Can you hear the war inside my head

[couldntreach]

In his dreams, Bucky was still at war. Sleep, when it came, was never a peaceful reprieve. It always started out fine. Things were quiet, darkness crept in around the edges, the tension in his muscles finally began to ease and loosen enough for him to breathe like an ordinary human being. Then came the dreams. The deafening clash and bang of not distant enough warfare. The flash of gunpowder and explosions. The clatter of shells on the ground and the smell of singed flesh, snow, copper and iron.

It wasn't the same as being back in the war. Somehow it was worse. Inescapable and inevitable. No matter how much the phantom flashes of pain or the terror of relived nightmares chilled his heart and froze the marrow in his bones, it never ended. Death would be a respite from this hellish torment. Not that Bucky had become suicidal, but he knew he would not die here in his dreams. He knew, and still each time he woke, drenched and gasping for air. His chest too tight, his skin too cold and his head too full of war.

He had seen men shot in front of him, blown to pieces by the terror of a rolling war machine, experienced torture at the hands of the enemy before a freak explosion allowed him and a handful of men to escape, battered and bloody, but the real damage wasn't on the outside of their skin.

This particular night, his nightmares needed no images. Darkness and the frigid cold of a solid table beneath his back. The screams in his head were not of his fellow soldiers. They were his. Horrible and desperate sounds of a dying animal who knows its time has come but still fights it with every last shred of its will.

His throat closed up in his sleep, his heart pounding so fast it hurt. Bucky groaned in his sleep, nonsense words half-mumbled and half spoken tumbling from his lips. Rank. Name. Unit. Rank. Name. Unit. Rank. Name. Unit. He tossed and squirmed, a protest from his lips, half strangled by his own panic attack, woke him with a start. He jolted to a seated position, lungs straining as he gasped for air, hands white with the force of his grip on the blanket that had been covering him. Deep, heaving breaths left his shoulders shaking, eyes wide and darting around the darkness of the room. Braced for pain, for interrogation and even the death he knew would cruelly evade him.

He had no concept of where he was, not even seeing the room with his eyes as wide as they were. Not seeing anything at all, but lost in his mind's terror. His hair, longer now since coming home from the war, stuck to his head, damp with sweat. Adrenaline flooded his system and left him hard wired even in the heavy exhaustion that hung over him, a dead weight he couldn't shake.

They might have taken Bucky out of the war, but no one could take the war out of Bucky.

Comments

[neverdanced]

Steve was glad to have Bucky back. Relieved. Most of his worries dissipated with his best friend back sleeping in the bed across the room. There was no waiting with bated breath wondering if he would be receiving a letter in the mail, or the dreaded telegram. Things weren't back to how they were, Steve knew that, but it was better than having Bucky in constant danger.

He wasn't completely without worry. He lost almost as much sleep now over the other man as he did while he was off somewhere in Europe. Steve didn't mind that small detail much at all. His sleep was always disrupted when Bucky had nightmares, but that came with the territory of sharing a studio apartment. He might not have been able to make it to Europe, to get into the army at all, and maybe Bucky was usually the one to always looks after him, but Steve still always had his back. If he could help his best friend, he would do whatever he could.

But this wasn't like opening a can of soup and heating it up because Bucky caught the bug Steve had had because he'd taken care of him. Nor was this like making sure wounds properly got cleaned and bandaged after Bucky'd gotten involved in a fight because of him. These nightmares, these fits- they were entirely different from anything he'd dealt with ever since he'd known the other man.

At first, he didn't know how to proceed, wasn't sure whether it was better to let Bucky wake up on his own or gently shake him. But knowing they were related to the war, and Steve suspected more than that, he got into the habit of trying to wake Bucky from them. He wasn't sure if he managed to do it every time it happened. Sometimes he was so exhausted that the creaking from the other bed didn't rouse him at all.

Tonight wasn't one of those nights, at least. When it became too much for Steve, he finally got out of bed and went to the bathroom to dampen a washcloth. He left the light on so the main room wasn't completely dark. Sitting on the edge of Bucky's bed, he gently set his hand on the other man's shoulder while dabbing his forehead with the washcloth. "Hey, Bucky." He always spoke as gently as possible, but loud enough to try waking him. "It's okay. You're home."

