Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Are you finding everything alright today?”

Steve is startled out of his reverie, blinking up at the shopkeeper. She has a friendly smile spread across her face and several books tucked under her arm. Reflexively, Steve finds himself returning the smile. 

“Yeah I am, thank you. Just looking right now.” 

The shopkeeper nods before making her leave, allowing Steve to turn back to the book held in his hands. 

He has found himself in bookshops more often than not lately, finding the familiarity soothing. Though he doesn’t have much in the way of freetime nowadays, it still feels like more than he knows what to do with. The 21st century is full of movement, people hustling around from one place to another, and Steve can’t help but feel like he’s stranded on an island. Books help. No matter what he’s looking for – whether it’s something nostalgic and familiar or an avenue to learn about what he has missed – he seems to always be able to find the answer in a book. 

Books, however helpful they may be, still don’t replace the hollow sense of loneliness that has settled in Steve’s gut over the last year. 

Ducking his head down to continue reading, Steve lets out a frustrated huff as his hair falls down into his face, obscuring his vision. His hair is getting long – swooping into a style more reminiscent of his haircuts in the 1930s – and has become a growing source of frustration. The feeling of it brushing his eyebrows is enough to put Steve on edge. 

He scrubs a hand through his hair, eyes rolling minutely as the strands simply flop back down into his face. A haircut would be a good idea, Steve knows, but he’s past the point of asking SHIELD for help and wouldn’t even know where to begin. 

When he had first been reanimated, one of the agents assigned to help him had brought Steve a large bag of essential items that included an awful, lime green bottle of soap that would supposedly clean his hair and his body. It smelled like fake apples and didn’t do his hair any favors, but it got the job done. Unfortunately, the longer that his hair got, the less effective it seemed to be. Steve remembers a time, back before the war, when his hair was even longer than this. He’d spend time tucked in the small, shared bathroom of the tenement working to get his hair styled just right under the watchful eye of his best pal Arnie. Nowadays, it doesn't seem to matter that much. 

Through his shaggy blond hair, Steve takes in the pop art on the pages in front of him with a look akin to awe. The style is bright, brighter than anything he could have ever hoped to see in the 30s, and it fills him with such a bright flicker of joy that he decides to purchase the book without reading any further. 

The shopkeepers at this bookstore, his bookstore, as he refers to it in his head, know Steve well enough by now. His shopping habits are unpredictable; one day, he’ll spend hours digging through every book that he can get his hands on, and the next, he’ll take one look at a book and purchase it without browsing any further. Today, it seems, is one of the latter ones. 

Decision made, Steve quickly makes his way to the front of the store, giving the cashier a friendly smile. “Good afternoon,” he greets as he places the book on the counter. 

“Hey, Steve! How’s it going?” The cashier scans his purchase into the register as she speaks, slipping the book carefully into Steve’s proffered tote bag. 

“It’s going,” he says with a noncommittal shrug. “Decided to see if this Andy Warhol is worth the hype or not.” 

“Oh he’s great,” she’s nodding, a grin spread across her features. “You’ll love it. I know how fond you are of pretty colors.” The cashier laughs, shooting Steve a friendly wink. “It’ll be $21.80 today.”

Steve nods, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet. He carefully counts out the bills, dropping the exact change into his cupped palm, before turning back to the cashier and holding his hand out to her. “Here ya go,” he says, reaching forward to place the money into her outstretched hand. 

As the money is exchanged, their hands brush. Steve bristles at the contact, fumbling the coins that are unceremoniously dropped to the counter with a couple soft clinks. “Shit, sorry,” he says as he reaches forward to pick them up. The movement causes their hands to collide once more, and Steve clenches his jaw. “Sorry, have a good one.” The words are stilted as he turns on his heel, exiting the shop in a flurry. 

Steve can still feel his cheeks aflame as he makes his way out into the cool, open air of the street. 

He’s embarrassed by his reaction in the store; it’s an interaction that millions of people have each and every day, yet Steve can’t seem to get through it without bumbling. God, he can’t even touch somebody’s hand without making a break for it. Just add it to the list, mentally and unceremoniously titled Things That Are Wrong With Me: A Memoir by Steve Rogers. 

Deciding to call it a day, Steve begins the short trek back to his apartment. The fresh air helps to clear his head. Steve knows that there are a lot of things that he should talk to somebody about, but who? There are the people on his team, and yeah, they’re nice enough, but how much can he trust them? There’s also the SHIELD-appointed therapist that he had worked with for his first few months out of the ice, but that guy wasn’t the brightest bulb. He’d taken all of Steve’s answers during his psych evaluation at face value, allowing Steve to bullshit his way into being allowed back into the field. It wasn’t reassuring. 

Steve had gotten by this far on his own; he was sure that he’d be fine. This too shall pass, etcetera. 

As Steve waits at the edge of a crosswalk for the pedestrian sign to flip, his eyes catch on a bright red sign across the street. The words ‘Curl Up and Dye’ are hand-painted across the sign, the pun causing a small smile to break out across Steve’s face. 

He’d seen the salon before, tucked between a coffee shop and a bodega, but Steve had never paid much attention to it. There was never any reason to – if he needed a haircut, SHIELD had someone that Steve was sure was on standby just waiting for their call. 

Steve chuckles to himself at the sign as the light changes, pedestrians finally allowed to cross. As he makes his way across the crosswalk, carefully dodging the foot traffic in the street, Steve’s hit by a sudden gust of wind. The wind shakes his precariously-pushed back hair loose, once again flopping down in front of his eyes. Steve runs a hand through his fringe, brushing the hair out of his eyes to no avail. When he glances up, he’s once again met with the sign. Curl Up and Dye. 

Standing on the sidewalk, Steve peers through the large windows. The salon is bright, all clean lines and big mirrors. There’s a young woman sitting behind the reception desk, but the rest of the salon appears to be empty. It only takes a moment of hesitation before Steve squares his shoulders, pulling open the door to the salon. 

What’s another thing? Steve thinks; his ego is already bruised from the blunder in the bookshop. 

The bell above the door rings quietly as he steps into the salon, and despite Steve’s apprehension, he can’t help but feel at ease in the environment. He’s pleased to find that his initial assessment of the salon was correct. The salon isn’t big; there are four stations set up against the side wall, the reception desk, and two small doorways leading toward the back of the building. All of the stylist’s stations are all made of white-painted wood, a bright contrast to the mirrors sitting in front of them. Steve notes that the room smells of eucalyptus and lavender. 

“Hi, welcome in!” the woman behind the desk greets. From this close, Steve can read her name tag. Darcy, it reads. “What can I help you with?”

