As Steve's car wound its way down the familiar streets of his hometown, the soft glow of twinkling lights strung across the rooftops enveloped him in a warm, nostalgic hug. The scent of pine wafted through the air, mingling with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies, transporting him back to a simpler time.
Steve's eyes roamed over the snow-blanketed rooftops, taking in the quaint, small-town charm that had remained unchanged since his childhood. The Methodist church, with its towering steeple, stood proudly at the town's center, its doors adorned with festive wreaths. The diner, where he and Bucky had spent countless hours sipping milkshakes and sharing laughter, still boasted its retro neon sign.
As Steve drove, memories flooded his mind like a burst dam. He recalled summer nights spent exploring the woods, winter mornings building snowmen with Bucky, and countless afternoons tinkering with old cars in his dad's garage. The nostalgia hit him hard, and for a moment, Steve felt like he was 17 again, carefree and invincible.
But as the memories washed over him, a pang of guilt followed closely behind. Steve had left his hometown without looking back, chasing his dreams and leaving behind the people and places he loved. Now, as he returned after all these years, he wondered if coming back would reopen old wounds—or if it was even possible to recapture some of the simplicity and joy of his youth.
Los Angeles had given him fame and fortune, but at the cost of something he couldn’t name. Maybe he thought coming back here could help him find it again. Or maybe he was just running.
As Steve pulled into the driveway of his childhood home, a sense of comfort washed over him. The house looked smaller than he remembered, but the warm glow spilling from the windows was just as inviting. His parents, beaming with pride, welcomed him with open arms, and Steve felt a lump form in his throat as he hugged them tightly.
As they stepped inside, the warmth and familiarity of the house enveloped him, transporting him back to a time when life was less complicated. His mom bustled around the kitchen, putting out a spread of his favorite snacks, while his dad clapped him on the back, asking about his journey.
As they chatted, Steve's mom casually mentioned, "By the way, Bucky's doing well. He's still working at the garage, and he's got a little girl now."
Steve blinked, caught off guard. "A little girl? Bucky? I thought he was never going to settle down, let alone have a wife."
His mom smiled gently, stirring a cup of tea. "Well, he tried. He got married a couple of years back, but it didn’t work out. They're divorced now. He’s a wonderful dad though, you’d be proud of him."
Steve forced a smile, but something deep inside him twisted. Bucky with a little girl? The image was so different from the Bucky he remembered—reckless, free-spirited, untethered—that it felt like hearing about a stranger.
For a moment, Steve's eyes drifted toward the window, his gaze wandering to the snow-covered streets beyond. He wondered if he'd run into Bucky during his stay.
As Steve stepped into his old bedroom, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The room was exactly as he had left it, frozen in time. His eyes wandered over the familiar landscape: the faded poster of his favorite band, the dusty trophy shelf, and the old, worn-out couch where he and Bucky had spent countless hours talking, laughing, and sharing secrets.
The scent of the room, a mix of old books and pine from the nearby trees, felt strangely comforting. It was as if time had stood still here, while everything else in his life had moved forward.
As he approached the bed, Steve's gaze fell upon an old photo album buried beneath the pillow. He picked it up, blowing off the dust, and began to flip through the pages.
The memories came flooding back, each picture more vivid than the last:
A summer afternoon spent exploring the woods, Bucky's laughter echoing through the trees as they chased after each other.
A winter evening curled up by the fireplace, Bucky's eyes sparkling as they shared stories and dreams, the warmth of the fire matching the heat of their closeness.
A spring morning spent working on Steve's old car, Bucky’s hands covered in grease, his teasing smile as they argued over the best way to fix the engine.
As Steve delved deeper into the album, the memories grew more bittersweet. He remembered the fights, the misunderstandings, the goodbyes—the pain of leaving Bucky behind, of chasing his dreams while abandoning the future they had once imagined together.
His chest tightened as he closed the album, the weight of those moments too heavy to carry alone. The memories, raw and tender, lingered in the air, clinging to him like dust. He took a shaky breath, trying to shake off the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
But as he looked around the room—at the couch, the old guitar leaning against the wall, the faint scent of childhood still hanging in the air—he knew he couldn’t escape the past that easily. The memories, the emotions, and the what-ifs would continue to haunt him until he faced them head-on.
Steve's mom poked her head into his room, a warm smile on her face. "Hey, sweetie, would you mind running to the store for me? I need some milk and eggs for dinner."
Steve nodded, happy to oblige. He grabbed his jacket and headed out into the crisp winter air. The streets were quiet, save for the sound of snow crunching beneath his feet.
As he turned the corner onto Main Street, Steve's eyes landed on a familiar figure standing outside the local garage. Bucky's back was to him, his shoulders hunched against the cold as he worked on a car engine.
Steve's heart skipped a beat as he slowed his pace, unsure of what to do. Part of him wanted to turn around and avoid the encounter altogether, but another part of him was curious, eager to see how Bucky had changed.
As he approached the garage, Bucky looked up, his eyes locking onto Steve's. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken emotions.
Then, without a word, Bucky turned back to the engine, his hands moving deftly as he continued to work. Steve felt a pang of disappointment, unsure of how to react.
But as he stood there, frozen in uncertainty, Bucky looked up again, his eyes meeting Steve's. This time, there was a hint of a smile, a spark of recognition that seemed to bridge the gap between them.
"Hey, Stevie," Bucky said, his voice low and rough, like the rustling of leaves. "Been a while."
Steve's heart skipped another beat as he smiled, feeling a sense of trepidation mixed with excitement. "Bucky," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's been ages."
Bucky wiped his hands on a rag, stepping away from the car with a cautious look in his eyes. There was a moment of silence between them, a tension neither of them seemed to know how to break. The years that had passed hung heavy in the air, the weight of time and unspoken words between them.
Steve shifted on his feet, unsure of what to say next. His mind raced, memories flooding in—summer nights spent laughing under the stars, moments of closeness that still felt fresh despite the years. But now, standing here, facing Bucky, those memories felt like distant echoes.
"I... I didn't expect to see you here," Steve said, his voice a little more steady. "I didn't know you were still in town."
Bucky gave a small shrug, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Guess I never really left," he said quietly. "Been here, working at the garage. It's... simple, but it keeps me busy."
Steve nodded, glancing at the familiar, weathered building. "Looks like it suits you."
Bucky's eyes flicked to the snow-covered street, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, well. Not much else to do, is there?" His voice held a note of something—resentment, maybe, or just the weight of time gone by.
Steve felt a pang in his chest. He knew it wasn’t just the town that Bucky was talking about. It was everything that had happened between them, the hurt, the distance, the things left unsaid.
"I... I should’ve come back sooner," Steve said, his voice low, the guilt creeping into his words. "I didn’t mean to—"
Bucky raised a hand, cutting him off. "Doesn’t matter now," he said, his tone softer, though still carrying a hint of distance. "What’s done is done."
The words hung in the air, thick with history. Steve wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between them, how to make things right after all the years they’d spent apart.
But Bucky didn’t seem to want to dwell on the past. Instead, he nodded toward Steve’s car. "You heading to the store? I could use a break," he said, the shift in subject easing the tension. "Come sit with me for a bit. I’ll buy you a coffee."
Steve hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, I could use a coffee."
