Chapter Text
Steve knew most of the people who came to the library by name, some by vague descriptions his coworkers gave him, some by their favourite books and genres. But the man in the corner, he could never pin down.
Steve had been working at the Williamsburgh public library for over two years and a few months ago, the man in the corner started coming every Monday, Thursday, and Friday. He usually went straight upstairs, sitting in the back near the history section, but sometimes wandering through the fiction sections when the library was quiet. The library was usually always quiet but on Thursdays and Fridays they hosted youth nights and it could get somewhat busy with various ages of teenagers all the way down to toddlers who clung to tired-looking parents.
The man didn’t speak a lot either. He never brought anyone with him. He would just sit at the back with a pile of various books, making notes in a small black notebook that he pulled from a nondescript bag that he wore. His dress changed from day to day, sometimes in jeans and a heavy-looking jacket, sometimes in cargo pants and boots. He always wore a black cap pulled low over his face, but Steve could always see the dark hair framing his jaw and the stubble that covered his soft looking skin.
They didn’t interact much, only a passing nod goodnight when Steve was closing up. That was another constant with the man. He stayed for three hours each time. He would arrive at five every time he got there and left at closing time, eight pm every single time. He never took books out, never signed up for a library card. He just sat there and read, making notes every second he could.
Steve was obviously curious but every time he wanted to ask him something or even recommend a book; Steve had studied art history with a minor in European history and wanted to share his passion. But every time he tried, the man would get up and either go scour the shelves or slip to the bathroom. Steve didn’t push his luck; some people came to the library for a bit of peace and quiet, so he didn’t press or seek him out when he disappeared.
Steve had the idea in his head that maybe the man was intimidated by him, by the shaved sides of his hair cut, by the tattoos curling around his pale arms, by the piercings that covered his ears and his nose. But Steve also realised he was still 5ft4 and skinny. Doc Martens could only add so many inches before he had to give up and admit he was short.
Maybe Steve was the one who should be intimidated. The man was easily over 6 foot, his arms filled whatever shirt or jacket he wore, bulging at the seams. His pants were always filled out by thick muscle. The man usually wore leather gloves as well and Steve tried to ignore just how well they fit.
The first time they had met, Steve had been having a bad day. He had got to work late after sleeping through his alarm. He had to run to catch the bus which made his asthma flare-up. They had a book signing at the library that day and the author was weirdly rude to Steve about his appearance, making comments about people of his look weren’t often seen working in libraries. He had a lady shout at him because she wasn’t allowed to take any more books out, I’m sorry but you have over fifteen books out, you need to bring some back before you take any more out, he tried to tell her but she wasn’t having any of it. She stormed out, knocking over a display Steve had spent all morning trying to set up. He was exhausted and his day wasn’t over. His coworker bought him a coffee to try and cheer him up, which worked for a while but he spilt some on his shirt and he sat defeated in his chair for a while, letting his coworker deal with customers before he dragged himself over to the ruined display, picking up the books before looking at the side table. How did she even knock it over? It was solid oak, how did she knock it hard enough? Steve rubbed his chest, staring at the table, it was still sore from his asthma flare-up that morning. He bent down, starting to lift, straining slightly when it suddenly shot up. Steve blinked a few times, staring at the table, then at the gloved hand next to his. He looked up, chest constricting, not from the asthma attack this time, as he stared at the stranger.
Soft steel coloured eyes stared back at him, glancing at the table then back at Steve.
“Sorry if I overstepped, looked like you could use a hand,” the man told him, quietly as if he was being extra conscious that they were in a library.
“Oh, no, thanks, this thing is stupidly heavy, so thank you,” Steve nodded, smiling up at the man. He saw the man glance down at the stain on his shirt then look back up at him, was that a smile? Steve cursed himself for spilling that stupid coffee on himself.
“It’s alright,” he nodded to the right, to the books, “where is your history section?”
“Oh, up the stairs, all the way to the left, next to the biographies section,” Steve pointed up, the open-plan library showing all the aisles as they looked down upon the circular front desk.
The man followed his pointing, nodding slightly before glancing back down at him, “thanks, Steve.” He moved away, backpack pulled tight against his broad shoulders, his combat boots barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The man climbed the stairs and disappeared from Steve’s view.
