lost boy

The second to last Friday before Christmas break rolls around with still no news from Bucky. Steve’s seated in class, Ms. Santiago explaining yet another intricacy of the tense they’re working on. He can’t focus though; Steve’s thinking about Bucky, about where he is and why he hasn’t texted yet. Natasha’s not is class, either, so he can’t ask her, which only makes Steve more anxious. Technically, he knows Bucky’s a grown man and he’s probably doing something important, but that still doesn’t make his mind quiet. He can’t help but wonder if anything happened, if Bucky’s okay.

Steve keeps looking longingly to the left, where both Bucky and Natasha’s seats are empty. Ms. Santiago asks him a question from time to time, but she more or less leaves him to his thoughts, only arching an eyebrow every once in a while when he fails to tell the right answer.

Steve sighs and takes out his sketchbook, deciding that he probably won’t be able to do anything productive today. He lets his mind wander, doodling the whole time. When the teacher finally finishes the lesson, Steve finds himself with a few sketches of Bucky: his face, his hands, his piercing eyes. Steve closes his sketchbook and packs his things, leaving the classroom after everyone else. He sends Ms. Santiago a weak, apologetic smile when the teacher gives him a look and gets out of the room. Sharon’s waiting for him just outside, her eyes never leaving the doors.

“They’re not here,” Steve says, knowing she’s hoping to see Natasha.

“Both of them?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, not missing the disappointment on Sharon’s face.

“Oh,” her shoulders sag as she looks down. “Still no word from him?”

“Nope,” Steve says harshly, then winces. “Sorry, I’m just--”

“I know,” she sends him a quick smile, then they both turn to leave. “I’m worried too, y’know. But I’m sure he’s fine, Steve.”

“It’s probably nothin’, I know. I just miss talkin’ to him, ‘s all,” Steve admits quietly, wrapping his scarf around his neck.

“I know you do.”

*

It’s Sunday evening and Steve’s seated in his bedroom, the window open to let the cold, December air in. He’s spent the entire day studying Spanish and perfecting his human body sketches. There’s a week left till Christmas break and after the holidays, he’ll have two weeks to turn in his painting. Steve knows it’s a lot of time but he can’t help but start getting anxious about his work. He knows Bucky will be a great model, Steve just has to put him on canvas the right way. Right now, he’s lacking any inspiration, not to mention Bucky is still unreachable. Steve wants to make sure he’ll be able to do the painting in a short amount of time and for that he needs his skills to be better.

There’s a soft knock on his bedroom doors and Sarah comes in, carrying a plate in her hand.

“Cinnamon rolls,” she explains, seeing Steve's raised eyebrow. She puts the plate on the desk near his books and places her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Don’t stay up late, okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, the corners of his mouth going up slightly. “Thanks, Ma.”

Sarah squeezes his shoulder once again and leaves the room, leaving Steve to his books. He sighs, taking his glasses off and putting his face in his hands. He’s tired, having recreated almost every sketch from his notebook, and yet he doesn’t feel any better at this. Steve takes a long deep breath and closes his books, putting them aside to pack later. He reaches for the plate with the roll and takes a bite, his eyes closing slightly as the cinnamon hits his taste buds. It’s amazing and he could eat only this for the rest of his life. Steve takes another mouthful, moaning quietly at how good it is and licks the cinnamon off his lips. He finishes the roll in one go, then stands up and goes to his drawer. He fishes out an old stretched out tee and a pair of fresh boxers, and goes to the bathroom, leaving his hearing aid on the nightstand.

Steve takes a quick shower, brushes his teeth and relieves himself, then goes back to his bedroom and closes the doors quietly. He closes the window, too, not wanting to catch a cold, and crawls into bed. He flicks on the night lamp and takes his sketchbook from underneath the pillow. He turns the pages till he finds a blank one and lets his mind go blank as he sketches.

He comes out of his zone after having filled three pages with no one other than Bucky. He drew the brunette sipping coffee from a Starbucks cup, sitting hunched over his books with his hair in a loose bun, the end of his pencil tapping his lower lip, and a simple portrait, the man staring at Steve straight from the page.