[couldntreach]

Bucky didn't come back to the present right away. He didn't flinch away from Steve, but he didn't respond to him, either. Just sat there, staring directly ahead while his ragged breathing went throw cycles of slowing down only to jump again. The washcloth was cool against the burn of his forehead, a confusing contrast to the bone deep cold settling into the rest of his body.

It went on like this for a good few minutes before Bucky became aware that Steve was there. He slowly released the blanket, blood flowing back to his fingers and leaving them tingling with the shock of it.

"Steve?"

Confusion was evident when he caught sight of his best friend. Clearly not expecting him to have been there. How long ago had Steve shown up beside him?

He tried to force his throat into relaxing, swallowing repeatedly and raising a shaky hand to push matted hair away from his face.

[neverdanced]

This happened enough now that Steve knew not to push anything. Each time, he just sat there. This was no different- he continued with the washcloth until Bucky pulled himself together. He would wait however long was necessary. After a moment, he set the washcloth aside and ran a hand through Bucky's hair. Like everything else, it was meant to be a comforting gesture.

Steve remembered his own mother doing the same every night, back when he lived with her. It was a vague memory, but he knew it was something that comforted him.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here. We're in Brooklyn." Just in case he needed that reminder. He knew nightmares could be disorienting.

[couldntreach]

Disorienting was an understatement. Bucky's hand went to Steve's arm, squeezing to reaffirm the other man was real and solid. He reflexively leaned into his best friend's touch, though his breathing was still unsteady and his thoughts a mess of cluttered panic.

"Brooklyn." He repeated the name just to try and make it stick in his head. He wasn't lost overseas so much as he was lost in the emotions. Dread, hopelessness, fear. Phantom pains that didn't really exist. None of it was real but it all felt far more real than sitting here on his mattress with Steve beside him.

It would make more sense, given everything he had been thru, if he was dead.

How had he ever managed to make it back alive?

"Did I- You're up." He rubbed his other hand over his face and his whole body twitched away from Steve for a moment. "You should sleep." Because even after everything, looking out for Steve was too deeply ingrained in Bucky's head for him not to keep at it even in the middle of his own panic attack

He was shivering now, looking sick to his stomach and every creak in the apartment had him noticeably on edge.

[neverdanced]

Steve enjoyed the sensation of Bucky's hair between his fingers. He probably shouldn't have, but it was so much softer than it looked, and his friend didn't seem to mind it. That made it not as bad. When Bucky shifted away, Steve rested his hand on the pillow.

"Nah, Buck, I'm fine." Steve wasn't a good liar. He was horrible at it, even worse when speaking to someone who knew him well enough to see through him. It didn't stop him from coming up with plenty of excuses to stay awake. "I've been up for ages, anyway. My bed was hurting my back and I've been considering getting up to read for about an hour now."

It was reasonable enough, were it not a blatant lie. There were plenty of times when Steve got up at odd hours to read if he couldn't sleep. That was at least when the lights worked or when there was enough oil in the lamp and no rationing for it.

The lighting was too poor for him to read Bucky's expression well, but he was able to at least see the shivering. Steve was tiny and had a hard enough time conserving body heat as it was, but that didn't mean he was without ideas. It took just a moment to get up and pull his own blankets off his bed and drape them over Bucky's.

When he slipped beneath the covers and laid beside Bucky, it was in a completely unassuming manner. After all, this wasn't anything new. It was conserving body heat and it was kind of chilly in the apartment. "Besides, I'm cold." You're cold. But Steve knew better than to blatantly coddle.

[couldntreach]

Bucky didn't fight Steve slipping in with him. Didn't even seem to register the blatant lie. Any other time he would have read Steve like a book. He shifted to make room for his best friend, staring at his own shaking hands as if he only just noticed the shivering.

Their blankets had never been enough to keep Steve warm before the war. When winter came, Bucky had slipped into the other bed, wrapped his arm around Steve and kept his smaller form warm. It became a routine with them. He knew it wasn't cold enough yet to warrant that. There was no real reason Steve needed to be in bed with him.

