ninception | (no subject)

There used to be a routine for this sort of thing.

A lifetime ago Bucky would tell him to wear a tie and meet him at one place or another- and Steve would. He'd show up to find that Bucky had some attractive blond on his arm and that she had friend who was equally pretty, but also a lot less interested. And then they'd all go out to the dancehall, because Bucky would practically beg him for weeks on end and Steve would eventually run out of excuses. He'd always end up going even though he wasn't the biggest fan, even though he'd spend most of the night standing near the bar and having a few drinks, listening to the music.

It used to sting in the beginning, to go and be ignored all night. He knew he was supposed to be making a go of it the way Bucky did, the way just about every guy there would. But as the years had gone by it just bothered him less and less. He stopped expecting anyone to want to dance with him in the same way that he stopped expecting to go home early- because Buck was there, grinning and laughing and flushed from being out on the dance floor. Always so popular that it seemed like every girl in the city wanted to talk to him.

This is nothing like that.

For starters he'd just been giving Bucky the ribbing he had coming to him- for using such a bad line and then sending it to the wrong person to boot. But then their entire back-and-forth had derailed and Steve had been staring down at what he's pretty sure was a date. An invitation to a date? He rereads the messages twice even after he's standing in the foyer, hair washed and shoes on and jacket over his shoulders- like he's not sure it's real, or that he's read it right, or that he's missed something. But before he can come to any definitive conclusions there's a knock on his front door and Bucky's voice threatening to get the attention of every neighbor that isn't deaf or dying. God. He squeezes his eyes shut, pink with embarrassment because he hadn't grown out of it, and because the serum cared more about his muscle mass than his mortification.

"Oh god," He's almost laughing when he gets the door open, chin tucked down like he's trying to hide the sheepish smile he can't get rid of and failing entirely. "You know I hear the real charmers don't need to tell everyone that they're charming."

Bucky is not used to being a bundle of anxiety when it comes to people. He should be the smooth-talking charmer who could get a date without even trying, but it's been a long time since that was the reality for him. A literal lifetime ago, and he's changed so much, as much as he wants to be the man he was before, he's beginning to accept he never will be.

But it doesn't stop him from flashing a smile at Steve like he doesn't have numerous conflicting thoughts swimming through his head. Steve is safe, familiar, and even if this possibly-a-date thing falls through, at least it's a night he's spending with his best friend.

"They don't?" Bucky asks innocently, shifting a little on his feet to try and add to the image. "C'mon, we should get going. I don't have a car, but I've got a great ride." He motions to the motorcycle. It's not an incredibly expensive-looking one, or anything. But it is a nice-looking one. Bucky clearly takes care of it. "I didn't make reservations or anything, but there's a good restaurant a way's away from here; big, menu, a lot of the dishes remind me of home."

Bucky's left his bike running. Steve catches sight of it over his shoulder- the lights still on and the engine rumbling. He'd never cared much for the romantic pictures, despite the number of them he's seen- but that's what keeps the corner of his mouth flicking up, like he can't help that little pull. It makes Bucky look as if he rushed up to his door in a hurry. Like he'd been trying to get there as soon as he could, or like he couldn't wait for them to go tearing off somewhere else. Count on Bucky to get the little details right, down to that killer smile and the nervous shifting of his weight.

Steve steps away from the door, ducking back into the hallway while his voice carries. This is the part where he'd be reaching for his coat, if he wasn't already wearing it. Dishes from home he says. "We better not end up at some place full of french fries just because you can't resist potato jokes." God knows they ate enough of them back in the day, but what else could they buy that would fill a belly for their money?

When he appears again it's with the rattle of keys in his pocket- and with a small bouquet of flowers. Steve Rogers: in for a penny, in for a pound. "Here. I'm looking forward to seeing how well those survive your bike."

"Oh, I'd only take you to the best potato place in town, pal!" Bucky says loudly, not missing a beat. "Baked potato, fried potato, mashed potato..." But he's grinning when he says it; obviously, he's kidding. He's still nervous about this, despite himself. This wasn't how he'd planned on spending his evening, but he's not going to complain, not when Steve had agreed to this in the first place. He'd taken a huge chance, and as far as Bucky's concerned, it's paid off completely.

When Steve reappears at the door with a bouquet, Bucky's face turns scarlet. "Now you've gone and made me feel guilty. I might end up ruining these! You'll have to hold onto 'em for me, I don't think I can hold them and drive at the same time." He winks, walking back to the bike and throwing his leg over the bike.

"You'll have to grab onto me like a dame if you want a ride!"

"God." He'd say Bucky hasn't changed a bit, but of course they know he has. That they both have. It's just that the whole song and dance he goes through feels like more than the memories of another life- because Steve might as well be there. Watching him chat up one pretty girl after another. Watching him lean onto one elbow and make her laugh, watching him brush the knuckles of one hand against her curls, watching him guide her onto the dancefloor. He has to be an expert. He has to know Bucky Barnes' flirting at a hundred paces.

Turns out it's different on the receiving end of that smile and wink.

Steve rolls his eyes, unable to suppress the laugh and unbothered by the sound that slips out as his friend heads right back to his bike- leaving Steve with the bouquet and a front door to lock. "You just want to get all the credit for the flowers." He gets the keys into his coat pocket and doesn't bother buttoning up. Steve has ridden enough motorcycles that he's not going to be unprepared for the mouthful of wind he'll end up with- and besides, Bucky's body will protect him from the worst of it. Whether the flowers make it out in one piece is another matter entirely. Steve gets one leg over and settles in, adjusts his weight.

"Don't think I'm not onto you Barnes."

