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The late autumn wind shakes the trees standing tall outside of Christopher’s school, freeing leaves from branches and a stack of napkins from the busy popcorn booth up ahead. A few of Christopher’s classmates give chase to them, laughing as thin, white paper squares tumble just out of their grasp each time they reach for them. Eddie watches them go like following a defensive tackle down the gridiron from the bleachers and smiling when a girl finally catches one by stepping on it and narrowly missing her friend’s fingers. The rest of the bunch groan as the wind gives a sudden burst in the opposite direction and scatter to follow the new trajectory only to dodge around someone walking into their path.
“Buck!”
Christopher takes off from Eddie’s side with the same enthusiasm as the kids chasing napkins and collapses into the hug instantly offered to him as Buck squats down to playfully rock them side to side much to Chris’ delight. Another gust of wind carries their laughter across the way and despite the chill of it, Eddie feels perfectly warm.
“Hey, Buddy! You didn’t start without me, did you?” Buck asks while straightening himself up from the hug to peer up at the Fall Festival banner hanging over the entrance of the school. Chris shakes his head, grinning from ear to ear as he leads the way back over to Eddie.
A similar happiness spreads across Buck’s face, laugh lines dimpling his cheeks that are oddly blushed for the cool temperature. Eddie supposes that it’s the thick flannel shirt his friend is wearing over a henley that’s coloring him so and doesn’t think more of it when his son purposefully bumps into his side when they reach him.
“We couldn’t start without you! Dad’s not good at carnival games,” Chris teases and goes so far as to fist bump Buck when Eddie rolls his eyes.
“Guess your Dad’s lack of talent at games isn’t just limited to Scrabble and Super Smash Bros. huh?”
“Hey! You guys cheat at Scrabble,” Eddie defends himself while moving forward to get in line for an entrance wristband. “And I’ve beaten you plenty of times at Super Smash.”
Bewilderment scrunches Buck’s nose as he bumps into Eddie’s shoulder as if the line is packed tight instead of three people deep on an open sidewalk. “How does one cheat at Scrabble?”
“Anyway,” Eddie sighs, nudging Chris with his elbow as he reaches for his wallet. “What you’re forgetting Christopher is that I’m really good at buying you a bunch of game tickets so choose your side wisely.”
“Sorry, Buck,” comes the instant reply, but Eddie enjoys the way Chris tilts his head back against Buck’s stomach and reaches up to push his fingers up at the corners of the older man’s feigned frown to make him smile again much more than the victory of being chosen.
“Yeah, well don’t come crying to me when I win all the cakes at the cake walk because I can’t share with a traitor,” Buck pouts even though he bends forward to bump his forehead with Chris’ to make him giggle.
Eddie is so enraptured with the two of them making silly faces at one another that the woman working the ticket booth has to clear her throat to get his attention and he blushes under the amused shake of her head as he steps forward to buy their wristbands.
—————
There’s a blotch of hot chocolate forever stained into the green threads of his sweater, caramel residue making his pinky stick to his ring finger, and a huge bruise swelling on his ego from where he lost to Buck at ring toss, but Eddie has never felt happier.
“What are you smiling at?” Buck asks as he looks up from the seat he’d been pushed into at the face painting station.
“The piece of blackmail this will give me at work,” Eddie smirks with a wiggle of his phone in preparation for a photo of the end result.
“Oh, but when I-“
"Sir, you really must keep still,” the woman attempting to paint Buck’s face like a tiger pleads before looking at Chris with an exasperated expression. “Can you help me keep your friend still?”
Chris’ laugh echoes down the hall as he wraps his arms around one of Buck’s. “I can try! No promises though.”
Buck gives a huff but stays completely still while the lady runs the brush across his forehead. He closes his eyes as she paints around them, looking near asleep after a few seconds and only cracking one eye open when Chris suddenly yelps, “Not there!” The woman leans back and waits for the boy to explain, “He still has to look like Buck. Please, don’t paint over it.”
Eddie’s heart feels heavy like it’s trying to beat under a layer of molasses as his son traces Buck’s birthmark with the tips of his fingers. It’s something he’s done since the tsunami, since their bond became something that words are no good for. Buck blinks back at him like he understands and when his best friend reaches out to trace the shape of Chris’ glasses with his index finger, Eddie realizes he does, too.
“Alright, then,” the lady nods and goes back to painting like their wasn’t a monumental shift of the Earth off its axis, leaving Eddie alone to brace himself against the wall to counter it.
—————
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks once he and Buck are sitting across from each other at one of the lunch tables munching on a funnel cake while Chris is off playing with his friends. Buck frowns at him around the smallest bite of fried batter. “Aside from what’s happening with your face, I mean.”
Buck rolls his eyes and leans all his weight into his arms folded on the table, looking for all the world like a very exhausted tiger. “Make fun it you want to, but I can’t say no to your kid. Hey,” Buck straightens up so suddenly Eddie does too on the other side of the table. “Do you think that’s something I should talk about in therapy? Like what if he asks me to do something crazy like…help him rob a bank? Or…I don’t know..uh…”
“Get your face painted like a tiger at a fall festival?”
“I’m serious, Eddie,” Buck nearly whines, accidentally rubbing his temple and smearing a tiger stripe. “It’s only going to get worse as he gets older. I’m in deep shi-“
Eddie prevents the full word by launching a piece of funnel cake at his forehead and watching it bounce off his eyebrow. “Are you having a crisis just to avoid my question? Or to prove my point that something is in fact wrong? Because you do realize you just suggested that it’s possible that my son would commit a felony.”
“Okay, that was a bad example, but-“
“Buck.” Eddie props his elbows on the table and leans forward, trying his best to see past all the orange paint. He remembers the way Buck’s face looked flushed before, how he nearly fell asleep while getting his face painted, and the fact that he’s barely eaten any of the food he had talked about consuming all week. “Are you feeling okay?”
