"Those people are sick"
Steve first hears this when he is 10 years old and for years to come this brings him both elation and dread.
It's a woman he doesn't even know, middle aged with faded blonde hair and her dress says she's fairly well off, gloved fingers holding a cigarette. Her eyes -faded brown, he remembers- are looking towards two men who are outside a small café, simply talking and laughing.
Steve's confused for a heartbeat as he follows her gaze, then sees the men have their hands intertwined.
He's still confused, truth be told, doesn't understand what's wrong with the picture, but the woman isn't done talking yet.
She's got a friend, a shorter, more plump girl with light skin and dark hair curled into a bob, also nursing a cigarette. "For a man to love another man like that" The blonde woman continues after a drag from her cig "it's unnatural"
"Disturbing" Her dark haired friend agrees though she shakes her head sadly.
Steve pulls his gaze away from the two men, bright blue eyes trained up at the conversation he's eavesdropping on.
His mother would probably scold him for that if she knew what he was doing while he waited for her outside the bakery, but it's not as if the women are talking in hushed voices.
"I don't understand how sick in the head someone must be to want a relationship like that" The dark haired woman says then she takes a drag of her cigarette and blows it out in a plume that could be mistaken for her breath in the chilly autumn air. Their voices aren't angry, Steve thinks, pulling his coat tighter around him. They sound sad. Pitying, like the way the doctor sounds when he tells Steve's mom he may never outgrow his asthma. Oh. Oh.
Steve is sick. Now, that's not news, but the women in the fancy coats have all but diagnosed him. The connection seems to make everything make sense then, and Steve understands.
This is why he likes Bucky so much.
He adores Bucky wants to be around him as much as he can, Steve doesn't think there's anything wrong with that, that's what it means to be best friends after all because he knows Bucky feels the same. But there's some things Steve can't explain. Like why his heart flutters around his best friend in a way that almost makes him concerned for his weak heart. Like the way he blushes when his mom asks if there's a girl Steve likes but all the can think about is Bucky.
They hold hands, sure, Bucky having to drag Steve away from a disagreement with someone twice his size, but he doesn't let go afterwards and they hold hands as Steve tells him what started the fight this time. Steve's cheeks always warm up when Bucky rubs his thumb across his bruised knuckles- curse his Irish blood. Bucky always thinks it's the start of a fever and, until now, so did Steve.
But it's not as simple as a fever, this is a new sickness and Steve almost wants to cry. Another illness to add to his already long list.
Something else to worry about.
He wonders how he'll tell his mom.
He's pulled from his thoughts when the women tisk as the two men (homosexuals, Steve won't learn the word until he's 11) part ways after a hug that lingers a bit too long to just be friendly.
The women share a look, something crossed between disgust and misery, then they stamp out their cigarette's beneath their heels and carry on with their day.
They pass by Steve, completely unaware of the epiphany they've dropped upon his already feeble shoulders. He tucks himself even smaller on the bench he's waiting on.
Is it contagious? That's always what Steve worries about at the first sign of another bought of illness. Sometimes it's familiar, sometimes it's something new, but until he knows which it is his first concern is never for himself.
Will he get others sick? Will he get Bucky sick? And ironically, Steve feels sick to his stomach at the thought that maybe he's already gotten Bucky sick. Maybe that's why Bucky always sits so close to him, always stares at him when he thinks Steve won't notice.
Steve decides not to tell his mom. As far as he knows, this won't kill him and he knows if anything it's his heart that'll get him. No point making her worry about it. Just then, his mom comes out of the bakery a small bag in tow, and Steve gives her the fakest and yet most genuine smile he's given her in months.
The very next day Steve gets in a fight with a guy who wouldn't stop pulling a girl's skirt up. When Bucky comes, Steve won't let him hold his hand. When Bucky looks confused and a little lost, Steve tells him they can't hold hands anymore. Bucky blinks for a few seconds in surprise, and Steve hates himself for the hurt he sees there too, and he has to bite back his own sorrow. Steve's sick, but he won't get Bucky sick too.
Steve is 14 when Bucky has his first kiss.
Funny enough, it's apparently as monumental for Steve as it is for Bucky.
He comes over to Steve's place after the school dance- Steve didn't go, faked having a cough so Bucky wouldn't feel obligated to hang around him- he's still in his dress shirt and tie and Steve has to look away to stop himself from thinking how good he looks in that shade of blue. Barely into his teenage years and Bucky is already a looker with dark hair, a wide jawline and a dimple in his chin just to name a few of his assets.
Steve feels left behind and like he's holding Bucky back all in one fell swoop.
When Bucky undoes his tie, Steve hides his nose in the book he's totally not reading at this point but stubbornly pretends to be very interested in. Bucky unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt as he spills all the details and Steve is borderline grateful for the flush that rises to his cheeks because if Bucky wasn't convinced Steve was sick before, the rosy cheeks would do it.
