “Let’s tear down the fake narrative. Piece by fucking piece.”

Chapter Text

The month off should’ve been a reprieve. But for Buck, it was freefall. 

Photoshoots. Interviews. Endless speculation. Taylor on his arm, the perfect PR girlfriend. The perfect lie. 

And none of it made him feel whole. Buck spent most days locked away in his penthouse. Phone off, curtains drawn, exhausted beyond words but unable to sleep. The weight of the public image, family pressure, and the ache of losing Eddie gnawed at him from every side. 

He stared into mirrors and couldn’t find himself in the reflection. Couldn’t find the boy who used to chase stars, the man who once lit up arenas with nothing but joy. 

The days blurred. 

He felt like he was watching his own life from behind the glass. Screaming, but no sound coming out. 

Isolation was easier, until it wasn’t. 

One afternoon, the knock at his door was relentless. Then came the voices. 

Suddenly, the door opened. 

The entire crew stormed in. Maddie, with her key in hand, followed by Hen, May, Ravi, Chim… Even Bobby and Athena. They looked around at the mess, the untouched takeout boxes, the darkened room, and the hollow version of Buck slumped on the couch. 

Hen didn’t waste time. “Alright, pity party’s over.” She snapped, dropping her bag. 

Buck blinked from the couch. “What are you-”

“You’re killing yourself pretending to be fine,” May interrupted him, arms crossed, eyes sharp. 

“You’re Evan Freaking Buckley, dude!” Ravi exclaimed, his usually soft expression was grim.  “Remember him? We’ve watched you make stadiums cry. And now you’re just what? Rotting away in your own silence?” 

“I’m fine,” Buck muttered, voice hoarse. 

“Bullshit,” Maddie whispered. Her voice cracked with emotion as she took in the shell of her brother. 

Chim crouched in front of him. “You think this is strength? Lying until your heart breaks? Newsflash, man. It’s not noble. It’s self-destruction.” 

Buck looked up at them, the exhaustion written into the shadows under his eyes. “You don’t get it. I can’t fix this.”

“You mean Eddie?” Maddie asked gently. 

Buck didn’t answer. 

“You didn’t lose him,” she continued. “Not completely. But if you keep this up? You will.” 

Bobby stepped forward, quiet authority radiating off him. “You’ve built an empire on that stage, Buck. But what good is it if you’re crumbling behind the curtain?” 

Athena knelt beside him, hand finding his. “You’ve let everyone else write your story long enough,” she said. “Time to take back the pen.” 

The silence after her words stretched long, but not empty. 

Buck exhaled, really exhaled, for the first time in months.

Maybe it wasn’t too late. 

The tension in the penthouse settled like fog, heavy but expectant. Buck wiped at his eyes, the smallest flicker of hope cracking through the exhaustion. 

Hen cleared her throat, stepping forward again with her phone in hand. “Full disclosure… I’ve been soft-launching the Buddie renaissance.” 

Buck blinked, confused. “What do you mean?” 

May grinned, “Clips. Edits. Behind-the-scenes moments. Nothing direct, but… Enough to remind people what they felt watching you two.”

“#BuddieLives is trending again,” Ravi added with a smile. “I mean… people can’t fake that chemistry. You and Eddie? You’ve been writing your own story for months.”

Buck’s throat tightened, heart tugged toward something he’d buried. The truth. The connection with Eddie, the cracks in the facade, was still out there. Pulsing just beneath the surface. 

Hen’s smile faded into something more serious. “The moment you’re ready? We go full tilt. You come out on your terms. We torch the fake narrative. Expose Ana, the label, all of it.” 

“But only if you’re ready.” Maddie said softly. 

There was a beat of silence as Buck considered it all, the risks, the consequences, but the weight of the loneliness, of lying, was heavier than the fallout could ever be. 

He looked around the room. His family, his real one, would always have his back. 

He nodded. “... Okay,” he whispered. “Let’s talk strategy.”

Hen grinned, already dialing. 

When Taylor answered, she looked polished and amused, wine glass in hand. “You look like hell,” she teased lightly, but her voice held genuine concern. 

Buck scoffed. “Thanks, feel like it too.” 

Hen cut in. “We’re moving, Taylor. Full Buddie rebellion. You in?” 

Taylor sipped her wine, eyes narrowing with intrigue. “If I get the exclusive. His truth, the Eddie stuff, the label? Then yes. I’m all in.” 

Buck hesitated only for a second before nodding. “Deal.” 

Taylor’s grin was sharp. “Good. Because they’ve underestimated all of us.” 

The crew exchanged determined looks, the quiet hum of revolution building between them. 

And for the first time in months? Buck felt ready.

El Paso was supposed to be peaceful and quiet. 

But Eddie’s mind wasn’t. 

Every morning, the headlines greeted him like a slap. 

Buckley Proposal Rumors Heat Up.

The Popstar’s Perfect Match

Exclusive: Taylor Spotted Ring Shopping. 

He stopped reading past the headlines. Stopped checking notifications. 

Instead, he shut off his phone for the fifth time that week, tossing it onto the counter like it physically burned him. 

He focused on mornings with Christopher.

They moved slowly, intentionally. Chris sat at the kitchen table, giggling at Eddie’s scrambled eggs, correcting him on Marvel trivia. 

“You know, I was thinking,” Eddie yawned. “In Endgame, Captain America lifts Thor’s hammer because he absorbed Thor’s powers or something, right?” 

Chris looked up, eyebrows raised. “Nope. Not even close, dad.”

Eddie turns around, spatula still in his hand, “Wait, really? Then how?”

“Cap was always worthy! That’s the whole point.” Chris grinned. “It’s not about powers. It’s about being, like, pure of heart.” 

Eddie blinks slowly, trying to process it. “So… He didn’t get lightning powers from Thor?” 

Chris shook his head. “He used the lightning because the hammer lets you do that. But that doesn’t mean he got Thor’s powers permanently.” 

Eddie nodded. “Man. I miss the days when breakfast wasn’t filled with comic book corrections.” he said, mock offended. 

Christopher smirked. “I’m just making sure you don’t embarrass yourself in front of Buck again.” 

Eddie swallowed, turning back to the stove. “That’s fair. But if I quiz you on X-Men next, don’t expect mercy.” he joked softly, trying to hide the pain in his voice. 

Eddie tried to focus on that, the normalcy, the warmth, but his mind kept circling back to Buck, to the rooftop. To the words that still echoed when he couldn’t sleep. ‘I love you, Buck… But I won’t be your secret. And I definitely won’t be your fucking lie.” 

That afternoon, they played board games on the porch. Chris kept grinning every time he rolled a six. 

“Why do you smile like that?” Eddie asked, teasing. 

Chris shrugged. “'Cause it’s Buck’s favorite number. Duh.” 

Eddie’s smile faltered for a second. “Yeah, right. It is.” 

Chris noticed. “You miss him?” 

Eddie swallowed thickly. “Yeah… I really do.” 

Chris nodded like that made perfect sense, then went back to rolling the dice. 