Steve sighs, his finger slowly tracing the lines of the pencil. It’s been a week with no news from Bucky and he feels, well, resigned. He tried texting the brunette, as well as calling him, but to no avail. Steve’s worried about him, of course he is, the image of Bucky getting pale still vivid in his head. But, there’s not much Steve can do, so he has to just sit and wait.

He hides his sketchbook and takes his glasses of, turning off the night lamp. Steve pulls the covers all the way to his cheeks and closes his eyes, trying to think of anything other than soft brown curls and pale blue eyes.

*

Steve wakes up sometime during the night, struggling to take a breath. He clears his throat, which gets him into a coughing fit, and sits up trying to take calming breaths. He reaches to his nightstand to grab an inhaler and takes two puffs, breathing deeply. Steve curses himself for leaving the window open for too long as he reaches for his glasses and stands up, then pads down to the kitchen quietly. He pours himself a glass of water and downs it in one go, swallowing the medicine he needs, then refills it and goes back to his bedroom. Leaving the glass on the nightstand, he crawls back under the covers and reaches for his phone. It’s 3:30 in the morning and he has unread texts. As he opens the app, his heart lurches.

Bucky Barnes: i’m so sorry

Bucky Barnes: i dont even know how to explain

Bucky Barnes def not in a text

Bucky Barnes: im sorry if i woke u up

Bucky Barnes: guess i didnt bc ur not replying

Bucky Barnes: or maybe ure just mad

Bucky Barnes: anyways i’ll be at ur place thursday @ 9 that ok?

Bucky Barnes: i really am sorry steve

Steve blinks, his thumbs hovering over the screen. The texts were sent two hours ago, so he’s guessing Bucky’s asleep now. He can’t help but feel relieved that the man’s reached out after such a long silence. Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realized he was holding and drags a hand down his face. He has so many questions, he doesn’t even know where to begin. He chooses to leave his worries and feelings aside for now, figuring his fussing is not what Bucky needs right now.

Steve Rogers: you didnt wake me up buck

Steve Rogers: are you okay?

He types ‘i missed you’ but quickly deletes it. Then, ‘i was worried about you’ but deletes that too. Steve licks his lips, swallowing nervously, then finally decides it can wait. It can all wait as long as Bucky’s safe and sound.

Steve Rogers: 9 works for me

*

It’s Thursday and Steve’s getting more anxious with every minute that passes. He woke up early to tidy his room a little bit and put all of the supplies he’ll need in the living room. He’s got an easel with a canvas waiting for him near the window, as well as a chair for Bucky to sit on and a set of his best pencils, brushes and paints. He’s standing near the window, looking out at the street beneath him, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his white tee, when the knock comes. Steve runs a hand through his hair nervously as he mumbles “here it goes” under his breath and goes to open the doors.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes as he sees the brunette standing on the other side. He can’t help feeling relieved, when Bucky shoots him a small smile, waving his right hand shyly as a way of a greeting.

Steve steps aside, letting the other man come in, then closes the doors behind the both of them. Bucky quickly toes off his winter boots and takes off his grey scarf and a black coat. He’s dressed in a pair of black joggers and a dark grey henley. They stand in the hallway, looking at each other, and Steve takes a second to really look at Bucky. His hair is in a messy bun at the top of his head, but a couple of strings escaped and frame his face. Steve can’t help but notice that the brunette looks different; he’s pale and there are dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. Bucky’s eyes lack the usual spark, the icy blue of his pupils seems dim. He’s cheeks are a bit hollow and there’s at least a week worth of stubble on his chin. He looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in a couple of days and Steve furrows his brows. He’s worried about Bucky, of course he is, but there are boundaries he simply cannot cross yet. Steve doesn’t even have a chance to ask Bucky anything, as the brunette shakes his head slightly and lets out a breath, then reaches out and gives Steve a hug. His arms cradle the blonde and he puts his head gently on Steve’s shoulder, taking a shaky breath. Steve freezes for a moment, not knowing what to do as his mind is racing, but he quickly pulls himself together and puts his arms around Bucky, squeezing.

“I missed you,” Bucky mumbles pulling out and looking anywhere but Steve. His cheeks are tinted pink and Steve wonders if he’d catch that if Bucky wasn’t as pale as he is right now.

