Chapter Text
Steve set the scissors down on the desk, shook out her -- his; sometimes even his own mind betrayed him -- hair and looked at himself in the mirror.
It was messy, choppy and Steve figured he would do better if he hadn't been so high-strung when he'd taken a blade to his own hair.
He sucked in his cheeks and tried to stick out his jaw.
The effect was somewhat ruined by the blouse he was wearing, and he felt a sudden flare of rage, tearing it off and looking in the mirror again, panting.
He'd never really developed any breasts to speak of, something he had been grateful for beyond anything he would be able to articulate.
Really, Steve was fairly bony and thin all over. Not many curves.
Mainly just ribs and gangly arms and legs.
He'd never been very girlish at all.
But that hadn't stopped Bucky from calling him the prettiest girl he ever had seen.
Steve closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, smiling fondly at the memory and wishing he could enjoy it without the pressure of uncertainty weighing at his shoulders.
Bucky had kissed him, hard and more certain than Steve had been about any of it. Big hands sliding up under his blouse with fingers splaying over his ribcage, thumbing over his nipples.
The way Bucky's voice got all hoarse when Steve could feel his erection against his belly, mouths sliding together.
"I've always thought so. I've always-- you're the prettiest girl in the whole world. Only girl for me."
And Steve couldn't blame him. Bucky didn't know. But if Bucky had loved him that much before, wouldn't he still love him? Steve hoped so. God, he hoped so.
If not...? Well, Steve had better get moving on to other places before he fell much further for his best friend.
(It was too late, it had been too late when they were nine)
Steve pulled on one of Bucky's too-small shirts that he had taken and stuffed under his mattress when Bucky had been about to give them away. He had trousers, too. They weren't men's, but it was close enough.
He looked at himself in the mirror, tried to tame his hair, and tried very hard not to imagine what Bucky would think.
When Bucky came in, he stopped midway through hollering out a greeting when he looked up to see Steve standing in the door with his shoulders squared and cheeks very pale.
"Jesus, what'd you do to your hair?"
Steve swallowed.
"Buck, there's something I've gotta tell you. And you have to hear me out, hear the whole thing before you say anything. Okay?"
Bucky set down the boot he had been in the process of pulling off and straightened up very slowly.
"Okay." He sounded wary, concerned.
Steve tried to keep his hands from shaking as he lead Bucky over to the sofa, wiping his palms on his knees and letting out a shaky breath.
"You know how I've told you when I'm sick that I think I got put in the wrong body when they were sending people down from heaven?"
It had been a common, tired joke he'd made when in the middle of an asthma attack or running a high fever.
Bucky didn't say anything, and Steve was worried until he remembered how he had asked him not to speak until the end. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see how intently Bucky was watching him.
Steve swallowed again.
"I wasn't talking about bein' sick." A sharp, ugly laugh. "Well, not just about bein' sick."
He'd always figured that if he had been born a boy, that would be better, too. It was just how his mind worked; pretending that would have fixed everything if only that one thing had been right.
He'd planned a million ways to say it, in the end, Steve just blurted.
"I'm a boy."
Bucky was looking at him like he was seriously considering feeling his forehead for a temperature.
"I mean, not-- I-- inside. Inside. Here." Steve tapped his chest. "Inside, I'm a boy. This... This body, it's wrong. I feel like I'm drowning in it, and it isn't the asthma."
God, he hoped he didn't cry.
"I know you said I'm the prettiest girl in the world, and I appreciate it, I do. But, Buck, I'm not-- I'm not a girl."
Bucky watched him for a long time before he spoke, and Steve wasn't sure if he was holding his breath or if he just couldn't breathe.
Bucky wasn't often quiet, but he was now.
"Go get the scissors and lemme fix that up for you, pal. Did you do that in the dark or something?"
There was the ghost of a familiar smile playing around Bucky's lips, and Steve laughed. Short, choked.
But real.
It felt good to be real.