“Hey, bud… Can I tell you something?” Eddie asked, hesitantly. “It’s about Buck…”

Chris sits up straighter, instantly focused. “Did... something happen?” He asks. 

Eddie takes a deep breath, rubbing his hands together for a second before reaching for Chris’s. 

“Nothing bad happened, but some things did happen between Buck and me. I thought you should hear it from me. I…” Eddie swallowed thickly again. “I love him…”

Chris blinks, like he’s heard it before but wasn’t sure it was real until now.

“Like… love love?” he asked innocently as he took Eddie's hand.

Eddie smiles sadly. “Yeah. Like love love.”

Chris thinks it over. His brow furrows. His voice is small, careful. “But… you’re not together?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Not right now…” he sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. “Sometimes… People need space to figure things out. And Buck… he’s going through a lot.” Eddie explained, “I want to be there for him, but I also have to let him come back in his own time. Even if it hurts.”

Chris looks down at their linked hands. He fidgets with Eddie’s pinky finger, like he used to do when he was smaller.

“Does it hurt a lot?” 

Eddie nodded, “Yeah, mijo. It does.”

They stay quiet for a while, both processing it.

Chris breaks the silence, “Do you think he still loves you?”

“I think he does,” Eddie admits softly.

Chris nods. Another beat of silence.

“Then I think it’ll be okay. Sometimes you just have to wait for your favorite part of the song.” he says, tone light and innocent. 

It nearly breaks Eddie, he pulls Chris into a hug, holding him tightly, burying his face in his son’s hair.

“You’re too smart for me, you know that?” he whispers into Chris’s hair.

“Yeah, well… I learned from the best.” Chris whispers back. 

The game sits forgotten between them. The sun started to go down, but in this moment, it’s just father and son, wrapped in hope and heartache and the quiet, steady kind of love that doesn’t go away, even when it’s waiting.

Later, after putting Chris to bed, Eddie found Abuela already waiting in the kitchen, two cups of tea steeping between them. 

“Quieres hablar?” she asked softly. Do you want to talk?

Eddie exhaled, fingers curling around the mug. “I thought coming home would help… But everywhere I look, it’s him. His face, the lies… the damn proposal rumors…” he sighs. “I thought distance would… I don’t know, Heal it?” 

“And has it?”

Eddie shook his head. “He’s everywhere… On magazine covers. In ads. On TV. And always with her…” 

“Your heart still knows him,” Abuela said gently. “Even if the world doesn’t right now.” 

Eddie swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, but the tears came anyway. “I told him I couldn’t be his secret. That I wouldn’t let Christopher grow up watching me shrink to fit someone else’s story.” 

“Christopher knew long before you told him,” Abuela said, firm. “He saw the way you looked at that man. You think he doesn’t know what real love looks like? You think you can fool a boy like him?” 

“I was trying to protect him.” 

“No,” she corrected him softly. “You were trying to protect yourself. And that’s okay, mijo. But don’t lie to yourself about why it hurts this much.” 

Eddie’s voice cracked. “I miss him so damn much.” 

“I know.” 

Eddie swallowed. 

“You love this man, sí?” she pressed gently. 

“I do,” Eddie admitted, voice barely above a whisper, raw with hurt. “But I can’t. Chris deserves better than watching me become someone’s dirty little secret…” 

“Don’t let fear make that decision for you,” Abuela stated simply. “Love is always messy… But if you walk away now? You’ll regret it.” 

Eddie closed his eyes, the ache of missing Buck blooming fresh. His son’s quiet breathing from down the hall reminded him of what was at stake. But so did the dull ache in his chest. The absence of that ridiculous, stubborn, complicated popstar who made him feel more like himself than anyone ever had. 

Abuela patted his hand softly. “When he’s ready to fight for you? You’ll know.” 

Eddie wiped his face. “And what if he never does?” 

She smiled sadly. “Then you’ll know you loved him honestly. And that will always matter.” 

Outside, the desert night wind whispered against the windows. 

Eddie sat in the quiet, fingers curled around the warmth of the mug once more. His heart ached with something that wasn’t just pain anymore. 

It was hope. Fragile. Incomplete. But still there.

Chapter Text

The Canadian leg of the tour rolled in with crisp air and cooler skies, but something warmer stirred just beneath the surface. It wasn’t just the usual pre-show buzz or the press clamoring for exclusives. 

This time, the energy was different. 

It started quietly, backstage in Montreal. Hen’s phone was a flurry of motion, fingers flying as she captured the smallest, most intentional moments. Buck adjusting a rainbow colored bracelet underneath his sleeve, a flash of color when the light hit just right. A backstage shot where Eddie stood close, Buck’s arm brushing his shoulder. The glances. The gestures. Barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention.

But the fans? They were paying attention. 

The #Buddie tag crept back into circulation, not with outrage or speculation this time, but with quiet awe. 

@BuckVsTheWorld: Did anyone else notice the wristbands?

@BuddieIsRealAF: Look at the way he looked at Eddie during THAT line.

@BuddieNation99: Buck’s pin?? Is that what I think it is??

On stage in Toronto, Buck wore a subtle pin, a tiny, glittering bi colored heart, pinned just above his heart. It was small, almost invisible to anyone not looking. But Eddie caught it.

Their intro choreography brought them face to face, breath close, steps tight. And for just a beat, their eyes locked. That tiny pin burned brighter than any spotlight. 

A silent I see you.

A silent I’m still here.

After the set, Eddie lingered offstage, watching Buck from the shadows. The popstar took his time by the mic stand, fingers brushing patterns into the metal. Habitual, maybe. But Eddie knew better. These weren’t just idle touches. It was code. The same sequence they’d used in late-night texts when Ana had control of Buck’s phone. A private language, shared in stolen moments. 

Hen slid up beside him. “You see it too?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie whispered. His throat was tight. “He’s signaling.” 

Hen’s grin was sharp. “He’s not waiting for permission anymore.”

Eddie didn’t answer. Because with every signal Buck sent, a dangerous line blurred.

Between rebellion and risk.

Between freedom and fallout. 

Later, Eddie found May backstage, watching social media scroll across her phone. 

“Looks like Hen’s been busy,” he said, nodding towards the latest post. A behind-the-scenes shot of Buck laughing, Eddie out of focus, but unmistakably near him. 

May smiled, eyes bright with rebellion. “It’s a start. Buck’s sending signals. We’re all in now. Just… don’t expect it to be easy.” 

“No,” he said “I don’t.” 

But somewhere inside him, hope flickered. Small, cautious, but real. 

Vancouver brought rain and fog. The crew moved fast, prepping costumes and gear. But under it all, something softer thrummed. 

Buck stood at the mirror in his dressing room, adjusting the lapel of his jacket. His hands trembled just slightly, nerves prickling beneath his skin. 

He was tired. Of lying. Of playing the label’s game. Of living half-truths and almosts. 

Eddie appeared behind him in the mirror’s reflection, holding two bottles of water. 

“You need a break,” he said, quiet. 

Buck turned. The sight of him, hoodie on, hair still damp from the drizzle outside, was grounding. 

