meadowland
Steven Grant Rogers was struggling. He was damn struggling.
First of all, a recap. (HAH GET IT! ok sorry, the narrator deeply regrets having made that pun.) (but not really.)
When Steve woke up the next morning, it was like 5 o'fuck am and he needed some damn coffee. Or some whiskey. Or both?
He settled for coffee.
After sleeping for... ugh, God knows how long (it was 15 hours, he later realized with a sigh), his head was pounding. But, his body wasn't as achy as the day before, so he saw it as a sign that he was improving. He sat at the kitchen table and sipped on his bitter cup of coffee, too lazy to get up and pour some milk and sugar in it.
Clint wouldn't be up for another 4 hours or so, and Steve pondered for a moment, wondering what to do with this quiet time he had free (Clint was extra loud in the morning, since he doesn't put on his hearing aids until after he showers, a bad habit which he picked up a while ago). He knew that he should be expecting a call from Nat sometime soon, scolding him for skipping out on their plans, but he would be able to reason with her, like he always does.
Steve decides to go back into his room and pull out his big sketching pad from his bag. This one was different from the one he used yesterday while sketching- the paper was thick, and rough, and Steve loved the way the pencil (or charcoal, in this case) felt as he reached to cover all the extents of the paper. He used this sketch pad for things he needed to do for his Studio Art class, which he had tomorrow for an hour and a half.
The assignment was simple- draw a figure.
Sounded easy, right?
But Steve knew that this figure, as Professor Fredricks said, had to be carefully planned out. He had his notes besides the sketchbook, and he sat for a moment
"Carefully consider the weight of the subject, how the person sits, how the angle of the person's body affects the overall form of the body," his handwriting was short and messy, uneven in the lines of the paper in front of him. Mostly doodles covered the page, with sparse notes here and there.
"The subject"...
Well, damn, he'd need a person to sketch, and it was only him and his coffee in the kitchen, so he was stuck. He pushed his studio art stuff aside, and pondered again for another moment. He felt quite restless, but he remembers he has a midterm paper to do for Hale's class, and goes into his room to fetch his laptop from his bed.
He opened up Google Docs, and opens the file for the document he had started typing on for this assignment. He had to find five pieces of postmodern art that define the era itself, and explain how, why and a ton of other fucking shit. Knowing Hale, she would want details, and not just technical ones, but rather their own opinions, thoughts and ideas. They also, in connection to this essay, had to recreate their own version of the piece, using what Hale and Fredricks said was "the essence, the ideas that flow from the piece itself" and interpret it in their own way. The good thing was, if it was a photograph or a painting, it didn't have to be recreated in the same way it originally was. It could be in any way.
Steve had four of the five pieces that he was working on, and at the recommendation of Fredricks, had chosen his last piece, a oil painting titled "Meadowland" by Gerhard Richter, made in 1985. The painting was, in all aspects, a muddy-looking painting. The colors were bland, and personally, Steve didn't think it was all that great. But, his professor recommended it, and he would analyze the painting and all that jazz.
Steve sat for an hour, looking at the painting and trying to decipher it, but came up with nothing. Zero. Zilch.
He fiddled around on Google, at first researching some more work by Ritcher, but another hour passes and Steve finds himself on YouTube, watching a video of some guy falling on his ass in the snow.
It was almost 8 o'clock in the morning, and now Steve was pissed. He didn't fucking get this damn motherfucking stupid painting! He truly was struggling. He decides to abandon it for a little bit, and go out for a walk to clear his mind, hoping that he would come back and somehow it would all magically come to him.
It didn't.
And now it was 9 o'clock in the morning, and Steve was seething. He grabbed all his stuff and decided to stop by to see Professor Hale, who was always in the lecture hall on weekday mornings. The walk was short, brisk, and Steve was frustrated and kicked a pile of leaves around as he waited to cross the street to the campus. When he reaches the building where the lecture hall is, he takes a deep breath in, and looks down for a moment.
He then realized he's in pajama pants, but fuck it, he doesn't care (he does a little, because Professor Hale probably thinks he's already a little nuts, and this doesn't add to that in a positive way, he thinks).
He opens the door to the lecture hall, and walks down the aisle to where Hale was sitting at her desk, talking to someone.