Steve glanced down at his chest and saw his name badge, thanking any and every God for it. Hearing his name in that low, gruff voice made his day instantly better, asthma attack and rude author be damned.
That was two months ago. The man had been pretty consistent, every Monday, Thursday, and Friday for eight weeks, except for one week where Steve didn’t see him at all but he returned on the Monday looking tired and worn down. Except for that one week, it was impressive. Sometimes they said hi to each other when he came in, or when he eventually left in the evening. If Steve was dealing with a customer, they wouldn’t say anything until the man left, sometimes he would just nod and head out into the dark. Steve would sigh and watch after him before closing up and heading to his bus stop.
Steve wanted to get to know him. He seemed like a nice guy, a quiet guy who liked history? Right up Steve’s alley. He just didn’t know how to approach him. Maybe he should just... Steve sighed heavily from his place at the front desk. It was a Thursday night, the youth group had just left. Steve was friends with the guy who led their sessions, Sam. He was a friendly guy that Steve had gotten drinks with before, they both supported the same baseball team and had gone to a few games together.
Sam finished packing his bag away, turning his head when he heard Steve sigh. He wandered over, leaning against the desk, staring down at Steve, who had his forehead pressed against the cool oak.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, reaching down to tap him on the back of the head.
“Nothing, I guess I’m just tired,” Steve replied, lifting his head and looking up at Sam and sighing again.
“Is it about the guy in the history section?” Sam grinned, looking up at the balcony then down at Steve.
“Shut up, y’know I regret telling you about him, fuck drunk me for telling you about him,” Steve hissed, standing up and hitting Sam’s shoulder. He looked up at the balcony then slumped back down into the chair.
“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him?” Sam asked, pulling on his jacket, a nice brown leather one that Steve had seen him in before.
“Well, it’s difficult when he sits all the way back there, it’s awkward for me to just walk up to his table and talk to him,” Steve argued quietly, scared his voice would project through the circular room and alert the man of them talking about him.
“Just go put some books back there and just comment on whatever he’s reading. If it’s history, you’re bound to know it, you’ve read everything in that section. He might even wanna talk to you about it.”
“Yeah, I doubt that.”
“It’s not a bad idea, Steven.”
“Don’t full-name me, Samuel.”
Sam grinned, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Go and talk to him, before I talk to him for you. He seems cool, what's the worst that could happen?”
“Uh, he thinks I’m a weirdo?”
“Steve, you’re a punk that works in a public library, you’re already weird.”
“I resent that.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“See ya, Sam, careful on your way home!”
“You too,” Sam called over his shoulder as pushed the door open, heading out into the cold Brooklyn wind. The December weather was brutal, with icy winds mixed with freezing rain. It was deadly for Steve.
The library was quiet after the door closed behind Sam. They weren’t allowed to play music in the library so all Steve could hear was some quiet traffic from outside and the clock on the far wall. He glanced at the stairs then at the trolley of books that needed returning to their shelves. He shifted through the books, picking out the historical ones; a book about the Cold War and one about the tactics of the British from WW2. He added a few extra books in his arms, random biographies from celebrities Steve didn’t care about and a memoir written by Earnest Hemmingway. He made his way up the stairs, hoping his boots weren’t too loud.
He put the other books away first before slowly making his way to the historical section. He turned into the aisle, spotting the man tucked away at the end of the row, sat around a small table, his bag tucked underneath his chair, the soft sound of pen against paper coming from the table. Steve recognised some of the books that were piled around the man. Two books about the Korean War, one about the Vietnam war and the last about the fall of the Berlin wall.
“Y’know, if you want a less academic read, you should read Stasiland by Anna Funder, it’s really interesting, much better than that stuffy history textbook,” Steve told him, voice ringing out amongst the books and shelves.
The man jumped slightly, turning his head to stare at Steve, who just stood awkwardly in the aisle. They gazed at each other before the man looked down at his pile of books, his writing stopping, pen falling slack.
As the silence rang on, Steve grew uncomfortable, “sorry, I didn’t mean to overs--”
“Do you have it here? I’ll give it a try if you’ve got it,” the man replied, sitting back in the oak chair, almost spreading his legs, stretching them out under the table.
Steve nodded, moving down the aisle and taking it out from the shelf. He handed it to the man who took it, leather gloves still covering both hands.
