Melted (A Stucky Fanfiction)

"Good morning," Bucky said casually, taking a sip from the ceramic mug he happened to be holding.

"Um... hi," Steve said stupidly, smiling up at him, still groggy from sleep. Apparently they had fallen asleep on the couch, a couch upon which Steve was sprawled languidly, leaving just enough room for Bucky to be sitting cross legged at the end, nonchalantly nursing a hot drink of some sort. Steve couldn't remember the ending of the film they'd watched last night, so he had probably nodded off before it had reached it's conclusion. "How long have you been awake?"

"A few hours. Check your watch, Steve."

Steve blinked, and did as Bucky asked. A flash of dread passed through him as his eyes took in the time on its smooth surface. "Gosh, is it really that late?"

Bucky didn't reply: he assumed Steve's question was rhetorical.

"I'm so sorry. Why didn't you wake me up?" Steve berated himself for being foolish enough to sleep in so late when it could be their last day together for a while.

Bucky shrugged. "I didn't really want to. It's okay, I've been talking to T'Challa this morning."

Steve swung his legs off the couch, and slowly stood up, stretching. "Really? What about?" Although he feigned indifference, Steve's tone was wary. He knew T'Challa no longer blamed Bucky for his father's murder, but he still deemed it likely it would take a while for T'Challa to trust him.

"This and that. How he also thinks you're an idiot for waking me up, and simultaneously is surprised you didn't do it sooner."

Steve tried not to look affronted, but didn't quite manage it. "Glad you two are bonding over how ridiculous I am."

"LOL." Bucky grinned.

"What the heck does 'lol' mean?"

"Laugh out loud. Apart from conversing with T'Challa, I discovered this thing called the internet, on T'Challa's computer device. It's really cool. There are all these new words and acronyms people have invented. Another one is 'yolo.' Can you guess what it stands for?" Bucky was twisting his wrists in circles as he talked, something he did when he was animated or excited.

Steve furrowed his brows, which was what he did when he was thinking. "Yoghurt On Large Oranges?"

Bucky burst out laughing at his friend's ridiculous guess. "No. You Only Live Once!"

Steve tried to defend himself. "Oh. Well, everyone knows that you only live once, it's not surprising that I didn't assume there would be a saying for it." He paused, pondering some more. "Why don't people just laugh, instead of saying Laugh Out Loud? It seems kinda stupid to me."

"Young people use the expression in something called 'texting.' I don't really understand it, but apparently you can use it to send messages instantly from something called a cell phone. Plus, saying LOL requires less effort."

"Oh, a phone? I have one of those, Sam showed me how it works. I text him and Nat all the time." Steve ignored the latter part of Bucky's sentence; he wasn't going to indulge his laziness.

"Really?" Bucky's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Will you show me how it works?"

Steve cracked up, he couldn't help it.

"Why are you laughing?"

Steve tried to stop. "Sorry, just the expression on your face - you looked like a gleeful little kid."

Instead of berating him, or looking ashamed, like Steve had expected, Bucky joined in with his laughter. It took quite a few minutes before they had calmed down enough to stop, because every time one of them had begun to sober up, all they had to do was look at the other's face to immediately start giggling again.

Steve took longer than Bucky for his laughter to simmer down, and once he'd calmed, looked up to find Bucky smiling, fondly at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just - I've missed you."

Steve grinned, putting on a smile too wide for his face. "I only saw you yesterday."

Bucky rolled his eyes and swatted at him. "I didn't mean that. I meant," Bucky gestured between them, "this. Laughing with you, enjoying myself with you. How we used to be, before..." His smile faded.

So did Steve's. "I know, Buck. Me, too."

Steve waited a moment, before saying, "So. Still want to see my phone?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They were still sitting side by side on the sofa, except Steve had run upstairs to get his iPhone in between. Bucky still couldn't believe how much humanity had advanced since he had been the Winter Soldier. He remembered when he and Steve had gone to Howard Stark's exposition of future technologies, with a couple of girls whose names he could no longer remember. Technology had definitely advanced amazingly since then, and, Bucky thought with a grimace, Howard's son probably had something to do with that. Tony. And that was when Bucky remembered that Howard Stark was now dead. Murdered... By him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Steve asked, as he saw Bucky's eyes start to fill with tears.

"Nothing," Bucky said, gritting his teeth and wiping his face with the back of his hand. He hated feeling this weak. Since when had he started bloody crying all the time?

"Bucky, you know you can talk to me about it," Steve said, gently rubbing Bucky's back with his fingertips in soothing circles.

"I said I'm fine!" Bucky snapped. Shit, he thought. He hadn't meant to yell at Steve, he was just so goddamn frustrated.

Steve flinched, and withdrew his hand.

"I'm sorry," Bucky said, not meeting his eyes. "I just don't want to talk about it, if that's okay."