“Me too,” Steve breathes, being painfully aware how much of an understatement that is. Bucky’s been on his mind almost all the time this past week and a half. He’s been worrying sick about the brunette and was ready to ask Natasha if she knew anything, were she in their Spanish class the other week.

“So, where do you want me?” Bucky asks, wiggling his eyebrows, his easy-going persona making a comeback.

Steve blinks. “I--What?” He draws his eyebrows, lost.

“Y’know, for the painting?” The brunette says, less confident this time.

“Oh! I, uhh…” Steve scratches his neck, motioning his head to the living room. “Over there, I guess,” he clears his throat, then leads the way. So, they’re not talking about why Bucky was gone. Okay. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool. Cool.Not like Steve cared anyway.

“So do I undress now or…?” Bucky comes into the room and looks around. He goes to stand by the chair and hooks his thumb into a loop on his pants, winking at Steve.

“Well, umm, I mean you can, but ima just do a rough sketch now so you don’t hafta yet,” Steve stands near his easel and takes a couple of pencils.

So they’re obviously not talking about Bucky disappearing for a week and a half. Which, okay, he gets why Bucky would not want to jump into right away. But, Steve thought they were friends and aren’t friends supposed to talk about one of them going under the face of the Earth for so long? With not one word whatsoever? Steve bites his lower lip nervously as he waits for Bucky to sit comfortably in the chair. He knows he’s not entitled to Bucky’s private life, and the brunette doesn’t have to share every single detail with him, but any kind of explanation would be fine. And what about these texts, anyway? Bucky’s said he’s sorry and he doesn’t know how to explain but Steve didn’t think that’d mean not mentioning the situation at all.

He’s not mad at Bucky, not per se; he’s more mad at himself. For believing that the brunette actually cared about him, trusted him. He’s mad at himself for starting to fall for Bucky as the man clearly doesn’t feel the same. He’s mad that he’s spent all this time worrying about Bucky and yet he doesn’t get a word of explanation.

Steve sighs. He can’t let his emotions get the better of him, not right now. He knows he’s overreacting; they’re friends at best and nothing more. It doesn’t matter if Steve’s feeling something for the guy, what Bucky obviously needs right now is a friend. Someone he can rely on. Someone who won’t expect him to start a conversation he’s not ready to have yet. Steve can do that. He can put everything aside for now and focus on the other man.

“Hey, Stevie?” Bucky says nonchalantly, cocking his eyebrow, and Steve feels a blush spreading on his face.

“Yeah?” His voice comes out soft and hopeful and Steve curses his stupid emotions in his head.

“Draw me like one of your French girls,” Bucky says, his lips curling into a smirk. Steve groans, the tips of ears turning pink, as his stomach does a flip.

They sit in silence, the only sound being a playlist playing from Steve’s phone, as he focuses on his drawing. He does a light sketch on the canvas, the lines of his pencils barely visible. He chooses to put the focus on Bucky’s right side, the one closer to the window, as that’s the only source of light on his work. Steve sketches Bucky sitting in the chair comfortably, his right arm on the armrest, the left one resting in his lap. His left leg is bend, the right one spread in front of him. His hair’s in a loose bun, many strings escaping and framing his face. The man looks out the window, his expression calm but also a bit tired. The room behind him is only a background. Steve draws it simplistically, just shapes of a couch and his desk. He shades it a bit to put more focus on the man in the center.

Once he’s done with the sketch, he put his pencils down and clears his throat, feeling a slight blush spreading on his cheeks. He’s not attracted to Bucky--not sexually anyway--but he’s still nervous about seeing him naked.

“So, umm…” Steve starts, cursing himself in his mind. Just don’t make it weird.

“You done?” Bucky asks, a curious smile on his lips.

“With the sketch, yeah,” Steve nods, swallowing down hard. “So if you could, uh…” he starts, looking anywhere but Bucky. So much about not making it weird.

“Undress?” Bucky smirks.

“Well, yes,” Steve looks down, as red as a beet.