"I'm fine." He was no where near any definition of the word. He hadn't been fine for months. But Bucky was stubborn. Fighting to act like there was nothing wrong with him. He had fought a war. It was over for him, or it was supposed to be. Except he couldn't escape it. There was no name for the affliction he was suffering. No understanding among the civilians for the haunted men who came back from the horrors scarred inside as well as out.

His reluctance didn't come from not wanting Steve near. It came from concern about what he might do to Steve in his sleep if another nightmare hit. Times when he had lashed out in a panic, caught in the grips of battle and fighting his way out of sleep.

[neverdanced]

They both knew Bucky wasn't fine, but it being pointed out wouldn't do either of them any good. Steve disliked it when it happened to him in any regard, whether it was him being too sick, too small, too anything. The best thing he could do right now was try to get it off of Bucky's mind.

Steve still stood by the argument that he should've been there. Following his own logic, he could've not only done more for the country, but more for Bucky. Whether or not that was true was debatable, but there was one thing for certain- try as he may, he would never understand where Bucky was now. Despite different personalities, most of their experiences had been the same, and they'd gone through much of it together.

But this was too big, too life-altering, and Steve hadn't been a part of it. He didn't know how to relate. He was at a complete loss.

After a moment of hesitation, Steve scooted closer and draped one of his bony arms across Bucky's chest. It still wasn't that different than anything else they'd done. "I'm thinking later, if it's not raining or anything, we should take the line out to Manhattan. Go to the park. Get hotdogs." Relax, Bucky.

[couldntreach]

Bucky was tense under Steve's arm, but the shivering had lessened and the distant look to his eyes was starting to fade to a more lucid expression. Manhattan. He and Steve had gone there more than a few times in their youth. Days spent in the park, laughing about nothing in particular. Finding things to live for in a world where they had nothing but each other. Hot dogs and a park bench while Steve sketched and Bucky catcalled at the occasional passing woman.

Memories he would sooner live in than the ones he spent his nights, and sometimes days, lost in the depths of. He settled back against the mattress, giving a slow nod and forcing a smile for Steve, however small.

"Yeah. Yeah that sounds good, Steve. I could go for a couple of dogs."

Steve was always colder than Bucky, but right now the faint weight of his body was as warm as any blanket, if only because it anchored him in the present. A place he had a hard time existing in these days.

Still, the icy grip of his nightmares fought to linger, clutching at the back of his mind and refusing to let go.

"You should bring that notebook of yours."

[neverdanced]

He couldn't be sure of how well this working, but it seemed like this was going well, and that was more than he could ask for. Some nights were easier than others when it came to getting Bucky grounded. This definitely wasn't as a bad as it could've been. There were times when Steve finding himself needing to talk a whole lot more to even get a response. It was times like that he wasn't sure whether he was even making it better or not.

"Definitely. We could take a walk in the zoo while we're there too. They probably have new animals there; it's been awhile since we've been. I'll sketch them, and maybe there'll be pretty dames for you to talk to." Because what was Bucky without flirting.

The prospect of having a change of scenery to draw in was exciting to Steve. It'd been a while since he'd gone out to do that. He didn't have much time for it after Bucky left. Without having him around to split the rent and utilities, he had to take on more hours. When he did have time, he filled pages upon pages with Bucky. Different angles, different expressions, all from memory. He knew he wouldn't ever forget what he looked like, but Steve had to make sure. It made missing him a little easier and more heartbreaking simultaneously. That sketchbook was tucked away on the bookshelf. Steve used another now. He'd never shown it to Bucky either, and hadn't a clue if the other man had ever looked while Steve wasn't around.

"And if you want to go to a club or something a lot later after that, I'll even promise to not grumble too much about it." He offered a small smile in return and tried to convince himself he wasn't studying Bucky's face too intensely.

[couldntreach]

Steve might never notice the difference he was making, but Bucky did. He knew without Steve he would be out on the street. Right alongside one of the other new homeless citizens of New York. Wearing tattered threads of his uniform and muttering to himself in an alley while he rounded on unfortunate souls who came across him.

