"This would be a whole lot easier if you would keep still," Steve grumbled as he wet the tip of the graphite against his tongue. The smooth biting flavour was so familiar to him now, almost as familiar as the fine features he marked onto the paper.
"Well, unless you want to starve you best hope I don't stand still for the rest of my life."
Unwrapping the cold cuts Bucky laid two plates on the counter, placing a thick cut slice of bread on each.
"Marge or not," he asked, sizing up their meagre remains.
"Hell, I'm not driving," Steve chuckled and Bucky shook his head. He spread twice the butter onto Steve's slice, leaving his own.
"Hey," Steve chastised with a look but softened when Bucky shrugged.
"I could do with a leaner diet," he joked and patted his almost concave stomach. "Gotta keep fit for the dames at the dance hall. Go on," he said handing over the plate. Balancing it in one hand he moved aside his scattered pencils so Bucky could join him on the bed. They ate in silence, the only sound between them was Steve's laboured breathing.
"You goin' dancing tonight," he asked eventually, licking the last few crumbs from his fingers though they tasted of charcoal.
"Why, Stevie? Feel like a dance?"
"No," he replied brushing his hair aside. "Just wondering."
"How's your lungs, buddy?"
"Still there last time I checked."
Bucky didn't say anything but took both of their plates to put in the sink.
"I have something for you."
Bucky hummed to himself as he cleaned.
"What was that?"
Steve reached into his pocket before tossing it to him. Bucky missed and stooped down to pick it up.
"Stevie, where'd you get this?"
"Sold a drawing. Some old guy wanted me to draw his wife. Not bah, huh?"
Bucky turned the fifty cents in his hand.
"What should we do with it?"
"We're keeping it."
"Oh come on Buck. We could go to the movies! See the new picture."
"You still need your medicine."
"Forget the medicine, Buck. I'm fine. All I'm in need of is a bit of fun. What do you say?"
"Whatever, Stevie. It's your money," he said quietly, tossing it back onto the bed. Steve realised then his own selfishness. Bucky spent every dime he had on looking after them both and here he was complaining about needing some fun.
"I didn't mean I don't have fun Bucky. I just meant-"
"Yeah, kiddo. I get it. But you heard them, the war is barely even starting. And we gotta have something keeping us going."
"But when we get enlisted we won't have to worry. Think of the money we'll have then," Steve assured him. Bucky shrugged.
"I'm not so keen to be getting shot at for a dollar Stevie. Heck I could do that being a target at a fair," he quipped, leaning back against the counter.
"Alright, we'll keep it."
"C'mon now. You don't have to. I was just thinking out loud is all. You earned it so you spend it how you want to," he said. He rejoined Steve on the bed, stretching out in the small space not occupied by paper and pencils. It wasn't long before Steve could hear the even huffs of breathe that meant Bucky had fallen asleep. He could see the cuts and scrapes of the scrapyard littering Bucky's arms, the freckles etched by the long hours in the sun. He traced out the almost button nose with the charcoal Bucky had given him. Another drawing to match the many others of his best friend. They had no camera so Bucky always appreciated having something to look back on. He once told Steve if it weren't for the drawings of them he would feel like he was trapped in a time loop.
He stayed up a while longer before packing everything away under the bed. He pulled off Bucky's shoes and socks and threw the scratchy blankets over them both.