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«Hm- you have, like, the bluest eyes i've ever seen, dude.»
Sam sounds completely serious, or, well, as serious as he can be while laying on a suspiciously sticky floor and half-way to wasted.
«They're, like, this piercing blue-» he stops, like he's not content with what he's saying; his nose scrunches up a little, and maybe Bucky stares at it a beat too long. «no, more like cerulean, y'know? One of those fancy colours with shitty names.»
Bucky laughs, a genuine thing that bubbles from deep in his chest, and snatches the bottle from Sam's hand.
«That's so fucking stupid, man.»
Sam turns to him, with this look of pure betrayal on his face, and gasps like he's been personally offended. He sits up a little, resting his weight on the elbow closer to Bucky, just to stare at him - dramatically.
«Buck, I'm like, 100% serious.» he makes a funny gesture with his hand, which, honestly, Bucky doesn't know what is supposed to mean, «you should see them yourself, they're beautiful.»
Bucky giggles again, and it sounds a little airy and a little stupid, but he blames it on the alcohol.
It's been a while since when he - they - got drunk, with the whole vampire business, and it feels good to finally let go of his thoughts for a while.
They had found a witch, a couple blocks from their beat down appartment in new york, who called herself the Scarlett Witch and claimed to have enchanted the wine she sold. She said that even vampires, and their enhanced metabolism, wouldn't be able to handle it; and at that point, they were both just a tad too desperate to feel some sort of sense of normalcy again, so they bought it.
They had bought four bottles, just in case - if it didn't work, they'd still have wine, and who didn't like wine?
Well, Steve didn't, but he was just weird like that.
«Alright, I'm not saying i don't believe you,» Bucky swings around the bottle a little, looking at the red liquid splashing around inside of it, «I'm just saying that it sounds a little much.»
«Why would i lie? Give me this,» Sam claims back the wine, taking a big gulp of it right away, then nods, «I'll show you, somehow, I'll find something that matches the colour of your eyes and show you.»
Bucky looks up at him, with what he supposes looks like the dumbest smile ever, and mumbles "idiot" under his breath.
Sam pretends not to hear that, very kind of him, and lays back down.
They both stare at the ceiling for a bit, passing the almost empty bottle back and forth. There's a weird-looking stain right above Bucky's head, and they should really do something about that, or the crack that's getting bigger and bigger in one of the corners, but - well, that's a problem for future Bucky. He'll think about it when his head doesn't feel like it's filled with cotton.
«You have - there's a mole under your left eye,» Bucky's voice is uncharacteristically small, like he's afraid he'll ruin the atmosphere they've created, «right here.»
He reaches up, and touches the spot on his own face. He doesn't even need to look back at Sam to know the exact position, because he's stared at his face long enough to have it memorized in the back of his head; it hangs there like a painting he's sure he won't forget.
«You have a gap between your front teeth, but it doesn't look bad, i think it's kinda cute,» he clears his throat, suddenly feeling shy, «there's some freckles on your nose, just in the middle of it, and your eyes are brown.»
Bucky stops talking, despite all the thoughts that are now ringing loudly inside hid mind.
What was that? Nothing weird, right? He was helping a friend; after all, they can't see themselves in mirrors anymore, so the next best option is to describe each other from time to time, to make sure they don't forget - they do this every year or so, it's nothing weird. He didn't say anything any different from what sam said. Nothing weird.
Then why isn't Sam saying anything?
He can feel the other man staring at him, can feel his eyes burning on the side of his face, but Bucky doesn't say anything. He doesn't turn around.
Instead, he takes a swing from the bottle of wine, and waits for what feels like hours.
«One of your front teeth is a little crooked, you get tiny lines at the sides of your mouth whenever you smile,» Bucky jumps a little, not expecting to hear Sam's voice after that moment of silence, but he doesn't say anything, scared that he'll ruin the air of comfort that lays over them like a warm blanket, «it happens next to your eyes too; it's like- like your whole face lights up, when you're really happy, i think it's a good look.»
He then wordlessly reaches for the unopened bottle laying next to their feet, uncrooking it and taking a big swing.
«Whenever you tell a joke you're proud of, you do this little smug smile, it looks like you're just waiting for people to laugh,» now it's Bucky's turn to talk, and he looks up at the ceiling again when he does so, «you always smile so big, and when you laugh you do it with your whole body, shoulders shaking and all that.»
