i just got you back

7 | 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔

Trigger warning: slight mentions of homophobia, death

Brooklyn
October 15, 1936

☀︎︎

Bucky was up early. He didn't mean to, but he's been like that for the past couple of weeks. He's made a vow to never leave Steve's side anymore. Sarah's condition was getting worse each day. Steve is scared for his life, and so is Bucky.

Both of them were well aware that Steve's loving and caring mother wouldn't last for long. The skinny and frail young eighteen-year-old boy would have to deal with a lot of things once his mother dies. He knows he wouldn't make it all alone, but despite this, he wouldn't want his situation to bother Bucky and therefore made plans of his own.

The daylight makes its way through the bedroom and Bucky's bare left arm. He was only wearing an undershirt and boxers, which he usually wears whenever he sleeps for the night. Brooklyn was busy as usual. His gaze turns to the other side of bed where Steve snores peacefully. Although it looked adorable, he wasn't in the best condition; he got another case of fever just five days ago. And as usual, Bucky, the only good doctor he has (before Dr. Erskine, of course) would come and rescue him with medicines, food, and the love and care he needs, especially now that he's having multiple mental breakdowns.

Bucky would do anything to show Steve that he cares for him, and that he loves him very much, although he knows he can't say that to him. It's wrong. It's wrong to love someone the same gender as yours. People would call you a disgrace. A faggot. An outcast to society. They'd kill you if they find out. But maybe, in some other enlightened time, where people will accept you for who you truly are, maybe he could freely tell Steve how he feels and maybe, just maybe, Steve would feel the same way.

Oh, who is he kidding? He's just a hopeless bisexual romantic, and that's just the story of his life.

He brings his hand to Steve's forehead, feeling his temperature. Steve had somehow recovered, and it's good news. He took a good while to stare at his features. He's very beautiful, if only he could acknowledge it himself.

Who wouldn't love this young boy?

Eventually, after moments of ethereal silence, Bucky reluctantly got off the bed, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. And maybe prepare some coffee as well. Maybe coffee isn't a good idea since Steve still has an ounce of the fever, but it wouldn't hurt to take a small sip, would it?

By the time Bucky had finished preparing, Steve is out of his bed, groggily walking towards the dining area, rubbing all of the last remnants of sleep in his eyes from last night. "Buck, I think I feel better now."

"You do look like it," Bucky smiles. He's genuinely happy to see his beloved friend recover. "I made breakfast. I hope it'll make you feel any better."

Steve sat down on the chair, returning the charming smile. "Thank you so much, Buck. I really mean it. We're not even related yet you're here helping me and mama with our problems."

Bucky chuckles. "Of course we're related. We're best friends."

He slightly ponders at the term. They are best friends, and it ends there. Nothing more, and it can go less.

Steve laughs. "Good point."

Sarah allowed him to stay at Bucky's for the night, which would hopefully make him get better. She knew how influential Bucky is to Steve. Without knowing it, Steve heavily depends on Bucky. Sarah knows he'll be better off with the young man when she dies, so she let him go.