there’s a quiet that fills the space between them, heavy with the weight of things unsaid. it’s the kind of silence that doesn’t feel like emptiness – no, it’s too full for that. it’s thick with the years that have passed, with the stories they’ve shared, with the moments that linger between them, unspoken. steve leans against the cool brick of the balcony, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket, his chest tight with something he doesn’t quite know how to name. the air is crisp, a little sharp, like it’s catching the last breath of autumn before winter rolls in. but despite the chill in the air, the warmth of the city wraps around him, like the familiar pull of something close and comforting, something he’s been with his whole life.
the streetlights outside flicker softly in the dark, casting pools of golden light on the wet pavement below. it’s a late hour, one that should be quiet enough to make him think of nothing at all, but instead, his eyes are fixed on bucky – watching him, as always, the way he watches everything and everyone, like he’s already figured them out before they even know what they’re about. and tonight, in the quiet stillness, steve can’t tear his eyes away. it’s always been like this, this pull toward bucky, but tonight it’s different, sharper somehow. maybe because it’s just the two of them, the world so far away, the city barely more than a hum in the distance. maybe because everything feels a little more fragile tonight, like they’re both standing on the edge of something without knowing if they should jump or pull back.
bucky stands on the opposite end of the balcony, cigarette in hand, the tip glowing faintly as he takes another drag. the smoke curls up, weaving into the night air, dissipating slowly like the thoughts steve can’t manage to put into words. it’s so bucky – the way he holds the cigarette loosely between his fingers, the way the smoke dances away from him, like it can’t wait to escape him. steve watches the way his lips press around the end of the cigarette, how they pull away, the faintest line of ash forming before it falls to the ground. it’s hypnotic in the way it pulls at something inside steve, something he’s been trying to ignore for too long. the way the light catches on bucky’s features, the soft curve of his cheek, the line of his jaw – he’s beautiful, in a way that makes steve’s heart ache.
it’s the mouth, though, that steals his breath. how the corners twitch when bucky speaks, how his lips press together with quiet intensity when he’s lost in his thoughts. it’s always been the lips. steve can’t help it. he’s always been drawn to them, to the way they curve, to the way they press into words and sometimes stay still, as if saying more by staying silent. the thought lingers in steve’s mind like a whisper, and before he can stop himself, his gaze flickers to them again, watching bucky as he exhales the smoke into the cool night.
he doesn’t mean to stare. really, he doesn’t. but it’s like bucky’s mouth has always been a point of no return, and steve has never known how to look away. he wants to look away. he knows he should. but there’s something about the quiet intimacy of it, something about the way everything feels more real when it’s just them, just this night, just the two of them standing here in this little corner of the world.
and then, as though bucky feels the weight of his stare – perhaps he always has – he shifts, turning his head slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet. steve freezes, a sharp breath catching in his throat. bucky’s gaze is steady, searching, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. it’s a look that steve’s seen a thousand times, but tonight it’s different, like the space between them is too small, too close. like something is stretching, shifting, and neither of them knows how to make it stop.
“you know,” bucky says, his voice low, but warm, the kind of voice that’s only ever spoken when it’s just them in the quiet. “you could ask. you don’t have to keep staring like that.”
the words are playful, teasing, but there’s something underneath them, something unspoken that hangs between them like a thin thread, connecting them in a way that steve isn’t sure how to navigate. his heart stutters in his chest, and for a moment, he wonders if he can blame it on the cigarette smoke in the air, or maybe the night, or the city that never seems to sleep. but it’s more than that. it’s always been more than that.
“ask?” steve says, his voice rougher than he intends, like the simple act of speaking takes more out of him than it should. he knows he sounds flustered. he knows. but it doesn’t matter. nothing matters except the way bucky is looking at him, the way the smile on his lips deepens, just a fraction. and steve feels something shift, something tilt inside him, like maybe this is the moment when everything changes. when all the years of silence, all the years of hiding, all the years of just waiting for something to give way – maybe it’s finally now.
“yeah,” bucky says softly, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping closer, his shoes making a soft scrape against the wood of the balcony. “you could just ask. you don’t have to pretend like you’re not thinking it.” there’s a quiet understanding in his voice, something that makes steve feel like he’s been seen in a way that’s too vulnerable, too naked for comfort.
the air between them thickens, and steve finds himself stepping closer, drawn to the space between them like it’s pulling him in. bucky’s hands are by his sides, but steve notices the way his fingers twitch slightly, like he wants to reach out but isn’t sure if he’s allowed to. it feels like the whole world has narrowed down to this single moment, to the small distance between them, to the weight of what they’ve never said.
“bucky,” steve breathes, his voice barely audible, the word hanging in the air between them like a secret they’ve both been holding on to for too long. bucky’s eyes soften, his gaze turning gentle, as if steve has finally given him permission to take the next step.
and then, in that moment, the world seems to pause, as if everything in brooklyn, in the city, in the universe itself, has held its breath, waiting for them to act. steve reaches out, fingers trembling as they brush against bucky’s arm, and it’s like the touch is enough to shatter everything between them. bucky steps forward, his hand finding the back of steve’s neck, warm and sure, and before steve can even register what’s happening, bucky’s lips are against his.
it’s soft. gentle. tentative, like the first step on a new path, like a question whispered without an answer. it’s everything steve’s ever wanted and nothing at all like he expected, because it’s better. it’s more than he could ever have dreamed. bucky’s lips press against his, warm and familiar, a feeling he’s known for years but never allowed himself to feel like this. there’s no rush, no urgency. it’s just them, just this moment, just the quiet understanding that passes between them like a current of electricity, a spark that ignites something deep inside.
when they pull apart, it’s slow, like the world is still spinning and they’re the only two things that matter. steve’s heart is still racing, but there’s a soft warmth that fills him up from the inside out, a sense of peace he didn’t know he’d been missing. bucky’s forehead rests gently against his, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. the night air is cool, but it doesn’t matter. nothing matters except the soft rhythm of their breaths, the quiet that wraps around them like a blanket.
“yeah,” bucky says, his voice a little hoarse, a little too full of feeling for it to be casual. “that. i’ve been waiting for you to ask.” and there’s a quiet kind of happiness in his voice, something steve has never heard before, but has always wanted to.
they stay there for a while, just holding each other, just being there in the stillness of the night, letting everything settle, letting the world fade away until it’s just the two of them. and in that moment, in that simple, perfect moment, steve knows that this is enough. this is all they need.