fossilised | It's AU time

It had stopped bothering him, being underestimated, such a long time ago that he barely felt it when Bucky put him down. He really didn't look like he worked in a tattoo parlor, but then, most of the guys and girls he worked with didn't either. Their shop catered to high end clients, the ones that were using daddy's money to get tramp stamps or trust fund babies trying to feel cool. It was a bit niche when it came to the tattoo world but Steve really liked it there. He had his own studio and he got to work with some pretty idiotic people that let him do all of the design work without too much input.

Steve had gotten a job there because he could draw but Mickey wasn't about to let him pick up a gun and start inking someone with the way he was prone to attacks. She didn't want to be sued after all.

"I do the art, mostly. I work on custom pieces and run the sterilizer...and I do some of the ink ordering too. They pay pretty good for the city. And no. I don't have any tattoos. I don't know if I'd ever get one either. I can't decide on anything in particular. You're not really going to work at a fast food place are you? You've got to have more marketable skills than that," Steve insisted.

It was weird, but for a moment Steve seemed like someone who had stepped right out of a bohemian novel or something like that. Some skinny kid on his own in a crummy apartment, doing art work to get through school. Added in those blue eyes and the way he made eye contact like everyone was his best friend, or he was determined not to be looked down on, it was just so... American Dream.

"Well, apparently I have skills as an actor that I never knew about?"

Bucky shot the answer back as a joke with a smile, but he felt a twist of something knot his stomach. He had no marketable skills; hell, he had no idea if even a fast food place would hire him with the mess he was in most of the time. But he'd rather nobody knew about that. He'd come here to escape that life.

"Maybe I'll end up a famous movie star by the end of the week, what d'you think?"

"I think that you should have gone to California if you wanted to be in movies," Steve said, joking right on back. "You're going to shut down Off Broadway shows, remember?" He pulled himself up onto the empty counter next to a lot of stacked boxes and the poor little stove. His feet swung a good two feet above the ground and his clay spotted white tee followed the curve of his torso. In this lighting, with the strong south facing Windows, and the indigo backspace of the tile work, his eyes looked even bluer.

He had an easy smile, the sort that said he could make friends without much effort at all but he rarely did. The roll of his shoulders told Bucky that he was relaxed and earnest. There was nothing about him that seemed dangerous or attemoting to get one over on anyway.

He wasn't wearing anything fancy. There were no brands on him at all. And his hair, straw blond and messy, was just a little too long and without any color damage. He probably trimmed up himself between visits to the barber.

"If you do decide to go to Hollywood, don't look at me to help you move all of this stuff back out- I have to finish whatever ashtray I'm being forced to make for pottery class." It was supposed to be an amphora but...it was turning into an ashtray anyway. He was no good at this and forgot to book time in the wheel room so his protect was going down the tubes. He didn't mind. He'd do a killer glaze job on it once it dried.

The poor guy looked really thin now that the light was catching him properly, like he wasn't getting enough to eat or he was really sick. Maybe he was. He had that sort of drawn complexion that people sometimes got when they were always ill, maybe his new downstairs neighbour had some kind of serious health problems. No, he wouldn't be at school and working if he was that ill, right?

"You're making pottery downstairs?"

He was pulled out of imagining Steve's health issues by that admission, and he couldn't help but laugh a little bit.

"Are you shitting me right now? Pottery is like-- artsy or romcom movie stuff, nobody actually makes that in their homes."

"Ah, I knew it! Actor all the way. You'd totally make a fantastic male lead opposite whoever is really popular right now. Like Brie Larson or Jennifer Lawrence," Steve insisted, hands on his knees of faded blue jeans. He might have been offended if Bucky thought he was really that sickly, or that he looked particularly gaunt. He ate a whole lot but that didn't do much for him. He was just skinny and small. The asthma was really the only problem now, even if sometimes in the winter he got some really bad colds that turned into pneumonia.

But he wasn't offering that up. No way, no how.

"But luckily, I'm not Jennifer Lawrence so you're safe. And trust me, Buck, I'm not into pottery. I just have to do it for class. It'll go in the trash as soon as I get a C." Yeah, maybe he shouldn't have mentioned pottery. He seemed like Ike a big loser now compared to this guy.