"Mr. Rogers, good morning!" she exclaims, and Steve internally cringes because how the fuck could anyone even be slightly as energetic as she was, especially on a Tuesday morning. "We don't have class today, so what brings you here?"
"Help- I need it, um," he croaked out. He cleared his throat, "You said that you would help with our midterm papers, and I really need help."
"Oh! Well you're definitely not who I expect to come to me for help, but sure, what's up?"
Steve looks down at the back of the head of someone sitting across from Hale at the other side of her desk, with their back toward him. "I have all five of my pieces I'm researching, but Professor Fredricks recommended this piece to me, and it's so annoying and I can't figure it out," he pauses. "If you're with someone right now, I can come back later?"
"Oh! No, James is just here working on some stuff, but now that I think of it-"
"So you can help me? Because I really don't get this shi- stuff," Steve says.
"Hm," she pauses. "Very unlike you, unless it's a-"
"It's a Gerhard Ritcher piece, called 'Meadowland,' I think," Steve clarifies.
"Ah, I figured," she scrunches her nose up. "You see, Steve, you are so capable and you understand everything I've ever thrown at you these last few years, yet you do not understand the concept of aestheticism."
"But I do! It's like, the whole..." he pauses, "It's where everyone thinks... I don't know, isn't it when it's like, nice to look at and shi- something," he says, and he feels his face turning red. Now, the young guy sitting across from Hale looks up at him, and Steve is too distracted to notice him.
"I have a proposal for you, and you don't have to take it, but you really should because I'm your teacher and I know what's best," Professor Hale winks.
"Um, okay."
"James?" The kid sitting across from her jerks up, and puts his pencil down. "This is Steve Rogers," she says, indicating for him to look at Steve.
Steve sees a pair of bright blue eyes and dark, thick hair turn around and stare at him. Jesus Christ, Steve thinks, is this kid a male model or some shit? What the fuck.
"Steve, this is James Barnes, he's taking my art history course, the one you took in your first year," she continues.
"Hi," Steve says quietly.
"He happens to be a brilliant engineering major, and he needed help with something he's been working on," she says, and beckons for Steve to sit down in the chair next to them.
"I, uh- for my final project this year, we have to design and create a prototype for a project we think of- you know, like an invention. We have to, basically, design and create something from scratch," he says, scratching the back of his neck and looking back and forth from Hale to Steve and back. "My idea is an improved model of my, well- uh, my prosthetic arm. I was working out the logistics when I realized I didn't know what to do with the outer appearance."
"He claims to have no artistic ability, but this kid has a way with wires and design that is like nothing I've seen before," Professor Hale smiles at him, and James blushes. "He came to me, asking me for help in the design and to make it appealing to the common eye, but-"
"You want me to help him?"
"Yes."
"How can I help with that? You're the best there is!" Steve claims, and Bucky shifts in his seat.
"Mr. Rogers, I've seen your art, and your skills may be on parr, if not, even better than mine. And besides, this is a perfect lesson on aesthetics!" Hale exclaims.
"So, what? I just design the thing and I get the grade?" Steve asks.
"No, not so simple," she says, and Steve visibly slumps. "You work with James, I give you an extra two weeks on top of the two weeks you have left on the assignment, and for the recreation of Meadowland, I want to see a painting that exemplifies your understanding of aesthetics."
"Uh, not to be rude or anything, but what does he know about aesthetics that I don't?" Steve asks, picturing in his head the slap that Nat would give him if she'd heard his attitude.
"Engineering consists of making sure all things are in the right place," James says in a small voice. "Aesthetics in art is basically the same, except it's created differently."
"Couldn't have said it better myself!" Hale beams. "So? What do you say?"
"For the recreation, do I recreate the painting or do you want my own?" Steve asks.
Hale pauses for a moment, "Your own- you know what, no, I have an idea. If your project with James works out, then you can hand it in and it'll count for one of the five!" she beams again, and Steve internally rolls her eyes, because this woman was a literally ball of energy and enthusiasm. "If this all works out, hopefully, you'll have a better understanding of aesthetics, and your paper will be done, and James will have his design!"
"Alright, I guess- if it's okay with you, James," Steve says, and James straightens up at the sound of his name.
"Ye-yeah, sure," he says with a small smile. "I'm happy to help, and I'm sure it'll work out great."
