Steve never liked alcohol. He also hated getting drunk. For starters, he loathed the taste of alcohol; he could hardly get through a whole sip without gagging. Not only was the taste horrendous, but Steve was unusually small for his age. He was thin and
sickly. It made him a complete lightweight, and then the next mornings were terrible.

Steve also had a dislike of alcohol because he hated seeing Bucky drunk. Luckily, it didn't happen a lot. Steve and Bucky, having been best friends since they were kids, shared an apartment. Since Steve was often sick— especially in the winter months—he
had trouble holding a job. Bucky was the one who worked full time at the docks and barely managed to scrape together enough money to pay rent for their dingy little apartment. Because of their poverty, Bucky rarely got drunk. He went out to clubs
every weekend, but usually just danced with pretty blond dames who were small and thin (he had a type).

Occasionally though, Bucky would come home drunk. On those nights, Bucky came home later than usual because he had spent the night God knows where with aforementioned pretty blondes. Steve hated those nights because Bucky would crawl into their shared
bed, sliding in right behind Steve and wrapping his arms around him, smelling of booze and sex and sweat. Steve told himself that he hated it because he would never be charming enough to be able to just dance with pretty dames and maybe, someday,
get more involved with one.

Steve was currently waiting on their cheap sofa in the middle of their apartment, sketchbook in hand. Normally he didn't wait up for Bucky this late, but he wasn't tired because he had a drawing idea in mind; he was always restless until he got his ideas
onto paper. Steve sat curled up on the couch as he lightly outlined Bucky's jaw. This was one of Steve's many drawings of Bucky—and also one of the many he was going to throw away in fear of his best friend ever finding it.

It was just past midnight and Steve had just finished his drawing when Bucky stumbled through the front door. Steve quickly shut his sketchbook as he looked up to see his friend clumsily taking off his shoes. Bucky stood up and gave Steve a salute in
greeting before slurring, "Why the hell you still up, punk?"

"Just drawing." Steve mumbled when Bucky sat next to him on the couch. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol enveloping Bucky. "You're also home earlier than usual."

"Yeah well I didn't feel like fucking one of the two pretty dames on the dance floor with me." Bucky's head lolled back as he stared at the ceiling with a glazed look.

"Buck! Language! You shouldn't talk about women like that! Talk like that doesn't make you any better than those jerks I take on all the time."

"Take on? Steve, I'm always saving your ass from those jerks pummeling you to a pulp!" Steve's modest glare was enough to make Bucky bite his tongue and instantly string apologies—for his comment on dames and on Steve's constant beatings before he mumbled,
"See, there's a reason you always call me a jerk."

Steve's gaze instantly softened and he lightly responded, "I don't really think you're like those other jerks."

"Good. I don't think I'd be able to handle it if you did think that."

Realizing what he said, Bucky turned his head away and bit his tongue. Steve also turned a subtle shade of red and an awkward silence settled between them.

Suddenly, Bucky turned to face Steve, a steely look in his eyes. Steve gently placed his sketchbook on the coffee table, sitting up straight to try and meet Bucky's height. He stared at his best friend expectantly, thinking he had straightened to tell
him something important. Did Bucky get fired from his job? Did he finally get a girl pregnant? Or worst of all, was he moving out because he'd figured out Steve's secret? All of these thoughts were racing through Steve's mind until they were abruptly
stopped by Bucky leaning forward and pressing his lips to Steve's.

At first, Steve went completely still—utterly surprised and convinced he had actually fallen asleep while sketching and was dreaming. But then Bucky put a hand behind Steve's neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. Only then did Steve close his
eyes and return the kiss. Steve wasn't entirely sure where to put his hands, so he settled for placing them on both sides of Bucky's face.

Eventually they both had to pull away to catch their breaths. Bucky licked his lips, now swollen and bright red, and glanced up at Steve. Steve's cheeks were flushed and he was staring at Bucky with a mix of confusion, adoration, and fear. In response,
Bucky gave his best friend a drunken grin. "I'm gonna hit the hay." He slurred before shuffling off to bed. Several confused minutes later, Steve crawled into bed, too.