Steve isn't sick, well not that kind of sick (at least not right now), but the hour Bucky spends recapping his evening is sixty minutes for Steve's new symptoms to rise and heart flutters when Bucky plops on the bed next to him, cheeks go from pink to red when he playfully leans in to steal the books from under Steve's nose ("Pay attention, Stevie!"), feels weak in the knees when Bucky talks about how soft her lips were.
A new symptom appears, to Steve's surprise, it feels a lot like jealousy.
Bucky keeps saying how cute she was ("don't worry Steve" Bucky jokes "you're cuter") and how he loved how she smelled, loved how she looked in that dress, loved how her lipstick was so pink, loved loved loved. And Steve hates himself for the bitterness that swells in his chest feeling as deadly as a lung-full of pneumonia.
He wants to be happy for Bucky. That's how a good friend would feel, right? A good friend would be excited and quick to tease and maybe more than a little jealous that their best friend got to kiss a girl. Steve is jealous that the girl got to kiss Bucky.
That thought has unexpected tears springing to his eyes and he forces himself into an all too familiar coughing fit to give the tears a reason to be there.
Bucky instantly looks concerned, the cocky smirk falling right off his stupidly handsome face and Steve doesn't have to fake how choked up he becomes. Bucky's got that look in his eyes and softness in his voice that reassures Steve that Bucky cares about him as much as Steve cares about Bucky. But there's more than platonic love in Steve's heart and he feels so guilty to tarnish their friendship because he's sick. Bucky is so good and Steve is tainting him.
He thought he was getting over…over whatever this is, but this new event in Bucky's life has a profound effect on Steve's own because he's not getting better. He's getting worse. Steve hates being sick. He hates it.
Steve lets himself cry for just a few quick minutes after Bucky leaves. He cries in confusion, in fear, in jealousy, in sorrow, and a hundred other emotions he can't put a name to.
"I'm happy for you, Buck. Really!"
Steve is 18 when his mother died. He's 18 when Bucky offers to move in with him.
He won't look at Bucky when he follows Steve back from the funeral. Steve knows he's there, Bucky knows Steve knows, but doesn't say anything for the longest time. He doesn't have to.
He'd been ready for his mom to die.
Well, not ready, maybe 'prepared' was a better word. Okay, maybe even prepared wasn't right, no one is prepared to lose their mom. He was expecting it, let's go with that. It hadn't been sudden; tuberculosis wasn't something that killed overnight. It was slow. Steve wonders if it would've been better for it to have been quick.
She suffered and he's sorry for that, but she got closure she wouldn't have if she'd gone without warning. So Steve sucked it up, took care of her, let her deal in her own way.
She went overnight but it was awhile before Steve could actually do anything about it. Hard to make a phone call when you're sobbing your heart out.
"We looked for you after" Bucky almost scares Steve when he speaks up "My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery" Bucky was the only one who had actually caught up to Steve and he doesn't fool himself into thinking it's a coincidence.
"I know" Steve says, his voice quiet and apologetic. He hadn't meant to blow anyone off, certainly not Bucky's family. He loved them like his own. "I'm sorry" He adds, because he is, for so many things "I just…kinda wanted to be alone" He's mumbling but Bucky is used to that and hears him loud as day.
"How was it?" Bucky asks, voice soft as a wave and Steve can feel the calm washing over him as if it really were one. God, he's so lucky to have Bucky. He isn't sure what part of him is thinking this, the sickness or his genuine appreciation. He feels a spike of frustration.
"It was okay" Steve replies shortly "She's next to dad" He's afraid if he says too much at once it'll pull an emotional reaction from him and he's fighting so hard to stay strong, emotionally neutral. He still won't look at Bucky because that's half the battle lost if he does. He keeps his eyes on the stairs in front of him, feeling each step Bucky takes behind him beneath the thin soles of his own shoes.
Bucky is about to say something but a man (grey suit and brown hat, Steve's stupidly over-observant mind informs him) steps from one of the apartments and whatever Bucky is about to say is put on hold until they pass him, apparently not for outside ears. What Bucky was about to say, he never says. Steve will never not think it was important. Instead, Bucky says "I was gonna ask-"
"I know what you're gonna say, Buck" Steve interrupts though not unkindly. "It's just…" Just what? Steve feels a jab of anger prick through his emotional walls. Hates that he can't look at Bucky, hates that no excuse will ever justify the real reason Steve can't handle being around Bucky in a domestic environment.
Steve knows the feeling of being head-over-heels, literally and figuratively, and he won't be able to function feeling it 24/7 should Bucky move in. Steve bites his lip, and searches for his keys to distract himself.
"We can put the couch cushions on the floors like when we were kids" Bucky's tone is joking but his intent is serious. Steve pauses his searching abruptly. He's jolted back to exactly what Bucky is referencing but from a very different perspective; Steve situated on the couch while Bucky takes the floor. Steve pretends he's asleep until Bucky nods off then pokes his nose childishly over the end of the sofa peeking down at his best friend like a school girl with a crush.