The war had changed him. Not for the better.

Bucky had spent these past few months switching jobs, trying to find a way to put himself back into the world he had left behind in a functioning manner.

The only constant he had was Steve, and he needed him. Needed the man he had grown up defending and standing by to let him lean a little on. His expression changed too often for this conversation. Fear and paranoia flickered across awareness before settling back.

"They still got those monkeys? Never did get a chance to go see em."

At this point, he was desperately grabbing for something to hold onto. Anything that would keep him here with Steve. His voice was distracted and distant.

"Club..." Before the war, Bucky loved to drag Steve to clubs with him. Try to find him a nice dame to distract him from his hard core romance with Freedom and Liberty. Bucky got it. Twins were hot. He just wanted Steve to find someone real, someone breathing he could hold onto in the night. Especially the closer it got to Bucky leaving.

"How about a picture instead."

Preferably not one about war. A nice cartoon he could stare blankly at for an hour.

[neverdanced]

If Steve didn't know better, he would have thought someone replaced his best friend with some kind of look alike. It was unlike Bucky to not want to go to a club, and that was just another thing Steve was going to worry about. In terms of actually doing things, he liked this option better. He never was big on the club scene, and he never learnt how to talk to women. Sure, he tried, but they weren't interested in him and he knew that. Why bother trying?

It wasn't worth it.

"I'm sure they do. They're popular attractions, right after the lions."

It wasn't hard to tell that to at least some degree, he was starting to lose Bucky. That was the last thing he wanted. Steve just didn't want him to hurt. Preventing that was much easier said than done.

"Sure thing. There's a few out that look promising." He didn't know them off the top of his head, but there had to be at least one that would be pique Bucky's interest. Steve never had a preference on what type, so his focus was completely on trying to please Bucky.

As he spoke, he was still studying Bucky's face, reading what he was able to given the poor lighting. He still needed to do more, he knew that. If talking wasn't helping entirely, if this pseudo-hug didn't work, what else was there? When it occurred to Steve, his mouth went a little dry. Normally he didn't indulge in these thoughts. They were dangerous, especially if unreciprocated. Steve doubted they were, but he was desperate.

He knew this was dumb.

He knew he would regret it immediately. But if Bucky questioned it, he could just pass it off as a poor attempt to help, right? No harm no foul.

"Hey." It was said to get Bucky's attention, to make sure he hadn't lost the other man to his thoughts again. There was hardly space between them to begin with. There was even less when Steve leaned over and pressed his lips against Bucky's.

[couldntreach]

Well. It did succeed in one thing. Whatever Steve might have been trying to accomplish, the brush of Steve's lips against his sent Bucky crashing back into the present in a wreck of confusion and disbelief.

Steve's lips were slightly chapped, but they were soft pressed against Bucky's. Warm and somehow reassuring. While his mind tensed up at what was going on, his body relaxed into it. Invited the distraction from his thoughts and the war that was everywhere in his head.

He made a low, questioning sound, brows drawing together and lips parting slightly to ask a question until he realized he wasn't even sure what to ask.

After a few moments of this shock he turned his head, pulling away, not violently, but very obviously. He stared at Steve, uncertain of how to process or react to what just happened. Steve had kissed him. Steve? Steve had kissed him. What?

"Steve?"

[neverdanced]

He already knew he didn't think this through when he leaned over. Now that Bucky moved away, Steve moved back to his original position, this time retracting his arm as well. At least Bucky hadn't pushed him out of the bed, but maybe getting up was a good idea.

Instead of moving more right away, he froze, trying to find some kind of response, which meant horribly stumbling over his words. "I'm sorry. I--I don't know what I was thinking. I just thought. Maybe it would, uh. Help. Or something. That's all. It didn't actually mean anything, don't worry." It was said too quickly for that to possibly be reassuring at all. Furthermore, this was Steve, a man who'd pointedly not even considered kissing a bird unless he knew she was The One.

Yeah.

He scooted away more, then slide his legs over the side of the mattress as he started to sit up. He didn't know where he was going to go, but he figured maybe space would do Bucky some good.

