Chapter 2
When Steve opened an eye, his mind felt light. But the second afterwards the events of the night came back to him in full force and he groaned in both anger and annoyance. Why was the world so hateful? He turned back on his bed and his eyes landed on his immaculate canvas. Another groan - from pain and frustration this time.
The blond man finally got up. He passed in front of his mirror. With only loose pants on, the thinness of his body was even more obvious. He’s eating plenty, tho! Steve didn’t hate his body but some days, when the world turned out to be so cruel he just wishes he could have a tall and muscular body, just to be able to beat up those homophobic shits outta America.
He poured himself a bowl of porridge and put it on his table. His little studio was so, well, little, he never felt the need to close his doors so that he could face the “living-room” with his canvas waiting and also perk into his bedroom through the open door. The blankness of the canvas was calling him. He was not even looking at what he put into his mouth anymore.
But what if?
His eyes scanned the area, looking for his phone. He frowned when he couldn’t find it - before he remembered it was on his bedside table like every other day of the year. He rose up and went to fetch the little device. Back in front of his breakfast, he quickly googled the painting he had in mind. Not bad, he thought. Could even work.
Steve hastily finished his porridge and carelessly threw his bowl into the sink, already running towards his bathroom. He didn’t even think; he put on a XXXL shirt he used to paint with and drew his stool to the canvas. Liberty Leading the People. A famous painting from Delacroix, featuring a Lady Liberty as the leader of the French people over the barricades during the July Revolution of 1830. Obviously, the painter’s intention was to show a glorious nation moving towards Freedom and Brotherhood and Every Virtue Under The Sun. The same ones, actually, that America was supposedly built on. But, well, last night proved it was just talk, not reality. His school assignment was to redraw a painting to show a different emotion. Thus, under his brush, “Liberty Leading the People” would become the bitter, disastrous “Liberty assaulted by her very own People.” And amongst those traitors and dickheads? You guessed it: that homophobic one-arm man. Steve drew him right after Liberty and the kid (who was now obese and full of himself).
Steve rose and took a step back to observe his first lines. The original painting on his phone, he checked the overall disposition of the characters and their proportion. He deemed it good enough and went searching for his paint. When he got back, his eyes got stuck on the disabled man. It was a quick, first draw but the lines of his muscles were already shown and the fewer ones for his long hair somehow showed more to the mind than a full-fledged painting. Maybe because Steve could remember the exact tone of dark brown that silky hair was. And his face, the outline of his lips...
“Oh come on!” Steve shouted to wake himself up. “I am not falling for an homophobe!”
Still, the brunet was the most handsome and totally-his-type kind of homophobe.
Natasha was sitting on the terrace of a nice café on a big, busy avenue. With her perfectly done nails, she scrolled through the info feed on her phone when movements ahead of her table drew her attention away. She saw the man approaching and rose to greet him. She couldn’t help but smile.
“James!” she said, shaking his hand frankly.
They sat down.
“I can’t believe it was really you, yesterday.”
Bucky laughed.
“I thought I had recognized you too but the fight started and... You know the rest.”
The redhead nodded. For a few seconds, they remained silent. Then she spoke again, more softly:
“Was everything okay, last night? I saw the cops taking you away.”
Again, Bucky gave her his irresistible smile.
“Yeah, don’t worry. Sam... The guy who was with me, I mean. So Sam didn’t get caught and helped me get out this morning. Surprisingly, the cops thought he was trustworthy, if you see what I mean.”
“I totally see.”
Her eyes mindlessly wandered around the place to stop themselves on discreet tags put on the street lamps. Someone had written with a black sharpie “BLM”.
“So!” she said with forced enthusiasm, not wanting to think about it anymore, “what happened to you? Last time we saw each other it was in... high school I think? Man, that was...”
She tried to calculate but failed.
“...Many years ago indeed” Bucky finished, laughing.
“Exactly. So tell me everything.”
