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The soft scratch of the record player buzzed in the background.
There was a light breeze coming through the open window behind the couch, and the curtains would lift and float down gently onto the window sill as if they were made of air.
A song had just run its course, the continuous halting scats of the needle hitting the vinyl sounded off, but no one moved to lift it.
A laugh was heard from outside, the curtain flicking with every lilt of the happy chuckle on the street below.
Water was dripping out of the faucet in the kitchen. Drip drip drip and then splat as one droplet hit the empty glass sitting in the sink.
If you listened really closely, the hum of the fridge would stop and start again in funny intervals, like a faulty motor engine.
An apple sat outside of its modest fruit bowl. There was a single bite taken out of the red waxy skin. The bowl was slightly askew on the white kitchen counter.
Keys jingled in the hallway. There was a low rummaging sound that was followed by slow footsteps, the heft of a plastic bag, and then the click and rattle of keys in a lock.
A figure was seated on the couch. He sat under the window, and his hair moved with the soft motions of the wind carried curtains.
He sat sideways, one leg pulled to his chest, and his gaze was stoic out the open window.
The apartment was above a busy street way, people yelled, dogs barked, and cars honked in a constant stream of noise.
His thighs pressed depressions into the rounded blue couch cushions. The front door opened with a squeak in the wooden frame.
A hand reached up to tie the window curtain back, allowing for a ray of sunlight to filter through the open space and spew golden light across the shadows of his face.
The door had closed now with a quiet click. There was a shuffle of feet before the sound of running water came from the kitchen as the faucet was turned on.
It was left running for a couple seconds before it was shut off. Everything seemed to stand still, so he held his breath.
And then there was the distinct drip drip drip of the leaking spout starting up again.
His gaze moved from the open window as the sound of mumbled curses was heard from the other room. In the kitchen, a bag spilled over, a can rolled and then fell, and hit the ground with a resounding clunk.
The mumbled curses got even louder.
He turned his body away from the window, the fallen can had rolled out of the kitchen and splattered green peas across the wooden floors in the foyer, the can still wobbled faintly from its big drop.
Now the wind blew against the back of his head and small strands of hair looped and criss crossed over the bridge of his nose.
Raising a hand to tuck the strands back into place, he suddenly paused. He stared in absent intrigue as the sun glinted off the metal of his left hand. He twisted it in and out of the rays of light, watching shadows form and dissolve with every movement. His brow furrowed, and his eyes burned from the bright glare of the sun against the hand.
The dull hue of metal where skin used to be made his teeth ache.
He snatched the arm back down, the loose strands of hair forgotten as he shoved the left hand under his thigh, not wanting to look at it any longer.
A blonde head poked out from the kitchen. They muttered and groaned as they bent to pick up the spilt can of peas. Pulling out a rag in the back pocket of their jeans, the peas were cleaned and gone in a second.
The blonde disappeared back into the kitchen for a moment, the fridge opened and closed, and then they came back out into the living space.
Checking the lock on the door, they turned and slowly toed off their shoes, leaving them on a dusty floor mat.
The record player had gone quiet.
A lock of blonde hair looped across his forehead, and there was a smudge of dirt across the side of his cheek.
The couch dipped under his weight as he moved to sit directly under the streaming sunlight from the window.
“Hey, Buck.” he said softly, his hair shining the color of the morning sun.
Steve laced his hands together in his lap, and his eyes were trained on the man beside him.
His eyes were blue as the open sky in springtime.
Bucky’s always thought Steve had gorgeous eyes.
A denim clad leg nudged against Bucky’s, and the softness of the touch made something unspool in him.
Bucky inhaled, smelling the sweetness of the blooming flowers outside coupled with the oil and grime of the city streets.
Blue met blue and Steve smiled a crooked smile.
“What did you do today?” Bucky asked and slowly pulled the metal hand from beneath his thigh. There wasn’t much feeling in it, but as he laced it with the hand on his right, the metal felt warm and butter smooth.
Steve leaned back into the couch cushions, and squinted his eyes to see through the glare of sunlight.
The white shirt he was wearing stretched across his chest as he reached up to tousle his hair.
“Went for a jog around the park, went to the grocery store... and sheesh, Buck, two whole dollars for a loaf of bread? In the 40’s we were paying, what, fuckin’ thirteen cents?”
Bucky chuckled, and shook his head in Steve’s direction.
Steve continued, “Thought we could make spaghetti for dinner, I even bought real tomatoes for the sauce and everything, no more canned rations for us, pal.” His eyes twinkled, and he stretched his legs out in front, there was a hole in the heel of his sock.
