Steve laid in bed, awake. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but he was guessing it had been a while. Especially since Natasha's breathing was soft and even, and had been for a while. Steve turned his head to look at Natasha. She was sleeping the way that she always did, on her stomach.
Turning back to his previous position, staring up at the ceiling, Steve knew that he couldn't stay in bed any longer. So, cautiously, Steve climbed out of bed. Making sure not to move too much in hopes of not disturbing Natasha because, as a surprise to absolutely no one, she was grumpy when she didn't get enough sleep.
When Natasha didn't stir, Steve crossed the room and grabbed his charging phone. Luckily for Steve, it was almost time for him to take his T shot. So, Steve headed into the bathroom and internally groaned when the door creaked.
With the door shut and locked, Steve turned on the light and, a little too cheerfully, made his way over to the mirrored cabinet where he had placed his T and comfort assist syringes. Washing his hands, he tried to hype himself up. Even though he knew that this was what his body needed and even though he had been doing so weekly for the past four months, Steve still hated doing it.
Once his hands were dried, Steve took in a deep breath. Grabbing an individually packaged disinfectant patch, a syringe, and the small vial of testosterone. Opening the wipe, he carefully swiped it over the top of the vial before pausing. Suddenly, Steve couldn't remember which leg he was supposed to inject.
After a moment of consideration, Steve decided to just do his left and promptly pulled his shorts leg up to rub the wipe over his thigh. Once that was done, Steve tossed the wipe into the nearby trashcan and upcapped the syringe. Taking the small bottle of T into his hand, Steve poked the needle into the top and started filling the syringe with way more than he currently needed. But Steve liked to have enough liquid so when he pushed it back into the vial to get all the air bubbles out, there'd be enough left over in the syringe.
Having his correct dosage, Steve removed the needle and pinched his thigh to create more fat to inject himself. Sure, there wasn't a lot. But Steve made do with what he had. Taking in a deep breath, Steve jabbed the needle into his thigh and blew the breath out as he pushed the hormone into his body.
With teary eyes, Steve capped the syringe again and set it in the sharps waste container. Washing his hands again, Steve went through with the rest of his morning routine. His leg was still sore, but he knew that it was worth it. Steve knew that if he had to inject himself every day, he'd still do it. Gladly, he'd add.
Ready for his day, he quietly exited the bathroom and made sure to grab his current novel before exiting the bedroom. Keeping his steps light, Steve didn't want to disturb anyone else, he headed over to the breakfast nook where the mismatched kitchen table was. Turning on the light and sliding into the bench seat where he could stretch out his sore leg.
Getting comfy on the cushioned bench, Steve opened the novel and started to settle in for a good read. Partly in hopes that it would tire him. Even though he knew that it probably won't. Especially not in the middle of a coming-of-age romance where the characters were falling for each other even though they denied it to everyone, including themselves.
As Steve was caught up in the novel, the lights under the kitchen cabinets turned on. With furrowed brows, Steve looked towards the other kitchen entrance to find Bucky. Bucky was rubbing his eyes with his large hand, not noticing Steve yet.
Steve's brows relaxed as he took Bucky in. With Bucky's bedhead causing his brown locks to spring out in different directions, he instantly made Steve's heart stutter. With the way Bucky was only wearing a pair of navy-blue boxer briefs hanging lowly on his hips, revealing a toned torso that Steve would've never guessed he possessed, Steve's breath hitched.
A blush forming on the apples of Steve's freckled cheeks, Steve returned his gaze to his book. Although he would've liked nothing more than to just sit there observing Bucky, he knew that he had to let Bucky know that he wasn't alone.
So, Steve softly questioned, "Couldn't sleep?"
At that, Steve could see out of his periphery the way that Bucky froze in the doorway. Bucky's hand dropped from his eyes and he turned his gaze on Steve with quirked eyebrows before slipping a pair of black frame glasses on. Steve glanced up then, deciding that Bucky was unfairly attractive.
Bucky blinked a few times before heading over to the coffee maker and clearing his throat. In a sleep dripped voice, Bucky clarified, "I usually wake up early on Mondays."
"Why's that?" Steve asked, watching Bucky enter the mudroom out of the corner of his eyes.
A moment later, Bucky returned to the kitchen sporting a pair of fleece gray shorts and tugging on a plain white t-shirt as he replied, "Monster Movie Monday."
"Monster Movie Monday?" Steve repeated with furrowed brows, setting his book on the table.
"Yup," Bucky confirmed, grabbing a box of Trix cereal from the small pantry cabinet and a midnight blue ceramic bowl from the cupboard. As he started pouring the cereal, he explained, "Every Monday during the summer one of the local channels plays old monster movies from five to nine; a double feature of sorts."
As Bucky went to grab the milk from the fridge, he paused and turned to face Steve. With his brows in a deep furrow, Bucky asked, "Do you want something to eat? You don't have to have cereal. We have bread. I think we might even have cinnamon raisin. Or if you'd rather have pancakes, we have some pancake mix. And chocolate chips too, if you like to add those. It's no hassle at all, I can --"
"Cereal is fine," Steve interrupted. Blushing when his sleepy brain realized that it was rude. Sheepishly, Steve moved out from the bench and crossed the kitchen. His body practically thrumming from being near Bucky.
Bucky bashfully looked away and joked, "Well, you're in the right house if you're a cereal fan."