lost boy

Steve enters the classroom feeling somehow ready; he hasn’t revised during the week, too busy painting and working. He knows that they’ll be working on new material though, so he isn’t too worried. He’s there before Ms.Santiago, so all the other students are talking loudly and laughing. Steve goes to his usual spot at the far corner, then takes off his jacket and unpacks his books. He sees Bucky from the corner of his eye. The guy’s talking to Natasha, she nudges his shoulder slightly and he shakes his head. Steve turns toward them, wanting to say hello, but the teacher chooses this exact moment to enter the room. Steve ends up sending the pair a smile and a wave; they smile back, as Ms. Santiago greets the students. She announces that, as a revision, they’ll be working in pairs again. Steve rolls up the sleeves of his grey flannel in anticipation. He smiles when it turns out he’ll be working with Natasha. She goes to sit with him, as he sits alone, and flops down on a chair beside him, opening her notebook.

They finish their assignment quickly, waiting for the rest of the class to finish. They sit in silence for a bit, Steve squirming under Natasha’s intent gaze.

“So,” she starts, offhandedly. “I hear you’ve been asking about me?” She smirks as Steve chokes on is own spit.

“Imma kill him,” Steve groans, hiding his face in his hands.

“Good luck with that,” she huffs, no heat behind her words. “You wanna tell me who that was for?” Natasha narrows down her eyes suspiciously, the green piercing right through Steve.

“Not really,” he mumbles, shifting.

“Come on, Steve. I’m asking nicely,” she puts the emphasis on the last word and he swallows down.

“I can’t,” he shrugs. “Not without talkin’ to um… them first,” Steve states, carefully avoiding giving any information away.

Natasha looks at him assessingly for a bit, then leans back on her chair. “Okay.”

“Just like that?” he cocks an eyebrow.

“You’re obviously a good friend, Steve,” Natasha sends him a small smile.

“Thanks, I guess,” he shrugs, smiling hesitantly.

They don’t have much time to talk after that, as Ms. Santiago starts checking their assignments. They did good, and Steve’s glad his hard work is finally paying off. Natasha goes back to her desk where Bucky’s seated. Steve hears her talk rapidly in Russian, but he pays no mind to it as he focuses on what the teacher’s saying. They start the new material, and he finds it hard to understand everything at once. He’s making notes, listening to everything Ms. Santiago’s explaining. At one point she asks him to read the exercise, and he feels like a deer caught in headlights; Steve has no idea what the right option is, so he guesses, hoping for the best. It turns out wrong though, and he ends up frustrated. Bucky is quick to give the right answer and Steve’s frustration grows even more. He thought that now, as they’re on somewhat friendly relations, the guy would stop proving Steve how little he knows. He was wrong though and he’s irritated, wishing for the class to end already.

Once Ms. Santiago tells them they’re free to go, Steve all but runs from the room. He doesn’t want to be the last one to leave, like he usually does. He’s frustrated and angry, and has an eight hour shift ahead of him. He wraps a scarf around his neck on his way out of the building, and heads straight to Starbucks.

*

On Tuesday afternoon Steve’s sitting in the library, getting ready for tomorrow’s lessons. He had only one class this morning, the other ones being cancelled, so he figured he’ll get a head start. He checks the clock every couple minutes to make sure he’ll get to work in time. He’s working the closing shift, and he’s dreading it already.

Steve taps his pencil against his notebook, his mind drifting away. He looks out the window at the raindrops sliding down thee glass. It’s late November and it definitely feels like it. It’s cold outside, the temperature dropping rapidly, and it’s raining pretty much all the time. He sighs, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a hem of his flannel shirt. It’s only a month till Christmas and then the midterms. He’s pretty much on top of all his projects, but still has one painting to do, which he’s been putting off for a while now. He has to paint a person in the nude to pass his body studies class. It wouldn’t be a problem if the teacher didn’t ask them to turn the painting with a signature of the person they painted. He knows he could just ask one of his friends to sign whatever he painted, but it doesn’t seem right to him, so he actually has to ask one of them, which, well, sucks. Sure, they’re friends, but it’s still a big deal to be still and naked for a couple hours while someone’s immortalizing you on canvas.

