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Steve and Bucky had finally carved out a day just for themselves. Between everything they’d been through, time together had become a rare luxury. Steve couldn’t help but admire Bucky’s metal arm—it wasn’t just a replacement; it was a part of him. It added something unique, something almost right, like it belonged there more than a normal arm ever could.
Their day began near the border tribe, where they fed animals and shared laughs with the locals. But they didn’t linger long before venturing deeper into Wakanda’s vibrant heart. The streets bustled with colorful clothing and life, and Steve soaked it all in—the chatter, the smiles, the warmth.
At one shop, Steve bought a ponytail wig for Bucky as a joke—his hair was growing out, and the idea was too funny to resist. They both laughed hard, that kind of laugh that makes your chest flutter without warning.
The city’s shops were breathtaking, a feast for the senses, and Steve could’ve wandered them for hours. The day felt perfect, like a calm bubble they’d slipped into, far from the chaos. But then the bubble shattered.
Steve caught Bucky suddenly gripping his head, a harsh groan escaping him. His face twisted in pain, like a battle was raging inside his mind. Panic tightened Steve’s chest.
“Dora Milaje!” he called sharply, his voice tense. But before help arrived, Bucky bolted, knocking a few warriors down in his frantic escape. Though no one was seriously hurt, Steve felt the weight of responsibility crushing him. One of the Dora managed to fire a taser-like device, and Bucky crumpled, unconscious.
They brought Bucky to a specially fortified room—designed to hold even a super soldier. Steve stayed close, refusing to lose sight of him. When Bucky stirred, drowsy but defiant, he knocked the Dora aside gently but firmly.
Steve ushered them out quickly, heart hammering. Alone with Bucky, the door clicked shut. Terror gripped Steve—not of Bucky, but for him. He’d fight to the last breath to bring his friend back.
“Alright, Buck. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay, you hear me?” Steve said steadily, hands extended toward him.
Bucky growled low, his steps heavy and deliberate as he advanced. Steve braced himself for the worst. Bucky lunged, aiming for Steve’s side. Steve dodged smoothly, pivoted, and moved to the opposite side of the room.
Again, Bucky charged, resetting his stance. Steve blocked the next strike, but a sudden kick caught him off guard, sending him sprawling. Rolling to his feet, he circled warily, hope flickering that he could reach Bucky without violence.
“Bucky! Come on, it’s me! Steve!” he shouted, desperation bleeding into his voice, trying to pierce through the fog clouding Bucky’s mind.
Bucky snarled and swung a wild punch. Steve caught it, pain shooting through his arms but refusing to hurt him back.
“I don’t know you! Stop!” Bucky growled, voice ragged with pain. Then he charged again, fists flailing. Even so, Steve slipped each attack.
When Bucky’s fist grazed him, Steve spun, catching him in a firm hold, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck.
“Stop! Buck, listen to me!” he pleaded.
Bucky growled, wild and raw, almost foaming at the mouth. Trapped in a suffocating prison of his own mind, he thrashed. Pins and needles pricked his limbs; panic clawed at his chest.
“Ugh! Stop! Let me go!” Bucky screamed, driving an elbow toward Steve’s ribs. But Steve held strong, blocking each blow.
“Bucky! That’s enough! Listen! It’s me—Steve. Your friend from Brooklyn. We fought side by side in World War II. We saved lives, Buck. You and me,” Steve said firmly, voice unwavering.
Bucky snapped like a cornered animal, jaw snapping dangerously close to Steve’s neck.
Gritting his teeth, Steve held fast. “I saved you, Buck. We became a team again. You fought the voices inside your head... and you won. You found your memories. On your own.”
Bucky’s eyes flicked wildly, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.
“Bucky, do you know where you are?” Steve asked gently, desperate to pull him back.
Bucky tilted his head, exhaling a sharp breath.
Steve took it as a no. “You’re in Wakanda. You’re safe here.”
He searched Bucky’s face for any sign of recognition. None. Just panic, just the endless search for a way out.