At this instant, a waiter approached them. Natasha ordered a vodka while Bucky went for a whiskey. The café was a good one and they enjoyed their drinks. While doing so, they talked about college, jobs, love affairs. Bucky told Natasha how he was helping at the Veterans Center (actually, he was helping Sam who was helping there, but that was the same thing, right?) while looking for a job. His dream would be in a museum because he loved culture and sharing it but at the same, he needed to eat. Natasha told him about her engagement with Maria. Bucky pondered for a moment.
“Maria... Maria... You mean Maria with short hair and freckles, “stop skipping classes” Maria?”
The redhead snorted.
“Yeah, that one.”
She felt she had to justify herself, considering the look of total disbelief on Barnes’ face.
“We fell out of touch for a few years. But then we met again at a bar a good friend just recommended to me on the morning and... yeah, stuff happened.”
The brunet smiled and Nat tried to hide her blush in her drink. They talked more and eventually, the topic of last night came back.
“They were all assholes” Natasha said, “and you know what they say about trolls. Yes, it was really nice of you and yes of course thank you for having my back but seriously, it was really not necessary.”
“I agree, I agree. But Nat, I couldn’t stop myself! You heard them, they... And then there was this real mean one. I mean I didn’t notice him first and I think I kinda hurt him first by accident...”
The redhead finished her drink.
“A mean one? Which one? Not that... there were some less mean than others.”
“A really skinny one. Like I really thought I could break his bones with just a slap. But the way he hit me back!”
“Wait.”
Natasha frowned. Last night, she had tried to pull Steve out of both the bar and the fight but didn’t manage to get to him - or even spot him - before the cops arrived. Then she used the subsequent confusion to finally reach him and take him away.
“When you say skinny... Sickly skinny with blonde hair?”
“Yeah, exactly!”
“You punched Steve.”
She couldn’t believe it. Bucky raised his eyebrow.
“Who-?”
“Steve. My friend. You punched... Oh my god. I can’t believe it.”
The man had already squared his shoulders and was looking at her with disbelief but also as if he was willing to put up a fight again immediately.
“That guy was your friend? You know how homophobic-”
Natasha nearly choked.
“Steve? Homophobic? He’s not, he’s even-”
She stopped herself and bit her lips. This was not something she had the right to disclose. Not ever. Still, the misunderstanding remained.
“Dear Lord. I can’t. I can’t with you two.”
Bucky snorted.
“Like, he has no problems with lesbians. Yeah, totally. Like he totally didn’t attack me because I was defending you.”
Natasha stared him down.
“You and me. We really need to talk about Steve. And then you’ll really need to talk to him.”
The woman gripped her phone more strongly against her ear when she hurried up the flight of stairs.
“Yeah, exactly, just like I told you!”
“They’re dumbasses” replied Maria inside her ear. “I don’t see another explanation.”
Natasha briefly looked around to find her way before going left, leaving the underground’s entry behind her. Her pace was fast, as usual.
“Oh, they totally are.”
She heard Maria sighing. After that, she heard a pen on a table and she just assumed her fiancée was fiddling with it and it dropped from her hand. Maria was currently at her office, trying to remain sane. While her police station wasn’t the one directly involved with the bar’s fight, she still had to answer to phone calls relative to the event and she could feel the tension among her coworkers. Natasha was already planning for a cup of tea and a hot bath to be ready when the woman of her life would return home. For now, however, she was heading to another house.
“Did you tell James?”
“Of course I did! But somehow he wouldn’t believe me!”
She stopped at the crosswalk. A few seconds later, the red warning turned green and she resumed her walk.
“So, what are you doing now?”
“Going to see Steve. I’m almost there.”
She looked at the high building and its apparently endless facade of windows, some of which having plants tasting an altitude they shouldn’t.
“Okay then, I’ll leave you. See you later!”
“Yup. Love you, bye.”
“Love you too.”
The redhead ended the call and put her phone in her pocket. She walked towards the door and thought for a second before remembering the code which opened the building’s door. Then the stairs, 3rd floor. Finally, she was at Steve’s door. She knocked three times and brushed her feet against the mat while waiting for her answer.
“Oh, hi!” said a surprised Steve when he opened the door.
“Hi,” she replied with her smile.
Steve frowned, as if he was struggling to remember something - probably whether Nat had texted him earlier to let him she was coming (she had not) - before blushing and stepping back.