Steve puts his glasses back on, then goes back to reading his book and making notes. He just has to finish this chapter and then he’s good to go. He focuses on the text, scribbling down everything he finds important. He has just two paragraphs left when someone puts their books down on the table and sits opposite him.

“Hey.”

Steve looks up, and sees Bucky, smiling sheepishly at him. “Hi,” he answers, then looks down again.

“Whatcha doin’?” The brunette asks, putting his hair in a bun at the top of his head. He’s dressed in a black hoodie with a white tee underneath.

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “Just finishin’ this chapter,” he answers quietly, hoping that Bucky’ll leave him alone. Sure, they were doing fine, but then the guy had to prove Steve yet again how bad in Spanish he really is. Steve’s still a bit bitter about that, and he’s not up for a conversation when he’s got work to do.

“Oh, uhh, okay,” Bucky mumbles, his eyes searching Steve’s face. Then, he looks down and opens his books. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thanks,” Steve breathes, thanking whatever god there is. His Ma would probably smack him upside the head for that, the Catholic that she is, but Steve lost his faith a while ago. After everything he’s been through in his life, thinking that someone up there actually cares for him feels like a cruel joke.

Steve quickly finishes the chapter, then closes his books and shuffles them into his bag. He stands up, and puts on his coat, wrapping a scarf around his neck tightly. He turns on his heel and leaves, without as much as a second glance at Bucky.

*

Steve closes the door after himself and takes a deep breath. He’s just finished his shift, his manager still in the shop counting money. It’s been busy today, and getting everything ready for tomorrow took longer than usual. He’s dead on his feet and he’s still irritated after an encounter with one of the customers. One lady claimed that her coffee had too much milk, and he had to prepare her order three times. She said she’ll file a complaint, and they were in the middle of a heated discussion when the manager came to talk to her. She still wasn’t satisfied though, so Steve’s pretty damn sure he’ll be hearing about this later. Well, it’s not his fault that the girl had no idea what kind of a coffee latte is. It’s pretty much all milk, so what the hell was she expecting?

He lets out a breath, shaking his head. There’s no point in thinking about this again. He’ll probably have a talk with his manager, but right now he couldn’t care less. It’s close to 11pm and he just wants to get home and go to sleep. He turns right and starts walking, knowing that waiting for a bus at this hour would take forever. Steve pulls his phone out of his coat pocket and checks his texts. He’s got one from Sharon, asking him if he knows anything about Natasha yet, and then another one form his Ma. He sighs reading it, as she says she had to stay at the hospital and she’ll be home sometime during the night. Steve pockets his phone, deciding to call Sharon at home, and wraps his scarf a bit tighter. It’s chilly, and his beanie isn’t doing much. He shivers and quickens his pace, rounding another corner.

Steve is three blocks away from his street when he hears a loud ‘Fuck off!’ and a shout from one of the back alleys. At first he keeps walking, but then when he hears something hitting the bricks he stops immediately. He curses under his breath; he wants to go home, he really does, and everything tells him to just call 911 and keep going. He doesn’t though. Instead, he shakes his head slowly, rolling his eyes, and turns to his left, getting closer to the alley. He’s had a shitty week, so, of fucking course, there’s someone fighting. He steps around the corner in time to see a guy hitting someone straight in their face.

“Hey!” He shouts, coming closer. “The hell you think you’re doin’?” Steve steps further into the alley, and the guy turns towards him with his fists clenched.

The person who’s just been hit turns out to be as short and skinny as he is. Their hair is short, dyed pink, and there are piercings in their lips, eyebrow and nose. Their left ear is covered in piercings too, and there’s a tattoo peeking from the collar of their jacket. There’s a cut on their right cheek, a bruise slowly forming.

“Get lost,” the other man spits out, looking Steve up and down.

“You’ve got a problem here?” He asks, straightening up and jutting out his jaw.

“I said fuck off! Unless you wanna end up like this fag over there,” the guy snarls, indicating the other person with his head.

Steve’s blood boils and he clenches his fists. “What did you just call them?” He hisses, stepping into the guy’s personal space.

