The Heart Is a Muscle
I wanna be loved
I wanna be whole again
So tuck my hair behind my ears
And touch my soul again.
'The Heart Is a Muscle'- Gang of Youths
The creaking of the old wooden steps woke Bucky up with a slight startle. Being a light sleeper was horrible when you live in a house older than both of your grandparents combined. Winifred's dark brown curls peaked around the corner of the staircase. The basement was illuminated by the light static of the TV that would make Bucky sick if looked at it long enough. A small side table held the digital clock and Steve's hearing aids and thick-framed glasses slightly blocked the view of his mother, but he could tell that she was wearing that ugly nightgown she had owned before he was even born.
"James? Are you boys awake?" His mother's husky voice whispered.
"Just me, Ma. Don't need to whisper. He's asleep and his hearing aids are out." Steve must've moved in his sleep because he was now half draped across the other boy. A bit of drool was dripping onto Bucky's shirt clad chest and down his own sharp chin. He moved and lifted with every breath he took in. He most likely could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. Long fingers were tangled into the left sleeve of the worn, detergent smelling, soft cotton fabric of the Lowes shirt.
If Steve looked innocent when he was awake, he was otherworldly in his sleep. Those blush pink lips were slightly parted as light breaths pushed passed them and long lashes dusted his pale cheekbones. He could see the permanent dent behind his ear from the hearing aids even in the dark and the prominent collarbone that was visible thanks to the shifting of his sweater. His lips lifted in his sleep as Bucky rested his hand on the other boys back. He was tempted to push the sweater up so his hand could touch the soft skin and memorize the feeling of minimal skin on skin contact. He wanted blood to rush to Steve's face and the sunshine smile to appear as he ran his hand up and down and up and down and touched him with caring hands. He pushed his hand up higher on his back to ease the temptation away.
Winifred walked around the corner and turned the TV off, making the room dark enough that he could hardly see her outline anymore. The harsh light of the digital clock was the only source of light in the entire basement - 3:17 it read. Morning monotony would start in four hours time and they would have to drag themselves to school. Steve wouldn't mind though. The morning Spring air cleared his lungs and brought a happy giddiness that would last well into 5th period. Bucky loved Spring simply for the fact that it made Steve happy. He loved the flowers that he picked and made into crowns and something to rest behind ears.
"I'm just checking to make sure you boys are asleep. How in the world is he comfortable like that?" She chuckled.
"He was real tired when he got home. And you know how sad movies always wipe him out." He moved his hand up and gently twisted his fingers in the short blond hair.
"What did you guys watch?"
"Forrest Gump. Told him it was sad but he wanted to see for himself. I don't think he finished before he fell asleep," Winifred walked to the lamp hidden in the corner and flipped in on, "He's real special, ain't he, Ma?"
"Are you ever going to tell him? He deserves to know, Hun." She kind of wishes she had a camera right now. The look on her son's face is something that only comes from years of unrequited love and admiration. What they have is rare and special. Stronger than most people know.
"Yeah, I think I will. I'm not sure when. But I know I will. I don't want to miss out on something special, ya know?" He gave her a gentle smile that made his eyes crinkle. He would tell him eventually. That fear that consumed him was no longer existent. Bucky has been alive long enough to know that anything is possible. Even someone so breathtaking like Steven Rogers who loves bees and flowers and sad movies that make him cry could love someone as rough and bold as James Barnes. There were so many good things in the world. And whatever they had was one of those good things.
The warm Spring weather disappeared not long after they both arrived at school, so the walk home was full of laughs as they stomped through puddles and tried to catch raindrops on their tongues. Their shoes were going to be soaked and their hair would be wet and curly from the water, but they couldn't bring themselves to care. They are young and in love. Even if they didn't know that last part just yet.
They toed their shoes off and darted into Steve's room. It was full of potted plants, polaroid pictures of the two of them pinned into his wall by unmatched push pins, old ticket stubs from movies long forgotten, and his most prized paintings and drawings. A big canvas stood in the corner with a stained sheet draped over it and paintbrushes underneath it. He knew he wouldn't get an answer to what the painting was, so he just didn't bring it up. When Steve was ready to show him, he would.
Both collapsed onto the unmade, cozy, sweet-smelling bed that was so warm that Steve was dead to the world the second his head hit the feather-filled pillow. His wet hair was being crimped by the awkward position he was in, so when he awoke, a shower would be the only thing that would work at getting rid of the horrible bed head. Bucky reached over and tried to gently tuck the hairs that were defying gravity behind the hearing aid clad ear. The hair was stiff, but it went back down with a bit of patience and rainwater from his wet shirt. He laid there with his hand in his best friends hair and tried to take in every detail of him. His fingers tapped gently on Steve's wrist in the same pattern as the rain that hit the window. Humming Steve's favorite love song (Love My Way) helped pass the time.
He moved his hand from the boy's wrist to his chest. He could count the ribs and settle his fingers in between the spaces. A hard thump was strong as ever.
His presence was just so calming and familiar. It was warm and sweet and gentle. He wanted to bask in it and forget the entire world. It was just him and Steve right now - world be damned.
He wished he had the nerve to tell Steve everything. One day. He was excited for that day.
"I love you if you didn't know. I promise one day I'm gonna tell you. I would be the luckiest guy in all of Brooklyn if you felt the same way, wouldn't I? You are the most sentimental punk I know, so maybe I'll do it through a letter. Or maybe I'll take you up to Coney Island and win you a nice stuffed bear. Maybe I'll take you out in the rain and kiss you as they do in those God awful movies you and Becca love. However I do it, it'll be good. I promise you. You'll know one day, Rogers. Just don't get rid of me before I can tell you."
Steve would be there. He always was.