Steve takes a step toward the desk, palms coming to rest gently against the counter. “I, uh,” he begins, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “I’m just needing a haircut.”

Darcy smiles, the wide grin showing off a small, endearing gap between her teeth. “Sure thing,” she makes note of something on a book in front of her, nodding at Steve. “If you’re okay with hanging out for a minute, Bucky should be right out.”

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles as he takes a step back, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His tote bag dangles awkwardly from one wrist as he turns to continue his survey of the salon. 

Barely a minute passes before the curtain separating the main part of the salon and one of the back rooms is pushed aside. A man comes walking out. Steve’s eyes are drawn to him instantly. His long, brown hair is styled in several braids, pushing the hair off to one side of his head. The ends of the strands are left loose, the tresses falling in curls over his shoulder. He’s dressed casually in black jeans and a dark, chunky crew neck sweater, the sleeves bunched up around his elbows. 

“Oh, Bucky,” Darcy greets, waving him over to her desk. The two exchange a few words in hushed tones before the man, Bucky, turns to Steve with a bright smile. 

“Hey, man,” he crosses the short distance over to Steve, holding a hand out to shake. “I’m Bucky.”

Steve hesitates for only a moment before taking Bucky’s hand in his own, giving it a soft shake. “Steve,” he says as he drops the contact. “Nice to meet you.” Bucky’s answering grin causes his eyes to crinkle at the corners and Steve is helpless not to return the smile. 

Bucky claps his hands together, rubbing his palms together softly. “If you wanna follow me over here, we can get started,” he says, leading the way toward the back of the salon, guiding Steve to take a seat at the last station. As he settles into the chair, legs bouncing absentmindedly, their eyes meet through the mirror. 

“Alright Steve,” Bucky says as he saddles up behind the chair, hands coming to rest on top of the backrest. “What are you wanting me to do for ya?” As he speaks, one of Bucky’s hands reaches up to tug almost absentmindedly at the long hairs at the base of Steve’s skull. 

Steve tenses at the contact before taking a purposeful deep breath, willing the line of his shoulders to loosen. He knew what he was signing up for with a haircut. Steve knew he just needed to get through it. 

“I just– I mean, a haircut…?” 

Bucky’s laugh is bright, his eyebrow raising teasingly. “Well obviously,” he grins, giving Steve’s shoulder a soft nudge. “D’you have a style in mind? Or how short you want it to be?” 

It’s immediately obvious to Steve that Bucky is a tactile person. Bucky’s hands continue to move through Steve’s hair, one hand moving to brush Steve’s fringe out of his face for a second before letting the hairs fall once more. Steve’s surprised to find that the small, innocent touches across his shoulders and head actually… feel nice. It’s been so long since anyone has touched him for anything more than a practical reason. 

Yes, logically, Steve knows that a haircut is yet another practical reason, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t pretend. 

“Just shorter.” Steve shrugs, mouth turning down apologetically through the mirror. “I don’t want it to get in my face.”

Bucky’s smiling again, his hand dropping to Steve’s shoulder to squeeze it gently. 

“I can work with that,” he says as he takes a step toward the station, pulling a cape out of the drawer. He fastens the fabric around Steve’s neck, giving the side of Steve’s bicep a friendly pat. 

Steve’s surprised to find himself leaning into the touch. There’s just something about Bucky’s warm, friendly personality that Steve can’t get enough of. He’s sweet and he hasn’t clammed up once at Steve’s short answers or tense shoulders. 

“You want me to shampoo you?” 

Steve blinks at Bucky through the mirror, eyebrows drawing together. “What?”

“I can wash your hair before cutting it,” he says, giving Steve a soft smile. “If you want.”

“I’ve never–” Steve pauses, shaking his head softly. “They usually just… you know, spray me down.” He pulls his hand out from under the cape, moving his hand into the shape of a finger gun before imitating the pull of the trigger with his index finger. 

Bucky pauses, eyes watching the motion consideringly.

“But you’ve had it washed before, right?” 

Steve shakes his head once more, before shrugging again. 

“I mean, I wash it. At home.” Steve watches as Bucky’s eyebrows raise across his forehead, his expression turning shocked. 

“Steve, no,” he says, moving around the chair to grab Steve’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “That’s unacceptable.”

“I’m sorr–” Steve begins, but is quickly cut off by the other man. 

“No, no,” Bucky reassures him. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s any stylist that has ever touched this beautiful hair that should be sorry.” 

Steve can feel the blush staining his cheeks as he brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, feeling awkward once more. They’re standing toe-to-toe in between the chair and the mirror. Steve can’t help but feel like an idiot when he catches sight of their reflection. 

There’s Bucky, stylish and comfortable in his skin, and then there’s Steve, standing there with the stylist’s cape hanging limply from his neck to his knees. 

“It’s fine,” he tries, moving to sit back down before Bucky stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“It’s absolutely not fine, Steve. Having someone wash your hair is the best part of getting your hair done! I just can’t believe no one’s ever offered it to you before.” 

What was Steve supposed to say? He can count the number of people that have cut his hair on one hand. Growing up, his ma had always cut it in their kitchen, tried and true bowl balanced carefully over his head. During the war, he allowed DumDum to give it a shot. The man had sworn up and down that he knew what he was doing, but Steve quickly found that claim to be false. The stylist that SHIELD had found for him was fine, but she was quick and clinical; she took enough time to bring up his sides and shorten the top of his hair before sending him on his way. There was never really an opportunity to have his hair washed. 

“Seriously, let me try?” Bucky asks. “If you hate it, I’ll give ya the haircut on the house.”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Steve finds himself nodding. “Alright, lead the way.”

Bucky’s smile is blinding, and Steve can’t help but find himself mirroring it as he trails behind the man to the back room of the salon, ducking behind the curtain. Bucky directs him to another chair, giving his shoulder another soft squeeze as Steve takes a seat. 

“Get settled in, I’ve gotta grab a few things.” 

Steve watches as Bucky moves around the small space gracefully. He grabs bottles of different sizes, tucking them under his arm, before pulling out a couple small towels and sitting them gently on the counter behind Steve. 

Bucky taps at a display on the wall, and Steve startles a little as the lights surrounding them dim. “Ambiance,” Bucky supplies with a shrug. “You only get one first time, I’m gonna do it right.”

As Steve reclines back into the chair, head dipping into the shampoo bowl, he can’t help but note that Bucky was right. The room is warm and feels cozy with the lights now dimmed. There are speakers set up around the room, crooning soft jazz notes that put Steve at ease. 

Once again at his side, Bucky shoots him a funny, upside down grin from the shampoo bowl. 

“Just try to relax,” he suggests as he turns the water on, adjusting the temperature. “Let me know if there’s anything that you don’t like.”

