fossilised | It's AU time

"Oh yeah?"

Bucky felt himself start to relax just a bit. Obviously he hadn't mentioned anything about serving overseas or what that had done to him, or Steve wouldn't be so fixated on the flirting. That was good. A little embarrassing, considering he had to live above the dude and hoped they could stay friends, but not world ending.

"It's true, you do have beautiful eyes and I'm a sucker for nice eyes. Seriously, though, pal, sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I get kinda flirty sometimes, especially with cute guys."

He said that as if it should be obvious that Steve was a cute guy, not like it was just another compliment.

Finally he got the veg chopped a bit unevenly and added them to his bubbling sauce mix. The entire thing took about an hour longer than it should, meaning the pasta was a bit rubbery by the time they came to eat, but the sauce and meatballs came out okay. For his first attempt at cooking with one arm, it wasn't as bad as it could be.

"...not sure if it says something that both our shared meals have been ball shaped."

Everything Bucky said made Steve feel amazing. He wasn't used to anyone just outright praising him so much and so often and honestly meaning it. Bucky wasn't just buttering him up, it's not like Steve had a whole lot to offer. He just really seemed grateful.

There was a matter of question, however, about how serious the flirting was. Drunk Bucky had been intensely sincere about his attractions, both to Steve and to rather beefy actors that played super heroes in movies. Sober Bucky was also sincere about telling Steve he thought he was cute, but cute? Cute wasn't a term that Steve took to mean would get him very far. Little brothers were cute. And besides, Bucky was apologizing.

Steve decided not to read into it. He finished his sketch just as Bucky was browning the meatballs and set the little table in the corner when he was draining the pasta. The whole kitchen smelled really wonderful and he said as much as they sat down together with a little beer and some soda to go with the homemade Italian.

He almost choked on part of a meatball when Bucky pointed out their track record for spherical foods so far. "Yanno, I think we should take it as a sign. I'll make Irish potatoes next time," he chirped, legs splayed and knees out so that one accidentally brushed against Bucky's thigh. He reigned that back in immediately, though his fuzzy socks had a bit of slip against the tile floor and it was likely destined to happen again. "Do tater tots count as balls? I know that's what five year olds eat but that's my go to comfort food."

If Bucky hadn't thought that Steve was likely straight, and if he hadn't been so fucked up that asking anyone out would be cruel to them, Bucky would already have been trying to get a kiss or two. But he wasn't going to be that much of an asshole. Steve was a nice guy, he deserved someone who could treat him right. Bucky would just take what friendship he could get and be happy with that.

"Of course it is, and do you also enjoy a glass of warm milk on an evening?"

The tease was gentle, but he half expected Steve to say that he did like milk and what was wrong with that because milk helped bones grow strong! He could just slot Steve into any fifties sitcom where life was simple and rosy.

"I don't know. I'm sure my Ma used to make tater tots, but it's been a long time, so I don't really remember if I like them. How about you cook next time and that's what we'll have?"

He turned slightly hopeful blue eyes up to Steve as if asking if there could be a next time for serious.

"Not warm, but yeah, who doesn't like milk?" Steve asked. "And don't say lactose intolerants. Obviously. But there's coconut milk and soy milk and almond milk and they've all been fortified to give your bones what they need to grow," Steve said, almost exactly how Bucky had imagined. "I take my milk with cookies, if you must know."

He praised the meal as he went, using his fork to cut the meat so there would be no more choking. He didn't want to know what sort of teasing would come from gagging on Bucky's meatballs. Honestly, it was so childish that even the thought made him smile. And that smile didn't leave his face when Bucky mentioned being willing to have tator tots with him.

"Easy night for me. I have a package or six in the freezer," Steve grinned. "No taking that back! Heating up counts as cooking. I'm using the oven," he said, taking a swig of beer. "I'll make hot dogs too and cut them up into little wheels," he continued, teasing all the way, even at his own expense. "And then when it's time for bed you can read me a story."

There was a pause and Steve leaned in.

"Oh. I don't mean to assume that you know how to read," he joked, voice very serious.