They made their way down the snowy sidewalk, the sound of their boots crunching against the fresh snow breaking the quiet of the afternoon. The familiar sight of the diner came into view, its old neon sign flickering faintly in the early evening light. It was the same diner where they’d spent so many hours as teenagers—talking about their future, making plans that never came to be, sharing secrets that felt like they’d last forever.
As they pushed through the door, the warmth of the diner enveloped them, the soft hum of conversations and clinking silverware filling the air. The waitress, a friendly older woman who had known them both for years, gave them a knowing smile as they slid into a booth near the back.
"Well, if it isn’t Steve Rogers," she said with a grin, her eyes twinkling. "You two look like you’re up to no good."
Steve chuckled, feeling a familiar ease wash over him as he slid into the booth across from Bucky. It felt almost like old times—almost. But there was an edge to it, a weight between them that neither of them could ignore.
"I’ll take a black coffee, thanks," Bucky said, looking up at the waitress.
Steve hesitated, then added, "Same for me, please."
As the waitress walked off, Steve shifted in his seat, his fingers tracing the edge of the worn table. It felt strange, sitting here with Bucky after so many years. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many apologies that needed to be made, but the words just wouldn’t come.
Bucky, on the other hand, seemed calm—almost too calm, as if he’d mastered the art of pretending things were fine. But Steve could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drummed absentmindedly on the table. Bucky wasn’t quite as okay as he was pretending to be.
The waitress returned with their coffee, setting the mugs down in front of them.
Steve took a long sip of his coffee, letting the warmth seep into him as he glanced over at Bucky. The old dinerhad a charm he hadn’t realized he missed so much.
“So, Bucky Barnes, the infamous mechanic of the town,” Steve said, grinning as he leaned back in the booth. “I always thought you’d go off and start a band or something. You know, with that wild hair and all.” He gestured to Bucky’s short-cropped, messy hair, which was a far cry from the longer style he’d had when they were younger.
Bucky chuckled, the low rumble of his laughter familiar and comforting. “You wouldn’t believe it, but I tried once. Played guitar for, like, five minutes before I realized I had no rhythm.” He took a drink of his coffee, then added, “Guess I’m better at fixing cars than strumming strings.”
Steve laughed, the sound rich and carefree, something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. “You? No rhythm? That’s hard to believe. I’ve seen you breakdance when we were younger,” he teased.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “That was... a phase. You know, rebellious teenager stuff.”
Steve grinned, shaking his head. “Rebellious? You?”
“Hey, don’t act like you weren’t just as bad, Mr. ‘I’m too busy saving the world’,” Bucky retorted, a playful glint in his eyes. “You know, I watched all those movies you are in since you got famous. Hollywood’s golden boy. Always loved watching you up on screen, even if it was just for a few seconds.”
Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of his films. “You watched them?” he asked, genuinely surprised. He had no idea that Bucky kept up with his career after everything.
“Hell yeah. The ‘Steve Rogers action figure’ was a popular choice for movie nights in the Barnes household,” Bucky said with a smirk. “You are kind of a big deal, man.”
“I’m flattered.” Steve laughed, looking down at his coffee cup, trying to mask the blush creeping up on his face. “I mean, it’s not like I had a choice in the whole ‘being famous’ thing.”
“Well, I’m sure you are a damn good actor,” Bucky teased. “Just don’t ask me to watch that rom-com where you played the jilted lover.” He raised his hands in mock defense. “Not my thing, Stevie.”
Steve let out a playful groan. “Please, not that one. I was just in it for the paycheck.”
Bucky laughed, the sound filling the booth with an easy warmth. “You and your big paycheck,” he teased. “Must’ve been nice.”
Steve smirked. “Yeah, but you know, it’s not all that great. It doesn’t compare to... well, to being here, to talking to you again.”
There was a pause as Bucky looked at him, his expression softening just a bit. But the moment didn’t last long before Bucky shifted in his seat, grinning mischievously. “By the way, the little one’s out of town. My daughter, I mean. She’s spending the holidays with her mom’s side of the family.” He leaned back, his eyes twinkling. “Guess that means I get to enjoy a little peace and quiet for once. No toys to trip over. No bedtime stories. Just me and my...well, whatever the hell I want to do.”
Steve smiled warmly, “Must be nice. A quiet holiday.” He paused, remembering his own empty apartment in the city. “But hey, I’m sure you’ll miss her.”
Bucky's grin softened, just the slightest bit. “Yeah, I will. But it’s good to have some time for myself. You know, to... unwind and catch up on the things I never get a chance to do.”
Steve couldn’t help but tease. “Like watch more of my movies?” He raised an eyebrow.
Bucky rolled his eyes, laughing. “Oh, yeah, definitely. I’ll be watching ‘Steve Rogers: The Hollywood Years’ all night.”
“You’re a real pain, you know that?” Steve grinned, leaning in slightly, feeling more at ease than he had in ages. “Maybe I should let you take the DVD home with you, so you can watch it in peace.”
Bucky raised his cup in mock salute. “Only if you promise not to show up as a romantic lead again.”
Steve’s laughter came easily, filling the space between them. The past seemed distant, for a moment, like something that didn’t matter. What mattered now was that they were here, together again. And, despite all the years and everything that had happened, it still felt like they could just pick up where they left off.
“I’ll think about it,” Steve said, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “But no promises.”
Bucky’s expression softened once more, but this time, there was something warmer in his eyes. “I missed this, Steve. Us. Just talking like we used to.”
Steve’s heart gave a little lurch at the unspoken words behind Bucky’s statement. But he didn’t push it. Not yet. Instead, he just nodded, his eyes meeting Bucky’s with a quiet understanding.
“Me too, Buck,” Steve replied softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Me too.”
As the laughter between them started to settle, Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw his mom’s name flashing on the screen. He glanced at Bucky, a slight apology in his eyes before answering.
“Hey, Mom,” Steve said, holding the phone to his ear. “Yeah, I got the milk and eggs... sorry, I got caught up with an old friend.”
Bucky smirked, rolling his eyes. “You’re always getting yourself into trouble, Steve.”
Steve smiled, giving him an exaggerated eye roll before returning his attention to the phone. “I’ll be right there. Yes, I promise. See you soon.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Bucky raised an eyebrow, a teasing grin forming. “Guess I’ll let you go save dinner then.”
Steve chuckled, standing up from the booth. He felt a little reluctant to leave, but the promise of more time together made it easier to walk away. “You know how it is. Mom’s on a schedule.”
As Steve turned toward the door, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Hey, Bucky... I was thinking we should catch up properly while I’m here. Maybe grab dinner or something? We could—”
“Sounds good,” Bucky interrupted, his smile softening. “Let’s not wait so long next time.”
Steve nodded, pulling a pen from his jacket pocket and grabbing a napkin from the table. He scribbled his number down and slid it over to Bucky. “Call me whenever. I’ll be around.”
Bucky took the napkin with a knowing smile, tucking it into his coat pocket. “You got it, Steve.” He hesitated for a moment, his voice softer now. “It’s good to have you back.”
Steve’s chest tightened at the simplicity of the words, but he grinned and gave Bucky a small nod. “Same here.”
With a final glance at Bucky, Steve headed for the door, the crisp winter air greeting him as he stepped outside. He could already feel the warmth of their time together lingering, and he couldn’t help but think this might be the start of something new.