He smiles, just the memory of Sam's laugh making something warm bloom in his chest.
He thinks, if he had a working heart, it would be beating like crazy right now, and hopes his voice doesn't sound as giddy as he feels.
Sam sighs, then lays back down next to him.
«Your ears don't look the same, one of them is a little pointy, it makes you look like an elf,» Sam chuckles to himself, and it sounds impossibly fond, «you also have a mole on your shoulder shaped like a star, i don't know if you ever noticed.»
«I didn't.» Bucky thinks he sounds a bit breathless, a bit shaky, and hopes Sam doesn't notice.
«How did you notice that?»
Sam shrugs as much as he can while laying down, like it's not a big deal, «I look at you a lot.»
«Do you?»
«I told you, you're beautiful.»
Bucky doesn't say anything after that, but he does put down his bottle. He turns his body all the way, so that he's facing Sam now, always careful not to put too much weight on his metal arm.
Sam only turns his head, just enough for their eyes to lock.
«You think im beautiful?»
At that, Sam has the audacity to laugh, like he just heard the funniest joke in the last fifty years.
«I don't think you're beautiful, I know you are. Everyone knows.»
He stops then, mirroring Bucky's position, and tentatively reaches out a hand.
«You're the only one who doesn't.»
«I don't know how i could ever know, the last time I saw my face was centuries ago.»
«And I can assure you, you're just as gorgeous as you were back then.» Sam finally rests his hand against Bucky's cheek, caressing the skin as softly as he can.
Bucky's eyes instinctively flutter closed, and he melts into the touch, like he's been waiting for it for a long time. He sighs, deep from his chest, and prays the wetness in his eyes will dry soon.
«I forgot so much of my life Sam, so much of it, I don't know if i can rely on my memories anymore.»
His voice sounds so small, so fragile, that something in Sam's chest breaks.
He knows about Bucky's past, knows he got brainwashed and used as a killing machine for heavens know how long, and he knows how much it eats him inside.
Along with that, he knows Bucky is one of the best people he's ever met in his long, long life. He knows that if he could do anything to protect Bucky, to go back in time and erase that part of his life, he would without a second thought.
«If you forget something just come to me, I'll remember everything, I'll remember for the both of us,» Sam knows he must sound a little desperate, but he doesn't care enough. He reaches out with both hands now, and holds Bucky close to his chest, «I'll describe you your face everyday, I'll memorize everything, and if we both forget something we'll just make it up. Together.»
Bucky nods where his head is resting against Sam's neck, inhaling a shaky breath he doesn't need.
This is one of the very few times he's shown himself vulnerable, and it's always in front of Sam. Always, always Sam, who makes him feel safe and welcome and warm all over.
He knows this thing he's feeling can't be called friendship, he's lived long enough to figure that out; and deep down he also knows that Sam must share some of these feelings, even if just a fraction of Bucky's own, but right now it's not important.
Right now, what matters is that they're together, in a safe place, with no fires or pitchforks or crazy people with pointy sticks made out of wood. To think about it that way - it makes Bucky laugh, how silly it sounds.
He doesn't bother to hold it in, letting laughter spill from his lips for a moment.
«Okay.»
«Okay?»
Bucky nods again, wrapping his own arms around Sam's waist and holding him close, «okay, you'll remember for the both of us, old man.»
«You're older than me, you asshole.»
Bucky laughs again, feeling more free than he's ever been, despite the weight resting inside his chest.
«Should we throw away the wine?»
«Nah, let's keep it, i want to see how Steve looks like when he's wasted.»
They both laugh at that, still laying on the ground. They're too lazy to get up, and feeling perfectly content in each other's arms.
Just before falling asleep - something that they don't need, but still do out of habit - Bucky looks up at Sam, with that same smile he was describing not long ago.
«Thank you.»
Sam smiles back at him, pressing a kiss on his forehead and smacking his lips loudly just to hear Bucky laugh.
And maybe Bucky looks at Sam like he's hung the stars in the sky, maybe if feels a little sappy and a little out of place, but when he looks back at him with the same sentiment in his eyes, Bucky can't bring himself to care enough.