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It’s a pleasantly warm day in Manhattan; the sun is high enough in the sky to not blind your eyes when you look straight ahead, but low enough to tell you it’s past midday.
“What flavor do you kids want?” an ice cream vendor situated on a walkway in Central Park asks two boys at his cart. Not that the boys were at his cart to begin with, but they stopped out of temptation and made an excuse that ice cream would be nice on a hot day like this.
“I dunno, sir. What would you recommend?” asks one of the boys. He’s considerably taller than the one standing next to him. The shorter boy ruffles his blonde hair and looks up at the stall, scrutinizing the listed flavors written on a sign hanging from the top.
“Vanilla and chocolate are always popular ones. Strawberry’s also been quite good for the summer,” the vendor replies.
“I’ll take vanilla, thank you,” the blonde boy finally says. The taller boy huffs, but in a playful manner.
“You always get vanilla, Steve. You pretend to look at the board for something new but you always get vanilla.” Steve shoots the taller boy with an accusatory glance.
“It’s a safe flavor, Bucky. Anyways, I like it too, so don’t judge me,” Steve states. Bucky gives Steve a defeated smile and turns back to the vendor.
“Strawberry for me,” he says, moving back his blazer and reaching into his pockets to pull out a few dollars. Steve also reaches into a satchel he’s brought to pull out a few dollars, insisting that he and Bucky split the cost.
“Steve, I’m supposed to be treating you, so stick your money back in your pocket. Anyways, if we split, we’d just be paying for our own cones,” Bucky says, handing the vendor the money and, shortly thereafter, receiving two cones piled with ice cream; one is cream-colored and the other is a light pink with an occasional red dot of fresh strawberries. Steve grabs his cone, trying to look mad.
“I could've paid for it…” he mutters under his breath as the two walk away from the stand towards the rest of the park. Bucky doesn’t say anything and focuses on licking the ice cream on his cone instead.
The two eventually reach the Ramble and Lake near the westmost area of the park.
“Hey, why don’t we go and sit near the lake?” Bucky asks Steve, who is desperately trying to not let his melting ice cream drip down the side of the cone.
“Sounds good, bud. I actually brought my sketchbook so…” Steve pauses to lick away a melting part of his ice cream. Bucky snickers at his friend’s dilemma.
“Maybe you wouldn’t have melty ice cream if you actually ate it faster.” Steve looks at Bucky’s almost half-finished cone, then at the melting mess in his hands.
“I hate you, jerk.” Bucky laughs out loud this time, short but amused.
Bucky doesn’t comment on Steve’s disaster anymore, and the two eventually walk to a grassy area on the lakefront, shaded by trees and surrounded by assorted bushes and flowers.
“You’ll be alright? There’s a lotta flowers here, so probably a lotta pollen,” Bucky asks, sitting down at the base of a tree.
“Should be. If I start coughing—” Steve reaches into his satchel with his cone-less hand to grab and show his asthma medication, but only feels his sketchbook, sketching supplies, the unused dollars, and a handkerchief. “—get a doctor,” he finishes in a clearly unplanned way. Bucky sighs but nods his head in an assuring manner. Steve, his hand still in his satchel, pulls out his sketchbook instead, then a pencil and a heavily worn eraser. “Uh…” He looks at the now less drippy and more eaten cone in his hand.
“Gimme.” Bucky motions for the frozen treat, to which Steve hesitates, but eventually gives it after he realizes he’ll probably be too engrossed in drawing to focus on having ice cream. Hands free, Steve opens up his sketchbook and finds a blank page, flipping through ones already filled with sketches of flowers and birds and people. One stands out to Bucky.
“Hey, who’s that?” he asks.
“Who’s who? There’s a lot of people in this book, Buck,” Steve states, almost like he’s avoiding the clear answer he knows he has. Bucky doesn’t press any further.
“Nevermind. Am I allowed to eat your cone, though?” Bucky asks.
“Sure, you paid for it anyways,” Steve responds, a faint smile on his face. He’s sitting with his back straight to the tree and propping the sketchbook up on his thighs like a makeshift easel. Bucky does his best not to look at what Steve is sketching to keep the surprise factor, and instead focuses on the ice cream.
“You can still talk to me, Buck,” Steve quiety says after a minute or two, focused enough on his sketching that his voice has reduced to a low murmur but aware enough of his surroundings to notice its gone quite save for the occasional passersby or wildlife.
“Right, sorry,” Bucky chuckles.
Bucky talks to Steve about the past week, his army plans, people he’s met, and Steve responds with slight nods or laughs or just a low hum. Bucky is too focused on not looking at Steve’s drawing that he doesn’t notice the blonde boy looking at him every so often.
“Hey, I don’t even think I told you why I was out today,” Bucky says after a small silence. The sun is now much lower in the sky, but the air is still pleasantly warm. “You didn’t even ask.”
“I dunno, I thought you just wanted to spend time with me or something,” Steve replies, looking up at Bucky, now for a longer period of time so as to actually engage in the conversation. Bucky looks at him, pale blue eyes meeting bright, cerulean ones.
“I was actually supposed to go out with some girls this afternoon,” Bucky confesses. Steve feels like he should be hurt, but he’s not. In fact, he feels quite the opposite.
“So you decided to ditch them and be with me?” Steve asks, a warm smile spreading onto his face.
“I guess? I dunno, bud. I haven’t talked to you in a while an—don’t give me that look!” Steve is now grinning widely. Bucky runs a hand through his short, dark hair defensively then crosses his arms. “I jus’ wanted to be with you,” he mutters.
“That’s what I said, Buck,” Steve laughs. “Hey, I finished this.” He nudges Bucky’s arm with his shoulder and motions to the previously blank page he was craned over for some time. It’s now covered with a scenic image of the Ramble and Lake; a few tall buildings are sketched into the background, and the foreground is mainly taken up by the Lake and the flora surrounding it, as well as a figure sitting leaned against a tree in the very front looking away from the boys. It’s clearly Bucky.
“Why am I facing away?” Bucky asks, still admiring the rest of the sketch.
“You weren’t looking at me, jerk,” Steve answers, reaching up and gently tugging on Bucky’s ear. Bucky shakes his head free from Steve’s hand but smiles.
“Whatever. It’s still…gorgeous.” Steve, satisfied with Bucky’s reaction, tears the page from the sketchbook.
“For the ice cream,” he says, handing the piece of paper to Bucky.
“Oh?” Bucky takes it and holds it gingerly, not wanting to damage the fine artistry or pencil strokes.
“And this—” Steve rips out another page, “Is for wanting to spend time with me over those girls.” This page has only Bucky as its subject; it’s of him in an army suit and cap, a genuine and sweet smile on his face.
“I remember when you took this photo,” Bucky laughs lightly. “Didn’t realize you were going to draw it or…give it to me.” Bucky admires the drawing some more, then looks at Steve. “You draw me a lot, don’t you?”
“You’re a good subject,” Steve says, avoiding looking at Bucky and busying himself with putting his sketchbook and supplies back into his satchel. Bucky smiles to himself, then lightly kisses Steve on the cheek. Steve looks up, surprised.
“What?” Steve stares confused at Bucky, who stands up and offers his hand.
“That’s for the drawings,” he says, pulling a flustered Steve to his feet.
“Sure, yeah.” Steve begins walking off, then is stopped.
“Hey, punk.” Steve looks behind him, and finds that his fingers are now twined with Bucky’s. There’s a moment of hesitation, then Steve simply pulls Bucky with him.
“Whatever, jerk.”