Steve lets out an audible sigh as Bucky brings the nozzle to his head, the water just on the right side of too-warm. Bucky was right, it does feel nice. 

Bucky’s soft hands drag through his hair, wetting the strands, and Steve finds himself leaning into the touch. It feels like no time at all when the water is turned off, Bucky’s hands coming up off of his head to grab the shampoo. 

It’s barely a beat before Bucky’s hands return, working the shampoo through Steve’s hair. His deft fingers work to massage the shampoo into his scalp, pushing steadily against pressure points that Steve didn’t even know he had. Steve groans quietly as Bucky’s touch trails down to the base of his skull, pressing into the tense muscle there. 

“Lean up just a bit,” Bucky whispers, voice low in the quiet room. As Steve complies, Bucky’s fingers move to trail down his neck. He massages into the newly available flesh, fingers dipping under the collar of Steve’s tshirt. 

Steve blinks his eyes open, glancing up at the man leaning over him. Bucky’s face is soft, eyes focused on his work. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth in concentration. This close, Steve can see the small freckles dotting Bucky’s nose and the soft smile lines around his eyes.

Sensing Steve’s eyes on him, Bucky’s gaze flicks down to meet Steve’s and he gives him a soft smile. 

“Feeling okay?”

Steve resists the urge to nod, his body going lax in the chair. 

“Feels great,” Steve says, eyes falling closed once more. 

As the ministrations continue, Steve feels the last bit of tension that he was carrying leave his shoulders. Bucky’s touch is firm, grounding, and it isn’t until this moment that Steve realizes just how much he missed it. 

In the last year of his life, Steve can’t remember a time when someone’s touch had been more than perfunctory. A hand to his arm, moving him into the correct position. An arm around his shoulders, blocking him from a hit. He can’t remember the last time that someone touched him for the sake of the contact; because Steve deserved gentle things. 

All too quickly, Bucky is rinsing the last of the conditioner from his hair and cutting off the water. 

“Alright,” Bucky says, voice still low, as he brings a towel up to sponge up some of the moisture. “What’s the verdict?” 

Steve smiles, wide and bright. “That was fantastic,” he says as he moves to sit up, standing gracelessly. “Seriously. You’re very, uh, talented. With your hands.” Steve flushes as the words tumble out of his mouth, eyes widening. 

Thankfully, Bucky laughs, loud and happy. It breaks the tension and eases the anxiety that Steve felt creeping back up. 

“Well, that’s what my ex said,” he jokes as he leads Steve back through the main room of the salon. “But reassurance is always nice.”

Steve settles back into the chair with Bucky standing behind him. Through the mirror, Steve watches as Bucky pulls out a tray of supplies, sliding it in close. 

“Do you have a preference for how long it is on top?” Bucky asks, hands once again finding their way into Steve’s hair. He’s running a comb through the long strands, fingers trailing along the soft skin of Steve’s forehead. 

Steve shakes his head, careful not to dislodge Bucky’s hold. “I trust you,” he says, surprised to find just how much he means it. 

Bucky makes quick work of cutting Steve’s hair, moving around the chair with efficiency and grace. Steve doesn’t realize that he’s still leaning into the touch until Bucky huffs out a laugh, pressing his fingers firmly against his temple. 

“Pal, you’ve gotta hold still. I know you heal quickly, but I don’t wanna find out if you can regrow an ear.” 

Steve blinks up at Bucky through the mirror, taking in the amused tilt of his mouth. His first reaction is to be embarrassed - it’s one thing to chase after the man’s touch like a puppy dog. It’s another to have Bucky acknowledge it. Before Steve can apologize, Bucky’s words register in his head. 

It shouldn’t come as a shock that Bucky recognized him, not after the Chitauri attack, but Steve still finds himself surprised. It’s just- He’s used to people treating him differently once they realize who he is. They will take on a more formal tone, distance themselves from Steve. He hates it. 

With Bucky, it’s different. Steve could have been any regular guy walking into the salon and he’s sure Bucky would have treated him just the same. 

“Sorry,” Steve says, sending Bucky an apologetic grin. The other man simply smiles, continuing on with the haircut. 

He finishes quickly after that, brushing the fallen hair off of Steve’s shoulders and pulling the cape free. Bucky had styled it with a soft pomade, the hair pressed up and out of his face. Steve loves it. 

“Bucky,” he says, smiling at his reflection in the mirror, as he turns to examine the haircut. “It’s perfect, thank you so much.”

Steve watches as a soft pink colors Bucky’s cheeks, his lips turning up in a bashful grin. 

“I’m glad you like it. The cut suits you.” 

The two make their way back toward the front of the shop, lingering a few feet away from the reception desk. 

“Hey, if you’d want to schedule ahead of time, we could probably keep up on your cuts so your hair will bother you less,” Bucky suggests, arms coming to rest across his middle. “You’d probably wanna get it cut every three weeks.”

“I don’t know when I’ll be available,” he explains, frowning apologetically. “It’s just– with my schedule.” 

“Oh, of course,” Bucky smiles, reaching forward to give Steve’s bicep another soothing squeeze. “I didn’t even think about that. Why don’t I just give you my number and you can text me closer to then if you have an idea of when you’ll be free?”

Steve pulls out his cell phone without a second thought, handing the device over to Bucky with a smile. 

“Sounds great, thank you Bucky.”

Chapter Text

Standing in front of his bathroom mirror, hair lying limp on his head, Steve lets out a frustrated groan. He’s been trying to get his hair styled for almost half an hour to no avail. 

Steve’s a smart guy, he watched Bucky’s actions the previous day closely, asking questions when Bucky did something unfamiliar. He’d felt confident in his ability to replicate the style, especially after Bucky had tucked the half-empty jar of pomade into his palm with a conspiratorial wink. 

Sure, maybe he’d been a little distracted by Bucky’s soft expression and idle touches, but that was no one's business but his own. 

It isn’t working. No matter how much or little pomade Steve uses, his hair still falls lifelessly on the top of his head. It isn’t in his face anymore, a fact that he finds himself thankful for, but it doesn’t look good. It doesn’t look like Bucky’s careful work. 

Huffing out another sigh, Steve runs a harsh brush through his hair, combing it back away from his face. He glances at his watch, noting that it’s still pretty early; the salon should be open. Maybe he could just stop by and ask Bucky for some advice.

Steve plucks his phone up off of the counter, scrolling through his meager contact list for only a second before his eyes fall on the most recent contact. He can’t help but grin as he reads the contact information that Bucky had entered. 

