Chapter Text
The sky was so blue it felt surreal. Puffy white clouds hung in sharp contrast to the intensity of that deep blue. The sun warmed the stone steps and Steve let out a sigh, relaxing as he stretched his legs out out just a little more. He could stay like this all day, leaning back as he sat on the stone steps, staring up at the bright ceiling of sky above him and pondering how to transfer this exact memory to canvas. There was only one thing that could make this day even better.
“Sorry I’m late,” came the familiar voice, and Steve’s thoughts were jarred as he found himself suddenly and unceremoniously shoved up against the marble pilar. He grunted as Bucky pressed himself right up against him.
“Oof!” He grunted. “Hey -- there’s an entire flight and you wanna sit on me?” He snipped, trying to squirm to reclaim some of his original real estate.
“This is the most comfortable spot in all of Brooklyn,” Buck said as if that were an acceptable excuse, leaning back with one arm behind Steve. The young blond found himself resting against it for support even as he wriggled for breathing room. “Besides,” Bucky teased. “You like it.”
“Ya ever hear of ‘too much of a good thing’, Barnes?” Steve grumbled. Bucky just laughed, scooting enough to give him a few precious inches, but not giving up his close proximity. The smaller man shifted to get some space, and the moment he had settled in comfortably again, Bucky had stretched out so that their thighs were pressed alongside each other. Steve sighed. “What exactly do you have against the concept of personal space?”
“The concept? Nothin’ at all, great idea, everyone gets a bubble, everyone’s happy.”
“Uh huh,” Steve said, whacking Bucky’s thigh with his knee. The offending leg moved for a moment, then fell right back against his own. “And in practice?”
“Like I said,” Buck said, leaning down to grin at him with a lazy, boyish smile that seemed to get him into as much trouble as it got him out of. “Best spot in all of Brooklyn.”
Steve Rogers glared at that grin, wanting so badly to be angry, but every time he looked into those pale blue eyes, staring out at him through thick lashes, just daring him to be upset, he found himself distracted. He wanted to be angry, but instead he found himself starting at pink lips and wondering for the twentieth time or so today what it would feel like to kiss them. That beautiful smirk was starting to fade, pursing into a slightly more concerned expression and Steve realized he had taken too long to react.
He coughed softly, reaching for the black metal lunchpail on the step below him. “So why were you late?” he asked, careful to keep any accusation out of his voice.
Bucky grumbled, leaning back along the steps and folding his hands behind his head as Steve unpacked their lunch. “Ah, you don’t wanna hear about it. Just Mr Burnett bein’ a damn slave driver again.” But he huffed, staring up at the sky. Steve could see the way his shoulders were tense, the way his breathing was shallow, like he couldn’t get a deep breath in, how that vein near his temple was starting to stand out, just a little bit.
He leaned over, pulling out the waxpaper wrapped sandwiches, glancing between them. He’d painted a red triplane on one, a raygun on the other. Pretending the distinction wasn’t important, he tossed the raygun sandwich onto Bucky’s stomach. “I wanna hear it. What’d that drunk jackass do this time?” He asked.
Bucky rested his hand on the food that had abruptly landed on him and tilted his head to get a better look at Steve, trying to determine if he really wanted to hear. Steve shifted where he sat, giving Bucky his full attention. If he were honest, Bucky was right. He didn’t really care about the minutia of his awful boss. Steve knew he was awful. But he also knew that Buck was a good man, one who wanted so badly to be a good man for everyone that he let each perceived failure sit in his breast. Steve had learned that if he didn’t get an outlet, a way to shake off the rust before it got too heavy, it would weigh down a soul meant to soar. He also knew that he wasn’t allowed to just go punch the jackass that hurt his friend’s feelings square in the jaw, but that problem was personal.
Bucky studied him, then sat back up, looking down at his bundle. He smiled at the raygun and carefully started to unwrap it. “Okay. Well. You know how they were hiring a few new guys to help with all the extra boats comin’ in?” He asked.
Steve nodded. He did know, and he felt a twinge of irritation, though it wasn’t directed at Bucky. He’d applied for a job there himself. Twice. And he’d been laughed right off the docks. Twice. He’d hoped he’d have been able to slip under the radar, get a few good paychecks coming in, take some of the burden off of Bucky’s shoulders. He hated struggling to keep a steady job, he hated seeing how tired Buck was every night when he came home, just trying to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads. Trying to afford his medication when he inevitably got sick again. But Bucky was still talking, and he saw the familiar high pink coming into his cheeks, even and lovely like a glow as he ranted. He watched him speak as Steve lazily unwrapped his own sandwich, staring at the way his mouth moved, the beautiful shapes it formed. He wondered for the twenty-first time or so what it would be like to interrupt that rant with a kiss. He didn’t dare though.
“-- two dozen times, Stevie. I ain’t even exaggeratin’ you have any idea how many times that is?” He asked.
“Twice more than a dozen, I’d imagine, Buck.” He responded, deadpan. Bucky was carefully tearing the wax paper to separate the art from the rest of the wrapping. “What are you doing?”
Buck glanced up, pausing in his story. “What? I wanna keep it.”
“It’s not worth keepin’, it’s just a little doodle.”
“Yeah well, it’s my doodle now and I’m keepin’ it. Now where was I?”
“Two dozen times.”
