Work Text:
On days when the sun is too hot, when work's got him sweating so much he's drowning in it, when the other dock workers catcall one too many ladies with nice gams, at the end of the day, Bucky Barnes goes back to Steve Rogers's apartment instead of his own.
On days when they hear the construction crew down the street lost another guy off one of the highest steel beams, when they find some poor schmuck floating facedown in the slip, when a crate of cargo falls and shatters in the spot he'd been standing five minutes ago, Bucky goes to Steve's apartment.
On days when the sky is the ( second ) brightest blue he thinks he might ever see, when there's a perfect breeze and gentle waves, when the lettuce in his sandwich is crisp and his apple's just the right amount of tart, Bucky goes to Steve.
It's gotten to the point where he's got spare clothes in Steve's closet, an extra washcloth in the bathroom and a toothbrush on the lip of the sink. Matter of fact, he's at Steve's apartment most nights out of the week, and it hasn't escaped Steve's notice either.
( "You're over so much, might as well be livin' here anyway," Steve jokes one day, and Bucky has to pretend he hasn't had the thought before.
He completely misses the look on Steve's face when he makes himself laugh it off, and neither of them notice the disappointment in the other's demeanor when the topic drops there. )
He goes for a record amount of time sleeping in his own bed for consecutive nights this time, only because the landlord had threatened to start charging Steve for a room for two, before he decides he's overdue to invade Steve's space once again.
The day passes quickly, on the wrong side of hot with the breeze carrying a humid heat that guarantees it provides no relief whatsoever. The rest of the guys are just as miserable, and the chatter among the dockworkers is reduced to grumbles and groans. They all know they all feel the same way, all of them recognizing the futility to complaining. The workday passes in relative silence, and when they ( somehow ) manage to finish the bulk of the work early, Bucky leaps at the chance to leave before his scheduled time. Sure, it'll mean he's taking home a little less than usual, but he'll make it last. So he waves to the other guys as he packs up his lunch pail, takes a rag to the worst of his sweat, and makes his way over to Steve's apartment.
The sun's still in the right place for it to be considered early afternoon by the time he arrives, jigging the outer door to the apartment building the right way to let him in without a key ( and makes a note to himself to remind the landlord it needs fixing ) and hopping up the three flights of stairs it takes to get to Steve's door. Bucky can't help feeling strangely energetic, despite how exhausted he is, and the hint of a grin doesn't fade even as his muscles protest the extra exertion. He fishes for the spare key Steve's got hidden, opens the door—
—and is immediately struck by the stillness of the apartment. The excitement drains out of him nearly immediately, but he can't be too sour; it's unreasonable to think Steve'll be home every hour of the day, especially when he's not expecting company. So Bucky sets his lunch pail on the table, strides in and makes sure to lock the door behind him. It's still hot, so he goes to open the window, takes off his shirt before sitting on the couch. Anything to cool down a little, and before he realizes it, he dozes off where he's sitting.
When he wakes up, it can't have been more than an hour later. Takes a minute for his brain to accept he's closer to this side of awake than asleep, though, so he stretches out, pausing when his legs bump into something before he can extend them fully. A little frown, finally opening his eyes, and it's a slow smile spreads across his face when he sees Steve sitting on the other end of the couch. He's got his sketchbook open, charcoal stick moving quickly, and when their eyes meet, Steve nods at him.
"Ruined the drawing. You should go back to sleep."
Bucky just laughs, smacks his lips quietly. "Yeah? 'bout to ruin it even more, then," he says with a groan, stretching his arms above his head as he settles into his corner of the couch. Kicks his legs up on top of Steve's, and there's a smirk when he laughs and protests. "Modeling don't come cheap, Stevie."
Steve grins, rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and most models don't break into a guy's home, neither."
"It's not breaking in if I got a key - which reminds me, you should really work on hiding that spare better."
There's a laugh when Steve punches him in the thigh for the comment, but it's only a light hit. He shifts his sketchbook to prop it against Bucky's legs once they're both comfortable again, and Bucky sighs, a light smile on his face as he watches him. Manages to catch a glimpse of the sketch, though Steve never usually lets him see the finished product. It's frustrating, but not the biggest problem in the world, and as he watches Steve settle into drawing again, that smile doesn't leave his face. Spreads into a warmth that seeps through his whole body, sets his fingers and toes tingling before gathering in his chest. It's a strange emotion, one he's only recently learned to put a name to; all the tension from the rest of the day seems to bleed out of him as he rolls it around, testing the feel of it and deciding he likes it.
"Hey, Steve." The words are out of his mouth before he realizes it, a thick blanket of drowsiness settling over him as the comfort sets in. He only realizes once Steve responds that he's closed his eyes again.
"What is it, Buck?"
Bucky smiles, though he doesn't bother opening his eyes again. Think I'm in love with you.
It's silent for a while then, and Steve sounds far away when he speaks up again. "Bucky? You asleep?"
His only response is a quiet hum; he hears Steve laugh, but only just barely. There's a light touch along his forehead, feels like fingertips through his hair. Bucky sighs, shifts into that touch, and the rest of it fades away as sleep once again takes over.