Of course he's leaving Steve having to take care of everything, it's going just as planned. He flashes a smile at Steve, bright and cheerful. "You can give me the flowers back once we get to the restaurant," he says with a wink.

The drive isn't long at all, and the restaurant Bucky takes Steve to isn't anything fancy. At least, not someone the age they look would consider fancy. It's an old German diner, and even though Bucky holds out his hand to ask for the flowers back, he's smiling like he already has the entire night planned out.

...Well. He does, but that's beside the point. "Best place in town for the two of us. No one in there but a bunch of old men and women like us," he says. Maybe it's a little sad, but it doesn't need to be, especially when the two of them are going to have a great night out. "Toldja I'd find us a great spot for dinner. I eat here a lot, especially when I'm feeling homesick."

"If they survive." The reply is a sarcastic grumble behind Bucky's ear as he gets settled, tucking the bouquet into his jacket and wrapping it up. He turns his chest into Bucky's back and reaches for his side instead of trying to get all the way around to his stomach. It isn't his first time on a bike, but it is his first go of it as a passenger. Only once does Steve's hand flex, his grip tightening against Bucky's ribcage in the seconds before he reminds himself to relax. After that they take the turns in sync, leaning as one shape, straightening as one shape.

He knows the streets pretty well and they don't travel very far, but even with familiar shop names and landmarks, Steve can't figure out where they're going. He wouldn't put it past Bucky to pick a spot just to take the mickey out of him- but the rumble of the engine dies down and Bucky gets the kickstand out and Steve. Steve looks up at the building and feels genuinely disarmed. "I-" He forgets about the flowers in his jacket, looking instead from what is absolutely an oldies diner, back to Bucky with an expression of quiet, startled delight- like he'd expected to be the butt of a joke and found something nice instead.

"This looks great Buck." And it does. Steve doesn't really know what the night holds, what they're doing, how serious any of this is- but he feels a rush of genuine gratitude to find that he's not going to feel like a fish out of water for the whole experience. "Thank you."

"You didn't think I was going to make fun of you, did you?" His smile is easy, unbothered. It's all right if that's what Steve genuinely did think, because the the line between teasing and genuine flirting is blurry and nebulous when it comes to James Buchanan Barnes. He throws an arm around Steve's shoulder easily, because right now he wants the night to be the two of them. They're just two best friends who happen to be on a date; Bucky can't really see the dynamic between them shifting radically.

"You're welcome, Stevie. This really is one of my favorite spots," he says conversationally, leading Steve to the door, and holding it open with his free hand. "After you, pal," Bucky says with a wink, and even takes care of asking for a table for them, one in the corner away from prying eyes, so he can have his left arm facing a wall.

Typical for a diner, the menu is absolutely enormous, and Bucky takes no time at all to start poring through it. "What're you thinking of gettin'?"

Maybe it's because Steve didn't expect it to be easy.

In the combined sum of their history nothing has been. They'd been two kids trying to picture futures for themselves around a world recovering from economic collapse, piecing together what they'd have for dinner or what work they could find. And then there'd been the coming war, a threat inching closer and closer to their shores, becoming part of the American consciousness and the constant topic of conversation. It's always been a fight for Steve, even when it didn't have to be. And now he's here, falling into step with Bucky in a parking lot like they haven't gone that far after all. Or that they have, but the distance has been one big circle taking them to the same place.

Bucky holds the door and Steve ducks his head for the smile that follows. It's a fairly quiet place without being a ghost town. There are no rowdy groups of friends laughing over a few beers, and instead the diner is dotted with senior citizens and a few couples. Even after they wrangle a table in the back, no one gives them as much as a backwards glance.

They tuck in towards the corner. Steve notices that Bucky keeps his arm towards the wall and the door in his line of sight. He doesn't bring it up. Besides, it looks like with a menu of this size he's going to have his work cut out for him. Not that it keeps him for snorting when Bucky hunkers down over the page and asks the inevitable.

"Easy pal, not all of us have the menu memorized." Man, how many pages are there? He flips through and barely reads it, too busy trying to get his head around all the different headers. "But I'm beginning to think I should just let you do the talking. How many times did you say you came here?"

As far as Bucky's concerned, things have gone pretty well for the two of them. Sure, Bucky took too long, and the reason they're here to begin with is... well. He's not really going to talk about the misfire anymore. He's fairly convinced they're safe, and although he can never be truly relaxed when he's not in his or Steve's place, this is nice. He doesn't want to change it, he wants to be able to relax with Steve, be happy that he's here, on a date, with his best friend from a childhood that was nearly a century ago.

"Take your time, pal," he says, grinning, leaning back into the chair. "I figure we're both gonna order multiple courses, huh?" He reaches out with his right hand, putting it deliberately in the center of the table. No one will give them a second glance, even if they do notice the two of them at a table for two.

There aren't many advantages to the future; a lot of things have changed past the point of being recognizable, even though Bucky has spent a long time trying to understand as much of it as possible. This? This is one of them. Not everyone might approve of their relationship-- as just two men together, without their pasts. But enough do. "We could be here until it closes, if you want."

Bucky's hand goes to the middle of the table and Steve forgets to listen to everything else he says. The words that come before and after become invisible little parentheses around the gesture. Offer. Suggestion. Steve looks at it like it's the only thing in the world he can look at, because for the moment it is.

He'd been trying to find some kind of sign, something from Bucky that would tell him how far they were going to take this and how much of it he meant. They've always been good at giving each other grief, and it's not like it'd been a conventional conversation. Bucky had meant to chat up someone else. He's always been chatting someone else up. So he'd wondered.