“Jeez, Stevie, buy a guy a dinner first,” Bucky laughs, pulling the henley over his head. He stands up and folds it on the chair, then gets rid of his joggers and socks and folds them too. He goes over to the couch to put it down and strips from his black boxers. He sits back in the chair, taking the same position as before. “Ready when you are,” Bucky goes for a light tone, but Steve can hear the nervousness beneath it.

“Okay,” the blonde breathes and lifts his eyes.

He immediately regrets his decision to paint Bucky. The guy’s physique is breathtaking and Steve honest to God forgets how to breathe. Bucky’s ripped and Steve feels his throat go dry at the sight of his muscles. The brunette’s six-pack is well defined and the muscles on his arms look like he could crush Steve’s scull with his bare hands. His clavicles draw Steve’s attention and his fingers itch to sketch them. He could do an entire painting of Bucky’s shoulders alone. His legs are just as built as the rest of his body and, if Steve’s being honest, he’d let Bucky snap his neck with those tights.

Steve gulps as the thought comes to him. It’s the first time, for as long as he can remember, when he felt any kind of sexual attraction towards somebody. Sure, he still wouldn’t jump into bed with Bucky, but he can’t deny the guy looks good. Really good.

Steve shakes his head slightly, stopping that train of thoughts, and picks up his brush and an palette. He mixes the paints and gets to work. He knows he won’t finish the painting in one sitting, but he wants to make the best of it while they still have some time left. He zones out, his mind going blind as he strokes the canvas and changes his brushes. He paints only a silhouette of Bucky, choosing to focus on the background first.

He’s mostly satisfied with the way the background is coming together when he gets pulled out of his thoughts as his stomach rumbles. Steve blinks, coming back to himself, and looks at Bucky who’s smiling at him.

“Hungry?” The brunette asks, putting a strand of his hair behind his ears.

“Kinda,” Steve admits, popping his spine. He feels tired and his back hurts from standing still for so long. “What time is it?” He puts the pallete down and takes of his glasses, rubbing his eyes.

“A bit after 12.”

“Oh my God,” Steve groans, then puts his glasses back on. “I’m sorry. Wanna take a break?”

“Hell yeah,” Bucky stands up, stretching his legs. “Lemme put something on first.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Steve nods, his cheeks getting hot again. Jesus. “I’ll just, uhh…” he nods towards the kitchen door to his right and flees the room.

Steve puts on the coffee pot and pours water to two glasses. He goes to the oven and pulls out a tray of vanilla cookies. His Ma knew Bucky was coming over and she insisted they had something sweet to eat ‘for this boy who helped you Steve, don’t be ridiculous it’s the least I can do!’ Steve’s groaned then, but now he’s glad and makes a mental note to thank Sarah later. He puts them on a plate and places on the kitchen island next to the glasses. He goes to stand by the coffee machine and leans against the counter, taking a deep breath. He’s dying to ask Bucky what happened and if he’s okay, but he isn’t sure they’re there yet. They’ve been texting for a while now but he knows it might have been personal and he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. Besides, he hopes that if Bucky wanted to talk, he’d do that. Feelings or not, Steve has to respect Bucky’s privacy even if the mere thought of the brunette getting hurt pains him.

“I think ‘s ready,” Bucky says behind Steve and the blonde jumps, startled.

“Jesus!” Steve breathes, calming himself down.

“Bucky’s fine, thanks,” the man deadpans as he gently pushes Steve aside and takes the coffee pot out. He pours the liquid into two cups and carries them to the kitchen island, then flops down on one of the stools. Steve glares at him, but sits down too. “So, can I see it?”

“See what?” Steve blinks, taking a sip of water.

“The painting, Stevie,” Bucky rolls his eyes playfully, then takes a cookie and bites into it. “Oh my God, ‘s amazin’,” he moans with his mouth full, his eyelids half closed.

“I’ll make sure to pass it on,” Steve chuckles, taking one for himself.

“Your mom’s amazin’,” Bucky says sincerely after swallowing down. “Speakin’ of, where is she?”

“At work. Morning shift,” Steve shrugs, taking a tentative sip of his coffee, then hissing after burning his tongue. Again.

“I gotta meet her,” the brunette mumbles around another mouthful and Steve smiles.

“Sure,” Steve says.