“You one of ‘em too? Guess it’s my lucky day,” the man snarls, smirking. Then, before Steve knows it, the guy connects his fist with his jaw.

“Fuck!” Steve breathes, tasting blood on his tongue.

The guy laughs mockingly and Steve clenches his teeth. He’s quick to punch the man straight in his stomach, and when the man leans down, putting a hand around his midsection, Steve punches him in the face. He hisses immediately, feeling the pain in his knuckles.

“You fucker!” The guys growls, then kicks Steve in his stomach in return. He loses his footing and stumbles back hitting the brick wall behind him. He sees stars in front of his eyes, but quickly pushes himself off the wall, ready to take another swing. That’s when he realizes that the person who he wanted to help has fled. Because of course they did. That’s just Steve’s luck.

He goes to take a swing at the other guy, but he’s quicker and he punches Steve so hard his head whips around. He takes a couple wobbly steps back and spits out the blood from his mouth. Then, he raises his fists again, ready to defend himself.

“Don’t you know when to give up?” The man laughs at him.

“I can do this all day,” Steve says firmly, then takes a swing at the guy. Steve doesn’t hurt him though, as the man grabs his fist and twists his hand. Steve cries out loud, the pain going all the way through his arm. The guy uses that to hit him yet again, this time delivering a punch to Steve’s cheekbone. He bites down on his lower lip to keep himself from screaming. It hurts like a bitch, but his Ma raised a fighter. He tries to deck the guy, his vision slightly blurry. He misses terribly, and the man scoffs.

“That all you got?” He shouts, then kicks Steve in the stomach again.

Steve falls once more, pain shooting through his body. His lungs start to struggle as he takes a deep breath. Steve tries to stand up again but fails, his legs collapsing under him. The guy laughs out loud, throwing his head back.

“Pathetic,” the man scoffs, then decks him. Steve’s head hits the ground, and he’s struggling to take a breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees the guy getting ready to deliver a final blow. Steve quickly shuts his eyes, hoping that someone’ll find him in that godforsaken alley and he won’t bleed out there.

“Hey!” There’s a loud shout, and then Steve hears footsteps approaching quickly. His head’s spinning and his vision’s blurry, so he doesn’t even bother looking up. Instead, he tries to stand up, but he promptly falls back on his ass. He hears punching and grunting, and he tries to focus on that instead of the pain that’s currently in what feels like every part of his body.

“Pick on someone your own size!” The voice shouts again. Then, a loud punch, a shout, and hurried footsteps. After that, someone comes up to him and he instinctively scoots back. “Hey, you alright?” The voice comes closer and then gasps. “трахать, Steve?! Oh God, are you okay?”

That’s when he looks up. Bucky’s hovering over him, his eyebrows at his hairline, his soft curls falling on his face.

“Steve, please, say somethin’!” The man pleads, worry in his voice, as he crouches down.

“‘M good,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes.

“Wait, lemme call an ambulance,” the brunette says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“No!” Steve shouts, then clears his throat, embarrassed. “No, I’m fine, don’t. ‘S good.”

“You’re obviously not,” Bucky states, lifting his eyebrow.

“I’m okay, I swear. Just, help me stand up,” he says, not meeting the brunette’s eyes. Bucky straightens up and extends his hand for Steve to take. He then pulls him up and Steve has a bit of trouble standing straight.

“Okay my ass,” Bucky huffs, steadying him. “We’ve gotta get you to the hospital.”

“I said no. My mom’s a nurse, I just gotta get home,” Steve says firmly, his body aching.

“You sure?” Bucky asks, still not convinced.

“Yes, I’m sure. ‘S only three blocks away,” Steve says, taking a step forward. He sways a bit, and the brunette is quick to grab him by his arm.

“I don’t like it, Steve. But…” he bites down on his lip, his brows furrowed. “Okay. I’m walkin’ you there though, " his voice is stern as he hooks his arm around Steve’s.

“Fine,” the blonde snarls, then starts walking.