Steve Rogers 9:23 AM  
Hey Bucky, it’s Steve 

Steve Rogers 9:23 AM  
Rogers

Steve Rogers 9:23 AM  
From the salon

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 9:25 AM  
hi steve rogers from the salon ☺️ how’s it going?

Steve Rogers 9:26 AM  
I’m good. I was wondering if you’re working today?

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 9:31 AM  
i am! my first appointment canceled though, so i'm on my own til 11 😢

Steve fidgets with his fringe, twisting the strands against his forehead as he peers down at his phone. He knows he could respond to the text and ask for advice. It would be as easy as that. The thing is, he really wants to see Bucky again. Their conversation had flowed easily, despite how awkward Steve knows he was being, and it’s just– It’s nice to have a person outside of SHIELD and his team that he can enjoy the company of. 

He remembers the coffee shop, tucked in next to Bucky’s salon, and is struck with an idea. 

Steve Rogers 9:31 AM  
I’m sorry to hear that. I’m nearby, want a coffee?

It's not technically a lie, his apartment is close to the salon. It’s not like he needs to tell Bucky that he’s looking for an excuse to see him. 

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 9:31 AM  
😍 seriously? 

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 9:32 AM  
bring me a cold brew with cream and sugar and you may never get rid of me 

Steve Rogers 9:32 AM  
Be there in 20. 

Steve is out the door before his phone notifies him that the message was delivered, quickly making his way down the stairs and toward the street. Bucky’s empty threat rings in his ears as he makes the short trek toward the salon. Actually, never being rid of Bucky doesn’t sound half bad… 

- - - - -

Barely eighteen minutes have passed when Steve finds himself stepping into the salon for the second day in a row, coffees clutched in hand. His eyes trail over the mostly-empty salon before settling on Bucky, sitting behind the reception desk. 

As the bell above him chimes, Bucky’s head shoots up and a smile takes over his features. 

“Steve, hey!” 

He closes the distance between them quickly and places their drinks on the counter. “Hey Buck,” he says with an answering smile, ducking to lean across the desk. “I’m sorry to hear about your first appointment.”

Bucky waves away the apology with a sweeping motion, reaching forward to pick up his drink. He takes a long sip, smile widening around the straw. 

“Hey, I get coffee and I get to see you. Seems worth it to me.”

Steve ducks his head, the toe of his shoe dragging across the tiled floor with a quiet squeak. He finds it a little hard to believe that a visit from him warrants the smile on Bucky’s face, but Bucky doesn’t seem like the type of person to lie to save someone’s feelings. The idea that someone like Bucky is excited to see him makes warmth bloom in Steve’s chest. 

Steve isn’t sure what it is about Bucky, but his presence is soothing. Maybe it’s the soft expression that Steve often catches spread across his features, or the playful twinkle in his gray eyes, but Steve finds himself drawn to the other man. The casual way that he touches Steve is grounding. There are days where Steve’s sure that a brisk wind would blow him straight to New Jersey, but in the short time that he’s known Bucky, he’s found that it hasn’t been that way. 

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Bucky says as he takes another drink, sighing happily. 

“You’re welcome,” Steve smiles, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t purely selfless though,” he continues with a shrug. “I wanted to see if you could give me any advice on my hair. I tried to copy what you did this morning, and well.” He motions to his floppy hair, grimacing. 

Bucky moves around the desk, placing his cup on the countertop, before moving to stand in front of Steve. His eyes narrow, assessing, as he takes in his hair. 

“Did the pomade not work?” he asks as he brings a hand up, gently tousling the soft fringe at front of Steve’s head. Steve sighs at the contact. Bucky’s lips are turned down in a small frown, and he’s so, so close that Steve thinks their toes are going to touch. 

“Oh no, it was great,” Steve attempts to assure him, wanting to erase the frown from Bucky’s features. “I think it’s me. I feel like my hands turn into paws when I try to do anything with my hair. 

And oh, there’s that smile again. Bucky lets out a soft giggle at Steve’s comment, reaching forward to give him a nudge. 

“Well, I’ve got time if you want me to give it a go. I had a customer yesterday telling me that I’m good with my hands.” Bucky wiggles his fingers slightly, eyes crinkling with humor. 

“Well, you know,” Steve says through a  laugh, his face flushing crimson. 

Bucky’s still chuckling quietly as he reaches forward to grab Steve by the arm, pulling him gently toward his station.

“C’mon Stevie. Let’s get you looking good. ‘Cause, you know, you’re so hard to look at right now.” 

“Yeah, sorry about the ugly mug and the free coffee,” Steve jokes. It’s truly a testament to how at ease Steve feels in Bucky’s presence. There aren’t many people left in the world that Steve feels comfortable enough with to make these sorts of jokes with; the fact that he’s known Bucky for less than 24 hours is a little mind boggling. 

It feels like he’s known Bucky for years. Between all of the casual touches and playful comments, their fast friendship feels important. Bucky feels like someone that he might have grown up with, spending their lives living out of each other’s back pockets. Maybe in a different life. 

“Y’know,” Bucky begins, voice casual. “It might be easier for me to style ya if I wash your hair first. Blank slate, and all.” 

“Yes,” Steve immediately agrees, head bobbing with a quick nod. “I mean, if you think it’d be best.” 

Steve’s hair is still damp from washing it at home, but there’s no way he’s going to turn down another chance to have Bucky wash his hair. 

Using the hand that’s still gently tucked into the crook of Steve’s arm, Bucky steers him back toward the shampoo room with a grin. “I do think it’d be best,” he assures Steve.

As they make their way into the secluded room, Steve’s once again greeted with the soothing jazz music playing through the sound system. The lights are already dimmed, and he finds himself with a peaceful, lazy grin taking over his face. Instead of the cape from before, Bucky simply drapes a towel around Steve’s neck before guiding him back into the shampoo bowl. 

While Bucky begins rinsing the pomade from Steve’s hair, Steve takes a moment to look at the other man. He’s dressed casually again, but instead of the complex braids from the day prior, his long hair is pinned up on the top of his head in a soft-looking bun. 

“Your hair looks nice today,” Steve finds the words leaving his lips before they have been given permission. “It’s very…fluffy.” 

Bucky laughs, absentmindedly bringing a damp hand up to touch the bun on his head. 

“Thanks, it’s my ‘I’m too lazy to wash my hair’ style.”

“Wait,” Steve says, brow furrowing. “You don’t have someone here wash your hair?” 

“Well, sometimes,” Bucky says as he begins massaging the shampoo into Steve’s hair. “But usually there’s not enough time, or the girls here are tired and just wanna go home. I just wash it myself more often than not.”