[neverdanced]

As it turned out, the weather was perfect for a day at the park. Considering it took nearly an hour just to get there, between walking to the station in Brooklyn and having to switch lines a few times once they got into the southside of Manhattan. On a state map, New York City never seemed that big, but when travelling outside of your regular neighbourhood, it was huge.

They'd already gotten a couple hot dogs, and now Steve was sitting beside Bucky in the grass. It likely had to do with the depth of Central Park, but it was relatively empty despite the weather. Then again, they weren't near the park and the main path through the park was a half mile away. Zoo aside, this spot was his favourite. There was a pond nearby, and a variety of trees and other plants, with leaves all fading into oranges and yellows and browns. It was always nice to escape away from the asphalt, and while there were plenty of parks closer to home, this one was always worth the trip.

Steve hadn't mentioned the night before; it just seemed easier to let that continue to be unvoiced. When he wasn't thinking about it, he could act normally without his chest tightening or his stomach knotting up. He laughed easily around him, smiled, and hoped that was enough to at least keep Bucky's mind off the war and everything else that had bothered him lately.

"Maybe we could get tickets to another ballgame sometime. I don't know if we could get any soon, with it being playoffs and all now. But it'd be fun." He spoke idly while sketching one of the trees in front of him on the corner of his page.

[couldntreach]

Bucky hadn't mentioned it either. He had, however, been more himself all day then he had since coming back from the war. He made more of his old jokes, laughed, smiled when he slung an arm around Steve at the zoo and made a comment about the monkeys claiming Steve as one of their own.

The air in the park was fresh and full of the smell of fall and while there were people there, the pair of them hadn't run into too many. He didn't notice the trees nearly as much as Steve did, but Steve had always been more artistic and had a better eye for those sort of things. Bucky just knew the atmosphere made him feel good.He was lying back in the grass, now, arms tucked behind his head and eyes closed. Even with the slight chill in the air, the sun felt warm wherever it was hitting him.

He thought about trying to make a deal with a scalper for tickets, but he didn't mention it to Steve. Just gave a nod and a smile as thought about seeing another game with Steve. He loved the atmosphere of the ball park. Loud as it was, there was just something about being there that made New York seem even more like home. One big, boisterous family supporting the team and picking the occasional fight with the other guys.

"Yeah. That sounds great, Steve."

It wasn't dismissal or boredom, just a distracted agreement as his thoughts drifted in and out of his reach, every now and then shifting to comparing the warm touch of the sun to sharing a bed with Steve. Just enough warmth to keep the cold out of his mind.

He opened his eyes just enough to watch Steve sketching, wondering what it would have been like if they could have afforded to have Steve do something with his artistic skills instead of the both of them struggling for whatever jobs they could grab up.

Or if Steve would have been better off if Bucky had never come back at all. At least then he wouldn't have to be supporting Bucky as much as himself. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably and shifted dangerously close to the territory of slipping back into his nightmares.

Instead he went back to thinking about the night before and what it meant for Steve, the Steve he had grown up with, to choose to kiss him. Either he had been out of it with his own sleep... he had read something different into Bucky's attitude toward him since returning, or he had genuine feelings about it that made him willing to go that distance.

"Hey, Steve?"

A part of him wanted to never bring up the past night again. But a bigger part of him needed to know why Steve had kissed him. And why last night? Had he really only been doing it to distract Bucky from his nightmares? That was next to impossible to believe.

But how did he even approach the topic?

He wasn't hesitant with his words, but he was quiet with them. As if saying them too loud would draw people out of the bushes.

"Are you still interested in dames?"

Sometimes James Buchanan Barnes was a master of tact. And sometimes he didn't have the words to even try to be.

[neverdanced]

He didn't notice that Bucky was distracted with their conversation, as he was more focused on the drawing anyway. Steve was currently trying to fix an error by turning it into the bark of the tree trunk. He didn't have an eraser with him, and even then, sometimes it was better to not use it at all if he had one handy.