“Thanks,” the man told him quietly, looking over the cover and flipping it over, reading the back quietly as Steve put the other books away that were in his arms. His fingers lingered on the last spine, not wanting to be done with his task. Finishing meant having to go back downstairs and that would be it, no more interaction at least until tomorrow if he was lucky.
Steve opened his mouth, but the man beat him to it, “you got any other suggestions? The one I’ve been picking haven’t been any good.”
Steve grinned, pulse racing as he nodded, moving along the aisle and picking out a few books that matched the topics on the table. He set the pile down on the desk, taking the others away and putting them back on the shelf.
“Give those ones a go, they’re not as stuffy as the textbooks, much more personal and informative I think. I wrote a paper in college about that last one,” Steve told him, tapping the cover of MAUS by Art Spiegelman.
The man picked it up, flicking through it, a small frown on his face. He looked over at Steve.
“It’s a comic book, does this even count as a book?”
“It is art and literature turned into one, of course, it’s a book. It’s about a story of a Jewish family throughout world war two. It’s moving, really. Just try it, you might like it.”
“Can you even enjoy books about such a topic?”
“You can enjoy the form, appreciate the story, and feel compassion for the people involved. Just try it.”
The man held his hands up, smiling slightly, “okay, I’ll try it.”
They shared a moment of just gazing at each other, before Steve snapped out of it and cleared his throat, “I gotta get back to work,” he told the man, “let me know if you want any more recommendations. I’ve read literally everything in this section.”
“Alright, I’ll let you know, thanks, Steve,” the man smiled, nodding his head slightly, his dark hair moving against his jaw.
“You’re welcome..”
“James, but my friends call me Bucky.”
“Interesting move from James to Bucky.”
“It’s from my middle name, Buchanan.”
Steve stared at him, eyebrows slightly raised. The man laughed quietly, looking down at the table before moving back to look at Steve. “My parents loved America, what can I say?”
“James Buchanan, wow, okay well, Mr President, let me know if I can help in any way.”
The man, no, Bucky grinned. It was the first time Steve had seen him properly smile. His pulse was racing again, his hands growing sweaty in the cold library.
“I will, thanks again, Steve.”
Steve nodded, turning on the heel of his boots, heading back down the aisle and down the stairs, collapsing down into the chair at the desk, cheeks burning. God, what a smile, what a voice.
Steve was totally fucked.
-
Bucky was back the next day. As he always was. He said hi to Steve as he came in, collecting his books from the front desk. Steve had promised to keep the books set aside from him so no one checked them out while he was trying to finish them. Bucky had thanked him with a warm smile and a promise of ‘see you tomorrow'.
He did the same thing, collected his books and went straight upstairs to his usual table. Steve had never seen anyone sit at that table, even on days when Bucky wasn’t here, it was bizarre.
The Friday was busier, because of the youth group, Sam handled them very well as always. His nephews were in the group as well tonight, they had come up with Sam’s sister and were staying with him for a few days before the four of them went back down South to spend the holidays as a family. Steve didn’t mind the noise, it was quite nice to hear something other than silence for once.
As the group finished up, Steve chatted with Sam’s nephews, asking them what they had asked for for Christmas, what they were excited about, they were really great kids. Sam finished up and they said their goodbyes, wishing each other a happy holidays before Sam leading the boys outside into the snow. The rain had changed to snow overnight, much to Steve’s annoyance.
The library was quiet once more. Steve busied himself with doing another quick clear up of the youth space, reorganising books where he needed to, replacing stationary and refilling equipment. Steve lost track of time, lost himself in the repetitive motion. He didn’t hear Bucky come downstairs but felt him tap him on the shoulder.
Steve jumped, spinning round to see Bucky holding his hands up, “sorry, I thought you had heard me.”
“No, sorry, I was caught up with sorting the youth stuff out,” Steve gestured behind him. He knew his cheeks were red from Bucky sneaking up on him but he ignored it.
“I’ve got to head out, but I finished those books you recommended, think you could line some up for me for Monday?” He asked quietly, almost smiling down at Steve. Everything he did seemed to be quiet and careful as if scared to be heard or even seen.
“Wait, you finished all of them?” Steve asked, eyes widening.
