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The low-hanging grey clouds match Bucky’s mood as he and Steve climb the creaky steps to Steve’s door in silence. His heart sinks as he digests the fact that Sarah’s never going to answer the door for him, or her son, ever again. God, but he knows Steve is suffering. They’d known it was coming, but the past few weeks had dragged out so miserably long it’d felt like time had slowed down and she would never actually be gone. It was a weird experience, feeling like he had to wait to mourn. He wonders if Steve felt the same way but he’s trying to be tactful, so he doesn’t ask.
Steve staggers up the last three steps and makes for the door, fumbling in his pocket as he goes for the key he’s almost never had to use before. Bucky swallows quietly and reaches out for Steve.
“Hey Steve, you know you can come to my place if you want? We can drag out all the couch cushions, have a sleepover like old times. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Steve is searching all his pockets for a key that’s probably long gone, and Bucky isn’t sure he’s listening. He toes at the cracked brick sitting at the edge of the balcony and flips it, kicking out the spare key underneath. Sarah’d hidden it there just as much for him as her son; she’d long ago figured out that Bucky would be the one bringing him home every time he lost a fight. He’d known she was always afraid that one day Steve wouldn’t make it home, so Bucky had made her an unspoken promise that that would never happen. It meant he’d lost a couple of jobs for leaving mid-shift to get Steve out of trouble, but it was a price Buck was willing to pay for keeping his friend’s self-sacrificing ass in one piece.
“I know Buck, I know,” Steve is saying as he bends down and retrieves the key Bucky’s found him. “But I gotta face this one on my own. It’s just me now… I can’t escape that, better face it sooner than later.”
Bucky can’t help the smile that grows on his face even though just this morning it felt like he’d never smile again. “Okay Steve, but remember, I’m with ya till the end of the line. Don’t think you can get rid of me.”
Steve smiles back and Bucky can feel relief wash through him. “Thanks, Buck,” he murmurs. “I won’t forget that.”
Bucky waits until Steve’s gotten the door open before he turns and waves, leaving his friend to face the quiet apartment alone.
He’s back an hour and a half later with a pizza from Alessandro’s a few blocks down and a bag of sugar snap peas his sister Becca’s been growing on the fire escape. When Steve answers the door, his eyes are red and he looks paler than usual, which is saying something. Bucky opens his arms for a hug and to his surprise, Steve accepts. He might be playin’ it tough, but Bucky’s proud of him for acknowledging what he needs right now.
Steve eats three whole slices of pizza, and Bucky pretends not to be really pleased until Steve catches him sneaking the last piece into the refrigerator and he can’t keep himself from laughing. Steve punches him on the arm and it doesn’t hurt but Bucky yelps anyway and whines around the kitchen until Steve puts him in a headlock. They do end up having that sleepover and when Steve can’t sleep and the grief finally hits him, Bucky holds him while he cries himself asleep. He wakes up in the early hours with Steve’s chin tucked against his shoulder and Steve’s knee against his thigh and he furiously tries to get his face to stop burning so Steve won’t seem him blushing scarlet when he wakes up.
When Steve yawns awake, Bucky helps him get presentable for work and sees him off before hiding the key. He walks to his own job, trying hard not to think about Steve, which just feels wrong given the things his friend is going through right now. The person he’d most like to talk to in the world is Steve’s mom, Sarah, and it hits him for the hundredth time over the last three days that he’s never going to see her again. She’d always had the best advice for him, and he knows she would have known what to do about the overwhelming feelings he’s having for Steve. But he’s gotta accept that he’ll have to do this on his own now, as much as it hurts. It just doesn’t feel fair to fall in love at a moment like this.
☆ ☆ ☆
By the next afternoon, Bucky can’t take it anymore. He writes out a letter — twice, the second isn’t too awful — and seals it before he can take it back. Becca lets him borrow her colored pencils to scribble Steve’s name across the front, and thank god, she doesn’t ask why. He leaves the envelope on Steve’s doorstep and then proceeds to spend the next several hours nervously wandering the neighborhood until it’s supper time and he has to pretend that there’s nothing but baseball on his mind to throw his family off the scent.
His father is less than thrilled about the whole “I’m not a girl” thing and it was only thanks to Sarah and her astonishing persuasive abilities that he’s gotten to the point he’s at, existing as masculine in pretty much every part of his life. Becca doesn’t give a rat’s ass how he dresses as long as he doesn’t bother her and her friends when she has them over after school, and he’s not about to argue since he kind of enjoys his reputation as the annoying older brother. He doesn’t think anybody at work has any clue about either him or Steve and he’s happy to keep it that way.
But Bucky suspects that being in love with his best friend, who also happens to be a man, would definitely be pushing even Becca’s tolerance. Even Steve is hard to read — yeah, they held hands all through the 7th grade and there was that kiss the summer Bucky changed his name, but there’s more than a bit of a difference between a childhood crush and what he’s feeling now. He only hopes that however Steve feels, he’ll be gentle about it. God, he wishes he’d never let that letter see the light of day. Steve is the sweetest person he knows but even he might not be comfortable with what’s Bucky’s laid bare. It takes him hours to fall asleep.
