And everything's good when you're with me (English)

Steve/Bucky, post-TWS

Fluff, slightly angsty

Trigger warning: mentions of PTSD

credit

Bucky is sitting in the living room with a messy bun on his head. His hands are gripping the remote control. The white paint is missing from most of the buttons but he knew their functions by heart already after the number of nights he’s spent awake. He is sipping his already cold coffee without actually paying attention to it; soft murmurs are coming from the television. Bucky doesn’t even know which channel was on, let alone the actual topic ‒ he just reached for the remote control as he did every time his eyes popped open in the middle of the night, and he pressed a button. Then he went to make some coffee. Coffee is important. At least this way Steve wouldn’t have to spend time with it when he wakes up.

One thing interferes with Bucky’s perfect plan which he, for some reason, never counts on, and that thing is Steve, sweet, only Steve ‒ he always wakes up when Bucky can’t sleep and they drink the coffee together (so Steve will have to make some more of it anyway) with the TV playing in the background. Bucky scoops closer to Steve and he toys carelessly with Bucky’s unregulated locks.

Bucky enjoys these nights. Although he’s usually tired as fuck the morning after, these nights are the most memorable and most intimate ones. The apartment is peaceful and quiet; Bucky and Steve, covered with blankets, rest their heads on each other’s shoulders while drinking their coffees, Bucky kisses Steve’s neck infinite times ‒ as this is his favorite activity ‒ and Steve giggles warmly; the loudness of Brooklyn’s crowd and traffic seems to get quieter because they are together, then and there, the two of them.

“Sleep is necessary sometimes,” Steve says.

“Sleep is overrated,” Bucky gives a kiss to Steve’s neck. Steve breathes out deeply.

“But what if we tried it every once in a while?”

“I know what sleep is like. There are dreams. Which are bloody.” Bucky leaves Steve’s neck alone and stares in front of himself instead.

“The Winter Soldier?” Steve asks with pure compassion.

“Well, not my period.”

Steve pulls Bucky closer to kiss him lightly then he stands up.

“Do you want something to eat?”

“Sure. What?”

Steve stares into the open fridge. “Let’s see… Microwave pizza or pasta with something red on it? Could be blood, knowing us.”

“Do not offend my tomato pasta,” Bucky huffs. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to cook?”

“Then I hope you’ll eat what you made.”

“You haven’t even tried it.”

“And I have a good reason for that. Look at it.”

“Give me my pasta,” Bucky orders grumpily.

Steve hands him the porcelain bowl ‒ they got it from Clint a few months ago, Steve remembers, when they moved into this apartment ‒, and Bucky shoves the whole thing into the microwave.

Steve frowns. “Are you going to eat it all?”

“It’s good. You’d know if you had tried it.”

For a while the only sound is the buzzing of the microwave. Bucky is tapping on the table rhythmically.

“I’ll eat the bloody pasta with you,” Steve states when the machine beeps. It’s not a suggestion or a favour so Bucky doesn’t oppose, just nods instead. “We’ll become good friends with the toilet tomorrow.”

Steve gives Bucky a plate, the one with the elephant on it (this set was from Natasha, the kind of gift you buy when you have no idea what to buy but Bucky loves it anyway). Bucky places the bowl on the table and Steve drops some pasta on Bucky’s plate first, then his own. Bucky will get some more if he’s really that proud, Steve thinks. Or they’ll throw it out. They will probably throw it out.

They eat in the living room for moral reasons only (who eats still at the table anyways?); Steve swallows the bites out of duty, and Bucky doesn’t want to speak badly of his own creation, so neither of them say anything.

“Next time I cook and you shop,” Steve suggests after they’ve finished.

“Only because you asked so kindly.”

With their plates in his hands, Steve stands up and walks to the kitchen. Bucky stays on the couch, staring at the expressionless face of the woman who announces the five thousandths casualty.

Steve reappears after a while. “Come back to sleep.”

“What’s the time?”

“We can still sleep a few hours.”

“Let’s listen to the rain instead.”

“Tomorrow’s Monday, we have to get up early.”

“Sitting in front of the window is kind of nice.”

“You’ll be tired.”

“Look at the way raindrops fall.”

“The forecast said there won’t be any rainy nights for a few weeks.”

“We’ll sleep tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

***

“You look shitty, Barnes,” Natasha states. “Almost as if it was intentional.”

Bucky lifts his cigarette to his smiling lips. “It is.”

“Intentional?”

“Yup.”

“Steve snores that badly, huh?”

“Nah, it’s just a pleasure to watch America himself sleep.”

“I heard he drools.”

“I don’t know who Steve has slept with but it’s true.”

Nat takes a puff of her cigarette and then she speaks more seriously, in a lowered voice. “I used to have nightmares about my victims too.”

Bucky doesn’t know how she figured it out but he’s learned it’s better not to question Natasha. She just knows.

She continues, looking at Bucky from the side. “Everybody’s got a method but really, there are only two options: accept or forget.”

“Everybody says that.” Bucky takes one last puff before he throws the cigarette to the ground and steps on it. “How could I forget a part of my past?”

“They brainwashed you, James. You didn’t even know who you were. Let alone knowing what you were doing.”

“It was my body, the blood of thousands is on my hands. I’m responsible for my actions.”

“You can think that,” Natasha says while her cigarette lands on the ground too, “but you’re never going to get over it that way.”

Natasha is already inside the Avengers tower behind his back before Bucky could come up with an answer. He wasn’t ready for work yet. He lit another cigarette.

***

After all, it doesn’t matter if he will ever sleep again or not. He has Steve. And everything’s good when he’s with him.