grandpas and t-shirts
Steve woke up the next day, Saturday, with a small headache. He ignored it as he bent over the bed to feel under it for his phone, which he had dropped last night but was too lazy to bend down and get. He felt around and found it and brought it up to his face as he turned the screen on.
ONE NEW MESSAGE, his phone flashed.
Steve's stomach lurched forward, and he silently prayed it was James but quickly dismissed the thought, not wanting to get his hopes up.
You see, our dear Stevie had been dragging himself around, moping and moaning about the other night- the special night, you know what I'm talking about- and silently whining because all he wanted to do was talking to James. But no, Steve refuses to text him, believing that somehow James would get the message telepathically, or whatever.
Clearly, Steve knew that this would not work.
He knew that unless he texted James or said something in some communicative way, he wouldn't get anything out of him. After all, James had been the one who had the balls to run after Steve and kiss him, therefore the least Steve could do was actually initiate a conversation.
But we all know that ain't happening.
So Steve brought his phone screen up to his face and saw one message, and when he slid to open it, it was a message from Nat.
nat aka black widow: hey loser tell clint to pick up his damn phone and call me back
Steve's stomach dropped because it wasn't James, but he picked himself up and dragged himself to Clint's door and banged his fist multiple times.
"Hey asshole, pick up your fucking phone and call Nat!" Steve yelled, and continued pounding on the door.
"Mnngnfffg," was all Steve heard, so he turned the door nob and let himself in, only to find Clint with his blanket and his body face first on the floor near his bed.
"Dude, did you try doing parkour to get out of your bed or some shit?"
"Shut up, I fell while I was asleep, asshole" Clint says, and pushes himself back up, groaning. Steve rolls his eyes and leans against the doorpost.
"Any chance I can talk you out of making me go tonight?" he asks, hopeful. Clint gets up and walks toward the door.
"Nope, not a chance in hell," he retorts, and walks past Steve and into the kitchen, and plops down on the counter. "That is, unless you wanna piss of Nat. And I highly doubt you wanna do that, fam."
Steve turns around, still standing at the door frame. "Fam?"
"It's a new thing people say, Grandpa. Its like you've never spoken to anyone under the age of fifty, I swear," Clint remarks and rolls his eyes.
"It's not my fault all you do is sit around and eat chips. See, I get things done," Steve says as-a-matter-of-factly as he walks toward the kitchen. "And besides, you're the grandpa, Mr. I-turn-off-my-hearing-aids-when-I'm-in-a-mood."
"You were being a fucking loser, and you were annoying," Clint explains. "I had to turn my ears off or else I'd end up shooting someone-most probably you."
"That's besides the point, Barton. Now make me grilled cheese, I'm hungry," Steve jokingly demands, and Clint flicks him. "Ow!"
"It's cute how you think you can demand things from me," Clint comments.
"If it was Nat, you'd build her a fucking house made of grilled cheese," Steve whines.
"Okay, and? What's your point?"
"You like her better than me."
"Once again, what's your point?" Clint says seriously. "Awwww, is Captain jealous?"
"Yes."
"That's cute."
"I hate you."
"You love me, asshole."
Steve stomps into the kitchen and swings the fridge door open. "I'm making a sandwich for myself, and you can't have any because you're making me go tonight."
"Speaking of," Clint perks up, "What are you wearing tonight?"
Steve turns around from looking into the fridge and looks at Clint. "Um, why?"
"Just curious," Clint says with a light smile.
"I don't know what I'm wearing yet, why does it matter?" Steve says with a suspicious look on his face.
"No reason," Clint says, and winks at Steve and walks back into his room.
"Weirdo," Steve mutters, and slams the fridge door.
***
"SAM!"
Sam's footsteps were heard from down the hall, pattering down on the floor quickly only to show up at Bucky's door frame with a frantic look in his eyes.
"WhAT IS IT? ARE YOU DYING?"
"Sam what the fuck, man," Bucky was wheezing from laughing at Sam's appearance, mid-brushing his teeth and with his jeans hanging off the leg where he had put one hole of the pants on. "I just had a question."
"Your dumb ass had a question," Sam says, panting, "so you decide to scream bloody murder?"
"Sounds about right," Bucky says with a chuckle. "I need help with what to wear tonight," he holds up a white t-shirt and a navy blue one. "Which one looks better with jeans?"
Sam had walked back to the bathroom to finish brushing up. "Depends on the jeans you're wearing," he calls from inside.
"The ones that make my ass look good," Bucky says, and tosses the two shirts on his bed.
"The Kardashian ones?"
"Yes, obviously."
"The white shirt, then," Sam says, and Bucky laughs.
"Okay. What are you wearing?"
"Dude, I don't know, and I really don't care. All clothes look the same to me," Sam says as he walks back to Bucky's room. He's leaning against the door frame and he's smirking at Bucky.
"You dressing up for the roommate?"
"No, I'm not," Bucky replies, and it's the truth, because Bucky wasn't trying to look good for this stranger (or so he thought, right readers?) Essentially, he was ridiculously terrified of potentially seeing Steve in public. That was the honest truth.
Bucky had, in the back of his mind, this small thought, this idea, that maybe-just maybe- he'd see Steve tonight. The bar they were going to was rather popular among students at the school, and Sam claimed that everyone would be there tonight- after all, "it's Saturday night, Buck, normal people go out on the weekends, unlike you," Sam had said.
So yeah, Bucky had himself convinced that he could potentially see Steve tonight, and therefore he had to dress nicely and he had to actually care what he looked like.
Obviously, he could've just texted the other boy- after all, he'd been the one to kiss him first. But, Bucky was scared, and was hoping Steve would text him first or initiate the further step. So he waited, and he dressed extra nice for tonight, because maybe he would see Steve.
If not, Bucky thought, maybe I could hit up that roommate of Clint's?
Maybe.