“Thanks Eds.” 

For a moment, they just stood there, the noise of the crew fading into the background. Buck’s fingers brushed against Eddie’s as he took the bottle. The contact was electric, but quiet, an unspoken reminder that, despite everything, they were still connected. 

They didn’t move away. 

“I saw the pin,” Eddie said softly, eyes locked on Buck. 

Buck gave him a half-smile. “Yeah?” 

“It looked good on you.” 

Buck’s voice lowered, honest. “It felt good. It felt like… me.” 

Hen passed by the open door and poked her head in. “Just so you know, the fandom’s already dissecting every second of the Toronto performance. One girl posted a thread breaking down your choreography like it was a secret love letter.”

Buck chuckled. “Was she wrong?” 

Hen raised a brow. “Was she?”

Buck said nothing, but his smile said everything. 

The city’s rain drizzled outside as the tour pressed on. Offstage, Eddie and Buck found stolen moments in quiet corners.

That night, after the show, they found themselves alone in the shadowed wings of the venue.

Buck was mid-rehearsal, working on a new routine. Eddie leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. 

When Buck caught him staring, he smirked. “You watching, or just making sure I don’t wipe out?” 

“Both,” Eddie admitted with a grin. “But mostly… just watching you be you.” 

Buck’s breath caught. 

Eddie’s voice turned gentler. “I don’t know what you’re planning. But whatever it is… it feels like you’re coming back to yourself.” 

Buck looked down at his shoes, then up at Eddie. “That’s the plan.” 

He didn’t say it out loud, but it lived in his eyes. 

No more hiding. No more lies. No more control. 

Not from Anna. Not from his parents. Not from the machine he built.

Back at the hotel, Buck stood by the window of his suite, the glow of the Vancouver skyline reflecting against the glass. 

His phone buzzed softly. 

Hen: Waiting for your signal. We’re ready. 

Buck didn’t answer right away. 

He looked at the half-unpacked suitcase in the corner. The old lyric notebook was buried in his duffel bag. A photo of Eddie and Christopher peeking out. 

And the pin. Still over his heart. Still glittering. 

He picked up his phone again. 

Typed. 

Paused. 

Deleted. 

Typed again. 

Buck: One more stop. Then we go full out.

Hen: 🔥

Hen: 🌈

Buck smiled, heart racing. 

In a couple of days, the last leg of the tour would begin. 

And the world? The world was about to meet him. The real him. 

No edits. No scripts. Just Buck. 

And maybe… if the world was ready… Buddie too. 

Chapter Text

The final night of the tour arrived like a storm. Charged, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore. 

Madison Square Garden was sold out to the rafters, the crowd pulsing with energy before a single note was played. Outside, fans filled entire city blocks. Inside, a sea of rainbow wristbands, pride flags, and glowing phone screens painted the arena in shimmering waves of color. 

Backstage, nerves and adrenaline tangled in the air. 

Maddie straightened the collar of Buck’s black satin jacket, her fingers lingering over the small bi colored pin still fixed above his heart. “You’re sure about this?” she asked, voice low. 

Buck nodded. His eyes weren’t just determined. They were free. 

Hen stood nearby, livestream already rolling, social feeds open. Bobby hovered by the monitors, eyes locked on camera feeds. Chim double-checked lightning cues with the crew, giving Buck a subtle thumbs-up. 

And somewhere backstage, Ana simmered. Uninvited. Unrelenting. But most of all, powerless. 

The house lights dropped. The crowd roared. 

Showtime. 

The set opened loud and explosive, Buck commanding the stage with fire in his veins. The fans matched his energy beat for beat, every lyric echoed back like scripture. Hit after hit, the setlist soared, but there was an unspoken build-up in the air. Like everyone was waiting for the moment. Like they already knew it was coming. 

And then it did. 

One spotlight. 

Just Buck and his guitar. 

A single guitar chord rang out across the stadium. Raw and aching. 

Then Buck’s voice, stripped of all production and polish, filled the air. 

The crowd lost their breath. They knew this song. 

The same aching ballad he’d broken down during. The fans had dissected for weeks, trying to figure out who it was about. 

He’d sung it before. But not like this. 

This time, he was ready. 

“You never asked for the spotlight

Just stayed close enough to catch me. 

You were the silence in my chaos

The calm in every storm.” 

His voice was stronger this time. Unshaken. Every word rang clear, and every line landed like a confession. 

“I tried to be who they wanted

Smiled for their cameras, told their lies.

But you

You saw the mess and stayed. 

You knew before I did. 

And I’m done pretending you’re not my truth.”

Eddie stood in the wings, overwhelmed with emotion. He had seen this song been born during quiet nights in hotel rooms. 

“You were always there in the silence

In the beat between the noise.

I didn’t see it until I was drowning

And your hand was the only choice.”

The entire arena held its breath. 

“Now I see you in the light

Where I don’t have to hide. 

This love? It’s mine to live. 

No more asking permission to survive.” 

Buck reached the final lines. 

“You are the song I never got to sing. 

But I’m singing it now. 

I’m singing it for you.”

The place went silent, before it erupted. Screams. Tears. Applause so loud it shook the stage. 

Buck waited a couple of minutes. Then he stepped forward, guitar slung on his back, gripping the mic. 

“These last few months,” he said, voice steady over the roar, “I’ve been told who to love. How to live. How to fit into a picture someone else painted of me.” 

The audience stilled instantly. 

“But tonight?” a smile tugged at his lips, soft but unshakable. “Tonight, I’m choosing me. And the person I love. The person who’s been here all along.”

Rainbow lights flooded the stage.

A single beat of silence. 

Then the arena exploded.

Screams. Cheers. Tears. Applause. Pride flags rippling across the stands. Phones capturing every second. Twitter’s servers practically smoking under the weight of the moment.

#Buddie shot to number one globally within minutes. 

And in the wings, Ana’s expression curdled. She shoved past startled crew, fury boiling under her skin. But before she could reach the stage, Athena stepped directly in her path. 

“You’re not stopping this,” Athena said coolly, gaze like steel. “You don’t control him anymore.” 

Ana opened her mouth, but found no power left in it. She was already losing. 

Taylor stood near the side stage, clapping with a proud, maybe even bittersweet smile. She didn’t need to be part of the spotlight. She turned and walked away, already drafting the story that would tell the world what really happened.

Back on stage, Buck stood in the silence that followed. The moment lingered. 

Maddie nudged Eddie, hard. “Go!” 

“I-” His voice caught.

“Now!” Chim said, grinning. “He just sang you a damn love song in front of millions of people. Get the fuck out there!”

Before Eddie could think twice, they pushed him forward.

The crowd noticed him immediately. The scream that followed was deafening. 

Buck turned as Eddie reached him, and time seemed to wrap. Just the two of them. Every second they’d ever stolen behind closed doors now leading to this. 

Eddie’s eyes were glassy. “Are you sure?” 

Buck didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. 