---
Steve walked into the kitchen, setting the bag of groceries on the counter. The smell of something savory simmering on the stove filled the air, and his mom glanced up from where she was chopping vegetables.
"Finally! I was starting to wonder if you were planning on coming back at all," she teased, taking the eggs and milk from the bag.
Steve chuckled as he shrugged off his jacket. "Got caught up. I ran into Bucky."
His mom stopped mid-chop, her eyes lighting up. "Bucky Barnes? How is he? Did you talk to him?"
"Yeah," Steve said, leaning against the counter. "We talked for a while. He’s still at the garage, same as always. His daughter’s with her mom for the holidays."
Her hands stilled, and a look of concern crossed her face. "So... he’s spending Christmas alone?"
Steve hesitated, his gaze dropping to the counter. "Looks like it," he admitted softly.
His mom set down the knife, her expression firm but gentle. "That won’t do. You need to invite him over."
Steve raised an eyebrow, though he wasn’t entirely surprised. "What?"
"You heard me. We can’t let him sit by himself on Christmas. Not Bucky. He’s practically family, and you two were inseparable back then."
Steve’s chest tightened at her words, memories of all those years with Bucky flashing in his mind. "I don’t know, Ma. It’s been a while..."
"Nonsense," she said, waving off his hesitation with a flick of her hand. "Just ask him. It’s Christmas, Steve. No one should spend it alone, especially not him."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Steve’s lips as he nodded. "Okay. I’ll talk to him."
"Good," she said with a satisfied nod. "And make sure he knows he doesn’t need to bring anything but himself."
Steve laughed softly, a warm feeling settling in his chest. The thought of Bucky sitting at their old dining table felt... right, somehow.
The rest of the day had passed in a blur, and as the house grew quiet, Steve lay in his old bed, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a faint glow across the room. Everything felt so familiar, yet different—a mix of comfort and longing that he couldn’t shake.
He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him quickly.
But instead of the darkness of rest, his mind conjured up a vivid dream.
Steve found himself back in the woods behind their childhood homes, the air thick with the smell of pine and damp earth. The trees stretched endlessly around him, but he wasn’t alone.
Bucky stood a few feet away, his old leather jacket slung over his shoulders, that mischievous grin Steve knew so well tugging at his lips. His hair was a little shorter, like it had been when they were younger, and his eyes sparkled with the same playful warmth Steve had missed.
“You think you can still keep up with me, punk?” Bucky called, his voice light and teasing.
Steve laughed, the sound echoing in the dream like music. “I could always keep up with you.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “Yeah? Prove it.”
Before Steve could respond, Bucky was running, his laughter ringing out as he darted through the trees. Steve didn’t hesitate; his legs moved on instinct, chasing after him like they had so many times before.
The world blurred around them, but all Steve could see was Bucky ahead of him—turning back every so often, laughing, his smile brighter than the sun breaking through the trees.
When Steve finally caught up, they were back at the creek where they’d spent so many summers. Bucky stood at the edge of the water, his hands in his pockets, looking out over the rippling surface.
Steve stepped up beside him, his breath coming in soft pants. “You never change, do you?”
Bucky turned to him, his smile fading into something softer, more serious. “Neither do you.”
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them thick with everything unspoken. Then, without warning, Bucky reached out, his hand brushing against Steve’s.
“I missed you,” Bucky said quietly, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water.
Steve’s chest tightened. “I missed you too.”
As he reached out to clasp Bucky’s hand fully, the scene dissolved, fading like mist in the morning.
Steve’s eyes blinked open, his heart pounding in the stillness of his bedroom. For a moment, he lay there, staring at the ceiling, his dream lingering like a bittersweet melody.
He ran a hand over his face, letting out a soft sigh. Even in his dreams, Bucky was always there.
And maybe, Steve thought as he closed his eyes again, that wasn’t such a bad thing.
The morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows as Steve tightened the last screw on the wobbly cabinet door. His dad had been meaning to fix it for years, but Steve had finally decided to take care of it himself. He leaned back, testing the door’s sturdiness, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
Just as he wiped his hands on a dish towel, his phone buzzed on the counter. He picked it up and saw a text from an unknown number:
"Hey, punk. Hope I got the right number, or this is gonna be awkward."
Steve’s lips curved into a grin as he typed back:
"Depends. If this is Bucky, you’re good. If it’s not, I’ve got questions."
The response came quickly:
"It’s me. You can relax. Anyway, thanks for stopping by yesterday. It was good to see you."
Steve found himself smiling at the screen, warmth spreading through his chest.
"Good to see you too. Been too long."
After a brief pause, another message came through:
"Yeah, it has. So, you free later? Got some time to kill, and I figured you might wanna catch up."
Steve didn’t even have to think about it.
"Definitely. When and where?"
Bucky responded almost immediately:
"Come by the diner around one. Coffee’s on me, unless you’re too fancy for that now, Mr. Hollywood."
Steve laughed out loud, shaking his head.
"I’ll be there. And don’t worry, I’m still the same guy. Just maybe a little less scrawny."
Bucky replied with a simple thumbs-up emoji and a final message:
"We’ll see about that."
Steve set the phone down, still grinning like an idiot. It was just a text, but it felt like a lifeline—a step back toward something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing so much.
He glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even ten yet, but the thought of seeing Bucky again made the hours ahead seem like an eternity.
As he went back to tidying up the house, Steve’s mind wandered, wondering what the day might hold. For the first time in a long time, he felt a spark of excitement—like something good was waiting just around the corner.
---
As Steve pushed open the door to the small café on Main Street, a wave of warmth and the comforting aroma of coffee greeted him. The place hadn’t changed a bit since his teenage years: the same mismatched chairs, the chalkboard menu, and the little shelf of secondhand books by the corner. It felt like stepping into a memory.
He spotted Bucky sitting at a table near the window, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug. The sunlight streamed in, catching the subtle silver strands in Bucky’s hair and making the blue of his eyes more vibrant. Steve’s heart gave a small lurch—how could someone look so effortlessly good just sitting there?
Bucky looked up and smirked as Steve approached. “You’re late.”
Steve chuckled, shrugging out of his coat. “Two minutes, Buck. Relax.”
“Same Steve Rogers,” Bucky teased, leaning back in his chair. “Always cutting it close.”
Steve rolled his eyes as he sat across from him. “Same Bucky Barnes. Still giving me a hard time.”
Their banter came so easily, as if the years apart had melted away. A barista appeared, and Steve ordered a black coffee and a blueberry muffin. He caught Bucky’s amused glance.
“What?”
“Still can’t resist those muffins, huh?” Bucky grinned. “You used to swipe them off my tray when we were kids.”
“Hey, they’re good,” Steve defended, though he couldn’t help grinning too. “Some things never change.”
Bucky shook his head, his smile softening. “No, I guess they don’t.”
For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, sipping their drinks. Steve finally broke it, nodding toward the street outside. “You know, this place... it’s like a time capsule. It’s strange coming back.”
Bucky’s gaze followed his. “Yeah. But some of us never left, so it doesn’t feel all that strange.” He glanced at Steve, his expression unreadable. “Must be wild for you, though. Living in L.A., doing the whole movie star thing.”