Steve leaned close, pressing his face to the junction of Bucky’s neck and collarbone. “You have to remember something. Do you remember my mom? Sarah? I used to wear newspapers in my shoes.”
He paused, letting the words sink in.
“You fought in the 107th Infantry Regiment, alongside brave men. And you have a best friend—me, Steve Rogers. Do you remember any of that?”
Bucky whimpered, a raw sound of pain that stabbed Steve’s heart.
“Tell me who you are, Buck. Please. Tell me,” Steve whispered near his ear.
Bucky’s breaths grew ragged, panic rising. Steve recognized the signs—the soldier in him battling the Winter Soldier, fighting for control.
A guttural growl escaped Bucky’s throat, followed by a scream of agony. “It hurts! Stop! Let go!”
Bucky’s body convulsed violently, tears streaming down his face, splashing in bitter drops. Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and held him tight.
“Bucky. Tell me who you are, and the pain will stop. Just tell me.”
Bucky’s gaze lifted, glassy and distant. Veins throbbed at his neck as he collapsed against Steve, breath ragged.
“James Buchanan Barnes,” he sobbed, sinking to his knees, pulling back until his spine hit the wall. Sobs wracked his body, pain bleeding through every word.
A wounded growl ripped from him, hands clenched like fists before his chest.
Steve’s eyes softened, shimmering with sorrow. “Oh, Buck…”
Bucky cried freely.
“Buck...” Steve’s voice broke, aching in his chest at the sight of his best friend broken and vulnerable.
Slowly, Steve edged closer. “Do you remember?”
Bucky’s chest heaved, panic flickering behind his eyes as he scanned the room.
“James,” Steve murmured, dropping to his knees before him. “You have to wake up, buddy.”
He clung to hope as Bucky slowly stirred, still lost but inching back.
“Come back to me, Bucky.”
After a long moment, Bucky’s voice came—a fragile whisper, “Steve.” Tears still tracked down his face, eyes glassy. “Help me.”
Steve wrapped his arms gently around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky tensed, then relaxed little by little.
“I’m here, Buck. Always.”
Just as Steve felt hope swell, a swift hand shot up, clutching his throat. His breath hitched as Bucky hauled him up and slammed him into the wall, forearm pressing mercilessly against his throat.
“Stop saying that,” Bucky hissed, pressing a hand to his throbbing head, wincing from the migraine.
Steve struggled desperately to pry Bucky’s arm off his throat, but each attempt was met with crushing strength. Panic surged through him as Bucky’s grip tightened. Then, with brutal force, Steve was thrown across the room, crashing into the metal wall. A sharp cough escaped him as pain radiated through his body.
“You are...” Steve rasped, forcing himself upright, breathing heavy. “James. Buchanan...” He wheezed, pushing to stand. “Barnes. My best friend... for as long as I can remember.”
Standing tall, he met Bucky’s vacant, unfocused gaze. And that was what terrified him most—Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He was utterly silent.
Suddenly, Bucky’s nose flared, breath quickening— in and out, in and out —then his hands clutched his head as he backed away, muttering, “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” His voice climbed, breaking into a desperate yell: “SHUT UP!!”
Steve didn’t dare move a muscle, knowing any sudden action could send Buck spiraling back to that dark place.
Bucky whimpered, slamming his head against the wall repeatedly— dent after dent —as if trying to smash the voices inside his head.
“Stop it!!” he screamed, backing against the wall as tears ran down his face.
Steve’s heart shattered watching him hurt himself, but it snapped into action. If Bucky kept this up, he could cause serious brain trauma.
Just as Bucky turned and slammed his head again, two hands grasped his neck, steadying him. He screamed, confused, until a familiar voice soothed his ears.
“Bucky, that’s enough. Come back to me. Come back to me,” Steve whispered, voice trembling, pressing gentle kisses to his sweaty neck. “Please.”
Slowly, the vacant, mindless look in Bucky’s eyes began to fade. A shaky sob escaped, and he sank against the wall.
Steve wrapped his arms gently around Bucky’s torso, pulling him close. Bucky tucked his face into Steve’s neck, breath ragged, panicked from losing control once more. Steve pivoted, backing them against the wall, then lowered them both to sit on the cold floor.