“I’m a pretty fast reader,” Bucky admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and almost shrugging, as if he hadn’t read 4 books in two days.
“That’s incredibly fast reading, but sure. Do you want more history stuff, or fiction stuff?”
“Anything, I’ve been thinking I should branch out to stuff.”
“Alright, I’ll pick some stuff out for you, I’ll keep it behind the desk for Monday, okay?”
“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky smiled slightly, eyes moving to look at the clock, just past eight, “I’ll head out, let you finish up here. I’ll see you Monday though.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you Monday, Buck.”
Steve thought Bucky’s smile widened for just a second at the nickname, but the man had turned and had left through the doors before Steve could even decide if the smile was wider or not.
-
Monday came and Steve had picked a few of his favourite books out for Bucky, keeping them under the desk ready for his arrival. Five o’clock came and Bucky walked through the double doors, wrapped in a heavy jacket, dark jeans, and some snow-covered combat boots.
“Cold out there?” Steve asked, grinning when Bucky nodded, stamping his feet on the welcome mat to get the snow off.
“Freezing, I can’t even feel my hand,” Bucky told him, making his way up to the counter.
Hand? Steve didn’t question it, he just brought the pile of books out from under the counter, setting them in front of him.
“Okay, I just went with a bunch of my favourites from all over the place,” Steve told him, pushing the four books in front of him. The Fellowship of the Ring, Frankenstein, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and The Art of War.
“What do you think?” Steve asked, watching Bucky’s face as he looked over the books, gloved hand tracing the bottom of each book, finger running along each one.
“They look good, I’ve read The Hobbit so the Fellowship one is meant to be similar, right?” He asked, glancing up at Steve, who nodded.
“Yeah, the trilogy is about Frodo, who’s Bilbo’s cousin, so the stories are linked.”
“I’ll give them all a go, thanks, Steve,” Bucky smiled, picking up the books and heading up the stairs, boots knocking against the metal staircase as he went.
“You’re welcome,” Steve called after him, watching him ascend and disappear through the aisles. He sighed softly after Bucky was out of view, taking a deep breath and sitting down in the desk chair. The library was empty, it was a cold Monday evening, no one but Bucky was going to be there. Steve grabbed his headphones, connected them to his phone and pressed play on a podcast he was currently interested in. He had a shipment of books to sort and stamp, it was boring work but the podcast made it bearable.
He sat at the front desk sorting through the books, it was mainly young adult fiction but there were a few horror stories in the shipment as well. He didn’t look up from his desk until he felt a tap on the desk. Steve glanced up, staring at Bucky who was gazing down at him. Steve pulled his headphones out, quickly shutting his phone off.
“You need something, Buck?”
“It’s eight, thought I better head out and let you get finished,” Bucky told him, setting the books that Steve had recommended on the desk.
“What?” Steve gazed at the computer screen in front of him, 7:59pm, he had completely lost track of time.
“God, I didn’t even realise it was this late, guess I just got caught up,” Steve laughed, standing up and setting the box of sorted books down on the floor, “which one did you end up starting?”
“Frankenstein, it was good, just finished it though so I’ll probably start the Fellowship one on Thursday,” Bucky told him, tapping the cover of the Fellowship of the Ring.
“You could always check them out, I can put them on my card if you don’t wanna sign up for one,” Steve picked up the books that were set on the counter, setting Frankenstein aside to return to the shelf but keeping the others tucked away under the counter.
“But then I wouldn’t need to spend my evenings here, my apartment is shitty, I’d rather be here,” Bucky admitted, readjusting his backpack slightly, “plus, I like talking to you so it makes sense I come here.”
Steve just stared at him, Art of War in his hand, cheeks probably a shade of pink, “uh, sure, I like talking to you too,” but Bucky had already started heading out towards the door, “see you on Thursday!” Steve called, grinning when he saw Bucky raise a hand and wave, calling back, “See you then, Steve!”
Steve wasn’t smitten, but maybe he was on track to be just that soon enough.
-
The holidays came and went, the snow stayed with them for weeks and the cold got even worse. Steve got sick on boxing day, spending a week in bed recovering from a bad case of the flu. He lived on his own but Sam had stopped round to bring him some soup and a Christmas gift of a set of nice charcoals and a new sketchbook, he was trying to move from pencil to charcoal and Steve was enjoying it more and more.
