Fics like three.

After a while, he whispers it, barely louder than the rustle of his sheets. A wish, a prayer, maybe it’s a plea. “I want to know everything.” It spills out of him in the stillness that follows, not loud, not dramatic, just the quiet truth of it. “I wish you’d let me know you. I wish you trusted me with the parts you never show. The fears you don’t name. The secrets you keep buried so deep even you don’t look at them for long. I wish I’d known you before life made you flinch. Before war and heartbreak, before your smile got quieter. I wish I’d seen the kid you were, so I could understand how you became the man I’m— Buck pauses, the words catching in his throat. —the man I’ve fallen in love with, without a shred of logic or timing or self-preservation. I wish you’d let me know you.” Or; Buck makes a wish and it comes true. So he spends the following twenty four hours with Eddie aging up three years every time he falls asleep.

Fics like three.

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