Steve is rendered speechless for a moment. For something that Bucky is so passionate about – the importance of making time to have someone wash your hair – he’s surprised that Bucky would allow himself to go without. The thought upsets him, especially when he considers just how correct Bucky had been. 

The act of washing someone’s hair doesn’t seem all that difficult – there are several steps but they seem easy enough to follow. Steve thinks about how much he’s enjoyed having it done, the sense of contentment that Bucky has allowed him to have. Suddenly, he wants nothing more than to give that to Bucky, too. 

“Maybe you could teach me,” Steve feels his body relaxing under Bucky’s firm touch, sinking further into the chair. “I would do it for you.” He glances back up to Bucky’s face, the other man’s expression unreadable for a beat before his lips turn up in a small smile. 

“I’d like that, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes fall closed after that, content to enjoy the rest of the shampoo in companionable silence. The song on the stereo changes, and ‘Cheek to Cheek’ by Fred Astaire begins playing softly through the speakers. Bucky’s hands are a soothing presence on the back of his head. 

As the song continues, Steve finds his mind wandering. It’s not a song that he has ever been overly fond of, but it was one of his ma’s favorites. He can remember her spinning him gently around their small kitchen, her soft voice crooning the words over the tinny radio. 

Steve’s thoughts continue as Bucky’s hands trail down the back of his neck, tugging gently on the short strands there. He thinks about his life before the war, before his ma died. He thinks about getting milkshakes with Arnie at the diner on the corner and the days spent reading, tucked into the crook of his ma’s arm. 

For all the things that the future has, it’s missing a big piece, Steve realizes. It’s missing people that love him. Sure, there are people out there that love Captain America, and he’s sure that his team at least cares about him, but it’s different. The camaraderie that he has with the Avengers can’t hold a candle to the security that Steve felt surrounding his loved one of his past life. Thinking about it, the closest that he’s come to that feeling in the 21st century has been the past day that he’s spent with Bucky. 

Hope blooms in his chest at the thought. The air of importance that he feels surrounding Bucky should scare him, he’s never been one to let people in easily, but the idea of having that sense of security back can’t make him feel anything other than hopeful. 

He can’t possibly know how Bucky feels – he’s but a patron of his salon, after all – but the idea of what could be causes something to settle inside of him. 

When he blinks his eyes open, Steve’s surprised to find his eyelashes wet with unshed tears. 

It’s not that he’s sad, even though the loss of his ma and his life before the ice still aches like an old wound. Steve finds himself feeling grateful for where he is for the first time in a long while.

Bucky gives a soft scratch to the base of his head before dragging his hands up, thumbs rubbing gently over his temples. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, pausing to clear his throat. “I just– this is really nice. I haven’t felt this peaceful in a while.”

Bucky’s thumbs continue to massage his temples, his face going soft with the ghost of a smile. 

“Steve, you deserve to have nice things. I hope you know that.” 

Unable to respond, Steve brings a hand up to grasp around Bucky’s wrist, giving it a gentle, grateful squeeze. 

The rest of the wash goes by in a comfortable silence; the only sounds in the room are the quiet radio and the water splashing in the bowl. As they move back into the main area of the salon, Steve notes that Darcy must have arrived while they were in the other room. He can see her talking to a customer at the reception desk, and she gives him a friendly wave as he settles into Bucky’s chair. 

“Is Darcy usually here with you?” 

Bucky nods as he turns on the blowdryer, voice rising to be heard over the harsh noise. 

“Yeah, Darce’s here every day that I am. She’s actually one of my best friends; I hired her before I even opened the salon. I swear we’d crash and burn without her.” 

Steve’s eyes widen at Bucky’s words and he turns his head to look around the salon. 

“You own the place?”

Bucky’s smile grows, a soft blush settling across his cheeks.

“Yeah, I wanted something to call my own, y’know?” 

And yeah, Steve does know. He remembers the desperation in searching for something that was his and his alone. How important that had once been to him. Nowadays, he doesn't even know where to begin. 

“Wanna know a secret?” Bucky asks, placing the dryer down onto the cart and bringing both of his hands to Steve’s hair, gently dragging through the blond strands. “I don’t normally take walk-ins.”

Steve opens his mouth to apologize, shame swirling low in his gut. Of course he was an inconvenience to Bucky, how could he have thought any differently? Before he can spiral too far – jump out of the chair and sprint out the front door – Bucky brings a hand to brush along the side of the face, moving to stand in front of Steve. 

“No, stop that. I can hear you thinking from here,” he says, fingers tapping along Steve’s hairline. “I said I don’t normally take walk-ins. Darce and I saw you standing on the sidewalk staring at the sign and I told her to put me with you if you came in. I’m glad you did.” 

His face leans into Bucky’s touch, a sunflower following the sun, as the disappointment leaves him, a spark of happiness replacing the feeling. 

“Me too.” Steve’s voice comes out like a whisper. 

Just like the day before, Bucky styles Steve’s hair with ease. His confidence in his ability is evident in his work. As he tugs on the soft strands, twisting pieces here and there, he explains what he’s doing to Steve through the mirror. 

“Y’know,” Bucky says after a brief pause. “I’m usually here at eight in the mornings, and we don’t open ‘til nine. If you ever wanna come in, I would be happy to just style it for you.” As he speaks, his hands trail absentmindedly though Steve’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp. They move from his ears to his neck, giving the muscle there a gentle squeeze. “If you want.” 

The service wraps up quickly from there - Steve only has so much hair to be styled. Bucky offers a hand to Steve as he goes to stand, pulling him to his feet. When they near the reception desk, Steve’s reaches for his pocket, aiming for the wallet tucked there, and Bucky stops him with a hand on his wrist. 

“Steve, there’s nothing to pay for. This isn’t a service that I offer.” 

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Steve says, brow furrowing. “I didn’t mean to make you go out of your way.” 

“No, c’mon. What I’m saying is that this isn’t a service that you pay for. This is me, helping out a friend.” 

“I can’t let you–” He’s cut off by a shake of Bucky’s head. 

“I promise you that it wasn’t a chore. I enjoy spending time with you.” The words are quiet in the still air of the salon as Bucky ducks his head shyly, a stray curl falling across his forehead. 

As a small army of butterflies make themselves known low in his gut, Steve feels himself blush. 

“Well, thank you,” Steve says, taking a small step toward the door. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t know what he’s meant to spend the rest of the day doing, but he knows that Bucky has work to do. “I hope you have a good day.” 

Bucky pauses, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and a concerned tilt to his eyebrows. The expression on his face does something complicated before he seems to come to a decision. Bucky takes a couple quick steps forward, into Steve’s personal space, and wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. 