He was anxious to get back to work, he had missed Bucky and their interactions, he had missed spending time picking out books for him to enjoy and then staying to talk about each one he read. Bucky was an extremely fast reader, it was bizarre, but Steve didn’t question it, he just lined up the next book. They had gone through most genres at this point, everything from horror to sci-fi to biographies, Bucky seemed to like the fantasy stuff the best and Steve was happy to offer recommendations where he could.
He spent Sunday prepping to head back into work, Sam had brought him enough soup that he didn’t need to worry about cooking so he spent a few hours cleaning up his apartment, doing some laundry, airing out his bedroom despite it still being freezing outside. A week in bed with the flu was enough to make his room smell just like a high school locker room. He showered, changed some of his piercing jewellery from the black ones he had in, to a silver set he bought himself for Christmas.
He laid out his outfit, he felt like a dumb high schooler who had a field trip the next day, but he was just going to work. But he was seeing Bucky, which made the difference.
He went to sleep early, stupidly excited for five o’clock tomorrow.
-
Steve woke up to the cold Brooklyn air, a frost on this window but he didn’t care. He was seeing Bucky today, nothing else mattered. He got out of bed slowly, flinching at how cold his floor was. He showered, brushed his teeth, styled his hair, then dressed quickly to avoid the chill from seeping into his bones any more than it already had.
He ate a small breakfast, a banana and a protein bar, before pulling his Docs on and grabbing his bag. He switched his lights off and headed out of his apartment, locking the door after him. He headed down to the bus stop, pulling his coat tighter around him, pulling his beanie down closer over his ears. He stood shivering in the gentle snowfall before his bus pulled up. He got on, paid, sat near the front. There weren’t many people out today, an older couple at the front and some teenagers at the back. The journey wasn’t long, only twenty minutes before he was climbing off and making the short walk to the library.
He was nearly there when he heard a cry. Steve froze, looking down the alley on his left, seeing what looked like a teenger backing away from a taller man. Steve didn’t think, he shouted down the alley, “Hey! Leave the kid alone!”
The man glanced over his shoulder, glaring at Steve before scoffing and turning back to the teenager and advancing. He acted on instinct, taking off running towards the man, swinging his bag around and hitting the man on the side of the head. He stumbled, but it gave Steve enough time to grab the teenager, maybe fifteen or so, and shove him towards the mouth of the alley.
“Go on, get outta here, I’ve got him,” Steve grinned, voice surprisingly sturdy despite the adrenaline rushing through his blood. The teenager looked like he wanted to reply before he nodded, running off towards the entrance of the alley.
The man stood up, holding the side of his head, turning to face Steve. Something had cut his eyebrow, a thin trickle of blood running down the side of his face. He blinked a few times, almost like he was clearing his head before he glared down at Steve.
“You’re gonna regret that, you fuckin’ little asshole.”
-
Steve made it into work later than expected, a black eye and a split lip covering his face. His sides ached from where he was kicked, his knuckles scuffed and bloody. He ignored the stares, his coworkers rushing over, taking his bag off him and sitting him down in the staff room. This wasn’t the first time he had turned up bloody, but it had certainly been a while.
They cleaned him up, telling him he could go home if he wanted to. He didn’t want to, he wanted to see Bucky. He stayed, shooing them away after a while, claiming he was fine. He sat in the back, sorting through stock and orders they had to place.
As the day went on, he grew more anxious. What if Bucky wasn’t coming? But why would he not come? Steve tried to calm himself down, leaning back into the desk chair and sighing heavily, wincing when he exhaled a bit too hard.
As it neared five, he came out from the back. The only coworker left, an older lady called Doris, sat behind the desk.
“Why don’t you go home, Steve? I’m honestly okay with staying a bit later and closing up for once, you do it every day,” her voice was laced with concern.
“No, you go, Kathy will be waiting for you, I don’t want to cause any more trouble. Past five it’s never busy anyway,” he told her, smiling and gently ushering her towards the door.
“I’ll bring you a get-well basket tomorrow, okay? I’ll get Kathy to bake you that banana bread you like,” Kathy was her wife, they had taken good care of Steve in the past.
“That would be lovely, thank you; now go, get home safe,” he told her, opening the door for her and sending her on her way.