Buck.

Nobody had called him Buck before, Bucky sure, but not Buck. He had met this guy all of half an hour ago and already he had shortened his nickname into a new nickname, was that a good sign? Was he making a friend in his new neighbour. Jesus, he had never overthought this sort of thing before, it had all been so easy in the past.

"You have to show me that now, you can call it payback for the glass of water."

Not like the water itself wasn't payment for Steve helping him out with the boxes.

"I bet it's like Ghost or something, some wheel and a fancy clay pot to spin sensually while Patrick Swayze holds you from behind."

Oh-Kay. Steve's face fell. So the guy was making fun of him, huh? It's not like he hadn't been called all sorts of things before. Faggot was just one of those words he really hated. Steve liked women just fine. They just didn't really like him except in a sort of little brother sort of way. And guys were all right too, if he was honest with himself, but going through school being made fun of really put him off.

Down went the corners of his lips and he shoved off of the counter, setting the glass in the tiny, ineffectual sink.

"I think I just won one of your boxes of books," he said, a little stiffly now since he wasn't sure if Bucky was just going to come out laughing or if he'd try to hurt him. Steve could stand up for himself...but he also could get a nice black eye for himself too. "You just lost your bet. There's no wheel or a fancy pot. And no Patrick Swayze either. Sorry to burst your bubble. And hey, maybe another time. My place is a mess. Good luck with the apartment, man."

He gave a silly little salute that felt forced.

What a shame. The pretty people were always the jerks.

Shit, had he said something wrong? He had thought that since Steve had seemed down on the pottery making, it would be okay to make fun of it. Tease just a bit. Not about Steve, he honestly had no thought whatsoever about his sexual preferences, but just about the act of making a pot. Apparently that had been wrong, and his idea of making a possible friend out of a neighbour was shot down.

He floundered enough that he hadn't quite managed to recover himself by the time Steve had stiffly excused himself without polite but stilted words, and disappeared back down to his own apartment. Well, fucking good job, Barnes.

Steve wouldn't see Bucky around for another three weeks, not unless he went looking for him. He might hear him moving about upstairs sometimes, but he never came to knock on his door to apologise, and he never seemed to pass him in the hallway. Maybe they never would have seen each other again, but Steve would find a package addressed to the apartment above his accidentally left outside his front door. Unfortunately for Steve, it was pretty heavy, being a new microwave oven from Amazon.

Steve almost tripped over the thing on his way out that evening. He was supposed to meet up for something called a Ramen Ball with Nat, but as she had canceled due to her boyfriend getting the night off, Steve had planned on going himself to get some take out and bring Nat the leftovers the next morning whenever she crawled in from what she said in a thick Russian accent was her 'walk of shame.'

He was wearing a brown bomber jacket and a lot of sweat by the time he knocked on Bucky's door and was actually fumbling for his inhaler by the time anyone came to answer it. The microwave was at his feet and in a moment, Steve was going to be too as he tried to get the inhaler in his mouth and the medication dispensed to open up his airways.

This really was not how he wanted to meet his homophobic new neighbor again. It really wasn't.

Man, the guy was going to punt him down the stairs. He just hoped he could get his lungs working before he did.

Bucky looked like hell when he opened the door, but at least Steve might not notice given how he was in the middle of having an asthma attack. His hair was lank and greasy, he stank of stale sweat, and he seemed to be wearing the same jeans and hoodie that he had been wearing when he moved in. None of his boxes had been unpacked, though there were a few new ones now with other things he'd clearly ordered to be delivered.

Even the bed wasn't set up, the mattress just laid out on the floor with a grubby pillow on it, and a lot of take out containers littering the floor. Bucky almost hadn't answered the door at all, but he thought it had been the mailman with his package, he hadn't expected.

"Shit, Steve," he muttered, reaching up his right hand instinctively to steady him, voice concerned rather than hate-filled. "Sit down, breathe. Jesus."

"Breath-- Yeah-- Trying--" Steve wheezed because why not try to be snarky while sucking in medication and air? He plopped down beside the box, leaning on it, until he managed to get a good, clean breath in. There. That was better. He exhaled more slowly and tried again until he could tuck the inhaler away. There were tears in his eyes and his cheeks were red, but both were symptoms of the whole not breathing thing.

