Chapter Text
Steven Rogers was young when he found out he was attracted to boys. It was unfortunate, then, that other boys were only attracted to bullying him. It came easy to them to torment this sickly, thin, tiny kid with the mournful blue eyes. He was also poor and had a dead dad, which the other kids weaponized with relish. He often came home with bruises and an anger he couldn’t quite deal with, and his tired mother would take him in her arms and they would sit in silence, not saying the words they meant to say to each other- one didn’t have the necessary vocabulary for his feelings and the other had feelings she couldn’t find words for.
When he grew older he grew taller but not any bigger- he was still gangly- all knees and elbows and awkward. He took refuge in books and became enamored with art, imagined himself becoming a world-renowned painter someday, some day when he could afford the cost of art supplies. He made do with sketchbooks with cheap paper and colored pencils he carefully hoarded, and kept to himself.
In high school he learned to not fight back against bullies, to school his face into a passive blank stare at every taunt. There was so much more at stake- he had finally understood what it meant to be attracted to his own gender, and it was a secret he thought he had to keep at the expense of everything else. Eventually they tired of tormenting the poor art nerd who wouldn’t fight back, and found someone else to hurt. It was a knife that twisted in Steve’s heart, to let this other young man take his stead, but at the time he thought his burgeoning secret sexuality was a heavier burden than to stand up for someone else. It haunted him, now and again, to remember this act of cowardice for self-preservation.
In any case he buried himself in academics and a weekend job, took all art-related classes in the hope of an art scholarship for college, even though his mother’s failing health took up all of their money and the reality of higher studies became a pipe dream. But he didn’t know it yet, not then, and it was in art class when he met Bucky.
James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky to his many friends, was a good-looking charmer who played quarterback for their small school. It wasn’t much of a team, but he had a rocket for an arm and people agreed he’d go on to become something big someday. He always smiled and received their compliments with a quick laugh, did Bucky. He was very popular with the ladies, too, because some people had all the luck. But he never seemed to keep a girlfriend- he flirted and flitted from one girl to the next, never staying for long.
One day Bucky agreed to pose as a model for the art class Steve was in, and there, in the middle of sketching, they accidentally locked eyes with one another. And it was as if lightning struck- I’ve been made, Steve thought, I’ve been found out. In Bucky’s grey eyes he found himself stripped to his core, and Bucky smiled. Steve didn’t know how he made it through that class, but he left as soon as bell rung, eyes downcast and not heeding Bucky’s attempts at catching his attention. That was the one and only time he didn’t pass a class assignment, choosing instead to leave Bucky’s portrait unfinished in his room.
It was two weeks after that Bucky found him at his job at the local diner. His mother’s illness took a turn for the worse and they could barely get by with just her widow’s pension. Trying to get her on VA medical benefits was a Kafka-esque endeavor, and he soon gave up trying to understand the byzantine bureaucracy that was the VA and chose instead to get an after-school job on top of his weekend shifts at the supply store. It was entirely a coincidence- the diner wasn’t a known hangout place for the popular kids who instead patronized the newer restaurant on the other side of town. When he got to their table Steve could barely get through the diner menu spiel as Bucky looked up from the laminate menus and a look of recognition flitted through his face. No one else in his group of friends recognized Steve from school and why would they? But it was Bucky he was concerned about, and Bucky remembered him. Behind the counter he convinced the only other waitress to change tables with him, and he couldn’t remember what excuse he made. He mostly kept himself behind the counter and forced himself to not look in that direction, lest Bucky lay bare his secrets with just another look. Each uproarious laughter ate away at him- were they talking about him? Do they know? Did he tell them? He found himself short of breath and took his break early. It was only fifteen minutes but it turned out to be enough, as when he came back the group was leaving, to some party or other, thank god. Before exiting Bucky gave him another look but this time he knew how to blankly let it pass through him, and he wished the departing patrons a lifeless good night.
A week after that he found Bucky waiting for him outside the diner after his shift. Steve gritted his teeth, he had learned from his past bullies how to handle this- either fight it or endure until they got bored. Looking at the way Bucky smiled at him, it didn’t seem like bullying though. He had a very charming smile, did Bucky, and Steve found himself being slightly charmed by it. So instead of just ignoring, he opted to ask instead.
“What do you want from me?”
Bucky shrugged, in good spirits it seemed. “Just wanted to talk. Be friends.”