When Steve awoke the next morning, Bucky wasn't in bed. It struck him as unusual; Steve almost always got up before Bucky— especially after nights when Bucky came home drunk. He sat in bed a few extra minutes, staring at the ceiling as he recalled the
night before. Bucky had kissed him. Steve dared to hope that the feelings he felt for his best friend were reciprocated. That maybe, this whole time, Bucky had also hoped that their friendship could be more than just a friendship. That yeah, they
both liked dames, but they also liked each other, too.

Fearing he'd have an asthma attack from overthinking his feelings (it wouldn't be the first time), Steve took a few deep breaths. Finally, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way into their living room/kitchen.

Bucky had a cup of dark coffee in his hands. To avoid looking at Steve, Bucky stared intensely at the center of his coffee. Trying to act like nothing had happened, Steve breezed past Bucky to make his own cup of coffee. While his coffee brewed he sat
across the table from Bucky, also avoiding making eye contact. Was Bucky too drunk to remember what had happened the night before? Was Bucky just as nervous and scared as he was?

Steve was snapped out of his thoughts when Bucky cleared his throat. Bucky still didn't look up from his coffee, but said, "I'm not a queer. Whatever happened last night was just a mistake. Nothing more." Steve felt his heart shatter and his shoulders
sag. Before Steve could "agree" with him, Bucky stood up suddenly and mumbled, "I need to shower and get to work."

Once Steve heard the sound of running water, he jumped up from the kitchen table. Snatching his sketchbook off the coffee table, he flipped through to the page where he drew Bucky the previous night. He ripped the page from the sketchbook and continued
to rip the page to shreds. After throwing the pieces away in the trash, he poured the rest of his coffee over it.

After that night, Bucky didn't sleep with his arms around Steve. He slept facing the opposite direction. The two hardly spoke— much less looked at each other. Bucky went out more often at night to the club. He never spent too much money drinking, but
he started bringing girls home almost all the time. Back then, most of Bucky's nights had ended in sex with random dames, but he rarely ever brought them back to the apartment out of respect for Steve. But now... Now Bucky brought dames back almost
every time. If Steve was awake and on the couch when Bucky and his new girl got back, Bucky would lead them away to the bedroom. If Steve was already asleep in bed, he would soon be awakened by the sound of his best friend and some dame going at it
on the couch.

Bucky was angry. He was angry at himself for giving into temptation. He'd thought of kissing Steve thousands of times before, but he'd always dismissed those ideas as exhaustion from long days at work or not enough sleep the night before. Bucky wasn't
a fairy. He liked girls—he liked the way they looked; the way they batted their eyelashes and giggled when he charmed them; the way they felt when he was inside them. Sometimes he tried to convince himself that he only looked at Steve with longing
because Steve was small and thin and pretty like most of the dames he slept with. But it was different with Steve: when it came to him, he felt more than just physical need. Sure, he'd fallen for a dame before—years ago—but the only person he really
had eyes for nowadays was his best friend.

But Bucky wouldn't accept those feelings. People were beaten to death for thinking about other guys that way. And what kind of freak loved dames and guys? Bucky had never heard of that. So after Bucky had come home drunk and kissed Steve, he tried to
forget about it and push down those feelings. He started bringing dames home more often and fucking them as loud as he could to prove to himself and to Steve that he was only into dames and nothing else. Only it didn't work. No matter what girl he
brought home, no matter what they did or how loud they were, he only saw Steve when he was with them. Bucky wasn't thinking about how great it felt to be inside a pretty dame, but how great it would feel to be inside Steve. Or even worse, how great
it would feel to have Steve inside of him.

Bucky ignored these thoughts as he made his way into the club. He didn't feel like dancing just yet so he sat up at the bar—even though he didn't have enough money to buy a drink. A pretty blonde with a thin waist sat a few seats down from him. She was
just getting up to go to the dance floor when Bucky caught her eye and gave her a wink. Blushing and trying to suppress a giggle, she made her way to the dance floor. Instead of pursuing her, Bucky stayed at the bar.