And damn him if that isn't exactly what it was.
Is?
"It'll be fun" Bucky insists, his tone that ever humorous drawl that girls die for. God, so does Steve. He busies his hands in his pockets again, anything to take his mind off…this. "All you gotta do is shine my shoes" Bucky keeps at it, a dog with a bone "Maybe… take out the trash..." he fades off.
There's a scrape of rock against rock and the clattering of a key hitting cement. Steve turns finally, watches Bucky bend to retrieve his prize and Steve's observant blue eyes trace Bucky's back arching as he stands back up.
He quickly darts his eyes guiltily to the key Bucky hands out to him like a kid caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
Steve takes the key, damn near snatches it for fear of lingering too long (can almost hear the tsking of the women from 8 years ago ringing in his guilty conscience). Steve keeps his eyes down, purses his lips, hesitates. He replays the last few seconds, how his gaze had focused too long on the way Bucky's knees bent, the way his shoulders turned. Those people are sick. Steve nods to himself, a minuscule movement making a monumental decision.
"Thank you, Buck" Steve realizes his gaze is still at his feet and feels like a coward for not looking at Bucky. He pulls his gaze up, forces his features to remain expressionless though his sharp blue eyes show a seriousness far more telling than just denying a roommate. His gaze flicks down Bucky's face for an instant, sees the openness and honesty there and feels another throb of guilt for not being able to return the gesture. It's for the best. "But I can get by on my own"
"The thing is…" Bucky drops his own gaze to Steve's surprise and his features pinch. And for all of two seconds Steve sees the same symptoms he's been experiencing but on Bucky's face. There's this awful, awful feeling of hope in Steve's small chest like the ache of pressing on a bruise. He watches as Bucky seems to struggle for words because maybe Bucky is sick too and it's terrible for Steve to hope for that but his mind is still 8 years in the past, remembering the pure love on the men's faces as one rubbed his thumb over the other's knuckles. Steve curses his observation skills for the umpteenth time in five minutes. A breeze rushes by, ruffling the clothes hanging to dry in the alleyway over Bucky's shoulder and finally, Bucky meets his gaze again. "You don't have to"
Warm.
Steve feels so warm it's like the sun's suddenly come out, the first glimmer of life since his mother's own was taken seems to hit Steve like a punch.
And Steve would know.
Bucky's gaze flicks down to Steve's mouth and it takes all of Steve's willpower not to blush. They make eye contact again which lingers just a second too long to be friendly.
And Steve would know.
Bucky reaches out, grasps Steve thin shoulder in a firm but gentle grip and Steve feels his heart flutter and with that, Steve's world comes crashing down. The sudden symptom reminds him of how sick he is. How sick Bucky will get being around him every day and night. He doesn't want to turn Bucky into…that. Doesn't want people to think that Bucky is...that.
That gets people killed, knifed in alleys, shot in the street. Steve won't let that happen to Bucky, not ever. He drops his gaze.
"I'm with you 'till the end of the line, pal"
Steve's heard Bucky tell girls for years how much he loves their eyes, their hair, their smile, but Steve's never heard the love like this before.
They're very different, he realizes. Bucky realizes it too.
Steve turns his head, tries to hide how his breath catches in his throat and shutters as it leaves. He's so lucky and he's so damn sorry.
Bucky is offering him the world, offering him whatever Steve saw 8 years ago but Steve knows his decision already, made it a minute ago and solidified it in the sixty seconds since. But he lets himself look up, let's himself gaze at Bucky as if Bucky himself had hung the stars in the sky. Steve's eyes shine with tears.
He's so sorry and he's not even sure who to.
When Steve retreats into his apartment, soft denial still hanging at his doorstep, he knows Bucky stays standing for a few minutes looking completely lost in a horribly familiar way ("Why can't we hold hands anymore, Stevie?"). Bucky knows that Steve knows he waits. Neither of them mention it.
Bucky doesn't have to tell Steve he's been accepted into the military. Steve can see it in his eyes. Steve keeps up his attempts to enlist but with a new energy that he refuses to call desperation.
He tries with everything in him to follow Bucky but there's so much inside of Steve and so damn little on the outside and he needs to do something about it or it's going to kill him. It's heartbreaking.
Steve knows how selfish it is of him to enlist primarily to stay by Bucky's side. Of course he wants to fight because that's the right thing to do, it always has been, but it's far more personal now. Steve sometimes thinks he should just fake a cough and fake out so Bucky won't be stuck hanging around him during a freaking war.
But he keeps trying.
When Bucky leaves, he take's Steve's heart with him. Steve starts jerking awake in the night hearing the same voice. "Those people are sick" But Steve keeps trying. And keeps trying. And keeps trying.
"I can offer you a chance"
Those people are sick.
"Only a chance"
AN: This only my second fanfiction ever!
My first one I wrote nearly 3 years ago, so please don't judge me too harshly!