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“This is why you shouldn’t try and be the local fucking repair man.” Sam angrily muttered, tone contrasting with the tentative way he wrapped the gauze around the torn flesh of Bucky’s palm; more annoyed than angry.
Bucky couldn’t help the voice that came biting back at his partner, “This is why you shouldn’t distract me while I’m trying to fix the fucking thing.” He gestures towards the shambles of a table beside them.
Sam’s head snaps and they meet in challenging stares; Bucky firm in his stubbornness and Wilson steering towards hitting him across the face but instead opts to fight more diplomatically.
“You—,” Sam starts but stops in his tracks leading up to rage, takes a breath, then looks back at Barnes with a more tempered expression, “You know what? Fine. You wanna fix everything in the house like fucking white Handy Manny, be my guest. Just don’t— don’t get yourself hurt next time.” It finishes quiet, still painted in aggravation but quiet; concerned. He looks back down to the bandaged hand, blood stains starting to resurface on the white cloth.
They’re quiet at the sudden turn from anger. Bucky’s palm still by Wilson’s lap where he holds it between both his own, staring at the surfacing blood spread. The guilt after the storm settles between them.
The matter of which one will break through their stubbornness first and reconcile, however, is a matter left to the flip of a coin.
Bucky sighs, tails it is, “Look. I’m sorry. I just, I don’t know, wanted....needed to fix or do something. I’ve been cooped up in here so long while you’ve been out there actually doing something ‘n I just...” he gestures back to his failed master piece, disdain at it’s appearance, “Needed to fix a fucking table, I guess.”
“I know...” Sam huffs in accepting resign, he takes another breath and this time when they meet it’s with equal blame. “I know,I know, it’s just...I don’t even know why I got mad.”
Flicking his gaze to the floor he takes a second. “Sometimes,” he continues, eyes still on the waxed sprouse wood, “I just get ridiculously over worried for no damn reason and I...I basically become Steve but with worse motherly qualities ...and I’m sorry.”
Bucky hears the self-aggravation in his boyfriend’s tone, watching Sam’s thumb slowly work clockwise against his knuckles, can practically hear the nervous ramblings going through his head from the extended silence.
The stems of their problems are pretty evident, atleast he thinks, and he’s not the most talented when it comes to addressing what needn’t be addressed but he tries anyhow. Because that’s what you do for someone you like, make it easier.
Bucky moves his hand so it tops over Sam’s, “I get it, I do. I mean, I get nervous just watching you try and reach for things at the top shelf of a Costco's. Scared shit might just come tumbling down and crush your bird bod.”
An involuntary snort escapes Sam, easing the seriousness of their situation, “Oh my God, fuck you. One inch. You have like one inch on me, Barnes.” He argues through more laughter. Swiping his hand away in false exasperation to move towards the counter, he leans against the wooden cupboards.
When they’re both settled against it, Bucky’s arm slung across Wilson’s shoulders, leaning into eachother with content laughter, Sam speaks up.
“We really become one of those couples that argue over stupid shit?” He mumbles, cheek pressed to his boyfriend’s shoulder who chuckles in response.
“If it’s any comfort, I read somewhere arguing couples last the longest and my ma’ used to say the same. So this might just last till marriage, Wilson.”
“You sure you wanna hear my endless nagging till death do us part?”
“You sure you wanna see this ugly mug every morning, in sickness and in health?”
Sam turns to look at Bucky with a well kept poker face masking the jest in his voice, “You’re right, I might just reconsider.” He says with the raise of a brow.
“This is the same face you were all heart-eyes for when I asked you out.”
“And it’s the same face that got me mad over a $30 table.” Sam counters.
“But,” He says more timid, “If I’m still here looking at it in 3 years, you better start preparing some vows.”
Bucky bites back a grin, “And if I’m still here getting an ear full from you then I want our wedding to be in Wakanda. Deal?”
Wilson willingly lets a smile take him, the prospect of getting wedded to a terrible repair man of a boyfriend appealing in it’s ways.
“Deal.”