A few songs later, a beer was placed down in front of Bucky by the bartender. "I didn't order this," Bucky gestured at the drink with a frown.

"No, but the fella over there did." The bartender gestured to a guy leaning against the bar counter. Bucky turned to look and the guy merely gave a small shrug and smile. The guy was around Bucky's height and size and had a face that could charm the pants
off any dame just like Bucky could.

Annoyed, Bucky stood up from his seat without so much as touching the drink and marched up to the guy. "I'm not some fucking fairy." Bucky spat in a low voice just loud enough over the music.

"Never said you were."

"Then what's the big idea, buying me a drink?"

The man shrugged. "Looks like you needed it. And you sure as hell weren't dancing with any dames." He shrugged again before giving Bucky a mischievous smile. "I figured you either just got out of a nasty divorce, or you're in love with a man."

Bucky's jaw fell open at the stranger's bold words. Furious, Bucky grabbed the man by the collar, getting ready to throw a punch. Only he didn't when a small voice in his head—one that sounded an awful lot like Steve—spoke of reason and kindness. Bucky
growled before not-so-gently letting the other man go by shoving him back. Without looking to see if anyone saw the whole scenario, Bucky spun on his heel to leave, practically sprinting home.

Steve was sitting on the couch, sketching, just like he had been that night a few weeks ago. When the door shut behind Bucky, Steve glanced up. Confusion spread over his face as to why Bucky wasn't accompanied by a girl. He set his sketchbook down and
asked gently, "Buck, is everything alright?"

Kicking off his shoes, Bucky responded, "No, everything is not alright." He made his way over to the couch and sat down in front of Steve. "Steve, I'm sorry I've been acting like this. It wasn't fair to you. I need you. Always. I'm so sorry I've been
such a jerk."

And before Steve could get a word out, Bucky pressed his lips against Steve's. It was harsh and needy, and it took everything Steve had to push Bucky away. "Buck, are you drunk again? Because I don't want you to do something you'll regret again." Steve
said earnestly.

Shaking his head furiously, Bucky quickly got out, "I haven't had anything to drink tonight. I mean it, Stevie. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry I said it was a mistake last time. You have no idea how much I've wanted this for so long." Bucky takes a deep breath
and examines Steve's expression—which was currently impossible to read. "I mean, um, only if you feel the same way. Otherwise I can stop... And we can pretend this never happened. Or I can move out if you really want me to." Bucky rambled.

Panicking at the suggestion of Bucky moving out, Steve quickly grabbed the back of Bucky's neck and pulled him in for a desperate kiss. At first Bucky was astonished, but he quickly fell in line and kissed Steve back.

A few moments later they both pulled back to catch their breaths, Bucky starting to worry if Steve's asthma could handle this. "Buck, I love you." Steve whispered. Bucky looked up at his best friend with wide eyes. "I've been in love with you since we
were kids." Steve's eyes warily lifted to meet Bucky's gaze, gouging his friend's reaction to his confession.

Bucky gave Steve a small, slow kiss before pulling back. "I love you too, punk." They grinned at each other before lunging at one another again fervently. As things got more intense, Bucky scooped Steve up to carry him off to the bedroom (much to Steve's
protest because he hated when Bucky reminded him how much stronger he was than Steve).

Knowing that their bed was too cheap and squeaky to get away with not tipping off the neighbors, they ripped the comforter off and set it on the floor. They were barely able to get each other's clothes off because of how locked their lips were.

Completely naked and lying underneath Bucky, Steve paused. "Buck, are you sure? I mean what about all the dames? I know you're not a fairy... I know you like girls."

"Yeah, I do like girls. But I fell in love with you." Bucky retorted before kissing down Steve's neck.