Steve’s body tenses, the line of his back going rigid for a full second before he relaxes, melting into the embrace. His arms come up to wrap around Bucky’s middle, pulling their bodies flush together. It’s easy to forget how small Bucky is when Steve’s sitting below him in the salon chair. Steve’s cheek rests gently against the top of Bucky’s head, his hair tickling Steve’s nose. 

“I’m really glad you came in,” Bucky says into Steve’s shoulder. He gives Steve a soft squeeze before dropping his arms, taking a small step backwards. “Hopefully I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods, a wide smile taking over his face. “I’ll text you.” 

With a small wave to Darcy, Steve exits the salon and begins the walk back to his apartment.

Steve’s halfway home before he realizes that the hug in the salon was his first hug since 1945. 

- - - - -

At home that evening, Steve is staring at the black display of his phone, fingers tapping absentmindedly along the back of the device. He feels a little silly, but he misses Bucky. 

After he had left the salon, Steve had found himself with a little extra pep in his step. Tasks that usually seemed daunting were somehow manageable, and he just felt happy. As the day continued, the feeling of calm had slowly faded only to be replaced with his usual thrum of anxiety. 

Steve Rogers 6:56 PM
Thank you again for today. My hair smells really nice lol.

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 6:58 PM  
anytime steve, seriously

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 6:58 PM  
and good! that shampoo is my favorite 🥰

Steve Rogers 7:01 PM
Should I be using a fancy shampoo?

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:02 PM 
what are you using now?

Steve Rogers 7:09 PM
This one. 
[Attached: image.jpg] 

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:10 PM 
steve

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:10 PM 
steven 

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:10 PM 
steve rogers from the salon 

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:10 PM 
PLEASE tell me that you aren’t using a 3-in-1 shampoo. please. 

Steve Rogers 7:11 PM
I’m just using what SHIELD gave me…

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:12 PM 
you are seriously not telling me that you use the same soap to wash your hair and your ass. steve, i’m begging over here 😭

Steve Rogers 7:14 PM
It’s just soap, Buck. There are too many options!

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:16 PM 
pal, i’ll give you any shampoo you want if you throw that in the trash right this second. 

Steve laughs, already feeling lighter, as he picks up the bottle and drops it into the trash bin before taking a picture. 

Steve Rogers 7:20 PM
There. Happy? 
[Attached: image.jpg] 

Bucky Barnes (Salon) 7:21 PM 
my hero 🥰🥰🥰

- - - - - 

Their friendship grows quickly after that. They text back and forth near-constantly. Steve can’t remember talking to anyone this much in his life; he loves every second of it. Most mornings, Steve finds himself lingering outside of the salon by 8:15, cold brew for Bucky in hand. They chat while Bucky washes and styles Steve’s hair, and when it’s time to leave, Bucky bids him goodbye with a tight hug. 

By the end of the first week, he starts greeting Steve with one too. 

Steve always enjoys his mornings at the salon. He learns about Bucky, about the Barnes family, about Bucky’s love of all things outer space, and even gives Bucky little pieces of himself, too. 

They don’t run into a snag in their carefully crafted rhythm until a few weeks later, when Steve is called away for a mission while he’s in the salon chair. 

The first note of the Assemble alert rings out on his cell phone and Steve jumps out of the chair, startling Bucky. Bucky switches off the hairdryer, shooting Steve an inquisitive look. 

“I’ve gotta go, I’m sorry,” Steve says, pulling the towel off of his neck and placing it in Bucky’s outstretched hand. “I’ll text you when I can.” 

Steve can’t help but feel guilty for running out on Bucky in the middle of his service, but they wouldn’t send out an alert unless it was an emergency. Before he can second guess himself, he steps forward, pulling Bucky into a fierce hug. It might just be his imagination, but Steve thinks that he feels the ghost of Bucky’s lips against his cheek. 

“Be careful!” Bucky calls out as Steve turns to leave, voice carrying over the gentle ring of the bell above the salon door. 

- - - - - 

It’s just past midnight, almost a week after Steve had left the salon in a rush, when he falls onto his bed with a long sigh. He’s bone-tired, yet has felt restless since the first day of the mission. 

It was one of those missions where everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. As things continued to go south, the team had bickered amongst themselves, setting Steve further on edge.

All he could think about was getting home – getting back to Bucky. 

Steve Rogers 12:17 AM
Hey, sorry for the late text. Just wanted to let you know that I’m home.

Steve doesn’t expect a response until morning, but his phone chimes with a reply almost immediately. 

Bucky Barnes 12:17 AM
thank god ❤️

Bucky Barnes 12:18 AM
how are you doing? 

Steve Rogers 12:18 AM
Glad to be home. I feel like I could sleep for a week. 

Bucky Barnes 12:18 AM
hopefully not too long

Bucky Barnes 12:19 AM
i can’t wait that long to see you, i’ve missed you

Steve Rogers 12:19 AM
I’ve missed you too, Buck.

Bucky Barnes 12:20 AM
get some rest. maybe i’ll see you in the morning?

Steve Rogers 12:21 AM
Absolutely. I’ll be there.

Bucky Barnes 12:21 AM
perfect. sweet dreams, stevie 💕

Bucky Barnes 12:21 AM
i’m really glad you’re home 

As Steve settles into bed, smile spread across his face, he can’t help but pull a spare pillow to his chest. His body curls around the pillow, his arms wrapped tight around the linen. When his eyes fall closed, face pressed into the fabric, Steve imagines that the pillow is another person holding him close. If he concentrates hard enough, Steve thinks that he can smell Bucky’s shampoo.

Chapter Text

After their troublesome mission, the Avengers are given a brief reprieve. There aren’t any issues that can’t be handled by local authorities, a fact for which Steve is grateful. He’s thankful for the position he’s in – his ability to help people – but somedays it feels like too much. The world of war is harsh and unforgiving; sometimes it’s difficult for Steve to deal with. 

Steve doesn’t tell the team about Bucky, about the salon. It’s not theirs to know. 

They settle into their previous rhythm with ease. When he’s in the salon with Bucky, it feels like nothing else in the world matters. It’s not as if all of his problems magically vanish, not even close, but there’s something about Bucky’s soothing presence that makes the anxiety that prickles beneath his skin feel bearable. 

It’s a morning just like any other when Steve enters the salon at 8:15 on the dot. He’s surprised to find Darcy behind the desk, tapping away at the computer with a furrow in her brow. 

“Hey, Darcy,” Steve greets, placing Bucky’s usual coffee order on top of the desk. “How’s it going?”

“Steve, hi,” she says, finally looking up from the monitor. “I’m alright, just trying to move Bucky’s appointments around.”

