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Bucky tossed and turned in bed, unable to simply fall asleep. This time he couldn't even blame his nightmares, he just simply could not sleep.
He groaned, kicking off the covers and sitting up. The alarm clock on the bedside table glared at him with its neon green numbers.
2:20 A.M.
He let out a sigh through his nose before standing up.
In the bed Steve didn't so much as stir, his breathing soft and even. At least one of them was able to have a good night's sleep.
He padded through the dark and to the kitchen, where he finally turned on the light.
Quietly he took out mixing bowls and measuring cups, along with a multitude of ingredients. Once everything he needed was out Bucky turned on one of his favorite things. A small speaker that fit in the palm of his hand. On late nights like this it was one of his best friends. That and his baking playlist.
He tied his hair back and set to work. The soft sounds of his playlist soothed his mind as he kneaded the dough. He rolled the dough into balls, feeling it dip into the crevices of his left hand. It would be easy to get out, hopefully.
Bucky hummed along to the music as he methodically dipped the dough balls into cinnamon and sugar before setting them on a tray. Over and over, until the dough was gone and the tray was full.
The oven beeped, indicating that it was at the required temperature. He opened it, gently setting the tray on the top rack before closing it.
Soft footsteps made their way to the kitchen, bringing a small smile to Bucky’s face.
"What're you doin' Buck?" Steve asked, rubbing a fist over his eyes. He looked every bit like that little punk he fell for back in '39.
"Couldn't sleep?" He asked, a sad tone to his voice.
"Yeah, no nightmares, just one of those nights." He reassured. Steve nodded before walking over, resting his head on Bucky's shoulder.
Bucky wrapped his arms around him, running a hand over his back. Steve sighed in content, snuggling further into his chest.
From the speaker soft guitar chords started to play, accompanied by a cello.
"Dance with me Stevie."
Steve nodded, placing his hand in Bucky’s, letting him lead.
"I've held your hand since 1979
You were in a band (Still am) yeah but back then you had hair and your smile was so sublime."
"Forty years off." Steve whispered.
"Hush up punk."
"Jerk."
"The flat we rented was a palace for my queen
If by palace you mean that asbestos and beans from a tin, and the gin that we brewed in the bathtub."
Bucky chose to wrap his arms around Steve’s waist, Steve looping his around Bucky’s neck as they continued to sway around the kitchen. They might have not brewed gin in the bathtub of their apartment way back when, but it was home nonetheless.
"I've loved you, for a hundred years." Bucky whispered against Steve’s lips.
"Certainly fucking feels like it." Steve gently kissed him back, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth and happiness that smelled like cinnamon and brown sugar.
"And now, even though you're mad and these memories won't stay
That's okay
'Cause then I get to meet you for the first time every single day." Steve pulled back, pressing his forehead against Bucky's, feeling tears well in his eyes at the lyrics. He rubbed his left thumb over a freckled cheek, wiping away the tears.
"Your eyes aren't rivers there to weep
But a place for crows to rest their feet
And I will wait (I will wait) and hope
And rest my head at night content
Knowing where my marbles went."