AN I don't own Marvel or any of the characters! Just a short, fluffy oneshot Stucky!
The second Steve stepped into the apartment, he could tell something was different. He prayed it wasn't a bad different, that something hadn't gone horribly wrong or that Bucky hadn't had another bad flashback, but there was silence in the apart. It was a relief, at least, to not hear the shower running. Sitting under the icy spray had become Bucky's newest way of dealing with the memories and, though Steve was glad he was coping somewhat, it still made him sick with dread. Every part of him ached to help, to do something, but he couldn't. Anything he did would only make it worse and end up pushing Bucky away even further-which Steve would not do.
When he took another step into the entryway, he paused. He locked the door again behind him out of habit and checked to see that Bucky's keys were in the bowl by the door, which they were. It wasn't unusual for Bucky to be scary silent without even meaning to, but silence wasn't what set Steve on edge. There was… music playing?
"Hey Buck? I'm home." The music didn't stop, though, and Bucky didn't come to greet him so Steve grabbed his shield and crept towards the living room. Something felt different. He couldn't name it, exactly, but there was a quality in the air that was almost thick to breathe and again Steve prayed to God that it wasn't the smell of a dead-or dying-body. His record player was set up and playing a song Steve couldn't help but recognize.
Some day, when I'm awfully low
When the world is cold
I will feel a glow just thinking of you
And the way you look tonight...
Steve felt like all the oxygen had just been sucked out of the room. There was no way. Was there? It was that song, and not any weird Sinatra version or twisted remix-the real, original Fred Astaire version of The Way You Look Tonight. He'd had that record for years but he hadn't played it since seeing Bucky on that bridge.
"Heya Stevie," He almost jumped at Bucky's voice-loud compared to the low, echoing voice singing through the room. "Remember this song?" This felt like some kind of trick. A trap. There was no way and Steve tried his hardest not to let himself hope but Bucky was sitting in his chair, drinking an old fashioned, and it just felt so… familiar. That question rang in his ears like church bells: Remember this song?
"Do you?" Bucky flashed him a smile and Steve felt his chest seize. He hadn't seen that smile in almost half a century and it felt like pure heroin in his veins. In the chair, Bucky downed the rest of the drink and faced him.
"I remember the neighbors in the apartment above us used to play it. We couldn't afford a record player or any records but they played it-the Daphnes I think?-every time they made up after a fight and we used to dance to it. It was your favorite song."
"Still is." Steve had to lean against the wall for support but he made it look casual, hopefully. This was Bucky. This was his Bucky, sitting there and talking to him like he finally knew who Steve was. It felt too good to be true, but then Bucky laughed and Steve had to fight the urge to run to him and embrace the man because God he'd missed that sound.
"You never knew how to lead." This was his Bucky, almost in tears laughing over a memory from nearly a century ago.
"Still don't." The song ended abruptly and Steve felt like he'd been flung back into reality. Surely, Bucky would dismiss him now. It was over now and the moment had passed and that would have to be enough to hold on to until the next moment came. But Bucky stood and moved towards the record player. He didn't leave, or isolate himself, he just started the song again and smiled at the piano intro.
"Dance with me?" Steve was going to cry, but he couldn't stop himself from nodding. He felt like he was sixteen again in their shitty apartment in Brooklyn listening to someone else's music and just trying to find something to smile about. Bucky had always been that something-always. His hand shook as he took Bucky's, but the brunet pretended not to notice for both their sakes. Steve expected him to keep his distance because he'd been uncomfortable with physical contact ever since waking up but Bucky grabbed him and pulled him closer. Flush against his chest, to the point that Steve felt his face grow hot.
"You really still don't know how to lead, do you?" He shook his head. Bucky was shorter than him now, slightly, and not as muscular but it was still Bucky and he found himself falling back into that old rhythm. The brunet led, and Steve followed but he couldn't help thinking that this was the first person he'd followed unquestioningly since WWII. Hell, Bucky was the only person he'd ever followed on faith alone.
"I'm sorry I don't remember." Immediately, on instinct, Steve was shushing him and reassuring him because that was what his body ached to do but Bucky cut him off with a squeeze. "But I'm starting to, I think." Steve was sure that his best friend in the entire world could feel his heart racing in his chest, and knew that if he'd been even remotely asthmatic anymore he would have been on the ground wheezing. He knew his face was beet red, and he knew that his hands were shaking on Bucky's waist. But brunet just gave him a little smile. Then, as if possessed by the music, Bucky let his head fall against Steve's chest. Steve couldn't breathe.
Tears started down his face because he couldn't hold them back anymore but he just tightened his grip on Bucky's waist and pressed his cheek to the top of the shorter man's head. Hoping that would hide the tears, he buried his face in that long hair. There was something so goddamn visceral about seeing Bucky visibly relax into him that his body just couldn't handle. Fuck why couldn't he breathe!? His muscled burned and ached to reach out, to snake his arms around the smaller man and hold him so tight he would never fall again, but he made himself stop. He didn't want to push Bucky too far.
"Stevie?" Bucky had noticed the tears, but didn't pull back. Keeping his head firmly against Steve's chest, he reached up and simply brushed the tears away with his human thumb. The other stayed wrapped around Steve's neck.
"The music's stopped." It had, but Steve hadn't even noticed the silence. He knew that was Bucky's way of saying the moment had ended and he tried to make himself let go but his hands lingered. It felt like the love of his life was slipping away, and he was doing nothing but watch. That wasn't true-he knew that-but as he felt the rush of cold air replace where Bucky had been pressed against him he couldn't help grimacing. Like ice in his chest, it burned and numbed his entire body. He felt like he was drowning all over again.
The sound of that familiar piano intro hit him like a slap in the face, but it was welcome compared to the cold. Steve couldn't believe it-he couldn't let himself-but the song was starting again. He stared in disbelief as Bucky faced him again.
"You didn't think I'd let you off that easy, did you punk?" He tried to laugh, to shake it off, but tears choked his voice and caught in his throat. "You got seventy years of dances to make up for, Stevie." Frantically, Steve rubbed at his cheeks because he should not have been crying this much in front of someone who barely even remembered him but he couldn't help it. Still smiling, Bucky stepped back into place in front of him. Two hands-one metal, one flesh-took his and guided them back to that warm waist, resting just above those hips that Steve had practically memorized. And he hadn't forgotten.
"I love you." He swore and tried to pull back because he knew Bucky would panic, but the brunet just smiled and refused to be dislodged. That damn smile turned Steve's knees to jelly.
"I remember that too." They didn't kiss-Bucky wasn't ready for that and Steve wasn't sure how much he remembered-but it was more than he ever could have asked for just to stand like that. Pressed close together, stepping gently in time with the music. If he closed his eyes, they were back in that shitty apartment and Steve could feel Bucky's taller, stronger frame holding his up. Soothing him through asthma attacks. Curling around him beneath the blankets when the cold got bad. Holding him, comforting him. Finally he was able to return the favor.
He couldn't stop himself from tangling a hand in that long hair and, though it was different, it didn't feel strange. Bucky more than let him. Against him, the brunet curled against his chest as much as their position would allow and sighed as Steve ran his fingers against his scalp. Through his hair, and against the back of his neck. Slowly, gently, with the kind of sweetness that would only ever have been allowed to come from Steve. The kind of sweetness that nobody else ever got to see.
Some day, when I'm awfully low…
When the world is cold…
I will feel a glow just thinking of you…
And the way you look tonight...
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