Every steps sends a new wave of pain through Steve’s body and he clenches his teeth, his mouth still full of blood. He suddenly finds himself mad at Bucky, and he’s not even sure why. After all, the guy’s helped him. If not for Bucky, God knows what’d be happening to him right now. But, he’s still bitter about their Spanish class and the fact that Bucky told Natasha about his question. Plus, some homophobic asshole just beat the crap outta him, so he figures he’s got a right to be a little not in the mood.

“You always run towards strangers in the dark?” Steve asks, his voice still wavering after having the breath literally punched out of him.

“There are no strangers in the dark,” Bucky chuckles, tightening his grip on Steve’s arm.

They get out of the alley, and start walking towards Steve’s apartment. He’s still struggling a bit with his breathing and if he’s leaning on Bucky, the brunette doesn’t call him on it. They walk slowly, Bucky keeping his arm tight around Steve, glancing at him every once in a while.

They finally reach the block and Steve leans against the door entrance, searching his pockets for his keys.

“You sure you’re gonna be fine?” Bucky asks, looking at Steve worryingly and biting his lower lip.

“Yeah. My Ma should--" he stops abruptly, remembering the text. “Goddammit,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes for a second.

“What?” The brunette asks, his hand reaching for Steve immediately.

“She’s not there,” Steve answers quietly, shaking his head.

“Then I’m comin’ with ya,” Bucky states, taking the keys out of Steve’s hand.

“What?” He asks, surprised, his eyebrows rising.

“Someone’s gotta patch you up,” Bucky says dismissively, then tries every key in the lock till the doors finally open. He steps inside, holding the doors for Steve.

“I can do that myself,” Steve says stubbornly, crossing his arms. He hisses immediately at the pain in his wrist.

“The point is, you don’t have to,” Bucky lifts the corner of his mouth, waiting for Steve to step inside.

The blonde rolls his eyes, but steps into the building and starts climbing the stairs. The other man follows suit, and they walk to the second floor in silence. Steve stops at his door and lifts his palm up, waiting for Bucky to hand him the keys. The brunette does just that and Steve turns the lock, then pushes the doors open and comes inside. He switches the light in the entry hallway on, and slowly takes off his outerwear and shoes, the pain shooting through his body. Bucky does the same, then follows Steve inside, looking around. The blonde goes straight to the living room and flops down on the couch.

“Whatcha doin’?” Bucky asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“Sittin’ down?” Steve phrases it like a question, unsure of what he’s supposed to say, as it’s pretty obvious.

“Steve, you’re covered in blood. Bathroom. Now,” the brunette crosses his arms and Steve groans exaggeratedly.

He stands up, wincing, and pads down to the bathroom. Bucky goes after him, the both of them taking up all the little space there is. Steve sits down on a toilet lid, then points to the shelf under the sink. “The first-aid kit’s over there.”

Bucky crouches down and takes the box out. Then, he takes a washcloth from the the rack and wets it. He kneels in front of Steve and starts wiping the dried blood from his cheek.

“Y’know I can do that, right?” Steve mumbles, looking at the brunette. His hair’s up in a bun, a couple of strings escaping and framing his face, and he’s wearing a grey jumper with black jeans.

“Shaddup,” Bucky smiles softly, his brows slightly furrowed. He rinses the washcloth, then kneels again and takes off Steve’s glasses, placing them gently on the sink. The blonde blinks, his vision blurry. He exhales quietly as Bucky starts wiping the cut on his eyebrow and his lip. “God, Steve, it doesn’t look pretty,” he whispers, looking over the blonde’s face.

“I don’t care,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes and willing his muscles to relax. He’s dead on his feet, the exhaustion finally downing on him. All he wants to do is to curl in his bed and never leave.

“Za to ja tak,” the brunette breathes and Steve opens his eyes, furrowing his brows.

“What?” he realizes how close they are, barely inches separating their faces. They lock eyes for a second and Steve gets lost in the icy blue of Bucky’s gaze even without his glasses. The brunette’s eyes are full of worry and something else, but Steve can’t decide on what it is, as Bucky blinks, and leans back, clearing his throat.

The man dumps the washcloth in the sink and reaches for the first-aid kit. He takes out a couple of small band-aids, a sanitizer and a gauze. He sprinkles it with the liquid and gently pats Steve’s cuts. The blonde sucks in a breath, feeling the sting.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers, biting his lip.

