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Steve's spent the day in bed with a cold, waiting for Bucky to get home. He'd insisted he was well enough to go to school, but his mom had laid down the law and told him that he was taking a sick day and to get his ass back in bed. Then she'd made him drink a giant glass of orange juice and left him with strict instructions to heat up some chicken noodle soup for lunch.
He'd idled away most of the day napping and watching Netflix and was already starting to feel better by the time he heard the front door opening and closing, signaling Bucky's arrival. He rarely ever got sick these days and when he did, it never lasted long.
"Hey," he says as Bucky clomps into his room, dropping his backpack unceremoniously on the floor, his shoes, jeans, and jacket following soon after.
"Buck?" he questions. He doesn't mind Bucky coming home and taking off his clothes, exactly, but it is a bit unusual.
Bucky shakes his head, not meeting Steve's eyes, and climbs over Steve to grab the bear that Steve gave him and burrow under the covers. In under a minute he's a blanket-covered lump, only the tufts of his unruly hair visible, his back to Steve.
Steve frowns at the Bucky-lump and shuffles around until he's spooning it, slipping his arm under Bucky's body so he can hold him close. Bucky had told him once, shyly, that he prefers being the little spoon, and they've slept in the same bed enough times that Steve now knows firsthand how much Bucky loves being held. He usually falls asleep with Steve snug up against his back and his bear in his arms.
"Bad day?" he asks.
Bucky nods and brings his hands up to cover Steve's. Steve flips his own hands around so they can interlace their fingers.
"You wanna talk about it?"
"Not yet," Bucky says, his voice wobbling over the words. Steve feels him take a quick, sharp breath.
"Okay," he soothes. "It's okay. You're home now and I've got you."
Bucky sighs, and tugs Steve’s arms tighter around himself. “You’re gonna be mad,” he says after a few minutes of lying quietly together, their chests rising and falling in sync.
“Why would I be mad?” Steve prompts.
Bucky tugs his right arm free and holds it out for Steve to look at, shoving up the sleeve of his shirt. The delicate skin of his wrist is speckled with angry red circles.
“Oh, Buck,” Steve says, dismayed. It’s been months since the last time Bucky had hurt himself like this. He’d been hoping Bucky wouldn’t feel the urge to do it again.
“Told you,” Bucky mutters.
“No, I’m not mad at you,” Steve protests. He reaches out and gently wraps his fingers around Bucky’s wrist, hiding the marks from view. “I’m sad because you’re hurt, but I’m not angry.”
“I’m not really hurt,” Bucky argues. “They’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
Now it’s Steve’s turn to sigh. He tugs at Bucky’s shoulder to get him to roll over. He wants Bucky to be looking at him for this, to see how serious Steve is right now. Bucky resists, but eventually gives up and flops over onto his side.
Steve fixes him with a stern look.
“It doesn’t matter how long it lasts. You still hurt yourself,” Steve says, rubbing his thumb over the red marks. He keeps his eyes on Bucky’s face while he brings Bucky’s wrist to his mouth and presses his lips to his abused skin.
Bucky makes a small, choked sound and pulls his wrist away, tucking it out of sight like he can’t bear to look at it any longer.
“Why’d you do it?” Steve asks.
Bucky shrugs. “Dunno,” he mumbles, tucking his chin down and curling in towards Steve’s chest. “I was upset and you weren’t there and I have shitty coping skills, what else is new.”
“But--”
“Can we please not talk about it any more right now,” Bucky pleads. Steve wants to make sure that Bucky’s going to tell his therapist about this the next time he sees him, but for now he relents.
“Yeah, we can stop,” he agrees. “C’mere and let me hold you, okay?”
Bucky squirms forward and wraps his arms around Steve’s middle, intertwining his legs with Steve’s and holding on so tightly that Steve feels like he’s being hugged by a koala bear. Steve makes sure his grip is just as tight, trying to communicate with every inch of his body that he’s here and he’s not gonna leave.
“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” he says, and pushes Bucky’s hair out of his face so he can kiss him on the forehead. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”
“Not your fault that I can’t keep it together.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“‘Course you are,” Bucky grumbles. “Stubborn Stevie.”
“And you’re my Bucky bear,” Steve teases, pleased when he manages to coax a huff of laughter out of Bucky. “Grumpy and ready for hibernation,” he adds.
“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky says, but he’s got his head on Steve’s chest and he feels warm and soft and relaxed in Steve’s arms, so Steve figures he must be doing something right.