"You little punk," he chuckled, reaching out with his good hand to thwap Steve lightly on the back of the head. "I know how to read, but I'm not reading you a bedtime story. Are you kidding? That's the sort of thing I'd do for my kid sister, not some hot neighbour."

He definitely didn't think of Steve like a little brother. And he sure as hell wouldn't be reading him a story if he ever did end up in bed with him. Not that he would, that was all just fantasy in his head. Fun to imagine, though. It was nice to have something in his head that was lighter, even that made him smile.

Bucky finished up his own plate of pasta and leaned back in his chair, exhaling a contented sort of noise.

"Shit, I've missed food like that."

He needed to watch his own mouth. What was it about Steve that encouraged this sort of openness?

"You're the one the cooked it." Steve had yet to respond to any of the flattery in a verbal tonight, though his cheeks kept growing a little pink and he would look down and chuckle to himself or maybe shake his head as if Bucky was just insane. The more he heard it though, the more he was taking it to heart. It just felt really good to be the hot neighbor, strangely. Natalia was the hot neighbor. Bucky was the hot neighbor. But Steve Rogers in unit 2A? No. He was just the under aged looking art student who had to catch his breath between flights of stairs and who could only maintain a brisk walk for a few blocks before needing to slow down.

He wasn't touching Bucky now but he could feel the heat coming off of him and though Nat sometimes cuddled up with him when he was sick, she had no fat on her at all and no bulk. She was about as cold as he was!

"I get how it is though. Sometimes I really have to push myself to make a meal, especially when it's just for myself. I cooked a lot more before Nat got into that troupe. She would always be coming home in massive combat boots stomping all the way down the hall from the stairs and I would hear her stomach growling through the door." He palmed the side of his head and watched Bucky, face as he spoke. "When it's just me, I just pop something into the microwave. Or sometimes I forget to eat if I'm really getting into a piece."

Steve toyed with his fork before he finally decided that he'd eaten enough and laid it next to the plate.

"I don't know what your schedule is like," he said kindly, though he knew that Bucky rarely if ever left his apartment, "but I have the afternoon at the parlor with some clients and then a night class--" To make up for the one he skipped tonight. "What about Wednesday? Tater tots were made for Wednesday night."

He hadn't expected to actually be offered a tater tot date, but he couldn't help the smile that grew when he nodded his head to accept. The people who had come to see him from the VA while he was still in hospital had tried to convince him to come to a bunch of groups, or let them call his family, because personal connections could really help in giving bright spots to life again. He had refused because every person he met felt like fingernails being pulled.

Except Steve.

What was it about this unassuming, dorky, kind of sweet guy that Bucky found so easy to be around? God only knew, but he was determined not to let it slip through his fingers or he might end up drunk and suicidal again like last night. Shit. Last night. What was he going to do about rent? He'd have to figure that out pretty quick.

"How far is the parlour? You think maybe I could come and see?"

He'd like to know where Steve worked. And maybe it would be easier to leave the apartment when he was with someone else. It had worked on ramen ball night, even if he hadn't actually managed to go into the restaurant at the end of it.

"But, I mean-- yeah, Wednesday sounds great. I'll have to cancel my hot date with Miss Universe, but she'll reschedule."

"It's in Manhattan on the Lower East Side. I usually take the E train in," Steve said with such care so he didn't offend Bucky. He sort of had a feeling that being on the subway might be a really big step right now. "But you can always visit me. Even if you don't have an appointment. Mickey might try to get you into the chair though. You're her type."

Anyone with clean skin was her type. The only reason she didn't go after Steve all be time to get under her gun was because he had appeal to the young and the scared older teens and early twenty somethings that came into the shop giggling and huddled together. Steve was more than just the part time art consultant. He was the friendly, straight edge looking guy that offered them coffee and to come and take a look at the books.

"I mean, if Miss Universe has a problem with you visiting me, bring her along too. We can give you guys a romantic two for one deal. If you're already canceling on her Wednesday she might get jealous of your hot neighbor luring you to his place of employment so I want to keep things on the up and up, you know?"

God. He wanted Bucky to visit. He wanted Bucky to whisper those little phrases of praise about the things he did. It made him feel so amazing.