“‘S alright,” Steve answers, closing his eyes again. He swallows down, realizing his mouth still taste like copper. He keeps himself from making a face, not wanting to worry Bucky even more.

It’s nice, he thinks, having someone do that for him. Sure, his Ma always patches him up after the shit he gets himself into, but this is different. First of all, Bucky’s not his relative and he definitely doesn’t have to do that. Steve was surprised that the brunette wanted to walk him back, let alone help him now. Plus, he seems so focused and gentle, not wanting to bring Steve anymore pain. And yes, his Ma does it too, but she usually talks his ear off while doing it. He’s glad they’re sitting in silence, the only sound being their breathing. It feels… well, intimate, and it’s not something Steve’s used to.

Bucky puts the band-aids on the cut of Steve’s eyebrow and his cheekbone. “I dunno if it’s enough, your Mom should probably check on it,” he says, his brows slightly furrowed.

“Thanks,” the blonde smiles, then hisses as his lower lip is split.

“Show me your hand,” Bucky orders, sticking his palm out. Steve rolls his eyes, but obliges. “Vai, Doamne,” he whispers.

“What?” Steve asks, confused. It’s the second time the brunette speaks in a different language, and he’s reminded of their Spanish class.

“What?” Bucky asks, looking up.

“You keep speakin’ a different language,” he points out.

“Oh,” the brunette stands up and rinses the washcloth. Then, he kneels in front of Steve again and starts cleaning his bloodied knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

“What does it mean? What you just said,” Steve sucks in a breath, being reminded of the pain in his wrist.

“Oh, God,” Bucky says quietly, trying his hardest to not move Steve’s hand.

“And before?”

“I don’t remember,” he mumbles, looking down stubbornly, his cheeks slightly painted pink. Steve knows it’s bullshit, but he doesn’t call Bucky on it. He figures it’s the least he can do, what with Bucky cleaning his cuts and what not.

“Can I ask you somethin’?” The blonde decides to be bold, giving in to all the exhaustion he’s feeling, and ask what’s been on his mind since the beginning of their class together. They’re already on the subject of languages, so it’s not really a stretch.

Bucky nods, so Steve takes in breath. Then, “Why do you keep correcting me in Spanish?” He says it all on one breath, afraid to lose his courage.

“What?” The brunette looks up, lost. His hand stops and he arches his brows slightly.

“You keep showing off,” Steve mumbles, looking down, his boldness leaving him all at once.

“I don’t--oh, God. You think I’m showin’ off?” Bucky questions, surprised.

“Well, yeah,” Steve shrugs, then hisses at the pain in his ribs.

“I’m not--I, uh…” he sighs, running a hand down his face. “I was tryin’ to help you.”

“Help me?” Now it’s Steve’s turn to be surprised.

“Yeah,” the brunette answers sheepishly.

“How exactly was that helpin’ me?” Steve winces, his tone sounding too accusatory even to him.

“I was that kid, once,” Bucky looks down, his shoulders sagging. “Always lost, never knew what the teacher wanted me to do. All the other kids made fun of me, ‘cause I couldn’t say a single sentence right. I know what it feels like, to… to have an entire class waitin’ for your answer in silence… Afraid you’re gonna embarrass yourself yet again,” he says quietly, then looks up at Steve, his eyes earnest. “I’m sorry, though. I won’t do that again,” he offers a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Steve finds himself at a loss of words. “I… I’m--” he has no idea what to say. It never occurred to him that maybe Bucky wasn’t doing it on purpose. He was so focused on hating the guy that he never stopped to think on other alternatives. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says genuinely. He can’t help but think of much Bucky must’ve gone through to be able to speak so many languages fluently. He always thought that the brunette was just talented, but he should’ve known that even with talent you have to work hard to achieve something. He’s the perfect example of that, and yet he just assumed the worst of Bucky.

“‘S alright,” the other man shrugs, then continues to clean Steve’s hand. Once he’s happy with the way it looks, he stands up and rinses the washcloth.

