“Move in with me.” Bucky had practiced the words in his head all afternoon. Even so, they were quiet and demure when he finally said them. He cleared his throat. “Move in with me, Steve.”
Steve didn’t look up from his project. He sat in the middle of the living room in a patch of sunlight, using the shadows of Bucky’s fiddle fig tree to mark out space on his sketch pad. Bucky reached out and poked him with his foot.
“You know I can’t, Buck.” Steve still didn’t look up. His pencil never stopped moving.
“Come on, Stevie.”
“No. And asking over and over isn’t going to get my answer to change.” Steve closed his sketch pad and stood. He still didn’t look at Bucky as he walked out of the living room.
They’d been dating for two years now. Despite sleeping over at Bucky’s more often than not, Steve still had his own apartment. Whenever Bucky toyed with the idea of Steve moving in, Steve shut the conversation down. This was the first time he’d straight-up asked. His boyfriend liked direct, so Bucky had learned to be direct.
Apparently, it wasn’t what Steve wanted.
Bucky got off the couch and headed towards the second bedroom. Steve sat at the desk, his sketchbook open again. Bucky walked behind him, resting his chin on Steve’s head.
“Talk to me, baby.”
“Don’t do that,” Steve said.
“Do what?”
“Don’t ‘baby’ me because you know it gets you what you want.”
Bucky took Steve’s chin in his hand and tilted his head back, placing a lingering kiss to his lips. He was scruffier than usual. “Then talk to me. Tell me what’s happening in that head of yours.”
A handful of emotions flashed through Steve’s eyes. At first, Bucky thought Steve was going to push him away. Then he sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t take your money, Buck.”
“I’m not asking you to, Steve.”
Steve swiveled in his chair, resting his head against Bucky’s stomach. “You are, Buck. You’re asking for something I can't give you. I love you, but I can’t afford this place. I already feel bad enough that I’m here so often and not paying for any of it.”
Bucky ran his hands through Steve’s hair. “Then what if we bought a house?”
Steve looked up, one eyebrow cocked. “You think I can afford a house? Buck, I can barely afford my studio.”
Bucky passed his hands through Steve’s hair again. “Tell me you’ll at least think about it? Mortgages can be cheaper. And we can make the house ours.”
“Bucky.”
“We can paint it bright colors, and have lots of plants, and Alpine would have more space. We could get a dog. You keep talking about wanting a dog.”
“Bucky, everything you add to this theoretical future of ours costs money. I don’t have money. Nothing I’m painting right now is selling, and no one tips waiters these days.”
“You could have a room that’s dedicated to your art because it’s fucking amazing and the people that pass it over are fucking morons.”
“You’re not hearing me, Bucky!” Steve pushed away from him and swiveled back to face the desk.
“I am hearing you, baby.”
“Don’t.”
“What if I told you I had an idea for the business?”
“I’m not taking away those free art classes, Buck.”
“No. But what if you had private lessons?” He walked forward and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair again. “I for one would pay a lot to get a private lesson with you.”
“Fuck off, Buck. I’m not a prostitute.” Steve shook him off, put his head down, and picked up his pencil again.
Bucky ran a hand through his own hair. This definitely wasn’t going the way he’d imagined it. “That’s not what I—Steve, you’re fucking incredible. Your art is stunning. Your time is worth something, and I know there are people who would pay to learn from you. I could put the word out. I know money has always been tight, Stevie, but I don’t want to wait forever to live with you if I don’t have to.”
Steve kept his head down. The longer Bucky waited, the more his stomach sank. He never knew when to leave well enough alone when it came to Steve. Sighing, Bucky turned and started walking towards the door.
“Buck.” Steve sounded tired. Bucky immediately came back. Steve turned in his chair, once again placing his head against Bucky’s stomach.
“At least tell me you’ll think about it?” He moved Steve side to side, trying to get a smile from him. “Think about it. Tell me you’ll think about it. Tell me? Tell me? Hmmm?”
Steve finally gave a grudging smile that turned genuine the moment Bucky grinned. “It’s not that I don’t want to live with you, Buck. I’ll think about both ideas, I promise.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Still don’t know why, though.”
Bucky passed his hand through Steve’s hair. It was sticking up now, with the number of times he’d done it. “You don’t know why I’ve had eyes for you from the moment I first saw you?”
“Couldn’t fathom it.” The thing that broke Bucky’s heart the most is that Steve meant it.
Bucky pulled Steve out of the chair and into his arms. They started swaying, and Steve stepped onto Bucky’s feet. Bucky chuckled but continued to sway for the both of them.
“I love you because you do this. Even after everything you’ve been through, you trust me not to let you fall. I love you because you know who you are and what you stand for. I love you because you call me out on my bullshit and you put me in check when I’m stupid because I grew up privileged. I love you because when I showed you my darkness, you opened your arms wider. I love you because you won’t move in with me.”
“Marry me, Buck.”
Bucky felt his heart stop. He stopped swaying. He tried to swallow. “What?”
Steve looked down at him through long lashes. “I said, marry me.”
Bucky’s mouth was dry. “Don’t ask just because you think I’m upset. Don’t ask because you’re afraid I’m going to stop waiting.”
Of all the ways Steve could’ve reacted, Bucky didn’t expect him to laugh. “I tried for four years to get you to leave me alone. I’ve learned you’re here to stay.”
“So why now?”
“Because I spent four years trying to push you away, and I don’t want you to think I’m doing it again. I love you, Buck. My future is you, and I want to live with you, and I want all the sappy shit you want, and I want to make you a promise that it will be ours. I can’t do it right now, but I want to make you the promise that it’ll happen. So marry me.”
Steve sank to one knee and pulled a box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a gold ring. “I can’t promise when you’ll get to call me your husband, but you can call me your fiance. That is if you say anything.” Bucky blinked. Steve looked up at him, a fond and exasperated look on his face.
“If you couldn’t get rid of me after trying your damnedest, did you really think I’m going to say no?” Bucky asked.
“Well, it would be nice if you said yes. My knee hurts. And my back, for that matter. I would like to get off the floor.”
Bucky crouched down and captured Steve’s lips with his own. “Of course, I’m saying yes, Steve.”
Steve chuckled, allowing Bucky to help him stand up. “Good, I was starting to feel like an idiot.”
Bucky held out his left hand and Steve slipped the ring on his finger. “How long have you been carrying this around?”
Steve brushed over the burnished gold. His breath hitched. “It was my ma’s,” he said. “She took it off after my dad went to jail for the first time, and she told me, Steven, even though it didn’t work for me, there’s a lot of love in this ring. She was right.”
Bucky looked at their twined hands. “I wish I could’ve met her.”
Steve smiled sadly. “She would’ve loved you, Buck. Without a doubt.” Bucky kissed him, and Steve let himself sink into his embrace. “Let me save up some more money, and then we can start looking at houses, okay?”
“However long you need, baby,” Bucky whispered. “I’m here to stay.”
They were in bed that night when Bucky turned to Steve. “If you ever did become a prostitute, you’d at least tell me first, right?”
Steve glanced over at him, reaching over to take his hand. The ring gleamed. “Don’t ever need to worry about that, Buck. I’m only yours.”