Curled against Steve like a frightened child, Bucky cried softly, clutching his throbbing head. Steve held him tight—maybe a bit too tight, but reassuring nonetheless. Bucky tried to steady his breath, but the ache pulsing through his skull made it difficult.
“I’m here, Bucky. I’m here,” Steve murmured, head resting against the cool metal behind them. His hand traced slow, soothing circles on Bucky’s back.
Seeing Bucky like this tore Steve apart. All he wanted was for him to be happy. To feel safe. To just be himself.
He couldn’t put into words how these episodes drained him—physically and emotionally. But no matter the bruises he’d wake with tomorrow, Steve would never blame Bucky. Never.
“C’mon, Buck. How about some vodka and a nap, huh?” Steve suggested with a teasing tone, trying to lighten the heavy air. Really, though, he knew Bucky needed rest before Shuri could work her magic.
Bucky began to rise, fragile and shaky. Steve was immediately by his side, steadying him.
“I’m here,” he repeated softly.
Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest of smiles. “I k-know,” he whispered, voice trembling with pain. He leaned heavily into Steve and whimpered, legs threatening to give out. “Steve... I don’t feel good.”
“What hurts?” Steve asked gently.
“Everything,” Bucky breathed, eyelids fluttering closed. “Everything’s too loud.”
“Sounds like a migraine. Let’s get you to Shuri—see if she can give you something for the pain and help after your episode,” Steve said, guiding him slowly toward the door.
“But... you know medicine doesn’t work on us like that, S-Steve. B-Barnes too f-fast,” Bucky muttered, struggling to keep his eyes open.
Steve didn’t hesitate. Sliding one arm under Bucky’s legs and the other around his back, he lifted him into a bridal carry, curling him protectively against his chest.
“I know. But I’m gonna help you any way I can, alright? Just keep your eyes closed till we get to Shuri,” Steve whispered into his ear, knocking lightly on the door.
Two Dora Milaje opened it immediately.
“Is Barnes okay?” one asked, eyeing the man cradled in Steve’s arms.
“He’s got a migraine and is feeling sick. Can you contact Shuri and tell her we’re on our way?” Steve requested.
“Yes, sir,” the Dora responded, crossing her arms respectfully before departing.
Steve sighed softly, looking down at Bucky. “Not far now,” he murmured, sliding Bucky’s arm over his shoulder to support him as they walked.
Bucky groaned, the flood of light making him wince. His eyes fluttered closed as he nearly collapsed onto Steve.
Steve grunted under the sudden weight but adjusted quickly, carrying him bridal-style again.
Bucky pressed his face into Steve’s arm, blocking out the brightness. The steady rhythm of Steve’s breathing and footsteps soothed his mind slightly.
Minutes later, they arrived at Shuri’s lab.
“Rogers!” she greeted cheerfully, then her expression shifted seeing Bucky’s state. “Right... let’s get him set up.”
Steve nodded and carefully laid Bucky on the medical table. “It’ll be okay.”
Bucky reached for Steve’s hand weakly. “Steve...”
“I’m right here, Buck,” Steve smiled, squeezing gently.
Shuri scanned Bucky’s vitals. “Migraine? Another episode?”
“Both,” Steve admitted.
“That’s serious. We’ll need to increase his medication—help him focus, fight off these episodes. Once he learns control, it’ll get better,” Shuri explained, recalibrating the dosage.
Steve nodded, concerned. “Will the higher doses cause nausea, fatigue, or insomnia? Buck’s been struggling with those.”
“Possible, but it should stabilize over time. Patience is key, Mr. Rogers,” Shuri said, preparing a syringe. “This will work faster than pills for now.”
Steve noticed Bucky’s discomfort and squeezed his hand. “Look at me, Buck. Don’t focus on the needle—you’ll be okay.”
Bucky whimpered, eyes squeezed shut. “Steve.”
“I know, buddy. Keep your eyes on me or closed. You’re okay.”
The needle slipped in smoothly. Shuri withdrew it and checked Bucky’s vitals again.
“All done.”