“No, it’s not! Nobody should make you feel worse about yourself just because you can’t say somethin’ the right way. Everyone’s gotta learn a language at some point, it’s bullshit,” Steve wants to go on, but Bucky places his hand on his shoulder.

“Steve, ‘s okay, really. It was a long time ago,” Bucky states calmly, then crouches down.

“Okay my ass,” Steve huffs.

“God, you’re such a spitfire. No wonder you end up in fights,” the brunette chuckles, then starts putting sanitizer on Steve’s messed up hand. “Wait. How did you end up in this one anyway?”

Steve groans. “That asshole was beatin’ someone up.”

“And you didn’t think to call the cops?” Bucky glances at him, then goes back to cleaning his knuckles.

“He’d only landed one punch when I got there. Besides, I wasn’t actually lookin’ for a fight. He started it.”

“I’m sure he did,” the brunette chuckles, then starts bandaging Steve’s hand.

“He called them ‘fag,’ what was I supposed to do?” He huffs, remembering the asshole.

“Well, I’m glad you did the right thing, then,” the corners of Bucky's lips go up slightly. “Next time, just call the cops first, then go after the guy. Who knows what might’ve happened.”

Steve looks down at the guy at that. “What were you doin’ there, anyway?” He asks, curious.

“Goin’ to Nat,” Bucky shrugs.

“Nat as Natasha?” When Bucky nods, Steve gulps. “Isn’t she gonna be worried?”

“Nah,” he says dismissively. “Guess I could text her, though,” the brunette stands up then, done with Steve’s hands. He closes the first-aid kit and puts it back under the sink. “Your Mom should still check your ribs,” he pulls the strings of his hair behind his ear.

“Thank you,” Steve leans back, resting his head against cool bathroom tiles.

Bucky pulls his phone from his jeans pocket and types quickly. “You need anythin’?”

“Rinse my mouth, definitely,” Steve sighs, straightening up.

“Imma go get ya a glass of water,” Bucky puts his phone on the verge of the sink and leaves the bathroom.

Steve stands up and puts the phone on the glass shelf above the sink. He looks in the mirror at his reflection and lets out a deep breath. He looks like shit. His face is already bruising badly, his left eye a bit swollen. It’s a miracle his glasses aren’t broken, after how hard the guy’s hit him. His hair’s a mess and the cut on his lip is bleeding slightly. He turns the tap and washes his face, mindful of the band-aids. Then, he rinses his mouth, first with water and then with a mouth wash. It stings like a bitch, but he pays no mind to it. He spits the liquid out and dries his face with a towel. Next, Steve puts on his glasses and runs a hand through his hair, trying to get it to look somewhat presentable. He fails miserably, and sighs. He wants to leave to bathroom when Bucky’s phone screen lights up. He grabs the device, unable to keep himself from glancing at it. There’s a new message from Natasha that reads “пойдите получают его.” Steve frowns, but knows it wasn’t addressed to him in the first place.

Steve leaves the room and goes to the kitchen. Bucky’s seated on one of the stools, a glass of water and two pills in front of him. Steve cocks his eyebrow, but doesn’t get a chance to say anything.

“Aspirin. You’re probably gonna need it,” the brunette smiles, resting his arms on the kitchen island.

“Thanks,” Steve sits in front of him, then slides his phone back. “You left it.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” the corners of Bucky’s mouth go up as he reads the message, his cheeks getting slightly flushed. He types something quickly, licking his lip, then looks up at Steve.

“What?” The blonde asks, confused.

“Nothin’,” Bucky replies, a small smile still on his face. He looks back at his phone, typing, then turns the screen off and puts the phone on the island. He slides the pills and the glass towards Steve, his eyebrow arched pointedly.

“Okay, okay,” Steve shakes his head, chuckling, then pops the pills in his mouth and empties the glass. He stands up, and goes to the fridge. “You want somethin’ to eat?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“You sure? We’ve got pasta with alfredo sauce,” he turns around, looking at the other man. “I’m pretty sure there are some cookies in the oven too. Ma loves bakin’,” he explains, seeing Bucky’s surprised expression.

“You got me,” the brunette laughs.