"Yeah, no, that's - that's fine."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Steve's stomach rumbled, aggressively. They both giggled, and Steve blushed. That's adorable, Bucky thought, and then shook his head, trying to knock the thought out of it. Since when had he started thinking of his best friend as adorable?

"Sorry," Steve said, bringing Bucky back to the present. "I'm really hungry."

"It's okay. I am, too."

"Do you want lunch? I think T'Challa has eggs somewhere..."

"Sounds great." Bucky forced himself to smile, trying not to upset Steve again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Steve danced around the kitchen, grabbing milk, butter and eggs from different cupboards. Bucky had offered to help, but Steve'd reassured him that it was fine; he could manage by himself. They had tried to find T'Challa beforehand, to ask if he wanted lunch, and if it was okay to use his ingredients, but he was nowhere to be found, and they were both too ravenous to wait for him.

Steve glanced behind him at Bucky, whilst cracking an egg into a bowl. He was sitting at the kitchen table, broodily, eyes vacant and fingers idly splayed on its wooden surface. Steve wanted nothing more than to cheer him up, but he didn't know how. He turned his attention back to the eggs, and frowned. He should probably have focused a little harder on cracking them (no easy task), because now, in front of him, was a bowl filled with more shell than egg.

Oops. Steve reached into the bowl, trying to scoop the shell out with his fingers, but everytime he grasped a fragment, it just slipped back into the bowl when he tried to remove it.

"I want to cut my hair," Bucky said suddenly, startling Steve, who let out a small scream and jumped back in surprise. His hand caught on the edge of the bowl, which flipped off the counter, and ended up as a mess of pottery and liquid on the floor.

Steve bent down to pick up the larger pieces of the broken bowl, conveniently hiding how his cheeks were dusted with red.

"Sorry!" Bucky said, rushing up to help.

Steve motioned with one hand for him sit down. Bucky ignored him and began looking for a dustpan and brush, in one of the many cupboards which T'Challa had in his enormous kitchen.

"You what now?" Steve asked, referring to Bucky's initial remark.

"I... I want to cut my hair. Found it!" Bucky grinned with pride as he dug out the dustpan and brush and bent down to sweep the debris into the pan.

"Why would you want to that, all of a sudden?" Steve deposited the broken china in the dustbin, and put his hands on his hips.

"I don't like it," Bucky said, emphatically.

"Why don't you like it?" Steve strode over, and stared down at Bucky, still sweeping up the smashed crockery.

"Why would I? It's irritating, it gets in the way of everything, and it makes me look evil!" Bucky cringed, wishing he hadn't said that last part. It sounded so stupid.

Steve snorted. "Buck, your hair does not make you look evil. That's ridiculous."

"It does," Bucky said, plaintively. He abruptly stood up, throwing the bowl's remains into the bin and jamming the lid on.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Hair cannot contribute to evilness in one way or another. It's - it's hair."

"Well, I beg to differ. I don't like it, so I'm going to lop it off."

"Do you have to?" Steve whined. He thought that Bucky's hair made him look awesome. And handsome.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. Steve felt the blood rush to his face, forming a blush for the third time that day. "I like your hair," he muttered, lamely.

"Really?" Bucky questioned, surprised. "I hate it." He shrugged, and picked up a pair of scissors, sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked, when Bucky began to wander off.

"To cut my hair, Steve." Bucky sighed, as if Steve really should have picked up on that by now.

"No, no, no!" Steve's eyes grew horrified, and he snatched the scissors out of Bucky's fist. "You absolutely cannot cut your hair yourself, and certainly not with those, you'll look ridiculous!"

Bucky protested, and tried to grab the scissors back. "Well then, who is going to cut it? There's absolutely no way I'm trusting you."

"I wasn't thinking of me," Steve said, in a 'duh' tone of voice.

"T'Challa? Because he-"

"No, not him, either."

"Well then who?"

Steve grinned, wickedly. "I happen to have a friend who's pretty skilled at hairdressing. He cuts mine all the time."

Bucky felt slightly nervous, especially since Steve looked like he was plotting something. "He? Who is it?"

"Wait and see," Steve said, taunting him.

"Steve," Bucky growled. "I can very easily make you tell me."

"Uh, no you can't."

"Oh, really? Wanna bet?" Bucky lurched forward, and Steve jumped backwards, an expression of panic on his face.

Bucky laughed, and crossed his arms. His face said, See how easy it is to scare you?

Steve pouted, crossly. Bucky waggled his eyebrows, threateningly, in response.

"Okay, fine, fine, I'll give you a clue." Steve paused, mysteriously, and then made a show of clearing his throat. "He's particularly attached to his bow and arrow, which I'm forever telling him is worrying, but does he listen to me? No..."

Steve continued ranting, but Bucky no longer heard him. His mouth had dropped open.