“For real, though,” Bucky perks up, taking a cup in his hands. “I'm leavin’ again tomorrow but hell, I’ll come meet her the second I’m back,” he takes a sip as Steve frowns.

“Oh, uhh…” he doesn’t wanna pry, but… “Where’re you goin’?”

“Indiana,” Bucky shrugs.

“Indiana?” Steve frowns even harder.

“Well, yeah. My parents live there, remember?” He smiles, but Steve can see it’s forced and he bites his lip.

“No, of course, I know, but just… Why now?” Steve curses himself yet again. It’s none of your business, Rogers. But why now, a week before Christmas break? Is that where he was all this time?

Bucky chews his cookie slowly, his eyebrows drawn slightly. Steve can see he’s thinking about what to say, and he mentally kicks himself for asking the brunette when he’s obviously not comfortable with the subject.

“You don’t hafta--” Steve starts, but Bucky interrupts him.

“Just… family stuff, y’know?” The brunette looks up and his eyes are exhausted. “I’m only back to hand in some papers, do some paperwork. Figured we could get started on that painting of your’s while I’m there. Don’t wanna make you miss the deadline.”

Steve blinks, taken aback. “I--I, uhh…” he has no idea what to say, so he does the first thing that comes to his head and reaches out to squeeze Bucky’s hand. “Thank you.”

Bucky looks down at their hands, a small smile playing on his lips. He squeezes back, looking up, and Steve’s yet again reminded of how beautiful his eyes are, shadowed by his eyelashes. Bucky swallows down, biting on his lower lip and taking his hand back. Steve clears his throat, trying to contain the overwhelming feeling of warmth and fiddles with his cup.

“So,” Bucky starts, taking another cookie. “How was Spanish last week?”

*

By the time Steve and Bucky finished the cookies, talking about what Bucky’s missed at the university, Steve had to start getting ready for his classes. He cleaned the plate and the mugs while the brunette put the rest of his clothing on. Steve left the easel and all his painting equipment in the living room, covering it first, wanting to work on his painting when he’ll be back from classes. He could still get some work done even without Bucky present, now that he had the sketch and most of the background.

Steve prepared his bag earlier, so now he just puts his winter outwear on and is ready to go. Bucky gets dressed as well and they leave the small apartment together, heading down the staircase. They keep quiet, as the walls in the building are thin, and Steve’s had enough of his neighbors noisiness. When they’re near the entry doors Bucky takes two quick steps and opens the doors for Steve, giving him a small smile.

“Thanks,” Steve says quietly, his breath turning into a fog in the cold air. Bucky shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. “Where’re you headed?” Steve asks, not wanting to part with the brunette just yet.

“Nat’s,” Bucky nods his head to the opposite direction and Steve curses in his head. “Left some papers at her place.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Steve nods, willing his expression to stay neutral. He missed Bucky and the thought of not seeing the man for another three weeks pains him more than it should. He lets himself stare at the brunette for a while longer, trying to commit to his memory as much as he can. Sure, it won’t help with the lack of actual conversation but at least he’ll be able to draw him.

Bucky must’ve seen something in Steve’s gaze, because he drops his eyes worrying his lower lip between his teeth, and then suddenly reaches out and envelopes the blonde in his arms. His right hand clutches at Steve’s jacket, his left resting on the small of Steve’s back. The blonde freezes up at first, but quickly embraces Bucky too, his head resting on the taller man’s shoulder. He takes a deep breath, smelling soap and something so clearly Bucky he feels his heart break a little. He doesn’t want to let go, feeling safe and warm in Bucky’s arms but he knows he can’t show his emotions. Not yet, Steve reminds himself, and slowly lets go. Bucky pulls back, too, keeping his right hand on Steve’s arm and squeezing gently.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” The brunette asks, his pink cheeks standing out against the bags under his eyes and his pale skin.

Steve only manages a weak nod, his throat suddenly closed up. Bucky sends him one last smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and turns around, walking slowly away from Steve. The blonde watches him go all the way down the street and round the corner, missing him already.

*

Steve is just packing his books, when his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He furrows his brows, reaching for the device, his heart skipping a bit as he reads.

Bucky Barnes: got plans for tonight?