He'd wondered if this was just a laugh they started and kept going with. If it was really about catching up, the way they haven't really, because something else has always come up. A lifetime ago Steve had been so sure that they'd talk out everything between them once the war was over. Somedays he isn't sure the war ever stopped.

Steve looks at the half-curl of his fingers around a palm that has only a few rough places. He has to have drawn this hand a thousand times. He could know it blind. And then Steve reaches out in kind- touching the tips of his fingers to the curve between index finger and thumb. Not unsure about wanting to, but unsure- unsure about whether or not he could really. Have this.

Bucky is still for a moment, because he doesn't know what Steve is thinking, exactly, if he's thinking about the same thing Bucky is. It's only when he can feel Steve's fingertips on his that he latches onto the hand, lacing their fingers together carefully.

"This is a date, Stevie," he says gently, making sure the other man knows. Steve is his best friend, but this is too much to go to just for a joke, even for Bucky. He doesn't do anything else, not sure what Steve's limits are, and not wanting to ruin it. This is important for both of them, and to be honestly, Bucky doesn't remember the last time he wanted something so badly.

He hesitates for a long moment before he moves their hands closer to his face. Assuming Steve doesn't pull out of the grip, he'll kiss the back of Steve's hand, his expression flirtatious, but entirely sincere.

Maybe it's the intersection of everything. Hearing an old nickname in Bucky's voice, the mouth pressed against his knuckles, confirmation of the one thing Steve couldn't seem to lean into- was too afraid to test the weight of. Because it isn't that he distrusts Bucky. If anything, the criticism Steve gets is that he does it too easily, that there's too much questionable history for him to say and do the things he does.

That's not it. It's that he can't ignore the reason that all of this happened in the first place. Steve is only here because he got a message meant for somebody else. He's only here because-

"You said-" His gaze drops, but he doesn't pull his hand away. Maybe he's struggling to find the words, but that one detail, that Steve allows himself to stay connected- that he wants to, speaks volumes. Their fingers fold through one another, like they've been learning the places between knuckles and joints their whole lives. Maybe they were. "You said you weren't looking for anything serious." The implication hangs in the air: this feels pretty serious.

Bucky watches him carefully, frowning a little. He's not sure what to say suddenly, what might be taken as a joke, so he watches his friend for a long moment, judging his expression and body language carefully Steve hasn't pulled out of the grip, even though he could do it with little trouble. "I also said," Bucky says slowly, "That you're the most important person in my entire life."

He leans in, a little closer, a little more serious. "I don't believe in fate or any of that, you know me. But maybe I was supposed to make an ass of myself in front of you because it was the only way for me to work up the nerve to say anything to you." Bucky smiles, a little awkwardly, but he's glad they don't have anyone bothering them right now. The advantage of this future, of living in a big city.

Bucky laughs a little. "I don't think it's much of a secret to say I was kind of jealous when you were suddenly getting all of the attention from women. Of them, of the fact that you were only getting people paying attention to you once you were six foot tall and covered in muscles.."

He's not used to struggling with what to say to Bucky, and that more than anything is what feels like unfamiliar territory. He's not used to having to grope for the words or feeling lost in the conversation, but maybe, maybe part of that is because it's never been a conversation like this. For as long as they've been knocking elbows and bumping shoulders, it's been rare that one of them needed to lay it all out there. So much has always been unsaid and understood. It had only been sheer bullheadedness that made declarations necessary- moments where one or the other had forgotten, willfully or otherwise.

Bucky looks like he's really taking his time with this. Like he's picking his way through the words and measuring them out. Steve can feel him watching his face and weighing his hand, trying to find his way through. Bucky's always been a better shot. He has a good eye. And then he laughs and it's such a familiar, boyish sound that something in Steve's gut unwinds, tension spooling right out of him.

"I know," he looks at the tabletop, shakes his head. Starts over. "I knew that was the only reason anybody noticed me." And he did know. How could he not? Of the whole world Steve had only ever had his ma and Bucky- later he'd almost had Peggy. But then his ma had gone, and Bucky shipped out.

And after that serum the whole world started noticing him. He knew what changed.

Bucky smiles, leaning forward. It's a good thing there aren't many people around right now, because it's obvious Bucky at least, is taking this seriously. It's a date to him, and he's going to be making sure that Steve knows it as much as possible. "You're my best friend," Bucky says, all smiles, winking at Steve as he squeezes at Steve's hand, making sure their fingers are nice and twined together. "It took me long enough, but as far as I'm concerned, it only makes sense to me. That's what they always talk about in the movies, best friends falling in love."

Yeah, he's said it, and he's said it with a straight face and the slightest of smiles on his lips as he leans in. "I saw it. I've always seen it, Stevie. I'm mostly mad that people couldn't see what I saw."

Maybe it's not the best of things to admit, that he was jealous of someone sweeping in when Steve was suddenly conventionally attractive. Someone coming in out of nowhere and swooping in to take his Stevie away from him. "I don't have to pretend it doesn't bother me anymore. I can admit it, in public, even, without a worry."

It's something else. They must have held hands a hundred times growing up- more when they'd been kids, before that kind of reassurance had dropped off and changed forms- turned into a elbow to the ribs of a hand on the shoulder. Steve remembers Bucky's fingers around his when he'd been too sick to lift his head. He remembers the small squeeze and solid grip that had rested over his shoulders after his mother's burial. It's nothing like watching their fingers thread through one another, settling into the space between joints and knuckles like these were well-worn grooves.