Steve doubted it. “You have enough friends.” He said, and then walked past Bucky to go on his way home. Bucky didn’t stop him. But then Bucky kept showing up after his late night shifts, hailing him with a cheery hello. Sometimes he replied, sometimes he just nodded, but always he just walked away.
When the weather turned cold and he still found Bucky waiting for him outside the diner after his late shift, bundled in a black leather jacket with a red scarf, curiosity got the better of him.
“What do you want from me?” He repeated his question from a season ago.
“I told you,” Bucky said with a cocky grin, “just wanted to be friends.”
And then, Steve found himself saying the words, “come by my house then, it’s getting cold.”
And Bucky cheerfully bounded after him, keeping up a one sided conversation about anything and everything. He offered to take them in his car, and Steve agreed. During the car ride Bucky kept up the conversation to which Steve just hmm-ed and ah-ed in between giving directions. They got to his house, and tonight he had it to himself- his mother being in one of her frequent hospital stays. He said so as he opened the door and held it open for Bucky to come in. Once the door was closed, Bucky pushed him to it and kissed him.
Looking back he remembered the kiss so clearly- how soft and cold Bucky’s lips were, how he froze in surprise and fear, how quick it ended as it began.
He was dumbfounded, rendered speechless as Bucky moved back and stared at him with that smile, and when he eventually found his voice he could only croak a “Why?”
“You looked like you wanted someone to kiss you.”
And he did, oh how Steve wanted Bucky to kiss him, ever since he saw him at a pep rally the start of the school year. Saw that cocky grin as he tossed a football back and forth with his friends as the teams were introduced. Saw the gleam of a future in his grey eyes that sometimes looked icy blue, those same eyes that stared at Steve and saw all he had hidden inside.
So Steve reached out a shaking hand and gripped at Bucky’s jacket, a lifeline, and Bucky pulled him close, and they kissed again and again until Bucky had to leave.
It wasn’t a one time thing, either. It happened, not always, but Steve would find Bucky waiting for him after work, and he’d drive them back to Steve’s house, and in silence they would kiss and make out. This went on for months before Steve finally got the courage to ask about Bucky’s parade of girls he publicly went out with.
“Does it bother you?”
Steve bit his lip. It did. But what right did he have? He couldn’t just out himself and the school quarterback. So he lied and said not really, and Bucky laughed and said why ask then, and they dropped the matter and never talked about it again.
They never interacted at school beyond just looks and nods in the hallway, and if Bucky’s friends asked he would always say Steve was just some dude he met in art class who made a good portrait of him, and it was half true. Steve didn’t have friends to interrogate him about his passing acquaintance with one of the cool kids. They kept in touch through texts, and even then not really that much with Steve’s crappy phone plan. It always ever was about when they could ‘hangout’ again. Steve was careful to arrange it on nights he was alone at home, and these days that was happening with increasing frequency.
This went on until senior year, and their kisses turned to petting that turned to hand jobs. One night, Steve downed a can of beer before Bucky came over and offered to do a blow job, something he’s only ever seen in porn he looked up. It was awkward and sloppy but Bucky was encouraging, touching his hair and face gently, guiding him. Bucky never offered to do it for Steve, but at the time Steve was just so overcome with emotions to care. It happened a couple more times for him to be better at it, and Steve felt seeing Bucky smile at him with a dazed look at his face after coming was the best thing he’d ever see in his life.
Prom night rolled around and he had to watch prom king Bucky dance with the prom queen to a slow song they had just listened to the other night, hands down each other’s pants and fervently kissing, and Steve had to remind himself that this wasn’t his Bucky. But there was a bitter taste in his mouth, and he left soon as everyone else joined the couple on the dance floor. Bucky didn’t visit him that night, or any other night soon after.
Graduation came and a day after a text from Bucky. He wanted to meet, but Steve was too busy with so many things, he convinced himself, and never texted back. His mother’s illness had become even worse, and every night after shifts drove his mother’s beat up car to the hospital. He didn’t get an art scholarship, having neglected art in favor of more shifts and occasional trysts with Bucky, and anyway what was a college education and a fancy art degree in the face of his mother’s impending death. When she passed a few weeks after graduation he drove himself straight to the military recruitment office after the funeral. The recruiting officer made a comment about how dressed up he was, but he just let the comment slide of his back. He sold the house to pay for some of the hospital and funeral fees and shipped off to boot camp, never looking back.