Bucky needed a goddamn cigarette. he figured he's earned it, he was leaving for bootcamp in the morning and he didn't know if he would ever see brooklyn again. leaning back on the front stoop of the apartment building, he fumbled for his cigarettes and realized his hands were shaking. the fear and anxiety he'd been pushing down threatened to boil over but he willed it away. not yet. not here, where anyone could see him. especially when Steve would be home any moment.

Steve. thinking about him sent another tidal wave of emotion through him, so Bucky pushed that away too. he shoved it all to the back of his mind and focused on nothing but the strike of the match, the slight sizzle of the cigarette as it was sparked to life. taking a long drag, Bucky tried to steady his hands.

soon the warm buzz of nicotine calmed him enough to stop the shaking and the looming panic, but just so. before Bucky knew it, he was snuffing the first one out and lighting another. the glow from the streetlamp was illuminating the smoke in the most mesmerizing way and Bucky thought about how Steve would love it, how he would tell Bucky to keep going so he could sketch it over and over again. Steve always insisted on drawing Bucky when he was smoking. Bucky had always just assumed Steve liked the way the cigarette looked or something silly like that, but he had left his sketchbook open on the sofa the other day and what he'd seen had floored him.

drawings of Bucky's head tilted back in ecstacy, his lips parted as he exhaled, the slight smile on his face as he took another drag. and christ, one of him shirtless, sprawled on the sofa and deeply asleep, the filter of yet another cigarette dangling between his limp fingers. they were all beautiful, if not slightly obscene, and surely Steve was exaggerating some of his features, but Bucky had barely a second to think about what that might mean before he'd heard Steve coming home. he'd dropped the sketchbook in a panic and rushed to his room before Steve could see him.

that was about a week ago. Bucky had tried his best not to act weird but it was hard. it was hard not to let the tiniest sliver of hope in, that maybe Steve sees Bucky the same way Bucky sees Steve. everyone else thought Steve was scrawny and useless, but not Bucky. Bucky saw more than the kid from Brooklyn, he saw someone he would follow anywhere, someone who had saved him from himself more times than he cared to count. it wasn't really a secret though, anyone who was around the two of them for more than thirty seconds probably knew. Bucky never liked to let Steve out of his sight for long; he was constantly resting his hand on Steve's back or throwing an arm around his shoulders. having Steve near him was a comfort, a reminder that the world can't be all bad if it let someone as good as Steve be in Bucky's life.

now, stubbing out another cigarette, Bucky came to a decision. he refused to leave without letting steve know. he didn't want to die without knowing that there might've been a chance. Bucky didn't think about what would happen if Steve didn't return the feelings. he wouldn't let himself. lighting up a third cigarette, Bucky listened closely for Steve's approaching footsteps. the nervousness was gone. a calming sense of peace settled over him and he realized that of course steve felt the same way. it was in every smile and playful shove, hands brushing against each other as they walked down the street, and sometimes when no one was around they would link their pinkies together and try to pretend they both weren't blushing like mad.

it had always been Steve.

Bucky took another drag and closed his eyes.

drag, inhale, exhale.

footsteps echoed on the pavement now, the familiar gait that made his heart jump.

drag, inhale, exhale.

"Hey Bucky."

Bucky opened his eyes. his hands were trembling for an entirely different reason now.

drag, inhale, exhale.

"Hey Steve."