It's safe to say you're homeless.
It Bucky could have been any less helpful, Steve had a hard time imagining it. He just stood there in front of Steve, a smug grin plastered over his face as if the situation was amusing to him.
"Thanks." was all Steve was able to murmur out. It was spitefully sarcastic, but he didn't mind. Apparently neither did Bucky, as he just let out a humored laugh.
Swinging his keys around in his hand, Bucky looked down the street. "If you hail a cab, the nearest hotel is two blocks down. Not the greatest, but it's cheap. It's probably the best place to stay until you get something better."
Steve followed the man's gaze down the road. He wasn't really paying attention; he just stared off, his mind too racing to comprehend. "Thanks." He grumbled yet again.
Bucky raised his brows, pressing his lips together to keep from smiling too broadly. "Don't mention it."
The scratching noise of Bucky's boot against the sidewalk as he turned to walk away made Steve glance back at him. He had been in town for less than half an hour and the only company he had was a hypocritical cab driver and a greasy haired man. "Hey, Bucky?"
He stopped walking and lazily looked over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
Steve chewed the inside of his cheek as he looked for something to say. Why couldn't he think of anything? "Do I really look like a dad?"
His seemingly signature grin stretched over Bucky's lips. He looked away from Steve's eyes, his tongue darting out and licking his lips slowly. "Nah." He shrugged, turning away again. "You look like kind of a punk."
Steve watched Bucky walk away, twirling his key ring around his finger to amuse himself as he went along. He stopped before crossing the street, and his hand suddenly ceased spinning and caught his keys. Bucky looked over his shoulder, his smile growing again as he saw Steve still looking at him.
He swore Bucky had winked at him before jogging across the intersection.
The motel Bucky directed him too was way worse than he had made it out to be.
The sign was off, but Steve was sure that if it was turned on, those broken neon lights would crackle and spark in defiance. It was set in a U shape, two stories of rooms. The check-in was right at the center of the first level. Steve held onto his bag tighter as he walked across the gravel parking lot.
Swinging the door open, Steve looked inside. It was surprisingly decent for such an ugly exterior. At first, no one came, but the bell from the door produced a dark skinned man to come eagerly around the corner as if he hadn't had a guest in years.
That didn't really comfort Steve. He gave the man a weary smile and walked up to the desk. "I need a room. Just a few days."
The other man nodded, not bothering to say hello now that Steve had gotten right to the point. "Yeah, we have one vacant."
You have more than one, Steve thought as he looked around. He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket, sliding his I.D. over the counter. "Great." He said simply.
The man-whose nametag read Sam in dull grey letters, quickly took them and grabbed a set of keys from under the desk. As he went, the dog tags around his neck clanked against each other. "Room seventeen, second floor."
Steve tore his gaze from the tags and grabbed the keys. "Thanks."
Sam didn't mind his staring. He just nodded, his eyes oddly understanding as he turned his attention back to the computer in front of him. "Enjoy your stay."
That may be hard. Steve trudged up the metal stairs, finding his key and opening the door to his room. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath until he chest ached.
The curtains were drawn, so everything inside was shaded heavily. He switched on a few lights, taking a moment to look at the bed that seemed a bit short for Steve and the dusty vanity across from it. Even the carpet reminded him of his grandmother's home.
Beggars can't be choosers. Steve let his bag fall to the floor with a heavy thug. The bed let out a weary creak as he sat on the edge of it, stretching his long legs out in front of him.
This was Brooklyn now. Dirty streets and dirtier people. He fell back onto the bed, his body somehow restless. This wasn't close to home.
The next morning, Steve woke up feeling like his body was on ice. Sleeping in a bed was nice for one, but it wasn't what he expected. There was too much on his mind to dwell on the fact that all that had happened and he never got a notice saying him home was torn down. He was away, not dead.
He didn't have many clothes, but he managed to dig out a few clean items from his bag. Steve had necessities at home; all of his clothing, his furniture. But he didn't have important things stashed away behind those doors while he was gone. He guessed that was a good choice.
Mornings in Brooklyn still looked the same. Seeing cloudy skies and damp pavement eased his mind as he went out. He didn't know what he was doing, or where he was going, but he needed to go out.
Surely enough, the sign for the motel was off. The door to the check-in was locked. Everything being so desolate made him on edge. He picked up the pace, crossing over to the sidewalk across the street.
Downtown was so basic, but Steve loved it. He loved the underrated coffee shops and the lame music stores. The tables set out outside restaurants were oddly comforting. They seemed so familiar. He had no friends, no family, and even his home had changed. At least something was similar to how it used to be.
He had walked a few blocks down when the tattoo parlor came into sight. It rested between a booksellers and a place that looked as if it was being renovated and open for leasing. The windows were stringed with reality signs.
The chime above the door let out a loud ring as Steve pulled open the door to the tattoo shop. Steve didn't have tattoos. He didn't want tattoos. He'd have a better chance of working at the café nearby and flirting for tips. That would have been a sure thing.
Nothing had been a sure thing ever since he got back. Why start now?
"What were you looking for this time? 'Cause Yoga World is real close, I wouldn't blame you for getting lost." Bucky's unforgettable voice remarked gruffly.
Steve looked around the parlor before staring at Bucky. He was behind the front desk, hunched over it like he was too lazy to stand but too restless to sit. He hadn't bothered to pick his head up and look at Steve until he hadn't heard a response from him.