Slowly, deliberately, Buck reached up to Eddie’s face. Eddie’s hand rose to Buck’s waist, pulling him close. Then, in front of the crowd, in front of the whole world watching, they kissed. Soft at first, then sure and fierce. 

It was messy. And real.

The crowd lost its mind. People screamed. Fans cried. 

Around them the crew erupted. May wiped tears from her cheeks, clutching Ravi’s arm with trembling fingers. Hen’s eyes sparkled with pride, already capturing moments for the social feeds. Maddie pulled Bobby in a tight hug, which he pretended to hate while emotion swelled in his chest. Chimney bounced like a kid on Christmas. Athena grinned. “About time,” she murmured.

And in the front row, Chris beamed so brightly it could’ve lit the stage on its own. “That’s my dad!” he yelled, pointing at the stage. Abuela dabbed her eyes beside him, whispering blessings in Spanish. 

Buck and Eddie pulled back only when they couldn’t breathe, foreheads resting together, the stadium around them still howling. 

That night, Taylor Kelly’s exposé dropped like a meteor. 

Breaking The Silence: Buckley’s True Love Story and the Fight for Authenticity.

It was bold. It was raw. And it didn’t hold back. 

She wrote of the months Buck spent trapped in a PR-mandated image, of Ana’s manipulation, of how he’d fought behind the scenes to reclaim his voice. How Eddie had been there through all of it. Quietly and faithfully. 

Taylor’s tone was both admiring and unapologetically critical of the industry’s control over artists’ lives. 

The internet exploded. 

Queer kids across the world posted videos crying, saying they felt seen. 

Fans rallied instantly. Artists and celebrities posted support, some sharing their own stories of industry suppression. #Buddie wasn’t just trending. It was a movement. Think pieces filled blogs, news outlets debated the moment, and the LGBTQ+ community embraced the couple with open arms. 

Headlines blared. 

A New Era of Honesty

Buckley and Diaz Rewrite the Rules

There was backlash, sure. There always is.

But it couldn’t compete with the tidal wave of love. It only fueled the fire.

Even some conservative outlets cautiously acknowledged the importance of the moment though some dissenters stirred controversy, only fueling the conversation further. 

This moment wasn’t just a kiss on stage.

It was a declaration, a revolution, and the beginning of something real. 

Chapter Text

The morning after MSG felt like waking up in a dream. Loud, fast-moving, a little surreal. 

Buck sat curled up on the hotel couch in sweats and one of Eddie’s hoodies, scrolling through the tidal wave of headlines and tweets, heart ricocheting between disbelief and awe. 

Screens lit up everywhere with footage from the night before. Headlines screamed, hashtags trended, and social media fractured into a kaleidoscope of reactions. 

Some posts were jubilant. 

@BuddieNation99: THEY’RE REAL. THEY’RE SO REAL. I KNEW IT. I FREAKING KNEW IT. #Buddie

@BuddieIsRealAF: That wasn’t just a kiss. That was history!

@DiazDisaster: They gave us queer love on the biggest stage in the world. I’m sobbing!

@RainbowVibes: To anyone feeling unseen: watch what Evan Buckley just did.

But not all of it was love.

@srslyjustsayin: Why make it political? Just sing the damn songs.

@bitteronmain: This is inappropriate for a family audience. 

 @truthseeker: They used us. Lied for years. Gross. 

Some articles praised him. Others speculated. A few turned ugly. 

A Love Song Turned Revolution

Evan Buckley Comes Out On Stage - and the Internet Has Feelings

Buck and Diaz: PR stunt or Doomed Fling?

‘I Tried to Protect Him’: Ana Flores Speaks Out After MSG Chaos

He tossed his phone onto the coffee table and groaned into his hands. 

Eddie, sitting nearby with Chris, reached out and squeezed Buck’s knee. “Breathe, Buck. We knew this would happen.”

“Yeah…” Buck groans. “But I didn’t think half the internet would have a PhD in relationship analysis overnight.” 

Chris raises an eyebrow, looking up from his game. "Well, duh. Internet people live for drama. They're basically in Season five of your love story, and you’re still stuck in Episode one."

He shrugged and went back to his game like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb. 

Eddie choked on his coffee, and Buck laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

Later that day, they met Hen in a quiet corner of the production office. She looked exhausted but triumphant, phone in one hand, laptop in the other. The crew had been fielding interview requests all morning. 

“Good news,” she said, “You’ve officially broken the internet. Bad news? Everyone wants a piece of you now, especially the people who tried to control you in the first place.” 

Buck’s smile faltered. 

“But,” Hen added, “I have a solution. And she’s on her way up.” 

The door opened, a woman with sharp eyes and a confident stride walked in. She radiated an energy that made the room sit up straighter. 

Karen Wilson.

Hen’s wife. And one of the most respected PR strategists in the advocacy space. 

Buck blinked, impressed. “Wait… You never bring her into the circus.” 

Karen grinned, extending a hand. “Only when it’s worth it. And you, Buck, totally are.” 

They sat around the table as Karen pulled up a mock media plan on her tablet. 

“You’ve told your truth, Buck. You made it real. But now we shape the story. We own it, before anyone else twists it.” 

Buck glanced at Eddie, who nodded. 

Karen continued. “You don’t just need PR. You need someone who sees you. Someone who gives a damn about the long game, not just the headlines.” 

Hen leaned in with a soft smile. “Karen’s brilliant. And she’s already turned down three corporate offers this morning to work with you.” 

Buck looked surprised. “You want to be my manager?” 

Karen nodded. “On my terms. That means honesty. That means visibility, but on your schedule. We take back control.” 

Buck looked stunned for a beat, then he smiled, relieved, grateful, and just a little breathless. “Yes. Please.” 

The interview had been Karen’s idea, an exclusive joint sit-down. Just Buck and Eddie, answering questions together. 

The studio was all warm wood and soft lighting. Calm. Intentional. The interview was being handled by a queer-owned media platform known for honest, thoughtful, and compassionate storytelling. 

The interviewer, Jade Lin, smiled across at them as the cameras rolled.

“Evan, Eddie, thank you for being here. I want to start by asking: Why now?”

Buck inhaled deeply, glancing at Eddie before answering. 

“Because I got tired of playing someone else’s version of myself,” he said. “Because I love him. Because hiding was killing me quietly.” 

Eddie added softly. “Because our son deserves to see love that’s real, not love that’s staged for a camera. And because for the past two years, I watched Buck dim himself down for everyone else’s comfort. I couldn’t let him do that anymore.” 

Jade leaned in. “There’s been massive support, but also criticism. Especially from more traditional media outlets and certain parts of your old fan base. How are you processing that?” 

Buck sighed. “I won’t lie. It stings. I understand some people feel misled. I didn’t always have control over what the public saw. For a long time, I was… packaged. But I also know that none of that was me. I was surviving, and I’m done with just surviving.” 

Eddie turned to him, gently brushing their fingers together. “We fought hard to get here. We struggled to get here, had fights when no one was around, but we came out on the other side. Together. We’re not going backwards.”

Jade nodded. “You sang a song, Buck. And it became a revolution. How did it feel, singing that song again, this time with the whole world watching, knowing it was about Eddie?”

