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There’s a lot different about Bucky these days, Steve knows. He doesn’t give off the same swagger, the same charm that made girls practically fall over themselves back in the day. He doesn’t make nearly as much noise or take up as much space. He’s not the same easygoing Bucky. No, these days Steve is lucky to get a laugh out of him. These days, Steve is frequently spooked by Bucky moving around their level on the Tower, sniper-silent and still. These days, Steve can take a look at the shadow in the corner and realize it’s actually Bucky.
Some things haven’t changed, though. Bucky is still fiercely protective of Steve, thoroughly searching anybody who dares enter their apartment before they’re allowed to be around Steve. Natasha and Sam have graciously allowed it, understanding. They’re the only ones Bucky semi-trusts, aside from Steve, of course. And he only trusts Steve because in his strange post-Hydra mind, Steve is the only thing that makes sense, that fits.
Not that Steve feels like he fits. Steve doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, and if this were anybody else, he would’ve given up a long time ago. But this is Bucky. To the end of the line, Steve had promised. And this wasn’t it yet, so he was sticking with Bucky, his best friend, his world.
Some days Steve feels like he’s getting it, though. When Bucky, a distant look in his eyes and a faint smile on his face, asks, “Did we ever go to...Coney Island? Back when you were small?” Steve thinks he might cry.
“Yeah, Buck, we did. I was real different then,” Steve says. “So were you.”
Bucky nods and carries on, staring out the window. Steve tries not to make a big deal out of it, and smiles to himself. Maybe he is doing all right after all.
Some days are tougher than others. Steve still remembers back when he was getting Bucky acclimated to the apartment. It took weeks before Bucky would act like he actually lived there, before he came out of the shadows and let himself relax. The first time Bucky had gotten off the couch and left the blanket there without folding it and putting it away, leaving his mark on the sofa, on the apartment, Steve had felt so overwhelmed. It’s the little things that matter for them, these days.
They don’t go out much. As a general rule, they both like to stay in the apartment, where they can see everything and feel safe. But Steve thinks today might be different. Bucky has been present all morning, moving around the apartment and asking Steve little questions about this and that. It’s been about two weeks since they’ve left their floor. Bucky seems antsy the way he does sometimes, filled with nervous energy. He keeps tapping his metal fingers against his coffee cup. Well. Steve doesn’t want to push anything faster than he needs to, but then, today does seem a little different.
“Hey, Buck? I was thinkin’ about maybe going to the gym today, a few floors down. D’you maybe wanna come with?” Steve starts, and then backtracks. “We don’t gotta, we can just stay here too, it’s no problem at all, Buck, we can do whatever you want, it doesn’t matter to me either way—“ Bucky cuts him off before he can starts rambling.
“Stevie. We can go to the gym. It’ll be good for us to get outta here for awhile, can’t stay cooped up forever,” Bucky says with a shrug, still tapping his fingers against his mug.
“Okay, sounds good,” Steve says, trying not to sound overexcited, lest he scare Bucky off. “You wanna get changed and meet back here in 15?”
Bucky nods and gets up to put his mug in the sink before heading to his room, so Steve does the same. 15 minutes later, Steve is waiting for Bucky in their kitchen area, who comes in wearing a tight athletic top and shorts. Bucky checks all the windows and locks while Steve waits patiently, and then they head down in the elevator. Bucky bounces on the ball of his toes, looking around nervously. Hoping to calm him down a little, Steve relaxes, keeping his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall.
The elevator dings, opens, so they step out. Steve texted Tony earlier, asking for them to not be disturbed. Tony had obliged, with some snark, but Steve will let it slide. Bucky heads for the treadmill, specifically designed by Tony to withstand the speed that Bucky and Steve like to go. Steve tapes his knuckles and heads to the punching bag, working out all of the frustration. The hour passes in comfortable silence, and Steve hardly realizes that he should probably stop until Bucky comes up to him, gently laying a hand on his shoulder and giving him a look. That look means it’s time to go, so Steve untapes and gathers up his things, pulling Bucky by the hand. Bucky keeps their hands laced together until they get back to their floor, where he opens the door carefully. Steve knowing the routine, stays where he is while Bucky carefully checks all the apartment for bugs and weapons and anything else that might be out of place.
His thorough check completed, Bucky comes back to Steve, who is still waiting by the front door. Steve looks at Bucky with a mix of exasperation and tenderness.
“All good, pal?” Steve asks, half teasing and half serious.
Bucky nods, then says, “I think I’m gonna go shower now.”
“You better, jerk. Can’t have your stinky ass laying around,” Steve calls to Bucky, who’s walking down the hall.
“Hey! You love my ass!” Bucky protests back.
Steve chuckles, then goes into his own room to shower. He doesn’t know why he still keeps his shower stuff in there, since he sleeps with Bucky pretty much every night anyways, but it’s been kind of unofficial. Neither of them really talk about the fact that, come evening, Steve will quietly and carefully insert himself into Bucky’s space, sliding in the left side of the bed. But for now, Steve uses his own shower mostly, and hey, it works for them. There are still things unsaid between them, that will come to light when they need to.
Showered and fresh, Steve walks out into the living room to find Bucky on the couch buried in a book. He looks gorgeous, dressed in a oversized cream sweater with the late afternoon light streaming in through the window. The only thing that marrs the image, though, is his hair. It’s clearly tangled, but only half of it, like Bucky had tried to brush it out and then failed. It falls halfway down his back, brown and lovely.
Bucky’s hair has been sort of an odd point for both of them, something to get used to. Hydra somehow semi-took care of it, so Bucky hasn’t worried about his hair at all for seventy years. Steve has always kept his close-cut, so he didn’t really know what to do with it either. Natasha had finally taken pity on them, showing Bucky what products he would need(neither had ever heard of the magical “detangler” or knew what the hell “conditioner”was). Natasha had also shown Steve how to braid, and in the months after, Steve had progressed through the basic plait to French, Dutch, and fishtail braids. He considers himself somewhat of an expert now, and Bucky never minds if his braid is a little off.
Bucky looks up from his book, and holds out his hairbrush in a silent question. Steve drops a kiss on his forehead before taking it, plopping down on the couch next to him. Bucky turns, back to Steve. If Steve feels a little too many emotions at the open display of vulnerability, but he swallows back the lump in his throat. He works the brush through Bucky’s hair gently, softly. He enjoys taking care of Bucky like this; it’s a physical, intimate reminder of the fact they they’re both here, in the future, safe. With minimal complaints and noises of discomfort from Bucky, Steve makes it through all of his hair, and then keeps going, enjoying the soothing brushing motion. After a while, he thinks he’s done.
“All good, Buck? Did you want me to braid it for you?” Bucky hums, low in his throat, and hands a single black rubber band off his wrist to Steve, who takes this as a sign. “Plain, French, Dutch?” Bucky shrugs and squirms a little, so Steve decides just to stick with a plain three strand braid.
After he’s done, Steve shifts over to the other corner of the couch, grabbing his own book and turning on the reading lamp by the couch. Bucky shimmies down, head on the headrest, and closes his eyes, presumably to take a nap. Steve squeals embarrassingly as Bucky sticks his cold toes under Steve’s thighs.
Later, after Bucky has nodded off to sleep and Steve’s not far from dreams himself, he thinks that even though they might be different these days, and even though times can be tough, maybe they’ll be okay. He has Bucky, finally, and Bucky has him. Maybe that’s all that matters, these days.