a first and a last
"Steve!"
Steve turns around from where he's standing at the entrance of Brennan's, an All-American cuisine restaurant that boasted a very chill and casual atmosphere, adorned with wooden tables and comfy chairs. The lighting was low, and the people were all chatting animatedly with one another.
Steve had been obsessively waiting for this day to come, and it was here- the yearned-for Wednesday. He woke up that morning and went to his classes, knowing fully well that that night, he would see the blue-eyed boy and sit across from him. Of course-Steve came to the conclusion- he wouldn't do anything, obviously. He wouldn't put his interest on display for James to see. Yet, he still ached for the boy to sweep him off his feet.
Ah, Steve thought, if only.
After the weekend with Nat and Clint, and Steve starting to take his medicine, he got back on a semi-regular schedule; he went to class every day, went out with Nat or Clint for lunch or dinner, did what he had to do. He did shoot the occasional text with a winky emoji to James, but nothing beyond that. All in all, Steve was back on schedule, moving past the incident of the Friday night past. He still felt slightly ashamed, but after a long talk with Natasha, he realized that there was nothing he did that was wrong.
Still, didn't help the feeling of guilt that he felt when he saw Clint holding on to his side where the stranger had jabbed his fist.
Anyways, Wednesday evening. He had texted James letting him know where they'd meet, and told him to bring over the blue-print thing (or whatever it was technically) and some data that they had looked over last Friday. Steve had arrived 20 minutes earlier, you know, just in case.
(sure, Steve, whatever floats your boat.)
"Hi, I'm sorry, we're you waiting long? I should've came earlier-"
"Oh, no, don't worry, it's a thing of mine- I like to be beyond punctual," Steve assures James, who was standing in front of him, slightly out of breath and running his hands through his hair.
James smiles. "Damn, you like walking and being on time? I don't think we'll get along too well, Stevie."
Steve's stomach lurches at the nickname, "Too late for that, huh? Let's go inside." James smiles and lets Steve lead him inside through the wooden doors, and they seat themselves near the large window, expanding practically the whole front wall of the restaurant.
They sit down, and James smiles at Steve, who fumbles with his bag to get out his sketchbook.
"So."
"So."
"I have the data you asked me to bring, Steve, although I don't see the need for it."
"Oh, well, I have the finalized design for you, but I was hoping to just corroborate the data to make sure everything is accurate, you know?" Steve says, unsure what James's reaction would be.
"You finished it? Wow, quite fast, I'm impressed," James says with a nod.
Steve blushes. "Hah, well, when you have as much free time as I have, you find ways to get shit done."
"I can relate, I did an entire curriculum's worth of reading this past weekend, my roommate was ready to murder me."
Steve flinches, thinking of what he had done- rather, what he hadn't done- this weekend.
"Are you okay?" James asks, concern shadowing his face.
"Oh- uh, yeah," he shoves the sketchbook in front of James's face. "Here it is- and, uh- listen, if you don't like any of it, just tell me. I, uh, I'm willing- yeah, I'll start over, if you-"
"Jesus, Stevie, don't worry, okay? I'm sure it's great," James says with a reassuring smile, and Steve forgets that they're in a crowded restaurant and all he wants to do is grab James and kiss his stupid face.
James flips the cover over, flips to the dog marked page, and audibly gasps.
"You don't like it? Shit- shit, okay, I can-"
"Steve, you're incredible, holy shit," James looks up and his mouth is agape.
The picture was a diagram, first and foremost. Everything that was needed to be indicated was, well, indicated. But beyond that, it was breathtaking in every aspect. The details were perfect, the metal and color intertwining at every given point. The stark red contrasted with the darkness of the paneling, and the panels themselves were placed impeccably- everything was in accordance to the data, but it was so much more.
"Steve-"
"Hello, my name is Haley, I'll be your waitress tonight," a blonde looks down at the two sitting at the table. "Can I get you any drinks?"
Steve, still looking down from when James had opened the sketchbook, doesn't say anything.
"Just- um, two waters, please," James manages to cough out.
"Alright, I'll be back in a few to take orders!" she exclaims, and waltzes away.
"Steve."
Steve looks up and sees James looking directly at him.
"You're incredibly talented."
"It's- it's not my best," he insists quietly.
"Fuck that, it's the best I've ever seen," James says with a smile, and Steve looks back down shyly. "Do you have more that I can see?"