He wiped at his face as he looked up at Bucky, the concern there as real as that body odor, and he turned to glance over his shoulder at the apartment.

"Are you all right?" Says the guy who just about passed out dragging a box up one flight of stairs.

Bucky had known some people with asthma before, usually the kids in his school that had grown out of it, but he had never seen anyone bad enough to nearly stop breathing just from carrying a microwave up one flight of stairs. It made it a really nice gesture that Steve had even brought it up at all, especially considering he had done something dumb to offend him when they met.

But any thanks died on his lips and he very casually pulled the door a bit further closed behind him to block off the view to his apartment, expression shuttered.

"Yeah. Been busy, haven't got round to finishing unpacking yet, it's no big deal. Thanks for bring the package up."

Something was pretty wrong here. Something bad had happened. Maybe that bad thing was what happened to bring Bucky here or maybe he was still not able to get a job. That could make anyone depressed. Steve let his eyes drift back up to the handsome face, beautiful despite the stringy hair, and his smile softened. He wasn't good at hiding how he felt and though he didn't feel bad for Bucky, he wondered if maybe...maybe he had been wrong. The guy had actually been concerned at him instead of laughing like Steve thought he'd do.

"No problem. Next time I might just have you come down-- But hey. I was going to meet up with a friend but she's busy tonight. We got reservations for this crazy ramen ball place that just opened up in about an hour. Uh... Want to come?" There should be enough time if they got a cab instead of took the subway.

Bucky would probably want to shower. No judging but man, he did stink.

Shit, why was this happening now?

He had thought he had blown it making a new friend and convincing his nice neighbour that he was just a normal guy, but apparently not and now Steve was asking him to go and grab dinner. But just the thought of it curdled his stomach. He hadn't left his apartment since he moved in, always managing to psych himself out of actually going outside.

But he didn't want to refuse. The idea of coming up with some excuse and heading back into his stinking apartment to spend another night sitting on his mattress staring at the wall filled him with self loathing, he had to do better than this. He had come here for a new start, to be normal, so he had to make himself be fucking normal.

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

He could do this. No problem. No problem.

"You doing okay now? I'd invite you in to sit down for a minute, but if we're gonna-- I need to get changed."

For a minute there, Steve was pretty sure that he did something wrong, or that he misjusged and the guy just felt bad and now thought he was coming onto him with his sensual pottery wheel and his Patrick Swayze! Man! This was why Steve never made friends. He was just so bad at it!

And then Bucky accepted. And Steve thought about telling him to crack a window, but instead, he used the box to get back to his feet. "I'm just downstairs...so... Yeah! Just come and get me when you're ready amd I'll get a cab or an uber." The uber would be less expensive anyway, but at least they'd make the reservation.

He took his time getting downstairs. And he made sure to take some oral medication just in case. It would knock him out early but he didn't have any projects to do and his shift at the parlor was'nt until tomorrow afternoon. It'd be fine. And he was doing someone a favor. Whatever was happening to Bucky (he sort of assumed drugs), they could have a good time...and maybe he could help him get clean too.

Steve liked to help.

Well, this was a bad idea. He knew it as soon as he had closed the door on Steve, but the offer to go out had been an olive branch for whatever dumb thing he had done before to cause offence, and he hadn't wanted to ruin that chance. At least having to appear normal lit a fire under his ass, and he showered with almost manic speed, getting his fingers tangled in his hair trying to shampoo it one handed.

Fresh clothes dug out of his boxes, some loose khakis and a long sleeved flannel shirt over a blue tee. He made sure his prosthetic was on tightly, gloves in place, and tucked the hand into the pocket of his khakis again to stop the fake arm swinging in a ridiculous way. Hair up in a messy bun, the few dollars he had on him shoved in his other pocket, and he was ready.

Except it took him another twenty minutes to make it out of his front door and down to Steve's, just crossing the threshold seeming like a massive feat. But he did it, and he had his game face on when he knocked at Steve's door. Last few weeks be damned, this was clearly the night that everything would turn around and he would get back on his feet.