Buck frowns at him, nose twitching adorably under black paint and stretching the drawn on whiskers across his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m okay. I am a little tired, I guess, but I wouldn’t miss this for anything.”
——————
Buck is a solid pillar of warmth against his shoulder, the heat coming off of him disproportionate to the air conditioning blowing heavily from the classroom vents up above. He glances over at him just before they’re instructed to take their places on a numbered square for the cake walk and notices that Buck is breathing heavily through his nose like he’s about to be sick.
“Please tell me you’re not about to throw up during the cake walk at Christopher’s fall festival,” Eddie hisses under his breath as they take their places, brow furrowed with worry for his best friend and their reputation if it does come to pass. Buck swallows thickly, giving Chris a thumbs up around Eddie as he waits for the music to start.
“No. I’m good,” Buck says with a nod as if convincing himself.
“Buck, I swear-“ but his threat is drowned out by music blaring through the speaker set up in the corner of the room and signaling the start of the game.
To his credit, Buck does a very bad impression of a zombie walking around a cake walk circle to Monster Mash all to Chris’ delight. If Eddie gets immediately out because he’s too busy making sure his best friend isn’t about to puke in front of half the PTO and Chris’ friends then so be it. After a couple of more rounds, Chris wins a bag of candy and stands proudly off to the side with Eddie to watch Buck miserably continue on in the circle until he wins a loaf of banana bread of all things.
Their victory is short lived though, because as soon as the PTO president hands over the prize to Buck he’s shoving it at Eddie and running out of the room.
—————
“Oh God,” Buck groans from where he’s tucked into an elementary school restroom stall, the echo of it bouncing around the toilet bowl and making him wince. “I forgot how tiny these are.”
He shuffles on the floor, knees knocking into the stall door standing open so Eddie can lean on its frame. Wiping his flannel sleeve against his mouth without thinking, Buck curses when he pulls it away with orange and white paint smeared into the fabric and drops his head back into the bowl to dry heave.
“And to think I love you,” Eddie sighs before he can think better of it, the admission attaching to the pungent smell surrounding them and making the air feel thick. It makes it hard to breathe, like the secret was keeping him alive all this time. But then Buck’s rolling his head along the toilet rim, tiger stripes smeared across his skin, the pink of his nose peaking out behind remnants of black paint, and blue eyes begging him for it to be true.
“What?”
“I said,” Eddie continues, pushing away from the doorframe with a breath that comes easier and bends down to run his hand through the sweat damp strands of hair curling on Buck’s head, “you’re a dumbass.”
Buck tucks his face into his own elbow, his soft “oh” lingering in the echo of the toilet bowl.
Eddie presses a kiss to the crown of his head before whispering a, “Yeah. Oh,” of his own.
——————
“There you are,” Eddie grins with a final swipe of the cold wash cloth against Buck’s face as he clings to the much cleaner toilet in the Diaz house. He tosses it into the sink above his head, wincing as the corner of the cabinet digs into his back from where he’s tucked between the vanity and toilet. Buck blinks at him from the other side of the rim, silently thanking him for removing the face paint with a tired smile. “You still look like hell though. Don’t be too happy.”
Eddie’s entire body shakes with laughter as Buck flips him off.
The sound of Christopher’s uneven gait comes from the hall and Buck drops the gesture in favor of pushing himself off the toilet and looking less miserable as the boy rounds the doorframe. “Are you feeling better Buck?”
“Yeah, buddy. A little bit.” Buck’s smile is tight across his face, knuckles white against the seat as he strains to keep his voice even through another round of nausea. “I’m sorry I cut the trip to the festival short.”
“That’s okay,” Chris assures, stepping forward even as Buck loses the battle to his stomach and gags into the toilet. His small hand pats the large quivering frame of their friend and when Buck rolls his head enough to grin weakly up at Chris, the boy traces Buck’s birthmark with his fingertips again. “You’re gonna be okay, kid.”
Eddie watches the younger man pretend that the dampness on his face is fever sweat instead of tears and reaches for a clean cloth stacked beside him before stretching to run it under the cold tap of the sink. “Christopher,” he says while turning off the faucet and passing the cold cloth to Buck who buries his face in it. “Buck’s gonna be going to bed soon so why don’t you say goodnight and I’ll come tuck you in in a minute, alright?”
“Okay,” he agrees with only a tinge of disappointment. He pats Buck’s back again, small hand lingering on the curve of his shoulder as he says, “Night, Buck. I hope you feel better soon.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
Once Chris wanders out of the bathroom, the air around him feels thick with everything he feels like he wants to say already laid out between them. He reaches forward and peels back the corner of the washcloth Buck continues to press his face into until he can see the pink of a birthmark sitting above a red rimmed eye. “I meant it, you know.”
Buck pulls away from his hiding spot, rests the side of his face against the rim again and blinks lazily at Eddie across the small space between them. “Meant what?”
Eddie cards his fingers through his best friend’s soaked hair, the strands curling around his fingers as if begging his hand to stay there. He rests his palm at the crown and rubs gently with the pads of his fingers. “That you’re a dumbass.”
Buck frowns with his eyes closed. “But I won you banana bread.”
Amusement comes quick through a breath of air through his nose and he instantly regrets it. “How can you even think about that right now?”
The younger man shrugs, a smile poking at a laugh line on his face. “Because we’re not supposed to be thinking about the other thing you meant?”
Eddie untangles his fingers from Buck’s hair only to brush them back through the damp locks cresting over his forehead so he can press a kiss to fever warm skin. “Yeah,” he laughs into the curls tickling his nose. “I meant that, too.”