A pause, Buck’s eyes shimmered.

“It was terrifying,” he laughed. “And perfect. The first time I sang it, I cried because I felt completely alone. This time…” he looks at Eddie, smiling softly. “This time, I wasn’t.”

Jade’s voice softened. “Have you heard from Ana?” 

A flash of something passed across Buck’s face. Anger, regret, maybe even relief.

“Not yet. Not directly,” he said. “But I don’t need to. She built a version of me that suited her. I don’t belong to her anymore. Or anyone else’s narrative. Just my own.” 

Eddie smiled, squeezing his hand gently, a proud smile on his face. 

A clip of their Madison Square Garden kiss played behind them on the screen. The studio crew clapped quietly. 

“Representation matters,” Jade said, “And seeing two men, two fathers, stand in front of the world and be unapologetically themselves? That’s powerful.”

Eddie leaned in. “We didn’t set out to make a statement. But if our story helps someone else feel seen? Then yeah, we’ll keep telling it.” 

Backstage, Hen and Karen stood arm in arm, watching the monitor. 

Karen smiled. “They’re already changing the narrative.” 

Hen wiped at her eyes. “Told you they were worth it.” 

Buck and Eddie stepped off the set into applause from the crew. Buck looked around, stunned, but somehow calmer now. 

Karen handed him a folder. “Next up, your story. On your terms. A documentary offer came in. And a publishing house wants your memoir.” 

Buck took the papers, brows furrowing as he read. 

“I’ll do it,” he said slowly. “But only if Taylor Kelly writes it. The book, the doc… all of it. She was there from the start. Even when she was part of the illusion, she was always real with me behind the scenes. She’s earned it.” 

Karen raised an impressed brow but nodded. “I’ll make the call.” 

After the interview aired that evening, it was clipped and reposted across every major platform. 

The moments Buck looked at Eddie. The moment Eddie said, “Our son.” The part where Eddie’s voice cracked when talking about Buck dimming himself down.

Fans made edits, remixes, fan art, and even animations. 

@Swifties4Buddie: Buck saying ‘I was surviving’ while holding Eddie’s hand??? I AM NOT OKAY.

@EvanBuckleyFanlog: They chose love. They chose each other. That’s the realest thing I’ve seen all year.

@TaylorFan4Ever: Buck bringing Taylor back into the fold??? That’s loyalty. That’s healing.

@ClosetedQueer21: This interview is queer history, I’m sorry but it is.

Some backlash persisted, louder in smaller corners. Old conservative fans claimed betrayal. Right-wing commentators called it “manufactured.” Ana’s PR team issued a lukewarm statement about “privacy” and “narrative shifts.” But it all felt hollow compared to the tidal wave of love and support pouring in. 

In a quiet moment that evening, Buck received a text from Taylor.

Taylor: You sure you want me on this?

Taylor: Because I won’t pull punches. I’ll tell the whole truth. Yours, mine, all of it. 

Buck: That’s exactly why I want you. 

That night, Buck and Eddie sat on the balcony of their hotel room, the city glittering below them. Chris was asleep inside, curled up under a rainbow throw someone had gifted them at the studio.

“You okay?” Eddie asked, passing him a blanket. 

Buck nodded, “I think I finally am.”

“You ready for all that’s coming?”

Buck leaned into him, head resting on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he whispered. “As long as I’ve got you by my side.” 

Eddie pressed a kiss to his temple. “Always.” 

And beneath the sky full of noise and stars, they let the world turn around them. 

Unapologetic. United. And finally, finally free.

Chapter Text

Breaking the Silence: Buckley’s True Love Story and the Fight for Authenticity

By Taylor Kelly | Senior Arts & Culture Correspondent

📍 New York City — It happened on the biggest stage in the world.

Under the bright lights of Madison Square Garden, during the final night of a sold-out international tour, Evan Buckley— chart-topping singer, cultural icon, and one of the most closely managed figures in modern music—did the one thing the industry told him not to do:

He told the truth.

“These last few months,” Buckley told the roaring crowd, “I’ve been told who to love. How to live. How to fit into a picture someone else painted for me.

But tonight, I’m choosing me, and the person I love. The person who’s been here all along.”

Then, as millions watched via livestream, he kissed Eddie Diaz, his longtime tour companion and, as it turns out, the love of his life.

The crowd exploded. The internet lit up. And one of the most meticulously crafted PR narratives in music history collapsed in real time.

🎭 The Illusion

As someone embedded with Buckley’s team for nearly a year, I won’t pretend I’m objective. I was there for the photoshoots, the press junkets, the "Taylor & Buck" era that dominated gossip headlines.

Taylor Kelly, the rising journalist darling, was paired with Buck in a relationship many believed was the real thing. But those close to the tour knew better. The smiles were curated. The chemistry was… missing.

Buckley was a star, and stars are business. Business requires optics. And optics required a story.

But behind that story was a man slipping further from himself.

The signs were small at first. Long silences backstage, tension after shows, a haunted look during interviews when certain questions came up.

And then came the song.

🎶 The Breaking Point

Austin. May 2025. You’ve probably seen the viral clip: Buck crying during an unreleased ballad, unable to finish the final chorus.

What the public didn’t know was that the song, an unreleased original, was a love letter. And not to Taylor.

“There’s a version of my life where I’m allowed to be in love with him,” Buck once told me privately, eyes brimming.
“I’m just not sure I’ll ever get to live it.”

He meant Eddie.

❤️ The Man Behind the Music

Eddie Diaz had been part of Buck’s touring life for half a year now. To the public, he was background: stage lead, logistics, “best friend.” But the real story was etched in the glances they shared, in the silences between words.

In Toronto, subtle shifts began. Rainbow wristbands. A pin on Buck’s jacket. A choreographed moment where their hands brushed too long. Fans noticed. The #Buddie hashtag resurfaced—this time with more hope than theory.

Still, nothing could prepare the world for what happened at Madison Square Garden.

🎤 The MSG Moment

After performing the very song that once broke him in Austin, now completed, refined, and full of unspoken meaning, Buck paused mid-show to address the crowd directly. His voice was clear. His hands trembled.

The confession changed everything.

Ana Flores, backstage, left quickly after the reveal. Sources say she was not warned. Management tried to intervene. But by then, it was too late. Buck had chosen truth over control. And the crowd chose him.

Moments later, Eddie was ushered onstage by Maddie and Howard Han. What followed was not a polished PR kiss. It was raw, real, and cathartic.

🌎 The Fallout & The Rise

Within hours:

• Sponsors pulled out.
  
  
• Conservative pundits fumed.
  
  
• Ana’s team issued a vague statement.
  
  
• Buck’s management dropped him.
  
  

But louder than any backlash was the wave of support.

🎙️ Janelle Monáe: “We see you, Buck. Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
🎵 Ava DuVernay: “That stage moment was history.”
🖤 LGBTQ+ orgs dubbed the kiss “the next step in visibility for queer men in mainstream pop.”