Steve shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious. “It’s... different. The work’s good, but I miss the quiet sometimes. Miss knowing everyone when you walk down the street. Miss...” He hesitated, his words hanging in the air.
“Miss what?” Bucky prompted softly.
Steve’s eyes met his. “Miss the people I left behind.”
Bucky looked down at his mug, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Well, at least you came back for a bit.”
They talked about everything and nothing after that: Steve’s latest film project, the garage work Bucky had been doing, and even little stories about Bucky’s daughter. Steve found himself laughing more than he had in months, the kind of laughter that made his chest ache in the best way.
As their cups emptied and the afternoon light began to fade, Steve leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad we did this.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice soft. “Me too.”
Steve hesitated, then added, “You know, my mom wants you to come over for Christmas. Said you shouldn’t spend it alone.”
Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “She said that, huh?”
“She did,” Steve confirmed, grinning. “And I agree with her.”
Bucky’s smirk returned. “Guess I’ll think about it.”
They parted ways at the café door, but as Steve walked home, he realized something: this wasn’t just nostalgia. Whatever he’d come back looking for, he might’ve just found it sitting across from him with a crooked smile and bright blue eyes.
Later that evening, as Steve was settling into his childhood bed, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached over and saw Bucky's number lighting up the screen.
Hey, you still up? Want to come over?
Steve smiled, his heart skipping a beat. He didn’t hesitate, his fingers typing out a reply quickly.
Yeah, I’d love to. Be there in a bit.
He pulled on his jacket, grabbed his keys, and headed out into the cold night. The town was quiet, the only sounds the crunch of snow underfoot and the soft wind whistling through the trees. The air felt crisp, refreshing—like it was carrying all the unspoken words and moments from the day before.
When Steve arrived at Bucky’s place, the lights were on inside, and the familiar sight of the small garage at the side of the house made him feel strangely at home. He knocked on the door, and it opened almost instantly. Bucky stood there with a small, mischievous grin on his face.
“Hey, there you are,” Bucky said, stepping aside to let Steve in. “Come on in.”
Steve stepped inside, Bucky’s place was cozy, modest—a reflection of the life he’d carved out for himself here in the small town.
They sat down at the small kitchen table, and Bucky handed Steve a glass of wine. The conversation flowed easily again, just like it had earlier in the café. It was almost as if they hadn’t missed a beat. They talked about everything—movies, life, Bucky’s daughter, Steve’s work—and then the talk shifted back to the past.
“I still remember that time we got kicked out of the diner for arguing over which superhero was better,” Steve chuckled.
Bucky grinned. “You always were a bit of a Captain America fanboy.”
Steve shook his head. “What can I say? I was ahead of the curve.”
They laughed, the sound filling the room, and for a moment, it felt like the years between them had vanished completely.
Bucky raised his glass. “To old friends.”
Steve clinked his glass with Bucky’s. “To old friends.”
As the evening wore on, the glasses of wine turned into another, then another, until both Steve and Bucky were laughing more freely than they had in years. The warmth from the alcohol mixed with the comfort of the company, making everything feel a little lighter. The conversation became easier, more playful, with teasing and joking, as though the time apart hadn’t existed at all.
Bucky was leaning back in his chair, a little tipsy but still maintaining that sly grin that always made Steve’s heart race.
“Remember when you tried to teach me to drive stick shift, and I almost wrecked your dad’s car?” Bucky asked, his voice a little slurred, but still full of amusement.
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “You were terrible! But you wouldn’t let me teach you anything after that.”
“I didn’t need you to,” Bucky replied with a wink, “I figured it out myself.”
“Remember that time we got kicked out of that bar for trying to start a band?” Steve chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.
Bucky laughed, his heart racing at the memory.“Yeah, and you insisted we were going to be the next Beatles!”
“Hey, we had talent! Just not the right audience,” Steve shot back, his smile widening.
Steve laughed, but something about the way Bucky’s gaze lingered on him made the laughter die in his throat. It wasn’t the usual teasing look Bucky would give him. This was different—darker, maybe, but undeniably magnetic. Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, suddenly aware of the way the alcohol was making his skin feel warm.
“Buck,” Steve said, his voice quieter, his throat suddenly dry. “You’re… you’re a little drunk, huh?”
Bucky smirked, pushing his empty glass aside. “I could say the same about you, Rogers.”
Steve rolled his eyes but smiled, leaning back in his chair as he glanced over at Bucky. His heart was beating a little faster now. There was an undeniable tension between them, the air thick with it. He had spent years pushing down feelings he didn’t know what to do with, and now, with Bucky sitting there so close, his smile, the way his eyes sparkled—he couldn’t ignore it any longer.
Without thinking, Steve stood up, suddenly feeling an overwhelming need to get closer. The room seemed smaller now, as if the space between them was shrinking by the second. Bucky stood too, his movements slow but sure. They were both tipsy, but it didn’t matter.
Bucky took a step toward him, and the air between them crackled. “You know, I’ve missed this,” Bucky said quietly, his voice low, thick with unspoken words.
“What?” Steve asked, his voice almost a whisper.
Bucky didn’t answer. Instead, he closed the space between them, his hand reaching up to rest on Steve’s shoulder. The touch was gentle but firm, sending a jolt of electricity through Steve’s body.
Before Steve could think, Bucky was leaning in, his lips brushing against Steve’s in a kiss that was tentative at first, as if they were both testing the waters, afraid of what the other might think. But the moment their lips met, the hesitation faded away. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was years of longing and regret, all colliding in one instant.
Steve’s hand found its way to Bucky’s chest, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as everything else melted away. They had both been holding on for so long, and now that they were here, so close, it was like the universe had finally aligned for them.
When they finally broke apart, gasping for breath, Bucky looked at Steve with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t believe what just happened.
“Steve…” Bucky started, his voice trembling slightly.
“Yeah?” Steve answered, his heart pounding.
“I—” Bucky swallowed hard, his expression unreadable for a moment. “I’ve missed you so much.”
Steve smiled softly, his hand gently caressing Bucky’s cheek. “I’ve missed you too.”
---
The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Steve’s head was nestled against a familiar chest, the steady rhythm of Bucky’s breathing grounding him. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he just lay there, not ready to face the reality of the situation, but too aware of it.
The events of the night before rushed back to him in fragmented pieces: the laughter, the alcohol, the kiss that had ignited something deep inside of him. The slow burn of Bucky’s hands on his skin, the way they had moved together—like they were both trying to make up for lost time. They had fallen asleep tangled in each other’s arms, and Steve felt that warmth again, the feeling of being home, of finally finding his place again after all these years.
He shifted slightly, his gaze falling on Bucky’s face. He was still asleep, his features softened in the quiet aftermath. Bucky looked peaceful, his lips slightly parted, and Steve couldn’t help but smile softly. There was a tenderness to him in this moment that Steve had never seen before, and it made his chest ache with a longing that went deeper than he was ready to admit.
The realization hit Steve like a wave—the years apart, the loneliness he had carried with him, it was all tied to Bucky. He had missed him in ways he couldn’t even articulate. The way Bucky’s presence had always grounded him, the way they had been able to talk for hours without saying anything at all. And now, waking up in his bed, Steve felt the weight of how much he had needed this—needed Bucky.