“Please, come in.”
The blond man closed the door behind her. She dropped her bag and hung her coat. Steve hurried towards the kitchen area of the flat, asking her if she wanted something to drink.
“A glass of water will be fine, thanks.”
Her eyes had got caught by the canvas. She knew what Steve’s assignment was and she had been curious since the beginning for the result. Thus she moved into the living-room without asking and placed herself at the perfect distance from the art piece. A few moment later, Steve joined her with her drink.
“Thanks.”
She drank a bit and then asked, pointing towards the painting.
“So? You’ve finished yet? What’s the story behind it?”
Steve danced on his feet - as always when he was embarrassed and especially when it was because someone had asked details about his art piece. Not that he minded giving them because it was art and he loved rumbling about art but because he still struggled to find a way that wouldn’t look as if he was glorifying himself.
“It’s not completely finished but... yeah, I’m almost through. And erm, I’m glad it didn’t take me too much time. As for the inspiration... Do you know about Delacroix?”
Natasha bit her lips as she was searching through her memory - but she had studies economy, not art.
“It’s a French painter I guess?”
Steve grinned playfully.
“That’s a start! Erm, anyway, the idea is that French people helped the USA during the Independence War and, erm, I’m doing this real short, okay? Basically, both France and the USA were based on the same ideals like freedom.”
The redhead was staring at the painting.
“Doesn’t seem like the freedom lady is accepted, here.”
“That’s the point.”
She stared for a few more seconds. Then she pointed at a figure, nearly touching the canvas. She turned to Steve and rose her eyebrow. The blond blushed again.
“I might have make things a bit more personnel.”
“That’s the guy from last night” she said, not even asking.
“Yes.”
Natasha sighed and moved towards the table. Steve followed her. They both sat and the woman looked into her friend’s eyes.
“Steve, I know this guy. We were friends in high school-”
Steve turned red and hot but Natasha rose her voice and finished her sentence before he could burst into a passionate speech about how his friend was not what he seemed or whatever - the exact same speech James had wanted to make too (God, they were so much alike!)
“And he’s not homophobic at all. He’s a gay activist!”
“Oh.”
Steve did not loose his redness but the redness turned into a slightly different nuance of red.
“Oh” he repeated.
Natasha could see the realization sinking in.
“But- Why did he punch me then?”
The woman shrugged.
“He didn’t mean to, he just missed the other guy and ended punching you by accident. But then you retaliated and-”
She vaguely gestured implying the rest was history. Steve was staring down, not willing to look at her in the eyes.
“Oh my God, what I have done.”
Natasha was growing impatient. It was five fifty in the afternoon and Maria usually finished worked around six thirsty. So, she deemed her mission successful, and consecutively asked for Steve’s phone. She quickly find the “new contact” setting and gave the phone back when she was done.
“Alright,” she said, rising up, “I gave you James’ number. Call him. Or text him. Whatever. But contact him.”
She stressed the penultimate word while also using her death glare and Steve was quick to acknowledge her wish. The death glare vanished and she was back to her cheerful self.
“Perfect! Then I bid you goodbye Steve Rogers for I have an almost wife to take care of!”
They hugged and Steve accompanied her to the door. They ugged again and wished good bye to each other then Natasha disappeared down the stairs. Thus Steve was left with a faulty painting - and a phone number.
Bucky closed the door and started untying his shoes.
“I’m back!” he shouted.
Sam’s head popped out of his bedroom.
“Hey man, welcome home.”
With only his sockets on, the brunet entered the living-room and slouched on the couch. His friend - and flatmate - joined him.
“So?” he asked, curious and smiling, “was it really your old friend?”
“Yes, it was!”
“Amazing.”
Bucky proceeded to tell Sam everything about Natasha who had sent him a message via Facebook this very morning, asking if he was around and if they could meet (Bucky should have been surprised but he was almost expecting it, as he had recognized her in the bar and wanted to get back in touch too).
“That girl with her is her fiancée? So sweet.”
“So sweet.”
They fell silent. The brunet was shifting on his seat and Sam picked on it immediately - after all, they had been living together for many months already.