"Yay! Okay, you two go, talk out your plans, and I'll see you," she points at James, "in an hour!" And with that, she picks up her bag and shuffles out swiftly.
Steve and the stranger were left alone in the lecture hall.
"Um-"
"Should we grab a cup of coffee?" James asks, and Steve nods his head. James gathers his stuff, and walks next to Steve.
Steve was painfully aware of his own damn pajama pants. And of James's blue, blue eyes. And his face- God, he was attractive.
"Ready?"
All Steve could do was nod, and then followed James out the door and onto the streets of campus. He knew there was a coffee shop down the street.
"So, your an Art History major?"
Steve looks up, "Um- uh, yeah, I'm majoring in art history, and studio art, with a minor in European History and Psychology."
"That's really cool!" James smiles. "I'm gonna be an engineering major- you're probably wondering why I'm taking art history," he says, and chuckles.
"Oh, yeah-"
"My mom's an art history teacher in my old high school, and she insists that if I'm going to become an 'old fart connecting wires,'" James was doing the quotes indication with his fingers and it was so so so damn cute, Steve though. "'Then I better damn sure I would be taking an art history course!'" He was smiling now, and Steve felt his stomach lurch because holy shIT HE IS SO CUTE.
"And you're interested in engineering?"
"Yeah, having a prosthetic arm from a young age helped with that one," James smiles again and Steve literally wants to jump off a cliff because why was he so obsessed with someone he didn't know like what the fuck.
They turn the street and head into the coffee shop. James smiles, and grabs them a table. "My treat, what do you want?"
"Oh- you don't have to-"
"You're designing the thing that's getting me through college, so shut up- what do you want?" James repeats, and Steve tells him he'll take a coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich because cheese is awesome.
James returns to the table, plate in one hand and two hot drinks in the other. He grins at Steve, and hands him the coffee and pushes the plate in front of him. James sits, and watches Steve as he tentatively takes a bite of his sandwich. If James notices his black eye and bruised forehead, he doesn't say anything.
"Good?"
"Hell yeah, have a bite," Steve says, and pushes the other half toward him. James takes it from him and bites it, and chews for a moment. And then, the most beautiful thing happens.
He moans.
God.
Steve literally turns red because holy shit that went straight to his dick.
"Holy crap, I haven't had a grilled cheese in forever, man," he smiles as he takes another bite, and Steve smiles back. "So, what's the plan?"
Okay, shift back into reality. No more picturing this stranger in your damn bed, Rogers, he says to himself mentally.
"I have tomorrow afternoon free, we could meet up and discuss the logistics?" Steve suggests, and James nods.
"I have a Robotics class in the morning, but I'm free afterwards," he says. "Why don't we meet here at 1, and we can go somewhere for lunch?"
Like a date? Steve thinks.
No, no no no, get your head straight, Rogers, Steve scolds himself mentally. (hah, there goes the narrator with her hilarious puns! I hate myself too, don't worry).
"That sounds perfect, I'll bring my sketchbook and we'll do the stuff," Steve says, and James smiles and Steve wants to explode, right then and there.
Steve Rogers was screwed.
***
Clint was sprawled on the couch when Steve got home, lazily snacking on some chips and flipping through the channels.
"Hey fatass," Steve teases, and Clint jumps up.
"Steve! I have things to tell you!"
"Did you and Nat finally fuck?" Steve dead pans, and Clint turns red. "Oh sorry, did you finally make looooove?"
Clint throws a chip at his face.
"No, you asshole, but last night was so fun, and you're a dumbass for not waking up and coming," Clint replies.
"Aw darn, looks like I'll have to hang out with you and Nat another time," Steve says sarcastically, and plops down next to Clint on the couch.
"No, but you have to meet Sam's roommate, Bucky, he's totally fucking awesome-"
"Bucky? What the hell kind of name is Bucky?" Steve asks, and grabs a handful of chips from Clint's bowl.
"Dude, I don't know, but this kid is awesome, you've gotta meet him, you two would hit it off," Clint says.
"M'not interested in meeting someone," Steve says with a smile.
"Steeveeeee, you're so annoyi- wait, you met someone."
"Maybe, he was just some guy but he's so-"
"Is he Bucky?"
"No."
"Then I don't care."
"Asshole," Steve says, and throws a chip at Clint, who responds with a middle finger.
(cue the laugh track, because these kids are in for a ride).
***