Steve takes the pasta out of the fridge and puts in on the stove. He turns the heat on, then bends down, hissing slightly, and opens the oven. Just as he thought, there’s a tray of chocolate chip cookies inside. He takes it out, puts a couple of them on a plate and hides the rest back in the oven. He puts the plate on the kitchen island and turns back to the stove. Steve stirs the pasta so it won’t burn and turns around just in time to see Bucky take a bite of a cookie.

The brunette straight out moans. “Oh my God,” he mumbles around a mouthful.

Steve chuckles. “I know,” he smiles. His Ma is one hell of a baker, and she’d probably run her own bakery if she wasn’t a nurse.

“These are amazin’!” Bucky exclaims, looking at the cookie he’s holding like it’s the most precious thing on Earth.

“Ma’ll be glad to know it,” the blonde smiles. Sarah Rogers sure likes getting praise for her sweets.

“Where is she anyway?” Bucky asks, taking another bite.

“In the hospital.”

“Night shift?” The brunette inquires, finishing the cookie.

“Nah, she always stays longer if they need her,” Steve says, then turns back to turn the heat off. He puts the pasta onto two plates and places them on the island. Then, he takes two forks and sits on the stool opposite Bucky. He passes the silverware to the brunette and they both dig in. Steve sighs happily, finally having something warm to eat. It’s amazing, and after everything that went down today he feels like he could inhale the entire plate. He takes another mouthful and that’s when he remembers.

“Shit,” he mutters, putting the fork down. Bucky arches his eyebrow at him, as he stands up and goes to the bathroom. He comes back with a pill in his hand, then pours himself a glass of water and swallows it down. He hops back on the stool. “I’m lactose intolerant,” he explains, seeing Bucky’s puzzled expression. He knows that the pasta sauce is probably lactose free, but he still prefers to take the pill instead of being all bloaty later.

“So, no mac‘n’cheese?” Bucky jokes, taking another mouthful.

“Not really, no,” Steve grins.

“Damn,” the brunette breathes, shaking his head. “You’re missin’ out big time,” he laughs.

“Wait till you hear the rest,” he wiggles his eyebrows, jokingly.

“There’s more?” Bucky asks, genuinely curious.

“Tomatoes, nuts, sesame, shellfish and strawberries. But not raspberries, surprisingly,” he shrugs.

“Holy shit, Steve.”

“Also asthma, partial deafness in right ear and, y’know, bad sight,” he indicates his glasses and hearing aid. “At least I don’t have scoliosis anymore. That was a pain in the ass. That and almost non existent immune system,” Steve sighs. He didn’t meant to tell Bucky all this, dammit. He’s just… well, tired. Exhausted. Feeling a bit sorry for himself. Whatever.

“How… I mean, damn,” Bucky stares at him, his face unreadable. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my left arm’s fucked up. I can barely lift a cup with it,” he rolls up his left sleeve and Steve sucks in a breath. His arm is covered in scars, starting a bit over his wrist, going all the way up. Some of them are angry pink, visibly deep.

“What--” Steve stops short. He’s not sure if the other man wants to talk about it, judging by the pained look on his face.

“I had an accident,” Bucky shudders, looking at his arm, then rolls the sleeve down. “I’m lucky to have it at all,” he smiles, but it’s sad and obviously forced, not reaching his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. He wants to reach out and squeeze Bucky’s hand, but he knows they’re not there yet, if they’ll ever be. Hell, a week ago they still barely talked. He knows that as soon as Bucky walks out of his apartment they’ll be back to being acquaintances, nothing more.

“‘S fine,” the brunette shrugs, then takes another mouthful. He seems a bit lost in his thoughts, so Steve doesn’t say anything else, turning to his pasta instead.

They sit in silence for a while, both lost in their heads. Now that Steve thinks of it, he’s never seen Bucky using his left arm, or having it not covered. He always wears long sleeved shirts or jackets, never rolling his sleeves up. He always carries his backpack on his right shoulder, his books in his right hand. He even packs his backpack using only his right hand. Steve tries to remember in which hand he held his coffee back in Starbucks, and he’s pretty sure it was the right one too. He can’t help but think how hard it must be. He finds himself feeling for Bucky, for every struggle he has to deal with on daily basis.