“What are you not telling me?”
Bucky was reluctant but when he saw genuine concern over Sam’s face, he decided to tell him about that particular part of the conversation.
“You remember the skinny guy who tried to fight me?”
“Oh, yes, I do. I think he thought he was going to win because of your disability which tells a lot about how a jerk he is.”
“Well, actually, according to Nat, he’s not a bad person.”
Sam stopped and then slowly said:
“He’s white.”
“The cops were white too this morning! And I’m white!”
“First of all, you literally gave your arm to rescue some people you didn’t even know about. Secondly, we almost didn’t get you out this morning!”
Well, Bucky thought, he couldn’t argue with that. Although it did go way better than they anticipated when the cops arrested him last night. He got to be in a separate car from the dickheads he had been fighting. Later on, they were interrogated separately too and spent the night in different cells. What did the trick was most certainly the fact that the police was dealing from riots and general civil unrest at the moment and didn’t want to get involved in queer-related fights. Not during the month of June and not during aforementioned civil unrest. Proof was they only barely looked at Sam’s ID and didn’t even questioned him.
“OK, I give you that one. But you saw the man, he’s so skinny he must be sick or something!”
“Hate to break it to you Bucky, but disabled people aren’t necessary good because they’re disabled or sick.”
Sam rose to go cook diner. The brunet stayed on the couch, mulling over the facts and the feelings. Truth be told, he was obsessed with Steve since he had seen him. Even dreamed of him during the night. Steve was, to be honest, absolutely his type: nice blonde hair, adorable twink body (and ass) and fierce spirit. He wished Nat was right and it was all a big misunderstanding. But Sam was right, too: he shouldn’t get attached if Steve revealed himself to be the asshole Sam thought he was.
The man rose from the couch and went to the kitchen. Sam was whistling cooking. Bucky set the table then sat in front of his plate.
“You can’t contact him anyway, right?” Sam asked out of the blue.
He didn’t think of that.
“You’re right.”
“Then forget about him already. There’s not point.”
The moment Sam finished talking, Bucky’s phone buzzed in his pocket. While he unlocked it, he couldn’t help but tease his friend.
“I wouldn’t go around falling for guys who punch me if you didn’t have so strict preferences.”
Sam laughed.
“Sorry man, the booty’s only for the ladies.”
Bucky mimed being frustrated then turned his attention back to the text he had just received. His heart immediately stopped.
“Buck? Hey man, what’s happening?”
The brunet did not answered. Instead, he showed the screen of his phone and the black man read aloud:
“Hi, I’m Steve. Natasha apparently told you about me. Can we talk?”
Bucky looked at Sam, uncertain. Sam thought, thoughtfully. Eventually, he shrugged and went back to his cooking.
“Come on!” Bucky pleaded. “What should I answer?”
Sam opened his mouth but closed it almost right afterwards. He turned off the oven, distributed the meat and the vegetables equally between the two plates and sat down. Then he talked.
“I don’t know, man. I seriously don’t know.”
With that being said, he started to eat. Bucky sighed and followed his lead.
Later on, Bucky was laying on his bed, staring at the text message from Steve. He hadn’t received another one. Surely, Steve wasn’t trying to push him, letting him open the conversation or not at all. But what should Bucky answer? “Are you homophobe?” Or: “are you gay?” Either one was terrible.
“Good night!” Sam’s voice came in through the door.
“Good night!” he replied.
He heard his friend going to his own bedroom and closing the door. The flat was silent. It was getting late and Bucky was tired from his night in custody. But he didn’t want to leave Steve waiting for the night - even if the man was actually already sleeping. Bucky took in a long breath - and typed his answer.
Hi. I’m James but my friends call me Bucky. Yes we can talk.
This was downright awful. Bucky threw his phone on his bed and began to undress. He was in the middle of taking off his shirt when he heard the familiar buzzing of his phone. He threw himself to go grab it, disregarding his shirt being halfway off - or the uncomfortable position he ended in.
Nice! Can we meet tomorrow? Same bar?
He hadn’t finished reading the text that another one followed.
I’ll ask Nat and Maria to join if u want.
Bucky smiled.