The door closed and the library finally fell into silence. Steve breathed another sigh of relief, walking back over behind the desk, slumping down in the desk chair. He closed his eyes, letting his chin drop to his chest. He felt heavy, his body aching and the warmth of the library was making him tired. He took another deep breath, ignoring the pang in his side from the bruises.
He woke to a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. He blinked his eyes open, looking up at Bucky, who had almost a look of horror on his face as he stared at Steve.
“What the Hell happened to you? You look like you got hit by a car,” Bucky told him, slinging his backpack off and making his way around the front desk to stand in front of Steve.
Steve wanted to reply when both of Bucky’s gloved hands cupped his jaw, brushing ever so gently over the bruising on his cheeks and under his eyes. Steve knew he was blushing, stammering over his words, trying his best to ignore his racing pulse.
“What happened?” Bucky asked again, staring down at Steve. He seemed to snap out of whatever had possessed him to grab Steve’s face, moving his hands away as if he had burnt himself.
“I caught the flu last week and then I got beat up this morning, nothing major,” Steve told him, trying to busy himself by turning on the swivel chair and messing with the computer in front of him, clicking through tabs that he didn’t need open.
Bucky’s gloved hand caught the chair, spinning Steve back around so they were face to face, gazing down at him, “I’m sorry, did you say you were beat up?”
“And caught the flu, yeah, pretty standard for me actu--”
“Who beat you up?”
“Some random punk who was picking on some high school kid, I just threw my bag at him and the kid managed to get away so it was a win-win.”
“You look like pounded meat, how is that a win-win? A cop wasn’t around to help? Fuck, wasn’t anyone around to help?”
“I didn’t wanna wait, something bad might ha--”
“Something bad did happen.” Bucky’s voice echoed in the library, his deep tone bouncing off the walls.
Steve glared up at him, “I get that everyone thinks I can’t help or make a difference but I did what I could to help that kid, okay? He got away safe and that’s all that matters to me. Isn’t it enough that I managed to help someone without people hovering over my shoulder and constantly checking up on me. I’m a grown man, not some kid, okay?”
Bucky looked stunned, eyes wide as he stared at Steve before his face changed, as if he was trying to keep himself from smiling. Bucky ducked his head down, his usual black cap stopping Steve from seeing his face. His hand was still on the back of the chair, he was still leaning over Steve slightly.
Steve slowly reached up, taking a hold of Bucky’s cap and pulling it off, watching his dark hair fall down to his jaw. Bucky glanced up, his smile wide on his face.
“Steve, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before, y’know that, punk?”
“Why are you laughing at me?”
“I’m not, I’m just amazed that there’s someone so dedicated to helping others that he would let himself get the shit kicked out of him by a stranger.”
“He would have kicked the shit out of that kid, I wasn’t going to stan--”
“I know you weren’t. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I missed this fiery attitude. I asked the ladies at the front desk where you were and I think they were scared of me, they just said you weren’t in.”
Steve leaned back in the chair, sighing softly, playing with the rim of Bucky’s cap, “you missed me?”
“Course I did.”
“Well.. if you gave me your phone number, I could text you next time I’m not gonna be in,” Steve told him, feeling awfully bold for someone who couldn’t even look the guy in the eyes.
“Steve..”
“Sorry, that was overstepping, forget I asked, okay?”
“No, I don’t have a phone. Like I don’t own a cellphone. I’ve got a landline if that’s okay?”
Steve looked up at him, eyes wide. Bucky stared back at him, a smile on his face.
“What kinda guy doesn’t own a cellphone?” Steve asked, trying not to laugh.
“I just don’t have one, I’ve been meaning to get one, just keeps slipping my mind,” he admitted, slowly leaning back, letting go of the back of his chair and pulling his hand back.
“Well, when you get one, let me know, okay?” Steve held his hat out, chest tightening when he felt Bucky’s gloved fingers brush his own when he took the cap.
“I will,” he smiled, the look on his face much too fond, “so, what recommendations have you got for me this week?”
“Do you want the fun ones or the serious ones first?” Steve asked, pulling open a drawer where he had stashed Bucky’s books.
“Serious ones, leave the fun ones for last.”