A tap on his hand brings him back. “Steve?” The brunette’s looking at him, slightly amused.

“Sorry,” he shakes his head, sending Bucky a small smile. “You were sayin’?”

“Can you sign?” he asks, a wicked smile on his face.

“I… yeah?”

‘Me too,’ Bucky signs, beaming.

“Oh?” Steve frowns, intrigued.

“Clint’s mostly deaf,” Bucky explains, grinning. “He wears his hearin’ aids to classes, but he doesn’t really like ‘em, so when we’re alone he reads lips or signs,” Bucky smiles, finishing off his pasta.

“‘S nice of you to learn for him,” Steve remarks, standing up and taking two empty plates to the sink.

“That asshole forced us. But he doesn’t speak Russian so we figured why not, y’know,” Bucky shrugs, then joins Steve by the sink. The blonde starts doing the dishes, then hands them over to the other man to dry.

“So you just learned yet another language. Jesus,” Steve mutters, impressed.

“‘S really not that big of a deal, Steve,” Bucky chuckles.

“Buck, you’re--” He stops short. He has no idea how he wanted to finish that sentence in the first place, the only thoughts in his head being amazing, incredible, so fucking talented. Huh. He might be coming around to the brunette after all, but there’s still a long way to go. He shakes his head, his cheeks blushed.

“What?” Bucky inquires, his eyebrow lifted, an amused smirk on his face.

“Nothin’,” Steve mumbles, looking down and scrubbing the plate stubbornly.

“Ouch, Steve,” the brunette breathes, pressing his right palm to his heart.

“Y’know ‘s not what I meant!” Steve explains quickly, looking up at Bucky. Way to go, Rogers, really.

“I know, I know,” Bucky laughs. “Relax,” he beams, taking the second plate from Steve, drying it, then putting it on the side. “What time’s your Mom comin’ back?” he asks, hopping back on the stool.

Steve sits down opposite him and licks his lips, thinking. “I dunno. She said she’ll be back at night so…” he shrugs, then looks at the watch programmed into the oven. It’s a bit after midnight. “You can go, though. I mean, you don’t hafta stay. If that’s… Why?” he groans. Jesus, what’s with him today?

“I’ve got morning classes tomorrow. But I dunno if it’s okay to leave ya alone like that,” Bucky says, looking down and playing with his fingers.

“‘S fine, Buck. I’ll just go to sleep,” Steve smiles, trying to assure the other man it’s okay. Or maybe himself. Whatever.

“What if you’ve got a concussion, though?” Bucky dares to look up at him through his eyelashes, and Steve’s reminded of the guy’s killer cheekbones, especially with the shadow cast on them.

“I don’t, don’t worry,” Steve insists, standing up. “I’ll be fine.”

Bucky takes in a deep breath. Then, “Alright,” he stands up too, pockets his phone and goes to the entry hallway. He puts on his shoes and his jacket, then runs a hand through his hair and bites down on his lip. “You sure?” The brunette asks again, his brows furrowed.

“Yes, Bucky, I’m sure,” Steve rolls his eyes, keeping a smile from spreading on his face.

Bucky still doesn't seem convinced though. He looks at Steve for a bit, then pulls out his phone and presses it to Steve’s palm. “Gimme your number. That way I can check on ya in the mornin’,” he says on one breath, looking everywhere but at Steve.

The blonde cocks his eyebrow, but takes the phone and presses his number into it. He saves it under ‘Steve Rogers’ and hands the phone back.

Bucky looks down at the screen, then up at the blonde. “Thanks,” he turns around and grabs the handle, but Steve stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Wait!” Steve says quickly, taking a step forward. Bucky turns back again, his icy blues asking the silent question. “I just… Thank you. For, y’know, gettin’ rid of that fucker and all. I--I, uhh... “ he swallows down, then locks his eyes with Bucky’s. “Thank you,” Steve says sincerely, his hand reaching out, but dropping back down in an instant.

“I’m glad I was there,” Bucky smiles, putting a strand of his hair behind his ear. “I’ll talk to ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, watching the brunette go out the door.