That's what he's thinking about when Bucky decides to wink at him, leaning in close like he's divulging some great secret instead of hashing out old history. Because Steve isn't worried about most of it. He knows that he'd always had Bucky. He knows he had Bucky when he had nothing else- that he'd seen something in Steve Rogers before and during and after he became Captain America. He knows it marrow-deep, in places too old to question.

But Bucky doesn't stop there. He looks right into Steve's face and he says best friends falling in love and the whole world might as well stop turning. He forgets how to inhale. Steve's voice is so quiet that he wouldn't be heard at all if they weren't already half stretched across the table, two continents trying to bridge the ocean.

"What'd you just say?"

Bucky smiles, leaning in close, almost sitting up out of the chair as he watches Steve gently, not saying anything right away, instead chancing bringing up his left hand to grip at Steve's, too, so he has both his hands around Steve. He doesn't have any reason in the world to deny it now, not that he'd been denying all of it-- sure, Bucky likes women. They're beautiful, fun to dance with, fun to spend the night with. He doesn't regret it, but he also has someone much more important than girlfriends from eighty years ago sitting in front of him.

"I love you, Steve." He can't get any closer without actually getting up out of his seat, and as much as he wants this moment to keep on going, he's not exactly eager for people to start paying attention to them. This is for him and Steve, no one else. It doesn't even occur to him that it might be too much, that he might actually spook Steve off with such a declaration because they've been the most important person in the world to each other for years now, probably forever to be honest.

"And I'm not jokin' around, not making fun of you. I mean it."

The words have a weight to them, and objectively, sure- he knows they should. But there are libraries full of history between them. Steve has memories he's sure aren't entirely his own, but they stretch so far back and they bleed into one another so often that he can't remember the last time he feel the need to untangle one from the other. He and Bucky had been unruly weeds, chasing one another's growth without competing for sunlight and to just hear it- blunt and honest in the air. It does something to him. It leaves Steve sitting across from him in stunned silence, rewinding his way through the dozens of times he'd stood at the bar and watched Bucky dance. Replaying the weight of Bucky's hand on his own, when Steve had been buried in blankets and shivering so hard even his bones hurt. The hundreds of drawings, of half-sketches he'd accumulated of Bucky's profile, or his smile, or his hands.

And he wonders if he might have seen it sooner. If it was ever possible for him to see it- like backing away from a painting- to see the whole piece and not just each brush stroke.

His mouth is dry.

Steve swallows against it, hyper aware of the places where their fingers lace through one another, knuckle against bone. And he thinks maybe Bucky has a point. Maybe it's about time. Maybe it's now or never.

And that's when the waitress approaches, waddling over from Steve's left with one hand smoothing out her apron.

It had taken finding himself in a completely different century for Bucky to really start to understand what it meant, and even then what had really taken it was Steve saving his life and breaking Bucky from HYDRA's control. He's waiting for Steve to say anything at all, something that feels like Bucky has been waiting for forever.

He's halfway tempted to doing something a little more bold, but the appearance of the waitress startles him out of the moment. She doesn't look like she's judging them; her expression is perky and chipper, and she looks over the two of them with the sort of interest she probably gives everyone who ends up at the diner, so there's that. She doesn't look judgemental, and her smile is nearly as bright as her white hair.

"What can I get you boys to drink tonight?"

"Coffee's fine," Bucky says, switching gears like he hadn't just confessed something so intimate. "Black; no sugar."

"Coffee please," Steve says a beat too late, wrong footed and lost in the space between the waitress' voice and the ease with which Bucky seems to move from one thing to another. But that's always been Bucky. He could fit in anywhere. Growing up he'd watched people take to Bucky like a duck to water, fond of him before they realized why. A friend anywhere he went and looking for all the world like he belonged where ever he landed.

Steve's jaw works, then his face lifts to look at her. She's got a friendly, affectionate sort of feel- like she's been everybody's grandmother. Steve smiles at her, small and shy like he's still that skinny kid who'd gone to church and ended all his sentences with yes ma'am. "I'll take his sugar."

As soon as he says it Steve realizes he isn't going to drink the whole thing. This is a nice place. It feels good to be here, comfortable even, which is saying something. But as the woman nods and walks away- Steve looks back across the table and, braver than he feels- "Can we leave after the drink?"

Bucky gives Steve a warm smile, nodding. "Yeah," he says after a moment. "That's fine. We can come back here some other time; I'm here all the time, so they won't mind much." He offers a comforting smile as soon as he's done talking, the smile almost permanently plastered on his face, but not stilted looking at all. "I'll buy us some dessert to go; that way they won't mind too much that we grabbed some coffee and ran." But that last bit is said lightly, he's clearly joking more than anything else.

"It might be nice, just the two of us instead of in here for the first time.. We can talk things out, right?" It's an offer, not anything concrete. James Buchanan Barnes has always been good at improvisation, it's one of those things he considers his charms.

He likes the idea of using his charms on Steve, just on Steve.

He likes the idea of it as soon as Bucky says it. I'm here all the time. It's the kind of thing he would have said in another life- in their other life. When Bucky could have routines. When he could have places he went to over and over because he liked them. When people could get to know him a little and see his crooked smile and hear his god awful jokes.

Once, Steve would've been right there with him.
Haunting the same seats every time and having a usual.

Now it's Bucky's place. Bucky's thing that he's sharing with Steve- like letting him in on a secret. Steve thinks he might be a foot taller and a hundred pounds extra, but his heart still feels too big for his ribcage. It isn't until Bucky says it though that Steve realizes that the people in this diner probably have adopted Bucky- if the grandmotherly waitress was anything to go by. It's gotta be terrible manners, showing up for coffee and running out on someone's grandparents. Steve isn't taking it back, but he does have the good grace to feel a little guilty about it. For the first time Bucky said. Like there would be more.