Steve feels something akin to dread settle low in his stomach. The salon is open Tuesday through Saturday every week and Bucky has never missed a day in the time that Steve’s known him.

“Is he alright?” 

“Oh, he’s fine,” Darcy says quickly, easing Steve’s worry. “He’s just got a cold. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

There’s a brief moment of relief at Darcy’s assurance, but it is quickly replaced with concern. Bucky must be feeling horrible if he’s ill enough to miss a day at the salon – especially without telling Steve. 

“Well, thanks for letting me know.” Steve glances at the coffee before sliding it over the desk, sitting it in front of Darcy’s empty hand. “Looks like this is for you, then.” 

Darcy doesn’t waste any time before grabbing the drink, taking a big slurp. 

“I can style your hair, if you want,” she offers, eyes dropping to the schedule book once more. “I have a little bit of time before I can start calling people.”

It’s a nice offer, but Steve is quick to decline. 

“Oh, no, I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll be fine for one day,” he says with a halfhearted grin, turning toward the door. “Thanks again, Darcy. I hope you have a good day.”

Steve pulls out his phone as he exits the salon, quickly scrolling to his text thread with Bucky. 

Steve Rogers 8:27 AM
Heard you’re sick, you doing okay?

Bucky Barnes 8:32 AM
shit, i’m so sorry!! i totally spaced on texting you

Steve Rogers 8:33 AM
Don’t worry about it. You deserve a day off. 

Steve Rogers 8:33 AM
Can I come over? 

Bucky Barnes 8:35 AM
of course

The next text to come through simply contains Bucky’s address, and Steve is pleasantly surprised to find that he lives nearby. It makes sense, with his salon being in the area, but the little detail makes Steve smile nonetheless. 

Steve makes a quick detour to the coffee shop once more to pick up a large peppermint tea, before making the short trip to Bucky’s apartment. He thinks back to days spent in bed, cooped up in his ma’s old apartment, drinking her peppermint tea. Sarah swore that it would heal just about anything; Steve is half-convinced that she had been right. 

He finds Bucky’s apartment easily enough, and he’s only left waiting for a moment before Bucky pulls open the door. 

“Hey,” Bucky greets as he steps forward, pulling Steve into a hug at the threshold. Steve is careful not to spill the tea as he wraps his free arm around the other man, squeezing him tight. 

Bucky looks exhausted. His always-stylish hair falls in wild waves around his face, and he appears to be wearing the same clothes that he slept in. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his nose is red, rubbed raw. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t at the salon.”

“Hey, no,” Steve says as he releases Bucky, taking a step further inside so he can shut the door behind himself. “How are you feeling?” he asks, reaching forward to place the back of his hand against Bucky’s forehead. Steve watches as Bucky rolls his eyes playfully before he tilts his face up, allowing Steve to check him over. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have a fever. 

Bucky’s lips are turned up in a fond smile as Steve’s hand drops away. 

“I’m okay,” Bucky reassures him with a shrug. He accepts the tea from Steve and takes a careful sip. “I always get a bug this time of year. I should be back to work by tomorrow.”

“Bucky, I don’t give a damn about my hair right now. It’s you that I care about.” It’s more than he had meant to say, feelings a little too raw, but it’s the truth. 

“Thank you,” Bucky grins again, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. “I’m really alright, just tired at this point. I honestly just wanna curl up in bed, but the couch is so much more comfy.” His tone is wistful. 

Steve’s eyes trail across the room as Bucky speaks, taking in Bucky’s apartment. The room is clean and bright, a perfect mirror to his salon. It’s exactly what he had expected Bucky’s home to look like. His focus turns to the aforementioned sofa, and he’s suddenly reminded of the days spent home sick as a kid. He thinks back to the days that his ma spent taking care of him, and has an idea. 

“D’you have any more blankets?” 

With a hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, Bucky leads him through the apartment to his linen closet, pulling out blanket after blanket and piling them into Steve’s arms. They make a quick detour to Bucky’s bedroom, stealing the duvet and pillows off of the bed, before moving back to the living room. 

Bucky watches on with an amused expression, sipping at his tea as Steve pulls the cushions off of the sofa and begins rearranging the furniture with ease. Steve drapes a blanket from the back of the sofa to the coffee table, creating a small dome. In no time at all, there’s a beautiful blanket fort taking up most of Bucky’s living room. 

Steve stands back to admire his handiwork, hands resting on his hips. 

“Best of both worlds?” Steve offers with a grin, motioning toward the fort. All of his effort becomes immediately worth it when Bucky answers with a wide smile. 

They make their way into the blanket fort, settling on their sides. Their bodies are close, practically nose-to-nose in the small space. 

“I just can’t get warm today,” Bucky’s voice is quiet in the small space, and Steve finds himself wanting to press closer. 

“Here.” Steve wastes no time before shuffling forward, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s small frame and tugging him close. Their legs tangle together under the extra blankets. Bucky presses his face into Steve’s chest, his arms coming to settle against Steve’s back. 

Steve lets out a small sigh as the two of them settle into the embrace. They are quiet for a moment, content to just enjoy each other’s presence, before Bucky speaks up. 

“This really helps you, doesn’t it?”

Steve should feel embarrassed, called out, but he can’t find it in himself to. In the short time that he’s known Bucky, Steve’s come to rely on the other man’s touch. Steve thinks that it’s only fair that Bucky knows just how much he has helped him. 

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, head nodding against Bucky’s temple. “It does.” 

His fingers flex against the back of Bucky’s tshirt as he pauses, searching for the right words. 

“No one ever really touches me, not anymore,” he begins, pressing his face further into Bucky’s hair. “I don’t know if they’re afraid that I’m going to break, or freak out, but it just– it sucks.”

He lets out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh as Bucky rubs a soothing hand across his flank, waiting for Steve to continue. 

“The first day I met you, you didn’t care who I was. You gave that to me so freely, and all of a sudden all I could remember was how much I missed it. I wasn’t lying when I said that you make me feel at peace.” 

Now that he’s speaking, Steve doesn’t think that the words will stop. It’s something that he’s kept to himself, tucked away in a part of him that he didn’t think anyone would ever care to know. 

“Do you remember the second time I came into the salon?”

Steve feels Bucky’s answering nod against his chest. 

“That was the first time that anyone had hugged me since the 40s.” Steve feels, more so than hears, Bucky’s sharp intake of breath at the revelation. “I was starting to feel like maybe I wasn’t real. Like if someone reached out and touched me, their hand would go straight through me.”

Bucky pulls his head up off of Steve’s chest, far enough to see his face. When Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, they’re glistening in the muted light of the fort. 

“You remind me that I’m here.”