Steve straightens up. "Uh- ye- um, people never really have seen my art, but, yeah, you can flip through the rest of the sketchbook," he explains. "It's some of my newer stuff."
James nods with a smile, and starts flipping from the beginning. The different pages ranged from basic sketches to intricately detailed drawings. One, for example, was a sketch of a hand, using only charcoal pencil. The details were impeccable, and everything looked so realistic. Another was a landscape which Steve had drawn a month or so back, when he was visiting his aunt in Brooklyn. It was, to anyone born in Brooklyn, a famous sight.
The Brooklyn Heights Promenade drawn in the picture was vibrant with colors. Steve had taken so much time and effort on this picture, and he still wasn't done with it. The buildings were on display, shining brightly in the sun. There was a tree shedding its leaves, and a lonesome bench near the edge of the promenade, and there sat a lone figure, with their knees brought up under their chin as they looked out to the water.
Every detail was, as always, impeccable.
"Brooklyn?"
Steve looked up and blushed.
"Yeah I- I was visiting my aunt back at home and we had went for a walk out on the promenade. It's funny, actually- up until that day, I had never really walked on the promenade for the sole purpose of walking," Steve said, and smiled. "Always had somewhere to be."
"You're from Brooklyn?"
"Wh- yeah, I am, why?"
"So am I," James smiles.
"Really?"
"Well, I was born in Shelbyville, Indiana, when my parents were traveling the country after the got married. Both my parents and my entire family, are Jewish, so my family basically all lives in Brooklyn. I may have been born in Indiana," James laughs, "but in my heart, I am a true Brooklyn boy."
"Where did you go to school?" Steve asks curiously.
"Milford Academy for high school, you?"
"Georgian High."
"Dude, that's like not even ten minutes away from each other, they're both by Park Slope, no?" James asks.
"Yeah, actually," Steve replies with a smile, and James looks at him with wide eyes.
"I think my school played your school in varsity soccer," he says.
"So, what are the odds we meet two hours away from home in our twenties, huh," Steve laughs.
"Fate has a funny way of working its magic," James laughs, and Steve's heart thumps because what he would've given to know this kid in high school...
***
James bites into his burger and chews, with a thoughtful look on his face.
"So, you told me that you were skinny and small as a kid, so I assume you shot up in high school?"
Steve snorts, "Yeah, middle of junior year my doctor finally figured me out and got me the right steroids and shit. Took a lot of vitamins, and suddenly I was the focus of every girl in the school."
"Ah, so you were a player?" James wiggles his eyebrows and Steve laughs.
"No way, I was never into that- still, it was definitely great on my self esteem," he says thoughtfully. "I was asked to try out for the soccer team, but I refused. I was an art nerd from the start, I wouldn't change who I was along with the rest of my body."
"That's cute," James smirks, and takes another bite.
"Eh, not really. Got made fun of a lot when I started middle school and high school, and even though most people became scared of me, I heard what they said about me behind their backs."
"It's funny, you know," James comments.
"What's funny?"
"You're a pretty confident guy, Steve, yet when it comes to your art, you become this little kid- you're almost too scared, because you think you've done something wrong," James says nonchalantly.
Steve pauses, and bites into his burger.
"I mean, you're incredible, man. I've never seen anything like what you do, yet you shut down every compliment," he continues. "And then you flirt with me and I get flustered."
Steve turns red, because James had realized it was flirting and he realized that he wasn't being so subtle (although Steve couldn't have been that stupid, could he?)
"I'm sorry, I'm probably overstepping some boundaries. Just forget I sai-"
"You're right," Steve admits, and James's small smile falters. "It's actually... it's a long story."
"I like long stories," James says and the smile returns to his face.
"Well-"
"Hi boys, is everything alright?"
Haley is standing over them, yet again, looking at them with a big smile. Little shit knows what she's doing, Steve thinks.
"Yes, Haley," James says with an exaggerated pronunciation of her name. "Everything is absolutely, positively fantastic."
"Great! Well, holler at me if you need anything," she says, ignoring James's obvious exasperation.
"Oh yes, we sure will, Haley," James says and gives her a sarcastic thumbs up. If Haley notices, she doesn't say anything, and waltzes away.
"Remind me to shoot her when she comes back," James grumbles.
Steve laughs, "Aw, why you upset, Jamesy?"