"Unless you think they'll kick me out next time, for running off with their favourite customer."

Bucky's smile is mischievous. "I can't say they'll mind. I've been telling Debbie about you, just a bit." From context, it's probably clear 'Debbie' is the kind old lady currently acting as their waitress. It's clear he doesn't mind, because his attention is focused on Steve as much as it's been the entire night, up until the waitress returns with their coffees.

His charming smile is back, debonair and handsome. "Something's come up, Debbie. Nothin' bad, but we'll have to get goin' after our coffee. You think you could get us some of the pastries to go? You know the ones I like."

Debbie's laugh is just as grandmotherly as everything else about her, clearly charmed by Bucky, and giving Steve a gentle smile. If she recognizes him as Captain America, she's saying absolutely nothing about it. "I'll let you off easy this time, Bucky," she says teasingly, "But next time I'll expect the two of you here the entire time."

She walks off to get their check, and the pastries, and Bucky turns back to Steve, grinning. "See? Toldja you didn't have anything to worry about."

Debbie, he thinks. Debbie the waitress who scolds you like she's your ma.

Steve has the good grace to duck his head when she teases them, but that might also be because despite how Bucky turned out, Steve at least was raised well enough to know when he's being scolded. He doesn't think he could stop the smile if he tried. It's a little helpless and a little bashful, like he's still a skinny kid from Brooklyn, and he offers a warm but dutiful "Yes Ma'am," before she disappears to go get their bill.

Steve's never going to let him live this down. It's getting an early birthday present, watching Bucky beam at this woman and lean towards her when he talks, watching her call him Bucky. Their mugs sit in the space between them, steaming faintly and the smell reminds him of both of coming downstairs into the kitchen he'd grown up in, and of sitting around a fire in the middle of Europe, drinking sludge. There's a sense of timelessness to it. Of being an exception to the rules. He realizes a beat too late that this is exactly why Bucky thought to bring him, and the swell of affection, of appreciation that rises up in him is too fast to fight off- so he doesn't even try.

"Yeah you say that now, but we don't all have your boyish good looks. We all know I was the bad influence."

"You were the bad influence?" Bucky's laugh is delighted, and he leans in a little more, his mug of coffee in his hand, a grin on his face. He doesn't protest more than that, humming a little. "The coffee here's good. It's probably nothin' special, but it reminds me of home." Even if it's not a home they can go back to, Bucky misses it. Having Steve with him helps a lot, because they can be two old men out of time together.

"I'm gonna be bringing you back here next weekend, you know," he says cheerfully. "Maybe sooner." Something just for the two of them, to be able to spend time together when they don't have to worry about things like bad guys, or someone trying to attack a city. They can just be two men in their thirties without so much resting on their shoulders.

"What do you think? Want to make this place a regular spot for us?" It's an offer, because while it's been his place for a long time, he has no problem sharing it with Steve. He wants to share it with Steve, but what's even more important to him is knowing Steve wants to be with him, because ultimately the places they go together aren't the important thing to him.

"Figure you'd like a quiet birthday."

Bucky says 'home' and Steve understands the sentiment even if he's not sure he could point to a specific place these days. In the broad sense maybe home will always be Brooklyn, but maybe it'll also be the 40s. Maybe some of it was sitting at the table with his ma, or listening to Bucky read aloud when he'd been sick in bed, or playing cards with the Howlies and losing so bad that the guys wouldn't stop taking the mickey out of him.

There isn't any going back, Peggy had told him as much.
There's just this. Going forward one day at a time.

And right now that forward has Bucky smiling as easy as anything, one hand wrapped around his mug while he maps out the vague and mysterious 'next weekend.' Steve isn't sure he's even thought about tomorrow yet. -But it sure sounds like a nice idea. "I think-"

Something about it must show on Steve's face because he reaches for his own mug and draws it in close, keeps his head low like he's trying to hide his expression and knowing ahead of time that it isn't going to work. Bucky's always been able to read him like a book. It used to drive him crazy.

"Sooner sounds better."

When Steve requests the next date be sooner, Bucky's smile stretches to both sides of his face. Yeah, he can do this. It sounds nice, wonderful even. "Tomorrow night, then?" he asks, because he thinks he'd like that, to have a chance where it's just him and Steve, again. It'll probably be even better the next time around, after they've had some time to discuss things. What they want, how fast they should go... there's a lot for him to think about, and plenty for Steve to work through as well.

He nudges Steve under the table with his foot, smiling. "Y'know, this doesn't have to end just 'cause we're not going to be sticking around for dinner. I could cook you something in the apartment." Yes, in Steve's own apartment. He doesn't care, it's not like he's never done it before, though Steve probably has ended up puzzled when Bucky always insists of cooking in the past.

"Maybe you could show me one of those movies you're always talking about."

Steve says sooner and like a hundred times before he gets what he asked for- and then some. If it were anyone else he might say they were moving too fast, because Steve's always had a tendency to get hung up on things like this. It's more than being old-fashioned because it was old-fashioned before things were old. It had never bothered him to see how quickly Bucky could tumble into infatuation, to watch him get head over heels for some pretty blond that liked his crooked smile. And hell it's not like he was the only guy Steve ever heard talk- get starry-eyed over a date that went well or the promise of another one to come. Steve had always figured that maybe that'd click into place for him one day too, but he hadn't felt the need to push it. He could take his time.

And there's that familiar refrain: ask for an inch and receive a mile.