Steve wasn't wrong. The subway wasn't something that he could do right now, even just the idea of it making his remaining palm clammy. That many people all trapped in a tight space, being unable to get out, underground, that's just a terrible idea. So there was no way he could visit the tattoo parlour, not unless he got up at dawn to start walking, or unless he took a cab which would cost more than he had right now. Or ever.

Still, he nodded casually as if taking the E train would be no big deal. "Yeah, maybe I'll come down sometime. I'm kind of busy during the day at the moment, so I don't know when I'll get chance, but maybe sometime."

At least Steve didn't dwell on it. He had a sneaking suspicion that the guy had figured out he was ex-military and possibly some of his problems, and yet he was dealing with them in a way that nobody else had. He was still giving Bucky his dignity, respecting his choices, not treating him like he was some broken thing in need of pity.

"Okay, so-- I need a good portrait to give Miss Universe so she has something to keep her company when I'm not around. Didn't you say you were gonna draw me?"

"I was going to draw the back of your head," Steve said, looking comically skeptical. "You do have great hair though. Is that what keeps Miss Universe around? Or does she really just like guys with dimples?" He stood up and collected their plates. Bucky cooked so he would clean up. "Probably the first. I mean the back of your head is really your best feature."

Thst was so completely untrue. Bucky was incredibly handsome in a way people were on television with makeup and good lightning. He didn't even need that good lighting, he would probably be gorgeous under medical florescence. And that usually made everyone look bad. Photography classes taught him that the hard way. There was nothing less attractive than seeing every single pore on your model's face.

Water running, he gestured with his head towards the living room. "Just make yourself comfortable. Life drawing takes awhile. You can put on whatever you want to numb your mind from realizing that I'm going to be scrutinizing the back of your neck."

The Bucky of old probably would have put on a horror or action moving, maybe even deliberately stripped his shirt off to display a body that he knew was well toned and attractive. But this Bucky just flicked through the channels until he found some old re-runs of Friends, something mindless and light hearted, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be stripping anything off.

"You need me to be sitting a certain way? I've never had anyone draw me before."

He was kind of self conscious about it, it seemed weirdly intimate for someone to study him quite so much and in such detail, then to put it all down on paper. And he had seen how amazing Steve's pieces of art were, he kind of felt unworthy to become one. The comic character didn't count, that was just based roughly on him.

"Is this where I lie down and say 'draw me like one of your French girls'?"

A comic character didn’t quite have his face. No one could hold up a comic beside him and say it was definitely him. But a portrait? Every little expression needed to be captured. Maybe that was why Steve didn’t want to do something full on. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sure he could capture the expression of someone’s eyes properly, it was just that Bucky had so much emotion that Steve was almost afraid to tackle that.

Why had he asked to draw him? He could have taken a photograph of his mother and drawn her. Or copied an image from a magazine. Working with an actual model was…surreal. It was strange in class and even stranger having someone pose for him and just for him.

“Yanno, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that line-- I’d have a whole dollar.” Okay, so that didn’t really come up in life, but still. “And what would Miss Universe say to that anyway? I don’t have any jewels to drape you in either so we’ll just have to work with what we’ve got.”

Steve brought one of his larger pads over with some pencils first. He’d fill in with charcoals later. Right now he just wanted to capture essense and shape…which was why he settled on the back of the couch, looking down on Bucky over his shoulder to get a slice of his face while he was watching a sitcom. His hair was a little…wrong though. Steve cleared his throat.

“Hey, as much as I like the man bun-- Can I change it?”

Bucky hadn't been expecting Steve to perch up behind him on the back of the couch and Steve might be able to tell from the tension in his shoulders that he really didn't like the position. People behind him set off his survival instincts like nothing else now, it was just a really vulnerable position to be in and he didn't like it. Not even with Steve, who seemed to be mostly harmless.

"Huh?"

His voice was a bit rougher, a bit lower, but he was determined not to make a big deal out of this. He knew that Steve was only drawing him, so he could get over it.

"Oh-- yeah, do what you want with it. I just tied it up to keep it out of my way while I was cooking."