Online, fans flooded social platforms with clips, quotes, and artwork. Within 12 hours, #Buddie and #LetBuckSing trended worldwide. The movement was alive.

📣 Reclaiming the Narrative

Just days later, Buck announced a major shift: a new management team led by Karen Wilson, industry veteran and wife of longtime crew member Hen Wilson. Her plan? Help Buck rebuild on his terms.

The first step? A raw, honest double interview. Buck and Eddie, side by side, aired on an independent queer media outlet.

In it, Buck addressed the backlash directly:

“I’m not here to convince anyone. I’m here to be me. And if that costs me the stage, I’ll build a new one.”

📝 What Comes Next

Sources confirm that a memoir and documentary are in the works. But one twist? Buck has insisted that I, the author of this article and once a willing participant in the narrative, write both.

“You believed me before I did,” Buck said in a private message.
“You saw the cage and the bird. Help me finish the story.”

So that’s what I’ll do.

Final Words

This isn’t just about a kiss. It’s about who gets to hold the pen to their own story. For too long, Buckley was edited by others. Now he’s writing his truth, and Eddie’s standing beside him, not behind.

And honestly? It’s the most beautiful version of the story yet.

📸 Header Photo: Evan Buckley and Eddie Diaz kiss onstage at Madison Square Garden, July 2, 2025. (Photo credit: The Current / Henrietta Wilson)

📥 Share This Story
🟦 Twitter | 🟧 Threads | 📸 Instagram | 🔗 Copy Link

💬 Join the Conversation
#BuddieTruth | #BreakingTheSilence | #AuthenticityMatters

Chapter Text

The meeting wasn’t planned. Not really. But somewhere between Karen’s firm phone calls and Taylor’s quiet insistence that “closure makes better writing,” it found its way onto the calendar. 

A private lounge in Manhattan. Quiet. Discreet. Neutral ground. 

Ana was already seated when he walked in, legs crossed, phone in one hand, iced espresso in the other. She looked exactly the same. That was somehow the worst part. Like the past year hadn’t burned a hole through his life. 

She didn’t look up. “I figured you’d come crawling back eventually.”

Buck scoffed, standing a little taller. “Not crawling. Standing.” 

Ana’s expression didn’t change. “So… This is the part where you ask me why I did it.” 

Buck shook his head. “No. I already know why. You thought you were helping me, but you only cared about protecting the brand.”

Ana raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “So what is this, then? A pity check-in? Or are you here to gloat?” 

“I’m here to end this. On my terms.”

Ana gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “Your terms? Evan, you wouldn’t even have terms if it weren’t for me. You were a mess when I found you. A hot face with a tragic backstory and zero direction. I built you.”

“No.” Buck said quietly. “You used me.” 

She leaned forward, smile razor-sharp. “You needed someone to make decisions. I made them. You think this ‘authenticity tour’ you’re on now makes you noble? It makes you naive! You threw away a perfectly controlled brand for what? Some teary love story and a hashtag?”

“I told the truth,” Buck said, voice low and steady. “For once. And the world didn’t end. You just lost control of it.” 

Ana’s eyes narrowed, dangerously. “You think the world loves you now? They don’t. They love the idea of you! And when the next shiny scandal rolls in, they’ll forget. And you’ll be back where I found you. Washed-up and self-destructing.”

Buck’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “You always said the quiet part out loud when you were scared.” 

Ana scoffed. “You think I’m scared of you?” she snapped. 

“I think you’re terrified,” Buck said, keeping his voice calm. “Terrified that the story can exist without you. That I can. And I do.” 

She stood up abruptly. “This self-righteous act won’t last. People like you, emotional and impulsive, you burn out. You crash. I just made sure you did it on schedule.” 

He hadn’t meant to cry, but there were tears anyway. Silent, angry ones. He didn’t brush them away.

He believed it once, that he needed her. 

But he didn’t anymore. 

He walked to the door, hand on the handle, then paused. “You didn’t break me, Ana. You just made it easier to see who I never want to be.”

She scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. This soft-boy redemption arc won’t save you.”

Buck looked back at her, eyes still filled with angry tears. “I don’t need saving. Not anymore. 

Later that night, Buck sat on the floor of their hotel room with Chris, flipping through a scrapbook the fans had made. Page after page of drawings, letters, printed tweets, even little polaroids of fans at shows holding up signs that read “Love Wins. Buddie Forever.”

Eddie sat behind him, fingers combing gently through his hair. 

Buck’s hands were shaking slightly. Eddie noticed.

“Was it bad?” he asked softly.

Buck exhaled. “It was worse. But also… final.” 

Eddie didn’t ask for details. He just wrapped an arm around his chest, warm and solid. “You did it.” 

“I did.”

Buck looked out at the skyline. “She didn’t care about me. Just the brand. She admitted it, straight out. Called the whole press thing a ‘soft-boy redemption arc’.” 

Chris, totally unaware of the heaviness of what Buck just said, leaned over. He pointed at one peculiar picture. “Look, dad.” he said looking at Buck. “That person is holding a sign that says ‘I came out because of you’”

Buck’s eyes stung again. But it felt different this time. Not grief or shame. Just the weight of truth, and the lightness that followed once it was spoken. 

He leaned his head back to look at Eddie. “We really did this, huh?”

Eddie smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Yeah. And we’re just getting started.”

Chapter Text

In the weeks following, headlines began to shift. Not from scandal, but from clarity. 

Former Manager’s Pattern of Manipulation Revealed by Sources Close to Buckley

Ana Flores’ Era of Control Ends with Silence, Not Apology

Buckley and Diaz Step Into Authorship: Their Story, Their Way

Buck received a text again. Just one sentence. 

Taylor: You didn’t just end her story. You started yours. 

Buck: Finally.

It wasn’t the headlines that haunted Eddie. 

It was the silence after. The way Buck would pause before opening a door, like he was still waiting for someone to push him back into a role. The way he smiled in interviews, real, but wary. Like he didn’t believe it could last. 

Eddie had known it would take time. 

Truth didn’t erase the damage. Love didn’t undo the years Buck had spent as a product. A performance. A version of himself carved into marketable pieces. 

But slowly, painstakingly, Buck started becoming someone who didn’t flinch at his own reflection anymore. 

Eddie saw it in the little things. 

The way Buck would sing, soft and off-key, while making breakfast. How he’d walk around the house barefoot, hoodie sleeves too long, looking utterly at ease in his own skin. How he didn’t reach for his phone the second something went quiet. How he held Eddie’s gaze now, steady and unashamed. 

And when Buck smiled? Really smiled? 

It was like watching the sun come out for the first time in months.

Buck stood barefoot in the backyard of their new house. It was nothing fancy, just a single-story with a lemon tree out back and a sunroom where Chris could paint when the light hit right. The air smelled like cut grass and fresh coffee. Eddie was inside, talking to a contractor about some little adjustments they needed to do for Chris. Karen had sent a housewarming plant. Hen had left a bottle of wine. Even Bobby called, saying, “You sound like someone who finally gets to exhale.” 

Buck did. Every morning. 