"Will you move? You're blocking the door." Bucky sighed, picking his hand up to gesture.
Steve's eyes widened as he drew himself to reality. He quickly shuffled forward, standing in front of the desk. Bucky had a pen in hand, sketching something on a pad of paper. "Do you own this place?" Steve wondered aloud.
Bucky nodded shortly. "That's me. Why?" He looked up, huffing to move the strand of hair away from his eyes. "You want a cute little butterfly tattoo on your hip?"
Steve furrowed his brows as Bucky glanced down at Steve's waist as he said that. He shuffled uneasily, trying to advert the man's attention back up to his face. "Are you hiring?"
The brunette rested his forearms against the desk. "What exactly would you have to offer?" He bit his lip skeptically.
Steve was quick to reply. "I'm a good artist, I just-I've never tattooed before."
"Well that's kinda an important skill set." Bucky's murmur oozed oblivious sarcasm. "Do you have any artwork with you?"
Shaking his head, Steve rubbed his hands together and looked around the room. "No, but I can draw you something."
Bucky was quiet as he took a moment to process this. His shallow eyes dazed off, staring at the desk in debate. They truly were a unique color, as if they had a new hue with each fleck of light. Bucky's fingers drummed the counter.
He stood straight up quickly, grabbing a pen and the pad of paper. He ripped off whatever drawing he was doodling on top, crumpling it and throwing it in the trash. He slid the pad to Steve before turning and gesturing for him to follow. "Fine."
Steve perked up immediately. Just the acceptance was enough to give him a bit of hope. He grabbed the pen and paper, quickly walking around the desk and following Bucky back.
They ducked into a curtained off room, where Bucky had already made himself comfortable on the tattoo table. He crossed his legs out in front of him, placing his hands behind his head. "What are you gonna draw me?"
Steve silently sat down in the artist's chair, crossing his leg to make it easier to draw on the pad. He tapped his pen to the paper, not knowing how to answer. "What do you want me to draw?"
"Surprise me." Bucky shrugged carelessly. He gave Steve a flirtatious smile. "Just make it pretty."
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. He looked down at the blank paper, pristine and yet to be defiled. His eyes roamed back up to the man on the chair.
Bucky's hair was sprawled out at his shoulders, his eyes peacefully closed as if he were going to sleep. Steve had the urge to ask him about his own tattoos, about the mechanical sleeve over his left arm. He wanted to know what kind of name 'Bucky' was, or what he was good at drawing.
He knew what he had to draw.
Steve took a deep breath, and the man on the other side of the room let out a satisfied smile as he heard the sound of pen scratching against paper. "Why were you gone so long?" Bucky asked randomly.
Steve didn't take his eyes off his paper. "I was busy."
"Doing what?" Bucky didn't wait a second on his follow-up question.
The blonde was silent before answering. "The wrong things." He stated simply.
That had peaked Bucky's interest. He sat up a bit, swinging one leg off the end of the chair. "And what were the wrong things?"
Steve looked up, taking in the sight of Bucky in his new position and the expression of his piqued interested. "I went to art school for a year. I got bored, though. I just-wanted to do something."
Bucky nodded. "So you ran away into the military?"
His fist clenched around the pen as Steve stopped writing for a moment. "I didn't run away." He said quickly. Bucky looked away, knowing he had said the wrong thing. He sat back again and stared at his hands in his lap.
"I went to the military because I didn't have anything else. I didn't think anything else would have the same effect."
Bucky swallowed visibly, and Steve wasn't sure if that meant nervousness or not. "Effect?"
Nodding, Steve kept drawing. "Where I lived when I was a kid, there was a lot of fighting. When I was littler, I couldn't do anything, but people stopped messing with me when I grew up. I figured if I could change those idiots for the better, I could do the same in the military."
"Did you?" Bucky asked. Steve had the sudden feeling he was reading a picture book and Bucky was the kid who wanted to desperately know how it ended.
He didn't answer. Steve capped his pen and leaned forward, handing Bucky his finished drawing. Bucky sat up and swung both legs over the edge of the chair as he stared at it with interest.
Steve watched Bucky's eyes, unsure what to make out of it. The drawing was crude-for being made in a rush and with ink-but it was him nonetheless.
There was Bucky, sketched on paper, his body huddled in the corner of some dark room and balled up as if he were hiding. His legs tucked into his torso. A metal arm rose over his head for protection, nothing but strands of brown hair visible over his face. His real skin and metallic limb seemed to battle for the spotlight.
Steve suddenly felt he should have drawn something else. Maybe Bucky was weirded out that he had been the subject of choice. His hands held onto it gingerly, his eyes still stuck to the image. Bucky seemed uncomfortable, like he had just witnessed something he shouldn't have.
"It-It's nice." Bucky said, clearing his throat. He took a deep breath before handing the paper back to Steve. "It's pretty good."
Just like that, the praise had made Steve beam with pride. He pushed his blonde hair back and shifted anxiously in his seat. "I'm glad you like it." He smiled widely, laying the drawing in his lap.
Bucky's eyes followed the drawing. They were overcome with a certain emptiness Steve had yet to recognize. Sadness? Confusion? Intrigue?
"Yeah." Bucky said quietly. His jaw clenched tightly, his eyes gazing at the drawing in the way someone stares at a car crash on the side of the road. "It's amazing."
thank you for reading :) steve and his art are just too cute for me omg. i hope you all enjoyed and please keep reading xox