Bucky gave a shaky nod and weak smile.
Shuri looked to Steve. “You can take him back to his room.”
Steve helped Bucky off the table, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders.
“I got you, bud,” Steve said softly as they exited, thankful the room was close.
Bucky didn’t say a word during the slow walk back, groaning softly with every step.
Once inside, Steve gently laid him on the bed, removed his shoes, and set them aside.
The room was modest but comfortable—just enough space for a large bed, a dresser opposite, a full-length spherical mirror near a giant window, a door leading to a small bathroom, and a lone chair in the corner.
Steve stood beside the bed as Bucky turned away, closing his eyes.
“I’ll... um, just sit over there,” Steve said awkwardly, nodding toward the chair.
Bucky eventually drifted off, still tense. Steve sank into the chair with a quiet groan, the lingering pain from earlier settling in.
Bucky woke suddenly, a nightmare crashing through his memories. Seeing Steve asleep in the chair, he quickly quieted his breathing, feeling a pang of sympathy for the exhaustion his friend bore.
Slowly, James slid from the bed and wandered the halls, mind cluttered with haunting memories—recent and long past—gnawing at his sanity. He hated how every terrible act, Winter Soldier or not, lingered in his thoughts.
Steve stirred awake, sensing something wrong. Sitting up sharply, he noticed Bucky was gone.
“Buck?” Steve called out, panic rising, as he rose and stepped into the hallway.
Bucky found himself in an unfamiliar part of the palace, eyes blurry and vision tilting strangely. Halfway down the hall, he stumbled, crashing into the wall with a loud thud that echoed through the empty corridors.
Dizzy, he slid down and curled against the cold wall.
It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay. He whispered to himself, desperate for calm.
“Bucky?” Steve’s voice is quiet, laced with confusion and fear. He doesn’t know what’s happened—but he knows too well that a lot can go wrong in a short amount of time. He only hopes it hasn’t been long.
Turning a corner, he breathes out in relief at the sight of his friend—but it doesn’t last. That relief quickly gives way to a deeper worry.
Bucky is curled up on the floor, trembling.
“Buck?” Steve breathes out again, stepping closer, cautiously now.
Bucky lets out a soft whimper, curling tighter into himself like a child trying to disappear. Please go away. Please go away. Please…
Steve hears it—just barely—but he hears it. Go away.
So he freezes. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t speak again. Instead, he stands guard in the hallway, shielding Bucky from any wandering eyes.
When the silence stretches and Bucky dares to peek up, he locks eyes with Steve’s steady blue gaze. There’s no judgment there—only concern. Recognition floods through Bucky, and he slowly shifts to sit upright against the wall, eyes falling to the floor, avoiding Steve’s.
Steve doesn’t push. He simply lowers himself to the opposite wall, sitting down with a soft thud. It’s uncomfortable, but he’s not going anywhere.
He leans his head back, arms draped across bent knees. The silence stretches again, heavy and uncertain.
“So... hallway?” he finally says, attempting lightness, though his voice is hesitant.
Bucky gives a dry huff, staring at the floor beneath his boots. His hair drapes forward, hiding his face.
“What happened?” Steve asks gently, not wanting to pry, but needing to understand.
Bucky doesn’t answer at first. He brings a hand to his face, staring at it like it belongs to someone else. Then he closes it into a trembling fist and sighs.
“Nightmare.”
Steve nods, gaze dropping. He understands nightmares—has his own that haunt him, about Peggy, about Bucky, about the war… about all they’ve lost.
“You want to talk about it?” he asks after a pause, treading lightly. Bucky looks broken, and Steve’s heart aches with how helpless he feels. “I’m here for you, Buck.”
Bucky closes his eyes. One hand settles over his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. He knows Steve means it. He knows. But sometimes he wonders how long that promise will last. Sometimes he imagines waking up one day and Steve will be gone—and he’ll be alone again.
The thought crushes him.
A sharp pressure builds behind his eyes, and his throat closes. Tears begin to fall silently. His shoulders shake.
“I’m scared, Steve,” Bucky whispers, hand covering his mouth as if to stifle his sobs, but he can’t hold them back.