He had got pretty good at the one handed hair tie trick. He really should get it cut. He had always had short hair as a kid, and then he had been stuck with regulation army length. It had just grown out in captivity and then in hospital, and he kept it that way because it felt like giving the middle finger to the idiot past him who had thought signing up was a good plan.

"Okay, cool." Steve had never had hair any longer than it was right now. Sometimes it got too shaggy and he had to do the trimming himself, and sometimes he went to the barber for an actual shape up, but the slight dip to his ears or cheekbones was as long as he could stand to let it go. He was always clean cut. He parted his hair on the side when he combed it. Steve was just that sort of man.

He leaned forward, putting his pencil between his lips, and pulled the elastic out of Bucky's hair. It was softer than he'd thought it would be. Guy hair was usually rough with product made to make it look perfectly messy. There was no texture here. Bucky's hair was fine and glossy and he almost let it slip through his fingers before he decided that would be too much.

He gathered dark strands in his hands and raked his fingers across his scalp over the crown of his head and beneath the ponytail to smooth it out before wrapping the band around it. The high pony was dishelved and imperfect. He liked that. Baby hairs drifted down the nape of his strong neck. And he liked that too.

Steve shifted his position after that to the arm of the sofa. It was a waning profile that way and he could still see the skin beneath the crew neck shirt and the shape of the ear-- he could see the chisel of a jaw--

He had liked the other angle better but this way Bucky might be less tense since he could see Steve out of the corner of his eye now.

Bucky stayed extremely still while Steve worked on his hair, almost as if he had almost forgotten how to breathe. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was weird and he wasn't sure if he liked it, a bizarre mix of his internal paranoia and the pleasure from fingernails across his scalp. Still, he managed it, and he relaxed a bit when Steve moved position to the opposite arm.

Once studied in detail, Steve would probably notice the way that Bucky's skin was peppered by the collar of his shirt in slightly whitened lines, like a spiderweb of scars that obviously stretched a long way below the surface. His muscles were well defined, his adam's apple prominent but not overly so, and his eyes a very deep blue.

He tried to focus on the episode of Friends, but really most of his attention was taken up by the soft scritching sound of pencil across paper. He kept silent, though, waiting... he didn't want to interrupt before Steve was done.

What Steve noticed the most was the way that Bucky's has kept moving, or how he swallowed. "You can talk to me," Steve said kindly, his eyes focused on the shape of Bucky's throat where the stubble was just about visible. He'd add that detail in later, probably after he got himself uncomfortably close to his subject.

Fuzzy socked feet stretched forward before Steve leaned back to grab a stick of charcoal. It would be a softer sound on the paper now. And he may or may not end up sticking his tongue out as he blended and shaded.

"How much of yesterday do you remember? You decided that you wanted to get to know me but I have a feeling that most of what we talked about was taken out with the recycling. So maybe we should play twenty questions again?" He still knew almost nothing about Bucky but he had a feeling that Bucky wanted to keep it that way. "Do you remember me talking about my parents?"

Steve was such a good guy. Bucky kept thinking it, because it kept being hammered in repeatedly, and every time was like an extra reminder that there were still nice people in the world. He picked up the remote and turned down the episode, though he didn't turn it off because it was good to have something to look at, but twenty questions sounded better.

Parents. Shit.

He tried to wrack his brains for what had been told to him, he didn't want to put his foot in it if Steve had confessed to him that he had been from an abusive home or some shit like that. Finally a fuzzy memory surfaced, something about his Ma having died not that long ago and his Dad-- oh shit. The military. Now he remembered that conversation, which meant Steve definitely knew he was at least a little fucked.

"Yeah. Sorry again. And about the shit I spouted last night, it's kind of coming back in pieces. But-- sure, twenty questions. I ask one, you ask one?"

It was an olive branch way of offering at least some more information about himself, he figured Steve had earned it for being so good about everything he'd learned so far.

"Okay, uh-- how old were you when you had your first kiss and who was it with? Tell me about it."