A small voice interrupted his thoughts. 

“Dad?” 

Chris stepped outside, paint smudged on his cheek. Buck smiled and knelt to wipe it off. 

“What’s up, Superman?” 

Chris held out a drawing. Two stick figures holding hands, a smaller one between them. All three smiling under a rainbow sky. “This is us,” Chris exclaimed proudly. 

Buck’s heart stuttered. “Yeah,” he whispered. “It really is.” 

Inside, Eddie was laughing at something the contractor said, his voice warm, familiar, home. Buck looked through the window and saw the life they had built. Not by accident, not by default, but by choice. Every single, stubborn, hopeful choice that had brought them here. 

His phone buzzed.

Taylor: The interview with OUT magazine just dropped. You’re trending again.

Taylor: It’s the good kind of trending.

Taylor: Also, you owe me tacos for helping you get this interview

Buck: Deal. But only if you let me hug you this time. 

Buck grinned, slipping his phone into his pocket. No longer tethered to it. No longer haunted by it. 

There were still scars. Ghosts of who he had been, who they had tried to make them. But they didn’t get to write his ending. That part was his now. 

He turned back to Chris, who had already launched into plans for a new mural on the sunroom wall. 

“Can we paint a dragon?!” 

“Only if it breathes fire.” 

“Cool!” 

Eddie stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, watching his two boys through the window. 

Buck was in the backyard with Chris, crouched beside him as they talked over a new mural. Something with dragons, fire-breathing, of course. 

Chris’s laughter rang out, and Buck leaned back on his heels. Beaming. 

This. This was everything they had fought for. What he’d walked through fire for. Not the spotlight. Not the statement. Just this, peace, earned one choice at a time. 

He barely noticed when the contractor finished up. Just nodded, shook hands, and locked the door. 

Buck came in a few minutes later, cheeks flushed from the sun, Chris bouncing behind him with a fistful of chalk and about five new ideas.

“You good?” Buck asked, glancing at him as he passed.

Eddie caught him by the waist, tugging him close. “Yeah. Just… Had a moment.” 

Buck looked up at him, soft and curious. “A moment?” 

Eddie nodded. “The kind where I realize you’re actually here. Not running. Not pretending.”

Buck didn’t answer right away. He just laid his head against Eddie’s chest and exhaled deeply. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever stop flinching,” he admitted softly. “But I know where I land when I do.”

Eddie kissed his temple. “You land here. Always.” 

Later that night, after Chris fell asleep wrapped in the rainbow throw, they sat on the back steps and watched the stars. Buck had his head in Eddie’s lap, and Eddie’s hand was resting over Buck’s heart. 

There were no crowds.

No critics.

No Ana.

No pretending. 

Just them.

“You happy?” Eddie asked. 

Buck looked at him, “I didn’t know I could be. Not like this.” 

He shifted a bit, looking back at the stars. “I still don’t get how I got this lucky,” Buck murmured. 

Eddie smiled softly. “You didn’t. You fought for this. You chose it.”

Buck teared up a little. “And you still chose me.”

“Every time,” Eddie said, voice rough. “Even when you didn’t know you could be chosen.”

Buck didn’t speak. He just leaned up and kissed him. Slow, certain, grateful.

And Eddie kissed him back, thinking, ‘This is it. This is the life I never thought I’d get to have. And it’s mine. It’s ours.’

Tomorrow, there would still be things to face. Calls from publishers, edits on the documentary, opinions they didn’t ask for. But none of it could touch what they’d built here. What they kept safe between them. 

Not anymore. 

Under a sky full of quiet stars and soft possibilities, Eddie held Buck a little tighter. 

He had always known how to protect what he loved. 

Now, finally, he got to keep it too.

Chapter Text

“Stop Running—He Loves You Back”

Pop Superstar Evan “Buck” Buckley Opens Up About MSG, Falling in Love, Finally Living Out Loud, and why his next chapter is the most personal yet.

By Janelle Cruz | OUT Magazine | August Issue

 

“It wasn’t just about coming out—it was about choosing him. Out loud. On purpose.”

It’s been just over a month since Evan Buckley made headlines—and history—at Madison Square Garden. 

His surprise onstage confession of love to dancer Eddie Diaz wasn't part of the tour script, but the moment landed with thunderous applause and emotional headlines around the world.

His voice didn’t waver. His hand didn’t shake when he reached for him. And now, for the first time since the stadium stopped buzzing and the headlines cooled, Buck sits down with OUT to talk about what that night meant—and what’s next.

Dressed in soft denim, his curls loose, he’s relaxed in a way he hasn’t been since his rise to fame. Maybe it's the love. Maybe it's the clarity. Either way, Buck isn’t holding anything back.

“Like I’ve Stopped Holding My Breath”

OUT: Let’s start with the obvious. MSG. A moment. How are you feeling now, weeks out?

BUCK: Calmer. Grounded. Like I’ve stopped holding my breath after holding it for years. That night scared me—but it also set me free. People talk about coming out like it’s one big moment. But for me, it wasn’t just about sexuality. It was about choosing someone. Out loud. On purpose.

“The Headlines Didn’t Scare Me. Losing Him Did.”

OUT: You and Eddie made your first public appearance together last week. The public response was loud. Some headlines weren’t kind. How are you handling the spotlight now?

BUCK: It was a lot. But it was also beautiful. Most people were kind. The rest? I’ve learned to tune them out. Eddie and I—we know what we’ve got. That’s enough. I’ve been in this industry long enough to know that people will always talk. But I don’t make music for the people who hate me—I make it for the people who’ve ever felt like they couldn’t say what they meant out loud. And now I get to say it. With him next to me.

“Taylor’s helping me put it all into words. The stuff that didn’t make it into the songs.”

Memoir. Docu. What’s Next?

OUT: You’re working with Taylor Kelly on a documentary and memoir. Why now?

BUCK: Because I’m finally ready to tell the truth. Taylor’s been my sounding board through all of this. The doc is about the tour, sure, but also about everything I was carrying during it. And the book—well, that’s where the deeper stuff lives. The family, the fear, the years I didn’t know who I was. It’s not just a coming out story—it’s a becoming one.

“It’s not perfect, and it’s not always easy, but it’s real.”

“It Looks Like Breathing Easier”

OUT: What’s life like now that the world knows?

BUCK: Honestly? Softer. Quieter. Better. I get to wake up with someone who sees all of me. I get to cook dinner with Eddie, listen to Chris talk about space facts, and write about all of it without fear. This is what peace feels like. And I fought hard to earn it. We can hold hands in traffic. I get to kiss him without checking for cameras. It’s not about being perfect—it’s about being us.

Advice to a past self

OUT: If you could say one thing to yourself before this tour started, what would it be?

BUCK: Stop running. He loves you back. And you deserve that.

“Before the kiss in MSG he asked me “Are you sure?”

I was never so sure about something in my life before.”

Photography by Sam Velasquez | Styling by Kai Mendez
Hair & Grooming by Harper Chu | Interview edited for clarity and length

Catch Buck in the upcoming docuseries Wildlight: Live and Unfiltered, premiering this fall.

