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Steve fumbled with his key before shoving it angrily into the lock, the battered door giving way into the drafty studio apartment he shared with Bucky. He was still sore from the beating he took in the alley this afternoon and all he wanted was to curl up under their tatty blankets and sleep away all the shit he’d dealt with today. But instead, he collapsed on the sofa and focused on evening out his breathing, labored from the three flights up to their floor. He couldn’t go to bed, not before Bucky came home, not on their last night together. Not to mention the whopper of an apology he owed him.
Steve sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. His self-directed anger was slowly ebbing away, leaving guilt, sadness, and a gripping fear, all revolving around his best friend. Sergeant James Barnes, shipping out to England first thing tomorrow. When Bucky had first been drafted, it had seemed like a blessing. A steady job, enough to cover the rent, put food on the table, and even buy Steve some of the medication he needed. It was only a year, consisting of basic training and the occasional stay at the army base. But Bucky was right, it wasn’t some back alley, not anymore. James Buchanan Barnes was being sent off to Europe, for God knows how long, and there was no telling if he’d be coming back in one piece, or at all, for that matter.
Terror was slowly beginning to seize him, creeping up around his heart and squeezing his lungs until his breaths grew rapid and shallow. It was just like one of his regular asthma attacks, only this time Steve knew it couldn’t be fixed with an inhaler, no matter how many puffs he took from the cannister. The only thing that would calm him down right now was Bucky, and he was still off trying to make the best of the double date Steve had selfishly abandoned. If he couldn’t have his best friend in the flesh, he’d have to make do with a facsimile.
Bucky was Steve’s favorite subject to draw, and he’d been more than willing to sit stock-still for countless hours over the years while the artist immortalized bits and pieces of him in his yellowed sketchbook. The lack of a live model didn’t deter Steve now, so he set out to preserve Bucky as he’d been earlier this evening, in his smart, freshly pressed uniform, his cap skewed to one side, and his entire face lit up with that infectious, eye-crinkling grin. Steve’s hands, always confident and skilled, swift and sure, were shaking, and it was steadily growing more and more difficult to see clearly through his filling eyes. He gave up on Bucky’s until he had the real ones in front of him and instead focused on fleshing out every minute detail, from the creases on his military-issued slacks to the freckle just under his left ear, humming an Ella Fitzgerald tune under his breath. Bucky found him like that an hour later, curled up on the couch with a pencil in hand, looking almost content.
“You sure missed out on a good time tonight, Stevie,” he said, smiling and hanging his cap on the peg by the door. “Connie’s an ace dancer, blew Barbara right out of the water.” He sauntered over to where Steve was sitting and plopped down beside him, throwing a lazy arm around his shoulders. When Steve looked up from his drawing, Bucky didn’t miss the red rims around his eyes and the slight puffiness underneath them. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Would you mind sitting still for a minute or two?” Steve blurted before he could say anything. “I’m almost done, but I’m no good at your eyes.” Bucky just nodded and settled into the cushions. Slowly, Steve penciled in the irises he couldn’t stop thinking about and tried not to capture the worry and concern spelled out across them. He was just finishing up his long, feathery eyelashes when Bucky finally spoke.
“Hey, Steve, I know I was kinda harsh earlier, y’know, about you tryin’ to enlist and all. I was just antsy and I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk. Please don’t be sore with me.”
“Well in your defence, I was acting like a punk.” Steve gave Bucky a small smile to let him know he wasn’t crying over his tough love. “Buck, I’m the one who needs to apologize. I couldn’t get off my soapbox for ten minutes to have a little fun. It’s your last night, I shoulda been out there with you and the girls, not moping about in here like a shut-in.”
“Well, it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. No matter how good Connie was at the Lindy Hop, I’d still rather spend the rest of my time in the US with you.” Bucky noticed when Steve’s hand stilled over his drawing. “Mind if I take a gander?” Steve passed the sketchbook over and watched as Bucky’s eyes lit up. It was considerably more complex and polished than any of his previous sketches. It was obvious how much work he put into this one, the painstaking attention to detail.
Bucky stared at the drawing for a long time, not saying anything. Steve watched as his best friend’s expression changed from delight to guilt to anger to fear, before finally settling on a hollow resignation. He closed the book and, without missing a beat, swept Steve into a bone-crushing hug. He could feel Bucky trembling against him, his emotions betraying his usual bravado. Steve held him as tight as his frail arms would allow, not minding the ache in his ribs. All too soon, Bucky pulled away and scooted over to his side of the couch. A smile pulled up the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“You’re a goddamn sap, Steve Rogers. You shoulda just written me a love letter to begin with, woulda been a whole lot quicker.” He chuckled, expecting a punch to the arm, and looked up when Steve didn’t respond. He kept looking when the artist in question avoided his gaze, splotches of red blossoming across his bony cheeks. His eyes nearly popped out of his head when he realized Steve’s silence was a confession.“Oh.” Bucky’s voice was small.