"Steve?" He was kind of curious to see this guy's place, anyway. If there would be art everywhere, if it would even be any good.

Bucky's view of the inside of Steve's apartment was going to be brief. They were pretty late by now and Steve had been contemplating just going himself when he heard the knock. For some reason, that made him dart back to the kitchen so he didn't look too desperate or thst he had been waiting for too long. He made a show of grabbing his keys so that the jingle could be heard through the door and then pulled open the barely to code wooden plank.

From the jamb, Bucky would see pale blue walls of the living room where a television and a comfortable but worn looking couch were set up. An easel was propped against the corner and there was a hint of a breakfast bar to the left and a hallway to the right. Steve had turned his mother's bedroom to an art studio and his own childhood room was pathetically small, just big enough for that futon if he unfolded it and a rack he had installed to hand his clothes on the opposite wall. Though this was technically a two bedroom apartment, that second bedroom was more like a closet or a tiny nursery.

Steve stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him before he locked it. He had his uber app open on his phone and was pleased to see that their ride was just two minutes away.

"Hey, sorry sboit thst," he said as if he was to blame for being late, smile wide as he moved to take the flight downstairs. Bucky cleaned up nicely. Maybe he was wrong about that drug addict thing. He could have just been depressed or lonely.

The apartment looked nice, from what he could see of it. Maybe a poor man's apartment, but it all looked clean and well tended to, like Steve really cared about his possessions and understood that looking after them was the way to make them last. He itched to go and have a look at the easel, to see if he was any good, but he wasn't about to step into someone's apartment at random.

"No problem. So, uh, what exactly is a ramen ball?"

Bucky felt as though his throat had closed up and it was a lot of effort to get the words out at all, but he managed to make them sound normal. He could do this. Maybe if he could prove to himself that this wasn't a big deal, then tomorrow he could go job hunting out in the city?

The uber was already waiting when they got down to the sidewalk, and Bucky slipped in with determination, buckling his belt and then glancing over to Steve.

"Hey-- uh. If I offended you before, making fun of your pottery? Sorry."

Steve scooted in after Bucky and greeted their driver before he glanced over at the man beside him. "I honestly have no idea what they are. My friend likes to try all of the weird stuff," he laughed. "Like rainbow bagels and cronuts and rolled ice cream? We stood in line for three hours to get into Black Taps when they unveiled their super milkshakes. I think she likes the Instagram opportunities."

Photography was also one of Steve's passions but it was a far more expensive art medium to work with. He didn't have the initial start up capital for a good camera body or the editing software... Or the computer actually.

He was trying to bring up a photo of the ramen balls from the website with an outdated phone when Bucky apologized. Steve looked startled, blue eyes catching even in the darkness of the night air.

"It's-- No it's fine. I thought you were saying something-- You have every right to make fun of pottery," Steve stammered for a moment before he smiled again, twice as warm. "But really. Thanks-- oh here. Ramen ball..."

He turned the screen to face Bucky. It didn't look all that impressed, just noodles deep fried into ball shapes with a lot of sauce on them.

Thought he was saying what? Bucky was kind of confused, but at least wondering about that and then looking at the weird noodle ball thing kept him from thinking about what might happen now they were in the car. An IED could-- No. No, it couldn't. He wasn't in Afghanistan, people didn't blow up vehicles on New York streets heading for ramen places. They just didn't.

Still, he was a little pale and tense by the time they got to the place, all neon lights and modern decor, with people lining up to get in.

"I--"

Can't do this. Can no way do this. Just the thought of walking in there was enough to make him want to howl, and he knew that things would go very wrong if he actually set foot in there. It wasn't fair to make an excuse and bail, and if he hadn't ruined the idea of a friendship before then he was about to now, but he had no choice.

"I left my wallet at home, sorry. I guess I can't do this tonight after all, I should head back, you head in. Thanks for bringing my package up. Okay, bye, Steve."

All said in one breath before he just turned and started to walk quickly down the sidewalk away from the Ramen Ball place.

Standing in the street, phone in hand to tip their driver, Steve stood motionless for a few moments. There was a group of girls to his left without reservations hoping to get into the restaurant, and all of them were giggling and mooning over how cute that one was until one of the women pointed to Steve and whispered loudly that he was obviously gay.