His memoir, The Quiet Part Out Loud, is slated for release early next year.

Chapter Text

The marquee burned bright against the Los Angeles night:
“Wildlight: Live and Unfiltered – World Premiere.”

Crowds lined the barricades, cameras flashed, voices rose in a thunderous blur. For once, Buck didn’t feel like he was drowning in it. He felt anchored. Eddie’s hand closed around his as they stood at the edge of the red carpet.

“You ready?” Eddie asked, low and steady, the same way he had asked a hundred times before calls, before chaos, before impossible choices.

Buck looked at him, at the man who’d stayed even when everything else tried to pull them apart. His chest loosened, a slow smile forming. “Yeah,” he said. “With you by my side, I'm ready for anything.”

They stepped forward together. The roars of the crowd swelled, but all Buck could hear was Eddie’s quiet laugh beside him.

Inside the theater, the family gathered like they always had, not by blood alone, but by choice. Bobby and Athena, steady as ever. Hen and Karen, protective and fierce. Chim and Ravi, full of laughter. May, shining with quiet pride. And Maddie, his sister, who pulled him into her arms as though she could keep him there forever.

“You did it,” she whispered, and for once Buck let himself believe it was true.

The lights dimmed. The theater fell silent.

The screen lit up with the opening frame: Buck, raw and unguarded, sitting in a worn hoodie, voice quiet but clear.

“I used to think if I just worked hard enough, loved hard enough, maybe I’d finally be enough for everyone else. But all it did was make me disappear.”

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as the story unfolded. Ana’s manipulation. The contracts. The suffocating PR machine. The loneliness hidden under stadium lights. The nights Buck cried in hotel rooms while the world thought he was living a dream.

And then, a shift. Eddie’s steady presence. Chris’s laughter filling empty spaces. Hen’s fierce loyalty. Maddie’s voice on the phone when Buck couldn’t breathe. The family that caught him every time he fell. The kiss that had changed everything, not just for Buck, but for the world watching. The screen faded to black, showing one last quote of Buck.

“I spent so long just surviving. But this? This is living. This is love. And I’ll never dim myself down again.”

A roar went up in the theater. Buck flinched, but Eddie leaned close, whispered, “Look.”

The theater lights rose. Cameras flashed again. Applause thundered.

Everywhere, people were standing. Clapping. Crying. Cheering.

As he took it all in, he realized for the first time, the cheers weren't for some made up product, they were for him. 

Buck’s throat closed. He turned to Eddie instinctively, pressing their foreheads together, grounding himself in the only truth that ever mattered.

Hen shouted from somewhere in the chaos, “Give them the moment, Buckley!”

Buck laughed, breathless, and Eddie kissed him, not staged, not stolen, but real. The cheers swelled until the floor seemed to shake.

Taylor touched his arm as she passed, voice low, reverent. “You took your story back. No one can spin this anymore. It’s yours.”

Karen followed, satisfaction in her eyes. “And you’re untouchable now. Remember that.”

The weeks that followed were filled with the quiet kind of living Buck had once believed would never belong to him. Dinners at the Grant–Nash home stretched long into the night, the table crowded with food and laughter, Chris wedged happily between him and Eddie. There was teasing, bickering, joy that spilled over like wine.

Hen told a story that had Chim groaning into his hands.

“Come on, that’s not how it happened!” Chim protested.

Hen smirked. “Please, you cried. Everyone saw it.”

Chris snorted into his juice. “Uncle Chim cries at cartoons.”

“Betrayed by my own nephew,” Chim muttered, but even he was smiling.

May leaned across to Buck. “The documentary… people are still talking about it. They’re calling it ‘the bravest documentary of the year.’”

Athena reached over, laying her hand on Buck’s. “It wasn’t just brave, honey. It was necessary. And you did it with grace.”

Buck flushed, ducking his head until Eddie bumped his shoulder gently. “Listen to them, Buck. They’re right.”

Athena’s gentle praise, May’s admiration, Hen’s relentless humor. Maddie’s toast, her voice breaking as she raised her glass to her little brother who had finally found his way home.

In those moments, Buck didn’t feel like a star or a survivor. He simply felt like family

A couple of months later, Karen and Buck sat in his living room, papers and whiteboards scattered with ideas for his next tour.

Buck gestures wildly with his hands as he describes a stage idea, Karen laughing but already drafting a plan. “We’ll build it your way,” she says. “This time, the only story is yours.”

She tapped her pen against the table. “This time, we set the rules. You want smaller venues? Done. More nights off to be with spend time as a family? Done. No glossy, fake promo campaigns unless you believe in them. This isn’t Ana’s world anymore, it’s yours.”

Buck looked at the notes, overwhelmed. “It feels… unreal. Like someone’s gonna show up and tell me I can’t have it this way.”

Karen’s gaze softened, but her voice was firm. “Buck, you’ve already proven you can. You sold out Madison Square Garden on your truth. You premiered a docuseries that ripped the mask off the industry, and the world cheered. You don’t need permission anymore. You are the permission. Does that make sense? Sounded better in my head, nevermind. You know what I mean.”

Buck chuckled softly as he sat back, stunned quiet. Then, slowly, a smile broke through, shaky but real. “I never thought I’d get to make it mine.”

“You will,” Karen said, writing in bold letters across the board:
THE TRUE NORTH TOUR.

“Because you finally believe you deserve to.”

The opening night of the new tour came like the rush of a tide, unstoppable and vast. Backstage, Eddie adjusted his jacket, his movements as calm as ever, while Chris bounced at his side with an “All Access” pass swinging proudly from his neck.

“You nervous, Dad?” Chris asked, tilting his head.

Eddie chuckled, tugging Chris into a hug. “Not when I’ve got my good-luck charm right here.”

Buck watched them from the doorway, his heart so full it ached. They were his world, his compass, his true north.

“You’re going to crush it,” Chris told him with the certainty only a child could carry.

“Yeah?” Buck asked, crouching down.

Chris nodded fiercely. “Because you’re not pretending anymore. You’re just you. And you’re awesome.”

Eddie leaned against the wall, watching, pride written in every line of him. “Kid’s not wrong.”

Buck blinked, tears stinging, before pulling them both into his arms. “I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to his temple. “You fought for it. You chose it. And now you get to live it.”

When he finally stepped onto the stage, the roar of the crowd rose to meet him, but it no longer felt like a weight pressing him down. It lifted him, carried him forward. Eddie was there just behind him, part of the rhythm, part of the story, part of him. Chris cheered from the wings, his voice louder to Buck’s ears than the thousands singing along.

He no longer sang to hide the truth. He sang because of it.

For the first time in his life, Buck wasn’t surviving under someone else’s dream. He was living his own, raw, unfiltered and brilliant.

And as the lights rose and the music swelled, he understood what freedom truly was.

Buck closes his eyes as the audience sings the chorus of his song back to him, louder than the band.

He smiles, hand pressed to his heart.

Not hiding.
Not running.
Not pretending.

Just shining.

And it was only the beginning.