Pale moonlight shone through the rattled blinds. Not nearly enough to illuminate anything but a small part of Bucky’s face. Steve saw only his nose and mouth and swallowed. Outside he heard music coming from the nearby pub, and drunk people passing their small apartment. Somewhere girls were waiting for them at Stark Expo, but this was silent time. Time to process. Their time.
Their last time.
Bucky’s lips parted, they huffed out a breath. It ghosted over Steve's face and Steve bit his lip.
“You okay, Steve?” Bucky asked.
Mind reader. Somehow, Bucky knew Steve better than Steve knew himself.
Steve blinked. Felt his heart beating wildly. “I’m scared, Buck.”
It was silent for a while, and Steve was just starting to wonder if he’d said something wrong when Bucky spoke up and tangled their hands together, “I’m scared too.”
Steve scooted closer until his nose was in Bucky’s neck and he inhaled sharply, fully realizing this could be the very last time. His nose filled itself with the smell of ashes and grime. The smell of Brooklynn. The smell of Bucky Barnes. Steve often wondered; what is the difference between the two? Both rough as the gravel of the streets Steve used to chafe his knees on, both sweet as undoubtedly the cakes in the window of the bakery just around the corner they never had enough money to buy.
“Bucky?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really gonna miss you.” Steve whispered.
This was the first time they were going to be really apart since that one summer of 1928 when Steve’s mom dragged him with her to his grandma somewhere in the rural areas of Texas. Steve hated everything there; the ranch, the horses, the hay. Of course he was allergic to everything which made everything a whole lot worse.
Bucky was in tears seeing him again. “Thought you was gonna stay there forever.” He had smiled watery. A tooth was missing.
“Nah, pal. Wouldn’t ever do that to you. I’m with you to the end of the line, remember.” Steve had clapped his skinny hand on Bucky’s back. His eyes swollen and red from the damn feathers of the chickens.
“You better.” Bucky said. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Which kind of made Steve’s heart warm in ways it shouldn’t. He didn’t know how to respond, so he grinned sheepishly.
Then they played hoop and stick and got chased away by the angry neighbor across Bucky’s house. Life as it normally should be. But then Steve got an asthma attack because of running so much.
Bucky stayed with him until Steve’s mother shooed him out with a towel.
“Bye Steve!” Bucky yelled, his grin so wide Steve believed it could move mountains as the towel hit him around the ears. The soles of his worn shoes flapping against the floor.
When he was gone his mother chuckled and shook her head. Resuming preparing dinner for her and her broken son she said, “that boy… he’s as loyal as a fault. Truly something.”
And Steve had coughed weakly from the couch where his mother carefully draped a blanket over his small frame and nodded his head vigorously. “He’s my best friend ma.”
Mama Rogers waved her spatula in his direction, “don’t you ever lose him, ya understand? You don’t know how lucky you are.”
Steve always knew how lucky he was.
In the here and now Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s skinny figure and brought his mouth close to Steve’s ear. “m’ gonna miss you too.” He murmured.
“Will you think of me?” Steve asked, and his breath hitched as he realized what kind of weird question that was. He was just about to mumble some half-assed apology but Bucky only chuckled.
“Sweetheart.” Bucky said, breathlessly caressing Steve’s cheek with gentle, doting fingers, “I won’t ever stop.”
And after that statement Steve did what felt right. What felt natural. What felt normal; he pressed his lips against Bucky’s. Fully aware this could mean the end of him, but he didn’t care. He was gonna lose him anyways.
Bucky kissed back.
Soft, needy.
Steve tasted sorrow and bitterness, ashes and grime. Sugar and spice. He tasted home.
“I love you.” Bucky whispered when they had to pull apart to catch their breaths, “I love you, Stevie. So much.”
Steve swallowed, placed his hand on Bucky’s strong jawline. The idea of this being the last time he was going to hear these words made his chest ache. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” Steve whispered softly. His eyes stung and he blinked and blinked until it went away, “I love you too, Buck.”
…
“You really sure we should do this?” Steve asked, his stomach warm and Bucky’s arm slung around his pointy shoulders. “Maybe we should head back, get a little sleep.” Maybe we should lay in each other’s arms, neither of us saying anything, awaiting your inevitable death. Steve thought bitterly. The worst thing was, they couldn’t die alongside each other. Not like men, not like best friends, not like lovers. Nothing.
Steve would likely die from pneumonia anyway.
But Bucky from a bullet wound.
Steve would take the bullet for Bucky any day.
“Live a little, Stevie. Who knows, this could be my last day to really live.” Bucky yelled and almost toppled over trying to avoid some drunk guy and his girl.
There was something definite about those words, something terrible. In some sort of twisted world, Bucky was right. Even if he did come back from the war he would never be the same. Steve knows because he has seen war-stricken men. Shell shocked is what they called it. Steve called it a death sentence.
“Don’t say that,” Steve complained, “it makes me sick with worry.”
“Sorry, pal.” Bucky grinned, and Steve thought if he wasn’t laughing he’d be crying.
“Hah, hah, so funny.” Steve mocked, the warmth in his stomach quickly turning into cold dread, “let’s just hurry up before the girls think we bailed on them.”
“Whatever,’’ Bucky said, grabbing Steve’s wrist in a way that made him halt abruptly and for a moment they stood in the busy street, just looking at each other. This could be the last time Steve sees him. Really sees him like he is. Like he is right now. Not war-torn, not shell shocked. Just his beautiful, perfect Bucky.
Someone yelled 'get a move on’ and shoved them. Bucky smiled at Steve, and Steve had a hard time smiling back and swallowed with great difficulty, “C’mon, Stevie. We can’t let the girls wait.” Bucky said and threw that arm over his shoulders again.
The sleeve from Bucky’s uniform brushed against the sensitive skin in Steve’s neck, and only for a second, the world was alright again.