Thinking back on it, Bucky can’t remember the last time he’d had spaghetti. Would it taste like he remembered?
“That sounds real swell, Steve.” He sighed.
A honk pierced through the room and made Bucky startle in his seat. There was a car crash below the window. More honking. Shouting.
Intense focus pinpointing every sound and change on the air. The smell of smoking tires and burnt metal.
A soft pop brought him back. Bucky’s sharp focus fading away to a subtle self awareness.
The index finger of his left hand had pushed through a seam on the couch.
Bucky looked down at the hand. Cushion bulged through the metal fingers.
His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the hand. He didn’t realize he had made a fist, or grabbed the couch so hard. A metal digit disappeared through a clean hole in the smooth cushion.
He dimly registered movement from his left side. A blurred white shape knelt in front of him, but his eyes didn’t stray from the pale blue couch marred by the vile metal clamped down on it.
Steve reached out a cautious hand. There was a healing scab over two of his knuckles.
His hand moved through space and lightly brushed the top of the metal one.
Bucky snapped to attention, like a live wire, yanking the metal hand back and curling it against his stomach.
The hole in the couch had ripped to a jagged scar.
“Bucky?” Steve asked softly, his arms cautiously held out in front of him, not near enough to make contact, but close enough to feel the warmth of them. “Hey, are you alright? It was just a car horn.”
Steve’s eyes shone electric blue in the streaming sunlight. He tried to see around Bucky, see through the window and down to the street. There was yelling coming from below, and vaguely he thought he could hear the siren of a firetruck off in the distance.
Bucky was a string pulled taut as he sat motionless on the couch. His eyes darted between his own hand, the rough tear on the cushion, and the dusted pink of Steve’s palms in the sun.
He attempted to loosen his posture, he tried to breathe life back into the corroded joints locked in his body.
“I’m fine, Steve.” he choked, his teeth grinding in his mouth like glaciers relying on pressure to stay together.
Arched blonde brows furrowed over Steve’s eyes. He looked concerned, but it was a common expression of his these days.
Bucky attempted to make his body pliant, soft, a small exhaling hiss escaping through his clenched teeth.
The metal hand had grown warm against his stomach, like a tin cup left in the sun.
A memory burst painfully into his mind.
Steve washing pots in the sink. A tin cup left up on the windowsill to dry. Steve stretching on his tiptoes to get it down. A quiet street bustling through the open window. Sun making the light wisps of hair on his forehead shine like spilled honey. Burnt red blemish on Steve’s thumb from swiping at the hot cup. The Brooklyn sun had made it a molten clump of metal. Steve, his painters thumb sucked between cherry lips. “Gotta be more careful, punk.” A wolfish grin and ocean eyes.
Bucky’s eyes closed, there was a building pressure in his head which made his jaw twitch.
It had been happening more often. All of these memories surging back to life, and it was Bucky’s job to dust off the cobwebs and make sense of them.
Steve lightly laid his open hand over Bucky’s knee.
Troubled eyes darted downward.
Steve’s hand was big. Bigger than Bucky remembered. It covered his knee, and obscured the grey cotton of his sweatpants. If he looked close enough, he thought he could make out that same painters thumb from his memory. Bucky couldn’t make himself check for the cherry red lips, just yet.
Bucky’s gaze tracked over the new apartment. He clocked each new appliance, each buzzing new tech that he didn’t understand. Flat Screens, DVD players, and Steve’s cell phone imprinted through his denim pocket.He doubted Steve knew how to use half of it either.
He tapped his metal fingers against his stomach in a nervous pattern, and sighed, “The car crash rattled me, Steve...there’s so much--everything is so loud now.” Bucky’s ears sometimes felt like they were stuffed with cotton, too much noise hittin’ him at a time.
Steve’s head tilted to the side, his eyes holding so much open concern it made Bucky ache.
“What do you mean? I remember that place you and me shared in the ‘40’s, there’d be neighbors yellin’ 24/7 pal.Why, Mrs.Donahue from 202, you remember her? She’d wake up every morning, crack of dawn and start singin’.” Steve’s eyes crinkled on the sides, and he unconsciously began to rub circles into Bucky’s knee.
Bucky smiled sadly, eyes roaming over the smooth expanses of Steve’s face.
Steve used to have the smallest scar against his hairline. It was silvery thin, and Bucky was pretty sure he had to have it stitched four times before Steve stopped getting the shit kicked out of him behind the old movie house.