It was a good thing that the one thing he did have with him was a pencil sharpener, because when he heard Bucky's question, he accidentally snapped the lead on the paper and spiralled across the page. He wouldn't say it was ruined, but there was a noticeable trail of lead across the paper.

Should he have expected a question like that? Perhaps, especially considering last night. It was still an abrupt enough question that it startled him. He knew he had to be honest with Bucky, but finding a way to express it was difficult. "What? No." Not what he meant to say. Time to backpedal and speak as quickly as possible. "I mean, they're pretty and I'm sure a lot of them are really swell gals, but I guess I don't really think about them or anything that much. I'm not their type."

He wasn't anyone's type.

[couldntreach]

Bucky considered where he was going to go with that, watching Steve from where he was laying. Maybe he would have noticed, sooner. Steve's disinterest in Dames. He had always assumed it had to do with not wanting to get burned by them not being interested. Something Bucky would never understand. No woman could be luckier than the one who managed to get Steve's heart. Because as far as Bucky was concerned there wasn't a better man on the planet than Steve.

Maybe that should have told him something, too. But he was always too busy trying to find someone who would show Steve that not everyone was dumb enough to only care about the outside. And maybe more importantly, not everyone had a problem with what was on the outside.

"Are they your type?"

Yes. He was insinuating exactly what he sounded like he was insinuating, Steve. But there wasn't any judgement in his voice. He just needed to know so he could try to understand what was going on with Steve. With him and Steve.

[neverdanced]

Steve's mouth went dry again, this time he couldn't tell if this was a good thing or not. There might not have been judgement in Bucky's tone, but that didn't make it easier to discuss. Of course, Bucky wouldn't really hold it against him. It was Bucky. What he worried about was Bucky pitying him. Or not understanding. Or just... any of the possibilities that were out there.

"I don't know, Buck." He dragged a hand down his face, not glancing back at Bucky at all. This wasn't anything he put much thought in, ever. Whatever he felt for Bucky was different, not to be placed in labels, because it was Bucky. It was dangerous thinking, and was always best to avoid. He couldn't shut his friend out, though. "None that I've ever met have been."

That didn't mean there wasn't a lady out there that was his type. Maybe there were a lot of ladies that were exactly his type if he hadn't been hung up on his best friend ever since hormones ever became a factor in life.

[couldntreach]

Propping himself up on his elbows, Bucky considered what Steve said for a bit, trying to figure things out in his head. He wasn't really sure what to think about Steve not liking all those beautiful dames Bucky had tried to set him up with, but he was a little relieved to know his best friend's heart wasn't being shattered too much each time one of them saw fir to reject him.

He was sure it still stung, but as long as Steve hadn't been interested in them, it felt a bit less like he had hurt Steve with it all those years.

Still, he had a lot of unanswered questions he wasn't sure he could ask, none of them particularly ... safe conversation topics. Especially when Bucky had no idea how he felt about all this. What he had with Steve had never had or needed a label. Steve was everything. He was Bucky's best friend, his family, the most important person in his life. That had been the case since they were kids, but it had never occurred to him that Steve might also fill another roll in his life. Or that he might want to.

Had Steve thought about kissing him before? Had he watched Bucky with a woman draped against his arm and felt jealousy toward the woman instead of Bucky? He had caught an odd look now and then on Steve's face and always assumed it to be the pang of rejection of other broads or a streak of jealousy at Bucky managing to get a girl on his arm at all. He wasn't ever happy to have made Steve feel that way, but he did try to find someone for his best friend.

But what if he had always been reading the wrong things into Steve's reactions simply because the notion that the other man might be interested in him never even crossed his mind?

"Steve." He was trying so hard to get Steve to look at him now. He wanted to be able to read the other man's expressions. To see him a bit more clearly as he tried to understand. It was an awkward conversation to be having and he didn't want to just blurt out asking if he was Steve's type. He wasn't sure what he wanted or expected the answer to be.

"You remember when we were kids... I said we'd stick together, no matter what happened." He broke that promise when he went to war. It hurt a bit to remember.

They had never had to tell each other before, that they were family. It was a fact of life and had been for so long. He didn't want to imagine a life without Steve.

