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Bucky barely makes it through the door before Steve is on him, arms wrapping around his neck and knobby knees at his sides, riding his back like a monkey. “What the fuck, Rogers?”
“Got a job.”
“No shit?”
Steve slithers down onto the floor and moves around in front of Bucky. “Yup.”
“Doing what?”
“You know Mr. McGinty?” Steve walks backward as Bucky gets farther into the apartment.
Bucky takes off his jacket and tugs off his boots to set by the door. He can see the new layers of newspaper in Steve’s shoes and makes a mental note to save up to get him a new pair. “Sure, yeah. The, uh, what? Hardware store?”
“Not that one. His brother. Bakery.”
“Oh, yeah.” Bucky slumps down onto their threadbare sofa, shifting carefully to avoid the spring that pokes out right by the left arm. “Broke his leg, didn’t he?”
“Yep. So he needs someone at the counter. May I present, Mr. Steven Grant Rogers, counter-boy extraordinaire. Need bread? Perhaps some buns? A sweet for your sweetheart? Of course. Let me wrap that right up for you. That’ll be seven cents please.” Steve bows grandly, sweeping an imaginary hat off his head and tucking his arm underneath him.
Bucky laughs. “Thought I was the dramatic one in this family.”
“Old bread, Bucky.” Steve squeezes onto the couch next to Bucky. “And it’s warm in there.” Steve had worked at the butcher for a while, but the cold from the meat storage had left him in a near constant state of shivers, teeth chattering until well after he’d gotten home, until he’d gotten pneumonia and Bucky had refused to let him go back.
“It’s almost like you’ve learned how to take care of yourself.”
“And I get to do the signs in the windows for an extra ten cents a week.”
“Sounds like a job made just for you.” Bucky yawns and leans his head back against the couch cushions. “Christ I’m tired.”
“Buck.”
“Sorry. Golly-gee I’m tired.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “You want soup?” After a second he leans in closer. “With some bread?”
Bucky groans. “Will you bring it to me?”
“No.”
“Ugh. Fine.” Bucky pushes off the sofa and gets to his feet, yawning again as he goes to the kitchen. Steve follows him, moving to the stove to dish up a bowl of soup for Bucky, setting a roll next to him on the table.
“It’s hard, but if you soak it in the broth it softens up just fine.”
“Prince among men,” Bucky assures him. But the first bite is warm, and there’s a small bit of meat in it along with the potatoes and too much watery broth, but it’s good. Steve’s got some pepper in there and it gives it a little kick. Bucky makes a noise and takes another bite before setting his spoon in the bowl and ripping off a piece of the roll. It crackles and takes a good deal of digging into it before it comes apart, but Steve’s right. Once Bucky soaks it in the broth it’s soft and delicious. “Oh, man, Steve.”
Steve’s practically vibrating he’s so happy. Steve’s usually on a pretty even keel, but on the rare occasions he does something for them -- for Bucky -- he’s like a livewire, like a kid or a dog wanting to be lavished with affection. Steve doesn’t need the words, seems happy with Bucky’s smile. “Is good, right? Mrs. Bronski down the street gave me the pepper. Said I was salty enough, needed something to even me out.”
Bucky laughs. “Well, she ain’t wrong.”
Steve shoves Bucky lightly. “How were the docks? You look pretty beat.”
Just the reminder that he’s tired makes Bucky yawn again. “Yeah. Got three ships in today. Worked all three, so should get decent pay next week.”
“You work too hard. Maybe now you can stop working at Woolworth’s on the weekends.”
“Bein’ a janitor’s good steady work. You know that. ‘Sides, aint like there’s bad trash at Woolworth’s. Few crusts here and there in the lunchroom. And sometimes the bathrooms are bad, but nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“Yeah, but you still work too hard.” Steve’s face falls, and Bucky can practically hear his brain spinning, caught in a loop of blaming himself for them needing extra money for medicines and the times when Steve can’t work. “I’m real sor--”
“Shut it.” Bucky shakes his head. “I ain’t having this discussion with you again.” He finishes his soup, using the last of the bread to sop up the broth that lingers on the bottom of the bowl. “I don’t do anything because I gotta. I do it cause I wanna. So… Like I said. Shut it.”
Steve doesn’t say anything, but he does stick his tongue out at Bucky. Bucky reaches over, quick as he can, and snatches Steve’s tongue. Steve squawks and Bucky lets him go.”You’re the worst best friend ever.”
“You love me, and you know it.”
Steve looks at him for a long time. “Yeah. I do. I don’t know why, because you’re a jerk.”
“I’m sweet as sugar, incredibly funny--”
“Looking.”
“And devilishly handsome.”
“Hmph.” Steve grabs Bucky’s bowl and carries it over to the sink. “You’ve got quite the opinion of yourself.”
“I call it like I see it.” Bucky stands up and winces, his back twinging. He tries to hide it from Steve, but for all his issues, Bucky’s pretty sure he’s got the eyes of a hawk.
“Bed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, how often do you believe me when I say that? Bed.”
Bucky groans but goes, tugging down his suspenders and pulling off his filthy, sweaty shirt. He stretches out on the bed with another low groan, arms spread out even though they hang off the sides of the bed. He closes his eyes and yawns again, the warm meal after a hard day at work filling him with lassitude.
He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears Steve come in, though he does grunt when Steve settles on the top of his thighs, even though he doesn’t weigh much at all. Steve snorts, then presses his hands to Bucky’s lower back.
Steve doesn’t have a lot of strength to put into the press of his heels against the tight muscles in Bucky’s back, can’t unbunch them with pressure. But he has artist hands, and his fingers seem to find every place that Bucky hurts, his thumb flexing against Bucky’s skin until everything slowly begins to loosen, incapable of withstanding the sheer determination that makes up about eighty-five percent of Steve Rogers.
“Better?” Steve whispers, just rubbing his hands from the small of Bucky’s back to his shoulders, down his arms, then reversing his movements. Bucky feels like he’s melted into the mattress, and now that everything feels mostly relaxed, he feels the pull of sleep.
“Mm.” He hums. “C’mere.”
“Buck.” Steve protests, but he slides off Bucky and sits on the mattress. Bucky shifts onto his side, and grabs Steve, tugging him down and back against him. Steve wriggles and tries to get away, but Bucky doesn’t let go.
“Stay,” he whispers into Steve’s hair, and Steve goes still, rigid and silent, until he finally relaxes.
“Gotta set the alarm.”
Bucky hums again and tugs Steve closer. He reaches out and grabs the alarm, turning it on before setting it back on the small table, then he gathers Steve in closer. “Happy now?”
Steve sighs and snuggles back, and Bucky tightens his arm so Steve’s held there against him. “You’re still a jerk.”
Bucky smiles against Steve’s neck. “Yep.”