The scar wasn’t there anymore.
“Yeah I remember.” Bucky smiled sadly, “it’s just today ...there’s no more quiet, you know?”
Steve wasn’t sure what Bucky meant, but he tilted his head to the side anyway, eyes going glazed as he tried to understand.
“Steve, listen, really listen.”
They both held their breath, and Bucky watched as Steve’s eyes closed. Dark eyelashes fluttered over his cheeks light as a kiss.
Bucky blinked and focused in on his surroundings.
If you got passed the yelling outside, the sirens, the broken fire hydrant, and even the ringing of the cicadas, then you get the underlying buzz.
It was in the air. It was saturated static which he couldn’t outrun no matter how hard he tried.
He once had a vision of the future. Bucky used to love those old sci-fi flics he and Steve would go see. Hell, they’d save up nickels and pennies just to get a ticket each. He’d soak it up, the flying cars, alien spaceships, robots..you name it, but once he found himself honest to god in the future he didn’t want any of it.
Bucky could hear the buzz of the new TV, and the cellphone towers lining the street and the goddamn microwave. It practically set his teeth on edge.
It was like blacknoise tormenting him into insanity.
Steve’s eyes popped open, his eyebrows arched in surprise, “Oh.” He said.
He looked around the apartment with a new eye, gaze lingering on the television and straying to the phone in his pocket.
Steve tipped back on the balls of his feet, inhaling through his nose, “You know, when Fury fished me out of the ice, I woke up and knew something was wrong. There was something under my skin that I just couldn’t itch.” He had a faraway look, but Bucky focused his all on the man before him “Something in the air that was wrong, I-I felt panic, jitters up my spine and I couldn’t pinpoint what it was...but maybe you just figured it out for me, pal.”
He looked lost. Steve didn’t talk about his time in the ice, not really.
To Bucky, Steve’s strength shone out greatest in his moments of vulnerability.
And Bucky loved him for that.
Slowly, he laid his metal hand over Steve’s. Bucky held his breath, but shakily let it out as the contact did nothing. There was no shocking reveal, or disgusted shuffle backwards.
Steve turned his hand around, and laced their fingers together. Bucky thought for once, the hand didn’t remind him of pain and destruction, but rather of resilience.
“Sometimes-” Bucky stopped, his gaze locked on the intertwined hands in his lap, “Sometimes, I think about it, the idea that we could’ve gone back after the war, lived on a farm or somethin’, somewhere where the air is fresh as new snow...we could’ve had a life together, Stevie.”
Steve squeezed his hand, and the pressure was nice.
“Buck, that was all I thought about for the last couple of years. It used to just be a dream, but then I found out you were alive, Buck, alive, and I loved the dreaming. Jesus, you should’a seen my sketchbook, it was lined with your ugly mug, and i’m still not tired of drawing you, Buck.”
There was a coughed laugh. Bucky used to keep a sketchbook too. But he can’t draw for shit, it just had his dreams written down in ink. Permanent ink. Steve made his dreams into pictures, and Bucky loved every smudge of paint Steve had to offer him.
A shadow crossed Bucky’s face. “I’m so sorry Steve, I-” there was an urgency laced in his voice, “ I wish we could’ve had the future you wanted, and I left you thinkin’ I was dead, all those years, I can’t-” He stopped, his breathing had begun to come out in quick pants.
How much he wanted to go back, fix it so Steve and him were happy, but happy back then.
“Oh, Buck.” Steve clasped both hands around Bucky’s metal one and his eyes practically shined, “Just that you’re here with me now means the world to me. We don’t have to talk about the what ifs, or could have beens. We’re here now, together, and that’s all that matters.”
They sat together, letting the rushing breeze rustle their clothes and breath new life into the room.
In one way the fire trucks, car honking and yelling coming from outside was welcomed. If Bucky closed his eyes and relaxed enough, he could maybe believe he was back in that shitty apartment with Steve. Back in the 40’s, the good ol’ days.
Tuning out the electrical buzz had become a full time job, and he was tired of it.
Steve was always good at reading him. And right now, he saw loss and apprehension swimming in Bucky’s blue eyes.
The first day Steve saw buds of life returning to Bucky’s eyes, he bawled like a baby.
It had been a normal day. When Steve had woken up, he made his way into the kitchen to make breakfast, and was surprised to see Bucky already up.
He was sitting at the kitchen table, the window was open, and there was a fresh pot of coffee on. He turned to Steve, and a smile lit up his face.