"Sometimes I used to picture us as a couple of grumpy old codgers. Sitting on the steps at the park, complaining about the government and reading the paper with glasses so thick they made our eyes look bugged out."

He gave a little laugh, looking up at the clouds.

"We'd complain about the new baseball team and argue over who caught the ball at the first game we ever went to, before we got thrown out for fighting that jerk who tried to take it from us."

[neverdanced]

There weren't many situations where Steve didn't know how to react. Being unsure of how to verbally respond or fumbling over his words wasn't new. Being so worried, so terrified of saying or doing something wrong in regards to Bucky was completely unheard of. Ever since they became friends, Steve was always able to be himself. He never had to be ashamed of who he was, and Bucky never regarded him at face value only.

He knew this, and he was unwaveringly confident that it would never change. Or he had been. Last night, he'd propelled himself into a direction where there was only completely uncertainty about everything and Steve wasn't sure of himself, much less Bucky. It shouldn't have ever been like that, but at least Steve was always the type who was quick to bounce back.

It would just be easier to do that once he figured out what Bucky was trying to get at with this tangent. The point was to try to get him to relax, to open up, probably. It was beyond that Steve was uncertain of.

As much as he enjoyed kissing the other man, he wondered if he shouldn't have just resisted this. Let Bucky think forever that he just hadn't found the right girl, instead of going and kissing him like that and admitting that any of the beautiful dames he ever got coerced into double-dating didn't really interest him.

Of course, there never was much of a point in even letting himself be interested. None of them would give him the time of day anyway, so there was no point in setting himself up for heartache. Though he'd done exactly that with ever developing feelings for Bucky at all.

That hadn't been a choice. Once he recognised the extent of them, once he knew he wasn't just wishing he was more like him, Steve did his best to stop it all. It hadn't worked, and he'd eventually resigned and accepted that he would have to deal with unrequited feelings until they died down on their own.

After all this time, he'd still never had such luck.

Moments after Bucky finished speaking, Steve finally glanced back at him. He was intentionally trying to be guarded with his expression, but he had no way of knowing how well that was actually working. "Do you still imagine us that way?" Or was it something more distant? "I'm the one who caught that ball, by the way." More like it nearly landed on his face.

[couldntreach]

There were many times in his life where people had given the pair of them an odd look. When they were younger, people assumed Steve was his younger brother from the way Bucky acted around him. But as they got older, it was evident their friendship went beyond the realms of what most people were used to. People they rented from gave a second lingering glance. Women Bucky took out gave him a hard time about being more concerned with Steve then them, at least after that first date. He was used to the confusion from other people.

He wasn't used to being confused about it himself. Steve didn't require extra thought. Bucky did whatever he did around Steve because it came naturally. It was just how things were. He never doubted or worried about it. It wasn't funny how much that was changing already in just this one day.

"You tried to catch it. With your face. You blocked it with your hand and I caught it."

He smirked then, that old smug expression on his face for a few lingering seconds and then it faded back to uncertainty.

"I still do." But there was more to it, and the way he hesitated hinted that it should have been followed with a '...but' addendum.

[neverdanced]

Any other time they discussed that particular game, Steve would insist that it still counted, that he could've still caught himself if Bucky hadn't intervened. It was so long ago that Steve wasn't sure if that was true or not. That part didn't matter as much as the fact this was something they could still jokingly bicker over.

Given the direction of this conversation, he didn't respond as he usually did. Instead he gave Bucky a hard stare for a moment, before looking away again, biting the inside of his cheek. "But you're having second thoughts about that." He dug his pencil sharpener out of his pocket as he spoke, then began twisting his pencil in it until the lead was usable again.

It was easier to have this talk while keeping his hands busy. Easier to focus on a redundant task instead of the rising internal panic.

[couldntreach]

Bucky shook his head because what he had to say next was terrifying for him. This was the kind of new and dangerous territory that could change the entire dynamic of their relationship. Whether that was for better or worse, it would still change things, and Steve might stop being that one consistent, unwavering thing in his life he could always count on to be there.

It scared him in a way few things did since the war.