"All the really good looking ones are."

"Or bi," another laughed. "Actually, that would work out perfectly for me."

"Run after him Margie," her friend prompted.

"In these heels? Girl!"

Steve turned to go inside then, biting his lip. He'd been all wrong about it. Bucky hadn't been calling him gay in any sort of disparaging way. He'd been trying to feel him out. Great! Now he was the one who looked homophobic! Steve rubbed at his jawline and stepped up to the counter. "Hi. I have reservations for two but... My date stood me up. Twice." He grinned thinking he was funny but the girl at the podium just asked for his name and then grabbed a menu and sat him along the tiny, corridor like restaurant wall.

All restaurants in New York were like this. Incredibly tiny, holes in the wall really.

Steve ordered entirely too many ramen balls. He took photos with his phone and then asked for a to-go bag with three seperate containers.

When he returned to his building to put one box in the refrigerator, he ended up having to sit and take a breather before he huffed back up the stairs to the third floor to knock again on Bucky's door.

Good fucking job, Barnes. Bucky was furious at himself as he stalked away from the ramen place, at least the self loathing was keeping the panic attack or any stupid flashbacks at bay. He could get a cab or another uber, or even the subway or bus, but he chose to walk instead. Jog, really, he could go a long time jogging and it felt good to do something physical.

He had no idea that Steve thought he had left because of any weird homophobia misconceptions, he was just sure his nice neighbour sure wouldn't want to be bothered with him again. He'd just become the bizarre man who lived upstairs.

The knock at the door surprised him, but he came to open the door a crack anyway, strands of long brown hair messily framing his face from where it had fallen down from the bun while he jogged.

"Steve."

Jesus, what did he even say? This was awkward.

"Uh. Sorry I bailed; like I said, my wallet was... I forgot it."

Bucky still looked like an actor even if that apartment really did need to be aired out. Steve did his best not to wrinkle his nose as he looked up at that perfectly framed face. "I got it to go," Steve said, trying to eek out some sort of better reason for being up here. He wanted to prove that he was a good guy and that he didn't and wasn't going to judge Bucky for anything. Even that smell. Even if he liked Patrick Swayze! "So if you're up to it, why don't you come downstairs? I can definitely pack away both dinners, I might be skinny but my legs are hollow! But I'd rather the company. Also I have beer."

Steve's smile made all of this so much less awkward than it could have been. He was just trying to make up for yet another misunderstanding.

And give Bucky's apartment more time to air out.

"If you're not in the middle of a work out...?" That probably explained the funk.

Wow, who the hell was this guy? Nobody was this nice that they would try so hard with a stranger who moved in upstairs, he was like one of those old time movies about the forties or something, where America was some black and white dream and all the people were 'swell'.

He felt his throat tighten like an idiot at the gesture of friendship, and he nodded his head probably a bit too quickly.

"Yeah, no-- I mean, no workout, I'd love to come down for a beer. Maybe you can tell me about all the auditions I could get for next week? Any shows you really want to see close."

He was trying too hard to be smooth, but maybe it didn't come out too badly as he slipped out of his apartment and closed the door behind him, left hand as always in his pocket.

Steve wasn't going to notice the left hand issue until they were seated at the little table for two kitchenette set in his apartment , table pushed into the corner so that they had to sit partially next to each other, with two take out boxes opened and warmed up in front of them. It wasn't until Steve handed Bucky some chopsticks, and he reached over his left side to take them with his right hand, and then put those utensils down to drink that he figured it out.

The kitchen was tight, galley style, but twice as big as Bucky's and with a lot of counter space. The pantry was open and dishes and cups were stacked up neatly under plastic containers of dried goods. Steve's mom never just left the boxes out, she also dumped pasta and cereal into their own special containers. She liked the clean look of it and Steve had followed suit.

Lowering long lashed eyelids away from Bucky's arm, Steve poked his ramen balls with a snort.

"I could do this. Make these I mean," he said, making a show of frowning. "Maybe I'll open up a rival ramen ball restaurant in my living room. What do you think? Can you get off of your busy work schedule closing shows to make a guest appearance if I do?"

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