Steve suddenly felt suffocated inside the shoebox apartment. Bucky wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was such a fucking meatball. As if Bucky didn’t have enough to worry about the night before he got shipped overseas, Steve was dumb enough to spill the beans on the stupid torch he’d been carrying for his best buddy since they were twelve. Now was not the time to spring his less-than-platonic feelings on him.
“I’m sorry Buck, just forget it,” Steve mumbled, snatching the incriminating picture out of Bucky’s hands and veering towards the window. He ignored his friend’s protests and concentrated on yanking the sash up and clambering out onto the fire escape without vomiting. The cool breeze across his face helped to clear his mind. It couldn’t have been more than 30 seconds before Bucky was slinging himself through the window, too, holding a heavy quilt he’d pulled off the bed.
“For chrissakes, Stevie, you know better’n to jump out here this late, you’ll catch a cold.” He wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders and leaned beside him against the railing. “Now if you’d put the kibosh on the melodrama, can I put in my two cents?” Bucky looked pointedly at Steve, his eyebrows raised, waiting for a response.
“I told you, just pretend it never happened. I’ll get over it.”
Bucky let out a huff of frustration. “Well what if I can’t get over it, huh?”
“Maybe by the time you come back I’ll have found some dame, and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“No, Steve, that’s not what I-”
“I can stay somewhere else tonight if you want me to.”
“Would you just shut it for ten-”
“I don’t know what I was thinking in the first place, there’s no way you-” Steve’s prattling was smothered instantly as Bucky’s lips covered his own. It was over just as quickly as it had begun, a chaste, i-need-you-to-stop-talking-right-this-second kind of kiss. When Bucky pulled away, his eyes had grown comically wide.
“Shit, Steve, I’m sorry. You just weren’t getting it, you bonehead.” His own cheeks were red now. “I didn’t want our first kiss to go like that.”
Steve couldn’t believe his luck. And his own stupidity. Why had he waited, wasted so much time? He felt lightheaded as he considered the idea that Bucky might feel exactly the same way he did. “Well you can have a do-over, if you want one,” Steve said breathlessly.
Bucky smiled like that was precisely what he wanted, but he didn’t move any closer right away. The smile fell into a straight line and his eyes were shining like a new penny. Slowly, he moved one big hand up to rest against Steve’s jaw. His palm was rough and calloused from long shifts at the docks and his more recent army training, but he held his face so lightly that Steve could barely feel it. He slipped another large, warm hand around Steve’s waist to press gently against the small of his back.
Steve melted beneath his touch, surprised at the amount of tenderness it held. Bucky was never one to treat him like a china doll, always generous with rough embraces and mock-punches. This was different. It was careful, almost reverent. Like Bucky had wanted to do this for ages but never got the chance. There was no hurry to his movements.
Bucky leaned forward until their foreheads were pressed together, and they stood in the cool night air for a moment, just drinking each other in. In one fluid motion, Bucky ducked his head and captured Steve’s lips, his own parted slightly. He held Steve close for a moment as he moved his mouth against his, before pulling back, a dopey grin lighting up his features. When he tried to step away, Steve locked his arms around Bucky’s waist and held him in place.
“You didn’t think I’d let you get away that easy, did you?” His smile matched Bucky’s. “I’ve wanted to do that for twelve years. You’re not going anywhere.”
Bucky’s grin grew smug as he tugged Steve against his chest. “Well it’s a good thing I’ve wanted you to do that for fourteen.” Their lips met again and this time they didn’t
separate until Steve was wheezing and couldn’t catch his breath.
“We’re a couple of class A knuckleheads, aren’t we, Buck?” Steve joked, but his smile was sad. “All that time, and now we don’t have any left.”
“Well, I don’t have to be at base until 0800 tomorrow morning.” Bucky plucked the quilt up from where it had been abandoned on the floor of the fire escape and draped it over both of their shoulders. He pulled Steve down with him so they were huddled against the wall of the building, and wrapped one strong arm around him. He held their intertwined hands in his lap, his thick, calloused fingers enveloping Steve’s slender ones. “Let’s just stay out here tonight, okay? I don’t wanna be cooped up inside. Just lemme know if you get too cold.”
Steve nestled closer into Bucky’s side and tugged the blanket tighter around them. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem, for once.” It was quiet for a moment, the only sound coming from three stories below.
“Stevie?” Bucky’s voice was thick.
“Yeah, Buck?”
“You’re my best guy. Always have been, always will be. Just remember that, okay?”
“And you’re callin’ me a sap.” Steve squeezed Bucky’s hand harder. “Understood.”
The two Brooklyn boys sat in silence and watched the bustle on the streets below. Up on their fire escape, they were untouchable. The war, their poverty, the blind hate they would face on the streets, none of it could reach them. They each took shelter in the other’s heartbeat, and held on tight till morning.