☆ ☆ ☆
He’s eating stale Wheaties with no milk for breakfast the next morning, buttery autumn light streaming across the kitchen table, when a shadow appears across the clouded glass of the back door. It’s short, barely visible through the small window, and Bucky instantly knows who it is. He seriously considers running off and hiding somewhere, leaving Steve to stand there confused. But he tells himself there’s a chance the letter blew away before Steve even saw it (it couldn’t have, he’d weighed it down with the brick) or better yet, Steve had mistaken it for some kind of solicitor’s handiwork and thrown it out without looking. He sighs, prays to the god he doesn’t believe in that Steve won’t hate his guts, and opens the door.
There are five whole seconds of excruciating silence that feel like the mental equivalent of slamming at least three fingers in the door before Bucky manages to blurt out, “What’s up, Steve?” and Steve says something else at the same time. He’s got a frown on his thin face, a flush spreading across his cheekbones. His tawny hair is mussed as if he tried to brush it and gave up. Bucky pauses, breathes, and in that instant Steve speaks again. “Hey Buck. Um, I got your note.”
Bucky groans and slumps against the doorframe. “Steve, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what the hell I was thinking leaving that! Honestly, you don’t have to take any of it seriously. I mean, I did mean it but it’s really not a big deal, we can just throw it out or something…” He’s rambling, stalling for time so Steve doesn’t have to be the one to say it.
Steve’s looking at him right in the eye, his own eyes evidently reading Bucky’s face as closely as Buck’s reading his own. He can feel panic raging beneath his bound ribs, watching Steve step closer. “But it is a big deal, Buck, it’s the biggest of deals!”
“Nah, Steve, really, it’s not…” He’s most definitely making it worse, but he’ll be damned if he won’t downplay what that letter meant to him as long as Steve is within earshot. “Hey, you wanna come in and get some breakfast?” Knowing Steve, he hasn’t had any.
Steve nods earnestly and Bucky has a brief second of relief. If he wants to come in, he can’t have been that upset by the letter. Well…
Bucky makes Steve a bowl of Wheaties, with milk this time, and stands awkwardly at the kitchen counter while Steve eats. They don’t talk at all, just play a stupid game of anti-tag with their eyes, doing their best not to look when the other’s looking. Steve’s nervousness isn’t making anything any clearer for Buck. He decides never to invite anybody he’s one-sidedly in love with in for breakfast ever again. Given how badly this is going, it’s very likely there won’t be an again.
Finally, Steve licks his spoon – Bucky doesn’t look, he thinks that might kill him – and slides his chair back. Bucky expects him to say he has to get to work and leave, but instead he walks past him to the sink and begins to splash soap and water on the dishes. Of course. This is Steven G. Rogers after all, the guy’s an absolute saint. A saint and gorgeous and somehow also a better friend than Bucky could have ever dreamed up. God, this is awful…
Bucky is trying to decide if he’s stupid enough to say something when Steve turns off the water. “Pass me the towel, will you?” he asks quietly and Bucky fumbles for a second and then passes him the towel from the off stove handle. He starts drying the bowl and Bucky doesn’t offer to help because he knows this is Steve’s thank you for breakfast.
“Look, Buck, I have a letter written too…”
“Wh-aat?”
“Guess I’m just more chicken than you since I never gave it to you, but I wrote it… before. Mom knew, I made her swear not to tell you. Helped me talk it out and everything…”
Bucky blinks, aware that his mouth is hanging open like one of the tuna at the fish market down the street.
Steve looks up from the bowl that he is somehow still toweling and smiles sheepishly up at Bucky. “So, I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’re not the only one with feelings for your best friend…”
Bucky just stares.
To his credit, it doesn’t seem to bother Steve. “I also know what you mean about being, like you put it, scared… shitless about it. But I’m not sure that really matters, I’m not sure I care. Bucky,” and he’s looking right at him, his knuckles white where he’s gripping the edge of the sink and the flush taking over the whole of his face like it does when he gets really passionate about something. “Bucky, I love you.”
Looking down into those earnest sparkling eyes, Bucky doesn’t even have to think about it. “I know you already know ‘cause I wrote that sappy letter, but I feel the same way about you, Steve. Come ‘er!” He makes to pull Steve into a hug and halfway there realizes that kissing might be a lot more appropriate to the situation, which results in the strangest, nicest moment he’s had in a long time where they’re in each other’s arms and Steve’s warm breath is on his face and then it’s not breath, it’s his skin and their lips are touching and somehow Steve is managing a hug that could almost be described as bone crushing and Bucky’s laughing and Steve is too and it’s all so incredibly silly but also completely serious and that’s when Becca walks in.
“Oh my gawd, finally!” she says, and giggles.