Heaven and Hell
It was hell for the next week.
They avoided each other constantly, and when Steve woke up in the mornings, the other side of the bed was cold. They didn’t talk, or even acknowledge the other’s presence. He was so frustrated that years of friendship could be destroyed so easily, with one simple conversation.
He sat on the stool at the counter, drumming his pencil on his blank sketchbook. It’d been harder to draw lately, and Steve wanted to curse himself for being so dependent on Bucky. Hell, he couldn't even draw without thinking of him. He wanted to hit something, or someone. It was a miracle that he'd come home this past week without being beat to a pulp. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it wasn't.
He heard Bucky before he saw him. The familiar click of the keyhole, the turn of the handle, and his soft humming drew Steve’s attention. He glanced at the clock. 8:45. Steve pretended he didn’t notice that since Friday, Bucky hadn’t been home late once.
He’s doing it for you.
Steve told that little voice to go to hell. He slid off the stool and made for the hallway.
“Hey,” Steve froze. Bucky hadn’t said anything to him since Friday.
“Hi,”
It was unnervingly quiet in the small room, Steve shuffling awkwardly on his feet as Bucky pulled off his shoes and settled onto the couch, and it was very reminiscent of that day and Steve wasn’t sure he liked the similarities because that day was horrible and okay it’s time to leave now--
He hadn’t even noticed he was walking until he was halfway into the bedroom and Bucky called, “Steve?”
He paused, uncertain as he came slowly into the hallway. “Hi,”
Bucky was sitting criss-cross on the couch, face stoic and more serious than Steve has seen it in months. He hovered uncomfortably by the edge of the table, Bucky’s expression growing more and more annoyed. “Jesus, Steve, sit down, would ya?”
He perched on the armrest, and he didn’t need to look up to know that Bucky was rolling his eyes. Steve could do annoyed just as well. “What do you want?”
“I was thinking that sooner or later we’d need to talk about. . . Friday,”
“What’s there to talk about Friday?” Steve narrowed his eyes and slid off the armrest into the cushions.
“Steve.”
“Buck.”
They stared each other down for a moment, before Bucky sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I guess I. . . didn’t think that was a good way for us to end our conversation.”
“You left!” Steve retorted.
“Didn’t think you wanted to see me,”
He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, realizing Bucky was right. Who knows? The next day, Bucky might’ve gone to work with a black eye. Or two.
When he came back to focus, Bucky was staring at him intently, as though he knew he wanted to say something.
He fiddled with lint on the couch cushion uncomfortably before mumbling, “I wasn’t planning on telling you.”
Bucky made a low, unhappy sound in the back of his throat. “Why?”
A shrug. “Thought you’d react badly.”
“React how?”
He breathed out slowly, not daring to meet the other’s eye. “Kick me out or something, I’m not really sure--”
“Steven Grant Rogers, I swear to God above if you actually think that I would kick you out ofour apartment, you must be stupid.” Steve flinched at his volume.
“It’s happened with other people--”
“I’m not other people, though,” and Bucky was looking at him in this way that was physically starting to hurt Steve’s heart, so he turned his head away.
“People are getting killed, Buck,”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t sure, I mean, I didn’t know if you thought they deserved it--”
Bucky’s face was an expression of pure horror and Steve regretted saying anything. “No, no! Of course not, that’s horrible, and if I ever gave you the impression that I thought. . . ”
He nodded, worrying his bottom lip and staring into nothing. Very quietly, after a moment, Steve said, “I have a question.”
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you lie to me?” His voice sounded so broken and he wanted to take the question back, but it was too late. Bucky considered this for a moment, and Steve could practically see the gears in his head turning.
“I’m not sure,” Bucky began slowly.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
"Bucky,”
Bucky pulled at invisible strings on the cushions, words flying around in his brain. He sighed, long and heavy before saying, “I was doing it to distract myself.”
Steve’s interest was slightly peaked, and he sat up a little straighter to look Bucky in the eye. “From what?”
He didn’t like it when Bucky was quiet for too long, and the other’s silence was causing him to worry even more. “I’ve been trying to distract myself from someone,”
“Someone? Who wouldn’t be in love with Bucky Barnes?” Steve joked.
He wasn’t granted with the smile he was searching for. Bucky only shrugged.
“But. . . what does that have to do with you lying?”
He could sense, rather than see, Bucky wince. “I thought they’d see me differently, if they knew. And I didn’t want to come home and have them watch me drunkenly stumble over some new girl every other day. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
And maybe Bucky kept talking, but Steve had already stopped listening past, “I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”
You.
His mouth felt dry when he said, “Why would I be disappointed?”
“For being too much of a coward to ever say anything to you.” Bucky was looking at him that way again, and Steve felt his heart stutter in his chest.
“You’re not a coward,”
“Steve--”
“Bucky. You’re not a coward.”
“Neither are you,”
At this, Steve sat up straighter. “I know,”
Bucky chuckled and pulled Steve into his lap. “I’m sorry,”
Steve’s head was fuzzy. “What?”
“I’m tryin’ to apologize here, Rogers,”
“For?”
“Lying,”
“Oh,” Steve was preparing to say something snarky about how he could repay him, but then Bucky’s lips were on his, firm but gentle. When he pulled away, Steve wanted to faint.
The idiot had the audacity to look amused. He drummed his fingers against Steve’s back and hummed when Steve’s fingers tangled in his hair.
“That wasn’t even a real kiss, Steve,”
Bucky tasted like liquorice and apples, and Steve was thrumming all over when they finally pulled away again.
“You’re so cute when you’re flustered like this,” Bucky noted, nosing his way down Steve’s neck.
Bucky sucked a bruise into Steve’s collarbone, and he must’ve gasped out loud because Bucky was laughing into his shoulder and unsuccessfully trying to hide it.
“You suck,”
Bucky pulled away suddenly, a wide smirk plastered on his face. “Do you want me to stop?”
Steve pulled his hair in response. “God, no,”
Never.
His face changed from a smirk to a genuine smile. “I think we could manage that,”