“Oh right right. So I told this idiot two dozen times, I told him.” Buck launched back into his rant, but Steve was only half listening. His eyes were on his hands, dirty from work, but so very delicate with how they folded his little painting. Once it was safe, he tucked it into his breast pocket and gave it a pat, as if making sure it was secure.
Twenty-two times. Or so.
“And so of course, idiot gets his thumbs ripped off.”
Steve was jolted violently back into the conversation and he paused. “...Wait I’m sorry, what? ”
Bucky nodded, picking up his sandwich. He nudged Steve to eat. “Yup. Clean off. I warned him.”
“Buck, I gotta be honest. That ain’t where I thought this conversation was headed.”
“ I warned him. Two dozen times, Stevie.”
“That’s like twenty four times, Buck.”
“Exactly!” Bucky said. He inspected his sandwich, picking which half he wanted first and lifting it to his mouth. It was thick with meat and cheese, the way Steve knew he liked it. He’d used up the last of their lunch meat, but no matter. He had to go to the store anyhow. There were still a few coins left in his pocket, he could stretch that until his next commission was finished.
There was a lull in the conversation as Bucky ate, and he finished unwrapping his own. It was much leaner, but he didn’t mind. Buck was the one who was busting his tail and risking his body. Buck needed it more. Steve grinned a little as he chewed, eyes immediately spotting the glint of yellow on the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He could just reach over to brush it off with his thumb. There’d be nothing questionable about that, it’d be just the most casual thing in the world. Just helping his buddy keep tidy, right?
“Hey -- hey what the fuck, Punk?” Bucky suddenly barked, and Steve’s brows shot up to his hairline. Had he spoken his thoughts aloud? But instead, Buck swatted at the sandwich in his lap. “What the shit, Rogers?”
Oh. “What?” Steve asked, trying to feign innocence. He felt his cheeks go hot as he looked down at his own sandwich, as if he’d just now noticed how different in size they were. “Oh. Well look at that. Looks like I got a little enthusiastic with one of em. Well, good thing you got it, huh?” He asked, shrugging it off.
“Oh yeah, and it was just dumb luck that you put the lion’s share in mine.”
“Buck, come on, you’re givin’ me too much credit. I made two sandwiches, I threw one to you at random.”
“Uh huh. And you just happened to give me the big one, and yours just happened to have the Red Baron on it. But it was totally random.”
The heat increased. “So I like the Red Baron, lay off, Buck.”
“He was a terror, Punk, just like you.” Bucky was leaning forward and snatched the uneaten half, swapping it with his own thicker half. “You gotta keep your strength up, don’t pull this bullshit with me, Rogers.”
“I ain’t been sick in like a month, Barnes --”
“Yeah, and I’d like to keep that streak goin’--”
“--But I ain’t the one who has to work where people get their thumbs ripped off, Bucky.”
“I’m not getting my thumbs ripped off any time soon, I intend to keep all body parts right where they are until the day I die. You’re gonna bury me with ten fingers and twelve toes.”
Steve giggled despite himself. “Is that what you do all day? Collect other people’s toes?”
“I’m allowed my hobbies, Stevie,” Bucky said with that charming grin. He swatted at him again. Steve had to look away, narrowly avoiding twenty three. But only barely.
“You’re pretty crap at it if you only got two extras.”
“Yeah well, if I start getting greedy, you’re gonna notice yours are missing.”
Steve felt himself curl his toes in his shoes, but he broke into a grin as he elbowed Bucky in the ribs. “You’re such a jerk.”
“I’m not the little punk trying to fatten me up for winter. God, let a man worry about his boyish figure, will ya?”
Steve stared down the stairs, watching the shadows of the clouds overhead as his smile softened. “...I’m just tryin’ to look out for ya, Buck…”
Bucky’s voice softened as well. “I know ya are, Stevie. And I love you for it.” He leaned against him gently and this time Steve didn’t struggle or squirm, he leaned right back into him. “Red Baron was still a terror.”
Steve laughed, throwing his head back. “Yeah… But he was so cool, Bucky…”
“If you say so,” Buck teased, settling into the rest of his food. Steve leaned down to take an apple out of the box, handing one up to him. Bucky snatched both, scrutinized them for a moment and then handed the shinier one down to Steve. Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t argue this time. He did lean just a little harder into him however.
They finished their food in silence, splitting a bottle of pop that Bucky opened with a neat trick with his pocket knife. They leaned on each other like a pair of soldiers against the world, and Steve realized that he hadn’t stopped grinning the whole time. The warmth that had risen in his chest hadn’t quelled, and he couldn’t attribute it all to the lovely day.
Eventually Bucky gave a satisfied sigh and shifted to pull his pocket watch from his trousers and flipped it open. “Ah, I gotta go. You gonna be alright gettin’ home?”
“Buck, people don’t get thumbs ripped off walkin’ home.”
“They might, Punk, you don’t know. And I don’t want you to be the first.”
Steve rolled his eyes, moving to crumple up his trash, but Bucky stopped him, taking the wrapper and carefully tearing out the triplane painting before he did. He folded it as it had done with the raygun and slipped it into his pocket. “They’re just doodles…”
“Quit sellin’ yourself short… I’ll be home in a few hours, Sunshine.” Bucky said as he rose, reaching down to ruffle his blond hair. Steve scoffed and looked up at him from under his palm. For a long moment, their eyes met, and Bucky held his gaze. Steve felt his heart flutter and his breath catch. And then he was gone, whistling as he practically danced his way down the marble stairs.
Twenty-three. He was sure of it this time.