He carefully pushed himself up on one arm, glancing around the room. Everything felt so natural, so easy. Bucky’s room was small but cozy, decorated with mismatched furniture and a few scattered items that hinted at the life he had built here. It felt lived-in, real.
Bucky stirred beside him, shifting slightly, his eyes blinking open. For a moment, neither of them said anything. There was no need for words. They were both taking in the quiet, the comfort of just being there with each other.
Bucky’s eyes met Steve’s, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Morning,” he said, his voice rough with sleep, but still carrying that warmth that Steve had missed so much.
Steve returned the smile, his heart fluttering. “Morning,” he replied softly, his hand unconsciously reaching for Bucky’s.
The simple touch sent a shock of warmth through Steve, and in that moment, everything that had felt uncertain the night before seemed to settle into place. They didn’t need to rush anything. They had years to catch up on, and even if everything was still new, it felt like they were picking up exactly where they left off.
Bucky shifted, his hand finding Steve’s and squeezing it gently. “You okay?” he asked, his gaze searching Steve’s face with an intensity that made Steve’s breath hitch.
Steve nodded, his fingers tightening around Bucky’s hand. “Yeah. More than okay.”
Bucky didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just looked at Steve, his gaze full of meaning. “I missed you too,” he said quietly, the words heavy with everything that had been left unsaid for so long.
Steve’s heart swelled at the honesty in Bucky’s voice. He had never realized just how much he had missed this—missed Bucky—until now.Bucky pushed himself up from the bed with a quiet groan, stretching his arms above his head as he sat on the edge of the mattress. He shot a quick glance at Steve, still lying there, his hair messy and eyes still heavy with sleep. A soft smile tugged at his lips. It felt good, too good, to have Steve here, to have this—whatever it was—back again.
"Stay there," Bucky said, his voice still thick with sleep. "I'll make breakfast."
Steve nodded sleepily, his lips curling into a lazy smile. “You cook?”
“Guess you’ll find out,” Bucky teased, tossing him a wink as he headed toward the small kitchen area of the apartment.
Bucky worked in comfortable silence, pulling ingredients out of the fridge and quickly getting to work. The sound of eggs cracking, the sizzle of bacon, and the soft clink of silverware filled the room, creating an atmosphere of warmth and ease. Despite the morning haze, there was something peaceful about it. For once, there was no rush, no pressure—just the steady rhythm of a normal morning.
As Bucky moved around the kitchen, Steve sat up, running a hand through his hair, still trying to shake off the fog of sleep. He took a deep breath, his eyes tracing the lines of Bucky’s back as he moved. It was all so... domestic. So natural. He didn’t want to question it, just enjoy it for what it was.
A few moments later, Bucky returned with two plates, stacked high with eggs, bacon, and toast. He set them down on the small table, giving Steve a playful glance as he sat across from him.
“Breakfast. Hope you’re hungry,” Bucky said, pushing a glass of orange juice toward Steve.
Steve took the plate gratefully, the smell of bacon making his stomach growl. “You cook like a pro,” he said between bites, his eyes bright with amusement.
Bucky shrugged, looking down at his food. "I'm good at a few things."
Steve chuckled softly. "Seems like it."
The two of them ate in a comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of clinking silverware punctuated by the occasional laugh or comment. After a while, Steve leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head.
“So, tomorrow’s Christmas,” Steve said, breaking the quiet. “You ready for the dinner at my mom’s place?”
Bucky paused mid-bite, glancing up at Steve with a raised eyebrow. "Of course. You think I'd back out after all that?"
Steve smiled, happy to see the lightheartedness in Bucky's tone. “Just making sure. My mom's been really excited about it. She’s already planning what she’s going to make—she’s probably even got dessert covered.”
Bucky grinned, pushing his plate aside. “I’m looking forward to it. Haven’t had a real Christmas dinner in... years, I guess.”
“Well, tomorrow's gonna be different," Steve said, his voice softening. "It’ll be good to have you there."
Bucky met Steve’s eyes, and for a moment, there was just an understanding between them—a shared sense of belonging that neither of them had felt in a long time.
"Yeah, it will be," Bucky agreed, the warmth of his words matching the comfort of the room around them.
They continued their breakfast, but the underlying comfort of the conversation lingered in the air, both of them knowing that Christmas would be something special this year.
As they finished their breakfast, Steve stood up, stretching and running a hand through his messy hair. "Mind if I hop in the shower?" he asked, glancing over at Bucky, who was casually leaning back in his chair, savoring the last bit of his coffee.
Bucky gave him a lazy smile, nodding. "Go ahead. Bathroom’s through there," he said, pointing toward the hallway. "Towels are in the closet."
Steve thanked him and made his way to the bathroom, a small but pleasant surprise tugging at his chest. It was such a simple question, but it struck him how easy it felt to be here with Bucky.
Stepping into the bathroom, Steve looked around, feeling a sense of comfort he hadn’t expected. The space was neat, lived-in—familiar, even though it was Bucky’s place. The towels hung in a neat stack, the mirror was slightly fogged from the warm air, and there were small touches around the room that reminded Steve of everything he had missed. The way Bucky had always managed to keep things just enough of a mess, but not too much—Steve smiled to himself, his chest tightening with affection.
As the water hit his skin, Steve leaned back against the tiled wall, letting it soak through his hair and relax his muscles. He closed his eyes for a moment, his thoughts drifting.
It had been so long since he’d felt this at home anywhere. He’d always thought his sense of belonging was tied to a place, but with Bucky—it was different. He didn’t need to be in a specific town or house to feel comfortable. As long as Bucky was there, it was like everything just fit.
The familiarity of the way Bucky moved, the way he smiled, the way he made Steve feel so at ease, even in moments of uncertainty—Steve couldn’t ignore it any longer. He had missed Bucky more than he had realized. And in this quiet, intimate moment, with the sound of water filling the space and the steam swirling around him, Steve allowed himself to feel it completely.
After a few more minutes, Steve turned off the water and grabbed a towel, drying off quickly before stepping back into the warmth of the apartment. He was still processing everything—everything between him and Bucky, the way things felt so natural now—but there was one thing he was certain of: he didn’t want to leave. Not now, not anytime soon. He felt like he was where he belonged.
When he stepped back into the living room, Bucky was sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looked up and gave Steve a casual smile. "All good?"
"Yeah, perfect," Steve replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks, Bucky."
"No problem," Bucky said, setting the phone down and stretching. "You, uh, want to do anything today? Or just hang out?"
Steve hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to him on the couch, the comfort of the space settling in around him. "Just hang out sounds good. For a change, it feels nice to do nothing."
Bucky leaned back, looking at Steve with a grin. "I’m all for it. No rush, no expectations."
And for the first time in a long while, Steve felt like he didn’t need to be anywhere else. He was exactly where he needed to be.
As they sat on the couch, Steve found himself feeling oddly content, his legs stretched out and his head resting against the back of the couch. It was simple, easy—nothing urgent, just the two of them in the cozy quiet of the apartment.
Suddenly, Bucky's phone buzzed on the coffee table, the sound breaking the calm. He glanced at the screen and smiled softly. "Hold on a sec," he said, picking it up.
