Steve
Steve puts his spare inhaler in his bag, hoping he won’t need it that night. Peggy Carter was managing an art exhibition tonight, and he was pretty excited to attend it. While he didn’t have any of his paintings on display this time, he looked forward to talking to some of the other local artists. Peggy had also mentioned an artist coming from DC, but Steve was a little preoccupied when she called.
The detective who had come in the day before had been on Steve’s mind. A lot. Bucky Barnes was born in Shelbyville, Indiana, but moved to Brooklyn when he was 10 years old. He had always wanted to be a part of the NYPD and was recently promoted to become a homicide detective. He has brown wavy hair which touched his shoulder, and grey- almost silver eyes that shone so bright when he was talking about baseball. He looked about six feet, but Steve couldn’t tell because everyone was a lot taller than him anyway. Steve had been standing with his hand on the back of the chair, staring into space, his ears turning red thinking about the detective, while Peggy tried to tell him about the exhibition.
The sound of an incoming message on his phone wakes him up from the daze, and he moves to pick up his phone, which is on the table. It’s a message from Peggy, asking him to carry his portfolio. He had wanted to go to the exhibition just as a guest, but Peggy had different plans. It mostly means that he is going to meet potential clients, and should be prepared to sell himself. He loves art, he loves his work. His oil paintings are highly commissioned, and his charcoal sketches are also in demand. But this side of the job he hated. He doesn’t even like the crowded halls or the mandatory networking that happens at such events. He feels stuffy in his suit already, but he’s dressed, and Peggy would kill him if he doesn’t show up.
He shoots a quick affirmative message to Peggy, before heading into his room to get his portfolio, when he hears a sharp knock on the door. It was almost six in the evening, and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He opens the door to Bucky standing on the other side. He’s wearing a navy blue blazer and dark pants, with a striped light blue shirt underneath.
“Hi”, Bucky greets him with a smile, sounding a little breathless. Steve suppresses his urge to laugh out loud, “Hey. Uh, did you forget something?”
Bucky peeks inside, but doesn’t step inside, he looks a little nervous, “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I forgot to ask if you want to go to a baseball game with me.”
Steve knew he should have kept his inhaler in his pocket instead of his bag because the hot!! detective!! is asking him!! out!! He doesn’t have to think twice to respond, “Yes!”
“Great! Well, the-the Yankees are playing the Mets tonight, so…”
“I know all about their rivalry, going back to the Dodgers, Giants, and the Yankees, the 2000 World Series, The 7 Line Army?”
“You were listening.”
“To every word.”
Steve could get lost in Bucky’s pretty eyes, and for a moment there, they both just stand there, staring at each other. It’s on the five-second mark when Steve has a realization. “Oh wait! I- I can’t go tonight. I promised a friend I’d be at her art gallery opening.” Bucky bows a little, lets out a big sigh, “Okay” and starts to leave, when Steve moves to call him back. “Uh, would you want to come with me?” It’s a little impulsive yes, but Steve couldn’t let Bucky leave with that sad smile. Bucky seems a little hesitant when he says “Uh… sure. Yeah, I’d like that. That’d be different.”
“How do you feel about abstract expressionism?” Bucky looks so adorably confused, and entirely caught out by the question; Steve was going to have so much fun. “Well, my feelings are… abstract and hard to express.” He can’t help but laugh this time and holds the door open so Bucky can step inside the apartment.