Steve’s heart stutters. The moment he hears the fear in Bucky’s voice, it breaks him. Forgetting his hesitation, he crawls across the floor and settles beside him, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shaking shoulders.
“Scared of what?” he asks softly.
Bucky is quiet for a long time. Thinking. Feeling. Then he answers in a voice so fragile, it sounds like it might shatter.
“Everything. I’m not... myself anymore. I’m scared I’ll wake up one day and the Winter Soldier will be back. And I won’t remember you. I’ll hurt you—” he swallows thickly, eyes burning— “and I won’t even know I did it.”
Shame creeps into his voice. He rubs his chest harder, trembling.
**“I’m scared of me , Steve. I don’t want to hurt you. But the thought of it, just the thought... it makes it hard to breathe. It’s really scary. And sometimes, I feel like I can’t tell you everything, like I’ll be too much—like I’ll lose you.”
Bucky flinches as a flash of memory stabs behind his eyes—steel against his wrist, cold and merciless. The tremors worsen, and his sobs come faster.
Steve can’t take it anymore. He pulls Bucky into a tighter embrace, both arms around him now, steady and warm.
“Don’t be scared of that, Buck.” Steve’s voice is low but firm. “You always remember me. Every time. No matter what they did, I’m still in there—somewhere. And one day, you won’t have to fight this anymore.”
He rubs Bucky’s back in slow circles, soothing and familiar. “I can’t always understand everything you’re going through—but I will always be here. If you push me away or pull me close, I’ll still be here. You’re stuck with me, Buck.”
He chuckles softly and Bucky sniffles.
“One day,” Steve continues, “we’ll both be back. Like Brooklyn. Just you and me.”
At that, Bucky smiles—small and watery, but real. He lets his mind drift. He imagines the Brooklyn Bridge under a golden sun. Maybe he lives near it. Maybe there’s a window that looks right out at the river. Maybe there’s a balcony and someone—warm, steady—is holding him from behind.
He doesn’t know who that person is in the dream… but he wants to know.
He burrows closer to Steve, nuzzling his neck.
I want that so badly. The thought echoes in his chest.
And then, without thinking, he whispers, “Steve… there’s something I want to tell you.”
Steve’s attention shifts instantly. “Yeah?” he asks, watching the sky through the tall Wakandan window, now glowing pink with sunset.
Bucky inhales deeply.
“I think about Brooklyn a lot. About being okay again. About a normal life. A place near the bridge, somewhere quiet. Watching the water move.” He’s smiling, softly. “I think... I think about it with you. ”
Steve’s heart stumbles in his chest.
“I think of you as more than a friend. I don’t think I can hide it anymore. I—I really like you, Steve. I want to be with you. I want to live with you. And if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay, I just—please don’t let this ruin what we—”
Steve kisses him.
Bucky freezes.
Then melts.
His heart feels like it might burst as he leans into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut. It’s gentle, warm, and real. So real.
Steve breaks away slowly, breath shaky. “Buck…” he whispers, forehead resting against his. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
Bucky lets out a choked laugh, smiling wide through fresh tears. He presses closer, hiding in Steve’s embrace.
“That’s all I want, Steve,” he says softly. “And... god, I’m so damn happy right now.”
Then, sheepishly, “Can we... um... can we kiss again? I really liked it.”
Steve chuckles, his heart pounding. He nods and lifts Bucky’s chin to meet his eyes.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “We can kiss again.”
This one is longer. Sweeter. Deeper.
And as they sit there in that quiet Wakandan hallway, wrapped in each other, for the first time in a long time, Bucky feels safe.
Like home isn’t a place.
It’s a person.
It’s Steve.
Bucky stirred awake, the buzzing of his phone dragging him out of an all-too-real dream of Steve—warm touches, soft laughter, the kind of dream that lingers even after your eyes open.
His tired blue eyes blinked slowly, heavy with sleep but no longer hollow. Just… worn.
The first thing he saw was the empty white space beside him. Steve’s side of the bed.
Still warm.