Steve hums. He wanted to work on the painting a little bit more, plus their Spanish class starts at 9:30am the next day.

However, it’s Bucky. Steve knew the answer as soon as he read the message.

Steve Rogers: not really

The reply comes instantly.

Bucky Barnes: nat asks if you wanna drop by

Bucky Barnes: clints here

Bucky Barnes: bout to order pizza

Steve bites down on his lip. He should really get some sleep before tomorrow--he’s closing the shop again. He should work on the painting and probably revise for Spanish. He should do a lot of things.

Steve Rogers: what’s the address?

*

It takes Steve less than half an hour to arrive at Natasha’s doors. His back is killing him from the weight of his bag on one shoulder, his other hand occupied with a four pack of ginger ale—his Ma would probably approve of him being a good guest. Which reminds him, Sarah is probably waiting for him to come back from class. Steve sighs, as he raises his hand and knocks on the doors. He hears a loud yelp from the inside, followed by laughter, and the doors open to reveal Natasha, with a smug smile on her face.

“Hi there, Rogers,” she moves to the side, letting him inside.

“Thanks for the invite,” Steve smiles, giving her the ginger ale.

Natasha lifts an eyebrow, curious. “Why thanking me?”

Steve frowns, unzipping his jacket and pulling off his beanie. “Bucky said—“

“He’s a manipulative liar, if you haven’t noticed,” she shakes her head, amused, at Steve’s confused expression. “But I do want you here, too, so come on in.”

“I—thanks?” Steve pulls off his jacket, his eyes following Natasha into the open kitchen. He unlaces his boots and comes further inside, looking around. The place is small, but cosy. The kitchen is further down the hall, joined with the living room. On the right is a small hallway, a set of doors on both sides.

Steve follows Natasha, but instead of the kitchen goes towards the living room. “Hi,” he says to both Bucky and Clint, the former sprawled on the couch, and the latter sitting on the floor, his back against an armchair. Clint’s rubbing his head, a band-aid on his hand, while Bucky is shaking his head, a smile on his face.

“You made it,” Bucky looks at Steve, rubbing at the back of his neck. He’s dressed just as he was before, though his hair is now in a neat braid, falling on his right shoulder.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, smiling too. It’s good to see Bucky relaxed, his eyes no longer dim and haunted. He looks at ease, and Steve’s glad both Natasha and Clint are there for him.

Clint clears his throat loudly.

“Don’t mind him,” Bucky says carelessly, waving his hand towards the blonde on the floor.

“Fuck you too, Barnes,” Clint grumbles, no heat behind his words though, and Steve comes closer.

“Steve Rogers,” he introduces himself, sticking his hand out.

“Trust me, I know,” Clint rolls his eyes, then looks pointedly at Bucky, who promptly flips him off. Bucky’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink, though, and Steve wonders what exactly Clint knows.

“What happened?” Steve asks, indicating the band-aid on the man’s hand.

“Oh, uh, I was cutting pizza,” Clint shrugs, still rubbing a spot on his forehead.

“You--what?” Steve blinks, not knowing how the two things are even connected.

Clint sighs, shrugging yet again. “I was cutting pizza, watching some dumb movie, and didn’t look where the knife was going until it was to late,” he explains, like it was the most common thing on Earth.

Steve gapes, looking between Clint and Bucky, then snorts. “Sorry, sorry--” he goes to explain himself, but Clint just shakes his head, waving his hand dismissively.

“Worst things happened,” the guy smiles, and this time it’s Bucky who laughs.

Steve wants to ask what happened to Clint’s head, too; however, he doesn’t have a chance--Natasha joins them in the room and gives Steve a bottle of ginger ale. He nods at her, as she grabs a bottle of beer from the coffee table and flops on the armchair behind Clint, throwing her legs over the arm. Steve looks around, looking for a place to sit, when Bucky sits up, leaving a space on the couch near him. Steve sends him a smile, and sits down, curling his legs underneath himself.

“So…” Natasha drifts off, looking between Steve and Bucky. The brunette groans, leaning his head back, and Steve lifts his eyebrow in anticipation. “How’s your painting going?”