Steve watched as Bucky swiped to answer, his face lighting up instantly when the video call connected. On the screen, a little girl with curly hair and a huge smile appeared, her eyes wide with excitement.
"Daddy!" she squealed, holding the phone in her tiny hands. "Guess what?!"
Bucky's face softened, his eyes filled with affection. "Hey, sweet girl, what’s up?" He leaned forward slightly, his voice warm and gentle.
"I made a snowman!" she announced proudly, holding up a drawing of a snowman with stick arms and a big carrot nose. "Can you see it?"
Bucky chuckled, his heart swelling with love as he nodded. "I see it, Becca! It’s perfect. You’re so good at drawing, huh?"
The little girl giggled, her eyes twinkling. "I’m gonna build a real one tomorrow. Can you help me, Daddy?"
Bucky's smile faltered for just a second before he recovered. "I wish I could, kiddo, but we've talked about this we're not gonna spend this Christmas together. But I’ll be with you in spirit, okay?"
"Okay," she said, sounding a little disappointed but understanding. "I miss you, Daddy."
Bucky’s heart ached hearing those words, but he tried to mask it with a grin. "I miss you too, sweetie. But when you come back we’ll make the biggest snowman ever"
Steve couldn’t help but smile as he watched the interaction. He felt a small flutter in his chest at how tender and natural Bucky was with her. It was clear just how much he loved his daughter, and the thought of the little girl filled Steve with warmth.
Then, as if sensing someone else was nearby, Becca's eyes shifted and suddenly locked onto Steve, who had been quietly watching the exchange. She squinted, her brow furrowed in curiosity.
"Who’s that?" she asked, pointing toward Steve, her tiny voice full of innocence.
Bucky glanced at Steve, a playful grin spreading across his face. "This is Steve," he said, his voice soft, almost shy. "Remember old Steve? I told you about him."
Becca's eyes lit up immediately, her face breaking into a smile. "Hi, Steve! Are you gonna play with me?"
Steve chuckled, taken aback by her forwardness but charmed by it all the same. "Uh, sure, kiddo. If I ever get the chance."
Bucky shot Steve an amused glance before returning his attention to Becca. "Maybe next time, huh?"
Becca nodded eagerly. "Okay! You better come see my snowman, Steve. I made it big and it has a funny face!"
Steve smiled widely, his heart feeling lighter. "I’ll definitely come see it when I can, Becca. You take good care of that snowman, alright?"
"I will!" she exclaimed. "Bye-bye, Steve! Bye, Daddy! Love you!"
"Love you too, sweetie," Bucky said, his voice soft as he waved. He hung up the call, then set the phone down with a sigh, his eyes still holding a trace of longing.
Steve sat in quiet admiration for a moment, letting the softness of the exchange settle over him. "She’s... amazing," Steve said, his voice sincere.
Bucky nodded, a wistful smile on his lips. "Yeah, she is. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me."
There was a brief pause, and Steve couldn’t help but ask, "You, uh, get to see her often? Even with... everything else going on?"
Bucky’s smile softened even more, his gaze distant for a moment before he turned back to Steve. "I do. She's the reason I keep going, you know? Doesn’t matter what’s happened or what’s going on—she’s always there."
Steve’s heart squeezed at the tenderness in Bucky’s voice. He felt more connected to him in that moment than ever before, the quiet bond between them growing even stronger.
"She's really cute." Steve said softly, breaking the silence, his smile widening.
Bucky chuckled, looking down at his hands for a moment. "Yeah, she is."
They both sat back in the silence, the warmth of the conversation lingering in the air. Steve felt a strange sense of peace wash over him, as if everything was falling into place in a way he hadn’t anticipated.
The morning was still young, and despite everything that had happened, Steve couldn’t help but feel like this Christmas was shaping up to be something different—something more than he had ever expected. And maybe, just maybe, it was the start of something that felt like home.
The day passed in a quiet, comfortable haze. Steve and Bucky spent the afternoon together—talking, laughing, reminiscing about the old days. It was effortless, like nothing had ever changed between them. They made lunch, watched a few movies, and before either of them realized it, they found themselves curled up on the couch, the low hum of the TV the only sound in the room.
Bucky had leaned his head back against the armrest, his legs stretched out across the couch, while Steve had settled beside him, his feet propped up on the coffee table. It wasn’t long before they both succumbed to the warmth of the room and the comfort of each other’s presence, drifting off into a peaceful, shared nap.
The afternoon sunlight filtered in through the window, casting soft, golden light across the room. Steve’s body was still warm from the nap when he woke up, his face nestled against the back of the couch where Bucky’s shoulder had been. For a moment, he felt disoriented, but then his eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was the clock—late afternoon.
Before he could fully rouse himself, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a call from his mom.
Steve groggily reached for the phone, glancing at the screen with a small smile before answering. "Hey, Mom."
"Steve, honey," his mom’s voice came through the phone, full of warmth. "Just wanted to check in. I know you’re busy, but how’s everything going? How’s Bucky? Did you two have a good day?"
Steve grinned, glancing over at Bucky, still sound asleep next to him, his head now resting on the cushion. There was something comforting about seeing him like that, so relaxed and at peace. "Yeah, Mom," Steve replied softly, his voice laced with affection. "We’ve had a great time. Just… catching up, you know? It’s been nice."
His mom’s voice softened on the other end of the line. "I’m so glad to hear that, honey. You’ve both been through so much. It’s good to see you happy again."
Steve felt a small pang in his chest, a mix of emotions rushing through him as he looked down at Bucky. He still wasn’t fully sure where things would go between them, but seeing him like this—so comfortable, so real—he couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward him. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, it’s been really good. Oh and he said he's coming tomorrow to dinner"
"Oh, I’m so glad!" his mom said. "We’ll all be together. It’ll be perfect."
"Yeah, we’ll be there," Steve promised, a warmth filling his chest at the thought. "I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Good," she said with a gentle laugh. "And, Steve?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"Don’t forget to tell Bucky how happy we are to have him over. He’s always been like family to us."
Steve felt his heart swell with gratitude at the kindness in his mom’s voice. "I will, Mom. He’s really looking forward to it."
"Alright, sweetheart. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow."
"I love you too, Mom. See you soon."
As he ended the call, Steve looked down at Bucky once more. The sight of him sleeping so soundly beside him made everything feel right in the world. He leaned back against the couch, letting out a soft sigh of contentment.
He had no idea what tomorrow—or the days after—would bring, but for now, he was exactly where he needed to be. With Bucky.
When Bucky stirred awake, Steve was already sitting upright on the couch, his phone resting on the coffee table. Bucky blinked a few times, then stretched, his muscles protesting from their midday nap. He glanced at Steve, a lazy smile creeping across his face.
“Sleepin’ half the day just for old times’ sake, huh?” Bucky said, his voice thick with sleep.
Steve chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess some habits don’t die, even after all these years.”
Bucky swung his legs off the couch, his bare feet hitting the floor as he sat up beside Steve. The room was quiet for a moment, the faint ticking of the clock the only sound. Bucky’s smile faded slightly as he glanced at Steve out of the corner of his eye. There was something unspoken lingering between them, something neither of them seemed ready to address.
Steve cleared his throat, fiddling with the hem of his sweater. “I talked to my mom while you were out,” he began, keeping his tone light. “She’s excited about tomorrow. Thinks it’ll be good for everyone to be together.”