With a tired groan, Bucky reached over and touched the sheets, his fingers lingering for a moment before he rolled over and grabbed his phone. Squinting, he pressed the power button and the screen lit up.
A single text glowed in the notifications bar:
"I've got a surprise for you. Get showered and dressed. Today's going to be a beautiful day. – Love, Steve."
A blush crept across Bucky’s cheeks, and though he didn’t make a sound, his heart practically squealed. God, he’s so sweet. The kind of sweet that made Bucky's chest ache in the best way. Maybe Steve had always been like this. Maybe Bucky was just finally letting himself feel it.
He didn’t waste time.
Blankets were tossed back, legs swung over the side of the bed. As he stood to stretch, the motion sensors activated. The dark window slowly lightened to reveal the skyline beyond—a gift from Stark himself.
Outside: the East River. And stretching across it, the Brooklyn Bridge, dotted with yellow taxis and early-morning traffic. The sight tugged a soft smile to Bucky’s lips.
Steve always teased him about it, but Bucky found the sound of honking cars... oddly comforting.
With that thought, he padded toward the bathroom. The bedroom door was closed, and a faint smell of something sweet lingered near it. He ignored it— Steve’s doing something —and slid the seamless bathroom door shut behind him.
The hot shower jolted him to life.
Afterward, he stood before the fogged mirror. He wiped it clean with a swipe of his hand and stared. A 5 o’clock shadow had begun to grow in on his jaw. He tilted his head, squinting.
“Fuck, I really need a shave,” he muttered, running his hand over the stubble.
Reaching for his electric shaver, he lifted it like a weapon.
“Be gone,” he smirked—and got to work.
Bucky stepped out of the bathroom with a white towel snug around his hips, freshly shaven and with his dark hair slicked neatly to the side. He walked to the glass sliding closet doors, opening the shared space he and Steve kept their clothes in, and picked out something casual but comfortable.
He laid the clothes out neatly on the bed and dropped the towel without ceremony. Once dressed, he stepped into the hallway—and was instantly met with the most delicious smell he’d ever known.
He grinned and leaned his shoulder on the doorframe of the kitchen, watching the man he loved.
“Hey, stranger,” Bucky said sweetly, pushing off the frame and walking over. He circled the island and wrapped his arms around Steve from behind, burying his face in the warm space between Steve’s shoulder and neck. Blond strands tickled his chin.
“Smells delicious~” he murmured, pressing a kiss to tanned skin and watching it flush pink under his lips. “Is this the surprise, or is there more? Because I’m curious, ya know.”
He tilted his head, voice dropping to a purr. “Areee we... going out?”
His hands wandered down to rest on Steve’s hips, and he chuckled at the way Steve’s body reacted.
Steve laughed at the teasing tone, already smiling as he turned slightly to look at Bucky over his shoulder.
“It’s simple! Homemade biscuits and gravy,” Steve grinned. “And the rest of the day’s a surprise, love.” His voice was soft, almost reverent, as he leaned in to kiss Bucky’s temple.
“Go sit. It’s almost ready.”
Steve didn’t have to tell him twice. But he took his time pulling away, savoring the moment. Every second with Steve felt like a gift Bucky still wasn’t sure he deserved—but God, he wanted it.
Bucky finally settled into a chair, eyeing the plate being prepped just for him.
“Gravy and biscuits, huh? Don’t think I’ve ever had that before,” he said with a curious lift of his brow.
“Recipe I learned from Sam,” Steve replied casually, pulling golden biscuits from the oven. “He swore by it. Figured I’d test it on someone I trust.”
Bucky chuckled, watching him. His heart swelled.
How is this my life now?
When the food was ready, Steve walked over and set a plate in front of him.
“Thanks,” Bucky said, offering the warmest smile. My boyfriend, he thought. Steve’s my boyfriend. The thought made him light-headed.
“You’re welcome, babe,” Steve said, smiling back.
After breakfast, the two slipped on their shoes. While Bucky had his back turned, Steve quietly opened the drawer in his nightstand and slipped something into his pocket. Bucky, assuming it was his phone, didn’t question it.