At some point in the night, they'd moved back up to the bed-with it being summer, they didn't actually need the comforter to keep them warm. Bucky was wrapped around Steve as usual, only this time they were both butt- naked and sticky with sweat
and come from the night before. Steve cracked his eyes open to see light filtering in through their tiny bedroom window. Out of habit, he glanced at their tiny alarm clock only to remember it was still broken and they still hadn't replaced it due
to lack of cash. He rubbed at his eyes groggily and rolled over in Bucky's arms so he could look at his best friend's sleeping face. Bucky's hair was matted to his forehead from sweat. When he slept, he always wrinkled his nose, causing his eyebrows
to pinch forward just like they did when he was trying to figure out a math problem. His lips were puckered like he was pouting as soft, even breaths pushed out between them. Steve thought he'd never looked more handsome.

Steve was pulled out of his daze when Bucky's eyes slowly fluttered open and Steve blushed at having been caught in the act of watching his best friend sleeping. Bucky smirked—he always loved to make Steve blush —and pecked his beat-red friend right on
the nose. "I always did wonder if you were looking at me like that all the time, or if I just had something on my face." When Steve's face grew even redder at Bucky's words, Bucky cackled.

Desperate to change the subject before his face melted off, Steve suggested, "How about some breakfast?"

Bucky seemed to contemplate Steve's offer before retorting, "It's Saturday. We don't have to get outta bed yet." They both grinned at one another before smashing their still-swollen lips together.

A couple hours later, Steve and Bucky did get out of bed. The shower they took lasted much longer than it would normally—it lasted until the water turned ice cold, which definitely killed the mood for the time being. They normally didn't put much effort
into breakfast, but today seemed like a special occasion. Plus, they were both famished from their activities the night before and earlier that morning. While Steve prepared the eggs, Bucky dealt with the bread and their coffees. Bucky set the warm
bread and coffee mugs on the table before coming up behind Steve and kissing him on the neck. He was pleased to feel the small shutter that passed through Steve when he sucked in a sharp breath. "Sit down, you mook; you're going to make me mess
up our breakfast." Steve hissed; Bucky merely chuckled and sat patiently at the table.

Steve brought over the eggs in a large bowl about a minute later. He sat across from Bucky, and for the first few minutes of their meal they just ate because of how hungry they both were. Bucky, being the one who ate like a horse, finished eating first
as usual. He cleared his throat, causing Steve to stop eating and look up at him in slight fear. Did Bucky realize that last night was a mistake? Seeing Steve's fear, Bucky immediately grabbed Steve's hand, stroking Steve's knuckles with his thumb.
"Hey, hey, hey, punk! Don't look so terrified!" Steve took a deep breath to calm his nerves— and to prevent an asthma attack over nothing. Giving Bucky a small smile and a reassuring squeeze from his hand, Bucky returned the smile and squeeze
before trying again, "I just wanted to say that this isn't gonna be easy. You and me, I mean." Steve nodded; he'd chosen to avoid thinking about that for the time being. "In our apartment we can do whatever we want... But out there
it has to seem like nothing has changed. The guys at work go to the club with me all the time. I have a reputation as a skirt chaser to uphold. Can't have them suspecting nothin'." Steve frowned at the idea of Bucky still sleeping around with
dames—some of it because it didn't sit right with his modest self, and some of it because he felt a tinge of jealousy. Seeing Steve's frown, Bucky quickly added, "No! Not like that, Stevie! I'm not gonna sleep around with dames any more! I just
need it to appear like I'm still doing it so the guys at work don't think I'm with a guy." Steve let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I guess that also means we still have to go out on those terrible double dates." Steve looked up as a momentary plea for God to send him strength to continue those stupid double dates that Bucky always dragged him on.

Bucky nodded and said with a lighter tone, "C'mon, those ain't so bad."

"Not for you, they're not! You always end up with both girls by the end of the night!"

"Not on purpose! I can't help my natural charm!" Bucky complained. Steve was just about to protest again when Bucky added in a small voice, "It ain't my fault all those dames were too stupid to see just how amazing you are." Steve
blushed crimson again before looking down at their entwined hands. A small smile crept on his face as he risked looking up at Bucky. Embarrassed, Bucky was avoiding Steve's gaze. Steve had never seen Bucky beat red or so flustered. It made Steve's
heart flutter knowing he had that effect on his best friend.