Bucky nodded slowly, his fingers tapping against his knee. “Yeah, I’m, uh… looking forward to it too.” He hesitated, then added, “Your mom’s always been real good to me.”
Steve smiled at that, a wave of warmth rushing over him. “She thinks of you like family, Buck. Always has.”
Bucky met his gaze for a moment, something unspoken flickering in his blue eyes. Then he looked away, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. “She’s got a way of makin’ people feel that way,” he said lightly, flipping through the channels. “Guess that’s where you get it.”
The tension between them grew palpable, the weight of unanswered questions hanging in the air. Steve leaned back against the couch, his hands resting on his thighs. He could feel the words forming on his tongue, the questions he wanted to ask: What happens after Christmas? What do we do about… us? But the timing felt wrong, the moment too fragile to risk shattering.
Bucky broke the silence first, his tone casual but with an edge of something deeper. “Guess we’ll save the big talks for later, huh? No sense in messin’ with the holidays.”
Steve nodded, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Yeah,” he agreed softly. “Let’s just get through Christmas first.”
Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, but his eyes lingered on Steve for a beat longer before turning back to the TV.
For now, the questions would remain unanswered. But they both knew they were there, waiting in the shadows of the season’s cheer, ready to surface when the time was right.
---
The light filtered through the frosted windows of the Rogers' home, casting a golden glow over the living room. The scent of pine mingled with the warm aroma of cookies baking in the oven. Steve stood in the kitchen, carefully arranging a tray of appetizers while his mom busied herself with the roast. Every so often, she’d hum a Christmas carol, her voice soft and comforting.
“Steve, could you grab the good plates?” she called over her shoulder.
Steve nodded, retrieving the china they only brought out for special occasions. His thoughts drifted to Bucky, who would be arriving soon. The nervous excitement in his chest was nearly unbearable. This Christmas already felt different—more alive, more meaningful.
Just as he placed the plates on the dining table, the doorbell rang. His mom wiped her hands on her apron and gave him a knowing smile. “Go on, get the door,” she said, shooing him with a wave of her hand.
Steve opened the door to find Bucky standing there, bundled in a wool coat, his cheeks pink from the cold. He held a neatly wrapped gift under one arm and a small bouquet of poinsettias in the other.
“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, his voice warm.
Bucky grinned, that lopsided smile that always made Steve’s chest ache in the best way. “Hope I’m not too early.”
“Not at all,” Steve replied, stepping aside to let him in. “You look… festive.”
“Thanks,” Bucky said, shrugging off his coat to reveal a snug green sweater with a subtle reindeer pattern. “Figured I’d try to blend in.”
Steve chuckled as Bucky handed him the poinsettias. “These are for your mom,” Bucky said, his voice a little softer.
“She’ll love them. Come on, let’s get you settled.”
They walked into the living room, where Steve’s mom greeted Bucky with open arms. “Bucky Barnes! It’s been too long,” she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug.
“Good to see you, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky said, his smile genuine. “Hope you’re not working too hard today.”
“Oh, nonsense,” she replied, waving him off. “It’s Christmas. You boys go catch up while I finish up in the kitchen.”
Steve and Bucky settled onto the couch, talking easily as if no time had passed since their last real Christmas together years ago. They laughed about old memories: snowball fights in the park, sneaking cookies from the kitchen, and their endless games of Monopoly that always ended in dramatic accusations of cheating.
Before long, Steve’s mom called them to the dining table. The room was aglow with the soft light of candles and the twinkle of the Christmas tree in the corner. The table was set beautifully, with the poinsettias Bucky had brought arranged as a centerpiece.
As they all sat down, Steve’s mom raised her glass of sparkling cider. “To having everyone together,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “And to new traditions.”
Steve and Bucky exchanged a glance, a quiet understanding passing between them. They clinked their glasses, the sound delicate and melodic.
The meal was perfect. Roast turkey with all the trimmings, mashed potatoes so smooth they were almost like clouds, and a cranberry sauce that Steve’s mom swore was her best yet. Bucky couldn’t stop complimenting her cooking, which made her beam with pride.
After dinner, they lingered at the table, sipping coffee and sharing stories. Bucky told Steve’s mom about his daughter, Becca, how she loved dinosaurs and could already name twenty of them, and how she’d insisted on packing her own suitcase for her trip with her grandma.
“Sounds like she takes after you,” Steve’s mom said with a smile. “Independent and full of personality.”
Bucky’s smile softened. “She’s my whole world,” he admitted, his voice tender.
Later, they moved to the living room, where Bucky surprised them by pulling out a small gift for Steve’s mom. It was a set of Christmas-themed kitchen towels, tied with a red ribbon.
“Just a little something,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Oh, Bucky, you didn’t have to,” she said, her eyes shining. “But thank you. They’re lovely.”
As the evening wore on, they gathered around the tree, taking turns hanging the last few ornaments. Steve and Bucky ended up next to each other, their hands brushing as they reached for the same branch. They froze for a moment, their eyes meeting, and Steve felt his heart swell.
When the last ornament was in place, Steve’s mom turned on the tree lights. The room was bathed in a soft, golden glow, and for a moment, everything felt perfect.
“Merry Christmas, Buck,” Steve said quietly, his voice full of meaning.
Bucky looked at him, his blue eyes reflecting the twinkle of the lights. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”
It was in that moment Steve realized he wasn’t just home for the holidays. He was home because of Bucky. And for the first time in years, everything felt right.
The sound of laughter and the clinking of dishes lingered in the air as the last of the plates were cleared from the table. Steve carried a stack of plates into the kitchen, his mom right behind him with the gravy boat in hand.
“You didn’t have to help, you know,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder as they reached the sink.
Steve shrugged, setting the plates on the counter. “I wanted to.”
She gave him a long look, her lips twitching into a smile. “You’ve grown up, but you’re still the same Stevie. Always looking out for everyone else.”
Steve glanced toward the doorway, where he could see Bucky sitting on the couch, laughing at something his dad was saying. His heart twisted in a way he couldn’t quite name.
“It’s nice having him here, isn’t it?” his mom said, following his gaze.
Steve turned back to her, the words catching in his throat. “Yeah. It is.”
She leaned closer, her voice soft. “You two were always thick as thieves. It’s good to see you together again. Feels… right.”
Steve stared at her, wondering just how much she knew. Her expression gave nothing away except for warmth, and he nodded, a quiet “Yeah,” escaping him.
His mom patted his cheek. “Go on. I’ll finish up here. The pie’s almost ready.”
In the living room, Bucky was sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He was fiddling with a lopsided ornament, straightening it with careful fingers.
“Still obsessed with that one?” Steve asked as he walked in, a drink in each hand.
Bucky glanced up, his lips quirking into a grin. “It’s crooked. Can’t leave it like that.”
Steve chuckled, handing him one of the glasses before sitting on the couch. “It’s been crooked for twenty years. I’m not sure the tree knows how to stand without it.”
Bucky leaned back, resting his head against the armchair behind him. The glow of the lights softened his features, making the silver streak in his hair shine.
“This was nice,” Bucky said after a moment, his voice quiet.
Steve tilted his head, watching him. “Dinner?”