“Oh my god,” Steve mumbles, at the same time as Bucky breathes “I hate you.”

“What? It’s a genuine question, Steve, I’d love to see your art,” she states matter-of-factly, taking a swing from the bottle.

“You’d love to see naked Bucky,” Clint points out, leaning his head back to rest it against the armchair, looking at Natasha from below.

“Speak for yourself,” she says without missing a bit, and Clint just shrugs.

“I mean…”

“Okay, shut up,” Bucky points a finger at them, his cheeks full on red now.

“What? There’s many guys who looks worse than you—“

“Barton I swear to god,” Bucky shakes his head, his lips curling.

“If you two need a room—“

“Natasha for Christ’s sake,” Bucky honest to god whines, and Steve chuckles quietly, taking a sip of his drink.

“I’m just saying…” Nat throws back her hair, shrugging one arm.

“He’s not interested Nat,” Clint pouts, then turns to looks at Bucky. “But you do have a thing for blo—“

He doesn’t finish, as Bucky throws a pillow at him. However, he misses terribly and the pillow hits a beer bottle on the coffee table, that spills all over Clint’s legs. “Aww, beer,” the guy mumbles, picking the bottle up and downing the remains.

“Clint!” Bucky laughs, as Natasha smacks the man upside the head. “Fucking gross!”

Steve shakes his head as Clint just shrugs and puts the bottle back on the table.

“At least clean it,” Natasha nudges Clint with her knee, her eyebrows raised.

“But it wasn’t me!” The guy whines, looking between Bucky and Natasha.

“I don’t care, it’s on you!”

“I’m gonna get back at ya,” Clint points an accusatory finger at Bucky, standing up.

“Try, Barton, try,” Bucky flips him off, as Clint takes the bottle from the coffee table and goes to the kitchen. He comes back with wet wipes and cleans both the table and the floor.

“Nat, I need pants,” Clint gestures at his soaked jeans, pouting. She just motions for him to go, and he shrugs, disappearing down the hallway.

“I’m friends with goddamn idiots,” Natasha mumbles, taking a long swing of her drink. “Steve, how would you feel about a new best friend?” She asks, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes.

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Well—“

“Hey, none of that,” Bucky narrows his eyes at him, then at Natasha. “I ain’t sharin’.”

Steve bites down a smile, his heart beating loudly in his chest. “Gee, Buck, I was gonna say I don’t need a new one, but good to know we’re on the same page,” he jokes, though he can tell his blush is betraying him.

“Punk,” Bucky bites back, nudging Steve’s knee with his own.

As Steve says “jerk,” there’s a loud bang in Natasha’s bedroom, followed by even a louder curse.

“What did he do now?” Bucky mumbles, rolling his eyes. Natasha groans, just as Clint stumbles into the living room, wearing a pair of her black sweats that are way too tight and way too short, reaching barely below his knees.

“So, uh, funny story,” Clint says, looking down.

“What?” Natasha says shortly, cocking an eyebrow.

“How attached were you to that night lamp?”

“Clint—“

“A new one will be here tomorrow, got it,” he says quickly, opting to sink down on the floor as far away from Natasha as possible. Steve chuckles quietly, as Nat mumbles “I need a goddamn drink” under her nose.

“You sticking with beer?” She asks Bucky, who nods. Clint lifts his head, but one look from Nat makes him look down again. “Thought so,” she lifts herself up in one motion, then goes to the kitchen and opens the fridge.

At the exact same moment, there’s a knock on the doors. “I’m up, I’m up,” Clint lifts his hands and stands up. Steve sends Bucky a questioning look, to which Bucky explains that it’s Clint’s turn to pay for the pizza.

“How much do I owe him?” Steve asks, reaching for his wallet.

“Steve, stop, I asked you here,” Bucky reaches out and circles his fingers around Steve’s wrist, stopping him.

“I thought it was Nat?” Steve arches his eyebrow, unable to keep a smug smile from his face.

“Well, I mean, I, uh—“

“Buck,” Steve stops him, licking his lips and smiling softly. “I’m glad you did.”

Bucky looks up, his fingers still wrapped around Steve’s hand, the corners of his lips lifting up slightly. “I’m glad you came.”