Since he learned what real terror was.

"But today when we were at the zoo there was this old couple by the elephants..." They were just standing there watching and she leaned on his shoulder and he put his arm around her. And suddenly that imagined scenario turned into him staring at that old couple, imagining him and Steve at the zoo, old and wrinkled with their wild days of alley fights behind them (more or less.) Watching the monkeys fight over a piece of fruit in their cage. And Steve would lean in, and Bucky's arm would slip around his shoulders. It was a gesture they had actually shared in brief moments many times. But this time his arm would linger longer, and even though it was almost exactly the same gesture, it would mean so much more.

"And I imagined us like them instead."

It was still terrifying to say, and he slumped back into the grass, draping an arm across his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

"It sounded nice."

[neverdanced]

That was not what he was expecting to hear. Then again, nothing lately had gone as he expected. Instead of answering right away, he set the pencil and sharpener aside with his sketchbook and drew his legs to his chest. He could feel his cheeks burning, even the tops of his ears. It wasn't even hot enough to blame the weather for it. For now, he was just grateful that Bucky wasn't looking at him.

"Why."

He tried to keep his voice even, to prevent sounding too excited or too scared or too anything. This was a response from Bucky that was actually good, yes, and definitely much more than he could ever hope for, but that didn't stop Steve from being hesitant.

"You're... you. You could have any dame in the city if you wanted. Why would you..." Steve tailed off, unable to finish the question although the implication was clear. He knew Bucky. As far as he knew, Bucky never toyed with the idea of settling down with any of the ladies he'd gone out with. Steve also knew Bucky well enough to not ask if it was just because he'd kissed him.

That wasn't how Bucky operated.

Steve never considered the possibility that there could actually be a part of Bucky that was capable of reciprocating any of this, even if he'd kissed back. So here he was, trying to wrap his mind around the idea that Bucky'd imagined them like that elderly couple earlier who was so blatantly in love.

[couldntreach]

If Steve thought he was the only one surprised by all this, he would have been wrong. Bucky had no idea how to handle the fact that he might actually reciprocate Steve's feelings. But beyond that, that he might always have felt this way and never noticed because it had just been so far from any consideration in his head.

Why had he imagined him and Steve as an old couple in love? Was it just the mix of his confusion with the ever present belief that he and Steve would always be together? It was a cocky assumption. People changed. Friendships died. Somehow, Bucky was always certain that that didn't matter when it came to them.

"I could have had any dame in the city for a night. Maybe two." Could have had. Before the war. Before he came back with the kind of scars people might not see right away but always found out about eventually.

He had never imagined a life settling down with any of them. He doubted he ever would. When he pictured their futures, Steve had always been the one with the wife and the white picket fence. Two kids and a dog with some ridiculous name like Lincoln or Liberty. He imagined himself the old friend who came over for dinner too often. Steve's kids would call him Uncle Buck and he'd carry one of them in on his shoulders and Steve would roll his eyes at Bucky telling them one of the stories of their childhood 'the wrong way'. Because they often had different stories of how things had really happened.

His wife would be some sweet, perfect woman and they'd be madly in love.

He had thought about it often in the war. Ever more elaborate stories when he was huddled in a foxhole through the night to the sound of gunfire and death, or the far more unnerving stillness of quiet before an attack.

He had been living his life after the war in his head, in case he never had a chance to go home and do it himself.

He wasn't the sort of man women decided to marry. He was the sort of man they threw themselves at with batted eyelashes, hanging on his flattering words, but never interested in him once they really got to know him. He was the bad boy every woman wanted to be with that none of them ever pictured themselves at an altar with, and that was fine with him. He had plans to join the force. Be a proud member of the NYPD. He and Steve had known enough orphans to know you didn't join the NYPD if you planned to be a dad.

It wasn't a career for raising children in.

"I never planned on settling with any of them." You had to know that, Steve. Bucky never even went out with the same gal more than once or twice.

He rubbed his face with his hand, still laying down. How did he explain any of this to Steve?

"I've never imagined a future without you in it, Steve. I don't plan to start either... maybe I've just started to imagine what else that future could be."