Bucky hurried down the busy street, ignoring the sounds of peddlers selling their wares, the shouts of paper boys, and the gangs of teenagers chasing dogs or running from shop owners. The sun was setting, and he had just gotten off of work at the docks. It was a warm summer evening in 1938, and Bucky wasn’t about to stop and appreciate any of it. He had to get home.
He finally reached the alley and ducked under someone’s hanging laundry as he headed for the rickety stairs that would lead him to the shoebox apartment that he shared with Steve. He dodged that egg Mrs. Next-Door and her dingy daughter who was always trying to chat Bucky up. He barely avoided stepping on a stray cat that ran through his path. But finally, FINALLY, he was opening his door and stepping through.
Steve was sitting at the kitchen table with two steaming mugs of tea. As Bucky entered the tiny room, he stood and closed the curtains that hung limply over the one small window. Light still shone brightly through the cheap thin fabric, but they did what they were supposed to do. Satisfied that no one would be able to see them, Steve turned expectantly to Bucky, who locked the door and grinned.
Steve took a running leap at Bucky and Bucky caught him up in his arms. Their lips met in a sweet, chaste, kiss. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, and his legs around his torso as Bucky gripped him tightly and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss without Steve even needing to ask.
They stayed like that for a long while, until even Steve’s tiny frame became too much for Bucky’s tired arms and he set him down. Steve grinned up at Bucky and grabbed his hand pulling him to the table and telling him to sit down if he was so tired, and to have some tea, and that he’d gone to the market today, and did Bucky want fish or chicken for dinner?
Bucky smiled. In that moment he loved Steve more than he could have ever expressed, but he was damn sure gonna try. And as he opened his mouth to speak…
He woke up.
__________________________
The light of the rising sun filtered through the thin but expensive material of his curtains and Bucky remembered where he was. An apartment in Brooklyn. Just not the one from his dream. He dragged himself from his bed, metal arm stiff and in need of recalibration. He fumbled for a shirt, and tugged it on as he stomped into the small kitchen.
Bucky stood in the doorway, crossed his arms, and glared at the man making breakfast at the stove. The man seemed to feel his stare and turned around.
“What’s that look for?”
Bucky let the grimace fall from his face.
“It’s just disgusting how much I love you.”
Steve smiled his big happy smile and threw back his head in that huge laugh that Bucky had fallen for. The only difference now was that he no longer had to catch his breath for five minutes after.
“Come on Love. Let’s eat.”