He gets a little lost in it, in what's outside of the moment, until Bucky's foot finds his. Just like that he's a skinny teenager again on a terrible double date, feeling Bucky nudge his ankle beneath the table instead of the girl he'd been aiming for. In retrospect- maybe he'd read that wrong too.

The contact takes the tension out of him either way, pushing it out of Steve's shoulders on an exhale and leaving him with both elbows on the countertop- leaning casually, comfortably, into their shared space. He takes another long swallow of coffee because it tastes good, and because this is Bucky's place, and because the waitress who brought it over is named Debbie and she nags his best friend. Steve almost dips his head to hide the smile. Almost, but doesn't.

"Well, it's definitely been a while since I watched you cook." The memory alone could probably make his stomach growl. "But those movies are all documentaries, you're gonna be bored out of your mind."

Sooner is nice, sooner is wonderful, because Bucky knows he wants to do this sort of thing as many times as possible. This place is perfect, as far as he's concerned. He wouldn't be here constantly if he didn't love it. And now? He gets to share it with Steve, and if it didn't work out well tonight, that's fine, because Bucky has always been an incredibly patient man.

Bucky smiles the moment Steve relaxes, leaning in close, hands folded in a way that makes him look like he's happily thinking through his options. Bucky's never been the man with all the plans, though. He's just good at acting like he is, because sometimes playing it by ear is incredibly exhilarating, especially if his partner is having a good time, and is either oblivious to Bucky doing things as he goes along, or otherwise not minding either way.

"Documentaries, huh?" Bucky grins. "Yeah, might be a little boring." His grin widens as he thinks of the next thing to say, dropping to a whisper even though he's not saying anything bad-- maybe a little embarrassing, but nothing lewd. "What about those cartoons you told me about? I remember you practically dragging me out of the apartment to go see Snow White. You spent an entire evening telling me about how Uncle Walt was a revolutionary."

He should have expected it. He should have expected something because he's seen that look on Bucky's face often enough to know what it means, and to know that trouble's not far behind. People have been telling him for ages that Steve has this habit of getting right into the thick of it and sure, he's been beat up too many times to deny it. But they forget that Bucky was always right there with him. That he too came out with bloody noses and scuffed knuckles and a wide, easy smile.

He's expecting to be embarrassed the moment Bucky's voice drops, and it raises every hair on the nape of his neck in an early warning tingle. He isn't expecting Bucky to bring up Snow White. God, that was ages ago. It startles a laugh right out of him and Steve feels his face start to go, feels the blush he never did grow out of and the one that looks all wrong on him now. "Oh God-" Both hands come up to his face only to drag down a moment later. Like it'd been reflex to try and cover it up and then a different kind of reflex to let the wall back down. "You remember that?"

He'd been over the moon about it the whole walk to the theater too- hands stuffed in his pockets as they got there, hands out of his pockets when they left. Gesturing wildly the whole walk home, caught up by the concept and the visuals, by the way a series of drawings could come together and tell a story, convey mood, speak to something in all of them. To comment on the universal. "I thought you didn't like it!"

Bucky can't help his own laugh, delighted by how startled it makes Steve, by how embarrassed he looks. It's adorable, and Bucky has no problem admitting that to himself as he grins, liking the blush that creeps across his friend's face. "'Course I remember it," he says easily, nodding. "You spent a whole month saving up tickets so we could get nice seats." It had been worth it, too. No dames with them, and in the dark it meant that Bucky could sneak leaning in as close to Steve as the seats would let him.

"Just 'cause it wasn't really my thing doesn't mean I didn't like seeing you be wild about it, pal," Bucky says easily. Because it's true, because seeing Steve being happy, even back in better days, had been worth saving up every penny. It's honest, and he can't help how happy it makes him, thinking about Steve telling him all about the animation of today. "I liked how happy it made you."

Maybe it's too much to admit, because they're still working this out. Because this all started because Bucky had fucked up trying to contact a one night stand. "Gotta admit, I don't remember the conversation we had after the movie that clearly. You should tell me about it again."

Just like that it's like nothings changed at all.

Maybe it's just the way history is; collect enough of it in one place and the rhythm becomes natural to sink into. Steve can't even begin to count the number of times they'd wound up like this before- elbowing each other in the ribs or leaning into the other's space, doubled over with a laugh. Taking the mickey out of each other just because they could. Because they did it best. Bucky's laugh hits the air like they're a pair of teenagers heading home for the night all over again- winding their way through familiar short cuts and cracking jokes about the kinds of truths no one else ever really got to know.

"Oh that's definitely not gonna happen," Steve tells him, like he means it when they both know there's no heat behind the words. When has he ever been good at keeping things from Buck? When has he ever wanted to?

"But they've got a whole line of films like that now. Way more than I can count, and definitely more than I've seen." Admittedly some of that has been a lack of downtime, but Steve's never been great at being idle. Probably too late to learn. "If you've really got your heart set on it, there's this dalmatian one where the backgrounds are all painted-" He catches one of his hands lifting from the table, spots it mid-air and brings it back down to circle his mug. Steve doesn't even feel embarrassed about it, he just shakes his head, unable to get the smile off his face. "And don't think I don't know when you're trying to wind me up."

"No?" Bucky grins, clearly amused. He laughs a little, scooting closer, keeping a look-out for the waitress, but really wanting to flirt more, until they have to leave and he gets to flirt even more. His head tips a little, listening carefully, happy to hear Steve talk about art. How many times have their conversations ended up something serious, something unpleasant? But this, this is something he likes, something that makes his heart flutter a little.

