Bucky’s body is tired, muscles aching from a long shift at the docks, but his mind is clear and awake, in contrast to most at this hour (Brooklyn never quite goes quiet though).
It should be unfortunate, seeing as it’s in the middle of the night and he should be sleeping, but Bucky doesn’t mind it all that much.
Instead, his steel blue eyes are resting on Steve, who’s asleep next to him. The brunet has his arm outstretched across the bed and Steve’s head is resting comfortably on his bicep. He is completely and fully unconscious, snoring a little. Steve really can sleep like the dead — when some illness isn’t keeping him up, of course.
But for now, Bucky’s happy to see his thin, bony chest rising and falling as it should, his breathing not sounding as strained anymore.
Because just a few days ago, Bucky wasn’t so sure Steve would ever be alright again. He had caught some sort of a virus (nobody even knows anymore) and it got so bad that he couldn’t even walk on his own, Bucky had to carry him. The worst days, Steve had barely woken up.
And of course both of them pretended to be convinced that it wasn’t so bad, that Steve would be up and about soon — but Bucky knows in his heart that this had been one of those times where even Steve doubted his recovery. Bucky sure had a stubborn lump in his throat for the whole week, at least.
But the punk made it and Bucky is over the moon. There’s a permanent brightness, glee, coloring his days; there’s a bounce to his step, even as he heads to work. Steve breathing normally — as normal as it gets for the small man — is all he needs to be happy.
Although, the critical days have been a grave reminder of what Bucky has been thinking for many years, and he can’t deny that. That one day he is going to lose Steve.
And it’ll probably be soon. Despite the fact that Steve should be in his healthiest years, the illnesses just keep getting worse, the ailments lining up. He tries to stay positive, but it’s like the universe is trying to prove to him that Steve isn’t meant to live long, despite his incredible will power and mental strength.
It never made sense to Bucky, how someone so strong could have such a weak body. How Steve, who could be bright as the sun one day, could be too tired to move another.
There’s a tug at Bucky’s heart as his chest seems to constrict. He lets his eyes flutter shut, taking his gaze off Steve and the dark room for a moment as he takes a deep breath in, and breathes out slowly.
He’s tired of the fear. The fear that reappears ever so often. The fear that weighs down the bounce to his walk, that colors his days a gloomy gray instead. The fear that pools coldly in his stomach.
He tries not to think about the void Steve will leave behind, the person he spends most of his time with. Bucky doesn’t know what he will do then. Steve is his home.
Instead, he shakes his head, and opens his eyes, letting his gaze slide to Steve’s small figure besides him again.
For now, he concentrates on Steve, that is here right now, snoring just a little louder then. Steve with his golden hair and ocean blue eyes and bony body. There might not be much Bucky can do for the blond’s sickness, but he can appreciate every moment with him (unless when Steve is fighting, since that’s just plain stupid and Bucky will never think otherwise, because is the guy trying to die faster?) and make sure to give him as much of his heart as he can, while he’s here, still.
It’s more than 70 years later and Bucky is comfortably lying in bed. It’s past midnight but he’s still awake, though once again, it doesn’t matter. It’s a moment of calmness and it’s not often he gets those nowadays (no he’s not bitter). Outside the window, crickets chirp and Bucky listens to them contently.
A pair of strong arms is wrapped around his chest, not too tightly, but they’re definitely a secure weight keeping him grounded. Keeping his mind here and now, reminding him that he’s safe. He’s safe and all is good.
Behind him, Steve sighs happily in his sleep with his nose nestled into Bucky’s neck, and a soft smile spreads on the latter’s face. He wants to hug Steve tightly, but he doesn’t really want to move, either. This is way too comfortable; in fact, if he could, he would never leave this spot, ever.
He still worries (more than he’d like to admit) but not about Steve falling sick, at least. There’s other things that can happen, but Bucky is too happy to ponder about that for too long.
Instead he closes his eyes, and lets himself relax in Steve’s arms and lets himself drift off to a deep, dreamless sleep.
He is home.