Steve placed a small kiss on Bucky’s lips before they headed out the door.
Waiting by the curb: two black motorcycles.
“You riding mine, or am I riding yours?” Bucky asked with a smirk—and immediately regretted it.
“Bucky, who’s top?” Steve asked, eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Steve.” Bucky’s tone was warning, but he was already smiling.
“Yessss~ doll?”
The nickname never failed. Bucky flushed pink, heart skipping a beat. He loved that nickname. It was old-fashioned. Romantic. It made him feel soft in the best way—and seen.
He slumped forward and hid his face in Steve’s chest.
“Shut up,” he mumbled, grinning. Then he looked up with a playful spark in his eye. “Before you don’t get any, babe.”
Steve raised a brow. “Says the one who’ll be begging for it later.” His voice was low and teasing as he passed by, grabbing his helmet off the handlebar.
He swung his leg over the seat and started the engine, smirking. “We don’t have all day, babe.”
Bucky rolled his eyes but smiled, slipping onto the seat behind him. He leaned forward, chin resting on Steve’s shoulder, chest flush to his back.
“Drive,” he ordered in a whisper.
“Sir, yes sir.”
And just like that, they were off.
The Brooklyn Bridge came into view quickly, and Bucky's heart swelled at the sight. The water below sparkled in the daylight. Car horns, shouting, the rush of the city—it was all so loud and alive.
Bucky pressed closer, arms around Steve’s waist, and smiled.
They arrived at Central Park and parked the bikes. Steve casually set his helmet down on the ground beside the wheel, trying to avoid Bucky’s scolding.
Bucky, distracted by the towering skyline, didn’t notice. Steve jogged over and tapped his shoulder, grinning when Bucky turned and reached down to link their fingers.
“Let’s go~” Bucky said, tugging him forward.
“Ha ha! Okay, okay~” Steve laughed, letting himself be led.
They wandered for an hour, weaving through fields, trees, and clusters of screaming kids. Bucky chuckled at a boy chasing a rogue ball into their path, and Steve melted a little at the sound of his laughter.
A voice called out.
“Captain America!” the boy gasped, wide-eyed.
Steve gently squeezed Bucky’s hand. He knew how much Bucky hated the spotlight. He raised a finger to his lips and winked. The boy nodded solemnly as his mom came rushing up.
“What did I say about strangers?” she scolded.
“But Ma! It’s Captain America ,” he whispered, respectful.
“Doesn’t matter. Still a stranger. Come on.”
As they walked off, Steve chuckled.
“That’s a good mom.”
“Yeah,” Bucky snorted in agreement.
Eventually, they made it to the southeast corner of the park. Central Park Zoo peeked into view, and beyond it, a massive lake.
“There’s the zoo,” Steve said, pointing. Bucky nodded, smiling.
They passed horse-drawn carriages, familiar sights from previous visits. After nearly two hours, they looped back toward the park entrance.
Steve tugged on Bucky’s hand. “Hey. Wanna lie in the grass for a bit?”
“Sure. I don’t mind.”
They found a spot among the crowds of picnic-goers, frisbee players, and sunbathers. Bucky lay back first, gazing at the sky. Steve joined him.
The clouds were soft and full. Peaceful.
Bucky fell asleep first, hand loosely holding Steve’s.
An hour later, Steve stirred to light tapping on his shoulder. Bucky hovered over him, frowning.
“I’m starving.”
Steve chuckled and sat up. “Alright, alright. Let’s go.”
Bucky smiled and helped him up. Together, they made their way back to the bikes.
While Bucky looked away, Steve grabbed his helmet from the ground, slipping it on with a grin. Bucky climbed on behind him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist.
“Ready?”
Bucky nodded and buried his face into Steve’s neck.
Steve started the engine, and they pulled into the street, weaving through traffic.
They finally arrived at the restaurant Bucky had been begging to visit for weeks—after what felt like a dozen red lights and even more excited wiggles from the seat behind Steve. It wasn’t anything fancy—no need for suits or ties—but it had everything Bucky wanted.
And Steve had finally found the time to treat him.