Chapter Text
i.
23.07.2013
Late for work. Again.
This will be the third time this month. Pierce was going to kill him. Or worse, fire him.
Winter tilted his head at him from his position amongst the nest of blankets on Steve's bed as the blond hastily fixed his tie. The pup was Steve's only company in the house his mother had left him.
Steve sighed and murmured to the dog, "I know I can do better, buddy, but it's good pay. It's not forever, I promise." At Steve's soft, cooing voice, Winter huffed and nuzzled his nose down into the sheets.
Steve huffed out a soft laugh before checking the time on his wristwatch. 8:21.
"Fuck." He quickly shrugged on his blazer and made for the door, pausing briefly to scratch behind Winter's ears.
He nipped into the kitchen to grab his lunch from the fridge, lost in thought about all he had planned to do today, and glanced out the window that overlooked his backyard. Steve froze, arm still halfway towards the fridge handle, and stared.
There was someone in his garden. Asleep. In one of his lawn chairs.
At least, he hoped he was asleep. Steve's blood singed with adrenaline as he snatched his arm back and jogged to the back door. He opened it, intending to be quiet and stealthy, but the wind wasn't on Steve's side and decided just then to spike, causing the door to slam open against the wall with a loud bang. The guy in the chair jumped, eyes flying open and then squinting shut at the bright morning light. Steve cautiously stepped down onto the patio, cell phone in hand, ready to call the police if necessary. It wasn't the first time he'd found someone asleep in his garden. They were usually homeless, and he assessed whether they were a threat. If not, he invited them in for something to eat and drink, gave them anything they needed, and sent them on their way. Unfortunately, Steve didn't have time to care for the stray. Neither did he have time to call and deal with the police. He just needed the man gone, and gone soon.
The man (kid) in question groaned, scrubbing his hands over his face as he sat up sluggishly. He was clad in jeans, the right leg of which was soaked with something decidedly not water, and a dark grey t-shirt. He right shoe was missing, and his formerly white sock appeared to have dried blood on the heel. A week's worth of stubble decorated the guy's jaw, and his shoulder length hair fell about in dark, messy tangles around his neck. His face was gaunt, pale, with dark circles under the eyes. Steve suspected the kid currently had quite the rough hangover. Nevertheless, Steve couldn't help but admire the man's beauty. His jaw was strong, defined, and his deep pink lips seemed even deeper compared to his currently pallid skin, and he was leanly (deliciously) muscled, with what looked like scars crisscrossing and swirling in patterns all down his left arm, and when the kid opened his eyes again and looked up at Steve- the blond gasped quietly at how bright and clear they were, silver-grey and beautiful.
The stranger opened his mouth, perhaps to apologise and give an explanation, but his gaze dropped to the phone still clutched in Steve's grasp. His eyes widened and he stumbled out of the lawn chair, muttering curse words in a quiet, sleep-roughened voice. He then fumbled his way through a sentence as he staggered towards the back gate, which was standing open, his arms held up in a placating gesture, "Man, fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to pass out on your lawn chair in your backyard, it just kinda happened, please don't call the cops."
And then he was gone.
Steve stared after him, eyebrows furrowed, still confused as to what had just happened. But then his phone beeped angrily, a text from Peggy telling him to hurry the fuck up, and he went back into motion. He shut his back gate, propped a decorative stone against it to keep it from opening, set a reminder to buy a new gate lock at some point, and was in his car and on the road minutes later.
Pierce didn't fire him. But the very loud lecture he got as consequence for being late, again, despite how many times Steve tried to push the excuse that he was dealing with a stranger on his property, was still pretty fucking awful.
It was going to be a long week.
--*--
Bucky groaned and flopped down onto his unmade bed. He couldn't believe that had just happened. Had that really happened? Had he really just made such a poor first impression on his super-hot-super-out-of-his-league neighbour? Bucky groaned again, louder this time, to signal to his flatmates that he was in a Bad Mood.
Taking pity on him and his strop, Natasha got up from her position on their couch to lean against his doorway. She hummed, and then stated cheerfully, "You look, and smell, like shit."
"Fu' you." Bucky grumbled, voice muffled by the duvet.
She laughed, "We've been there before, didn't work out, remember? Now, come on. Get your ass in the shower. As soon as Clint's ready, we're going for post-party brunch."
Her demand was met by more groaning. She sighed, "I'll let you complain for three whole minutes. And you can wear my sunglasses."
-----
Bucky took the sunglasses off momentarily to order (eye contact with whoever's serving you, people, it's only polite), smiling brightly at the waitress despite the dull throbbing in his skull, before slipping them back on.
Nat's lips quirked up, and Bucky scowled back in response.
"What happened to you anyway, Buck?" Clint asked, purposefully trying to interrupt the weird stare-off Nat and Bucky had gotten into.
It worked. Bucky turned to him, his scowl deepening, "You know goddamn well what happened to me. Two weeks ago I agreed to move in with my friends. Since then, they appear to have been replaced by two giant floating assholes, and my life has ultimately been ruined."
"Oh, don't be such a drama queen, James." Natasha scolded, trying to keep the amused smirk from her face.
Bucky huffed and crossed his arms, shoving back against the booth they were in. He knew he was being petulant, dramatic, but could anyone blame him?
The waitress returned with the inhumane amount of coffee they had ordered, along with Clint's waffles-and-diabetes, Nat's blueberry and almond pancakes, and Bucky's french toast and strawberries. After a chorus of thank-you's and her departure, Bucky turned back to glare at his flatmates.
"Okay, what happened to me? Before, during, or after you two abandoned me with my leg down an open street drain? Or maybe you were referring to after you locked me out of the apartment, knowing I didn't have a key?"
They at least had the decency to look guilty at that. Bucky sighed, picking at his food, "What happened is- I, uh. Well, you know the guy that lives a couple doors down? The one I saw last Wednesday gettin' out of his car and I tripped over?"
"Steve?" Natasha asked, and Bucky nodded glumly.
"Oh, man. You knock on his door at ass-o'clock? No wonder you're pissed at us." Clint muttered, before promptly shovelling a forkful of waffles and whipped cream into his mouth.
"Worse." Bucky groaned, "I thought his back gate was the one for our complex- I dunno, I got it into my head that I could climb up to my bedroom window and get in that way- all I remember is breaking down his gate, being very confused, and then sitting down on a chair. Next thing I know, the sun is burning my retinas, and Steve is there, looking all- all disgustingly gorgeous, except kinda scared, with his phone in his hand like he's gonna call the cops, and-" Bucky threw his hands up with a groan of despair, "He saw me with gross sewer grime all up my leg."
Nat reached across the table to pat the back of his hand, "There, there, Bucky-bear. If it helps, you probably never had a chance with him, anyway."
Bucky swatted her hand away, but smiled softly. She smiled back, before it was hidden by the rim of her cup. Both her and Clint knew he wasn't looking for advice or sympathy; simply an outlet where he could complain about all the shit that happens to him, so he could get it out of his mind, let it go, and move on. It worked for them, and Bucky was forever thankful.
"Anyway," Clint started, shoving away his empty plate, "We should get a dog. Dog's are fuckin' A. You know what else is fuckin' A? Pizza. So, to conclude, I propose; Pizza Dog."
"I'm pretty sure we had this exact conversation last night." Natasha replied with an arched eyebrow.
Bucky sat back to watch them bicker, eating his toast only so that they wouldn't notice his fond smile. He'd never live it down if they found out he actually liked them.
--*--