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"Did you pick up the milk?"
"Yes. It's in the fridge, did you look?" Steve's just this side of snippy, and it catches Bucky off-guard.
"I... just came downstairs. Was just asking." Bucky walks over to where Steve's bent over on the couch, scrolling a bit aggressively on his iPad. "Whatcha doin'?" he asks, perching on the arm, but not peering over Steve's shoulder.
Steve doesn't answer, and Bucky doesn't push, but he frowns. Steve had gone for his run this morning like normal, but he had left without a kiss, without the usual tease about Bucky's lazy bones (and without then Bucky's standard response about his bone being ready when Steve returned). He often thought that Steve reminded him of sunshine, but every so often, there was a cloudy day.
Today the clouds are particularly gray.
While he frowns, Bucky pulls his phone from his hoodie's pocket and pulls up the calendar app. He's got his own and Steve's defaulting to show, but there wasn't anything there that might have set Steve off today—nothing like a birthday of someone from their past, or an anniversary of some difficult event.
With a twist of his lips, he flips over to his astrology app, and ah, well. Trouble in paradise today, it would seem. A Water-Water relationship often means that you flow smoothly along with each other, but it does mean that objects beneath can cause rougher waves. Today's turbulence is probably more like a wave breaking over a reef—an inevitable moment of violent crashing before sliding lazily onto the shore. Ride this wave with the confidence of Eddie Aikau, and you'll make it through.
(Bucky quickly googles that name and winces, wondering if anyone researched that name beyond his talents at surfing.)
But anyway, so it's fine, there's gonna be some extra work to get through the day. That's okay, really. Bucky's grateful for the time they have together now, and he'll deal with a few days of crankiness. It'll help, though, if he knows if there's anything specific that's driving Steve's mood this morning.
He licks his lips and stands up, heading for the kitchen. "I'll make waffles, yeah? You hungry?"
"Mmm."
Bucky takes that as yes.
He tells Friday to play some old jazz while he starts mixing together the batter, and the soft music swirls around him in the kitchen along with dust from the flour. He wears a glove over his left hand, because he's found that the flour in his hand and arm can gunk up his gears, and honestly he's not feeling up for going to see Tony today.
Time flies when you're making waffles for your sour-mood-having partner, and soon enough Bucky's adding the finishing touches of some fresh strawberries and whipped cream. If he had blueberries he'd make a damn shield, but maybe it's better he's skipping that today. He hasn't heard a word from the living room since he left it, and usually the smell of waffles will bring Steve in to hover.
No matter. Bucky gets a tray and plops the plate of waffles, a glass of OJ, and a little origami flower on it, and brings it out to Steve with a smile.
Steve, in turn, grunts and takes the tray, and starts digging in. No 'thank you,' no comment on the effort for the plating and display.
Bucky closes his eyes, tries not to sigh out loud, and heads back to the kitchen to get his own serving. He doesn't bother adding more than syrup to his, and he stays hunched over the counter to eat. It could just be, after all, that Steve needed to eat something today, and getting the food in him will bring out the sweeter personality that Bucky has come to expect from his partner.
However, three minutes later, he hears Steve get up and shuffle to the stairs, heading up without a word. Bucky peeks his head out to see the empty plate on the tray, juice and flower untouched.
Now he's wondering if something is actually wrong, if he should push to get more information from Steve. Make him talk. He hates to do that, hates not to let Steve work through things, but ever since they were kids, he's known that sometimes Steve bottles up and refuses to work through whatever's bothering him.
So Bucky goes upstairs.
Steve's standing in their room, not seeming to look at anything in particular, shirt off but held in his hand, as though he was about to toss it into the hamper but someone clicked pause.
Bucky steps closer quietly. "Steve?" he whispers, bracing himself for Steve to be startled.
"What?" Steve snaps, a real snotty tone, and Bucky finds he doesn't have the patience anymore.
"You're being a dick! The fuck is wrong with you today, Rogers?"
"Nothing!"
Bucky raises his eyebrow, and swings his arm out, palm up, in a vague gesture to look around. "So what else explains this mood of yours?"
Steve shakes his head. "It's nothing, Buck. I'm just." He shrugs. "Guess I woke up on the wrong side of the bed." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, then flops down on his back. "Sorry," he mutters, and doesn't Bucky's heart just melt.
It's gross, really, how much he loves this dumb, emotionally constipated man.
So Bucky goes to lie down next to Steve, running his fingers through his hair. "You can be a bear, honey. It's okay. Just tell me, and don't aim it in my direction, all right?"
Steve nods, and it speaks a lot to how he really is in a poor mood that he doesn't turn to kiss or nuzzle Bucky at all.
But that's okay. This wave will crash against the shore soon enough, and then they'll wash gently together again.