“Okay, this one is kind of a European history recap, it’s pretty dense but it’s good, full of interesting stuff,” he set a copy of Dark Continent by Mark Mazower on the desk, pulling out the next book, “next one is The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, this is so good, but the TV series is gory as Hell, if you end up watching that.”
Bucky nodded along as Steve spoke, picking the books up and glancing over the front cover and the back.
“And the last one, don’t judge it before you read it, is Twilight by Stephenie Meyer.”
“Why would I judge it?” Bucky asked, frowning slightly, taking it from Steve’s hand and flicking through it.
“Y’know, because it’s cheesy and stuff,” Steve told him, making a face, “don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Twilight.”
“I can honestly say I’ve never heard of it, what’s it about? Vampires? That sounds like it would be good.”
Steve shook his head in disbelief, leaning back in the chair, “how have you not heard of it?”
“I guess I’m just not very informed about current novels, I didn’t read a lot until when I first started coming to the library.”
“Well, read that one first then, I want your honest opinions on it when you’ve finished it.”
Bucky nodded, collecting the books and heading upstairs to his table. Steve watched him go, going back to messing with the computer. Most of his closing work had already been done by Doris, bless her.
Steve settled back, picking up his own book that he had been reading, The Library at Mount Char, a Lovecraftian based novel which he was really enjoying.
A few hours later, he heard heavy boots clunking down the stairs followed by “Edward Cullen is a fuckin’ weirdo.”
Steve grinned, closing his book and turning in the chair to face Bucky, who was waving the book around.
“I take it you finished it?”
“Yeah, and that guy is a creep, he just stalks Bella and gaslights her, why do people think he’s hot?”
“I have no idea,” Steve stood, collecting his bag, “just let me run and grab my coat if you’re okay with waiting?”
Bucky nodded, leaning his hip against the desk, folding his arms over his chest, “I’m gonna walk you home.”
“What? You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s more for my own peace of mind than anything.”
Steve rolled his eyes but allowed himself to smile when he turned away from Bucky, giddy with excitement at the idea of this attractive man wanting to give Steve his phone number and to walk him home.
He quickly grabbed his coat and hat, pulling them both on before turning off the lights and heading back down to Bucky.
“Ready to head out?” Steve called as he quickly shut off the computer. He cleared up the desk space quickly, moving around and heading towards the door.
Bucky beat him to the handle, opening the door for Steve and allowing him to step through first. Steve ignored Bucky’s smiling face, trying to keep his own off his face.
The night was still freezing, the snow hadn’t stopped falling throughout the day. Steve pulled his jacket tighter around him, walking faster to keep up with Bucky’s long strides.
He must have walked over a patch of ice because he was falling before he knew. He expected the pain in his knees, in his back, anywhere. But he never hit the floor. He felt a strong, abnormally strong arm around his waist. Bucky looked down at him, eyes wide, “you okay?”
Steve nodded, cheeks burning as he straightened up, but Bucky kept his arm around him, keeping him close to his side. He slowly shifted it so that Steve could slip his arm around Bucky’s. He gestured to Steve, “c’mon, grab on.”
“What a gentleman,” Steve teased, slipping his arm through Bucky’s, gripping his bicep. His abnormally strong bicep.
“What can I say? My ma raised me right,” Bucky joked, starting to walk them again.
The rest of their walk home was uneventful. Steve had told him that he usually took the bus but didn’t mind walking, so they braved the cold wind and snow, heading towards Steve’s apartment. They chatted about the books Bucky had been told to read, (“North and South is boring, do not bother with it,” Steve told him. “My therapist told me it was good,” Bucky had replied, frowning slightly.)
They ended up at Steve’s apartment eventually, Bucky slowly letting go of his arm to let Steve walk up the stairs. They stood eye to eye when Steve was up on the third step. He ignored the sly grin Bucky shot him after looking at the step.
“Thanks for walking me home, Buck.”
“That’s alright, Steve, guess I’ll see you on Thursday, right?”
“Yeah, see you Thursday.”
They stared at each other for a few moments before they both opened their mouths.
“Can I kiss you?” “Do you want to come in?”
They stared at each other, both shivering in the freezing winds, both breaking into grins. Steve reached out for him, Bucky stepped up to meet him, meeting in the middle for a soft kiss.
“C’mon, I want you to read the other Twilight books, we have so much to talk about.”