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Bucky perfected the art of being left alone.
And the neighborhood helped with that: people crossed the street when they saw him coming, lowered their voices when he passed, pretended not to notice the scars on his hands and that disappeared beneath his sleeves and he low-key liked it that way, because the quiet was safe and the distance was easier than explanations.
So when there was a knock on his door the first morning after Steve Rogers moved in next door, Bucky didn’t bother hiding being annoyed, it was written all over his face when he opened the door, he opened it just enough to see a too-bright smile and a plate wrapped in tin foil.
“Hi” the guy said, like this was normal and like Bucky didn’t look like he hadn’t slept in days “I’m Steve, your new neighbor, we kinda met last night in the hallway, I said hi and you didn’t talk, I thought you didn’t hear me, anyway, I made cookies”
Bucky stared for a moment then he shut the door and that should’ve been the end of it.
But, the next day, there was another knock and the day after that, sometimes it was cookies, sometimes bread and even once, inexplicably, soup and Steve never looked offended when the door stayed closed each time, and never snapped when Bucky told him, flat and sharp, to stop coming by.
“Okay” Steve said the first time Bucky actually spoke to him “I’ll try again tomorrow”
And damn him, he actually did.
It started small, a nod when they passed each other in the hallway or the stairs, Steve bringing Bucky’s mail without asking, a bunch of candles left on Bucky’s steps during a blackout because Steve noticed there was no light coming out of the apartment, a thermos left on Bucky’s steps also during a snowstorm, steam still curling from the lid.
Eventually, Bucky opened the door all the way and eventually, Steve stayed.
They sat on opposite ends of Bucky’s couch, not talking much, Steve talked enough for both of them anyway, about his job, about the other neighbors, about nothing at all and Bucky only listened because all that was new and it was terrifying.
One evening, months in, Bucky realized something that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t have words for, Steve had never asked, never about the scars, never about the nightmares that sometimes left Bucky pale and shaking in the mornings, never about why people avoided him, Steve had just… chosen him, with cookies and food and relentless, stupid kindness.
Bucky swallowed, fingers tightening around his mug “You know” he said quietly “most people don’t try this hard”
Steve smiled, soft and warm, like it was the easiest thing in the world “Yeah” he said “But I’m not most people”
And for the first time in a long time, Bucky believed him.