James grumbles again, "You know why, Steve."
Steve laughs again and takes another bite of the burger. "So, you excited to construct the arm, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess," James says, and gives Steve a small smile. "Guess I don't really need your help anymore, Stevie."
Steve's smile falters, because he hadn't realized that technically... they didn't even have to meet up again.
"Yeah, I guess so, James," he replies, not knowing what to say. He takes a sip of his water.
"Um, tha-thank you, for everything you've done," James says, looking down. "I don't know what I would've done without your help, Steve."
"Sure you would've managed just fine, James," Steve is also looking down when he says this, and they both look back up at the same time. "Let me- let me know if you, um, ever need any help with anything, I would be more than happy to help."
"Y-yeah, thank you."
The rest of dinner went on with small talk, yet Steve couldn't help but notice that James kept looking down, not really looking at Steve the way he normally does.
On the way out from the restaurant, they exchange awkward goodbyes, and Steve goes in for a hug and James just squeezes back before giving a small smile and walking away.
Steve was alone, watching as James slowly walked the other way. He turned around and began thinking.
It was odd, he thought, that I rushed it they way I did. He was referring to the diagram he made and the actual drawing. Steve hadn't realized that when he finished it, he was going to give it to James and then that was it. Damn, if he had known it would end like this, he would've waited until he was 94 damn years old to finish it. Then James would be a little late on the due date, but it didn't matter- as long as Steve got to see him.
As Steve continued walking, he was looking down at the sidewalk and kicking any available pile of leaves he saw. He wasn't upset, so to speak, but rather just... disappointed.
Footsteps bounced off the pavement of the sidewalk, but Steve didn't turn around, still deep in thought. It was only when he felt a tap on his shoulder did he turn around. And there James was, standing as he slightly panted and looked at Steve.
"James, what are-"
James grabbed his coat collar and pulled him in, and planted his lips on his. It wasn't a long kiss, wasn't particularly wet or heated. Rather, it was short and sweet.
Steve melted into his touch, inhaling lightly and kisses back. All he smelled was James, all he felt was James, all he wanted was James.
James pulled back, and looked at Steve directly in the eyes.
"Thank you, Stevie."
He smiled and turned away, walking in the other direction with his hands in his jean pockets. Steve didn't move, didn't say anything back, and just watched as James walked away.
What the hell, Steve thought, what the actual fuck.
***
Back in his apartment, Bucky plopped on his bed and looked up at the ceiling, with a big smile plastered on his face.
He didn't know whether Steve would text him or call him ever, let alone whether Steve liked the kiss. But when he was walking away from Steve at the restaurant, he just knew- he felt- that their goodbye wasn't enough. And dammit, if he wasn't going to ever meet up with the guy again, he sure as hell was going to kiss him at least once.
Steve kissed back, though. He expressed some form of interest, Bucky thought, and he didn't deny that he had been flirting with me when I mentioned it. But, what else could he do, huh readers? All he could do was run back and find the guy and grab him and kiss him.
Bucky didn't know what to do with himself.
***
Steve walked into his apartment and found Clint (as per usual) on the couch eating and watching television.
"Hey, loser, I found this new thing at the store today and I can't stop eating it," Clint says, and jumps up and walks to Steve, thrusting a bag of PopChips in his face. "Dude, I might have to go to PopChips rehab soon. I've eaten five bags since you left."
"It's truly a wonder how you aren't obese, man," Steve says, but he looks like he's in another world.
"What the fuck is up with you, you look like you've seen a damn ghost or some shit," Clint comments, and plops himself at the table as Steve thrusts off his coat.
"Nothing, I'm fine," he says.
"Well, your face is all red and rosy and shit, and it's not even that cold outside, so-"
"It's nothing, Clint, don't worry about it," he replies, and Clint gives him an odd look. "Seriously man, you're so fucking weird."
"Oh, sorry, just slightly concerned for my best friend," Clint says with an eye roll, and Steve snaps.
"Clint, could you and Natasha possibly stop fucking looking at me as if I'm gonna fucking break? I'm not a little kid, 'm not gonna break," he half-shouts.
"Jesus, I just asked a question, I'm sorry-"
"Barton, get your head out of your ass, I'm fine and you don't have to worry," he ends his rant with a tone of finality. "Now pass the damn bag of PopChips, otherwise you're gonna end up demolishing the market's entire supply of that shit."
***