"Sure," he says. "I'd love to watch it." He wants to hear Steve talk about animation again-- how much fun had it been to watch his best friend's eyes light up after the movie was over, how he tried to disguise the tears in his eyes. It had been, frankly, adorable, and it was only the times they'd been living in that had prevented him from making a move on his best pal then and there.

Steve, happily talking about anything at all is a rare treat, one he wants to hear more about. "You know, I think I saw something about that on the Internet once," he says cheerfully. "Sleepin' Beauty, or something like that? All those backgrounds were painted, too." If he can get Steve to relax and talk about art for the rest of the night, it'll mean he's done his job.

If he looks at it objectively- if he really gets outside himself enough to get his eyes on it, then maybe it'd be easier to call a spade a spade. God knows he's watched Bucky flirt plenty of times, and he's definitely seen it up close. He knows what the angle of each smile means and how much time passes between each shift of his shoulders- when their heads would come together, when their hands would almost touch. But being inside that himself is a whole other animal- it asks him to translate a language he's never tried to speak before.

The mug is a good equalizer. Steve's always found it easier to sink into his skin if he's able to do something, even if that something was just with his hands. And this is no exception. "Sure, but they also reused some of those pieces. Like that dance at the end of Beauty and the Beast. It's the same one in Sleeping Beauty, frame for frame." He lifts it for a swallow now and again, but there's something almost absent about the gesture. Like he's doing it because that's what he's supposed to when there's a cup in his hand- but mostly he keeps it cradled between his palms. Presses the pad of his thumb into the place where the handle meets the rim. Lets the warmth seep into his fingers.

"The dalmatians movie was where they started putting the pictures together differently. It's the first time you can see the pencil lines from the artists drawing them, instead of cleaned up pieces by the people inking and coloring and taking photos."

It doesn't matter to Bucky how awkward Steve is right now, how he's feeling-- as long as he's not giving a firm no, Bucky is content thinking Steve is just feeling a little out of his element, maybe still thinking Bucky is teasing him. He'll just have to change his buddy's mind about that, keeping his attention fully on Steve, foot underneath the table brushing against his friend's. It's just the two of them, that's not a gesture that can be misinterpreted.

"Maybe that was on purpose?" Bucky asks, curiously. After all, it didn't take an artist to see the jump in quality from the Mickey Mouse cartoons to Snow White. "They liked it, so they decided to reuse it, so sharp-eyed fans would notice." There are probably other reasons, too, but that's all he can think of. Steve probably knows the actual answer, anyway, and that'll make it all the better when he explains it.

"You should show me that one," he says cheerfully. "Tonight, I mean. If you've got it." He wants to hear all about it, how much Steve knows about the movie.

The thing is, he's given shockingly few firm no's to Bucky throughout their lives. It isn't a get out of jail free card because he's never been shy about calling him to the carpet- or giving him grief, or squaring off in a fight. But Bucky knows him. Bucky knows him to the marrow. That kind of understanding about another person never really goes away. It hadn't even with HYDRA treating Bucky's head like a city block- something to be razed and rebuilt.

His leg stretches out beneath the table enough that his foot knocks into Steve's own. It isn't an accidental touch, and it isn't meant to goad him either. Steve's gaze lifts mid-sentence and lands on his friend's face- aware of the easy way he leans into the space between them, the smile playing at the corner of his mouth, the way he's looked at Steve and almost nowhere else. Something warm and molten settles in the pit of his stomach, and instead of mulling it over and changing his mind, Steve hooks his own foot around Bucky's ankle- and just stays there. Keeping them connected even if it's out of sight.

The mug clatters softly when it comes down onto the table and Steve's head shakes- small disbelief maybe. Or a laugh he doesn't let out. "You really got your heart set on listening to me ramble about all of that?" There are plenty of films he hasn't seen, even the animations, because by incident and intention he just didn't have that kind of downtime. But maybe that could change. Maybe it wouldn't always be this way.

It's not an accidental touch at all, and it's their fortune that Debbie hasn't returned yet-- probably because she is a very savvy lady who can tell a date when she sees one. It's something he likes about this future, about this city. That plenty of elderly folks are "hippies", and far more progressive than Bucky would have ever thought.

When Steve hooks his foot around Bucky's own, Bucky smiles warmly, suddenly wishing they were sitting on the same side of the booth. It would be easier to hook his arm around Steve's shoulder, pulling him close. For now, he can't do that. But once they get back to the apartment, once the poor flowers have been placed in a vase, he's going to wrap his arm around Steve, and not let go for the rest of the night.

His smile is as brilliant as it is happy. "Yeah, Stevie. I want to hear you talking about how much you like it." Seeing Steve truly happy about something is something he's always going to want. "Me, I don't really notice things in animated movies. But I like it when you point them out to me. You're always noticing the little things."

A whole world that knows his face, his name in history books and museum exhibits- and there's only one person who calls him Stevie. Maybe its the old nickname, but it could be their ankles locked around each other too. It could be Bucky smiling, honest to god smiling after everything. It could be I want to hear you talk about how much you like it.

Steve's chin ducks towards his chest in an aborted move to hide his smile, to try and reverse the fission of embarrassed pleasure that makes his cheeks warm. There's no point really. Its not the first time and won't be the last that Bucky's gotten a rise out of him. It was worse when they were kids; before Steve had a name for this feeling, before he knew why it happened, why it felt so much bigger than everything else.

"That's because you follow the story while I'm just trying to figure out how they did it." It speaks volumes to how comfortable he's becoming now that Steve's let himself sink into their familiar momentum- because he isn't looking for their waitress or worried about interruption. His whole world has narrowed itself down to Bucky looking at him from across the table. Bucky hanging onto him underneath. "I just don't want you getting the wrong idea. I'm not an expert, you just make me sound like one."