Steve almost tripped over his feet, but caught himself just in time.
That was the day Steve knew there was hope to see his dreams become a reality.
Maybe not the same dreams he dreamed as a skinny kid back then, but new dreams.
Dreams that came to him in wisps and images while he navigated through this futuristic world he found himself in.
He wasn’t alone in it anymore, though.
Steve squeezed Bucky’s knee, and the soft smile that graced his lips was his way of saying ‘I love you.”
He stood, and slipped the phone out of his pocket, he turned it off before tossing it onto the coffee table.
Nervously, he cupped a hand on the back of his neck, and shuffled over toward the other side of the room.
Bucky’s eyes followed him across the room. His knee still felt warm from Steve’s hand.
Steve paused, gazing back at him as he reached to unlock the cabinet under the record player.
“I found this record right after I came out the ice.” He kept his eyes forward, but the edge of his jaw had gone pink “it was- it reminded me of us...of those big dreams I used to dream.”
Steve pulled out a dusted vinyl, the cover had a crease and one corner was torn off. He smoothed a hand over it lovingly, and blew off a thin layer of dust.
“It hit the hot 100 right after the war, 1945, I used to play it alot when I just got out. It was...nice, to sit back in the apartment and pretend nothing had changed.”
He lifted the needle, and slid the record onto the dial.
Bucky had moved off the couch, and stood like a shadow against Steve’s back.
A slight shiver ran up the length of his spine as Steve’s warmth merged into a cloud around them both.
Without setting down the needle, Steve looked over his shoulder, catching the intense stormy gaze behind him. He offered a little smile in return, and the tops of his ears turned pink too.
“It’s-uh-It’s a big brass band like we used to dance to.”
Bucky paused as another memory hit him like a freight train.
Rickety scratch of a record that bounced off the dull beige walls. Steve swaying awkwardly back and forth by the doorway, one arm crossed over his thin torso. Bucky reaching out with two hands to yank him by the hips. Chests colliding with a soft huff of breath. Blue met blue. Pink colored ears and cheeks. And then dancing, twirling. Boyish laughter masking the reverb of the trumpet. Bucky swiping a thumb over Steve’s sharp cheekbones, counting eyelashes and tasting salt.
He came back to it with a violent shake of his head, one hand had shot out to brace against the muscular back in front of him.
Steve froze, his shoulder blades quivering with the weight of Bucky’s hand between them.
The record still in his grip, waiting, aching to be played once more.
“Sorry-I-sorry” Bucky muttered, but didn’t move.
His flesh hand pulsed, he could almost feel his own heartbeat through his fingertips, or maybe it was Steve’s heart he felt fluttering against his palm.
Without turning around, Steve sighed gently, “It’s okay, Buck. No need to apologize.”
Sharp eyes turned back to the worn vinyl in Steve’s hand. The grooves and scratches were etched with a careful integrity.
“The music helps me-helps take my mind somewhere else for a while.”
Buck slid his hand from Steve’s back to a broad shoulder.
“You listened to it a lot?” Bucky’s breath ghosted over the back of Steve’s neck. He could feel the tense bundle of nerves under his palm jump as Steve shuddered once.
He cleared his throat, one hand clutched the record, the other curved into a loosened claw against his side, “Yeah. It-it’s a good one, Buck.”
Steve reached up to squeeze the hand on his shoulder. “It’s about soldiers coming home from war, about what they’ve missed while they’ve been gone.” He exhaled through his nose, “When I heard it the first time, Bucky I-I got real misty eyed believe me.” Steve laughed, his head shaking slightly, “It was hard not picturing us dancin’ to this after the war. I guess-It just helped me keep the dream alive….and well, you’re here now, Buck and I’d like to play it for you.”
Bucky smiled a real smile, his hand clenching onto Steve like a lifeline.
“Let’s hear it then.”
Steve chuckled, but then placed the worn record under the needle. The telltale scratch reached their ears, and both let out little sighs of remembrance.
The brass band started in with a swinging melody. Trumpets, trombones you name it, a cascadance of musical sound.
Turning from the cabinet, Steve sheepishly looked at Bucky over reddened cheeks. One arm crossed over his body and held over his torso, like always.
Bucky’s arm dropped, and he seemed to zone out. He focused on the swaying song as his mind drifted into a place of quiet he hadn’t experienced in a while.
It was a jarring melody, one that brought images and sounds moving through his head that he thought were long gone.