Bucky’s hands are trembling as he brings them up, gently cupping Steve’s face in his open palms. He shuffles under the blanket, bringing his body up to the same height as Steve’s. 

“You’re here, Steve,” he says as he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together. “D’you feel that? Feel me?” His eyes are boring into Steve’s, and Steve is afraid to blink. Afraid that if he does, Bucky will disappear. He nods minutely. 

“You’re real, baby. As real as I am.” 

He finds himself trembling at Bucky’s words, at the caresses, but Bucky continues. He drops one hand to Steve’s neck, his fingers sinking into the soft hair found there. Bucky leans up to press his lips to Steve’s forehead, a soft whisper of “you’re real” across his skin. 

Bucky continues, pressing soft kisses to Steve’s temples, to his cheeks, to his chin, to the soft skin beneath his eyes. Each kiss is punctuated with a reassurance, “You’re real, you’re here, you’re real.” 

Steve’s hands are clutching desperately at the fabric on the back of Bucky’s shirt, causing it to bunch up around the small of his back. When Steve feels the soft, warm skin now on display, he drops the fabric and presses his hands there instead. 

They’re so close, noses pressed together and lips barely a hair apart, when Bucky brings his hands back up to cup Steve’s face. 

“You’re real, baby. How could they ever make you think any different?” 

With that, Bucky pushes forward, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. It’s chaste, barely a press that has Steve sighing through his nose, clutching Bucky desperately tighter. 

When they part, Steve tucks his face down into Bucky’s neck. He presses his cheek into the soft skin on display there. He’s still trembling, knows that he needs to be careful with how tightly he’s holding Bucky. 

Bucky continues to hold him, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, keeping him in place. His other hand is tucked around Steve’s waist, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of his back. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay,” he murmurs into the hair at Steve’s temples, brushing a soft kiss there. 

Slowly, Steve settles. His body stops trembling as he continues to press himself into the safety of Bucky’s embrace. 

“‘M sorry,” he whispers against Bucky’s collar. Steve’s embarrassed, he’s sure there’s a blush staining the skin of his cheeks. He’d invited himself into Bucky’s home and once again, Bucky’s the one comforting him. 

Bucky shakes his head, using the hand on the back of Steve’s neck to guide him up so their eyes can meet. 

“Steve, you’ve been alone for so long,” he says, fingernails scratching gently, in a way that he knows Steve finds soothing. “Longer than anyone should ever be. I wanna be here with you.” He pauses, eyes pleading. “Please let me be here with you.” 

It’s Steve who presses forward this time, pulling Bucky into a desperate kiss. As their lips move together, Steve can feel Bucky’s hands dragging through his hair, trailing across his sides, before settling at the back of his neck once more, holding him in place. 

“You make me feel like it. You make me feel like I’m real,” Steve whispers, pulling back only far enough to press his forehead against Bucky’s. “I want you here with me.”

Bucky’s answering smile is blinding, and Steve can’t help but find himself returning the smile. 

They settle after that, legs still tangled and faces pressed close. Steve can feel warm puffs of Bucky’s breath against his chin, and he lets his eyes fall closed. There’s soft light filtering through the blankets hanging above them, quiet noise from the traffic below. 

He’s spent the last year of his life feeling like he’s treading water, barely keeping himself afloat. In a world that wasn’t designed to include Steve, he feels like he’s finally found a place for himself. 

Like the final piece of a puzzle that he’s spent far too long working on, Steve feels a piece of himself settle into place, wrapped in blankets and strong arms on the floor of Bucky’s apartment.

Chapter Text

Steve wakes slowly, the sun peaking through the curtains and kissing his face. The first thing that he registers is an arm slung tight around his middle, a warm chest pressed to his back. Steve doesn’t have to look at the clock to know that it’s early – too early to be awake. 

He lets out a soft snuffle as he presses back into the body behind him. Steve shifts, flexing his toes into the soft blanket that covers his lower half. 

“Ngh, morning, baby.” Steve can feel the puffs of air against the back of his neck as Bucky speaks into the skin, voice thick with sleep. 

Slow mornings like this are Steve’s favorite. The salon is closed, and Steve and Bucky have nowhere to be. They can sleep into the late morning, bodies curled together. Maybe Steve will get up and make them breakfast – eggs benedict, Bucky’s favorite – and they’ll only stay out of bed for as long as it takes them to eat. 

“Hey,” Steve keeps his voice low, matching the quiet of their bedroom, as he brings a hand up to lace his fingers through Bucky’s. “Sleep okay?” 

There’s a beat of silence before Bucky hums. “Mm, yeah,” Bucky tightens his hold on Steve, pulling him closer to his chest. “Better with you here.” Steve feels his lips tilt up into a grin as Bucky hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder, their cheeks pressing together. 

Nowadays, they share a bed more often than not. There are still missions, of course there are, but otherwise, Steve is with Bucky. The casual intimacy of sharing a bed with someone is something that Steve doesn’t think he will ever tire of. 

He thinks back to restless nights, tossing and turning in his bed in Stark Tower. The mattress was soft – a king size, top-of-the-line memory foam – and nothing at all like Bucky’s lumpy, full size bed that they pile into each night. It’s a tight fit – the bed wasn’t designed for two fully grown men – and Steve’s feet usually hang off the end. There’s a divot in the middle of the mattress, an impression of their bodies that makes Steve giddy every time he sees it; evidence of their time spent curled around one another. 

Steve smiles as he tugs Bucky’s hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss to the first patch of skin he can reach, Bucky’s knuckles, before dropping their joined hands back to rest against his stomach. 

“Me too.”

It’s been almost six months since the day that Steve first walked into Curl Up & Dye, nearly two years that he’s been out of the ice. It’s strange to think about how much has changed in such a short amount of time, but Steve can’t be more grateful. 

There are still bad days – his new, civilian therapist tells him that there always will be – but even on the bad ones, Steve can always find a reason to smile. Some days, it’s the print of Flowers by Andy Warhol that hangs proudly in their living room, purchased for the simple fact that the colors made Steve happy. On other days, it’s Bucky. 

Bucky presses a featherlight kiss against Steve’s shoulder, dragging his nose slowly through the soft hair on the back of his neck. Steve feels Bucky’s body move, leg kicking forward to rest between Steve’s bent knees. All these months later and the touch still sends a shock of electricity through Steve’s system that settles into a soft thrum just beneath his breastbone. 

“You’re warm,” Bucky mumbles, pressing closer still. He sighs softly, sounding back on the precipice of sleep. “Just wanna hold you forever.”

Steve squeezes Bucky’s hand, leaning into the embrace. 

“Forever’s a long time,” Steve says, eyes falling closed as he settles once more. “Y’better get started.”