Whoa Bessie ‘verse. I’ve had this scene in my head for what seems like forever. Pretty much no tw (whaaaaat?!) Just foul language, alcohol, and typical angst.
The evening is starting to wane. They probably should’ve left ten minutes ago, but the bartender topped off both their glasses with an “on the house” wink. Finishing the round then became obligatory. James sips and swirls the foam in his glass. Steve can tell he’s in over his head.
“You want the last couple of these?” Steve pulls forward the nearly empty basket of potato wedges. He takes one for himself and gently nudges James’s shoulder.
Steve wants to tell James to stop. Stop drinking, stop fiddling, stop and take a breath. Put his glass down. Take a bite of food. Keep the swirling nighttime thoughts from dropping into what’s already swimming in his gut.
“No.” James doesn’t look up.
Steve drops his voice. “Headache?” He sets his hand gently at the base of James’s neck.
James stiffens. “I’m done.”
“Hey,” Steve murmurs and leans closer. “You don’t have to be.”
James swills his beer a little too aggressively, dislodging Steve’s hand and forcing a double swallow. James chokes and coughs.
Steve scrambles for a napkin. “Oh, geez.” He moves instinctively and strikes his palm between James’s shoulder blades. The hollow thunk reverberates, then everything goes silent. A brief impasse in which tendrils of guilt clench Steve’s throat.
James cringes inward. He grits his teeth as another cough escapes him. “Get off.”
Steve has barely the breath to gasp. “I’m sorry—“ He lifts both hands and holds them up in surrender. “Bucky, I’m so—“
“No.” James slams his beer back on the counter. He leans back away from Steve, and his stool tips back onto two legs. “Fuck.” James’s stump shoulder grinds into the wall. “Fucking dammit.”
“Hey, I gotcha.” Steve stays the stool, rocking it forward and toward the ground.
James is clearly off his balance, but Steve doesn’t want to touch him again. He makes an awkward beckoning gesture and wills James back into his seat.
It works well enough; balance, at least, is regained. James’s chest crashes into the counter, and he lets out a wet, gagging cough.
“You’re alright,” Steve assures, but his optimism is still premature. The hand still stabilizing James’s seat brushes James’s crotch.
“Why are you on me?” James’s eyes seem to sink deeper into the sockets. He juts his chin.
“I’m sorry,” Steve tries to explain. “I’m not.” He raises both palms again. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You’re always all over me.” James’s face is red with frustration.
“I’m not—“ Even if he gets a word in edgewise, Steve knows James won’t hear it.
James staggers to his feet. He grimaces. His Adam’s apple jumps and protrudes as he swallows harshly. “You just quit it.” He stabs his finger toward Steve. James walks sideways a few paces, keeping his eyes on Steve instead of where he’s going. “Fuck off.”
“Yeah, yeah, I will,” Steve says, though he gets up too. “Just as soon as you’re not going to hurt yourself.”
“I’m not!” James turns and scans the bar, then hastens his pace toward the bathrooms. He hip-checks a chair and nearly falls again.
“Buck, I’m sorry.” Steve closes the distance between them and grabs James’s elbow as diplomaticly as possible.
“I don’t want to go with you!”
“You don’t have to,” Steve says, though the words are in opposition to his actions. “You just have to get in there before you—“
“I don’t want you any more—“James’s face goes stark white. His lower jaw trembles.
“So, what, you’re breaking up with me?” Steve opens the sticky door and pushes James in ahead of him.
“Yeah, I- I’m—“ Neither James’s feet nor stomach seem to be able to make it any further. One leg crumples, and he goes down on his knees with the side of his face partway into a urinal. James heaves and brings up stream of frothy beer. Steve’s light touch keeps him from cracking his forehead on the porcelain.
“Fuck. Fuck.” James curses every time he draws breath. He hacks up bile tainted pilsner until finally makes a shaky sigh.
It’s died down now, Steve can tell. Whatever possessed him into the rage of fear and panic. The thing that causes the night terrors. The blasted demons Steve can’t do a damn thing about. It’s sickening the way James’s own emotions continually strike him down, and all Steve can do is accommodate it. Minimize the additional damage.
James tips his head back and flicks his eyes upward.
Steve offers him a neutral expression. He isn’t sure if their stupid argument has actually ended.
James squints and barely catches Steve’s glance. For however red and strained James’s eyes are now, they’re at least functioning closer to home. James belches and quickly goes for the urinal again.
“Bucky? Do you want to go in a stall?” Steve pus his arm around James’s shoulders, prepared to help him stand up again. “I don’t think these flush solids.”
“No. No, no—“ James cuts off in a retch. “Stop pulling me around.”
Steve knows James is sore, in more ways than one. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I don’t care where you sleep,” James sputters. “Leave me here.”
“No.” Steve slowly stands. “We have to go.”
“Buck?” Steve wants very much to tap his foot.
germansingergirl
dailybridgerton
jbbartram-illu
titsay
baratheonpilled
vaporwave