“All of it.” Bucky gestured vaguely toward the room, toward the warmth that filled the air. “Being here. With your folks. With you.”
Steve swallowed hard. “You’re part of this, Buck. You always have been.”
Bucky’s gaze dropped to his drink, his fingers tracing the edge of the glass. “It’s been a long time since I felt like I belonged anywhere.”
“You belong here,” Steve said, the words coming out before he could stop them.
Bucky looked at him, his blue eyes filled with something raw and vulnerable. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but before he could, Steve’s mom appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“You boys staying up all night again?” she teased, her eyes twinkling. “It’s like I’ve got teenagers in the house.”
Steve laughed, grateful for the interruption, while Bucky grinned up at her. “We’ll try to keep it down, Mrs. Rogers.”
As the house grew quiet, Steve lay awake in his childhood bedroom, staring at the ceiling. He could still hear the echo of Bucky’s laughter in his ears, the warmth of his smile etched into his memory.
His mom’s words played over and over in his mind: It’s good to see you together again. Feels… right.
Steve thought about the way Bucky had looked by the tree, the way he had smiled when Steve handed him the drink, the way his voice had softened when he said, “Being here reminds me of what it means to have a home.”
That was home. Not L.A.
The sound of Steve’s phone buzzing jolted him awake. He blinked at the sunlight streaming through his window, rubbing his eyes as he reached for the device on the bedside table.
“Hello?” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Steve, it’s Mark,” came the voice of his agent on the other end. “I hope I’m not interrupting your holiday, but there’s been a change in schedule. The production team needs you back in L.A. by tomorrow.”
Steve sat up, his heart sinking. “Tomorrow? I thought I had another week.”
“I know,” Mark said apologetically. “But they’re pushing up the timeline. Reshoots need to start ASAP. It’s not ideal, but we need you on set.”
Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. I’ll figure it out.”
Steve found Bucky outside, clearing snow off the driveway. He paused for a moment, watching him work, the familiar ease of his movements stirring a bittersweet ache in Steve’s chest.
“Hey,” Steve called out as he stepped onto the porch.
Bucky looked up, his face lighting up with a smile that quickly faded when he saw Steve’s expression. “What’s wrong?”
Steve walked closer, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I just got a call. They need me back in L.A. tomorrow.”
Bucky’s hand tightened around the snow shovel. “Tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Steve said quietly. “I wanted to tell you first.”
Bucky looked down at the ground, his jaw clenching. “So, that’s it, huh? You’re leaving.”
“It’s not like I want to,” Steve said, his voice tinged with frustration. “You know I don’t.”
Bucky nodded, but his eyes stayed fixed on the snow. “Yeah. I know.”
They ended up in the garage, the familiar space offering a sense of privacy. Steve leaned against the workbench while Bucky paced, his hands shoved into his coat pockets.
“This feels like the old days,” Bucky said with a bitter laugh. “You always leaving, me always watching you go.”
“Buck—”
“Don’t,” Bucky interrupted, shaking his head. “I get it, Steve. You’ve got a life out there. A career. It’s not like I’m asking you to stay.”
Steve let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the bench. “Well, I won’t ask you to wait if you don’t ask me to stay.”
Bucky looked up at him then, his blue eyes glinting with a mixture of sadness and affection. “Stevie…”
“I mean it,” Steve continued, his voice thick. “I really missed you, Buck. That first day I saw you again, when I asked you how you’d been... I meant to say I missed you more than I’ve ever missed anything before.”
Bucky smiled faintly, the kind of smile that looked like it hurt. “I know, Stevie. I miss you too. You know that. I talk to my kid about you, about how you were my best friend. And maybe, one day, she’ll really know who you were to me. How my heart started beating because of you.”
Steve’s breath caught, his chest tightening at the quiet confession.
“Just because we can’t be together,” Bucky continued, his voice breaking slightly, “doesn’t mean I won’t love you.”
Steve stepped closer, the distance between them feeling unbearable. But before he could say anything, Bucky spoke again.
“But if you’re going to leave anyway, I’ll try to see you off with love,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “I’ll try to say thank you. For knowing me, for stopping by and making me the happiest I’ve been since you left.”
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, the words slicing through him. When he opened them, Bucky was watching him, his expression equal parts tender and resigned.
“I guess I’ll go back to L.A.,” Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Back to the so-called friends who’ll write books about me, if I ever make it... and I’ll wonder about the only soul who can tell which smiles I’m faking.”
Bucky’s lips quirked up in a bittersweet smile. “If you’re ever tired of being known for who you know... you know you’ll always know me.”
Steve let out a shaky laugh, the sound half a sob. “God, Buck, you always know how to say the one thing that’ll undo me.”
Bucky’s smile softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing against Steve’s arm. “That’s because I know you, Stevie. I always will.”
They stood there for a moment, the silence heavy with everything left unsaid.
Steve lingered by the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as he looked back at Bucky one last time. The early morning light seeped through the windows, casting soft shadows on Bucky’s face. He looked so much like the boy Steve had fallen in love with—the boy who had been his whole world.
But they weren’t boys anymore. And this wasn’t their world.
Bucky crossed his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter like he was trying to hold himself together. “You sure you’ve got everything?” he asked, his voice steady but distant.
Steve nodded. “Yeah. Everything but the one thing I wish I could take with me.”
Bucky’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look away. He couldn’t, not yet.
“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve said, his voice trembling. “For all of it. For leaving the first time, for coming back and stirring everything up again, and for not being able to stay now.”
Bucky shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he was trying to stop himself from breaking. “Don’t be sorry. I’d rather have this—these few days—than nothing at all. You gave me something to hold onto, Stevie. Even if it hurts like hell to let you go.”
Steve swallowed hard, his vision blurring. He stepped closer, his hand brushing against Bucky’s. It was such a small touch, but it felt like everything.
“I’ll miss you,” Steve whispered. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“I know,” Bucky said, his voice rough. “I’ll miss you too, Stevie. Always have. Always will.”
Steve reached up, his fingers gently tracing the line of Bucky’s jaw. “You were my home, Buck. You still are. And I don’t know how to say goodbye to that.”
Bucky smiled then, a soft, broken smile. “You don’t have to say goodbye. Just... go, Stevie. And I’ll remember this. I’ll remember you.”
Steve leaned in, pressing his forehead against Bucky’s, his hand curling around the back of his neck. They stayed like that for a moment, their breaths mingling, their hearts breaking.
“I love you,” Steve said, the words raw and full of everything he couldn’t say.
“I love you too,” Bucky replied, his voice cracking.
Steve pulled back, his hand lingering for a second longer before he let go. He turned, his feet feeling like lead as he walked to the door.
When he reached it, he looked back one last time. Bucky was still standing there, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his arms wrapped around himself like he was trying to keep from falling apart.
“Goodbye, Buck,” Steve said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Goodbye, Stevie,” Bucky replied, his voice breaking on the words.
And with that, Steve stepped out into the cold morning air, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
And Steve felt that the hardest thing he'd ever done was walking away still madly in love with Bucky.
As he walked down the street, the town quiet and still, Steve felt the weight of the goodbye settle into his chest. He knew he’d carry it with him forever, a piece of Bucky lodged in his heart like a scar that would never fade.
But he also knew that somewhere, in this little town, Bucky would be carrying a piece of him too.