He looked down. His left hand was grasped between another, fingers criss crossed lovingly.
Bucky let his gaze roll upward, following a freckled arm, up to shoulder, flushed neck, and then the high strong jawline he’d recognize anywhere.
Excitement twinkled in Steve’s eyes, and it painted a liveliness onto him that Bucky had missed.
He never realized he’d missed it so much until he saw it and felt the light giddiness of Steve burrow into his chest like sun warming stone.
Bucky squeezed his hand right back, loving the zip of emotions that raced through Steve’s face, the jump of his cheek, and the cherry pluck of his lips.
Bucky loved it so much.
They didn’t move, didn’t sweep into a dance, but they simply listened.
A lone trumpet played out the tune. A catchy little line, something that would rewind in Bucky’s mind during the bad days, the days without Steve there next to him.
It quieted, died down while the sweet lilt of a woman’s voice sang into the room.
Bucky held his breath as the first lines made their way to his ears.
Never thought that you would be,
Standing here so close to me.
There’s so much I feel that I should say
Hand in hand, they held eyes, searching for something, not knowing what it was, or if they had found it yet.
But words can wait, until some other day
Bucky swiped a lazy thumb over the back of Steve’s hand, the metal gliding smoothly over skin.
There was a feeling growing in his chest, something bigger than himself as he looked at the man before him. He was almost scared of it, the overwhelming entity taking hold of him.
He couldn’t bother about it now, Steve was holding him like he used to.
Kiss me once, then kiss me twice
Then kiss me once again.
It’s been a long, long time.
Steve set an arm around his back, their chests meeting in the middle with the softest embrace.
Two hands clasped between them, and one clasped in the fringe of a shirt, the other a tight grip on one hip.
They paused, like a still frame in a motion picture. Bucky’s face felt warm.
Haven’t felt like this my dear, since can’t remember when
It’s been a long, long time
They started to sway. A smooth repetition to their motion that was dug from the depths of their memories.
Transported back in time, dancing again, like it was always supposed to be.
You’ll never know how many dreams I dreamed about you
Steve’s forehead touched against Bucky’s.
A strand of blonde hair falling over his eyes, and tickling the end of his nose.
All they could see was blue, like sailing to the end of the world.
Or just how empty they all seemed without you
Light breath caressed Bucky’s parted lips. A shudder held on his tongue.
Cherry red. A hairline tear scarred into the pink flesh.
His throat felt dry, but again the feeling in his chest surged with a rapidity that shook him to his core.
Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, and he would’ve moved to wipe them if they hadn’t been mirrored in the light blue before him.
So kiss me once, then kiss me twice
Then kiss me once again
The softest touch of lips. A caress so slight, Bucky thought it was his own inhale.
But no, his eyes shut and then sprung open, catching the caution and hope written in Steve’s gaze.
The music swirled around them both, and finally his breath left him in one massive sweep.
This. This. Is what he’s always dreamt of. Him and Steve together.
Happiness burst within him, an astounded laugh leaving parted lips.
Steve smiled, his eyes crinkling in the best way.
It’s been a long, long time.
Bucky surged against him, their chests bumping, breath mixing as their lips met once more.
Silken, lovely, a slanting of tongue against tongue as they kissed.
The brass band building behind them, like their own personal movie track.
Dimly, Bucky could taste salt, a wetness under his eyes that slid down to touch his reckless lips.
Steve had pulled his body incredibly close, one knee slotted between the other.
Golden hair feeling like gentle water lacing between his fingertips.
They separated just as the music began to quiet. The finite notes of melody bleeding into their surroundings and matching the heaving breaths shared between them.
Bucky smiled a gorgeous smile, one that split his lips and obscured his vision so everything he saw was tinted white.
He was so happy.
Their foreheads were bowed, and their hearts beat as one as the music finally ended.
The scratch of the record player just as beautiful to their ears as the song was.
“I never wanna be without you, Steve.” Bucky said, his eyes searching in earnest, the contagious excitement buzzing through his body like lightning.
Steve smiled, and leaned down to leave a small peck on the corner of Bucky’s mouth.
“This was my dream.” He said in awe, gaze never breaking, “Getting to kiss you, hold you close, Bucky-” His voice broke just slightly, “I never wanna be without you either.”
Bucky sighed, his eyes going soft as he truly measured the abundant awe radiating from Steve.
“It’s you and me pal, ‘til the end of the line, like always.”
Steve huffed a startled laugh, and closed his eyes as he leaned into their embrace.
“Well, it’s about damn time.”