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Bucky’s attention flickers back into the room when John cracks open the front door with his foot, lugging in the final stuffed box in his arms awkwardly. He hauls it with small grunts, carefully moving his way through his new apartment turned battlefield of cardboard, discarded tape, and new assembled furniture.
“Help would have been appreciated." John mutters, dropping the box by the feet of the couch. The box wasn’t heavy by a long short, not to mention he had super strength, but the sentiment mattered to him.
Bucky doesn’t look up.
He sits slouched in an arm chair, a photo album in his hands, and barely listening. He’s much too focused on the contents of the book to absorb anything that’s going around him.
“Why can’t you wear anything like this anymore?” Bucky asks abruptly, flipping the book around and presenting a page to John. The picture on it shows a toddler John, still with gaps in his front teeth, wearing a violently striped shirt with electric blue and neon green.
“Jesus Christ,” John groans, squinting at the page. “Where did you even get that?”
“This one.” Bucky tilts his head towards the other side of the couch. When John investigates, he finds it to be empty with the rest of the contents spilled and strewn across the floor.
“And here I thought you would show me mercy after I spent a whole day hauling boxes in for our first house." John grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Excuse me?” Bucky mutters dryly. “Pretty sure I remember hauling in way more than you did.” He muses, still not looking up.
“Well I assembled more furniture.” John grumbles quietly to no response.
Bucky leans closer to a page, squinting with exaggerated seriousness. “You were so cute before, what happened?” He says, voice low, almost flirting in the way that John both hates and loves.
“I thought it was a cool look.” John defends weakly, beginning to twist and fidget at the wedding ring wrapped around his finger without realizing it.
Bucky brushes him off, attention already on the next picture. “Look at that.” He lifts the book, showing a picture of John and Olivia in high school. “Khaki shorts and blue visor sunglasses?”
“Give that to me.” John snaps, snatching the book from the other’s clutches. “Also, be more careful. It took a while finding and gathering stuff from my childhood.”
John marches over, crouching to delicately place the book back into the tall box. As he bends over, one of the few haphazardly scattered papers within it catches his eye.
He pulls it free, the paper yellow and brittle with time. As he gets a better look at the thing, a soft laugh that quickly evolves to a disbelieving chuckle escapes him.
The sound gets Bucky’s attention immediately.
“What’s that?” Bucky asks, lifting his head from the armchair with curiosity tugging at his grin.
John drops to the couch beside, the cushions sagging under his weight. “ ‘Letter To My Future Self’. “ John says a stupid smile, reading a title that’s written in colorful childish scrawl that tries to imitate neat handwriting. “I made it when I was ten.”
Bucky leans over, hands on his knees. “Please tell me you predicted getting hitched with a hundred and ten year old man.”
“Close enough.” John snorts. He smooths out the paper with a flair, and begins to read in an overly serious voice. “ ‘Dear future me, I hope I grow up to be just like Mike and Sergeant Barnes!”
Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was.” John replies quickly.
Bucky abandons his comfortable position in the armchair and plants himself beside John. Over his shoulder, he can spot faint pencil marks that show young John’s full indecision in full view. Captain America, first, then scribbled out. Howling Commandos, crossed out again. And his own name in careful letters and left untouched.
“ ‘A kick-ass hero.’ “ John adds.
“Hey, language, kiddo. Can’t believe you were already swearing at ten.” Bucky snarks, making a faux shocked expression that’s unnaturally animated for his face.
“Well I turned out awesome so what's the problem?” John beams, grin cocky.
John’s eyes flick back down to the page. “ ‘You’re gonna be tall and strong, punching bad guys everyday.’ “
John doesn’t say anything more as his lips purse with embarrassment over his younger self, weighing to share the next part or not.
Bucky watches as he knits his brow, before knocking him with his elbow. “Come on,” he teases. “Don’t stop now. What else does the ten year-old you have to say?”
John’s hesitation loosens a bit, eyes quickly scanning through the page to find something entertaining. He glances at Bucky, notices a smirk and curiosity in eyes, and flips it over carefully. “I’ll just skip to the good parts.” He mumbles, voice still low as he skims the other side. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass on reading that is allowed.” John mutters, more as a note to himself then to anyone else.
“That bad?”
“That earnest.” John corrects with a grimace.
After a while, John’s face lights up again. He wriggles his eyebrows at Bucky with amusement, enjoying the anticipation, before turning back to the page. “ ‘I hope you get, or are married to, a pretty girl.’ “ John reads, deliberately pronouncing every word with weight.
Bucky lets out a huff with no real anger behind it, shaking his head. “Man, I wish I was what you wanted.”
“Don’t say that.” John says, head lifting from the page with a soft but certain smile. “I’m you’re stuck with me.”
Bucky leans back, sinking into the couch’s back. “More like you're stuck with me, whether you like it or not.”
John rolls his eyes. “ ‘With nice cut dark hair, and, if I’m being selfish, blue eyes too.’ “ He adds, voice heavy and low, glancing at Bucky.
“At least you got that part right.” Bucky says, smirking crookedly but lifting an eyebrow.
“ ‘She’ll be strong and firce too. Also a kick-ass.’ “
“You misspelled fierce.” Bucky mumbles.
“Shut up and take the compliment.” John fires back.
“ ‘Mike will love her.’ “John skims further down the page. “ ‘I hope she likes reading comic books about Captain America too.’ “ Before Bucky can interject, John’s already defending himself. “Look, I was going through a phase.”
“I don’t think the phase ever ended.” Bucky snarks, tone somewhere between teasing and sincere. “Well, I think I almost fit the bill. I was in some of the comics.”
“Trust me, I know.” John mumbles, which earns him a soft huff from Bucky.
John’s eyes meet the end of the page after a few beats of silence, skipping through parts that’s gone smudged with time and others that’s unreadable because of the runic handwriting. “That’s pretty much everything that’s worth reading aloud.” John says, lowering the paper to his lap as its edges tremble in between his fingers.
Bucky watches him for a moment. “Do you think your younger self would have liked the future?” He doesn’t mean the question to be heavy, but it is without a doubt, one that most dare not to say.
The air quiets and settles down around them, leaving only the soft murmur of wind from the cracked open window.
John exhales, shoulders suddenly heavy. “It’s about ten times more screwed up then he could’ve pictured it but,” He pauses, glancing to the paper, then to up Bucky, then to around the room that’s covered in unpacked boxes and half assembled furniture. “Yeah, I think he would.” John says earnestly, with a meek nod.
His jaw clenches and his thoughts seem to linger. His life was never easy, not then and certainly now. He would have said no if you asked him a year earlier. But, right now, surrounded by remnants of his past and the building blocks of his future, in a house that’s becoming home, with the man he loves and married– It’s good.
Bucky looks at him with knowing, doubting eyes. He knows John's hardship and pain all too well, and knows that he used to be the cause of some of it too. “You really think so?”
“Yeah.” John says, voice steady and absolute. “I really do.”