Bucky leans in a little more, reaching out into the center of the table, right-handed to keep his left tucked away for a little while longer. He doesn't say anything about the gesture, doesn't call any more attention to it, just leaves it as it is. An offer, should Steve choose. They're not exactly doing this in front of an audience, it should be just fine. They would never have been able to safely do this in the Forties, not even in the back-alley bars he heard whispers of back in the day.

"You're selling yourself short," Bucky says. He knows he's buttering Steve up; that's the point. "You're still an artist; you know a lot more than I do. Besides, your opinions are always interesting." He doesn't know the first thing about art, wouldn't even know where to start. But Steve has always made it something worth learning about.

Still, he shrugs a little. "If you don't want to talk about it too much, that's fine. But I still want to watch the dog movie." It's not like Bucky has ever bothered to look up what movies have been released in the last seventy years; that's not something he's had an opportunity for. But now, he can change it.

Bucky's hand goes to the middle of the table and it doesn't feel like crossing some kind of no-man's land. It doesn't even feel like a question, because he just does it. He does it like he knows what'll happen already and maybe he has to after all these years. When has Steve ever let him down? When has Steve ever refused to meet him halfway, despite the consequences?

That doesn't mean he doesn't recognize flattery when he sees it. Bucky doesn't just reach for him, he starts in on the compliments and Steve snorts even as their fingers find one another- slotting into the space between each knuckle as if they've been doing it their whole lives. "Now you're really laying it on thick." It's a good-natured tease, not a jealous of venomous one. "You forget I've seen every trick in your book?"

Bucky can't help the grin, even as he leans a little further in, squeezes at Steve's hand with a wink. "Is it working?" He isn't bothered by Steve calling him out like this, because it's not like Bucky is lying. And it's not like he has eyes for anyone but Steve. He opens his mouth to say something, but Debbie takes that moment to appear with the check and a small bag which she sets on the table.

"There you go. You dears take your time." Her smile is as grandmotherly as it always has been.

"Thanks, Debbie. We'll see you again real soon," Bucky says, to which Debbie says "Don't be a stranger, James," before leaving the two of them alone once again.

Bucky grins again as soon as she's left. "What do you think? Definitely coming back, huh?"

Its a little like watching a scene from a movie. Bucky opens his mouth to say something and Debbie the Waitress reappears with a take away bag. Bucky doesn't jolt away from Steve's touch like he's been burned or like they're trying to keep a secret. She smiles at him like he's her favourite grandson and Steve feels like he's back in 1938, watching every little old lady in the block get sweet on the nice young man helping them carry their groceries.

She says 'don't be a stranger James,' and Steve wonders how he found this place. How often he comes here. What he talks to her about. He wonders at what its like for Bucky to have people that only know him as James, who probably comes around all the time and flirts with the staff. Of course he doesn't know for sure, but its nice to roll the idea around and let himself be surprised by it. The hint of what their lives could have been like if they'd bee allowed to live them.

Bucky lights up at him and Steve finds himself smiling in kind. "I can see why you like it."

He looks giddy, like it's been a long time since he's felt so happy, so cheerful. He sits up a little, heart hammering in his chest. Why does he feel like a school boy all of a sudden? He's a grown man, and it takes everything he has to let the smirk fade from his face long enough for him to talk. "Yeah," he agrees. It feels like home, like he can really, truly be himself without fear of judgement.

"You want to head home?" He gestures at Steve with a tiny smile on his lips. "Hopefully the flowers will survive the round trip." They can pay on the way out as Bucky tells Steve exactly what he's going to cook for him, even if he's still not that much of a cook. It's a little easier now, at least, now that they're not going to be on such a shoe-string budget. Now, it's downright comfortable, and Bucky moves to pick up the bag of pastries happily.

"We can cuddle on the couch and you can show me that movie."

There's an outrageous novelty to it- to watching Bucky smile so readily and to the easy way he talks about the rest of the night. Steve's been on a few dates, enough to read these little signals like a series of signs along the road- telling him where he is, where he's been, where they might go- and it makes his heart feel too big for his ribcage. Makes it feel like it's trying to jump up into his throat. God, when was the last time he felt this nervous? It's Bucky. Bucky who used to push his hair back from his face when he was sick and who held a cloth to the back of his neck when he'd been talked into drinking too much. Bucky who set his broken nose and who laughed at him when he fell in their terrible bathtub in their equally terrible apartment.

Steve climbs up out of the safety of the booth and into the strange unknown that stretches out ahead of them- into the understanding that everything about their relationship is changing and that it isn't just something that's happening- it's something they're deciding to do with their own two hands.

"Alright alright, I'll show you the movie." He doesn't think he could stop smiling if he tried. "There's this part in the beginning where the people look like their dogs," his head shakes, "You're gonna love that."

Bucky slings an arm around Steve. It's an affectionate gesture, as cheerful as it is obvious. They're not alone, but he's comfortable enough to do this, to know the people in this small diner like Bucky enough that nothing's going to happen. "C'mon then, pal, we've got places to be." He leads.

"What kinda people? Because you're right, pal, that sounds amazing."

He'll keep the conversation going-- that casual sort of cheerfulness that Steve is bound to be used to, even if the attention solely on him might still be new. But unless Steve says something, Bucky is more than happy to continue with the flirting, helping Steve onto the motorcycle once they're outside, flashing a charming smile at his best friend, the person who means more to him than anything else in the world.

The ride home doesn't take long, and Bucky has barely parked and he's already helping Steve down, flashing another charming smile. "You got any popcorn to go with the movie?"