Downplaying what Bucky said, because he would not be bringing up the suicide threat he'd heard, or any of the torture that had been eluded to, Steve made some sort of noncommittal noise to the apology and just kept working. He didn't touch Bucky's eyes yet. The outline was there but the image would be special and meaningful and he needed desperately to ignore that for now. Especially since Bucky dove right on in with probably the most embarrassing thing he could ask.

"I uh... Okay, but keep your judgements to a monimum?" Thet pretty much gave free reign over his little story. He was sure of it. "So I was seventeen--". Yeah. Late bloomer. "I really liked this girl in my math class. Her name was Peggy. But she wasn't interested in me at all. I thought that maybe if I could seem a little more mature and grown up, she'd notice, you know?"

It wasn't like he was growing hair on his chin any time soon, after all!

So I got a leather jacket and I started to wear my dad's dog tags around. I was trying to be tough you know, but I really looked more like those guys from Grease. Which got me beaten up pretty badly. Anyway, I was off under the bleachers licking my wounds and this blond girl a year younger than me came back to smoke and she said I looked so pathetic that she just had to kiss me. She tasted like cigarettes and I had an asthma attack after she stuck her tongue in my mouth."

Ugh.

"Go ahead and tell me about yours. I bet it was when you were thirteen or something playing spin the bottle like normal people."

Not gay, then.

That was a shame, but maybe it was a relief, it meant that the flirting could continue and just be teasing between friends, and Bucky wouldn't have to worry about wanting to ask him out because it just wouldn't be on the cards even if he hadn't been fucked in the head. The story, though, that made him laugh even if he tried to choke it down for the sake of Steve's pride.

"Wow, pal, that was real smooth," he snorted, laughing at him but not in a cruel way. Not because Steve was a late bloomer or had an asthma attack, but just because the story itself was pretty funny.

"Alright, I'll tell you, but none of this copying my questions bullshit next time. That's just lazy. I was fourteen, actually, and he was this guy from my boxing club. We'd had this really intense round and he broke my nose, he was helping me set it and we got a little too close and-- not the most romantic kiss. It hurt like hell with a broken nose and kinda tasted like blood and sweat, but it wasn't too bad. We dated a while, maybe a month, before we broke it off."

No. Steve wasn't gay. But he wasn't straight either. He wasn't really in the middle, he didn't have a preference, but he wasn't a borderline asexual-- Steve didn't do labels. That was a bullying ploy and he hated bullies with all of his heart and his soul. But that said, he wasn't entirely capable of sustaining relationships either. He didn't have many friends. He had only one good friend and she was all wrapped up in the firefighter and her job with the ballet.

"I'm not copying you. I'm giving you the chance to brag," Steve said without looking up. "How do you even-- how do you date at fourteen? Do you ask your mom to give you a ride...? Or hey, where were you even born and raised? You sound Brooklyn." Sort of. The accent wasn't that thick. Steve didn't have much of an accent either though and he was born here and raised here after his dad died and they moved off of military housing.

He had a lot of other questions too. Like what was it like to have a broken nose? And how did he know that guy was into him, because he would have been afraid to say anything when he was fourteen to anyone about finding boys attractive. Everyone growing up thought he was gay already but that's what made it worse.

"What do you mean, how do you date at fourteen? Loads of people date at fourteen, Steve, geez. You just hang out after class, or sit together at lunch and mack in the hallway. That sort of thing."

He had been lucky. There was a world of difference between being skinny, nerdy, and gay; and being athletic, charming, handsome, and gay. Bucky had been enough of those things that the people who wanted to give him a hard time about it had been the outliers, and most everyone else still wanted to be his friend. It helped that he was a school champion boxer and in really good shape even as a kid, knowing he wanted to go into the army, so any bullies knew they'd have a real fight on their hands.

"I am. Was. I was born here in Brooklyn, but my family moved out to Boston just before I graduated high school."

He wasn't sure if that's why he had come back here, somewhere familiar and comforting, but far away from his family so that they'd never find him.

"My Ma still lives there, I think, and my sister will be in college by now. Last I heard, she was trying to get into Harvard to do chemistry, she's a smart kid." He cleared his throat. "Okay, so-- you ever had any pets?" Wow, what a lame question.

