Bucky’s tattoo was among the first things that Steve (along with anyone else as well, perhaps), took notice of as the thing that made Bucky...well, him .
When they first met, a kneeling skeleton that looked like it was praying was the only evidence of Bucky being inked. Fast forward to almost two years later, the skeleton was just among the few perpetually ingrained on Bucky’s skin.
As Bucky’s days with Steve grew in number, so did the tattoos on his arms — two phases of the moon on his inner forearm; a pair of a rose and a dagger on the outer part. An eye was positioned a little higher than the rose and the dagger — it was the latest one that he got from a female artist. Steve’s personal favorite was the outline of a fox on the skin above Bucky’s elbow. Of all his tattoos, it was the fox that Steve felt like the most “Bucky” of them all.
Steve and Bucky’s relationship grew through stories of frustrations in love, shared interests in music and books, and grounded on the fact that they were both members of the same organization in college.
Steve had always seen Bucky’s presence in his life as a paradox — the more he got to knew him, the less of him he wanted for himself; yet a part of him wanted to stay longer with the inked, young man.
He was awoken by his vibrating phone, the movement registered on Steve’s skull as he barely opened his eyes on the minimal sound that it made. Fidgeting with it, he turned his mobile off and sat up on the mattress, regaining the normal state of his brain.
He looked at the other side of the bed and saw Bucky deep in slumber with hand behind his head, using it as a support, if it did give any. Steve smiled at this version of Bucky, the first time that he had seen this sleeping look of him.
The young man beside him was a few weeks older than he was, with the former hitting his universal legality in the coming eighth month of the year, exactly ten days before Steve would leave his teenage years behind. Steve created a hypothesis at that moment, that Bucky looked younger in his sleep, an air of innocence suddenly present on his face. His mouth was slightly agape, and he did not make any sound.
I can make you happy, you know , Steve thought as he looked at Bucky. With me you don’t even have to try to be visible, because I always see you. I’ve always seen you. Why can’t you see me, though?
He sighed and turned away as he slowly plopped down on his side of the bed. He scooted farther away from Bucky, a minimal movement representing his constant decision now of distancing himself away from him. It was Steve’s self-reminder that getting too close was a risk of confession of his true feelings, and being too far from him was an action noticeable enough for Bucky to feel that something was not right.
If being your friend is what it takes to stay longer in life, then I’ll be contented with that , Steve thought to himself as he closed his eyes. If that’s what it takes.
Steve tried his hardest to fall asleep again, but not as hard as the tried convincing himself that whoever he was in Bucky’s life was enough for him.