Shading Bucky's hair was taking time. Steve wasn't sure if their teacher was expecting so much detail but Steve couldn't help himself. He wasn't to represent every strand so he could look on it later and claim which ones he had touched. And that was a weird thought and a weirder desire and so he decided that he was going to completely pretend that he hadn't just thought that. Wow. Smooth, Steve

He kicked out a fuzzy foot at Bucky for being a jerk -- evidently Steve was sheltered enough even in school that he hadn't noticed people were dating by just hanging out. Thst seemed like what friends did. But what did he know really? He'd been too busy with school and with his art to pick his head up most of the time.

"Wow, Boston? That's just a few hours north. I've always wanted to go and draw the dinosaur bones in the museum and shut up, Buck, before you make a comment about that. I don't want to hear it. Don't make me kick you again."

Yes. Blue fuzzy feet of doom, ladies and gentlemen. How terrible!

"But no. No pets. I get sick a lot so even if I got like a lizard or something that wouldn't upset my allergies, I might end up starving it to death accidentally. I'd really love to get a puppy. Maybe one day. Bishons are supposed to be hypoallergenic."

"Did you only box or did you play other sports? You don't look like the football kind of guy, but I can see you running track."

Bucky was just going to gloss over the Boston remark, as if he ever intended to set foot in that place again and see his family. They were better off without him, better off never seeing what he'd done to himself. Because that was the root of it, he really believed all of this was his own fault. They had both told him not to sign up, his sister had practically begged him and his Ma had tried to reason with him, but he had gone and done it anyway.

Now look at him. Down an arm, scarred to hell and back, with a brain so scrambled that it could be served on toast as an egg and nobody would be able to tell the difference. What a fucking idiot. He had dreamed of being a hero as a kid, but he turned out just a failure.

"Sick, how? You got some kind of immune problems, or you just pick up colds and stuff easy? Like-- am I supposed to be taking a first aid course to be living above you?"

He was teasing, but there was a note of serious concern in there too. What if Steve was pretty seriously ill? He wasn't sure why that would bother him so much when they didn't know each other that well, but it would.

"And you should absolutely get a dog, the only thing you need to complete your image is this cute little Bichon curled at your feet. Uh-- and I did run track, played baseball, mostly boxed. I was a tristate school champion."

"So I'm friends with a guy who never would have given me the time of day in high school. Funny how the world works," Steve said before he reached out to tuck a bit of hair back into place behind Bucky's ear so it wouldn't distract him from the curve of that ear. He hadn't meant to just do that. He should have asked. But oh well. Done now.

And moving right along to his physical ailments? Steve didn't really want to get into his pill regimen. He didn't want to discuss the near deaths and the hospitalizations. He didn't like being so weak. He could have been a hero, a firefighter like Thor maybe or a doctor. He could have joined the Army like his dad. He could have been something. Really something.

Steve bit at his lower lip.

"It's nothing specific. Just-- a whole bunch of little things. I was born premature. Obviously. Look at me, right? No way I was a normal size when I was born. My lungs aren't exactly well formed. And yeah, colds knock me right out." He'd think that this was a curse later tonight when the sniffles started. "Me and pneumonia are Besties. Seriously. We exchange Christmas cards."

There was never a Christmas that he wasn't horribly sick.

"But don't worry. I'm not contagious. And I've got it all under control." He had to. He didn't have anyone else. "Which makes it my turn again. Are you a cake or a pie guy?"

His skin prickled where Steve touched him, and he had to force himself to stay still, though his lips curled up a bit at the edges into a smile despite himself. The idea of Steve being so sick all the time wasn't a good one, but at least it wasn't something that was going to kill him, it would just take him out of commission fairly often.

He turned his head to look at Steve properly, forgetting about the portrait for the moment, fixing him with intense and serious blue eyes.

"If you get sick, you can call me. I make a mean chicken noodle soup, and you've-- you've already helped me a lot, call it payback."

Well, that wasn't awkward, moving swiftly along.

"Definitely pie. Apple pie, what can I say, I'm a traditionalist? But when that crust is all golden brown and the apples are all soft, it's better than an orgasm. What's, uh-- what's your favourite food?"

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